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Sounds of the maroon couch creaking in the living room drown out the volume of the true crime video playing. It was uploaded from your subscriptions a few hours earlier and you were waiting to watch it with Higuruma once he got home.
He gives you a good life, one where you don't have to worry about anything as trivial as working. The only thing you need to worry about is doing whatever makes your little heart happy, though you aren’t ashamed to admit most of that involves making Higuruma happy. In that way it’s completely symbiotic, you find joy in cooking, cleaning, looking good for and just pleasing him. And how could he not be zealous when he sees that adorable smile on your face after he expresses his gratitude for you.
Alas, being able to take care of you of course means he has to work. It was a drag before, dealing with the conventionality of working to submit to an endless cycle of soul sucking capitalism, but with the light in his life that you are, there really is a rhyme and reason for it all. Who would have known! How else can he receive your sticky lip gloss kisses and caress your body in the finest fabrics available? Motivation was always just a construct for him, but it now has a physical manifestation with you in his life.
Even if that means the occasional late night at the office when he should already be home with his cock that’s hardened to its limit plunged deep inside you, filling you to the absolute brim while your knees are pressed against your chest.
“Needy tonight, aren’t you?” Higuruma mumbles as his hand runs down your back, fingers tapping delicately against the ridges of your spine. The baby blue bralette you're wearing gives his hands full range to graze your skin, soft like a cloud under his touch.
The contrast always drives him a little crazy, his rugged hands roaming over any part of you he can get. Like when he warms your favorite honey scented lotion in the palms of his hands to massage into your skin. You'd always joke with him, telling him if he rubbed his hands together too fast he may start a fire, teasing that the two of you could never go camping because Smokey Bear would not be impressed with the lack of regard for the trees. He’d always laugh it off, telling you that these were the hands of a hardworking man as he kneaded the lotion into your skin with care while soft whimpers leave your lips and you breathlessly say, 'feels so good'.
A breathless whimper much like the one that's being muffled into his neck right now as you inhale the rich eucalyptus scent of his cologne along with the natural musk of his skin that always makes your stomach flip as your arms wrap more tightly around him. “Go on angel, make your pussy feel good,” he encourages, deep baritone shaking you to your core. “I know you can do it. Already doing so well, want you to make a mess all over me.”
His words only make another whimper fall from your lips as you continue grinding against the firm muscle of his thigh, chest pressed closely against his own as you work your way up to your orgasm.
“God, I know that feels good.” His cock is achingly hard, throbbing every time your hips move forward and create more wet spots against the material of his slacks, but he can’t bring himself to stop you. How can he with the sounds that you’re making, the ones he knows you make when you’re in too much bliss to even speak. He glances down at his swollen length pressing against the zipper of his pants, watching it jump as your hips drag against the musculature of his thigh once more, movement a little less controlled this time. Every breathy pant of yours against his neck only makes his cock throb harder, and his free hand begins to rub himself, hissing as he does. “Keep using me, angel. Fuck, you always make me so fucking hard. Make yourself come, I need to hear you.”
He didn’t expect to be ambushed by you when he arrived home, but that was always welcome. He was a bit tired, a feeling not unnatural when a majority of his days were spent in an office surrounded by people he didn’t want to be around— especially when he was there longer than he needed to be, but coming home to you always made the days worth it.
So when you pulled him on the couch wearing nothing but that cute little bralette and strips of fabric that are somehow classified as underwear (who is he kidding though, he loves seeing your cheeks on full display any chance he gets), telling him how much you missed him today and you needed him, of course he was going to soothe you anyway you wanted.
He didn’t think his thigh was what you wanted, but who is he to say no to you? He’s used to your greed for his cock, your desire for him to be balls deep and kissing the tip of your cervix, but perhaps your insatiability has reached a new height. He was expecting for you to reach for his belt buckle once you comfortably straddled him, but raised an eyebrow you simply proceeded to hump his right thigh, rolling your hips forward. He’s more than delighted to make you come in any way possible though, that’s for sure.
“Might even finish just like this,” he murmurs, hypnotized by the movements of your hips. He can feel precome leaking from his slit as he watches your alternating movements, gyrations in small circles and rutting back and forth. “Come on angel, let me hear you, tell me how good this is making your little pussy feel.”
“R-really good,” you stumble out, voice muffled into his neck. “J-just so good.” There isn’t a coherent thought in your brain as your hips continue their rhythm, lips brushing against the sensitive spot of his neck as one of your manicured hands thread through the raven hairs at his nape. He moans feeling your hot tongue against his pulse point, the vibration only making your panties flood more. His slacks are going to be absolutely ruined after this, but to say he cares would be like saying the sun does not rise and set every day.
“Fuck.” His hand moves down your back and lands on your hip, still letting you control the pace but squeezing at the flesh there. Touching you is just always so intoxicating, watching your skin mold under his touch. Meanwhile one of your hands unlatches from his neck and moves down the front plane of his body, stroking his defined chest, ghosting over the chest hairs exposed on the undone buttons. Your hands reach lower down, feeling the rigid heat of his erection. “Touch me, angel, touch me.”
Still chasing after your own orgasm as you rut against his thigh, forehead beginning to slick with sweat, you let your hand rub over his length, feeling it throb with every motion of your hips. “That’s all yours,” he grits out, hips bucking up slightly. “All this cock is for you, even if you rather use something else to get off right now,” he chuckles, though it’s a bit strained, his own arousal clouding his mind. “But you like that, huh? Using any part of me to make yourself come?”
It’s not even cock drunk you’re feeling. Is being thigh drunk a thing? Maybe someone should work on coining a term for that because you can’t even dignify him with an answer. You aren’t even sure what you murmur out in response, continuing to grind your hips against him, striving for the fruits of your wanton behavior. It just feels so good having a different kind of thickness between your thighs, dragging your wet folds along him in a way that’s just so primal. Testing out the different kinds of motion as your cunt pleads for more friction.
Only when he flexes his strong thigh, the motion deliciously stimulating your clit does a thought come to your brain.
It’s a selfish thought, one that makes your hand move from his cock and back around his neck, oh so close to having that knot that’s been forming in your belly become lax and unwind.
More, you need more.
“Do that again, ‘Romi,” you pant, rutting your hips again.
“Do what?” He knows exactly what he’s doing, flexing his thigh again as you will your hips to keep moving. “That, angel? That’s what you need from me?”
A pathetic whine is buried into his neck once more when your hips move more ferociously. The hand on your hip moves back up your spine, his palm firmly grabbing at the back of your neck. He’s met with your mouth agape, lids fluttering shut as your body is wracking with small tremors. “Look so pretty when you’re about to come for me,” he murmurs, eyes appraising the column of your neck as he lets his tongue lick a stripe from the base all the way up to your chin. “Look even prettier when you’re going to come on me,” he taunts, licking another lewd stripe against your neck, the taste of honeysuckle and passionfruit with the saltiness of your sweat making his cock throb again. “C’mon angel, know you’re so close, let go for me.
The steady movements of your hips are long forgotten as his greedy tongue continues to relish in the sweet and tangy taste of your skin. His message is clear, keep your head up. You tilt your head back slightly to give his tongue free reign as his hand moves back down to your hip, aiding your movements.
“Hi–ro–romi, fuck.”
“Don’t stop now,” he chides when your hips stop moving, simply to catch your breath from it all. His hand lands a smack on your ass, the sounding echoing throughout the apartment. “You’re already so close, don’t you want me to watch you come?”
“I-I do,” you stumble out in agreement.
This time he bounces his leg, the firmness of his muscled thigh pressing directly against your heat. It makes the mewl, the action sending a jolt up your spine as he does it again, a soft rumble of laughter leaving his lips. “Then you gotta keep going. Gonna feel so good when you come.”
His lips suck an angry red splotch into your neck as his hands squeeze at the flesh of your hips that are moving again. “Can’t believe you’re going to get off on my thigh.” His cock throbs again as he lets out a groan. “You can do it, be a good girl and let me hear you come, I know that pussy is ready to explode all over me.” And surely he knows this, all the tell tale signs on there; your pants, nails digging into his skin, legs tightening around his thigh.
“I know I’m hitting your little clit just right,” he says against your neck, this time being the one with a steady rhythm as he bounces his leg. “Come all over me,” he encourages once more. His grip on your hip tightens as he continues to let his leg bounce.
“F-Fuck,” you whimper, arms turning into noodles as you bury your head back into his neck, chest rising and falling as your orgasm coats his slacks. It’s intense, his name and curses falling from your lips as your thighs twitch around his own, walls of your cunt fluttering.
He moves you back only slightly and the slight overstimulation makes you whine as he looks down at the drenched spot on his thigh. His fingers graze over the spot as he lets out a chuckle, his cock throbbing again at the sight. “Good fucking girl.” He inserts the finger into his mouth, the faint taste of your essence coating his taste buds. He nudges your lips apart, letting you taste yourself after, and he can’t help but smile feeling your tongue lapping around his digits. “Now let’s do it again on the other side, what do you say?”