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Honest to God, you’re not exactly sure how you had ended up in this relatively precarious situation. But thank heavens for doing yoga on an almost daily basis, because you don’t think it would be humanly possible to stay this pliable in this position for so long.
“Ungh--”
Your tongue all but lolls out of your mouth, drool trickling down your chin as you’re yanked back and forth onto a cock that’s just about the size of your forearm. You’re managing to stand on one leg, the other raised high and against your husband’s sturdy chest, elbow propped onto the marble countertop of the kitchen bar and your free hand grasping onto his suit coat.
"Mmh, God, fuck, Ken-- to--"
The strap of your dark red dress falls from your shoulder, and this bastard has the propriety to slip it back from where it had fallen. As if he hadn’t simply lifted the hem of your dress, pulled your panties off to the side, spat onto his fingers, and shoved them up inside you. He hadn’t really given you much in terms of preparation when he knows he should, but then again, you are quite the insatiable lover, who would usually demand for what she wanted now , regardless of whether it was that pretty Hermes scarf or his baby inside you.
The thing is, your husband was already on the Hermes list in terms of getting regular updates for their newest drops. He would simply mutter a soft “patience” along with a kiss to your forehead, because he had already pre-ordered it and it would be arriving as soon.
The second thing is that he would always oblige you with filling you up. Granted there are times when it’s absolutely inconvenient, such as you calling him in the middle of fighting a special-grade curse and telling him that your new Agent Provocateur set came in and that you had already put it on. Or such as an hour ago at a company-wide party at the Ritz-Carlton in Akasaka.
However, this time, you had done it in a completely different method. You had shamelessly flirted with Gojo Satoru, who seemed to have immediately picked up that you were absolutely and most definitely trying to get railed by your husband. Because God knows that Gojo, in all his thick-headed sense of societal norms, knew better than to seriously flirt back.
Nanami didn’t know that, though. Because when he had arrived with the flute of champagne you had so sweetly requested of him, he had managed to snap the neck of the delicate glass.
Gojo, picking up the hint that his neck would be next, sang out a “Toodles!” to his coworker before peacing out and disappearing back into the crowd.
After Nanami had told a few concerned individuals that he and his wife would be looking to check the champagne listings, he whisked you off back to your hotel room. The rest was history.
At least between the time when you had entered the elevator to this exact second where he had you gasping and begging for less and more all at the same time.
“You absolutely enjoy making my blood pressure spike don’t you,” he breathes out, readjusting you so that you’re standing on both legs now to give you a bit of a break. That means very little, considering you’re tippy-toeing on your high heels, practically hanging off his cock and anchored by your hands gripping the marble and an arm thrown below your collarbones for support. “You act up just so that your husband can fuck you like this, hm? Or do you actually want to be fucked like a whore by whatever piece of filth you stoop down to flirt with, eh?”
You know he precisely means Gojo Satoru, and you have half a mind to actually try and add to the fire, by saying why yes indeed perhaps I did want to ride his dick. However, you can’t bring yourself to tease your husband, not when he’s wrecking you like this and splitting you open. When you don’t respond, Nanami slaps your pussy several times with his thick fingers, earning a squeal from your lips as you gasp, manicured fingers wrapping around his wrist.
“Only you!”
“Only me what ?” He asks, each of the words punctuated by a harsh thrust into you.
You gasp and let out a choked sob, swallowing down saliva that you didn’t realize had been pooling in your mouth. “I’m only a slut for you, baby, I only belong to you!” You sputter, sounds tapering off into a thin whine as the fingers once assaulting your poor pussy are now tracing slow circles around your sensitive nub.
He yanks you up, the position causing you to arch your back in an almost-unnatural angle, just so that he can kiss your forehead. You scream, body spasming as your husband continues the onslaught onto your aching pussy, and you don’t know what to do. Your hips push into the touch of his fingers and back onto the thick, veiny cock as your hands now scramble onto his arm on your chest, nails scraping into his skin.
“P-Please, Kento-- Urgh--” You gurgled, half choking on your saliva as your legs began to shake even more than they were before, threatening to collapse under the intense pressure of how he’s just shoving himself into you and a downright shriek escapes when he angles his hips and his tip bumps hard against your cervix. “Please, I nee-- I need-- God, fuh-- fuck, Kento-- I’m-- I need more, please-- Fuck--!”
“God, you’re such a whore.” Your husband grunts, keeping the pace that he has going, hips still slamming against the fat swell of your ass, fingers playing with your clit in a gentle contrast. “What do you need, you dumb little whore? Use your words for me.”
You should be embarrassed, should definitely smack your husband for calling you stupid, but in the deepest recesses of your brain you actually agree. Because fuck if you aren’t cock drunk right now, stupid as fuck in the head with how he’s fucking you silly. All you can think about is how he’s carving into you, thick shaft pulling in and out of your walls and reshaping you.
“I need to cum, please, please, please,” you break off into a cry as he gives you exactly what you ask, because fuck if your husband isn’t smitten and just so whipped for his wife. He speeds up his thrusts, making sure to angle it in the way that he knows you need. The hand on your pussy continues to circle your clit, his other hand up to your mouth to shove his thick fingers in there, give you something to suck, you nasty little whore, keep that hole occupied for daddy .
He gives you exactly what you asks, gifting you an orgasm that causes your eyes to roll back, tongue practically hanging out against his fingers as your cunt clenches around his cock unforgivingly. Your voice had escalated to near-silence in the beginning of your climax, only for the pleasure to come rushing out of you along with the oxygen in your lungs. Chest heaving up and down, you downright sob, body shaking with tears running down your face. You’re certain that your mascara is positively smudged and tracked along your cheeks, but you can’t care because fuck all you can think about is how you’re absolutely shaking and overwhelmed in pleasure and your husband is still going still going still going oh my God please it’s too much- -
“That’s it, slut, milk my cock dry-- fuck-- fuck--”
And he finally reaches his peak, fucking into in deep, harsh strokes as you let out soft wheezes, sucking onto his fingers. He groans, that deep guttural sound that makes you shake. It’s both a terrifying and an arousing sound, adding to the way that your walls pulse around his cock. His cum is hot inside you and you do your best to clench, not wanting a single drop of him to drip out of you. It earns you a light swat to your ass at the sensation, a whine escaping you as he holds you to him, fingers slipping from your tongue as the both of you catch your breath.
A large hand rests over your stomach, rubbing the area gently, proudly. “This one will take, again.”
You chuckle, voice hoarse as you lean back against him, back of your head resting against the side of his sweaty neck. He angles himself so he can press a kiss to your temple.
“How do you know?”
He’s silent for a moment, only for him to pull you off his dick and into his arms bridal-style . “You’re right.”
Still floating on the clouds of your orgasm, you don’t exactly understand what your husband means, simply enjoying the feeling of his broad chest against the side of your body. It isn’t until he’s dropped you onto the bed that you’re broken out of your reverie, eyes opening to see Nanami unbuttoning his shirt.
While in most situations you would find yourself downright creaming yourself in excitement with what your husband is doing, you’re a little bit terrified because--
“Kento, I don’t know if I can go again, ‘m tired--” You say desperately as he manages to rid you of your dress, but you’re simply met with a wet, open-mouthed kiss that you melt in in under 0.01 seconds. You’re absolutely exhausted, but God do you want him again and again and again, you want his calloused hands all over your body and his gigantic cock pushing all the way up your esophagus. “I’m--”
“You’re?” He half-mocks, nipping at your lower lip before moving himself downwards, pushing your full breasts together. He moves his head from side to side, licking and sucking at your soft pert nipples while he ruts his already-hardened dick against your loosened, wet folds.
A breathy moan escapes you, fingers in his hair because you don’t care, you don’t care and you want him back inside you.
“I’m tired,” you confess, and he pulls off from suckling at your nipples with a wet pop. “I’m tired but I-- I want you inside me. Want you to… to put a baby inside me. Want another baby. Please.” Your legs spread on either side of his hips, pulling him closer to you as your hand reaches down, wraps around his thick length.
To be fair, you aren’t sure how you’ve managed to survive taking his cock with how small you are in comparison to him. It would always be a difficult and relatively painful feat, but Nanami had gotten lucky with a wife who always seemed interested in teetering between life and death.
“You’re such a good girl for me.” He breathes out as he leans in for a sweet kiss. “You’re so good for me, aren’t you?” He tucks some of your hair behind your ear and you nuzzle into his palm, a perfectly domesticated breeding bitch for your husband.
Nanami guides himself in to your leaking entrance, wiping up any spill of his cum with the tip before slowly pushing into you. He intends to fuck his cum in you, this time pushing as far as he can in to make sure that he also fills your cervix. He wants to breed you, get you knocked up all over again.
He pushes your knees up to your chest, effectively folding you in half as your arms lie limply on either side of you. You had told him that you were tired, and he honors that, recognizes it as he leans down to plant a kiss to your forehead. That’s the last sweet thing he does as his cock struggles to push all the way into you.
Squirming beneath him, you clench your jaw, watching how he struggles with his own self-control, watching how your tiny pussy had managed to take him completely. God, does it hurt, the way your walls are just basically forced open for his cock, the tip pressing hard against your cervix. At this angle, you know that you’re going to get knocked up once he cums inside you.
“Fuck,” he mutters, your legs thrown over his shoulders as he positions himself more comfortably atop you, hips starting to move of their own accord to meet the way that he’s shoving himself in and out in small, erratic movements. “I’ve ruined you, haven’t I?”
You whimper, eyes bleary as you look up at him through tear-heavy lashes. Lips parting, you murmur out a soft, “please.”
“I’ve ruined your pussy for anyone else. It’s good that I married you,” he chuckles, picking up his pace and pulling out halfway, only for him to slide back in. Your lower half bounces against the mattress at his efforts and you hiccup at the sensation of his veiny cock rubbing against your still-sensitive walls. “No other man could satisfy you the way that I do, the way my cock fills you up. Made you just so stupid, so stupid for daddy’s cock, aren’t you?”
In response you nod your head feverishly, a litany of praises and his name leaving your kiss-swollen red lips while your vision goes in and out. All you know is that you’re being torn apart and rebuilt here on the bed, that you’re built to take his cock and do nothing else. And he tells you that, tells you that you’re his perfect little cocksleeve and flicks at your nipples. The jolt of electricity causes you to tense down on him, earning a groan and a rush of energy.
He fucks your pussy like he hates you and says a bunch of degrading things that would make you question your own self-respect outside of the bedroom. That’s for you to worry about another day, wondering if all his pent up aggression shows up as thinly-veiled sexism with how he’s downright demolishing your pussy like he has severe anger issues towards women -- specifically one woman, specifically you. But you take it, you don’t care, you love it and he loves you.
You feel your back arch, tummy coiling with heat and you know you’re close again. He knows it too and he slows down his thrusts to heavy, full-bodied ones that cause you to whimper out at each push back in. “Open your mouth.”
Weakly, you look up at him and you wonder when you had actually closed your eyes. He looks positively gorgeous, with his chiseled jaw and sweaty blonde hair. You comply anyways, opening your mouth and allowing him to spit into it. Obediently, you swallow, his hand around your throat so he can feel it contract when you do.
“My perfect, perfect girl.”
You preen under his compliments and his fist, only for you to completely lose it as he resumes his vicious pistoning of his hips. You’re being pulled taut like a string, ready to snap as he squeezes your throat. Black dots begin to spot around your vision as he fucks you like this, like an animal, a monster just desperately needing to fill something up.
So desperate to be filled up, want to be leaking with his cum for days, want his children in your belly.
When he laughs, cruel and amused, that’s when you realize that you actually said it out loud -- but you can’t bring yourself to care.
Especially not when your body seizes up, his grip on your throat relaxing as both the rush of oxygen and pleasure overcomes you like a tidal wave, pulling you off from balance and sweeping you deep into the current. A sob escapes you as you spasm beneath him, your pussy clenching down hard as he continues to fuck into you, seeking his own release.
Not once does he slow down, giving you absolutely no quarter as you cry beneath him, simply lying there with an oversensitive cunt, overwhelmed by how your husband is giving you perhaps the roughest and best dicking-down in a mating press. Your cervix is numb at this point with how he’s jabbing into it, but God you don’t care, don’t care that tomorrow you’ll be sporting bruises in the shape of your husband’s fingers. You’ll wear them with pride, your own little badge of getting what you want. Now, you only needed a baby in your tummy as proper proof.
“Fuck, I’m gonna cum-- You’re gonna take my cum, princess, take all of this fucking cum. Going to knock you up, want your pussy leaking from me. Want your belly nice and round with my kids, your tits full of milk.”
All you can do is sob and take it because God, yes, if that isn’t what you want and yes, yes, fuck, Kent o--
He moans out, hips stuttering for a second once he reaches his climax. He pants heavily, shaking as he continues to fuck his cum in and out of you. There’s so much of it that his spend is leaking out of you from around his cock and you whine, holding him close so that he doesn’t pull out. You’re not risking not getting knocked up.
“Mmh.” Your husband grunts, leaning in to plant a kiss onto your forehead and both of your cheeks. “Are you hurt anywhere? Was I too rough on you?”
Tiredly, you shake your head, body basking in the pleasure and the aftermath. You close your eyes, relaxing under the weight of your husband’s body, even though he ends up propping himself up on his elbow as the buzzing sound of his phone vibrates against his ass cheek. You grunt, not even bothering to look, knowing that he had somehow managed to fuck the shit out of you still wearing his pants.
Very carefully, he adjusts himself so that you’re lying atop him, cock still wedged inside you as an arm holds you to him, absently kissing your cheek as he checks his phone.
“Who is it, Ken?”
“The nanny. She said that Kentaro escaped his crib again. He’s back in though, and properly asleep.”
You snort. Of course your child would, he takes completely after you. Super agile.
“How many, baby?”
A grunt escapes you in response to his question.
“How many kids do you want?”
Tiredly, you open your eyes, not even bothering to tilt your head to look at him. “I don’t care. However much you want. The more, the merrier, Ken.” With a hum, you nest yourself comfortably again, only for you to groan as you’re rolled onto your back again. You can feel him hardening inside you and you weakly thump your fist onto his chest.
"You're too good to me."
“I am, aren't I. I deserve a snakeskin Birkin for my troubles.”
“As many as you want, princess.”