Ivar the Boneless Imagines

Just a Toy

He began to think he was blurring the boundaries of what this was. You were his fuck buddy. A fine pair of legs, a round ass and set of big tits at the end of the day. That was all you were supposed to be. A good way to end the day with a cigarette and an ass on his dick. That was all he should have needed. But with Sigurd's wedding showing and the need for a date he had no choice but to invite you as his date.

Why?

Because even if it was Sigurd's special fucking day, he'd find a way to ruin his day as well. Mother deserved a son that would let her have some peace at his brother's wedding. So for her sake, he decided to behave. He knew early on that today was going to be a shit of a day. You shimmied into a tight, sleeveless black dress. His favourite because it had a daring slit and pressed up those beautiful tits he became addicted to.

No. No, he wasn't addicted. You only had a spectacular body and any man could admit that a woman with high heels was enticing. You especially. You were gorgeous that night, hair done up just how he liked it and the pop of rouge lipstick leaving him wondering if he could sneak you to the back and get your lips around his cock.

"(Y/N)!" His mother called from across the table. "I have been curious for some time now. When did you start dating my Ivar?" She asks. He inhales, looking over to you as you part your lips to answer her.

"Oh! Well, if I can tell you the truth Aslaug. Ivar is just a... boytoy? I would love to have him as my man... but he says he doesn't have 'time' to date." You feel flush as the words make it out. You twirl a little stick in your boozy drink that once held a fat cherry. As you look over– you knew that you misspoke. Ivar is shaking he's so angry. But it doesn't take much for it to get worse.

"What did you just call me?" He leans in against your neck, whispering as his hand drifts up between your black skirt across your inner thighs. You feel him getting closer and closer to a pair of thin silk panties.

"Oh... well. I'm so happy to see him with a woman that can handle him." Unlike Margrethe, you could hear it in your mind as you reach to grasp Ivar's shoulders, peeling away that flimsy fabric. You hold back a squeal, pulling the white cloth on top of the table as you try your best to smile and ward off his advances.

But everyone was staring. You have to quickly excuse yourself around the corner, hand at your chest. What the fuck did you tell his mother? Thank you for the fine dinner, but I'm just here to suck some dick? What the fuck! You rush to take out your mirror to fix that make up but find the reflection was far from splotchy lipstick or a smeared smoky eye– no.

"I don't know what the fuck you thought you were telling my mother. You should have left it at I'm his." Ivar slams one of his arms beside your head. You turn in the space between he and the wall, finding the way he looks at you so wildly is making a hot mess of your panties. You're utterly soaked for him.

"But I'm not yours. You made that clear when you said we wouldn't date." You supply an excuse just as he slides between your legs.

"On the floor. Now." He loosens his belt as you comply. You know full and well what's coming when he slides himself between your legs. You feel his shaft against your lips before Ivar alternates himself to press against your entrance. No rest for you, he shoves himself in to hilt within you. You cry out your squeal as he pushes himself– hard, then harder to hilt. Your hands claw at the ground as he picks up a brutal pace, fucking into your cunt despite the festivities of the day. You can hear the others dancing to a jaunty tune, slicing thick stacks of cake and stuffing themselves while Ivar was stuffing you with his cock.

"Ivar... Ivar please." Your hips push against his. Ivar bows his head, rocking his hips forward with great pleasure of doing so. You knew this was a shit show. This was to show you that the cripple could fuck you too– as good as men like Ubbe could.

"I'm not yours. You're mine. Wherever you go, you're my bitch. You'll always be my bitch." Ivar snaps out, filling you with every thrust forward. He'd make you pay for embarrassing him, sliding out your breasts from their silken cups. With every bounce he sends your cunt into overdrive, gripping him like its the last time you'll have him.

"What if I want another man?" You say, whimpering as your words cause his hand to slap over your pulsing cunt, smacking your slutty clit. It aches for him, begging him to give attention. He did– gladly so, rubbing his thumb into it with waves of hot pressure filling you over.

"Just try it. I'll kill him." He whispers into your ear, causing you to moan under the pressure of his cock and wonderful motion of his fingers. In a way, you believed Ivar when he said that he'd kill him. Whoever him was. You cum once under his fingers, spilling over him and squealing, but it isn't enough for him. He elicits another and another until your clit is pulsing with his attention, arms around his suit jacket when there is a sound of clipping steps.

"Really Ivar? You're just going to fuck your bitch here?" Sigurd says, looking down past fluffy flaxen hair as Ivar looses control, cumming inside you with a flick of his hips inside. He fills you up, gasping as he bucks out the last few seconds of his orgasm. He pulls out, dragging himself off of you. Sigurd watches as you reach to pull your panties over your spunk filled hole.

Ivar stops you short, dipping his fingers into your hole. "She's not a bitch. She's my woman." As he brings his fingers to your mouth, you swirl your tongue around the union of you bodies. You just couldn't stop that bright, stupid smile.

You were his woman.