#squidgame2

Namgyu x Fem!reader

18+ content ahead ! || Breeding, Agegap (19 and 30, Unprotected sex, P in V, Oral (m! recieving), Light degradation, Throat fucking, Spanking, Breeding talk, Praise, prolly more idk im tired

The soft hum of the city outside filtered through the thin curtains of Namgyu's apartment, a constant backdrop to the quiet evenings you spent there. It was October when you first stepped into his world, the air crisp with the promise of fall, leaves crunching underfoot as you made your way to the address he'd sent. At 19, you were navigating the chaos of college life—lectures that dragged on, part-time gigs that paid peanuts, and the ever-looming dread of tuition bills. Babysitting wasn't your dream job, but the ad had caught your eye: good pay, weekends only, and something about helping a single dad tugged at your heartstrings. Little did you know it would tug at something else entirely.

The building was unassuming, tucked away in a residential pocket of Seoul, far enough from the bustling downtown to feel peaceful but close enough to hear the distant thrum of traffic. You knocked on apartment 402, smoothing down your simple sweater and jeans, trying to look responsible. The door opened, and there he was—Namgyu. He stood at about 5'10", lean and skinny, his frame more wiry than imposing. His dark hair fell in slightly unkempt waves over his forehead, framing sharp features: high cheekbones, a defined jawline that spoke of quiet intensity, and eyes that seemed to hold stories he wasn't ready to share. He wore a faded T-shirt that hung loosely on his slender build, not a trace of bulk—just the subtle definition of someone who moved with purpose but didn't chase gyms. A three-year-old boy peeked from behind his legs, clutching a toy car, his wide eyes mirroring his father's.

"You're the applicant?" Namgyu's voice was deep, a gravelly timbre that sent an unexpected shiver down your spine. It wasn't commanding; it was tired, worn from long nights, but there was a warmth in it, like embers under ash.

"Yeah, hi. I'm here for the babysitting interview." You smiled, kneeling slightly to meet the boy's gaze. "And you must be Jiho. Cool car—does it go fast?"

Jiho nodded shyly, revving the toy against his dad's pant leg. Namgyu stepped aside, gesturing you in. The apartment was modest, a two-bedroom setup with toys scattered across the living room floor like colorful landmines. The kitchen opened into the space, counters cluttered with kid-friendly snacks and a half-empty coffee mug. Photos dotted the walls and fridge: Namgyu holding a newborn Jiho, the two of them at a park, grins wide under sunny skies. No woman in any of them. You didn't ask.

He led you to the couch, Jiho trailing behind. "So, the job's Fridays through Sundays, 7 p.m. to 6 a.m. I bartend at Club Eclipse downtown—upscale place, but the hours are killer. Jiho's a good kid, no tantrums usually. Bedtime's 8:30. He likes stories about dinosaurs. You okay with overnights? Couch pulls out, or you can use my bed if I'm not here. Just... be respectful."

You nodded eagerly, your pulse quickening under his steady gaze. There was something about him—the way his lean fingers drummed on his knee, the faint stubble shadowing his jaw—that made your stomach flip. At 30, he carried an air of quiet maturity, the kind that came from shouldering responsibilities alone. "I'm great with kids. I volunteer at my campus daycare. And overnights are fine; my dorm's noisy anyway."

He asked a few more questions—your schedule, references—his eyes flicking over you appraisingly, not in a creepy way, but like he was sizing up whether you could handle the chaos of his life. By the end, he nodded. "Start this Friday. 6:30 p.m. sharp, so we can overlap."

As you left, his hand brushed yours in a quick handshake—warm, firm despite his slender build. "Thanks for coming by."

"No problem." You smiled, but inside, a spark ignited. A crush? Already? You pushed it down, chalking it up to nerves.

That first Friday arrived with a drizzle, the streets slick as you buzzed up to the apartment. Namgyu answered in his work attire: a black button-up shirt tucked into slacks, the fabric clinging just enough to hint at his lean physique. No muscles bulging, just a straight, efficient line from shoulders to hips. He smelled faintly of soap and cologne, a clean, woody scent that lingered as he showed you around again—Jiho's room with its dinosaur bedding, the kitchen stocked with easy meals, the living room TV for downtime.

"Jiho's had a snack, but dinner around 7:30 if he's hungry. Pasta's his favorite—nothing fancy." Namgyu ruffled his son's hair, the boy already tugging at your hand to show off his block set. "Call if anything. My number's on the fridge."

"Got it. Have a good shift." You waved as he grabbed his jacket, his eyes meeting yours for a beat longer than necessary. The door clicked shut, and you were alone with Jiho.

The evening unfolded easily. You built towering structures with blocks, laughing as Jiho knocked them down with dramatic sound effects. "Boom! Dinosaur attack!" he'd squeal, his tiny hands clapping. You cooked simple spaghetti, twirling noodles on forks and making silly faces to get him to eat his veggies. Bath time was a splashy affair, bubbles everywhere, followed by pajamas and a bedtime story. "The T-Rex was big and strong, but he had a little friend who helped him..." you read, Jiho's eyelids drooping by the end. Tucked in, he mumbled a sleepy "Night," clutching his stuffed bear.

The clock read 9 p.m. The apartment fell silent, save for the rain pattering outside. You tidied up—wiping counters, folding stray clothes from the laundry basket, even sweeping crumbs from under the table. It felt good, helpful. By 10, boredom crept in. The couch was lumpy, an old pull-out that sagged in the middle. Remembering his offer, you hesitated, then slipped into his bedroom. The space was sparse: a queen bed with rumpled gray sheets, a nightstand with a lamp and a photo of Jiho, a closet half-open revealing neatly hung shirts. His scent hung in the air—musky, faint cologne mixed with something uniquely him. You climbed onto the bed, remote in hand, and queued up a light drama series, volume low.

Hours ticked by. You dozed lightly, the TV a soft glow. At 6 a.m., the front door opened—Namgyu, looking drained, his hair messier, shirt untucked. He kicked off his shoes, spotting you in the kitchen brewing coffee. "Morning. How'd it go?"

"Perfect. Jiho was an angel." You handed him a mug, your fingers brushing his. A jolt.

He sipped, eyes closing briefly. "You're a lifesaver. Envelope's on the counter." Two hundred dollars, crisp bills. As you gathered your things, he added, "See you next week?"

"Wouldn't miss it."

The weekends blurred into a rhythm. Second week: more blocks, a game of hide-and-seek where Jiho giggled from behind curtains. You cooked stir-fry, leaving a portion in the fridge for Namgyu with a sticky note: Fuel for the morning. He texted at 3 a.m.: Thanks. Needed that. Your heart fluttered.

Third week: Jiho wanted crafts—construction paper dinosaurs glued haphazardly. You cleaned glitter from every surface, laughing at the mess. Namgyu came home to the sparkle, chuckling softly—a rare sound, deep and warm. "Looks like a party happened."

"Just dinosaur disco." You grinned, and his eyes crinkled, lingering on your face.

By the fourth weekend, your crush was undeniable. You caught yourself staring at photos on the fridge—Namgyu at the beach, shirtless, his lean body tanned, ribs faintly visible under smooth skin. Not ripped, just naturally slender, like he forgot to eat sometimes amid the chaos. During overlaps, you'd chat more.

"How's school?" he'd ask, leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his narrow chest.

"Busy. Midterms soon." You'd bite your lip, hyperaware of his proximity.

"Hang in there." His voice, always that gravelly tone, made your knees weak.

He started noticing you too, though he fought it. At 30, with a kid and a grueling job, romance was a luxury he couldn't afford. But you were vibrant—young, but responsible. The way you'd kneel to Jiho's level, your laughter filling the apartment, warmed the space he'd grown used to being cold. And physically? Your curves when you bent to pick up toys, the soft sway of your hips. He scolded himself nightly.

Then, the incident.

Sunday after the fifth weekend, you left early for a study group. Namgyu stripped his bed for laundry, sheets tangled from your TV sessions. Under the frame, a flash of black. He knelt, fishing out lace panties—small, delicate, with a tiny bow. Yours. They must have slipped from your bag when you changed into pajamas. His breath caught, heart pounding. He should wash them, return them discreetly. Instead, fingers trembling, he brought them to his nose. The faint scent of your laundry soap, a hint of floral body wash—something intimately feminine.

"Fuck," he whispered, cock stirring in his jeans. Guilt warred with desire. He locked his door, Jiho napping in the next room. He lay back on the fresh sheets, panties in hand. He unzipped slowly, freeing his length—average but thick, veined, already hard. He wrapped the lace around it, the soft friction making him hiss. He stroked languidly, inhaling deeply. Imagined you in them, ass up as you cleaned.

"What do you feel like, sweetheart?" he murmured, pace quickening. He thumbed the head, pre-cum soaking the fabric. Visions of your mouth on him, eyes wide. "Take it, baby."

He bucked, groaning low. Climax hit hard, ropes of cum spilling over the lace, his body arching. Panting, he stared at the ceiling, shame flooding in. But the release—God, it had been ages.

He washed them meticulously, hid them in his drawer, vowed to forget. But the seed was planted.

Flirting crept in subtly. Next Friday, as he left: “You look nice tonight. That top suits you.” His eyes flicked down briefly, appreciating how it hugged your figure, lingering just a second longer than usual before meeting your gaze again.

A blush rising, you stammered, “Thanks. Have a good shift.” Your voice came out softer than intended, and you busied yourself with gathering your things, heart fluttering as you replayed his words in your mind on the way home.

Saturday morning: he found you asleep on his bed, curled up, your tank top riding up to show a sliver of skin. He watched for a moment, a quiet smile tugging at his lips as he took in the peaceful sight, adjusting himself discreetly before setting down the coffee he'd made. He sat gently on the edge of the mattress, brushing a stray hair from your face. “Slept well, darling?”

The pet name slipped out naturally, warm and affectionate. You blinked awake, warmth spreading through your chest at the sound of it, the way his voice wrapped around the word like a caress. “Yeah. Your bed’s comfier than the couch by far.”

“Glad you think so.” His smile was small, but genuine, his eyes soft as they held yours for a beat longer than necessary. He handed you the mug, fingers brushing yours in the exchange, the brief contact sending a spark up your arm.

Your crush deepened from there. You’d fantasize during classes—his lean hands on you, tracing slow patterns over your skin, that deep voice whispering praises in your ear. At night, alone in your own bed, you touched yourself, fingers circling your clit slowly to thoughts of him above you, moving with deliberate care, drawing out every sensation.

Weeks passed like that, the tension building in small, stolen moments. November brought chillier nights, the air crisp outside while the apartment felt warmer with shared routines. You baked cookies with Jiho—chocolate chip, gooey centers—and left a plate covered on the counter for Namgyu. He ate one Sunday morning, leaning against the kitchen island in his rumpled sleep clothes, moaning softly around the bite. “These are incredible, sweetheart. You spoil us.”

“Just being helpful.” But your eyes locked as he licked a bit of melted chocolate from his thumb, heat simmering between you, unspoken but palpable. He held your gaze, a faint flush on his cheeks, before murmuring, “You have no idea how much I appreciate it.”

December: the holidays loomed, adding a cozy glow to everything. You decorated with Jiho—paper snowflakes taped to the windows, strings of lights draped haphazardly but cheerfully. Namgyu came home to the cheer one evening, his lean frame silhouetted in the doorway as he shrugged off his coat. “Looks festive in here. Thanks for making it feel like home.”

“Jiho’s idea mostly,” you smiled, stepping back to admire the handiwork, but he moved closer, his hand grazing your arm as he reached to adjust a crooked snowflake.

“You’re good with him. Means a lot—to both of us.” His touch lingered, fingers trailing lightly down your sleeve before pulling away, leaving a trail of warmth.

Touches like that started lingering now—his fingers brushing yours deliberately as he passed the cash envelope at the end of a night, a hand grazing your lower back in the narrow kitchen as he reached past you for a glass. “Careful there,” he’d say, his voice low and close to your ear, the words sending shivers down your spine. You'd pause, breath catching, before stepping aside with a soft laugh to diffuse the charged air.

By Christmas weekend, tension crackled like static, every glance and brush feeling loaded. He left a small gift on the counter one morning: a soft scarf in your favorite color. “For the cold nights,” his note read simply.

You gifted him fancy coffee beans you'd picked out, thinking of his late shifts. “For your breaks at work.”

Eyes met over the exchange in the quiet kitchen, the apartment still asleep around you. “Merry Christmas, Namgyu.”

“You too, baby.” The name hung in the air, charged and intimate, his voice rougher than usual as he said it, like he was testing how it felt on his tongue.

January 2026 dawned colder, but the flirting grew bolder, weaving into texts and stolen conversations. “Missed seeing you this week,” he’d text mid-shift, the message lighting up your phone unexpectedly.

“Missed Jiho. And you,” your reply came with a racing heart, fingers hovering before hitting send.

He’d come home some nights, lean against the doorframe with tired but warm eyes, watching you pack up your things. “Stay for breakfast sometimes? I make decent pancakes.”

“Maybe next time,” you'd tease lightly, though the invitation made your stomach flip, imagining lingering over coffee with him in the morning light.

The night arrived: January 4, 2026. Friday. Routine as ever—playtime with Jiho, building elaborate forts from blankets and pillows, laughter echoing through the rooms as you crawled inside with him, pretending to hide from imaginary monsters. Dinner followed: chicken nuggets you shaped like dinosaurs, Jiho devouring them with ketchup smiles smeared on his cheeks, chattering about his day. The bedtime story dragged on sweetly, his little yawns tugging at your heart as you read extra pages just to prolong the coziness. He was tucked in by nine, the apartment falling quiet, the hum of the city faint outside.

You cleaned meticulously after—dishes sparkling in the rack, toys organized back in their bins, even dusting the shelves and wiping down counters, the domestic rhythm soothing in its familiarity. By eleven, the couch called, but your back ached from hours of fort-building and chasing Jiho around. His bed it was, the decision made without much thought now. You changed into sleep shorts and a tank, the fabric thin and comfortable against the cool sheets. His scent enveloped you immediately—clean laundry mixed with something uniquely him, comforting and subtly arousing. The TV hummed softly from the living room, but you brought the remote to bed, flipping to a rom-com playing low. Sleep evaded you; thoughts of him swirled relentlessly. What if he came home early tonight? What if he found you here again, and this time...

At 3 a.m., the door clicked softly. Footsteps, deliberate but quiet. You sat up slowly, heart pounding in your chest, pulling the sheets a bit higher instinctively. Namgyu appeared in the doorway, still in his work clothes, hair tousled from the night air, looking less exhausted than usual—almost alert, his eyes adjusting to the dim light from the bedside lamp you'd left on.

“You’re early,” your voice was soft, surprised, a small smile creeping despite the nerves.

“Slow night at the bar. Boss let me go a couple hours ahead.” He toed off his shoes by the door, loosening his collar further with a sigh, the motion drawing your eyes to his slender neck and the hint of collarbone revealed. He paused, taking you in. “Jiho good tonight?”

“Always. We had a blast with the forts. Slept like a rock after story time.” You shifted under the sheets, the rustle loud in the quiet room. “I can move if you want the bed—give me a minute to grab my stuff.”

“No, stay.” He crossed the room slowly, sitting on the edge of the mattress, the dip pulling you slightly toward him. Close now—his knee brushing yours through the fabric, the heat of him noticeable even in the cool air. “What were you watching?”

“Some dumb romance movie. Couldn’t sleep, so I figured background noise might help.” The air thickened gradually, his cologne—a subtle woody note—mixing with the room’s warmth, making everything feel more intimate.

He nodded, his eyes tracing your face slowly, then down to your bare shoulders where the tank strap had slipped a bit. He didn't look away immediately, and you felt the weight of it. “Me neither, lately. Mind’s been too busy to shut off.”

“Work keeping you up?” You tilted your head, pulse quickening as you held his gaze, sensing the shift.

“Partly.” His voice dropped, gravelly from the long night, but something deeper in it now. “Other things on my mind too.”

Silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken words, the kind that had been building for months. His hand rested on the bed, inches from yours, fingers flexing slightly. You swallowed, emboldened by the quiet intensity, the way he wasn't moving away. “Like what?”

His gaze darkened as he leaned closer, slowly enough that you could have pulled back, but you didn't. “Like you, sweetheart. You've been on my mind a lot.”

Heat bloomed in your chest, spreading outward. “Really?”

“Mmh.” His fingers brushed yours then, intentional and light, tracing the back of your hand. “The way you are with Jiho, how you make this place feel warmer. How you help without being asked. And… other ways you've been creeping into my thoughts.”

“I’ve thought about you too. Since day one, honestly.” The confession tumbled out, breathy but honest, your hand turning to lace fingers with his tentatively.

He inhaled sharply, his thumb stroking over your knuckles. “This is dangerous territory, baby. I’m older. Got responsibilities—a kid, a job that wears me down.”

“But?” You inched closer, your knee pressing more firmly into his thigh, feeling the warmth through his pants.

“But I can’t stop thinking about it. About you.” His free hand cupped your cheek gently, his thumb stroking your skin softly, calluses from work rough in the best way. His skin was warm, the touch electric yet tender. He searched your eyes. “Tell me to stop if this isn't what you want.”

“Don’t.” A whispered plea, your eyes fluttering as you leaned into his palm.

He closed the gap slowly, lips meeting yours gently at first—testing, soft pressure that lingered, giving you time to adjust. You sighed into it, hands fisting his shirt loosely at first, then pulling him closer as the kiss deepened gradually. His mouth was firm yet yielding, tasting of mint gum and a faint hint of whiskey from a slow night at the bar. His tongue traced your lower lip patiently, seeking entry; you parted for him, tangling slowly, exploratory, savoring the newness. His hand slid from your cheek to the nape of your neck, angling you gently for better access, while the other stayed at your waist, fingers splaying over the thin tank, feeling your warmth and the quick rise of your breaths.

“God, sweetheart,” he murmured against your lips, breaking for air but staying close, forehead almost touching yours. “You taste even better than I imagined. So sweet.”

You chased his mouth instinctively, nipping lightly at his lower lip with a soft smile. “More. I've wanted this for so long.”

He obliged, kissing you deeper now, but still unhurried, like he was memorizing every sigh and shift. Hands roamed gradually—yours up his lean back, feeling the subtle shift of muscles under his shirt, taut from daily life, carrying Jiho, lifting at work—not bulky, but strong in a real, lived-in way. His hands gripped your hips gently over the sheets at first, then pulling them aside as he drew you closer, guiding you onto his lap with care. Straddling him, you felt his arousal press against your core through the layers, hard and insistent, but he didn't rush, just held you there, rocking subtly as the kiss continued.

“Feel that?” He ground up once, slowly, his voice husky against your ear. “Been like this thinking about you more times than I should admit.”

“Yes,” you breathed, rocking back instinctively, eliciting a low groan from him that vibrated through his chest.

His lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw, then down your neck, slow open-mouthed kisses that made you tilt your head back. He sucked lightly at your pulse point—marking territory gently at first, then with a bit more pressure. “Been wanting to taste you here for weeks.” He nipped softly, soothing it immediately with his tongue, his breath warm against your skin. A pause, then quieter: “Found something of yours a while back, under the bed.”

You stilled for a moment, heat flooding your face as you remembered. “My… panties?”

“Mmh.” He bit a little harder then, a sting of pleasure that made you gasp. “Couldn't help it. Smelled like you.”

“What did you do with them?” Breathless now, you ground slower against him, the friction building that ache.

“Smelled them while I touched myself. Wrapped them around my cock, imagining it was you.” His hands slipped under your tank finally, palming bare skin along your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. “Jerked off slow, thinking of being inside this pussy.”

“Fuck, Namgyu.” Arousal soaked through your shorts, the words making you clench around nothing.

“Language, darling,” he teased with a smirk you could feel against your neck, but then he spanked your ass lightly over the fabric—a sharp crack that echoed softly, warmth spreading immediately. “Though I like hearing you dirty like that.”

You yelped softly, then moaned quietly, arching into him. “Do it again. Please.”

Another spank, firmer this time, his palm lingering to soothe the spot. “Bossy little thing when you want something.” His fingers teased the hem of your shorts, tracing the edge. “Want these off? Or should we take our time?”

“Off. But slow is good,” you whispered, standing briefly on shaky legs to strip off your tank and shorts, leaving your panties for now. The cool air hit your skin, nipples pebbling as his eyes raked over you—hungry but appreciative, taking in every curve.

“Perfect. So damn perfect.” He groaned low, pulling you back onto his lap gently. His mouth latched onto a nipple slowly, sucking with deliberate pulls, his tongue circling the peak in lazy patterns while his hand cupped the other breast, thumb rolling the nipple gently. “So responsive already. Love how you react to me.”

You arched into him, hands threading into his hair, tugging lightly as pleasure built in waves. “Namgyu… please, keep going.”

“Please what, baby?” He switched sides, his teeth grazing ever so lightly before soothing with his tongue, drawing it out.

“Touch me lower. Need you.”

“Where exactly?” Teasing still, his hand slid down your stomach agonizingly slow, fingers dipping just under the waistband of your panties.

“My pussy. Please, touch my pussy.”

“Good girl, asking so nice.” His fingers finally dipped fully into your panties, finding slick folds waiting. He traced them lightly at first, gathering wetness. “Drenched already. All for me? Been like this waiting?”

“Yes, all night thinking about you coming home.” He circled your clit slowly, pressure light and teasing, building sensation gradually without rushing to the peak.

“Tell me more. Been wet thinking of me too? What do you do when you're alone?” Two fingers breached you then, curling languidly inside, exploring.

“Every night,” you admitted on a gasp, riding his hand with slow rolls of your hips. “Touch myself just like this, imagining your fingers, your mouth.”

He pumped steadily but unhurried, his thumb joining on your clit in matching rhythm. “What else? Tell me what you think about.”

“You fucking me. Hard sometimes, but mostly slow like this. Filling me completely, making me feel every inch.”

“Dirty mouth on you.” He spanked your ass again lightly through the thin fabric remaining, the jolt sending sparks straight to your core. “Love hearing it though. Keep talking if you want more.”

Pressure built steadily, coils tightening deep inside, but he sensed it and slowed his movements deliberately, drawing it out. “Not yet, sweetheart. Want to savor you longer. We've waited months for this.”

He pulled his fingers free eventually, bringing them to his mouth and licking them clean with a hum. “So good. Taste yourself for me.” He offered them to you; you sucked gently, tasting your own salty-sweet arousal mixed with him, eyes locked on his darkening gaze.

“Fuck, that's hot.” He stripped then, but not swiftly—shirt unbuttoned slowly, revealing his lean torso inch by inch, a faint happy trail down his flat stomach that you traced with your fingers. Pants followed, pushed down with his help, his cock springing free: long, girthy, the tip flushed and leaking pre-cum, veins prominent along the shaft.

You knelt between his legs as he sat back on the edge of the bed, his thighs spread wide, that thick cock standing proud and already glistening at the tip. Your mouth watered at the sight, heat pooling low in your belly. “Can I taste you?” you asked, voice soft and needy, eyes flicking up to meet his.

“Eager little thing, aren't you?” he murmured, a light edge of degradation in his tone that made you shiver, but his eyes stayed soft, affectionate, like he couldn't hide how much he adored you even when he teased. “Go ahead, baby. Suck me slow. Show me how bad you want it.”

You took him in hand first—velvety soft skin stretched tight over steel-hard heat—stroking from base to tip with a gentle twist, feeling him throb under your fingers as you watched every twitch of his expression, every hitch in his breath. You leaned in closer, breath ghosting over him, and licked the head tentatively, tongue flat and slow, tasting the salty pre-cum beading there, letting it coat your lips. “You're so big,” you whispered, almost to yourself, “feels perfect in my hand... gonna feel even better in my mouth.”

“All yours tonight, sweetheart,” he said, voice low and rough, his hand coming to rest lightly in your hair at first, fingers threading through the strands without pulling yet. He guided your head down slowly, loose and patient, giving you all the time to adjust as you parted your lips and took him in.

You hollowed your cheeks right away, sinking down inch by inch, bobbing gently at first, tongue swirling underneath the sensitive ridge while your hand worked the base in slow, slick strokes. The taste of him filled your mouth—salty skin, faint musk, that addictive hint of pre-cum—and you moaned softly around him, the vibration making his hips twitch.

“Shit, yes—just like that,” he groaned, praise coming steady and warm, his breath hitching as you worked him. “Deeper if you can, sweetheart. Take what you want... but I know you can take more than that, can't you? My greedy girl.”

You relaxed your throat gradually, pushing down further, feeling him stretch your lips wide, hit the back of your tongue. A soft gag escaped you at first, eyes watering just a little, but you breathed through your nose and pushed through, reveling in the deep, ragged groans it pulled from him. “Good girl,” he praised, voice dropping lower, “taking it so well. Look at you, choking on my cock already and loving it.”

His hand tightened in your hair then—not yanking, but firm, guiding you deeper as you bobbed, letting you set the pace mostly at first, his hips twitching occasionally like he was holding back. Saliva built quickly, pooling in your mouth, making everything wetter, sloppier; it dripped down your chin, coated your hand at the base, strings of it connecting your lips to him every time you pulled back for air.

You sucked harder then, humming around him deliberately—the vibrations making him buck gently into your mouth, a low curse falling from his lips. “Fuck, that's it... you're making such a mess, baby. My dirty little slut, drooling all over my cock like you can't help yourself.”

“Gonna move a bit more,” he warned huskily after a few minutes, voice strained from holding back, his free hand brushing your cheek almost tenderly even as his words turned filthier. “Gonna fuck your pretty throat slow and proper. Tap my thigh if it’s too much—you know I’ll stop.”

You didn’t tap. You couldn’t—lost in the haze of it, moaning around him as he started to thrust, shallow and controlled at first, but building, his grip tightening in your hair, pulling just enough to sting in the best way, tilting your head back slightly to open you up more. He pushed deeper on each stroke, the head of his cock bumping the back of your throat, making you gag wetly, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as saliva spilled freely now—messy trails down your chin, onto your chest, soaking everything.

“That’s it, choke on it,” he growled softly, a hint of degradation lacing the words as he held you down for a second longer each time, watching your face with dark, hungry eyes. “Take every inch like the good little cockslut you are. Fuck, look at you—gagging and drooling, eyes all watery for me. You love this, don’t you? Love when I use your throat.”

He pulled your hair harder then, guiding your head to meet his thrusts, the wet, obscene sounds filling the room—gagging, slurping, your muffled moans mixing with his grunts. It was messy, raw, overwhelming in the best way, your jaw aching, throat raw, but the way he praised you through it—“So fucking perfect, baby, my messy girl”—kept you going, pushing you deeper into it until you were dizzy with need.

Eventually, after what felt like forever of that slow, relentless face-fucking, he eased up, letting you pull off with a wet, gasping pop, strings of saliva still connecting your swollen lips to his glistening cock. You coughed lightly, wiping your chin with the back of your hand, lips puffy and red, eyes glassy as you looked up at him. “Want you inside me now,” you whispered hoarsely, voice wrecked. “Please.”

“Not quite yet.” He flipped you onto your back carefully, sliding your panties off with reverence, spreading your legs wide to gaze down. “Pretty pussy. Glistening for me, all swollen and ready.”

He kissed your inner thighs first, slow and worshipful, sucking lightly to leave faint marks—bruises blooming under his mouth. “These are mine tonight.” He licked a slow, broad stripe up your slit finally, humming at the taste. “Taste so damn good, sweetheart. Could do this for hours.”

He ate you out meticulously but patiently—his tongue delving deep at times, then circling your clit with feather-light flicks, sucking gently to build pressure. His fingers joined gradually, one then two, then three, stretching you open slowly, curling against that spot inside with practiced care. “Right here? Feels good?”

“Yes—don’t stop, just like that.” You clenched around him, hips lifting, but he pinned one gently with his free hand, controlling the pace.

He dragged it out masterfully, edging you multiple times—slowing when your breaths turned ragged and thighs trembled, then building again with renewed focus, whispering praises all the while. “So close already? Hold it a little longer for me. Want you desperate.”

When he finally let you tip over: “Cum for me now. Soak my face, let go.”

Your orgasm crashed in long, pulsing waves, body arching as you cried his name softly, fingers gripping the sheets.

“Good girl, beautiful.” He kissed up your body lazily, trailing over stomach and breasts, his cock nudging teasingly at your entrance as he settled between your legs. “Ready for me? Tell me if it's too much.”

“Yes. Raw, want to feel all of you. Want your cum inside.”

“You want me breeding you like that?” He groaned deep, rubbing the head through your folds slowly. “Fill this tight cunt full?”

“Please, yes.”

He pushed in inch by inch, agonizingly slow—the stretch burning sweet and intense, giving you time to adjust around every vein and ridge. He paused halfway, kissing you deeply. “So tight. Perfect fit. Breathe with me.”

He bottomed out eventually, pausing fully, forehead resting against yours, both breathing heavy. “Feel me deep? All the way?”

“So full.” You clenched deliberately, urging him with a roll of your hips.

His thrusts started languid and deep—pulling almost all the way out slowly, then sliding back in with control, letting you feel every drag. Skin slapped softly, rhythm building gradually. “Take it, baby. Every inch, just like you wanted.”

He praised you endlessly, voice rough with restraint. “Doing so well for me. This pussy was made for my cock.”

He spanked your thigh lightly mid-thrust, the sting heightening everything. “Slutty girl, letting me raw you like this. Begging for my seed.”

“Your slut,” you gasped, meeting his thrusts. The pace quickened naturally, but stayed intimate—eyes locked, breaths mingling, hands intertwined at times.

He flipped you to cowgirl after a while, hands on your hips guiding but letting you lead. “Ride me slow first. Show me how bad you want it.”

You bounced gradually, starting with deep grinds that rubbed your clit against his base perfectly. His hands gripped tighter, spanking your ass intermittently to encourage. “That's it, darling. Faster when you're ready.”

You built speed together, breasts bouncing as he leaned up to suck marks into them, teeth and tongue working in tandem. “Gonna breed you deep one day. Pump you full, watch it take.”

“Yes—cum inside me. Mark me yours.”

He flipped you onto your back—no, wait, he rolled you over with that effortless strength, positioning you on top in cowgirl, his strong hands settling on your hips like anchors. His eyes locked onto yours, dark and hungry, as he guided you down onto his throbbing length once more. “Ride me slow first,” he murmured, voice low and commanding, thumb tracing lazy circles on your skin. “Show me how bad you want it, darling.”

You started with deliberate, teasing grinds, sinking down fully each time so your clit dragged perfectly against his base, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you. Your hands braced on his chest for leverage, feeling the rapid thrum of his heartbeat under your palms. He watched you intently, lips parted, as you rolled your hips in deep, sensual circles, drawing out every inch of friction. His grip tightened possessively, fingers digging in just enough to leave faint marks, and then—crack—a sharp spank landed on your ass, the sting blooming into heat that made you gasp and clench around him.

“That’s it,” he growled, delivering another playful smack that echoed in the room, followed by a soothing knead of your flesh. “Good girl. Faster when you’re ready. Make me feel how much you need this cock.”

Emboldened by his praise, you picked up the pace, bouncing gradually at first, then with building rhythm. Your breasts heaved with each rise and fall, drawing his gaze like magnets. He sat up suddenly, wrapping one arm around your waist to pull you closer, his mouth latching onto a nipple with a wet, hungry suck. Teeth grazed the sensitive peak, tongue swirling in tandem as he left dark, claiming marks across your chest—hickeys that would linger for days, reminders of this night. His free hand roamed, pinching and teasing the other breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers until you whimpered.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful like this,” he rasped against your skin, thrusting up to meet your downward strokes, the slap of bodies growing louder. “Gonna breed you deep one day. Pump you full of my cum, watch your belly swell with what we make. You’d look so fucking perfect carrying my seed.”

The words hit you like a wave, filthy and intoxicating, making your core tighten around him. “Yes—please,” you moaned breathlessly, grinding harder, chasing that edge. “Cum inside me now. Fill me up. Mark me as yours.”

He groaned at your plea, hips bucking wildly for a moment before he regained control, but the promise hung heavy in the air as you both teetered on the brink.

Then, with a swift, gentle maneuver, he shifted you again—turning you over onto your hands and knees for doggy, his touch careful despite the raw hunger in his eyes. He positioned himself behind you, hands spreading your thighs wider as he admired the view: your ass presented to him, still tingling from earlier spanks, your pussy glistening and stretched from him. “God, this position… you have no idea what you do to me,” he whispered, sliding back in slowly, inch by thick inch, savoring the tighter, deeper angle that made you both shudder.

He started with long, deliberate thrusts, building that exquisite friction again, but soon his palms were raining down harder spanks—sharp, rhythmic cracks that turned your skin a blooming red, each one sending jolts straight to your clit. After every sting, he’d soothe it with a tender rub, fingers tracing the heat, dipping teasingly close to where you joined. “This ass… drives me crazy. So perfect, so mine. Takes everything I give it.”

One hand gathered your hair gently, twisting it into a makeshift ponytail and tugging just firmly enough to arch your back deeper, exposing you even more. The pull sent a delicious thrill down your spine, making you push back against him instinctively. He leaned over you, chest pressing to your back, breath hot against your ear as he pounded deeper. “Tell me,” he demanded, voice rough with possession, a particularly hard thrust punctuating his words. “Who owns this pussy now? Who’s the only one that gets to fuck you like this?”

“You do,” you cried out, voice breaking on a moan as he hit that perfect spot inside. “Only you. It’s all yours—forever.”

Climax neared for both, breaths ragged and synced. Back to missionary for the end—intimate, your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper. “Look at me when you cum, baby. Want to see it.” he grabs your face making you look at him as he pounds you. the eye contact is almost too much!

Your orgasms wove together like a shared heartbeat, rising and cresting in perfect unison—yours blooming first, your walls fluttering around him in sweet, rhythmic waves that pulled him over the edge with you. He followed a breath later, burying himself deep with a low, trembling groan, spilling into you in warm, endless pulses. “That’s it, my love,” he whispered against your lips, voice raw with adoration. “Take all of me… you feel so perfect like this.”

He lingered inside you long after, unwilling to part, his forehead pressed to yours as soft, lazy kisses trailed over your mouth, your cheeks, the tip of your nose. Your bodies still shivered with little aftershocks, and he held you closer each time, murmuring gentle praises. “You’re incredible… my sweet girl… I’ve got you.”

When he finally slipped out, slow and reluctant, he couldn’t resist glancing down, a tender smile curving his lips as he watched his release ease from you. “Look at that,” he breathed, almost reverent. “You’re so beautiful like this… marked by me, full of me. My favorite sight in the world.”

He pressed one more kiss to your forehead before padding to the bathroom, returning moments later with a warm, damp cloth and a soft towel. He settled between your legs again, but this time with infinite gentleness—wiping you clean with careful, loving strokes, his free hand stroking your thigh soothingly. “My precious girl,” he murmured between feather-light kisses to your hip, your tummy. “You did so good for me… took everything so perfectly. Are you feeling okay, baby? Sore at all? Tell me what you need.”

You hummed contentedly, reaching for him, and he tossed the cloth aside instantly to gather you up. He pulled the sheets over you both, tucking you against his chest—your head nestled under his chin, his arms wrapped securely around you like he never planned to let go. His fingers traced slow, soothing patterns along your back, up into your hair, massaging your scalp until your eyes grew heavy.

“I love you,” he whispered into your hair, over and over, like a lullaby. “So much. You make me the happiest man alive.” He pressed kisses to your temple, your closed eyelids, the corner of your mouth. “Rest now, sweetheart. I’m right here… always right here.”

You drifted off tangled together—legs intertwined, hearts beating in the same slow rhythm—wrapped in warmth, safety, and the quiet certainty that you were utterly cherished.

boy ts was long asl🫩🫩 my hands HURT.

i know im a cornball w that ending laugh it up guys

nghh wanna Breed namgyu 🤤🤤