wicked-gremlin

[wicked-gremlin]

摸了，，

[wicked-gremlin]

omg I scremt

mmmmm

[wicked-gremlin]

love love love love love love

↳ EVENT 49. M!Whitney (Date Night & Breeding)

Pairing: Whitney / F!Reader Genre: Smut 18+ WC: 2,080 Warnings: breeding, exhibitionism, public sex, alcohol consumption, drunk sex, creampie, violence (not against you), established relationship, possessiveness, love bites/hickeys, name calling (slut) Prompt(s): 04 — breeding + 03 — date night Event Masterlist: CLICK HERE!!

A/N: some of these prompts are stuff i would love to further elaborate on, and this is one of em. but still!! i enjoyed exploring this, so tysm for sending the prompt in !! this is also surprisingly soft i think :D

As far as date nights go, he can't complain too much about this one... Despite the consequences of his own actions. Admittedly, perhaps because of his actions, he can't complain.

Arm slung around your shoulder, forcing your feet to struggle to match his fast paced rhythm down towards the pub earlier tonight; his regular spot, yeah? It's the obvious choice for date night, the most familiar. And he's not evil, he does want you to enjoy your night with him! Although, he does ignore your incessant complaining about how it's a school day, and how you've got homework to do. Stupid slut, don't you know when to be thankful? Regardless, he dragged your ass down side streets and shady alleyways he knows like the back of his hand despite your whining— he'd just trying to do something nice for once, even if he has to force it a little.

And getting there was fine. Pushing you into a lonely booth all by yourself immediately upon arrival, not because he's ashamed to be with you, but because he knows what the other patrons are like. Better than most, he'd wager, given that he'd be considered a regular too, right? Keeping you hidden and out of view for your own protection rather than anything else as he uncharacteristically grabs you a drink from the bar, shoving it towards you with a petulant grunt when he takes the seat opposite you. Too fuckin' pretty for this type of bar, it's annoying how he has to keep an eye on you, but there's no better place to let loose in town. And that's what he wants you to do, to stop thinking for a little bit, to instead only feel happy, and maybe a little fuzzy. You deserve a break, and he'll play babysitter for a night if it gets you to stop being so wound up.

It was going fine, watching you down glass after glass, as if you were tryna impress him or something. Which is wholly unnecessary, but he's nothing if nor an opportunist. A knowing smirk permanently tugging at his lips as he watched you from the other end of the booth— he can only hope that you were far too full of alcohol to recognise the fondness at the tip of his tongue. Clicking it once, rolling his eyes playfully at the way you pout for his attention. See, he knew you'd enjoy your time with him when you got there, he just had to be a hardass to get you sitting all nice and pretty in the booth for him first.

"Jus' a sec," He'd slurred at you, sliding out from the booth mid babble about something you were interested in; he doesn't care for the subject, only for the fact that you were happy. "Gonna grab another round fr'ya."

That, right there, was a mistake apparently.

Because as soon as he returned with the promised glasses in hand, what else did he find except some creep hovering over your table, back turned to the bar to do God knows what to your inebriated state, the grip Whitney had on the glass tightening in a mere split second.

He doesn't know the guy, but he knows the guy, y'know? Knows the type to corner a pretty little girl like you in a dimly lit dive bar, because he's the fucking same.

If anything, he blames the guy for not seeing it coming. Those very same promised drinks soon splattered all over the floor, dripping onto the already sticky table, glass shards tinkling to the ground before Whitney even realises exactly what he's done.

But the dopey smile you offered him when the freak started to slump, and especially the wide toothed beam you sent his way as you're kicked out of the pub with him makes it all worth it, he thinks. It's only a temporary ban, he can still have some fun with you tonight.

But in spite of your assured thanks for how he so valiantly protected his slut, an undeniable itch bubbled away in his tummy. Churning with every heavy footed step home, his arm once again slung around your shoulder to make sure no other fucking freak decides to try their way with you, with what belongs to him. It could be because he was more than a little drunk by then, keeping up pace with you as you tried your best to out drink him, or maybe he just willingly ignored the exact reasons behind why he needs more than anything right now to pin you right against the same hidden alleyway wall he walked you past earlier tonight.

It didn't matter the reason as to why, only that he gave in to the itch all too happily. Pushing you against the rough wall unexpectedly, sniffing at the way you huff out in slight pain.

As far as date nights go, perhaps this is his most favoured way to end them.

Crowding over you—no one else gets to see his favourite slut, even if he's got you against a secluded wall—one fist balled by your head, the other gripping tightly to the underside of your thigh to keep it glued to his waist, helping stabilise you as he rails you against the scratchy brick behind your back.

Unable to keep his lips sealed, he grunts against your neck with every sloppy thrust, wobbling a little with unsure footing as he's made to do all of the work given your drunk mind. S'all good, he likes it when you rely on him like this. Letting his tongue poke out against your soft skin before latching on meanly, all teeth and obsession, allowing his fangs sink in enough to remind you of who you really belong to, who has you moaning and keening for more with every messy fuck into your wet little cunt. Offering you a cruel suck soon after, his tongue flat against your neck to swallow the excess saliva and sweat back down his greedy throat— gotta make up for the missing drinks one way or another, right?

And he only stops when he feels the way your nails dig into his back, revenge for the way he pushes you against the rough stone, maybe? "Jus'— Jus' lemme mark whas' mine..." He almost whines against you, but nonetheless lets up at your protesting, still yet bullying his cock in and out of you at a stuttering pace, for he has to focus on his balance too. Doesn't wanna drop you, not because he's afraid of hurting you, but because the thought of not being buried balls deep in your little angel cunt for more than a second is upsetting, convinces him to thrust a little harder, a little more purposeful into your tight heat to prove his point.

"W-Whitney..." Your dulcet tone is lacking willpower, giddy with lust when his hips buck faster at the sound of your voice.

"That's it," He praises you when you mumble his name all weak and pathetic like that, muttering soft words of something, he's far too focused on carving his cock outline against your insides to really pick up on whatever you're babbling about now. But, it sounds nice. Feels nice to have you clinging to him, letting him ruin your perfectly pretty pussy with his fat cock, drunkenly stroking himself off inside of your tight little hole because he can. Because he owns you, doesn't he? No one else, just him, and his rough, harsh hands that tug and pull and squeeze and mark crescent moons against your thighs. Fucking into you with possessive strokes, trying to mark up your insides all sticky with his precum too, so that every inch of you is completely drenched in him. "C'mon, slut. Tell— Tell me who's makin' y'feel s'good, huh? Want'cha t'say my name again, c'mon—" He practically begs of you, nose still pressed to the crook of your neck, hunched over you with complete and utter fixation, chewing down on his bottom lip where you can't see— tight cunts squeezing him so well, just from hearing his voice? That's all the confirmation he needs to know that your body belongs to him, but it's still nice to hear ya say it too, yeah?

And even the drunk little hiccups you let out as he fucks you so full of cock are so cute to him, a reminder than no matter who tries to get with you, it's him, isn't it? At the end of the day, it's always him who has you squirming in his lap, rocking your pretty body up and down his throbbing cock, greedily humping into you with reckless abandon, as if he's forgotten all about how loudly his balls slap against your ass in the echoing alleyway— "You, Whitney—!" You're quick to answer him, his heart skipping a beat at the expected answer, "'S you, belong t'you, promise, I—"

He didn't mean to cut off your proclamation of loyalty, and in fact, he'd rather listen to it all day long to be honest. But it's like it all clicks together for him in that moment, y'know... As to why he's in this position in the first place. Hearing you so unashamedly submit to his cruel touch, your pretty body resigned to the fact that only he can make you feel the way you do, right? Oh, and the way she just yearns for him, right? Shivering in his hold when his pace quickens and he fucks those high pitched squeals out of your pouty lips, glossy with overflowing drool for him to settle on, his tongue coming out to swipe it all away and down his dry throat as his mouth hangs open, heavy breaths escaping him and fanning across your cheeks as he struggles to keep up with his hips.

If he wants to keep you as his own, then the answer is simple, right?

"Gonna— fuck, s'tight..." He mumbles under his breath, taking a moment to truly appreciate how fucking pretty you are when you're fucked out of your mind on alcohol and his cock, how you take his jealousy so well; betcha can't even decline his advances right now even if you wanted to, right? Too honest with your body, in the way your cunt squelches with every expert suck of his cock— fuck, he's in love. There's only one thing he can do to resolve his pent up frustration.

"Inside, kay? Gonna cum inside, jus'—" Just wait a fucking second, he's so fucking close, but still he slips his thumb between where his hips push against your ass, giving your slippery little clit uncertain and unfocused rubs, sloppy circles as he continues to pump in and out of your hole, wanting to get you off first before he breeds you from the inside out, claim you wholly as his own the best way he knows how.

And thankfully, it doesn't take you long to give him what he wants. Because fuck he wasn't gonna last much longer either, not with the way you so desperately nod yes, please! at his promise of breeding, little cunt choking his cock so well when you cum, he has no choice but to follow suit. Fucking you through your orgasm with short snap thrusts, creaming your twitching hole all white with his cum, staining your thighs all tacky as some of it gushes out from his continued thrusts.

But he doesn't stop. Can't, frankly. Keeping his cock warm inside of you even as he comes down from such a dizzying high, heaving harshly against your damp neck from his saliva, doing his best to catch his breath despite the way his hips still roll into you out of pure instinct. An attempt to fucking his seed right to your cervix, he muses to himself.

"Mine," He sighs against you, shivering at the way you cunt clenches around his simple words. "Fuckin' mine." He huffs quietly for you, his muscles tense in their hold of your body, the feeling of his cum trickling down to his balls from how tightly you squeeze his cock has him reeling, smiling to himself at the how honest you're being with him too.

The creep at the bar was never an issue, he merely facilitated a reason for Whitney to knock you up. And maybe, for that, he should apologise for smashing a glass with his head.

Maybe. Unlikely. Didn't even catch his name.

[wicked-gremlin]

LORD HAVE MERTHY

Just thinking some classic midnight Submissive Whitney thoughts...

(GN!Reader x M!Whitney rot)

"Aww... How bad do you need to cum, pet?"

He'd whine wretchedly in response, upper lip curling and eyes haunted with need.

"So fucking bad... It's all I can think about. Fuck, please..."

Keeping him sensitive, twitching, and wet with precum so he never forgets who his body was made for. Teasing his rock hard cock under the desk in class til he's whining, rocking and thumping his fist against the table, then forced to explain himself through gritted teeth. Maybe he gets sent to the office, awkwardly concealing his aching cock as he shamefully slinks to the door, lip trembling at the thought of going without your torturous touch. Oh, it's not like people don't know he's your little pet - but the idea of being seen so vulnerable still invites a red-hot blush to his cheeks.

If he's a very good boy, you might let him edge his desperate little cock between classes under your burning gaze... but only after he earns it by putting that slutty little mouth to work and making sure he savours every sweet drop.

[wicked-gremlin]

[wicked-gremlin]

LMFAOOOOOOOO BRO’S SINGING BE MORE CHILL WHILE BONING

I love him. 😭

Bros memorizing game combos while railing me...

[wicked-gremlin]

*spams 3 as hard as I can*

You feel light-headed and don't remember clearly how you left the school's party. The boys sure as hell offered you a little too much beverage. Somehow you feel sore all over your body.

What time is it now...

(1) Next

You open your eyes to... whatever this shit is...

...Now what?

(1) Try to go back to sleep | Willpower: ??? | ++Stress (2) Escape the room | Athletics: Challenging 5%

(3) It is what it is... | Promiscuity 5 | +++Love | +++Lust

[wicked-gremlin]

o h m y g o d

I need Whitney to hold me through this thunderstorm

[wicked-gremlin]

MY GODDDDDDDD. I am on my knees 😭 (in prayer definitely…)

angel whitney propositions you... how do you respond?

[wicked-gremlin]

I will be dropping everything promptly to make this happen in game. "Cry about it, sinner" is so wild alskdajsdl I love it

CONFESSION BOOTH SEGGS YEAAAAAGGHH (idk if this is new this is my very first time encountering this scene)

[wicked-gremlin]

i forced @alopex26 to draw whitney for me HEHEHHEHEHEHHEHEHEHEHE

[wicked-gremlin]

I'm a whore for this dialogue help

[wicked-gremlin]

let me ruin him just ONCE

Projection

Pairing: Sub!M!Whitney x Dom!GN!Reader (reader is described as having a cock, but it's up to interpretation whether it's a body part or strap)

Genre: Smut 18+

Warnings: Submissive Whitney, anal, brief oral (reader receiving) rough sex, light cock slapping... think that's it?

Word count: 715

Summary: Behind closed doors, Whitney begs to be owned by you - and you're only too happy to oblige.

A/N: Worked hard to make this "open to interpretation" in terms of reader gender - please let me know how I did! Readers of ANY GENDER deserve to dominate the slutty blonde boy.

Outsiders find it hard to understand why Whitney acts like this; hostile and aggressive, projecting his frustration onto the world in a determined show of control. But he’s fucking cute when he’s like this, and that’s why you permit his shitty behaviour… most of the time.

Whitney is a menace, and everyone knows it. Cocksure and vulgar, you’d better not get in his way unless you want to find yourself shoved against lockers, staring at a shit-eating grin as he dares you to challenge him. Not many do, and that’s fine by him.

Because his piss-poor attitude makes perfect sense when you realise… Whitney just wants to be punished. That’s why he misbehaves, why he taunts and goads every fucker he encounters  – it’s Whitney’s way of spurring the world to fucking fight him back. He craves opposition, and the feeling burns like an unchecked fire. For all the bully’s arrogance, all his hostile projecting… he’s the slut who needs to be taught some manners.

Behind closed doors, he’s content – no, elated to be owned by you, crazed for all that wicked shit he’d never admit to wanting. And now, he doesn’t just want it, he begs for it. Such a good, compliant boy; wrists fastened to the headboard, squirming, pliable and panting. Blonde locks tumbling chaotically over his flushed face, eyes screwed tight - because Whitney refuses to even admit to himself how much he needs you like this.

Don’t misunderstand - he’s a fucking brat about it, testing you with a sneering “make me,” as if he hasn’t been begging you to take charge. He’ll goad you with a venomous smirks and comments ‘til you’re yanking his pretty hair and crushing his body against the mattress just to remind him who he belongs to. He’ll fucking test you, again and again, ‘til you’re forced to slap the disobedience off his stupid, defiant face.

You’re pretty sure your boy knows the rules by now - if Whitney can’t behave himself, he loses privileges. Maybe he should be blindfolded – naughty boys don’t deserve to see how sexy you look as you straddle their chest, leaning back to toy with their hard, needy, dripping cocks. Maybe naughty boys don’t deserve to have their cocks caressed at all – a few firm slaps much more befitting Whitney’s shitty attitude. It’s always so gratifying to revel in his adorable, needy little yelps.

That’s a good boy. He’s delectable, all restrained and displayed, gratefully sucking the flavour of arousal from your fingers. It’s too fucking easy to use his pretty mouth for your pleasure, and Whitney’s always so eager to please - enthusiastically serving you with a wet, greedy tongue every single time.

Because he knows if he’s really good, you might consider probing his tight hole with cold, slick fingers, stretching him open like the little slut he is. Whitney’s become so good at taking cock for you – and now he fucking begs for it, needily spreading his legs as precum oozes around his bellybutton, his body trembling in anticipation of being totally filled and owned.

But only the best boys get fucked – and Whitney knows it. That’s why he’ll always gives in to you eventually – a submissive little slut, handing every last shred of control over to you. He’ll beg for cock fearlessly now, biting his lip as he takes it so well and so deep into his insatiable little hole. If only he could see how whorishly his hips quiver, or hear how his nasty little whimpers punctuate your every thrust – who knows? Maybe he’d drop his miserable attitude once and for all. But you’re not sure you’d want that

When he cums, it’s without a single stroke to his needy cock -moaning your name, balls emptying over his slutty belly. Whitney knows he’s lucky, so lucky to be used by you  – who else could give him what he needs and hopes he deserves?

There’s all the time in the world for him to finish you off – that’s his job, after all. And Whitney still revels in it every time without a hint of shame, offering himself for your complete use and pleasure.

Because that’s who Whitney really is, deep down. Not some cocky, arrogant delinquent - he’s your compliant little toy. And you treat him so, so well.

[wicked-gremlin]

You know I HAD to reblog this one. INSTANT CLASSIC.

No Contest

Pairing: M!Whitney x F!Reader x M!Sydney (she/her pronouns, reader wears a skirt, 2 x “good girl”)

Genre: 18+ Smut

Warnings/Content: Poly/throuple. Non-penetrative sex. A few swears – and y’know, filthy smut words.

Word count: 2014

Summary: After Sydney discovers a magazine article about the illusive nipple orgasm, your boyfriends make it a competition to see who can get you off first.

A/N: sorry lol I dunno why I’m like this. This is hot, right? Mum!Sirris referenced once in passing. Whitney with a tongue stud. Sassy Fallen Syd (Probably coulda done with one more proofread but I’m ready to let it fly. gonna go touch grass now i promise)

The library is still, but still open.

School finished a half hour ago, and the students are long gone – you can’t blame them. It’s a beautiful Friday afternoon and the sun is shining, inviting almost everyone to go outside and enjoy the weather. Still, it’s unsurprising to find Sydney still working. At least that’s what it looks like he’s doing.

Sydney sits behind the counter, as usual – amber eyes downcast over a book. His tongue peeps gently in concentration. He’s so rapturously engrossed, in fact, that he doesn’t notice your approach. He’s caught off-guard as you speak.

“What you reading?” you smile fondly, leaning over to get a good look at whatever has Sydney so absorbed. He’s pleased to see you, letting the book settle against the top of the desk. There’s a magazine inside.

“Just doing some research,” he replies with a gentle, sleepy smile. “This came free with a delivery to Mum’s shop. It’s… an interesting read…”

You don’t doubt it. Lately, Sydney was consuming anything he could find in an effort to expand his horizons – all thanks to you, apparently. As a good girlfriend, you’ve been more than happy to support his journey to enlightenment. Perching on the edge of the counter, you crane your neck to see what had Sydney so immersed this time.

“… Nipple orgasms? That’s… a thing?” your nose wrinkles doubtfully – but Sydney seems quite confident in their newfound knowledge.

“Apparently, love,” he stands, planting a chaste kiss against the flat of your neck. The subsequent kisses aren’t quite so chaste. “Maybe it’s something we could try together?” he whispers against your flushed skin, causing the hairs on the back of your neck to prickle.

You hum and lean against him. What a good idea. Idly, you tease at the pages of the magazine, enjoying his soft lips against your neck. It’s clear he’s willing you to react, but you’re happy to let him try a little harder.

A heavy textbook slams against the counter. You’re both startled, and it’s no accident. Neither of you had noticed Whitney approach, and now he looks down at you both with an expression that’s hard to place.

His eyebrows raise as he smiles wryly. “Having fun there, slut?”

You nod, and can’t hide a smile, too. Whitney had never felt threatened by Sydney – or so he said - but they shared sort-of… a mutual rivalry when it came to your affections. You were always very happy to act as mediator.

Whitney leans over the desk, glancing over the article with disinterest. “This got you all hot and bothered?”

Sydney nips at your neck delicately, causing you to yip in response. You feel him smile against your skin, before he turns to Whitney with surprising aloofness.

“Just leave your book in the returns basket,” he drawls – stopping just short of physically shooing Whitney away. The bully isn’t impressed.

“What, you’re gonna give her one?” he scoffs, arms folding over his lean chest. “Fuck right off.”

“Actually, there’s quite a nuanced technique,” Sydney retorts, eyeing Whitney and tapping the magazine with one finger. Even you’re surprised by his conviction, and he’s not even finished. “You’d know that if you’d ever bothered to read about it, Whitney.”

Here we go.

“What, you’re a fucking expert now?” Whitney scorns, moving closer to you and possessively gliding his hands around your waist. You’re sandwiched between them, and it’s easy to feel affected by the prickling intensity with which they hold themselves. Your eyes settle on Sydney, wondering how he might respond.

“If you’re so confident, then you won’t mind demonstrating, will you?”

If Sydney’s intention is to make the bully back down, he’s going about it all wrong. Still, it’s not like you’re complaining. You notice the hint of a smile playing at the corners of Sydney’s lips which suggests he knows exactly how he intends to play this.

Whitney huffs, already unbuttoning your shirt - muttering fiercely and unable to hide his agitation. The tiny buttons of your blouse aren’t fucking helping. “If anyone’s gonna make you cum like that… it’ll be me…”

You can’t suppress a soft whimper. You don’t doubt Whitney’s confidence – you don’t doubt either of them, to be honest – and anyway, it’ll be fun to let them try. Once unbuttoned, Sydney slips your shirt from your shoulders, bunching it and stashing it somewhere out of sight. Your bra soon follows – it’s a clear flex when Whitney unhooks it with a single swift motion. Sydney will want to practice that later.

Gingerly, you scooch into the middle of the desk – levelling the playing field somewhat. Sydney and Whitney flank you, and for a brief moment, their eyes are fixed not on you, but each other. Plainly, they have no interest in hiding their growing contention.

To no one’s surprise, Whitney dives in first; too confidently, as could be predicted. He lowers his head and greedily draws one nipple into his warm, wet mouth. He’s intense, as always – tugging forcefully as he sucks, sweeping the metal of his tongue stud over you ravenously. You can tell he thinks it’s some kind of secret weapon – probably because you’ve never told him any different.

In contrast, Sydney takes his time, fingers skimming delicately over your breast. He leans closer to whisper encouraging words against your ear – you feel yourself melting a little as his long hair tickles your cheek. “Just focus on breathing, love.”

You’re already nodding faithfully in reply. Eventually, Sydney begins to tease one hardened nipple under his fingertips – featherlight as he traces soft kisses down your neck and collarbone. His soft touch invites a whinny of desire from your parted lips.

Not to be outdone, Whitney grips your jaw, roughly turning your head and assaulting you with a deep kiss. It’s all friction, tongue and teeth – hungry and rude, everything Whitney stands for. Then, he’s biting the crook of your neck restlessly as he pinches and pulls at your tit. It’s like he can’t settle down – unlike Sydney, who’s seems to know exactly what sort of delicate treatment is required.

You close your eyes, allowing a shaky breath to rattle from your lungs. There’s a soft hand holding yours. Sydney’s taking his time, still – gently nudging your breast with his nose, dusting soft kisses over soft flesh. The wet, warm blade of his tongue skims over your erect nipple, causing you to arch your back and tip your head upward.

Whitney’s rough fingers leisurely trace small circles along your inner thigh, then up and under your skirt in a familiar journey. Legs part instinctively. "Bet you’re so fucking wet for us, slut…" he growls against skin.

You groan out an answer, but it doesn’t matter – he’ll soon discover he’s not wrong. Whitney’s fingers nudge the slick surface of your underwear, easily finding the outline of your swollen clit - the thin fabric already dense and clinging. But before his fingers can sink into your core, he’s pulled away. You rumble with loss, body twisting against the counter in frustration.

“That’s against the rules, Whitney,” Sydney chides, his voice purring against you. Purposefully, he guides Whitney’s hand back into your lap. You feel the combined weight of their hands settle there – hovering infuriatingly above your centre and almost certainly on purpose.

“You’re just pissed you didn’t think of it," Whitney mutters hotly. His teeth catch against your sensitive skin, making you squeak. Then, he’s gently suckling, almost apologetically, sliding his tongue stud over your nipple and brushing against your soft skin as one rough, possessive hand roams your skin and pulls you closer.

You wish they’d stop talking and just focus. But all the same, a surprising, welcome sensation blooms in your gut, flourishing just below your bellybutton. You hadn’t expected it to feel quite like this – there’s even a gentle, promising tickle in the base of your clit. You close your eyes, narrowing your focus, fanning the embers of your stirring climax. Focus on breathing.

But’s a slow burn. There are irritating moments where they seem more interested in distracting each other than they are with getting you off – bickering annoyingly across you, competitive and vying for dominance in their own distinct way.

Unbeknownst to Sydney, the bully’s gripped your wrist and is now boorishly grinding his erection against your palm through his trousers. You’re not sure if it’s against Sydney’s rules – but you choose not to mention it. Meanwhile, Whitney’s alternating between flicking your nipple with his venomous tongue and sucking on it greedily. “Fucking sensitive, aren’t you slut?” he rumbles against your flesh, noticing you quiver.

Sydney actually scoffs, taking a moment to pull away from your breast, unable to resist a clever comeback. “You didn’t know how sensitive she is?” Sydney can’t help teasing– clearly, he’s emboldened by your reactions, and is feeling quite confident with his technique. To be fair, he should.

Still, you wish they’d shut up and concentrate.

"Please… I really need to cum..." you plead, breath quickening needily. It’s maddening – orgasm feels so close, but infuriatingly out of reach. When you focus too hard, it flutters away, slipping through your fingers like sand. Now, it’s getting hard to think of anything except being fingered roughly against the counter, or being bent over to cum hard on cock… craving release badly now as you slither pitifully against the desk, getting almost no relief thanks to the flat, frictionless surface. You’re at their mercy.

Jolts of sensation flutter and bloom in your chest, just behind Sydney’s diligent fingers. He ghosts his lips against your ear - his warm, encouraging voice eliciting another shiver. It’s possible to hear the smile in his voice. "You’ll cum, my love. Have faith."

You swallow hard, wanting to believe him. But it’s hard.

“I can’t…” you whimper, grinding down on the desk in pure frustration. Sydney places a finger to your trembling lips, but it’s Whitney who shushes you gently, nipping at your jaw, his voice low against your ear.

“Me and Temple boy are gonna make you cream that pretty pussy… so be a good girl, and shut up.”

You’re panting. Yeah, that’ll do the trick. Whitney knows it, too – his gravely dirty talk spinning you darkly closer to the edge. Climax rumbles and threatens within – muscles tightening, knees shaking…

Sydney runs his tongue over your collarbone, tweaking your nipple tenderly. “I can feel you’re close, beloved,” he coos. “Let go.”

You can’t suppress deep, shuddering moan as your orgasm crashes down, splintering through your insides; it’s as though every muscle tightens, dreadful and deep and crushing. Between your thighs, your cunt pulses – starved of anything to clamp down on but twitching delightedly all the same.

It’s surprisingly intense – there’s a moment where you can’t move – settling for gripping their hands gratefully in your own as your shattered breathing settles. Slowly, the thumping in your chest subsides too, but the tingling in your nerves lasts a little longer.

“That was my side, right?” Whitney’s too cocky – instantly, he’s fucking embarrassing sometimes. Practically euphoric, strutting annoyingly around the counter. “I fucking win!”

“That’s… not really how it works…” is all the explanation you can muster – but it’s clear he’s not listening, all-but pumping his fist in triumph.

Sydney gives you a knowing smile. “I know you’re just sparing his feelings.” You’re not exactly sure what he’s implying.  He removes his glasses and wipes them with a cloth – they’re foggy. “I’m a fast learner, don’t you think?”

You smile back. Either way, Sydney will be happy to have added something new to his growing repertoire – and you’re very happy too.

“Come on, slut,” Whitney shoves your shirt rudely against your bare chest. “Get dressed, I’m taking you out to celebrate.” You roll your eyes - as usual with Whitney, it’s not clear if there’s a choice.

“No, she’s coming to Elk Street with me,” Sydney states firmly, turning towards you. He shoots an imploring, flirtatious look that’s now well-practiced and difficult to resist. “Right?”

Despite their bickering, it’s quite clear from your smug, satisfied smile that you’re the one who won today.

[wicked-gremlin]

TWO WORDS: BOTTOM. WHITNEY.

Milkshake

Pairing: M!Whitney (bottom) x AMAB!Reader (top)

Genre: 18+ Smut (mdni)

Warnings/Content: Rimming, anal, unprotected sex, sub/dom dynamic, hair pulling, pathetic little bratty blonde windbag

Word count: 2.8k

Summary: It’s raining again – you and Whitney both know the drill. But it’s not a milkshake he’s craving today in the park.

A/N: *drops mic* this is it – this is the hottest thing I have ever written and will probably ever write in my smutty little life. FUCK. (very open to writing more of this sorta thing when ideas strike me (send me ideas) (strike me)) Don’t think about the layout of this fountain too much, just go with me on this

Most people hate the rain. Not you, though.

Waking up to the sound of water tapping invitingly on the window might have become one of your favourite things. The delicate, rhythmic sound always draws a sleepy smile as you stir in bed. Weekend rain means only one thing – heading to the park, milkshake in hand, and trying not to look too excited about it.

Whitney there, in his usual spot – he wouldn’t want to miss you, would he? Stood under a tree near the fountain, watching raindrops scatter themselves over the surface of the water. It’s nearly impossible to see a trail of smoke winding into the grey sky – it’s so early there’s still a little fog hanging loosely in the air – enough to blur the edge of the forest which looms at the park’s perimeter, just past the ornate, metal railings.

Whitney takes long strides towards you. Too eager, you smile. “You’re late, slut,” he quips, eyeing you expectantly. You weren’t aware there was any kind of agreed timeframe. If anything, you were both pretty early today. You wonder idly if he’d rushed here as quickly as you had.

Whitney tilts his umbrella and ticks his jaw upward – a familiar, wordless invitation to join him under it’s dark canopy. Underneath, the soft patter of droplets create a calm, cosy sanctuary from the rain. You’re close enough to feel his warmth.

“So… where’s my treat, slut?”

Wasting no time, you hand him the milkshake. In turn, he hands you the umbrella.

“Good slut,” he purrs with an almost cat-like smile. Funny.

Whitney plucks the cigarette from his lips and replaces it with the paper straw - it’s quickly apparent he has zero intention of sharing this morning. He makes short work of it, too - eyeing you as he noisily slurps final dregs from the bottom of the cup. All gone – the little shit. Clearly, he’s desperate for you to argue– so you don’t.

The empty cup is dropped thoughtlessly to the gravel underfoot – so light it barely makes a sound over the white noise of the rain. Now, he’s snatching the umbrella back and leaning in closer. Between the umbrella and Whitney’s body you’re completely enclosed, cocooned from the world. He smells of smoke and damp clothes – you notice his hoodie darkening in colour as one arm is exposed to the morning rain. He doesn’t seem to mind.

He tilts your chin gently and kisses you, pulling your hips together. It’s a hungry kiss; when he pulls away, you find your bottom lip tugged between teeth. The earthy taste of tobacco and sweet vanilla lingers on your tongue.

“What if I want another treat?” his tongue pokes cockily; a look you’ve seen before. You let it linger.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…” you shrug. In a quick decision, you deny him the satisfaction of a glance as you tease, because you know he’ll hate it.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Whitney mocks you fiercely – real mature. Despite his pettiness, he’s planting lips keenly on your jaw and neck, willing you to cooperate. Not yet.

“I only brought one milkshake…” You can’t counteract the twitching smile playing on your lips. It’s too appealing to see him squirm.

“You know what I mean…” he growls – but it’s soft, cub-like. He’s gnawing wet, needy kisses against your skin, and you can feel him rubbing eagerly against you through his jeans.

“Oh… If you want that…” you lick your lips, facing Whitney mischievously in anticipation of a sulky response. Your finger traces the logo on the front of his hoodie. He’s going to hate this. “Okay then… You can have it right here… or not at all.”

Immediately his nostrils flare hotly – it’s easy to see his mind ticking over your terms. And just for a second, you wonder if you might have found his limit. Whitney’s cold eyes dart towards the restrooms nearby - and it’s so him to be petitioning for a little privacy now, after everything he’s put you through.

He’s silent a moment, staring at the fountain. Rain falls. Then, he plucks the half-cigarette from his lips and grinds it against the gravel.

“Fine,” he grits, slinging an arm around your shoulders in an attempt to whisk you away. It’s clear he intends march you over the gravel and into the privacy of the park toilets. But privacy’s not something Whitney’s never offered you before… so why should you offer it to him now?

You stand your ground, letting him take a few steps alone. He hadn’t expected that. Eyes flash and he whips his head back to you - not with anger, he’s already too far gone for that – it’s a pleading look.

“I said here,” you reiterate with a purr and cocking your eyebrows – a taunting expression. Almost instantly, his shoulders go limp in a sullen, mardy little shrug.

“Fucking… here?” blue eyes dart around – he’s so fucking cute when he’s flustered, freckled nose wrinkling. He’s not sure you’re serious. “Like… right here?”

“What, you don’t want to get fucked in public?” You want to laugh, but bite your tongue instead. “That’s rich, Whitney.”

“Fuck you,” he sneers – mustering up residuals of his piss-poor attitude and trying so hard to sound like he means it. You can tell he’s completely, achingly torn– gears turning in his mind, wondering if, maybe, just maybe, he can make you…

He’s so fucking grumpy sometimes, and it’s delicious – now huffily pacing back across the gravel toward you, pebbles scattering with each irritable stomp. You can see practically see the pig-headedness fade from his face – and at that moment, you know he’ll do as he’s told.

“Fuck it,” he grumbles. That’s more like it.

Not that you need Whitney’s verbal compliance - his body is telling you everything as he captures your lips in another, more desperate kiss. He’s needy and clinging, practically whinging against you. Not really surprising, when you consider how desperate he’s become for your cock.

Grazing over his hips, he’s pliant enough to be positioned at the edge of the fountain, and you waste no time carefully sinking to your knees behind – giving Whitney’s ass a little squeeze for good measure. His breathing’s shallow as he tips the umbrella back in an effort to conceal what you’re doing, another thin bid for privacy. But you feel him shift uneasily, realising it’s not going to work. A curse under his breath, before slinging it angrily against his shoulder, gripping the handle with fresh annoyance. Cold rain drips from the canopy onto your back.

Now, he’s working against his belt with one free hand, tugging it hastily through the buckle before letting it wilt - uselessly undone. The button of his jeans is next, and he makes light work of the zipper. But obediently, Whitney leaves the rest to you. He’s already breathing more deeply in anticipation – it’s so obvious in the stillness of the park. He leans forward a little, bracing one hand against the concrete edge of the fountain, jutting his backside out whorishly. You take your time snaking fingertips up his denim-covered thighs, over the slight jut of his hips, and against the surprisingly delicate, warm flesh of his lean stomach atop the waistband. You allow your fingernails to graze the soft fuzz around his bellybutton, delighting in the way his breath catches. Slowly, you begin to pull his jeans downward. He’s shivering – not from the cold.

Letting the denim settle just below his ass, his plain boxers are revealed to the morning air. You press your lips to one cheek, teeth nipping tenderly through the cotton – he jolts just a little. Then Whitney’s body just creases; he’s trying so hard to keep his shit together and already failing miserably before you’ve even begun. You allow your hands to wander over the smooth globes of his ass, before fingers deftly hook into the waistband of his underwear. As you pull them down, it’s predictable – they’re caught on the stiffness of his rapidly hardened cock. You feel him wince. Combined pleasure and frustration.

“Aww, poor boy…” you coo against his ass, gripping curvature in your hands before gliding them around to play with his needy cock. Wet cotton meets your fingers as you skim over his glans, toying through the fabric and making a point of squeezing oh-so-slightly. Whitney just can’t take it -he snaps.

“Stop fucking teasing me for fuck’s sake - I fucking swear…” he hisses - the words tumble bitterly through gritted teeth like air might rush from a puncture. But it’s too good, seeing him squirm. Generously, you palm his cock, unhooking it from the confines of his boxers and allowing you to slide them down to meet the top of his jeans. Even in the morning chill of the park, his skin is hot to the touch.

It’s difficult to resist a small nibble at the peach-fuzz of his ass, before gliding your hand over the impossibly soft skin of his now-exposed erection. Whitney tips his hips needily in reply. Planting small gentle kisses over the contour of his backside, you feel gooseflesh prickle over his skin. In fairness, it might be from the cold this time. But anticipation is just as likely.

He’s arching his back, gently willing you to give his little hole the silky, smooth treatment he craves so badly. And maybe he has suffered enough for now. It’s an easy decision to allow spit to pool against the flat of your tongue before lovingly parting his cheeks and laying a long, wet lick right on his asshole.

Whitney tenses, then sighs into the sensation just as quickly – umbrella tipping and shuddering in the seconds it takes to regain composure. Still, the little jerk causes rain to cascade onto you, icy drops trickling down the back of your neck. He’s lucky you’re so absorbed – and who wouldn’t be? Feeling how he writhes and responds against your probing tongue; adjusting his stance to spread his legs just a little wider and plead for you just a little deeper. He’s already powerless to control the needy little whimpers slipping free of his parted lips. Such a slut.

Fingers grip when you dive in to devour him – lapping over his sensitive, wanting little bud as Whitney gnaws and bruises his bottom lip in total bliss. It’s too cute how he tries to stifle his little moans for you now, but you know exactly how to work him– running velvety licks expertly around the rim of his asshole, skimming tenderly before pushing against his tight little entrance.

And he's fucking panting now; leg shaking and twitching, scattering pebbles heedlessly around your knees. Poor boy. It’s obvious from the desperate twitch of his hips that he’s jerking his needy cock– and he’s restless too, starting and stopping in a feeble bid to exert some sort of control over his pleasure.

Okay, just a bit more teasing – who could pass up the opportunity? Withdrawing your mouth from his slathered hole, it’s too inviting to effortlessly slide two fingers into his yielding, available entrance. No resistance, no tension – just a tongue-slickened passage easily explored by your fingers.

Not that Whitney needs any help – you just love to watch him squirm. Instantly he’s baring back against your probing hand. He’s such a good boy – a perfectly pliant little bottom in ways neither of you would have expected at the start. As you stand, you trace fingers over his stomach, before clasping one hand over his own trembling, jerking fist. It startles him a little – suddenly he’s still against you and panting hotly.

“Aw, don’t come yet, babe…” you coo, raking teeth against the back of his neck ghosting your lips there too. He leans into you, gasping as he deepens your fingers in his ass. “… Thought you wanted your treat?”

A hapless little moan is driven from his lips as you withdraw your hand. Maybe he’s not noticed you unfastening your buckle – but he can’t ignore the swollen curve of your tip as it’s swept between his wet cheeks. Whitney’s cursing, pushing back against your cock with a groan. You’re not going to let him off so easily.

“Ask nicely…”

“Fuck,” he spits poison – body jerking in desperation and kicking impatiently against the side of the fountain. But no, you tut softly, brushing kisses against his neck. You’ve taught him better than this.

It feels like minutes spent rubbing your cock lazily against his ripe and willing hole, before he swallows the last shreds of pride and begs for it.

“… please…” It’s barely audible… so, smirking against skin, you ask him to repeat. Your reasonable request is met with an irritable, broken whine.

“I said fucking please, alright? Fuck…”

Louder – that’s better. Whitney’s quivering voice belies the venom in his words – he’s fucking hopeless, backing his ass wantonly onto your cock, hips already wiggling greedily. You can almost forgive a little brattiness, in his broken state. Almost, you muse, lacing fingers into his pretty blonde hair and gripping tightly at the root. With a yank, you’re tipping Whitney’s head back to growl against his ear.

“Good boy. Not so hard, was it?”

With agonising slowness, you line up against his slick hole… taking your time before sinking into Whitney’s tight heat. He gives a soft hiss of pleasure in response - you’re enveloped to the hilt, filling Whitney’s needy hole entirely.

Fuck. It’s just so easy to fuck him. Probably because he begs for your cock so frequently now. When he’s a good boy, he gets it too – how could you deny that pretty blonde wimp? He takes you so well –panting and moaning like a whore – although he’s currently doing his best to stifle the slutty little sounds he’s making. Whitney’s probably relieved as you wind the flat of your palm against his mouth; an excuse to hook past his trembling lips, gripping his jaw as he moans and chews against your fingers.

You bare down, pounding his willing ass and gripping his body tight. Each thrust tugs another gasp or groan over his gnawed bottom lip. He’s lifting a leg to better the angle – needing it deeper as he lolls against the edge of the fountain; panting and fucking drooling over your fingers and down his chin.

Whitney’s so desperate to be owned by you –so desperate, it seems, that he’s more than willing to take a drilling here, where anyone could see. And he takes it like such a champ too – fucked deep, one arm wound possessively over his belly as he arches under you – taking good cock like he good boys are supposed to.

You’re the first to unload – coating Whitney’s insides with ropes of thick cum. Pleasure darts through you as you rumble into his ear, gripping his hair…  yet still deeply rutting him through your orgasm as he rapidly approaches his own. He’s pumping his cock fearlessly in his fist, whole body twitching with sensation. Licking his cheek, it occurs that you know exactly what Whitney needs to get over the edge.

“You’re such a fucking slut for me, aren’t you?” The husky depth of your voice takes you both by surprise, if his strangled little whimper is anything to go by. “Gonna cum for me, Whitney? Gonna cum with my cock deep in your ass?”

He’s cursing from those pretty lips again, nutting over his fist to sticky his fingers and dripping onto the edge of the fountain. You love the way he shudders against you, practically quaking in your arms at this point.

 As the world comes back into focus, you’re acutely aware of how wet and cold you are. Neither of you had noticed the umbrella – at some point shaken from Whitney’s grasp, now perching daintily atop the gravel like the spread wings of a large black swan. But there’s no question - it was worth every fucking rain-soaked second to ruin him.

Slowly, you withdraw from his body – one last little whinny of loss escapes him. Whitney rinses his sticky hand beneath the bubbling surface of the fountain. Poor boy’s absolutely spent, too – for a second you wonder if he might completely slump over and fall in.

“Enjoy your treat?” You can’t resist wrapping your arms around him, pressing your rain-damp bodies together and feeling him melt against you again. His hair’s wet. It’ll dry with a little curl later, you think. Whitney takes his time, apparently considering the perfect response.

“… Fuck off.”

It’s unconvincing. Instantly, Whitney’s actions negate his bad attitude – he’s needily squeezing your arms across his middle and gripping your hand in his. Despite the cold, there’s a hint of a flush spreading over his cheeks.

“You fucking know I enjoyed it… fucking tease…”

[wicked-gremlin]

I have folded and made a dedicated DoL blog, and this post was the one that convinced me :'))

UGH I love boyfriend Whitney sm I can't

prompt event: date night (m!whitney x f!pc)

word count: 1815

tags: 12. romantic, 15. date night, cunnilingus, penetrative sex, canon-compliant name-calling

You were walking out of the school grounds when you were interrupted by a cigarette butt smacking the back of your head. Whirling around in surprise, you came face-to-face with your boyfriend.

“Oi,” Whitney said, with an unpleasant look on his face. You tensed up slightly as he walked closer to you. “Slut. You’re not doing anything tonight.”

It wasn’t really a question, but you nodded anyway. “Um, yeah. I’m free.”

That satisfied Whitney. “Good.”

“Can…I ask why?” You asked hesitantly, but Whitney replied with one of his signature smirks.

“Because I’m taking you out on a date. Be ready. And make sure you look nice, yeah?” He shoved past you, delivering a sharp smack to your ass as he did so. “Don’t be sloppy. I’m picking you up.”

Just like that, he was gone.

You stood uncomfortably in front of the orphanage, shifting in your high heels. It wasn’t like you were unaccustomed to dates. You went on plenty. But with Whitney? Never. The two of you made out in public, you fucked in school, every once in a while you visited Whitney’s place but that mostly was just to fuck in his bed. He had never taken you - or anyone, as far as you knew - on an actual date. It was honestly mildly terrifying.

Your thoughts were broken by the sound of footsteps and you looked up to see Whitney approaching. He looked pretty nice himself - he had on a pair of khakis and an unbuttoned shirt over a t-shirt. 

When he got close to you, he looked you up and down appraisingly. Then, he gave a short nod. “Nice,” Whitney said simply.

“Thanks. You look good, too,” you replied. You couldn’t hold back the burning question on your mind, though. “What are we doing?”

Whitney tossed an arm around your shoulder and gestured for you to start walking. “I told you. I’m taking you out on a date.”

“Why?”

He shook his head, a look of mock offense on his face. “Because you’ve been a good slut, and I wanted to reward you. Isn’t that enough?”

You still felt a little uneasy, but he was being surprisingly genuine. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to go along with it. 

“I’m taking you out to dinner,” Whitney elaborated. “My treat. Whatever my slut wants, she gets.”

That surprised you. “Really?”

“Well, just don’t be a dumbass about it, yeah?” He pinched your side. “If you go and order the most expensive thing on the menu, I’m walking out and leaving you to pay.”

The two of you continued walking until you reached the outside of a nice café. It wasn’t the fanciest place in town by far, but it was still nicer than you would have expected from Whitney. 

You went to reach for the door, but Whitney grabbed your wrist. “Hold on.”

He pulled you toward him, then set his hands on your waist and kissed you deeply. You instinctively leaned in, throwing your arms around his neck and kissing him back. 

After a few moments, Whitney pulled back, his eyes closed and a smile on his face. “Mm. Thanks for that, slut. Let’s go.”

Once the two of you were inside and seated, you couldn’t help but stare at him. Eventually he noticed, and looked back at you with an irritated look. “What?”

“Dunno,” you shrugged. “Just nice. Didn’t expect this.”

He frowned, a hint of blush creeping across his face. “I can be nice too, y’know.”

That made you laugh. “I don’t know if I really believe that.”

Whitney was fully blushing now, and he looked away from you. “Whatever. See if I ever do anything nice for you again, slut.” But his tone was teasing and he accented the sentence by flicking his crumpled up straw wrapper at you. 

You hadn’t opened your straw yet, so you seized the opportunity to tear the top of the wrapper off and blow it at Whitney. It smacked him right in the forehead and he turned to you with genuine surprise. That quickly morphed into a smirk that sent a chill through your body. 

“Oh, you’re in for it now, slut,” he said, searching the space for anything else he could fling at you. But he was unsuccessful and took a moment to sulk, which made you laugh out loud. Whitney gave your shoulder a playful shove, then leaned to whisper in your ear. “Guess I’ll make you pay later.”

You suddenly became very interested in the menu. 

As you were finishing your last bite of dessert, Whitney was absentmindedly twirling a lock of your hair around his fingers. You gave him a smile and he suddenly blushed again, looking away. 

“What?” You were genuinely curious. 

But he just sighed. 

“It’s nothing,” Whitney mumbled, laying his head on his arm. “Just shut the fuck up. Okay?”

And so you did, and soon enough, Whitney had finished paying and the two of you were leaving the restaurant. 

As soon as you walked out, he caught your wrist with his hand. You barely had opened your mouth to protest before he was on you, pressing you against an alley wall as his hands slid up your thighs. 

“You’re such a fucking tease,” he mumbled against your skin while his lips assaulted your neck. “You were just begging for me to bend you over the table and fuck you in front of everyone.”

You felt your body growing hot under Whitney’s skilled touch. His hands groped your ass and you felt him smirk. 

“And no panties. I’ve trained you well,” Whitney said. But just as suddenly as he began, he stopped. He pulled you out of the alley and started walking again. 

You, again, tried to protest, but the brief endeavor had left you light-headed, so all that came out was a few odd sounds and squeaks. 

“What?” Whitney replied, as if you had actually spoken any sort of human language. “I promised my slut a date night. What kind of romantic boyfriend would I be if I fucked you in that alley like some common whore. I’m taking you home.” He flashed you a wink and you felt weak in the knees. 

The two of you walked the familiar route to Whitney’s place, neither speaking. The air was so thick with sexual tension you were afraid that if you opened your mouth, you wouldn’t be able to help yourself. So you opted to stay silent and presumably, Whitney was feeling the same way. He didn’t say anything, but the feeling of his hand gripping yours said enough. 

You barely made it into Whitney’s room before he was slamming the door behind him, kicking off his shoes, and shoving you down on his bed. 

“You have been begging for this all night, slut,” he practically growled as he kissed you aggressively, grinding his crotch into yours. “Feel that? That’s all your fault.” 

“Whitney…” you whimpered as he tugged a fistful of your hair. He pushed you so you were laying flat and then crawled over you. His eyes were dark and he was panting. 

Leaning back on his heels, Whitney sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “You just look so…fuck!”

You tilted your head in confusion, but Whitney dove back in, pushing your skirt up to your hips and slipping a hand between your thighs. “Of course you’re already fucking dripping. Not that I would expect anything less.”

He crawled back and positioned his head between your legs. “You drive me fucking crazy. Just know that.”

Then he flicked his tongue against your clit and you moaned. 

Whitney began eating you out, truly, like a man starved. He rarely went down on you, which made this even more special. He expertly alternated between licking and light sucking, eagerly lapping you up. 

You tried to speak again, to tell him to slow down, but all you could manage was to weakly moan his name. This had the opposite effect of what you wanted, further encouraging him. His nails were digging into your thighs and when you looked down and made eye contact with him, things were too much. 

You cried out and your back arched off the bed as you came, Whitney still drinking up your juices. As you came down from the high he finally pulled back, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, the lower half of his face shiny and slick. 

“Tastes good,” he said with a smirk, tugging off his pants. His cock looked almost painfully hard and flushed, precum dripping from the tip. You reached out to touch it but Whitney quickly was positioned between your legs. He teased your clit with the head of his dick, eliciting a squeak from you. 

Then, he slid into you, letting out a sharp gasp in the process. He mumbled something that sounded like “I love you” but your head had gone fuzzy from the feeling of him stretching you out, so you weren’t entirely sure. 

“So fucking good,” Whitney groaned as he slowly started thrusting. “How’s a slut like you feel so fucking tight?”

Whitney yanked down the top of your dress and began to grope your tits and pinch your nipples. His hand on your body, the feeling of his cock inside you - it was all too good. 

“F-fuck,” you managed to squeak out. “Feels so good, Whit…”

His face was flushed as he pounded even harder into you, lifting up your leg to get even deeper. “Oh my god,” you gasped, wrapping your arms around his back and digging your nails into the bare skin under his shirt. 

“I-I,” you started but that was all you got out before your second orgasm hit you. You squeezed your eyes shut as you rode the wave of pleasure, your mouth falling open and only short, breathy sounds coming out. 

Whitney was fucking you hard, the bed frame squeaking with every thrust. He was panting when suddenly he pulled out of you and stroked his cock as he came. Ropes of cum shot out and sprayed across your tits and the front of your dress. 

“Fuck, slut,” his shoulders were heaving. “You fucking…” he left the rest of that thought unfinished. 

“Mm,” was the only response you could give as you were still recovering. The two of you sat in silence briefly before you sat up. “Hey. You got cum on my nice dress.” 

Whitney shrugged and flopped down next to you, propping himself up on one arm. “You shouldn’t have looked so hot in it. It’s your own fault.” 

You turned to face him, a small smile on your face. “Well. Thanks for the date night.”

He blushed again. “Don’t mention it. I mean it.” 

You nuzzled into him, resting your head on his chest. His heart was still beating fast. “You got it.”