Request: 2k thot 🫣 voice kink w Pierre, just loving it whenever he speaks French even if you don't know what he's saying. Make it as spicy you want 🙃
Warnings: 18+ smut, doggy (it's Pierre okay 🫣), slight choking, and obvs voice kink
You found yourself on all fours, your body arched in ecstasy as Pierre's firm hands gripped your hips. Each thrust sends a jolt of pleasure coursing through you, igniting a fire that consumes every inch of your being.
His fingers dance with precision tracing tantalizing circles around your swollen clit, each touch sending ripples of pleasure through you. But amidst the intoxicating symphony of sensations, it's Pierre's voice that truly sets you ablaze. It's not just the words he speaks, but the language he speaks in, his mother tongue.
"Tu es tellement belle, mon amour," he breathes next to your ear, his voice a velvety whisper that sends shivers down your spine.
You whimper in response, your body trembling underneath his as his words wash over you like a tidal wave of passion. Each syllable, spoken in his native French, is a seductive invitation to lose yourself in the depths of pleasure.
"Tu vas si bien pour moi," he murmurs, the intensity in his voice igniting a firestorm of desire within you.
Each whispered word, each guttural moan, reverberates through you like a melody, his voice a siren's call luring you to the edge of oblivion.
"You're squeezing me so tight, baby, missed me that much, huh?" He asked, switching languages so you can understand and give him an answer.
You whimper and clench involuntarily at his words, biting your lip as he speeds up his thrusts. His fingers slip away from your clit and you almost whine at the loss of pleasure but those fingers quickly wrap around your throat. With his lips grazing your ear, he whispers, "réponds-moi."
"Oui, please, please, Pierre, I missed you so much," you rush out in one breath before another wave of pleasure brings you closer to the edge.
His lips brush tenderly against the side of your head, and you can sense the curve of his smile before he mutters, "that's my good girl."
You make a concerted effort to stifle your own cries and whimpers as his fingers return to your clit, pinching and circling in time with his thrusts. You wanted to focus solely on the intoxicating sound of his voice. Each low groan that escapes his lips, every ragged breath he takes above you, becomes a precious melody that you yearn to etch into the depths of your memory.
Every time he mumbles anything, you clench around his cock, earning a breathless chuckle from him. His amusement is palpable as he realizes the effect his voice has on you, a knowing smirk playing at the corners of his lips.
"Do you like it when I tell you how good you feel around me?" he questions, his voice husky with desire. His fingers trail lightly along the curve of your spine, sending a shiver of anticipation throughout your body.
With a soft whimper, you nod, unable to form coherent words as his voice weaves a spell around you, drawing you deeper into the throes of passion.
"Or," he murmurs softly into your ear, his words a tender caress against your skin, as if he's sharing a precious secret. "I think you love tout about my voice."
You inhale sharply at the sensation of his warm breath against your ear, a shiver running down your spine as his words sink in. The intimacy of his tone sends a rush of desire coursing through you, threatening to consume you whole.
"Is that what it is, mon amour?" He continues, his voice barely above a whisper, laden with a mixture of amusement and desire.
You can't help but nod, unable to find the words to express the overwhelming rush of emotions welling up inside you. It's not just the sound of his voice that enthralls you, but the way it makes you feel — cherished, desired, and utterly adored.
You arch into him, grinding your ass against him as he slips in and out of you. You reach your hand behind you, placing your palm on the nape of his neck, bringing him closer.
"Please," you gasp, your voice a desperate plea as waves of pleasure wash over you, threatening to engulf your senses entirely.
Your eyes flutter shut, your head falling forwards in ecstasy as you struggle to form coherent words amidst the overwhelming sensation.
"Don't... don't stop talking," you manage to grit out, your voice trembling with need. Each syllable is a struggle, torn from your lips as if by sheer force of will. But the urgency in your tone is unmistakable, a fervent plea for him to continue, to keep the intoxicating stream of words flowing.
As his voice washes over you like a soothing balm, you feel yourself teetering on the edge of oblivion, lost in a haze of pleasure that threatens to consume you whole. And in that moment, all you can do is surrender to the overwhelming tide, clinging to his every word like a lifeline in the storm of sensation.
So you do surrender to the overwhelming sensation, allowing yourself to be consumed by the raw intensity of his voice, knowing that in its embrace lies a sanctuary where time stands still, and all that exists is the intoxicating symphony of your shared desire.
