#a bath full of ecstasy

[senorboombastic]

Live Review: Hot Chip at The Warehouse Project in Manchester 03 February 2023

Words: Mark Bowers As a huge fan of Hot Chip for nearly twenty years, the excitement of seeing them for the first time since late 2019 could not be quashed by anything – man nor beast. A train strike? Nah. Overzealous drug spaniel (incorrectly) detaining me on entry because I had a dog treat in my pocket? No sir, tonight I’m going to dance like it’s 1999 and under muted lights I’ll be raving…

[fayes-fics]

Mirror, Mirror

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: When Benedict's wife tries on his clothes, things happen...

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, cross-dressing, clothing kink, light biting, breast play, a smidge of intercrural sex, very mild exhibitionism, mirror sex, vaginal sex.

Word Count: 2.2k

Authors Note: Request fill for @d-caryophyllus (HERE) about Benedict being aroused by his wife dressing up in his clothing. I hope this fits what you were hoping for, my dear. Thanks as ever to @colettebronte for the beta read. Yes, the title is a nod to Season 3, lol. Err, enjoy! <3

It’s early in the morning on a mundane Thursday when a somewhat daring idea forms in your mind. 

Fresh out of your morning bath, you dismiss your maid quietly when usually she would assist you with dressing for the day. As the double doors click closed discreetly behind her, you glance through the open archway into your bedroom; heavy curtains still drawn there, obscuring the sunlight. In the darkness, you can just decipher the outline of your husband sleeping soundly after a late night of carousing with his brothers.

With a little secret smile, you decide that, yes, now is the perfect time. He is asleep, and you have a few hours to spare until your first social engagement - a ladies' luncheon - so why not use the time to satisfy your curiosity?

You stride to your husband's side of the dressing room, opening his wardrobe doors and running your fingers over the items within—a symphony of wools, silks and cotton, all luxurious to the touch. While he is arguably one of the more flamboyantly dressed men of the Ton, with eye-catching jewel-toned waistcoats and colourful cravats, the basics of his outfit are mostly the same every time: dark trousers and a white shirt. A large part of you is envious of that easier choice. Sometimes, it feels like a veritable minefield being a woman during the social season, the looming threat of an unintended fashion faux pas simply by wearing the wrong colour to the wrong event.

Upon a chair, you spy the outfit he discarded when he came home in the early hours, not yet tidied away by your staff. You decide this shall be your choice, a frisson that they are already worn.

Dropping your bathrobe from your shoulders, you grab the pair of his trousers and pull them on. The finely woven wool feels plush on your skin, and there is an undeniable novelty in having fabric between your thighs. They are, however, almost comically long for you, and you have to bend to roll them up a few times around your ankles. Bemused, you briefly catch sight of your reflection in the full-length dressing room mirror, topless in oversized trousers. 

You snatch his white shirt and pull it on, pausing to tug the ruffled lapels up to your face and inhale deeply, enjoying the flood of scent there. His woodsy citrus cologne, yes, but also that undercurrent that is all him. That tang you cannot help but bury your face into, be it upon his pillow when he is away or his body while you cling to him, moving together in ecstasy. 

You fasten a few buttons, then tuck the shirt into the trousers and loop the braces hanging loose around your hips up onto your shoulders, once again inspecting your reflection in the mirror with a wry smile, twisting this way and that, admiring how different you look dressed in his clothing.

“Wife, what are you doing?” 

You almost jump out of your skin as that velvet tone, slightly roughened by sleep, calls out from across the room. You twist to see Benedict leaning casually upon the archway into the dressing room, shooting you a look that is pure menacing intrigue while looking like sin himself—all riotous bedhead, and, as your eyes slip further down, gloriously naked. It makes you swallow hard.

“I… I was trying on your clothes,” you stumble sheepishly, a blush creeping over your cheeks being caught doing something perhaps rather bizarre. 

“Any reason?” he queries, bemused, that crooked smile claiming his features.

“They just seem so much more practical and comfortable—especially trousers. I would like to wear such things…” you confess, turning back to the mirror to appraise your appearance again, watching him prowl towards you in the reflection. “Are… are you vexed with me, husband? For taking such liberties?” Your words petering out, mildly abashed.

A large, warm hand wraps around your shoulder, yanking you back almost roughly, making you gasp as your shoulder blades collide with his chest.

“The precise opposite,” he rumbles, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror, a sudden burning intensity that makes your lungs feel tight. 

Long fingers spider down his brocade brace, draped down your chest, lingering where the strap rests over your nipple, swiping his thumb in a deliberate tease, his face triumphant as you swoon back into him from just this simple touch. 

“My clothes look much better upon you than me,” he opines duskily, his lips tracing your temple as his fingertips push the brace aside to capture your nipple through the thin cotton shirt, making you inhale sharply. “Perhaps we should attend a party with you dressed like this?”

“That would be a scandal!” 

There is a vault in your stomach at the idea of attending a social event dressed in his clothes, even as you melt under his questing touch.

“Not in the more… bohemian… circles that I know of…” he contends; his breath is a warm gust in your ear as his other hand does the same, fondling both nipples now.

He waits until you meet his gaze in the mirror again, then lowers his lips to your neck and bites gently. His incisors a faint scrape, immediately soothed by a wide, wet lathe of his tongue. A little crest of victory as something sizeable stirs against the cleft of your bottom. 

“If I were dressed as you, then what would you wear, husband?” 

“Whatever you would like, my darling,” he offers between soft, damp kisses, a tingle running up your neck from his lips to the top of your scalp. “I could wear your clothing should you wish it. Or perhaps just your corset and underwear?” He nuzzles into you, taking a deep breath. “Our little secret…”

Something about his tone, the images he concocts, makes your blood run warm, your hand reaching up and diving into his luscious hair, tugging gently upon his roots so again he feels compelled to use his teeth, a groan bubbling up from within as he does. With a flick of his wrists, the braces fall from your shoulders, and he cups your breasts through his thin cotton shirt. It makes you sigh his name, asking for more, arousal coursing thickly through your veins—a yen to be taken right away. 

“The thought arouses you, does it not?” he correctly surmises, trailing his touch down over the shirt, brushing your ribs and belly to the fastening on the trousers, making short work of the buttons.

You nod demurely, biting your lip as you watch his dextrous hands in the mirror, his arms encircling you; it is almost as if he is removing them from himself. The air feels heady as he pushes the loosened fabric from around your frame, and it hits the rug with an audible thump.

Standing before him in just his ruffled white shirt with only a few buttons fastened, you feel his weighted stare in the mirror, lingering on the patch of hair at the apex of your thighs peeking out between the shirt sides.

“I shall prefer you keep this on…” he asserts, popping open a button over your chest so the fabric opens enough for him to slide a hand inside, tweaking your nipple and pulling you back into his frame, rutting his now solid cock against your bottom.

You turn your head to press your lips to his, imploring for more of his touch in a fervent whisper before seeking a kiss. His mouth is hot on yours, rolling his tongue with yours, endless caresses of your breasts as you burn so hot you rub your thighs together in delicious anticipation of more, already more than ready for him, your clit pulsing with each tease of his tongue.

“Here?”

You know what he is asking—if you wish to have sex right where you stand, in front of your dressing mirror, his shirt loose around your body, him naked behind you.

“Yes. Yes please…” you murmur into his mouth, rolling your body against him, telegraphing unmistakable need.

“The window is open,” he points out with a smirk, nodding towards a high window that allows in light to the dressing room but affords you not to be seen; it is open this morning to let in the summer breeze. “What if we are heard?”

“I care not,” you confess, exhaling jaggedly, knowing he likes you in this state, desperate and debauched, uncaring if you may be overheard in your pursuit of pleasure. 

Rubbing yourself upon him akin to a feline in heat, moving so his cock passes teasingly between your thighs now as you writhe. He groans and tells you not to stop, hissing his approval. So you squeeze your legs together tightly, allowing him to rut between them, the pass of his cock glancing maddeningly over your engorged clit.

His touch becomes heavier, hands mapping your body as his hips surge, and you see the red, weeping tip of his cock emerging and disappearing in the mirror, an intoxicating sight. You moan lightly with every pass, a tantalising swipe, not enough to bring you real pleasure, just notching your want higher.

He finally takes pity upon you, angling his hips differently and driving into you; you, moaning at the invasion so deep and encompassing, rocked up onto your tiptoes. Every time he has entered your body, it's always the same: a force that steals your breath and makes your eyes roll. His hands are a firm grip around your waist as he withdraws slowly back, then surges in again, capturing your earlobe in his teeth as he does.

As your eyes meet in the mirror, you idly wonder how many other wives are watching themselves being fucked by a handsome husband like this; a bright weekday morning, birdsong wafting in on the scented breeze, body wrapped only in his shirt. You suspect none are quite so lucky.

You moan his name and arch back against him, wrapping your hands around his neck and watching yourself being taken, relying on him to keep your stance steady as he starts to fuck into you in earnest, large hands sliding up to cup your breasts, engulfing them in his warm palms.

Unable to stop the noises you make, each pass hitting all the spots inside that make your toes curl into the thick pile of the rug beneath your feet, your pussy clenching around his invasion, making him growl and move faster, taking you harsher, an onslaught that is as pleasurable as it is powerful.

His mouth is a breathy litany of praise into your cheekbone, your eyes fluttering closed to focus on the carnal moment - the sweat, the skin, the ragged breaths, the meeting of your bodies so primal and glorious, but he has other ideas.

“Look at yourself,” he purrs dulcetly, your eyes reopening to do as he asks, to watch this unrestrained moment of passion, to see the little marks blooming on your body from where his fingers dig into your flesh as he pounds into you now, a flourish of colour on your neck from his thorough attention.

You plead for more throatily, pushing back as best you can against his thrusts, wanting him to make you scream, uncaring of any audience inside or outside your townhouse, only craving the sweet, blissful release he always provides.

Abruptly, he wrenches open the shirt you wear, one button pinging forward and tinking against the mirror before skittering across the floor, your naked body framed by his crisp white shirt, the ruffled lapels tickling the sides of your breasts, catching sight of his handsome face in the mirror contorted in a passionate tempest.

Then one hand slides down your front, you feeling it rippling in your belly and seeing it in your reflection before you until those fingers slide between your legs and hook over your clit with a force that steals the air from your lungs, a sharp stab of pleasure that makes your knees buckle, him pausing in his motions briefly to brace your weight, keep you upright.

Then it is a blur as he restarts his motion, his fingers dance on your swollen pearl, slipping silkily over his touch as he grunts encouragements. It feels like you are circling for so long, so close to something mind-blowing, but then he flicks harshly with his fingernail and bites your neck, and you are hurtling. Everything is loud and quiet at once, no doubt your voice calling his name as you tumble over the edge, clenching hard around him as your whole body shatters and rebuilds in a blissful puzzle. Dimly, as you float, you feel his entire body tense, and with a roar, he follows you over, a warmth blooming inside you as he reaches completion. 

There are a few moments of panted breaths as you both recover from the intensity before he spins you around and sweeps you into his arms, carrying you back to bed. There, he lays you down gently and proceeds to turn you into a molten, quivering pile, mapping your body with his lips and fingers until you are begging for him again, which he more than obliges. So much so you are almost late for your social engagement.

If there are a few derogatory looks as you swan into the ladies' luncheon with a blissful smile and a burgeoning mark on your neck from your husband's amorous intentions, well, so be it. You wouldn't change it for the world.

And it is also most definitely not the last time you dress up in his clothes…

Benedict taglist pt 1: @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @sya-skies

[mx-monster]

Thinking horny thoughts about Minotaurs so here’s a lazy Drabble

Cw: m/f, breeding kink

Male!minotaur god of agricultural x Female!human offering

your villages crops are failing. If it continues there won’t be enough to store for winter. In the face of a grueling winter and the real possibility of starvation, the villagers turn to the god of agriculture. They choose you as the offering. They lathering you in sweet smelling oils and dress you in the finest scarlet dress the village possesses. Gold necklaces are clasped around your neck, silver bracelets slipped onto your wrists. A crown of wildflowers rested on your brow.

You’re paraded through the village while neighbors, family, and friends gather on the streets chanting prayers and singing hymns to catch the God’s attention.

You’re left standing alone in a barren field One of the many your village had tried and failed to cultivate. The light of the full moon bathing you in its silvery light.

It doesn’t take long before He’s towering over you. He was magnificent.

“Do you know what this ritual entails?”

What do you say to a God? How do you say it? So you don’t answer. At least, not with words. Without looking away from the God before you, you lower yourself to the ground. Dress pooled around your waist, you spread your thighs and bear your sex to His hungry eyes.

He spends hours between your legs. Alternating between opening you up on his thick fingers and dragging his large, hot tongue along the seam of your cunt. He pushes you to the edge of ecstasy, only to reel you back in.

Your thighs are slick with the proof of your need. You feel wetness steadily leak from your cunt onto your ass. He slides his hips in between your thighs, the blunt head of his cock teasing your slick entrance.

“You’re ready. Know that if we do this I will spill inside. My seed will take and you will become pregnant. Do you understand?”

You nod. God, you understood. You wanted it more than you wanted anything else.

“Say it.”

“I want it, please. I-I need it. I need it so bad,” you sobbed, frustrated tears streaming down your cheeks. He had spent so long teasing you, you’d absolutely die without release. You nearly screamed in relief when He began slowly fucking into you. He was so thick. Even with all the preparation you felt every inch of Him splitting you open.

“Such a greedy cunt you have,” He grunted, “taking me so well. Begging for my cock so prettily. I’ll give it to you. Give you anything. Everything.”

It doesn’t take long before you felt an orgasm rip it’s way through you. Your vision blacks out as a wrecked scream tore from your throat. You felt his cock pulse, spilling hot seed into your starved cunt.

When you finally came back to your body you noticed that the once barren field was now filled with healthy vegetation.

“Your village will one day be the capital of a mighty and prosperous kingdom. Our children’s children will sit at it’s head and one day pass their crown to the heads of their children. But that is a conversation for later,” he pulled you close, enveloping you in a strong embrace, “now, we rest.”

[tatterings]

Halstarion headcanon of Halsin's love

Obviously, NSFW under the cut... but my headcanons of Halsin's intimacy style with his vampire love. <3 full disclosure i have not proofread this lol

Warning - minor mention of Astarion's trauma

(EDIT: If you like this content you'll definitely like what will be in future chapters of my current Halstarion fic!)

Halsin is the ultimate soft tender dom. Checking in for Astarion’s consent with a head nod or a raised eyebrow. Any tenseness he feels in Astarion’s body, any time Astarion’s eyes glaze over or stare into the distance (because trauma is not something you heal from after having sex once on top of a grave, it's not magically gone. It takes time and healing so this still happens occasionally), sexual intimacy is paused/stopped. Other intimacy is an option, to give Astarion a safe, soft space. For example, he would whisk Astarion away to a bath and climb in with him, lathering bergamot-scented shampoo into his hair, massaging the vampire’s scalp and neck. Or he would pull a blanket over them both, and pull Astarion to his chest and read aloud from the book they’re finishing together.

There’s absolutely no way Halsin can sit still; the man has trouble shifting into a BEAR with passion. He would buck his hips against Astarion’s teasing. He’d grind on the bed as he opened his lips over the pretty pink tip of Astarion’s throbbing cock and lapped at the sensitive slit at the tip. His hands would be in so many places at once seeking stimulation and movement. Most of the time, he’d have one hand reaching upward, fingers interlaced with Astarion’s fingers. Because, he knew, two squeezes meant slow down. Three meant stop. They’d never had to say it verbally. Halsin just knew.

He’d be absolutely down for letting Astarion take him. He’d encourage it. He wants his heart to experience all of nature’s pleasures, including being top. He’d cede control to Astarion willingly, freely, whenever asked and more. His generosity knows no bounds.

He’d be a filthy talker in bed with his vampire love; but a sweet one. “Can you come for me, Astarion?” he’d say, intentionally edging his partner at first, until: “My heart, let yourself feel bliss; one more time, come for me my dear one.” And “My darling Astarion, you’re sweeter than the ripest blackberries, the purest honey,” as he uses his wide tongue to lick Astarion’s spilled ecstasy from his pale lower belly.

Speaking of talking, he’d be so full of praise for Astarion. Astarion, who had experienced only insult or hollow praises about his body, finally experiences someone speaking to him in earnestness, in love.

He’d kiss Astarion’s bite scar, running his tongue and lips over the pinpricks. Reclaiming a mark of slavery and instead nibbling in the same spot out of love. Removing the stigma, the pain from the bite, to replace Astarion's association with a mouth on his neck with ecstasy, pleasure, and consent.

An aftercare CHAMP and I’m not talking like bdsm stuff, which might or might not be something Astarion is into, but even just general sexual intimacy aftercare. Halsin would still focus on making Astarion feel good about his body for more than just sex. He’d lay beside his vampire and rub the pads of his fingers on Astarion’s back, massaging his lat muscles, sore from pulling his short bow. Braiding his white hair in French braids, just to take them out and braid them again. Always, of course, offering his neck to Astarion after any particularly vigorous lovemaking so his little pale love is in tip-top health.

Also Halsin is just fucking super smart and would protect his smaller lover and make sure Astarion isn’t harmed when Halsin takes him. He’d formulate some sort of lubricant that also has healing potion qualities, so any potential lack of preparedness is a non-issue.

Halsin’s so intuitive, that when he is inside his lover, he would know precisely when he is at just the right spot. He would have 0 complaints about moving only an inch or two at a time, back and forth, to almost unbearably focus on Astarion’s prostate, no matter how agonizingly tempting it would be for himself to bury himself to the root.

[diorcities]

⠀   ⠀ ── ꒡⌓꒡ nct dream after sex ... 💭

nct dream nsfw headcanon. afab!reader. tw mature content. library.

... talks you through it.

for jeno and haechan, after sex with them are full of praises. the adrenaline rush releases a need to bathe you with compliments. their emotions are heightened, and the desire to tell you how good you make them feel is too much to keep it to themselves.

when jeno knew the reaction his deep voice had on you, the intimate moments began to fill with your moans and the raspy sound he uses to guide you all the way to your high. he feels ecstatic to see you so affected by his words. “such a good girl taking me well.” reaching your high quicker when he talks you through. “let me hear you. just like that, doll.”

haechan uses the softest tone to fill you with praises because he knows you like his voice when he talks you through your high. “f-fuck, so... pretty moaning my name.” besides, he would never miss an opportunity to turn you into a blushing and shy mess, even when he's out of breath just like you. “so pretty... c-cumming around me.”

... a lot of giggles.

for mark, renjun and jisung, after sex is filled with giggles. the moment is full of shyness and clumsiness which makes the atmosphere light and carefree; with them, having sex never stops feeling like the first time.

mark is so thrilled he gets too carried away and ends up chuckling with you because that's where the euphoria goes down and comes the awkwardness. he DIES of shyness and exhilaration due to the shot of ecstasy that overwhelms him. “shit.” chuckles “that was good.” chuckles, “so good, babe.”

with renjun, the adrenaline rush only leaves a sweet feeling of fullness with bubbly giggles. he always gets to that high point of intoxication where his mind buzzes. he eventually gets shy but quickly sheds it away when he sees you smiling with him. “did that feel nice?” giggles. “i feel good, too.”

for jisung, he doesn't know how long he's wanted to be like this with you, and when it finally happens he's so happy he feels like he's gonna explode with joy. sometimes he gets up with tears a little, but because of the swirls of emotions. “ah...” breathy laugh, “i think i need a moment. you were just too good.”

... love sounds.

for jaemin and chenle, after are made of sounds of love. they'll let you know how good it was; they're vocal about it, however, it is until the last breath that they become a mumbling mess, making these little sounds contained till the last possible moment.

jaemin makes sounds that seem as if they were premeditated. all heavy breathing and pants and it's not until he hears your last strangled moan that he suddenly uncovers a mess of suppressed throaty moans that he muffles in your neck while his body twitches. “oh... god... you did- perfect, baby.”

with chenle, it's more the expressions than the sounds he makes. he hums a lot and his face and eyes show good you are, but when he's close, everything intensifies and he urges strangled groans and jerks as the adrenaline rushes out of his body. “that was... fucking amazing.”

© diorcities.

[senualothbrok]

Words

Summary: At your home in Waterdeep, you and Gale recall the early stages of your relationship.

Word count: 1.6k

Disclaimers: 18+. NSFW. Smut. (Unascended) Gale x female reader/Tav.

AO3 link

More disclaimers: Masturbation / mutual masturbation. Oral sex.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You are sitting in the library, nestled into an armchair that is just big enough for the two of you. Gale rests beside you, frowning into an ancient tome. Your legs are draped over his, your tongue peeking out the side of your mouth as you read. The scent of sandalwood and book dust swirls around you.  You feel a sudden tingling on your skin. You glance up.

Gale is watching you, his gaze full and bright. The intensity of it makes you faintly self-conscious.

“What?” Your hand flies to your cheeks, your hair.

Gale’s laugh is a warm bath.

“Nothing, my love. I’m just feasting my eyes, now that there’s nothing to stop me.”

After all this time, you still feel a flutter in your belly, a shyness, when he looks at you like this. When he does not look away. You smile at him.

“I still remember how flustered you used to get if I caught you looking at me.”

“Ah, yes.” Gale chuckles. “The early days of longing and budding love. The stolen glances, the lingering looks. The magic of words unspoken.”

A grey-brown strand falls over his eye. You brush it back, tucking it behind his ear. He kisses your palm before it drifts away.

“Mind you, it wasn't just nerves and awkwardness on my part. I truly had to exert all my efforts to control my excitement. The orb would have wiped out an entire city, or maybe more, depending on what kind of look you’d given me…”

You arch an eyebrow. “I don’t think I realised the extent of your excitement, or the threat it posed.”

He is stroking your leg under your skirt, up and down, gently grazing your flesh. Your skin prickles at his touch.

“Indeed. You drove me to distraction at every turn. Thank the gods for my disciplined mind.”

There is a familiar glint in his eye. A heat begins to quiver through you. You hold his gaze.

“Your mind must have been more disciplined than mine.”

You watch as his brown eyes darken and mist. The flame inside you flares at the hoarseness of his voice.

“How so?”

Gale loves words. Sometimes, your words alone can bring him to the brink of ecstasy, for touch to push him over it. He can read your thoughts at any time if he wants to. You have let him on occasion, with delicious results. But usually, he prefers the words you choose when you tell him. And you know, from the hitch in his breath and the curl of his lips, that that is what he wants now.

“Well.”

You bite your lip. You pause, savouring the spark that is gathering between you.

“I used to think about you, when I was lying in my tent at night.”

That flash in his eyes. That sideways lift of his moist lips. His fingers are drifting up your thighs, flickering with yearning. Your eyelids flutter.

“Did you?”

You nod. A throbbing has begun inside you, and will not be ignored. It grows with the intensity of his stare as he watches your every movement, hanging on your every breath. It burns with what you are about to tell him and show him.

“Night after night.”

Your hands move down to the hem of your skirt. You gather it up, lifting it further to rest above your waist. His hands linger on your bare legs as you draw away from him slightly to sit back. A frown creases his brow, as if he cannot bear your withdrawal. But you keep your eyes fixed on his.

“I thought about the things I wanted you to do to me.”

You are not coy as you slide off your lace panties. They cling to you with the beginnings of your desire. It does not escape his notice. His lips are parted, his eyes blown wide as he watches you. There is a yearning ache that makes you tremble as you widen your legs to face him. Slowly, you snake your fingers downwards.

“That made me so wet, I had to touch myself.”

You lick at the pad of your middle finger, so that it is moist with your spit. You press it into the damp warmth between your thighs. He sucks in a sharp breath, and you watch his tongue running over his lips as you stretch your slick folds to find your swelling centre.

“Like this.”

It does not take long to find it. You shudder when you touch yourself, drawing small and eager circles around the pulsing edges of your clit. Your legs shake as the thick sounds of your wetness fill the air. You push into yourself more and more, moaning as you struggle to keep your eyes on his. Each time your vision wrenches shut, he utters a soft groan which surges through you.

You want him on you. You cannot wait much longer.

“What did you want me to do to you?”

His voice is low and husky, the brown of his eyes almost black. Your reply is a plea, your fingers a frenzy of wetness. 

“I wanted your tongue all over me.”

He leans forward, mercifully, desperately.  He slides his tongue inside your waiting mouth, over the fullness of your lips, against the girth of your twisting tongue. You cannot get enough of his bittersweet taste. You are ravenous, gulping and gasping and lapping, and when his greedy mouth leaves yours, you want to follow. But before you can, he is trailing his tongue across your cheek, flicking at your earlobe, licking at its edge.

“Like this?” he pants into your ear.

You whine as he sucks at your earlobe with wild fervour, barely stifling his moans. The outline of his cock bulging against his breeches is almost too much to bear. You flinch as your clit threatens to erupt. Your fingers stop moving.

He notices immediately. His hand leaps down to press against yours. Your hips buckle. You bite your lip to muffle a wail.

“Don’t stop,” he breathes.

You cannot keep going much longer. You look at him, begging. The grin that plays on his lips sends you grinding into his hand once more, desperate for relief. He grimaces, and you can see that he, too, is straining to burst.

“What else did you think about?”

He undoes the clasp on your shirt without effort. But even that fleeting moment of waiting is torture. You flesh is aflame as he glides his tongue down the side of your neck, over your collarbone, around your breast. When he takes one of your nipples in his mouth, you cry out. It is so stiff, so hard, and when he wraps his tongue around it and flicks at it, you throw your head back in a silent scream.

“Tell me,” he whispers, your nipple still in his mouth.

You shudder at the burst of air on its tip. The fact that you can still form words is a miracle to you.

“I wondered…”

You writhe as he licks at the darkness around your nipple, the delicate underside of your breast. Your clit aches under your shaking fingers. It is a battle to continue.

“I wondered,” you murmur between halting breaths. “If you were in your tent, touching yourself as you thought of me.”

He looks up at you, flushed and dilated. And you see that this is the final straw for him. The words that have brought him to the brink. You are wet, so wet, as he unfastens his breeches. His lithe fingers flutter as fast as you have ever seen them. His veined, pulsing cock springs free as he edges onto the floor in front of you. You do not have time to grasp hold of it, but your dismay is short lived.

You gasp he hitches your trembling legs over his shoulders, pulling your ass towards him with a grunt. Your hands weave themselves into his hair, dishevelled with passion. He looks at you with a blind, unbridled hunger.

“This is what I think about when I touch myself,” he rasps.

He plunges his face between your thighs. As his tongue swipes at your clit with swift, smooth whirls, you collapse backwards in spasms. Your back arches, your toes curl. Each circle of his tongue brings you nearer and nearer to the excruciating edge.

You can tell that he is taking his time, listening and feeling for the corner that will be the end of you. And when he has found it, you realise that both of you are groaning. You suddenly have a frantic need to see his face. You lean up on your elbows, and it is then that you see him, jerking with the movements of his own pleasure as he laps and sucks at the centre of your fire.

The peak of ecstasy takes you. You dive over the edge, letting out a whimper so loud that you are sure half of Waterdeep can hear. You roll your hips into his mouth and clench your calves around his shoulders as you ride out the crest of the wave. In your haze, you are aware of the frenetic lurching of his frame, a long moan that rumbles out of him in spurts. And then he is still.

It takes you both a moment to come back to yourselves. You are still panting when he returns to his place beside you. You had thought the flames inside you would be doused, at least for a while. But you quiver at the sight of the moisture on his beard, the thick streaks on his breeches as he pulls them up over his cock, still half-hard and gleaming.

He meets your gaze with a knowing smile. When he wraps his arm around you, you cuddle into him. You soak up the smell of his sweat, musk and pleasure mingled with your own. He is silent as you plant gentle kisses on his forehead, his nose, his cheek. And then he sighs.

“I’d say we both have remarkably disciplined minds.”

You clasp his hand and laugh.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Liked this fic? You can find more of my work here.

[happilyhertale]

The Rogue Prince - Daemon Targaryen x wife!reader

Summary: After a stressful day that leaves Daemon in a bit of an angry mood, you decide to give him some relief. But in a different way than you usually do.

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x poc!wife!reader

Warnings: Smut; 18+; NSFW; Minors do not continue reading!

Author’s note: Hey you (: A one-shot Daemon story requested by Anon 🖤 It took me some time but I hope you like it! English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Word count: 3.5 k

Other stories of mine

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You didn't have to look up, just the way the door slammed open was enough of a sign for you to know - Daemon was pissed. He entered without knocking, his armour clattering against itself.

In a mixture of snorts and grumbles, your husband strode into your chambers. As you lifted your gaze, your warm hazel eyes met the captivating intensity of his purple eyes, sending a shiver down your spine. Your curious gaze wandered further, discovering the mess of dirt and the almost macabre pattern of dried blood clinging to him. Uncertainly, you put aside the book you were engrossed in and approached Daemon, who was already in the process of freeing himself from the constricting confines of his armour. But before you could approach him, a piece of his armour flew into the far corner of the room.

"It will not improve your mood if you damage your armour," you say gently and help him to open his armour.

He just looks at you and his gaze makes you shiver a little again.

"What do I care about this fucking armour?" he hisses.

You look at him and your hands continue to work on the buckles and remove the chest piece.

"You want to tell me what happened?" you ask quietly.

There is a brief silence in your chambers and you use the time to admire his muscular chest, visible under his shirt. His body does not fail to bring you to ecstasy.

You look into his eyes again as he begins to speak.

"None of these idiots in this council understand the importance of cleansing our city of these filthy criminals! Not one!" he hisses.

You nod at him and try to concentrate on his words and not let his body distract you.

Your hands continue to work on the buckles of his armour.

"The city is full of disgusting creatures. They steal, they kill, they rape and none of those cunts at that council table give a shit!" he continues to hiss.

"But you do," you say softly and his eyes meet yours.

"I will teach these people to fear the golden cloaks again," he says in his deep voice.

You smile slightly and take off the last piece of his armour. Your fingers begin to take off his shirt.

"First we have to clean you up," you say gently.

Daemon's soft chuckle, markedly different from his previous behaviour, resounds through the air as he spreads his arms and asks you to release him from his shirt. His shimmering silver lengths fall over his shoulders, framing the network of scars etched into the skin of his neck and nape. These battle-scarred marks, created by victories and fire, are revealed in all their glory.

Your fingertips run tenderly over these well-deserved scars, your soft olive hue a striking contrast to his pale skin. You relish these imprints of his commanding prowess on the battlefield, each scar telling its own story, a testament to his unwavering leadership qualities. Daemon watches the movements of your fingers and notices how your gaze is fixed on his chest, unable to avert your gaze.

"Are you sure you just want to bathe me?" he murmurs, and your gaze jumps to his eyes.

You smile slightly, "Yes, I do," you say seriously and take his hand, leading him into the adjoining bathroom. Daemon grunts in disappointment, but lets himself be led along. The bath is quickly prepared and warm steam rises from the tub.

Daemon stands next to the tub of hot water and begins to open his trousers. As they slide down, you can see his already hardening arousal, but you avert your gaze and go to a small dresser in the corner of the bathroom.

Daemon watches you, a grin on his lips.

"Oh come on... You can't ignore my needs like that..." he says, but you interrupt him.

"Into the warm water with you," is all you say as you look through small bottles on the dresser to find the right one. You have these little vials from your home in Dorne, filled with different elixirs, and this time you want to put him in the right, stimulating mood.

Daemon grumbles something unintelligible, but obeys and gets into the tub. His gaze is fixed firmly on your back.

"Will you at least keep me company?" he asks, and you can hear in his voice that he is getting impatient.

You turn to him and smile, "No... at least not in the water," you say softly.

With two bottles in your hand, you stride to the bathtub. In the soft, flickering light created by candles, Daemon's gaze fixes on you and you can see an unspoken desire in the depths of his eyes to just grab you. But instead of giving in to temptation, his hands grip the edge of the tub. He leans back slightly and lets you pleasure him, a sign of trust he has only in you.

You kneel behind him, set the vials aside and carefully remove the hair ribbon from its silken lengths. As the ribbon gives up its hold, his hair falls gracefully over his shoulders. The once shining silver strands, now clouded with dirt and sweat, literally crave your touch. You gently begin to work water into the lengths, and the soothing rhythm elicits a contented murmur from Daemon as his eyes are gently closed.

Your hand wanders to a vial, its lid giving way with a soft, melodic pop at your careful touch. At this slight disturbance, Daemon's eyes flicker open to take in the unexpected intrusion.

"What's that?" he murmurs. You smile slightly, "Lavender oil... I like it when your hair smells fresh," you say soflty.

Daemon reflects your soft smile, "All right... If my Dornish princess wants me to smell like a silly bush from the garden, I don't think I could refuse," he mutters. With a smile, you apply a few drops of oil to his shiny silver locks and enjoy the feel of his long strands gliding through your fingers as the accumulated dirt runs effortlessly down.

After pampering him with your grooming, you rise and hand Daemon a towel. With a synchronised movement, he accepts the towel, and as he dries himself, you return to the bedroom with the other vial of elixir. Daemon follows you silently, his shapely form wrapped in the loosely hanging towel.

"Now you're going to take care of my needs?" he says to you, a cheeky smile around his lips. And at that moment you notice the bulge under the towel. You smile, "Lie down on the bed," you say.

Daemon's smile widens, like that of a child who finds an unexpected, delicious treat. He complies with your request and lies down in your marital sanctuary - the very bed where he makes you squirm and beg every night. But this night it will be different.

With an expectant gaze, Daemon watches your every move. How you slowly take off your dress and walk towards the bed. You crawl onto the bed and his hands reach out longingly to pull you close.

But you push them away, "Hands by your side," you say and move to sit astride him. Daemon looks irritated, but he obeys. You take the bottle and open it while Daemon watches you closely.

"More lavender oil?" he asks, "You know I'll have trouble commanding my men if my whole body smells like a flower bouquet" he says.

With a soft chuckle, you murmur, "Not a hint of lavender..." as the delicate scents of osmanthus and patchouli dance around you, washing you with their stimulating embrace as you place a few drops of the oil on your warm palm. Daemon's eyes remain fixed, transfixed by your hands as you set about the task of massaging the oil into his powerful chest.

"And I don't think you'll have any problems commanding your men.... No matter how you smell..." you say softly.

Daemon can only growl slightly as he slowly feels the effect of the scents and his arousal presses harder against you. You can feel a slight movement of his hips as he tries to grind against you. You stare into his eyes as your hands continue to glide over his skin.

"Don't move," you say to him. Daemon grunts, but he obeys - again.

You hear his breathing become more irregular as your hand turns to his belly. Slowly you massage the oil into the muscles of his belly, but your hands are unstoppable. You sit up a little and release him from the towel and his hot length springs free. It twitches wildly as you begin to rub his pubic hair with the oil. It twitches even more wildly as your hands turn to the shaft of his cock, which almost invites you to let yourself sink onto it. Daemon grunts impatiently, wanting to move his hips again, to somehow get close to your cunt.

"Don't," you just whisper, and your hands begin to wander up and down. You hear him gasp, see his hands gripping the sheet beneath you tightly. Your hands slide faster as his member literally pulses. Daemon breathes faster and faster as he chases his climax and you can already see the first drops of his release coming from the tip of his cock. You lean down and lick them away and hear him hiss.

"Woman, you will be my death," he whispers breathlessly. You just look up at him, grinning a little, and bite your lip. Your hand slides up and down faster.

It also increasingly excites you that he could just grab you, push you onto the bed and thrust into you, but he does not. He lies there and lets the feelings and actions wash over him.

When suddenly you feel a strong twitch in his member and Daemon spurts his hot seed onto his belly. He grunts loudly and watches you pump the last drops of cum out of his cock. He breathes heavily and closes his eyes briefly. His head falls back on the pillow.

"I think I need to take another bath..." he mumbles.

But you only smile, "I'm not done with you yet," you whisper. Daemon opens his eyes and looks at you in irritation.

You notice how he slowly softens in your hand, but it is not over for you yet. Slowly you slide further down and push his legs apart. You kneel between his legs and your hand gently moves along his shaft again. Daemon hisses slightly as you lean down.

You take his softening member into your mouth and begin to suck. The remnants of his cum unfold their salty taste on your tongue, but you love the way he tastes.

Daemon gasps, "What are you doing?"

But you just grin slightly and push him all the way down your throat.

"Gods...", Daemon gasps, but you notice that he is getting hard again.

But then, with a pop, you release his cock from your mouth. He is breathing heavily and still looks irritated, his cock hard again and standing in all its glory.

Daemon's heavy breath echoes from the walls of your chambers. You move and lie down beside him. You bite your lip gently and lean forward, kissing his neck softly. Your tongue is like pure fire that hits his skin and could cause new scars. A hot, arousing fire. His hips rise again with arousal and his hand reaches for the back of your head to move your head down. But you stop caressing his neck and look at him. You shake your head resolutely and Daemon pulls his hand back grumbling.

His voice fails in his throat and nothing more leaves his mouth as he slowly loses control. A growl sounds from him and his back arches slightly as your hand begins to caress his chest.

A moan escapes him as your nails leave light marks on his skin.

"Stop it, love," he murmurs. "You're driving me crazy" But you see his cock twitch wildly and you know he doesn't want you to stop. His hands reach into the sheet again and you know, that it's taking all his will not to grab you. Gently your lips graze over his neck as your fingers gently move down, teasing him. You feel the remnants of his previous climax and you see him bite his lip as you slide through it. His eyes are closed and you can see him enjoying this. Your fingers gently caress his abdomen, following the light hair to your destination.

A moan escapes him again. His hand suddenly reaches for your arm and you gasp softly, feeling his fingertips dig into your arm, showing you how much you're already teasing him. But you are not finished yet.

Daemon tries to concentrate on staying calm for your sake.

Once again, you can't stop your fingers from stroking his pubic hair as your smile widens. You watch his expression as you caress him.

A sharp intake of breath comes from his throat. He feels nothing but your touch. His fingertips dig further into your arm, but he finds it hard to stay still. You feel his muscles twitch and he just wants to pull you closer to him and take control of the situation so he can use your body as he wants.

But he forces himself to stay still. He forces himself to enjoy the passive role for once.

Your fingers gently graze the tip of his hard manhood. You bite your lip as you feel it twitch. As you close your fingers around the tip and the twitch shoots through your fingers.

"Ops...", you say softly, with an air of innocence, but Daemon knows you are not innocent and it's impossible for him not to react to that – a soft hiss escapes him.

His back arches slightly upwards and he grips your arm even tighter. His head turns towards you. His eyes are still closed, but you feel his lips seek yours. But you let him suffer. Let him feel what it is like to be on the receiving end of something like this.

"Is this what I put you through every night?" he suddenly asks softly, still keeping his eyes closed. You hear a slight breathlessness in his voice.

You smile again, "Yes... Every time you tease me..." you whisper.

You feel at your fingertips how his arousal continues to make itself felt, and the drops wet the tip of his cock.

"You like that, don't you?" you whisper.

He responds with a low growl, as if he's too busy enjoying it to reply with words.

His fingers disengage from your arm and sink to the bed, holding them still. It works up to a point. But you see his fingers clench into fists again and again.

You lean forward again and gently kiss his neck. Lightly you let your teeth sink into the skin. Again you hear a slight growl.

But still your fingers do not touch his hard member. Teasingly you only stroke his tip, refusing to embrace it completely. You feel it twitch violently again and again. Almost desperately it wants you to touch it. And again a moan escapes Daemon's throat.

You notice his breath quickening, and your own smile turns into a wicked little grin.

His fingers clutch the sheets on the bed as his muscles tremble slightly. You can feel the tension building inside him.

"Stop it... stop..," he murmurs, his voice strained by the desire to just grab you.

You continue to nibble on his neck. Your fingers, meanwhile, are stroking his pubic hair again, your caress growing rougher.

"Would you like me to touch you?" you whisper. With this question you have sealed his fate.

You see him contort his face almost painfully, trying to resist his urge. It would be so easy for him to give in, to just turn and take you as he wants. You see the inner struggle in him. The Rogue Prince who never begs, never bows to any command. The dragon who needs control over every situation. But still you see his breathing quicken, his muscles tremble slightly, he moistens his lips.

"Yes..." he whispers after a while, almost defeated.

But then his fingers move to your hips, wanting to grab you and force you closer to him. You slap his hand away.

"No, Daemon. Get your hands off me," you whisper warningly in his ear. You underline your momentary power and nibble lightly on his earlobe.

Your fingers now find their way to his balls, your fingernails gently scratching the now taut skin and he hisses again.

It's a struggle for him to take his hands off your hips. He doesn't want to. But he obeys.

You continue the torment, your fingernails almost driving him mad.

"You know you'll pay for this, you little pest," his voice sounds a little hoarse.

But with each word his voice grows softer and is now just a low murmur as his body continues to tremble with desire. You have the power over this moment, and you know it. You smile just slightly, knowing you will pay for this, and a feeling of anticipation spreads through you.

"Please," he murmurs suddenly. His breathing is quick and heavy. Right now he is nothing more than your plaything. The Rogue Prince on the verge of begging.

You bite his neck again, "Please, what, my love?" you whisper as your fingernails continue to tease his balls. He hisses again. His hips jerk a little, desperate for a touch.

His mouth opens and closes as he tries to find words to say what he wants. It's all gasps and moans and deep, animalistic noises now.

"Please... I need more...," he finally murmurs weakly. He can't say much more, he wants you too much. You know it. He knows it. You both know it.

A low grumble escapes his throat as he hisses again. He clenches his teeth as you grab his balls. He tries to take a deep breath to keep his voice low, but he can't stop his voice from shaking. "Touch me...", these are the only words he manages to say.

Your hand continues to grip his balls, squeezing them gently.

You kiss his neck, "My Rogue Prince...", you whisper.

He is silent now, looking at you with half-closed eyes, his breathing heavy.

You continue to kiss and nibble on his neck as your hand holds him tight, enjoying this newfound power over him. "If you keep this up, I swear we won't leave this bed for at least twelve hours. And I will make you suffer,“ he hisses, his last attempt at exuding dominance.

You smile at him, your fingers now slowly stroking along his shaft.

"I wouldn't mind," you whisper.

His hard manhood is dripping with precum. Your hand wanders along his hard manhood. It twitches violently as you rub the pecum over its tip. He gasps and grunts.

"Oh, you like that, don't you?" you whisper as you nibble on his neck again.

"Yes...!" Daemon suddenly groans. You're playing with fire and you know it. Your teasing only drives him closer to his climax without you actually touching him. But you embrace him fully now, and the sudden rough touch makes him grunt loudly. Your hand wanders up and down, your other hand starts massaging his balls again.

"Then come for me, love...", you whisper. You are also breathing harder by now as your hand slides along his hard manhood. He is moaning uncontrollably by now, his manhood twitching. His eyes are closed and his hips are twitching.

His fingers dig deep into the sheet as he makes sounds you didn't think he was capable of. But his moans turn into hisses as your hand works faster.

He pulls your head towards him and kisses you fiercely, almost desperately. He holds nothing back now and you let him.

"My wife. My Dornish princess. My queen. I am yours. Only yours.", Daemon gasps and you feel the twitch move from his balls up into his cock.

And then he comes. Again his seed spurts onto his belly, while your hand does not slacken in its movement. You're still kissing him and he moans and whimpers into your mouth.

Daemon releases the kiss, still breathing heavily, his eyes closed. Softly he whispers your name, smiling.

"You're cruel, you know that? Cruel and beautiful," he whispers.

You giggle softly and watch the movements of his face. After a few deep breaths from him, he suddenly moves. So suddenly that you gasp slightly. Your eyes grow wide as he suddenly hovers over you. You stare into his violet eyes, his cum dripping onto your soft, olive skin, creating a complete contrast. Daemon slides his finger through it as it continues to drip, just as you did on his skin before. A dark grin on his lips.

"I'm going to make you pay even more cruelly for this..." he murmurs and before you can say anything, his lips meet yours and his hand finds its way between your thighs. Your whimpers echo through your chambers as his hand grips your cunt roughly.

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Tag list

@aemonds-wifey @hoshi-miharu-blog @arryn-nyx @aemonds-eyeball @praline357 @melsunshine @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @lauftivy @valeskafics @dreamlandcreations @hopelesswritergall @wetbitchlibrary @sylasthegrim

[bledmouth]

divider by @/inklore!! cw: mahito (mdni)

mahito will and can talk you into having crazy sex with him, not just the fingering and overstimulation thing but like FULL ON breeding in every position possible, he genuinely doesn't care where you two fuck, it could be on the kitchen counter, in public (his favourite), the bath, by the window etc. his enormous overly grown cock pounding into you with ten different shapes not stopping no matter how much you cry and whine.

at one point, he's got you spread open on his lap, both his arms hold your legs apart as he easily toys with your clit, his expression fascinated at how the human body can get so vulnerable.

other times, he'd overpower you easily, grabbing you by the arms and gently wrapping them around his neck to mock a couple having healthy sex.

mahito would bare his teeth when he sees your fucked out face, tears and snot running as his fingers shaped into long tendrils as they dip down to find your g-spot. rubbing and maintaining lazy eye contact as he makes sure to hit your cervix until you're squeezing around him like a vice.

he’d bite and suck on your tits, tongue long and runny while he would sloppily drool onto them, his other multiple hands tweak and pinch your nipples as you moan out in ecstasy, hiccuping when you feel his cock growing bigger.

you would ask him to stop of course, but mahito is..mahito. he wouldn't care until he's satisfied enough. you being his little cumslut, you’d take and take what he gives until you're numb to the feeling.

with a final thrust, his hips stilled as you creamed around his dick, spasming and gasping out incoherent noises.

mahito’s hand pressed firm onto your stomach, liking how his load spilled out of your pussy like pudding.

the tears on your cheeks have already dried. he chuckles at how your thighs quiver.

dipping down to where your ear is, his hot breath tickles your skin until he says the words you hated the most.

“you’re mine.”

[here-am-i-sitting-in-a-tin-can]

“one more, dovey.” - r.j.l.

a/n: so this is just smth I wrote for a fic once and never used so here you go (found it in my notes app), my take on full moon!remus, here you go

warnings: nsfw, look, this is pure filth, consensual sex, p in v, cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, full moon!remus, lmk if I missed any

bonus:

you were surprised by how sexual remus actually was. around a new moon he could be sweet and passionate but if it was the week before the full moon he’d rail the shit out of you, no matter what, fuck you dumb, eat you out, no, scratch that, devour you for hours straight, his tongue lapping repeatedly at your cunt, making you see stars, nearly pass out from exhaustion and scream his name in ecstasy.

he was quite literally obsessed with the way you tasted. eating you out was his favourite thing in the world and if you took that from him- oh boy. 

‘one more, pretty girl.’ 

that’s what he’d say to you.  

‘one more, dovey. for me?’ 

‘just one more, darling.’ 

and it was always one more with him. 

‘liar.’

that was not the only thing he told you. you were his, and only his. that’s what he told you and you agreed dumbly, loving the attention he payed to you, the way he spoiled you and every part of you body. he was covering you with hickeys, turning your legs into jello, as he said, and the marks would be visible for days to come, his words again. 

‘so everyone knows who you belong to.’

he was rough, pounding into you at a brutal pace and impossibly deep. and you loved it, every second of it. 

‘You’re not walking, love. Just accept it.’

that was where you found yourself often; occupying the boys’ dorm, (only sometimes) a silencing spell on the door and a sock over the handle. you were a sweaty and moaning mess of his doing. and he’d keep fucking you against the headboard, fucking you brainless, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips while his forest green eyes, full of lust, were locked with yours, which were begging him for a break of the overstimulation and edging at the same time. after he was done ruining you, he’d return to being the sweet and innocent boy everybody saw him as, treating you like his princess, acting like he didn’t whisper all those things in your ear nor degrade you nor make you kneel for him. remus would run a bath for the both of you after, take good care of you, wash your hair and body for you, draw you close to his chest, whisper quiet ‘I love you’s and if you fell asleep he’d carry you to bed without waking you up, no matter the circumstances. 

he spoiled you in every way possible. 

[eilaafterhours]

Patience [Grim | Casper]

Content: AFAB Reader, Light Dom/Sub, Blindfolds, Restraints, Men Crying, Cowgirl Position, Pet Names, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert

Pronouns: None (AFAB)

Reblogs: Let me know that you enjoy my work and want to see more, so don’t forget to like and reblog (and comment in the tags. I love seeing people’s rambles in the tags)!

Remember: I’ll block you if I catch your ageless or under age (not 18+) ass in my activity :)

This work’s concepts, plot and original characters are my own which means I do not allow any sort of creative theft nor do I allow my work to be entered into any sort of A.I. bots. Thank you for respecting my space and boundaries.

"How...how much longer must I remain like...this?"

The two of you had gotten into an argument about patience. He made the proclamation that he was leagues more patient than you, and instead of refuting him, you instead offered a challenge.  

You turned your attention to your partner, smiling at his flushed features. 

He was on your bed, spread wide on his knees. His arms were bound behind his back, and a blindfold hid his gaze. His entire body was coated in a thin layer of sweat, certain parts of his body flushed beautifully red.

Especially the head of his weeping cock.

You swiped the creamy slick away with your thumb, relishing in the way his hips bucked. 

"Ah, so needy..." You rested your clean hand on his cheek, "Open."

He did as he was told. Tilting his head up a bit, tongue lolling out. You placed your thumb on his tongue, and he closed around it immediately, sucking it clean.

"You cleaned it so good." You ran a hand through his hair, removing the blindfold in the process. "Hi there, pretty boy."

"S-sunshine..." His eyelids fluttered close, a curtain of white standing out against the deep red on his checks. "Please."

"Has your patience run thin, Casper?" His teeth caught his bottom lip, "Do you want me to help you?"

You moved to straddle him, sighing through your nose as the weight of his heavy cock settled against your stomach. 

The contact made him squirm a bit, "Ah—un...!"

You wedged your hand between your bodies, wrapping it firmly around his shaft. "Should I let you fuck my hand like this?" 

"Mmm..." You were sure that he was getting caught up in the fantasy, not even realizing that he had begun fucking your hand. 

You let him go for a bit, letting his moans go from soft and airy to restrained and from his throat. 

He was so close. 

You gave him a firm squeeze. 

He stopped moving. 

"So you're the only one who can get off? Naughty boy."

"I'm—fuck—sorry!" Tears slipped down his cheeks. 

"Ah, I've gone too far." You kissed them away. "And you've done so good for me."

He finally opened his eyes to look at you, "Have I?"

You nodded, giving him a soft kiss. "And now it's time for your reward."

You lifted your hips, lining yourself up, then lowered yourself on his cock. Both of you threw your heads back at the sudden heat and fullness. 

Very quickly did the two of you lose yourselves in the chase for ecstasy. He didn't last very long, but that didn't matter because the look on his face and the feeling of his cum filling you, being pushed in and out of you from you bouncing on his dick had you barreling into your own release. 

Once you had caught your breath, you undid the binds from around his arms. You squeaked as they immediately found your waist, dragging you down with him as he let his body go to exhaustion. You let him, resting your head on his chest as his chin nestled on the top of your head.

"So...who's got more patience than whom?" You asked.

"...I'd say it's a tie."

You shot up. "How is it a tie?"

"I may have been tested, but as the proctor, you gave into your lust and came very shortly after me." He smirked.

"Well, I wasn't being tested, so it doesn't matter."

"It does."

"Does not!"

"It does."

And it went like that for a short while longer until the sticky feeling between your legs became too uncomfortable and a bath was more important than who was right. 

Oh well, you'd just have to test him again. 

:)

I don't have much to say, actually. This is my comeback, and it's in a new fandom, um….yeah.

Welp, enjoy!

Masterlist

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Storm - A Tommy Shelby/Reader Smut Short.

Had Tommy on my brain. Now you can, too ;)

Words - 800

Warnings - Smut below the cut, minors DNI!

Storms; they always made you feel a little uneasy, the foreboding rumble of thunder preceded by a flash of light cracking the inky purple of the night sky. You weren’t too sure why any longer either, no longer being the scared little girl living in the Small Heath back-to-back abode, with its flimsy windows that you felt the fork of the lightning could smash to smithereens.

Now, you were lady of the manor, living in the fortified luxury of Arrow House, but yet you still needed something to take your mind off the raging weather on the other side of the much stronger windows.  

That person is your lover, and yes, he does a very good job of making sure the only lightning in your world is the type that streaks up your spine in hot flashes of pleasure, just like he is right now. Holding your legs spread, his hands tour in loving stroke over your thighs, his tongue circling licks all over your opening, that radius increasing.  

When it laps wet heat over your clit, you mewl for him, hands rooting in his soft hair. Your body keens against each lick, his breath warm as his tongue licks a tempest over your little bud, full lips closing to suck gently. A grunt wells in his throat, and the sound of it settles over your bones, pleasure lighting you up like a firework the harder his lips pull at you.  

He has you soaking, your little hole flexing around nothing in its emptiness, needing him inside you. Equally, you’d be more than happy for his mouth to remain exactly where it is, every lick gilding your nerves, the honey of your cunt bathing his tongue as he eats you greedily. His fingers sink into the soft of your thighs, eyes like blue shards of topaz glinting through the low light of the room, smiling around the mouthful of you he so happily feasts upon.  

“I’m starting to think you actually quite like it when there’s a storm, you know,” he muses, pausing for a moment, gently blowing over your swollen clit before skimming it with a teasing lick. “You always know this is what you get when one comes along.” 

“I get this enough as it is anyway, Tom,” you quip, laughing softly, “but I still appreciate the distraction.”  

Another flick, Tommy rumbling a little moan as he watches your bud twitch for him. “Minx.” 

He pulls a gasp from you, the flat of his tongue dragging hard over you. “Yeah, that’s me.” All talk is abandoned, your body the rhythm set by the song of his mouth, pleasure bursting like little stars as he adds speed to every lick. He builds you steadily, each ministration set up only to topple, the constructor of your utter ruin giving you one last, long suck before moving to kneel before you.  

“Mmm, oh,” you sigh, hissing with desire as his cock fills you deep. “That’s exactly what I wanted.”  

“Never let it be said that I’m not a giver, eh, love?” 

No, you truly wouldn’t, hands stroking over his pale chest, nails dragging the chiselled muscles as he pulls back and then bottoms out once more, eyes falling to watch how you splay so prettily for him. Your cunt glazes him, hot and slick, your walls pulsing around every last thick, vein-ridged inch of his cock, the thunder outside booming as he leans to kiss you with soft heat.  

He ruts a little deeper, and it sends a wave of ecstasy washing through you, the deep punch of his cock drawing moans that spill from your mouth to his. The sumptuous, velvet hug of your cunt pulls at him, hugging him in slick divinity as he quickens, drawing your legs up against his chest, panting hard as he scatters kisses against your ankle.  

“Ahhh, god you feel so good in me,” you pant, nails trawling over his abs, spurring him on with the allure of your gaze. “Yes, that’s it. Fuck me harder.”  

He does, and it burns neon over your veins, your cries shrill as he daggers you with utter finesse. You feel both boneless and mindless as he fucks you hard into the bed, grasping his forearms as he lowers to you, sucking violet welts at your neck. 

Outside, the lightning splits the sky, just as his does within your body, ecstasy streaking hot beneath your skin as you fall apart around the white-hot surge. His crest tingles his cock as he spills into your fluttering core, panting against your neck, his hands stroking your face as he nuzzles and kisses you. 

The storm outside continues to rumble overhead, but you and Tommy sleep upon a cloud of bliss until morning, when the skies glow blue once more. 

[elaci]

König loves it when you wear his clothes, it drives lust through him in a way that nothing else can.

When you're half asleep in the early morning hours and throw the first thing you see on to start your day, not realising it’s a shirt of his that fits you more like a dress.

He's a morning person, already occupying the kitchen when you walk in, hair disheveled and eyes tired. And he takes in your appearance with a smile, as he does every morning, until he notices just how big your shirt is, and how it in fact isn't yours, but his. Suddenly, he's overwhelmed with the imagery of your body underneath, covered by a piece of him. His mind for ownership short circuits, and suddenly his pants feel tight.

"You're wearing my clothes," his voice small, uncertain. He wonders if you're teasing him on purpose, looking so unassuming draped in his scent. When you look down and realise you are, in fact, drowning in the fabric of his shirt, you blush and he begins to feel insatiable.

"Sorry," your words are tired still, only just managing to reach a volume that hits his ears. "I'll go change in a few, I just threw on the first thing I saw."

"No need," he shakes his head, eyes unashamedly surveying your form. He likes you the most like this, unaware of his affections and still the most beautiful thing he's seen. He wants to ruin you and put you right back to sleep soon after.

And you pick up on the shift in his demeanour, no matter how tired you are, the look he gives you is a mirror of his gaze in the dark hours. Before you know it, you're shrouded by his frame and pressed into the cold kitchen counter behind you.

Once he’s got a taste of you, his lips catching yours in a deep and yearning kiss, there’s no turning back. After a quick check that you want this, König is already bunching his shirt up and lifting it above your waist, grinning wide at the revelation of your nakedness underneath.

You move to take the shirt off completely, but Königs strong grip protests. “Keep it on,” he almost begs.

His strong hands holding your body in place through the fabric of his shirt as he pushes into you— the stretch burns, but he sates you by encouraging you to bite down on the collar of the shirt you wear. Seeing it between your teeth, soon to be marked by your drool, it send him into a frenzy of sorts. Before you can register the movement you’re being lifted onto the countertop, König standing between your spread legs, pronounced tent in his pants.

You palm him through the fabric, and listen to his swallowed groans as he manages to pull them down just enough for his cock to spring free, desperately hard and aching to slip inside of you. He’s lining up with you soon after, collecting your wetness on his tip to use as lube as he starts to stretch you out. Your bare ass against the countertop, legs wrapping around his waist as the burn of his size clouds your vision for a moment.

His hands paw at the fabric of his shirt you wear. Clothed in his scent, his size, his look— an extension of him as he pushes inside of you. A chaste kiss pressed to your lips to distract you from his size as he bottoms out, though you can’t help the moan that rips from your chest. You’re full of him, he slots perfectly inside of you and for a moment before he starts moving, you are one.

And then he moves, pulls his thick cock right out of you just to snap his hips forward and split you open once more. He falls into a rhythm, a symphony of skin slapping against skin, your combined moans of ecstasy and that overflow of sensation he gives with each thrust inside of you. You dig your nails into the corded muscles of his arms, leaving marks on his biceps you’ve mirrored many times before. You clothe him in your marks the same way he does with his clothes on you.

Your orgasms come quick, overbearing and near blinding. Königs hips stutter as he reaches his peak, not once closing his eyes to bathe in his pleasure, gaze locked on you and how you look fucked stupid on his cock in his clothes. He’s cumming without further notice, diving his hand between your legs to rub at your clit in hastened circles in hopes of having you finish with him.

“That’s it, baby, cum for me, so sweet for me, you’re so perfect,” strings and strings of praise from his lips, lovesick in his orgasmic haze. You don’t need much more encouragement, his spill of cum inside of you mixed with the ministrations of his fingers is enough to send you stupid. You cum on his cock like he was made for your pleasure.

The sight is one of Königs favourites— he’ll have to start replacing your clothes with his more often.

[randompandabaewrites]

Deepest Desires - Astarion

Drabble based on dialogue from a nymph who gives companions a brief moment of their truest ecstasy—these will break your heart. [Link]

A/N: Astarion deserves the world D: // I should write a full scene of this I did

Astarion x Gn!Reader/You - non-explicit sex, fluff, feeeeelings

MDNI

The winds of fate blow you to the warmest of hearths in the most cordial of inns.

Astarion isn't ones for plans, but, somehow, you and he always save the day. And earn plenty of coin. Tonight you are guests at an inn. The room is bathed in a golden glow as you sit together, eyeing the trophies and momentos of grand adventures that line the warm walls. Having a warm drink to further chase out the chill of night.

He tells you once again with a smirk that he's never liked being the hero, but actually he's grown rather fond of it. Astarion insists it's the admiration, and the gold, of course, but there's no hiding the fondness in his gaze when he thinks you aren't looking.

Your seething passions lead only to pleasure.

Astarion leads the way to your room for the night. It's not quite fit for a king, but more than up to his standards. Besides, the only thing more appealing to him than being wrapped up in silk, is being wrapped up in you. The vampire's hands seek the warmth of your body with the ease and confidence born of familiarity. Your eagerness for each other has never faded it, and he never will.

Though he insists he does not require reassurance, you will give it, whenever you feel he needs to hear it. But Astarion knows his darling offers more than just carnal comfort. He murmurs sweet nothings and everythings against your ear as his hips rock into yours, pressing your wrists back into the soft bedding. He tenses, but you only encourage him to come undone.

As Astarion collapses into you, his head buried in the crook of your neck—you offer him your throat. Thinking nothing more than how he likes the taste of bliss in your blood.

The touch of the sun comforts your flesh, but never burns it.

The two of you stay intertwined throughout the night. The steady rhythm of your heart against Astarion's ear always eases him into peaceful sleep. He does not stir, even as the day breaks beyond the gossamer curtains, and you will not be the one to wake him.

Astarion stretches luxuriously as the sunlight falls over the skin of his back and lights his curls. When he lifts a hand to brush your cheek, the Ring of Daylight is noticeably warmer than his touch.

"Looking for a cuddle?" Astarion greets you with a lazy smile. As he finds your hand, your fingers intertwine, your own ring matching his.

You are safe.

[adventuringblind]

Monsters in my Mind

Max Verstappen x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Summary: Sometimes those thoughts won't leave, the ones you don't want... The ones that can be dangerous. All it takes is one person to help make them go away.

Warnings: Intrusive thoughts, referenced/implied self-harm, violent thoughts, impulsive behaviors, panic attacks, non-sexual dominance as a form of coping, dom/sub undertones

Notes: My thoughts are self stabby as of late. Pardon me as I write this for myself to keep my head and hands busy.

Side Note: Consider feeding my praise kink maybe...?

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

The head is a strange place. One's conscious is usually meant to help them make the right decisions and not engage in acts that could hurt them or others. Her head, however, is the opposite of that.

It's a dark twisted place where thoughts that aren't her own find refuge. They want to bathe her in the ecstasy of things that shouldn't feel good. daydreams about things that could repulse any typical human being.

Sometimes they are so strong and her bodies reactions are so out of control, that she has to find relief somewhere. The knife against her skin takes the edge off. Is it normal to moan at the sting and feel satisfied looking at her red stained thighs? She does, until the realization settles in and the guilt won't let her think.

The thoughts laugh at her for giving in so easily. They scrutinize the fact she gets off on the pain.

She walks around in fear of herself. The anxiety and exhaustion from constantly fighting herself are visible on her body. She's tired, and everyone knows it. It's why they don't come near her. Always to caught up in her own head to realize people are trying converse.

It's not like her job requires to much discussion with people. Puzzles keep her brain busy and Ferrari keeps her busy with all the strategy mishaps they throw at her. They throw her a problem, she solves it, plans for next time, and they fuck it up again by not using the solution.

Sometimes she thinks about throwing herself in front of an F1 car going full speed. That voice in her head screams at her anytime she's close to the live track.

Then there is Max. His voice sends the thoughts running and it makes her want to cling to him. She wants him to never stop talking about anything and everything.

Today had been particularly difficult with the of the driver switch coming at the end of the season. Carlos and Charles are the first drivers she's worked with and they all got along great. She doesn't want it to change. That means more unknowns.

The wind graces her cheeks and kisses her finger tips as she sits on the balcony of their apartment. Everything is to much right now and her thoughts won't quiet.

She was in Maranello when the news came out. Her head became so loud with the fear of change and worry for her friend. Enough to be sent home for the day - alone, and nothing to help her head aside from the burning desire to just end it all.

Max had made arraignments for her to spend some time with him in the Milton-Keynes. She was still alone for periods of time. Enough to have to settle herself somehow.

The color red makes something in her relax. Specifically when it's flowing out of her own body.

Now Max is with her and she's stuck in her own head. The never ending maze of twisted thoughts keeps her from moving. The fear of giving in has been looming over her head for longer then normal. It feels like she's losing something, always has been with this team, but change feels far worse then staying with them.

Max hasn't pushed her to do much aside from at least stay in his presence. Occasionally attempting to get her out of her own head with movies and games. He's even spent hours at a time just talking to her about anything and everything.

He opens the door to the balcony, but she doesn't look at him. Not until he holds his hand out for her to take. An action she does without hesitation. No thoughts are needed for this, just following Max's lead.

He leads her over to the couch and arranges them so she can sit tucked into his lap. A grounding hand runs up and down the lenght of her spine. "I've been doing some research about how we might be able to get your head to quiet down."

"I'll do anything, jus' want it to stop." Her voice sounds dry and cracked from how hard she's screamed and cried through the last few days.

"Do you trust me?"

"More then I trust anyone."

She finds herself slipping off the couch and onto her knees, in-between Max's legs with her head resting against his thigh. His touch doesn't leave her skin. "You're doing so good for me. Listen to my voice and focus on taking big breathes for me. Can you do that for me?"

She hums in response. The continual stroke of Max's fingers against her face and sound of his voice already helping immensely.

"That's it, just breathe for me. I've got you; you don't have to fight the thoughts alone. I'm right here with you, keeping them away, never leaving your side." Max grabs one of her hands with his free one. her fingers lay between his. Her favorite puzzle with how easy the pieces fit together.

"You're here with me; I've got you. Those scary thoughts aren't your own. The are unwanted and uninvited, but most importantly, they don't define you. You are brave, loved, beautiful without gaping wounds. You're not crazy or psychotic. You are yourself, with your highs and your lows."

Her body has never felt like this. Her entire being wants to give itself over to Max. His breathes guiding her own, his gentle yet firm hold on her keeping her where he wants.

She lets herself fall under his spell. If Max can take the control away from her, make her complaint and relaxed like this, then he can have her thoughts too.

"That's it, such a good girl, let me think for you. I won't leave you to fight or flounder on your own."

She follows Max's directions, lets him guide her in this place of trust and letting go of things. He's turning her brain off and letting her float without any kind of worries except what Max is telling her to do.

Until all she can think of is him. The calm the comes with his presence and the way his voice falls over her like a soft blanket. Max is all she knows, occupying every crevice of her mind and leaving no room for anything else to creep in.

"How're you feeling, geliefd?" There is a lightness to his tone that makes her swoon.

She hums against his leg. "Warm, fuzzy, head empty."

"Then you stay here as long as you need, okay? I'll keep you safe."

And she does.

She falls into the warm embrace of Max's words. She lets him protect her and keep the dark ugly thoughts away.

With Max, her head is quiet. The voices can't come though. When they do, he's there to fight them back.

[nymphomatique]

Hiii!!

I was wondering if you could do either headcannons or an imagine with Miguel x fem!reader where Miguel really wants to try out mirror sex because he wants to see reader but the reader has a deep fear/hatred of mirrors and can’t stand looking at them unless it’s in the bathroom because according to her, that’s the only place a mirror should be!

Only do this if you’re 100% ok and comfortable with it! :))

this is sort of a mesh between headcannons and an imagine lol but i hope u enjoy my luvy 💋 also this is like 50% proof read so <3

cw: reader has insecurities but nothing specific, fem reader, oral (fem receiving), fingering, squirting lolzzz, light teasing, miguel just being a sweetheart, lowk soft dom miguel, miguel is a munch 🤭

• i think this happens in a world where you n mig are living together and just deeply happy and in love

• that being said i can see this happening post shower or bath with you and miguel

• you’re in the mirror with your towel wrapped around your upper chest, just doing your skincare and getting ready for bed

• miguel is absolutely ENTRANCED by you in this moment like mans is in the mirror just watching you like🧍the whole time not moving a muscle 😭

• you notice him obv and you’re wondering and asking him why he hasn’t said anything and is just Looking At You.

• “Hm? You just look pretty, s’all.”

• he looks SOOOOO shy saying it and you blush bc he’s in his thirties and is this big successful man at his job and here u are, watching him turn his head like a shy school girl bitch i can’t i love him

• you walk over n kiss him so gently and he just has to grab u by the waist and go in for the kill 🙄

• he starts trailing kisses down ur neck and pushing you flush into the counter RIGHT in front of the mirror

• “Wanna see what pretty faces you make when I fuck you, baby.” is the answer you get when you ask him why he didn’t just bring you to bed

• you’re immediately embarrassed and u know he means well but the insecurities in u start bubbling up.

• “Mig, I know you don’t wanna see my face. Besides, mirrors anywhere but the bathroom irk me. I hate looking at myself.”

• he immediately is looking at you like your head is bit off bc you are the most gorgeous and beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on.

• “What are you- Do you hear yourself? You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on. Do I have to prove it to you?” and prove it he does.

“Gorgeous,” Kiss. “Fuckin’ so pretty,” Kiss. “My stunning fucking lady. Mmm, you’re so good to me.” Kiss, Kiss, Kiss.

You’re blushing at Miguel’s praises as he kisses down your body, looking at you with full admiration and awe in his eyes. He kisses every scar, every stretch mark, every cut, and knick, and flaw until he’s on his knees, kissing your pubic mound, begging to let him prove it to you.

“Let me eat that pretty fuckin’ pussy and show you how good you you look when you cum on my tongue, baby,” he kisses around every but your needy clit and it makes you whine and reach out to coax him by running your fingers in his hair and pushing him closer to your wetness.

“Not until you say it,” Miguel slots his hand onto the one you put in his hair, finally looking up at you with a firmness and glimpse of need in his eyes. You feel yourself unraveling every passing second he’s antagonizing you with that electric mouth of his.

“Okay, you can touch me…” you swallow, needy and embarrassed.

“I am touchin’ you baby. Unless you want me somewhere else?” he quips, the fucking smart ass. You whine and look down at him once more, knowing he wouldn’t waiver until you told him what he wanted to hear.

“Please,” you whine in defeat, “eat me out, Miguel. Show me.” And he needs no dither cue. He slots his warm mouth on you and you’re seeing stars as his nose brushed against your most sensitive area. Your grip tightens on his hair and you keen, grabbing the counter for support as his sucks on your clit so expertly. He interrupts your ecstasy when he removes his mouth from you to kiss your bikini line.

“Look in the mirror and look at yourself. If you look away I’m gonna stop.” he says, his voice absent of any indication that you should argue with him on this.

You give him a shaky “Yes, Miguel..” and look at yourself when he slots his mouth against you once more. There’s a new fervour present in his actions, his large hands making way to your hips, simultaneously squeezing and dwarfing them with their sheer size. Your breath is caught in your throat, his actions sending your other hand to his head, tightening your hold, and a new wave of heat to your pussy.

“M-Miguel, oh my fucking god baby,” you moan, his tongue swirling and sucking along your bundle of nerves, and moving one of his hands to enter one of his long fingers into you. You squeal and tighten at the feeling, Miguel groaning into you at your response.

You’re looking at yourself in the mirror, nipples erected, face flushed, the markings on your hips of where Miguel’s hands once slotted themselves, his head peeking above the counter as he’s eating your pussy like a mad man and you happen to perk up at your appearance, finding the beauty in your pleasure tinted expression like Miguel and told you earlier. The ecstasy written all in your face sends and unfamiliar wash of heat to your lower belly and you keen and the feeling along with Miguel’s ministrations on your pussy.

“St- Stop I’m gonna pee, Miguel. I can’t anymore,” you begin to pant as you push his head away from the overstimulation.

“Mmm, I got you squirtin’ from looking at yourself? Keep goin’ baby, wanna feel you gush f’me,” he slurs into you as he eats and strums fingers inside you with a new vigour. Your legs start shaking and you start to push him with all the strength you can muster him, but with Miguel being 300 pounds of pure muscle, you know this wasn’t going to be a winning battle for you.

And so, you feel the coil of pleasure bubble up within you until it couldn’t contain itself, and you squeal as you gush spurts of clear liquid that Miguel slurps up with a deep and heavy groan.

“So fuckin’ sexy, baby,” Miguel says once you’ve finished cumming. He kisses up your pelvis, stomach and chest until he reaches your lips to plant a slow and sensual kiss, all while covered in and tasting of you. He pulls apart from you and gives you a solemn look.

“You’re beautiful, my love. Doesn’t take a mirror to see that,” he says softly as he kisses your forehead. “Gonna run you a bath and order food, go sit.”

And you spend the rest of the night together cuddled up and sated on the couch, listening to Miguel’s sweet nothings that you begin to believe.

[udderplump]

I love being a perfect little cow

I wanna be plump and squishy and leaky

The idea of being a soft little thing, oozing out of every possible hole (drooling, lactating, wet dripping pussy, maybe even some happy crying)

Just up on all fours feeling the pressure in my udders until they start spraying on their own, eventually the sensation of the letdown makes my pussy squirt helplessly, just whimpering and moaning, almost sobbing by the time it all makes me cum.

But it’s far from over, once I cum someone comes in puts a big bucket under my tits. They announce they’re going to going to drain my big heavy milkers. They grab both of my long puffy teats and milk them properly, just like a cows. It doesn’t take much pressure for the milk to start audibly pouring into the bucket, jets of thick creamy milk shooting one after another, again and again. Every time I hear/feel them squeezing my pussy squirts again… and again.. they call me a good cow every time I cum.. again.. and again… and again..

Once the bucket is full, brimming, they finally touch my throbbing pussy, and I cum immediately, crying out in ecstasy. Before I can come down from my orgasm, they line me up, whisper some reassurance in my ear, and push their big warm cock into my pussy, and I’m so wet and loose it just slides in up to the hilt. They start fucking me gently, and by this point I’m so deep in sub space I can’t think antmore, just a drooling groaning shaking vessel of my own pleasure, leaking out of every orifice. pussy juice, milk, drool, snot and tears. So they decide I need a drink. They get ahold of my hair and pull me back so I’m on my knees, arms limp and swinging next to my tits. They put the bucket to my lips and tell me to drink, but I’m already gulping it down, desperately trying to breathe from my nose while excess milk pours down my chin and the sides of my mouth onto my chest. I keep drinking until they groan that they’re gonna pump me full, and I feel them harden inside me, filling my hole with so much cum I can feel the pressure inside me. They pour the last of it onto my face, cooing about what a good cow I am. My pussy is still stretched around their thick cock, my body jiggling from getting fucked and shaking from the pleasure.

Eventually they pull out of my pussy and cum pours out onto the mattress. They let go of my poor used body and say something about cleaning me up, I can’t tell. There’s a minute where they just kiss my head and hold my pussy in their hand, But I feel them scoop me up, and they lower me into a nice warm bath, washing my whole body with a soft sponge, washing every bodily fluid imaginable out of my hair and off my face and shoulders and tits, all the way down to my feet, I vaguely hear them comforting and praising me for doing such a good job. After I’m all clean they dry me off and wrap me up in a soft blanket, Still leaking cum, I drift off to sleep on a nice clean bed. They tell me to rest up for next time.

I love being a perfect little cow