Chapter Text
Three boyfriends in eighteen months. Three break-ups in eighteen months. It’s pretty pathetic. You can’t sugarcoat it, even to yourself. But your dating life has never been particularly spectacular anyways. From your first real boyfriend at sixteen to your latest at twenty-two, your love life was just one long string of disappointments. Bad manners, bad breath, bad attitudes, and- worst of all- bad fucking sex.
“Why do bad things happen to good people?” You groan out, forehead pressed against your open textbook.
The page it’s open to reads like gibberish for all that you can understand of it, and isn’t that just the cherry on top of the cake? You broke up with your shitty boyfriend and you’re going to fail the stupid fucking required stats class you were too lazy to take freshman year.
Yorozu pats you on the head consolingly but doesn’t bother looking up from her own textbook. She’s underlined nearly half the page and is still going strong with her sparkly blue gel pen.
“You’re renting that.” She reminds you, tapping the wrinkled paper beneath your forehead. You sit back in your chair and sigh.
“That’s all you have to say? No wise words of comfort for you best friend?” You whine. Her brown gaze flits to you briefly, delicate brow furrowed into a frown.
“Not to be a bitch, but I did tell you Naoya was an asshole.” She says, underlining another stretch of text without looking.
“Yes, you did, but him being an asshole wasn’t even the problem. Not really.” You say.
Uro looks up from where she was rapidly typing away on her shiny pink cellphone- texting her boyfriend no doubt. She’s been dickmatized to Kashimo for the last three years, and while you’re happy she’s in love, you wish she could spread a bit of her good luck along to you.
“Tiny dick?” Uro asks, hitting the nail on the head in one.
Ordinarily you might shush her, embarrassed by her crass and direct language in such a public place, but the cafe you’re studying in is absolutely packed full of students from your university, and the din of tens of other voices is enough to drown hers out.
“Fucking microscopic. It felt like a pencil flailing around in an elevator.” You groan, making her snicker.
“And you were the elevator?” Yorozu asks raising an eyebrow, attention fixed once again on her book.
“It’s a metaphor, okay?” You gripe.
Uro leans back, precariously balancing on the back two legs of her chair, nearly toppling into the table of grad students behind her. Tapping her baby pink juul against her bottom lip, she narrows her eyes at you. Uro is interesting, pink all over and only rough edges.
“You know, you would expect I guy with an attitude like that to be packing.” She remarks.
“You can’t smoke that in here.” Yorozu nags.
“It’s vapor.” Uro rolls her eyes.
“It’s the law.” Yorozu rolls her eyes back. This catty back and forth is how they express their love for each other.
“If I had a dick that small I’d have an attitude too.” You say, getting back to the topic at hand.
“That’s a fair point.” Yorozu says.
“And he didn’t know how to use it?” Uro prods.
“Not in the fucking slightest. Why do I have such bad luck with guys? Actually, why do I have such bad luck with dicks?” You ask no one in particular.
“See, your problem is that you always go for pretty boys. Kashimo looks like he lives under a bridge, and he eats box like a man starved.” Uro says. She takes any opportunity to brag about her boyfriend and it would be annoying if the stars in her eyes weren’t so adorable. Kashimo is a good guy anyways.
From the grand bedroom tales she’s always sharing, you know good sex with a partner is at least possible. And yet time after time you’re stuck faking it just to get your awful experiences over with. Sex with other people has been so constantly and consistently bad that you even started to consider there was something wrong with you. Maybe your vagina didn’t work the way it was supposed to.
It’s something your first ever boyfriend screamed in the midst of your messy public breakup, and you’ve never quite been able to get the idea out of your head. But you can come, alone in bed with your trusty rose toy. Orgasms come almost too easy that way. So why can’t you ever do it with someone else?
“Uro might have a point actually. You always go for the same type. Maybe you need to switch things up. Go for a fuckboy or something. At least the quality of the sex will be guaranteed that way.” Yorozu says.
It isn’t the worst idea you’ve ever heard. You have historically gone for the kind of guy with a pretty face and an awful mindset. Mostly clean cut, uppity, with bad attitudes. Not on purpose, it just always sort of happens that way. It’s like you’re some kind of magnet for guys with mommy issues and tiny dicks.
“And where am I supposed to meet my fabled bridge troll?” You ask, a bit sarcastically. Yorozu is a lesbian and Uro is in a long term relationship. It’s hard to believe either of them know where to pick up guys.
“Well,” Uro begins, and you don’t like her tone “Mahito is having a thing on Thursday.”
“You want me to hook up with Mahito?” You’re unable to keep the abject horror out of your voice.
Uro makes a face. “Jesus, no! You need a change of pace, not fucking gonorrhea. Their place is a hot spot for perverts, though.”
“Yeah, you would know. Where did you and Kashimo meet again?” You snark and she gives you the finger.
“Midterms start next week.” Yorozu says, like either of you needs reminding.
“Which is exactly why we should go. Let off some steam before we have to really lock in.” Uro wiggles her eyebrows, looking back and forth between the two of you expectantly. You share a look with Yorozu and she shrugs.
“Fine.” You say.
“I don’t see why not.” Yorozu concedes.
…
If you were being generous you would describe Mahito’s house as just one step above a frat. And that’s being very generous. It’s a shitty three bedroom they share with two sketchy roommates. The exterior is practically decrepit with chipping paint, a sagging porch, and shutters that are barely hanging on by a thread. It would look condemned if it weren’t always lit up with flashing LEDs and rattling with blasting music. You’ve seen the cops busting up the place more times than you can even count, but people still flood it’s walls come the next weekend.
Inside is slightly better than outside. It’s mostly clean, at least, and the secondhand furniture is clear of odd smells or suspicious stains. It’s enough that you feel comfortable taking a seat on the battered couch in the living room.
Uro took it upon herself to dress you- insisted on it really- and the tiny denim shorts she’s squeezed you into are short enough that your thighs and ass cheeks make direct contact with the worn suede when you sit which is not the best feeling.
It’s cold enough in late autumn that shorts should really be off the table, but Uro got Yorozu to practically hold you down while she manhandled you into the outfit of her choosing. She gave you a sweater to wear on top at least, and a leather jacket. None of it is really your style per se, but you’ve only been in the house for half an hour and you’ve already received several interested looks.
Yorozu disappeared with some muscled out masc practically the second you stepped inside, so it’s just you and Uro. Well, you, Uro, and Kashimo whose lap she is currently using as a seat. They’re necking like teenagers, devouring each others faces like they didn’t just see each other at lunch. It would be cute, how much they’re into one another, if their relationship wasn’t a glowing torch highlighting your pathetic love life.
“You guys are fucking gross.” You complain when Uro jabs you with her elbow for the third time.Their mouths make an obscene smacking noise when they separate and you make a face. Yeah, gross.
“You’re the perv watching us.” Uro says, sticking out her tongue. Kashimo makes a contemplative sound.
“Is it, like, triggering to watch a happy couple when you’re…y’know?” He asks. You give Uro the most vicious glare you can muster.
“You’re telling your boyfriend my relationship bullshit now?” You ask and she looks caught out.
“I’m your friend too, aren’t I?” Kashimo looks a little like a kicked puppy and you sigh.
“Yeah dude, you’re my friend. Shits just embarrassing.” You drop your head to the back of the couch and stare up at the ceiling. It has popcorn plaster and several massive water stains.
“I think it’s more embarrassing to have a small dick than it is to fuck someone who has one.” He says wisely. Uro looks at him like he’s the smartest man on earth. It’s sickening.
“Babe.” She says in awe. Dickmatized.
“I’m not fucking drunk enough for this.” You groan and rise to your feet.
“Drink responsibly!” Uro manages to call after you before Kashimo pulls her back into a kiss.
The trek to the kitchen is littered with similar couples doing gross shit that should really remain behind closed doors, wasted freshmen who have over imbibed, and medium ugly guys trying to pick up girls way out of their leagues. It seems like there’s a Bluetooth speaker in every room, and the EDM only gets worse and worse the further you traverse into the house.
When you reach the kitchen you find it blessedly empty of people, but when you examine the bottles laid out on the counter you find them devastatingly empty of booze. You even go so far as to check the fridge for an errant beer, but all you find inside is radioactive looking leftovers and a jar of mayonnaise.
“Who the fuck runs out of booze at a house party?” You ask the empty air, shaking a barren tequila bottle upside down for good measure.
“It was BYOB.” A voice says from somewhere behind you. It takes everything in you not to jump. You turn to face the voice, dropping the bottle back onto the counter, and are surprised to see a face you recognize.
Kamo Choso stands in the dim doorway that leads to the backyard. You don’t know him, not really, but you know of him- if only tangentially. His reputation on campus is somewhere between notorious and infamous. He’s always hanging around Geto Suguru and Ryomen Sukuna, both infamous figures in their own right. He does…something in the fine arts department. Photography, or ceramics, or oil painting, you can’t quite remember.
The reputation that proceeds him has little to do with his academic life and much more to do with his personal one. There was a girl he dated freshman year who showed up to a presentation with bruises on her wrists and ankles and everyone though he’d been hitting her. It turned out they were just kinky. Like, very kinky. All the stories swirling around him were of a similar nature.
Which didn’t exactly earn him a stamp of approval in your mind. Every time you’d seen him on or off campus there was a different girl hanging off of his arm or clutching onto the back of his motorcycle. He seemed rather whorish, if you did say so yourself.
It didn’t help any that he walked around looking like some kind of emo yakuza. Smudgy dark makeup shadowing his eyes, messy black hair long enough to get elders clicking their tongues, and tattoos. Dark ink that peeked out over the right shoulder of his shirt, stretching onto his neck and down past his sleeve, sprawled onto the back of his hand. The worst was the black line across his nose. Who in their right mind got a face tattoo?
“No one told me that.” You say with a frown. Choso shrugs.
“They might’ve only told the guys. Checks out for Mahito’s MO.” He says, and for some reason he’s walking closer. A lot closer. Like, too close, getting right up in your face.
You don’t even get the chance to say anything or protest before he’s reaching an arm around you, the chilly zipper of his leather jacket brushing against your thigh. You think he’s going to- well you don’t know what you think, really. That he’s going to kiss you? Head butt you? Lift you up onto the counter and take you then and there? He does none of those things, of course. He just grasps at something behind you and then steps away.
“Lighter.” He explains, holding up the object for you to see.
You stare at the pink rectangle of plastic blankly, somehow feeling duped. “Ah.” You say dumbly.
He looks at you for a second longer, and you think he’ll do the classic thing. Skirt his eyes up and down your body, undress you with his gaze, and then quirk an eyebrow to ask if you’re into it. But he doesn’t. Which isn’t disappointing at all. He’s hot, sure, but he’s practically the antithesis to anything you’re into. Grungy, messy, and sexually promiscuous. All major turn offs.
“Smoke?” He asks and pulls a neat little joint from behind his ear. You consider it for a second, thinking of the lack of any inebriating substance in your system, and the decision is easy.
“Absolutely.” You say and follow him outside.
The back of the house is slightly less battered and dilapidated than the front. All the grass is overgrown and the yard is full of trash and weeds, but the deck doesn’t feel like it will collapse under your feet which is a win.
You sit next to Choso on the stairs and it’s a surprisingly tight squeeze. He’s taller than he looked from afar, and broader too, but the heat radiating off his body is a blessing in the chilly night. He lights up the joint with practiced ease, taking a few puffs to really get it going, and then passes it over. You take a long, hard drag, filling your lungs up with weed smoke, stealing another mouthful before passing it back.
Choso looks at you curiously, one dark eyebrow raised. “Tough night?” He asks.
“Tough fucking life.” You say and you know you’re being dramatic, but the weed is already fuzzying the emotional logic in your mind. When else can you be a drama queen if not whilst under the influence?
“Wanna talk it out? My therapist says venting to strangers is fine to cope.” He says the words my therapist so casually. It sets off some kind of warning bell in your mind. You like emotionally well adjusted men. I’m in danger, you think.
“You aren’t a stranger. I know who you are. You’re always with those other two, Geto and…Sukuna? You’re in that band.” You say and yeah, you’re definitely high. You sound like a fucking stalker. Choso looks surprised and a touch intrigued.
“You a fan?” He asks, smoke chasing the words.
You pull off of the dwindling joint and shrug. “Not really my scene, but my friend’s boyfriend works a lot of the club shows. Kashimo? I think you know each other.”
“Ah, Hajime’s good people.” Choso says.
“Sure, but I wish he’d stop having aggressively loud sex with my roommate on weeknights.” You blurt, overly honest.
Choso coughs an unexpected laugh. “Not a voyeur I take it?” He asks and you wrinkle your nose at the suggestion.
“Well, no, but see that’s part of the problem. It’s just a reminder of how not fucked I’m getting.” You say.
At that, Choso plucks the joint from your fingers and stubs it out on the stairs. It’s obvious you’re being cut off, but you’re too high to really care. You feel light and floaty and the disappointment of your ex’s tiny dick feels less awful.
“You don’t really seem like you’d have trouble getting fucked to be honest.” Choso says and it’s a roundabout compliment, maybe, but you don’t let your mind get stuck there.
“No, but I have this- I have this curse, or something. I swear I’m like a magnet for men with comically small dicks and impossibly inflated egos.” Your candor startles another laugh out of him, and you go on. “It’s like, I don’t know. Is it me? Is there something wrong with me? Am I physically incapable of coming?” In a mortifying turn of events, you feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes.
Choso fixes you in his dark gaze, and the look in his eyes is kind, if a bit serious. His tongue darts out to lick across his bottom lip.
“There’s nothing wrong with you.” He says, sounding certain.
“How do you know?” You ask.
“Hm, call it a hunch. Want me to help prove it to you?” He asks.
It must be the weed making you misunderstand his words, the tone behind them. It sounds like he’s…but surely not?
“What?” Your mouth is so, so dry.
“Want me to prove you can come?” He asks and when his tongue darts out to lick across his bottom lip again you find yourself entranced by the sight.
“I- right now?” You ask.
He leans back against the balustrade and shrugs. “Whenever.”
Every story of his wild sex life runs through your mind like a stop motion picture. Wild things, debauched things, but also only good things. You thought it earlier, that he isn’t like any of the guys you’ve been with before, but wasn’t that the whole point? The chipping black paint on his fingernails, the shiny silver ring through his eyebrow, the filthy, scuffed up boots on his feet.
“Yeah, okay.” You say. He smiles and the expression is surprisingly sweet.
“How high are you?” He asks. You think on the question carefully before giving your answer.
“Definitely too high to operate large machinery, but I could, like, use a stove no problem.” You say.
“Cool. Wanna go back to mine?” He asks.
“Okay.” You agree before you can talk yourself out of it.
…
Uro catches you on your way out with a hand around your wrist. “You good?” She asks, shooting a pointed look to where Choso is looming behind you.
“All good.” You assure her with a thumbs up.
“Cool?” Choso asks, looking between the two of you.
“Cool.” Uro says, somewhat sarcastically. Kashimo breaks up the climbing tension.
“Look after her, yeah?” He directs the question to Choso which would be a little insulting if he wasn’t just looking out for you.
“Sure thing, man.” Choso nods.
“Drop us a pin.” Kashimo tells you, reaching out a hand to ruffle your hair like you’re a little kid.
You swat his hand away and roll your eyes. “Yes, Dad. Can I go now?” Kashimo gets a hand under Uro’s skirt and they wave you off.
“Nice friends.” Choso says when you’re out on the road.
“They do their best to look out for me.” You say.
“It’s good to have people like that around.” He sounds like he really means it and it feels suddenly like things are getting too heavy.
“Did you walk here?” You ask. The house is close enough to campus and there’s lots of student housing around so it isn’t an unreasonable question.
“Nah.” He says. “Drove my bike, but.” He pantomimes smoking and you get the point.
“How responsible.” You say. He doesn’t really look the type.
“You teasing me?” He asks.
“No. I take that shit seriously.” You say.
“It’s a few blocks, is that okay? I can get a cab if you want. It’s pretty cold.” He says.
You shake out your hands, trying to shake off the cold with little success. It isn’t freezing or anything, but it’s definitely cold enough to make standing around outside a bit unpleasant.
“It’s okay. The walk will help me sober up some more.” You say and he eyes you skeptically. “Lead the way.” You gesture for him to start walking and after a moment longer he does.
“So your problem.” He begins and you jolt, not having expected him to circle back to the topic.
“Um. Yeah?” You say, unsure.
“Tell me more about it.” He requests.
“What do you want to know?” You ask.
“What have you tried? What’s worked and what hasn’t?” He expands.
You stare off into the distance and ponder the questions. What hasn’t worked? What has? Every sexual encounter you’ve had with another person just ended up being an exercise in futility, always concluding in disappointment and often even tears. And it’s not like none of your exes tried. Some of them tried very hard, just in all the wrong ways, and it never got you anywhere.
“I don’t- um, I don’t know. I’ve tried, y’know, the usual stuff. Standard positions or whatever. Fast, slow, hard, soft. It just never felt, um, very g-good.” You awkwardly stutter your way through the words, feeling like a fucking prude with the way your cheeks are burning.
“But you can get off on your own?” He asks, sounding genuinely curious. You flush harder.
“Yeah. T-that part has never been a problem.” You can’t look him in the eyes. If you do you think you might actually die of embarrassment.
“Sounds like they were just making all the wrong moves.” He says.
“Maybe.” You shrug.
“This is me.” He nods to the apartment complex a few feet up ahead.
It isn’t student housing, which is a bit of a surprise, but one of the fancy condo buildings squished between two subsidized student apartment complexes. The units cost double what most of the other places in the area charge, and you feel bad about being shocked that he can afford the rent. He doesn’t look poor, whatever that might mean, he’s just a bit grungy. You know you’re being a bitch by judging him so harshly, even if its only in your own mind.
When you step inside the apartment it is pitch dark save for the bulb shining above the stove in the kitchen. From the little you can make out in the dim illumination, you gather that his place is pretty nice. Well furnished and neat, if sparsely decorated. Everything looks to be in mute tones, blacks and deep blues and reds, but that could just be an effect of the light. It’s about a hundred times cleaner and better maintained than the last man’s house you were inside of though, that’s for damn sure.
The entry is narrow, and you have to balance awkwardly on one foot with your hand braced on the wall to get your shoes off. After setting them in front of the door you stand to your full height and find Choso leaned against the wall with crossed arms, just watching you.
“C’mere.” He says, easy, and holds out a hand in your direction. You take the offered hand and he uses it to tug you into the loose circle of him arms. He chuffs your chin with a knuckle so your face is turned up towards him. It’s easy to follow the line of his sight; his gaze is fixed squarely on your mouth.
“I’m gonna kiss you.” He announces and before you can respond, he has sealed his mouth over yours.
It is shockingly chaste. Or it starts that way at least. Just your mouths making simple contact. Both of his hands come up to cup your jaw and your face feels impossibly small in his grasp. Not that you’re particularly petite, he’s just that big. His large fingers sink into your hair, curling around the nape of your neck and he uses that grip to tug you closer.
Choso presses kiss after closed-mouth kiss to your lips. There’s no rush to any of it, as if he has all night to just stand here and drive you crazy with kisses that seem to be going nowhere. His tongue stays firmly in his own mouth, and the only slick connection is at the inner seam of your lips.
It’s nothing. Really nothing. Barely more than a peck. And yet you find yourself short of breath, panting into his mouth and chasing after him when he pulls away. Heat alights in your belly, just tiny embers for now, but still. You’re getting turned on by a grade school kiss.
“Hey.” He says after a while.
“Hey.” You say back, trying to conceal how breathless you are.
“I want to eat you out.” He states plainly and you choke on nothing.
You cough a few times to clear your throat. “Um.” Is all you manage to say.
“You don’t want me to?” He asks, not unkindly.
“It’s not that I don’t want you to. I’ve just never- no one’s ever-” you stumble uselessly over your words, but by the look on his face you can tell he’s understood. All of your experiences with oral sex up to now have been pathetically one sided, and it’s so embarrassing that he knows that.
“That’s…” he licks his lips, seeming a bit stunned, “okay. But do you want me to?”
Your eyes get caught again on that pink tongue and you can’t help imagining it on you, inside of you.
“I want you to.” You say and the smile he gives you in return steals what little breath was remaining in your chest. He might be rough around the edges, but god is he beautiful.
Choso leads you the rest of the way inside by the hand. Vague objects cast inky silhouettes in the dark, though you can’t really make out what any of them are. A TV on the left wall maybe, and a sleek dark couch opposite it.
He leads you to that couch, yanking off his jacket as he goes and tossing it across the arm of the sofa. You allow yourself to be tugged out of your own jacket and lowered onto the cool leather upholstery.
“These have to come off.” He says, tapping at the waistband of your shorts.
“Okay.” You say. Settling his weight over you, he pulls the denim down and off your legs, allowing them to drop onto the floor.
“Panties too?” He asks and you swallow.
“Sure.” You say.
It feels stupid, to just be in your pink ribbed sweater and naked from the waist down, but the way Choso is looking at you isn’t stupid at all. There’s a glint in his dark eyes, one you can’t read yet still feel entranced by. His eyes flit from your face right to the bare center of you and catch there.
“Spread your legs for me, hm?” He asks, voice dripping with honey. His big hands come down onto your knees and you let them part easily under his gentle urging.
“Oh.” He says. “You’re wet.”
“I’m- ah!” You begin to explain yourself but his thumb prodding at your slick hole has your mouth falling open and silent in shock.
“You got this wet just from kissing? That’s cute.” Something about his words feels so mean, like he’s taunting you. Worse though is the way that edge of humiliation has you growing wetter.
“It was a lot of kissing.” You defend.
“I’ll kiss you some more right here.” He says, shuffling down so he’s settled more securely between your thighs.
That’s all the warning you get before he’s ducking down his head and licking a fat stripe from your hole to your clit. A shudder wracks your body at the intense and unfamiliar sensation, but he gives you no time to adjust. It’s like a switch has been flipped in his mind. With eager enthusiasm, he presses his face close between your thighs, the tip of his nose making ready contact with the dampness leaking out of you.
“Oh my god.” You squeak, embarrassment and arousal shooting through you in equal measure. He doesn’t say anything, just licks another wide stripe across your labia, the tip of his slick tongue tapping at your swelling clit.
With wide, hungry presses of his tongue, he licks up all the wetness pooling at your entrance and pushes his tongue shallowly inside like he’s trying to get a better taste. He hums, vibrations pulsing out across your lips from the way his mouth is pressed against them.
“Tastes fucking sweet.” He mutters and your hands come up to cover your face in utter humiliation.
“Liar.” You swallow hard around all the saliva pooling in your mouth. He rubs the pad of his thumb over your entrance again and again, gathering whatever wetness he can.
“Taste.” He says, pressing his thumb to your lips.
You suck the digit into your mouth, licking up all your slick. It’s filthy and debauched and not sweet at all. It taste like pussy, which isn’t so bad, but it’s still proof that he’s full of it.
“Not sweet.” You mumble around his thumb.
Choso looks up at you, dark eyes pouring a hole straight through your soul. He sucks your clit into his mouth and grins around the little nub like a fucking psycho. Shivering and groaning, you wonder for the first time who exactly you’ve gotten into bed with.
“Sweet to me. I bet if I gave you a finger your little hole would swallow it right up. What do you think? You want one?” He asks, rubbing at your hole again like it’s his favorite past time.
All you can do is nod mutely, overwhelmed by sensation and the dangerous sheen to his gaze. The wet heat he’s licking into your body is better than anything anyone has ever done to you before. Better than anything you’ve done to yourself, probably.
He slips a finger inside and the glide is so slick and easy that he presses another in right alongside it. Twisting and curling his long fingers, he pushes up to his last knuckle and rubs at a spot inside of you that is so tender and sensitive it makes you cry out.
“Oh my god.” You say again, sucking in a shocked breath. It’s like a little button of pleasure and he taps at it again and again, tongue still laving at your hole and flicking at your clit. It’s far too much far too soon.
“I- oh, oh! I’m-” the world zeroes in to a singular point, to his fingers inside of you, his mouth all over you. Close, you’re so fucking close.
One more finger wiggles its way inside and the stretch of it needles at you, pushes you further. His fingers are big, so big, knuckles catching and knocking inside of you.
“Oh, you’re so hungry, sweetheart. You’re eating my fingers right up. Look. Look at how you’re swallowing me up.” He murmurs and your eyes drop down to where he’s crooking his fingers into you.His pinky catches again and again on your slippery hole, like your cunt is desperate to take in anything it can. Maybe it is. With how good it feels you think you would take anything he gave you.
“I’m going to come.” You gasp. He tries to hide his grin against your thigh but you feel it anyways.
“Go on then. Show me how pretty you look when you come.” He urges.
All control of your body is lost then. Your spine snaps up, hips jerking to chase after his fingers, to bury his mouth further in your wet heat. The orgasm falls hard on you like a bottle over the fucking head. Lewd, humiliating noises are escaping from your mouth and you feel like you can’t breathe.
It’s all you can do to clench around him and clutch hard at his shoulders as you ride wave after wave. He doesn’t ease you down from the high, but keeps hitting that same spot inside of you and suckling at your clit.
It’s so good. It’s too much. It feels like dying and coming back to life all at once. You ride the waves like you’re riding out a hurricane, but it just builds and builds. Searing heat that burns from your clit to deep in your belly.
“Choso!” You cry out his name and you aren’t sure if you’re begging for more or begging for mercy.
“I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” His voice rumbles out.
Something is happening inside of you. A terrifying, electric pleasure grows with alarming intensity. You’ve never had two orgasms back to back and you’re sure this isn’t what it’s supposed to feel like.
A second storm crashes over you and your vision goes black at the edges. You clench around his fingers so hard it hurts and a wash of warm fluid floods out of you. Drenching his hand down to the wrist, shooting out onto your thighs, soaking his face and even dripping down onto the collar of his shirt. Your face burns with mortification and the fever of sex. You squirted. You fucking squirted. All over his nice leather couch at that.
“Oh. Oh, look at you. You made such a mess. What a sweet girl. You did so good.” Choso coos the words like he’s proud of you and it smooths out your nerves.
“I did good?” You ask and it’s frightening, the way you find yourself craving his approval.
“So good. Fuck, I’m gonna bust in my goddamn pants.” He groans.
Gentling his punishing touch, Choso eases you back down from nirvana. Only once it’s clear your orgasm has run its course, aftershocks slowing their migration through your body, does he finally remove his fingers. Staring blankly at the dark doorway that leads to his kitchen in a complete and utter daze you wonder to yourself sex can feel like this?
“Hey.” Choso says, pulling your attention to where he’s still laying between your legs. His lips and cheeks and chin are all shiny wet and there are even a few damp spots darkening the neck of his t-shirt. If you were’t so blissed out you might feel embarrassed over the mess you’ve made of him. “How do you feel?” He asks.
“Like someone just rewrote my fucking DNA.” You confide, making him laugh.
With weak hands, you grip onto his t-shirt, tugging at his shoulders. He allows himself to be pulled up until his face is just before yours. Holding his cheeks close between both hands, you lick at his face until it’s gleaming clean, no longer soaked in you. His eyes have grown darker, pupils swollen and fat, and there is something hard and unmistakable poking at your thigh.
Tentatively, you get a hand on his hard length through the thick denim of his jeans. He shudders at the light touch. He’s so hard you feel bad. Big too. The thing in his pants feels more like a lead pipe than a dick.
“Let me get you off.” You request.
“You don’t have to.” He says breezily.
“Try and say that when you’re not thrusting into my hand.” You suggest and he laughs breathlessly.
“I’m serious. You really don’t have to.” He says.
“I want to.” You assure him, hand on his fly.
“Okay.” He doesn’t argue further.
Sighing heavily, he drops his head down onto your shoulder. You pull him fully from his pants and briefs and waste no time getting both hands around him. He’s bigger than he felt through his pants. Like, big. Porno big. You’re highly doubtful anything that size could fit inside of you. Where the hell would all of it go?
The head of his cock is flushed red and slippery wet with precum. He shudders against you when you press your thumb against his slit and spread the wetness down his shaft.
“You’re leaking.” You say.
“You’re hot.” He says and you laugh.
His mouth is open and his breath steams out over your neck. Stroking him in earnest, you begin to build up a decent rhythm. Whenever you swipe under the head he groans and bites at your throat so you keep it up.
“Good?” You ask.
“Mm.” He hums.
“Tell me what you need.” You say.
Angling his head down, he gazes at his cock in your hands. “A little tighter.” He says and swears colorfully when you oblige.
It’s kind of mesmerizing to watch the precum dribble out of his cock hole, to feel him grow wetter and harder in your hands the closer he gets to finishing. The sounds he breathes out against your skin are intoxicating. In an attempt to get him louder, harder, coming you dig a blunt nail right under his head. He shudders against you, swearing hard, and then he starts to come.
Rope after thick white rope spills out over his cock and all over your hand. It leaks hot onto your bear thighs and splatters across your belly and sweater. You can’t look away. You wish, for a split second, that he was spilling in your mouth instead of on your skin, and the thought shocks you. But his cock is so pretty. The sounds he makes, the way he clutches at your forearms and says your name has you feeling a little drunk on power.
When you’re certain you’ve worked him through the last of it, you use your fingers to wipe him clean and tuck him gently back into his pants. Panting and spent, Choso eases the rest of his weight down on top of you, pressing your body further into the couch, not that you mind. Something about his warm form stretched over you is comforting.
Your faces are mere inches apart, and you take the nearness as opportunity. Bringing one cum soaked hand up to your mouth, you make certain his attention is fixed on you before sucking every last finger clean.
“Sweet.” You lie with ease. He groans at your antics and pushes your face away with a large hand.
“Smart ass.” He says, but he doesn’t sound like he’s complaining.
…
For a little while you just lay there, both riding out the wash of endorphins while you come back into your bodies. The very edges of your consciousness are still hazy from the weed, hazier still from the orgasms and it’s late as shit. Close to four in the morning maybe? Way past your bedtime.
You’re struggling to blink your heavy lids when Choso eases off of you and climbs to his feet. His fly hangs open and his shirt has risen up so you get a tantalizing glimpse at his abs and happy trail before he turns away.
“Be right back. I’ll get you a shirt.” He says, moving towards the hallway.
Without his body covering you, your nudity feels perverse and obscene and not in the sexy way. Reaching out with one fumbling hand you manage to scoop your underwear up from the floor. You’ve just finished shimmying back into them when Choso returns holding a damp cloth in one hand and a t-shirt in the other.
“Let’s get you cleaned up.” He says and tugs you into his lap.
The cloth is pleasantly warm when he moves it across your skin and the thoughtfulness of that surprises you. He wipes away all the drying cum and even goes so far as to push your panties aside and wipe between your legs. The friction of the cloth against your sensitive skin makes you shiver and you think he breathes out a laugh.
Exhaustion from the best sex of your life has you feeling lax and sleepy, so you don’t protest when Choso takes it upon himself to get you out of your top and bra. The t-shirt he dresses you in is black and big enough that it hangs halfway down your thighs. A graphic on the front boasts some metal band you’ve barely heard of, but it’s soft and smells nice.
“I don’t really do casual hookups.” Choso says, smoothing his hands down the fabric at your sides.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask.
His fly is still open and the the dark patch of hair you can see through it catches your attention again. You want to press your nose there and see if it smells the same as the collar at your throat.
“It means if you want to do this again we need to be on the same page.” He says.
It takes a bit of effort to drag your gaze back up to his but you manage. “What page is that? I just got out of a relationship and I’m not really trying to jump into another one so soon. It was…not good.” You say, understating the situation completely. Naoya was a goddamn terror.
“It doesn’t have to be serious. I’m not going to ask to meet your parents or whatever. I just wouldn’t really want you doing this with other people.” He explains.
“Oh, that’s-that I can do, for sure. I’m not big into multiplayer sports.” You say and he laughs.
The environment he’s forged between you feels comfortable and easy, not at all like this is the first time you’ve ever spoken privately. His hand shifts from your side to sweep in broad motions across your back. The sensation is easing you rapidly back into the space of half-dozing that you occupied earlier.
It’s feels as though he presses a kiss into the top of your head but you can’t be certain, senses dull as they are with impending unconscious.
“I’m falling asleep.” You admit and he laughs into your hair.
“Okay, come on. Up, off to bed with you.” You allow yourself to be dragged up off the couch and down a short hall into his bedroom. Choso sinks down onto the bed, pulling you with him and tucking you close in at his side beneath a mountain of plush blankets.
“Do you have class tomorrow?” He asks after your bodies have shifted and slotted together.
“Mm, not until the afternoon. You?” Your voice is distant and hazy with sleep.
“Yeah, nine AM.” He sighs.
“Tough shit.” You say.
“You think you can come one more time?” That question wakes you up a bit.
“I have no idea.” You answer honestly.
“Let me try?” He requests, hands on your hips.
“You just said you have to be up early.” You protest weakly.
“It’ll make me feel better.” He insists and you sigh in defeat.
“…fine.” You concede.
He grins triumphantly and rolls you onto your back.
“Let’s see if you can squirt again.” He says and something about it sounds like a threat. Literally what have you gotten yourself into?