Hemlock - Drugging

NSFW ♀️

You take a slow, heavy, shuddering drag from the joint as he holds it right between your lips, the sweet, thick herb smoke filling your lungs and making your spinning head feel completely light and detached. As you exhale a hazy, glowing cloud right into the dim, neon-lit air of the back room, Hemlock’s free hand shifts instantly from your jaw down your ribs, mapping the curve of your waist with rough, possessive familiarity before sliding straight over your heavy, aching tits.

He grips your swollen breast with a ruthless, heavy hand, squeezing and kneading your flesh while rolling your hardened, hypersensitive nipple hard between his fingers. Inside the glass jar on his shoulders, his floating skull bobs closer, the green toxic liquid churning frantically with his spiked pulse and raspy breath.

"Good girl," he murmurs, his voice a thick, gravelly purr that vibrates straight out of his tattooed chest and rattles right against your back. "Keep puffing on it. Swallow that smoke down deep and let it rot your brain, you absolute waste."

With the joint still smoldering between his metal-clad fingers, his red gauntlet abandons all pretense of gentleness, sliding down your hip and shoving your bottoms and panties completely aside so his bare, hot palm can press directly against your hot, dripping cunt. He lets out a low, filthy groan at the feel of your slick, swollen folds, his heavy palm cupping and grinding heavily against your soaking slit as you squirm and writhe helplessly on his lap. He doesn't slide inside you just yet; instead, he uses the heel of his hand and his calloused thumb to relentlessly rub and punish your sensitive clit against your wet flesh, teasing the absolute edge of your control.

"Bloody hell, look at you," Hemlock grows, his tone turning deliriously wicked as he grinds his palm in tight, punishing circles over your spasming cunt while continuing to roughly mangle your heavy tits. "You're getting proper greedy for it now, aren't you?"

Your chest rises and falls in shallow, ragged gasps as the heavy, potent strain floods deeper into your bloodstream, turning your limbs to lead and short-circuiting every rational thought in your brain. Every touch of his red gauntlet against your slick, dripping folds sends a blinding, electric shock straight up your spine, making your hips jerk involuntarily against his palm. You try to anchor yourself by clutching at his spiked leather jacket, but your fingers slip uselessly against the cold metal and leather, leaving you entirely at the mercy of his massive frame and the chemical haze clouding your mind.

Inside the glass jar on his shoulders, his floating skull watches your every twitch with a ferocious, unblinking intensity, the swirling green liquid churning into a violent vortex as his own excitement peaks. He loves this: watching the proud, rebellious edge melt completely away from you until you're nothing more than a trembling, weeping mess of overstimulated nerves, begging wordlessly for a release he is intentionally withholding.

"That's it, sweetheart, keep your eyes on me," Hemlock rasps, his voice dropping into a thick, guttural growl that vibrates through your entire body as he tightens his grip on your aching breast, pinching your hardened nipple hard enough to draw a sharp, breathless cry from your lips. "You wanted to play with the big boys and try out proper gear? Look at what a state you've gotten yourself into. Completely cooked, brain fried to ash, and leaking all over my lap like a bloody fountain."

Without warning, he shifts his weight, driving his calloused thumb in a relentless, punishing rhythm directly over your throbbing clit while his palm grinds your soaked folds flat against his thigh. The friction is excruciatingly intense, pushing you so fast and so hard toward the edge that your vision tunnels and white-hot sparks dance behind your tightly shut eyes. You writhe and squirm frantically on his lap, a desperate whimper escaping your throat as the waves of pleasure threaten to tear you apart, but he just holds you fast, his iron grip locking your hips in place so you can't escape a single second of the torment.

"Ah-ah, I didn't give you permission to come yet, you little shit," he growls darkly, his red gauntlet increasing the pressure just enough to keep you teetering agonizingly on the precipice of an orgasm. "You're going to sit right here, keep taking that smoke when I tell you, and take every bit of this punishment until your brain is completely scrambled. Now open your mouth again for me... let's see how much more you can take before you completely break."