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You slump onto the worn couch in your dimly lit room, the faint creak of floorboards echoing from somewhere upstairs. Living here with a house full of weirdos has its perks—endless chaos keeps boredom at bay—but tonight, you're just exhausted from dodging Jeff's knife-throwing practice earlier. The air smells like stale smoke and something faintly metallic, par for the course.
A shadow looms in the doorway. Laughing Jack. He's been extra clingy lately, popping up like a bad habit, his lanky frame somehow always invading your space with that grin. "Y/N! There you are! Been lookin' everywhere for my favorite plaything." His voice is a sing-song rasp, claws tapping against the doorframe as he saunters in.
You roll your eyes, but your pulse quickens anyway. "What do you want, Jack? I'm not in the mood for your games."
He cackles, flopping down beside you with zero regard for personal space, one clawed hand immediately draping over your thigh. "Oh, but I found the best game! Ben was rambling on about these human toys—flavored lubes or whatever. Said the strawberry ones taste like candy heaven. Candy! Can you imagine?" His eyes sparkle with delight as he licks his lips, revealing a glimpse of that freakishly long tongue, striped black and white like his nose.
You snort, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. "Lube? Seriously? Ben's probably just messing with you. And why do you care?"
Jack leans in closer, his breath cool against your ear, sharp teeth grazing your lobe just enough to send a shiver down your spine. "Why? 'Cause I wanna try it on you, silly! Imagine my tongue slathering you up with that sweet stuff... hours of fun!" He punctuates it with a playful nip, not hard enough to break skin, but enough to make your thighs clench instinctively.
Your brain short-circuits for a second—LJ and...? His tongue alone is a weapon, long enough to do things no human could, striped and dexterous like it was made for sin. But he's never serious, always turning everything into a joke, clawing and giggling like it's all just for fun. Still, the idea of him lapping at you for hours with some fruity lube? Your body's already betraying you, heat pooling low in your belly.
"Fine," you mutter, surprising yourself. "But if you bite me for real, I'm kicking you out."
LJ's grin splits wider. "Deal! C'mon, Y/N—my room. Now." He scoops you up like you weigh nothing, claws digging lightly into your thighs as he carries you down the creaky halls.
His room is a total chaos—piles of monochrome plushies (don't ask), black-and-white posters, and a bed that's suspiciously huge. He dumps you onto it unceremoniously, already rummaging in a drawer. "Found it! He gave me a bottle—strawberry and cherry mix. Smells good!" He pops the cap, squirting a generous dollop onto his palm, and oh god, the scent hits you: ripe, sugary fruit, cloyingly sweet.
Jack crawls onto the bed, knees bracketing your hips, his free clawed hand curling around your ankle possessively. "Strip for me. Or should I rip 'em off?" His tone's all teasing menace, but his claws hover over your jeans, waiting.
You kick off your shoes and shimmy out of your pants yourself, heart hammering. Shirt next, then panties—leaving you bare under his hungry gaze. He doesn't pounce like you'd expect; instead, he giggles, dipping two claws into the lube and painting a slow, sticky stripe up your inner thigh. "Mmm, look at that. Gonna make you drip sweeter than candy."
The lube's cool at first, warming fast against your skin, and his touch is nearly electric—claws scraping just enough to leave faint red trails without drawing blood. You gasp as he spreads your legs wider, settling between them like he owns the territory. "Jack-"
"Shh, Y/N. Lemme feast." He squirts more lube directly onto your folds, the slick chill making you arch off the bed. It's everywhere now, coating your clit, dripping down to your entrance, the strawberry-cherry scent filling the room. And then his tongue—god, that tongue—flicks out, long and striped, curling experimentally against your inner thigh first.
He moans theatrically, eyes rolling back. "Fuuuck, it's like eatin' a whole basket of berries! You're gonna taste amazing mixed with this." Without any warning, he dives in, tongue lapping broad and flat over your slit, slurping noisily like it's the best treat he's ever had. His tongue is weird, rougher than velvet, hitting every nerve as he swirls around your clit.
You cry out, hands fisting the sheets. He's not gentle—never is—but it's all play to him. "Heehee, listen to those sounds!" He giggles against you, the vibration buzzing straight to your core, then spears his tongue deep inside, the length of it unfurling impossibly far, stroking your walls while his nose bumps your clit.
Then claws rake your thighs—light at first, then firmer, leaving stinging welts that make you buck against his face. "Jack- fuck- too much!" But it's not, not really; the light pain mixes with the pleasure, sharp teeth grazing your outer lips without biting down, just like teasing threats.
He pulls back just enough to grin up at you, lips and chin glistening with lube mixed with your arousal, tongue lolling out obscenely long. "T'much? Nah, we're just gettin' started! Gonna eat this sweet cunt till you beg." Another squirt of lube—right on your clit this time—and he's back at it, sucking your nub between his lips, fangs scraping delicately while that tongue lashes side to side, driving you insane.
The time blurs. Minutes? An hour? His stamina's endless, fueled by whatever sugar rush he's on. He hums tunes, vibrating against you the whole time. His claws dig deeper into your thighs, pinning you open as you writhe, first orgasm crashing through you like a freight train. You scream, thighs quaking around his head, but he doesn't stop—laps through it, slurping every drop, giggling like a maniac.
He just giggles and re-applies lube without asking, fingers spreading it inside you now, curling to hit that spot while his tongue flicks relentlessly. Your body's a mess—sweat-slick, thighs marked with red claw lines, pussy throbbing from overstimulation. But he's insatiable.
You try to push him away—half-hearted, because holy shit, it feels good—but he just laughs, pinning your hips. "Nuh-uh, Y/N! We're not done yet!" His tongue delves deeper, twisting, tasting, the flavored slick making obscene wet sounds that echo off the walls. Teeth nip your clit—a light sharp sting, then soothing laps—and you're climbing again, faster this time, oversensitive nerves firing wildly.
He talks the whole time, never serious, breath hot against your core. "Bet Nina'd be jealous—Ben said she loves this stuff, but she ain't got my tongue! Long boy, see?" He sticks it out mid-lick, the striped length curling in the air like a party trick before plunging back in. Your second climax hits harder, vision whiting out, but Jack's right there, humming approval as you gush against his mouth.
By now, your thighs ache from his claws—pretty red stripes blooming, a perfect match for his own pattern. He finally lifts his head, grinning like the cat that ate the canary (or in this case, your pussy). Lube bottle's half-empty, and his face is a shiny disaster. "Still sweet as ever! Ready for round three?" His fingers trace the marks on your thighs, pressing just enough to make you hiss.
You're panting, wrecked, but nodding before you can even process whatever he said. "Don't... stop."
"That's my girl!" He applies more lube, colder now from the bottle's chill, and he's feasting again—slower this time, savoring, tongue coiling inside you like a living thing while claws knead your thighs possessively.
You lose track after the third orgasm—everything's a haze of sticky sweetness, Jack's relentless tongue, and those claws carving deeper patterns into your thighs. The pain's a delicious undercurrent now, grounding the overwhelming pleasure as he works you over like a favorite toy. His eyes flicker with glee in the low light.
"You're squirtin' like a fountain!" He crows triumphantly after you shatter again, body convulsing, but instead of pulling away, he seals his mouth over you, swallowing greedily. The lube's mixed with your release now, turning everything into a glossy mess that he laps up with exaggerated slurps.
Your hands tangle in his hair—not to pull him off, but to hold him there, hips grinding shamelessly against his face. He switches tactics, long tongue withdrawing to trace lazy figure-eights around your clit, teasing the hood with the tip while his claws—those wicked, sharp things—drag slow lines up and down your inner thighs, reopening faint scratches. Blood wells in pinpricks, mixing with the lube, and he hums approval, like it's the cherry on top.
"Look at these pretty marks! My signature on ya." He nips the meat of your thigh—not breaking skin, but close enough that your breath hitches. Sharp teeth scrape, a promise of more if you squirm too much. You do anyway, chasing the edge he's keeping just out of reach. "Jack- please-"
"Please what? C'mon, speak up, sweetheart." His voice is muffled, vibrating through your core as he dives back in, tongue spearing deep and curling upward, stroking that sweet spot inside with precision only something inhuman could manage. You clench around it, thighs trembling under his grip, and he rewards you with a playful bite to your clit—gentle fang pressure that sends sparks exploding behind your eyes.
Another orgasm rips through you violently, back arching off the bed, a strangled scream tearing from your throat. Jack doesn't miss a beat, lapping through the spasms, claws digging in to hold you steady as you flood his mouth.
He grabs the lube bottle, shaking it with a rattle. Still plenty left. Squirting it liberally over your mound, letting it drip down, he rubs it in with his nose first—bumping your oversensitive clit playfully—before flattening his tongue to clean it up. Hours? It feels like it already, your body's a live wire, every nerve screaming for mercy and more in equal measure.
He shifts, propping your legs over his shoulders for better access, claws framing your hips like handles. "Gonna fuck ya till you see stars." True to form, he giggles the words, but delivers—tongue plunging rhythmically, long enough to fill you completely, thrusting like a cock while the tip wiggles against your g-spot. His nose grinds your clit in sync, teeth occasionally grazing your folds.
You cum again eventually—six? Seven?—whimpering his name, tears pricking your eyes from the intensity. Your thighs are on fire now from all the scratching and biting. He traces them with his tongue between laps, cool saliva soothing the sting. "My masterpiece. Wear 'em proud, Y/N."
Time stretches. He edges you next, slowing when you teeter close, switching to feather-light licks that make you beg. "Jack- fuck- please!" Laughter rumbles from his chest. "Beg nicer! Say 'Jacky, eat my pussy forever!'" You do, voice breaking, and he obliges. The lube's running low, bottle gurgling empty warnings, but he milks every drop, mixing it with spit and your essence.
By what feels like hour two (a glance at the cracked clock confirms it—1 AM now), you're a boneless wreck, orgasms blurring into one continuous wave. He pauses only to taunt, striped tongue lolling out to show off the glistening coating. His claws drag harder across your thighs, deliberate scratches that draw thin lines of blood again, licking them clean.
"You're addictive..." He's hard against the bed—evident from the tent in his pants—but ignores it, fixated on your pussy like it's his sole purpose. Teeth scrape your labia once more, fangs indenting without piercing, while that endless tongue explores every fold, every crevice.
The room reeks of sex and strawberries, sheets soaked, your thighs a canvas of his obsession—clawed, bitten, licked raw. "One more? For me?" Tongue curls inside, claws knead your ass, pulling you flush.
But it's too much. Your body's screaming—thighs burning from his claws, pussy swollen and throbbing, every nerve fried to a crisp. "N-no, Jack- stop! I can't... fuck, it's too much!" The words tumble out in a hoarse whine, hands shoving weakly at his shoulders, legs trembling as you try to close them.
He freezes mid-lick, tongue still buried deep, eyes blinking up at you in genuine surprise. For once, the grin falters, replaced by a sheepish tilt of his head. "Aw, really? But you were doin' so goo-"
"Jack." Your voice cracks, half plea, half command, and he finally relents, withdrawing that monstrous tongue with a wet pop. He sits back on his heels, lanky frame looming, but there's no pushiness now—just a flicker of concern in his eyes as he wipes his chin with the back of a clawed hand. Streaks of lube, arousal, and faint blood smear across his face. "Okay, okay! Party's over. Don't wanna break my favorite toy."
The sudden absence leaves you aching, empty, air cooling your wrecked core. You collapse back, chest heaving, every muscle jelly. Jack doesn't crow or tease; instead, he rummages in his drawer again, pulling out a damp cloth—somehow clean, miracle of miracles—and gently dabs between your legs. His touch is soft now, wiping away the sticky remnants of lube and mess with surprising care. "There we go... all clean. Look at you, marked up real nice." He traces a claw lightly over one of the thigh scratches, not pressing, just admiring, before pressing a kiss to it.
You shiver, not from overstimulation anymore, but from the tenderness. It's rare. He discards the cloth, then scoops you up effortlessly, lanky arms wrapping around your bare body like a striped blanket, and he nuzzles into your neck.
Exhausted and sated, you melt into him, the ache in your thighs a sweet reminder. The mansion's distant noises filter in, but here, it's just you two, tangled in his absurdly huge bed. Sleep tugs at you already as his claws stroke lazy patterns on your back.
He chuckles softly this time. "Sweet dreams, candy girl."