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YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS YEAH YEAH YEAH thank you for blessing us with your new post!!!!!!!!!!!!! i've missed you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
THANK YOOOOU!!!!!!!!!!!!
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Cooper's hole was stretched obscenely wide, a gaping maw of red, glistening flesh that pulsed with each ragged breath he took. The large glass bottle, slick with his own arousal, rested deep inside him, filling him completely and stretching his inner walls to their limit. His labia was distended, taut around the thick base of the intruder, his clit engorged and throbbing visibly.
His entire body trembled with the intensity of the sensations coursing through him. The cool glass against his heated, wrinkled walls sent shivers up his spine, while the relentless pressure made his toes curl. His stomach muscles clenched involuntarily, trying to accommodate the immense size of the object within him, unable to push it out, the straps holding tight.
"Fuck..."
Despite the overwhelming fullness, there was no pain—only a deep, primal pleasure that radiated from his core. His face was somehow flushed, eyes heavy as tears leaked from the corners. Tears of ecstasy. Every nerve ending in his cunt sang with delight, overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of stimulation.
His cervix stood out like a protruding button, its normally subtle contours now prominent and swollen due to the prolonged occupation of the glass bottle.
How long had it been since the BOS soldiers stuffed it inside him? He couldn't say. Time had lost all meaning since his capture.
"Please..." he blubbered, though no one could hear him.
His walls were visibly puffed and swollen, resembling a tightly wrapped balloon ready to burst at any moment. The gentle sheen of sweat on his rugged thighs seemed to match the glistening wetness within his channel, where the bottle had been lodged for what felt like an eternity.
"Fuck..." he sobbed. "Ugh, fuck..."
His entire body began to quiver, a telltale sign of his deep-seated longing for release. He didn't care anymore—he just wanted to cum. His breath caught, he bit down hard on his thin lower lip, his entire being coiled with anticipation.
He was close. Impossibly close. All he needed was some movement. Just a small, careless thrust and he would shatter.
But he couldn't. His hands were bound, he was alone in his cell, he couldn't close his legs. All he could do was wait.
Wait until the soldiers decided to play with him again.
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I want Emmrich's old pussy hole to be fucked so hard and so long, it turns a slight shade of purple from all the abuse. I want him to cry and scream because it feels so fucking good. I want him to faint from the experience, then wake up and shudder because his hole is still throbbing with unwanted pleasure.
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I’m so obsessed when you put Emmrich in situations. Get that old man ruined.
Emmrich's body trembles as he presses his forehead to the cool wall, breath hitching in ragged gasps. He's long since lost track of the numerous orgasms that have wracked him—each one more powerful than the last. His well-used pussy clenches and flutters in violent spasms, releasing wave after wave of slick heat. Wetness drips down his thighs, a raw testament to how deeply he's been ruined.
"P-please..." he whimpers, his voice hoarse from the countless moans and screams that have escaped his throat. "I can't take much more."
He shudders as you tighten your grip, knowing you hold his pleasure in your hands. You know exactly how to touch him, how to tease him, how to bring him to the brink of insanity and back. He is your puppet, and you are his master, pulling the strings of his desire with expert precision.
"Aaaugh!"
His body convulses as another wave of pleasure crashes over him, his decrepit old cunt squirting once more. He can feel his vision swimming, his consciousness threatening to slip away. The sensations are too intense, too all-consuming. He knows that if you make him cum one more time, he might lose himself completely.
"Please," he sobs, his voice a desperate whisper. "I can't... I'm begging you."
But even as the words leave his lips, he knows you won't stop. You won't show him mercy. You'll push him further, force him to take more than he ever thought he could endure. And he'll obey—because he's yours to command.
His body shakes with anticipation, his hole clenching in eager expectation. He braces himself against the wall, knuckles white from the strain. He can't see what you're doing—but he feels it. The stretch, the relentless pounding, something thick and unyielding dragging against his tight, sensitive channel.
"Ugh! No!"
He can feel the pressure building once more, the familiar tension coiling in his belly.
Maker, it's so good. Too good.
"Cum for me, Emmrich," you order, your voice a low growl that sends shivers down his spine.
"Just one more time," you lie. "Cum."
And with a final, desperate cry, Emmrich surrenders—his body arching as he cums harder than ever before. His hole gushes and spasms, his vision flaring white as he's swallowed by the abyss of ecstasy.
Then his consciousness fades, his body going limp as he slides down the wall, utterly spent and beautifully broken.
But even as darkness claims him, he knows this isn't over. You will be back, and you will push him further still.
And he will obey, because he is yours, body and soul.
#emmrich volkarin#emmrich the necromancer#dragon age emmrich#tw dubcon#tw noncon#cuntboy#dragon age the veilguard#old man pussy
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In the dingy, sterile room, Phineas Welles lay strapped to a cold, metal slab, his body writhing in a mix of shame and ecstasy. His eyes were rolled back, his toes curled, and his cheeks were flushed a deep, humiliated red. His breath came in ragged gasps, each one a testament to the torment he'd been forced to endure.
His body, once a temple of scientific prowess, was now a playground for the depraved. His pussy, a sight both grotesque and beautiful, gaped wide open, held obscenely by metal clamps. The flesh inside was a wrinkled, swollen mess, the result of countless assaults. The lips were stretched taut, revealing more of the wrecked, glistening interior, slick with a mix of lubricant and his own fluids.
It was a canvas of utter degradation, a stark contrast to the man's former glory.
A large, steel rod lay discarded on the slab beside him, its surface gleaming with evidence of its role. The length was thick and ragged, designed to inflict maximum pleasure, and it had clearly been used on the old scientist—mercilessly.
In fact, he might've missed it. Even now, in this rare moment of respite, his hole shuddered at the loss, the muscles inside spasming and twitching, as if begging for more.
But no.
He was better than this. At least, he was supposed to be.
As he fought to maintain some semblance of control, the door to the room swung open, and Adjutant Sophia Akande stepped inside. Her hands were clasped behind her back, her expression stoic. Unreadable.
Wasting no time at all, she took in the scene before her, her gaze lingering on the other men in the room before finally settling on Phineas' cunt.
"Well, well," she said, her voice a low purr. "It seems you've all been having fun without me." Her eyes flared with a mix of amusement and cruelty as she took in the sight of Phineas' abused body. "Clearly, you've had your way with him."
Phineas tried to speak, to curse her and the Board; as he had so many times before, but his words were lost in a moan of pleasure. Once again, his body betrayed him, his hole squirting and spasming as waves of unwanted bliss washed over him.
"That happens now," one of the men interjected. "Sometimes he'll just... cum. For no reason."
Sophia's lips curled into a rarely seen smile, a notion both gorgeous and terrifying.
"It's truly delightful to see the once-great criminal, Phineas Welles, fall victim to such baser instincts," she said, her voice dripping with spite.
She turned on her heel, her boots clicking on the cold floor as she made her way to the door.
"Continue," she ordered the men, her voice leaving no room for argument.
As the door swung shut behind her, one of the men stepped forward, a wicked grin on his face. He approached the slab, his eyes fixed on Phineas' gape, while Phineas instinctively tried to pull away.
"What are you gonna do?" one of the man's colleagues asked.
He didn't answer. Instead, he began to fist the old scientist's hole, his hand disappearing into the vast chasm.
"Aaaughugh!"
Phineas cried out, a sound that was half-disapproval, half delirious consent. His body arched off the slab, his hips bucking wildly as the man's fist slammed in and out of him, drumming against his cervix.
"You like that?" he scoffed, the wet, sticky sound echoing through the room. "You freak."
Phineas' face was a mask of crazed ecstasy, a smile stretching from ear to ear as he came almost immediately, his body convulsing with the force of his orgasm.
To the man, this was exercise. To Phineas, it was routine.
The room was filled with the sound of his moans, the wet, slapping noise of flesh against flesh, and the occasional grunt from the man as he continued his brutal assault.
"Fuck yeah, look at him go!"
"He'll feel that tomorrow!"
"He's feeling it right now!"
The men laughed, while Phineas was lost in a world of sensation, his mind a slave to the pleasure that coursed through his veins. His hole clenched and released around the man's fist, more fluids gushing onto the floor in a sickening symphony of submission.
Days had passed. Perhaps weeks. Without the ability to see outside, the old scientist couldn't be sure. All he knew was the Captain wasn't coming to save him.
This was his life now.
And Architect, it felt so fucking good.
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In the dimly lit chamber, the air thick with the scent of sweat, misery, and the acrid tang of spent lust, Professor Emmrich Volkarin lay sprawled on the cold stone floor. His body, once a vessel of knowledge and arcane power, was now a wrecked landscape of tears and unwanted pleasure.
"Maker..." he sobbed, eyes wandering.
His old, wrinkled pussy, a relic of a past life, was gaping and dripping, the flesh red and inflamed from the brutal assault. He could feel every throb, every spasm, as if his body had a mind of its own, betraying him with waves of perverse ecstasy.
He'd been raped. For hours.
His breath came in ragged gasps, his chest heaving as he tried to crawl away from the monster who had violated him, even if he knew it was pointless. His limbs felt like lead, his muscles screaming in protest with every feeble movement. The floor beneath him was slick with his own fluids, the evidence of his repeated, forced orgasms. He could feel the cool air on his exposed flesh, the draft sending shivers down his spine, making him all too aware of his ruined state.
"Not so fast!"
Rough, calloused hands suddenly grabbed the sides of his ravaged pussy, pulling gradually.
"Aaaugh!"
Emmrich cried out, then let out a choked sob, his body trembling as he looked back over his shoulder. His attacker, a towering figure of muscle and malice, grinned down at him, his eyes gleaming with a mix of triumph and sadistic delight.
Emmrich's vision swam, his eyes rolling back as he begged, "Please... stop. I can't... take any more."
"Stop squirming," the man growled. "Let me admire my handiwork."
The man's fingers, thick and cruel, dug into Emmrich's flesh, stretching his passage obscenely wider. He could feel every ridge, every nodule, as if his body had been turned inside out.
Why did it feel so good?
"That's it," the man chuckled. "What a sight."
His gaze was fixed on the gaping hole, his expression one of morbid fascination. Emmrich's old pussy hole was a mess of red, raw flesh, gushing with a torrent of clear fluids. His passage was so stretched his attacker could see his cervix—a dark, pulsating point in the center of the carnage.
The man never came inside him, and Emmrich now realized it was because he wanted to witness his destroyed passage unobstructed.
"Fuck, I wish you could see this," the man breathed, basking in the way Emmrich's hole pulsated around his fingers. "I don't think it's ever gonna heal. You'll remember me."
"Ugh... please..."
Despite his best efforts to hold back, Emmrich's body betrayed him once more. The stretching, the shame, the sheer humiliation of being stared at in such a degrading manner sent him over the edge.
"Aaaaughugh!"
He came with a choked cry, his body convulsing as he squirted, the fluids spraying onto the floor beneath him. His attacker's grin widened, his eyes never leaving the vulgar display.
"Yes! That's it! Cum, you useless fool!"
Emmrich felt his mind snap, his vision blurring at the edges, and then he collapsed with a gentle thud, drool rolling down his chin.
"Fuck, that was amazing," the man wheezed, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. "I've never seen a man cum just from being fondled before. But I guess after all that fucking, you're extra sensitive now, huh?"
Emmrich didn't reply, lost in a haze of sorrow and ecstasy.
"Well, thanks for the party," the man taunted. "Maybe we'll meet again someday."
With a final, mocking pat, the man released him, leaving Emmrich defeated—alone on the floor. His body continued to spasm, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he tried to process the sheer horror of what had just happened. His old pussy throbbed, the shame and pleasure intertwining in a sickening dance, a constant reminder of his violation.
As his consciousness began to fade, he could only hope that the darkness would provide some semblance of escape from the nightmare he now inhabited.
...Why did it feel so good?
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Thinking about Nyoka breaking into the bathroom because Vicar Max is taking too damn long again. She discovers the reason: he's been pleasuring himself. When she sees his needy cunt she can't help but pin him against the sink and slam her beer bottle inside him, fucking that old pussy hole until he cums so many times, he blacks out. As he falls to the floor, twitching and overstimulated, she takes a piss, steps over him, closes the door, and leaves him to his shame.
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Thinking about tranquil Emmrich. Thoughts? 👀
It's fun to think of him just laying there and taking it, but becoming tranquil strips them of feeling and emotion. I want him to be aware. 😏
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Will 'twisted' be updated again? I love that short fic compilation
At some point, I do plan on it!
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Are you currently working on any new fics at the moment? Yes this is me being desperate for new content from you. :)
I am! Work has just been a killer lately and kind of draining me, but I have a few I'm working on bit by bit!
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Your writing reminds me of hentai manga in the best way possible, also those 2 strip hentai on pixiv
Thanks! You're basically calling my writing erotic and that means a lot. 😉
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Ok omg you just took my idea and made it so much better. Emmrich crying over the death of the person who used him as a fuck toy?? Yes please.
He knows he'll be missing that sweet, sweet stretch. 😏
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Ah, I just had some thoughts about Emmrich getting a head injury in battle, losing his memory and getting separated from the group and someone taking advantage of that. The group finds him in the end but he’s clearly not the same 👀
Now that's hot. He's not hurt, but his memory is just... gone. He wakes up in a random cottage with a large, stoic woodcutter. He says he's Emmrich's husband, and Emmrich, not knowing any better, believes him. Not just because he says so, but because even without his memory, he still feels that intense sense of loneliness he's felt his whole life. This man must be his husband, surely. Why else would he be taking such good care of him?
But then the man starts to fuck him, pounding his aging hole into a gaping wreck, forcing him to cum over and over until he literally blacks out from the intensity of the unwanted pleasure. This goes on for weeks, until pieces of his memory slowly start to return, a feeling of dread coiling in the pit of his stomach.
And then he realizes... no, this man isn't his husband. He doesn't know this man at all! He tries to escape, but he's too weak, too drained from the endless fucking. And worst of all... he's become addicted to it. His old hole constantly aches when it's not being violated and filled, slammed into the bed, the table, the floor.
He accepts his fate, serving as a daily receptacle for this evil man, who's never actually hurt him, but humiliated him. Emmrich hates him for it, but he can't deny the mind-shattering ecstasy and his overwhelming need to keep experiencing it. He cries out as the man takes him again and again and again, stretching his hole into a loose, sloppy mess, fitted perfectly to his massive cock...
Until one day Rook and the others burst in, beating the man to death. Emmrich begs them to stop, barely coherent as he crawls across the floor to shield him, but it's too late. He's already cold and breathless.
Rook and the others watch in stunned silence as tears roll down his cheeks, his eyes weeping almost as much as his aching cunt.
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I’m obsessed with ‘old bones’ it’s so good. Thank you for wreaking that old man. I cannot wait for your Lucanis/Spite x Emmrich fic!
Thanks! I'm hoping to get it out soon!
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Honestly, the fact that these men are able to walk is a crime. Their holes should be fucked so thoroughly, they can't even sit up in bed. Fig should be wrecked by Rookwood and any magical creature/plant, Emmrich should be wrecked by a demon, and Phineas should be wrecked by the Board.
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You stand over professor Emmrich's unconscious body, his usual air of confidence now reduced to stillness on the cold, wooden desk. As you gaze down at his swollen, twitching pussy, a wave of excitement surges through your veins. The desire to stretch him open, to see just how far his delicate flesh can be pushed, becomes all-consuming. A small smile spreads across your face as your eyes scan his office, searching for just the right tool to suit your purpose.
The room is packed full of strange artifacts that line the shelves—each one tempting in its own way, but none quite striking your fancy. Too short, too sharp, too painful. That's not what you want for him.
But then, your gaze lands on a model skeleton in the corner, its hollow sockets seeming to watch you in silent approval. With a grin, you take a step closer, your fingers brushing along the yellowed, polished surface of its bones. Your grin widens as your hand wraps around the humerus, its length smooth and surprisingly weighty. It slides free with a satisfying click, and you hold it aloft like an offering to some depraved deity, marveling at its bulbous tip.
"Poetic," you whisper, the word dripping with anticipation.
With the bone in your grasp, you turn back to the professor, your smile curling into something far more sinister. As he lies there, oblivious in his unconscious, post-orgasmic haze, you position yourself between his legs, your heart pounding. You know this is wrong, you know you should stop, but he came so beautifully mere moments ago. How can you resist taking it further?
Gripping the bone tightly, you gently press it against his entrance, soaking the tip with his fluids. The touch is cool against his folds, a stark contrast to the heat emanating from his still-quivering insides, and he gasps softly to make it known.
"Don't worry, Professor. I'll take it nice and slow. Your first time should be with someone who cares. And believe it or not, I do care."
With a deep breath, you begin to push, feeling the defiance of his aged inner walls as they fight against the intruding object. It takes some effort, but eventually his labia parts, reluctantly, his slick folds yielding to the new girth it's never felt.
"Nnngh!"
As the edge of the bone forces him open, a low moan escapes his throat, equal parts turmoil, equal parts pleasure, and you smile as it truly sinks in—you're his first. The first to explore his depths in such an intimate way. The first to break his innocence. He always carried himself as someone experienced, sexually, but the lie is obvious now, his teeth gritting as his entrance struggles to accommodate the unfamiliar shape.
"Come on, Professor. I know you can do this," you say, grinding the bone in a circular motion, his channel still resistant. "Just let it in and I promise you'll feel something you never thought possible."
You keep pushing, ignoring the righteous voice in your head that tells you to stop. It's not too late, not really. You've taken much from him, yes, but not everything. If you simply turn and walk away, you may still be able to salvage this. You may be able to—
"Aaaugh!"
The large tip suddenly slips in, far quicker and far deeper than you intended. The professor screams at the sensation, and you pause, your eyes wide as his hips buck involuntarily in response to the unwelcome intrusion. His cunt feels impossibly tight around the bone, now lodged deep within his most intimate space; hot and wet and clenching rhythmically with each beat of his heart.
"Maker, it... it's in," you wheeze, staring at the damage.
His crease is stretched taut, clinging to the arm while the tip—the bulb—hides further inside him. His body shakes violently, drool rolling down his chin, a bright blush painting his cheeks.
But it's not over yet. Part of his passage is still virginal, still intact, just waiting to be breached, and you'll be damned before you're merciful. Slowly, you add pressure, staring as the bone sinks deeper and deeper, inch by inch.
"Ah! Ah!"
The professor writhes beneath you, unable to wake, though his eyes flutter as you reshape his insides with this twisted act of debauchery.
And oh Maker, does he feel it.
"Auuugh!"
When the tip finally hits his end, he throws his head back, his mouth flying open, tears nipping at the corners of his eyelids. His clit cuts through the air, his hole pulsing erratically.
"You... you're cumming!" you yell, excitement flooding your features. "Maker, you're cumming just from being penetrated! Oh, well done, Professor!"
As you hold the bone in place, you can feel his cervix spasm against the tip, his legs thrashing against the desk, his distinguished mustache wilting like a flower. The sounds that emanate from his mouth are like a symphony, thanking you for your diligence—for introducing him to a world he never would've experienced on his own.
And then it ends, his chest heaving, sweat coating his handsome, wrinkled face. Now it's too late. You've taken everything from him, made him feel forbidden pleasures in ways no man ever should. A hint of guilt bites at the back of your mind, but you brush it off. No matter what anyone else says, he needed this. He's always overworked, always stressed, always fearful. This was a favor, and one he desperately needed, even if he wasn't aware of it.
"N-no..." he murmurs, lost in the aftershocks of his climax.
"Oh yes, Professor."
With the bone fully seated in his tender hole, you grip the base and slowly begin pulling it out. His walls cling to the arm as it withdraws, and you let out a low groan at the action—so wrong, yet so enticing. You were going to stop at one, but as the tip becomes visible, you push it back in with a forceful thrust.
"Aaaugh!"
The helpless man arches off the desk as he lets out a sharp cry of shock and ecstasy, and the sound sends shivers down your spine, spurring you on. You took it slow at first, graciously allowing him to adjust. Now, you're going to fuck him.
With a sadistic grin, you piston the humerus in and out of his stretched hole with increasing vigor, each brutal invasion forcing his fragile walls wider still. Your legs tremble as you watch it gape obscenely around the intruding object; a disgusting yet arousing sight that has you pushing harder and faster.
"Augh! Ah! Ugh!"
As you set a wicked pace, thrusting the bone in and out, you notice a change: his hole is starting to loosen. Still distressingly tight, but yielding more easily to the bulb as it rubs up and down his swollen passage.
"Augh! Ughnn!"
His moans take on a different pitch as well, shifting from airy cries to whimpers of dark acceptance. His walls flutter around the makeshift shaft, slick wet sounds filling the room with every stroke.
"P-please..." he begs in his unconscious state. "Stop..."
You pick up speed, sweat dripping down your face as you lose yourself in the depravity, fucking him with reckless abandon. Though time stands still, it feels like mere seconds pass before each thrust earns a scream from his lips, his old hips snapping wildly as he's driven to a new, repulsive climax.
"Aaaughaugh!" he wails, his voice cracking as pleasure borders on insanity.
His eyes flutter open for just a moment before rolling back in his head, lost to the overwhelming sensations coursing through his ravaged hole. The sight of him, of this beautiful man on the cusp of waking from your depraved play sends a jolt straight to your own sex—and you realize you can't stop here.
"I'm sorry, Professor. Just one more. Give me one more."
You redouble your efforts, fucking him harder through his spasms, the desk creaking ominously beneath you. It may not withstand much more abuse, but right now, nothing else matters except pushing this sweet man to the brink of madness.
"Aaaugh! Nnngh! Augh!"
He wails deliriously, his hips undulating to meet your increasingly frenzied thrusts. In his subconscious, you can sense his shame, his fear of the unknown, but the coil in his core winds tighter and tighter, pulsing in time with the relentless pounding.
Before long, he surrenders to the vicious onslaught of ecstasy, his body seizing as another, more powerful orgasm rips through him like a tidal wave.
"Aaaugh-aaaugh!"
A guttural, animalistic shriek vibrates through the room, his cunt clamping down with crushing force, his walls convulsing rapidly.
And then, something unexpected—clear fluid gushes from his hole, staining your hand, each pulse of release sending fresh waves of pleasure careening through his body. This old man, this virgin, well into his fifties, is squirting.
"Oh fuck..." you wince, trying to maintain control as his heat and shudders pierce your very soul.
You have to make this last, as long as possible. He deserves it. He needs it. You grind against his spasming sex, drilling the bone in and out, until finally, with a breath of satisfaction, you relent.
As the humerus slips free, you're left staring at a gaping void where his once-tight entrance now hangs open. The red flesh is distended and stretched lewdly around the edges, quivering with aftershocks of pleasure. Fluid oozes out to pool on the desk beneath his twitching thighs—evidence of just how hard he came on that intruding object you fashioned into a toy.
You have no idea how you'll explain this, but right now you can't bring yourself to care. His body sheens with sweat and tears, his arms numb from disuse, every pucker fascinating. You lean in to examine the theft of his innocence more closely, your thumb brushing against his engorged labia, as if testing its suppleness before trailing up to tease his sensitive clit. His whimpers are magnificent, and your breath hitches as you imagine all the impractical ways you could ruin his hole further.
But not tonight. The drug will undoubtedly wear off soon, and as disappointing as that is, you can't risk getting caught. It takes a concerning amount of time, but you manage to clean everything up, snapping the humerus back in place, drying the desk, and slipping the defeated professor back into his trousers.
His breathing is ragged, his juices leaking through, and you're sure it's far too early for his abused hole to be fondled by material. But it is what it is. Gently, you sit him in his chair, despite his unconscious protests, and lay his head on his papers.
"Professor..." you sigh. He looks so small, so vulnerable.
The room still reeks of sex, but you quickly brew some tea and open the window, the fresh air and spices eclipsing the scent. Then, you head for the door. As you open it, you cautiously peer down the halls, making sure you're alone, before glancing back at him one last time. He looks a mess, he face flushed, his hair disheveled, and his legs can't seem to close, spread wide over the seat.
Perfect.
"Goodnight, Professor. Let's do this again sometime."
***
The next afternoon, the sun filters through the high windows as you stroll down the halls of the Lighthouse, your footsteps echoing against the stone. It's almost peaceful, until your eyes land on a familiar figure ahead.
Professor Emmrich.
He looks utterly wrecked, his usual poise shattered. His shoulders are hunched, his face pale and drawn, and he's leaning heavily against the wall for support. Each step seems like a struggle, his legs limping, as if each movement takes more strength than he can afford.
When his gaze lifts and finds you, his expression shifts—part relief, part desperation. "You there," he calls, his voice hoarse and unsteady. "Come here... please."
You hesitate for the briefest moment, then obey, stepping closer. "Professor, are you all right?" you ask, feigning concern with practiced ease.
He sighs heavily, his breath unmistakable aroused as he leans harder against the wall. "I don't... remember much of last night," he admits, his brow furrowed in frustration. "When did you leave my office?"
You blink, pretending to reflect on the events, then offer a genuine smile. "Not too long after I got there," you lie smoothly. "You fell asleep at your desk while we were discussing the tomes. I didn't want to wake you, so I let myself out."
He frowns, his expression clouded with thought. There's a flicker of suspicion there, reluctant and uncertain, but you don't give him a chance to dwell on it.
"Though..." you add, as if the thought just occurred to you, "I think I saw Spite heading into your office after I left."
His eyes widen, shock and resignation washing over his face all at once. "Spite..." he mutters, as if the name explains everything.
You smile, soft and reassuring, though it's anything but. Then, you reach out and gently pat his arm, as if to comfort him. "You two must've had fun last night. You seem pretty hungover. Maybe you should head back to your quarters and rest."
The man sobs, the ache between his legs evident, despite his attempts to hide it. Bumps form on your skin as you wonder how it looks post-rape. Surely it must be bothered; a puffy disaster of inundated bliss. As he repositions himself against the wall—his only support—you sneak a glance, and you could swear you saw his clit jutting against his trousers.
"Take care of yourself, Professor," you say, suddenly. "I'll see you later."
With that, you turn and walk away, your heart practically singing as you leave him there—confused, broken, and entirely unaware of the truth.
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👉🏻👈🏻 do you also did yandere's???👉🏻👈🏻
I'm not sure I'd call them yanderes, but I have done a lot of stories where the perpetrator seemed nice at first, then become possessive.
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