Chapter Text
“Safeword, love?”
He chuckles and darts a tongue out to lick his bottom lip. He thinks for a moment, then smiles softly up at you with his impossibly warm brown eyes. “Griffon.”
You roll your eyes and tighten the knot on his back. You place a surprisingly chaste kiss on his cheek and survey your handiwork. Diamond shapes cut out by rope dig into the flesh of his chest. He squirms against the bindings, faint red marks blossoming like watercolor under the paths they carve into his skin. Blackwall groans, a low sound that vibrates in his chest, and follows your movements with hot, bleary eyes. You dig a finger under the cord that restricts his shoulders and tug gently to ensure it's not too tight.
You smile as you watch thick muscles work under his skin. He's bound to a low wooden chair, his torso tied to the backrest and his legs straining against each other. The rope, hemp woven but soft from use, wraps around his large, bare body. You stifle a laugh at the thought of the word bare since Blackwall is pretty much the embodiment of the word bear. His chest is a wide expanse of muscle and dark hair that covers him like a fine carpet. You run your hand over his pecs, pausing for a moment to give his nipples a playful tweak, and sigh at the feeling of his soft body hair under your fingers. It meanders down over his firm yet wonderfully soft stomach before expanding over his crotch and his solid thighs in a way that makes you bite your lip. At his core, between his legs where the hair is at its densest, his cock is heavy and growing stiffer with each passing moment. The rope digs into the creases of his hips, circling his groin, and as he tenses his legs a delicious pressure that makes him feel a bit faint pulses at the base of his cock.
The rope squeaks when he shifts in his seat, the heels of his feet digging into the floor as he watches you examine him like a piece of meat. You catch his eye and hold his gaze as you drop a hand to his length, running a finger over the slit teasingly. He moans and his eyes flutter shut as you move over him at a languid pace. When pre-cum leaks out, you tut quietly and pull back. Blackwall grunts, jerking at his restraints, and opens his eyes; the honey brown of his iris nearly swallowed by his blown pupils.
You hum, pondering over your next move, and savor the way he wriggles in his seat in agony. You run a hand over his beard, pulling at the hairs between your fingers and he juts his chin out so you can grab at more. You pinch his chin between your fingers, shaking your head slowly at his impatience, before lowering it back down. Leaning forward, you capture his lips with your own and kiss him gently. He moans into your mouth, the chair groaning as he tries to move in closer. Pulling back, you pat him on the cheek and step backward. He observes, waiting on his forced throne, as you sit down on the floor before him and spread your legs wide.
Maintaining eye contact, you lower your hand between your legs and cup yourself. Blackwall worries his bottom lip between his teeth. You spread your fingers, allowing him a slight peek at your dripping cunt, and he groans aloud at the sight of you bare.
“Maker, woman, you're going to drive me mad.” He shakes his head and writhes against his bindings. The rope cuts into him, causing him to growl lowly. His hands, bound at the wrists behind his back, clench into fists.
You move your fingers over your folds, spreading them so he can see the arousal wetting your tender flesh. A smile then a sigh as you dip into your core, one finger then another. You press the heel of your palm to your clit, the pressure so good a moan escapes from your lips. You close your eyes momentarily, savoring the feeling of fucking yourself while he looks on, and all you can hear is the wetness of your cunt and the heavy breathing of the man watching you.
When you open your eyes again, Blackwall is watching you like a starving man. His eyes are wide, slightly bulging in the socket, as he jerks lamely at the rope. He's murmuring now, barely decipherable over the vulgar sounds coming from your body. You slow down your ministrations, pausing as you regard the desperate man.
“Please,” he chokes out as he jolts his hips up into nothing. The ropes restrict his movement and he growls loudly at the lack of friction. “Please touch me.”
Sweat drips down his brow and his burly chest shakes with each breath he takes. His cock is an angry shade of blood red, the head weeping openly as his pre-cum drips down his shaft. Taking pity on the man, you roll to your knees and crawl to his bound legs. You push down on his thighs, forcing him to straighten his legs slightly so you can lean over his lap. He nearly jumps at your touch, dragging the chair legs forward with a loud screech. You tense a hand over one thigh, squeezing him as a warning not to be impatient. Your hand is so small compared to the thickness of him, your outstretched fingers barely spanning the top of his thigh, as his legs quiver with anticipation.
Blackwall whimpers, his wide shoulders shaking as he regards you with teary eyes. “Please, miss. Please let me come.”
You kiss his knee then stand up. Before he has time to even open his mouth, you've taken him inside in one rough movement. He throws his head back and gasps loudly at the sudden feeling of encompassing warmth around his cock. You roll your hips against his, grinding into him at a furious pace. He can't take it, his Adam's apple bobbing wildly in his strained throat as he swallows down a sob. You, admittedly, are not better off by much. He's big in all sense of the word, the sheer girth of him stretching your walls to their limit. Your head lolls to the side as you ride him at a punishing tempo. On more than one occasion the head of his cock smashes into your cervix, sending a dizzying mix of pain and pleasure to your core.
At this brutal pace, neither of you last very long and as you drop down to fully sheath him inside you again, he grunts and goes limp against the rope as he fills you with his cum. His cock pulses inside you as you feel your cunt milk him for everything he has to give. You slow your movements, panting as your own orgasm washes over you. You arch your back, tensing your chest against his before falling slack and dropping your head to his shoulder. You place a kiss on the rope there, eliciting a small laugh from the man beneath you.
The two of you are silent for a moment, only the sounds of heavy breathing fill the room as the wild beating of your heart slows into the afterglow. You run a hand over the cord wrapped over his forearm and gently stroke the hair there. You nuzzle his neck and the hairs of his beard tickle your nose. You laugh into his skin, warm breath causing him to shiver.
Blackwall swallows loudly and relaxes his shoulders as much as his bindings allow. “Maker, you'll be the death of me.”