Curate, connect, and discover
Okay-okay-okay. Just listen to me...
Papa Secondo continues to fuck you, even after his next orgasm. He himself has already lost count, of how many times he has finished, he has even stopped counting your orgasms. He's already in pain, he's already empty, but he keeps hammering into you, like a frenzy. He may have a heart attack from such overstimulation, but he does not stop. He can almost not even see you under him, there are only sharp, white sensations in front of his eyes, but he remembers, how beautiful you are. The blood is throbbing loudly into ears, but your sweet moans, dear cry, are also audible, albeit muffled. Secondo has nothing to cum with, but he continues to push into you. It hurts, but it's so good.
Everyone should know, that you are his. That the child in your womb is his. And if it doesn't work out today, you have a lot of time ahead.
You can't do this to me at 4AM. This is illegal.
Papa Secondo is getting absolutely target locked onto you after popping a pill. He thought to himself, 'Surely this thing Primo made isn't that big a deal?' and now he's got your hips in a vice and in a full nelson as he gives sloppy and uneven thrusts with his hips.
Fuck. Yeah. I can work this.
Secondo x Reader, Papa Emeritus II x Reader, Creampie, Marathon Sex.
It's another negative. The both of you had eagerly waited in the bathroom for the results, and the third time is the charm, but it still comes out negative. You were frustrated. You told him that you were starting to feel like a failure, as both his wife and his Prime Mover, but he quickly dashed away those insecurities with a hug and sweet kiss.
"Just mean we need to keep trying, mia tesoro."
He goes to Primo because, of course, he does. His father figure brother was his go-to when asking for a damned miracle.
Primo had hummed and smiled at him before fishing through his apocathary cabinet and pulling out a small bottle of hand pressed pills.
"Take one of these before. If this doesn't knock her up, I don't know what will."
And he waits for the mood. A full moon and lavish dinner, and he has you back into your shared room, leading butterfly kisses down your neck. He had subtly taken the pill during dinner, a sour thing that left fur on his tongue, and now... now he was starting to feel hot. There was a bubbly fizz in his loins, and his dick very quickly stood erect, he could feel his heart beating through his cock as the rush of blood had it painfully pressing against the seam of his jeans, yet with every shift it brought sparks of pleasure.
You didn't know about the medicine. Too lost in his soft touches as he guides you out of your clothes.
Then he gets on his knees, pulls at your labia with his thumbs, and gets to work. The man pops his jaw with how wide he opens his mouth to encompass your quim. Kissing your pussy until you were a wet and begging mess. Then he shoves in his tongue. He flexes it. Corkscrews it. Closes his mouth around your entrance and sucks, causes sounds so utterly obscene. His thumbs pry your lips apart so he can all the more devour you.
He wrangles your thighs around his head. Lips work sloppily over your pussy as he lashes his tongue relentlessly. He sets a speed record for how quickly he gets you to come. Then he licks it all up. Every. Last. Drop. Eating you out like tonguing the cream out of a snack cake. You squirmed, holding onto his ears as you moaned loud enough to reach across and wake the whole damn Abbey, shuddering like you had caught a cold and stood in Arctic winds.
Then he fucks you like your unbreakable. An obnoxiously hard and fast dicking, turns into a wrecked and painful hyperfixation that wraps his brain, switches off common sense and turns him into a baser animal with only the need to breed.
Several long strokes that reach deep inside of you as he makes you shake and shake, body wracking with sobs as you're overwhelmed and filled.
He groans, pressing his lips to the back of your neck and inhaling the finest scent of your soap and shampoo, your sweat, just simply you. Your back and his chest stick together in sweat, and your legs hoisted in the air under his arms as he wraps his fingers together just on the back of your head. It takes him everything not to dig his nails in. There's accidental nick here and there, and shallow scratches that'll take a week to heal.
Your trapped with no way to move other than to bow your head forward and accept his brutal assault on your pussy.
He's losing control of himself. Mindless of everything that isn't driving his cock as deep into your pussy as possible and as often as possible. His heels dug into the mattress as he slices his hips up and his balls clench. Fuck, he can pratically feel his blood in his dick, fat and swollen. It's nearly painful and only the rapid cuts of his dick pounding into your cunt is enough to satisfy it.
You're so obscenely wet that the room echoes with the sounds of squelching and smells of musk, sweat, and sloppy sex.
Secondo licks his mouth and needs to wipe the trail of drool going down his chin because he can't stop salivating. He's thirsty for more than just water. You next orgasm, your cunt strangling him, the prospect of seeing you pregnant. No matter how many times it takes. He'll do it. He can't wait to see you round and swollen with his kid, that was there is no room for arguement. You're his. If that ring around your finger wasn't proof enough. Those bitemarks on your neck. No one will be able to look at you without seeing his shadow looming over you. You're his. HIS.
He's fucking you hard enough to make your guts gurgle. Long since have you started to cry, loud sobs and tears track down your ruddy red cheeks. You can't shift, you can't move, any kind of fight would have him slipping out of you and you can't... You're so close. Bordering on a fourth and rapidly approaching the next little death.
He had shuddered as his second orgasm gums the inside of your cunt, splashing your walls and womb with his watery white seed.
His lashes fluttered from that first hit if relief. But the endorphins flared, turning his blood to the boiling point, and he didn't... He could keep going. He needed to keep going.
He can't help the growl, almost demonic, as your nails dig into his hot skin, and he works your thoughts on the lashes of another orgasm.
He's running a fever, has to be with how cold and clammy he suddenly feels, and the roller coaster sensation of his legs falling from underneath him. But he can't stop. Won't stop. He needs to make sure it takes even if it kills him. Needs you swollen with his children. Needs to coax another moan from you. Need to make you tremble again. He needs to pull one more orgasm.
He's gulping air like it's water in a desert. His sticky skin clings to yours as he rolls his hips hastily, pounding into you with delirium. Chasing after the high as though it's his last orgasm as a free man.
His dick twitches inside of you. He can't see it all sticky and swollen with the amount of orasgms he's given you. And the froth, the white bubbly cum he's stirred into you that filled over and coats your lips and the shaft of his cock like a white wedding band. In a half-minded haze he considers in investing in a mirror to see your wrecked and cock dumb visage.
Heat roars into an inferno in his stomach doused with kerosene. A hard knot behind his navel that corkscrews his intestines into a revolting kind of pleasure. It's horrid. A melting gooey warmth in his already hot and feverish insides that's hardly even felt.
He pounds into you with hiccuped shambles. What started strong has deteriorated into half thrusts but nevertheless desperate and manic. His dirty talk has dilapidated into hoarse groans and growls like a monster. His promises of fucking a baby into you has him now whispering for a mercy he denies himself. He doesn't have to keep going. He has to keep going. His balls long since draining dry and with every follow-up dry contraction of his dick nearly painful as he twists a knife into his loins, and still he keeps going.
"Nng. Hha-haa." He groans as though someone had just murdered him. Your walls tighten around him again, miniscule, the smallest flutter of your muscles that tells him he's managed to get you to come a fourth time.
Finally, finally he's given all he has. His cock sore and nerves frayed that with that with his last dry oragsm there is no point. He's spent all he has into you and has no more left to give you. He groans, stilling, and catching his breath.
He doesn't whimper when he pulls himself out, unplugging the dense load of creamy hot cum. He feels far away. His skin is oversensative, and as he finally releases you from his grip, his finger pops at how hard he had been holding you in place. He slides the pad of his fingers over your flesh, stunned and amazed and just how soft your skin feels.
He sets you aside and turns over to give you a scan and watch his copious and nearly ridiculous amount of seed as it oozes down your lips. Dribbling down your inner thigh. A gob of it fallen and stains the already wet sheets underneath you.
Secondo watches with heavy eyes. His breathing hard enough to split metal. His whole body hurts but his cock thankfully going soft.
He curls his arms around you in a hug and holds on as he tries to catch his breath and pants into the crown on your head. He traces his thumbs against your cheeks, catching your tears and sighing contently.
One of you should clean up and drink some water, but he can't move. He can barely ask you in your okay before falling asleep, and a loud snore vibrates from his throat.
You're not far behind him.
You can clean up and complain tomorrow, on top of taking another test.