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It’s hard, so hard , to keep his eyes on you.
Steamy black threatens to roll right through the back of his skull. He’s got to keep his composure, steady the shaking intake of breath at every shy bob of your head. What you lack in experience, you sure make up for in enthusiasm.
Your lips stretch far past their limit, curling inward to hug tightly around his thick shaft.
“Fuck.”
Jiraiya doesn’t want to miss a second of this, of you , but every whisper of contact your lips promise is enough to drive any man to insanity.
“Am- am I doing okay?” You pull those precious lips away from him, eyes jumping between his and the weeping cock in your hands.
God, Jiraiya thinks to himself, a small laugh bubbling from his chest, it feels like I’m eighteen again.
“Do you want me to stop?” Your voice wobbles, hanging off the sticky string that still connects your bodies.
“Oh baby,” There’s a small pang in his chest, a little thrum of guilt for making you doubt anything other than complete adoration.
Jiraiya pulls you up, strong hands help steady you across his lap. One long finger inches up and down your spine, the cool touch sends a shiver down each vertebrae.
He trails your skin, mapping your body with a warm sense of comfort. The silence is calm, balmy like the unusually mild January air just outside the window. It melts you, your nerves, your insecurities, until you're nothing but honest.
“I just don’t,” you trail off again, letting your head fall into his chest, “I don’t know as much as other girls you’ve been with. I want to make you feel good.”
Jiraiya is positive he’s blacked out and entered a dream state. That must be where you’re from, a dream, a hallucination. Maybe he’s lying on war-scorched earth and you’re tempting him towards the lull of death. He’d swim right into the underbelly of hell if the promise of barely there cotton and soft young skin awaits him. The promise of Persephone waiting just past the darkness.
He pulls you back to look into your eyes, positive that what stares back at him is reality, only because there’s nothing this sweet waiting on the other side for a man like him.
You’re so—he pulls at the tiny strap of your top, silken fabric falling down to your elbows— so fragile in this new adulthood. If he’s not careful— he’ll consume you without savoring the taste.
That’s what boys your age would do, Jiraiya reasons, they would waste you. What kind of man would he be if he let that happen?
No, you deserve the best. Decades of experience, years of practice; what you deserve, what you need is—
“Please,” your words press firmly to his bare chest, “t-teach me how.”
Jiraiya tugs you at the waist, grinding your panties against his bare cock. His pointer fingers twirl around the elastic, pulling you ever closer and softly pushing you back again. You search for his mouth to spill whimpers into, he can taste the precum on your lips mixed with the hint of subtle cherry. You taste sweet, so sweet it could rot if he isn’t careful. A nice juicy piece of fruit he’s picked at the perfect time.
Your clothed pussy drags against him slowly, the hesitant circles of your hips are disorienting. Jiraiya can feel you finding a rhythm, figuring out what feels good.
He wants to help you, to teach you everything that you don’t yet know you like. And maybe you’ll thank him by letting him rip you apart, swallow back drowning tears as canines pull at your young, supple skin. It’ll feel good, he’ll promise you as he licks up your tears.
There’s very little keeping Jiraiya earthbound. He grips your hips tighter, pulling your weeping cunt further on his lap and sliding it down the length of his cock. He catches your clit against the thick base and you grind into him hard. You chase the prominent veins, tracing them in painful detail.
Your skin is hot enough to burn, tacky with sweat as you work against him. He watches as you teeter on the edge of something so foreign, so terrifyingly new.
“I- I feel, this feels so g-good.”
The way you babble does nothing to quell Jiraiya’s ego. Another few strokes and you’ll be done for—falling head first into orgasm with only him to catch you. You're so wet, the littlest adjustment of your hips and his reddening tip could split you open.
Would you scream out, tears filling up your lashes and falling to sear his skin? Would you beg him to stop, plead that it’s too much?
Or, would you take him?
He can picture it clearly, the stride of your movements painting the perfect, depraved picture. Stealing you, taking your precious cunt with one quick pump. Watching you choke on the pain, feeling so unbearably full.
“Please, please .” You’ll beg him, but even you aren’t sure if you're begging for less or more.
Maybe pain is what you were looking for all along, and you’ll welcome the ache in your sloppy cunt like an old friend.
You’ll know no other words, lips only able to form weak, “Please, please, please’s,”
He’ll fuck into you deeper with every cry, setting brutal pace with your begging. He can almost feel it, the tight rings of muscle as they suck him in, the shattering exhale of breath as you try to relax around him.
“I’m okay, I can take it.” You’ll promise him and it’ll almost sound convincing.
Whether or not you can matters less and less; as your hips fall farther down, you will. You’ll take it all, inch by suffocating inch until—
“I’m- I feel like I’m going to-“
Jiraiya’s breath hits his lungs like he’s been drowning, you pull him back above water with a whimper he’s all too familiar with. Only a moment more, one long drag of your clit along his cock and you’ll shatter like crystal.
“Such an eager little thing, aren’t ya, kid?”
Confusion washes over you, hitting the places your climax didn’t as Jiraiya halts your movements. The abrupt change paints a hot flush onto your face and neck, he can feel it simmering under the skin.
It’s vile, he thinks as he tries not to crack a shit-eating grin, how the wobble of tears in your waterline could make him cum right here and now.
“I just couldn’t live a moment longer,” he whispers into an otherwise empty room, but those same quiet words echo as they meet your ears, “without you cumming on my tongue.”
He’s no villain, far from it, it’s not the crestfallen look in your eye that fill your tears with so much lust. It’s that he gets to wipe them away.
He hushes you, cooing away your sweet frown as he loops strong arms around your waist. Jiraiya stands up, holding you with the same exerted effort as grabbing a bottle of sake. No matter the size, the shape, naked skin is weightless in his hold.
He allows himself only a beat to savor the feeling of you folded in his arms, stolen away from the outside world you’ve hardly even seen.
Jiraiya wishes this feeling could be a home, your tilting, disorienting laugh the walls and roof he returns to— but he’s only a part time thief.
He lets you fall into a pile of soft sheets, standing tall over you. The cast of candlelit shadow washes over your skin, softening around every curve. This sight is what wars are fought over.
The attack starts with a captured ankle, Jiraiya lays traps against your skin in quick, biting succession. He drags lips and tongue up your legs, groaning deeply at the whipmers he elicits from every kiss.
“These thighs might just put me into an early grave, kid.” Jiraiya’s voice tickles ever closer to your cunt, his view now framed with a fresh path of goosebumps.
There’s no reason to wait, it’s only a sick game of keepaway that he’s playing with himself. Maybe he’ll chalk it up to a test of his will, maybe he’s already sugar-high, delirious.
Maybe he knows that there’s an inevitable end to the nights like these, and the honeypot between your legs doesn’t belong to him. There’s no way to savor you forever, there’s no running away from the break of dawn.
Jiraiya drags his tongue in a sharp, flat line against your weeping pussy, curling up to flick your clit. The sweet taste threatens to make an addict out of a sage.
Jiraiya can read you like your published, a story far more beautiful than he’ll write. You're holding on to the last remnants of coherence, falling out of grasp with each lashing. He’s so sloppy, so loud. He hopes you don’t mind— never kicked the habit of eating with his mouth open.
“O-oh, my God.” It doesn’t sound like you have any objections.
“Ya know,” he pulls back to look at you, keeping your clit company with the rough pad of his thumb, “I’m used to ‘Master,’ but that’s got a good ring to it.”
There it is, a lilting laugh that pulls a smile across his face as soon as it hits his ears.
Beautiful. Unfairly, terrifyingly beautiful.
You’re making yourself a home in the empty hole in the middle of his chest, a place so deep he won’t be able to claw you out come morning. Maybe he won’t even try to.
Jiraiya pushes the tinny feeling of guilt into his cheeks, spitting it against your messy little hole. Your reaction is almost intravenous, running under your skin like a virus and arching your spine. He can almost hear it crack.
He might be a nasty old fucker, but when your hands reach down to tangle into long white hair, begging for more of the mouth that knows you better than yourself, God.
He feels eighteen again.
Jiraiya kisses you, open mouthed and deep, begging you with a wordless plea, begging for you to fall— fall for him.
He’ll settle for the crash, the hard, inevitable crash that his lips will bring you to. The feeling of a first time isn’t something he’ll ever get tired of.
You cry out, louder than he deserves, as you twitch in his grasp. Jiraiya’s hands hold your legs apart with little effort, a front row seat, a private show.
“That’s my good girl.” He kisses the words right onto your clit, knowing it’ll steal the little intake of breath you try to steady.
Jiraiya leans back, kneeling in front of your twisted limbs, his long cock hangs in between toned thighs, his own lull of bliss comes over him as he watches you recover. The decent, it’s almost as sweet as the incline.
You catch him by surprise, shooting up from the bed like it’s made of hot coals. Worry is replaced quickly as your lips quirk into a smile, the whiplash could kill him, he’d die happy. Or maybe he already has.
“More, I want more. Please.”
Jiraiya’s not sure, but if he wakes up come morning and you weren’t a dying man’s dream, he’ll steal you as his home.
He’s sure of it, you’ll let him.