papathe5th

[papathe5th]

the people (me) yearn for more daddy kink perpetua

And someone (me) delivers more daddy kink Papa V Perpetua in the form of a continuation of the first story.

THE THINGS THAT YOU SHOULD’VE HAD

Pairing: Papa V Perpetua x f!Reader

Words: 2500

Rating: E (explicit)

Tags: daddy kink; semi-public sex; spanking; unprotected sex; hair pulling;

On the night of a ritual, Papa V Perpetua saves his voice for the stage. He would only sacrifice it for a whisper or two in your ear or a countdown in the microphone during set-up.

Tonight, he raised his voice as soon as he spotted you backstage.

“What are you wearing?”

He startled you, but the chills that climbed up your spine were refreshing. “My ritual outfit?” You teased him, twirling to show off the little black dress in action. “Don’t you like it, Papa?” Playing dumb, you pouted, smoothing down the skirt slowly down the sides of your thighs.

Papa was the one who picked the dress for you. Of course he liked it. He contemplated following you back into the boutique dressing room, pacing on the other side of the curtain like a predator.

“You’re not going out in the pit dressed like that,” he whispered when he reached you, a fire under his feet and in his white eye.

“Why not?” You asked aloud, unbothered by the eyes of the crew members that burrowed into both of your backs.

“Because I said so,” he breathed right into your ear, and that fire spread under your skin. “Go back to the bus and pull on some pants.”

Breaking free of his spell took a lot of will. All of your will. And a need for air before you faint into his grubby gloved hands.

“Whatever you say,” you inhaled, an indignant look on your face. Stepping one foot back away from Papa’s suffocating closeness, you faced him from across the small distance. “Dad.”

You never got to exhale because the heat in both of his eyes knocked the air out of your lungs. And, when he crossed the foot-long distance between the two of you, his arms caught your ass before you fell back on it.

“If you weren't being such a brat right now, I wouldn’t have to daddy you.”

He cocked his head, watching your reaction like a wolf assessing a deer caught between his crosshairs. His gloved hand squeezed your flesh and it, much like you, turned to clay. Though you had to get a grip, so you turned solid and grabbed onto his shoulders.

“You wearing the lingerie I bought you?” Papa slid his own hands down your sides and then pushed them up your skirt.

“Purple,” you giggled girlishly. The sounds he brought out of you were strange to your ears, but they were all too familiar to his. “Your favorite, Daddy.”

That sound was unfamiliar to you both. It was the first time that came out of your mouth, but not the first time it was in your throat. Even his ears seem to ring with it. And his eyes were definitely dilating as if the fires inside them burned the pupils to ash. And you surely felt the rumble in his chest.

Leaning in, he let the cool silver mask meet your hot sweaty forehead. “Take your panties off, baby.” He breathed into your waiting mouth, and it stinged like a kiss. “Daddy needs a new pocket square.”

Before you could inhale the little air there was left between the two of you, he pulled on your panties and let go of the lace. As it smacked against your sensitive skin, you gasped.

“Thought you wanted me to put on more clothes, not take them off,” you exhaled, holding onto his slippery leather jacket with your sweaty palms.

“You can keep the dress on, but you’re not going anywhere.” He didn’t let you breathe, hoisting you up by the back of your thighs and wrapping them around his hips.

“Papa,” you whispered, arms winding around his shoulders, nerves wired by thrill.

“Oh, so it’s Papa now?” He chuckled into the side of your neck and you melted in his arms. As your ass met the vanity table, cold under your overheated skin. “Take your panties off for Papa then.”

Once you had more breathing room, his eyes returned to yours. You came back to your senses, too, but only for long enough to wiggle your ass and slip off the lace off your thighs.

When they reached your knees, Papa pulled them off for you, slowly stepping back until they rolled off your boots. And when they were nothing but a ball of purple inside the black pit of his palm, he only had eyes for it. They rolled into the back of his skull when his painted nose brushed against them and he inhaled.

“Fuck,” he groaned, that rumble in his chest now climbing up his throat. And he pounced on you, arms on either side of your thigh and eyes raking down your body like claws. “You’re not moving from this spot until we wrap up the ritual.”

“O-okay,” your lips trembled as a smile tugged at them.

“You still feel like being a brat?” A full-on grin exposed his gums.

“Not anymore,” the smile took over your blushing face, lips itching to be scratched by a kiss. “Daddy.”

“Shit,” his painted lips never touched your naked ones.

He pulled away from them instead, giving you space to breathe, only to make you cross it by pulling and pressing it against the front of his pants. His other hand was a shaking fist, suffocating g your panties and your scent with a crackling if leather.

“See?” He licked his lips, tasting your hot breath on them. “See what you do to me?”

His heart was beating in the palm of your hand, his cock swelling with blood under the heat of it. And you licked your own lips, mirroring him. You were the one lighting the hellfire inside him tonight, not the thousands of followers singing along to his psalms in a fever.

“Let me make it up to you.”

“You can make it up to me after the ritual.” He brought your hand up to his mouth and left a black kiss mark on the top of it. “Now, be a good girl and stay right here.”

You wanted to be good for him. More than anything, you wanted to keep the fire that you lit in his loins roaring with that single word, two syllables long.

“Yes, Daddy.”

Releasing your hand like one would a candlestick that touched his fingertips, he hissed loudly. And he pulled up his trousers, rearranging the raging erection while you reunited your thighs by crossing your legs, biting back a moan.

“I’m gonna need some ice.” Papa snorted.

You didn’t swallow the smile and he looked longingly at where it was sitting on your lips. “I can get it for you.”

“Didn’t you hear me? You’re gonna sit your pretty ass right here until Daddy’s finished with the ritual.”

More than happy to oblige, you settled in what would be your seat for the next couple of hours, squeezing your thighs tighter to put out some of the fire roaring between them. It wasn’t the best seat in the house, but you didn’t pull on the dress hoping to wear it at the barricade.

You were praying to get Papa V Perpetua’s attention. And you got what you wanted, but not what you needed. You needed him to fuck you in the new outfit, not to leave you backstage to simmer in it.

Closing your eyes, you pictured his skin prickling under the cold touch of the ice bag that was soon melting in the smoldering heat between his legs. You could hear his voice, and see him behind your eyelids as he stoked the flames of the congregation with a stroke of his fingers. You were witness to it tens of times. But you were no longer subject to it.

You heard it in his voice when he was catching his breath, when his lips landed on the microphone. He sounded to you like he would collapse in the cushions of the tour bus tonight like he had for the past three nights.

You were planning to keep the sheets near and pristeen tonight and have him fuck you on a chair. Or bend you over one.

Papa was still catching his breath when he reached you, long strides taken with his long legs. “Have you been a good girl?”

Your own legs were swinging from the edge of the make-up table, more or less in the position he placed you in. “Mhm.” A big smile rised your blushing cheeks under your sparkling eyes. You spotted the purple lace peaking out of his front pocket.

“Good girls don’t lie,” he clicked his silver tongue, and squeezed the plastic water bottle until it crumbled. And you shrunk in on yourself. “You’ve been watching me through the curtains.”

“I did,” you came clean with a dirty smirk.

“Which means you’ve moved,” he sighed loudly, the sound of dramatised disappointment. Tossing the plastic waste that had become of the bottle, he freed his right hand only to arrest your chin. “Which means you’ve disobeyed me.”

You were instantly inflamed. Papa was breathing fire in your face through his carbonated lips. The tease of pink from the smudged paint was there to remind you that he was a man, not a dragon.

“I’m sorry,” your voice trembled as if you were cold. The chills of anticipation advanced up your spine. “Daddy,” you challenged him.

Once again, his eyes swelled with black and you didn't need to fight his grip on your face to know that his cock swelled with blood.

“Off the table,” he whispered, as if he didn’t trust his own voice. “Get your ass off the table.” He stepped back, letting your face fall from his palm and leaving you room to obey him. “Turn around. Now put it up in the air for me, baby.”

At the sound of his commands, your legs turned lame and your knees knocked against each other. It was a relief to be reclined on your forearms atop the table surface. Though it took Papa taunting you and tossing your skirt over the small of your back to get you to arch your spine and raise your ass.

“Oh, you’re trembling all over,” he hummed, sounding satisfied with the state his mere words have brought you to. “Three spanks and it’ll all be over.”

His hands were naked, sweaty and spreading across both of your asscheeks. They were warm, too, but the chills were still hitting you in waves as they splashed across your spine. And they only made you quake when you saw the crew scathing in the corner of your eye. Papa didn’t have to keep his voice low anymore, and you felt it in your cunt when he roared.

“You’ve been a bad girl.” The first spank came like thunder and you cowered from it, head ducking between your raised shoulders. “One.”

It stung sweetly, and your back bowed tighter, your body tensing in wait.

“Two,” he announced, building anticipation. And it came crumbling down as he struck the same spot and a whine crawled out of the rubble. “One more, baby. Just one more.”

He struck the other cheek, surprising another whine out of you which he ate up as soon as “three” was exalted. And you could feel the shift as he inhaled it, but you couldn’t miss the gentle grazing of his fingers down into the slippery slit separating your trembling thighs.

“Someone’s enjoying her punishment,” his voice cracked as he cackled. “Seems like someone was acting out on purpose.” Seeing as you were struggling to keep your legs spread, Papa gave you a helping hand. And then he gave you two another. One was on your hip and the other on the still stinging cheek. “Wanna be my good girl again and lift your pretty ass for me?”

You moaned, moving to accommodate his legs between yours again. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Oh, fuck.” His hips springed forward and smothered his crotch in the crease of your ass. “There’s not enough ice in this fucking arena. You feel that, baby? That’s what you did to me.”

You nod, your head spinning and eyes rolling. You did catch a glimpse of the glint in Papa’s eye as you gazed over your shoulder. And it was enough to make you gush all over his covered cock.

“Two hours,” he grunted through gnashing teeth. “Two fucking hours. I had to suffer being stiff for two fucking hours.”

The cool belt buckle grazed your feverish skin as he pulled it off. “Sorry.” And you pushed back against the front of his pants, all but laving his laces with your wet lips. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

“You said you were gonna make it up to me.” Pulling himself away from the fire of your loins, he unlaced and unleashed himself. “You better take every inch and every drop, baby.”

So slippery was your slit, the head was welcomed with a sloppy kiss from the lips before he breached them. He wasn’t the only one who had suffered for two fucking hours.

The grip your cunt had on his cock only made his grip on your hip tighter and his glide into your womb faster. “So wet.” And he slapped your ass cheek once more when his own hips met up with it. “So good for Daddy.”

Without checking if there were either eyes to witness your mouth opening wide or ears to hear the sounds slid off of your tongue, you asked for more. You asked for it all.

“There she is.” His hand released your hips like reigns, only to reclaim your cunt. Only this time it was from the front, his fingers focusing on your small and stiff nub, making you bloom under his touch. “There’s my good girl. Come for Daddy.”

The two syllables form a plasm of their own. “Daddy, daddy, daddy,” you sang, a chorus he timed with the circles around your clitoris. And an orgasm had you speaking in tongues and squeezing down on his shaft.

“Oh, baby.” Papa pressed his cool mask between your wingbones where the dress stuck to your sweaty back. “You can do one more.” He lifted himself and brought you with him, his free fingers forcing your head up when it fetched your hair in a fist. “One more time, baby girl. Come on.” His other fingers were furious in their pursuit, prinching your clitoris.

Your first orgasm made you a doll in his hands and on his cock. The steamed reflection in the vanity mirror looked like a doll in his hands and on his cock. You smiled at her and at the man that she played house with. And his blurry face falling as his chin hit his chest was the last thing you saw before the second orgasm blinded you.

The milking of his cock was not your doing. Your heart bet in your cunt and your brain was drained of blood.

“Good girl,” he was out of breath as you sucked in some much needed air. Soon came a sigh as more of his come was sucked into your womb, your cunt squeezing it out of him one spasm at a time. His fingers untangled themselves from your tassels and he soothed your spine with them as you settled flat on the surface of the table. “That’s my good girl.”

[papathe5th]

a bat boy and his little refreshment

[papathe5th]

C R E A T U R E

DO NOT REPOST OR CLAIM AS YOUR OWN

[papathe5th]

source

I have no idea where this one was taken. I have no idea where I am. I am lost in this photo. I’ve been absorbed in this photo. I am just off camera being stepped on. Or, so I wish.

[papathe5th]

CURLY HAIRED C ON🔝

My headcanon is that V inherited most of his physical traits from his father, but that both him and C got the curly hair.

That’s right! I headcanon Nihil straightened his curls and so does C! And V is the only one rocking it!

[papathe5th]

Perpetua (18+)

Terzo (18+)

Cardi (18+)

Pick your daddy 🖤

More on Patreon (18+)

[papathe5th]

source

I’m about to pass out just from reading this encounter! Papa is killing our siblings in sin!

[papathe5th]

My headcanon is that V inherited most of his physical traits from his father, but that both him and C got the curly hair.

That’s right! I headcanon Nihil straightened his curls and so does C! And V is the only one rocking it!

[papathe5th]

Maskless Perpetua

I developed the facial structure by referencing Tobias’s nose and mouth, a small resemblance to Terzo as they have both inherited the black hair, and adding both femme and masc features for suggestive androgyny. And last but not least, wrinkles! I’d love to hear what you all think ✨

[papathe5th]

source

Papa continues to trade lingerie for a lick.

[papathe5th]

I double dog DARE u to write that daddy kink perpetua fic

Hey, Nonnie! I see someone read my tags from weeks ago! And I wrote my first daddy link story ever!

It’s more of a tease, really. It’s the set-up I came up with in which both the Reader and V discover something new about each other.

THE THINGS THAT YOU SHOULD’VE HAD

Pairing: Papa V Perpetua x f!Reader

Words: 1020

Rating: E (explicit)

On the night of a ritual, Papa V Perpetua saves his voice for the stage. He would only sacrifice it for a whisper or two in your ear or a countdown in the microphone during set-up.

Tonight, he raised his voice as soon as he spotted you backstage.

“What are you wearing?”

He startled you, but the chills that climbed up your spine were refreshing. “My ritual outfit?” You teased him, twirling to show off the little black dress in action.

“Don’t you like it, Papa?” Playing dumb, you pouted, smoothing down the skirt slowly down the sides of your thighs.

Papa was the one who picked the dress for you. Of course he liked it. He contemplated following you back into the boutique dressing room, pacing on the other side of the curtain like a predator.

“You’re not going out in the pit dressed like that,” he whispered when he reached you, a fire under his feet and in his white eye.

“Why not?” You asked aloud, unbothered by the eyes of the crew members that burrowed into both of your backs.

“Because I said so,” he breathed right into your ear, and that fire spread under your skin. “Go back to the bus and pull on some pants.”

Breaking free of his spell took a lot of will. All of your will. And a need for air before you faint into his grubby gloved hands.

“Whatever you say,” you inhaled, an indignant look on your face. Stepping one foot back away from Papa’s suffocating closeness, you faced him from across the small distance. “Dad.”

You never got to exhale because the heat in both of his eyes knocked the air out of your lungs. And, when he crossed the foot-long distance between the two of you, his arms caught your ass before you fell back on it.

“If you weren't being such a brat right now, I wouldn’t have to daddy you.”

He cocked his head, watching your reaction like a wolf assessing a deer caught between his crosshairs. His gloved hand squeezed your flesh and it, much like you, turned to clay. Though you had to get a grip, so you turned solid and grabbed onto his shoulders.

“You wearing the lingerie I bought you?” Papa slid his own hands down your sides and then pushed them up your skirt.

“Purple,” you giggled girlishly. The sounds he brought out of you were strange to your ears, but they were all too familiar to his. “Your favorite, Daddy.”

That sound was unfamiliar to you both. It was the first time that came out of your mouth, but not the first time it was in your throat. Even his ears seem to ring with it. And his eyes were definitely dilating as if the fires inside them burned the pupils to ash. And you surely felt the rumble in his chest.

Leaning in, he let the cool silver mask meet your hot sweaty forehead. “Take your panties off, baby.” He breathed into your waiting mouth, and it stinged like a kiss. “Daddy needs a new pocket square.”

Before you could inhale the little air there was left between the two of you, he pulled on your panties and let go of the lace. As it smacked against your sensitive skin, you gasped.

“Thought you wanted me to put on more clothes, not take them off,” you exhaled, holding onto his slippery leather jacket with your sweaty palms.

“You can keep the dress on, but you’re not going anywhere.” He didn’t let you breathe, hoisting you up by the back of your thighs and wrapping them around his hips.

“Papa,” you whispered, arms winding around his shoulders, nerves wired by thrill.

“Oh, so it’s Papa now?” He chuckled into the side of your neck and you melted in your arms. As your ass met the vanity table, cold under your overheated skin. “Take your panties off for Papa then.”

Once you had more breathing room, his eyes returned to yours. You came back to your senses, too, but only for long enough to wiggle your ass and slip off the lace off your thighs.

When they reached your knees, Papa pulled them off for you, slowly stepping back until they rolled off your boots. And when they were nothing but a ball of purple inside the black pit of his palm, he only had eyes for it. They rolled into the back of his skull when his painted nose brushed against them and he inhaled.

“Fuck,” he groaned, that rumble in his chest now climbing up his throat. And he pounced on you, arms on either side of your thigh and eyes raking down your body like claws. “You’re not moving from this spot until we wrap up the ritual.”

“O-okay,” your lips trembled as a smile tugged at them.

“You still feel like being a brat?” A full-on grin exposed his gums.

“Not anymore,” the smile took over your blushing face, lips itching to be scratched by a kiss. “Daddy.”

“Shit,” his painted lips never touched your naked ones.

He pulled away from them instead, giving you space to breathe, only to make you cross it by pulling and pressing it against the front of his pants. His other hand was a shaking fist, suffocating g your panties and your scent with a crackling if leather.

“See?” He licked his lips, tasting your hot breath on them. “See what you do to me?”

His heart was beating in the palm of your hand, his cock swelling with blood under the heat of it. And you licked your own lips, mirroring him. You were the one lighting the hellfire inside him tonight, not the thousands of followers singing along to his psalms in a fever.

“Let me make it up to you.”

“You can make it up to me after the ritual.” He brought your hand up to his mouth and left a black kiss mark on the top of it. “Now, be a good girl and stay right here.”

You wanted to be good for him. More than anything, you wanted to keep the fire that you lit in his loins roaring with that single word, two syllables long.

“Yes, Daddy.”

[papathe5th]

Twins💜

[papathe5th]

source

Guys, I don’t know how, but my need to insert V spitting or spraying the Reader every other fic was a premonition of whatever happened in Kansas City.

[papathe5th]

Papa V Perpetua | Kansas City, MO

[papathe5th]

source

I’m glad to not be the only one who noticed he interested his father’s foot fixation.

[papathe5th]

Can you do a Perpetua x reader where it’s a recently converted nun and he’s teaching her how to suck him off?

Nonnie, you never specified if the reader was Christian or a Sister of Sin, so I took the liberty of choosing for you.

A GODDESS ON HER KNEES

Pairing: Papa V Perpetua x Sister of Sin

Words: 1600

Rating: E (explicit)

When your knees hit the cool comforter on Papa V Perpetua’s King sized bed, you sighed in sweet relief. After three nights of sitting on the immalleable marble floor of the chapel, you were grateful for how easily the mattress gave under you.

Papa heard you from the other side of the room, sat in the armchair he had you kneel in front of before he had ordered you to crawl across the carpet and atop his bed.

“On your stomach, Sister,” he inhaled deeply, as if wanting to take you inside him through his flared nostrils. “Give those knees a rest.”

After three nights of training your knees to bend before his height and your throat to welcome his width, he finally deemed you worthy. You saw the swell of him in the tight trousers he pulled up his legs tonight instead of his liturgical vestments. And, after three nights of his leather-covered fingers forcing your mouth to take the form of them, you were ready to receive the real thing.

“You haven’t touched yourself, have you?” Papa pushed himself out of the chair, and pressed his palm against his covered cock. He exhaled at last, releasing a rumble from within his chest.

“No, Papa,” your mouth opened to speak and didn’t close all the way. You needed air, but you needed him more.

You tried not to choke on your words and undo all his work. Your gag reflex he had been training for three nights and you were damn near drooling. And you were dripping from the other end, but he had yet to give you permission to pleasure yourself. Or allow one of your Siblings of Sin lay a hand on you.

“And nobody else has either, have they?”

While he drew closer to the bed, you dragged yourself closer to the edge, your naked body sliding across the smooth surface. When he reached it, you rose to meet him on your hands, but kept a breath’s distance between his covered crotch and your open mouth. “Nobody, Papa.”

“You’re not lying either.” A smile stretched his lips, still sharply lined with black lipstick. And what you could see of his nose that protruded from his silver skull mask was painted black, and you saw the shadow of it scrunching against a scent. Your scent. “I can smell how much you need it.”

Your body heard him and your womb felt him. And, when the walls collapsed atop the emptiness between your legs, your jaw loosed all the way and a whine escaped.

“Are you ready to receive me?” Papa pushed you to the limit once more, squeezing the swelling in his pants. His own limits were being pushed all the same.

“Yes, Papa,” you moaned, mouth flooded and throat dry.

“You have to be patient,” he filtered air through his gnashing fangs, fighting with himself. He kept you wet for as long as he kept his cock dry after all.

Three entire nights.

You watched him through the tears welling in your eyes, frustration flooding them. The man needed to sink his hungry teeth into something, so he sucked his gloved finger into his mouth and snatched his right hand out of it. His hand was white, his fingers long and lean like the rest of him. Silver rings adorned it, girthy and glistening with candle light and sweat. You’ve only ever felt them through the leather, like knuckles knotting his fingers.

Tonight, you get to get to make them glisten with your own spit.

He smirked and it looked painful. The pull that it had on his face revealed his pink wet gums and two crooked rows of teeth. And his eyes pierced yours as he pressed his middle and index finger upon your drooling tongue. “You are ready.”

With the tips of his fingers knocking at the back of your throat, you closed your mouth around the guests and suckled on silver and skin.

He shut his eyes against the sensation, your tongue snaking along the surface, tasting salt and leather. You were ready to receive him, so he pulled his fingers out before he lost himself inside you. You could’ve swallowed his soul through the pores if he hadn’t. Though the blinding sight shiny tread of saliva that still tied your lips to his fingertips was enough to coat his cock in precome.

“Oh, Sathanas,” he choked, beholding the blushing mess he made of you. “Got that pretty mouth all prepped for me.”

He cleared his throat, but his head was foggy from the fire you lit in his loins. Licking his fingers clean of you. Soaking the seams of his mouth with your saliva, he put his other hand to use. And those leathered fingers couldn’t move fast enough. He brought his naked and lathered fingers to his bulge and freed it with a furious unfastening of the lacing.

“Oh, fuck,” he scrunched his eyes shut.

There was another sight that was too hot to behold before him: your tongue wetting your lips while your glossy eyes gazed upon his glazed cock head.

“Give it a kiss, Sister.”

His chuckle tickled your ears and you giggled. His cock looked like it was weeping, but Papa wanted you to tease the tip of it further. It was intimidating in the number of inches from the base and to the top and there was a thickness that your training hadn’t prepared you for. So you took it slow, blushing lips on his pink head.

A kiss was enough to cause an earthquake and catch Papa off-balance. His hands were in your hair before you could lick him off your lips, steadying himself.

“You’re killing me,” he panted, already out of breath before you even began. “Have mercy on me, Sister,” he stroked your hair, leather and skin scratching your scalp. “Have mercy on your Papa and receive him.”

“Yes, Papa.”

Grappling your nails into the seams of his tights trousers, you invited his head inside, letting it glide towards the back of your throat on your tongue. With your palms on his firm tights, your mouth melted all around the meaty weight of him, the thickness traversing the threshold of your teeth and causing another quake within him.

This time however, he didn’t pull out. He pressed on.

“Oh,” he lamented, his grip punishing on the back of your head and his cockhead ruthless in the back of your mouth. He had been longing to be surrounded by you for as long as you have been begging on your knees. “Oh, Lucifer.” There was pain in his tortured voice, the kind only a worshipper can inflict upon her idol.

Your prayers weren’t words, but gags and moans. And the training from the past three nights made it so that you could suck him in without swallowing, slowly boiling him in the heat of your insides.

“Good,” he encouraged you, combing through your hair, and caressing your cheek. It hollowed under his touch, under his eyes, as the insides of it collapsed on top of his cock. “Good. Papa thought you well, didn’t he? Breathe through your nose, baby. That’s it. Good girl.”

You moans fell back down your throat and it only made him more vocal. His sister. His girl. His baby. His, his, his.

You moved around him like he thought you, jaw slack and tongue flat. The taste of salt. Of sweat. Of him.

“You succubus,” he spit through his teeth, his thighs trembling under your palms and his cock twitching in your mouth. “You wanna drain me, don’t you? You want to suck me dry?”

There were inches left of his cock for you to suckle on, but there was only so much of him you could take. And there was only so much of your pretty little mouth he could take.

Papa pulled out and pushed your head back. With his bare hand, he stroked himself, your thirst for him shining in the form of saliva. With his gloved one, he held your mouth open, hurting your jaw with how much pressure he put on either side of it.

The fire in his eyes made your skin prickle like a cold wind was climbing up your spine. His left eye burned white and cold, but no less passionate than the green one. They were both carbonized, darkened by dilation and lust. You were leaking from your mouth and your cunt, but there was no putting out his flames.

“Papa,” you choked, but the crack of your voice wasn’t enough to break him.

“Beg,” he demanded, his dick drenched in your juices and his. “Beg me for it.”

“Papa, please.” With a shaking voice and a trembling lip, you begged for his come. “I want it.”

“You want me to come all over your pretty little mouth?”

“Please, please, please.” Your palms on his thighs were sweating, soaking his trousers. Your cunt was closing around the emptiness, squirting out the neediness and staining his sheets. “Papa, please come in my mouth.”

Your power was your word. Three nights ago, you saw the same desire catch fire inside Papa V Perpetua. And it was your prayer that lit the match.

Tears of relief spilled before his seed burrowed into your taste buds. You closed your eyes and let the scent of him hit you before the strings of come could.

“Oh, fuck,” he panted, like he had given you the very air he’d been breathing. “Oh, my sweet little succubus.” he smiled, drained and delighted. He saw you sticking out your tongue to catch the last drop of come. And he couldn’t be more proud.

The three nights spent on your knees have all been worth it.

[papathe5th]

Know I'm the only one right now

I will love you more when it all burns down

More than power, more than gold 

Yeah, you gave me your heart, now I'm hеre for your soul ~