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you dropped something

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Once upon a time, a boy named Jean walked down a slippery sidewalk in the rain.

He was a clumsy fucker who liked wearing his beanies incredibly loose on his head.

Suddenly, his red beanie slipped off his head and onto the soaking wet pavement. It nearly missed a puddle full of oil, spit, and a hobo's cum.

Marco, Jean's secret mistress, picked the beanie up off the wet walk.

Then he ate it. Marco unceremoniously stuffed the maroon-colored beanie into his mouth and chewed the whole damn thing up and swallowed. Quite the shame, because it was Jean's favorite one in the whole entire world. It was to him what Mikasa's scarf was to her.

The next few weeks would be hell for Jean Kirschtein unless he found a way to end his boyfriend's sudden desire to chew on and digest the hats. Read on to find out what really did happen.

"Jean, I neeeeed another one of those beanies!" Marco whined, eying his boyfriend from across the room with a pout on those plump, chapstick-coated lips. There was a little lint on the corner of his mouth, most likely because of the two beanies he'd chowed down on earlier that morning. One purple, one red, and it's a shame they had to go so quickly. Jean was pissed.

"This sick beanie fetish you have needs to stop, okay?" Jean growled, his hands coming to rest on his hips that were busy being hugged by those skin-tight jeans he wore. Marco sure had a good time checking his teensy tiny waist out, along with his pert little ass, but he wasn't going to let Jean know or catch him in the act.

"It's not funny anymore. That day I dropped my beanie in the rain, I wasn't expecting you to latch onto me and have me spend ten bucks per beanie to feed you every time. You've turned into a monster."

"I'm sorry... I didn't mean to upset you!" Marco apologized, tears brimming in the corners of his innocent (but not so innocent) brown doe eyes.

They fought for a bit, and somehow it ended up in the bedroom.

You know where this is going without even having to look at the next chapter, but read it anyway.


Babe, I know you crave that mineral, but please stop eating my beanies.

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They fricked.

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His mouth is taped shut.

Jean has him precisely where he wants him, which is right on his lap where he rightfully belongs - where any good, obedient whore would belong. There is nothing more he can possibly do, other than squirm while his tight little hole is scissored open. Cheeks and ears so flushed and pink, all he can do was beg and beg for mercy through the soft little hums the tape allows him to elicit. Rough hands snake their around that taut body, restraining him. Jean can feel his heart pounding like a motherfucker, like a damn hummingbird trapped in his ribcage just begging to be freed for dear life.

"So puckered and pink... so pretty, just for me," the blond lets out a ragged breath. A certain roughness has suddenly found its way into Jean for whatever reason, but his Marco loves him all the same if not more. "So ready for my cock."

His Marco, and his only.

"I'm gonna make you wait for it. Know why?" Jean whispers into the shell of his darling's ear with a telltale shit-eating sneer plastered to his face, but said question is almost in rhetoric. Marco damn well knows why, because he's a good slut. Jean's slut.

Marco stifles a faint "mrhmm" and begins to palm at the throbbing cock which is practically fucking pulsating at his entrance. He is so ready - so fucking ready for it. Ready to be wrecked. Ready to be fucked into oblivion. But Jean has to be a bastard, per usual.

"You haven't sucked my cock yet. On your fucking knees, now. Don't make me wait."

How fucking hypocritical, to speak about waiting in such a manner. Prolonging things. Making them so unbearable it's damn near impossible to focus on anything else but the touching, the shallow breaths, the grabbing and grinding, and just ultimately Jean. It's all Jean, and he has everything under his thumb. Right now, he is the most powerful man in the world.

With one swift movement, the duct tape is ripped from Marco's delicate little mouth. His lips are plump and pink and perfect and maybe even a tadbit bruised from the kissing excursion they'd embarked on earlier. Nonetheless, they are just the way they're meant to be. The way Jean wants them to be.

Without another single word having to be exchanged between the two, Marco is on the floor, ass pert as ever and lips just waiting and fucking begging to suck Jean off. He kisses ever so delicately up along the shaft, tongue teasingly tracing over one of the veins on the underside, making his way up to the overly sensitive head. Getting vengeance certainly wouldn't be easy, but teasing that slit like the minx he was would be a surefire way to get Jean moaning for it like a desperate little slut himself.

After all, good work does get rewarded. That's how it works around here, at least.

Lapping up the dripping pre-cum with his skilled tongue, Marco enticingly begins his ritual. He circles the head a few times and then makes his way back up to the slit from which even more of the clear, bittersweet liquid is trickling its way out of. Jean tenses up, and Marco knows at that very moment that for once, he has Jean where he wants him. The bastard bucks his hips upward, smearing those lips in his essence and making the sight and act all the more lewd. But Marco allows him to continue.

Even when Jean's cock is shoved down his throat, he still refuses to protest. Because he is a good whore. Only for Jean.

He'd be a complete and utter fucking mess, balls hitting his chin and cum trickling from one of the corners of his mouth in such an obscene way, but he wouldn't care. He'd feel accomplished, because he is a service to Jean. He makes Jean happy. And if fucking the living daylights out of his mouth before absolutely wrecking his tight asshole is what Jean wants to do, then hell, Marco will damn well go with it.

After all, he is a good whore. Good whores scream and beg for it no matter who may be around. They plead for it.

It all ends with Marco clinging to his Jean for dear life. He's barely able to walk let alone speak, but it doesn't even matter anymore. Nothing does. And then there comes a certain realization.

Marco is Jean's, and Jean is Marco's.


 beanie marco