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Sweet Little Lamb - Easterman x Reader

haiii!! another fanfic :p this one is not as good, i kinda struggle writing easterman hehe sorry… ummm but basically easterman eats you out and makes u suck on his thumb !!

i would still really appreciate any requests or feedback also!!!

nsfw under the cut!!

This was not the Suburbs.

You found yourself, awake but certainly groggy, and, worst of all, alone, inside the trial shuttle. You were sure, before they pumped you with the standard hallucinogens, that there had been others with you. In all of your experienced, you had never dared face Franco alone. Not out of difficulty, but towards pure repulsion to the manchild. Had the trial been for Gooseberry, or Coyle, or even those perverted incestuous monsters, you wouldn't have cared to brave it solo. But Franco was something else entirely.

"Excuse me?" you called out, your worry growing as the lights in the shuttle refused to turn on. "Hello? Um, guys?"

It was pitch black, the air stale and silent. You waited for a reply, some reassurance, but nothing came. Fuck. You were well and truly on your own.

You started to stir in your seat, increasingly anxious, the restrains around your wrists refusing to unbuckle themselves. You were unsure of what was worse - facing Franco alone, or being left in the darkness, pinned down to your chair, with nobody around you for company, let alone aid.

"Fuck, this isn't funny. Please. Please get me out of this chair."

"Don't panic," came a voice from the darkness. "I'm here with you, darling."

Immediately, you began to relax; you'd recognise that soft coaxing anywhere. It was Easterman. Fuck, it was Easterman. What the hell was he doing here, in the shuttle?

"Easterman? Is... is something wrong?"

"No, my angel. I'm here. I've got you. Everything's perfect." His voice was soft and reassuring, somehow both paternal and sexy. Perhaps it was the conditioning, the therapy starting to kick in, but just the sound of his gentle tone alone was enough to put you at complete ease.

"Where are my friends?"

You heard the echo of his tongue clicking in the darkness.

"Oh, they're in good hands, sweetheart. Don't worry about them, now. This is our time."

"But... um, sir, I have a trial, and-"

You could hear him stirring in the darkness, sure that he was making his way closer towards you.

"Oh, you don't need to worry about that today, princess," he promised you. "You've been working yourself so, so hard. You deserve a break."

You weren't sure how to feel. Sure, you wouldn't complain about time away from the trials - they weren't particularly the nicest environment to spend your time in - but they gave you purpose. They helped you, and cleansed you. You were so close to being reborn, and you couldn't throw that away.

But then again, this was Easterman - and he knew best.

"Stay with me," he said, his tone verging on pleading. "Please. It's so rare that I get one-on-one time with my pupils, and I'm sure you all want me to be more... hands on, per se, though I feel it's best to keep my distance. Hence the dimming of the lights. I'm sure you understand, right, princess?"

You nod, then, upon realising that he can't see you, tell him, "Of course. I understand. You know best."

You heard his mouth click, surely into a smile, and felt a cold palm brush against your thigh.

"That's my girl," he purred, tracing his hand slowly up and down your upper thigh. Nothing untoward; a mere sign of comfort. You were safe here. Easterman would protect you, always. He ran his hand along your thigh, slipping it under your fraying skirt. His touch was warm and comforting, a sensation so strange and unfamiliar in a place like this. "You know how much I love you, don't you?”

"Of course."

His grip on your thigh tightened, and his tone started to slicken. "That's my girl. Why don't you let me show you?"

Just for a moment, you were unsure. Easterman was, in a sense, your boss. The idea of him being with you in... in that sort of way... surely, it was inappropriate.

He sensed your hesitation, and reassured you, "Think of it as part of the therapy. You don't think I know what's best for you?"

Therapy. Yes, of course. You had gone in to the shuttle with the intention of receiving therapy - of liquidating the union, to be exact, and you didn't quite mind sitting that one out in favour of Easterman's company.

You shifted back in your seat, allowing yourself to relax, and slowly parted your legs for the shadowed figure you knew loomed in front of you.

"Now, there's a good little lamb," he said, taking his hand away from your thigh and tracing his fingertip lightly across the fabric of your panties.

His touch was soft and intentional, and, from the moment his finger connected with your body, you knew where this was going.

"I'm going to pull these down for you now, okay?" he cooed, hooking his digits on the inside of your panties as he tugged them down to your ankles. "Now, open up for me. Don't be shy."

You weren't shy. It was dark, and private, and you loved Easterman like he was the other half of you. You knew that, in his embrace, nothing bad could happen to you. You were safe here, and, for the first time in your miserable life, you were loved.

He used his palms to spread your legs wide open, and leaned into your cunt, his breath warm against your waiting skin.

"God. It's even more beautiful than I imagined." He took a tentative finger and traced it gently along your puffed-up cunt, slipping it inside your folds and parting them slowly. "Jesus H. Christ. You're soaked for me already."

"I'm... uh, it's been a while," you told him, embarrassed.

"It's nothing shameful. I like it. You're desperate, and I'm selfless. Let me take care of you." His voice relaxed you a little as he took his lips, soft and comforting, and placed them gently on your clit.

His touch was like a shock racing through your body - not even lustful, but loving, and homely. It just felt right. Letting Easterman take care of you, to admire his star pupil... it was perfect. His tongue, and hot breath, and slow-paced kissed up and down your skin... it was all perfect.

"Do you remember," he asked between kisses, "when you first came to me. A poor, broken little thing, so desperately in need of help?"

"Mmmf, yes," you said, stifling your moans to appear composed. You didn't want to seem a slippery whore in front of Easterman. "I remember."

"You were such a pitiful stray. Beautiful, of course, but... a failure. I knew I had my work cut out for me." His tongue flicked across your clit, slick and gentle as it teased you. "I remember your first few trials... watching you fumble over locks and glass and door traps... Oh, I was ashamed of you. Those Cs and Ds, constant failure and disappointment... You were such a bad girl, weren't you?”

You moaned in agreement, bucking your hips to try and thrust your slit closer to his lips. He chuckled, and, as he spoke, you could feel the hot air of his breath against your cunt. Easterman placed a quick kiss on your clit, and said, "Slow down, little lamb. We have all the time in the world. Let me lead."

"Please," you moaned, wanting nothing more than to reach your hands out into the darkness and pull his head further into your thighs. "I need it."

"Sssh, now. I know what you need," Easterman said, taking his thumb and brushing it over your clit, ever so gently, his touch like a feather atop your desperate sex. "Look at you. Such a good, obedient little girl. Every trial, I watch you, and I'm so proud. I don't think I remember the last time you got anything less than an A+, huh?"

In truth, you weren't sure, either. The trails, the therapy - it had all become second nature to you. You knew the maps like the back of your hand - if not, better. And that was no exception; you would frequently wake up to random scabs and scars and bruises, the originals of which were completely alien to you. But that didn't matter - Hell, nothing mattered - so long as Easterman was proud of you.

And, fuck, was he proud of you. And he was so, so desperate to show it.

Your cunt warmed again as Easterman leaned closer into you, his breath like a gentle flame against your skin. He took his hand and spread your thighs further apart, before placing his lips softly against the outside of your slit.

"I know it's dark," he breathed into your skin, "but God, you have such a perfect little cunt."

He kissed once, then twice, and a third time, dragging them closer to your clit with each movement, teasing you further.

"You don't know how bad I've wanted this, angel," he groaned, taking his thumb and slipping the tip inside you as he continued to kiss his way over to your clit. "All those nights you're been asleep, and I've watched you... My beautiful little girl, so soft and gentle. You don't know the things you to do me. How much I love you."

His thumb was thick and wet inside of you, curling and pushing against your walls, which pulsed with each movement.

"You're a fucking work of art, baby."

And with that, he went quiet, setting his lips firmly on your clit at last, and sucking softly on your raised flesh. It felt like nothing you'd ever experienced before; this wasn't the empty, casual sex that you were used to. You could feel Easterman's love and pride for you radiating with each movement, in the bucking of his thumb and lapping of his tongue against your slit, sliding against your folds as he moaned desperately into your cunt. You weren't sure who was enjoying it more - yourself, or Easterman, who let out a sharp exhale as he slipped his thumb out of you.

"Open for me," he whispered, his voice quiet but commanding, taking his mouth off of your sex altogether.

You did as he said, obedient as ever, and he raised himself up to guide his slickened thumb into your waiting mouth.

"Good girl," he said. "Now suck on it. Feel how wet I make you. Taste your cunt and my spit together."

In a move of alien desperation, you gulped at his thumb, wrapping your tongue around the girth of it, the salty mix of the two of you stirring itself together in your mouth. It was primal, his warm flesh and the soaking lust that he managed to exude out from you like no other man ever could.

"It feels... you taste... amazing, Easterman, sir," you exhaled, sucking and lapping at his digit like a thirsty dog.

You felt his body seize and shift back, sighing with pleasure as you sucked on his thumb like a fucking baby. God, it was pathetic, but you could feel yourself and your desperate cunt soaking itself more and more with each drawn out suck and lick and kiss.

Locked in place with the restraints still wrapped around your wrists, you wanted nothing more than to break free and rub yourself as you sucked at him, your cunt wet and whining for attention. In your desperation, you started to buck your hips, grinding your bare pussy against the leather of the chair. It was rough and dry against your skin, but the wetness dripping from you quickly solved that problem, and you began to rub your clit slowly as you gulped at Easterman's wrinkling thumb.

"I love you," you breathed out, still humping your chair with an almost humiliating neediness. "Easterman. I love you. Please."

He chuckled, placed a soft hand under your chin, and took his thumb out of your mouth. Immediately, you felt empty, longing for the warmth and taste of his flesh to be inside of you again.

"You know I love you, darling. I will always love you. You're the best thing that's come out of this project, and..." He trailed off, stooping back down to his knees as he reacquainted himself with your spread legs and pleading cunt. "Fuck, you get so wet for me. It's incredible. You're incredible."

He placed a soft kiss on your clit, before starting to lap hungrily up and down your slit, his tongue tangling itself with your folds as he licked the sin and shame away from your body.

"Do you," he panted between strokes, "do you think about me? At night, on your own, in the dark, where nobody else can see you."

You moaned, and shuddered as he worked his tongue over and inside and across your core.

"You don't have to feel ashamed," he purred. "I watch you. I love to watch you sleep. You truly are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, and you..." He groaned, and you were sure that the hand that wasn't placed on your thigh was somewhere out of reach, slipped down his pants and playing gently with his own cock. The thought of him touching himself - hell, the thrill of not knowing - just added to your lust. "God. You're something else."

"Easterman, please," you breathed, thrusting your cunt further into his face, letting him plunge the hot flesh of his tongue deeper into your core. "Please. I love you. I want you so bad."

"Tell me how good my tongue feels," he whined, his moans pleading into you. "Please. I want to hear you say how much you love feeling my tongue inside you."

"I love it. Fuck. I love you, Easterman. I love your tongue in my cunt and your fingers and-" Your words began to break up as you took sharp, ragged breaths. His constant lapping, alternating drawn out licks with soppy, wet kisses - it was sending you into a frenzy. The smell of his musk, and his cologne, and the taste of his finger still lingering in your gums... Fuck. You were going to cum.

He could sense it, too - of course he could. He loved you, and knew you better than anyone else, and he recognised the quickening bucking of your hips and the pace of your breaths as you tried to stabilise yourself and ride out the impending orgasm.

"You take it so well," he groaned, swirling his tongue faster around your clit as he spoke into it. "Fuck. You taste amazing. I love it. I love you."

With one last, sharp breath into your cunt, he took his mouth away, leaving you empty again.

"Easterman, please," you begged, desperate, the wave of pleasure starting to ebb away already, leaving you desperate and denied. "Please, put it in me. I need to cum. Let me cum for you, please."

He laughed - a gentle laugh, by no means condescending - and you smelt his aftershave fade away as he took himself away from your legs, which you drew to a close in shame.

"Stop grinding. Let it be, little lamb. We've still a long way to go until your ready for that, don't you think?"

You couldn't doubt him. In spite of your desperation, you allowed him to be right. Hell, you hadn't even relapsed yet, and here you were expecting an orgasm? Selfish whore. You were blessed enough just to have him touch you, and you were taking that for granted.

"I'm sorry. I don't ever mean-"

"Ssssh, child." He stepped back to you, and ran a tentative hand through your matting hair. "It's okay. I understand. You're still a project, hm? Our project. We'll get there. I promise. As long as you love me, and I love you, and, fuck, do I love you. You're my little How High, remember?"

You smiled and leaned back as he caressed your hair further, and a thick smoke started to to fill the shuttle, the smell sharp and astringent in your nostrils.

"Just sit back, angel. Let me take care of you. Your friends will be back soon."

His voice was so soft, so comforting and familiar, and you let it soothe you as the gas filled your lungs, and the already black shuttle started to fade to nothingness, the throbbing in your cunt starting to retreat, as you slowly slipped out of consciousness and into sweet, blissful sleep.

You were such a good little lamb for him. Easterman loved you. He loves you. So, let yourself go.

[pimppuppy]

Coyle redesigned for fun. I love drawing exposed teeth