A submission for Duck & Tosh's Handholding Challenge! Minnie's new boytoy has grown a new brain cell, and their whole dynamic crashes harder than her aftercare.
Hand, meet counter.
The best way to straighten a spine is to force it flush against cold granite - wrists pinned above your head, thighs forced wide like a twisted Vitruvian sketch. Minnie’s body traces yours like live flame, 120 pounds of lithe, relentless heat pressing you harder into the stone. Her fingers dig into the back of your neck, thumb stroking the vulnerable curve just below your skull, owning the exact spot that makes your pulse stutter.
No camera, no canvas, no breathless photograph has ever come close to capturing the Kim Minnie. Her siren song drowns every written word, her scorching passion burned away into sterile CMYK. She burns too hot - sweat-slick skin glowing under the tungsten bulb, dark eyes glinting with stray sparks threatening to consume you like dry timber yet still demanding more tomorrow. This girl with the world at her feet keeps crawling back to you like you’re her Adderall, addicted to the way you’re her only fix for the voices in her head.
All except one.
“I need you. So bad.”
Her mouth crashes into yours with zero warning, all fever and teeth and desperate little sounds. She kisses like she’s starving—like she’ll swallow your tongue, your breath, your sanity if you let her. One hand balls up your shirt while the other burns lines into your neck, leaving marks she’ll trace later with that wicked little smile.
Her thigh wedges between yours, pressing, grinding, the heat of her core already soaking through thin fabric as she rocks against your thigh like she owns every inch.
You let her take everything out on you. You’re her stress relief, her stolen strength when she’s left hers back under the spotlights, her stillness amongst the riptide of screaming fans and hungry executives, all clawing for a piece of her.
You break the kiss with a low growl, hands finally moving - sliding up her waist, gripping hard to still her frantic hips. “Good evening to you too-“
She doesn’t let you finish.
Minnie cuts you off with another bruising kiss, deeper, messier, her tongue tracing yours like she’s trying to crawl inside you. A needy whine escapes her lips as she shoves you harder against the counter, hips rolling relentlessly, chasing friction like it’s oxygen.
No words. Just breathy, broken sounds and impatient hands.
She yanks your shirt up with no ceremony, bunches it high enough to just barely obscure your vision. Her nails trail down your chest and stomach, scraping red lines until they hook into your waistband. The buttons of your shorts pop open with little pause. One tug, two, and she’s palming you through your boxers, stroking with single-minded focus, squeezing right at the head in a way that has you melting into her touch. Her other hand finds itself fisted in your hair, keeping your mouth right where she wants it.
The moment she’s satisfied with how hard you are, she tugs her own tiny shorts and soaked panties aside and mounts you like you’re her favourite toy. A needy whine escapes her lips as she lines you up and sinks down in one slick, greedy motion, impaling herself to the hilt with a broken gasp. Tight. Scorching. Suffocating.
She doesn’t care how you stabilize yourself. She only cares about feeding the restless heat within her.
She sets a brutal pace immediately, arms wrapped around your neck, hips slamming down hard and fast. Slick drips down her thighs in messy rivulets, soaking your skin and spattering onto the carpet with every wet slap.
Face buried into the hollow of your shoulder, she rides you with choked whimpers and frantic little grinds, chasing release like the world might end if she doesn’t cum soon. Every roll of her hips grinds her clit against you, her walls clenching and fluttering around your length. One hand stays locked around your neck; the other slips between your bodies, fingers working herself in tight, desperate circles.
Your hands grip her ass, helping her bounce, feeding her feverish rhythm while the counter digs into your back and the cold, dry air rips at the scratches. You focus on the feel of her - the frantic thud of her heartbeat against your chest, every desperate thrum of her pulsing cunt, every muffled, broken consonant pressed into your skin like secrets too dangerous to be said aloud.
It’s almost poetic, the way Minnie is. Every roaring blaze eventually reaches a tipping point - an apex of flame so bright it makes constellations look like stray embers far flung, like sparks and crackles feverishly finding, scrounging, searching for something, anything, everything to feed its dying lovechild.
Minnie’s entire body snaps taut. Her nails etch bloody murder into your back as her pussy clamps down hard, spasming and gushing around you in hot, rhythmic waves. A guttural cry rips its way out her throat, yelled into your chest as her hips buck erratically, riding out every last dopamine hit like she’s squeezing out toothpaste from her favourite toothpaste tube. But unlike her toothpaste tube, you’re far from painting her beautiful smile a nice shade of pearly white. You’re actually nowhere close to that - but she doesn’t care. You’ve served your purpose.
Bringing Minnie down is often the most difficult part. Both from her high and off the countertop. The former is the lesser of the two evils - hands running through her hair and cupping her head to your chest. In your head, you picture her as a beautiful Siamese kitten - willfully ignoring the feral wildcat persona that possessed her literally 15 seconds ago. For a girl who cums like she’s been hit by a fucking minibus, she’s thankfully calm and quiet during aftercare, tremors and aftershocks petering out as she grips your abdomen tight, face hidden like she’s afraid of getting caught by the light.
The latter is much more difficult - she’s still 120 pounds, and for all the hip thrust, squats and glute bridges you’ve done over the last 2 years, you still find it challenging to push her off whilst being pinned to the kitchen counter.
“Feeling better, Princess?”
No response.
You leave her be. She’s probably had a long day. Some manager’s probably screamed at her for showing up 5 seconds late to a schedule, or maybe some idiot cut her off while driving, or maybe some obsessed fan made an entire 7 minute video essay on how her second toe is longer than her first and how it causes all her feet pics to make her foot look like a—
“Yes.”
That’s all you needed to hear.
“Want me to help you down?”
Her nose tickles your pecs as she nods silently.
You shift your weight, easing the bite of the counter against your back as you gently help her unsheathe herself. Her wet cunt desperately clings on to whatever muscle and blood it can find to leave itself fulfilled, spent release webbing between the two of you like saliva from a hungry maw.
The moment her foot touches the floor, Minnie’s body goes limp - melting into your arms as her legs struggle to recall the choreography needed to keep her on her toes. She lets out a little squeal, but you catch her easily, hands firmly tucked under her buttcheeks (sneakily copping a feel through her shorts while you’re at it).
For a moment, the two of you just stand there. Minnie doesn’t bother pulling away from you. Her fingers trace idle patterns along the bumps and scratches on your back - like she’s admiring her latest work of art.
It's calm after the storm. No rush. No pressure. Just you and Minnie, breathing together in the quiet aftermath. And the smell of a cup of Shin Ramyun that’s been left out for too long and whose noodles have definitely gone soggy.
“Minnie,” you murmur against her hair, voice low and careful.
“I’ve been thinking.”
She lifts her head, chin resting lazily against your sternum.
“That’s never good.” She shoots back.
It’s the third time this week she’s shown up unannounced, the password to your door lock hammered in like it owes her money, your carpeted floor blatantly disrespected by chunky sneakers that probably cost more than a month’s worth of rent.
It’s also the third time she’s thrust herself straight into your arms, begging and pleading for a desperate fuck before you’ve even caught a chance to welcome her in.
You hold her tighter.
“This isn’t healthy.”
“Yet everything else I’ve eaten this month is,” she toys back, eyes trailing away to the view of Bangkok’s glittering night skyline. “I’m allowed to have a cheat day once in a while.
You let the silence sit for a beat, then tilt her chin gently so she’s forced to look at you again.
“Minnie. You’re a great fuck.”
“Thank you Captain Obvious.” She interrupts, not missing a beat. “I don’t fuck just anyone you know.”
“No - just- I- I’ve enjoyed the time we’ve spent together. I really love - you know…”
“Spit it out. Use your words.” Minnie’s thumb tilts your chin down to meet her gaze.
“Have you thought about us becoming something more?”
The second the last syllable leaves your mouth you instantly cringe at the delivery - there’s supposed to be an “Um, Bakugo” somewhere in there, you’re sure of it.
Minnie reacts exactly how you thought she would.
2 likes from ACESA_Lover and ItzStacyyyy.