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kaita0 · 3 months

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WANTED: Ghost x Reader x König [HEAVY SMUT]

Warnings: Consensual Non-Con, Threesome, Double Penetration, Stomach Bulging, Fem Reader [Male Fic in Production], Forced Breeding/Pregnancy Kink, Corruption Kink, Virginity Kink, Roleplay, Size Kink, Sir Kink, Daddy Kink, Humiliation Kink, Lactation Kink, Breastfeeding Kink, Forced Petplay, Dumbification, Sadism, Bondage, Unprotected Sex, Possessive Sex, Cum Play, Creampie, Breath Play, Knife Play, Cutting, Blood, Wax Play, Masks Stay On, Beating/Spanking W/ a belt, Struggling, Resistance, Man Handling of Reader, Voyeurism, Oral (Male Receiving), Overstimulation, Forced Orgasms, Marking, Nipple Play, Attempted Forced Female Masturbation, Burning W/ a Lighter, Fingering, Male Masturbation, Forced Oral (Giving), Anal, Plugging, Plugs, Threats of Physical Violence, Degradation, Blackmail, Explicit Smut, Smut, Profanity, Pussy Slapping, Angry Fucking, Biting, Kidnapping. [EVERYTHING IS CONSENSUAL AND PRE-AGREED TO BEFORE THE FIC STARTS].

Wordcount: 14,695

They’d plucked you from your home and forced you into another, one which you hadn’t seen, even after they tore the sack from your head.

A camera sat on the dresser, its red eye blinking, gleaming, recording the silence. A candle resided next to it, rouge and unused. The room held a sickly disposition, lit by a single lamp on the bedside.The door, wooden, burst open, almost splintering and swinging off its hinges. The camera paid attention, finally having something to record.

König ignored your kicking and screaming as he threw you onto the bed, Ghost shadowing him, locking the door and throwing the key atop the dresser. You scrambled to the furthest corner, breathing heavily, eyes blown wide. Both men stood before you now, their manhoods throbbing and tearing against the fabric of their pants, tenting them. “You’ve left us no choice, girl.” Ghost said, voice heavy and raspy with what one could only describe as carnal lust. The masks they wore made it impossible to tell what they were thinking, but given how they’d handled you thus far, you could practically taste it. “No, please–” you whimpered, pressing yourself further into the corner, crossing your legs and trying to conceal the coveted prize which König and Ghost so desired above all else. But they weren’t having any of it. Ghost began sliding his belt from his trousers, the sound of leather against denim sibilant in your ear, all the while making his way round to the other side of the bed. His eyes glinted in the dim light, revealing no humanity within. Gone. Eradicated. Though that suggested he had any to begin with. You had nowhere to run. He was slow. Intentional. When he’d unsheathed his belt, he folded it in half and clapped the two sides of leather together, sending a crack of thunder resonating within the room. It made your insides ache and your flower throb, creating a continental patch of wetness on your underwear. Ghost smirked beneath his mask. König watched, guarding the door, palming himself through his trousers. “If you didn’t want this, you should’ve thought about that before talking to strangers.” His voice sent shivers down your spine. All the while, König undid his belt and slid it from his pants, his nigh-concealed gaze making his intentions all too apparent to you.

“Didn’t your parents ever teach you about that?” came König’s voice. He watched you, eyes never leaving you. “Or…perhaps we are the ones to teach you–” the belt swayed in his grip, “--to discipline you.” You could feel the shiver run down his spine as he spoke. You wanted to be sick. “I thought you needed hel–ah!” König grabbed your ankle and pulled you towards him, wrenching a gasp from your lungs and leaving you drawn and exposed. Ghost wasted nothing of the opportunity and slid his belt around your wrists, pulling it tight so you couldn’t break free. You yelped, thrashing, trying to release yourself from the two mens’ grip, but to no avail. König practically pounced on you, making sure you were squarely beneath him, slapping a hand over your mouth.

His weight was nearly too much for you to withstand, twice that of a normal man’s and sodden with years of murderous intent. He had you pinned without, at his mercy.

“Should’ve gagged her,” he said, vaguely casting Ghost a glance. Most of his attention was on you, the fear in your eyes as tears gathered there. The rest of it was on the evening’s events, all of which entailed some horrible thing done to you and you alone.

He rocked his hips against your cowering frame, icy stare dimming only when his eyes shut, the diluted pleasure he felt now nothing compared to that which he would feel at the expense of your suffering.

“Wouldn’t be able to hear her pretty little cries then, would we?” Ghost said, casual, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. König let out a scoff, or perhaps a laugh.

“Yes,” he relented, running a finger down the side of your face, streaking your tears across your skin. “You’re right.” His eyes traversed the contours of your face, stopping at your eyes. Looking into them, drinking the emotions that resided within them, he read you like the open book you’d become. You, on the other hand, saw nothing in his; void, save for the half-lidded, manic mist which descended upon his very form.

His touch trailed down your cheek, your throat, then stopped at the collar of your shirt. Only then did he look away from your face. “Need to get these off before we start.” The way König spoke felt institutional - like this was a practice rather than an attack. Ghost made a waving, dismissive gesture, reaching below the bed for something. You wondered how they’d do it, with scissors, or their bare hands–

From beneath his shirt, concealed, König withdrew a knife; thick, military and real. You gasped, tears clinging to your periphery as you did to any hope of surviving this ordeal. König’s head tilted, Ghost still rifled for something beneath you.

“Shh, sweet girl, shh - it’s okay!” König’s eyes crinkled, becoming half moons, eclipsing the malice that radiated from him, smoke. His breathing grew heavier, the bulge in his pants became ever more apparent to you the longer he spent atop you. You felt his hips rock, carefully, once. He poised the tip of the knife to your collar, and dragged it, slowly, down the expanse of your abdomen. You tried not to breathe - tried to prevent any unwanted movement that would give him reason enough to gut you right now.

It was sharp, and you knew it was only via König’s sheer resistance and will that it didn’t penetrate your clothing and leave a long slice down your front. Though the phantom pain followed, the layer of an alternate universe - an alternate you - passing over your own; one where you were not so fortunate, where your screams were heard infinities across.

König‘s eyes trailed the blade. His breath shuttered as the tip came to the waistband of your pants. He rutted again, stifling a groan. Ghost rose, his shadow resting over you, a shroud. He watched, holding something that was just out of your line of vision by his side.

The sound of cloth tearing brought your attention back to König, and it took everything in you not to jump, not to forfeit yourself to the blade. You swallowed thickly, throat drying, adrenaline and scorching ice coursing through you. You tilted your head back, narrowly avoiding the tip of Konig’s knife as it ascended the length of your shirt, exposing your middle to your captors. König’s eyes remained on your skin. He brought a hand to the thin trail exposed to him, felt the length of it, making you shiver. Then tore it from you.

The material was thrown to the dark recesses of the room, left to be feasted upon by the shadows that resided within.

Your pants were the next article to be destroyed, spared of the wrath of the knife, yet resigned to an ever more brutal fate. König ripped them apart, catching your panties in the crossfire, leaving you in only your bra. Even he seemed as shocked as you, leaning back to take in what he and Ghost had gone through so much effort for. Ghost leaned over you, drinking in your body.

“Oh, I’m going to enjoy tonight,” König said, his gaze flitting up to meet Ghost’s. He slid the knife up the bridge of your bra and freed it from you. Tore it from you.

“You’d be hard pressed not to.” At that, Ghost raised his hand, revealing what he’d been sorting through the underbed for.

A lighter.

He flipped the top open and rolled his thumb against the flint wheel, coaxing it to life. The flame erupted, dancing.

Your heart was in your mouth, your mind convulsed, your body wanted to follow. You needed to get out. Now. With a pillar of a man at either end of you and your hands bound, you scanned the room. The only entrance and exit was the (now locked) door, the key to which slept on the dresser; between which two mammoths of men - of soldiers - stood.

Yet, you saw a chance.

Taking advantage of the added weight of your hands being bound, you slammed your clasped fists down on König’s chest, taking him off-guard and making him stumble, fall back. You bucked your hips up, forcing him off you. He grunted, a noise of surprise. And you scrambled. Ran.

The phantom of Ghost’s fingers almost tangling in your hair bristled against you, his thick accent prevalent in the guttural “Grab her!” as he commanded König.

You tore the key from the dresser, fumbled it into the lock. All the while, Ghost’s rapidly advancing footsteps grew closer, as did König’s, the sound of boulders against concrete in your ears. You flinched, tensing, as you felt Ghost’s shadow cover you, his red hot anger radiating from him like steam. You turned the key, a lick away from salvation. But your efforts were all in vain. Instead of grabbing you by your hair or your arm, you felt something that made your blood run cold. A cool, snakeskin-like material slid around your throat and yanked you back. Hard.

Your hands flew to your throat, feeling a belt pressed tightly against it. You grappled, choking for air as Ghost forced you flush against his chest, his heart pounding against your back as yours did against your ribs. The sound of your stifled breath filled the room.

Ghost pulled you back, further into the room and deeper into your demise.

“You little whore,” he seethed. His eyes scorched marks into your skull. You scarcely heard him over your own struggle for survival, but his voice - his words - were unmistakable. “I have the good sense to break your fuckin’ neck right here, right now.” He pulled the belt tighter around your throat, his knuckles turning white, veins bulging in his arms and hands. He did not surrender, even as you clawed at his hands, scuffed the belt with your nails, the sound of you choking on leather a broken record. Tears sprang to your eyes; your vision was starting to darken, tendrils in your periphery. You swore you could feel your body wilting - dying - where you stood.

Yet, in all his infinite mercies, Ghost dropped the belt and threw you onto the bed, relinquishing your throat of König’s deadly wardrobe. You fell back, swallowing air as if it were your last breath, König nearby having watched the whole scene, eyes wide. Frantic.

You were granted little reprieve, however. The crack of leather against your skin, the burn, shocked you from your near-death haze, making you bolt upright and gasp.

Your eyes were wide as they fell upon Ghost’s hulking figure, shoulders heaving with every breath he took, the belt wrapped around his tattooed arm like a snake would a villain, the end practically smoking with the force with which it bit you. You watched each other, a stand-off. Though, Ghost wouldn’t call it that; a stand-off suggested that you at least had a way to defend yourself.

“Hold her down. Don’t let her get away.” Ghost addressed König, who, like lightning, struck, taking your belted wrists in his hands and hoisting you up, pulling you so far against himself that you thought your arms would tear. You writhed, trying to escape König’s grip, but his strength and Ghost’s stare discouraged you, subdued your efforts with the promise of punishment. Ghost reared up then snapped the belt against your thigh, a clap of flesh thunder filling the room. You cried out, tried to bring your knees into your chest to protect yourself, but Ghost was having none of it. He grabbed your ankle and pulled you back, striking you with the belt once he had you splayed out before him. And he kept hitting you. Over and over again, long past the point of tears soaking your face, your screams making your throat rasp, and your legs, stomach and cunt raw red with sensitivity and injury. Agony. Everything hurt, stinging and pulsing and throbbing - anguish in its most visceral form. And Ghost stood over you, chest and shoulders heaving, a mirror, the same man he’d been before.

“I wouldn’t’ve had to do this if you’d just behaved,” he said, slamming the belt against your cunt like a drum. Again. And again. An infinity, it seemed; this spiral cycle of discipline. The curve of the belt was soaked in sweat, blood staining the edge of it, dried - the only indication of any time having passed. You wailed beneath him, voice cracking as you begged him to cease - pleaded with him to spare you. König gave little comfort as he only watched, forcing you into stillness when you thrashed and jolted, no doubt smiling beneath the veil. Your voice hitched like an old radio channel as you asked - groveled - for him to stop, please, I can’t take any more - I-I’m sorry!

Ghost refused to relent. “You brought this on yourself, you little bitch.” His words rang low with absolution. Conviction. He lashed the belt across your thigh once more, then stepped - staggered - back, seemingly exhausted by his own vigour. Cold air felt like ice against your skin, and in that moment of salvation, you dared to hope that perhaps this phase of the punishment was over.

“Flip her over.” Ghost shattered your dreams without so much as a second look. Your gaze darted to his face, trying to find a hint of jest or leniency there. There were neither.

König released you, grabbed and forced you onto your front, then took your wrists hostage again. Ghost gave no time for you to adjust to the bedsheets running coarse against your raw skin, your thighs rubbing the skin of your raw pussy - before skinning you with the belt again. He went for where it’d hurt most for the next week or so; the backs of your thighs and cheeks.

“Be grateful I’m not making you count ‘em,” Ghost said. “Or we’d be here all night.” He placed the edge of the belt against your shoulder, making you flinch, and dragged it to the small of your back. “And trust me, I can do this all night.” You wept into the covers, fresh anguish flushing your body whenever Ghost’s belt tore against your body, turning it as red as the blood that ran beneath it, perhaps atop it if the liquid you felt staining your skin wasn’t sweat. Neither Ghost nor König gave any indication, either, save for König sucking a hissing breath between his teeth as he looked upon the sunset hued bruises of your backside, to transition from the palette of dusk to night within the day.

You didn’t know how much time had passed, but judging by how your ass and thighs had gone numb, you hazarded a guess of around five, ten minutes. Maybe even less given how harsh - heavy-handed - Ghost had been. Yet it felt longer. Much, much longer. And it likely would have gone on for that long, too, if König’s voice hadn’t cut through the whistling of the belt, the clapping of your skin. The distress of your cries.

“I can’t wait any longer,” he stated. Ghost ceased, his actions becoming a mystery to you. He sighed. A moment’s consideration passed. The sound of the belt being placed on something followed.

“Alright,” he said, tone tinged with a dulled sharpness that had you pricking your ears to listen for the agitation that lay within. König released you, and you’d have thanked him, kissed him silly, had it not been for the sound of him undoing his pants. His belt lay discarded nearby, the tool of your torture, far enough to be just within reach for either him or Ghost but not out of mind for you. The sound of his zipper coming undone made your stomach clench, tighten. With a shallow sigh, König freed himself of his restraints and held his length in his large, willing hand. You got to your knees, wincing as your heels dug into your cheeks and sent splintering pain through them, taking in the dim light of the room again. Your eyes stung. Your gaze drifted to König. Your heart stopped.

He was huge - long and thick and painful, veins bulging along his shaft, leading to his throbbing, leaking, bulbous tip. You could just already tell he was going to struggle fitting it all in. The image of him growing impatient and slamming into you flashed in your mind. Your heart stuttered, a simultaneously tepid and baltic feeling washed through you. Horror, amplified by the sound of Ghost’s zipper descending behind you. “Mmh, can’t wait to see you try and take me,” König said, voice thick and dark. Cruel. “M’gonna make you bleed from the inside, maus.” He gave a quick laugh. Dry. Your eyes found Ghost’s, pleading and wide. But he showed just as little mercy, even after he’d taught you his lesson, loosened himself from the shackles of his rage. “Save some of her energy for me,” he said, slipping his pants down his thighs. His cock bulged, strained against his boxers, a wet patch having formed on the front. “Don’t want her passin’ out on me.”

“Oh, don’t you?” König said. The men shared a laugh. You wanted to cry. To die.

Ghost ducked and reached beneath the bed, and your breath hitched. He already had the lighter…so what else was he retrieving?

König pumped himself once. Twice. He gave a groan. Without warning, he grasped you by your hair with one hand and pulled you back, almost tearing it from your head. You gave a shriek. König slapped you.

“Stupid fucking girl,” he growled. He slammed his hand against your cunt, roughly trawling his fingers across it, finding your entrance. You gasped, his fingers knives against your sensitive clit. “Make any noise like that again and I’ll give you something to cry about.” Your stomach dropped, your heart ached. You nodded.

“Okay, I’m sorry–” you whispered, voice merely air and nothing more. König grasped your face, held it tightly. “I’m sorry, what?”

You trembled, vision blurred by your tears. Ghost’s silhouette was still visible to you, a shadow on the corner of your vision.

“I’m sorry, Sir,”

König smirked beneath his veil. “Good girl. Finally learning her place.”

Though you hated to admit it, König’s praise gave you shallow hope that he’d be more lenient with you, in spite of all he’d said. And that was your first mistake.

König pulled your back to his chest, and his achingly long, thick fingers found your hole. With neither warning, nor ceremony, he plunged them into you - two. And you let out a silent scream. It felt like he was prodding you with medical instruments, reaching deep inside and feeling you. On the edges of your vision, Ghost re-emerged, holding something behind his back, though less out of secrecy and more of laxity. He slid his underwear down to his thighs, revealing his aching, angry, red tip. He pumped himself, groaning when you began to cry.

“Oh, shh, sweet girl,” came König, wiping a stray tear from your cheek. His fingers spasmed inside you. “You only get to cry when I say so.”

And he kept going. He slid his fingers in and out, picking up speed the wetter you became, hitting a deep, dark part of you that, much to your horror, made you feel good. His thumb pressed into your clit, forcing the beginnings of euphoria through you.

“God, so small. I’m starting to wonder how we’re going to fit inside you–” he bit his lip as fear sparked in your widened eyes, just visible to him as your head began to lol against his shoulder. ”--without tearing you.”

The image he invoked made you sick, made you want to scream and cry until you coughed up your lungs, or someone found you. Yet you resisted, for you knew which of the two possibilities was far likelier to occur than the other; and it was not the one you wanted. “So weak,” König taunted. “So pathetic.”

“So fuckin’ tiny,” Ghost chimed in, a smirk evident in his tone. “Bet she couldn’t fend off a feather.” He stroked himself, pumping harder than before as he coated his cock in his pre-cum. Your blood boiled, but you said nothing. Fear overpowered your need to correct them.

“Well, she can’t fend us off.” König pressed into you, forcing a third finger inside you, reminding you of who - what - you were dealing with. Your eyes squeezed shut, a pained moan rippling through you. Even as he grew closer to your sweet spot, the weight and length of his fingers were difficult to take, especially considering how little either of them had done to prepare you. Perhaps this was how they were warming you up. The thought made you shiver; the implication that what you’d already suffered was not the end. König’s free hand trawled your waist, dipping into its curvature and creeping up your ribs. His fingers were soft, yet a weighted intention lay upon them, lead on skin. That much could be felt in the way his hand, now flat against your chest, slithered around your breast, cupping it. All the while, König’s occupied hand continued to break into you, forcing your lips further and further apart the deeper his fingers descended, the more he added. Ghost’s breathing grew shorter the longer he watched, his movements growing faster, his dick slick with his own arousal. It glistened in the dim light of the room, glinting at you, reminding you that it was there. That he still had his turn. König encompassed your breast with his claws, kneading it, plucking at your hardened nipple. You swallowed the gasps and whines that crawled up your throat, waiting for the right moment to pounce - to make your forced arousal known. But König seemed to know regardless, his voice hot in your ear.

“You’re soaking me, Darling,” he rasped. His hips bucked into the back of you, restrained. For the moment. His breath caught in his throat as electricity shot through him, his tip catching on the small of your back, leaving a thin trail of pre between his tip and your skin, his thighs squeezing your sides and keeping you caged. He was more machine than man; a hydraulic press.

“König–” Ghost’s voice, breathy, surrounded by the squelching of his juices against his hand, was a welcomed distraction from the vague euphoria building in your core. “I’m close.” You swallowed the lump in your throat, wondering what on earth Ghost could be thinking of doing with his load. You prayed that he wasn’t going to put it in you.

König’s hand slid up from your breast up to your jaw, holding it in place before bumping you up onto your knees with his hips, forcing you forward. You winced at the impact. His cock caught between your cheeks, and he restrained himself still. Ghost approached the bedside, pumping furiously. Even with König’s fingers inside you, the sound of slick demanded your attention.

With his free hand, Ghost presented the prize he’d concealed from you. A collar and leash. You swallowed, trying to back up into König, but he held you firmly in place, his hips a deterrent, the threat of impalement.

“Don’t move.” Releasing his cock, Ghost fastened the collar around your neck, making sure it was snug and tight. He wrapped the chain round his forearm as he had done the belt. His hand returned to his member, resuming the raging pace he’d taken to earlier.

His breaths almost seemed to sync with yours; König still fucking you with his fingers, four strong and knuckle-deep, massaging your clit with his thumb, he left you breathless, left you trying to conceal the effects of his devastation upon your body.

Ghost did little to help; when he saw your eyes close or your body begin to slump, he pulled on the chain, bringing you closer to him, closer to consciousness.

His pants transitioned from light gasps to low groans. You knew he didn’t have long. He pulled at your bottom lip with his thumb. When you didn’t oblige, his stare hardened.

“Open.”

He didn’t have to ask twice before you parted your lips, allowing him into you. He fed his cock into your waiting mouth, hot and heavy on your tongue; a salty residue tingled on your taste buds. With his hand on the chain, he pulled, forced you down on his member, grip tightening when you initially resisted.

“Don’t test me, girl,” he glowered, eyes dark and intentions darker. “Bite me, and I promise you that you’ll never be able to use this mouth again.” He took your jaw in his chained hand and squeezed. You nodded.

“Good girl.”

Swallowing around him, making him rock ever closer to you, you closed your eyes and took the plunge. He allowed you to set your own pace at the very least, making your descent upon him easier. Well, ‘descent’ being a lenient use of the term; you just bobbed on the tip, and while Ghost didn’t complain, he didn’t praise you, either.

“What, you shy or somethin’?” he said, brow creasing. You looked up at him, hoped that your anger could be felt - or couldn’t. Pleasure made your gaze indeterminate. The knot in his brow dissipated, and a look of revelation crossed his features. “Hold on,” he said, slow and intentional. “Are you new to this?” König stilled behind you, fingers ceasing to coax your cunt into weeping. You could feel him watching intently from behind.

With little to lose and your head hazy with fright, you nodded.

Both men were quiet. Ghost leaned around you, glancing at König. They spoke in their invisible language, unknown to anyone but them, unteachable but learnable.

Ghost’s gaze returned back to you, and he relinquished some of the pressure he was enforcing on the leash. “Oh, Love,” he began, voice softer than it had ever been, eyes half-lidded with what one could construe as concern. “Why didn’t you tell us before?” The question sounded interrogative enough that you felt compelled to answer, but given your position, you didn’t know what to say or how - or that you could, for that matter. You just stared with those same wide, pleading eyes.

Any concern Ghost’s face may have possessed evaporated before your eyes, and before you could even register the change, his grip returned and he slammed you down on his cock. You gagged, cried, eyes stinging with tears and your throat panging with Ghost’s brute force. He refused to relent, even as you began to cry, the pain easily making your situation that much more unbearable. He peeled you off his cock before piling into you again, and again, and again. Soon, he’d established the rhythm of a symphony you didn’t want to hear, the sound of his pre wet against your lips.

König groaned behind you, his fingers gripping your cheeks.

“Fuck – I can feel you taking him,” he said, breathy. He began pumping into you again, his hand remaining iron around your jaw, giving you no choice but to to keep taking Ghost. The dying heat in your centre re-ignited, much to your despair. You tried to ignore it, tried to focus on the fiery ache in your throat, but König just hit a spot in you that made your body want more, despite your mind’s resistance to the fog trying to settle over it. Ghost gave a sharp groan, panting, his thrusts becoming less coordinated, more frantic as his release came into sight. Your heart thudded in your chest, echoing as if it were contained in a steel chamber, adrenaline replacing your blood. The thought of biting him came into your mind, but the consequences that seemed to be your birthright overshadowed it, frightened it away.

You were struggling, twitching as you fought the urge to pull away, knowing either König or Ghost would shove you right back onto Ghost’s cock. Ghost held little regard for your struggling, instead making sure to keep slamming his tip against the back of your throat as if there was a prize for doing so, for bruising your voice and making it nigh-unusable. You were certain you could see him snarling beneath the mask as he forced you to take all of him, your nose pressed against the short, dark, curling hairs above his weapon.

Ghost pulled out, taking you by surprise, leaving you whining. He may have thought that you wanted more, but he didn’t act on it if he did. With a few more breathy, panting, groaning strokes, he came on your face, coating you. You gasped, tried backing up, but König held you in place, unrelenting as he continued to pound the shape of his hand into you. You heaved deep breaths, trying to regain the air König had knocked out of you and Ghost had stolen from you.

Your chest heaved, matching the exasperation of Ghost’s shoulders. König’s pumping fingers slowed, then came to a halt. The heat in your stomach died once more. You could feel how wet your backside was, cold as air hit it. Ghost’s cum dripped down your chin, into your open mouth and onto your chest. And Ghost watched, a feral gleam in his eye as white, milk tears gleamed upon your skin like pearls.

König seemed to care little for the haze Ghost had placed you in, inspecting Ghost’s cum as it dripped across his hand like a prostitute’s mascara, before trying to wipe it off. He dragged his palm across your cheek, gathering Ghost’s load and pressing it to your lips.

“Lick.” Was all he said. And you obliged, oversaturating your mouth with Ghost for the second time that night. And you looked up into Ghost’s eyes as you did this. They were hard, like he disagreed, yet he said nothing.

This was your chance, you were sure of it: get Ghost on-side by showing your loyalty to him - make him think you were on his team.

König’s hand came up to your mouth, wiping pearls from your lip. You let your tongue slip out. “My, my,” Konig said. “Eager, are we?” When he pressed his fingers into your mouth, you acted.

Your second mistake of the evening.

You bit down. A pitbull in force. Straddled his fingers with your teeth.

König yelled, his fingers dislodging from inside you. Everything happened in a flurry of moments; an avalanche of seconds colliding upon you as one rather than consecutive moments. “You fucking bitch!” König’s voice sounded as if it were underwater as he cursed at you. Less than a moment later, his hand found your face, smacking it, leaving a streak of your juices slashed across your cheek like blood. You were on your front before you could even make a noise, and a pair of hands forced your head into the bedsheets, suffocating you, disorienting you. You could feel how tangled your hair was, how matted with sweat and cum it had become.

Ghost’s hand tangled in your hair, tore you up from the sheets. He was not pleased. His eyes told you so.

König was somewhere behind you, though exactly where was unknown to you, which somehow made you feel worse than knowing he was there at all. Your heart pounded in your ears, blood pumping through you, a red ocean within your crust. You couldn’t hear much outside of your atmosphere. The bed remained dipped behind you. König remained behind you.

Your breath caught in your throat when a hand, thrice the size of your own, came down upon your head, pulling you back by your tresses. It wasn’t Ghost’s, for he abandoned you when his successor took charge. You thought your Eve’s apple would tear through your throat as your skin was stretched so finely. König’s eyes sent ice through you, yet you couldn’t even see them.

“You arrogant wench–” he said, voice close to your ear, hot and sibilant “--I’m going to make sure this really, really hurts.”

Once again, you were slammed onto your front, König’s hands dislodging from your scalp and relinquishing you to gravity. You began preparing yourself to fight back, preparing to take a life if they planned on taking yours. That was before something cool and thick pressed against your throat. And in an instant, everything changed.

You couldn’t swallow - couldn’t even think - as this object bore into you. Someone grabbed your hair from behind, yanking you up. That same person held the object, which, by the handle in your periphery, you saw was a knife. König’s knife.

“Going to have to domesticate this little bitch, show her who she belongs to.” König’s voice dripped, venomous. You fisted the sheets, tried to keep your tears a secret even to yourself, hoping you could channel some of the mortification brewing in you into the sheets.

“Now, König, don’t be too hasty.” Ghost said. “Don’t wanna be fucking a corpse now, do you?” Ghost was less the voice of reason here than of self-interest; he didn’t want to fuck your corpse. But König’s lack of input, his silent neutrality, made you think that he did. Or would. Oh god, what have I done–

König ground his stiff member against your raw flower, grunting when he caught himself on your hole. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to keep your pained mewls from leaking out. You knew you had no right to - you knew they wouldn’t listen. Yet it came out anyway; a request, nothing more. Meek as the woman it tumbled from.

“Dont, please,”

Ghost and König stilled.

“Say that again.” König said. You couldn’t tell if it was a demand or a challenge, but you complied regardless.

“Please, please don’t. I-I’ve never–” “What? What haven’t you done?” König’s voice made you tense every time you heard it, especially now as he held your life in his hands. You swallowed shallowly around the blade. You closed your eyes, squoze them tight.

“I’ve never done this before.”

Another bout of silence. Then, an arrow of laughter pierced it.

“Aww, are you a virgin, Darling?” König’s use of the petname evoked a primal despair from within you. You were surprised you hadn’t begun to shake with fear. When you didn’t answer quickly enough, König’s hand released your hair and found your cunt and slapped it. You yelped, trying not to decapitate yourself on the blade as König’sstrength propelled you forward, your lips sensitive from his prior assault.

“We’ll take good care of you,” came Ghost, who seemed less willing to adopt König’s sarcasm; perhaps only because you hadn’t wronged him the way you had König. Even then, you had no doubt he would treat you as if you had.

“Though, nobody’s ever gonna want you after tonight,” Ghost said. “We promise you that.”

“And all because you wanted to act like an animal.” König offered no respite, a thin smile in his voice.

Your heart sank ever lower as all you could do was listen and accept what they were telling you - accept your fate. You hadn’t wanted to admit to yourself that you’d really hoped they - or at the very least Ghost - would take care of you. Perhaps before, but not now. Not after you’d resisted.

“Can’t believe no one else’s ever claimed this cunt.” A twinge of surprise, perhaps even morbid curiosity, spiked König’s tone. Yet you gave him no answer, no resolve to his curiosity. You remained a statue.

“You wanna take her?” Ghost asked. The fact they spoke of you as if you weren’t even there made you feel oddly hurt. But what were they going to do, realistically? Ask your permission?

“You chose her, you take her.” Konig handed Ghost the knife.

“You sure?” Ghost said. “After what she did to you, I thought you’d–” “Fuck her while she’s still tight, Ghost.” König’s tone was rocky, monotone with rubble anger spiking it. “Because I promise you, she won’t be worth your while after I’m done with her.”

Chose her - after I’m done with her - your stomach turned. This entire attack had been completely coincidental. It could have easily been anyone else, someone you had no idea existed. And yet the gods brought them to you.

The bed dipped as Ghost came behind you. He took your chain leash, letting it mould back against his skin as if it were an extension of his limb, and pulled it taught against your throat. On your other end, he proposed the tip of his cock to your lips, and you tensed. Your body near forced him out, refusing to take any of his length. Ghost scowled, pushed you down further into the bedsheets, keeping you still. He spread your lips with his fingers, and, within an instant, forced himself inside. You gasped, letting out a silent cry into the duvet. The knife wedged against your throat, a reminder. Ghost released a strangled groan, your cunt squeezing his tip.

“Christ,” he breathed, “so fuckin’ tight,” His grip on the handle tightened. His thighs were pressed against your own, rubbing your raw skin, making your backside erupt in agony. You only choked on a sob, begging and praying to any god that may have been listening to make it stop.

Ghost took a breath, and you braced yourself. He pressed, pushed further inside, releasing guttural grunts as he forced another inch into you. Your resolve was cracking like glass beneath a great weight; you knew it would shatter. You knew you were shattering.

“Come on, (Y/N),” he said, your voice rolling off his tongue as he’d roll it against your cunt. “You can do it - you can take me.” His voice was breathy, yet there was sincerity there. He was giving you the opportunity for you to show some initiative before he took it from you. Giving you the illusion of choice.

For your sake, you tried to relax, tried to ignore the heavy, throbbing mass your cunt was reluctantly swallowing - more so choking on. That, and the knife tucked against your neck. You willed yourself to relax as best you could. Feeling your walls loosening, Ghost slammed the rest of his length into you. And you moaned. Loudly.

You hadn’t meant to, and it was not one of pleasure, more shock. It just came out, and it hung in the air like a curse. Or a blessing.

“Looks like our pretty little pet isn’t as resistant as she thought,” König said, a mocking, sly tone to his voice. Beneath a heavy gaze, you looked at him as best you could, without slitting your throat on the blade, trying to muster as much of a scowl as you were able. You assumed that, with Ghost behind you, he would protect you from König’s wrath until his turn was finished. Your third mistake of the evening.

König’s face shifted, and the light crinkle around his eyes dropped, leaving him almost expressionless, though you could only feel this change, not see it.

“You think you can mock me, girl?” He said. He glowered over you, looking down at you.

You didn’t answer, throat rough and dry from your crying, and your fatigue slowing your cognition. That, and your complete unwillingness to give König the satisfaction of your distress. König said nothing as he took your silent answer. Instead, he neared your compromised form, bent at the waist, completely exposed. You felt the bed dip, closer now.

I’m sorry, you wanted to say - plead. You wanted to rectify your error, to undo whatever awful plan you’d just put into motion. Not that König would care, though.

His presence seemed to materialise behind you, and you felt Ghost shuffle sideways. Then, he spread your lips.

Oh no.

Before you could scream out, apologise – do anything – König was pressing the tip of his cock to your already stuffed hole, making you cower. A million ways to be injured by what König was planning to do shot through your head. Even just one of them would make a traumatising story to tell at the doctor’s office, never mind be excruciating.

“I was going to be lenient. To let you take us one at a time.” He huffed, euphoria shooting down his cock.”But seeing as you seem to have the intelligence of an animal, I’m going to treat you like one.” His hand came to grip your waist, unrelenting. “Let’s see how well you can mock this, Kitty.” Königs accented voice sent electricity shooting to your core. He spat on your cunt and pressed forward.

Both men were thick and long - enough so that you could just about take one of them. But now with two of them trying to skewer you, you were sure you’d sooner pass out. Your cunt throbbed, screaming for a moment of release as you failed to adjust to two of them. König grunted, breath shuttering, as he managed to wedge the tip in, making you ache, made you feel more exposed than you already were.

“What? Got n-nothing to say, Kitty?” König said. He stroked your lips with thick, rough fingers. You gave no indication of a response, being caught in your throat alongside your sobs. König let out a hum of a laugh.

He forced himself further inside, and you squeezed your eyes shut, tears streaming down your cheeks and into the duvet. Ghost groaned at the friction, pulling tighter on your leash.

“God, so fuckin’ small–” his voice drew thinner than before, less certain. He made an attempt at comfort, at love. He ran a hand against your backside, squeezing it. König moved, the beginnings of a thrust. Ghost gave protest, though not on your behalf. “Watch out,” he said, warning. “Don’t wanna finish in her just yet.”

König gave a hum, an underdeveloped laugh. “Hm, good thinking.”

It took a lot of effort, but, after brute forcing his way inside, König was balls-deep within you in a matter of minutes, breathing heavily and ready to burst at any second. Your walls crushed him - both of them - drawing a guttural moan that sounded too human to belong to either when they rutted into you, unable to resist the morsels of euphoria your body submitted to them.You heaved laboured breaths against the bedsheets, body ready to give out at any second.

“Ready?” König said, aiming at Ghost. Ghost, presumably, nodded, and the two began to pump into you.

When one pulled out, the other plunged. That was the system. The room filled with the grotesque symphony of skin slapping against skin, of König’s rising moans, Ghost’s groans, of your body’s liquids making their assault on you easier, almost inviting them in. Something thick and viscous rolled down your thighs, and you couldn’t have known whose body it initially came from. You couldn’t admit that they way they battered your insides, hit your cervix, made pleasure rupture in your core, made you buzz and tingle in places you didn’t want to.

Their balls smacked the sensitive skin of your flower red, almost raw. Just as unrelenting as the men you belonged to.

König was notably rougher than Ghost, his cock seeming to pummel you at twice the speed, making sure to catch you where it hurt. Whenever you sobbed, he smirked and made sure to hit that same spot again. And again. And again.

With both of their instruments inside you, you knew your stomach was bulging in one form or another. And, in a bid to satiate your curiosity, or to confirm that what was happening to you was indeed real, you slid your hand up to your stomach, pressing your palm against your skin.

They were massive. They both made a noise of mock protest. Ghost grabbed your hair.

“Do that again,” he said, breath laboured and wavering in time with him bounding you on his cock. He pressed the flat edge of the weapon to your apple, tightened his grip on your strands, letting you know it wasn’t a choice.

With little room to refuse, and Ghost’s threatening grip on your hair and the knife, you obliged, pressing your palm flat against the outline in your stomach which you recognised as Ghost’s. He gave the slightest of moans and relented, letting your hair go and trailing his hand to rest on the small of your back, as if he expected to feel the silhouette of his cock there, too.

“Good girl,” he panted. “Very good girl.”

Perhaps minutes passed, perhaps an eternity. The only mark of time having passed at all was the electric rope in your core tightening, and the inevitable undoing of your captors.

“Fuck– I– I’m close,” König said, his pace quickening, hips stuttering. They grew out of sync, pounding into you two at a time, spreading your walls wider, deeper.

“Yeah, me–e too,”

The realisation of what they were planning to do settled in.

“No, stop–” Your pleas fell on deaf ears, neither of the men even poised to discipline you, too lost in their bid for release to spare you even a glance.

“König, Ghost, please–” you gasped as Ghost hit your sweet spot, eliciting a moan from you.

“I heard that female orgasms increase the chances of impregnation,” he said between breaths. You could just feel him staring down at you. König, too, no doubt smiling that sly smile of his. He existed only to torture you. “Let’s test that theory.”

You tried pulling away - a futile effort, really. König just pulled you right back, impaling you back on his dick and drawing a moan from him, a sob from you.

With the last of their resolve, they pummeled into you. And, with a choked moan, your stomach spasmed, your muscles burning, tightening. Your orgasm tore through you, a hurricane of blood, sweat and tears on the populus of your body. You wailed into the sheets, your walls trapping your attackers inside you. Both men finished, a sirenic, low moan leaving König, and a savage, territorial growl coming from Ghost. One after the other, they burst inside you, loads thick and heavy, flooding you with a warmth you didn’t want. And because you were angled so - with your backside practically vertical to your head, you could feel it running down into the deepest areas of yourself, gravity only aiding in its aim.

You gave one last attempt to break free - to stop the inevitable - but it was of no use. Ghost had you at the mercy of the leash, releasing himself inside you, spurts of his white hot cum claiming every inch of you as his own. König’s seed ran like lava, burning you up, scorching paths into you, scarring you with his actions. You had no choice but to take it, to feel your future slipping away from you as both of these men bound you with their offspring, their cum overflowing within you and oozing from your lips, rolling down your thighs. You gasped when König scooped the remnants of Ghost and himself and plunged them back inside. “Better plug her,” he said to Ghost, who you felt liberate your throat of the knife, detach, and slip out from you, leaving you cold in his absence. König still inside you, you tried to break away, to pull yourself from him, but he gripped you by the shoulders and slammed you right back down on him. And he didn’t stop. In Ghost’s departure, he crushed his hips against your backside, making sure he hit your skin where it was most sensitive. You stifled your hisses, your moaning cries. Not only did your backside and thighs hurt, but your prize, too, ebbing and drooling with their seed. König eased up only to lean down, pressed against you. He lifted his veil, placed his lips on your shoulder.

“No better expression suits you more than pain, my dear,” he said, voice low, though it was unlikely he was keeping this a secret from Ghost. “And I will force you to wear it until you’re stuffed so full of my cum that you look pregnant.” Proving his point, he thrusted against you, thighs slapping against your own. You choked on a cry. “Understood?”

With what little will you had left, you nodded.

And then he sank his teeth into you.

You screamed into the bedsheets, König’s force being nothing near that of a love bite and rather a gouge. Only when he was satisfied, when the wound was a half inch or so deep, did he retract. His veil remained hiked above his nose, and, luckily for you, you couldn’t see the blood dripping from his teeth, staining his lips and his tongue as he licked it from the outskirts of his mouth, and, when he descended again, your shoulder. He gave low, panting moans, the taste of your metal dancing on his tongue. You felt warmth trickle from your shoulder, heard it drip onto the sheets. Ghost returned, to which König, parting from your skin, muttered a “Perfect,” before he pulled out, the sound of your drenched bodies slickened in parting making your stomach turn. Before you could even make a noise of relief or protest, something large and round and cold - unused - was slipped inside you. You grimaced at the feeling, shivering. You dared to turn and face König and Ghost, who only admired the view of you. Their eyes gleamed, primal - filled with authority and the need to breed you.

Without thought, you reached behind to feel what was inside you, wincing when shards of pain shot down your arm from your shoulder. And you were swiftly rewarded with a hand gripping your wrist, twisting it in such a way that was distinctly militarian. Utilitarian. Made to disarm. You barely contained a yelp.

“Not yet, Princess,” Ghost said. A thumb smoothed over your aching wrist, as if it didn’t belong to the hand that was causing your suffererance. Ghost’s grip on your wrist loosened. Your breath remained uneven.

Before you could say or do anything more, you felt König press his knife to your throat, a ritual you’d grown accustomed yet not comfortable to, flushing the barely-blunted edge to your Eve’s apple. You could see him smile beneath the mask, eyes crinkling. Ghost loomed over the two of you, ever the shadow he was born to be, eyes glinting as he watched you.

“Now, if you behave for us—“

“And be a good little girl—“

“We won’t be forced to use this,” König punctuated his point with a flash of the knife against your skin.

“Or this.” Ghost retrieved the lighter, catching its silver body in the light, glinting in your eyes.

You swallowed — shallowly — your throat bobbing against the blade, just shy of impaling itself upon its metal body. When you gave no sign of resistance, König lowered himself between your legs, his great arms bulging, veins carving across muscle, county lines on a country of a man.

All the while, your shoulder bled, jagged blood lines webbing down your chest, racing.

Ghost stroked himself, lacking the timidity of a man whose body admitted this was his first time doing anything like this, yet deficient of the depravity to give it his all. He was saving himself - his release - for something else.

König pressed his thighs up against the back of your own, his aching cock pulsing against your abused core. Even the mere implication of what he was going to do with it made you ache and throb, more so than you already were. His body was scorching behind you, burning you.

Though, with your cunt plugged, you wondered what they could possibly be planning on doing with you now. Unless…

Ghost resided close by, watching König manhandle you.

König brought a strong hand around your jaw and pulled you so that your back was flush against his chest, his heart, which hammered like a chisel into your back. Yet his heart did not thunder out of fear.

Saliva pooled in your throat, and you swallowed against the blade, heart spiking as your skin forfeited itself to the cold metal. König rolled against you, as if trying to fit the shape of your curvature. He grunted when his dick was caught between your soft cheeks.

“Now,” he said, breath shuttering, “do exactly as I say and I’ll let you live.”

Electricity shot down every nerve that wasn’t already fried, your throat grew drier and your heart leapt. You could feel sweat pouring from your every pore, making you feel sticky, adhesive; trying to keep König attached to you.

König yanked you, making you wince, and forced you to face Ghost. Ghost still stroked himself, though with more frevour now, staring you dead in the eyes as he did so. His unwavering gaze made your face burn, caused you to try to cover yourself - only for König to press the expanse of the knife to your throat once more.

“Don’t.”

And with that said, you let your hands drop to your sides, swaying as you relinquished control of your body to König. Your eyes rested on the bedsheets, Ghost lingering in the corners of your vision. Until he came to the forefront, steps thunderous, waves crashing together in a roaring sea. He took your jaw in his hand and made you look up at him. Your neck panged, sore.

“Rather disobedient tonight, aren’t you.” he said. Merely a fact, not a debate. The feeling of König’s knife and Ghost’s hand in such close proximity felt more dangerous than if it were either alone.

When you didn’t answer, instead staring up at Ghost glassy-eyed, he sighed. Or laughed. He released your jaw, letting you retract, and trailed his fingers to the side of your head. He took a lock of hair between his fingers and released himself with his other hand, reaching for his lighter.

“What are you doing?” You asked, tone belying the terror which resided beneath. Barely. You tried to pull back, but König’s weight made it impossible. He was a wall, no more human than a brick, yet possessing the monstrosity of a Bible’s worth of demons. And Ghost was no different.

Ghost said nothing as he flipped the lid and flicked the flame into being. When you refused to offer yourself, König forced you forward, leaning over your shoulder, your throbbing, burning bleeding shoulder, watching the spectacle.

Your eyes widened, remnant tears falling, and looked up at Ghost. There was a smirk beneath his mask, you just couldn’t see it. It existed in feeling, the rarest, most difficult universal language to learn, let alone master.

Ghost brought the flame to the tips of your hair. You shrieked, tried backing away again, but to no avail. The flame consumed the strands bunched between Ghost’s fingers, and an image that sent cold dread washing over you flashed behind your eyes. You, on fire, with nobody around to help.

You were going to die.

The flame consumed your strands, voracious in its pursuit as it left blackened, frail, curled hairs in its wake.

Before the flame reached your head, Ghost lifted his mask and wet his fingers with his tongue, putting the flame out between them. Your body remained still. Paralysed. The image remained, and you hadn’t realised it had not come to pass.

“If you talk back to us again, I’ll let the flame burn your skin next time.” Ghost’s head tilted, taking in your petrification. “Understand?”

Breaking from your haze, you looked up at Ghost, tearful. You nodded. His eyes crinkled.

“Good.”

He closed the lighter and discarded it. The knife had not been removed from the equation, however. It rested in König’s hand.

Ghost made a gesture to König, who tugged you back into his arms. Ghost joined you, coming to sit beside König, behind you.

Ghost’s length was already coated in pre and your own fluids, albeit some had crusted, making it easy for him to slip in and out, especially considering how wet you’d become, how much of a mess they’d made of you. Ghost imparted himself unto you, pressing the head of his cock against your puckered hole, nudging his way in. You braced yourself, tried to relax so he could finish and bring an end to this trial of your ordeal.

Seeing Ghost already indulging in your torture, König joined, doing away with his restraint. Dissatisfied with the prospect of merely touching himself. He brought the head of his cock to your hole. Ghost growled, but König didn’t move. In fact, slipping a hand across your stomach, he slammed into you.

You gasped, the air knocked out of your lungs. Ghost, now no longer afforded the time to take his own, laced his fingers into your hair and forced his length into you, gripping your head. “Easy, Princess,” he said, voice low, breath shuttering as the friction from your tight walls and Konig’s cock. It became a competition, one he was determined to win.

König caught his breath, still adjusting to his cock being deliciously squeezed between you and Ghost, pressing his hand to your stomach.

“I can feel myself inside you,” he breathed. He grabbed your hand and pressed it to where his had been. And you felt him.

For the second time that night, you felt König’s dick impaling you. You almost wept.

“Stop distractin’ her,” Ghost intervened, stroking your hair. You winced, cautious.

König made no protests, and Ghost began his pace. He started off slow, more for his benefit than yours, and slipped an inch or so deeper into the chasm of your asshole each time. And you could do nothing but take it - take him - and try not to cry or moan every time he hit a sensitive spot.

König, seemingly having released his earlier grudge, was slower with you, too. He fed himself into you, inch by inch, enthralled by the image of your hole stretched over both of them, bursting as your body grappled with the weight forming in your lower half.

Their pace wasn’t in time with the other as it had been earlier; it was uncoordinated, softer in one aspect and rougher in another - it was purely and unequivocally the pursuit of their own pleasure as their earlier displays had been. Yet, there was some consideration there in the way that König’s head fell to the crook of your neck, resting there as his hand smoothed over your front, over himself sheathed inside you. The way he whispered “Good girl,” into your ear, so quiet the words almost caught in the fabric of his mask. The knife remained, though. In the periphery, on the edge of the bed. Neither here nor there.

Meanwhile, Ghost’s breathing grew shallow, shorter, with every stroke of his cock and the slap of his balls against your raw backside, breath hitching when he hit a sweet spot. König aided him, digging his fingers into your stomach where Ghost’s cock pounded you, forcing Ghost to give out a surprised moan. His grip on your hair softened, only there to guide you now rather than to discipline. When you clenched around him, an involuntary tensing of your body, he gave a low moan.

Your body ached, and so did your insides.

A vague, wilted bloom of pleasure persisted below your stomach, though it wasn’t electric. Rather, your body’s exhausted, half-hearted attempt at quelling the hopelessness of your situation by trying to get something out of it. It began in your centre, the lovechild of König and Ghost’s incessant pounding and moaning, and the prospect of your future with them; the future that sloshed around inside you with every thrust, plugged, sealed. Promised.

After what was less than an eternity yet more than mere minutes, König finished, releasing a battlecry of a moan, his body seizing up as his release rippled through him. He continued to roll into you, though subdued. His cum reached deep within you, you being vertical again. He pressed a single kiss to your shoulder through his mask, his breath almost felt through the veil against your skin.

Ghost followed shortly after, throwing his head back and groaning your name into the confines of his mask, warm, thick ropes of his cum painting the inside of your ass white. You could feel how thick he was inside you, like a web. A trap.

Through half-lidded, hazy eyes, Ghost looked down at you. He perhaps smiled, having outlasted König, won, and petted your head - your hair. He pulled out. “Took us so well.” His voice was drunk, soaked in lust. “Good girl.”

You dared to wonder if that was the only name they knew for you, if they’d forgotten your true name already.

König pulled out of you, and, in a turn of events, shifted from behind you and brought you into his arms. He pressed you into the bedsheets - into the pillows - your arms raised above your head. To sleep–perchance to dream - of a reality where you remained unsullied and unused by two men who were strangers to you.

He reached beneath the bed - a cove of wonder, at this stage - and withdrew a plug. You didn’t fight him off as he plunged it into you, marveling at the bulge in your stomach, the shape of your future.

Bound by the belt and gagged by your own fear, you watched - felt - Ghost sink down on top of you, half-hard cock resting on your stomach, heavy, like a statement. He made sure not to squeeze the mound in your middle, rather taking to admiring it. Without taking his eyes off you, he reached behind him, clicked his fingers, and König brought him a candle and his discarded lighter. He lit the candle and held it over you. The flame danced in his eyes, wavered. He put it on the bedside, taking your breasts in his calloused hands as it burned in your periphery.

“Won’t be long now,” he said, and you couldn’t tell if it was directed at you or König. Königanswered, knowing infinitely more than you. He looked down at you, an uncharacteristic fondness growing in his eyes.

“You’re right,” he said. He brushed a sweat-sodden, stray lock of hair from your eyes. “Not long at all.”

“You’ll be bursting with our offspring in no time, Love.” Your heart stopped. Despite the sentiment in his eyes, you failed to feel the warmth he was trying to project - the heat radiating from his hands at either side of your head. Your blood ran cold.

“Why…” your voice caught in your throat, and you looked away. You didn’t want to speak out of turn. Not again.

Ghost and König’s head tilted. Had the situation not been so dire, you may have found it endearing.

“Go on.” Ghost’s voice was monotone, yet curiosity danced within it. The candle continued to burn.

You sniffed, swallowed, tried not to think of everything, tried not to burst out crying. You looked up into Ghost’s blackened eyes. Something initial and unreadable slumbered there.

“Why me?”

Ghost backed up, peeling his eyes off you and looking to König, who only mirrored his expression.

“Why–” you sobbed, breath hitching, “--Why did you choose me?”

“Oh, Darlin’...” Ghost sighed. He brought a hand to your cheek, and you winced. Something almost blue, sorrowful, shimmered in his eyes. He cupped your cheek, his hand a hammock for your megrim, splitting head, the thoughts that bundled and overflowed from within.

“We…we chose you because…” Ghost looked to König, who gave a shallow nod. Confirmation. “We chose you because we–”

“You’re the most beautiful girl we’ve ever seen.”

At König’s interruption, Ghost’s eyes widened fractionally, yet agreement nestled between both men, just as you were pinned beneath Ghost. Said man’s attention returned back to you and your teary eyes.

“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” he said, wiping a lone tear from your cheek with his thumb. “We’ve seen how you are with your friends, your family. Strangers. You…really seem to care about them.”

Had you not been exhausted, you’d have questioned the pair (or perhaps not) about when - how - they’d seen you before this encounter. Then again, even in this state, the implication weighed heavy on you.

Yet, another bloomed inside you, one you detested; the forewarnings and warmth of flattery, the timid fluttering in your chest, a single butterfly, straying from its kaleidoscope. The snowflake before the avalanche.

Tears slipped from the outer corners of your eyes, and Ghost caught every one of them. Lifting the bottom of his mask, he kissed them away, leading salty trails from your eyes to the corners of your lips, where, upon his falterance, he pressed his lips to yours. Despite the entirety of the evening, it was chaste, concerned only with you. Ghost pressed you further into the covers, taking you deeper, his lips beginning to move against yours. You didn’t return it. But he didn’t seem to mind.

Parting, Ghost’s cheeks - or that which you could see of them - were pink, flushed with the beginnings of abashment. He panted quietly, looking down at you, regarding you as if you were the only person in all the world. And he gave you his parting word.

“I can think of no one better to bear my offspring than you.”

König watched, a flash of envy’s serpentine robe dancing behind his eyes, here one moment and gone the next. He placed a hand on Ghost’s shoulder.

“The candle,” was all he said. Ghost gave minimal response and reached for the burning length of wax on the bedside. It wavered, then flickered out of mortal existence when Ghost snuffed it out, lowering his mask and returning to anonymity after the fact.

Your stare flicked between Ghost, König, and the candle. Ghost pressed down - or rather, rested his full weight on - the bottom of your stomach, squeezing the breath out of you, making you fold. Something trickled from your plugged cunt, forced out under Ghost’s weight. Ghost placed a hand on your chest and pushed you back down.

You could smell the candle’s perfume as Ghost tipped it, hot, running wax bleeding over its lip and directly onto your nipple. Your gasped, nay, shrieked, König muffling your cry with his hand. It burned, ebbed. Throbbed. The sensitive, erect skin tingled as the wax settled, hardening. Trapping it.

“Shh, Princess,” Ghost said, smoothing a hand over your hair, looking past the tears welling in your eyes. “It’s alright.”

No it’s not! you wanted to say, to scream from the rooftops. But no-one could hear you now. You could only swallow and endure.

Ghost’s hand trailed from your hair to your breast, which he kneaded with a softness foreign to this night. His eyes glimmered with something incomprehensible as he all but bore down on you. You hated to admit it, but he seemed tender, which, combined with his gentle massaging, made the space between your legs feel warm with a subdued current, the hair raises before lightning strikes.

And that tenderness ran concurrent with his cruelty. For just a moment later, he poured hot wax onto your other nipple, now having coated both in a red, hardening shield. You cried against and into König’s hand, which he kept firmly against your lips. He ran his other hand through your hair, emulating the soothing cycle of comfort he’d only ever seen, not enacted.

Ghost discarded the candle on the bedside table and cupped your other breast with his now-free hand, leaning down to press kisses to the valley between the two. They started out as gentle, yet firm, chasing away your fresh tears and seeming to ease enough of your tension that König no longer saw the need to keep you quiet, instead resting his hands on your shoulders, rubbing them. Or keeping you pinned.

Ghost’s kisses trailed down beneath your breasts, lapping at their underside with a slow tongue. You shuddered under his touch, his watch. He veered off to one breast and, without warning, engulfed your wax-coated nipple with his mouth, peeling the wax off with his teeth. You nearly gasped as cold air rushed to the sensitive bud, repeating the process with the other nipple as Ghost peeled the wax from it, leaving you feeling more exposed - raw.

He gave you no time to adjust to this feeling - as if a layer of your skin had been shed - before he took one of your buds in his mouth and sucked. Hard.

Your body convulsed, your sensitivity making Ghost’s actions nigh-unbearable, making you mewl. In spite of that, it felt…good. It sent a shock of electricity to your clit, making you tingle and writhe. You resisted the urge to rock yourself against Ghost’s hips as he remained nestled atop your thighs. König’s hand slithered down to your chest to keep you still. Ghost stuffed his mouth with your breast, and for a second - a split moment in history - you wondered, considered, if he’d choke on it, if he’d be okay.

He erased the doubt from your mind, voice loud and clear as day.

“Can’t wait ‘til you’re pregnant,” he said. He spared you a glance, peering up from beneath the shadows of his mask. “‘Nd I get to suck you dry; milk you like the whore you are.”

König made a noise of agreement. “Pretty little bitch, only good for breeding and fucking.”

“And trust me, Darlin’,” Ghost rasped, panting lightly as he pulled away. “You’ll never go a day where you’re not full.”

Proving his point, Ghost retracted, his cock catching on your clit, trailing to your hole. The implication alone made you clench, and, for a second, you wanted to believe that it was because your body didn’t want him - want them - and was trying to keep them out. On the contrary. It was practicing to keep them in.

“No-one will ever want you when we’re done with you.” König seethed, eyes dark behind the shadow of the mask. “There won’t be another thought behind those eyes, except of us.”

You sobbed - mourned - for yourself. For the future they were both robbing from you and holding hostage, with your demise nestled snugly within the memory of that camera, and the child you were surely carrying now, stomach bulging with the makings of it; symbolic. Ghost brought the knife against your cheek, having obtained it during your distress, dragging the blunted edge across your skin.

“We’ll mark you up so good that no man will ever even look at you.” Ghost tilted you to face him with the knife, dead stare penetrating you, making you feel cold.

“Now, Princess–” König’s voice boomed, making you jump - arch - against Ghost’s chest. “Touch yourself.”

The command was foreign to you, completely alien. You almost asked him to repeat it for fear of not having heard him correctly. He looked at you - looked down at you - with a half-lidded stare. Condescending.

When you didn’t move, Ghost brought the knife to your thigh and nicked it, once, twice, making you yelp, spasm on instinct. And when you failed to answer again, in the half a second they spared you, he made a long cut along the inside of your soft thigh. The wounds were red, doubtless already bleeding. They stung, reminded you of their brutality. Reminded you of the gouge on your shoulder.

“Didn’t you fucking hear me?” König spat. You flinched, back into the bed. Again, when you made no move to act, Ghost slid from your thighs and forced you up onto your knees, slipping behind you, holding the knife to your throat. An arm slithered around your waist and held you there, his hand caressing your swollen stomach as it slithered past. You couldn’t tell if he was trying to sooth you or prevent you from fleeing.

König took a step towards you, and Ghost had to hold you down to stop you from jumping. He held up a hand to König, who stepped back. His aura strangled you, let you know that he was far from pleased. You swallowed, and Ghost leaned down and whispered in your ear. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I’ll help you.”

He took your hand in his, and, like a puppet master controlling his creation, he slid your hand down to your cunt, ticklish (or just uncomfortable) with a foreign object disguised as your own trying to near it. The camera didn’t help, either, reminding you that everything was on the line.

You steeled yourself, tried thinking of anything else other than the situation. Ghost’s hardened musculature digging into your back, the feeling of his fingers encircling your clit, making you gasp and recoil, fleeing from one evil to another. Ghost sighed into you, rutted his hips against your back. Something almost sharp was beginning to dig into the dimple of your back, and despite knowing what it was, you pretended not to. Anything to make this situation less traumatic - embarrassing - for you than it already was.

Luckily, the pleasure welling in your core as Ghost pressed against your clit almost helped you forget that he was not, in fact, a heartless criminal - one of two whose only goal it seemed to rob you of your life, though not to be as merciful as to kill you, rather to hold your very existence captive.

Before you could begin to enjoy the cord tightening in your centre, Ghost’s fingers crept from your clit to the plug in your pussy. He slipped it out with a pop and grasped your hand, bringing it to your now leaking cunt. He pressed - forced - your fingers against them, slipping past your slick folds and inside you. Or, at least tried to.

Your walls clamped down, allowing nobody - not even yourself - inside. You’d have been relieved of this had this not been Ghost and König you were dealing with. Upon discovering your resistance, Ghost sighed quietly. “Relax,” he told you. “It’s okay. ‘T’s just me.”

And that’s supposed to make me feel better? You thought.

Ghost may have sensed how you tightened up even more. And he hadn’t the patience to humour you. Shedding your fingers, he spread your lips with his own, sinking one inside you, testing you. You remained firmly shut, a vault to which no one had the combination. But Simon had a bomb. And very, very little patience.

“Fine, then,” he said. “If you wanna play this the hard way, we’ll play.”

Without patience, he pried his fingers into you, painfully so, as he fought with your body’s natural response. Observing the scene, König began stroking himself, watching your eyes screw shut and your toes curl, the epitome of a pain.

“Ghost,” you breathed, “please, stop–”

“Silence.” König demanded, staring you dead in the eyes. In that moment of distraction, Ghost’s fingers ploughed their way into you. You cried out, the intrusion making your walls ache. Ghost kept you flush against his chest, caging you between his thighs, keeping you obedient with a roll against your clit and the bloodied knife to your collar, dragging it.

König’s stare did little to relax you, but Ghost’s movements against the bundle of nerves between your legs made your walls flutter, the ache recede. You leaned your weight into him, and you could feel his chest rise and fall with each breath, his scorching skin against yours, melting into you.

Your eyes fluttered shut and hesitant, shy moans escaped between your gasping lips, to which Ghost praised you, calling you his “Good girl,” and pressing a masked kiss to your injured shoulder, making you flinch and staining the teeth of his mask red. Ruby tooth, infinitely more valuable than gold. Soon enough, soft, slick sounds filled the small room. Your cheeks bloomed with embarrassment, then paled as you remembered the camera immortalising your ordeal. Your walls tightened, chest beginning to stir with panic, but Ghost only whispered reassurances into your ear.

“This is for our eyes only,” he promised, as if he could hear your thoughts. And, though you couldn’t see it, his eyes reflected truth, honesty. As to whether König would adhere to such a sentiment was beyond you, yet he didn’t rebuke Ghost’s assurances. He pumped himself harder, faster, his breaths becoming deeper, heavier, an anchor dropped into an ocean.

You didn’t want the electric anticipation blooming in your core. You didn’t want Ghost’s thick fingers bringing you to your undoing. Yet here you were, whining and whimpering for the very man who’d forced himself on you, his other half watching nearby. You thought of how unfair it was - how easy it was for those two to get off while they left you pumped full of them with little in return, save for this forced euphoria. Then, as always, logic chased your misplaced agonies away, trying to remind you of the bigger picture; the fact that these men had been inside you at all.

Your stomach clenched as Ghost, now three fingers and knuckle-deep inside you, hit your sweet spot, making you moan, your back arch. Your skin peeled from his, sweat-sodden and sticky. You wanted to hold out, to refuse König and Ghost the satisfaction of having an orgasm ripped out of you. Ghost gave a rasp of a laugh, his broad chest ever a reminder of your lack of escape.

“Nearly there, Princess,” he said. “Just a little more for Daddy.”

At that, you couldn’t hold it anymore. You gave a wanton, loud moan, the call of a dying god, core spasming, euphoria shooting to each corner of your body and rendering you spent. You lay against Ghost, eyes half-lidded, muscles tingling as you relaxed, body practically on fire as you came down from your high. All the while, Ghost kept rolling his thumb against your clit, pumping his fingers into you at a subdued pace. He was waiting, like a shark circling blood. Your hazy mind couldn’t fathom what.

Breathing heavily, you wanted sleep to overcome you, to free you of this torture - this forced ‘pleasure’. And yet, your captors had other plans.

Practically tranquilised, Ghost pushed you onto your front, flipping you over so you could see the ceiling. He slid his fingers out of you, the wetness of his hand retracting from your pussy heard by all of you. König came into view above you, watching you. Observing you.

“Gotta act quick if you want to make sure she feels it.” Ghost said to his partner, not even sparing you another glance. He was occupied with watching your slick string and drip from his hand. König nodded and, with Ghost retracted from between your legs. Your heart spiked, thrumming in your chest, as you came to realise what they were doing. You almost reached out for him, begged for him to take you instead of König.

“No–!” Your rasping voice was cut off with a sharp slap, König having taken residence between your legs, the side of your face stinging, his hand imprinted there.

Still sensitive from your orgasm, you were hyper-aware of König’s coated length prodding against your puffed lips, from which you tried to retreat. Your energy depleted, you could only crawl an inch or two from König until he grabbed your knees and dragged you right back, bumping you against his rock-hard cock and making you cry out.

He didn’t let you get away again, instead calling you a “Spoiled brat,” and, almost as punishment, shoved his entire length into you with neither ceremony, nor courtesy. You screamed. Really screamed. The tip of König’s dick hit something inside you that shouldn’t have been accessible to him, burning your walls on the way, making them sear with agony. You felt tears burn your throat, collect in your eyes. Ghost shushed you, placing a hand on your thigh and squeezing it.

He still didn’t speak to you, though.

“I warmed her up,” he said, turning to König. “I get to take her from the front.” His tone was absolute; this was not up for discussion.

König sighed, debating, then withdrew, cursing as he did so. You gasped, cold air hitting you, filling you. Not long after, Ghost settled where König had been, his associate coming to your other side. Ghost hoisted you up against his chest, your head lolling on his shoulder. König, now behind you, reached down and drew your slick down to your other hole, and it was in that second that a terror-filled epiphany hit you. And you couldn’t escape it.

Ghost wrapped your legs around his waist, your bound arms behind his head, his cock sat at your lips, the tip just barely pushing in. You choked back a sob, feeling König’s tip poking your other hole. The fact that you were sandwiched between the two - fully able to see what they were doing and how they looked doing it - made you sick. And it was in this position that you saw the blinking red light of the camera stood on the dresser, capturing all of it.

Ghost nudged the first couple of inches in, eyes squeezing shut as he did, breath wavering. Given how he took you from the front, he could feel his bulging cock in your stomach, against his front. He hit a part of you that had, miraculously, been spared thus far of much injury. Not for long, though. Ghost’s breathing shuttered, and, in his moment of stillness, König began pushing into you. His chest was broad against your back, giving you no means of escape.

This was different from before - different from when they’d both taken a single hole, filling you until you thought you’d tear. You felt middled - muddled - felt like a plug socket.

König made a sound of labour as he inched his way inside you, forcing your tight hole to take more of him. Your stomach was already swelling with half of Ghost’s length inside you, and now König’s mass only caused the mound in your stomach to grow. You dug your nails into Ghost’s hair, his scalp, the only thing you could grab onto, trying to let the pain of being stretched out so far pass.

Ghost groaned, his member twitching inside you. You could feel a prominent vein of his pulsing, almost buzzing inside you. König grunted, stabilising himself by slamming one hand on your waist. “Fuck, you’re so tight, Princess,” The name that dripped from König’s lips was oddly gentle, tender. His head was bowed, but you could feel his shoulders heave as he tried to collect his composure. Ghost, too, but he was less guarded about showing you just how good you made him feel.

He forced the rest of himself in, not as much of a gargantuan task as it had been earlier, given that you’d taken him before. But your sensitivity still made you sore, made you want to shy away from him. That, and the entire situation as a whole did little to make you want to stay.

Seeing Ghost buried to the hilt in you, König seemed to come to life, growling as any sensitivity he displayed towards you before vanished, replaced by a snarling creature. He rolled his hips, catching Ghost and sliding the rest of himself into you. Your lungs stuttered, your body stilled, tensing up. Both König and Ghost let out a groan, feeling you tighten around them.

“Fuck,” Ghost panted, “you must want us more than you’re letting on.”

The fight had left you long ago; you did not argue, nor did you corroborate Ghost’s claim. You just lay there and took it. You could feel how swollen your stomach was.

For however long after, while Ghost and König thrusted into you, you closed your eyes and tried to fight the dim pleasure growing in the cracked recesses of your core. Ghost pressed against your clit, making fragments of rapture flood through you, whether you wanted it or not.

“I’ll breed you so well,” Ghost panted, breathing heavy. His cock twitched, his hips rolled against yours. He was close. He brought your leg up beneath his arm and held you there, hitting you at a deeper angle. König grunted, pulling out and slamming back into you.

Ghost leaned into you, needing to be deeper - needing to fill you with as much of his load as your body would allow. And then some.

“We’ll raise an army of our own flesh and blood - our love.”

Love? You wanted to say. Love?!

What they were doing to you was not love. It displayed a hatred you’d never seen before - a pure selfishness as to strip you of your future, of your prospects, and all to become the mother of the children of the two monsters who held you captive in an unknown prison. ‘Home’ is what they’d convince you it was.

Ghost came inside you, a rasping moan tearing through his throat like light from a beacon. You could feel his warm cum seeping into you, binding you to him as you gasped. König followed not long after, giving his all in his last sharp thrusts, the cum leaking from your cunt only spurring him to finish, essentially fucking remnants of Ghost’s cum back into another oriphis.

Your body practically jumped against Ghost’s, the force of König’s strength propelling you against him. And he held you, wrapping his arms around your waist and keeping you close to him, whispering praises into your ear.

König let out one last moaning growl before he stilled. You could feel his cum pumping into you - water through a hose pipe. You almost thought that perhaps he’d given into his savage instincts and transformed into a beast entirely, knotting you. But alas, the gods seemed to grant you a sliver of mercy for the fact that König’s monstrous personality remained concealed behind human skin, hiding it from anyone looking in. Only you had experienced its brutality first hand on such a personal, intimate level.

The air was thick with an unfamiliar scent, one that was no doubt pheromonal, intertwined with tension. Yet, it did not come from you, for you were far too exhausted to even muster an emotion. You merely panted into Ghost’s chest, König resting against your back, lying on you, sandwiching you further. The tension was between Ghost and König, that much you knew, You just prayed you wouldn’t be caught in the crossfire.

“Don’t see why you get to breed her first,” König said. Ghost sighed.

“We won’t be sure which of us she’ll have borne a child for ‘til it’s here. Stop complainin’.” He panted, chest heaving. “You said I got to take her first, anyway. Change your mind?”

“That was before; this is now.”

Hearing them argue put you on edge, despite there being a laze to their tone which suggested the issue did not run as deep as it seemed.

“Oh, come off it,” Ghost said. “We’ll both get to breed her until we’re satisfied, anyway. So what’s the hurry?”

For possibly the hundredth time that night, your heart sank. Your gaze drifted from the camera to the door. You could chance it, you thought. You could at least try.

The glinting of an object on the bedside table caught your eye, and you found yourself straining to see it. The knife. The instrument they’d used to play a tune for themselves on your body like a harp. There it lay. The evidence and instigator of your capture - your captor - laying on the table like a clock or a pair of reading glasses would. It showed you the worst - made you aware of the fact that you were with them now, no longer held hostage by that very weapon, but by the creeping fondness you could taste seeping through your skin like poison. You’d taken to them, much how they’d taken you. Wanted, and used.

Bonus Ending

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kaita0 · 4 months

Text

Some Extra Lessons

pairing: professor!leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: professor kennedy’s got it bad for one of his students. little does he know, you feel the same way for him.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, thigh riding, fingering, edging, age gap (36/college aged), teacher/student, daddy kink, sir kink, praise/degradation

word count: 7k

a/n: hey everybody. hope everyone had nice holidays if you celebrate them. and happy new year! i'm not sure how i feel about this one but eh. i got things cooking so stay tuned 🫵. as always, thank you for your comments and reblogs. smooches <3

tags: @sleepyluxe @kaitkatme @tosuckmyweenis @pupthepokemonenthusiast @bizzarethirst @death-paint @petitecolibri @iron-toxinz @wildest-dreams-at-midnight @nexysworld @explorevenus

Mondays and Wednesdays. Those are fast becoming Leon’s two favorite days of the week. For most people, they’re probably the worst days. The first day back to work, and the other right in the middle of the week; when they’ve already had enough but it feels like the weekend is still years away. But not for Leon. Not anymore. Those days are now sacred to him because they are the days he gets to see you.

You’re his favorite student this semester by far, no one else even comes close. He noticed you early on in the beginning weeks, quiet but attentive. You would sit off to the side by yourself, always taking notes or scanning what was on the board.

It made him feel like such a perv when he first noticed his own lingering gazes and heart palpitations when you walked in the room. He tried to justify it. It wasn’t everyday he had someone like you sitting a few rows away from him, hanging on every word he said.

He’s only human, he tried reasoning. He couldn’t help but always notice the cute little outfits you wore to class, teasing just enough of your body to keep him ogling you for more. You did your hair in pretty styles and coated your pouty lips in shimmery gloss. He had to force his eyes to move around the room to other students when he spoke. His natural instinct was to keep them locked on you while his head filled with images of his hands squeezing those cute tits or his cock sliding between your shiny lips.

Despite those fantasies, he left you alone. It was wrong, inappropriate, he told himself. He shouldn’t be lusting after his student, let alone pursuing her. You were just a sweet girl trying to get an education. He couldn’t let his perversions interfere with that.

But as the weeks passed and more classes went by, he got to know you. You seemed pretty shy but not insecure. In class, you’d do your work alone, but if there was ever a lull in his lecture, you’d raise your hand to offer an answer, help him out a little. That was how he had bridged the gap between you two even though he hadn’t meant it as anything more than what it was.

He had just dismissed everyone, making a corny joke about the poor grades he’d given so far on an essay that had been due. A small smile graced your lips. Sure, the joke wasn’t that funny, but you had a fat crush on Mr. Kennedy so everything he said was a little funny.

You were scrawling down a few remaining notes before you would leave for the day when you heard his voice call your name. Immediately, your head tilted up to look at him. He beckoned you over with a wave of his hand. You were still wondering what this could be about as your hands slid your notebook into your backpack and your feet carried you towards him.

“Yes, Mr. Kennedy?” you say softly when you approach his desk. You rest your palms on the edge of the table as you await the reason behind this encounter.

“Hey, I just wanted to thank you for your participation. You know, I appreciate that, and I know it’s not fair to you to have that expected of you when you didn’t sign up for it,” he begins.

“Oh, it’s no problem, sir. I really don’t mind,” you say, smiling at him.

“Sir? So polite,” he jokes with a smile of his own. The remark had come out before he could stop himself with a mental scolding about being normal with you.

Your cheeks burn, and you glance down at your shoes timidly. Your heartbeat was already faster than normal just from having his eyes focused on you alone. With him teasing you, it felt like your chest was going to explode.

This was the closest you’d ever been to him, the most you’d ever spoken to one another. Up close it was even more apparent how handsome he was. He didn’t look like any other professors you had. His blonde hair fell into his face and partially obscured one of his eyes. His shirt was undone a button lower than was probably professional.

“And I wanted to tell you that I got your email about your late assignment,” he says. He could see your embarrassment. He would have felt more guilt about causing it if you didn’t look so precious like that. He pushes those thoughts away though as you look up again, anxiety in your eyes.

“Oh yeah, I’m really sorry about that. I promise you that it’s a one time thing. I don’t normally have that problem, and I just wanted you to know that. Didn’t want you to get the wrong impression,” you say.

He cuts off your apology with a chuckle and places his hand over yours, covering your manicured nails with the rough skin of his palm.

“It’s alright, honey,” he says, “I can tell you’re a good girl. I don’t mind giving you a break.”

Good girl. You shift in place upon hearing those two words. It’s like a small match ignites in your belly, inching closer to the larger fuse.

So naive. So well-intentioned. That’s what he saw looking at you in that moment. He could almost see into you, see your mind trying to figure out a response, to discern if he was purposely flirting or clueless like you.

Your eyes cast down, and a shy smile breaks out on your face. After wrapping up the conversation and finishing with a soft murmur of “Thank you Mr. Kennedy,” you practically skip out of the room. A swirl of almost every good emotion you’ve ever felt blooms in your chest because of his attention.

He smirks, watching that sweet ass sway back and forth as you bound up the steps to the door. How you seem to walk with your shoulders back and chest out after the small praise he gave you. God, he was practically drooling. He imagined himself looking like a cartoon character, silhouettes of hearts in his eyes and his tongue rolled out of his mouth.

But no, this was wrong. Point blank, it’s that simple. Or at least it should be.

After that day, he relented a little. He decided that some slight teasing was harmless. But he swore it would be just that, nothing further. That small voice in his head tried to defend it. It wasn’t like you didn’t enjoy the attention. You’d blush and fidget in your seat when he shot you an amorous look. Or you’d smile and flit your eyes away as he’d tuck some hair behind your ear when he’d come over to your desk after class to ask if you understood everything.

And as he weakened, your infatuation intensified. These classes became the highlights of your week. You’d fantasize about the pet name he’d call you on Monday or how his eyes would roam over your body on Wednesday. Walking to class, ringing through your head was simply Mr. Kennedy, Mr. Kennedy, Mr. Kennedy. While you traveled home, he danced through your mind to your thoughts about him that sounded like a love song.

Even with the huge torch you carried for him, you could never work up the nerve to make the big move. Every time you’d imagine sitting in his lap, your lips moving with his, all you could think about was what if it was all in your head? All those little looks and sweet words just blown out of proportion in your mind. Could you handle baring your soul to him if he reacted with anything other than reciprocation?

These questions bothered you as the semester went on, but nothing really changed. Leon was the same way, of course, all while you were unaware. He could only imagine how freaked out you would be if he made any attempt on you.

Lately, the two of you had been spending more time together. You were staying after class more to get “additional help.” Lingering around his desk, you’d timidly started approaching him, and he was happy to give you the aide.

Today, he dismisses everyone else before waving you over with a smug smile. You grab your things and scamper down to his desk with your own happy expression. You slide into the chair he pulled next to his seat. You open your laptop and start showing him the things you didn’t understand. In reality, you understood just fine, but for the sake of being around him, you’d bite your lip and look up at him through your lashes as if you’d missed entire classes worth of information.

“I just have trouble with memorization. I get confused between the words and their definitions,” you explain.

“Oh alright,” he responds softly, eyes scanning over the screen and then finding your face, “There’s a couple of things I think could help. Acronyms, stuff like that.”

He starts explaining the strategy to you, but like always, you have to fight a mental war to stay focused. You nod along, trying your best to act attentive. It was so hard though because… he’s him.

You scoot your chair a little closer to his to get a better view of the laptop and notice his breath hitch. Your body freezes, but instead of feeling that familiar fear of rejection come over you, confidence begins simmering inside your chest. The change in his breathing meant something, he was reacting to this too. Maybe you could do this after all.

For now, you try to act natural, moving along the conversation with another question.

“Is there anything else though? Because I struggle to attach the definitions too, not just remember the words,” you say, leaning in a little more.

He turns his head to look at you completely, eyes locked on yours. You felt like you were losing your footing a little staring into them. “Mhm. I can show you how to link the two. Break down the word to get the meanings of the parts and…” he continues on as you zone out.

His voice was huskier now, and that simmer of confidence continues to build within you. You keep nodding with every pause in his speech, your doe eyes looking up at him.

“That makes sense,” you say when he finishes, still unable to look away. Your heart pounds as you make a decision. You place your hand on his thigh. You try to act natural, as if it’s just a casual gesture of affirmation. But you can see in his eyes that he knows better.

“Yeah? Do you need help with anything else then?” he asks slowly, watching your face for reactions.

“I think so,” you say as your voice grows a little breathier.

“What is it?” he asks. He leans in a little more and you can feel his hot breath fanning over you.

“I have some more questions…” you say.

“About?” he says, eyes dropping to your lips for a moment.

Head tilting down, your foot moves over to lightly brush up against his leg. You bite your lip, looking the most timid he’d ever seen you, which was saying a lot. But you force yourself to keep going while you have this burst of hope.

“Some special tutoring…” you offer.

“Special tutoring?” he repeats with a raise of his eyebrow, looking down at your foot rubbing at his ankle. He hesitates but decides to then take your hand and stand up. “If we’re discussing something like that, we should probably go to my personal office. Wouldn’t want us to get interrupted by the next class in here.”

“Oh yeah,” you immediately agree. You grab your stuff and your fingers link with his as he leads you out of the classroom, down the hall to his office. Passing bulletin boards of flyers and other students heading to their next class, you realize it probably looks a little odd to be holding his hand, letting him guide you around. But it just turned you on more, feeling dependent, controlled.

After a while, you reach the door with the stick-on placard reading “Leon Kennedy.” Your heart pounds as you shuffle through the entrance. The office was a decent size, having a desk, some book shelves, and a small loveseat in the back corner of the room.

He slides past you and walks behind his desk, taking a seat in his chair that was clearly much more comfortable than the generic one in the lecture room. It dawned on you though that that was the only other chair in the room. There was the couch, but that was too far away from the desk for your purposes.

You approach the desk, similar to how you did all those weeks ago when this first started. He looks up at you with hesitant desire in his eyes.

“Why don’t you c’mere?” he asks.

“Ok,” you respond shyly. You drop your stuff near his desk and pad around it to approach him. Standing between his muscular thighs, you almost can’t focus from the volume of your pulse in your ears. His eyes look you up and down, more overtly than they ever had in the past. It now felt like you were hurtling towards a collision without a possibility of stopping.

After a moment of silence, he rips you from your thoughts. “Go ahead and ask your questions,” he says.

“Oh yeah,” you say, perking up a little since you had nearly forgotten about your facade of innocent curiosity. “I was just wondering if I could maybe start getting some… extra help.”

He chuckles and leans back in his chair. The maneuver gives you a better view of his broad chest and sculpturesque arms. You feel even more flustered, and you know it’s about to get worse because he obviously picks up on it.

“I don’t really think you need extra help quite honestly. Your grade is fine, and you seem to understand a lot, even the tedious things you ask questions about,” he says, a subtle arrogance on his face as he drags this out.

“No, I really think I do,” you say softly, shifting back and forth in place.

His eyes look up at you with a knowing glint. He shakes his head with a smirk as his gaze falls down to your legs that couldn’t stand still.

“With what? Like I said, even those things you pretend to not know, you obviously do. You ace every test, and while I’d like to believe it, I don’t think my advice is that helpful.”

As the words left his mouth, Leon knew he was getting into dangerous territory, leading you to a place neither of you could just return from. The rational part of his mind was slamming on his mental brakes to no avail.

You were in a similar place, your mind racing and trying to decide whether to go for it or not. After a quick moment, it was as if a bright neon sign flashes in your mind. The words telling you to try. You decide on moving forward and ignoring the other part of you that’s telling you to turn around and walk out the door right now.

You sit on his lap, straddling him with each of your legs on either side of his thigh. You look down as your fingertips drag along the waistline of his pants.

“I just think there are other things I could learn from you,” you say, your voice shaking from your nerves.

“Tell me what they are,” he breathes. His own heart slams against his ribcage at your gesture. His natural instincts scream at him to pull you close and take what he wants, making his fantasies reality.

“It’s easier for me to show you,” you say. You felt if you had to speak anymore you might lose your nerve, so you go all in. You lean forward and connect your lips. With feather light kisses, you move your mouth on his.

At first, he doesn’t kiss back, and fear zaps through you. After a moment of shock though, he reciprocates. Your hands slide up his chest while he grabs your hips to pull you closer. The two of you go at it a little longer with soft smooches. Then he feels your tongue swipe against his bottom lip.

He pulls back and looks at you. He couldn’t do this. But God, just look at you. Your chest heaving with your heavier breathing, those plush lips wet with saliva, pretty eyes looking at him like a pleading puppy. He groans and runs a hand over his face and through his hair. His head falls back against his chair.

“Sweetheart… we shouldn’t do this,” he says, not looking at you to try and keep his resolve.

You bite your lip as your eyes widen with anxiety. “Did I do something wrong?” you say, shaky voice returning.

You try to keep it together. He still wasn’t looking at you, but you silently vow to yourself that you wouldn’t cry from the rejection. There would truly be no coming back from that. It would be hard enough seeing him on Monday as it was. If you shed any tears, you’d have to drop the class regardless of how close the end of the semester was.

“No, honey. I did. I just… it’s wrong,” he offers weakly, not convinced of his own excuse, “I shouldn’t have let it get this far. I’m sorry.”

Despite your internal promise, you felt barbs scraping at your throat with each swallow. Hot, stinging tears pricking at your eyes. You try to push it all back down, spare yourself some dignity.

“But- But don’t you-” you start, cutting yourself off to maintain your composure. You take a deep breath before finishing. “Don’t you like me?”

Leon cracks his eyes open and looks down at you. A critical error. He felt like such a dick. There you were, still on his lap, lip quivering, eyes lined with tears and full of uncertainty. He managed to make this into what he wanted to avoid, a complete mess.

“No- I mean yes, I like you a lot. That isn’t the issue here. We- I… we just can’t do this. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let it go on this long,” he sighs, hands falling to your hips to move you off his lap.

Now, tears were really threatening to fall. You grab his shoulders to stabilize yourself and stop him from lifting you up. Your mind scrambles for an argument that could work.

“Why?” is all you can manage. As if you didn’t know.

“Baby, I’m your teacher. It wouldn’t be right,” he says, forcing himself to remain unaffected by the kicked puppy look you had going on, “I have to stay objective, and that’s hard enough with a cute little thing like yourself.” He smirks at the end of his statement and rubs your cheek, trying to lighten the mood.

It doesn’t work, your eyes are fixated on his belt buckle as a part of the strategy to keep your tears from leaking out. You subconsciously lean into his hand on your face though, a gesture that makes his heart melt. You just nod faintly. Think, think, think, think, you tell yourself.

“But it won’t be like you’re cheating for me. I get good grades. It’s not like I’m fucking you to pass…” you reason.

“I know that, sweetheart, and you know that. But you have to understand. Think about it. What if people found out? I’d be risking my job, and I can’t imagine it would go well for you either,” he says softly, stroking some of your hair behind your ear.

“No one will find out,” you say. Your head tilts up so you can look into his eyes.

He immediately looks away, afraid he would cave if he stared into those sweet spheres of desire. You catch this, realizing it may be your way ahead.

“You’re a sweet girl, honey. Pretty and smart. The kind any man would be lucky to have. If this was a different situation, I wouldn’t hesitate. Not for a second. But it’s not,” he says, looking pained.

You push your lip out a little more and let one tear fall from each eye before quickly wiping them away, smearing the warm liquid across your cheek. Leaning forward, you wrap your arms around him and press yourself to his chest. You look up at him, forcing him to make eye contact.

“I don’t want any man though,” you say quietly. You keep your stare locked on him, your eyes big and vulnerable to accentuate your point. “Please, sir.”

His cock jumps at the title leaving your lips. He sucks in a breath and tilts his head back. “Christ, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he says with a hushed groan.

You scoot forward a little bit, your hips grinding down on his lap with the motion. Your nose drags against his throat as you nuzzle his neck. You lay a kiss to his pulse point before murmuring, “Just a few more kisses? Then I won’t bring any of it up again. Pretty please.”

“Kisses…” he trails off, pondering the idea. Just a few more kisses. An obvious lie. But one he would at least pretend to believe just so he could have those sweet lips on his again. “Fine, but that’s it. You understand?”

“Mhm,” you respond without thinking. You lean up and kiss him. It’s not soft or gentle like the first time. This go is passionate from the beginning. Lips move together, and again, your tongue works to gain entry to his mouth.

The two of you make out for definitely more than a few kisses. Your hand slides up from his shoulder to the base of his neck, lightly tugging on his hair. He groans and squeezes your waist. You gasp between kisses at the sensation and grind your hips down again in response.

He grunts as he feels it, his cock getting a little stiff at the feeling. You do it again with a whimper. This time his fingers dig into your flesh, holding you with more authority.

“Be good, only a few more kisses, remember?” he grunts against your lips.

Continuing to kiss, you take a break from moving your hips and push your body against his again. Your soft tits push up against his chest. He tries to draw back, feeling cracks in his resolve as the warm globes meld with him. The backing of his chair stops him from getting too far away though. He grunts and his grip gets more firm, trying to keep you in a suitable position.

“Stay still. Think I’m giving you more than you asked for anyway. Don’t make me cut it off here,” he mumbles before going back in.

It was risky, but you felt like you had him. You felt him half hard between your legs and could feel his breath coming out in longer puffs. You do it again, rolling your hips on him, dragging your cunt over his bulge through the layers of clothing that separated you.

He growls and nips at your lip before harshly lifting your hips off his lap. You’re hovering above the growing tent in his jeans. You lightly rock them a few times with a pout, testing to see if you can get any kind of friction.

“What did I say?” he asks.

“It’s not fair, sir,” you whimper, ignoring his question.

“Oh, it’s not?” he says, maintaining his stern demeanor, “What’s so unfair?”

“Leading me on,” you huff.

Mix a bit of truth in with your seductive game, and you have him now. Real guilt and frustration swirls with the lust in the pit of his belly. He was all in now. There was no way you were leaving this office without his cum leaking from you.

“I told you what you were getting. You thought you could get away with being greedy,” he chides. He lifts you even more and puts you on your feet in front of him, between his thighs again. “Take your pants off.”

Your eyes widen. This was going to happen. Your fingers make quick work of your jeans, snapping the button and dropping them to pool around your ankles. You step out of them and nudge them to the side. He smirks up at you, standing there in your tight t-shirt and frilly pink panties. Of course, everything about you was cute.

His hands return to your hips and pull you on top of him. This time you aren’t on his lap though. You land on his thigh. You look down at the limb beneath you and then back at his face.

“Don’t play dumb now. You wanna rub that needy pussy on something, go ahead,” he says.

“But-“ you start before he cuts you off with a sharp smack on the ass.

“I don’t want to hear any complaining. You should count yourself lucky I’m letting you even do this,” he says as his hand rubs and kneads the cheek he just slapped, “Normally, I wouldn’t accept my little girl just doing whatever she wants like that. But because it’s your first time, I’m giving you a break. Gonna help fix this problem you’re having, thinking from between your legs instead of with that pretty little head.”

Your entire face heats up as he lays into you like that. You start rocking your hips, dragging yourself on his clothes thigh. You watch his face for approval as you go, but his eyes are transfixed on your lower body at the moment.

“There you go, baby. That’s right,” he says encouragingly before cracking you on the ass again, “Little faster. Wanna see how bad you’ve been wanting this.”

You do as he says, rolling your hips with more speed and force. The fabric of your panties begins to dampen with your arousal as you press onto it. Whimpers fall from your lips as you grind your swollen pussy on his muscle. He gives you some help, guiding your movements by holding your hips. You softly gasp a few times, biting your lip as you continue to rut against him.

“Look at you,” he coos. Your tits bounce beneath your t-shirt as you ride his thigh. “Been thinking about this a lot, sweetheart? Dream about this while you’re sitting in class, hm? Humping my leg like a dumb little puppy.”

“Yes,” you choke out and toss your head back. A guttural moan leaves you, and he chuckles, giving your hip a tighter squeeze.

“Quiet, babydoll. Don’t want anyone outside this room hearing. I don’t think they’d believe this is just some ‘special tutoring,’” he says.

You keep up your grinding, your pussy sensitive to the rough fabric of his pants even through your panties. He tries to help you quiet down by pulling you closer and cradling your head against his shoulder, muffling your sounds against his shirt. The cloth becomes wet with your spit as your hushed moans spill out.

After going for a little while longer, he can tell you’re getting close. It’s obvious in the way your hips sputter every couple of thrusts, how your voice is getting whinier, how your body contracts every few moments. Your hands curl into fists, clutching the fabric of his shirt.

“Such a good girl,” he whispers, “Getting close, baby? Think you’re gonna cum soon?”

“Yes, sir,” you whimper.

“Aw, so polite,” he teases just like he had those weeks ago, “Well, tell me when you’re right there. Gonna make it extra special.”

You nod obediently and continue working yourself to the high point. Your breaths become sharper and movements get more erratic. You feel the band of pleasure stretching inside you, ready to snap.

“Gonna cum, gonna cum, gonna cum, “ you ramble out.

“Not yet, you aren’t,” he says.

With a menacing grin, he yanks your hips up and flips you around. Mind spinning from the sudden loss of pleasure, you whine and squirm on his lap. A pointless struggle seeing how your soaked panties were faced out away from any potential source of friction. Your back’s flush against the warmth of his chest. You can feel his heartbeat thudding behind you as his hands curl around the back of your legs and bring them up so that your feet are planted on his thighs. Your head slumps back against his shoulder, turning to look up at him, pleading frustration projecting from your eyes.

One of his arms snakes around your waist while the other comes up to stroke your chin with his thumb. He looks down at you, eyes full of amusement as he toys with you.

“Now that was really unfair, wasn’t it pretty girl?” he taunts.

You arch your back off his chest with another whine before collapsing against his broad form again. You nod, feeling the sparks of ecstasy dwindle within you.

“You’re a tease,” you huff.

“I am?” he mocks.

He begins trailing his hand down your front, stopping level with your breasts. He squeezes them gently with some firm caresses from his fingers. Then he lowers his hand further and slips it beneath your shirt. Your breath hitches as he begins stroking the soft skin of your belly up to the valley between your breasts. His palm slides beneath the cups of your bra, feeling the bare skin of your chest. He alternates between each. The rough pads of his fingertips drag over the sensitive flesh of your nipples, giving them tender pinches that draw hushed mewls from you.

“So soft, baby,” he whispers with a kiss to your temple.

It felt nice, made your breasts feel heavy and achy, begging to be touched. Had your head hot and airy, unable to control the way you melted against him or the sweet noises that escaped you. But you couldn’t really enjoy that because your pussy was still throbbing, still desperately searching for the orgasm that was stolen from you. You squirm again, pushing your ass back against the bulge you felt growing in his pants.

“Please, sir. Please,” you whimper, “Wanna cum.”

You feel his lips curl into a smile against the side of your head, but his tone remains rough and commanding. “I think the next thing I gotta teach you is patience.”

Retracting his hand from your bra, he smooths it back down your stomach to the hem of your panties. His fingers fidget with one of the strips of lace on the garment while he stares into your eyes.

“You know, baby, I think you’re the tease here,” he breathes. He rubs the skin just above your panties and then moves under the fabric. His digits glide through your slick folds, the touch meandering, just at the border of giving you pleasure. “I mean, I think you know what you’ve been doing.”

“What?” you say, struggling to take in his words when you were fixated on his touches to your center.

“You act like a dumb little doll, sweetheart, but I know you’re not. I know you know how to play. Parading around in those pretty outfits, something always on your lips, always saying ‘yes sir,’” he whispers. His digits circle your clit at a painfully slow pace. He brushes over it slightly, giving you hope before flattening his hand over your cunt. You get ready to whine about the teasing before he pushes two fingers inside you.

“Mr. Kennedy,” you gasp, head pressing back further against his shoulder.

“Oh, and how could I forget my favorite, ‘Mr. Kennedy.’ But I think it’s about time you start calling me Leon, babydoll. No need to be so formal anymore,” he says as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, curling them just right.

You shake your head and whimper. His palm rubs down on your puffy clit with every thrust of his hand.

“Oh no?” he teases, “You like Mr. Kennedy taking care of you, making you feel good?”

Your eyes roll back as you nod. “Mhm. Yes… s-sir,” you say.

You stumble over the word ‘sir.’ Leon catches it immediately, and he’s certain he knows why. He knows what you really wanted to call him.

“Mmm, good girl,” he purrs in your ear, seeing the way the praise pulls extra gasps from you, makes your eyes all glossy, “You’re so sweet, baby. So precious.”

He lays it on thick, trying to get you to crack and say the word on the tip of your tongue. His fingers massage your sensitive spots as they consistently slide into your dripping cunt. You bite your lip, more whimpers coming from you. You look up at him again through your lashes.

“Thank you, sir,” you say, voice all soft and dreamy as you start climbing to that high.

“Of course, babydoll. You deserve it,” he says into your hair, “But you know, I still think ‘sir’ is too professional. Makes me feel like I’m at work. Plus, I get the feeling you have another name in mind too.”

“I- I do?” you ask, looking up at him curiously. He smiles at your naivety and the way you try to get your words out around your whimpers.

“Oh yeah. I can already hear it, sweetheart. You like being taken care of, being doted on. I can see it. All you want is to be a good girl for…”

“Daddy,” you whine, your eyes squeezing shut.

“That’s right,” he chuckles. He speeds up his fingers, delving as deep as possible. A quiet squeal erupts from you, and he hushes you while kissing your cheek a few times. You try to keep your noises down even as your hips buck and your heels dig into the meat of his thighs.

“Daddy I- Daddy, Daddy, I’m gonna cum,” you moan.

“Aw, but I don’t want my baby to cum yet,” he mocks. Just as quick as the release had built in you, it was gone. He pulls his fingers out of your hole, and your eyes widen. You whimper in disbelief, hips squirming as if they could find that sensation again if they were positioned just right.

“Daddy!” you practically cry.

“Thought I told you to be quiet,” he says, taking his fingers, still wet with your slick, and shoving them into your mouth. You hum around them in surprise at first, but in no time, your tongue presses against the skin, tasting yourself on him. He pumps them in and out a little, a smaller version of what he had been doing moments earlier down below.

“There you go, baby. Like I said, no complaints. Just shut that silly mind off and focus on Daddy’s fingers,” he murmurs. He watches with approval as you do exactly that, your eyes fluttering a bit as you clear your thoughts out. “Such a fast learner.”

Your pussy still aches with a need for him, but it’s more tolerable when he’s cooing in your ear while your lips are around his fingers.

“Bet my pretty girl wants to cum so bad right about now,” he murmurs against the shell of your ear.

“Mhm,” you hum as you take his fingers further into your mouth.

“Well, you know why Daddy didn’t let you cum yet? It wasn’t just to be mean to you,” he says.

He hears garbled “I don’t know” come from you. He strokes your hair with his other hand.

“It’s because,” he starts. He removes his fingers from between your lips and scoops you up. Next thing you know, your back is against the hardwood of his desk. You’re looking up at him with hazy eyes, slowly blinking as you take in his words. “I want you to cum all over Daddy’s cock.”

In mere seconds, his belt clanks against the floor, your panties are gone, his fly is undone, and his dick is out, rock hard. It’s flushed and leaking precum as he moves it to your entrance. He pushes the tip in first, teasing you by holding himself there.

You whine at the slight intrusion, wiggling your hips for more. Jutting your lip out a bit, you look up at him with a pout. “Daddy…” you plead weakly.

He shakes his head with an amused smile, but it works. He pushes the rest of his length in, filling you up completely. As he slides in, a long groan leaves him and his head tilts towards the ceiling. He grumbles something along the lines of “so fucking tight.” Your fingers reach downward to grip the edge of his desk. It felt like you were already there again, right on the brink of release.

After a moment of just taking in the feeling, he begins thrusting. He pulls his hips back and pushes them forward again. His cock slides between your walls with no resistance, the perfect fit. You were already pulsing around him, sucking him in deeper. A deep laugh rumbles from his chest.

“You're gonna cum already, baby. I’m that good?” he mocks. He thumbs your clit, sending a burst of pleasure through you that makes you clamp down on him. He grunts and starts thrusting a little harder.

You’re whining quietly, but you can’t hold back the yelp when he pinches your clit. You cum on the spot, gushing around him. You babble incoherently and buck your hips. The high was higher than any euphoria you’d ever felt. You’re panting when it’s done, but he’s still going.

He’s smirking down at you, rocking his hips all the while. “Did I say you could do that?” he asks with a light spank to your clit.

You gasp and arch your back off the desk. “No!” you whine, “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

“I’m sure you are.” Another spank. “You’re lucky it’s your first time, and I’m giving you a break today.”

You nod quickly. “Thank you Daddy,” you mumble.

He keeps thrusting, seamlessly going between hard and fast and slow and deep. The motions shake the desk back and forth, sliding inches on the floor each time. You feel like there’s gonna be scrape marks when you’re done.

You also feel like you’re gonna have marks from the way he’s gripping your hips, battering your sensitive pussy. You were so worked up from all the teasing that the overstimulation didn’t even faze you. Your head just droops back, hanging off the edge of the desk.

It’s harder to keep track of how loud you’re being when you’re this out of it. He smiles at your needy whines and pulls your thighs forward so your head is back on the desk. He leans forward, covering his body with yours and grinding his hips deeper than before. His hand comes up and covers your mouth.

“You better hope no one hears, pretty girl. We didn’t lock the door,” he pants.

You moan against the flesh of his hand and your walls tighten their grip on him. He growls in your ear at the sensation before a low chuckle comes from him.

“Oh, you’d like that? I should’ve known,” he teases, “You’d love for someone to come in and see how good you’re being. What a sweet girl you are, being used by your teacher. Love for them to see all the things Daddy’s teaching you.”

A strained cry bubbles beneath his fingers, and you nod, feeling shameless about your fantasy. He nuzzles the side of your head and keeps thrusting as deep as he can. He knows you’re getting close again, and this time, he’s right there with you.

“Come on, sweet baby. Give Daddy another one. I know my precious girl can do it. You were wanting it for so long,” he grunts.

Your whole body seizes as another orgasm rips through you. Your whines and cries are fortunately muffled by his palm, but he feels your drool leaking against his skin. His own eyes squeeze shut as he gasps and moans. His hips jerk, pounding into you a few more times before he cums. He bites his lip to silence his own noises as he spills into, filling you to the brim.

Both of your chests are heaving in the end as you take in gulps of air. He slowly pulls out and pushes some of his hair out of his face. You're both half dressed, his pants down to his knees, shirt unbuttoned. You, nude from the waist down and bra shifted out of place beneath your shirt.

The two of you stand up, you on shaky legs, and pull yourselves back into shape. You pull your panties up and follow them with your jeans while he does the same with his pants. He then falls back into his chair and takes you with him.

He just holds you to his chest for a little bit, rubbing your back and kissing the top of your head. You don’t say anything either. You curl up into the affection and stroke his forearm gently.

“Sweet girl,” he murmurs before squeezing you a little tighter.

You’re both so into it, not caring about anything beyond this office at this moment. That is until you catch a glimpse of the clock on the wall.

“Oh… Mr. Kennedy,” you start as you slowly untangle yourself from him and stand up, “I probably should get going. I have to meet my friend to study soon.”

He’s not happy about losing your body on his, but he smiles at your words.

“Alright, honey, but seriously. It’s Leon from now on,” he says.

“Ok,” you laugh with a nod, “Leon.”

You grab your things and give him one more sweet look before turning to walk to the door. He pats you on the ass and kisses your cheek.

“See you Monday, baby,” he says.

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