๐๐ก๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ซ ~ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐
Satoruโs always been a glutton.
Heโs told you this beforeโlaughing, smug, always grinning like he already owns you.
“Iโve got a bit of a sweet tooth,” he had mused, tilting his head, watching the way you glared at him from across the room. “And you? Youโre lookinโ like my new favorite dessert.”
You shouldโve known then.
Now, youโre spread open across the kitchen counter, slick dripping onto cold marble, thighs shaking violently in his gripโand itโs clear he wasnโt kidding.
Gojo Satoru is devouring you.
Mouth hot, wet, hungry as he buries his face between your legs, lapping up every humiliating drop of slick heโs forced out of you. His tongue drags slow and deep, teasing, taunting, licking into you like heโs tasting something expensive.
Like youโre meant to be eaten.
“Nnhโ! N-no, Iโ!”
Your voice breaks when he sucks hard on your swollen, overstimulated clit, teeth scraping ever so slightlyโa threat, a warning.
A promise that if you tried to close your legs again, heโd bite.
“Donโt be greedy,” he hums against you, voice muffled, drenched in amusement. “Lemme enjoy my meal, sweetheart.”
The embarrassment is excruciating.
Not just the way heโs holding you down, forcing your body to betray you, but the way heโs playing with his food.
“God, youโre makinโ a mess,” he tsks, pulling back just slightly, watching the way your cunt clenches around nothing, throbbing in desperate, humiliating need. His fingers smear your slick across your inner thighs, as if examining his work.
Like a chef admiring his dish.
You try to twist away, but he only presses down harder, pushing you further against the cold countertop, his grip bruising.
A flicker of annoyance crosses his expression.
“Why do you keep trying to run?” His voice is still light, teasing, but thereโs something darker beneath it.
Something like hunger.
“You taste so good, baby.” His fingers dig deeper into your skin, and his grin stretches wider, borderline manic. “Soโfuckingโsweet.“
And then, with no warningโ
He spits on your cunt.
The sound is filthy. The way the wetness mixes with your own, drips down between your thighsโ
You sob.
And he groans.
“God, that was hot,” he exhales, watching the way your slick glistens under the kitchen lights.
Thenโhe leans back in.
He eats you out like a man possessed.
Like heโs starving.
Like he wonโt stop until you break apart in his mouth, again and again and againโ
Until heโs had his fill.
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