Gwen (Adult) skud set with story (because why not!) (Patreon)

(all characters are 18+ consenting adults and follow community guidelines)

The air in Mr. Smoothy's was cool and smelled of synthetic fruit and cleaning solution. You were trying to focus on your textbook, but your focus was shattered every time Gwen Tennyson shifted on the stool next to you.

She was perched on the high seat, one leg crossed over the other, making her plaid skirt ride up dangerously high on her tan thighs. It was an accident the first time you glanced over. But the second... and the third... they were less accidental. You were mesmerized by the smooth skin, the hint of white cotton lace peeking from beneath the hem—

"See something you like?"

Your head snapped up, your face flushing a deep, burning red. Gwen wasn't even looking at you. She was casually stirring her smoothie with a straw, a small, playful smirk gracing her lips.

"I... uh...n-no..."

Her green eyes slide slowly from her drink to meet yours. The smirk doesn't fade; it only deepens, turning knowing and impossibly alluring. She lets the silence hang, watching you squirm, enjoying the power she has in this moment.

"You know," she says, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial, almost purring tone. "For a hero who's faced down DNAliens and Highbreed warlords, you're a really terrible liar." She uncrosses her legs, and for a heart-stopping second, the skirt rides up another inch, giving you a perfect, fleeting view of the delicate lace trim of her white panties hugging the very crest of her inner thigh. She then, with agonizing slowness, re-crosses them the other way, the fabric whispering against her skin.

She leans in closer, and you catch the faint, sweet scent of her vanilla scented lotion mix with the strawberry of her smoothie sitting next to you.

"If you wanted a closer look, all you had to do was ask," she murmurs, her breath warm against your ear. "It's way more fun than just sneaking peeks."

She pulls back slightly, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She hooks a finger under the hem of her skirt, lifting it just a fraction of an inch higher, a silent, bold invitation. The white lace is now fully visible, a stark contrast against her sun-kissed skin.

"Studying's important and all," she says, her tone light and teasing. "But don't you think it's time for a... hands-on learning session?" She lets the skirt fall back into place, but the promise in her gaze is unmistakable. "My place is just around the corner. And I'm all alone while the boys are on an extra terrestrial mission."

The walk to her house is a blur. Your heart is pounding in your ears, a frantic rhythm that matches the quick, confident click of her boots on the sidewalk. She doesn't look back, but you can see the playful sway in her hips, a silent taunt just for you. She knows you're watching, and she's enjoying every second of it.

She leads you up to her bedroom, a space that’s perfectly her: neat, with a few books on magic scattered on a desk, and a faint scent of lavender in the air. The door clicks shut behind you, and the sound seems to echo in the sudden quiet.

Gwen turns to face you, that same wicked smile playing on her lips. She leans back against the door, blocking your exit—not that you'd even think of leaving.

"All that staring," she says, her voice a low, playful hum. "You got me all worked up, you know."

(She pushes off the door, taking two slow, deliberate steps toward you. The space in the room seems to shrink, the air growing thick and charged. Her green eyes are locked on yours, holding you in place more effectively than any alien restraint.)

"All that staring," she repeats, her voice dropping to a husky, intimate register that vibrates right through you. "My heart was pounding from the thrill of it. Every time I felt your eyes on me... right there..." Her left hand slides down her stomach, her fingers tracing a slow, tantalizing path along the hem of her skirt. The fabric shifts, rising another fraction of an inch, revealing more of the delicate lace border of her panties. The material looks soft, a stark white against the warm tan of her smooth thighs.

"I could feel the heat of your look," she whispers, taking another step closer.

You don't even notice her other hand moving as you find yourself mesmerized. Before you can even process the movement, her hand is on you. Her palm presses firmly against the growing bulge in your pants, her touch electric even through the fabric.

A sharp, surprised gasp escapes your lips. Her smirk widens into a triumphant, hungry grin.

"Whoa," she breathes, her fingers applying just a hint of pressure, making you shudder. "I was wondering if you were having the same reaction from your little staring session. Guess your body speaks for you."

She runs her hand along it's length caressing every last inch. The further her hand moves the wider her smile becomes.

"And it feels like its" saying a lot. Now... let's see what else it can do."

(You can feel the fine tremor in your own thighs, the desperate throb of your cock answering the pressure of her hand. Your jaw is slack, your mind a blissful, white-hot blank. All you can do is feel.)

Gwen’s grin is pure, unadulterated victory. Her green eyes are dark with lust and amusement, drinking in your utterly wrecked expression. Her thumb strokes a slow, deliberate path along the thick, straining length of you, tracing the prominent vein she can feel through the fabric. A soft, breathy laugh escapes her.

(The air in the room is completely still, thick with the scent of her vanilla lotion and the electric charge of raw, undeniable tension. Your own breathing is shallow, coming in quiet, ragged pulls that you can't control. Every ounce of your awareness is focused on the devastating point of contact between her palm and your cock. You can feel the faint texture of her fingerprints, the steady, confident pressure of her grip, the way her fingers seem to map out every throbbing inch of you trapped behind the denim. It’s a sweet, brutal torture.)

Gwen’s other hand comes up, not to touch you, but to gently cup your jaw, her thumb stroking your cheek. The contrast is maddening—so tender against the claiming dominance of her other hand.

"Look at you," she murmurs, her voice a low, hypnotic purr that vibrates deep in your chest. "Absolutely speechless. Just falling apart from one little touch."

(Her fingers, nimble and quick, make short work of your button and zipper. The sound is obscenely loud in the quiet room. She doesn't hesitate, slipping her hand past the waistband of your boxers. In one smooth, warm motion, her fingers wrap around your bare, aching cock.)

A deep, guttural moan is ripped from your throat as her skin meets yours. Her touch is electric, her grip firm and knowing. She gives you one slow, perfect stroke from base to tip, her thumb smearing the bead of precum that's already gathered there.

"There it is," she breathes, her eyes wide with genuine appreciation as she looks down at her hand wrapped around your length. "No wonder you couldn't look away. You've been hiding this the whole time?"

(Her hand still wrapped firmly around your cock, Gwen guides your hips, turning you both. Instead of facing you, she turns her back to you, looking over her shoulder with a wicked glint in her eye.)

"Just stay right there," she commands, her voice a husky whisper.

Still standing, she bends forward at the waist, bracing her hands on the bed in front of you. The motion makes her plaid skirt ride up, fully exposing her lace panties and the incredible curve of her ass beneath.

Her free hand snakes back under the skirt. You hear a soft rustle of fabric as she hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her panties and slowly, slowly, peels them down. She doesn't take them all the way off, just enough to bare her perfect, round cheeks, the white lace now stretched taut across her upper thighs.

(The air leaves your lungs in a sharp, silent rush as she presents herself. The view is devastating. The crisp, pleated fabric of her skirt is hiked up around her waist, framing the lush, pale curves of her bare ass. The white lace of her panties is a stark, frilled border stretched tight across the middle of her powerful thighs, emphasizing the complete and utter nakedness they now fail to conceal. Every delicate muscle in her back and shoulders is taut with the pose, a perfect, offering arch.)

Her head is turned, her cheek resting against the comforter, and one brilliant green eye fixes on you over her shoulder. Her expression is a mix of haughty challenge and raw, un-filtered hunger.

"Come on," she breathes, the words muffled slightly by the bedding. Her voice is thick, stripped of its playful teasing and reduced to pure, wanton need. "You stared enough. Now feel."

(The first touch is a shock of pure sensation. The broad head of your cock presses into the smooth, yielding warmth between her perfect cheeks. It’s an electric, almost painful pleasure, the hot silk of her skin parting just enough to nestle your throbbing length in a devastatingly soft embrace.)

Before the intensity can fully overwhelm you, her hand grabs yours pulling you closer. Her fingers, strong with need, find your wrist. She doesn't just guide you—she plants your hand on the sharp curve of her waist, her grip tight, almost possessive. Your palm molds to the hot, sleek skin of her hip, feeling the perfect curve of her body tensing in anticipation.

"Right there," she commands, her voice a strained, breathless gasp that's muffled by the bedsheets. Her body is a live wire under your touch.

(Your fingers instinctively dig into the soft flesh of her waist, finding a firm grip on the toned muscle beneath. Anchored by her command and your own desperate need, you obey. You pull your hips back slowly, a shudder wracking your entire body as the sensitive underside of your cock drags through the hot, slick valley of her ass. The friction is exquisite, a slow, torturous slide that makes your vision blur at the edges.)

A low, approving moan vibrates through her, and you feel it against your palm. "Yeah," she breathes into the comforter, her voice thick and husky. "Just like that. Gosh, you're so hard..."

(Your fingers instinctively dig into the soft flesh of her waist, You pull your hips back slowly, a shudder wracking your entire body as the sensitive underside of your cock drags through the hot, slick valley of her ass. Every ridge and vein of your shaft is exquisitely sensitized, catching on the smooth, perfect skin of her cheeks.)

Her voice pierces your thoughts, "Mmm it's almost unbearable how you tease me with that thing."

(Her words are a fuel that ignites a deeper, more primal fire in you. Your movements become less tentative, more deliberate. You settle into a rhythm, your hips rocking forward, pressing your entire length firmly against the incredible warmth and softness nestled between her cheeks. Each forward thrust is a slow, grinding press, a deliberate attempt to smear your precum against her skin, to mark her with your desperation. Each retreat is a slow, dragging pull that makes you lightheaded, the cool air of the room a shocking contrast to the blistering heat of her body.)

You can feel the fine tremors running through her thighs, the way her back muscles clench and roll under your splayed hand. Her breath is coming in sharp, rhythmic hitches now, syncing perfectly with your thrusts.

(The rhythm you've built is maddening. Each deliberate, grinding thrust of your cock against the soaked, slippery heat of her ass sends a visible shudder through her entire body. Her knuckles are white where she grips the comforter, her forehead pressed into the mattress.)

"F-fuck..." she moans, the word breaking into a desperate whimper. "The, the way you... rub against me..."

(Gwen arches her back, lifting her hips higher into the air. The motion is an unmistakable, wordless invitation, tilting her pelvis to present herself to you perfectly. The soaked, glistening folds of her pussy are now visible just below the curve of her ass, a stark, pink contrast to her tan skin, utterly exposed and begging for you.)

"Stop teasing," she begs, her voice a broken, breathless plea that's completely at odds with her earlier confidence. She grinds her hips back against you, a slow, circular motion that smears her own wetness against your throbbing cock. "I need it. Please. I need to feel you inside me."

(The sight of her, bent over and offered to you so completely, steals the air from your lungs. Her glistening pink folds are swollen and parted, and a single, glistening strand of her arousal connects her to your shaft as she grinds back against you. The primal, musky scent of her need fills the air, obliterating all other thought.)

You don't need to be told twice. Your grip on her hip tightens, your fingers pressing into her soft flesh as you guide yourself forward. The broad, flushed head of your cock catches against her entrance, and you both let out a simultaneous, shuddering gasp. For a breathtaking second, you simply press against that impossible tightness, feeling her body resist, then yield.

Then, with a low, guttural groan you didn't know you were capable of, you push forward.

The sensation is utterly consuming. An inch of you disappears into a velvet, clenching heat so intense it's nearly painful.

(You push forward, and the world narrows down to a single, searing point of contact. The head of your cock breaches her, and it feels less like an entry and more like a fusion. Her inner walls are a living, silken vice, impossibly hot and tight, clenching around you in a wave of perfect, agonizing friction. They flutter wildly, a frantic, involuntary pulse that greets your invasion, trying to accommodate your girth. A ragged, punched-out gasp is torn from Gwen's lips, her entire body going rigid for a split second, her fingers clawing at the comforter.)

You freeze, buried in that second impossible inch, your own breath hitching. "Gwen...?" you manage to grunt, the word strained, worried you've hurt her.

"Don't stop," she moans, the sound muffled and desperate.

(Her voice is a raw, shattered thing, vibrating through the connection of your bodies. "Don't you dare stop," she gasps, her words slurred with a mixture of pain and overwhelming need. She grinds her hips back against you in a desperate, tiny circle, forcing another fraction of an inch of your thickness inside her. The stretch is exquisite torture for you both. "It's... so much... just... keep moving.")

Emboldened by her plea, you obey. You press forward again, a slow, relentless invasion. The resistance is incredible, her tight channel clinging to every millimeter of your cock as you sink deeper. You can feel every minute detail: the way inner muscles try to adjust to your girth; the slick, hot glide of her arousal making the unbearable tightness just possible; the faint, trembling shake in her thighs pressed against yours. Thrust by thrust you can feel yourself get deeper inside her.

As her pussy spasms around you You don't hold back. Her desperate plea shatters the last of your control. With a guttural groan, you grab her hips tightly and drive yourself forward, burying your entire length inside her in one deep, powerful thrust.

The sound she makes is a sharp, high-pitched cry that melts into a long, shuddering moan as she's filled completely. Her back arches violently, her fingers clutching the comforter for dear life.

"Fuck! Yes! Right there!" she gasps, her voice already wrecked.

You don't give her a second to adjust. You pull back almost all the way until just the head remains inside her, savoring the tight cling of her body, before slamming back in with a force that shakes the bed. A rhythm is born instantly—hard, deep, and desperate.

(Your rhythm finds its brutal, perfect tempo. With every powerful, driving thrust of your hips, your body meets hers with a sharp, stinging impact. The smooth, firm flesh of her ass cheeks slaps against your pelvis and thighs, the sound a loud, rhythmic, and lewd smack that echoes in the quiet room, punctuating each of her choked-off moans.)

Each impact sends a jolt through both of you. You can see the shockwave ripple through her perfect skin, a reddening handprint of your own making beginning to bloom across one cheek. The force of your thrusts drives her forward slightly with each one, her shoulders pressing into the mattress.

(The slapping rhythm becomes a frantic, driving beat. You're both slick with sweat now, the musky scent of sex thick in the air. The initial animalistic frenzy begins to shift, the raw need coalescing into something more intense, more focused.)

Gwen's moans are no longer sharp cries but long, continuous, ragged pleas. "Ohhh right there... yes... Fffuuckk!" Her words are slurred, her face pressed into the mattress.

You can feel a familiar, coiling tightness deep in your own gut, a burning pressure building at the base of your spine. Her inner muscles are clenching around you in erratic, delicious spasms, fluttering wildly as she teeters on her own edge.

You lean over her, bracing one hand by her head, your breath hot against her ear.

(The only sounds are your ragged breathing, the wet slap of flesh, and Gwen's escalating cries. You feel the climax coiling tight in your core, a hot, urgent pressure. Your thrusts become faster, losing their rhythm, becoming urgent and shallow.)

"I'm getting close," you grunt, the words strained and breathless.

It's all the encouragement she needs. Her voice climbs, a desperate, keening wail.

"Yes! Yes, please! I'm... I'm right there! Don't pull out! God, fill me up! I want to feel it! Please, I want to feel you cum inside me!"

Her inner muscles clamp down on you in a vice-like, rhythmic spasm, milking your length as her own orgasm crashes over her. Her body convulses under yours, her back arching as she screams into the sheets.

(The world whites out. Her desperate plea and the violent, clenching grip of her orgasm rip the last shred of your control away.)

A raw, guttural groan is torn from your throat as you slam into her one last time, hilting yourself to the root. Your hips grind against her ass as your own release erupts, a hot, pulsing flood that spills deep inside her. Your body shudders violently with each thick, satisfying jet, your vision blurring at the edges from the sheer intensity of it.

You collapse over her, your weight pressing her into the mattress, both of you panting, slick with sweat, and utterly spent. The only sound is your ragged breathing and Gwens cute, quiet whimpers from the aftershocks of her orgasm.

(a long, shaky sigh escapes her, her body going completely limp beneath you. Her voice is a hoarse, ruined whisper, muffled by the sheets.)

"Holy shit..."

She shifts slightly, a tiny, exhausted movement. Her hand finds yours where it's splayed on the mattress beside her head. Her fingers weakly intertwine with yours.

"Don't move... not yet."

(You obey, remaining perfectly still, buried deep inside her. The sensation is overwhelming—the hot, clenching aftershocks of her own climax still pulse around your softening length, a series of delicate, fluttering tremors that draw a low, involuntary groan from your chest. The warmth of your release, pooled deep within her, creates a uniquely intimate heat that seems to radiate through your joined bodies.)

Gwen lets out another shaky breath, this one more content. She turns her head to the side, her cheek resting on the damp sheets, and her voice is a thick, drowsy murmur.

"Feel that?" she whispers, giving your fingers a weak squeeze. "Feel how you're still... twitching inside me? Gosh... I can feel all of it. So warm..."

She’s right. The last vestiges of your orgasm are still sending faint, rhythmic pulses through you, each one a tiny echo of the seismic release that just shook you both.

You stay like that for a long moment, the two of you connected in the heavy, silent aftermath. The only movement is the slow, steady rise and fall of her back as she breathes beneath you, and the fading, gentle pulses deep within her.

Finally, with a deep, contented sigh, you carefully ease yourself off of her and onto your back beside her on the rumpled sheets. The cool air of the room is a sharp contrast to the heat of your bodies.

Without a word, Gwen rolls over, her movements slow and languid. She curls into your side, her head finding its familiar place on your chest, her leg hooking over yours. One hand rests on your stomach, her fingers absently tracing idle patterns on your skin.

You both lie there in the comfortable silence, listening to each other's breathing slowly return to normal, the intense energy of moments before settling into a deep, warm exhaustion.

END