ྀ Hi guys, I’m writing this on April 7th 🥹 Not to make excuses but i was hella unmotivated papi’s sorry okay bye
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PervyNerd!Izuku gets too excited while tutoring you..( ⌯◞◟⌯)♡ (f4m ♡)
The boy always had a crush on you, it wasn’t discreet in the slightest. Holding the door open for you, letting you get lunch before him, pulling out your chair…what can he say? His mother raised a gentleman. But how chivalrous and righteous could he be when faced with teenage temptation? He barely puts up a fight. Of course, he would never be as headstrong as Mineta or Denki, too “pure” for that…but both of his heads are in the exact same place. Seeing you nearly daily in your skin tight hero costume drove him crazy, though on the outside, he was displaying exemplary control and maturity, scoffing at the perverse comments of his peers. But here he was, at such an ungodly hour, his hand clasped over his mouth as his toes gripped the sheets. Soft whimpers of pleasure spilled from his supple lips as his eyes were practically sewed shut, as if avoiding witnessing his actions made him any less of an accomplice.
Earbuds in, firm hand choking the throbbing heartbeat out of that cock, and listening to your buttery voice as a cherry on top. For clarification, about a month ago, you had sent him a voice message…telling him all about your day in Malaysia since you two couldn’t call and talk due to your packed schedules. He listened to it bi-weekly, it was an innocent thing at first, then he paid attention to every inhale, every change in pitch…your tone. It drove him crazy tonight, and he found himself here, tears pricking his eyes as his fingers on his mouth part just enough for him to gasp…warm semen coating his knuckles as he writhed in his bed, slowing down to a stop eventually. But, your voice continued in his ears, telling him about how pretty the sky was, the locals, every detail…and he wiped his hand clean, but not his conscience, ultimately falling asleep to your excited voice.
That was about 2 weeks ago, and he hasn’t stopped obsessing over it since. You noticed he was acting weird…distant. “Izu—“ You would start, waving…but instead of holding the door, he would walk into the classroom, and completely ignore you. You had obviously developed feelings for him too, hyping yourself up to confess…but now you weren’t so sure, why had he suddenly become so cold to you? He still sat next to your usual seat at lunch, but he would be there first, already eating before you even set your bag down. You had enough of this, he wasn’t just going to sit there and play with your mind! Intentionally or not…and you had the perfect way to find out if he really cared for you or not. “Izuku..?” You ask kindly, though your heart was swirling either confusion, pumping it unflaggingly through your body. He zips up, turning to you with tired eyes…odd. “Y-Yeah..?-“ He mumbles, his body tense. “Please come over to my dorm tonight to my dorm tonight to help me study for the upcoming written impulse control exam…I’m confident, of course! But…I could use a little reassurance..” Fuck. Why him, why now? That demeanor of yours, your voice…it haunted him. But he was hypnotized, and somehow…you knew it. “Of course, of course I’ll…help. Wh-What uh…t..time tonight..?-“ He almost facepalms at that question, as if it mattered. He wouldn’t have any time to prepare for it anyway, clear his mind, maybe shoot a load before he went over so he wouldn’t be so full…he wasn’t thinking clearly, the perverse bastard. "Anytime before 9, gotta go to bed early, you know.." You coo, facing him directly, drinking in the way he replied, eager to help...so why had he been so ridiculously distant? Maybe you made him shy, but why react now? You were so damn lost...but maybe spending time with him alone tonight would help. The day continued as usual, but Izuku could barely focus in class while Aizawa blabbed on about the lesson. He was dreading it. Dreading seeing your pretty face, your body in your loungewear, looking impossibly adorable in your natural state. Heat pooled in his stomach, and he clenched his fists, putting his head down defeatedly.
He gathers all of his courage once that annoying bell rings him out of his spiral...he speeds out of his room and right to the dormitory building, locking his door as he struggles to catch his breath, clawing at his thigh as something in his pants aches relentlessly. He grabs at the tent, forcing it to the side but he only shivers from the contact...his pretty eyes rolling back into his skull. Drool slips from the side of his mouth, a groan escaping his lips. Now, Midoriya didn’t masturbate often, but when he did, he let loose. Pounding every bit of stress into his drooling cock. Gnawing on his shirt so his cries wouldn’t reach anyone..holding his breath, choking himself…he experimented with different things he might like every one of the (rare) times he touched himself. But after falling for you, he found himself sobbing into his pillow as hot, sticky cum coated his knuckles, painting the soft green hairs trailing up his stomach white. Before he knows it, he's sitting on the floor, back against the door. His pants were wrinkled and disheveled, cock hard and ready for any sort of stimulation... bulge in one hand, his phone in the other...he rubs himself softly, earning gentle moans and jolts from himself, texting you shakily. "I'm sorry, I'm just gonna shower really fast before I come over, got a little hot today, be there soon! :)"
Your phone buzzes, and you smile a little seeing the message come over the top of your screen, right over the photos of Izuku you were admiring.
You text back almost instantly, a fluttering feeling in your heart. "No problem! I'll start alone, and you can jump in whenever!" You sit up stretching as you unbutton your school uniform, tossing it into your laundry bin, throwing on a black tank top…sliding off your skirt, you haphazardly toss it into the bin as well, pulling up some regular black shorts, hugging your body comfortably…
Izuku arrives about ten minutes after, his cheeks rid of any pink...but his ears dusted a pretty shade.
"I-I'm sorry I didn't show up sooner...how f-far did you get..?" He whispers shyly, walking in as you shut the door behind him, the atmosphere becoming chaste and endearing, you almost didn't see it coming.
He sits across from you at a cute little floor table you had in your room, a pretty tablecloth covering it, providing some protection to the wood, and a touch of your personality he adored. Izuku's mind was racing. Your pretty tits sitting so perfectly in that tank top..inviting his cock between them and enveloping him perfectly...he got too lost, imagining your soft, warm boobs around his cock, your erect nipples poking out adorably as his sobbing tip grazes your chin...damn it. That ever so familiar warmth creeped into his pants again, despite cumming so much recently...much more than he would usually allow himself. But here he was, stiff as a board as he helped make flashcards for the two of you. His handwriting became a little sloppy as his other hand was fisted between his thighs, literally suppressing his desire. But...one giggle too much, one tuck of your hair behind your ear, adjusting those straps...he paid attention to every detail as you spilled gossip into his ears that didn't matter to him in the slightest...
Not fast, or strong enough to make his entire arm move, but not soft enough for him to ignore either...he stifled whimpers with coughs, and hid his face behind those pretty green curls he just longed to have between your fingers. Precum oozing from him stained his pants...but he didn't care, he breathes out quietly as your voice was nothing but a murmur in the distance. Until your sudden movement cut through his fantasies like a blade.
He got too distracted. His voice comes out as a sputter, seeing you stand up and step to his side of the table, his eyes widen as he all but stays quiet, a shriek escaping him as you freeze mid-step. You had decided to sit beside him, to see the flashcards because you had forgotten what to do in a certain fire situation, but...you were met with a glance of his hand in his lap, palming a very...indiscreet bulge, and a wet stain in his pants. His face was red, and his started to sob.
"I'm'sorry..! I-l'ms-sosorry-!! Idunnowhatgotintomendl'vejusbeensohor—" You cut him off. "..Y-You could've told me...you had to go.." You whispered, your eyes hidden by your hair as you kneel down beside him. "Can...can I feel it.?" You breathe out, completely enamored...you were a virgin, no boyfriend, no kisses...no sex. You were an adult now, so...why not leap at this chance? He chokes on air, but he doesn't move away, his bulge twitches, as if reacting to your voice, and you place a gentle hand on top of it, making him shiver..his head tilting back, your name on his lips, and a switch flips within your stomach.
Hai lul this is absolute dogshit for something that took so long to come out and i apologize sonions lmk if we want a part 2 or flame me in the comments
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neighbour higuruma loves to watch you masturbate through your bedroom window.
the first time was an accident. higuruma had just arrived home after a long day of work, shoulders heavy and eyes barely holding themselves open. a flash of light had caught his attention—you, his neighbour, light bracketing you as you pass your window in nothing but a small, lacy bra. his attention caught like a fly to honey, he’d found himself a slave to his own desires as he laid witness to your nightly routine. he’d watched you pull yourself apart, and wished it was his hands putting you back together.
it quickly becomes the small pleasure that lights up his day. he feels disgusting every time—he knows he should tell you, knows that he should stop looking. it’s invasive in a way that makes him sick to think of others doing the same to him. you’d hate him if you knew.
he watches anyway. it rapidly integrates itself into his nightly routine. he works until the sun has dipped below the horizon. he returns home with an unending ache in his back, a throbbing pain in his fingers, an iron weight around his heart. then he sheds his coat, runs a hand through his hair, and settles down on the armchair in his living room and watches as your bedroom light highlights your silhouette.
you always look so beautiful like that. you prance around your apartment in your underwear, lit up by the warm lights you always keep on. every time you retreat to your bedroom, he feels like it’s a show just for him. you grab a toy—this time a vibrator—and look down at it for just long enough for him to get a glimpse. when you lie down on your bed, arching your back and stretching indecently, he knocks his knees slightly wider.
you’re beautiful. you always take it so slow to start, tracing meaningless patterns around your breasts, your thighs, streaks of sensation beneath feather-light fingertips. he palms over himself idly, watching with heavy breaths. by the time you dip between your folds, fingers sliding easily, he’s hard enough to carve stone from the wait. you really know how to tease. he frees his cock from his pants as you spread your thighs wider, tracing slowly around your clit. he rubs his thumb over his cock as you arch on a gasp, fingers pressing with more pressure. when you finally bring your vibrator to your core, rubbing it where you’re sensitive, he strokes himself at a pace as steady as it is passionate; a physical means of getting off on the internal high of watching you fall apart. he comes with your name on his lips, a broken groan that tears itself from his chest.
when it’s done, he cleans himself up and watches you disappear into the shower, wishing you a quiet, guilty good night. the sickening clarity after the act almost outweighs the high of watching it. still, come the weekend, he’s out on his balcony talking to you from yours; you giggle at a joke he makes, invite him to come over, and he feigns unfamiliarity like he hasn’t memorised the layout of your apartment from his nights perving through your window. when he returns home, it doesn’t take long for you to pull out a dildo—it doesn’t take much longer for him to notice.
(one night, you’re going to catch him looking and come harder than you have in months. he’ll be so sick with guilt he avoids you for weeks. yet, every night you’ll keep masturbating with your curtains open and your lights on, hoping with a blooming perversion. every night, he’ll find himself watching.)
𝜗𝜚 needy, drunk Choso Kamo rutting against your leg
more like this + this fic is part of my frat au, find it on my profile! :p
ೃ࿔*:･
Choso is out without you, for once. Some bullshit "boys night" Sukuna came up with yesterday, a thinly veiled excuse to get stupidly drunk without having to invite the entire campus over. The soft cotton of Choso's borrowed (stolen) shirt hangs loosely on your frame as you curl up in bed, bare legs twisted with the sheets while you aimlessly scroll on your phone.
A smile creeps onto your lips as you pause, thumb hovering over Gojo's stupid spam account- you swipe through the piles of posts, captions that slowly range from typical to nonsensical trails of letters and numbers tapped out with one unsteady hand, the other surely wrapped around a can of beer. There's a few of Choso, laughing quietly next to an empty bottle of vodka, his eyes unfocused from alcohol.
Your heart tightens- is it a crime to miss your boyfriend? As if on cue, your phone buzzes, messages arriving in quick, disorganised succession from the same person you've been thinking about all evening.
Choso stumbles into your dorm just seconds after you finish reading the flurry of sudden, drunken messages lighting up your phone screen as you sit up and wait for him to get back.
| baby
| ndee you
| need
| i misss you
| left Sukuna’s place
| i’m so hard
| fuck
“Baby…” he breathes, warm hands braced on the doorframe of your bedroom. “Missed you so much, fuck-“ he’s slurring his speech, eyeliner smudged at the corners. The way he’s speaking is akin to a soldier coming home from war, breathless and needy, instead of your boyfriend coming back from a drinking session.
“Oh, Cho…” you coo quietly, lips pursing as you take him in. His hair is messier than usual, and his jeans are slung dangerously low on his hips. Your thighs snap together.
“Need you-“ he mutters, yanking his shirt off as he drunkenly makes his way across the plush carpet. “Fuck, s’too hot.”
You gape, face warming. Choso’s happy trail is prominent against the pale skin of his abs, carved flesh you want to rake your nails down and hear the sobs that the action would no doubt yank from his lungs. But not now- not when he’s like this, all pliable and needy and bendable to your will, not when he looks close to tears just from seeing you again.
You smile softly. “C’mere.”
Choso follows obediently, dropping to weak knees with a quiet thud. His face goes straight to your soft thigh, automatically nuzzling into your warmth, and you giggle.
“Aww, my poor baby. Drank too much, hm?”
He peers up at you with glassy, unfocused eyes, and nods; your hand cups his cheek and thumbs across the skin soothingly, thumb swiping across the smudgy eyeliner on his cheek. “Uh-huh…”
Choso’s already fallen to his knees, you know that. He knows that. Whoever lives next to you probably knows that, based on the soft thudding sound that echoed about your room.
But in his rush to press skin to skin, his knees are planted firmly either side of your foot- and there’s a scratchy sensation itching across your bare leg as he ruts through the denim into you.
He’s grinding on your leg.
Quiet little whimpers slip unbidden out of his plump lips, a thin trickle of sparkly drool already pooling at the corner of his mouth. “Mmfh- sorry… can’t-hck- help- baby...”
Choso trails off, eyes fluttering closed as he gets off on your leg. His cheeks are hot on your skin, flushed from the arousal and alcohol plaiting intoxicatingly with each other in his bloodstream.
“Choso…” you whisper, scraping hair back from his sweaty face. He looks pathetic- even more than usual- and it makes your stomach flutter. God, he's so unfairly pretty. “Choso, look at me.”
He does, with an enormous effort. Glossy brown eyes, glimmering with a thin sheen of overworked and grateful tears, blink open to gaze up at you. Your breath catches as he moans, because he looks so debauched you almost feel drunk on him, just the proximity enough to make you soak the panties you know he wishes he has access to.
He could touch them, reach out, plant his pink lips across your cunt and mouth at you until you're soaking the sheets. But he can't- he's so drunk if he tries to cognitively function past the small, helpless ruts to your leg he might pass out from the stress.
Choso's eyes are drooping, glassy. It hits you fully then just how drunk he must be- he left around mid-afternoon, he's been drinking for at least, what, seven hours? And he's hardly a lightweight, either. Usually, Choso is the one wrapping a protective arm around you at parties as you slump against him, drink spilling from your hand.
But now, the roles are reversed. He's out of his mind, alcohol twisting intoxicatingly in his bloodstream; to Choso, there's nothing in the world that matters to him more than just rutting needy against your bare skin. In fact, he thinks if he tries to move at all, or think too much about what he's doing, his eyes might roll back in his skull unpleasantly and he'll pass out at your feet.
Jesus, he's so drunk.
"How did you get back from Sukuna's?" You ask suddenly, gazing down at him and frowning. Choso hates when you look upset with him, a pained whine slipping from his throat. "You didn't drive, did you?"
"N-no, no, couldn't-" he moans, cheek squished to your thigh, "walked. Couldn't r-remember anywhere but here," Choso babbles, "jus' knew I had to see you- missed you so much-"
Your boyfriend is so gorgeous it hurts. The spare baggie rustles in his back pocket as he whines and humps your leg, rutting feverishly against the surface for any friction he can get. There’s a sticky damp patch on the front of his jeans, growing steadily across the darkened denim.
There's a thin, sparkly droplet of drool smeared across your thigh; Choso's mouth is hanging open dumbly, little moans and stuttered whimpers leaking out the longer you touch him, the longer you whisper sweetly down to him.
Choso’s world is spinning on its axis, vision fuzzy as the universe seems to expand like foam, then narrow down until it’s just you and the need pooling in his stomach. He's so drunk he doesn't think he could remember his own name if he tried- but he can remember yours, can just about recall how to slur the syrupy syllables in the correct order.
“Baby… fuck, hnngh-“ he moans, eyes half lidded and heavy as you keep stroking his hair through it. You’re letting him rub his clothed, heavy cock against your leg, and Choso has never felt so heady.
“I love you-“ he gasps, sobs finally clawing their way from his chest as his ruts pick up. "Need you- missed you-"
"Shh, I know you did." You whisper, working him up to a drunken orgasm. "M'right here, okay?"
His torso is still bare, and you take the opportunity to rub a calming hand from his jaw to his shoulder- he moans at the contact and circles his pelvis harder, voice high and whiny and just slightly too loud.
“Cho,” you warn, still pushing hair from his eyes as they stream with eyeliner, “shh… you’re being noisy.”
“Wh-what?” He groans, leaning into your touch as his back trembles. “B-but you feel-fuckkk- good-“
You know he isn’t going to be quiet anytime soon, so you take it upon yourself to dull the noises emanating from his pretty little mouth with your thumb. It presses into the open gap, gently pulling down his bottom lip so spit smears across your finger.
Choso moans, eyes batting closed again as he cums in his jeans against your leg. He keeps rutting through the orgasm, feeling the way the rough fabric scratches over his overly sensitive slit.
When he opens his eyelids again, to focus on the wobbly image of you above him, gently helping him through the orgasm by bobbing your leg, Choso thinks you look angelic.
You can tell- there’s practically little pink hearts blooming in his lovestruck pupils, dilated black swallowing up the gorgeous brown of his irises.
He slumps against your thigh once it’s over, panting and enjoying the floaty feeling the alcohol adds to your fingers sliding from his mouth and stroking his hair lovingly.
“Choso?” You ask softly, still pushing hair back from his sweaty face.
You don’t get a response.
“Hey, Cho.”
Still no response, not even as you shove his shoulder and thumb at his eyelid. Because he’s asleep- he held on all evening to grind against your leg, and then promptly passed out.
mdni. your boy best friend.ᐟgojo pops your cherry…
cw: explicit sexual content. boy best friend.ᐟ gojo x fem virgin.ᐟ reader. smut w/ plot. dry humping, fingering, oral (f/receiving). gojo gets lost in the sauce.
song: lowkey—rochelle jordan
(part one ‹𝟹 part two)
ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃
your heart is in your throat as you glance over at your best friend. he’s slouched in your desk chair, drumming his fingers on the arm rest with one hand, pinching his eyes with the other.
“let me get this straight,” he says. lets out a heavy breath from his nostrils. when he looks up, the usual cerulean blue of his irises is impossibly brighter. kinda like they’re… glowing.
“you want me to take your virginity?”
you twiddle your thumbs almost comically. glance up at your chandelier, before meeting his eye again.
“well… yeah.”
gojo drops his head into his hands, knee bouncing while he groans, sounding almost pained. he murmurs something beneath his breath that sounds vaguely like “gonna fucking kill me,” before he sits back in his seat.
“y/n,” he says evenly, although his knee is still jolting his body. “i don’t think you understand what you’re asking me.”
you instantly narrow your eyes at his tone. the way he’s talking to you like an innocent little girl, rather than the grown woman that you are. you stand up from your bed and walk over him. watch the way he catalogues your legs in your tiny lounge shorts. your tits in your tank top. you stop in front of him, close enough that your knees brush against his sweats.
it takes him a second to drag his eyes away from your hard nipples, and up to yours.
“i’m asking you to fuck me, toru.” you tilt your head. “do i have to make it any clearer than that?”
he groans, a pathetic little noise that gets caught in his throat. presses his knuckles to his lips. “y/n, don’t.”
“c’mon man,” you whine. “i don’t want some random asshole to have the satisfaction of saying he ‘cracked ms. untouchable’ or some revolting shit like that.”
you notice his jaw clench—you’ve hit a nerve. you can tell you only need to push a little more.
so you climb onto his lap, straddle his thighs and drape your arms over his shoulders.
“you wouldn’t do that to me, would you, toru?” your faces are inches apart, which is why this time, you see the way his eyes flash close up. “you’d take care of me.”
his hands fall to your ass almost instinctively, gripping the soft flesh. his throat works as he swallows, and you feel him growing hard between your legs. you bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from grinning in early victory.
“y’know, i always wanted it to be you,” you murmur as you lean in closer, purposefully shifting your hips so that your cunt grinds against him. “‘ve always imagined what you’d feel like inside me.”
his head lolls back against the headrest, white hair falling over his eyes, perfectly white teeth pulling his plump lower lip between them. you shift your hips again, feeling the way his erection twitches between your legs.
“fuck,” he whispers, looking between your eyes like he’s searching for an answer. for even a spec of hesitation.
“you deserve someone gentle for your first time, doll,” he tells you softly, even as he begins to subconsciously guide your hips on his own, rocking them against him and building that liquid fire in your pelvis. “y’deserve someone better than me.”
your brows draw down in mock confusion. “who else’s cock could possibly be better than the greatest’s?”
you witness the moment his last thread of control snaps, feel his hand at the back of your head, and then his lips pressed against yours.
he was right. he isn’t gentle. he kisses you like you’re oxygen, like he needs you to live. his tongue licks into your mouth greedily as he presses you impossibly close, hips bucking up against your pussy. you moan into his mouth, tug at the short white hair at the base of his neck while he slides his hand up one leg of your shorts to grip your ass.
“tell me to stop, y/n,” he says desperately, lips kissing along your jaw, down the length of your throat. “you need to stop me before i take it too far.”
in response, you pull back. cross your arms at the base of your shirt. when you fold it over your head, leaving your bare chest on display for him, you think gojo might pass out. his gaze flicks from your chest, to your eyes, before he leans in like a man possessed and sucks your nipple into his mouth.
you whimper, head falling back as you thread your fingers through his white strands, holding him against you. he hums noisily, pulls off with a wet pop! before giving attention to your other breast.
“holy fuck, baby,” he mumbles between sloppy licks that make you arch your chest into his mouth. “y’ve been holding out on me all these years, huh?”
you smile, but your features melt into an frown of utter pleasure when gojo pulls your shorts to the side so that your bare cunt drags along the fabric of his pants, dampening it in seconds. his fingers stroke dangerously close to your needy hole—then you feel the tip of his finger, dragging up from your opening to your clit, smearing the arousal over your bud.
he breaks away from your chest, looks up so that he can watch the way your face twists when he sinks the tip of his index finger, only up to the first knuckle, into your tight hole. you gasp, hips stuttering and jerking up against your will at the foreign feeling. he plants a soft kiss between your breasts, and you relax, lower yourself back down so that his finger slides further in, until it’s disappeared up to the second knuckle.
he doesn’t say anything, just watches you closely, waiting for you to adjust to your first time being filled.
“toru,” you say quietly, leaning down to brush your lips against his.
he pecks them before he responds, “yeah, baby?”
your cheeks heat ever so slightly. “not enough. i-i wanna feel your cock inside me. please.”
his eyes roll back in his head as he closes them, and drops his forehead to your chest. curses beneath his breath. when he slips his finger out of you, you feel strangely empty. he grips your ass with both hands again, stands up, and walks you over to the bed.
you lock your legs around his waist, keep them there even as he lies you down on the bed gently. you wrap your arms around his neck and pull his face down to yours.
you feel him kick off his slippers—the pair of house shoes you keep in your dorm for him—while his tongue explores your mouth. watch him when he breaks the kiss to yank his shirt over his head. feel his bulge nudge your clit with every drag of his hips.
“ughhmigod, y/n, i can’t believe—” he chokes, hips rutting into yours, the both of you breathless. “tell me you want this, baby”
“i told you—”
“tell me again.”
he sucks the soft spot at the base of your jaw and you moan, “holy fuck, i want it, toru. hurry u—”
he makes a sound you’ve never heard from him before, close to a growl as he stands up. roughly shoves down his sweats and boxers in one go. his cock springs free, thick and fully erect. it slaps against the dusting of white hair trailing his lower stomach, and you bite back a whimper.
your best friend is standing in front of you. fully. naked.
the look in his eye can only be described as wild as he reaches for the waist of your shorts, slides them down your legs.
you aren’t wearing any panties.
satoru looks up to the ceiling, scrubs a hand down his face, before his bright eyes meet yours.
“spread ‘em, doll,” he says, voice dangerously low.
you didn’t make it this far to back out now. so, you do. it’s the first time you’ve spread your legs for an audience. you watch, heart thumping in your chest as satoru just stares, and stares, and stares at your bare cunt. you fight the urge to snap your legs shut.
he looks like he’s in a trance when he finally climbs back onto the bed. easily repositions your body like you weigh nothing. he shifts until he’s lying flat on his stomach, and you sit up on your elbows to watch him lower his head to the space between your thighs.
“toru…” you breathe.
but whatever you were gonna say gets caught in your throat when he sucks your clit into his mouth. you moan, loudly, embarrassingly, as your eyes squeeze shut and your head falls back. you buck your hips and he eases off the pressure, instead flattens his tongue, shakes his head from side to side, like he’s motorboating your pussy.
you collapse onto your back, body arching, hips writhing, pussy grinding against his face. he clutches the soft flesh where hip meets thigh with one hand—you feel the other poking at your opening again.
it slips in with no resistance this time.
“oh my fuck, satoru,” you whine. “i’m—ffuuck, you’re gonna make me cum.”
he hums in acknowledgment, tongue flicking faster against your centre of pleasure, sloppy, wet, ravenous sounds as his saliva combines with the pool of wetness at your opening. he pushes a second finger in. curls them both upwards. electric heat shoots up your spine, and you see stars behind your eyelids.
your back arches off the bed as you orgasm harder than you ever thought possible, toru’s name on your lips like a prayer you can’t quite manage to spit out. you don’t breathe for at least five seconds as your best friend groans against your pussy, strokes your cervix with long, slender fingers.
when he doesn’t let up, even past the after waves of pleasure have run their course, you whimper, too sensitive. you push the heel of your foot into the muscle of his shoulder, shoving him away. tapping out.
toru looks up, hair disheveled, pussy-drunk, and eyes definitely glowing.
you wet your lips with your tongue, and watch him trace the movement.
“i s-see your years of—mmngh, of fucking around have paid off,” you pant.
he offers you his signature smirk. “yeah. and i’ve achieved the ultimate goal of making my best friend cum on my face.”
he bites your inner thigh, close to your spent pussy, and you lazily fold your legs shut.
“looks like babys tired,” he pouts. “let me get you in the shower, doll.”
your brows furrow. “you didn’t get to cum.”
toru’s smirk spreads into an infuriatingly handsome grin. he sits up, and you push yourself back up onto your elbows.
that’s how you get to see his semi-hard dick hung heavy between his toned legs, pointing like an arrow leading directly to the wet spot on your pink sheets. your eyes trail to the smear of cum painting his lower abdomen.
“don’t you worry your pretty little head,” he crawls forward, body hovering over yours while he plants a kiss on your forehead. “you go start up the shower while i change the sheets. i’ll come scrub you clean.”
“but—” you start.
“next time, princess,” he tells you. “you aren’t quite ready for the greatest’s cock yet.”
ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃
@ yut2achoya. do not copy, feed into ai, or repost on any other platform!
a/n: wait chat i’m lowkey ferallll over this, that last line got me biting at the bars of my window (i know i wrote it but my mind has a mind of its own i am TELLING you) shii anyway how many times can i write us receiving sloppy head before i run out of descriptive words and positions (i’m manifesting that shit)
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Hi! I’m whisperinglotusflower, and I make fanfics here when I feel like it! I’m 19, born in May (yay lul) and my works are strictly 18+, so minors, please please please DNI!!
I take requests unless said otherwise, and maybe more poll posts will be up to see what my handful of readers wanna see!
I’m not good at making aesthetic intros but this was just a summary lol
For Sukuna, it’s clearly his favorite time of the year.
He’s sitting on the small bench in the fitting room, legs spread wide, arms crossed over his broad chest. His red eyes follow your every movement with an almost animalistic intensity.
The cabin is narrow, the air already thick with tension. He insisted on coming in with you “so no one sees you when you open the door.” In reality, he simply refuses to let anyone else lay eyes on you in these outfits.
You turn slowly in front of the mirror, wearing the first pink bikini he picked out. The top is a tiny triangle that barely contains your breasts, and the bottom is a thong.
You shift slightly, making a little movement to test how the bra sits, then flash him a smile over your shoulder while arching your back to show off your pretty ass.
“Do you like this one, Kuna?”
Sukuna lets out a low, deep growl, jaw clenched. His cock hardens instantly in his pants, straining painfully against the fabric. He hates the idea of other men seeing you like this, but fuck, he loves seeing you wear it for him.
“Yeah… a lot, baby,” he replies in a low, rough voice, trying to keep his tone neutral. His red eyes slowly drag over your curves, lingering on your barely covered ass.
You laugh softly, a light, teasing sound, then start removing the pink bikini. Sukuna doesn’t take his eyes off you for even a second.
You slip into the second one: a bright orange-yellow bikini. It’s pretty much the same as the pink one, except the bottom is a string thong that leaves most of your ass exposed. The vivid color contrasts beautifully with your skin.
You turn to face the mirror, adjust the top slightly so your breasts sit properly, then slowly pivot to show him the result.
Sukuna stays silent for a few seconds. He just watches you, pupils dilated, breathing a little heavier. His cock is now fully hard, forming a very obvious bulge in his pants.
You make a small movement, arching your back to push your ass out, and throw him a playful look over your shoulder.
“What about this one?”
He stands up slowly, towering and imposing, and steps right behind you. His broad chest brushes against your bare back. One of his large hands slides onto your hip, the other goes straight to your ass, firmly grabbing the soft, round flesh.
“This one…” he growls against your ear, voice deep and thick with desire, “…makes me want to fuck you right here in this fitting room.”
His fingers slip under the thin string of the orange thong, tugging on it lightly before letting it snap softly against your skin.
“You know I hate the idea of anyone else seeing you like this,” he murmurs, nibbling on your earlobe. “But fuck… you look so beautiful. So mine.”
He presses his hard erection against your ass, making you feel just how affected he is. His free hand moves up to your breast, kneading it through the thin fabric of the top.
“Turn around,” he orders softly.
You obey. The moment you face him, he pins you against the cold mirror of the cabin. His lips crash onto yours in a possessive, hungry kiss. His tongue invades your mouth while his hands slide down to your ass, gripping and spreading your cheeks slightly.
He breaks the kiss just enough to murmur against your lips:
“Take it off. Right now.”
You smile, breathing hard.
“Here?”
“Yes. Here.”
His fingers are already sliding under the strings of the orange bikini, tugging at them impatiently.
“I want to see you naked. And then… I’m going to fuck you against this mirror so you remember who this body belongs to.”
He doesn’t even give you time to do it himself. His impatient fingers yank sharply on the strings of the orange bikini. The knot comes undone easily and the tiny piece of fabric falls to your feet, leaving you completely naked in front of him in the narrow cabin.
He takes a step back, red eyes burning, and shamelessly looks you up and down. His thick cock strains obscenely against his pants. “Fuck… look at you,” he growls, voice rough. “Naked just for me.”
He steps close again, pressing you against the cold mirror. The contrast between the icy glass on your back and the heat of his body against your front makes you shiver.
His large hands grab your ass, spreading your cheeks, and he presses his erection against your bare pussy.
“You feel how hard I am?” he murmurs against your mouth before kissing you fiercely. His tongue claims yours as he slowly grinds his thick cock against your soaked folds, spreading your arousal over the fabric of his pants.
You moan into his mouth, hands gripping his broad shoulders. He’s so big, so dominant in this tiny space.
Sukuna breaks the kiss, panting, and slides a hand between your bodies. Two thick fingers slip between your lips, stroking you slowly before pushing deep inside you.
“Already so wet…” he growls with satisfaction. “You get this soaked just from me staring at you in that bikini?”
His fingers fuck you slowly and deeply, curling to rub your G-spot with every thrust. His thumb finds your swollen clit and starts circling it fast.
You arch your back against the mirror, a sharp moan escaping you. “Kuna… someone might hear us…”
“Let them hear,” he answers in a dark voice. “Let them know I’m fucking my wife in the fitting room.”
He pulls his fingers out, quickly lowers his pants and frees his thick, veined cock. It’s hard, curved, the head already glistening with precum.
Without another word, he grabs your thighs, lifts you like you weigh nothing and pins you against the mirror. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist.
With one powerful thrust, he buries himself completely inside you.
You cry out, head falling back against the glass. He’s so big, so deep in this position. Sukuna groans against your neck, teeth clenched, and starts fucking you with slow but brutal strokes.
Every thrust makes you slam against the mirror. The wet sound of his cock sliding in and out of your pussy echoes in the small cabin.
“Look at you,” he pants as he pounds into you. “Legs spread wide, getting fucked in a store… You really are my little slut, aren’t you?”
He speeds up, fucking you harder and deeper. One hand slides between you to rub your clit mercilessly while the other supports your ass.
“Kuna- harder please! Ugh-” you beg, voice broken.
He smiles against your neck, arrogant and satisfied, and gives you exactly what you want: wild, deep thrusts that make you see stars with every stroke.
The mirror shakes behind you. Your moans grow higher, harder to contain.
Sukuna bites your shoulder to muffle his own groan. “You’re going to come for me, baby like the good girl you are.”
His fingers on your clit move faster. His thrusts turn frantic. Your orgasm hits you brutally. Your body clenches violently around him, walls spasming as you come hard, a muffled cry against his shoulder. Your legs tremble around his waist.
Sukuna lets out a deep growl and buries himself to the hilt. He comes inside you with force, hot, thick jets of cum filling you completely. He stays buried deep for a long moment, pulsing, emptying every last drop.
When he finally pulls out slowly, a thick white stream of cum immediately leaks from your pussy and slides down your thighs.
Sukuna sets you gently back on your feet, holding you up because your legs are still weak. He looks at you with a possessive, satisfied smile, then slides two fingers between your folds to collect some of his cum that’s dripping out.
He brings them to your mouth.
“Open.”
You obediently lick his fingers, eyes locked on his. He leans in and kisses you slowly, tasting himself on your tongue. He gives your ass a light smack with an arrogant smirk.
“Get dressed before I decide to fuck you a second time in this cabin.”
✮ other guys tie scrunchies around their wrists, but higuruma ties your panties instead.
when you first told him about it, he just blinked, looking totally lost.
"should i wear your scrunchie or a bra strap so everyone knows i'm taken?"
you rolled your eyes. "no, baby, it's just a trend, nothing serious."
but he couldn't stop thinking about it after that. he binged a bunch of videos online — and they were all just young boys your age laughing and flexing their girlfriends' scrunchies or straps on their wrists.
well. it was a good thing higuruma wasn't some boy.
he was a man. and he didn't plan on wearing your scrunchie as proof he was off the market. after all, that wasn't nearly enough proof.
no. he was gonna wear your panties.
those exact red thongs he swiped from your shared laundry basket.
at first, he wore them at home in his office, just so he could bring his hand to his nose and breathe in your scent — like a total addict.
sometimes he took them off his wrist, unfolded them in front of his face, and then brought them to his lips to lick that tiny piece of fabric soaked in your taste.
or he would jerk himself off with those panties while thinking about you, cumming as fast as he did back in the day.
now your panties were always on him. folded up, they sat in the inner pocket of his suit jacket when he headed to work.
"haven't seen my red thongs, have you?" you asked casually while digging through the dresser drawer. "i've looked everywhere for them."
he froze for a second and then shrugged, not looking up from his laptop screen.
"they probably just fell somewhere."
he wore them for three more weeks. and then they stopped smelling like you — even when he warmed them in his palms, even when he pressed them to his face and inhaled.
choso is just so needy, not that you were complaining. it just felt constant. you’re walking around the house in shorts? he’s behind you immediately, already hard cock pushing onto your ass. you get changed in front of him? he’s on his knees pulling your panties to the side claiming he’ll “only kiss her a little”. you’re sleeping but you happen to push up against him and some of your boob is spilling out of your tank top? he’s fisting his cock and trying to contain his whimpering. but how could you blame him! you are just so hot and he loves you so much (he has gotten hard at the thought of how much you love him, he also cried).
tonight was another one of those nights. you had worn the smallest shorts around the house with a loose tank top. choso thought he was going to lose it. it was so hard to contain himself from begging you to touch him, to do whatever you wanted as long as it pleased you. he had managed to hold back his urges until bedtime. it had been around an hour, and you’re peacefully sleeping by his side. choso, however, has been so painfully hard it’s kept him up. he could jerk off, but he felt so guilty doing it while you were sleeping :(. he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and trying to fall asleep when he heard a moan. his eyes immediately shot open, looking at you.
you let out another small moan, you hips moving slightly back and forth as you did. choso’s cock twitched in his pants. god he felt like such a perv, being even more turned on at some noises you made in your sleep. his eyes closed again, trying to ignore it when
“mmm- cho-“ now he couldn’t ignore it. he loved when you moaned his name. his dick strained against his pants so much he was sure the seams would rip. he cursed himself as he unzipped them and took them off. “just a little bit, i won’t do too much” he promised himself as he lined his covered cock with the fabric of your shorts. despite the barrier, it felt so good. moving a little won’t hurt, right? he began to gently grind against your ass, trying to contain his whimpers with every move. was it wrong? a bit. but it felt too good for him to stop. he blamed the hours he spent pent up.
your hips unconsciously shifted abruptly, the feeling causing choso to let out a pathetic moan. his blood ran cold as you stirred awake at the noise. he didn’t want you to be mad at him, but there was little way out of this. you turned over slightly to look at him.
“cho? what’s going o-“ before you can finish he’s tearing up
“i’m sorry baby i-i just-“ he sniffles “i was so hard because i w-was so horny all night but i didn’t want to bother you since im always on you a-and then you started moaning and you s-said my name, and you know what that does to m-“ to stop his rambling, you placed a gentle kiss on his lips. “it’s okay cho, keep going.”
choso’s face flushed immediately. “y-you mean you aren’t upset with me?”
you shook your head. “of course not. i honestly feel bad, i don’t want you retraining yourself because you think you’re bothering me.”
your hand began to trail down to the waistband of his boxers. “you said you’ve been hard all night?” choso nods. “my poor baby. that must’ve been awful” he whimpers quietly at your words and wipes his eyes.
you move your hands now to fully pull down his boxers, his tip red and leaking. you look back up at him, “can i help you with this, baby?” his nods are frantic and you wrap your fingers around his large shaft. you begin to slowly move up and down his length, kissing as neck lightly as you do. choso is whimpering again already, the feeling of your hand on his dick and lips on his neck is borderline euphoric. your kisses start to trail up to his ear.
“what do you want me to do?” you whisper, your grip around him tightening. choso bites his lip to hold back a moan, “i want you to fuck me- please-“ he sounds to desperate, making you clench your thighs together.
“yeah baby? you think you deserve it after you grinded on me like a perv?” his head falls to the crook of your neck, another moan escapes his lips. “i said im sorry— please ill do anything, i’ll be s-so good for you-“
you grin, you’ve barely done anything and he’s so wrapped around your finger, and it’s hot. “you’ll be a good boy for me cho?” he whimpers so pathetically once again. “y-yes i’ll be such a good boy for you,”
with that, you kiss his neck again before pulling your sleep shorts down. your move his dick to align with your wet folds, and bring the tip up and down your slit. choso can’t stop moaning. the hours of waiting to the teasing is just too much for him. his eyes start to well up again and he’s begging you to put him inside. he’s letting out pleas and cries, trying to his hips up onto you.
“baby, i said to be good. is this what good boys do?” you tsk. he shakes his head, “im s-so sorry— please i can’t wait— need to be inside you so b-bad— please-“ his cries are pathetic, but instead of teasing him more you decide to allow him what he wants. you sink your throbbing heat onto his excruciatingly hard dick, and the tears flow out. choso’s hands moves to grab your hips, your back, anything he can grab onto. his head is once again in the crook of your neck. his moans are muffled, but you can make out what he’s saying. lots of
“i love you so much”
“your pussy feels sooo good— like it was made for me”
“please tell me im your good boy”
he can’t stop stuttering through his sobs and whimpers as you talk him through it. saying how perfect he is and how he’s doing so good. your hand moves to tangle in his hair, pulling slightly.
“mmm- don’t d-do that please. i-i’ll— mmm c-cum right now” choso warns, but you don’t listen. when you do it again, telling him how much you love your good, perfect boy, he cums instantly. you moan at the feeling of him filling you up and continue to ride him through the rest of his orgasm. he moved his head out of your neck and you wipe his tears off.
“thank you, baby” choso says, nuzzling his head into yours, “of course baby. anything for you.” he smiles and presses gentle kisses to your face, “can i stay inside you tonight?”
who were you to say no to him?
જ⁀➴⋆.˚ a/n: some (not proofread) sub!choso smut for tonight! for more choso smut, click here! for fluff, check my masterlist ≽^•⩊•^≼
the room is a sanctuary of shadow and soft yellow lights, the kind of quiet that feels earned after a day of enduring the world's jagged and ugly edges.
the heavy curtains are drawn tight, his watch; the silver shackle that usually governs every second of his life - lies face down on the nightstand forgotten for the first time in a while.
without his suit, without the tie, nanami kento looks less caged and more like an ordinary man; his shoulders, usually set in a permanent line of tension, are slick with sweat, his muscles corded as he anchors himself over you.
his thick cock slides deep into your soaked pussy with a desperate precision, stretching you wide on every thrust - slowly, making sure you feel it. gripping your thighs, spreading them further apart, his hips snapping forward to bury himself to the hilt.
the wet slap of skin against skin fills the room; the head of his cock dragging along your inner walls, proving to himself that this, the clench of your pussy around him and the small hitch in your breath - is real, very real.
but as he fucks you harder, the professional distance he maintains even in his personal life begins to dissolve - crack.
his breathing gets heavy, a ragged sound that you've never heard before vibrates through your chest, as he pounds into you relentlessly.
"k-ken..?" you whisper, your voice barely a breath, your hands sliding up his back to gently massage against the heat of his shoulder blades. "you're here. you don’t have to hold it all back."
he doesn't answer immediately, letting out a breath instead. grip on your waist tightening just enough to let you know: he's listening.
as the rhythm between you reaches its peak, his control finally snaps.
it isn't a loud break; it’s a silent surrender.
he leans down, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his forehead pressing hard against your collarbone while he fucks you through the edge.
your pussy clamps down hard around him, milking his shaft as your orgasm crashes over you, juices soaking his cock and dripping down your thighs in sticky rivulets.
he groans low, hips jerking erratically as he slams in one last time.
the air in his lungs leaves him in a long, shaky exhale that feels like years of exhaustion leaving his body at once, catching up to him.
you only feel it then - the hot, sharp track of a single tear escaping his closed eyes, dragging slowly down his cheek to land against your skin.
you freeze for a fraction of a second, the weight of that one tear feeling heavier than any misunderstanding you've both face together.
even as he stays buried deep inside you, his cum leaking from your stretched pussy.
"it's okay," you murmur, your fingers tangling into the damp hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer. "i've got you, ken. just breathe."
a small, broken sound leaves his throat - a muffled "i know" - that is quickly swallowed by the silence of the room.
he doesn't pull away - he leans into you harder; heart hammering against yours, body finally sagging with the relief of being allowed to be vulnerable, comfortable.
not proofread !! @agejonami @ifudoudou @hanaegoaway @cassiee444 @bakagrrr @mspinkpanties @honeybunny4808
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Your head buzzes with the rather… cryptic text you received from your husband an hour ago. Today had been the trial of a high-profile case he’d taken, and given the nature of his message, you can only assume it hadn’t gone the way he’d hoped it had.
By the time you hear his keys jingle at the front door and he’s pushing himself into your shared bedroom, your suspicions have been confirmed.
“Take your panties off,” Higuruma raspily commands with the tone he’s reserved solely for you and the bedroom, shedding his crisp suit like it’s actively burning him. He’s got a prominent crease formed between his eyebrows and darkness wears heavy below his lower lashes, enough to tell you that you shall be his stress reliever for the evening.
You obey, hiking up your nightgown and discarding your underwear, excitement unfurling low in your loins. You hate seeing your lover stressed, but you might enjoy his sexual frustration more.
Suddenly, your husband is laying on the bed, doe-eyes blown wide rolling back. “On my face. You read my message and didn’t bathe, yes?'“
Heat rushes up from your nape, bleeding into your cheeks. “Y-yeah, Hiro’. Uhm.. we haven’t…”
“Done this before?” he finishes with a slight smirk, tongue darting out to wet his lip. “First time for everything, darling. Now c’mere.”
Higuruma laps at your dripping sex like a starved dog. Sniffing and digging his hooked nose between your folds, fingers prying your thighs apart on his face. Every time your hips attempt to lift in overstimulation, he chases your wet cunt, low groans sending tantalizing vibrations against your clit and earning a strangled whimper from you.
“God, you smell heavenly, baby,” he mumbles, tongue flicking your sensitive bundle of nerves, kneading your cheeks like dough. Your cunt clenches around his big nose—big enough for you to fuck yourself on.
“F-feels so… mmmf… good,” you sigh, pupils dilating and rolling into your skull as your ass bounces back with a slow grind.
“Yeah, princess? We should do this more, huh?” he grunts, latching his lips onto your hood and hollowing his cheeks. You squirm against him, gripping at anything for a semblance of stability, but your husband has a habit of driving you over the edge with mind-numbing pleasure. You urge yourself to touch him where he’s most sensitive, but your bliss seems to be on the forefront of his mind tonight.
As he intended, you make a mess of his face. Sticky saliva and squirt decorate his chin while he works you through your orgasm, his chiseled jaw feathering with effort as he guzzles down every drop and praises you through it. The stress coiled through his taut muscles relax once he gets a taste of your sweet nectar.
hi yes my first time writing for higuruma... do we want more guys
cw: explicit, creampie, whining to Zuko that youre tired of riding him.
You’re already panting, thighs burning as you bounce on his cock, it feels so good but you’re getting fkn tired. “Zuko fuck, I’m doing all the work again,” you huff, hips slowing just enough to make a point. Your hands press against his broad chest, nails digging in like that’ll make him move. “Can’t you—ngh—help a little?”
His gold eyes narrow at you as his big hands stay planted on your waist, but they don’t guide you. They just hold you there, thick cock buried deep, “That so?” He thrusts upward once. “Whining already, princess? Thought you wanted to ride me.”
You roll your hips once more, trying to prove something, but it comes out pathetic. His cock twitches inside you, fat and heavy, veins pulsing against your walls. God, it’s so good. Too good. But your legs are shaking and you’re tired and—
“Zuko, please—”
Big mistake.
In one smooth motion he flips you. Your back hits the mattress hard. Zuko looms over you as one massive hand pinning both your wrists above your head. “Princess,” he growls, free hand gripping your thigh and shoving it up toward your chest. The new angle forces his cock even deeper, the thick head bullying. “You wanna complain about doing all the work? Fine. I’ll do it.”
Zuko pulls back just enough for the fat head of his cock to catch at your pussy and then thrusts back in hard. “F-fuck—Zuko—!”
“Yeah?” He pulls back only to drive in again, hips snapping. Every thrust rocks your whole body, tits bouncing, “This what you wanted? Me doing all the fuckin’ work?”
You nod frantically, “Zuko—ahh—too much—slow down—!”
“Slow down?” He scoffs, hooking your leg over his shoulder driving in harder, “You were whining about doing nothing n’ now it’s too much? Tch.”
Sweat slicks your skin, your thighs trembling where he’s got you pinned. “Zuko—Zu—fuck, I’m—!” You whimper louder about to orgasm as the coarse hair at the base of his cock rubs against your swollen clit.
“C’mon then,” he growls, voice dripping with mock sweetness. “Cum on my cock like the spoiled little slut you are. Make it loud for me, princess.”
Tears slip down your cheeks, mouth hanging open in a constant stream of loud, whimpering moans that get louder with every brutal thrust.
You’re a mess but Zuko just looks so fucking happy, that smug smirk never leaving his face. “Still wanna whine about doing all the work?” he asks, thumb brushing your bottom lip.
You shake your head weakly, utterly spent, a satisfied little whimper slipping out instead. You were a lucky girl, indeed.
a/n: ok fuck sorry I folded and I love u guys and and wrote this after work fuck bc I ACTUALLY NEED HIM TO BEND ME OVER RIGHT NOW plz plz plz Zuko I need u more than toji plz actually both of u plz at the same damn time
♡ ⸝⸝ synopsis. it's always panty stealing this, pervy roomie choso that.. but what if roles were reversed?
♡ ⸝⸝ content. smut, reader is a big perv, boxer stealing, secret mastûrbation, slight breeding kink, aphrodisiac mention, reader's lowkey freaked out, sorry!
♡ ⸝⸝ part two posted! for real this time
roomate!choso whose blissfully clueless to how down-right perverted you were. he’d honestly never suspect a thing. you were undoubtedly and irrevocably the sweetest girl he’s ever met. you baked with him every sunday, helped him fold his laundry, cooked his favorite meals whenever you had the time, and plan movie night. you were the perfect roomie.
roomate!choso who’d occasionally be missing a pair of boxers, only to show up a week later freshly washed… by you. you’d be peeking your head into his room, making him smile sheepishly at the sight of your cute little face. “sorry… they ended up in my pile for some reason..”, you'd slip on a timid expression. he’d accept the boxers you held between your thumb and your index as if grossed out by them. embarrassed that such an innocent girl like you were holding his boxers because he was too lazy to properly separate laundry..
roomate!choso who doesn’t even question how his underwear always went missing, he'd always assume it was just him being clumsy again. truth was, you'd sneak into his room, snooping through his dirty laundry while he was in the shower. you knew you shouldn’t be doing whatever this was, but you just couldn’t help yourself. choso was just too fucking sweet, and way too cute. you snagged whatever boxers laid at top of his hamper, slightly damp from what you assumed to be pre-cum. a rare win. you'd do this every damn week. ears perking up and out, picking up on the quiet moans and whimpers you heard from escaping from behind his door. the 'pshing' of the shower being turned on serving as your queue to begin your perverted regiment.
roomate!choso who'd spend hours in the bathroom each time he'd finish jerking off. steam curling around him as the water beat against his shoulders, knowing nothing of your perverted routine. you’d lock your door, head propped up against your mount of pillows. slutty shorts with an obvious wet spot, bunched up 'round your ankles. right hand holding your favorite vibrator to your pulsing clit, your left holding his dirty boxers to your fucking face. you could feel your skin burn hot as the vibrations from your toy just felt sooo fucking good. taking a deep inhale of his cum-stained undies, resisting the urge to just lap at the damp stains, pretending it was his pretty tip instead. your eyes fluttered shut. desperately wishing it was his cock suffocating you and not his measly pair of cum-derwear while you played with yourself. the only bad thing about all of this is that is each time you were left a leaky and shaking mess, you just wished you weren't so… empty. wishing you had choso’s thick cock pulsing inside you instead, coaxing an orgasm out of you.
roomate!choso who’d innocently & happily introduce you to his many brothers, adoring the fact they all utterly adored you. despite the innocence of the gesture, you couldn’t help but get so ... excited, and not in the normal way of course. you just couldn't help it! your pervy brain would be fantasizing about creaming allll over his cock once he finally put a ring on you, how could he not? his brothers loved you, you couldn't wait to make them all uncles. you'd be sucha perfect addition to the family. you didn’t mind the wait. you were sure he’d soon come to his senses, and see you justtt how you saw him!
roomate!choso who felt sooo fucking guilty for fisting his aching cock to the thought of you after accidentally getting a glimpse of you in the shower. but still.. not like you left the door open on purpose! thumb rubbing over back and forth over his ruby red tip, chanting your name like a prayer. "fuuck, baby y'gonna make me cum~," he'd whimper, twisting his nipple between his fingers, "pleasepleaseplease, ohgod". tossing his head back against his pillow in utter bliss, imagining you bouncing yourself upp and down his cock, pretty tits bouncing right in his fucking face. begging him to put a baby in you. doing his best and failing to conceal his pitiful moans and whines by biting down on his shirt, sweat trickling down his abs. hips rutting up into his lubed up fist, arching off the mattress. he felt like a disgusting pervert... how could he could he have done something so.. icky?? getting off to the thought of breeding his favorite girl in the world. it all made him soo dizzy.
roomate!choso who'd be playing video games in his room, while you'd be in yours, practicing your arch and moans juuuust for him. if he was gonna fuck you then of course you had to be the best slut you could be. you'd spend hours studying porno's, watching closely at the face the girls made when they'd orgasm. how'd they arch and whine whenever they'd get their poor cunts pounded from the back by some unrealistically polished dick. you wonder if choso was shaved down there.. or if he had a bush. you didn't care you though. you'd burry your face whatever he had going on. you were a frequent visitor on 'how to make a man cum down your throat in under a minute?'. you couldn't wait to try it out on him. you thought about how good he'd look while you were on your knees pleasing him. pathetically snapping his hips into you, your nose pressed against his public bone. what it'd feel like if he were to stuff his throbbing cock allll the way down your perfect little throat, as you hollowed your cheeks around him, tongue lapping eagerly at his blushing tip collecting every single thing he had to give you. fuck, the mere thought just made you embarrassingly wet.
roomate!choso had come home early today without telling you and was just so excited to suprise you, like the cute pup he was, he even got chocolate chip cookies for bake day! he was adorable. he was going to alert you of his early arrival.. but he noticed your door was cracked open. before he knocked he could hear a faint ‘bzzzzzz’... oh.. "c-choso, more~" oh??
roomate!choso whose chest started to feel way too fucking tight all of a sudden. “fuuuckkkk– right there, plsplspls choso.” the poor man almost died right there. did you just.. say his name?? while getting off?? he felt blood rush to his face.. and well, his dick too. this.. this couldn't be right, you couldn't be getting off to him?? he could feel unwanted pressure build in his lower belly. you were the reason why he now laid fucked out, breathless with his cock twitching against his abdomen, cum splattered all the up way to his chest. he was so so screwed.. but you couldn't help being overly pleased at the fact choso was getting off to you.. getting off to him. you really couldn't wait to fuck him now.
roomate!choso who tried his best to be a gentleman on baking night. but you were wearing suchh a fucking skimpy tank top with no bra, and cutest slutty shorts he’s ever seen. they even had a mini bow for fucks sake. maybe cus' your pussy would be the world's best gift afterall. it was .. distracting to say the least. you were just begging him to fuck you at this point. but no! that couldn't be it.. he'd just assume you felt extra comfortable around him. he didn't want you to think he was some sort of goon who jerked off to his roomie whenever they got the chance! .. ahem.. you.
roomate!choso all giddy that he'd finally get to spend some time with his favorite girl after a crazy ass week. cutely unaware of the aphrodisiac filled chocolate chips you planned on putting the cookies the two of you would bake tonight.
Trying soaking with frat boy!Gojo...and a less-than eager participant :(
“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” you mutter. Your dumbass boyfriend has his cock lodged inside you. Clinging to each other in missionary, you lie there, staring up at the ceiling and wondering why your taste in men is so atrocious that you’d let him convince you to try soaking, of all things.
Satoru chuckles against your cheek. “Neither. Thought you’d never agree.”
“Well, I did say, if you could find someone ridiculous enough to do this for us, then I would. Just didn’t think it’d ever happen.”
“When there’s a will, there’s a way,” he retorts, brows dancing. Palms pressed to the bed beside your head, he huffs in preparation and asks, “Yo, you good to go?”
“...Yeah.”
Sighing, you try to peer over the bed for any sign of the poor, unfortunate soul with the job of rocking the mattress. “Choso, are you sure you’re okay?”
“...Yeah.”
Satoru nods. “Get those legs moving, Kamo. Got a girl to satisfy here.”
“...Okay.”
And so the rocking begins. You wince. It’s not quite the same as thrusting, more like jostling and the occasional grinding the right parts together. One could liken it to being on a small boat during a stormy night, you thought. Just a disaster all around.
Whereas you’re not feeling much, except the fullness of being connected with your boyfriend, the boyfriend in question is biting his lip and moaning. “Oh, yeahhhh,” he groans. “Increase the speed, my good man. As for the rhythm, hmm, surprise me.”
“...I’ll try.”
Voice dropping to a whisper, you ask, “How did you even convince him to do this?”
Satoru grins. “He promised Yuji he’d stop smoking, but I found him breaking that promise behind the bike shed.” He leans over the bed.“Very bad boy, ChoCho.”
Deadpan, you say, “So you blackmailed him.”
He grins even wider. “Yep. Had to after everyone else said no. Even Suguru, can you believe that? I would have done it for him. Traitor.”
Of course you could believe that — no one in their right mind would do this. No one except a guilty, pig-tailed smoker, that is. With that thought, a sinking realisation settles inside you as Satoru rides the waves created by a victim of his all-seeing eyes: you’re going to be known as the couple who soaks.
“Alright, alright.” You shove your boyfriend off. “That’s enough. Choso, you can go. Thanks, I guess. Your secret’s safe with us.”
“...Okay. My legs were getting tired anyway.” He climbs out from under the bed, eyes shut tightly to avoid seeing anything he doesn’t want to. “Do I still have to come on Thursday and sit in the cuck chair?”
Satoru tucks his dick back in and responds, “Uhuh.”
“No,” you say firmly, cutting the dumbass a glare.
“...Oh good. Because I’ve done that before, and it’s not very fun.”
“Wh–babe! I was looking forward to that. OW! Don't slap me. Ugh! Everyone hates me.”
Thought about it last night, at 4am and couldn't go back to sleep because I kept giggling to myself. Cue Rue from Euphoria meme where she goes, 'I'm a genius. Mom! I'm a fucking genius!"
Synopsis: if mormon missionary!gojo knocks on your door, all nervous and eager to deliver you to salvation, are you not supposed to welcome the little virgin into your home and into your pussy?
uh oh.
well, at least you won't be going down to hell on your own.
Warnings: porn with very little plot, religious themes, inaccurate depiction of Mormonism my apologies Mormons, unethical?, drawn out seduction, dubcon - reader leads and makes the first move, cunnilingus, shy/virgin!gojo, sub!gojo, very respectful sweetheart!gojo, corruption kink, overstimulation, premature ejaculation, femdom!reader, edging, p in v, cowgirl, reader teaches him how to touch himself and how to pleasure a woman, forced orgasms, gojo blacks out, taking to the window to the walls till the sweat drips off my balls to another level, dacryphilia — gojo cries from your heavenly coochie, glasses-wearing!gojo, not proofread
Word Count: 6.2k
There are three sharp knocks at your door, perfectly timed, polite to the point of suspicion.
You pause mid-task, frowning. No one ever knocks like that.
When you open it, the first thing you notice is the smile. Too bright. Too confident. Glasses framing eyes an impossible, cheerful blue. He wears a no doubt pristinely ironed button-up under a vest, which is tucked into tailored trousers that your eyes follow down to shiny loafers.
“Good afternoon, ma’am,” he says warmly, hands already clasped in front of him. “My name is Gojo Satoru. I’m a missionary with the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
You stare.
He beams, unbothered by the silence. “May I come in and speak with you about faith, family, and eternal salvation?”
Leaning against the doorframe, you lift an eyebrow. “Aren’t you supposed to come in pairs?”
Satoru nods, sheepishly. “My partner had to return home suddenly, unfortunately, so it’s just me today. I’m not supposed to but it’s my last run and I kind of had a bet going to get more people to sign up than everyone else.”
Honestly, you should turn him away; what business do you have falling for this farce?
Not to mention the fact that you have to head out.
You’re wearing tall heels and a pretty little dress — he notices. Oh, does he ever?
His eyes are expressive; they slide down your frame, unable to help themselves, and linger on your tits and on the imprint of the apex of your thighs where the material clings to your body. One could mistake it for the reflexive appraisal of a stranger, which is fine. A second, third, and fourth sweep, however?
Not a chance.
Especially not when he subconsciously licks his lips and shuffles on his feet.
“I’m alone. Is that okay?”
He notices that you noticed him noticing. He blanches. Nervously, he pushes his glasses up his nose bridge. “Uh, actually, that won’t do. Forgive me. I think I should get back to the church. It’s getting late.”
Smile curving into sharp points, you say, “Nonsense. Come on in. I was feeling in the need of saving.”
Satoru knows he shouldn’t, you can tell. He’d probably be breaking a million rules by entering your home, without his partner, and without the presence of another person in your home. Only a beat passes however before he clears his throat and decides, fudge it.
So, when he strolls in, arm brushing yours, you both know he can’t blame anyone but himself for the sins he’s about to commit.
You gesture toward the sofa. “Please. Sit.”
He obeys immediately, perching on the very edge of the cushion, knees pressed together, posture rigid with good intentions. From where you lower yourself opposite him, crossing one leg over the other with deliberate slowness, you can see the way his gaze stutters. The click of your heel against the floor lands louder than it should. His fingers tighten around the book.
“Thank you for letting me in,” Satoru says. His voice is steady, though his ears have gone pink. “We usually begin by asking about family. Do you have people you’re close to?”
A soft laugh leaves you. “Not really. Just me.”
The admission seems to please and trouble him in equal measure. He nods, earnest, eyes flicking up to your face and then, traitorously, drifting back down again. Your dress rides up a fraction as you shift, smooth fabric hugging where it knows it will be noticed. He swallows.
“Well,” he continues, rushing a little now, “faith can be a family, too. A structure. Something to come home to.” His knee bounces once before he stills it with visible effort. “The Church is like that. It offers guidance. Purpose.”
‘Purpose’ hums in the space between you. You lean forward, elbows on your knees, close enough that he can smell your perfume, something warm and faintly sweet. From this angle, your cleavage must be all he can see. His breath hitches, barely there, but you catch it.
“And what about rules?” you ask. “I’ve heard you have quite a few.”
He smiles, nervous and sincere, and adjusts his glasses once more. “They’re there to help us stay on the right path.” A pause. “To avoid…temptation.”
Your eyes soften, mouth curving. “Sounds difficult.”
For a moment he forgets himself and meets your gaze fully. Desire flashes there, bright and unguarded, before he looks away again, mortified. His foot shifts, heel scraping lightly against the floor.
“It can be,” he admits, barely above a whisper. “But it’s worth it.”
“So, you’ve never touched yourself. Hmm?”
Satoru makes a choked noise. “N-no. Of course not.” Then, as if realising he doesn’t need to answer questions like that, he frowns a little. “That’s not any of your business…ma’am.”
“And you guys aren’t allowed to have premarital sex, right? So that’d make you a virgin.”
He blushes. Hard. “I believe in saving myself for a very special girl, yes. We’re really getting off topic here. Please, allow me to discuss with you the programs the Church holds that might interest you.”
You rise from the sofa with an unhurried grace, smoothing your dress as if you hadn’t heard him. The hem lifts when you straighten, just enough to draw his eye again. He looks away too late, cheeks warming as he pretends to study the spine of his book instead.
“Can I get you something to drink? Water? Tea?”
“Water would be fine. Thank you.”
The kitchen is only a few steps away. You take them slowly, aware of his attention tracking you even when he tries to be polite about it. Cabinets open and close. Glass meets tap. Whilst you wait for it to fill, you glance back at him over your shoulder. He’s sitting straighter now, back rigid, as if bracing himself.
When you return, you don’t hand him the glass right away. Instead, you stop in front of him, close enough that your knees nearly touch his.
“Careful,” you murmur, setting the glass on the low table. “You look tense.”
Your fingers lift, light and curious, brushing through the soft fringe of his hair. It’s impossibly white, silk-smooth beneath your touch. He freezes, breath caught somewhere in his chest. No other woman had probably touched him like so before.
“I’m sorry,” he says automatically, though he has done nothing wrong.
A smile curves your mouth. “Don’t be.”
“Allow me to ease your tension.” Your hand slides to his shoulder, thumb pressing gently into the muscle there.
“There’s really no -hah- n-need.” He exhales shakily at the contact, shoulders dropping an inch as if your touch has unknotted something he has been holding tight all day. The book slips from his grasp and lands forgotten on the floor.
Bending slightly, you lean closer, close enough that with one little stretch, his face will end up buried between your breasts. A flush creeps down his neck. You wonder if he’s ever seen a female body nude, if he’s watched porn, or has a dirty magazine hidden under his bed. Maybe, maybe not. Either way, he’s right where you want him, and you’ve got what he knows he shouldn't want.
“You were saying something about programs of interest,” you prompt softly.
Words fail him. His mouth opens, closes. When he finally speaks, his voice is rougher than before. “Y-yes. The Church holds Bible study groups on the weekend a-and— I shouldn’t be here. We’re forbidden from making inappropriate contact with anyone, least of all outsiders.”
You straighten just a little, fingers lingering at the nape of his neck before you withdraw them. The absence seems to affect him more than the touch itself. He watches your hand retreat as though he might reach for it, then remembers himself and grips his knees instead.
“Well,” you say, settling onto the sofa beside him, close enough that your thigh brushes his, “it’s a good thing we’re just talking.”
Satoru swallows, eyes fixed forward, ears burning red. “Yes,” he agrees, far too quickly.
He doesn’t shuffle away, like you thought he would. Perhaps he thinks it’d offend you. Instead, he remains sitting there, as rigid as anything else. The little Mormon smells nice; clean, soapy, none of that aftershave business. He’s all natural. Your mouth waters.
Oh, you’re going to have fun with him.
“Why are you here, Mr. Gojo?”
Grip adjusted on his book, he answers, like memorised from a script, “I am here to serve the Lord and deliver his children to salvation. I serve the Church and the cause.”
“No, why are you here?”
Brows furrowing, he answers, “I wish to serve the Lord by delivering you to salvation.”
Drawing close, you cage his arm between your tits, and whisper in his ear, “And me? Could you serve me, Satoru?”
His name from your lips sends a shudder down his spine.
That’s when you strike.
Manicured hand grips his jaw and keep him right where he is as you engulf his lips with yours. He makes a surprised noise and tries to get away, but you’re insistent. You taste the mint in his mouth, and you know he tastes the fruity allure of your lipgloss.
It’s not an innocent, romantic kiss. It’s not a peck or a shy fumbling of lips. No, it’s messy, it’s dirty, it’s sinful. You’re practically consuming him. It’s all tongue and teeth and saliva. The lewdest type of kiss, one not even the most devout of worshippers can deny.
Satoru is no exception — he puts up a good fight, but mere seconds later, he’s melting in your hand and into your lips. Soft moans, breathy and whimpery, travel to your mouth and down your throat. You swallow it all.
The wet slurps are sending jolts to your clit. Knowing you’re toying with an untouched diamond in the rough before anyone else could soil him is dizzying. You need more.
“Mm, is this your first kiss?”
Panting heavily, his eyes flutter beneath his slightly foggy glasses. He’s confused by your question; it takes him a moment to realise you were, in fact, speaking the same language as he. “Y-yes. The Church — they, um, we’re not supposed to do this, to kiss strangers.”
You run a nail down his chest, thoroughly amused by the heaving of his chest and the swollenness of his lips. Your lipgloss is smeared all over them. Wiping the glimmer away, you say, “But I’m not a stranger. We’re friends, aren’t we, Satoru?”
He’s troubled by the sadness in your voice; he hurriedly kisses you again, to show he means it. “Yes, we’re friends. We’re very good friends.”
“Then, let’s get to know each even better,” you say, running that finger down his thigh now, where something hard and heavy rests. He jerks into your touch, eyes panicked and wide now. “Shhh, it’s okay. I won’t hurt you. It’s just us.”
Satoru throws his head back when you begin rubbing his clothed length — gasping and shivering. He’s long. And thick. Certainly much bigger than you expected from the bumbling Mormon.
Fuck, it’s going to be a tight fit.
Your pussy’s already aching for it.
“W-wait, please!” He’s pleading, writhing under your touch. “Something’s happening. Fudge! I-I think I’m going to pee.”
With his head back, his long neck is bared to you. You lick a stripe, following a vein, just as your thumb brushes the cockhead. A sudden whine, an intense shudder, and wetness pools under your hand.
“Oh no.” Satoru slumps back into the sofa, gasping for breath.
He came.
He came in his pants.
From a kiss and light, over-the-clothes petting.
Oh yeah, you’ve soaked through your panties.
“I’m so sorry,” he mutters, cheeks beyond pink. He looks damn near ready to cry from embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to dirty your hand, ma’am. Please forgive me.”
You press a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll forgive you if you make it up to me.” He nods, intent on doing whatever it makes — he’ll mow the grass, wash your dishes, vacuum the carpets. Anything. “Pick up your book.”
He blinks.
That wasn’t what he was expecting.
Looking down, he’s surprised to realise that, in all the teasing and seducing, his book had fallen on the floor. He hastily kneels and picks it up. He gets up. You stop him with a hand on his head.
“Stay, Satoru. Be a good boy.”
He gulps again. “Yes, ma’am.”
There, following your orders, he watches whilst you raise your dress higher and higher up your thighs and over your hips, and whilst you pull your panties down. A string of wetness stretches and stretches and then breaks as the distance grows too big. He sees it all.
You throw the flimsy thing somewhere.
Satoru readjusts his glasses, lips parted and pupils blown out.
“Like what you see?”
Satoru gulps. “I-I don’t know, ma’am.”
You throw a leg over his broad shoulder, keeping him where you want him. The last thing you need is him bolting for the door in a moment of doubt. No, you need him here, staring at your pussy.
He licks his lips.
Maybe it’s too much for the Mormon boy to handle in one afternoon — after all, you’re not taking the time to ease him into it, to get him used to the idea of being alone with a horny woman in her home. If he was any other kind of virgin, perhaps you would go easy on the poor guy, but he’s different. There’s a barely restrained hunger in his eyes, an untapped potential that would go to waste if you don’t harness it now.
Just as he has his mission, you have yours.
And you have no doubt your will is stronger.
“Wanna get a taste, Satoru?”
Hands gripping the sofa, it creaks under his painful attempt to suppress himself. A literal war breaks out in those beautiful, blue eyes. “Perhaps I shouldn’t. I’ve already gone too far. It’s wrong.”
You pout. “But it’s not fair you got to cum, and I’m left hanging, is it? That would be very cruel of you, Satoru.”
“Cruel?” Brows knit together. He doesn’t want to break the rules any more than he already has, but he also doesn’t want to hurt you, or insult you. That much is clear.
“Oh, yes. I’ll feel all used up and unloved if you leave me like this. Am I not pretty enough for you, Satoru? Maybe you prefer girls who are perfect, like you.”
Vehemently, he shakes his head. For the first time since meeting him, he looks assertive. Spine straight, shoulders stretched out, and chest puffed out, he denies your insecurities, fake as they are, with a growl, “You are perfect.” Then, that dominant facade pops. Slumping, his cheek nuzzles your inner thigh. “Oh gosh, you’re so pretty. Prettiest girl ever. And you smell so nice.”
“Yeah?”
He nods.
“I’ve been told my pussy tastes,” you say in a sing-song tone — the words hang, settling in his very soul — and as he leans in without realising, as his mouth grows dryer and dryer, you finally bring him closer with your heeled foot, and finish, “heavenly. Won’t you let me know if there’s any truth to that?”
Transfixed by the even closer sight of your cunt, he draws closer and closer. His words come out a faint whisper when he asks, “May I?”
“May you what?”
He swallows, more embarrassed now than ever. “May I, um, may I taste your…”
“My…”
“Your p-pussy?”
“Good boy.” You smile harder. “Yes, you may.”
Is it the word ‘heavenly’ that bravely urges him to press his face to your pussy, the consent, or the glistening moisture on your swollen folds?
It doesn’t matter, you suppose; it feels amazing either way.
“Ngh, fuck!”
Long, his tongue parts your lips, pushing its way in between and collecting your tangy juices on his tongue. Satoru groans. He moves forwards, shaking hands gripping your thighs and pushing them further apart to make room for his eager body. “O-oh sugar. You do taste –mm– heavenly.”
His inexperience is clear; he has yet to nudge your clit out of its hood, he doesn’t seem to know where your hole is, and he’s just running the tip of his wet appendage all over the place, seeking the taste and not your pleasure. Despite that, you’re breathless, arching your back, and threading your fingers through his hair.
He’s a fucking natural.
“Here, Satoru. Suck here.” You spread your own pussy, pointing to the top where he’s been neglecting the throbbing bundle of nerves. “It’s my clit. Can you say ‘clit?’”
“It’s your…your…um…it’s your c-clit.” He smiles gently when you reward him with a pat on the head. More seriously now though, he wonders, “It won’t hurt if I suck on it?”
“No, sweetheart. It’ll make me feel so good. You want that, right? You want to make me feel good?”
“I want to make you feel so good.” His voice reveals his neediness, the boyish quality in the breathiness, and how he sounds so desperate. Hesitation disappearing, he wraps his lips around it and sucks.
Hard.
You cry out. “Softer! Suck softer. Fuck!”
The apology comes out muffled. He does as he’s told, changing up the intensity, like a well-trained puppy. Egged on by your content sigh, he maintains it, whilst occasionally rolling the bud on his tongue.
“Don’t use your teeth, alright? Just like that mm. Not too fast or too hard, ‘kay? Good boy.”
Attempting to shut your legs around his head, you’re shocked to find his strength surpasses yours; he keeps them open, keeping you spread, without even realising what he was doing.
It was something you’d notice earlier — he’s strong and muscular. Underneath the ironed shirt, he’s got a fit body. Does he work out or is he naturally like that?
“Mmm, don’t stop. Keep eating my pussy, Satoru.”
Even without you needing to speak the orders, you don’t think he was ever going to stop. The Mormon’s really going to town on your sloppy cunt. He’s making out with it, though he only learnt what it meant to make out mere minutes before. His thumb is rubbing tight circles around your clit as he burrows his tongue inside your pussy.
SLUUURRPPP! SLUURRRRPPP!
“It’s so wet,” he mutters to himself. “I can barely get a grip. Smells so sweet, tastes so tangy. God made you so beautifully. Thank you, thank youthankyouthankyou.”
Lightheaded and woozy, you find it in yourself to laugh. “Yes, thank you god.”
That ball of pleasure grows bigger and bigger inside. It’s been too long since you last felt a tongue prodding that gummy spot inside you that has you panting like a bitch in heat. Way too long since a man’s eyes were rolling to the back of his head from how sweet you tasted.
Even more breathless than you, he asks, “Am I doing good?”
“Yes, yes, fuck! You’re doing so good. So so so good. Don’t stop.”
His hair’s grown a mess under your hands, with all the hair pulling and rustling. But he doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he’s groaning into your sloppy cunt with every tug; the vibrations tickle your pulsing clit, which he can’t leave well enough alone. Over and over again, he flicks the tip of his tongue against it, rolling it and sucking, until you’re moaning his name.
Those thin-framed glasses are askew, foggy beyond recognition. He doesn’t care. He’s being led by an innate, primal need for pleasure, not by his sight. You hardly recognise him — gone is the little nerd at your door, in his place is a beast.
Satoru laps at your pussy like an obedient, yet out of control dog. There’s no rhyme or reason to the way he eats you out. He’s just doing anything and everything. And it works so fucking well.
Hips raised, you ride his face, nudging your clit against his nose. You’re using him as you please, timing it to the exploration of his tongue from your oozing hole to the very top, where he’s realised if he presses down hard enough, you’ll release more juices.
“More,” he mumbles, huskily and not sounding like himself any longer. “Make more wetness. I want to taste you more.”
You cum with a stuttered scream.
But he doesn’t know that. He doesn’t know that shaking legs, spasming limbs, and elongated moans are signs of an orgasm — a good one, at that. So he continues. Licking. Sucking. Shhlurrrrrrping!
“Satoru! S-stop!”
You shove him away. He growls, and dives right back in. Your cupped hands prevent him.
“Bad!” You berate, fixing him a glare. Your pussy’s tingling with sparks, overused and abused. He’s had his fun. Time for things to progress. “Stand up. Right now.”
Blinking through the dazed cloud, he stumbles to his feet, book still on the floor and completely forgotten about. It seems like he’s a man that likes to be commanded, to be led. So you’ll do just that. And as you thought — he’s hard again. There’s a dark spot where his tip is. You press on it.
Satoru’s hips jerk with a gasp.
“Take your dick out.”
“B-but—”
“Now.
Belt unbuckled, zip down, blush growing deeper, and there it is. Not his cock. No, his undergarment; a white pants. You’ve heard rumours and memes, but never knew for sure if it was a fact.
Unable to help himself, you laugh. “Oh my god, you’re like an actual Mormon, aren’t you? That’s hilarious.”
Maybe he gets embarrassed, maybe he’s offended, but whatever the case, he adjusts his glasses and makes a move to zip his pants up. “T-this was a mistake.”
You stop him.
“No, no. I’m sorry. I’m not making fun of you. Promise.” You wipe the humour off your face and give him a reassuring smile, fluttering your lashes up. “Why don’t you take it all off, hmm?”
His hands fiddle with the hem of his vest. “I, um…I’ve never been bare in front of anyone before.”
Satoru’s nervous, and self-conscious. It’s adorable. Feeling sympathetic, you grin. “I’ll do it if you do it.”
Standing up, you shrug his vest off, his shirt, that ghastly undergarment top, and then his pants until he can no longer hide anything from you. One wolf whistle later, and you’re creaming your panties again — he’s fucking hot: perfect skin, defined abs, tapered waist, a V-line, a flush on his chest and on his lower stomach, leading to his magnificent pink cock. It’s just as long and thick as it felt, and prettier than you could have imagined. And hard again. His cockhead is glistening with his pre.
To think, no woman was going to see him in all of his glory until their wedding night. That’s the real sin.
He tries to cup his boner. You shake your head, tutting. “No, don’t hide yourself from me, baby. You’re gorgeous. My mouth’s watering. Help me with mine, will you?
You grab one of his hands and lead it to the zip on your back. He follows your guidance and slowly, very slowly, unzips you. The dress falls to the floor. You’re naked.
Lips parting, he stares in awe, and wonder, at your curves and skin. His cock bobs, leaking a drop.
“Still think I’m pretty?”
“Yes. Yes. Oh sugar, yes.” One could very easily see his knees are threatening to weaken beneath him; he almost looks ready to pray at your feet. And you might just let him if you aren’t aching to be fucked soon.
“Such a sweet talker,” you drawl. “Don’t be shy. Touch me. Have you ever felt up some tits before, Satoru?”
Hands once again guided by yours, they tremble upon contact with the fat mounds of your chest. Your nipples are hard, reaching for him, and they’re completely unavoidable as he explores the shape of your breasts with hesitant gropes.
“N-no. I’ve only seen pictures, ma’am. Oh gosh,” he moans, squeezing harder now, more sure of himself, “it feels so nice, so warm and soft.”
His hands are smooth, not yet calloused by age or hard work, and they draw out shivers from you. When he accidentally flicks a nipple, he’s as surprised as you when you suck in a breath.
“Oh no, did that hurt?”
You slink back to the sofa. Satoru follows, magnetised by his unrelenting grip on your tits. “No, it felt good. In fact, why don’t we make each other feel good?”
He doesn’t seem to know quite what you mean, but he doesn’t object when you maneuver him to lie in your lap. Confused, he stares up at you with doe eyes. That confusion doesn’t last very long, however, because, from his angle, all he can really see is your tits.
The Mormon licks his lips, eyes basically black at this point.
“Go on, Satoru. It’s okay.”
Cautiously, he licks the underside of a breast. He’s testing the waters, seeing what he likes and what he doesn’t, and what makes you feel good. Once he’s satisfied it really is okay, he suckles on a teat and throws all caution to the wind. There’s no stopping him — he’s sucking and sucking, like he’s being breastfed after years of starvation.
One could liken it to the way he was eating your pussy; plain messy and driven only by vulgar desire.
Meanwhile, your hand wanders downwards, towards the ramrod thing pulsing in the air. You grip the base. He grunts, sending vibrations through your tit. Reflexively, he grabs your other breast and squeezes for comfort.
“You really haven’t ever jerked yourself off?”
Satoru shakes his head. “I don’t know how to; it’s scary.”
“Well then, allow me to teach you how to do it.” He’s not circumcised, which you had already predicted. Sliding his foreskin down, you carefully reveal more and more of him to the cool air. He hisses, burying his face deeper into your chest. “Shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”
At least, he keeps it clean there.
When you finally start tugging on the length, his back arches. He’s practically scalding, like an iron bar over a fire. The poor boy’s been pent up all his life; his balls are near bursting, even though he came barely even ten minutes ago.
“You start off slow, usually,” you say. “Slow and gentle. Then faster and faster, building up and up, until you can’t take it anymore. Of course, some people like it intense and fast straight away. That’s why it’s important to have experience.”
Thumbing his slit and spreading the wetness, you let him hear how squelchy! He’s getting from his own cum. But he pretends he doesn’t hear it, far too busy nursing on your tits. You see his abs contract though. Feel his stuttered breaths and the quiver in his lips.
It doesn’t take long at all for him to start hissing. You don’t let him cum.
Satoru makes a noise of panicked complaint. “B-but I was so close.”
“Shhh, it’s okay.” Again and again, you withhold his orgasm from him, no matter how close he gets, no matter how nicely he begs. You’ve familiarised him with the look and sound of a man’s orgasm, and a woman’s. Now, you’re going to familiarise him with the pleasure of withholding. “Patience, young Jedi. Trust in me.”
“Please,” he gasps. “I need to–NGH!”
Pretty veins, cute balls, and adorable cockhead — it’s impossible to not want to mess with him. But he can’t have everything he wants. He can’t be greedy and spoiled. That would just be disastrous. No, he needs to know that the real boss around here is you.
Plus, if you didn’t push him to the edge only to drag him back, you wouldn’t see the toe-curling look of a man who’s had enough. Satoru displays great strength as he spins around and pins you to the sofa with a manic glare.
Towering over you with a feral glint in his eyes, he snarls. “I need to-to—Fudge!”
Underneath him, you lie there and brush the hair that sticks to his face away. “Cum, sweetie. It’s called cumming.”
“That,” he says with a nod, losing his edge as he basically pouts down at you. “I need to cum. Please, can I cum? Please?” His cock bobs to prove his point.
You don’t have any condoms, and you’re not sure he knows what they are. But it’s a safe day so you say, fuck it.
Legs spread around his hips, you nudge him forward. His searing cockhead bumps into your throbbing clit. You both moan. Every nudge of your crossed ankles at the base of his spine sends his cock gliding through your swollen folds. It covers his length with the same glistening juice as his lips were.
That, too, feels good for him; he leaves a streak of precum on your skin, mixing with the oozing juices from your pussy.
It’s not enough, however. Not when his orgasm has been withheld for so long. Satoru grows beyond frustrated. “Fudgecake! I can’t find it. Where do I put it in?”
His glasses have fogged up and they’re threatening to fall off his nose. You take it from him anyway and fold them somewhere. Tears have sprung to his eyes. Cooing, you wipe them away, sucking on the salty liquid. Your clit pulses. You always did love making virgins cry. “Here, poor baby. Here’s my hole.”
With your help, he prods at your entrance and gasps as he swiftly enters. You’ve been so wet for so long that it’s not hard to welcome him in. But the stretch does, ever so slightly, sting. He didn’t know to finger you, to scissors those long digits in, to get your walls used to his girth. You can’t blame him though; it was your responsibility to teach him.
Purpose forgotten, Satoru jerks his hips inside, as if driven by instinct, a past life of debauchery, or a future of servicing. It’s as clumsy as his head game — shallow thrusts and bumps that lead to nowhere — and yet, it works. You’re moaning, and arching your sensitive tits into his chest.
“S-so tight,” he grits out. “So -hngh!- warm.”
“It’s okay. Take your time. Get used to it.”
He doesn’t hear you.
Too much blood has risen to his head and to his cock. He’s crying. Full blown crying. “So good. It feels so good. Oh fuck. God forgive me. I’ve sinned.” He whimpers. “And it’s so fucking good.” The dripping of hot tears, the pleading, the whines and whimpers, and the thrusting against your g-spot has you clamping down.
“N-no!”
With a girlish howl, his dick pulses one last time and he cums inside.
Burning liquid paints your gummy walls white. You gasp. He falls on top of you, muttering apologies.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to pee -hic!- in you.” His words are slurred, drunk on the heat of your pussy. You pat his head.
“You didn’t pee in me, Satoru. I told you, it’s cum. You came in me. And it’s okay.”
He’s out cold, just like that. He probably didn’t hear your last words before he begins drooling on your neck.
.
.
.
“Ngh! Too much! P-please no more. I can’t take any -hah- more.”
Satoru woke up with you bouncing on his cock, head thrown back and tits flying up and down. It was enough to send him over the edge. He thought it was all a dream — a beautiful young woman welcoming him into her home when many never did, kissing him, touching him where he’s never been touched, letting him taste her petals, and allowing him to enter her sacred body.
Although, as you ride him for all he’s worth, despite the fact that since his eyes opened to a blurry sight he’s came twice, he can’t deny it was all real.
And he has no idea how to feel.
The Church, the Father, and his brothers would scream if they found out. What he’s doing is wrong. It’s against the scripture, against the teachings, and all his values. He’d be scolded beyond reason, possibly shunned, and isolated. Considered tainted and impure now.
Yet, there isn’t one bit of him that cares.
No one ever told him that sinning feels so good. Perhaps that’s the real sin. A crime, even.
His fingers dig into the plush of your thighs, simultaneously holding you there and also trying to pry you off. Satoru can’t decide. And it’s bringing him to tears. He’s sobbing, crying, hyperventilating. Born anew.
“Fuck, you’re so big!” You’re wantonly screaming, hair flipping around. Nails scratch his sweaty, flushed skin. Tight walls punishingly grip his cock. “Rub my clit, baby. Play with my tits. Ngh, do something!"
You’re so close to another orgasm, and nothing’s going to get in your way. He can see that in your vicious eyes. Too frightened by the obscene sounds you’re fucking out of him, he doesn’t argue. A thumb rubs your clit, just as his other hand gropes your breast.
Soon, you explode all over his stomach and balls. A splash that renders him speechless and thirsty. You don’t stop. No, you continue bouncing and bouncing like nothing happened. It’s clear you need more, and Satoru doesn’t think he has any more to give. He sure does want to try though.
He can’t keep his eyes off you — you’re like a siren, luring him into water. A succubus draining him of his life source, pulling him deeper into hedonism and depravity. And, for the first time in his life, he doesn’t care.
“You’re so tight,” he whines out. “D-don’t tighten up on me, more, please!”
The pleats inside you wrap around his cock, squeezing cum out of his length, and kissing every inch. The tip of his cock is bumping against something hard inside, and he finds it all too overwhelming. You’ve forced orgasms out of him too many times. There really should be nothing left in his balls. In spite of that, he can’t stop giving you what you want.
When he cums again, it’s almost painful. He’s orgasmed more times in one afternoon than he has in his entire lifetime, which wasn’t a difficult record to beat.
He passes out again.
And the next time he wakes up, he’s in your bedroom, ramming his alive-again cock inside you from the back. He watches your behind ripple with the force of his thrusting, a force he didn’t know he was capable of.
“Yes, Satoru. Harder! Fuck me harder!”
Sheets are crumpled up, ripped and drenched in a puddle of sweat and cum or something else entirely. Whatever it is, he feels himself covered in it. Doused. Cleansed.
He blacks out.
Satoru’s shaken back to consciousness with the jostling of your body once again bouncing on his cock but this time, you’re pinned to the wall, hugging him to you. Your breasts are squashed against his chest, nipples scraping. Cum is leaking down his thighs. He’s sticky, and salivating, and sore.
In spite of that, he can’t seem to stop his hips or the spraying of his cum.
“K-kiss me,” he finds himself murmuring, begging. “Please, ma’am. Kiss me.”
Your lips slam onto his.
After that, he stops blacking out.
He makes love to you on the coffee table, on the kitchen counter, against the window, against the front door, back on the sofa, many more times on your bed, and in the shower, and he loses track of the positions and how many times he or you cum.
There’s no way of knowing how many hours, or days, have passed.
There’s only you, him, and the merging of bodies.
And he doesn’t regret a thing.
.
.
.
“Take care of yourself now, Satoru.”
The young man beams. “You too, ma’am. I hope to see you around.”
“Me too.”
He finally leaves, only a day later. Freshly washed, clothes ironed, and balls empty. Every step feels light, like he’d unburdened his problems for good. Maybe the Church will be mad at him for disappearing, but he’ll make up some excuse. They love him.
Or perhaps he’ll think a little more deeply about his experience, what he’s been taught, what right and wrong really means to him. Because a lot of people would condemn him for what he’s done, though none of it feels wrong, not even in the slightest.
Well, whatever the future holds, he’s sure he can face it.
The man’s become so happy-go-lucky, he doesn’t notice that a familiar face passes him by and heads straight for where he just left.
“How did it go?”
You wink at him. “Very well.”
A lock of hair is tucked behind your ear. Entering your home, he grabs your hips and pins it to his. You feel the undeniable imprint of a cock ready to go.
“Thanks for taking care of him; he’s an uptight idiot who needed to know there’s more outside the Church than the lies they’ve been selling us.”
“He’ll be fine,” you say with certainty.
Smiling, he insists, “I owe you.”
His fingers seek your soaking pussy out from behind, prodding and rubbing as he hugs you to his firm chest. You gasp, then grin. “I know a way you can repay the favour.”
He grins too.
“I bet I know exactly what you’re thinking, pretty girl.”
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