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Somebody needed to do a psychology study on powered individuals and how it relates to their kinks. Because as much as you've looked around for any correlation, for any hint that what you feel is normal… you haven't found anything.
Obviously, you've found plenty articles and forums on kinks and yes, you know it's normal to have them. So long as it's safe and everyone consents, no kink is wrong or bad.
That doesn't mean you stop feeling weird about it though, because how can you ever begin to explain this… urge to be pushed down and taken? How can you ever date someone and tell them that you want to be held down and hurt, to pretend to be powerless as they take and take and take what they want from you? Especially if they know your superhero identity? It just wouldn't work.
They'd think you were weird. And you do feel weird for it, left in silence wondering if the others feel this way, if other heroes have ever wanted to be the weak victim in the bedroom, wanted to know what it was like to be overpowered and out of control without actually not having control.
Every time you get close to asking, something stops you. An emergency. A sudden moment of anxiety. The words catching in your throat.
Always something that prevented you from finding out if you were truly normal or just another freak in this fucked up universe.
You don't feel like a freak at the moment, though.
Lying in bed, eyes shut, room bathed in darkness; it's easy to pretend like this. Hand slipping into your shorts and stroking, rubbing yourself while imagining every taboo scenario your mind can come up with to get yourself off.
Your breathing picks up a little, otherwise you're silent, overly aware of the other occupants of the house. The more you came into your powers, the more your senses grew. And the more they grew, the more aware you became of yourself.
You couldn't imagine your brother's horror when his get stronger and he realises you and dad had probably heard him a couple of times. Something to tease him about if he ever truly pissed you off.
That aside, you're quiet, focusing on yourself, senses piqued, picking up on the distant sounds of the house and others in the neighbourhood. There's a rustling a few yards down, and a car honking in the distance, and…
There's this faint buzzing sound. It kind of reminds you of a light-bulb or a refrigerator, actually. And you've only noticed it recently, not long after your dad was attacked, in fact.
Sometimes, you like to listen to it and pretend it's like the internal buzzing of a camera, that somebody is watching you, microphone picking up on the soft shlicks and your breath hitching on the rare occasion.
It's hot. Makes you feel hazy, out of control. Weak.
The thought once again makes you cum.
Not long after getting your powers, you began to work for the GDA.
It wasn't long into your new superhero career that you began to grow bored with beating up the same villains who always broke out of prison after you put them there. Maybe it was the growing frustration coupled with teenage hormones, or maybe your morals had always been wonky, but after a certain point, you stopped pulling your punches, started hitting harder and leaving the villains so injured they were forced to stay in prison longer.
But, as always, they inevitably broke out again and the cycle repeated, though at that point they began to avoid you, choosing to run and hide rather than fight you.
… it shouldn't have been a surprise when your reputation tanked, whispers filling the streets and comment sections under clips of you full of fear and worries you were going to go villain.
Your dad told you to ignore them, that what you were doing was fine, okay, even. That somebody had to say enough was enough and fix things permanently.
You'd only been fifteen at the time, already having the power to play judge, jury, and executioner. It hadn't seemed right to you, even with the anger and frustration you became intimately familiar with.
Your dad had just ruffled your hair, a comforting weight on your head.
“We're Viltrumites, sweetie. We're the only ones who can decide what's right or wrong.”
Despite the reassuring words, the doubt lingered, the worry you might go too far. Or… no. Not the worry you'd go too far, but that you'd hurt someone who didn't deserve it. It was one thing to kill a murderer, it was another to kill someone who was only a criminal out of necessity. You didn't want to be that person.
That's where the GDA came in.
Even then Cecil had kept a close eye on you, seeing your power and your wavering morals and seeing the warning signs ahead of time. So, like he always did with potential problems, he stepped in.
Your dad would've told him to fuck off. Your mom would've warned you to never trust him. Mark… your baby brother probably would've said to listen to your parents.
Yet when Cecil Stedman appeared before your blood soaked form, a pile of flesh that was once a body beneath you, he stared you straight in the eye and offered you a hand.
“You look rough, kid. Come on, let's get you cleaned up.”
There he was, a completely ordinary man, weak and vulnerable, alone with a rabid beast. Yet despite the blood dripping from your hands and teeth, this weak human man had gently laid a hand on your shoulder and took you away.
You'd never felt so grounded, so… so…
It felt a lot like your dad, actually. Not familiar or comforting, no, but just as powerful, just as guiding, as controlling.
It felt like if you tried to lash out, he'd grab you by the scruff and go no, bad girl, and would hold you there until you stopped and listened.
It did something for you. The knowledge that Cecil would guide you, that he wouldn't let you become a monster…
Yeah, you liked that a lot.
Back then it had been normal, of course. Platonic, a hero-handler bond. Just listen to the voice in your ear and you don't have to worry about hurting someone with a baby at home, someone who's being forced to do these things.
Listen to Cecil and you can go home with a lighter conscience.
It had been normal.
And then you turned twenty and something in your brain clicked when you realised just how much power Cecil had over you.
You, a super powered hero. You, a Viltrumite hybrid. You, who can redirect meteors and blast through mountains with ease.
And yet one scruff on the back of your neck or a warning glare made you back down. Made you listen to Cecil like some well trained dog.
Yeah, you were totally normal about this. So normal in fact that after you started exploring your weird over-powering/force kink, you had to bat thoughts of Cecil away while you got off because otherwise you wouldn't be able to look him in the eye for a while.
Which you didn't want. He had such beautiful eyes– wait, no—
Once again, you wish there was a study done on this sort of stuff. Not your kinks this time, but on if it's normal for heroes to be so… hmm, submissive towards their handlers. So smitten.
You couldn't help it. Not when Cecil kept you in check, when he knew just what to do to help you. Nor did it help that you found him attractive, his competence and maturity and confidence all making you starry-eyed whenever you saw him in action.
You wanted that. You wanted that all the time. Not just on the field, but at home, too. Wanted Cecil to instruct you on how to do tasks you were still figuring out, wanted him to order you around on the days your mind was empty yet buzzing, leaving you frozen and unable to do anything because you just couldn't think.
You wanted Cecil to grab you by the scruff and to push you down. You wanted him to hold you down with his abysmal strength and force you to take it. You wanted him to use you not just as a weapon, but as a piece of warm meat as well, to empty all his stress and frustration into you until you were dripping with it.
You wanted to be crushed under his dress shoes and feel lesser than a pathetic human past his prime.
(… someone also needed to do a study about Viltrumites and their adoration for humans. Y'know. Someday.)
But how could you tell him that? You couldn't. You were too scared to. Just in case he rejected you, looked at you differently. You didn't– you couldn't risk it. Not with him. Not in case he put distance between you, if he handed you off to another GDA official, someone less able to keep you grounded and controlled.
Not that you'd allow him to. You only wanted Cecil. Nobody else. If necessary you'd force–
There it was again. That word. That urge to do what you wanted, fuck the consequences.
Killing, hurting, taking what you wanted, it was all the same in the end, no? Especially when you were too strong to be contained. And you know this. Cecil knows this. That's the whole reason why you have the Director of the GDA himself as your personal handler, both because he couldn't trust anyone else to be in charge of such a deadly asset and because you didn't trust or judge anyone else capable of keeping you in check.
And it just– it goes in circles. Round and round and round as you lie in bed or stand in the shower, eyes heavy and mind hazy as you want– want to be beneath him, want to be taken by him, want to be forced by him– and yet know you can't, can't risk it, can't ruin it, can't even begin to make yourself even imagine telling him because it's so shameful, so embarrassing, and so you–
You just–
The electrical buzz. A prickle on your skin. The tension in the air as it feels like the GDA is keeping a much, much closer eye on your dad, your family.
You lay in bed, naked, and pretend you're being watched, pretend somewhere in this room, Cecil has a camera watching you and can see the way your plump lips part around your fingers, stroking through your folds and making yourself blossom open for him as you touch yourself, quiet despite the need to moan and scream and beg as you thrash under someone you trust enough to play weak with.
You pretend even as you start to wonder if they really are watching you. It would be such an invasion of privacy if they were, you'd feel ashamed, dirty, if anyone at the GDA saw you like this…
Right?
Right. You would. Definitely.
You ignore the faint bit of hope in your heart, dumb thing stuttering at the thought that Cecil might be watching.
You also ignore the fact that you cum faster now, harder, with the almost guaranteed fact you might be being watched.
Afterwards, you blink slowly, cleaning your fingers off and turning onto your side, nuzzling your pillow. You listen for anything as you fall asleep, and you swear you hear a faint shift in that ambient buzzing.
Far away, sitting in a dark office, a man shuddered, cock jerking in his fist as he stared at the screen with heavy-lidded eyes.
Stroking himself slowly, milking the last of his pleasure, Cecil breathed a heavy sigh, grabbing a tissue to clean up. He did so quietly, waiting to feel some shame, but… well. He'd done worse than spy on a hero under his care masturbating.
Much worse.
So he didn't feel too bad about it– it's not like anyone would ever know– as he tidied up, zipping his pants back up, still staring at the screen where you were now asleep on your side, leg hitched up just-so that Cecil could see the sticky shine on your cunt, plump lips pressed together and covered in a fine layer of fluff.
You had a pretty pussy, he couldn't help but think. Really pretty.
“Too pretty for me,” he muttered with a sigh, exiting the camera feed and standing up to head to bed himself. He needed to get whatever rest he could.
At least his nightly sessions with you tired him out plenty, so it wasn't long after his head hit the pillow that he was falling asleep.
Your head felt hazy.
Not surprising, since you haven't slept in days, too busy helping in Chicago.
With your brother still in a coma and your mom staying by his side, you decided to get out and actually do something. You just couldn't sit around and twiddle your thumbs, knowing the world was still reeling, that people were still suffering from what your dad did.
Your head felt empty, thoughts slow and foggy; your body was filled with a restless energy, leg bouncing as you sat, watching Mark's heart monitor with unseeing eyes.
Cecil had entered, said some words. Then–
Long fingers and a warm, rough palm grip and press into your neck; Cecil holds you by the scruff and grounds you, pulling you back down to earth immediately.
“Go on, kid.” He'd said, giving you a gentle squeeze; you revelled in it, quickly soaking up as much of this touch as you could before he pulls away. “Get some air. Do something.”
“Will you… be here?”
The question is far too telling, you feel. Vulnerable and hopeful. Despite the situation and the amount of stress he's under and the amount of work he must have to do, you're still asking him to be the voice in your ear, to hold your hand and guide you.
Pathetic. Yet you need it. Especially now, after… after everything.
Cecil gives you a look, not a particular long one, but one heavy with something. You can't help but stare at the bags under his eyes.
Oh, Cecil…
Finally, he sighs.
“Yeah,” he looks away. Drops his hand. “I'll be here, kid.”
Maybe he needed a bit of normalcy too, in the face of such a great betrayal from someone you both trusted.
The aftermath of Omni-Man’s betrayal changes things, especially for the people closest to him.
After seeing the sheer destruction your father caused with so little trouble, your fears about your own abilities resurge.
I could do the same, you think as you clear rubble. I could do all this and more. Right now if I wanted to.
And who would stop you? Mark was comatose, most of the heroes capable of stopping you dead…
It would be so, so easy.
And that scares you. It scares you so bad that the carefully applied walls you've put up begin to crumble, begin to fracture with every day that passes and you help clean up more and more dead bodies.
You look at them, at their faces if they still have them, and try to keep yourself grounded, keep your heart open and feel sympathy and empathy.
Yet it is so hard to keep doing it. Emotionally exhausted, you start to feel nothing as you gently place a child's corpse among the rest. And when you realise that, horror strikes you, cold and sudden and you just– you—
“Please– please, I just–”
“Kid, what's–?”
“Cecil, please, I-I just– I can't–”
“Kid, breathe! Now tell me what's wrong, what do you need?”
You gasp, inhaling deep, sucking in lungfuls of air scented with his cologne as you look up into his eyes, pretending you don't feel the way his heart is racing as you grip onto his jacket, pretend you don't notice you're scaring the shit out of him right now (no no no, never him, he can't be scared of you– you'll help him stop being scared of you) after you barged into his office and latched onto him with just enough strength to snap bones with ease.
“You.”
Cecil's eyebrows jump at your harried, desperate tone.
“I need you.”
Cecil had always known you had an attachment to him.
Some would say it was an unhealthy attachment. Cecil would say better unhealthy than nonexistent. Because at least this way he had the second strongest person on earth on a leash.
Well. The strongest now that Nolan had left.
It was normal, really. Superpowered individuals always ended up clinging to their handlers one way or another. He just had to look at the GDA’s records to see the proof.
Sometimes the attachments, the relationships between powered individual and handler, were platonic, familial, friendly. Other times they became romantic, sexual. Just another way to keep such powerful beings human, another tool to keep them doing their job and saving lives.
Cecil wasn't going to lie, he somewhat expected this to happen at some point. Though he expected it to happen much later. He was so much older than you after all, but with recent events…
Well, he couldn't blame you if you suddenly gained some daddy issues, now could he?
So yeah, he'd expected this to happen one of these days.
He just hadn't realised you'd always felt this way towards him.
A mistake on his part. In hindsight, it was obvious that you'd had a thing for him for a while now. Something to look for in old footage later. For now, though–
“Kid…”
“Cecil, please. I just– just hurt me. Hold me down. I-I need it.”
He'd sighed, stared down at your knelt form, hands in his pockets like this was just another moment between you and not like you were begging him to force himself on you.
(Like he'd said before though, he'd done worse.
Much, much worse.
So what was a little game of pretend?)
“… fine.”
The pressure was exquisite.
Heavy, on the edge of painful, cold, even. The heel of Cecil's dress shoe dug into your skull for a moment as he shifted his weight, then the toes were digging into your temple, pressing down, crushing your head into his carpet with all the force he could muster.
Which wasn't a lot. But that was fine. You were happy to pretend you were powerless, happy to set all your strength and invulnerability aside for something you've been aching for.
A hum catches your attention, and your eyes flutter, struggling to open as the pressure on your skull increases, brain squeezed pleasantly. For anyone else it would be painful. For you, it felt like a hug.
Looking up, you were blinded by the ceiling lights for a moment before your eyes adjusted, able to see him and not just his silhouette. Cecil stared down at you with all the coldness he usually reserved for others, one hand in his pocket while the other gripped a gun. You were familiar with the design, had it tested against you before. It tended to sting.
The thought of him using it against you right now had you dripping.
“Look at you… who would've thought.” He says, tone heavy as he pressed harder again before lifting his foot. Before you could rise up, he stomped down onto your back, forcing the air out of your lungs as his expensive shoe pressed between your shoulder blades. “I shouldn't be surprised though. Not really. Heroes always do weird shit in the bedroom.”
Well, that answered that question.
“Though I'll admit, I never expected this from you.” His foot dragged down your back, leather digging into your spine. “I honestly would've thought you'd like to dominate your partners, being a Viltrumite and all.”
Your mind feels blissfully empty, cheek squished against the carpet as your body lays pliant on the ground.
You hum quietly. “Don't wanna.” You murmur, words slurred as you drift off somewhere else, feeling so, so pleasantly weak. “Could hurt someone.”
You can feel his eyes stare into the side of your head. A shiver goes down your spine.
“You're something else, kid. Honestly, it's a good thing.” He says, faux casual, right before shoving the front of his shoe right into your cunt, grinding the toe of it along your split.
You might scream from the shock of it, jolted out of that soothing headspace from the sudden ache of something hard and rough spreading your lips open and digging into your hole before roughly dragging down and pressing into your clit.
There's nothing nice about this, nothing pleasurable. And yet it sends sparks of heat through your body anyway, making your hips stutter, unsure of wherever to push back or away.
Cecil takes the decision off of your hands by grinding his foot harder against you.
Whining, you gasp when his hand suddenly grabs your hair, wrenching your head back and making your spine arch uncomfortably. Sparks of pain litter along your skull, small bursts that zap across your brain and make that need inside you purr with delight.
“The way you are… it's good.” Cecil assures you in that drawling, cold tone of his, conflicting with the praise of the words he says as he wraps your hair around his wrist. He tugs, pulls, tests what you can take and listening to your startled whimpers with hidden delight.
Sue him, but having such a powerful being literally under his foot… it did things for him.
“Really.” He continues, rubbing the hard sole of his dress shoe against the plump mound of your pussy through your suit, the shape clinging and showing off your cameltoe. “After what your father did… we need all the assurances we can get that you won't turn out the same way.”
His honesty was appreciated even as it chilled you; you'd hoped you'd already proven yourself to him over the years.
“And you grinding your foot against my vagina does that how exactly?”
Your snark earns you a rough tug on your hair, one that bends your neck back enough for you to meet his cool glare.
“For one, it shows you don't have that fucking holier-than-thou attitude.” He snaps, getting into character. Or maybe he was actually snapping, letting out all his frustrations with you.
Good. You wanted it to be as real as possible.
“And secondly, it lets me know that if I ever have to take you down, it'll be much easier and cheaper than when we tried to take down Nolan.”
His foot pulls back and you yelp as he yanks you to your feet by your hair. Still gripping it tight, Cecil shoves you towards his desk, slamming you down against it.
Funny how if you'd used your own strength, the thing would've shattered.
“After all–” he grunts, yanking down your pants and underwear, baring your ass to him, “–all I'll have to do is take you over my fuckin’ knee.”
His hand snaps down and cracks against your ass before you can even register what's happened.
You tense up, taken by surprise, but once the pain registers and warmth blossoms against your cheek, you relax, going limp.
Seeing the way you immediately give in, Cecil exhales softly, amused.
“See? A good, submissive girl. You only need a strong hand to settle you.” He crooned, stroking your cheek before slapping it again. “That's all you've ever needed, huh? Someone to bend you over and fuck the attitude out of you? Hmm?”
His palm cracks against your other cheek twice, giving no break between strikes and making you tense up and shudder.
“Hell, sweetheart, you should've told me sooner. I would've made sure you were too docile to ever lose control.” He rubs your ass, squeezes the soft flesh before slapping again, watching it ripple with interest. “No more worries about hurting anyone. I would've had you well-trained, breaking you in until the mere thought of disobeying caused you pain.”
Skin hot, you press your face harder against the cool wood underneath you, sucking in shaky breaths. Your backside stings while your cunt throbs, leaking and clenching around nothing. And his words…
The thought of being Cecil's attack dog, being used by him however he wanted…
God.
Behind you, Cecil takes off his belt.
You can hear it, the metal clasp jingling and the muffled swoop of leather being pulled free. Your eyes widen as your heartbeat speeds up.
There's no warning. Not even a muttered “Prepare yourself”.
One moment everything is fine. And the next–
A sharp crack splits the air as his belt strikes across your ass, making you scream out and jolt.
“Cecil!”
“Shhh, shhh, that wasn't so bad, was it?” His words lack any care, cold and cruel. You almost don't like it. “Come on, I've seen you take worse than a bit of leather to the ass. You can handle it.”
And handle it you did.
With each sharp strike to your backside, you whimpered and yelped, sniffling as tears welled up in your eyes, mind emptying with each strike.
Your ass burned, sore and hot. Your inner thighs however were shiny, cunt dripping and making a mess.
You were limp on his desk by now, laying there as you absently stared at random knickknacks on his shelves.
In the distance, you hear his belt hit the ground, muffled by the carpet.
“Still with me, kid?”
His hand is warm from exertion as he cups your cheek, guiding you to look at him.
You blink softly, like a cat, feeling… something. Content, maybe. You feel… you feel perfectly beaten, if that was even a thing.
“Words, sweetheart. You want more or do you want to stop?”
At least he didn't ask if he went too far. Now that would've been insulting if he had.
“Hmm. I… I wanna…” You think for a moment, brows knitting together as you went over past fantasies. Slowly, your eyes lowered to his slacks, seeing the bulge there. “Can… can you force me to suck you off? Please?”
Something in his face softens, and with another sigh, Cecil pets your head.
“Course.” He mutters, the moment between you two soft and almost sweet. It lasts for a few more seconds, Cecil allowing you to recuperate, to push up and stand before he grabs the gun from earlier and presses it to your temple.
“Now, on your knees.”
You can't stop yourself from grinning even if you tried.
Hot and heavy on your tongue, Cecil's cock has a funny taste to it.
Fleshy, musky like sweat, but also something vaguely… sharp-sweet-bitter. Like chemicals.
You love it.
Bobbing your head as the gun presses between your eyes, you suck and slurp, eagerness making up for inexperience as you look up at him, unable to hide your heart-eyes even if you tried.
Cecil just panted, biting his knuckles and trying to keep up the act you asked for, but fuck him it had been forever since he'd last gotten a blowjob so he was really struggling to keep cool here.
“Fuck, that's it…”
“Such a good girl…”
“Might have to make you do this more… order you in here and keep you under my desk when you're not needed elsewhere.”
Each word hit you where you needed it most, clit hard and pulsing, begging for relief at this point. It even would've accepted the shoe again, anything to relieve the pressure.
You sucked on his cock and pulled back to swirl your tongue around his tip like a bright red lollipop. Then you'd move lower, lathering his sack with messy kisses that made him wish you wore lipstick. The image alone would've gave him enough material to jerk off to for weeks.
All the while you worshipped him, the gun remained against your head, an empty threat that had your heart skipping a beat regardless every time you felt or looked at it.
For so long you'd been weak, mortal. A gun had just been another thing in the world capable of killing you with ease. Just because you'd gotten your powers doesn't mean that fear had completely gone away. On an irrational level, it remained, giving you a dirty thrill every time Cecil ‘threatened’ you with it.
You wouldn't mind being fucked by one someday. Maybe record it and send it to Cecil? Or was that too much for your new arrangement? You'd ask later. For now though…
“Kid–” Cecil stopped you, yanking your head back. “Stop. Anymore and I'm gonna cum. And I'm too old to go multiple rounds.” He warns, cheeks flushed as he catches his breath, cock still twitching in your face.
You eye it hungrily but listen, remaining knelt between his legs like the submissive creature he was turning you into little by little.
Once he's not at risk of painting your face in white, Cecil speaks.
“So, what now?” He asks, setting the gun aside, practically a prop for all it could actually do to you. “Any ideas, kid?”
You frown, hands curling into fists as you try to ignore the pulsing between your legs.
“I… I dunno. I've never done any of this before.” You admit, making Cecil pause before sighing into his hand as he rubs his face.
“Of course you're a– fuckin’ forgot–” he cleared his throat, eyeing you before pulling you up with a hand around your throat. You come willingly, relaxing into his hold.
You'd kicked your pants off earlier, so as you straddled his lap, his cock was pressing against your puffy lips, tip smacking against your folds as you two adjusted, shivering at the contact.
You looked down, then up, meeting Cecil's gaze. You looked so cute like this, innocent, like you weren't incredibly dangerous and an apparent freak in the sheets.
Fingers flexing, Cecil squeezed your neck, watching the way your eyes fluttered briefly.
Looking down at your puffy pussy, Cecil couldn't help but think it was even prettier in person. Gently, he ran his fingers through your split, seeing how soaked they get with your sticky arousal.
“Anything in particular you want me to do here?” He asks, voice low as he circles your clit, feeling your tremble from it. Damn, but you were needy. Your poor pussy had been so neglected that just this had you ready to tip over the edge. “Because otherwise I'm just going to ‘force’ myself on you like you asked.”
You rapidly nod.
“That's it? You just want–? Okay,” he exhaled softly, almost amused at the pleading look you were giving him. Despite what they were doing and what you wanted, you were still so fucking cute.
Pushing his chair back, Cecil shoved you off his lap roughly, still gripping your neck, though now it was more of a choke. He felt you swallow as he stood, towering over you before he lifted you up (thank God for your powers otherwise this whole thing would've been impossible) and shoving you back down on his desk.
You writhed like a bug stuck on its back, eyes wide as he squeezed your throat while he began fingering you roughly, fast paced to prepare this tight little hole for his cock.
You choked a bit, gripping his wrist and pulling weakly at it, feet kicking wildly but nowhere near him.
“Calm down.” He snapped, landing a swift smack to your already puffy cunt, making you jolt. You stop squirming, allowing him to shove your legs up and out of the way. “Good girl. Now hold yourself open.”
You listened, gripping the back of your knees, looking up at him with faux nervousness as he scissored his fingers within you, hole swallowing them up and clenching hungrily.
“Jesus, kid,” he muttered, pulling them out– barely– and grasping his cock, “you're going to fucking choke me, aren't you?”
“You're the one with his hand around my neck, sir.” You murmur innocently, earning another squeeze for it; you go back to pretending you don't want this, whining as he tries pushing in, his veins bulging as he grips your neck tighter for leverage before finally, he pops in.
Your thighs tremble at the sensation while Cecil just gasps, taking a moment to breathe because… Christ on a stick, you're tight. Viltrumite muscles are all super strong apparently.
Staring down at you, Cecil loses himself for a moment, simply drinking in this pretty view he's going to be seeing a lot more of now. Shit, for once his luck was looking up. At least one good thing was happening after everything, even if it was mostly good for him.
As Cecil's hips slot against your ass, you let out a slow breath, dazed as you stare up at the ceiling.
You feel so… full. Full and stretched and warm. Yet your mind is blissfully quiet. You don't have to think or worry, no point in fighting– Cecil has already won, after all. His grip around your neck is firm, grounding; it let you know without a doubt that if you ever lost control or tried to hurt anyone, he'd be there to scruff you and crush you underfoot again, pressure on your skull until everything went quiet and all you could feel was him.
You'd never doubted he was perfect for you. Not even once.
You just hadn't dared to hope.
Pulling back, Cecil feels himself shudder as your walls try to hold onto him, to pull him back in. He couldn't recall the last time he'd actually slept with anyone, so it was a challenge not to blow his load then and there.
But once he regained control of himself? Once Cecil was sure he wasn't going to blow his load like a virgin? He snapped back into you and began to thrust.
Slow and steady at first, hips rolling forward to grind his tip against your g-spot with every plunge, then faster as he found a good rhythm that had your head falling back and eyes half-lidded, gaze distant and unseeing as you clenched around his cock and soaked his table with more arousal than he thought possible to produce.
Another part of your Viltrumite biology?
Regardless, it wasn't something he was going to complain about– much. His desk was probably going to smell like pussy for a while though.
All the while Cecil fucked into you, his hand remained around your throat like a brand, almost managing to bruise you. Each time his fingers flexed and adjusted their grip, you'd flutter around him, a sound warbling in your throat.
Considering the amount of teasing you'd received, it didn't take long for you to cum. Cecil felt it, cock gripped like a vice as your walls rippled around him, pulsing with heat and liquid as you jolted under him, mouth opening in a silent scream.
Cecil took a calculated risk and slapped you. Light, not able you harm even if he put his all into it.
A small gush of squirt escaped you.
“Fucking hell, kid, you really do like it rough.” He gruffly said, focusing on his breathing and pace, jaw clenching as he felt his balls tighten and draw up. “Next time you need this, tell me, and I'll prepare some bondage for you. Bet you'd like being tied up and incapable, yeah?”
You whimpered, legs encircling his hips.
“Yeah.” He nodded, hunching over you, thrusting just that bit faster to reach his finish. “Don't worry, kid, I'll handle everything. You just keep being good, and I'll give you what you need.”
His ragged words were cut off by a groan, and Cecil fell on top of you, forehead sweaty and pressing against your shoulder, holding onto you as he came. Thick ropes filled you, each pump stuffing you with (thankfully) unviable sperm.
Once done, he began catching his breath, turning his head so he wasn't panting directly in your ear. He also released his hold on your neck, shaking his hand out.
“Christ, I think that was more painful for me.” He muttered, slowly pushing up. “You alright?”
You just blinked slowly, an affectionate look on your face as you gazed at him, body limp and radiating satisfaction.
Huffing in amusement, Cecil slumped back into his chair, simply taking a moment to calm down, his old heart giving him its complaints.
When you sat up some time later, you looked down, embarrassed.
“Thank you for doing this, Cecil.” You whispered, voice somewhat hoarse; he had no doubt it would be fixed in less than an hour. “I… I know it's weird–”
“Damn right it's weird. But so are most kinks. And believe me, kid, yours is on the lighter side of the spectrum.” He said, wiping himself clean before tucking himself back into his pants. “So don't kick yourself over it. You hardly heard me complaining or needing convincing.”
You gave him a shy look. “You… like pretending to force your partners?” You ask almost hopefully.
With a sigh, he stood again, gently stroking your hair back.
“Not quite. But I do cross the line most of the time.” He hesitated, then, “… I've been watching you. At night. While you were getting off.” He admitted quietly.
“… you watched me masturbate?”
“Mmm-hmm. And I, uh, joined in.” He awkwardly admitted, but you deserved to know he was just as, if not more, perverse than you.
You stared at him, then shuddered, lips pressing together as your eyes fluttered shut.
“Kid?”
“… I think I just came again.”
Jesus.
You cleared your throat. “Uh… anyway, that's hot and I fucking knew I was hearing something, but uh… feel free to keep watching.” You offered him a slightly less embarrassed smile. “I don't mind.”
Cecil just chuckled, partially in disbelief and partially in shock. You just kept surprising him, huh?
“Sure thing, sweetheart. Now… how about we go shower?” He suggested, feeling filthy.
“Yeah! Ooh, and if it's alright… can I tell you about some of my fantasies? For future reference, of course.” You ask, Cecil withholding a smile at your eagerness.
Would you ever stop being so adorable to him?
“Yes, just don't expect me to act on any of them. Again, I'm old. Be glad you even got this much from me.”