Thrall. The word meant what it meant– and after Margrethe, it meant Ivar was also overcompensating. If he... If he had just taken you! Then this would never have happened. But yet, it didn't. Now you dealt with the consequences. You kneeled in front of your master as he sat on the bed, sliding your slick digits over your needy, unused cunt. The first time he touched you, he woke something buried deep in you. You needed more every time. Now, all you wanted him to do was get inside of you.
"I told you not to do that." Ivar swatted your hands away from your slick. His fist would dig deep in your long hair, shoving you down onto his dick.
"Open. Work for me. You aren't getting what you want by whining like a bitch." He commanded, a shoving your mouth down over his cock as soon as you complied. He used your hair like a handle, pumping himself in and out of your mouth. You sucked him up in your mouth, sliding up to his tip when Ivar shoved you back down. Even if you wanted to prove yourself– Ivar would give you no choice, fucking himself into your mouth until you ripped away for air. Your throat was burning hot.
All because of Margrethe.
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Ivar the Boneless Imagines
FanfictionAll my one shots and drabbles about Ivar the Boneless
