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satori-runa · 13 days ago

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—Come and love me

Summary: Mr.Crawling has different ways to love you.

Tags: Smut, Praise Kink, Cockwarming, Body Worship, Mutual Mastubation, Female reader, fluff, Spoilers for ENDING 04

Words: 1,8k

MDNI, ADULT CONTENT UNDER CUT

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Mr. Crawling is someone who craves the comfort of human touch, but he’s always considerate of your boundaries. No matter how much he yearns for affection, he puts your comfort first, often suppressing his own desires to ensure you’re at ease.

Still, he can’t help but get a bit whiny when you return after a long day outside. On the days when you ask him to stay home, he becomes lonely and restless, waiting impatiently for you. He often lies on your bed with his head nestled on your pillow, inhaling your scent to soothe himself until he hears your footsteps approaching the front door.

The moment you step inside and praise him for being well-behaved, he lights up completely. Mr. Crawling has a serious praise kink, and it’s evident. Mr. Crawling is practically addicted to your praise; it’s like his own personal drug. The second you open your mouth and let a sweet, honeyed word slip out, he’s already trembling with delight. He reacts instantly, a visible shiver of pleasure rolling through his body, mouth going wide as he drinks in every syllable. It’s not just about the words themselves but the way you say them—soft and genuine, like you really mean it. It makes him feel so loved, so needed.

He can’t hide how badly he wants it, how desperate he is for your approval. Even the smallest bit of praise, like a simple "Good boy," can have him biting his lip, his breath hitching as if you’ve touched him in the most intimate way. The effect is almost comical; his face flushes, and he looks like he’s on cloud nine, squirming slightly like he can’t quite contain himself. He craves it so deeply that he actively seeks it out, doing whatever he can to earn your compliments. Of course he deserves a treat for his good behavior.

The treat he prefers most is one he chose himself. Nothing satisfies him more than when you settle into his lap and cockwarm him, taking him by surprise as you sink down onto his length. The sudden feeling of you enveloping him never fails to draw out a choked gasp, his hips twitching up instinctively as he tries to control himself. He loves this position more than anything—the closeness, the intimacy of it. He holds you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded, his arms wrapped tightly around you, clinging as if you might slip away if he lets go. He’s reluctant to release you unless you explicitly ask him to; he’d keep you there forever if he could.

He savors the way your body fits perfectly against his, the softness of your skin against his cooler touch. He buries his face into your neck, breathing in your scent, his lips grazing your pulse as he shudders at the feeling of your warmth surrounding his cock.

He tries so hard to stay still, knowing you need this quiet moment of comfort, but it’s almost impossible for him. His hips shift ever so slightly, his cock throbbing inside you, and he can’t help the tiny, desperate movements he makes, even if they’re unintentional.

He can’t keep his hands to himself either. His fingers are restless, wandering across your body like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you. He takes moments to worship you, pressing his lips to your collarbone, your shoulders, any spot he can reach. His kisses are soft but hungry, lips parting as he drags his tongue over your skin, tasting the salt of your sweat. He lets out a needy, broken moan as his hands cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples, feeling them harden under his touch. He’s inexperienced, a little clumsy with his movements, but the eagerness behind it is undeniable. He’s trying so hard to make you feel good, his breath coming out in hot, ragged pants as he watches your reactions intently.

It’s not always sexual, at least not in the way he intends. Sometimes he just wants to feel you, to savor the heat of your body pressed against his, to revel in the way your warmth spreads through him. He loves the sensation of your skin against his own, the soft give of your flesh under his fingertips. But he can’t help himself; even when he’s just trying to hold you, he ends up teasing you without realizing it. His hips roll up slightly, and he groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your chest. He’s so sensitive, so easily overwhelmed by the feeling of you wrapped around him, that every little movement you make drives him wild.

He’s not practiced or skilled, and it shows in the way he fumbles, his touches uncoordinated but full of raw desire. He pinches your nipples a little too hard, a whimper escaping his lips when he realizes it, but instead of pulling back, he leans in closer, mouthing at the swell of your breast like he’s making up for it. His hands grip your waist, fingers digging into your hips as he struggles to keep himself from thrusting up into you. It’s like he can’t decide if he wants to savor the moment or chase after more, and it leaves him caught in this desperate, needy place that only you can pull him out of.

When it comes to mutual masturbation, it’s a different kind of intimacy, one that he’s hesitant about at first but quickly grows to crave. He hates touching himself when he’s alone, but with you, it’s different. You’re right there with him, your hand entwined with his, guiding him through the motions. He watches you, excited and breathless, his own hand trembling as he mirrors your movements. There’s something incredibly intimate about the way you both touch yourselves together, a shared vulnerability that makes his heart race.

He loves it when you talk to him through it, whispering sweet nothings, telling him how good he looks, how well he’s doing. It makes the experience bearable—no, more than that—it makes it beautiful. He’s not embarrassed when he’s with you: he’s not self-conscious or insecure. He’s just caught up in the moment, in the way your bodies move together, the way your breath hitches and syncs up with his.

When your hand finds his, coaxing him to stroke himself while you do the same, he whimpers softly, his fingers twitching against your palm. It’s overwhelming for him, the sensation of his own touch combined with the sight of you doing the same. He can’t stop himself from moaning, a needy, broken sound that escapes his lips as he watches you, completely captivated by the sight. "Me like you." You might whisper, and it takes everything in him to comply, the combination of your voice and your gaze making his whole body tremble.

You can tell how much he loves it by the way he leans into you, pressing his forehead to your shoulder as he touches himself with your guidance, whimpering in between. He’s panting, mouth open, like he’s too lost in the pleasure to look at anything else. The moment you reach out and wrap your hand around his, helping him stroke himself, he lets out a desperate moan, his entire body shivering as he clutches onto you. He’s a mess, but he’s your mess, completely undone by the shared pleasure and the feeling of your touch.

Mr. Crawling can be so eager when it comes to pleasuring you in return, that it borders on frantic. He doesn’t always take his time—sometimes, when he’s overwhelmed with excitement and craving you desperately, all of his usual patience flies out the window. He’ll drop between your legs, pulling you closer with a roughness that’s uncharacteristic for him, but it’s not out of aggression: it’s pure, unfiltered need. His hands are trembling as they grip your thighs, his breath hot and uneven against your skin. He’s already panting, like he can’t believe you’re letting him do this, and it makes him that much more impatient.

He dives in without hesitation, his mouth pressing against you hungrily, almost clumsily, as if he can’t bear to wait a second longer. His tongue flicks out, sloppy and uncoordinated at first, but it’s the urgency behind it that makes it so intoxicating. He’s lapping at you like a man starved, the sounds he makes—soft whimpers and desperate groans—filling the room. He’s inexperienced, but there’s something endearing about the way he tries so hard, so eager to please you even if he’s not entirely sure what he’s doing. He’s guided more by instinct than skill, following your reactions like they’re the only thing that matters.

He keeps glancing up at you, his face excited and yet almost pleading, as if he’s searching for reassurance that he’s doing it right. When he sees your pleasure written across your face, it only spurs him on. He loses himself in it, licking at you with a feverish intensity that makes it clear just how badly he needs this. He doesn’t bother with precision: he’s messy, licking you with broad, hurried strokes, his lips sucking at your clit with a desperate fervor. He moans into you, the vibrations sending little shocks of pleasure through your body, and you can tell he’s getting off on this as much as you are.

His grip on your thighs is almost bruising, like he’s afraid you might pull away. He’s whimpering into you, his tongue moving erratically, like he’s trying everything at once, too caught up in his own excitement to settle into any kind of rhythm. It’s overwhelming for him—the taste of you, the feel of your skin under his hands, the sounds you make when he hits a particularly sensitive spot. He’s panting between licks, his mouth never straying far from you, desperate to keep going even when he’s gasping for breath.

He’s a little too rough at times, sucking at your clit with a bit too much pressure, but the enthusiasm in his actions makes it hard to fault him for it. He’s learning from your reactions, his own inexperience showing through in the way he fumbles a bit, but it only adds to the intensity of the moment. When you tug on his hair, moaning out his name, he practically whines, grinding his face into you with renewed fervor. He’s almost overwhelmed by his own need, licking and sucking like he can’t get enough, like he’s trying to memorize every part of you with his mouth.

If you try to guide him, threading your fingers through his hair and tugging gently to slow him down, he lets out a frustrated, needy sound, shaking his head as if to tell you he doesn’t want to stop, doesn’t want to pace himself. He’s too lost in the moment, too eager to please, to care about taking his time. He’s devouring you like he’s afraid this is his only chance, like he’s desperate to prove how much he wants you, how much he loves being here, between your legs, giving you everything he can.

#⊹₊⟡⋆satori.speaks #⊹₊⟡⋆writings #homicipher mr crawling #mr crawling x reader #mr crawling #mr crawling smut #homicipher smut #homicipher x reader #homicipher fanfiction #homicipher

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starstruckmiraclekitty · 1 year ago

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“Choke me.”

Simon’s brain nearly short circuited at your words, and he looked down at you with furrowed brows, his cock still nestled deep within you. “What?”

“I said choke me, please.” You whined, your eyes locked on your lover as he slowed the movements of his hips. “Been wanting it so bad, Si.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Simon said softly, leaning his forehead against yours. His eyes drifted down toward your neck, which was littered with soft bruises he’d left with his teeth earlier that night. His breath hitched in his throat at the sight, his mouth watering with the urge to add to the marks.

“Please, Si, you won’t hurt me. I trust you.” You pleaded, pouting your bottom lip out just the way you knew he liked.

Your eyes were pleading, and Simon felt a warmth spreading in his belly. He fucking loved when you begged him. “You tell me if it’s too much, got it?”

You gave a firm nod, your pussy clenching around your husband’s thick length in anticipation. You leaned your head further back into the pillow, showing off your neck to your Simon.

His hand loosely found the base of your throat, his fingers lightly wrapping around it. He watched as your eyes fluttered shut, and heard a soft moan emit from your lips.

His fingers tightened their grip, putting just enough pressure to have your mouth falling open slightly, and Simon would by lying if he said the sight didn’t cause his cock to twitch inside of you.

“Fuck.” He groaned, feeling you tighten around him once more. He couldn’t remove his eyes from the sight of his hand around your throat. It felt wrong, seeing how huge his hand was, covering nearly your entire throat- but fuck, did it do something to him.

You were completely under his command, and he could feel your pulse quicken from beneath his fingers. You were completely his, to do with what he wanted. He tightened his grip just a bit more, feeling you slightly gasp at the force.

He picked up the movement of his hips, his cock sliding in and out of you with ease. You let out a strangled moan, and Simon could feel it against the palm of his hand. The feeling of the vibrations against his hand had a moan of his own slipping from his lips.

“You’re so fuckin’ naughty, you know that?” Simon panted, struggling not to close his eyes from how tightly you were clenching around his length. “My dirty girl, likes to be choked yeah? Likes to have her man’s fingers around her throat while he fucks her?”

He could feel you whine again, and it nearly made him feral. It unlocked a primal urge within Simon he didn’t even know he had. You looked so small underneath him, so innocent, so submissive.

It made him want to ruin you.

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A/N: for some reason my brain is running dry on kinks to write- please spam me with kinks😭😭

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley imagine #cod imagine #mw2 imagine #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #female reader

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sweet-as-an-angel · 5 months ago

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Gladiator! Ghost

Warnings: 18+, Dub-Con, Breeding Kink, Implied Forced Pregnancy, Dominant! Ghost, Unprotected Sex, Rough Sex, Master/Servant Dynamics, Voyeurism, Public Humiliation, Sexual Coercion, Scene Inspired by ‘Spartacus’, Based on Spartacus’ In-Universe History, Profanity, Implied Fem! Reader, Images Used aren't Mine.

Gladiator! Ghost abuses his power over you every chance he gets. No exceptions.

And all because you had to go and show him voluntary kindness, tending to his post-battle wounds and praising him for his efforts, all while touching him as delicately and as gently as you could. More so than anyone ever has.

It’s not long after this interaction that you find yourself stationed as Gladiator! Ghost's personal handmaiden; the perfect servant to see that his every desire is satiated.

And, unfortunately for you, that often includes him coercing you into compromising positions.

Even when he’s been training all day, his muscles bulging, skin glistening with sweat, eyes ablaze with bloodlust, he finds time to seek you out and take you someplace isolated and quiet – where nobody else can see or save you – and pumps his fury into you.

He’s never gentle with it, either. He isn’t trained to be.

He’s panting, chest heaving and broad at your back as he presses you into the stone wall of the cellar, your legs forcefully parted by a thick, toned thigh – the skin of which is covered in your dripping essence – as he pounds into you with all his might.

He calls you his maid – only his. Tells you that no-one else can have you, that they’d have to kill him if they wanted to possess you as he does.

And you take it because that’s all you can do. All you’re allowed to do.

You let him make your body feel like this is right, that the cracks of euphoria splintering between your legs justifies the way he grabs your hair and pulls you back to face him, only to force his eager tongue into your mouth.

You clench around him – unwillingly so. Encourage him.

You hear him groan, feel his voice heavy on your tongue before he pulls away, slipping a hand beneath the fabric of your tunic and squeezing your clit between his fingers. You cry out, pressing back into him, taking him deeper.

“You’re mine,” he tells you. He punctuates his point with a quick, harsh slap to your clit – one that leaves you whining. “I’ll give you my babe – give you the privilege of bringing my son into this world.”

Amidst the reluctant pleasure electrifying your every sense, you know he’s close. His tip – pressing into the deepest part of you, a place you didn’t even know existed before he found it – bulbous and aching, pulses in time with his heartbeat. You close your eyes and brace for it – the warmth, the wet. The inevitable.

And, sure as rain after thunder, Ghost growls, pressing as deep into you as your body will allow and then some, as he cums, hot and heavy. You can physically feel his semen pumping through his shaft as he empties every ounce of his seed into your wanting womb – filled beyond full – leaving you whining and trying your best to pull away from his cock.

He holds you still and glowers, a vein across his bicep twitching – almost winking at you – as he slams his hand beside your head, caging you . As if to remind you that he’s the one in charge here.

So you still, panting, sweating and almost crying, as his seed nestles inside you, knowing there’s nothing you can do until he’s ready to let you go – until he’s sure his efforts have taken. And all you can focus on is how heavy he feels inside you, the feeling of his chest almost crushing you against the wall as he breathes deeply. The gradual softening of his tip at your cervix as he grows flaccid.

The hand between your thighs – coated translucent and white – comes to rest upon your stomach. You can feel him looking down at the phantom bump from over your shoulder. His voice is obsidian.

“If I haven’t imparted him upon you already.”

In Ghost’s head, he’s justified in his actions. Even though he can feel you trying to peel away from him, your heart racing to the rhythm of fear and not of lust. Even though he knows you will likely retreat to your shared chambers and weep into your pillow. He knows, deep down, that you want as he does. A family.

It’s all he can think about aside from the bloodshed and the fight for survival. You are all he can think about. The only thing that can placate his rage.

It’s his reason. His only reason to continue.

In his own way, this is his manufacturing of a family. Turning you from a servant into the mother of his children, and transforming him – a beast – into a father.

Not that you’d know this, but he has more influence within the Master’s residence than most – especially as his most prized gladiator.

Whenever the Master throws parties, he convinces him to put the maids – you – on display, to show the other houses that his gladiators are not just fighters, but incessant lovers, too.

More often than not, you’ve had to strip bare and bear the weight of the stares of party-goers as Ghost, assigned to be the night’s show pony, makes sure everyone knows who you belong to.

It’s an exercise of power. Of ownership.

He makes no effort to hide his endurance, his speed, often finishing at a rate that leaves you terrified knowing there’s nothing you can do to stop it, to hide away and prevent your seemingly inevitable pregnancy at the hands of the man you call Master.

Truth be told, you’d be ashamed of enjoying the weight of him inside you – the familiar feeling of his tip hitting a note within you that leaves you whining a wanton tune – if it weren’t for the fact that your situation could be worse – that it could be another of the Master’s loyal fighters pounding you, holding you and bruising your waist. Degrading you from a maid to a whore for all to see.

Ghost can see, during times like these, the women who wish to be you and the men who crave to be him. And he hides his smile beneath learned stoicism, even as he’s overcome with the euphoria of emptying himself inside you, lifting you by the hips so nothing of his making is wasted.

And you can do nothing to fight against it.

And, when he’s asked by some curious voyeur, he’ll do it all again. And again. And again.

This is the only way he can guarantee his seed takes – the only way he can make sure you won’t go off running trying to cleanse yourself of his semen rolling down your thighs, of his efforts taking form and bearing fruit inside you.

He knows it’s just a matter of time until he can afford both your and his freedom, until he can take you away from this place and raise your family together – someplace far from this spectacle of murder.

Until then, he’ll convince his Master to fund these social affairs, to allow you to remain as his maid.

His.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist Gladiator Ghost AI

AO3 Wattpad X

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jiveyuncle · 1 year ago

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The way I cried getting to hold this story in my hands.

Fanfic:

there, nestled against his pulse by @hiuythn on AO3 (personal copy printed with permission from author)

Read the fic HERE

#fic rec #tnahp #there nestled against his pulse by hiuythn

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sttoru · 5 months ago

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𝝑𝑒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. nanami kento x pregnant wife!female reader. smut, pwp. cunnilingus. pregnancy kink kinda. not proof read. reader gets called ‘sweetheart, honey, darling’

kento nanami cannot leave you alone, even if you’re pregnant. he’s a natural provider and always wants the best for you. especially when you’re carrying his child—which he thanks you for every single day. one day he shows his appreciation through words of affirmation, the other day it’s with endless gifts.

this time it’s by relieving your stress underneath the table while you’re peacefully eating breakfast.

“fuck. . ken,” you tug at his hair with your free hand, the other holding the toast you’ve been nibbling on. your head rolls back and your breath comes out in short gasps as kento’s tongue flicks over your sensitive cunt.

you didn’t expect your morning to be like this, but you’re not complaining. kento always has to start off his day by worshipping your body in any type of way. he’ll rub your small baby bump while you’re cooking, whisper sweet nothings into your ear, kiss you all over while telling you how beautiful you look and even more.

this time his usual body worship had evolved into something more. from kissing your little pregnant belly and praising you for bearing his child, to him kneeling between your legs, slobbering all over your soaked pussy.

“i know, sweetheart. your dear husband will make you feel better, i promise,” kento coos, his voice muffled as his mouth collides with your glistening folds over and over again. he’s getting lost in your essence—the slick messily coating his lips.

his fingers rub your clit a little in the meantime, not forgetting to pleasure you to his best ability. your repetitive moans bounce off the walls of the kitchen, echoing in his ears. you sound like an angel and your body feels like one as well.

kento tries his best to keep his own grunts down. your cunt is dripping so much, amazing amounts of wetness cover his mouth to the point that it trickles down his chin. he’s without a doubt getting drunk on your essence.

the place between your thighs is considered a heaven on earth to the blonde man.

“mhh, are you feeling better, honey?” kento asks, opening his eyes halfway to look up at you, “am i pleasing my wife well?”

the sight of your husband kneeling in front of you, his hands holding your hips steady on the chair and his mouth ravaging your puffy folds makes you forget all about the morning sickness you’ve been complaining of.

“f-feels way too good,” your breath is shaky as you try to focus on eating. you can’t physically get that piece of bread to your mouth, your hand shaking from the pleasure you’re being granted. your pussy tingles and aches with each lick or suck—your hips trying to buck against kento’s mouth.

“that’s great,” kento murmurs, his nose bumping against the bundle of nerves that’s nestled between your folds. the place that makes you go wild, “that’s all i want.” you squeal and find yourself dropping your toast to place your other hand on kento’s head.

you tug at his hair and gain another groan from him. kento notices that you’ve stopped eating and he pulls away from your pulsing cunt for a second, kissing your inner thighs gently. “you need to eat up, darling,” kento’s hot breath hits your bare pussy as he stares at you with love and lust in his eyes, “you’re eating for two now after all.”

he taps your little bump and leans in to kiss your swollen skin. an affectionate smile appears on his handsome features, one that makes you melt immediately. you know kento won’t resume eating you out unless you take a bite of your food again.

“fine,” you pout and grab your toast. you take a small bite and at the same time, you feel kento’s lips kiss your core back. the tip of his tongue slithers up and down your slit, circling your pulsating hole before kissing your clit.

he’s taking his sweet time to make you cum. after all, this is meant to soothe and pleasure you. to take your mind off the negative aspects of your pregnancy. if there’s one thing kento can do as your man, as the father of your child, it’s to take care of you both mentally and physically, in any way you need.

“how about your breakfast, k-ken?” you ask through quick whines. your entire body feels like it’s on fire. kento’s large hands keep holding your body down on the chair so you wouldn’t have the chance to escape his loving gestures. your teary eyes look over the table, “your coffee is getting cold.”

kento chuckles at your worries. you’re selfless, even when he’s offered to pleasure you himself. he leaves a trail of kisses up and down your throbbing pussy, his saliva mixing with your slick and causing lewd strings of clear liquid to stick to his chin.

“don’t you worry. i got my breakfast right here,” kento answers softly while eating you out. every jaw movement is down with precision—it’s slow yet filled with passion. he slurps up any excess fluid every now and then, not caring if you’re making a mess on the chair or on his face.

kento smiles against your wetness when he hears you moan at his words. the way you look so ethereal, staring down at him with open lips, drooling a bit with bread crumbs staining the area around your mouth is absolutely endearing, “you’re so cute. keep looking at me, darling.”

you cannot believe this man. he’s so caring, so loving. you definitely chose the right person to marry and have children with. his rough fingers come up to rub your small baby bump again, not forgetting to show you his appreciation through subtle touches in the meantime.

“so sweet,” kento sighs as he swallows drops of your slick, “letting me take care of you like this . . . such a good wife.”

he’s getting drunk on you, definitely. the taste of your essence and the fact that you’re pregnant with his child right now—the fact that he’s the one who impregnated you and made you a soon-to-be mother—is driving him insane. his cock is dripping with pre-cum, ready to burst.

but, he’ll hold himself back for your sake. you’re going to be taken care of first since you’re his priority and always will be.

being pregnant is so worth it when your husband is kento nanami.

#sttoru writes.#jjk smut #jjk x reader #nanami smut #nanami x reader #nanami kento smut #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #nanami x you #nanami x y/n

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dmitriene · 6 months ago

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bathing with simon riley, while sitting on his bulky lap and cockwarming him, his fat cock nestled inside your gummy walls and brush against your spongy spot with spontaneous throbs, feeling how your warm cunt pulse in response, tightening.

your soft, wet hands draw lines with your fingers along his broad back, along his spine, making simon shudder in response, burying his face more firmly against your shoulder, barely breathing with little puffs that stutter when his movements makes his cock glide against your cunts gooey insides.

his calloused palm lays between your hip and supple ass, not even digging, with his fingers twitching when he runs them over your soft skin, moving against your pubic bone and lower, before simon settles his touch against your puffy clit, brushing with little circles that makes you moan in his ear.

your warm breath scorches his ear with quiet and needy — “h-hmn, s-si!„ that paints his skin with pinkish flush, pressing his thick finger against your throbbing clit firmer, feeling how your viscous walls constrict around his meaty cock, the one simon starts to thrust in you slowly with little jerks of his hips.

his chapped lips brush against your shoulder, barely lifting his face as he litters your skin with little kisses, your fingers moving to tangle in his wet hair at the back of his neck, burrowing in the dark roots, as he whispers hoarsely — “so good to me, luv, so perfect'„ with his lips tracing path up to your neck.

✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴.

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thef1diary · 1 month ago

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Sit On It | L. Norris

Kinktober 7/11 - Cockwarming

Summary: Quality time, he told you, but you didn’t realize that your seat while watching a horror movie would be Lando’s cock.

warnings: 18+ smut, cockwarming ofc, dom!lando, filthy filthy words.

wc: 3.1k

kinktober masterlist

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Lando’s voice is a low, teasing murmur against your ear as you’re seated in his lap, your back against his chest.

His breath is warm on your skin, the heat of his body pressing into yours from behind. His grip on your waist tightens as he adjusts himself beneath you, making the shift seem casual, but you know better. The slight motion causes him to sink deeper, splitting you open, every inch of him pushing against your walls, filling you so completely that it borders on overwhelming.

Your eyes are fixated on the TV screen in front of you, mirroring his line of sight, but the images and sounds barely register. Whatever horror movie he put on is a distant blur, completely overshadowed by the way he’s filling you, the dull ache of being stretched around him that threatens to unravel you with every passing second.

Lando knows exactly what he’s doing—knows that with your back pressed against his chest, you’re acutely aware of every breath he takes, every subtle twitch of his hips. The cocky smirk on his face tells you he’s in no hurry to give you what you crave.

You clench around him, your body instinctively trying to pull him even deeper, to feel every last inch of him, but his hands keep you still. His fingertips press into your skin, leaving little crescent imprints, keeping you pinned to him in a possessive hold.

“Lan…” you mutter, barely managing the single syllable, your voice trembling with frustration and the faintest hint of need.

You can feel his amusement radiating from him, the vibration of a low chuckle rumbling through his chest as he keeps you pinned against him. His hand slides possessively over your hip, fingers pressing into your skin like he’s making sure you stay exactly where he wants you—right there, on his lap, wrapped around his cock without so much as a hint of mercy.

“Not enjoying our little movie night?” he taunts, his tone dripping with mock concern as he lets his other hand wander lazily up to your lower stomach, stroking the skin just above where he’s buried inside you, making your breath hitch at the contact.

You bite down on your lower lip, trying to stifle the frustrated moan that threatens to escape. You’re almost starting to regret agreeing to this, wondering what made you think you could handle it. The moment he suggested “quality time” on the couch with a movie, you should’ve known there’d be a catch. Now, you’re trapped in a torturous game of stillness, your body pulsing with the ache of being stretched to its limit, every shift or breath causing a fresh wave of heat to coil low in your belly.

“Pass the popcorn,” Lando says suddenly, his voice maddeningly casual, as if you weren’t trembling in his arms and desperate for him to do something—anything—to give you relief.

He nods toward the coffee table, where the bowl sits just out of reach. It’s a simple request, spoken so casually it almost seems innocent, but you know better. He’s toying with you, pushing you just far enough to see how badly you’ll need to break.

For a moment, you consider protesting, but his hand tightens around your waist, guiding you forward. As you lean to grab the bowl, his cock eases out of you until only the thick tip remains nestled inside. The sudden emptiness hits like a shock, and you can’t help but clench around him, your body tightening in a desperate attempt to hold onto what little is left. The sensation is maddening, the emptiness almost unbearable as every inch that you lost leaves you aching and hollow.

You suck in a breath, reaching out for the popcorn, your fingers trembling slightly as you fumble to grasp the edge of the bowl. The second your fingers close around it, you feel his hand press firmly on your hip, guiding you back down.

His cock pushes back inside, stretching you open inch by inch until you’re completely filled again, buried to the hilt. It’s an unrelenting stretch, the sensation of being so deeply impaled that your legs start to tremble.

A small, unintentional whimper slips past your lips, your body betraying just how deeply it affects you. Lando’s smirk widens, and you can feel it against the back of your neck as he takes the bowl from your trembling hands, setting it aside.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his tone a mix of mock praise and raw satisfaction, his hand drifting lower to trace the curve of your inner thigh. “Did you miss having me inside you, even for those few seconds?”

You give a shaky nod, your breath hitching as you settle back into his lap, feeling the full, deep stretch of him inside you. The weight of his cock buried so completely makes your pulse quicken, every inch of him filling you to the point of delicious, unbearable pressure. You don’t trust your voice to speak, so you bite your lip and just nod again, hoping it’s enough of an answer to satisfy him.

“Thought so,” Lando murmurs, his tone dripping with that cocky satisfaction as he leans closer, letting his lips brush lightly against your ear. “Then we’ll stay just like this until the movie’s over.” He lets the words sink in, his hands settling on your hips, his fingers splayed possessively across your skin as if to ensure you don’t even think about moving.

You stiffen slightly in his grasp, realizing with a mix of frustration and need that he’s serious. The movie, still playing in the background, might as well be a world away for all you’re aware of it. You don’t even know what’s happening on screen, and other than hearing constant screams of bloody murder, your focus is completely swallowed by the way he fills you, every inch of your body screaming for him to move, to give you more. But then you hear him shuffle as he picks up the remote, your pulse pounding in your ears.

“And since you weren’t paying attention,” he continues, his tone dropping lower as his breath grazes your neck, “we’re going to start it over.”

With that, he presses the button, and the movie rewinds back to the beginning. His cock remains buried inside you, thick and unyielding. You can feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat through his chest against your back, each breath you take making your body clench instinctively around him.

Lando’s hands slide up to your waist, his thumbs tracing slow, lazy circles on your skin as if to soothe you, but the grip is firm enough to keep you pinned exactly where he wants you. “Relax, sweetheart,” he whispers, his voice laced with a hint of amusement, “we’ve got all night.”

You try to relax, but the fullness of him inside you is maddening, a constant reminder of how badly you need more than just his cock sitting still inside you. You draw in a deep breath, hoping it will ease the ache between your legs, but all it does is make you more aware of the way he stretches you, every inch of him throbbing against your sensitive walls. It’s a sweet kind of torture, and Lando’s not giving you any mercy.

He shifts his hips slightly, just enough to make you gasp, but not enough to truly give you what you crave. The smallest of movements sends a jolt of pleasure through you, the pressure building with every passing second.

The movie restarts, its opening scenes flickering on the screen, but your attention is glued to the sensation of being completely filled, stretched so deep it almost feels like you can’t take it. Your body is tense, your hands gripping the edges of the couch as you struggle to stay still, every muscle in your thighs quivering from the effort.

“Come on, now,” he murmurs, his fingers tightening on your waist as he feels the way you’re fighting to keep from moving. “You can do better than that.” There’s a teasing lilt in his voice, a knowing edge that tells you he’s enjoying every second of this little game. His hand slides up to your chest, his touch imperceptibly light as he brushes over the curve of your breast over your shirt.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, his voice a low rumble in your ear. “And neither are you.” He pauses, placing a kiss on your cheek. “So just sit there and take it, sweetheart,” he adds, his lips grazing your neck. “Because you’re not getting anything else until the credits roll.”

Your pulse races as you realize just how long he plans to keep you like this. The movie stretches ahead of you, nearly two hours of being held in place, filled to the brim, with nothing to do but feel every single inch of him.

“Unless…” His voice trails off as his hands slide down to spread your legs, effortlessly hooking them over his thighs. The new position makes you gasp, every inch of him shifting deeper inside. He chuckles softly at the sound, his fingers drifting to trace slowly over your slit, teasing the sensitive skin.

“Unless you can cum just like this,” he murmurs, dipping his head close so his breath fans over your ear. “With my cock stuffed deep inside you and my fingers playing with your pretty little clit.”

He drags his fingers lower, circling your entrance where you are stretched around his cock, before moving back up to your clit, brushing against it with the lightest touch. “If you can manage that,” he continues, his tone low and husky, “I might not make you wait until the end of the movie. I might just fuck you properly right here and now.”

His fingers swirl slowly, never quite giving you the pressure you need, just enough to make you ache for more. “But if you can’t…” he adds, a mischievous glint in his eye as he meets your gaze, “then you’ll just have to stay right there, sweetheart, filled and desperate, until those credits roll.”

His fingers continue their lazy circles over your clit, the teasing touch sending jolts of pleasure through your body that only intensify the ache deep inside. His gaze locks onto yours, a sly smile tugging at his lips as he watches every twitch, every shudder of your body. “Do you want that?” he asks, his voice a low murmur. “Do you want to be my good girl and cum just like this, with my cock buried so deep inside you?”

His fingers press just a little harder against your clit, a delicious contrast to the slow, steady throb of being stretched around him. “Or…” He lets the word hang in the air, his thumb now joining the motion, brushing against your swollen bud. “Would you rather keep struggling, knowing you’re not getting anything more until this movie is over?”

The way he’s looking at you—like he already knows the answer, like he’s daring you to beg—sends a fresh wave of heat curling through your belly.

You try to find the words, but they catch in your throat, your breath coming out in shallow pants. The pleasure thrumming through your body is too much and not nearly enough all at once, and the way his fingers move so leisurely over your clit is driving you to the edge of desperation. Without thinking, you lean back against him, seeking more contact, your head falling into the crook of his neck. The heat of his skin seeps into you, grounding you even as your pulse races.

Your hand lifts to his cheek, a quiet plea in the touch as your fingers trail along his jawline.

He hums in satisfaction at the way you press against him, his lips grazing the shell of your ear as he takes his time with you. His fingers slide down, teasing your entrance again, feeling the way you stretch and pulse around his cock, before drifting back up to your clit, this time with a bit more pressure. The shift is subtle, but it’s enough to send a bolt of pleasure straight through you, making you gasp.

“I need words, love,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrates against your back.

“Please, Lando,” The words slip out, breathless and unsteady, your legs trembling where they’re draped over his thighs, spread open and exposed for him.

“There we go,” he hums, “now watch the movie.” His fingers pick up a slow, deliberate rhythm, pressing down just enough to make you keen for more, but still holding back from what you truly crave.

You arch your back, pushing your hips forward as you pant against his neck, your body seeking every ounce of friction you can get. His other hand slips under your shirt, his palm finding the curve of your breast, and he rolls your nipple between his fingers, sending another wave of pleasure through you.

He returned his gaze to the TV screen, but you can feel his focus remain solely on you, his fingers working expertly between your legs. He pinches your clit, hard enough to make you jolt against him, a breathy moan escaping your lips as you body arches.

He gives a small chuckle, the vibration against your back making your skin tingle. The casualness of his attention on the movie while playing your body like an instrument is maddening, only heightening the intensity of each pulse of pleasure.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice soft with a trace of amusement. “So needy.” He rolls your clit between his fingers, the motion slow, deliberate, and oh so devastating. You can’t help the way your hips buck up, chasing the friction, desperate for more.

His other hand slips away from your tits to tighten his hold on your hips, keeping you pinned against him, your legs splayed over his lap and unable to close.

“Stay still, love,” he instructs, adding a little more pressure. The sound of the movie plays on in the background, but it feels like a distant hum, utterly irrelevant next to the sensation of his fingers circling you again and again.

Your breaths are ragged, each one catching as he changes the rhythm, just enough to keep you on edge but never quite letting you fall over it. When his hand stills altogether, you whimper, your fingers curling against his arm in a wordless plea.

He drags his lips down the side of your neck, nibbling the sensitive skin there as his fingers resume their torment, rubbing over your clit in tight, firm circles that send sparks of ecstasy coursing through your veins. You can feel your release building, that familiar tension tightening with each stroke, threatening to break at any moment.

“Beg for it,” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. “Beg for me to let you cum.”

You can feel the subtle pulse of his cock as you clench down on it, matching the rhythm of his fingers as they torture your clit, rubbing with just the right amount of pressure.

His other hand slips up to cup your breast underneath your shirt, fingers teasing the sensitive peak. He pinches your nipple, rolling it between his fingers in time with the circles on your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. The double assault on your senses makes you gasp, your body trembling in his lap as he toys with you, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Please,” you whimper, the word coming out breathless and broken. “Please, Lando, I need to cum.”

He hums in approval, his voice low and velvety in your ear. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his fingers working faster, rubbing your clit in tight, insistent circles that send sparks shooting down your spine. “Let me hear those pretty sounds,” he says, his tone dripping with satisfaction as he listens to your desperate moans, each one rising higher as you get closer to falling apart.

You can’t hold back any longer, your body arching into him as your release crashes over you, a wave of pure ecstasy that leaves you gasping for air. His fingers don’t stop, prolonging the pleasure until you’re a quivering mess, your walls clenching rhythmically around his cock as your climax wrings you dry.

The sensation of you tightening around him draws a deep, guttural groan from his throat, his breath hitching as he feels every pulse and flutter of your orgasm.

“Fuck,” he mutters, the sound rough and strained as your release squeezes him from the inside, each wave of your pleasure making his cock throb. His hand on your breast tightens instinctively, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he savors the way you come undone for him, the way your body trembles and clings to him, desperate for more even as you’re falling apart.

“That’s it, love,” he groans again, his voice thick with need, the sound vibrating against your ear. “Just like that… feel so good wrapped around me.” His hips twitch subtly, the movement causing his cock to press even deeper, making your body jolt with the lingering aftershocks as his fingers finally begin to slow, drawing out the last delicious pulses of your release.

A sudden scream from the movie startles you both, breaking the heated moment. You can’t help but chuckle, your voice still a little breathless. “I think we should turn that off,” you say, glancing toward the TV.

“Really?” Lando’s teasing tone makes you smile. “Thought you said you liked horror movies.” He’s still inside you, and you playfully clench around him, earning a low groan that rumbles through his chest.

“Not more than your cock,” you reply, arching an eyebrow as you throw the challenge back at him. “Now, are you going to properly fuck me or not?”

Without missing a beat, Lando grabs the remote and switches off the movie, the room plunging into quiet anticipation. His hands find your waist as he lifts you off his cock, leaving you momentarily empty and aching for him again. Before you can protest, he swiftly throws you over his shoulder, a hand coming down to smack your ass playfully as he heads toward the bedroom.

You laugh, the excitement bubbling up inside you as he carries you with ease, your fingers digging into his back for support. “You’d better not keep me waiting,” you warn, your voice filled with playful impatience.

“Don’t worry, love,” he replies, a grin evident in his tone. “You’re about to get everything you’ve been begging for.”

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