❤︎

The soft sounds of your moans and his whimpers fill the air as Michael gripped both of your hands within his own, held above your head. His face was buried into the crook of your neck as he rolled his hips, hitting your sensitive spot with each thrust.

You loved the way Michael always took his time with you as sex was something still new to him, actively cringing when you said fucking opposed to love making— which he preferred.

He had no problem at making you feel good and finishing every time and you loved the sweet, passionate, intimacy you shared but you were starting to crave more. You daydreamed earlier about Michael's big hands wrapped around your neck as your sweet boyfriend drilled into you, making you cross your legs as you act focused on Latoya and Randy's conversation around the table.

Your mind drifted to your thoughts from earlier, allowing them to creep into your mind as you clench around Michael, garnering a shaky moan from his lips.

A wicked smile crossed your face as you decided to act on your desire, gently tapping at his shoulder to gather his attention. "Michael."

"Yes, baby?" He detached from your neck finally, slowing his pace as he looked down at you with a hint of concern. He looked stunning under the shine of the moonlight, a bead of sweat trickling down the side of his temple, curls unruly, with a faint flush across his brown skin. You bit your lip in admiration, building up the courage to voice what was on your mind.

"Did I do something wrong just now? Tell me-"

"No, Mike. You're doing amazing baby," You cut him off mid ramble. "I just… was thinking about trying something new."

His eyes filtered across your face, gently squeezing your hands with a small nod. "Okay." He spoke simply.

You detached one of his hands from your own, dragging it towards the thickness of your neck. You placed his hand around your throat, making Michael gasp and retract his hand in shock.

"Baby… I don't want to hurt you!" His eyes were blown wide, looking down at you with concern.

"Michael, you could never hurt me, honey." You caressed the side of his face as he leaned into your touch. "I want you to try and be more… assertive… been daydreaming about it for days now." You shoot him a seductive glare, watching his chest rise and fall as he processed your words.

"I like giving you sweet love and— god— I don't ever want to degrade you." His sweet voice made you pulse around him, his jaw dropping slightly at the feel. You thought he was so caring, your cheeks going warm at how much your boyfriend worshiped you.

"You won't be degrading me, I'm telling you I want this, baby." You guide his hand back to your throat once more— Michael making no attempt to pull away this time as a shaky breath left his lips.

"Okay… You'll have to guide me through. Tell me what to do." He held your gaze intensely, waiting for your first command. You gently pushed at the small of his back, urging him to start moving his hips again.

"Gently squeeze the sides." Your hand was over his as you instructed him. He followed suit, squeezing the sides of your neck enough to make you release an airy moan. His hips found a slow rhythm, grinding his pelvic bone against your clit as his hand remained around you, watching you carefully.

"Yes Michael, so good." You moaned, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist while his thrusts sped up. The wet sound of your pussy was starting to fill the room, leaving Michael gasping above you every time you squeezed down on him, turned on from his grip on your neck.

"Talk to me, baby." You gripped his chin, making him look you directly in the eye.

"I'm… I'm not good at that kinda stuff." He huffed, strangled from the addictive feel of you around him.

"Tell me how good my pussy is, Michael."

He groaned your name, briefly shutting his eyes at your vulgar words.

"It's.. It's so good-"

"What is?" You purred, anticing him to get comfortable.

"You- You're.. pussy is so good." He spoke shyly, his skin growing hot.

"You're stuffing me so full with that perfect dick of yours." You quickly shot back, feeling Michael's thrusts falter for a moment.

"Oh fuck— You take me so well." He spoke more confidently this time, his thrusts growing rougher as you cried out, emerging yourself in the feel.

You fucked back, meeting his strokes with a sense of eagerness you were itching to execute, your shared moans tangling with each other as he squeezed your neck once more, your wetness gushing around him.

"So wet, just for me?" He mumbled more to himself, still trying to find his groove.

"All for you, Michael. It's all yours— fuck!" You cried out as his lips wrapped around your hardened nipple, sucking on the bud there.

He detached from you when you pulled him off, wanting to change positions. He pulled out of you with a whine, sitting back to wait for your direction.

When you flipped over and got on all fours, arching your back and allowing him a view of your glistening folds, he nearly came from the sight.

"We've never done this-"

"Exactly."

"But I like seeing your face-"

"Michael." You groaned, pushing back against his length pressed up on your ass, wanting to shut him up. He finally lined up with your entrance, sliding in easily from how soaked you were. You moaned at the new angle when he bottomed out, feeling him deeper than before.

He pulled back and gave a deep thrust, whimpering at the sensation. The jiggle of your ass against him had his head spinning, knowing he was doomed from this position.

"Michael, grab my hair."

"Are you sure?" He questioned, catching the serious look you shot back at him.

"I want you to put me through this mattress. Stop asking so much and just do."

Something about him loved when you were dominant with him and he wanted nothing more than to keep his lady satisfied.

His hand found purchasing within your hair, getting a good grip as he pulled back and thrusted deeply inside of you, pulling you back onto his dick with the leverage from your hair. You were fighting back a smile as he fucked you from behind, his shaky breaths and the sound of your pussy struggling to take him making you delirious.

You tried to keep your volume down by turning your face into the mattress, your moans muffled as you snapped back to met his every thrust. His hold in your hair slipped as he gripped your hips with both of his large hands, pounding into you with vigor he's never presented before.

He was in a trance watching the way his dick disappeared between your cheeks, coming out coated with your sheen all over him and trickling down your thighs.

"Spank me, please."

He was thrown off by your sudden omission, genuinely scared of hurting you now. "What if It's too much?"

"Just smack my ass around a little bit baby, I promise I'll feel good." You crane your neck back slightly, Michael catching the playful glint in your gaze.

He had his doubts but he wanted to fulfill your desires to the fullest— the perfectionist in him not allowing anything less. His hand winded back slightly before coming down hard on your flesh, your pussy instantly clenching around him.

He brought his hand down once more in time with a sharp thrust, making you cry out in pleasure, practically drooling from the feeling. Michael was shocked discovering how nasty you were during sex, and the fact you hid it from him this whole time.

His hand snaked down to rub your clit, sending a jolt through you. If not for his arm wrapped around you, your body would've gave out, overwhelmed in pleasure.

It was impossible to keep his gaze off of where you connected, the clap of your ass on him was addictive and the way you were creaming around his dick had his orgasm approaching fastly.

You were a babbling mess underneath of him, desperate to reach your climax as you felt it creep up on you. The duel feeling of Michael's dick fucking into your sensitive spot deeply and his thumb swirling around your clit was too much, and your peak hit you suddenly.

You cried out as you trembled around him, squeezing his dick so tight he was moaning with you as you rode out your orgasm, slumping slightly as you sighed in bliss. Michael only had a few desperate and uneven strokes in him before he barely had time to pull out, groaning as his hot seed spilled down your back and thighs.

He took a moment to catch his breath before kissing your shoulder and shuffling around to grab a warm rag to clean you off.

"Y'know, I think I learned a lot about you tonight." His soft spoken voice flowed from behind you, a teasing tone laced in as he dragged the cloth down your back and thighs.

"Oh yeah? What did you learn?" You teased back, moving your hair around to look back at him. He met your gaze with a faint smirk.

"How you really like to get down."

You laughed at him, his own bubbly laugh following suit.

"What can I say? My man is sexy and I got the hots for him!" He chuckled at you, leaning down to plant a kiss on your lips.

"C'mon, let's go shower, baby." He wrapped a hand into yours and helped you get up on wobbly knees.

"Perfect, now we can fulfill another dream of mine in the shower." You smirked at him as he ducked his head down, shaking it with laughter.

"You're going to ruin me, girl."

It was about 2:14 in the morning the last time you checked the green digital clock on your nightstand before going downstairs, and you done switched sides on the couch for what felt like the fifty thousandth time. You were curled up on said couch in the living room, the only light in the room coming from the warm, amber glow of the flickering television screen playing on mute. You had a satin robe tied loosely around your waist with your silk slip underneath, and your bare legs tucked under a thick throw blanket.

The house was too damn big when he wasn't there. You’d been trying to watch some late night sitcom reruns, but your eyes kept drifting to the heavy doors of the entrance.

You had the AC humming at a cool seventy degrees, but under this blanket, you were burning up. And it wasn't because of the weather outside. It was a deep, simmering heat right in your bones, settling heavy and tight right between your thighs.

Lord knew you loved your man. You loved his drive, his genius, the way his eyes lit up when a new idea clicked in his head. But this tour prep? It was running him ragged, and by default, it was leaving you high and dry; but shit, if you didn't miss your man.

And more than just missing his conversation, your body was aching for him.

You stared up at the ceiling. I ain't had no real lay down in...what? Three weeks? Four weeks? A whole fucking month.

It had been almost a full month since the two of you had really, truly connected. A month of quick, sleepy kisses in the mornings, brief phone calls during his fifteen minute lunch breaks, and falling asleep on opposite sides of a king sized bed because he was too physically exhausted to do anything but pass out the second his head hit the pillow.

Just yesterday, the desperation had gotten so bad you actually tried to take matters into your own hands. You’d dim the lights, pulled down your panties, and tried to get some relief. But it was a disaster. Every time you tried to find the right angle, your hand would cramp, or you’d lose the rhythm, or you just couldn't quite reach the spot that was aching deep inside your pussy. The frustration had built up so fast, hot and heavy behind your eyes, until you just ended up curling into a ball and crying actual tears of pure, unadulterated aggravation.

Imagine crying over some damn fingering. You’d felt so pathetic, sitting there with wet cheeks and a throbbing ache that wouldn't quit.

And now, here you were, twenty four hours later, and the ache was only worse.

Your skin was practically buzzing. Every little rub of the satin robe against your thighs felt like a tease. You’d spent the last hour just thinking about him- his hands, his voice, the way he breathed against your neck when he got worked up. You were needy, plain and simple. You wanted him, and you weren't planning on letting him just slip into sleep tonight without giving you a little piece of himself.

Just as you were about to give up and let sleep take you, the heavy thud of the front door finally echoed through the house.

You sat up, throwing the blanket off your legs. Your heart did a little flutter as you heard the familiar, exhausted sigh, followed by the soft rustle of his jacket being hung up in the closet.

A moment later, Michael walked into the room.

He looked absolutely beautiful, but incredibly worn down. He was wearing black pants, a loose, button down shirt over a white tee, and his black loafers. His curls were damp, clinging to the back of his neck and framing his face in sweaty spirals. His shoulders were slumped, and his eyes heavy with exhaustion.

When he noticed you sitting up on the couch, a soft, weary smile broke through his tired face.

"Hey, beautiful," he murmured, his voice incredibly deep, raspy, and quiet from a long day of singing. "What are you doing up? It's so late."

"Waiting on you," you said, your voice soft but carrying that smooth, slow drawl. You stood up from the sectional, stretching your legs, letting the silk robe part just enough to show a sliver of your thigh. "You look beat, baby."

Michael walked over to you, his movements slow. When he reached you, he just collapsed his forehead right onto your shoulder, letting his arms wrap loosely around your waist. He let out a long, shuddering breath, breathing in the scent of your cocoa butter lotion and the sweet perfume you’d lightly sprayed before he got home.

"I am," he whispered against your collarbone. "We did the choreography for 'Billie Jean' and 'Beat It' back to back today. Frank wanted to run the lighting cues over and over. My knees are aching, sweetheart. I feel like I could sleep for a whole week."

You gently stroked the back of his neck, your fingers slipping underneath the damp curls at his nape. You felt a wave of maternal warmth for him, but right beneath it was a burning, tight sensation in your lower belly.

"Mmh, I know you tired, Mike," you murmured, shifting your hips slightly so they brushed against his. "But I been missin' you. Like, really missin' you."

Michael pulled back just an inch, his dark eyes looking down into yours. He had that soft, gentle gaze he always got when he was looking at you, but there was a distinct fog of fatigue over his pupils. "I miss you too, girl. So much. Let's just go up to bed and cuddle, okay? I just want to hold you."

He reached down to take your hand, intending to lead you toward the grand staircase, but you didn't budge. You held his hand, but you anchored yourself, stepping closer into his space.

"Michael," you whispered, looking up at him with wide, glossy eyes. The desperation in your face must have shocked him, because his gaze instantly sharpened as you continued. "I don't just want to cuddle. I'm bout to go crazy. I swear to God I am. I ain't had none of you in a whole month."

"Have you been crying?"

You bit your lip, a hot flush of embarrassment creeping up your neck. You didn't want to admit it, but you were too far gone to care about your pride.

"Yeah," you confessed, your voice cracking slightly. "I was. Yesterday. And tonight."

Michael’s brow furrowed, his thumbs soothingly rubbing circles into your hips through the thin silk of your slip. "Why, baby? Tell me. What happened?"

"I just did! Because of this," you burst out, gesturing vaguely down between your bodies.

Michael let out a soft, breathy chuckle, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He reached up, gently tapping his fingertips against your chin. "Sweetheart, I love you, and you know I want nothing more than to lay you down right now. But my back is so stiff, and my body is literally aching. I don't think I have the strength to give you what you need tonight. Let me get some rest, and I promise you, tomorrow morning I'll make it up to you."

"Tomorrow morning you gotta be back at the arena by eight, and you know it," you pointed out, stepping even closer, wrapping your arms around his neck. You looked up at him through your lashes, letting your lips part slightly. "And I can't wait that long. I'm practically dying over here."

"I'm sorry, baby," he whispered, kissing your forehead gently. "I just don't have the energy for a whole session."

"I ain't asking for all that," you murmured, your hand sliding down his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart through his shirt. You let your fingers trail down, stopping right at his waistline. "I know you tired. I know your knees hurting. So you don't gotta do all that..."

Michael raised an eyebrow, a slight, intrigued smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Oh, really? And what are you suggesting?"

"Just use your fingers, baby," you whispered, your voice a smooth, seductive purr against his ear. You nipped gently at his earlobe, making him shiver. "Just sit back, relax, and use your pretty hands on me. That's all I need. Just a little taste."

Michael groaned softly, his grip on your waist tightening just a fraction. You could tell he was fighting his own exhaustion, but the temptation of your touch, combined with the desperate tone in your voice, was starting to wear down his defenses. He loved how much you wanted him. He loved that even when he was completely drained, you still craved his touch above everything else. His eyes searched your face, taking in the dilated pupils, and the absolute raw hunger written in every line of your expression. He let out a long, shaky sigh, his head tilting back to look at the ceiling before closing his eyes.

"Oh, sweetheart," he groaned, bringing his head back down to look down at you. "You really know how to play with fire, don't you?"

"I'm burning up, Michael. Put it out."

He looked down at you with hooded eyes, a slow, dangerous smile creeping onto his lips. It wasn't his usual sweet, boyish grin. This was the smile of a man who knew exactly what kind of power he held over you, a man who was about to take his sweet, precious time.

"You're a bad girl," he muttered. "So needy. Using my weakness against me when I'm too tired to fight back. Can't even let a man rest."

"I ain't hear you say no," you teased, your heart racing. "Please, Michael? Just touch me. I'll do whatever you want, just don't leave me dry tonight."

Michael closed his eyes for a brief second, inhaling deeply, before opening them again. The exhaustion was still there, but now it was mixed with a heavy, simmering heat. He looked down at your lips, his gaze darkening.

"Alright," he whispered, his voice incredibly thick. "Alright, sweetheart. But we're doing this my way. And you have to promise to do exactly what I tell you."

"Always, baby," you breathed, a thrill running down your spine.

Michael took your hand and led you slowly up the stairs. The house was dead silent, the only sound being the soft pad of your bare feet and his loafers on the carpeted steps. When you reached the master bedroom, the massive space was cool and dark, lit only by the moonlight streaming through the large doors that led to the balcony.

Michael didn't turn on any lights. He preferred the darkness, the intimacy of the shadows.

He walked over to the massive king sized bed, kicking off his loafers before sitting down on the edge of the mattress. He leaned back against the headboard, his long legs stretching out in front of him. He looked up at you, standing at the foot of the bed.

"Come here," he commanded softly.

You walked over, your heart hammering against your ribs, really trying not to smile at how happy you were to be getting someee. You stopped right between his outstretched legs, looking down at him.

Michael reached up, his long, slender fingers catching the tie of your satin robe. With a slow pull, he undone the knot. The silk parted, pooling around your elbows and revealing the lace slip you were wearing underneath.

Michael’s eyes swept down your body, taking in every single curve, the rich warmth of your skin, the way your chest rose and fell with your shallow breathing. He let out a soft, appreciative hum, his hands sliding up your thighs, his palms warm and slightly calloused from years of dancing.

"You look so beautiful," he whispered, his hands smoothing over your hips, resting on your waist. "So beautiful. My sweet girl."

"Michael, please," you whimpered, the heat between your legs blooming instantly at his touch. "I'm already so wet for you."

"Shh," he murmured, his fingers gently digging into your hips, anchoring you. "Don't rush me. I told you, we're going slow. If I'm doing this, I'm taking my time."

He pulled you closer, guiding you to climb onto the bed. "Sit on my lap, facing away from me," he instructed, his voice all low and steady.

You did as you were told, turning around and straddling his thighs, your back pressing against his chest. The feeling of his broad chest against your back, his warm breath tickling the back of your neck, made you shiver.

Michael wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you tightly against him. He buried his face in your neck, inhaling deeply, kissing the soft spot right beneath your ear.

"You feel so good," he murmured. "So soft. So warm," he whispered, moving his head up, his lips brushing against your temple. "And you smell so good. What is that?"

"Cocoa butter. The one you like," you mumbled, your hands finding his thigh, tracing down to his knee. "Now stop stallin', Michael."

He let out a tired but rich laugh that vibrated against your chest. "Alright, alright. Impatient little thing."

His hands slowly slid down from your waist, moving over the smooth fabric of your slip, down to where your thighs met. You parted your legs slightly, giving him access, but Michael wasn't in a hurry. He kept his palms flat against your outer thighs, gently rubbing them in slow, circular motions.

"Michael..." you groaned, shifting your weight, trying to press your pussy against his hand.

"Stop moving," he whispered against your ear, his voice firm but gentle. "Just relax. Let me handle it."

You let out a breathy sigh, forcing your muscles to relax, leaning your head back against his shoulder.

Slowly, agonizingly so, Michael’s right hand slipped inward. His long fingers brushed against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, light as a feather. You trembled, your fingers gripping the bedsheets beside you. He trailed his fingers up, closer and closer to the lace of your underwear, but just when you thought he was going to touch you, he retreated, sliding his hand back down to your knee.

"Michael, stop teasing me," you whined. "You playin' too much. Just touch it."

Michael let out a soft chuckle against your neck. "You've been waiting a month, a few more minutes isn't going to kill you."

He repeated the motion, his fingers tracing patterns on your inner thighs, slowly acclimating your body to his touch, building the anticipation until you were literally panting, your hips involuntarily twitching.

Finally, his hand slipped underneath the lace material.

When his bare fingertips made contact with your swollen, soaking wet center, you let out a loud gasp, your back arching off his chest.

"Oh, fuck..." you breathed, your eyes closing tight. "Michael..."

"Mmh, look at that. Look at you," his voice incredibly soft, almost reverent. He felt how warm and slick you were, his fingertips instantly becoming coated in your juices. "You're soaking wet for me, girl. You really were needy, weren't you?"

"Yes," you confessed, your fingers gripping his bicep, your voice cracking. "Yes, baby. I been wanting you so bad."

Michael didn't immediately start stroking you. Instead, he just rested his palm against your mound, letting you feel the heavy, warm weight of his hand. He began to apply a slow, steady pressure, moving his palm up and down, grinding your sensitive flesh against himself. Michael might have been too tired to move his body, but his hands had a mind of their own.

And though friction was intense, it wasn't enough. You wanted his fingers in you.

"Please, Mike. Put 'em in. Just a little bit," you begged, turning your head slightly to try and catch his lips.

Michael turned his head to meet yours, pressing a deep, slow, open mouthed kiss to your lips. He tasted like sweet mint. He kissed you thoroughly, his tongue lazy and heavy, mirroring the slow rhythm of his hand down below.

While he kissed you, his middle finger slowly slipped inside of your pussy.

You let out a muffled moan into his mouth, your walls clenching tightly around his finger. They were so long, and the intrusion felt incredibly deep and full.

Michael pulled back from the kiss, his eyes heavy, watching your face in the dim moonlight. He saw the pleasure written across your features, your lips parted, your brow slightly furrowed as you tried to cope with the sensation.

"You're so tight," he whispered, his finger remaining completely still inside you. "So warm."

"Move it, baby," you pleaded, your hips giving a desperate little twitch. "Please, move it."

"Shh, easy," he murmured. "Let me stretch you out first."

He slowly curled his finger inside you, hooking it slightly against your front wall. The sudden friction against your g-spot made your eyes roll back, a loud broken moan escaping your throat. "Oh, shit- ! Michael...Michael!"

"I got you," he whispered, his voice incredibly deep and steady.

He slowly slid a second finger, his index finger, inside alongside the first. The fit was incredibly snug, making you stretch around him. He began a slow, rhythmic in and out motion. It wasn't fast, and it wasn't rough.

He began to move his fingers, but it was agonizingly slow. He would slide it almost all the way out, letting you feel the slick friction of his exit, only to push it back in with a slow thrust that was incredibly deep. With every stroke, his fingers coated themselves in your slickness, the wet, squelching sound filling the quiet bedroom, making your face burn with a mixture of embarrassment and arousal.

Over and over, he kept the pace tortuously slow. He was making sure you felt every millimeter of his fingers sliding inside you.

You were losing your mind. Your body wanted him to move fast, wanted to ride his hand to get that quick, explosive release, but every time you tried to speed up the pace, tried to really buck your hips and fuck yourself on this man's hand like a bitch in heat, Michael’s hand on your hip would tighten, holding you firmly in place.

"No, no," he cautioned, his deep voice vibrating against your back. "Don't rush, baby. Just feel how good it is."

"It's too slow, Michael," you cried out, a tear of frustration and pleasure escaping the corner of your eye. "You torturing me."

"I'm loving you," he corrected softly, his finger finally finding your highly sensitive clit.

He didn't rub it. He was just pressed down gently, holding his finger there while his fingers on his other hand continued its slow, deep curls inside of you.

The combination of the deep, slow penetration and the steady, heavy pressure on your clit sent a massive wave of electricity straight to your core. Your legs began to shake, your inner muscles contracting violently around his finger.

"That's it," Michael murmured, feeling the pre orgasmic ripples of your body. "You like that, don't you?"

"Yes, yes, right there, Mike," you gasped, your voice completely wrecked. "Right there."

He kept his movements steady, his long fingers working inside you with a masterful, lazy rhythm that was driving you over the edge. He didn't have to strain himself; he just lay there, watching your face in the dim light, enjoying the way he could make you unravel with just a fraction of his effort.

"I'm not going to let you come yet," he whispered, his voice dripping with a playful, dominant malice.

And just like that, he eased up. He pulled his fingers almost completely out, his fingers lightly brushing away from your sweet spot, leaving you hovering right on the edge of a cliff, completely suspended.

You let out a frustrated, heartbroken groan. You grabbed his thighs, turning to look up at his handsome, smug face. He looked so incredibly handsome, his features all soft and full of love.

"Michael, why you doing me like this?" you whined, completely exasperated. "You know I'm right there. Don't play with me like this, baby, I'm begging you."

Michael down at you, his eyes incredibly soft but holding a deep, intense hunger. He reached over, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb wiping away the stray tear of frustration.

"Because I want it to last," he whispered honestly. "If I let you come right now, you're going to fall asleep, and I won't get to feel you like this for another long time. I want to enjoy you, sweetheart. I want to see how much you can take."

You looked into his eyes, seeing the genuine, deep affection mixed with the primal desire to possess you, to dominate your pleasure. The frustration faded instantly, replaced by a deep submission.

"Okay," you whispered. "Okay. Do what you want. Just don't stop."

Michael smiled, a beautiful smile. "I won't stop."

He reached down, his hands catching your thighs and spreading them wider, draping your legs over his own. He adjusted himself slightly, leaning back a bit more so he had a clear view of your pussy.

He dipped two fingers into your slick pool of moisture, coating them completely before he slowly pushed both fingers deep inside you, a sharp gasp escaping your lips.

"Ohhh- hnnmm," you whimpered, your hands moving down to grip the sheets for dear life.

Michael began to pump his fingers inside you, but he kept the pace slow, steady, and incredibly deep. He was curling his fingers upward, hitting that sweet spot inside you over and over again with a wet, rhythmic squelch that echoed.

His other hand reached up, his thumb gently circling your clit, match the slow rhythm of his fingers. Every slide of his fingers made you lose your breath. You closed your eyes, your head rolling back against his shoulder, your hips rolling against his hand as you let out low moans.

You were completely at his mercy. Every touch was calculated, designed to build the tension in your lower belly until it was almost unbearable.

"Michael...please...I can't..." you cried out softly, your hands clutching the satin sheets, your toes curling. The pleasure was rolling through you in waves, so overwhelming because you had waited so damn long for it.

"Yes you can," he whispered, his voice a soothing, hypnotic tone. "Just ride the wave, baby. Let it build. I've got you."

He kept you on that agonizing edge for what felt like hours, but was likely only fifteen minutes of sensory torture. He would build you up until your thighs were shaking uncontrollably, asking you to "Look at me, baby," with a hypnotic tone, his finger applying a perfect, steady pressure to your clit while his other fingers stroked deep inside you, and then he would slow down even more, whispering sweet, encouraging words into your ear, kissing your neck, your ear, your lips, until your body settled just enough for him to start the build up all over again.

By the time he finally decided to let you go, you were completely spent, your body vibrating with a tension so tight it felt like a coiled spring. "You love it when I touch you like this?" he asked, his voice a low, commanding purr.

"I love it...I love you, Mike...I'm about to..." you sobbed softly, not even able to finish your sentences, your fingers digging into his thighs, likely leaving light red marks that you couldn't see because of his pants. "I need to come. Please, baby. Let me come."

Michael looked down at you, his own breathing heavy now, his face flushed with heat. He saw how completely undone you were, how entirely devoted you were to his touch in this moment.

"Alright, baby," he whispered, his voice incredibly tender. "Come for me. Right now."

He suddenly sped up his movements, his fingers thrusting deeply and rapidly inside of you, while his thumb rubbed your clit in fast, intense circles.

The sudden shift in pace was too much. Your body instantly locked up.

A loud, soul shattering cry tore from your throat as your vision went completely white. Your walls clamped down on his fingers in tight, rhythmic spasms, squeezing him with incredible force. You arched your back, before your entire body began shaking violently as the intense, delayed orgasm crashed over you in waves, going on and on, seemingly never ending because of how long he had held you back. Your hips bucked against his hand, your chest heaving as you rode it out.

Michael held you tightly against him, his fingers staying deep inside you, feeling every single contraction of your climax. He buried his face in your neck, letting out a low, satisfied groan of his own as though he were the one nutting, completely intoxicated by your pleasure. He let you shake, kissing away the happy tears that gathered at the corners of your eyes.

"Yes, baby," he whispered against your skin, his voice all thick and warm. "That's it. Let it out. Give it all to me."

You collapsed against his chest, your muscles completely jelly, your heart pounding like a drum. You were panting heavily, sweat lightly shining your forehead, letting the contractions gently squeeze him until the worst of the tremors faded into a lazy, warm afterglow.

Slowly, carefully, Michael slipped his fingers out of you. He reached over to the nightstand, grabbing a soft hand towel to clean himself and you, his movements incredibly tender and caring.

Once you were both cleaned up, he pulled you back into his arms. You collapsed against his chest, completely spent, your forehead resting right over his heart. You could hear it beating- a steady, comforting thump thump, thump thump.

"You alright now, needy girl?" he teased softly, his chest rumbling against your cheek.

You released a soft, satisfied hum, wrapping one leg over his thigh, tangling your bodies together. "I'm perfect. Thank you, baby."

"Anytime," he murmured, his voice incredibly heavy now, his eyes already fluttering shut. "Now...let your man get some sleep."

"Go to sleep, Mike," you whispered, kissing his warm chest.

Within minutes, his breathing slowed into a deep, even rhythm. You lay there in the quiet of the bedroom, warm, fully satisfied, and completely loved, listening to the soft sound of his breathing as the neon green clock ticked away into the morning.

“Woah, woah.” It’s sweet how concerned he sounds as his hands fly up to the bar and his feet nudge you forward to help you replace the weight on the rack, but his hips end up pressed to yours, and you’re gasping. “You okay?”

You’re fine, caged between him and the bar as he leans over your shoulder to glimpse your face that’s flushed from exertion. Only exertion, surely, even though your ass is pressed firmly to his pelvis. He doesn’t seem hard, but you can still feel it, and it feels big.

“Yeah,” you breathe, moving to duck under the bar, but it’s low and you’re feeling a little dizzy, so you teeter backwards into him, and as his hands find your waist again. “Yeah, I’m about to be done anyway.”

“You should really stretch after maxing out like that,” he suggests, turning you around. “Don’t wanna be hurting, do you?”

But you can only look into his intense eyes and shake your head lightly before he’s easing you to the ground on your back, settling each of his knees over one of your thighs, and slotting his shoulder beneath your hamstring. He pushes forward, gently, slowly, looking to you for anything wrong; and there isn’t.

There’s nothing wrong, except for the fact that you can feel his huge dick against your pussy through both of your shorts.

It’s all you need to start moving blindly, reaching down for his waistband, pawing at his neck, mashing his lips to yours, and he doesn’t hesitate to do it back—he lets up on your leg only to slip your shorts off before your ankle is back over his shoulder and he’s grinding the head of his cock into your wetness.

“You gonna let me in, baby?” he pants hotly, looking down at you squirming beneath him. “Yeah, I know you will—you’re strong, you can take it.”

His tip catches on your clit, and you gasp before he’s plunging into you, setting a brutal pace. “Oh, fuck!”

“Oh, fuck, yeah,” he groans. “So fuckin’ tight.”

He hits the inside of you perfectly, his soft ginger hair falling loose from its low pony—you wish you knew his name so you could scream it, but you settle for moaning, panting, cussing, as he throws your other leg over his shoulder and drills into you on the gym mat. ⊹

⊹ OSAMU DAZAI—MY OLDER BROTHER ALMOST CAUGHT ME FUCKING HIS BEST FRIEND!

“Shit—I’ll be back, gonna go shower this off. Asshole.”

That was what your older brother, Chuuya, grumbled at Dazai before scurrying off to the bathroom. The three of you had just gotten back from getting ice cream, and Dazai had the brilliant idea of snatching Chuuya’s cone from him and sticking it in his hair. Cursing ensued the entire walk home.

And Dazai popped the tail end of his cone in his mouth and grabbed for your wrists as soon as your brother was out of sight, which leads you to now—in the living room, on the couch, bouncing furiously on his cock as he grunts.

“Osamu—be quiet!” you plead with him, but you’re moaning, too.

His lips fall into a grin. “Don’t worry, cutie, I can still hear the shower—fuck! Just keep—keep doing that, you feel so fucking good.”

So you reinforce your grip on his shoulders and slam your hips down to meet his, over and over, drawing sinful sounds from both of your bodies as you’re separated by a single thin wall from your brother—Dazai’s best friend, who would probably murder both of you if he found out you were fucking.

And then the water turns off. You muffle the choked cry you let out into Dazai’s shoulder, so damn frustrated that you won’t get there, not before Chuuya comes back—but Dazai’s flipping you onto your back, grabbing you by your hips, pulling you into him with such fervor that you almost shout.

“Need it, baby, I need to cum in this pussy—”

“Osamu!”

But even you can’t tell if you’re egging him on or warning him to stop—with no sound buffer and Chuuya undoubtedly coming back any minute, your body decides for you that you need it, too, you need to cum and you will, no matter how much your mind protests; your eyes flick nervously up to the hallway when they’re not rolling back from how Dazai’s rearranging your guts.

“He’s gonna come back—unh—and you’re gonna sit here with my cum in you, and he won’t even fuckin’ know.”

He’s digging his nails into your hips and ass, making you twitch, reaching down to rub your clit hard, and when you cum, clenching around him, he shoves his palm over your mouth and spills into you with a last few wet smacks.

Dazai’s scrambling back into his pants as footsteps pad down the hall; he all but throws himself at the other end of the couch as you curl up, dressed but fucked silly, focused on not letting the evidence of what just happened gush out of you and leak onto the couch.

“Fuck was that noise?” Chuuya mumbles, sauntering out as he’s tying his wet hair up.

“Hm? I don’t know, I didn’t hear anything.”

When Chuuya turns toward the kitchen, Dazai tosses you a wink. Your face burns as you feel yourself leaking. ⊹

⊹ DOPPO KUNIKIDA—COLLEGE HOTTIE SUCKS DICK FOR EXTRA CREDIT!

"You do realize I'm going to have to fail you," your professor informs you, looking into your eyes with a little regret. Truthfully, you've always been personable in class and shown promise as a student, and he's disappointed. Not in you, just in your poor academic performance during your final semester.

"There has to be something I can do to make up for it," you nearly plead, hands clasped together on the edge of his desk as you look to him with hope. You know you've been slacking, but you need this class to graduate.

"I don't know—" He sighs your name, clearly confliced. Your attendance record is less than impressive these days, and Kunikida's enforced a strict class participation policy throughout his years of teaching—as well as no extra credit—something he makes clear to all of his students in all of his classes, and you especially should know better after taking his classes for four years. "I don't know. Like what?" Maybe you can do a few credits in the summer and still walk at graduation, or pick up an internship. But he wants you to take the initiative and accountability.

He doesn't really know how to protest when you're slipping out of your seat and sinking to your knees as a spark starts to gleam in your eyes. You rattle off a few academic ideas for posterity, but ultimately find your hands sliding up his thighs and fiddling with his belt.

Fuck it, you think, you'll be out of here soon enough. Plus, Kunikida's always been kind, compassionate, understanding, and sexy—too invested in his field to even notice that handfuls of students on campus would throw themselves at him given the chance. Maybe he'll finally understand, you muse to yourself, as you work his hardening cock out of his dress pants.

He chokes out your name when you take his length in both of your hands; he's all the way gone when you're swirling your tongue over his tip, giving in to your little idea for extra credit sooner than he'd ever admit to himself.

"Oh, fuck—" He's staring up at the ceiling of his office in pure bliss because his student is working hot, sloppy kisses down the underside of his cock. His hands twist into your hair, and you gaze up at him, doe-eyed, as his head falls forward and he looks at you through his glasses. "Keep going. Don't fucking stop."

He's trying not to thrust into your mouth when you fondle his balls; his pretty blond bangs are dampening with sweat, and you can't take your eyes off him as you bob your head faster, hollowing your cheeks around him and moaning at the taste of your professor's cock heavy in your mouth. He twitches and jumps at your attention to detail—your fingers raking tracks down his thighs, your frantic tongue, your fluttering lashes and sugary moans, gags, and slurps that are music to him.

You know, as he falls apart more and more by the second, you won't have to worry about this class anymore.

"Unh—uh, yes, oh, fuck, we'll work something out, yeah, gorgeous? Just don't stop—d—don't stop, don't fucking stop, I'm gonna cum down that pretty throat, yeah, and we'll get it all figured out." ⊹

⊹ YUKICHI FUKUZAWA—NAUGHTY SECRETARY SEDUCES HOT BOSS!

You're perched on his desk when he returns from the meeting—Yukichi, your boss, who, lately, you can't stop thinking about climbling like a tree. You're sure your coworkers see it, too, but you're his personal assistant; no one gets to be as close to him as you, and he trusts you.

Which is why you'll put the moves on him today.

He runs a hand through his silver hair—obviously stressed—sighing as he pulls his office door shut and turns to you. He speaks your name, holds a few papers in your direction, begins instructing you on what he needs from you next.

But you know better what he needs. The papers that make their way into your hands are quickly forgotten about on his desk as you uncross your legs and hop down, sauntering up to place on hand on his arm, the other on his chest.

"Sir, you look so tense. Are you sure there isn't anything else I can do?"

He makes his way to sit down in his office chair, disregarding your touch in a way that has you following after him like a puppy in need of attention.

He doesn't answer, but he also doesn't protest when you settle between his knees beneath his desk and push his yukata and haori up to pool around his hips. His dick is thick and veiny, even soft; when you spit in your hand and begin to work him up and down his mouth falls open with a sigh, and he grows at least two inches as he hardens beneath your grip.

You didn't think you'd be able to fit his absolute monster cock in your mouth, but you find yourself, throat open, with your nose pressed to his happy trail as you swirl your tongue and breathe through your nose frantically; he holds your face down, speaking very little but making up for it with the way he grunts hotly in that deep, rough voice as he bucks into the back of your throat.

"Unh—ugh..."

You breathe through your nose as his hips fall into a brutal pace; his hands on either side of your head keep you pinned in place as he uses you, takes his stress out on you. Your fingers massage his balls, and you can't help the way you hum around him when he twitches in your mouth.

Yukichi pulls out of your jaw and you gasp for air, wiping the spit that drips down your chin with the back of your hand, but he's not done. When he does speak, it's demanding, low, and it makes your cunt throb with need.

"Get up. Get up, sit on the desk. 'Need to fuck you."

You do as you’re told, open up for him with no hesitation, smiling as he works his fat cock into you—yeah, his stress will be gone in no time with the way he fucks your hole so hard and fast that you shake with each creak of his desk. ⊹

⊹ ATSUSHI NAKAJIMA—STUCK IN THE ELEVATOR WITH MY SEXY NEIGHBOR!

"Ah! Atsushi, open the door!"

"Um," he frets, punching the button until he's sure it'll break. If it's not broken already. "I—I can't, it's not working!"

Not working? Is he fucking serious? You're trapped in the door—all you did was try to reach back out for your bag you'd set by the elevator and now you're stuck, by the waist, between the two sliding maneuvers, your bag dangling from your hands.

"It's supposed to have a sensor! It's not supposed to even close when someone's on the threshold!" you cry through your teeth as you try to squirm out. Atsushi's mind is already working, though, over the way you're pinned in half, wiggling your ass as you struggle against the industrial strength of the elevator door. "Atsushi, help me, please call someone or something—"

But his hands are on your hips, pulling backward, and you can't help the noise of surprise that slips out of you.

"Atsu', I seriously don't think that will work, please, just call—Atsushi!"

His hands shake as he slides your pants and underwear down your thighs, exposing your ass; he tunes out your protesting as he undoes his belt. You hear the clink of it hitting the ground, you feel his fingers dipping into your cunt from behind, and he cannot be fucking serious.

"I'm sorry," he cries like it's out of his control—he feels like it is. "I'm sorry, you're so hot, you're right here, I've wanted this for so long."

And you feel yourself beginning to drip at his desperate tone. You can't fucking believe it—this is depraved. This is some shit you would've never expected from the sweet, cute boy in the apartment across the hall who helped you drag your bedframe and couch from this very elevator to your room but here he is, prodding at you with his pathetically leaky cock while you're stuck in the damn elevator door.

And you'd be frustrated with how your body reacts, but as he slides his dick along your cunt, drenching himself in your wetness, you can't help but arch back into his touch.

"Atsushi, you have to fuck me, please."

And he does, fast and unpracticed—he whimpers for you, tells you you're all he thinks about when he jerks off; he confesses that he looks through his peephole when he knows you're leaving for work or school just to get at least one glimpse of you everyday to fuel his imagination, and you gush around him, the pain of the door trapping you falling irrelevant, drifting out of your mind, as he buries his face in your shoulder and humps into you like an animal, pounding against your cervix.

"Fuck, that's right, so good, so, so good—better than I could've imagined—agh, fuck, that's right, take it all, take it, take it, take it...!" ⊹

⊹ RYUUNOSUKE AKUTAGAWA—HOT BABE HAS NO MONEY, LETS THE DELIVERY BOY DESTROY THAT PUSSY!

You rifle through your wallet and hum when you come up short. "Um, I... know you said you don't have a card reader, but I don't have enough cash."

The delivery boy looks at you with little more than boredom until you invite him in.

"Here, let me look in my room—I might have more stashed somehwere..."

He stands over you, searching you with his curious gray eyes as you dig through a drawer, a bag, another bag, only to come up short again. You even peek under your mattress for good measure, but you're just out. You turn to him sheepishly.

"I, uh... I don't have enough, I'm really sorry."

"Well, I can't leave without some form of payment," he deadpans, and you try to think of something, anything—you have a few giftcards for other delivery services, some jewelry—but he's letting his bag fall off his shoulder and grabbing you by the hips before you can register what he means.

You end up face down, ass up on your bed as a compromise, his hips rutting into you from behind as he holds your wrists behind your back. Ryuunosuke his name tag read—you're quick to adopt a way around that mouthful, moaning out, "Ryuu, Ryuu, please!" as he splits you open and calls you a whore.

"Fuckin' slut—"

When you're able to glance back for a second you can see his pretty black hair swaying with each rough thrust, and you're sure he's hitting your lungs—he's so fucking deep inside you, and you're gasping, moaning for more.

"—so eager to—unh—take this dick. Probably hiding your cash somewhere."

But whether you are or not doesn't matter; your eyes are rolling back to the hard smack of his hips against your ass and the white-hot pleasure that rolls through you every time he plows straight into your g-spot, and he's throbbing inside of you at the way your cunt grips him. Your pizza's getting cold on the counter in your kitchen, but you don't care—not when he bunches his fingers up in your hair to arch you back up to him so he can wrap his other hand around your throat.

You hold onto him as he bends you, pulling air down into your lungs when you can, and his gravelly voice barrages you with more words that make you gush around his cock.

"Gonna let me cum in this pussy so you don't have to fork over a few bucks for a pizza? Pathetic."

His teeth sink into your shoulder, his other hand reaches down to torture your neglected clit, and you're sure he's gonna break you over this, your hot delivery boy who just so happened to have the idea to fill you up as payment. You pant his name desperately between thunderous moans—you're gonna cum soon. ⊹

⊹ SAKUNOSUKE ODA—THIS PLUMBER FIXED MORE THAN JUST MY PIPES!

"Okay, that should do it." The man stands up, back to a height at which he towers over you, and you lean on the doorframe to the kitchen as he shuts the cabinets beneath your sink. "It's all movin' again."

You were in your robe when you answered the door, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't run to the bathroom to fix your hair and swipe on a little lip balm while he was working. Really, you hadn't meant to try to fuck the plumber. But this man was gorgeous, with his auburn hair, stubble-lined jaw, large hands, broad shoulders. You felt your eyes widen when you first laid eyes on him, and now you'd been throbbing thinking about what those thick fingers could do other than plumbing.

You pull your robe tighter around yourself, hoping to subtly accentuate the outline of your body. "Thank you so much, really, I don't know what I'd have done without the sink."

"Probably used the dishwasher a lot more," he cracked dryly, and your previous words suddenly feel stupid, but it only serves to make him hotter.

"How should I pay you?" You stride over to him. "Cash?"

"You can just pay online." He looks tired, but he has a well-meaning smile on his face.

You look a little incredulous. "Really? I can't—do you accept tips? Seriously, top notch work and super quick. I can't not thank you."

"I'm really not supposed to take tips," he drawls, running a hand through his hair. You find yourself biting your lip; you can't look away from him. You must look like a rabid animal right now, but you can't help it.

He doesn't tear his eyes away from yours.

"I mean, unless..."

Those three words are what find you on your back in your bedroom with your robe thrown open, the sweet and efficient plumber named Sakunosuke standing at the edge as he impales you on his cock. He worked you open with those fingers first, fast and harsh, just how you begged him to, but nothing could've prepared your weeping hole for the stretch of his fat dick—and now he's pounding into you, his hands clutching your waist as you hold your legs open for him to thrust deeper, deeper.

“Oh, shit. Unh—so wet—“

His groans come from his chest, deliciously—he looks a little like he knows he shouldn't be doing this, but your cunt is sucking him in like it was what he was supposed to come here for all along. You spasm and clench around him and he throws his head back, your whole body rippling as his strong hips and heavy balls smack lewdly against your ass with each thrust.

“Mmph—fuck—break that sink of yours more often, alright?” ⊹

⊹ ANGO SAKAGUCHI—I JOINED THE MILE HIGH CLUB (EXTREMELY RISKY)!

The man you met in the airport bar—oh, he’s pretty.

He's even prettier in your mind when the pilot announces phone permissions now that you're in the air, and the first notification your phone receieves is from him.

I have an open seat next to me in first class. Come visit.

You don't hesitate for a moment. You stride forward from the economy section, past the flight attendants who protest at you flimsily to search for his seat number—you see his unmistakably gorgeous hair, his glasses, his sharp side profile as he speaks to an attendant, catches you in his peripheral, and then shoos her away.

There's hardly niceties before one of your legs is slung over his knee and he kisses you with fervor. You don't think too hard about the people around you—none of whom can actually see you but without a doubt will know exactly what's happening in a few minutes—as you grind down onto his thigh, bite his lips, draw soft gasps from him when your knee nudges his bulge.

Before you know it, his cock is free and he slides your underwear to the side so you can sink onto him; he groans shamelessly when your wet heat envelops him completely, causing heads to turn in your direction, but you just brace your knees against the airplane seat and your hands on his shoulders make quick work of milking him of everything he has.

He kisses you, hot, heavy; he smells good, he smells expensive, and you tear his dress shirt open to rake your nails down his chest as he grabs your hips, letting his head fall back and a full-bodied moan into the cramped air of the plane as he does so. You lift up to let him thrust, let lewd smacks resonate throughout first class, and with your chest in his face he rides your shirt up to latch his teeth to one of your nipples; you echo him, moaning unabashedly, running your hands through your hair, gripping him as people look on.

"Fuuuck, yeah, feels so good," he praises from beneath you. "Knew I had to fuck you from the second I saw you." His eyebrows draw up in concentration as he looks down at where your bodies meet and continues fucking up into you hard. "Hah—listen to that cunt cry for me. You like being watched, huh? Gonna let me fuck you 'til the plane smells like sex? Huh?"

You nod, messily, desperately, and he quickens his pace ever faster, pulling you back down into a sloppy kiss.

An attendant awkwardly approaches in the aisle, but the gorgeous man who's destroying your insides just holds up a palm, shoos her away again.

"Fuck—so sexy. Keep takin' this dick." ⊹

⊹ NIKOLAI GOGOL—LUCKY INTRUDER GETS TO FUCK HORNY VICTIM!

You're splayed out on your bed, two fingers stuffed deep in your cunt—and he's just surprised you didn't hear him breaking the lock on your front door.

When you meet his eyes, you're so glazed over with pleasure that you barely miss a beat, your gaze only blowing wide when he peers around your bedroom doorway. His snowy white hair, his sharp features—you can't find the sense to be alarmed at this unfamiliar man, the one holding your laptop and—is that your wallet?

Doesn't matter—they're clattering to the ground, another factor here you can't find it in yourself to care about as his gray eyes are locked onto you fucking yourself open on your sheets. The sheen of sweat that covers your skin, your desperate moans as you grind your clit against your palm, the obscene squelching that comes from your wet cunt—they all serve to propel him over to you, prompt him to dig his already-hard cock out of his pants as you just watch, beg him with your stare to come fill you up. You're so lucky he's here, really—you look like you're struggling to get deep enough with your pathetic little fingers; he guesses it's only fair that he repay you for the material goods he's about to rob you of and pawn off on whatever sucker will buy them for cash, right?

"Right? I'll help you out—" He gives his cock a few pumps as he positions himself between your legs, "—looks like you need it, sweetheart."

You can only bite your lip to supress the moan that leaves you as he enters your cunt and lifts your fingers up and out of you by your wrist to swirl his tongue around them, lick them clean. He's huge—even your third and fourth fingers weren't enough to prepare you properly for the burglar’s dick in your needy pussy, so you let out strained combinations of gasps and screams when he starts to drill into you mercilessly. You can't help the way your ankles link behind his back, the way you reach for him—and he smiles wickedly when your eyes roll back.

"You like having a stranger's cock deep in your guts, huh?" he speaks between deep sighs and grunts. You can only babble your incoherent agreement, your laptop and wallet forgotten, the actions of this man forgotten, everything but how desperately you need to squirt all over him forgotten—you reach down and rub your clit, play with your nipples as your mouth is frozen open as you moan, moan for this man who's just broken into your home. "Uh—yeah, you're gonna like takin' all my cum, too, I bet." ⊹

⊹ SIGMA—MASSEUR HELPS HIS SEXY CLIENT RELIEVE STRESS!

"Oh, yeah—right there," you groan softly as the heel of his palm meets the center of your back. You've been looking forward to this full-body massage the whole week, and this man was not disappointing.

He works his way down your back, twisting knots out as he goes—his lithe fingers feel like heaven against you, overworked from hours at your desk hunched over your computer.

But it's a full-body massage, as mentioned before; when his fingers dig into the plush of your asscheeks, you can't help the groan that leaves you.

"That okay?" he inquires; you think you hear a shake in his voice.

"More than okay," you reply, thinking you could fall asleep as he works you into relaxation. You could close your eyes from how good it feels, or you could peek behind you and see his face burning with blush at your sounds. You do the former, but smirk a little at how sweet it is of him to check in.

He checks in again when his hands are inching your underwear down, and you tell him of course, he's the professional.

He's still the professional when he climbs up on the table behind you and buries his flushed face into your cunt. You arch up and back, crooning, as his hands stay massaging you, spreading you apart, kneading your ass with career expertise and plunging his tongue into you with enthusiasm.

"Oh! Oh—feels good," you breathe, grinding back into his face, onto his nose. He laps at you happily, this masseur you've barely looked upon for a total of twenty seconds, but you can't lie to yourself and say you didn't think he was pretty when he led you back to his room; he hums into you, sending you shivering, twitching. "Please, more."

"Mhm," he mumbles, releasing one of your asscheeks to lay back beneath you and insert a long, thin finger into your pussy; you sigh, you settle onto his face, and his tongue speeds up in this new position in a way that rips a high moan from your lungs.

Not hunched, but arched, the stretch feels heavenly on your back in combination with the way he pumps another finger into you; you graciously sit up, throwing your head back, begging, pleading for more until his tongue settles into a tight back-and-forth rhythm over your clit. "Please, please, please—"

You grind against his nose, your moans become more erratic, and you dig a hand into his hair as your hips move in dizzying circles over his head.

"Cum for me?" he asks, muffled by your pussy; you'll ride him until his face is soaked. ⊹

⊹ FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY—CONFESSING MY SINS ENDS IN HUGE CUMSHOT ALL OVER MY FACE!

“And I’ve been terribly, terribly lustful, Father Fyodor,” you say with regret. “It consumes me. I really never used to be like this."

"Temptation lurks everywhere," the priest sympathizes. You can barely see him through the grate, but his soft, forgiving voice sounds close to you. "The Devil and his army are constantly exploiting our vulnerabilities to try and turn us to sin, but worry not, child of Christ; we're human. I'm here to guide you. Continue."

You shift on the wooden seat in the booth, crossing your hands tighter over your lap. "That's really all. It's been very concerning to me. I think about it... I think about it so much."

"About what?" Father Fyodor prompts, and you bristle even more at being asked to elaborate.

"Sex," it barely comes out as more than a whisper. "I can't help it—it's everywhere. It leaves me feeling so... exhausted and frustrated, and the only thing that helps is... Well..."

But you're met with silence. You know he wants you to go on. You're here to confess, after all.

"...touching myself. I do it at least once a day. It's like a burning within me—nothing helps but—but—cumming all over my fingers." Your voice is laced with shame—the throbbing of your cunt as you talk makes you feel all the more guilty, and you can only imagine how he's shaking his head. "That's all. That's all."

"You'll do penance," he says, comfortingly. "When we bring our sins to the Lord and repent he cleanses us of them."

The grate pops out of the window, and you see the the waist of his alb as he speaks his next words.

"You'll take communion, now—" the cinctures around his waist fall undone beneath his hands, and the alb is hiked up to reveal a leaking cock, pretty and pale and bobbing in the air of the confessional. "—and be saved from the flames of perdition.”

"Yes, Father, please. Anything to be saved." But your mouth waters in a way that you know has little to do with your thirst for salvation.

"Take this; eat. This is my body," he recites the scripture as his length reaches through the window; your hands, eager and already on the threshold, accept him willingly. As you wrap your mouth around him, he groans, and it's like seraphim singing their holy, holy, holy.