#lee's.line

You sit on the couch, legs curled up under you, the glow of your laptop screen illuminating your face in the dim living room. The video plays softly—some cheesy doctor-themed porn, the kind where the "patient" moans dramatically as the "doctor" pretends to examine her with exaggerated professionalism. It's silly, but it's turning you on, your hand idly slipping between your thighs as you watch. You don't hear the door open at first, too absorbed in the scene.

Then, Law's voice cuts through the air. "I'm home." His tone is neutral, but when you snap your laptop shut in a panic, he's already seen enough. He stands there in his work scrubs, his tattooed arms crossed, those sharp gold eyes flicking from the screen to you. A faint smirk tugs at his lips, but he doesn't say a word about it. Instead, he just heads to the kitchen, grabbing a beer from the fridge like nothing happened. You feel your cheeks burn, muttering an excuse about "just browsing," but he waves it off. "Whatever you want," he says casually, and that's the end of it. Or so you think.

A few days pass, and the incident fades into the background. Law's as busy as ever with his shifts at the hospital, coming home late, his doctor coat slung over his shoulder. He's always been attractive—tall, lean, with that messy black hair and those piercing eyes that make your stomach flip. But in his white coat? God, he's irresistible. You catch yourself fantasizing about it sometimes, but you push it down.

Then, one evening, you come home from work to find the apartment unusually quiet. The lights are dimmed, and there's a note on the kitchen counter in Law's precise handwriting: "Head to the bedroom. Doctor's orders." Your heart skips a beat—curious, a little excited. You push open the door, and your jaw drops.

The room's been transformed. He's pushed the furniture aside, draped a white sheet over the bed like an exam table, and set up a small tray on the nightstand with… medical tools? A speculum, retractors, a cervical brush, swabs, even a vaginal probe—things you've only seen in diagrams or those videos. Law stands there in his full doctor attire: white coat buttoned up, stethoscope around his neck, gloves on his hands. He doesn't smile, doesn't break character. "Miss [Your Last Name]," he says formally, gesturing to the bed. "Please have a seat. I'm Dr. Trafalgar, and we'll begin your examination shortly."

You blink, laughing nervously. "Law, what is this—"

His hand moves faster than you expect, landing a sharp slap on your thigh. Not hard enough to bruise, but enough to sting and make you gasp. "It's Doctor Trafalgar," he corrects, his voice low and professional, eyes narrowing. "We're keeping this formal. Now, remove your clothes from the waist down and lie back. We have a full check-up to do."

Your pulse races. This is… hot. Weirdly hot. You obey, stripping off your pants and underwear, feeling exposed as you climb onto the "exam table" and spread your legs as he instructs. He pulls up a stool between them, snapping on fresh gloves with a clinical snap. "Good patient," he murmurs, but there's a dark glint in his eyes—his freakish fantasies bubbling under that stoic facade. He starts slow, palpating your abdomen with firm, gloved fingers, pressing just enough to make you squirm. "Any discomfort?" he asks, voice steady.

"No, Doctor," you whisper, playing along. But when his fingers trail lower, brushing your inner thighs, you whimper his name. "Law—"

Slap. This time on your ass, harder, making your skin bloom red. "Doctor," he reminds you sternly. "Focus." He reaches for the speculum next, lubing it up with clinical precision. "This might feel cold," he warns, inserting it slowly, the metal spreading you open. You gasp at the stretch, your body clenching around it. He clicks it open wider, locking it in place, and peers inside like it's a real exam. "Everything looks healthy so far," he says, but his breath is heavier now. He picks up a retractors, using them to hold you even more exposed, his gloved fingers tracing your folds under the pretense of "inspection."

You're soaking already, arousal dripping onto the sheet. "Please," you beg, but he shushes you.

"Patience is key in medicine." He grabs the cervical brush next—a thin, swab-like tool—and dips it in lube. "This is for sampling," he explains coolly, but instead of a quick swipe, he slides it in deep, twisting it against your sensitive walls. You arch off the bed, moaning as he works it in and out, brushing over your cervix in slow, deliberate strokes. It's filthy, wrong, but the friction builds fast. "Feel that? That's your body responding," he says, voice husky now. He doesn't stop, pumping it faster, the bristles teasing nerves you didn't know you had. Your first orgasm hits like a wave, clenching around the tool as you cry out.

"Good girl," he praises, but he doesn't pull it out. Instead, he swaps to the swab, repeating the motion—dipping it in, swirling it inside you, collecting your "sample" while you tremble from aftershocks. "We're not done. Multiple tests required." Slap—another on your thigh when you whine his name again. "Doctor."

He sets aside the swab, coated in your wetness, and reaches for the vaginal probe—a sleek, vibrating tool meant for ultrasounds, but he flicks it on low, pressing the tip to your clit first. You jolt, hips bucking. "Hold still," he orders, sliding it inside you alongside the speculum, the vibrations pulsing deep. It's overwhelming—the stretch, the buzz, his gloved hand holding you open with the retractors. He thrusts it methodically, like calibrating an instrument, hitting your g-spot with precision. "Orgasm two incoming," he announces clinically, and sure enough, you shatter again, squirting around the probe, soaking his gloves.

By now, his coat is still on, but you can see the bulge in his pants—massive, straining. He finally stands, unzipping just enough to free his cock, thick and veined, pre-cum beading at the tip. "Final procedure," he says, voice rough. He doesn't undress further, just positions himself between your legs, the speculum still holding you wide. He thrusts in hard, filling you completely, the tools amplifying every sensation. "Fuck, you're tight," he growls, breaking character just a bit, but he recovers. "Patient's vitals are elevated."

He fucks you relentlessly—deep, punishing strokes, one hand on your hip, the other twisting the probe inside you for extra stimulation. Slap—on your breast this time when you scream "Law!" "Doctor, damn it." The rhythm builds, his hips slamming into yours, the white coat brushing your skin. You come again, vision blurring, but he doesn't stop, chasing his own release. "One more," he demands, angling to hit deeper, his freak side fully out—whispering how he'd love to "dissect" you like this every night.

Finally, he pulls out, stroking himself to finish on your stomach, hot ropes painting your skin. He steps back, breathing heavy, but still in role. "Examination complete. You're cleared… for now."

You lie there, spent, multiple orgasms leaving you boneless. Law—Doctor Trafalgar—smirks, finally shedding the coat. "Next appointment soon?"

The rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the metal hull of the Tang merges with the heavy silence inside the dimly lit room. You are buried face-down in your pillow, completely disconnected from the outside world, surrendered to the peace of a deep sleep. Your cheeks are slightly puffed from the pressure against the pillow, and your lips are parted; in Law’s eyes, you look like a perfect baby, so innocent that he almost hesitates to touch you.

Law lies right beside you, propped up on his elbow, watching you. His golden eyes wander over every curve of your skin in the faint light, the way your hair scatters across the pillow, and the slight flutter of your eyelashes in your sleep. He thinks to himself how flawless you are, that you are the only true peace he has found in this violent life. He leans in and whispers into your ear with that raspy, deep voice:

"Hey... Baby."

In the sweetest part of your sleep, you can only manage a mumble—a "Hm?"—responding to his small but effective call without your consciousness even fully awakening. When Law sees this adorable and vulnerable state of yours, a dark smile forms on his face. "I can't sleep," he says, trailing his fingertips along the bare curve of your back. "Will you help me?" Before you can grasp the lust hidden beneath this question, you utter another vague moan, simply trusting the safety of his voice. Law takes this answer as an invitation, leaning in to kiss your temple for a long moment. "Thank you, sweetheart. You're the best. I love you."

Within seconds, the energy in the room shifts entirely. Your sleep begins to shatter as Law tosses the covers aside in one move and perches over your hips. Before you can realize what is happening, he parts your legs and seals his muscular frame over you. You bolt your eyes open at the pressure of that massive, veined hardness pressing against your unprepared, tight, and warm entrance. As Law grips your hips and sinks into you to the hilt with one powerful thrust, he instantly stifles the gasp of shock and moan that escapes your lips by pressing his large hand over your mouth.

"Shhh... Be quiet," he whispers, grabbing your hair with his other hand and pulling your head back slightly toward him, taking total control of you. "What a good girl you are for letting this happen... I’m grateful to you for always keeping this place so wet and warm for me. I’m going to fuck you back to sleep properly; you’re going to love this compensation."

As Law pins you into the pillow and begins hitting you from behind with rhythmic and savage thrusts, the control of your body passes entirely into his hands. In your sleepy and exhausted state, you shudder beneath him like a living object. Law grips your hips tighter each time, pulling you toward him as you feel that enormous fullness in every fiber of your being. "Look at this," he growls into your ear, "you’re still half-asleep, but your cunt is sucking me in so well. You’re hosting me just like a good girl."

The low whinges you make for him to stop sound like music to his ears. Law doesn’t stop until he deepens his thrusts further, dragging you toward the headboard. As he fills your insides with his own heat, he seals your trembling body—reacting to the climax—even tighter under him. Before your breathing can even steady, he flips you over harshly, laying you on your back. He grabs your legs, resting them on his shoulders, and slides back into your uncontrolled flow of wetness with his still-hard length.

"Open your eyes and look at me," Law says, his dirty whispers filling the room. "I want you to feel every inch of me inside you. You’re here just for me." As you try to look at him with sleepy eyes, he looms over you, putting all his weight down to crush you beneath him. He claims your breasts with his hands, pinning you to the bed with every thrust. While you are like putty under him, he carries you to the peak over and over again, leaving his warmth deep inside you, all the way to your womb, every single time.

Law’s lust has turned into an unquenchable hunger. He flips you face-down again, propping your hips up, and this time continues with a darker, more oppressive tempo. While you are on the verge of fainting from exhaustion and pleasure, he continues to tell you how tight you are and how well you receive him. "Thank you for allowing this, for being so open and ready for me, baby," he says, his thrusts becoming shorter and more forceful.

Finally, as he too tires and reaches his own breaking point, he groans your name while emptying his warmth into you for the fourth time. Amidst the heavy scent of lust in the room and Law's ragged breathing, he pulls you to himself while still inside you, tucking you against his chest. He wraps around you like a coil, tightly embracing your limp body in his lap. Law, feeling the peace of being surrounded by your immense warmth, falls into a deep sleep without letting you go from his lap for even a second

©Written by Lee

The stage lights blinded you as the roar of the crowd echoed in your ears. You, the undisputed queen of the stage, gripped the microphone tightly, singing and dancing with every ounce of your being. Every sway of your hips, every teasing smile was pure provocation. The tight fabric of your dress clung to your body; you shook your ass shamelessly, bit your lip while staring straight into the audience, driving them wild. You leaned down to kiss fans who reached up from the front row, let others touch your thighs and waist, your hands guiding theirs as you exposed yourself without a single word.

In the shadows backstage, Trafalgar Law watched. Your bodyguard. The man who followed you like a ghost. His tattooed fists were clenched so hard his knuckles were white, jaw locked tight. He was at the end of his patience with your spoiled, reckless behavior. Every concert was the same game: flashing yourself, letting fans grope you, pushing every boundary imaginable. He said nothing. He waited. Until that one song.

The beat dropped hard, lights flashing across your sweat-slick skin. Your eyes found Law and a wicked smile curled your lips. You pointed straight at him. The crowd lost their minds, screaming your name. You grabbed his wrist and dragged him from the wings to center stage. He didn’t resist, but the fury burning in his grey eyes was unmistakable. A chair was brought out. You shoved him down into it. The music surged. You straddled him, grinding your body against his. Your ass dragged slowly up and down his thighs, hands roaming his shoulders. You turned, back to his chest, lowering yourself until you were practically sitting on his lap, rolling your hips in deliberate circles. A low, involuntary groan slipped from Law’s lips—quiet, strangled. The audience screamed louder, but you only had eyes for him. When the song ended you stood, brushed a light kiss to his cheek, whispered “thank you,” and walked off like nothing happened.

In the car afterward you were silent. Law drove, gaze fixed on the road, the storm inside him barely contained. The moment the front door shut behind you at home, everything exploded.

You barely made it into the living room before his hands clamped onto your shoulders and slammed you against the wall.

“Enough,” he growled, voice low and raw with rage. His mouth crashed into yours, brutal and punishing. His tongue forced its way past your lips while his fingers ripped the zipper of your dress down your spine. Fabric pooled at your feet. He lifted you like you weighed nothing and threw you onto the couch. The cushions swallowed the impact, but before you could move he was on you. His palms gripped your ass hard, then he brought one hand down in a sharp, stinging slap. The crack echoed. Another followed, harder, watching your skin bloom red beneath his hand.

You squirmed, but he didn’t stop. He shoved his pants down, cock already rock-hard and leaking. Grabbing a fistful of your hair, he yanked your head down. Your lips parted around him, and he thrust deep into your mouth—no warning, no mercy—pushing until he hit the back of your throat. Tears sprang to your eyes instantly. Saliva spilled from the corners of your mouth as he fucked your face, hips snapping forward, groans tearing from his chest. When he came it was sudden and violent, flooding your throat until you choked. Only then did he pull out, leaving you gasping.

He hauled you off the couch and threw you to the carpet. You landed on your knees, but he flipped you onto your back in one motion. Spreading your thighs wide, he lined himself up and slammed inside you in a single brutal thrust. Your body jolted. He didn’t ease in—he fucked you hard and deep, every stroke punishing. His hands squeezed your breasts, then he slapped your face—sharp, deliberate. Tears rolled down your cheeks.

“Please—slow down—” you begged, voice shaking.

He didn’t. He fisted your hair, yanked your head back, and bit down on your neck hard enough to bruise. His pace only grew faster, sweat dripping from his brow as he pounded into you.

He came again, spilling inside you, but he wasn’t finished. He dragged you across the room and flung you onto the bed. You tried to kick, tried to scramble away—he caught your ankles and pulled you back. More slaps rained down on your already burning ass until you were sobbing. He entered you again from behind, harder than before. Second round turned into a third—he lifted you off the mattress, pinned you against the wall, threw your legs over his shoulders and drove into you until your whole body shook with sobs and overstimulation. Only after he emptied himself one final time did he let you collapse to the floor, trembling, crying, completely wrecked.

Law stepped back, breathing ragged. He looked at you—red handprints across your ass and cheek, tears streaking your face, legs barely able to hold you—and something twisted in his chest. Too far. He’d gone too far.

Gently this time, he scooped you up. Carried you to the bathroom, filled the tub with warm water, and lowered you in. He washed you carefully, fingers trembling slightly as he cleaned the mess he’d made of you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice cracked.

You didn’t speak. Didn’t look at him. Just stared blankly at the water.

He kept apologizing, drying you, carrying you to bed, tucking you in. Your silence cut deeper than any scream could have. He left the room convinced you hated him now. He didn’t sleep.

Morning came. He found you in the kitchen, alone, eating cereal in silence. The only sound was the spoon clinking against the bowl.

He approached, placed a folded letter on the table.

“My resignation,” he said quietly. “I can’t stay after what I did.”

You set the spoon down. Looked at the paper. Then at him.

“Why did you even do that yesterday?” you asked, voice soft and tired. “I know I made you angry. I deserved some of it. But you wouldn’t stop, Law. I begged you. I was crying.”

His knees hit the floor in front of you.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped, forehead pressed to the ground. “Please forgive me. I went too far—I lost control. I’m begging you, don’t make me leave.” The words spilled out, broken and desperate.

You watched him for a long moment. Then your fingers threaded gently into his dark hair.

“Okay,” you whispered.

He didn't get up. Instead he rested his head in your lap like a penitent dog, face buried against your thighs, arms wrapped loosely around your legs.

“Thank you,” he murmured over and over, voice thick with gratitude and shame, staying there on his knees until you decided he’d suffered enough.

Rosinante had been clumsy since childhood. He'd trip and fall even on flat ground, injuring himself somehow.

You, as the nurse hired for the Donquixote family mansion, noticed this from day one. His older brother Doflamingo hated it; valuable vases would topple, injuries led to hospital visits. That's why he hired you, as a solution.

But things took an unexpected turn. Rosinante fell in love with you after a while. Having a sweet woman tenderly care for his wounds was heaven for him. So, to see you more often, he started injuring himself on purpose—small accidents, but intentional. When you realized, you smiled inwardly. Doflamingo hated this. His idiot brother's dependency on you irritated him. Truth be told, he liked you too. Normally, he'd bandage his own wounds, but after battles, he'd head straight to your office upon returning to the mansion.

For you, everything was perfect. You'd made two Celestial Dragons fall for you. Both would die for you, shower you with gifts, take you on dates to the fanciest places. You couldn't choose between them. Rosinante was sweet and soft; like the ideal husband. Doflamingo was a bit scary, responsible, and hid his emotions. They were like two sides of the same man: Rosi cute, Doffy cold. But their common point was their insane love for you.

To Doflamingo, you were greedy. Wanting both, unable to reject them. So he talked to Rosinante and got approval to share you. For the first time.

That evening after dinner, Doffy called you to Rosinante's room. "Want to prepare for Rosinante's birthday?" he asked. You accepted without thinking, assuming it was like the celebrations after every victory.

But it wasn't. The preparations involved lots of lube and toys.

Doffy made you cum several times with his fingers before using the toys. His fingers filled you, stroking your walls, making you moan with pleasure. Because the toys were big; you needed to be wet and ready enough.

"These are necessary for you to take us, little bird," he said with a mocking grin.

He was right. Dealing with two three-meter-tall men would be tough.

At least he was gentle. He'd ask "Are you okay?" every time, before pushing his fingers deeper.

He coated one dildo with lube and slowly pushed it into your pussy. You whimpered, covering your mouth to stay quiet. The thickness filling you stretched your walls; a wave of pleasure mixed with pain spread through your body.

"Are you okay, nurse lady?" he teased, then coated another one with lube and pushed it into your ass.

"Oh... T-too full," you moaned, trembling as both holes were filled.

Doffy grinned, tracing the bulge in your belly with his hand; the toys' outlines were visible.

"Now stay quiet for us, little one," he said and stuffed your wet panties into your mouth, taping it shut. He tied your hands, taped a small vibrator to your clit and turned it on. He kissed your temple.

"Hope Rosi likes his cute birthday gift," he murmured, wiping the tear from your cheek and left the room.

An hour later, the door opened, and Rosinante entered. Seeing you trembling on the bed, crying from pleasure, he nearly choked on his cigarette smoke. He approached; your exhausted state from orgasms, still moaning, shocked him.

Then Doffy entered. "Hope you like your gift, brother."

"Did she consent?" Rosinante asked, wiping the tears from your cheek. There, you realized again how sweet he was.

"I'm not that bad, Rosi. Go enjoy your gift," Doffy said and sat on the chair.

"You're going to watch?" Rosi frowned.

"I'll join then," Doffy grinned and sat at the foot of the bed.

Rosinante didn't trust Doffy. He worried this was forced on you. Gently, he removed the tape from your mouth; seeing the stuffed fabric, he glared at his brother.

"Are you okay, my nurse?" he murmured, wiping your tears.

"I'm fine," you whimpered, "Happy birthday, Rosi."

The young man smiled. "Thank you, my nurse. The cutest birthday gift I've ever received."

"How much longer are you going to chat?" Doffy pouted.

"First me. It's my birthday," Rosi said, untying your arms and slowly pulling the dildo from your pussy. Seeing your stretched, clenching hole, he bit his lip. Then he reached for the one in your ass.

"Save that for me," Doffy stopped him.

"Please, Rosi..." you whimpered, your voice pulling him back to you.

At your request, Rosinante undid his belt and pants, stroking his hardened cock a few times with the lube from the nightstand. Its thick veins pulsed, the tip shiny and ready.

"If it's too much, tell me. I don't want to hurt you," he said worriedly.

Doffy chuckled mockingly. "She's a good girl. Aren't you, little bird?"

Rosinante was jealous. You interacting with Doffy irritated him. To prevent talking, he slid into your pussy without waiting, his thick head parting your walls and burying deep.

"Ah!" you moaned, whimpering at the sudden fullness. Rosi held your waist and started fucking you with shallow thrusts, each push making the toy in your ass move too, making you moan from the double fullness.

"Fuck... Still tight despite the toys," Rosi grunted, speeding up his rhythm.

"Hurry up, Rosi, I want some too," Doffy said impatiently.

"It's my birthday," Rosi retorted, his movements becoming more determined.

You'd stopped holding back your sounds; moaning with every thrust, clawing at the sheets. Both brothers admired the sounds you made, the pleasure on your face.

"A-ah... Fuck... Rosi... I'm cumming," you moaned, the orgasm wave approaching.

Doffy removed the vibrator and stroked your clit, his fingers making you moan extra. Rosi angrily pulled you away from him and stood up, lifting you into his arms. You wrapped your legs around his waist and clung to him; Rosi started bouncing you on his cock, slamming deep each time.

But Doffy didn't stop. He came behind you, pulled the toy from your ass, and coated his own cock with lube. "My turn, little bird," he whispered in your ear, pressing his thick head to your ass and slowly pushing in.

"Oh God... No, too much!" you moaned, but pleasure outweighed the pain. While Rosi still bounced you, Doffy slid deep from behind; both cocks filling you, stretching your walls. They found a rhythm: Rosi from the front, Doffy from the back, fucking you like a sandwich.

Your body trembled, moans echoing in the room. Rosi kissed your lips, murmuring "Are you okay, my nurse?" gently. Doffy pulled your hair, bit your neck, growling "Moan more, little bird, I want to tear you apart."

The orgasm hit you; your muscles clenched around both cocks, you felt your juices flow. But they didn't stop. Rosi hugged you tighter and sped up, Doffy slapped your ass from behind, increasing his pace. Both filling you, each movement taking you to new heights.

"You're ours," Doffy growled, emptying his hot seed into your ass. Rosi followed, cumming inside your pussy, the warm fill making you moan again.

When you collapsed on the bed, you were still trembling. Both enveloped you, covering you with kisses; Rosinante gentle, Doflamingo possessive. You managed to fuck both celestial dragons

Law, a third-year medical student, lives a life filled with textbooks and hospital shifts. At twenty-four, his tattooed hands and sharp jawline make him look cool, but he's never touched a woman before. The closest he's gotten to a vagina is in cadaver labs or medical diagrams. But you? You're his addiction. Your OnlyFans videos, your live streams—they drive him insane. Your flawless skin tone, the fullness of your breasts, the wet gleam between your legs... Every night, he strokes himself to you, coming so hard he falls into a deep sleep. He doesn't know you, hasn't seen your face, but he's in love. Stupid, but true.

Tonight, all he wants is to go home, lock his door, and watch your stream. You post that you would do a Pink Poison cosplay, and he's already losing his mind. But just as he's about to leave the hospital, the attending doctor gives him a last-minute assignment. "Trafalgar, one more patient. Female, mid-twenties, chest pain. Handle it."

Law clenches his jaw in frustration. "Are you serious?" he mutters, unable to object. He slings his bag over his shoulder and storms into the exam room, eyes glued to the chart, hands trembling with disappointment. He's missing your voice, and it's wrecking him. He enters without looking at you. "Sit," he says in a cold voice, still buried in paperwork. "Describe your symptoms."

Perched on the exam table, you're smirking inwardly. Chest pain? Bullshit. You felt off, maybe from stress, but you needed an excuse to see a doctor without revealing your identity. Keeping your identity hidden is crucial. But the tall, tattooed guy in the white coat catches your eye. Sharp jaw, tired eyes, inked arms—hella hot. You wish he'd even look at you; it's starting to annoy you."It's like a tightness here," you say, placing your hand on your chest. Your voice is low, almost seductive; your smooth intonation slips out unconsciously. Law's pen freezes for a moment, his mind racing. That voice... familiar, but it can't be. "Unbutton your shirt," he says, eyes still on the chart. "I need to listen to your heart."

You slowly unbutton your blouse and let it fall. No bra; you don't bother when you're heading to a stream. Your full breasts come into view, nipples hardening in the cool air, and there, the nipple piercings. Law picks up his stethoscope and approaches. When the cold metal touches your skin, his eyes drift down and he freezes.

That skin tone. The perfect shape of your breasts. Those damn nipple piercings. No way. His breath catches, heart pounding. It's you. The OnlyFans goddess, right here, in the flesh. His hands shake, and his cock twitches in his scrubs. "Everything... looks normal," he stammers, but he can't tear his eyes from your chest. Last night, he'd come fantasizing about that cosplay. Now you're real, right in front of him.You catch his reaction—the shock in his eyes, his quickened breath, the bulge in his scrubs. A slow grin spreads across your lips. "Doctor... you seem like you recognize me from somewhere," you say, your voice silky and playful. You slide off the table and walk toward him. "Like... Surgeonofdeath?"

Law's face turns beet red, but he doesn't deny it. "How—" he mutters, voice hoarse."

I keep tabs on my top tippers," you say, winking. You step closer, your bare breasts nearly brushing his coat. "You watch me every night, don't you? Stroking that virgin cock to my videos?"

Law swallows hard and backs against the wall. "Yes... Fuck, yes. You're all I think about." His voice trembles, but his eyes burn with raw desire. "I've dreamed of touching you."

You take control. Reaching past him, you lock the exam room door with a sharp click. "Then stop dreaming," you say, fully removing your blouse and letting it drop. "Take the real thing." You press your bare chest against him, your hands tugging at his coat. "Come on, Doctor. Have a taste."

Law's restraint shatters. His tattooed hands grab your waist, pulling you against him, his lips crashing into yours in desperate hunger. The kiss is wild, years of pent-up lust spilling out. He spins you around, hands gripping your ass, and bends you over the exam table. You hike up your skirt—no panties, always ready for a stream. Law's eyes lock on your exposed pussy, wet and inviting. "Fuck... This is nothing like the textbooks," he mutters, voice shaky but greedy.

He drops to his knees, burying his face between your thighs. Inexperienced but eager, his tongue laps at your folds, sucking messily on your clit, hands digging into your ass. "Your taste... God, it's so good," he moans, your juices dripping down his chin. You moan, grinding back, smothering his face. "Harder, Law—" you demand. He obeys, tongue delving deeper, one hand reaching up to pinch your nipple hard. Your wetness coats his chin, but he's addicted, nose pressed into your slick heat.

He stands up and pulls his apron down, his penis springing free; thick, veiny, pre-cum glistening at the tip. Bigger than expected for this shy nerd. "Now I'm going to fuck you," he growls, rubbing the head against your wet entrance. "I've been fantasizing about this pussy." With a savage thrust, he plunges deep, bottoming out and making you scream as the table shakes. Your walls clench tightly around his virgin penis. "Fuck, you're so tight—I'm gonna cum already," he grits his teeth but holds back, pounding into you relentlessly. The table creaks with every thrust, his hips slapping against your ass, his balls smacking your clit. You bounce back with every stroke. "Harder, you nerd—ruin me like you've always wanted."

Law grabs your hair, yanking your head back, his other hand delivering a hard smack to your ass. "Like this, you little slut?" he growls, shocked at his own dominance. Years of repression unleashing—he chokes you lightly, fingers wrapping around your throat, driving deeper, hitting that sweet spot that makes you see stars.

Then, a devilish idea hits him. As he fucks you senseless, he reaches for his phone on the counter. You're lost in pleasure, moans echoing in the room. Law smirks, opens your OnlyFans app, and props the phone against a stack of files, starting a live stream. "Let them watch," he mutters to himself, voice smug. "Let them see you're mine." He flips you onto your back, throws your legs over his shoulders, and fucks you missionary for the camera. Your breasts bounce with each thrust, and he leans down, taking a nipple into his mouth and biting hard enough to leave a mark. The chat explodes: "Who the hell is this guy?!" "Lucky bastard!" "Jealous as fuck—wish I was pounding that pussy!"

Law glances at the screen and smirks, thrusting harder. "Hear that? They're all jealous. But this pussy is mine now." He rubs your clit furiously, making you squirt around his cock, juices splashing his abs. "Come for me—show them who you belong to." You shatter, screaming his name, walls milking him. He can't hold back, pulling out and stroking himself, shooting thick, hot ropes across your breasts and stomach, marking you. Panting, he collapses on top, kissing you possessively. He ends the stream and tosses the phone aside.

Still catching your breath, you realize. "You... you recorded that?" you say, voice a mix of shock and anger.Law grins, unapologetic. "Yeah. But admit it, it was an epic show." He cups your chin and kisses you. "I showed them—you're mine now. No more hiding."You frown but can't stop the grin tugging at your lips. "You cocky bastard. Fine, but next time, I run the show."

The air in the room feels heavy, the dim glow of the lamp casting a soft, flickering light across the walls, as if everything has been set up for this very moment. Your heart pounds in your chest, hands trembling as you steal one last glance in the mirror. The Germa 66 costume—Pink Poison’s iconic uniform—clings to your body like a second skin. The glossy, black latex-like fabric accentuates every curve: the swell of your hips, the dip of your waist, the corseted top that grips your breasts tightly. The short skirt leaves your legs bare, your smooth skin a stark contrast to the costume’s sheen. Leather gloves wrap around your arms, and high-heeled boots make you feel taller, more seductive. You’ve styled your hair to match the character, complete with a pink wig and makeup that transforms you into a living fantasy. This is for Law’s birthday. He’d ask for silence or a copy of *Sora: Warrior of the Sea*. But you, his beloved, wanted to give him something more—something to drive him wild by embodying his secret obsession, Pink Poison.

You sit on the edge of the bed, crossing your legs, the skirt riding up slightly, teasing the edge of your underwear. A mix of excitement and nerves swirls inside you. What if he doesn’t like it? What if it’s too much? But when you think of Law’s dark, intense eyes, a fire ignites within you. Footsteps echo in the hallway—heavy, deliberate. The door creaks open, and there he is. Trafalgar Law steps inside, his black coat draped over his shoulders, hat tilted slightly, his expression as usual a mix of exhaustion and sharpness. His eyes scan the room, then lock onto you. For a moment, he freezes, his face utterly neutral. Your heart clenches, breath catching. Did he not like it? Does the costume make you look foolish? But then, you notice his gaze slowly roaming your body. It starts at your legs, lingering on the bare skin beneath the skirt, then travels to your hips, your waist, your breasts. It climbs to your neck, your face. A spark flares in his golden eyes—hunger, raw and unrestrained. His lips curve into a dangerous smirk.

“What’s this?” he says, his voice a low growl, barely escaping his throat. He steps closer, each movement predatory. Before you can respond, his patience snaps. He lunges at you, strong arms grabbing you, wrapping around your waist, and pulling you to your feet. His body crashes against yours, and you feel his hardness pressing against your thigh through the thin fabric of the costume. “Law!” you yelp, instinctively trying to pull back, but he’s too fast, too strong. His hands grip your back, pinning you against him. His breath is hot against your neck, sending shivers through your entire body. “You thought I’d let you escape?” he whispers, his voice so raw, so primal, it tears down every barrier inside you. His lips crash against your neck, teeth grazing your skin, biting down hard enough to leave marks.

The costume’s tightness restricts you, but Law doesn’t care. His hands slide down, yanking the skirt up with a roughness that makes you gasp. His fingers find the edge of your underwear, lingering for a moment as if savoring the anticipation, then rip—the sound of tearing fabric echoes in the room, cool air hitting your now-exposed, wet skin. Your breath hitches in shock, “Law, wait!” you cry, but he doesn’t listen. Without giving you a moment to adjust, he thrusts into you, hard and unrelenting, filling you in one brutal motion. A mix of pain and pleasure surges through you, ripping a scream from your throat as your nails dig into his coat. Law’s breathing quickens, his hands gripping your hips so tightly they’ll bruise. He starts moving immediately, his rhythm harsh, fast—each thrust shakes your body, the costume’s fabric rubbing against your skin, amplifying the sensation.

“Law!” you whimper, your voice trembling, blending with moans. “I should’ve taken the costume off!” The tight latex makes you hyper-aware of every movement, every brush against your skin, slick with sweat. Law’s eyes are dark, feral, the neutral mask gone, replaced by pure desire. “No,” he growls, breathless, his voice a rough rasp. “Fuck, Germa…” He’s lost in the roleplay, clumsy but burning with intensity. “I’m doing this for Sora.” His words make you laugh, but it’s swallowed by another moan—this nerdy side of him makes the fantasy even hotter.

He lifts you into his arms with a powerful motion, positioning your legs over his shoulders and pinning you against the wall. The cold surface presses against your back, the contrast making your body tremble. You’re completely exposed to him now, the skirt hiked up, your breasts threatening to spill from the corset. Law’s pace quickens, each thrust deeper, harder—your screams echo in the room, your throat raw. His nails dig into your hips, scratching, drawing faint lines of blood that sting deliciously. His lips mark your neck, your shoulders, sucking and biting, leaving a trail of bruises. You’re breathless, chest heaving, sweat dripping down the costume. “You nerd!” you cry, half-pleading. “Slow down… please!”

But Law doesn’t slow down—he speeds up. “Shut up,” he snarls, “and feel this.” His hands grip your hips tighter, pulling you closer, every thrust pushing you closer to the edge. His cock fills you, stretching your walls, the costume’s friction against your clit driving you insane. The latex clings to your skin, slick and hot, heightening every sensation. Law’s breath is ragged against your neck, his voice a low growl. “Fuck, you’re so wet… in this costume… I’m going to destroy you.” His words are laced with unrestrained lust, his eyes devouring you.

Your body starts to shake, the orgasm building, your legs tensing, shoulders tightening. Law’s movements grow wilder, animalistic—he slams you harder against the wall, your bones aching with each thrust. Your nails rake down his back, tearing at his coat. “Law… I’m coming!” you scream, your voice breaking. He feels it, his pace reaching a fever pitch—his cock pulses inside you, filling you completely. You both explode together, pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing, fluids mixing, soaking the costume. Law’s heat floods you, his groans vibrating against your ear.

Finally, he slows, still inside you. He lowers you gently, keeping you in his arms. Your foreheads press together, breaths mingling. “Best… birthday gift,” he murmurs, his voice still thick with desire, lips brushing your neck. You smile, body still trembling, the costume torn and drenched. “Happy birthday my love.” you pant. Law smirks, his hand still on your hip. “Thank you, baby. O love you.”

The stars glittered above the ship's deck like scattered diamonds, the night air cool and salty as you leaned against the railing. Law sat beside you, his usual stoic demeanor softened by the quiet moment. He'd been unusually talkative tonight, sharing bits about his past adventures, his voice low and gravelly. As the conversation lulled, you caught him glancing at your lips, and something sparked in the air between you.

Without a word, you turned toward him, your hand brushing his tattooed arm. He met your gaze, and before either of you could overthink it, your lips met in a tentative kiss. It started soft, exploratory—his mouth warm against yours, tasting faintly of the herbal tea he'd been sipping. But Law, ever the confident captain on the surface, deepened it quickly. His hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you closer as his tongue teased yours.

"You're addictive," he murmured against your lips, a smirk tugging at his mouth. He was feeling bold, figuring this was just harmless fun under the stars—no way it'd escalate to anything more intense. After all, he was still a virgin, untouched in that way, and he assumed you'd keep things light. "Bet I could make you beg for more if I wanted," he added teasingly, nipping at your lower lip, his voice laced with that arrogant edge he wielded so well. Inside, he chuckled to himself; this was safe territory, right?

But you had other ideas. Your hands slid up his chest, fingers tracing the lines of his tattoos through his shirt, and you pressed your body against his. The kiss turned heated, your tongue dancing with his as you shifted to straddle his lap right there on the deck. The night was empty—no crew around to interrupt—and you could feel his growing arousal pressing against you. "Oh yeah?" you whispered back, grinding subtly against him. "Show me, then."

Law's breath hitched, his hands gripping your hips instinctively. Fuck, he thought, cursing himself inwardly. How the hell did a simple kiss under the stars turn into this? He hadn't planned for things to go further; his inexperience was screaming at him to pull back, but your warmth, your scent—it was intoxicating. His body betrayed him, hardening fully under your movements, and panic flickered in his chest.

"Wait," he muttered, breaking the kiss, his cheeks flushing under the moonlight. He looked away, embarrassed, his usual cool facade cracking. "I… I haven't done this before. Like, any of it." The confession tumbled out awkwardly, his voice quieter than usual, laced with vulnerability. "I'm a virgin."

You paused, your hands still on his shoulders, and smiled softly, no judgment in your eyes. "That's okay, Traffy. Really. It doesn't change anything—I want you just as you are." You leaned in, kissing his forehead gently. "Let me show you. We'll go slow, and it'll be good for both of us."

Relieved by your reassurance, he nodded, letting you guide him below deck to his quarters. The door clicked shut, and you pushed him onto the bed, climbing on top again. "First, relax," you said, your voice soothing as you peeled off his shirt, exposing his inked torso. Your fingers explored him slowly, tracing every line, every curve, making him shiver. "Touch me like this," you instructed, guiding his hands to your clothes, helping him undress you piece by piece until you were both bare.

He was mesmerized, his eyes wide as he took in your body. You kissed down his neck, his chest, teasing his nipples with your tongue until he groaned. "See? Just feel it," you whispered, your hand wrapping around his length—hard, throbbing, and already leaking at the tip. You stroked him slowly, watching his reactions. "Tell me what feels good."

Law bit his lip, his hips bucking slightly into your hand. "That… fuck, that does." But as you picked up the pace, coating your palm with his precum for smoother slides, he tensed up. His muscles clenched, his breath shallow—he was holding back, fighting the building pressure in his core. He didn't want to finish too soon, didn't want to disappoint you. Not yet, he thought desperately, gritting his teeth.

You noticed immediately—the way his body stiffened, his abs contracting as he tried to edge himself away from the brink. A mischievous smile crossed your lips. "Oh, you're holding back on me? Trying to be all tough?" You leaned down, your breath hot against his ear. "That's cute, but naughty boys who don't let go get punished."

Before he could protest, you tightened your grip, stroking faster, your other hand cupping his balls and massaging them gently. "Let me teach you a real lesson," you purred. Law gasped, his resolve crumbling as the pleasure overwhelmed him. "W-wait, I—" But it was too late; his body betrayed him, and he came hard, ropes of cum spilling over your hand and his stomach, his hips jerking uncontrollably. He groaned loudly, eyes squeezing shut in ecstasy mixed with embarrassment.

You didn't stop. "That's one," you said teasingly, wiping your hand on the sheets before dipping down to clean him with your tongue, lapping up the mess while he was still sensitive. He twitched, oversensitive, but you held his thighs down. "Punishment means you don't get a break." Your mouth enveloped him fully now, sucking him back to hardness despite his whimpers. He was a mess—panting, sweating, his tattooed hands fisting the sheets.

"Fuck… too much," he muttered, but his cock betrayed him, swelling again under your expert attention. You bobbed your head, hollowing your cheeks, your tongue swirling around the tip until he was thrusting weakly into your mouth. His eyes flew open, a strangled cry escaping as he came again, flooding your mouth. You swallowed greedily, humming in approval.

"Two," you counted, pulling off with a pop. Law was trembling now, his chest heaving, but you weren't done. Climbing onto him, you positioned yourself over his still-hard length and sank down slowly. He filled you perfectly, stretching you in all the right ways. "Now, for the finale," you whispered, starting to ride him.

He tried to hold on, his hands gripping your hips, but you bounced relentlessly, clenching around him on every downstroke. "Come on, Traffy… give me another." His head thrashed side to side, moans turning into pleas as the overstimulation built. You reached down, rubbing your own clit to chase your peak, but focused on him—grinding harder, faster.

The third orgasm hit him like a wave, his body arching off the bed as he spilled deep inside you, crying out your name in a broken voice. You followed soon after, clenching around him in bliss, but even as you came down, you kept moving, milking him through a fourth—smaller, but intense enough to make his vision blur.

By the time you finally slowed, Law was boneless beneath you, eyes half-lidded, barely conscious. His breaths came in ragged gasps, his body slick with sweat and spent. "Y-you… almost killed me," he rasped weakly, a faint smile on his lips.

You chuckled, collapsing beside him and pulling him into your arms. "Lesson learned? Don't hold back next time." He nodded faintly, already drifting off, utterly exhausted but satisfied in a way he'd never imagined.

“I’m going down to the mines. Anyone who takes stuff from my chest, I’ll blow up their house with TNT, just so you know,” Trafalgar Law says, leaning slightly forward in his gaming chair, his golden eyes locked on the Minecraft screen. The faint voices from his headset tell you he’s chatting with his gaming buddies.

“Playing Minecraft, huh?” you say, a teasing edge to your voice, arms crossed as you watch him.

“Hm hm,” Law hums in acknowledgment, not taking his eyes off the screen, his usual calm and confident demeanor intact.

You step closer and wrap your arms around him from behind, looping them around his neck. Planting a small kiss near his jaw, you glance at the screen with him. The chat window catches your eye with its colorful text:

“Nami_CatBurglar joined the game”

“Nico_Robin joined the game”

“Tashigi_SwordLover joined the game”

“How about giving me a little attention?” you say, running your fingers through his messy black hair, a hint of a pout in your voice.

“Once this round’s done, alright?” Law replies, that cool, slightly mocking smirk tugging at his lips.

“Law, you’re playing Minecraft!” you say, emphasizing the word with a touch of exasperation.

“I know,” he says, eyes still glued to the screen, unfazed.

You let out a deep sigh and decide to head back to bed, but just as you turn, Law grabs your arm and pulls you onto his lap. “Stay here,” he says, his voice carrying that commanding yet soft tone. You settle onto his lap, facing him, and rest your head in the crook of his neck. From this angle, you can hear the voices coming through his headset. Girls won’t shut up, constantly mentioning Law—

You wiggle a bit on Law’s lap, teasingly grinding against him. A sharp smack lands on your ass. “Behave, Y/N,” Law warns, his voice laced with both a warning and that dark, magnetic charm.

But you don’t stop, continuing until you feel a hardness beneath you. You press a few soft kisses to his jaw. Law sets the mouse down, grabs your chin, and plants a hard, searing kiss on your lips. Then, as if nothing happened, he turns back to his game.

You huff and slide off his lap, kneeling between his legs. Your hand finds his length through his boxers. His brows furrow, lips parting slightly. You tug the boxers down, wrapping your hand around his shaft and moving slowly. Your eyes stay locked on his, watching every reaction. Law swallows hard, muttering, “Fuck,” his voice shaky.

“Something wrong, babe?” you ask, your tone sweet but teasing.

He pulls off his headset and mutes the mic. One hand grabs your hair, the other slips its middle fingers into your mouth. “You’re too naughty,” he says, that deep, controlled voice sending shivers down your spine. “How many times have I told you to behave?”

You suck on his fingers eagerly, but he pulls them back, kisses your lips, and returns to his game. Undeterred, you continue, taking his length in your hand and running your tongue along the shaft. You take the tip into your mouth, sucking lightly, and glance up to see Law biting his lip. You push yourself further, taking nearly all of him, moving rhythmically.

But he acts like he’s ignoring you, which pisses you off. You start to pull away, but Law’s hands tangle in your hair. “A little more, please,” he says, his voice losing its usual control. As you take him deeper, he brings a hand to his mouth, biting it to muffle his sounds.

“Guys… uh, something came up… I gotta go,” he says into the headset, rushed. After fiddling with it, he turns to you. “Fuck, Y/N, please… more… I’m gonna come,” he groans, voice breaking.

Your movements are slow, teasing, driving him crazy. “God… I’m sorry, babe, I should’ve paid attention to you,” he pants. “Now… I’m gonna come.” He grips your hair, pulling you closer as he releases. “Fuck, you were amazing,” he mutters, slumping back in his gaming chair.

You pull back, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Law grabs your chin, smirking dangerously. “Naughty girls get punished, don’t they, Y/N?”

You give him your best puppy-dog eyes. “But you didn’t pay attention to me,” you say sweetly. “Good boyfriends take care of their girls, don’t they, babe?”

He grins. “Guess you’re right,” he says, pulling you back onto his lap. His hand slides up your thigh. “Now I need to give you a reason to forgive me for neglecting you, don’t I?” His thumb teases your clit as he speaks. You push against his hand, letting out a soft moan.

That wicked smirk spreads across Law’s face. “So wet,” he says. He lifts you by the waist, bending you over the desk face-down, and checks the computer one last time. “Can’t let the others see how sexy my girl is, can I?” He grabs your hips and delivers a hard smack.

“Law!” you gasp.

He lifts one of your legs onto the desk. “Fuck, you’re so wet for me,” he says, pressing himself against your entrance. “Law, please… please fuck me,” you beg.

“As you wish, babe,” he murmurs, thrusting into you fully. He doesn’t wait for you to adjust, moving immediately. You grip the edge of the desk tightly. One hand keeps you steady while the other gathers your hair into a messy ponytail, pulling you back toward him.

“Law…” you moan, biting your lip.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he groans into your ear, leaving marks along your neck.

“Law… I’m gonna come,” you say, trembling.

“Yes, babe, come all over my cock,” he says, not slowing down. You release with a loud moan, and Law pulls out, finishing on your hips.

“Fuck,” he whispers in your ear, then scoops you into his arms. “I think I want to take care of my pretty girl in the shower now.”