thekabalians - Tumblr blog

thekabalians · 2 years

Text

rings

Suguru's been secretly keeping a special ring just for you. It finally finds its use.

Geto Suguru x reader; bit of smut; non-jujutsu au; piercer Geto; bimbo reader; fingering; Suguru being a menace; Suguru quotes beyonce

wc: 2021

a/n: this has been sitting in my drafts forever. dug it out as a tiny thank you because the jjk fandom has been an absolute joy to write for. the interaction and reblogs on previous fics have been so much more than what i'm used to and i am *blown away*.

inspired by @thekabalians crunchysock saga

His shop bell rattling as violently as it did after hours meant only one thing: you.

“I’m in the back!” Suguru called over his shoulder. The sound of running water failed to drown out your petulant footfalls and a moment later, he swivelled around to find you glaring and pouty.

He had the gall to look innocently surprised.

“Baby! I was about to pick you up!”

“Don’t bother,” you sniffed, crossing both arms over the bright, tight, disgustingly adorable gingham mini dress you’d put on for the date he promised you and then bombed. “Satoru gave me a ride.”

Geto’s grin broadened at the sight of you. How sweet you looked. How sickeningly corruptible.

He crumpled the paper towel he’d been drying his hands with and tossed it aside. It bounced off a nearby wall and dropped into the bin underneath.

“That’s nice of him. Now we can get going right away. Did you thank Satoru properly?”

Your lips thinned. Face positively stormy, you smacked away his outstretched arms and snapped, “Don’t get cheeky with me, Suguru. We’ve lost our reservation because you’re late. Did your last customer thank you properly for staying open overtime just for her?”

Bemused malice wriggled up Suguru’s being like a charmed snake. Of course. The spring of your acid rage did not truly well from his tardiness or from your missing out on the trendy new spot you’d been wanting to try for weeks. No, your anger was of the more mundane sort, driven to a rising by the sight of his last customer of the day - a gorgeous, leggy blonde who strutted out of his shop at the same instant you crossed the parking lot.

She was a regular who couldn’t recall his name and remembered him only from the piercings he gave her. Still, Suguru figured, the idea of her scrunched your face up all jealously cute. And since your dinner date was obviously off the books now, he could afford to tease you a little bit longer.

“Oh, her,” he airily said. “She’s one of my regulars. Came in today to get her clit done.”

He’d actually given her an industrial on the right ear. If you’d been observant, you would have noticed that the skintight leather pants she wore would in no way, shape, or form accommodate a fresh genital piercing. Then again, your temper always did cloud your powers of critical thinking.

“Took it like a champ,” he went on, infuriatingly straight-faced. “And I did a pretty good job of it, if I say so myself. Never seen a pussy more suited for a piercing.”

“You -” Blots of fresh anger mottled your cheeks. He wanted to pinch them, and was about to burst out laughing and offer you a hug when -

“Give me one,” you demanded, voice tight.

His brows lifted.

“I want a clit piercing, too.”

He stared at you. Your rage began to melt into an endearingly abashed squirming, folded arms ending in twiddling, glitter-manicured fingers until you couldn’t even look at him.

It took all of Geto’s willpower not to sing-song his next words. “I’m not sure I hear you right, dove. You know how you always said -”

“Goddamnit, Suguru!” you exploded, fixing him with the full force of your embarrassed glare. “Will you do it or am I going to have to find another shop?”

He couldn’t help it then. A huge, slimy grin of epic proportions took over his face. You’d talked about this before - as in, mentioned it once or twice in the context of Suguru casually bringing it up. He was always more eager about the idea than you were. You’d thought it over for all of two minutes before deciding you were too chicken for it, and for the longest time, Suguru thought that was the end of his hopes and dreams.

Until now.

Helping himself to you, he smoothed wandering hands down your bare shoulders and arms, caressing the cinch of your waist and those dainty, innocent ginghams.

“Baby, nobody can take better care of my favourite pussy than me.”

Before you had time to change your mind, he plopped you in his piercer’s chair, dress hitched up to your waist, legs open, and panties twisted around one of your calves. From between them, he cast you the sleaziest version of a reassuring look.

“It’s all right,” he promised, patting the soft skin closest to the apex of your thighs. “I’ll be very gentle.” And as he turned away to wrestle on a second glove, he preened inwardly at the thought of your little cunt twitching in nervousness like the rest of you.

“Have you thought about what kind of piercing you’d like?”

You glanced at the small cart by your side. All sorts of instruments were lined along one side; on the other, tiny pieces of jewellery winked surgical silver under the bright overhead lights.

You turned big eyes to him. “What do you think I should get?”

That face made his cock twitch in his pants. What a far cry it was from the livid, fire-breathing creature that’d crashed into his shop mere minutes ago. Funny, he thought, how effectively you were tamed by exposure and the subtraction of your flimsy panties.

Feigning deep thought, he turned to the pussy displayed before him, carefully running a finger up your moist slit and parting your folds, holding them open for an ocular inspection that went on for far longer than necessary. Glistening pink quivered under his scrutiny, as if muscle memory braced for the wet glide of his tongue, or the dogged prod and slide of his fingers.

This amused him exceedingly. For tradition’s sake, he swept the pad of a gloved thumb over your peeking clit.

You squeaked, knees reflexively jerking together.

He tsk’ed and shot you a disapproving look. Shamefaced and with downcast eyes, you slowly spread your legs for him again.

He’d never let go of your cunt, and now rolled the offending little clit between thumb and forefinger. Under the thin fabric of your dress, he could just begin to make out your belly’s rise and fall in time with your catching breaths, and the sporadic tensing of your abdominal muscles every time he squeezed your precious nub just so.

“I think you can take a triangle,” he finally said, pretending that all the groping was purely for professional purposes. “What do you say?”

You worried the insides of your cheeks. “Sounds painful.”

“Not much more than the others.”

“You can talk when you’ve had your dick -”

His single raised eyebrow stopped you in your tracks and suddenly you had war flashbacks of begging him to slow down just before you came from the rib of metal barbels that he did warn you you were going to thoroughly enjoy.

“Triangle sounds good,” you mumbled meekly.

He patted your pussy. “It’ll feel good, too. You’re one of the lucky few who can have it, and those who do report it to be rather orgasmic.”

Wiping you down, he picked up a pair of forceps. A moment later, you felt their cool teeth close gently around your most sensitive parts.

“Okay?”

Your eyes were already screwed shut. Suguru’s voice rolled like caramel in the little room. The only other sound was the pounding of your heart in your ears. You nodded.

“Inhale, baby. And exhale.”

The sting, wholly unexpected, came in the middle of ‘exhale’. You flinched, whimpered a little. And just when you thought you’d never remember how to inhale ever again, Suguru announced,

“All done!”

You peeked. He was tearing his gloves off and getting up, beaming like he’d just completed the mission of a lifetime. Pussy hot and dully throbbing, you accepted his proud congratulations, leaning in when he grasped your cheeks and kissed your forehead.

“How are you feeling?”

The old brattiness bubbled back up. “That hurt!” you whined.

“Really?” Bracing himself on the arms of your chair, he scrutinised you for any whiff of foul play. You batted your lashes and doubled down on the sniffling.

“Did it, really?”

You nodded pathetically.

“Very bad?”

Again you nodded, rapid and eager to be believed.

“I see.” Suguru smirked drily. The soothing caress on your folds edged inwards and he sank into the sticky well of your little white lie. “What about now?”

Your chin trembled. You struggled to keep holding your legs apart. He couldn’t get enough of the way your eyes watered.

“Is this better, precious?” Thick fingers curled with every thrust and slide between your melting walls. “Does it still hurt?”

You nodded, still fiercely stubborn above repressed squeaks of pleasure.

“I suppose I have to make amends.”

Suguru pinned you down like a predator trapping prey. One hand closed around your throat as the other squelched in and out of your poor defenceless cunt. You dribbled an impressive mess over the leatherette of his chair. Teeth bared, he thrust harder, faster, until your voice broke free of its self-imposed prison and you squealed his name.

Still carefully avoiding your freshly pierced clit, Suguru plowed his fingers into you, taking you apart and immediately raring you up to go again before you could even think of catching your second wind. Over and over, he brought you to the edge and pushed you over the brink until your entire body vibrated with pleasure and you sobbed for breath. Only then did the claw relax from around your neck to crawl up and squeeze your cheeks together.

“Does it still hurt, baby?”

You moaned. Your legs trembled. Whatever dull ache you sensed from far away drowned in a buzz of the utmost satiety. You didn’t think you could move, let alone get up from the puddle of slick you sat in.

He cooed. Letting go of your cheeks, he affectionately thumbed your chin and withdrew from your cunt. You whined over the emptiness and attempted to rub your legs together. Chuckling to himself, Suguru slopped his fingers back into you - if only for the obscene pleasure of feeling your used cunt clench around him - before finally turning away to wash his hands.

You were still completely wiped out when he finished, your head lolling and yourself halfway off to dreamland. A bit of fabric was tangled around one of your legs. Without shame or second thought, he tugged your panties down and off, marvelled over how delicate it looked in his hand, and unceremoniously stuffed it into his pocket.

A tip for a job well done, he liked to think of it.

He shook you gently. “Ready to go?”

You groaned sleepily, roused yourself, and tried to manoeuvre yourself to your feet when he suddenly halted you.

“You haven’t seen your piercing yet. Aren’t you curious?”

Mostly you just wanted to go home and sleep, but you supposed you were more than a bit curious. You lay back down. Face shining with uncanny excitement, Suguru held up a mirror.

And there, just underneath your clit, winked a darling little ring studded with five tiny seed diamonds. It was a far cry from the dull gleam of stainless steel you expected from the selection on his cart.

Suguru practically danced on the balls of his feet. “Do you like it?”

It dawned on you then - those conversations he started, the hints and the bits and pieces he dropped around you, the enthusiastic encouragement. Geto never said it outright, but now it was clear to you that this was his dearest wish of all time. So dear you wouldn’t put it past him to buy jewellery for it in advance - just in case.

It was rather sweet, in an unconventional way. For the first time all night, you beamed at him and opened your arms for a hug.

��I love it.”

He grinned back, scooped you into his arms, and caught your mouth in a huge kiss. “You know what they say - if you like it, you should put a ring on it.”

That shattered all fluttery, loving sentiments. You went limp in his arms.

“I change my mind. I am going to slap you, Suguru.”

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thekabalians · 2 years

Text

“Fuck you.” She rasped…

Erwin chuckled lowly. “Yes Moon. You already tried and You Lost. Erwin - Two…”

“Mrs Patrick Star Smith - Nil. Another time maybe…”

CITY BOYS 🆙 200 POINTS!

The Kabal Saga: The Teddy Arc 🧸 (s2)

Razorgate Part 2/2

Summary: …What was The Attorney General mad about again?

Part: 19 | > 20 < | 21

Previously < Razorgate Part 1/2 >

Lost? Check out "The Timeline" or "Season 1 Recap"

FAO: @shrekisshrimpthesimp @dassmyname @slavanimesimp @ushiwhacka @soaringmirror @tonaken @killerbananas please feel free to dm if you would like to be tagged/un tagged x

Warnings: Dead Dove Don't Eat. Swearing and foul language. Description seminal fluid and play/ spit swapping, use of Pet names, unprotected insertive vaginal intercourse; unprotected oral intercourse (both parties); consensual breath play; soft degredation/insult; inferred after care and soft debrief, very heavily descriptive grown adult stuff - please be mindful.

WC: 4.1k words - warm tea and biscuits reccomended

A/N: The Shackles have been broken. This has drained me but thank you for your patience and your eagerness to read 💔💔💔❤️❤️❤️. Thank you @nighttimescribbles for your eyes your feedback. You know how I feel about you and I’ll continue to thank you until my lungs collapse. Any and all feedback is appreciated, feel free to spam my comments x

What followed, the moment the couple landed on their King Size was a chaotic mess. A passionate affair, tinged with the zest of barbarity. Pent-up feelings detonated like a nuclear warhead; displaced clothing and bedding served as shrapnel strewn around the room. Erwin couldn’t care less about his wife’s protests regarding her flimsy slip dress or the lace panties she wore as he ripped them off her.

Mr Smith knew he could easily replace them with just a phone call. In fact, if his Moon willed it, he’d buy the entire collection.

Mr Smith knew that such a fateful night did not have room for cordiality or ‘respect’.

Mr Smith, in the kindest, most loving way possible, was only interested in establishing how sorry he was for vexing his poor wife, by breaking her back and giving her some much-needed sleep. Just as she wanted.

It’s what she deserved.

It’s what they both deserved.

Erwin selfishly buried himself betwixt his wife’s thighs; wolfing her down without a shred of mercy. How could a man as proud and obsessive as he, not revel in the sounds he drew from his prized Moon as he swallowed her whole? How could he not be pacified by the taste of her?

He had missed this. Dreadfully. So, it was of no surprise that the State Secretary made it a private point to himself that he would haul out every note possible from his Moon. Leaving her satisfied, hoarse and reborn.

Clare, herself, was overwhelmed, her mind fogging over and lagging. In her deranged state, there was absolutely no point in asking her how, in fact, she ended up in a downward dog position with her husband’s palm pressed deep into her back.

There was no use in asking her, at what point soon after she had her life force snatched out of her own snatch, that she had become State Secretary Smith’s personal rag-doll. Especially considering that her silk scarf was no longer wrapped securely around her hair. Fabric missing, discarded somewhere in the war zone that was their room.

Disoriented, Erwin’s Moon could barely breathe, let alone see. Skin; fever hot and damp. The cold patches of her bedsheets melted against her, soaking up her warmth and melding with her form.

Clare had no capacity to explain how glorious she felt getting picked and dug out by the blonde-haired, blue-eyed, ‘thick-browed’, slick-tongued, sack of meat that mounted her like a feral beast.

What on earth was she mad about again?

Who knew?

Who cared, when his leg was propped up on pillows and his hand anchored against their headboard, all for the perfect leverage, the perfect “equilibrium” to ruin her?

“What colour is the night’s sky, Moon?”

Drooling mouth soaking the bedding beneath her, The Attorney General desperately tried to focus on respiring safely. How could Erwin possibly expect her to answer when he was responsible for plunging her into this delirious state?

Ears ringing, Erwin’s words was indecipherable to Clare. As her ear was crushed against the mattress, understanding his warbled, muffled voice through tinnitus was hopeless.

“Oh… God. Fuck.” She bleated, gurgling on her spit. It was the only coherent thing that she could say. Brain a mush, senses deranged, specks of vision returning to her in scattered droves only to blur sporadically at each peak and trough of her climaxes. Sweat dripped from her skin, sex throbbed in tandem.

Erwin paused. He let his large hand glide up from the small of her back before he carefully leaned over her. With one hand locked on her hip, he allowed the fingers of his other to curl around her jaw, gently guiding the side of her face to meet his.

Her desperate huffs and puffs were his poison of choice; his drug of desire. He couldn’t help the way his mouth curled into a teasing smile; points of his teeth grazing his inner lip as he indulged in the fix that was his wife’s descent into madness.

“Moon?” The man spoke warmly against the shell of her ear, dragging out the vowels of her name.

“Answer me.” The soft demand was like silk. “What colour is the night sky?”

“Green-Fuck. Green! Please… Green.” She cried.

This pleased Mr Smith very much.

“Good girl.” He affirmed as he kissed and licked at the shed tears that collected at the base of her cheek.

“You’ll tell me if you can’t take any more won’t you, Moon?”

Clare groaned out a strangled “mYeshh…shit” before her face contorted at each carving plough he delivered, resuming satisfied with her answer.

Upright again, the State Secretary delivered hard, corrective spanks across her arse before petting the stinging skin softly. Clare moaned pathetically which he found both amusing and endearing.

“That’s my girl.” His voice was parasitic. The warm tone oozed and flooded the Attorney General’s brain, blanking her thoughts. The tears that left her eyes were of joy, of feeling affirmed and worshipped. Tears of being purged of her foul behaviour.

Clare instinctively threw her hips back to match his speed. Slurred mewls coupled with the percussion of her cunt and her skin hitting against his own, incentivised him to go harder. Erwin gently raked at her back, leaving cooling kisses in the wake of his nails before slipping his fingers around her hips to her clit, applying pressure and playing with the bundle of nerves.

The sound of sloshing became louder and the tell-tale signs from his Moon excited Erwin, toothy grin wide as the man enjoyed the way her walls attempted to choke his shaft.

Buckled knees forced Clare to succumb to the comfort of their mattress. For some, this would’ve been a sign of defeat, an indicator of her surrender.

Not for Mr Smith though. It would be naive to think that someone as compulsive and relentless as he, would fall for a trick like that. Retreating with a ‘job well done’ attitude, when he knew all too well that his dear wife was most certainly not done.

Years of experience taught him that he was not to stop until she told him to stop. And so, being the obedient man of his word, Erwin continued to fuck his Moon into the mattress, pressing her like a stamp to its ink pad. Gifting her another orgasm that dragged out wordlessly.

“Breathe, Moon. Breathe.”

As if by command, Clare expelled air harshly from her lungs, screamed and panted furiously before sobbing in ecstasy. All while her lover fucked her as if it were out of sheer spite for her insolent cheek, and by gods did she love it.

What was she mad about again?

What happened to her smart mouth?

Something dark and unhinged unravelled as Erwin watched his length retreat from her. The cream that crowned the base of his shaft. The foamy, frothy mix of their fluids that he helped blend and churn within her, matted his downy hairs and stained his skin.

He thought it glorious.

“Look at the beautiful mess my Moon made.”

Cautiously rolling the spent Attorney General onto her back, Erwin caressed her face. He hushed and shushed as he rubbed soothing circles into her cheeks; admiring the way she twitched and shivered, clambering down from orbit.

“Look at you.” The man awed. “Look at what you’ve made, sweetheart. Look.”

Curious and jittery, Clare sat up, resting on her palms before she took a peek. Admiring the lactescent products she and Erwin were glazed in, the sticky sight tripped a switch within her.

Witnessing this demeanour change, it took everything within Erwin to contain his delight, especially now his wife’s gaze became wolfish and predacious.

“Let her out, Moon.” Erwin goaded with a low rumble, like a devil on her shoulder. “She said she was hungry. Let her eat.”

The speed at which things moved could only envy that of light. All the State Secretary could recall was the feeling of being ambushed and pinned down into the bed by his now, ‘half-mad’ Moon.

The feel of her; grazing and raking at his flesh with the tips of her nails, (French, of course) was maddening. Tickles sent chills down his spine as his tacky heart made his ear and lips throb in anticipation.

Erwin wondered how long he could remain temperate, considering how dangerous his Moon’s serpentine tongue was.

The pulse of her mouth, its warmth? Its feel? All the sounds she made; the wet pops, the smacking, the absurdly offensive noise of her slurps and her soothing, satisfied hums? How could he help the stray tear that left his eye, as he laid there being conquered?

Lord knows how he longed for this. Dreamt of this, knowing full well that timidity was not his Moon’s suit.

Mrs Smith weaponised the apex of her tongue to christen her husband’s swollen glans before sucking at his slit like a glutton. She gobbled the man whole, paying no mind to how ‘disgusting’ it was to clean up the crème fraîche halo that she had left on him.

She couldn’t care less about her husband chanting in whispers to whatever deities he could remember for strength. It didn’t stop her from dragging her man to hell, and sensing how close he was to perishing in said ‘hell’, the Attorney General straddled him with dangerous intent.

Clare slid her palms from Erwin’s obliques up his chest. She adored the way his dewy skin glistened in the dim lights. She thought it darling the way his hair darkened from the sweat, golden strands matted against his forehead. He was his absolute prettiest, like this.

Tilting his face up towards her with the tip of her index, Clare offered him a soft, yet menacing look. Erwin could see the cogs turning behind her eyes.

What is my unhinged woman about to do now?

The man pored over the possibilities, as his silent wife thumbed at his swollen lips. His eyes darted over her form; each field of vision sent his dirty-mind reeling to his soiled length. The second his Moon stuck her tongue down his throat, his eyelids felt heavy.

Tasting himself as he swallowed her, Erwin let out a solitary, pleasured ‘fuck’ into Clare’s mouth as he sunk a little into her sex, heat encompassing him and spreading all over. He screwed his eyes shut, chasing her kiss, almost as if to will himself restraint.

He pawed at her thighs mindlessly, as he watched Clare sit up and shudder as she split herself further on him; hissing and groaning as she screwed herself down. The tremor in her thigh, twitch in her hip, the way her chest rose and fell in quick succession as she adjusted to his ‘pathetic excuse [of] dick’ (indeed). The entire sight was mesmerising.

“God! You are…” Erwin started, unable to finish; subdued by how snug he felt within her. State Secretary Smith swore then as he had sworn a thousand times before that he could never get used to it; used to her.

“Say it,” Clare commanded, prying his hand from her hip before planting his thumb atop her clit, guiding him to play with her.

“I am…?” She prodded; his nipples at the mercy of the pads of her fingers.

“S’beautiful.” Erwin breathed. “My beautiful, slutty, greedy whore wife and her even greedier cunt.” Erwin grinned, guttural noise escaping him as his Moon’s walls contracted around him.

The words that came with his gentle, candied smile, were pure even in their filthiness. Each syllable dripped in affection; not an ounce of malice woven within.

“I’m the luckiest bastard on Earth.” He confessed.

Clare bucked and whined her hips tortuously with a scalding snicker, compliment racing straight to her head. The speed at which she rocked back and forth, was excruciatingly slow. Mr Smith could barely cope. He tried to grip any part of Clare to speed her up, but the sting of his Moon smacking his hand, deterred him.

“No.” She chided. “Be patient.”

Patient? How?

How could he be, when the way in which she rode him was cruelly unfair?

The man’s irritation slowly ripened. All he wanted to do was resume fucking her, get back to turning his Moon inside out and tearing her apart. If she moved any slower, Erwin was certain that he’d lose his temper again.

Frustrated, all the State Secretary could do was knock his head back and croak as he palmed at his wife’s breasts. Hunger for her forced him to rise up to bite and suck on her tits.

Despite the salacious noises that escaped her, Erwin’s Moon refused to be subdued by the way his tongue worked her nipples, baptising them in his spit. Her husband’s greed only spurred her to unlatch him from her breast and push him back down into the bed.

The pupils of his ocean blues had blown out and it was as if she were looking into a bottomless abyss. Perhaps it was her own delusion, but as she rocked herself a little harder and let her fingers trace his collarbone, somewhere deep, deep in the swirling darks of his eyes she could see, in its most rudimentary form; Love.

Love for her and only her.

Heart fluttering; Clare couldn’t help but claw at his neck before encasing it within her hands, much like a boa constrictor. She hissed as she looked at Erwin beneath her nose, watching him bare his teeth into a sinister smile. His impatience ceased the moment he comprehended what ‘the fuck’ was about to happen.

“Do it.” He dared, voice strangled.

“Harder, Moon.” He pleaded; begs sounding like commands.

Clare had no reason not to oblige, seeing now how magnificent the power that she held over him was. The rumble of her husband's voice paired with the trembling movement of his larynx against her palm was electric. It looked so easy to crush his windpipe for his transgressions, minor though they were. The thought excited her more than when she almost carved his carotid out from under his flesh.

Beneath her, she was his god.

By her hands, she ‘giveth him’ life and she could very easily, ‘taketh away’.

Erwin was completely, willingly at her mercy. Just as he wished. Rolling and swirling her waist a little faster, Clare watched as his eyes rolled to the back of his skull as she fought against the resistance of the muscles in his neck.

Erwin loved the burn, the sound of his blood rushing in his veins as his air supply was slowly cut off, the transient blindness inflicted on him by his heart’s captor. To feel a fraction of what his Moon felt under him was exhilarating. The thrill of gasping and gagging for air as his lungs fought hard; the way his limbs thrashed as the seconds ticked away, all at his Moon’s provocations? He thought it divine.

Erwin succumbed to his innate desire to breathe and like a vine, wrapped his arms around Clare’s core as he mercilessly, roughly pistoned himself into her. He was aware that the action forced her hands to slip from his neck. Next time, Erwin would be sure to make her use a collar on him. For efficiency, of course.

“Fuck,” Strings of expletives spilt from Clare’s lips like treacle. Vowels and consonants dragged as the symphony of The Smith’s sloppy, sticky skins collided together, filled the atmosphere in an andante tempo.

His hold on her was unyielding; his large hand clasped at the back of her neck like a brace.

“Damn you.” Clare warbled as she crumbled for the nth time, heart racing a thousand miles an hour. “Shit, ohhhhhhh, shh-fuck - I-I c-can’t.”

“You can, Moon. You can!” Erwin charmed into her ear. “You can and you will, because I’ve got you. You’re safe here and I’m gonna help you cum some more for me until you’re completely empty. Let me help you, my love.”

He slowed his pace a little at the feel of her seizing up around him. It took three forced slams of his hips before the woman’s eyes rolled to the back of her head. Her mouth was fixed agape, but not a single sound left it. She wanted to scream, but she couldn’t. All her chest allowed her to do was gasp and gasp loud as if she had been dunked into frozen water.

What ‘nut-number’ was this?

Two?

Four?

Six?!

It didn’t matter because Clare’s eyes watered again. Too many stars were bound to blind her, surely?

“There you go,” Erwin soothed with a drawl, as his Moon quivered in the wake of his ‘gift’.

Discourteously, the man refused to wait for Clare’s recovery. Instead, by rolling her onto her back, Erwin opted to drag his Moon back down from orbit, only to catapult her back and further away, for one last time.

“What colour is the night’s…”

“Green!” Clare snapped breathlessly, shutting Erwin down. Her voice was husky, her tone impatient.

“Are you sure, Moon?”

“Yes!” She croaked harshly but drowsily. “Put me down.”

Greedy Girl. The man privately marked with a smirk. He shook his head and accepted his wife’s request. Whatever his Moon wants, she gets.

Throbbing cock still planted within her, Erwin spread her thighs to their utmost extension. The State Secretary wanted to expel the very little energy he had left into his wife, so he held her in a smothering embrace for one last act.

The man isolated his hips and curled them, allowing himself to dig…

and dig…

and dig deeper still, bottoming himself out after each stroke. All to the incentivising soundtrack of his Moon lamenting.

At the fullness of him within her, Clare buried her head into his neck and shoulder as he sealed her fate.

“Please.” The man heard her whinge into his skin. The desperation evident in the way her nails clawed and broke the skin of his back was electrifying. Beneath him, she was a wreck.

“Please what, Moon?” He asked softly, his own speech slurring a little. He was close. “Use your words. You’d so many for me earlier. What d’you want?”

“Oh God. Please ‘win, please. I… fuck.” Clare hiccuped. To be reduced to this, like clockwork, knowing full well that her husband relished in her suffering was nothing short of ‘fucking embarrassing’. Impertinent retorts cured instantly by a rough rutting. It was too easy.

“I’m getting sick of repeating myself, Moon. Have you known me to enjoy repeating myself?”

“N-God, have mercy.” Clare sobbed, voice cracked and scratchy, nails dug into his shoulders. “N-no. Shit. No!”

“Exactly.” Erwin murmured, kissing her temple. “So open that fucking mouth of yours and tell me what you want, otherwise, I’ll stop right now and leave you in this deplorable, disgraceful state that you’re in.”

Clare shook her head, tremors and shakes present as her climaxes became more and more frequent, and more shattering.

“I want you to… need you to cum inside.”

“You sure?”

“Yes… please… fuck… please baby, I need you. Please ‘win!”

The State Secretary bundled his wife a little tighter, giving her that familiar security she loved and never experienced elsewhere. The weight of him, the tightness of his embrace; the immobilising feeling beneath him despite their sweat-slick bodies holding little to no resistance as she squirmed under him. It was the safest she had felt in months.

Like this, Erwin hushed her and spoke in awed whispers all the things he should’ve said, as he ploughed out her soul.

“Mine.” He sealed with each cervix gracing thrust paced at ‘adagio’. His voice was warm and low, forcing Clare to strain and listen; comprehend every word he was saying to her. “You’re mine. All mine and I love you.”

It was all the poor woman could remember acutely during that moment. Mr Smith had beguiled her, rewired her thoughts, quelled her fury and all she could do was cry.

“I belong to you, Moon. Always will. Do you hear me?”

The Attorney General nodded, heart in throat, full and bursting.

“I love you.” She croaked, toes curling. “So much”.

Myotonia forced Clare’s voice to die in her throat and lock herself around Erwin’s waist for the last fall. The couple couldn’t help but crash their mouths into each other as they came in unison, just like how the moons were made. In between the ebb and flow of kisses that followed, Erwin swore and grunted into his wife’s mouth. It didn’t take long for their kisses to swallow into softer ones.

The feeling of being filled to the brim with his seed and spilling everywhere, warmth dripping down her cheeks, and the feel of his pulse within was gratifying.

Admittedly, She did not want her husband to move an inch from her. Clare wanted him to stay fixed on top of her for just a little while longer; twitching, just as she did beneath him. Her boundless lustfulness and gluttony didn’t cease; she needed every last drop.

Drained and utterly spent, Erwin finally dismounted and stood to his feet albeit a little unsteadily. Taking a moment to get his bearings, the man bent over and rested his palms over his thighs to catch his breath and wait for the dizziness and shakes to cease.

“Better?” He huffed.

Clare nodded sleepily, her own limp body convulsing. Throat too raw to speak any louder, but as promised reborn, she returned a soft “You?” to which he returned with a nod, pursed lips exhaling harshly.

Clare lips curled upwards as she mindlessly rubbed at her belly. She closed her eyes; she accepted that she could die then and not want for more.

“Aht aht! Stay with me, Moon.” Erwin stood, tone a little admonishing. He hobbled over to sit Clare up, propping her with pillows. He was gentle, delicate as if he was handling precious China.

“Don’t pass out just yet.” He instructed, thumbing at her baby hairs. “We need to change the sheets. You’ve ruined them - as you always do.”

We? Since when did he start speaking French? Clare, knackered, screwed her face. About ‘We’?! Who’s ’We’?

“Fuck you.” She rasped, hissing at her tenderness.

Erwin chuckled lowly. “Yes, Moon. You already tried and You Lost. Erwin - Two…”

He reached for a bottle of water in the bedside cabinet to hand to her to which she gulped half down.

“Mrs Patrick Star Smith - Nil. Another time maybe…”

Clare groaned irritated before hurling the bottle at him which he caught easily. He chuckled as he chugged down the remaining water, before discarding it.

“I’ll run us a bath.” Erwin kissed her forehead, and then her temple, and then the corner of her lips. When he tried to retreat, she held on weakly.

Erwin stilled before crouching down beside her as he looked up at her concerned. Love never leaving his eyes.

“…looks sore.” Clare whispered tired, eyes fixated on the angry bruising

Erwin’s hand flew up to his neck in confirmation to which Clare nodded.

“Meh.” Erwin shrugged, hand switching to bop Clare on the nose. “New Battle Scars. I’ll wear them with pride, love.” The man gave a reassuring smile.

The woman hummed offering one too, which faltered a little.

“I’m sorry.” Clare rasped, delicately tracing the angry bruise around his neck, pads stilling on the tender spot near his carotid. He watched as a glint of remorse glazed her eyes for a split second.

“I should be the one apologising. I’m the one who’s sorry.” He frowned.

“Too caught up with bullshit. When I need to be ‘smothering and annoying’ my wife. You know, as per my job description.” Erwin quipped, flashing his wedding band at her.

Clare’s simpered sadly. Privately, it was arguably her worst comedown to date, but to articulate why, despite everything, was impossible.

The State Secretary noticed this disposition and immediately worked to correct this by caressing her face. “In the spirit of telling truths Moon, I’ve actually missed your death threats most.”

“Oh really?” Clare scoffed.

“Moon,” The blond said, voice ladened with an earnestness that she had yearned for. “To be felled by you? To be your pyre fuel for anyone who dares look at you with a slither of ire, would be an absolute honour.”

The Attorney General chuckled as she rubbed her eyes. Of all her previous lovers, Erwin was the smoothest operator.

“Helen of Troy hasn’t a single thing on my wife.”

A giggle escaped the spent woman.

“God.” Clare sighed. “You and your bloody words.”

“Well,” Erwin shrugged, a smug grin adorned his face. “Smith is short for Wordsmith, honey. Is it not?”

“Etymology’s a bit off, babe, but I get the idea.” Clare shrugged before prodding his cheeks in jest, to which Erwin sucked them in and made silly faces.

For a short while, before the grime of their tryst became too unbearable to sit in, the pair did nothing else but sink into each other's eyes. Comfortable in their shared silence as they wordlessly said the unsaid.

[FIN]

#city boy #CITY BOYSSSSSSSSSSS

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thekabalians · 2 years

Text

Happy Birthday to our ‘Blond Haired, Blue Eyed, Thick Browed, Silver Tongued, Heavy Dicked’ King, Erwin Smith

🤴🏼💙

#erwin smith #happy birthday #out of context

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thekabalians · 2 years

Text

Founding Father ❤️

🤴🏼🤴🏼🤴🏼

HAPPY BIRTHDAY COMMANDER DADDY ERWIN SMITH!! 🫶

But seriously tho, simping for this 2D Daddy allowed me to meet the most amazing people ever 🥹🫶 if it wasn't for you i wouldn't meet @thekabalians family 🥹🥰

HAPPY BIRTHDAY ERWIN SMITH! shinzou assageyo 🍑🫶🫡

#erwin #erwin smith #aot #attack on titan #snk #shingeki no kyojin #kabal multiverse of madness #the kabalians #god amongst men

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thekabalians · 2 years

Note

What is Shrekky's favorite medication?

Nurse Miche's penisillin.

NAH COME BACK… SAY IT WITH YOUR CHEST SWEETIE!!!!!!!!!!!

Nurse Miche administering stat dose of penisilin route: PV

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thekabalians · 2 years

Text

The Kabal Saga: The Teddy Arc 🧸 (s2)

Razorgate Part 1/2

Summary: With ‘The Leak’, the attempted murder of their daughter, Shrekky and the revelation of Rose - The Puppeteer, marital tensions hit a peak when The Smiths return home from dinner with The Nanami’s.

Part: 18 | >19< | 20

< Razorgate Part 2/2 > (link to follow)

Lost? Check out “The Timeline” or “Season 1 Recap”

FAO: @shrekisshrimpthesimp @dassmyname @slavanimesimp @ushiwhacka @soaringmirror @tonaken @killerbananas

THANKS: Many thanks once again for @nighttimescribbles and @koulakoukoula2003 for lending me their eyes. This was incredibly taxing and word blindness is very real. Your insights have always been appreciated and I hope the time you spent looking this over will be restored to you tenfold. Obvs part 2 coming but i had to split it because… well 😂 anyway enjoy init (you know I’m over somint if I drop into slang so don’t watch that - we move). Spam my comments ❤️, anything is appreciated. Bless up x

WARNINGS: long read/foreplay dead dove don’t eat, my readmore doesn’t work so soz for those having to scroll past - description of fluids, knife/blade kink (?), degradation kink, spousal assault with a straight edge razor, blood, various pet names, consensual breath-play

The drive home from the Nanami’s back to the Smith’s was quiet, save for the D’Angelo that played softly in the background, courtesy of one of the couple’s favourite playlists. What used to be their sing-off sessions was all but a sombre symphony to the state of their relationship.

Clare, in her lonely, isolated reverie, opted to hold her tongue the remainder of the ride, considering how dismissive her husband was earlier:

“…Honey, I, too, am furious… but storming off like that was uncalled for. They are our friends. They were only trying to help…”

“…You need to think rationally…”

“…Just listen to me… You’re not listening to me again, Moon…”

It was against her nature, to gag herself, but she knew all too well that the things that would tumble out of her own mouth, would only cause her more pain and regret. To her detriment, these feelings bubbled deep in her core. Choking her, egging her on to cry, scream, bicker some more because Heavens knew that his carelessness and condescension deserved it all.

But she didn’t. Clare simply opened the window and stared aimlessly out of it, letting the crisp night air kiss her skin and carry her tears away.

Erwin, struggling with his own burdens of control and duty noticed this all and deeply abhorred it. None of this was in the self-help relationship books he read. Nor the Reddit forums or Quora answer threads he trolled through during quiet moments at work.

In hindsight, leaving his wife be, as he had always done, would’ve been the wiser option. Especially considering how capricious she could be. Alas, the stress and the severity of the situation prematurely forced him to say something, anything. Now, his reward of her silence was like waiting for a hand grenade to detonate.

And without the pin to replace the one he ripped out with his comments and actions, Erwin felt completely and utterly helpless.

Anything else outside of this ‘culmination of shit’ that he and his Moon were in the eye of, would’ve been handled with an ease and swiftness common for his reputation, as it had been done so for years. It didn’t help that he had no control of the index narrative that arrived them there in the first place. The same index narrative that remained the root of the impending breakdown he foolishly projected into the universe.

Of all the things he could’ve said… ‘end our marriage’ was his choice? His trump card for millions to see?

He promised his Moon that he would fix the mess and yet nothing had been fixed. Not even a dent was made. The perfectly crafted life he had created for himself was decaying in front of his very eyes. And little Irvin Pavlov was panicking and weeping deep in the ice of his subconscious.

Whenever he felt the silent anxiety begin to break its frost-bitten cage, Erwin would silently reach out just to touch her. To feel her. Caress her leg. Search for her hand. Play with her ring. All just to ground himself. He needed to. Or else he felt, in his mind at least, that he would self-destruct.

He was grateful that his Moon didn’t push him away. Even though reluctance was present, warranted (of course), she let him. Touch was important, for both of them and despite her spite, Clare was grateful for it. Always. It was their foundational language; a wordless one that spoke a thousand.

At the arrival at the estate; the State Secretary rested his head on the back of his seat. He took a moment to admire the way the headlights illuminated the driveway they designed together. Sentimentality hit him. Memories of renovating the centenarian property together to make it their family home plucked at his heart. This was their humble abode and it was the only place in the world where he felt happiest, especially when Clare, his heart’s keeper, was with him.

The man turned his head and looked at his wife in the passenger seat. Unsurprisingly, she hadn’t moved an inch from her position. Clare continued to stare out the window, on her left, mind adrift. There was an unspoken distance between them now, as if the couple had fought, even though they hadn’t truly. Erwin sighed deeply as he switched off the engine, stopping the music. Leaving the car, the man collected his wife’s purse and courteously opened her door.

Clare acknowledged her husband shortly before receiving her belongings from him. She hadn’t the strength nor the decorum needed to speak to him kindly at that moment, so instead, she entered their home without a single word. The couple split the moment the heavy gothic door shut. Whilst Clare went off to ready herself for bed, Erwin went to his office to lock the estate down; changing passwords and scheduling a security sweep and upgrade for the following day in light of Rose.

It was late now, and the night was silent. Erwin didn’t think he’d miss his wife’s humming, singing or rapping as much as he did then. Even if the lyrics she sang were vulgar at least he could hear her voice. Instead, all he heard when he passed his stepdaughter’s old room was her sniffles. He knew it was best not to intervene, for his wife valued her solitude and space. He understood that it wouldn’t serve him well to push her to open up. He needed to let her come of her own free will. So, instead, Erwin buried his want to steal a hug from her to prepare for bed on his own, heart sore.

Some time had passed and without warning, Clare sauntered into her husband’s bathroom, lips sealed, in total silence. She had donned a fine cotton slip dress; the cream one, with a deep thigh slit, Erwin’s favourite, of course. With her hair wrapped up in a silk scarf, the possibility of ‘extras’ or ‘making up’ were slim to none, much to the dismay of the Blond.

Yet still, she was tempting. Utterly.

Erwin, who had just prepped his skin for a shave, Gillette in hand, watched in the mirror as his wife circled the room; drinking her in slowly, cautious of her next move. He watched, as she leisurely ran her perfectly manicured hands across the edge of the counter; his ring, safe at home on her finger, glistening under the warm lights.

He observed how she placed a black case on his counter and reached for some spare towels from the cabinet below. His stare lingered, as his wife then faffed and fiddled about, rearranging the already arranged staple products that lived upon the countertop. Whether she was stalling or sharpening her weapon of choice, it was hard to decipher.

The Attorney General looked at her curious husband’s reflection, no longer than a moment before she decided to turn and face him directly, bottom pressed against the counter and arms on either side of her. Her stance was predatory and sultry still. Under her watch, Erwin felt as if he were being sized up by her and broken down into chunks to devour. Under her gaze he was prey, and it was a title he was willing to accept, so long as he was still ‘something’ to her.

When she sauntered towards him, Erwin reeled her in almost instantly, holding his Moon taut to his waist. He looked at her lovingly before he leaned in to kiss her. Clare quickly turned her cheek towards him before he could land on her lips, hiding her irritation as best she could. The aversion didn’t go unnoticed by the State Secretary, who felt the tiny pang of rejection in his chest. Nonetheless, he kissed her deeply on the cheek, lingering a little, bottom lip dragging against her flesh.

“Goodnight, honey.” His voice was soft. Deep. It waned at Clare. The minty heat of his breath fanned over her cheek. He was too much. Far too much when he was like this; when he gripped at the fat of her hips, thighs, bottom and called her whatever sweet name he conjured up spontaneously, just to be intentionally irresistible.

“Sure.” Clare plastered a disingenuous smile on her face, fighting back at how easily he pacified her. She begged for restraint as she swiftly broke his hold over her waist.

“Sit.” The Attorney General commanded her husband, nodding at the bathroom chair.

The dismissal made Erwin scoff. He shook his head but sat down regardless. Whatever his Moon wants, she gets.

Clare peeled his fingers open like petals and took the razor he held in his hand, casting it aside on the bathroom counter. Erwin watched intrigued.

Clare did this all in silence. Her face was unreadable. Light in her eyes dull. Something was completely off and it had nothing to do with the Rose Revelation. Erwin ascertained that much. The State Secretary knew his Moon like the back of his hand. He studied her, literally, even before she knew of his existence. It wasn’t fate, after all, that they met.

Like Sofiya said; Clare Lune was the ‘coveted property of Don Señor Pablo Schrekscobar’. The woman who plagued his dream day and night. Whose laughter and smile were seared into his memory and planted seeds of dependency in him, craving to just see or hear it again.

A lifetime ago, Erwin believed in his heart of hearts that he could do better for her than his boss ever could. Be better. Worship her the way she needed to be.

And so, when the opportunity arose and Erwin was finally tasked to ‘deal’ with Clare for doing the unthinkable and leaving Pablo; he remembered one of his favourite quotes:

“When you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you achieve it.”

Erwin spared Clare against Pablo’s wishes and failed to return to him.

Erwin chose his own path and for the first time in his life, he was most grateful for it. It was as if the universe wanted him to experience peace. To mean something to someone. To have the responsibility of looking after someone he perhaps loved more than himself, someone without the darkness of his world. Someone he loved dearly, terribly.

The opportunity to redeem himself for the physical representation of goodness and justice. In his mind, being good and clean for the embodiment of Lady Justicia would absolve him from his sins. Plentiful though they were.

Clare applied shaving mousse onto Erwin’s face, which he accepted, watching her intently and quietly as she did so. She then draped a towel around her husband’s neck before throwing a spare over her shoulder. She unzipped the black case that she placed on the counter and pulled out a straight cut-throat razor. The sight of it caused Erwin’s heart to skip a couple of beats out of sheer anticipation. It had been months since he had a close shave and longer still since his Moon did it for him.

But tonight it seemed that she was in the mood. Something deep down screamed at him that it wouldn’t be that straightforward. He wouldn’t be so lucky.

Clare, unceremoniously gathered the material of her dress up before she mounted Erwin’s lap. This was the closest the couple had been all night and certainly the most intimate they had been in weeks. Erwin cursed himself for how considerably weak his resolve was. He underestimated himself, as well as his dick.

All that could be heard was the scratching of the stainless steel razor against his skin.

He daren’t speak. He just waited.

And waited.

And waited still, until his Moon finally spoke up.

“Why did you lie to me, ‘Win?” Several minutes of pregnant silence and his wife’s voice were like ice. Poignant. Laced in bitters.

Erwin didn’t answer right away. Three-quarters of his face was already complete. Freshly shaven. He closed his eyes as if he was extremely relaxed. His lips curled into a tiny, indistinct smile, Adam’s apple bobbing passively as he tried to lubricate his throat for a response.

He hummed deeply, the sound reverberating through the skin of her wrist that rested against his neck. It wasn’t easy for Clare to ignore the way it made her skin pepper with goosebumps whenever he made any noise, despite being frustrated.

The woman was sick to her stomach with her husband’s secrecy and omissions. If she could rip the truth from her lover’s silver tongue, there was no doubt that she would.

Erwin sat back and blinked. He cocked his head to the side and looked into her eyes immaculately feigning obliviousness.

“Lie about what, honey?”

There it was again. That sweet, calorific, condescending lilt in his voice that he put on for her. Just for her. He had to have been mocking her.

Clare’s hand grew heavy, the blade slowing down as she applied pressure. Erwin could feel the steel indent onto his skin, his nipples hardened at the danger of it all.

“Is this about the phone call at dinner, sweetheart?” The blond let his reply rumble softly. It had a little too much bass to be a whisper. It was intentional.

Silence. Again.

Erwin hated when she was like this. Hated it when she deliberately stayed silent to allow him to fill in the blanks of her question until she got a satisfactory answer from him. A typical, classic tactic from his Attorney General. She was treating him like a suspect; say nothing and allow them to talk themselves into a hole.

When Clare was like this, he knew that she already had a guilty verdict in her head. It was the old prosecutor that manifested then. She would never raise her voice. Never change her tone. Remain completely devoid of emotion. This wasn’t the Clare that would ring him nights on end for reassurance and pep talks. That would cry to him when the world got too much. This wasn’t his Moon that saw him as her voice of reason, her biggest cheerleader, her best friend.

No, this Clare was sat perfectly on his lap, the weight of her pressing at the perfect angle that any movement or shuffling would force him to grow complete, crumble and confess.

At the same time, this Clare conveniently held a cutthroat razor, freshly sharpened, taut to his gullet, nails anchored at the back of his neck. Her bladed hand was firm and steady, ready to nick a vessel if Erwin dared fib beneath her.

And yet, despite his hatred of her silence; his heart bounded against his chest. Fear of the unknown - addictive. Erwin was unabashedly aroused. The palpable risk of actually having his throat cut by his Clare, just like Sofiya prophesied?

Yes. Erwin screamed in his head, cock already on a partial.

“Moon?” Erwin drawled lowly as the scratching of the blade against his skin continued without a response. The man sighed and tempered himself; he had to negotiate his life.

“What I am sensing is that you are very angry and very upset about tonight’s news. Like I said earlier this evening, I share that anger with you.” The State Secretary tried to de-escalate his wife using all the buzz words he read in the therapy manual he had tucked in the bottom drawer of his office which he religiously annotated, highlighted and sticky-noted. It lived with the old character file he created on her all those years ago when he first officially came into her life. Her likes, dislikes, loves, hates. All the cheat codes that he studied diligently to make himself the perfect man for her.

He ran his palms up and around the spans of her thighs and arse meet, working his way up to her stomach and lower back with tender, loving, figures of eight.

“Your feelings are valid Moon. Please let me make you feel better. Please tell me what’s wrong. Please tell me what I may be lying to you about.“

Clare stopped briefly and looked down her nose at him. Disgusted almost. She tilted his chin up roughly with the tip of the razor and held his gaze.

“Moon. What was I lyin…”

“Who were you on the phone with, Erwin?” Clare cut her husband off abruptly.

Erwin’s eyes dropped to his wife’s lips before flickering back up to meet hers. The jig was up.

“Zeke Jaeger.” He exhaled as he looked into her, eyes bored as he fibbed effortlessly. Clare hummed in acknowledgement.

*scratch scrape scratch*

Bullshit. It was the only word that churned in Clare’s head as she continued to shave beneath his nose, ridding him of the shadow of his moustache. He tucked his lips in as he felt her blade closing in.

“Really, ‘Win?” Clare queried inquisitively. Her husband felt her grip on him soften. A sign surely?

*scrape scratch*

“Really, Moon,” Erwin promised earnestly, kneading at her waist before creeping up to her breasts. His ignorance was outstanding. The politician was completely oblivious to how deeply he underestimated his error, as he thought his Moon subdued.

*scratch scrape*

Clare hummed in retort, rolling her hips briefly before adjusting a little on Erwin’s lap. She was acutely aware of how painfully erect he was now, underneath her like this. Alas, her fury wasn’t enough for her to forgo her vexation, much to the torture of the State Secretary who continued to look at his Moon, puppy-eyed, ignorant of his mistake. Ocean blues laced in adoration.

*scratch scratch*

“Our very Zeke Jaeger?” Her tone was dangerously saccharine. The State Secretary took that as a sign of his triumph of, once again, succeeding in winning over his bewitchingly volatile Clare.

Clare hummed before carding Erwin’s hair from his nape upwards, forcing an aroused groan from him as she massaged his scalp, lulling him to relax even further.

“Yes, Darling.” The man punctuated with a tender kiss against her jaw. “None other than our very own.”

It was unfortunate that the man had closed his eyes, for he had missed the moment his wife snapped.

The Attorney General yanked Erwin’s head back exposing his jugular, before she delivered a swift, tiny slice against his flesh, nicking the skin millimetres away from his carotid.

Erwin’s eyes flashed open. He bared his teeth with an exaggerated ‘hiss’ and groan. The pain was negligible, but he instinctively dug his blunt nails into the fat of his Moon’s hips hard, locking her in place directly atop his dick. Clare’s grip on him was steadfast, unrelenting. Her face was dark and unreadable. It was a stalemate.

“Wrong answer.” Clare spat through gritted teeth. “Do you think I’m in the mood for your pathetic little games, Smith?”

She twisted his head to the side and spoke against the shell of his ear, caring less about the frank blood that ran down his neck in tiny streaks.

“I’m going to ask you again and I expect the correct answer because if not, I’m going to gift you a new scar to add to your collection.” Clare spoke slowly, enunciating every word. “Who… the fuck… were you on the phone with?”

Erwin’s belly burned with desire as his dick wept through his silk pinstripe pyjama slacks. He felt hot. Palms clammy; Heart working its hardest out of shock and arousal. Clare did not yield, despite how filthy she felt at her own body’s betrayal, slick threatening to stain him.

Erwin readjusted his head to face Clare, the ghost of a smile etching on his face as his eyes flickered over all the features of her.

“That really hurt, Moon.” Erwin teased with a playful pout and whine. It was almost as if it were a joke to him. Erwin gripped Clare’s razor armed hand swiftly before she could deal another slice into his flesh, and wrenched the razor from her hand, dashing it onto the bathroom counter with a clank and clatter.

With a secure grip around her wrist, he then guided Clare’s fingers to mop up the little blood from his neck.

“I was getting to the truth, my love.” He drawled, as his wife glared daggers at him.“It was Zeke that called but it was El Scribs on the phone.” Erwin said before placing the bloody pads of her fingers into his mouth.

“And what the hell…” Clare closed her eyes and stifled a moan as she felt him suckle on them. Warm tongue exploring her digits. Her eyes lidded involuntarily, stubborn nature desperate to hold on to the bone she wanted to pick with him, but the sensation of his mouth was crippling. “What the hell did she want?”

Erwin hummed releasing her fingers with an obnoxious pop.

“Something about conquering Zeke. You know what he’s like. No restraint. No decorum. It’s why he forgot his phone in her cell.” Erwin said coolly.

He omitted all the crucial details, of course. The threats. The warnings. And with an ease that was criminal because his mouth found purchase on Clare’s gorgeous neck. Nibbling, sucking and licking the salt off her.

Shit. Clare mused. She was fast losing her grip on her frustration with him and her husband knew it all too well.

“That’s our Zekey, isn’t it? Such a pliant thing. With an addiction to dangerous women with wicked tongues. You remember, don’t you, Moon?”

Oh… God. Clare screamed in her head. Her prayers for restraint went unanswered, lace knickers ruined.

“You haven’t forgotten, have you?” Erwin mocked as he gently guided her hand to palm at his aching cock, which had been starved of her. His free hand grabbed her nape, thumb smearing the saliva he left at the crux of her jaw.

“Don’t you remember how you ruined him? How we, ruined him. It’s all he searches for now. Dangerous women… with wicked tongues. That was my Moon’s fault. Just like this is.”

Erwin punctuated his taunt by clasping his wife’s hand shut over his clothed dick. Cunt twitched when she felt the stickiness of his pyjama bottoms. Cowper’s fluid in abundance. Just at the anticipation of her. The fact went straight to her head.

“Look at what your words do to me. Look at what you do to me.”

Clare looked away. The need to be dealt with and cared for took hold. She cursed herself; hated that she wanted this. Craved this.

“No, Moon. Look at me.” Erwin purred as he pecked at the shell of Clare’s ear, tip of his tongue tracing her Helix

Clare groaned before looking at him as he requested. He smiled softly.

“I know,” The man started. Large hands kneaded into the muscles of her back and shoulders, coaxing her to relax and prepping her to open for him. It was insidious how easily Erwin knew how to soothe his seething wife. In his arms, she was disarmed.

“I haven’t exactly been my best lately. I’ve been an idiot. A coward who’s humiliated you, who’s stayed away, neglected you and failed to make things better.” Erwin punctuated with kisses and suckles on her cheek. His hums permeated her flesh and etched into her bones. Everything that Clare possessed that had the capacity to stand erect, stood erect. She cursed the heavens as the warmth of his saliva cooled.

“But I want you to know, Moon, that at the very end of the day; everything I do is for you. Always for you and our daughter. Omissions or not.”

Erwin nuzzled into her, whilst his right hand, much like the snake of Eden, slithered to cup her sex, appreciative of how gloriously warm and glazed with her stickiness it was.

“There is a method to my madness, my love. You should know this by now. Just please… trust me.”

“Trust you?”

“Yes, Moon.” He breathed into her flesh as he left, wet, sloppy kisses along her clavicle. He could hear how hard her heart worked all while he also massaged her clit with his fingers. Clare refrained from moaning, grabbed his wrist and stopped his ministrations, he was not going to win on his terms.

“You told me to trust you the last time and look where that’s got me.”

“I know, Moon.” Erwin closed his eyes and he frowned deeply, brows knitting. “I’m trying. I’m really trying.”

The man was exhausted. He hadn’t the ammunition to put up a fight anymore. He’d very much rather suffocate between her thighs than sit in this teasing impasse.

“You keep treating me like I’m some ditzy idiot; smothering me with promises you cannot keep. Stop doing that!”

“Okay. Okay.” The State Secretary conceded, softly, despite the idea of not being able to promise the world to her, felt unnatural to him. Like instructing a fish to climb a tree.

“And don’t you ever lie to me again, Erwin.” Clare clasped his cheeks in, demanding his undivided attention.

“Yes ma’am.” The State Secretary gulped and murmured, puppy-eyed and lips puckered as his cheeks were squished between the pads of his Moon’s fingers.

“I’m serious, Mr Smith.” Clare sealed her remark with tender kisses, each one sweeter, more bewildering, more layered than the other.

“If you ever lie to me again; your joy go turn to ash in your mout.”

Martin. Erwin recalled accurately. Tyrion’s threat. Clare quoting literature, especially in Pidgin meant she was gravely serious. But threats were the sexiest when she said it, switching eloquently from received enunciation to Pidgin, all before she tattooed the warning with a bite and suck on the delicate skin she nicked. Somewhere visible so he could always see it and remember how much a fib had cost him.

“Now pull your fucking dick out, I’m tired of playing with my food.”

The Attorney General plucked at the waistband of her State Secretary’s bottoms, already aware how their combined messes ruined the fabric.

“Quickly!”

The command awoke the man, a frisson of excitement jolting a possessiveness within. With his messy hand, he grabbed his vexed wife’s throat and squeezed; alternating the pressure, before he drowned in the umbers of her eyes, lust flooding them.

“Where are your manners, Moon?”

“Absent. Just like your senses.” Clare quipped, retaliating by pressing her index finger, hard, into the intercostal space under his heart.

She watched his mouth drop as if to say ‘Ah.’ in pain. The Attorney General bit his bottom lip, tugging with her teeth before sucking on it ‘til it swelled, releasing him with a wet pop.

Being on this spectrum, fluctuating between pain and pleasure, was maddening. Erwin’s rabid thoughts rendered him mute and still.

The deafening quiet was increasingly unbearable for both of them, but Erwin knew he didn’t have the mental fortitude to play with his Moon anymore. The tedious back and forth was jarring. Clare was one string of pearled insults away from being bent over the chair the man sat upon, forcing him to have his ungodly way with her.

Clare scoffed, looking at him up and down.

“What? Have I not made myself clear enough to you?” The woman mocked, cocking her head to the side.

“I told you, I was hungry, State Secretary Smith. And yet, you sit there, gawping at me, stuck like some alabaster-coloured January sales mannequin. I wonder what pathetic excuse of a dick you have for me tonight? You haven’t fucked me in so long, I’d be surprised if you even remember how to use the damn thing.”

Her degrading lilt grated on Erwin’s nerves. Sticks and Stones. He chanted in his head. Sticks and fucking Stones!

“You haven’t lost steam, have you? Have your balls gone flat, Mr Smith?”

Irritated, Erwin clicked his jaw as he squeezed his wife’s throat a little harder before relaxing. Her demeaning mannerisms lashed at his ego.

The chair is too kind. The man mused. The floor is fit for her attitude, but the bed is best.

Clare gasped dramatically.

“No! Don’t tell me you’ve cum already? Look at the state of you! Poor wee, Willie Winkie has ruined his pj’s all at a woman’s touch, and now he’s frozen stiff. N’aww! How adorably pathetic?” Clare sniggered with a coo.

That was the final insult that festered his injury.

“That’s it!” Erwin snarled as he stood up, wrapping her legs around his waist. “Insolent fucking woman.”

The man stormed into their bedroom, caring not for his unfinished face or the way his Moon yawped at the speed he picked her up.

NEXT < Razorgate Part 2/2 >

#tw: pwp #tw: threats #tw: swearing #erwin smut #erwin smith #Erwin smith x of #knife kink #Tw: blood #Tw: foreplay

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thekabalians · 2 years

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Free me from the shackles of these fucking drafts that has plagued me since AUGUST 2022 for Godsakes 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

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thekabalians · 2 years

Text

The Kabalians: Summarised

Season 1 - Recap (with pictures)

(A TLDR feed clog catch up summary for viewers and stalkers alike)

Feed Dwellers…

Welcome to my Catch Up Show ‘Previously on The Kabalians’ with me, your saucy fave and figment of @shrekisshrimpthesimp’s imagination, Johnny Sins.

I’m here to provide a quick summarised catch up on what the hell has been going on over the last couple months or so, grab a snack and relax.

WHAT’S HAPPENED IN SEASON 1:

On 22/2/22, Judge Clare sentenced El Scribs (@nighttimescribbles) to 20 years in The Gulag for various charges of Fornication, Horny Propaganda and intent of terroristic whoredom because of her piece ‘Donations in Kind’.

The ruling incited riot and increased displays of Harlotian behaviour in The United Republic of Tumblr, 29/5/22, Clare intiated the anti-horny task force to fight the war on horny and whoredom in response to the increase presence of the propaganda perpetrated by the horny terrorist splinter group, The Kabalians; an international crime syndicate made up of serial hornist (creators), loyalists (fans) and distributors (re-bloggers) alike.

In July 2022, 3 other active Kabalians were identified:

@koulakoukoula2003

@dassmyname

@slavanimesimp

Shrekky (Slasher Shrek/@shrekisshrimpthesimp ), was an independent serial hornist but was soon recruited to The Kabalians and heralded as their holy monarch.

This infuriated Ms Clare as it was later revealed that she is the adoptive mother of the sex-ogre. Following a bout of absence, Ms Clare became worried about her daughter’s well being and confessed to her daughter about her true origin.

Ms Clare disclosed to her that her real father was the original horny propagandist Don Pablo Shrekscobar and his abandonment of her at a local orphanage for reasons unbeknownst to her. Clare explained to her daughter, Shrekky, that she adopted her and kept the identity of her biological father secret for fear of her safety.

Tired of AG Clare's rampant and ruthless anti-horny campaign, accusations from prolific members Koula and Defector Dass (self-proclaimed consigliere who defected against the campaign) as well as collusion with the incarcerated El Scribs, led to the questioning of Ms Clare's efficacy and professionalism. Speculation arose regarding Clare's relationship with her colleague and long time friend, AG Zeke Jaeger who appeared very close.

And close was the correct word because on June 11, 2022 it was revealed that the both attorney generals had an affair. Images of Clare and Zeke's relations flooded the internet all media outlets courtesy of Dass.

Blindsided by her husband, State Secretary Smith's response, announcing to the world that he would divorce Clare and fighting for joint custody of their daughter, Shrekky, Clare was devastated to say the least.

However, both AG Jaeger and State Secretary Smith managed to reassure Clare that they would resolve this scandal as well as protect her, her career and her work. A pep talk from Clare's husband encouraged Clare to fight back and defend herself in the media on her own, agreeing to interviews with Dianne Sawyer and Wendy Williams.

AG Clare also responded back to Kabalian members who pissed her off, particularly Dass, but the damage was already done and Clare was grappling with her reputation, on her lonesome, a fact that settled deep in her heart.

Meanwhile in The Gulag (whilst escaping the press) AG Jaeger tries to get El Scribs to confess and bring down her Kabalian Sisters. His use of questionable tactics do him no favour and instead he begins to find for the infamous El Scribs rather interesting…

AND THATS THE RECAP FOR SEASON ONE: Join us in Season 2 where it gets juicy. Attempted Murder, Sex, Crime, Assasinations and Terrorism…

NEXT - ‘Previously on The Kabalians with Johnny Sins’: SEASON 2 RECAP

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thekabalians · 2 years

Text

How Shrekky is preparing the shrekussy for another round with furniture!Bae

hubba hubba 🥵

@thekabalians

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thekabalians · 2 years

Text

👀🔪

👁👁

Local Mum and Dad (after “play fighting”)

#RAZORGATE #oop 👀#kabal multiverse of madness #the kabalians #shrekky’s parents #pablo’s boys

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thekabalians · 2 years

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Our princess @shrekisshrimpthesimp devours the souls of another. Praise Be. Blessed be the fruit. Brought tears to your father’s eyes.

We are living for the lyrical Easter eggs:

“… slurped like spaghetti.”

“… thread through a needle.”

“… how many… licks…”

“…one [measly] nut, … the whole [Eldian] tree.”

The Kabal Saga: FILLER

(Project Shrekussy, Part 2)

Context: Nurse!Miche’s Sleeping Beauty @shrekisshrimpthesimp has finally awoken from her slumber and it’s a fatal attraction. Will he risk his job for the Princess of Horny herself?

Beta’d by the legend that is @nighttimescribbles who has so lovingly held my hand attending writers anonymous meetings. Love you dearly sis. Cc: @koulakoukoula2003 @slavanimesimp @tonaken @ushiwhacka @dassmyname @killerbananas

Lost? Check out the Part One OR The Timeline.

PLEASE READ WARNINGS BELOW:

READERS DISCRETION IS ADVISED YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR MEDIA CONSUMPTION.

Miche, reluctantly casted his gaze to his scrub pants. He was disgusted. Utterly. He couldn’t help but shake his head at the sight of how rock hard he was. Pathetic, really. Completely solid, all at the sight of beautiful, dreamy, umber eyes and dewy, chartreuse skin.

“Fuck.” The man swore with a whisper. Despite being riddled with shame, Miche shoved his hand into his pants. He hoped, prayed rather, that ‘that’ was all it was, just an erection, nothing more nothing le-

“Oh, for fucks sake.” Miche dragged, palm catching some of the pearly, sticky, pre cum that wept out of his slit. He was appalled at his body’s treachery.

“Shit. I’ll just have to type my notes out and make some orders in her room. It’ll pass.” Miche shrugged. He tried his darnedest to convince himself. Even though a part of him very much doubted that. “One hour into this shift and I’m bricked up? God damn it.”

Holding the ‘girthy’ appendage and soaking up the mess of his tip with toilet paper, Miche continued to curse under his breath as he laid his erection flat against the base of his stomach. Securing his boxers before pulling up his scrub bottoms, the man tightened his clothing at the waist to secure it in place.

Miche took long, deep, recomposing breaths before returning to Shrekky’s room, ready to face the music of his now alert and oriented patient. An Intensive Care Nurse’s nightmare.

Upon arrival, he noticed immediately that Shrekky had also recomposed herself. All intravenous lines disconnected and put neatly on their pumps (switched off, of course. Ceaseless beeping isn't the ideal symphony for a spontaneous trysts).

It was as if he was looking at an entirely new person. The liquid courage she had consumed unlocked a deep, dark and twisted desire within her. She exuded this sense of released inhibition, far more than before her injury. It was as if she had taken the red pill and learnt about the absurdity of man and the innate spiritual desire ‘to fuck’ and ‘be fucked’.

Shrekky had a taste of ‘sexual wokedness’; third eye wide open, if you will. She was able to channel the covert whoredom of her adoptive mother and the overt spiritual whoredom of her birth mother; someone she had yet to but now longed to meet.

Her intention was set. She needed to reach enlightenment.

Tonight.

Be who she was born to be. Embrace her true nature. And it started here, now, with the man who gave her the first taste of true holistic freedom.

Miche.

Nurse Miche. NMC Pin 99A9999A.

The Big, Tall, Dirty Blonde, Big Nosed, Sex God that stood so valiantly at the door. His face was fixed neutral but Shrekky and her spirit could easily tell that all was not as it seemed. Miche had pulled the old boys trick. “The Tuck” or “The Uptuck” if you like.

Shrekky scoffed at this; closing her eyes shortly before she looked through the curtain of her lashes at Nurse Miche.

She found it rather amusing because that trick, quite frankly, hid shit. She could easily see the outline of the weapon he was concealing. He was as obvious as an undercover cop named Chad Chessingdale at a rap concert. It was laughable at this point, but Shrekky had to be nice. She wouldn’t mock him like her mother would. It was all far too cute.

“Miche,” The green goddess whined coyly. “Do you mind locking the door and closing the blinds? I would like some privacy please.”

Miche squinted confused. Something had changed about her. She smelled sweeter, tangier, stickier…

Oh…

Miche’s stomach sank as he felt himself beginning to pulsate again. He wiped his face to hide his crumbling restraint, features falling neutral once his hand left his chin. He responded to her request with a sardonic lilt.

“And why would you want me to do that Princess?”

“Please, Miche. I’m shy.” Shrekky begged dramatically.

“Why are you shy? It’s just me and you in this room?” The dirty blond contested.

“PLEASE MICHE!” Shrekky pouted demanding harshly. Her eyes were glossy and clouded with want. Miche found himself being charmed again. Charmed to oblige. How could he say no, when she looked at him like that.

He scoffed at her petulance as he let his head cast down to the floor. Mind slipping into the lewd, the man wondered how sweet his palm would sound if it connected with the skin of her arse. He wondered what sound she’d make. Would it be a mewl? A squeal? A grunt? What colour would his hand print leave on her skin? Would it be pink? Red? Purple? Would she like it, if he spanked her? Would she like it if he told her how much of a bad girl she was being?

“Are you always this cheeky?” A smug smile etched on his lips as Miche laughed at her.

“I just know what I want. So I ask. Nicely.” Shrekky shrugged. “I always get what I want.”

Miche raised an eye brow.

“Is that so?” He said.

“Yeah.” Shrekky cooed as she perched forward on the mattress before sitting on the back of her heels. She adored the way his leering stare was fixed on how seductively she touched her thighs, before she worked her way up slowly. She lived for the way his eye twitched when she hitched her gown, showing the apex of her groin. She loved the way his tongue darted out quickly when she flashed the edges of her simple cotton briefs. Just like clockwork.

“I wouldn’t be a princess if I didn’t. No?”

Of course not.

The heat overwhelmed Miche. His cool ’keep calm, carry on’ demeanour melted at the sight of her hips.

Shrekky’s ears wiggled a little, bushy brows arching suggestively as she tanned herself under his gaze. Eyes wanton, lips ajar and glossy with spit. This was torture and Shrekky revelled in it.

It was edifying to be the object of Miche’s desires. To watch as his resolve chipped away all while he witnessed her, his cheeky princess, who manipulated him remotely, by way of her hands caressing her figure.

The pace?

The teasing?

Sheer Agony.

Miche watched his warm blooded vision of green work her way up to her breasts and tweak at her nipples, moaning and biting her lips at him.

The modesty gown she wore could not hide her figure. Every inch of her had the cup of Miche’s imagination running over.

“What are you doing?” He asked, voice harsher than he intended. Miche needed to know what this mad lass was trying to do, because at this point, all he wanted to do was fold her like a pretzel.

Shrekky’s hands found shelter atop her fupa. The wanton hum that left her before she replied was poisonous.

“Waiting for you, daddy.”

That was the final stray.

Professionalism and morality disintegrated at the word ‘daddy’. Miche felt feral, unhinged like a monster and it manifested in his throbbing, aching dick, twitching as if it were a metal detector looking for treasure.

Miche’s once sleeping beauty was now before him, primed and poised. Her scent, that gorgeous ‘eau-du-ogre’ aroma of hers, tantalised him, prodding at a primitive, possessive part of his soul to mate with her.

Surrendering, the man casted his eyes to the door and went to lock it, ensuring the ‘Engaged for Personal Care Sign’ was clear and visible for staff.

With his back towards her, Miche looked at his watch. Mid shift huddle was at 2 am. It was only 10pm. He had time, he just needed to make haste, discreetly and quietly. Error could not be accommodated, for it’d be the wrath of Shrekky’s mother, Judge Clare and the electric chair for him.

Courage rescorred and obligation dashed, Miche fell mute. Lust forming the pupils of his Hazel eyes. Just a little taste of temptation to sate his curiosity. A mere crumb. That’s all he wanted.

To verify the rumours of Shrekky’s ‘talent’. The streets talked so loud, even the dead knew about Shrekky the pear-coloured paramour, with the ‘gorilla-drip cooch’ and built-in ’gawk-gawk 3000’. Tonight was Miche’s chance. In eight hours, his shift would end and this ménage-a-deux would be but a distant memory.

“Fuck it!” He dismissed. It was time. He needed that Shrekussy.

Miche strolled over to the edge of the hospital bed, thumb and forefinger brushing at his facial hair. Shrekky eyes followed Miche as he waltzed dangerously closer to her.

She leaned forward resting on her knees, form like a Panther, ready to pounce on him the moment he allowed her.

Miche reached for her face, to which she rested her cheek in his warm large hand. He thought her utterly adorable; how quick she was to nuzzle into his palm, brush the tip of her stocky green nose against his wrist.

Towering over her, he couldn’t help but run his thumb across her thin and gloriously wide lips. A fleshy pink colour that made him wonder what such a marvellous creation would look like if it enveloped his twinging cock.

“Shrekky wants to get me into trouble.” Miche rumbled. Flutters radiated from deep within Shrekky, to her labia and ending at her clit. More slick left her, body prepping itself for rearrangement. She was ready to take him. But she had to be patient; good for her ‘Daddy’.

“What do you think I should do with you, princess?”

“Whatever you want, Daddy.” Shrekky mocked coyly, serving the most filthiest bedroom eyes the man had ever seen, before she wrapped her serpentine tongue around his thumb, sucking him with a moan. Miche’s smile became more sinister. He was famished. Impatient.

His dick begged an orifice to plunge into that instant and Shrekky’s mouth seemed so incredibly inviting, warm and wet. He slowly withdrew his thumb from around her tongue and smeared her spit across her bottom lip.

“Oh really now?”

Shrekky nodded her head eagerly.

“Anything, daddy.”

Her response made Miche crack a sly grin. ‘Daddy’ inflating his ego like a balloon. He took a couple steps to the side of the bed, Shrekky’s eyes still trained on him. She quickly swung her body to the side and parted her legs wide.

Scooting to the edge of the bed and allowing her legs to hang off of it, Shrekky hooked her thick fingers over the waistband of Miche’s scrubs and pulled him in closer.

“Show me, then. Time’s-a-ticking, princess.”

Shrekky grabbed the remote and lowered the bed height, comfortably aligning her face with his crotch. Although she had the face of her ancestor the Scottish Ogre Shrek the 1st, it was the only existing resemblance she had. Shrekky was a tiny thing compared to Miche, who towered over her.

But it would be false to assume that she would be intimidated. Oh no. She was far from it. Shrekky was entirely aware that the man could split her in half like a log and she was counting on it.

With one swift move she pulled the string of Miche’s bottoms, releasing his member from the constraints of his waistband and peeled his scrub bottoms down.

She smiled deviously, baring her teeth and licking her lips. Lifting her head she asked simply;

“Messy or Neat, Daddy?”

Miche thumbed at Shrekky’s ogre ears with a smile, before running the back of his finger across her stocky nose.

“Messy, Princess.”

Shrekky smiled as Miche kicked of his scrub bottoms to the other side of the room, peeling his top and freeing his entire form for her. Shrekky hummed and wasted not another second dallying.

Spitting in her palm and then directly on to his swollen head, Shrekky engulfed Miche whole with no qualms. No gagging. No struggle. She used her wet palm to massage his scrotum and the base of his girthy dick causing a chill to run through him.

Miche chanted silent prayers in his head for restraint. He closed his eyes briefly before looking at the doe eyed stare of Shrekky beneath him, who’s cheeks had dipped in and out with a pulse, making the inside of her mouth feel like a deliciously forbidden vacuum.

“Oh…. Oh… shit.” Miche cried, his face contorting as Shrekky began to work harder around him, foaming spit bubbling out the side of her mouth and migrating with the drool that slid down her chin. Her moans, the swilling of spit and the obnoxious pops of her mouth when she released him was music to his ears and it took everything within him to not force her head deeper down his shaft.

Shrekky placed her long pink tongue on the underside of Miche’s cock, rolling and lapping from the base of his shaft to his frenulum and tickling it with the tip of her tongue, as if she was trying to put a thread through a needle.

“Fuck…. Oh… shit, princess.” Miche said, patting at her head mindlessly, trying desperately to hold it together.

Such glorious words of encouragement, Shrekky thought as she blew and guzzled the sides of Miche’s goo-covered length. She offered the same treatment to his balls, purposefully alternating speeds and suction strength. Shrekky let out affirming hums of how delicious she thought Miche was, earning sporadic grunts and groans from him.

Miche was in awe. He could feel Shrekky’s saliva matting his hairs and running down the apex of his thighs. His eyes rolled back into his skull. No inch of his organ was spared and he was certain he would fall at this hurdle if he did not put an end to this.

Miche had to reciprocate. He needed to taste her too. He wondered, how many deliberate licks it would take to get her to cum on his nose? 5, 10, more? Miche gently pried her mouth off of him and gave a swift kiss on her lips, regardless of the mess.

“I don’t want to finish too soon. At your rate I’ll be out in under 2 minutes, Princess!”

“Wouldn’t be the first time someone tapped out on me.” The green belle replied as she watched Miche clamber onto the bed space beside her. Shrekky rid herself of her hospital gown and panties before she found herself giggling at Miche lifting her tiny frame up with ease onto his face. Miche wasted no time lapping Shrekky up. He softly nibbled on her lips before sucking and engulfing her vulva in one fell swoop. His bass ladened voice rumbled through Shrekky’s skin, as he hummed in enjoyment, swallowing down her arousal.

Shrekky couldn’t help but rut on the bridge of the man’s nose. Miche delivered a hard smack on her buttocks in encouragement to rut harder and faster. He kneaded the sting away from her flesh only to repeat it on the opposing cheek. Shrekky moaned with a grunt, her grip slipping as she gyrated on his face, pleasing Miche as she unknowingly answered his question.

This was why she had an affinity for big nosed bastards. Cunnilingus always felt best when a large nose was attached. Miche’s calculated tongue worked even harder and it didn’t take long for Shrekky to crumble unceremoniously into her first orgasm of the night. Knot in her stomach snapping and cunt pulsating above him.

“Donkey, have mercy… shit… Ooh.” She cried arching forward lifting her sex off of him for relief. Ecstasy ran through her veins, her skin exploded with goose pimples. Shrekky’s paced breathing slowly returned to her, as did the chunks of her soul that flew away at the sensation of having her green pussy slurped up like spaghetti; the bristle of Miche’s beard adding the necessary ‘je ne sais quoi’ needed to stimulate the entirety of her outer sex. It all felt so raw. So natural.

Calming down, Shrekky turned to give Miche a knowing look. One measly nut was insufficient, especially for her kind. She needed the entire Eldian tree and it was time for harvest. Shrekky slid down Miche’s body before clambering onto his spit-baptised erection.

Shrekky hissed slightly at the intrusion, savouring the initial burn before finally, completely impaling herself on him. It was only then when Miche could finally comprehend the strength of Shrekky’s vaginal walls. As he laid on his back, cock held a willing hostage within her, the rumours were substantiated; ogre-descendants did have that innate ‘gorilla grip’.

Shrekky gave her hips a little wiggle before she placed her palm atop her lover’s hairy chest for stability. Miche’s heart thumped in his chest, anticipation drying his throat.

“You okay, Princess?” He swallowed.

“Yes, daddy.” Shrekky cooed, eyes cunning. She was going to destroy him.

“Show me what you’ve got then?” He exhorted.

Shrekky smiled wickedly.

Miche underestimated her. She wasn’t just a sweet, giggly, easily flustered girl that melted under his touch. Shrekky was absolutely filthy.

She bounced on it.

Swirled on it.

Twerked on it.

Threw it back.

She even spelt her name using keagals to punctuate and got herself off a few more times, her keens and shivers a marvel to watch.

Miche loved it all. Each roll and buck of her hips hacked at the fraying rope that prevented him from falling off the edge of his orgasm in his mind. One slip, and he would be doomed.

It was the friction of their skins and hairs rubbing together that sent Miche into this hypersensitive delirium. The blending of their viscous messes and absurd sloshing that came with it, drove him insane. So insane, he wrapped his arms around her middle, held her taught to his chest as he delivered pummelling insertive rounds into her puffy, well exercised cunt.

The sound of their sticky skins connecting and disconnecting as well as the pressure of Miche drilling her made Shrekky’s mind blank. All she could see was white. She lamented and quivered, unable to recall which number (or unit of measure) her orgasms had reached.

The hot, stuffy, putrid smell that flooded the atmosphere quickly became Miche’s favourite. Like a renowned calibre of award winning cheese, Miche couldn’t help but inhale deeply as if to coat his lungs entirely with it.

This, all of this, was like indulging the highest grade of ‘cocaina’.

T’was heaven.

The thought of having to smell this over and over and over again sent Miche lust-ridden mind spiralling. He was going to make Shrekky his new habit.

“Shit, Princess.” Miche’s voice was dark and dry. He grunted hard as he tried to slow her rutting hips to no avail. “I’m about to cum, Princess, wait hold on-”

Shrekky nimbly hopped of Miche’s dick and gobbled it whole, making an entire lascivious show of it. She hummed and bobbed her head slowly to which Miche buried her head deeper. Her nose squashed against his pubic bone.

His whimpering ‘manly’ cries made her giggle and hum. He was holding back and Shrekky, just like mama, hated it when men held back. Remedying this, Shrekky gently ran her thumb tenderly across his perineum, rubbing soft circles around his balloon knot nestled between his cheeks.

Shit.

That was it.

Miche’s rope snapped.

Miche fell.

Cumming violently down Shrekky’s throat, the man felt like he had been dunked in ice on a scalding day. Miche let out a growl, senses scrambled, ability to think and process information obliterated.

“Where the fuck… did you learn that?” Miche panted, bewildered.

He was a shrivelled husk of himself, drenched in sweat, matted hair stuck to his forehead. His thigh twitched involuntarily as he watched Shrekky swallow with a large, loud, *GULP*; throat bobbing and wiping the excess off the sides of her mouth with the back of her hand.

“I am my mother’s daughter.” Shrekky shrugged as she laid her head gently on Miche’s stomach, batting her lashes before closing her eyes with a satisfied hum.

“Shit.” Miche breathed with a whisper. He laughed to himself, weakly patting and caressing Shrekky’s head. Floaters clouded his vision. He thought her a legend and it opened up a new world of possibilities for him. Fuck professionalism, he would not be letting Shrekky go anytime soon. She was too adorable. His little wild Princess.

Sitting up, Miche gently peeled Shrekky’s sleepy face off of him and snatched her in for a kiss, to which she let out a yelping squeal which he shushed with a grin.

“I have to get back to work. We both need a shower. Stinky!” Miche said lowly.

“That’s ogre-ist!” Shrekky protested feigning offence.

Miche sniggered before jumping out of bed, kissing Shrekky on her forehead to reassure her of his jest before throwing her over his shoulder to get her cleaned up. Shrekky tittered and kicked her legs about with glee, completely satisfied.

[FIN]

#tw: pwp #tw monsterfucking #Don Señor Pablo is happy #minors dont interact #dead dove do not eat #kabal multiverse of madness #the kabalians #monsterfucking!miche x shrek #shrek x miche #miche zacharias #shrek x aot #stan shrekky #princess shrekky #OUR PRINCESS LIVES #mother’s (and father’s) daughter INDEED #Spotify

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