Edit: LMAO, I just realized while rereading the story for chapter 2 that I kept naming Tori Lori. I am so sorry! I updated the doc. Chapter 2 should be out tomorrow or the day after.
Hello all! Hope you're having a good day. Here is the futa on male story of the month.
Enjoy!
PREVIEW:
Lori looks down at him, the top of his head just below her chin. The colored lights play over his face, highlighting the defiance in his big brown eyes. “Having fun, Jasper?” She asks, her voice a low rumble.
The boy lifts his eyes to meet the V.P's without pausing his fun. "Yeah, until now. Ya gonna kick me out or something?" He shoots, his words laced with a mix of challenge and sarcasm.
Tori snorts, her hand coming up, hooking a finger under the band of his choker, giving it a slight, insistent tug that pulls him a half-step closer. The smell of his sweat, cheap beer, and his cologne hits her, a combination that’s annoyingly appealing. “Celebration’s over for you. You’re coming with me.” It’s not a question. Her other hand goes to the back of her neck, rubbing at the tension there, her gaze never leaving his. “Unless you’d rather I drag you out of here by that pretty hair. Your sister might not appreciate the scene, but I doubt she’d stop me.” She lets go of his choker, her thumb brushing against the rapid pulse in his throat before she drops her hand. “What’s it gonna be?”
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The boy watches with a grin as Lori shrugs out of her cut, letting it drop to the floor with a weighty thump of leather and metal patches. Then, she peels off her jacket. The cropped top follows, tossed aside to reveal the full expanse of her tattoos in the low light; The fierce lion's head dominating her chest, grabbing the boy's attention more that her tits, the dragon coiling around her chiseled abs and lower torso, the intricate tribal patterns snaking over her shoulders and down her arms. Her skin is slick with a fine sheen of sweat from the raid and the heat of the clubhouse. She stands before him, just in her leather pants, and lets him look. “See something you want, brat?” Her voice is a low taunt as she steps past him toward the bed, sitting on the edge. She leans back on her palms, the muscles in her abdomen tightening, her legs spread. Her cock is a hard, obvious line straining against the zipper of her pants. She nods toward the space between her spread knees. “Get over here. On your knees. Let's see if that mouth is worth the earful I'm gonna get tomorrow.” The command leaves no room for debate.
Amusement flickers across Jasper’s face, a defiant spark that seems to live permanently in his eyes. "When you ask so nicely..." He teases sarcastically. He pads toward her, making sure sway his hips and give his audience a performance that will tease, and provoke. The leather of his pants strains with each movement, and the low light catches the sheen of sweat still clinging to his throat. He stops between Tori's spread thighs, and then he sinks down, a slow descent that makes every muscle in the V.P's abdomen coil tight with anticipation. His hands glide up from her knees, the touch feather-light at first, then firmer as they feel the hard muscles of her thighs through the worn leather.
The sensation is electric to Tori, a direct line to the throbbing ache trapped behind her zipper. The brat's palms settles over her crotch, applying a subtle, curious pressure, causing a low, rough sound escape her. “Not bad.” He says, his voice a husky murmur that vibrates through the tense air. His big brown eyes fixed on the prominent bulge, a mix of assessment and hunger in their depths. “How much are you packing?”
A dry, humorless chuckle rumbles in Lori’s chest. “Enough to keep you coming back for more, even when your legs are shaking too hard to stand~” She retorts, her voice gravelly with promise. The crude boast hangs between them, a challenge and a truth. She watches his lips twitch into a smirk before he lets out a soft, genuine chuckle.
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PLAPPLAPPLAPPLAP~ The wet, slapping sounds of their skin meeting, of her balls hitting his cheeks, are obscenely loud in the room, a filthy soundtrack to his broken moans. "Fucking faggot!" She rains a stream of crude, heated insults down on him, her mouth against his ear, her breath hot and ragged. “Look at you, bouncing on my dick like a cheap whore. Your sister’s precious little brother, reduced to a greedy, cock-hungry slut. You love this, don’t you? Love being used, being filled, being fucked stupid by a real Crow. You’re nothing but a tight, wet hole for me to breed, a set of jiggling cheeks to mark up and claim.” Her words are designed to degrade and arouse in equal measure, to shatter any last pretense of pride. She can feel his dicklet, trapped and hard between their sweat-slick stomachs, leaking a fresh stream of pre-cum that smears between them.
The angle is brutal, perfect. With every deep, driving plunge, the head of her cock rams directly into his prostate, that sweet, swollen bundle of nerves still screamingly sensitive from his last orgasm. Jasper's cries escalate, turning into high, desperate whines that are barely human. His nails score down her back, drawing stinging lines of fire, but she barely feels it over the overwhelming pleasure of his body milking her shaft. His inner walls are fluttering wildly, a frantic, rhythmic clenching that tells her he’s already hurtling toward the edge again, his overstimulated body unable to resist the assault.