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en-absoluto · 5 years ago

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“Watch me”. Not SFW.

Word Count; 3,851.

Warnings; Female Reader, Unprotected Sex (which I do not encourage), Sir Kink, D/S Dynamics, Impact Play, Fingering, Light Age Play (the reader gets called little one, baby, etc), Light Choking, Light Hair Pulling, Dirty Talking (in both russian and english), Praise Kink, Body Worship (both giving and receiving), Orgasm Control, Rough Sex. Everything in this fic is consensual, of course.

You always tag me in your amazing fics so I wanted to return the favor! Hope you like it, @meetmeinthematinee 💕

Watch me... It can mean many things. It can mean bruises, arousal, playfulness... punishment. It always ends in good fun though, of course. You wouldn't have it any other way but, the mere phrase makes you shiver in anticipation. No matter what, it's always an order that you can't refuse. An absolute, and difinite order that has your vision focusing only on the man before you.

The way his shoulders push back, his dark hair brushed away from his face, strong thighs slightly bent as if to leap towards you. “Always place your thumb outside your fist”, he corrects, his fingers warm and calloused when he makes sure you get it right, “Otherwise, you'll break it if you hit a hard target”. He's behind you, three steps back, a severe look on his eyes, his lips pressed into a thin line. He makes you feel a bit... inadequate. Throwing pitiful blows at a punching bag, in front of John fucking Wick? He can kill men with a pencil, not to mention with his bare hands. And yet, there you stand, learning how to defend yourself just “in case” (any inquiries as to which “case” he was talking about were pointedly dismissed) from a one-man army. However, he's not patronizing in the least; he's strict, stern, and thorough, but he speaks from experience rather than superiority. The same hands that are trained to kill handle your body with tender touches, the palm of his hands resting on your waist, long fingers displayed just below your belly button. His voice is in your ear, all low whispers while your back is pressed to his chest, “Fix your stance”, he pats your left thigh, so you put your feet closer together, “Good, now punch the bag”, he takes a step back, and you feel cold and unprotected all of a sudden. You hit once, twice, and when you prepare to hit a third time, he catches your wrist. “Not bad, but it could be better. Get back”, and you do, while he stands in front of the punching bag, “Watch me”. And you do, but not in the way he meant— his hair is slightly messy now, black locks framing his face, and the shirt he is wearing is a bit stretched out on the back, so you can catch a glimpse of his tattoos under it's see-through material. It would be so easy to just, I don't know, slip your fingers inside his shirt and touch him. Get him shirtless and kiss those scars, run your fingers through the drawings, and hear him sigh in pleasure. You could face him and lean in for a kiss, stubble scratching your cheeks, his hands holding you possessively, one cupping your face, the other one occupied with a handful of your ass. He would let you grind on his pelvis, like he always does when you're a needy little thing, until he decides you deserve to grind your core on his thighs. He'd let rub your pussy on his leg until your wetness soaked through your panties, through your leggins, until he could feel the stickiness of it on his skin. You snap back to reality when your core clenches around nothing but air and you have to bite back a pained whine. “Control! Focus, Y/N!”, you tell yourself, to no avail. When you go back to watching him, his arms are tense with restrained force, throwing hits rhythmically— right, left, right, with fist raised in front of his face, just below his jaw, carrying himself with the feline grace of a dancer. John has such a solid body, tall and wide and powerful, his simple presence demands respect; the way he walks, the way he talks, it elicits a feeling of restlessness in your gut, but while it should mean 'Fight or flight, baby, this man personifies the rawest form of danger', it means, 'If he's not inside me in the next five minutes I'll lose my goddamn mind'.

He adresses you then, taking you out of your feverish daydreaming, “Focus, YN. Are you with me?”, you don't miss a beat when answering, “Always”. The serious expression he wears fades one iota, giving way to the discreet, adoring smile he reserves for you, even if he doesn't notice how soft he becomes around you. He grants you a soft kiss, a short-lived appeasement before he guides you back in front of the bag again, “Your turn, krasotka”. And when you hit it a couple of times showing no improvement, you feel his body behind you, “I told you to watch me, didn't I?”, he grunts, while you try to clench your thighs discreetly, feeling the way his hands burn through your clothing when he places them on you sides. “What had you so distracted?”, keeping your mouth shut, you press yourself against him, surrounded by his cologne, “Answer me, kroshka”, he moves one hand to your hip, the other cupping your jaw loosely, “You”, you mewl, and he sucks in a surprised breath, “I did watch you, Sir, but I just... I just...”, he hums, and you try to find the words in a brain that is swimming with lust and yearning, “I felt needy all of a sudden, you just looked so hot...”, his thumb traces your bottom lip delicately, and you don't dare to welcome it inside your mouth before he allows you to. “So while I was busy with your training, you dedicated your attention to fantasizing”, he removes himself completely, and you feel the lose like a jab inside your ribcage. Instead, he opts to tower before you, one dark eyebrow raised, “Yes, I'm sorry–” “Sorry doesn't cut it”, you nod your head, and look down. He takes your chin between his thumb and index finger, and whispers— “Go to the bedroom. Wait for me”.

You bolt up the stairs the moment he lets go of your face, get your shoes off and put them away carefully (you know he hates a messy room, especially the bedroom), and sit in the middle of the huge bed. You consider undressing, and showing him what you're hiding beneath the comfortable clothes, but you decide against it. He didn't tell you to wait naked. You entertain yourself looking at the closet, left open by mistake when he changed into more casual clothes. Most of his clothes are black, a handful white dress shirts, and a couple of t-shirts that you always borrowed and jeans. Black dress shoes, a leather jacket... God, did you love that leather jacket. You close it quickly, before sitting back down on the mattress

When he comes into the room, his hair has lost it's slicked back style, and falls soft framing his face instead. You are sitting on your knees, hands folded nervously in your lap, and he has the nerve to smile at you, as if he found your giddiness cute. “Undress”, his order caughts you by surprise, but you abide nonetheless. When you're only left with your underwear, he lifts a hand to stop you before you reach to peel it off, “That's enough”, he eyes you up and down, admiring the black lingerie you knew he would like. “Who did you wear this for, little one?”, there's a playfulness in his voice that pleases you, a cocky smirk blooms on your face, “For you, of course”, and you can tell the effort John puts to try and conceal the way his smile turns prideful, while his long legs carry him to the edge of the bed. He stands there and beckons you to come closer, until you raise to your knees on the mattress, your chest grazing his, hands twitching at your sides with the need to touch him. “Ya tebya lyublyu (I love you)”, he cups your face and gives you a proper kiss this time, leaving you feeling lighter and even more aroused, but you answer him anyways, “Ya tozhe tebya lyublyu (I love you too)”. With that, he presses his forehead against yours and sighs, “Are you ready for your punishment?”, you nod, but you realize your mistake when he still looks at you expectantly, “I'm ready, Sir” “Good. What do you say if I ask for a color?” “Red to stop completely, Orange to take a break, and Green to keep going” “Good girl. What happens if you say Orange?” “We stop for a bit before I give you a color, either Red or Green” “That's right, little one. Now, get rid of the lace and get in position”. Once your naked body is available to his hungry eyes, you lay face down on his lap, and he waits until you're accommodated to run his hands up your thighs, your ass, then caress the line of your back and come back down. “You stood there watching me for about ten minutes without paying attention, so I'll give you ten spanks. Color?” “Green”.

A sudden slap echoes on the white walls then, and even though you yelp in pain and surprise, it takes a few seconds to register that was the first hit, and you had to count them. “One”, you sigh when his left hand cups your cheek, making you look at John, letting you see the look of wonder and an animalistic frenzy. The next two spanks come in rapid succession, “Two and three”, and he's rubbing the reddening flesh, making you hiss in pain, and yet you can feel the warmth of arousal swirling in you lower belly. “Four and five”, these come harder than the previous ones, his right hand hovering above your butt, and he watches as you close your glassy eyes, taking a deep breath, letting you squirm a bit. “Give me a color, kroshka”, you just say Green against the palm of his free hand, which you have squeezed between both of yours. Just to hear your pained mewl, he gives you three hits, right, left, right, and holds you still when you try to move upwards. “Six, seven, eight”, he waits a few seconds, just in case you decide to stop him, but instead you get back into the right position and raise your butt invitingly. “Only two more, Sir”, John nods, kissing you as if to reward you for taking it so well, and releases the final blows while he is still tasting your lips. He kisses you through the sounds you make, and swallows your moan when two of his long fingers prod at you entrance.

“Nine and ten”, he says as he drags them down until they circle your clit, and you feel his cock throb through his jeans against your stomach when you whimper in pleasure. He repositions you then, sitting on his lap, facing away from him, and goes back to his ministrations. His pants rub deliciously on your abused ass, and you grind down on his hard on, till his left hand closes around your throat. He doesn't even apply pressure at first, just holding it, but when you whine needily and buck your hips against him, he closes his fingers tighter around you neck and speeds up his fingers. “Stay still”, he growls.

He brings you to the brink of orgasm three times, three goddamn times he leaves you hanging unsatisfied, his right hand alternating between flicking, pinching, and playing with your clit, fingering you expertly, fingers buried knuckle-deep in your pussy, hearing you beg to add a second finger to the first one almost immediately after it's inside you, then begging for a third one, before you start asking to be fucked, voice desperate and walls clenching his fingers like a vice. “Don't you want to cum like this, kroshka?”, he makes an effort to suppress his smile when you shake your head vigorously, whining softly when his thumb caresses your clit while his fingers fuck you, “I want to cum... with your cock inside me... Sir”. He makes that sound that lets you know he's thoroughly pleased, a sound deep in his throat that resembles a purr, and you know you're on the right track. “I can't be satisfied... Until you fuck me”, he presses a kiss below your ear, his breath tickling you neck, and says, “You want me to fuck you, baby?”, and John knows what that pet name does to you, because he barely uses it, if at all. It means your body is affecting him, your voice, your willingness to, quite literally, bare your carotid obediently to his claws and fauces. “Yes, please, Sir”, he croons at the urgent tone in your plea, stopping his fingers to let you calm down for a second, “Well, since you asked me so politely”. He lays you on the middle on the bed, head resting on the plush pillows, the cool bed sheets providing a calming effect on your heated skin.

John stands on the edge of the bed then, and you get to watch as he undoes his belt, and gets rid of his pants. Your pleasure-fried brain wonders why he didn't use the belt to spank you instead, not quite recalling the time he told you he could control the intensity of the hits better if he used his own hand, while with the belt he could not. You knew that was a lie, though, he was always in control with whatever he did. He just hated the crimson, swollen welts it would leave on your skin, while the calloused palm of his hand only left a red, plump, sensitive to the touch kind of sore, that he would later soothe with a bath and lotion.

His eyes are fixated on you, his face terse, as he runs a hand over the tent in his briefs and sighs, the outline of his hard cock right in front of your hungry eyes. His lips quirk upwards at the sight of you, resting on the plush pillows, naked and already looking blissfully fucked out even though the best was yet to come. He lets you pull him down with your wobbly arms, taking his shirt off in the process, feeling his body press into yours. John is broad, strong, his weight calms your racing heart and sends a shiver down your whole spine. He rests his forearms on either side of you, chuckling lowly when he feels hands grabbing his hips to grind them against your own. “Are you feeling desperate?”, he feels rather than hears your high-pitched moan, lips pressed on his neck, “What do you need? Tell me”. He's purring in your ear, as if you grinding up on his erection didn't affect him, “Я хочу, чтобы ты во мне так плохо ('Ya khochu, chtoby ty vo mne tak plokho' 'I want you inside me so bad')”, you moan, and once again he's rumbling deep in his chest, letting you feel the vibrations on yours, “Я знаю, крошка (''Ya znayu, kroshka' 'I know, little one/sweetheart')”. He watches as you make a mess of the fabric covering his throbbing cock, coating it in your arousal, pussy lips red from the vicious friction, “Pull it out, slowly”, his commanding tone nearly tears a needy sound from your lips, even as your trembling, careful hands lower his briefs, and take his swollen member. It was red, soft, and pulsing on your palm, the glans shiny and sticky with precum, a couple of thick veins protuding from the delicate skin on the underside of it. “It's rude to stare, little one”, you snap your eyes upwards to smile bashfully at him, batting your eyelashes innocently, “I'm sorry, Sir, it just looks so good”. You know he'd never show it, but your words always stroke his ego just right, knowing he sometimes overthinks the age difference, or his... Job, everything that adds onto the ridiculous idea that you might be better off with someone else. “Does it now?”, his dark eyes shadowed by his hair, he watches as you nod your head, “It's so hard, and so big, I can't wait to have it inside me, Sir”. He's kneeling between your spread legs, letting you pump his dick leisurely, thumb spreading a pearly bead of precum over the head of it, your words and skilled hand making him throb. “So, please... Fuck me, Dani”, you feel the way he throbs against your palm, painfully hard, and when tilts his head back as if asking God for mercy, his hands are already running down the front of your thighs to unhook them while he gets rid of his underwear.

You remember a time when he was reluctant about being completely bare in front of you, but it seemed that time was long gone. “Do you still want to continue?”, he kisses your cheeks, as if to reassure you it was perfectly fine to stop there, and sighs hotly when you align his member with your entrance, “I do, Sir”. And he pushes his hips foward, the tip just barely inside you, your fingers running through his hair in hopes of encouraging him. “Keep going, please, God—”, and when he grabs your hips to drag you flush against him, words die unsaid in your throat. You hear him curse lowly, followed by something that sounded close to “Always so tight, baby” while his cock stretches you open so deliciously, you just lay there with your head thrown back, savoring the pleasurable sting of his member's onslaught. Then, he drags his hips back, slowly, and pushes them foward, just as gently. John grinds his pelvis against you, drinking in the debauched way you moan, flushed lips parted in invitation, so he leans down to press a kiss on your mouth. His stubble itches on your cheeks, and when you giggle through your pants, he leans back with a playful smirk pulling the corners of his mouth. “What's so funny, kroshka?”, he drawls, just to thrust into you suddenly, so the only sound coming from you is a high-pitched whimper, “Hm? What was that?”, he asks, voice calm and steady, taunting you. He's buried down to the hilt unceasingly, the tip kissing your cervix over and over, and each time it feels as if you could cum just from that. “You're so tight around my cock, krasotka. Do you love it that much?”, he chuckles deep in his chest, mouth latching onto a pert nipple and lavishing it with his tongue, his thrusts unrelenting. “Good girls answer when asked”, but he's ramming his cock deep inside, grinding his pelvis enough to have you gasping for air, unable to form words coherently. Even with your eyes closed, you can feel his stare on you, and you could have lost yourself in the euphoric feeling the thrust of his hips gave you, the way your walls suck him in greedily, the heady smell of your tangled bodies... But then, he pulled out, and you opened your eyes, ready to whine and pout before he leveled you with a stern expression, “Hands and knees, now”.

You obeyed, legs spread, and chest pressed to the mattress. The tip of his shaft teased your lips, puffy and sensitive, but when you tried pushing back to get him inside, he took a handful of you sore ass, getting you to stay still. “Don't get ahead of yourself”, he teased you mercilessly, barely pushing inside before pulling out to toy with your clit. “Do you like that, baby? Do you like feeling my cock teasing this greedy little cunt?”, his hand fisted your hair, pulling until you were standing on your knees, your back resting on his chest, his cock between your thighs. “Do you want me to fuck you? Pound this sweet, tight pussy until you cum around me?”, his hand left your hair in favor of your throat, taking it loosely in his hand, while the other caressed your dripping slit with a tender touch, the tip of his fingers barely, but insistently, rubbing your clit in tight circles, “Yes! Please, Sir, I need you so much. I can't– I can't– Yes, yes! Just like that, oh my God–!”.

It shouldn't feel like a religious experience every time, the way his cock breaches the delicate opening of your pussy, pushing forward past the ring of sopping muscles. The grip he exerts on your neck tightens over the shameless whine you let past your lips in blissed out gratitude, a breathless mantra of “thank you, thank you, Sir, thank you” gets him to grind his hips into yours. “Thanking me already, kroshka?”, he stills his hips, cock sheathed to the hilt inside of you, “Такая хорошая девочка ('Takaya khoroshaya devochka' 'Such a good girl')”. He takes his hand off your throat in favor of seizing your waist to make good on his word, watching in satisfaction as your upper body dropped onto the mattress helplessly, mouth half open when his hips drew back. He watches the way your hole quivers around him so, so prettily, the reddened skin of both your sexes covered in a milky dew that is running down your thighs too, those gummy walls of yours trying to suck him in viciously. When he drives back in, you're even wetter, and the head of his cock threatens to stretch you open beyond repair. He's fucking you so good, and his fingers will surely leave bruises all over you, remainders of his yearning. You start fucking him back, hips working in tandem with his, mewling when his chest presses down on you, rewarding you with that glorious purr once more, “That's it, just like that, krasotka”. You feel delirious, the frenetic beat of your heart harmonized with the pulsing on your nethers, writhing when a calloused finger slips inside the top of your slit to flick that engorged little bead, “You're close, aren't you?”, you whine in affirmation, with his panting breaths against the nape of your neck, voice rough and strained. You wait, and wait, and wait, until finally— “Then cum, baby”. The world fades away, and so does your euphoric scream, trembling and trying to back away from his thrusts, while he fucks you through your orgasm and inches towards his. When you come to your senses, you can feel his hair dripping sweat on your back, his breathing ragged, grunts spilling from his mouth relentlessly. “Inside, please”, you say, weakly, “Cum inside me”, you turn your head, facing him to the best of your ability, and ge dives down to suck you bottom lip into his mouth, growling. “Do you think you deserve it, hm?”, he's so close, you can see it on the way his eyelids drop, jaw clenched. “No, but I want it”, you drawl, struggling to keep your body raised for him, “Please, Dani”. That's his undoing. His hips keep pistoning throughout his orgasm, an animalistic roar tearing its way out of his throat, warmth settling on your belly where his seed is spilling. He's muttering something, but your head feels as if you're underwater, delighted and drained, until you get rid of the fog clouding your senses to hear him say— “Have you learned your lesson?”.

No, not really.

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en-absoluto · 6 years ago

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John Wick as a “Service Top”; Not SFW.

Word Count; 1376.

Warnings; Female Reader, Pillow Princess/Bratty Bottom Reader (titles not mentioned, but heavily implied), Unprotected Sex (which I do not encourage), Service Top, Predator/Prey Kink, Praise Kink, Body Worship, Rough Sex, Primal Fetish/Primal Sex Kink, Dirty Talking, Orgasm Control, Light Age Play, D/S Dynamics, Power Play, Consensual Sex, Cockwarming, Cunnilingus.

Service Top, “A top who acts according to what pleases their bottom, which pleases them”.

To be completely honest, I am unable to imagine John as anything but a Service Top. There's this... aura about him that just screams at me. It's crazy. Look at him. Do it. Can you do that and still believe he's anything but that? Nope. You're lying to yourself.

That man right there will not only cater to your every need. Oh, no. He will fulfill them with such ease, such appetite, you won't know what just happened to you. He is so greedy when your pleasure is in his hands. Just say the word and you'll fall apart underneath his body, he'll put that mouth to work between your legs. It's okay if you buck your hips against his face; you can choke him, smother him, he will relish himself in the sounds you make. Then he'll take your thighs in his hands, hold them apart and ask, voice dripping with danger, “Aren't you getting brave, little one?”.

Sugar and spice is the way to go with him, so choose. Bat your eyelashes innocently, words falling from your lips soft as silk, “I'm sorry, Sir, it just felt so good. I wanted more”, caress his knuckles, smile naughtily, and he's back to tasting you like he's starved his whole life. Or... You can be a brat. It's alright, he loves it. “I'm getting brave?”, huff a bit, for good measure, “I was getting head, last time I checked”. He thinks you look good enough to devour, brows furrowed together, cheeks tinted pink, your chest rising and falling under his attentive eyes. “Misbehaving won't get you anything, love”, cup his cheek in your hand, kiss his lips softly, just a fleeting touch of skin, and answer, “You're wrong, Dani”, run your thumb over his bottom lip, “Misbehaving will get me everything I want”. This time, he'll add fingers to the expert movements of his mouth.

Everything you do is a turn on. You come down to the kitchen in the morning wearing one of his shirts? He's ready to bend you over the countertop and pound you like an animal. You sit next to him in the living room to watch a movie, and you put your legs over his? He's imagining how beautiful you would look sprawled on the sofa, his fingers making you cum. You come out of the shower, smelling like heaven? Well, if it were up to him, you wouldn't stay clean for long. He hungers for you every second of the day. But he's a gentleman, and he has stellar self-control.

Testing said control is entertaining to say the least, and cockwarming him is a nice way of doing so. Kissing him needily, undoing his tie, pulling his hard cock out of his pants. He'll undress you, leaving reverent touches on the vast expanse of naked skin, and ask for consent before entering you. He always does. He makes sure you're prepared enough, and only then does he allow you to sit on him. Warm, tight muscles welcome him, clenching all around him, and yet he's not moving his hips. He just tips his head back, eyes closed, a pleased groan emerging from his throat, while you grind on him slowly, watching his face intensely. When he opens his dark eyes to look back at you, he has this... expression of complete delight, and yet it feels kind of wrong, like you're doing something you're not supposed to be doing. And it feels so good. It's unstoppable.

If you want him to touch you then, ask him nicely. Take his hands and guide them where you need his touch. Your mouth, your throat, chest... You get my drift. If you moan 'John', or 'Sir' while at it, it works wonders. Add a “please, please, I need you”, and you'll feel him throb inside you. But he won't move his hips. He'll kiss your neck, careful of not leaving any beard-burns, even if you tell him you don't mind them, or that you like it. He'll lavish attention to your nipples, and purr against them when your grinding gets more insistent. He talks dirty, and it looks so effortless you might think he's not even aware of how much it affects you, but he is. “Look at you, krasotka”, he's whispering in your ear, softly, as if you weren't naked and sat on his lap, with his hard cock inside you and his hands between your bodies, pleasuring you further.

He knows your game from the beginning, and yet he lets you play with him, until you are the one begging to be fucked. “You looked like you were enjoying teasing me just now... what changed?, he questions while keeping your hips locked in place, denying you the pleasure you were chasing after, “Be good for me, kroshka, and I'll be good to you”. He knows how you feel in moments like that; helpless, desperate, horny. You only get hotter and hotter, your begging turns bold, shameless, brazen. He basks in your need for him, for something only he can give you. He has the upper hand until you get a hold of yourself for a second, “Please, I need you to fuck me, please”, he dries your sweaty brow, and caresses your back, in mock compassion, until you press your body against his, and whine, “Fuck me, please”, you have to kiss him tenderly, clenching down on him, “I'm yours, Jardani, I'm begging you, please fuck me”. Suddenly he's on top of you, pounding you into the mattress, growling possessively, and giving you all he's got. He claims he shouldn't have told you his birth name, because nothing gets him to bend to your wishes as fast as your pretty mouth whining 'Jardani' when only he can hear you, but that's just a straight up lie.

If there's something that could make his pants tight in seconds, is the thrill of chasing you. He loves spending his days with you, living your relationship like any normal couple would, but you're not dating a normal man. Sometimes, you can actually feel his tension, the way he tries to will his rigid muscles to relax, but no matter what, he looks like a caged animal. His sleep gets restless, his consciousness flickering between reality and dreams constantly. So you play the perfect prey to the fierce hunter he tries to suppress. And every time, he marvels at the improvement of your role, how you become faster on your feet, your decisions quicker, your actions controlled. Every time, it gets harder and harder for him, you don't fall for his tricks twice. It makes him all the more eager to catch you.

It's not bad for you either. The first time, however, was a bit of a scary experience. Too intense, too real. Even though you knew John wouldn't harm you in any way, finding yourself face to face with a deadly force... Was a bit too much. But when he found you, face full of anxiety, he just took you into his arms and reassured you. Even when he told that it was okay, you didn't have to do this, it wasn't necessary, you wanted to try again. And that time, excitement and arousal mixed with the giddiness, until he cornered you. It took less than five minutes for him to find you, and to coax your body on it's hands and knees, his cock buried to the hilt inside you. “Such a good little prey for me, zaika”, his mouth is leaving prayers on your skin, words you don't understand, words he sighs reverently. It's was not so easy for him to find you anymore. He's proud, aroused and, in all honesty, slightly annoyed, because sometimes, he feels like he's the one being hunted. If you're skilled enough, you can catch him instead. And let me tell you, seeing the astonished look on his face as you climb on top of him, is worth the practice, and the wait.

( @johnwickthirstclub )

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