G(F)inger

BY : Michaelis Kristiansen
Category: Manga G to L > JoJo's Bizarre Adventure (JoJo no Kimy? na B?ken) > JoJo's Bizarre Adventure (JoJo no Kimy? na B?ken)
Dragon prints: 1790
Disclaimer: I do not own JoJo's Bizarre Adventure, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

It was simply one finger, but it was his finger, pushing it up into me, working it through the curves of my bowels, determined to place that rogue item entirely too deep for comfort. That was my Lord; that was simply the sadism of my Lord Dio, but I’d long given myself up and over to him, unable to see any flaws in his actions or his being. He’d teased me moments before by making me sit there, nude and silent, not allowed to say a single word as he’d whittled away at a fresh root of ginger, the anticipation of what was going to happen killing me; now that very same bit of ginger was inside of me, his finger being sure that it was placed in deep.

My thick legs quaked as his other hand worked around my body, tugging at my prick as it stood there hard and largely ignore, my hands focused on pressing on the wall. I twisted around to where I could look down at him, and there he was, my glorious, perfect being. There was he, Lord Dio.

His plush pink lips pressed to each other as he concentrated, wriggling that clawed finger back and forth inside of me, and my eyes watered with each and every movement that it made. My ring burned that particular, special way it would under this treatment, but I just smiled down at him, feeling no malice. His pale skin, so light as to be transparent, stood out so much against my own dark flesh, and his eyes sparkled with a youthful delight even though he’d lived far beyond what my lifespan would ever be. “You’re getting better, Vanilla,” he said, prideful in me, a dry chuckle leaving his throat as that long, thick finger worked its way from inside of me, wet with a light coating of lubrication. His tongue applied itself to the puckered flesh the moment my body was empty of him, lapping around the tail end of the root, shaped like a plug to keep it from becoming lost in me. His enthusiastic flickerings of his tongue combined with the well-sticking oil left from the root of ginger, now deep inside me, made me burn.

I watched, back twisted about, while his tongue darted relentless in and out of me, and it was only when he pulled away, saliva glistening on his lips, that I allowed myself to breathe again. I wanted to dab his mouth clean; I wanted to run my fingers through that creamy golden hair, but I would not allow myself to without his word.

“Vanilla.” He stood up, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Do you know what I need you to do now?” His prick bounced wildly, his nude body a sight to behold, but I couldn’t focus on it, nor his broad, strong chest peaked with petal pink nipples, nor his chiseled belly; I instead stared at the items he held in his hands.

In his left was a pair of slightly-sheer thigh high tights in glittering snow white, cuffed with thick bands of lace at the top, and in his right, he held by the heel straps a pair of toe-pointed pumps, patent black, with silver hearts to buckle them closed. I nodded, understanding, and took them. “Wear them, my Lord?”

He turned his back towards me, and walked off towards his bed with that certain air that always made me respect him; he demanded attention, and he got it. Lying down upon his belly, he glanced back at me, and I watched as his long fingers drenched themselves in the tub of lubrication he kept open at his bedside. One, then two wriggled into his hole, and he parted them, forcing it to stretch open; I grumbled low at this roughness that he presented to even his own body. His legs parted wide open and inviting, and his free hand brushed up his own thigh, toying with the brunette hair upon it. “Come, Vanilla.”

I rolled the stockings up my legs with care; bending was difficult with the plug of ginger inside of me, making my anus twitch open every so often just for a semblance of relief. I swore my insides milked at the hand-carved plug, but I was righted in moments, stockings up to my upper thighs, carefully balancing in the high heels. The tights clung to all my muscles, to each curve, and I couldn’t help but stroke my fingers over my own thighs, admiring my skin in them.

Then I walked. Such a simple function was so difficult when filled like that. Every step shifted the plug inside of me, and every shifting of the plug made me burn. My eyes watered, and didn’t want to focus, fat tears that weren’t the product of crying rolling down my face. By time I reached the bed, my hands were shaking, my leg muscles tense, and I gripped much too hard at his ass.

My painted nails sank into his cream skin, and I parted his cheeks open. Lord Dio made an appreciative purr, beckoning me inside with a wriggle of a finger and a twitching smirk on his lips. “In, Vanilla.”

My head laid against the soft pucker of his hole, and easily, I slid it inside, amazed as always by the strange, low warmth of his insides, much cooler than my own, and the tightness of orifice. He groaned, and I pushed into him, trying my best to stay shallow for my own benefit, but Lord Dio would never allow me to do something of such greed.

“No, Vanilla. Deeper.”

He looked up at me from his spot on the bed, his arms curled up under his head, resting as he spread his legs open a bit wider for me. His prick dangled down, hard, drooling, and lazy, and he nodded my way.

“Ah, forgive me, my Lord,” I said, truly meaning it; never would I disappoint him, and I vowed then and there to make it up. I bit onto my lip, and my hips jutted forth, and thus I was buried into him up to my base.

The motion made my cheeks close on that plug, and I winced, audibly, and Lord Dio only grinned in reply. “Yes, just like that, ohhh, yes.” His hands moved back, one taking up his own length- he began to pull upon it, much to my visual delight- and the other rest upon one cheek, spreading himself wider for me. “Just like that. Come on, Vanilla Ice- give me your all.”

I didn’t have to be told again.

I bucked wildly, making hard, furious love to his hole, but lord, Lord, Lord…! With every motion, each push forward, I would grip about the plug. It was agony, sweet, toxic agony; my prick ached, longing to come deep inside of his warm, melting bowels, but my own hole was on fire, burning with no end in sight.

My foot faltered. One heel skittered off to the side, my leg twisting as I went off balance in a flurry of pain and pleasure and literally blinding prickling inside of my body. Lord Dio, however, was patient; he reached back with one arm, lifting my battered knee off the floor, helping me gain balance once more. “Come now, come now, rise above it, Vanilla. Let it be a motivator. Let it go to the back of your mind.”

It took only a few more strokes before I was coming, my orgasm shattering me. I panted and cried through parted lips; I poured into him, his pink pucker inviting and willing. Lord Dio’s lips were slightly opened as well, and he sung out a sweet symphony of bliss, grunting but never for a moment inelegant. I staggered back as I withdrew.

“Ah, Vanilla.” One finger slid into his used hole, gliding in, the pert entrance soft, supple, buttery. He played in it, another joining it and he thrust them in and out. His other hand still worked about his hardened cock, not yet spent. “Always so vigorous. But I, Dio, have not finished. We can’t have that, can we?”

“Ah, n…no, my Lord,” I said, breathing hard, trying to catch it once more.

“Onto the bed,” he said, and he stood, hands to his sides. “And do leave those things on.”

“Yes, my Lord.” I was on his bed, on my back in moments, folded in half, my cock drooling leftover release over my belly as I held my arms under my knees, keeping myself fully open for him. Lord Dio leaned in, his hands brushing over my legs, feeling the taut muscles within, through the sheer white stockings. His claws caught on them, and he let them pull through them, making runs, destroying them, but still he kept them on me.

His hand then suddenly clutched the ginger inside me, and he tugged, and to my every relief, it popped from me. I bore down, my hole flushing wide open, unable to help it. It was all I could do to alleviate some of the burn!

But then his wet head was placed against my well-lubricated hole, one of his hands reaching up as the other held it steady. He took one high heel and drew it to one side, then did the opposite with the other, until my legs were splayed wide. He leaned in over me, sparkling fangs nicking against my neck. He tapped his cockhead to my hole, and I felt the wrinkle of his foreskin on each quick up-pull, it engulfing the head, and then it would retract as he tugged it away. I swallowed. “But Lord, it surely will have enough of the oil inside to harm you as well,” I said, wanting to forewarn him.

“Something so significant is nothing that will bother me,” he replied.

In slid his cock, and in slid his fangs, and he had no mercy as he fucked me. He gulped greedy mouthfuls of blood, and his cock filled up my stinging passage over, and over, and over, and over again, in and out, penetrating with no end, his balls slapping against my ass and his fingers running over my stocking-clad thighs. His kisses tasted like metal and warmth, hot with my blood, but I didn’t mind as his tongue went into my mouth. His prick split me open, filling me up, seething my insides, and only when he came, the irony, did it cool.

As his seed spurt into my body, he stared into my eyes, face smeared ruddy red with my blood, and he smiled wide, his teeth clean and clear despite his gory meal. He made a monstrous groan, beautiful in my ears. He withdrew, and as he did, my vision went out once more, my body protesting one final time from the now dull-ache of my ginger coated insides. My hole wouldn’t close, knowing that it would smart if it did, so I let it stay open, distended, and he glanced down at it with hunger in his eyes.

Then he leaned over me, powerful, dominating. Both his hands ran up through my hair, and he tousled it, licking his lips as he looked down at me. “Your hair is always so soft, you know. Like down. Like virgin snow.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” I replied, voice soft in my afterglow, but it didn’t stay that way for long. His hands brushed down my thighs and calves, feeling the muscles and petting the remnants of the stockings. His hands then went to work again, never tired, never sated.

It was only a finger, his finger, working its way into me once more, making my used insides feel pressed beyond their means, but I would never, ever deny him whatever he wanted from me. He drew one out, licking his own seed clean of it, and then it dove right back in, making me sing as it swam straight against my prostate.

His fingers would be sure that I’d be satisfactory, but in return, his fingers, despite any delicious, loving torment they may cause, never would fail to satisfy me.



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