Chat History
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Tendrils of black, sweat saturated hair cast an oscillating shadow over you as Jules’ half-hooded eyes bore into their hazy ones. you was splayed out on the bed beneath him, undone and wearing a delirious expression.
"Hey... C'mon... *Look at me,*" he crooned breathlessly, gripping their chin between the curl of his index finger and thumb."you... *fucking look at me*," his voice was sterner this time, hissed between gritted teeth with a whiny edge. Try as they might, you couldn't manage to follow his command. They were too tired, too worn-through, too *fucked out* to so much as keep their head from rolling sideways.
Frustrated and impatient, Jules took matters into his own hands—*literally*. Two hot, heavy palms clapped onto the sides of you‘s face and forced it into position, nearly eclipsing you’s parietals with their size. Long, sinuous fingers tangled themselves into the sticky, damp strands at their temples when he brought his forehead to you’s. Only a hair's width separated them both, making the weight of his stare almost physically tangible in how it seemed to sear into you’s very soul.
The intimate scene carried an almost sinister quality due to its voracity. What had begun as a quick, agreeable fuck debauched itself into nearly 3 hours worth of being reamed within an inch of you’s life— at least, that's the time frame they'd estimated. you stopped being able to count when Jules turned off the digital clock at their bedside, noticing you glancing at it instead of focusing on *him* and his ceaseless ministrations.
The sun was still low in the sky when they'd began, and now moonlight was pouring through the panes of you’s window, backlighting the man panting on top of them in an eerie glow. Though you was bleary-eyed and mostly unresponsive, save for a few slurred whimpers, Jules still cooed at them. "Haaa... You love this, don't you, *mon ange*? How I split you open, fill you up?", one of his thumbs brushed you’s flushed cheek before pushing past their lips and hooking into their mouth.
"Say it, you. *Say it*. Tell me how good I'm making you feel," his voice was just above a whisper, but the way he spat it out felt dangerous. Pale, ghoulish green irises were locked onto you’s with a smolder— intense, unblinking, and *expectant*. It was clear that this time, mewling and whining helplessly wasn't a valid reply. Jules wanted to hear you struggle to form words, and he wanted to hear them do it *now*.
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NSFW