#∘⡊ ☾ ˚⊹ and i breathe disaster ⊹ — edit

[nanabrainrot]

Perversion, Immersion [Pervert!Roman Roy]

Roman Roy discovers the magic of deepfakes, filtering through more and more images of you. He’s lucky you’re an entertainer at heart.

Warning! This piece is NSFW! It contains a dominating female reader and a perverted Roman. Dub-con due to nonconsensual use of her face in deepfake pornography. Praise kink, humiliation kink, and mixed signals.

WC: 1599

Part I | You are reading Part II | Part III

Part II

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The industrial revolution and its consequences have been a disaster for mankind. The advancement of technology served as a grim reminder that Roman would not be increasing in his addiction and obscenity since you had found out about it: the existence of deepfakes had only exacerbated this progression in depravity. Masturbation is natural, occurring in all facets of life where self-pleasure can set off dopamine receptors; the problem in humanity is the structure of manufactured morality. Ignorance is bliss reigns true but the lingering feeling of adrenaline as his camera roll started to become full of the public images of you.

LinkedIn, Facebook, Instagram, your youth had led you to being tech savvy and your beauty had led you to indulging in regularly posting pictures of yourself. Classy, but suggestive. Most photos of you were perfectly posed, half-lidded eyes and a little grin but not too big. Feeding them into the websites provided him this constant pleasure: your face projected on the porn star.

Enough angles fed made it seamless. It was no longer the porn star’s face, but yours. The mouth ajar and knit brows but the voice - the voice was too far off. It was maddening. What did you sound like moaning? Not that he would likely ever be able to get that comical assembly of moans and grunts that were restricted to the world of porn for the sake of theatrics. And everyday the collection grows, the number of porn stars with a body like yours are not in short supply. The amateur videos really add to the authenticity of it as he downloads it to his phone, sending the file in his emails before trying to delete the evidence. Or not. You really didn’t seem give a damn that he was basically fantasizing about you.

You don’t seem bothered now too.

“What’re you staring at like that for?”

His skin goes cold, pores erupting into goosebumps and hairs standing on end. No fear, just adrenaline.

It’s you.

Your face edited with that stupid website. Face covered in a load of cum as you looked up at the camera with lips wrapped around the bulbous tip of a dick. Silence.

Quiet. Stillness.

Until the first noise rips out of you: a real authentic snorting laugh. You stumble back with your head back - like a hyena - snorting and trying to breathe as tears well from the lack of air as you wheeze at Roman fumbling over his words and trying to rectify the frozen screen yet again. A vein pulses in his head as he starts to randomly pound buttons and mutter a string of curses at the frozen screen before you regain your composure with a grin.

“You’re a photoshop pro, Roman? Or did you master it to beat it to this pic of me?” you scoff smiling as you leaned back against the wall.

“No - just, you fuckin’ uh - this is a chick who just kind of, um - oh my god, y’know what? Fuck is your issue it’s just a pic as a joke and you literally fell for it -“

“A joke? Me sucking dick is a funny joke?” you snort, struggling to hold back a laugh as the vein pulsed in his head harder.

“Hysterical. You don’t get comedy and it’s not even you - just some uh chick who looks like you. You think you’re only chick who looks like that in the world?”

“Roman, I don’t have any nudes out there. Camera shy,” you start, drawing closer to him with little clicks of your heels, “and that ‘chick’ has the mole near my eye.”

He glances back at the screen before immediately drawing back to whip back and view your face - over and over. He looked like he’d break his neck like that.

“What? If you wanna see me suck dick you can just ask me.” His face simultaneously drains of blood and flushes all at once, dick confused if it should get hard or stay shy and soft in his trousers.

“What?”

“What do you mean what? I know you heard me,” you drawl, “do you not want me to suck it?”

“I do! I mean, uh,” he coughs leaning back to look cool and collected, “I do… but not, um, today. Y’know, I like to test the waters? I’m a verbal guy you just keep that chatting and it’ll be your dick audition. Since you’re literally craving it if you’re offering like that -“

“Then take out your dick.”

Quiet.

“I don’t uh - want you to watch me,” he choked, “talk to me, c’mon, start that dirty shit since you’re so horny like that-“

“Take out your dick. You stupid or something? Why do I need to walk you through unzipping and taking your dick out?” You rolled your eyes but seemed to oblige, walking toward the door where your phone was on a table by. Back to him, you leaned over - round ass taunting him in the tight fabric of your skirt. Garters on display.

“I’m not even gonna look at you, since you wanna be a baby about it… probably don’t wanna see your nasty dick,” you scoff and start scrolling through your phone as your knees lightly shifted weight to weight to make your ass move a bit. It’s enough to spark the little shame that he loved to make him start palming himself through the trousers.

“Tch, you stroking your dick to my ass? Good,”

Hard breaths. Harsh huffs. Fiddling with the flesh to reach orgasm at a sight. Because you couldn’t be bothered to let him touch you. Too good to be soiled by a disgusting, sorry man like himself.

“You wish you could touch me, don’t you?”

A huff.

“Yeah…”

“Don’t even fuckin’ try. You’ve been a creep,” you huff, “stuffing pics of me into some website to jack off to.” Your ass taunted him, probably fleshy under the tight pencil skirt. Untouched by him, undeserving of touching it.

“Say it. Say you’re a creep,” you scoff.

Breath hitching, the way you play him like a fiddle, has the veins of his cock throbbing and his balls tightening uncomfortably. If he came too fast, you’d laugh. If he didn’t come at all, he’s a brick with a dick. Takes too long to cum? Roman can’t cum off a pretty broad and you could scoot off and tell everyone Roman’s as close to gay as an old Rome orgy. The way you suddenly stand straight has him anxious - reeling at fast movements and change as he always had.

You turn on your heel, that stone face meeting his eyes. The statuesque positioning only serves to make him reel more internally, softening just a little at the way your face returning to its natural stoic expression; he was starting to miss that coy girlish giggle you did when you saw his screen frozen again in the grim series of misfortunes called his life.

He gets hard again as you draw closer, slow strides and the sound of your kitten heels scraping the floor as you come closer with your hands fiddling with the buttons of your professional workwear that always screamed “office minx” with the way the buttons were always a little spread and trying to free your tits from its confines.

“You’re cute. Do me a favor since I’m being so nice to a creep like you,” you coo sweetly like glazing your malicious half-hearted words in icing to make it palatable. If you’d called him a simmering piece of dog shit and stepped on his balls, he’d probably harden the same anyway.

Two pieces of clothing sit on his desk, ragdolled by gravity and no longer clinging to the owner but still reeking of your perfume. Something halfway between girlish and womanly, it has a floral note that Roman breathes in clearly from where he is now: suckling at your tit.

Your eyes closed, soft huffs of minty breath from those puffy peppermints on your desk, cooing and petting his head like a puppy. Those nails scratching at the back of his neck; it’s a gentle movement that leaves him reeling, leaves his cock twitching and balls tightening drawing closer and closer and closer -

“Good boy, good boy… not so creepy, you’re so good… you can cum, baby boy,” you coo.

The sensation is different. Used to his ejaculations being spurred by the feeling of being talked down to, when he spills to you pressing soft kisses to his hairline it feels too close to intimacy.

And intimacy was debilitating.

The spent on his hands is warm and he is naming 4 things he can touch as just: cum, cum, cum, and cum. You slip back on your bra and button-up (a tad more wrinkled than it was earlier) and the wafting scent of your perfume is contaminated by the musk of his cologne.

Your eyes are stone again and your face unchanged. Mellowed with time and that time was only seconds. The sweet sugar of your voice spills through his hands like sand and he wishes it was more solid, like a horse wanting a sugar cube after a subpar trick. You stink of him as you mutter goodnight, grabbing the bag and leaving once you had your fill, and your silhouette lost in the hallway as his office door clanks shut.

The only evidence that you were here at all is the bit of chapstick, strawberry and $3 and generic, still sticky on his hairline.

The taste of sugar depletes and his mouth feels dry. Can tomorrow come any quicker? Any quicker than him?

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THANKS FOR READINGGH FOLLOW FOR PART 3 THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE POSTED AT NOON ON THE DOT BUT HAD TO BE POSTED LATER BC MY WIFI BLEW OUT NO ONE GET MAD 😭

EDIT 9/9/23: PART 3 IS UP N LINKED THANK YOU MY FELLOW AMERICANS

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