nastarciz - Tumblr blog

nastarciz · 2 months

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I live in big bottom settreigh nation 🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🔥🔥🔥🔥💥💥💥💥 i eat all x sett 🫃🫃🫃

Sorry,,, crackpair,,, ez is me,,, i love top twink

#no tags because what if people get mad at me #ezreal is me #sett is me #either position should be me fr #I’m down bad #lick me ez boy #ah uh ah uh #dont judge me #top ez so sexy

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nastarciz · 2 months

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Not me trying to cope from my illness with heartsteel!!

I’m still feeling unwell but at least looking at sett boobs makes me feel better

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nastarciz · 2 months

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YESSSSSSSSS

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nastarciz · 2 months

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Ezreal yeah

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nastarciz · 2 months

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Ashley and Mari (@mofuubuns PC)

#degrees of lewdity #dol pc

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nastarciz · 2 months

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Leighton, who knows your face but not your name once school is in session. He's never met you before, but you catch his attention in the hallway. You're laughing and giggling with friends, school folder squeezed to your chest and a sweet smile on your face. You walk right past him without a glance, too engrossed in your conversation to notice his leering.

Pretty thing, he thinks, wondering if he has any photos of you.

Surely not. He'd remember someone like you.

Leighton, who sends Sirris out to the cafe as he conducts his 'inspections.' Camera in hand, he lines the girls up and tells them to unbutton their shirts and flash their breasts— for health reasons, of course. He takes his photos as each girl strips and shifts uncomfortably before sending them back to their seats. His grin widens when he realizes you're at the end of the line.

Finally, he thinks.

You lower your blouse over your shoulders and ball your hands on either side of your torso, trying to hide the view from anyone but him, hard swallowing and trying not to meet his eyes. He stares for a moment before finally snapping a few photos, catching your quivering lip in the shot.

"Nice pair,' he says, licking his lips and imagining what it would feel like to jiggle the fat in his palms. You flush, shrinking back as he reaches forward and indulges, running a calloused thumb over the hardening peak. A quick squeeze and he realizes he's out of time.

She'll give me an excuse one day, he thinks, palming his hard cock beneath his desk. All students do at some point or another. You'll end up in his office. He's sure of it.

Leighton, who grows tired of waiting. You're a good girl, it seems. Well liked and behaved. A teacher favorite. So he takes things into his own hands.

He bribes two delinquents to frame you. He doesn't care how.

Just ensure she is sent to me, he tells them. They oblige gleefully. Thank God for this horrible town and the rotten fruit it bears.

Leighton, who is particularly careless with his car the next day. He drives through puddles and parks under trees; he doesn't take the tunnel to work, letting the rain wash over the paint job. Filthy, filthy, filthy.

It won't stay like this for long, he thinks.

You sit in his office after school, squirming and fingering anxiously at your skirt. You've never been here before. You're a good girl.

"I have something special for you today."

He takes you to the private lot, pointing to the sponge and bucket of soapy water sitting beside his car. You look at him and then the bucket incredulously. Surely he doesn't want—

"You'll want to take off your clothes for this," He grins, with far too many teeth. "No sense in getting your little uniform dirty."

You do as you're told. You strip down to your panties and get nice and wet and soapy cleaning his car. He watches attentively— very attentively, legs crossed to hide the throbbing length straining against his slacks.

"You missed a spot," he points, leaning in for a better view as you bend and buff out some dirt on his bumper. Your wet underwear clings to your ass, starting to ride up, and you don't dare pinch at it—

If only he had more time, he thinks.

Leighton, who raises a hand to Sydney in the Library. You rush to his aid, demanding an explanation.

"Supplies have gone missing under their watch," he tells you. "And they are responsible."

You claim equal responsibility, noble little thing that you are.

"Punish me too."

You don't have to tell him twice. Normally he'd have you both over the counter, but he can't pass up the opportunity. He empties the library, and tells Sydney to lock the door behind him. He won't hear any protestation from the little brat. None of it.

"I'm doing as she asked. Now get out."

You cling to the desk as he bends you over and flips your schoolgirl skirt, biting your lip to hide your shame. He takes a good, long look, committing it to memory before slapping the curve of your ass with his hand.

God, what he wouldn't give to—

Oh, wait. He's the headmaster. He can do as he pleases.

Your knees buckle as he crooks a finger in the waistband of your panties and gives them a firm tug down.

"This is a severe infraction, and thus begets a severe punishment. One you won't soon forget."

And one he won't either.

You yelp as he repeatedly cocks his hand back and slaps your bare bottom without mercy, your eyelashes wet and dewy as little silvery tears trail down your cheeks. Your cries border on obscene, and if he tries, he can imagine you're moaning for him like the naughty little thing he knows you are inside.

Your skin turns the most delicious shade, abuse leaving you already turning a cosmic shade of colors from the bruising. He almost pants harder than you do, hardly even needing to touch you to feel his peak approaching. He's horrified, but he can't stop. He's gone far past the 'deserved' punishment but the way you mewl and whimper has his mind obscured with hazy pink lust.

"H-headmaster!"

"Please let me go!"

"I'll be a good girl, I promise!"

He has to stop. He has to. If he doesn't, he's going to make a mess of his trousers.

A mess that should be on your teary little face and jiggling tits and all over your pretty cunt and deep in your bruising ass

With a final blow, he releases your arms, trying to catch his breath. You stay bent and sobbing long enough for him to catch a quick photo on his cell.

(Never the cell phone. Never ever the cell phone. Too traceable, too damning— but he can't bear to forget the sight in every marvelous detail. Before the shape of his hand disappears from your creamy skin and his handiwork heals over.)

Leighton, who leans over you as you sob, large hand grabbing a rough handful of your ass, snarling in your ear.

"You're a naughty little brat, and I'll be seeing you again soon. Mark my words."

He knows you feel his eagerness as he presses against you; there's no way you can't feel the hot, hard length practically ready to pop behind his zipper. His face is as red as your behind and he can tell if he doesn't pull away now, he'll have you here and now. He wouldn't be able to stop himself— couldn't control it.

Leighton, who turns without another word, leaving you heaving and weeping against the counter, bottom bared and practically bleeding.

Leighton, who beelines to his office, locking himself inside before making the mess he so longs to all over the printed pictures he has of your exposed tits and pouting lips.

It's not the same.

It's not the fucking same.

Leighton, who decides in that moment that he can't live if he can't defile you himself. He wants to feel those tight, wet walls constrict around his cock, velvety and hot. He wants to spread your legs and work you over until you're a panting, moaning mess, begging him to stop—

To keep going.

Leighton, the educator, who would be remiss in his position if he didn't teach you all about sexuality. About the dirty things humans do in the dark. About what a mouth is truly capable of and that your ass is used for more than just discipline.

Leighton, the headmaster, who announces to the school the very next day that he'll be rewarding all of his best students with private positions in his office for extra credit.

Leighton, your headmaster, who makes it mandatory.

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nastarciz · 2 months

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