fantasticbeasts_kinkmeme (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fantasticbeasts_kinkmeme) wrote2016-11-23 07:27 am
fantasticbeasts_kinkmeme) wrote2016-11-23 07:27 am
Entry tags:
Prompt Post #1
ROUND 1
FUCK IT WE'LL FIGURE OUT SPECIFICS LATER
Important links:
You can check for fill updates at our tumblr page
You can upload your stories on AO3 anonymously here
You can alert us that you've filled a prompt here
You can talk about anything here
Re: FILL: Giggle Juice 3/3
(Anonymous) 2016-12-04 03:04 am (UTC)(link)He’s not sure he can. His legs feel numb like his face, and the corridor is dangerously slanted. But he’s aching for it, whatever it is, whatever Mister Graves wants to do. “Y-Yeah,” he nods and regrets it, the world around him twisting violently.
Mister Graves kisses him again and Credence kisses back, trying to remember what he was taught, trying to be good and pliant as Mister Graves touches their tongues together. He wants to taste him everywhere; he wants to devour him whole. When they pull apart for air, Credence sucks hard on his neck, kisses upwards to his ear, lapping at the stubble there. It’s so rough, so rough he can almost feel it with his numb lips.
“My little, needy whore,” Mister Graves whispers, and Credence loses his balance, a reactive thrust of his hips shaking his body, but Mister Graces keeps him upright. “Look at you. If you were a woman you’d have soaked through your trousers by now. Your pussy would be dripping.” Credence kisses him manically, trying to find some relief against Mister Graves’ solid body, but he’s held back just enough to keep their hips from meeting. “Not just yet. You’re so beautiful when you’re desperate like this.” A pause while Mister Graves watches Credence’s fruitless rut, smirking. “You are dripping, darling. You've ruined your trousers, wet little cunt.” The wet patch on the front of Credence’s trousers has expanded, and Credence can feel his continued leaking, fuelled by Mister Graves’ degrading words. He wants to be used like this, wants to be Mister Graves’ pretty whore, wants to be special enough to warrant this.
“What’s my whore going to do for me?” Mister Graves unbuttons Credence’s vest and shirt, exposing his bare chest to the cool air of the corridor. “How’s my whore going to please me?” His shirt and vest and tossed carelessly on the floor, and Credence shivers as Mister Graves thumbs his nipples.
Credence reaches for Mister Graves’ tented trousers and squeezes the hard length like he’s never had the courage to touch his own. He’s thick and weighty and Credence desperately wants to pleasure him; he palms the unfamiliar hardness, feels it pulsing under his fingers, and squeezes again, rubbing experimentally.
“You can do better than that, Credence. Don’t tell me you’re shy now.”
“I don’ - I don’ know wha’ men do.”
“I’ll teach you. Make you into the dirty slut you’re meant to be.” He’s unbuttoning Credence’s trousers, pulling them down along with his underwear and Credence should embarrassed, would be horrified if he was sober - naked, save for his shoes and socks, and aching, arousal out and dripping shamelessly, ass pressed up against a wall in a speakeasy. Anyone could round the last corner and see him like this, see how perverse and wanton his is. But he’s not sober and he’s not horrified and he moans loudly, inviting attention, as Mister Graves keeps rubbing his nipples, pinching them sharply. He didn’t know they were sensitive like this, didn’t know his body was capable of feeling something like this, and he cries out, begging nonsense.
“Please - need you - wanna - wanna - please - let me - ”
Mister Graves is steadying him, helping him to his knees, switching their positions so that he’s standing against the wall with Credence kneeling obediently in front of him, as if in prayer. He pulls himself out of his trousers and - Oh God, he’s so thick and veined and red and everything Credence wants, everything he thinks about at night.
“You’re going to suck my cock like the good whore you are, aren’t you Credence? You’re going to enjoy me fucking your mouth.” Eyes wide, he nods, sending the uneven world around him spinning yet again. The thought had never occurred to him; it’s so dirty and depraved and awful and please-Mister-Graves-let-me-try-oh-god-please-let-me-taste-it. His own arousal - no, cock - bobs longingly, leaking so much that small pool has formed on the rough stone beneath him. So many lewd words - cock, fuck, pussy, cunt, slut, whore - he wants Mister Graves to keep using them so he can feel the electric spark shoot down his spine at each filthy word. Please call me a slut, he thinks, please call me your slut, your whore, your wet cunt to be fucked raw, please, please.
He opens his mouth and inches forward, nudging the head with his partially numb lips. It’s blunt and hot and he doesn’t know what to do, but he needs it, so he pushes his lips over the head, feeling it throb in the front of his mouth. He moves his tongue experimentally, like Mister Graves showed him when kissing, and rubs it against the slit, tasting faintly of salt. He slips his tongue up and over the head, lapping repeatedly, always returning to the slit for another hint of salt. This is what Mister Graves tastes like, he thinks idly, stroking the slit again and again with his tongue, I’m lucky enough to know what Mister Graves tastes like.
“Such a good slut. You're hungry for it, aren’t you?” Credence moans affirmatively and is rewarded with Mister Graves’ hand in his hair, stroking leisurely. “I knew you wanted it since we met, and I’m so glad you see that now, see what you truly are.”
Credence gasps around Mister Graves’ cock and his hips give an involuntary thrust. He takes more in his mouth, the head now too far back to tongue the slit properly. Instead he circles the sides with his tongue, trying to get a good angle, trying to make sure he doesn’t use his teeth. Mister Graves’ grip on his hair tightens and his other hand comes to rest protectively against the back of his neck.
“Relax your throat and hold nice and still for me.” Credence tries but the floor is moving beneath him and the world still swirls up and down, as if he’s on a boat. He steadies himself, bracing one hand against the wall. “There’s a good little whore that knows his place.”
Holding Credence’s head stationary, Mister Graves thrusts forward slowly, his cock pushing against the back of the boy’s throat and then down some. Credence gags at the first contact, and wills himself to relax, to stay still despite the heaving in his chest and his initial, overwhelming reflex to pull back. He can’t breathe, he can’t think. His lips wrapped around the root, face pressed into a thatch of hair, he feels tears running down his cheeks and he jerks his head back in panic, needing air, the world blackening around him, but Mister Graves’ hold on his head is firm.
Mister Graves doesn’t move, doesn’t thrust forward or back. “Breathe through your nose and get used to this feeling. A sweet little whore like you needs to learn how to take a cock.” Credence’s panic doesn’t abate, the sense of confinement still crushing, but he breathes frantically through his nose and that helps. He longer feels like he’ll pass out.
His tone is softer than it’s been all night. “I know it’s frightening, but you’ll be so good at this. I know you want it, Credence. Look at the mess you’re making.” Unable to move, Credence glances down at his lap as best he can and is startled by the lewdness of it; his cock is grotesquely red and purple, standing very nearly straight against his stomach, white fluid leaking continuously from the head. It’s everywhere, down the underside of his cock, in his pubic hair, stuck to his stomach and down his thighs, dripping to the growing pool on the stone. “Have you caught your breath?” Credence nods, eyes closed, clinging to Mister Graves’ hips. “We’ll start nice and slow.”
Mister Graves pulls his cock out, leaving only the tip inside. Credence hurriedly sucks in air just before he pushes back in, cock once again hitting his throat, causing more gagging. And again. And again. And again. A slow, even rhythm, of push and pull, Credence’s head held firmly in place, unable to move.
Credence’s initial panic calms. He’s figured out the pattern of the breathing and no longer feels faint, and the pressure on the back of his throat, that sharp gagging sensation, lessens with each thrust. He looks up at Mister Graves and lets out a muffled moan around his cock at the expression on the man’s face. Eyes closed tightly, face twisted in concentration, mouth slightly slack, he’s so obviously enjoying this, and it’s because of Credence, because he’s pleasing him properly. Mister Graves’ eyes open at Credence’s moan and he removes one hand from the back of the boy’s head to caress his chin, slick with drool.
“My good little slut. Your mouth’s better than any cunt I’ve had.”
He increases the tempo, but Credence can manage it now that he’s seen what it does to Mister Graves. It’s uncomfortable, but there’s something comforting in the motion, something reassuring that with every thrust Miser Graves is back inside him, giving him this, allowing him this, warming him from the inside out like he needs. The regular thrust of his cock in and out and in and out keeps him grounded, keeps him safe in this one real spot amidst a blurred and hazy backdrop.
“You think about me when you touch yourself, don’t you Credence?” He can’t answer, the wet slide in and out continues, but he nods as best he can, flushed. “Do you think of other men too?”
Mister Hernandez, who occasionally fixes things in the church when they can no longer be put off and ignored. Months ago the pipes burst and he walked around shirtless for half a day, Credence watching while he was supposed to be assembling pamphlets. He lay miserable in his bed that night, rutting against his mattress, eyes closed in a silent prayer that the pipes would burst again. Then there was Mister Thompson and Mister Stacey and Mister Hunter and Mister Hewitt and the man from the grocer’s -
He nods and Mister Graves thrusts in with more force, his gag reflex returning as the back of his throat is battered repeatedly. There’s no pause, no time for him to adjust.
“Such a whore.” Credence whimpers his agreement, trying to keep his mouth pliant as Mister Graves goes faster. “When I’m finished with your mouth, would you like me to find someone else to fuck it? It wouldn’t be hard here. And then another man and then another. Perhaps I’ll just keep you here for anyone to use, a naked little whore starved for cock.”
Credence’s hips buck and he sobs against the root of Mister Graves’ cock. He wants it so badly, for men to just use him like the slut he is, use his mouth and leave him for the next one. His balls feel heavy with need and he humps the air, searching for any relief.
“Touch yourself, Credence. I know you need it, you’re so hard having your mouth fucked like this.”
His fingers shakily wrap around the base of his cock. He’s never done it, doesn’t know how, but the image of him on his knees with anonymous men using him, degrading him, it’s too much. He squeezes and slides his hand up then down, trying to match Mister Graves’ speed.
“Look at me while I’m fucking you.” He looks up and meets Mister Graves’ eyes, his mouth stretched painfully open, strings of drool hanging from his chin, hand around his pulsing cock, moving erratically and desperately; he’s debauched, truly a slut.
“Stay still for me.” Mister Graves’ already tight grip on his head becomes painful as his hips piston at an overwhelming pace. Fast and hard, he pulls out almost completely before pushing back in, hitting the back of Credence’s throat roughly with each merciless thrust. Credence is crying again and gagging, the snot in his nose preventing him from breathing properly. “Such a beautiful whore, Credence,” he growls, thrusting harder and harder and harder…
His vision starts to dim as he tries to force air through his clogged nose, wheezing fruitlessly. The heavy ache in his cock, a need that’s been building since Mister Graves first found him, finally breaks and he’s choking around Mister Graves’ relentless cock, gasping for air and for pleasure as hot, white fluid streaks his stomach, his chest, a little hits his neck and chin, joining the drool. The world around him is hot and white and on fire, and then quite suddenly it darkens to blackness.
***
He wakes up to Mister Graves. I want to wake up like this all the time, he thinks, despite the hurt. And everything hurts. His lips, no longer numb, feel swollen and chapped; his mouth is overwhelmed by salt and his throat aches so sharply that he knows talking will be difficult for days to come; he’s nauseated and dizzy, the world above him spinning violently.
Mister Graves is cleaning his face with a handkerchief. “You’re okay, Credence,” he states, running his hand down his cheek.
For the first time in the evening, he feels truly embarrassed. He is mostly certainly still drunk, but now that the need and the heat and desperation has dissipated, he’s left with a cold, hollowness in his stomach, a mortification that Mister Graves knows all his secrets, the shame he carries hidden with him, his perversity. He closes his eyes, tears falling anew, and whispers, “I’m sorry,” so quietly Mister Graves can scarcely hear it.
“Why? Didn’t you enjoy tonight?
“Y-Yes - I just - I know - I dunno. I know I’m a freak and now you do too and you’ll never see me the same.” Still slurring. Unable to sit up, he reaches pathetically for his discarded clothes. Mister Graves hands his pants to him while pushing his arms through his shirt.
“You’re not a freak, Credence. You’re a good boy who likes certain things that aren't so accepted by most people. I like them too. I enjoyed tonight.”
Credence can’t look at him anymore. “I wan’ it to happen again - I just - I just - I just don’ wan’ you to hate me.”
“I could never, dear boy. We’re friends, remember? Once you find that child we can be together always, and there’ll be no more of this worrying.” Credence leans into Mister Graves’ solid body, a body he’s felt and touched and tasted, and he wonders if it’s possible that he could find happiness like that. He catches Mister Graves’ eyes as he’s helped off the floor, and if Credence wasn’t so drunk, he would think Mister Graves’ expression was less than sincere.
Re: FILL: Giggle Juice 3/3
(Anonymous) 2016-12-04 03:25 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Giggle Juice 3/3
(Anonymous) 2016-12-08 03:54 pm (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Giggle Juice 3/3
(Anonymous) 2016-12-04 05:20 am (UTC)(link)The weird thing is that any sort of intoxication is usually a huge squick for me? And then this happened, and... wow.
Poor repressed Credence letting go in a quite spectacular fashion really does it for me, I think.
In conclusion, daaaamn.
Re: FILL: Giggle Juice 3/3
(Anonymous) 2016-12-08 03:54 pm (UTC)(link)So glad you enjoyed it!
AO3 link
(Anonymous) 2016-12-08 03:55 pm (UTC)(link)