Unholy Fucking Shitballs #3
He tightened his grip in their hair, not to hurt them but to ready himself to pull them off before he blew his load down their throat, but the firmer hold had the opposite effect.
Cya mewled and pressed themself even closer, nearly strangling themself on his cock.
One hand circled the base of him, adding pressure to his knot, while their other hand dropped out of view.
“I’m gonna come,” he warned, tugging as gently as he could on their hair, but they fought him, taking him so deep their lips nearly met the hand clenching his knot.
They gagged, and another rush of saliva dribbled down to soak his fur.
Their tail squeezed around the base of his own, and they swallowed around him.
And that was it.
“Cya, I’m—fuck-fuck-fuck!”
Pleasure crashed over him, his hips stuttered, and he pushed deeper on instinct as he exploded in Cya’s mouth.
The Sypent released a gurgled noise of surprise, then an eager whimper as they tried to swallow.
With their vise-like grip on his knot, he was coming in one continuous stream instead of more timely spurts, and they pulled off his cock just enough to gulp in air as he painted their lips and chin.
Their forked tongue flicked over his slit to catch the final drops, and a pleased hiss vibrated in their chest.
Panting like he’d just run a hundred laps, Dex gazed down at them and the cum smeared over their chin.
They were a mess, hair fucked, face flushed, lips swollen and wet.
Their herby shampoo, incense perfume, and the heady spice of their arousal mixed with the scent of his own, and that possessive creature in his chest rumbled its approval.
With a needy sound, Cya buried their face in the joint of his hip, where his leg met his torso.
Their right arm was still moving, and their breaths sawed out of them in choppy bursts.
He blinked several times to clear his vision, wanting—no, needing—to see, but they were coiled half-underneath him, blocking his view of what their hand was actually doing.
Their chest hitched, and the quietest little gasp broke the silence.
Then they shuddered, muffling their moan of pleasure in his groin as they came.
He cradled their head in one hand as he carefully smoothed their sweaty hair out of their face with another.
Their eyes were squeezed shut, lips parted in ecstasy, remnants of Dex’s orgasm still glistening on their chin.
“There you go, Cy,” he encouraged as they trembled with aftershocks. “That’s right, baby. You’re so beautiful when you come, you know that? I mean, you’re beautiful all the time, but unholy shit.”
At the sound of his voice, Cya blinked their eyes open, brows furrowing in confusion.
They looked like they were waking up from a deep sleep, aware but not fully conscious.
He pawed blindly along the counter behind him until he found a towel, and he gently cleaned his spunk from their chin as he locked his weak knees to remain on his feet.
He wanted to slump to the floor and bundle them in his arms, but he didn’t want to squash them.
“That was crazy,” he said, catching his breath. “Like, for real. What the fuck just happened?”
Cya sat up straighter, blinking rapidly, and as the lust-induced fog evaporated, they tilted their head back to look at him. Two fingers traced their swollen lower lip, and they swallowed heavily, like they were still coming to terms with what they’d just done.
Carefully, he reached out and brushed a strand of deep green hair off their sweaty forehead. “Hey, you okay?”
Another long blink, and Cya shook their head as if to clear it. Then their expression went from adorably confused to horrified revelation, and they scrambled away from him with a cry of dismay.
“Whoa, what’s—”
“I-I’m sorry,” they stammered, voice hoarse. “I didn’t mean—I don’t—I’m sorry.”
Their tail curled beneath them for traction, then they were rising to stand, hand still pressed to their mouth. Dex’s elation plummeted to cold despair, and he took a step toward them.
“What?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry,” they repeated.
“Why are you sorry?” He reached for them, eyes stinging with hurt. “I don’t understand.”
Backing out of the kitchen, Cya stared at his hand like it had grown fangs, and he saw it. The panic in their eyes. The embarrassment in their expression. Their body locked, poised for retreat, and their gaze darted toward the front door. And he saw it all.
“Don’t go,” he said, a demand and a plea wrapped into one. “C’mon, Cy, don’t run.”
He thought of that night on the bleachers, when he’d turned to find they’d abandoned him, and he couldn’t do it. Not again. Not after this.
“I need you to stay,” he said with another hesitant step toward them. “I know you’re scared, even if I don’t fully understand why, but please. I need you to stay this time.”
Tears welled in their eyes, and they looked longingly to the front door again. But then they closed their eyes, inhaled deeply, swallowed, then exhaled through pursed lips. When they opened their eyes again, they were still scared shitless, but they had steel in their expression.
“Okay,” Cya whispered. “I’ll stay.”