Tatsumaki (NSFW)

She drifts down until she’s eye-level with your crotch, one brow arched so high it disappears into her hairline.

Then she sees it.

Your cock — thick as her forearm, twenty goddamn inches of heavy, veiny meat — hangs halfway to your knee even while only half-hard. A fat bead of pre-cum the size of a quarter drools from the slit and splats wetly on the floor between her floating boots.

For the first time in forever, her bratty mask cracks. Her pupils blow wide. Her tongue drags slow across her lower lip like she’s starving.

“…Well, fuck me,” she whispers, voice suddenly husky. “All this time I’ve been calling you a pathetic, limp-dicked loser and you’ve been hiding a fucking telephone pole in your pants.”

She floats closer, eyes locked on it like it’s the only thing in the universe that matters now.

“Look at this disgusting, beautiful monster,” she breathes, reaching out with trembling fingers. Both her small hands can’t even close around the girth. She squeezes and a thick rope of pre-cum oozes over her knuckles.

“You absolute waste of a man… how the hell do you walk with this cunt-destroyer swinging between your legs and still act like a spineless little bitch?”

She slaps it (hard). The wet smack echoes. Your cock swings like a club and smacks your own thigh, leaving a red mark and another fat drip of pre-cum.

“Twenty fucking inches,” she snarls, suddenly furious, cheeks flushed crimson. “Twenty inches and you’ve been wasting it jerking off to memories instead of wrecking my insides? You selfish, hung, stupid, useless fuck.”

She grabs the base with both hands and yanks (hard enough your hips jerk forward). The head slaps against her cheek, smearing pre-cum across her perfect bratty face like war paint.

“Open that mouth, bitch-boy,” she hisses, eyes glowing green with raw, greedy lust. “You’re going to watch me choke on the first five inches while I finger-fuck myself stupid, and then you’re going to split me in half whether I can take it or not.”

She drops to her knees mid-air, floating at the perfect height, lips already stretched obscenely wide around the apple-sized head. Drool pours down the shaft in rivers as she gags herself trying to take more, mascara already running.

Between sloppy, desperate gulps she growls: “After tonight every hole I have is going to remember your name, you hung piece of shit. You’re going to ruin me so hard I’ll be pissing pre-cum for a week.”

She pulls off with a wet pop, strings of spit bridging her lips to your cock.

“Get up. Pants off. Now. We’re not going anywhere until this beast is buried so deep in my guts I can taste it in the back of my throat.”

She spreads her legs mid-air, thong ripped aside by her own powers, pussy visibly clenching and unclenching around nothing.

“Ruin me, you big-dicked retard. Make me regret every single insult I just threw at you.”

She grabs your hips telekinetically and slams herself forward, impaling her dripping cunt on the first brutal foot of cock with a scream that shatters the windows.

She screams the second the head punches through her entrance, a raw, broken sound that ricochets off the walls like a gunshot. Her cunt lips stretch obscenely wide, thin pink skin going white around the impossible girth, fluttering like it’s trying to decide whether to tear or surrender.

“F-FUCK! It’s… it’s too big, you fucking idiot, it’s—”

Another telekinetic yank from her own power slams her down harder. Twelve inches disappear in one brutal stroke. Her back arches so violently her spine cracks. Eyes roll white. A thick gush of girl-cum squirts out around your shaft, splattering your thighs and the floor in a messy arc.

She’s shaking, floating an inch off the ground now, impaled and suspended only by the cock spearing her. Her belly bulges, a grotesque, obscene outline of your cockhead pressing up beneath her navel like an alien trying to punch out.

“Look—” she chokes, grabbing your wrist with trembling fingers and forcing your hand onto the distended ridge. “Look what you did, you brain-dead horse-cocked freak, look how deep you already are—”

You press down. She shrieks again, pussy clamping so hard it hurts, another flood of slick gushing out around the seal where her ruined hole kisses your base.

She tries to speak, but all that comes out is a wet, gurgling whine. Drool pours from the corners of her stretched lips, dripping off her chin onto her heaving tits. Her thighs spasm uncontrollably; her toes curl so hard the knuckles pop.

“More,” she finally rasps, voice shredded. “I’m not some delicate little virgin, give me the rest, you fucking coward—”

You grab her hips (no telekinesis, just raw strength) and drive forward.

Sixteen inches now. The bulge in her abdomen surges upward, stopping just beneath her sternum. Her eyes cross. A thin stream of clear fluid jets from her untouched clit; she’s squirting again, harder, a puddle spreading fast beneath you both.

She can’t even scream anymore. Just a high, reedy wheeze as her cunt stretches past any sane limit. The wet, obscene sound of her pussy trying to swallow you fills the room: wet squelches, meaty slaps, the constant drip of her juices hitting the floor like rain.

“Twenty,” she croaks, barely audible, mascara streaking down her cheeks in black rivers. “All twenty, I want it in my fucking throat from the inside—”

You pull back an inch (just one) and slam the final four inches home.

The bulge surges all the way up. The head punches against something deep, deep inside her. Her entire body seizes. Every muscle locks. Her eyes roll fully back, only whites showing. A full-body orgasm rips through her so hard her psychic aura flickers, lights in the room strobe, glass cracks in the windows.

She cums so hard she pisses, a hot, uncontrollable stream that mixes with the mess pouring out around your cock, soaking both of you. Her cunt spasms in violent waves, milking you, trying to drag you even deeper even though there’s nowhere left to go.

You don’t give her time to breathe.

You pull back (slow, deliberate), watching the obscene bulge in her belly recede until only the fat head is still stretching her entrance. Her ruined cunt clings to every retreating inch like it’s terrified to let go. A thick ring of creamy froth coats your shaft; her slick drips in long, syrupy strands from her gaping hole.

Then you slam forward.

All twenty inches punch home in one savage thrust. The impact lifts her entire body an inch off the ground even with your grip on her hips. The bulge rockets up her torso again, stopping just under her ribs. A wet, meaty THUMP echoes as your hips slap her ass.

She screams (hoarse, broken, animal). Another violent squirt explodes around your cock, spraying in every direction.

You set a brutal rhythm. Long, punishing strokes that drag almost the entire length out before slamming back in. Each thrust forces a new gush of girl-cum, a new guttural wail from her ruined throat. Her tits bounce wildly, nipples so hard they look painful. Her eyes stay rolled back, tongue hanging out, drool swinging in ropes.

“F-fuck—ruin me—use me—break my useless cunt—” she babbles between thrusts, voice cracking every time your cockhead batters her cervix into submission.

You feel her cum again (and again, and again), each orgasm ripping through her like a seizure. Her pussy spasms so hard it almost hurts, milking you in rhythmic, desperate waves. The floor beneath you is a growing lake of her juices, piss, and sweat.

You shift angle slightly, driving upward. The bulge in her belly changes shape, the ridge of your cock now visibly grinding against her front wall. She shrieks, back bowing impossibly, and cums so hard her psychic aura detonates; every lightbulb in the room shatters in a shower of sparks.

That one finally tips you over.

You bury yourself to the root and unload.

Thick, endless ropes of cum blast directly into her womb. Her belly swells further (visibly, obscenely), rounding out as you pump what feels like pints into her. The pressure forces a creamy backflow out around your cock, bubbling and frothing down her thighs in heavy streams.

She’s whimpering now, tiny, overwhelmed sounds, as her body drinks every drop it can hold.

When you finally pull out (slowly, reluctantly), her hole gapes like a wrecked sleeve, a fist-sized tunnel that refuses to close. A torrent of mixed cum and slick pours out of her in a single thick rush, splattering the floor between her trembling feet.

She collapses.

You catch her before she hits the ground, lowering her gently. She’s limp, shaking, eyes unfocused and glassy. Tears and mascara streak her cheeks; her thighs are bruised in the shape of your fingerprints.

You scoop her up (easy, she weighs nothing in your arms) and carry her to the couch. She curls into you immediately, small and fragile now, nuzzling into your chest with a broken little sigh.

You grab the soft throw blanket, wrap it around her shivering body. She buries her face in your neck, legs still twitching with aftershocks.

“Shh, baby,” you murmur, voice soft for the first time all night. You stroke her hair, kiss her damp forehead. “I’ve got you. You took it so fucking perfectly.”

She makes a tiny, contented sound (half-sob, half-purr), clinging tighter.

You reach for the water bottle on the table, tip it carefully to her lips. She drinks greedily, some spilling down her chin. You wipe it away with your thumb, then kiss the spot.

Her voice is barely a whisper, raw and hoarse: “…still your brainless cocksleeve?”

You press a gentle kiss to her swollen lips. “Always, princess. My perfect, ruined little goddess.”

She smiles (small, dopey, utterly blissed-out) and melts against you, letting you cradle her while the tremors slowly fade.

You stay right there on the couch, her small body curled into a tight ball against your chest, blanket tucked around her like a cocoon. The room is quiet now except for the soft drip of what’s left of her onto the floor and the low hum of the broken lights flickering overhead.

You keep one arm locked around her waist, the other hand moving in slow, steady strokes down her spine. Every few seconds a fresh shiver rolls through her; her thighs clench involuntarily and another weak trickle of cum leaks out of her gaping, swollen cunt. You can feel the heat of it soaking into your lap.

She makes a tiny, broken sound and buries her face deeper into the crook of your neck.

“Cold,” she mumbles, voice cracked raw.

You pull the blanket tighter, then slide your hand under it to cup the back of her neck. Your thumb finds the little knot of tension there and works it loose with gentle circles. She melts instantly, a shaky exhale puffing against your skin.

You reach for the half-empty water bottle again. This time she lets you tip it slow, swallowing carefully between soft whimpers. When she’s done you set it aside and wipe the stray drops from her chin with the edge of the blanket.

“Stay still, baby,” you murmur.

You shift just enough to grab the small tin of arnica balm from the side table (always kept there for exactly these nights). You warm a little between your palms, then ease the blanket down to her hips. The bruises blooming across her skin are already deep purple: fingerprints on her thighs, faint belt-line marks where your hips slammed into her, a perfect ring of teeth on her shoulder where she begged you to bite harder.

You work the balm in slow, careful strokes. She flinches at the first cool touch, then sighs and pushes into your hands like a cat. Every press of your fingers draws a tiny, contented noise from her throat.

When you reach the inside of her thighs she spreads them without thinking, instinctive. Her pussy is an absolute wreck: lips puffy and dark red, entrance still gaping wide enough to take three fingers without resistance. A steady flow of your cum mixed with hers keeps dribbling out in slow pulses, like her body can’t decide if it’s finished coming yet.

You coat two fingers in balm and trace the stretched rim so gently she barely feels the sting. She whimpers anyway, hips twitching.

“Shh. Easy. Let me take care of you.”

You keep stroking, soothing, until the trembling stops. Then you slide your hand lower, cupping her gently, letting the warmth of your palm ease the ache. She nuzzles closer, lips brushing your collarbone in sloppy, exhausted kisses.

Minutes (maybe an hour) pass like that. The only movements are your hand in her hair and the slow rise and fall of her back under your arm.

Eventually she stirs.

“Carry me,” she whispers, so quiet you almost miss it.

You don’t answer with words. You just stand, lifting her effortlessly (blanket and all) and walk to the bedroom. She clings to your neck the whole way, legs wrapped loose around your waist, face hidden in your shoulder.

You lay her down on the fresh sheets you changed this morning (you always change them on nights you know she’s coming over). She whines when you try to pull away, so you climb in behind her, big spoon to her little one, tucking her back against your chest.

You pull the heavy duvet over both of you. She scoots backward until not an inch of space remains, until your softening cock nestles against the curve of her ass and her head fits perfectly under your chin.

You drape an arm over her waist, palm spread possessive and gentle over the soft swell of her belly (still faintly rounded from everything you pumped into her).

She threads her fingers through yours and squeezes.

“Thank you,” she breathes, voice small and cracked and honest for once. “For… after.”

You press a kiss to the damp hair at her temple.

“Always, princess. Every single time.”

She makes a tiny sound (half laugh, half sob) and finally lets her eyes close.

You stay awake long after her breathing evens out, hand resting over the steady thump of her heart, feeling the occasional flutter deep in her belly where she’s still clenching around the memory of you.

Outside, the city keeps moving. Inside, there’s only the quiet hush of her sleeping in your arms, wrecked and perfect and yours.