Chapter Text
All of it could be so fuckin’ easy.
The mistake that came along with his last name wasn’t his fault. He lived and breathed in the aftermath of some giant mess he never had a hand in makin’. In keeping you, he helped himself to seconds and thirds before his brothers could so much as make it to the table, and it felt right to take the first bite out’chya.
Back then, you were such a sweetheart, you let him up in your guts without makin’ him do somethin’ regrettable first. He didn’t have to cut you open, he didn’t have to boil you to hell just to be sure you weren’t gonna give him worms.
Nothin ‘bout you was spoiled in the slightest. You were fine enough to eat raw.
Everything he brought home served some purpose. None’a you was broken, your hide weren’t cut up by the road, and he found you first. He wanted to make somethin’ nice out of ya, somethin’ for himself that he had no obligation to share. Back then, he figured no one would want his table scraps if he came all over ‘em.
Imagining you pregnant, undeniably bred; swollen huge and just about ready to pop nearly ends him right then and there.
He feels like a giant vat of jizz. The pressure valve’s fucked and the lid ain’t on right. He gets on top of you, and the motion alone makes his stomach swoop dangerously. Just the idea of being moments away from finally connecting cock to pussy has him lightheaded.
No one would take you from him once realizin’ you were flea bitten and full of puppies. You wouldn’t screw your head on straight one day and decide to leave him if you had half of him mushed into your kid. You couldn’t leave him like that.
There was only one place for his family. It didn’t feel good, but he made his peace knowin’ that the only place left for him was in the shadow of something long past saving. If he knocked you up, you’d get stuck in the brambles just like he was.
You made it better though. Made him better. With you, he had control. Nothin’ around him was his decision or his preference, ‘cept for you.
Standin’ next to you he looked like Pig Pen from Peanuts. He ain't showed you off much, but he wanted to steal the look off someone’s face once they realized you’d picked him outta every pretty boy out there. Not only that, but you’d gone and let him stuff his nut in ya. Pregnant, no one would be able to look atchya without seein’ you for the dirty bitch you were.
Maybe he could do his dear dead Ma proud by bein’ her only son who would figure out how to be worth something. ‘Ain't like she expected shit from him, but it’d probably make her happy to bring a little one ‘round her batshit museum.
The moment he smacks the meat of his dick against your pussy, he’s gone.
Using his thumb, he pushes his dickhead against you, swiping it up and down your slit. The squelch created by his movement makes his neck cord. He’s mumbling, but he don’t know what the fuck he’s talkin’ about.
In his head, there’s only a high-pitched tone like in the movies when someone gets a grenade to the face or somethin’.
One of his eyelids twitches uncontrollably, his mouth hangs open. He’s likely to be droolin’ soon, and he ain’t fixed to do a thing about it. Another stomach swoop rolls a full body shiver through him and his toes curl hard enough that one of ‘em pokes out of a hole in his sock.
Lester swivels his hips, pushing his swollen dickhead against your clit and loving the way the rest of you parts for him. He wants to feel that little mouth he found down there suckin’ on his cum gun.
Losin’ himself like this feels alien, Lester doesn’t like bein’ told what to do yet he’s horned up enough that the air around him feels primal. Like what he’s ‘bout to do to ya is inevitable. All he is is instinct.
Desperate doesn’t even begin to describe where his head’s at. He’s genuinely unable to stop bucking against you, even though each time he doesn’t hit home, hot frustration claws at the back of his eyes. He stutters with awkward thrusts, accidentally shuttling against your folds, poking himself against the meat of your thigh…
A bead of sweat rolls off his face to drip onto your collarbone and it steals his attention, allowing his thoughts to slow down. It rolls down into your trembling tits, eventually disappearing between ‘em and that’s what breaks him.
With the thought and caution of a sledgehammer, he fucks into you hard.
His thrusts are immediately erratic. There’s a drumming pulse at the back of his balls, each punch radiates in his gut. It’s like fucking into a tub of frosting. Lester barely registers the way your whole body writhes beneath him. His eyes flick upward, taking note of you tilting your head back, mouth opening with a shout, but your bouncing tits are more interesting. The rhythm of ‘em is perfect. He wants to stuff ‘em both in his mouth like biscuits.
Your hips give a little twitch, wiggling as if trying to make sense of what was happening— or immediately leaning into it— and your arms find his shoulders. You hold onto him on instinct, like you’re simply seeking touch as if y’need an anchor to hold ya down. Lester happily gives in, and he flops fully onto you, curling in a little to wetly mouth the beginning swell of one of your melons.
He’s not sure how awake you are, but he finds your limbs to be somewhat poseable. Lester pushes one of your thighs up and open, and his weight falls against it. He clings to your knee, face pressed into your calf. The position tilts you upward, and the change in depth and tightness chokes him. His ass flexes as he grinds deep, seeking out your cervix; guided by derangement, iffy sex education and the feral need to force his DNA into changing yours forever.
The overall chaos in his head shuts up once he picks up on his name dribbling from your lips. The tone makes his heart do a little flip in recognition. He’s too oversensitive to pinpoint the new sense of warmth, and his affection’s overflow pools into a new crevice. The slight release of pressure helps him focus on how hot you are inside.
There ain’t much in his head besides a ransom note sent straight from his dick’s HQ. No one’s around to decipher an incoming message as your pussy cinches tight around him, grippin’ onto him like you intended on breaking his dick clean off the root.
Animal-like and pushed far past desperate, all he’s able to do is humphumphump, grinding whenever he slips up on thrusting. You’re so creamy. You get so wet that his movement churns it up thick. He’s fucking insane for it. He wants to spend the day in your dairy farm, abusing the fuck outta the creamery so he can lick the goods off his hands.
Maybe you’re just sensitive,—Shucks, like you like him or somethin’— but makin’ his girl wet enough that she's dripping was gonna put him in an early grave one day.
He’d like to be buried in your pussy. Wrapped up in a velvet-lined casket made almost too snug to fit him. Describing what he feels like when up in ya is impossible. There’s no words for it ‘cause he never lasts long enough to rub two thoughts together.
He draws out of you slowly, biting his lip. His tongue’s dry ‘cause he can’t close his trap for too long. Directions ain’t functioning anymore, in and out becomes in and in. He’s chuggin’ up a ramp that don’t have no tracks behind him.
The first warning that he’s gonna cum begins with his jack rabbit thrusts kicking harder into you. His knees slip against the bed as he moves on instinct. He gets your legs up, and he uses his body to fold you in half. Crouching like a dang leapfrog, his knees are wide apart and his overfull balls smack against your ass. Breeding you like this feels right, like some feral awareness is sure that this is how he’s s’posed to make babies.
All of him becomes clumsy. His legs tremble, and it messes up his already messy thrusts. He bows over you, he’s a mess of weird little noises that he ain't stickin’ any detail to. The entire world seems to compact into his balls, and they fuckin’ ache with the need to let go.
It's too much to hold in. There's this barkin’ awareness in him that’s freaking the fuck out, he needs to cum, he needs—
—A bolt of hot white hot clarity arcs through him as if he stuck a fork in a toaster.
Fuckfuckfuck. FUCK.
Jesus H Christ, he can’t cum in you!
You’re not on anything! What the hell were the both of you s’posed to do with a baby?! Hang out with it?! The hand of fuckin’ god keeps him from cumming, some garbled noises of distress cluck outta him and he tightens every muscle he’s got control over to keep from spilling.
It’s all too intense, everything’s happening all at once. His dick’s so fuckin’ hard it's edging into numbness, he knows he can’t fucking cum in you, but he doesn’t know what to do about it. He can’t stop. Tellin’ his body to quit bonkin’ you, was like tryin’ to learn Chinese at gunpoint with just a take-out menu and a fortune cookie to go off!
And you—!
You pull some jiu jitsu bullshit on his ass! Your legs lock around him, trapping his skinny hips! Your heel digs into his butt, keeping him in you and Lester keens out a downright squeal. His alarm system’s on haywire, exactly one pulse of the flood gates releasing punches through him and he frantically shuts off the valve— causin’ a vein to pop up on his forehead.
Your pussy milks him like she ‘aint aware of the hell his nut butter could do to ya! Worse off, you wrap your arms around him to push his head into the crook of your shoulder and neck as if to comfort him. He’s actively shaking, trembling in your hold with how hard he’s holding back what feels like a nuclear meltdown. He realizes that he’s whimpering. Words spit out of him, but he’s gotta be beggin’ out from his soul cause his think tank’s occupied with resisting.
“Baby” His voice is fuckin’ watery. The single word ain’t enough to get the message across that you’re killing him. He tries to say something else, but the same pet name comes out again. His tone is on his hands and knees, begging for you hear him, and his eyes are shut tight enough that his head feels close to splitting.
Your fingers come to the sweaty nape of his neck and you pet his hair,
“It’s okay,” You tighten around him in a way that’s fuckin’ cruel. “Cum in me,” You whisper, voice gritty from sleep. “We’ll call it an accident…”
He busts immediately.
Whatever sound came outta him makes his lungs feel like an empty whoopee cushion. The force of the cum spittin’ from his dick feels as if he’s just spilling into you like a water hose. It don’t quite feel like cumming really. There’s no propulsion that comes with his spasming dick. He’s wound so tight, made so fucking weak by you. He’s not quite sure what just happened or if he even came at all before paused momentum sneaks back up to grip him by the balls.
He drives into you hard, surprising himself with the screaming urge to keep fucking. Only seconds pass, and he’s forced still as another wave of whatever was happening squeezes more cum outta him, this time with jet-like spurts.
The sensation’s punchy, the overstimulation’s searing. Each time another round comes for him, he’s howling. The second and third feel more like the first time, just endless drooling. Your legs still hold him tight, making his thrusts are short and brutal.
Fighting for some leeway, he holds the back of your knees and uses his weight to fold you over again. By fourth wave of half an orgasm being forced out his balls, he’s convulsing, spine arcing inward as the very last of what he had to give spits from him. Feels like he’s spittin’ nothin but air and disappointment.
Unconsciously, he pulls out from the sparking jolts of too much only to immediately whimper with the loss of your body. You had him feelin’ like his dick wasn’t his at all and the only place for it was plugged up in ya.
Like he’s sprung a leak somewhere in his pipes, his body keeps tryin’ to cum again. He’s gone soft and his afterburners are still sluggishly grinding into you.
Your leg lock falls away, and he sits up a lil once you push on him. Quick as lightning, you’ve got your fingers on your clit and before he’s able to piece together thoughts, you clamp down on his gummy worm which makes him honk like a bicycle horn.
You cum fuckin’ laughing at him.
He’s sour faced when he pulls out for real this time, and you’re still giggling. You’re oozing cum onto the sheets, and he watches dry-mouthed at the sight. Your pubes are glopped together, your inner thighs are shiny and wet.
Through your lashes, you ask him all coy and teasin’ if he made a mess of ya, and you squeeze the muscles of your cunt. A river drools from you, all of it thicker than it felt comin’ out. You push a finger inside, simultaneously pushing his cum back in while forcing more to come out. Fuck.
Lester feels like skin and bones, like all his organs got squished out of him by an eighteen-wheeler, but his dumb dick twitches at the sight of you fucked open and loose.
Sensation returning to his overworked cock makes him wince; he feels as if he needs a bag of frozen peas on his junk. His remaining energy is just enough to let him flop beside ya, joining in on your sweat puddle.
“You—” He breathes, voice feeble like you’d sucked the life force outta him. Whatever he was trying to say sorta dissipates in the air.
“The fuck was that?” He settles on the only thought in his head.
You fuckin’ cackle at him because of course ya do. You lean down as if to kiss him, but instead you blow a raspberry on his neck.
“Stop tickling me, ya cum suckin’ witch!” He attempts to squirm away but he’s tired. His protest only makes it worse, and you pull at his collar to blow more raspberries on wherever you can reach.
He hadn’t realized he fucked ya like rabid Winnie the Pooh, butt ass naked with his shirt still on. Ticklish kisses are smacked all over his face, and he barely gets one on the lips before you get off the bed.
In a snap, you went from the living dead to overly alive, and he holds in callin’ you a witch again. He feels as if he ran a marathon while knee deep in mud and breathing almost feels like it ain’t worth the effort anymore. Lookit’chew playin’ the long con. Killin’ him with your witch pussy so you can run off with his… somethin’ (?) His train of thought gives up.
All the body contact and sweat has his sunburn itchy, and he squints atchya as you walk jelly legged to the bathroom.
You come back with a wet rag for him and he takes it feelin’ like he’d just been deflowered. Your shirt’s finally thrown off’a you, and once he’s somewhat swabbed down, you crawl on top of him, knees settling at his sides. Your weight’s welcome on him any time and so is the snail trail from your pussy. He sighs happily when you come to finally kiss him properly.
Slow moments pass, and he listens to the awful chorus of your even breaths and his raggedy ones. He needs you smacked off your high horse just a little so he kisses up to your ear, pretendin’ to be sweet before trying to shove his tongue into the shell of it. You squeak just like he knew you were gonna, but he acts surprised when you push his face away.
“Breakfast?” Your tone’s cheery as ya push his head down, warnin’ him to quit goofin’
It’s the first word you’ve spoken all day with actual clarity in it, and Lester’s offended you’re able to form thoughts and sentences after the trip to pound town. He scoffs, still playin’ at offended.
“S’like noon already!” The grin on his face ain't slow to leave. He wants to shove some food in it before ya find it in you to talk shit. If he’s gotta defend his honor, he needs the energy.
“I wanted to sleep in!” You argue, grinnin’ right back.
Witch. He thinks, now feelin’ like he was put up to something.