thinking about teaching a pillow princess how to ride. 

“i c-can’t do it,” he hiccups, holding back a sob, shaking his head as he lifts his hips the best he can on quivery knees, hands poised tightly on your shoulders. you can tell he’s trying, but he can’t even make it all the way to the tip, knees buckling halfway and plummeting back onto your cock as he gargles, loud. “f-feels weird. ‘s too much, baby, i c-can’t.” 

he’s all slicked up, glide easy, but you’re big and girthy and he’s never had someone stretch him out this way before. he wants to be good for you, but it’s so hard. 

“you can,” you murmur, guiding his hips forward in a slow, sensual arch, “don’t bounce, ah-ah, not like that. riding is all about the rolling, sweetheart.” 

he chokes out a soft mewl as he gives an experimental roll forwards, the bulbous head of your cock massaging his stomach walls, making him want to clench. he inches forward, and the right angle sends sparkles floating past his eyes as he gives in the urge to roll them back. “o-oh. that feels reaally good.” 

“feels that good, mm?” you whisper, peppering gentle kisses on his neck as a small reward, making him squirm and giggle in his haze of pleasure. “now try pushing your hips downwards a little when you roll forward. can you do that for me?” 

“y-yeah,” he swallows, obediently pressing his hips against yours snugly every time he grinds forward, the tip of his leaking cock bumping into your abdomen with every circular motion, whimpers bubbling out of parted lips. he’s never felt pleasure this good. he’s panting, no longer trying to pace himself, making little bunny jerks forward as he chases after the addictive feeling of a hard cock moving deep inside him. “oh, hn, ah, s-so good, b-baby.” 

“yeah, that’s it, gorgeous,” you murmur, giving his hips and thighs an encouraging squeeze now and then, and he whines lightly in response, “you’re an absolute natural, love. m-made for riding cock. told you you could do it.” 

“i amm?” he slurs, lidded eyes unable to focus, little breaths pushed out with every jolt while he continues to ride you like he’s been doing it for years, letting out lewd wails whenever you hit his spot just a little too good. “g-gonna, hngh, ride this dick foreva.” 

“good boy,” you mutter fondly, “i’ll keep you here forever, then. keep going, i’m about to cum.” 

in which you slow it down . . . and make it bouncy. 

the sweat makes it hard to grip onto your bare shoulders, your skin hot and sticky under his touch, but he needs the leverage if he’s going to survive this. he cries out, loud and needy, the iron clasp you have on his waist making it impossible to escape the storm of pleasure that forces its way in with every single thrust. 

“my beautiful, sweet boy. taking me so well.” you’re kissing every inch of his face, purple hickeys blooming all over his neck, carelessly pressing bruises into his battered body and marking him up like territory. “you were made for me, pretty doll. don’t you see? you were made so i could fit inside you.” 

and there you go again, purring honey into his ear, low-spoken words stained with heat and sin. he doesn’t know what you’re saying, he doesn’t care what. just knows you’re using him like he’s some sort of human-sized fleshlight, sturdy palms pushing and pulling at him like he’s a piece of dough, like this is a fucking pottery class you’re attending and not sex. he sobs loudly, tears dribbling down his cheeks in big fat globs and you’re not even giving him time to catch his breath before he’s being lifted again. 

one thing he’s learnt is that the emptiness never lasts long. he doesn’t even dare breathe. only whispers the numbers under his breath like you’ve told him to. one . . . two . . . and three. 

and just as promised, your cock slides into him like a bull charging into a ring, penetrating him like it belongs inside; finally nestled in his sloppy, ruined hole like you have the right to call him home. it almost hurts when the tender meat of his ass bounces hard on the front of your thighs, and you only laugh when he cries harder. 

he sniffles and whines out ‘you meanie!’ before burying his face into your chest, but it’s hardly a protest. after all, you’re the only one that can take care of his body like this, and you’re the only one who ever will.

to repay you for your kindness, he’ll gladly take on any punishment you give him. just like the good, sweet boy you tell him he is. 

in which you slow it down . . . and make it bouncy. 

the sweat makes it hard to grip onto your bare shoulders, your skin hot and sticky under his touch, but he needs the leverage if he’s going to survive this. he cries out, loud and needy, the iron clasp you have on his waist making it impossible to escape the storm of pleasure that forces its way in with every single thrust. 

“my beautiful, sweet boy. taking me so well.” you’re kissing every inch of his face, purple hickeys blooming all over his neck, carelessly pressing bruises into his battered body and marking him up like territory. “you were made for me, pretty doll. don’t you see? you were made so i could fit inside you.” 

and there you go again, purring honey into his ear, low-spoken words stained with heat and sin. he doesn’t know what you’re saying, he doesn’t care what. just knows you’re using him like he’s some sort of human-sized fleshlight, sturdy palms pushing and pulling at him like he’s a piece of dough, like this is a fucking pottery class you’re attending and not sex. he sobs loudly, tears dribbling down his cheeks in big fat globs and you’re not even giving him time to catch his breath before he’s being lifted again. 

one thing he’s learnt is that the emptiness never lasts long. he doesn’t even dare breathe. only whispers the numbers under his breath like you’ve told him to. one . . . two . . . and three. 

and just as promised, your cock slides into him like a bull charging into a ring, penetrating him like it belongs inside; finally nestled in his sloppy, ruined hole like you have the right to call him home. it almost hurts when the tender meat of his ass bounces hard on the front of your thighs, and you only laugh when he cries harder. 

he sniffles and whines out ‘you meanie!’ before burying his face into your chest, but it’s hardly a protest. after all, you’re the only one that can take care of his body like this, and you’re the only one who ever will.

to repay you for your kindness, he’ll gladly take on any punishment you give him. just like the good, sweet boy you tell him he is.