Riding him stupid

You go to freddy’s but it get’s boring so you decide to this creep. That’s all.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:・*❆ +⋆

You wandered through the dimly lit corridors of the abandoned Freddy's location, your footsteps echoing off the dusty floor. The air was thick with the scent of old memories and faded dreams, a testament to the once thriving family restaurant that now lay in ruins. You couldn't help but feel a sense of boredom as you took in the decaying decor, the peeling wallpaper, and the shattered remnants of a bygone era. Maybe you grew too desensitized about these things now.

Your guide, a tall and lanky man with an unsettling aura that seemed to cling to him like a second skin, led the way. His name was Michael, and he was far too enthusiastic about showing you the ins and outs of this place. You couldn't quite put your finger on it, but there was something deeply disturbing about his demeanor, a certain creepiness that made your skin crawl, and it was exciting.

As you wandered through the endless maze of empty hallways and abandoned dining areas, you found yourself drawn to a peculiar object in the corner. It looked like a carousel seat, soft and plush to the touch. You ran your fingers along the faded fabric, “What’s this old thing?”

"Oh, that was the Freddy's and Friends ride," Michael said, his voice tinged with a hint of discomfort at your mundane question. You could sense his irritation, as if the very mention of such a trivial thing was beneath him.

"Mmmh, is there a ride for adults?" you asked, a smirk playing on your lips as you let the words hang heavy in the air. Michael's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them.

And now here they are, the air in the small storage room was stifling. Michael's tall, awkward frame was pressed against the chair. His eyes, usually so menacing and direct, now darted nervously around the room, unable to focus on one thing.

You straddled him, your hips swaying in a hypnotic rhythm, your body moving with a confidence and ease that he seemed to lack. Each circular motion sent a shiver through him, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hip as he tried valiantly to match your pace. It was clear from his erratic breathing and the way his body tensed that this was all new to him.

His teeth sank into his lower lip, biting down hard enough to leave a mark, a silent scream muffled behind closed teeth. The hand not gripping your hip flew up to cover his mouth, his fingers splaying across his lips as if to physically hold back the grunts and groans that fought to escape.

“Are you okay?”

“More than okay.” He said, a clear struggle of composure in his voice.