ghostarii

[ghostarii]

mind is plagued w nerd aventurine . . help!!!

[ghostarii]

I INVENTED SEX, JING YUAN

ʚɞ it’s about time you’ve met your maker: the beginning and the end of everything good.

WARNINGS ݈݇- fem!reader, praise, established relationship, dickmatized!reader, jing yuan has magic peen, lots of flowery imagery, dirty talk, dumbification, tears, spit, manhandling, squirting, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, spanking of multiple varieties, pussy pronouns, creampie!!!, no plot just vibes, minors do not interact.

NOTE ݈݇- this is a nonsense drabble n i lost the plot halfway thru ngl but i just wanted to write 😞 missed u guys <3 i’m trying to be more active n consistent for yall but idk smut writing is so hard now!!! anyway pls comment n reblog it rly warms me littl heart c:

WORD COUNT ݈݇- 2.8k+

STARS GLEAM UPON A blinding white surface, swirling into a hypnotizing galaxy. The heat of the stars spark under the layers of your flesh, burning you from the inside out in an unforgiving barrage of passion—that’s what passion feels like; a searing, insatiable heat that creeps through your veins and shows you the light.

You drown beneath the light, choking out garbled pleas and broken whines, feeling every bit of cohesion slip from your grasp. They can no longer keep you steady, and you're using those weakened fists to grab onto something—anything—to keep you afloat. He adjusts the placement of your legs around his waist, slithering his arms beneath your back and anchoring you off the mattress. You hang limply in his arms, melting off your stabilization, and feel utterly weightless. A haze overcomes you: drunken and blissful, it is, and it nulls every thought. Nothing remains but the sticky feeling of your bodies combining, the moans he rasps into your ears, and the sensation of your entire existence being dug out of you.

This is what pure ecstasy feels like: it’s electric, it's nasty, and it's life-altering—nothing in you has an ounce of normalcy anymore and you no longer want it to. He has killed you and resurrected you in the wake of exceptional ecstasy. You can't remember what life felt like before you laid down in this bed, but you know what it feels like now: fucking phenomenal.

It shows all in the sloppy grin you wear. You’re somewhere beyond mortal comprehension, where your eyes can cross stupidly and you pant like a thirsty mutt. In all of your messy debauchery, the only thing you can do is smile. Smile in his arms as he bullies his cock deep into your guts, smile as he pulls your head up and cradles the back of your neck, and smile as he presses your foreheads together, huffing out the age-old question: “You like that?”

His voice is carved out of raw carnality. It’s rough and guttural, and reverberating through your empty head like a sick mantra. Of course I fucking like it, you want to say, but your tongue can't untwist out of its debilitating twirl and you can only weakly whimper out an Mhm!

“I bet,” he laughs, almost chastising. “You should see the look on your face…mnh, yeeaahh, that good, huh?”

You nod vigorously but your confirmation is not what he is in search of. What Yuan is looking for is you: the raw, unfiltered, real version of you that rests inside. To pull that out and bare it in your sacred space—to let him cherish it and understand it in ways you have yet to experience—that is intimacy. What he’s looking for is real intimacy…and you, you are it.

Sweltering heat washes over you in a fiery wave, pulling the final loop through your stomach and knotting it up. That’s it, right there, you try to say, but your mouth only hangs agape, squeaking out choppy cries. Yuan takes the opportunity to angle himself and lick into your mouth, catching your whimper on his tongue and following the pout of your lips into a kiss.

His hand on your neck slowly returns to the other, each grabbing your ass and spreading the cheeks apart. The splat sounds have more space to escape, and they dance along the walls, echoing in a deafening repetition that resounds for miles. It’s so nasty, so unashamed—but it’s so intimate, and it’s all his.

As he kisses deeper into your mouth, his hands are guiding you up and down his cock. Going incredibly slow, sure to bottom out each slide, Yuan creates the perfect circumstance to provoke the bubble in your gut. Prodding and prodding until he feels the tight constriction of you sucking him in, and the hollow pop! that blows when your floodgates burst, and every inkling of pleasure culminates into a divine orgasm.

That weightless feeling leaves your body and is replaced with a sinking heft. It centers in the heat of your core as your orgasm creeps out of you—weighing down your limbs until they contort stiffly and your head until it feels like it's about to roll off of your neck.

He lets you fall back onto the mattress, rocking his hips slowly out of you, making way for your cum to spill out of you. It drips in milky, sticky streams, pooling right under your ass and smearing your skin. Under the dim lighting of your shared bedroom, you look nothing short of heavenly. Every fucked up strand of hair, dried tear streak—merely reminders of how much he loves you.

What really matters is the way in which you look up at him: a sick hunger dwelling in the sparkle of your glossy eyes just begging him to give you more. Your body is his language, he is fluent in you, and he needs not a single word to be of service to you. A flash passes by and he’s kneeling over you, cradling the sides of your face with the utmost delicacy to lean into a tender kiss.

He is much more mindful of the swell in your lips and lets you take control, remembering the pressure you apply and the tongue you use…following in your lead back down the sticky path of ecstasy. It heats up almost immediately, and that buzz that once surrounded you returns.

When you part, he anchors above you, letting his hair fall out of the toppling ponytail and swing over his shoulders. The locks act as makeshift curtains and encase you in white darkness—but even in it, your beauty does not dissipate. Never will he tire of admiring you, nor will he tire of you, period. Not your look, nor your taste, nor your feeling, nor your love.

Jing Yuan will never stop loving you. He will keep making love with you, not to you, because there is so much to be had. Too much to be said in ways he cannot verbalize, but his body can.

So, even though he feels fatigue, he still dives into you with care: gently peeling your legs apart and slotting his head between your head and shoulder. “Tell me something,” he whispers against your skin, laying his body on top of you. “Tell me something you want.”

“…You. This.” You grab his face, finding his sunny eyes through the dark. “I want this to never end. Don't stop.”

Your voice is soft and worn, yet your words are heavy. Weighted with desire and ardor far beyond his imagination, and with his strength finding its way back to him, your wish is his command.

“I hear you, baby.” His fingers swim through your puffy folds, strumming along with a featherlight touch that has you gasping. The sound is visceral: a wet, slopping sound eliciting as he stirs around your clit. Your pussy weeps for him, dripping more arousal, and wails in sticky clicks, instantly rebirthing that carnivorous hunger you share. You can hear the smug smirk he cracks as he reignites your flame, kissing your shoulder while his fingers tiptoe across your entrance. “I hear you loud and clear.”

Sparks flare in your space as he presses the tip of his middle finger in—only giving you an inch in hopes of making you beg for a mile. His open-mouthed kisses across your skin leave fuzzy feelings across your body; “Hmmpphh- Yuan…” leaving your mouth in succession, not up for his teasing.

He, ever the jest, finds humor in your drawl, cracking out a dry chuckle as he nuzzles against your neck. “Mmh, love it when you beg. Do it again.”

Bucking your hips into the air, chasing the length of his finger, you whine temperamentally, “Don’t tease—”

“Aht aht—” he coos, lightly spanking your cunt. The action forces your body to jolt at the feeling, whimpering in sensitivity. “I'm in control. Beg.”

“You’re mean.” You whine, hiding your embarrassed face in the bundle of his curls. He laughs, finding humor in your humility. He further pushes your limits, pinching your clit and laughing harder at your cracking squeaks.

“I am, aren't I?”

God, he’s so infuriating, but it's hard to stay mad at him when you look at him..body like a God and a face like a nymph—he is divinely beautiful and with the sheen of perspiration casting a delectable glow on him, you're entranced. He knows what he does to you, he can see the shift in your eyes when your eyes lay upon him and he can't help but smirk…he really is so mean.

“Don’t you want me to make you feel good, babe?” He asks, trailing his finger down your leg and around to the back. His hand grips the back of your leg, hiking it onto his lap. “Have you going dumb, coming all over my cock—”

“Fuck—yes. Yes, I do,” you speak hardly above a whisper. He pulls you onto his lap, immediately reclaiming his favorite spot in the crook of your neck to nuzzle in.

His hands find their way to your waist, guiding slow gyrations over his length. You can feel the stir that you cause, and you suck in a breath, knitting your fingers through his hair and pulling him closer. Your hips move with more fire than he allows, rocking into a needy pace atop his cock in search of more friction. “C’mon..please,”

“Please what?” He asks coyly.

Your hands knotted in his hair yank his head back, pressing your lips to his, “Fuck me,” you breathe out against his lips, grinding on top of him with increased need.

“M-make me feel good, Yuan, fill me up—”

“Shit. Don’t say what you don't mean…”

“I mean it.” You blurt, using your left hand to creep under your ass and wrap around his dick. He winces at the contact and you gape your mouth against him, mimicking the silent pleasure he expresses. “Fill me up. Claim me. Ruin me for anybody else—fuck me up, please.”

Patheticness laces itself in your voice and good Lord is it hot. He’s never seen you so desperate: taking matters into your own hands and sliding down on his cock, gasping out tearily as the new angle introduces you to a new feeling of his dick. If he was stretching you before, he's ripping you open now—yet, it's the most delicious feeling you've ever felt thus far.

This needy, insatiable side of you is so fucking sexy. He can't help but encouragingly slap your ass—one, two, three harsh spanks that sting the dewy skin raw. In this moment, you are nothing less than perfect: perfectly needy, perfectly wet, perfectly gorgeous, perfectly tight, perfectly filled to the brim with thick, throbbing cock, and perfectly ready to be filled until your brain matter is replaced with his cum.

He’s going to fuck the shit out of you. You're just asking for it, throwing your head back and putting your hands on your ankles…you want to be fucked stupid. And, well, who is he to deny you?

He experimentally thrusts up into you, keen to your shrill inhale and taking note that you're still so sensitive; but you can take it, he knows you can. His dick is fat, burning a wide path through you as he crams himself deep inside you, nestling the mushroom head of his cock snug against your gummy, contracting walls.

“O-oh, God,” you whisper out, moving your hands from your ankles to his flexed abs. “S-so deep..fuck.”

“You can take it,” his arms wrap around your waist, lifting you slowly up his lengthy dick, “Know you can. This pussy was made to take me…she’s already doin' soo good f’me.” Splat. He slams you back flush against his lap, and your eyes bulge wide, the painfully pleasurable feeling pooling in your cunt racing through your veins.

You can only blurt out a choppy Fu-uck!, feeling every ounce of cognitive consciousness leak out of your pussy…your back again slumps over the hold of his arms, and you're turning into a limp fuck-doll, giving him full reign of your pace—and, oh, what a silly mistake. Yuan is unrelenting, immediately fixing a pace of mercilessly agonizing thrusts that go so slow, ensuring that every inch is felt moving inside of you. He’s become addicted to the sight of your pussy sucking around him, drinking up his width and leaving glossy streaks to pool against his pelvis.

“Nasty girl,” he chuckles. Using one hand to bring your head up, he locks eyes with your blown eyes, “Look at how good you are…takin’ allll ‘f me,” he drawls in unison with the drag of your hips.

“Pussy swallowing my dick whole..she’s a greedy little thing, isn't she?” His words are mocking and you can only whine in protest, shaking your head no.

You follow in his lead, rolling your hips in sloppy figure eights as he pulls you up and down, up and down.

“Yeeesss she is—” His breath hitches as you tighten around him. That’s the spot, that’s where you clench and guard because it’s so sensitive. But Jing Yuan’s a bully: a mean, nasty-spirited bully who gets off on seeing you cry and fall apart at his hand, so, it becomes his goal to attack your sweet spot brutishly, intensifying the power of your mutual thrusts and impaling you on his dick. “Look at ‘er, d-drooling ‘round me…”

A creamy white ring starts to wrap around the base of his cock as he digs out your foamy arousal, bringing you to the peak of pleasure. His cock swims through your hole with expertise, dragging out every semblance of sense in addition. Your mouth only senselessly dangles open, your tongue slopping out the corner and dripping drool down your chin and onto your chest…a dizzy, stupid mess that can only pant and huff out moans you have become.

Cross-eyed and limp—that’s how he’s rendered you in record time, but it doesn't even begin to express how you truly feel.

You feel like a firework: hot and excited, shaking in anticipation of the fire beneath your ass to reach its apex and explode you to the stars. You’ll paint the world in a pretty, pearlescent white that’ll take the shape of stars and hearts, mimicking the patterns that seem to rush through your veins. It's right there, building up deep and confined in your gut, and Yuan has found it, thrusts desperate to set it free.

Every word you try to speak dies in your throat, only coming out as incomplete croaks that bring a smug smile to Yuan’s lips. You dumb little thing, so lost for words…His heavy eyes say the words his mouth no longer has the capacity for, mimicking your dumbfoundedness and finding gruff moans to be his language.

It's a room of hot, unspoken quiet, only filled with the wet squelching of your pussy and the colorful sound of him churning your guts.

It's a room where the fruits of pleasure splash around, drowning the two of you in inexplicable goodness. Because it all really is just too good, it’s beyond words.

The bullying of your pathetic sweet spot is coming to a head; a grandiose culmination of every beat of pleasure swirls in your stomach and he only eggs it on, using his thumb to flick at your neglected clit. “Cum—” he can only grunt out, amplifying every movement of his tenfold. “Cum..with me—fuck!”

This is it, the light to your fuse that quickly singes the fabric of your being, running up through you to find that seedy pit that bulges in necessity to burst. The familiar feeling of your orgasm rests in your stomach and he coaxes it out, applying an abundance of pleasure to make you cum in unison.

Oh, you need it. You babble out meek please’s and needy iterations of the word cum, creating a fragmented sentence. You're so cute when you're dick-dumb; shaking and twitching as your vocabulary refuses to extend beyond single-syllable phrases, inching closer and closer to that ardent explosion.

He can feel it, too. Drive along the sloppy road of lust and crash the course, torching the land in furious flames. Cum. Cum. Cum!!

“Oh- fuck!!!” Everything blurs together—your vision slips under a cast of white hotness, the devouring void in your gut succeeding and pouring out of you, painting the surface of his tightened abdomen in an iridescent glimmer. It feels like ten tons have been lifted out of your body and you can do nothing but quake in its exit, falling limp and weak. Your body has exhausted its limit and your mind circles around a boundless void…you orgasmed your fucking brains out.

Jing Yuan huffs out weighted breaths, undergoing similar after-effects. He’s still able to think—and when his eyes catch a glimpse of his thick load bubbling from between your puffy folds, all he can think is one more time.

[ghostarii]

I INVENTED SEX, JING YUAN

ʚɞ it’s about time you’ve met your maker: the beginning and the end of everything good.

WARNINGS ݈݇- fem!reader, praise, established relationship, dickmatized!reader, jing yuan has magic peen, lots of flowery imagery, dirty talk, dumbification, tears, spit, manhandling, squirting, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, spanking of multiple varieties, pussy pronouns, creampie!!!, no plot just vibes, minors do not interact.

NOTE ݈݇- this is a nonsense drabble n i lost the plot halfway thru ngl but i just wanted to write 😞 missed u guys <3 i’m trying to be more active n consistent for yall but idk smut writing is so hard now!!! anyway pls comment n reblog it rly warms me littl heart c:

WORD COUNT ݈݇- 2.8k+

STARS GLEAM UPON A blinding white surface, swirling into a hypnotizing galaxy. The heat of the stars spark under the layers of your flesh, burning you from the inside out in an unforgiving barrage of passion—that’s what passion feels like; a searing, insatiable heat that creeps through your veins and shows you the light.

You drown beneath the light, choking out garbled pleas and broken whines, feeling every bit of cohesion slip from your grasp. They can no longer keep you steady, and you're using those weakened fists to grab onto something—anything—to keep you afloat. He adjusts the placement of your legs around his waist, slithering his arms beneath your back and anchoring you off the mattress. You hang limply in his arms, melting off your stabilization, and feel utterly weightless. A haze overcomes you: drunken and blissful, it is, and it nulls every thought. Nothing remains but the sticky feeling of your bodies combining, the moans he rasps into your ears, and the sensation of your entire existence being dug out of you.

This is what pure ecstasy feels like: it’s electric, it's nasty, and it's life-altering—nothing in you has an ounce of normalcy anymore and you no longer want it to. He has killed you and resurrected you in the wake of exceptional ecstasy. You can't remember what life felt like before you laid down in this bed, but you know what it feels like now: fucking phenomenal.

It shows all in the sloppy grin you wear. You’re somewhere beyond mortal comprehension, where your eyes can cross stupidly and you pant like a thirsty mutt. In all of your messy debauchery, the only thing you can do is smile. Smile in his arms as he bullies his cock deep into your guts, smile as he pulls your head up and cradles the back of your neck, and smile as he presses your foreheads together, huffing out the age-old question: “You like that?”

His voice is carved out of raw carnality. It’s rough and guttural, and reverberating through your empty head like a sick mantra. Of course I fucking like it, you want to say, but your tongue can't untwist out of its debilitating twirl and you can only weakly whimper out an Mhm!

“I bet,” he laughs, almost chastising. “You should see the look on your face…mnh, yeeaahh, that good, huh?”

You nod vigorously but your confirmation is not what he is in search of. What Yuan is looking for is you: the raw, unfiltered, real version of you that rests inside. To pull that out and bare it in your sacred space—to let him cherish it and understand it in ways you have yet to experience—that is intimacy. What he’s looking for is real intimacy…and you, you are it.

Sweltering heat washes over you in a fiery wave, pulling the final loop through your stomach and knotting it up. That’s it, right there, you try to say, but your mouth only hangs agape, squeaking out choppy cries. Yuan takes the opportunity to angle himself and lick into your mouth, catching your whimper on his tongue and following the pout of your lips into a kiss.

His hand on your neck slowly returns to the other, each grabbing your ass and spreading the cheeks apart. The splat sounds have more space to escape, and they dance along the walls, echoing in a deafening repetition that resounds for miles. It’s so nasty, so unashamed—but it’s so intimate, and it’s all his.

As he kisses deeper into your mouth, his hands are guiding you up and down his cock. Going incredibly slow, sure to bottom out each slide, Yuan creates the perfect circumstance to provoke the bubble in your gut. Prodding and prodding until he feels the tight constriction of you sucking him in, and the hollow pop! that blows when your floodgates burst, and every inkling of pleasure culminates into a divine orgasm.

That weightless feeling leaves your body and is replaced with a sinking heft. It centers in the heat of your core as your orgasm creeps out of you—weighing down your limbs until they contort stiffly and your head until it feels like it's about to roll off of your neck.

He lets you fall back onto the mattress, rocking his hips slowly out of you, making way for your cum to spill out of you. It drips in milky, sticky streams, pooling right under your ass and smearing your skin. Under the dim lighting of your shared bedroom, you look nothing short of heavenly. Every fucked up strand of hair, dried tear streak—merely reminders of how much he loves you.

What really matters is the way in which you look up at him: a sick hunger dwelling in the sparkle of your glossy eyes just begging him to give you more. Your body is his language, he is fluent in you, and he needs not a single word to be of service to you. A flash passes by and he’s kneeling over you, cradling the sides of your face with the utmost delicacy to lean into a tender kiss.

He is much more mindful of the swell in your lips and lets you take control, remembering the pressure you apply and the tongue you use…following in your lead back down the sticky path of ecstasy. It heats up almost immediately, and that buzz that once surrounded you returns.

When you part, he anchors above you, letting his hair fall out of the toppling ponytail and swing over his shoulders. The locks act as makeshift curtains and encase you in white darkness—but even in it, your beauty does not dissipate. Never will he tire of admiring you, nor will he tire of you, period. Not your look, nor your taste, nor your feeling, nor your love.

Jing Yuan will never stop loving you. He will keep making love with you, not to you, because there is so much to be had. Too much to be said in ways he cannot verbalize, but his body can.

So, even though he feels fatigue, he still dives into you with care: gently peeling your legs apart and slotting his head between your head and shoulder. “Tell me something,” he whispers against your skin, laying his body on top of you. “Tell me something you want.”

“…You. This.” You grab his face, finding his sunny eyes through the dark. “I want this to never end. Don't stop.”

Your voice is soft and worn, yet your words are heavy. Weighted with desire and ardor far beyond his imagination, and with his strength finding its way back to him, your wish is his command.

“I hear you, baby.” His fingers swim through your puffy folds, strumming along with a featherlight touch that has you gasping. The sound is visceral: a wet, slopping sound eliciting as he stirs around your clit. Your pussy weeps for him, dripping more arousal, and wails in sticky clicks, instantly rebirthing that carnivorous hunger you share. You can hear the smug smirk he cracks as he reignites your flame, kissing your shoulder while his fingers tiptoe across your entrance. “I hear you loud and clear.”

Sparks flare in your space as he presses the tip of his middle finger in—only giving you an inch in hopes of making you beg for a mile. His open-mouthed kisses across your skin leave fuzzy feelings across your body; “Hmmpphh- Yuan…” leaving your mouth in succession, not up for his teasing.

He, ever the jest, finds humor in your drawl, cracking out a dry chuckle as he nuzzles against your neck. “Mmh, love it when you beg. Do it again.”

Bucking your hips into the air, chasing the length of his finger, you whine temperamentally, “Don’t tease—”

“Aht aht—” he coos, lightly spanking your cunt. The action forces your body to jolt at the feeling, whimpering in sensitivity. “I'm in control. Beg.”

“You’re mean.” You whine, hiding your embarrassed face in the bundle of his curls. He laughs, finding humor in your humility. He further pushes your limits, pinching your clit and laughing harder at your cracking squeaks.

“I am, aren't I?”

God, he’s so infuriating, but it's hard to stay mad at him when you look at him..body like a God and a face like a nymph—he is divinely beautiful and with the sheen of perspiration casting a delectable glow on him, you're entranced. He knows what he does to you, he can see the shift in your eyes when your eyes lay upon him and he can't help but smirk…he really is so mean.

“Don’t you want me to make you feel good, babe?” He asks, trailing his finger down your leg and around to the back. His hand grips the back of your leg, hiking it onto his lap. “Have you going dumb, coming all over my cock—”

“Fuck—yes. Yes, I do,” you speak hardly above a whisper. He pulls you onto his lap, immediately reclaiming his favorite spot in the crook of your neck to nuzzle in.

His hands find their way to your waist, guiding slow gyrations over his length. You can feel the stir that you cause, and you suck in a breath, knitting your fingers through his hair and pulling him closer. Your hips move with more fire than he allows, rocking into a needy pace atop his cock in search of more friction. “C’mon..please,”

“Please what?” He asks coyly.

Your hands knotted in his hair yank his head back, pressing your lips to his, “Fuck me,” you breathe out against his lips, grinding on top of him with increased need.

“M-make me feel good, Yuan, fill me up—”

“Shit. Don’t say what you don't mean…”

“I mean it.” You blurt, using your left hand to creep under your ass and wrap around his dick. He winces at the contact and you gape your mouth against him, mimicking the silent pleasure he expresses. “Fill me up. Claim me. Ruin me for anybody else—fuck me up, please.”

Patheticness laces itself in your voice and good Lord is it hot. He’s never seen you so desperate: taking matters into your own hands and sliding down on his cock, gasping out tearily as the new angle introduces you to a new feeling of his dick. If he was stretching you before, he's ripping you open now—yet, it's the most delicious feeling you've ever felt thus far.

This needy, insatiable side of you is so fucking sexy. He can't help but encouragingly slap your ass—one, two, three harsh spanks that sting the dewy skin raw. In this moment, you are nothing less than perfect: perfectly needy, perfectly wet, perfectly gorgeous, perfectly tight, perfectly filled to the brim with thick, throbbing cock, and perfectly ready to be filled until your brain matter is replaced with his cum.

He’s going to fuck the shit out of you. You're just asking for it, throwing your head back and putting your hands on your ankles…you want to be fucked stupid. And, well, who is he to deny you?

He experimentally thrusts up into you, keen to your shrill inhale and taking note that you're still so sensitive; but you can take it, he knows you can. His dick is fat, burning a wide path through you as he crams himself deep inside you, nestling the mushroom head of his cock snug against your gummy, contracting walls.

“O-oh, God,” you whisper out, moving your hands from your ankles to his flexed abs. “S-so deep..fuck.”

“You can take it,” his arms wrap around your waist, lifting you slowly up his lengthy dick, “Know you can. This pussy was made to take me…she’s already doin' soo good f’me.” Splat. He slams you back flush against his lap, and your eyes bulge wide, the painfully pleasurable feeling pooling in your cunt racing through your veins.

You can only blurt out a choppy Fu-uck!, feeling every ounce of cognitive consciousness leak out of your pussy…your back again slumps over the hold of his arms, and you're turning into a limp fuck-doll, giving him full reign of your pace—and, oh, what a silly mistake. Yuan is unrelenting, immediately fixing a pace of mercilessly agonizing thrusts that go so slow, ensuring that every inch is felt moving inside of you. He’s become addicted to the sight of your pussy sucking around him, drinking up his width and leaving glossy streaks to pool against his pelvis.

“Nasty girl,” he chuckles. Using one hand to bring your head up, he locks eyes with your blown eyes, “Look at how good you are…takin’ allll ‘f me,” he drawls in unison with the drag of your hips.

“Pussy swallowing my dick whole..she’s a greedy little thing, isn't she?” His words are mocking and you can only whine in protest, shaking your head no.

You follow in his lead, rolling your hips in sloppy figure eights as he pulls you up and down, up and down.

“Yeeesss she is—” His breath hitches as you tighten around him. That’s the spot, that’s where you clench and guard because it’s so sensitive. But Jing Yuan’s a bully: a mean, nasty-spirited bully who gets off on seeing you cry and fall apart at his hand, so, it becomes his goal to attack your sweet spot brutishly, intensifying the power of your mutual thrusts and impaling you on his dick. “Look at ‘er, d-drooling ‘round me…”

A creamy white ring starts to wrap around the base of his cock as he digs out your foamy arousal, bringing you to the peak of pleasure. His cock swims through your hole with expertise, dragging out every semblance of sense in addition. Your mouth only senselessly dangles open, your tongue slopping out the corner and dripping drool down your chin and onto your chest…a dizzy, stupid mess that can only pant and huff out moans you have become.

Cross-eyed and limp—that’s how he’s rendered you in record time, but it doesn't even begin to express how you truly feel.

You feel like a firework: hot and excited, shaking in anticipation of the fire beneath your ass to reach its apex and explode you to the stars. You’ll paint the world in a pretty, pearlescent white that’ll take the shape of stars and hearts, mimicking the patterns that seem to rush through your veins. It's right there, building up deep and confined in your gut, and Yuan has found it, thrusts desperate to set it free.

Every word you try to speak dies in your throat, only coming out as incomplete croaks that bring a smug smile to Yuan’s lips. You dumb little thing, so lost for words…His heavy eyes say the words his mouth no longer has the capacity for, mimicking your dumbfoundedness and finding gruff moans to be his language.

It's a room of hot, unspoken quiet, only filled with the wet squelching of your pussy and the colorful sound of him churning your guts.

It's a room where the fruits of pleasure splash around, drowning the two of you in inexplicable goodness. Because it all really is just too good, it’s beyond words.

The bullying of your pathetic sweet spot is coming to a head; a grandiose culmination of every beat of pleasure swirls in your stomach and he only eggs it on, using his thumb to flick at your neglected clit. “Cum—” he can only grunt out, amplifying every movement of his tenfold. “Cum..with me—fuck!”

This is it, the light to your fuse that quickly singes the fabric of your being, running up through you to find that seedy pit that bulges in necessity to burst. The familiar feeling of your orgasm rests in your stomach and he coaxes it out, applying an abundance of pleasure to make you cum in unison.

Oh, you need it. You babble out meek please’s and needy iterations of the word cum, creating a fragmented sentence. You're so cute when you're dick-dumb; shaking and twitching as your vocabulary refuses to extend beyond single-syllable phrases, inching closer and closer to that ardent explosion.

He can feel it, too. Drive along the sloppy road of lust and crash the course, torching the land in furious flames. Cum. Cum. Cum!!

“Oh- fuck!!!” Everything blurs together—your vision slips under a cast of white hotness, the devouring void in your gut succeeding and pouring out of you, painting the surface of his tightened abdomen in an iridescent glimmer. It feels like ten tons have been lifted out of your body and you can do nothing but quake in its exit, falling limp and weak. Your body has exhausted its limit and your mind circles around a boundless void…you orgasmed your fucking brains out.

Jing Yuan huffs out weighted breaths, undergoing similar after-effects. He’s still able to think—and when his eyes catch a glimpse of his thick load bubbling from between your puffy folds, all he can think is one more time.

[ghostarii]

I INVENTED SEX, JING YUAN

ʚɞ it’s about time you’ve met your maker: the beginning and the end of everything good.

WARNINGS ݈݇- fem!reader, praise, established relationship, dickmatized!reader, jing yuan has magic peen, lots of flowery imagery, dirty talk, dumbification, tears, spit, manhandling, squirting, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, spanking of multiple varieties, pussy pronouns, creampie!!!, no plot just vibes, minors do not interact.

NOTE ݈݇- this is a nonsense drabble n i lost the plot halfway thru ngl but i just wanted to write 😞 missed u guys <3 i’m trying to be more active n consistent for yall but idk smut writing is so hard now!!! anyway pls comment n reblog it rly warms me littl heart c:

WORD COUNT ݈݇- 2.8k+

STARS GLEAM UPON A blinding white surface, swirling into a hypnotizing galaxy. The heat of the stars spark under the layers of your flesh, burning you from the inside out in an unforgiving barrage of passion—that’s what passion feels like; a searing, insatiable heat that creeps through your veins and shows you the light.

You drown beneath the light, choking out garbled pleas and broken whines, feeling every bit of cohesion slip from your grasp. They can no longer keep you steady, and you're using those weakened fists to grab onto something—anything—to keep you afloat. He adjusts the placement of your legs around his waist, slithering his arms beneath your back and anchoring you off the mattress. You hang limply in his arms, melting off your stabilization, and feel utterly weightless. A haze overcomes you: drunken and blissful, it is, and it nulls every thought. Nothing remains but the sticky feeling of your bodies combining, the moans he rasps into your ears, and the sensation of your entire existence being dug out of you.

This is what pure ecstasy feels like: it’s electric, it's nasty, and it's life-altering—nothing in you has an ounce of normalcy anymore and you no longer want it to. He has killed you and resurrected you in the wake of exceptional ecstasy. You can't remember what life felt like before you laid down in this bed, but you know what it feels like now: fucking phenomenal.

It shows all in the sloppy grin you wear. You’re somewhere beyond mortal comprehension, where your eyes can cross stupidly and you pant like a thirsty mutt. In all of your messy debauchery, the only thing you can do is smile. Smile in his arms as he bullies his cock deep into your guts, smile as he pulls your head up and cradles the back of your neck, and smile as he presses your foreheads together, huffing out the age-old question: “You like that?”

His voice is carved out of raw carnality. It’s rough and guttural, and reverberating through your empty head like a sick mantra. Of course I fucking like it, you want to say, but your tongue can't untwist out of its debilitating twirl and you can only weakly whimper out an Mhm!

“I bet,” he laughs, almost chastising. “You should see the look on your face…mnh, yeeaahh, that good, huh?”

You nod vigorously but your confirmation is not what he is in search of. What Yuan is looking for is you: the raw, unfiltered, real version of you that rests inside. To pull that out and bare it in your sacred space—to let him cherish it and understand it in ways you have yet to experience—that is intimacy. What he’s looking for is real intimacy…and you, you are it.

Sweltering heat washes over you in a fiery wave, pulling the final loop through your stomach and knotting it up. That’s it, right there, you try to say, but your mouth only hangs agape, squeaking out choppy cries. Yuan takes the opportunity to angle himself and lick into your mouth, catching your whimper on his tongue and following the pout of your lips into a kiss.

His hand on your neck slowly returns to the other, each grabbing your ass and spreading the cheeks apart. The splat sounds have more space to escape, and they dance along the walls, echoing in a deafening repetition that resounds for miles. It’s so nasty, so unashamed—but it’s so intimate, and it’s all his.

As he kisses deeper into your mouth, his hands are guiding you up and down his cock. Going incredibly slow, sure to bottom out each slide, Yuan creates the perfect circumstance to provoke the bubble in your gut. Prodding and prodding until he feels the tight constriction of you sucking him in, and the hollow pop! that blows when your floodgates burst, and every inkling of pleasure culminates into a divine orgasm.

That weightless feeling leaves your body and is replaced with a sinking heft. It centers in the heat of your core as your orgasm creeps out of you—weighing down your limbs until they contort stiffly and your head until it feels like it's about to roll off of your neck.

He lets you fall back onto the mattress, rocking his hips slowly out of you, making way for your cum to spill out of you. It drips in milky, sticky streams, pooling right under your ass and smearing your skin. Under the dim lighting of your shared bedroom, you look nothing short of heavenly. Every fucked up strand of hair, dried tear streak—merely reminders of how much he loves you.

What really matters is the way in which you look up at him: a sick hunger dwelling in the sparkle of your glossy eyes just begging him to give you more. Your body is his language, he is fluent in you, and he needs not a single word to be of service to you. A flash passes by and he’s kneeling over you, cradling the sides of your face with the utmost delicacy to lean into a tender kiss.

He is much more mindful of the swell in your lips and lets you take control, remembering the pressure you apply and the tongue you use…following in your lead back down the sticky path of ecstasy. It heats up almost immediately, and that buzz that once surrounded you returns.

When you part, he anchors above you, letting his hair fall out of the toppling ponytail and swing over his shoulders. The locks act as makeshift curtains and encase you in white darkness—but even in it, your beauty does not dissipate. Never will he tire of admiring you, nor will he tire of you, period. Not your look, nor your taste, nor your feeling, nor your love.

Jing Yuan will never stop loving you. He will keep making love with you, not to you, because there is so much to be had. Too much to be said in ways he cannot verbalize, but his body can.

So, even though he feels fatigue, he still dives into you with care: gently peeling your legs apart and slotting his head between your head and shoulder. “Tell me something,” he whispers against your skin, laying his body on top of you. “Tell me something you want.”

“…You. This.” You grab his face, finding his sunny eyes through the dark. “I want this to never end. Don't stop.”

Your voice is soft and worn, yet your words are heavy. Weighted with desire and ardor far beyond his imagination, and with his strength finding its way back to him, your wish is his command.

“I hear you, baby.” His fingers swim through your puffy folds, strumming along with a featherlight touch that has you gasping. The sound is visceral: a wet, slopping sound eliciting as he stirs around your clit. Your pussy weeps for him, dripping more arousal, and wails in sticky clicks, instantly rebirthing that carnivorous hunger you share. You can hear the smug smirk he cracks as he reignites your flame, kissing your shoulder while his fingers tiptoe across your entrance. “I hear you loud and clear.”

Sparks flare in your space as he presses the tip of his middle finger in—only giving you an inch in hopes of making you beg for a mile. His open-mouthed kisses across your skin leave fuzzy feelings across your body; “Hmmpphh- Yuan…” leaving your mouth in succession, not up for his teasing.

He, ever the jest, finds humor in your drawl, cracking out a dry chuckle as he nuzzles against your neck. “Mmh, love it when you beg. Do it again.”

Bucking your hips into the air, chasing the length of his finger, you whine temperamentally, “Don’t tease—”

“Aht aht—” he coos, lightly spanking your cunt. The action forces your body to jolt at the feeling, whimpering in sensitivity. “I'm in control. Beg.”

“You’re mean.” You whine, hiding your embarrassed face in the bundle of his curls. He laughs, finding humor in your humility. He further pushes your limits, pinching your clit and laughing harder at your cracking squeaks.

“I am, aren't I?”

God, he’s so infuriating, but it's hard to stay mad at him when you look at him..body like a God and a face like a nymph—he is divinely beautiful and with the sheen of perspiration casting a delectable glow on him, you're entranced. He knows what he does to you, he can see the shift in your eyes when your eyes lay upon him and he can't help but smirk…he really is so mean.

“Don’t you want me to make you feel good, babe?” He asks, trailing his finger down your leg and around to the back. His hand grips the back of your leg, hiking it onto his lap. “Have you going dumb, coming all over my cock—”

“Fuck—yes. Yes, I do,” you speak hardly above a whisper. He pulls you onto his lap, immediately reclaiming his favorite spot in the crook of your neck to nuzzle in.

His hands find their way to your waist, guiding slow gyrations over his length. You can feel the stir that you cause, and you suck in a breath, knitting your fingers through his hair and pulling him closer. Your hips move with more fire than he allows, rocking into a needy pace atop his cock in search of more friction. “C’mon..please,”

“Please what?” He asks coyly.

Your hands knotted in his hair yank his head back, pressing your lips to his, “Fuck me,” you breathe out against his lips, grinding on top of him with increased need.

“M-make me feel good, Yuan, fill me up—”

“Shit. Don’t say what you don't mean…”

“I mean it.” You blurt, using your left hand to creep under your ass and wrap around his dick. He winces at the contact and you gape your mouth against him, mimicking the silent pleasure he expresses. “Fill me up. Claim me. Ruin me for anybody else—fuck me up, please.”

Patheticness laces itself in your voice and good Lord is it hot. He’s never seen you so desperate: taking matters into your own hands and sliding down on his cock, gasping out tearily as the new angle introduces you to a new feeling of his dick. If he was stretching you before, he's ripping you open now—yet, it's the most delicious feeling you've ever felt thus far.

This needy, insatiable side of you is so fucking sexy. He can't help but encouragingly slap your ass—one, two, three harsh spanks that sting the dewy skin raw. In this moment, you are nothing less than perfect: perfectly needy, perfectly wet, perfectly gorgeous, perfectly tight, perfectly filled to the brim with thick, throbbing cock, and perfectly ready to be filled until your brain matter is replaced with his cum.

He’s going to fuck the shit out of you. You're just asking for it, throwing your head back and putting your hands on your ankles…you want to be fucked stupid. And, well, who is he to deny you?

He experimentally thrusts up into you, keen to your shrill inhale and taking note that you're still so sensitive; but you can take it, he knows you can. His dick is fat, burning a wide path through you as he crams himself deep inside you, nestling the mushroom head of his cock snug against your gummy, contracting walls.

“O-oh, God,” you whisper out, moving your hands from your ankles to his flexed abs. “S-so deep..fuck.”

“You can take it,” his arms wrap around your waist, lifting you slowly up his lengthy dick, “Know you can. This pussy was made to take me…she’s already doin' soo good f’me.” Splat. He slams you back flush against his lap, and your eyes bulge wide, the painfully pleasurable feeling pooling in your cunt racing through your veins.

You can only blurt out a choppy Fu-uck!, feeling every ounce of cognitive consciousness leak out of your pussy…your back again slumps over the hold of his arms, and you're turning into a limp fuck-doll, giving him full reign of your pace—and, oh, what a silly mistake. Yuan is unrelenting, immediately fixing a pace of mercilessly agonizing thrusts that go so slow, ensuring that every inch is felt moving inside of you. He’s become addicted to the sight of your pussy sucking around him, drinking up his width and leaving glossy streaks to pool against his pelvis.

“Nasty girl,” he chuckles. Using one hand to bring your head up, he locks eyes with your blown eyes, “Look at how good you are…takin’ allll ‘f me,” he drawls in unison with the drag of your hips.

“Pussy swallowing my dick whole..she’s a greedy little thing, isn't she?” His words are mocking and you can only whine in protest, shaking your head no.

You follow in his lead, rolling your hips in sloppy figure eights as he pulls you up and down, up and down.

“Yeeesss she is—” His breath hitches as you tighten around him. That’s the spot, that’s where you clench and guard because it’s so sensitive. But Jing Yuan’s a bully: a mean, nasty-spirited bully who gets off on seeing you cry and fall apart at his hand, so, it becomes his goal to attack your sweet spot brutishly, intensifying the power of your mutual thrusts and impaling you on his dick. “Look at ‘er, d-drooling ‘round me…”

A creamy white ring starts to wrap around the base of his cock as he digs out your foamy arousal, bringing you to the peak of pleasure. His cock swims through your hole with expertise, dragging out every semblance of sense in addition. Your mouth only senselessly dangles open, your tongue slopping out the corner and dripping drool down your chin and onto your chest…a dizzy, stupid mess that can only pant and huff out moans you have become.

Cross-eyed and limp—that’s how he’s rendered you in record time, but it doesn't even begin to express how you truly feel.

You feel like a firework: hot and excited, shaking in anticipation of the fire beneath your ass to reach its apex and explode you to the stars. You’ll paint the world in a pretty, pearlescent white that’ll take the shape of stars and hearts, mimicking the patterns that seem to rush through your veins. It's right there, building up deep and confined in your gut, and Yuan has found it, thrusts desperate to set it free.

Every word you try to speak dies in your throat, only coming out as incomplete croaks that bring a smug smile to Yuan’s lips. You dumb little thing, so lost for words…His heavy eyes say the words his mouth no longer has the capacity for, mimicking your dumbfoundedness and finding gruff moans to be his language.

It's a room of hot, unspoken quiet, only filled with the wet squelching of your pussy and the colorful sound of him churning your guts.

It's a room where the fruits of pleasure splash around, drowning the two of you in inexplicable goodness. Because it all really is just too good, it’s beyond words.

The bullying of your pathetic sweet spot is coming to a head; a grandiose culmination of every beat of pleasure swirls in your stomach and he only eggs it on, using his thumb to flick at your neglected clit. “Cum—” he can only grunt out, amplifying every movement of his tenfold. “Cum..with me—fuck!”

This is it, the light to your fuse that quickly singes the fabric of your being, running up through you to find that seedy pit that bulges in necessity to burst. The familiar feeling of your orgasm rests in your stomach and he coaxes it out, applying an abundance of pleasure to make you cum in unison.

Oh, you need it. You babble out meek please’s and needy iterations of the word cum, creating a fragmented sentence. You're so cute when you're dick-dumb; shaking and twitching as your vocabulary refuses to extend beyond single-syllable phrases, inching closer and closer to that ardent explosion.

He can feel it, too. Drive along the sloppy road of lust and crash the course, torching the land in furious flames. Cum. Cum. Cum!!

“Oh- fuck!!!” Everything blurs together—your vision slips under a cast of white hotness, the devouring void in your gut succeeding and pouring out of you, painting the surface of his tightened abdomen in an iridescent glimmer. It feels like ten tons have been lifted out of your body and you can do nothing but quake in its exit, falling limp and weak. Your body has exhausted its limit and your mind circles around a boundless void…you orgasmed your fucking brains out.

Jing Yuan huffs out weighted breaths, undergoing similar after-effects. He’s still able to think—and when his eyes catch a glimpse of his thick load bubbling from between your puffy folds, all he can think is one more time.

[ghostarii]

i hav some yummy things comin out the vault very soon . . i will revive this account!

[ghostarii]

HALLUCINOGEN (LOSING YOUR MIND), KAFKA

ʚɞ blurred lines of reality and illusions, meistered by an illusory manifestation of deep desires and wanton bliss bring about an enlightenment far beyond anything holy.

WARNINGS ݈݇- fem!reader, praise, slapping, nipple play, spit, hair pulling, cunnilingus, overstimulation, implied inexperienced!reader, biblical(?) references but no explicit relation, fingering, corruption kink, kafka teasing, minors & non nb/wlw do not interact.

NOTE ݈݇- soo . . . i won’t get into where i’ve been but just know i’m going through a lot And desperately need a distraction. i’ve turned my brain off n wrote this w my pssy so if it gets crazy blame her! jus in need of som mindless horny fun 😞😞

WORD COUNT ݈݇- 3.3k

COLORFUL STROBES FLICKER WITH reckless abandon, jumping in excited juxtaposition to the smooth, dance beat that plays through the speakers. Lucidity fills the room—you’re hyper-aware yet unconscious: watching everything from an existential position and you're drunk off the omnipotence. It coats your body in this mesmerizing feel beyond comprehension. Something so shimmery and soft that you find comfort in it, yet houndingly aggressive that you're thrashed around in its throes. It only amplifies as time passes and you can't feel any fucking better.

Everything feels intense. On a molecular level, you can feel everything, and it’s a sensation that’s beyond your expectations. It's like…subhuman—or, no, rather, extraterrestrial: akin to otherworldly intensities that cannot be created nor replicated on Earth. You are somewhere else, reaching the heights beyond existence that bathe you in sweaty warmth and glittery kisses.

Not Heaven nor Nirvana, but something nameless. Something seedier and gutsy, gnarled in debauched patterns of unholiness and temptations, wrong in every right way, and bad in every good way. Where or whatever it is is uncharted but it is shared— and you’d stay here with her until it fades into nothingness.

You will stay here with her until it fades into nothingness. She is the nucleus of this illusory ecstasy-scape, and in her hands, you are guided along a path of pure, unadulterated, fantasy.

She is made up of raw vulgarity: it in its purest form as something seduces you into her proximity, begging you to bite the apple and see the light.

Just do it, it’d be so easy.

Don’t you want to taste it? The juice…the sweetness…feel the bite in your jaw?…

Put your mouth to it, let it lead you…

The voice in your head is distant yet wholly present. Almost as though it were whispering in your ear while directing your movements, pushing you deeper into the darkness. Where the light doesn't reach and the ambiguity of the following heightens is where it dwells: perfect, round, and red—shiny and plump and enticing—

Doesn't it look delicious?

It does.

Grab it, then.

It's in your hands now. Caressing it, you admire its magnificence. Soft skin, unplagued by irregularities and blemishes, rosy and inviting.

Bite it.

You lean in.

Head cocked at an opportune angle, lips parted readily, you lean forward…

A bite like a kiss…

A kiss like a bite?

Tender nibbles upon contact quickly morph into sloppy openings. Everything slops and clashes together, fighting aggressively in search of a fix. Fill that hungry, haunting void that grumbles in your stomach, aching terribly for sustenance.

You moan for it— whimpering a pathetic Please against her mouth and resting your forehead against hers. “Gimme…”

She laughs, cupping your pouty face in her palms. “Sweet girl,” she says, pecking your lips. “What do you need from me?”

Everything.

Her kisses feel like pillows all over your face. Gentle presses in a scattered manner, showering you with tender affection that blooms in your chest.

The heft that controlled your body has now morphed into feather-lightness—as though you weigh nothing and are floating across the Heavens. The colorful lights and bass-boosted music have ceased and you now reside in a dark room, illuminated by a single, dim night table lamp and ambient light leaking through crimson curtains. A bed sits beneath you, soft like clouds and cushioning you as you’re laid down on it, limbs stretched beneath her straddling.

She continues to kiss down your body, leaving your face and heading South to your neck, where her mouth latches and suckles on the skin. Your body has an immediate reaction: your eyes are fluttering closed and your hips are gyrating upwards, where your core catches her thigh and the throb that pumps through it harshens. You gasp out, grabbing the back of her head and tangling your fingers through her plum locks, pulling out the ponytail holder and letting limp curls coil down your forearm.

“You taste so good..so sweet,” she mumbles, pulling at the flimsy fabric of your top until the fabric screeches, a tear forming in the center. She continues to pull until the red garment is split in half, discarded to the side, and leaving you in your white bra. It's decorated in lace swirls and vines across the cups, peeking over in a rosette border that teases your assets. Enveloped in intricacies, you’re displayed beneath her as a decadent confection—ready to be devoured into nothingness. “I can’t get enough of you.” She says.

The silver clasp glints in her eye as it sits between your cleavage, asking for a break as your breasts hold it hostage. “May I?”

“Please,” you breathe out. At your heed, she pulls the hook apart with ease, and your boobs jump out of their confines.

She helps you shrug the material off your shoulders, soon tossing it off the side of your cloud-bed and leaving you bare from the waist up. You don't try to cower under attention. Instead, you revel in it, bathing in the rose tint she views you in and presenting yourself.

Humor is found in your actions, and she can't help but crack a smile at you. Her hand drives up from your navel and passes through the valley of your breasts to grapple around your neck. Fingers immediately press on the pressure points in your neck, making your [already] heavy eyes droop harder and your lips purse and part. You're lifted slightly off the bed, inches away from her face as she hovers over you.

“I don't know where to start,” she says, softly. “There’s so many things I want to do to you.”

“Do it all.” You lean up, chasing the distant feel of her lips. She hesitates to indulge you, going back and forth between leaning in and creating distance, leaving her in a silent push and pull where she defiantly fights the magnetism. “I'm all yours—”

“Mm mm.” She hums, shaking her head. She can't do this, she can't do you.

You nod your head, almost eagerly, chasing her lips. “Use me.”

No. She shakes her head no, leaning further back.

“Take me.” You say, following her actions.

No. I can’t.

“Ruin me.”

Her hand weakens around your neck, and you're quick to grab it, returning it to its place around your neck. Your eyes are polished and wide, wordlessly begging her for attention.

Meek squeaks slip out of your mouth as her grip returns, the pressure she applies being much tighter and more restrictive than previously. Still, your lips still find the courage to pull into a small smile, parting and making way for the whisper your voice has turned into. “Kafka,” you moan out, her name heavy on your tongue, “fuck me.”

She sits before you, sweet purplish hair framing around her pale frame, juxtaposing the deep, salacious fuschia that glares at you. An almost taunting glow emits from her as she ponders her next course of action— should she turn her mind off and act aimlessly, or should she retreat with sensibility? She's already come thus far, she’s already molded you in her palm, she's already invented a paradise for you…it is yours to defile as you please.

If you must beg her so wantonly, as though you’ll die without feeling her version of pleasure, she must forfeit the fight and succeed in the throes of ecstasy. She has been tempted.

Your wish is obliged with care. She pins you beneath her, diving back into where she left off with a searing fervor. Her lips leave stains of her red lipstick smeared across your chest, trailing streakily across the surface until she kisses around your right tit.

A line is drawn by her tongue from beneath your underboob area to your areola, pebbling the skin in her wake. Your nipples perk and harden, the left immediately becoming a target of bullying from her pinching fingers. Sharp, black almond nails cover the bud as she tweaks it harshly, immediately subduing your wince by licking over your right nipple.

Her eyes stay on your face as she enacts so, carefully dancing her tongue over and around it until she sucks it into her mouth, mimicking the suction with the pinch of her fingers. You moan out, throwing your head back and greeting the swirling sight of stars and glimmering streaks. They paint upon a blacked-out view, covering the inside of your eyelids with the visual manifestation of how you feel. Elated. Content. Pleasured. Something you've never felt before and it is…wow.

“Kaf…” you meekly whimper, unable to even say the rest of her name. Your hand presses her face closer to your chest, almost aiming to slowly ease your entire body into her mouth. It feels so fucking good— like nothing you've ever felt before and you don't want her to stop.

Your body is warm to the touch and it feels like your veins are pumping pure stardust. Her tongue swirls and loops around your nipple, slopping spit and vocal vibrations all over the sensitive bud, eliciting the sweetest broken moans from you. They're unabashed and full of weight, carrying the load of untouched desire.

How long have you been waiting for this?

Too long.

Was it worth the wait?

So, so worth it.

What do you want next?

“Touch me.” You don't even mean to say it out loud, but it slips out amongst the flurry of gasps you puff. Hips bucking desperately in search of something only to meet a sufficient source once every few thrusts. It’s not enough, you need the tingle between your legs tended to. “G-Goddammit, Kaf, please…”

She needs not another instruction, simply obliging your request with her hand making work of your pants, undoing the pesky clasps. Separating from you, she uses the opportunity to rid of her shirt, sliding her pants down her legs and kicking it all to the floor. Her hands grab at the belt loops, tugging the tight fabric slowly down your legs while maintaining eye contact.

Don’t take your eyes off me.

She doesn't even need to say it. You know it— as though it were an innate action hardwired into your very being.

You watch her intently as your pants are finally pulled off your legs, leaving the limbs angled up on her chest. Discarding your pants to the side, she runs her hands up and down your legs, kissing down the left from your ankle to your shin, to your knee, to your thigh, over to the other leg, and going back up.

“So patient..good girl. Letting me take my time with you…” she says, breathily. Kissing back down your leg, slowly positioning herself eye-level with your cunt. She licks a line from your hamstring to your panty-clad cunt, eyes still never leaving you. She kisses firmly on the wet spot that stretches over the seat of your white panties, leaving the remnants of her lipstick on the fabric in a kiss mark. You’re hot, throbbing, and soaking— primed for her demolition. “Want me here?”

You nod furiously, pushing yourself into her face. “Need you there.” You correct, hooking your fingers under the band of your underwear and awkwardly shimmying the garment off.

“Needy little thing, aren't you?” She muses, tucking her hair behind her ears. You slowly unveil yourself to her, letting the stuffy air draft over your wetness, pushing shivers down your spine. “Just waiting and waiting..oh, ‘m sorry…”

The prettiest pussy she’s ever seen awaits her attention. Eagerly beating at her, your cunt drools and shines, drowning itself in an overwhelming amount of arousal that even beads off the curve of your ass. All of this for her, only for her, because of her…Kafka might just be the luckiest woman in the universe.

She wedges herself tighter between your legs, feeling the heat that burns in you and smelling the sweetness just waiting to be swallowed. Her eyes go back up to you, catching the tears of frustration building, and her smile breaks wider.

“‘M sorry for making you wait so long.”

Spread ‘em.

You spread your legs wider to make space for her head, immediately throwing your head back when her exhale fans over your cunt.

Her tongue darts immediately toward your slobbering hole, licking up the tracks of arousal that spill down the fat of your ass. She slams her dominant hand down on your cheek, giving it a soft rub as she giggles at your wince-whimper combination. Her tongue draws looping circles around your entrance, slipping down and licking up the stray beads. She then drives it back up to your hole, pushing the muscle into your tight entrance with little force. Your eyes shoot open and you're adjusting to the new sensation, watching her intently as she creates a hard pace: in, out, in, out until she flickers the tip of her tongue over your fluttering hole and licks a flat strip halfway up through your folds before repeating.

The taste of you is already intoxicating. Unparalleled to anyone before you— you are pure and dripping raw ecstasy, lighting her body up in the wake of lightning. She can't get enough and moans into your cunt, rolling and spinning her tongue around your walls.

She hooks your right leg over her shoulder, slinking her arm beneath the limb and slithering her fingers to your neglected clit. Just hovering over the bud makes you shiver and buck into her mouth, so she takes the initiative to drive you fucking insane. Kafka must have some sort of magic touch, or she can read you like a first-grade book, because she presses down on the bud, rubbing it in a smooth back and forth. Your mind immediately short circuits and you're back on that illusory plane, feeling everything with such great intensity that you feel your orgasm building already.

Clenching around her tongue and bucking into her mouth lets Kafka know that you're about to cum. She pulls off, building up a ball of spit on her tongue and dropping it off between your folds.

Her ministrations on your clit cease as she uses her two fingers to part your labia, licking boldly between your lips and collecting a heap of sticky slick on her tongue. She hums contently, swallowing down the fluid with dramatized vocalizations and intense eye contact.

“You taste so good, baby.” She moans, sliding her left hand into her panties. She begins touching herself, grinding on her hand while licking the taste of you off her lips. “Want you to cum in my mouth, okay? Make..a big mess for me,”

She moans out so vulgarly, letting her hand on your pussy falter and tickle over your puffy clit.

It's only now that you see Kafka: untamed. This is her in her rawest form— lust-gone and hungry. Wasting no time in leaning forward and attacking your clit, sucking the bud with such eagerness that she hollows her cheeks, squeaking our obnoxious sucking sounds that bounce off the walls. The suction is so harsh that you can't help but screech, grabbing her hair and pulling the handful of locks taut against her skull.

You can tell she likes that. So you do it again, simultaneously humping into her mouth.

Be rough.

She tries to pull back but you keep her there, forcing her nose to sit atop the mound of your pussy and asphyxiating her slowly.

Be mean.

“That's it— l-like that..! F-fuck, Kaf,” you sputter, the new flickering of her tongue over your clit eliciting sharp rods of lightning to pierce all over your body. You have no control over the moans that leave your mouth because your body is so beyond itself—receiving a kind of satisfaction never experienced before and it's reveling in that, boiling itself in pure heat and pushing out creamy bubbles. “Fuck—make me cum.”

She forces her head up against the behest of your hand, gasping in a big heap of air. Her face is flushed and wet, wearing the effect your pussy leaves on her, and yet, it still earns a piercing slap that sends her head in the opposite direction.

Oh, good. That was good.

Before you can stumble out an apology, she sneers at you. “Yeah? Is that how you're feeling?”

You didn't mean to do it—you don't know what came over you— “N-no—”

“Do it again.”

Kafka’s word is absolute and you have no room to disobey. You cock your arm back and swing, slapping her with a lot less force than before.

She grabs your hand and forces it to the back of her head, and you instinctively grab onto the hair. “Remember what you do to me…” she says, sticking her fingers into her mouth and suckling on the digits. Just as she pops them out of her mouth and directs them to your pussy, she looks back up at you. “You’re in control. Make me.”

Famous last fucking words.

The next few actions are melted together in a blur of galaxies and tears, ceasing to have a tangible visual but proceeding to wreck your body into oblivion. Kafka has sucked your clit until it's swollen, pleading to be left alone but consistently the target of merciless abuse. It doesn't help that it acts as though it were a self-destruct button—every ministration rendering your body stiff and turbulent: quivering beneath rigid curlings and tightenings.

You’re coasting through the skies with her head working between your legs, sucking the taste right off your pussy until it cries some more. It is an endless cycle of overwhelming pleasure that only builds upon itself, forming into an unstable, grandeur tower of lusty goodness that threatens to come crashing down.

She licks and sucks fervently, determined to yank your orgasm from your depths and taste the purest essence of you. And you are a victim to it— pulling half of her hair into a makeshift ponytail and fucking yourself on her face, desperately chasing the epicenter of your orgasm to make it let go.

“F-fucking me s-so good, Kaf—!” You squeal, feeling your stomach bubble and tighten. “C-close!!!”

Let go.

It's too much. It's so fucking good—good Lord—

Just cum.

Rightthererightthere– “Hnngggh—just like t-that! Shit!”

She sucks so hungrily on your pussy, eating you like a rabid dog on a fresh piece of meat. Her tongue is doing this you can't even describe and the images you see as a result are skewed.

Pretty visuals of clouds raining intergalactic hearts over a foggy sky and lightning streaks of ecstasy fill your fucked up head, imitating the euphoric feeling imposed on your body. You're so close—your body twitches and your eyes cry, pleasured sobs leaving your mouth as everything good attacks you all at once.

Be a good girl. Cum.

Kafka’s eyes roll into the back of her head as she feels your floodgates break— the orgasmic wave pushing out of your pussy and all over her face. The cry that's ripped from your throat is visceral and guttural, tearing your throat to shreds and rendering you a weeping mess.

If getting eaten felt good, orgasming feels even better. It feels cosmic—irreplaceable and delectable from beginning to end. And Kafka fucks you through it, flicking her tongue through your folds and slurping up your juices with a wide smile.

Give in; let it take you.

Stuck in the heat of euphoria, you only float higher to heights uncharted, soaring freely. Light reaches out to you in fragmented rays, calling to you in the galactic darkness to follow its way.

This is goodness. Everything holy and unholy; everything sacred and desecrated; everything clean and everything dirty; a culmination of unchained, terrific bliss right in your core.

It was always there, you just needed it out of you.

Now that you have it, nothing will be the same. So long as it still exists.

[ghostarii]

HALLUCINOGEN (LOSING YOUR MIND), KAFKA

ʚɞ blurred lines of reality and illusions, meistered by an illusory manifestation of deep desires and wanton bliss bring about an enlightenment far beyond anything holy.

WARNINGS ݈݇- fem!reader, praise, slapping, nipple play, spit, hair pulling, cunnilingus, overstimulation, implied inexperienced!reader, biblical(?) references but no explicit relation, fingering, corruption kink, kafka teasing, minors & non nb/wlw do not interact.

NOTE ݈݇- soo . . . i won’t get into where i’ve been but just know i’m going through a lot And desperately need a distraction. i’ve turned my brain off n wrote this w my pssy so if it gets crazy blame her! jus in need of som mindless horny fun 😞😞

WORD COUNT ݈݇- 3.3k

COLORFUL STROBES FLICKER WITH reckless abandon, jumping in excited juxtaposition to the smooth, dance beat that plays through the speakers. Lucidity fills the room—you’re hyper-aware yet unconscious: watching everything from an existential position and you're drunk off the omnipotence. It coats your body in this mesmerizing feel beyond comprehension. Something so shimmery and soft that you find comfort in it, yet houndingly aggressive that you're thrashed around in its throes. It only amplifies as time passes and you can't feel any fucking better.

Everything feels intense. On a molecular level, you can feel everything, and it’s a sensation that’s beyond your expectations. It's like…subhuman—or, no, rather, extraterrestrial: akin to otherworldly intensities that cannot be created nor replicated on Earth. You are somewhere else, reaching the heights beyond existence that bathe you in sweaty warmth and glittery kisses.

Not Heaven nor Nirvana, but something nameless. Something seedier and gutsy, gnarled in debauched patterns of unholiness and temptations, wrong in every right way, and bad in every good way. Where or whatever it is is uncharted but it is shared— and you’d stay here with her until it fades into nothingness.

You will stay here with her until it fades into nothingness. She is the nucleus of this illusory ecstasy-scape, and in her hands, you are guided along a path of pure, unadulterated, fantasy.

She is made up of raw vulgarity: it in its purest form as something seduces you into her proximity, begging you to bite the apple and see the light.

Just do it, it’d be so easy.

Don’t you want to taste it? The juice…the sweetness…feel the bite in your jaw?…

Put your mouth to it, let it lead you…

The voice in your head is distant yet wholly present. Almost as though it were whispering in your ear while directing your movements, pushing you deeper into the darkness. Where the light doesn't reach and the ambiguity of the following heightens is where it dwells: perfect, round, and red—shiny and plump and enticing—

Doesn't it look delicious?

It does.

Grab it, then.

It's in your hands now. Caressing it, you admire its magnificence. Soft skin, unplagued by irregularities and blemishes, rosy and inviting.

Bite it.

You lean in.

Head cocked at an opportune angle, lips parted readily, you lean forward…

A bite like a kiss…

A kiss like a bite?

Tender nibbles upon contact quickly morph into sloppy openings. Everything slops and clashes together, fighting aggressively in search of a fix. Fill that hungry, haunting void that grumbles in your stomach, aching terribly for sustenance.

You moan for it— whimpering a pathetic Please against her mouth and resting your forehead against hers. “Gimme…”

She laughs, cupping your pouty face in her palms. “Sweet girl,” she says, pecking your lips. “What do you need from me?”

Everything.

Her kisses feel like pillows all over your face. Gentle presses in a scattered manner, showering you with tender affection that blooms in your chest.

The heft that controlled your body has now morphed into feather-lightness—as though you weigh nothing and are floating across the Heavens. The colorful lights and bass-boosted music have ceased and you now reside in a dark room, illuminated by a single, dim night table lamp and ambient light leaking through crimson curtains. A bed sits beneath you, soft like clouds and cushioning you as you’re laid down on it, limbs stretched beneath her straddling.

She continues to kiss down your body, leaving your face and heading South to your neck, where her mouth latches and suckles on the skin. Your body has an immediate reaction: your eyes are fluttering closed and your hips are gyrating upwards, where your core catches her thigh and the throb that pumps through it harshens. You gasp out, grabbing the back of her head and tangling your fingers through her plum locks, pulling out the ponytail holder and letting limp curls coil down your forearm.

“You taste so good..so sweet,” she mumbles, pulling at the flimsy fabric of your top until the fabric screeches, a tear forming in the center. She continues to pull until the red garment is split in half, discarded to the side, and leaving you in your white bra. It's decorated in lace swirls and vines across the cups, peeking over in a rosette border that teases your assets. Enveloped in intricacies, you’re displayed beneath her as a decadent confection—ready to be devoured into nothingness. “I can’t get enough of you.” She says.

The silver clasp glints in her eye as it sits between your cleavage, asking for a break as your breasts hold it hostage. “May I?”

“Please,” you breathe out. At your heed, she pulls the hook apart with ease, and your boobs jump out of their confines.

She helps you shrug the material off your shoulders, soon tossing it off the side of your cloud-bed and leaving you bare from the waist up. You don't try to cower under attention. Instead, you revel in it, bathing in the rose tint she views you in and presenting yourself.

Humor is found in your actions, and she can't help but crack a smile at you. Her hand drives up from your navel and passes through the valley of your breasts to grapple around your neck. Fingers immediately press on the pressure points in your neck, making your [already] heavy eyes droop harder and your lips purse and part. You're lifted slightly off the bed, inches away from her face as she hovers over you.

“I don't know where to start,” she says, softly. “There’s so many things I want to do to you.”

“Do it all.” You lean up, chasing the distant feel of her lips. She hesitates to indulge you, going back and forth between leaning in and creating distance, leaving her in a silent push and pull where she defiantly fights the magnetism. “I'm all yours—”

“Mm mm.” She hums, shaking her head. She can't do this, she can't do you.

You nod your head, almost eagerly, chasing her lips. “Use me.”

No. She shakes her head no, leaning further back.

“Take me.” You say, following her actions.

No. I can’t.

“Ruin me.”

Her hand weakens around your neck, and you're quick to grab it, returning it to its place around your neck. Your eyes are polished and wide, wordlessly begging her for attention.

Meek squeaks slip out of your mouth as her grip returns, the pressure she applies being much tighter and more restrictive than previously. Still, your lips still find the courage to pull into a small smile, parting and making way for the whisper your voice has turned into. “Kafka,” you moan out, her name heavy on your tongue, “fuck me.”

She sits before you, sweet purplish hair framing around her pale frame, juxtaposing the deep, salacious fuschia that glares at you. An almost taunting glow emits from her as she ponders her next course of action— should she turn her mind off and act aimlessly, or should she retreat with sensibility? She's already come thus far, she’s already molded you in her palm, she's already invented a paradise for you…it is yours to defile as you please.

If you must beg her so wantonly, as though you’ll die without feeling her version of pleasure, she must forfeit the fight and succeed in the throes of ecstasy. She has been tempted.

Your wish is obliged with care. She pins you beneath her, diving back into where she left off with a searing fervor. Her lips leave stains of her red lipstick smeared across your chest, trailing streakily across the surface until she kisses around your right tit.

A line is drawn by her tongue from beneath your underboob area to your areola, pebbling the skin in her wake. Your nipples perk and harden, the left immediately becoming a target of bullying from her pinching fingers. Sharp, black almond nails cover the bud as she tweaks it harshly, immediately subduing your wince by licking over your right nipple.

Her eyes stay on your face as she enacts so, carefully dancing her tongue over and around it until she sucks it into her mouth, mimicking the suction with the pinch of her fingers. You moan out, throwing your head back and greeting the swirling sight of stars and glimmering streaks. They paint upon a blacked-out view, covering the inside of your eyelids with the visual manifestation of how you feel. Elated. Content. Pleasured. Something you've never felt before and it is…wow.

“Kaf…” you meekly whimper, unable to even say the rest of her name. Your hand presses her face closer to your chest, almost aiming to slowly ease your entire body into her mouth. It feels so fucking good— like nothing you've ever felt before and you don't want her to stop.

Your body is warm to the touch and it feels like your veins are pumping pure stardust. Her tongue swirls and loops around your nipple, slopping spit and vocal vibrations all over the sensitive bud, eliciting the sweetest broken moans from you. They're unabashed and full of weight, carrying the load of untouched desire.

How long have you been waiting for this?

Too long.

Was it worth the wait?

So, so worth it.

What do you want next?

“Touch me.” You don't even mean to say it out loud, but it slips out amongst the flurry of gasps you puff. Hips bucking desperately in search of something only to meet a sufficient source once every few thrusts. It’s not enough, you need the tingle between your legs tended to. “G-Goddammit, Kaf, please…”

She needs not another instruction, simply obliging your request with her hand making work of your pants, undoing the pesky clasps. Separating from you, she uses the opportunity to rid of her shirt, sliding her pants down her legs and kicking it all to the floor. Her hands grab at the belt loops, tugging the tight fabric slowly down your legs while maintaining eye contact.

Don’t take your eyes off me.

She doesn't even need to say it. You know it— as though it were an innate action hardwired into your very being.

You watch her intently as your pants are finally pulled off your legs, leaving the limbs angled up on her chest. Discarding your pants to the side, she runs her hands up and down your legs, kissing down the left from your ankle to your shin, to your knee, to your thigh, over to the other leg, and going back up.

“So patient..good girl. Letting me take my time with you…” she says, breathily. Kissing back down your leg, slowly positioning herself eye-level with your cunt. She licks a line from your hamstring to your panty-clad cunt, eyes still never leaving you. She kisses firmly on the wet spot that stretches over the seat of your white panties, leaving the remnants of her lipstick on the fabric in a kiss mark. You’re hot, throbbing, and soaking— primed for her demolition. “Want me here?”

You nod furiously, pushing yourself into her face. “Need you there.” You correct, hooking your fingers under the band of your underwear and awkwardly shimmying the garment off.

“Needy little thing, aren't you?” She muses, tucking her hair behind her ears. You slowly unveil yourself to her, letting the stuffy air draft over your wetness, pushing shivers down your spine. “Just waiting and waiting..oh, ‘m sorry…”

The prettiest pussy she’s ever seen awaits her attention. Eagerly beating at her, your cunt drools and shines, drowning itself in an overwhelming amount of arousal that even beads off the curve of your ass. All of this for her, only for her, because of her…Kafka might just be the luckiest woman in the universe.

She wedges herself tighter between your legs, feeling the heat that burns in you and smelling the sweetness just waiting to be swallowed. Her eyes go back up to you, catching the tears of frustration building, and her smile breaks wider.

“‘M sorry for making you wait so long.”

Spread ‘em.

You spread your legs wider to make space for her head, immediately throwing your head back when her exhale fans over your cunt.

Her tongue darts immediately toward your slobbering hole, licking up the tracks of arousal that spill down the fat of your ass. She slams her dominant hand down on your cheek, giving it a soft rub as she giggles at your wince-whimper combination. Her tongue draws looping circles around your entrance, slipping down and licking up the stray beads. She then drives it back up to your hole, pushing the muscle into your tight entrance with little force. Your eyes shoot open and you're adjusting to the new sensation, watching her intently as she creates a hard pace: in, out, in, out until she flickers the tip of her tongue over your fluttering hole and licks a flat strip halfway up through your folds before repeating.

The taste of you is already intoxicating. Unparalleled to anyone before you— you are pure and dripping raw ecstasy, lighting her body up in the wake of lightning. She can't get enough and moans into your cunt, rolling and spinning her tongue around your walls.

She hooks your right leg over her shoulder, slinking her arm beneath the limb and slithering her fingers to your neglected clit. Just hovering over the bud makes you shiver and buck into her mouth, so she takes the initiative to drive you fucking insane. Kafka must have some sort of magic touch, or she can read you like a first-grade book, because she presses down on the bud, rubbing it in a smooth back and forth. Your mind immediately short circuits and you're back on that illusory plane, feeling everything with such great intensity that you feel your orgasm building already.

Clenching around her tongue and bucking into her mouth lets Kafka know that you're about to cum. She pulls off, building up a ball of spit on her tongue and dropping it off between your folds.

Her ministrations on your clit cease as she uses her two fingers to part your labia, licking boldly between your lips and collecting a heap of sticky slick on her tongue. She hums contently, swallowing down the fluid with dramatized vocalizations and intense eye contact.

“You taste so good, baby.” She moans, sliding her left hand into her panties. She begins touching herself, grinding on her hand while licking the taste of you off her lips. “Want you to cum in my mouth, okay? Make..a big mess for me,”

She moans out so vulgarly, letting her hand on your pussy falter and tickle over your puffy clit.

It's only now that you see Kafka: untamed. This is her in her rawest form— lust-gone and hungry. Wasting no time in leaning forward and attacking your clit, sucking the bud with such eagerness that she hollows her cheeks, squeaking our obnoxious sucking sounds that bounce off the walls. The suction is so harsh that you can't help but screech, grabbing her hair and pulling the handful of locks taut against her skull.

You can tell she likes that. So you do it again, simultaneously humping into her mouth.

Be rough.

She tries to pull back but you keep her there, forcing her nose to sit atop the mound of your pussy and asphyxiating her slowly.

Be mean.

“That's it— l-like that..! F-fuck, Kaf,” you sputter, the new flickering of her tongue over your clit eliciting sharp rods of lightning to pierce all over your body. You have no control over the moans that leave your mouth because your body is so beyond itself—receiving a kind of satisfaction never experienced before and it's reveling in that, boiling itself in pure heat and pushing out creamy bubbles. “Fuck—make me cum.”

She forces her head up against the behest of your hand, gasping in a big heap of air. Her face is flushed and wet, wearing the effect your pussy leaves on her, and yet, it still earns a piercing slap that sends her head in the opposite direction.

Oh, good. That was good.

Before you can stumble out an apology, she sneers at you. “Yeah? Is that how you're feeling?”

You didn't mean to do it—you don't know what came over you— “N-no—”

“Do it again.”

Kafka’s word is absolute and you have no room to disobey. You cock your arm back and swing, slapping her with a lot less force than before.

She grabs your hand and forces it to the back of her head, and you instinctively grab onto the hair. “Remember what you do to me…” she says, sticking her fingers into her mouth and suckling on the digits. Just as she pops them out of her mouth and directs them to your pussy, she looks back up at you. “You’re in control. Make me.”

Famous last fucking words.

The next few actions are melted together in a blur of galaxies and tears, ceasing to have a tangible visual but proceeding to wreck your body into oblivion. Kafka has sucked your clit until it's swollen, pleading to be left alone but consistently the target of merciless abuse. It doesn't help that it acts as though it were a self-destruct button—every ministration rendering your body stiff and turbulent: quivering beneath rigid curlings and tightenings.

You’re coasting through the skies with her head working between your legs, sucking the taste right off your pussy until it cries some more. It is an endless cycle of overwhelming pleasure that only builds upon itself, forming into an unstable, grandeur tower of lusty goodness that threatens to come crashing down.

She licks and sucks fervently, determined to yank your orgasm from your depths and taste the purest essence of you. And you are a victim to it— pulling half of her hair into a makeshift ponytail and fucking yourself on her face, desperately chasing the epicenter of your orgasm to make it let go.

“F-fucking me s-so good, Kaf—!” You squeal, feeling your stomach bubble and tighten. “C-close!!!”

Let go.

It's too much. It's so fucking good—good Lord—

Just cum.

Rightthererightthere– “Hnngggh—just like t-that! Shit!”

She sucks so hungrily on your pussy, eating you like a rabid dog on a fresh piece of meat. Her tongue is doing this you can't even describe and the images you see as a result are skewed.

Pretty visuals of clouds raining intergalactic hearts over a foggy sky and lightning streaks of ecstasy fill your fucked up head, imitating the euphoric feeling imposed on your body. You're so close—your body twitches and your eyes cry, pleasured sobs leaving your mouth as everything good attacks you all at once.

Be a good girl. Cum.

Kafka’s eyes roll into the back of her head as she feels your floodgates break— the orgasmic wave pushing out of your pussy and all over her face. The cry that's ripped from your throat is visceral and guttural, tearing your throat to shreds and rendering you a weeping mess.

If getting eaten felt good, orgasming feels even better. It feels cosmic—irreplaceable and delectable from beginning to end. And Kafka fucks you through it, flicking her tongue through your folds and slurping up your juices with a wide smile.

Give in; let it take you.

Stuck in the heat of euphoria, you only float higher to heights uncharted, soaring freely. Light reaches out to you in fragmented rays, calling to you in the galactic darkness to follow its way.

This is goodness. Everything holy and unholy; everything sacred and desecrated; everything clean and everything dirty; a culmination of unchained, terrific bliss right in your core.

It was always there, you just needed it out of you.

Now that you have it, nothing will be the same. So long as it still exists.

[ghostarii]

HALLUCINOGEN (LOSING YOUR MIND), KAFKA

ʚɞ blurred lines of reality and illusions, meistered by an illusory manifestation of deep desires and wanton bliss bring about an enlightenment far beyond anything holy.

WARNINGS ݈݇- fem!reader, praise, slapping, nipple play, spit, hair pulling, cunnilingus, overstimulation, implied inexperienced!reader, biblical(?) references but no explicit relation, fingering, corruption kink, kafka teasing, minors & non nb/wlw do not interact.

NOTE ݈݇- soo . . . i won’t get into where i’ve been but just know i’m going through a lot And desperately need a distraction. i’ve turned my brain off n wrote this w my pssy so if it gets crazy blame her! jus in need of som mindless horny fun 😞😞

WORD COUNT ݈݇- 3.3k

COLORFUL STROBES FLICKER WITH reckless abandon, jumping in excited juxtaposition to the smooth, dance beat that plays through the speakers. Lucidity fills the room—you’re hyper-aware yet unconscious: watching everything from an existential position and you're drunk off the omnipotence. It coats your body in this mesmerizing feel beyond comprehension. Something so shimmery and soft that you find comfort in it, yet houndingly aggressive that you're thrashed around in its throes. It only amplifies as time passes and you can't feel any fucking better.

Everything feels intense. On a molecular level, you can feel everything, and it’s a sensation that’s beyond your expectations. It's like…subhuman—or, no, rather, extraterrestrial: akin to otherworldly intensities that cannot be created nor replicated on Earth. You are somewhere else, reaching the heights beyond existence that bathe you in sweaty warmth and glittery kisses.

Not Heaven nor Nirvana, but something nameless. Something seedier and gutsy, gnarled in debauched patterns of unholiness and temptations, wrong in every right way, and bad in every good way. Where or whatever it is is uncharted but it is shared— and you’d stay here with her until it fades into nothingness.

You will stay here with her until it fades into nothingness. She is the nucleus of this illusory ecstasy-scape, and in her hands, you are guided along a path of pure, unadulterated, fantasy.

She is made up of raw vulgarity: it in its purest form as something seduces you into her proximity, begging you to bite the apple and see the light.

Just do it, it’d be so easy.

Don’t you want to taste it? The juice…the sweetness…feel the bite in your jaw?…

Put your mouth to it, let it lead you…

The voice in your head is distant yet wholly present. Almost as though it were whispering in your ear while directing your movements, pushing you deeper into the darkness. Where the light doesn't reach and the ambiguity of the following heightens is where it dwells: perfect, round, and red—shiny and plump and enticing—

Doesn't it look delicious?

It does.

Grab it, then.

It's in your hands now. Caressing it, you admire its magnificence. Soft skin, unplagued by irregularities and blemishes, rosy and inviting.

Bite it.

You lean in.

Head cocked at an opportune angle, lips parted readily, you lean forward…

A bite like a kiss…

A kiss like a bite?

Tender nibbles upon contact quickly morph into sloppy openings. Everything slops and clashes together, fighting aggressively in search of a fix. Fill that hungry, haunting void that grumbles in your stomach, aching terribly for sustenance.

You moan for it— whimpering a pathetic Please against her mouth and resting your forehead against hers. “Gimme…”

She laughs, cupping your pouty face in her palms. “Sweet girl,” she says, pecking your lips. “What do you need from me?”

Everything.

Her kisses feel like pillows all over your face. Gentle presses in a scattered manner, showering you with tender affection that blooms in your chest.

The heft that controlled your body has now morphed into feather-lightness—as though you weigh nothing and are floating across the Heavens. The colorful lights and bass-boosted music have ceased and you now reside in a dark room, illuminated by a single, dim night table lamp and ambient light leaking through crimson curtains. A bed sits beneath you, soft like clouds and cushioning you as you’re laid down on it, limbs stretched beneath her straddling.

She continues to kiss down your body, leaving your face and heading South to your neck, where her mouth latches and suckles on the skin. Your body has an immediate reaction: your eyes are fluttering closed and your hips are gyrating upwards, where your core catches her thigh and the throb that pumps through it harshens. You gasp out, grabbing the back of her head and tangling your fingers through her plum locks, pulling out the ponytail holder and letting limp curls coil down your forearm.

“You taste so good..so sweet,” she mumbles, pulling at the flimsy fabric of your top until the fabric screeches, a tear forming in the center. She continues to pull until the red garment is split in half, discarded to the side, and leaving you in your white bra. It's decorated in lace swirls and vines across the cups, peeking over in a rosette border that teases your assets. Enveloped in intricacies, you’re displayed beneath her as a decadent confection—ready to be devoured into nothingness. “I can’t get enough of you.” She says.

The silver clasp glints in her eye as it sits between your cleavage, asking for a break as your breasts hold it hostage. “May I?”

“Please,” you breathe out. At your heed, she pulls the hook apart with ease, and your boobs jump out of their confines.

She helps you shrug the material off your shoulders, soon tossing it off the side of your cloud-bed and leaving you bare from the waist up. You don't try to cower under attention. Instead, you revel in it, bathing in the rose tint she views you in and presenting yourself.

Humor is found in your actions, and she can't help but crack a smile at you. Her hand drives up from your navel and passes through the valley of your breasts to grapple around your neck. Fingers immediately press on the pressure points in your neck, making your [already] heavy eyes droop harder and your lips purse and part. You're lifted slightly off the bed, inches away from her face as she hovers over you.

“I don't know where to start,” she says, softly. “There’s so many things I want to do to you.”

“Do it all.” You lean up, chasing the distant feel of her lips. She hesitates to indulge you, going back and forth between leaning in and creating distance, leaving her in a silent push and pull where she defiantly fights the magnetism. “I'm all yours—”

“Mm mm.” She hums, shaking her head. She can't do this, she can't do you.

You nod your head, almost eagerly, chasing her lips. “Use me.”

No. She shakes her head no, leaning further back.

“Take me.” You say, following her actions.

No. I can’t.

“Ruin me.”

Her hand weakens around your neck, and you're quick to grab it, returning it to its place around your neck. Your eyes are polished and wide, wordlessly begging her for attention.

Meek squeaks slip out of your mouth as her grip returns, the pressure she applies being much tighter and more restrictive than previously. Still, your lips still find the courage to pull into a small smile, parting and making way for the whisper your voice has turned into. “Kafka,” you moan out, her name heavy on your tongue, “fuck me.”

She sits before you, sweet purplish hair framing around her pale frame, juxtaposing the deep, salacious fuschia that glares at you. An almost taunting glow emits from her as she ponders her next course of action— should she turn her mind off and act aimlessly, or should she retreat with sensibility? She's already come thus far, she’s already molded you in her palm, she's already invented a paradise for you…it is yours to defile as you please.

If you must beg her so wantonly, as though you’ll die without feeling her version of pleasure, she must forfeit the fight and succeed in the throes of ecstasy. She has been tempted.

Your wish is obliged with care. She pins you beneath her, diving back into where she left off with a searing fervor. Her lips leave stains of her red lipstick smeared across your chest, trailing streakily across the surface until she kisses around your right tit.

A line is drawn by her tongue from beneath your underboob area to your areola, pebbling the skin in her wake. Your nipples perk and harden, the left immediately becoming a target of bullying from her pinching fingers. Sharp, black almond nails cover the bud as she tweaks it harshly, immediately subduing your wince by licking over your right nipple.

Her eyes stay on your face as she enacts so, carefully dancing her tongue over and around it until she sucks it into her mouth, mimicking the suction with the pinch of her fingers. You moan out, throwing your head back and greeting the swirling sight of stars and glimmering streaks. They paint upon a blacked-out view, covering the inside of your eyelids with the visual manifestation of how you feel. Elated. Content. Pleasured. Something you've never felt before and it is…wow.

“Kaf…” you meekly whimper, unable to even say the rest of her name. Your hand presses her face closer to your chest, almost aiming to slowly ease your entire body into her mouth. It feels so fucking good— like nothing you've ever felt before and you don't want her to stop.

Your body is warm to the touch and it feels like your veins are pumping pure stardust. Her tongue swirls and loops around your nipple, slopping spit and vocal vibrations all over the sensitive bud, eliciting the sweetest broken moans from you. They're unabashed and full of weight, carrying the load of untouched desire.

How long have you been waiting for this?

Too long.

Was it worth the wait?

So, so worth it.

What do you want next?

“Touch me.” You don't even mean to say it out loud, but it slips out amongst the flurry of gasps you puff. Hips bucking desperately in search of something only to meet a sufficient source once every few thrusts. It’s not enough, you need the tingle between your legs tended to. “G-Goddammit, Kaf, please…”

She needs not another instruction, simply obliging your request with her hand making work of your pants, undoing the pesky clasps. Separating from you, she uses the opportunity to rid of her shirt, sliding her pants down her legs and kicking it all to the floor. Her hands grab at the belt loops, tugging the tight fabric slowly down your legs while maintaining eye contact.

Don’t take your eyes off me.

She doesn't even need to say it. You know it— as though it were an innate action hardwired into your very being.

You watch her intently as your pants are finally pulled off your legs, leaving the limbs angled up on her chest. Discarding your pants to the side, she runs her hands up and down your legs, kissing down the left from your ankle to your shin, to your knee, to your thigh, over to the other leg, and going back up.

“So patient..good girl. Letting me take my time with you…” she says, breathily. Kissing back down your leg, slowly positioning herself eye-level with your cunt. She licks a line from your hamstring to your panty-clad cunt, eyes still never leaving you. She kisses firmly on the wet spot that stretches over the seat of your white panties, leaving the remnants of her lipstick on the fabric in a kiss mark. You’re hot, throbbing, and soaking— primed for her demolition. “Want me here?”

You nod furiously, pushing yourself into her face. “Need you there.” You correct, hooking your fingers under the band of your underwear and awkwardly shimmying the garment off.

“Needy little thing, aren't you?” She muses, tucking her hair behind her ears. You slowly unveil yourself to her, letting the stuffy air draft over your wetness, pushing shivers down your spine. “Just waiting and waiting..oh, ‘m sorry…”

The prettiest pussy she’s ever seen awaits her attention. Eagerly beating at her, your cunt drools and shines, drowning itself in an overwhelming amount of arousal that even beads off the curve of your ass. All of this for her, only for her, because of her…Kafka might just be the luckiest woman in the universe.

She wedges herself tighter between your legs, feeling the heat that burns in you and smelling the sweetness just waiting to be swallowed. Her eyes go back up to you, catching the tears of frustration building, and her smile breaks wider.

“‘M sorry for making you wait so long.”

Spread ‘em.

You spread your legs wider to make space for her head, immediately throwing your head back when her exhale fans over your cunt.

Her tongue darts immediately toward your slobbering hole, licking up the tracks of arousal that spill down the fat of your ass. She slams her dominant hand down on your cheek, giving it a soft rub as she giggles at your wince-whimper combination. Her tongue draws looping circles around your entrance, slipping down and licking up the stray beads. She then drives it back up to your hole, pushing the muscle into your tight entrance with little force. Your eyes shoot open and you're adjusting to the new sensation, watching her intently as she creates a hard pace: in, out, in, out until she flickers the tip of her tongue over your fluttering hole and licks a flat strip halfway up through your folds before repeating.

The taste of you is already intoxicating. Unparalleled to anyone before you— you are pure and dripping raw ecstasy, lighting her body up in the wake of lightning. She can't get enough and moans into your cunt, rolling and spinning her tongue around your walls.

She hooks your right leg over her shoulder, slinking her arm beneath the limb and slithering her fingers to your neglected clit. Just hovering over the bud makes you shiver and buck into her mouth, so she takes the initiative to drive you fucking insane. Kafka must have some sort of magic touch, or she can read you like a first-grade book, because she presses down on the bud, rubbing it in a smooth back and forth. Your mind immediately short circuits and you're back on that illusory plane, feeling everything with such great intensity that you feel your orgasm building already.

Clenching around her tongue and bucking into her mouth lets Kafka know that you're about to cum. She pulls off, building up a ball of spit on her tongue and dropping it off between your folds.

Her ministrations on your clit cease as she uses her two fingers to part your labia, licking boldly between your lips and collecting a heap of sticky slick on her tongue. She hums contently, swallowing down the fluid with dramatized vocalizations and intense eye contact.

“You taste so good, baby.” She moans, sliding her left hand into her panties. She begins touching herself, grinding on her hand while licking the taste of you off her lips. “Want you to cum in my mouth, okay? Make..a big mess for me,”

She moans out so vulgarly, letting her hand on your pussy falter and tickle over your puffy clit.

It's only now that you see Kafka: untamed. This is her in her rawest form— lust-gone and hungry. Wasting no time in leaning forward and attacking your clit, sucking the bud with such eagerness that she hollows her cheeks, squeaking our obnoxious sucking sounds that bounce off the walls. The suction is so harsh that you can't help but screech, grabbing her hair and pulling the handful of locks taut against her skull.

You can tell she likes that. So you do it again, simultaneously humping into her mouth.

Be rough.

She tries to pull back but you keep her there, forcing her nose to sit atop the mound of your pussy and asphyxiating her slowly.

Be mean.

“That's it— l-like that..! F-fuck, Kaf,” you sputter, the new flickering of her tongue over your clit eliciting sharp rods of lightning to pierce all over your body. You have no control over the moans that leave your mouth because your body is so beyond itself—receiving a kind of satisfaction never experienced before and it's reveling in that, boiling itself in pure heat and pushing out creamy bubbles. “Fuck—make me cum.”

She forces her head up against the behest of your hand, gasping in a big heap of air. Her face is flushed and wet, wearing the effect your pussy leaves on her, and yet, it still earns a piercing slap that sends her head in the opposite direction.

Oh, good. That was good.

Before you can stumble out an apology, she sneers at you. “Yeah? Is that how you're feeling?”

You didn't mean to do it—you don't know what came over you— “N-no—”

“Do it again.”

Kafka’s word is absolute and you have no room to disobey. You cock your arm back and swing, slapping her with a lot less force than before.

She grabs your hand and forces it to the back of her head, and you instinctively grab onto the hair. “Remember what you do to me…” she says, sticking her fingers into her mouth and suckling on the digits. Just as she pops them out of her mouth and directs them to your pussy, she looks back up at you. “You’re in control. Make me.”

Famous last fucking words.

The next few actions are melted together in a blur of galaxies and tears, ceasing to have a tangible visual but proceeding to wreck your body into oblivion. Kafka has sucked your clit until it's swollen, pleading to be left alone but consistently the target of merciless abuse. It doesn't help that it acts as though it were a self-destruct button—every ministration rendering your body stiff and turbulent: quivering beneath rigid curlings and tightenings.

You’re coasting through the skies with her head working between your legs, sucking the taste right off your pussy until it cries some more. It is an endless cycle of overwhelming pleasure that only builds upon itself, forming into an unstable, grandeur tower of lusty goodness that threatens to come crashing down.

She licks and sucks fervently, determined to yank your orgasm from your depths and taste the purest essence of you. And you are a victim to it— pulling half of her hair into a makeshift ponytail and fucking yourself on her face, desperately chasing the epicenter of your orgasm to make it let go.

“F-fucking me s-so good, Kaf—!” You squeal, feeling your stomach bubble and tighten. “C-close!!!”

Let go.

It's too much. It's so fucking good—good Lord—

Just cum.

Rightthererightthere– “Hnngggh—just like t-that! Shit!”

She sucks so hungrily on your pussy, eating you like a rabid dog on a fresh piece of meat. Her tongue is doing this you can't even describe and the images you see as a result are skewed.

Pretty visuals of clouds raining intergalactic hearts over a foggy sky and lightning streaks of ecstasy fill your fucked up head, imitating the euphoric feeling imposed on your body. You're so close—your body twitches and your eyes cry, pleasured sobs leaving your mouth as everything good attacks you all at once.

Be a good girl. Cum.

Kafka’s eyes roll into the back of her head as she feels your floodgates break— the orgasmic wave pushing out of your pussy and all over her face. The cry that's ripped from your throat is visceral and guttural, tearing your throat to shreds and rendering you a weeping mess.

If getting eaten felt good, orgasming feels even better. It feels cosmic—irreplaceable and delectable from beginning to end. And Kafka fucks you through it, flicking her tongue through your folds and slurping up your juices with a wide smile.

Give in; let it take you.

Stuck in the heat of euphoria, you only float higher to heights uncharted, soaring freely. Light reaches out to you in fragmented rays, calling to you in the galactic darkness to follow its way.

This is goodness. Everything holy and unholy; everything sacred and desecrated; everything clean and everything dirty; a culmination of unchained, terrific bliss right in your core.

It was always there, you just needed it out of you.

Now that you have it, nothing will be the same. So long as it still exists.

[ghostarii]

Music is a language that spans the stars, and a solo performance is like a speech. We all walk our own paths. Though it may be lonely, as long as we keep moving forward, we won't forget each other.

— ⟢ SUNDAY —✧— “SOLOIST” ⟣ —

[ghostarii]

thought: voyeur pierro who gets off on watching u have sex w the other harbingers . . he just likes to sit n watch, sometimes even help them fuck u nd it gets him soo hard :3

[ghostarii]

ECSTASY, FULL OF FREEDOM, PIERRO & CHILDE

ʚɞ unbound in the throes of ecstasy; free from strenuous morality and worldly tethers, you are where you belong. he knows your heart is strung on another, but he also knows that he can’t please you the way he can.

WARNINGS ݈݇- fem!reader, stepcest, AGE GAP!!!, stepdad!pierro, ft. boyfriend!childe, ddlg themes, daddy kink, spit, possessive!pierro, infidelity, fingering, exhibitionism, face - fucking, dacryphilia, breeding, dry humping, manipulation, corruption kink, finger - sucking, cum eating / swallowing, spanking, praise, degradation, pet names, orgasm ruining / control, just.. just icky pierro, minors & dc antis do not interact.

NOTE ݈݇- ummmm 😅😅😅 welcum back me i guess ! ! !this is prob the most debauched thing ive ever written so nice comments n reblogs would be happily appreciated :3 this went a totally different way than i planned toward the end n it got pretty rushed but i hope u guys like it anyway

WORD COUNT ݈݇- 10.2k

BURNING, WHITE, HEAT. A surge of hellfire courses through your veins and it takes every semblance of power in you to not explode. Your thighs are tightly clenched, attempting to crush his ministrations but dexterous fingers are lengthy enough to continuously tease you. A featherlight brushing against your folds is enough to make you shiver against the warmth. You damn near slam your elbow on top of the table and bash your forehead against your palm, hiding the pleasure on your face as best as you can.

Pierro thinks you must figure him as a fool. He must be stupid to you—a blind idiot—if you think you can get away with this. He stifles down a grunt of disbelief with a sip of his water, deciding to no longer pay attention to the slight quakes of your body.

His eyes are instead fixed on the source of your tremors: the smug redhead who thinks he’s so clever. His left arm lightly jitters behind the table and if he were an idiot, Pierro might have ignored it. He might have ignored how close you two got. He might have even ignored the moans you quietly let slip. But he is no idiot. He is perceptive and right now, he is very angry.

He tries to hide it, to keep the daggers he stares at bay but his patience is thinning by the minute. Ignorance cannot be bliss when it is infiltrated—Pierro tries to turn a blind eye to your deeds but he is not allowed to. When the quiet of the upscale restaurant meets its lowest and your conversation has briefly halted for the allowance of enjoying your meal, his ears can pick up the leaking, sticky path your boyfriend’s fingers take. The sudden hitch in your breath and the calm slosh, slosh from between your legs is a dead giveaway and he can't help but look. He can't help but chew the inside of his cheek instead of his steak and grunt. Anything but, and he might blow the lid off his pristine demeanor.

Those eyes are sharp and you narrowly avoid their threat. You keep your eyes straight and only rarely do you spend a glance at Ajax. He finds pleasure in the way you tighten around his fingers when he presses that spot, right when your mother inquires about another insignificant detail about his life. He likes how you scratch the denim of his pants instead of the table, wordlessly begging him to stop as he brings you closer and closer—

It feels too good; the edging, the twirling, the danger—it births a reward too precious to sacrifice and that's why you don't stop him. You soil your panties and make a fool of yourself, making your mother pause the conversation one too many times to clarify your well-being. It’d be humiliating if it didn't feel so good.

With your thighs tightly clasped around his wrist and your heartbeat pounding through your clit, your orgasm just teeters at the edge, stray streams leaking to be caught on Ajax’s hand. He sends you a look of faux concern and you can just barely fight the urge to bare two rows of teeth at him menacingly.

With your thighs tightly clasped around his wrist and your heartbeat pounding through your clit, your orgasm just teeters at the edge, stray streams leaking to be caught on Ajax’s hand. He sends you a look of faux concern and you can just barely fight the urge to bare two rows of teeth at him menacingly.

Pierro, who has utterly capped his limit on how much of this shit he can take, opens his mouth to spew a question that may just humiliate you if you don't play your cards right. He’s a jest—his fun derives from the toil of others and you are his perfect target right now. Serves you right.

The words are quickly snatched from his mouth to his wife’s as soon as the words form on his tongue. A look of disdain is fought off as she tenderly asks you for the nth time, “Are you sure you’re feeling well, sweetie?”

You can lie to her with no problem. To him is where the difficulty arises and this moment, where your eyes have glossed and your body has folded, he could have blown up your whole spot. Ajax plays off the hand between your legs as though it’s on your stomach, using his right hand to gently rest against your shoulder and slowly pull you up.

She’s the idiot Ajax thinks Pierro is. The kind, not-all-there, and not wholly caring idiot who lets dirt build right under her nose—it’s no surprise that she lets you off with that pitiful “I’m okay…just some bad cramping,”.

“I’m sorry,” you breathlessly apologize, presumably coming down from your high. “I should…I think we should cut this short. I’m honestly not feeling too well…”

“Are you sure? You don't..wanna finish..?” Ajax asks you. The smile he hides peeks out behind his feigned frown and the innuendo immediately dawns on you.

Flustered and more embarrassed than you thought you would have been, you lock in your eyes a pitiful stare of Enough. As if that would stop his torment.

His hand slides from between your legs and rests against your thigh, sticky, wet fingertips tapping against your thigh…taunting you. Questioning you.

Your mother patiently awaits your answer as her eyes swivel around in search of a waiter while Pierro continues his glaring assault. There's a narrowing of his eyes that he continuously enacts, as if to warn you, to beg you to try it if you dare. Disobeying him is a thing you've never done but this sly motherfucker beside you has pushed you to try your luck.

“I mean…I do want to—but, I don't think I can. At least, not here, not right now…” you slide your bottom lip between your teeth gingerly, pleading eyes boring into Ajax’s. A look that’s commonly reserved for Pierro, and for the first time, angers him to see it.

Ajax fights back his grin but fails desperately. He nods, turning to face your mother and stepfather. “Well, we should get the princess home and taken care of, shouldn't we?”

Your mother takes the time to gush, drawing out an amused awwww at the pair of you, wrapping around her husband's arm and leaning against it. “How sweet! Isn't he sweet, Pi?”

Staring directly at you, with nothing but a blatant grimace, Pierro nods. “Very sweet.”

Timidly, you avoid his gaze. It does you no favor, either way.

She continues her rambling and all of it goes in one ear and out of the other. Pierro cannot stop staring. Ajax whispering in your ear and the grip you have on his shirt. The glisten that’s wiped off his fingers and thrown haphazardly atop his meal scraps. The devious, wide smile that hasn't been shaken this entire encounter…

Pierro has never wanted to slap someone more. Even more so, he’s never been this angry with you.

“You got the bill, right, hon?” Your mom asks him, the first one of her sentences to penetrate his thoughts.

You and Ajax are standing beside the table now, his hand comfortably resting low on your hip and your body slotted against his. From where he sits, Pierro can smell you. The familiar, decadent sweetness wasted against your thighs calling out to his memory and begging the perversion to rise from the dark recesses and take you against the table— and it only gets worse when he raises his sight to look at you, only to be able to catch the slightest glimpse of your soaked panties pushed to the side.

He looks you in the eyes, a look you hate to see awaiting you when you return the favor.

Pierro nods, turning to your mother with an almost pained smile. “Of course.”

Back to the two of you, gaze sharpened and narrowed, he continues, “You two should go on ahead.”

Ajax is quick to take the dismissal with a cheery grin. One that—more than anything else tonight—pisses Pierro off. “Ah, thanks, Mr. A! Here,” he takes a minute to fish his wallet out of his pocket, “For our part and the tip,”

To you, his attention turns. “Are you ready to go?”

You say nothing but nod instead. Your eyes can't help but surf to your stepdad and you almost offer him a look of pity—a gleam of sorry in your eyes. He spares you not a single look, and with Ajax’s upbeat parting words, the two of you slip away hand-in-hand.

Your mother’s smile is proud. It’s proud, and certain, and genuine, and it makes Pierro angry. Right now, he could expose you to your mother and make everything worse.

“I like him, hon. For her, especially…I’d say it’s perfect but I don't wanna jinx it,” your mother giggles. Pierro’s eye twitches. It takes everything in him to relax because, truly, Ajax has done nothing wrong.

He might be nothing short of perfect and possibly the best thing that could ever happen to you and yet, Pierro can't find it in himself to be happy. That anger is a gnarled form of envy that paints him green. And it’s by the grace of God that nobody but the only one who matters can see that fervent shade on his skin.

He keeps up the charade with your mother with another strained smile. “Yeah, good for her.” He sounds less than enthused but for her sake, she does not pry.

Pierro wants to hate Ajax. It makes it so much harder that he cannot.

━━━━━━

Pierro’s eyes are a beautiful shade of blue. A crystalline gleam—meant to light up under the sky and shimmer like a star of hope. Looking into his eyes gives a cool mystique that urges you to get lost in them. Oftentimes, you do, finding that at the end, awaits you is a warmth far too comforting.

It’s different when those eyes glare back at you. Boring into your very being with a scrutinizing narrowing over every little mistake. The dimness of the house intensifies their stare to the point that you can feel them before you see them.

Your breathing is almost shallow as you trek up the stairs and your eyes are wide and shifty. Your heartbeat has turned irregular and is skipping beats—the mere uncertainty he imposes working overtime in unnerving you. Pierro is not nice when things don't go his way. Even worse, he’s unpredictable. Mostly, he’s vile.

What awaits you is only a mystery that you wish to leave boxed.

Approaching him at the top of the stairs, you slide your hand into his gingerly, hoping that the kindness will grant you some leniency. “I’m sorry I’m late..” you gulp. “I— We— Ajax had stopped to—”

With your hand in his, Pierro has power over your autonomy. He pulls you into him, using his left hand to slot against your waist and hold you against him. Everything he does is in complete silence and it unsettles you.

His eyes rake over you time and time again in the same span of seconds. Your face, near fearful and apologetic, to your upper body, stiff and unsure, to your lower half, turned in on itself and now, of all times, prioritizing modesty. Now, you seem to have an ounce of shame and Pierro can't call it anything but pitiful.

He lets a beat of silence pass with you in his arms. “You’ve disappointed me.”

You part your lips in a silent gasp, wholly surprised that he hasn't tossed you around yet. To his statement, you respond with a light clutch of his button-up — and to that, Pierro huffs. He’s not hearing your crocodile tears and unenthused excuses so you can save it.

“I’m upset that you let that happen. You let him touch you like that in front of me…” His fingers tickle up your back and you instinctively press into him more. A frown stretches over your face - mostly out of concern for where this is leading. Partially because his words genuinely do hold weight.

Raising your head to meet his eyes, “I’m sorry, Daddy,” leaves your mouth incredibly timidly.

His eyes are softer when meeting yours. It almost seems as though he’s immediately forgiven you and in the wake of that thought, you feel better. You feel like leaning into him further is no longer a gesture of fear but comfort. So you lean impossibly closer, nuzzling your head against his chest comfortably. His feigned sense of security has you under his palm like an idiot — a blind fool in the lion’s den.

“Did you like it? Did it feel good…better?” He purrs, lips moving against your head as he kisses you. That's enough to muffle his words but you hear him clearly. The tenderness he exudes works to juxtapose against his instigating words.

“Well…”

“Well?” He catches your trail. He tightens his arms around your body and traps you against him.

It’s almost oppressive; you’d say so if it wasn't for the familiarity it brings. But it contrasts with the grit in his tone — a sharpened edge prodding at you menacingly, just waiting for you to say the wrong thing to impale you.

With a gulp too audible coming from you, you shrug warily. As much as you want to, you can't lie to him. “It wasn't better…but it wasn't bad…”

Humorous. What a humorous attempt at trying to not anger him further; Pierro has to stifle a laugh at your expense but you can feel the humility.

“Did you cum?” He asks straightforwardly. His left hand trickles down your back and brushes against your waist. His fingers brush the hem of your skirt out of the way and slide to grope your ass, using one finger to slip between your thighs and collect the wetness. At that, he notes the lack of underwear. You, so daring, so racy, let that asshole take your panties as a souvenir. His voice grows deeper—angrier—as he inquires further. “Did you cry his name? Maybe you called him baby. Maybe daddy—”

“No!” You interject, a bit too loudly, at that. “No—I didn't. I would never.” Because you’re my daddy—you choose to omit that part.

He only laughs. Somewhat menacingly, but brightened when your eyes catch his grin. “Do you want me to praise you for that?”

“Do you think you deserve that?” There’s no escaping his questioning; you're trapped. He knows you hate being talked down to—you hate the confrontation, the disappointment, the dissatisfaction with you and he does it on purpose. He catches the way you avoid looking at him and blink rapidly, airing away the mist that comes to paint your eyes.

It takes you a moment to shake your head no, your entire face dropping at the action. You were wrong, you were bad, and now he won't be nice to you. He's going to use you, he's going to fuck you up and make you wish you'd denied Ajax altogether.

“I’m glad you know that.” He says, condescendingly. “I’m going to show you what you deserve.”

With his gruff admission, the hand on your ass grips tighter and you gasp silently. When your eyes meet once more, he sends you a look that you know all too well: one you can't say no to, and one you’ve grown to not ever want to say no to.

Your toes are bent as you push yourself up to meet his face, arms naturally sliding up and around his broad shoulders.

Lips closer than they've been in weeks and eyes locked more seriously than this entire night, you two fall into a pit of risk, leaning closer and closer. You try to lean in and he only offers you a ghostly peck. Breaths fanning each other and lips gingerly caressing the other, Pierro utters out one last request: “Say you deserve it.”

He controls your body spiritually — a carnal desire is unleashed within you that makes you stupidly want him, pressing your lips against his softly, wantonly, “I deserve it.”

It’s obvious that you give into him. Stumbling into that bed of forbidden desire, tangling in the sheets of lust.

Pierro wastes no time in pulling you into your bedroom, covering your tracks with the hallway light flickered off and your door locked. He’s overzealous and nearly rips your clothes off of you, every touch housing a raging, impassioned fire.

You let it happen — letting him guide your way and taking control. Your mouths slot and move alongside one another disgustingly perfectly and if it didn't feel so fucking right, you’d grimace and scream your head off. Instead, you take him down with you, gripping the collar of his shirt and pulling him on top of you, needing him more than you should.

The world becomes a mere distant memory as he licks into your mouth, finding your tongue to dance with and suck on. Your legs stretched around his body allows him to bunch your skirt up, grinding his clothed hard-on against your bare cunt. Kisses are subsequently broken by squeaky moans and you, a puddle under his touch, can do nothing but that—leaning your head back when the friction overcomes you and kissing back is no longer a priority.

Sloppy, wet kisses trail from your mouth to your cheek, then to your ear, then down your neck, then to your collarbone. Your somewhat modest neckline is then pushed out of his way, allowing him to lay a barrage of kisses against your skin.

No words are exchanged verbally but in every action they’re screamed. Pierro wants to lay claim on you, to purify your body after being defiled by the redheaded miscreant you call a boyfriend. You went out of his sight and returned with a pest on your hip and nothing besides anger overcame him. In all its jagged forms: envy, bitterness, resentment, desire—Pierro had been waiting to take you down again, to remind you who you truly belong to.

He sucks and nips fervently at the skin until you whimper and wince and unknowingly confirm the existence of a mark there. An uneven, ugly blotch to claim you as his.

This is repeated across the expanse of your neck and chest, an uneven pattern drawn in his wake. When he pulls off of you, your face is knitted in shocked pleasure and your body chases him: hips bucking toward the air in desperate search. He hangs over you, using one hand to grab your cheeks and squish them up. You're so fucking cute, he could chew you up—among other things—but right now, he coos menacingly at you. “Cute.”

When he fully removes himself from you, sitting beside you, you know what awaits you. When the clattering of his belt hits your ears, you know what you need to do.

What you need to do is show your daddy his place in your world; so, begrudgingly, you sweep yourself up onto your knees.

His hand comes to the back of your head to softly cradle you and you lean into it, fluttering your lashes at him in hopes of receiving his leniency. He, however, is a punisher, and your knife in his back won’t be forgiven so easily.

“You’re so lucky I even touched you,” he grits. His thumb strokes your cheek and creates this sense of security. It’d be calming if you didn't know him. “Am I not enough for you anymore?”

“You are,” you pout. “It’s just—I like Ajax, too. I’m confused…”

He sits up slightly, capturing your glossy gaze in his. “Do you like Ajax or love me?”

His eyes flicker to your clutched thighs and you cower slightly, feeling the regret caving in your chest. The pout you sport curves wider and Pierro almost smiles at how easy it is to dig at you.

You open your mouth to answer but he shushes you, shaking his head no. The hand on your cheek runs to your backside and palms your ass, slapping the flesh with intensity. The sound rings off of the walls and the impact resounds in your body, rippling through with an itching sting left in its wake. You whimper and look up at him, watery eyes meeting a merciless crystal blue. Tenderly rubbing the spot, he continues, “Show me.”

You do what you're told and that's what Pierro cherishes about you. That's what makes him red in anger at the pure idea of you showing this to anyone else—being this for anyone else.

Ajax doesn't deserve a sweet girl like you. He can't take care of a sweet girl like you.

And you can't take care of a man the way you take care of Pierro. He won't allow it.

You manage to pull his cock from behind the waistband of his boxers. He’s pulsing furiously in your palm and the weight he carries makes how feverishly he’s been needing you painfully apparent. He leaks a creamy stream of pre and it awaits your attention. Just the light hold you keep on his shaft elicits a groan from the man and his hips involuntarily buck upward, wordlessly signaling his need for you.

The slightly salty bead swims onto your tongue as you kitten lick the tip, gingerly beginning to stroke half circles around his cock.

He clears his throat, slamming his palm against your cheek again, “Don’t tease, baby. Take it in.”

You oblige his request and slide him onto your tongue. You hollow your cheeks and grimace as you try to fit as much of him into your mouth. Slobber dribbles out of your mouth and cascades down his length, creating a moat above the hand you keep tight around his base.

The longer you keep him there, the harsher your gags get — you sputter around his girth before pulling up for air, gasping in a dramatic heap of air. He chuckles at you and uses his thumb to wipe away a string of spit on your cheek.

“You can do better than that,” he coos. “Go deeper.”

Again, you pull your lips as wide as they can stretch around him. You try to swing your tongue around his girth as skillfully as you can accomplish, swiping at the prominent vein that beats for you.

He groans out a curse, throwing his head back while simultaneously gripping the back of your head. “Deeper,” he growls.

You try to slink deeper, but he presses at your reflex, a messy series of gags slopping around his dick. Still, you persevere: unfolding your lips to wrap around his girth and suck harshly.

“Shit,” he drawls, pushing your head down further. “Just like that; you’re so fucking good for Daddy.”

Your hands move to his thighs and attempt to claw at them, but you're left gripping his slacks. Your mouth quickly becomes tired as you try, and the light bob you facilitate grows weak. Subsequently, Pierro takes control: placing both hands on your head and pushing you down.

You swallow around him but it doesn't subdue the echo of your gagging. He bottoms out in your mouth and you can do nothing but sputter and choke, letting a lake of slobber spill down his length.

It becomes messy extremely fast with Pierro on the reigns. He thrusts into your mouth in tandem with pulling your head down, creating a nasty rhythm that you can only be a variable to.

“That’s it, princess,” he praises breathily. The smile you try to make goes unnoticed, but the swarm in your stomach doesn't.

He’s relentless and desperate, only offering reprieve when your eyes grow foggy and your breathing shallow. His hips stutter and his balls throb—Pierro is on the brink of pleasure that no amount of imagination can give him. Your mouth is a warm piece of heaven that warms and leaks all over him, soiling his pants in a mixture of spit bubbles and precum. It’s nasty, but it’s your nasty: something only you can do for him. He has you in the palm of his hand, doing exactly what he wants, being exactly who he wants you to be, and he couldn't ask for you to be more perfect. His palm cracks down again on your ass, almost as a sign of commemoration.

Gray brows are furrowed and knitted and the struggle to keep his eyes trained on you is real. Every time the back of your throat squeezes around his cock head he chokes on a guttural moan, your praises gliding off his tongue like butter. The arrangement is near perfect and it’s doing its weight in placing pleasure upon the man. He’s at pleasure’s mercy and finds himself in the pits of thought, stumbling upon the feeling of love. Pierro has found true escape in you and everything you can do for him and that is why he can't let you go.

He can't let you go—not when you whine around his dick and send him the most perfect vibrations, pushing his orgasm over the edge.

“Oh, shit,” he hisses. He holds your head tightly in place, not allowing you a bit of space to move as he cums. “Take it all…yeah—”

A series of hushed, deep, groans escape from his mouth as thick splashes of cum spill into your mouth. The spurts pool on your tongue and the fullness of your mouth becomes too much to bear. Your warning slaps on his thighs let him know to let you come up, and with your cheeks bubbled to hold his release, you breathe your first breath of cool air.

He chuckles at your expression, holding out his hand for you to lean into once again. “Open up.”

You take a moment to swallow before brandishing your tongue to him. He grins proudly, glaring at you with a soft expression. You wrap your hands around his arm, kissing the heel of his palm before nuzzling your cheek against it again. Fluttery eyelashes are passed at him as you gingerly inquire, “Did I do good, Daddy?”

“Great, baby.” He confirms, sitting up. “I knew my girl could do it. You always can, always so good for me.”

The praises go straight to your core and reawaken the unfinished business he left you with. He knows what to say to make you melt and unfortunately, you do. Melting in his palm makes you susceptible to anything he says. It's only a given that when he asks you again, “You’re going to be my girl forever, right?” you answer immediately with a strong nod.

At that, his confident grin grows and he leans forward, pulling you into a kiss.

The taste of his cum is prominent on your tongue and he sucks the flavor off, gathering it in his mouth before distributing it back into yours. It's nasty and he repeats it until your head is hazy and you're chasing his lips. His hand around your neck is able to hold you up just centimeters away from his lips.

“Don’t forget who you belong to.”

━━━━━━

Yellow is your color.

Pierro thinks the color compliments you beautifully—like you were meant to bask under a golden kiss of sun. He likes the way it snugs in your curves, unable to hold back your supple skin with its thin tethers. It’s too much for the world to see — a sight supposedly for Pierro’s eyes only — but you trot around without a care in your bubbly head. That, in itself, does not bother him; Ajax on the other side of the door, does.

Ajax catching you in his arms bothers Pierro. The man can't help but stare from his viewpoint, following Ajax’s wandering hands from the small of your back to the curve of your ass. He unabashedly palms the skin and you only giggle, smothering his face in welcome kisses and strawberry lipgloss.

When your feet are back on the ground, you're nuzzling against him as if you’re scared of detaching from him, and he wears that same coy grin as always, wrapping an arm around your body as you begin to lead him toward the backyard. You speak indistinctly and Pierro’s envious glare seems to have no effect on you. Ajax senses it, however; and as though he is throwing it in Pierro’s face, he pulls you closer as his free arm raises to wave at your stepfather: “Hey, Mr. A!” Leaves his mouth cheerfully.

The grimace Pierro wears is only half-stifled and he doesn't care to fix his face. He nods at the young man, “Hello to you too, Ajax.”

You avoid his gaze skillfully but that look of guilt is not missed. That only irritates Pierro further: his thick eyebrows furrow and his lips waver downwards. If you know it's bad, why do you keep doing this?

It must be a beckoning of his attention—and if that’s the case, you have it wholly in the palms of your hands.

Again, you speak hushedly to your boy toy. Pierro’s eyes hone in on the movement of your lips: so soft, so tender, so kind as they murmur against Ajax’s ear. Whatever you say is undetermined by Pierro — but judging from the stiffly excited mannerisms Ajax thereafter enacts, he can only imagine.

“We were going to head out to the pool…” Finally, you address him.

Confidence is strongly prominent in your voice despite your trailing off. Compared to the soft, undefiant tone you usually direct toward your daddy, your strength is all-telling: Ajax has built up an over-confident backbone in you. Not so luckily for you, Pierro has no qualms about breaking it down.

So, instead of shooting his ire through glaring daggers, Pierro smirks. He smirks and shrugs with one shoulder, following the action by gulping down the final swig of his midday pick-me-up. “Alright then,”

“Have fun.” The words are supposed to be encouraging but, if anything, they're daunting.

The air gets tense, noticeably so. Ajax awkwardly clears his throat and the intense staring match you and Pierro hold is severed. Your eyes shift to the ginger and you force a convincing grin to pull at your lips. “Let's go.”

Ajax lets you lead the way, purposely avoiding looking at Pierro. In your thirty-second trek to the backyard door, his gaze only intensifies. Holes are burned into your back and you shoot straight up when his voice calls out to you again. You act as though you're in a horror movie: slowly turning your head over your shoulder for fear of what awaits your back end.

“The guests’ll be arriving soon,” he informs. “Your mother’s going to be back and finish setting up out there.”

His information seems to be his acknowledgment of your transgressions. You plan to defile his claim on you in the very home he takes you down in—he’ll be damned if you cross that line.

You’re playing a dangerous game with no incentive for you. As he departs, stalking away upstairs to get a clear view of your actions from his office, the thought that maybe, just maybe, his frustration is your incentive, brings a smile to his face.

That thought dawns the idea on him that he has created an insatiable, debauched monster, and it's in his hands to tame her.

To you, you don't know what you're doing.

You like Ajax. You like the way he treats you, the way he talks to you, the way he touches you, the way he kisses you—you’re chasing his lips desperately as he pins you against the wall of the pool, wanting to take him under the water and drown with him. Maybe then, that icky turmoil brewing in your stomach would subside.

You like Ajax; you want him. But you need Pierro. Even as your boyfriend kisses you feverishly, your eyes are wide and glued to the second-story window that you know Pierro is watching you out of.

He gives you something that you hate to require. Those big, buff arms wrap around you, and those chapped, experienced lips speak words of comfort to you that all your life, you've only ever wanted. Pierro promises to love you forever, be there for you forever, and protect you forever — he promises to be the sole male constant in your life: the only man you’ll ever need. You're inclined to believe him because he’s made everything you've ever wanted come true. But—Ajax; those things can come from him, too.

His kisses are softer than Pierro’s but just as impassioned—if not more. He’s receptive to your impatience, licking his way into your mouth and tangling his tongue with yours messily. Moaning into your mouth to let you know that the tugs on his hair feel good, gripping onto your waist to grind your clothed cunt against his knee, pulling apart and cracking a smile at the connected string of spit that hangs from your puffy lips, telling you in a hushed whisper “I missed you,” to butter you up and melt you in his palms. Ajax is nicer with how he treats you. He kisses down your neck to punctuate his sentence. His kisses halt their trail at the apex of your collarbone, leaving his eyes to peer up at you wantonly.

“I missed you too,” you breathe out. You did miss him and his delicacy. Your eyes flash up to the window and you feel relief at the unmoved curtains — returning your gaze to your boyfriend and smiling at him. Inviting Ajax to your parents’ pool party was your way of convincing yourself. What happened between you and Pierro can be replicated with someone who you can be with and someone who can be with you.

What you want is that trophy love: that pedestal in someone's heart for every envious eye to watch you atop of. You want to be loved loudly and proudly, and Ajax can do that and so much more, for you.

You tangle your fingers in his hair and he leans into your touch, craning leftward. He looks at you with wide, beating hearts in his eyes, and you bite your lip to hold back a smile. “I think we have a few minutes alone…”

Those hearts turn into a mischievous sparkle, “I can work with that.”

Quickly, he’s reconnecting your lips as his right hand wanders from your waist to beneath the fabric of your bikini bottoms. You gasp into your kiss as his middle finger surfs through your folds, immediately prodding at your entrance.

“Don’t tease,” you whisper, briefly looking over his shoulder. You catch a glimpse of movement behind the curtains and it halts your breath. “We don't have time,”

He laughs against your face, smooching from your lips to across your cheek and to your ear. He nips the lobe just as he pushes the tip of his finger in and you move your hold onto his shoulders, gripping tightly. His tongue flicks gently at your ear as his finger slowly inches in, and with its slender length, beats of quiet breathing and airflow pass before he’s knuckle deep. “You wouldn't mind getting caught,”

The digit is swiveled around before he presses the rough pad of his finger against your gummy sweet spot. You hold in a moan by biting your bottom lip but the sound leaks out in weakened whines. “You never have before.”

Anyone could see what you're doing and that thought births nothing but excitement coursing through your veins. Your pleasured scowl quickly stretches into a grin— and Ajax catches it, kissing your chin.

Soon, your hole is accommodating the entrance of his ring finger. The digits are thereafter scissored inside of your pussy and the water around the two of you ripples furiously. Your boyfriend has never been particular about being discreet and this occasion is no different—if anything, he’s showing off. At least, Pierro seems to think so.

Pleasure blinds your eyes so the man standing in the window is missed by you. Every bit of your awareness is being fingered out of you; Ajax’s agile fingers dancing around in your hole seemingly spooning out your senses. Nothing, save for the hot source of ecstasy pooling in your core, matters to you. You're grinding down on his fingers, whining out wantonly as low as you can but it's in vain—your sweet, pleasured hymns can be picked out by Pierro’s ears.

It irritates him but he does not stop watching. He can't—not when you're about to cum and you're gripping so tightly on Ajax. You're leaning over the edge of the pool and scratching your back against the rough gravel with desperate abandon. The movement of your lips is unidentifiable from his distance, but knowing you, you're probably pitifully begging for him to make you cum.

Ajax has the liberty of controlling your pleasure and he does so amateurly. When you plead once again, babbling out his name, Ajax obliges. He says to you, unheard by Pierro, “I’ve got you, baby. Cum on my fingers.”

His fingers curl and roll against your spot and your moans are ringing out unabashedly. If your mother or the guests were to arrive and stroll up your driveway, there’s no doubt they wouldn't be able to hear your laments over the bushes. Carelessly and blissfully, you sing your boyfriend’s praises as he presses you toward your climax, wriggling his fingers inside of your tightened hole through your orgasm.

Pierro watches you shake and jump under his touch and his eye twitches. Here you are, parading your freedom in front of him again. He’d turn you out and worse in that pool if it wasn't for your mother. She is his way to get to you and if she were to find out how he defiles her daughter in ways he doesn't dare do to her, he’d be deprived of his vice.

He doesn't notice the white knuckle grip he keeps on the window sill until his fingers begin to ache. Pierro is envious of a red-haired prick half his age and size and he couldn't be more embarrassed. It would be you—only you—to make these juvenile feelings rise so fervently within him.

The way Pierro feels for you is skewed and indecent and so, so raw. It’s unexplainable in simple words and he doesn't dare waste his breath on telling you sugary things to make you stay. He claims you, bares all of his imperfections to you as you do him, and anchors you to the bottom of his endless pit of debauchery alongside him. Yet, you can still swim out of his grasp and into the slimy hands of another like-minded, perverse predator and that won't do.

His body is moving before he can scramble up an excuse to intrude on the two of you. Unaware of his appearance, you're slipping your hand into Ajax’s swim trunks, passing your thumb over his slit featherlightly.

He sighs out shakily, grabbing your forearm. “We shouldn't start something we can't finish.”

You, full of confidence and arousal, flash your signature, convincing doe eyes up at him. “We should’ve thought about that earlier then.” You rebut, leaning in to kiss him just as you begin to pump his length.

Pool water is terrible lube but the softness of your hand makes up for it: Ajax is moaning into your kiss and lazily bucking into your hand. God, everything is so perfect right now. The warm sun, the cool water, the sweet breeze, the—

“You two already got in?!” Suddenly, the back door is sliding open and your mother steps out, hauling two large shopping bags in each hand. You and Ajax jump apart, trying your best to turn around and meet her inconspicuously.

She seems to not notice, but Pierro, who comes out after her, has that knowing look that when it greets you, all nervousness centers itself in your bones. Your mother had beaten him to the back door by a mere second. Had it gone his way, the two of you would be pissing yourselves shamefully.

Ajax picks up the slack of maintaining your cover: picking his feet up off the pool floor and kicking off the wall, swimming toward your mother. “Yeah, sorry, Mrs. A!” He apologizes, hoisting himself out of the pool to assist her. “We just wanted to test the water,”

He nods at you to come join and you quickly follow the notion, hopping out of the pool and walking around to where they stand. Your mother pulls floaties and noodles and boxes of miscellaneous decorations out of the bags, setting them down on the ground and table. With her gaze focused downward, you and Ajax are able to share looks over her back: his eyes sending you an assured glare and wink and yours sending back worried gleams.

“We’re good,” he mouths, and before you can give him a response, your mother stands up.

“How was it? It’s not too cold, is it?”

This time you answer her. “No; it was perfect.” You say, giving Ajax a look that tells him your words were meant for him.

Unbeknownst to your games, your mother cheers. “Great—I’m gonna freshen up and get changed. Can you…” she trails off and motions her hands around the abundance of new items. You catch her meaning and confirm her request with a nod.

As quickly as she appeared, she walked off and back into the house. Her missing frame gives Ajax the space to step closer to you, inching his hands around your waist as he rests his chin on your shoulder.

It's a gesture that, in all of its inherent sweetness, carries a suggestiveness that has you giggly and ticklish. You're unable to focus on the task in front of you and are instead fighting off the needy kisses from your boyfriend.

“Stop…” you laugh, your voice sounding wholly unconvincing.

He ignores your request, instead nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck and kissing the skin tenderly. “I can’t stop,” he says, muffled. “You got me started—”

He squeezes you tighter and deepens the kiss on your neck. His tongue flicks and flattens against the skin and your smile flattens as you sigh out, instantly melting into him. Ajax knows just how to weaken you, a power he shares with Pierro, and you are too weak to fight it. Those kisses are targeted at the perfect spot that fogs your brain and withers your standing. Your mouth wavers as he marks a hickey on your skin, and the smallest, weakest moans tumble out of your mouth.

“Ajax…” you whisper warningly, “We can't.”

“We can.” He argues, moving from your neck to behind your ear. He knows just how to tempt you and just as susceptible as you are, you fall for it. “Where’s your room?”

You go to answer—but the sight of him in your peripheral has your mouth drying up.

Pierro finally takes his first step outside and the sight he beholds is sickening. His left cheek is balled around his tongue and his eyes are as critical as ever. You have to pat Ajax’s thigh to alert him and he’s pulling off of you, his pale complexion flushing a blazing red. “M-Mr. A! Uh—”

Uninterested in his haphazard excuse, Pierro cuts him off. “Your mother is asking for you.” Eyes boring into you elicit every bit of shame to course through you in hot embarrassment.

Without another word shared, you scurry off into the house, passing Pierro with only a brief brush of your skin. You can feel the irritation radiating off of him and you shudder under that realization.

You've made a mistake. A very, very big mistake.

━━━━━━

All you want is to be with Ajax. Wrapped in his muscular arms, under the crisp sun and the chill breeze—sipping on homemade lemonade and biting into flaky club sandwiches—it is all so perfect, so right, for you. With him, nothing goes wrong—and yet, nothing ever goes right.

Pierro never seems to lag too far behind the two of you. After assisting your mother in picking which sundress to slip into, returning to blissful, summer day peace with your boyfriend proved difficult.

You find him beside the grill with Pierro, awkwardly chatting it up with his hard-on painfully raging against the inside of his blue swim trunks. And just as you appear to pull him away, Pierro magically fishes up a task for him to do.

“You can't go with him,” he says. “The kids are getting antsy. Why don't you bring out some popsicles?”

And so you do. Returning with a bag of popsicles and handing them out to the numerous children running around your backyard. And when you finish, Ajax returns, huffing out deep breaths and dripping sweat. Luckily enough, one cherry popsicle was left over.

You’d finally managed to get Pierro off your back—your mother and her girlfriends required his immediate attention in the kitchen and drew him away from the backyard. So you and your lover are offered a moment of reprieve.

You straddle his lap, peeling the plastic off of the popsicle and tapping the treat against his lips. He’s receptive and takes the popsicle in, collecting the flavor on his tongue. You watch him intently, locking eyes with him and keeping that contact as you pull it away, leaning in to catch the taste of his mouth.

The cherry flavor is abundant and even sweeter on his tongue. Keeping it PG is out of the question when you're sucking on his tongue so feverishly—no longer chasing that cherry taste but instead him. You need him bad and judging from the twitching in his cock, he needs you just as bad.

“Baby,” he grunts, using one hand to cup the small of your back and the other to bring the popsicle back to his mouth. He tries to halt the subtle gyrating of your hips but you are determined to slot his shaft between your folds through your layers of swimwear. “It's too risky out here. Let’s go to your room.”

You laugh, beating him to it and briefly wrapping your lips around the top. “I never thought I’d hear you say it's too risky,”

“But, okay,” you sigh out, pausing your ministrations and sitting flat on his lap. “Let's go, then.”

Eager as could be, the two of you gather your things off the lounge chair and race to the inside of the house.

Successfully, Pierro’s attention is missed, and you make it up to your bedroom. Once the door is closed, you're jumping onto the bed with abandon and begin making out feverishly. Hours of built-up tension come crashing down upon you as he pins you down, wedging between your legs and rutting desperately against your pussy.

“Ah,” you moan out, arching up into him. His head is buried in the cavern of your chest, suckling and smooching along the valley. Your skin is supple and easy to latch onto—he’s losing himself in your scent and softness and taste. You pull at his hair, jerking your hips upward for more. “Please, ‘Jax; give it to me—”

Unbeknownst to you, Pierro is on the prowl. Hours have passed like minutes and soon the sky has melted into a rosy yellow and the guests have slowly begun to peel out.

His eyes search for the pair of you and upon coming up empty, his attitude is tweaked.

“Honey?” He calls out to his wife. As he returns to the inside of the house—sparing brief dismissals to the parting guests—he feigns sweetness toward her.

She, still occupied in the citywide gossip among her girlfriends, only lazily pays mind to the inquiry of her husband. “Um, hold on, dear—Tiff did what?!”

The group of women laugh and continue explaining the messy affair of some woman named Tiffany and Pierro could not care less. He doesn't care about Tiffany’s affairs; it’s yours that calls monopoly over his mind.

You must have been able to sneak off with your boy toy. Curse your attention-hogging mother. Had it not been for her, you wouldn't have been stripped from beneath his palm so stealthily.

Once he gets his hands on that ginger brat—

“I think I saw them go upstairs earlier.” She says it so passively, so dismissively, Pierro almost digests the information normally. Almost.

He doesn't even know which question to pose to get the answer he wants. So, he doesn't. He lets an irritated grumble fall from his mouth as he turns on his heels. Useless. She is ultimately useless and it’s times like this where Pierro wishes he’d met you first.

His footsteps echo up the stairs but to your jaded ears, they're nonexistent.

You sit atop Ajax now, rocking feverishly back and forth along his cock. Your hands are planted on his chest and his hands are on your waist, aiding you in your grinding. This is more passionate and needy than any other experience you've had with Ajax thus far, and the weak babbles of his name tumbling out of your mouth prove that.

Friction builds furiously in your heat and sends electric waves splashing through your veins. It’s what you've been looking for all day: a climactic, ardent affair to invoke the most needed orgasm of your life.

Maybe with this one, how you feel will be solidified.

You're rocking hard, knocking your headboard against the wall. Pierro can hear it as he approaches the top of the stairs and he wonders how much audacity you have.

The next few seconds are a blur: his footsteps approach, and so does your orgasm. You cry out your boyfriend’s name as he encourages your climax, and Pierro wraps his hand around the doorknob. You throw your head back as your orgasm seeps through the floodgates and the door swings open.

So far gone, so unaware in your blissful paradise that Pierro’s looming figure behind you doesn't matter to you. His presence is intense and suffocating and over your shoulder, Ajax catches the sight of him and stiffens up. Their eyes lock and every daring bone in his body is snapped to hustle you off of him. “Babe—”

“What?” You huff out, breathlessly. “I-I’m so close, ‘Jax—please…”

You peel your eyes open against their heavy will, looking down at your boyfriend. That shadow cast on the wall ahead of you catches your attention first. You recognize the silhouette but it isn't until you peer over your shoulder and catch that icy glare that you're all too fearful of—now, anyway.

In your shocked jumping off of Ajax, you manage to roll off the side of the bed and collapse to the floor with a screechy yelp. Ajax struggles to get himself together: fumbling around with his clothing and jaggedly standing up. “M-Mr. A—! I—”

The look Pierro sends has him clamming up and nervously laughing. There's no need for excuses or coy innuendos—you’ve been caught. Now, you need to be punished.

Without a second glance back, your boyfriend scrambles up his things and takes his leave. You want to call him back in, but all courageous function ceases to work before him. With Ajax gone, it's just you and Pierro, and never has that thought scared you before as it is now.

He closes the door and takes short, heavy steps toward you. You stay on the floor, folding your legs behind you and using your planted hands for stability. At this, the difference between the two of you is exaggerated: he stands tall and big over you, the curled bambi caught between a rock and a hard place.

Dense silence hangs in the air. Your lips quiver and shift, as though a jumble of words wish to spill but you don't allow it. You don't allow those tears that mist your eyes to fall out either, rapidly blinking back the flow of guilt. Just the unsure air he imposes makes you want to burst into tears and plead your case.

He continues to say not a word; taking a seat on your bed and only using his hand to direct you onto his lap. The motion is so small and insignificant but it terrifies you no less. Pierro is a jest: a jack of unforeseen trades and when he is ticked off, every nasty card up his sleeve comes out to play. You find yourself obliging with your head hanging low, saving yourself the intensity in his eyes.

When you sit, his arms embrace you. They slink around your waist and hug you into place but they are anything but comforting. It’s suffocating, it’s tense.

A moment is taken to breathe you in. Burrowing his nose against your neck and scrunching the feature distastefully at the overwhelming spicy scent atop your soft skin. Ajax— you smell like Ajax.

“I thought I made myself clear the last time.” The deep timbre of his whisper rumbles in your spine. It startles you straight and the confrontational air pulls out your weakness. You hate trouble, you hate being bad, you hate how he does this to you.

His breathing is soft on your neck. It tickles but it doesn't make you want to laugh. You want to cry and beg for his forgiveness. I’m sorry, Daddy, I really am! You think to cry. I’m yours, your good girl, Daddy!

Nothing comes out of you, so he continues. “I give myself to you because I care about you. Everything you could ever need is right here with me, so answer me: why?”

Your expression is pained and guilty. He knows you better than you do and he knows how to sucker punch your heart. You thought your day with Ajax would clarify the conflicting feelings in your heart, but your time with Pierro unwinds all assurity.

Tears roll down your cheeks and you struggle to put together a sentence. “Daddy…I—” you hic, a sob tumbling over your words. You turn into him and string your arms around him, weeping onto his shoulder and soiling his shirt. “I-I'm so confused…”

“What are you confused about?” His question holds not an ounce of sympathy. Still, he soothes your back with his palm, ushering out every guilty tear you weep. “I do everything for you, with you, to you—what could he be that I couldn't?”

Kind, gentle, tender, freeing. Ajax is the silk breather in your synthetic cage. He gives you a bright, lightening feeling that, against Pierro’s uncharted depths, saves you. You can't tell him that you’re finding love in Ajax. He’ll raise every dead flaw right out of you.

“Tell me what to do to make it better.”

You don't even notice his hands slipping under the cups of your bikini top. Your nipples are caught between his fingers, softly being tweaked and pinched until the tight pebbles stiffen the bud. Your cries gradually subside until you're sniffling and hiccupping, noticing his absent-minded ministrations and pulsing cock under your ass.

The worst part about realizing your position is that you don't want to escape. Maybe letting him have his way with you again will lessen the load on your shoulders. Anything to blur the confusing lines.

“Has he ever seen you cry like this?” He asks. You shake your head no. “He wouldn't even know what to do to make it all go away, would he?” No—you shake your head no. “What would you do without me? Huh?”

“I don't know.” You’d be normal, maybe. You wouldn't depend on him to fix what's always breaking inside you. You'd love and date and experience life without the debilitating crutch of your daddy there to hold you back.

With Ajax, nothing goes wrong but nothing goes right. With Pierro, everything goes wrong but everything feels so right.

So skewed, so lost, so unfounded, your relationship is the pinnacle of gnarled. He is the leader of your abyssal path and yet, also your savior from it. A world without him in it is hard to imagine — and when you're on his lap, in his arms like this, it’s hard to want to imagine it.

“You don't ever want to know, do you?” Again, no—you’re shaking your head no as though it’s the only motion you know how to do. “Then stop driving me away. Let me love you.”

He’s kissing over your skin, palming your boobs softly. It’s familiar and safe and you know that in the end, he’ll still be there. Etched in your skin and mind, reminding you that there's someone to fall into when life becomes too much. You can lean into Pierro with security—and just like that, all of your valiant agency is melted away.

“Okay,” is the only word you say, and it's the only word he needs.

━━━━━━

Nine days. Pierro has called you twelve times, texted you thirty-seven times, and has lost his mind three times in the nine days that you've been gone.

You're mad at him, he understands that now. He pushed you and drove you away, he understands that now, so why can't you answer his calls and talk to him?

“She needs space,” your mother says. She wraps her arms around him from the back and smoothes the wrinkles in his shirt. “She’s grown and in love and needs her space to flourish, Pi. Don't suffocate her.”

Okay. He would have left it alone at that. When you need him, you’ll come back; you always do.

But your mother could not let well enough be. “Besides, she’s with Ajax. They’ll be keeping each other company while we…”

The rest of that was lost in his head. Evidently, Pierro is not getting across to you. When he spoke to you that evening of the pool party, that was to be the last time that redhead’s name was thought of, and, yet, here you are, running into his arms.

It wouldn't drive him crazy if he didn't have you first. If everything you've ever known and done wasn't by his hand. You are his little girl, his prize at the end of a tiring marriage, his happy ending after a long day, his.

His instant joy— Ding!

Pierro’s phone is in his hand in seconds. The deep snores of his wife let him know that tiptoeing away won't be necessary. Your name, decorated in a sole red heart, pops up two more times, and before he unveils the messages, his mind swirls with the string of excuses you're probably typing out.

The texts are short and insignificant when he lays eyes on the attachment. A three-minute and forty-eight-second video with your glossy, smiley face in the thumbnail. He swings the door of his office shut and sits down, immediately pressing play.

You're giggling in the immediate beginning before your laughs are morphed into a string of moans. The angle fixates on your face, downturned and droopy in pleasure—a face Pierro is all too familiar with. Catching sight of it on the other side of a phone is angering, to say the least.

Wet slopping is heard in the foreground, competing with your moans for volume. It’s slow and romantic—in and out, in and out, in and out—each thrust eliciting a shallow hiss from behind the camera and a pleading whine from in front of it. The angle shifts just as he breathes out, his pale hand drifting from the side of your waist to massage your clit. “Like that, baby? That good for you?”

You hum in confirmation, bucking up into his hand. “S-so good—mmfh, ‘J-Jax—!”

He laughs behind the camera, zooming into your sloppy cunt. You're dripping: thick, glossy beads of slick pooling in your slit and spilling around his dick. It shines a gleaming reflection under the light of the flash and Ajax is quick to rapidly rub through and splash your arousal around. The clicking sound that elicits is viscid and resounding but the pleasured sobs you choke out are louder. He moves the camera up to your face, streaks of tears splashing down your hot cheeks.

His fingers intrude between your parted lips and you immediately slurp your arousal off his fingers. “So nasty…what if daddy saw you like this?”

The tone in his voice is teasing- patronizing, as though the total wreck you are before him is a joke. You open teary eyes to stare into the camera, a wide grin pulling at your lips around his fingers. Your pupils are wide and blown: an endless, dark pit of lust that when appearing on the phone seems as though it’s entrancing Pierro.

Your hands wrap around Ajax’s forearm—and you moan one last time around his fingers, swiveling your tongue around the digits before pulling them out. You bring his hand to wrap around your throat, grinning wide. Those lustful eyes leave the camera and presumably to Ajax behind the camera and your lips part slowly. “You are my daddy.”

“Oh, fuck,” Ajax mutters behind the camera, and the stability of the angle wavers. The pair of you share breathless laughs.

That motherfucker, Pierro thinks, gripping the phone tighter. In the final twenty seconds, Ajax curses under his breath, putting your pussy in view. His pace is a lot sloppier and desperate now and his voice cracks as he moans your name. “‘M gonna cum—”

You draw out a sharp whine, using your fingers to pinch and feverishly flick your clit. “Please..” you breathe out. “Cum in me, Daddy.”

The video ends. Pierro cannot believe his eyes nor his ears—you—he can't believe this.

He doesn't bother reading the next incoming messages. He’s already racing downstairs and yanking his keys off of the hook.

Pierro’s a jest and the joke is about to be on you.

[ghostarii]

arlecchino likes slow kisses -- impassioned, battling, slow kisses, full of twirling tongues and silky moans. she likes to wrap a hand around your neck to crane your head back, nibbling on your lower lip and smiling at your whines. pinning you beneath her and keeping you at her mercy -- heat building between you two with ghostly friction and desperation. arlecchino likes to kiss you slow and build anticipation- to make you want it, to make you crave it, to the point you’ll brim your eyes with tears and try to guide her hand between your legs. you’re your prettiest when you beg and so she makes you do it again and again: huffing out breathlessly in between kisses.

she never gets tired of kissing you -- licking into your mouth, sucking on your tongue and dragging sharp teeth along the muscle, nipping your lips and pressing your mouths together until they swell-- that’s priceless; and more than that, it’s intoxicating. it ignites a carnal, desperate flame inside of arlecchino’s chest to where she teeters on the edge of sanity. she’ll come to needing you so much that her touches burn, singing through the fabric of your clothes until they begin to practically hang on by a thread, perfectly falling off of your frame. she likes you completely bare: kissed by the moon’s illumination and unable to preserve modesty. she can consume you both literally and figuratively: drinking in and committing your bare purity to memory before defiling every inch of your skin in traces of her. bites and scratches and fingerprints and hickeys trail from your neck to the ends of your legs, lighting every part on fire until you burn white hot--and then, only when you’re writhing for some ounce of direct pleasure, she will fuel your fire to an uncontained blaze.

arlecchino likes slow kisses because she can taste more of you. slowly slotting her mouth with the puffy curvature of your pussy, parting the labia as her mouth opens, allowing her tongue to slip through and tangle amongst your folds. agonizing, slow, deliberate kisses have her eyes closed, completely focused and enamored in the taste of you. tonguing through sloppy, syrupy folds and drinking as much of you in as she can. nudging her nose against your clit as she swirls and spins her tongue around--acting as though she was a master player and you were her instrument, being strummed to death and eliciting the most beautiful chords of music. she takes her time in devouring you, ensuring that no inch goes untouched and untasted because when she makes her way to your pulsing, weeping entrance, her performance reaches its climax and you’re along for the song.

arlecchino likes slow kisses because they crescendo into a form of heat unfelt and time melts away between your legs. those kisses are a catalyst for an enlightening, gut-wrenching climax, that makes all the time lost so, so worth it.

[ghostarii]

arlecchino likes slow kisses -- impassioned, battling, slow kisses, full of twirling tongues and silky moans. she likes to wrap a hand around your neck to crane your head back, nibbling on your lower lip and smiling at your whines. pinning you beneath her and keeping you at her mercy -- heat building between you two with ghostly friction and desperation. arlecchino likes to kiss you slow and build anticipation- to make you want it, to make you crave it, to the point you’ll brim your eyes with tears and try to guide her hand between your legs. you’re your prettiest when you beg and so she makes you do it again and again: huffing out breathlessly in between kisses.

she never gets tired of kissing you -- licking into your mouth, sucking on your tongue and dragging sharp teeth along the muscle, nipping your lips and pressing your mouths together until they swell-- that’s priceless; and more than that, it’s intoxicating. it ignites a carnal, desperate flame inside of arlecchino’s chest to where she teeters on the edge of sanity. she’ll come to needing you so much that her touches burn, singing through the fabric of your clothes until they begin to practically hang on by a thread, perfectly falling off of your frame. she likes you completely bare: kissed by the moon’s illumination and unable to preserve modesty. she can consume you both literally and figuratively: drinking in and committing your bare purity to memory before defiling every inch of your skin in traces of her. bites and scratches and fingerprints and hickeys trail from your neck to the ends of your legs, lighting every part on fire until you burn white hot--and then, only when you’re writhing for some ounce of direct pleasure, she will fuel your fire to an uncontained blaze.

arlecchino likes slow kisses because she can taste more of you. slowly slotting her mouth with the puffy curvature of your pussy, parting the labia as her mouth opens, allowing her tongue to slip through and tangle amongst your folds. agonizing, slow, deliberate kisses have her eyes closed, completely focused and enamored in the taste of you. tonguing through sloppy, syrupy folds and drinking as much of you in as she can. nudging her nose against your clit as she swirls and spins her tongue around--acting as though she was a master player and you were her instrument, being strummed to death and eliciting the most beautiful chords of music. she takes her time in devouring you, ensuring that no inch goes untouched and untasted because when she makes her way to your pulsing, weeping entrance, her performance reaches its climax and you’re along for the song.

arlecchino likes slow kisses because they crescendo into a form of heat unfelt and time melts away between your legs. those kisses are a catalyst for an enlightening, gut-wrenching climax, that makes all the time lost so, so worth it.

[ghostarii]

arlecchino likes slow kisses -- impassioned, battling, slow kisses, full of twirling tongues and silky moans. she likes to wrap a hand around your neck to crane your head back, nibbling on your lower lip and smiling at your whines. pinning you beneath her and keeping you at her mercy -- heat building between you two with ghostly friction and desperation. arlecchino likes to kiss you slow and build anticipation- to make you want it, to make you crave it, to the point you’ll brim your eyes with tears and try to guide her hand between your legs. you’re your prettiest when you beg and so she makes you do it again and again: huffing out breathlessly in between kisses.

she never gets tired of kissing you -- licking into your mouth, sucking on your tongue and dragging sharp teeth along the muscle, nipping your lips and pressing your mouths together until they swell-- that’s priceless; and more than that, it’s intoxicating. it ignites a carnal, desperate flame inside of arlecchino’s chest to where she teeters on the edge of sanity. she’ll come to needing you so much that her touches burn, singing through the fabric of your clothes until they begin to practically hang on by a thread, perfectly falling off of your frame. she likes you completely bare: kissed by the moon’s illumination and unable to preserve modesty. she can consume you both literally and figuratively: drinking in and committing your bare purity to memory before defiling every inch of your skin in traces of her. bites and scratches and fingerprints and hickeys trail from your neck to the ends of your legs, lighting every part on fire until you burn white hot--and then, only when you’re writhing for some ounce of direct pleasure, she will fuel your fire to an uncontained blaze.

arlecchino likes slow kisses because she can taste more of you. slowly slotting her mouth with the puffy curvature of your pussy, parting the labia as her mouth opens, allowing her tongue to slip through and tangle amongst your folds. agonizing, slow, deliberate kisses have her eyes closed, completely focused and enamored in the taste of you. tonguing through sloppy, syrupy folds and drinking as much of you in as she can. nudging her nose against your clit as she swirls and spins her tongue around--acting as though she was a master player and you were her instrument, being strummed to death and eliciting the most beautiful chords of music. she takes her time in devouring you, ensuring that no inch goes untouched and untasted because when she makes her way to your pulsing, weeping entrance, her performance reaches its climax and you’re along for the song.

arlecchino likes slow kisses because they crescendo into a form of heat unfelt and time melts away between your legs. those kisses are a catalyst for an enlightening, gut-wrenching climax, that makes all the time lost so, so worth it.

[ghostarii]

mr. welt yang who is strictly dominant—hard and collected when it comes to just about anything. he likes to be in control and have a general understanding, and that applies to your sex life. mr. welt yang who always takes care of his precious baby. he tells you “don’t worry that pretty little head of yours—i’ll take care of it.” and he makes you feel better. long, hard, bad day? that’s okay. welt’ll make it trivial, a futile matter that’s only a distant memory as he feasts on your cunt and worships your body.

mr. welt yang who will do anything you say. anything to make you happy. so when you tell him, eyes wide with stars gleaming in your pupils that you wanna make him feel good, who is he to say no? mr. welt yang who indulges in your sweet attempts to swallow his big cock down your little throat, mr. welt yang who praises you for taking all of his cum like the good princess you are, mr. welt yang who encourages you as you try to ride him. “it’s okay, take your time, ‘m not going anywhere . . .”, “that’s it, oh, fuck, you got it—so, so good, yeah?”, “make yourself feel good, ‘s okay.” he thumbs away your tears when you get frustrated and overstimulated because he’s just so big and he feels so good inside of you. you want to be good for him, to repay him for the millions of times he’s taken care of you, but he tells you that it doesn’t matter; you repay him everyday by being his good, perfect little princess, and there’s nothing more he could ask for.

mr. welt yang who loves his darling more than this world could conceive. there’s nothing in this world he would trade for getting to indulge in you, make you feel on top of the universe, and be reminded that you’re his, and he’s yours.

[ghostarii]

haii friends ૮ ྀི◞͈ ˔ ◟͈ ྀིა im workin on a long fic rn so it’s takin me some time but i’ll bring something rllyyy good in the meantime

[ghostarii]

ECSTASY, FULL OF FREEDOM, PIERRO & CHILDE

ʚɞ unbound in the throes of ecstasy; free from strenuous morality and worldly tethers, you are where you belong. he knows your heart is strung on another, but he also knows that he can’t please you the way he can.

WARNINGS ݈݇- fem!reader, stepcest, AGE GAP!!!, stepdad!pierro, ft. boyfriend!childe, ddlg themes, daddy kink, spit, possessive!pierro, infidelity, fingering, exhibitionism, face - fucking, dacryphilia, breeding, dry humping, manipulation, corruption kink, finger - sucking, cum eating / swallowing, spanking, praise, degradation, pet names, orgasm ruining / control, just.. just icky pierro, minors & dc antis do not interact.

NOTE ݈݇- ummmm 😅😅😅 welcum back me i guess ! ! !this is prob the most debauched thing ive ever written so nice comments n reblogs would be happily appreciated :3 this went a totally different way than i planned toward the end n it got pretty rushed but i hope u guys like it anyway

WORD COUNT ݈݇- 10.2k

BURNING, WHITE, HEAT. A surge of hellfire courses through your veins and it takes every semblance of power in you to not explode. Your thighs are tightly clenched, attempting to crush his ministrations but dexterous fingers are lengthy enough to continuously tease you. A featherlight brushing against your folds is enough to make you shiver against the warmth. You damn near slam your elbow on top of the table and bash your forehead against your palm, hiding the pleasure on your face as best as you can.

Pierro thinks you must figure him as a fool. He must be stupid to you—a blind idiot—if you think you can get away with this. He stifles down a grunt of disbelief with a sip of his water, deciding to no longer pay attention to the slight quakes of your body.

His eyes are instead fixed on the source of your tremors: the smug redhead who thinks he’s so clever. His left arm lightly jitters behind the table and if he were an idiot, Pierro might have ignored it. He might have ignored how close you two got. He might have even ignored the moans you quietly let slip. But he is no idiot. He is perceptive and right now, he is very angry.

He tries to hide it, to keep the daggers he stares at bay but his patience is thinning by the minute. Ignorance cannot be bliss when it is infiltrated—Pierro tries to turn a blind eye to your deeds but he is not allowed to. When the quiet of the upscale restaurant meets its lowest and your conversation has briefly halted for the allowance of enjoying your meal, his ears can pick up the leaking, sticky path your boyfriend’s fingers take. The sudden hitch in your breath and the calm slosh, slosh from between your legs is a dead giveaway and he can't help but look. He can't help but chew the inside of his cheek instead of his steak and grunt. Anything but, and he might blow the lid off his pristine demeanor.

Those eyes are sharp and you narrowly avoid their threat. You keep your eyes straight and only rarely do you spend a glance at Ajax. He finds pleasure in the way you tighten around his fingers when he presses that spot, right when your mother inquires about another insignificant detail about his life. He likes how you scratch the denim of his pants instead of the table, wordlessly begging him to stop as he brings you closer and closer—

It feels too good; the edging, the twirling, the danger—it births a reward too precious to sacrifice and that's why you don't stop him. You soil your panties and make a fool of yourself, making your mother pause the conversation one too many times to clarify your well-being. It’d be humiliating if it didn't feel so good.

With your thighs tightly clasped around his wrist and your heartbeat pounding through your clit, your orgasm just teeters at the edge, stray streams leaking to be caught on Ajax’s hand. He sends you a look of faux concern and you can just barely fight the urge to bare two rows of teeth at him menacingly.

With your thighs tightly clasped around his wrist and your heartbeat pounding through your clit, your orgasm just teeters at the edge, stray streams leaking to be caught on Ajax’s hand. He sends you a look of faux concern and you can just barely fight the urge to bare two rows of teeth at him menacingly.

Pierro, who has utterly capped his limit on how much of this shit he can take, opens his mouth to spew a question that may just humiliate you if you don't play your cards right. He’s a jest—his fun derives from the toil of others and you are his perfect target right now. Serves you right.

The words are quickly snatched from his mouth to his wife’s as soon as the words form on his tongue. A look of disdain is fought off as she tenderly asks you for the nth time, “Are you sure you’re feeling well, sweetie?”

You can lie to her with no problem. To him is where the difficulty arises and this moment, where your eyes have glossed and your body has folded, he could have blown up your whole spot. Ajax plays off the hand between your legs as though it’s on your stomach, using his right hand to gently rest against your shoulder and slowly pull you up.

She’s the idiot Ajax thinks Pierro is. The kind, not-all-there, and not wholly caring idiot who lets dirt build right under her nose—it’s no surprise that she lets you off with that pitiful “I’m okay…just some bad cramping,”.

“I’m sorry,” you breathlessly apologize, presumably coming down from your high. “I should…I think we should cut this short. I’m honestly not feeling too well…”

“Are you sure? You don't..wanna finish..?” Ajax asks you. The smile he hides peeks out behind his feigned frown and the innuendo immediately dawns on you.

Flustered and more embarrassed than you thought you would have been, you lock in your eyes a pitiful stare of Enough. As if that would stop his torment.

His hand slides from between your legs and rests against your thigh, sticky, wet fingertips tapping against your thigh…taunting you. Questioning you.

Your mother patiently awaits your answer as her eyes swivel around in search of a waiter while Pierro continues his glaring assault. There's a narrowing of his eyes that he continuously enacts, as if to warn you, to beg you to try it if you dare. Disobeying him is a thing you've never done but this sly motherfucker beside you has pushed you to try your luck.

“I mean…I do want to—but, I don't think I can. At least, not here, not right now…” you slide your bottom lip between your teeth gingerly, pleading eyes boring into Ajax’s. A look that’s commonly reserved for Pierro, and for the first time, angers him to see it.

Ajax fights back his grin but fails desperately. He nods, turning to face your mother and stepfather. “Well, we should get the princess home and taken care of, shouldn't we?”

Your mother takes the time to gush, drawing out an amused awwww at the pair of you, wrapping around her husband's arm and leaning against it. “How sweet! Isn't he sweet, Pi?”

Staring directly at you, with nothing but a blatant grimace, Pierro nods. “Very sweet.”

Timidly, you avoid his gaze. It does you no favor, either way.

She continues her rambling and all of it goes in one ear and out of the other. Pierro cannot stop staring. Ajax whispering in your ear and the grip you have on his shirt. The glisten that’s wiped off his fingers and thrown haphazardly atop his meal scraps. The devious, wide smile that hasn't been shaken this entire encounter…

Pierro has never wanted to slap someone more. Even more so, he’s never been this angry with you.

“You got the bill, right, hon?” Your mom asks him, the first one of her sentences to penetrate his thoughts.

You and Ajax are standing beside the table now, his hand comfortably resting low on your hip and your body slotted against his. From where he sits, Pierro can smell you. The familiar, decadent sweetness wasted against your thighs calling out to his memory and begging the perversion to rise from the dark recesses and take you against the table— and it only gets worse when he raises his sight to look at you, only to be able to catch the slightest glimpse of your soaked panties pushed to the side.

He looks you in the eyes, a look you hate to see awaiting you when you return the favor.

Pierro nods, turning to your mother with an almost pained smile. “Of course.”

Back to the two of you, gaze sharpened and narrowed, he continues, “You two should go on ahead.”

Ajax is quick to take the dismissal with a cheery grin. One that—more than anything else tonight—pisses Pierro off. “Ah, thanks, Mr. A! Here,” he takes a minute to fish his wallet out of his pocket, “For our part and the tip,”

To you, his attention turns. “Are you ready to go?”

You say nothing but nod instead. Your eyes can't help but surf to your stepdad and you almost offer him a look of pity—a gleam of sorry in your eyes. He spares you not a single look, and with Ajax’s upbeat parting words, the two of you slip away hand-in-hand.

Your mother’s smile is proud. It’s proud, and certain, and genuine, and it makes Pierro angry. Right now, he could expose you to your mother and make everything worse.

“I like him, hon. For her, especially…I’d say it’s perfect but I don't wanna jinx it,” your mother giggles. Pierro’s eye twitches. It takes everything in him to relax because, truly, Ajax has done nothing wrong.

He might be nothing short of perfect and possibly the best thing that could ever happen to you and yet, Pierro can't find it in himself to be happy. That anger is a gnarled form of envy that paints him green. And it’s by the grace of God that nobody but the only one who matters can see that fervent shade on his skin.

He keeps up the charade with your mother with another strained smile. “Yeah, good for her.” He sounds less than enthused but for her sake, she does not pry.

Pierro wants to hate Ajax. It makes it so much harder that he cannot.

━━━━━━

Pierro’s eyes are a beautiful shade of blue. A crystalline gleam—meant to light up under the sky and shimmer like a star of hope. Looking into his eyes gives a cool mystique that urges you to get lost in them. Oftentimes, you do, finding that at the end, awaits you is a warmth far too comforting.

It’s different when those eyes glare back at you. Boring into your very being with a scrutinizing narrowing over every little mistake. The dimness of the house intensifies their stare to the point that you can feel them before you see them.

Your breathing is almost shallow as you trek up the stairs and your eyes are wide and shifty. Your heartbeat has turned irregular and is skipping beats—the mere uncertainty he imposes working overtime in unnerving you. Pierro is not nice when things don't go his way. Even worse, he’s unpredictable. Mostly, he’s vile.

What awaits you is only a mystery that you wish to leave boxed.

Approaching him at the top of the stairs, you slide your hand into his gingerly, hoping that the kindness will grant you some leniency. “I’m sorry I’m late..” you gulp. “I— We— Ajax had stopped to—”

With your hand in his, Pierro has power over your autonomy. He pulls you into him, using his left hand to slot against your waist and hold you against him. Everything he does is in complete silence and it unsettles you.

His eyes rake over you time and time again in the same span of seconds. Your face, near fearful and apologetic, to your upper body, stiff and unsure, to your lower half, turned in on itself and now, of all times, prioritizing modesty. Now, you seem to have an ounce of shame and Pierro can't call it anything but pitiful.

He lets a beat of silence pass with you in his arms. “You’ve disappointed me.”

You part your lips in a silent gasp, wholly surprised that he hasn't tossed you around yet. To his statement, you respond with a light clutch of his button-up — and to that, Pierro huffs. He’s not hearing your crocodile tears and unenthused excuses so you can save it.

“I’m upset that you let that happen. You let him touch you like that in front of me…” His fingers tickle up your back and you instinctively press into him more. A frown stretches over your face - mostly out of concern for where this is leading. Partially because his words genuinely do hold weight.

Raising your head to meet his eyes, “I’m sorry, Daddy,” leaves your mouth incredibly timidly.

His eyes are softer when meeting yours. It almost seems as though he’s immediately forgiven you and in the wake of that thought, you feel better. You feel like leaning into him further is no longer a gesture of fear but comfort. So you lean impossibly closer, nuzzling your head against his chest comfortably. His feigned sense of security has you under his palm like an idiot — a blind fool in the lion’s den.

“Did you like it? Did it feel good…better?” He purrs, lips moving against your head as he kisses you. That's enough to muffle his words but you hear him clearly. The tenderness he exudes works to juxtapose against his instigating words.

“Well…”

“Well?” He catches your trail. He tightens his arms around your body and traps you against him.

It’s almost oppressive; you’d say so if it wasn't for the familiarity it brings. But it contrasts with the grit in his tone — a sharpened edge prodding at you menacingly, just waiting for you to say the wrong thing to impale you.

With a gulp too audible coming from you, you shrug warily. As much as you want to, you can't lie to him. “It wasn't better…but it wasn't bad…”

Humorous. What a humorous attempt at trying to not anger him further; Pierro has to stifle a laugh at your expense but you can feel the humility.

“Did you cum?” He asks straightforwardly. His left hand trickles down your back and brushes against your waist. His fingers brush the hem of your skirt out of the way and slide to grope your ass, using one finger to slip between your thighs and collect the wetness. At that, he notes the lack of underwear. You, so daring, so racy, let that asshole take your panties as a souvenir. His voice grows deeper—angrier—as he inquires further. “Did you cry his name? Maybe you called him baby. Maybe daddy—”

“No!” You interject, a bit too loudly, at that. “No—I didn't. I would never.” Because you’re my daddy—you choose to omit that part.

He only laughs. Somewhat menacingly, but brightened when your eyes catch his grin. “Do you want me to praise you for that?”

“Do you think you deserve that?” There’s no escaping his questioning; you're trapped. He knows you hate being talked down to—you hate the confrontation, the disappointment, the dissatisfaction with you and he does it on purpose. He catches the way you avoid looking at him and blink rapidly, airing away the mist that comes to paint your eyes.

It takes you a moment to shake your head no, your entire face dropping at the action. You were wrong, you were bad, and now he won't be nice to you. He's going to use you, he's going to fuck you up and make you wish you'd denied Ajax altogether.

“I’m glad you know that.” He says, condescendingly. “I’m going to show you what you deserve.”

With his gruff admission, the hand on your ass grips tighter and you gasp silently. When your eyes meet once more, he sends you a look that you know all too well: one you can't say no to, and one you’ve grown to not ever want to say no to.

Your toes are bent as you push yourself up to meet his face, arms naturally sliding up and around his broad shoulders.

Lips closer than they've been in weeks and eyes locked more seriously than this entire night, you two fall into a pit of risk, leaning closer and closer. You try to lean in and he only offers you a ghostly peck. Breaths fanning each other and lips gingerly caressing the other, Pierro utters out one last request: “Say you deserve it.”

He controls your body spiritually — a carnal desire is unleashed within you that makes you stupidly want him, pressing your lips against his softly, wantonly, “I deserve it.”

It’s obvious that you give into him. Stumbling into that bed of forbidden desire, tangling in the sheets of lust.

Pierro wastes no time in pulling you into your bedroom, covering your tracks with the hallway light flickered off and your door locked. He’s overzealous and nearly rips your clothes off of you, every touch housing a raging, impassioned fire.

You let it happen — letting him guide your way and taking control. Your mouths slot and move alongside one another disgustingly perfectly and if it didn't feel so fucking right, you’d grimace and scream your head off. Instead, you take him down with you, gripping the collar of his shirt and pulling him on top of you, needing him more than you should.

The world becomes a mere distant memory as he licks into your mouth, finding your tongue to dance with and suck on. Your legs stretched around his body allows him to bunch your skirt up, grinding his clothed hard-on against your bare cunt. Kisses are subsequently broken by squeaky moans and you, a puddle under his touch, can do nothing but that—leaning your head back when the friction overcomes you and kissing back is no longer a priority.

Sloppy, wet kisses trail from your mouth to your cheek, then to your ear, then down your neck, then to your collarbone. Your somewhat modest neckline is then pushed out of his way, allowing him to lay a barrage of kisses against your skin.

No words are exchanged verbally but in every action they’re screamed. Pierro wants to lay claim on you, to purify your body after being defiled by the redheaded miscreant you call a boyfriend. You went out of his sight and returned with a pest on your hip and nothing besides anger overcame him. In all its jagged forms: envy, bitterness, resentment, desire—Pierro had been waiting to take you down again, to remind you who you truly belong to.

He sucks and nips fervently at the skin until you whimper and wince and unknowingly confirm the existence of a mark there. An uneven, ugly blotch to claim you as his.

This is repeated across the expanse of your neck and chest, an uneven pattern drawn in his wake. When he pulls off of you, your face is knitted in shocked pleasure and your body chases him: hips bucking toward the air in desperate search. He hangs over you, using one hand to grab your cheeks and squish them up. You're so fucking cute, he could chew you up—among other things—but right now, he coos menacingly at you. “Cute.”

When he fully removes himself from you, sitting beside you, you know what awaits you. When the clattering of his belt hits your ears, you know what you need to do.

What you need to do is show your daddy his place in your world; so, begrudgingly, you sweep yourself up onto your knees.

His hand comes to the back of your head to softly cradle you and you lean into it, fluttering your lashes at him in hopes of receiving his leniency. He, however, is a punisher, and your knife in his back won’t be forgiven so easily.

“You’re so lucky I even touched you,” he grits. His thumb strokes your cheek and creates this sense of security. It’d be calming if you didn't know him. “Am I not enough for you anymore?”

“You are,” you pout. “It’s just—I like Ajax, too. I’m confused…”

He sits up slightly, capturing your glossy gaze in his. “Do you like Ajax or love me?”

His eyes flicker to your clutched thighs and you cower slightly, feeling the regret caving in your chest. The pout you sport curves wider and Pierro almost smiles at how easy it is to dig at you.

You open your mouth to answer but he shushes you, shaking his head no. The hand on your cheek runs to your backside and palms your ass, slapping the flesh with intensity. The sound rings off of the walls and the impact resounds in your body, rippling through with an itching sting left in its wake. You whimper and look up at him, watery eyes meeting a merciless crystal blue. Tenderly rubbing the spot, he continues, “Show me.”

You do what you're told and that's what Pierro cherishes about you. That's what makes him red in anger at the pure idea of you showing this to anyone else—being this for anyone else.

Ajax doesn't deserve a sweet girl like you. He can't take care of a sweet girl like you.

And you can't take care of a man the way you take care of Pierro. He won't allow it.

You manage to pull his cock from behind the waistband of his boxers. He’s pulsing furiously in your palm and the weight he carries makes how feverishly he’s been needing you painfully apparent. He leaks a creamy stream of pre and it awaits your attention. Just the light hold you keep on his shaft elicits a groan from the man and his hips involuntarily buck upward, wordlessly signaling his need for you.

The slightly salty bead swims onto your tongue as you kitten lick the tip, gingerly beginning to stroke half circles around his cock.

He clears his throat, slamming his palm against your cheek again, “Don’t tease, baby. Take it in.”

You oblige his request and slide him onto your tongue. You hollow your cheeks and grimace as you try to fit as much of him into your mouth. Slobber dribbles out of your mouth and cascades down his length, creating a moat above the hand you keep tight around his base.

The longer you keep him there, the harsher your gags get — you sputter around his girth before pulling up for air, gasping in a dramatic heap of air. He chuckles at you and uses his thumb to wipe away a string of spit on your cheek.

“You can do better than that,” he coos. “Go deeper.”

Again, you pull your lips as wide as they can stretch around him. You try to swing your tongue around his girth as skillfully as you can accomplish, swiping at the prominent vein that beats for you.

He groans out a curse, throwing his head back while simultaneously gripping the back of your head. “Deeper,” he growls.

You try to slink deeper, but he presses at your reflex, a messy series of gags slopping around his dick. Still, you persevere: unfolding your lips to wrap around his girth and suck harshly.

“Shit,” he drawls, pushing your head down further. “Just like that; you’re so fucking good for Daddy.”

Your hands move to his thighs and attempt to claw at them, but you're left gripping his slacks. Your mouth quickly becomes tired as you try, and the light bob you facilitate grows weak. Subsequently, Pierro takes control: placing both hands on your head and pushing you down.

You swallow around him but it doesn't subdue the echo of your gagging. He bottoms out in your mouth and you can do nothing but sputter and choke, letting a lake of slobber spill down his length.

It becomes messy extremely fast with Pierro on the reigns. He thrusts into your mouth in tandem with pulling your head down, creating a nasty rhythm that you can only be a variable to.

“That’s it, princess,” he praises breathily. The smile you try to make goes unnoticed, but the swarm in your stomach doesn't.

He’s relentless and desperate, only offering reprieve when your eyes grow foggy and your breathing shallow. His hips stutter and his balls throb—Pierro is on the brink of pleasure that no amount of imagination can give him. Your mouth is a warm piece of heaven that warms and leaks all over him, soiling his pants in a mixture of spit bubbles and precum. It’s nasty, but it’s your nasty: something only you can do for him. He has you in the palm of his hand, doing exactly what he wants, being exactly who he wants you to be, and he couldn't ask for you to be more perfect. His palm cracks down again on your ass, almost as a sign of commemoration.

Gray brows are furrowed and knitted and the struggle to keep his eyes trained on you is real. Every time the back of your throat squeezes around his cock head he chokes on a guttural moan, your praises gliding off his tongue like butter. The arrangement is near perfect and it’s doing its weight in placing pleasure upon the man. He’s at pleasure’s mercy and finds himself in the pits of thought, stumbling upon the feeling of love. Pierro has found true escape in you and everything you can do for him and that is why he can't let you go.

He can't let you go—not when you whine around his dick and send him the most perfect vibrations, pushing his orgasm over the edge.

“Oh, shit,” he hisses. He holds your head tightly in place, not allowing you a bit of space to move as he cums. “Take it all…yeah—”

A series of hushed, deep, groans escape from his mouth as thick splashes of cum spill into your mouth. The spurts pool on your tongue and the fullness of your mouth becomes too much to bear. Your warning slaps on his thighs let him know to let you come up, and with your cheeks bubbled to hold his release, you breathe your first breath of cool air.

He chuckles at your expression, holding out his hand for you to lean into once again. “Open up.”

You take a moment to swallow before brandishing your tongue to him. He grins proudly, glaring at you with a soft expression. You wrap your hands around his arm, kissing the heel of his palm before nuzzling your cheek against it again. Fluttery eyelashes are passed at him as you gingerly inquire, “Did I do good, Daddy?”

“Great, baby.” He confirms, sitting up. “I knew my girl could do it. You always can, always so good for me.”

The praises go straight to your core and reawaken the unfinished business he left you with. He knows what to say to make you melt and unfortunately, you do. Melting in his palm makes you susceptible to anything he says. It's only a given that when he asks you again, “You’re going to be my girl forever, right?” you answer immediately with a strong nod.

At that, his confident grin grows and he leans forward, pulling you into a kiss.

The taste of his cum is prominent on your tongue and he sucks the flavor off, gathering it in his mouth before distributing it back into yours. It's nasty and he repeats it until your head is hazy and you're chasing his lips. His hand around your neck is able to hold you up just centimeters away from his lips.

“Don’t forget who you belong to.”

━━━━━━

Yellow is your color.

Pierro thinks the color compliments you beautifully—like you were meant to bask under a golden kiss of sun. He likes the way it snugs in your curves, unable to hold back your supple skin with its thin tethers. It’s too much for the world to see — a sight supposedly for Pierro’s eyes only — but you trot around without a care in your bubbly head. That, in itself, does not bother him; Ajax on the other side of the door, does.

Ajax catching you in his arms bothers Pierro. The man can't help but stare from his viewpoint, following Ajax’s wandering hands from the small of your back to the curve of your ass. He unabashedly palms the skin and you only giggle, smothering his face in welcome kisses and strawberry lipgloss.

When your feet are back on the ground, you're nuzzling against him as if you’re scared of detaching from him, and he wears that same coy grin as always, wrapping an arm around your body as you begin to lead him toward the backyard. You speak indistinctly and Pierro’s envious glare seems to have no effect on you. Ajax senses it, however; and as though he is throwing it in Pierro’s face, he pulls you closer as his free arm raises to wave at your stepfather: “Hey, Mr. A!” Leaves his mouth cheerfully.

The grimace Pierro wears is only half-stifled and he doesn't care to fix his face. He nods at the young man, “Hello to you too, Ajax.”

You avoid his gaze skillfully but that look of guilt is not missed. That only irritates Pierro further: his thick eyebrows furrow and his lips waver downwards. If you know it's bad, why do you keep doing this?

It must be a beckoning of his attention—and if that’s the case, you have it wholly in the palms of your hands.

Again, you speak hushedly to your boy toy. Pierro’s eyes hone in on the movement of your lips: so soft, so tender, so kind as they murmur against Ajax’s ear. Whatever you say is undetermined by Pierro — but judging from the stiffly excited mannerisms Ajax thereafter enacts, he can only imagine.

“We were going to head out to the pool…” Finally, you address him.

Confidence is strongly prominent in your voice despite your trailing off. Compared to the soft, undefiant tone you usually direct toward your daddy, your strength is all-telling: Ajax has built up an over-confident backbone in you. Not so luckily for you, Pierro has no qualms about breaking it down.

So, instead of shooting his ire through glaring daggers, Pierro smirks. He smirks and shrugs with one shoulder, following the action by gulping down the final swig of his midday pick-me-up. “Alright then,”

“Have fun.” The words are supposed to be encouraging but, if anything, they're daunting.

The air gets tense, noticeably so. Ajax awkwardly clears his throat and the intense staring match you and Pierro hold is severed. Your eyes shift to the ginger and you force a convincing grin to pull at your lips. “Let's go.”

Ajax lets you lead the way, purposely avoiding looking at Pierro. In your thirty-second trek to the backyard door, his gaze only intensifies. Holes are burned into your back and you shoot straight up when his voice calls out to you again. You act as though you're in a horror movie: slowly turning your head over your shoulder for fear of what awaits your back end.

“The guests’ll be arriving soon,” he informs. “Your mother’s going to be back and finish setting up out there.”

His information seems to be his acknowledgment of your transgressions. You plan to defile his claim on you in the very home he takes you down in—he’ll be damned if you cross that line.

You’re playing a dangerous game with no incentive for you. As he departs, stalking away upstairs to get a clear view of your actions from his office, the thought that maybe, just maybe, his frustration is your incentive, brings a smile to his face.

That thought dawns the idea on him that he has created an insatiable, debauched monster, and it's in his hands to tame her.

To you, you don't know what you're doing.

You like Ajax. You like the way he treats you, the way he talks to you, the way he touches you, the way he kisses you—you’re chasing his lips desperately as he pins you against the wall of the pool, wanting to take him under the water and drown with him. Maybe then, that icky turmoil brewing in your stomach would subside.

You like Ajax; you want him. But you need Pierro. Even as your boyfriend kisses you feverishly, your eyes are wide and glued to the second-story window that you know Pierro is watching you out of.

He gives you something that you hate to require. Those big, buff arms wrap around you, and those chapped, experienced lips speak words of comfort to you that all your life, you've only ever wanted. Pierro promises to love you forever, be there for you forever, and protect you forever — he promises to be the sole male constant in your life: the only man you’ll ever need. You're inclined to believe him because he’s made everything you've ever wanted come true. But—Ajax; those things can come from him, too.

His kisses are softer than Pierro’s but just as impassioned—if not more. He’s receptive to your impatience, licking his way into your mouth and tangling his tongue with yours messily. Moaning into your mouth to let you know that the tugs on his hair feel good, gripping onto your waist to grind your clothed cunt against his knee, pulling apart and cracking a smile at the connected string of spit that hangs from your puffy lips, telling you in a hushed whisper “I missed you,” to butter you up and melt you in his palms. Ajax is nicer with how he treats you. He kisses down your neck to punctuate his sentence. His kisses halt their trail at the apex of your collarbone, leaving his eyes to peer up at you wantonly.

“I missed you too,” you breathe out. You did miss him and his delicacy. Your eyes flash up to the window and you feel relief at the unmoved curtains — returning your gaze to your boyfriend and smiling at him. Inviting Ajax to your parents’ pool party was your way of convincing yourself. What happened between you and Pierro can be replicated with someone who you can be with and someone who can be with you.

What you want is that trophy love: that pedestal in someone's heart for every envious eye to watch you atop of. You want to be loved loudly and proudly, and Ajax can do that and so much more, for you.

You tangle your fingers in his hair and he leans into your touch, craning leftward. He looks at you with wide, beating hearts in his eyes, and you bite your lip to hold back a smile. “I think we have a few minutes alone…”

Those hearts turn into a mischievous sparkle, “I can work with that.”

Quickly, he’s reconnecting your lips as his right hand wanders from your waist to beneath the fabric of your bikini bottoms. You gasp into your kiss as his middle finger surfs through your folds, immediately prodding at your entrance.

“Don’t tease,” you whisper, briefly looking over his shoulder. You catch a glimpse of movement behind the curtains and it halts your breath. “We don't have time,”

He laughs against your face, smooching from your lips to across your cheek and to your ear. He nips the lobe just as he pushes the tip of his finger in and you move your hold onto his shoulders, gripping tightly. His tongue flicks gently at your ear as his finger slowly inches in, and with its slender length, beats of quiet breathing and airflow pass before he’s knuckle deep. “You wouldn't mind getting caught,”

The digit is swiveled around before he presses the rough pad of his finger against your gummy sweet spot. You hold in a moan by biting your bottom lip but the sound leaks out in weakened whines. “You never have before.”

Anyone could see what you're doing and that thought births nothing but excitement coursing through your veins. Your pleasured scowl quickly stretches into a grin— and Ajax catches it, kissing your chin.

Soon, your hole is accommodating the entrance of his ring finger. The digits are thereafter scissored inside of your pussy and the water around the two of you ripples furiously. Your boyfriend has never been particular about being discreet and this occasion is no different—if anything, he’s showing off. At least, Pierro seems to think so.

Pleasure blinds your eyes so the man standing in the window is missed by you. Every bit of your awareness is being fingered out of you; Ajax’s agile fingers dancing around in your hole seemingly spooning out your senses. Nothing, save for the hot source of ecstasy pooling in your core, matters to you. You're grinding down on his fingers, whining out wantonly as low as you can but it's in vain—your sweet, pleasured hymns can be picked out by Pierro’s ears.

It irritates him but he does not stop watching. He can't—not when you're about to cum and you're gripping so tightly on Ajax. You're leaning over the edge of the pool and scratching your back against the rough gravel with desperate abandon. The movement of your lips is unidentifiable from his distance, but knowing you, you're probably pitifully begging for him to make you cum.

Ajax has the liberty of controlling your pleasure and he does so amateurly. When you plead once again, babbling out his name, Ajax obliges. He says to you, unheard by Pierro, “I’ve got you, baby. Cum on my fingers.”

His fingers curl and roll against your spot and your moans are ringing out unabashedly. If your mother or the guests were to arrive and stroll up your driveway, there’s no doubt they wouldn't be able to hear your laments over the bushes. Carelessly and blissfully, you sing your boyfriend’s praises as he presses you toward your climax, wriggling his fingers inside of your tightened hole through your orgasm.

Pierro watches you shake and jump under his touch and his eye twitches. Here you are, parading your freedom in front of him again. He’d turn you out and worse in that pool if it wasn't for your mother. She is his way to get to you and if she were to find out how he defiles her daughter in ways he doesn't dare do to her, he’d be deprived of his vice.

He doesn't notice the white knuckle grip he keeps on the window sill until his fingers begin to ache. Pierro is envious of a red-haired prick half his age and size and he couldn't be more embarrassed. It would be you—only you—to make these juvenile feelings rise so fervently within him.

The way Pierro feels for you is skewed and indecent and so, so raw. It’s unexplainable in simple words and he doesn't dare waste his breath on telling you sugary things to make you stay. He claims you, bares all of his imperfections to you as you do him, and anchors you to the bottom of his endless pit of debauchery alongside him. Yet, you can still swim out of his grasp and into the slimy hands of another like-minded, perverse predator and that won't do.

His body is moving before he can scramble up an excuse to intrude on the two of you. Unaware of his appearance, you're slipping your hand into Ajax’s swim trunks, passing your thumb over his slit featherlightly.

He sighs out shakily, grabbing your forearm. “We shouldn't start something we can't finish.”

You, full of confidence and arousal, flash your signature, convincing doe eyes up at him. “We should’ve thought about that earlier then.” You rebut, leaning in to kiss him just as you begin to pump his length.

Pool water is terrible lube but the softness of your hand makes up for it: Ajax is moaning into your kiss and lazily bucking into your hand. God, everything is so perfect right now. The warm sun, the cool water, the sweet breeze, the—

“You two already got in?!” Suddenly, the back door is sliding open and your mother steps out, hauling two large shopping bags in each hand. You and Ajax jump apart, trying your best to turn around and meet her inconspicuously.

She seems to not notice, but Pierro, who comes out after her, has that knowing look that when it greets you, all nervousness centers itself in your bones. Your mother had beaten him to the back door by a mere second. Had it gone his way, the two of you would be pissing yourselves shamefully.

Ajax picks up the slack of maintaining your cover: picking his feet up off the pool floor and kicking off the wall, swimming toward your mother. “Yeah, sorry, Mrs. A!” He apologizes, hoisting himself out of the pool to assist her. “We just wanted to test the water,”

He nods at you to come join and you quickly follow the notion, hopping out of the pool and walking around to where they stand. Your mother pulls floaties and noodles and boxes of miscellaneous decorations out of the bags, setting them down on the ground and table. With her gaze focused downward, you and Ajax are able to share looks over her back: his eyes sending you an assured glare and wink and yours sending back worried gleams.

“We’re good,” he mouths, and before you can give him a response, your mother stands up.

“How was it? It’s not too cold, is it?”

This time you answer her. “No; it was perfect.” You say, giving Ajax a look that tells him your words were meant for him.

Unbeknownst to your games, your mother cheers. “Great—I’m gonna freshen up and get changed. Can you…” she trails off and motions her hands around the abundance of new items. You catch her meaning and confirm her request with a nod.

As quickly as she appeared, she walked off and back into the house. Her missing frame gives Ajax the space to step closer to you, inching his hands around your waist as he rests his chin on your shoulder.

It's a gesture that, in all of its inherent sweetness, carries a suggestiveness that has you giggly and ticklish. You're unable to focus on the task in front of you and are instead fighting off the needy kisses from your boyfriend.

“Stop…” you laugh, your voice sounding wholly unconvincing.

He ignores your request, instead nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck and kissing the skin tenderly. “I can’t stop,” he says, muffled. “You got me started—”

He squeezes you tighter and deepens the kiss on your neck. His tongue flicks and flattens against the skin and your smile flattens as you sigh out, instantly melting into him. Ajax knows just how to weaken you, a power he shares with Pierro, and you are too weak to fight it. Those kisses are targeted at the perfect spot that fogs your brain and withers your standing. Your mouth wavers as he marks a hickey on your skin, and the smallest, weakest moans tumble out of your mouth.

“Ajax…” you whisper warningly, “We can't.”

“We can.” He argues, moving from your neck to behind your ear. He knows just how to tempt you and just as susceptible as you are, you fall for it. “Where’s your room?”

You go to answer—but the sight of him in your peripheral has your mouth drying up.

Pierro finally takes his first step outside and the sight he beholds is sickening. His left cheek is balled around his tongue and his eyes are as critical as ever. You have to pat Ajax’s thigh to alert him and he’s pulling off of you, his pale complexion flushing a blazing red. “M-Mr. A! Uh—”

Uninterested in his haphazard excuse, Pierro cuts him off. “Your mother is asking for you.” Eyes boring into you elicit every bit of shame to course through you in hot embarrassment.

Without another word shared, you scurry off into the house, passing Pierro with only a brief brush of your skin. You can feel the irritation radiating off of him and you shudder under that realization.

You've made a mistake. A very, very big mistake.

━━━━━━

All you want is to be with Ajax. Wrapped in his muscular arms, under the crisp sun and the chill breeze—sipping on homemade lemonade and biting into flaky club sandwiches—it is all so perfect, so right, for you. With him, nothing goes wrong—and yet, nothing ever goes right.

Pierro never seems to lag too far behind the two of you. After assisting your mother in picking which sundress to slip into, returning to blissful, summer day peace with your boyfriend proved difficult.

You find him beside the grill with Pierro, awkwardly chatting it up with his hard-on painfully raging against the inside of his blue swim trunks. And just as you appear to pull him away, Pierro magically fishes up a task for him to do.

“You can't go with him,” he says. “The kids are getting antsy. Why don't you bring out some popsicles?”

And so you do. Returning with a bag of popsicles and handing them out to the numerous children running around your backyard. And when you finish, Ajax returns, huffing out deep breaths and dripping sweat. Luckily enough, one cherry popsicle was left over.

You’d finally managed to get Pierro off your back—your mother and her girlfriends required his immediate attention in the kitchen and drew him away from the backyard. So you and your lover are offered a moment of reprieve.

You straddle his lap, peeling the plastic off of the popsicle and tapping the treat against his lips. He’s receptive and takes the popsicle in, collecting the flavor on his tongue. You watch him intently, locking eyes with him and keeping that contact as you pull it away, leaning in to catch the taste of his mouth.

The cherry flavor is abundant and even sweeter on his tongue. Keeping it PG is out of the question when you're sucking on his tongue so feverishly—no longer chasing that cherry taste but instead him. You need him bad and judging from the twitching in his cock, he needs you just as bad.

“Baby,” he grunts, using one hand to cup the small of your back and the other to bring the popsicle back to his mouth. He tries to halt the subtle gyrating of your hips but you are determined to slot his shaft between your folds through your layers of swimwear. “It's too risky out here. Let’s go to your room.”

You laugh, beating him to it and briefly wrapping your lips around the top. “I never thought I’d hear you say it's too risky,”

“But, okay,” you sigh out, pausing your ministrations and sitting flat on his lap. “Let's go, then.”

Eager as could be, the two of you gather your things off the lounge chair and race to the inside of the house.

Successfully, Pierro’s attention is missed, and you make it up to your bedroom. Once the door is closed, you're jumping onto the bed with abandon and begin making out feverishly. Hours of built-up tension come crashing down upon you as he pins you down, wedging between your legs and rutting desperately against your pussy.

“Ah,” you moan out, arching up into him. His head is buried in the cavern of your chest, suckling and smooching along the valley. Your skin is supple and easy to latch onto—he’s losing himself in your scent and softness and taste. You pull at his hair, jerking your hips upward for more. “Please, ‘Jax; give it to me—”

Unbeknownst to you, Pierro is on the prowl. Hours have passed like minutes and soon the sky has melted into a rosy yellow and the guests have slowly begun to peel out.

His eyes search for the pair of you and upon coming up empty, his attitude is tweaked.

“Honey?” He calls out to his wife. As he returns to the inside of the house—sparing brief dismissals to the parting guests—he feigns sweetness toward her.

She, still occupied in the citywide gossip among her girlfriends, only lazily pays mind to the inquiry of her husband. “Um, hold on, dear—Tiff did what?!”

The group of women laugh and continue explaining the messy affair of some woman named Tiffany and Pierro could not care less. He doesn't care about Tiffany’s affairs; it’s yours that calls monopoly over his mind.

You must have been able to sneak off with your boy toy. Curse your attention-hogging mother. Had it not been for her, you wouldn't have been stripped from beneath his palm so stealthily.

Once he gets his hands on that ginger brat—

“I think I saw them go upstairs earlier.” She says it so passively, so dismissively, Pierro almost digests the information normally. Almost.

He doesn't even know which question to pose to get the answer he wants. So, he doesn't. He lets an irritated grumble fall from his mouth as he turns on his heels. Useless. She is ultimately useless and it’s times like this where Pierro wishes he’d met you first.

His footsteps echo up the stairs but to your jaded ears, they're nonexistent.

You sit atop Ajax now, rocking feverishly back and forth along his cock. Your hands are planted on his chest and his hands are on your waist, aiding you in your grinding. This is more passionate and needy than any other experience you've had with Ajax thus far, and the weak babbles of his name tumbling out of your mouth prove that.

Friction builds furiously in your heat and sends electric waves splashing through your veins. It’s what you've been looking for all day: a climactic, ardent affair to invoke the most needed orgasm of your life.

Maybe with this one, how you feel will be solidified.

You're rocking hard, knocking your headboard against the wall. Pierro can hear it as he approaches the top of the stairs and he wonders how much audacity you have.

The next few seconds are a blur: his footsteps approach, and so does your orgasm. You cry out your boyfriend’s name as he encourages your climax, and Pierro wraps his hand around the doorknob. You throw your head back as your orgasm seeps through the floodgates and the door swings open.

So far gone, so unaware in your blissful paradise that Pierro’s looming figure behind you doesn't matter to you. His presence is intense and suffocating and over your shoulder, Ajax catches the sight of him and stiffens up. Their eyes lock and every daring bone in his body is snapped to hustle you off of him. “Babe—”

“What?” You huff out, breathlessly. “I-I’m so close, ‘Jax—please…”

You peel your eyes open against their heavy will, looking down at your boyfriend. That shadow cast on the wall ahead of you catches your attention first. You recognize the silhouette but it isn't until you peer over your shoulder and catch that icy glare that you're all too fearful of—now, anyway.

In your shocked jumping off of Ajax, you manage to roll off the side of the bed and collapse to the floor with a screechy yelp. Ajax struggles to get himself together: fumbling around with his clothing and jaggedly standing up. “M-Mr. A—! I—”

The look Pierro sends has him clamming up and nervously laughing. There's no need for excuses or coy innuendos—you’ve been caught. Now, you need to be punished.

Without a second glance back, your boyfriend scrambles up his things and takes his leave. You want to call him back in, but all courageous function ceases to work before him. With Ajax gone, it's just you and Pierro, and never has that thought scared you before as it is now.

He closes the door and takes short, heavy steps toward you. You stay on the floor, folding your legs behind you and using your planted hands for stability. At this, the difference between the two of you is exaggerated: he stands tall and big over you, the curled bambi caught between a rock and a hard place.

Dense silence hangs in the air. Your lips quiver and shift, as though a jumble of words wish to spill but you don't allow it. You don't allow those tears that mist your eyes to fall out either, rapidly blinking back the flow of guilt. Just the unsure air he imposes makes you want to burst into tears and plead your case.

He continues to say not a word; taking a seat on your bed and only using his hand to direct you onto his lap. The motion is so small and insignificant but it terrifies you no less. Pierro is a jest: a jack of unforeseen trades and when he is ticked off, every nasty card up his sleeve comes out to play. You find yourself obliging with your head hanging low, saving yourself the intensity in his eyes.

When you sit, his arms embrace you. They slink around your waist and hug you into place but they are anything but comforting. It’s suffocating, it’s tense.

A moment is taken to breathe you in. Burrowing his nose against your neck and scrunching the feature distastefully at the overwhelming spicy scent atop your soft skin. Ajax— you smell like Ajax.

“I thought I made myself clear the last time.” The deep timbre of his whisper rumbles in your spine. It startles you straight and the confrontational air pulls out your weakness. You hate trouble, you hate being bad, you hate how he does this to you.

His breathing is soft on your neck. It tickles but it doesn't make you want to laugh. You want to cry and beg for his forgiveness. I’m sorry, Daddy, I really am! You think to cry. I’m yours, your good girl, Daddy!

Nothing comes out of you, so he continues. “I give myself to you because I care about you. Everything you could ever need is right here with me, so answer me: why?”

Your expression is pained and guilty. He knows you better than you do and he knows how to sucker punch your heart. You thought your day with Ajax would clarify the conflicting feelings in your heart, but your time with Pierro unwinds all assurity.

Tears roll down your cheeks and you struggle to put together a sentence. “Daddy…I—” you hic, a sob tumbling over your words. You turn into him and string your arms around him, weeping onto his shoulder and soiling his shirt. “I-I'm so confused…”

“What are you confused about?” His question holds not an ounce of sympathy. Still, he soothes your back with his palm, ushering out every guilty tear you weep. “I do everything for you, with you, to you—what could he be that I couldn't?”

Kind, gentle, tender, freeing. Ajax is the silk breather in your synthetic cage. He gives you a bright, lightening feeling that, against Pierro’s uncharted depths, saves you. You can't tell him that you’re finding love in Ajax. He’ll raise every dead flaw right out of you.

“Tell me what to do to make it better.”

You don't even notice his hands slipping under the cups of your bikini top. Your nipples are caught between his fingers, softly being tweaked and pinched until the tight pebbles stiffen the bud. Your cries gradually subside until you're sniffling and hiccupping, noticing his absent-minded ministrations and pulsing cock under your ass.

The worst part about realizing your position is that you don't want to escape. Maybe letting him have his way with you again will lessen the load on your shoulders. Anything to blur the confusing lines.

“Has he ever seen you cry like this?” He asks. You shake your head no. “He wouldn't even know what to do to make it all go away, would he?” No—you shake your head no. “What would you do without me? Huh?”

“I don't know.” You’d be normal, maybe. You wouldn't depend on him to fix what's always breaking inside you. You'd love and date and experience life without the debilitating crutch of your daddy there to hold you back.

With Ajax, nothing goes wrong but nothing goes right. With Pierro, everything goes wrong but everything feels so right.

So skewed, so lost, so unfounded, your relationship is the pinnacle of gnarled. He is the leader of your abyssal path and yet, also your savior from it. A world without him in it is hard to imagine — and when you're on his lap, in his arms like this, it’s hard to want to imagine it.

“You don't ever want to know, do you?” Again, no—you’re shaking your head no as though it’s the only motion you know how to do. “Then stop driving me away. Let me love you.”

He’s kissing over your skin, palming your boobs softly. It’s familiar and safe and you know that in the end, he’ll still be there. Etched in your skin and mind, reminding you that there's someone to fall into when life becomes too much. You can lean into Pierro with security—and just like that, all of your valiant agency is melted away.

“Okay,” is the only word you say, and it's the only word he needs.

━━━━━━

Nine days. Pierro has called you twelve times, texted you thirty-seven times, and has lost his mind three times in the nine days that you've been gone.

You're mad at him, he understands that now. He pushed you and drove you away, he understands that now, so why can't you answer his calls and talk to him?

“She needs space,” your mother says. She wraps her arms around him from the back and smoothes the wrinkles in his shirt. “She’s grown and in love and needs her space to flourish, Pi. Don't suffocate her.”

Okay. He would have left it alone at that. When you need him, you’ll come back; you always do.

But your mother could not let well enough be. “Besides, she’s with Ajax. They’ll be keeping each other company while we…”

The rest of that was lost in his head. Evidently, Pierro is not getting across to you. When he spoke to you that evening of the pool party, that was to be the last time that redhead’s name was thought of, and, yet, here you are, running into his arms.

It wouldn't drive him crazy if he didn't have you first. If everything you've ever known and done wasn't by his hand. You are his little girl, his prize at the end of a tiring marriage, his happy ending after a long day, his.

His instant joy— Ding!

Pierro’s phone is in his hand in seconds. The deep snores of his wife let him know that tiptoeing away won't be necessary. Your name, decorated in a sole red heart, pops up two more times, and before he unveils the messages, his mind swirls with the string of excuses you're probably typing out.

The texts are short and insignificant when he lays eyes on the attachment. A three-minute and forty-eight-second video with your glossy, smiley face in the thumbnail. He swings the door of his office shut and sits down, immediately pressing play.

You're giggling in the immediate beginning before your laughs are morphed into a string of moans. The angle fixates on your face, downturned and droopy in pleasure—a face Pierro is all too familiar with. Catching sight of it on the other side of a phone is angering, to say the least.

Wet slopping is heard in the foreground, competing with your moans for volume. It’s slow and romantic—in and out, in and out, in and out—each thrust eliciting a shallow hiss from behind the camera and a pleading whine from in front of it. The angle shifts just as he breathes out, his pale hand drifting from the side of your waist to massage your clit. “Like that, baby? That good for you?”

You hum in confirmation, bucking up into his hand. “S-so good—mmfh, ‘J-Jax—!”

He laughs behind the camera, zooming into your sloppy cunt. You're dripping: thick, glossy beads of slick pooling in your slit and spilling around his dick. It shines a gleaming reflection under the light of the flash and Ajax is quick to rapidly rub through and splash your arousal around. The clicking sound that elicits is viscid and resounding but the pleasured sobs you choke out are louder. He moves the camera up to your face, streaks of tears splashing down your hot cheeks.

His fingers intrude between your parted lips and you immediately slurp your arousal off his fingers. “So nasty…what if daddy saw you like this?”

The tone in his voice is teasing- patronizing, as though the total wreck you are before him is a joke. You open teary eyes to stare into the camera, a wide grin pulling at your lips around his fingers. Your pupils are wide and blown: an endless, dark pit of lust that when appearing on the phone seems as though it’s entrancing Pierro.

Your hands wrap around Ajax’s forearm—and you moan one last time around his fingers, swiveling your tongue around the digits before pulling them out. You bring his hand to wrap around your throat, grinning wide. Those lustful eyes leave the camera and presumably to Ajax behind the camera and your lips part slowly. “You are my daddy.”

“Oh, fuck,” Ajax mutters behind the camera, and the stability of the angle wavers. The pair of you share breathless laughs.

That motherfucker, Pierro thinks, gripping the phone tighter. In the final twenty seconds, Ajax curses under his breath, putting your pussy in view. His pace is a lot sloppier and desperate now and his voice cracks as he moans your name. “‘M gonna cum—”

You draw out a sharp whine, using your fingers to pinch and feverishly flick your clit. “Please..” you breathe out. “Cum in me, Daddy.”

The video ends. Pierro cannot believe his eyes nor his ears—you—he can't believe this.

He doesn't bother reading the next incoming messages. He’s already racing downstairs and yanking his keys off of the hook.

Pierro’s a jest and the joke is about to be on you.