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So, it started off as a joke.
You’re a curious kind of person. You enjoy pushing things to their limit, testing how much you can get away with until something snaps.
When your best friend put an idea into your head about sneaking into that big building with all the spider people, there was no way you weren't going to follow through with it. There were so many of them - always wandering around the vicinity of the building. Sometimes, you’d see a few of them riding trains or getting coffee. It was a little bit peculiar, having all these people dressed up in tight spider outfits.
You knew the basics of it. Your spiderman had opened up this world to different universes, bringing other spider people to your world. Now, there were just so many of them.
You wanted to see if, with the sheer amount of them, you could put on a silly little costume and slip in with them. You even have a watch. It probably wouldn't hold up under inspection, but it's enough that you passed unnoticed.
Well, for the first few times, at least. You’d wandered around the layout of the place, and quickly discovered that a lot of the areas would be off limits to you, as someone who could not walk on the ceiling. But, that still left plenty of area that you could explore. So explore you did.
You saw some weird shit, honestly. There were a few animals - a Spider T-rex, a Spider Cat, a Spider Pig, and a Spider Horse. You think there was even a Spider Popsicle. There was a therapy office - with two masked spider people in the middle of an intense session. And there was your Spiderman.
You’d seen him around the base. He would be walking through the halls, grabbing food from the cafeteria, occasionally yelling at someone. He seemed so… serious. Everything he did was with a purpose, and it was intimidating. And kind of hot.
When he finds you, and he realizes that you are in fact not a spider person(well, a hologram of a girl wearing pink heart shaped sunglasses realized it, and told him) and just a regular guy fucking around in places he does not belong, he simply removes you from the building.
The next time, he also removes you. Grabs you firmly around the hips, and places you outside like you’re a bad dog.
And the next time, and the next time.
It’s a little bit funny. The way he’ll glare at you, swing over, and put you outside. He’ll huff and yell at you, but, to him, you’re just some guy. He’s got other things to worry about.
The fifth time it happens, he finds you in his office. It had taken you a while to get up here, as you had had to find an old flight of stairs that hadn’t been used since the place was first built. You’re examining the various gadgets he’s got strewn all over the place. You sure as hell don’t know what any of them do, but they’re cool to look at.
You know he spots you because he sighs loudly, exasperated. “You need to stop coming in here.”
He’s standing at the door, and you’re sitting on a platform. Like this, you’re looking down at him. It's a fun change of pace.
You shake your head.
He webs the ceiling, then swings up to where you are. He makes a move to grab you, but you stand up and shuffle away from him.
Spiderman groans. “Alright, what do you want? You’ve been here five separate times, and you don’t seem like you’re doing anything.” He gestures at you. “You just stand there.”
You stare back at him and consider saying something vulgar about the back of his costume. “I don’t know. It’s a cool place. I like looking at shit.”
He scoffs. “You’re here, running around, wasting my time, because you like ‘looking at shit?’” He steps toward you, his voice rising.
“Hey, hey.” You put both of your hands up. “You know, you’ve gotta work on that. The anger, and stuff I mean. You going to that therapist guy in the fourth sector? You should, he seems neat.”
He takes another step toward you. “Shut up. Stop talking. Stop coming here. Go do regular civilian things, like work in an office and drink iced coffee.”
You cross your arms and glare up at him. “Hey, man. That’s kind of insulting. I like to think I’m not a regular civilian. I’m at least an extremely cool civilian.”
Another step. Now, he’s backed you up against one of the consoles on the platform, and there’s nowhere for you to go. You’re face to face with his chest, your nose almost brushing the nanotech of his costume. The proximity is startling - every other time, he’d held you at arms length and all but dropped you outside. Although the mask keeps it hidden, there’s a bit of heat rushing to your face. Also, it doesn’t help that you’re staring directly at his extremely sculpted tits. You bite back another crude comment.
“Extremely cool civilian. Is it an extremely cool civilian thing to trespass into the same building five shocking times?”
Your eyes go anywhere but his(at least, where you think his eyes should be), and you see the hologram girl. She waves at you, but seems intent on watching the interaction play out.
Your eyes settle back onto his chest, and you wonder if he’s wearing anything underneath the suit. Then you wonder if the thing has ever glitched while he was fighting a villain, because you might actually pay to see that.
He grabs your face and forces you to look up at him. His grip is mean, and you can feel the threat of his talons digging into the cloth covering your cheeks. “Listen to me.”
He’s so intense. The tone of his voice, his grasp on your chin, the way he has you pinned.
You let out a breathy little sigh. You can’t help it. He’s so close to you, has his hand on your face, for Christ’s sake. You’d spent the last visit exclusively staring at him and his suit and his back and his tight ass, and now he had you trapped between him and some fancy console, with his chest right in your face. You’re pretty sure that you’re starting to feel some blood rush south.
The sound seems to stop him in his tracks and he forgets whatever he was going to say.
You’re surprised by that. He didn’t seem like the type to get easily flustered.
“Yeah?” You venture. “Listen to you what?”
He takes a deep breath and tries again. “Listen to me.” His voice is harsher this time. “You need—”
You bring both of your hands to the curve of his waist. A shiver runs down his body. “Keep going.”
Another attempt. “You need to stop showing up here. You have more important things to do than wander around HQ.”
“More important things to do?” Your voice trails off at the end, hinting at what(who) you’re thinking about doing.
He manages a tight nod.
“I agree. He seems very important. Spends a lot of time running around, chasing villains, organizing this big society.”
Spiderman makes a strangled noise in his throat. “Wait - that’s not what I—”
You interrupt him with a squeeze on his hips, then rub small, slow circles against him with your thumb. “No, no. He is very important. Lots of stuff to do. He seems stressed out of his mind whenever I see him. Maybe he needs a little, you know, relief?” You ask, with a curious tilt of your head.
He’s so rigid. You can feel it from your handle on him, and you wonder if the offer at relief will even register as an invitation to screw.
He sighs. His body relaxes into your grip, and you feel some tension seep out of him.
Fuck, he must be so touch starved if that’s his reaction to this. A few light touches, a quick suggestion, and he’s already almost melting for you.
“Yeah. Yeah,” he whispers. “He probably does need that.”
You grin, fierce and victorious.
He straightens and your hands slide off of him. He backs off of you, and you stare at him, confused. He ignores it, and instead turns to the hologram girl staring at both of you.
“Lyla?”
“Yes?”
“Cancel everything I have for the rest of the day. Tell ‘em I died.”
Lyla salutes him, then fizzles out, presumably to cancel everything he has for the rest of the day. And to spread some news about his passing.
Spiderman grabs your waist, then picks you up, and swings you to a slot in the wall. It opens and shuts with a few taps of his finger, revealing a spacious bedroom. It’s simple - a queen sized bed, dark sheets and comforters, a nightstand, a waste basket, and a lamp that he flicks onto the lowest setting. “Leave your shoes by the door.”
You kick your shoes and pull your mask off. Thank god, because that mask was suffocating you. How the hell did all the spider people do it?
Tentatively, you take a step toward him. “So… Spiderman. How do you wanna do this? You keeping the suit on, or?”
He sits on the side of the bed, silent. “I’ll keep,” he swallows, “the mask. The rest of it can go. And.” Another pause. This one’s longer, strained. He’s making a decision, you realize. “You can call me Miguel.”
“Alright, Miguel.” You step in front of him. You’re disappointed you won’t get to see his face, but you guess you’re lucky to have gotten this far. You tap his shoulder. “Get rid of the top half of the suit, then.”
It fades off of his body, dimming into a white, web like pattern, then into nothing.
You’re starting to feel a lot of blood rush south, and you’re sure your dick is starting to make an extremely obvious outline against the fabric of your suit.
He’s built. You already knew that much, just from the way his costume hugged his body, but it’s different seeing him like this. Seeing him looking up at you, like you’re going to fix all of his problems. Seeing someone like him - huge, muscular, strong - looking up at you, ready to do whatever you ask.
You whistle appreciatively, and the eye markings on his mask squint at you, affronted. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Can’t help it,” you respond. Your hands are on his shoulders, sliding down slowly. They stop at the curve of his chest. You squeeze, gently, testing the give of fat and the flex of muscle. There are dark scars under each of his pecs, and briefly you think that his tits are too fucking fat for him to already have had top surgery.
As your hands move, you feel his body loosen. He stops gripping the sheet underneath him so tightly and lets you touch him as you please.
“You’re so pretty,” you murmur, enjoying the way his breath hitches at the compliment. You take another step forward, knock his knees apart, and rest one of your knees on the mattress. “You okay with a few marks?”
Miguel nods.
One of your arms wraps around him and grabs the back of his head, pulling it back so his neck is exposed to you. There’s no resistance, and he even leans into the movement.
You kiss down his neck, then lick up the indent on one of the sides of the column of his neck. He tastes salty and metallic, then sweet. You press your mouth to where his neck meets his shoulder and suck a mark there, swiping your tongue over his skin to explore that taste. What is it?
You kiss and suck his skin a few more times to familiarize yourself with it. It’s getting stronger. Something saccharine, just underneath his skin, that reminds you, strangely, of antifreeze - sweet smelling, brightly colored, and deadly. Like spider venom, you think.
The thought should be off putting - sucking on someone’s skin reminding you of venom - but you don’t really care. You sink your teeth into the muscle of his shoulder, hard enough that he grunts and you taste a thick, metallic liquid drip down his skin. You lap it up and sit back.
You think he raises an eyebrow. “You sure you’re not a spider person?”
“You taste good. Don’t worry about it.” You wave your hand. “Y’ should return the favor some time.”
“Return the favor?”
“You know. I’ve seen your teeth.”
“Seen my…” You can hear the gears turning in his head. “How?”
“A few videos of you online, fighting villains and whatnot. You aren't really shy about dropping the mask and,” you bite down onto his shoulder again.
He becomes very still. “You’ve seen my face.”
You run through the clips you’ve seen of him and try to ignore the apprehension in his voice. “No. Most of them are real blurry. But I would be able to recognize you if I saw you in public.”
“Fuck.” He inhales, exhales. “Fuck.”
You shift, unsure of what to do. “What are we…?” Your voice trails off.
“ Fuck .” He says, for a third time. His mask flickers off, then he grabs you firmly by the hips and shuffles backward, further onto the bed. He leans back, pulls you on top of him, and kisses you.
It’s gentle. Surprisingly so. You’d imagined sex with him would be rough and bruising, but he kisses you like you could vanish at any moment. It’s hardly the kind of kiss you’re used to, in this context, all soft lips - no tongue or teeth - but breathtaking all the same.
“Fuck,” you agree, when you pull back to breathe. And to look at him. He’s breathless underneath you, but he’s smiling.
He looks, predictably, like a more in focus version of the shitty clips you saw. Dark, swept back hair, rich, olive toned skin, a strong jawline. His face is remarkably angular, with gorgeous deep set eyes and pronounced lips.
You lean back in to kiss him again. This time, he lets you open his mouth and slides his tongue against yours, slow and sweet. You think you stay like that, soft, delicate kisses, followed by heavy breaths, for ten minutes. All the while, his hands move up and down your back, and yours stay firmly planted on the bed.
You start to move your hands down his body, until they rest on the tops of his thighs. You hesitate and pull back before dropping them lower. “Can I touch?”
Miguel nods, and the bottom half of his suit fizzles out. He’s not wearing anything underneath. Is that a regular thing? Holy Hell, you hope it’s a regular thing.
His eyes are lidded, and he looks sex drunk already. You skim your hands across his skin until you have a grip on his inner thighs, then push his legs apart. At the same time, you scoot down his body until your head is at his lower stomach.
Your fingers graze up his thigh as you slowly, slowly, move toward his pussy. He shivers as you do, but he keeps his legs open for you. “Ah…”
You rub your middle finger over his hole and over his cock. He’s wet, and you can already feel him dripping down your finger. As you add more pressure, he spreads his legs wider.
“That feel good?” You ask against the skin of his stomach. It tenses as your breath hits it. Your gaze glides up him, until both of your eyes meet. Christ , he looks so perfect like this.
He nods and manages a soft, “Mhm.”
You push your finger into him, up to the second knuckle. He’s tight, tighter than you expected. It takes a few rolls of your hand until the finger disappears completely and the meat of your palm presses gently against his cock. “Been awhile?” You ask, genuinely curious.
“Awhile, yeah,” he breathes, “few months.”
That piece of information lights a spark in you. You want to make this good for him, so good he’ll have someone he wants to return to, and he won’t have month long dry spells.
Inside of him, you curve your finger, up, up, up, until his hips jerk and his hands fly to the top of your head, fingers tangling in your hair to hold on. “There it is,” you mutter.
You stroke that spot inside of him until you feel him loosen, then you pull out and add your ring finger. Miguel’s eyes widen with the stretch, but his body relaxes when you start the movement against his G spot again. In addition to that, you begin grinding your palm against the head of his cock.
“That’s it. Just let me take care of you,” you purr. He moans in response, the grip in your hair tightening.
You look down his torso, where the muscles on his stomach tense and relax, down his hips and his happy trail, down to his open thighs. Underneath your hand on his thigh, you can see, and feel, the tendon of his leg straining to keep himself open for you. You watch your hand work at his cunt, delighting in the slick noises it makes, and the barely restrained moans from above you.
You ease yourself further down, until your head leans on his thigh and you have a clear view of his pussy. Slipping your fingers out of him, you smirk at the way his dick twitches and how his hole clenches around nothing.
Miguel whines, shamelessly, and you can’t help the groan you make in your throat in response. Fuck, you should have done this the first day you saw him, if that was how he’s going to sound.
He makes another impatient sound. In response, you leisurely lick your fingers, more to taste him than an attempt to clean the obscene amount of liquid from them, and slide them back inside his cunt with a squelch. Then, you thrust your fingers in and out of him, crooking them so they hit his G spot with every drag.
He gasps your name, and, as a reward, you cover his thigh in kisses, bites, and hickeys.
Your hand starts to pick up speed, filling the room with vulgar, wet noises, but he tugs on your head. “Wait—shit, wait.”
Your hand stills and you look up at him.
A beat of silence. “Can you,” he swallows, “touch my dick at the same time?”
You can’t help the shit eating grin on your face, or the stream of filthy thoughts that runs through your brain.
Miguel rolls his eyes when he sees your expression. “Don’t look so damn happy about it.”
“No, no.” You shift your weight onto your knees, taking your head off of his thigh, and move your free hand up to his pussy. His hands fall from their hold on your hair. “I think I can look however I want when I’ve got the Spiderman, spread open like this, asking me, so fucking sweetly, to touch his dick.”
He exhales heavily.
You place your free hand on his pelvic bone, so that your fingers settle into hair and your thumb is directly over his swollen dick. You stroke it, up and down, and resume fucking him with your other hand.
“Pretty little thing needs some friction on his cock, hm? You need both of my hands to properly take care of you, don’t you?” You keep your pace constant, the pressure on his dick even. Miguel’s writhing now, shaking on your hands, crying out.
He throws his head back and his hands squeeze the sheets. His words are barely coherent when he sobs out, “Ah… yeah, yes, just like that, oh god .”
“Mhm, mhm,” you hum. His thighs are trembling as he takes your fingers. His cunt flutters around your fingers, tightening, loosening, like it can’t decide what to do.
“C-close,” he pants. “Gonna cum.”
“Shit.” You fight to keep your hands steady. You want to fuck him harder, want to make him scream from your hands alone, but you also want him to finish. “Go ahead then. Cum on my fucking fingers, Miguel.”
He cums at the sound of his name, hips lurching off the bed, and you continue to rub his cock and thrust your hand into him. His orgasm lasts for a solid thirty seconds, with him cursing all the way, and you can make out a few Spanish swears.
As he comes back down to Earth, your hands slow, and when he looks down at you, his eyes focused, you take your hands off of him.
You lick your hands clean and beam up at him. “Good, right?” It must have been - you’ve never seen someone orgasm for that long.
Miguel rolls his eyes. “Cállate.”
“I don’t know what that means.” You wrap your arms under his thighs, slide your legs out behind you so you lie on your stomach. Then you shuffle around a bit until he’s lined up with the bed, his back against the pillows, and your head is directly overtop his cunt. “‘Again,’ maybe?”
He scoffs. “It definitely does not mean ‘again.’” A pause.
You kiss the junction between his thigh and his pussy. “But?”
“Do it anyway.” His requests are bolder now, but you don't mind. It’s fun watching his strict demeanor collapse the moment you touch his cunt.
You blow lightly, watch the skin shudder when the air brushes it. You do it again, and a third time. He’s so goddamn sensitive you want to bite him.
“Tease,” Miguel says, his voice gruff. One of his hands finds its way back to your head and shoves your face into him. You barely manage to turn your head, and your cheek hits his cunt. Then, holding you there, he starts to grind his cock against your face.
You let him do that, for a few moments, until you feel his grasp on your head loosen. When it does, you pull back and ignore the sound he makes in protest. “You’re so fucking desperate.” Another purposeful breath on his cunt. “It’s so fucking hot.”
He makes another sound. It sounds choked, meant to protest, but he’s still trying to get his hips on your face.
You indulge him. Opening your mouth, you dip your head toward him, and lick from his taint up to the hood of his cock. It’s salty, somewhat bitter, but it still has that same sweet, venom-like undertone.
Your tongue dips briefly into his hole, and you press against the tip of his cock with more pressure than necessary. It’s cruel, you know that, know how responsive he is, but you can’t help it.
He’s turning his hips up to escape it, so you dig your fingers into the tops of his thighs and pull him back down to your mouth. You lap at his cock, dragging your tongue up and down with less pressure than before, but he still cries out, squirming into, away from, into the overstimulating pressure of your mouth. He can’t make up his mind, doesn’t know if it’s too much, or not enough, and it’s driving you crazy.
You don’t like talking with your mouth full, you want him to fully hear you, so you draw your head back. “Brat,” you hiss, “you wanted my mouth. So take it like a good bitch.”
His pussy convulses at the degradation, but he glares down at you. He opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. Then he throws his forearm over his eyes and his head thuds against the bed frame. “Shit. Fuck.” Something in Spanish. “Yes, I’ll take it.”
Your eyes widen. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you? Open to fucking a stranger, then cumming from just my fingers, now this? You’ll take it like a good slut?”
He nods, and your mouth is back on him. You lick at his tip, then swirl our tongue around the hood of it, then stroke it with your tongue flat. A few harsh strokes, and his hips are moving again, and you have to fight with both of your arms to keep your mouth on him. A few more, and his chest is heaving for air.
You adjust your arms around his legs, propping him up on your elbows, so the angle is easier on your neck and you can comfortably get your tongue inside his hole.
Miguel sucks in a sharp breath when he feels it sliding inside of him. “Mmhg…” More Spanish, but, even if you knew the language, it’s unintelligible.
You tongue fuck him for a bit: the slick glide of his pussy feels nice on your tongue. When he starts to grind on your tongue, you push up, toward the spot you’d abused with your hand. The position is uncomfortable, and you know your tongue wasn’t built to be stretched this far out of your mouth, but you let him fuck himself on it because, simultaneously, his cock bumps against the side of your nose, and he’s swearing.
When you can’t take it anymore, you slide your tongue free, seal your lips around his dick, and suck . Miguel groans, then starts to damn near sob when you pick up the same, unrelenting strokes on his tip. Like that, you settle into a rhythm. A few fervent sucks and several strong swipes of your tongue with your lips sealed around it, then you let yourself off, breathe, while continuing to lap at his cock.
Repeat, and repeat, and repeat, and your eyes are glued on his face.
He looks incredible. Fucked out, sex drunk as hell, but incredible all the same. He’s looking at you, looking at where your mouth meets his pussy, and his eyes are lidded, his eyelashes fluttering. His mouth is open, spilling a steady slew of whiny swears and moans. There's a scrunch in his nose, and it's cute, and your teeth graze his tip, and his eyes are rolling back.
You feel yourself throb at the sight, but you keep your mouth on him, sucking, lapping, licking up the fluid his sloppy cunt is drooling. He’s lost that initial bitterness, and he tastes so good - heady, rich, salty, with that sweet undercurrent.
Miguel makes a loud inhale, interrupting his whimpers, and his eyes widen. “Hah… cumming, cumming.”
You lick him through it, with the same, sure movements. This time, it’s shorter, but you have to keep your hands firm on his legs to keep them from closing around your head. He’s thrashing, and you move your upper body to stay on him.
As he comes down from the orgasm, you continue that same motion against his cock. It's overstimulating, you know that much, and you imagine the pleasure edges a little into pain. Miguel starts to thrash again, trying to squirm away from you.
“Wait—I wanna—your cock,” he gasps.
“Shh.” You pull back an imperceptible amount and talk against his cunt. “Just give me one more, and we’ll see.”
His hips still at your words, then pick up their pace, pushing his dick into the searing heat of your mouth. You lighten up on the pressure, but maintain the fixed flick of your tongue.
Shit , that’s hot. Miguel, grinding into your mouth. Shoving his dick against your lips, trying to get off as quickly as possible. All in an attempt to get his tight, sensitive pussy wrapped around your cock.
You watch the way he circles his hips on your tongue, memorizing and filing his movements away for later.
By now, your tongue is sore and your fingers ache from their grip on his thighs, but you can’t get over how downright slutty he looks and sounds like this, whimpering and whining and twitching and just trying to cum.
It doesn't take long, just one more jerk of your tongue and a forceful cant of his hips, until his body freezes, cunt spasming against your chin. This time, he’s silent, his mouth stuck in a round O, his hands balled in the fabric of his bed sheets.
Then, the tension slips out of his body. His head drops against the bed frame, his hands slide down the bed, and you feel his full body weight drop onto your arms.
“Mm.” You wiggle out from underneath him and climb up his body to plant a chaste kiss to his cheek. You’re still hard as hell, but he looks exhausted. “You want another round, or is this good?”
“‘Nother round,” Miguel answers. “Just, give me a minute.”
“Head that good, huh?” You tease, letting your hand wander down the curves of his torso.
“Oh, fuck off.” He rolls his eyes. “But it’s not like I’m about to leave you like this.” His hand glides up your leg, and he palms you once through the suit. Your breath catches, and he chuckles, smug. Then his hand skims up your body to your chest.
“How considerate.” You sit up. “You got a condom? I don’t really, you know, carry them around with me.”
“And here I thought you were a gentleman.” He tuts, and gestures to the nightstand. “Should be a few in there.”
There are actually more than a few in the nightstand drawer. He’s got several different sizes, a few non latex varieties, and a cherry flavored one. In addition to that, and some pens, chapstick, gum, a few books - the regular things in a nightstand - you spot two bottles of lube and a bullet vibrator. You toss him a surprised, and also very excited look. “Is this room, like, a sex den?”
“No,” he deadpans. “Just a place to… relieve stress.”
You smile, remembering the initial invitation that got both of you into this situation. “Gonna let me use the vibe on you, Miguel?”
He props himself up onto his elbows. “After making me cum three times? I think it would actually ruin me. Maybe next time.”
A thrill runs through you at the mention of next time . “Ok.”
You select a condom and put one of the bottles of lube on the nightstand. At the same time, one of his hands snakes around your waist and tugs you closer to him. His other hand caresses up your back and pulls the zipper of your costume down. He helps you out of it, tosses it somewhere, then looks back at you. There’s a bit of disappointment on his face when he sees you’re wearing an undershirt and briefs.
“Oh, c’mon. Not all of us can run around completely naked under the suit. I’m not that bold.” You let him drag you back onto him, where you straddle him. His hands run up your waist, your chest, and guide the shirt off your body. Despite the calluses and the talons tucked just under his fingertips, his hands are soft. You shudder at the contact.
You drop your body weight onto him, so your bare chest hits his, and kiss him. It’s rougher this time, has a bit more teeth and tongue, now that you’re finally, finally going to fuck him.
“Mm.” You pull back, put both of your knees between his legs, and tear the wrapper of the condom open.. “Turn over for me. Get on your knees and grab onto the bed frame.”
While he scrambles into position, you take your briefs off and roll the condom onto your dick, then adjust your weight so you’re on your knees behind him.
“Woof, woof.” With his grip on the bed frame, his shoulders flex, his back arches, and his ass brushes against the length of your cock. “Gorgeous fuckin’ view.”
He laughs, breathlessly.
You take a few moments to admire that - the taut muscles that rope around his body, the curve of his back, the supple slope of his ass, pushing up against you - while you squirt a bit of lube onto your hand and spread it over yourself.
You place one of your hands on his hips and line yourself up, teasing the head of your cock against the swollen lips of his cunt. You tilt your hips back, just to watch the string of arousal that connects you to him, then slide into him in one, fluid motion.
You hiss and he swears when you bottom out inside of him, the tops of your thighs hitting the backs of his. He’s tight as hell, feels like he’s trying to constrict the blood out of your cock.
“Miguel, fuck,” you gasp, “stop squeezing me so hard.”
He mutters something in Spanish, then starts to rock his hips against yours, easing your cock in and out of him.
When it stops feeling like he has a death grip on your dick, you squeeze both of your hands around his hips and rut into him. He pants underneath you, his hands tightening around their grip on the headboard, and the sound of your bodies slapping together fills the room.
Fuck, after waiting so long, fingering and eating him out, it feels almost heavenly to have his cunt around you, and he keeps making little whimpers and moans that go straight to your cock.
“Christ,” you curse, the combined movement of your bodies overwhelming. Your hand moves to the small of his back and forces it down, increasing its curve.
You feel the difference immediately, the tip of your dick almost brushing against the smooth firm opening of his cervix, and he tightens up, letting loose a long, low whine. “Can feel you in my stomach.”
You lighten up a bit, angling toward the front of his pussy so the pressure isn't deep enough to be painful. Also, because you know there’s another spot you can hit, deep in his cunt, and you want to find it—
“Fuck!” He cries, and you pull out, then hit it again, and again. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
“That a good spot?” You mutter, breathing heavily. “Feels like it’s good; you’re tightening up again.”
“Good, yeah, good,” he groans. “Keep going, just like that.”
“Mhm, mhm.” Pleasure darts up your spine, and you snap your hips against him. He’s shaking underneath you, and has stopped moving his own hips, happy to accept whatever you give him. Another flash of pleasure courses through you at the thought.
You keep hitting that spot, your hand tight around his hip and your other firm on his back. “Can you come just like this? Just from my dick in your cunt?”
He moves his head, but you can’t tell if it’s a nod or a shake from this angle.
“C’mon,” you quit fucking him and swat at his side, not enough to hurt, but enough that a sharp smack resounds around the room, “give me words, Miguel.”
“Yes,” he chokes out. “Just keep going, please.”
The fact he’s pleading for more - begging for your dick - is horrid for your ego, and you grin. “Yeah?”
“Yeah, yes, plea—”
His plea cuts off when you thrust into him again, hit deep inside him. You continue rutting into him, groaning when Miguel’s pussy flutters around you, and he makes a desperate, keening sound. Then, with a firm grip on his hip, you tug him back onto you and meet him halfway. He cries out, and you hear a crunch from the bed frame he’s holding on to. You ignore it. He’s so tight, and his sloppy cunt is dripping down your thighs; he feels like molten sin against you. “Slut,” you rasp out, “drenching me like that. Cunt’s so perfect, so fucking wet .”
He moans in response, then grinds his ass against your hips. “Close, I’m close.”
“Yeah? Gonna cum on my dick?” You punctuate each word with a thrust of your hips. “Gonna cum without any fucking attention on your cock? Just need my fat dick in you, and you’re falling apart?”
Unintelligible Spanish, and he almost screams. He seizes around you, each pulse of his hole dragging you closer and closer to your own orgasm.
“Christ, I can’t take it, you’re so tight, h-oh my god ,” you grunt. You grind deep into him when you cum, your cock throbbing in his tight, spasming pussy. You’re swearing, he’s swearing, because of how intense the orgasm is. You knew it would be - you’d held off for some time - but knowing doesn’t change the fierce waves of pleasure washing over you, and you clutch at his hip to ground yourself.
When both of you finish finishing, and a soft haze of post orgasm bliss wraps around you, you ease out of him and pull the used condom off of you. Miguel lets go of the bed frame and collapses onto the bed.
You drop the condom in the waste basket under the nightstand and shuffle toward him, plopping your head on one of the pillows and wrapping your arm around him. He turns toward you.
“So… did you like it?” You ask, trying to make it sound casual. He probably did, but there’s a tense quality to your words.
His eyes are lidded, and he looks like he’s fighting to stay awake. “Yeah.”
You wait for a moment. “That’s it? No quip, no nothing?” You tease, but you’re happy with the answer.
He rolls his eyes. “No.”
“Mm. I’ve satisfied you.” You give a little smile, then gesture up at the wood of the bed frame, which is cracked with an indent of two of his palms. “Also, I think you’re gonna need a new headboard.”
“Cállate.”