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jazzthatonewriterchick · 5 months

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Going Half (on a Baby) (Toxic!Toji x Black!Fem!Reader 18+ One Shot)

Pairing: Toji Fushigiro x Black!Fem!Reader (FWB to Lovers)

Synopsis: In which Toji, your fuck buddy for five years and the man you're secretly in love with, "persuades" you to let him fuck without a condom after he exposes himself for his breeding kink.

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+; Dubcon; TW: R*PE; Coercion; Toxic!Asshole!Toji; “Baby Trapping”; Coerced Verbal Consent (Later Given); Mating Press; Breeding Kink; Toji Eats You Out Till You Cry; Cum Play; DDLG; Toji Calling You “Mommy” and “Mama”; Marking/Hickeys; Dacryphilia; Unprotected PIV Sex; Doggystyle; Mating Press; One Unprotected Creampie; Aftercare

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

*IMPORTANT Writer's Note: This piece of writing is EXTREMELY dark. It has to do with r*pe because Y/N repeatedly says no to and protests Toji's advances, but he does as he wants anyway. In addition, it also has "baby trapping" due to Toji not wearing a condom during PIV sex to intentionally get Y/N pregnant despite her not wanting to. I do not condone any of these acts. This is simply a fantasy and writing. Thank you.

Writer’s Note: I'm a Toji lover. That's my husband. -Jazz

********

You don’t know how it happened.

First, you were just sitting with your FWB of two years, chilling on the couch as you usually do before having sex (at least in the later years when you two grew closer).

Now you’re on your back, legs over his shoulders while he devours your puffy, needy pussy as a way to “prepare” you for the deep fucking he’ll be giving you later. Your hands are tangled in his black hair while his own bigger, calloused, veiny ones have your thighs pinned open wide as his tongue lashes mercilessly at your clit. Two of his thick fingers are stuffed in your cunt, moving in and out of your squelching, tight walls and rubbing up against that spot that makes you see stars.

"Toji, please!" you whine, tears pricking your eyes from his relentlessness and evil, skillful tongue. "I can't...take much more!" He made you cum at least twice already. The proof is in the cream coating his mouth and the juices that trickle down to your asscrack, making both of your holes sobbing wet.

Toji's eyes glint up at you from between your thighs, his back muscles flexing as bends down to work your pussy with his mouth. "Uh-uh, mama," he teasingly says. "You still gotta cum one more time before I fuck this pussy deep."

He dives back down into the depths of your pussy and continues devouring it, no matter how much you beg and plea for him to stop. You don't know how you got here. An hour earlier, you were just joking around and he had brought up all the things you two hadn't tried yet in your two-year FWB relationship. "We've yet to try anal," he said, his big hand moving to stroke down your stomach to your thighs. "And I've always wanted to try fuckin' you without a condom."

“Boy, stop!” you hollered, smacking his hand away. “You’re just trying to get me pregnant at this point.” You didn't take him seriously as Toji was always talking about kinks and shit he wanted to try with you. He was just a horny motherfucker like that.

But Toji wasn't playing around. As soon as you mentioned him getting you pregnant, something in him shifted–specifically his cock in his pants. The idea of fucking that heavenly pussy of yours raw and cumming inside you without a rubber, filling you up with all of his kids, tempted him immensely. “Well, if you’re offering…” he muttered.

At this, you turned and blinked at him. “What?”

“What?” he repeated, feigning confusion. It wasn't working.

You squinted at him, unsure of whether you heard him right. “You…wanna get me pregnant?” you carefully asked. He shrugged his big shoulders, putting your feet in his lap. “I mean, why not? We’ve known each other for two years and I think you’d look pretty hot as a mommy.”

You gaped at him. You couldn't believe he was really saying this! “Okay, first of all, yes, we’ve known each other for a long time, but we’ve been fucking for two years; not dating. Second, hell no!”

Toji groaned indignantly like a child being told no. "Why not?” he scoffed. “Shit, then I wouldn’t have to wear those stupid ass rubbers no more. I could finally fuck you raw.” A devious glint sparkled in his charcoal eyes, making your stomach flip. “And risk an STI?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He just chuckled at this, cocky as always. “Baby doll, you and I both know we’re clean…unless you’ve been doing someone I don’t know about.” You slowly shook your head at this. He was the only one you were fucking...for right now, anyway. But he was the only one who could do it the way you wanted (and needed). “Then what the fuck are you complainin’ ‘bout?” he questioned, raising an eyebrow at you.

Now you were mad. You took your feet out of his lap and stood up in your hip-hugging jeans and sweatshirt. “Toji, you’re talking about giving me a baby. A whole child. We’re not even together!”

Toji stood up now too, a head taller than you and very, very big. He was practically a mountain as he stood before you. “Oh, we’re not? Then why am I always here more than at home?”

“That’s not my fault," you hissed. "You have a choice to not come over here, and I told you from the jump what I wanted from you: sex!” And you were right to do so. Toji was too unpredictable and too much of a whore. He was also divorced and already had a child. Why the fuck would he want another one with you, especially since you aren't married?

Despite how Toji made you feel, with the butterflies in your stomach and the way your heart lept whenever he called, you knew you could never tell him how you felt. It would make things too messy. And Toji is a messy motherfucker already. But you didn't mind being in love with his dick. You wanted to keep things strictly in the bedroom and you thought he understood that.

Toji shrugged, giving you a lazy smirk. “Why not elevate that?” he asked, walking toward you. “C’mooon, baby doll. You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about me bussin’ in that pretty pussy raw.”

Your stomach flipped at his vulgar words as you backed away from him, not noticing the wall behind you. “Toji, stop,” you firmly told him. “I don’t like this talk.”

When your body made contact with the wall, Toji put his hand over your head and leaned in so you were trapped between the wall and him. “Then let’s not talk," he whispered. "Let’s just fuck.”

When he began kissing you down with those passionate, hot, wet kisses you loved so much, your mind became drunk off of him. "Toji," you whimpered, your hands on his chest. You weren't if you were trying to push him away or just feeling him up. "We can't...your ex–"

"Is my ex," he grunted against your neck. "We've been divorced for years and Megumi is older now. Besides, he likes you." His fingers crept under your sweatshirt, feeling up on your sides. "I think he might even have a crush on you," he chuckles. "Too bad I'm fuckin' you, right?"

His one hand moved to your chin to tilt your head up, exposing your neck to him. He pushed you against the wall as he began to mark up your neck, leaving hickeys in his wake. "But why?" you moaned.

Toji pulled away, an inquisitive look on his face. Then he smirked like he was the devil himself. "'Cause it's fuckin' hot," he growled. "And it sounds funny. C'mon, mama...don't you want me to make you a real mama?"

That was how it happened. Now you're here, about to cum for the third time from Toji's tongue and fingers alone. "Oh, God!" you shout to the ceiling, your thighs quivering and your body shaking. "I'm 'bout to cum again!" you babble. "Please, please, make me cum, Toji!"

His large hand smacks your thigh, making it sting. "Wrong name, baby," he growls into your pussy, lapping away. "Try again or you won't be cumming at all."

God, you hate him! You hate how he can make you do things you don't want to do just because he knows how he makes your body feel. "Daddy," you whine. "Please make me cum, Daddy! I need it!" Toji peers up at you, a grin on his face. "Then cum, little girl," he teasingly says. "Cum for me. Give it all to your Daddy like a good little slut."

He dives back down to lap at your clit in time with his fingers curling against your G-spot. Seconds later, you're cumming hard and you can't stop it even if you wanted to. "Oh, shit!" you scream, gripping Toji's hair for dear life. "Shishitshit!" Your orgasm rips through you, pleasure sizzling across your skin and through your entire body, causing you to buck and grind against Toji's face as he laps at your juices, groaning appreciatively.

When you finally come down from your high, tears wet your waterlines and lashes and your thighs are twitching. You feel absolutely spent. You don't think you can cum again...until Toji stands up on his knees and unbuckles his pants. He only takes off his shirt after his cock is out and bobbing in your face.

"Look at this," he groans. He wraps his hand around himself, lazily stroking it. "You see this, baby doll? This is all for you." A devious, devilish smirk stretches across his face. "And all that's inside it is gonna be for you too."

You can't look away from the impressive appendage hanging between his thick, muscular thighs. It is so big; so thick; so veiny; so wet with the pink cockhead dripping with pre-cum. It's your addiction. The very thing that caused this 2-year relationship with this asshole. And he knows it too.

He stalks toward you on his knees, but you stop him from coming any closer by putting a foot on his chest. "W-Wait, Toji," you protest. "Just put a condom on. We can't do this!"

Toji's expression grows dark and it scares you out of your fucking mind, but also...excites you? Is that what this flip in your stomach is? What kind of fucked-up mixed cocktail of emotions is this that you're feeling right now?

"Don't act like you don't want this too, baby," Toji chuckles. "You can't tell me you haven't thought about how this dick would feel without a rubber, stretchin' out that pussy..." He tosses your foot away from him effortlessly, pinning it to the mattress so your legs are open. "And cummin' deep inside you," he finishes on an exhale.

He then takes your ankles and roughly pulls you toward him as you squeak in surprise. "I got you all prepared to take all of me, mama," he tuts. "You wouldn't want all of that to go to waste, would you? Just look how soaked n' sloppy you are for this cock."

He takes his cock in his hand and begins to slide it against your twitching, sensitive slit. Your back arches in reaction and whimpers leave your lips. "T-Toji, no," you whine. "Don't do this."

"Shhh, mama," he hushes you, pressing a finger to your lips. "Don't deny yourself. Don't deny your body what it wants." He nods down at your hips that have instinctively begun to roll against his, causing his cockhead to nudge open your pussy lips. "You want this shit," he growls. "Don't play like you don't. You wanna feel all of me...want me to give you a baby..."

Without warning, he pushes himself all the way inside you, right to the hilt so his balls slap lightly against your asscheeks. "Fuck!" he shouts while you gasp at the feeling, your hands gripping his forearms and digging your nails into them.

The fucker looks down at you, strands of his black hair hanging in his face and a crude smile on his lips. "How's it feel, hm?" he chortles. "You had so much to say before, all that protestin' n' shit. Where's all that now, huh?"

He begins to rock his hips roughly into yours, filling your pussy to the brim with cock. Your eyes are blown, your lips open as moans and gasps fall from them. You've never felt anything like this before. You feel so stretched. So full. So warm. You can feel every ridge, bump, and inch of Toji as he fucks you into the mattress raw.

"Goddamn, you feel so good, baby doll," he groans, tossing your legs over his shoulders. This causes his cock to sink deeper into your cunt so he is just touching your G-spot. You whine loudly at the feeling, gripping his shoulders. "T-Toji!" you moan, your words like a plea.

At the sound of his name on your lips and how pathetic you look writhing underneath him, Toji grips your thighs and fucks you harder, causing the bed to move underneath you. "All that shit you were talkin' earlier," he grunts. "All those "no, Toji"s just to go right out the window. You seriously wanted to act like you ain't want this too? Your pussy is tellin' me different."

You want to tell him you can't help that. You want to argue and tell him that your sobbing wet pussy squeezing around his cock is a natural response of stimulation; a primal instinct. If your body is stimulated in such a way, it's going to respond. You don't want this. You can't want this.

Yet when Toji suddenly stops fucking you, slides out of you, and tosses you onto your stomach, you can't deny how hot it is. And as you close your eyes and picture him spurting rope after rope of cum inside of you, you can't help the way your pussy throbs at the idea.

Toji mounts himself behind you and, once again, slides inside your ushy, gushy cunt without a warning. His hands find your hips and he begins nailing your G-spot so hard that you're sure he'll knock your pussy off its hinges. He's going so hard. He's never been this rough, this primal, before.

"Look at you takin' all this dick," he breathlessly chuckles. "You want ed this so bad, hm? I bet you were fightin' me earlier just to get a rise out of me." His big hand finds your hair and yanks it back so his lips can reach your ear. "You want this big cock to cum, don't ya?" he whispers. "You want me to make you a mommy...make you part of the Fushigiro family."

"Toji!" you scream as his cock plunges in and out of your squelching cunt, his balls slapping against your clit and making your knees nearly buckle. Your ass jiggles and smacks against his pelvis the harder he fucks you, the mixture of pleasure and pain sinking its claws into you and leaving you addicted.

"You're gonna look so fuckin' good with my kid in you, mama," Toji brokenly says between thrusts. "I can't wait till that belly gets big and those nipples get so swollen." One of his hands moves to squeeze your breast and tweak your brown nipple the way you like. "I'm warnin' you now, baby: I ain't gonna keep my hands off of you. I won't be able to."

"Fuck!" you shout, feeling that knot in your belly beginning to tighten. "I'm gonna cum, Toji! I'm so close!" And like an asshole, Toji stops fucking you immediately and pulls his throbbing cock, soaked in your juices, out of you. "Well, in that case..."

He tosses you onto your back again as you squeak in surprise. Then he is on top of you again but in a different version of missionary. In this position, he has your legs up over his shoulders and his feet on the bed as he mounts you, practically sitting on top of your thighs. Mating press.

'Oh, shit,' you think as the realization of the situation at hand hits you. He's really serious. He's going to breed you and you can't stop it.

Toji, red in the face and his eyes dark with lust and need, uses one hand to pin your wrists up above your head as he leans down to give you a wet tongue kiss. "You're gonna be such a good mommy," he coos. "I just know it. We're gonna be so, so happy."

"T-Toji," you weakly stutter, but you can't get out the rest of your words because he has begun to fuck you again. His thrusts are rough, hard, and deliberate. He plunges his cock deep inside of your pussy walls, groaning at the way they tighten and flex around him, pulling him in deeper.

"No man will ever be able to touch you now," he growls, "'cause they'll know you're mine. When you're knocked up with my kid, you'll officially be only mines, understand? Only I can fuck you like this."

Lewd sounds of your wet pussy fill the air as he fucks you deep into the bed, making a point to do so. "Gonna get you so knocked up, baby," he babbles. "Gonna make you a mommy. My mommy."

"Toji!" you scream as tears drip down your face. Toji groans at the gorgeous sight of your wet face and jiggling tits, his cock growing hard inside you. Every thrust brings you closer and closer to that fourth orgasm that you know will be the last of the night for you. You can't go anymore. You feel like you're about to pass out. "I-I'm gonna cum!" you sob. "I'm gonna fuckin' cum!"

Toji glares down at you and pauses, taking his throbbing, wet cock out of you a few inches. You blink at him in confusion. "W-What are you doing?" you weakly ask. Your pussy throbs and twitches impatiently, needing to release.

"Say you want me to cum inside you," he demands, his voice low and intimidating. "Say you want all these babies." He begins to glide his dick up and down your puffy slit, smiling at the way you pathetically whine at the feeling. "Say you want me to breed you," he growls. "Or you don't cum."

"God, I fuckin' hate you, Toji!" you scream. But you don't. You can't. Not when his sex is so good.

"I don't hear what I wanna hear, little girl," he teasingly sing-songs. "I could give less of a fuck if you cum or not, but if you want me to make that pussy cream around my cock, I suggest you do what I say." He takes his cock and begins to smack it against your clit, sending sparks of pleasure through you.

You can't handle it. You can't take this. "Please, Daddy!" you sob, tears dripping down your face. "Please breed me and fill me up! Give me all of your kids! I wanna be a good mommy for you!"

That nearly makes Toji bust right there. "Good girl," he growls as he slides back inside of you. He goes straight back to fucking you stupid into the bed, making you a completely mindless breeding slut. And you feel 100% okay with it. As long as you can cum, you'll do whatever he wants and he knows it.

He can tell you're close by how your eyes go cross-eyed and your cunt grips him. He can feel himself growing close too. You can tell by how his cock swells inside of you and his thrusts become rougher, nearly fucking you up against the headboard. "I'm 'bout to cum," he warns you. "You better take all of this cum, Mommy. Take all of it!"

"Toji, wait!" you protest, but it's too late. He is already stilling his hips and practically bending your knees to your chest as he fills you to the brim with an orgasmic grunt of release. You feel his cum flood your womb as you cum all over his cock with a short, high-pitched when. "Take it," he groans, pushing himself deeper and deeper inside of you. "Take it all, baby."

And you do so. You don't have a choice. You're completely crushed under his big body as he fucks the cum deep into you. You weakly moan as you feel it flood your insides, making you feel warm. Finally, after placing a chaste kiss on your lips, Toji pulls out of you. "Fuck, look at that," he sighs. "All that cum drippin' out of you..."

You don't look, but you can feel it all trickle down to your asscrack to the comforter below you. You don't look at him. You just stare up at the ceiling, breathing heavily and coated in sweat. You feel wet, sore, and achy. You just want to crawl under the covers and never come back out.

Toji places a hand on your tummy and strokes it lovingly despite you cringing at his touch. "We did it, baby," he chuckles. "We really did it." He leans down and presses a kiss to your stomach.

"Now you're mine forever."

THE END.

#smutty smut #black fanfic writer #my works #my fic shit #black coded reader #black writers #toji aka my 2nd baby daddy #toji fushiguro #jjk toji #toji x reader #toji x you #toji smut #fushiguro toji #toji x black reader #toji x black y/n #toxic relationship

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chrollohearttags · 7 months

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y’all won’t be satisfied until you run every black writer off this app and I’m so serious. Yes, I’m being rude to anybody that takes time out of their day to post some dumb ass remarks (a recycled one at that) and uses it to disrespect black writers of any capacity. Sitting up screaming about wanting more representation and the black reader fics being nonexistent but y’all get mad about everything. Yes, I’m cussing y’all out everytime I see it and I’m blocking idc. Free, FREE content that people took time to create, y’all are being nasty about it. We don’t owe y’all grace or kindness. Especially when we can see the hypocrisy. Go to hell with gas undies on and leave us alone. And please write whatever y’all want and fuck these people. Thanks for coming to my Ted talk

#rant #vent and rant #cw discourse #I see fifty toxic baby daddy fics with toji’s dirty ass and nobody moves #but damn #a character who’s balls y’all were just sucking two weeks ago can’t smoke a blunt #I don’t even write these so called ‘toxic’ hcs but I’m all for black women having representation in whatever way makes them comfortable #get over yourselves #like who do you hoes think y’all are #nobody has to write to appease a bitch who can’t even spell her own name #the way my lil hiatus is about to turn into me archiving this shit and leaving #cherry chats 🍒#my blog is not a safe space for you fucking losers #and if you don’t like it #unfollow me #I love eren and the AOT characters over here and I’m not gonn stop writing for them bc you bitches got a new character to gush over

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hanasnx · 2 months

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MINORS DNI 18+

! ── BABY DADDY!JASON TODD who can't come around more than once or twice a year. His way of life isn't sustainable for a home, and it certainly isn't safe for a daughter. You and him decided it was best to part ways before that positive pregnancy test, and since he discovered a kid he helped make it didn't change his level of involvement. He's got a lot of eyes on him, and he can't draw attention to anything important to him.

! ── Your daughter adores him. She squeals with delight every time he visits, running full barrel towards him so he can scoop her up. Unbeknownst to her your concern with how he found you again, and how he broke in to the apartment. Apparently running and hiding is not enough when you face the Red Hood. You reluctantly greet him with a half-assed kiss on the cheek, wrapping your arm around his neck to incline him towards you. Your daughter on his hip takes full advantage of hugging you both at the same time, and pressed against your former lover makes you tight-lipped.

! ── He's dangerous for a number of reasons that span beyond what any angry enemy of his would do if they found out where he's been going. You're most afraid of what he's able to make you do the longer you're with him. Only able to hold onto your anger for so long until he melts that cold exterior and somehow convinces you to let him warm your bed again.

! ── He's got it down to a science. As soon as you give him that scathing look, he tells your daughter to run along because "Mommy and Daddy have to talk." while she thoughtfully strokes his chin with her little hand, only to nod with an audible sigh, shaking out her wild hair she won't let you brush. With a little push to her back, she scampers off to her room and he stands to his full height. "I just wanted to see her." he tells you, with that pleading tone you've fallen for countlessly because he knows you're going to say: "It's not safe." for the thousandth time.

! ── He'll tower over you, incline towards you while you scold him under your breath. A hushed argument ensues that your daughter tries to listen in on, and can only hear bits and pieces about how she's not owned, and her dad should get to see her. Stuff she doesn't understand, especially because she can't understand his lack of presence being such a complicated thing when she has no sense of object permanence. If a dad refuses to be there more, it's a problem. You want to cut Jason out completely. That's not fair, as he'll tell you, to the daughter you get to keep.

! ── It's in the way he stands next to you. He's so much taller than you, broader, and muscled. He bulks up more and more every time you see him. He doesn't use his size to intimidate you, rather takes advantage of something else. Big hands stuffed in his back pockets make his leather jacket sit on his wide shoulders exquisitely. His hair is windblown from his motorbike and just the smell of him has a dangerous Pavlov effect on you. Like your eyes want to flutter as they roll into the back of your head and lightning shoots straight down to your core, stinging at the memory of what it's like to be filled by him. The longer you're with him, the thinner your resolve becomes. It evaporates in front of you as he sweeps a hand through his hair, and his posture slacks. "C'mon." he drags out the word playfully, advancing on you. Your hand interrupts him, bracing on his firm chest to keep him from coming closer. "Can't we talk about something else? You're getting me all worked up. Missed you."

You roll your jaw, that resolve slipping. Addicted to him, you're reticent as his tongue darts out to wet his lips while he's eyeing yours. "Jay..." you murmur, and he can hear the defeat in your voice.

! ── "Lucky we got a sitter, huh?" Jason's smug voice cuts through the wet sounds of sex that fills the room. "Now I get some time with my other little girl." That sick delight causes you to reach back, weakly banging your fist against his thigh. He snickers, wolfish and husky resounding from the back of his throat. "Mommy's been missing me, huh? Can feel her clenching down on me like a fuckin' vice."

His thick cock hurts stretching you out, but you needed that pain. There's something about Jason that keeps you saying yes, and it pushed through your requirement of foreplay, unbuckling that belt in haste, comfort be damned you wanted that dick. You're on all fours and he's giving it to you from the back, just how you like it, fucking you like a dog while his hand tangles all up in your hair. He yanks you back by it, and you can't even think of what to say other than mindless pleasured babbles.

"You let me do this every time I come over. Seems like you fuck with me or something." It's true, regardless of the cruel insults you've thrown at him to get him to stay away from you, it's all because you can't say no to him. It's the reason you got pregnant, it's the reason you can't run away far enough, and it's the reason you fuck him every time he comes to visit the kid he helped make.

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missmielyhoran · 5 days

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Familiarity

in which you and Harry have a strange relationship...

Sugar Daddy!Harry Styles × Sugar Baby!Reader

[Warning- Angst, Little fluff, children, sadness, Harry being filthy rich]

Masterlist

*****

You were painting your nails when you heard the knock on the door. You got up from the floor fanning your hands in the air to dry down the nails.

You opened the door and there he was the same old man who visits you every weekend. Alberto, his name, you got to know after a few weeks in.

He hands you a new bag full of brand new clothes like every weekend, you take them with a smile and close the door as he starts ascending down the stairs.

You set the bag down on the floor where you were sitting previously when your phone buzzed. You picked it up from the floor and looked at the text sent by him.

Be ready at 5.

That was all it was, always. He was never the man of many words you got to know. You sighed as you took out the outfit he sent you this time.

It was an oversized sweater and a plaid skirt. This weirded you out at first. You expected a sexy lingerie or dress at first, but he never sent you anything like that. It was always casual outfits like this.

The clock stared back at you. It was 3 already, and if you didn't want to be late, you had to get up and get ready.

You had whole weeks to yourself but weekends you had to day how he wanted you to, every single step. He gave you shampoo, to body wash, skincare everything and that only reserved for weekends. Yes, if you liked something you could use it everyday and he paid for everything and even more.

He was sort of like your sugar daddy, well who were you kidding you did found him on sugar daddy website. Well not you technically, it was your best friend, Taylor. She was the one who suggested you go on the website when you were struggling to pay for your college, she was also the one who found him.

You couldn't even say no when you saw him. Those beautiful eyes held so much familiarity that you just couldn't.

He pays for you everything, from college to your groceries, everything anything. In return, you just had to play dress up and go on a date with him, not even sex which you were mentally prepared for, well sort of.

You got on with your usual routine of showering, washing your hair, putting on moisturizer, sunscreen, and then getting started with the same makeup you always did on weekends for him. Simple makeup, no foundation, and a bold red lip.

Soon enough, it was 5, and Alberto was on your doorstep, ready to take you with him. You got in the car. Very luxury car, something you only saw in your dreams.

Your heart was racing, even though it was a deal which you have been doing for the past 7 months you didn't know when it became more than that.

I mean, can you blame the girl for falling for a tall, hot, rich, generous man? with eyes like his? you were bound to.

Car stopped, and so did you thoughts. Alberto stood with open door, you got out and saw what was a small restaurant nothing fancy but not bad, it looked cozy.

You walked inside and saw it was empty, all the chairs were made but not a single person was there not even staff, from what you could see and guess with your intuition of knowing him for past 7 months, there was not more than 3 to 4 staff inside.

There, he was sitting on the bar stool, the lights from the small bar illuminating his side profile. His messy hair fell on his face just right, his ring cladded fingers holding the whiskey glass. He was dressed in nothing fancy himself, a simple orange sweater, and blue jeans.

You slid in beside him, catching his attention. His face lit up in a smile, and you just melted.

"You're here" He said, breathing out looking at you up and down. Your cheeks turned flaming red under gaze, "You look beautiful" He said, looking up into your eyes.

"Thank you" You mumble out. You didn't know why you felt this shy. You should be used to it by now, but his charm, his face, his hair, everything just made you fall and fall deeper.

You guys talked like you do, him telling you all about his week from his hectic work, the meetings, the annoying investors, to his daughter going through her runner phase.

Oh yes, he has a daughter, Aira who is 7 and going through her runner phase. She runs anywhere and everywhere whenever she gets a chance.

He shows you the pic of her showing off the teeth she lost yesterday, and you smiled. She had his eyes and curls and was an adorable child. He always kept you updated on her every single detail about her, and it never felt odd. Which you should have cause she was a stranger's child, to be honest, but she felt like your own.

It was late when you stumbled out of the bar with him. His arms around your torso holding you so you wouldn't fall down on your face.

You squealed when he picked you up in a swing, followed by a hearty laugh, which made him laugh also.

It felt like this had been happening for so long, not just 7 months or so but forever. It was as if he had been picking you up like this for years, but it wasn't. Was it?

It further got proven when he called you the name he always does, "Cherry". It would've been cute if you would've fed into your delusions and thought it was a nickname he gave you, but no.

The contract, the talk, you weren't here on a real date with him no, you were playing a part. You were not you but Cherry, his first love the one he couldn't have.

He slid in beside you, his arms around your shoulders. You put your head on his and closed your eyes. You wanted to sleep, fall into a deep slumber with his smell all around you forgetting who and what you were here for just him and him only.

So, you did. You fell asleep.

Harry smiled when he saw you fell asleep on his shoulder. It was your usual habit, every car ride no matter how long or short you fall asleep.

He sighed as he pushed some hair away from your face, your cheeks still red from all the booze, you were never one to hold liquor.

It was a sweet torture for him, this whole thing, this whole persona, yours and his both.

Alberto stopped the car in front of your apartment complex that was also chosen by him. He got out first carefully not to wake you up and rounded around to your side and picked you up to start to walk towards your apartment.

The familiarity of those steps always made him tear up, can't blame a guy for being emotional, right?

The routine had become so usual for him that he could do it with his eyes closed.

So, he opened the door, walked towards your room, and set you down on the bed. He took off your shoes and jewelries he knew you don't wear every day and set them on your nightstand.

Taking off his sweater, he walked out of the room to get some water when he heard the sound. He looked down and saw the cat circling around his legs purring.

"Yes Evie, still doing your witchcraft, huh?" He said, chuckling. He sat down and gave her all the belly rubs and scratches, "You being a good girl for Mama? I know you are" He said, kissing her forehead and getting up.

He took out the cold water bottle from the fridge, knowing you would have a headache in the morning.

He set everything on the nightstand and then slid in beside you. You smell engulfed him, and he melted into the bed.

For the first hour, he just watched you sleep. Was it creepy? totally, but he couldn't help it. He never could.

His phone buzzed, taking him out of the trance. He smiled when he saw the selfie Aira had sent him with her gummy smile.

Grandma made me pancakes for dinner.

How much did you bribe her darling?

I didn't! She loves me

That is true. Still

When you will be back Dada?

On Monday morning love

Okay

He heard the voice note say. She still couldn't type properly, but god did she sent him voicenotes.

Are you with Mama?

His heart stopped for a second as he looked over at you sleeping beside him. It was a difficult situation. It was difficult for an adult while she was just a kid. He couldn't even think how she was coping.

Yes my love.

Tell her I love her and miss her.

I will. Now go to sleep or I will sell all your toys.

He chuckled when a shrill No came in the reply. He put the phone down and shifted closer to you and brought you into his arms, and as always, you fitted right into it.

He kissed your forehead and closed his eyes, "One day Cherry. One day you will remember me"

*****

Taglist- @tenaciousperfectionunknown @that-daydream-look @harryspirate @tiaamberxx @lomlhstyles @vmpellie @sunshinemoonsposts @jayde515 @yeehawbrothers @sleutherclaw @ikea2-0 @thechaoticjoy @astridcommings @grapejuicebluesrry @gxbiqs

I think my writing is getting a bit rusty. It's not that good but I wanted to write it so yeah

Please Like, Comment and Reblog.

Tell me how it is here♡ would love some feedback

Love you

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harrywavycurly · 11 days

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What You Deserve Part 6: Not Real

Masterlist: Here

CW: None

Tag List: @littlered0000 @saramelaniemoon @ali-r3n @sapphire4082 @sweetmoonlove0214 @eddies-girl-22 @darknesseddiem @peaches-roses-sins @blckburd @comeonatmebruh @daisy-munson @cultish-corner @mrsjellymunson @aol19 @micheledawn1975 @2000babies @marshmallowgem @ang3lc @angelina16torres-blog @transparentenemypenguin

A/N: One day you’ll get used to how good Eddie looks but obviously that day isn’t today, enjoy✨

#what you deserve series #eddie munson au #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson series #eddie munson fic #sugar daddy!eddie #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #Eddie Munson x fem!reader fluff #Eddie Munson #stranger things au #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things series #my little dungeon master baby #boyfriend!eddie munson

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peachdues · 6 months

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is it real horny hours already?

Trick question, it’s always real horny hours.

She’d barely finished quietly pushing the heavy wooden door to his office closed behind her before Levi had pounced.

“Took you long enough, soldier,” he’d chuffed, hands gripping her hips as he’d spun her away from the door. “You would think after a decade with the scouts, you’d have learned to read a damn clock.”

Levi’s hands slid under her thighs and Y/N jumped, wrapping her legs around his hips with practiced ease. “I don’t recall you specifying a particular time for our little rendezvous, Captain.” She teased, giving him a swift peck on his waiting lips.

“Tch,” Levi scoffed. “You always come after curfew, which was,” Levi turned his head to squint at the clock on the wall behind her shoulder. “Almost an hour ago.”

“You try sneaking out while Hange is needling the younger cadets for information about the Jaeger boy.”

Levi’s lips worked their way under her jaw, trailing across her throat. “Excuses. Maybe you need a reminder why it’s important to be on time.”

Her legs tightened around his waist as he walked them across his floor. “You mean punish me?” She smirked as she leaned in, brushing her lips against his.

Below her, Levi’s grip on her ass tightened as he ground her down against him.

“Only if you’re the one meting out the punishment, my dear Captain,” she cooed, catching his full bottom lip between her teeth.

A low growl vibrated in Levi’s chest as the little minx evaded his attempt to capture her lips with his own.

She ignored his grunt of annoyance in favor of shooting him a look of mock sincerity. “You have to tell me how I ought to be punished, Levi,” she tutted.

She bent down, grazing her lips against the soft spot below his ear. “Shall I bend over your desk?” She trailed hot kisses across his cheek, stopping just as she grazed his lips. “Or perhaps, shall I kneel before you and beg you to forgive my insolence?”

Her breath was warm and sweet as it fanned over his face, her lips mere millimeters from his, though tugged up in a smirk. “After all, I know how much you like when I get on my knees.”

#attack on titan #aot fic #levi ackerman #aot x reader #aot smut #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x reader #captain levi x reader #levi smut #baby daddy levi

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jarofstyles · 9 months

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Oh Baby, Baby! 4

It’s been a very long time but 🤭🤭🤭 here we go! Oh baby, part 4!

Check out our Patreon for early access and exclusive writing!

Warnings: pregnancy

WC: 3.6k

—-

Harry was absolutely insane.

Y/N was positive about that. She sat on the couch as she watched him bob about the kitchen, installing baby locks. Baby locks- and her bump was still little. Despite all of this, though, she found it stupidly attractive. His desire to be a dad, his dedication to the baby that was just a tiny little seed inside of her stomach, his already overprotective soul, it made her fall just a bit deeper.

The shift had been evident and obvious and neither of them had any awkwardness about it. It was no longer two best friends making a child- they were in it together. Harry was just as dedicated to Y/N as he was to their child. She had found that out relatively quickly. When they’d gone to the bar to meet up with their friends, Y/N and Harry both sipping on plain sodas as they caught up with people. He had gone to the bar to get her a bowl of cherries that she had been obviously craving since he had caught her looking at longingly in Sarah’s drink. He’d been approached by a very pretty girl that had her stomach twisting, seeing her place her hand on his arm which she had wanted to rip off violently. He had taken the slip of paper from her and nodded before heading back with the cherries he had paid a stupid amount for.

She had been quiet with his return, his heavy arm sloping around her shoulder like nothing had happened. He sunk back into his comfortable space, kissing the side of her head as she took one of the cherries to pop in her mouth. It felt bit hard to swallow when she did, the burning in her gut outweighing the sweetness of the cherry. Y/N hadn’t been able to hold back, turning to him after staying quiet for a bit.

“Are y’gonna go for it?” She asked,, trying to feign nonchalance. She had done a very poor job of it, though. Y/N was never one with believable poker faces. Harry could read her like a book.

“Who? Girl at the bar?” He asked with a quirked brow, shaking his head at her irritation when she nodded. Her slight pout and her irritated brows made him want to coo at her. She was so cute. “Why the hell would I do that when you’re right next to me? You’re the mother of my child. I dont need to look elsewhere. I adore you.” He turned her face, pinching her chin and pressing his lips to hers firmly for a chaste but loaded kiss. “Threw it in the trash on the way back. Told her I was an expecting father. Don’t need to go searching anywhere else.”

And that was that.

Now, doting dad and committed… boyfriend? Partner? Whatever their label was, he was exceedingly good at it. Phenomenal, really. He kept the fridge stocked with jars of the sweetened cherries and switched his cologne to a less spicy one because as much as she liked the other one, her pregnancy hormones absolutely could not stand it. He made sure to set up tea for her and get coffee if out because mournfully she was also sick whenever she smelled it. She was just hormonal and unhappy that someone else had hit on him.

Y/N had been grumpy lately. She didn’t mean to be, but with bouts of morning sickness and her breasts feeling a bit tender, a weird craving for fried chicken tenders with peanut butter, she felt irritated all the time. There wasn’t much anyone could do for that. That didn’t mean Harry deserved to be on the receiving end of her grumpiness, though. She felt a bit bad as she watched him walk back over to test out the locks, not seeming to be bothered by it visibly but… she knew he valued her a lot and the last thing she wanted was for him to think she was being mean in purpose.

Tears grew in her eyes, the sting making her even more upset. She kept fucking crying and she had been lucky to keep it from him this far, but it had only been a matter of time. A quiet sniffle was accompanied by rubbing over her eyes, not wanting tears to fall before she spoke. “I’m sorry, H.” She said, trying her best to keep her voice steady. Harry had quickly turned to look at her, concern etching over his features as he returned back to her side. “I shouldn’t have tried to start a fight. It’s not fair and you’re s-so lovely to me and I get scared you’re going to find someone who isn’t pregnant and whiny and eats weird things-“ she hiccuped, glassy eyes looking at his beautiful hands. It was hard to face him.

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Y/N was full of emotion lately but Harry had thought he made it clear that he wasn’t ever going to leave. “Sweet girl… hey.” He grabbed her chin with his thumb, tilting her head up to meet his eyes. “I’m not upset. I didn’t even know you had seen that. I’d never do that. I don’t want to. What I want is right here.” He moved to cup her cheek, wiping away a tear that had fallen down her cheek. Her stuttered breathing had him squatting in front of her, getting them eye level. This needed to be cleared up.

As much as he had been thorough in telling her that she was his, he hadn’t been proper in his declaration of need for her. “Look at me.” His instruction got her to look right at his eyes, a harsh swallow taken as she held her breath. “There is no one else. Maybe it’s my fault for not being clear, but I’m yours. Your partner in all of this, if you’ll have me.” Gentle strokes of the damp skin and the shaky breath exhaled as she took another second to absorb his words. “We made a sweet little baby inside of you, we’ve bonded but… m’not just here for the baby. I’m here for you. You’re what I want, and I’m sorry that I haven’t outright said it yet. I thought you knew how much I utterly adore you.” He got on his knees between her legs, still able to look at her face on as he brought her face towards him.

Delicately, he kissed over her skin. Feather light, soft and breezy, he kissed her forehead, her nose, her eyelids as she closed them to feel his affection. He was so serious about her that it grounded her a bit. Finally letting her body unclench, leaning her face into the pecks when he finished off with her lips. “I adore you too.” She mumbled back, holding on to his wrists. “I’m sorry. I- I kind of knew but we never spoke about it and when I saw you talking to her my mind panicked a little bit.” It was silly of her. Harry was right in saying he had made it clear she was his- her still slightly over sensitive cunt was proof of that alone- but the lack of clarification had gotten to her.

“Don’t need an apology from you. I know that if I saw a man talking to you, flirting… handing you his number? I’d be very annoyed. Not at you, but.. the idea. It pisses me off and probably wasn’t fun for you to watch.” He sighed, pulling back slightly to stare at her. “M’here for you and little baby inside of you. You both are my world. And I don’t want you questioning it again. Alright?” He squeezed her cheeks slightly with his hands, making her laugh through the last of her emotional tears.

“Got it.” She sniffed, welcoming the kiss he paired it with. “I- I still don’t think we need baby locks yet.”

“S’called being proactive, my darling.” He chuckled against her mouth. “Keep up.”

—————

Harry’s hand was threaded through hers as they left the appointment. Y/N was happy that as she was in her second trimester, but even more so, she was amused at her boyfriends antics.

He was diligent and doting on her, more than he had ever been before. The friend she had before had erupted from his cocoon, showing her a new side to him that she hadn’t anticipated. Protective, present, and so damn affectionate. He couldn’t keep his hands off of her. It wasn’t just sexually, either. The man always had his hand on her, lips pressing against some part of her body, fingers tangled with hers. It was very new, but very welcomed.

“So… soon they’ll be able to hear.” Harry mumbled as they walked towards the car. “So we’re going to have to play them some good music. Got to be careful what my child consumes because I will not have a kid with bad music taste.” He gave Y/N a look. “No radio for right now. I’ve got playlists, going to get the family plan for Spotify or something and then y’can use that.”

Y/N laughed under her breath, approaching his black SUV with a shake of the head. “Harry, I adore you, but please.” She gave him a look. “They’re going to be perfect. With a father like you, there’s no damn way our child isn’t going to know the ups and downs of rock n’ roll history.” Harry was quick to open up the passenger side door, holding on to her hand as he helped her get into the seat. “Besides, it’s mainly my heartbeat they’ll hear. They won’t start hearing a lot of external noise until the end of this trimester.” He had been on the baby websites.

“I know that. But we have to be safe, don’t we?” He was deadly serious, too. “We don’t know the exact time they’ll be able to hear it so…” he shrugged, making sure she was buckled before closing the door. Harry was already an active parent and Y/N couldn't fault him for that.

When he was in his seat and buckled, his hand moved the car into gear before finding its new favorite spot on her thigh. It still gave her little butterflies to feel him touch her so intimately, so casually. These adjustments had made her exceptionally happier in the last few weeks.

“What did you want for lunch, petal?” He asked softly, the music playing lowly after Harry adjusted the playlist. “Is it still chicken tenders? Or are you wanting something else?” The cravings had varied lately. Harry was never sure what exactly to get her so he waited for explicit instructions so they didn’t waste time or money.

“Can I have Taco Bell?” She asked, fiddling with the rings on his fingers. “Want one of the freeze things and.. maybe we get the taco box? With all the tacos so we can have it for later too?” Her stomach was growling, in desperate need of some food. “Want some of the chips and cheese too. Maybe 2. Your child is making me stupidly hungry.” The grumble made him laugh. It was very much his fault, and he wouldn’t change it.

“Course we can. Tomorrow I’m going to the grocery so I can get us some good food at home. Strawberries and greens for your smoothies.” While Harry was never one to dictate how she ate, he did encourage her to eat healthy when possible. He would cook for them since they’d basically moved in together, but Y/N was feeling too lazy to cook most of the time.

“Hm. Yeah, I think that’s good. I’d like some crisps and stuff to make dip… maybe some rice. I’ve been craving baby carrots with ranch a few times but we didn’t have it.” It hadn’t been so much that she would ask him to go out and get it. She was still able to go but Harry did like to take care of her so far. It had been a bit of an adjustment but she was learning to love it. “Y’know, you’re spoiling me. Going to make a monster out of me. I’m liking this ‘having Harry go to the shops’ thing.” Her grin was wide as she looked over to him in time to see him fondly roll his eyes.

“Well… I’m going to take care of you. You’re my girl, you’re carrying my baby. I’ve always liked spoiling you. Just didn’t do it as much because it would have been a bit weird.” He admitted. The sun was high in the sky and the clouds fluffy and white. The air was warm enough for them to have the windows down a bit as they drove, and Harry really felt like his heart was full. Just getting to experience this and spoil Y/N the way he had always had a weird itch to do? It was fulfilling a spot in his chest that had been vacant for a while.

“That’s good then. I like being spoiled so I think this could work out.”

—-

“Harry!”

The call of his name from across the house had him jolting, running from the kitchen where he had been preparing their meal, up the steps and down the hall to their bedroom. You never yelled for him like that. His brain had been on auto pilot, running over as fast as he could in his socks- dangerous- to find Y/N standing with wide eyes as their folded laundry sat in sorted piles on the bed.

Her hands were over her bump, visible in the cornflower blue dress that hung over her form. Her eyes were wide as she turned to look at him, mouth open as he approached. His hands immediately grabbed her face, looking her over. “What? What’s wrong?” He pressed. “Baby- y’cant yell for me like that and not tell me. Is there something wrong?”

“No! I don’t- I don’t think so?” She squeaked. “I felt them move! Like… s’not a kick or anything but it felt real this time! Not just the flutters. It’s like… squirming?” Her eyes were wide as she looked down at her belly, the shock of truly feeling their baby moving around inside of her taking her for a ride. “I didn’t mean to worry you but I just- I panicked and was excited. I’m sorry.” The woman hadn’t meant to worry him too much.

Harry felt himself melt in both relief and happiness at the clarification. His heart rate could finally slow down. Perching himself on the end of the bed, he was mindful of the laundry piles as he pulled her body in between his legs. “I’m not angry, Angel. Not in the slightest. You just scared me. Thought something was wrong. M’much happier with this result.” Hands moved from her hips to over her forming bump, stroking over it tenderly.

She had told him about flutters recently, how they’d made her excited- but this was a very new and exciting development. “I didn’t want you to miss out.” She peeped, looking down at him. “In case you could feel something. I know you love them a lot already and I didn’t want to keep the first couple times.”

Harry was in love. He knew that before, but her little moment now had solidified it even more. His lips pressed over the clothed belly, tilting his head up to look at her with his eyes full of fondness. “Thank you. I researched it and I don’t think I’ll be able to feel much until the end of this trimester, but I love that you wanted to tell me.” The moment had been more than enough for him. “What did it feel like to you, though? Tell me.” Holding her body to him and his chin against the bump, he listened intently.

“It was like… I don’t know exactly. They were squirming and bumped into the side of the wall? It’s hard to explain. It freaked me out at first.” A breathy left slightly moved his face as it rested on the belly. “Because I sometimes forget that there’s a real human in there growing. It’s incredible, isn’t it?” She placed her hands over his. “Like a little flower. Planted the seed and now the sprout is growing a flower.”

“Hm. Little sprout? I like that.” He turned to whisper into her belly. “Do you like that, Sprout? S’a cute little name your Mumma and I can call you. We’re going to find out if you’re a girl or boy later on but… it’s better than calling you ‘baby’, hm?” Harry more than liked that. “Can choose to be whatever you’d like, but think you’re going to be stuck with the Sprout nickname forever. S’already stuck. You’re going to be married with children and I’ll be calling you it.” He joked, rubbing her hips as he looked back up at Y/N.

She was so beautiful. Sometimes it struck him in the chest, like right now, how lucky he was to have been given her by chance. She had suggested this and they hadn’t anticipated this sort of thing happening, but it was the best thing to ever happen to him. She had that pregnancy glow, the beam of her smile. No more morning sickness and instead getting to enjoy her bump for a while. The leg cramps hurt a bit, but she and Harry worked on it with the massagers and vitamins. She was truly thriving, and he was elated.

“You’re so lucky, Sprout. Me and you. We get your Mumma, and she’s the most perfect woman. You will be grateful when you come out to meet her.” He felt her gentle hands stroke through his messy hair as he continued to speak. “Hope you’re nice to her the rest of the time you’re sprouting. She’s giving you some good genetics to work with here. M’gonna have the prettiest babies with her.”

“Babies?” Y/N rose a brow. “Who said we are having more than this one?” Her heart beat a bit faster as it did sink in. He meant it. He wanted the long haul. It was so exciting, so comforting to know. Harry reminded her often how how much he adored her, how he was proud to be hers, but that confirmation made it feel way more real.

“Well.. s’your body, so you. But I’d like to be the one who gives you more babies if you decide that I can.” He blinked up at her. “I’m more than okay with one, if that’s all you’d like. But… I would definitely like some more if that’s something you’d offer.” Obviously he would never pressure her into anything she didn’t want, but it was something he had been envisioning.

A full house. A dog or two. A set dining room table and sports practices, plays, dance recitals. Siblings spats and groans when Harry would kiss her. Picnics and beach days where he would remind the children to walk, do not run to the water. Applying sunscreen to grumbling kids and holding Y/N’s hand through all of their firsts. Perhaps it was a big dream to ask to follow through, but it was something he desperately wanted.

“You’d really want that? We haven’t even had this one yet.” She asked softly, surprise evident in her tone. “You like them that much?”

“Love them. And you.” He looked up at her again, pulling his lips from her stomach, letting the words sit in the silence for a second. “Love you a lot, Y/N. You’re all I’ve ever wanted. Want to build a family with you, a home. Not just a house or a flat. Want to do it all with you. You’ve been my best friend for a long time but I love you a lot more than that. You’re the person I’ve always wanted to be with but didn’t particularly know it. Didn’t allow myself to think of it. Now that I have a chance, I’m taking it. Keeping it.” And her.

Eventually he would propose, but he didn’t want her to think it was just from the baby fever. He loved her wholly before this but it had grown and changed shape and color. She felt like gold. Bright, shiny, priceless. Better than anything else he had ever seen and she had him wrapped around her finger.

“I’d like that.” She caressed the tops of his cheeks with her knuckles. “You’re my best friend too… and- and I think that there’s no one better suited for the job as the father of my children than you. I’ve loved you for a long time and it’s changed the meaning, like you said but.. I like that idea.” Building a home and family with him. Something so perfect to them. It wouldn’t always be, but they’d love it despite the imperfections and hiccups. She knew his heart, and it was pure.

“But to be honest? To me, you’ve always felt like home.”

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precious-little-scoundrel · 4 months

Text

Trash Magic

Big Daddy Trailer Park Cop AU One Shot

Summary: it’s 2008 and it’s the pits of recession, not that the suburbs of El Paso would notice, things have been rather shit among the rows and rows of trailers for some time now. With your dad locked up for being a little too ‘entrepreneurial’, it seems your only ally in these tough times is the town‘s scary old softy, Officer Presley, and the more than professional interest he takes in your speeding and footwear.

Era: modern but with that dumbass tumblr dusty Americana feel to it I hope?

Kudos: so many to @eliseinmemphis who was my plot guru, kept this thing alive and gave so many lines and sentences used herein.

Word count: 15k and I didn’t edit this sorry for misspells, etc

18+ and may be thematically disturbing to some please read cautions, proceed at your own risk!! More specifics below the cut

HAPPY NEW YEAR MY DARLINGS!

Specific warnings: sexual content, drug use, stripping, casual prostitution, age gap, reader isn’t a minor for such activities but only eighteen?? which is not touted as a good thing but it’s in here?? if that’s a hard no then be warned. graphic descriptions of kinda gross blowjobs and very gross blowjobs, spanking, officer Presley does take too many pills for his pain ok? driving under the influence, minors drinking, trailer trash lifestyle in general, such as I personally have had experience with, it’s rough out there folks but there’s always the good ones trying their best. Sorry I really threw Joe E under the bus. I’m not really sorry but I’m sorry you have to read about him in here. Please let me know what warnings I missed if I did. Again, could be thematically disturbing due to age, solicitation, law officers, drug use, humans not being tidy little robots.

When you were three years old you recall the smell of plastic heating in the sun, the hot smell of fresh cut grass and the cold splatter of hose water on your skin. A little paradise it seemed, that tiny kitty pool and your mama waving the hose over you with one hand, her cigarette dangling between the fingers of her other, bright warm sun and yellowing grass stretched out in large swathes between the little white shacks stacked row upon tidy row. Always the same and ready to guide you home after each little wander into the thicket behind the clearing.

That was life in the Shady Oaks trailer park. There really was only one mature oak tree and it was a live oak and the sunshine beamed right through its little leaves all seasons of the year.

By five you had a sizable jar of grasshoppers collected and had become too scared of their hoards and awful beady eyes to ever release them, fearful they would swarm you the minute you undid the lid of the mason jar and gave them freedom. You had let one out and watched it hop across the torn Hexagons of the linoleum floor before it jumped in an acrobatic feat and landed in the mac & cheese your mom was making. You never know what she did with those jars, but you were half relieved, half heartbroken at the fact they were no longer your responsibility.

By eight you knew you lived in a trailer park and spending your time collecting ants and moths for the new set of grasshoppers to eat was a peculiar and uncool pastime. As were muddy knees and torn t-shirts on a girl approaching her teenage years. But mama hadn’t been able to take the heat and the rows upon rows of mildewing trailers anymore and daddy was too busy with his “entrepreneurship” to dress you right.

By twelve you had learned that some nights daddy came home, and some nights he didn’t and you couldn’t be sure which you preferred. His drunken state was unpredictable and confusing even though he was not abusive, but his absence left you counting quarters and wondering how long your Fig Newtons would last if he stayed gone longer than a week again.

By fifteen the Dollar Store and its fluorescent bulbs leached the vitality out of you with each long day shift, school was an afterthought, and your days smelled of plastic bags and detergent. You brought that smell home to your musty trailer, seeped into the sweaty fabric of your tank top. The only thing that stayed consistent whether your daddy was home or not was the religious watching of the NASCAR races. Reruns and live, it didn’t matter, where many girls escaped into Disney or Reality TV, you did your dreaming while sitting in the ratty drivers seat of daddy’s Ford, making the engine thrum.

By seventeen, your daddy was gone for months at a time. Sometimes he’d leave the Ford and take off on the road with Benny and Gregg in Benny’s motorhome from a few rows down. Greg had the pale blue trailer with the blinds that were always smashed in the one window. He always left his damn lights on, even when he was gone and they’d glow yellow and demented between the brittle plastic. Some nights when you walked back home from town, maybe a little more plastered than you’d like to admit, you’d keep Gregg’s trailer and his silly window as a landmark to turn left in the maze of trailers.

One night the bulb burnt out. One by one the rest of them did too. The fellas, they’d all been gone so long. Next week the electricity got turned off to yours. The bill hadn’t been paid. Dollar Store wages kept peanut butter and miracle bread in your cabinets and bought you cheap tequila from Terry who lived five trailers down and didn’t care about ID’s so long as there was cash on the counter. What the wages didn’t pay for was electricity or gas money or a new car that could actually accelerate fast enough to give you that thrill you craved.

Despite your lousy education and demotivated upbringing, you had some spark of diligence and ambition residing inside you, it was stoked to a decent blaze by the awful, humid and stale air of the trailer without its swamp coolers humming at night. Not even the fridge stayed cool longer than forty eight hours and you ended up at the seven eleven eating roller dogs.

You weren’t looking for job opportunities while licking corn dog grease off your thumbs but opportunity came to you anyway. As you nibbled at the soggy fried dog and licked at the rancid oil while leaning against the auto supply shelf, you’d have to be some sorta dumb to not know that Carl was hanging around the same aisle for something besides windshield washer fluid.

Carl was a native to the outskirts of El Paso just like you, and he was a married man, married to Clarissa in fact. Clarissa who’s plastic miniature flamingo’s gracing each edge of her weedy gravel drive had a younger you thinking she was the height of trailer park sophistication. That was before Officer Presley, who lived in a spacious double wide down by Gregg’s trailer and its burnt out bulbs, got himself a Tiger figurine made outta real concrete and painted pretty as anything, its blazing feline eyes not missing a speck of paint, unlike the flamingo’s slashed ones. Officer Presley only had the one and it was assumed he was saving up for another, and he placed it by the little porch he built off his trailer door, the proximity to the structure giving it a noble sorta air that sitting statues out by the street didn’t manage.

“If you keep watchin’ me like that I’ll have to start chargin’.” you told Carl and his leering face, and took another bite, munching with the carefree manners of someone actually hungry.

“Can’t do that here.” he wheezed a laugh, then thumbed over his shoulder at the bright lights of the trucker club blazing in the dark sky through the dirty glass doors of the gas station. “But over there it’s legal.”

“You so horny you’d pay to watch a girl eat a corndog?” you were dubious, wondering just how little Miss Clarissa put out if he’d waste money on this, it wasn’t like she was busy repainting her Flamingo’s peeling eyes or nothin’.

“I’d pay for a drink for ya.” Carl offered, fidgety hands wedged in his fraying front pockets. “And you can eat another dog. You like hot dogs? They’ve got ‘em over there.”

“Nah, I need cash.” you declined, aware that you could barter for drinks and end up evicted or else make sacrifices regarding the booze and keep your tin roof over your head.

“Cash?” he repeated like a dumb parrot.

“Yeah, stupid.” you flailed your hands a little in annoyance, fully certain everyone in this run down rural suburb knew you were as broke as you are alcoholic at seventeen.

“Ok, then I’ll pay for your hot dog,” he negotiated with an oil stained finger scratching at the sore on the corner of his mouth, “And you can eat it so long as you do it how I tell ya.”

You sighed and ran your chipping nails along the plastic jugs of car oil. “So long as ya let me eat it.” you stipulate, “And you gotta pay for the show.”

“I ain’t made of money, girl!” Carl protested, “I’m buyin’ dinner, you should be thankin’ me.”

“You were plannin’ on buyin’ me a drink.” you pointed out, “Where’s that money gone?”

“Jeeze ok, ok,” Carl sighed, “I’ll pay you same as a wild Turkey would cost.”

“And a dog?”

“Yeah.”

“With chili on it?”

“Oh c’mon now-“

“-It’ll make for good slurpin.” you pointed out sagaciously

Carl groaned in annoyance and appreciation for the mental image. “Ok, a chili dog and the cost of a shot. No funny shit with the tab and you eat it how I say.”

“Does the club have air conditioning?” You asked your last stipulation.

“Course it does, it would be hot as fuck without.”

Your trailer was hot as fuck and anytime spent loitering elsewhere was greatly desired. “Ok then.” you agreed with a shrug.

By the time you’d crossed the parking lot, with Carl’s guiding hand on your lower back, you were irritable from the heat and exhaust fumes. Inside was cool and almost as dark as the parking lot except for the wild, multi-colored lights swirling around the place, highlighting the girls humping the stage floor in the middle of the establishment. One more underage addition wasn’t remotely as remarkable as the fella in the corner trying to take a bite outta a lap dancer’s boob. He got smacked on the cheek for it and nothin’ more, got his full dance anyway and as you watched her after while sitting up on the bar stool, you noticed her negotiate something similar to what you’d just done. She stayed in his lap after her dance was done and after some gesticulating and her unimpressed sighs, some agreement was reached and you watched them get up and walk to the back of the club, through the backdoor that you knew led to nothing more than miles and miles of desert.

Five minutes later a similar transaction occurred between a trucker and a pole girl. They went out back, too. Ten minutes later the first couple came back in. She went to the stage and he went out the front door Carl had brought you in by.

By that point you were slowly inserting a hot dog onto your pink tongue and swallowing a bite every three minutes or more - at least, that’s what it felt like. Carl’s directions were so slow and infuriatingly erratic that you found yourself grateful for the fact you’d already eaten a bit at the gas station, otherwise this would’ve been the cruelest tease to your belly that hadn’t had lunch and only Raisin Bran for breakfast. You chose to ignore the way his hand moved in the shadow of the bar, wiping at his jeans too many times to be passed off as sweaty palms.

A nearly fully dressed girl in cut offs eating a chili dog was hardly the most sensational thing to be watched in this seedy joint, but it was the most peculiar and no sooner had you finished the dog after a laborious thirty minutes, collected the extra drink cash and prepared to go home after declining Carl’s offer of a ride before you found yourself propositioned for the same ordeal. This big fella actually offered a drink with it and much to Carl’s betrayed horror you agreed. Carl ended up leaving, going home to Clarissa, feeling too cuckolded to continue watching someone else watch you eat meat in a casing.

In between sipping Hard Mike’s lemonade you chatted with the fella and spilled pinto beans on your bare legs from the excess. Even the bartender had stopped being annoyed, he even got a bit invested in your gig, retracting the offered napkins for the spill when another guy, a farm hand from the pecan grove down the interstate, asked to lick it off.

You charged seventeen bucks for that spit bath and felt funny as the saliva dried in the chilled bar room air. The bartender asked you if you lived in El Paso. Hesitating to give yourself away or open yourself up to a driveby, you merely agreed that you lived nearby, he didn’t need to know you lived in the Spark City suburb and walked to this tuck station grill to save fuel.

Marty, he said his name was, and Marty was pleased you lived close. In that case he asked if you’d wanna work there. You knew at the time he wasn’t offering you to bartend, your age prohibitive even in so lax an establishment. Your eyes flicked over to the long gal with her sallow skin and stringy red hair loling around the stripper pole in the glow of a green spotlight. It had to be 3:00 am by then.

“Does everybody do extra?” You asked him, plainly referencing the deals that took folks out back into the sagebrush and the backside of the club.

“You do as much as you wanna get paid for.” he admitted. “Plenty just strip.”

Just, he had said. Just strip.

Just stripping was a gross understatement for the rigorous and demoralizing ordeal of flinging your practically naked body around on stage for gaping older men to ogle each night. But it took up hours of your time not paid by the dollar store wages, and you could snooze from five am to eight when your shift began again in respectable retail. You earned a decent amount, even after having to pay Marty and the doormen a portion and even turning down a lap dance or two. The chili dog schtick kept its novelty for three nights and then you were driven to grinding against the pold like all the others, wondering if they’d all hoped to not end this way, same as you.

After a few weeks of this your piggy bank was less empty than it had been in months, hidden under the sink of your trailer behind the Comet and pulled out only to stuff in bills or else retrieve bread money, one Sunday you counted enough to pay your lease for the trailer slip. What was left would make a tiny little down payment for the electricity bill.

Or gas money for at least fifty miles or more in your gas guzzler. You weighed the bills in your hands and mournfully inspected your bruised knees. It was your off day, you contemplated going to the club in the evening as it didn’t respect the Lord’s day like the dollar store, but until then you had hours of a perfectly cloudless day to burn. Suddenly your trailer felt unbearable in its stuffy crampedness.

You tore outta your door and cranked up your daddy’s old Ford and with relief found it started with only a few tries. You tore down the road too, seeking the interstate after using that cash to top her tank off. For the first time in ages a full smile had begun to split your face. You went east, passing the last remnant of civilization that you called home and comprised El Paso’s dusty satellite cling ons. Then it was open range, nothing just mesas and tumbleweed, no one else could brag of such flat country or so wide a sky.

You floored it, the speed limit a decent 80 on its own, you went up to 120, fast as you dared push the transmission without fear of being stranded in the desert. Billboards warned of “last chance for gas, Van Horn 200 miles” followed by a possibly related: “God is coming, have you repented?”

All flew by in a unheeded blur as you cranked up the stereo and let the wind whip your hair. You covered a patrol car in a cloud of dust and saw his lights flash at you in the rearview. No chase commenced. When you leisurely drove back you noticed it was highway patrol, the sun was setting and he flashed his brights at you. You flicked them back.

“Hey officer Presley.” you murmured amused at him turning a blind eye to the speeding. Back when you had more money and made a regular habit of this amateur racing, you noticed the same benevolent light flicker and never a siren broke the still of the desert. “You ole softy.” you giggled at the thought of the middle aged officer being generous for you and only you, and wondered if he’d heard about what had become of you yet. Seems like most of the trailer park had. Favorite topic these days, right up there with when or if your daddy was ever gonna come home. Had the wives hating you during the day for the suspicion of their men wanking over you at night.

“Maybe if you could spare a single food stamp or somethin’ to help a gal in need I’d not be strippin’!” You had hollered at Ms Clarissa for all to hear and you stood by it. Buncha lousy, miserable hypocrites who did far worse behind their canvas doors.

You do go to the club that night.

You stripped down to your panties and bra and made enough to buy ice and a trip to the dentist. You packed the ice in the dead refrigerator and pampered yourself with some milk and a carton of ice cream for the filled tooth.

Next day you filled up your gas tank again and blazed a path through town, headed to the wide open and dreaming of busting your way into the male ranks of nascar drivers. You were deep into a daydream and committing a little self pity about how you hadn't been able to afford cable and were missing all the races when a siren’s blare broke your fantasy and the flicker of red lights against a pale blue sky filled your rearview. Begrudgingly you pulled to the shoulder as you cranked down your window, fiddling with the radio knobs till you could actually hear your crime when your peruser sauntered up.

“Well, well officer Presley, finally got persnickety about laws, have ya?” you observed to yourself with a grin as you watched the handsome man swagger towards you along the white line in your side mirror, tugging at his pants as he neared, trying to shimmy the article of clothing a little higher but is impeded by his belt, stopped by his sizable belly, his holster and buckle sitting under the bulge of it.

Your mouth watered. It had been close to a year since you’d seen him up close, not since last time he pulled you over, though you always took note when he was lounging outside his trailer in a lawn chair with his dog or stripped down and working under his hood. He was always built, intimidating to all the stupid rascals he kept in line along the border, but now he had become outright fat and his khaki shirt pulled apart between each button. Yet when he came up to your window, that little boy's grin was still gracing one of the most exquisite faces known to man, and his voice was tender and playful when he greeted you, just as you once recalled. You could see his sweaty hair, matted on his chest and belly between the gaps, his underarms have massive pit stains, doubly apparent thanks to the light color of his police uniform.

Your smile had something of the she-wolf in it as you greeted him, sniffing the air in hopes of catching a whiff as he leaned on your window frame, nearly crowding you from outside. “Hey Miss Lead Foot Louie,” he greeted, “you know why ya been pulled over?”

“Haven't got a clue, officer.” You stated the truth and enjoyed the way his title rolled off your tongue in a bantering way. It was easy.

Officer, officer. Somebody important and authoritative. No sir, yes sir, Officer.

His left eyebrow quirked and you wondered what he looked like at twenty five, how devastating that expression would have been before his wound and his meds and the water retention. Whatever power it may have once held, it holds nothing to that slightly bemused, slightly cynical world weariness that shows in his every expression now, that had a twitch of an eyebrow making you feel a fool in the most delicious way. “You’re goin’ seventy in a forty five, Miss.” his tone was patient even as his face suggested he’d like to tan your hide for being so reckless. “Reckless endangerment of others, and yourself,” he quoted sternly, “it ain’t no small matter and I don’t countenance it on my highway.”

Gosh, you just loved it when he laid claim to government property like highways and interstates. It helped you smile meekly at him and nod.

“Sorry officer, I got lax.” You purred, batting your eyes and you could see the heavy flap of their coal coated weight in your periphery. “I’ve seen you lettin’ me fly by on the interstate. I guess I thought…”

He leaned further into her car window, shirt gaping helpfully at his neck and allowing you a glimpse of sweaty hair, little droplets shining like rhinestone studs in the coarse curls. You leaned towards him, nipples hardening beneath your t-shirt bra as your mind started to the taste of salt. “You’re in town, miss.” he pointed out with grave disappointment for your lack of behavioral modulation, “S’one thing on the open plain, it’s another when you’re endangerin’ your fellow citizens, flyin’ through intersections, speedin’ up and threadin’ traffic when you’ve got a visible yield sign. Right there! Ain’t responsible. And I won’t countenance it.”

“Sorry officer.” you pleaded, lingering on his rank with all the sultry appreciation of a girl who lacks authority figures in her life. It made his palm itch.

He sighed and gave you a small smile, puffy, marshmallow lips set under a dark five o’clock shadow and it wasn’t even noon. “Now, how many times do I gotta pull ya over ‘fore ya start listenin’ to me?“ he asked with patient expectancy and you swallowed hard, actually feeling a small bit of guilt.

“Well,” you drew it out, biting your lip before tossing your head and beaming at him, “maybe just one last time. Like always.”

He tsked at you in reprimand but his eyes lit up with enjoyment, and that was worth whatever fine he might slap you with. It really wasn’t, not with how broke you were but gosh, you loved breaking the ice on him, reeling him in for another verbal tussle. One day you hoped those expressive hands would accidently smack you mid-wave when he was explaining something or other. You lived in hope of that day.

You watched as he straightened briefly and reviewed your vehicle, thumbing at the peeling paint on the hood near his thumb and swished at the sand on your tags. You held your breath, hoping the dust would disguise their expiration. Officer Presley just grunted and surveyed your lemoning old truck with the face of a man who appreciates nice things and doesn't see any nice things in sight. The face of a man whose patrol car was a Ford Mustang.

“You like speed.” he observed, still glancing at your tires with lip curling disdain. You wanted him to look at you like that but his face always softened when he turned back to you. It did this time as well.

“Yeah.” you breathed.

“You got a shit truck for speed, terrible drag, shit tread on your tires, bet it’s a gas guzzler, too.”

“Well yeah, officer,” you rolled your eyes at his survey, “but it’s not like I can afford much else right now so -I do this for fun. Fun’s not illegal in America yet, is it?”

He looked at you gravely then and his eyes turned sad. “Yeah I heard about the strippin’. You watch yourself now, be careful and make sure you don’t engage in no extra-curric-u-lars.” he advised sternly, peering over his tinted sunglasses at you while saying the big word, over pronouncing it with authoritative gravitas, “I’ve told Marty that means no bar tendin’ when you’re underage. And I’m tellin’ you now, that goes for solictin’, too. You understand me? Nice lil girl like you could get in a heap of trouble real fast. And I won’t countenance it.”

The rest of you perked up at the heavy handed advice, feeling smothered and also cherished that someone would give a shit, even if they were just defending laws n’ government regulations. Thinking of them as Officer Presley’s laws, as his property you were twerking on somehow ennobled your calling, made you feel like giving it a try to be good and not disappoint him. You felt grateful he hadn't chewed you out for the stripping like half the neighborhood, you’d expected some disgust.

When he finally looked at you with disdain, and you were determined that he would, it would be for something less unchangeable, a little less broke, a little more sexy.

“Yes sir, I got ya.” you acknowledged with a nervous laugh to hide your discomfort with the way he kept staring at you, reading you, it felt.

He kept at it for a few moments, chomping on that gum stick in his mouth, dexterous pink tongue lolling the stuff from one row of molars to the others and back. Most fascinating ping-pong match you’d ever seen and while he did his soul-reading, you watched his mouth.

As his jaw worked overtime, he narrowed his eyes at you, so blue they looked violet behind the tint of his lenses. “A’ight.” he decided at last and suddenly your window was bereft of his congenial bulk, you heard the rap of his knuckles on your truck roof.

“You stay outta trouble now, Missy.” he let you off with only a warning, two sharp knocks on the metal and then, “I’ll be seein’ ya.”

You watched the side mirror with investment as he meandered away, futilly hiking up his holster again as he went before he entered his squad car. He flashed his lights at you as you stayed gawking, you fumbled with the ignition and peeled out off the shoulder, moderating your acceleration upon afterthought. You’d promised to be good.

But nights at the Trucker Bar didn’t pay to be good. You had a laundry list of things you wanted and a hefty list of needs alongside it. You tried picking up a shift at the Texaco but Ashley there near tore your hair out against the beer coolers for encroaching on her shift. Everyone needed work and Spark City had never been much of a City, too little infrastructure to prosper its community in good times, much less in the pits of a recession. The Best Buy in El Paso was hiring, you read in a mail advertisement. Their wages cost as much gas it took to drive there and back.

So you got pretty good at something else, something Officer Presley wouldn’t be impressed by, or maybe he would in a moment of weakness but lord, much as you worried and panicked some times about him dropping in on the Trucker stop, meeting eyes and him just knowing you’d been doing extracurriculars, he never showed. Must not have been his scene. Not that you were sure what his scene was, you only ever saw him in his patrol car or else cleaning his guns on his trailer porch next to his Tiger figurine.

You assumed he liked blow jobs as much as the next man. But he never showed and so you got more and more lax, went out back of the bar to the Sagebrush desert and blew heavy tippers against the concrete wall, ant bites and stickers plaguing your knees. So far you hadn’t even needed to walk on over past the broken wall to the dingy motel in back and do the horizontal tango.

Moderate extracurriculars and the dancing was enough to tip your little piggy bank into having a little something to shake at the end of the day. You got yourself a haul of cereal and hot pockets that night, even splurged on milk that went rancid by the next day without refrigeration. You spent your late mornings debating how much money you had left for rent and how much you had for electricity and the viability of buying a generator instead of paying the bill. You also wanted a Blackberry phone real bad, your old flip phone a relic and on its last wheezes -maybe that’s why your dad’s calls never came through.

You were chewing off the price tag of your dollar flip flops, walking barefoot out of your daytime workplace -Dollar General- at the end of your shift when you realized there was a patrol car pulled up beside your Ford. First you cursed, then you grinned as you saw the familiar figure of Officer Presley wiping at your windshield with a bandana. Then you cursed again as you realized he was checking your expired tags.

You jogged over the burning asphalt, still tied flip flops in hand, hoping you didn’t look like shit from having taken off the Dollar Store vest without smoothing your hair afterwards. You hadn’t been good, he could be here for anything, soliciting, or for the speeding you know he caught on his radar or else the tags.

“Hey officer!” you chirped, as carefree and smiley as you could manage -and you’d gotten to be a tidy little liar at the club, insisting you couldn’t wait to have greasy, unwashed truckers in your mouth.

He turned his head slowly, hand still heavy on the windshield and observed you through those glasses again. “Don’t you ‘hey officer’ me.” he retorted, riled despite himself at the way you always said his rank like he had you locked up with frilly pink handcuffs to his waterbed. He shook his head and focused on the variety of delinquencies he had to reprimand you for. “These tags are out of date.”

“Aww,” you feigned consternation pretty decently as you really hadn’t bothered to prioritize the tags with every other dire cost pummeling you right now, “I’m sorry Elvis.” you tried a little familiarity as you drew closer, watching enthralled as a stale desert window tufted the front of his black locks of his sweaty forehead, “Things’ve been a lil tight for a while now, what with daddy leavin’. Slipped my mind.”

He pulled his hand off the windshield and his hands tried to rest on his hips but they slipped and ended up in an odd, off-kilter sorta sling on his pockets and belly, “They’re three years overdue.” his tone sounded unimpressed, you shivered despite the heat.

“Oh.” you chewed your lip and gazed at him hopefully.

“I oughta tan your hide, lettin’ you turn feral with all my concessions.” he said aloud while stippling his fingers on your rusting truck hood. His eyes dropped to the newly purchased, junk flip flops you still clutched. “Why’re you bare foot?”

“My last pair broke.” you explained, end of your shift the thong had snapped and here you were with the replacements.

“Well put ‘em on, the road’s nasty.” he grunted in aggravation, eyes dropping to your feet and widening in disgust at the welts and blisters you’d accumulated from your cheap stripper heels. “Holy shit, that’s gnarly right there.”

You felt a bit offended by that, wanting to object it was the toll of the job, sorta like fat guts came from lounging in patrol cars for a living. Figuring you were in deep deep enough shit as is without outright insulting him, you bit your tongue and chewed on the plastic connector again, trying to free your sandals.

“Oh for God’s sake, stop that.” he growled after a minute and to your bewilderment he stepped in your space and grabbed the foam footwear out of your mouth, “Gonna chip a tooth goin’ on that way, then your tips’ll go down, ya thought of that? No? No you don’t think ahead about nothin’.”

He was working himself up into a frustrated frenzy, tugging at the plastic tag, mumbling all the while about your behavior until it snapped at last and separated the flip flops. He stared dumbly at his success for a minute while you tittered. Bad move on your part, his eyes darkened and he genuinely scowled at you, something more effective than it should have been with his outdated sideburns carving lines in his cheeks.

“Turn around.” he demanded and you snapped your mouth shut, confused by his attitude and furtively eyeing your flip flops still dwarfed in his gloved hands. Who the hell wore gloves in this decade? In this century? In an El Paso suburb that was only a degree or two cooler than the surface of the sun.

You turned around.

“Hands on the hood.” he told you.

You placed them on the burning metal and wished you had gloves, angling your body away from the hot body of the truck, wincing at the heat, on tippy toes to save your feet from the asphalt. Was he gonna cuff you? He hadn’t even read you your rights and could a person even be arrested for tags? You really didn’t know and you never thought he would-

Suddenly a loud snap resounded in the empty parking lot and a white hot sting against your bottom distracted you from the pain of the hot car. You yelped in shock, hand flying to nurse the denim clad ass cheek that was burning from his smack. You glared over your shoulder at Officer Presley, ready to give him what for about him taking parental liberties until you saw his face folded into childish consternation, poofy bottom lip jutted out in remorse as he viewed the snapped flip flop in his hands.

He’d broken a shoe on you. Appreciation flared back, and you wanted to squeeze his cheeks and tell him it was ok, he could ruin the other, too.

“Aww shit, now I-I-I didn’t mean for that-“ he bemoaned, turning the ruined foam pad around and around in his hands as if there was a way to fix it when the other half was on the ground.

“It’s ok.” You heard yourself comfort the fucker who’d just spanked you in broad daylight.

“But you just finished your shift.” he muttered, and his consideration for your inconvenience touched you, “Here I-I-I’ll go buy ya another pair. Uh, yeah, c’mon.”

You skipped alongside him, trying to get him to look over at you but his face was flushed and his eyes trained on his task, picking out a hot pink pair instead of the polka dots you had chosen. “Does nothin’ for your lil sooties and brings the attention away from the polish ya got painted and instead directs the eye to the crustaceans and shit ya got goin’ on.” he referenced your calluses with a grimace and reached into his back pocket to pull out his worn wallet.

You stared at the hefty meat of his ass the entire time and almost missed it when he pulled out five dollars and put them on the register. You watched his ass and its khaki clad splendor as he returned the wallet without change and wiggled it into the tight back pocket.

At the double sliding glass doors of the front he snapped the tag there and then and squatted down with a little grunt, his knees popping audibly as he gallantly laid out your cheap slippers. You stepped into them, taking the liberty of putting a balancing hand on his sweaty shoulder.

His hand ran up your wrist and held you there a minute longer than it needed for stability. He squeezed twice and let go. You watched him heft himself up to his feet with admiration and a little pity for the stiff way he moved when he’d been stuck in one position for too long. Seemed to you so long as he was kept moving he did alright, nice and fluid and you’d seen him chase and tackle a man on foot awhile back, he’d been runnin’ like the wind then. He had it in him, just lounging in the patrol car hardly helped things.

You got the sudden and stupid urge to ask if he wanted to go swimming in the Motel 6’s pool, it would be good for his joints and your sore back and he’d be wet and maybe have his shirt off and you could-

“I got somethin’ to tell ya, it’s w-w-why I-I stopped when I saw your truck and uh, sweetie, let’s stay h-here in the cool.” he gently tugged your arm back with the pads of his pretty fingers hooked on your deltoid, pulling you back over the threshold and into the dryer sheet scented air of the Dollar General.

“What is it?” you asked him as he seemed nervous, a foreign look on him. You started to feel a little panic at the thought he might be leaving, going back to wherever he came from, done with this Podunk town and its big crime and little criminals.

“There ain’t no easy way to say this a-a-and I wanted you to hear it from me.” he chose his words carefully, eyes trained on the white and speckled tile below your feet until after a big breath he lifted his stunning eyes and gazed at you gently and in the most gallant way you’d ever been looked at before, murmuring in clear, compassionate tones, “They caught your daddy the other night -drug runnin’. Ain’t no petty marijuana charge or somethin’, it’s the big stuff. He’s gonna be put away, for a long while, in-car-cer-ated.” he specified with distinct pronunciation, “For a long while, Miss. I’m sorry to be the one t-t-to t-tell but I wanted you to know it’s true, I-I-l booked him in myself.”

“Well,” you swallowed hard, a little ashamed you’d been more alarmed at the prospect of officer Presley leaving than suspecting anything wrong with your walking disappointment of a father, “well damn.” you muttered.

“You don’t seem much surprised.” he pointed out, pulling his tinted shades down his nose to get a clear review of you, he had a red line on his nose from their weight.

“I barely know him anymore,” you admitted, “and I doubted he was gone spreading charity or something.”

“Yeah.”

“But damn -he was supposed to come back.” you felt a little angry about that part. A little childish for believing it too.

“Maybe he meant to,” he soothed, although your father’s entrenched position on the river suggested a more permanent stay, “and was doing all that sellin’ to give you somethin’ better but he was breakin’ the law and endangerin-“

“-Endangering others, I know.” you snapped at him, not because he was anything but nice, you snapped at him because he was very kind and he had a silver, shiny, sanctimonious badge on the large swell of his left peck.

The longer you stared at the badge the more you wanted to sink your dollar store acrylics into the meat of that man and try tearing -they’d probably break and it made your eyes swim with tears of frustration and you stomped out of the double glass doors into the heat of the parking lot. The sun would be going down soon and that’s when your best customers would pour into the club. You snapped your way across the asphalt on the flip flops he got you, ignoring his calls behind you as you wrenched open the squeaking truck door and hopped up into the cab.

“Really it’s fine!” you yelled at him as he came up to the window again, the concern and reproval written on his face way more heavy than you could take right then, “It’s not like I was expecting him back anytime soon anyway and -and you’ve got a job to do, ok? I get it. I get it, ok? Now I gotta go, officer.” You cranked up your engine and diesel fumes swirled around him. He batted the air in front of his face like a dainty lady would a swarm of flies and leaned heavier still on your rolled down window.

“I just wanted to let ya know.” he reaffirmed his intention, his gesticulations bringing your eyes to the gold watch around his wrist that jangled against the car metal, “Tell ya not to uh, don’t do nothin’ rash, alright? Just ‘cause he’s gone. You’re a big girl, you’ll make it. You ‘member what I said last time ‘bout extracurriculars?”

“I’d like to do you some extracurriculars.” you seethed with an angry smile and he looked taken aback, actually stepping away from the truck and his belly heaved with his offended breaths. One hand balled in a fist at his side and the other twitched, fiat palm swaying beside his thigh like he was gonna smack again. Extracurriculars -you’d like to take his no doubt chubby little cock right down to the sweaty thatched base and chew, just to earn a real spanking.

Maybe this lewd intent was written on your face but he slowly backed away from your truck like you’d gone looney, pointing his finger at you as he went, “You be good, I mean it. And that’s goes for respectin’ officers of the law.”

He was about to get into his side, looking over his car top in admonishment and you quickly made sure your truck was still in park before turning round in the seat and hanging yourself out the window, cleavage pressed against the edge to your best advantage and blew him a kiss. “I’m always a good girl, officer!” you swore adamantly and it stopped him dead in his tracks, stopped in a half crouch to his seat, that eyebrow disbelieving, “Officer Presley commissioned me to be good and I ain’t anything but!” you swore.

Took him five whole seconds to recall he was supposed to have his ass seated by then and he lowered himself the rest of the way into his car. His belly brushed the steering wheel and his legs spread themselves even in the driver's seat, it made your crushed breasts tingle. “Be-have.” he pointed that finger again and your thighs clamped shut on your seats, overwhelmed with unbidden thoughts of the long and slender digit probing inside you. How’d his fingers stay so slender when the rest of him bulked up?

You saluted as poorly as you could and watched him drive off, aggression plain in his accelerations and the way he took his turns. He shoulda stayed and spanked the other cheek, you thought, as you turned around and slumped in your seat, legs splayed and fighting a desperate urge to slip a hand down your shorts. You hoped to god he’d find some quiet shoulder of the road in the desert this evening and with a car passing every twelve minutes, tug a load out to the thought of wacking your denim booty with his belt. It would be good for his blood pressure.

Hands sticky from your own dismal release, you pulled out of the parking lot ten minutes behind him and, too scarce on time to go home first, drove straight to the club, knowing full well that you could always just strip down to your underwear.

Or less.

What with dad permanently unhelpful now, it was a fact of life that you’d have to do more than get by till he came back. You’d already accepted that awhile ago, this just confirmed it. You figured you’d need to save another stash of money, like the real professional girls did, girls like Kelcie and Shay, a little fund for renting out a motel room at night. The one a quarter mile out back of the truck stop, no harm in it except for a few bramble scratches in the dark and the odd coyote not scared off by the truckers’ loud moans out back at the blow job wall.

But for tonight you hadn’t any such stash and so after a few hours at the poll and chatting up the fellas lounging on barstools, you found the tip jar lacking and made one of those lil deals that were becoming almost as commonplace as getting your butt pinched.

This time, in the moth attracting glow of the outside light, your customer had a New York accent and while at cock level you learned from his fancy, dangling silver keychain that his buddies knew him as Joe E.

Now Joe E had a little brown cock and a small, fused ballsack under a sizable belly like most of these men in here did, and you did some of your best work on him. It was easy to do with him fitting in your mouth so easily, you pulled out every trick you’d learned at this wall, all of which he unfortunately resisted succumbing to more than the usual client. He’d pull himself out of your throat and he would grip his base, prolonging his experience and you supposed he had a right to it, he was paying money for something and he might as well do it how he liked but your jaw ached after a while. Soon your ears ached worse, exhausted and fed up with the self important monologue he kept up between the usual, self promoting stud talk that an unimpressive man in his forties likes to indulge in while paying for sex acts out back of a hole in the wall truckers club.

Joe E tasted like he hadn’t touched a fresh vegetable in years and through the overwhelming desire to puke you recognized with some pleasure that he was tipping you extra for being “like a damn vacuum down there, you pretty little dog.”

You drove home from the club, headlights on dim in the early morning and passed by Officer Presley’s double wide with intent, choosing the route you’d take if you were walking. It was dark inside but as you passed you saw he wasn’t asleep, his car was still gone.

You wondered if his doggie was in there or on patrol with him. You sighed and pulled into your own weedy drive, depressed with something you didn’t know the cause of.

You brushed your teeth, you ate cereal after remembering you hadn’t eaten, and stripped out of your clothes before crashing into bed, falling asleep in seconds despite the musty, unconditioned air inside.

It was the next morning, so near afternoon as to barely warrant it but Elvis Presley liked to take credit for any bit of effort he made and so let the record show it was still morning, when he entered the Waffle House off Moody Blvd and sat himself down in a booth and ordered his usual. It arrived at 11:56 in the morning and so it was breakfast, not lunch by any stretch of the imagination. He’d been up all night, the usual plaguing reasons and a few added to it. You, thoughts of you and tanning your hide and gripping you and you squirming over his lap made his patrols a hellish experience and he was almost glad for the distraction of the fucker without plates pulling out in front of him and making a run for it through the border checkpoint at 8:45 pm.

Now he was distracting himself with food, and if there was anything in his life to rival his appreciation of a slippery and obligin’ pussy, it was five scrambled eggs piled high on a white plate with burnt bacon to the side and waffles stacked on a companion plate. Brenda put them down with a smile and gave him a side hug that made his face brush her apron and shoulda gotten her fired by the food regulations but Elvis liked Brenda for her affectionate ways and the way he didn’t ever have to correct her about his order.

“You look tired.” she worried over him and he found a smile starting to threaten on his face, he stuck his fork in the eggs to distract himself.

“Just a busy night.” he admitted and absentmindedly rubbed at his sore knee.

“Aww you’re a treasure, keepin’ us so safe.” he patted his arm again and he fully smiled this time. “You just tell me if you need anythin’ else. I’ve got more coffee, lemme get ya more coffee, Elvis.”

“Thanks Miss Brenda.” he called to her and she giggled as she fetched the cloudy pot.

The bell over the entrance jangled and from Elvis’ chosen vantage point in a booth that faced the doors, always facing his entry that man, he saw Joe Esposito walk in, smiling like a motherfucker for a Wednesday morning and swaggering like Elvis hadn't seen the little runt do since he passed the bar back in 1980 something.

“Hey Brenda, hey EP!” Joe greeted and Elvis braced himself for a cheerful morning when all his hopes had been for some quiet and a little maple syrup glazed despondency.

“Hey Joe.” Elvis greeted his old friend, “You in town?”

“Yeah, my route’s takin’ me to Las Cruces.” Joe informed him as he helped himself to the booth across from Elvis without invitation. If he ate one of Elvis’ bacon strips, even reached for it, Elvis would be pulling out his Glock.

“How’s business?” Elvis asked as neutrally as possible, knowing that it was a sore subject for Joe who had once bragged about being destined for big things, holding it over everybody else at the high school back in Memphis. Still Elvis couldn’t help but ask, partly because it was small talk and if he could get Joe on the subject he knew the feller wouldn’t stop talking, and Elvis could then eat his eggs with minimal requirements for speech. He also took some inner consolation in the fact that all Joe’s brags had worked out about as poorly as Elvis’ dreams had.

It made for two portly middle aged men in a Waffle House booth discussing gas prices at noon.

Joe ordered just pancakes and Elvis judged the lack of meat from beneath his lavender shades and patiently asked the right questions to keep Joe smacking his breakfast with an open mouth and waxing sentimental about life on the road. It suited Joe, even if it was boringly unimportant, he was king of the road in between stops at Walmart distribution centers and out in the stretches of no man’s land the girls were cheap, far cheaper than any Times Square street walker. Joe hadn’t been to Times Square since he was sixteen but it was something he still liked to brag of and to incorporate in his life story like it was an integral part of his narrative.

“But are they fresher?” Elvis inquired, always intrigued by the subject of pussy but also harboring a deep aversion to the way most men spoke on the subject.

“Nah, not really, but that’s why ya go for the mouth.” Joe catechsied Elvis on the ways of call girls and Elvis felt his eye twitch, personally he enjoyed blow jobs as much as the next guy but to avoid the pussy all together as Joe was suggesting? It took all the joy out of the act for Elvis and he picked at his eggs morosely as he listened. He’d had such a large appetite before Joe sat down and started talking of fishy cunts and girls with throats like drainage pipes.

Joe had been to the truckers lounge, the trucker club, the strip place, whatever it was called -the place Marty ran. Elvis knew it, he tried not to react to the name, to pretend he didn’t gas up at the Texaco next door with the express intent of hoping to catch sight of you some nights. He never did, and he’d never been in. But Joe had gone in and Joe being Joe sat across from Elvis the next morning and bragged to a law officer about paying for a blow job. Which along with ruining Elvis’ appetite was offense enough for Elvis to decide to arrest the fucker, but the eloquent details of the slut who’d given it to him made Elvis see red.

Elvis didn’t really mind folks watching you, some stupid, possessive part of him was glad that all those fuckers drooled over you and couldn’t touch, same as him as he sat year after year in his lawn chair on his porch, watching you pass his trailer with longer and longer legs, prettier and prettier as the dusty days rolled by.

But to touch you? That someone else had touched you? The butter on his waffles suddenly looked wrong.

“-just fifty bucks man. Fifty bucks well spent.” Joe was bragging like he’d cheated the stock market and Elvis heard a roar in his ears that the doctors swore the pills would take care of.

You’d sucked Joe Esposita for fifty dollars right after Elvis had told you to be good and you’d blown him a kiss.

His chest hurt.

Elvis had Joe’s greasy face pressed into the syrupy plate with his hands behind his back and cuffs clanking before either the officer or the suspect even realized his intent. “Prostitution’s illegal, motherfucker, as is paying for such services in the state of Texas.”

You’d told him you’d be good. Fuck! He so badly didn’t wanna think of Joe being your first that he had to countenance speculation about you making a regular habit of this thing which was both worse and better all at once and he took out his frustration at that knowledge by trundling Joe into the back of the squad car with far more force than necessary.

It was a flimsy charge to file, Elvis knew that even before the clerk gave him the usual papers to fill out with a confused look. Wasn’t like Elvis was gonna put down your face or name, give away your crime. Without that connection the charge of paying for sex was flimsy and Joe would be released before dark. But it was nice to hear him sqealin’ and bitchin’ about his driving schedule and a buncha other ordinary begs that made Joe E sound as pathetic as Elvis knew he was.

It fortified Elvis throughout the day, kept him from going to your trailer or interrupting you at work to ask why in God’s name you would degrade yourself like that. It kept him bolstered with red hot rage until he was staked out in desert twilight on the dark side of the Texaco, headlights off and his eyes squinted as he watched patrons and girls go into the club.

This was his fault, for locking your daddy up, driving you to such lengths. He felt sick about it, shoulda known a stubborn, white trash girl like you would just reach for the next alternative this easy. Made him sick. Elvis suddenly felt nice and superior to all these men filing into the neon lit cinderblock structure, he had resisted touching himself to the fantasies that had filled his mind about you last night. Wasn’t pertinent that he had a stiffy right now, that was just the nerves and excitement of a stake out revving him up

He lit up a cigar and let Mellancamp growl over the stereo, engine off and the key turned just a little for the dash lights to stay on. He wasn’t sure when you got off work at the club, he assumed it must be some time around dawn and that suited his shit circadian rhythm just fine. He wasn’t tired as the hours went by, he was downright furious and his heart hurt and he popped a couple oxys sitting there with his busted knee throbbing and his mind a demented echo chamber.

By the time the sky was turning a sickly violet with the first promises of sunrise, Elvis had worked himself up to such a degree as to have his door flung open and one boot rhythmically tapping against the cement in his agitation, legs spread to alleviate the ache his pills had provoked in his groin even as the rest of him felt loose and untethered and decidedly deserving for once.

When you walked out the front of the club into the stale early morning air you laughed to yourself at the silliness of thinking you’d need a coat. Your little denim shorts and cherry print crop top suited just fine even in the early dark. That NASCAR jacket you’d had your eye on, the one Shay showed you on eBay, it would have to wait, the tips were shit tonight. No real hurt with that, wasn’t like it was cold. Just another something you wanted and would have to put off. You hadn’t driven tonight as the walk was cheaper and closer but you’d forgotten your pepper spray back at the truck stop and you hesitated for a moment about going back in, hating the idea of getting sucked into some sorta early morning drama from the drunk leftovers. While you were debating, a flash of white seared your vision and you staggered to a stop in the middle of the mostly deserted parking lot.

Headlights.

Well shit, now you really wished you had that spray. You thought about making a run for it, trying the nearest truck cab and praying the guy in it was less of a creep than whoever stakes out on the deserted side of the building.

“You get over here!” the approaching figure came into view, finally silhouetted by his own lights as he stalked towards you wearing a leather trench coat like some noir villain.

It would be a lie to say you breathed easier when you recognized Officer Presley’s commanding baritone.

“Shit shit shit.” you chanted beneath your breath at how riled he sounded and his right hand started making angry gestures for you to approach as he himself closed the distance with a deceptively fast gait.

“Hey, get your ass over here, I called you.” he yelled far more loudly than necessary with his massive hands already closing around your wrists, you didn’t even think to make a run for it, where exactly in the world was a kinder place to turn to than this angry law officer who always nosed in your business too much? “Get, get over here.” he repeated with a yank and tugged you stumbling over your flip flops to his squad car.

He bent you over the hood, just like you’d dreamed of more than a few times and you felt the heat of the headlight against your thigh as your shoulders got twisted back. “-solicitation,” he was pronouncing and your heart sank at the realization he had caught you after your promise, “prostitution-“ the cold clamp of a handcuff on your wrist had none of the rebel thrill you once imagined, it was terrifying and you whimpered pathetically at the thought that you’d expended his patience, that maybe your flirty banters had been one sided and he really was fed up with you.

“Officer-“ you begged with your cheek smashed to the hood.

Some guy had walked up, actually being a good citizen and concerned about the manhandling. It took one flash of Officer Presley’s badge for the guy to back away with a mere “you at least gonna read her the rights, man?”, throwing concerned looks over his shoulder. Maybe he’d been a tipper, you didn’t recall one face from another unless they were awfully ugly or skinny.

“Yeah, yeah I’ll read you your rights, you got the goddamn right to remain silent-“ Officer Presley was struggling with the other cuff and his weight on your lower back made you wheeze just as he was short of breath. He was awfully worked up, huffily trying to clasp the cuffs and slurring your Miranda rights carelessly for so staunch a believer in laws and precepts.

When he succeeded and stood you upright you craned your neck to look at his sweaty face behind you and his eyes were wild and his hair disheveled like he’d run his hands through it a million times tonight. He looked a bit obsessed with his nose flaring like that, his speech slurring and his usual decorum completely goners.

“Are you drunk?” you balked in alarm as he trundled you into the backseat, face first into leather with your cuffed hands behind you, ass stuck out the door.

“Of course I ain’t!” he howled and pushed your butt further until you righted yourself on the bench seat, “I’m your officer of the law, that’s what I am.”

“I-I-I know that, I just-“ you felt a cold sweat break out at the realization he kept all his stubborn righteousness even skunk drunk on something, “-you seem a little…impaired. For a law officer. For a law officer driving on a government road. See! I do listen, I do and I really don’t think that while you’re dr-“

“I don’t even touch the booze, unlike you.” he spit. “Nothin’ gonna get you outta this, this time you’re gonna learn your lesson!” he wagged his finger and slammed the door shut, you could hear his seething monologue through his open door as he came round and took his own seat up front, the hard plastic partition only muting it slightly. “I can’t stand, won’t stand for it, no hard times gonna make for you-“

You tugged at the cuffs on your wrists and swallowed at their security, the ole man might be inebriated but he sure knew his line of work. It made you doubly anxious at how vulnerable you were, unbuckled and cuffed in the back seat of a man about to hit the road in a blind, possibly medicated rage. Your one glimmer of hope was the fact you were the cause of that rage -and you hoped, hoped so damn hard he cared out of some sort of fondness, not anger.

“Strippin’ and blowin’ and probably snortin’ shit and you ain’t even outta highschool-“

“You turned eighteen?!” He balked, jerking the rearview down to stare you in the eyes.

“Yes sir.” you agreed meekly.

“And you didn’t tell me? I’d have gotten you somethin’!” he cried out, “Eighteen and don’t tell nobody, no mama, no daddy, and now fuckin’ with the law-“

“Officer Presley I understand you’re angry and I’m sorry-“ you tried your most vehemently ass kissing tone and scooted up to the edge of the seat, face pressed the the scuffed, forehead greased plastic divider, “I’m so sorry I had to break my promise to ya but money’s been so tight, I—ooh shit-!“

You tipped over on your side as he hit the accelerator, the wheel already turned for a complete 180 spin to leave the dingy parking lot and its flashing neon lights. You sat yourself back up and pressed your face back where you could watch his leather gloves spin the wheel, and breathe as close to him as possible even if it didn’t serve to make him notice. The plastic sorta hampered the more primal assets at your disposal. You were readying for some more protests when he spoke up, his pouty, boyish, hurt tone emphasized by his jerky merging into three lanes worth of morning commute traffic

“— why didn’t you come to me?” he cried out and you had to give it to him, crossing three white lines that smoothly while in a rage wasn’t for anyone, he had a knack, “Why didn’t you say, ‘Officer Presley, if I don’t have me enough money for’ -what is it you need money for?”

“EVERYTHING!” You screamed back, exasperated and a little scared at the blur of tail lights he wove you through.

“You’re greedy,” he surmised, “you’d rather go work at the tit shack as a lot lizard, shakin’ it for strangers and suckin’ Joe E’s cock than ask for my help. My help!” He stabbed at his chest with a gloved finger and it was quite obvious how tore up he was over that mental image, you didn’t know he knew such particulars but you could use this to your advantage, you could try at least.

“Officer Presley,” you cooed as gently as you could with road noise and a plastic divider hampering your sultry intentions, if you had freedom of movement you’d be reaching around his thick neck and tucking that one sweaty curl behind his ear where it tufted with his sideburn, “I’d have preferred it was you,” you watched closely as that sank in, the lead foot easing on the accelerator, there was a choice up ahead, left to the precinct or right to the trailer park, “but I’ve got my pride and I couldn’t just take charity from you. I kept hopin’ you’d come in, then we could both do each other a favor.”

You could hear him sniff, running a hand underneath his nose. “That right?”

“Yeah.” You breathed, forehead thudding back against the plastic and at the red light intersection he stopped and craned his neck to look at you. “Don’t take me in, not this morning, please, pleaaasssse!” you begged, “We’ve both been working all night and we’re tired and sad and- you need somebody to make you dinner before you fall asleep, don’t ya?”

It was a dirty, dirty ploy to distract him like that but you could see with searing clarity the way his eyes wavered in their glare, then softened into childlike meekness at the thought of food and companionship. “You wanna come back to mine?” he whispered, gravelly from all the yelling and his eyelids batted under the lavender shades, azure and owlish.

“I really do.” you agreed, “Mine hasn’t had any air conditioning in seven months.” you admitted and he made a wounded noise of protest for your deprivations. You’d make him see why you took to stripping, he just had to be eased into it.

“I didn’t take it outta the freezer ‘fore I left.” he realized dejectedly as he turned right -away from the station.

You took a massive breath and tried to make it go to your swimming head, relief coursing through you at getting your way. Then you tried to process what he’d said. “Oh, your dinner?” you prodded.

“Yeah. It’s frozen. Lasagna.” he mumbled.

“Well, that’s nothing me and a microwave can’t solve.” you assure, gauging how his profile had softened in the dim lighting of the cab lights but his grip on the wheel and his jittery leg were about as stiff and upset as when he cuffed you. “What could I do for you in exchange for a bite?” you whispered, the sudden stop of the car making you realize with a hitch in your breath that you were in front of his place.

“I liked you.” he suddenly spoke up with such vehemence that it would have been comedic, what with him having already given into you and taken you home, but instead it was a little heartbreaking. “I liked you but you was too young!”

“I still like you.” you hedged, “Even though you cuffed me and called me a lot lizard.” you teased.

The solicitation, the sharing, it seemed to be his chief sore.

“That’s whatchu is!.” He grouched, staring out his front windshield at the single hung lamp illuminating freshly washed vinyl. “But I’ve taken you home anyways.”

“It’s really sweet of you.” you insisted, shifting on the peeling bench seat and wondering when he’d take you out of the car. “Are you gonna let me warm up that lasagna?”

“You said you wished I’d come in?” he ignored you and went back to your previous comment, about wishing he had frequented the truck stop.

Well, well, Officer Presley - a man like all others, after all.

You smirked, sticky lip gloss feeling a little cracked at this corners as you beamed at your little victory. “Maybe I could find a way to show my appreciation for takin’ me back to your air conditioned little palace. -while the lasagna is warming up.” you clarified and heard him grunt, and shift, his legs spreading a little wider in the cramped front seat.

“Yeah?” he pressed, sounding a little winded unless you were just too quick with the assumptions tonight.

“Yeah.”

“You offerin’ to be *my* lot lizzard?” He asked and after a tense minute where you were unsure if he was about to be angry again, he tapped the glass and whispered, “A joke, c’mon, don’t you get it? It’s a joke.”

“But I would!” You insisted after laughing for his benefit.

“Hmm.” He sniffed again, “Well. Hmm.” and with that unclear utterance he opened his door and heaved himself out into the stale Texas air, hiking up his pants again in that useless habit and shutting it behind him. It seemed an eternity before he finished hiking and shifting and shaking a leg out before he came and opened your door, a gentlemanly action made necessary by the stupid cuffs, still clanking around your wrists, as you scooted out of the back seat.

Officer Presley surveyed you up and down, blinking blearily as if he hadn’t seen you fully in the dark parking lot, like the glare of his headlights wasn't sufficient to show him your little cherry tank top and denim shorts, the satin tops of your red bra peeking out of the stretched neckline. “Hmm.” he hummed again and surveyed you once more, the pull of the cuffs behind your back adding to your posture being a bit booby. “Now ‘fore you cross my threshold, I’ve got house rules.” he was swaying a bit alarmingly and caught himself on the side mirror, you chose to ignore this and give him all the deferential attention needed to cure his -jealousy? Was he jealous? Of all the men who tipped you? “First rule, no dirty feet in the house. I hate filthy carpets. I hate them.”

“O-ok.” you agreed.

“Clean feet.”

“Okey.”

“Hmm. Ok.” he closed his eyes and recalled the next, “Let’s see uh- no back talkin’! No talkin’ back, what I say, goes, in my house.”

It was a trailer, not a house. But:

“Of course! You’re the man of the house!” you enthused with a little bounce for his benefit. He was still wacky and veering so fast from niceness to belligerence you were pretty sure you’d end up a little worse for wear after this no matter what. The thought excited you.

“Ok.” he pronounced, staring at the gravel and your feet like he didn’t know what to do now. You wondered when was the last time somebody had come into his place. “I got a doggie, too. Backroom. His word is law, don’t go botherin’ him none.“

Having seen the size of the dog, even if you were inclined to be a jerk to it, you wouldn’t dare. “Gosh of course.”

“Ok.” again. “I’ll get the hose.”

He left you there, leaning cuffed against his squad car as he trundled over his singed lawn to the side of the trailer, returning with the running hose in hand.

You knew it was destined for your feet and didn’t make a fuss as the warm hose water splashed against your blisters, soothing away the dust and the sticky cocktail splashes and god knows what else.

“House rules?” he prompted as he sprayed.

It was getting quite light out now. Probably close to six in the morning. What a long night. “Clean feet, respect doggie, no back talking.” You listed.

“And make yourself useful.” he grunted as if he had mentioned that before and you’d been faulty in your retelling.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Mm, ‘cause you’re my lot lizard now, ain’t ya?” he hummed, hose pointed to the side and suddenly his face was very close to yours, his belly closer and pressed to yours.

“Y-yeah.” you gasped.

“You gonna be a useful lil helper, hmm? Let hims take care of ya while you take care of him?”

Well shit, you weren’t at all sure if this were house rules or a big sexual game. Either way you wanted some lasagna and the crisp prospect of air conditioned sleep. “Yes, officer.”

“Good girl.” he turned the nozzle off on the hose, clamping it at the mouth and dropping it to the gravel.

“You- are you gonna uncuff me?” you giggled nervously as he swayed above you, nose almost brushing yours, eyes heavy and drooping.

“Hmm,” he stepped back and hooked a thumb in his belt loop, a shit eating grin spread over his face, bunching up the apples of his cheeks and turning him into a boy before your very eyes, “nah. I think -nope. Not gonna.”

“Well- shit, officer.” You sputtered, “You’ve got some little secrets?”

“I’ll let you be the judge of how little they are, sweetheart.” he cheesed before reaching out and hooking a finger in your strap, and tugging you gently by it up his porch.

It was odd, Seeing his ceramic tiger up close. Like déjà vu, or walking into a movie, some dream playing out. If your hands had been free, you would’ve pet the head concrete reverently, feeling some sort of gratitude to the noble beast for making your girlhood wishes come true as you tripped through the screen door and into an icebox of a trailer.

He shut the door and pressed you up against it with a move smoother and more practiced than you expected from him. Maybe wrestling criminals and doing the nasty called for the same dexterity. Or maybe he’d been fuckin’ somebody else all this time, waiting for you to grow up. Maybe he’d made a whole harem out of the trailer park and you were just his last pick. The thought hurt terribly, worse yet as you knew most days he was a sweetie, a funny man, attractive and well liked, not this grumpy, pill drunk trailer Baron that smushed you with his belly and sneering face so near but never descending as a lover’s should.

“Kiss me.” you goaded, licking your lips in a studied way. The little contemplative, whining sound he made took you by surprise.

He pulled down your bottom lip with a gloved finger and checked your mouth and tongue like a damn dentist. “Listerine first.”

Of course. Hygiene.

Clean feet, clean mouth, just for him to probably put his piss dribbled cock in it.

He stepped away and methodically took off his gloves, laid them on a small, doily adorned side table by the door, and then his gun and his belt came off with a satisfied grunt that made your inner thighs tingle. The thud of his large flashlight finished this routine.

Doilies.

There were doilies and frilly curtains and the oddest assortment of cheap finery around the place. A nod to the Tuscan craze taking over places like Target and such, while having a unique spin on it you weren’t sure what to name. You took it all in as he piloted you to the bathroom and methodically he pulled out a still wrapped toothbrush and plopped a jumbo sized bottle of mint flavored mouthwash on the fake marble counter.

“You kept that in case you have a lady guest?” You teased as the clinical silence was all a bit funny.

“Yeah.” he agreed without a hint of amusement and you sobered up again at the idea of him having anybody in here but you.

He poured a large quantity of the mouthwash into a paper cup, retrieved from the tidy stack of paper cups beside the sink for that purpose. His housekeeping was an odd mix of spectrum-like meticulousness and slovenly disorder. There were three pairs of pants on the bathroom rug beneath your feet and yet the mouthwash cups were stacked as carefully as the Tower of Babel. “Swish it for seventy five seconds.” He directed very soberly, tipping the liquid disinfectant into your mouth. You almost swallowed the shit. While you swished till your eyes burned and your tongue went numb from scalding mint, he tore at the packaging for the toothbrush.

“Ok, spit.” you happily spat out the green torture liquid and grinned back at him in the mirror.

“Never had a man ask me to spit it out before.” you teased.

He fumbled the toothbrush in surprise for a minute before giving you an admonishing eyebrow. “Girl don’t. We gotta brush your teeth.”

Instead of doing the obvious thing, the honorable thing and uncuffing you, he instead took his place behind you and pushed the toothbrush between your lips, moving it as if you had no arms and were helpless. All this to keep you cuffed.

What a pervert, you thought, charmed.

It was oddly cozy even if it was more than a tad bazaar, him pressing himself to you and running his spare hand along your side as you bent over the counter, trying not to ruin the moment by slurping paste too much. It didn’t seem to bother him, he didn’t watch you brush, he just discreetly rubbed the front of his slacks against your butt and kept his hand jerking the brush across your teeth. His other hand soothingly running up and down the curve of your hip, fingers fluttering under the hem of your tank and brushing bare skin with reverent little swoops.

When you were finished he laid the toothbrush down beside his, on a folded little towel in the back left corner of the vanity next to the mirror.

The domesticity made you smile. “Look, they’re spooning.”

He grabbed your chin gently, tilting your head to the side as he leaned over your shoulder. His lips very close again. “Happy late birthday.” he whispered, “I’d have gotten you a cake. Cupcake. Somethin’. You deserve to be celebrated.”

“Kiss me?” you asked again and this time he did, at his own pace, micromanaging each swipe of tongue and press of lips but he kissed you, strongly and angrily and admiringly in turn. He pulled down your tank as he went, stretching the neck out beyond any salvaging and then your bra, unclasping it with strange proficiency and letting your top gather in a ugly bulge around your hips, stuck by your cuffs and shorts, as his hands cupped and squeezed your breasts, somehow making this appreciative mauling seem essential to the act of kissing.

You two finally separated, breathless and revved up, staring at each other with wild, half lidded eyes.

“Ok.” he pronounced and you readied for more only for him to say, “Lasagna. C’mon.”

His kitchen was far nicer than yours, but still it was a mobile home kitchen. And he was a thorough bachelor. He crooked his fingers into the plastic handle and yanked open the freezer, standing aside with a grin on his face that bode no good for you. “I’m helpin’ ya out a little,” he explained sheepishly, “since you’re hampered.” he had a way of saying it like handcuffs were a natural disability, “But I let you off scott-free in exchange for you makin’ me some food.”

“Food and other things.” you bitched, “Didn’t sign up to be a comedy act.”

“Oh that’s right,” beamed, “you did offer other things.” he bit his lip and you thought you’d won when he went right back to it, “You said while it was warming up, you offered other things, while it was in the microwave. Yeah, so go on, grab that TV dinner there, not the fettuccini one, the lasagna.”

You stared at the open freezer and then back to him and then back to the freezer. “Grab it?” you sassed, not having a lot to lose with your tits out and your hands cuffed and a law officer having fun at your expense.

“You’ve got a mouth don’t ya?”

“You’re sick.” you smiled in realization before sticking your head into the cold space, nipples pebbling against the chilled plastic, and biting at the package containing Walmart’s latest gourmet provisions.

“Uhuh, that’s it.” he sounded more pleased at the sight of you with a frosted package between your teeth than he had all this time, “Heyer doll, I’ll open the microwave for ya.” his ability to make himself gallant when he was demeaning you so thoroughly made your pulse thunder uncontrollably.

You had to jut your chin and strain your jaw to plop the heavy foil package of frozen shit into the mounted microwave -fancy mobile home owning bastard- and shove it onto its proper revolving plate.

“There we gooo!” he cooed to you and you stepped back to allow him room to shut the door. “See if you can punch the buttons with your widdle nose.” he suggested excitedly and having gone this far, you didn’t see the point in objecting, not when it made him grin like that. You managed to hit the five for five minutes but the “cook” button wouldn’t respond and after banging your nose against it many times, with many laughs shared between, he finally punched it with one of his oddly pretty fingers.

“There we go.” you echoed, finding that you were blushing the minute the hum of the microwave buzzed the air, his eyes pinned to your face.

“Five minutes.” he whispered.

It was a hint. You expected something a little lewder from a man who had you carrying out food prep like a circus dog. A man of many moods and tastes, was officer Presley. “Can you cum that fast?” you asked, turning to face him.

“That’ll depend on you.” he replied levelly, a challenge in his eyes. He still wore his glasses, somehow that made you feel filthier than all the cash favors you’d ever done. He turned a little in his stance to lean back against the counter, his wrist watch jangling against the edge of the formica, his legs widening.

You dropped to your knees, linoleum freezing against your skin and you looked back up at the ticking microwave timer. You knew what he wanted, and if you were being half honest, it’s what you wanted too. So you didn’t act too good for pressing your face to the crotch of his uniform slacks, forehead indenting the swell of his belly above you and taking his zipper between your teeth. Filled out as his slacks were, with all the stupid gathers and the still fastened button, you could only barely see veiny pink flesh behind the newly opened fly.

“No boxers?” you chided him with a smirk and the unapologetic one he gave you in return made your belly clench, as did the musky smell of him and that soft double chin he had when looking down at you. There was stubble on it blending into his throat.

You’d been right, mouthwash and sterilization for your tongue but not even a spit bath for his sweaty balls and clammy dick -the man was out of his mind. You swallowed down the natural aversion the scent gave you and nuzzled your face nearer, trying to nose the button out of its hole. All you did was succeed in brushing his pants against him and making him impatient.

“Four minutes and twenty seven seconds.” He enunciated the timer reading for your benefit and you whimpered at the impossibility of getting the button undone without hands.

“Please, I can’t undo it.” you asked for his help, tugging at your handcuffs angrily, shoulders painfully aching and only the base of his thick penis visible with its nest of curls and heavy sack.

“Then make due.” he stared down at you unimpressed and you felt an overwhelming urge to grind yourself against his boot at his disdainful expression.

Blinking away horny, frustrated tears, you held your breath and buried your face again, nuzzling inbetween the fly gap, using your chin to tug the crotch further down until his heavy, purplish pink balls spilled over the respectable khaki’s and into the cold air. A bit of hope filled you at how taut and bunched they already were, he wasn’t so cool and unaffected as he acted. You saw him reach into his pocket, digging for something as you weighed your next decision.

“Don’t you want some lasagna?” he prodded.

That made you mash your face to his pants and take both of those hairy balls into your mouth, slurping and sucking at them like a shop vac. His jangling movements in his pocket ceased suddenly before picking up again, and then he withdrew it, a sharp gasp heard above you before he stuck a retrieved cigarette between his lips and lit it. A billowy cloud of Marlborough was blown over your crouching form as the microwave hummed on and his chest hummed in satisfaction. He shoved his hand back into his pocket, knuckling along at his cock.

“That’s it.” he sighed as you mouthed at the base as best you could, tonguing at the hefty vein running along the underside, slathering as much as you could reach. He was salty and tacky to taste and his pants were growing wet from something more than your spit. He was a leaky little man, it made your smirk and smack your lips.

“Feel good, officer?” you moaned in question, just as the microwave dinger went off. “Nooo, damnit, no!” you whined at the sound, a poor loser at all times.

Officer Presley only chuckled and twisted a little to pop open the door, hissing and cussing as he grabbed the benign edges of the hot foil and plopped it into the counter, “Hey hey hey, I didn’t say you could get up, now, did I?” he chided as you shifted a tiny bit away to watch him pull off the cover and reveal cheesy red sauce. Your stomach was in knots, it was so empty.

“No.” you admitted.

He twisted his torso to snag himself a fork from the drawer beside your head, and then, stabbing the casserole with it, took both his hands down to his pants and undid the button at last, letting his pants fall to the floor as they’d been trying to do and been prevented by a belt each time you’d seen him. “Finish what you started, doll, and then I’ll give you a bite.”

You swallowed hard, saliva pooling freely in your tongue at the smell of Italian food. It would be of use. He was tapping his sputtering fat cockhead to your lips and after a tiny grunt of resistance, you gave in, opening your glossy lips and letting him slide the thick meat over your tongue, tangy and salty and pulsing like a living rod, all the way to the back of your throat.

“Fuck me, that’s it.” he nodded to himself as you gagged around him, pulling back a little before pushing back in.

You heard the slide of the casserole tray against the counter and the crunch of tin foil, looking up through bleary eyes you saw him cradle the lasagna pan to his chest, balanced on top of his gut. You hollowed your cheeks around him while watching in disbelief as he stabbed at a bite and brought the laden fork to his mouth. He groaned around the bite in enjoyment -your guess over which pleasure was gaining the upper hand. Feeling a little competitive against TV dinner lasagna, you worked his cock faster, sucking more deliberately and trying very hard to let him down your throat, pleased as his hips began to cant and thrust in time with your encouragements.

“That’s it, that’s it, my sweet little homegrown hoe.” he mumbled to you adoringly through a mouthful of pasta and it made your face glow in pleasure, chin and chest dripping with the filth of it all. “I’m gonna, I’m gonna-“ he warned suddenly, pasta tossed back on the counter as he stood up straight and grabbed the back of your head, holding it still, smoldering cigarette pinned dangerously near your ear and hair as he fucked your mouth with fast, frantic pumps before a frankly preposterous amount of spunk filled your mouth and dolloped down your throat.

He petted your head as you struggled to breath again, cloying gloop coating your mouth, one hand coming up to take off his glasses and toss them to the side. He rubbed at his eyes and you realized you weren’t the only one teary eyed from the intensity of it. “Mm, reckon I gotta keep ya after that.” he decided, knuckling your cheek fondly, they were sticky to your surprise. “Want that bite?” he asked conversationally and while you’d have preferred some water to wash down his most recent gift, you nodded anyway and he stabbed at the casserole until he had a great big bite and brought it down to your mouth, smirking as your cheeks once again bulged at the mouthful.

“Thank you.” you smiled up at him and he humphed bashfully before motioning with his fingers for you to stand up.

“Wanna eat the rest of this in bed?” he asked eagerly, licking his teeth, “I’ve got a waterbed.” he added like that would convince you.

“Of course you do.” you giggled. “And of course I do - lead the way.”

He grinned and pushed off the counter, grabbing the casserole as he went. “Might even find the keys for those back here.” he joked about your cuffs before adding with a wicked little wink, “No promises, mind.”

Hope you enjoyed, I write for screams and comments and unhinged feedback. 🤓♥️

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