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“Let’s not go out tonight.”
Jayce’s suggestion comes suddenly, though not unexpectedly. He’d been clingy for most of today, so it’s not that you’re surprised when he suggests you ditch your shared Saturday night plans.
“Are you sure?”
He pokes his head out of your shared bedroom, shrugs with naked shoulders. “I mean, unless you wanna go to that new restaurant that badly—“
When he notices your gaze lingering on what’s visible of his bare shoulder and collarbone, he forgets himself, and gives a sly little smile. You resist the urge to pounce on him and devour him, then and there, pretty brown eyes, long lashes and all.
“I’ll live,” you decide, making no effort to hide a smirk of your own, voice falling into a playful lilt. “Are you still naked?”
Jayce grins a boyish, playful smile, then disappears behind the doorframe. You swear you can hear him muffle a giggle – or trying to. “Mmmmaybe.”
God help you, you don’t think you’ve ever loved anyone this much.
“Couldn’t decide on an outfit?” You taunt, stepping away from your front door, hanging up your keys near it. You’re not going to complain about getting to stay in and touch him. It’s what you’d been hoping tonight would end with anyway. “Or did it take you that long to work up the courage to ask me to stay in so we could fuck?”
“Hey, hey, hey,” Jayce interrupts, tone suddenly serious. He stands in the doorframe now, though not leaning sexily or batting his eyelashes at you the way you like — he’s sternly pointing at your feet. “We said no outside shoes in the living room. Especially not on the carpet.”
Ah.
You glance down at your new boots — you’d bought them last week, had been saving them for an occasion, to show them off before you were bound to ruin them at one point or another just like all your other shoes.
“These boots are brand new, sweetheart, relax,” you assure, presenting their spotless surface as if to prove your point. He squints for a second, but judging by how his features soften the next, he decides to believe you. “Now c’mere.”
And he does, hurrying out of your shared bedroom like an eager puppy, wearing just his plain black boxers as he makes his way across the room to you, smile wide with excitement.
You’ve definitely made the right choice tonight.
His half naked body’s warmth permeates through your clothes, soaks through them all the way to your skin within seconds into your embrace. You kiss under his jaw and find that it smells of freshly applied cologne, bitter on your tongue. Jayce becomes putty in your hands quickly, willingly, like he’d been aching to do it.
His breath catches in his throat when your hands settle at his hips, and he’s quick to grind them against you, needy. “Mmmh, touch me,” he says, taking one step closer to you, searching to tuck his face under your jaw, where there’s comfort, warmth, where there’s you.
You slip his boxers off his pelvis easily and Jayce kicks them away like they’ve bothered him. His dick is even hotter than the rest of him, he grinds it against your clothed front like he’s starved for it. It’s endearing, how he shivers in your arms, muscles trembling as your hands squeeze at his perky ass, then work their way up, up, up.
“Please, baby, been thinking about you all day, need you to touch me—“
Not today. Today, you want to hear him beg.
Your hand in his hair tightens, pulls him back, and when he comes into view, face contorted into a disappointed little frown and big dark eyes searching your face in dazed confusion, you find that he looks not so different from a puppy being picked up by the scruff.
“I’ll touch you if you earn it, sweetheart. Do you want to do that tonight?”
You don’t even need to hear his reply to know he’s sold on the idea. It’s still wonderful that you get to, though.
“God, yes.”
He’s quick to nod with enthusiasm, even quicker to follow when you let go of his hair and turn.
You sit on the couch easily, legs spread, and he doesn’t even need to be told to kneel and crawl up between your thighs — he just does, eyes hungry and hands hungrier. Palms running up your clothed legs like they’re the last thing he’ll get to touch, stopping at your hips, trailing forward to undo your pants, yanking at them before he even undoes the zipper all the way. It snaps open as he tugs your pants down to your knees anyway. His five o’clock shadow is bristly on your inner thigh, bristly still even through the fabric of your underwear while he presses his face against your clothed cunt, slurring out how much he’s missed you, missed this, wanted you so bad, couldn’t stop thinking about how good you smell—
“Hey. Did I say you could touch me?”
He stops, frozen. But he does not pull away.
“Please,”Jayce breathes in a desperate, barely-audible little voice, “wanna taste you. I’ll make it so good for you, lick and suck you just the way you like it.”
While he talks, he draws in a thorough inhale against your core, strong arms winding around your legs while he breathes you in, the scent of you. His whole body shakes with it, and for once, his moan isn’t whiny or desperate; it comes out raspy, debauched, intoxicated.
“Oooh, fuuck—“
His voice catches on the k, timed with your heavy handed tug on the hair at the back of his head. He’s breathless now, but his face is still obstinately, obsessively buried in your crotch, arms winded around your thighs.
“Jayce.”
Your tone is firm, leaves no room for disagreements. His grip on your thighs goes slack, but Jayce doesn’t pull away.
The best he can manage is whimpering for mercy — and he does a stellar job, coupling it with glancing up at you through long, damp lashes with pleading eyes. But you’ve grown a certain resistance to that, in all your time spent together.
He draws in an unsteady breath through his mouth, jaw slack, but falling open wide as you grip it steadily, thumb and forefinger pressing into his cheeks on either side to keep it open. His eyes fall closed, and you know that he knows what you’re going to do.
A second of jaw-clenching and working up of saliva later, you spit on his tongue.
“Ahn…” He half-hums, half-gasps with obvious delight. Whatever’s left of Jayce’s brilliant, brilliant brain melts away then and there, in the palm of your hand.
“What did I say?”
“ ‘m sorry,” he replies, and sounds earnest, like he didn’t know better, like he had no choice but to yearn for you. “I can’t—“
“Can’t help it, I know,” you interrupt. “Can’t help putting your sloppy slut mouth on anything that looks and smells like me.” He quivers, all of him, with all his might and size, reduced to a shaky mess by nothing more than just your words. “Aw… poor dumb puppy needs to be taught a lesson in patience, doesn’t he?”
Jayce whines, eyes glazing over and going wide all at once.
“Oh, I know just what you need.”
You could never get enough of the true, genuine fear, combined with brainless, instinctual horniness in his eyes as he awaits your next cruel command with blind, drunk compliance.
“What do I need—“ and he realizes that’s not the right question, “what do I do?”
“Hands on my knees, sweetheart. And don’t you dare take them off — I wanna see them there throughout all of this.”
He does as told, settling both big hands atop each of your bare thighs, fingers pressing into skin and flesh as if to promise they would not budge, that he’d be good, so good.
Poor thing.
“Shouldn’t even let you watch this time,” you decide. You know it excites him just as much as it pains him; when he begs, he means it half-heartedly, because some part of him burns with excitement at the prospect of denial. He yearns to be told no, just to see how much he can let go, how downright brainless he can become in his dazed, depraved desperation.
“No, please,” he whimpers, “please, I need to see you, please don’t do this to me.”
Which is all the more incentive to do the exact opposite.
So you slide your hand into your underwear, fabric stretched taut over your knuckles as you begin touching yourself. You make a show of it, throwing your head back and humming with delight.
It hits Jayce exactly where it needs to. Eyes wide, he watches where the fabric of your underwear stretches and bulges above the frantic movements of your hand, clearly trying to fill in the gaps with whatever’s left of his bright imagination.
Judging by his frustration, there’s not much left of it.
His fingers dig into your thigh while he can’t do anything but look, transfixed, starved, desperate.
There should be some guilt involved in just how much his pained expression gets you off — but there are better things to think about than guilt. Like the pinch of his brows, curled up into a desperate little frown, the pout of his spit-slick lips, his damp dark lashes fluttering as his eyes close. It only hits you that he’s been slowly leaning in, nuzzling against your thigh, his shivery inhale cold against your skin.
“Jayce.”
And you’d been foolish to think that he’d even respond to his own name now, when he’s so far gone. No, he needs more than just his name.
Before you can really think about it, you lift one foot, press it against his abdomen, steady, unmoving, merciless.
“Hey. ‘M talking to you — what do you think you’re doing?”
Jayce takes a beat longer than he usually does to answer. Even in a setting such as this one. When he replies, his voice isn’t wrecked, it’s tight and winded and quiet, like he’s holding a breath. His stomach goes concave beneath the tip of your boot.
“W-wasn’t gonna—“ Jayce has to squeeze his eyes shut and swallow to find his words — a desperate attempt at rebooting his brain. “Wasn’t gonna touch, I promise. I just wa-ah, hnn—“
It’s when you press the rest of your boot down, too, and find plenty of resistance below your heel, that you realize his cock is tucked between the sole of your boot and his tummy. Next thing you know, he falls apart with the newfound pressure.
A lucky — or unlucky, for him — circumstance that you can certainly work with.
If he wants you to. You wait for a beat, say his name gently, so different from your previously taunting tone, while your foot lifts, slow. You don’t get past the a in his name before his hand grasps at your ankle, tugs your foot back against him, against his crotch.
“Yes,” he says, and then, when you give him what he wants and place some weight back on his cock, “oh, god.”
Jayce is resisting the urge to curl in on himself, face scrunched up in a delicious rendition of pathetic, frantic desperation. His body disobeys, and his legs part. You hadn’t expected any less.
“What’s wrong?” You ask, feigning cluelessness in a cruel way that even he can catch onto easily.
He swallows a mouthful of thick saliva, goes to open his mouth to reply, but his voice does not cooperate when you press your boot against his cock.
“A-ah, fuck, mmh, can’t—“
And he’s not lying. He can’t. Can’t think, can’t manage to get out anything more coherent than a pitiful string of pleasepleaseplease and a sad little whine. Even when the press of your boot has to be bordering on painful, he grinds against it like a horny mutt, with a furrow of his brows that betrays his pain, and tight, determined lips that show he cares very little for it. He keeps at it, for minutes, until his cock is an angry red and he probably would’ve cum by now, had you been stroking him off instead of crushing his cock under your shoe.
“Jesus,” you laugh, mocking, “Jayce, are you getting off on this?”
Like it isn’t fucking obvious. Like it isn’t the most delectable sight you’ve been treated to all week; to have him at your feet – under your feet – drooling and whining and looking suspiciously close to just breaking out in goddamn tears.
The taunt, along with the pain that’s just enough to get him close, get him right there, but not over that edge – they must have done it for him, because next thing you know, a squeaky little hiccup interrupts him.
Jayce squeezes his eyes shut, drawing in a whistling inhale so fragile that it even makes his shoulders shake.
And then, he cries.
He buries his face against your thigh — a safe distance away from where your own hand still works you towards a slow, underwhelming release — cheeks wet and warm and red with fresh, fat tears, lashes sticking together in pretty, dark clumps, honeyed amber of his eyes all glassy and washed out. Jayce’s shoulders shake with the vehemence of his sobs, at first, before he grows frustrated with how it messes with the rhythm of his hips, and, with a sound that’s half growl, half whine, the twitching muscles of his arms and back clench, solid, unmoving, in spite of his persisting sniffles and whimpers. He’s fueled by the kind of fucked out determination he can only muster when he’s either in the depths of desperation or passion. His legs spreading even further – painfully so, because his hip joint gives a satisfying pop – tells you it’s both.
You didn’t think it were possible, but you can actually feel his cock palpably twitching under your shoe, and Jayce curls in on himself with a whine.
“Speak up, puppy, come on.”
“I just, i-it, it’s– m-mh…” Jayce loses his mental footing once more when you roll your heel against the head of his dick, the ridge of his glans catching against the ribbed surface.
His delirious little “ah” and a full-bodied flinch betray that there is more pleasure now, than there is pain, but he persists, for three more thrusts. Then, the tendons on his inner thighs flex, uncertain if he should keep his legs spread and chase an orgasm that will leave him aching, or clamp them shut to protect himself from the pain.
You decide to grant him a fraction of reprieve, before you’ll try to push at his limits and see if he can cum like this. You know he doesn’t need much – he’d orgasmed for you, once, just grinding against the zipper of his jeans while you’d just talked to him. And maybe that’s what he needs now, too. Encouragement.
“You’ll take anything, won’t you?” You ask, reapplying pressure on his hard-on steadily, increasingly. His fingernails prick at your thighs, his forehead drops to rest against your knee while he sobs. “That’s how desperate you are — enough to grind against the sole of my boot like a bitch in heat.”
You move your foot slightly further down, to rub at more of his engorged dick, until the head peeks out from behind the tip of your boot with every forward thrust of his hips, frenulum catching where the rubber of your boot meets the leather. His balls rest against your heel now, and you make sure to avoid putting any unnecessary weight on them. Jayce still flinches every time you step on his cock, scared and aroused with the premise of even more pain than he’s already taking so willingly.
“I’m sorry,” he blurts, though you know damn well he isn’t, because his eyes are falling lidded and his hips are once again meeting the slow back-and-forth of your foot. A hint that you’re steering him in the right direction. “I’m sorry, feels– feels good, so good, baby, I just don’t know if I can…”
“Try for me,” you say, on a tone that leaves no room for disagreements.
He nods, stupidly, blindly, putting all of his faith (which you know there is a lot of) in you. That’s always a privilege you do not take for granted.
“Okay,” he whines, “okay, I’ll do, I’ll try, I will, just– like this, keep going like this, please. Can’t– can’t take more, it hurts.”
And how could you not give it to him how he wants it, when he begs so pretty? What else are you supposed to do, when he trembles and mewls and drools with each grind of your boot against his cockhead?
“Yeah,” you mumble, a little lightheaded just from how he starts to grind faster, breathe harder, “go ahead.”
It would be a crime not to drink in the sight at (and under) your feet without starting to rub at yourself again with renewed vigor.
Jayce’s head lifts with the slick sounds, eyes searching, starving, ecstatic. They fall upon your underwear with wide-blown pupils, mouth hanging open like he’s just begging to have it used.
“Fuck,” he winces, and though briefly, you swear you can see his eyes rolling back into his skull with another swipe of your sole at his red, leaking tip, “fuuuck, baby, sounds so good, smells so good too, w-wish I could— hah, wish I could taste it. Wish I c-could see you.“
You don’t know what exactly gets to you. Maybe it’s the pitch of his voice, the tears that won’t stop rolling down his cheek, how his cock won’t stop drooling and twitching under your boot, maybe it’s how truly famished he sounds.
But you find yourself yanking down your underwear until it hangs uselessly off the foot you’re using to rub at him, and grabbing at the hair on his nape.
“Come on, puppy. All yours.”
Jayce dives straight for what you’re offering.
He mutters his thank-yous along the way, nuzzling at your cunt in the closest thing you’ve ever witnessed to true worship, before he moans like a man who’s been gifted water in a desert.
Even after he spreads the fat of his tongue up your dripping slit, even after he latches onto your clit like it was made to fit between his lips and nowhere else, moaning for the taste, the smell, moaning for you, Jayce can’t stop repeating the two words against your pussy like a mantra, thank you thank you thank you.
It hardly takes more than twisting your foot over his dick, heel pressing against his balls a little more than you’d planned when he rams his hips against your foot with a desperate whine. The pain of having his swollen cock nearly rubbed raw under your boot, the tantalizing press of your heel right above his balls, the prospect of deriving pleasure from being stepped on — his poor brain short circuits.
His praise falls apart on his tongue, caught between lapping at you, swallowing everything you’re giving, and making room for the moans that spill from his throat. Even that much becomes too much for him soon after, because next thing you know, his legs are clamping down around your foot.
“Are you gonna cum for me, puppy? Are you so fucking depraved that even getting your dick stepped on is enough to make you blow your load all over my new boots? Shouldn’t even let you, you’re gonna get your filth all over them.”
“Please,” he begs, voice tight and airy, “please, it hurts. I can’t— agh, I can’t…”
“You’re fucking perfect, so stupid and needy like this, come on, go ahead, cum for me, wanna see you.”
“‘M trying,” he repeats, glancing down at his own red, swollen dick like he’s willing it into doing what he wants it to, “it’s too much, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t…”
“You can. Focus on the pain, clench your tummy for me,” and he does, pudgy stomach caving under your boot. Fingernails dig into your thighs, and his mouth falls open, and his eyes fall shut, and, “good, there it is, let it happen.”
He ruts his hips once, twice, before his spunk shoots up his stomach and he mewls with his release, rendered stupid and useless. He can’t do much but press his face into your cunt, chaotically licking whatever’s within reach.
Jayce gasps for breath against your pussy, but parting from it to actually be able to breathe properly seems low on his list of priorities. It’s chaotic, how he licks at you, even messier than usual, but you find yourself enjoying it either way, scratching at his scalp in encouragement, parting your legs further for him.
Even through his need for air and overwhelming orgasm, Jayce powers through, driven by purpose. He whimpers and flinches with every brush of your sole against his oversensitive, still spurting cock, but he follows through, and it hits you just how honest he’d been about needing to taste you.
He laps at your pussy like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted out of this world; sloppy and fast and oh-so-lost in it. It works, though, the varying between broad strokes of his tongue and plunging it into your sopping hole, the sucking at your clit so desperate it leaves his cheeks hollow and makes your entire abdomen go tight with pleasure.
“Fuck, so desperate for me,” you groan, tilting your hips towards his face. Jayce nods, nose smushed against your clit, hums low and horny against your cunt like he’s starving for your orgasm.
“Mmf, god, yes,” Jayce groans, “desperate for your pussy… and your cum. Wanna taste your cum babe. Please…”
When he latches onto your neglected clit again, your hips shoot off the couch, chasing his mouth, and though only halfway on purpose, you crush his oversensitive cock against his slick stomach. The shaky, pained gasp he muffles against your clit, vibrating all the way into your stomach has you hunching over him and pressing his head between your legs.
You swear you can see white spots in your vision when the hot, tight pleasure snaps. Jayce squirms with pain, but works your clit through your orgasm anyway, stifling sobs and gasps into your pussy. He doesn’t let up even after your thighs ease up around his head and your hands go from pulling at his hair to gentle, soothing scratches.
He doesn’t stop until you tell him to, and even then, he disobeys for a few more seconds to sloppily lick up your oozing slit, kiss at your clit, then nuzzle your pubic mound.
He mutters something incoherent but ecstatic and reverent while you lift your foot off his cock, and rests his head against your thigh, his racing breath fanning your slick cunt.
“There you are,” you coo, gently brushing his hair off his sweaty forehead. For the first time since god knows how long, Jayce’s eyes gleam with a sliver of lucidity when they find yours.
It warms you, though, to see him just as lovesick as before as he emerges from between your legs, and crawls closer.
“Hang on,” you instruct with a firm hand at his collarbone, pushing him to sit back on his shins. He does, albeit a little shivery with everything crashing down on him post-sex. You know about it, not just because you’d had a burning suspicion after observing him for so long, but because he’s told you before. How everything becomes a little overwhelming to him after he cums — the brush of fabrics at his skin, sounds, the cold, the overwhelming dread of replaying everything he’s done so far and being hit with the (false) realization of how he’s been much too debauched, depraved, a degenerate (all good things in your book. Especially good on him.)
Jayce sits and waits for you to pick up the boxers you’d slipped off his hips what seems like hours ago, looks at you longingly even though you’re mere steps away. You reclaim your old spot on the couch, Jayce kneeling between your legs while you start to gently wipe him down with his boxers.
It works just barely; his release sticks to the fuzz on his tummy and chest, but it’ll do for now. You just need to hold him for a bit before you hop in the shower together, without having to worry about tossing your perfectly clean clothes in the wash along with his.
You inhale through gritted teeth when you work your way down to his cock. A pretty sight, but no doubt a painful one. There are red lines streaking it where the ridges of your rubber soles must have been rubbing at it, and it’s still ruddy, even though it’s gone soft.
“Does it hurt?”
Jayce shakes his head, gives a shrug. “Just sore.”
“Okay, that’s good.” You press a kiss to his sweaty cheek, he leans into it with his whole body. You let him, guide him to rest his head against your chest, scratching at his back idly.
“Unless…” There’s a cheeky little grin tugging at his lips when he looks your way. “Unless you wanna kiss it better, though, in which case, I’m in absolute agony.”
You snort out a laugh of your own, pulling him into your arms.
“Alright, how about we do that after we both take a shower?”
“Is it because you think my cock is dirty?” Jayce fake-gasps. “Did you step on my dick with disgusting outside boots? “
“Oh my god.”
His chest shakes with laughter now, you can feel it because he’s pressing up against you eagerly, like he’s missed it. You have, too.
“The only thing dirty on those boots is your cum, Jayce,” you assure. “They’re new, I swear.”
“I could uh,” Jayce shrugs, tries to sound uncaring, detached. You know he only does this when he’s suggesting something he’d really like to do, but tries to avoid putting any pressure on you. “I could always clean them up. You know, um, lick ‘em?”
“Wh— my boots?”
“Not the soles!” He shrugs again, palpably shrinks in your arms a little. “I dunno. Just crossed my mind.”
“We could, if you wanted to.” Your hand rubs between his shoulder blades, seeks to soothe. “Some other day. Right now though, I just wanna hold you.”
“Okay.” His smile grows where it’s tucked under your jaw. “Sounds perfect.”
You have a burning suspicion that this pair of boots won’t be seeing anything outside of your shared apartment anytime soon.