Archive of Our Own ^beta

Getou Suguru was an odd case for you, different compared to the other ex-cons you’re usually in charge of. You would get the occasional murderer, or arsonist, or drug addict who did stupid shit and landed themselves behind bars. But you had never been in charge of such an…infamous parolee. 

He was a cult leader, though he never actually claimed that his organization was a cult itself. He always used this roundabout type of language when he was in court being questioned for his charges—money laundering through his organization. You use the term lightly, because if judging by the way his workers acted during the trial, with such admiration and devotion in their eyes, it couldn’t be labeled as anything but cultish. 

Somehow, the attractive felon was only sentenced to sixteen months in prison. His workers and supporters fussed and hollered at the sound of that, earning a few of them their own charges for disorderly conduct in the courtroom. But he—he was cool faced the entire time. Only nodded his head once when delivered his sentencing, put his hands behind his back without a fight, an easy smile on his face as he was walked out, a wink sent to the supporters who sobbed at the sight of him. 

He did his time well, you heard through the grapevine from your CO friends. Said he received tons of mail everyday, always had money on his books, and anyone who tried stepping to him always ended up in the infirmary just days later. (Though, he never had a trace of blood on him; never had scarred knuckles or bruises or anything. You had theorized with the CO’s that he somehow kickstarted another cult in the prison, too.) 

When he was released, you heard that there was this whole shebang about the ordeal. That his workers showed up, deep in numbers, with signs and cries of his name. They argued over who would be taking him to his new home, but you heard they all sobbed when he told them that he’d be driving himself and would stay there at the new house—alone. 

The house looks a bit like shit though, you think to yourself as you stand outside of it. Getou had visited you the day after he got out to get his paperwork sorted, what his parole consisted of for the next four years, acquainted himself with you, and the like. He looked the same as when he was in court, that was broadcasted on the news, the same as when he was publicly arrested, the same as when his followers would post videos of him and his infamous speeches. (For the greater good, was his motto. It sounded more like; do whatever is necessary for my satisfaction.)

You think they’re all shit. A scam meant to prey on the little people who have no direction in life. It doesn’t help that he’s attractive; has a tall build, seemingly lanky until he unfurls his shoulders, can find muscle peeking from under his usually baggy clothes, kind eyes that draw an innocent in, midnight black hair that has only grown longer since his time in prison. You can admit that he’s pretty, and you believe that that’s some of the allure that brings so many vulnerable, easy to manipulate people to damn near bowing down to the man. 

Well, not you. You weren’t that fuckin’ stupid nor desperate nor weak willed. If anything, you’d have the once powerful man eating from the palm of your hands. Besides, he has to listen to everything you say and command him to do, lest he want to go back to his cell for the rest of his probation time. 

You think you’re gonna have some fun with him. 

You bang your fist on the door far too hard for it to be so early in the morning. You assumed one of his lackeys would come running, greeting you with a huff and their nose stuck in the air, even though he promised it would only be him living in the house. But you’re surprised by the presence of Getou Suguru himself. 

He opens the door fully, his eyes closed as he smiles softly at you, breathing your name out quietly. He towers over you, feels like he looms over your head, and you can’t tell if its intentional. When you first met him, you were both sitting, but now—unless its all in your head—it feels like he’s trying to assert himself in some way. Like he’s trying to placate you with his disarming smile, but his posture tells you everything but. He notices the same time you do, and relaxes against the openness of the door, folding his arms across his chest, body adorned in a matching dull gray sweater and sweatpants. You try not to look down. 

“Good morning, officer,” he greets you, head tilting to the side, and you notice his hair is loose from the usual bun he adorned. “Can I ask the reason for your visit this fine Tuesday morning?” 

His voice is like silk, must have some kind of charm imbued into it, you think to yourself. You twist your mouth this way and that, eyebrows furrowed as you take all of him in. (Yes, even between his legs, but you make the glance quick. He seems to notice, anyway, and smiles a little wider at you.) 

“Just doing a house check.” You nod your head to the humble abode he stands in, looks more like some dull shack that you would’ve never expected him to stay in. He was known for liking the finer things in life. “Since it’s a new property that was brought while you were incarcerated by one of your followers, I need to do a thorough inspection.” 

Well, you didn’t have to. But you figured that it wouldn’t hurt, and he didn’t seem like the type of guy who would cry about you not following the rules exactly how you should. You just wanted to drop in and make sure that he wouldn’t be running another scam in the house, nor supplied any kind of weaponry. 

“Also gonna need you to piss in a cup for me.” You expect for him to argue, as he should. That wasn’t a special condition for him, as he never had any kind of charges brought up on drugs, despite there being an inkling that he kept them supplied for his followers. But he only huffs a little laugh at you, head tilting this way and that until locks of his hair cover his dark eyes. 

“That’s no problem at all, officer.” Getou says easily, another smile gracing his face as he swings the door open wider for you to come in. It makes you give pause, but you don’t let him stump you. After all, you were the one in charge here. 

So you strut inside like you own the place, the gum you had pushed to the corner of your mouth finding its place between your molars again as you chew loudly. You cross your arms over your chest, eyes narrowing when you turn to watch Getou shut the door behind you, his gaze dropping down for a second before they meet your own again. 

“Parole officers don’t wear uniforms?” He inquires, hands shoved in his pockets as he slouches slightly in front of you. You roll your eyes at him, motioning for him to show you around the house with a grunt. 

“Did you see me in a uniform while in my office?” You snark at him, not giving him anytime to answer before you speak again. “Show me where you sleep, parolee.” You spit the term out, a reminder of his place; beneath you. He only looks at you with eyes so dark you fear they may be blacker than night, before they’re shaded by another lock of his hair. He doesn’t say anything, just strolls on casually away from you, heading down a long hallway with a few doors on each side. 

“No followers live here like they do at the other compound?” You ask him, hand on your weapon in case anybody tried any magic tricks while you strolled behind him. Getou huffs a chuckle under his breath, looking at you from over his shoulder as he stops at the last door at the end of the hallway. 

“Compound?” He questions, as if the very thought of that word makes absolutely no sense. “You mean the group home I brought for my workers, as most of them were unhoused?” You roll your eyes at him, waving a dismissive hand as you push past him to open the door. 

“Cult, not cult. House, compound for said cult. Same thing.” You mutter under your breath, peaking your head in before you fully enter. You glance over your shoulder when you feel Getou’s presence entirely too close behind you, but he only sends you another one of those calm smiles. It feels everything but calm though, with that glint in his eyes that tells you everything you need to know about the man. 

Gods, you can’t wait to fuckin’ break him. 

You walk slowly around the room, placing your feet in front of the other with unhurried steps. Your chin is held high, as if the place disgusts you, even though he keeps his space notably clean. The only strewn thing in the room are the covers, barely ruffled, as if he had roused them when he got up to meet you at the door. 

You peak in his closet, under his mattress, behind a few things on the dresser. You don’t find anything until you open the little black nightstand beside his bed, a sudden throb making your thighs clench at the sight of a pocket pussy, and a box of extra large condoms sitting beside them. 

“You aren’t hiding any drugs in this thing, are ya?” You mumble to him, picking up the toy with the tip of your index finger and thumb, though the weight of it almost makes you drop it. It even feels ghastly warm, as if he had just been holding the thing…close to him, before you made him open the door. 

Getou only laughs at you, placing a hand on the middle of his stomach, his eyes closed in mirth. He seems to be mocking you though, with the low gaze he sends you when his little fit ends, how his fist curls into the soft fabric of his sweatshirt. He tilts his head at you, eyes sliding between your own and the toy that you hold, a clear, sticky substance still oozing from the hole. 

“Not to my knowledge, no.” Getou shakes his head, as he leans against the dresser closest to you. “No drugs, officer. Just the usual stuff that goes inside that kinda thing.” He’s sly, with his mouth pulled tight and his gaze locked on you like a predator. But you’ve never been prey, and you wouldn’t start that shit now. 

You drop the toy on the middle of his bed, sending him a faux shrug when you watch the thing dribble out whatever he must’ve left inside of it. You try not to act bothered, try not to size up just how deep he got into the toy, because based on how low you saw it hang through his sweats earlier, there was no way that toy was taking every inch. 

You plop down on the bed, ignore the toy rolling toward you from the added weight, sitting your bag down beside you. You rummage through it for a few seconds before you pull out a clear cup with a white top, leaning back on one hand as you offer the cup to Getou. 

“Well, now that my inspection is done, its time for the next step: piss in this cup for me, parolee.” You tell him with a sarcastic grin, one that he only faintly smiles at. He stands on the other side of the room, taking all of you in for a moment; the cup dangling from your fingers, your crossed thighs that you keep trying to subtly clench, the pocket pussy oozing precum on the hip of your jeans, your eyes trying to stay above his neck. 

Getou smiles at you. Crossing the room in only a few short strides, he goes to pluck the cup out of your hand, willing to play your little game, but you don’t let go. He pauses, one of his eyebrows raising in question, his cold fingers grazing your own as you both hold the plastic. You quirk your own eyebrow at him, before a sly smirk crosses your face. 

“You gotta do it right here, while I hold the cup.” You whisper to him, grin growing Cheshire when his eyebrows twitch only a hair. “Precautionary measures, and all.” You shrug, head resting back on your shoulder, your position entirely too relaxed for what you’re trying to make him do. But Getou composes himself quickly, his grip loosening on the cup as he cocks his head ever so slightly. 

“Is that so?”

“I fear it is.” You hum, twisting your mouth a little to the side, as if your made up rules disappoint you. Getou plays into it though, as he finally releases the cup, shoving his hands into his pockets as takes a single step away from you. 

“Well, it looks like you’ll have to come back later to retrieve your sample.” He says, looking down his nose at you, lips twitching at the corner. It makes your own mouth pull down slightly, trying to gauge what game he’s playing at, keep the control solely in your corner. You slit your eyes at him, clear cup still held out in between the two of you. 

“And why is that, parolee?” You lower your voice, eyes narrowing at the now grinning man, his shoulders hiked up to his ears in an over exaggerated shrug. 

“Well, most people can’t piss when they’re hard.” He says softly. Your eyes instantly shoot down to between his legs, at the now very obvious erection tenting the fabric. You’re not sure how you hadn’t noticed beforehand, but its kind of hard to miss now, with how he takes a step forward again. The thickness of it twitches at your wide eyed stare, and you can even see a little spot beading with precum through the gray fabric. 

The silence between the both of you is thick, heavy with tension, unsure of the other’s next moves. But you smile at him, throwing the cup to the other side of the room, as you splay your hands on his bed, leaning back on them, body open and inviting. 

“It looks like I’ll just have to get a sample of something else instead, then.” You shrug, still trying to hold on to being carefree and in charge. But Getou can see the want in your eyes, and practically pounces on top of you when you crook a single finger at him. 

He hovers over you, touching you and not all at once. He lingers, his mouth skimming yours, his erection just barely resting against where you need him most. He smiles, his palms splayed beside your head, his eyes teasing you. 

“Take what you want, officer. I’m in no place to refuse you.” Getou whispers, gaze as charming as his cock that spills precum through the thick fabric onto your jeans. He doesn’t have to tell you twice, as you hook a leg over his thigh and flip him until you’re on top without any complaints from him. 

If anything, the fucker just grins at you, hands squeezing your waist as you settle on top of him like it’s your gods given right. He runs his palms up under your shirt until his cold touch sends chills down your spine, mouth twitching when you settle heavily on his throbbing cock. 

“You couldn’t refuse me if you tried, parolee.” You snark at him, guiding his hands to your chest to squeeze. His lids lower, his head tilted back, hands warming up from your fiery skin as he kneads your chest in his palms. 

“Why on earth would I ever try that?” Getou says breathily, reaching around to unclip your bra effortlessly, makes you wonder how many times he’s been able to do that with some unsuspecting girl. 

“You’re a smart boy; you know better than that.” You smile at him, peeling your shirt from over your head the same time he undoes your bra, everything going at once. Getou admires you for a few seconds, his lips just barely parted as he palms your nipples in his hands, rolling them around until you sigh out of pleasure. 

His hands are surprisingly soft, a little clammy, cold enough to make your nipples stiffen up under his touch. He rolls them between his forefinger and thumb, plucking at them to hear your voice hitch just the slightest bit. Your hips roll against his own, earning you a soft hiss that makes you grin wickedly at him. 

You lean down to peel his shirt off of his own body, finding yourself nose to nose, chest to chest, with him. Only a beat passes before you both surge forward, lips meeting in a rough kiss. His teeth knock against yours, his tongue pushing and pushing, yours doing the same. They tangle together in a messy kiss, spit sliding from your mouth into his, and when you pull back, breathless, Getou is chewing with a suspicious grin. 

“You nasty fucker,” you moan to him, diving in to steal your gum back, but he puts up a fight. Grinds you down against his cock, feels for the dip between your lips, rubs the thick shaft between them until your body goes limp on top of his. He does everything he’s wanted with your mouth since the moment he first laid eyes on you, sucking your tongue into his mouth as he palms both cheeks of your ass. 

Few words are exchanged as you unzip your jeans, shimmying out of them with the desperation only someone thirsty for the cult leader could possess. He lays back with his hands behind his head as you yank his sweats down, mouth suddenly salivating when you see that he wasn’t wearing underwear this whole time. 

“Pretty,” you murmur, holding him at the base as you lean over his cock, your lips pursing as you spit on the pink head of it. “See why all your little cult followers would go to war for you.”

You look up from under your lashes at Getou, who only grins at you, never confirming or denying this cult you keep speaking of. He only flexes his biceps once, twice, as he watches you pull your panties to the side and hover over top of him. He doesn’t even try to help you out, figures you’d want to stay in control, even though he’s really the one with all the power right now. But he lets you believe whatever you want, as long as you sit on his dick for the time being. 

Without much thought, do you finally sink down on Getou’s thick cock. It’s bigger than you would’ve imagined, fat and heavy as it fills you up so delectably, you think you might split in two. You can feel every vein that twitches when you swallow him up, your eyes fluttering as you work yourself down, down, down until your lips meet his curly base. 

“Tell anybody about this, parolee, and I’ll send your ass back to your cell for the next ten years.” You threaten him, but its hard for Getou to take you seriously with how breathy your voice is. How your eyes start to roll back when he ever so slightly cants his hips up inside of you. How you palm your lower stomach, groaning in pleasure when you feel his tip just barely beneath the surface of your skin. How your cunt wraps around him so deliciously, leaking all over his pubes, dribbles down in thick rolls around his waist onto the bed. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, officer.” Getou smiles at you, giving you another false sense of control before he stops resting back on his hands to grip your hips. Without warning, Getou plants his feet on the bed, and begins snapping his hips up into you. You yelp, falling forward onto his chest, eyes clenched in pleasure as you can only hold on for the ride. 

But you won’t let the fucker take control that easily. You push up on shaky arms as much as you can, back arching from the force of his thrusts, your eyes narrowing at his own cocky smile. You meet his thrusts halfheartedly as much as you can, fucking your hips back on his, the clap of your ass meeting his pelvis loud and echoing throughout the silent house. Getou only grins wider at you, makes you reach down to fist his hair in your hands. 

At that, he moans, to your surprise. His eyes fluttering closed, his rhythm momentarily thrown off from the pleasure. But he regains his footing, staring up at you hazily with a shit eating grin, his nails digging into your skin as he fucks his cock inside of you, holding it there for a few seconds to hear you cry out his name. 

He circles his hips, looking for that spot inside of you that makes you see stars. When he finds it, you mewl, your head thrown back, your nails digging into his scalp and the skin of his chest. Getou hisses through his teeth, but picks up his pace until it becomes brutal, his thrusts harsh and fast and dizzying enough that you collapse against him with a little cry of pleasure. 

“Fuck, right there, right there!” You moan to him, searching for his mouth as you lean up the tiniest bit. He catches you, one hand still holding your cheeks open, the other gripping your face between big hands. He shakes your head at him, mocking, laughing under his breath at the dumb little look on your face—and to think you have so much power over him. 

“Right there? Yeah?” He teases you, letting you go just to smack your cheeks lightly a few times before gripping you once more. You pout to him, nodding, reaching your hand down to start swiping at your clit, feeling your climax start to build with quickness you can barely prepare for. 

“What a dumb look on such a cute face.” Getou grins at you, finally pulling you in for a kiss when you start to fuss at him. He quiets you with his lips, your gum swapping between your mouths again, sloppy. But you love it, can’t help but start to feel addicted to it, wonder if its worth it to give up your job and become one of his followers if he could fuck you like this every night. No wonder people became so addicted to him. 

“Make me cum, parolee.” You whimper to him, your fingers rubbing at your clit, your other hand holding his face close to yours by his jaw. Getou opens his mouth in a moan, eyes heavily lidded as he looks at you, leans forward to lick at your teeth quickly. 

He scans your face as he holds you down, his hips snapping up to fuck into you, your voice high and staccato as you can only hold on for the ride. Without much preamble, do you tumble over the edge of your climax, moaning out his name as you ride out your orgasm, clit throbbing with every pound of his hips inside of you. You both curse under your breaths, your eyes clenched shut as you try to meet his hips, although your lower body trembles with exhaustion when he continues to pound inside of you. 

Suddenly, Getou pulls himself out of you, barely managing to slide his tip out before he’s coming all over your stomach. It drips back down onto his own clammy skin, but he doesn’t seem to mind, his eyes closed in bliss as he empties his load all over your tummy, your pubes, aims for the little gaping hole that he, sadly, had to pull out of. 

When he finishes, do you reach between your bodies, swiping a finger through the mess he’s made on you. You pop it into your mouth, humming in delight at the slightly salty taste of him, hearing his groan, feeling his still hard cock twitch against your lower back as you sit on his pelvis. 

“Nice job, parolee.” You grin to him, to which he chuckles under his breath at you. “I’ll make sure to get this sample in the system.”