(Untitled)
Ooh~ la la! Never in my wildest (and wettest) dreams did I ever think this kink meme would yield such passionate results! With nearly five thousand comments in the initial post, I figured it was high time we bring the naked party over into a new post to leave the first open for request followup and... other forms of fulfillment
( Read more... )
(Anon above, please keep working on your fill too!)
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You begin with a misconception: that given the right props and the right circumstances you can contradict reality. The sensation of the leather straps against your hips is new to you, along with the metal buckles digging into your skin and Rise Kujikawa's legs wrapped tight around your waist. Self-deception, however, is not.
Delusions create delusions, though, multiplying and cascading throughout your head, and so your initial fallacy rapidly shifts into a second and a third: that by doing this you can fix things, and that if you can fuck her hard enough you'll tear apart that soft, helpless part of yourself that you've spent half your life choking back. But you don't have the weight you need; Rise, small as she is, has at least three kilos on you. Instead, as you thrust forward she jerks herself back, creating the illusion of you fucking her violently against the floor. The tension in her muscles makes it obvious. You pull her back towards you, and again she shifts to follow. Rise knows instinctively what other people need. However, the fact that she's trying to help you - taking pity on you, more precisely - is a fist in your gut. You shouldn't be surprised; this was her suggestion.
The room's dark, so you try to imagine her face - cheeks flushed, lips parted - but every time you reach her eyes there's a sympathy in them that stops you dead. Instead you listen to the hitching of her breath, the scratch of her fingernails clawing at the wooden floorboards, the soft mewling every time you buck forward (and she moves back, because she feels sorry for you). You want to make her cry, hear her scream. You want to make her look at you the way she looks at Kanji and Souji, not the way she looks at Naoto-kun the little lost boy-girl-boy. What you don't want is her compassion, because behind the sympathy in her eyes is a desire to understand and the words for what you feel are a foreign language even to yourself.
Rise reaches under your shirt, gouging your back with her nails. You welcome the pain as a distraction (she must know that, you decide), because it almost drowns out the voice in your head rumbling with laughter at your idiocy. Almost, but not quite. Can't deny the truth, Naoto-chan, it whispers - yet the knowledge never stopped you trying, did it? You thrust forward again, harder and faster, trying to throw Rise out of sync just to prove your point. Part of you hates her for matching your movements so smoothly - but when it comes to illusions she's nothing short of a genius, and she's taken it upon herself to perpetuate your own.
You lean forward, snaring your hands around her upper arms tight enough to bruise, but you don't lower your lips to her chest (it's soft, female, mirrors your own) and you don't kiss her (you want to, but it defeats the point). Instead you suspend yourself above her, rigid as a corpse, her breath warm and irregular against your throat. She moans your name, just once - and that alone almost makes this worth it, except you know it's as much a part of the performance as the rest.
Her climax is genuine enough, though. She comes hard and fast with a sharp cry, shuddering beneath you. The sense of accomplishment you feel fades within seconds.
Rise's fingers brush along your jaw and down the hollow of your throat, languid and gentle, and the hand on your back tries to pull you towards her. You hold firm, staring ahead into the dark. This doesn't end with solace and affection, because it can't; because what you hate most of all, more than Rise for this performance (you don't, not really), more than the absurdity of the suggestion (she was just trying to help), is yourself, and there's nothing you can do to change that.
"Did it help?" she whispers, one hand rubbing the back of your neck.
You stay silent, swallowing past the sudden tightness in your throat. Boys don't cry.
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this was fucking awesome OH MY GODDDD
I CAN'T EVEN FAP TO IT BECAUSE I'M TOO BUSY ADMIRING THE SHEER WIN
WHY CAN'T I ADD COMMENTS TO MY MEMORIES FFFFFF WHY
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