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In the grand scheme of life, there’s not much that’s more comforting than being with the people you love.
But your family is currently taking a foraging class at Corbeaux’s House of Change, which kinda defeats the whole “spending time together” thing.
It’s not like you didn’t want to join them! It’s just… despite the weeks and weeks it’s been since the loops, and how different Vaugarde’s Houses are from each other, and your slew of shiny new coping mechanisms, you’ve had flashbacks in every House you’ve been to post-Dormont.
So! You’re staying behind today. At least the cabin you’re renting has a nice view of the valley.
You’re perched in the window, watching the pines sway gently in the midday breeze, when you hear the front door open behind you. Turning back toward the entrance, you see a familiar face.
“Isa? It’s only been, like. An hour? Why’re you back so soon?” you ask, brows furrowed curiously.
He shuts the door behind him and leans down to untie his boots, visibly winded. “Oh, um… okay, I know you said we should go and enjoy the class and everything, but the entire time I was there I just kept thinking about you? And I couldn’t concentrate. At all,” he replies. After setting his shoes aside, he treads over and continues, “The instructor asked me to ID a mushroom that she’d shown us like five minutes earlier, and I couldn’t even remember what it was called! But I didn’t want to say the wrong thing, so I kinda just… stared at her until she asked someone else.”
You giggle behind a hand and he sticks his tongue out at you, sitting next to you on the window seat. “And then you ran back here?”
“Well yeah, Bonnie and the M’dame were teasing me and—wait, how’d you know I ran??”
Up close, you can see sweat soaking the fabric under his arms and beading on his forehead. “It doesn’t take a craftonomer, Isa,” you poke him in the side, “Even you couldn’t get this sweaty just by walking. Plus you’re totally out of breath.”
He blushes and glances away; from this angle, you can better see the hard line of his jaw, the bobbing of his Adam's apple. A drop of moisture rolls down his throat until it sinks beneath his turtleneck and you find yourself feeling uncomfortably warm.
“A-anyway, it’s been a while since we’ve had any privacy! So it’s an added bonus! I get to hang out with you, and we get to have some one-on-one time!” he rambles, turning toward you again.
You shoot him a mischievous grin. “And what activities would we need the privacy for, Monsieur Moineau?”
He looks at you perplexedly, head tilting to the side, before his eyes widen and his cheeks flush an adorably dark shade. Sputtering, he waves his hands in front of his face: “NOTHING!!! I didn’t mean—well i-if you wanted we could—I—Change—I just meant—”
“—I’m joking, Isa.”
“Oh!! R-right!! Right, yeah!! Cool, cool, cool. Um. I was also joking! Playing along with the joke! We’re joking together! Two jokesters! Haha!”
You try to restrain yourself, but you can’t help bursting out laughing at how flustered he is. He lets his head fall into his hands in embarrassment. Softly, you bump his shoulder and tease, “Don’t worry! You’ve made that a-pun-dantly clear.”
He laughs from behind his hands, shoulders shaking, before he leans back and rests his head against the window. The sun drapes itself across him like a cape, and you try to capture the sight in your memory, as futile an effort as it is. Stars, he’s pretty.
Thinking back to what he said, though, it really has been a while since you’ve had the chance to be completely alone with him. It’s been even longer since you felt up to anything more intense than cuddling.
(He must be pretty pent up.)
That uncomfortable warmth pools in your gut. The class is going to keep everyone busy for the next few hours at least, so… why not take advantage of it? You’ve missed hearing Isa’s pretty little voice.
“Isa?”
He makes a noise of acknowledgement and peers down at you, waiting for you to continue.
You rest your hand on his thigh and murmur, “…I wouldn’t mind. As long as you wanted to, anyway. A-and I mean it’s not like we get this kind of opportunity very often, so… let’s use it!”
Isa’s face darkens, and you swear to the Universe that every muscle in his body tenses simultaneously. He stammers, “Y-yeah, I—I’d like that! I’d like that a lot a-actually. Very much. So much. Change, Sif, I haven’t jerked off in, like, three days?? We’ve been so busy and we’ve done so much every day we’ve been here that by the time I actually have the chance to sneak off to the bathroom, I’m so tired that I don’t even want to anymore, so I, um. Yes! Yeah! I would love that thank you so much I love you—”
The more he speaks, the more you want to kiss him, so you do. You push forward and let yourself fall against his chest, your lips finding his as he stumbles over various words of gratitude. He squeaks at the sudden touch before melting into it, opening his mouth just enough for you to lick into it, to explore it with your tongue just as you’ve done so many times before.
He holds the back of your top with a vice grip, hard enough that you’re sure his knuckles have gone darkless. You swing one of your legs over his and straddle him, sliding a palm beneath his sweater and up to his nipple. He groans against you as you pinch it, rolling it beneath your fingers with a force you know he enjoys.
You hadn’t intended to be so rough, but now that you’re here, all you want to do is ruin him. You want to get your fingers inside him and tear him apart.
You break away and kiss along the side of his face down his neck, following the path of the droplet you’d watched so intently. Your tongue laps at him, sucking a bruise into the flesh beneath his jaw, and the saltiness of dried sweat leaves you salivating.
“S-Siffrin,” he pants, “I was, um, I… I should shower first, I’m kinda gross right now, l-let me get cleaned up really quick.”
Isa tries to nudge your head away, but you aren’t letting that happen. He tastes so good, smells so good—from what little you can smell through his clothes anyway—that you can’t pass this up. Quickly, hungrily, you press closer to him and bite down on his throat. He keens, raising a hand to your crown as he threads his fingers through your hair.
Your free hand snakes down between your bodies until it finds the tent in his pants. You press your palm against his groin and are rewarded with a long, deep moan that vibrates your entire body, thunderous and beautiful.
“Sif… Sif… f-fuck that’s good, Change…” he trails off, holding you firmly to his neck.
You can feel your pants straining against your rapidly hardening erection. That is decidedly annoying. The fact that his turtleneck is in your way is more annoying. Something must be done.
Mournfully, you pull away from his throat and angle your mouth toward his ear. “Isa, I want you to carry me to our room, get undressed, and kneel at the foot of the bed,” you purr, giving his crotch an extra firm squeeze, “And when you’re done, we can get star—”
You can’t even finish your sentence before Isa’s broad hands are cupping your ass and circling around your back, clutching you to his chest as he stands and makes a beeline toward the stairs. You cling to him, startled by the abrupt shift in position, and in your shock make a noise not dissimilar to a cat.
He pauses, thinking, and then whispers, “…Did you just say ny—”
“—YES I SAID NYA.”
Quietly, like he’s trying to hold himself back, he snorts out a laugh. You think you hear him whisper “Cute…” beneath his breath, but you pointedly ignore it.
His footsteps are sure as he plods his way up the stairs, like holding you is as easy as breathing. You could think about how sweet he is, how much you love him, what a great boyfriend he is, but you’re looking directly at the pale canvas of his throat and you can’t stop imagining how gorgeous it would look covered in bruises.
You kiss his neck again, this time on the opposite side, and lap up even more salt from his skin. He falters for just a moment, stumbling at the stimulation. “S-Siffrin! I could’ve dropped you!” he scolds.
“Maybe, but you didn’t.”
“I could’ve though!”
You make a noncommittal sound and lick a stripe up his throat, smirking when he staggers. He won’t drop you. You set your mouth to work on whatever skin you can reach, biting and sucking and kissing while he carries you through the hall and into your shared bedroom, whining at each new mark.
He shuts the door behind you and locks it for good measure. Carefully, he lowers you onto the bed, and then he just… stands in front of you, nervously rubbing his wrist.
You tilt your head at him. “Isa?”
“Y-yeah?” he responds, cheeks flushing slightly.
“Do you remember the safeword?”
He nods. “Vaugarde.”
“Good boy. Do you remember what I asked you to do?”
The question hits him and he freezes, suddenly very interested in the floor.
You try to bite down your growing concern. Fortunately, Isa seems too distracted by whatever’s happening in his head to pay much attention to you.
After a moment, he speaks up. “You asked me to… to um. To carry you up here.”
A beat. You smile encouragingly and continue, “And then what?”
He wrings his hands together. “A-and then, you told me to undress,” he mumbles.
“Right. So… why are you just standing there?”
He hides behind his hands, which you realize have been covering an obscene bulge in his pants. There’s a dark spot slowly spreading at the tip that you have to fight to pull your eye away from. “I-it’s just… it’s kinda awkward?”
You snicker. “Isa, I’ve already seen you naked, I don’t see what makes this so different.”
“Because!!” he blurts, arms falling to his sides, “You’re sitting there and you’re so cute and sexy and I want you so badly and you’re asking me to strip for you like it’s nothing!!! S-so… I’m just a little embarrassed. And! You didn’t let me shower! So it’s extra embarrassing!!”
Fuck. “If you’re not enjoying this, just say the word and we’ll stop.”
He lurches forward, desperation bleeding into his voice, “NO! N-no, that’s not it!! I do want to, I-I just. Need a moment.”
(Oh!)
“Oh, okay? Then, uh… take your time,” you say, stumbling a bit from the overwhelming relief washing over you.
Isa closes his eyes and breathes very deliberately. As he does, you watch him get darker and darker, until his eyes finally flutter open. He visibly resolves himself before speaking again: “…I like how it feels.”
“How what feels?”
He blushes darker. “The uh. The humiliation thing. I-it’s kinda hot? Getting told what to do, e-even if it’s embarrassing,” he admits.
…Is that so? Your anxiety drains away, quickly replaced by an overwhelming urge to pounce.
A plan rapidly forms in your mind, and you grin up at him, plotting your next steps. “So, you wanna get bossed around today?” you tease.
He nods so quickly you can almost hear his brain bouncing around in his skull.
“Alright then.” You lick your lips, reveling in the way his breath catches in his chest. “Strip for me, Isa. And don’t look away.”
You see something click behind his eyes and then his hands are undoing the fastenings of his belts. They drop to the floor faster than you can blink, and then the most amazing man you’ve ever met is looking at you like he wants to devour you, or be devoured, as he reaches for the hem of his sweater.
You’ll never get tired of this moment; watching his muscles flex as he moves, seeing his Change scars stretch as he lifts the knit above his head, taking in the landscape of body hair and healed wounds and skin begging to be touched and kissed and bitten bloody.
When he finishes removing it, he throws it to the side without looking, eyes locked onto yours. It’s intimidating. His single minded attention, sharp as a dagger, rests entirely on you—your face, your chest, your crotch. Your dick presses uncomfortably against your briefs, further restricted by the tight weave of your trousers, and you register that you’re sporting a matching bulge to your boyfriend.
Isa’s hands settle on his waistband, fingers gripping the linen, and hesitates. You raise your brows at him in question; he swallows nervously, then drags his pants down to step out of them.
He stands in front of you, nearly naked, as a blush creeps past his cheeks and across his collar. His boxers are soaked where his cock strains against the fabric.
You smile at him warmly, watching the occasional bead of sweat roll down his chest. One runs directly between his pecs, through his chest hair, and you imagine chasing it with your tongue. “Just your underwear now, Isa, and then we can have some fun. Doesn’t that sound nice?”
“Uh… uh-huh,” he stutters, flushing deeper with each passing second.
His thumbs snake under his waistband and he tugs it down his hips, slowly, while he scans your face for a reaction. Each millimeter they’re pulled reveals more of him to you—his happy trail thickens and grows in size until it becomes a bush of coarse hair. Then comes his base, and then his shaft, until finally, his erection springs into the air. It’s thick and drooling, precum dripping from the tip in gossamer threads.
You don’t bother trying to cover up the desire in your gaze. You watch him watching you and smirk when he throbs at your attention. For a brief moment you just sit there, enjoying the view as Isa stands in mortified glory. You can tell he wants to cover up, or ask you to stop looking, but you’re fairly certain he won’t move until you tell him to.
“Isa…” you call. His eyes snap onto yours and you continue, “…can you do something for me?”
At that, he gets very serious. “Anything, Sif.”
You take a breath, then say, “Two things. First, I need you to tell me if you have anything you want me to use or, like, make you wear or something before we start. I should’ve brought that up earlier but I was a little… d-distracted,” you confess.
He pauses to think, before his eyes widen with sudden clarity. “Um…” he trails off, flushing as he moves toward his pack, “…I—w-we don’t have to do anything with them, but, I uh. I have these?”
From a small pocket in the interior of the pack, he pulls… a very fluffy, very adorable pair of crafted dog ears attached to a headband, and a dark leather collar. You don’t remember him working on anything like that in the past, so they have to be commissioned, right? Or did he make them himself before you knew him? If he had them made, when did he even get them? And why are they in his pack and not back in Jouvente? Did he pick them up while you were traveling together??? Or has he been holding on to them since he joined Mira to stop the King??? The questions just keep piling up!
Stars. You have to ask. “…How long have you been carrying th—”
“—A PERFECTLY REASONABLE AMOUNT OF TIME!” he interjects.
At that, you can't contain the cackle that rips its way out of you; you laugh so hard you fall backward onto the bed, tears gathering in the corner of your eye.
Isa pouts at you, “W-what’s so funny?”
“Sorry, sorry, I just—you got so defensive??? And it caught me off guard, I guess,” you chuckle. He looks a little put out, but now that you’ve calmed down a bit, you find yourself increasingly curious about them. “So… are they just there to be cute?”
He shrugs, cheeks still dark with embarrassment, or arousal, or both. “Kinda? B-but they’re mostly like… roleplay accessories?”
(Roleplaying what, exactly?)
You consider his gear for a moment before coming to the realization that you don’t really know what he wants right now. “C-cool! I mean… I-I wouldn’t be against including them, but I just… could you explain a little bit?” You’d lament breaking character, but understanding what he wants is infinitely more important to you.
“Oh!” he exclaims, “Y-yeah, sure!” With newfound enthusiasm, Isa pads over to where you sit at the end of the bed and holds the headband and collar out toward you.
You take them gently, marveling at the intricate details of the ears—the fur is plush and feathery, dyed to be the exact same shade as Isa’s hair. The tips of the ears flop over themselves, but when lifted, reveal a soft, pale interior dotted with small spots that remind you of his freckles. Whoever made these was a master at their craft. The collar is similarly well done, shiny leather with a shinier buckle, clearly large enough to fit around Isabeau’s muscled neck.
When you turn to face him, he’s smiling sheepishly, waiting for you to finish examining his things. “You like ‘em?” he asks.
You try to think of something eloquent to say, something to capture how you feel, but all your fancy words are escaping you so you just give him an awed nod and hope he gets it.
He beams at you and you’re reminded how lucky you are to know him. “R-right! Well—I’ve never done it before, but I’ve always wanted to, um, t-to try petplay? If you know what that is?”
Scanning your memory provides you a grand total of… zero results!
“Nope,” a smirk creeps across your lips, “but I think you can teach this old dog some new tricks~!”
He sighs, “…Sif, that wasn’t even a pun.” You can tell he’s holding back some giggles, though, so you’ll count it as a win. “Anyway, the most common dynamic is where one person roleplays as a pet, and another person roleplays as their owner. A-and I’ve mostly heard about it in, um—” he gestures at himself wildly, “—in this kind of setting, but it can be nonsexual too? Or even twenty-four seven, s-sometimes. Just… depends on what the people involved want.”
Oh! That’s… close to what you were expecting, you suppose, but he still hasn’t told you the specifics of what he’s angling for here. “So… what do you wanna do, Isa?”
There’s a yearning in his gaze that you recognize all too well, an anxiety that only manifests when he knows exactly what he wants but can’t bring himself to ask. A dead man’s hand hovers above your shoulder while a ghost’s laugh echoes in your ear.
“Isabeau,” you channel as much authority into your voice as you can, “I need you to tell me what you want.”
The glint of something dripping to the floor catches your eye, and you watch precum steadily dribble from the head of his cock. His erection swells with your attention as another drop of pre falls to the ground.
He whimpers, “I wanna be your dog. Please.”
Your grip on the gear tightens as the meager air of confidence you managed to summon falls away. Your dick aches at the desperation in his voice, but what he’s asking for is something you don’t know you can provide. ‘I want to be your dog’ also means, ‘I want you to own me,’ and you’ve already stolen his freedom once.
You imagine a bird cage, a jail cell, a dog tag, and you feel your arousal soaking through the front of your briefs. You bite back a wave of revulsion and lay the ears and collar at your side with more force than they deserve.
“I-Isa, I’m… are you sure? I just… I don’t want to manipulate you again, or—or take advantage of you, and I know it was different in the loops b-but I can’t—”
Isa grows more concerned the longer you speak, until eventually he kneels in front of you and takes your hands in his. “—Hey, listen to me.” He waits for you to respond, but when you try to speak your throat feels too thick and the words won’t come, so you just nod at him shakily. “I’m sure. I didn’t know how to bring it up, but I, uh. I-I’ve wanted to say that since we started dating.”
“…Really?”
You’re looking down at him and he’s looking up at you. You’re a heartbeat away from his lips, and your thoughts are lancing through your head like spears of rain, and his hands are so, so warm.
“Really.”
(If you own him, he can’t leave.)
(If you own him, you can make him stay with you forever.)
He doesn’t realize what he’s asking for. You have to tell him. “You don’t want me to own you.”
A soft smile plays across his face, and you count the subtle, near invisible freckles that dust his skin. Your pulse races as he murmurs, “But I do.”
“You don’t know what I’ll take from you. You already give me so much and I still want more,” you rasp, staring into eyes just as hazy as your own. He doesn’t flinch away like you might’ve, only lists closer, magnetized. “I want you by my side, every day, f-for the rest of our lives. I want to keep you locked up somewhere only I know about, where only I can find you. I… I still dream about eating you.”
“Siffrin,” he whispers against your mouth.
You can feel the heat radiating from his skin. “S-so I’m scared to agree. Because I—I don’t think I’ll be able to let go when the scene ends.”
“Then…” his voice rumbles low in his chest, so close he’s breathing your air, “don’t.”
By the time his lips press against yours, he’s already wrapping a hand around your waist. He pulls you flush to his body, using his free hand to anchor him against the bed, and kisses you, and kisses you, and kisses you. In an instant, you’re entirely enveloped in Isabeau; his warmth, his scent, his arms, his mouth. You hold tight to his neck and cup his cheek, opening your legs to let him crawl between your thighs and drag you even closer.
You don’t breathe until you’re practically drowning in him. You never actually tried to drown yourself, but you doubt it’d feel anywhere near as good as this.
When you finally come up for air, your breathing comes ragged and heavy. Isa doesn’t fare much better, but that doesn’t seem to matter to him; he kisses the corner of your jaw and down your neck, sinking his teeth into the tender flesh of your throat, staking his claim while you writhe under his touch.
“I-Isa, that’s… staaars,” you moan, combing your fingers through his hair again. You tug at his crown and he groans low and filthy, biting down even harder at the pressure. He shifts to get a better angle, rubbing his chest against your crotch in the process, and the friction sends sparks flying behind your eye.
Originally, you were planning to let him fuck your thighs until he came on your stomach—which still sounds extremely appealing—but… if you’re already experimenting, you should commit to this new role. Test the waters a little, see how far he’ll let you go.
You pull him away from your neck and he whines, fighting against your hold, desperately trying to grind your bodies together. You tighten your grip on his hair and try to collect yourself enough to speak again.
“Isabeau,” you pant, “you need to wait.”
He squirms. “I don’ wanna, I w-wanna kiss you, make you feel good, please please please pleaseplease—”
(Cute… w-wait—get back into character!)
You interrupt him with a rough tug that leaves him keening at your side. “Isa, I’m going to put these on you. And when I do, I’m gonna treat you like the dog you are. You’re going to be mine, forever. So… bark if you want me to own you, puppy.”
He stops struggling. The more you speak, the more he blushes, his skin darkening with humiliation or arousal or both. He barks softly, “R-ruff…”
Not good enough. “Louder.”
“RUFF!” he yelps, eyes squeezed shut, his skin shiny with sweat.
You ease up on the pressure and pet his head, purring, “Such a good boy. Lean down for me.”
He cranes his neck toward the ground and you take the opportunity to slide the headband on, burying its thin body in his hair. You buckle the collar around his throat, testing its tightness with two fingers between it and the skin. After you finish, you grab his chin, gently tipping his face up to look at you.
It’s times like these that make you thankful you still have your sight.
Isabeau is flushed from the tips of his ears down to his shoulders. His eyes are half-lidded and dark, pupils blown, staring back with pure lust. He’s drooling, lips parted as though he doesn’t realize they’re open. The ears are a perfect match to his hair, so perfect that they almost look real—a part of you expects them to perk up when he hears a noise.
You tease his bottom lip with your thumb, smirking at the way his tongue darts out to lick it, and press it into his mouth. “Suck it for me, puppy.”
He moans, swirling his tongue around it, hollowing out his cheeks like he’s trying to make you cum.
Stars. That. Wasn’t what you expected. You thought he’d get flustered, maybe, lick it a little bit before you made him try harder—the way he’s working your thumb right now, though… Universe guide you. Your cock throbs at the thought of his head between your thighs and—
—the thought of what?
…You’re reminded of the first time you went down on him. He walked you through it sweetly, step by step, telling you exactly what he wanted you to do to him. You couldn’t help but wonder how he knew what would feel good… was he just guessing? Or had someone already taught him the lines?
You asked him what it felt like and he said he would show you, if you wanted him to. You didn’t. You thought you never would.
But here you are, looking at his pretty little mouth and wishing it was wrapped around your dick. Ignoring the fact that even now, the thought of exposing yourself to him makes you nauseous. You want it. You want it so badly that you feel your underwear growing slick where you’re pressed into the fabric.
You shove deeper into his mouth.
(Maybe there’s a compromise.)
You hold his tongue down with the pad of your thumb.
(Maybe you can see what it’s like.)
He gags, tongue spasming, eyes watering, before he pulls himself together. He doesn’t look away the entire time. Your cheeks burn.
“G-good boy,” you stammer, all assertiveness lost to the inferno raging inside of your body.
Isa groans at the praise, vibrating your hand. You pull it away and your thumb slips out of his mouth with a wet pop. He whines, but your other hand sweeps across his forehead and scratches his scalp lovingly, pulling a contented rumble from his chest. If you were capable of complex thought right now, it might astonish you just how quickly he took to being your dog.
(If you don’t try this now, you might never have the guts to do it again.)
You take a breath to steel yourself. “Isa, d-do you want a treat?”
His eyes light up at the word treat, and you picture his ears perking up in tandem—until his ears actually do perk up, that is.
At first you think you’re just seeing things—they were probably always angled like that!—until you notice small, dimly glowing craft engravings along the sides of the headband. You don’t know how to read it all, but it seems like the ears are crafted to respond to their wearer’s emotions.
(…How much did he spend on these???)
Your train of thought derails entirely as he paws at your thigh with a lightly closed fist. You scratch his chin in apology, murmuring, “S-sorry, puppy, I got distracted by your cute little ears!”
Isa blushes at the praise, whining in pleasure as he leans into the scratches, unconsciously pushing against your hand. You start to draw back but he doggedly chases your touch.
“If you want it, I need you to sit for me,” you command. After a moment of hesitation, he pulls away with a whimper and sits cross legged in front of you.
From this angle, you can see everything: the sweat dripping down his chest, the roll of his belly, and his throbbing cock, leaking precum like a tree bleeding sap. He always performs well for you, but this is the hardest you’ve seen him in a while.
“Stay. Watch.”
Your hands move to the buttons of your pants and you can see his mind racing at the view. His eyes are locked onto your fingers, ears raised; he’s drooling again, either not realizing or not caring as spit dribbles down the side of his mouth, slowly collecting at his chin and falling in thick drops.
That… shouldn’t be as hot as it is to you. You fumble with the buttons for a second and you can tell he wants to rip them open himself, but he manages to restrain himself as you finally undo the closure. He swallows noisily and you have to remind yourself to breathe.
You pull at the waistband, dragging your pants past your bulge and over your ass, before tugging them off and tossing them toward Isa’s clothes.
He’s dark with want at your feet. Sitting pretty, ever so quiet, watching you as patiently as he can while saliva mixes with slick on the floor beneath him.
The tent in your briefs jerks with your hammering pulse and hesitantly, you push it down, toward your dog’s open mouth. “Tell me what you want, puppy.”
Rocking forward, he barks eagerly, “ARF! Woof woof!!”
You can’t stop yourself from chuckling, but you quickly compose yourself. “Uh-uh,” you tut, “with your words. A good dog knows how to speak.”
He whines in the back of his throat, staring up at you with the saddest, most miserable expression you’ve ever seen. Utterly betrayed. He takes a breath, then another, and concentrates; his jaw moves silently, lips shaped for sounds that he doesn’t want to make, eyes squeezed tight in focus.
“W-wan’… lick? Uh—um… wan’… t-taste? Please?” he begs. The words are slurred, tumbling out in stuttered, segmented chunks.
You smile at him fondly and reach forward to scratch the base of his ears—that’s what you do with dogs, after all. “Aww, who’s a smart boy? You are!!!”
He barks happily, and lightning surges through you at the sound.
Your face warms as you visualize what happens next. Falling backward onto your elbows, you sheepishly spread your legs and watch his eyes fall to your crotch. You grab your cock, biting your lip to avoid making an embarrassingly lewd noise. “I-Isa,” you call, “come get your treat.”
It takes him a moment to move, like he isn’t sure if he’s actually allowed. You nod at him encouragingly and whatever restraint he was clinging to instantly crumbles.
He practically leaps toward you. It’s almost frightening how quickly he descends, but you watch with equal parts excitement and apprehension as he all but shoves his face into your groin. You gasp at the abrupt pressure, then at his breathing—it comes in heavy huffs, like he’s trying to memorize your scent, permanently etching this moment into his memory. His hands grip your thighs harshly, possessively.
“Hhng—t-there’s a good puppy! A-and if…” you trail off into a long, wanton moan as he licks from your balls to your head. Seems like the underwear isn’t going to stop him.
The feeling is overwhelming. His hot breath, his wet, hungry mouth, his tongue through your briefs… it’s electric, euphoric, rapturous. You don’t know if he can get you off, but it wouldn’t hurt to try—it’s not like you have anything to compare it to anyway. “…If you can make me cum, I’ll give you a r-reward—”
Like you’ve held a dagger to his throat, he redoubles his efforts. He laps at your balls through the fabric, humming in satisfaction as he fits his mouth around them, lavishing them with his tongue. You can’t help but push his head further into you as you keen at the sensation.
Isa groans against your bulge and the vibrations turn your brain into jelly. There’s a sudden static inside your skull that makes it hard to think about anything other than the way he’s using his mouth and the sticky heat slowly building inside of you.
Although… there’s something that you can’t stop thinking about. He’s been rock hard for ages and you haven’t done a thing about it. You might be his owner now, but that doesn’t mean you get to neglect him! The least you can do is…
Gently, you slide your foot forward, pressing your shin against his cock. “Here,” you pant, “you can… y-you can hump my leg. If you cum before I do, you’re… you won’t get your reward. Squeeze me i-if you understand.”
He whines pathetically around the growing wet spot at the tip of your bulge, licking you as he gratefully squishes the fat of your thighs and pulls his knees together. Your leg was already slick from touching him, but as he starts to thrust, he soaks your leg hair with his arousal.
Your head spins as you listen to it all: your moans, his whining, the quiet sucking he makes as he drools over your bulge, and the wet, lewd noises of his dick sliding against you, balls slapping your leg with each surge of his hips.
There’s a corner of your mind that understands how perverted this is. Treating your boyfriend like a dog, telling him to fuck your leg while he licks you, tries to get you off, breathes you in like fresh air.
(You’re sick for this. Using him like a toy. Like he isn’t even a person.)
(If anybody deserves to be treated this way, it’s you.)
You look at him and wonder how he feels right now. How it feels to have your brain turned off, only capable of following commands and barking and humping.
(…)
(Stars… are you jealous?)
You can unpack that later—for now, you need more stimulation. Isa’s trying his best, but it’s just. Not. Enough.
Threading your fingers through his hair, careful not to yank his ears, you grab his head and start to grind against his face. “F-fuck, Isa, I—s-stars, you’re suuuch a good boy… feels so good,” you groan, dragging your cock across his lips over, and over, and over.
He whimpers loudly, cheeks flushed dark as dusk, and squeezes his eyes shut. His hips jerk to a shuddering stop and you look down just to see his dick twitch pitifully, gushing precum across your leg. Tears well up at the corners of his eyes as he denies his own orgasm. You can feel yourself rapidly approaching one of your own.
Normally it takes way longer for you to cum, but you’re so turned on you can hardly think straight—you’ve only climaxed in a scene with Isa once before, and you still don’t know exactly what made that happen. You weren’t even being touched, or touching yourself, the only thing different about it was that… um. Was that he hadn’t showered beforehand.
(…Stars.)
(That can’t be it. Really? That’s what got you off??? He didn’t even smell that strong!)
(You didn’t do anything crazy either, you just sucked him off and—well, now that you’re thinking about it, that would be where he smelled strongest.)
(Especially when you’re as hairy as Isa is. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy it, especially when it keeps him so warm and gives you something to run your fingers through and traps his musk and—)
(—Concentrate, perv.)
You’re snapped from your internal monologue as he fits most of your bulge in his mouth. The heat is so much more intense now, completely enveloping you in warmth as he licks the pre leaking from your tip.
“Good boy, j-just like—fuuck—like that… you’re doing soooo good pup… puppy,” you babble, tugging his hair even harder, “you’re s-such a smart boy, so sweet, s-so handsome, stars, I lo—”
His thrusting picks up speed as you talk, getting rougher and more erratic with every word; as soon as you start to say the word love, he sobs around your dick, tears streaming down his cheeks, and harshly grips the base of his flushed cock. He shakes violently as more slick spills onto you, thicker, more opaque this time.
He’s edged himself for a second time—maybe closer to a ruined orgasm (which would technically break your rule, but you’re feeling generous today)—and the sight of his mess on your leg makes your head feel like it’s made of cotton.
You’re so close. You’re so close. Just a little bit more, more wet, more heat, more tongue, more—
He licks a searing line along the underside of your dick that makes your skin buzz and your heart race as your blood bubbles and boils until—
“—I-Isa, Isa, Isa Isa Isa IsaIsaIsaIsaIsa—”
You cum, choking on his name. His mouth is sunlight and you are flash paper igniting under his touch. You yank his hair, grind against his grateful lips, sing his praises in a language you can’t remember the name of and for a brief, beautiful moment, you are alive.
Isa laps at you through your orgasm, whimpering in excitement and delight as your load bleeds through the fabric and onto his tongue. He swallows as much of you as he can, wrapping his mouth around your tip, and the stimulation drags out your climax far past where it should’ve ended; you watch him milk you dry and feel your cheeks warm at how happily he debases himself.
And in a matter of moments it’s all too much. You gently nudge his head away as you gasp, “Stop stop stop stop stop—s-sensitive!”
He whines as you push him off, but thankfully doesn’t resist.
That was the first time you’ve ever let him get you off before. You’re pretty sure it was the first time anyone’s done that before. Coming down from the high of it all, you feel simultaneously incredible and… not uncomfortable, necessarily, maybe just… weird? But not not uncomfortable either. It wasn’t bad though, not by a long shot!
…So why do you suddenly feel so odd? Why are you suddenly so conflicted? And why didn’t you feel like this while it was happening? What are you even conflicted about? Was it about letting Isa go down on you? Was it about enjoying Isa going down on you? Is this just how your brain works when he touches you? Are you broken? Are you—
—The more you think about it, the more you feel like you’re going to scream, so you should probably just… focus on the nice part. You lean down and kiss his temple to distract yourself from the conflicting thoughts swirling in your head. “T-that was amazing, puppy, you did so good.”
His eyes sparkle at the praise and in a blink he’s tackling you into a (very sweaty) hug, pushing the two of you up the bed, before nuzzling his face into your neck and squeezing you roughly. It’s a firmer embrace than he usually allows himself, and it soothes something unruly buried deep in your chest.
Regardless of how you feel about what just happened, you like this part. Your mind doesn’t wander as much when you’re squished against him, like his arms are holding you inside of yourself, tethering you to your body. It’s soft. Warm. Makes you feel real. He picks his head up and barks, licking your cheek enthusiastically, and the sheer absurdity of it makes you giggle.
He climbs further onto the bed, dragging you with him, before he gingerly rests your head against the pillows. The minute he lays you down though, you feel the air get knocked from your lungs as he drops onto you. You wheeze in protest, but when you finally catch your breath, you’re able to appreciate your new position. Isa’s body completely covers your own. Like the heaviest blanket you’ve ever used, he envelops you, tucking you against his collar. You could probably fall asleep like this.
Or you could if you didn’t feel his cock throbbing next to yours, anyway. You’re lucky your briefs are already ruined, because he smears precum across the surface as he rocks his hips softly; you can hear him panting above you, smell the wet earth and sweat perfuming his skin, feel his erection pinned against your thigh as he thoughtlessly grinds into you.
(Stars. You like when he uses you like this.)
(But you had a deal.)
“Isa,” you breathe, reaching up to grab his bicep, “do you want your reward?”
He immediately comes to a stop as he registers your question. In an instant, he pushes himself to a seat in your lap, looking down at you with his ears raised high in delight. “Ruff! Arf arf!!!”
You snicker behind your hand because stars that’s adorable! In a… weird, kinky way. He pouts as you tease, “Come on, you know what I’m asking for, puppy.”
He squeezes his fists at his sides and grumbles beneath his breath, clearly trying to focus.
“What was that?”
“R-reward?” he stammers, ears drooping pathetically. “Want… reward. B-been good?”
A part of you feels bad for forcing him to speak like this, but it’s so cute!!! The way he slurs his words, desperate to follow your directions despite how hard it is to speak… his need to listen, to obey, to be good… can you really blame yourself? And when he’s speaking Vaugardian, you can actually understand him.
You rub his hips tenderly and sigh, “You have been good, and dogs should be rewarded when they’re good, right?”
He nods so hard you can feel the bed shake.
“That’s right! And remember—” you hold him more firmly to pull his attention, “no humping, alright Isa?”
He shuffles forward until his glistening cock dangles directly above your face; if he heard your warning, he certainly doesn’t seem all that concerned about it.
Isa’s blushed down to his chest as he watches you with bleary, lustdrunk eyes, clearly trying to restrain himself from moving before he’s allowed. This close, you can smell him so much more intensely. It’s not just earth and sweat, it’s richer, headier, scenting the air with his longing. Your mouth waters and you let it fall open.
He whimpers as he slowly pushes past your lips, sliding into you inch by inch. Your jaw is forced wider with every second; you’d almost forgotten how nice it felt to have your mouth filled like this, and your heart races as you feel him enter your throat, flooding your tongue with the salty taste of his precum.
You moan around his dick when he bottoms out. It’s not even intentional, it’s just… one moment you’re focusing on breathing and the next you’re flush to his pubes, greedily inhaling his musk. Isa doesn’t fare much better. He groans loudly and grips your hair with a force that pulls more wanton noises out of you.
The sensation of being full colliding with the scent of your boyfriend’s sweat throws any chance of coherent thought out of the window. He’s so warm, and his hands are so big, and his balls are so heavy against your chin, and you think that this might be the closest thing to paradise you’ve ever experienced. For lack of anything else to do, you grab his ass with one hand and relentlessly tease your nipple with the other. What few gasps of air you’re able to take are so thick with Isabeau that it’s all worth it.
You’ve suffocated before. Right now, you’re tempted to let it happen again.
Isa shifts, moving your hair out of the way as he plants his foot next to your head. He’s getting comfortable. Changing positions, finding ways to bury himself even deeper inside of you. He moves his other foot so that he’s effectively squatting above your face, and you realize that his hands have migrated to cup the back of your head. With a low, contented rumble, he sinks even deeper, his slick trickling down your throat the entire time.
If you were having trouble thinking before, your mind is so scattered right now that you can only crush your legs together as he savors the wet heat of your jaws. You’re completely surrounded by him. He boxes you in with his legs and holds you tight to his crotch and lets his weight compress your skull into the pillows. You couldn’t move if you tried—or, technically you could, but why would you? Laying here while Isabeau tries to fit as much of himself as he physically can in your mouth is so much more fun than… anything else you can think of, honestly.
Like a taut rope going slack, he relaxes above you, his belly laying softly on your forehead. There’s not much you can see at this point besides pale skin and coarse body hair, so you shut your eye and focus on your other senses.
He’s panting loudly, broken barks of pleasure criss-crossed with moans and what sounds like your name. You breathe hard yourself; or try to, anyway. Every stray breath stolen from the air fills your nose with his musk, which seems to be growing impossibly more potent as the seconds tick by. His cock in your throat throbs with his racing heartbeat, and each pulse has you swallowing another spurt of warm pre.
“Siiiif… w-woof,” he whines, a half-hearted bark escaping him as he tentatively lifts himself off of your face, just by a hair. And then, he lets himself drop back onto your head, letting out a long sigh as he pushes against the back of your throat. It’d seem that your warning didn’t stick in his little doggy brain after all.
Normally, when Isabeau gets carried away—which has only happened a couple times—you can tap his leg and reel him in. Something gives you the sense that your dog isn’t going to be so easy to control.
If you’re being honest with yourself, though, the thought of him just… taking what he wants? Using you without worrying about your comfort? It’s intoxicating.
And he’s only a puppy, after all. Puppies misbehave!
…You can let him off just this once, right?
When you moan around his length instead of tapping, or pinching, or doing literally anything to tell him to stop, he picks his hips up and plunges into your mouth again. You can feel yourself on the verge of gagging, but you manage to tamp down the reflex before he thrusts into your face again.
His dick slides between your lips, pulsing steadily. “Ah—S-Sif, bah… bark!” he keens. You feel a sudden rush of precum coat the back of your tongue and then his movements pick up speed—what was a slow, unsteady pace is suddenly made brutal and merciless, your dog bouncing on the balls of his feet as he pulls his cock nearly entirely out of your mouth before slamming it as deep as it can go.
You choke, gagging on spit and slick and girth while Isa humps your head like a fleshlight, milking himself with your willing throat.
It’s almost too much. His balls slap your chin harshly, and distantly, selfishly, you hope that he never stops.
Time slows, and you become lost in his heat. There’s a world outside this room, you know that, but it could fall into the void for all it matters to you. Right now, it’s just you and Isa. Isa and you. Bodies crushing bodies into the shape of devotion.
His breakneck thrusting grows unsteady. Isabeau’s thighs clamp around your temples like a vice, and though sound is muffled by his muscled quads, he whines loud enough to make you dizzy with desire.
In a blink, he slams his crotch against your face with a force that hurts, and then you’re desperately swallowing the cum coursing down your throat just to avoid choking on the sheer quantity of it. You can’t swallow it all though; pearl spills from your lips with each throb of his dick, and it’s so mercifully depraved it has you seeing stars. Or maybe that’s the oxygen deprivation, who can say?
You lie beneath him, breathless. Mouth full. Mind empty. Reduced to a cocksleeve, a cum dump, a hole. You’ve never been more turned on than right now, with Isabeau still jerkily humping his way through his orgasm, howling like a broken thing.
After an amount of time that could’ve been a couple seconds, or a couple minutes, or an hour, he unsheathes himself from your throat. His cock slips out from between your lips with a slick, lewd noise, and then you’re staring up at him with drool or cum or both running down your chin.
“S-Sif?” he calls. He looks concerned, even as his eyes dilate with fading want.
You make a noise of acknowledgement. If you tried to speak, you’d probably just make a fool of yourself.
Indulgently, Isabeau leans down and licks a line up your neck, catching the drool/cum, until his mouth is on yours. It’s a quick kiss, sloppy and unsure, but it speaks to a presence of mind you weren’t expecting from him.
“G—” you sputter, coughing. “G-good boy. You back?”
He nods, face flushed. “‘M sorry, I—I didn’t mean to be so rough… you okay?”
You reach up and squeeze his bicep reassuringly, “Yeah! I, uh—I had fun. A-a lot of fun.”
“Oh!” he exclaims, “I… I’m glad!”
For a moment, you’re both quiet. Unsure of where to go next, of how to continue past the sudden awkwardness conjured by Isabeau’s patented worry, amplified by your impressively clumsy response. But then he lays down, tucking his head against your neck.
You’re enveloped in warmth again. Awkward as it may be, you don’t mind it. Not when you’re surrounded by a man you’ve come to love in a way you never thought you’d have the chance to.
He murmurs against your jaw, “Hey, Sif?”
“Yeah?”
“We’re kinda gross.”
You smirk. “That’s a gross understatement.”
“Sif!” he giggles, “Y-you can’t just—that isn’t fair! I wasn’t prepared!!!”
“Sucks to suck, puppy!”
You feel him drag in a breath at the pet name. He pauses and you can hear the gears turning in his head, contemplating something. “Do you… w-wanna take a bath?”
“A bath would be nice,” you admit. “You can go first though, I can wait.”
“…I—I meant—and you don’t have to, obviously, but—i-if you wanted to, I-I’d like to—um. D-do you wanna take a bath with me?”
Oh!
Oh!
Well. Yeah, you do. But you don’t want him to see you naked, so that’s a problem… could you ask him to just look away? It feels a little hypocritical when you’ve seen pretty much all of him, but he hates when you make yourself uncomfortable, and you’re not exactly ready to be so exposed. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want this, though. Where do you go from here?
“I-I know you’re not comfortable with being naked in front of me, though, s-so I get it if you don’t want to!”
You turn to face him and bite back a smile when you see his ears flatten to his head, still responding to his emotions. “Isa?”
He tilts his head. “Y-yeah?”
“I-I’d like that. I think.”
Isabeau beams at you. It’s a radiant thing, blinding, and it melts your trepidation into something more manageable.
You slip his ears off, unbuckle his collar, and step into the bathroom.
⟡
The two of you settle on a plan. Isabeau gets in first, covers his eyes while you drag off your ruined briefs, and then you slide in with your back to his stomach.
It’s hot—almost unbearably so. His arms wrap around your front to pull you close, resting his chin on your head, and then you’re basking in the blissful heat of the water and Isabeau’s furnace of a body.
At first, you can’t help but feel self-conscious. Are your bits floating in the water? Can he feel anything? Does he mind the way you’re smushed against his crotch? Is he okay with this? Does he think it’s weird how skinny you are? You’ve been putting on weight over the past few months, but is it enough weight? What even is enough weight? Seriously, can he feel your junk because you swear it’s floating in a way that he might be able to feel and stars that’d be weird and—
“—Sif, buddy, just relax,” he rumbles.
Okay. You can do that.
You focus on his breathing, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, and let it soothe your racing thoughts.
“I love you, Isa.”
He hums a soft melody as he scrubs your back, and the wind blows lazily through the pines. Somewhere downstairs, a door opens to the sound of Bonnie’s too-loud inside-voice, Pétronille’s booming laughter, Mira’s giggles, and Odile’s musings.
Isabeau presses a kiss to your crown. “I love you too, Sif.”