'Till I'm Blue||Doc Ock NSFW

[Punch me, I bleed!]

Otto Octavius was used to being alone. When he wasn't tussling with Spider-Man or mourning, he was usually alone at home or in his office. But today was different. He didn't know what the difference was, but he did his best to pay no mind to it.

Otto awoke at around 10:00 A.M. to the sound of rain padding against his window. It was coming down hard, too, and he already had no reason to be out. He decided that today he would take a day to rest. It was deserved, he thought. He had been working very hard lately. The least he could do was rest for just one rainy day.

Otto stayed lying in his bed for another hour. The time was 11:47 A.M. He began getting lost in his thoughts, first thinking about Rosie, and then thinking about his last encounter with Spider-Man. Otto had attempted to rob a bank to fund his rebuilding of his failed experiment when Spider-Man appeared out of seemingly nowhere to defend the bank. He thought about the way he was thrown around like a rag doll by the smaller man, how he had been slammed against buildings, how he had been punched and beaten in front of a crowd of people, how humiliating that was. He finally zoned back in, feeling himself pulse in his boxers. He groaned under his breath while bringing a hand to slide down his face. Why has this happened? Then it clicked for him. Did he enjoy being tossed around and beaten like that in front of people? Did he enjoy the fact that people watched as he was beaten bloody? He tested it, getting lost in his thoughts once more. He felt the pulsing become faster, more persistent. He sighed, his face heating up against the cold air of his room. He reluctantly reached a hand down to his wet, pulsing slit. He knew what he wanted, and he wanted it so badly. He bit his lip as he ran his finger along his folds, trembling out of excitement.

He lowered his boxers to his ankles, his knees positioned up. He swallowed the lump of anxiety in his throat. He loved the awkward, anxious feeling he got from whenever he did this to himself. It only fed into his imagination. He didn't have to worry about anybody intruding. He lived alone, and he was all by himself on that lonely Saturday. He used his right hand to caress his chest, his bare, rather large man-boobs easily sensitive and squeezable. He played with them a bit, biting his lip and breathing shakily as he squeezed and rubbed circles along his nipples. He bucked his hips, showing himself that he was ready and terribly desperate.

He finally decided to serve himself, slowly inching his hand down to his area, unable to resist. He used the slick, wetness of his pussy as lube to service his clit. He rubbed circles around it, arching his back and letting out a stifled moan as he continued. He was unable to contain his sounds. Every circle his middle finger made around his pleasure-spot earned a new whine from him. He wished so badly for somebody to do this to him. He imagined his fingers being Norman Osborn's as he got lost in his sex-high. He slowly, subconsciously, slid his middle finger inside of himself. And then came his ring finger. And then both at once. He moaned shakily, his fingers bending against the soft, sponge-textured spot inside of him. Otto then had an idea. He used his free hand to slap himself once, the stinging pain making him whimper. He continued to fuck himself all while steadily slapping himself harder and harder. He imagined being exposed as he was slapped and being fucked, and that only made him blush and groan more. He then got another idea as he slammed his fingers inside of himself at a fast pace. He used one of his actuators to choke himself. This drove the man insane. He bucked his hips, unable to bring himself to slapping his face anymore, being too indulged in the suffocation. He drooled as tears welled in his eyes. The stimulation was unbearably overwhelming. He felt himself getting closer and closer to climax as he heard the loud "schlick" of his fingers abusing his poor hole. He tried to moan, but due to the restraint around his throat, he barely let out anything but stifled, overstimulated, cracky grunts. He rolled his eyes back as he continued, each slam getting him closer and closer to release. How badly he wanted it, how badly he wanted to be filled and bred. With a few final harsh slaps against his skin, he spurted with the clear liquid. He immediately let go of his throat. He was sure that there would be marks on his face and around his neck, but he was simply too worn out to do anything about it in the moment.

Otto lay in bed after pulling his boxers up and laying on his side, falling asleep before he even realized it. He would certainly be doing this again sometime.