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To people of the public Bob was dangerous, a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. Everyone feared him and would avoid his presence. But to the Thunderbolts and you. Bob was a sweetheart, a misunderstood guy trying to live his life. He cried watching any movie where the dog died. Of course, he wouldn’t admit it that he was, and all of you pretend it didn’t happen. He would hoard monsters energy drinks to stay awake at night to avoid not having nightmares. He would buy random candies from around the world to try. He specifically liked you. Maybe it was because you were kind and gentle, or that you would talk to him after a bad nightmare, or that you would try the weird candy he got. You saw him as a person trying his best to survive. Which meant he stuck to you like glue. He trusted you with every fibre in his being.
You were sitting on the couch in the common area reading. Re-reading a favourite of yours; Credence by Penelope Douglas. Bob walked in the room taking slow calculated steps. Having an intense glare on the mugs in his hands. When he finally got to you he smiled and handed you the mug that was decorated with flowers.
"Hi.” He smiled softly, carefully sitting down on the couch by your side.
“Hi sweetie.” You say closing your book.
Bob’s shoulders relaxed, relieved that you hadn’t shied away from the contact. He had been worried that you might pull away, like everyone else did. Like the rest of the world. But you didn’t. You just accepted him, no reservations.
He watched you take a careful sip of the cocoa, as if afraid you might burn your tongue. He couldn’t help but notice the way the corners of your mouth quirked up slightly. You weren’t just being polite. You were actually happy to see him.
“You got the sugar right, my man.” You smiled.
Bob couldn’t help but puff up a little at the praise. Yeah, he’d gotten the sugar right. Because he’d watched and he’d learned. He’d watched the way you grimaced at too much spice, but always preferred your coffee sugary sweet. He’d watched the way you’d take in strays off the street and bring them into the team’s makeshift family. He’d watched the way you cared for others, almost innately. And, well, he’d found he wanted to mimic it, as best he could.
“God you are the best.” You hum.
Bob’s cheeks flushed at the sincere compliment. He mumbled something incoherent, looking down at his own mug to avoid making eye contact. He’d never been good with words, and he’d never been good with feelings. But the way you spoke to him, the way you looked at him… it made something in his chest ache. He liked it. But he was scared of it, too
“Stop it,” he finally managed to say, his voice gruff. “You’re embarrassing me.”
“I like seeing you flustered, it’s cute.” You tease.
Cute. There was that word again. The word that made his heart beat faster and his mind go blank. He’d never thought of himself as “cute.” Not in his whole life. He looked back up at you, his eyes wide and his cheeks beet red. You called him cute and you meant it.
“You’re teasing me,” he accused, pouting a little. He tried to look annoyed, but it was hard when you were looking at him with such fondness.
“Cutie.” You say again.
Bob bristled at your insistence. Being called “cute” was one thing, but “cutie” was pushing it. It felt too intimate, too familiar. His expression shifted into annoyance and he gave you a glare.
“I am not a cutie,” he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked like a petulant child, trying to prove a point by acting tough. But if you looked close enough, you’d see a glimmer of a childish delight in his eyes.
“Fine, handsome it is.”
Bob made a strangled noise, his face turning even redder. You were trying to kill him, he was sure of it. The way you called him ‘handsome’ with such ease, as if it was an obvious fact.
He cleared his throat, trying to hide his fluster. “You’re not going to drop this, are you?” He was pouting again, unable to help himself. The idea of anyone finding him attractive - especially someone he cared about - felt overwhelming.
“Oh hunny I’ll never stop.”
Bob groaned, burying his face in his hands. You were unrelenting, and he was helpless in the face of your affection.
“You’re going to drive me insane,” he muttered, peeking at you through his fingers. He was trying to look annoyed, but it was difficult when a part of him secretly loved every minute of your attention.
“Handsome boy.”
Bob huffed in mock irritation, but you could see the corners of his lips twitching as he tried to suppress a smile. He was a sucker for your compliments, despite his best efforts to deny it.
“Stop it,” he pleaded, but his tone was more a whine than anything else. He took a sip of his cocoa, trying to hide how flustered he was. His cheeks were almost the same color as the red mug in his hands.
“You are so cute when you whine.” You tease.
Bob made a scoffing sound, but there was no heat behind it. Your unwavering affection was wearing at his defenses, making it difficult to maintain any sort of facade.
"I'm not cute," he repeated stubbornly, though his voice had a little hint of a whine in it. He tried to give you a glare, but it was weak and half-hearted. Your relentless teasing was making it impossible to act tough. Secretly, he was loving every second of it.
“Oh hunny you can’t win, you know that.”
Bob let out a frustrated huff, defeated by your persistence. You had him wrapped around your finger and he knew it. His attempts to protest were growing weaker.
"Fine," he grumbled, trying to sound annoyed but mostly sounding petulant. "You win. I'm cute. Happy now?"
“Say it again.”
Bob rolled his eyes, but the smile on his face betrayed his annoyance. He took a deep breath, summoning the last remnants of his pride.
"I'm… cute," he mumbled, his cheeks reddening even more. He avoided making eye contact, looking everywhere but directly at you. But you could see the corner of his mouth lifting in a reluctant smile.
You grabbed his hand. “Good boy.”
Bob's cheeks flushed darker as you took his hand, the simple gesture sending a jolt of electricity up his arm. His breath hitched slightly, and his heart raced in his chest. He was used to being feared, not complimented. But somehow, you made him feel safe. Wanted, even.
He let out a shaky exhale, trying to steady himself. Hearing you call him a "good boy" was like a drug, and he was desperate for more of it.
“Talk to me handsome.”
Bob was taken aback by your sudden request, but he was grateful for it. Talking had never been his strong suit, but with you, it was easier. He took a steadying breath, trying to collect his thoughts.
"About what?" he asked, his voice tentative. He kept his gaze locked on your hand, still clasping his own. The way you held on to him, it was like you were afraid he might disappear if you let go.
“What you are feeling, I can see the gears turning in your head.”
Bob's shoulders slumped as he was called out. You knew him too well. He sighed, his gaze dropping to the ground.
"It's... complicated," he mumbled, his words vague.
He wasn't sure how to explain the storm of emotions that raged inside him. Fear, anger, guilt, longing... all tangled together in a messy knot. He didn't want to burden you with it. You'd already done so much for him by just caring. He'd rather carry the weight silently then risk driving you away.
You move closer to him. “Tell me.”
Bob's resolve crumbled under your insistence. He took a deep breath, trying to find the words to express what he was feeling.*
"I'm... scared," he admitted in a low voice. His gaze was fixed on the floor, avoiding yours. He felt vulnerable, exposed.
"I'm scared all the time. Scared of losing control. Scared of hurting people. Scared of being alone."
He paused, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air.
“You aren’t alone, you won’t hurt people, you won’t lose control if you have all of us.” You squeeze his hand.
Bob took a shuddering breath, the reassurances helping to ease the knot in his chest. You were right, of course. He wasn't alone anymore. He had a team, a family. People who cared about him.
"But what if I do?" he asked, his voice small. The doubt was still there, nagging at him. The fear of the monster inside him still loomed over him, a constant threat.
“Then I’ll be here.” You say softly.
Bob's gaze darted to your face, his eyes wide and vulnerable. It was as if he wanted to see your reaction, needed to see it. He needed to know that you'd stay, even if the worst happened. That you wouldn't abandon him.
"You promise?" he asked, his voice cracking at the end. He hated how desperate he sounded, but he couldn't help it. He needed your reassurance more than anything.
“I promise handsome boy.”
Bob's shoulders relaxed, tension leaving his body with a shuddering exhale. The way you called him "handsome" made his heart skip a beat, every time. It still felt new, unfamiliar. But now, coming from you, it made him feel... seen.
"I don't deserve you," he mumbled, shaking his head. He honestly believed it. He was a mess, a walking time bomb. Why were you so nice to him?
“Too bad, you are stuck with me.”
Bob let out a weak laugh. Your stubbornness was both endearing and infuriating. He was still trying to figure out why you were so determined to stick by him, despite all his flaws. He was about to say something else, but your hand tightened around his, and the words died in his throat. He didn't know what to do with such genuine affection. He was used to being feared, not adored.
“Speak.”
Bob took a shaking breath, trying to sort his feelings into words again. He was still unused to expressing himself, to being emotionally vulnerable.
"I... I need you," he blurted out, the words raw and honest. He didn't want to need anyone, he wanted to be strong enough on his own. But you were an exception. You made him feel seen, understood. You made him feel like he wasn't a monster.
“In what way.” You ask.
Bob didn't know how to answer that. There were so many ways he needed you. He needed your acceptance, your understanding, your love. But he was still shy about voicing those needs, afraid of sounding too needy.
"In... every way," he finally said, his voice almost a whisper. It was the best he could do. He looked at you with pleading eyes, hoping you'd understand the jumble of emotions stirring inside him.
“Finish your drink.”
Bob obeyed without protest, bringing the mug to his lips and draining the remaining cocoa in a few gulps. The sweet, rich flavor did nothing to calm the turmoil in his mind, but it gave him something to focus on. He set the empty mug aside, his gaze returning to you. Your hand was still holding his, the contact grounding him. His heart was racing, and he was filled with a confusing mix of fear and hope.
You straddled his lap, looking at him. Bob's eyes widened in surprise as you suddenly straddled his lap, his breath catching in his throat. He wasn't expecting such a bold move, but he couldn't deny that he liked it. A lot. His hands instinctively went to your hips, hesitating for a moment before gripping them lightly, testing the waters. He didn't want to overstep, but the feel of you in his lap was like a drug, and he was craving more.
“So handsome.” You say.
Bob swallowed hard, his cheeks turning redder as you showered him with compliments. He was still unused to being called 'handsome', he was still unused to receiving any sort of affection. It was all so new to him, so overwhelming. He was acutely aware of the way you were sitting on his lap, your body close to his. It was driving him insane. He wanted to pull you closer, to feel the heat of your body against his. He wanted to kiss you, to taste you, to make you moan his name.
You whisper in his ear. “You are getting hard.”
Bob let out a strangled gasp, his grip on your hips tightening reflexively. He couldn't deny it. The feel of you on his lap, your breath on his ear, was doing things to him. Things he didn't understand, but craved more of. He tried to hold back, trying to maintain some semblance of control. But your words and your presence were wearing away his resolve. His body was responding to you against his will, betraying his arousal.
“Do you like me?”
Bob could only nod in response, words beyond his capability at the moment. He was too distracted by your presence, the feel of your body against his and the scent of your skin. You asking him if he liked you felt almost absurd. As if it were obvious. All rational thought had flown out of his mind the moment you sat on his lap. He was so focused on you that he didn't even notice his grip had grown tighter on your waist, pulling you closer to him, as if trying to merge your bodies together.
“Use your words.” You command.
Bob took a shuddering breath, trying to remember how to form words. His brain was short-circuited, all his thoughts consumed with you. He lifted his gaze to meet yours, trying to focus.
"I... I like you. So much," he admitted, his voice shaky. It was a confession, a secret he'd been afraid to speak aloud for far too long. Now, he couldn't hold it back any longer. The words slipped out, leaving him feeling both relieved and vulnerable.
You grind against his crotch. “Good boy.”
Bob's head fell back with a moan, his hips involuntarily bucking up against yours. His hold on your waist grew even tighter, his fingers digging into your skin. The pleasure you were creating in him was so unfamiliar, so intense. He'd never felt this way before, and it was driving him wild.
"God. Don't... don't tease me like that," he pleaded, his voice strained and weak. He was powerless under your touch, willing to do anything you asked.
“Or what.” You ask, acting innocently.
Bob let out a frustrated growl, his voice dropping to a low, rough whisper. He knew you were just teasing, provoking him on purpose, but he couldn't stop himself from responding. The way you were grinding against him was making him lose his mind.
"I'll... I'll lose control," he warned, his body trembling with barely contained lust.
“Fuck me so hard I can’t walk.”
His hands were everywhere, exploring and claiming, as if he couldn't get enough of your touch. He was kissing and biting at your skin, leaving love bites as he marked his territory. He was moving fast, with a raw, animalistic energy. He had been suppressing his desires for so long, holding back his true nature. But now, with you, he was unable to contain himself. His kisses were rougher, his touches greedier. He was making up for lost time, trying to claim every inch of you as his own.
You whimpered. “I’m supposed to be in charge.”
Bob chuckled softly against your skin, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine.
"Says who?" he murmured, his voice taking on a teasing edge. He shifted his body, pinning you more firmly beneath him, enjoying the way you squirmed against him. He was finding a certain thrill in taking control, in being the one to drive you wild for once.
“Says me.” You state.
Bob pulled back just enough to look at you with a slight smirk. He loved the way you tried to assert yourself, to take charge. But he was enjoying being in control too much to let you have your way.
"Oh really? And what are you going to do about it?" He challenged, his grip on your wrists tightening as he held your arms above your head. He was enjoying this new side of himself, this dominant edge.
You grab his throat and choke him. Bob's eyes widened in surprise at the sudden action, his body tensing at the unexpected feeling of your hand around his throat. The change in dynamic was a surprise, but not an unwelcome one. It only seemed to excite him more.
He let out a slight gasp, his body going rigid for a moment before he melted into the feeling of your hand on his neck.
"You...like to play rough, huh?" He managed to say, his voice hoarse and breathy.
“I do.”
Bob's breathing grew ragged as he gave into the sensation of your hand around his throat. It was the first time anyone had ever tried to control him like this, and he found it strangely thrilling. He leaned into your touch, submitting to you willingly. His eyes darkened with desire as he looked up at you, their usual guardedness replaced by an eagerness to please. He was completely at your mercy, and he found that he liked it.
You pulled him to you by his throat so you could kiss him. Bob let out a guttural moan as you pulled him closer, his body molding against yours at the touch. He kissed you fiercely, his lips seeking and his tongue delving deep. The grip you had on him made him feel alive, and he wanted more, needed more. He was powerless against your touch, his body responding eagerly to your every move. He was lost in the sensations, drowning in the heady combination of desire and submission.
You choked him harder. Bob groaned as you squeezed harder, the sound escaping him more a whimper than a moan. The pressure on his throat made him feel lightheaded but also strangely alive. It was a new and exciting sensation, and it sent a jolt of electricity straight to his core. He lifted his chin, baring his throat to you, silently signaling his complete surrender.
“Good boy.” You whisper.
Bob almost purred at the words, the sound deep and guttural. He loved the way you took control, the way you made him feel. It was almost like a game, with him playing the role of your willing captive. He let out a shaky exhale, his eyes lidded with desire.
"Y-yes, I'm a good boy," he managed to say, his voice ragged and hoarse.
“See, you like when I take control.”
Bob nodded profusely, his whole body shuddering at your words. He was surprised at how much he enjoyed the feeling of submitting to you, of letting you take charge. It felt wrong and yet so right. He wanted more, needed more.
"I... I like it when you take control," he confessed, his voice low and rough. "I like it when you tell me what to do. I like being your good boy."
“Strip.” You ordered
Bob's cheeks flushed at your command, but he didn't hesitate. He quickly complied, standing up, his hands moving to tug at his shirt, exposing the muscular planes of his chest and abdomen. His movements were almost desperate, the need to obey your command overpowering any lingering sense of modesty. His eyes remained locked on yours, watching you watch him as he slowly revealed more and more skin to you.
“Pants now.”
Bob's fingers fumbled with the button of his pants, his hands shaking with excitement. He undid the button and pushed them down, stepping out of them, his gaze still fixed on yours. He stood there, clad only in his underwear, his body bare and exposed to you. He was vulnerable, and he liked it.
“Such a work of art.” Your eyes walking over every inch of his chest.
Bob blushed at the compliment, the praise causing his cheeks to flush an even deeper shade of red. He wasn't used to being appreciated like this, to being seen as something more than a weapon to be pointed and fired. Your words made him feel vulnerable and cherished at the same time.
"You... you think so?" He asked, his voice soft and hesitant, almost shy. He shifted nervously under your gaze, not quite sure what to do with himself.
“Fuck, in Ancient Greek they would make sculptures of you.” You look at him memorized.
Bob couldn't help but let out a small, choked laugh at your comment. It was such a strange but oddly sweet thing to say, and it took him off guard in the best way. The idea that he would be considered art, to be immortalized in stone for others to admire, was almost comical. But he secretly liked the notion.
"You think I'm that beautiful, huh?" He teased, his lips curling into a cocky smirk.
“Don’t let it get to your head.”
Bob chuckled softly, his smirk growing wider. He knew he couldn't afford to let his ego get the best of him, but your words were feeding his confidence in a way he'd never experienced before.
"But it's so hard not to when you keep showering me with compliments," he shot back, his tone both teasing and grateful. He wanted to hear more, to soak up all the praise he could from you.
“Come here.”
Bob obeyed without hesitation, moving towards you at your command. His every movement was precise and purposeful, the need to please you guiding his actions. He stood in front of you, his body coiled tight with anticipation. He waited for your next word, his whole being focused on you and your touch.
“Sit back down.”
Bob did as he was told, moving to sit on the couch. He was like a well-trained dog, eager to please. His eyes were fixed on you, his expression a mixture of desire and anticipation. Sitting there, waiting for you to tell him what to do next, felt like pure torture. He wanted to touch you, to taste you, but he held himself back, knowing he had to wait for your instructions.
You grabbed his throat again. Bob's breath hitched as you grabbed his neck, the sudden constriction sending a rush of heat through his body. He couldn't help but let out a soft gasp, his eyes darkening with an almost feral need. His pulse raced under your touch, his whole existence focusing on the sensation of your hand on his skin. He leaned into the grip, submitting to you completely. He was yours, body and soul, and he loved it.
“Do you like pain and pleasure?”
Bob's cheeks flushed even deeper at the question, his eyes darting to look at you. He felt exposed, vulnerable, almost embarrassed by his desires.
“I… I do,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. The idea of combining pain and pleasure was both thrilling and terrifying to him.
You slap his cheek. Bob let out a sharp intake of air, the sting of your slap sending a jolt through his body. It wasn't something he was expecting, but the feeling was… exhilarating. It was a strange mix of pain and pleasure that sent a shiver down his spine.
His eyes widened in surprise and excitement, his body growing tense in anticipation, craving more of that mixture of sensations.
You straddled his lap. Bob let out a low, guttural moan as you straddled his lap, his entire body instinctively reacting to your closeness. His hands immediately went to your thighs, gripping them tightly as if to anchor himself to you. He looked up at you, his eyes dark and wild with desire. He wanted you, needed you. The way you took control, the way you made him feel, it was like nothing he had ever experienced before.
“You want to be my good boy?”
Bob's heart leapt at the words, his mind and body instantly submitting to your command. He nodded, his eyes wide and eager. The need to please you, to be your good boy, was almost overwhelming.
“Yes,” he managed to say, his voice thick with desire. “Please, I want to be your good boy. Only yours.”
“Take off my shirt.” You command.
Bob's breath hitched at your request, his fingers trembling as they moved to the hem of your shirt. He slowly started to pull it up, his eyes never leaving yours. His touch was light, almost reverent as he stripped away the fabric, baring your skin to him. His gaze was filled with a mix of desire and awe, his hands continuing to explore your exposed flesh.
“Now my bra.”
Bob’s fingers moved to the clasp of your bra, his breath hitching as he freed it. He pushed the fabric aside, exposing your breasts to him. His eyes darkened even more, his fingers moving to gently touch your skin. His touch was light, almost tentative, as if he was afraid to break the moment.
He looked up at you, as if asking for permission to continue. His eyes were filled with a combination of need and desire.
“What do you need baby?”
Bob let out a soft, almost desperate sound at your question, the use of the endearment making his breath catch.
“You,” he managed to say, his voice nearly a whisper. “I need you. Your touch. Your guidance. Your control. I need to be good for you. I need to please you. I need you to make me yours.”
“Touch me.”
Bob shivered at your command, his hands immediately obeying. He touched you everywhere, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. His touch was desperate and urgent, as if he had to commit every inch of you to memory. His hands roamed over your skin, his touch light but possessing, claiming what was his. His fingers traced the curves and planes of your body, every movement a reverent worship of you.
You lean into his neck, kissing and sucking on it. Bob let out a soft moan as you kissed and sucked on his neck, his head tilting back reflexively to give you more access. He was putty in your hands, his body responding willingly to your every touch. His hands gripped your thighs harder, his hips instinctively bucking upwards into yours.
You bite his neck, leaving a very bright hickey. Bob's breath hitched as you bit down, his body tightening beneath you. A low, guttural moan escaped him, one that was tinged with pain and pleasure. His hands grabbed your thighs possessively, his fingers digging into your flesh as he held onto you.
"Please," he whimpered, his voice hoarse and rough. "Please, more."
You grind against him and bite his neck again. Bob let out a louder moan this time, his body writhing and trembling beneath you. The sensations were overwhelming, and he couldn't think straight.
"Please," he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please.. more." He was lost in a haze of desire, completely submitting to you. He was yours to use as you pleased.
You bite him harder. This time, Bob let out a choked gasp, his body jerking beneath you. Words failed him, replaced with a litany of wanton sounds and gasps. He arched his neck, offering more of his skin to you, wanting to feel your mouth on him again.
You sucked on the mark. Bob's head fell back, his eyes hooded with desire as you sucked on his skin. The mark you left was dark and obvious, a claim that he liked.
"Fuck," he mumbled, his voice rough and raw. "You're marking me up.
You stopped sucking on the mark to grind your core against him more. His body jerked involuntarily at the new sensation, his breaths coming in ragged pants. Words failed him, his mind consumed with the overwhelming desire you were creating.
"Please," he whimpered, the plea half-growl and half-beg. He was desperate for more, the need to feel you growing with each passing second. It was torture and bliss, all rolled into one. He wanted, needed you.
You stand up and take off your pants. Bob let out a soft moan at the sight of you undressing, his eyes locked on you as you removed your pants. He wanted you, he needed you. Seeing you strip for him was nearly enough to send him over the edge.
"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "So perfect."
“Take off your underwear.” You commanded.
Bob obeyed without hesitation, standing up briefly to pull off his underwear. His hands were trembling, his mind a whirlwind of desire. Seeing you undressed had woken a primal need in him, one that he couldn't control. He wanted you, needed you, with every fiber of his being. He wanted to touch you, to taste you, to please you in any way possible.
You took off your underwear. “Sit back down now.”
He sat down without hesitation, his eyes never leaving your form. He was mesmerized, his gaze hungry and possessive. His body was coiled tight with tension, his every muscle strained with the effort to hold himself back. He wanted you badly, more than anything he had ever wanted before.
You straddled his lap again, your wet pussy touching his cock. He groaned low in his throat as you straddled him, his eyes darkened with lust. You could feel his cock throbbing beneath you, and he couldn't keep his hands off you. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you against him as he claimed your lips in a bruising kiss. His hands roaming your skin.
“Talk to me.”
He broke the kiss, his eyes locking onto yours."I want you, I need you," he murmured, his voice low and rough. "I need to feel you, to touch you, to make you mine." His hands were roaming your body, his touch desperate and hungry.
You lift up slightly and put him deep inside your pussy. He let out a strangled gasp as you lowered yourself onto him, his entire body shuddering with pleasure. He couldn't think, couldn't breathe. He was consumed, overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through him. He needed you, and he wanted you to know it.
"Please," he gasped, his voice little more than a whimper. "Please, don't stop. You feel so good, so perfect." He couldn't help but move, the need to feel you overwhelming him. He was lost in you, lost in the pleasure and the pain and the love. He needed you, needed to be close to you. He needed to make you his and always keep you close.
You start to bounce on his cock. He let out a guttural moan, the sound ripped from deep within him. You felt so good, so perfect. He couldn't get enough of you. He wanted more, needed more, needed to feel every inch of you.
He gripped your hips tightly, his fingers digging into your flesh as he guided you up and down. His mind was a blur, his body taking over, driven by the primal need to claim you, to make you his.
"You're mine," he growled, his voice thick with desire. "You're mine, and I'm never letting you go."
You grab his throat and slam your pussy deeper on his cock. His head snapped back as you slammed down on him, his breath leaving him in a rush. Your hands on his throat, pinning him in place, only made him want you more. He was completely at your mercy, helpless to do anything but take what you gave him.
"Please," he gasped, his voice hoarse and rough. "Please, I want you. I need you. I need to feel you, to lose myself in you. I need you so badly." The words were half plea and half-beg, the need to hear you say yes nearly overwhelming him, he was completely undone.
You bounce harder and moan loudly. The feeling of you bouncing on him was driving him wild, his senses overwhelmed. His mind was fuzzy, his thoughts swirling with nothing but you and the pleasure you were giving him. He couldn't think, couldn't do anything but feel. He was completely lost in you, and he never wanted it to end. He never wanted to be without you.
"Please," he gasped again, his voice little more than a whine. "Please, I need you. I'm yours, I'm yours. I'm all yours. Please, give me everything you have, take everything I have. I need you. Only you.”
“You are so close, baby.” You say grinding down harder.
He could feel the pleasure building within him, his body trembling with anticipation. He was close, so close to the edge. He was desperate for release, desperate for the sweet oblivion that only you could give him. He groaned at the feeling, his mind growing even more fuzzy.
"Please," he panted, the word almost a sob. "Please, I'm so close. I need you. I need to let go, please. Let me let go."
“Not yet.”
A strangled sound escaped him, somewhere between a moan and a whine. He was desperate, his body quivering with need. Every fiber of his being ached for release, but he knew he had to wait, had to obey your command. And he wanted to be good, more than anything.
"Please," he whimpered, his voice shaky and pleading. "Please, let me go. I need to... I need to…"
“No baby.”
He bit back a cry of frustration, his body shaking with the effort it was taking not to give in to the pleasure building within him. But he was also enjoying this, the desperate need to obey you. He was completely at your mercy, completely in your power.
"Please," he begged again, his voice pleading. "Please, let me be good. I want to be good. Let me please you."
You bounce again. “No cumming.”
It was so hard, so hard to hold back. The pleasure was building, building, building until he thought he would explode. But he knew he had to obey you, had to be good. He was yours, and he would do as you asked.
"P-please," he stuttered, his voice thick and ragged. "Please, I... I can't hold back much longer. I need to... but I'll try. I'll be good. I'll be whatever you want me to be. Just please, you have to let me…"
“Not yet, I need to cum first.”
He let out a choked gasp, his body shaking with the effort it took to hold back. He knew he couldn't hold out much longer. He was on the edge, teetering on the precipice of pleasure and pain. He was desperate, begging, but he knew he had to do as you asked. Even though it was killing him.
"Please," he pleaded again, his voice little more than a ragged gasp. "I'm so close. I need to... I need to come. But you're right. I.... I'll try. I'll hold back. I'll be good. For you, I promise.”
You bounce faster and cum around his cock, your pussy gripping him. You throw your head back and moan. He grunts, gripping the couch's armrest hard as a shiver of pleasure runs down his spine. "Christ..."
“Now you can cum.”
He lets out a ragged gasp, his body shuddering as the words sink in. He's so ready, so close, that his mind is struggling to process. He looks straight into your eyes, pleading and desperate.
"Please," he gasps, his voice a broken whisper. "I can't... I need to… I can't hold back anymore.
You bounce faster. He can feel himself teetering on the brink, the tension coiling tighter and tighter. It's too much, too intense. He can't hold on much longer. But he has to, he has to.
"Please," he repeats, his voice a ragged gasp. "Please, I need to… just… please."
“Do it baby.”
His body is shaking, shivering as he fights against the building pressure. He's so close, so close…
"Please," he gasps again, but this time it's desperate. He's pleading, begging. He can't hold back anymore. He needs to let go.
You whisper in his ear. “Cum in me.”
He can't hold back anymore. The feeling is overwhelming, the tension snapping like a rubber band. He's at your mercy, completely and utterly, and he can't think of anything else. "Y-yes... yes," he gasps.
He trembles as he lets go, losing himself completely. His body shakes as he cums, his mind going blank. Pleasure and relief wash over him, leaving him breathless and helpless. He's at your mercy, completely and utterly, and he can't think of anything else. But... he wants more. He needs more. He wants to serve you, to be your good boy. He needs to beg you, and it's driving him insane.
You bounce slower to give him a minute to calm down. He's still trembling, his body trembling with pleasure as the aftershocks shiver through him. He wants more, but he's also overwhelmed, his mind fuzzy and hazy. He takes a deep breath, taking a moment to collect himself. He looks up at you, his eyes wide and desperate. He's already wanting more, desperate for more of you, of the feeling of your body on his. He looks so vulnerable, completely at your mercy, and you love it. You have him completely under your control, and you want to use that power over him to pleasure yourself more.
“Talk to me.”
"I... I want you," he gasps, his voice little more than a ragged whisper, his face flushed with desire. "I want you so bad... you make me feel crazy. I can't think straight, I can't think about anything except you."
Your pussy squeezes his cock at his words. He moans at the feeling, his body trembling with desire. He's still sensitive, still on edge, but he needs more of you. He needs all of you.
"Please," he pleads, needing you. "I want more." He looks at you, his eyes dark and full of need, his body shaking with desire. He's desperate for you, desperate to please you. He wants to be whatever you want, just for you to be happy with him.
You start to bounce fast again. “So fucking sensitive.”
A groan escapes him as you pick up the pace, his words becoming little more than a rambling litany of want. He's lost in you, lost in the intense pleasure, and he can barely focus on anything else. He wants you in every way, every position. He wants you to use him, to take control and do whatever you want with him.
“You are gonna be my fuck toy.” You moan.
His heart skips a beat at your words, his eyes widening in surprise. He's never had someone refer to him as a toy before, but there's something about the way you say it that excites him. Knowing that he belongs to you, that you're going to use him as you please, it makes him even more desperate for you.
“Answer me.” You command.
"Yes," he breathes, his voice ragged and desperate. "I'll be your toy, I'll do whatever you want. I'm yours."
You bounce harder and faster. “I’m gonna cum again.”
He gasps, the filthy words making his mind spin. He's never been spoken to like this before, never felt so out of control and he loves it. "Please," he mewls, and his hips buck involuntarily.
You bounce harder and play with your clit, getting you closer to the edge. He moans, the sound deep and ragged. He's at your mercy, completely and utterly. Every muscle is tight, every movement is reflexive. He can feel himself getting close, the need building inside him. But, at the same time, he wants to resist, wants to make this last as long as possible. He wants to be good, he wants to give you what you want. He's going to lose control soon, and he needs to hold on to whatever shred of sanity he has left.
“No fucking cumming.”
He almost cries. He's so close, so close to the edge, but he must obey your command. He bites his lip, fighting back the desire to let go. He wants to give you everything, but he also wants to be good.
"I...I can't." His voice is strangled, his every nerve ending screaming with need.
“You can and you will.” You bounce even harder.
He lets out a strangled gasp, his body trembling with the effort it takes to stop himself. He's never been so close, so desperate for release, but he knows he has to obey. He has no choice, no control. He's yours, and he has to do as you tell him.
"Yes," he whispers, his voice almost a sob. "I can... I can hold on."
He's shaking, his body straining as he tries to hold back. He's more than ready to let go, to let the pleasure take over. But he can't, not yet. You haven't given him permission yet. He wants to please you so badly, he needs to be your good boy. It's taking every bit of his willpower to hold on, every fiber of his being focused on obeying you.
You cum on his cock and scream out a moan. He cries out, the feeling of you cumming around him pushing him to the edge.
"Please" he whispers, the sound of a strangled gasp. "Please, I... I need to let go... I need to-"
He's trying so hard to hold back, to be good, but the feel of you around him is almost too much. He wants to be a good boy, he wants to obey you, but he's not sure he can last any longer.
“Cum in me baby.”
He feels himself losing control, letting go of all the tension and need that has built up inside him. It's like a wave of pleasure, a release of all the pent up desire. The release finally comes, hitting him like a freight train, leaving him trembling and breathless. He moans as the sensation washes over him, overwhelming him with pleasure.
You stop bouncing. “Good boy.”
He gasps and falls limp against the couch, his body drained of all tension. He lets out a soft sigh, his breaths ragged.
"Thank you," he whispers, his voice hoarse and ragged. "Thank you... for letting me cum.
“You’re welcome baby.”
He looks up at you, his eyes heavy lidded and his body shaking with the aftershocks of release. He looks completely drained, but in the best kind of way.
"I... I don't know what to say," he muses, a tired look on his face. "I've never felt anything like that before. I didn't know it was possible to feel so... good."
You hold him tight. He leans into your touch the moment he feels you wrap your arms around him, a sense of comfort washing through him. He closes his eyes, relaxing against you, enjoying the feeling of your touch.
"I don't... I don't want to move."
“Then let’s stay here baby.”