Dethklok Challenge #23 and Random Crap
Dec. 13th, 2007 06:12 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dethoratsTheme: Oral
Pairing: Natebecca aka Rebasplosion
Fuck but did he ever hate that woman. Hated her with the kind of deep intensity he had once thought himself only capable of holding towards his parents. She was a demanding bitch who screeched at him constantly in that harpy voice, ordering him around as if he were a roadie or a servant instead of her boyfriend. She called constantly, craving his attention and forcing the poison of reassurance from his lips. She took up all of his time and attention and he hadn’t written anything new in weeks, hadn’t been able to find a moment and from the start she’d complained about how the smell of sharpies made her nauseous. She’d turned him into a pussy-whipped shell of a man, a man who inwardly seethed and outwardly sniveled and cringed and held her fucking purse in public. He really hated her.
Smooth, creamy thighs settled on either side of his head, skin soft and taut from a daily regimen of trainer-led exercise and high-class spa pampering. He tried to kiss one, brush his lips over the expanse of sleek flesh that felt so good against his cheek. Fingers tipped with industrial-strength fake nails painted scarlet stopped him before he could, dug into his scalp with unrelenting pressure. The thighs he had only wanted to taste, to worship, tightened around his head and muscles hardened from years of tennis held him place. “Not there, you idiot. I need all your considerably pathetic attention right HERE.”
Her voice was sharp and angry and she pulled hard at his hair, tugging him forward until his nose nudged her manicured strip of pubic hair. “Now, ~Tonto~, if you do a good job and make me come hard enough to wake Daddy, I might let you fuck me. Do you think you can manage that much?” Her voice dripped with fake sweetness, held out the promise of sex. He’d had her one time, early on, when they’d been so drunk at that stupid party, and she’d been tight and hot and demanding. Good enough that he wanted it again, fool that he was, and so he obeyed.
She smelled good, musky and feminine, and tasted better. Sharp and tangy and she grew wetter as he licked and nibbled, tongue momentarily dipping down to flick inside. She thrashed above him when he sucked on her clit, her shrill yells making his dick throb in response. Her hands clawed at him, yanking on his hair, one fingernail catching and drawing blood along the top of his ear. She was an animal, a beast in heat, lusty and wild, and when she finally came, flooding his tastebuds and glossing his lips, he knew he fucking loved her.
It was his turn and he waited with barely restrained patience until she freed his face. His button and zipper were already open when she waved him away with the headache excuse. He jacked off angrily in her pink bathroom, hating himself. And her. He really fucking hated her.
Pairing: Natebecca aka Rebasplosion
Fuck but did he ever hate that woman. Hated her with the kind of deep intensity he had once thought himself only capable of holding towards his parents. She was a demanding bitch who screeched at him constantly in that harpy voice, ordering him around as if he were a roadie or a servant instead of her boyfriend. She called constantly, craving his attention and forcing the poison of reassurance from his lips. She took up all of his time and attention and he hadn’t written anything new in weeks, hadn’t been able to find a moment and from the start she’d complained about how the smell of sharpies made her nauseous. She’d turned him into a pussy-whipped shell of a man, a man who inwardly seethed and outwardly sniveled and cringed and held her fucking purse in public. He really hated her.
Smooth, creamy thighs settled on either side of his head, skin soft and taut from a daily regimen of trainer-led exercise and high-class spa pampering. He tried to kiss one, brush his lips over the expanse of sleek flesh that felt so good against his cheek. Fingers tipped with industrial-strength fake nails painted scarlet stopped him before he could, dug into his scalp with unrelenting pressure. The thighs he had only wanted to taste, to worship, tightened around his head and muscles hardened from years of tennis held him place. “Not there, you idiot. I need all your considerably pathetic attention right HERE.”
Her voice was sharp and angry and she pulled hard at his hair, tugging him forward until his nose nudged her manicured strip of pubic hair. “Now, ~Tonto~, if you do a good job and make me come hard enough to wake Daddy, I might let you fuck me. Do you think you can manage that much?” Her voice dripped with fake sweetness, held out the promise of sex. He’d had her one time, early on, when they’d been so drunk at that stupid party, and she’d been tight and hot and demanding. Good enough that he wanted it again, fool that he was, and so he obeyed.
She smelled good, musky and feminine, and tasted better. Sharp and tangy and she grew wetter as he licked and nibbled, tongue momentarily dipping down to flick inside. She thrashed above him when he sucked on her clit, her shrill yells making his dick throb in response. Her hands clawed at him, yanking on his hair, one fingernail catching and drawing blood along the top of his ear. She was an animal, a beast in heat, lusty and wild, and when she finally came, flooding his tastebuds and glossing his lips, he knew he fucking loved her.
It was his turn and he waited with barely restrained patience until she freed his face. His button and zipper were already open when she waved him away with the headache excuse. He jacked off angrily in her pink bathroom, hating himself. And her. He really fucking hated her.
