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Title: Addiction
Author: hannah_chapter
Pairing: Belldom, of a sort.
Rating: 18/NC-17
Summary: You like to watch.
Feedback: We wants it, we needs it, give it to us.
Note: Emily wanted a sex addiction fic, so I (eventually) delivered.
Here we go again: another night, another fuck.
I zero in on him as he comes into the club, and so do you. He looks at the couples writhing on the dance floor, at you, propping up the bar and nursing your second scotch of the night, and then he sees me, alone at my table, open for business.
He talks to the guy behind the bar and then he's walking over to my table, a glass in each hand: a drink for himself and a fresh one for me. A considerate one, this. I ask him to sit, he does and we drink and talk and flirt. He asks me if I want another drink and I glance in your direction. You shake your head, so I lay a hand on his arm and lean in. No, I tell him, I've had enough of this club. We could go somewhere else and get to know each other better. I know just the place. He agrees happily, eagerly. He pays for the drinks, we get our coats and leave together. You follow us, but he doesn't see you.
The room is small, but big enough to hold a bed and, really, what else do we need? Doesn't waste time, this new boy, no, he walks right in and starts taking his clothes off. I shut the door and follow his lead. The foreplay is brief and efficient and then it's happening. We're on the bed, he's on me, pumping in and out, moaning and panting in my ear. I answer each of his moans with one of my own. He likes that, thinks he's giving me the fuck of my life. Nothing could be further from the truth. It's all an act, part of the show I'm putting on for him - and for you. Especially for you. I perform for you, do all these things, for you. It's all for you.
He squeaks as he comes. I bite my lip to stifle a giggle as he falls forward. I didn't come, but he's too wrapped up in his own bliss to care. And then he's done with me. I lie on the bed and watch him dress. He takes a comb from the inner pocket of his jacket, walks over to the mirror and fixes his hair. Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the sluttiest one of all? You're on the other side of that mirror, watching his every move, but he doesn't see you.
You wait a few minutes and, when you're certain he isn't coming back, you come to me. You undress, taking it slow, teasing me with every sliver of revealed flesh. Then you wait. You won't move until I ask you to - no, until I beg you to. You like it when I'm desperate. You like to hear me beg.
I always do. Tonight is no exception. I open my arms and legs and I beg for it. You smile, a cold, cruel smile, and then you grant my wish. The bed creaks as you join me. Then your hands are on me, erasing all traces of him, marking me as yours. You're not gentle, you never are, rough is the only language you speak - and it's the only one I respond to.
You flip me onto my stomach and push inside me. My body recognises its master and I come almost immediately, my seed seeping into the mattress beneath me. But you give me no time to recover, why should you? You squeeze my throat and hiss in my ear as you jackhammer into me, you call me a cheap, disgusting whore. Oh, I'm a whore alright - the whore you never pay.
I get hard again as you continue to use me, and I come a fraction of a second before you do. Your grip on my throat relaxes and you kiss and nuzzle the back of my neck. This unexpected tenderness brings me to my sense.
Why do I do this?
Why do we do this?
Because we're addicted, that's why. This is the only way you could ever want me, this is the only way I can ever have you. I made my choice, and now I live with the consequences.
But for how much longer?
How long can this go on?
Author: hannah_chapter
Pairing: Belldom, of a sort.
Rating: 18/NC-17
Summary: You like to watch.
Feedback: We wants it, we needs it, give it to us.
Note: Emily wanted a sex addiction fic, so I (eventually) delivered.
Here we go again: another night, another fuck.
I zero in on him as he comes into the club, and so do you. He looks at the couples writhing on the dance floor, at you, propping up the bar and nursing your second scotch of the night, and then he sees me, alone at my table, open for business.
He talks to the guy behind the bar and then he's walking over to my table, a glass in each hand: a drink for himself and a fresh one for me. A considerate one, this. I ask him to sit, he does and we drink and talk and flirt. He asks me if I want another drink and I glance in your direction. You shake your head, so I lay a hand on his arm and lean in. No, I tell him, I've had enough of this club. We could go somewhere else and get to know each other better. I know just the place. He agrees happily, eagerly. He pays for the drinks, we get our coats and leave together. You follow us, but he doesn't see you.
The room is small, but big enough to hold a bed and, really, what else do we need? Doesn't waste time, this new boy, no, he walks right in and starts taking his clothes off. I shut the door and follow his lead. The foreplay is brief and efficient and then it's happening. We're on the bed, he's on me, pumping in and out, moaning and panting in my ear. I answer each of his moans with one of my own. He likes that, thinks he's giving me the fuck of my life. Nothing could be further from the truth. It's all an act, part of the show I'm putting on for him - and for you. Especially for you. I perform for you, do all these things, for you. It's all for you.
He squeaks as he comes. I bite my lip to stifle a giggle as he falls forward. I didn't come, but he's too wrapped up in his own bliss to care. And then he's done with me. I lie on the bed and watch him dress. He takes a comb from the inner pocket of his jacket, walks over to the mirror and fixes his hair. Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the sluttiest one of all? You're on the other side of that mirror, watching his every move, but he doesn't see you.
You wait a few minutes and, when you're certain he isn't coming back, you come to me. You undress, taking it slow, teasing me with every sliver of revealed flesh. Then you wait. You won't move until I ask you to - no, until I beg you to. You like it when I'm desperate. You like to hear me beg.
I always do. Tonight is no exception. I open my arms and legs and I beg for it. You smile, a cold, cruel smile, and then you grant my wish. The bed creaks as you join me. Then your hands are on me, erasing all traces of him, marking me as yours. You're not gentle, you never are, rough is the only language you speak - and it's the only one I respond to.
You flip me onto my stomach and push inside me. My body recognises its master and I come almost immediately, my seed seeping into the mattress beneath me. But you give me no time to recover, why should you? You squeeze my throat and hiss in my ear as you jackhammer into me, you call me a cheap, disgusting whore. Oh, I'm a whore alright - the whore you never pay.
I get hard again as you continue to use me, and I come a fraction of a second before you do. Your grip on my throat relaxes and you kiss and nuzzle the back of my neck. This unexpected tenderness brings me to my sense.
Why do I do this?
Why do we do this?
Because we're addicted, that's why. This is the only way you could ever want me, this is the only way I can ever have you. I made my choice, and now I live with the consequences.
But for how much longer?
How long can this go on?
