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loverontheleft · 6 months

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Princess

So, I wrote Are You Coming? based on the requests below. Some people did not feel I addressed the request properly, and they were very unhappy. I don’t normally provide rewrites — what you get is what you get (and I say that affectionately). However, this version came to me, so here’s a second attempt at satisfying these requests roughly 5 years later 😂

Original requests:

Brendon would 100% take you in his studio, stressed out, frustrated because he can’t figure out the right melody for a song he’s working on. He’d be so pissed but so hot…damn

—Mmm just imagine b coming home from the studio all frustrated and pissed off and maybe he got in an argument with one of the guys about something and he’s kind of being short with you and then you just drop to your knees and yank his pants down and put him in your mouth so quickly and his eyes completely shift…

Warnings: Daddy kink, rougher sex, language.

Brendon x reader || 9k

Punishments:

Ice cube in mouth until it melts.

Spanking or biting, with intention to leave marks. Paddle optional.

No petnames.

Remote-controlled toys only.

Dishwashing duty all week.

Ruined orgasms. Orgasm denial for added intensity.

Read and summarize the fine print in any new contracts—works best before a tour.

No sex—can only watch.

Kneeling for up to an hour. Blindfold or wrist restraints for added intensity.

Nipple clamps and leg spreader. Wearable vibrator for added intensity.

Note: punishments need not advance in order. More severe infractions (or repeated infractions) will be met with more severe punishments.

“Hands off, Princess. I am not in the mood.”

You’re standing behind Brendon’s chair in his home studio, letting your hands wander down over his shoulders and chest. He’s tense: there’s tiny bits of twisted paper all over the desk, he’s obviously been running his hands through his hair since it’s sticking out at odd angles, and he’s paced circles into the carpet.

He’d come home early from the studio downtown, and you’d been excited; you thought he’d cut his session short because he’d wanted you. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s cut meetings short or ended phone calls early because he desperately needed to get his cock in you.

It made sense to you that he’d be coming home for sex; you’d woken up particularly horny this morning, and you made that quite clear when you joined him in the bathroom. He’d been in the large, glass sectioned-off shower for about two minutes when you draped yourself on the bathroom counter opposite his view, spread your legs wide, reclined against the mirror, and started fingering yourself for him to watch.

After coming on your fingers and making him watch you lick and suck them clean, you’d slipped into the shower with him. He’d kissed you desperately, exploring your mouth to get any taste of your pussy that he could, while you reached down to stroke his cock to full hardness and begged him to take you.

Brendon had happily obliged, replacing your hand with one of his own after coating it in silicone lubricant. You love watching him prepare to fuck you; his eyes always go dark and focused, and he starts talking about the ways he wants to make you come. When you pleaded with him to be rough with you, he’d kissed you hard and wrapped a hand around your throat. You’d seen the question in his eyes and nodded eagerly.

Neither of you like breath-play at all—he never squeezes or restricts—it’s just the suggestion of total control paired with the trust and knowledge that he’ll never actually hurt you that drives you both wild. The most he’ll do, and only if you’re both sober and you really beg for it, is flex his fingers gently to remind you who’s in charge. Though, as he always teases, he may be the dominant one, but you’re the one actually in charge.

With his hand lightly resting on your throat, he’d told you to turn around, press yourself to the wall, and spread your legs. As you turned, his lips teased the back of your neck and up to one ear. “Tell me you want this, Princess.”

It was a request, not an order; he only ever goes as far as you confirm wanting. This morning, you’d confirmed wanting him hard and fast, dirty and rough. One hand still on your throat and the other rubbing at your clit while his cock filled you over and over again hadn’t dulled your desire at all, even though you’d both come hard. He’s always joked it’s a good thing you both enjoy shower sex so much, given the way you really let go and soak his cock, and the way he loves coming in you when he takes you from behind, only to pull out halfway through and come all over your thighs.

This morning, as worked up as you both were, he’d made you come twice before finally coming himself. Instead of letting him come on your thighs after he’d pulled out of you, you’d turned around, dropped to your knees and taken his cock in your mouth. Brendon had groaned low in the back of his throat, gripping your wet hair while you’d swallowed the rest of his cum. You wanted more, wanted to come for him a third and fourth time, and you’d moaned that when he kissed you softly, teasing your still-sensitive clit with gentle fingers. He’d murmured, full of regret, that he just couldn’t give you more right at that moment, but he’d be home as soon as possible, and he’d do whatever it took to fully satisfy his slutty Princess.

Needless to say, him showing up before lunch felt like great timing on his part.

But instead of grabbing you and pressing you to the wall, sliding a hand into your leggings, and telling you that he wanted you sprawled naked on the kitchen island begging for his cock, he mumbled that he didn’t need lunch, then brushed a distracted kiss across your forehead and headed upstairs. The door to his studio had shut firmly, and you’d stared up after him.

Standing behind your husband now and taking in the scene around him, you can tell he needs a break, but he’s just too stubborn to admit it. You know if you can just get him to admit he needs you, he’ll end up taking the break.

“Not in the mood,” Brendon repeats, eyes fixed on his screen.

“I don’t believe you,” you purr in Brendon’s ear, bending over and letting your fingers walk a path down his chest and stomach. Even though he claims to not be in the mood, he hasn’t stopped you yet, and you’re sure he’s secretly enjoying the feeling of your breasts pressing into his back. You’re almost convinced he’s going to let you have your way with him when he makes a sharp, frustrated sound. You’d just managed to slip your hand into his sweatpants and wrap it around his stiffening cock, but now you know he’s going to send you away—unless you can talk your way into staying.

“Princess, what did I just say?”

“You said you weren’t in the mood. Yet you’re still calling me Princess, and your cock is getting so goddamn hard in my hand, so I think you are in the mood.”

“That’s a physical reaction.” A vein in his neck twitches, and his cock throbs as you press soft kisses along his jaw and neck. He hasn’t moved your hand yet; you still have a chance.

“…Uh huh.” You pause to let him register the fact that you’re unconvinced. “Well, then I think I’ll see what other physical reactions I can get from Daddy.” You circle around in front of him, rolling his chair back and straddling him so you’re in between him and the sound board. “That’s better.”

He’s not protesting or stopping you, but he’s also not helping. It takes some maneuvering to get the waistband of his sweatpants out of the way, but you’re able to get his cock out. You’d briefly considered crawling out of his lap to grab real lube, but you don’t want him to have a chance to get his pants back on; instead, you just spit into your hand and start stroking him eagerly, curving your grip over the head the way he likes.

“I’d really like a physical reaction of Daddy’s thick cock spilling his hot cum all over my hand, and maybe on my face and tits too. Think Daddy can come that much for his girl?”

He groans under his breath; however, you can’t tell if it’s frustration at your persistence or arousal at your use of his title and the comment about coming on you.

You’re hoping it’s the second one. You both love how it feels when he fills you with cum and you’re left quivering, breathless, and slick—but there’s just something about his cum on your body that drives you wild. Brendon loves coming all over you too; it’s not unusual for him to pull out of you once he’s close and jack off for the last few moments, whether you’re in the shower or not. Sometimes you wait patiently with an open mouth so he can come on your tongue; other times, he wants to see his cum decorating your cleavage, stomach, or thighs. You both know it’s definitely a possessive thing, even though you’ve been married for seven years.

He feels bad for craving the visual reinforcement that you’re his, says the idea that he can claim you at all is gross in its objectification, and the fact that he feels like he’s claimed you by coming on you is even worse, but you tease that you won’t leak it to the media and get him canceled. Besides, you remind him, you crave it too—you love when he’s possessive. And, like you always reassure him, you know he loves and respects you. Him wanting to see his cum dripping from your tongue to your tits doesn’t negate that.

The showers you take together after he comes on your face and chest are another perk, and not just because you love getting him in the shower—though you do. While you’ll often join him for a morning shower, it’s been a practice of your entire relationship to always end your days with one together, and it’s always been your protected, completely private time. Unless he’s on tour, every night as soon as one of you yawns, he’s scooping you up and carrying you to the shower.

Brendon lights the candles, you choose the music, and you take turns washing each other’s hair and body. It’s sweet and serene, and you both forget about everyone and everything else. He’s joked that he wouldn’t even recognize his own music when he has you in his arms in the shower; he’s always so engrossed in you. The only thing that matters to you both during that time is the chance to be together without any inhibitions or interruptions.

You love the intimacy Brendon brings to your shower ritual — especially after he’s just come all over you in bed. He presses you to the shower wall to kiss you like it’s all he ever wants to do before filling his hands with your favorite cleansing oil. The look on his face as he works his way down your body is reverent; he worships you with his hands. His eyes are always so soft, and the love there is obvious.

Often, he ends up eating you out once he’s down on his knees. That usually leads to him fucking you slowly, and then you have to start the shower all over again. Not that either of you mind.

Once you’re both finally clean and sated for the moment, you’ll dry each other off and Brendon will bundle you up into a heated towel and carry you to bed, where you both cling to the other and sleep hard. Sometimes, he wakes you the next morning with a soft kiss to your forehead and sweet whispers before making breakfast. Other mornings, you wake him up for lazy sex, because you’re feeling clingy and needy. Brendon’s always willing on those mornings, because he’s usually already hard from having you rub against his thigh all night. Even if he’s not ready at that exact moment to roll over and fill you, or for you to straddle him, sink into his lap and down onto his cock, you murmuring in his ear that you need him never fails to get him fully erect and reaching for you longingly.

You both come fast and hard during those early morning sessions, even though you both move so slowly to savor it. He buries his face in your neck, groaning your name when he comes inside you, and you stroke his back, scratching when your body seizes in pleasure around him. It's one of the best ways to start your day, and Brendon agrees. He firmly believes that a good orgasm followed by a hot shower with you clears his mind and increases creative thinking.

Right now though, Brendon’s not acting like he’s about to come or feeling any sort of clarity or creativity. He is hard, precum is rolling in steady beads from the head of his cock, and his hips are twitching slightly, but he’s not giving any indication of being mentally present in the moment with you, so he won’t come the way you want. Instead, he’s doing a great job of not engaging with you at all—he looks pointedly past you at the sound display. That’s not going to work for you, so you stroke his arm with your free hand.

“Hey. B. Pay attention to me while I’m getting you off.”

The only acknowledgement you get is one of his hands moving to your thigh and squeezing lightly. If you weren’t trying to get him to come, you’d love his gentle touch and snuggle into him.

However, you are trying to make him come, so this isn’t enough for you; you whine and scratch down his chest the way he normally loves. “Brendon. I’m playing with your cock. Look at me. Tell me how hot I am, how you want to bend me over this desk and fuck me and fill me with cum til it’s dripping down my thighs. Or maybe you want me to ride you? I’ll do whatever you want. Don’t you want to see your cock deep in my pussy? I’ll lean back a little, and you can watch. Know you love watching your best girl sink onto your thick cock, seeing how I take every inch. You know I take it so good, B, and I’m so wet. Let me show you.”

You’ve gone to scratch at him again when Brendon catches your hand, holding you firmly by the wrist. His other hand cups your chin and the side of your face loosely, raising your eyes to his. Normally, you can call him whatever you want, but not when he’s got his hands on you like this. He only holds you like this when he needs you to know that he’s ‘Daddy,’ and that’s all you can call him.

Any touch of his is enough to pique your arousal but knowing that he’s purposely moving to that headspace makes you particularly hot for him and sets off a deep pull of longing inside you. Sometimes he holds you like this before a punishment or a stern scolding, sometimes it’s so he can whisper that you’ve been Daddy’s best girl, so he’s going to take you to bed and make you come more times than you can count, and sometimes it’s before he gives you long, deep, and intimate kisses, just because he feels like hearing you moan his title into his mouth as you scratch his back.

This time, you know it’s most likely a scolding. Brendon’s fingers around your wrist squeeze lightly, just enough to get your attention. “I didn’t ask you to get me off. In fact, I’m pretty sure what I actually said was ‘hands off.’ Daddy is working now. Don’t be a brat.” This prompts a dirty look from you, and you remind him that you’re not a brat; you’re always perfect.

“A perfect pain in my ass.”

“Oh, you’ve done it now, Daddy,” you murmur with a soft laugh. You don’t take offense to his comment. It’s not that you can’t tell he’s in a bad mood; you’re well aware. It’s just that you know it’s not actually anything to do with you. He’s been tense over this album, you’re purposefully being a nuisance right now, and he desperately needs a release. You’ve both always joked that he’s a tyrant, and when songs aren’t working how he wants, he can get irritated. He’s clearly pissed at the situation now, and you’re not helping—yet, anyway. So, all he’s done by calling you a brat and a pain in the ass is guarantee more pushing.

You know you’re going to get punished for it, but he needs a push to take a break: you lean forward and bite his shoulder. The anticipated punishment becomes swiftly real; Brendon drops your wrist and smacks your ass, hard enough that it stings.

“Fuck! Daddy!”

“Don’t even try to act surprised. You knew what you were doing. You earned that, Princess. And speaking of earning,” he pauses to wrap his arm around your back and reaches up to get a good grip on your hair close to your head. You love when he holds you like this; with his elbow pressed to the small of your back and a fistful of hair, he’s rendered you immobile in his lap without causing you any pain. He loves it too; you can feel his cock twitch against your clit. You wonder if he’s thinking about fucking you like this. The first time you tried it, you both agreed it was fantastic—so fantastic that you’d ruined the soft upholstery of his desk chair and had to buy him a new one that could easily be wiped clean. Your legs had been spread wide over his lap, and his hand and arm held you still while he rocked up into you urgently. The two of you, panting and moaning, were rocking and grinding against each other, absolutely desperate to come, and Brendon was groaning your name in your ear, calling you his girl, his dirty Princess, his needy slut, his perfect girl, only his. You remember how he reached between your thighs to rub your clit and told you to come all over Daddy’s cock. You’d seized up, squealing and coming hard.

Your eyes glaze over at the memory; you can feel your pulse rising and your stomach tightening. You’ve been worked up all day; the two orgasms in the shower were just a tease, and now he’s got his hands all over you. You don’t even care that he’s touching you as part of a build-up to a punishment. You just want him so badly.

His voice brings you back.

“Count for me, pretty girl.” A part of you is curious why he’s going to such lengths to hold you still and make you count, when he’s just going to spank you once, but the answer comes before you can even ask the question aloud.

“You’re getting ten.” Brendon delivers the sharp swats in quick succession, making you squeal and squirm in protest as you count. Even though the stinging, tingling sensation is intense, it still turns you on and has you gasping the numbers. You’re glad you’re straddling him; glad you’ve got your pussy positioned right over his cock so you can rub against him.

It feels so good, but it doesn’t last long.

“Stop grinding on my dick, or I’ll spank you again.”

“You wouldn’t. Ten was already too many. I bit you once.”

“Wouldn’t I? Those ten were for swearing, Princess.”

“That’s still not fair! I swore once.”

Brendon laughs under his breath and brings you close for a rough kiss. You can feel the frustration radiating off of him; it’s in the tension of his body, the urgency of his kiss, and the firmness of his grip on your hair. You don’t love that he’s unhappy, but you love when he takes you like this. It’s worth it to keep pushing him.

You kiss him back eagerly, and you wonder if he can feel how wet you are. You can feel how hard he is; he’s said you can’t grind on his dick, but, you reason to yourself, sliding your shorts to the side and riding his cock until he comes in you hasn’t technically been forbidden. You would try it if he was in a better mood, but today you know he’d really punish you. If he’s already spanking you hard enough to sting, he's more tense than you originally thought. Spanking like that is a level two punishment, and while you’ve been spanked for biting and swearing before, Brendon usually just makes you hold an ice cube in your mouth until it melts.

Pulling back slightly, he tells you, “You got exactly the number you deserved. It was ten times, you naughty girl. Cock, goddamn, cock, cum, tits, cock, fuck, cock, pussy, and fuck.” He tugs your hair lightly as he lists each word. “Can’t believe the slutty mouth on my baby.”

You make a short, annoyed sound under your breath. “Cock, cum, tits, and pussy do not count, and I only have a slutty mouth because you put your cock in it so often.”

“Princess, do you really wanna argue with Daddy?” His eyes are dark; you can read the challenge there.

You consider this, tilting your head to one side. Brendon can see the wheels turning behind your eyes, and he grabs your ass to squeeze possessively the way you love. “I asked you a question.”

“I’m thinking about my answer.” You roll your eyes at him, and his narrow. “Normally the answer would be ‘no,’ just because I prefer to be a good girl for Daddy. But I do love being a brat sometimes—I love how you fuck me when you’re pissed. God, you’re so damn sexy, all rough and less restrained; the way you grab me and hold me and just fucking take me, filling me over and over again til I’m screaming your name and coming all over your cock…it drives me wild. And the way you bite my neck when you come in me—it feels so damn good.”

“You just earned five more, and you admitted to being a brat. Do not make me go to step three.” He’s trying so hard to sound stern and serious, but the corners of his lips twitch a little, and his eyes are softer. He’s definitely amused by your admission of enjoying the rough fucking you get as a result of your pestering.

Even though you can tell he’s moving toward a good mood, the threat is real, and you do not want him to invoke step three. He won’t let you call him Daddy—and he stops calling you his Princess—for at least a day, sometimes longer, depending on how bad you’ve been. You hate it, and you’ve been trying to figure out how to ask about moving it higher on the list. Losing the petnames seemed so manageable when you first brainstormed punishments together, but it’s actually quite distressing for you. You’re pretty sure it bothers him too, but he’s great at holding firm on the punishments unless you safeword, or he genuinely believes you can’t take any more.

Brendon looks you up and down, finally taking in your outfit. You’ve chosen one of his softest oversized t-shirts and your favorite satin sleep shorts; he’s always said that he loves how good you look at events, all dressed up with elaborate hair and makeup, because you’re already so beautiful, and on those nights, he gets to appreciate a glamorous version of your beauty. Still, Brendon’s favorite you is just you in your purest form, fresh from the bed you share with him: usually naked, a little sleepy, with messy hair, all pliant and snuggly. If you’re not naked, you’re usually in his clothes, which he finds deeply satisfying—more of that possessiveness you both love.

“You’ll get the other five later, Princess. Daddy is busy working, but don’t think for even a minute you’re off the hook.” He curls a finger under your chin and brings your mouth to his. The kiss itself is gentler than before, but the way he nips at your lower lip and presses you against him tells you he’s still on edge. “Can you sit and behave while I work on this?”

You nod, slipping from his lap with the intention of curling up on the chaise across the room, but you squeak in surprise when Brendon gently tugs you close and guides you back so you’re chest to chest. “I wasn’t clear; I’m sorry. You can still sit in my lap while I work. I want my girl in my lap. I really do. Love her on me. She just needs to behave. You do understand what I mean when I tell you to behave, don’t you, Princess?” You nod, and he raises one eyebrow. “Use your words, pretty baby.”

It sends a thrill through you; if you weren’t already wet for him, that would’ve done it. You press closer to him and recite. “Behaving means no touching, no teasing, no talking.”

“Good girl.” Brendon drums his fingers on the arm of his chair. His gaze is steady, and you can feel the heat and desire there; you know it matches yours, and you know he can see it. “And you understand why those are the rules?”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Thank you. Tell me why, Princess.”

“Because I can be an awful tease, especially when I touch myself in front of you or try to get you worked up. And you may need to re-record something, so I can’t make any sounds, because they’ll interfere.”

“That’s exactly right; such a good girl for me. Sit, behave, and wait for Daddy to be done. You know I don’t mean to ignore you, but I need to get this right, okay, Princess?”

You know he’s not expecting a verbal response now, so you nod silently and lean into him when he presses a soft kiss to your forehead. You love when he gets bossy like this, and you know it helps him too. When nothing else is going right, there’s solace in knowing he can control you.

What’s more, he knows being in control is a privilege you’ve given him, not a right, and it’s a big responsibility. Together, you worked out the levels of punishment and—because you like it a little rough—you’ve agreed on a safe level of frustration he can bring to bed and work out with you. He’s never diverted from the scale or limits you created together, and knowing you’re trusting him with so much forces him to calm down and stay focused.

Since he’s editing and mixing, you don’t expect him to touch you, and you’re prepared for silence. A ground rule for your marriage is that neither of you will ever ignore or isolate the other as any part of a punishment. Even on the rare occasions when you’re blindfolded and kneeling as a punishment, he sits opposite you, leaning against the door and talking with you in a low, soothing voice so you know you’re not alone. You two don’t ignore each other, but there are times in daily life when he simply can’t give you his full attention. You know this; you’re prepared. With all of this in mind, you’re surprised when he reaches up to caress your hair while he studies the screen.

You’d like to tell him how good it feels, but you’re not supposed to talk. Instead, you press your head up into his hand and cuddle into him.

-||-

You’re not sure how much time has passed. Brendon is still tense under you, but his heartbeat has been lulling you to sleep, and you’re resting your head on his shoulder. His lap is your favorite place to doze off, because he’s warm and always holds you firmly against him. He makes you feel safe and secure and, even though you’re losing feeling in your legs from kneeling over his lap like this, you don’t want to move from your position.

Brendon’s got headphones on, so he can immerse himself in the mix, and you can hear it faintly. It sounds good to you, but Brendon has never settled for ‘good’ when he knows he can be better. He’s still searching out the ‘better’ though, and you’re not sure it’s going well. He’s restless under you, fingers tapping at the controls. He desperately needs a break, but you know your husband. He’s not going to take a break until he feels like he’s earned it.

That’s why you’re surprised when his fingers in your hair tug lightly. Brendon knows how much that turns you on, and he’s never been one to tempt you into breaking the rules. You bite your lip, willing yourself to remain silent. His hand on the control panel moves to caress your ass, and he pulls gently at your hair again. Carefully, he guides your head back so he can meet your eyes. You can read the desire there, can feel his hips lifting to get some friction against his cock, and he shoves his headphones off.

“Can’t make this fucking transition sound right,” he mutters, and you move to kiss his jawline soothingly. Before you can make contact though, he leans back and holds your hair firmly. “Nuh uh, Princess. No touching.”

“You also said no teasing,” you point out. “And yet you’re grinding your cock up into me, knowing how hot that gets me.” Normally when you call Brendon out for breaking the rules, he’s quick to apologize. He also assigns himself a more severe punishment, because as the dominant one, he feels he should be held to a higher standard.

This time, he doesn’t apologize, and he gives no indication of doling out a punishment for himself. Instead, he just stares at you thoughtfully. Finally, he murmurs, “Can’t get this goddamn song to—fuck, but I can get what I like from you, can’t I, Princess?”

You know what he likes, what he needs; you’ve been waiting for this moment. You slide from his lap, settling on your knees in front of him, and you reach up to tug at his sweatpants, needing them gone. Brendon’s head rolls back, and he raises his hips, letting you get his pants all the way down. He sinks lower in the chair, already groaning your name.

You eagerly take him in your mouth, tongue working frantically while your hand squeezes around the base of his cock, and he’s gasping your name now, pulling at your hair the way you love. He’s so hard against your tongue; you love the feeling of your mouth stretched around his cock. Brendon’s leaning back in his chair, hips thrusting up slowly, and even though you’re trying to be silent, you know your happy sounds as you greedily suck while he fucks your mouth are audible.

“Getting me so damn close—that’s it, suck for me, pretty girl; suck Daddy’s cock—good girl, my best girl, oh wait—god—shit—fuck—”

You glance up at him, pleased. However, it becomes clear from the look on his face that Brendon isn’t cursing out of bliss. It pains you to see how deeply conflicted he looks. You sit back now, stroking him slowly. “You okay, B?”

“Fuck, baby, I’m great—you’re so good—but this isn’t what I—Princess, you don’t have to—oh my god—”

You’ve swallowed around him again and you smile a little to yourself; you knew his comment about getting what he liked from you wasn’t about blowing him—you just wanted to do it. He seems to have realized you could’ve interpreted his comment that way though, and he looks simultaneously aroused and upset.

“You don’t want me to suck your cock?” You pout up at him playfully, and Brendon groans, breathing hard and gripping your hair with one hand and the armrest with the other.

“No, I do. I really do. I just don’t want you to think that you’re being punished with—because sex isn’t—Princess, you know we don’t use sex as part of—god, come here; get up here.”

You oblige, crawling back into his lap and only grinding down a little. His cock, slick from precum and your mouth, slides easily against your sleep shorts, and the feeling is driving you wild. You caress his face and run your hands through his hair, carefully rolling his head back to access his neck for soft, teasing kisses. It’s against his neck that you murmur, “Did I do something wrong, Daddy?”

“No baby, not at all.” His breath is still labored, and he shifts to rest his forehead against yours now. “I just don’t want you to think that I’m expecting…we don’t use sex as a punishment. That’s not us. We may use aspects of it, like when I ruin your orgasms,” and he grins now, nudging your nose with his.

“Or,” you continue, tugging at his hair affectionately, “when you tie me down and make me watch you jack off until you come on my tits.”

“Mmm,” Brendon agrees, cupping your face and kissing you softly. “Or when you’re such a bad girl that I cuff you to the headboard, put the spreader bar on your ankles, and break out the nipple clamps.”

“Hey,” you laugh, slapping at his shoulder lightly. “I’ve never been bad enough to get that punishment.”

“Not yet, you haven’t,” Brendon teases, gripping you by the waist. “But I’m holding out hope. We both know you’d look so pretty, bound to our bed, legs spread wide for me while you squirm from the vibrator deep in your sweet pussy. I even bought pearl-studded nipple clamps.”

“I know you really didn’t and you’re just joking about buying those, so I also know you’re in a better mood,” you comment. “And you didn’t even come.”

“Yet,” Brendon murmurs, stroking a thumb over your lips affectionately. “Didn’t come yet. I know my Princess; she won’t leave me achingly hard for long.” His cock throbs underneath you, and you wiggle against him happily. “I am, by the way.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You are what, Daddy? Because I already know you’re achingly hard; I can feel you.” Reaching down between your legs, you grab his cock and guide it up in between the two of you. You could grind more easily before, but now with it pressed to his stomach, you have other ways to tease him that make him just as crazy.

“I’m in a better mood.”

“Oh! Good. Glad I helped. Knew I would. Knew you just needed to have me.”

Brendon twirls a lock of your hair around his index finger and looks thoughtful. “Have I had you? I’ve had your mouth…” He looks at you, eyes dark and expression hungry. “Nearly came in that perfect mouth of yours, and I know you would’ve swallowed for Daddy. Yes, I’ve had your lips wrapped around my cock, had you sucking so eagerly like such a good girl. But I haven’t really had my Princess. Not the way I need her, in order to be in a good mood.”

You give him a coy smile. “And how does Daddy really need me?”

He laughs a little, tugging at the lock of hair he’s got, and reaches down to grab your ass and pull you closer, more into his lap. “I think you know, pretty girl.”

Brendon’s got a unique blend of explicit and withholding that drives you out of your mind with desire. He’ll whisper absolutely filthy things in your ear one moment and then, just when you think he’s mere seconds away from tearing your panties off with his teeth, he’ll sit back and get purposefully vague like he’s being now.

Fortunately, you know Brendon as well as you know yourself. This is his subconscious anxiety surfacing; he needs to hear, needs to know, that you want him just as badly. In that way, he’s also offering you a guilt-free way out—he’s giving you the power to move forward and asking for your consent. With one statement, he’s letting you set the boundaries, and however you respond is as far as he’ll go. Knowing all of this, you’re never annoyed by his playful dodging of questions.

“Mmm,” you murmur, kissing down his neck again. “I think I have a pretty good idea. Think you need me to slip these shorts down and spread my legs for you. Think you need a taste of your girl’s wet cunt before you fill it with that perfect cock. Stretch out on the chaise and let me ride your tongue. You need to work out your remaining stress by eating my pussy, then bending me over and fucking me til we both come hard. Give it to me, Daddy. Fuck me, get rough, spank me, pull my hair, bite me, rub my clit while you take me from behind and make me come so hard, I soak your cock. Come in me; I need your dick. Need to get fucked, please. Know you wanna feel me lose control from how good you fuck me.”

“God, you make me so hard,” Brendon groans. “Tell me you want this.”

“I want this—want you,” you tell him, cupping his face in both hands and gazing at him intently. “I love you.”

“I love you, baby,” Brendon murmurs, grabbing your hips and standing easily. “You’re so fucking wonderful, and I’m so damn lucky,” he adds, crossing the room, dropping down onto the chaise, and sprawling out under you. “You gonna sit on my face?”

“Hell yeah. You gonna tell me why you’re so pissed?”

Brendon laughs a little under his breath, tugging at your shorts. “I can’t eat you out and talk,” he remarks, and you stand, shoving your shorts down and wriggling out of his shirt. “And you know why. That song—”

“Nuh uh,” you cut him off. “I don’t buy that. Not for a minute. You’ve had difficult, elusive songs before. That is not why you’re so annoyed. Or at least, it’s not the whole reason. So, here’s the deal: I’m going to sit on your face, you’re going to use my pussy to work out whatever tension you’ve got in a variety of fun ways, and after you’ve come in me, you’re going to talk about your shit.” You point a finger at him mock-menacingly. “That’s how we handle things. We talk. You don’t get to be a sulky, grumpy dick to me when I haven’t done anything wrong. You can give me your dick when you’re pissed,” you tease, “but you don’t get to be one.”

“You’re right,” he concedes, his eyes softening. “You’re absolutely right, Princess. I’m so sorry for being an asshole earlier. That wasn’t fair. We talk about our shit. But…” and he gestures between your legs, then to his mouth with a hopeful expression. “Pussy first?”

You laugh, crawling up over him. “Yes, Daddy. Pussy first.”

-||-

“Oh — son of a—fuck, Brendon, just like that,” you moan, head tipped back as you rub yourself down against his mouth urgently. “Shit, that’s good! Eat it, Daddy, eat my fucking pussy; fuck, lick—just like—god, yes!”

He groans into you, fingers clutching at your hips as his tongue works your clit. You love him, you love his mouth, and you love how dedicated he is to making you come. Brendon’s always invested in your orgasms, always phenomenal, but there’s just something about when he’s in a bad mood—or making it up to you for being in a bad mood—that gets you even more worked up than usual.

“Come on my face,” Brendon manages, grabbing your ass before spanking you firmly. You squeal, spreading your knees wider to sink down onto him more, and you love the happy sound he makes. You’re close again, and he looks up at you from between your thighs knowingly. You can feel the curve of his smile before he sucks at your clit; it sends you over the edge, grinding against him helplessly, panting and shaking.

You’ve lost count—you think that was your fourth—and you slump over, resting your forehead on the curve of the chaise behind him. Brendon buries his wet face in your stomach and wraps his arms around you while you prop yourself up, trying to catch your breath. “I’ll pass out if you make me come like that again,” you warn, squirming backward so you’re nose to nose with him now.

“Mmm, don’t want that,” Brendon murmurs, stroking your hair back from your face. “Hi, Princess. How you doing, other than suffering through too many orgasms?”

“I didn’t say I was suffering,” you mumble as you kiss him. “Just giving you fair warning. If you plan on fucking me, you might want to accelerate your timeline. Otherwise, I’ll collapse mid-fuck, and I have to assume that’ll dampen your mood.”

“It definitely will,” Brendon agrees, grinning up at you. “I like you conscious. But I don’t wanna accelerate my timeline. Want to take my time with my girl. If that means delaying getting my dick in you, so be it.” He shrugs a little, wrapping both arms around your waist and rolling you over so he can press you into the cushions. “Maybe, instead of accelerating, you need me to slow down?”

“Say more.”

“Say please.”

“Daddy.”

“Yes, Princess?”

There’s a long silence between you, and he raises an eyebrow expectantly. You groan, even though you love when he’s bossy.

“Fine. Please say more.”

“Good girl. If I accelerate my timeline, as you put it, I run the risk of you collapsing. But if I slow down, if I let you fully recover, then it’ll be even more satisfying when you come so hard your legs give out.”

Your breath catches and you wiggle against him eagerly, feeling how hard he is. “And how do you anticipate slowing down?” The two of you aren’t very good at slowing down; you can start and stay slow, you can start slow and build in intensity, but if you start as urgently as you did earlier, it’s hard for you to break that pace.

“Figured I’d tell you why I’m so pissed.”

“Oooh, that’s a good idea,” you murmur, stroking his back and making a happy sound when he kisses you. The embrace is rough, his hands are all over you, and he quickly starts working down your neck, suckling and biting the way you love. With all of this, you realize that he’s been holding back his frustration. He may have been working through his feelings with his tongue in your pussy, but the edge is nowhere near gone. He’s still tense, and you tug at his hair. “Talk to me, B.”

He rolls you both again so you’re on your sides, nestled together chest to chest. “How much detail do you want, Princess?”

“As much as you think I need or as much as you need to share to feel better. Whichever.”

Brendon sighs, burying his face in your shoulder. “I got into an argument with some of the producers at the studio. It started with the music. I didn’t like how they were mixing it—which is why I’ve brought it home—and I was a bit of a dick about it.”

“You? Impassioned about your music? That doesn’t sound right,” you tease gently, nuzzling him. “Go on.”

“And it escalated…until one of them made a comment about you.”

“About me?” This takes you aback; you hadn’t realized his producers had any opinions about you. You’ve met them all, had dinner with them and attended launch parties, but they don’t know you the way the band does. What could they possibly think about you?

“Something about how they shouldn’t be surprised that I was being so controlling about the music because they’ve all heard the other band members joke about how I treat you, and it’s only a matter of time before you get tired of my shit and leave like everyone else.”

You’ve never understood the phrase ‘seeing red’ until now; your vision swims in scarlet rage, and you’re highly interested in figuring out who precisely said that to him, showing up at their homes, ripping their arms off, and then beating the shit out of them with their own hands.

Instead, you hug him tightly, trying to calm your racing heart. “You know that’s not true, right?”

He looks at you desperately. “But what if they’re right?”

“But they’re not. You ‘treat’ me the way I explicitly beg for you to treat me. You’re perfect for me, Bren. You’re caring and respectful and thoughtful. You’re mine, and I’m yours, and that’s not changing.”

“But we—the punishments and the—what if you…”

“Brendon. B. My love. Daddy.” You grab his face to make sure he’s focusing on you. “Look at me. Everything we do is consensual. We came up with those ‘punishments’ because we like you getting a little rough with me when I’m a brat, which I do on purpose, because, again, we like when you’re a little rough with me. Everything we do is for our own pleasure. You’re not actually disciplining me. I’m not a child; I’m your wife whom you love, and I love you. We’re playing. We just happen to like playing like this.”

“I know, but—”

“If either of us stops liking it, we’ll stop doing it. Our love is bigger than you spanking me or giving me dish duty because I was bratty. Speaking of which, can we reorder the punishments? I need losing petname privileges to be for much more serious offenses.”

“Fuck,” Brendon groans, clutching you close to him. “Yes, please. That’s been way too low. Do you want to swap it with something else, or cut it altogether?”

At this, you look perplexed, and Brendon laughs a little. “Princess, we can do whatever we want. As you just pointed out, they’re our rules. Personally, I vote we cut it entirely.”

“Mmm, but then there’s only nine punishments. That’ll bother me. We need ten. It can be number ten.”

“You’d really move the nipple clamps and the spreader bar lower?”

“In a heartbeat. I hate not getting to call you Daddy. Hate not hearing you call me your Princess or your best girl or any other terms of endearment that may come up. At least with the nipple clamps and spreader bar, I still come.”

“I hate losing the petnames too,” Brendon murmurs, tugging your hair affectionately. “And I should’ve realized you hated it and brought this up sooner; I’m sorry, my love.”

“It’s okay,” you whisper against his mouth as you steal a kiss. “I’m just glad we agree on this. See? This is why we talk about our shit.”

“You’re right,” Brendon says, taking a deep breath. “So, they made that comment about you, and I fired them—”

You cut him off there. “You fired them?”

He blinks at you in confusion. “Of course, I did. They don’t get to talk about my wife and keep their jobs.” You roll onto your back now, and he shifts to prop himself up above you on one elbow. “Surely you’re not actually surprised.”

“You cannot fire your producers just for being assholes.”

“Agree to disagree, because I definitely did.”

“…So, then what? You fire them for being dicks about me, you come home, and then you’re a dick to me too? That doesn’t make any sense.” You’re actually annoyed now, and Brendon can tell.

“It doesn’t,” he agrees softly. “There’s no excuse, and I’m sorry.”

“What does make sense though,” you muse after a moment, watching his face, “is why you’re still pissed and tense. Because you’re subconsciously frustrated with yourself for being a jerk to me, especially after what they said. You’re now afraid you’re creating some self-fulfilling prophecy.” You can see your words register, and Brendon goes pale, his eyes wide and tears threatening at the corners. You cup his face tenderly. “You’re not. I’m not leaving. But really, you should’ve come home and gotten down on your knees immediately, not pushed me away.”

“I suppose I was hoping to distract myself with the music and calm down.”

You give him your most playfully offended look. “Rude! I’m your distracting calm down method. Me and my pussy, anyway. You know that.” He laughs, a short, broken sound, and you pull his mouth down to yours. “Put the music mixing on pause. Fuck me.”

“Is this rough ‘fuck away my frustration’ sex or gentle ‘I’m sorry I’m such an idiot, please forgive me’ sex?”

“It’s rough, ‘you’re a frustrated idiot’ sex,” you tease, yelping in surprise when he grabs your waist and rolls on top of you.

“You’re the fucking best, and I love you so damn much, Princess,” Brendon murmurs, kissing you hard. “I know how lucky I am to have you. Now let me prove it.”

-||-

“Oh my god,” you groan, legs spread wide as Brendon’s fingers trace your hips and his tongue rubs against your clit. “Fuck, that’s so good — and I’m not complaining but—surely you’d like to get your cock in me?”

Brendon laughs from between your thighs, nodding. “Desperately. Just want my wife to know I know how wonderful she is. I know you’re the best thing that will ever happen to me. Say the word, and I’ll live on my knees for you.” He settles back now, watching you through heavy eyes. As his eyes move down your body, he’s stroking his cock roughly; your stomach is tight with desire and you whine, rocking your hips up.

“You already do,” you tell him breathlessly. “I think you spend more time eating me out than you do in the recording studio.”

“No regrets,” Brendon murmurs, stretching out over your body and kissing you firmly while guiding his cock to where you both need him. “Fuck, you feel so good. Always incredible to me how hot and wet you are, how easily you take me while still squeezing around my dick and meeting me thrust for thrust—perfect; you’re fucking perfect.”

You wrap a leg around his waist and cling to him. “Feel so full,” you pant in his ear, reaching down to curl your thumb and index finger around his cock as he thrusts hard. Brendon groans into your mouth, telling you that your fingers feel like a cock ring. You nod desperately, squeezing firmly. “Fucking love feeling your cock slide into me, love feeling how wet you are from my cunt; it’s fucking perfect, I’m just full of your cock—fuck yes, like that, yes yes, harder!”

Brendon’s fingers flex on your thigh, and he bites at your neck the way you love; you can both feel your whole body tighten around him in response. “I can go harder,” he murmurs, breath tickling your skin, “but you need to ask correctly, and it means getting on your hands and knees.”

You nod desperately, turning yourself over once he’s pulled out of you. Settling onto your knees, you rest your forearms on the armrest of the chaise. Once you’re comfortable, you look back at him over one shoulder. “Please, Daddy. Please fuck me harder. Take me. Get greedy with my cunt. Be possessive. I’m yours.”

Brendon groans and grabs at you, filling you with urgent, deep thrusts. It’s rougher and harder, just like you wanted, and he’s got a hand tangled in your hair while the other works at your clit. “Mine,” he gasps in your ear. “Fucking love taking what’s mine.”

“Yours,” you moan, grinding your hips back with each thrust. “Yours, Bren.” He makes a short, scolding sound while tugging your hair, and you moan again; you know what he wants to hear, and you love it. “Yours, Daddy.”

“That’s right, Princess.” His hand, once in your hair, moves to the small of your back, and he presses gently, just enough to tilt your hips slightly more upward. The change results in his cock rubbing right against your G-spot with every thrust, over and over again, and you shriek happily, letting your eyes close as you get used to the frantic throbbing taking over your body.

“Oh god, I’m gonna come,” you manage, taking a hand from the armrest to tease your nipples. “I’m yours, Daddy, and I’m gonna come on your cock.”

“Yes, you fucking are,” Brendon grunts, leaning into a harder, faster pace while still rubbing your clit with two slick fingers. “Mine. Come all over Daddy’s cock, claim it because it’s yours, I’m yours, and then you’re gonna—oh fuck—take all my cum in this hot, wet cunt. Aren’t you, baby? You gonna take it for me?”

“Yes,” you whine, closing your eyes. “Oh shit, right there—now, right now! Daddy, now!” Your entire body tenses; you’re trembling as he pounds into you, and even if he wanted to edge you at this point, you’re too far gone. You come so hard that your body feels a bit numb, and your ears are ringing; the only sensations are wet heat and—it sounds far away—his voice groaning your name. Brendon’s fingers flex, and he presses forward once more.

You can feel him spilling into you, and it never fails; you’re always in awe of how much he comes. There’s a soft, satisfied sound that you realize is your own, and you wriggle back against him for more of his body heat. You crave his warmth, and the sensation of him coming inside you is utterly addicting. Even if he hasn’t come on you, you feel just as claimed. You can’t imagine a world where you don’t get to feel him come.

“Fuck,” Brendon mumbles, thrusting slowly now. “You’re so good for me. So damn good for me. Fucking love coming in your sweet cunt, feeling you squeeze around me while I come in you. You’re such a good girl, taking Daddy’s cock like that.” He slumps over and presses his lips to the back of your neck. One of his hands finds yours on the armrest, and together, you shift so he’s still inside you but spooning you now.

“Careful, B,” you tease. “Talking like that will get me worked up again.” Brendon grins against your neck but makes no apology. Neither of you would mind going again, and you both know it’s a distinct possibility once he gets you in the shower. There’s a moment of comfortable silence, which you break when you murmur, “Now what?” and cuddle back into him. Brendon laughs, a relaxed, leisurely sound, while stroking a thumb over your hip.

“What do you mean, Princess?”

“Well, we’ve fucked. Are you less tense and frustrated?”

He kisses the top of your head, nodding. “Yes, my love. Much less tense, and no frustration now. Worked it all out with my best girl. So now…” he pauses to yawn, and you think about flipping over to press against his chest, but you love having his cock in you, so you settle for wrapping your arms around his. “So now, I plan to take my best girl to the shower and then cook her dinner. Good plan?”

“Great plan, Daddy.”

#Annie don't read #brendon urie #brendon urie smut #brendon urie fanfiction #my work #brendon urie imagine #panicatthedisco #panic! at the disco #fanfic #brendon x reader #imagine #brendon urie daddy kink #brendonurie #he could fuck me any way he wanted #brendon urie is my whole kink #don’t ask about the Annie tag; she’s my friend but she didn’t want this one to come across her feed she doesn’t like it when B is mean

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