Chapter Text
Contradicting his prior insistence that you’d had enough, Suguru seemed almost too eager to give you more as the night went on.
The prospect of sleep was entirely in vain with him beside you, you’d come to realize. Between his wandering hands, brazen fingers, and taunting lips— he’d keep you awake until the moon would grow flustered enough to hide itself.
Suguru was even better with his mouth than you expected, his form of an apology for the night’s events manifesting itself with eager and steadfast patterns of a flicking tongue against your ever-so-sensitive lower lips; repeating themselves over and over until your cries of pleasure cracked and tumbled upon themselves in trepidation.
With practiced ease, he coaxed two or three more orgasms out of you, promising in between them that you’d be without a wink of sleep until the sun bathed your room a soft gold. And this promise held true, a task that was made easy by the scattered breaks that’d be spent buried in the crook of his arms, hushed promises for more gently whispered against the shell of your ear until your stamina slowly refurbished itself.
You couldn’t even come close to guessing what round the two of you were on, at this point. You didn’t know what time it was, or how long you’d been going for. Suguru had eased you up, convincing you with sweet whispers of reassurance to let him tie you back up— something that you knew you should have practiced better judgment towards, but how could you deny such a pretty face?
He’d fastened your ankles up over your head, securing them to the bed frame and revealing more items he’d stashed away in that godforsaken bag, the most notable of which being a pretty leather gag adorned with a tiny silicone ball. Getting it on you was no issue with your legs tied up so compromisingly, and you’d foolishly allowed him to cuff your poor wrists together, too.
All of this made for a horrifically pornographic scene to unfold, Suguru’s dick shoved so far up your slobbering pussy that every part of your body was spasming.
He thought he’d forgiven you, thought that the bliss he’d experienced after finally having you after so long was enough to wash away the frustration of giving you up to so many other men. And yet with a blazing contradiction, he found all his anger bubbling back to the surface as he had you so vulnerable underneath him.
That frustration blinded him.
Suguru’s palms tightly encapsulated your thighs, blunt tips of manicured fingernails digging roughly into the soft skin. Reactive red crescents birthed upon their inner flesh, pressed deeper with each rough snap of his hips up into your guts. If not for the gag, your sobs would be absolutely inconsolable, almost certainly enough to justify a concerned neighbor to call the police. He tugs you forward as best as the restraints allow, lifting your hips just that slightest bit up off the mattress so he gets a clear view of the outline of his dick bulging against the layers of flesh lining beneath your pubic bone.
To him, maybe this was some twisted form of ownership— being gifted a visual representation of what he was doing to you, how hard he was fucking you, how deep he was fucking you. From this angle, seeing the tip of his cock bulge damn near your stomach only made his own churn, deep grunts and groans bubbling in his throat with each thrust.
He retracted a hand from it’s lethal grip on your thigh, snapping up to press down on the stomach bulge and feel himself fucking into you.
Being the reactive little thing you were, you squirmed and cried out almost instantly. Obscene trails of saliva bubbles around the silicone stuffed past your teeth, streams of the stuff running down the valley of your quivering throat and settling messily along your collarbone and even further down to your tits. Amplifying the stream were your tears, which hadn’t stopped falling for a good portion of time. They ran in rivulets down your flushed cheeks, ungracefully blending with your drool, dribbling down your chin, and painting your heaving chest.
“Fuck, look at you,” Suguru pants, his voice ragged with effort and dark with lust.
His hands are bruising on your hips as he holds you in place, forcing the angle just right to hit the spot inside you that makes you see stars. Each thrust has you seeing white, your vision blurring at the edges with the force of your pleasure.
“Mm, feel that?” he mumbles in half-slurred words, knowing full well it was all you could feel. “Fuck. Fuck.”
He continued pumping his hips repeatedly, slamming them up into your abused cunt as a plethora of sticky squelches filled his ears. Honestly, a part of him was surprised that the sound made its way past your warbled cries, the latter of which being louder than he’d ever heard from you. Music to his ears, your anguished sounds interspersed with weak, wracking moans that strain against the confines of the gag stretching your lips wide. Suguru drinks in the way your throat flutters and convulses with each shuddering breath, the sheer time in which he’d been keeping you awake contributing to the way your poor, exhausted body was reacting.
Every inch of it is a mess of quivers, every nerve set ablaze as Suguru pounds into you mercilessly. The wet squelch of your cunt is obscene, each twist of his hips forcing another gush of arousal from your tortured hole, the slick dribbling out around his pistoning cock to soak your thighs and the sheets beneath you. And yet, despite your exhausted cries, he can feel how much you fucking adore it— the way you clench and flutter around his dick, milking every inch of his thick length and squeezing it in an impossible embrace.
Without warning, he releases his bruising grip on the other thigh, hand snaking up your body until his fingers curl possessively around your throat. Suguru applies just enough pressure to keep you pinned in place (as if you were going anywhere), his thumb stroking over your pulse point as he drinks in the way you tremble and gasp beneath him.
“This is what you needed, isn't it?” he rasps against the shell of your ear, his hot breath fanning out across your damp skin. “To be fucked out like the little slut you are? Huh?”
His fingers tighten around your neck, squeezing just hard enough to make your vision blur at the edges. You whimper against the gag, back arching off the bed as he continues to pound into your cunt with reckless abandon.
Your fingernails dig into your palms, wrists straining against the cuffs as you throw your head back with a loaded cry, a muffled moan that relayed only a fraction of what you couldn’t say. It wasn’t until the pressure of his fingers lessened that you were able to choke out a comprehensible sound.
“Mmphh.. Shh’gr.. Sh’g’ru..” you’d struggle, every muscle in your jaw strained from the silicone stuffed in your mouth.
He was without relent. Not another word came from him as he continued to fuck another orgasm out of you, refusing to slow even as your limbs spasmed with release and the tension snapped in your low belly. He fucked you through each and every one of the aftershocks, maintaining his pace until he shot his own load deep into your worn cunt.
And then, as he had each time prior, he reached up and undid your binds— treating you like the most fragile thing on earth as he kissed and cooed and comforted you through your hiccups and tremors.
He held you tight, lips brushing across the wet outline of your cheek. There was something so delicate about the way he treated your face, standing in such a stark contrast with the rest of his behavior. Only when your sobs subsided into little sniffles did he sink his head down between your thighs to make it all better, his tongue working you all the way back up and carrying you through yet another high until you’d inevitably forgiven him.
By the time this process had repeated itself several times, the room was bright enough to perfectly make out every one of his features. The light streaming through your bedroom window was soft, not too sharp or overbearing, and yet it was just enough to paint his flushed skin and heavily satiated eyes— the last thing you’d see locked on yours with admiration before they gave way for the heaviness that would eventually carry you to rest.
Despite the time, Suguru himself remained awake, nothing upon his neutral expression that suggested he was tired. He talked to you, for a while— soft murmurs back and forth, the last of which were more tender than the others. When your responses grew slow and groggy, he placed a kiss between your brows and watched as your breaths came in deeper and your face relaxed itself entirely.
In his admiration, he found himself thinking about all that had led up to this. All he had done and had yet to do. Would he do it again, knowing that this opportunity sleeping beside him would present itself like this?
He watched your eyes twitch beneath their lids. Your lips parted just a smidgen, deep breaths passing through them. A few unkempt strands of your hair fell to frame your face, shielding an eye from view.
You were so beautiful. You’d always been. And that was what made everything he’d done thus far worth it.
୨୧
In the decade that Suguru’d known him, Satoru always had more money than he possibly knew what to do with. Knowing that, the idea of the white-haired idiot dropping an obscene amount of it on a huge apartment a year out of high school didn’t seem like such a ridiculous idea. And that was exactly what the freak did, wasting no time to start begging and pleading with his best friend to move in with him.
And, of course, who would he be to say no?
The moving process itself was straightforward enough, and it wasn’t until the third day of lugging boxes and hauling furniture beneath the unrelenting summer sun that Suguru found himself questioning why he’d agreed in the first place.
He felt a bit foolish in comparison to his white-haired counterpart, who was humming along obnoxiously to a slew of chirping cicadas whilst carrying along two, three, even four boxes at a time— all while Suguru himself was slouched and panting over the balcony for some fresh air, fanning at himself with the hand that wasn’t holding a water bottle up to his lips.
By midday, Suguru had taken the brunt of the job lugging most of the furniture around— two couches, tables, chairs, televisions, fridges and bed frames. He’d carried up boxes stuffed with clothes and bedsheets, slews of toiletries, and countless pieces of junk Satoru insisted on bringing. And even so, somehow they weren’t anywhere near finished.
He began to think that this was a mistake.
At least, until Satoru suggested having one of his (many) friends over to help.
As it turns out, that friend would be the most gorgeous woman that Suguru would ever lay his eyes on. The moment you walked through the wide, open doors, he decided to himself that he’d never see anything as ethereal as the girl standing in the walkway.
Despite the outrageous heat and the humid air, you were so unnervingly bubbly. You were all smiles and giggles, introducing yourself in a way that had Suguru questioning how long your parents had taken to decide on a name so perfectly fitting.
Apparently, you’d attended the same high school as he and Satoru had, but you only ever had overlapping classes with the latter. You’d graduated the year after they had, and proudly shared your plans for a gap year that you’d dedicate to working as an assistant to a law firm before starting college.
Small talk was the last thing on Suguru’s mind as he watched you work on the house, though. Your hair was so beautiful, perfectly framing your sweet little face and slender neck that bore beads of sweat from the pounding sun. Unfortunately for him, you seemed to have chosen the most enticing top you possibly could’ve— a low-cut tank that exposed all the right bits of cleavage when you reached up and over to lug around a variety of boxes.
And eventually, talking to you was more of a priority than moving in was.
Suguru jumped on a variety of opportunities for breaks, offering you drinks and snacks and places to sit just about every half hour so he could listen to you share more about yourself.
Perhaps it was then that he decided that he had to have you.
He made it a point to get to understand your character rather quickly. You were sweet. You worried about others, you worked hard. You had a strange sense of humor, but your laugh was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard, so he heavily entertained it.
You were perfect.
Several days after he and Satoru had settled fully into the apartment, Suguru made it a point to pester his best friend about having you over more often. For dinner, for everyday outings, even to run to the grocery store– why not invite you along? It wasn’t long until the three of you had created a deep bond, spending nearly every moment of free time with each other in the freedom of the boys’ new apartment.
Suguru didn’t know what he wanted. He was satisfied having you close as a friend, satisfied to protect and be there for you when you needed him. Sure, the two of you were touchy, but Satoru was equally as touchy with the both of you, so it seemed like a surreal sort of natural.
He was content— for one year, three months, and twenty-two days.
That was how long it took before you came dragging along a blonde, six-foot-tall salaryman arm in arm; happily chirping an introduction of your new boyfriend.
His name was Kento Nanami. He worked alongside you at the law firm, taking care of their financials and business operations.
He was just a few years older than you, and funded a local pastry shop with his excess income. According to you, he was handsome and perfect, sweet and loving— an arm possessively draped around your waist as you cheerfully introduced him to both Satoru and Suguru.
It wasn’t until the gravity of the fact you were in a real relationship that he came to understand that he wasn’t satisfied with the way things were, and perhaps he never was. Seeing Nanami in the flesh alongside you was the final push it took for him to understand that.
And when the two of you departed that night, Suguru drank for the first time since his high-school graduation.
For a while, it was a stubborn acceptance. What could he do? Nanami was a constant in your life, given that the two of you worked beneath the same firm. It wasn’t long until he’d moved you into his apartment entirely. Suguru put up with your constant chatter regarding his perfection, stifling the way it made him feel.
Which, with the utmost clarity, was pure frustration.
He hated everything about it. He hated the idea of your sweet smile being shared with someone else, that sweet laughter filling the ears of another. He hated imagining the ways you’d appeal to Nanami, giving the businessman a part of yourself that Suguru had yet to receive, that he could only imagine. It disgusted him to think about the things the two of you most certainly did, the places that the man’s filthy lips touched before his own had the chance to. It annoyed him to imagine the other man’s hands all over you, under you, around you, in you. Everywhere.
Not that he gave it much thought.
Suguru learned to tolerate Kento Nanami— he didn’t have any personal gripes with the man, after all, aside from the fact that he was dating you. He was respectful and kept to himself.
So he tolerated him, much longer than he thought he would; for a little over a year. He spent his every waking moment gritting his teeth and waiting in anticipation for a chance to split the two of you up, never acting out of line, always moving with patience.
Until he finally found his chance.
It was a foggy autumn evening, one of many you shared one-on-one with Suguru, given Satoru’s far too sporadic outings. The two of you lazed on the big couch in Satoru’s living room, an old cartoon serving as mindless background noise as you trailed on about your stressors and annoyances of the week.
You’d just recently been accepted into university last semester, estimating that you’d be able to take care of both that and the workload of your current job at the firm. And you were a smart, very capable girl— it wasn’t much of a struggle for you.
However, Nanami possessed a different type of intelligence. He wasn’t just smart, he was calculated— and as such, he’d made an obscene amount of progress within the firm. He’d been promoted a plethora of times, obtaining positions as both the assistant manager to the general manager within a month. With those positions came an increased workload, which resulted in your perfect boyfriend becoming thoroughly consumed with his job.
Subsequently, while you were focused on both school and work (whilst Nanami only occupied himself with the ladder), your boyfriend ended up surpassing your position in the firm by a long shot. He went from being your subordinate to a position of upper management in such a short time, and heartily encouraged you to ‘work harder’ in order to keep up with him. The businessman was just so invested in his job that you were unintentionally cast aside.
At least, that’s how Suguru saw it— a flaw, a blemish upon Nanami’s apparent perfection.
And he would take advantage of that.
The following weeks, Suguru became far more invested with Nanami than he’d been prior. He made an effort to get to know the man personally, to establish a shallow sort of friendship with him. He got a copy of his work schedule and suggested casual outings for coffee, to run errands, to work out— anything that he could squeeze in order to garner a trusting relationship; to develop enough trust that the businessman would feel comfortable talking about more personal aspects of his relationship with his dear girlfriend.
As it played out, the more frequently Suguru was able to occupy Nanami’s time outside of work, the less you got to see him— which only deepened the slowly developing cracks in your relationship.
Between work, board meetings, sporadic time with Suguru, and his general responsibilities, Nanami hardly realized that his time spent with you was dwindling. His only real off days were on Sundays, which he almost always preferred to spend lounging inside.
Even so, Nanami was oblivious to any of the emotional tension building up between you. To him, you were always sweet and happy to see him, regardless of how much he worked. He was a very peculiar man in that way, never one to be truly emotionally open, and yet he trusted that you were as content with him as he was with you. After all, he viewed you as the woman he sought to marry one day; having grown far past a state of comfortability that left no room for petty arguments or worries. To him, it was all trust, all contentment, all love. He hadn’t a clue that the minimal attention had been wearing down on you.
It wasn’t until you were on the verge of tears one evening that he noticed something was wrong.
The two of you sat quietly together in the front seats of his car. That day had been one of the very few that Nanami had off from work, and brought you along for a grocery run— a task you usually underwent by yourself once or twice a week. Despite it being wintertime, the car windows were pried down a bit and the stereo hummed a song he’d heard a thousand times before. His thick hand rested on your thigh, thumbing swirls into the flesh as he kept his eyes on the road ahead of him.
Yet as the drive progressed, your silence became concerning to him. You’d hardly uttered a word aside from a solemn little “good, and yours?” that you’d hushed in his languid inquiry about your day.
“Is everything okay?” Nanami eventually poked, momentarily releasing your thigh to twist the speaker’s volume dial down to hear your voice.
You nod, swallowing down the plethora of words that’d suggest otherwise.
Nanami pried, though, seeing through the sloppily put-up facade of content in the way you gnawed at your lower lip, the way you avoided his eyes and shrunk away from his touch. The idle rubs of his fingertips into your thighs slowed to a gradual stop, as did the car. Traffic.
“What’s wrong?” he murmured.
A deep, reluctant sigh leaves your lips, head turning to stare out of the window. You (foolishly) thought it’d make it harder to disguise the tears in your eyes, as if your voice wouldn’t give it away.
“I… it’s just…” you trail off, shaking your head. “I feel like I never see you anymore.”
The cold of the harsh winter air outside somehow manifested itself further into the car, a thick silence penetrating the space between the two of you. You felt Nanami’s finger twitch against your flesh before the contact ceased all together, his hand dragging itself away from your thigh to rest on his own.
Whether or not it was your intention, from that moment forward your relationship with the businessman would never be the same.
Being the self-aware man he was, Nanami did everything in his power to make it right. He showered you in reassurance, in affection, in love. He spoiled you nonsensically with material gifts and acts of service, never being caught without his hands on you in some way— on the small of your back, around your waist, intertwined with yours. The time he had off from work for the holiday made it a perfect opportunity to make everything up to you. Nanami invested all his time and efforts into reversing the damage he’d unintentionally caused, hushing your worries and promising you that he’d always be there for you.
And he would keep his word— Suguru knew that with certainty. That’s why he had to do something about it. The efforts he’d put forth in trying to sabotage your relationship didn’t seem to be working, so he took a more hands on approach.
It was easy for Suguru to get Nanami to open up about his relationship struggles after a few bottles of whiskey on a night he knew you’d be home alone, just a few days before New Years Eve. Inviting the blonde over during such a tense period in the two of your relationships was an easy task.
With messy hair and a flushed face, Nanami drunkenly trailed on about how much he loved you, how he didn’t want to lose you.
How perfect you were.
Things that Suguru didn’t need to be told in order to understand. After all, he’d known those things perhaps better than the blonde did. That was precisely why he intentionally poured glass after glass, streamlining alcohol to the distressed figure of Nanami beside him until he was so drunk that Suguru was certain he’d be out cold until late the following afternoon.
How perfectly this’d eventually work out.
After carrying the man up to rest in Satoru’s bed (the airhead was rarely home on weekends), Suguru had made his way out of the apartment, solely to end up at the front door of yours within the hour.
You opened to his desolate knocks with gentle caution, your voice as soft and curious as it’d always been as you asked him if he was okay, as you queried why he was there so late.
It was his second nature to weave together a story— Satoru was out of town and had unintentionally taken the key, the fox-eyed man had claimed so serenely— he just needed a harbor for the night.
And it was in your nature to accept with open arms and lips parted in that sweet smile.
It was far easier to get you drunk than it was your boyfriend. Nanami had a lot more to say— you just cried and cried and cried, to no real end. Of course, Suguru was your crutch, cooing and consoling you with sweet little kisses to your lips that you wouldn’t overthink in your drunken state.
Suguru would never hurt you.
Suguru would always be there for you.
Suguru assured you that you deserved better.
All these repetitive praises and reassurances got you to sleep easier than he thought, making the follow up for the rest of his plan far simpler than anticipated.
He was careful not to wake you when he sucked the bruises into your neck, your collarbones, your breasts. Getting you out of your loose t-shirt was nothing, all he had to do was ease it off your shoulders and down your hips, allowing the fabric to pool there. He didn’t touch you, only venturing as far as the curve of your waist before he began to take the pictures.
He only needed a few polaroids to get the job done.
On New Year’s eve, Suguru continued to be the perfect crutch to his dear friend Nanami, especially when the man struggled to swallow the fact that his dear girlfriend had been cheating on him. Catching the blonde in the bathroom at Satoru’s party was a coincidence, but he couldn’t help but let the man know of the situation then and there, right?
It was a perfectly fabricated story:
Suguru had gone to drop a drunken Nanami back off at the apartment he shared with you, but as he went to carry him up the stairwell, he noticed the apartment’s door was ajar. Inside, he found you in bed with a man he’d never seen before, his features shrouded by the dim lights. In a panic, the mystery man fled, leaving behind the printed evidence of your infidelity. Suguru snatched the pictures up before you had a chance to notice them, and assured you he’d keep your secret safe before he laid Nanami to rest beside you in the same bed you’d cheated on him with.
Nanami was a wreck. Though tears didn’t come, tremors passed through his body as he shrunk against the bathroom wall.
Suguru provided excellent support, and advice.
“Don’t tell her that you know. Pretend everything is fine for a while, let the guilt eat at her.” Suguru suggested, rubbing the man's back in comfort. “In a week or so, break up with her over something unrelated. Never look back. Don’t allow her the satisfaction of ruining your relationship. Let it be by your own hand.”
Even after Suguru had left the bathroom, Nanami remained inside with the weight of his words still heavy in the air.
Of course, though, he took them to heart.
And he never looked back.
୨୧
By mid afternoon, Suguru had you back in cuffs.
The two of you had slept until noon, despite the fact it was a Monday, and despite the exhaustion of last night’s events.
Suguru took it upon himself to call you out of work on your behalf, doing so while you slept beside him atop ruined sheets and curled into the nook of his thick, vascularized arm. He caressed your hair and planted seedlings of fleeting kisses all over your flushed face as you slept, withdrawing after several minutes to make you something to fill your stomach when you woke up.
After you’d struggled to overcome the initial (overbearing) soreness all over your shaky body once you’d woken, you wordlessly managed to eat the portion of filling grilled chicken and vegetables he’d thrown together for lunch.
Despite the unnerving silence that took the place of words on either of your lips, if you didn’t think too much, it almost seemed like a normal relationship.
Suguru wordlessly held and caressed your hand, giving you soft, wondrous looks as you raised each forkful to your lips. He didn’t poke or prod or otherwise bother as you ate the meal he prepared you, doing nothing short of admiring you and each bite you took. He cleaned up for the both of you when you finished, and even took it upon himself to plaster some more gentle kisses to your temple.
But, of course, kisses were always a gateway.
You hadn’t the slightest idea the extent of his depravity, having completely underestimated both his willpower and stamina thus far. Every time you thought he was done, thought he’d finished with you, thought you’d have a break— he came back with an insurmountable match for whatever it was you’d just experienced. It was always harder, faster, more.
It started slowly, as Suguru was so famously known for, by now. His hands gently kneaded at your hips through his t-shirt hanging loosely on your body, his mouth kissing a slow path down between your brows, across the bridge and tip of your nose and all the way to your sweet, puckered lips. He took them beneath his own and kissed at them— once, twice, seven times before you were practically chasing them back for the next.
Suguru's warm breath ghosted over your parted lips, his own mouth hanging open in a thin line. His chest rose and fell with each slow, steadying breath— every inhale deep and purposeful, meant to take in as much of your scent as possible. It was heady and intoxicating, filled with the rich, musky aroma of sweat and sex and something uniquely you. He inhaled deeply, the air filling his lungs, spreading warmth throughout his entire body.
Once you were dizzy and needy from all the fruitless kissing, you were begging him to do as he pleased with you— for something, anything that would come close to relief.
And of course, as was his specialty, he took advantage of this desperation to get you to agree to even more restraints, something he obviously seemed fond of.
Maybe it was how helpless you looked beneath him, so bare and at his mercy, that got him off like it did. Regardless of how much he loved to see you in his clothes, seeing you without anything to shield your perfect body from his starved eyes far surpassed that.
That was why he found so much pleasure in seeing you like this.
With your hands cuffed behind your back, every inch of your heavily loved skin taut and displayed for him. Messily, without dignity or regard— he had you just like that on the kitchen floor. Your head was held upwards by a tight grip of your hair, keeping you in place on your knees nestled between his legs. Your face flushed, lips puffy and red, eyes worn and watery.
“Come on,” he coaxed, his voice so sultry that it had your insides churning. “Open one more time, baby.”
You’d gone a few rounds, at this point. Lingering bits of his cum splattered sloppily along your collarbones, your throat, your chest; and even so, things like hesitation and apprehension were things of the past when it came to you and him. The past 12 hours, if that, had taught you to be the perfect and most obedient girl he’d ever seen. Perhaps he’d fucked you into shape for him.
Your lips popped apart rather quickly, your eyes heavy-lidded as a spongy pink tongue poked out for him once more.
Suguru watched you with a hum bubbling in his throat. A free hand would fall to grasp at your jaw, thumb hooking itself past your lower lip and coaxing your mouth to open itself wider. Within moments, his dick was stuffing that sweet mouth full again. His eyes were trained intently on your lips, watching as they stretch obscenely around his girth. His breath hitches in his chest, reverent and awed at the sight as he watches the muscles of your throat work to accommodate him. It’s a beautiful sight, one that he can never seem to tire of no matter how many times he’d come to witness it.
Even now, as tears prick at the corners of your eyes and your nose runs, you look absolutely stunning. Your mouth is stretched wide, your hair a wild mess from where he’s held it in a fist. Bits of flesh from your throat teetered between the line of being a bruise, the marks of where his fingers had lingered standing out starkly against your flushed skin.
At least some of them were from his hands.
This little thought only tightens his grip in your hair, pulling your head forward until you’re shoved impossibly closer, your face nearly pressed right against his pelvis, nose practically buried in his neatly trimmed pubes. He holds you there for a long moment, reveling in the way your struggling breath ghosts over the skin of his low abdomen before gradually easing you back.
Your chest heaves as you gasp for air, your lips parted and glistening with saliva. Your eyes are unfocused, hazed with lust and exhaustion, but they lock onto his, searching for guidance, for permission.
And Suguru gives it to you, with a slight nod of his head and a hoarse command.
“More.”
You don’t hesitate, eager to please him as always. Your head bobs forward once more, taking him deep into the back of your throat with a muffled moan that vibrates deliciously along his length. Your eyes water, but you don’t let up, determined to take him as far as you can.
After all, you’d had practice.
Suguru groans, the sound rough and gravelly as he feels the head of his cock bump the back of your throat. It’s a delicious sensation, one that he could easily become addicted to if he’s not careful. But he resists the urge to hold you there, to force his way down your throat until you’re choking on him. Instead, he allows you the control, the illusion of it anyway, as you set the pace.
“That's it, baby,” he encouraged, his voice rough with desire. “Use that pretty tongue. Get it nice and wet for me.”
You did as instructed, you tried your very best, running your tongue along his length, lapping at the salty drops of precum that leaked from his slit whenever you got the chance. The taste was unlike anything else— rich and slightly bitter, with a hint of earthy musk that coated your tastebuds. You hollowed your cheeks and continued to suck, feeling the way his cock pulsed and throbbed against your tongue.
Your lips slide along his shaft, wet and hot and perfect, as you bob up and down. You’re forced to go slower than you’d like due to the angle, but it only serves to heighten the intensity, drawn-out and teasing. You run your tongue along the underside of his cock on every upstroke, tracing the vein there with the tip before swirling it around the head on the downstroke.
Suguru’s grip in your hair tightens, his knuckles turning white as he fights the urge to thrust up into your mouth. He wants to fuck your face hard and fast, to use you until you’re sobbing and messy and totally debauched. But he refrains, knowing that you need this, need to regain some semblance of control after being at his mercy for so long.
So he focuses on the sensations instead, on the exquisite heat of your mouth, the way your throat flutters around him, the filthy wet sounds that fill the room. He drinks in the sight of you, knees spread wide, wrists cuffed behind your back, face buried in his groin as you worship his cock with your mouth. It’s enough to make him weak in the knees, enough to make him wonder how he ever got so lucky.
Luck. Could he even call it that, if it’d been entirely orchestrated by himself?
Filthy pools of your saliva accumulate beneath the two of you, the sound of your gagging and sucking only making his cock twitch in your mouth. The sounds could only be made more obscene by your little whimpers, in which you let out without struggle.
It made the sound of his phone ringing a stark contrast to the filth.
Caught off guard, you pull back just slightly, releasing his cock from your mouth with a soft pop. Strings of saliva connect your lower lip to the tip, glistening in the low light of the room— he had the curtains drawn, of course, even during midday. You look up at him through your wet lashes, lips swollen and shining, waiting.
Suguru’s eyes only briefly attach themselves to his cell phone buzzing on the granite countertop before they train themselves back to you.
He waves his free hand dismissively. “Keep going.”
It’s dirty, really, nothing short of it. The two of you hadn’t had a serious conversation since this started, and maybe neither of you were stopping this filth because that was exactly what you were afraid of. It was dirty. Dirty how easily it came for both of you, dirty how right it felt. Dirty how automatically your lips sunk back around his tip, and even dirtier that he picked up the phone call regardless.
His voice was nothing but a dull, incessant thrumming in your head as you sucked him off. You were too gone to attempt to focus on whatever conversation he was having, picking up only on little, unimportant bits.
You heard him laugh once, twice, heard him go on in a strained voice about how everything was fine here, as in the apartment where the two of you drowned in your own depravity.
Before he tossed the cell down, you heard him stifle a groan when your tongue flickered up along the lining of his glans, the sound muted with a bite of his tongue.
Soon, you heard him say to the mystery on the other side of the phone, see you soon.
And once he put it down, something changed.
Ever so firmly, he yanks up at your hair, fucking his hips up into your mouth more aggressively as he exhaled through his nose. He set a brutal rhythm, fucking your face hard and deep, grunting with each thrust as he hits the back of your throat.
“Good, good girl,” Suguru purred, his voice like velvet as he praised you. “Always. Always such—” he sucked in another breath, bottoming out inside of your mouth with a sharp thrust, “a good girl.”
One large hand reached up to palm at your cheek, his thumb brushing over your swollen bottom lip. He pushed against the soft flesh, applying just enough pressure to make you open wider to accommodate the next few thrusts of his dick into your mouth. The tears dribbled from your unfocused eyes, blending with all sorts of spit and cum and who knows what sliding down your bruised neck.
He thrust into your mouth, setting a rough, steady rhythm. Each snap of his hips pushed him deeper, until the head of his cock was bumping against the back of your throat. Suguru's breathing grew more ragged as he continued to fuck your face, using your willing mouth for his pleasure. His balls slapped against your chin with each thrust, heavy and full.
“A little more, baby, curl your tongue.” he huffed, groaning in approval when you did as you were told. “Just like that.”
It’d been a long while, to the point that you could hardly feel anything save for the way your lips stretched around each inch he pistoned into your mouth and the sting of his hand woven in your hair, yanking and tugging the strands that curled and locked around his fingers like they themselves needed him in the way that you did. Even so, it hurt— a dull, aching pain that came with the strain of your jaw and manifested itself in your tear ducts.
You didn’t even realize that he’d came until you felt him pull out of your mouth completely, leaving you coughing and sputtering around the sticky mess he’d left behind.
Suguru tapped his tip against your lips once, twice, three times until another little subsequent spurt painted your face with warm droplets, almost making you flinch.
But you didn’t. Your warm, pink tongue flickered out over your low lip and lapped up every bit of his cum that it could reach.
Suguru’s palm cradled the side of your flushed face, urging you to shake your head in a gentle motion so he could see the way your heavy eyes fluttered with the movement. You were completely unphased, compliant, drained.
So it didn’t take much for him to get you up from your knees and pulled into his lap, his lips pressed sweetly against your throat as he kissed praises into your bruised skin. Two thick arms wrapped around you, cradling you so tenderly as he carried you out of the stuffy kitchen and back into your bedroom. Your wrists remained cuffed behind your back, a fact that didn’t come close to phasing you now. Instead, you focused your efforts on helplessly chasing his lazy kisses, craning your neck to try and reach his lips as he splayed you out on the mattress beneath him.
Suguru's fingers trailed lazily down your side, from your shoulder to your hip, as he gazed down at you with a satisfied smirk. You shivered at his touch, your skin hypersensitive from the constant attention. He could see the marks blooming on your throat where his teeth had grazed your pulse point, could feel the way your heart still raced beneath your ribs when his fingers slid over the flesh sheathing the bones.
“Been doing so well, baby,” he murmured, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your collarbone. “Such a good girl for me.”
You let out a breathy sigh, tilting your head back to give him better access to your neck. Suguru's lips moved lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your sternum before dipping lower, past the swell of your breasts. He circled one pebbled nipple with his tongue before drawing it into his mouth, suckling gently.
Your back arched off the bed, a soft moan escaping your lips as a dull throbbing festered straight in your core. Suguru chuckled around your nipple, the vibrations sending tingles through your body. He lavished attention on one breast before moving to the other, his hand kneading the one he'd just left.
As he worked your body, Suguru's free hand drifted lower, ghosting over your stomach before dipping between your thighs. You were already so wet, your arousal coating his fingers as he teased your folds. He circled your clit with the pad of his finger, drawing out a needy whimper from your throat.
“Shh, just relax,” he soothed, pressing a finger inside you slowly. “Let me take care of you.”
Suguru’s lips trail lazily from your breasts back up to your throat, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin and leaving a trail of delicate bruises in their wake. You squirm beneath him, the cuffs still binding your wrists behind your back as he settles between your spread thighs.
“Be still,” he murmurs, stifling another chuckle as your hips weakly buck up to meet his hand.
He’d only slipped one finger inside of you, the digit slow, almost soothing in nature as he pumped it inside of you. Suguru’s face was serene, watching you, taking in your every breath. He watched the way your lip trembled, the way your brows knitted together, the small gasps for air you took when you realized you’d been holding them in.
“Breathe.” he whispers, almost amused.
You can’t respond, your mouth opening and closing soundlessly as he works you back up to that high he’d given you so many times before. Your walls flutter around his fingers, slick and hot, begging for more. Suguru obliges, allowing a second finger to wedge its way deep inside of you and pumping it slowly alongside the first.
So, so wet— the sounds are an aphrodisiac, almost vulgar in nature. You’re dripping down his wrist, trembling like a lone leaf on a withered branch.
Your eyes roll back, your head tipping to the side as he curls his fingers just right, hitting that pretty spot deep inside of your even prettier cunt that has you blabbering nonsensical pleas into the pillowcase. Pleasure coils tightly in your belly, threatening to snap at any moment.
Suguru feels it too, feels the way your body tenses and quivers beneath him. He doubles his efforts, fucking you harder, faster, his thumb pressing down on your clit in tight circles.
“Give it to me, sweetheart.” he whispers, eyes heavily satiated as your body responds instantaneously.
It’s quick, seamless, with a cry that is muffled by the pillow you bite down on. Your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, your walls clamping down on his fingers as you ride out the intense waves of pleasure. Suguru doesn’t let up, continuing to work you through it, drawing out your climax until you’re boneless and trembling in the aftermath.
Just how he wanted you.
Down he goes, peppering a line of kisses down your sternum without warning until he’s kissing just above your pelvis. It isn’t long before you’re whimpering, your oversensitive clit throbbing at the premise. But Suguru doesn’t give you a chance to recover, his mouth descending on you in a heated kiss, his tongue delving deep and lapping up your release.
You let out a broken sound, your hips grinding against his face as he eats you out with abandon. His tongue is skilled, licking and sucking and nibbling, driving you towards the brink of another orgasm far too quickly.
He was too good at that.
Suguru grips your hips, holding you in place with a correcting little huff against your warmth. He alternates between long, slow licks and quick flicks of his tongue, making sure to pay special attention to your clit.
“Suguru,” you gasp, your voice high and needy. “Close!”
He pulls back just the tiniest bit, his lips shiny with your juices. He grins up at you, his eyes glinting with mischief. “That’s my girl.”
Your cunt practically twists in on itself when he buries his head back between your thighs, your wrists twisting and tugging at the cuffs with a subsequent little moan dancing across your lips. It’s overwhelming, flooding your every sense, just as Suguru wanted it to be. There wasn’t a thing in the world that could pry him from you.
Not even the sudden sound of keys fumbling outside the apartment door, audible even over your breathy whimpers spilling past the borders of your bedroom door left ajar. He hadn’t bothered to close it, after all.
You became aware of that sound even in the midst of your depravity, stopping to gasp out a little warning.
“S— S-ah! ‘toru’s h-home!” you protest softly.
Suguru hears you, keeping you planted in place with firm hands and daring to delve his tongue even further into your weak, soppy cunt.
Panic, alongside shame, floods your senses, your eyes nervously flickering out to the hall. You heard the sound of a door open and close, a tall silhouette painting the wall adjacent.
“Suguru!” you hiss, your back arching up with a muffled moan.
There’s a few footsteps, though they cease— the ivory-headed man was likely prying off his shoes. You bite down hard into the wet muscle of your tongue to silence yourself, the tongue between your legs flickering with an intent to have you writhing helplessly against the sheets.
“C’mon, know you’re close.” he murmurs, the heat of his whispers tickling your damp slit.
Almost desperately, Suguru’s fingers find the meat of your thighs as he holds you down, squeezing them tightly as he doubles his efforts. His quick tongue lashes out to lap at your clit as his nose bumps against it with each pass, just a sliver of suction driving you back into the sheets with a muted cry.
It was too much. There was nothing you could do to stifle yourself, not when it felt like his tongue had explicitly severed that tension in your low belly all at once.
Time always seemed to slow when you were with Suguru, but this was different, intentional. Heat filled your every pore, your lips popped apart to free the desolate sound of unmistakable pleasure that’d soon escape it. Your fingertips digged into your bound palms, head tilted back with eyes wide and frenzied from the ecstasy that overwhelmed you.
And it was almost perfect, it had to be— especially when your glossy, panicked eyes met the unnervingly calm irises of blue lingering in the doorway.