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asiatic-apple · 20 days ago

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What the birthday boy wants...

aka, marathon sex

Caleb x female reader

You’ve spent weeks planning for this day. The bakery order. The string lights. The playlist tailored to every one of Caleb’s favorite songs. A whole night built around making him feel as loved, celebrated, and special as he always makes you feel.

But when your boyfriend steps through the door, none of it matters anymore.

He drops his bag, eyes locking on you like you’re the only thing in the world worth seeing. He barely spares a second glance at the birthday banner above the kitchen. Doesn’t notice the cake, frosted to perfection and waiting on the counter. Not even the presents lined up in a neat little row by the sofa.

All he can focus on is you. Standing there in that dress he’s obsessed with—the one he bought for you and said made you look “dangerous.”

“Happy birthday,” you say, soft and nervous while fidgeting with the black ribbon on the strap of your dress.

He doesn’t answer. You blink and he’s surging toward you like gravity has shifted and his body has no choice but to fall into yours.

Caleb kisses you like he’s starving.

No gentle greeting, no birthday speech about how lucky he is (he’s definitely thinking it, though). Just his mouth crashing into yours, hands gripping your soft waist like he needs to anchor himself while he loses control.

You stumble back blindly, barely registering that he’s walking you toward the wall until your spine hits plaster and his hands are already sliding beneath your dress.

“I’m sorry,” he whines, leaving sloppy kisses along your jaw, your throat, then the top of your cleavage. “I know you planned so much. I saw it. And I swear I love it all. But I can’t—I can’t do any of it right now.”

Your fingers thread into his hair, pulling his head back just enough to see his eyes. His pupils are so dark and dilated that you barely see the rings of vibrant violet around them. Yet through his desire, he manages a needy pout—begging for forgiveness even as he looks ready to fuck you into the wall.

“Caleb, you don’t have to apologize.” Chuckling softly, you brush your fingers through the hair along the nape of his neck. “If this is what you want, then I can’t deny the birthday boy.”

That’s all the permission he needs before he’s back on you again.

“All I’ve thought about today is you,” he groans. “Knew you’d be waitin’ for me, all dolled up. So fuckin’ gorgeous.”

It’s clear he’s getting more and more riled up as his hands wander your body. You love when he gets like this, all slurred words from being drunk on the sight and feel of you. He hasn’t even gotten your dress off yet, but he’s already a mess.

“I don’t want dinner,” he murmurs, fingers trailing up to tickle the band of your panties. “Don’t want cake. Just want you.” His declaration makes you whimper, thighs already pressing together at the sound of his voice—how low it drops, how hungry it sounds. “Please, baby. Wanna taste you. I need it.”

One shaky nod from you is all it takes and then he drops to his knees, eyes locked on yours as he tugs your panties down your legs.

“I’ll make it up to you for ruinin’ your plans,” he says. “Gonna lick this sweet pussy ‘til the candles on that cake melt.”

You barely manage a breath before his mouth is on you.

There’s no buildup, no teasing. He’s too impatient to take his time—and he already has plans to fuck your cunt with his tongue all night long anyway, so he doesn’t need to savor this.

He devours you, tongue parting your folds, hot and wet and focused as he sucks on your clit like he’s trying to get drunk off the taste of you. His large hands envelop your thighs, keeping you still as you shake against the wall.

It’s barely been two minutes of his lips on you and it already feels like you’re close to coming. The way his head is buried beneath the frilly skirt of your dress, his fingers digging into your plush skin—it’s so filthy that it makes the pressure build in the pit of your stomach.

His tongue keeps flicking your clit with a single-minded focus on making you come as hard and fast as humanly possible. The devastating rhythm has you gushing all over his lips while you cry his name. If you could see him right now, you’d catch the sinful sight of your juices mixed with his spit as it trails down his chin and neck.

“Fuck,” you gasp, hips stuttering forward. “Caleb, you’re gonna make me–”

“Do it,” he growls against your pussy. His words are muffled while he’s unwilling to part from your flesh for even a second. “Come f’me…”

Your orgasm hits hard, too fast, the pleasure spiking so sharp that your legs buckle as he groans against you. And Caleb keeps licking and sucking you through it like he wants to wring you dry.

He stands before your knees fully give out, catching you with one strong arm around your waist. You desperately try to suck in deep breaths, but they catch in your throat at the sight of his slicked up mouth and chin—coupled with lust-blown eyes that say he only wants more.

“You taste so sweet,” he murmurs. “Better than cake, I bet.” Then he kisses you—tongue and all—and you moan into it, dizzy from how quickly you reached your peak.

He lifts you into his arms effortlessly and carries you to the bedroom, shedding clothes with barely restrained urgency. His shirt hits the floor. His belt clatters across the carpet (god, it’s so hot when he undoes it with just one hand).

He kisses you between every hurried step, mouthing every patch of skin he can reach without ever slowing down. A quick bite on your bottom lip. Then he sucks harshly on the sensitive spot under your ear, surely trying to leave a mark that lasts.

When your back hits the bed, you reach for his cock already peeking out between the unzipped top of his pants. He’s already achingly hard, already leaking enough precum to make the lazy glide of your hand so smooth and slick.

Caleb shudders from your touch and whispers, “Need you, baby. Need you so bad I can’t think straight.”

You don’t keep him waiting any longer. He hikes your dress up around your hips while you guide him to your entrance. And then he pushes inside fully with one deep stroke.

“Fuck, yes,” he groans, bracing himself over you, arms trembling. “God, you feel so good. So perfect—always so wet for me.”

His thrusts start fast. Like he can’t slow down even if he wants to. The tip of his cock drags against your g-spot so deliciously that your eyes roll back. And he watches in awe, mesmerized by the way you moan for him.

You claw at his back and wrap your legs around his waist as he pounds into you, the bed creaking beneath every motion. It’s not long before you come again with a sob, nails digging into his shoulders as you clench around him. He kisses the tears from your cheeks and slows for a moment before pulling out.

The sudden loss makes your breath stutter in confusion. But just as quickly, he flips you over and pulls you onto your hands and knees.

“Don’t worry, pips,” he pants, pressing back into you with a broken groan. “I’m not done with you. Need to make you come again.”

You’re not sure if you’ll even be able to do what he wants when your whole pussy is tingling with oversensitivity. But he fucks you through it—through your cries, through the overstimulation, through the way your arms collapse beneath you and he has to wrap an arm around your stomach just to hold you upright.

You can feel him shaking behind you, can hear how close he is in the way his voice starts breaking, the way he whispers, “Gonna come inside you, fill you up—fuck—gonna mark you.” When your moans pitch higher, it only makes him even more crazed. “Yeah, you want that?” he murmurs, thrusts turning more erratic. “Then you gotta come for me again, pretty girl.”

Before you can say a word, his fingers glide down your front. They dip beneath your dress and hastily lock onto your clit, rolling and pinching the throbbing bud with the intent to make you flutter around him.

The two of you come together this time, your moans entangling and turning into the most obscene symphony.

Caleb twitches inside you before spilling one of the biggest loads you’ve ever taken from him. It leaks from your swollen pussy when he pulls out, but he wastes no time smearing it around and pushing some of it back inside with two thick fingers.

You can already tell your dress is going to be ruined—the top all damp with sweat and the hem messy with your combined releases.

It’d make sense for Caleb to stop now. After such an intense orgasm, you’re expecting him to be too tired and not hard enough to keep going.

But when he eases his fingers out of your sore pussy and rolls you onto your back, his eyes are still full of something wild.

And when you glance down at his cock, it’s already half-hard again.

He slides back into you slowly, cradling your jaw with one hand and your thigh with the other. He moves like he wants to memorize every part of your body.

Every time you whimper, he moans. Every time you cry out, he praises you.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he whispers. “So good for me, letting me have you again and again.”

You lose track of time. Hours blur into one long, aching haze of pleasure. He takes you every way he can—on your back, on your side with your leg hitched around his waist, then riding him until he’s trembling beneath you and gasping your name like a prayer.

And every time you come, he tells you how good you are. How lucky he is to have you. How you’re the only present he ever wants on his birthday.

You’ve lost count of how many orgasms you’ve had when you’re wrung out and raw, eyes glassy, thighs trembling and sticky.

But Caleb is still insatiable. Still making up for all the years he never got to have you like this. Your legs are spread by his strong hands, and he licks into you again—achingly slow this time. You’re not sure if it’s because he’s finally getting tired or if he just wants to take his time worshipping you.

“Hm, you taste even better after I’ve come inside you,” he whispers.

You moan, twitching beneath him, and he just smiles against your folds.

It takes longer now that you’ve had so many orgasms already, but he diligently pulls one more out of you. And after you come with such a sweet moan, you both collapse in a tangled heap, breathless and sore.

Caleb yanks you to his chest, his fingers playing with your hair while you catch your breath. His eyes are still half-lidded with desire as he mumbles, “Best birthday I’ve ever had.”

You snort. “You didn’t even get to blow out your candles.”

He looks at you with a lazy, wrecked smile. “I blew your back out instead.”

You swat his chest, but he catches your hand and kisses your fingers, then the inside of your wrist with a wet smack.

“I’m still not done,” he says, like it’s a threat. But you must be just as crazy as he is, because you faintly feel the pulse of arousal between your thighs yet again.

“Caleb, isn’t it getting too late–”

“It’s still my birthday for another hour,” he purrs, dragging his mouth along your sweaty neck. “Doesn’t that mean I get whatever I want?”

Your breath hitches and your body gets all worked up again as he slides his leaking cock up and down your slit.

“And what I want,” he whispers, “well…you already know.”

a/n: thank you to the anon who requested this!

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ckerouac · 11 months ago

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So, I really love the selection of Tim Walz for VP and it’s taken me a moment to articulate why. I mean, obviously, Dem bonafides, he’s sharp, he’s funny, etc etc. But everyone in the Veepstakes fits that bill, Harris was spoiled for good choices.

But Walz offers something that the other men in contention don’t that I think will be incredibly useful in combating Trumpism.

He offers an example and an off ramp to the section of men who felt like they were Republicans by default, and so support Trump by default. There are a lot of Trump voters who are full on obsessive, but that’s not who we’re talking to. We’re talking to folks who grew up in Republican areas, or felt their hobbies didn’t line up with who a Democrat was, or didn’t feel represented by their image of a Democrat. You want to see it so you can be it, you know? Which is why Harris is so inspirational to a lot of segments of folks, but Walz is too.

He served in the military. He went to a state college. He’s your favorite teacher from your public high school. He’s your football coach who actually cared if you were passing your math class. He’s the guy you looked up to at school when your family sucked but this guy cared, and he helped you get out and make something of yourself.

He’s the neighbor who helps you jump your car. He’s your uncle who takes you hunting. He’s your Dad who loves teasing you at the Stare Fair. He’s you when he makes a mistake like his DUI and takes responsibility for it, and when he has the chance makes sure other can come back from similar mistakes. He’s you when you and your wife want so badly to be parents and IVF gives you the family you wanted. He’s you when he says ‘it had to be me’ and used his standing and power to protect vulnerable kids sponsoring the GSA at his school.

He gives the real life example to these men that they can be that football, fishing, hunting family man who wants to provide for his family, be that powerful, respected member of the community and use that power to feed kids in school. That it’s normal to enthusiastically work for a boss like Harris. That yeah those other guys are fucking weirdos, and you’re not a weirdo, are you?

That there’s a place in the Democratic Party for them. That they don’t have to default to being fucking weird.

I hope those guys see this example of masculinity and go… yeah, that’s me. That’s who I’m gonna be.

#us politics #tim walz #I think Harris made an excellent selection #who will support her and her agenda #and gives us some non-law school and non-Ivy rep that’s desperately needed #but his brand of masculinity I think is gonna be attractive to white men who don’t like being grouped with weirdos #and white women in their 50s & 60s who look at him and see their Dad whome they miss #Harris chose well

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