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crowsofdarkness · 2 days ago

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CamBoy! Bill Skarsgard: First Virtual Meeting

-pic not mine.-

Pairings: CamBoy!Bill Skarsgard x Viewer!Reader

Summary: Bill isn't ashamed of the work he does, showcasing his body online for anyone willing to pay. His number one rule was never to make a connection with anyone who either sent him messages or paid for private one-on-one video sessions. That was until you decided to request a certain private session.

Content Warnings: 18+ smut which includes Bill having an only fans page, masturbation, phone sex, virtual sex, and language.

Authors Note: this is a limited mini-series, just a bunch of blurbs that take place in this universe. i'm not sure exactly how long this will be. tags will be open for this if anyone is interested!

CamBoy!Bill masterlist.

What the hell am I doing?

I found myself asking that same question more than once ever since I signed up for only fans a few weeks ago. Not as a producer but as someone that watches and enjoys. At first I was extremely nervous, chasting myself for even thinking of subscribing to strange men who do sex work, virtually. But after being single for my entire life, I’d become desperate. I craved some kind of attention whether it be sexual or just a simple conversation. Although, after being subscribed to a few different pages on Only Fans for a few weeks, I had yet to actually talk to anyone.

I mean, who the fuck subscribes to Only Fans to talk to people?

Again, asking myself what the hell am I doing?

Letting out a deep breath, I eased farther back into my bed with my laptop on my lap as I clicked through the different pages I subbed to, ready to unwind after a long day. I had a date earlier that ended in disaster, further proving that maybe a relationship was not meant for me. It was weird, me finding more comfort doing this rather than dating.

Even though there were a few accounts I liked, there was one that I had always found myself going back to when I thought I wanted something different.

Bill with the 70’s porn stache.

I watched nearly all of his videos with my rose vibrator pressed against my clit or using my dildo while Bill had his hand wrapped around his cock. He never had any special effects or wore masks like a lot of the other creators on here which is why I found myself drawn to him. He also had a tik tok page where he would post videos showing off his defined abs or trying whatever viral sound was trending. I liked every single new video he posted but never commented due to being shy. He had over a million followers, there was no way he’d ever pay attention to one of my comments.

Earlier today, he posted a Tik Tok saying he’s offering a new type of content on his OF page, one on one virtual meetings. For a certain amount of money, Bill would skype call someone for ten minutes and they could have virtual sex. Only one time. He made it clear that he would never have more than one virtual call with someone. Almost immediately I checked to see if my funds were available for this but then when I actually thought about it, it was weird, right? Having virtual sex with a stranger?

Then again, how would it be any different than me getting off to old videos he posted?

He would actually be talking to you. Which is what you want, no?

Gnawing on my bottom lip, I quickly signed up for this special one on one virtual meeting and after paying the amount that would put a small dent in my bank account, I waited. Bill mentioned earlier that due to how many people would most likely sign up, he would have to set times and dates for everyone. So instead of sitting for a reply, I opted on placing my laptop on the other end of my bed and dragged my feet to the bathroom across the hall in my apartment. When I first sat down with my laptop, my body had been vibrating with the need for a release but now as the nerves began to eat away at me for what I’d just signed up for, I needed to think of something else.

By the time I returned into my room, towel wrapped around my soaked body, I saw a flashing notification on my laptop making my heart nearly burst out of my chest. I didn’t bother to get dressed, simply sat on the edge of my bed still in my towel and brought my laptop to my lap.

New message from Porn Stache Bill.

While his username wasn’t that great, he made up for it with the content he provided.

Letting out a deep breath, I clicked open the message and nearly choked on my saliva when I saw it was a video message from Bill.

“Fuck, this is too real,” I muttered under my breath, finger hesitating over the play button before I hit it.

Bill appeared on the screen of my laptop, dressed in only a pair of grey sweats. The muscles of his abs seemed to rippled underneath the light of his bedroom as he leaned back against the dark sheets of his bed. His hair was messy, chest rising and falling with each deep breath he took which only made me wonder what he’d been doing before he recorded this video. My eyes, however, quickly honed in on the mustache. I was a sucker for it with every single one of his videos.

“Hi, Y/N.” His face broke out in a smile followed by a wink and I nearly fell back onto my own bed when I heard my name fall from those full lips. “I wanted to say thank you for signing up for my private one on one video chats. I’ll be calling you tomorrow night at nine p.m. You have me for ten minutes for whatever you want. If there are any limits, please let me know beforehand. I look forward for our time together.”

When the video ended, I couldn’t ignore the way my heart sank at how monotone Bill sounded. But then again, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was recording the same video over and over again, only changing the names for everyone who signed up.

Closing my laptop, I set it on my desk before stepping into my closet to find something to wear tomorrow night on this video chat.

“What the actual fuck am I doing?” I yelled at myself while I paced my bedroom.

It was five minutes to nine and to say I was a nervous wreck was a fucking understatement. I could barely concentrate at work today and when I went out with some friends after work, all I could think about was this video chat that was about to happen. I didn’t dare tell any of my coworkers I signed up to have a sexual video chat with a complete stranger because I knew they would try and talk me out of it. Sex aside, I was doing this for me as terrible as that sounded. I’d been in my own shell for the last 28 years of my life, never branching out or trying anything hence why I’d been single. No one wanted someone who was inexperienced.

How pathetic. You signed up on a sex website to help a stranger with sexual activities and for them to talk to you. No wonder why you’re single.

Once again ignoring the criticizing voice in my brain, I stopped pacing in front of the large mirror in my bedroom to give myself one final once over. My hair was pulled back in a tight french braid, I wore very minimal makeup, and the outfit I wore was anything but sexy mostly because I didn’t own any lingerie. I chose to wear a loose white shirt that hung off one of my shoulders and a pair of olive green panties which you couldn’t see due to the length of the shirt.

My bedroom wasn’t anything fancy or special, and with the way I had my laptop set up, Bill would only be able to see me and the wall behind my bed which had those vine lights hanging against it.

Just as those thoughts began to creep in again, a noise from my laptop had me turning on my heels; the clock on my nightstand blinking 9:00 pm. Bill was calling me.

“No turning back now,” I sighed, sitting on my bed.

I didn’t bother trying to find a sexy position to sit in because I wasn’t that; sexy. I’d always been average and it took me awhile to accept it. With shaky fingers, I accepted the video chat and soon was graced with that mustache and smile.

“Hi. Y/N, right?”

I blinked, forcing myself not to gawk too long at his bare chest. Bill wore a pair of red boxers as he sat relaxed on his office chair. Unlike the video he sent me yesterday, his hair was neatly combed to the side.

“H-hi,” I said.

Bill smiled. “Nervous, huh?”

My cheeks burned and I ran my sweaty palms on the comforter of my bed. “A little. I’ve never actually done this before.”

“Is there anything I could do to ease your nerves?” He asked while easing back into the chair.

“Uh, maybe if you could take the lead.”

The corner of Bill’s mouth curved slightly. “I read over the list you sent over. Seems like you don’t really know what you’re into.”

I cast my face down, not wanting him to see the embarrassment that covered me. This was a very bad idea. I shouldn’t have signed up for this.

“Hey,” Bill’s soft voice from my laptop made me lift my gaze slightly. “It’s alright. There’s no need to be embarrassed. We all have to start somewhere when it comes to sex.”

I bit my bottom lip. “If I’m being honest, I’m not sure why I even signed up for this. I thought maybe it could help break me out of this shell. But now I think maybe it’s only making things worse. Which I know sucks because I already paid for this and there’s no refund so I guess I’ll eat the money. I’m sorry that I wasted your time. I don’t know why I did this.”

“Seems like you ramble when you’re nervous,” Bill chuckled.

I cringed at myself. This was something I already knew and the fact this attractive man, who I spent hours watching his tik toks and O.F content, immediately called me out on it made me shrink farther into my bed. The hem of my shirt rode up my thighs when I did, showcasing my panties. Bill’s eyes darkened as he sat straight up in his computer chair to get a closer look at the camera.

“If you want, we can just talk,” he offered me a smile.

I thought about it for a moment. While I did start this whole thing to try and find someone to talk to, I also did want this to break me out of this shy shell.

“No, I want to do more but I don’t know where to start,” I admitted.

Bill glanced at something off screen for a few beats before looking back at the camera. “We have seven minutes. Would you rather us both do something, just you, or just me?”

I sighed. “Maybe if you just did something? Since I’m so fucking nervous, I think it would be better if I watched you.”

“You’re kind of cute when you curse,” he winked. “Alright, as long as you're comfortable with it. How about you strip for me?”

“I don’t know why you would want to see me,” I said.

“Your shirt is thin, Y/N. The last four minutes of us talking, I’ve been looking at those pretty tits underneath. I bet they’re round and so perky,” Bill’s voice had deepened, his hand starting to leave the armrest of his chair.

“Oh,” I muttered, glancing down at my chest which was in fact visible through my shirt.

“Just the shirt for me, Y/N. You can keep those green panties on. That alright?”

Slowly nodded, I dragged up my shirt over my head, letting it fall to the bed next to me. Bill groaned, pushing his chair back so I could see all of him as he took out his cock from his boxers.

“I knew it. I knew your tits were perky round.”

I watched, frozen, as he wrapped his hand around his cock in a grip that had to have hurt but only seemed to bring him more pleasure. This wasn’t anything new for me, I’d watch plenty of videos of him teasing his followers on Tik Tok or posting more intimate videos on his O.F.

Only this time, this was more private. It was only between us.

“Lay down on your bed for me and spread your legs. Can you do that?”

Bill’s hoarse voice made my skin shiver with heat and doing what he did, I slowly laid on my bed with my legs spread wide. The show of him jerking himself off made a small wet spot appear on my panties, something he immediately noticed.

“The sight of me choking my cock with my hand is making you wet, huh?”

I nodded, slightly blissed out from the sight on my screen. Bill’s jaw was slack as his hand moved in a fast rhythm. I studied the way his thumb would drag over the beads of precum on the head before using it as lube to make his cock slick with it. Or how he would grip the base of his cock, holding it for a few seconds before choking on a breath.

My pussy ached with the need to touch myself but I couldn’t move. Too engrossed in the private show he was giving me. No one else. Me.

“Can you touch your nipples? For me, please.”

Something flared deep inside of my gut at how he begged me so with another nod, I began playing with my nipples in the way I knew I liked. I arched off the bed slightly when I pinched a little too hard.

“You like it rough, Y/N? The harder, the better?”

“Yes,” I moaned, watching him through hooded eyes.

Bill licked his lips, tongue grazing over the mustache, and I let out a moan when I watched his hips stilled right as he spilled into his hand.

“Oh fuck, Y/N. You see that? You see what you do to me?” He groaned, working himself through the aftershocks.

“Oh my fucking god,” I moaned, letting my head fall back to my pillow and my fingers grazed over my panties.

I was going to wait to touch myself after the call ended, too embarrassed to do that in front of Bill. But seeing him come apart while he watched me pinch and pull at my nipples nearly tipped me over the edge and I knew I wouldn’t last long.

Just as I went to slip my fingers inside of my panties, my phone began buzzing when the ten minute timer went off. Feeling the world drop from around me, I sat up in bed to silence the timer and stared at the laptop screen where Bill was slumped in his chair trying to catch his breath.

“I’ve been doing this for a while but that,” he motioned to his messy cock, “Was so fucking messy.

A red hue covered my entire face and my ears as I avoided my gaze from the screen for a moment. “I bet you say that to everyone”

Bill reached for the tissues on his desk before he began cleaning himself off. “Well, it seems like our ten minutes are up. I hope it was everything you wanted.”

Silence filled the air between us for a few beats as I tried to think of what to say. Do I thank him? Do I say see you later? Can’t wait to see the next video you post?

“Uh, yeah. Sure. Thank you for this, for everything you do. It’s always a nice thing to see. You’re a nice thing to see. Not your thing! I mean it’s nice, don’t get me wrong. But-.”

Smooth, Y/N. Real fucking smooth.

Bill let out a deep and hearty laugh, running a clean hand through his hair, and tucked himself back inside of his boxers.

“You’re fucking adorable when you ramble. Have a good night, Y/N.”

When the screen went black, I let out a long breath and closed the laptop. This was the one and only time we would have a private moment like this, just the two of us. He’d continue to post videos, which I planned on watchling like I had before, but now I couldn’t push away the lingering feeling that it would be different now.

I originally signed up for this thinking it would break me out of my shell, help me find out more about myself, sex wise, and what I was into for future partners. Hell, the few words I spoke to Bill was enough to fill the empty void in my life, even if it was for a few minutes. But now that it was over, I realized how much of a mistake it was. It wasn't the shame that usually followed after I watched porn but more so the disappointment in myself because the only way I could have a man's attention on me was if I paid for it.

Clearing my throat, feeling the burn slowly rise, I snatched up my shirt and walked towards my bathroom; Bill’s words clinging to my sweaty skin.

Oh fuck, Y/N. You see that? You see what you do to me?

#bill skarsgard fanfiction #bill skarsgard smut #bill skarsgard imagine #bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard blurbs #bill skarsgard fics #bill skarsgard x you #bill skarsgard au #bill skarsgard x reader #bill skarsgard reader insert

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yieldtotemptation · 4 months ago

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ANIMALS ft. Natty

natty x male reader smut

10k words

“All I’m saying is,” Natty starts, like she always does, with more unsolicited advice than you can handle at 2 AM, "for someone that complains so much about not having a sex life, you really don’t do much to fix it."

“And what, oh wise friend of mine, is your recommendation.”

“I don’t know. Get a haircut. Dress better. Try not being a massive pussy?” Natty shrugs. Or at least you think she does. Only so much you can tell over the phone.

You sigh. Bite back the urge to tell her to fuck off. But then, who else would talk you to sleep at this ungodly hour? So instead, you concede the point. “Noted.”

“Or, you know, if it’ll stop you from being such a little bitch,” and now she’s laughing, cackling really, and not once has that ever, ever meant anything good. "You could always just fuck me."

—

Two weeks and twelve hours post-Natty’s incredibly unhelpful suggestion that did absolutely nothing to alleviate you of your insomnia, and you’re back on the phone with her.

Only this time, there's video.

So, yay.

"Help me, please."

It’s a Friday and Natty's begging, again.

Because she knows she can count on you, knows that you’ve long since resigned yourself to your fate as Natty’s on-call ‘fixer’. There for everything from life-changing career decisions to helping her figure out what show to stream next.

And now, apparently, choosing her outfit for tonight.

“Help me, help me, help me, help me.”

God, this woman and her begging. Knowing full well that it’s your kryptonite.

"Okay, okay, okay," you're relenting, much earlier than usual. Mostly because as far as Natty’s petulant requests usually go this one’s a walk in the park. “But don’t you have people for this sort of thing? People who don’t, and I quote, ‘have a dogshit taste in style?’”

“It is dogshit!” Natty calls out, already turned around and leaving you (her phone) on the vanity, facing out to her bedroom and all its hideous pinkness. She disappears from the screen, diving deep into her closet for yet another pair of shorts that will most certainly hug way too close, or a top that dips way too low, or a pair of heels that scream—'hey, I have legs, would you like to spread them?' "But!"

Natty returns to the camera with a leather belt—oh no, that's a leather skirt—in hand; clad in nothing but a casual cotton bra/underwear combination that she’s filling out far too well for your sleep-deprived brain to handle.

She holds up the skirt against her waist for your consideration. Poses. It wouldn't cover a thing. Or maybe that's the point—again, you don't have any fashion sense, whatsoever.

“You’re a man, and I need a man’s opinion because I’m hoping to take one home tonight to fuck my brains out until I forget about this shit-storm of a week. So, you know—help a girl out?”

“As always, you have quite a way with words.”

Natty leans towards the camera, bending down to stare right at you. It makes entirely too much sense that she’s built an entire career around doing just this.

“It’s my third language, asshole.”

The insult lands softer than she likely intended, considering well, you’re a little too distracted to take it. It’s entirely her fault. The angle makes her tits look far too immaculate to pay any attention to her mouth.

Maybe she should consider going out just like this?

Yeah, that’d definitely get her fucked.

But, she frowns before you can make the suggestion, turning on her heels and sashaying back to her closet, leaving you to choke on air at the sight of her ass stretching out her favourite pair of panties. (The white pair with the pretty-pink bows. The one that rides up her ass when she stretches, bends, sneezes—basically any time she’s not standing perfectly still. And even then.)

Anyone else and this whole thing would be weird. Well, weirder than it already is.

See, you and Natty have this thing; this odd, cat and dog relationship that’s been going on since what feels like the dawn of time:

You’ve watched her shamelessly cycle through men faster than a teenager through a box of tissues, leaving a trail of broken hearts and broken cocks in her wake.

While she’s been forced to witness every time you’ve met ‘the one’, only to be there months later to help pick up the pieces when you’re burying your feelings in video games and alcohol and porn, wondering how it all went so wrong.

All this to say that seeing Natty bouncing around in her underwear with that laser-beam of a smile of hers; with all of her soft curves, thick thighs, her ridiculous ass and again, those immaculate fucking tits isn't that unusual.

In fact, it doesn't really do anything for you at all.

(Fucking liar.)

“Here, how about this.” Natty appears from the corner of the screen, having found a top that’s somehow made of even less material than the bra she’s already got on. The gall of her to ask, "Too much or not enough?"

You deadpan. “Does it come in adult sizes too?”

Natty grins, because she can read it right on your stupid face. She looks so, unbearably hot. Without even trying that hard. This bitch. “So just right, then.”

And then she twirls, leaving you to face her back, and before you even have time to blink, Natty’s bra has fallen down her shoulders; and you’re hating how you lean in to look because this damn app has no zoom feature to save your sorry eyesight.

Her fucking tits. Perfect, bouncy. Even through the pixels, even from behind, you can still see the way they spill.

She slips on her chosen top for the evening—a tiny, strappy number—and spins back around to face you in all her Natty glory. By the skin of your teeth, you’re looking away and leaning back, feigning nonchalance and leaving her none the wiser.

You think.

“You know,” Natty says, tilting to one side, hand on hip. Fuck, even that slightest movement makes them bounce. Utterly, utterly obscene. “You should just come tonight.”

You’re saying, “Fuck no,” before she’s even finished her sentence. ‘Coming tonight’ means ‘clubbing’, and ‘clubbing’ means being stuck listening to the shittiest music, surrounded by the worst people in all of Korea, drinking overpriced slop and watching Natty turn down a revolving door of douchebags on the dancefloor.

So, yeah.

If ‘fuck no’s’ were bricks, you’d be building the Great Wall of ‘Fuck No’, big enough for aliens on the other side of the galaxy to see with a fucking telescope and have their first contact with the human race be a giant ‘Fuck No’.

And that’s your polite way of turning her down.

Yet somehow, Natty’s hardly deterred.

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Natty sing-songs, shuffling on her tiptoes, shifting her weight from foot to foot, making her entire body jiggle. It’s like she’s intentionally trying to sell you on the idea with every little movement. Make you believe that if you came with her, you’d be able to find someone who comes close to looking half as good as she does in that… whatever-the-fuck that is. Bralette? Crop top? Whatever. Fat chance. "Come on, come, come, come. Be my wingman please!"

You already have your second ‘fuck no’ queued up, but Natty just won’t stop fucking talking.

“Don’t you want to get laid? Don’t you think you need to have fun after what’s-her-name?” Natty continues, pouting at you through the screen.

And there it is, a study in how Natty usually gets her way—jutting out her bottom lip, digging her thumb into the waistband of her panties to expose just a smidge more skin, leaning just right to make her tits look like they’re about to pop out. It’s like she’s got a fucking manual.

“Don’t tell me you’d rather stay at home with Handalf the Grey than come out with me and all my hot friends?”

“You mean having to clean up after all your ‘hot friends’ and their bullshit while you run off to score free drinks?” You retort, recalling all the other times when she managed to entice you out of your self-imposed isolation and into the deafening, sweaty hellhole known as a nightclub.

“Said hot friends that you’re too much of a pussy to hit on, mind you,” Natty chides, and then oh-so-casually decides to drop this nugget: "They all like you, you know, they'd be more than happy to break this dry spell of yours if you just asked. Don’t act like I haven’t seen the way you look at Julie."

You can feel your cheeks reddening. You’re not a teenager. You shouldn’t blush at this shit. But here you are, falling for Natty’s words and their magical abilities to needle at your insecurities and fill your head with thoughts of her friends and all their... well, incredibly positive attributes.

Natty pounces on your lapse in composure and gets closer to the camera, crouches. Drops down so she’s on her heels and all you can see in that tiny window of your phone is the red of her plush, plump lips.

“Come, you pussy—”

“Natty—”

“Do it pussy—”

“Natty, if you think that’s going to work—”

“Pussy, pussy, pussy—”

You’re yelling down the phone: “Fuck, fine!”

Natty’s victory dance is already in full swing before the words have even left your mouth. Bouncing around her room in pure joy at once again having ruined your evening. Dancing in that barely-there outfit, treating you to entirely sinful ripples across her curves and dips, pure sex on a pair of toned legs. Really makes you wonder how the fuck is she not illegal in at least fifty different countries.

You hide your face in your hands, because there it is, the reason you’ve never really been able to deny her:

Her laughter, her energy, her fucking shameless glee whenever she manages to get her way (which, if you’re keeping count, is every single time).

She’s just so frustratingly adorable.

Somewhere in her celebrations, Natty finds exactly what she was looking for. Reaches down to the floor, picking up a belt—no, that’s another skirt—this one even tinier than the first.

“Oh, this is perfect,” she preens, holding it out to the camera (to you), before stepping right into it. She spins around, making it dance around her hips. It does wonders for her thighs. "How do I look?”

You swallow. “Like you’re going to get fucked tonight.”

The glint in Natty’s eyes. Like you’ve just served up the finest compliment on a silver platter. You feel sorry for whatever poor soul crosses her path tonight.

Natty winks. “Here’s to hoping.”

—

Guess what?

Turns out you were right: this is the worst place in the world.

Only, you’re the sole person here that seems to think that.

Hours have passed since you helped Natty look perfectly fuckable and you’re at the bar, trying and failing to get the attention of the bartender. Unfortunately, he, like every other male with a beating heart and a boner seems far more interested in Natty’s little dance routine than his thirsty clientele.

You can’t blame him, really. It’s built in how she moves.

Strobe lights cutting through the air like knives, slicing her into this series of absolutely pornographic snapshots as she dances. And she’s not alone, she has friends—beautiful, all of them, in their own ways. They spin and twirl around her; but Natty’s the sun here, the star that everything orbits.

(You included).

You see it play out—the Natty effect. Men, even women alike gravitate to her, drawn by that magnetic force that is Natty at her very best. Trying to get a dance, maybe whisper a line they stole from some movie in her ear, even dare to reach out to touch or press themselves up against her.

But she’s a black hole, a dark star. Can’t get too close.

One by one, they’re swallowed up by the void of Natty’s disinterest. The shoulders slump, the smiles falter, and the hope in their eyes dies as Natty, with a simple flick of her wrist sends them stumbling back into the crowd, forgotten almost immediately.

And the whole time she’s doing this, she’s got you in her line of sight. A wink here, a smile there, a dance on its own; and all you can do is nod and pretend like you’re okay with all this.

You inhale. Deeply.

Her outfit looks even tinier in person.

You turn away for just a moment, shaking off thoughts of Natty, of her hips and their sway and her winks and her smile; attempting (and failing) to flag down the bartender once more.

This fucking night.

But, when you look back, Natty’s no longer on the dancefloor.

She’s standing next to you. Arms looping around your neck.

“Natty—”

But she’s not listening. Her eyes are darting around the room, searching for something—or someone—that you can’t see. Your stomach clenches, because that look on Natty’s face? That’s not her usual I’m-about-to-make-some-poor-soul-my-bitch look. That’s something else entirely. That’s fear.

“Shut up, I need a favour,” she’s in your ear, yelling over the thrum of the bass that’s rattling your ribcage.

You lean in, bend down to meet her, because, frankly, you’re worried. You’ve never seen Natty like this, wide eyed and shaky. Never seen her be anything but comfortable.

You’ve also never been this close to her. Felt her breath hot against your neck, felt her body press up against you, felt her softness, felt her—

Fuck, you should be asking her what’s wrong, but before you can even do that, the bartender's filling two shot glasses and sliding them over to Natty.

She takes one. You take the other. It tastes lethal.

Natty’s nails dig into the back of your neck, and she looks at you, intense. Words fast and frantic. “Just pretend we’re together, okay? For a bit. Until I can figure this out. Just—just keep playing along, yeah?”

You blink. The room blurs around you. You think you might’ve misheard. “What?”

“Be my boyfriend,” she says, taking a second shot before you can even digest the first. “I need you. There’s some creep and I need you. Now, please?”

You turn immediately, scanning the floor, but the lights and shadows make it near impossible to make out anything other than vague shapes and strobes of colour, let alone pinpoint a face. "Natty, where is he, I can—"

"No, no, no," she cuts you off with a shake of her head. “Focus on me.”

“Wait, why do I have to—”

“Oh, shit there he is—”

And then she’s kissing you.

Ending whatever argument you may have had, because she’s grabbing, pulling you in, and her lips are on yours and oh fuck, she’s really, really kissing you.

It’s a slap to the face, and you need to reel in from the sting. Because you’re already forgetting what you’re doing, forgetting how your limbs work, because Natty’s putting on the performance of a lifetime and you’re having trouble keeping up.

Her hands are in your hair, yours at the small of her back, and she’s pulling you close, squishing against you and the taste of her—sweet like candy and sharp like vodka—filling you all the way up.

Your tongue catches up, flicking against hers, licking inside of her mouth and she’s even convincing you—as if she’s the one that’s always been into the love at first sight bullshit and you’re the non-believer.

And it’s a problem, how right this feels. Because this isn’t what friends do—definitely not Natty and you. But still, you can feel her tension, her need for this to be believable; and you don’t dare to fuck it all up.

So you kiss her back, because that’s what you do for Natty.

You always do what she needs.

You’re about to pull away; this should be enough to have every single person here convinced that you’re hers and she’s yours. But Natty’s already sliding her tongue back in your mouth, pleading, “Keep going,” the moment a gap opens between your lips; and you’re diving back into the kiss without a second thought.

And then you hear it.

A flash of a camera.

A cheer.

A whistle.

Julie, Haneul, Belle—Natty’s friends, staring at you like proud fairy godmothers witnessing their own magic at work.

You break the kiss. You look down at Natty.

She giggles.

You feel like a fucking idiot.

"There is no creep, is there?"

Natty shrugs, looks up at you, and she actually looks—what is this? Shy? Embarrassed?

"There could’ve been," she says, her eyes wide and innocent, a mask. You see through her like you should have when she first wrapped her arms around your neck. Oh sure, like she’s ever been innocent for a second in her entire life.

She’s far too smug for that.

You roll your eyes. You feel like every other idiot that’s ever fallen for a bat of her lashes and a peek at her tits. Hope is a hell of a drug, especially when Natty’s the dealer. And yet, despite yourself, the corner of your mouth quirks up. "You're fucking insane."

“Maybe.” There’s a long pause. She’s staring at your mouth. She presses a finger to your sternum. “But I had to do something.”

It takes a second. What?

What does that mean?

You stare at Natty, lick your lips. Her taste still lingers.

“Ask yourself the same question I’ve been asking myself for months now,” she says, louder this time, her voice cutting through the noise of the club and hitting your ears with a sobering clarity.

You know what she’s going to say—what she’s going to ask before she’s even opened her mouth. You’ve been asking yourself the same thing too.

So, swallow hard, try to ignore the way Natty’s friends have gone quiet. Try to ignore Natty’s hand still resting against your chest, her eyes burning a hole right through you.

“Why haven’t we had sex yet?”

The blood’s rushing to your cheeks; the music's too loud, the lights too bright, and the room's suddenly spinning around you like a carousel.

Fucking embarrassing.

But Natty doesn’t crack a smile. She just looks up at you. Hopeful. Searching you, searching your eyes for an actual answer; and you already know what it is.

“Because, Natty, we’re friends.” You offer up a weak smile, hoping against hope that she’ll buy it.

But she shakes her head. “Oh, please. Like that’s ever stopped anyone before. Besides, if you want to put a label on it, call it whatever the fuck you want. I just know what I need. Do you?”

You sigh. She gets closer. And closer.

Until your nose is brushing hers. Until her breath is hot on your face, until your heart is racing so fast you can feel it in your ears. Until her hand is sliding down, down, down, until it’s resting over your pants and oh, oh no, you’re straining.

You gasp. She smirks.

“See? You want it too. And I know you do, because, sweetie, your cock’s practically begging me to pull it out and shove it between my tits right here in front of everyone.”

She just throws it out there, so casually, so bluntly, she might as well be talking about the weather. And maybe, maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s just Natty being Natty, but fuck you can’t do anything but stay frozen still.

You’re letting her hand linger. You’re letting her touch you like she’s got every right in the world. You’re letting her because there’s a part of you—the part that’s growing by the second—that wants to see just how far she’ll take this.

“So, what is the real reason, ba-by?”

Because you’re in love with her. You’re in love with her, and you can’t just have casual sex with someone you’re in love with because it will ruin you.

But you don’t say that. Instead, you just tell her: “Timing.”

That makes her laugh. Has her closing what little gap remained between your bodies, until her tits are flush against your chest, and you’re coming to the conclusion that, yes, you did help her pick out the perfect outfit for tonight.

Perfectly, hopelessly, fuckable.

“Well,” she says, and she’s pulling you back down again and shutting you up with yet another kiss. “We’ve got all the time in the world now, don’t we?”

—

You’ve been here before.

Many, many times before.

You installed the showerhead and fixed all the cabinets yourself. Even secured the lock that you’re now unlocking with the digits that you coded.

But somehow, it feels like a first.

First time you’ve kissed her in the back of a car, pushed your hand up her skirt, felt the heat of her against your fingertips. First time you’ve pinned her against the wall of an elevator, made her feel just how desperate you were for her against her thigh, made her promise to be so good for you when you got to her door.

First time being pulled through the threshold, hands at your chest, tearing your shirt off you before you’ve even stepped foot in her apartment. Had her smiling against your mouth, because she’s won, again, and you can’t even bother to argue because you’ve lost to her so many times now that this shouldn’t be so surprising.

What is surprising though is how you’re naked first.

"Terrible, terrible taste." Natty's clicking her tongue as your shoes, your shirt, your pants are scattered along the floor behind you. “We’ll have to fix that.”

And then she’s moving on, hands clawing down your stomach to land at the waistband of your underwear, hooking her thumbs in and yanking down. You’re so obviously hard—you’ve barely made any effort to hide it from her—fuck, you pretty much flagged down the taxi with it.

"Holy fuck," is the first thing out of Natty's mouth when she takes a hold of you, feeling the naked weight of you in her palm. "You’re really not messing around, are you? I was expecting—"

"A sad, lonely little thing," you finish for her, because you've heard it before. "Yeah, you like to mention it a lot."

But Natty’s not laughing now.

She’s just staring. Almost reverently. She decides, her voice a little raspy, tinted with an apprehension that you never knew she was capable of mustering, "I like it. It's... massive."

You lean in, pressing your mouth against hers because if she’s going to say that, you’re going to kiss her, again and again, and there’s a strong possibility you're never going to stop.

She whimpers, gasps into your mouth, says your name for the first time—not some nickname, not a jab or an insult. Just your name, in your ears, like it’s something sacred.

You’re not a saint. You can’t ignore that.

Your cock jumps in her hand, and as if on instinct, she strokes you.

It's slow, purposeful. She's too good at this. Knows the right pressure, where to twist and wind her wrist. How to sweep her thumb over the tip, smear pre-cum over your skin, and this entire time she's staring down at your cock like she's discovered something new.

“This is going to ruin me, isn't it?” she whispers, and you nod, because your voice is lodged in your throat and she’s stealing the air from your lungs. “Going to fit so fucking nicely inside me. Fuck it’s going to stretch me.”

You groan, collapse your weight into Natty, press your lips against the column of her throat.

Both hands now, one underneath, toying with your balls, balancing them in her fingers, and the other doing its best to squeeze, to pump, to make you fall for her with every stroke.

“I can’t wait to ride this,” Natty kisses these words into your cheek, your jaw, leaves these marks all over your collarbone. “I wonder if I can fit it down my throat. God, can you imagine what it’ll look like between my tits?”

And that makes your cock throb.

Because face it, Natty has always had a way of getting into your head; is far too dangerous with her words, and she’s all too willing to abuse this power she has over you to get you do what she wants, which is now, apparently, fucking her senseless.

You let her, let her build and build this pressure, let it coil inside you, tighter and tighter. Until the need to feel her, all of her, is too much to handle.

Until you grab her, take her by the shoulders, push her—not hard, but firmly—against the nearest wall.

You’re not gentle about it, because Natty doesn’t want gentle. She wants rough, she wants passionate, she wants to be fucked and have her cunt worshipped by way of complete ruin.

She’s told you as much.

"That's more like it," Natty bites into your ear, grips your shoulders. She follows your eyes. "Let me guess, my tits?"

So, maybe she has caught you looking once or twice. Either way, you don’t care much for her top anymore, it’s served its purpose. You take a fistful of it and pull, ripping it right off her and tossing it to the floor with everything else that’s kept the two of you from tearing each other apart.

“Better?” Natty poses for you, puts her tits on display—and yeah, you were right all along. Fucking immaculate.

You take a hold of one, palm it; fill your hand with flesh, twinge those dark, plump nipples, because of course you’re going to. You’re going to pinch and squeeze and suck on them. You’re going to mark her like she’s already done to you. Mark them, with your teeth, with your tongue. Fuck, you’re going to make them yours.

But for now, you're just going to slap them, because you want to watch them jiggle up close.

You laugh. Natty does too.

"Much better."

And with that, you’re back on her. Kisses that are sloppy, wet, and filled with all the pent-up want that's been simmering for months. You don’t even know where to begin with Natty, but you start with her mouth. It’s a good place. It’s always a good place with Natty.

Her hand doesn’t stop moving, can’t, won’t. The friction is heaven; you just let her touch you, fuck her hand while you indulge in her tits. Get to know the weight of them, the balance, the softness.

A sigh into your ear as your tongue finally finds her breasts, deep and messy, sliding over her nipple—she’s already so sensitive, just a flick and she’s gasping. You’re not even trying to be precise anymore, not that Natty needs it, not that she needs anything but for you to enjoy yourself against her.

It all makes the room seem smaller, the walls close, surrounding you with the scent—cinnamon and sweat and something else that’s just her.

“See this is why fucking me is such a great idea,” she slurs against your shoulder, hand tightening, stroking you harder, faster.

You mumble an affirmative into her breast. It’s a miracle you can still stand upright.

“Isn’t this so much better than like everything else? Anyone else?” She sighs, breathy, sweet sounds, as she takes you by the wrist, guides your hand southwards.

Fingertips graze her stomach, trace around her belly button and lower; until you’re digging into her skirt and feeling the heat rise off her skin. She’s soaked right through her panties, dripping with it. Another place for your tongue to land.

“We can just be fucking honest with each other,” Natty’s explaining, eyes tearing when your finger pads her clit, pressing down just right. “You already told me all the things you hate. All the things your bitch exes never let you do.” And she smiles, wicked. “Never had the tits to give you.”

Christ.

“And I can get you to fuck me exactly how I want with this big, fucking cock,” Natty finishes. "We’re a perfect fucking match."

It’s at that moment you find the zipper of her skirt, tugging it down, watching it fall to the feet. Leaving Natty to step out of the tiny scrap of fabric she calls her panties; abandoning the sticky mess of cotton.

You take a step back, unlatch your lips from her tits, because you need to see it. Need to finally see her, see your Natty, see the Natty you've never allowed yourself to look at.

So, take your time, drink her in—because the way she’s standing there, the way she’s touching herself now; biting her lip, sighing your name. All but saying, ‘Look all you want, but don’t you dare look away’.

Look at the arch of her neck, the red you’ve left there, that trail you’ve burned down to her tits. Bruised and swollen from your tongue, your kisses, and yet still not marked enough. Follow the curve of her hips; how they flare out from her waist, the plush squish of her ass cheeks against the wall behind her.

You want to kiss her, from the tips of her toes to the top of head; all of her, every part of her, because now she’s going to finally let you.

Because now you're going to fuck her until all she knows is you, going to make her scream your name, going to make her beg for you to fill her with your cock and cum and never ever leave her cunt empty again.

That’s the plan, anyway.

But Natty’s got plans of her own.

“Didn’t you say,” Natty begins, sighing, circling her cunt in a rhythm that you’re dying to recreate. She licks her lips. “That your last ex refused to suck that lovely, magnificent cock of yours?

"Yeah," you stammer, at a loss for breath at just the sight of it all. “And weren’t you trying to find someone to fuck your brains out?”

Natty’s eyes light up; and there's that easy, charming grin that knocks you right off your feet. "You’ve always been such a good listener."

—

Natty's plotting to ruin you.

It's the only possible explanation for the way she's looking at you right now—on her knees, at the foot of her bed, flanked by walls painted an ugly shade of pastel pink and Natty's tits, sandwiching your cock.

You’d imagined it, thought about it when you shouldn’t have been thinking about it. Whenever she brought you to watch her perform, whenever she sent you pictures of her outfit of the day. But your eyes always went there. Straight to Natty’s tits, every time.

You knew they were big.

You’ve felt them, on accident (though they don’t seem like accidents anymore).

But now, to have them enveloping your cock, drowning your shaft in their softness, and to have her, staring at your face with so much fucking excitement as she gives you everything you’ve ever wanted—it’s surreal.

You’re dying to paint them white.

“Looks like you’re already about to fall apart, baby,” she teases, and it’s even worse now that she’s calling you these sweet names, saying them like she’s always wanted to, like she’s finally letting herself. “Couldn’t wait, could you?”

“Fuck, Natty—” you breathe out, your hands finding her hair, tightening, because that’s all you can manage to do when Natty’s in control. Like she’s always been.

“Mmhmm,” she hums, keeping her eyes on you, making sure you’re watching, even as her tongue flicks out to taste you. A slow, taunting lick to make you buck your hips, desperate to feel the suction of her lips. “You must have been dreaming about this, huh?”

You don’t bother lying. She already knows the answer. “Every. Fucking. Night.”

Natty’s smile spreads across her face, and she rewards you with a kiss, pressing her lips down onto the head of your cock; before sliding them lower, eyes fluttering shut with the first taste of you. “Well, what took you so long? All you needed to do was show me your cock and I’d have been happy to do it whenever you want me to. Happy for you to use my tits as your cum rag. You know that, right?”

She moves; and the sight of it alone—Natty’s tits wrapped around your cock, bobbing up and down, hypnotising you with the flicker of her nipples—up and down, up and down. It’s merciless, unrelenting, and she keeps talking, keeps kissing these sweet little words into your cock that makes your hips jerk, trying to fuck her tits faster, harder.

"Look at how perfect you look," Natty keeps going, "how your cock fits so snug."

The sounds she’s tearing from your throat as her tits take you, and she’s barely even started.

“But we can do better, can’t we?”

Her pace picks up, and with it, the tightness of your grip on her hair. She’s pushing the ample mounds together, squeezing, putting her whole body into it, into this new art she’s pioneering. Driving you insane with just her breasts, making you swell between them, throbbing as she works you over.

“So big," she’s panting from just the effort, the bounce, bounce, bounce of it all, "I can feel you getting so much bigger."

Everything’s going too fast, her tits are too soft, her lips on you too hot, and she’s drooling, her spit dripping down onto your cock. You want to tell her to stop, that you can’t take it, but Natty just keeps going.

"Fuck,” Natty mewls, pinching her own nipples, for you, for her. Pinching and rolling them, making them nice and stiff and swollen. “Let me just try and—”

She cranes her head, bends; takes your cock deeper into the warm, wet heat of her mouth. Her tongue darts out licks your cock, gets that sweet spot on the underside, makes you shake underneath her.

Natty holds you there, even as you groan, even as your hips rise; just licks, spits, sucks. Her mouth moving up and down on you, making a mess down your shaft, down her tits. Taking you deeper, deeper, until you’re fucking her face.

She moans around you as your hips buck and you push deep, desperate for it. Her eyes water, her cheeks hollow, and she’s got you. You’re in her mouth and she’s loving it. Loving the power she has over you, loving giving you what she wants, loving how you’re pulling her by the hair, desperate to feed her more of your cock into her throat.

Like your entire relationship has been building up to this moment—to Natty’s tits wrapped around you, her mouth all over you, her eyes on yours, watching as you fuck her face.

"Fuck, Natty," you grunt, your voice barely recognisable. "What the fuck—"

But Natty's just smiling, you’re fucking that smug little smile on her lips, and she’s taunting you. "Come on baby, keep going, keep going."

It’s utterly obscene—the smack of her lips around your cock, her slobbering all over you, her gagging, her moaning around you, looking up at you and asking, “Is that all you’ve got?”

You're so close, so fucking close, and she knows it. Moving her tits faster, faster, and you're about to blow your load all over Natty's pretty face, her chest.

But she keeps talking.

Even as you stuff her cheeks, even as you muffle her, “None of those other skinny bitches could do this, could they, could handle this big, fat cock?”

Even as you force her down, pull her by the hair, “You’ve been so obsessed with my body, so obsessed with my tits, haven’t you?”

Even as her tits slide off you and your cock smacks her across her cheek, “I always saw the way you looked at them, fuck I was showing them off for you, you just took too fucking long to notice.”

She won't stop fucking talking.

You finally snap. "God, are you ever going to stop?"

But Natty just laughs, bats her lashes. Slides her tongue from your base to your tip. "Maybe you should find something to gag me with."

Your hand wraps around her throat, squeezing just enough to make her eyes go wide, to make her mouth pop open. She rolls out her tongue for you, and you know what she expects you to do, what she expects you to fill her mouth with.

But you don’t—instead, you fill it with your kiss.

It's deep, it’s bruising, it’s saying ‘fuck you’ in the sweetest way possible, without uttering a single syllable. Natty laughs against your mouth, a ‘fuck you’ right back with her teeth, biting down on your lower lip. Not breaking skin—not yet—but the promise is there.

Her hand leaves your cock to wrap around your neck, pulling you closer to her, her mouth eager for yours, and you don’t even think twice before you hoist her up, her legs wrapping around your waist. Giggling again—another sound that’s going to be your undoing—before you’re both stumbling back onto her bed.

The mattress dips under the weight of your bodies falling back into it. Natty straddles you, presses her cunt down onto your thighs. So wet you can feel it on your thigh, leaving your skin sticky and stained with her. Your hands move to her hips, dragging her closer, so you can feel the friction grinding against your cock, making you ache.

She breaks your kiss, gasping for air. Her eyes are dark, pupils blown wide—seeing her pant like this, it’s not even fair. She’s just so fucking beautiful, like a painting you’re afraid to touch because you might smudge it.

You tell her as much.

She blinks. Blushes.

Grins.

“You,” Natty breathes, her hand trailing down your chest, finding your heartbeat, resting there for a beat, two, “are so fucking in love with me.”

You don’t argue because she’s right.

Her hand slides up your arms, nails dig in and she’s got your wrists, pinning them over your head. You let her. Let her grind herself against your cock, feel the warm, wet heat of her cunt against the tip.

She takes her sweet time, melting herself into you, pressing her tits into your chest, and you can feel her heart racing against yours.

She whispers, “God, I’ve waited so fucking long for this.”

You can’t even form a coherent thought, so you just grunt.

“I’ve dreamt about this so much,” she continues, breathless words sending shivers down your spine. “Your cock, fuck, it’s just as perfect as I imagined. And now, it’s all mine.”

And then she does it—she sinks down onto you, slow and sweet, her pussy taking you in inch by glorious inch. You groan into her shoulder, your eyes shut as Natty’s tight heat surrounds you. It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before; sure there’s been others but something about Natty’s cunt is so intense it’s almost painful.

“So tight,” you grit out, the words torn from your chest like they’re made of glass. She just laughs, low, sultry, and starts to move.

It’s a dance, a rhythm that’s been building between the two of you for what feels like an eternity. She’s rocking her hips back and forth in this torturous grind. Fucking you like it’s the last thing she’ll ever do, like she needs to make the most of it. Like you’re going to vanish into thin air the second she lets you go.

“I knew you’d feel this good,” Natty sighs into your neck, already surrendering to your cock. “Fuck, I knew it—why did you keep this from me?”

You can’t answer, not really.

You’re too lost in the feel of her, too consumed by the way she’s moving on top of you. Every inch of her body is pressed against yours, and she’s so warm, so alive, that you can’t think of anything but how Natty’s finally letting you in. How she’s letting you make her whole.

But it’s too much. Natty’s cunt, tight and wet, fucking you so slow it’s a fucking crime. Pinning you down, a butterfly on a board spread out, displayed, unable to do anything but take her sweet, sweet punishment. And she’s whispering it in your ear, grinding down, rolling her hips, “Fuck you. Fuck you for keeping this from me,” with every stroke.

She’s doing it on purpose, you’re sure of it. Driving you crazy, making you beg, making you want it more than you’ve ever wanted anything in your life. Your hips jerk up to meet her, trying to speed things up, to get that friction you need, but Natty just pushes down on your shoulders, keeping you in place.

So you tell her, "This is fucking torture."

Natty just smirks, her hips never stilling. "Is it?" she asks, as if this all isn’t intentional. Like she doesn’t have some grand plan to ensure you never forget the things her cunt can do to you. "Do something about it then."

So, you do.

It takes more effort than you’ll ever admit, but you break her grip on your wrists, grab her hips, and flip her over, sending her sprawling onto the bed, face down.

The squeal from her. It’s music.

How her eyes go wide when you treat her like a ragdoll, how her tits juggle and bounce, smacking the mattress. And when you push down into her, slamming your hips into her ass, how she arches back into you, her back bowing like a fucking violin.

“Yes!” She cries, fucking cheers into the mattress, like she’s been waiting for this—for you to have had enough of her shit and take her without asking. “Yes, yes, yes—”

You hover over her, throb inside her. "Is this what you fucking wanted?"

Natty sighs into the bedsheets, urging her hips against you, begging without words, begging for you to do more.

“You want it rough, baby?”

“Yeah,” Natty says, pushing back against you again, nodding immediately. “If you can.”

Still with the provocations, unable to resist pressing at your buttons.

You grab her hair, yank it back so she’s staring at you, force her to look at you. And you fuck her hard. Fuck her like you’ve wanted to since the first time she walked into your life and decided to make it all about her.

You fill her with deep, long strokes, fill the room with the smacks of your hips colliding against her, of your cock thrusting into her cunt again and again.

She claws at the sheets, trying to find purchase, trying to push back against you. But you’re too strong, too desperate.

You pound into her, impale her with your cock, watch her face twist in pleasure, in pain. You’re fucking her like you’re trying to break her, like she asked. Trying to solve her—how hard can she take it, how deep, how fast.

But Natty won’t give you an answer, she just takes it all—every inch, ever pump into her sopping wet cunt. Just grins and takes every bit of your need, your frustration. A bottomless pit of pleasure, begging for more with every whine, every little noise she makes that’s not quite a scream but is so close that it rattles your brain.

And when you finally let go of her hair, Natty’s licking her lips, and without even a care for what it does to you, she coaxes, “You can do better.”

You don’t know how she can talk right now, how she can even think with your cock so deep inside her, but something about the way she says it makes you want to test the limits of her ability to stay coherent.

But first, there’s the problem of her ass.

“Let’s see about that,” you murmur, dragging your hand down her spine, feeling the dip of her waist, the swell of her hips, and coming to a stop at her perfectly rounded ass. It’s a masterpiece, a work of art, and you’ve always had a bit of an artist’s soul.

You do what comes naturally.

A spank against Natty’s ass. Hard, hard enough to make her yelp.

Again—another slap, another yelp, louder, better.

You keep fucking her, keep spanking her, keep watching red bloom across her cheeks and Natty squirm underneath you. The whines get louder, her cunt gets wetter, but it’s still not enough to dull that smug look on her face.

“Fuck yes,” Natty gasps, raises her ass, presenting it to you like a trophy for you to claim. “I always knew you had it in you.”

You grab her hips harder, your knuckles white, your hand a blur as it connects with her ass. It’s so explicit, the sound of it in the quiet of Natty’s apartment—each spank echoing through the room like a gunshot.

But Natty just takes it, her body jolting with each hit, her cunt tensing and tightening around you.

“God, don’t fucking stop,” Natty sputters, tears of pained pleasure leaking from the corners of her eyes. “You’re using me so good.”

You lean down, kissing hard against her neck, branding her shoulder. You want her to feel you, to remember you. To not be able to ever feel remotely good again without first thinking of you.

"It's your fucking fault, Natty," you growl into her ear. "You drive me mad."

And she laughs, the sound vibrating through her body and going straight to your cock. "Good," she answers, "Good. Be mad. Be angry."

But you’re beyond that now, beyond the point of no return. All that you know is Natty’s cunt, Natty’s ass, Natty’s moans, and Natty’s grin that you’re aching to wipe off her face.

"Fucking hate me if you want," she’s saying, and she can’t seem to stop, "just don’t stop fucking—ah!”

You nearly stop when you realise you’ve finally done it. Finally left Natty out of breath, lost for words. A fucking miracle, really—the kind that makes you feel like a fucking god.

It doesn’t stop her cunt clenching around you, tight as a vice, because even now, Natty’s got some kind of death grip pussy, and she’s using it to fucking kill you.

You whisper in her ear, “You like that?”

Her only response is a breathy, needy little whine, so you spank her again.

And again.

Her cunt tightens. She’s close, so close. You can feel it.

“You like it when I use you, Natty?”

She nods, her eyes screwed shut, her mouth crying into the mattress, a mess of hair and sweat and utter bliss.

“Say it,” you demand, slapping her ass once more, watching as the pain ripples through her. “Say it.”

And Natty does, because she’s a good little whore, because she’s yours now. “Yes, yes, I like it when you use me, when you fuck me like this, when it’s only about you, your cock, your needs, your pleasure—”

God, it feels good to hear her say it, but you still want more than just words. You want her to fucking scream it.

You make the bed shake, knock the headboard against her wall, it’s a competition of what’s going to break first—the frame or her.

“This cunt. Your cunt. I’m going to use it. Fuck it whenever I want.”

But Natty catches you off guard, because that’s what Natty does best. She opens her eyes, looks right into yours, and suddenly she has her voice again: “Whenever I want. You’re going to fucking move in with me.”

You freeze. Your hand mid-spank. Your cock mid-thrust. It throws you entirely off, because, what the fuck?

"You're going to be my boyfriend now," Natty says, wrenching back control, fucking her ass back into you. Stating not asking, leaving no room for argument. "Move in with me, your place sucks anyway."

"You're out of your fucking mind," you start to protest, but she cuts you off with another squeeze of her cunt around you, and now she’s the one fucking you, her hips rolling back and forth in this maddening, sinful way that has you biting down on your tongue to keep from shouting.

"Move in and just fuck me every day," she says, all light and airy, like it’s already been decided, like moments ago you didn’t have her dead to rights. "Morning to night. It would be so fucking nice."

This is real, you know that for sure. It’s not just something she’s saying to get off, not another way to get under your skin. You know it in her voice, she’s deadly serious and suddenly your mind’s racing.

"Come on," Natty purrs, punctuating each word with a slap of her ass against your waist, "You know you want it, why fucking wait?"

She’s not wrong. It makes too much fucking sense to deny. And yet, part of you still can't believe it. That Natty, the girl who's had countless men at her feet, could have any man at her feet, actually wants you. That Natty is underneath you now, eyes glossed over with need, mouth swollen from your kisses, ass cheeks flushed crimson from your palm.

"I'll take such good care of you, baby," she says, unaware that she’s already completely won, unaware that her cunt already has you bending to her will. "Every day, every night.”

You can't help but nod. You're too consumed in her to do anything else. You just let go of everything. The fears, the doubt, the fucking logic.

And Natty says it, the three words that seal your fate—"I'll love you," she cries out, "I'll fucking love you forever if you just keep giving me this fucking cock."

It's like the world stops, like everything you've ever wanted is right there in front of you, wrapped up in Natty's tight fucking body.

You're so close, so fucking close, that you can almost taste it—the sweet release of your orgasm; giving in to Natty’s unbelievably sensational cunt sleeving your cock, pulsing with each thrust, desperate to milk you dry.

There’s nothing left to do but give Natty wants. Fuck her, hammer into her so hard that you’re going to fuck a Natty-shaped hole into the mattress, fucking shatter her bedframe, and then keep drilling her straight through the floor.

And she’s crying out your name, forgetting about everything that isn’t you, isn’t your cock, isn’t the dream of your cum filling her to the brim and spilling out of her cunt every single day for the rest of your fucking lives.

“Are you close, baby? Are you going to cum for me? Please, give it to me, I need it so bad, I need it now, because I'm about to, about to, about to—"

And then it happens.

Fucking destroys her.

It hits. A crescendo that peaks as you bottom out inside her, shaking her to the core. Her cunt spasms about you, her body rises off the bed as if you’re performing a fucking exorcism, and she screams your name so loud it’s only a matter of time before the neighbours come banging on her door.

"Oh my fucking god you—"

Natty gushes around your cock, juices running down your shaft, your balls, and she’s squirting. Oh god, she’s squirting all over the fucking place.

Natty’s body goes rigid, her back arching so much it’s like she’s trying to fold in half, crying, sputtering these words that don't even make sense—until you realise she's speaking an entirely different fucking language.

Not that it matters, because you can tell what she's saying, read it in her body, in the way she's spurting and making a big fucking mess beneath your bodies. Whatever she’s saying sounds utterly depraved, filthy and so, so good to your ears.

It keeps going and going, until she has enough sense to speak your language again, needing to make sure you hear it when she says—"fucking fill me, baby," she whimpers. "Give me everything, all your fucking cum."

And it’s your turn to be hit—like a fucking freight train.

You're cumming, hard and fast and out of fucking nowhere. Your balls tighten, your cock throbs, and you’re flooding Natty’s cunt.

It’s biological, in every cell of your body—like your entire being is coming undone, and the only thing holding you together is Natty, Natty, Natty.

Her body shaking beneath you, her cunt contracting around your cock as wave after wave of cum fills her up.

She’s so fucking tight, so fucking perfect, that you can feel every pulse of your orgasm, every drop of your cum spurting into her. You're not sure how long it lasts, how much you give her, but it’s enough to make your muscles shake, enough to knock the architecture right out of your limbs.

"So fucking good, so fucking good," Natty coos. "Fucking finally, finally filling me up so good."

Her moans a lullaby, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body with every syllable. You lean down, burying your face in the crook of her neck, your every inhale and exhale ragged as you try to catch your breath. Still twitching inside her, still releasing the last of your cum, and Natty’s just lying there, her body limp, her eyes closed, basking in it all.

"So perfect," she keeps repeating, right up until the very end, “So, so, perfect.”

You collapse on top of her, just lie there shivering together, your face next to hers. She’s got this look on her face, a victorious glow, and you just have to accept it. Yeah, she’s won again, in devastatingly convincing fashion.

For a second, you’re both just that—spent, exhausted, entirely drained. Like you’ve just run a marathon. Or been in a fight. Or both.

Then Natty’s got the nerve to stir, to kiss your cheek with the tenderness of a whisper. Lips softer than you thought possible, given how hard she’s just been fucking you. And that’s it, the moment your body decides it’s had enough of playing dead, enough of lying there like a sack of potatoes.

You roll over, bringing Natty with you, her body curling into yours like she’s been made to fit there. Her head rests on your chest, her legs entwined with yours, and for a moment, you just hold her close.

It feels fucking right.

"Tomorrow," Natty sighs contentedly, her cheek finding home atop your heartbeat.

You blink. "Tomorrow?"

"Yeah, you're moving in tomorrow." Natty’s deciding for you already, setting the dynamic for the rest of your future. Doing all this with her eyes still shut as she snuggles closer to you. "I'll hire the movers."

You sigh, the weight of the world and Natty's body both feeling surprisingly light. You think about the next few days, the weeks, the years even, with Natty. The idea is so ludicrous, so absurd, that it feels like a fever dream.

But as you hold her, feel her warmth, her unabashed, blatant satisfaction, something inside you shifts. A reframing of the concept of Natty that you hold in your head. The thought of her naked body in your bed, her laughter in your living room, her mess in your kitchen—it doesn’t feel like an intrusion, it feels like home.

"Are you sure?" you ask. A little shaky, a little hopeful.

Natty opens one eye to look at you, a laugh playing on her lips. "Oh, you know I'm going to be the worst fucking roommate ever."

"Yeah, I can see that. But as long as you keep being the best fucking everything else..." Your words trail off into a whisper, your hand tracing idle patterns on her back.

And then she says it again.

"You’re so fucking in love with me."

Natty kisses you hard, deep, her tongue sliding against yours. And you know, you fucking know, that she's right. You are desperately, entirely, so fucking in love with her, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

You laugh, the sound a little desperate, a little wild, and roll her again, pin her down again. A strange feeling rushes through your mind. Like you’re going to be repeating this exact same motion for the next hundred years. And somehow, that doesn’t sound like the worst thought in the world.

Natty squeals, cheers, moans when you settle between her legs.

"Fuck you, Natty."

"Oh, baby," Natty giggles, reaching down between your legs, squeezing you. Once. Twice. Until you're filling her hand once more. "That's what I'm here for."

#kpop smut #natty smut #kiss of life smut #male reader

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venmondiese · 2 months ago

Text

ESPRESSO

-ˋˏ| summary: Late at night, Aemond thinks of you to keep himself awake. And he doesn't doubt to ask for your help to do so.

✧ | Pairing: Modern!Aemond Targaryen x reader

✧ | word count: 1.5k

✧ | Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, Masturbation, Submissive Aemond..., Sending nudes and stuff.

✧ | notes: i wanted to try something new and short as i was busy, and this came up. very obviously inspired on expresso by sabrina carpenter!

miss you

It was no surprise to get messages of this kind from him, especially when he was so busy with the last bit of college. Aemond has told you how many essays he has to do, and how many exams are left.

It was almost the start of summer, and he liked to torture himself by studying two careers at once.

miss u too ;)

There was something peculiar with your relationship with Aemond, you loved to be a tease around him. But it was partially his fault, since he entertained your whims.

His brother Aegon was the only one aware of this situation between you two, since he catched you both in the act. Not even having sex… yet it did not look good for Aemond.

Aemond always texted you in the nights, where he was up until late, studying. You also worked late, but you did it for different reasons.

“Mhm… Alys never wanted to do those things with me…” he confided in you once, to which you responded.

“Mhm. Too bad your ex didn’t do it for you”

He often tells you how you were like a dream girl, something you took pride in. Aemond wasn't just some love sick puppy. He was truly a good catch, and yet he was all wrapped on your finger.

It was due to both of you being quite nonchalant about the whole matter. If it worked, nice. If not, whatever. Yet you both found this weird teasing game interesting.

I can’t sleep.

You checked the time. It was 2:37 AM. It was no secret he couldn’t sleep, and you were awake too.

It’s late. Go to sleep.

His answers always came quickly.

I can’t. I am finishing one essay and then the other. I don’t think I’ll be sleeping.

Aemond wasn’t the type to do small talk, or whine about his problems just because. He didn’t do things just because.

You had a small smirk as you rolled to your stomach in bed as you saw his message. You type yours quickly.

Boo ;(

You turn your nightstand light on, as you get up to go and fetch a glass of water as you wait for his answer. He probably already replied by the second, but you truly didn’t care. You liked to tease him on this. Sweet and slow.

As you come back on your bed, your cat goes away to the movement, as you take your phone sipping your water.

Can I get a picture? Please.

He was always like this. Wanting a small encouragement as if that would make his performance at his studies better.

And you indulge him. Aemond knows that even if he was the one taking all the initiative, you don’t ignore him for a reason. And he loves when you play hard to get.

Sometimes, when he made something to displease you, he had to apologize as he kissed you. Or sometimes you’ll tease him, stroke his cock over the clothes and then abandon him to his luck. It drove him insane, and it made him want you further.

He was sitting on his desk, the light tried to make him focus on the papers in front of him, yet Aemond could only wait anxiously for your message. Every two seconds he checked his phone. He yawns as he looks at the hour.

It is probably ten minutes later when the notification of a video pops up, and he stands up to watch it from his bed. He knows he needs it like this; he was almost painfully hard, since he had been trying to do it on his own, but he needed you.

Your video is all he needs. The lightness of the video comes as too bright, but he manages to get over it. You were wearing that lingerie that he loved and gifted you, which you sometimes put it with a babydoll that matches.

Yet this time you weren’t wearing it, and he could see your shiny skin, probably you oiled it up a bit to his delight. It takes him a while to separate his eyes from your clothed cunt, to see that you weren’t wearing the bra that comes with the lingerie.

You were a tease, not allowing him to see your cunt as he would love to. He gets totally distracted by you, imagining anything but his studies, and all of his thoughts were filled with you. He often allowed himself to try any new idea you have, no matter how weird it might sound, he gives it a shot for you.

You twirl around to allow him to check you out in that outfit. Oh you looked so pretty, and so tempting like that. It drove him insane, as his hand moved down almost by pure instinct.

Your next message kills him.

Was it what you wanted?

He never plays hard when he is hard and needy.

Yes. I’m horny as hell. I can’t concentrate anymore.

You smirk, as you ponder for a moment before texting him.

Want my help? I think you should give it long and slow strokes, baby. Up and down.

You don’t hear from him for the next 5 minutes, honestly. He was dead silent, he left you on read and nothing more.

And then the video he sends starts loading on the chat, and you lean back on your bed as you bite your lip, seeing the blurry preview while you wait.

You didn’t want to play hard to get and see it later; you opened it immediately when you saw the frame of Aemond’s naked chest, as he propped his phone up on his nightstand beside his bed. Even if it was clumsy, you could see his chest flexing as he tried to accommodate it so it wouldn't fall. He wasn’t as experienced as you with video angles for these kinds of things, but it made it all hotter.

As he lies back in the pillows, you can see how he bites his lip, his hand drifting down from his chest to under his pants. You accompanied him when he bought that pair; green and black squares. He didn’t like the shirt that came with it, and you were so thankful for it because you could see his toned chest that you so much liked.

“Fuck…” He groans, moving his waistband lower, just enough to let his cock slip out and he doesn’t waste a moment more, his hand strokes it slowly, as the pleasure starts building up in his lower belly.

As his cock slid through his fingers, you heard his heavy breathing, murmuring curses as his back was against the headboard of his bed. His cock was throbbing, as he looked at his cock with a half-lidded expression. You could see it all, and the angle made it all better. Aemond was usually very restrictive when it came to sending nudes; he never added his face or even allowed his long platinum hair to get in frame. But this was a full on feast after what now seems as crumbs.

Even if he started with slow, long and teasing strokes, he quickly became more and more eager, as his cock twitched and leaked. Soon enough, his hips bucking into his own hand as he groaned loudly, as his head leaned back from how good it felt fucking his own hand.

“Fuck, this feel so good…” He groans, as you could hear the wet sounds and the bed moving under his movements. Aemond was never too vocal or too quiet, but tonight he seems rather eager, and with good reason, since his stress is probably the source from his high drive tonight.

You always loved how thick he was, and you could see how red his tip was as he thrusted his own hand, whimpering in the microphone.

“Gods… Oh, fuck” he mutters as you could see how his thighs trembled and his groans where louder. His balls tighten up, and you could see how he was close to cumming, increasing his pace by minute.

Even if he tried to prolong his pleasure, it seems he was rather more prone to show you the effect you had on him.

As he came undone, muttering a line of curses and pleads, you could see how he came, cum spilling over his fingers in hot and thick roped that you’ll love to lick it. He made sure to milk every last drop, as he gasped and turned to the camera for a moment, biting his lower lip as he was flustered, his cheeks rosy and his chest moving with each breath.

As he was spent he leaned over to the camera with a half lazy half sheepish smirk and he ends the video, not saying anything else after it.

It is after you end the video, you get another message from him.

I’ll be thinking about you all night.

And you sure hoped he did.

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