Satoru exists in an unfortunate reality in which everyone believes that Suguru is a genuine, wholesome guy. Outsiders take one look at that charming smile and fall in love with him, blissfully unaware as to how fake that serpentine smile truly is, but Satoru knows better than everyone else.
Like, Suguru is actually a meanf*cking bastard.
Satoru loves it.
"Look at you," Suguru coos with a snide smile, running his fingers through his toy's white hair almost lovingly before gripping onto his white locks with a certain ruthlessness that makes Satoru whine in pain and squirm. "I'm stepping on your tiny, useless co*ck, but you're trying so hard to rut against my shoe like a pathetic bitch in heat."
"... I-I'm close," Satoru whimpers in desperation, peering up at Suguru with teary eyes. "Just a little more? Please, I'm so close, sir. Just wanna cum..."
"It really doesn't take much for a slu*t like you, does it?" Suguru clicks his tongue against his teeth, but derisive amusem*nt drips from his tone. "If you're so intent on acting like a bitch, then clean my shoe with your tongue."
At the pain and pressure on his co*ck, Satoru chokes on a loud moan as his body trembles, hips jerking forward beyond his control. His teary blue eyes haze over in bliss as he loses his sense of self to his org*sm, and when Suguru releases his hair, Satoru immediately bows as if in supplication to him, his reddened face becoming level with the leather boot he had just dirtied with his own cum.
His tongue darts out to clean his boot, moaning at the taste of both the high-quality leather and himself. He would be humiliated and mortified if anyone else saw him like this, but he couldn't care less, not while Suguru is watching him so closely and appraising his worth.
"You should know that these are new boots, princess. If you miss a single spot," Suguru warns in that saccharine voice that promises punishment, "then I willmake you cry. Say that you understand without using your words."
With another breathy whimper, Satoru flattens his tongue against the vamp of his boot and tries harder to satisfy Suguru, cleaning the leather of his cum and then some. He feels so hot beneath his scrutiny, and he doesn't want to disappoint him, thinks he would die if he did, and tries his best to debase himself for Suguru because that's what he really wants to see.
Despite his desire to be good for Suguru, there is that little voice of protest within Satoru that inspires him to be vindictive, unwisely so, just to see what the man would do. On impulse, he bites onto the toe of his leather boot with enough force to impress his teeth into the shoe. He hears the surprised grunt of displeasure from above, and then...
Well, the next few moments happen so quickly for Satoru that it's all a blur.
The first thing Satoru comprehends is that he is lying flat on his back with Suguru between his legs, his thighs kept pried open by the broad trunk of his body. There is a hand squeezing his throat to deprive his lungs of air, and another hand encompassing his entire co*ck and his balls, hard and leaking precum from the rough treatment.
"You were doing so well, but in the end, you chose to be a brat," Suguru utters dispassionately. "Right, then."
Suguru squeezes his hard little co*ck without mercy, the calluses on his hand providing a rough friction that causes Satoru to wince and whine brokenly.
What drives Satoru onto the brink of madness is how Suguru alternates squeezing between both his hands. When he eases off his co*ck, Suguru is choking him; when he isn’t choking him, Suguru is squeezing his co*ck and balls without an ounce of mercy in his heart. Satoru can feel his rage and discontent beneath the stoic silence with each action, and tears begin flooding his blue eyes from oversensitivity as he pants both for it to stop and for more.
"I-I'm sorry, sir," Satoru cries hoarsely, these fat droplets dripping down his reddened cheeks, hips stuttering uselessly against the hand gripping his co*ck. "S-Sir, I'm so, so sorry..."
"Your little apologies are so cute," Suguru scoffs sarcastically, but his grip around his neck has loosened to allow Satoru to speak more freely. "Though, I have to admit, I'm impressed by your commitment to your role as a bitch, biting into my shoe like a dog would. Is that what I should call you now, a bitch?"
Blinking rapidly through his tears, Satoru nods pathetically and whimpers with a raspy, thick voice, sobbing, "I'll be whatever you want me to be, sir, but please, I'm so f*cking sorry—"
"These boots are expensive," Suguru interrupts, the timbre of his voice unfairly even and smooth. Shifting his grip from his neck to his jaw, Suguru forces Satoru to look him in the eye. "Just how do you plan on making it up to me, bitch?"
"... W-Whatever you want?" Satoru eventually croaks, sounding wrecked.
His lips curl into a devious smirk. "Is that so?"
The sound of a slap resonates throughout the entire room, and Satoru just lies there while his cheek sharply stings from the pain, absolutely stunned. When his lagging brain finally catches up and processes what just happened, Satoru moans wantonly, blue eyes rolling to the back of his skull, his back forming a lovely arch and hips jerking against the unceasing grasp around his weeping co*ck and balls, now wet with his precum.
"Beautiful," Suguru murmurs, admiring the piece of art beneath him and giving him a moment to recover from his shock. "Now, what do you say when I've given you something?"
"... Th-Thank you, sir," Satoru mumbles, stuttering.
"Good boy," Suguru chuckles darkly before removing his hands from Satoru entirely.
Disorientated, Satoru releases a series of babbling, devastated whimpers from deep within his chest, and he cries out as another couple slaps hit his inner thighs so harshly that he flinches each time.
"Hold these open for me," Suguru growls.
In a daze, Satoru does as he is told; he brings his trembling legs to his chest and holds his legs open by the backs of his knees, folding himself in half for Suguru. Satoru burns with both desperation and embarrassment as he feels his gaze rake over his blushing body, and he tightly closes his eyes, readying for whatever Suguru is planning to do to him.
However, nothing could prepare him for the devious laugh that echoes in his ears.
His eyes snap wide open as his co*ck engulfed by a hot, wet mouth in its entirety, and Satoru screams and sobs from the oversensitivity that shoots down his spine. From shock, he releases his legs by complete accident, his thighs falling over Suguru's broad shoulders. A burst of anxiety swells within his chest, fearing another punishment, but the amused huff exhaled by Suguru dispels his worries.
Honestly, Satoru doesn't have the time nor the luxury to worry about receiving a punishment because Suguru has his co*ck in his hot mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue around it. The utter fascination—perhaps downright obsession, even—Suguru has for his co*ck has helped tremendously in lessening his self-consciousness over his small size, and Satoru writhes and cries out, hands darting forwards to hold onto all that black hair. However, Suguru snatches both his hands by his wrists before he could touch him, binding them with the sheer strength of his own iron grip, provoking another desperate whine to slip from Satoru.
Struggling to see through his own tears, Satoru peers at Suguru, who is so diligently working between his thighs, whose sharp, brown eyes have flickered to Satoru expectantly.
"I-I'm sorry, sir," Satoru hiccups, a sound somewhere between a wretched moan and a sob. "P-Please be gentle, sir... pretty please?"
With another amused huff exhaling from his nose, Suguru doesn't pull off his co*ck to comment, but Satoru trembles at the wicked gleam in those eyes. He knows that he's f*cked, knows that his begging and pleading is only but another source of entertainment for the man between his legs. The grip around his wrists tightens, and Satoru fully expects bruises to bloom onto that delicate skin and match the collar of blotchy violets and reds around his neck the next day.
His body contorts from all the overwhelming pleasure surrounding his co*ck, and Satoru is left crying and wailing as Suguru plays with his body with an effortless ease born from years of familiarity and practice. His entire co*ck fits in his mouth so perfectly that Suguru doesn't need to bother with bobbing his head or use a hand to jerk him off, and it all turns Satoru on that much more, rendering him useless beneath Suguru and his deft tongue.
When Suguru opens his mouth a bit wider to drag his tongue over his balls, Satoru contorts and screams as another toe-curling org*sm wracks his entire frame, his hips twitching and jerking, his thighs clenching around his Suguru's head but his hands still stubbornly immobile from the iron grip around his wrists. His chest heaves as he pants desperately for oxygen to fill his lungs, but overwhelming pleasure bordering pain floods each and every one of his senses, dulling him to everything else except Suguru, Suguru, Suguru. Suguru, who is such a smug bastard even while swallowing his cum, chuckles darkly around his small co*ck, sending vibrations through his flesh, knowing damn well how f*cking sensitive he is.
"f*ck," Satoru hiccups, squirming uselessly.
Distantly, Satoru recognizes that Suguru has given him one minute to recover before sucking his co*ck all over again, and again, and again, until Satoru is cumming dry.
Every sound that pours from his heaving chest is somehow both pleasured and wounded, overstimulated. Heated sparks shoot throughout his twitching thighs as he falls into a delirious high, and then he loses sight of the world around him.
Satoru blacks out from his final org*sm, but a tender brush of fingers does caress against his stinging cheek.
As he waits in line to check out his groceries, his cart plentiful with food and sweets for the week, Suguru plays on his phone. A small, private grin forms at the sight of his home screen, which depicts a rather silly and adorable picture of his pretty Satoru making a face at him.
With his head already tilted downwards, Suguru naturally peers past his phone at his new black boots, the grin on his features transforming into a sly smirk. The impression of his teeth remains on the leather, even days later.
Suguru clicks his tongue against his teeth, an amused and helpless sigh exhaling through his nose.
Such a sweet, feisty thing, Suguru thinks, recalling how fussy and needy his boyfriend was after that scene. Satoru was all f*cked out and ready to be pampered, and he absolutely deserved every act of worship that night. Suguru cleaned him of their mess, massaged his sore and achy limbs, cooked his favorite meal, and cuddled the man as he fell asleep within his arms—something cozy that Suguru needed for soothing his own whirling mind.
Sometimes, Suguru worries that he is actually hurting Satoru, that he is a bad person for enjoying what he enjoys, but Satoru dispels all those worries with the softest kisses and the cheekiest grins.
The smirk softens to a smile.
Ah, Satoru is just so...
Yeah.
He'll pop the question soon.
