#lord please

"awww whats that fucked out look for princess? i havent even done anything yet"

Y’all are FEEDING my inbox 😩😩😩 this is so good

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The heavy oak door of Shikamaru’s office seals with a quiet click, cutting you off from the rest of the tower. The air inside is warm, faintly dusty with the scent of old parchment, ink, and the subtle cedar-and-smoke undertone of Shikamaru’s cologne. He’s slouched in the high-backed chair, shadows from the afternoon sun striping across his half-lidded eyes as his brush scratches steadily over reports.

You crawl under the desk without a sound, heart hammering. The moment your fingers brush his zipper, his thigh tenses under your palm. You free his cock—already thickening, heavy and warm—and wrap your lips around the flushed head. The taste hits you instantly: clean skin, faint salt from the bead of pre-cum leaking against your tongue, and that unmistakable masculine musk that makes your pussy clench.

Then his left hand fists into your hair.

No warning. He shoves you down hard, forcing every thick inch past your tongue until your nose is crushed against the soft fabric of his pants and his cock is buried to the hilt in your throat. Your gag reflex spasms violently around him; wet, choking sounds bubble up as your throat convulses, squeezing him in rhythmic, involuntary pulses. Tears flood your eyes. Spit floods your mouth and immediately starts dripping in thick strings down your chin.

“Troublesome…” he breathes, voice low and lazy, the vibration traveling straight through his cock into your throat. He doesn’t let up. His fingers stay tangled tight in your hair, knuckles pressed to your scalp, holding you pinned while he casually continues signing documents. The soft scratch of his brush is the only other sound besides your muffled, desperate gulps for air and the wet squelch every time your throat flutters around him.

Minutes bleed into hours.

Every tiny shift you make—every attempt to pull back even a centimeter for oxygen—earns you a sharp yank back down. The burn in your throat grows raw and fiery. Your jaw aches like it’s unhinged, muscles trembling from being forced open so long. Thick ropes of saliva spill constantly now, soaking his balls, dripping onto the floorboards with soft, obscene plops. Your knees are sore against the hard wood. Between your thighs, your pussy is a slick, throbbing disaster; arousal has been dripping nonstop, leaving a warm, slippery puddle that cools against your skin and fills the cramped space under the desk with the sweet, heady scent of your cunt.

You can hear everything.

The low murmur of jonin voices through the door during a briefing. The creak of the chair as Shikamaru leans forward to stamp a seal. His steady breathing—slow and controlled, only occasionally hitching when your throat squeezes particularly hard around him. The wet, filthy sounds of your mouth being used echo obscenely in the small space: constant gagging, slurping, the faint click of your throat when he twitches inside you.

By the time the tower quiets and golden light turns to deep orange, you’re a wreck. Your vision is blurry with tears, mascara streaked down your cheeks. Your throat feels bruised and swollen. Your jaw is locked open, aching so deeply it hurts to even twitch. The puddle beneath you has spread, sticky and cool against your bare thighs.

Shikamaru finally pulls you off with a slow, lewd pop. His cock slides free—glistening, veined, flushed dark red, and still rock-hard—trailing thick strands of your spit that cling to your swollen lips. Cool air hits your abused throat and you gasp, coughing wetly, drool spilling freely down your chin onto your tits.

He looks down at you with that signature lazy smirk, dark eyes gleaming with amusement and hunger. His thumb drags across your puffy bottom lip, smearing the mess, pressing down so your mouth falls open again on instinct.

“Awww… what’s that fucked out look for, princess?” His voice is rougher now, laced with dark satisfaction. “I haven’t even done anything yet.”

He taps his slick cock against your cheek with a wet smack, letting you feel how hot and heavy it is, how it throbs against your skin.

“You came here trying to be sneaky… now you’re gonna sit right there and keep this throat nice and warm for me.” His fingers slide back into your soaked hair, guiding your trembling lips back toward his glistening length. “Open. Wider. Good girl.”

He sinks back in slowly this time, savoring every inch as your raw, fluttering throat stretches around him again. The taste is stronger now—your own spit mixed with his leaking pre-cum—and the burn returns instantly, delicious and overwhelming.

“Keep it wet,” he murmurs, already reaching for another scroll. “We’ve got a lot of paperwork left… and I’m nowhere near finished using you.”