#⚔️.pain play/sadomasochism

[hardkuna]

Completionist

› 𝙺𝚎𝚗𝚖𝚊 𝙺𝚘𝚣𝚞𝚖𝚎 𝚡 𝙵𝚎𝚖!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 

› 𝚗𝚜𝚏𝚠, 𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚕, 𝚠𝚊𝚡 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢, 𝚜𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚜𝚞𝚋/𝚍𝚘𝚖?, 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚍 𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚊𝚜𝚖.  𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛 𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚛𝚜. 𝙰𝚐𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚙.

› 𝟷,𝟿𝟽𝟾 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜

𝙺𝚎𝚗𝚖𝚊 𝙺𝚘𝚣𝚞𝚖𝚎 was a completionist. Every game, whether it be on a console, computer, or court, he would complete with precision. He was known to spend hours upon hours grinding for a single reward, opening every rooftop chest just for a single achievement. It was that same keen attention that let him play games for four to five hours at a time. A fixation to do every minor thing in order to reach a final prize. To get every single checkpoint along the way. Grueling work as it may be, relaxation dug its nails into the process with satisfaction following soon after. It applied to every portion of his life, a sweet hum of “we aren’t done until I reached my checkpoint.”

 That’s how he found himself above you, holding a lighter to a paraffin candle. The room was filled with the sound of the burning wick and your small pants. Kenma knew you were waiting for something to start, your mind running through all of the different routes. You liked the games just as much as he did. There was comfort in the concentrated blare of the wick alone.

  He never spoke much unless you acted out. He didn’t like when things seemed to glitch on him. That gentle complaintive whirr of wanting to be played until the end. Whenever it happened, Kenma would always want to restart until it worked again, properly. Lucky for him, tonight didn’t seem like one of those nights. At least not yet.

  He thought you looked cute with one of his hairbands tied over your eyes. Not that it was necessary considering your fists remained balled over them. Teeth rolled the plump flesh of your lip between them. You were waiting for him to start, but his game was just loading. Anticipation for a new level curled around your insides.

  The candle was raised slowly. The shift of his weight being the only warning as pretty white seeped from the side of the container. It started with a few drips, beads of wax splattering along your upper abdomen, just slightly between the valley of your bare breasts. The way your muscles reflexively recoiled at the sting causing the setter’s mouth to draw open in a delicate ‘oh’. So that’s the reaction he’d get from this one. It was a minor achievement, spurring a desire to see more of it.

  A small bitten back sound whined from the crevasse your throat as your arched your back upwards. The lines left a vibrant sting before dying into a comfortable warmth. The trickle of each deviating lane danced its warmth down your sides.

  Amber hues locked onto the steady stream pouring, creating drizzled lines that rolled this way and that to the curvature of your body. Like a level being conquered, he was glued to the screen that was your form in front of him. The way the hairband twitched, following the movement of the brows below it. The hitching of breath shown in your shuddering chest. Pretty. A small smile crafted onto his lips in admiration.

  If you were a game, you’d be story based. Rich in lore, background, and texture. Rich in your soundtrack, which was thickened honey to his ears. Rich in visuals, leading his eyes to wander along the artistic crafting of your skin.

  His hand reached out, the pads of his fingers a cool contrast to the warmth underneath them. The wax was soft still, but crackling with each upheaval of your chest. Gooseflesh threatened to pucker along your surface. His small smile flickered to daintily delighted. Everything for him was a game. An achievement. A reward for the time devoted for it. You were different. You reacted to him faster than any game. The way your thighs squeezed together at the slightest of touches a testament of the fact. You gave him things games could never. A sense of home and warmth and love and unwavering devotion. For each level of the relationship, he needed that second player to unlock it. You never let him down, you never disappointed. You silently challenged him in ways he never dreamt of before.

  And now, as the tips of his fingers trailed across you, a new challenge was set in the soft mewl of his name. Carefully, he picked the hardened pieces off, lips tracing each reddened route upwards. The tickle of his breath along you triggered a roll of your hips along the thigh between your legs. Friction. You’ve been deprived of it for all too long. The first grind began the swirl in the back of your mind and the pit of your stomach. The fluttering of his lips, the caress of his hands over the warm sting beneath them, each slow and soft movement was calculated.

  The tips of his fingers reached the underneath of your breast, sliding up onto them, allowing the buds to slip between with index and middle digit. Maintaining the steady-slow pace, the fingers came together, pinching the bud right where they joined. He reveled in softness of them. The bit of nerve that peeked between, his tongue met with a long and lavished lick. It didn’t matter if he tasted the salt of his own hand. The gasp, the buck of your hips at the muscle of his thigh, followed by the annoyed jerk of your chin made up for it.

  You weren’t glitching out just yet, so he could keep his game going.

  Kenma found his hands slipped down your body, down the valleys he’d found to trigger quick times if he pressed into you with just the right amount of pressure. Along the softened skin just at the outer edges of your stomach. Pressing slightly at the valley of your pelvis. The touch began to ghost before lifting. You whined again, lips curling into a pout while his pulled into an anticipatory line. He truly was a cat, ready to pounce at the movement of a mouse just before him.

  His next checkpoint was his favorite one. One he savored whenever it was his turn to create the scene. The checkpoint where you beg for his tongue on you. You two were competitive to a degree and this checkpoint was the most difficult to get to. It involved beating a harder boss – your ego.

  So, he leaned forward, pressing his thigh onto your pulsing cunt, letting you determine your own friction and pace. His lips met yours in a light kiss, cock twitching as you bit his lower lip hungrily. Your hands wound into his hair, pulling him closer in a desperate attempt to increase the friction of your swaying thighs. The slight friction caught on his length as well, the teasing of pleasure lapping at the underside of his belly. He let out a husked hum in response, slinking his hand to hold your chin between his thumb and forefinger. The other tugged the headband from over your hazy hues.

  Heady and heavy lidded, Kenma toyed, “Do I need to restart the game or will you let me play?” Eyes searched each other in challenge before you conceded to him, slowly rolling so that you lower back rested on the bed once again. It was a painfully restrained motion and you knew he bubbled with glee at the quiver of your lip. The player in question inwardly breathed a sigh of relief as you gave him a moment of reprieve. The heart-beat strum between your legs fueled a summer fire in your gut, drying your throat to his next question, “Hm?” His head tilted, a playful glint in his eye as he watched you unwind.

  “Please jus’ fuck me already.” The words came out in a strangled whisper. The gentle sting of the wax remained in the form of his torso pressing on yours, reinviting the claws of heat along the skin. You rolled your body to press into his, stealing another staved kiss.

  Check Point: Reached.

  Sometimes, Kenma could be the most expressive person. In that moment, you could see the excitement spread through the soft lift of his features. He moved down, dipping his head between your thighs. It wasn’t precisely what you had asked for, but was greedily indulged in all the same. Fingers spready your lips, his tongue running up flat, the tip expertly curling just beyond the entrance before flattening again and pressing onto the bundle of nerves above it. You were a muted sweetness, like warmed sugar water that he drank up like nectar. He could replay this level over and over. It was the one piece he didn’t mind working harder for. Feeling your thighs twitch and tighten around his head, the way your lips parted in moans with the thrust of his tongue.

  It might’ve been silly, but he tended to get lost in it, nearly forgetting the angered ache of his own sex. What brought him back to reality was your feverish grip in his hair and the way your hips rocked. Breath caught in your throat, but the desperate way you moved begged for more and he humbly obliged. Two fingers slid easily into the slick, finding the rhythm and spot to make you hum a honey-thick sticky ‘nnn’. The coil in you burned at his touch, condensing like taught wires ready to snap. To spite the ache in his jaw, his tongue circled languidly in contrast to the quickened pace of his hands. If gaming taught him anything, it was excellent hand coordination. He panted onto you, exhaustion building from the effort. He knew you were holding it.

  So, he stopped, sat back on his haunches and crossed his arms. His brows furrowed, creasing in slight frustration. He should have gotten you already. Twice at least by how your walls had half sputtered along his fingers. Kenma reached his checkpoint only to be met with delayed gratification.

  If he couldn’t achieve it with his tongue, the very least he could do was forcibly snap that wire with what you had originally wanted. With that said, the blond motioned for you to lay on your side, pulling one of your legs up to his chest while the other remained between his legs. Flexibility was never entirely a problem for you, he found during the first few games. Arms wrapped around your leg, pinning it to him as the tip of his cock found its way to your sopping arousal.

  He guided it in slowly. So slowly that your walls attempted to pull him in. Your cheeks grew a pretty pink, lashes shut, brows furrowing in concentrated pained pleasure. Kenma leaned his cheek onto your calf, “S-serves you right for holding onto it for so long.” The air in his tone was a smug matter-of-fact betrayed by the struggled stutter. From all the pent up teasing, the friction of your hips on his cock, your taste on his tongue, and now the butterfly-like flutter along his length as he rut into you, Kenma Kozume could soon claim completion. The withheld orgasms frayed the tightened wires in your core and from it, a lathered and lush howl escaped. The tight vice of you milked at Kenma’s cock, his own breath hitched as his strides stuttered. With one last thrust, thickened whips of cum lashed warmly at your walls.

  As he pulled his sweat-sheened cheek away from your leg, slipping out of you in the process, Kenma flopped onto your chest. Both of you panted in near alternating synchronicity. His eyes slid shut, relishing in the sound of your rapid heartbeat. Your fingers shakily soothed through his hair, “Love you.”

  “Love you too…” He peered up at you, then at the hand which lifted from your bicep with an audible stick, “I hate being sweaty… shower?”

  “Hell yeah. Cold, though!”

  “Disgusting, but fine,” The corner of his lips curled up as you flicked his forehead.