Work Text:
You knew you were fucked the moment you caught yourself typing ‘thiren dildo knot’ into your phone at four in the morning.
Your crime illuminates the dark of your room, search results reflected in your glassy eyes. The depravity is lost on you. You're so horny you can't sleep, much less feel guilty about drilling your (regular, average, lacking in girth and curve and length, not dripping for you the way he would) dildo into yourself, staring at sex toys and imagining him instead.
It only hits you after you cum. Right next to the usual disdain, the nagging realization that you have to clean yourself up, guilt nestles in. It does two neat little circles and sinks like a stone in your stomach. You find yourself with your phone in your hand, sketchy website leering at you. A countdown scrolling across the top advises you that your cart will be held for another four minutes and 12 seconds. Buy now, or your custom order (wolf thiren mold, large, medium firmness, cumtube included, custom colors) will be released for another horny idiot to pick up.
You delete the dildo from the cart, wonder briefly if you should ditch the email attached to the account, and pay for the eight pack of lube you'd added. Guilty, but not that guilty.
It's not supposed to be like this. You're not supposed to want his knot this badly. Lycaon had said so himself the first time you'd asked for it. It isn't a small thing – wipe that smirk off your face. It isn't something to be taken lightly, that's all he meant.
The entire situation had gotten out of hand; you'd hired Victoria Housekeeping a handful of times to assist with the clean up of your recently acquired property. It was a small place, and you had been in no rush to get the job done. They had divided the project over the span of a few weeks, assigning only Lycaon and Rina for the task.
Each visit had grown less and less professional. By the end of the project, you were scrambling to find something else for them to do, unwilling to let them walk out of your life just because the contract demanded so.
All three of you knew it wasn't professional to keep taking your calls. In fact, their conduct in your home violated several clauses within their contract – but by the time you had messaged Lycaon to ask if he could help you tote a new bed frame up the stairs, he had already stopped insisting on a contract. A friendship had grown, an ease that started between you and Rina and gradually thawed Lycaon's affections.
It wasn't uncommon to arrive at your home and find Rina already waiting. He'd been suspicious, had seen the starry look in your eyes, your swollen lips and the boneless, fumbling way you moved. He couldn't pinpoint when you and Rina had started becoming physical, but he could smell the stench of sex in the air the moment the door opened. He knew what he'd find if he let himself sink to his knees before you, sniffing and licking at your cunt like he wanted.
For months, though, he refused to act. He suppressed his baser urges, whittling them into compliments instead.
Your hair looks beautiful. Rina did it? Why isn't he surprised. And that dress? Yes, also Rina's choice. Of course.
It's not jealousy. It's something else that shares the same form, feels the same way. Lycaon agonizes over how to fit himself into your life, how to be needed, oblivious to the fact that you wanted him as things were.
Rina had been forced to meddle, casually stringing the both of you along until the conversation had occurred ‘naturally’. Even with your shared feelings out in the open, Lycaon remained restrained. His touches were subdued, moments together stolen and short.
The first time he’d fucked you had been a ‘matter of impropriety, ill-befitting an attendant’, as Lycaon had so stuffily put it.
In short, he’d gotten cold feet after he'd made you cum on his fingers, after Rina had gently nudged him aside to lap up the mess left on your thighs.
“We aren't here on business,” Rina reminded him, challenge in her tone all but calling him a pussy.
She twisted you up in her arms quickly, her hands pressed to the backs of your knees to spread you wide. You leaned back against her, almost entirely unaware of the moral crisis Lycaon put himself through. You're barely there after you cum, take time to get back into your own head - but the way you move so eagerly for Rina makes his cock jerk in his pants.
Rina’s hand had slid down the back of your thigh, her nipples hard for the way you tried to keep your leg where she had held you. Her fingers teased your dripping slit. She dragged them through your folds, prodding at your hole, showing Lycaon how eagerly you sucked them in. She made a show of spreading them, showing off the way you clung to her fingers, the way you dripped for them.
His resolve was iron-clad, but you'd melted through with your little whimpers, desperate voice whining "please, Lycaon.”
He was still a man, at the end of the day. You were bound up for him, snared like prey. He had wanted to treat you gently, to be slow and reverent - but he had pounded into your cunt instead, deep and slow. Any faster and he knows he would have popped his knot into you, had you locked together with your legs thrown over his shoulders, body bent nearly in half.
He'd pulled out, breathlessly asking where you wanted him to cum, stroking himself hard and fast, a hand wrapped tight around his knot. Rina had shuffled you up quickly, stretching your arms above your head, wrists gathered by one of her hands. She beckoned to your tits, the same wave he had seen her use countless times to invite clients to their tea.
Lycaon found the time to treat you gently later. He took his time, gentle and reverent as he wanted - still no knot.
You'd taken the rejection to heart, decided that if he said no once, then that was all there was to it. It was his dick and he could do what he wanted with it. You were too afraid of being pushy, or objectifying – or any number of things that might make him uncomfortable. Fantasies were fine.
Fantasies, and maybe a custom dildo. You were still thinking about it, the page still bookmarked on your phone. Next paycheck, you would tell yourself.
It came out the way all of your fantasies do – by Rina pulling it from you. Three fingers deep, pumping into you steadily, so torturously consistent, so committed to the slow build of your pleasure until the truth came gushing out.
She had this game she loved to play – making you narrate your fantasies. No detail spared or she'll stop stroking your needy little clit – and you would hate that, wouldn't you?
This time it had all come to light – how badly you wanted Lycaon's knot, how you were saving up just for a taste of a fake one.
Rina giggles in the aftermath. She dresses you quickly in your sleepwear, gesturing for you to raise your arms so she can roll your shirt down.
"Of course, you know that can be arranged,” Rina says, as casually as if you'd asked her for a cup of tea.
You feel like you've been shocked. Your arms are still sticking straight up in the air when you protest.
“No– it's just a stupid fantasy.”
Rina guides your arms back down, lets you rest and pose yourself without her guidance. She slips her hand into yours.
“I don't think it's stupid at all, Mistress.”
“Don't call me that,” you whine, swatting the air where she had been a moment ago. “It makes me feel gross.”
“Sir Lycaon likes it,” Rina teases.
Your face warms. You mumble a retort, lame and forgotten.
“I'll speak with him,” she assures you.
“No, don't. Don't tell him.”
“Leave everything to me.”
The subject of your objectification knocks on your door at 10 AM the next week. A standing appointment for coffee, Lycaon would call it – otherwise known as your weekly coffee date. Rina wiggles her fingers in greeting, drifting inside casually, the scent of vanilla trailing after her.
For a moment, you wonder if she had mentioned anything at all to Lycaon. He appears overwhelmingly normal about all of this. Clarity strikes you, lightning to your nerves when Rina doubles back to press her hand to the small of your back.
“You aren't just going to stand there, are you?” She asks.
Both of you jolt. You shuffle to the side, nearly tripping over your own feet to get out of the way. Lycaon shuts the door behind him. You speak over each other, both stammering apologies and excuses.
“Rina mentioned –”
“Was the trip here –”
You stall out, trying to give room for the other to speak.
“Sorry, I–”
“My apologies, I didn't mean to –”
Rina finally has mercy on the two of you, taking hold of the conversation before you can fizzle out a third time. She makes things clear upfront: your desire has been communicated to Lycaon. He has agreed. Don't look so serious, you two – this is a good thing.
The rest falls into place naturally. Or, as naturally as it can with Rina pulling the strings.
“We have the entire afternoon,” she informs you, turning to head to your bedroom. You're expected to follow, and you do - of course you do. Lycaon trails behind you, fingers ghosting against your wrist.
“You make it sound so formal,” you drone, plopping unceremoniously onto the edge of your bed.
“Oh, it's not formal,” Rina tuts. She drifts behind you, hands working at the tension in your shoulder. She leans forward, breasts pressing against your back, her cheek against yours, eyes locked on Lycaon. “It's just us.”
Time quickly became a suggestion. Minutes bled together, strung loosely between each touch, held secret in the clutch of Lycaon's pocket watch - the same watch that lays discarded in a heap with the rest of his clothes.
Your chest is pressed to the mattress, head cradled in Rina’s lap. Her hands rove across your hair, fixing it again and again as Lycaon drives into you. His arm is wrapped tightly around your waist, keeping your hips up and pinned flush wish his. His breath is hot at the back of your neck, teeth aching to nip at your nape, to mark your delicate skin. He drags his broad tongue across the places he wants to bite.
You've lost count of the ways they've bent you, the positions Rina had asked of you.
First, it was missionary, your own choice - but the angle had been all wrong, too difficult to squeeze his knot in that way. Rina had taken over from there, posing you as she thought best. By the time she had stopped mid-mating press, you realized this wasn't about trying to find the best position to take Lycaon’s knot. Rina had been playing her own game.
Rina's hand lights on Lycaon's shoulder, a barely-there brush of her fingers. He growls as if she's stuck her hand in his dinner bowl, the noise rumbling from his chest and through your back. He buries his cock in deeper, resisting the idea of stopping *again*, and his tapered tip wedges against a spot so deep inside you that you spasm in his arms. You cum so hard you swear you blackout for a few moments, your body a throb of pleasure, hips squirming, pussy trying to suck him in all the way.
You feel it - the first slip of his knot, the first stretch. The burn sears into pleasure. Your breath catches in your throat, a strangled moan escaping, pressed into Rina’s thigh.
“Please, please, please,” you sob.
Rina pushes harder against Lycaon’s shoulder. His lip curls, but he pulls back. His cock drags all the way out of you, leaves you empty, clenching around nothing. Your hands fist the fabric of Rina's skirt.
She doesn’t give you more than a moment to recover. Your pussy is still clenching when Rina's hands ghost across your ribcage. Sparks shower across your skin, nipples peaking painfully. She urges you with insistent, well-placed touches, tutting softly at the way you whimper. Her hands smooth sweat-slick hair from your face, fixing the strands reverently. She tucks two fingers under your chin and you raise your sight to her. It takes a moment for your hazy eyes to focus.
A touch on the side of your leg. You swing obediently into her lap. Rina's cold fingers pressing gently against the side of your neck, coaxing you against her chest. Your cheek cushions on her breast
Her fingers smooth sweat slick hair from your face, touch chilled and just on the side of clammy.
“Another, Mistress?” Rina asks sweetly, petting your hair. She pointedly ignores Lycaon's huff.
You peer up at her, tears brimming your eyes, catching the light and sparkling so prettily. You don't have the words. Could you even cum again? You want to plead, to whine – it had been right there. You had been so close to what you'd wanted.
“Oh, you poor thing,” she coos. The backs of her fingers press to your heated cheeks. “Cry if you must. It's all right.”
Rina's smile grows as your tears spill. She makes no move to wipe them from your cheeks. This is how she likes you, how she finds you most beautiful - worn down, fucked out, a mess in her arms for her to clean up and toy with.
Lycaon can't stand to see you cry, though. The bed creaks as he sits up, fishing a handkerchief from his discarded waistcoat. He dabs at your cheeks, tucking a knuckle under your chin to hold you in place.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs against your hair. "It was too much. I should never -”
"No." Your voice wobbles. "No, I just– I want your knot so bad.”
His cock jerks. Pre-cum dribbles from his tip, pools in his fur. Lycaon bites the rumble in his chest into a whine, locked tight behind sharp teeth.
“All right,” he breathes, heart hammering in his chest. “All right. Yes, of course. You'll have it. No more tears, please.”
Rina urges you from her chest. She knows where she's needed, knows not to linger. She presses her hand to Lycaon's shoulder, directing him to lay back against the bed. He's not quite as pliable as you are, never has been - especially not when he's wiping tears from your cheeks, kissing your forehead. His touch lingers when he follows her directive, hand stroking down the back of your arm, across your elbow, along your forearm.
She lets you toddle over to Lycaon on your knees, lets his be the hands that steady you when you swing your leg over him. You're still crying, sweet thing, tears wetting the fur of his stomach.
You wiggle into place awkwardly. His drippy tip glides through you pussy, nudging at your puffy, sensitive clit. You suck a breath through your teeth, lifting off him. The sensation is sharp, teetering on the edge of pain. Your knees pinch in and nudge Lycaon's sides, thighs jiggling. His eye tracks the movement immediately, hand stroking from your ass to your thigh, back and forth.
Rina slots in behind you. She keeps her touch on your hips light, urging you back down. Lycaon’s chest stills, his breath caught as she works you into a simple, back and forth path, dragging his cock along your slit. Once you settle into her rhythm, she reaches below you, gripping the base of Lycaon's cock, holding him steady.
He slides home easily, your pussy still molded to the shape of him. You keen, still sensitive. This new angle has him pressing against spots that dot your vision with stars. You sink deep, trembling and relieved all at once.
You get a few breaths together. Lycaon's head rests atop yours. He swallows audibly. His warm hands flex at your hips, restraint evident, strength held at bay by resolve alone. He's strong, so much stronger than you – he could press you down onto his cock easily, force you to take him to the hilt. The thought makes you clench around him, pussy fluttering.
Lycaon's teeth click next to your ear. His claws prick your skin for the fraction of a second, and then he's keeping his fingers off you, holding you by the palms. His cock throbs, twitches, aching to plug you with his knot.
Before you can grow too comfortable sitting on his cock, milking him dry with the squeeze of your pussy in response to every shallow thrust, every aching press of his knot to your hole, Rina begins her adjustments. At your hips first, the little suggestion of movement in her fingertips. You don't respond immediately, pussy so full you can't think straight. She pinches the fat of your hips, spurring your obedience.
She gets your hips rocking first, guiding you until you settle into the movement on your own. It's gentler than before, but each press of your hips sucks him deeper. This is the one - it has to be.
Rina doesn't let you stay hunched over. Her hands touch to your back, adjusting your posturing until your sitting so pretty on his cock. She adjusts your arms, lets you wind them around Lycaon’s neck instead of curling up behind him to claw at him shoulders.
You're almost there, can feel him slipping in, the stretch making your eyes roll back. Rina makes one final adjustment to your posture. She pries your face from the safety of Lycaon’s shoulders. All your pretty little sounds, your focused expressions, are clear for both of them to see.
“I'm– I'm close–” Lycaon huffs, keeping his face pressed to your shoulder. His body is coiled tight, nearly shaking with the restraint it takes not to thrust into you, to lock your bodies together and flood your pussy with his cum.
You whine, a hand fisting in his fur. Your stomach burns with the idea that after all of this, after being the perfect little toy, you might not get your prize – that he might slip out of you, cum spilling on your stomachs instead of where it belongs.
Lycaon thrusts into you hard just as your hips cycle down. His knot locks in. You gasp, the sensation foreign. You don't have time to savor it. He pounds into you, locked in place by his knot, your walls squeezing him as you cum again.
“Like you're made for me,” he babbles. Lycaon stops himself just before he bites onto your shoulder, his maw held open, sharp teeth threatening to puncture your skin. His moans are loud, pitching into a whine. His cock kicks inside of you, cum flooding your pussy, trapped in place by his knot.
You slump against him, the last few ropes of his cum spurting, his hips still shifting to drive it deeper. Your body is heavy, weighed down with the flood of pleasure still tinging your blood. Gradually, Lycaon's grip on you softens. His jaw closes, tongue flicking out to lap at your shoulder - short, slow strokes, almost apologetic.
Rina sits back and smooths the wrinkles from her dress. She admires the scene before her with a gentle smile, tilting her head to capture it from every angle. You're fully seated on his cock no matter which way she looks at it, escaped cum dribbling to the sheets in rivulets.
“Is it everything you dreamed?” Hands clasped, head tipped to the side - she looks at the pair of you adoringly, as if the sight of you breathless and locked together is the cutest thing she's ever seen.
“Rina,” Lycaon says, muzzle pressed into the crook of your neck. “Some water for our mistress, please.”
There's something hidden in his tone. You're too tired to piece it together, but Rina hones it on it immediately. She strokes along your spine as she stands, bending at the waist to kiss the crown of your head. She drifts out of the room without argument.
The door latches shut. You sag against Lycaon, his arms tightening around your middle. His tongue laps at your shoulder, collecting the salt taste of your sweat. He edges closer to your neck, lapping at it in broad strokes.
"Are you comfortable?" He murmurs against your skin.
"Mmhm," you hum, eyes shut, trusting your weight to his hold. “Feels good.”
Lycaon's tail dusts against the sheets. He presses his nose to the joint of your shoulder and neck, breathing your scent deep. For a moment, he thinks you might fall asleep, your cheek pressed against the soft fur of his chest.
“Let's order takeout,” you mumble.
Lycaon huffs. The closest thing he can muster to a laugh in his exhaustion. His arm tightens around your waist. He shifts you carefully so that you're both lying down, trying his best to ignore the way you squeeze around him, the way his cock gives a tired, painful jerk. He drags a blanket over your bodies.
“Worked up an appetite, did you?”
You nuzzle closer to his chest, letting out a satisfied sigh. “I just don't want Rina to cook for us.”
Ah. There was that, too.