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vidjausers-fable · 12 days ago

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✦•·.·¯˚·.·• 𝑮𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝑩𝒐𝒚 •·.·˚¯·.·•✦

A/N: 🐶🐾

CW: glass dildo, an⭐︎l, pleasure dom!reader, sub!abby, bondage, begging, teasing, c⭐︎ck ring, or☆l (f!receiving), aftercare

Summary: A night of control, craving, and devotion leaves you both breathless and closer than ever before. (abby x reader)

You whistled the hook of Saja Boy’s latest single, “Soda Pop,” the bubbly rhythm echoing through the room as your fingers trailed along the length of the silk rope. The cool, plush, and familiar fabric melted into your fingertips like water. A satisfied sigh escaped you, low and indulgent.

But the sound that followed wasn’t yours.

It was Abby.

From the bed where he knelt, a soft whimper emanated, tight and needy. He was completely bare, vulnerable in the low light that kissed the sweat-glossed planes of his skin. His knees were spread just enough to give you a view of everything. Fingers clenched into white-knuckled fists against his muscular thighs, thighs that twitched and tensed with every second you made him wait. His abs flexed, his breath stuttered. And his cock—fuck, his cock—stood flushed, twitching, thick and wet and drooling down its length.

You’d picked your favourite today: a cock ring so obscene it looked like a toy, pink faux fur lining the edge, little rhinestone gems glittering like a crown at the base of his cock and looped around the top of his balls. It was cute. It was humiliating. And it made him leak like he might cry.

His eyes were lowered, lashes casting delicate shadows against his cheeks, which were flushed a deep, glowing red. It bled all the way to the tips of his ears and the corners of his eyes.

Beautiful.

“Did you miss me?” you asked, your voice light, teasing as you sauntered closer, each step measured, calculated.

Your flawlessly manicured nail, pink and glossy, slid beneath his chin and tilted his face until his eyes met yours.

Those blown pupils. The tremble in his lower lip. The way his breath caught in his throat just to be seen by you.

“Always, Mistress,” he whispered, reverent. His arms flexed at his sides, fists clenched again, like he was fighting the instinct to grab at you, to pull you close and drown in you.

Your smile was slow and sweet. “I’ve been really busy lately…”

His eyes never left yours.

“…And you’ve been such a good boy, haven’t you?” you cooed, letting your fingers drift up into his soft, cotton-candy pink hair. He leaned into your hand, eyes fluttering shut, lips parting as though every touch was a prayer answered.

“I haven’t t-touched myself,” he confessed, breath hitching. “Even though—” he swallowed hard, throat bobbing with the effort—“you sent so many pictures… Mistress, I-I almost broke.”

You stifled a giggle, the memory of those selfies flashing in your mind: your leg poking out of a bubble bath, lace clinging to your curves, captions like “Thinking of you…” dripping with wickedness.

He had behaved. You’d made sure. His cock locked behind a cage where only you had a key to.

You hummed, pleased, as your hand drifted away. His head followed the loss of your touch like it was instinct, his lips parting in silent protest.

Your eyes softened, voice like silk. “So… how shall I reward you?”

You inched closer, just enough for the heat of your body to brush his skin, and dragged one single finger up the length of his cock. His body shuddered, a moan clawing at his throat but muffled behind clenched teeth.

The sticky wetness clung to your finger.

You brought it up to his mouth, dragging the glistening bead of precum along his bottom lip. “Open,” you whispered.

He obeyed immediately.

His mouth was hot, lips plush around your finger as he suckled greedily, tongue lapping at the taste of himself like it was honey. You fucked his mouth with your finger slow and steady, gentle but intentional, mimicking the same rhythm you used when teasing his hole until he begged you to push deeper.

“Mmh,” he moaned, his hips bucking helplessly in the air, cock twitching against nothing.

You pulled your finger free with a lewd little pop, his spit and arousal slicking the tip.

He opened his eyes slowly. Need, devotion, and raw desire stared back at you.

“Love me,” he whispered, voice cracked and desperate.

You leaned in, lips ghosting just beside his. “I already do,” you purred. “Now be still, sweetie. Let me show you how much.”

Satisfaction bloomed deep in your chest, warm and heavy, curling around your ribs like smoke. You knew exactly what he was asking for, without words, without gestures. A secret language of skin and restraint, of moans and silence, of wanting so deeply it bordered on pain.

With a low, sultry chuckle, you let the silk rope slither through your fingers and dragged it slowly up his stomach, letting the soft ends graze over the ridges of his abs… until they kissed the swollen, flushed head of his cock.

He jolted like you’d shocked him. A full-body shudder wracked through him, muscles twitching beneath his taut skin. His cock twitched violently, precum bubbling at the tip like it was aching to be milked.

You whispered, "Lie down," in a soothing, authoritative tone.

He obeyed unquestionably.

Flat on his back, hands clutching the headboard like it was the only thing keeping him tethered, legs parted like an offering. He didn’t need to ask what you wanted. He knew. His obedience was instinct now.

“Good boy,” you said with a teasing lilt, watching the praise ripple through him like a tremor. He bit down hard on his lip, hips flinching. His cock throbbed violently, another drip sliding down the shaft. His balls were pulled tight, already close, already aching. You hadn’t even touched him yet.

Deliberately, you began undressing.

To begin, your top was removed and discarded without a second thought. But it meant everything to him because the black lace bra beneath was the exact one from your selfie: sheer, slutty, nipples stiff from the room’s cool air, visible through the delicate threads.

He whimpered the moment he saw it.

You caught the sound, cherished it, and reached for the zipper of your skirt. You didn't simply remove it; you shimmied out of it, swaying your hips as if you were dancing exclusively for him. His eyes locked on the movement, wild and hungry, and his cock twitched again, the angry red head glistening. The cock ring—pink, fuzzy, tight—was the only thing keeping him from spilling all over his stomach right then and there.

“Like what you see?” you asked with a dark laugh, turning a little to let him take in the sight of your black G-string, double pearl strands curling around your hips. The centre panel was tiny, scandalous, already damp between your legs.

Abby only nodded, lips parted, breath catching.

You took your time.

Stretching your body out like a cat, you crawled onto the bed, deliberately straddling his chest. You planted your knees wide on either side of his torso, letting your soaked lingerie hover just above his face. The tiny scrap of black cloth was barely covering anything, nestled tightly between your swollen folds.

His breath came out in a ragged, desperate gasp. His grip on the bedposts tightened. White-knuckled. Like he was fighting himself.

With the silk rope still in hand, you bent low, dragging your breasts across his face as you moved, smothering him in the heat and softness of you.

His lips trembled beneath you. You could feel it. His mouth twitching, aching to open, to kiss, to bite, to taste. But he didn’t. He didn’t. He held still like a good boy.

You didn’t praise him for it. Not yet.

You tied the rope slowly, purposely—his left wrist first, the silk knot biting sweetly into his skin. Then the right. Binding him to the headboard, exposed, helpless. His breath hitched as you tugged the final knot tight and leaned back, watching the subtle drag of your bra across his face.

His lips were glossy now. Eyes dazed. Face flushed and wrecked already, and you hadn't even started.

You smiled.

Because this? This was what he wanted.

And you were going to give it to him, inch by inch, moan by moan...until he broke.

Still, you gave him no attention. No mercy.

Instead, you moved with slow precision, the second length of silk rope whispering through your fingers. You tied his thick calf to his thigh, forcing his leg to bend and stay open, helplessly spread.

He was on display. His flushed, leaking cock twitching up toward his stomach with every tremor of his desperate body. The pink, fuzzy cock ring dug in snug at the base, a vicious little collar choking his release. It pulsed, angry and wet, leaving slick trails down his abs.

And god, seeing him bound like that made your pussy throb.

You could feel it, your arousal soaking through your already damp underwear, the fabric clinging to you like a second skin, darkened with how wet you were. The scent of your arousal thickened in the air.

You moved forward, slowly, crawling over the bed like a predator savouring its kill. Up his thighs, past his ribs, until your feet were planted firmly beside his flushed face.

His eyes locked on your centre, mouth dropping open, eyes wide, starving as he drank in the sight of your soaked cunt just inches from his lips. The tiny G-string, now sheer with your arousal, barely covered your folds, a little black strip between slick pink heat.

“Make me feel good,” you said, voice a low, dirty promise, “and maybe...I’ll let you cum tonight.”

Then you lowered yourself. A slow descent until your soaked pussy hovered just over his lips, teasing the edge of his breath.

He moaned. Loud and wrecked.

“Yes, mistress. Anything,” he begged, his voice cracking under the weight of his desperation. “Please… please let me taste you.”

Your fingers sank into his pastel hair, stroking it once before your grip tightened, yanking hard enough to make him gasp. Then you pressed your cunt to his mouth, grinding down until his nose was buried against your clit.

His eyes fluttered. Rolled back.

And then his tongue was everywhere.

He licked like a man dying of thirst, moaning shamelessly as he mouthed at your cunt, tongue dragging over the damp cloth, sucking, licking, worshipping. His nose nuzzled your clit again and again, the soft friction making you tremble.

You let out a low, drawn-out, aching groan as your hips rocked slowly, grinding into his face. “Mmm... that’s it. You missed this pussy, didn’t you?”

His only answer was a long, hungry moan against your folds.

But it wasn’t enough.

You needed more.

You needed him.

You grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head back, forcing him to stop. He whimpered, his lips red and wet from you, his tongue flicking out like he was trying to chase the taste even as you pulled away.

But that whimper twisted into a guttural groan when he saw what you were doing. When he saw you peeling that soaked G-string to the side and off, the string glistening with your slick and his spit.

Now bare. Exposed. Dripping.

And then you shoved his face back against your cunt, rougher this time. His mouth met you with a wet, hungry smack, and you let out a shaky breath as you began to grind against him fully, cunt sliding over his tongue, his lips, his chin. Your arousal smeared all over his face, soaking him.

His moans were muffled, buried in your pussy. His tongue flattened, letting you ride it like a toy. You rocked against him, slow at first then faster, chasing every delicious drag of his lips over your clit.

“Fuck,” you breathed, your grip tightening in his hair, pulling his head up so you could press down harder. “Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop.”

He didn’t.

Loud, filthy, wet smacks reverberated throughout the room as his lips sealed around your clit and began to suck while his tongue made frantic circles. Saliva dripped down his chin, his entire face glistening with your slick.

You turned your head, eyes narrowing in on the way he was rutting into the air despite his cock twitching, useless and trapped. Each thrust was more pathetic, more desperate than the last. He was so fucking close, and yet so far.

And still, he ate you like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

You grinned wickedly as you gripped his hair tighter, guiding his face just how you wanted. You pulled him left, then right, working his mouth along your clit like a well-trained toy. His lips never lost suction, his tongue flicking and flattening under your direction, locked into place by your thighs and your will.

Your breath hitched, feeling the first tremors of your orgasm building fast, rushing up your spine like heat in a fever. It was cresting, bubbling, the tension unbearable and perfect all at once.

You let out a deep, high-pitched sigh as your body jerked. Your climax hit hard and sharp, and your cunt fluttered wildly around the void inside you that begged to be filled. Still, you didn’t let him go. Not until the overstimulation forced a broken moan from your lips and the final, desperate pop of his mouth pulling off your soaked clit echoed like sin in the air.

You were panting. Dripping. Your thighs slick, your inner walls throbbing. But your grin was sharp and alive.

Without a word, you reached under the bed.

From beneath the mattress, you pulled out the box—innocent on the outside, filled with his destruction inside. Fingers rummaging through silicone and lube, leather and clips, until you found it.

Cool. Hard. Smooth.

You pulled it free with a flourish.

And he shivered.

A long, heavy glass dildo, perfectly shaped like a cock, crystal clear, flawless, cold to the touch. The weight of it in your hand was enough to make you shiver with delight. But watching him see it, watching his chest rise fast, his hips twitch in restrained anticipation, now that made your cunt throb all over again.

You dragged it down the curve of your body, trailing it over your belly, across your inner thigh, letting the head swirl around your still-aching cunt. You watched his eyes, how they locked onto the dildo, how he ached for it, how his jaw clenched when it touched your folds and gathered your slick.

He could see everything.

The glass dildo slipped into your pussy with a wet sound, aided by the mix of your cum and his spit. The first stretch stole your breath, a sharp gasp escaping as the cool hardness spread your walls, cold giving way to heat as your body warmed it inch by inch.

“Hmm… Abby,” you purred, fucking yourself slow and deep with it. “You want this cock, don’t you?”

He whimpered, almost barked, a broken, needy sound from deep in his chest. His wrists twisted uselessly in their bindings.

You moaned, deep and sultry, as the slick sounds of the dildo plunging into your cunt filled the room. “I’ll make it nice and wet for you, baby. Just the way you like it.”

He whined, head tossing, back arching, so fucking desperate.

And when he lifted his legs, knees wide, presenting his tight, puckering asshole to you like a bitch in heat...you smiled.

Wide. Dark. Filthy.

You removed the dildo from your cunt, which was slick, shining, and dripping with your arousal. You then spat on it. Thick, wet, obscene. The sound alone made Abby tremble.

You crawled between his legs, one hand gripping his thigh, the other holding the soaked toy. You teased the glass cock around his entrance, circling the swollen ring. He shuddered, mouth open, jaw slack.

Then you pushed.

Slowly, steadily, letting the tip slide inside with almost no resistance. He moaned, high-pitched and broken, his hole clenching instinctively around the intrusion before relaxing, eager to take more.

Bit by bit, the dildo slid inside. Your slick and spit made it glide easily, and his body opened up for it like it was meant to be. You didn’t stop until the entire shaft was buried, the flared base pressing against his stretched rim.

“F-Fuck—Mistress—please, don’t stop,” he gasped, hips writhing, cock pulsing helplessly, trapped by the tight pink ring.

You began to thrust. Slowly. Shallow at first. Watching the way his asshole gripped the toy, sucking it in with each movement. The glass made it even filthier. You could see him stretch, see the ring of muscle pull tight and then relax, his hole practically sucking it down.

You tilted it upward—just slightly—and twisted.

Abby screamed.

It was a raw, sultry, loud moan that ripped from his throat as if his soul were spilling out. His hips jerked violently, his toes curling, his entire body convulsing like he’d been electrocuted.

There it was. His prostate.

And you weren’t letting it go.

Again. And again. You pressed. Rubbed. Fucked him deep with the glass cock, twisting and angling until every thrust sent his brain spinning.

The bed frame shook. He was holding on to it for dear life, knuckles white, arms trembling from the effort. His cock looked purple, drooling, bobbing wildly, as if it might cum untouched from sheer stimulation.

And still, you pounded him, eyes locked on his wrecked face.

He was yours.

A trembling, tied-up, glass-cock-fucked mess.

And you were just getting started.

“Ah—ah, can I come? Please, may I come?” Abby cried, voice shaking, every syllable soaked in desperation.

However, you shifted with purpose, fluidity, and control rather than responding. With a tight grip on his legs, you folded him in half. His bound limbs pressed against his chest, and his cock hung right above his face, drooling precum onto his lips like a tease. He gasped, barely able to breathe, his body trembling under your hands.

You pressed your chest against his back, trapping him in that humiliating, beautiful position. His asshole spread wide around the slick glass cock you’d been pounding into him. Then you moved. Hard.

You fucked him.

“You wanna cum?” you purred, voice breathy, laced with power and amusement. “Then show me, baby. Let me see you cum from your slutty little hole.”

The wet, obscene slap of the dildo thrusting into him got louder, more frantic, more violent. His moans came in stuttering bursts, his body quivering as the cock ring denied him every ounce of release, forcing the pleasure to build, and build, and burn. Drool ran down the corner of his mouth, dripping down his face as his cock throbbed helplessly, twitching right above his cum-streaked lips.

“Oh—fuck—oh, Mistress—oh, I’m—I—” His voice cracked, completely unravelling.

You angled your wrist, driving the toy in deeper, harder, until you found that spot once more. His breath vanished in a choked cry, and you didn’t stop, no, you slammed into it again.

And again.

Until, he shattered.

With a guttural, animalistic groan, Abby came, his cock flexing violently as thick, hot ropes of cum sprayed across his own face, coating his cheeks, his nose, his lashes. One spurt hit his lips, another tangled in his sweat-damp pink hair, and a final stream drooled slowly down into his open, gasping mouth.

You watched, eyes wide with awe and hunger, as his body convulsed, trembling violently with every pulse of his orgasm. Even with the ring choking his cock, he came hard, messy, like his soul had been fucked out through his ass.

You slowed, fucking him through it, gently milking him as you felt his hole still fluttering greedily around the dildo. Then, with care, you slid it out, slick and wet, and placed it on the bed.

His legs fell open with a thud as you lowered them. He lay there, breathless, cock twitching against his belly, his face soaked in his own release. For a moment, the room was quiet, just the sound of your breath and his. The heat. The aftershock.

You reached for the silk bindings, slowly untying his legs. You pressed a soft kiss to his bent knee before helping stretch his trembling limbs out, massaging his thighs as you did.

He didn’t speak.

Just blinked up at the ceiling, completely wrecked, still lost in the haze of release.

You moved to his wrists next, undoing the knots with careful fingers. Red marks bloomed where he’d pulled, desperate and wild. You brought each wrist to your lips, kissing them tenderly, left and right.

His eyes fluttered open, finally blinking, finally here. Like his soul had been returned to his body.

You crawled beside him, pulling him close.

One hand cupped his cheek, cum still streaked across his skin. You leaned in and kissed him, slow and gentle, tasting the salt of his release, your tongue licking up the corners of his mouth before sucking on his lower lip, devouring every drop.

Then you pressed your forehead to his, eyes locked on his blown-out pupils.

“Good boy,” you whispered.

He shuddered at that, just once. Like the praise settled deep in his bones.

And finally… finally… his breathing slowed.

He let go.

He slept in your arms, face still sticky with his orgasm, yours and his scent all over the both of you, the sheets ruined and everything perfect.

After all, he was yours.

And you took care of what was yours.