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"You up for it?"
He reaches forward and lifts your chin, uncharacteristically gentle in this action. You can't help but smile, just a little. A tiny curling of the very corners of your lips and a subtle shine passing through your eyes. You answer not by speaking, but by leaning up and kissing him on the lips. He purrs happily, the warm sound pulsing through his throat and sending minute vibrations clear through to your lips. You share your tongue with him, already letting him kiss you as deep as he desires, and you feel his powerful hands slide down your sides.
"I'll take that as a yes."
There's a light in his dark eyes. Almost playful. If there's one thing you've learned, its that 'playful' is often a surprisingly accurate word for Negan. You feel his fingers press harder against your flanks, almost massaging you. You let yourself fall against his broad chest and wrap yourself up in his lips once more. When he really wants it, he starts to kiss like a dog. Wet, messy kisses that are more tongue than anything else.
You keep part of your mind focused on taming his desperate kissing, and part of your mind focused on where his hands are traveling. They run up your back, pausing there to rub your shoulders, and you subtly shift your weight into it. He moves one hand up to the back of your neck, pinching the skin a little as he rubs at that spot on the back of your neck he loves so much. He's still wearing his gloves.
The sensation of leather on the ever-so-erogenous back of your neck prompts you to moan a little into his mouth. He seems pleased by this, as indicated by a soft hiss of breath and an increase in the intensity of the neck-rubbing. He breaks away from kissing every now and again, urging you to tilt your head so that he can kiss and mouth your jaw and the side of your neck. You let him without any inhibition, feeling the familiar warmth of arousal grow in your core.
Yet still, every time he moves his mouth down to your neck, he returns to your mouth with renewed aggression. You're well aware of what he's doing, and why he's doing it, and your best bet is to help him along. You move your hands, resting against his chest and arms, and use this shifting to try to sneak your dominant hand lower. It trails from his chest down along his coat, creeping softly towards his hips. You flick and tug at his belt loops once you reach his belt line, a little distraction to help ease towards what you want.
You slide your hand towards his front, shifting so that there's just a little bit more space between your bodies. You play with his belt buckle, as well as the prospect of unfastening it, but leave it mostly as it is. As subtly as possible, you let that same hand move just a bit lower, down to where you can feel the warmth of his sex even through the thick fabric of his jeans. Almost immediately, you feel one of his hands leave your back and take ahold of your wrist.
Once again, you know what he's trying to do. When you come up for air again, you use your breath to whisper to him.
"Come on and just let me help you out."
He tenses slightly, and doesn't answer. He nuzzles your face and gives you a few short kisses, leaning in and then back out of them again. Encouraged by his lack of protest, you start palming his cock through his pants, and he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth.
A good sign. You move to occupy his mouth with your own, silencing any protests he may have had. Sure enough, you feel his grip on your wrist relax and disappear, and he returns to rubbing your neck and shoulders. You keep a hand on his crotch, courting his sex, trying to stir him to readiness. A thrill strikes you when you feel his member stiffen in response. Eager and excited, you keep your hand around it and stroke it rather vigorously, hearing him grunt in surprise. He pulls away a little.
"Are you trying to get me to cum in my pants?"
"Well, that wasn't my intention, but hey, I'd take it."
He smirks at your insolence and shoves his knuckles into your ribs. Playful, but it still hurts.
"Easy there, big boy. It was just a joke."
You attempt to soothe him a little, hoping to avoid another playful-but-painful gesture just yet. He keeps that arrogant smirk on his face as he retaliates.
"Hmm, you wanna say that again from down on your knees, you little fucker?"
The cocky smirk materializes on your face as well. You sink down to your knees in one fluid motion, keeping both hands on his upper legs, and repeat yourself.
"I said it was just a joke, big boy."
He runs his fingers through your hair, still keeping his gloves on. Probably because he can tell that you like how they feel. He gives a sharp click of his tongue and a command.
"Hands off."
Begrudgingly, you obey, laying your hands on your knees instead. Tauntingly, he unfastens his belt, slowly sliding it out and letting it fall to the floor. You look up at his face pleadingly, but that shit-eating grin is just as agonizing to look at as him taking as long as possible to unbutton his jeans. You sigh through your nostrils and grit your teeth. He undoes his zipper just as slowly, making sure you're watching, knowing exactly what you're thinking about.
"Look at you. You're being such a good boy tonight."
He says it as facetiously as possible. But it's a good sign nonetheless. He appreciates your patience; there'll be some reward along the way. Then, in one slow motion, what you want is right there in front of you - thick, hot, and swollen, the tip already wet with precum - and all that patience seems to go right out the window.
"Suck."
Just one word. Short, crude, inelegant. But it's all you need. You wrap a hand around the very base of his shaft and slide the head of his cock past your lips, stroking it almost aggressively with your tongue. His hand immediately finds its place on the back of your head. As quickly as you move, you know what to expect. You get a few moments of blissful passion before you feel him start to thrust into your mouth, holding you tightly by your hair. He wants control.
He wants control. Of course, you still have to work at it regardless, but you wistfully cling to what semblance of control you have left. And then you push forward at the same time he thrusts forward, and your entire body lurches as you struggle to resist gagging. He stops for a moment, cruelly letting you try to regain yourself, and then makes another tiny little shove forward. Your body tenses again and you try desperately to relax your throat despite how it resists.
He knows that you're choking, and you look up at his eyes, silently begging him to just give you a little more time and then maybe it'll be easier. But he doesn't care what's easy.
"You can take it."
A statement of startling certainty for the man who doesn't currently have a dick getting shoved down his throat. You grunt softly, throat vibrating, and let him pull out until the tip is barely in your mouth, then slide it back in until he feels you start to gag again. Your hair is tangled up in his fingers, held tightly by his leatherclad hand. He shoves himself in just a little further, watching your response closely.
You let yourself relax, as much as you can, and give yourself over to him. You let him thrust steadily into your mouth, quieting grunts and whines as your throat tries to resist. Yet still you manage to take a little bit more every time.
"Atta boy."
You feel your lips curl in annoyance. However, you repress it as quickly as possible, keeping it only a momentary flash of disobedience. He responds by unexpectedly buckling his hips into your throat, but you maintain yourself. You take a deep breath every time he pulls further out, readying yourself to take that thick cock deep into your throat again. You close your eyes and think about it - your tongue pressed tightly against the underside of his strong, throbbing cock as he pounds himself deeper and deeper into your throat. The thought brings a semblance of a moan up from your lungs.
Feeling you moan around his sex, Negan releases a vocalization that may be a genuine sound of pleasure.
"Yeah, you know daddy likes that."
You feel your face get even hotter than it already was, vibrant color rushing to your cheeks. You close your eyes for a moment, trying to quell your embarrassment. 'Daddy'. Really?
"Damn , boys are just too fuckin' cute when they blush."
He almost sounds a little genuine. Maybe he's really that charmed by seeing another man blush, or just charmed by seeing anybody blush while they're sucking his cock. You open your eyes, face still red, and glare up at him. He withdraws again and thrusts violently into your mouth, bringing you agonizingly close to having the whole damn thing in your throat. You moan a little again, your throat rippling against the length of Negan's cock.
"Good boy, good boy."
You feel his murmurs of praise clear down in your sex, which stiffens with anticipation. Without a word he tears you away from his cock - clear away this time, listening to you rhythmically gasp for breath. He thrusts forward again, and this time your throat barely resists as he slides the entirety of his cock inside. Your lips are there, right at the base, next to the patch of wiry hair above the base of his member. Your own erection is stiff and heavy between your legs, and Negan's massive cock is occupying as much space within your throat as it possibly can.
You ball your fists and moan sorely, your weak tongue twitching beneath the weight of his shaft. His chest is heaving a little more than usual, and you watch it swell and sink hypnotically as he breathes.
"Look at me."
You obey, eyes watering slightly. He continues pulling out, letting you take in fervent gasps of breath, and then shoving himself back into your mouth, fucking your throat. He hums out another repetition of "Atta boy." You try to focus on the steady pulse of his cock, the quickening rhythm of his thrusts as the resistance of your throat dissolves, or even the shifting of his chest - anything besides the aching of your unattended sex.
Surely he wouldn't mind, or probably even notice, if you just slipped a hand into your pants and maybe managed to get yourself off before he came...
But he does notice. He notices you unfastening your pants and stroking yourself as fast as you dare.
"Hey, what're the rules?"
He clicks his tongue sharply again, and then pulls out just long enough to give you an answerless moment of shameful silence.
"I'll take care of you. Don't you trust me?"
You reluctantly remove your hand and turn your eyes down, letting him return to stuffing your throat. You don't even try to contain the moans bubbling up into your strained throat. You know he's getting close, and he'll have worn himself out shortly.
You also know that he probably won't want to come straight down your throat. He'll come into your mouth, making you taste it, making you really swallow it. Or he'll want to come on your face, just for the satisfaction of seeing your face filthy with his seed.
The next time he pulls back, he keeps your head there, your mouth only holding the very end of his shaft. You lick it blissfully, passionately, your whole body hot with lust, feeble whimpers slipping from your lips. He utters a low chuckle at your pathetic display, his fingers twitching within the mess of your hair. You'd be hard-pressed to admit it out loud, but in your mind you're begging him to come, not even thinking about the pounding of your aching sex.
"You ready for it?"
Your only answer is a desperate moan, shoving your tongue against the head of his cock. Yes, yes, yes. He loosens his grip on your hair and cups his hand around the back of your head, holding you there as he comes with a colorful string of profanities. It seems shameful how hot it makes you to feel his seed pour into your mouth. Your whole body shivers as you swallow it hungrily, feeling a potent, satisfying warmth sink down through your core.
You release him with a ragged, contented sigh, feeling his fingers pass affectionately through your hair. A few errant drops of cum roll over your lip and towards your chin. You watch him smile as you pass your tongue over your lower lip, then wipe away the remaining excess with the side of your hand.
"Cum slut."
You feel it at the very base of your spine. He has a knack for saying things like that in a way that makes you feel much more pleased than insulted. Or maybe it's more something on your part. He lifts his hand from your head and lets you rise to your feet, stretching out your cramped knees. You promptly lean yourself against him, nuzzling the side of his face and rubbing his chest through his coat. The warmth in the pit of your stomach isn't enough to distract you from the fact that you're still hard, and you can feel your erection begging for attention.
"Hmm, I think I still got more in me."
He purrs into your ear, hands running up your back once more. You rub your erection against his leg impatiently.
"What I'm tryin' to fuckin' say is that if you give me just a damn minute, you can have me again."
He growls out a much sharper statement in response to your insolence. You hum contentedly, almost thrilled at the thought of taking him again. That would make the wait all worth it. You kiss the side of his neck, moaning gently as you run your hands down his body, still nudging your stiff cock against his thighs. He braces his hands against your hips.
"Easy, easy. Even I can't get hard again that fucking fast."
You slow down a little and rest your weight against him, letting his body support you for the most part. He's strong enough to hold you up, which you're quite content to take advantage of. He rolls your shirt up from your waist, and a quiver follows his leather gloves as they run up your spine.
"Yeah, you want me again, don't you?"
"Mmm, yes..."
You answer on a hoarse, weak moan, throat still strained from your previous experience. You want him, you want him bad, want him pushing into your body and making you feel weaker than you've ever been. Just thinking about it makes your cock pound painfully with lust, and you abruptly seize his mouth to distract yourself from the ache of anticipation. His hands are still running over your skin, pushing your shirt up, teasing your skin with the feeling of leather.
"You want me bad, don't you?"
You groan in response, waiting for him to continue, to start accusing you of likely accurate desires or spitting promises about all the details of how he'll take you.
"Of course you do. You're only happy when you're absolutely dripping with my cum, right?"
You shove your palms roughly against his chest, nerves aflame as he toys with you. He moves one hand further up your chest, and the other one to caressing the insides of your thighs.
"Fuck, I'm gonna fuck you so fucking hard."
He kneads his knuckles against your inner thigh, trying to rile you up. You grunt in dissatisfaction, eager as possible to have him already. You want to beg, to plead for him to get you there faster, to stop talking and start putting his metaphorical money where his mouth is. He brings one arm around the back of your legs and practically throws you over to the bed, the worn sheets contouring around the shape of your body.
An irrepressible smile spreads across your face as you lie there, vulnerable, ready and wanting. He sneers down at you - contemptuous, but with a strange impression of satisfaction to it. In one short movement, he raises one of his long legs and plants his right foot squarely between your legs. You can't help but cry out as your erection is so crudely shoved, pushed out of its natural position. The pressure of even what little weight he's putting on that foot leaves you gasping and panting, spasms shooting through your fingers.
But he doesn't let up. He wants to watch you squirm and beg at least a little.
"Come on, don't do this."
He shifts his weight and grinds his heel a little, eliciting what is virtually a howl of discomfort from you.
"Well, I gotta get it back up somehow."
You whimper quietly, hopefully pathetically enough to motivate him to stop.
"Oh, does that hurt?"
He gives a sadistic sort of chuckle, but he's clearly not entirely comfortable in this position either.
"You'll be hurting plenty mo re by the time I'm done with you."
You manage to twitch your face into a hint of a smirk.
"Big words."
He lifts his boot and lets it return to the floor. You breathe a sigh of relief, chest heaving, shirt coming up from around your hips. He leans over you, kissing you like he wants to eat you whole, pawing at the tender skin right above your belt line. He hastily starts stroking your neglected sex, first through fabric, then just running his fingers over bare, throbbing flesh. You've been longing so much for any sort of release that even those few light strokes set you moaning so violently that you can barely keep kissing.
He stands back up and pulls off one of his gloves, tossing it to the side. The cocky expression is now a permanent feature of his face. He flexes his fingers tauntingly before removing his coat, the powerful muscles of his core concealed only by the relatively frail fabric of his shirt. You want to spring up immediately and take your fill, run your hands over hard muscle and rough hair and scar tissue, let your mouth explore every last inch of his gorgeous body. But before you can make any move to do so, his bare hand is wrapped around your shaft and your train of thought dissolves into nothing.
As good and lewd as leather feels, without his glove he goes at it with much more ferocity. Those big, strong hands of his feel so indescribably good, especially rubbing against your aching cock, that you feel like the very fibers of your muscles are unraveling, like you're melting right into the sheets.
"Ohh, yes, fuck yes..."
You want to just lie there and let him stroke you rhythmically until you come into his calloused hands. But you know he won't just let you do so. He'll want to keep you waiting. You squeeze your legs around his, silently pressing him to move on.
Sure enough, he slows to a stop, leaving you with an uncontrollable touch of anger at your lack of fulfillment. He pulls you up and lays his mouth against your neck, gently grazing the skin with his teeth but never quite biting down. He yanks your pants off your legs quickly and roughly, but no part of you wants to protest. The moment he lets you go, you pull your shirt over your head, leaving your body completely bare.
He sits down and pulls you onto his lap. He's hard again; you feel his stifled erection rub against your thighs. You've switched places, it seems. His bare hand passes along the side of your face, and before you even feel his fingertips press against your lips you open your mouth and let his fingers slide over your tongue. You focus yourself on licking his fingers, making sure they're as well-lubricated as they can get. His free hand is resting on your waist, and every tiny movement you make rubs his erection against the insides of your thighs. You keep your hands on his broad shoulders, steadying yourself with the sturdy width of his body.
He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, and you release them with a soft grunt. His fingers quickly find their way to your entrance, and as he pushes the first one in, you shift forward, the tip of your cock rubbing against his stomach. You immediately start thinking about how to strategically rub yourself off against the tense wall of muscle on his stomach while he fingers you.
Of course, he notices, and can't resist scolding you.
"You cum all over me, you get to lick it off."
"My pleasure."
He scoffs angrily, partially distracted by fingering you. He rolls his shirt up a little in anticipation of your possible orgasm and manages to spit out a response.
"Damn, you're such a fucking cumwhore I can't even punish you with anything."
You chuckle slightly, but you know enough not to take threats like that lightly. Yet, regardless, you keep rubbing yourself against his stomach a bit, because maybe you can just use it to satiate your desire, or just get close to coming but not quite there. But as he gradually works his fingers into your entrance, the sensation shooting straight through your sex, your notion of control gets spotty and you just keep bucking your hips aimlessly, sliding your cock against his hard muscles.
You chew anxiously at your lip, feeling warmth shoot through your body, surging through your blood and tracing the patterns of your veins.
"Patience isn't your strongsuit, is it?"
You lean forward abruptly, curling your nails into his shoulders, and kiss him aggressively, rubbing your jaw against his.
"'S too much fuckin' work."
"Well, I could just force the whole fuckin' thing in at once, if you'd rather have that. It'd just hurt like holy fuckin' Hell and be harder than shit, that's all."
Well, he's already part of the way through, so it wouldn't be quite that bad now, but you just groan discontentedly and keep pushing your cock against his stomach. You keep telling yourself that you won't go all the way, that you'll stop yourself or slow down before you finish, but at the same time you keep getting closer and closer, and by the time he works the last finger in you know in the back of your mind that you're going to come.
But it's not that much of a crime, after all, because otherwise you'd only come once and he'd come twice, so it only seems fair. The only thing would be...
"Ohh fuck, oh shit, I-I'm..."
"Just do it if you're gonna do it."
He shoves his fingers in just a little further, and your hips thrust forward uncontrollably as you come, lifting your head and letting out an irregular, wordless cry. Your long-awaited release couldn't have come soon enough. Before your orgasm is even over, he pulls all his fingers out at once; this sudden change in sensation peppers your dimming orgasmic moans with uncomfortable groans.
As soon as you've regained yourself, you remember his threat much more clearly. One look at his face, and you know he's going to make you follow through.
"You know what you gotta do now, you little cunt."
He still says it teasingly, but he'll turn from playfully degrading to forceful rather quickly if you try to duck out of it. You clear your throat and re-position yourself, sliding down so that your face is at about the same level as his stomach. You let go of your remaining hesitance and draw your tongue across the tight muscles of his stomach. You're well aware that he's enjoying watching you demean yourself by licking your own cum off his body, so in a moment you figure you might as well give him something to watch.
You whine pathetically, keeping your eyes down, wondering if you can manually make yourself blush. You don't want to admit it, but it's not that much of a punishment after all. He rubs the back of your neck as you hastily move your tongue over his lower body, taking advantage of it to just enjoy trailing kisses over that gorgeous body of his. Once his hardened stomach muscles are easily as clean as they ever were, you draw out his erection and, before he can say a word, slide your tongue along the full length of his shaft. Within mere moments you've taken as much as you can of his cock into your mouth and are steadily sliding it in and out.
"Hey, hey hey hey."
You feel him grab a handful of your hair and expectedly tear you away, and you don't make a single sound of protest.
"Fuck, if I didn't keep you in check you'd suck me dry."
He slides his hand down to the back of your neck and starts rubbing it again. You lean into it contentedly.
"Now come on, get up and bend over."
He snaps his fingers impatiently, and you lift yourself off him. He swings himself off the bed, and you stand up and stretch out one last time before bending yourself over the side of the bed. His hands come up to your flanks, creeping down to your hips, and you brace yourself. Despite having come so recently, you still feel ready for him, your pulse pounding heavily as you prepare yourself to take him.
He takes his sweet time trying to wet himself down as well as he can; spit isn't exactly an ideal lubricant, but it's all you've got, and just about anything's better than nothing at all.
You feel him press against your entrance, but he doesn't push in any further yet. In a moment, he switches to sliding the length of his shaft across it, rubbing himself against you but still avoiding what you want. You grunt in annoyance, but don't expect him to keep going like this for much longer.
But he still manages to prevent himself from actually penetrating. You grit your teeth and twist the weathered sheets up in your fingers. He's probably trying to get you to beg, to remind you that he's in charge here. You try to hold out for as long as possible, but eventually you can't take the feeling of him prodding teasingly against your entrance any longer.
"Come on, don't tease me."
He shoves hard against your entrance, taunting you with the prospect of actually pushing it in.
"Hmm, that's funny, I thought that if you wanted something from someone, you were supposed to ask nicely first."
You growl a little in the back of your throat. He wants you to beg for it, to plead as profanely as possible for him, stroke his inflated ego.
"Come on, big boy..."
You flavor your voice with an irresistible whine.
"Ah, please."
"Please...?"
"Please just put it in."
Closer, but not close enough.
"Please fuck me. Fuck me hard. Fill me up."
That's apparently enough, because he swiftly shoves his length into you, and far more at once than you were expecting. A violent string of moans is forced from you, and without even looking you can feel his sadistic satisfaction.
"Th-There...you got what you wanted."
You loathe yourself for stammering. You know you sound flustered, and that he gets off on that like nothing else. He keeps his next few thrusts slower and shallower than that first one, giving you a chance to adjust. Yet still, even slowly, it's absolutely blissful. You quiver uncontrollably, shivers of cool pleasure rippling through your limbs. Having waited so long for it, feeling his self-satisfaction channeling into the hands braced against your thighs, it all seems almost perfect.
He still wants to get on with it. Trying to be slow and steady is really only a ruse, as you can feel him subtly slip deeper or faster quite frequently. But you don't argue; you want it almost as badly as he does, you're just more acutely aware of the effects haste can have on the process.
"Y-yes...that's it."
Your voice is soft and sensual, and your expressions of pleasure are stifled. You're being uncharacteristically quiet, but probably not for long. He absolutely loves it when you scream, and he knows how to get those beautiful sounds out of you.
He shifts upward and pitches deeper, and you gasp sharply once more.
"There we go."
Another dark, deep chuckle.
"Don't pretend like you aren't fucking feeling it, because I know you are."
And deeper again. A high-pitched, feminine gasp is forced from your lungs.
"I'm amazed you can even pretend."
In that moment, you are too. Your shoulders hunch uncomfortably as resumes his graceless thrusts, and you're agonizingly aware of the exact dimensions of his member. Your attempts to stifle your sounds start to fall away. You want him, but even as good as it feels you'll be damned if it doesn't still hurt. You've gotten much more used to it than you were your first time, but that doesn't mean you don't feel it at all.
You try to ignore it, but some of your satisfied moans taper off into groans and teeth-gritted hisses.
"It hurts, I know. I know."
Of course he knows it hurts - he's not that dense. But he's not the one taking it, the one feeling it, the one who has to deal with the battle of conflicting sensations.
"If it gets to really hurt , like really fuckin' bad - so bad you can't take it - I'll slow down."
He's being genuine, but he still sounds a bit like he's jeering at you. It's most likely his way of masking the concern implied by that statement.
"No, no...It's okay. Keep going."
Sure it hurts a bit, but it doesn't hurt enough to outweigh how damn good it feels and how much you want him, at least not yet. His short nails are digging into your skin, and you can't believe he's already shoving into you so roughly.
God, it feels good. All the tense anticipation made it just that much better. You resist the urge to start pleading for more, begging for him deeper, harder, faster.
But scattered encouragements pass your lips nonetheless. They're quiet and uneven, yet he hears every single one of them.
"What was that?"
That facetious voice always gets to you. You repeat "More..." weakly, and with one slow heft of his body he answers your plea.
"Oh f-fuck!"
You cry out at the suddenness of the sensation.
"Be careful what you wish for."
He reaches up and rubs the back of your neck with the hand that still has a glove on it. You respond to this with a long, drawn-out, multi-noted moan.
"Oh, fuckin' music right there."
He practically moans the sentence out himself. He pinches the nape of your neck, and your back arches slightly. The last semblance of restraint you have is rapidly crumbling, and from your quivering lips come fevered words of encouragement.
"That's my boy."
You've given up resisting him. Yes, you're his boy, fluttering your eyelashes and spending your quickening breaths on panting for more of his formidable cock. Your body is hungry for him; you can't believe that he can't hear every fiber of your being crying for him, begging him desperately for more.
Every square inch of tight, knotted muscle in his body channels into every single powerful thrust. You can feel it any time he shifts the distribution of his weight, even if the change is otherwise negligible. And just about each time, he gauges your reaction, seeing what angle it is that makes you cry the loudest.
"Ahhha...that's the spot, that's the spot. Right there, big boy."
Your lower back curves gorgeously, limbs quivering slightly. He rubs his thumb gently against the bare skin of your thigh, silently encouraging your praise. But he doesn't say anything out loud just yet; he's trying to hit that spot as many different ways as he can - a little change of angle, a little change of balance, a few long, slow thrusts to figure out where the exact spot is, the best possible spot to pause at for one tantalizing moment.
"Yes, yes, riiight there."
He's toying with your center of pleasure like a cat toys with its prey. Your body is blazing hot with raw, unbridled pleasure, the back of your neck beaded with sweat and your face rapidly reddening. It feels so good, so much better than it's ever felt before. You can hear him breathing faster, some of his rough breaths turning to pleased chuckles as his ears ring with your strings of plaintive moans.
"You ready for another inch yet?"
You answer with a pleading groan. Already it seems impossible to believe that there's more, even though you know fully well that there is.
"Y-Yeah, just be...g-gentle!"
You squeak out the word 'gentle' loudly as he fills you up with the next inch before the end of the sentence has even left your lips.
"I got plenty more where that came from."
You try to form words, but they die out into distraught whines as you think about how much more you must have to go. You want to take it all, to be as full as you possibly can, but each time he shoves himself deeper you think for a second that you must be there already.
"You like that?"
"Yes...yes..."
Your shoulder blades draw defining lines against your skin as you hunch your shoulders, letting your head fall. By now every breath you take in is forced out as an ardent moan or crude words of encouragement. Your cock is stiff and starved for pleasure, and you try to lower your hips enough to grind into the sheets. You can hear his burning satisfaction every time you lift your head to shout for him to give it to you harder. Pleasure has won out over pain by a country mile, and Negan is beyond pleased with how you've given yourself over, screaming and begging and twisting your fingers in his sheets, your back curving and arching and your shoulders hunching in an attempt to vent the restlessness he's feeding into your body.
"Who's my good boy?"
He brings his hand back to your neck, now damp with sweat, and rubs it vigorously. Your shoulders curl inward as though resisting it, but your breaths turn to squeaking pants in response to it. You want to stammer out, "I'm not a dog." but that would only make it worse.
"Hmm?"
He pinches the nape of your neck as sharply as he can, while at the same time abruptly stopping the swift rhythm of his thrusts. Slowly, gradually, as agonizingly as possible, he starts pushing deeper, which you feel every milimeter of. You curl your fingers and shove your weight down on the heels of your palms, gasping for breath as if you were drowning.
"I-I am!"
"You are...?"
It means the same thing as "Go on" - an invitation to degrade yourself for his pleasure. He puts pressure against the most pleasurable spot he can, that Devil's detail he was searching for earlier.
"F-Fuck, don't make me...I can't even th-think straight."
He pulls up on the skin he's captured at the nape of your neck.
"I-I'm...Negan's good boy."
Your face was flushed already, but you bet he'd somehow notice the additional redness creeping through your cheeks. He loosens his grip on your neck slightly and goes back to rubbing it, though a bit more roughly than before. He gives a few short, sharp thrusts right against the good spot, and you're pushed to nearly screaming.
"Fuck, that's my favorite noise in the world right now."
He braces his other hand against your ass and shoves forward quickly.
"N-Not too fast! It hurts...when you..."
He makes up for it with a few tantalizingly long, slow shoves, and you feel your face contorting, struggling to produce an expression appropriate to what you're feeling right now.
"You took more on that last one than you've taken this whole time."
You groan out a long sound that vaguely sounds like it was meant to be a sentence.
"Bet you didn't even notice."
You force out a single note of laughter, and he lets go of your neck, easing you back up to speed instead of skipping straight back to your previous pace. Maybe he does have a little bit of a heart after all.
The thought makes you chuckle a little more through your parted lips. He leans over you a little, and you can feel that his position has changed, because he seems to put a lot more force into each shove very suddenly.
"You know what?"
He sensually rubs his hands against your thighs, the slow tenderness of the movement contrasting deeply with the speed and force of the powerful length shoving into your body.
"There's nothing in the goddamn world like you."
As he speaks, he wraps a hand around your member, and you feel yourself lurch so intensely that it must look like you're starting in surprise. Oh, god, his hands are a fucking miracle. Yes, that impressive cock of his and that deliciously powerful body and everything about him is a miracle right now, but even if that's the case his hands must be worth at least three miracles.
You feel the corners of your eyes start to water as he strokes you slowly, squeezing softly and irregularly, swiping his thumb over the tip.
"There's not a single fucking thing like watching you get weak beneath me."
His voice has lowered, and its deep, husky sound rolls over your skin like warm honey.
"The way you turn into a drooling, sniveling slut for me..."
He spends an extra fraction of a second on the word 'slut', lingering almost imperceptibly on a single syllable of loving insult.
"Well, you know how to do it just right."
He holds his next stroke at the end of your shaft. You whine at him like a stricken dog, but in your mind you're begging him to never stop talking to you like that. That rough, low voice feels like the most sexual thing you've ever heard in your life.
"Y'know what I think?"
You can hear his arrogant smirk in the tone of his voice. A shiver of anticipation races down your spine, shocking your overheated insides with snaps of cold where the shiver passes through. You don't answer him, but breathe a wavering sigh as he continues to keep his voice way down next to those sultry notes.
"I think you can take that last inch."
"Ohhh, fuck, yes. Of c-course I can..."
Everything else that was occupying your mind is razed in an instant by the mere idea of having all of it, every last inch of that huge cock.
"Yes, yes, give it to me, big boy."
You yank at the sheets almost viciously, until your hands shake from the force.
"Not 'til you beg, you fucking greedy little cockwhore."
He growls like a dog warning you not to come any closer.
"Give it to me, all of it, the whole damn thing."
You feel your muscles tensing and locking, your entirety focused on getting him to slide that last inch right into you. He's still stroking you idly, distractedly, not ready to do it like he means it either until you beg.
"Ah, y-yes, hhah...fill me up, c-come inside me..."
"Hmm, I didn't even ask you to beg for that..."
He starts stroking you harder, more roughly, more aggressively. All you can feel is pure adoration for those strong, firm hands sliding swiftly over your length.
"You probably didn't need to beg for that, anyway."
He slows down a little, holding for just a moment to fill you with a touch of false hope every time.
"But I can't really say I mind."
You open your mouth to shout pleas of revolting impatience, but the first word arcs into a sustained howl as he thrusts his entire length in.
That's it - every last inch of that thick, pounding cock is in you, and you feel the last inch as though it was six extra inches on its own. Your eyes water more as he holds himself there, his free hand gripping your ass with ferocity, and you exclaim the only thing you can think to say.
"Ohh, you're so big, you're so big!"
He rubs at your cock vigorously to praise you for your blatant flattery.
"Have I called you a cum-hungry cockslut yet?"
He still sounds horribly self-assured, but you can hear him panting behind it. He must be close.
"You mentioned something to that effect."
You manage to speak fairly clearly through your chorus of pleasured noises. He starts moving again, and you can feel your body ache already.
"You're not gonna be walking for a fucking week."
He voices the thought before you can - but he says it almost triumphantly, as though ruining your ability to walk properly is some hallmark of victory for him. At that moment in time, you're inclined to agree with him, based on the torturous conflict of feeling overtaking your body.
You let your head fall, and you feel glad that he didn't want to face you because right now you must look utterly disgusting, with your face cherry-red and damp with sweat, your eyes watering rivers down your cheeks, and your tongue drying as your mouth stays open from fevered panting.
Behind your helpless, trembling body, you hear Negan's hot, heavy breathing. The palming of your cock grows a little less consistent, but he's thrusting his mighty hips with an impeccable sense of rhythm. You cease to care whether or not you'll be able to walk at all in the foreseeable future.
"Fuck, I'm getting real close."
The very words make your body shake. You force out all shortsighted encouragement you can muster. With the roughness of his hands gracing your leaking cock, nerves screaming with simultaneous pain and pleasure, you tighten your muscles and beg him to come.
"You want it?"
"Yes, yes, I want it."
He says it, but he leaves you with empty space. You can tell he's not quite as close as you thought he was, and you wonder as well as you can what his angle is. He puts just a little more pressure on his strokes as he slides his hand along your sex, and your already-patchy deductive skills burn away into nothingness.
"Then cum for me."
As he tells you, he presses his broad thumb against the head of your cock at the same time he shoves the entirety of his length into you. You crest into orgasm within what feels like a fragment of a second. You spit out a string of incoherent sounds and broken profanities, so loudly that you'd be hard-pressed to believe nobody anywhere else heard it. He thrusts madly against you, leaning over you as he rides out your climax.
"Fuck, ohh fuck..."
It sounds and feels so much more beautiful than you could've imagined. You let your upper body collapse as he comes, feeling his seed spill into you, listening to him spit even more excessive profanity than usual.
You're still burning from your climax and you think, you think that if it was possible for you to have two or three or four or five orgasms right in a row you would be having something like seven of them right now, because if there's anything your shaken sense of thought can perceive it's that Negan coming, coming viciously inside you, feels as good as anything can feel.
Anything that may have happened in the past or present ceases to matter, for in that moment he is yours, and whoever else may have had him is irrelevant. And you are his, fully and completely, as you were always meant to be. If you could reach him you would leap up and wrap your arms around his shoulders, kiss him deeply and feel his warmth against as much of your body as possible, and sing to yourself this is mine, this man is mine.
When the two of you split, you groan almost as loudly as you howled when you came. Feeling the abrupt absence, your body protests violently, suddenly unaccustomed to being empty. You can already tell you're going to be unbelievably sore come morning.
Negan's hand running up your spine distracts you from contemplating your future soreness. You want to tell him that you would've just had seven goddamn orgasms in a row if you didn't already feel so spent that it seems like you'll never be able to come again.
But instead, what you lift your head and mumble out is:
"Ah...love you."
A bit of a difference.
"Aw, how sweet. I love you too."
He says it in a voice dripping with sugary-sweet sarcasm. You laugh weakly at him, lying down fully and turning over onto your side a little. You're a bit glad he gave you such an easy out - obviously, you were just playing, just like he does, you didn't mean nothin' by it. He lies down next to you, closer to the end of the bed. He supports his head on his hand and smiles lazily at you, and you smile back, your eyelids low and breathing still ragged.
You lay a hand on the side of his face and let your thumb pass over his cheek, feeling the warmth radiating from his post-sex skin. You wish you could capture these little moments, these heavy-breaths and bedroom-eye stares, these unambitious smiles and the post-orgasm intimacy, and condense them down into an image or a song or a smell so that every time you want to feel like this again you can take it out and live it all over again.
You shift a little bit closer to him, watching his massive chest heave slowly.
"Y'know somethin'?"
You push your face towards his until your noses barely touch, and hum out a giddy little "Hmm?"
"I can't fuckin' believe I ever thought I was straight."