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oftenderweapons · 1 year

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Interrogated | KNJ

Pairing: Namjoon x reader (nicknamed Vixen)

Wordcount: 6.0k

Genre: smut, a hint of fluff and angst, but lowkey. Basically pwp

Rating: 18+

Synopsis: Namjoon sends a mysteriously threatening text to Vixen. Convinced of her innocence, Vixen confronts him. Little does she know what her lover has planned…

Warning: Swearing, power dynamics, Dom!Namjoon, Sub!Reader, roleplay (professor x student), masturbation (m/f receiving), unprotected oral sex (f receiving), cock worship (mild), dirty talking (description of sexual fantasies, description of blowjob, cumplay), spanking (ass, pussy), marking (hickeys, bites), unprotected sex (stay smart, kiddos), mild assumptions regarding cheating, grabbing (face, hair), mild edging. The power dynamics are extremely delicate because there is some safewording (yellow - slow down), and consent is actively negotiated in a couple moments where Vixen is feeling very delicate. Remember that as a reader, you can always quit reading when a scene gets too much: check in on yourself and feel free to safeword and not finish a piece if you’re no longer aligned with what you’re reading.

I love you, please stay safe 💜✨

Here is my masterlist! Enjoy 😘💜

My office. Now.

Namjoon’s message was cryptic to say the least. Also intimidating.

You wondered whether he’d found out just how expensive that beautiful Le Creuset blue casserole was, or maybe you had messed up the watering of one of his tiny trees… It could really be anything.

You don’t usually mess up. You are diligent. Namjoon is a neat man, he knows how he wants stuff done and he gives clear instructions about it. So you keep a page on your Notion account just for his plants, so you always know how or when they need to be watered. You keep lists on lists about small things that make him happy.

His favourite detergent. His favourite fabric softener. His favourite set of sheets. His favourite brand of shampoo.

Being diligent about his preferences fulfils you. It’s like playing a complicated game of Nintendogs. Some quirky, hyper realistic version of Animal Crossing.

With your heart in your throat you open the door to his home studio.

Your fight or flight mechanism is going berserk in your guts, telling you to stand very still and not speak until he speaks first.

Do not give him anything he can use against you.

“Namjoon,” you say, just to make sure he has acknowledged your presence.

He does this dramatic thing where he turns around with his chair.

And your breathing stops.

Wow.

God.

Wow.

“Is this what you wanted, babylove?”

He’s in a charcoal three piece suit. And he’s wearing glasses.

He’s so sexy.

“Yes, sir.” The words come out shy, unsteady.

He snickers. “So I’m ‘sir’ tonight… Interesting.”

He places his elbows on his knees and props his head up, his dragon eyes luring you in.

He’s intimidating and it makes watery want roll in your belly like the surface of a lake being titillated by the breeze.

This is how you play it, how he plays you, his desire like a snake, moving sinuously, insinuating your mind. A siege. A constant siege.

The chemistry between you and him is like an abyss, calm around the edges, and fierce in the depths, with currents so strong and unsuspected that venturing under the surface is dangerous and exciting at the same time.

“Come here, pet.” His voice is as deep as the ocean of your desire, and you walk to him, standing in front of him, eyes to the floor.

“Kneel,” he orders.

You bring your gaze to his face, brow furrowed in disagreement. “But what did I do?” You ask, too confused about what’s coming for you.

“You don’t know?” His expression conveys surprise and disappointment.

“No I don’t?!” You are truly perplexed. It’s not like you did something to provoke such behaviour. Usually you would deliberately tease him if you crave some rough treatment, but this?! Not part of the plan. Dammit, there wasn’t even any plan to start with!

“What did I do?” You ask, wide eyed and sweet mouthed. He can’t resist that, usually.

“It’s yours to tell, sweet cheeks.” He cackles cruelly and you feel torment start to boil in your chest, like ugly, nasty tar.

“I don’t know.” You feel helpless and it’s not a thing you like. It reminds you of feeling cornered, and when you’re cornered you start biting back.

“Then you’re gonna kneel, little thing.”

You frown some more. “No?” you object.

Namjoon arches an eyebrow in disapproval, then leans back against his chair and runs his hands through his hair. His beautiful, dark chocolate hair, your favourite. “Come again, fox?”

“I said no.” You cross your arms in front of your chest.

“Excellent. I gave you a chance to behave and go easy, but as usual you need to make my life impossible.”

“I’m not kneeling for something I don’t even know I did,” you spit back, vitriolic.

“But you’re a smart girl. You have an excellent memory, my love.” He waits some more. “Can’t be that you have forgotten.”

“Is this about my new casserole? Because I love it and you love what I cook with it, so fuck it, I’m not saving money for my god blessed pans and pots. Fuck it!” You turn around, ready to leave, but he’s as fast as a viper, he snaps up and grabs your wrist, pulling you to him, your back pressed to his chest.

It cuts your breath short. You feel even more acidic at the slick, treacherous want pooling between your thighs.

“It’s not for the pan, love,” he whispers at your ear. “Still, thank you for your confession. We’ll deal with that later.” His voice is as dark as the witching hours, obscure and lush and dangerous like a Venus flytrap. And what a silly fly you are.

“What did I do?” You speak, voice tender and thin.

“At this point, I assume you remember, but you don’t think it was that deep, huh?” He bites your earlobe and you whimper, a short, miserable sound that makes him feel wicked and beastly. “Maybe I’ll let you play little detective with it, yes?” He clamps his lips around the curve of your neck, as if you were a ripe peach and he was trying with all his might to hold you with his mouth without even bruising you. It was not a bite, not a kiss, not even anything really. Just the inside of his lips touching your skin. “I know you like your witty games, but I won’t make it easy on you, Vixen.”

You bite your lips, your sex clenching around nothing.

Your breath coming short, your blood rushing wild — he is high on them both, on the crazed thumping of your heart. It feels forbidden.

“Yes,” you say, and you frown at your own word.

“Only if you want it, fox.” Namjoon’s hold gets more gentle. “Remember your safeword, babylove.”

That is the last straw. You turn around for him and look in his eyes. “Yes. Green. Very green,” you tell him. This is your man. This is your safest place on the entire earth. Nothing can go wrong when you’re his.

He pecks your lips with a kiss and you almost forget how dangerous he is to you. “Will you kneel for me now, pretty thing?” He asks, saccharine, and the way his voice bends and breaks into silence makes it one hundred percent certain that he is the one begging, he is the one wanting the most, he is the one who will break of lust.

Your hands touch his waist, using it to prop yourself as you lower.

He caresses your hair fondly as you do so. “Such a good girl. An adorable, obedient, smart girl.” You look up, and he’s so in love, his stomach in knots at how perfect you are. Beautiful, terrifying thing.

He takes a few steps back, sits on his chair and looks at you, still dressed, not a single ounce of indecency on you if not for those sinful eyes, and those wretched and divine lips. “I thought the outfit would be a good enough hint,” he says, standing up again, wanting his full height on you, but also wondering whether he should find a way to prop himself upright.

You blink at him, shake your head innocently and plop your ass on your heels.

He stands again and moves towards you, his steps slow and well-thought. He circles around you, studying your position. He is rather pleased with your hands clasped together behind your back.

Once he is in front of you, he crouches down, looking you in the eye and grabbing your face with one large hand, squishing your cheeks together just a little, your mouth even more improper this way, tender and red, skin flush with excitement. Your pupils are blown wide, so black. “You’re such a doll.” His other hand caresses your head, stopping at your nape. “And I bet you’re soaked, mh?”

You look at the floor, just a tiny bit embarrassed.

He chuckles, and it feels like a purr, like a set of claws tickling down your spine. “Pleased to know it’s true.” He tilts your chin up, and new arousal sends a shiver across your belly. “Are you wearing makeup, love?”

You keep your eyes on his as you shake your head.

He nods to himself, then stands up, interrupting all contact with you. You feel your body sag imperceptibly, but he seems to notice. He loves you being his sunflower, the way you move for him, follow him whenever.

A strong, independent, beautiful woman, polished head to toe, well-mannered, well-educated, elegant, intelligent, unreadable and mysterious, and so classy… You shouldn’t be allowed to new money kids like him. And yet, in those rooms full of strangers, full of men who could perfectly match you, you still chose him, always, over and over. And he reads you, like no one does. He still is the only one who can tell your focus is only somehow shifted his way whenever he’s in the room.

He circles around you again, and again, edging you, letting you sizzle with nerves. And once he pounces, he makes sure not to miss. His hand goes to your hair, tugs at it a little as he forces you up on your knees, your face reaching his hip.

“Isn’t the material of this suit lovely?” He asks, cupping the back of your head and dragging your face across his crotch, the friction delicate as he is afraid of hurting you with the metal of the zipper. He holds back a moan as your cheek connects with his sex through the fabric. “Isn’t it, Vixen?” He asks again, though this time he’s a bit more feral, and speaks through gritted teeth.

“It is, very,” you concede.

His grip gentles. “Colour?”

You shake your head. “Green.” You look up at him, looking for reassurance as you nuzzle your face, your nose, your cheeks and mouth against him, rubbing all over his crotch. Your eyes are piercing through his as you trace him with your nose, with your chin, as if you were learning him with the touch of your face alone.

“Do you want a hint or do you want me to undo my belt?” He asks you, fondling your hair without an ounce of malice.

You try to smart-ass your way out of it and add some sprinkles of sweet talking, just to better your chances. “Can’t I have both?”

God, he loves you. You’re so smart and he loves you. “Not this one time, sweetheart.”

You pout and he loves you even more. “Okay,” you squeak.

He watches you quickly calculate the better route. And then he wants to mess your mouth, because your lips part and he sees your pearly teeth and he watches them wrap around the bit of leather that goes inside the buckle, tugging at it.

You’re wicked and holy and he will die for you.

He would love to watch your struggle. “What are you doing, Vixen.”

You try to act coquettish and innocent as you reply, “If I can remove your belt, then I can ask for the hint and have both.”

His eyes turn into fiery slits. “Cunning fox. Always trying to play by her own rules.”

He stays quiet for a little bit, thinking. “As a reward for your miserable attempt at a coup, you’re getting neither.”

You watch him retreat, no longer touched, no longer fondled or admired. He flops onto his chair and turns around. “Stay there. If you can obey that, then maybe I’ll play with you later.”

You’re staring at the back of the chair. You’re wishing for everything and nothing suddenly. You could stand up and leave. You could crawl your way to him and be a good pet and quit battling around.

But maybe he wants you to be a brat. Maybe he wants you to keep butting heads with him, making him fierce with authority and power.

Maybe he doesn’t want a servant, maybe he wants an opponent. A rival.

The clinking of metal awakens you, then the sound of a zipper. The chair creaks a little and then you recognise the heavy exhale.

Really? And you can’t see? Can’t watch?

Your face turns sour. You’re on the verge of complaining when you hear a moan.

Oh, he’s doing… That.

“Maybe I’ll teach you to listen, this way,” he says, and you feel wetness ooze out of you, it coats your core, seeps into your underwear. “If I damn notice you touched yourself, I will punish you Vixen. And not the way you like, mind you.”

The memory of him edging you last time you went too far has you almost tearing up. “Yes, sir.”

“Fantastic.” He’s a voice without a body right now, denied to your sight. “Would you like to hear what I’m thinking about, fox?”

You hesitate, then nod imperceptibly. He can’t see you, you remind yourself. “Yes,” you mewl.

He clicks his tongue, then you hear a deep mumble, a humming that feels like an earthquake on your body. It presses play to a super cut of him on top of you, below you, behind you, up against you, and endless desire, him drawing pleasure out of you like a puppeteer.

“I’m imagining you under my desk. Mouth full, eyes glossy. You’re licking me up like I’m a popsicle, and the pink of your tongue compliments the red of my dick.” He stops, and you know he’s gathering his thoughts, venturing deeper into the specifics of his fantasy, hyperfocusing on the details until they feel almost real. “You’re there, like a devilish nymph, dressed in a soft, see-through robe with lots of feathers. They tickle you a little, and sometimes you squirm because of it, and it edges me a little, but I love it. You’re lovely and wicked and dirty.” His breathing is a little more laboured now, and you follow it, your hips syncing up without you even realising, and when you do realise, you feel only partly surprised by how deeply you and him connect.

You adore hearing his fantasies. You enjoy playing them out even more.

“Don’t you want me under your table, right now?” You suggest.

“It’s how I wanted you from the start, isn’t it?” He chuckles and slows down his movements. “But you were a brat and you had to mess it all up.”

You want to slap yourself for a quick second, then try to remember that you can still play it as it lays.

“Okay. I’m sorry.”

Namjoon hears the little limp in your voice, he knows you’re truly sorry, but he doesn’t acknowledge it out loud.

“Oh fox… If only you could play fair once. Just for one time.” His words choke a little and you hear him stop moving. He breathes deeply, once, twice. He’s on the edge and he’s holding back, you can tell just from the sound of him, by the depth of his voice, by how ragged it is, how rough and dark. “You could be with your back on my table, screaming by now. I could be inches deep inside you right now. Instead, you make me chase you, like a ghost. Like a dream.”

“I can make you feel good, Namjoon, you know I can.” You try to persuade him, “I can be so good to you. I want nothing but having you in my mouth. Please.”

He quivers at the thought, almost caving him, vibrating with want — no, with need. “No,” he still replies.

You decide to sit silent, in penance, chastising yourself.

You don’t listen to him, you don’t do anything but sit deep in your thoughts, pondering over your knack for insubordination. Not even Namjoon’s deep, growling moans manage to get you out, not even his sweet exhale as he finally meets his pleasure.

He cleans himself up quickly, and when he does turn around and finds you there, staring at the void, he’s almost disappointed that you did exactly as he told you. Your clothes are still on, and you’re precisely where he left you.

He tests you, picks up your hands, turns them around and presses his lips to them, but he can tell you didn’t touch yourself. They have no wetness, no taste, no smell but that of your clean skin.

He questions the look on your face . “What did you do, Vixen?”

You keep your eyes low, avoiding his gaze. “Nothing. I listened, like you told me to.”

Namjoon stares at you, confused, almost worried. You feel your hair being pushed back.

“Vixen?”

You lazily open your eyes to meet his. He seems worried. “What?” Your tone is dry, laconic.

He kneels in front of you and pulls you to him. “You’re such a smart little fox,” he whispers into your hair, his chin propped on the crown of your head. You feel like crying, just a little, because you’re so confused by everything that is happening.

Too chaotic, too incoherent, you can’t make sense of it. Why is the pace so inconsistent?

“I love you, Vixen. I love you a lot, baby.” He kisses your head, again and again. “But I like you much, much better when you toy with me.” He cups your face as he looks into your eyes intently. “When you make my life a little impossible and perfect at the same time.”

“Does this mean I’m allowed to disobey?” You ask, hopeful.

“Just every now and then. Maybe we should get a safeword for when we need to quit the games and just go straight at it.”

You agree with several nods. “Did you want me to disobey you right now?”

He looks at you and yeah… He for sure wanted some mischief. But you’re still in time for that, right…? “I want you to be my stubborn, cunning, clever little Vixen.” His hands feel so big against your cheeks and you abandon yourself in them. “Anything you do makes me so happy. Even when you disobey me.”

You crawl a little closer to him, and he notices it, moves his palms to your waist and gives a gentle squeeze that makes your laugh glitter with joy. “I was scared. I don’t know where this is coming from. I thought I’d better not make my position worse.”

Namjoon’s face softens with a feeling so deep, his body cradling you protectively. “I’m sorry I scared you, Vixen. I love you so bad, babylove.” He kisses you like you hung the entire universe for him and for a second you believe in being extraordinary. He caresses your face and you can tell he has no bad intentions when he says, “but you still owe me an apology,” with the sweetest, least threatening look on his face.

Your brow wavers with genuine unawareness. “I really don’t know what I did.”

The innocence in your eyes is not counterfeited, and he is convinced. But he’s not done with the game.

He kisses the tip of your nose, and you know he now is the gentle lover who’s overly eager to please. “Then since you behaved I’m giving you two bonuses. First, you get a hint. And then I want to see you come, love.”

You lick your lips and he stares at the movement with a slow nod, chasing the pink of your tongue with his hungry eyes. “I wanted to see you come,” you counter, mimicking his tone, with a hint of patronising.

“Let’s consider that a lesson,” comes his composed reply.

You stare at the ceiling, thinking. “What if I don’t want you to watch me come, since you denied me?”

Namjoon’s face is blank for two seconds before he lights up. “Then I guess I can fuck you with my tongue and see how long you resist not coming.”

A shiver runs down your spine. “I guess you can.”

Namjoon’s smirk is cruel and almost manic as he asks, “Colour?”

You shake your head with disbelief and excitement, and you know your smile is the mirror of his as you reply, “Green. Get me on that desk.”

He’s so fast it almost makes your head spin. You’re bent over, and your leggings are so tight and he loves watching the curve of your ass in them. He loves that he can trace your folds with his nose and he can feel the moisture. He bites the curve of your ass and he feels the muscle squeeze as you hiccup at the sudden aggression.

“Shut up, you love it,” he scolds you, with mild mocking. And then both your leggings and your panties are on the floor and dammit, his tongue is inside you.

“You still owe me a hint,” you manage to utter, cheek flush against the desk, wrists pinned to your back by one of his hands.

“Call me teacher, Vixen.” He purrs, and you almost miss it. He sometimes launches the two of you in impromptu roleplay. But…

The suit.

How could you not get it? How did you not?

He’d seen you fawning over him the other day as you rewatched the Dionysus performance. One hundred percent certain.

Maybe he thought you were fantasising about one of his mates? Is he jealous?

Is that even the point? You’re getting tonguefucked, you’re in heaven, he’s got a point to prove, which makes him driven, and a driven Namjoon fucks like a god, like he has a purpose, like a man on a mission. So why apologise about something you just realised you might have potentially messed up — and you’re not even sure about the details — when you can enjoy a very determined Namjoon?

No, you won’t deprive yourself of that. There’s already too much a girl has to say no to.

It’s decided, you’ll play naive and get fucked till you can’t even form sentences anymore, and once he’s spent, you can say sorry about whatever it is and give him some peace of mind.

“Please, teacher, I did nothing wrong! I’ve been your best student!” You whine, pressing your folds against his mouth, grinding against his face, and the middle finger landing on your clit has your vision going blurry. It feels like your entire body is spinning so fast, and the angle bares your clitoris, no longer protected by the hood that usually numbs the stimulation a little.

Your knees buckle and he stops. It’s like he entirely detached himself from you. You can’t feel him and it makes you panic a little. You turn to look at him, but he growls minaciously, “Don’t you dare move.”

So you stay still, especially since this first taste of edging is already too bitter on your tongue.

“I’m admiring how sloppy you are.” His tone is full of himself. “You’re dripping. You’re oozing precum. It’s liquid and glossy and thick.” He stands and slaps your ass, which makes you gasp. The burn is delicious. “Lovely. I adore seeing your pussy clench when I surprise you with a spank.” He widens your stance, exposing you even further, and taps some slight slaps to your folds. “So, any clue what you did wrong, Vixen? Want to apologise to your professor?”

You’re now sure about your decision not to confess. “Not for anything that I know of.” You almost want to grin in victory.

He hums in acknowledgement. And then a spank comes across your bottom. “Such a naughty student. So smart, and yet I think you deliberately act dumb so you get some extra time with me.” He bites your ass again, and this time he stays there, sucking a bruise onto your skin. “Do you do this with other teachers too?” This time his hand moves against your soaked, slippery, warm folds. And then he enters you — only with his digit, sadly.

It causes a strangled moan to leave your throat.

“One would think you’re doing it for your grades, but I’ve seen your tests. They’re perfect without any need for… Incentives.” He adds another finger and you push back, trying to get him knuckle-deep inside you. “Do other teachers get to come in this warm, perfect cunt?” He bends over, and his voice is suddenly so intimate, so close to your ear. “Or do I get special treatment?”

“Just you,” you squeak, your lungs incapable of emitting enough air for proper words.

“Just me, you say…” He wants inside. More than anything. He’s ready to go again and damn him, he just wants to watch his cum slide down all the way to your ankle. Keep you bent over and still until the liquid is tickling you and you’re squirming. “Then you won’t mind me marking you up, so I’m sure that other people will know you’re already owned, mh?”

“Mess me up, please,” you beg, a tad pathetic and so, so needy.

He lowers himself again, using his thumb on your clit, torturing your entrance with his tongue, which is so slick and fleeting and wet, and there’s so little friction, and you need it so much. You try to find purchase on the desk, but you claw at nothing as you get closer and closer to the edge.

And then he stops. And sucks another mark at the curve of your ass.

“Oh, goodness, fuck!” You scream with frustration.

“I’m messing you up, Vixen. Unless you apologise for what you did, then I’ll fuck you proper.” He keeps insisting and maybe he knows you have some idea of what you did and keeps going still. Maybe he wants to break you?

“I can apologise, professor, but you would need to accept me not knowing what I’m asking forgiveness for.”

“Or maybe you’re just a starved little slut who’s so needy that she’s happy with whatever reason to get manhandled.”

That made you frown a little too much. “Colour’s yellow.”

Namjoon takes a couple heartbeats to realise what he did, and then he’s pulling you up, turning you around. He cups your face and you can read the fear in his eyes. “I’m sorry, babylove. I didn’t mean that.” He holds you to his body, tucking your head beneath his chin.

“I’m alright,” you reassure him, hugging him, knowing just how terrified he must be. You do use your yellows every now and then, but it’s rather rare, so it wouldn’t surprise you for him to get scared. You tip your chin against his sternum and stare up at him. “Can you fuck me good enough to get the apology out of me?”

His jaw flexes, and you can see him swallow. “Be honest with me, fox, you do know what you did wrong, didn’t you?”

“I guess I know now… The hint was pretty obvious. I didn’t know it at first. And I’m still not sure about the specifics, but I do know what this is about, circa,” you admit, vague and honest at the same time.

He chuckles. “Well, then…”

You reach to your tiptoes, trying to get a kiss, trying to bask in the taste of you forever marking his lips, his tongue. Mine, mine, mine, the beastly, possessive part of you seems to chant.

He gives you a peck and you let your disappointment show as he pulls away. The hands on your waist help your sweater up, exposing your undershirt and some skin of your torso. Meanwhile you kick off your panties and leggings, which were still scrunched around your calves and ankles.

“You cold, babylove?” He asks apprehensively.

You shake your head and shiver at the same time. “I’m just excited.”

“About me messing you up?” He asks, and he’s excited too, eager and impatient more than the first time. He’s never had sex that got better and better with time, and this, with you? A revelation. He can’t help growing more and more in love with you.

“About you fucking me like a man possessed. You get determined and strong and so, so sexy. Your ambition is like an aphrodisiac,” you admit with a fond smile that feels just a bit silly and humiliating. You never thought you would come to admit that such a small thing has such a high power over your libido.

He grins and leans back, “You wanted that?”

You nod, suddenly very serious.

“You’re so incredibly easy to please, babylove.” He licks his lips and you follow the movements for the millionth time, drawn to him as if each part of your body and his had created a magnetic field by rubbing against each other over and over again. You sit on the desk and he’s undoing his belt and the sight of his hands… Have mercy.

He doesn’t waste time, just slides his slacks and boxers down, not even to his knees, but to his mid-thigh, and he’s grabbing himself, tugging a little, and he has that evil smile, and those dragon eyes, and he’s the god of lust and you want to kneel and worship, but you also want to sit still and enjoy the ride you’re about to be blessed with.

“Lay back. Hand to yourself, naughty thing.” The order is barked out and it makes you want to offer yourself even more selflessly.

Once he enters you, there’s only him, his heat, his girth and the sight of him above you.

“Anything you want to tell me?” He growls.

You tut, shaking your head coquettishly. “I want to apologise…” you let him hope for a second, and then continue, “for being so inexperienced about sex, professor.”

You lower your lashes innocently, stealing a glance at the dark, short hair at his pelvis, at his flesh melting in yours. “I might be a hungry slut indeed. After all, after our first time, I’ve been thinking about this all the time. I don’t want it from anybody else.” You let your expression play the harmless, dependent girl who truly can’t live without her man making love to her — and a part of you really empathises with that. Maybe a part of you has truly become dependent on Namjoon’s way of loving you down. Maybe you really need him taking care of you to stay focused, to function as an adult human being. “I feel complete only when you’re inside me,” and though you know you’re perfectly complete by yourself, that you would survive without him, you love to indulge him with being exceptionally needy.

Namjoon gives a luscious thrust, slow and rolling and it makes you feel so full.

“Girls my age say boys are lazy, and clumsy, yet they fuck all the time even if it’s lame. Some say they like it—” The words choke in your throat as he touches a deliciously sensitive nook of your inner walls. “But I know they’ve never known the pleasure you give me.”

Namjoon leans down, and you look at your hands, at his neck. You think about wrapping your arms behind his shoulders, to get closer.

He leans further down, and it feels like a permission.

You know he’s struggling, so you ease the squeezing of your insides and he seems to find an easy breath.

“If anyone had pleasure like this, I don’t think they would want to do anything but this. I don’t ever want to do anything but this. But your mouth on my cunt, your fingers teasing me…” And this sentence is indeed true. You don’t want sex with anybody else, and sometimes you do wonder if you could just shrug off your responsibilities and turn into his pretty toy. You spend half a second wondering how many weeks it would take for you to get bored of doing nothing but fucking him and being taken care of in return.

“Touch yourself,” he grunts, sliding a hand beneath you, where your back arches in pleasure as he hits the perfect spot with the new angle.

He watches your finger reach down, watches where he moves inside you, and he feels your insides flutter at his focused gaze.

“Come on, Vixen, Come,” he urges you.

You hold your breath, control your kegels for three, maybe five seconds, and then, with your fingers filling your mouth, you explode.

You’re not coherent for almost a minute, and he keeps going, he keeps pushing you.

You place your hand around his throat, a possessive hold with no grip, to avoid hurting him. You’re just claiming him, claiming the power to hurt him but not doing that. His eyes are glossy and dark and his glasses are in the way, but that allows him to focus his eyes on you, and that’s enough.

He’d dishevelled, uncivilised, and you’re not even sure he can comprehend his mother tongue. And yet, you speak, “Sorry, for thirsting over you in that Dionysus video I was watching the other day. Sorry for hiding away as I… relieved myself.”

He nods and kisses you, but the hand around his throat doesn’t allow him anything more than a peck.

“Now you’re getting off me, you’re going to lay on the carpet and I’m gonna ride you until we both come,” you say, assertive and in command.

Namjoon goes still inside you, feeling blessed that he survived your high — and that’s probably thanks to his earlier solo session.

“You think you’re in command?” He asks, eyebrows raised, a mocking expression on his face.

You give a quick, harmless squeeze to his jugular. “I know I’m in command. The point is, do you know it?”

He exits you, removes his jacket, then his vest.

You watch him like a hawk as he undoes the buttons of his shirt, leaving it on and open. The soft curve of his tummy turns you on all over again and you reach with your fingers between your thighs.

He’s so attractive, solid, masculine… He’s powerful the way a gladiator had to be. He removes his slacks next. “Don’t want you dripping all over those,” he says, eyebrow arched in cockiness. You have to swallow as he steps closer, sexy and powerful and confident. You watch him wrap his hand around his sex, red and swollen and pulsing. You watch his lashes as his eyes lower, as he stares at the tip of his dick trace the shape of your folds. He manoeuvres himself slowly, his tongue wetting his lower lip before his jaw unlocks and his mouth hangs open, head tipping back as he enters you with a groan, your mouth still agape at the erotic vision of him. You nod and stare at his pulse echoing at his jugular.

“Lift it up, love,” he purrs, his hands grabbing your ass as he leans over, your arms clasped behind his shoulders.

He’s effortless as he lowers himself and you to the floor, kneeling first, then with your back to the lovely, plush carpet you chose together.

And then he yields his power, rolling so that his back is on the floor.

He moves his hands to your ass, caressing the curve of it, then climbing up your hips, to your waist, tracing you the way he would test the shape of a rounded vase, and the narrow neck of it. You help yourself to the luxuriant fullness of having him inside you, to the lush feel of his girth moving inside you.

He smiles lazily at the wondrous first grind, then moves his hands to your hips, his palms so wide as he grips your hip bones and starts leading your movement. “Fuck yourself on me, love,” he whispers, his chest so alive and full and plush and you can’t wait but to collapse on it, to feel his heart still beating wild as he’s just come inside you, as you lay spent on top of him. “Ride me, babyfox.”

From the grin you give him, he knows you must be related to the devil itself.

“Let me show you what a clever little fox can do,” you speak with a cunning, lustful expression.

His eyes spark up. “God bless Kinky Professor Roleplay,” he speaks in awe.

“Long live,” you agree. And then you get to work.

Hello reader, thank you for reading my fic! Please consider commenting and reblogging to keep a poor little writer motivated! Love you 💜✨

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