sex with simon… oh the worms. they're going crazy
!! (mentioned) breeding kink; squirting; unrealistic (and hinted gratuitous) sex; afab reader
he would keep you in his bed however long he wants. you could have work or any other scheduled outing, but nothing gets accomplished nor is a priority the moment he's got you in his room. it's not like he chains you to his posts—not unless you two planned it—but he teases, rutting his cock along your stomach or punching it deep in your cervix. the croons come soon, always accompanied by open-mouth kisses along your skin.
“y’r so wet, listen—”
you squeal, clawing the sheets at his deep thrust; the slide so wet and sloppy, your cunt drips and squelches. your cheeks tingle with warmth and your chest thrums with the feeling of shame, and you want to curl into yourself but know you are unable to.
not with how simon’s bearing down on you like the weight of his fat cock isn’t enough to smother the little air you don’t gasp out in your dizzying bliss.
he grins, seeing the way your eyes roll to the back of your skull and feeling your toes curl from where they are pressed on the rise of his ass, and doubles the speed. his pelvis meets your own, the head of his cock snug just before your cervix and you hiccup, thrashing, your slack jaw even more useless.
gargled keens is all you can reply to simon’s taunts, your mind and body unable to form any coherent thought.
your pussy aches. oversensitive. you are sure your walls will permanently be stretched, shaped by the size of simon’s cock—he’s ruined you for everyone else.
god. the thought shouldn’t be pleasing but it makes you scream, hips jumping as your orgasm builds, reaching its peak, frantic as it razes your body and—
and—
simon grunts at the wet gush of your squirt, your slick forcing itself past the plugged-in girth of his dick. he hisses to himself at the biting pleasure of your pussy gripping him like a wet, used vice, his mind going numb at the onslaught of ecstatic sensations filling his synapses.
his orgasm hits him hard too, his teeth digging into your skin as it racks him with such ferocity.
you sob, hitting him weakly with your trembling fist because s’too muh– simon s’too mu–!
he whispers his sorry’s. says this’ll be the last round, he swears, his eyes blissfully closed as he fills your womb with his cum.
(let it take, simon sings to himself.
let it take. let it take. let it take.)
but he doesn’t pull out his flaccid cock, not even for a break, and you whimper, your mind humming with need and your clit thrumming with unbridled desire, because you know he’s not done.
not yet. not with how simon looks at you with dark eyes, his kiss-swollen lips tugged up in a grin. it looks more like a snarl, you think.
“‘m gon’ make a mess out o’you, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice soft even as it descends into you with a certain finality. “gon’ fill this cunny with my cum until y’r womb’s sloshin’ with all of it.”
you blink your wet eyes up at him and mewl, “please.” because you want nothing less.
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