#caitlyn

SEVIKA  ✶  4 DAYS

day 4 is already hell.

she’s pacing more, smoking more and drinking more. jaw flexing every time you walk past her.

but she’s still talking shit like she’s got this in the bag.

“you’re gonna fold before i do.”

“im not that easily swayed, sweetheart.”

“don’t start crying when you lose.”

oh she is so cocky. so arrogant. so confident in her mental strength.

and then dinner happens. and you’re just cooking, just minding your business.

leaning forward a little, reaching into a cupboard. your back arches, shirt rides up, hips lift just slightly.

pure accident totally, right??? sure. you feel her presence behind you before she even touches you. the warm, heavy weight of her body heat, her chest to your back. her breath at your ear.

you don’t turn around. cause you already know.

her voice is low strained, already losing.

“…don’t do that, baby.”

you blink innocently, “do what?”

there’s a pause — a long one as her self control teeters.

her metal hand finds your hip, the grip is tight.

“that...teasing” she presses her hips forward to your ass and you can feel her getting more desperate as she slowly grinds on you.

“you okay over there, big girl? looks like someone’s struggling…”

she growls and her mouth is on your neck instantly— hot, messy, needy kisses. tongue. teeth. breath.

and you laugh, which that’s what snaps her.

she turns you around, lifts you onto the counter like you weigh nothing. pan still sizzling beside you, well dinner absolutely abandoned.

her forehead presses to yours, breathing hard, pupils dilated.

“fuck the bet, fuck the money. i can’t- can’t listen to you talk and not have you.”

there’s no slow lead-in. no hesitation. and definitely no polite asking. she’s kissing you like she’s been deprived of oxygen, one hand in your hair, the other gripping your thigh open. she’s grinding slow— grinding like she’s trying not to lose it too fast.

you murmur against her mouth, “so…does this mean i win?”

she bites your bottom lip a little too hard. “shut up and get on the bed.”

dinner? burning.

$100? long gone.

sevika? ruined.

you? oh you’re about to be.

she doesn’t just lead you to the bed.

she pushes you onto it — hands flat to your back, body following, her weight pinning you down into the mattress before you even get your bearings.

her thigh slots between yours, metal hand on the back of your head, pushing you down like she wants you to feel owned before she’s even inside you.

“you think this is funny, don’t ya?”

you don’t answer cause you whine instead, hips rolling without your permission, chasing friction like you’re the one who lost the bet.

she laughs — low, mean, already wrecked. “yeah. that’s what i thought.”

she gets off you only long enough to go to the drawer—

the drawer.

yeah you know which one.

she doesn’t reach for a normal strap. oh no. she grabs the monster.

the one you only use on special nights. long, girthy, textured, and squirming — slow, serpentine motions like it’s alive.

“since you wanted to act like you weren’t bothered…” she says, voice sharp, “let’s see how long that lasts.”

she straps it on tight, hips flexing once, testing weight and angle. she climbs back onto the bed, grabs your hips, and pulls you to the edge like you weigh absolutely nothing.

no teasing.

no warming up.

no lube, you’re already soaked and she knows it.

one hand spreads you open — fingers pressing, dragging, feeling how wet she made you just by existing behind you. “you’re dripping. day four and you’re already this fucked out?”

you try to say something but it comes out as a breathless, helpless little moan that makes her smirk.

she pushes in slow at first but not gentle.

the stretch is immediate, overwhelming, your body fighting to take it and needing it at the same time. your mouth falls open, head dropping forward, hands gripping the sheets like it’s going to save you from drowning.

“ohhh f-fuck!” you gasp.

her hand comes to your lower back, pressing you down, forcing you to arch more.

“don’t run. you wanted this, so stay still.”

then she starts thrusting. not fast but deep. every push drags the length of that squirming strap against your walls. textures and movement hitting every nerve and your legs are shaking almost instantly.

your moans aren’t even controlled, they’re broken, high and desperate.

“uhhah ahh!! sevikaaahhhh fuck—”

she groans, chest pressed to your back, breath hot against your ear, “yeah. that’s it. that’s the sound i wanted.”

her pace picks up,

hips snapping forward, the strap moving inside you with every thrust, curling and pulsing.

while your voice climbs louder and messier.

her hand slips between your legs, palm spanking your clit as she drives into you harder. squelch squelch squelch

there’s no rhythm anymore — it’s need.

she’s panting, biting your shoulder, thrusts hitting so deep you go crossed eyed. sevika doesn’t ease up, oh no, she just shifts her grip.

her metal hand slides up your spine, grabs both your wrists, and pulls them behind your back, pinning them there like she’s restraining you.

your chest presses down into the mattress, hips tilted up, open, exposed. you gasp — half sob, half moan.

“sevika — please,” your voice cracks.

she groans into your shoulder hungrily and frustrated.

“don’t start fucking begging now. you were reaaal bold in the kitchen just now.”

her hips slam forward, the strap driving so deep it knocks your breath right out of your lungs.

you cry out loud, shaking and broken. your wrists twitch in her grip, instinct trying to pull forward, try to ground yourself, try to grab onto something — she doesn’t let you.

her body weight holds you down, back arched, pussy spread, taking every inch whether you can keep up or not.

the strap is still squirming inside you, curling, dragging against every nerve. and your whole body is trembling so hard your knees buckle. tears hit the sheets. warm. fast. helpless.

“fuck fu—ah s-stop it!! i can’t—”

you don’t actually mean stop. you both know you don’t. your voice is trembling on pleasure, not fear.

she leans down, lips at your ear, breathing ragged, “yeah you can, you’re taking it. don’t you dare stop now.”

her hand on your wrists tightens.

the way she holds you is possession, not force. her hips snap forward again, harder and your voice just breaks. you’re sobbing — messy, shaking, moaning through the crying. and of course she’s getting off on it.

your orgasm hits harddd affff. fast, overwhelming, body curling in on itself while you can’t move.

your legs convulse, your cry goes high and raw — almost embarrassing, except she groans at the sound like it’s the best fucking thing she’s ever heard.

she fucks you through it, slow, deep thrusts now, like she’s feeling you shake around her.

“there it is,” she breathes, voice wrecked. “there you go. ride it out, i gotcha.”

when it’s done, she finally lets your wrists go, your body collapsing under you, chest heaving, face wet with tears. she eases out, settles behind you, pulls you onto her thigh, arms around your waist, panting into your neck.

you sniff once. wipe your cheek. catch your breath.

and then, because you are you,

“so…where’s my $100?”

sevika freezes, you can actually feel the moment her soul leaves her body.

she exhales through her nose — long, suffering.

“yeah. yeah i’ll…i’ll get my wallet later.”

her voice is so flat and tired you laugh, even though your voice is still shaky. she kisses your neck.

“don’t. start.”

you kiss her cheek

“i’m gonna frame the bill.” AMBESSA  ✶  31 DAYS

she doesn’t crack. not once.

you try:

• sitting on her lap

• sleeping in her bed shirtless

• “accidentally” dropping things and bending over

• whining

• cuddling

• showering together

• wearing her shirts

• kissing her neck in the mornings

BUT SHE DOESNT FUCKING BREAKKKK

she looks at you with that slow, amused, terrifyingly calm expression.

“oh, darling. you really think temptation controls me?”

her voice is silk and steel.

her self control is religious.

she does kiss you — soft, lingering and deep — but stops every time it can turn into more.

thumb under your chin, murmuring, “not yet, patience. you’ll thank me later.”

by day 29 you’re the one going insane.

your thighs press together when she walks by. your voice goes breathy around her. you can’t even look at her hands without whining.

she notices, of course. she cups your cheek gently, “almost, just a little longer.”

and you want to scream. AND CREAM!

day 30 // 11:59 PM

she sits behind you in bed, legs around your hips, arms around your waist.

holding you.

breathing with you.

not touching sexually.

just…well, waiting.

her lips brush your shoulder. “when the clock changes, you will not be able to walk tomorrow, dear.”

she kisses your pulse, “nod if you understand.”

you nod. “yes, bessa.” she laughs low, soft, devastating.

DECEMBER 1ST // 12.00 AM

the restraint shatters like IMMEDIATELY THE SECOND IT TURNS 12

there is no hesitation. no slow build. no gentle start.

ambessa lifts you, one arm under your thighs, the other behind your back and lays you down like you are something precious she is about to ruin.

her mouth is on your throat immediately, openmouthed, hungry, devouring kisses that make your back arch.

her hands are so big around your waist it feels like she could just close her fingers and break you in half.

she drags your underwear down slow, not teasingly

her voice is destroyed already, “i have missed this.”

she spreads you open with both hands, like she’s studying you, honoring you, starved for you.

and then she goes down on you.

deep tongue. strong pressure. messy sounds.

she’s moaning into you like she’s the one being touched.

your legs shake fast, too fast, and she just holds your thighs steady like her hands were made for the exact shape of your body.

you’re already crying.

“a-ambessa!! ngh wait i—”

she lifts her head just enough to speak against your swollen, wet pussy— voice hoarse and reverent, “thirty. days.”

she sucks your clit and your entire spine leaves your body. you cum so hard your vision whites out and she does not stop.

your hips try to pull away but she gathers you back easily and keeps going. you’re crying, shaking and babbling. she’s groaning like she’s drinking water in a desert.

when she finally pulls back, her mouth is wet and shining, and her pupils are shot.

“turn over.” you’re on your stomach before you even think.

she straps up, the big one. the one with weight. the one she never uses unless she wants to break you apart slowly.

you feel it when she presses the tip in, stretching you slow but deep, like she wants your body to remember the shape of her.

she leans over you chest to your back, lips to your ear.

“i have waited a month to fuck you,”

she whispers, deep, low, shaking,

“and i am not going to be gentle.”

she fucks you deep enough to feel it in your throat. paced, controlled, but merciless.

your moans are broken. your tears are constant. your voice is barely words.

she holds your wrists down. and bites your shoulder. she breathes your name like a prayer and a claim.

you cum. again, again and again you start losing count. she doesn’t stop, she doesn’t even slow.

the room is heat and sweat and breath and the sound of skin hitting skin hard. slap squelch slap squelch !!

your voice is wrecked, shaking:

“p-please m’bessaaa i- i can’t!!”

she kisses your jaw. “yes you can, darling. just let me handle it.”

and she fucks you until you do. again, and again, and again till you receive the best aftercare. GRAYSON  ✶  14 DAYS

she’s sweet, normal, laughing. cooking dinner.

she kisses you on the forehead instead of the mouth.

she sleeps facing the wall because she knows if you cuddle she’ll crumble.

you tease her lightly — sitting on her lap, hugging her from behind, and she just smiles like angels are singing in her ears.

“nice try, sweetheart.”

she’s confident.

she’s calm.

she’s in control.

but as the days go by, her touches linger. her eyes drop to your lips, chest and ass more often. she swallows hard when you stretch or climb into her lap.

she starts avoiding the bedroom with you inside it.

she’ll be like “i’ll sleep on the couch, you know, just to be safe.” voice tight. cheeks pink.

she’s not suffering horny.

she’s suffering yearning.

it’s night. you’re in bed. she’s behind you. and you slowly back up into her.

just your hips touching her thighs.

she fucking stops breathing.

her hand hovers over your waist, not touching, just trembling in place.

you whisper,

“you can hold me, baby. ain’t gonna bust in me are you?”

she smiles and does. very carefully. very gently.

her chest pressed to your back, lips against your shoulder, breathing like she’s trying not to beg.

the next night, you’re wearing one of her shirts. no pants, just your undies. soft. sleepy. warm.

you crawl into her lap on the couch while she reads.

not even horny. just loving.

you tuck your head under her chin. your breath brushes her throat. her hands hovering, unsure, fragile. you nuzzle her neck.

“graayyy?”

her voice is so quiet and raspy godddd, “shh baby don’t do that. you know what it does to me.”

you blink up at her. “does what?”

she swallows, her hands cup your cheek like she’s holding something holy and breakable.

“you know exactly what you’re doing.” your eyes meet hers and that’s it. her restraint shatters.

she kisses you like her heart is on fire,

slow at first, then deeper, hungrier, her fingertips trembling at your jaw because she has wanted this for two weeks.

she lifts you onto her lap properly, thighs spread over hers, your chest flush to hers, hands gripping her shoulders like you will fall apart without her.

her voice is breathless, warm, almost breaking, “i’m sorry, i tried i really tried. but i missed you. i missed this so much, darling.”

and you’re already whining because she kisses like she’s trying to pull your soul out through your mouth.

she pulls back just enough to look at you. her eyes are already glossy.

not from lust.

from finally.

“we can stop,” she whispers, voice thin, trying so hard to be good. “we haven’t broken anything yet, y’know…”

her mouth trembles she wants you so bad it looks like pain. you shake your head.

“n-no grayson, i want you.”

and then the restraint is gone.

her hands are everywhere — your waist, your back, your thigh — sliding you higher into her lap, aligning your hips to hers. you quickly remove to remove your underwear and hers.

gosh her pussy is the prettiest. that bush— but no, no time to day dream now.

you both close the distance between your heats.

you both moan — soft, involuntary, broken at the same time, and it’s like the room sparks around you.

her fingers grip your thigh, spreading you wider over her, guiding you until your bodies slot together perfectly, that tender, slick glide as your folds brush hers. you both gasp.

the first slow grind is accidental, just your weight settling but it sends a shock up both your spines.

your breath shatters.

she’s already tearing up.

just tears slipping down her face without her noticing, mouth parted, breath shaking while she rolls her eyes back.

she holds your waist like she’s afraid you’ll disappear mid touch.

“i—”

her voice catches, raw.

“i don’t want to hurt you— nghh”

you shake your head again, faster, “you won’t please m-more.”

her hips move just enough for your clits to drag against each other nice and gooodddd.

you whine loud, broken and she chokes on a gasp like the sound punched the air out of her chest.

she grips you tighter.

“okayokay i’ve got you—”

and she starts really grinding.

not frantic.

not dirty.

intimate.

deep, rolling movements that push you into her, pressed,, breath mixing, thighs trembling.

the sound of your wetness between you is obscene. soft, messy friction, rhythm building until your hips are moving together without thought.

your moans go higher .your body starts shaking. you clutch her thighs, nails sinking in.

her tears fall onto your neck.

“you’re- you’re so warm— god, i forgot,”

her voice is wrecked, completely gone,

“i forgot how good you feel mmh”

your thighs squeeze around her, grinding harder, faster, chasing the pulse building low and tight in your stomach. your breath is breaking.

“gray- graysonnn!! i— ”

she hears it. her own hips stutter like she’s losing rhythm—

she grabs your hips in both hands and guides you through it, fucking up into your pussy, scissoring harder, deeper, wetter, your clits dragging perfect and overwhelming.

you sob out loud, voice high and thin:

“i can’t- oh goshh it’s too- i’m cumming soon ahh”

she presses her forehead to your cheek, her tears smearing against yours, “yes you can, sweetheart. f-fuck i’m right here, please stay with mhh me”

your orgasm hits hard and deep and full body,

your thighs clamp around hers, your back arches, you cry out open, raw, helpless.

she comes with you— a deep, broken noise from her chest like she’s finally letting herself feel which god sounds sooo beautiful.

you collapse into each other. your legs are still tangled. your chests press and fall together. your breaths are uneven and wet.

she’s still holding your hips like you might vanish, “thank you.”

you tuck your face into her neck.

“don’t thank me, baby.” you pant, “let’s just rest.. we’ll clean up later.” VI  ✶  2 DAYS

day 1 she was cocky as hell. leaning back on the couch w her hands behind her head like,

“pffft babe i literally grew up in a prison. you think i can’t handle not busting for a few days? easy.”

you shrugged. you weren’t even teasing yet cause you didn’t have to.

cause day 2 hits like a truck.

so you get home from work and what you hear are the sounds of whimpering. your bedroom door is cracked open. soft, desperate breathing.

you push the door open and there she is.

vi.

on her knees on the bed, hips grinding down hard onto your pillow, both hands gripping it like it’s life support.

she’s in just a tank top and minecraft boxers, hair messy as hell, cheeks flushed deep pink.

her forehead is pressed to the pillow as her hips are moving fast — sloppy, needy, desperate circles and thrusts.

she didn’t notice you yet. “fuck!! gosh i love you i love youiloveyouuu mhh”

you lean against the doorframe, “really?”

her entire spine goes stiff. her hips instantly stop mid grind.

she turns her head slowly — face red, pupils blown, sweat on her neck, lips bitten raw.

“…hey.”

“hey.”

she clears her throat, “so before you say anything. i didn’t cum. so technically— ”

you raise an eyebrow, “honey, you were humping my pillow.”

“yeah but, i didn’t finish.”

you walk towards her and she squeezes your pillow tighter between her thighs, like you’re gonna take it. you sit on the edge of the bed and tilt her chin up with one finger, “vi, baby. you lost.”

“i didn’t! babe, i was so — you were gone all day and you were wearing that stupid cute shirt this morning and i could smell your shampoo on this pillow and—”

she cuts herself off, mortified.

“awww you missed me?” you smile wickedly.

“shut up.” she tries to sound cocky but fails, she’s gone already.

you slip your hand between her thighs and lean close to her ear,

“go on then, show me how bad you wanted it.”

her hips start moving again — but slower because she’s looking right at you while she does it, breathing your air, forehead on your shoulder.

she’s so wet the pillow is already damp, her voice gets high embarrassingly needy “pleaseee!! please fuck i missed you babyyyy”

you guide her hips, fingers digging into her waist, making her grind harder, deeper.

“say it,” you whisper. “say you broke.”

“i— ” another grind and her voice cracks.

“i broke okay? i fuckin lost. just don’t stoppp!! feels s’good!”

and she cums from humping your pillow while looking you straight in the eyes, thighs shaking, breath stuttering, face pressed to your boobies as she whimpers through it.

pathetic in the sexiest way possible.

when she’s done, she just collapses against you, panting, gripping you like she thinks you’re gonna vanish.

“two days, huh?”

she groans into your collarbone, “shut the fuck up.” CAITLYN  ✶  17 DAYS

she didn’t mean to find them, your laptop was open.

a folder not even hidden well, just…there.

photos from months ago — ones you took when you were feeling hot and wanted to surprise her back then.

she should have closed it. she really did try.

but the second she saw even one glimpse, your thigh, your hand pulling your underwear aside, that perfect arch — her breath hitched like she’d been punched.

she sat down slowly, scrolling through more files. and she finds another one.. and opens it.

and then another.

and another.

her voice is barely a whisper to herself, “oh god.”

she was so composed up until now. so calm, so proud and so polished.

day 17 breaks her like a fever.

she goes to your drawer, top shelf.

she knows exactly where the vibrator is.

she takes the pretty one, the purple one she bought for you because of course she did.

she lies back on the bed. knees bent to her chest, legs spread slowly like she’s still pretending to be elegant even though she’s about to ruin herself.

the photos are still open on the laptop beside her.

your body.

your expression.

your hand between your legs.

she drags two fingers through her panties, and they come away wet. not damp. fucking wet.

“seventeen days, i lasted seventeen days for you—”

she presses her palm over her mouth to muffle the sound, because she’s already whining, already shaking.

she turns the vibrator on lowest setting. and just the sound of it makes her hips lift.

she brings it to her clit and the noise that leaves her is not dignified.

a whine — high, breathy, desperate.

her free hand fists the sheets. her thighs start shaking instantly because her body has been begging for this for weeks.

her eyes flutter, lashes wet, chest rising too fast.

she whispers your name like a prayer. no, really, “pleasepleaseplease!! darling, oh i need you,”

she grinds up against the vibrator, hips jerking, trying not to move too fast but failing.

she’s not even trying to stay quiet anymore.

she’s breathless, soft gasps, whimpers, her whole body tight, so close it hurts.

she keeps looking at the photo on the screen,

your pussy exposed, your fingers spreading yourself for the camera.

her lips part. and then she falls apart. not a short orgasm.

but a slow, overwhelming, full body release, her thighs clench, her back arches off the bed, her mouth opens silent for a second, like the pleasure is too big to make a sound. and then the cry comes.

a broken, choked, whimpering sob of relief, “ooh god!! oh my, mmph”

her orgasm just keeps going, long, drawn out waves that look like it’s stealing her breath. she can’t even look straight at the photos without rolling her eyes back.

when she finally collapses back down onto the sheets, her legs are still twitching.

she covers her eyes with her arm, chest heaving, flushed to the collarbone.

“i’m sorry, dear.”

but she’s smiling, sex dazed, soft and shy.

completely wrecked.