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sinisterexaggerator · 1 year

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Bossk x AFAB Reader

Summary: You join a small crew of other mercenaries on the lookout for your next big score, but there is time to kill before the hunt begins and you have an itch to scratch -- one that only a Trandoshan can reach with his sharp talons.

Warnings: NSFW / 18+ for size kink, cumflation, kissing, PiV sex, cunnilingus, blowjobs, alcohol consumption, and straight-up monsterfucking. Includes a little fluff, aftercare, and cuddling. Ending inspired by this artwork. P.S.: Bossk has two dicks.

Word count: 7500+

Notes: This is my first time writing for Bossk. I'm not sure if anyone will even read this or how many Bossk fans there are, but I've had it in my head to write a Bossk smut for a few months now, and I finally had time to do it! I haven't been able to publish anything in awhile, but I'm now settled in my new place and happy to get back into the swing of things.

*Banner and divider by me.

Bossk'wassak'Cradossk was a mouthful in more ways than one, you imagined. Luckily, to call a Trandoshan by his or her full name was not customary, and you were to be spared trying to pronounce anything but “Bossk.”

You had done your homework, impressing at least one of your new acquaintances, though that did not stop the reptilian-humanoid from introducing himself with a flash of his tongue. His preferred, shortened title was spoken so thunderously that it overpowered the cacophony of other voices in the bar. It was enough to ensure you would not make the same mistake twice.

That one syllable had been expelled between two rows of knife-sharp teeth, your eyes unable to focus on anything but this beast’s mouth -- that was until you noticed his head tilting incrementally to the left. He was regarding you curiously, a snorted breath being discharged from his flaring nostrils. It seems he had asked you a question and you had failed to hear it.

“What’sss the matter, tooka got your tongue?” he snickered, folding his arms as he waited for some kind of explanation as to your odd behavior.

“I-” you began, thinking quickly to cover your increasing embarrassment, “-I’ve just never been this close to a Trandoshan before. Much less the legendary hunter Bossk,” you finished, buttering him up. It may as well have been the truth, the only thing you failed to mention being the trailing thoughts fluttering around inside your brain in regard to his statuesque proportions.

This met with his approval, the mercenary belting out a short, sharp laugh. “Well, today is your lucky day then, issssn’t it,” he stated in a sarcastic tone.

You looked to the right at your partner; she had organized this little excursion. Scoria was a skilled bounty hunter in her own right, but she had convinced you that you would need help for this next job. Currently, she was talking to a man named Dengar who had introduced himself moments earlier. You caught his eye briefly; he had the nerve to wink at you.

Quickly looking away, you returned your attention to the Trandoshan who interrupted everyone all at once, his voice grating, yet somehow soothing to the ears. “We’ll head out at first light. I know how pathetic human eyesight isss in the dark.”

You had the sense of knowing he fully believed that statement.

“For now, let’ssss grab a drink,” he practically commanded, no one bothering to disagree with his proposal.

“Bossk, did I eva’ tell ya’ I love the way you think?”

“Shut up, Dengar,” the creature snapped back, causing you to suppress a laugh. He had emitted a growl that was downright predatory. You felt a little something dance down your spine. Fear? Excitement?

Following behind the others at your own pace, you thought it was a miracle this little backwater planet even had a bar, much less a room, your target lurking in the deepest, darkest depths of the forest where he had carved out a special place for himself among the native flora and fauna.

This being was said to be a Jedi sympathizer wanted by the Empire, and worth so much that even splitting the earnings four ways would have you sitting pretty for some time. Your quarry had spent the last several years funneling Jedi and Force-users to safety, the intel he possessed worth its weight in spice.

The worry was he would not be alone, and there would be many parties to contend with, more than you two could handle on your own – that’s where these so-called guns for hire came in.

You could not deny you were intrigued. In fact, maybe more than that.

Truth be told, as soon as you discovered who Scoria planned to solicit for help, you spent hours rifling through said hunters’ files. While Dengar was a notable hunter hailing from Corellia, Bossk was a powerful warrior of his ilk and had quite the track record, both working with hunters such as Aurra Sing, Embo, and Boba Fett, a man you had yet to lay your eyes on.

The sheer size of him, standing somewhere at 6’3” or taller, forced you to have to crane your neck when looking up into his eyes, the color of burning embers, black as pitch pupils swimming in a sea of red.

His talons were sharp as razors, as were the ones on his feet, capable of ripping a man in two should it be required of him, you suspected, yet you wondered how gentle he could be…

Your musings were interrupted when your partner asked for your order, Dengar having already rushed ahead, and Bossk having taken up residence on a nearby stool that barely supported his unique build. You stared unapologetically, having a rather impure thought, suddenly wondering what his weight might feel like on top of you instead.

“I’ll have what he’s having,” you nodded your head in the scaled sentient’s direction, the yellow clad merc turning his neck markedly to stare at you over his broad shoulder.

“HA! So you figure you can handle Trandoshan ale, do you?” Bossk snickered, banging the flat of his hand against the countertop where the awaiting bartender stood with a somewhat apprehensive look on his face. Though the lizard only had three “fingers,” he held up two, demanding his order to be fulfilled.

“Two. Trandoshan alesss,” he instructed with a snarl, seemingly not able to control his natural mode of being despite his intellect. By all definitions of the word, he was a monster. A monster that could walk and talk, among other things. Things you found yourself to be interested in; unsavory things; salacious things.

“What about me, Bossk?” Dengar asked, crestfallen.

The reptilian laughed full-fledged in his face before bothering to answer. “You’re on your own.”

“Well, excuuuse me for breathin’,” he snidely replied, Dengar deciding to rejoin Scoria who had found herself an opening toward the other end of the bar. Perhaps he wanted to continue their conversation, you surmised, curious as to the manner of their talk; Dengar made sure to call out to his partner before walking out of earshot.

“Remind me ta neva’ pick up your tab again.”

“Whatever, idiot,” Bossk shot back, though he had kept that booming voice of his lowered on purpose, making you wonder about the true dynamics of their relationship – it seemed complicated.

“Is this seat taken?” you thought to ask, another cutting breath being fired off from out of the hunter’s snout.

“What does it look like?” he quipped, not bothering to say yes or no. You thought that might be the closest thing to an invitation that you would get. You gingerly took your place beside him just as the barkeep returned with your ale.

The creature passed one toward you, then took up his own mug. He raised it in a toast, then bellowed out, “bottoms up.”

You held your tongue as you desired to turn his idiom into an innuendo. Instead, you collected your drink, hoping you had not gotten yourself in over your head.

After taking the first sip it was clear that you had.

You coughed, so potent was its taste. Although it appeared normal enough, the hops must have been so aged that you assumed it had been around since the dawn of the galaxy. In fact, it was so strong, you wondered why it was not being used to power starships.

The Trandoshan laughed heartily, pointing one long claw very close to your face to accentuate his words. “Figures!” he taunted. “Never known an ape who could stomach the stuff, much less a hairless one,” he japed as an insult to your kind.

Once marginally recovered, you gave him a look, determined to not give up and for Bossk to label you a sissy. He was little known for withholding opinions, whether favorable or not, or so you had heard.

“It’s just strong, is all,” you rationalized. “I never said I didn’t like it.”

“Strong, like me,” he confirmed with a terse cackle, taking a chug of his own ale before making you an offer. “If you don’t drink it, I will.”

Defiantly, you took another swig, this time managing to not pull a face. Not sure of its alcohol content, you were already starting to feel a buzz. Smirking, you realized your inhibitions were beginning to lower, but you had already been in an impish mood.

“So I noticed,” you said, wondering if he would perceive your words the way you meant them.

His reply was casual and dismissive. “Maybe your eyesss are sharper than I thought.” He was not one to miss an opportunity to flatter himself, as if your complimenting him was not enough.

“So very humble, Bossk,” you stated sarcastically and with some familiarity, as if you had known this sentient for more than ten minutes. The hunter made a sound that was reminiscent of an angry snake; you regarded him out of the corner of your eye.

‘What do you know?” he asked with a somewhat irritated quality to his voice.

“Nothing,” you admitted, taking a chance to amend this by asking him a little something about himself. You were curious, after all, and at the moment feeling gutsy. “So, tell me then: how did you become such a skilled hunter?”

Without missing a beat, the Trandoshan easily proffered an answer. “The Sssscorekeeper, she smiles down upon me.”

Not surprisingly, you knew little about Trandoshans or their home planet, Trandosha, much less about their customs and culture. You felt a bit ignorant, hoping that he would not be offended at your cluelessness about his people. “The Scorekeep? May I ask who she is?”

“The Great Goddesssss….” Bossk began, talons wrapping firmly around his glass. “She exisssts beyond time and ssspace. She watches the hunt-” he said with gusto, “-and rewards us for our killsss.”

“And she favors you,” you added.

“Yesssss, for I am the best!” he concluded, self-assured.

“I see,” you said offhand.

You thought for a moment about what you had learned, not having much in the way to add. He took this opportunity to take a drink of his ale as you came up with another question, this one causing the corner of your mouth to twitch as you moved your stool a little closer to his. “And what do you think of human Gods? We don’t put much faith into them ourselves.”

Bossk turned his head your way and huffed but did not say anything so as to impede your progress. You wondered if he had any idea you were experiencing an attraction to him, or if he was purposely ignoring it.

“Weak!” he nearly shouted, a few patrons rotating in their chairs to stare. Your eyes darted around quickly, noting that to bring attention to yourselves might alert the wrong kinds of people of your presence on this rocky world. This did not seem to concern the Trandoshan whatsoever. It was possible he enjoyed the attention, or assumed he could handle himself no matter the situation, therefore he did not think about those kinds of things. Whatever the case, he continued:

“Your Gods deal in suffering. Your reward is pain,” he growled. “Sssstupid.”

You could not argue with that and thought he had a valid point. It did feel that way sometimes, as if whoever was in charge of the universe enjoyed chaos and mayhem, strife and discord, or made a game of it and humans their pawns.

Smiling warmly, you scootched a little closer, allowing your elbow to brush against his. “And what do you think of human girls?” you asked, your voice matching your mood, so very tempted to finger the lightweight yellow material that clothed the reptile.

Bossk made a jerking motion and looked squarely at you, a sound being produced by his vocal chords that signified he was taken aback by your query. Blood-red eyes traveled your form; he took a moment before he finally responded, and it was not what you had hoped for.

“Piss off, sissssster… I’m trying to relax.”

You openly pouted, immediately quieting yourself as you took another drink of your Trandoshan ale. Having temporarily forgotten about its pungency, you almost choked, swallowing it down before having another coughing fit.

Bossk shook his head, chuckling darkly at you, perhaps finding you nearly dying to be amusing. “You don’t have to finish that, you know.”

“I don’t want you to think I’m weak,” you confessed. “I wanted to impress you.”

“HA!” the bounty hunter enunciated dryly. “Impress me with your hunting skillssss,” he asserted. It seemed he was making a habit of laughing at your expense.

That did not deter you. Testing the waters, you trailed a finger down the outside of his prodigious thigh, not really knowing what had come over you except you were inexplicably drawn to this… man.

And perhaps it was because he was not a man, or at least not a man the likes of which you had ever seen, that you were captivated by him, though you had been witness to many things this side of the galaxy that were strange and unusual, not so different from a Trandoshan, you thought, and yet --

“--Maybe I could impress you some other way?” you volunteered coyly, that third swig of ale having emboldened you more so than before.

Bossk angled his head like a curious animal, first in one direction and then the other. He glanced down at your finger tracing his leg and blinked -- you presumed he thought you ridiculous, waiting for him to tear you down once more.

“Are you flirting with me?!” he asked quizzically, and rather loudly at that. If you could have read his expression, you wondered if he might be confronting some sort of disbelief. However, his face was all teeth and tongue, his mouth stretching back nearly to where his ears should have been were he a member of your species. It was impossible to tell his true mood, at least as far as you were aware.

You returned a rather nervous, yet daring, “I don’t know, am I?”

He virtually howled, blood rushing toward your cheeks as he slapped his knee with an open palm. “You couldn’t handle me princessss,” he chided once he had calmed down enough to speak.

Feeling rebellious, your sullen temperament was not helping matters, as you were now speaking before you thought things through.

“Wanna bet?” you scowled.

“How much?” Bossk leaned forward across the bar top, not wasting a moment’s time, his face so close to yours you could feel his hot breath on your skin.

“My half of the bounty tomorrow,” you said without hesitation. You mentally slapped yourself.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, ssssweetheart. You’ll be lucky If you can walk.”

---

Bossk had a ship, the Hound’s Tooth. His modified YV-666 light freighter was more than well-equipped for his dirty deeds, and then some. Parked right outside the seedy establishment you had occupied, the lizard had taken to finishing your drink and the rest of his.

Taking you by the wrist like some ancient, uncivilized being, he had guided you outside, locking his talons around you with a surprisingly careful grip. He had chuckled deviously to himself, as if he had just won a prize, and perhaps he thought he had; you were not sure how often the hunter partook of sins of the flesh, nor did you care to ask. Instead, you planned to win that bet, however much of an excuse it was to get him in the sack.

The moment you stepped inside, the door slid closed, and Bossk was on you like a predator with caught prey, your body tossed like a ragdoll into the hull of his ship. You gasped, yet you would be lying if you said you didn’t prefer things a little rough, already anticipating what would happen next.

“Let’s ssseeee if you’re all talk…” he hissed into your ear, the tip of his forked tongue flitting against your earlobe. You were stock-still, as if caught in his hunter’s snare. You swallowed down your spit, one arm rising in an attempt to touch him.

“Sssssskkkk…” At once intimidated, Bossk slapped your hand away, his own returning to curl a talon against the crook of your cheek. It grazed itself along your jawline before coming to rest at your chin. He pinched you delicately as a show of good faith; he did not plan to hurt you if he could help it. Then, that same claw slid down, down the line of your sternum and came to a halt at the edge of your lowcut top.

“Some cleavage,” he said derisively, its pointed tip pushing lightly against the fabric that barred your breasts; you were wearing a one piece leotard for range of movement, having left your weapons on Scoria’s ship. Bossk sliced it open with a single swipe, leaving fleshy mounds exposed for his naked eye.

He carefully watched the way they bounced and fought against gravity. Though large, he thought them perky, the apex of his longest finger lightly fondling your quickly hardening nipple. You stood transfixed, panting against the wall and somewhat shocked that he would cut to the chase so fast by nearly wholly undressing you in the airlock of his ship.

“Tooka must have your tongue again,” he teased, inching so close it made you wonder how it would be to kiss him.

“Good thing it doessssn’t have mine,” he finished, and it appeared he was going to address that very thing. The thin expanse of his long tongue delved soundlessly into your half-opened mouth, bypassing your dull, human teeth, Bossk engaging you in such a way that it took your breath away.

You felt a tickle at the back of your throat, the monstrosity having buried himself to the hilt that was his fang-filled maw. You thought he must be able to taste what you had for breakfast at this rate, your hands, tiny in comparison to his, aiming to push against the wide expanse of his chest.

The hunter rasped, that elongated, warm muscle traveling backward as he pulled his head a bit aways, the vertex of your tongue finally able to find his. You toyed with its unique feel, Bossk having no shame as he palmed the round of your breast, squeezing gently at first before he released you from his strangely deep and passionate kiss.

“I’m just getting ssstarted,” he assured you, his large frame dropping down before you to where his head was level with your chest. The sound of his knees hitting the duralloy beneath echoed throughout the entirety of the small chamber as it startled you to stand up straight.

Both of his massive hands took hold of either side of the remains of your outfit, shredding it off your arms and legs, then tossing it idly to the floor at your feet so that you were left with nothing but your boots. You shivered at the sudden breeze against your now bare flesh, Bossk snickering as he admired your human shell.

“Cold? You won’t be for long with me warming you up,” he forewarned.

You had little time to respond. In fact, you didn’t, so fixated on the Trandoshan’s scaled face before you that you couldn’t think of a thing to say. You watched in awe as the tongue that kissed you found the divot between your tits, the lizard licking a path from the base of your breasts to the underside of your vulnerable throat.

You shuddered in delight, closing your eyes instinctively, though your small reprieve didn’t last long as a flicker of something warm and wet darted across both your nipples at the same time. He had pushed your tits together, aligning them, little bolts of pleasure causing a moan to escape you.

The pressure of them being smooshed between inhuman hands, and the soft, nuanced use of his tongue induced a throb between your legs. Bossk suddenly growled, pulling away, having smelled a change in your pheromones that exacerbated his primal instincts. You nearly jumped when one of his hands lifted to disappear below, the back of a claw, shiny and smooth, skimming down the length of your torso to right between your folds.

The curved, rounded arch brushed softly against your clit, parting your lower set of lips as he hissed a bestial sound. You trembled involuntarily, feeling almost ashamed of how wet that had made you, what you thought was a dastardly smile unfurling across the extent of the large reptilian’s face.

“Let’s have a tassssste,” he remarked, dropping your other breast for his now free hand to join in with his other. You felt the sensation of something sharp splaying your labia apart as his tongue, featherlight, dragged itself from the recess of your vagina, all the way to the top of your sensitive cluster of nerves.

You twitched against your will, pinned to your spot as your chest contracted with a breathy exhale. The bastard chuckled at your reaction, your spasming only further encouraging him.

“Barely touched you, doll face. Wait for it…” he lisped suggestively. Your legs nearly gave out beneath you once he really started in.

Fast flicks were administered to your already pulsating clit, your entire body quivering as your breathing picked up speed. The forks of his tongue stimulated you in ways you had not thought possible, the stretch of your lips between clawed digits exposing every nerve fiber to his attack.

Your bosom rose and fell as your breathing picked up, unable to control the pathetic whines and quavering mewls that fell loose on his ears. He only increased in fervor, and before you knew what had happened, you had crumbled into a heap amidst an intense orgasm.

Legs finally betraying you, you slid down the hull. Bossk pulled his muzzle away from you, once more laughing to your dismay. You cursed him under your breath, the Trandoshan at once standing up from off his knees even as you sat in a disarray on the floor. You could feel both the dampness of his saliva and your own secretions dripping down your inner thighs.

“Hmm, what was that? Don’t think I heard you, princess,” he informed you in a gravelly tone. You had no time to recover before he bent down to scoop you up, as if you were nothing more than his plaything and weighed about as much as a child’s toy.

“Come here,” he directed forcefully, though you may as well not have any say in the matter, Bossk holding onto you in his big, strong arms only to lift you up and set you down atop his shoulders -- frontwards.

You gasped, not knowing how you had even made it up there so quickly, finding your crotch to be centered with the lizard’s snout and your knees resting against his shoulders while your legs hung limply along his back. But then, you felt something else. There was a gentle writhing happening deep inside you, realizing he had sunk his bifurcated tongue straight into your core.

You groaned in ecstasy, unable to stop yourself even if you had wished to, that snake like organ massaging your walls as his beak rubbed against your still thrumming bud.

Your thighs tightened around either side of his mammoth skull, breasts pressed firmly against his face as your arms enshrouded the back of his head and drew him in. You subtly shifted your hips to and fro, finding yourself to be fucking his mouth with your cunt as he carried you aloft and down the hall.

He withdrew for just a moment with a slurp, causing you to whimper lewdly. “Watch your head,” he cautioned.

You looked backward and realized you would need to duck, clearing the entryway to the rest of the alien creature’s ship; the airlock shut behind you as you both vacated the area, and for a moment you dared to look around. However, once you had accomplished not beheading yourself, the Trandoshan made a guttural sound, delving back inside your pussy as he snarled predaceously, working his way deeper into the plush confines of your moist heat.

“Fuck,” you panted, hips once more gyrating slowly across his squirming tongue. He was playing with his food, you decided, somehow the man having found your g-spot as he worked it with unmatched patience. Your weight lifted up and off him as you raised your pelvis to meet his mouth; he was incessantly tickling you toward another release, and you could not help but want to get nearer to its source.

“Oh, fuck, Bosssssk,” you hissed out his name as if you were a Trandoshan yourself, a blast of hot breath streaming forth from his nostrils to scorch your skin as he laughed, even while still steeped inside you. You thighs clenched harder until finally you came, your body at once going limp so that the hunter would have to fully support you as he slid you off his shoulders and into his awaiting arms.

“That’ssss my name,” he stated to your annoyance, your eyes darting up as your chest heaved. Your expression alone informed him you were displeased at his attempts to be a smartass, hoping he did not force you to endure the other half of that childish phrase.

The man chuckled again instead. You were abruptly discarded with a thud, finding yourself tossed haphazardly onto what you thought was an oversized bed. You looked up at him, unable to hide your mild indignance. That’s when you saw it -- the size of his erection, jutting out obscenely beneath its cloth restraints.

“Shit,” you muttered,eyes widening. It was apparently time to put your money where your mouth is, and possibly quite literally. Still, you sat agape, having not even laid your eyes on anything but its substantial outline, and already you were thinking of chickening out. But that did not mean you weren’t at least somewhat curious.

“Shit is right, sssweetheart,” he jeered. “You’re in for it now.”

The man had little in the way of modesty, unhooking the white flack vest from around his chest to let it hit the floor. Then, trusting you enough – not that you were any match for him, and naked at that – he disarmed himself and allowed the remainder of his gear to be discarded in much the same manner, leaving him wearing nothing but his pressurized suit.

Finally, two talons started at the top of a hidden zipper to be cleanly whisked to just below his belly, Bossk shucking off the sleeves to leave his torso bare. Your eyes traversed his rough hide, though it was not unattractive, inquisitive to his very nature as his flesh was so different from yours, or any other species you had thus encountered for that matter.

Bossk’s firm pectorals lacked nipples, perhaps why he had favored yours with special attention earlier, though he had washboard abs that cascaded in ripples, exposing the tantalizing vision that was his rectus abdominis muscles. His scales were multiple shades of green, seamlessly overlapping one another, yet some jutted out more than others and came to tiny points like the ones lined along the arch of his skull. Overall, the Trandoshan’s calvarium was covered in these small, needle-like spikes, part of you wondering what their purpose was besides being a kind of organic armor; you would not bother to quiz him on the subject.

Together, you were skin and scales, now finding yourself to be daydreaming about what his body would feel like pressed up against yours, so frail in comparison; you deduced it would not be long before you found out, yet the grandiose size of his genitalia gave you pause. You were both eager and uneasy about seeing it outright.

He was not one to leave you hanging, his alien phallus springing forth from the gap in his suit where the zipper had parted; it was beyond sizeable, making your mouth water while at the same time putting the fear of God into you.

You were not sure what you were supposed to do with it.

“That’s not going to fit,” you blurted out, your eyes never once leaving the hardened, ridged cock of the creature before you. Its girth was nearly half as thick as your own forearm, an array of ribs and crests protruding conically along its outer edge on either side. The tip of his dick was shaped like the head of an arrow, though more rounded and robust, its entire length tinged an emerald hue that was brighter than his scales; unbeknownst to you, Trandoshan blood was green.

“It will if you want it to,” he sizzed sharply, something akin to a shit-eating grin having overtaken his face. “And you best make room for one more,” he advised, pushing down the remainder of his jumpsuit to reveal what he’d been hiding --there were two?!

You audibly gasped, Bossk placing his foot upon the bed beside you. One elbow came to a rest on his knee after he stepped out of the leg holes of his ensemble. He leaned forward toward you against his arm for balance, leaving nothing to the imagination; you openly gawked at his chiseled form. He waved a hand patronizingly in your direction, deciding to remind you of the alternative.

“Or-” he offered, “- you can give up now and expect to pay me all your hard earned creditssss.”

This simple admonishment was all it took to steel you for what was to come, not about to lose out on a job that could afford you a lengthy stretch of vacation should you be able to pull your own weight tomorrow. Either way, you would give it your best shot, deciding it was all or nothing; you swallowed back your trepidation and took one cock in each hand.

The beast before you made an unusual sound, something between pleasure and surprise. You weren’t even sure if he would like what you were about to try, but you also assumed Bossk was not one to hold back from announcing his displeasure should the need arise.

“Getting braver, are we?” he derided you, pulling his hips back from the hands that clasped his cocks to push them forward again, forcing you to squeeze them tightly in your fist in order to hang on – it seems this was the goal.

Taking the hint, you began to work your dominant arm, fingers traversing and exploring the many truncations of his anatomy. The other you guided toward your mouth, Bossk’s slit pupils dilating in anticipation. His tongue pulled away from wiry lips as his fangs clacked together, a soft, crisp hiss resounding in your ears. You relaxed your jaws, hoping by all of Alderaan's ghosts that you would still be able to breathe once it maneuvered down your throat -- and what an undertaking it would be.

“Good girrrrl,” he growled, causing you to hasten your efforts as you adjusted incrementally to the large invader sliding down your gullet, carefully beginning to glide your tongue and lips around its ribbed circumference. The hunter gathered tufts of your hair in his large claws, turning your head up toward his with a gentle show of force, his stare unwavering as he gazed into your eyes; this in and of itself shamelessly basted your loins, ensuring a smooth entry in the future, and you were becoming all the more eager for it as time ticked by.

“Not so bad, issss it?” he asked, his free hand moving below your chin as he held you steady with the backside of another of his unsettling talons. Although, you were now getting used to them, there being something decidedly sexy in the way a tool - designed to rend meat and flesh into sunders - could be so tender and conscientious as it touched and caressed your skin.

“Mnn mmn,” you voiced in agreement, sucking in air through your nose as you exhaled slowly, allowing yourself to further unwind. You felt your gag reflex trying to activate itself, yet you gradually managed to coax your throat muscles to loosen and go slack, finally intaking his member as far as your body would allow.

Bossk purred another pleasing sound, evocative of the Igua-Jaws that lived on Dagobah, his hips beginning to rock back and forth inside your mouth as the head of his cock plunged as far as your oropharynx. The hand holding his other phallus pumped him steadily, though it was hard to keep pace as the Trandoshan had found his own.

“Ssstay just like that, princesss,” he encouraged, fucking your mouth as if it was your vagina, not holding back even the slightest degree as you moaned and groaned under the uninterrupted onslaught of his cock. You did your best to stay afloat, at some point feeling used and liking it, as if you were nothing more than a squashy sheath to stick his dick in. Somehow, it gave you a sense of power -- he wanted you for reasons; there would be no more pretending it was all for fun and games.

You released your grip on his second cock, unable to accommodate it as you were only human and only had one mouth. You found it somewhat ineffective to keep jerking him, instead placing both hands on either side of the reptile’s narrow waist. You used this position to stabilize yourself, crawling up onto your knees for a better vantage. You could feel every thrust hit the back of your throat, your nails, clean and trim, digging into the hardened exterior of the man who had by this point closed his eyes in bliss.

“Sooo ssssoft and waaaarm,” he complimented, slowing his speed to instead fuck your mouth more deeply. He pitched his pelvis forward and backward, the head of his member edging close to your lips before he drove himself inward again. The meat of his thick thighs tensed, and you could feel his cock flex, indicating to you that he was close.

“Ssssssskkkkkkkkkaahhhh……” The Trandoshan verbalized his rapture, offloading a torrent of sperm that hit the back of your soft palate and kept on coming. In order to breathe, you focused on swallowing, guzzling down Bossk’s seed to the point there was no more room in your mouth to house it.

You murmured a sound of protest as a white seepage leaked at the corners of your lips, dribbling down your chin for droplets to find their way onto your naked breasts. Still, his semen kept pouring itself into you, as if he were filling a swimming pool, the feeling of your belly becoming full setting off alarm bells in your head; it was as if you had chugged a milkshake all in a few seconds’ time.

Pushing against his hips, the creature relented. You sucked in a desperate breath as soon as his cock exited your mouth. You gasped, intaking another round of fresh oxygen, your hand lowering to hold your now aching gut.

Bossk ran the backside of his foreclaw against your belly, prompting you to remove your hand. Then, he poked it, chuckling morosely as he pushed you backward onto the bed.

“We’re not finished here,” he stated, taking up his unspent cock to wave it at you, though he was careful how he handled it, knowing from experience just how sharp his own claws could be.

You stared at him with wide, timid eyes as you wiped excess cum off your face with the back of your hand; you had never been with a species that had a hemipenis, not sure you could handle one round, much less two. You held your breath as he mounted you, aligning his reserve phallus up against your twat as he prepared for entry; he drew it across your already soaked slit, saturating himself from tip to base.

Still holding your sore stomach, Bossk sibilated filthily into your ear, his forked tongue causing a wellspring of goosebumps to creep across your arms and legs. “Hope you’re ready for the main event,” he sardonically emphasized, causing a shudder to rock you to the marrow of your bones.

Having only a moment to prepare, the reptile entered you, pitching forward so that you were quite suddenly stuffed to the brim. You yelled out, though it felt so good to be stretched so taut, the plush, sensitive tissue of your sex able to feel every inch and then some, including the miniscule protrusions that lined his cock from head to hilt.

Slowly, deliberately, he drew out of you, once more thrusting inside to get you accustomed to the sensation of being split open time and time again. You groaned somewhere between pain and ecstasy, your fingers coming to rest on what was now a second bulge, this one the stout imprint of his lizard’s dick.

“Sssseeee? Told you it’d fit.” He grinned like the horned devil he was, placing his gargantuan hand atop your own. He moved succinctly, not too fast and not too slow, pressing down on your pubic bone with his open palm. This intensified the pleasure of having him sequestered between your thighs, finding yourself wanting to splay your legs wider to reveal more of yourself to him, whether that made you vulnerable or not.

“What a pretty little thing you are,” he praised, bending forward to lap at the edge of your mouth before you supplied him entry, his talented tongue once more diving to the back of your throat as you bashfully twisted and wriggled among the sheets; you were pining for more and the hunter could sense it, rebuking you lightly for being so suddenly desperate, as if he hadn’t known this would happen all along.

“I’ve got your comm frequency, sisssster,” he said between snakes of a split muscle, licking the underside of your teeth before he parted ways with your face so that he could put all his attention into the task at hand. Bossk then began to make use of his powerful legs, each pump of his alien cock into you causing an indecent moan to pelt the air, the tone of your mewling betraying just how good it felt as you urgently tried to curtail your needy cries.

With his semen sloshing in your stomach, you did not seem to mind, having already forgotten his previous transgressions as you crooned to the ceiling of his ship.

“Fuck me, Bossk, fuck me; keep going, just like that,” you begged quietly, reveling in the peculiar experience that was your cunt being tenderized by the knobbed surface of his prick.

“What do you think I’m doing?!” he sassed back, the Trandoshan’s hips driving into you harder with every cast. He managed to penetrate you down to the convergence of your cervix; you had insisted, a shock of what felt like electricity climbing its way up your nerve endings to manifest itself in a yelp.

“Happy now?”

“Mmhmm,” you confessed, your hand cupping the shape of his abnormally large erection as it massaged your innards to your heart’s content. The continual pressure of his dick against the roof of your anterior walls finally triggered your body’s main erogenous zone, Bossk having hit it repeatedly until you exalted his name to the stars and heavens beyond.

“Heh, heh, heh…” he chortled dryly, obviously pleased with himself. He posed a question to you, even as he was working toward his own high.

“Oh, yeah? You liked that, huh?”

The way he phrased it was almost comical. In fact, you may have laughed had he not just given you one of the best orgasms of your life. Instead, you looked up at him with sultry eyes, pushing your breasts together for his viewing pleasure. He took this as an invitation, kneading and groping your right tit with one hand as his opposite held him up so as to not crush you with his weight.

“Mmm, always did love a nice pair of tittttsss,” he acknowledged, trailing off as you tightened your Kegel muscles and wrapped your legs around his lower back.

“Y-You’re gonna make me cum like that,” he conceded, that not stopping you in the least. You crossed your ankles, using the muscles in your legs to seesaw him back and forth inside your slippery crevasse. The Trandoshan was not amused, apparently not wanting to lose his spare load so quickly to the likes of you – a hairless ape.

“You never told me what you thought of human girls,” you whispered, intentionally allowing him to feel your torrid breath against his glossy scales.

“Grrrrmnnn….” he groused, not allowing you to get the best of him. “I love human girrrrlllls, and human girls love me,” he affirmed as if it was an indisputable fact.

This time you did laugh, the lizard canting his head as he glowered over you. You would make sure to reassure him, knowing he ego might suffer. All in all, you had come to the conclusion that Bossk was softer than he let on, despite his tough, leathery hide. “Mn, yes, we do…” You blinked languidly, smiling up at him.

Not knowing what you were in for, that was all it took; Bossk bust his second nut into your tight, mammalian hole. You squealed in surprise as warmth flooded your insides, your body not made to absorb and hold onto his sperm.

The Trandoshan gathered your legs, throwing them over his neck and shoulders as he continued to crank out more and more cum, the stuff spilling down your thighs and ass crack as your uterus expanded near to bursting. You watched in horror and mild fascination as your belly once more extended, as if you were being inflated like a helium balloon.

Once Bossk had drained himself, you were left looking four months pregnant, groaning as he slipped his cock out but held your legs firmly in place. He took hold of one ankle in each hand, then brought them together, looking down to admire his handiwork while not allowing you to spill one drop.

You drooled, sucking your own spit back into your mouth as you gazed up at your lover dumbly. He pat you on your tummy, once more tilting his head to the side. “Good thing humans and Trandoshanssss can’t breeeeeeed,” he snidely remarked.

Then, out of seemingly nowhere, Bossk produced a towel, having reached beyond you to some unknown part of his large bed with your ankles still gathered in his other hand. You hated to think how long that towel had been there, or if it was even clean, at least thankful there was anything at all with which to freshen yourself up.

“Thisss should do the triccck,” he said as he laid the worn piece of fabric out beneath you. Bit by bit, he lowered your legs, graciously permitting his spunk to travel down and out of you, finally taking some of the pressure off your guts.

You sighed in relief, wave after wave of semen trickling out of your sore opening, coating Bossk’s so-called towel in a deluge of his seed. When all was said and done, you weren’t sure how much of his cum you had interred within yourself, and how much had wound up on the bed, teetering somewhere between disappointed and thankful that it was over; you had won.

“Refresher’s down the hall and to your left,” he offered, granting you permission to use the sonic should you require it –- and you most certainly did.

--- Upon reentry to the lizard’s nest, Bossk was curled up in a position he had favored in the egg - knees to chest - having discarded his soiled linens to replace them with new ones.

Knowing that the hunt was to begin tomorrow, you did not expect Bossk to invite you to stay, yet he lifted the sheets as a way to motivate you to join him beneath the covers.

“Ssssleeping here is as good a place as any,” he entreated.

You suspected there was more to it than that, but decided not to deny him a snuggle after he had fucked you so good and proper. You slinked in next to him, your voluptuous rump sidling up against the convexity of his lap. Bossk intoned a little noise of satisfaction then, burly arms encircling your diminutive frame as you settled down to rest.

Who knew Bossk'wassak'Cradossk was a cuddler?

You could only hope that come daybreak you would still be able to walk, as Bossk had predicted otherwise. For Scoria to find you with legs bowed and crotch aching from being pummeled with an oversized cock that was not meant for you was not how you hoped to start the day. Besides, you no longer had clothes to wear; you assumed Bossk might at least provide you with a shirt, or shorts, figuring he did not expect you to go out naked to meet up with your crew.

Within minutes, Bossk’s light snoring and the sssskkk of his tongue in and out of dreams aided you in drifting off to sleep, the monster of a man not above using you like he would a stuffy, cradling you the whole night through.

Not surprisingly, you would later promise him to keep this to yourself. Afterall, he had a reputation to upkeep.

---

Masterlist

Reblogs, comments, likes appreciated!

#Bossk x Reader #Bossk'wassak'Cradossk #Trandoshan #Star Wars Smut #x reader #x you #Bossk x you #Dengar #Bossk #bounty hunters #My writing

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hockeynoses · 10 months

Text

Hot Tub Snzs (R/oy x Ja/mie)

Summary: Jamie suggests Roy get into the hot tub to clear his sinuses. Roy's hands are wet and Jamie ends up holding the tissues for him.

Notes: <900 words. Some mess. Not really any other warnings. Pure fluff. This came to me in a half-dream yesterday morning when I was trying to fall back asleep, and I had to write it. I'm not usually a Roy girlie, so I surprised myself.

Roy and Jamie drive up to their vacation home for a long weekend. They bought it a while back when they realized this thing between them was real, and they were both in it for the long haul. The property has a couple acres of land, and it’s surrounded by trees; one of the few places where they don’t have to worry about being hounded by paparazzi.

The house has an upscale cottage vibe, with a large hot tub on the back deck. It’s a crisp autumn afternoon, and the forest around them is lit up with vibrant yellows, oranges, and reds.

Roy’s on the tail-end of a cold that's been annoying him for the past week and a half. At this point, he’s feeling better, but his body is still trying to eject all of the gunk that has built up in his head. He’s so fucking congested and wishes he could speed up the process.

Jamie, who has grown tired of his constant complaining, suggests he go in the hot tub because, “Maybe the steam will help.”

Roy almost puts up a fight just for the hell of it, but they’re on vacation, and Jamie has his best interests at heart. Roy does love a good soak.

“Go on,” Jamie says. “I’ll join you in a bit.”

Roy grumbles, but does as he’s told. The heat feels amazing on his muscles, and the view can’t be beat. He relaxes into the water, steam coiling up into the air, bringing with it the burning smell of chlorine. The effect is two-fold: the steam loosens his congestion as the stinging itch of the chlorine sets off pinpricks of sensation in his inflamed sinuses. “Hah…HA’AAIISSHHH! Hih’EEHHHSSHH’IUE!” He doesn’t bother to cover them, openly sneezing down onto the surface of the water.

Catching his breath only works the steam deeper into his airways, and he gears up for another clearing, “huh’GGKSSHH’AH!” He tries to snort up the mess that has run out onto his cupid’s bow, and has no choice but to swipe at it with his wet hand before returning it to the water. The powerful sneezes have worked to clear some of his congestion, but he needs to blow his nose to really finish the job.

“Christ, I can hear your Grandad sneezes from inside the house,” Jamie says as he opens the back door. He’s in his speedo with a box of tissues under his arm.

Roy gives a pointed, productive sniff. “Should be used to it by now.”

“Just sayin’. You’re gonna scare the wildlife, goin’ on like that.”

Roy just grunts in response, lifting his wet hand to rub at the tip of his itchy nose.

Jamie steps into the hot tub, making sure to keep his hands dry. He sets the tissue box on the ledge next to them.

Roy’s eyes flutter shut and he turns to the side, half-heartedly holding up a hand to his face that does absolutely nothing to cover the wrenching sneeze that bursts from him. “haa…HA’AAEISHH’OO! Ugh.” When he turns back to Jamie, there are twin streams of clear mess coating his upper lip.

“Disgustin’!” Jamie teases. Roy knows he’s only joking. Having grown up as professional footballers, they’ve both seen men do far more disgusting things on the regular to be offended by a little snot.

“Give me a fuckin’ tissue then!” Roy gripes.

“Nah, your hands are all wet, mate. Come here, I’ll do it.”

Roy looks at him hesitantly as Jamie readies a couple tissues.

“Really?”

“Yeah, come on then.” Jamies gestures him forward. Roy rolls his eyes and leans closer.

His nose, chilly from the crisp fall air, is enveloped in the soft heat of Jamie’s cotton-covered hand. He starts blowing, only slightly embarrassed to hear the heavy crackle of it as it fills the tissue. It must be soaking through to Jamie’s skin, but the other man says nothing about it.

“Better?” Jamie asks. Roy pulls back and gives a tentative sniff, relieved that he’s finally able to get some air through.

“Yeah, actually.”

“Good!” Jamie graces him with a beaming smile. Roy resolves to do something special for him after he’s put up with his grouchy ass this whole week.

Even after all that, the pesky itch deep in his nose refuses to leave him. Roy blinks and scrunches his nose up, rubbing it in circles against the back of his wet hand. Jamie watches him and grabs some fresh tissues.

“You done?” Jamie asks, amusement twinkling in his eye.

“N-no…” Roy’s nostrils flare as he sucks in a quick breath, his head rearing back. His eyes close and he snaps forward “iihh…HNG’KSSHHHuh!” – into a waiting bundle of soft kleenex.

Blinking his eyes open, he meets Jamie’s surprised gaze. Jamie nods at him and Roy buries his face deeper into his hand, releasing a long, thick blow until the soggy tissues can’t hold any more.

He pulls back with a groan as Jamie gets after any residual mess still clinging to him.

“Thanks,” Roy says, relaxing back against the tub. “I think that was all of them.”

“Got you covered, Coach,” Jamie says with a wink. He brushes a kiss against Roy’s cheek before settling in next to him, happy to while away the rest of the evening by his side.

#snzblr #snz fic #snzfic #snz fics #snzfics #I've been on a goddamn roll lately #not saying these are super high quality but having a lot of practice can't hurt right?#me living out my re@l estate fantasies through these two rich fuckers #this was originally going to be in the format of a short prompt kind of thing but then I wrote one line of dialog & it spun out from there #jam/ie ta/rtt #hn tissue tag

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soft-for-them · 2 years

Text

Dead man dance floor - Tangerine x plus size reader

Summary: You meet Tangerine again on a mission, things don't go to plan for you.

TW: Contains descriptions of blood, minor violence and guns. They're assassins, so yeah, so if you don't like that kind of stuff don't read.

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated and help more people read my works.

A/N: I've written this one Tangerine fic for you feral fuckers now I'm going back to write for darling Lemon. Not proof read.

Blood covers your face, the one rich red liquid turning crusty and brown, your baby hairs stuck to your forehead by the scabbing blood. Your once pale pink houndstooth shirt and lilac high waisted mini skirt with a chunk belt, a disguise that you’ve been wearing for hours now because you needed to infiltrate a disco club stuck in the seventies is utterly ruined, sweat and blood discolouring the fabrics once colourful and soft.

You platform boots a vivid purple made from a shiny plastic are at least salvageable, the crinkled stiff plastic not stained, only the flaking rubber soles that are caked in mud and gravel from having to walk to the club so no one saw you getting out a bullet proof government car.

You’d like to say it isn’t the first time you’ve been coved in blood, sweat and mud but unfortunately it isn’t and it won’t be the last time it will happen again.

At least the blood isn’t yours.

Booming seventies disco tunes still echo around the dancefloor as you peer down at the drug baron at your boots, a bullet straight through his head and red pooling on the elevated light up rainbow dance floor.

As soon as the gun shot rang out everyone scattered, well apart from you and two others.

Your job was a simple one, dance with the slimy baron a bit get him to take you home then strangle him in his own bed for his wife to find him the next morning go back to your boss and await the next mission.

But as you look up with blood dribbling down your chin you sneer at a familiar man standing behind the baron, his gun still held up and smoking.

Tangerine cleans the gun he’d just fired his eye finally recognising that you’re there.

“What the fuck dude!” you yell your hands flying up in a frustrated motion, “He was mine!”

Tangerine just huffs out a low chuckle as he puts his gun back into his shoulder holster, his bright blue three piece suit unscathed by his pistol bullet entering the brain of the now dead man at your feet.

You don’t bother looking were you’re going as you begin charging over to the cocky Brit, your boots treading on the flared slacks of the dead man, you finger pointing at Tangerine with the anger of a thousand wasps or a teacher who’s finally broken down and begun shouting at her students.

“You could have killed me you dumb fuck.” you’ve known him for too long to go easy on him, Tangerine is like an annoying itch who’s always there, he always knows what buttons to push to make your shimmer in anger whilst Lemon, wherever he is at, does the complete opposite.

You do not care that you’re berating a trained assassin, you could strangle him with you bare hands quite literally if you really wanted too.

“Do you know how bullets work? If it hadn’t exploded his brains all over my outfit. “ you signal down to all the blood and brain matter soaked into your clothing. Tangerine looks you up and down, his eyes lingering on the sliver of exposed thigh in between your boots and hiking up mini skirt that aren’t splattered in red, “Then that bullet would have gone *whoosh* right through my own head.”

“Wish it would love.” Tangerine jests his lingering eyes now connected with yours.

You shove him in the arm, your adrenaline high filled anger slowly ebbing away as the realisation that you’re probably in deep shit because you didn’t kill the dude.

“Kidding! Kidding!” Tangerine jests as your eyes flickers away, your shoulders now hunched down and a concerned look blooming on your face.

A long groan of frustration leaves you lips as you try and wipe away some blood off your face with your sleeve. You step away and turn around, face now fully in your hands.

“Fuck, fuck!” you screams seem louder that the groovy music playing.

You spin around, you boots leaving black smudges on the LED floor, your finger pointing at Tangerine.

“Who the fuck hired you two?”

Tangerine edges closer to you, his once cocky disposition gone. He edges closer to you like you’re a hurt dog and not some special agent used by the UK government to do their dirty work.

“The wife.” Is all that Tangerine says as he bends down to catch your eyes obscured but bloody fingers. Your eyes are watering and red, Tangerine assumes you’ve been scouting this man for way too long, probably for months on end. Looking past the showy outfit and angered outburst you look exhausted.

“Hey, look at me.” He uses a thumb and forefinger to lift your chin up so you’re looking him directly in his eyes, “Look at me (y/n).”

Your lips press together as you try to hold in a sob, a single tears threatening to breach your eyes.

Your boss will kill you.

“Come with me.” Tangerine says in a low but kind voice his forehead leaning against yours as a whimper slips through your lips.

“You can’t protect me, I’ve fucked up too many times. They’ll-he will-“

“Now listen here.” He’s stern, his hands joining up to yours to stop the shaking, “I won’t let that posh prick come ten miles near you, you got it?”

“But-“

“You got it (y/n)?”

You look deeply into his blues eyes that match his vivid suit. There’s no wisp of a lie or any kind of deceit, he actually looks a bit panicked.

“…Got it.” you finally get out, you hand squeezing his back.

#not proofread #bullet train #bullet train x reader #tangerine x reader #tangerine x plus size reader #tangerine bullet train #x plus size reader #plus size reader #x chubby reader #chubby reader

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prolix-yuy · 2 years

Note

For the 500 celebration, Pero & everlasting love!❤️

Okay, I'm cheating just a little bit. The request will be in here, it might just take a little while to get to it. Because you asked for Pero and all I could possibly write was for him and his Guerrera...and I've been dying for an excuse to share their sequel...sooooooo...

Coming Due

Pairing: Pero Tovar x F!Reader (sequel to Stop That, Right Now)

Summary: Tensions rise after last night's quarrel, and Pero must find a way to make it up to his Guerrera.

Word Count: 7.8k (I KNOW I am the architect of my own misery)

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, descriptions of male and female bodies, insensitivity to the perils of women in this time period, references to violence against women but nothing described, Pero being a real big asshole for about 4 minutes, angst, oral sex (f-receiving), fingering (f-receiving), sorta safe PiV sex (don't be a fool, wrap your tool), biting, an obscene amount of banter, Pero learns to be a consent king, FEELINGS.

Notes: Back by popular demand! Pero has stolen many of our hearts (and our nethers) and I couldn't wait to write more of these two. I left everyone hanging in the balance after the first drabble, and while The Debt gave us some more background I KNOW what we all actually want to see - what happens the next day?

Enjoy these allies to friends to enemies to lovers figuring their shit out!

Morning comes too quickly for Pero, barely settled in the stables for the night before the cock crows and light filters in through the wooden slats. He’s itchy, over-tired, in need of a bath and hungry from the night before.

The low sigh he breathes out, coupled with work-cracked hands rubbing over his face, brings the events of last night back into stark relief. A groan follows, this one deep and exasperated.

Pero’s mother told him that God only gave him a mouth so ravenous because he put both feet in it so often. Which, of course, he did once again. He could blame it on many things - the poor quality of his dinner, aches from the road, the raucousness of the tavern - but all would be a lie. It was the shock of your dress, baring those soft swaths of skin he’d contemplated many nights, hand itching to fist his cock. It was your smile, teasing and knowing all in one. It was the touch you left on the inside of his wrist that he swears he can still feel. Everything swirled together in a mess of light and noise and hammering heartbeats and instead of succumbing Pero fought like the idiot his mother hoped she didn’t raise.

Rolling up from the hay, swatting stray straws from his armor, he begins saddling up his horse. On any other day he would saddle yours too, save the fact that she faltered on the way into town and the farrier deemed her front left hoof too injured to travel. You’d sold her to him, a few quiet moments spent with the mare who carried you for many miles alongside Pero. Now down one steed with a job hastening you to the next town, your travel arrangements would be all the more troublesome.

“Idiota,” Pero grumbles to himself as he pulls the straps snug, checking the saddle bags for supplies. Once he opened his mouth he knew he’d made a grave mistake. And the more you fed him vitriol, the more he spat back. You brought out the best and worst in him, but always forgave and moved on. There was never bad blood between you.

The door to the stable snaps open, your frame silhouetted by the morning sun at your back. If Pero entertained any delusions that you might have forgotten last night, they’re dashed away when you stride in fully armored, not a word spoken. No forgiveness either, the dark scowl on your face slashing across his own like a thief’s dagger.

“Good morning, hermana,” Pero says gruffly, making the final check of his tack. You pick up your own supplies, slinging them over your shoulder now that you have no horse to bear them.

“Let’s begin, the day is already warm and I wish to be at our destination before nightfall,” you say curtly, turning on your heel to exit the stables.

“Hermana, give me your supplies, Caballo can carry them,” he offers, reaching a hand to graze over your tack. You dart away, always so much faster than him, and stalk out. Pero sighs, curling his fingers back into his empty palm.

It’s worse than he imagined. Not only was your desire for him revealed, but he’d crushed it beneath his boot.

Pero sways on top of Caballo, watching you stomp along beside him. He tried to convince you to ride, let him walk for a time. Then he snarked that you’d be better off riding together, which you scoffed at. It would not be the first time you’d shared a saddle, though with all the anger simmering below the surface you might set him ablaze if you sat so close.

Pero lets himself drift to the few times you’d let down your guard enough to settle on Caballo with him. When your mare needed to play pack mule, or when you were recovering from a poisoned arrow. Pero had hauled you up in front of him, settling you between his thighs, arms caging you in. Protests quickly quieted; those few rides were mostly spent in silence. You were stiff to start until exhaustion overtook you, melting into Pero’s broad chest. One he believed you settled he would rest his hands on the saddle pommel, forearms criss-crossing your thighs, and relax into the warmth of a body pressed flush to his. When you were weak with recovery from the poison, Pero even took to wrapping one arm around your waist to keep you upright, even when you weakly refused his help.

And now you were being exactly the stubborn mare you’d left behind, trudging through half-wet mud and dirt rather than riding with him. It would boil his blood, your refusal, if the shame of the reason why didn’t snuff it out.

Your foot comes down on a deceptively slippery spot, and with a yelp and a thud you’re splayed in the mud, supplies in a heap and fire in your eyes. Pero sighs, bringing Caballo to a stop and swinging down from the saddle. Already up on your knees, you pull your tack out of the muck with some unladylike curses seeding the earth.

“This is ridiculous, give me your things if you will still refuse to ride with me. You are slowing us down with your stubbornness,” Pero growls, coming down to a knee by your side. You snort, blocking him with your shoulder. A brief peek of the fateful dress you stuffed into your pack pangs in Pero’s chest.

“I can manage quite well without you, Tovar,” you spit back. Pero rolls his eyes. You only ever call him by his family name when you’re exceptionally upset.

“You can manage shit, stop being a mule and get on the horse,” he huffs, one hand easily yanking your saddle supplies out of your slippery grip. You make a noise of heated indignation, coming nose to nose with Pero as you both kneel in the mud.

“I didn’t think you’d be able to stand being near me, with all your talk,” you taunt, a scowl across your face but challenge in your eyes. A frustrated rasp wraps around Pero’s words.

“I did not mean what I said…” he tries to apologize, but this is a fight you’ve clearly been preparing for.

“Oh, you didn’t mean to call me a whore, is that it? You think women are only meant to be quiet little wives or holes to fuck?” Pero’s fists ball at his side, words clattering against his teeth but none coming out. You were wrong, and right, and infuriating, and beautiful in the cool morning light.

“I’m sorry…” he tries again, but clearly he let this sit too long. You’re too pent-up, sneering into his face as he fights to stay calm.

“Spare me your morality, Tovar. I have lived in the world long enough to know what men think of me, and I do not care. I will eat what I want, say what I want, fuck when I want, and the devil can watch in glee. I don’t need you,” you hiss, moving to stand from the filth in the path. The tightening in Pero’s pants at the glint in your eye when you enunciated fuck makes him bolder than he can control.

“That is not what I saw last night,” he practically purrs, mocking your own grimace. The tables turn sharply; your eyes widen at his impropriety, teeth bared as you swing your fist to land a blow on his face. He catches your wrist, unbalancing and toppling you backwards on your ass. Before you can scramble up for a repeat attack, Pero wraps his hands around the backs of your knees and drags you towards him, sliding your hips up his thighs until your core is pressed tight against his growing cock.

Fuck, you’re hot and soft and silent for once, the shock of his boldness stilling your tongue. He keeps a vice-like grip on your hips but chances a roll of his own against them.

“Is this not what you wanted, guerrera? When you took off the armor and sat before me, did you not want me to claim your cunt?” He digs his fingers into your flesh, another retort ready on his lips but more inclined to kiss you first. Weeks of simmering tension finally coming to a head, he folds over to taste the mouth so full of fire for him.

“Don’t you dare, Pero,” you roar, legs kicking out to find purchase to flee. Pero grimaces, trapping one leg under his armpit and pulling tight to his body. The other he catches under his ass, pinning it between his calf and thigh. You swipe muddy hands at him, but he’s just out of reach with the way your spine is bridged up his body.

“Tranquila,” he tries to soothe, to show his true intent, but you’re a rabid fox in a trap now. Your hips buck wildly, mixing searing hot pleasure with adrenaline as he tries to calm you. The situation is slipping away from him, turning uglier as he speaks over your anger.

“Mierda, guerrera, listen to me, amor de dios…” Pero curses, but your hand finally finds its way to your boot, a sharp little gutting knife now shining in your palm.

“Get your fucking hands off me,” you rasp, making a wide arc with the blade. It almost skims his cheek, snapping his head back just in time, but the fact that you’d raise steel against him boils his arousal into anger. He releases your legs, one hand in the center of your chest slamming you to the ground, the other pinning your arm above your head.

“Qué coño, hermana?” Pero pants, and when he can see your face through the haze of his outburst he realizes he’s made a mistake. An enormous one. Your face is ripped wide with a grimace, teeth gritted and shining with spittle. Your eyes are wild, but tears gather along your lashes.

This is worse. Multitudes worse than being an ass in a tavern.

“Mierda, hermana, perdóname,” Pero murmurs, backing off to sit on his heels. He keeps his hands in his lap, turned upward while taking in shaking breaths. He’s never put a hand on a woman, not one that wasn’t asked for, and in a second he’s terrified you. A man who easily pinned you, roughed you up, teased you and did not let you go when you shouted - that was a man never to be trusted. Bile rose in Pero’s throat that he for a moment was that man.

You stumble to your feet, covered in mud and disheveled. Pero follows, extending a hand when your balance falters. Righting yourself immediately, you point the blade at him, standing as far away as you can manage. He retracts his gesture, letting it hang limply at his side.

“Don’t you dare,” you croak out, and Pero can see the tremor in your arm. Easily blamed on adrenaline, but he knows better.

Thundering hooves interrupt the stalemate as Pero unsheaths his sword, your bow quickly in hand and nocking at the ready as a small crew of horses curve the corner. A familiar face rides at the front.

Pero lowers his sword, flinching at what he knows will come.

“Hail William!” you shout over the din, in a voice remarkably stronger than before. Pero sneaks a glance. You’re offering a crooked smile, hip popped out and a lazy wave to the blond Irishman as he pulls the company to a stop. How many times had you done this before? Had to put on a brave face when you’re anything but okay?

William hails you from atop his horse, bright smile plastered on his face.

“I was sure you’d beat us to town,” he laughs, raising an eyebrow at the sorry state of your armor.

“Unfortunately we’re down a steed, you wouldn’t happen to have a spare?” you ask, stepping closer and away from Pero. He stands listlessly behind you, wiping mud from his hands as you converse with William.

“Of course, we can ride in together, enjoy a meal before the job tomorrow,” he agrees, motioning to another man to pull out a horse.

After some redistribution of supplies, you’re sitting on your own black steed, riding beside William as he asks how your travels have been. Pero trails a length behind, head tilted down and listening carefully. You describe the perils of the road, the few coins you’d gathered, events in neighboring towns. Nothing of last night, or the moments just before their arrival.

Pero chews on his sour tongue, the scene replaying in his head. The tension coming to a head, his challenge meant to spur on something more. He wanted you sprawled below him, laughing at the mess in your hair and on your skin, as his mouth roamed your face. He would have wiped his hands before sliding them into your pants, teasing your slick folds before testing how hot and wet your cunt was. He desired to know what your face looked like shattering with pleasure, and what would spill from your lips as he brought you to your peak before sheathing himself inside.

But he didn’t temper the anger with lust. Instead he put hands on you that were unwanted. Of course they were, ever since he spoke rashly in the tavern. Why would you want his brutish touch, his rough hands and rougher manners? A glance back up at you and William conversing amicably only settles loathing deeper in his stomach.

The drip of water is a welcome change after the ruckus that followed you all day. From the rowdiness of the tavern, to the poor sleep you got in the noisy room, to the thundering of hooves as William and his men escorted you into town, you’d been surrounded by sound.

Well, save for the short period of tense quiet you experienced on the trail.

If William suspected anything he kept it to himself, which you appreciated. Your heart was still thundering in your ears, hands shaking and breath coming out in soundless sobs when his company broke your stalemate. Pero had been silent since, a shadow slipping along behind you. You then turned your attention to his sunny companion, letting adrenaline slowly seep from your bones like tree sap.

Lifting the rough cloth from your bath basin, you lather it with one of your precious soaps and begin scrubbing filth from your skin. Too angry to bathe last night, coupled with the altercation, left you woefully soiled. Every pass darkens the water, but rebirths you clean and renewed.

The forced cheerfulness continued through your entrance to the inn, the purchasing of rooms (Pero grunted and tossed coins on the counter), and supper in the common area. Breaking bread with William was an unexpected pleasure you gained from Pero’s friendship, and the moments you got to share with the garrulous blond were bright spots in the tedium of most days.

Your hand slows on your calf, eyes unfocusing. To say you have a friendship with Pero might be a stretch. A begrudging connection at first, yes. A growing fondness, no doubt. But now…you didn’t have words to describe what your feelings towards Pero were.

Anger had morphed into spite by the morning, your dreams fitful and heart tight at his swift rejection. Never mind the flare of foolishness you tamped down repeatedly at trying to be a lady for him, all softness and femininity enticing him to your desires. If he had reciprocated, touched your hand and called you one of those foreign names that lick heat under your skin, you would have taken him to your bed.

Instead you were not only humiliated once, but twice when he put his hands on you in the mud and debris. Fear had laid heavy in your chest, but it warred with thick lust when he rutted against you. If he had only spoken his desires, maybe dragged his gorgeously curved nose along your neck and whispered to you, you would have forgiven him, leaned into any caress he bestowed.

That dream was dashed now, replaced with the pig-headed desires of cruel men. You’d had to unsex yourself many times on your travels, hide your shape from slithering eyes and keep a hand on a knife in seedy taverns. But you never feared Pero. You respected him, wheedled him, annoyed him and on those few occasions endeared yourself to him. Until you felt the strength he used against you, Pero had been one of the few good men you called yourself lucky to know. That list is even shorter now.

Pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes, you empty out a sigh that releases tension in your shoulders. It was to be expected. All men want only one thing from a woman, and will take it in any way they deem fit.

Stepping out of the bath, you dry yourself and stand by the fire, letting the flickering warmth relax you further. The fury finally lifts from you like morning dew, and come sunrise you will share words with Pero.

As you dress for the night, a loose shirt over leggings and wool socks, a knock rattles your door. Much too late for a messenger, or the tavern owner. Might be trouble, might be William wishing you a pleasant evening. A small blade in your hand for the second time today, you stalk to the door.

“Who calls?” you ask, and are met with shuffles.

“Pero, hermana,” comes the low rough voice on the other side.

All thought flies out of your mind. Pero. You didn’t expect him to seek you out, not after the distance he put between you on the ride, at supper while you laughed with William, in the stables where he bolted at your presence. Sheathing the knife, your hand hovers over the door handle.

Why leave for tomorrow what you can do today, you think dryly before opening it a crack.

“It is well past the social hour, Pero, can it wait until morning?” you husk at your once-constant companion. He’s discarded his armor, clad in boots and breeches and a rough-looking gray tunic. His hair is lightly damp and skin lacks the grime you associate with him. One expansive hand rubs the back of his neck, his scowl deepening.

“It cannot,” is his short answer, so with a sigh you open the door and usher him in.

He fills the small room with his broad shoulders and dour mood, waiting for you to close the door and face him before speaking.

“I have committed an offense against you, and I am here to beg your forgiveness,” he says lowly, and you realize his mood is not dark, but regretful. His hands hang limply at his sides, occasionally balling into fists like he’s preparing for a blow. It wouldn’t be unfounded after the last day.

“What am I to forgive, Pero? The desires of men? Your quick temper? My foolishness? I only have so much grace,” you reply, moving about your room to continue preparing for bed. His eyes press along your shoulders, the back of your head, as you busy yourself in his presence.

“I hoped you would forgive my behavior. Last night and on the road,” he says, voice softer than you’ve ever heard it. Chancing a glance, he does look remorseful. You’re sure he is. But you’ve already made your decision.

“I have forgiveness in me,” you begin, and Pero’s shoulders lift briefly, his brow raising as you speak. “What I do not have is trust, or understanding. I thought…well, it does not matter. I know what must be done.” With even strides you cross to open the door, noise from the tavern below bursting into the solemn room. “I free you from your debt, Pero Tovar. You have fulfilled it tenfold, and for that you have my gratitude and appreciation. I would like us to part as friends, and allies should we ever cross again…”

Pero’s hand snatches the handle, and in a moment he’s so close he could brush his nose with your own. You swallow a gasp, trying to keep your face calm as he crowds you.

“No,” he rasps, rough and desperate. His eyes flicker with fire as they bore into yours. “Hermosa, please do not do this. I will suffer any punishment you see fit, but please do not send me away.”

Silence reigns, caught between the soft crackle of the room and the harsh merriment of the patrons downstairs. You have never seen Pero like this, wild-eyed and desperate. It lets words slip from your lips unbidden.

“That’s not what you call me,” you whisper. Pero’s brow furrows in confusion.

“What?”

“Hermosa. You call me hermana. You told me it means companion. What…what did you just call me?” Tongue thick and lungs heavy, you barely register Pero’s hand coming to cup the back of your head. His eyes soften, his tongue peeking out to wet his lips.

“Beautiful. It is one of the many names I hoped to call you one day. Bonita, mi vida, amor…”

“I know that one.”

Time passes in fits and starts as you hang in the balance with Pero.

“You said, last night -”

“Many stupid things.”

“And the trail -”

“I meant that to go very differently. I regret ever putting my hands on you.”

“And now?”

You hold your breath, the heat of his palm spreading over your skin.

“I would very much like to put my hands anywhere you will allow.”

Heat blooms in more places, and a small smile plays across your face.

“And your mouth?” you tease, but Pero is already leaning in so close his breath kisses you first.

“Here,” he sighs before pressing his lips to yours.

The kiss is soft, cautious, like you might bolt at just the feeling. His hand cradles your head as he parts from you briefly, then follows with a bolder one, firmer and fuller. A swipe of his tongue against your lower lip spreads goosebumps down your back, and a thin moan slips out.

Suddenly your back is up against the door as Pero slams it shut, nosing your jaw with a scratch of teeth.

“I want those pretty noises only for me, hermosa,” he growls into your ear, and a moment of clarity pulls giggles from your belly.

“Is that what started all of this, Pero? You were jealous?” you scold, and he huffs against your skin. “I wore that dress only for you, you idiot,” you rib as his hands come around your waist. When he pulls back his lips are flushed and shiny, eyes darkening as he drinks you in.

“They did not deserve to see you. Not without knowing you the way I do,” he says, and the honesty in his tone delivers a pang of sentimentality to your heart. You cup his scruffy cheeks in your hands, thumb tracing the termination of the scar on his cheek.

“A gentleman at heart, but maybe not in execution,” you say, eliciting an eyeroll.

“Must I be scolded at every step?” he sighs, pulling you away from the door and not so subtly towards your bed.

“When your big mouth stops getting you in trouble, I will consider giving you the benefit of the doubt,” you hum thoughtfully. Pero stops at your bedside, hands wandering from your hips to squeeze your ass.

“I have other uses of it that may get me in trouble. If you desire,” he purrs into your ear. Fingers skimming along his waist make his stomach clench, and before you can ask he grabs the hem and pulls it over his head in a fluid motion.

His chest is littered with scars, but glows golden in the firelight. Your fingers slide up his softer stomach, dance along his ribs and settle on the powerful planes of his back. He shudders once under your touch as you lean forward and press a kiss to his chest.

“Let me undress you,” he pleads, hand already sliding up the back of your shirt and spreading wide over your skin. Your hum is permission enough, shirt joining his on the floor. The room is pleasantly warm, but your nipples peak at his rapt attention.

“Mierda, hermosa, you are a dream,” he says, voice reverent as he sits back on the bed, face turned up to you. “You have been with a man before?” he asks, a brief concern passing over his features. It’s your turn to roll your eyes, slipping your thumbs under your leggings and dragging them down.

“You won’t sully my reputation, Pero.” Standing in front of him, his eyes wide and hungry but hands still soft, power thrums in your core.

“I am more concerned about wrecking your cunt,” he teases, and you’re about to throw another quip back when he unlaces his breeches and slides them down to discard. His cock juts thickly between his legs, flushed and leaking shiny precum from the tip. The concern is not unfounded; how the hell does he sit on a horse with that in his pants? He palms it briefly, pulling the foreskin back to reveal the fat head slick with his arousal.

“I will not be giving this to you until you are begging for it, hermosa,” he says smugly, and you snap back to his face with embarrassment. You should be the one making him dumb with need.

“Then what do you suppose we do? I am nowhere near close to begging.” The shift of your hip and curve of your smile pulls control back briefly. Pero lets you have it, eyebrow raised, but when his hands slide up the outside of your thighs your resolve shakes.

“I would like to make you wet and aching to start,” he says thoughtfully, tracing your bellybutton with one thick finger. “Then I will open you up with my fingers until you are trembling from pleasure.” His smile widens when your knees buckle briefly, but you try to stay aloof.

“All men make such grand promises,” you begin, but with a tug Pero pulls you onto his lap, spinning you until you’re on your back in the bed with his head between your legs.

“All women have such little faith,” he mimics back, one hand pressed on your stomach while the other wraps around your thigh. His breath skims your curls, and your mouth slows to a stop when he drags his aquiline nose along the delicate skin below your navel.

“I would like you to cum here first,” he says, and before you can retort he buries his face in your cunt and licks a long stroke through your throbbing folds.

It’s…okay. Pero laps at you like he’s trying to lick up your arousal, but doesn’t quite tease the places you need him. It’s not unpleasant, but won’t make you cum in the way he seems to think it will. You tilt your hips down to drive him closer to where you want, but even when he slicks his tongue over your clit it’s too soft and not nearly enough. Burying your fingers in his curling locks, you urge him to look at you. His eyes are dark and mischievous, lips flushed red and shiny.

“Are you going to cum on my tongue, hermosa?” he rumbles, skating his hand up to cup the underside of your breast. His thumb brushing over your nipple unfocuses you, but you snap back when he dips his head to pass his tongue along another uneventful path.

“Not with what you’re doing right now,” you huff out, a crooked smile gracing your face when his darkens with a scowl.

“I have made many women cum just like this,” he grumbles, and his surliness shakes your chest with restrained laughter. Pero’s eyes light on your jiggling breasts as you slip a hand down to his mouth, brushing his soft lower lip with your thumb. His attention shifts to where you slide your fingers into your folds, parting them to reveal where you need him most. A few practiced strokes have your thighs tightening around his head.

“More, here,” you gasp, his grumbling only half heard as he bats your hand away.

“Next you will be telling me how to fuck you,” he sasses, but drops his mouth down and flicks his tongue over your clit. “Like this?” he asks almost begrudgingly, but he does slow and wait for your reply.

“A little harder, Pero,” you reply, and his hands tighten on your flesh. An idea skitters across your mind. “Did you like that? Hearing me moan your name?” You can only see his mop of curls as he breathes in your scent, nose gently nuzzling your mound.

“I only want to hear you scream it,” he challenges before circling your clit with the tip of his tongue, fast hard passes that make you choke on your words.

“Oh fuck, Pero, yes, there, that’s…fuck, yes,” you gasp, Pero’s throaty chuckle vibrating in your core. The worry that he’ll stop pangs your chest, but he keeps up his relentless ministrations. The wet noises coming from between your legs make your skin hot and itchy, your thighs beginning to lock up as your orgasm approaches.

“Pero, please,” you whine, the sound foreign but nothing stronger surfaces. He pauses briefly, panting into your cunt.

“What do you need hermosa? Say it and it’s yours,” he grunts, and before you can answer he starts laving his tongue in undulating passes. It’s all you can do to hold on and squeeze out what you’re trying to ask for.

“Fingers,” you finally beg, reduced to a shaking mess as your orgasm mounts and your cunt aches to be filled. Pero’s head tilts, eyes flashing up at you. Seeing him buried in your cunt, mustache tickling along your sensitive lips, drives another wave of arousal to your already thrumming core.

“Of course, hermosa,” he rumbles, and one thick digit slides into your soaking channel as you moan long and muffled behind your hands. Buried to the knuckle, he strokes his finger along your velvet walls and with a press to a spot you struggle to reach inside yourself, you’re cumming hard and burying your cries in the crook of your elbow.

“Mierda, bebita, you’re so fucking tight. Never made a woman cum that hard before,” Pero admits, still softly stroking inside you and pressing open-mouthed kisses on your thighs, your stomach, your hip. When you finally get enough air back in your lungs you hum in response.

“I suspect your technique has needed improvement. Every woman should cum that hard when you do it right,” you snark back, his nails digging into your soft flesh.

“How am I to know if a woman acts like it is the best fuck of their life? Did I not do as you asked?” he growls with a surly downturn of his mouth. You slide your calves off his shoulders so he can lift to his knees, still palming your cunt with his clever fingers.

“That you did. But I’m sure you’ve paid for many of your conquests - the performance is half of the coin, is it not?” you ask, adding another eyeroll to your collection. “And then there’s all of you, of course.” Trailing off, you see the implication land on Pero’s face. He sits up on his knees, free hand coming to stroke along your hip. His mouth opens, then closes as he grits his teeth, brow heavy before he speaks.

“I do not wish to ever scare you again. If I do…if I make you feel that you cannot refuse…know that I will always stop if you tell me so. The debt is only mine, and I will repay it in any way you see fit.” Regret paints his face, rough fingers dancing nervously on your hips. Reaching down you stroke his fingers with your own.

“I’ve released you, Pero, you are no longer in my debt,” you say quietly, the nicks and scars telling stories under your fingertips. With caution you observe curiously, Pero slides your fingers together, lacing them with his own. He leans over your body, pressing your clasped hands by your head.

“I do not wish to be free of it. It is the only debt I have ever desired.” Emotion wells in your throat.

“Kiss me, Pero.”

His mouth descends to yours and this time it is hungry, sharp nips of teeth soothed by softer brushes of lips. He laps thickly at the seam of your lips and you part for him, his tongue coated with your flavor. It fills your mouth, stroking against your own as you explore just as liberally. Groans and puffs of air pepper your skin, and with mounting need Pero’s fingers stroke through your folds again, gathering wetness before he presses two inside of you. You break the kiss with a gasp, back arching as he pumps them deep, his mouth now set to worrying at your jawline.

“Fuck, bebita, this cunt is perfect. Look at how well you take me,” he groans, the obscene slick noises of him slipping them out making your face hot with embarrassment. “I want to be buried deep in this perfect hole. Can I fuck you, hermosa? Are you ready for my cock?”

“I…” Your voice fails when he pulls back to capture your gaze. The hesitation blooms understanding on Pero’s.

“I will not finish inside you, or be careless with my seed. And if it hurts, I will stop until you feel nothing but pleasure again.”

You believe him, even after all that has come between you the last few days. It’s too vulnerable, needing the shield of your clashing swords and quick words to protect the softness you feel for him.

“If you continue to take direction as well as you did, bedding you may at least be tolerable,” you sass, nerves making your voice shake briefly. Concern takes a harsh turn to lasciviousness, and with a rough chuckle Pero flips you onto your stomach, lifting your hips to press against the hot velvety length of his cock.

“If you continue to goad me, I’ll have to give you something to keep your mouth silent,” he grits out with little threat, the thick head of his cock slipping along your folds, brushing your clit as he grinds his hips.

“If you are still awake after I fuck you, I’ll be impressed,” you shoot back as Pero’s grip tighten. A few low curses bleed from his lips as he presses the tip of his cock just at your entrance, barely breaching you. Another fear grips you, your hand flying back to Pero’s thigh. He stills.

“Hermosa?” he questions, strained.

“Slowly. Please. Just to start,” you ask, and the gentle request is met with Pero’s firm body folding over you, one arm banding your waist, the other planted in the mattress.

“Like this?” he whispers, mouth to your ear as he presses just the head inside. The shallow stretch drops your mouth open, a sigh letting you know Pero is equally compromised.

He thrusts smoothly, sinking into your cunt inch by inch before backing away. The precision and control is more than you expect from the brutish warrior, his breaths measured as he slides in a little deeper each time. Your body opens for him, pressing back when your need outmatches his pace. Adjusting, he rolls his hips just a few more times before he’s seated deep and full inside you.

“Pero, fuck, move,” you gasp inelegantly, grinding harder but he remains still around you.

“First, I want you to be so close to cumming you are begging for it.” You bark out a laugh.

“I don’t beg, Pero,” you rasp, but when he rolls his hips impossibly deeper his name devolves into a low, desperate moan.

“Not with your mouth. But your pussy is begging for me to make you cum again, and this time I want to feel you squeeze around my cock.”

The pace he sets is torturous, slow slides out before firmer strokes back into your molten heat. Head hanging low as you gasp through his methodical fucking, all you can focus on is his hand pressed into the folds of bedding below. Blunt, work-worn fingers, dirt always under the nails. The pattern of veins. The light dusting of hair creeping up his forearms. Arms you wish to hold you close, if you could ever allow your pride to accept it.

“Bebita, you are better than anything I could have dreamed,” Pero gasps into your spine, the soft slap of skin on skin harmonizing with your combined panting. “Can I…I would like to…do…” he tries to say, every attempt defeated by another aching moan he cannot resist.

“Yes, Pero, do it,” you encourage, backing up against his thrusts. He shouts like you’ve punched him in the gut, leaning back so cool air dries the sweat that gathered between you.

“Fuck, hermosa, this cunt is made for my cock. Fuck yourself on me, show me how much you like it inside you,” Pero growls, hands wrapped around your hips as you slam against him. The choked out moans and curses make you turn to look.

He is pure lust, head tilted up to the ceiling and veins standing out along the thick column of his throat. The clench of his stomach, arms flexed with effort but hands still soft on you, all paint him like a god of dark and deadly sin on the candlelit canvas of your quarters. Your hips slow, rolling back on him as his gaze falls to your face. Eyes dark and ravenous, he looms over you while his hands roam your skin.

“Come here,” he manages to say, and those powerful welcoming arms pull you up from your hands and knees to hold your back flush to his chest, legs framing his thighs. This position pushes him impossibly deeper, breath caught in your throat as he palms one of your breasts and splays his other hand over your belly.

“Is this good?” he asks, to which you nod vigorously. “Good,” he adds right before his hips snap into you and your world goes white with a starburst.

The intensity of fucking Pero increases tenfold as he keeps you tight to his body, thrusting up into a place that rips throaty cries from your chest. You register the slide of teeth along your jaw, nipping at your ear, before he sinks them into the meat of your shoulder, just hard enough to bloom pain and pleasure in equal doses. It’s sure to leave bruises, rings of his teeth on your skin, but the ecstasy is worth the mark. He suckles over the offending marks each time before picking a new spot, some overlapping with a hiss that he quickly corrects. He's frantic, plunging into you, chasing the high you keep delaying for a few moments more.

“Hermosa, you feel divine like this, but I want to see you this time,” Pero finally gasps, and with dizzying speed you’re on your back in the bedding, his hips slotted between your thighs once more. He pauses above you, hands posted by your sides. The urge to take him in hand wins out, and a few slow strokes of his cock makes his legs shake with need. You’re no better; you’ve edged yourself for too long, and release is just beyond your fingertips. If you could concentrate on cumming you could tip into ecstasy, but Pero’s awe-struck face above you fills your lungs.

“I do not want to be apart from you. Not now, not in this lifetime, not even if you hate me. I am bound to you, by forces greater than I would ever challenge.” He lowers to his elbows, urging your arms around his neck as he brings your foreheads together. The rough-soft touch of his fingers on your cheek makes you realize a few tears have slipped out, now lost beneath his caress.

“Then I will never release you, Pero Tovar. You will never do enough to be free of me.” At this Pero slides back into your cunt with a long exhale, curling into your heat as his mouth interrupts your speech over and over again. “Every time you think you’ll be free…you’ll go do something stupid…that makes me extend your debt…you will never be without me…I promise.” He seals the deal with a kiss, deep and breathtaking, his face crashing into yours with a whimper.

“I will never be without you,” he pants as he begins rolling his hips again, engulfing you with heat and protection and words you have never found reason to utter to any living soul. You want to say them now.

“I will never be without you,” is what you settle on instead.

Pero chases your orgasm with a single-minded intent, slipping his fingers between your sweat-slicked bodies to rub at his new favorite part of you. A few hard, quick passes have you cumming around his cock, the force of it close to pushing him out if he didn’t fight to stay inside. Once your whole body isn’t locked around him, he chases his own release with a handful of overwhelming thrusts before pulling his cock out to spill on your stomach, painting you both with his cum as he shoots and dribbles it liberally.

The silence that blankets you after leadens your tongue. Sweat-slicked and sticky, covered in each other’s essences, you briefly wonder how much of what Pero said should be attributed to lust-drunk confessions to be forgotten in the morning. The question is answered swiftly; he leans over you to wipe his cum off your skin with his wadded-up shirt, the tired lines around his eyes deepening as his body slows. Once a semblance of tidy, he flops on his side and wraps you in his arms, guiding your head to his chest so he can tuck his nose into the crown of your head. Slowing heartbeats pull at your eyelids, but before you can drift off he whispers to you:

“All of it, I promise.”

A smile curls your lips.

“Then I will take it all.”

His meaty chuckle slips you into unconsciousness.

The stock around his neck is beginning to tighten Pero’s shoulders, flexing his hands to force more blood into them. The unnatural weight of the heavy wood circling his neck and wrists pulls his spine into an uncomfortable curve. The chain bolting him to the wall is too short to sit properly, another means of punishment. It’s almost bearable if the mouthy guard wasn’t making so much noise.

“...surprised you came so quietly, a man of your size and stature. Thought you would bloody your face before we took you alive.” Pero rolls his eyes at the burly man, leaning back to rest against the cool stone wall behind him.

“I have spilled enough blood to know when it’s not necessary,” he grunts, one ear on the guard, the other on some ruckus making its way towards him. He tries to hide the quirk of a smile.

“Yet you still struck down the city official? God blessed you with strength but no sense,” the guard laughs, quaffing ale just out of reach. The noise is closer, whistling arrows and steel on steel. The guard takes little notice. Pity for him.

“You will thank us when your livestock stop mysteriously dying,” Pero says, sliding on his short lead to look down the narrow hallway. Light flickers closer, shadows playing on the wall. One tall, lithe and powerful, stopping to let arrows fly. The other smaller, swinging a sword with practiced ease and ferocity. It looms larger as its owner approaches. “Besides, God blessed me with something even greater than sense.”

“I fail to see what graces follow you into this place,” the guard mocks, but the noise finally rouses him from his station. Pero’s smile widens as the guard moves to stand in the entrance, his hand on his sword hilt.

“An old friend, who has been steadfast for many years,” Pero says nonchalantly, the scuff of boots hailing his salvation. “And a guerrera who would only allow me to die with her permission.”

The guard stiffens and falls, revealing your battle stance in the damp darkness of the dungeon. Pero’s heart soars at the blood splattered on your armor, the shining song of your blade, and the triumphant smile on your face as you saunter up to him.

“It looks like you have gotten yourself into a mess, Pero,” you tease, folding your arms and cocking your hip to regard your shackled companion. He sighs deeply, but cannot remove the grin from his face.

“I had thought you both to be better fighters. I expected you an hour ago.” Your eyes flash with faux offense he knows he’ll pay for later. He’ll enjoy his penance though.

“Oh I see, so when William and I fight through half a garrison to free you, our thanks is a complaint. Next time we will let you sit in your shame through the night,” you hiss, but pack precious black powder into the keyhole of the stock lock. A quick flame, a shouted “Mierda!” from Pero at the small ignition, and the stock unhinges from his neck. He rubs his wrists and neck ruefully as you drop his weapons at his side.

“Pero,” you breathe, for a moment softening before him. He takes your face in his hands, pulling your lips to his grateful mouth.

“Mi guerrera,” he whispers in the still moment you steal, “Mi vida.”

“I recommend we save the celebration for when we’re on horseback!” William shouts down the hall, driving you and Pero upright. He shoulders his sword, palming his ax for a violent escape.

“I will thank you properly for the rescue when we are safe and out of earshot,” Pero murmurs in your ear. You smile knowingly up at him.

“I’ll add it to your debt,” you whisper back, “You will never be without me.” It’s the closest you have ever come to saying you loved him. He presses your foreheads together.

“You will never be without me,” he repeats, a truer declaration something he will save for tonight.

END

Next: Teamwork

#lj's 500 follower celebration #pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar x f!reader #pero x reader #pero tovar x you #pero tovar x reader #pero tovar and his guerrera #prolix fics

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theearlgreymage · 6 months

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An Ask Game for Writers to Procrastinate Working on Your WIP(s)

Soooo -- The lovely @ic3-que3n decided to tag me in this little game. Because they know I am eternally procrastinating on all my WIPS.

(Original Ask Game)

1. 🦈Tell us the name of your/ one of your WIP(s):

Vogue in Paradis (And I will be using this specific WIP for all remaining questions)

2. 🍄Describe your WIP/one of your WIP(s) in the format of “___ + ___ =___”

Fashion Designer Erwin + Makeup Designer Levi = Rivals to Lovers Office Romance

3. 🌍What tags or warnings will your / one of your WIP(s) need if you intend to share it?

Guys. Come on. This is ME we're talking about - they are going to fuck. Explicitly.

4. 🧭An alternative title to your/ one of your WIP(s)?

This one was originally unnamed when the premise for it was created. I started this a while ago, and then set it on the back burner, but then Lewi dropped this amazing art and it sparked that flame of motivation to continue it -- and gave it a Title.

5. ⚠️Which WIP your most likely to finish or update next?

Either May Their Blood Boil will get an update OR I will finish Vogue in Paradis

6. 💾What is your document of your WIP/ a WIP called? (not the stories actual title but what you’ve saved it as)

Despite how meticulously I keep my Google Drive organized, there is absolutely no rhyme or reason to my Docs Names. Most of the time it is just an extremely vague phrase. But I do keep my Docs ORGANIZED. Each fandom has it's own folder, and within that there are folders for oneshots, series, ideas, and @ic3-que3n (yes - they have a whole ass folder because they put that many ideas in my fucking head.)

7. 🖍Post Any sentence(s) from your WIP.

“Smith.” At the mere mention of Erwin’s name, Hange starts laughing. “Stop that,” I sneer at them as I lean back in my chair and cross my arms defensively. Already anticipating where this is going to go – which is why I didn’t want to say anything to them in the first place. “Stop being in denial then,” Hange wheezes out between fits of laughter. “I’m not in denial!” We’ve had this argument before – anytime I bring up Erwin, Hange insists that I have a crush on him. Which I do not. “Keep telling yourself that,” Hange drawls as they wipe a tear of laughter away from their lash line. “We’re not having this discussion.” “And you’re still not getting laid.” “Hange.” I practically snarl at them. It doesn’t perturb them in the slightest. “Look me in the eyes and tell me I’m wrong,” and I’m about to answer their demand but then they keep going. “Tell me you don’t think he’s a whole ass meal. That you haven’t thought about what he’s hiding under those bland Oxford shirts and wool pants.” “I don’t –” “Or that you don’t think he’s infuriatingly good at his job.” “That has nothing –” “Or that you can’t seem to keep your eyes and ears off of him in joint meetings.” “Well that’s only –” “Or that it’s a damn shame no one has been able to take him off the market.” The silence that falls over us is uncomfortably tense. And I can’t decide if I want to crawl beneath my desk at the sudden, horrifying, realization that I can’t deny a word they just said – or leap across the table and strangle them for making me realize I can’t. “That’s what I thought,” they chime triumphantly as they lean back on their hands. Pushing a pencil cup out of its place. “Get. Out.” I snip between clenched teeth. My hands balled up in fists in the crooks of my elbows to keep from lashing out at this idiot I call my best friend.

8. ♻️A scrapped idea for your current WIP.

Hmm. No. I'm holding this information incase I un-scrap the idea.

9. 🤔What’s a story you’d love to write but haven’t even started yet?

I have a WILD backwards-reincarnation plot cooking in my head right now. I'm going to make the CANON the reincarnation and write a whole pre-canon/part reincarnation for my blorbos. And I am ITCHING to write it like it's no ones fucking business, but I'm determined to get some other projects off my plate first so that I can give it the attention that it rightfully deserves.

10. 🤡How many WIPS are you actively working on?

Hahahahaha...ha...ha... Well. You see...That's not an easy answer. Because I am not good at math and cannot count that high... But. In the last 30 days...Going off of WIPs that I've typed at least 500 words on... 11...

11. 🛠Is there a scene or anything in the WIP you are struggling with right now?

Yes 😎

12. ❤️Not a question, just a second Kudos to send.

Bless. You're too sweet my love ❤️

And now so I can spread the procrastination, I’m tagging...

@artsyunderstudy @shrekgogurt @buffy @j-nipper-95 @aristocratic-otter @cutestkilla @facewithoutheart @fatalfangirl @hushed-chorus @martsonmars @skeedelvee @thewholelemon @wellbelesbian @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @palimpsessed

#ask game #tag game #WIP #Current WIP #Writing #Fanfic #ask me anything #procrastination #AOT #Eruri #SNK #levi ackerman #erwin smith

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talesfromaurea · 11 months

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Tales from Aurea - Session 0 Now Posted!

Hello everyone! I'm happy to say that the first chapter (Session 0 - Visions of Fire and Ice) of Tales from Aurea is now up on Royal Road 🎉

You can read the full chapter at this link here. Under the cut is a preview of the first section. Enjoy!

Taglist (ask to be +/-): @drippingmoon, @kainablue, @splashinkling, @space-writes

Curious what this story is about? Check out the WIP Introduction here

Sakrattars hunched forward, chin in his hands, and watched the sun disappear beneath the rooftops of Barsicum. It was a boring end to a disappointing day. He pulled the string of his purse closed and tucked it into an inner pocket of his robes, noting its lack of weight with a miserable sigh. With the help of a plain walking stick, he hauled himself to his feet with a crack and a groan.

The woman who owned the nearby dye shop had begun her evening sweeping. Sakrattars felt her eyes on him and recognized the increasing vigor with which she swept the dust of the day off her patio. She was itching to say something rude to him. He tried gathering his things faster but it was no use. It would begin in three more sweeps, two sweeps, one—

“Why’re you always outside my shop?” she finally said with a huff. “Go sit outside Joseph’s place for a change. Better yet, why don’t you go to the Temple of Nargo? Help you find an honest job instead of whatever charlatanry you’ve got going on here.”

Sakrattars had heard it all countless times before. “Sorry ma’am,” he said impassively.

“You make my respectable business look bad!” she complained further. “Drives away the customers! Stop folding that rag of yours and look at me when I speak to you. Aegis in Arcadia, lend me your strength . . . Hey, get back here!” But Sakrattars was already turning into the darkness of the nearest alley. He was eager to be home and knew he would be treated to the rest of her grievances in the morning.

Navigating the narrow stone path between the tall plaster and brick buildings, Sakrattars pulled off a gray wig, releasing a cascade of short black hair that betrayed his youth. He rubbed his ears and winced—the wig concealed their long, pointy tips well enough but not without some pinching. Distracted by the pain, he didn’t see the elderly woman pulling laundry off the line in front of him.

“Watch where you’re going, why don’t ya?” she cried out as Sakrattars crashed into her.

“Apologies.” Sakrattars bowed sheepishly, rebundling his blanket and checking to make sure his purse, pitiful as it was, was still secure in his pocket.

The woman eyed him dubiously—a young elf dressed in tatters and smudged with grime, holding a wig and an old man’s cane. “What are you, some kind of actor?” she asked contemptuously.

Sakrattars scoffed and continued on. Were the moons in shadow tonight? The Abyss’s proximity would certainly account for the foul mood everyone seemed to be suffering from. Wiping his face off as he walked, he was careful to avoid slick puddles of dubious origin and the occasional stray dog nosing through refuse. The only thing that could make his evening worse would be taking a tumble into something unsavory.

He was thankful when he reached the end of the alley without further incident. Pausing to tie his hair back into a messy ponytail, he took a quick look around the corner. There was a group of workers heading home, laughing at some shared joke, and a street cleaner scooping horse manure into a cart, but nobody who might recognize him. The way clear, he scurried across the road to his apartment building.

The landlord was in his usual spot: snoring under an open window in the foyer with an empty bottle by his side. Sakrattars wrinkled his nose as he passed by to get to the stairs. The walls were stained and waxy and the sconces burned out. Fortunately, Sakrattars could see quite well in dim light.

He disarmed the locking spell on the door to his unit, too relieved to finally be home to notice the rat that scampered into a hole in the baseboards. Collapsing back onto the bed with a heavy exhale, he stared up at the ceiling, his eyes tracing the familiar patterns of greasy soot. His room was simply furnished: there was a desk and a chair, a shelf of neatly arranged books and spell components, and a small fireplace. It was the beginning of summer so there was no need for a fire. Quite the opposite, in fact. The air was already stuffy and oppressive.

Sakrattars stripped off his robes in favor of a light shirt and trousers and threw open his only window. He didn’t know why he bothered, the window was nearly flush with the neighbor’s wall, but maybe that day would be the one where the wind blew at just the right angle to make it inside.

It was then that Sakrattars noticed a letter on the floor. His heart clenched as he recognized the thin paper and delicate wax seal. Tearing it open, he was greeted by the flowing, cursive Elvish that his sister was so fond of.

Sakrattars,

Please consider giving up this foolish pursuit of yours. I know Father would welcome you back if you apologized to him and agreed to study a subject more fitting of an elf lord like yourself. Think of how he must feel: his son gifted in magic and choosing to study divination? Divination is utterly devoid of culture, lacking in any foundation, and associated with scammers and thieves—how could you possibly be interested in such a thing?

If you agree to switch, Father might even be able to get you in at the Academia Arcana in Aurea. I can certainly mention the idea to him (casually of course) if you wish. You know how he tends to listen to me.

It has been years and we haven’t heard from you. I know everyone here shares my sentiment when I say that we want you to come home.

Sakrattars snorted skeptically. He continued:

Please write me back. Your behavior is an embarrassment to the family.

Your loving sister,

Mira

Sakrattars had barely finished reading when he crumpled up the letter and tossed it into the ashy fireplace. How did she even find out where he lived? The school must have told her. He made a mental note to speak to an administrator the next time he was in.

He opened a cage on the desk and took out a fat toad with bulging yellow eyes. “So how was your day, Bartholomew?” he asked. The toad blinked in response, his eyelids slightly out of sync. “Not too eventful, I suppose.” Sakrattars laid down on the bed, absently stroking Bartholomew’s warty skin as his thoughts took him down the long road south, towards home.

The next morning, Sakrattars watched the crowds pass by without truly seeing them. Maybe his sister was right, in a way. He had been attending the University for a decade now and didn’t have much to show for it. A majority of his time was spent making enough coin to scrape by and not on his studies. But since when did his hardships ever matter to his family? He let out a frustrated groan and a passerby started, clutching her purse nervously as she hurried along.

“Pardon, old sir.”

Forgetting that he was currently dressed as an old man, Sakrattars ignored the deep voice at first. A throat cleared, then a large hand waved slowly in his line of sight.

“Old sir?”

This time, Sakrattars looked up to the giant form of a natiuhan. He used to see them on a regular basis in his hometown of Arvisian Bay but they were a far less common sight this far into the Empire. “Yes, ma’am?” he croaked in his false voice, mildly irritated at being distracted from his brooding. “Can I interest you in your future?”

The natiuhan fished through the purse on her belt. “Not mine,” she said. Waiting for an elaboration, Sakrattars noticed that other shoppers in the area were beginning to stare. As well as being an unusual visitor in Barsicum, this natiuhan in particular cut quite an impressive figure. She was tall and burly, with dark tiger stripes tattooed across her tawny skin and a wild mass of dark red curls swooped to one side. The gold jewelry adorning her body chimed softly with every movement. She either didn’t notice all the attention she was drawing or didn’t care.

The natiuhan finally threw some coins into Sakrattars’ sack. “Not my future. Hers.” She gestured to a young girl peeking timidly out from behind her back. Sakrattars hadn’t even noticed the girl at first. She was dressed in a long cloak that looked to be little more than a tattered wool blanket, the hood drawn up far over her head. He couldn’t be sure since her features were so well-hidden but, based on her diminutive size, she didn’t appear to be a natiuhan herself. Natiuhans were known for being a secretive bunch and, despite living and working among other peoples, they tended to stick with their own and it was rare to see one alone. But it wasn’t this fact that made Sakrattars think that there must be something odd about the pair before him. No, there was something more intangible to it. Something he might one day describe as “fate”.

#my writing #pathfinder talk #writeblr #fantasy writing #original fiction #writers on tumblr

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milkywaybottles · 2 years

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"You have no idea how much I love you" - Terzo (The Band Ghost) x Reader Oneshot

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

A/N: I'm finally getting a chance to write for Terzo and I'm very excited! I'm not sure if I'm comfortable with writing smut yet so I'll work my way up to it, but in the meantime, here is some fluff with a slight angsty tone (alludes to smut) :) (Not that it affects this story) but slight AU change. In this version, all the Papas are thriving and alive, Terzo isn't beheaded (Thank Satan).

Word Count: 1.5k

Prompt: "You have no idea how much I love you, do you?"

Reader's pronouns: Unspecified gn!neutral reader

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Between the bustling and screaming crowds, you couldn't help but smile at your partner's glowing face, his true colours shining best under the beaming hot stage lights. It didn’t matter how much jealously you felt in previous moments, or the inexplainable disappointment that clouded your mind every time Terzo went away for a tour, because it all surmounted to this. In a place where he was truly comfortable to be his quirky self, Terzo did what he did best, and entertained from the most genuine depths of his heart.

You had to admit that you were head over heels in love with your Papa, as you had been now for many years, and could only pray to Satan for the return of these favours. Though, despite your anxieties, Terzo certainly did his best to show it. His affections were never lacking. Even in shows, his mind lingered on you, itching to see you and spend time with you as soon as the curtain closed. He would gift you lavish items such as new clothing and spoil you to your heart's content. You were never materialistic and could easily live without luxuries, but you happily accepted the gifts and the memories attached to them to please Terzo.

It was rare for you to get a place in the pit as you much preferred to keep to the side of the stage to better monitor the performance, but alas, he insisted on occasion. That night he had been quivering with energy, almost giddy and over-excited to get back on stage for the Meliora cycle. Being the tour's last show, he was determined to give it his all and give the people a damn good show they would remember.

That led to an amazing show combined with the mixed efforts of the performers and the electrified crowd. In the end, you could only sway with the pit, hair sticking to your face while your eyes remained on Terzo. Monstrance Clock was by far one of your favourites and he sang it so beautifully that at times, it could lull you peacefully to sleep. Heart fluttering, Terzo's eyes skimmed yours and a smirk emerged on his painted lips. His gaze was the first to break and with an enthusiastic kick, his attention returned back to the majority of the crowd. Skipping across the stage with the microphone held close to his lips, he paid a visit to each element and had small, slightly sensual interactions with each.

This, of course, didn't bother you one bit. Part of the job as Papa was to have a dark, alluring front that had sexual undertones. And the Ghouls were always very active creatures. But, Terzo had devoted himself long ago to you and you knew this wouldn't be a problem.

He had become strangely jittery but the end of the song was going smoothly until you witnessed his face go slightly pale, eyes widening as he sang and winced. In confusion, you whipped your head behind you to observe what he was staring at, only to see a darkened crowd of people. Frowning, you looked back up at him and wondered what possibly could have spooked him.

His dressing room was by far the most comfortable area at each venue. In the middle, against a wall sat a large, wooden vanity, illuminated with glowing bulbs. Polaroids had been stuck to the glass, causing you to smile fondly at the memories. An elongated, leather couch sat against the opposite wall, a glass coffee table in the centre on top of a fluffy rug. Being quite the diva, all these items of furniture were moved from venue to venue, but not managing to go without a handful of scuff marks here and there.

But perhaps your favourite part of the whole room was the rainbow assortment of flower bouquets, spilling from the pile of suitcases in the corner. The room was swept in a floral scent.

Sighing contently, you slid against the couch, shoulders heavy and muscles aching. You did like to party, but you also had determined that you needed a quick, refreshing power nap before moving on to the after party, one Terzo would surely want to attend with you at his side. Feeling your eyelids fall, you made yourself comfortable against a throw blanket and a pillow.

You weren't sure how much time had passed, only hearing the eventual closening of footsteps before a shadow passed the door, "Alright, Omega, I will see". His tone was dismissive, and with your eyes still squeezed shut, your dominant eyebrow arched in inquiry. The door crept open with a slight jingle.

Only you and Terzo had the keys to the room.

There was a shuffle, followed by a restless sigh, contemplating the depth of your slumber. "A night in, huh, bella?" he whispered gently, not expecting a response. His hand ran through his raven locks, "That works for me too...", and he turned to face the vanity. Your face didn't dare shift in reaction but your mind was still plagued with questions that demanded answers.

There was a strange silence that fell across the room. His eyes would drag from the vanity, where he sat, to you on the couch, reassuring himself that you were alright. Before you knew it, half an hour had come and gone, and deciding it was now or never, you pushed yourself up from sinking in the leather. Surprisingly, Terzo didn’t jump, barely even shifting as he caught a glimpse of your movement in the corner of his milky white eye. You felt a yawn climb up your throat and pressed your hand to your mouth,

“Satan! What time is it?”

He hummed and Terzo’s head turned to face you, “12:05”. His response was followed by a meek yet affirming simper. Your head tilted at the curious man, pressing your hands into the couch,

“12:05? The party started at 12…” you met his face in the slightly grubby mirror, “Darling, is something wrong? You would never miss a party, especially not the ‘End-of-tour’ after party”. Your musing seemed to delight him, making him chuckle.

“I couldn’t spend a night in with my Tesoro? I thought I would let you sleep, yeah? You seemed tired after all the head banging-”. You knew he was making excuses. From the way he droned on and on about his excitement about the party just that morning, you could tell something more was bothering him.

You stood from the couch and approached the behind of his chair, softly placing your hands on his shoulders before dipping your head over his shoulder to meet his. He caught you in a dangerously slow kiss, the taste of mint lingering on your tongue.

He always carried mints around.

“Tell me, really, what is bothering you”

His head slumped, tilting his neck to the side to give access to your lips. Terzo's eyes drifted to the mirror, remaining on you. "Nothing ever gets past you, eh?". Gloved hands fumbling in his lap, he pursed his lips, "I just didn't do a good job singing tonight, I fear"

Your lips pursed and your head rose from his neck. “Huh? You did an amazing job-”

“But I sang some of the notes incorrectly and my timing was out”

Terzo was usually not one to be insecure, so it struck you as a surprise to hear him worry about such a thing. “Hun, you were perfect. You saw me in the pit, and not a single soul noticed even if you did make a mistake”. But his eyes drifted away from yours, prompting you to place your hand under his chin, guiding his face back to you. “Hey, look at me. On my way back to the dressing room, I was able to see everyone as they left, the beaming smiles or their jittery excitement. They came to see you, and see your personality shine. Each experience is unique and it isn’t always going to be perfect, and they know that too. And they still left as happy as they could be”

Despite his mood, he managed to crack a small smile and you both sat in silence for a moment.

“You always know how to make me feel better, Bella”. Your chest was engulfed in a comforting fuzzy feeling, heart pattering as you pressed a kiss to his nose. Seeing the black paint smeared above your lip, Terzo used his sleeve to wipe it off, chuckling.

Eventually, he stood from the table and was now eye level with you. With delicacy, he took your hand and brought it to his lips. You contained a giggle, feeling his hot and steamy breath against your skin, the soft mumbling of his words, “We really should stay in. Fuck the party, I would much rather be with you”. His tone transformed into a growl as he swept you around into his arms, wrapped securely.

You squealed, “Terzo!”

He smirked wickedly, “You have no idea how much I love you, do you?”

You only grinned back, “I think I do…. But I could afford to be reminded a few more times”

“Let’s refresh that memory, shall we?” He whispered, guiding your way back to the couch.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

#x reader #the band ghost #ghost #fluff #gender neutral reader #gn s/o #terzo #Terzo x reader #Papa III #Papa III x reader #Slight angst #Oneshot #short prompt

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hippiegoth97 · 11 months

Text

Diary of a Hawkins Hussy: A Stranger Things x Reader Anthology

Banner by me :)

Master List

Content Warning 18+ Only, Minors DNI: swearing, smut, drug references, age gap, groping, fingering, unprotected sex, praise, dom/sub dynamic, use of a shock collar (do not try this at home), use of restraints, edging, orgasm denial, light crying, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, light squirting, problematic characters

Word Count: 12.5k

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Diary Entry #1: Martin Brenner

May 28th, 1983

Dear diary,

Today marks the day I officially join the adult world. I just got back from graduation. I'm still dressed in my cap and gown, with my diploma sitting in front of me on the desk. I did it, those four years of hell we all call high school are finally over. I'm free. And now, I can focus my attention on my true ambitions in life. No more Chem flashcards or asshole teachers telling me what to do. No more Mom and Dad policing my every move. Nope. I fully intend on doing the one thing I've been itching for from the moment I saw that 'Help Wanted' sign in the shop window. I'm going to work at Waxed Out Records downtown, as an assistant manager.

Waxed Out is the coolest store Hawkins has to offer, though it doesn't have much by way of competition. I've always loved going there, ever since I was a kid when Mom would bring me along on her trips to pick up the new ABBA or BeeGees. Music is my lifeblood, I can't go a single day without listening to some form of it. I've dedicated almost my entire (though limited) existence to curating my collection of vinyl and cassettes, expanding my tastes as far as the eye can see. I love it all, rock, hip-hop, pop, country, blues, jazz, disco, metal, the list goes on. I'm the perfect candidate to work at Waxed Out. I only hope the lame owner, Mr. Harris, will see that at my interview tomorrow. But until then, it's a relaxing night of Stevie Wonder and weed to calm my nerves. I'll let you know how it goes.

May 29th, 1983

Dear diary,

I got the fucking job! Mr. Harris was totally impressed by my extensive knowledge of all things music! I knew I had this in the bag, but I'm so excited, I could just scream! My hand is absolutely shaking as I write this, you have no idea. I start next week, and my first shift can't come soon enough. I need to get the hell out of this house, and into my own place. It shouldn't take long, I've saved up all of my graduation money in a very special hiding place. Just a couple hundred bucks more, and I'm finally on my own. I won't have to listen to Dad tearing apart the house, searching for things to pawn off to buy more booze. It's a good thing I have multiple self-installed locks on my door, or else my collection would be toast. I also won't have to listen to Mom telling me how much of a drain on her I am, or her lectures about 'ambition' and 'wanting more for myself'.

I like to think I am very ambitious. I got this job all on my own, and I'm saving up my pennies like my life depends on it. I know exactly what I want out of life. Simple pleasures, like music and sex. More on that particular subject, I highly intend to expand my current hook-up pool. High school boys (and girls) were all well and good while I was still under the legal definition of a child. But I'm a woman now, and I have every intention of bagging any man or woman that catches my eye. From freshly graduated young women, to strong men in their fifties, and everything in between. As long as they're hot, nothing else really matters. And in that department, Hawkins sure knows how to deliver. Chief Hopper, Mayor Kline, Joyce Byers, this one white-haired guy in neatly pressed suits that comes to town every so often...I'm getting a little turned on just thinking about it. More to come later, probably about my first day of work.

June 1st, 1983

Dear diary,

You'll never guess who came into the shop on my first day of work today! It was none other than that guy with the white hair I mentioned before. I didn't learn much about him, except that he really likes classical music. He picked out some Bach and Mozart, which isn't usually my strong suit. It sounds pretty and all, but it comes off a little hoity-toity, if you know what I mean. But it makes sense for a guy like him, he seems very intellectual. Oh, you should've seen him. It took everything in me not to stare as he browsed the classical section. But his hair was styled neatly as it always is, though a little longer than what's typical for a man his age. And he had on this grey suit that fit him extremely well...I managed to get a couple good glances at his ass. And shit, he must have a Soloflex at home, or something because...it was as tight as a twenty-year-old's, I swear.

He didn't say much. He smiled at me when he came up to the register, and I could totally feel my cheeks burning bright red. It was embarrassing, at first. But if my mind wasn't tricking me, his smile got wider at my reaction. I didn't bother to say much to him, I know I would've made a complete and utter ass out of myself if I tried. But I managed to get out a 'thank you' once I'd rung him up and he paid. He said he'd be back in a couple weeks, almost like it's a routine for him. I'm not sure why, there's only so much Beethoven and Chopin in the world, ya know? But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't counting down the days until that gorgeous, yet mysterious, man with blinding white hair comes walking through the shop door again. Safe to say I won't be able to get that smile of his out of my mind either...fuck me.

June 15th, 1983

Dear diary,

It happened. He finally came back, and this time, we actually had a bit of a real conversation! I (mostly) managed to keep myself together this time, and I'm beginning to think that he likes me. At least, I hope he does...

You hear the little bell hanging above the front door to the shop tinkle, signaling for you to repeat the phrase Mr. Harris has trained into you. "Welcome to Waxed Out. Let me know if I can help you find anything." You say flatly, not looking up from the romance novel you picked up from Melvald's earlier this afternoon. You hear purposeful steps clicking on the linoleum, taps and drags of men's dress shoes on a path to you.

"Yes, miss..." A voice you recognize speaks just across the counter from you. You look up from your book, realizing it's the exact man you've been hoping would return. He's wearing a charcoal suit this time, but that seems to be the only thing that's changed about him. He smiles at you, eyes flicking to your chest to read your name tag. "...Y/N. I was wondering if you could help me find something in particular." He speaks in a calmly commanding, slightly gravelly voice. You hadn't heard much of it upon your first meeting, but it certainly sounds very pleasant to your ears. He carries an odd air of authority, which just as bizarrely makes you want to follow any orders he might give you.

"Sure thing, sir. What did you have in mind?" You reply kindly, coming out from behind the register in preparation to locate whatever it is he's looking for.

His eyes follow your form as you come over to him, and you realize just how tall he is in comparison to you. He's well over six feet, which only adds to his intimidating nature. He seems a bit distracted by you, though, as it takes him a moment to answer you. "Oh, yes. Well, I was hoping to find something for my...daughter." He says with a strange pause put before that final word. Your heart sinks at this revelation, and you suppose he's probably married, too.

"Oh, I see." You reply, and you're sure he can see your face falling slightly at this bit of information. You force yourself to perk up, to make the sale, even if your hopes to potentially sleep with this man have been dashed. "How old is she?" You ask, clasping your hands behind your back.

"She's about to turn twelve, so this would be a birthday gift." He replies, still smiling at you. You take a peek down at his hands, looking for a ring. But they're nestled in his pockets at the moment, leaving you without that small piece of evidence to confirm your suspicions.

"Oh, that's nice." You say awkwardly. "Do you know what she likes? Or did your wife give you a list?" You ask, trying to crack a small joke. But his face hardens, which makes you immediately regret asking.

"No wife, I'm afraid. She died when Ele— Jane was very young." He says, bringing the smile back slightly.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean—" You try to apologize, but he puts a hand up to stop you.

"That's quite alright, you couldn't have known. But I raise Jane all by myself, and it's hard to know what girls her age like. So, I was hoping your female perspective could help me with that." He gestures at you, his smile widening again.

"Yeah, sure. Um, let me see what we have here..." You trail off, going around to the other side of the store towards the soundtrack section. Musicals are usually a pretty safe bet. Wholesome enough for parents to approve of, while also entertaining enough for kids of all ages to get something out of it. You flip through the records, digging out Grease, The Wizard of Oz, and The Music Man. "I think these are pretty good options. What do you think?" You're about to turn around to bring the albums over to the man, but you find that he's been standing right behind you this whole time. You bump into him in the process, and his close proximity startles you. "Jesus!" You gasp when your record-full hands meet his chest.

"Pardon me, I didn't mean to sneak up on you like that." He says with a laugh, putting his hands on your shoulders to calm you. "Are you alright?" He asks, gazing down at you with concern.

You try to speak, but all words have escaped you in this moment. You're too busy getting lost in his eyes and taking in how strong and firm his hands feel as he touches you. You find yourself wondering how they'd feel while touching you in other places, which you realize is wildly inappropriate. A harsh blush creeps up your cheeks, and you force a thick swallow down your throat before answering him. "Yeah, I'm good. But, uh...here." You hold the records out for him to look at. He takes them from your hands, and you're finally able to breathe easy again. "Do any of these look alright? If not, I can keep looking." You add, wanting him to leave as a satisfied customer. If you do well here, maybe he'll come back again...and again...and maybe for more than just music.

"These look great, Y/N. She's going to love them. You mind ringing me up?" He says, drawing your eyes to his again.

"Oh, you're going to buy them all?" You ask curiously. Parents are usually pretty stingy when it comes to getting albums for their kids. Perhaps it's a fear of the discs getting scratched or broken.

"Why, yes. Should I not?" He questions, raising an eyebrow at you.

"No, no. I just meant...I wasn't sure you'd do that, I guess." You fumble over your words, walking the both of you over to the register now. Perhaps some distance from him will help you calm the fuck down. If you come off too doe-eyed and naïve, he may not have much interest in you.

"Well, let's just say you're a very good saleswoman." He chuckles, the sound of which stirs something inside you. You punch in the prices on the stickers Mr. Harris put on said albums, which comes to a total of sixteen dollars.

"Thanks, I appreciate that." You giggle, biting your lip slightly before taking his payment. He pays with a credit card, from which you nosily read the name of its owner. Martin Brenner. He doesn't look like a Martin. Although, you suppose you don't know what he does look like, either. You bag up the records for him, handing them and his card back to him, as well as a receipt. "Here you go, sir. I hope Jane enjoys the albums." You say sweetly.

"I'm sure she will, thanks again for the help. And please, call me Martin. I'm sure I'll be back here again soon. You've got good taste, Y/N." Martin winks at you, before heading towards the door to leave.

"See you 'round, Martin." You say cutely as he leaves, earning another pleased glance in your direction. Once he's walking down the street and towards his car, you double over onto the counter to take some deep breaths. "God, that man is sexy as hell." You say aloud to yourself, overwhelmed with the entire interaction that's just transpired. You know he's a bit advanced in age, but Martin sure knows how to flirt. You're a little weary of the fact that he has a kid and everything, but it's not like you're looking for anything long-term. You just know you want to fuck him, even if it's only once. You can tell there's something secretive about that man, and you're dying to have a peek behind that proverbial curtain to see exactly what it is.

June 26th, 1983

Dear diary,

Martin hasn't come back the the shop in a while. It seemed like things went pretty well the last time he came in, but who knows. Maybe he was just being polite. I haven't even seen him very much around town like I used to. I suppose he could be busy with his kid, or something. Being a single father can't be easy. But I can't help it, I think about him all the time. He's so handsome, and the way his hands felt when they touched my shoulders... They were so warm, and felt firm and strong. I replay that moment over and over in my mind. I even dream about him now, about everything I think he might want to do to me.

The dream is almost always the same. I'm at the shop, and Martin comes in. There's no one else around, and he's not there for records this time. He's there for me. He comes right up to the counter with purpose, beckoning me out from behind it to put myself in front of him. He caresses my cheek, before leaning down to kiss me. He's gentle and tender, and his hands lift me up to sit on the edge of the counter. We kiss for a while, enjoying the moment.

Now, this is where things really heat up...he undoes my jeans, pulling them and my panties down to my ankles. He reaches between my legs, and he puts his fingers inside me. They're thick and long, and they feel so damn good. While he does that, I unbuckle his belt, and open up his slacks to pull out his dick. He's fucking huge, at least, he is in the dream. I pump him in my hand a few times, and he lets out a quiet groan while staring down at me. He's so damn hot, I can barely stand it. He pulls his fingers away, and takes hold of his cock himself. He gets closer, and shoves himself into me. Once he starts, he doesn't slow down. He fucks me fast and hard, and I like it. He holds me down while I squeal and squirm for him. He grunts and growls with every thrust, railing me against the counter until I'm screaming his name.

I always wake up right after I cum, having to change my panties because I've soaked through them from my orgasm. It's clear that I want Martin to an embarrassing degree, I only hope he will want me just as much. Time will tell, diary. Time will tell.

June 30th, 1983

Dear diary,

Martin came in again today. He seemed...off. He still talked to me, nice as ever. But it was like he was stressed out about something. Our transaction was very short this time around. Every passing second where he didn't look at me, or touch me, or talk to me felt excruciating. All I could think of was the insane desire I felt to just go up to him and make my intentions perfectly clear. I was shocked to find I hadn't actually done it, the fantasy became extremely vivid. But when Martin came up to register with a couple new picks, and his cock still in his pants, the daydream quickly dissolved into shame.

I realized that I probably shouldn't think and feel so strongly about a perfect stranger like this. All it does as make me feel like a silly child, not to mention I basically gave myself away by blushing so damn much. I mean, I'm only eighteen years old. What could an experienced, well-established man like him possibly find desirable in me? Who knows, maybe I'll hold out hope a little longer. Maybe if I wait for him to make a move, this might work out. Ugh, I need some weed to think this over.

July 8th, 1983

Dear diary,

You're never going to believe this, I can hardly believe it. Martin came in today, for much longer than all the other times. He really chatted me up, and I was happy to talk to him for as long as I could. It felt like he was waiting to ask me something, but he couldn't quite find the words, or courage. To think, he was the one who was nervous. But once I got the ball rolling on a much-anticipated conversation, it became very clear as to why...

"Oh, hey, Martin. What would you like today?" You chirp as the man walks into the shop. You perked up immediately once you saw him crossing the street, waiting for him to come inside and give you the time of day.

"Afternoon, Y/N. I'm not too sure what I want, honestly." He says oddly, not quite looking your way. He seems anxious, or nervous. Could it be because of you? "But I know I can always trust your recommendations." He turns his head to meet you with a smile, putting his hands in his pockets as he comes toward the counter.

"You got it. You lookin' for more classical? Or, perhaps you'd like to branch out into something...younger?" You hint, standing before him in a meek pose. You clasp your hands behind your back, and look up at him from under your eyelashes.

"I-I suppose I could try something new." He stutters slightly, looking you up and down. Shit, maybe it's working.

"Sure thing! Follow me." You spin around, your short skirt flouncing upwards at the motion. You lead Martin towards the Lionel Richie and Phil Collins. You figure he doesn't want to waste time on teeny-boppers. He clears his throat before following you, and you smirk to yourself at him losing his cool. You pull out the albums you have in mind, and fully expect him to be standing right behind you again. You guess correctly, but this time, you purposefully put your hands on him when you turn back around. "Oh, didn't see you there. Not a lot of space in these aisles." You speak somewhat suggestively, running the back of your hand along the lapel of his navy blue suit jacket.

"Quite right. What do you have for me?" His eyes flick down to where you're touching him, then to the sultry smile on your face. You give him the albums, and he chuckles while looking them over. "I don't know, Y/N...these might be a little too hip for me."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that, Martin. You seem pretty 'with it' to me. Besides, Lionel and Phil are perfect for when you bring a woman home. If that's your thing, anyway." You continue to run your hand along his jacket, gauging his response to it. He hasn't told you to stop yet. If anything, he seems to enjoy it.

"It's been a while since I've done that, actually. Much longer than I'd like to admit." He says, somewhat embarrassed.

"I don't believe that for a second, you're way too handsome." You compliment him, still testing the waters.

"Oh, you don't mean that. A young lady like yourself surely has no interest in someone like me." He shakes his head, laughing at your suggestion. He probably thinks you're really trying to sell him on the vinyl, but you honestly don't give a shit about that.

"I wouldn't be so sure, Martin. I personally find you...very attractive." You speak lowly, turning your hand over to actually touch his chest now. Your palms creep up along his clean white shirt, and you gently take hold of his necktie. "And I'm not just saying that to sell you more records." You give him as sincere a look of desire as you possibly can, batting your lashes to make it clear to him what you're looking for.

Martin thinks it over for a moment, contemplating that you could potentially be a really good time. But he shakes his head, sighing deeply. He can't possibly take such a young woman home. It wouldn't be right...would it? "I-I'm flattered, Y/N, really." He sets the records down, taking hold of your hands. "But I don't think I could give you what you're after." He says sadly, already kicking himself for denying his desire to have you. He's been thinking about it for weeks, but he's sure you couldn't handle what he truly has in mind.

"Why do you say that?" Your eyebrows scrunch together in confusion. You were sure this would work. Doesn't he like you? Doesn't he think you're pretty?

"Forgive me for coming off a bit crude, here. But I'm just not sure that you're mature enough to handle the kinds of things I'm into, intimately speaking." You're confused by his words, you don't understand what he means by that.

"And how would you know?" You ask, becoming irritated with him for thinking you're some immature girl. He scoffs, surprised by you.

"I guess I don't, Y/N. But I wouldn't want to hurt you. I really like you. I think you're very pretty, and sweet. I'm just not sure it's a good idea." He shakes his head again, putting your hands down before pulling his own away.

"Well...maybe I'm not afraid to get hurt, Martin." You smile again, his attempts to deter your interest have only piqued it further. "It's very simple, really. I want to sleep with you. I don't care what you're into, I got up to some pretty crazy shit in high school. But if you really don't want me, that's fine. I can find someone else if I really want to." You figure there's no use for formalities at this point, so you lay it all out for him. The ball is in his court now, it's only a matter of if he wants to play.

He sighs again, still unsure of what to do here. "You make it very difficult to say no to you..." He says, pausing as he reads your expression. He supposes it can't be all bad, you're the one coming on to him. If you really want this, then who is he to deny you? "Are you absolutely sure this is what you want, Y/N?" He asks, cupping your cheek like he does in your dreams.

"Yes, I want this more than anything." You reply breathlessly, unable to believe this may actually happen. There's a tense moment of silence between you, and he finally nods in agreement.

"Alright. What time are you finished here?" Martin asks.

"Nine o'clock." You answer, biting your lip in excitement.

"Perfect, I'll pick you up. In the meantime, would you mind ringing me up for these?" He smiles, picking up the records you've chosen for him.

"Okay." You practically skip over to the register, though you don't really want him to leave. You bag up his purchase, and he makes his way out onto the street. You'd been hoping for a goodbye kiss, though perhaps that would've been too weird. You glance over at the clock, finding that you have two whole hours left before closing time. You pick up your novel, but you find it hard to focus on the words. All you can think about is what Martin could possibly like in bed that he thinks would be 'too much' for you. Handcuffs? Been there. Whips? Done that. Spanking? Roleplay? Anal? Check, check, and check. High schoolers are way kinkier than anyone gives them credit for. You can't come up with anything else, so if anything, you'll show Martin just how well you can keep up. You hope that'll impress him, for some reason.

The time passes excruciatingly slow, but thankfully a few more customers come along to distract you for a while. You make four more sales before the shift is over, not too bad for a record store in a less-than-booming small-town downtown area. You gather your things at 9pm on the dot, and head for the door with keys in hand. You step out into the muggy night air, turning your back to the street while you lock the door to the shop. You suddenly feel a figure behind you, who extends a hand to grab hold of your waist. You jump and let out a small scream, whipping around to see who it is.

"Shit, Martin! You scared me!" You say once you see that it's just your new conquest who's been waiting for you.

"I'm sorry. Are you ready to go?" Martin asks, slowly pulling you into him by the hip. He takes a second to get a good look at you, as if he hadn't already done so while you were helping him in the shop. He finds you to be very alluring, in your Cyndi Lauper t-shirt that hangs off one shoulder, and the short skirt that barely covers your behind. Not to mention your beautiful face, without a single blemish or sign of age to be found.

"Ready when you are, Martin." You reply suggestively, running your hands up and down along his shirt again. Your touch seems to break him out of his trance, and he turns the two of you to head towards his car. It's slick, and black, with a driver and everything. "Nice wheels." You comment, sliding into the seat while the driver holds the door open for you.

"Thank you." Martin replies smoothly, getting in after you. He sits very close to you, and the driver closes the door behind him.

"So, where does a man like you live around here, hm?" You ask coyly, putting your hand on his thigh. He peers down at you, watching your every move. You've noticed he's pretty restrained overall, very methodical with his movements and reactions.

"Oh, it's a humble house, really. Not far from here." Martin replies, and you nod.

"'Humble', huh? Does your job not pay you enough to have a large house and a driver?" You giggle, bringing your hand a little further up his leg. "I guess I never asked, what do you do for work, exactly?" You question curiously.

"I work in government, at the Lab." He replies shortly, too focused on your hand growing closer to his crotch. You're so forward with him, it's kind of throwing him off.

"Oh, I see. I bet that's pretty interesting." You continue on your teasing journey towards his cock. You want to feel him, and play around a bit before you reach his home. You've always had a problem with patience.

"You could say that." He says, just as your fingertips brush against his length. You smirk in satisfaction at finding it, and boldly take hold of it. His throat catches at you groping him, and you find his eyes to see how he's doing. His mouth sits slightly agape, but he doesn't say or do much else. You think he's enjoying this, since he's growing in your hand. But you'd be hard pressed to know for sure.

"Does this feel good, Martin?" You ask quietly, not wanting the driver to hear.

"Y-Yes." He stutters. You continue to touch him over his clothes, becoming very wet yourself as you watch him hold back his noises. He lets out muted sighs as opposed to moans and grunts, but the sound is still more than enough to turn you on further. "We should be there soon, Y/N." He says, taking your hand away from his cock, holding it in his instead.

"Sorry." You apologize, realizing that you've possibly made him uncomfortable.

"Don't be. It's alright. Just be patient for me. Can you do that, Y/N?" He says lowly in your ear, sending a chill up your spine. You nod silently, but he needs to hear you answer. "Use your words." He commands in a husky tone, sending a flare of pleasure between your legs. Now I see what he was talking about. Lucky for him, I've played this game many times before.

"Yes, I'll be patient." You answer breathlessly.

"Good girl." He answers simply, smirking at your quick obedience. Maybe you can handle him after all.

...and there we were, off to his house to have sex. I swear, I kept having to pinch myself to make sure it was actually happening, and not some extremely elaborate dream. But every time I felt that little sting of my nails digging into my flesh, all I was doing was driving myself even more crazy. That little confirmation of reality repeated again and again, made me feel all tingly inside. We couldn't get to his home soon enough, I wanted to touch every inch of his body in the back of that car. But I had to be patient, because that's what he told me to do. I could feel it in my soul that disobeying him would have been a very unwise decision...

"Here we are. Home sweet home." Martin says as the car pulls up to a house on the end of a dimly lit street. It's unassuming, the basic 'white-picket-fence' home of the typical middle class worker. It's not unlike your own house, perhaps slightly smaller. But you suppose a single man with a young kid doesn't need very much space. Your mind turns to his daughter, Jane. You wonder if she's home, and if she'll be upset that daddy brought home some random girl.

"Is your daughter home?" You ask nervously.

"No, no. She's at a friend's house tonight. Don't worry, we'll be all alone." He chuckles at your concern, he finds it very sweet.

"Oh, okay. Good, I'd hate to have upset her." You reply, waiting for the driver to open the door to let you both out.

"I appreciate that, Y/N. But please, I'd hate for the evening to focus on Jane. Especially when I've brought such a beautiful young woman home with me." He says warmly, gently pulling you along as he steps out of the vehicle. He leads you to stand upright, and you both walk to the front door. He unlocks it, letting you inside. The interior is exactly as you expect, a warm little house for two little people. Children's drawings on the refrigerator, kitschy trinkets on shelves and cabinets, probably left over from his deceased wife. That thought makes you a little sad, though it quickly disappears when Martin wraps his arms around you from behind once he's closed the door.

"Hey there, handsome." You giggle, leaning back into him for a moment. "I love your home, it's very cozy."

"I'm glad you think so, Y/N. It does get a little lonely sometimes." He speaks softly, lowering his head to press a kiss to your neck. You sigh blissfully at finally having his lips on you, they're very warm and soft.

"Well, hopefully I can help with that. At least for tonight." You reply, tilting your head to the side to give him better access. He responds well to this offer, planting more blazing kisses to your throat. He doesn't nip or suck your flesh, which would usually disappoint you. But the way he's holding you close like this makes it feel just as passionate. His hands wander up your body, palms brushing over your shirt. He stops just below your breasts, apprehensive to venture further. "Go ahead, Martin. I want this." You murmur, turning your head to look back at him. He seems different now, the air between you has changed. The atmosphere has become charged with expectation and anxiousness, and you can feel his erection prodding against your ass. He resumes his journey upwards, carefully cupping your tits over your shirt. You let out a quiet moan, gazing at him as you do so. He smiles at the sound, pressing a little harder with his hands to earn another one.

"Shall we take this upstairs?" He asks lowly, and you nod. He lets you out of his grip, stepping ahead of you. He takes your hand, leading you up the steps to his bedroom. You pass a quaint bathroom, and what looks like a kid's room along the way. You don't bother to take more than a small peek inside, you'd hate to come off nosey. Martin takes you to a room at the end of the hallway, pushing the door open to reveal the master bedroom. It's still as warm and cozy as the rest of the house, dressed in those signature hues of yellow, orange, and brown left over from the 1970s. He gestures for you to sit on the bed, and you take a seat on the edge of it. You take your shoes off, and he removes his suit jacket.

"So, what's this strange 'thing' you're into, Martin?" You ask curiously, setting your bag down on the night table beside you.

"You'll see soon enough. But I'd like to...get to know you a little bit first." Martin answers, giving you a look while undoing his tie. He loosens the knot around his collar, before slipping the loop over his head and untying it entirely. "Have you ever been tied up before?" He asks, holding the ends of the tie in his hands with purpose.

"Yes." You reply simply. He nods, bringing the tie over to the bed. He lays it out neatly beside you, presumably to be used later. "Should I...take my clothes off?" You ask, becoming a little unsure of yourself.

"Not yet. I'll tell you when and how to do everything. Is that alright?" He speaks firmly, expecting you to agree.

"Yeah, that's fine." You say casually. You watch as he hangs up his jacket, and methodically takes off his shoes before placing them neatly in his closet. He comes over to you, sitting beside you on the bed now.

"You're very beautiful, Y/N." Martin says, brushing a loose hair behind your ear.

"Thanks." You blush, looking down at your feet. He puts a finger under your chin, bringing your head up to face him again.

"Can I kiss you?" He asks.

"Yes. Please." You reply, you've been waiting for him to do this for a very long time. He brings his face closer to yours, and your eyes flutter closed in preparation. His lips meet yours, and you immediately melt against him. "Mmm." You hum into the kiss, following his small movements. He doesn't use tongue, you suppose he's a bit old-fashioned that way. But you don't mind, he's still a very good kisser. He pulls away, taking your breath with him.

"Take off your shirt, please." He orders politely, clearing his throat. You do as he asks, pulling the garment over your head and tossing it to the floor. You look at him expectantly, waiting for him to make his next move. "Pick it up and fold it." He says, a serious look on his face.

"Oh. Sorry." You laugh nervously, bending down to pick up the shirt. You follow his instructions, holding in neatly in your lap now.

"Now, put it on the table." He says. You do, and he smiles again. "Good girl." You face him again, wondering what he's going to ask you to do now. He doesn't say anything else, but he reaches his hands forward toward your chest. His eyes flick to yours, asking for permission. You nod, and he grabs hold of your breasts through your bra. You moan at his touch, quickly becoming hungry for so much more. He massages your tits, almost as if he's inspecting them. You oddly feel a bit like an expirement, and he's taking mental notes of your behaviors and reactions. "Does this feel good, Y/N?" He asks in a neutral tone.

"Yes." You breathe. You decide to try and strip him down a little bit too, reaching over for the buttons on his shirt. His eyes follow you, almost waiting for you to break an unspoken rule. You stop in your tracks. "Can I?" You ask, biting your lip anxiously. You want to see him, but you don't want to make him angry.

"Can you what?" Martin smirks, and you see now that you need to use your words again.

"Can I unbutton your shirt, Martin?" You ask, clearer this time.

"Yes, you may. But from now on, call me 'sir'. Okay?" He says.

"Yes, sir." You giggle at how it sounds at first, but if he likes it, then so do you. You resume your desired task, starting with the button at his collar. You push it through the stitched hole, exposing the rest of his neck. You notice Martin's grip tightening a little, which makes you moan again. You wonder if he'll do it every time you undo another button, testing the theory. You open the next one down, and he does the same thing, squeezing harder for a moment, before resuming his gentle massage. You undo the next button, and the next, moaning louder with every squeeze he gives you.

"You make very nice noises, Y/N. Are you enjoying yourself?" He questions, still coming off painfully formal. If it were anyone else, you'd probably be put off by it. But his overall sense of confidence whenever he speaks makes everything he says sound attractive to you.

"Yes. It feels really good." You answer, still opening up his shirt. There's just three more buttons left, and what you've revealed so far is exactly what you were hoping for. This man clearly works out, he's very fit. His muscles aren't anything crazy, but he has not let turning gray slow him down one bit. His chest and stomach are toned, with a small amount of salt and pepper hair in all the right places. You tug the tails of his shirt out of his slacks, undoing the final button. "Your body is amazing, sir." You say breathlessly, meeting his gaze again.

"Thanks. I try my best to stay in shape." He smirks at you finding him so attractive. He massages your chest more roughly now, drawing more noises from you. He leads you to lie down, with your legs hanging off the edge of the bed. He presses his lips to yours again, one hand leaving your breast to slip under your back. He unclasps your bra, and slides the straps down your shoulders. He folds it up nicely while still kissing you, setting it off to the side for a moment. Martin grabs hold of your bare breasts now, rolling the nipples between his thumbs and fingers.

"Mmm." You moan against him, enjoying every second of this. You feel up his own chest, marveling at his firm muscles. After a little while, you want to feel more. You lower a hand down his stomach, over his belt until you reach his erection again. You ghost over it, earning a low groan from Martin's lungs. It's the first one you've heard from him, and it's sexy as hell. You start groping him again, your heart pounding in your chest as you expect him to stop all this and punish you. But he doesn't, he lets you continue to touch him, still letting out those same breathy groans. "Please, sir. I want you so bad." You whimper when his lips leave yours to go to your neck again. You squeeze him a little harder in your hand, wanting him to move things along.

"Patience, Y/N. Be a good girl for me." He pants between kisses on your throat. He loves how needy you are, how badly you want him to touch you and be inside of you. He's never seen a girl so desperate, but he's only getting started. A few minutes later, Martin pulls away. He sits up, taking off his shirt entirely. He stands to go hang it up, and then turns to look at you again. "Take off your skirt." He orders.

"Yes, sir." You answer, standing off the bed to remove it. You fold it nicely, putting it and your bra on top of your shirt on the table. You sit back down, and he smiles at the sight of your pink lace underwear. "What should I do now?" You ask, feeling oddly self-conscious while sitting in nothing but your panties and socks.

"Lie down, Y/N." He says, before digging deeper into the closet for something. You do as he says, putting your head on the pillows. You try to position yourself casually, posing your arms and legs in various ways. But nothing feels right. You decide to stop trying so hard and just lie still, though you're curious as to what he's looking for. He comes back over to you, holding a silver metal box. He puts it on the bed, and silently opens the clasps. He pulls the top open, revealing what looks like a collar. It's a large, tan ring with white, squared nodules around the inner circumference. There's an electronic lock on the side, and a small remote next to it. It appears to be a shock collar, which makes you swallow hard.

"What's that?" You ask, though you feel a bit stupid asking. What else could it possibly be?

"Oh, just something to ensure that you'll follow my every order." Martin answers simply, looking at you with an odd smile. He raises a brow at your widened eyes, closing the lid of the case for a moment. "Do you still want to do this, Y/N? I completely understand if you don't." He offers you one final way out. But you want this, a little shock can't be that bad. It could be a lot of fun...right?

"I want this, sir. I'll do anything you ask." You reply, and he nods. He opens the box again, and takes the collar out of the foam lining inside. He clicks a button on the remote to open the ring, and comes over to you to put it on.

"Sit up for a second." He says, and you do. He puts the collar around your neck, the nodules digging into your throat with light pressure once he clicks it in place. You lay back down once he's finished, and he presses another button to power it on. A low buzz kicks on around your neck, the sound startling you. You gasp slightly, drawing his eyes to you again. "Is everything alright?" He asks, checking in on you.

"Yes, sir." You nod, breathing heavily. He puts the remote down on the table for a moment, and picks up his necktie.

"Put your hands above you head." He commands. He ties your hands together at the wrists with the silk fabric, leaving a small amount of slack so you don't lose circulation. "Good girl." He praises, taking in the image of you in your newly bound state. Your eyes have blown wide with desire as well as fear, your chest rises and falls with heavy, rapid breaths, and the cherry on top is the small wet spot of arousal on your panties. "Are you ready to play, Y/N?" He asks with a grin, very eager to set things into motion.

"Yes." You reply, hoping he'll touch you soon. He's been quite stingy with his touches thus far, drawing everything out for the sake of driving you crazy.

"Good. I only have one rule. If you misbehave, you get a shock. But I'm sure a smart girl like you has already figured that out." He chuckles darkly, almost looming over you from the side of the bed. You nod in understanding. "Perfect." He brings a hand to your chest, carefully caressing the side of your breast. You gasp at his touch, the softness of it sending tingles along your spine. He travels downwards very slowly, going down to your stomach and waist. He meets the hem of your panties, looping a finger around the fabric. He reaches over to do the same on the other side, and gingerly pulls your underwear down your thighs, knees, and ankles. He doesn't fold them up this time, nor does he put them with the rest of your clothes. Instead, he puts them in his pocket to keep as a souvenir of your night together. You don't mind, many guys have done that before. You take it as a compliment, if anything.

You instinctively spread your legs apart a little, expecting him to start touching your pussy soon. But it appears you've guessed wrong, because Martin quickly picks up the remote and presses it. You feel a strong, paralyzing current running through you, making you cry out as your body convulses outside your control. "Fuck!" You huff when he finally stops, your muscles relaxing against the bed.

"I didn't say to move, did I?" He asks angrily, and you shake your head. "Use your words!" He almost shouts at you, holding up the remote as a threat to shock you again if you don't speak up.

"No, sir! You didn't! I'm sorry!" You apologize frantically, fumbling over your syllables. That shock scared you, there's no doubt about it. But you're surprised to find that it also felt...kinda good.

"That's right. Now, have you learned your lesson?" He asks, eyes burning into you as he waits for your answer.

"Yes." You nod. He doesn't say anything else. Instead, he drags his hand lazily along your ankle, creeping up toward your knee and thigh. He draws closer to your cunt, watching your breath hitch and heart skip a beat while you wait patiently for him to touch you. You observe silently as he continues to torture you with waiting so long. You need to feel his fingers on your clit, or sinking deep inside your pussy. You feel compelled to cry and scream for him to give you what you want at this point. But you hold it all back, you have to obey him if you're going to get what you so deeply desire.

Martin's hand reaches your inner thigh, and he presses on further to touch the very outside of your silk. You moan at the sensation, as unsatisfying as it is. "Hmm, so soft." He observes aloud, wondering how often you shave or wax your most intimate areas. He travels deeper, finally making contact with your clit with the very tips of his middle and ring fingers.

"Fuck." You whine, using every ounce of willpower to keep your hips from bucking off the bed. You don't imagine he'd take very kindly to such lack of self-control.

"More?" He questions.

"Yes, sir. Please, touch me." You whimper, begging him with your eyes. He does as you ask, dragging his fingertips along your slick folds. You're quickly heating up as he continues to stroke you, sweat forming inside your pores. He's still very slow and methodical, noting your every sound and expression like before. "More, please." You beg, still resisting the urge to buck and thrash around on the bed. You'd love nothing more than to grind your hips to get yourself off against his fingers.

"Well, since you asked so nicely." He smirks, moving further down to press a finger inside your soaked hole.

"Oh, god." You gasp. He pumps the digit in and out of your pussy, brushing against your g spot ever so slightly. Without you needing to ask, he adds another. "Fuck...yes..." You moan breathlessly, your eyes rolling back into your skull. His fingers are the perfect size, as long and thick as you dreamt they would be. He keeps his snail's pace, but you don't even care. He's inside you, and it feels so damn good.

"That's a good girl...do you like having my fingers inside you?" He asks curiously, though the answer reads plainly on your face.

"Yes, sir. You feel so good, I'm so wet for you." You shake your head in the affirmative as you speak, letting him know how amazing he's making you feel. Normally, Martin would have a mind to shock you again for responding in such a vulgar way. But he likes hearing these dirty words falling from your lips. You're different than the others, you're special. You make every single salacious statement sound like lines of poetry to him. This may only ever be a one-time thing, but you'll certainly be one that he'll never forget.

"I'm glad to hear it, Y/N." He says softly, continuing to work you over like it's his day job. He continues to go slow, but your insides are boiling all the same. You can sense your release nearing, and you're sure Martin can as well. "Are you getting close?" He asks, noticing your walls have started to flutter around his fingers. He'd love to see how beautiful you look when you climax.

"Yes, sir. Please, don't stop." You plead as the waves of your oncoming orgasm begin to roll over you.

"I won't, Y/N." He says softly, almost like a promise. It's uncharacteristically sweet, considering he's got your hands tied up while a shock collar sits tightly around your neck. Just a little longer, and you'll be calling out his name. He hopes so, anyway. He certainly likes how it sounds coming from you.

"I'm almost there...can I cum, sir?" You ask, meeting his eyes.

"Not yet, Y/N. Hold it for me, just a bit longer." Martin replies firmly.

"O-okay..." You stutter, gasping slightly when you feel your orgasm about to sneak up on you. You try your best to hold it back, to obey Martin's orders. It's becoming increasingly difficult, however. Your thighs keep twitching, and a constant whine floods from your lips from keeping it all inside.

"Just a little more, I know you can do it. Be a good girl for me." He insists, increasing his pace ever so slightly to up the stakes.

"Fuck...sir, please...I want to be good for you. But I nee—" You beg, which is quickly interrupted by another intense shock. His fingers left you at the last second before he flicked the switch, but the painful waves seem to only extend your pleasure. You continue to moan until he presses the button to stop the electric current.

"I told you to wait, Y/N. Don't make excuses, and don't disobey me." He shoves his fingers back into you, and rapidly curls and thrusts them this time.

"Oh, fuck!" You cry out, tears pricking your eyes now. He's purposefully trying to make you break the rules, but you refuse to earn another shock anytime soon. You keep your orgasm tangled up in a quickly dissolving chain, waiting for him to give you the go ahead.

"Do you want to release, Y/N?" He asks flatly, peering down at you. He marvels at your resolve to follow his orders, he knows it's taking everything in you to hold on for him. What a strong little thing she is... he muses to himself.

"Yes! Please, sir! I want to cum so bad..." You exclaim, your bound hands helplessly clawing at the pillow beneath your head.

"Go ahead." He nods, giving you a small smile again.

"Fuck...Martin!" You moan loudly as your release takes over. Your thighs quake, and your insides clamp around Martin's fingers. The pleasure is so intense, like nothing you've ever experienced before. Holding off for so long has made your orgasm ridiculously powerful. You're blinded by bright white light that consumes your entire being, and you can't stop trembling and moaning for a good fifteen seconds. He watches this event unfold, his gaze drawn downwards when your arousal spills warmly into his hand. He takes his fingers out of you, grabbing a washcloth to wipe his hand with as you come down. You're left panting wildly, slathered in sweat that's dampened your hair and the bed beneath you.

"Was that enjoyable for you?" Martin asks, as if he didn't just witness you having the best orgasm of your entire life.

"Yes, sir. It was amazing." You gush, smiling uncontrollably at the utter bliss you feel inside.

"Good. I liked it quite a lot, too." He replies, and you hear the jingling of his belt opening. You open your eyes to see Martin undoing his pants. You watch hungrily as he exposes his clean white briefs, and the stiff cock sheathed inside them. He puts the slacks away, and comes back over to the bed. He makes sure you're paying attention, before slipping his underwear down his legs. His dick slaps against his stomach, the head red and swollen with need. You want to take him in your mouth, or to ride him, it doesn't really matter. You just want him inside you again, to make your fantasies a completed reality.

"Can I suck your cock, sir?" You ask cautiously, looking up at him with doe eyes.

"No, thank you. I've never liked that very much. But I think you want something else a bit more, don't you?" He questions you again, taking hold of his length and stroking it a couple of times.

"Yes, sir. I want you to fuck me." You say boldly, biting your lip.

"I ought to shock you again for that filthy mouth of yours." He threatens, but he's not really all that serious about it.

"Do you not like the things I say, sir?" You ask with a bratty pout, toying with him a little bit.

"I-I do. Much as I shouldn't, I really do." His tone falters, which clues you in to how much he immensely enjoys you saying dirty things.

"Do you want to fuck me, sir?" You continue with your own inquiries, hoping to drive him to slam his cock into you, or even shock you again for acting out of line. You're enjoying this far more than you'd truly expected, and it appears he is as well.

"Yes." He almost whispers.

"Do you want to make me scream your name?" You press on, testing the limits.

"Yes." Martin continues to rub himself as you speak. Slow and languid, not nearly enough to make him lose control. Just revving himself up for when he's deep inside you.

"How do you want me?" You ask again.

"What do you mean?" He replies, confused as to what you're referring to.

"Laying down? Hands and knees? On your lap? How do you want me?" You repeat yourself, your words dripping with lust.

"Oh, I see." Martin blushes slightly at his misunderstanding. He thinks it over a moment, before answering. "This way is fine...for now." He says, climbing onto the bed to join you now. He spreads your legs apart with his hands, tenting your knees and placing himself between them. He gives you another kiss, warming you up before the main event. His hands grab at your tits, massaging them roughly.

"Mmm." You moan against his mouth, wishing you could bury your hands in his hair and tug on it. His lips move lower down to your neck, and he brings a hand to rub against your clit for a moment. "Oh..." You whimper quietly.

"Are you ready?" He asks in your ear, ceasing his touch on your bundle of nerves. He takes hold of his cock, running his tip along your silk.

"Yes, sir. So ready...you have no idea." You reply, waiting for him to penetrate you. Without another word, he puts his head above yours to watch you as his dick slips inside you. "Oh, fuck." You exhale while he fills you up. He's the perfect size, reaching every inch of your soaked pussy flawlessly. "You're so big, sir." You compliment him once he bottoms out.

"Thank you. You're very...warm." He says, somewhat awkwardly. You're guessing that's his best attempt at talking dirty.

"Do I feel nice and tight inside? Am I wet enough for you?" You try to help him out, saying all the vulgar things on his behalf.

"Yes. You're perfect, Y/N." Martin rasps, slowly pulling out before slipping back in. He lets out a low groan at the slickness of your insides. He continues to thrust in and out at a very slow pace, similar to how his fingers were working inside you earlier. But you want more, you want him to rail you like he does in your dreams. You know he has it in him, but you're unsure how to say it without him shocking you again.

"Can you go faster, sir?" You ask politely.

"Not yet, Y/N. Patience." He says in warning, still moving so very slow. You swear he's just trying to make you squirm. You can't help your neediness, so you grind your hips to meet his thrusts. He pulls his cock out of you as a result, and takes hold of the remote to give you another shock.

"Shit!" You shout at the painful current going through your body once more. Your muscles seize up, and Martin just watches the helpless look on your face. He lets it go a little longer this time, making you afraid that you might pass out. But just before you're about to possibly lose consciousness, he turns it off.

"It appears you have a problem with listening." Martin growls, which only turns you on more.

"I'm sorry, sir. I only want you so bad, you feel so good inside me." You explain, the pitchy whine in your voice making his cock twitch. How can he resist you when you sound like that?

"You promise to be good for me? To listen to what I say?" He questions, his expression stone still despite his ever-growing hunger for you.

"Yes, sir. Please...I need you." You beg tearfully.

"Very well." He responds, before slamming his cock inside you.

"Fuck!" You squeal. He proceeds to hammer himself into you now, gripping your thighs with frustrated strength.

"Is this what you want, Y/N?" He asks while panting as he fucks you good and hard.

"Yes, sir. This is exactly what I want. You feel so good." You continue to moan with every thrust, wrapping your legs around him to keep him close. He allows you to do this, using you as leverage to keep pounding your pussy like his life depends on it.

"Should I go harder? Faster? Tell me what you want, Y/N." Martin offers, spellbound by your helpless noises.

"Fuck me harder, sir. I know you can...you're so strong...I can take it." You plead to him, bringing your bound hands down to rest around his neck. You have to hold him, to feel him in any way you possibly can.

"I'm sure you can. You're such a good girl for me." He chuckles, snapping his hips to drive into you with more force.

"Shit, I'm getting close again, sir..." You warn him, though you're not sure how well you can hold it this time. He's hitting your sweet spot with every motion of in and out, and you're sure he isn't far behind.

"You know the rules, Y/N." He burns, picking up the remote again. You watch him with frightened eyes, though your lips curl into a mischievous smile.

"Do it." You blurt the words out.

"What?" He asks, dumbfounded that you're actually asking him to shock you.

"Shock me. It feels really good, sir." You reply seductively.

"If that's what you really want..." He trails off, still thrusting roughly into you as he presses the button. It appears the collar works like a taser, sending an intense shock to you, without affecting him at all. You moan at the sensation, savoring the pain and pleasure mixing together inside your clenching belly. Your walls spasm around his dick, making him groan. That's another reason why you asked him to do it, you knew he'd like it, too. He lets the current go on for longer again, watching your face twist in ecstasy. "You really are something special, Y/N." He says, in awe of you. He flicks the switch to turn it off, and your body relaxes underneath his.

"I try my best." You quip, breathing far more heavily than you were before.

"Here, let's try hands and knees for the end, hm?" Martin suggests, quickly pulling out and rolling you onto your stomach. He pants erratically behind you, waiting for you to get on your knees.

"Mmm, yes, please." You hum, kneeling before him while arching your back. You lean on your elbows, your hands resting just below your head.

Martin takes a moment to look at you in this position, noting your readiness to take him once more. He can deduce that this is your favorite position, and as a man of science, he can understand the anatomical reason as to why. He takes hold of his cock, running his leaking tip along your folds to tease you again. He grunts at his sensitivity, needing to hold back himself so he can fully please you. He'd hate to leave a woman unsatisfied. "Ready?" He asks, barely pressing the head of his dick against your entrance.

"Yes, sir. Please, fuck me." You plead, fighting the reflex to back yourself into him.

"Well, I am partial to begging." He says with a light laugh, before shoving his length into you.

"Fuck, yes." You moan as he hits even better angles inside you from behind.

"More?" He asks, needing you to tell him exactly what you want. He loves how verbal you are, how unafraid you are of sounding so pathetic.

"Yes, sir. Fuck me hard and fast...I wanna cum on your huge cock." You're whimpering and teary-eyed again, but you can't possibly be bothered to care.

"Sure thing." He answers simply, grabbing either side of your waist. He pulls out, making your skin slap together loudly as he thrusts back in with force. You cry out, gripping what you can of the covers below you. It's hard to manage with your hands stuck together, but you try your damndest. Martin grunts very loudly as he continues to fuck you at the pace you asked for. You're almost there again, and he can feel it. He's right behind you, his stomach preparing to tense as his balls tighten.

"Can I cum, sir?" You ask through a moan. You can feel your arousal lubing him up with each stroke, some of it rolling down your inner thigh in warm drips.

"Not yet. Soon." He mumbles, driving himself as deep into you as humanly possible. Your insides are so snug around him now, threatening to strangle him altogether. He's looking forward to feeling you let go around him.

"Please, sir...please, please...please..." You repeat the words incoherently, they're the only things you can think to say. You're an absolute mess, holding your orgasm in so hard that it almost hurts. Your brain has turned to mush, and you know you can't keep it in forever.

"You've been a very good girl tonight, Y/N. Let it all go for me." He growls, sensing his own end taking him over.

"P-push the bu..." You trail off, unable to finish the sentence.

"What?" Martin asks, trying to figure out what you're saying.

"The button. Push...the...button." You force the words out, every syllable of which threatening to open the floodgates. But you want to feel that delicious shock as you cum, you just know it'll all be worth it.

"Of course, Y/N." He says breathlessly. He does as you ask, forcing his own climax back for the sake of you violently losing control around him. He presses the button, and you finally feel it wash over you.

"Martin!" You choke out his name as your body seizes up one last time. Your pussy clenches around his dick, yanking a loud groan from his throat.

"God—" He thrusts into you uncontrollably, his cum coating your insides messily. If you could flex your vocal chords right now, you'd scream at how good his sloppy bucking feels. You continue to tremble and convulse, releasing a small mess of juices from your pussy. The warm liquid soaks his cock, making him groan again. "Y/N, I—" He gasps, unable to believe how otherworldly you feel inside. He keeps thrusting through the pleasure, forcing your cum to mix and spill out onto your thighs and the bed.

You're on cloud nine in this moment, savoring every second of electric current pulsing through you, and every needy stroke Martin continues to make inside you. He finally turns off the collar, powering it off entirely. You slump against the bed, taking him with you as he still won't stop fucking your pussy. "Martin..." You moan, trying to warn him that he's gonna make you cum again if he doesn't let up.

"You feel so good, Y/N. I've never felt anyone like you..." He praises.

"G-gonna cum again..." You make a second attempt, but he doesn't seem to hear you. You've broken him, in a way, making him the desperate one now. You let him keep going, regardless of the fact that you're getting a little sore. His thrusts feel so good, and he seems to want to experience you clamping down on him one last time.

"One more, just one more...can you do that for me, Y/N?" He asks with desperation in his voice. His breath lands hotly on the back of your neck, his body sliding around on top of yours as you're both covered in sweat.

"Y-yes...I'll be so good for you, Martin. Make me cum." Your words are all the motivation he needs. He picks up his pace again, pounding you into the bed as he tries to give you another orgasm. You cry out over and over, waiting to feel ecstasy rush through you for the third time.

"That's it...just like that, Y/N. Good girl." He pants, feeling your walls fluttering again.

"Oh, shit...I'm gonna cum, sir. Can I cum, please?" You whimper.

"Y-Yes, you can..." He stutters, and you sense your high taking over once the words pass his lips.

"FUCK!" You scream, thighs quaking as you're rocked to the core again.

"Mmm, ah—" His breath catches in his throat as you soak his cock again, even more than last time. You spill down your thighs and his, every spasm pushing more fluid out of you. You almost start sobbing as your final high subsides, and he stills himself within you. He carefully pulls out, gazing at the sticky mess left between your legs. You lie still, trying to catch your breath. As you do so, Martin gets off the bed and unlocks the collar. He takes it away, putting it and the remote back in its case. He also unties your hands, checking for any bruises left on your wrists. Finding none, he retrieves a damp towel from the bathroom to clean you up with. "How are you feeling?" He asks as he wipes away the mess from your sore flesh.

"I'm great, Martin. That was so fucking good." You say softly, feeling completely exhausted now. Once he's done cleaning you up, he helps you sit up and redress, sans your panties. "Thank you." You say, standing to meet him once you're fully clothed.

"For what?" He asks curiously.

"For giving me what I've been dreaming about for weeks." You reply cheekily, giving him a short kiss. You suppose it's time for you to leave now, to go back home to your parents.

"You dreamt about me?" He questions, as if it's impossible for you to have done such a thing.

"Mmhmm, every night since the first day you came into the store. Shit, I've had to change my panties in the middle of the night so many times because of you." You giggle, playfully poking his chest.

"Right." He gives you a soft smile, unsure how to respond to that. "Well, I can have my driver drop you at home, if you like. Or the store, if your car is still there." He offers.

"The store is fine. Thanks." You reply, and he goes to a phone on the dresser, presumably to speak to the driver. He retrieves a robe to put on to escort you to the door after the brief call, tying a firm knot around his waist.

"Come along, then." He gestures at the bedroom door, and you open it and head for the stairs. You go all the way down and to the front door, stopping for a moment. "What is it? Did you forget something?"

"No." You shake your head, lifting up your bag to show that you've got everything. "I just...if you ever wanted to do this again, I wouldn't say no." You end with a shrug, unsure he'll even consider it.

"I wouldn't be opposed to that." He answers, smiling a bit bigger for your benefit. Unfortunately, for your own safety, he can't do this again. If only you knew the kinds of things he's gotten himself caught up in these last few years, the awful things he's done in the name of 'science'. He can't put a sweet young thing like you at risk, no matter how amazing the sex is. But for now, he can let you think there's a chance, he can't bear to break your heart. You'll just need some time to forget about him, to move on to someone your own age. That's all. At least, he hopes so. He'd hate to have you come back here looking for him, when this isn't even his real home at all. It's all staged, sitting empty and waiting for him, or anyone else working in the lab, who needs a cover to blend in. It's a shame you fell for it so willingly, though he supposes that's kind of the point.

"Cool. Well, hopefully I'll see you in the shop again. Or around town." You say, going to him for one last kiss goodbye.

"Of course. I'll be around." But no, he really won't. He'll have to avoid your store like the plague now. What a shame, you've got such a wonderful selection of Chopin. He puts a hand on the small of your back, giving you the final kiss you're waiting for. He kisses you hard, wanting to sweep you off your feet one last time. You hum against him, wishing you didn't have to let go. But he makes the decision for you, and the regretful look on his face tells you he won't be coming to you again.

You're not stupid, you know this was probably a one-time thing anyway. It hurts to know he's lying to your face, but you're sure he has a good reason. You figured his vague answer of 'government' as his job meant something top secret, maybe even dangerous. You get it, truly, you do. And he doesn't need to know that you see right through him. Let him have his illusion, it'll only hurt more to shatter it.

"Bye, Martin." You give him a small wave, and go outside to the car that's waiting for you. It's a dead silent ride back to the record store, with the driver glancing back at you suspiciously a couple of times. He drops you off outside Waxed Out, and you walk down the street to the lot where you've parked your car. You get inside, turn the key, and drive home while replaying the exquisite moments you and Martin shared together. It'll be a while before you get over that man, and you don't mind that one bit. He was something special tonight, and you're sure he feels the same about you. At least he has your panties to remember you by.

August 10th, 1983

Dear diary,

I was right. Martin hasn't returned to the store, and I don't think he's ever going to. I get it, his work is probably too much to balance with hooking up with me and taking care of his kid, if he even has one. I still dream about him every so often, and we do all the things we did that night over and over again. I still wake up with soaked panties every time, but all it does is remind me that I'm never going to see him in that way again. I hardly see him around town, either. And the few times I have, he ignores me when I wave at him. It's like I don't exist, or at least, he turns away before I can see him look sad. I'd like to think that's what he's doing, anyway. I know, I know, this was only sex. Wild, crazy, kinky-as-fuck sex. But still, that's all it was. And that's all it needs to be.

As they say, onwards and upwards. Speaking of that, I've finally got my own place! No roommates or anything! It's totally cheap and doesn't look like a complete dump. And it's all mine. No more nosey parents, not after I move in there in a couple days. I've got my shit all packed up and ready to go. My freedom can't come soon enough, diary. Until then, I'm gonna get high and masturbate while thinking about Martin again. What can I say? That dick was something else...

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