y u k !

It was another night of making love, Clark’s head nestled into your neck, your hands gripping his shoulders as he whispered sweet nothings into your ear. It felt amazing as usual, but you had an ache; you needed him to itch. 

“Hey, Clark.” You whimpered, pulling his head up to look at him. His thrusts slowed down, making sure you were okay. 

“Yeah, honey?” He hummed, his signature dimpled smile beaming at you.

“I need you to fuck me like you hate me.” 

As soon as the words left your mouth, his hips stilled inside you, his cock twitching inside of you. Betraying the concerned look lacing his features. “But I don’t hate you?” 

“Yeah, honey. Obviously.” A laugh escaped your mouth, running your hands up and down his back.  “I just want you to fuck me. I love making love. I love it. But I want it fast. Hard. I can feel you holding back, you won’t break me.” 

“I don’t wanna hurt you.” 

You pressed a kiss to his cheek, “You’re not gonna hurt me. I trust you with my life.”

“I don’t think you know what you’re asking.” His eyes turned dark, staring down at you with a newfound desire swirling in them. 

“I wanna feel you for days. Need you to fuck me silly, please, Clark.” You whined, clenching down on his cock. He was silent, reaching down to grip your thighs, wrapping them around his hips. He braced his hands on the headboard, gripping the wood. Without warning, he thrust up into you so hard all the air escaped from your lungs. It felt like he was in your throat, reaching places he’s never even been before. His hips are pistoning into yours so fast you couldn’t even process it. 

“F-fuck Clark, I can’t-” A wanton moan escaped your chest, digging your nails into his skin of steel so hard it hurt your hands. 

“Oh, come on. This is what you wanted, right, baby?” He grunted, making you nod, drunk off the feeling. Nothing but the sounds of the bed creaking and the slick sounds of you creaming around his cock. The creaking sounds got louder, and suddenly there was a loud crash. The bedframe splintering underneath Clark’s hands, the bed slowly falling apart around both of you. He shielded you from the debris, never once letting up his pace. 

“The bed- fuck-” 

“You feel so good, honey. Letting me use you like this.” His eyes were dark, pressing hard kisses against your neck as the bed slowly slumped to the floor. He was so lost inside you, he barely noticed the splintered wood beneath his hands.  And he was fucking you too good for you to care about it. Moving to grip your hips harshly, fucking up into your body as if you were nothing but a toy for him. 

There was no way you were able to speak with how fast he was going, the only thing alluding to you cumming was your loud whimpers and your cunt squeezing his cock. 

“I’m right here, baby,” Clark promised, moving your legs up, determined to fuck into your guts, “Being so good for me, huh? Look at you coming on my cock.” 

His eyes didn’t move away from where you both met, a white ring of release forming at the base of his cock. As soon as you were able to get some air into your lungs, you moaned his name over and over. 

“C-Clark, I can’t-” Your legs were trembling under his hold, every part of your body was on fire. So overstimulated in the best way. Clark shushed you, letting one of his hands travel down to thumb at your puffy clit. 

“Yes, you can,” He cooed, admiring the way you fluttered and shook around him. All you could do was take it, your body greedily sucking him in still. Your second orgasm coming fast, feeling different from before. He tried not to use his x-ray vision on you, but he couldn’t help it. He could see your release growing, pushing against your walls, just begging to be let out. 

“W-wait-” You stuttered out, moving your hands to try and slow him down. “I feel like I’m g-gonna-” 

He had a mischievous glint in his eye, continuing to hit the spot inside you that had you screaming. Your eyes rolling into the back of your head let him know he achieved his goal, your cunt spurted around him. A deep pleasure rolling through your body, a new sensation that had you cursing, not asking him to do this sooner. The warmth of your release had Clark’s hips stuttering, chasing his own high not far after yours. 

He tried to keep his pace, stuttering over your trembling frame. Never once stopping his praises.“Isn’t that good, baby? Knew you could do it.” 

“I love you. Love you so much.” You slurred, practically seeing stars.

“O-oh.” He whimpered, his cock twitching inside you. He was mumbling ‘I love yous’ as he watched his cum seep inside your womb, filling you up so much he could feel it leaking on the bed, mixing with where you soaked the sheets. Soon, he was gently flopping his body on top of yours, pressing small kisses to your sweat-lined skin. Both of you are catching your breaths, holding each other in the post orgasmic haze. 

Clark felt it before he knew what was happening, his head rattling on your chest. When he looked up, he saw you stifling your giggles. Contagious, Clark was unable to stifle his own laughter, and soon both of you lost it in hysterics. 

“Our bed is broken.” You wheezed, looking around to where the bed was now sitting on the floor in a pile of snapped wood. “So fucking worth it though.” 

Tonight you laid in bed studying—well, doodling in the margins of your notes. The rattle of your fire escape broke the quiet. You didn’t startle. Instead, a smile tugged at your lips the moment you saw the familiar red gloves pushing your window open.

“Pete!” You slid off the bed to the window.

“Hey,” you could hear his smile through his mask. “How’s my girl?” He tugged his mask off and tossed his mask onto your cluttered desk.

“Better now.” You smile as he leans in, taking your face into his gloved hands and pressing a tender kiss to your lips.

Peter always gave you the sweetest of kisses when he came back from patrols. He never rushed your kisses. He lived with the knowledge that every time he put the suit on, there was a chance he wouldn’t come back to you. And so, when he did, he made sure you felt it—his relief, his love.

He hummed slowly, tasting the faint sweetness of your chapstick. “Missed you today,” he murmured, words melting into the kiss.

“Then stay the night,” you whispered back, teeth grazing his lower lip, playfully.

He could never say no to you. He answered by pressing his lips harder against yours hungrily. With a soft click, he hit the spider emblem on his suit, the fabric peeling away and pooling at his feet. He stepped forward, guiding you back toward the bed, when you stopped him with both hands pressed to his chest.

He broke the kiss instantly, brows knitting. “Everything okay?”

You swallowed, nerves bubbling in your chest. “I- uh… can we try something?” The heat crawling up your neck made it hard to get the words out. You’d been sitting on this question for weeks—probably longer—rehearsing it in your head, only to chicken out every time. It was stupid. Ridiculous. You two have been dating for almost five years now. You’re each other’s first everythings. And yet, the idea of asking scared you shitless.

Peter’s touch softened, thumbs caressing your skin to ease your nerves. “Oh, sure. What did you have in mind?”

You groaned under your breath, before the words tumbled out in a rush. “Okay, so, hypothetically, do you think it’s possible to- and you can totally say no! It’s just an idea. A concept, really. A weird one-”

“Babe.” He cut off your rambling with a chuckle. “Tell me.”

You grimaced, and forced the words past your lips. “Do you think it’s possible to… y’know. Do it on the ceiling?”

Silence. You braced for laughter or judgement. Whatever comes first.

Instead, Peter broke into the widest grin you’d ever seen. “Oh, thank god! I’ve been wanting to ask you the same thing!”

Your eyes snapped wide open. “You- you have?!”

“Yes!” He laughed. “I’ve always wondered if my powers would even work for… that.”

You stared at him, awed and relieved, before finally cracking a nervous laugh. “So… how does this even work? You can just- what- crawl up there and…?” Your eyes drifted to the ceiling like it might offer instructions.

Peter followed your gaze, lips twitching with a smirk, then leaned back in to kiss you again. This one was slower, more deliberate, the kind of kiss that could drench your panties in an instant. “Don’t worry,” he murmured against your mouth. “I’ve got an idea. You trust me?”

“Always.”

He kissed you harder, tongue brushing yours. You let him in, tongues exploring each other’s. The police scanner quickly faded into background noise.

His hands work their way down your body to massage your ass through your pants, tugging you against him. Then they move up to the hem of your shirt, peeling it off and tossing it onto the rug. Of course, you didn’t wear a bra, it was Friday night. So, when his eyes roamed your breasts, he grew all the more hungry for you. He quickly dives in, nipping and sucking at the skin of your neck in hopes to form a mark. Hands still roaming and massaging every inch of exposed skin.

“Mmmm, fuck, Pete,” a sigh escapes you as you let your eyes shut and focus on the feeling.

He moved to your hips and pushed down your pants and panties in one move. You gasp when his fingers slide through your folds, testing how wet you were. In just one pass, his fingers were soaked.

“Shit, babe, you’re fucking drenched for me. Have you been like this all night—waiting for me to come back?” He rubs light circles against your clit.

Biting your lip, you nod and let out a pathetic “Mhm.”

“Poor thing,” He coos into your neck. “I’ll make it up to you.”

He turns you around holding you against his chest. You feel him shuffling behind you to take his boxers off. His cock springing free and hitting your ass. You can feel his tip, wet with precum, smearing against your skin.

His arm wraps around your torso and he gives your neck open mouthed kisses. “You ready?” His voice was an octave lower now.

“Ready.” You grip onto his arm around you.

He raises his free hand and jumps, sticking to the ceiling. You feel his abs flex against you as he brings his legs up, sticking his knees to the ceiling as well. Now, you laid back on his chest, his chin resting on your shoulder.

The dorm looked so different like this. You notice some spider webs in the corner, the top of your book shelf that needed dusting. You couldn’t believe this was actually happening after so many nights of fantasizing what it would be like.

“Are you okay like this?” He reaches down, pulling your thighs to drape over his, opening you up for him.

“Y-yeah,” you nod nervously.

He kisses your cheek and reaches for his cock, adjusting the tip against your entrance. You squirm a little, feeling the head slide up and down your folds, collecting your wetness.

“Pete,” you whine, needy for more.

“I gotcha.” He says, low into your ear.

That first thrust in made your head fall back, hair dangling over his shoulder, and a deep moan to flow out.

Peter grunted as your hot, wet pussy squeezed around his tip. “Ohhh, fuck. That good?” He asks as he slides another inch in.

“So good, Pete.” Your hips buck for more.

Pleased with your reaction, he starts pushing the rest in, slow and careful, making your pussy stretch for him. It was a slight burn like always, but nothing uncomfortable. In fact, you kind of liked it. You liked knowing that only his cock could stretch you so perfectly to fit him.

He kissed your neck as you whimpered. “You're doing so good. I’m almost all in.”

You felt exposed and at his whim. Legs forced open by his thighs, his hand now massaging your breasts, lips on your neck, and dangling from the ceiling, only protected by him.

Once he’s fully settled inside you, he gives you a moment, feeling your walls flutter around him. “Shit, you’re tight.” He grits his teeth.

“I need it, Peter.” You whine. Your core ached with a need that only he could satisfy.

“I know, baby,” he gives you a few deep and agonizingly slow strokes, testing how he could do this on the ceiling.

You mewl at the drag of his cock—so deep you feel like he’s split you in half. One of your hands held onto his arm while the other reached back to thread into his messy curls. His cock was quickly coated in you, making each thrust easier. He pulled out slowly and slammed back in, making you yelp. Satisfied, he picks up the pace, bucking harder into you.

“Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, oh, fuck!” Your hand fist his hair, making him groan. He loved when you tugged his hair whether he was fucking you silly or eating you out.

“You like that?” He panted into your ear. “Want it deeper?”

“Yes, more! More!” You pleaded, already addicted to the feeling he was fucking into you.

You couldn’t stop the wails coming out of you if you wanted to. Thank god, there were a million halloween parties happening down the hall, or else everyone on your floor would know how good Peter was fucking you right now.

He kissed your shoulder, watching how your body writhed on top of his.

Satisfied with your plea, he drives into you with even more force. Those brutal thrusts, yanked a sob from you each time his tip kissed the soft, sensitive spot inside you.

“You sound so pretty.” He sighed. “Taking me- ngh so- so well. Look at you- oh, fuuuck.”

You could barely reply, babbling nonsense back.

The ache in your belly soothed with each push and pull of his thick cock dragging against the sensitive walls of your cunt—the feeling replaced with pure pleasure.

“You’re fucking incredible.” He nips at your neck while his fingers lightly twist your hard nipples. “So hot. Just wanna be- NGH buried inside your pussy all day.”

“Peterpeterpeterpeter!” Your back arched off his chest, brushing against the ceiling, tilting your cunt towards him to get more.

“Fuck! You want even more, huh?”

“Mhm! Ah-ah! Please!”

“I’ll give it to you. Been so good for me. My good, perfect girl.”

A shriek escapes you as his thrusts become even more powerful and sloppy. The slick sound coming from between your legs was obscene. His thrusts so powerful, his balls started smacking against your cunt while you only got wetter and wetter.

“Oh my go- MFPH!” He bit the nape of your neck, trying not to come yet. “Shit!” He hissed, as you squeezed him.

“Oh, god, it’s so good!” You cry out.

Your arousal was dripping down his balls and onto the floor. Occasional faint splats could be heard between the vulgar sounds coming from the two of you. You feel his abs flexing against your back as he hammers into you like a possessed man.

“Just like that! Don’t stop, don't stop! Please, Pete!”

His hand releases your breast and slides down to your soaked cunt. Your hips jerk when the calloused pad of his middle finger brushes through your lips finding your clit.

“Peter!” You shrieked as pleasure blinded you.

Your thighs quiver and try to clamp together, but kept pried open by his.

“Fuuuck! You’re so tight, I’m- Ungh I’m not gonna last long, you’re s-squeezing me so fucking tight, baby.” His words slur together the closer he gets to the edge.

“I-I’m so close!” You squeak out. “I’m- I’m-“

He was ruthless against your clit, rubbing in small circles. “That’s it. Cum all over my cock, I know you can do it.” He growled into your ear.

It was too much, your body couldn’t possibly hold out any longer. Your orgasm hits you, sending every nerve of your body on fire. Your back arched, nipples brushing against the ceiling.

“That’s my girl. Ah!” He hissed. “I’m cumming- fuck! I’m cumming!” He moans into your neck.

Your pussy was clamping around him, throbbing and milking his cock. He fucked you both through your highs, burying his cum deep inside you while his fingers moved until you were whimpering and shaking in his arms.

As his thrusts slow and fingers ease up, you both pant, trying to reclaim your breaths. Peter’s head fell back, looking at the room upside down.

“You okay?” You chuckle, turning your head to look at him.

“Amazing,” he sighs and comes back up to look at you. “We’re definitely doing that again.”

Your blissed out face makes him smile. ”Yes, please.”

He leans in and softly kisses you. At least until the dripping sound becomes apparent. He pulls back, giving you a guilty smile. “I’ll clean that up.”

A/N: This was written specially for my bestie. I hope u like it🌼

Permanent Tag List: @what-iwish-you-knew @infuriatinglyoptimistic @harriedandharassed

You nodded, forcing a innocent look. "Yeah, just watching. You're doing great."

He lowered his hand, the web still dangling from his fingertips. He walked toward you, each step deliberate, his bare feet silent on the carpet. He stopped between your knees, looking down at you with that knowing smirk.

"Can I try something on you?"

Your brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

He held up his hand, the web glistening. "You wanna know how my webs feel, right?"

Your breath caught. You should say no. This was weird. But your body was already responding—nipples hardening, pussy clenching. You nodded, a small, hesitant movement.

He leaned down, his lips brushing your ear. His voice dropped to a low murmur. "Get on the bed. Doggy style."

You gasped, but your body moved before your mind could object. You crawled onto the mattress, sinking onto your hands and knees. Then, without thinking, you crossed your hands behind your back, wrists together, waiting. The position felt natural, submissive.

Peter let out a low laugh. "God, you're so easy. Always following my commands so easily."

A whimper escaped your lips. You pushed your ass higher, grinding your hips into the air, seeking any friction against your soaked panties. Your mini skirt had ridden up, bunching around your waist, leaving the dark wet patch on your underwear completely exposed. You knew he could see it—the evidence of your arousal, the fabric darkened and clinging to your slick folds.

He angled his hand, fingers spread, and let a web fly. The strand shot out, thick and warm, wrapping around your wrists. It stuck to itself, binding your hands together behind your back with a tight, secure hold. You groaned, testing the restraint, but it held firm—stronger than any rope or handcuff.

"Fuck," Peter whispered. He stepped closer, his fingers tracing the web where it touched your skin. The strand was slightly tacky, warm from his body, and surprisingly smooth. He ran his hand along your bound wrists, marveling at his own creation. "Beautiful."

He stepped back, and you felt his gaze rake over your body—your arched back, your raised ass, the wet spot growing darker by the second. He could smell your arousal, hear the rapid thrum of your pulse. His Spidey-sense amplified every detail.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to see you like this," he murmured, his voice rough. His hand slid from the web to the curve of your ass, squeezing hard, kneading the soft flesh. His thumb pressed into the damp fabric of your panties, feeling the heat radiating from your cunt.

"Peter... please," you whimpered, burying your face in the pillow.

"Please what, baby?" He teased, stepping closer until the rough denim of his jeans brushed against your exposed thighs. You could feel the bulge straining against his fly, thick and hard. "You gonna tell me what you want? Or are you just gonna keep grinding into the air like a needy little slut?"

The word sent a jolt straight to your core. Your pussy clenched around nothing, desperate. You pushed your ass higher, spreading your knees wider, presenting yourself to him like an offering. The skirt bunched around your waist completely now, leaving your soaked panties fully visible. The wet spot was obscene—a dark, glistening patch right over your cunt, the fabric translucent with your arousal.

Peter's breath hitched. He hooked a finger under the waistband of your panties and pulled them aside. Cool air hit your slick folds, and you shivered. He didn't touch you—just stared at the glistening flesh, the way your hole clenched and released, leaking a trail of clear fluid down your inner thigh.

"Please, Peter, just fuck me," you begged, voice cracking. "I need you inside me."

He chuckled, low and dark. "You think you get to call the shots? You're the one who's tied up, remember?" He stepped back, just out of reach, and you felt the loss like a physical ache. Your wrists strained against the webbing, but it held.

"Turn around. On your back. I want to see your face when I take you."

You obeyed without hesitation, rolling over awkwardly with your hands still bound behind you. The webbing kept your arms pinned against your lower back, forcing your chest out, your tits jutting forward under your thin shirt. The nipples were hard, visible through the fabric, begging for attention.

Peter's eyes raked over you, dark and hungry. He slowly unzipped his jeans, pulling out his cock—thick, hard, already leaking pre-cum from the tip. He wrapped his hand around the shaft, giving it a slow stroke, watching your reaction. Your mouth dropped open, your tongue darting out to wet your lips.

"Open," he commanded, stepping closer until his cock was inches from your face. You parted your lips, and he guided the head inside, letting you taste the salty bitterness of his pre-cum. You suckled eagerly, your tongue swirling around the tip, but he pulled back before you could take more.

"Not yet. I want to be inside your pussy first."

He positioned himself between your spread legs, your skirt still bunched around your waist, panties pulled to the side. The head of his cock nudged against your entrance, and you both moaned at the contact. He teased you, sliding just the tip in and out, coating himself in your wetness.

"Look at me," he said, and you locked eyes with him. "I'm going to fuck you until you forget your own name. And when I'm done, I'm going to fill you up so full that my cum drips out of you for hours."

He thrust forward, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth motion. You cried out, your back arching, your bound hands pressing into the mattress for leverage. He was so deep, so thick, stretching you in a way that was almost too much but exactly what you needed. He didn't give you time to adjust—he started fucking you immediately, hard and fast, his hips slapping against your ass with wet, obscene sounds.

"Fuck, yes, take it," he grunted, his pace relentless. "You feel that? That's my cock. That's what you wanted, isn't it? You wanted me to use you, to tie you up and fuck you like the little slut you are."

All you could do was moan, your words lost in the pleasure. Your legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his lower back, pulling him deeper. He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a brutal kiss, his tongue thrusting in time with his cock. The webbing creaked as you strained against it, but it only added to the thrill—the helplessness, the surrender.

He broke the kiss, panting. "I'm close. You want my cum, baby? Tell me you want it."

"Yes, please, Peter, cum inside me, fill me up—"

His hips stuttered, and he buried himself deep, his body going rigid as he released. You felt the hot spurts flooding your insides, triggering your own orgasm. Your walls clamped down on him, milking every last drop as waves of pleasure crashed through you. You cried out his name, your vision white, your body trembling.

He stayed inside you, softening, his forehead pressed to yours. The webbing still held your wrists together. He reached down, stroking the sticky strands, a satisfied smirk on his face.

"See? I told you it'd be beautiful."

He gently pulled out, and you felt his cum start to leak from your abused hole, trickling down onto the sheets. He traced a finger through the mess, gathering some, and brought it to your lips. You opened obediently, tasting yourself mixed with him.

"Good girl," he whispered, then kissed you softly. "Now let's get you cleaned up. And then... maybe we'll try another position. I've got plenty of web to spare."

---------------

​The heavy click of the door handle interrupts your spiralling thoughts.

​You snap your head up as Oscar pushes the door open, still zipped up in his full team kit, his racing boots heavy against the floor. He slams the door shut behind him, turning the deadlock with a sharp, resounding click that echoes loudly in the quiet room.

​Before you can even take a step forward, he's crossing the room in long, heavy, furious strides.

​"Oscar—" you start, but you don't even get the rest of his name out.

​He grabs you by the throat, his fingers wrapping firmly and possessively around your neck, while his other hand snakes straight around your waist. He hauls you forward with so much raw force that you collide hard against his chest, completely knocking the air out of your lungs. He crashes his lips onto yours, kissing you with a bruising, desperate intensity that leaves zero room to breathe. It’s rough, angry, and entirely consumed by the bitter frustration of the afternoon. You don't hesitate for a second; you wrap both arms tightly around the back of his neck, kissing him back just as hard, letting him pour every ounce of his post-race rage right into you.

​Without ever breaking the deep, punishing kiss, he shoves you backward until you stumble right against the edge of his dressing table. He breaks the kiss just long enough to spin you around, pressing the front of your thighs directly against the cold wooden edge while your fingers immediately fly out to grip the sides of the table for balance.

​He steps flush against your back, pressing his heavy hips completely against yours. One of his hands grips your hipbone hard enough to bruise, while the other snakes around the front of your dress, reaching up to cup and squeeze your breast with rough, demanding pressure.

​A loud moan rips straight out of your throat, echoing clearly in the small room—loud enough that anyone walking past the hallway outside could easily hear.

​Oscar instantly leans down, pressing his mouth to the shell of your ear. "Keep it down," he growls, his voice thick, ragged, and vibrating with pure venom as his hips start rhythmically, harshly grinding against you.

​"Fucking unbelievable," he rants into your ear, his hand kneading your breast mercilessly as his hips snap forward again, pressing his hard weight into you. "Fourteen laps. We had only fourteen fucking laps left, and some backmarker who doesn't even know how to use his mirrors ruins the whole goddamn race!"

​His hand lets go of your breast and drops down, hooking into the waistband of his team shorts. With a sharp, aggressive jerk, he pulls them down, freeing his already hard, throbbing length against you. He grinds his hips forward again in a hard, punishing thrust, while his free hand slides down your thigh, grabbing the hem of your dress and violently shoving it all the way up your waist, completely exposing your bare ass and your lace underwear to the cool air of the room.

​You gasp, your knuckles turning completely white as you grip the edges of the table for dear life. Oscar's hand immediately leaves your thigh, moving up to firmly massage your bare buttcheeks before his palm comes down with a sharp, stinging crack across your skin, leaving a hot, sudden burn that has you crying out beneath him all over again.

Oscar’s heavy hand swings down again, delivering another sharp, stinging slap right across your bare buttcheek. The loud smack echoes in the small room, and your whole body jerks violently forward against the edge of the table, a breathy gasp tearing from your throat. He doesn't stop there. He delivers two more rapid, punishing swats, your skin instantly flushing hot and bright red under his palm as your hips instinctively push back against him with every single impact.

​"Fucking pathetic," Oscar pants roughly into your ear, his chest heaving heavily against your back. "All that fucking work in the simulator, all weekend perfecting the setup, and some fucking idiot ruins it because he can't hold his line."

​When he's finally had enough of punishing your skin that way, his hand leaves your ass and moves straight up to the back of your head. He twists his fingers tightly into your hair, gripping your roots and yanking your head back hard so your neck arches fully against his chest, exposing you completely.

​With his other hand already sliding down between your bodies, he positions his thick, heavy length directly against your entrance. He uses the blunt, hot tip of his shaft to shove your delicate underwear roughly to the side, parting you open with zero hesitation.

​Without giving you a single second to adjust, he buries himself inside you in one single, brutal, deep thrust.

​You let out a loud, breathless cry, your back arching even further as he fills you completely and stretches you to your absolute limit.

​"Fuck," Oscar groans, his voice cracking slightly with a mix of raw pleasure and boiling fury. He doesn't waste any time easing into it. He immediately starts driving into you, his hips hammering forward in a relentless, punishing rhythm that rattles the wooden table beneath your hands.

​"Did you see the telemetry?" he spits out between ragged breaths, his hand tightening painfully in your hair as he drives himself deeper, pounding into you without mercy. "We had the fucking pace!"

​Every harsh thrust he takes knocks the wind straight out of your lungs, your thighs trembling violently as you grip the edges of the table so hard your fingers ache. The friction is intense, the wet, heavy sounds of your bodies colliding filling the room as Oscar uses you to vent every single ounce of his competitive rage.

​"And then the gearbox," he rants, his voice rising in pitch as he thrusts harder, his hips slapping against your ass with a deafening rhythm. "Just locks up out of nowhere! All because the rear-end took that stupid hit. I could feel it slipping, I knew it was gone, and I had to just sit there and steer the fucking thing into the barrier while everyone else drove past me!"

​He pulls halfway out of you just to slam back in with twice the force, eliciting a loud, breathless sob from your lips. His hand in your hair yanks downward, forcing your upper body to press flat against the table while he pins your hips completely in place beneath his heavy, relentless weight.

​"Eighty-one races," Oscar growls, his breathing coming in ragged, broken gasps right against your ear as he hammers into you faster and harder, his internal frustration driving every single movement. "Eighty-one, and it fucking ends like that. But I swear to fucking god, next race, I'm taking that pole back. I'm not letting any of them touch me."

​He grips your hips with both hands now, letting go of your hair just to haul you back against his pelvis for a series of punishing, deep thrusts that push you right to the edge, matching the furious, unstoppable storm raging inside his head.

Oscar keeps pounding into you with a wild, frantic rhythm, his hips driving forward faster, harder, and deeper with every single second that ticks by. The overwhelming friction and the sheer intensity of his weight have your entire body shaking uncontrollably against the table. You can't even hold back the loud, pathetic whimpers and broken moans spilling continuously from your lips, your voice cracking with every brutal thrust.

​Hearing your desperate sounds, Oscar leans his upper body heavily over your back. His hand reaches up, grabbing a thick fistful of your hair at the nape of your neck and yanking your head firmly to the side. He crushes his lips onto yours in a rough, demanding kiss, swallowing every loud gasp, moan, and sob right as they leave your mouth.

​Even while kissing you deep and hard, his lower half doesn't slow down for a single millisecond; his hips keep snapping forward in that relentless, punishing cadence.

​He pulls his lips away from yours just enough to sink his teeth sharply into your bottom lip, biting down hard before soothing the sting with a slow, wet sweep of his tongue. He trails his mouth away from your lips, pressing hot, bruising kisses across your flushed cheek, sliding up to the shell of your ear. He flicks his tongue against your sensitive skin, aggressively nibbling on your earlobe before dragging a wet trail of licks down the back of your ear, moving steadily down the side of your neck, and pressing open-mouthed kisses all the way to your shoulder.

​He sinks his teeth right into the soft skin of your shoulder, biting down hard enough to leave a mark while his hips shift angles, changing the trajectory of his thrusts so that he hits your sweet spot with pinpoint, agonizing accuracy over and over again.

​The intense, localized pressure sends a massive shockwave of pure pleasure straight up your spine.

​"Oh, fuck, Oscar, right there—please, don't stop," you sob out against his skin, your fingers digging so deep into the wooden table that you're sure you'll leave splinters.

​You tilt your hips back harder to meet every single one of his savage lunges, completely encouraging him. A massive part of you desperately wants him to tear into you, to take every single ounce of his bitter, white-hot racing anger out on your body until there's nothing left of his frustration. But the other part of you feels so impossibly good, so overwhelmingly full and sensitive, that you just want him to keep driving into you like this forever, losing control right along with you.

​"You fucking like that, don't you, baby?" Oscar growls darkly against your neck, his voice thick with sweat and raw adrenaline. He speeds up even more, his breathing coming in jagged, ragged gasps right against your skin. "You like taking it while I'm completely fucked over? Taking it out on you because I can't take it out on the fucking stewards?"

​He thrusts into you deeper, hitting that exact spot again with a punishing force that strips away every coherent thought in your head, leaving you completely at the mercy of his furious rhythm.

Oscar’s breathing turns ragged and heavy right against your ear, his chest vibrating against your back as the frantic, punishing pace of his thrusts starts to peak. He lets out a harsh, frustrated curse, his internal tension snapping tight as he feels the heavy, undeniable pull of his own climax rushing up fast.

​"Annoyed doesn't even begin to fucking cover it," Oscar pants angrily, his voice shaking with a potent mixture of raw fury and overwhelming physical sensation. "That word doesn't mean a fucking thing for the kind of rage I’m holding right inside my chest right now. It's bullshit. Absolute fucking bullshit."

​Hearing the crack of sheer frustration in his voice, you manage to unhook one hand from the edge of the table. You twist your upper body around as best as you can, your fingers reaching up to cup his sweat-slicked jaw, tilting his face toward you.

​"I know, Oscar," you murmur softly, your voice thick with absolute devotion and breathless encouragement. "I know. Take it out on me. Use me, let it all out."

​Oscar’s eyes lock onto yours, dark and wild with adrenaline. Without missing a beat, he grips your hips tightly and pulls completely out of you. Before you can even catch your breath, his hands slide around your waist and thighs, lifting you effortlessly off your feet. He spins you around in one swift motion and sits you directly on top of the wooden table, parting your legs wide as he steps right between them.

​He lunges forward, burying his thick, heavy length back inside you in one deep, seamless stroke. He pauses right there, completely still inside you, holding you anchored against his pelvis while the friction sends a sharp, delicious shiver straight up your spine.

​Your hands immediately fly back to grip the cold edges of the table behind you for balance, your fingers curling white against the wood.

​Before you can even adjust to the angle, Oscar’s hand shoots out and wraps firmly around your throat. He squeezes just enough to restrict your airflow, using the leverage to yank you forward into a sloppy, desperate, open-mouthed kiss. He devours your mouth greedily, his tongue tangling aggressively with yours before he breaks the kiss to trail wet, frantic heat down your jawline, biting softly at your skin as he moves to your ear, nibbling the lobe before dragging his mouth down your neck and throat again.

​You let out a low, ragged curse under your breath, your hips instinctively rolling forward and grinding down hard against his pelvis in a desperate bid for friction.

​Feeling you take the initiative, Oscar pulls his head back just an inch. He lets you take control for a moment, his hands dropping to your hips to steady you as he stands completely still, just watching you move. His dark, intense eyes track your every micro-expression—watching your chest heave, watching your eyelids flutter completely shut, and watching your head thrash backward in pure, unadulterated pleasure.

​As you grind down on him, rocking your hips in slow, deliberate circles, Oscar’s grip on your throat instinctively tightens, his thumb pressing firmly into your pulse point.

"Look at me," he demands roughly, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly growl as he watches your face twist in ecstasy. "I fucking did everything. Every single fucking thing humanly possible to put myself in that position. I nailed the fucking start, fought my way back after the pit stop, managed the tires, gave the team every bit of feedback they needed. I did every fucking thing right... and then I get taken out by a fucking lapped car. A fucking lapped car. I bled for that pace all weekend."

​You nod frantically, your eyes remaining squeezed shut and your neck arched back to give him full access, while your hips continue to rotate and grind heavily against his rigid length.

​"And for fucking what?" Oscar rants, his breathing hitching as your internal muscles contract tightly around him with every movement you make. "For some clumsy backmarker hit me? I gave them a masterclass in racecraft today, and they just threw it in the trash. I fucking led, every ounce of focus I put into holding that gap... gone because someone else didn't know how to drive like he was fucking blind!"

​He watches you writhe against him, his chest rising and falling violently as your friction pushes him closer and closer to the edge right alongside you.

Oscar can't handle letting you stay in control for another second. The sight of you riding him, combined with the boiling rage still burning hot in his chest, snaps whatever restraint he has left.

​His hands slide down from your throat and grip your hips hard, his fingers digging deep into your flesh as he starts thrusting into you again. The slow, circular rhythm shatters instantly, replaced by a fast, pounding tempo that makes the wooden table shake beneath you.

​You instantly straighten up from your arched position, your arms immediately flying up to wrap securely around the back of his neck to anchor yourself against the frantic onslaught. Every single thrust hits you with a blinding, overwhelming intensity, sending massive shockwaves of white-hot pleasure straight through your core. You can feel the sharp, undeniable pull of your climax gathering at the base of your spine, building rapidly as the friction pushes you closer and closer to the absolute edge.

​"You did your best, Oscar," you gasp out breathlessly, your voice trembling as your fingers tangle tightly in the soft hair at the nape of his neck. "You drove a brilliant race, you did everything right."

​Oscar lets out a harsh, broken curse right against your mouth, his chest heaving as he drives into you harder and faster.

​"I did!" he roars, his voice cracking with a fierce, vindicated desperation as his hips hammer forward against yours with relentless force. "I fucking did! I gave them a masterpiece out there, and it wasn't even my fault!"

​His thrusts become completely wild, completely unhinged, mirroring the absolute chaos of his mind as the two of you race headfirst toward the finish line together.

Oscar doesn't hold back a single ounce of his remaining strength, his body taking over completely as he turns every bit of that crushing post-race heartbreak, every shred of team radio anger, and every ounce of bitter disappointment into pure, raw energy. He grips your hips with vice-like intensity, his fingers bruising against your skin as he hammers into you with a brutal, relentless rhythm that feels less like a measured pace and more like a wild, untamed animal trying to break free from a cage.

​The sound of flesh slapping against flesh fills the small room in a frantic, deafening cadence, mixing with your high, shattered cries and his own deep, ragged grunts. Every single lunge he takes is deeper, harder, and more punishing than the last, stretching you completely and keeping your nervous system firing on absolute overload. Your arms stay locked tightly around his neck, your fingers gripping his hair and pulling him closer as your body violently convulses, the overwhelming friction dragging you screaming and kicking over the precipice into a blinding, full-body climax.

​Your vision goes completely white as your inner muscles contract around him in spasming waves of intense, dizzying heat. You sob out his name, your voice completely wrecked as you shake uncontrollably against him, completely undone by the sheer force of the release.

​Hearing your frantic cries and feeling the tight, pulsing contractions of your climax wrapping around his length acts as the ultimate trigger for Oscar. He lets out a raw, guttural roar that rips straight from the bottom of his lungs, his entire body going rigid as his own control completely snaps into a million pieces.

​"Fuck—I'm coming," he groans viciously, his voice cracking with exhaustion and ecstasy.

​He buries himself as deep as humanly possible inside you, holding you anchored against his pelvis with crushing force as he delivers three final, punishing, jackhammer thrusts. With a heavy, shuddering gasp, he pours himself into you, his hot, heavy release flooding you completely as he shudders violently with every single pulse of his climax.

​For several long, suspended moments, neither of you moves a single muscle. You both just hang there, breathing heavily in unison, your chests rising and falling against each other while the lingering tremors of the orgasm slowly fade from your limbs. Oscar lets his forehead drop heavily against your shoulder, his face damp with sweat, his ragged breaths hot against your skin as he slowly winds down from the absolute storm that just tore through the room.

Oscar slowly pulls his heavy frame back just a fraction, his breathing finally starting to slow down from a ragged pant into something a bit steadier. He rests his forehead against yours, his dark eyes searching your face with a sudden, tender shift in his expression as the frantic adrenaline completely bleeds out of his system.

​He presses a series of small, soft, lingering kisses across your flushed cheeks, down the bridge of your nose, and softly against your lips.

​"You okay?" Oscar murmurs softly, his voice a low, raspy hum right against your mouth. He gently runs a thumb over your lower lip, his gaze dropping to check your skin. "Did I hurt you? I'm sorry... I shouldn't have taken all that out on you like that."

​You let out a soft, breathy chuckle, leaning your weight back against the table as you catch your breath.

​"I'm fine, Oscar. Honestly," you tease, a cheeky little smile playing at the corners of your lips as you reach up to trace the line of his sweat-damp jaw. "Though, you have to admit... you look dangerously hot when you're completely furious. Just as long as that anger isn't actually directed at me, I think I can handle it."

​A faint, tired huff of a laugh escapes Oscar’s lips, a tiny, genuine smile finally breaking through the heavy exhaustion etched across his face. He shakes his head, resting his forehead back against yours with a soft sigh.

​"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," he mutters affectionately, though his eyes soften completely.

​Seeing the lingering shadow of the race still weighing heavily in the back of his mind, you drop the teasing tone entirely. You bring both hands up, gently cupping his face between your palms, your thumbs softly stroking over his cheekbones to bring his complete attention back to you.

​"Hey," you whisper, your voice thick with absolute warmth and reassurance. "Forget about the backmarker, forget about the gearbox, and forget about the points we lost today. You drove an incredible race. Everyone in that paddock knows it, even if the scoreboard doesn't show it right now. You gave it everything, and I am so, so proud of you."

​Oscar’s eyes slip shut for a second at your touch, leaning heavily into your hands as he lets your words finally sink in.

​"And don't ever apologize for leaning on me," you add softly, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. "That's what I'm here for. You carry the whole team on your shoulders all weekend—you're allowed to let it break you down a little bit with me."

Oscar stays completely still in your hold, his warm, dark eyes slowly opening to search your face with a depth of raw, unfiltered emotion that hits you right in the chest. The hard lines of frustration and anger that had defined his features all afternoon finally melt away completely, leaving behind just the quiet, exhausted vulnerability of the man you love.

​He leans further into the palms of your hands, pressing his cheek firmly against your right palm as if he's trying to anchor himself to you.

​"I love you so much," Oscar murmurs, his voice thick, quiet, and completely genuine, carrying all the weight of the rough day he's just had.

​A soft, fond smile spreads across your face, and you stroke your thumbs gently over his cheekbones.

​"I love you too, Oscar," you reply softly, pressing another gentle kiss right to the tip of his nose.

​He lets out a long, shuddering breath, his shoulders finally dropping as the last remaining tension drains out of his body. He reaches up, wrapping his large hands over yours where they still cup his face, holding your palms tightly against his skin for a moment before pressing a warm, lingering kiss into the center of your left palm.

One thing about Vegas lights, is they pulsate, like a physical heartbeat, when you’re drunk. You stumbled out of the Little White Wedding Chapel, Oscar’s hand gripping around yours tightly. He’d won the race, dominating that street circuit like it owed him money. That quiet, relentless precision that made him completely unstoppable on track. The podium champagne had turned into tequila shots, then more at a private club. Somehow the laughter had turned into dares, dares turned into stolen glances, and stolen glances turned into a gold wedding band on your finger and a matching one on his.

You were his social media manager, the one scheduling his posts, converting his conversations into perfectly curated posts, capturing smiling moments for fans to swoon over. And now you were married to him in the most impulsive and chaotic way possible.

The pair of you stumbled back to his penthouse suite, the door slamming shut behind you. Your back hit it a second later as Oscar crowded you against the wood, mouth crashing into yours. No hesitation, his tongue pushing past your lips, claiming it as his own. His strong, calloused hands yanked your dress above your thighs and cupped your arse, lifting you so your legs were wrapped around his waist.

“Oscar—should we–” you gasped between kisses, but your body was already betraying you, grinding against the bulge forming in his trousers.

He pulled back just enough for you to see how dark his eyes had become, nothing like the reserved and quiet driver you knew.

“Thought I’d be shy?” he growled against your throat, teeth scraping at your pulse. “All those interviews where I’d play it safe and PR trained. You have no fucking idea how long I’ve wanted to fuck you.”

He carried you to the floor to ceiling windows overlooking Vegas, setting you down on your feet, only to spin you around. Your clammy palms slapped against the cool windows. His chest pressed to your back as he ripped the zipper of your dress down. The fabric had pulled at your feet, leaving you in just your black lace thong. He hooked his fingers around the waistband before he tore it off with a sharp rip, the sound making you jump.

“Osc—”

“Keep your hands on the glass,” he ordered, voice low and commanding. One of his hands tangled in your hair, wrapping it around his wrist, tugging your head back while the other slid between your legs. His fingers found your entrance already dripping wet. “So fucking soaked for me. You’ve been wet all night thinking about me, haven’t you angel?”

Two thick fingers hooked inside of you before you had a chance to answer, curling against the perfect spot. You cried out, hips jerking towards the city below. He continued to finger-fuck you relentlessly, thumb pressing firm circles on your swollen clit. Your breasts pressed against the glass, nipples hard and aching as the city watched below.

You came fast and brutal, thighs now shaking, his fingers slick with you. He didn’t stop though, adding a third finger to stretch you wider as he bit down on your shoulder.

“First time was for you,” he murmured, his hot breath against your skin. “The next one will be on my cock.”

He spun you again, lifting you onto the edge of his bed. In seconds he removed his clothes – t-shirt tossed aside, jeans and boxers shoved down to release his cock. All you could think was how thick and flushed it was, the vein was glistening with pre-come. You’d never really thought about what Oscar looked like naked before, but now you’d never be able to forget it.

“Legs wide, show me my beautiful wife’s pussy”

You obeyed, spreading your thighs as far as they would allow. Oscar knelt between them, lined himself up and thrust himself deep into you with one brutal stroke. The stretch burned, filling you completely like no one else has before. He groaned, his hips snapping forward as he set a punishing rhythm.

“Fuck me–you’re so tight,” he hissed, pounding into you. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room. He pinned your wrists above your head with one hand, the other gripping your hip hard enough to leave a mark. Every thrust was deep, his cock dragging against your walls.

You moaned helplessly, shocked by how dominant he was. There was nothing shy or gentle about Oscar. This was raw and controlling, possessive. He leaned down, sucking a nipple into his mouth, teeth grazing before biting just hard enough to make you gasp. As he smirks, he changes positions, hooking one of your legs over his shoulder so he could fuck you deeper.

“Say it,” he demanded, voice rough and hoarse. “Say you’re my wife while I fuck you.”

“I’m–I’m your wife,” you sobbed, pleasure coiling again. “Oscar, oh my—”

He slammed into you harder, grinding against your clit with every thrust. Your second orgasm ripped through you, pussy clenching and fluttering around his thick cock. Oscar swore blue, pace faltering as he chased his own release. With a deep groan he buried himself to the hilt and came, hot spurts of cum flooding inside of you, filling you until it leaked around his shaft.

He didn’t pull out straight away, instead he stayed within you deep, rocking slowly, pushing himself deeper whilst he kissed you.

After a few minutes, he flipped you onto your stomach, pulling you up by your hips so you were arse-up on the bed. “Again,” he said quite simply, sliding back into you with one smooth thrust. This time he fucked you slower but with no less intensity. One hand reached round to rub your oversensitive clit while he fisted your hair.

You lost count of how many times you came that night. On his cock, around his fingers, once with his mouth devouring you as he grinded against his face as he gripped your arse and pulled you down harder.

“You thought I’d be shy?” he repeated, lips now brushing your temple, a hint of his dry humour returning. “Told you I wasn’t.”

By the time the sky had started to turn blue, you were both trembling, thighs sticky, throat raw from moaning. Oscar had finally collapsed beside you, pulling you against his chest with surprising tenderness.

“Morning, wife.” Oscar mumbled.

The paddock is buzzing even though it is only Thursday, but that doesn't stop the fans from waiting at the gates, near the parking lot and just every place where they hope to catch a glimpse of their favourite driver. Max is already inside, but I decided to sleep a little longer before coming to the track. Not really any program there today but I want to catch up with some friends and Thursdays are perfect for that. I try not to look at the fans; Max told me to stay away from them today. The hate online is bubbling at the moment and I try to listen, I really try, but when someone repeatedly calls my name, I do look to the side.

“Hey, over here!” The voice calls again and I see someone waving at me, coming to a halt. I debate with myself for a moment. Max asked me not to step too close to the fans, but this one seems to be nice and stands in a spot where there aren't many around, so it can't be that dangerous, right? I walk over to her, and she holds out a wrapped gift in my direction.

“Can you give this to Max?” She asks me and I smile, taking the gift carefully. Max is probably letting his PR team look through this before opening it himself, but it is still a nice gesture from the fan. Well, if she isn't a crazy one, because Max certainly received some strange things over the years and definitely ones that overstepped some boundaries. “Yeah sure.” I say and she thanks me and I want to step away again, keep walking to the paddock, but then a hand wraps around my wrist.

“Wait!” Another fan stops me, but she doesn't seem as kind, her hand is tightly wrapped around my wrist, her grip hurting slightly. She doesn't say anything, just stares at me and a cold shiver runs over my spine. “Please let go.” I say and try to step back, but she just yanks me closer again, making me lose the gift. Before I can ask her again, two security guards step closer, one pushing her away, the other escorting me to the entrance of the paddock and away from the fans. I rub my aching wrist and thank the man before making my way over to Red Bull.

Just when I want to step in, I spot Max, arms crossed and a stern expression on his face. “Max…” I mumble, trying to soothe his anger, but he just shakes his head “No, don't." He huffs and gestures for me to follow him. I lower my head but walk behind him to his driver’s room. Once inside, he slams the door closed behind us and I keep my eyes on the ground, not daring to look into his eyes.

“I told you one thing, and you didn't listen.” Max's voice is low and not just full of anger, but also something else. “I just wanted…” I try to explain, looking up at him, but Max harshly cuts me off “Quiet.” He ruffles his hand through his hair and for a moment there is just silence between us, not a pleasant one, but one that makes a cold run over my body. Just when I want to try to say something, Max speaks up again.

“Leave now and you better be on your knees waiting at the door for me when I come to the hotel.” He instructs me and I can't do anything but look at him with big eyes, blinking in surprise. Max will be here for hours, and he wants me to wait in the hotel room for a punishment. When I don't move Max huffs. “Do I look like I'm messing around?” He asks, stepping closer, tipping my chin up so that I have to look into his eyes during his next question “Do I look like I won't punish you for this?”

My lower lip quivers before whispering “No Max.” I should have thought about this first, I broke one of his rules, pissed him off and now I have to deal with the consequences. “Naughty girls get punished.” Max says, voice a little softer now, thumb brushing over my cheek, before he lets go of me “And now leave.” He just says and walks out of the room while I let my shoulders sink. There goes my plan of meeting up with friends.

I leave the track again, this time without any incidents. At the hotel I undress, fold my clothes and pack them away before securing my hair with a hair tie so it wouldn't get in the way later. Then I settle by the door, kneeling down on the cold and hard floor, knowing it might take Max hours before he returns. Head lowered and just with my own thoughts to entertain me. I know I did the wrong thing by ignoring his instruction and I deserve this punishment even though I had something good in mind. The hotel is oddly quiet, just the ticking of a clock echoing through the room until I hear footsteps approaching the door.

The door clicks and then Max steps into the small hallway, stopping beside me. His hand brushes over my cheek and he whispers a “Good girl.” That sends a shiver down my spine. I don't dare to look up, stay in my position, knees no longer hurting from kneeling, but rather numb from it. Max brings his things away before he returns to the hallway, where I still wait for me.

He helps me up to my feet, my knees nearly buckle and he gives me a moment to get used to standing again, hands gently holding onto me, before he steps aside. “Follow me.” Max instructs and I walk to the bedroom with him, steps slow and deliberate because I don't trust my legs and then I wait for him to instruct me further.

“On your knees, hands on the headboard.” Max tells me and I wince internally at the thought of kneeling again. But I obey, kneel on the soft mattresses, hands on the headboard and ass out for him. Max rummages in his luggage and I wonder what he is using for the punishment, certainly not being able to bring all of our toys with him. He throws a belt beside me and then a ruler, letting my eyes go wide. Those two both can hurt like hell, rules are more precise and have a sharper impact, but the belt leaves broader pain.

“You will count for me.” Max says with a low voice, settling behind me on the bed. “Yes, Max.” I whisper and brace myself from the impact which is delivered by his hand. “One.” I say and again his hand comes down on my ass, leaving an imprint on the other cheek. Warmth spreads over my skin while I count. “Two.” Max keeps going, switches from his hand to the ruler, but doesn't hit the same spot twice, slowly decorating my cheeks with the thin impact lines while I count between gritted teeth.

Suddenly, instead of the stinging impact on a small part of my cheek, the belt comes crashing down with a loud whipping sound on a broader part of my sore ass. Instead of telling Max the next number, a loud moan leaves my lips, a shudder going through my body. Something between pain and pleasure throbs on my body before I realise my mistake. “Less moaning, more counting.” Max says with a hint of amusement in his voice, before adding “We start over.”

And again, he starts with his hand “One.” I whimper, his hand caressing my red skin before he strikes it down again. Ten strikes with his hands while he caresses my skin between the impacts. Soothing the pain, the heat and I make it to the next toy. The ruler comes, another ten strikes to count and this time Max doesn't change to the belt suddenly but brings down the ruler over and over again. The sharp slaps on my skin echo through the room while I gasp when he targets certain spots. My hands are fisting the headboard, and I can feel first tears prickle down my cheeks. With the tenth strike Max lets the ruler rest on my skin for a moment before dropping it, his hands brushing over my cheeks, which are pretty sensitive by now.

“The last ten.” He mumbles and I feel his lips on my back for a second, before he takes the belt again. Each of the strikes hits a different spot, sending jolts through my body every time while I whimper the numbers, tears freely running down my face. The cracks of the belt are audible before it smacks my skin and then I manage to whimper the last number. “Ten.”

“That was the last one.” Max mumbles, belt dropping to the mattress, before he helps me to turn around. “You did so good.” He praises me, but I whine slightly when my wounded backside rubs over the mattress, skin sore, but Max isn't finished with me yet. His hands cup my cheeks for a moment, and he brushes the stray tears away before he settles between my legs. Wraps them around his hips and I let him. Body still a little numb from the spanking, hands finding a way onto his back to settle while Max grabs his cock with one hand. Brushes it through my folds, my eyes rolling back at the contact with my wet clit, because no matter how much the spanking was hurting, it was turning me on at the same time. Max sets his tip at my entrance and gently thrusts in; nothing left from the harshness of the impacts he left on my skin lingering.

Max's eyes are locked with mine while he carefully moves his hips. Grinding his cock into me while I hold onto his back, fingers digging into the muscles still somewhere between pain and pleasure. His cock is rubbing so deliciously over my insides, but at the same time, with every movement of his hips, the sensitive skin of my ass rubs over the fabric of the duvet.

“Doing so good for me.” Max praises me and I finally let my eyes fall close. He keeps muttering sweet nothings, hips rolling against mine, pubic bone rubbing over my clit every time and I whimper under him. Max's lips find my face, littering it with kisses and I can feel the orgasm building up. I lift my hips, meet his grinding and dig my fingers a little harder into his back. He groans and I can feel him twitch inside of me, but he keeps the slow rhythm up until he pushes us both over the edge.

I clench around him while he comes inside of me, body collapsing over mine like a heavy blanket and for a few minutes we just stay like this. Wrapped into each other, catching our breaths. Max pulls out at one point and ventures into the bathroom. He comes back with a washcloth and some cream. First, he gently washes his cum away with the lukewarm washcloth, before instructing me to turn onto my belly. I do and then he carefully puts some of the soothing cream on my red skin. Sighing under his touch, I relax and when he lays down beside me, I shuffle to get my head on his chest.

“Please understand that I am scared something will happen to you.” Max mumbles at one point, voice soft and nothing of his anger from earlier left. “I don't forbid you to talk with the fans out of a random reason, but because of all the hate.” He explains himself and I know what I heard in his voice before was fear and not just the anger. And deep down I know that, so I just sigh “I know.” He wasn’t trying to shield me away because of some random reason, but because there were death threats online.

“Please listen to me.” Max asks me to, lips pressing against my head and with a deep sigh, I promise “I will.”

_____

That’s when you heard it.

The lowest deepest moan.

You thought you were just hallucinating, that your brain was overworked and imaging things as you tried to get off. You kept going. Then another moan, quieter this time, more muffled, sounded. You looked towards the wardrobe door facing your bed. You could have sworn you weren’t imagining things, that you actually heard a groan.

“Hello?”, you whispered into the emptiness, still circling your clit and pumping in and out of yourself. “Is anyone there?”

You should have stopped touching yourself and stood up to check but something about this situation excited you. Exhilarated you even.

That’s when a slow exhale escaped from the wardrobe. You knew someone was in there, there had to be. You smirked to yourself but kept going.

“I know you’re in there, come out!” You called.

Nothing.

You repeated yourself, albeit still touching yourself as you did.

“Come outtttt-” you started, voice laced with syrup.

The closet doors opened slightly, your breath caught in your throat mid exhale. “Oh flip”, you thought, someone really is in your wardrobe.

The wardrobe doors slowly opened…a muscular man with blonde hair stepped out. Belt unbuckled, trousers at his ankles. His underwear was slightly lowered at his hips, enough for his cock to spring out. And fuck, did he have a cock. His thick veiny length was glistening with pre cum still leaking out of his tip. Oh my, he had to be at least eight inches you thought. You could feel your brain short circuiting. You looked at his face, then your eyes travelled the distance between his neck to his torso, then you ogled his thick defined thighs. You were screwed you thought.

“What are you doing here?” You squeaked still a little startled, somehow still managing to circle your clit and keep your fingers pumping in and out of you.

The man, oh goodness the sexy hunk of a man, standing in front of you blushed slightly. You looked down and he was still stroking himself.

“I didn’t say you could keep touching yourself,” you huffed, “did I?”

He slowly released himself, not looking nearly enough as ashamed as you expected. As he should be. As you should be. Right? Yet you could bring yourself to be.

“You’re a dirty pervert, aren’t you?” You sighed, looking up at him through your lashes, eyes hooded. He looked at you more intently when you said that, blush getting deeper. “Go on, say it. I. Am. A dirty. Pervertttt” you elongated the words with your tongue touching the back of your teeth as you enunciated the last t.

“I am a dirty pervert” he repeated, the blush growing upwards to the tip of his ears.

You stopped touching yourself and stood up.

Pointing towards the bed you smirked and said “you might as well pay for the free show you were getting, right?” “After all,” you snickered “it’s the polite thing to do”.

Slowly he freed himself of his remaining clothes and you laid back on the bed. He towered over you looking unsure of what to do. You slowly part your legs and grin. “Since you interrupted the fun I was having, you should make it up to me”.

He nodded and repeated in a gruff voice, “I should make it up to you”.

He lowered himself between your thighs and pulled the crotch of your panties back to cover your clit. He licked you relentlessly through the fabric. You let out the most beautiful sigh. This encouraged him to continue his pace.

The rough details of your lace panties heighten the sensation, you were gripping the sheets, legs shaking as he continued to lap at you like a man starved.

“Fuckkkkk” you groaned. Panting now, “what a good pervert” you said between moans. “Does this pervert have a name?”

“Dean” he said.

“Dean” you repeated, rolling the letters between your tongue, “well, Dean, you’re quite skilled with that tongue of yours”.

This encouraged him, his grip on your thighs tightened and he thrust his tongue deep inside you. You felt your walls clench and your abs tightened as your orgasm hit you. Dean kept licking at your cunt. Refusing to let go. You felt a second wave overtake your senses, legs shaking like never before.

“Was that-, was that okay?” He asked

“Close, but I still think I’m owed more” you coyly teased. Rolling over and gesturing for him to get onto the bed.

You slowly straddled him, not allowing him to enter you just yet. You started to grind against his hard cock. And he let out the most obscene moan you’ve ever heard.

“You’re desperate, aren’t you?”, “should I give you what you want?” You grinned through your teeth.

You leaned down to press your lips just below his ear. He turned his head trying to catch your lips in a kiss.

“Ah, ah, ah” you tisked. “Only good boys get kisses”.

He let out a little whine and you moaned.

You lifted your hips allowing you to put his throbbing leaking tip inside of you.

He groaned and began to rut his hips upwards.

You stilled, “I didn’t say you could move” you smiled.

You began to grind against him, with him still inside of you. You went at a torturous pace and Dean clawed at your hips trying to get you to move faster.

“Please” he whimpered. “Faster”, he breathed.

You grinned down at him and began to increase your pace. You looked down at the bulge of his swell in your stomach. “Look,” you murmured “you’re so big, fuck, I can feel you so deep inside me baby”.

He moaned and began to thrust upwards. You don’t stop him this time, losing yourself in the pleasure. You lifted a hand and put it to his throat, squeezing lightly.

“right there baby” he groaned and he touched your hand against his throat. “Harder” he pleaded. “Please”, looking up at you with bewilderment in his eyes.

“Only because you asked so nicely” you groaned as you leaned down to ghost your lips against his. Your hips began to move like they had a mind of their own, chasing your high, using him to reach your peak. “I’m going to cum baby, keep going, don’t stop”

“Fuck!” He growled as you clamped down on him and began to milk him. You felt hot ropes of cum spurt into your cunt. He groaned as you increased the pressure at the nape his neck. You began to moan obscenely as you felt your peak approaching.

Your grip faltered as your hips began to stutter. You felt a new wave of wetness coat your thighs and the man under you. “I’m cumming” you whimpered and finally let go.

You collapsed against the man’s chest as you rode out your pleasure.