#smut thoughts

The first time he saw you was three months ago, on a street he liked to frequently get his blades sharpened. You were wrapped in pale silk, standing out among the rough crowd you didnt belong there, but you kept coming back to the armourers stall, to the weapon merchants, always lingering just long enough for him to notice. He noticed everything.

Then the yearly games began.

Every week you were in the noble seats, high above the blood soaked sand, hands folded in your lap, eyes wide and unblinking. You never cheered like the others. You just watched. Watched the way he moved, the way his axe sang through the air, the way he roared when he won. He started fighting for those eyes. Every swing, every kill, every drop of blood spilled was a message Look at me. See me. Remember me.

He learned your habits. You always wore soft colours that made your skin glow. You always left before the final fight ended, slipping away like a dream at dawn. He hated that part. He started ending fights faster just to catch one last glimpse of you leaving.

He asked around for any information about you. A soft human with delicate features, untouched, curious about the arena but too shy to speak to anyone. A virgin prize, some whispered. Untouched. Waiting. He waited too. Week after week, victory after victory, stacking bodies at his feet and gold in his purse, all so the arena master would owe him one perfect prize when the time was right. 

Tonight was the time. He saw you the moment he stepped into the sand. Same seat. Same wide curious eyes. Same pretty mouth parted in awe when he crushed his opponents skull. When the fight master asked what he wanted there was only one answer.

“Name your prize champion!” The fight masters voice boomed

The roar still echoed in the arena when Gorvaks blood coated finger pointed straight at you.

“That one,” he snarled. “Mine.”

Ten thousand voices exploded. You stood frozen in the noble seats, silk robes suddenly too thin, heart battering against bone. Before you could stand, before you could even breathe you felt arms grabbing onto you, dragging you towards the victor of this years games. As you stood infront of the towering orc you had to pretend the smell of the iron from the blood staining his green skin didnt bother you in fear of what he might do yet the thought of just what exactly would he do if you did show fear made you aroused just a tiny bit. One massive hand closed around your wrist and pulled. You stumbled after him down the dark tunnels, heart hammering and silk tearing on the rough stone. You opened your mouth to protest, but no sound came. He never once slowed. 

The chamber door slammed shut behind you as he pushed you inside. Once inside you only had a few moments to look around the room as gorvak walked to put his weapons away, Gorvaks chamber seemed to be carved from the same dark stone as the arena tunnels, but the space feels more like a den than a room. The floor is almost entirely covered in thick, overlapping furs a black wolf, white bear, and one massive spotted pelt from some beast you dont recognize. They are soft and smell faintly of smoke, pine, and him and that makes you hotter all of a sudden, blaming the already lit fireplace by a wall for the increase in temperature. Weapons line the walls a massive double headed axe, several shorter throwing axes, and a few other weapons all within arms reach. Their edges catch the firelight like hungry smiles.

In the far corner you spot a sunken stone tub wide enough for an orc and whoever he chooses to share it with, fed by a bronze pipe that drips constantly, keeping the water steaming even when no one tends it. 

The sound of something dropping snapped you out of the silent judgment of his room you turned to face him and gasp, Gorvak had dropped his leather covering and was standing with his cock out heavy and dark, flushed with victory, a bead of clear fluid already pearling at the slit. Your feet seemingly rooted to the ground as he took a few wide strides in your direction, your eyes wide and your palms sweaty in fear of what he was planning to do only for him to walk past you as he stepped into the tub, sank down with a hiss, and fixed you with burning golden eyes. 

“Draw it hotter,” he commanded. “Then come here. A wife washes the blood off her husband before he breeds her.” 

You stayed rooted in the center of the room, arms wrapped around yourself. Your voice came out small. “I…I dont–”

His eyes snapped to yours, molten gold. “I said hotter.”

The command cracked through the room like a whip. Your feet moved before your mind caught up. You twisted the bronze tap. Boiling water thundered in raising clouds of pine scented steam. When the tub was full you turned back, hugging yourself tighter.

Gorvak watched every tremble.

“Take off your robes and get in.”

You shook your head, just once. The movement felt tiny and useless

A low growl rumbled from his chest. “I waited months for you little wife. Im not waiting another heartbeat.” 

Your fingers found the silk ties. They shook so badly you fumbled twice. Finally the robe slipped from your shoulders and pooled at your feet. Cool air kissed skin that had never been bare for anyone. You stepped in quickly the heat shocked you red. A small, frightened sound escaped your throat. Gorvak caught you by the waist before your knees buckled, steadying you between his spread thighs letting the water hide you to the breasts.

Gorvaks hand rose, slow enough that you could have flinched away. You didnt. Calloused fingers cupped your chin, tilting your face up. 

“Good,” he rumbled. “You learn.” 

He handed you the soap and cloth. You washed him with shaking hands broad chest, scarred arms, the thick column of his throat the fresh cuts that made him hiss. His skin burned under your palms, every swipe revealed more of the warrior who had just killed for the right to own you and you didnt know whether to fear that fact or be aroused by it. When the cloth drifted lower and brushed the tip of his cock, you jerked back. He groaned, head falling back, but kept his hands on the rim, letting you explore the thing that would claim you tonight. He then grabbed your wrist keeping your hand on his cock. “Keep going.” 

You swallowed, but your hands obeyed. Soap and water made him slick you stroked once, twice, clumsy with terror and possibly something hotter ’must be the water’. His groan vibrated through the water. When your courage faltered he guided your grip, showing you exactly how he liked it, slow and firm until his hips flexed and the head of his cock breached the surface like a threat.

“Enough” he rasped.

He hauled you forward. You straddled his lap before you could think, water sloshing over the rim. The blunt head of him nudged your entrance. You tried to pull back his hands locked on your hips he stilled instantly, Gorvak felt the tremor in your thighs the moment you settled on his lap, the moment the blunt head of his cock pressed against untouched flesh.

“No,” he said, voice low but iron hard. “Not like this.”

You tried to hide your face against his wet shoulder, mortified at the tears already spilling. He cupped the back of your head instead, keeping you close, letting you feel the thunder of his heart. “Listen to me, little wife. I have waited months to claim you. I will not tear what is mine on the first night.” 

With one arm banded around your waist he lifted you clear off his cock as easily as lifting a bird, ignoring your startled gasp. Water splashed down your joined bodies as he turned you, settling you on the wide stone bench inside the tub so you sat facing him, knees drawn up, thighs trembling. 

“Open,” he ordered softly.

You shook your head, arms crossing over your chest. “I…I cant. Im not… Ive never–”

Something flickered across his face, raw almost pained. He leaned forward until his forehead rested against yours, tusks framing your cheeks. He didnt repeat himself. He simply took your knees in his huge hands and parted them himself, slow but unstoppable, until you were bared to the steaming air and his burning gaze. Tears welled and spilled before you could stop them. “Im scared,” you whispered. “I dont know how to be what you want.” His thumbs brushed the tears from your cheeks, smearing them across your skin like war paint. 

“I waited months” he went on, voice dropping to something reverent and terrible. “Watched you sit in those seats week after week, soft and curious and untouched. Every time you looked at me I thought one day Ill have her trembling under me, terrified and wet and mine.

Your sob caught in your throat.

He drew back just enough to meet your eyes. “Tell me to stop and I will carry you to the furs and hold you until morning. No more. But if you stay here, if you let me open you, understand what it means. I will never be satisfied with once. I will breed you tonight, tomorrow, every moon until your body forgets how to be anything but full of me. That scares you?”

You nodded, trembling.

“Good” he growled. “It should.”

The first touch was not his cock.It was one thick finger, tracing your folds with deliberate gentleness. You flinched he paused, waiting until you relaxed a fraction, then traced again, parting you, learning every shiver. “Sensitive,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Good. means youll feel everything I do to you.” 

He circled the small, untouched pearl at the top until your hips jerked without permission. Only then did he press lower, gathering your slick and his own leaking seed, spreading it everywhere. When the pad of his finger finally pressed against your entrance you tensed so hard he felt it. 

“Breathe out,” he coaxed voice rough with restraint. “Let me in.” 

You exhaled on a sob. 

“Shh” he whispered against your trembling mouth “Cry all you want. Tears taste like surrender, and I am addicted to the flavor.”

The finger slid inside, slow and steady, stretching tender flesh for the first time. It burned but not like before, the heat of the water and his patience turned the burn into a strange fluttering ache. He watched your face the entire time, golden eyes unblinking. When your brow smoothed he crooked his finger, searching and found the spot that made your back arch and a broken sound spill from your lips.

“There,” he growled satisfaction and hunger warring in his voice. “Right there. Thats where my cock will live.” 

He worked you open carefully, one finger until you rocked against his hand, then two scissoring gently, curling and stroking until your thighs fell open on their own and your hands clutched his forearms for balance instead of pushing him away. Only when your hips were chasing his touch did he add a third, stretching you wider the burn now sweet and overwhelming.

When the third finger breached you and you arched with a broken wail, he did not soothe.

He curled them hard, stroked that raw spot inside until pleasure stabbed through the pain, and growled, “Remember this feeling. Every time you think of running, remember how easily I make you come apart on my hand alone.”

You were sobbing quietly, not from pain but from the intensity of it, from the way pleasure and fear braided together until you couldnt tell them apart.

Gorvak leaned forward, tusks framing your tear streaked face, and licked a tear from your cheek.

“Beautiful,” he whispered. “My brave little wife opening so pretty for me.”

When he finally withdrew his fingers you whimpered at the loss you chased them with a helpless sound, then flushed crimson at your own greed. He saw it. His smile was slow, possessive, and utterly without mercy.

He brought them to your lips.

“Taste yourself. Taste what you made for your husband.” 

You obeyed, shy and trembling, the salty sweet flavor making you flush hotter.

You clung to him, terrified and drowning in him, and he drank it in. 

He rose then, water falling off his body and lifted you with him. One arm under your knees the other cradling your back, he stepped out of the tub and carried you to the furs still dripping. He laid you down on your back, knees bent and spread wide. 

Only then did he kneel between them, cock jutting heavy and dark, flushed with need, but his hands were steady the broad head of his cock kissing the entrance he had just prepared.

“Still scared?” he asked, voice shaking with restraint.

You nodded, tears still falling.

“Good,” he whispers, and he teases your entrance, about to claimthe prize he’s been fighting for all along. “Means you finally understand who you belong to.”

“Im going to take you now” he said, lining himself up, the broad head kissing your stretched, slick entrance. “Slow. Youll feel every inch, and youll take it, because this cunt was made for me. But you say stop and I stop. Understand?”

You nodded, biting your lip.

He pushed.

The first inch slid in on a single, controlled thrust. You cried out, fingers pawing at the furs. He froze letting you adjust, letting the burn settle. When your hips rocked the tiniest fraction he gave you another inch, his tusks scrape your throat as he leans in breath scalding.

“Every week you sat up there in those seats, thinking you were safe behind stone and silk. You werent. I counted every breath you took. I memorized the way your lips parted when I spilled blood. Every swing of my axe was a promise one day Ill drag you out of that crowd and lock you to me forever.”

You whimper. He sinks another inch and snarls against your ear.

“You don’t get to watch from a distance. You watch me from my lap, from my cock, from the crook of my arm where I claim you every night. You dont walk these streets unless my hand is on you. You dont breathe unless I allow it.”

Another inch. Your nails dig into his shoulders as tears spill a sob escapes your lips

“Say it” he growls, voice shaking with barely controlled violence. “Tell me who owns you.”

“Yours” you choke out.

"Again" he says with barely any control left

"Yours!" you say abit louder this time

"Louder little wife, they wont hear you outside like that" he says as he stops pushing his cock in making you whimper. "YOURS GORVAK! YOURS!"

He slams the rest of the way home in one brutal thrust, burying himself to the root, claiming every untouched inch. The stretch tore a cry from your throat. He was too big too hot, too everything. Halfway down you froze, tears spilling. He held you still lips brushing your temple.

“Breathe little wife. Ive got you.”

Slowly the burn melted into aching fullness. A broken moan escapes as you were flush against his hips and he was buried deeper than you thought possible.

He gave you one heartbeat to adjust, then began to move slow, grinding rolls that dragged over every raw nerve. His hands slid to your belly, pressing hard so you felt him there.

“This is where my sons will grow. I’m breeding you tonight, tomorrow, every day until your body swells with me. I want you round and dripping and leaking milk, still spreading these legs because even heavy with my child youll beg for my cock.”

His thrusts turned harder, deeper, your one fist grabbing the furs beneath you and the other on Gorvacks thick bicep.  

“You’ll never know what it feels like to be empty again. Ill fuck you awake, fuck you asleep, fuck you at the victory feasts with my war band watching so they know exactly who this belly belongs to. Ill keep you chained to my cock if I have to, plugged and full every single hour until your body has no choice but to take.

You sobbed, clinging to his shoulders, terrified and safe and aching all at once.

“Say it again” he snarled.

“Im yours,” you cried. “Only yours!”

He slammed deep and spilled with a roar, flooding you in thick endless pulses. You felt every one, felt him swell and throb and mark you inside. When he finished he stayed buried, plugging you, keeping it all.  He pulls back just enough to look down at where youre joined, your slick sticking to his lower half making his cock twitch at the obscene sight of your virgin cunt stretched tight around his girth, his spend already trying to leak out. He snarls and shoves two thick fingers alongside his cock, pushing the leaking seed back in, fucking it deeper with his fingers while you wail.

“None of it escapes. Not one fucking drop. You squeeze and you hold what I give you, little wife. You carry it. You grow it. You birth my heirs and then you open your legs again the same moon because Im never finished.”

His eyes are wild now, gold gone molten, pupils blown wide with breeding madness.

“I want ten. Fifteen. Twenty. I want your body ruined for anyone else, stretched and soft and always, always full of me. I want every orc in this city to smell me on you, in you” 

He sits back on the furs and in one smooth motion youre straddling his lap, thighs spread wide over his hips, his cock still buried to the root. The new angle drags a broken sound from your throat he swallows it with a low growl and settles his huge hands on your waist, keeping you pinned. 

“Ride me little wife” he rasps “Take whats already yours. Show me how a virgin takes her husband”

You try to move and falter, oversensitive and shaking.

Gorvaks right hand slides from your hip, slow, deliberate, until it rests palm up on the furs beside your knee. An offering. A question. A dare.

You stare at it scarred knuckles, thick green fingers that have killed men these past months, and something inside you cracks open.

Your smaller hand slips into his, trembling. Your fingers barely span half his palm, but the moment you lace them together he closes his grip like a manacle, gentle and unbreakable.

“There you are” he breathes, voice ragged with reverence.

You try to rise and your legs nearly give out. He steadies you with one iron arm banded across your lower back, guiding you up until only the fat crown stretches your entrance, then lets gravity pull you down again, slow, merciless, every inch dragging over swollen nerves until youre seated to the root and gasping. “That’s it ” he rasps, thumb stroking the back of your trapped hand. “Feel how deep I live in you now.”

He sets the rhythm slow, grinding lifts that make your thighs burn and your belly flutter, then hard drops that punch the air from your lungs and slap wet skin on skin. Each time you sink he thrusts up to meet you, forcing himself deeper, the thick head kissing your womb like a threat and a promise.

“Look at me,” he orders again.

You do, tears still falling, and he drinks them in with dark, hungry eyes.

“You’ll ride me like this every morning” he vows, thrusting up to meet you, slow and punishing. “Heavy with my son, belly round and tight, tits leaking milk down my chest while you still fuck yourself on my cock. Youll waddle through camp with my seed still dripping out of you because I took you again at dawn. Never hiding it. Never. I want every warrior to see this belly and know exactly who breeds his wife.”

Your free hand claws at his chest for balance the one he holds he lifts to his mouth, tusks scraping your knuckles, tongue licking the salt from your skin.

“Feel that?” he growls, pressing your joined hands to your lower belly so you feel him moving beneath the skin. “Thats where my army starts. Right here.”

He shifts you just a little, lifting your hips and tilting them forward.

Now every time you sink down, the thick ridge of his cock rubs hard over that one perfect spot inside you. It feels like lightning. Your breath catches, your thighs shake, and suddenly you cant help it you start moving faster, chasing that bright, hot burst of pleasure, rolling your hips again and again because you need more of it, need it so bad it hurts.

“Greedy little wife,” he laughs, dark and delighted. “Already learning how to fuck yourself on me.”

"Nngh〜 please gorvak" you whimper

His free hand slides to your ass, spreads you wider, controls the pace now, lifting and slamming you down until the furs bunch beneath his shoulders and the wet slap of your bodies echoes off stone. Seed from the first load leaks around his cock with every thrust, smearing your thighs, his hips and the furs beneath. 

You’re close, so close your vision whites out at the edges.

“Come” he snarls, slamming up hard enough to jolt your whole body. “Milk me. Pull my seed deep where it belongs.”

You shatter.

The climax rips through you like a blade, back arching, walls clenching so hard around him that he roars, hips jerking, and spills again, thick, scalding ropes painting your insides until your belly feels hot and tight and impossibly full.

He keeps moving through it, drawing out every aftershock until youre sobbing, boneless and  draped over his chest.

Only then does he still, cock still pulsing, still plugging every drop. His hand never leaves yours. He brings your joined fingers to his lips, kisses each one, tusks once again grazing tender skin.

“Second load” he whispers against your knuckles, voice hoarse. “And I’m still hard.” He rolls his hips lazily, slow and filthy, proving it. Your whimper makes him smile, slow and savage.

He presses your hand harder against the slight swell of your belly, forcing you to feel the heat of what hes already poured into you.

He still doesnt let go.

He falls back onto the furs, pulling you with him so you sprawl across his chest, still impaled, still joined hand to hand. His free arm locks around your waist, keeping you flush, keeping every drop sealed inside.

He rolls his hips lazily, still hard, still hungry.

“Third load coming, little wife,” he murmurs against your temple. “Then the fourth. Fifth. Until youre overflowing and your womb aches when I’m not inside it.”

“You’re going to give me an army,” he says, soft and lethal. “And every time you come on my cock you’ll remember who put it there.”

He kisses the inside of your wrist, right over the pulse that races for him now.

“Mine,” he says, soft and lethal. “Body. Womb. Pleasure. Pain. Future. All fucking mine.”

And then he starts again, slow, deep, endless, your hand locked in his the entire time.

The torches burn lower and lower until the room is only red embers and shadows.Gorvak never lets go of your hand. He keeps you on top of him, thighs spread wide, his thick cock buried in your sore, newly-opened body.

You were a virgin when the night began.

You are not one now, and he makes sure you feel every single moment of that truth.

He moves you slow at first, lifting your hips, letting you sink down inch by inch so you remember how it felt the first time he split you open. Your legs shake. Your breath comes in little hurt sounds. Every time you try to hide your face in his neck he pulls your hand to his lips and kisses your fingers, then makes you ride him harder.

“Again,” he growls each time you come, walls fluttering around him like youre still trying to push him out even while you pull him deeper. He spills inside you over and over hot, thick ropes that never seem to stop until your belly feels warm and tight and youre sure you can’t take any more.

But you do.

Fourth time.

Fifth time.

Sixth.

You lose count somewhere after the moon starts to fade.

Youre crying quietly now, not from pain anymore, just from how full you are, how raw, how completely his. Your thighs gave out hours ago  he just holds your hips and uses you gently, then roughly, then gently again, whispering the whole time.

“Still my virgin in every way that matters,” he rasps against your ear, voice cracked from hours of roaring. “No one else will ever have this. No one else will ever open you. No one else will ever put a child in you. Only me.”

When the first pale light slips through the high slit in the wall, youre laying over his chest, shaking, stuffed so full your belly looks softly swollen already.

His cock is still inside you, half hard, still leaking slow, steady pulses like he cant turn it off.

Gorvak kisses your wet cheeks, your swollen lips, the fresh bite on your neck that will scar.

“Morning little wife,” he murmurs, rolling his hips once, lazy and deep, drawing a broken whimper from you.

“Suns up,” he says, smiling against your hair. “Time to start again.”

And he does after giving you a nice full meal and a nice warm bath with him continuously spilling his seed inside

Outside, the war camp wakes to the low, steady sounds of their champion breeding his virgin prize again, and again, and again, until every soul in the city knows exactly who took your innocence and exactly who you belong to now.

He knows exactly what he’s doing. The little hitch in your breath, the way your hips twitch toward his mouth, the soft, broken whimpers that spill from your lips. He drinks them down like fine wine. Every sound you make is deliberate fuel for his ego, and the low, pleased hum that vibrates in his throat tells you he’s savoring every single one.

Your wide, glassy doe eyes lock onto his silver ones, pleading, shimmering with unshed tears of frustration. Something softens in his expression—just for a heartbeat—before that familiar wicked glint returns. He leans in without breaking eye contact and seals his mouth over your swollen clit in one hot, open-mouthed kiss.

The sudden wet heat makes your spine bow off the sheets. His lips are plush and firm at once, sucking gently, then harder, tongue flicking once against the oversensitive bud until your thighs quake around his ears. You chase the pressure instinctively, hips rolling up in a desperate grind, but he’s already pulling back with a slow, obscene pop, leaving your clit throbbing and glistening with his spit.

A pitiful whine tears out of you before you can stop it. You huff in frustration, chest heaving, and the sound of his deep, velvet chuckle rolls over your overheated skin like a physical caress.

“Patience, darling,” he drawls, voice low and syrupy with amusement. “Y'know I always give you what you want.”

He makes a deliberate performance of it then—long fingers moving to the cuffs of his crisp white shirt. He rolls each sleeve up with agonizing slowness, revealing inch after inch of corded forearm. The pale skin is dusted with fine golden hair; thick blue veins snake beneath the surface, flexing subtly as he works the fabric higher until it bunches at his elbows. The sight alone sends a fresh gush of wetness dripping down your slit—your greedy little cunt clenching so hard it almost hurts.

“Beg a little prettier, baby.”

Draco settles back between your spread thighs like he owns the space and you. His broad shoulders nudging your knees even wider. He’s a vision in the low light, pale skin kissed with a faint flush high on his cheekbones, silver-blond hair slightly mussed from your earlier fingers, those storm-grey eyes locked on yours with lazy, predatory patience. The tip of his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, slow and deliberate, and the sight makes your cunt clench so hard a fresh bead of slick wells up and trickles down.

“‘S’pretty, Draco,” you breathe, eyes wide and shining with pure, helpless adoration as you stare down at him. You know it’s not enough, he loves making you work for it, but the words tumble out anyway, soft and reverent.

He huffs a quiet, amused sound against your skin, the warm puff of breath making your swollen clit twitch. “Sweet girl,” he murmurs, voice velvet-wrapped steel. “You think batting those pretty lashes is going to get you what you want?”

His fingers never stop their cruel circuit. Long, elegant digits gliding through your drenched folds, circling your fluttering entrance with feather-light pressure. You’re soaked, obscenely so; every slow pass of his fingertips drags more of your slick downward until it’s coating the sensitive skin between your cheeks, pooling cool and slippery against your puckered hole. The wet sounds are filthy in the quiet room. Soft, rhythmic schlick-schlick as he toys with you, never pushing inside, never giving you the stretch or friction you’re dying for.

He dips his head and starts trailing open-mouthed kisses up the tender inside of your thigh slow, deliberate, teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver. First one thigh, then the other, lips plush and hot, tongue flicking out to taste the salt of your skin. He’s close, so close, his sharp nose brushing the crease where thigh meets cunt, but he skirts around your aching center every time, leaving your clit throbbing untouched, pulsing with every heartbeat.

“Please, Draco,” you whimper, voice cracking on his name. “Need your mouth—or—or your fingers—plea—oh!”

The plea breaks into a sharp, needy gasp as he finally—finally—presses the flat of his tongue against your entrance in one long, languid lick. He groans low in his throat at the taste of you, the sound vibrating straight through your core. Then he pulls back just enough to speak, lips shiny with your arousal, voice rougher now.

“Louder, darling. Tell me exactly what this greedy little cunt needs.” His middle finger dips just inside you—barely past the first knuckle—curling once, teasing your fluttering walls before slipping free again. “Use your words, or I’ll keep you like this all night. Dripping, clenching, begging, and getting nothing but my tongue on your thighs.”

Your hips jerk helplessly toward his face; another pathetic whine spills from your throat as more slick leaks out, warm and sticky, sliding down to dampen the sheets beneath you.

His smirk is devastating, like he’s savoring the exact moment your composure cracks. He watches you with hooded silver eyes: your lashes fluttering, squeezed shut in pure, trembling frustration; your lips swollen dark and glossy, bitten raw from trying to stifle the pathetic little sounds spilling out of you.

“Want t'come, Draco, please.”

The words come out high and broken, a full-on whine that curls straight through him. Warm, liquid satisfaction slithers down his spine, pooling low in his gut. His cock is achingly hard beneath the strained fabric of his trousers and has been for the last half hour, throbbing in time with every squirm of your hips, every fresh gush of slick that coats his hand. He hasn’t even touched himself, hasn’t needed to; your wrecked little pleas and the obscene wet sounds of your cunt are more than enough to keep him on the razor’s edge.

“Yeah?” His voice is low, rougher now, velvet fraying at the seams.

Without warning he pushes one long finger inside you—all the way, slow and deliberate—until the cold bite of his signet ring presses flush against your soaked entrance. You gasp, hips jerking up instinctively, trying to chase more, but he twists the digit once, curling it hard against that spongy spot that makes your thighs shake… then stills it completely.

Just… lets it sit there.

Thick and unmoving, stretching you open just enough to remind you what you’re missing. Your walls flutter desperately around the single intrusion, clenching and releasing in frantic little pulses, trying to pull him deeper, but he doesn’t budge. The contrast is torture: the cool metal of his ring biting into your overheated flesh, the heavy, unyielding pressure of his knuckle against your entrance, the slick heat of your own arousal dripping down his wrist in slow, sticky rivulets.

“Why should I let you come?” he murmurs, tilting his head like he’s genuinely curious. His free hand slides up your thigh, thumb brushing feather-light over the trembling muscle there, smearing your wetness across your skin in a lazy, possessive arc. “You’ve been such a good, whiny little thing tonight… but good girls earn it, don’t they?”

He leans in closer, breath hot against your clit close enough that every exhale sends a fresh jolt through the swollen bud, but still not touching. Your hips roll uselessly, chasing the ghost of friction, and another pitiful whimper escapes you.

“Look at this mess you’re making,” he continues, voice dripping with mock sympathy as he watches another bead of slick slide down to join the growing wet spot beneath you. “Dripping all over my hand, clenching around one finger like it’s the only thing keeping you alive. Such a pretty little thing.”

He finally gives the smallest, cruelest curl of his finger, just enough to graze that spot again, before going still once more.

“Tell me exactly why this greedy cunt deserves to come on my fingers, darling. Make it convincing.” His eyes flick up to yours, dark with want. “I could just leave you like this, empty until you’re crying for real.”

Your breath hitches on a sob; your whole body is trembling now, thighs quaking around his shoulders, cunt spasming uselessly around that single, unmoving finger.

He waits.

Patient. Smug. Utterly in control.

And loving every second of your unraveling.

Then, finally—mercifully—he moves after watching an angry tear slip onto your cheek. Oh, he could be so mean. Maybe you had earned it after all.

Two more fingers join the first in one brutal, slick thrust, stretching you wide around the thick intrusion. The cold bite of his rings drag along your fluttering walls; the stretch burns so good it makes your eyes roll back. He doesn’t give you time to adjust—just curls all three deep, pads grinding ruthlessly against that swollen, spongy spot inside you while his thumb finds your clit and starts circling with firm, relentless pressure.

“ah!—fuck—Draco—!” The words come out slurred, high and wrecked.

He growls low against your thigh, the sound vibrating straight to your core. “That’s it. Let me hear how stupid this pretty cunt gets when I finally fuck it right.”

His pace turns punishing, long, rough strokes that piston in and out, curling on every drag out to bully that spot until your hips are bucking wildly, chasing the brutal rhythm. Wet, obscene squelches fill the room with every thrust; your slick coats his hand to the wrist, dripping in thick strings down his forearm, soaking the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt. The mess is everywhere, cool and sticky between your cheeks, pooling beneath you, making the sheets cling to your ass.

You come hard and fast on the third brutal grind against your g-spot—back arching off the bed, a strangled scream tearing from your throat as your walls clamp down like a vice around his fingers. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow. Just keeps fucking you through it, thumb grinding merciless circles on your clit until the pleasure twists sharp and painful, tipping into overstimulation.

“Draco—s'too much—can’t—!”

“You can,” he snarls, voice rough with his own fraying restraint. “And you will.”

He scissors his fingers on the next thrust, stretching you wider, making room for the obscene gush of slick that follows. Your second orgasm builds terrifyingly fast—coiling low and tight, different this time, almost too intense. Your thighs clamp around his head; your hands fist the sheets so hard your knuckles bleach white.

“C'mon, baby,” he coos mockingly, lips brushing your pulsing clit. “Give me another one. Make a fucking mess all over my hand.”

One more cruel curl, one more punishing grind of his thumb and you shatter. This one rips through you like lightning. Your whole body locks up, then convulses; a hot, gushing rush floods out around his fingers as you come so hard your vision whites out. You’re shaking, sobbing his name in broken little gasps, cunt pulsing and fluttering so violently it almost pushes his fingers out. He works you through every aftershock, slowing only when your cries turn truly wrecked and your hips start jerking away from the overstimulation.

When he finally pulls his fingers free with a wet pop, you’re boneless—limbs heavy, chest heaving, cunt still twitching with aftershocks. A thick string of your release connects his glistening fingers to your swollen entrance before it snaps. He brings them to his mouth, sucking them clean with slow, deliberate drag of his tongue, eyes never leaving yours.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice thick with dark satisfaction and something all too fond. “Fucked dumb already and I haven’t even put my cock in you yet.”

He rises onto his knees between your spread thighs, finally undoing his trousers with shaking hands. Proof he’s been just as wrecked by this as you have. His cock springs free: thick, flushed dark at the tip, veins standing out stark against pale skin, already leaking steadily. It looks obscene next to your smaller, trembling body—too big, almost, for how swollen and sensitive you already are.

He grips the base and drags the fat head through your soaked folds, coating himself in your release. The blunt pressure against your entrance makes you whimper, hips twitching toward him even though you’re oversensitive and shaking.

“Beg one more time,” he rasps, voice strained now, control hanging by a thread. “Tell me how badly this tight little cunt needs to be split open on my cock.”

“Please Draco, need it—need you—fuck me p–”

That does it.

He snaps his hips forward in one deep, ruthless thrust, burying every thick inch inside you until his hips meet yours with a wet slap. The stretch is overwhelming; you feel split open, stuffed full, the head of him nudging so deep it presses against your cervix. Your walls flutter wildly around him, still spasming from the overstimulation, trying to adjust to the impossible girth.

“Fuck,” he groans, forehead dropping to your shoulder as he fights not to come right then. “So fucking tight—even after all that.”

He starts moving slow at first, savoring the drag of your slick walls clinging to every ridge and vein Then meaner, harder, hips snapping with bruising force. The bed creaks under the onslaught; your tits bounce with every thrust; the wet slap of skin on skin mixes with your broken moans and his ragged breathing.

You’re gone. Mind blank, body nothing but sensation. Overstimulated, oversensitive, coming again almost immediately on the first few brutal strokes, walls milking him so hard he curses under his breath.

“Again,” he growls, angling his hips to grind against your clit with every thrust. “Come on my cock again, pretty girl. Milk me dry.”

Somehow you do, shaking, sobbing, coming so hard tears leak from the corners of your eyes. He fucks you through it, pace turning sloppy and desperate, chasing his own release now.

“Gonna fill this greedy cunt up,” he pants against your neck, teeth grazing your pulse. “Mark you inside and out—make sure you feel me for days.”

One final, punishing thrust and he buries himself to the hilt, cock pulsing as he comes with a low, guttural groan. Hot, thick spurts flood you, so much it leaks out around his base, mixing with your own mess. He grinds slow circles through the aftershocks, drawing out every last tremor from your overworked body until you’re both trembling, spent, and dripping.

He stays inside you for long moments after. Softening slowly, still twitching while he presses lazy, hot kisses along your jaw.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, voice wrecked and tender now. “Took everything I gave you so perfectly.”