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Cathleen Winthrop is the epitome of the typical white girl trust fund baby; privileged, holier-than-thou, catty beyond belief and, worst of all, smart enough to have gotten into the prestigious Appleton University all on her own. Except her new money business tycoon parents still bought her into the enrollment as if the initial interest application, following interview, harrowing entrance exam that ended with another interview going over your scores were a waste of their time. Unfair doesn’t even begin to describe this whole ordeal, especially with how the rich brat acts like she’s a genius godsend, misunderstood by the world for her plight as a privileged kid with too much money.
If you weren’t acutely aware of the possibility of a heavily publicized court case with a jury that no doubt would be pitted against you in no time, you would’ve slapped Cathleen Winthrop a long time ago. That way, she’d actually start needing those Botox fillers she’s gotten over the summer. Usually, you wouldn’t even bother thinking about her at all – trust fund babies are all the same in your head. And honestly, you had worked too hard to earn your place here to waste any brain cells on some former high school bully gunning to be a nurse within a highly sought after medical degree. It’s only because of that damn incident in your first year, that saw you partnered up with Cathleen Winthrop for a group project, that had you grind your teeth so hard, your dentist would start lecturing you next visit. Not only had she left you with the majority of the work, but then had the absolute gall to spin some sob story to the professor and take all the credit as some sort of twisted revenge plot. All because you dared to ( rightfully ) call her out on her lack of contributions. It had taken you everything and then some to convince your professor that you had done your part and granted you to pass the class by the skin of your teeth.
Ever since then, you've been out for blood. Now it’s your top priority to gain marks above Cathleen fucking Winthrop until you graduate, and for this project, it’s no different.
“For your next project, you will be researching, documenting and illustrating a piece of human or mutant anatomy,” the professor had announced. Naturally, it had been met with several groans, considering half of the medical students aren’t exactly well known for their art skills. Especially when compared to their peers over at Eastlaird Tech, with whom they share the campus with.
It doesn’t dissuade you in the slightest – some practice and video tutorials should do the trick, paired with a concise and immaculate research, you should have this in the bag. All you need is the perfect anatomical subject to study. You thought about the human heart or brain, fascinating organs in their very own ways. But that wasn’t enough. You need something unique, something out there that surely no one, especially not Cathleen Winthrop, would think of submitting. Something that exudes more thought and dedication to your medical journey. You’ll need a live model, a mutant preferably. And you know exactly who to ask, which is why you find yourself two blocks down from the campus in front of an older apartment building.
Your heels click against the concrete stairs as you ascend them, taking one sharp look at the intercom before jabbing one specific button with your manicured finger. A few seconds later, the speaker crackles to life.
“This is Hamato speaking,” comes the nasal drawl, “who’s there?”
“It’s me,” is all you say.
“Oh dear.” There’s a click and you blink, irritated. What is that supposed to mean?
Next to you, the heavy glass door buzzes, the lock sliding open with an audible clack, and you pull at the handle to let yourself in. After taking the elevator to the fifth floor, you approach one of the apartment doors, when it already swings open before you can even lift a hand to knock.
Donatello Hamato is a tall, broad-shouldered soft-shell turtle mutant, whom you had met in your first year at Appleton. Or, rather, on the campus, since he’s a student at Eastlaird Tech – he didn’t take it too kindly when you accidentally grabbed his coffee order at the local coffee shop. And yet, you still ended up in the similar circle of friends and have each other’s numbers on their phones. After all, someone had to come fix him and his roommate up after another science experiment gone wrong. Despite his occasionally abrasive, sarcastic and melodramatic attitude, he’s grown on you with his biting humor, mile-a-minute ramblings at 2am and, dare you say it, quite handsome face. Not that you would ever tell him – he doesn’t need a bigger head than he already has. The smug asshole already lords his vastly bigger height over you, looming above your form and constantly regarding you with that self-satisfied smirk on his face. He’s a pain in your neck, but unfortunately a pain in the neck you’ve grown a little too fond of.
Donnie’s leaning against the frame of his door with one shoulder, holding it open, the other hand buried within the confines of his baggy cargo pants. You see him absentmindedly play with the lip ring centered on his bottom lip with his tongue. There’s a new stain on the old, purple bandanna of his, one tail of it still singed from the time it briefly caught fire. He’s also not wearing any shirt.
You look at his bare plastron, before meeting his eyes. “Am I coming at a bad time?”
“Not at all,” he says with a hint of sarcasm, “it’s just my day off.”
“Perfect, so you have time.” Without further prompting, you duck under his arm and enter his apartment. You hear him sigh, but he doesn’t say anything, which you take as a sign to take off your shoes and place them neatly near the shoe rack, that is overrun by various old sneakers and boots.
The apartment is more of a shoebox than anything, but it did its job. There’s a kitchen with a small dining nook, a sizeable living space, a bathroom and two small bedrooms that fit everything it needed. Perfectly functional, even if the water pipes sometimes rattle a little when warming up the water for the shower, or so Donnie said. LED light strips decorate most walls, bathing everything in soft, color-changing lights as you venture into the living space. There, an old but comfortable sofa sits right in front of a huge TV that has every imaginable gaming system hooked up to it. There’s plenty of seating, with beanbags thrown all over the place and two little ottomans, from which you choose one to sit on. The colorful beanbags remind you of Donnie’s family, of whom there are plenty of photos on the walls in the hallway – briefly you wonder if they all sit on the bags that correspond to their mask colors. The thought of it is kind of endearing.
The mutant joins you a few minutes later, two cooled cans of soda in hand. “So. What brings you to our humble abode, Doctor?” he asks you, after handing you a can and dropping onto the sofa, opening his own with a metallic crack and hiss.
You just put your soda aside, itching to get straight down to business, as you smooths out your brown pencil skirt. “I have an inquiry,” you say, and Donnie hums as he brings his soda to his lips. “Will your roommate be joining us anytime soon?”
He pauses for a second, his dark eyes squinting at you suspiciously, which, rude. “No…” he finally says, “He’s busy with a project. Knowing him, he’ll probably fall asleep in his lab and wake up later in a panic.” With that, he takes a sip from his drink.
“Perfect,” you respond, already fishing out your sketchpad from your bag. “That gives me ample time to sketch your dick.”
The reaction is immediate.
Donnie chokes mid-swallow, causing him to cough and splutter almost dramatically. You wait for him to finish, finger tapping impatiently on the sketchpad in your lap.
“I’m sorry,” he wheezes, “I think I didn’t hear you–”
“No, you heard me right.”
He gives you an incredulous glare. “You’re serious. You seriously think I’m just gonna whip out my junk for you.”
You roll your eyes. “Not for me – for my project, Donatello. I am to research, document and illustrate a piece of anatomy and I want it to be unique enough to ensure myself a good grade.”
“ Unique –” Donnie blinks rapidly, clearly at a loss for words. “So you come to me to research my dick ?! That’s your idea of unique?”
“ Yes ,” you sigh, “I don’t see what’s so hard to understand. It is a simple anatomical study.”
You watch his mouth curl irritably. “Don’t you think that it’s rather…intimate?” he almost squeaks out the last word.
Raising your eyebrow, you regard him with a deadpan look. “Do you view anatomical studies of genitals in medical books as intimate?”
“No, of course not, but this is–”
“Not any different. All I need are a few sketches and maybe some images–”
“You are not taking pictures of my dick.”
“Fine, I’ll just take my time with drawing then,” you concede easily, already opening the pad and finding a blank page. Donnie seems to sense that you aren’t going to be fussed about getting pretty much directly flashed, and he brings a hand up to rub at his forehead in oncoming exhaustion.
“And this is all just to get a good grade,” he mutters dubiously as he watches you take out a pointed pencil.
“Obviously. I have no interest in spreading any intimate details, I just want the best grade I can achieve in this class,” you declare, wiping away invisible dust from the sketchpad. When you look up again, Donnie stares at you with an eerie laser focus, as if he’s trying to x-ray the inside of your head. You set your jaw and look away. “…a better grade than Cathleen Winthrop–”
“ I knew it !” he exclaims theatrically, swinging his soda can around dangerously. “I’m being used! You are using me! Without compensation, might I add. Oh, the betrayal !”
You exhale with a small hiss, massaging your temples. “Listen, I just want something good for this project, okay? As for Winthrop…” your eyes fall onto the numerous gaming consoles gathered around the TV and an idea comes to your mind. You straighten up and give him a determined look. “She’s my Faceless King, Donatello.”
The mutant has taken to reclining back into his seat, arms strewn over the back of the sofa and soda can hanging limply from his fingers in one hand. He lifts a brow. “Faceless King?”
You ponder briefly. “The Faceless King…from Black Souls?”
A slow blink. “You mean the Nameless King from Dark Souls.”
Ugh , Gamer Dudes and their gaming knowledge. “It’s the same thing,” you scoff, growing irate at his audible snort. “Fine, here, she’s my Malenia.”
Now, that got his attention. He stares at you, looking contemplative then annoyed. He brings a hand up to rub his knuckle against his forehead, eyes scrunching close and brows crinkling. His foot starts tapping an angry beat.
“…you can always say No–” you begin, just as he spreads his arms out almost aggressively.
“ Fine !” he blurts. “Fine. I’ll do it, but only because that woman seems to annoy you this much.”
“Well, she does. She’s a trust fund baby whose parents bought her into the enrollment.”
He gives you an incredulous look. “Why didn’t you say so from the start? Now I’ll do it for free!”
You can feel a chuckle make its way up to your tongue, but you swallow it down. “For free? What kind of compensation were you even thinking of? Money?”
“Maybe?” Donnie leans back into the cushions, setting down his soda on a nearby coffee table. “Sex work is a respectable career choice, dear Doctor.”
Your lips twitch – him and his stupidly endearing nicknames. “It is, but I’m not asking you to do sex work, I’m asking you to essentially be an amateur nude model for a few hours.”
He scoffs. “ Amateur nude model, do not insult me.” Leaning over toward the same coffee table as before, he snatches up a small remote and hits a few buttons. The LED lights dim into a deep purple, darkening the entire apartment. To your right, a tall reading lamp switches on with a buttery warm hue, providing the perfect lighting for you to work in. Somewhere, low, soothing synthwave music begins to play.
You glance around. “Donatello, I’m serious, I’m not asking for sex work.”
“ Christ , it’s not for you,” he groans, leaving the remote on the table once more to lean back and drape his arm over the couch. “It’s for me. I need…” despite the purple-hued darkness making his mask blend in with his dark skin, you can still vaguely make out his face, looking a touch embarrassed. “I require a certain kind of ambiance. Something relaxing, something–” he gives you a quick once-over before looking away– “…something beguiling.”
He’s a little nervous, you can tell. “Alright, whatever feels comfortable for you,” you say, much softer than usual, “and thank you. I appreciate you doing this.”
The side-eye you get is both a little grumpy yet pleased. With a put upon sigh, he drops his hands to his waist, unbuckling the belt. “Yeah, yeah, you better get top marks for this.” His long fingers near gracefully loosen the black leather. You find yourself watching rather intently how he deftly unbuttons his pants and drags the zipper down his crotch – you divert your gaze back up, only to meet his eyes. They glint in the shine of the lamp, dark and deep. “I know I said I was gonna do this for free, but…you owe me for this, Doc.” His low voice has a rasp to it as he hooks his thumbs beneath the waistband of his cargos, lifting his hips to slip them off midway down to his strong thighs.
You blink, before looking away, busying yourself with propping up your sketch pad on your knees. “That is fine by me. You’ll have an open IOU from me – within reason, of course.” You stare at the blank page before you as he chuckles.
“Afraid I’m gonna inquire you to be my nude model next?” he asks haughtily, and you roll your eyes.
“If you give me a good enough reason as to why a technical engineering major like you needs to draw a nude woman for a project, I may consider.”
“That almost sounds like a Yes to me.”
Finally, your stern eyes flit towards Donnie again, meeting his amused gaze. He seems to gradually relax, looking a little more comfortable with his pants down his thighs. You can see the purple stripes running down the sides, similar to the ones on his arms. Ever since your first year, there have also been two vertical stripes crawling up over his chin, an incomplete shimmer on his scales. One of his arms – lean, yet dense with muscles – remains resting on his thigh as the other returns to over the back of the sofa.
You tilt your head, focusing in on his crotch area. “I don’t see anything,” you say, mildly surprised as you regard the empty space between the end of his plastron and a dark shape, which you assume is his tail. It twitches under your scrutiny, curling in on itself.
Cute .
“Do not rush me!” Donnie squawks, making an aborted motion with the hand on his thigh, as if he wanted to cover his tail. “Just. It takes a bit, okay? I can’t just drop all willy-nilly like this.”
“Drop?” you prod further, undeterred by his outburst or hand, as you crane your neck to peer around it. This is actually getting way more interesting than you had initially thought. Obviously, you should’ve expected some anatomical differences; he is a mutant turtle, after all. Perhaps some research on turtle biology beforehand would’ve done you some good. But hands-on learning has always been your preferred way. “Does your penis reside within you?”
His face scrunches up, both displeased and embarrassed, the skin atop of his snout wrinkling at your crass words. He looks off to the side, unable to look at you directly anymore. “…yes,” he grits out, before lifting his hand away and shifting his narrow hips towards the light a little. “It would be highly impractical to just…have it out in the open all the time. So there is one advantage over your human males.” He wills his tail to uncurl, revealing a slit running over the thick base of it. It glistens slightly, and Donnie fails not to blush. “It stays in here and, well, drops when I’m, ah , aroused.”
You hum. “Fascinating,” you comment idly as you begin to sketch. There’s a vague choked off sound, but you don’t pay attention to it. Instead, you hone in on his tail, trying to nail down the shape, form, and placement of the slit. You decide you can shade it all later, right now you want to get all the details down and try not to get distracted with how the tip of the appendage wiggles back and forth eagerly, like it’s excited. “Question; does your slit have similar functions like a vagina?”
For a few seconds, you don’t get any answer, and you start to think perhaps he isn’t so sure what exactly entails a vagina, when he speaks up.
“Not really, no,” he starts, voice low. There’s some sort of undercurrent in his tone, something you can’t put your finger on. “There are fewer nerve receptors, and the absence of a clit doesn’t really make it worth exploring.”
“Mh, I see,” you respond, accentuating some lines on your sketch and scribbling down notes on the side. You are completely oblivious to the unraveling mess before you, because Donnie can feel himself growing hotter with every passing minute of sitting this exposed before you.
Occasionally, your warm eyes would flash over the edge of the sketchpad to stare at his tail. He can feel how the tip of it starts curling in delight at the attention, his slit oozing more slick as a familiar pressure begins to make itself known in his groin, needling him for some relief. Well, it looks like you are going to get what you came for, and he wants to bury his face in his hands from embarrassment. A few minutes of undivided attention from the friend he’s been having one too many wet dreams about, and he’s ready to drop – fucking ridiculous .
Nonetheless, he makes a small sound, gaining your attention again. Your gaze burns, sharp eyes framed by dark lashes on your pretty face, half of it which you insist on concealing with your hair. He squashes down the shiver that wants to run down his spine. “I’m ready,” is all he says.
He watches how your eyes glance downwards again, no doubt to observe how his slit would start to bulge out, the lips parting to make way for his emerging cock. He can feel it dropping, relief chasing right after as his flared head begins to breach–
“ Wait! ” The sudden volume and urgency in your voice nearly makes him jump. “Keep it in, I want to sketch the transition.”
This is the woman he wants to sweetly kiss under the moonlight and also bend over the next best piece of furniture possible. He cannot believe himself.
“Keep it in ?!” he blusters, despite trying to do exactly as you demand, because apparently he’s into that now. “Are you serious? Do you hear me asking you to keep it in when you’re on your period?”
“We both know that this is a stupid analogy,” you shoot back, your hand flying over the sketchpad as you switch your attention between it and Donnie. “Besides, you don’t ever know when I’m on my period.”
Donnie’s arousal screams and complains within him, demanding to be set free, and he grits his teeth, feeling himself sweat. “Do too, I can smell it just fine,” he growls.
You straighten up, disbelief painted across your face. “Pardon me?”
“May I continue ?” he manages through clenched teeth, ignoring your question in favor of his body’s distress. Good lord, this is actually agonizing, like an edging session gone wrong. His fingers claw into the couch cushions and if he rips the fabric, he will not be the one to explain this to his poor roommate. “If I remember correctly, it’s my dick you wanted to document, right?”
He meets your gaze with a mild glare – your eyes still burn, leaving a tingling trail upon his skin as you scrutinize him, before nodding. With a near relieved exhale, he lets go and can’t help the way his eye flutter a little as he finally drops. While the act itself is usually rather quiet, this time there’s a small, wet sound as his cock unsheathes, most likely due to the amount of pre that comes spilling out with it. That should’ve been more embarrassing to him than anything else so far, but the relief from the pressure has him not caring this time around. Instead, he allows himself a small groan low in his throat, tipping his head back over the edge of the sofa. Despite feeling warm all over, his palm feels way cooler against the heat of his shaft, providing some semblance of support.
It’s quiet for a while, with only the beats of the quiet music playing. Donnie’s skin prickles, the air between the two of you feeling somewhat charged. Obviously, he reasons, it’s because he’s pretty much parading his cock around in front of someone, with whom he had no prior intimate relationship with. Then again…he isn’t doing this to get his dick wet, much to the disappointment of that stupid little hind brain of his. Nonetheless, the silence is getting to him a bit – he’s vulnerable as hell before you right now, and you have nothing to say? You were the one to basically barge into his apartment on his day off, planting your fine ass down on his chair and demanding to see his dick.
Worst of all; why is he so into this.
He stares up at that terrible popcorn ceiling of his apartment, before finally daring to breathe a word. “And? Am I up to expectations, dear Doctor?” Lifting his head from the backrest, his eyes fall onto you and find you staring at his cock.
You’ve always been hard to read, even in your first year. The elegant slopes of your face remain hard lines, as if chiseled into marble, a stoic mask that hardly ever crumbles. Donnie’s always envied your composure – he’s more expressive than he lets on, insistent on keeping up his ‘emotionally unavailable bad boy’ image, no matter how many times he tears up during emotional game cutscenes in private. But he’s seen your mask break a few times, a rare handful of moments where the corners of your mouth would curl up briefly into a gentle curve, that softens every one of your features. They were the loveliest smiles he’s ever seen.
Donnie swallows, feeling a pulse of arousal shoot straight down to his groin at your intense stare. Cautiously, he calls you by your nickname, the one solely reserved by your friends.
Your eyelids flutter briefly before zeroing in on his face. Your expression doesn’t change much, but there is a shimmer in your eyes that has the knot in his stomach tighten for a second. He watches your lips part almost delicately.
“You are…” you falter, something that is pretty much unheard of. Subtly, you roll your shoulders back. “You are bigger than expected.”
He tries not to preen at that. “Your tone makes it hard to distinguish if that’s a good or a bad thing.”
You scoff, finally looking back down onto your sketchpad, and he hears your pencil scratch over the paper. “It’s a simple observation, Donatello. I’m not here to stroke your ego, when I’m pretty sure you are well aware how your genetic enhancement has aided you in the growth of your body.”
“ Genetic enhancement, ” he mimics, pitching his voice to match yours rather childishly (and poorly). “Semantics, I say. I’m just gonna take your first comment as a compliment, which you dish out oh so scarcely.”
Donnie can see you rolling your eyes as you hum noncommittally. “So dramatic,” you huff quietly.
“I heard that.”
“Quiet, you,” you shush him, looking back towards his cock, “hold it a little higher.”
He almost wants to laugh at that. “Are you asking me to pose my dick for you?”
“I am suggesting .”
“ Demanding is more like it,” he murmurs, but does as you asked, pressing his palm against his shaft to tilt it upright almost proudly. There’s a small intake of breath at the movement, and he has a feeling he knows what you have seen.
“Are those knots?” you inquire, stopping in your sketching to lean forward, gaze intently scanning him over. Donnie bristles almost immediately.
“ No . No, they are absolutely not,” he hisses, “don’t ever say that again.”
You quirk a brow at him and don’t lean back – instead, you go back to sketching, and he can vaguely see you block in the nubby little spines that sit along the underside of his length on your drawing. “Somehow I sense a story behind that,” you comment slyly.
A warm flush rises over his snout. “There is no–!” he presses his lips together. Too defensive, now you definitely know there is something. “Ugh, fine. A previous partner of mine had been a little too obsessed with, uhm, werewolves.”
He can see you pause in your movement, shoulders hunching up and jaw tensing. He growls out your full name in warning.
“No, no, I’m fine,” you say way too lightly for his liking. The corners of your mouth are twitching as you resume your sketch – only to halt a minute later once more, looking up at him with eyes that shine with clear amusement. “Was it Tyler from Fine Arts?”
“Please, enough. ”
In a rather suspiciously quick move, you lift your drawing hand up to cover your mouth, almost daintily. Too bad, he can clearly see your eyes crinkling into those delighted little crescent moons.
“You are laughing,” he mutters, “I had to endure ‘feral werewolf ravishing lost twink’ role-plays for weeks, and you’re laughing.” He watches you close your eyes and turn your head away, still ensuring that your hand remains over your mouth, that he knows is curved into a smile. Despite the ire, Donnie can’t help his own rising amusement. “He even asked me to not talk during sex anymore, only to growl and snarl like a dog.”
A noise escapes you, something that almost sounded like a squeak. “Oh, stop . Stop, stop, that’s too much.” You have fully turned your face away, waving your hand around in his general direction as your shoulders tremble. He chuckles at your reaction, allowing you to collect yourself as he leans his head back again, keeping his eyes on you.
When you turn back, your lips are pressed together, and you briefly clear your throat before bringing your pencil back down onto the paper to continue. Your eyes flit back and forth between the sketch and the actual model, still eyeing the spines with clinical interest.
“So,” you begin after another brief bout of silence, which Donnie has weirdly grown comfortable with, “do they have any biological purposes?”
He chews on his bottom lip in brief contemplation, shifting his hips slightly. “Usually I’d say they’re useless embellishments.”
“How come?”
“Because their actual purpose is embarrassing,” he admits with a mild growl, squeezing the base of his cock slightly as if to communicate his annoyance. “They…flare out when I ejaculate to ensure I remain in my partner long enough until I’m done.”
He lets his eyes meet yours and finds you already watching him. You tilt your head slightly, your face unreadable as ever and eyes alight. “They are there for breeding purposes, you mean.”
Something in your voice has pleasant sparks racing down his spine, and he can feel his dick twitch slightly with interest. He subtly squeezes it again, as if telling it to behave. “Reproduction purposes, yes.”
You nod, your gaze back on his spines before focusing on your work. He can see your tongue subtly running over your bottom lip in thought as you take some notes. “Interesting,” you remark casually and honestly, Donnie shouldn’t find your near clinical observation of himself as hot as he does. Again; is he into this?
“Are the spines a species thing, or do your brothers possess the same qualities?”
His snout immediately wrinkles in distaste. “It’s a species thing, and for the love of Galileo, please do not mention my brothers while I have my dick out.”
There’s an amused huff and some more pencil scratches. “Are you fully erect right now?”
He blinks, lips parting as he glances down at his cock, still resting lazily against his palm. “Yes and no,” he decides. “While a certain degree of arousal is needed in order to drop, it doesn’t necessarily mean I’m completely erect.”
“I see.” You lower the pad flat onto your lap, crossing one leg over the other. You study him, fingernails tapping rhythmically against the paper. “Does that mean you’ll still grow in size if you reach full hardness?”
For a moment, you stare at each other. A rather fitting, slow beat begins to play in the background, meshing well with the dim lights. It reflects off of your silhouette, the overhead lamp bathing you in warm light as a contrast while enabling artful shadows. He, on the other hand, has most of his torso blending in with the purple hues of the ambient lighting. The atmosphere is beginning to feel more and more intimate, the air charged with questions, that are already known, and answers, that are expected. You’re dancing closer and closer to the line between what’s appropriate and what is slowly descending into something more sensual. Erotic .
Donnie inhales quietly. “Yes.”
Before him, you shift slightly, but he recognizes the flex in your thighs as you squeeze them together. His mouth waters.
“Are you willing to show me?” you ask, your smooth voice never wavering, just like your face; composed, impassive, unreadable. He wonders what it’ll take to break you.
You still hold your gazes, watching, waiting. Against his palm, Donnie can feel his cock throb.
He wets his lips with a quick swipe of his pointed tongue, feeling the metal of his piercing. “Yes,” he repeats with a deep rasp that rattles his rib cage. Your eyes shimmer with something he cannot yet identify, but it makes his stomach swoop pleasantly nonetheless, especially when he sees them dart downwards again, lingering. Near unconsciously, he spreads his thighs a little more, shifting his hand to now fully enclose his shaft. He watches your face, eyelids heavy as he gives himself a few short, lazy pumps, the side of his finger bumping against the bottom most spine.
Your face doesn’t change, but the color of your cheeks seems to darken slightly. You refocus your eyes to the side, uncrossing your legs to switch, crossing them again and looking back down onto your sketchpad, which you prop up once more. With renewed focus, you continue on your previous sketch of Donnie’s half-hard cock, re-tracing the subtle curve of it and the soft slopes of the spade-shaped tip. Admittedly, your pulse quickens at the thought of it growing in size – he’s already an impressive length at just half-mast. You know he’d had plenty of partners before, most of them on the casual side. Have they all been able to take him in fully? And with those spines too…
Your pencil scratches over the lines of them. They don’t look especially solid or sharp, so you wonder if they’re of a more spongy texture. The emergence of slick noises causes you to dare another glance over the edge of your pad – your grip tightens ever so subtly around your pencil.
The mix of warm and cold lightning serve to enshroud Donnie in a rather aesthetically pleasing way, it reminds you of a particularly fancy photoshoot. Or adult film. Because he’s moved on to giving himself full, firm strokes, fingers loose along the underside of his cock to slide comfortably over the spines. In the light, you can see the shine of pre-cum, pearling from the little slit atop of the flared head, making the glide of his palm smooth. You can’t help but watch, enraptured by the exhibitionistic display, and heat gathers low in your belly at the soft wet sounds. Your next inhale stutters in your throat – oh, this is bad .
Swallowing heavily behind the sketchpad, you wrench your eyes away from the lewd performance to concentrate on Donnie’s face. And somehow that choice is worse, because he’s already looking at you. Dark eyes bore into your own, the sparse light reflecting in them like dying embers, little glowing points still hot to the touch. His lips are slightly parted, and his chest rises steadily with near quiet yet heavy exhales. Then, there is the near imperceptible curl in the corner of his mouth, tilting upwards to shape a cocky little smirk.
You want to quip something, like how you never thought he’d be such an utterly shameless exhibitionist. But that means you’d have to confront the fact that you enjoy being the voyeur to it a little too much. Softly, you bite the inside of your cheek when you hear him sigh – breathy with the slightest tremble. You squeeze your thighs together, but say nothing as you watch him come to a slow stop. He gently unfurls his fingers around his shaft, pulling away, and you burn the sight of hair-thin strings of pre-cum sticking to his palm into your mind.
“Is this good enough for you, Doctor?” His voice, while normally deep and nasally, sounds rough, pleasantly nestling into your ears. The smirk on his lips still remains. He’s settled fully into the couch, knees parted as much as he can and his pre-covered hand draped loosely over one of his sculpted thighs. In between it all, his cock stands proudly on its own, curving slightly with the weight of its girth and length. It's a tad bigger now, skin taut with the slight expansion and head flared out like a blossoming flower. The muscle running down the length of it stand out, making it bob ever so slightly with every twitch. You note that the head consists of a lighter color before petering out into a darker shade downwards, the spines looking fuller somehow too.
You lick your lips. “It meets my expectations,” you respond evenly, feeling warm. You hear him scoff as you put down your pencil to remove your sweater vest, leaving you in your thin white blouse. A quick glance tells you Donnie’s staring at you, and before you can properly register what you’re doing, you already popped open two more buttons, baring your cleavage a little more than necessary. You school your facial features as to not let your own surprise show, while you pick up your materials once more. “I’d like to sketch the front and profile of it, is that agreeable with you?”
You catch the way his eyes linger on your chest before trailing up to your face. You’re sure he’s not even trying to hide his ogling, but you don’t call him out on it and refuse to acknowledge the pleased goosebumps breaking out on your skin. Getting ogled at is no compliment, but with him, right here, right now…
“Go ahead,” he murmurs, “take your time.”
You nod, glancing back down onto his dick. It twitches, a gentle near imperceptible motion, but you catch it anyway. Your lashes flutter as you blink, busying yourself with turning to a new blank page to get the big sketches side by side.
The two of you don’t say anything. But Donnie’s stare burns , as you sketch away, periodically looking up at his cock. The music plays on, slow and soft, the beats feeling almost sultry in the thick atmosphere. And as you get the rough sketch down, you ask yourself if you could fully wrap your hand around his shaft, right where it’s at its thickest. By the time you stand up to shift the little ottoman to the side to sketch the profile, you’re unable to shake off the idea still. Sitting down again, you cross your legs and tries to squash down the heat that threatens to gather in your face when you note that the insides of your thighs feel a tad damp. You remember Donnie’s little comment about being able to smell you – you don’t want to think about it. Not yet, at least.
From the side, you discover the curve of his girth, tapering off thinner at the bottom and the top. The spines jut out from the underside, flowing with the natural curve of his cock, looking wet and almost puffy. At the head, you watch intently how a drop of pre oozes from the slit, slowly rolling downwards over the spines. You swallow thickly, biting your bottom lip as your bra suddenly feels too small around your chest when you inhale deeply. There’s a hint of musk and sweat in the air.
“Do you know your exact measurements?” you suddenly blurt out, steeling your voice at the last moment to save face. Chancing a glance at him, you see him watching you from the corner of his eyes. They slide down towards his dick as he shrugs.
“Nine or ten inches, give or take.” He doesn’t sound arrogant about it, but rather contemplative. And given that you can actually see his length, it appears pretty plausible. He eyes you again, mouth curling. “Don’t believe me?”
You arch a brow, unimpressed. “I believe in numbers,” is the easy retort, and you stand up, setting the sketchpad down onto your seat – the two rough sketches are pretty much done at this point. Donnie watches you walk over to your bag to retrieve an item – a soft tape measure, which you snap taut between your hands. “I’m nothing if not thorough.”
Donnie can’t help the short laugh that escapes his mouth. This woman… unbelievable . Nonetheless, he lets his head fall back to stare up at you, a challenging grin stretching over his face. “Please, by all means,” he invites you, motioning towards his cock with his hand. “Measure away, my good Doctor.”
From this angle, he can watch how your voluptuous chest rises with every breath. You purse your lips almost thoughtfully, a dangerous glint in your half-lidded eyes. “Much appreciated,” you say, your voice low. The near sultry quality of it has him shivering in anticipation. “Be a good patient and don’t move.”
Immediately, he has to bite down on his tongue, lest he embarrasses himself with an involuntary noise that will border on a moan. He increases the pressure when he watches you sink to your knees before him, nudging yourself between his thighs. Every contact with you burns, but he dares not to move or look away. With elegant manicured fingers, you pinch a section of the tape and bring it close to his dick, your knuckles softly brushing over the base of his tail from where it emerged. Carefully, you hover the tape along the curvature of his cock, the featherlight brushes tempting him to buck up into the sensation. But he holds still as you study the tape.
“9.6 inches,” you declare, your dark eyes glancing up at him beneath your lashes.
He smirks, self-satisfaction curling hot in his gut. “Told you.”
You’re still unimpressed, but your lips part and your tongue darts out to run over your bottom lip as you briefly turn away to jot down another set of notes. This is the closest you’ve been so far, your pretty face mere inches away from his shaft as you lean over his thigh to reach your sketchpad. When you turn back, you lift the tape again.
“Now, your girth,” you say and wait. Donnie gulps, feeling a throb shudder through his dick as he consents with a brief motion of his chin. Your undivided attention feels ridiculously euphoric to him as he watches you loop the tape around the thickest part of his cock. He almost jolts when he feels the band tighten briefly, his chest stuttering as a small hum escapes him. You don’t comment on it and loosen the tape, leaning back over his thigh to scribble some more notes.
He wants to touch you.
You remain seated, furling the tape back up into a neat little roll. The open collar of your blouse allows Donnie a generous view of your cleavage as he stares, digging his fingers into the meat of his thigh when he spots a hint of black lace. He has to remind himself that you’re here for your assignment and not a booty call. At least he’ll have plenty of spank bank material for later, as shameless as that sounds – he knows for a fact that he’s not the only person having not so chaste thoughts when it comes to you. He’s seen the careful looks you get whenever the two of you grab coffee together; gazes heavy with superficial desire, tracing your curves but freezing when they meet your steely eyes. As much as you’re desired, you’re just as feared too with your cold glares and sharp tongue, that deals out verbal lashings like it’s a knife.
Never has Donnie wanted a woman to get mad at him deliberately until he’s met you. He should really study the way you bring out every masochistic streak he didn’t know he had within him.
“How would you describe the texture of the spines?” Your velvety voice snaps him out of his head just as much as it causes all his thoughts to hit the brakes with a screech. Your face is tilted up to watch him, but he finds it really hard to concentrate when his dick is literally right there, so close. For a moment, Donnie rolls his planned response around on his tongue – would he be too forward? But hell, how much more forward can you get with your hard as rock junk in your maybe-crush’s face.
This is about the assignment , the logical part of his brain hisses. Why not take a chance , the more primal part whispers almost seductively, let them choose .
His tongue traces along his sharpened teeth. “Would you like to find out?”
The look you fixate him with has a scorching quality to it. While your face doesn’t crack at all, your eyes tell a different story. Your shoulders straighten up then, rolling back easily. Suddenly, there are fingertips touching his shins, slowly dragging up before your palms settle on his knees, almost as if you’re keeping them open. The arm he has still thrown over the back of the couch tenses, fingers clawing into the fabric to ground himself at the feeling and at the sight of the near innocuous tilt of your head.
“Fine,” you say. It sounds like a purr.
Your hands start crawling up his thighs, and Donnie knows you can feel his muscles jump beneath them at the sensation. He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth when one of your hands gently circles the base of his cock, holding it steady as your thumb presses into the prominent muscle running up the underside of his shaft. Your palm is soft yet scorching to the touch, and Donnie exhales sharply through his nostrils as he watches.
The warm brown of your skin looks so nice against the dark green of his own, and his breath hitches audibly when he feels a finger of your other hand run delicately over his spines. You idly map out their shape, gently prodding to test their firmness and rubbing experimentally to get a feel for the texture. It’s all near erotically clinical and Donnie knows if he gets too into it, it will become a problem for all his future doctor visits.
“They’re firmer than I thought,” you murmur, your thumb pressing his cock back a little further to closely examine it.
A short, breathless chuckle escapes him at that. “You were fantasizing already?” he teases, nerves alight with mounting pleasure and lust, sitting hot in his belly. The look he gets is not quite a glare, despite its piercing quality. He can feel your soft exhales against his cock, and he’s pretty sure you felt him twitch.
“I was speculating ,” you correct him. You have yet to stop your soft strokes over his spines, and it makes it incredibly hard to concentrate.
“Do you got anymore… speculations then, Doctor?” he manages to say rather breathlessly. He’s pretty sure his dopamine levels are shooting through the roof and making him almost delirious, but he has little care for that right now. “How about… taste ?”
There’s that look again – intense, piercing, not quite a glare, but just as fiery. There’s a twitch in the corner of your mouth, just the tiniest curl ticking upwards. Gracefully, you lift your finger away from his shaft – a string of pre-cum stretches along until it breaks, as you use your other fingers to delicately tuck your hair behind your ear. You keep your gaze steady, unmoving, as if daring him to look away as you tilt his cock a little lower.
Donnie doesn’t look away. Instead, with his heart going crazy behind his ribs, he bears witness to you sliding your pink tongue out between your glossy lips. Your dark, smoldering eyes burn into his own as you bring your head closer until he can feel your warm breath on the tip of his cock. Your tongue feels like a brand on his flared head, the long, languid lick over the little slit leaving a tingling trail that has him bite back a punched-out sounding groan. Instead, a deep rumble vibrates from his throat as he watches you lift your head away, his pre-cum thin and shiny on your still outstretched tongue.
Almost on instinct, his hand gripping his thigh like a lifeline snaps up to grab your jaw, keeping you close. You don’t resist or make a noise – instead, you keep your tongue displayed before making a show out of pulling it back in and swallowing . He feels it. He knows that you know that he can feel it, you minx.
“How do I taste, Doctor,” he demands to know, nerves frayed with the desire to rip up the hair-thin shroud of propriety you both pretend to still have.
The weight of your hands back on his knees increases as you lift yourself upward, the corners of your glossy lips curling. “Would you like a sample?”
Your lips meet halfway, him still cradling your jaw to keep you close as he wastes no time in devouring your mouth. His tongue is longer and bigger than yours, easily wrapping around your own to taste himself and letting the pointed tip tickle the roof of your mouth. Your teeth descend upon him, not to break skin, but a firm pressure to exude a semblance of control as he loosens his hold, moaning when you suck his tongue in. He’s so lost in the sensation of the slippery heat, he unconsciously cranes his neck to chase after you when you separate your lips with a wet noise, your chin leaving his fingers. His vision swims for a bit, your silhouette before him hazy at the edges, except for your lips. They appear a little darker, a little fuller, shiny with spit as your tongue glides over the bottom lip to catch the string of saliva connecting your mouths still. A drip escapes, and Donnie’s eyes follow it, watching how it drops onto your heaving chest, disappearing in the valley between your breasts.
He surges forward, tongue already licking up the little trail and dipping them into the warmth of the valley, tracing the curve. Maybe now he can fulfil his dream of burying his face between your tits and let his teeth catch the front of your bra to yank it off. His plans are foiled by a soft hand pressing firmly against his throat. The sensation has him let go of a trembling exhale as he freezes, letting the hand push him back against the sofa.
You’re standing on your two feet again, leaning into him with one hand on his knee, the other caressing the length of his throat, your thumb running gently over his adam’s apple. In this position, he vaguely thinks that your ass must look fantastic if he could see it. There’s a low, sultry chuckle, that’s pleasantly raspy at the edges and has his cock twitching.
“ So eager,” you murmur, your face towering over Donnie’s. There’s an amused quirk in your lips with a wicked glint in your dark eyes. “I suppose, you do deserve a reward for being so well-behaved.”
Whatever witty quip he had ready on his tongue immediately dies in his mouth at your words – instead, it’s replaced by an embarrassingly needy hum in the back of his throat. You huff, clearly pleased by his reaction.
“Be good a little longer and stay,” you purr, your hands leaving him as you straighten up. Reaching back, you grab the hair tie keeping your tresses in a knot, pulling it free. Donnie thinks you look absolutely divine with your hair fanning out behind you, almost like a deceptive halo, catching the warm yellow and playful purple lights. Shaking your head a bit, you brush your hair back, before gathering it all, deftly tying them up into a high ponytail. The implications of the hairstyle change has him restless, but he tries to relax into the couch, arms over the back of it and enjoying the show when you redirect your hands to the front of your blouse.
Each button you pop open reveals more skin, more hints of that tantalizing black lace as you pull the fabric out of your pencil skirt, letting it peel away from your shoulders. In the same movement as you slip out of your blouse, you pull down the zipper on the side of your skirt, tugging it over the flare of your hips. Both articles of clothing pool to the floor as you reveal yourself to Donnie’s gaze alone, letting him drink up all your curves and every inch of skin. His eyes linger on your lingerie; a black lace strappy bralette and matching high-cut string panties, something less extravagant than you usually wear if you’re being honest, but you didn’t really plan on getting into this situation today.
Needless to say, you hum with satisfaction when Donnie licks his lips and says; “I knew you’d look marvelous in lace.”
You tilt your head, cocking your hips to the side and resting a hand on it. “Now, who’s the one fantasizing here.”
He shrugs, eyes still running up and down your body. “Once or twice.” Oh, it’s absolutely more than that, but you don’t need to know.
“Hm, shameless boy,” you scold him in that pleased tone of yours as you sink back down on your knees, your hands finding his thighs again. “I should’ve known, with how much you like to stare at my chest.”
Once more, you reach behind yourself, and Donnie’s cock visibly twitches when he realizes you’re taking off your bra. Your breasts spill out with a slight bounce, that has his mouth watering, your nipples a delightful darker brown shade than your skin. He wants to lick them. Instead, he curls his fingers into fists, letting the nails bite into his palms to use the pain to squash down the pathetic moan that wants to escape him when he feels your bare chest press up against his shaft.
“You could’ve left your bra on,” he rasps, shimmying his hips ever so slightly to slip his cock between your tits.
You let him do so, but scoff derisively. “And let you stain a $100 bra? Not very likely.”
“I would’ve replaced it.”
“You’d forgo the money that you would’ve spent on pizza and soda?” You lean forward, elbows slotting over his hips comfortably. Your skin is soft against his dick, the head now resting against your cheek, almost as if you’re nuzzling it in affection, as your eyes glimmer. “How romantic of you.”
He gives you a near lecherous grin. “If you let me choose the design, I’ll feel inclined to spend even more.”
That gets him a chuckle; short, breathy and amused. You turn your head, getting your lips onto his shaft, just under the spade-shaped tip. “I have a feeling you’d get me something that hardly covers anything.” Your tongue dips into his slit, licking away a pearl of pre. “In the color purple, no less.”
Donnie’s cock throbs, all warm and snug between your breasts, as he thinks of you in a strappy little number made of royal purple. You’re right – he’d pick the most indecent design he can find, something made of lace and silk and sheer tulle in places where it shouldn’t be, and you’d look superb in it.
He exhales shakily and finally dares to get his hands on you. Your heavily lidded gaze observes him closely, as you mouth against his shaft, paying special attention to the prominent muscle bulging from the underside of it with your wicked tongue. With near reverent fingers, he cups your tits from the sides, squishing his cock between them in delicious velvet warmth. They have a pleasant weight to them, the fatty tissue spilling slightly through the gaps of his fingers as he squeezes them. He licks his lips at the feeling, running his thumbs over your dusky nipples and feeling them harden under his touch as he digs the pads of his fingers in.
“Someone’s having fun,” you muse against his dick, and Donnie’s eyes flit towards your face. There’s a flush darkening across your cheeks, and your mouth is glistening with his pre-cum. “Enjoying your reward?”
He smirks. “Very much, thank you,” he purrs, before clamping down on your nipples with his thumbs and pulling. Your reaction is everything he’d hoped for – your shoulders jump and your back arches, pretty eyes screwing shut as you press your lips together to muffle the moan that hums over his cock. He lessens the pressure, but doesn’t let go, idly kneading the hardened nubs between his fingers with silent delight.
“That was rude ,” you tell him huskily, biting your bottom lip at a particularly mean tug.
“You like it,” Donnie says, staring at the way your breasts stretch with each pull. There’s a dark mole on your right tit, and he wishes he could bend down far enough to drop a kiss on it. A thin layer of sweat covers the both of you at this point, and the sheen gives your skin a beautiful glow. Together with it and his pre-cum, that had been steadily weeping from his cock, he feels like he’s been properly lubed up enough. He lets go of your nipples, churring appreciatively at their slightly swollen appearance from his greedy fingers, and grabs the sides of your tits again. “C’mon, I wanna cash in my reward now.”
The first roll of his hips is interrupted by a cruel pinch to the outside of his thighs, and he really shouldn’t have moaned at the brief bout of pain from it. Despite his body screaming at him to go ahead and fuck your tits, he obeys the silent command and stills, growling lowly.
“Naughty boy,” you chide him, straightening up a little to rake your nails down the length of his thighs. The muscles jump at the feeling, trembling as Donnie drops his head forward, face scrunching up and groaning quietly. You soothe the burning trails with your palms, letting them snake up and down his thighs as he pants, lifting his eyes to meet your expectant gaze. “What do we say?”
Honestly, he wants to be stubborn, he wants to be a brat , and see how far he can push it before you decide to really discipline him. He wants to know what you’ll do, what kind of pleasure-pain will be inflicted upon him.
Huh. Maybe his masochistic streak is bigger than he thought.
However, his body begs him for release – he’s been hard long enough, he’s endured a voyeuristic borderline edging session and now his dick is finally getting the touch it craves. Perhaps, he should reschedule being a brat for a next time.
He swallows down his snippy retort and instead caresses the sides of your breasts again by rubbing circles into your skin with his thumbs. “… please ,” he mutters, “please reward me.”
You smile – it’s small, seductive and oh so pleased, and it takes his breath away.
“ Good boy ,” you coo and place a wet kiss onto the tip of his cock. “Go on, fuck my tits.”
He doesn’t have to be told twice, and bites down on his bottom lip to contain an eager grin. With a firm grip, he squeezes your breasts together, creating a snug and impossibly warm sleeve for his dick to fuck into. He rolls his hips and can’t contain the satisfied moan that slips from his throat at the slick slide, lighting up his veins with a rush of pure pleasure. Everything feels so soft and wet, your tits easily mold around his cock like they were made for it.
Donnie rocks his hips upward in earnest now, trying to get as much of his shaft between your breasts, when he feels your hands slip under his own. “So needy,” you murmur over the wet noise you’re producing. You sound highly amused. “Let me help you along, darling .”
The pet-name has him stutter in his rhythm as he groans a little, loosening his hold on your chest to cradle your hands instead. And as he keeps thrusting, you begin to match his pace, letting your tits glide up and down along his twitching cock. Donnie can feel the telltale throb beginning in his spines, which are slowly expanding outward. The change does not go unnoticed.
“Cumming already?” you ask him, your low voice sweet and dangerous. “My, how sensitive you are, hon. But I suppose we really dragged out the foreplay.”
He growls at your teasing words, but it falls flat, turning into lustful churrs not even halfway through. His mind is muddled, bathing in a dopamine explosion as he pants, feeling a bit of drool escape his mouth despite clenching his teeth. Throughout his chase after his own high, he’s back to pressing his shoulders into the couch, leveraging his hips for easier maneuvering.
It feels so good .
“What a sight you make,” you purr, your eyes never leaving his own heavy-lidded ones, that watch you with desire burning bright. “I think I quite like this side of you; desperate and obedient.”
Donnie bares his teeth at you, snout wrinkling in defiance, and yet you have the gall to titter. Much to his ire and delight, you drop your mouth open, letting your tongue loll out to slide alongside his cock. It runs over his swollen spines, and the hypersensitivity has him release a moan so filthy it makes his ears ring and face flush hotter than ever before. He can spot the amused satisfaction dancing in your eyes, and he growl-churrs again – until he smirks. Despite his shaky hands, he manages to slide them back towards the front of your breasts.
You lift your tongue away. “Don’t you dare– ah !”
The tug on your nipples is almost cruel, and yet you shudder with delight when he rolls them between his fingers, unmerciful. Your composure begins to crack as you drive your teeth into your bottom lip to keep from making any other noise as you give Donnie a weak glare, that you know will have no effect. How will it – you’re on your knees, presenting your tits to him on a silver platter and doused in pre-cum. It shouldn’t make you as wet as it does, but you feel your cunt clench around nothing all the same.
“Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy this, sweetheart,” Donnie manages to hiss between his breathless pants, the knot within his belly slowly unraveling. “Don’t think that I didn’t notice you staring at my cock with more than professional interest.” He gives your nipples a little twist, and sadistic desire sparks up along his spine when he hears a hitched little moan. “Did you wonder if you could take me whole? What I would feel like? What depths I could reach within you?”
He’s rewarded with an actual moan, soft and lilting – it’s the prettiest sound he’s heard in a long time. Satisfied, he lets go and slide his hands back over your own as you works over his cock. Your face is delightfully flushed, bottom lip plump with all the times you buried your teeth in it, and eyes alight with begrudging pleasure.
“Just for that, you better finish soon,” you growl, “my patience with you is wearing thin.”
Donnie grins, all lust-drunk. “Yes, ma’am .”
He’s getting close anyway, so he presses your breasts a little closer, tightening the space and canting his hips a little higher. His sensitive spines sing with pleasure as they rub along the soft, smooth expanse of your skin. Fuck, it feels so fucking good . Not to mention the sight; your heavy tits bouncing along with every thrust, so soft and malleable in his big hands. He’s in love.
“Come on now, Don,” your husky voice tells him, feeling like encouraging fingers curling beneath his chin. “Don’t you want to see what I look like painted with your cum?”
The mental image of it, of you – prim, proper, pretty – on your knees, with his cum running down over your ample bosom, the white contrasting with your warm brown skin, with the pink of your tongue as you swallow it down. That pretty much does it for him. He chases after it like a dream, a string of incoherent agreements spilling from his mouth as he fucks up into your tits, cock throbbing something fierce when he finally tips over the edge.
He moans, long and loud, feeling the ropes of cum release as he keeps rolling his hips, up into the welcoming warmth and softness until his body starts to tingle unpleasantly from the overstimulation. He slows to a stop and opens his eyes – when had he even closed them? The sight that greets him is almost enough to get him hard again.
His mental image hadn’t been too far from reality– his cum does form a fantastic contrast to your skin, your breasts now decorated with strings and splatters of it like paint. What gets to him, though, is the singular droplet sliding down your cheek. Your eyes are ablaze with lust as your tongue snakes out between your lips, catching the droplet as it slides down close to your mouth. Donnie shudders. Not just at the image, but also when he feels your hand snaking around the base of his dick.
“Watch the merchandise,” he mutters, still feeling a bit too boneless to do anything else. All he gets is an inquisitive hum as he feels you inspect his length.
“Interesting,” you murmur, “they do expand quite a bit.”
Donnie sends you an unimpressed stare. “You’re not seriously back to your assignment after… this .”
You look up from analyzing the softly pulsating spines, pupils still blown. “It is still a project after all, Donatello. Besides, I assume you may be a bit too tired for anything…further.”
He wrinkles his snout at the assumption. Sure, his dick is spent, especially now that his spines are out and definitely won’t be fitting in anywhere else, but his nostrils flare with the scent of arousal that is coming from you. He grabs your wrists.
“My mouth still works just fine.”
You stare up at him with a heated look. “I can tell,” you say, before tilting your head. He eyes your bared neck, licking his lips as you consider him for a second. “Do you want to show me how grateful you are?”
For a toe-curling, spine-tingling tit-fuck, that will certainly be the subject of all his upcoming fantasies for the next few months? “Yes, ma’am.”
There’s a satisfied quirk to your lips as you let yourself be manhandled into switching positions. In no time, Donnie’s on his knees between your own, pressing his snout into your soft stomach. There’s a trail of his own cum slowly running down the length of your skin, and he licks it up, following the line to your breasts. He can’t help but place a wet, open-mouthed kiss to the underside of one of them, tracing the heavy curve.
“I think you’ve veered off into the wrong direction, darling,” you muse, left elbow propped up on the armrest of the couch to lean your chin onto your hand. You look almost regal, even with his cum on your tits, ever so composed. Donnie can’t wait to see you when he gets your legs to shake, so he looks you right in the eyes, craning his neck to lave his tongue directly over your nipple. Your hand finds his jaw, squeezing in warning. “ Behave .”
His mouth quirks up into a cheeky little grin, and he pushes it just one more times by blowing onto your nipple, still wet with his saliva, before repeating; “ Yes, ma’am .”
He retreats, pressing kisses onto your skin as he goes, and daring to suck a hickey into the crease where your pelvis and hip meet. His big hands wander up your calves, lifting them, so he can settle the hollows of your knees over his broad shoulders as his fingers press into the meat of your thighs. He can feel your strong muscles in them and follows their lines up to the curves of your hips, relishing the shape. Up there, he hooks one finger on each hand under the sides of your panties.
Here, between your warm thighs, Donnie can smell you the strongest. The scent of your arousal is thick and heady, goading him into taking a deep breath and really savor it – because he did this, he’s sure. You have gotten this turned on and wet because of him . He can feel you crossing your ankles on his back just as he presses his snout right into your core.
You jump a little at the sudden action, but he doesn’t give you time to adjust, not when he can finally feel just how soaked you really are. His tongue lolls out almost immediately, prodding at the wet patch on your black lace, feeling it give and dip inwards. Your cunt twitches against the sensation, and Donnie can only imagine how you would feel like, tightening around his tongue. But maybe he doesn’t have to simply fantasize for long.
Widening his open jaw, he begins mouthing at you in earnest, soaking your panties even more with his saliva. He runs his tongue over the vague shapes of your labia, following it upwards to where your clit should be. Your thighs close in on him – there’s a mild tremble in them, he notes with smug, smug satisfaction.
“You’re ruining them,” he hears you grumble – it sounds a bit breathless, much to his delight. He places a deceptively sweet kiss onto your clothed clit.
“My apologies,” he churrs against your pubic bone, already tugging at the lace, “let me remedy that then.”
You hum and lift your legs from his shoulders, allowing him to slide off your panties with relative ease. You aren’t really aware where off to he throws your underwear, not with how one of his hands is enough to keep your knees together. He pushes them towards you, effectively folding you in half before he parts your legs. It’s an obscene display, your pussy bare to the world, to him, as you silently thank your flexibility at the near split he’s forcing your thighs into. Donnie’s fingers knead along the length of your thighs, almost reverently, as he stares down at you with dark, dark eyes.
“ Beautiful …” he says, voice deep and raspy as he views your cunt with obvious hunger, “just like I always imagined it.”
The thought of him – cranky, arrogant, self-assured Donatello – having dirty fantasies of you makes you twitch. The fact that you apparently have such a hold over the thoughts of someone like him turns you on immensely. That he so openly desires you…you can see why someone would get such a big ego from it. You feel sexy, you feel powerful , and he lets you display it to your heart's content, even as he descends upon you with vicious intent.
His mouth is on your cunt in an instant, the sensation amplified now that there isn’t a piece of fabric in the way. The hot wetness of his mouth sends sparks up your spine and you can’t help the slight arch in your back when his tongue prods at your entrance. He slips inside not a second later, the long, pointed muscle not wasting any time in exploring your velvet walls and feeling you squeeze around it. You dig your teeth into your bottom lip – of course this menace had to be just as skilled with his tongue as he is with his fingers. A sweet kind of torture, sucking on your labia and latching onto your clit with a mean kind of suction, that has you throw an arm over the back of the couch, clawing at the fabric.
To hell with your composure, this feels too good not to relish in it. You fully arch your back, releasing your bottom lip from the grip of your teeth and let loose of a high keen. Your toes curl and the stretch of your thighs burns, but Donnie doesn’t let up. The sound only seems to encourage him more, because now you can feel the hint of teeth on you. You moan, eyes fluttering shut. And it’s because of this, your thighs jolt when you feel a thick finger sliding over your entrance, almost lovingly, before it dips in.
“Ah– fuck !” you swear breathlessly, canting your hips to encourage his finger to press in deeper. You’d always wondered how those fingers would feel like, considering the size of his palms, and his fingers seemed as wide as two of your own together. The stretch is delicious, finally chasing away that feeling of emptiness within you, that had settled in your cunt when Donnie had revealed his cock to you.
Heavens , his cock. Never have you wanted to sink down on a dick more than when he showed his own. The size, the girth, the spines. You wanted it.
At the feeling of a second finger trying to enter you, you keen, high and breathy. This time, the stretch burns a little as your cunt works overtime to adjust to the thickness of two fingers. The tongue laving over your clit is a great distraction, until Donnie crooks his fingers in a come-hither motion, pressing right up against your g-spot. Your legs shake and you gasp.
“There you are,” you hear him churr over the rush of blood in your ears. Your hips roll down into his hand, fingers sinking deeper into you as his thumb hones in on your clit, rubbing idle but firm circles that have you shuddering in pleasure. “You look like a dream come true, my dear.”
His lust for you is audible in his voice. You undulate your hips, craving more of that full feeling within your cunt. His fingers keep moving, stroking your walls with reverence.
“Do you like my fingers that much?” he asks, sinking his teeth into your thigh with a pressure that will surely leave a very noticeable mark. “Or are you imagining something else filling you.” As if to make a point, he drives his digits into you harder – your breath hitches, your nerves alight. “Tell me.”
It takes you every ounce of self-control that you can scrape together still to give him a lustful glare over your rocking hips, your face no doubt flushed and hair a mess. “Watch your tone,” you warn him, your voice rough. “The only thing I’m telling you is – oh ! — is to make me cum on those fingers of yours.”
Donnie chuckles against your leg, matching the pace of your hips with his hand. “Yes, ma’am .”
What follows is hard to describe, considering your brain kind of shut off for a bit, letting lust and pleasure take over. You just let your hips ride his fingers, your thighs shaking from exertion and your belly grows tighter and tighter; you’re getting close, you can almost taste it.
“Mouth–” you gasp, “put your mouth on me, I want to cum on your tongue.”
He obeys you without question, replacing his thumb with his mouth, snaking his tongue around your clit before sucking. All the while, he’s driving his fingers right into your g-spot, filling your veins with lightning until you burst like a live-wire. Your climax crashes over you like a great big wave, sweeping you away into the depths of pleasure, and you let yourself be dragged down, down, down until you can’t breathe anymore.
Your chest heaves still as you blink, staring up at the stupid popcorn ceiling of Donnie’s apartment. He’s long since stopped moving, but you can still feel his fingers inside of you. With a soft groan, you stretch out your back as best as you can, and he seems to take that it as his cue to remove himself. The lewd squelching sound that follows as his fingers exit you drives a warmth into your cheeks. You finally glance down.
Donnie’s chin is wet, the faint purple stripes glistening in the light. He’s regarding his soaked fingers with interest before eyeing you. There’s a lecherous little grin growing on his face and he keeps his gaze steady with yours as he brings his fingers to his mouth. His long, dexterous tongue begins sweeping over his skin, licking up every trace of you. You watch, greedy satisfaction curling low in your gut. His other hand gently pushes one of your thighs up and then down, laying it over the other to finally relieve you of the stretch.
“Next time,” he murmurs when he’s done with his hand, “next time I’m definitely fucking you with my dick.”
He drops a kiss onto your hipbone as if to seal a promise.
Next time.
Next time , definitely.
Donnie’s roommate returns home to the apartment door opening before him, just as he steps out of the elevator. The authoritative click of heels is heard, heralding the arrival of a familiar face.
“Oh, hey Doc! Came for a visit?”
You give him a pleasant little nod, meeting him halfway in the hall on your way to the elevator. “Just for some…assistance with a project. Donatello had been so kind to help me out.”
“Well, that’s nice of him to do!”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Donnie grouses, appearing in the door frame, hands shoved into the pockets of his pants.
“Don’t worry about it, man,” his roommate chuckles before turning back to you. “Are you heading home? Do you need a ride?”
There’s a hint of a smile on your lips at his offer. “Oh, I’ll be quite alright. There will be a direct bus in a few minutes for me to catch.”
“Kay, stay safe, yeah? And text us when you get home,” he tells you as you begin to leave.
“I will, I will,” you say with an amused sigh, wiggling your finger in their direction. “Have a good night, you two.”
“Night, Doc!”
“Until next time, Doctor,” Donnie drawls weirdly cryptic. You shoot him an unreadable look over your shoulder as you enter the elevator.
“Hmph,” you huff, “I’m sure.” Your lips curl slightly just as the door closes on you, and then, you’re gone.
Retreating into the apartment, Donnie makes idle talk with his roommate, who invites him to play some video games with him. The mutant nods, before mentioning; “Stay away from the couch – Doc spilled soda on it. And me.” He saunters off to his room. “I’m gonna go change, my pants smell like Pepsi.”
“Hah, gross.”
Donnie rolls his eyes at the playful jab and retreats to his room, where he sees his phone on his desk light up with a message notification. Carefully, he lightly kicks his door close and swipes at the screen.
This definitely counts as a fulfilled IOU , he reads and chuckles. Finally, he fishes his other hand from his pocket, still holding onto the pretty black lace of your panties. Idly, he rubs it between his fingers, relishing the feel of the fabric. He lifts it close to his face and drops a sweet kiss onto it as he begins to type.
We can debate that.