Chapter Text
A disjointed noise left your mouth as you bleakly blinked awake.
You were groggy. Groggy in a way that felt like you had slept in too long. Why didn’t your alarm go off? Did you mistakenly set the time for p.m. instead of a.m. again? Shit. Your first attempt of getting up was halted by an excess of blankets on top of you.
You typically didn’t sleep with more than two. The thread count of the sheets were also too high to be yours. You definitely weren’t in your apartment. Just where the fuck were you?
“Good to see you’re awake,” a low, familiar voice rumbled close by.
Your head swiveled to view none other that The Dealer sitting on a antique, upholstered, arm chair. His posture was relaxed, open even. This was the most you’d seen of him the entirety of your time together, and that was largely due to the lighting.
He wasn’t quite facing you, but you could see his side profile as he gazed out the window. You were right about those broad shoulders. In addition to his white button up and suspenders, his lower half was clothed in a pair of black trousers and sleek leather brogues that you previously hadn’t been able to see under the green table. He looked like he belonged in another era entirely. And in the the warm light of this new room, you felt less intimidated by him.
He was toying with a silver rhino lighter in one hand, flicking the opening mechanism, watching the tiny flame flicker on and off.
The lit cigarette in his mouth caused smoke to drift into the air in pale, whisper-thin ribbons. You expect to smell the nauseating burning of ash, but there was nothing. Nothing but the cool air of a clean, furnished room.
“Where am I?” you questioned, more than a little surprised to see he was with you.
“Somewhere safe, where we won’t be disturbed,” he rumbled, setting the lighter down in exchange for use of his hand which he used to tap his cigarette against an ornate ash tray. The putrid smell remained fortunately absent, and you took the time to admire his hands.
The large palms, tapering into adept fingers, elegant for their size as he used his index and pointer finger to bring the cigarette up to his mouth, the tendrils of smoke wrapping around his fingers. You looked away before his black, empty eyes could catch you staring.
“How am I alive?” you resisted the urge to touch your face again. Like before, there was no pain. A complete absence. You knew everything was intact, like the prior nights experience didn’t happen. Like he didn’t fire a live round into your terror-stricken face.
“There’s a doctor I hired to take care of the poor saps who can’t figure out the rules of the game within the first round, and I asked them to take care of you,” he rumbled. His voice still ran through your bones, even though you’d slept off the effects of the alcohol. You didn’t know if he equated you to the group who were labeled “poor saps.”
Better ask.
“Is that what you think of me? And is this what happens to those who lose the roulette game?” You asked, carefully keeping your tone level and unwavering, despite the small wave of hurt coasting through your system. You knew you were no high roller, but you thought he had more respect for you than that.
“No. To both of your questions,” he replied, sharp teeth framing the edges of his upturned mouth. You were ashamed of how much of a relief his words were.
He paused to take a drag. You, alarmingly unsubtle, eyed the slow movement of his chest as he inhaled. It was then you noticed a glass of water on the oak bedside table, beaded with condensation. You didn’t hesitate to remove your arm from underneath the covers to take a sip from the glass. It was then your dehydrated ass body took over, and you started downing the cool water like you spent last night in a desert, not even stopping to breathe.
“But I did notice a commonality between you and them,” he said. You stopped drinking to listen to him, taking the glass away from your panting mouth. A small water droplet escaped the corner your lips and slowly trailed down your chin and throat and across your collarbone in a single transparent line. Maybe you were thirstier than than you thought.
He seemed transfixed, eyeing your vulnerable neck. You tried to will the heat away from your face. Maybe he thought you were uncouth with the way you threw back the glass and downed the entirely of it within a few seconds.
After a moment, he blinked quite rapidly, as if trying to shake the image from his head. “The commonality, right. You signed the waiver too quickly to read it completely, which would have explained the rules of the game, and provided several explanations of how to use the items, or at least where to find their written instructions. Did you at least skim it over?”
“No, I was panicking,” you answered truthfully.
“I gathered. You were quite pitiful, like you had wandered into my gaming room by complete mistake,” he chuckled softly, low as a brewing thunderstorm, “I can’t get over the expression you made when I set the gun on the table.”
You scrunched your face, miffed at his amusement of your naïveté.
“It makes me wonder why you decided to play at all? You were such a timid little thing. Normally, the guests all but kick down the door to start,” you tried not to feel warm all over when he called you a “timid little thing,” but when compared to him, you were definitely on the smaller side.
“I’m in debt, and it seemed like an easy way to pay it off. I thought it was going to be a normal card game, and then you pulled out a gun. Needless to say, I was surprised the stakes had escalated so quickly,” you answered him, taking the time to push back the surplus blankets one by one.
He hummed, smiling, as if agreeing with you about the surprising circumstances, “I can see how that would be off-putting. My apologies for starting the game under false pretenses.”
You didn’t expect him to readily apologize for a situation you got yourself into by your own hubris. Besides, you didn’t even finish his game that you signed a contract over. Oh, wait.
“But we didn’t even finish the game. What about the skull and cross bones section?”
His smile dropped at that. He flicked the cigarette in his hand, ashes gently fluttering into the tray. His eyes locked onto yours, and you could feel the weight of his gaze as he slowly stubbed out the cigarette.
“A soft little flower like yourself wouldn’t last a minute in the final stage. There are no defibrillators, and no blood transfusions. So, I took a risk, brought you here, and asked the doctor to fix you up. Though, truth be told, I knew you weren’t going to win the minute you walked into the room,” he admitted.
That was a little jarring to hear.
“And you let me play anyway…?” you questioned, your voice sounding slightly shrill near the end.
He sighed, almost as if the guilt was a heavy, physical weight on the wide expanse of his shoulders.
“I wanted to see how you’d navigate my world. I’d seen all manner of the dispossessed and unfortunate members of humanity stumble to my game table, but never anyone like you. You… intrigued me. Even when you had everything to lose, you seemed hesitant to shoot me,” he said, as if he found your behavior both perplexing and charming.
“Could you blame me? In a game where the stakes were my life, you were still courteous to me, and honored the rules even when it would have given you an advantage to cheat. You were quite the gentlemen.”
You smothered a laugh as his face turned a gentle shade of pink. It looked like he wasn’t expecting to be complimented. He looked touched by your words as he tried to use one massive hand to hide his blush. How precious it looked on his otherwise menacing, striking face.
To spare him his embarrassment, you diverted the conversation.
“But what about the waver I signed? Will skipping the final stage violate that?“
His eyes, or lack thereof, flash, and you could see him ever so slightly shift his head. Your lack of blankets made you feel even more exposed to his discerning gaze. The night-black of his eyes gazed back at you intensely, like you were the only thing in this fine room worth looking at. His smile widened, almost sultry in appearance. He seemed pleased by your question.
“Your concern is…appreciated. I am as beholden to the rules of the waiver as you are, but there’s a way around it. Provided you’re…amicable to it,” he said quietly, the gentle, warm light of the room shifting across his face as he leaned closer to you.
“I am. I know it’s important to you,“ you replied. You prayed you were reading the room correctly. He rose from the chair, still leaning ever so close to you. Your heart fluttered like a living thing within your chest.
“There are certain rules I have to abide by. The contract is as legally binding as it is physically. But like any legal document,” He approached the bed, “there are loopholes.”
His encroachment was encouraged by you spreading your legs as he came closer. You held your breath as his hand trailed along the edge of the bed, skimming over the sheets.
His low voice took on an almost hypnotic quality as he continued, “We can make a deal, an arrangement of sorts, that satisfies the requirements of the contract.”
He hovered above you, one knee resting on the mattress. With his opposite hand supporting his significant weight, he uses the other to gently brush his knuckles against the side of your face.
You leaned back to accommodate him. Your back was flat against the sheets as he leaned down to whisper directly into your ear, “But like all legal contracts, I’ll need your consent before we begin.”
You tilted your head to look at him. “You have it,” you whispered back, suddenly flustered.
With your verbal confirmation, his Venus fly trap smile stretched to reflect his delight.
He used one hand to lift the arch of your back and the other to tease his fingertips past the lower hemline of your top. You granted him permission to further seek the warmth of your skin by helping push the loose cotton up your chest, perching it above your breasts. A part of you wished you’d worn something sexier, like the button-up he had on, just so you could ask him to tear it off you, and watch the buttons scatter across the room.
You doubted he would appreciate you tearing off his shirt, but you had the dexterity to take it off button by button.
You snaked your own hands up his chest, feeling the strength of his large body underneath the white fabric of his dress shirt. His body was seemingly untouched by the countless shells of live rounds that must be fired at him night after night. Through his shirt, you could feel it, beneath the layers of fabric, skin, and sinew. The evidence that he was closer to a living man than the all powerful god you faced last night.
The mad thumping of his heart.
Your incontestable proof that he was equally affected by your touch as you were his. The mere concept was enough for a grin to creep onto your mouth. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips.
Your hand skated up to gently unbutton his collar. You successfully unbutton the top two fastens, but he startled you with a gentle grasp on your wrist before you could reach the third. His hand encompassed the entirety of the joint and then a portion of your arm as well. Eyes flitting up to his, an unspoken question rested on your lips: did you overstep?
“I’d prefer it if I remained dressed for the evening,” he told you, your wrist still held in his grasp. You readily acquiesced. Whatever he, or his “contract” wanted—or didn’t want—was fine in your book.
“So long as your the one who takes the rest of my clothes off,” you said, free hand tugging the at the edge of your shirt, already half-way off.
“Oh, that will be no hardship, I assure you,” he rumbled, reaching to pull your top off, letting your hand go to pull you up to assist in the process.
Once he had your top is completely off, he lowered you back onto the bed, his large hand still firmly locking you in his hold. There was no brutality in his touch, but it was a very prominent reminder that signed contract or not, you agreed to his ownership of your body on this day. The thought made you throb at the apex of your thighs.
His eyes accompanied the physical caress of his other hand as he gently ran his other hand down your front. He started at your throat, gentle as the morning, a caress that stretched down to your collar bones. It was an appreciation of your form, a build up of anticipation for both of you as he glided across your smooth skin down to your breasts. He fondled your chest with the care of a being with unimaginable strength handled a glass figurine. You suppose the analogy was not too dissimilar.
You inhaled sharply as he thumb brushed across a nipple. The texture of his hand was rough, no doubt from handling that shotgun most every night, but the feeling was heavenly when combined with the gentle care with which he handled you.
Still trapped against the bed with one hand, his other continued to travel. You notice he continuously snapped his gaze to yours every so often, almost as if checking that his actions were met with receptivity.
He undoes the button of your pants, and briefly released his hold on you to pull them down and off of your legs. He set the article aside on the back of chair he previously sat on. A lone spectator to your act.
Notably, he left your underwear as it was. His void-black eyes were intense as they stared at you, like he was drinking in as much as could, as if attempting to memorize your body in a handful of seconds.
The chill at the apex of your thighs indicated your arousal had drenched your panties to the point where it leaked through the fabric.
He continued to stare, almost making you squirm at his attention.
“Is this all for me?” he slyly asked, knowing damn well who it was for.
“Why don’t you take them off and find out?” you said back, giving as good as you got.
He grinned, revealing the full display of his teeth as he gladly obliged you. Your underwear was quickly disposed of via being tossed over one his broad shoulders.
The cool air hitting your pussy was invigorating in the worst way. It served as a reminder that he had yet to touch you where you needed it the most. You could feel your wet sheath flutter as you waited.
Fortunately, he didn’t make you wait long.
You gasped as he physically moved your legs, parting the space wide enough for him to fit in between. He saved you the effort of spreading your legs for him yourself, though one look at your face would know you’re desperate enough for his touch to move any way he liked.
Without warning, he ran a calloused index and middle finger up through your slit, parting your dripping labia. You couldn’t help the pathetic noise that left your throat.
He lifted his hand, spreading his fingers. The soaked digits were connected by glistening tendrils that spanned the space in between his knuckles.
“Oh, babydoll, if I’d known you wanted me this much, I’d have bent you over the table while we were in the gameroom,” he said, voice deep as sin. His words only caused another wave of arousal to drip out of your throbbing pussy.
You clenched around nothing, muscle spasming involuntarily by the ache of desire he’d commanded within you. You didn’t know if you would have entirely rejected him if he’d pinned you to the table and had his way with you the night prior. Your cunt clenched again.
One of his hands rested possessively on one of your thighs, which if you could part any wider in invitation, you would. His tongue, thick as three of your fingers snakes out from his fathomless maw. You can’t help yourself as you stare.
He seemed to take extra care to look at your expression as he licked your essence off his fingers. It looked almost like he was searching for something specific in your face, and it wasn’t the intense depravity you knew you had on full display.
Ah, his teeth.
He was checking to see if you were scared of them. Little did he know, if he grinned at you like he did last night, you think you’d come on the spot. You sought to correct his fears before your pussy decided to drown itself.
“If you don’t eat me out within the next thirty seconds, I’m leaving and violating your contract.”
He barked out a laugh, making his shoulders shake endearingly. You must have surprised him. He quickly recovered, using his hand to tenderly stroke the inside of your naked thigh.
“I’m glad you want this as much as I do, but you can understand why I had to be sure.” He then pointed at his face, most likely gesturing toward his inhuman smile.
“So long as you don’t take a chunk out of me while you’re down there, I’m good.”
“No promises. You’re too sweet for me resist sinking my teeth in,” he said cryptically.
Before you could ask what he meant by that, he startled you by biting the inside of your left thigh, no more than a centimeter away from the divot between your leg and the boiling core of your desire. He didn’t use enough force to draw blood, but there was enough so that you could feel the indentation of his sharp teeth and the warmth of his breath, oh-so-dangerously-close to where you needed him the most. You moaned at the delicious blur between pleasure and pain as he bit you again. He adjusted your leg upwards to reach more of an his unmarked canvas. The stretch sent a wave of want to your core, so strong it would have knocked you over had you been standing.
“Oh! Please, I need your mouth on me. I can’t take this teasing!” you pleaded, trembling. Those teeth and tongue becoming your singular focus.
“Oh? What happened to you leaving and violating my contract? My mouth is on you, little flower. You need to be more specific,” he said, low and devious and pedantic. He generously gave you another bite on the opposite thigh. The tips of his narrow teeth pressed in just a tantalizing touch more. A small lake had pooled underneath you by this point, and it was growing bigger by the second.
Fortunately for both of you, any ounce of pride you felt was abandoned when he offered to sleep with you. You would say, do, or give anything for him to just brush against your swollen clit.
“I want your tongue on my clit, please. Please, I’ll be good. I’ll be so good. I just need you, please!” you begged him in earnest. He obliged, empty eyes gleaming. He appeared hopelessly weak to your begging. You tucked that information away to use in the near future.
Ever so slowly, ducking his head, he ran his heavenly tongue up from your entrance to your throbbing clit. A soft, high moan fled from your open lips. Your head tilted back to the ceiling, eyes fluttering at the attention he lavished on you. You couldn’t help the jerk of your hips upward as he all but began to devour you.
He had all the finesse of a bear eating honey from a beehive, but you were absolutely squirming in ecstasy as he held you down and forced you to take it.
With a single, gigantic hand curled around your hip, a thumb on your stomach, and his wrist on your upper thigh, he had pinned you back in place on the bed. He seemed to enjoy the control he had over your body and pleasure. You, on the other hand, soaked up his attention like a sun-starved flower, enjoying the lack of power in exchange for the endless pleasure he granted you.
Using his other hand, he thumbs your clit repeatedly, circling it, but never quite touching it. Utilizing his tongue, he dove into your opening, lapping up your desire, only for it to be flooded with more as he buried his face and tongue as far in as he could get it.
You bit your lip, choking back down a moan as he interchanged the position of his tongue and fingers. He kept his gaze firmly on you as he gently inserted a finger into your pussy, tonguing at your clit all the while. His unspoken, and unseen consent-check was confirmed by your panting and cries for more. You clenched the sheets in your fists.
In and out, in and out, in a slow, set rhythm. It spoke to his integrity that he knew to take this slow. It also bode well for how big his dick was if the foreplay was this intense.
His tongue mimicked your washing machine by the use of a hot, circular motion on your clit. Your pussy fluttered as he inserted a second finger. If your hips were free, you’d be bucking into his face and hand, chasing your release like an obsession. Alas, you were at his whims. Fortunately for you, his whims were to spread you out like a feast.
“Ungh…yes, fuck!” you breathily cried as he carefully stretched you open. God, his fingers were big. It was one thing to see them as they sawed off the barrels of shot guns and took off articles of your clothing, it was another thing entirely to feel each knuckle as they curled inside you.
“You…you can go harder. I’m not going to break,” you asked, trembling at the feeling of his fingers brushing right up against your g-spot. He brought his head back from between your thighs to grin devilishly at you.
“You won’t break, no. But I will make you fall apart,” he said, diving back in again.
He didn’t give you the chance to comprehend what he had said before he proceeded to finger you harder, drilling the digits into your core. The stretch was utterly intoxicating. His rapid fire pace was made easier by the liquid desire streaming out of you and smearing across your thighs. A wet squelching noise sounding every time he sunk his fingers back into your gushing cunt. In and out. In and out. Inandoutinandoutinandout.
“Fuck—fuck—! Oh! I’m gonna come!” you whine, arching your back as much as you could with his hand actively forcing you against the bed.
His pursuit of your release is relentless. His tongue, not willing to be a mere spectator to your orgasm, was pressed flat against your clit as he drug it back and forth across the engorged little bundle of nerves. You came with a shout, digging your nails into the sheets as he eased you down from your orgasmic high with lighter strokes, softer movements.
“Oh…” you crooned as he pulled his fingers out. Fuck, that was good. You were almost sorry you came too fast, but there was no way for you to halt that oncoming wave when he was the one manipulating your body.
He eyed the visible movement of your chest as you caught your breath. There was still that gleam of desire present, but he kept his hands to areas where his strokes would be more comforting than arousing.
However, that bulge in his pants told you that he still wanted you, but was respectful enough to wait.
“Would you like have another drink before you recuperate?” he asked, whisper soft. He gestured to your glass of water on the bedside table. The one you drank out of earlier. It was sweet of him to offer, but you were a different kind of thirsty.
“What, too tired to actually fuck me?” you goaded him, leaning up to inch closer to his face.
He paused as he stroked down on your lower leg. He opened his mouth, only to close it again, wary of his teeth. He didn’t seem to expect that answer from you. You were almost equally surprised you had managed to catch him off guard.
“I…I was going to wait until you had rested.”
“I’ll rest after you bounce me on that throbbing cock,” it looked particular delicious straining at the seams of his black trousers.
“Fuck,” he said, immediately unbuttoning his pants. He didn’t take them off, but frantically pulled the zipper down enough to free the blood-engorged organ.
You were right about it’s size. It was proportionate to the rest of him, large and somewhat menacing. But you had no doubt he would be good with it. With you.
You eyed the long vein that ran up the on the underside length of him. A drop of precum had dripped from the opening at the tip. He ran an aggressive hand up and down his cock, smearing the droplet.
With his other hand, he shoved you back into the bed, brutish, if yet painlessly. It was more of a reminder that he called the shots, and you could feel your hunger for him making you clench. Let him do what he wanted with you.
Almost as if he heard the depraved thought, he does exactly as such. He stops stroking his cock, setting his attention back to you.
Quick as a rattlesnake, both of his gigantic hands reached for your hips. He had a powerful vice grip, almost like he couldn’t help himself. You could feel the indentation of each finger pressing into your soft skin. It wasn’t painful, but intense. Like an amplifier to the sensation of being in his presence.
He aligns himself with your entrance. Your throbbing pussy all but silently begging him to enter. He does so carefully, a tender inch at a time, groaning low in his throat all the while. You brace at the stretch, feeling tiny pinpricks of pain as your body adjusted to accommodate him. You were endlessly grateful for the foreplay beforehand.
The pressure felt all consuming, but the further he went inside you, and the more he waited, the better it felt. You appreciated his patience, and approved of him waiting for your signals to continue.
It wasn’t until your sopping pussy had consumed all of him, that what little pain there was began to melt away, the stretch of him inside you transforming into a pleasant ache instead. He still had that powerful, unwavering grip on your hips.
When the hilt of his dick grinded against your clit, you gave him a sharp inhale in return. He then he maneuvered you into a position to his liking, and you couldn’t choke back the moan that erupted as you could feel his cock move within you. God, you didn’t think you’d like getting manhandled this much, but he adjusted you like you were a little doll he owned just to fuck with.
He eased in again, slightly rougher than you anticipated. You moaned your approval, the wet slick of your pussy clenching around him accompanied your high-pitched sounds.
He pulled out again, just barely leaving the head in. Your spine curled as he slid in again, using the momentum of your hips to slam viciously hard inside, setting every nerve in your body alight when the hilt of his cock reached your clit.
He dragged himself out of you again, sinfully slow like he was savoring the feeling of your slippery cleft mournfully trying to squeeze him back in again, back where he knows he belongs. He rectified this by slamming back in with impressive force, harder than before.
“Oh, fuck!” you whimper as the wet slide of his cock hit just where you needed it to.
He pumped in again, keeping the same rough severity in his movements as before. It struck you that he was testing how rough he could be for you to find the best pace.
“Yes, like that! Oh!” you cried out as he mercilessly used your greedy hole. He was pumping in and out of you like his entire goal in life was to feel you squeeze his cock.
The head of him slid back into your entrance, and your walls greedily clenched around him, like they could prevent him from ever leaving. He himself groaning at your own strangle-hold you had on him.
“You take me so well,” he said, panting. His voice was as sultry as you had ever heard it. “If you’re not careful, I’ll get too attached to let you go.”
You might have laughed in between his savage thrusts if you weren’t moaning your head off. You could’ve said the same thing about him. You think his dick might have ruined you for all others in the span of less than an hour.
“I’m getting close, where—fuck!—where do you want me to come?” he asked, his deep voice rattled as both of your releases encroached at an alarming rate.
You thought about him stuffing you to the brim with cum, having it leak out of you drip by drip. The one logical brain cell left in your head bristled, the very non-human entity fucking you may still possess the capacity to knock you up. You conceded to it, barely. Only because having him cum all over your pussy and stomach in hot, white streams would be almost equally as erotic.
“O-on the outside, on my stomach,” you moaned as he slammed back in particularly hard, “I want to see it. Please let me see you cum. Oh!”
He obliged you by pumping back and forth inside a few more times, before his cock left you completely. You almost cried out as the emptiness overwhelmed you, but he didn’t leave you wanting for long.
You jolted as your pleasure receptors were nearly whited out by the feeling of one of his gigantic hands roughly handling your clit, massaging you until you were a shaking and screaming mess as your rapture overtook you. Using his other hand, he stroked himself to completion, groaning your name as he came all over your stomach. His hot release dripped down across your pussy, you exhaled at the interesting temperature difference.
The afterglow was divine, the remnants of pleasure seeping into your bones as you laid against the soft sheets.
He gently lowered himself onto the bed beside of you, equally as worn out as you were. He ran a hand over his brows, removing the perspiration as best he could. You took pride in knowing you had rendered this proud, terrifying entity from the roulette table to an exhausted, fucked-out being lying beside of you.
You sat up to have a better look at him, leaning against on of the decorative pillows he had propped up on the bed.
“You know, am I ever glad we found a different way to complete your contract,” you said, out of breath.
“Oh, my darling girl,” he chuckled, charmed, “you think that is what finalized the contract?”