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“You got a fresh fuckin’ mouth, y’know that?”
You’re being fucked within an inch of your life right now, so horny that it actually hurts.
All that can be heard echoing throughout the room is the slick sounds of your soaked pussy being absolutely annihilated, completely at the mercy of Dallas as he pounds into you from above. Over and over again he drills into that spot that makes you go stupid and renders you a cross-eyed mess.
The bed may as well be the set of a porno movie, what with how obscene your sinful noises of need have become.
You are indubitably, unequivocally, one hundred percent destroyed.
“P-please, Dal…”
There’s not one rational thought left in your mind. Every time you get anywhere near an orgasm he stops, infuriatingly familiar with your body’s responses and all-too happy to watch you suffer.
He’s been edging you like this for the better part of an hour.
Your entire body is a livewire, trembling and shaking as sweat rapidly heats and cools along your spine. Half of your sentences don’t even make sense anymore; they’re just incoherent ramblings that occasionally formulate into pleas.
Initially, there’s no response from your boyfriend - just familiar, shallow panting and throaty noises of satisfaction as he holds you down and drives into you from above. Every practised roll of his hips forces him deep, letting the thick head of his cock kiss your cervix in that way that skirts the line between painful and perfect.
“F-fuck - Dallas…” your little voice is pleading, wobbly and hoarse with strain.
He knows that voice. You’re not truly at your wits end; you’re just making a thinly veiled attempt at pity to try and get your way, and he’s having none of it.
“Already told ya it ain’t gonna work like that t’day, doll.”
A steady stream of tears coats your cheeks, conjoining on your chin and trailing down your chest. It genuinely sounds like you’re in pain, but Dallas doesn’t care.
“Mmnghh-”
You whimper around a clogged throat like every bit of the spoiled delinquent you are, the sound transforming into a sob when he makes a gravelly noise of disapproval and lowers himself further over you. His hips cant and force him deeper, harsh angle doing nothing but furthering you along.
“Shut up, darlin’-” he murmurs into your ear before suckling a harsh hickey into the back of your neck, “lemme fuck you.”
He’s always been mean in bed. If you’re being honest, this is him on the nicer side.
You don’t even remember what set him off, just that he’s so deep in you that you can’t even begin to think, relentlessly filling you over and over as you drool under him.
He knows you like it when he treats you this way. The meaner the better; logic that runs completely counterintuitive to the average person’s psyche. It also means he has to get creative with punishment when what would typically be considered harsh words do little more than rile you up further.
Dallas hums as you pulse, teeth gnashing at how tightly your gummy little walls squeeze down on him.
“Cryin’ like s’my fuckin’ fault y’got an attitude…”
Unluckily enough for you, he’s managed to find a rather effective form of punishment.
Nothing you say or do right now sways him; no words, actions or faces you make that can tempt him into giving you what you want. He’s dead set on teaching you a lesson he knows you’ll never learn with every thrust, even when you look back at him and make those boo-boo eyes.
A theatrical sniffle accompanies your words, “I’ll do a-anythin’...please? Pretty pl-please?”
You’re throwing out any and all angles you can, trying to tempt him because now you’re unafraid of a punishment you may very well enjoy and hell - you may as well go down swinging if you’re going down at all.
Dallas snickers quietly and rears back, resuming that maddening pace to keep you just on the cusp of cumming without enough to toss you over the edge.
No dice.
“Please, baby-” you level him with a nuclear-level pout that suggests you’re far from broken, “I’ll let you fuck me in the ass…”
He laughs at that - a disbelieving bark that warns you that you should have kept your big mouth shut - but doesn’t break. His tempo stays the same as he watches the thick ring of cream coating the base of his dick mix with more slick, endlessly leaking from your swollen heat.
The wet sound of your soaked cunt squeezing around him echoes in the room, a testament to your failure in getting your way.
“Hnngh-” you’re beside yourself with blinding lust, every drag of your nipples across the sheets sending little kinetic sparks to your core.
He made sure to spend a ridiculous amount of time doing nothing but playing with your tits, only stopping when you were squirming, delirious with want and absolutely dripping.
“Hate y-you-”
His immediate reply to your juvenile insult is confidently all-knowing and amused in its candor, “No y’don’t.”
“Y-yes I d-” you squeal at a particularly sharp snap of his hips and forgo the thought entirely, “nghh…a-ah! Lemme cum!”
The way he fills you is surreal, stretching you out and making it hard to breathe around his length. You're going to wind up dehydrated at the rate your pussy is producing liquid lust; you can feel the puddle that's formed underneath you both.
“No.”
The denial slices through you like a hot knife, and you whine pathetically. In your stupor, you seem to forget that he’s just as gone as you are, equally as frustrated as he withholds his own release.
But the innate, selfish monster in you doesn’t care to think about anything else other than the beautifully taut coil of pleasure that’s about to snap, making your breath hitch at the dense feeling.
Maybe he won’t notice this time…
You only get to feel one glorious pulse of your own walls as they start to clamp down around him before Dallas stops completely, coming to a halt buried inside of you so deeply that you all-but screech in displeasure and immediately start attempting to move yourself along his length.
Close…you’re so close-
His disbelieving, breathless tone is dark and heavy in your ear, “Y’really gonna fuckin’ cum without askin’ me?”
Crap.
Yet another orgasm bleeds away in his arms as you shudder and wail, hand caught in the cookie jar.
“N-no…”
“Filthy, greedy girl-” he nearly seethes as he settles on top of you, “don’t listen to a goddamn thing I say, do ya?”
Somehow he finds a way to push himself deeper, forcing your legs to kick against the sheets from your prone position.
“Ah! F-fuck you!”
He snorts at you as he catches his breath, “Now that ain’t nice, is it?”
What ‘ain’t nice’ is him dictating your every orgasm, but trying to persuade him when you’re both lost like this is pointless. Besides, the punishment fits the crime; you’re just now remembering what started this whole thing, and you don’t really blame him for his reaction.
“Remember what I told ya way back when,” Dallas hums as he lowers himself, musing against your temple and relishing in the way you pant underneath him, “first night n’the back of th’car?”
You try hard to listen and make sense of the words he’s murmuring at you in that lilting, condescending tone. Maybe if you’re lucky they’ll reveal some secret code word that will get him to take mercy on you.
“…hm? When I popped your cherry. What’d I tell ya that night, dollface?”
Whatever deity you’ve been praying to clearly isn’t listening right now, because your brain refuses to work. Even if the memory of him taking your virginity is clear as day in your mind, you can’t recall any specifics of his words because all of your brain’s resources are focused on cum, cum pleaseletmecumpleasepleaseneedtocum-
A pathetic mewl slips from you as your pussy clenches again, but that’s not good enough for him.
He throbs at the reaction all the same as he goads you, “Ain’t an answer, sweetheart. I c’n sit here all goddamn day.”
He’s not lying. His stamina is a little ridiculous and entirely unfair.
You’re exhausted, his little torture victim that doesn’t know when to stop taunting her captor. Every fiber of your person is brimming with untapped, pent-up euphoric energy, heady and wanting and brutal. The need for release and consistent edging has you trembling harshly, but even as perspiration condensates on your chest and your tear ducts run dry, you are still denied.
It’s borderline cruel at this point.
You quake and mewl as another wave of burning need passes through you, rolling out like a heatwave that drains more energy from your stores. Though you know it won’t help your case you wiggle again and only get a fleeting second of relief as the motion lets you feel the stretch of him better, before he’s holding you down tighter and tutting disapprovingly.
Brat, your head supplies semi-helpfully, the word blossoming in your frontal lobe, he called you a brat.
You repeat the word back to him in the smallest, shakiest voice, tone warped with desire and mangled by want. It’s almost lost, muffled by the sheets.
“Atta girl,” Dallas breathes, resuming the calculated thrusts that rip a gasp from your chest, “y’drive me fuckin’ crazy, you know that?”
For all that is holy you cannot shut your fucking mouth, endlessly crying out for him like a wanton whore. His cock drags against every sensitive spot along your walls, pressing up on the spongy little area behind your belly button in a way that sends your eyes rolling to the back of your skull.
“Told ya I ain’t got no problem tamin’ you, dollface-” he gloats around your noises with a self-satisfied hum, “didn’t believe me, huh.”
He’s too deep and it’s too much; you’re going to burst if he doesn’t let up, and in a frantic effort to try and escape the sharp pressure you start wiggling away from him.
A dark laugh escapes him, the sharp crack of it echoing dully off the cheap wallpaper.
“Where’d’y’think you’re goin’, baby?”
Your brief attempt at escape is immediately halted when he tugs you back against him. He gathers your hair and wraps it around his fist in a smooth, well-practised motion, keeping it in a loose hold so he can tug it accordingly and pull your hips up. It forces your upper body low against the sheets, obscenely putting you on display for him.
“O-oh fuck-! W-wait-” you know this position all-too well.
Dallas doesn’t listen.
The overstimulation is maddening when he fucks you like this, holding you at the exact angle necessary so you feel every ounce of him splitting you open and dragging along your walls as they grip his cock in a silent effort to keep him stuffing you full. Every targeted thrust is a precise exaction of a finesse you’re far too proud to admit he holds, far too aware of the prowess that precedes him.
He knows exactly what he’s doing. It’s why he prefers to ignore your (albeit overdramatic) cries for mercy - because he knows better.
And he’s so, so right.
He tightens his grip and snarks down at you, “You ain’t stronger ‘n me, toots.”
“Nnn-s’too m-much, Dal-!”
Once more you try to scramble away from that glorious pressure, efforts entirely in vain.
“Shut-” he heaves you back to him with a snarl, ignoring your pointed cries as they rise in pitch, “-up. Stay.”
You can’t think. All you can hear right now is the filthy sound of your pussy squelching around him with every press of his cock inside of you, betraying how you truly feel about this kind of treatment.
“Just take it,” Dallas chides on the downstroke, voice molten, “spoiled. So spoiled. Tryna tell me s’too much ‘n your lil pussy’s leakin’ all over me. You even know how good you got it?”
His fingers tighten, pulling the roots of your hair in one unanimous tug with just the right amount of sting.
“Course y’don’t.”
He answers his own question like an afterthought - like your cries of elation aren’t a good enough answer already. Like you’re a silly little mindless animal whose noises of joy are taken for granted because of how constant they are.
“Arch it, c’mon - open up f’me. Like that, there y’go.”
You’ve been reduced to a slurring, blabbering mess; your final form before complete and total shut down.
“S’too fuck’n b-big-”
“Such a dirty fuckin’ liar-” he groans low in his chest when his words make you squeeze down on him, “fffuck yeah, stay right there.”
A hiccup catapults the next desperate request from your swollen lips, “Harder-”
“Tch-” he tuts at you with a cruel chuckle before indulging you, the resulting sound of your hips meeting more intensely all-too consuming, “can’t even make up your goddamn mind, can ya?”
He’s being so mean, and you can’t get enough.
“Y-you’re gonna make me cum…” you sob, chest constricting at another incomprehensible wave of euphoria that’s bubbling up.
“Oh yeah? M’gonna make you cum?” He repeats it back to you like he’s a bully who just stole your candy, “maybe I ain’t feel like it.”
“Fu-ck! Pl-please, pleasepleaseplease-”
“Nah, nah.”
He stops again, and you just about lose it.
Face-down ass-up isn’t exactly the most advantageous spot to further your mission along, but you brace yourself against the mattress and take your shot all the same.
Dallas is panting from behind you, hands shooting out frighteningly fast to stop each one of your limbs as they try to push you back against him to do it yourself.
You react like a tantrumming child, a whiny sob escaping from your chest as you keep trying to fight his hold.
“Stop.”
As usual, you don’t listen, and this time his patience has worn thin enough to constitute some kind of change.
“Such a fuckin’ brat. Ain’t wanna do things my way, huh? Fine.”
Your heart skips a beat at the finality in his tone, and you whine when he slips out of your pussy. There’s nothing you can do but cling to him as he flips you over and kneels you into the bed, quickly maneuvering you into the position he wants.
“C’mere.”
Before you can even begin to struggle he butterflies you open by the backs of your knees and pushes them down into the bed, taking advantage of your starving gaze to slide himself back into your cunt. It accepts him with a slippery wet sound as you stretch around him again, matching the way your mouth falls open on a choked moan.
“So fuckin’ desperate but you ain’t wanna listen t’me for one goddamn second. I spoil y’too fuck’n much…”
He’s watching the way his cock splits you in half with a lewd shlick, slowly sliding all the way back through the creamy mess until his hips are snug against yours once more. You can see his eyes darken when he spies the bump under your navel, proof of exactly how deep he is and how much he stretches you out.
“See how much you’re drippin’ for me, filthy girl-”
You buck and squeal when he brushes your neglected clit that he's purposefully avoided in intervals, refusing to let you touch it or yourself in any capacity. You would know; you’ve been trying.
Initially you’re rendered too pliant from his ministrations, but after a couple rolls of his hips you start to fight back again. When he refuses to let himself be dragged down by your tiny little claws, you huff and use your limited hold on the sheets to push back against his thrusts. It’s hard when you’re folded up like a pretzel, but you try.
“Stubborn-ass broad…” Dallas shakes his head, an astute smirk set across his features as he fucks down into you harder.
For a split second you’re rendered speechless and entranced, struck dumb by the heavy motions and at the sight of him after having been denied a front row seat for however long this nonsense has gone on.
“Open.”
So distracted are you by the shameless way your body breaks for him that his command sinks into you almost subconsciously. On instinct your lips part like you’re on your knees for him, whimpering when he slides two fingers down your throat a second later.
“See? Ain’t so hard listenin’ t’me,” Dallas grunts with a nasty smile, “y’wanna lie t’my face again? Tell me y’hate me? G’on, lil bunny.”
The moment he feels your tongue contract to attempt what is no doubt some sassy responding sound he starts to move, decimating your ability to think with each heavy roll of his hips. Unfiltered, heady ecstasy hightails it from your cunt all the way to your brain, turning any noises you might have made into a useless moan as you basically choke and fall limp in his grip.
His resulting laugh is taunting and cruel, but you’re unable to stop the innate reaction you have when your soft, plush walls squeeze around his cock.
“S’what I thought,” he watches you suckle on his fingers, conceited as a chesire cat, “gotcha too drunk off my cock, did’n’I. Fuck…”
Every single time you think you’ll be strong enough to outlast him he proves you wrong, pounding it into you that you’re a brainless harlot, reduced to nothing better than a lush, impulse-driven whore in his arms.
Brute, sheer desire rips its way through you again, and you start to bawl when you realize there’s little to no conceivable way to get what you want.
Like you’re a stupid, distraught animal, Dallas coos at you and removes his fingers from your mouth to swallow your cries. He drops lower, letting you bracket his ribcage with your legs and keeping one hand gripping your face as if to remind you not to struggle.
You’re soothed with a lick of his tongue into your mouth and choose not to ruin it by biting, instead whining into him as sweetly as you can manage. He reads your shallow effort for exactly what it is and refuses to grant you any quarter.
“Cute,” he huffs breathlessly before pulling back, “real cute, sweetheart.”
With no warning, he lands three hard pats to your cheek violent enough to be considered slaps, the sound reverberating between you both and wrenching a harsh hiss from you. He grins down at you with a taunting smile and keeps fucking down into you, pelvis hitting your clit with each thrust.
Perhaps because you’re so out of it that any sense of reason has vacated your brain and perhaps because you feel like taunting the devil himself today, your hand spontaneously cranks up and smacks him right back with a sharp crack, noise slicing through the air in the room.
It barely sparks a reaction from him and you know his deadly reflexes could have probably avoided it if he wasn’t one hour deep in your pussy, but he’s a little slower on the uptake with this many pheromones poisoning the air. The redness that blossoms as a result of your actions feels like watching fireworks.
Your cloy smile is immediate when he grunts in surprise and his rhythm stutters as he twitches inside of you. Neither of you are new to struggling with each other during moments of intimacy, but for you to slap him back like this is rather unusual.
You don’t feel bad. You know he likes it.
“You bitch-”
Dallas laughs - genuinely laughs with that beautiful grin he only saves for truly joyous moments, as if it’s a reminder that this is all fun and games in the end - before gritting his teeth, shaking his head at your insolence.
He wrestles your offending wrist and last remaining free limb down into the mattress.
“You’re such a little shit,” he speaks against your mouth before taking your lower lip between his teeth and biting down, coercing a yelp from you.
If anyone else were to see this, they may be inclined to call the police on your behalf. They might even pray at the foot of their bed for you, unaware of how backwards such efforts would be.
He changes his tempo, then, switching to longer, more thorough strokes that let you feel his depth and stretch far more concentratedly than before. The lighthearted mood instantly vanishes when you sense yourself getting close again, and you know he can feel the way you start to clamp impossibly tighter down on him.
“Want it,” you mewl as you watch him pull away to pin you down proper, “wantitsobad, please… pleasepleaseDal-”
“Jesus Christ,” he breathes and tips his head back, jaw clenched tight.
His cock throbs, heavy and overbearing inside of you, and it only takes a second for you to register just how close he is once you spy his glassy eyes and dark, blown pupils. It’s the first inkling of him losing it you’ve spotted since this all started, and abrupt famish takes a feverish hold of you when you start to put together all the signs.
The tears from earlier have barely dried as a fresh set wells up and clogs your vision, depravity infecting the sightline in your mind as burning desire warps your senses. Suddenly you’re hysterical again, noises of frenzied elation spilling from you in droves as your pussy clenches around him.
“Hey-” despite how close he is himself, Dallas centers you with a quick smack to your outer thigh, “tell me what the fuck you want.”
Your slurred, high-pitched attempt at being eligible doesn’t make any sense.
“Breathe,” he orders around a hard drop of his hips, and for once you miraculously listen, “use your goddamn words.”
“W-wanna cum…”
“Yeah? You wanna cum?” He mocks in that awful, patronizing tone, “good for you, doll. S’good t’want things in life.”
You hate it when he does this - when he makes these stupid little philosophical inside jokes that barely make sense when his pseudo-intellectualism is actually coherent, let alone between the sheets where it doesn’t even apply.
Sometimes you swear he carries just enough superficial quasi-knowledge to convince people he isn’t as stupid as he really is.
Then again, who are you to talk? Here you are, chained up in his embrace as he fucks you into oblivion and crying like a lunatic over how good this unique form of cruel adoration feels. Maybe you’ve both got some screws loose in the head.
You feel yourself fraying at the edges, rapidly reaching your boiling point. This time, when you sob you really do mean it, and Dallas registers the sincerity of your breakdown almost immediately. It’s taken just over an hour and a decent amount of effort for you to crack, but you’re finally right where he wants you.
“About goddamn time,” he’s merciful enough to prompt it out of you despite the growling passive aggressiveness, “got somethin’ y’wanna say?”
For a second it looks like you might actually deny him the apology, but he pushes down on your tummy where the tip of him protrudes from you, and the fight leaves your teary eyes right as a meek ‘m’sorry’ leaves your lips.
Dallas doesn’t move his hand nor let up his thrusts, “What was that?”
“Said m’s-sorry, Dal-!”
Your pouty, pathetic, teary gaze renders him a savage, feral version of himself, and pulling such a reaction out of you is almost as sweet as hearing you actually say ‘sorry’. It’s so rare for you to admit your wrongdoings or apologize for any kind of lip you give him, which makes moments like this all the sweeter.
Sick, twisted want pools in his abdomen.
“You’re sorry, huh? Who’s pussy is this?”
“Y-yours-” you cut yourself off with a needy wail as the pressure grows and grows, pinned to the bed by your own audacity and somehow still reaping the benefits.
He groans low, heavy and gravelly in his throat, “S’right baby, all mine.”
“O-ohmyfuckingGod-”
“God ain’t gonna help you,” Dallas laughs breathlessly as he fucks into you harder, letting the warm flat plane of his pelvis hit your clit again, “you wanna cum?”
“Mnn-mhm…” saliva builds in your molars, sheer ecstasy roaring its way through your system as every muscle starts to tighten, “please’m’soclose-”
“Yeah? You want it?” He speaks over your distraught keening, “beg for it.”
A rush of word vomit explodes from you without a second thought, like you’ve been holding back even though Dallas knows it’s just some switch hidden in your brain only he can access. He’s flicked it on, letting your nervous system know that you’re within the true realm of release this time.
Each slick meeting of your hips pulls the cord a little more in that slow and heavy way that only this much teasing can provide, drawing tighter-
“I’ll be good I promise m’sorry justmakemecum-”
Tighter-
“N-need it sobadDalplease-!”
Tighter-
“Hurts s’good…”
Tighter-
“I’ll do a-anythin’…prettyprettyplease-”
There.
Whether it be by your pleading or his decision to bring this torture session to a close, Dallas seems to finally grant you leniency.
“If y’don’t cum in th’next ten seconds, m’gonna make y’swallow it ‘n leave ya tied up like a dumb fuckin’ puppy-”
Something in you lurches at his degradation, “Dallas-! M’cumming - m’gonna cum-”
It hits you like a freight train, virtually powering you down. Your throat closes in on a screech and then you’re flying, slick gushing from you in spurts all messy and warm and sticky. Your pussy clamps down on him hard, viciously contracting and ripping his own release from him far earlier than intended.
“Fuck-” he chokes out a hoarse shout that sounds suspiciously close to your name, spilling into you in thick, hot pulses.
He can’t really help it. Watching you squirt and shatter, sobbing and wrecked beneath him, makes him fracture, persona splitting and exposing the true duality of his nature. Venom dissolves into a softer dominance, bleeding from his pores and sinking into your skin where he holds you in a death grip.
“That's it, give it t’me, baby - c’mon.”
Dallas is brainless while he murmurs, cock spurting heavy ropes with every pulse as he cums and cums and cums. He’s so deep you can feel the way he throbs against your cervix, flooding your pussy until the excess starts to spill out of you.
It doesn’t stop - you can feel it running down your ass and onto the sheets, joining the puddle below. The spillage almost makes you whine, because it’s part of your prize.
When your ears stop ringing and your head stops feeling like it’s been strapped to a merry-go-round for a week, you start to register the rough, rumbling tone of his voice.
“-such a goddamn freak.”
He’s released the backs of your knees and drawn himself down to you, enclosing your trembling form that can’t stop shivering. You can feel his breaths along your collarbone as he locates the hickey he left behind earlier, and shiver at his subsequent sucking when he gives it a sibling.
It always feels like his soul has been drained by a succubus whenever he fucks you like this and vice versa; it takes nearly as much out of him as it does you. But it’s worth it to watch you come apart piece by piece only to beg for him to put you back together again.
“S’yer’fault,” you manage to whimper weakly, fingers twitching as they reach for his hair.
You can feel how sore, dehydrated and shaky you are, but you don't move or get up because you know he’ll take care of you both - even if it’s in that rough way that doesn’t scream delicate or intentionally thoughtful.
(You swear that’s half the beauty of him anyways; he’s unintentionally sublime in so many little ways that it nearly makes up for all his shortcomings.)
“Nah - you were made like this, dollface,” Dallas snickers against your skin and lets you drag your nails across his scalp, “just had’t’catch ya.”
There’s probably a decent amount of truth to that statement; you’ve always been someone who complains when you don’t get your way, which makes dating a guy who always gets his way incredibly frustrating sometimes. You’re lucky that the disagreements tend to end so favourably.
Your heart gradually slows to a more acceptable rhythm as he pulls away, finding you already staring up at him with that blissed out, dumbified expression.
Dallas smiles all smug and saccharine, half-lidded eyes teaming with pride at the sight of you. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he looks like an arrogant hunter posing with a gory, maimed kill.
“...my lil freak now.”