hook 'em horny | j.m. x f!reader
masterlist : coach!joel masterlist
pairing: college football coach!joel miller x reader
summary: [no outbreak] seeking petty revenge on your cheating quarterback ex-boyfriend leads you somewhere you shouldn't be â and then it lands you over the knee of his coach.
warnings: (18+ mdni, don't make me say it again.) cheating done by a referenced oc, briefest mention of drugs, porn barely garnished with plot, age gap (22/52), smut, unprotected piv sex, creampie, vaginal fingering, potentially dubcon by way of power imbalance but consent is enthusiastic, daddy kink, sir kink, 'punishment' spanking, degradation, praise, brat tamer!joel, dom!joel, joel spits on her ass but otherwise no butt stuff, mild choking, body writing, so many pet names of so many varieties, aftercare, surprisingly fluffy [no use of y/n]
word count: 6.4k
a/n: this is a crazy idea to have considering joel can hardly handle ellie. i don't think he'd be able to handle ~118 college-aged boys. however, the idea of football coach! joel is hot to me (i mean, seriously, look at those sluts on the sidelines) so i made it happen. on a serious note, i am so sorry to the unnamed university this is based on. i toured you. i'm legacy. but... joel miller. let's make it clear this is for entertainment purposes only. this is a fictional work about fictional people that does not reflect the school itself, which is a fine institution whose head coaches historically do not fuck students in the locker rooms. shoutout to my dad who, unknowing what this information would be used for, explained to me how he snuck into this stadium 3x. don't do that, either.
You canât even remember the last time you made a good decision.
Your track record definitely isnât the cleanest: you chose to go to school in Texas, and then chose to stay there for four years. Choosing to go to that frat party in late junior year wasnât your brightest moment, either, evidenced by the resulting hangover from hell and, predictably, frat flu. All things considered, those choices pale in comparison to hooking up with their all-star quarterback, Lucas Scott.
Dirty-blonde, blue-eyed, muscled Lucas Scott. Heâs the sort of guy who looks like an eight when youâre looking at him after a few shots of tequila and a four when youâre sober. The sort of guy who, after over a year of dating, makes you split the bill halfway after ordering the more expensive entree. Crowned as the most efficient, precise, and instinctive quarterback the Longhorns have ever had. Apparently that instinct hadnât been enough to drive him away from dipping his wick in every sorority girlâs candle wax.Â
No matter how much post-orgasm Lucas panted into his ear that he loved you, you werenât stupid enough to trick yourself into believing it. Staying with him was the easier choice, not yet wanting to reduce yourself to locker room talk. Walking in on him sloppily fucking some redhead nursing major was the breaking point. When it became less about you and more about your dignity.
So, yeah, youâve never been one for making good decisions, and you certainly arenât about to start now.
You thought breaking into the stadium would be some sort of monumental task. Trespassing here was normally reserved for campus rooftops and after-hours exploration, but once youâd gotten this batshit crazy idea in your head, you knew it wasnât going to shake until you at least proved it couldnât be done.
The open garage at the back of the building doesnât help to deter you. Itâs like thereâs a welcome-mat outside saying, âCome on in and get what you deserve!â.
Who would you be to decline such a sincere invitation?
The garage is empty apart from some cushy golf carts, and the steel door behind them couldnât be more tempting. If itâs locked, you tell yourself, youâll go back to the dorm and forget about your incident of near-trespassing.Â
You take small steps to the door, testing the handle. It springs right open, and all thoughts of leaving dissipate from your mind.
Who leaves the garage open and forgets to lock the door? Probably people with just as little between their ears (and legs) as Lucas. You scoff in half-disbelief, half-luck as you close the door behind you.
The energy feels stagnant this late at night, no announcer on the loudspeaker or swarms of burnt orange hats and T-shirts standing shoulder-to-shoulder. Industrial lights flicker above, their hums loud enough to make you wonder if you have tinnitus. Concrete lines the hallways, interrupted by a few silver-painted pipes arranged in a labyrinth up against the walls. A few security cameras are pointed at you. Before going any further, you pause to raise the hood of your Longhorns sweatshirt.
Even if you should be, you arenât in much of a rush; you amble about, really taking in the sterile ambiance of the empty stadium. You turn a few corners, going in what feels like the right direction. You figure youâre getting closer when you spot what looks like it could be a security tower. Crouching behind a trash can, you wait it out, trying to peer through the untinted windows to figure out if thereâs anyone in there at all. When youâve determined itâs unmanned and let out a shallow exhale, you go back up to full posture and keep wandering around unsupervised.
You know youâre in the right place when you find your toes hovering over a red line painted on the oil-stained concrete: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT.Â
Bingo.
Crossing that line without really thinking about it, you stick to your (so far) tried and true method of going wherever feels the most promising until youâre standing in front of the two black doors you were looking for. The doorâs handle is an obnoxiously large longhorn, and you quite literally have to hook âem to get inside.
Youâre starting to understand where the rest of the universityâs funding is going when you walk into the locker room. After dating Lucas for a year, you know the football team is full of itself, but the Longhorniness of it all is⌠excessive. Thereâs the silhouette of the logo glowing on the goddamn ceiling, and if the jerseys the players are wearing on their digital nameplates isnât enough of an indicator of who they play for, every backlit locker has a drawer with, you guessed it: a longhorn painted at the center. A brown vinyl couch wraps around the front of the room in direct view of a powered down videoboard that you can only assume replays highlight reels.
You roll your eyes. Again, your track record with decision-making isnât the best, because you chose a school who puts every penny towards sweaty frat boys with brain damage from the amount of concussions they get.
And then you see it: a sign tacked onto the middle aisle of lockers that reads CORE VALUES. From top to bottom, HONESTY, TREAT WOMEN WITH RESPECT, NO DRUGS, NO STEALING, and NO WEAPONS. You have to physically clamp your jaw shut to restrict your laughter at the second one.
It doesnât take you long to find what youâre looking for. Lucas Scott, #10.
His sweat-stained jersey hangs limply from the rack, and you eagerly tear it off, tossing it down onto the floor. Eager like a child ready to color outside the lines of a coloring book, you kneel down in front of it, pulling out the one thing you had prepared for tonight. A bold black Sharpie.
You pop the cap with your teeth, spitting it out somewhere on the floor as you start scribbling. Disguising your handwriting isnât intentional, but youâre writing so carelessly and on such a foreign material that it comes naturally. Your tongue sticks out of the corner of your mouth as you work. In a year and a half, youâd never felt such satisfaction about â and certainly not from  â Lucas.
TWO PUMP CHUMP along the side. FIVE INCHES FULL MAST on the other. CHEATER at the bottom. WHORE across the front.
A throat clears behind you. You drop the Sharpie, a blot of ink forming on the mesh. You startle backwards, scooting until your back hits that stupid longhorn drawer. Youâre expecting a janitor, maybe a security guard if youâre extra unlucky.Â
That isnât the worst of your options, apparently, because when you look up, itâs at Joel fucking Miller, head coach of the longhornâs football team.
Your lower lip starts trembling, and that moment is when you decide maybe you need to start making good decisions. Youâve heard enough about Joel from Lucas to know heâs a total hardass. He could drag you by the ear to the dean and have you kicked out at the tail end of your second to last semester in this hellhole.
He glares down at you with his head cocked, hazel eyes far darker than they ever seem on TV. His scruff stipples his hardened jawline, lips thinned out like the worry lines pressed onto his forehead. If you were interested in digging yourself any deeper, you might stall to think about how good he looks: the faint trail of chest hair vanishing down into the neckline of his longhorns polo shirt, his fitted khakis, broad leather belt slung around his waist, and the slight bulge of tummy above it. You swallow hard and kick yourself for it.
âWhat exactly,â Coach Miller drawls, voice syrupy and sticky. âdo ya think youâre doinâ?â
Your mouth moves, but no words come out. He doesnât seem very amused, his muscled arms crossing over his wide torso.
Joel shakes his head. âAinât a good look for you, hun, scrawlinâ that chicken scratch all over my QBâs jersey. Could get a real ugly charge for that.â
Heart crashing into your ribcage, you bite down on your lip. âI can pay the damages,â you blurt out.
He sizes you up all over again, eyes dragging up and down your body. They linger on your chest for a few extra seconds that youâre convinced that you just made up. âCan you, sugar? âCause to me, looks like youâre the type to be chasinâ tips at whatever joint hires you.â
You donât have the bandwidth to be as offended as you should be, especially because heâs right. You settle for glowering at him instead. A huff of laughter pinches out of him. âYou give everyone you vandalize that blue look? Or is that lilâ number jusâ because you found out Lucas really ainât that loyal?â With ease, Joel bulldozes over whatever thinning resolve you have remaining.Â
âWhatâs that sign over there say? âTreat women with respectâ?â You say. Joelâs backlit like all of those over budgeted lockers behind him. You squint your eyes. âYou know thatâs fucking bullshit. So what if I give him a taste of his own medicine when heâs been a minute man for every girl with a pulse on this campus?â You cap your Sharpie and clip it back onto your collar and get to your feet. So much for good decisions. âFuck right off with that.â
âHey, hey. Down, hun.â Joel holds his hands out to you, and you notice just how heavily youâve been breathing, just how close you are to him. âNever said you were wrong. Kidâs a fuck up in all sorts âa ways. But I donât like how youâre mouthinâ off at me, Miss Priss. If I didnât know any better, Iâd say youâre in dire need of a spankinâ to set you right.â
Your breath cuts short and your cunt bottoms out without your permission. You donât need a mirror to know your eyes just went glassy, your lips parted as your mouth goes desert dry. As discreetly as you can manage, you squeeze your thighs together.
Joel doesnât miss it. You can tell from the moment his brows raise and his eyes sparkle, the corner of his mouth picking up a smidge. âOh, yeah? That do somethinâ for ya, hun? Nasty little girl.â Thereâs a dangerous, uneven grit to his voice that has arousal burning like a candle in your stomach, the wax of your arousal syrupy against your thighs already.Â
Your tongue darts out to wet your lips. Fuck.
âNo,â you breathe out stubbornly, but youâve already given yourself away, even to yourself. The insides of your thighs are molten, twitching with every throb of your clit between your legs. That flush of warmth from your pelvis is spreading, overheating.
Joel tuts. âYou really think that? You can whine all you want âbout wantinâ respect, but at the end âa the day, you just wanna be treated like some whore, huh?â And, yeah, he has you figured out, has you in the palm of his hand. Even though you have no idea what someone like him could do to someone like you, you want him to do it. You want to find out. âIâll tell ya what, sugar, you walk outta here right now and nobody but meâs gonna know you came pitchinâ a hissy fit in my locker room.â
You frown at that, a small arc of your pouty lips that has Joelâs eyes gleaming.
âOr,â he says. âYou can pull those wet fuckinâ panties down â donât gimme that look, I know they are â and I can give ya a real lesson in respect.â He shrugs, hands going to his waist as he looks you up and down.
He knows he has you the same way you know, but you arenât just going to give in that easily. You flare your nose and counter, âIf thereâs nothing keeping me here other than a firm hand, why should I stay?â
Heâs looking at you like he wants to take you apart. His fingers jump against his hips for the opportunity to break you down.Â
âSweetness,â Joel shakes his head as if itâs obvious. âif you let me, I could make you feel good. Iâm guessinâ you got some vibrator sittinâ in the back of your desk drawer to use when your roommateâs out ân about, but you donât wanna use that tonight, do ya? You want the real thing, hun, and Iâd give it to ya real nice once I teach ya to behave.â
There it is again: Coach Joel Miller has you all figured out. Every syllable he says is doomed to send another shiver up your spine, and damn it, fuck playing coy.
Youâre too busy tearing off your hoodie to think about how unsexily dressed you are, but the rushed nature of your actions punches a chuckle out of Joel. âEager thing.â Youâre halfway through kicking your shoes and leggings off when he saunters over to the couch, plopping down on the edge and patting his broad, khaki-covered thigh. Your mouth waters when you look back and see just how much the fabric strains against his leg. âWhenever youâre ready, hun.â
You waddle over to him, stripped down to the basics of your sports bra and everyday panties. Itâs the furthest thing from erotic, but the way heâs looking at you isnât. Itâs primal and ravenous, enough to have you forgetting all about how youâd even gotten there in the first place. He licks his lips as he trails his eyes all over you, darkening a couple of shades when he looks at your cleavage. âLucas is a fuckinâ idiot, baby.â
âKnew that already,â you mumble.
He pats his thigh again, bounces his leg. âCâmon, over my knee like the good girl I know you can be. Hurry up and Iâll only give ya five.â
You shuffle forward, relishing in the rubbing of your thighs that comes from it. Heâs sitting on the corner of the couch at the perfect angle for you to rest your head on the arm. It doesnât take any more convincing for you to put yourself over his lap, not that he needed to do much in the first place. You feel so much smaller than him. Your ass is up for him to do whatever heâd like to; itâs a tantalizing feeling you hadnât gotten out of any intimacy â if you could call it that â with Lucas.
âMmmmmm,â Joel groans as he runs a hand between your legs. He rubs at your slit through the soaked gusset of your panties. You canât stop the way your hips buck, or the pitiful shout that jumps off your lips when he pins you down by the small of your back, robbing you of any friction. Between one arousal-riddled breath and the next, Joel tugs your panties off and flings them to the side. You know how it feels, tacky and cold on your core and thighs, so you can only imagine how it must look. Joel gives you a pretty good idea when he reveres, âGoddamn, pretty cunt is throbbinâ for it.â
He pulls apart your folds and you think you hear him lick his lips above you before he lets them go. The schlick noise your dripping pussy makes is nothing less than pornographic. Joel gropes you carefully, kneads the skin of your ass like you have all the time in the world. Under his ministrations, itâs easy to melt into the couch, forgetting why youâre there in the first place until his palm cracks down on your ass cheek.
The stinging impact has a slurred hnnnngh leaving your lips, and a fresh gush of wetness between your legs to accompany it. You keep your head tucked into the sanctuary of your folded arms, eyes squeezed shut so tight you swear youâre seeing stars. Joelâs quick to rub the spanked patch of skin, his palm soothing his ache. âThatâs one, baby.â You nod into your arms. âThink you can take four more?â Another nod.
âI need to hear ya, hun. Câmon, head up fâme.â He taps the side of your cheek, and you prop your cheek up on your forearm. âThink you can take four more?â he repeats.
Your voice hitches, courtesy of the beating that echoes in your chest and between your legs. âY-yesâŚâÂ
When the second hit lands, you donât expect it. You flinch away from his hand when it comes down with a clap that leaves you squirming in his lap. âYes, what?â
âYes sir,â you whine out, back arching. Although a punishment, that spank has the same effect as the last: a live wire of arousal strung from your spine to your cunt.
âTakinâ it well,â he praises, squeezing your ass cheeks together. âSure didnât expect anyone to come crawlinâ in when I left that garage open, âspecially not some slut like you with an ass that needs a spankinâ six ways to Sunday.â Just as quick as he can build you up, he can take you down a notch, but you canât mind when it has you moaning all the same. âOh, she likes that,â Joel clicks.
He rubs your ass again, and youâre bracing yourself for that next strike, pulled stiff with an arousing, anticipatory sort of fear. Only when you convince yourself it isnât coming do you let all of that tension flood out of your body â and thatâs when Joel smacks his hand across your far-too-trustworthy ass.
You cry out, pouting over your shoulder at Joel, who has a proud smirk drawn all over his face. You donât even feel your hips rocking down, seeking whatever pleasure you can get until he reprimands, âRuttinâ against my fuckinâ leg, now, huh? Donât pretend you donât like this.â
With a particularly good grind of your hips, you feel his bulge pressing into your thigh. From a mere graze alone, you can tell itâs huge. A whimper tears out of you at the same time he groans above you. âYou got nothinâ to prove, ainât gonna change the fact youâre a slut who needs to get spanked ân stuffed to talk âer into behavinâ a bit.â
âCanât even follow your own rules,â you huff, apparently still interested in shooting yourself in the foot even when Coach Miller has you ass-up over his knee.Â
âDonât see how you careâŚâ Joel slides a hand down between your legs. He rubs at your clit, an intense pressure that has you wanting more and less all at the same time, before dragging a thick finger across your opening. Arousal squelches between your legs and your hips jump â a dead giveaway to just how turned on you are, whether you like it or not. âwhen it gets you this turned on,â he finishes. Then that same finger is prodding at your mouth, glistening with your wetness. You whimper before tasting yourself, sucking obediently on his finger until he pulls away with a pop.
You sulk, âDonât act like I canât feel you ripping a hole in your jeans, Millerââ
The fourth spank is the hardest by far. The skin of your ass feels bitten by Joelâs âfirm handâ. Itâs the kind of hit that makes your legs kick in his lap and your fingers clutch in the couchâs arm for purchase. You wail, âDaddy!â Pain disappears from your mind when you realize what exactly you just said, quickly replaced by the churning coolant of embarrassment. If you were paying attention to anything else other than the shame suddenly inhabiting your chest, you mightâve been able to feel the twitch of his cock in his pants.
âDaddy, huh?â Joel hums, rubbing your hurt ass with one hand while the other strokes your shoulder. You bury your face back in your arms as an apology takes shape in the back of your throat. âLucas your daddy, too?â
âNo!â You squeak, adjusting in his lap. The hood of your clit catches on the rough material of Joelâs pants. Unable to stop yourself, you hump his knee again, shallow rolls of your hips. You can still feel his hardness against you. Needily, you tip your head up, panting as foggy pleasure hangs over your head.Â
âStop makinâ a mess of daddyâs dress pants, baby, unless you wanna be on your knees, lickinâ it up.â You keen, and he chuckles knowingly. âShoulda known, little whore like you gets off on that.âÂ
Joel gives you a longer reprieve between the fourth and fifth spank. Instead, he strokes your ass and asks, âOne more gonna be enough to set you straight, sweetheart?â
âY..yes daddy,â you whimper. He hums in approval.
You shift back and forth, waiting for it to come â and when it does, itâs softer. Itâs by no means a love pat, but it pales in comparison to his previous work. You still sniffle, squeezing your thighs together as he coos, âI know, I know. Poor baby, actinâ all high ân mighty. Canât be on her high horse when sheâs over Daddyâs knee.â Gentle, he pats your ass and guides you on all fours at the edge of the couch. He hums in approval. âSee? Not throwinâ a hissy fit anymore. Sheâs all nice ân obedient when you get âer to act right.â
Joel spreads your pussy with his thumbs, and you hear the vulgar noise of him collecting his saliva before you feel his spit landing on your clenching hole. Youâve never felt so empty, not when your bottom drawer vibrator is buzzing against your core, definitely not when Lucas fucks you in the same old missionary. Whimpering for him, you arch your back to try to rub against his crotch.
âQuit your whininâ,â he snips, his thumb finding your clit in one swipe. Joelâs touch is firm, but not too firm, just enough to make your hips push down with a need only heâs ever made you feel.Â
Without warning, his middle finger slides inside of you, thick and calloused and so, so right. âFuckinâ... tight.â Another slides in as he starts scissoring you open, apparently satisfied enough when he crooks his fingers deep in your cunt. Instantly, he catches that spongy spot that you can never reach on your own. You nearly crumple with the sensation, limbs going weak and buckling. âThat the spot?â he asks, but he already knows.
âMhm,â you moan, chin instinctively tucking against your chest as if you can get away from the pleasure heâs giving you, as if youâd ever want to.
Then â he stops.
His fingers sit heavy inside of you, so close to where you need them to go. âWhat the fuck, Joel?âÂ
"Baby, sâthat how you get what you want?â He rubs your thigh with his free hand and gives it a quick swat. âHelp daddy out, tight girl. I'm not just gonna let you get away with beinâ a spoiled brat. Work yourself on my fingers."
Youâre putty in the palm of his hand â malleable, docile for him to treat or mistreat you however gets him hard. You whine, punching your hips back nonetheless. Grinding down, down, down, your cunt unresisting when he gives you another finger. Itâs crude, the way you moan for him.
Even though heâs hardly doing anything, just the hand youâre getting yourself off on, that all-consuming strain in your body only gets stronger. âDaddy â close, pleaseâŚâ
 âAttagirl, atta-fuckinâ-girl, give it to me.â He rewards you with a press of his fingers against that golden spot inside of you. Your orgasm splinters through you, an ecstasy-charged mist fanning over your body. Your release runs down Joelâs hand and your thighs with every clench of your cunt, like youâve been skinned and set ablaze by your own desire. You fall forward on the couch, no longer able to hold yourself up, arms a tangled mess as you gasp into the cushion. âYou come so pretty, baby. Messy pussy, too. Soaked me up to my goddamn elbow.â
Youâre still reeling from the best orgasm youâve had in months, maybe ever, when you hear obscene slurping noises from behind you. You cast a look at him, your arousal returning with a vigor at the sight of Joel sucking his fingers clean. He groans at the taste, and you swear you see his cock jump in his khakis. Stomach warped with desire, youâre about to plummet off of the very dangerous edge of doing just about anything for him right now.
âPlease fuck me, daddy,â you plead, and in any other position, with any other person, it might be mortifying, something worth clutching your pearls over. But this is Coach Joel Miller, the last person you ever expected to be fucking, giving you the best fuck you never expected.
âThereâs those manners,â Joel praises, leaning over you to press a brief kiss to your shoulder blade. You can smell your release on his lips, a sweet smell thatâs so distinctly you. He eases off of you, presumably to take off his pants. Thereâs the shuffling of fabric, and when he returns to your side, youâre disappointed to find he hasnât even unbuckled his belt.
You pout at him again, still desperate to get your way. Eye-level with his bulge, youâre salivating over it. You had made a mess of his dress pants, a wet spot formed just above his knee, taunting you. You lick your lips.Â
âThink itâs only fair,â he says, looming over you. Heâs holding the Sharpie youâd brought along with you. Your brows furrow as you look up at him through your lashes. âIf I give ya the same treatment you gave his jersey.â His gaze is cocky as he pops the cap with his thumb, giving the marker a twirl.
Oh.
It shouldnât turn you on as much as it does. Nothing about this should turn you on as much as it does, yet here you are, in a puddle of your own sweat and cum, itching for the next thing he gives you. And if itâs marking up your body before he fucks your brains out, so be it.
He nudges his head, gesturing for you to get down on your stomach. You lift your knees up and flatten yourself out on the cushions. The vinyl sticks and pulls from your skin as you get where he wants you. A soft, surprised noise leaves you when he straddles your thighs, his clothed cock nudging at your seam.
âHoly fuck,â you breathe out, because itâs the only phrase you can think of that even holds a candle to what all of this has become.Â
A laugh fans out from under his breath as he starts at your freshly spanked, raw ass. The Sharpie is cold and foreign, tugging at your skin as he inks you up. âGotta make sure you match before I dick you down, donât I? What is it you wrote on his jersey? âWhoreâ? Between the two âa ya, I woulda put my money on you for that one.â
If that wasnât enough indication, you figure out what heâs doing by the time he gets to the right cheek, what feels like an âRâ taking shape across your ass. He finishes the âEâ and sets down the Sharpie for a moment, his meaty palms spreading your ass. It still thrums with the afterglow of his spanking. You donât think you can throb any more than you already are, but then he spits on you for the second time that night, this time landing it on your puckered asshole. A gasp flutters from your lips as you grind down into the couch, his spit dripping down your folds.
âSee? Real whorish, fuckinâ my couch.â He taps your ass for good measure. âAsshole makes a perfect fuckinâ âOâ, baby. Looks a whole lot better than that chicken scratch shit you put on his jersey.â You think maybe, just maybe, heâll dismount you and pull his cock out, but instead he keeps writing, scribbling on your back and upper thighs. Every pull of your skin under the bleeding ink has you aching for him.
When heâs content with his work, he lifts off of you, hands fumbling to undo his belt. It snaps apart, dangling open around his waist as his hands open up his khakis. âYou let Lucas fuck that sweet lilâ cunt raw?â he asks.
âNo, I donât,â you admit, unable to tear your eyes away from his cock as he pulls it out, and fuck you. Your eyes donât even feel big enough to take all of him in, and you have no idea how youâre going to fit him between your legs. You almost go cross-eyed at the sight of it, his head leaking precum.
âThought so. You gonna let me fuck it raw?â
âYes, daddy,â you breathe out, drool pooling in your mouth at the thought of having him inside of you, having him inside of you bare. Yet another thing you never gave to Lucas in a year of disappointing sex, but are eagerly giving up to Joel.Â
âGotta be a real nasty slut,â Joel says, returning to his place atop your thighs, his thick ones framing yours. Your breath hitches when you feel the weight of his cock gliding through your ass cheeks and down to your cunt. âto let your ex-boyfriendâs coach bareback ya in the locker room.â A heady gasp tears from you when the head of his cock bumps your clit. He teases you â his cock, slippery with a combination of your arousal, skating from your clit to your spasming opening, not quite nudging in.
âDaddy, please â I need it⌠need you to fuck me, fuck meââ
He doesnât make you wait any longer.
When he pushes in, it knocks the air out of your lungs. The only proof that youâre still breathing is when you let out a pitchy, desperate moan. Joel grunts, teeth gritted as he flattens himself down against your spine so he can roll his hips into yours. The pain of his size becomes an afterthought just as quickly as the pain of your spanking, dwarfed by the pleasure he gives you just as easily.Â
âFuuuuck,â Joel groans, nuzzling into the crook of your neck and shoulder. Inch at a time, he works you open, grinding his hips into your opening. âCould you be any goddamn tighter?â He bites at your neck from behind with every rock of his hips into yours until he bottoms out.
âBig,â is all you manage to squeak out as he hauls you back on his cock, already prodding your g-spot with his head. Your eyes roll back as you clench around him.Â
His fingers go up to run circles around your shoulder, soothing you, grounding you when his cock has you anything but. âMmm, I know, I know. You can take it. All whores can.â With that, Joel starts fucking you, really fucking you, a punishing, relentless pace where he pulls out entirely before filling you to the brim. Each snap of his hips into yours fills the locker room with shameless sounds, the mere background to your depraved moans.
âNever had your pussy stretched by a man double your age before, huh?â
âNâno! Never⌠never had my pussy stretched muâŚmuch at allââ
Joel slams into you, laughs at the strained noise that you make. âYeah? Those dumbfucks on my team not doinâ it for ya, baby?â You donât answer, donât think heâs expecting one until his hand wraps around your front, forearm pressed firm against your tits. His thick hand wraps lightly around your neck, jostling you. Itâs not hard enough to blur your vision, but just hard enough to remind you of the power he has over you. The power you allow him to have. Itâs invigorating. Everything about him is.Â
Moans spurt out of you as you fumble to answer, âNo daâ daddy! You â ah! â do it for mâme!âÂ
âAnd what do you say for that? For goinâ outta my way to show you what a real fuck is?â
âThank you, Daddy!â you cry out. Youâre spilling down his thighs, the wet suction of your pussy around his cock making noises more vulgar than youâve ever heard in porn.
His hand squeezes again at your neck, and you feel floaty, a bubble just waiting to pop. Pleasure dances in every one of your veins, every nerve ending burning like a match that he keeps striking ablaze.
âThere you go, desperate slut just needs a freshly spanked ass, a good dickinâ down, and a hand âround her throat to behave.â Joelâs pace stays just as harsh, crushing your g-spot with his cock. âShould keep you back here for when we lose, tie you to the goddamn desk. Let my staff take turns with you, see how much crybaby you have left in ya when a dozen menâs loads are drippinâ outta your reamed fuckinâ cunt. Bet you like it when men use you.â The whine that almost gags you on its way out is enough to confirm it.
If he keeps talking to you and the wind blows the right way on your clit, you know youâll be coming. Youâre wringing out his cock with every flutter of your pulsing pussy. The beginning embers of your orgasm turn into a wildfire when he wedges his free hand down between your legs, rubbing messy circles into your sloppy clit. âFuck, please, please, please,â you sob out, too riddled with pleasure to care about how pathetic you sound or look as you hump his hand while he pounds you.
âCan feel you squeezinâ me, baby.â Joel rasps, nipping at your ear. The hand around your throat falls fully to your chest, pressing you solid against him so he can fuck deeper, deeper, deeper. Itâs enough to make you scream, hands clawing and scratching down his muscular grip on you. âCâmon, hun, give it to me, come on my cock, fuck.â
With another thrust, he has you pushed right down onto his fingers, rubbing and flicking you every which way. Itâs all you need to come undone, your second orgasm of the night unlatching through you like something forked and angry, battering your sore limbs until thereâs nothing left of it or you. Youâre a mess, spit oozing down your chin as you slur âthank you daddyâ like a broken record, thighs clamping around nothing.
Joel groans as you clench around his cock and continues his relentless pace, hips slapping against yours. The hand heâd been using to rub your clit migrates to your tits, grazing and then thumbing and then tugging lightly your nipples. âThere it is, told ya you could be a good girl. Lettinâ your daddy use this cunt to get off, lettinâ me use you. Iâm fuckinâ close, baby, where do you want me?â
And you want it even if you shouldnât, want his cum deep inside of you, want it to leak out into your panties as you walk back to your dorm. Youâre still no good at making decisions, too fucked out to tell right from left when you beg, âIâinside, fuck, come inside me, daddy, please.â
Joel practically growls at that, thrusts losing their steadiness as his hips jump and he hurtles towards his release. âYeah, youâre a goddamn whore, begginâ for this cum. And youâre gonna fuckinâ take it, yeah⌠fuckinâ take it.â He slams all the way into you for the last time before shooting his cum into your cunt, swearing and moaning. Breathing like heâs run a mile, he goes slack on top of you, pets the back of your head while he comes down from the exhilaration of his high.
With a gentle kiss to your shoulder, he rises, and the fantasy is over. His cock slips from your pussy, and you feel hollow with the loss. This is where he tucks himself back into his pants, runs a hand back through his hair, tells you to never show your face in his stadium again, and shoves you out the door.
And he does: tucks his softening cock into his boxers, zips up his khakis, does his belt, tames his post-sex head of hair. You wince even if you expected it, leaning down over the edge of the couch to grab your hoodie, already moving to tug it over your head.
âWhat do you think youâre doinâ?â Joel asks, and his tone sounds much more different than the first time heâd asked you. He sounds offended. You blink confusedly, dazedly at him with your arms halfway through the armholes. âLet me clean you up, hun.â Joel side-steps the pile of your leggings and shoes, adjusting the hoodie on your arms and pulling it down your torso. âI know Lucas ainât done you right, but you deserve to be taken care of, pretty girl.â Your heart pinches in a way that it shouldnât, not for a hookup with your ex-boyfriendâs coach.
You shift, and he canât help but look back between your legs where his cum escapes your hole. He manages to pry his eyes away, but not without licking his lips first. âIâll be right back, baby. Promise.â
When heâs back, itâs with a damp rag. He crouches down in front of you, taking it to the apex of your thighs and wiping away the combination of your releases, careful not to nudge your sensitive clit. He kisses your thigh gently before pulling back, folding the towel on the arm of the couch youâd been crying into just a few minutes ago.
Joel shimmies your ruined panties up your thighs, followed by your leggings. You let him, breath cut like a snipped wire from the sheer intimacy of it all, intimacy youâd lacked with Lucas even after a year of trying. Youâd stayed with him for comfortability at your own expense. How stupid could you have been?
Joel pats your knee, eyes soft and weirdly sincere as he looks at you. âIâm sorry about Lucas, honey, but I meant it when I said you deserve to be taken care of.â He rubs the back of his neck before holding something out to you. A business card, his work number plastered in bold sans-serif font across the bottom. âI know this is in reverse ân all, but Iâd really like to take you out and treat you right, if youâll let me.â
Saying yes is your first good decision in a while.
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snowbound | dbf!j.m. x f!reader
masterlist | updates blog | ao3 mirror
pairing: dbf!joel miller x f!reader
summary: [no outbreak] joel is the only guy you know with four wheel drive in the rarely-snowy state of texas, so it seems like a no-brainer to have him pick you up from work â until his truck breaks down, leaving you two to the classic 'huddle for warmth' solution.
warnings: (18+ mdni) dbf!joel, age gap (assumed 20s/40s), reader borrows joel's coat, but does not wear it and uses it as a blanket, self-indulgent humor & banter, joel has sarah and she's a 15y/o menace which means liberties are taken with the timeline, blink & miss it drug mention, close proximity, unprotected piv sex, vaginal fingering, (mocking) dirty talk & dirty talk alluding to anal but no actual anal, daddy kink, degradation, dom!joel, brat!reader, brat tamer!joel, mild bondage (with a scarf), rearview mirror sex, clit stim, riding, doggy, a few pussy spanks, 2 spanks, truck sex, sort of edging, getting caught after the act [no use of y/n]
word count: 12.3k
a/n: this fic was a labor of love from a request i received earlier this month. i didn't expect it to be this long but i really enjoyed these two! massive massive massive shoutout to talia, @lovesickonmybed, for putting up with me + advising. this fic was way too much to handle on my own. they're the reason i pulled it off. joel is latino here, but i think game!joel can be interpreted as latino too, so read who you'd like.
âLooking ahead for our chances at wintry precipitation tonight â measurable snow, freezing rain, or sleet. Itâs hard to get snow here in central Texas â if only, huh? Weâre seeing some strong flurries tonight, turning into snow showers in the early morning. Low chances of any significant build up, but you can expect hazardous driving conditions. Black ice and low visibility will make extensive travel dangerousââ
The radio in Keithâs Hardware is old fashioned, curving around the volume and tuning knobs. Itâs one of the ones that still has a dial pointer, which is almost always aimed at 92.7 if Keithâs in the back (country); 96.7 (pop) if itâs just you and the only other girl that works in the carpenterâs wet dream of a store. Right now, though, itâs neither of those stations. The pointer is at 162.4, the weather station.
Youâd known you were in for it on the drive into work. Watch the weather and itâs real nasty out there airing from your parents lips on your way out of the house for your eight hour shift. The drive had been a gunmetal sort of gray, clouds streaked through the sky and spitting bullets of sleet at your windshield.
For a little bit, the weather had almost cleared up. Youâd sworn youâd seen a splotch of sun when youâd tried to step out for break, just to be driven back in by your too-thin jacket and the cold as balls temperature.
Now, though? Itâs fucking freezing, and the flurries that the weatherman mentioned are starting to fall. And as much as youâd told Keith that your shitty two-wheel-drive couldnât handle it, heâd insisted on scheduling you and Liz for close.
Which is where Mr. Miller comes in.
Joel Miller, your dadâs buddy. Joel Miller, the grumpiest secret-softie youâve ever met. Joel Miller, a knight in shining armor with his 4x4 Ford F150 instead of a horse. Although, if your fantasies are correct â and you like to think they are â whatâs between his thighs certainly makes up for the lack of a horse. But he isnât bringing you for a ride on his cock. He just so happens to be the only man your dad knows with a four wheel drive vehicle, or at least the only one willing to spare you from spinning out by giving you a ride home. Just thinking about it has a knot pinching in the back of your throat. His hands, big and wide and stretching over the gear shift. One muscled arm dangling over the wheel. Looking over his goddamn shoulder to back out â
Liz hops up on the check-out counter where youâre counting up the last of the cash, a spread of Hamiltons, Grants, and Jacksons. You wouldnât expect a girl like her to work at a hardware store, especially one in the backstreets of the seedy part of town. Some sort of family emergency had driven her back to Austin from NYU design school, which youâre thankful for. Mainly because you get out of cutting wood panels since she has the better eye for measurements, but also because after years of sulking in Keithâs, you finally have someone to talk shit with.
âThose heart eyes arenât for fuckinâ Alexander Hamilton,â Liz says, tapping her acrylics on your ledger to get your attention. You cough, flipping her off with your pen still in-hand. Liz hums, pretending to think about it as you put down the last numbers. âAlthough I wouldnât be too surprised. You do love a geriatric man.â
âJoel isnât that old,â you scoff, arranging the bills into slim white envelopes and then licking them shut. âHeâs just an⌠acquired taste.â
âSure, his jizz probably tastes like prohibition-era boozeââ
âWhat the fuck,â you wheeze, hands going out to brace yourself on the closest display case. Your head dips as your chest shakes with laughter.
Liz stays completely straight-faced as she continues, âYouâll have to have 911 on speed dial because if you clench, his heartâs giving out.â
âIt is not,â you say, voice still strained with the laughs that wonât stop punching out of you.
She puts her hands up in defense and crosses her legs at the ankles. âHey, itâs not my fault you like playing whac-a-mole with Great Depression dick.â
âLiz!â You playfully shove her off of the counter, thrusting the envelopes into her hands. âYouâre nasty. Fucking nasty.â
She splays a wounded hand over her heart, fanning herself with the envelopes. âYou know you love me.â She slips into the office behind the register. You hear the click of the safe before she calls over her shoulder, âAny particular reason youâre fantasizing on the clock?â
âNot fantasizing,â you refute. Liz pops out of the back with a uncertain look scrawled on her face. âMy dad talked him into picking me up today so I donât drive into a snowbank.â
âSounds like the beginning of a shitty porno.â
âDonât give me hope.â
âIâm just saying,â she grins. âYou can still come to mine. Only a five minute walk with zero chance of rejection.â
âYou have such little faith in me.â
She purses her lips. âMkayâŚ. Pro-tip: Keith probably has some Viagra sitting around in his desk drawers.â
âLiiiiiiiz,â you say. Youâre about to tune her out completely when familiar headlights light up the wet asphalt, beaming through the windows. The engine idles, a soft rumble through the linoleum floors. The truck lights dim, leaving Joel in the buttery shine of the streetlamp. His thick arms stretch across the wheel, and he rakes one large hand through his hair. âShit, speak of the Devil.â You clip off your nametag, tossing it into your half-open bag. âCan you finish closing tonight? I promise Iâll make it up to you.â
âNo problem, no favors necessary.â She closes the register. You fumble to get your bag over your shoulder, not wanting to keep Joel waiting. âUse protection!â she calls after you, and you make sure to flip her off one more time as the door clangs shut behind you.
A wall of cold hits you like a blade of lightning. Wind unfurls, mauling telephone lines and frosted treetops, rippling your jacket. Not even the worn scarf around your neck seems to be doing its job. Suddenly, every one of your limbs feels like an icicle. Joints almost freezing up, you half-jog, half-penguin strut your way to Joelâs passenger side. You wipe the ice off of the door handle with your sleeve. A few stray flurries dust you as you tug the door open, exhaling in relief as you haul yourself onto the side steps and into the toasty warmth of the Ford F150.
You cozy up in the seat, too preoccupied by thawing your hands with long, winded breaths to notice the affronted look Joel is throwing your way. âAre you tryinâ to catch your fuckinâ death, girl?â
âNo death to catch. Itâs not that cold.â The way youâre shivering says otherwise. Joel pins you with the raise of his brow.
Before you know what heâs doing, heâs groaning as he reaches over the center console into the backseat. You see a flash of his trucker jacket before it lands in your lap, flannel-lined and heavy. You use it like a blanket, draping it across your torso and wrestling your hands into the inside pockets. The canvas smells like car exhaust and off-brand Dollar General deodorant, two things that are so inextricably Joel. As much as you hate to admit it, the warmth is already inking its way across your skin â or maybe itâs just being next to Joel thatâs heating you up. âThanks,â you grumble.
When you adjust in your seat, the inside of your foot catches an empty Dr. Pepper can on the floor. It rattles when you accidentally kick it forward. You lean down and pick it up, going to place it down in the cupholder, only to find it overpopulated with random Home Depot and Whataburger receipts.
âTax deductions,â he shrugs. âGotta eat on the job.â
âAnd aâŚâ You pick up the receipt and squint at the faded typography. â$3.29 strawberry milkshake is part of that, I figure?â
Joel grunts, âTommyâs order.â
You smirk. âSure it is.â
âQuit shit stirrinâ and put on your fuckinâ seatbelt.â
You reach back, fingers snagging it and tugging it down. Groping for the belt between the seats and the center console, it goes on for at least five seconds too long before Joel grabs the buckle and shoves it into the slot. His fingers brush your thigh as he pulls away from you and settles his foot over the gas pedal. The singular touch shouldnât make butterflies beat at the walls of your stomach, but it does. Everything about him does.
Now that youâre all settled in, everything about him is also settling in. The fact that heâs only wearing a tight-fitting white t-shirt now that his coat is off. His sleeves are constricting enough that his muscles bulge below the strip of fabric. Ample scruff dapples his jawline, and his hair is disheveled in the way that youâve learned you like it. You trail your eyes down his body, his tummy, across the undone drawstrings of his dark gray sweatpants, and no, you move on quickly from there, because you refuse to get riled up in the passenger seat.
Heâs slowly peeling out of Keithâs parking lot, arm thrown over the back of your seat. Youâre starting to fail at your mission of not getting riled up when you see the flex of his bicep, the way his eyes meet yours as he turns to look through the back window. He turns out of the parking lot and onto the relatively barren, icy streetsâ
âWhat the hell are those?â
Joel side-eyes you, brows furrowed. He follows the line of your gaze to his feet, which youâre used to seeing in New Balances or steel-toed work boots, but are instead wearing⌠fur-lined crocs.
âThese here? Yeah, got âem recently, good for my days off with all this nippy weather. Sarah told me theyâre âall the rageâ with the youthââ
You canât help it. You damn near double over with laughter, clutching at your stomach. Joelâs coat nearly slides off of you, but you hang onto it with your pinkie finger, quickly going dizzy from lack of air. ââAll the rageâ? Oh my fucking Godâ Joel, she was pulling your leg. Those are fucking hideous.â
âHey, nowââ He sighs, pinching his nose bridge with the hand that isnât dangling over the wheel. âZip it, I donât needa justify my shoe choices to ya.â
âDoes she do anything other than give you shit these days?â
âYouâre one to talk about givinâ shit, yâknow,â Joel says. Unfailingly, he smiles. The smile that pulls at the edges of his lips. The smile that he only ever gets when talking about Sarah. It doesnât matter where â loading up his plate with barbecue, your dad asking him while heâs picking up junk mail in the morning, or on the job. If someone asks him about his daughter, Joel fucking beams.
He sucks on his teeth for a second, and then, âSheâs picked up soccer. Goalkeeper. Damn good at it, too, all them other kids on her team canât match her collapse dive.â
âOf course they canât,â you say. âSheâs got better reflexes than a house fly.â
Joel hunches over the wheel, effectively ending the conversation as he concentrates on the road. The only noise is the rumbling engine and the wagging of the windshield wipers as he attempts to navigate the black ice polka-dotted roads. It shouldnât be as arousing as it is, seeing him in such a state of focus, his thighs tensed as he manipulates the gas and brakes to stop early, start slow. His arms thickening when he makes a right turn. Thumbs drumming drumming drumming on the wheel and maybe theyâd do the same between your legsâ
âSo howâs work?â you blurt out.
Joel mumbles something that you canât quite make out.
âHuh?â
âFuckinâ âbig shotâ gringos up my ass all day. Goddamn shitshow.â He shakes his head, his lips thinned. âI tell âem terraforming is gonna make it look like a Flinstone-owned-and-operated putt-putt course. They say do it anyway. I tell âem that orderinâ custom windows is gonna put us months behind. They say do it anyway, then come up jibber-jabberinâ all âbout how long itâs takinâ. And itâs fuckinâ... window madness, not one window in that hellhole matches another. Ainât had so much trouble buildinâ a house since Sarah had me build her one from Hobby Lobby when she was little. Their architect musta been doinâ lines.â
You think youâve seen Sarahâs dollhouse before when visiting, just in passing when the guest bedroom door was left open a smidge. You remember stalling in the hallway to look at it, with a fleece of dust growing on the tediously placed shingles and the oakwood front door left open like itâd been waiting for someone to come home. But Sarah outgrew it, and although Joel would never admit it, you know heâs too sentimental to leave it on the curb.
âHow bad can building a dollhouse from a kit be?â
âWith a five year old yellinâ like a drill sergeant in your ear? Worse than you think. She even made me rig the damn thing with electric so she could have her pink chandelier.â
You pout at him, âWah wah, Iâll bet you loved it.â
âWas a nuisance at the time. But, uh, she was fiddlinâ with some âa the dolls Iâd gotten her. Donât think she knew I was watchinâ, had gone to put âer to bed âcause it was a school night. She was readinâ this book I always read to her. Something about⌠a stuffed bear with a missinâ button and a girl that was tryna to buy him. I donât fuckinâ knowââ
âCorduroy?â
âYeah, that. Anyway, she was reading, usinâ the same tone I always used with her, tucked her dolls in for the night, and switched off the lights. I donât think I loved it until then.â Thereâs a glistening in his eyes at the memory.
You smirk, âSentimental bastardââ
The truck slides. Or maybe it coasts, skimming across the thin film of black ice. Joel eases down on the brakes, hauling to a stop next to a Minivan with its warning lights on. Itâs a long stretch, and you canât even see all the way down the highway with how thick the snow is. No two snowflakes are the same, but you find it difficult to believe when youâre looking at what must be millions of them. They pirouette, landing on window panes, rooftops, and wind-agonized tree branches. Everything is blotted with white. Red warning lights glare on the ice back at you.
âShiiit,â Joel says as he squints at the road ahead of him. He scratches at his scruff.
âTell me youâre not going to drive through that shit.â
âIâm not,â he says.
âThen how the fuck are we getting home?â
âChill itââ
âThatâs the last thing I need to do,â you huff.
âIâm takinâ the detour.â
With that, he jerks the wheel â a bit too recklessly considering the weather, in your opinion â and pulls off onto a slippery backroad. The snow seems to have clung to the trees more back here, a sort of incandescent saran wrap over the oaks. At a bend in the road, icicles hang from a yellow sign that says CURVE 30 MPH. Joel takes it at ten.
Youâre not checking out his hands while he drives, no, of course not. Youâre looking at the gazillion lights on his dashboard display. âYou usually have that many lights on?â
âAinât your truck, ainât your business.â
âIâm ridinâ in it, ainât I?â you mock his accent.Â
Joel sighs heavily. âDrivinâ me up the fuckinâ wall.â His hands clench briefly around the wheel. âAuto repair shopâs been price gouging, Iâm tryinâ to get Tommy to hook me up with his buddy in San Antonââ
âWonât be able to drive to San Antonio if your bumper falls off halfway there.â
Joelâs voice is dry as bone. âHa ha. You get off on beinâ a smartass?â
Itâs three words â thatâs all it is. Just a throwaway phrase that he probably doesnât even realize he said. If it were anything more, youâd know. But Joel, saying those words in that order? Damn him, because it turns your blood effervescent. You stop yourself from rubbing your thighs together underneath his coat. Youâre about to make another quip thatâll not only distract you, but also surely drive Joel up the wall, one of your favorite activities.
His truck putters from ten miles per hour to eight.
Eight to six.
Six to four.
âMotherfuckinâ.... shit,â Joel says again, this time much more urgent as he wrests the wheel to the side. The truck skims over the frosted roads and onto the shoulder, rolls for two seconds, and then falls to a complete, utter stop. The windshield wipers pause while theyâre still up. Heat no longer spits out of the dusty air vents.
Itâs the loudest silence youâve ever been in.
â...So do you get off on letting your truck break down orââ
Joel sighs in the way that dogs do. âThin ice, missy.â He unbuckles his seatbelt and pulls out his phone. âIâll give Tommy a call.â He stares at the screen for ten seconds. Taps it. Shakes it.
âNo service?â you ask.
âNo service.â
âLet me try mine,â you mumble, shifting in the car seat. Sure enough, zero bars. Even though you know it wonât work, you press your dadâs contact. It goes straight to voicemail. âWell, shit.â
âShit,â Joel echoes.
Itâs unspoken, but you both know the harsh reality of this harsh wintry night: no phone service, no operational truck, and⌠no heater.
âHang tight,â Joel says, reaching over the center console and hijacking his coat from your lap. He wrestles his arms through the sleeves and zips it up. He shoves the door open against the hoarse wind that keeps the trees at a slant, hops out, then slams it shut hard enough for the vehicle to rock. From how hard the wind was blowing, stray flurries dust the truckâs interior.
You canât really see what heâs doing â the snowâs too heavy, the hood popped wide open for him to investigate the truckâs viscera. You run your hands up and down your thighs, already feeling cold. Without the heater, it wonât be much longer before you turn to an icicle in the passenger seat. The hood bangs back down.
Joel climbs in from the backseat, slams the door as hard as humanly possible, and then scoots to the middle seat.Â
You crane your neck to see him as he shakes out his cold-reddened hands before puffing air into his cupped palms. âWhatâs wrong with it?â You ask.Â
He lets out a frigid breath. âDonât fuckinâ know, snowinâ too damn hard to tell.â
âTen bucks it was one of the lights on your dash,â you say.
Joel glares at you, still huffing into his hands. His fingertips are bright red to match his ruddy cheeks. Snow is sprinkled through his hair like soot, quickly melting to beads of water on his windblown curls.
âGot some⌠hand warmers up in that glovebox. Grab the whole pack.â
You lean forward, kneeing it open and rifling through all of his shit. Insurance papers, more receipts, Miller Contracting business cards, a folded pocket knife, lens wipes, and â
âWhenâs the last time these saw daylight?â you huff out a laugh as you hold up a battered box of condoms.Â
Turns out, snow isnât the thing that makes Joel Miller redder than a tomato. Itâs the fifteen year old, very expired condoms hiding in his glovebox.
He clears his throat and averts his eyes. âJesus. Forgot those were in there.â
You shake the box around and pluck a condom out of it. Looking for the expiration date, you turn it over and over in your hand. âAugust 31st, 2004. Really that long since you got some, Miller?â
âPut âem back,â he grumbles. âPain in my ass.â
You snicker, replacing the condom box with the box of hand warmers. Theyâre unopened, still sealed. You snatch Joelâs keys out of the ignition and swipe them across the tape. âHappy?â you toss them over your shoulder.
âNo.â He tears open the pack and rubs his hands together around the warmer, sighing when it begins to heat.
âDick,â you grumble.
More tearing. âBrat.â Another warmer lands in your lap.
âOughta get comfortable. Weâre gonna be here a while,â Joel says.
âAnd whose fault is that?â You ask as you weigh the warmer in your palms. The front seat already feels cramped, and youâre quick to unbuckle your seatbelt. Your legs and arms fold like pretzels as you climb into the backseat. The curse that leaves you when you hit your head on the roof has Joel rolling his eyes.
âPipe down. First thing in the morninâ Iâll make the walk out to that country club a mile out and use their phone. Just gotta ride out the night. You ainât ever roughed it before?â
You fall on all fours on the backseat, finally pulling yourself upright next to him. âNever had a reason to. Like, what if I have to piss? What if I get hungry?â
Joel shrugs. âTough.â
The cold is starting to settle into your bones. Even your tongue feels popsicle numb, and your fingers are stiff where they wrap around the warmer. Itâs like youâve been trapped in a snowglobe and shaken up by a handsy toddler with how the wind rattles the truck and the snow swishes outside. You suppress a shiver, leaning against the door. Condensation is already building on the windows. Absent-mindedly, you begin to trace a portrait of Joel in the moisture. Your fingertip squeaks against the glass. Your masterpiece wouldnât be complete without his signature scowl, so youâre sure to paint a frown on his face and his forehead wrinkles on thick.
âDidnât know you were an artist,â Joel comments from the opposite side of the back. âLooks nothinâ like me, by the way.â
You smirk, âBut you knew it was you.â
Because thereâs nothing better to do than burn time, you spend the next ten minutes filling up the window with whatever nonsense doodles come to mind â hearts, stars, trees, and of course, the only one that Joel seems to be fond of: Sarah, smiling and curly-haired.
Reality only settles in when youâre done with the ephemeral illustrations, their outlines starting to dissolve back to regular droplets that streak down the windows. Youâre stuck, for God knows how long, on this shady backroad that the Zodiac Killer wouldâve loved during his heyday. With your dadâs best friend that youâve been harboring a dangerous crush on.
And itâd be impossible to forget that itâs freezing fucking balls.
âJoel?â you say into the dark truck.
âHm?â
Always one to speak your mind, you say, âItâs freezing fucking balls.â
A sound that might be a laugh leaves him. âHere,â Joel says, unzipping his jacket. He tosses it over to you, and you snuggle back up with it, nose burrowing into one of the creases in the fabric. His coat smells like him â like cheap body wash, chewing gum, and gasoline.Â
You try putting your hands in the pockets, even going as far as to open up a new hand warmer for each one, but theyâre full of loose change and, expectedly, more receipts. When you curl up against the corner between the door and the seat, the hard plastic bites into your oversensitive back. Sitting upright or cross-legged doesnât work, and when you test drive sitting diagonally with your feet propped up on the console, Joel makes a disproving noise and swats gently at your shin. You prop your forehead up against the window, but itâs cold enough to give you a brain freeze.Â
âJesus Christ,â Joel snorts. âGet over âere, you wuss.â He hauls you over, big hand splayed over your waist, and drags you across the bench to his side. You yelp in surprise, but only for a second before youâre crushed against Joelâs side. âCanât have ya gettinâ hypothermia,â he jests.
You donât know where to put your hands, but eventually, you settle on cupping his neck. Touching Joel, hell, even just being near him, is like being by an open furnace. Or maybe the heat is just your stomach doing somersaults at being this close to Joel after years of frivolous pining. His nape emanates warmth, the kind that flows down your arms and wraps comfortingly around your chest.
Joel exhales, the tendrils of his breath curling from the frigidity. He grabs his coat from the side and flattens it over the both of you, a piss poor replacement for a blanket, but all youâve got.
Still, cold seeps in through the cracks in the doors, spoiling whatever lukewarm air remains. It doesnât help that Joel had hopped in and out of the truck to play eye spy under the hood. The truck struggles to hold onto heat properly, especially when it isnât producing more of it.
Joel sort of⌠flickers against your back. You think nothing of it until it happens again, this time in short bursts, and then turns into full on shivering.
âWhoâs the wuss now, old man?â
Joel tenses up behind you. âFunny,â he says. With your hands cushioned against his neck, you feel the grate of his voice in his throat. âThis is the best youâre gonna get unless you wanna be butt ass naked to share heat.â
It should be a joke. But the way he says it⌠doesnât sound like a joke.
You go still, lifeless, not even sure if youâre shaking anymore. Because now, the only thought in your head is being pressed against Joel, his soft cock hardening against you, his palms splayed and rubbing over your stomach to keep you warm. And if his cock needed to get somewhere warmer, tooâŚ. Your clit twitches at the thought.
You smother the initial shock in your voice with your usual solution: sass. âSo what, weâre gonna fuckinâ huddle for warmth?â
As much as you enjoy the idea, you're already dripping â and thatâs just from your body being pressed against his, breathing the same air as him, closer now than youâve ever been before. With no panties in the way, itâs not a stretch to say youâd be dripping down his thighs. Youâd hate to have that conversation.
âWould you rather freeze to death?â Joel asks. You look up at him from where youâre curled into his side and find no gleam in his eyes. This isnât just some knee-slapper for him. Joel Miller is being completely, irreversibly serious.
âIâd rather something less like Naked and Afraid, Joel!â
âIt works,â he says, nose flaring. âThey do it in those fuckinâ... action movies all âa the time.â
âI didnât know Hollywood was writing survival manuals for pervsââ
âGod, youâre a piece âa work, ya know that?â His eyes flick down to you, and maybe itâs just the fact that this road is damn near pitch black, but his pupils seem larger than before. âListen, I ainât tryna perv on ya. I also ainât tryna send you back to your old man with four fingers missinâ from frostbite.â
Thereâs no way youâre actually seriously considering this. Youâve heard of cold temperatures impairing thinking, but not like this. Your dadâll go chasing after Joel with a pitchfork and a shovel if he finds out the man who was supposed to get you home safe and sound was cuddling naked with you. Cuddling naked with you in the backseat, no less. Youâre certain Joel wonât try anything â heâs not like that. No matter how flustered you get in his lap, heâd never take advantage of you. What you arenât certain of is your ability to stop yourself from asking him t0 take advantage of you.
This is practical. Itâs only supposed to be practical. He wouldnât be suggesting something this drastic if you both werenât shaking like a rattlesnakeâs rattler.
âFine,â you say, already unwinding your scarf from around your neck. Determined to keep some semblance of boundaries up, you add, âNo peeping, Miller.â
Joel makes an exasperated sound as you once again scoot out from his coat and across the bench, working yourself out of your shoes, your cotton zip-up, and then the stiff Keithâs uniform â a blue polo and jeans. Joelâs eyes are respectfully trained on the truckâs floor mats, which youâre only just now noticing has a sun-bleached Lisa Frank sticker tacked onto it.Â
Down to your bra and panties, your heart rate picks up. Your fingers are so fucking cold that itâs hard to get your bra straps out of the way so you can unclasp the damned thing, and then it falls to the floor. Your nipples harden in the face of the cold. The only thing you keep is your scarf, which do you do your best to cover your tits with. Scooping up your discarded clothes and tossing them to the front seat, you let out a shaky breath.
Fuck it.
You shimmy out of your panties and get rid of them just as quickly. When you try telling Joel youâre decent, or rather indecent, nothing comes out. Instead, you have to clear your throat with a strained, âAll good.â
âAlright,â Joel says, rustling around. You hear his crocs scrape against the mat, and then his shirt swishing over his head.
He doesnât tell you to look away, but since itâs implied, you look out of the window. The snowy trees tremble in the wind, and you almost wince when you see a small sliver of his tanned skin reflected in the glass. His crocs clunk on the ground when he kicks them off, and you watch his criminally tight t-shirt go flying over the passenger seat. You casually grip the Jesus handle, hoping that Joel doesnât notice your fist tightening around it when you hear him untying the drawstrings of his sweatpants. When his sweats and boxers follow the path of his shirt, breathing gets a lot harder than you remember it being.
Just an hour ago, youâd been certain that this would be nothing more than a ten minute drive. Maybe, if you were lucky, heâd call you a casual pet name that would fuel the wriggling of your hand between your thighs that night.Â
The tension in the air is thicker than molasses. Each breath you take is fragile.
âIâm ready when you are,â Joel says.
Since youâre already half-naked, and since chickening out is out of the question, you inch over to Joelâs side. The air tumbles out of your lungs in one fell swoop when your bicep meets his. With some fidgeting, you bring your legs up at an angle beneath you, wrapping around his side in a way that has you feeling a little bit like a koala. You talk yourself into keeping your eyes forward and then scrub your palms across your freezing arms.
Joel, more indifferent than you think anyone else in this situation could be, abruptly casts his coat back over the both of you.
And, fuck him, heâd been right. The engulfing canvas of his coat keeps warmth trapped where it can be passed easily between the two of you. Or maybe itâs just being confined and skin-to-skin with Joel that has you heating up.
The silence is cruel â itâs much harder to make conversation about work or dollhouses or whatever the hell else when youâre naked. Only the windâs sibilance keeps you company.
You can get used to this, you think. Drift off into a somewhat sound sleep with your head on Joelâs shoulder and hope that you donât drool all over him or moan his name in your sleep. More embarrassing things have happened to you.
But then, as if youâre the unluckiest person alive, the temperature drops even more, and suddenly, youâre shaking like a leaf all over again. Your teeth almost clack together as you try to stammer out to Joel, âCâcold, Jesus fucking⌠Christ thatâs cold.â
Joel pouts down at you, but you donât miss the way his lip quivers. âShould I call the wambulance?â
âShould I call the rârârâretirement home to piâŚpick up a ruârunaway resident?â It sounded a lot better in your head than bouncing off of your frozen tongue, you have to admit.
âDrama queen,â Joel mutters into your ear. âCanât do anythinâ more about it. Sorryââ
âCan I sit on your lap?â you blurt out so quickly that you donât even have time to think about it. You grimace, partially covering your face with your hands. Shit.
Joelâs eyes widen. âExcuse me?â
Youâre already half doomed. Why not go all the way? âListen, itâs just fucking⌠fucking freezing, Joel. Holy shit.â
âThat bad?â he chokes out.
âYouâd be warmer than the seats,â you defend. âIâll be careful, I promise. Best behavior.â
Joel seems to ponder it for a moment, brows stitched together while he looks down at you from where youâre furled up against his side. He gnaws on the inside of his cheek before giving you a slight nod. âAlright.â You nod in return, heart in your throat. ââBut you better mean it when you say best behavior. Canât have any âa this shit gettinâ back to your dad.â
Another nod. You hold your breath as you shinny your way onto Joelâs lap, mounting him from the front so his chest hits your back. In your attempt to get comfortable, you bracket your legs around his. His soft cock fits at the small of your back, and even though heâs as flaccid as can be, heâs big. Apparently your imagination isnât too far off. Joelâs sharp intake of breath forms a pit in your stomach, and you know when youâre warming up for an entirely different reason than close proximity, you also know that you need to calm yourself down. Fast.
Think of something awful. Like that time that you had to dissect cow eyes in sophomore year biology. Think about mold. How many murderers youâll walk by in your lifetime. Expired leftovers. Anythingâ
You adjust yourself in an attempt to get away from Joelâs cock. Instead, your hips move just so his cock slips between your thighs and bobs against your slit.
You whine.
Your body immediately locks up once you realize what youâve done. Crawling out of the truck to die a hypothermia-induced death seems like a much kinder fate than facing Joel, but no matter how much you scream at yourself to reach out and unlock the door, your hands refuse to move. You hadnât noticed how wet youâd gotten, and you have no idea how. Itâs smeared across your thighs, and now pressed up against your back after Joelâs dick had dragged through it all.
Shit shit shit shit shit shit shitâ
Chancing a look over your shoulder, youâre surprised to find the tips of Joelâs ears flushed, cheeks cherry ripe. His Adamâs apple bobs when you meet his eyes. Holy fuck.
Youâve flustered him.
For some reason, the thought makes your chest a lot lighter. You look away nonetheless, but this time, with a newfound gleam in your eye. Thereâs no such thing as a bad accident, right?
Maybe Liz was right about having to call 911, because when you âaccidentallyâ repeat the movement, Joel stops breathing all together. His cock, almost hard now, youâve noticed, bumps against your clit. You almost swallow your tongue trying to keep your moan down.
âThe fuck you think youâre doinâ?â he asks, his gruff voice scratching at your ears.
âI didnât mean to,â you lie straight through your teeth, a smug little grin spreading on your face. Something about his semi-hard cock between your bodies tells you heâs going to say no to your next suggestion. âMaybe you should put the coat between us, insteaââ
âAre you outta your fuckinâ mind, girl?â Joelâs voice comes out raspy. He shakes his head, clears his throat. The vibrations rumble up your spine. âAnd take away the whole point of stayinâ warm? Now quit it. Ainât that hard to sit still.â
You try your hand at listening â for all of two seconds.
You hike your hips up, fumbling with his coat as you slot his cock against your slit once more, pushing yourself forward. The coat slides right off of you, falling in a dark lump on the floor. Neither of you care â youâre both too heated for the lack of cover to make a damn difference. Joel hisses, a sound like water hitting an open flame. His hands fly down to your waist, anchoring you to his lap. A surprised noise squeaks out of you.
âWhat, you got rocks rattlinâ around in your brain?â Joel scowls. âYouâre real impolite for a cocktease, sweetheart.â
Butterflies flap around in your stomach from his words. Itâs enough to make your head tip against his chest so you can look up at him, lips shaped in a perfect pout. âIâm not,â you say.
âNot a cocktease, huh? Not even when youâre rubbinâ all over my lap?â
You gasp as your hands fly down to cover Joelâs, nails etching into where his fingers meet your bare skin. You tug at his wrist, trying desperately to guide him where you so desperately need him.
âNot happeninâ,â Joel grunts, yanking your hands behind you and pinning them to your waist like youâre nothing more than a poseable doll. His large, work-worn hands make yours look damn near miniature as he holds you down. The sudden roughness douses your inner thighs with a new wave of wetness. âJesus, girl. Poor thing, gettinâ all hot and bothered. Donât blame ya for tryna get me to help out. Can feel ya dripping down my legs, gushinâ like a sprinkler.â
âSâsorry, fuck, âm sorry,â you whisper, words sticky with your arousal. Your clit twitches from his words, embarrassment and need doing all the work to keep you warm.
âNahhh,â he says. âI donât think you are, baby.â Maybe itâs the condescension heâs purring in your ear, maybe itâs the pet name; most likely, itâs a combination of both that has you convulsing in his lap. Itâs like heâs found all of the right buttons to press to get you riled up, getting you back for all of your snide comments earlier.Â
His fingers find the fabric of your scarf, luring it off of your neck so he can cord it around your wrists. You squirm when you realize what heâs doing, and a breathless huff of his laughter brushes your cheek. âIâll be damned if you ainât gonna be, though.â He draws it tight, tight enough for you to feel your pulses bumping into each other. Joel leaves a fair amount of your unreasonably long scarf loose.
âJoel, what the fuck are you up to?â
âTeachinâ you some sweet southern belle etiquette, darlinâ. Such a goddamn troublemaker, grindinâ on me like Iâm some kinda⌠frat boy.â He shakes his head, disbelieving. âPullinâ that shit with your popsâ friend. Real fuckinâ classy.â
âLike youâre so different. Whoâs the one thatâs tying me up? Huh, Milââ
You hear the hit well before you feel it, a firm whack to your cunt that makes your vision blacken and electricity scurrying up your spine. It takes you a second to come back to yourself before a ragged cry pulls its way out of your lips. You jolt in his lap, bound arms bobbing in front of you as your body instinctively lurches for control. You damn near kick your feet, accidentally ricocheting yourself into Joelâs chest. His forearms hold you there.Â
âGuess Iâll make it crystal clear for ya, baby, since that dumb lilâ head âa yours is havinâ some trouble. My truck, my rules. Youâre ridinâ in it, ainât you?â You nod reluctantly as he turns your words from earlier in his favor. âThat was a warninâ, you showoff. Think you can bat your slutty âfuck meâ eyes anâ get away with murder.â He fucking tsks at you.
He pulls his hand away from your pussy, and youâre both surprised and not surprised at all to see it covered in your arousal, webbed between his calloused fingers.Â
âGot a whole goddamn slip ân slide down hereâŚâ murmurs Joel. You whine, bucking your hips against him. âOughta justâŚâ he starts, nudging his cock towards your hole. The noise you make is pathetic. âStop ya from ruininâ my seats. Cork you right up.â You tense up, fully expecting the intrusion, but his dick passes your cunt right up, instead sliding up to meet your clit. It taps against your swollen nub, and if his goal was to stop you from ruining his seats, youâre certain heâs already failed with how quickly you gush all over the upholstery.
âBut thatâd be real nice, wouldnât it? Givinâ ya what ya want so early onâŚâ Instead of pulling away like you expect, Joel griiiinds the head of his cock against your clit. You moan helplessly, head falling back across his shoulder.
And then he does it again.
And again.
And agaiâ
âJoooooel,â you whine, knees jerking each time his tip meets your most sensitive spot. Heat spins in your stomach.
He backs his hips up âWhat? Thought you loved this with how much you were gettinâ at it earlier.â
You shake your head rapidly in the negative, chest rising and falling at a breakneck pace while he teases you.
âSo you can deal, but you canât play?â
âI think youâre just taking your sweet old time getting it up, old man,â you grit out, knowing damn well heâs stiffer than titanium behind you.
Joel hums. âAh, sheâs got jokes.â His cock slips back, quickly replaced by his hand engulfing your mound. Your clit twitches ever so slightly against his palm lines, and youâre almost convinced you could get off from that alone. His palm cracks against your cunt again, somehow even harder than the first time. You cry out, eyes burning from arousal and the slightest edge of pain.
With his thumbpad, he taps your clit like heâs just scrolling through the cable guide with a remote. Fleeting movements that have you wanting more more more. It heals the sting of his slap even if the echo of the hit still simmers in your stomach. Your cunt throbs so hard that it hurts, jumping up to meet Joelâs scarce ministrations.
When he retracts his hand, your hips chase the movement. âSee this?â he taunts, fluttering his wet fingers in front of your face. You make a choked noise when his drenched middle finger breaches your lips. He doesnât even need to tell you; you latch on and suck yourself off of his calloused skin. Youâre mostly salty, but a little sweet, and tasting yourself on your own tongue by his insistence manages to make you even wetter.
Joel takes his spare fingers, just as soaked, and smears them all around your chin and lower cheeks. He presses down on your tongue as he does. You gag from the pressure, and you canât hear his laugh over the roaring of your blood in your ears, but you feel it rattle his chest where it meets your spine. Your slick cools quickly against your burning skin, syrupy as it clings to your face. âNeed a bib, baby?â
He pulls his finger from your mouth with a pop and your scarf-wrapped hands spring to wipe yourself from your lips, hoping to save yourself from the humiliation of having your own pussy juice anointing your face. You only scoop up a little before Joel lowers his forearm over yours, but for once, youâre faster than him. You swipe your wet hand over his mouth, smudging as much as you can along the scruff surrounding his mouth.
He wraps a burly hand in the scarf and yanks your hands back into place. All you can do in response is giggle, but the breath is swiftly knocked out of you when he drives his cock right into your clit. âThink youâre funny, donât ya?â He asks, and finally grunts as he rolls his hip into you. A break in his resolve, a sign that he wants this, or at least the discipline of this, as badly as you do.
You almost weep from the pressure, that rope of pleasure in your stomach that he keeps knotting tighter and tighter and tighter with each stroke of his cock, his fingers. âJoel!â you cry out as he follows it up with another firm swat to your clit. His cock spreads your folds as he softens the bashing, nuzzling his tip against your spasming cunt.
âReally, oughta give standup a go one âa these days. Be a real hotshot.â
âOh yeah?â you pant, light headed and woozy.
âMhm. If the whole crowdâs drunk.â His cock nudges your nub with a new vigor.
âAsshââ
Right as youâre about to press down and follow the sensation, Joel senses it. His cock gives way through your cheeks, just in time for him to land a ruthless slap across your pussy. Itâs harder than the others â makes your ears ring for a second, gives you a sort of visual snow that has you doubling over and gripping at the closest object for purchase, which just so happens to be the metal rods coming out of the headrest.Â
âAinât what you should be sayinâ if youâre planninâ on gettinâ what you want, sugar,â Joel tuts. He shakes his head at you. âDonât wanna hear no lip from ya, girl.â
You open your mouth, argument on the tip of your drool-loaded tongue, but your halfhearted attempt at defiance doesnât last long. Joelâs hand clamps around your chin, denting your skin into your teeth. He jerks your head to face him, knocking you down a peg with scathing eye contact. âYouâre pushinâ it.â He loosens his grip.
âAs if, Miller. If those pre-Cold War condoms are anything to go by, youâve been dying for a chance to get your dick wet. Doesnât matter how much lip I give you, you arenât gonna blue ball yourself for much longer.â Satisfied, you raise your brows at him.
Turns out, he is going to blue ball himself for much longer, because he lands six slaps in rapid succession across your sopping cunt. The skin smarts, and you cry out. Your grip tightens around the headrest rod to the point of strangling it. Your eyes water, and you canât tell if youâre crying. Too consumed by Joel, everything has melted into him â the smell of sawdust perpetually sewn into his skin, his cock sealed against your body.
âHow many times are ya gonna poke the bear before you learn your lesson, you cheeky little shit?â Joelâs palm cups the inside of your right thigh, just above the knee. He traces circles with his thumb, and heat trails after him with everywhere he touches. âSee, the thing about havinâ âpre-Cold War condomsâ is that Iâve had a helluva lot more time to learn self control than you. Can wait as loooooong as it takes for you to get your head on right. Donât matter if youâre waterfallinâ down my seats or not, pretty girl. Iâm giving you exactly what ya deserve.â
You whimper, trying (and failing) to get your magma hot core closer to Joelâs unfairly large hand, still splayed out on your inner thigh. You canât stop how you squirm in his lap, smearing your arousal everywhere with each movement you make.
At a snailâs pace, his hand begins to inch up your leg. Joel pauses to grope at you as his hand travels upward. Handfuls of your skin, rubbing at your scalding hot thighs. Your patience is wearing thin by the time he gets midway there. You need him to touch you. And thatâs just the tip of this impossibly destructive iceberg.
You shouldnât be doing this, shouldnât have let him go down this shitty backroad, shouldnât have agreed to your dadâs ridiculous idea of Joel picking you up, shouldnât have asked to be naked on his lap, shouldnât have gotten naked on his lap, shouldnât be leaking like a twenty-year-old pipe in a building heâd been hired to renovate. If your dad ever finds outâ
âJoel, please, please â pleaâŚâ you trail off, dissolving into incoherent whimpers as his hand hovers over your cunt. Youâre running hotter than a radiator now, and if you both wanted to be warm, then youâve got your wish. Although mostly gibberish, Joel has to understand what you want from him. Itâs just that the bastard is unwilling to provide.
Joel reaches down to pinch your clit, and your body canât even discern from pleasure and pain anymore. You react the same to it all, back arching as you try desperately to plant yourself on his cock. âShhh, shhh, quit runninâ your filthy mouth. Only gonna get yourself into more trouble.â
You swear you hear angels singing, swear you see the pearly gates when he gives your clit a merciful rub. Melting into him, you exhale shakily.
âSee? All nice ân quiet when sheâs gettinâ what she wants.â You wouldnât even dream of mouthing off to him now.
âI want â I needâŚâ you gasp out, putty in his hands. Moldable to his liking. Everything youâd pretended not to want.
âGo on,â he coos. âTell daddy what you need.â
You donât even hear him say that word. Youâre too hooked on begging, begging, begging. âPlease â Joel, oh god, please â I need⌠I need⌠please please please, fuck, it hurtsââ
Joel clicks his tongue. âNuh uh. Start over. Always such a chatterbox âcept for when I need ya to be.â
âWhaâŚ?â you ask, admittedly dazed from the harsh treatment that youâve come to crave more of.
âTell daddy what you need,â he repeats, words molasses slow.
You clench, gushing even more all over him. Shit, your next paycheck might have to go to replacing the goddamn seats if you keep up like this.
âDâD⌠D-â you start stammering out, but youâve lost autonomy over your body long ago, and apparently that goes for your tongue, too. âDaâ Da⌠plââ
âAny day now,â he scoffs.
âDaddy!â you spit out all at once. âPlease, please, daddy, fuck â fuck me, daddy, please, I want your cock, daddy. Feels so fucking big. Need it daddy, it hurts⌠please, nghâ daddy!â Tears are burning the corners of your eyes, fueled almost entirely by arousal and partially by frustration. You squirm, cunt crying all over the place.Â
âMâkay, baby,â he says. Running a hand down your chest and squeezing your nipple on the way down. He slides his hand down your stomach to cup your mound, giving your clit slow, gentle circles. Your hips jump forward, and this time, he doesnât stop you. âDaddyâs got ya.â
At the first intrusion of his middle finger in your cunt, you jump. Itâs a lot compared to what heâs been giving you, but nowhere near enough. A second finger slips inside. He doesnât have to do much work to stretch you out â youâve been seeping out of you since you first got on his lap. Heâs all too quick thrusting them in and out of you â the messy squelch of your pussy filling the backseat has you burying your chin against your chest, averting your eyes. The heel of his palm bumps persistently at your clit with each shift of his fingers inside of you.
âI know you ainât a virgin, but youâre soakinâ like one. Too damn cocksure to ainât have had a cock in ya before. Prancinâ around like a glorified dick trap.â You inhale sharply when his fingers scrape that spongy spot inside of you that you can never reach yourself. A moan rips out of you. The combination of him talking down to you and rubbing your g-spot has you dangerously close to cumming. Your moan is quickly swallowed up by more of Joelâs condescension.Â
He starts mumbling to himself then, obscenities that make you clench even tighter around his fingers. âGonna get you all sore baby, make you regret begginâ for this dick like a horny âlil bitch that ainât ever been laid in her life. Fuck you so hard youâll be cryinâ for daddyâs cock up your ass instead, turn you into an anal slut, too.â Heâs too busy listening to himself talk, too absorbed in his own world to feel you balancing on that razor-thin edge.
The noise you make is inhuman. You pulse around him, doing your best to stave off your impending release. âDaddyââ you warn, but he cuts you off then, too. Joel grinds his cock between your ass cheeks, his precum dripping down your slit to meet your trembling cunt.Â
âEver been fucked here before baby?â He swipes his tip along your asshole, and the way you shudder is answer enough for him. âDonât get all jumpy, sweetheart. Ainât gonna fuck ya there right now. Be cruisinâ for a bruisinâ.â Still, he replaces his tip with his free handâs thumb, simply rubbing at the ring of muscle. You fidget in his lap without an end-goal. You just want to be close to him, want to take everything heâs willing to give you. His fingers hook just right inside of you. âWould love to be the first to unlock this pretty backdoor. If this tight âlil pussyâs anything to go by⌠Christ. Youâd look so pretty squirmin with my cock in your ass, babyââ
âDaddy!â You scream as your orgasm guts you. His fingers and his voice rip your climax right out of you and your cum streams down your inner thighs and Joelâs hand, still smacking against your clit with each thrust. Your cunt spasms around his flexing fingers. He has to fold an arm over your chest to keep you from sliding off his slippery lap entirely.
All the way through the aftershocks that make your limbs quake, Joel holds you upright against his body, still bumping his palm and fingertips against your clit and g-spot. You swear you can feel him smiling against your shoulder.
âDidnât tell ya you could cum, darlinâ,â Joel murmurs, flicking his cum covered finger across your clit. You wince in overstimulation, a whine catching in your throat.
ââM sorry, daddy,â you pant. His hands go up toÂ
ââS okay, babygirl. Pretty pussy couldnât help it when I was talkinâ âbout fuckinâ your ass, huh?â His hands rove up your stomach to play with your tits, palming and stroking, getting his hands all over every carnal part of you.
You hum into his bicep, âMmmm.â
âThatâs alright. Donât mean youâre gettinâ away with a slap on the wrist though. Câmon, up,â he guides with a small slap to your thigh. You adjust, bringing yourself onto your knees so he can enter you from behind. You look down at his sturdy thighs, flexing as he adjusts himself between your legs. He gives you one more teasing thrust through your thighs, poking your oversensitive clit one more time before reaching down to spread your folds.
You moan as he presses against your entrance, and itâs not the best time to have a come to Jesus moment, but â Joelâs size was in no way over exaggerated between your legs. You stiffen in realization, and Joel, attentive as always, notices. He guides your chin to face him and nuzzles his nose up against yours, mouth tracing down to your lips. Your breath mingles, stagnant in the long-forgotten chill. A cushion of softness against all of his spiky edges that showed up tonight. âYouâre on top, baby. Take it as slow or as fast as ya want.â
Nodding at the reminder, you find yourself that you donât want to take it slow. You want to be as sore as heâd promised, want to feel him for days and be reminded of this every time you look at the winter morningâs frost on the shingles outside.
Sinking down over his throbbing length yanks the air out of your lungs as you seat yourself with him bottoming out and going balls deep in your cunt simultaneously. He grunts against you in surprise, softening the blow of your heady moan. âAttagirl,â he huffs into the crease between your neck and shoulder. Itâs a stretch, searing up your thighs and to your lower back. Youâre brought back to yourself when Joel rolls his hips into you, making the pain liquefy into mind-numbing pleasure. You spend thirty seconds waiting for him to fuck up into you in a way that changes your philosophy around the world, but instead, heâs still and solid inside of you.
âGo on,â Joel coaxes, placing a steady hand just shy of your mound. âGotta prove you deserve to cum again.â He taps your thigh as if heâs telling you to giddy up, and the shame warms the back of your neck better than any heater ever could.
You whimper. His hands coast up your thighs, squeezing your hips tight before falling to grip the seats below. Youâre still weak from your last orgasm, shaky legs struggling to hold yourself up as it is. âDaddy⌠I canâtâŚâÂ
âAinât no different than fuckinâ yâself on that vibrator or dildo or whatever the fuckâs in your nightstand. Girl like you, gotta have a wimpy âlil fucktoy somewhere.â His words make you clench around him, and he groans into your neck. Joel looks up at the front window, now covered in snowflakes. He smirks when he spots the rearview mirror. âOughta make you watch yourself. Show a pathetic, cockstarved slut what happens when she bites off more than she can chew.â At that, you mewl, grinding yourself down. The chuckle he lets out is lined with cruelty.
Joel pins you to his chest with one burly arm and leans forward with a hash of grunts from effort. He reaches out towards the rearview mirror, lowering it to face the middle seat that youâre both braced on. He sinks back quickly, and it almost gives you whiplash before you make eye contact with yourself. You can see everything. Tremors travel up your legs and into your arms. Your body is getting freezer burn from how cold and hot you are at the same time. Pleasured tears threaten to spill over your waterline. Joelâs smug fucking face as he murmurs endlessly at you.Â
Your mouth is parted as you take yourself in, truly a pathetic, pretty little picture as you pant. âCâmon,â Joel coaxes, squeezing your ass. âYou can do it. Make daddy proud. Iâll even give you a boost.â Joel reaches to your tied hands and quickly undoes the scarf, letting it drop to the floor. You flex your fingers and then reach out for the chairs ahead to get a good grip.
You prop yourself up on your knees, anchoring yourself to the two chairs in front of you. Using a combination of your upper and lower body strength, you rise halfway off of Joelâs cock before your body gives out. His balls slap wetly against your clit. He laughs, still not touching you at all. Your head flops forward as you look down to where the two of you meet, and then at the mirror where his cock is buried deep inside of you. You whine in dismay.
He wasnât lying when he said he was going to get you sore. You can only moan. Itâs pleasure like youâve never had it before â too much, not enough, painful, so good. âPlease, Joel â I canât⌠canât handle it.â
âIâll decide what you can handle,â he says.
âYouâreâ youâre so fucking mean,â you rasp.
âGets you this soaked, baby. Donât see your pussy complaininâ. You love beinâ treated like a piece âa meat. Like a little fleshlight for men to fuck.â
You clench, tight. âAh!â Joel fucking sniggers behind you, but a rush of confidence spills through you at the underlying moan in his throat.
Determined to get what you want, you tighten your grip on the front seats. Haul yourself up, almost so that the tip slips right out, and then collapse back onto Joelâs cock. And, shit, itâs a lot. You doubt you could handle his cock in missionary, but being made to ride him in such a compromising position, sprawled out across his shitty backseat? Thatâs an entirely different animal, one that you hadnât expected to have to handle.
You focus on doing just enough to please him and just enough to keep yourself intact. You repeat your movements two or three times, rising and falling. Little moans and whimpers, some pained, some good when he nudges your g-spot just right, slip in and out of you.
âMmmm, yeah, thatâs it. Daddyâs âlil wannabe pocket pussy. Doinâ a âlil better baby. Keep doinâ that. Jusâ keep doinâ that.â
Youâre shaking like a leaf on his cock as you somehow manage to lift yourself another time before fucking back on him. âDaaaddy.â Your lips quiver as you form the word. A single tear runs down your face from overexertion, and heâs quick to wipe it up with his thumb as if it was never there. You look truly whorish and pathetic, just like heâd wanted, bouncing on his cock with the last of the energy you have left in you.
His tip jabs against that goddamn spot again, and you double over on the center console. You take heaving breaths, making eye contact with yourself in the mirror, desperate to please as you attempt to keep humping him with the change in angle. Youâre letting out strings of disoriented words, but barely can tell that youâre talking.
âI fuck you dumb already? Slutty little girl. Told ya you were in for it. Ainât ever had much of a knack for listeninâ. Gonna dick you down now, sweet girl.â He drags your legs into the crook of his elbows, holding you upright for him as he shifts to his knees between your legs. Braced on the center console with your pussy settled on his cock, the new angle makes you cry out. You hold yourself up on your elbows, giving shallow rolls of your hips in return as Joel gets settled inside of you.
The first thrust makes your eyes roll back so far that you see black. âFeel good?â
âSo⌠so fuâfucking goo⌠good daddy,â you whimper into the console, gripping the sides of it just so you have something to hold onto.
âSwallowinâ daddyâs dick whole in this greedy cunt. Goddamn, drippinâ down my fuckinâ balls. Such a masochistic slut, all after a poundinâ from an old man. All up in a tizzy for this cock.â
You moan your agreement, completely submissive to Joelâs wills. You move like a ragdoll for him, letting him yank you back on his cock while he meets you there, thrust for thrust. He pulls out, a small mercy, but when he sheathes himself back inside of you in full, itâs the beginning of a punishing pace.
You donât even notice yourself drooling all over the console until Joel says something about it. âDroolinâ from two places. Yeah, baby, you needed this. Daddyâs pretty cockslut.â You whine especially loudly when Joel drags you back across the console, damn near fast enough to give your stomach rugburn.Â
Hands framing your spread legs, Joel hooks them both around his torso, using the leverage to plow into you. Youâre boneless beneath him, mouth frozen in silent moans. His hips meet your ass with each shove of his cock in your sloppy cunt, the obscene sound of slap after slap pealing out within the truck. âDamn lucky weâre in the middle of nowhere,â Joel growls on another thrust. âSomeone woulda been knockinâ on the window long time ago with how loud youâre beinâ.â
âMmph,â you gasp when Joel tosses one of your legs up and over the passenger seat. You hold yourself there as he digs his fingers into your other thigh, shifting his spare hand to your mound.
âDaddy please please please pleaââ you start panting like a broken record, desperate to feel his hand on your clit, which throbs with inattention on the console. You grind frantically on the edge just in case he denies you again.Â
Joel laughs above you, fully smudging two fingers across your clit in a blur of indescribable pleasure. âAinât gonna make ya beg this time. Canât wait to feel ya creaminâ âround me⌠maybe Iâll make ya lick that up too. Nasty bitch.â
âJoooel, oh fuck, pleaseâŚâ you whine as he continues railing you, this time fiercely tweaking your clit in-time with his movements.
The new position has his thrusts meeting your cervix, and you scream, pleasure corkscrewing through your body. Thereâs nowhere for all of it to go with how viciously it burns in your stomach â all you can do is take it and whine for him. âTakinâ it real good. See what happens when ya behave? You get this fat cock splittinâ your whore cunt in two, jusâ like you were askinâ for.â
He grips your hip tight, clearly expecting an answer. You slur, âMhm, daddy!â
Joel rubs faster circles around your clit, spouting filth while he drills your pussy. You can tell heâs chasing his own release, too, hips frantically fucking in and out of you, his cock twitching every single time you clench. Youâre burning up as he jackhammers your pussy. Your second orgasm of the night brims low in your stomach, âCome on, baby, know youâre close. Feel this slutty pussy squeezinâ me. You gonna ask permission like a good girl this time, or are ya gonna go back to your defiant little slut self?â
âNo, daddy,â you whimper, suspended in thin air over orgasmic bliss. Heâs rubbing your clit erratically, doing everything he can to hold you in place. âP-please daddy, can I come?â You practically scream it out.
âGo ahead,â he says. âCome for daddyâs, come allll over daddyâs cock.â
The band snaps. Your back arches, and you feel time stop in the second before you fall slack on the console, spasming from the best orgasm of your fucking life. Your clit feels like thereâs fucking pop rocks on it, something that not even your vibrator has ever achieved. âThank you daddy!â you cry out, repeating it as you lose all feeling in your bones. You hardly have any control over your body anymore â itâs just Joel Joel Joel Joel. Sated and weary, you just lay there, letting Joel fuck into you.
And fuck into you he does â roughly, helping you ride out your orgasm as he pursues his. âThatâs my girl,â he says, and you swear that alone could make you cum all over again. âLettinâ your daddy use this juicy, well-fucked cunt to get his own.â He canât hold back his moans, thatâs how you know heâs close, grunting and gasping as he rocks his hips into yours. His hand lands on your ass in a sharp smack, and your pussy clenches in exactly the way that he expected. He lets out a particularly ragged noise, folding himself over you to nip at your neck and rest his forehead against your shoulder blade. âDaddyâs close, where do ya want me, baby?â
âTits,â you whine. Itâs a miracle you can even get that one word out, but somehow, you manage a few more. âCome on my tits, daddy.â
âFuck!â Joel shouts, yanking himself over you. You help him roll yourself over and sit up on your elbows, and he jerks himself once, twice, before spraying his load all over your tits with the loudest groan yet. His brows fold together as he cums, eyes drooping and his mouth parted as he takes deep breaths.
You sit there for a handful of heavy minutes, listening to each otherâs jagged breathing and the sawtoothed wind outside. Youâre both so fucked. Literally, and figuratively. Stuck in the buttfuck middle of nowhere, you with your dadâs proclaimed bestieâs cum drying on your tits, and said bestie staring at you with post-coital puppy dog eyes and your cum all over his balls.
Youâre the first to speak up, still winded. âThat was⌠that was good.â
Joel nods mindlessly, tongue swiping out to lick his lips. He beckons you closer, and on trembling legs, you bring yourself to the backseat. You return to your previous position, huddled up and curled next to the door. Joel fumbles around under the back bench for a little until he comes up with a small, sunbleached pack of princess-themed pocket tissues that have to be as old as Sarah is. He dabs at your chest before stuffing them into the closest empty cupholder, and then brings you closer to his chest.
You donât notice yourself falling asleep when all you can feel is Joel.
Thereâs better ways to wake up than a furious rapping on the window, but that isnât the first thing you notice. You blink your eyes open groggily, only to face an egg yolk sun cracking wide open over the treeline and snowmelt bleeding out from every given surface. Joelâs behind you, nose in your neck, snoring softly with his arms wrapped around your middle. You take a moment to admire him â his sun kissed skin and his peaceful expression. It takes you a moment to remember you slept with him. You slept with Joel, and it was the best fuck of your life.
Youâre stretching, on the verge of a yawn, when you see the familiar head of black hair over the window. âShit!â you shout. Joel jerks to life behind you, mumbling something that sounds a lot like âwhat?â.Â
You scramble to pull the coat over the both of you from where it fell off of you in the middle of the night, covering your naked bodies. âGet dressed!â you hiss to Joel, searching for wherever the fuck your panties ended up last night.
âWhat the hellâs gotten into yaââ he starts, and you feel the exact moment that he realizes Tommy Miller is outside of the truck. âMotherfucker,â he curses, swaying towards the front seat to snag his clothes. You see him almost put his head through his T-shirt armhole three times before he gets it right. His sweatpants are next, which he tugs up his bare legs without even searching for his boxers.
âJoel?â Tommy shouts outside. âWake up, sleepinâ beauty!â He knocks on the door again, the windows blurry from melting snow. You have that to thank, at least. It buys you enough time to tug your polo over your head, but not enough time to button it all the way up.
âFuckinâ... dumbass,â Joel huffs as he clips the lock on the door and kicks it open, looking at least somewhat composed. You take deep breaths, looking between the two of them. âHowâd you find us?â
Tommy looks Joel up and down, scrutinizing him. âWhat happened to southern gentleman manners? I came out here to save ya from Mt. Everest, brother! Least you could say is âthank youâ.â
âThank you,â you fill in for Joel, even if the last thing youâre feeling is grateful.
âHer daddy threw a hissy fit, yâknow? Told him you were fine and weâd go lookinâ for ya in the morninâ. We saw all that backup on the highway, I went this way, he went that way, turns out my gut was right. âCourse my dumbass brother would take this route⌠hey, youâre truckâs a fuckinâ mess.â Tommy sinks his hand into the closest cupholder, pulling out a wad of tissues that have been soaked in his cum. You hiss as if youâve been scalded with boiling hot water.
Joel starts, âTommyââ
âWhat the fuck is this shit?â The realization seems to dawn on poor Tommy when heâs peeling apart the tissues, and he drops them like theyâre a thousand pounds. You canât even bring yourself to scold him for littering as the wind carries them away. âJoel. You dirty dog!â He says, eyes flitting between the two of you like itâs the most impossible thing in the world.
Your heart picks up to a speed that can rival most NASCAR drivers and your face burns like hot asphalt. You look pointedly down at the ground.
âJesus fuckinâ Christ,â Joel seethes, pinching the bridge of his nose. âGet outta here, you little shit.â
Tommyâs hands go up. âHey now, I ainât doinâ anything. That is not a conversation I wanna have with her daddy.â He clears his throat, effectively clearing the air along with it. âSo, uh, truck break down?â Joel grunts in affirmation.
âBeen tellinâ ya you need to make a stop at the auto shop⌠Câmon, Iâll get y'all home,â Tommy says, jingling the keys to his own truck. âCall a tow on the way.â
Joel drags his feet all the way to Tommyâs passenger side. You get your wallet and jacket together, winding the latter around your waist. The sun almost blinds you on your way out, and Tommy stops you.
âI hope you didnât let âim stick it to ya with them prehistoric condoms. Youâre smarter ân that.â
âGod, no,â you huff out.
âI dunno whatâs stupider, lettinâ my asshole brother hit it raw or gettinâ a UTIââ
âOkay!â you announce, hands going up as you round the back of Tommyâs truck. âConversation over.â Youâre still smiling playfully at Tommy as you clamber into the back of the truck, sighing when the air conditioner hits.
Just like that, back to the same old same old sunny, shithole state of Texas. Joel looks at you in the rearview mirror and winks at you. You guess not everything has to stay the same these days.
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morning cardio | dbf!j.m. x f!reader
masterlist | updates blog
pairing: dbf!neighbor!joel miller x f!reader
summary: [no outbreak] your neighbor and dad's longtime buddy catches you sneaking back home after an underwhelming hook-up. you want more â he provides.
warnings: (18+ mdni) dbf!neighbor!joel, age gap (23/50), reader has a bad relationship with her father, reader's father is overly strict, reader hooks up with an oc, dirty talk, soft!dom joel, degradation, praise, thigh riding, 1 spank, titty slapping, daddy kink, exhibitionism but nobody sees, almost caught, heavy petting, misogyny for sexiness that joel doesn't actually believe in since he's a sweetheart [no use of y/n]
word count: 3.7k
a/n: watch me almost exclusively post dbf joel. watch me. also, mind the tags, they've changed slightly since i posted the teaser. this was supposed to be a series. this is no longer the case bc i'm indecisive. sorry.
Mistake number one: your eyes are crusted shut with the mascara youâd forgotten to wipe off.
Mistake number two: the bed you wake up in is not your own.
Mistake number three: sleeping with your neighbor.
Rubbing your mascara-sealed eyes, you blink yourself into consciousness and instantly regret it. Thereâs a moment of stillness, time stretching as you take in the room underneath the swelling orange sunlight. The window is cracked just enough to give you a glimpse at the world outside â birds chirping, sprinklers spritzing, cars crunching gravel as they pull out of the driveway. Surrounding the narrow, rumpled bed is a graveyard of orphaned socks. A box fan whirrs in the corner. The room had felt much cleaner past midnight when it was only the yellowed street lamp outside shining through the window. Then you spot the digital clock on the cluttered bedside table reads 6:10, ten minutes later than youâd wanted to be awake for, and time returns to its regular pace.
Your heart kicks awake in your chest, veins going cold. You kick the sheets off of your sweaty body, roll out of bed, and stumble two steps before planting your feet on the carpet below. Even that isnât enough to stir your hookup. Dylan Andrews.
Itâd seemed like a good enough idea at the time. Both of you were home for spring break. Both of you had flirted at the block party with each other. He was only decent-looking and mediocre with his hands, but you needed a break from spending another night in your childhood bedroom. What better way to do it than with a dick appointment?
Again. Itâd seemed like a good enough idea at the time. Sneaking out underneath the nose of your strict, tough-as-nails dad was the easy part. Sneaking back in? Less easy. And to make matters worse, you were already ten minutes behind.
Shit.
You tiptoe across the room, naked as the day you were born, and stuff your underappreciated lingerie into your backpack. Without even putting your panties or bra on, you hop into your shorts and wrestle with your hoodie. By the time youâre out of Dylanâs room, itâs 6:12.
The difference between your dad and Dylanâs mom? She doesnât give a shit what side of town Dylan wakes up on or how much alcohol is sloshing around in his system as long as heâs safe. Youâre not the first girl to do the walk of shame out of Ms. Andrews' generic McMansion house, and youâre far from the last.
Sheâs downstairs in front of the coffee maker, still wearing her pajamas and doing a Dollar General crossword when you slip past her kitchen unnoticed. The door clangs shut behind you, and you figure she must see you walking down the cul-de-sac.
Your dad always leaves for work at 6:45 after a freezing cold shower and a steaming cup of black coffee for balance. You can only hope his shower ran a little late and that he isnât at the dining room table already. Cramming two steps into one, you continue with your beeline down the awakening street.
Youâre followed home by the mailboxes and flower beds, the pebbles you kick with every step. Youâre almost to the property line, prepared to make a mad dash to your front door when you hear the faint call of your name. You skid to a stop, and turn to face the source: the craftsman-style house next door.
And there he is â Joel Miller, sitting on one of the cushioned chairs of his front porch in nothing but his sleep shorts and a t-shirt, legs spread as wide as the chair can accommodate. Thereâs a smug, knowing look on his face, one that says Iâve caught you. See how you can get out of this.
Itâs been a long time since youâve been face to face with Joel â Mr. Miller. Youâd think youâd see him more often, with him being your dadâs buddy and your neighbor, but itâs been since summer. Youâre sure he must be having the time of his life by joining your just got laid parade.
âYouâre up awful early,â he calls, beckoning you up the driveway with a come-hither movement of his fingers. Leaving your dignity at the curb, you pad up the yard to his porch, climbing one of the stairs to lean against the gutter that feeds into his shrubbery. Pollen and moss is scattered across the wooden deck, surrounding a package that he hasnât bothered to pick up yet. His guitar is off to the side, propped up against the doorway of the house. You wonder if heâd been playing when heâd seen you walking by.
Joelâs covered for you before, briefly and sparingly. Taken the fall for the half-empty bottle of fireball in your dresser even though heâd never go within ten feet of that shit, blamed it on himself for accidentally leaving it behind after fixing a wheel that had jumped off track for you. Even though your dad had chewed him out for drinking on the job, heâd still managed to sneak it back to you with the wise words of hiding it in a sock next time. Youâd been two months past your twenty-first when that had happened, and maybe Joel had pitied you after realizing how authoritarian his friend was.
You arenât as sure if heâll pity you now.
âNeeded some fresh air,â you defend lamely, hands hanging limp by your sides.
âNeeded some cock?â he corrects, and his bluntness makes you choke. He seems relaxed for the words that just came out of his mouth, fingers drumming on his impossibly large thighs, a playful smirk resting on his lips.
You sputter, âNo! Jesus, what the hellââ
âI got eyes, hun. Saw you leave that Andrews kidâs place. Clearly he didnât stick it to ya that good if youâre still walkinâ steady,â he comments. His head tilts.
âJoel,â you hiss, eyes flitting to your dadâs house next door. He seems to read your mind, his smirk widening.
âWonder what your pops would think. Bet I have a pretty good idea. His little angel, sneakinâ around and whorinâ herself out.â He clicks his tongue at you. âA damn shame.â
Heat spools low in your stomach and down to your unsatisfied center. You wish youâd worn darker colored shorts instead of the flimsy gray things you have on. Thereâs no barrier of your panties to stop yourself from leaking all over them, and with the way Joelâs looking at you, eyes dark and sly, youâre wishing there was.
âCanât even imagine what youâre gettinâ up to at that college âa yours. Bet you had five guys inside of ya all at once, and I sure ainât talkinâ about burgers, hun.â He lounges back in his chair, watching you.
You feel yourself gush. Heat burns in your thighs, and they rub together on instinct, seeking to extinguish that brimming ache between your legs. You bunch your hands in the fabric of your sweatshirt and canât stop yourself from squirming underneath his gaze. Itâs not like youâve never thought about this, this with him of all people when youâre underneath your covers and your hand finds the warm junction between your thighs. Always unattainable. Always just out of reach.
You whisper again, âJoel,â but this time, it comes out as more of a moan. Humiliation warms your cheeks and chest, forming a different kind of pit in your stomach.
âHmmmm?â Joel hums at you with a raised brow. Heâs casual, indifferent, almost. But then his eyes flicker up and down, stopping at the wet patch smeared across the front of your shorts, the way your thighs press tight, tensing before letting go. âAh. A little slut shaminâ gets you all riled up, hun?â That tears a whimper from you. He does that stupid come hither motion again, and like a lost dog, you listen. Standing in front of him, you feel completely, utterly exposed.
He adjusts himself in his chair, and you swallow the building lump in your throat when you see his bulge hardening. It sends another zap of heat to your core, and then another, more surprised one when his hand goes up to grab at your tit. Your breath catches as he thumbs one of your hardened nipples. A triumphant noise echoes out of him. âBraless, too?â His other hand goes down to your shorts, playing with the waistband. âPrancinâ around in these short, skimpy things, too. Practically giving the whole neighborhood a free peep show.â
His hand slides lower. Lower. Pans over to the crease of your thigh and then his thumb is planting over your clit, rubbing only once before he pulls away. âMessy pussy. Bet you stained the guys sheets.â
Youâre quiet, staring at him, his wicked fucking expression, those hands that look like sin itself. You bite the inside of your cheek.
âAh. Poor baby. All this effort and you didnât even get to come.â He just looks at you. Unmoving. Not doing a single damn thing to get you there.
âPlease, Joel,â you whisper, embarrassed by the gritty need already embedded into your voice when heâs hardly even touched you.
And heâs still wearing that wolfish look, that tainted-with-intention gleam in his eyes that tells you he knows exactly what you do want when he asks, âWhat? What do you want?â He licks his lips, a fleeting moment.
You look over your shoulder, at the rising street. Anyone could have their windows cracked. Anyone could hear you confess on this porch. Still, you murmur, âI⌠I want you to make me come, Joel.â Your voice shivers a little bit along with the stroke of wind that wisps against the backs of your thighs.
His brows raise together, now. His head tips forward. âWhat was that? A little louder. You know, my ears really ainât the sharpest these daysâŚâ
Fucking bastard.
âI want,â you say again, fighting to stop your voice from wavering, to keep it not too loud but not too quiet. âyou to make me come.â
Joel sucks on his teeth for a second. âOhhh. Now I donât think thatâs really fair, hun.â He gives you a mockingly sad look.
âWhy?â you ask, and you know you sound as whiny as a petulant child. But heâd been correct earlier. You put in all of this effort, sneaking out for a thrilling night that had turned into something more like two sweaty bodies moving together and only one of them feeling good from it. You want to feel good. Youâre tired of looking at the right and the wrong. Joelâs sitting in front of you, his thumb still smelling like your arousal; thatâs whatâs right.
âYouâre out here breakinâ all the rules. Shouldnât be rewarding you for that, sweetheart. Besides, itâs a little fucked up, dontcha think? Makinâ you come all over me while your pops, my buddy, is none the wiser gettinâ ready for work next door?â His vulgarity only weakens you even more, pussy clenching and begging to be filled. Youâre about to protest again when he cuts in, âBut that doesnât mean I canât help ya out.â
Your heart pedals in your chest, eager and wanting. But Joel, instead of getting up and elbowing you inside like you expect, stays right where he is. He pats one of his splayed thighs, the grin on his face only widening. Your face contorts. Joel hears your question before you ask.
âWhat? Never humped someoneâs leg before? With how much of a bitch in heat youâre actinâ right now, Iâm surprised.â You can feel the shock on your face plain as day. Joel jerks his head down to his thigh, egging you on. âBetter hurry up if you want my help, sweetheart. Pretty sure your dadâs about to get goinâ, and I sure donât have all day, either.â
The rapidly shrinking part of yourself that isnât consumed with desire tells you to take a step back. That anyone, God forbid, even the Adlers across the street could witness this. Talk about a free peep show.
You think of the alternative: sneaking back into your house with a hope and a prayer that your dad wonât find you, backpack over your shoulder and shoes on, as you climb the stairs back to your bedroom. Open up your Joel-advised dresser drawer of things your dad says you shouldnât have and pull out your vibrator. Do the same old hassle of a routine, desperately trying to make yourself come. Reach an unfulfilling peak.
Or⌠take what Joelâs offering you. Risks and all.
You take a tentative step forward, glaring at Joel when he chuckles because of your hesitance, and plop yourself down on his thigh. The pressure against your clit immediately pulls a whimper from you. His big hands fix themselves on your hips, holding tight, but not too tight as to hold you captive against him. Thereâs still the faint existence of the Joel youâve always known, considerate and sweet and all southern gentleman, that exists behind the guise of his dominance.Â
You nestle your head into the crook of his neck, breathing heavy against him as you get a slow start to grinding your hips on his thigh. Although your movements are tentative, uncertain in nature, your head is already going fuzzy.
âBet youâre only this wet cause that boy already put a new load in your dishwasher.â You scoff at him in disbelief â both at how much more wet it gets you, and how foul his words are. He chooses then to jerk you forward by the hips. You cry out as your pussy drags along the thick expanse of his thigh, clit catching on the bunched up fabric of your rumpled shorts.
âZip it, you fuckinâ hussy. Ainât a damn soul in this neighborhood that wants to wake up to you sobbinâ while gettinâ off on this thigh.â One of his hands drifts back to squeeze at the flesh of your ass. You hear the spank before you feel it, a sting that echoes and sticks right between your legs. Heâs effortlessly strung a barbed wire of humiliation around your body. The lack of power makes your thighs clamp down around his, and you canât tell if you crave more of it or despise it.
Unable to decide which, you loudly, exaggeratedly moan into his ear, still rocking down on his lap. It resounds through the neighborhood, the springboard roofs ricocheting you coquettish noises down the street and through the flowerbeds. A spooked crow lifts off of the power lines behind you, and you hear it squawk as its wings beat and carry it away.
Joel cocks his head at you, brow raised. âSo itâs not just your legs that have a problem stayinâ shut. Itâs your nasty mouth, too.â His hands migrate up your sides to your tits, which jostle with every flighty movement across his thigh. Before you know what heâs doing, he tweezes at your nipples in a way that makes you melt into him, forehead falling flat against his neck. And then he lands a hard smack across your chest, pleasure with a bite. Your hips jolt. âBehave for daddy before I make you walk next door dragginâ a snail trail behind ya.â
You know he doesnât mean your real dad. A new rush of heat settles in your stomach, tightening your cunt from an ache to an insatiable thrumming that only Joel can solve. âFuck,â you almost shout, but end up muffling into his skin with an open-mouthed kiss. He sighs, adjusting under you. The change in angle on your clit makes you whimper, especially when you feel his hardened length smushed against the outside of your thigh.
Your hand goes down to grip it, to participate in the push and pull, the cat and mouse, but he shakes his head, pulling it out of the way. He holds you by the small of your back, urging you to keep rubbing on him. âYouâre lucky Iâm even givinâ you my thigh,â he spits. âAinât gonna let you play chutes and ladders tryna make me come when I know damn well where that hand was last night.â
âDaddy,â you pout at him, lower lip jutting out.
He only shakes his head. âDonât start.â
Whining in agitation, you manage to school yourself into behaving like heâd told you to. Every grind of your hips welcomes pleasure, beckons it, activates the porch light inside of you that invites it inside. You go limp against Joel as he guides you back and forth, and even limper when he tightens the muscle underneath your soaking core. Your hands anchor themselves on his broad shoulders, nails carving into his skin through the flimsy material of his shirt. He hisses underneath you, a break in his seemingly titanium resolve. You feel yourself getting closer, heat wreathing around your stomach, cunt clenching.
In your house, the foyer light flickers on.
Your hips stall over Joelâs as you see your dadâs backlit silhouette moving around in the foyer. Likely sliding on his shoes, patting his pockets for his wallet and his work phoneâŚ. You have two minutes at best.
Joelâs eyes follow your distracted line of vision. His amused chuckle warms the back of your neck. âOughta hurry up if you donât wanna get caught. Your old man would be in for a rude awakening, headinâ to work and finding his precious little girl fuckinâ my leg like a whore,â he murmurs.
He bounces his leg underneath you, and you bite back the needy cry that threatens to slip out. It feels so good, too good for you to think about anything other than the haze of arousal and pleasure that hovers over your head like a perpetual fog. You return to grinding down on him, hips pumping with a greater, renewed speed. âAttagirl,â Joel croons at you, and the hand at the small of your back presses harder, pushing you up and down his thigh.
Short, strained breaths of yours meet the morning air, eyes pinned on the rectangular window. Itâs a golden-washed reminder of how wrong this is. Your dad would blow a gasket, see red, breathe fire at you if he knew exactly what was happening just a few feet away from his front yard.
But you forget all about that when Joelâs calloused fingers cup your chin, nudging you to look at him. His eyes are all pupil, darkened with something like starvation, something like want. âDonât look at him. Look at me,â he coaxes, and he bounces his thigh again.
Youâre close, you can feel it. He can feel it, too, in the way that your thighs fasten around his, your cunt rocking on him as your fervor makes the whole front porch shake and shudder. Tossing your hips back and forth, you wanted it, but now? Now you need it. Your stomach tightens, your legs shivering below you as your cunt gushes all over both of your shorts. âThatâs it, baby, come on me like you were begginâ to. âS alright, nice and easy for daddy, mhm?â He tenses his thigh one final time, and you lurch over that edge. âGooood girl,â he hums as your cunt flutters against his leg. âYouâre a daredevil, arenât you?â he asks, jerking his head toward your house.
You figure you must be, after what you just did.
Youâd planned on staying there, riding it out and trembling against his warm chest. But the garage cranks open. You jolt off of Joelâs lap, damn near teleporting across the porch with how fast you move. Joel smirks at you, crossing his unfucked leg over his freshly fucked one, where youâd rubbed your cum all over his skin until itâd glistened. The sight warms your stomach all over again, but it doesnât last â nerves spasm in your ribcage as your dad ducks out into the driveway.
You fumble with your shorts, pulling them down and crossing your hands in front of the obvious stain on the gray fabric. Your dad squints across the yard, cupping a hand over his eyes. âMiller?â He calls your name shortly after, and you straighten. âYouâre up early, kiddo.â
You open your mouth, on the precipice of a lie that you know wonât be good. Itâll come out unsteady, dishonest, and uneven.Â
Joel points at the package at the foot of his doorstep. âMy toolbox got sent to yours,â he explains. âDamn postal. âBout as good as the Boston Post Road these days. But your kidâs got me covered. Raised her right.â
For the second time, Joel Miller covers for you. You have no idea where this leaves you, standing under your dadâs scrutinizing gaze. With your cum cooling and sticking to your folds the same way itâs cooling and sticking to his leg, Joel knows your secret. And heâs keeping it.
Your dad only gives a shallow nod, looking between the two of you. âWell,â he hooks a hand back at his truck. âI gotta head off to work.â He shifts on his feet, this time pointing to you. âAnd you head back inside, kiddo. Too early for you to be up and movinâ.â Of course it is.
You stare at the ground, the pollen and stray leaves below your feet. Finally, you settle on a nod. Shallow and halfhearted, much like his. Your dad, satisfied, retreats back into the garage. You hear the truck engine come to life.
âYou heard the man,â Joel says. You tighten your fists, moving to step away, but the way Joelâs eyes glimmer has you loitering. He lowers his voice. âSee you soon, daredevil.â
That damned nickname. âHow do you know Iâll be back?â you retort under your breath.
He shrugs. âIâm sure thereâll be more⌠âpackagesâ.â
You blame the heat in your body on the rising sun, sweat clinging to the back of your neck as you plod off through the front yard. Thereâs only one thought in your head as your dad pulls out and you close the garage. Mr. Miller canât happen again.
Mistake number four: thinking youâre telling the truth.
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sea-cret obsession | j.m. x f!reader
masterlist | updates blog
pairing: dad's enemy!yachter!joel miller x f!reader
summary: [no outbreak] your dad's always had a superiority complex when it comes to his place at austin's finest yacht club. when joel miller joins the club, not only does he dethrone your dad â he also becomes your newest obsession.
warnings: (18+ mdni) yachter!joel, dad's enemy!joel, age gap (mid 20s/mid 50s), alcohol, joel is implied to be older than reader's dad - don't read too far into it, reader wears a bikini (anyone can, i promise!), fantasizing, creepyish joel but reader's into it, soft!dom joel, porn with a paper-thin plot, m!receiving oral, throatfucking, facial, cum-eating, f!masturbation, blowjob in the captain's chair, daddy kink (oops), thigh riding, dirty talk, praise, degradation, pet names, aftercare [no use of y/n]
word count: 2.9k
a/n: this was supposed to be a ficlet for @iamasaddie's âď¸game. this is not a ficlet. please suspend your disbelief, this concept simply fell into my lap the moment i saw the wonderful moodboard aly put together for me. go check out the other fics, most of which are much shorter than mine and are absolute brain candy, that stemmed from aly's game!
Austin is hotter than the hinges on the gates of Hell, and you havenât stopped sweating bullets since climbing out of Lake Travis. After an afternoon of floating belly-up in your bikini off of the dock of the yacht club your dad frequents, your need for a drink finally outweighed your need for aimless swimming.
Your bare feet are still burning from the hotfooted walk across the wooden deck into the bar. Water droplets cling to your skin and leave a pattern of stippled concrete in your wake. Itâs been a few hours youâve seen your dad around the club, having already gotten into a pissing contest with new club members over horsepower and amenities. Your dadâs the type to always want the biggest and the best: the most decks, the biggest wine fridge, the nicest galley â because God forbid he lose his running ten-year superiority to a newbie.
So yeah, you need a drink. You donât even have to order; the bartender, Callie, simply slides your usual order over, which you nurse while watching a preseason football game. You havenât bothered to sit down, your hip popped out with your elbows propped up on the granite countertop.
You donât even notice the wolf whistle from behind is directed at you until a man sidles up next to you, flashing a smile at Callie. He looks like he belongs in a yacht club, curls styled and sculpted neatly around his face down to where the collar of his blue blazer begins. Some of the buttons on his striped shirt are undone, and your eyes, much to your chagrin, linger at the slice of tanned chest peeking through the fabric.
He looks you up and down, unabashedly licking his lips when he sees the crease of your thighs. âSweetheart, youâre much too pretty to be entertaininâ the ragtag kinda men around here.â
Itâs not the first time youâve been hit on by the yachters at this particular club, but it is the first time one of them has caught your eye. âIâm notââ you start before you hear the telltale sign of your dadâs laughter coming from close by. You turn around, drink in hand as he rounds the corner, sunglasses on and a towel around the back of his neck.Â
Your dadâs expression immediately sours with a speed youâve never seen in him before. His lips draw tight at the sight of you â or maybe the sight of the man next to you.
âJoel,â your dad says, separating from his entourage. He wraps a protective arm around your shoulder and pulls you into his chest. âI see youâve met my daughter.â
âSeems it,â the man, presumably Joel, nods, flagging down Callie for an old fashioned. The glass sweats condensation along his sturdy hand. He holds eye contact with you while he sips, only looking away when he runs his tongue along the rim of the glass. âOughta let me take âer for a ride one day. Bet sheâd appreciate the fine machinery of a real boat.â
You donât miss the innuendo to his words even if your dad doesnât. You scrub your hands along your sides, your sunscreen-sticky skin dewy beneath your palms. You shush the part of yourself that bets youâd appreciate it, too.
âYour boat is maybe good for getting to the retirement home across the lake,â your dad snaps, squeezing your shoulder. He pushes his sunglasses up his nose. âCâmon, kiddo, letâs head home.â
You find your flip flops at the bottom of your beach bag, barely having the time to kick them on before your dad is practically pulling you out of the yacht club. He gives half-hearted waves to his usual boating buddies until youâre in the parking lot, surrounded by heat shimmering over the blacktop. The scalding hot leather seats burn the backs of your thighs and the small of your back as you settle in. With a purr, the air conditioner blows a fresh burst of wind in your face.
âWhat was that all about?â you ask when he starts the engine.
Your dad clips his sunglasses on his polo shirt, gripping the steering wheel ten and two with a winded sigh through his nose. âFuckinâ... rookie with his triple-decker Ferretti.â
Joel looked rich. But not Ferretti rich. âWho the hell in Austin owns a Ferretti?â
âThat son of a bitch, thatâs who. I donât want you runninâ amok on Joelâs boat, you hear me?â
âAinât planning on it,â you respond as if you donât already know whatâll happen if Joel propositions you again.
You see Joel again soon, but only in passing. A wink behind your fatherâs back, a drink from the gentleman across the bar that was only coincidentally Joel. The locations of these run-ins are always different. Sometimes you walked by each other on the dock. Sometimes heâd give you both a quick wave from across the water before he sped off, leaving the boat rocking on the stirred up tide and your dad cussing up a storm.
Todayâs almost-tryst happens on the dock. Youâre walking past Joelâs designated dock in a bikini that youâd nearly thrown out because of its snug fit. You have to smother your disappointment when you donât see him on the top deck sipping a beer. You know better than to be disappointed over the man who your dad has not only claimed as a mortal enemy, but also claimed as the antichrist. With the thoughts Joel gives you when your hand is between your thighs, it might not be too far from the truth.
You think you have most of it figured out â heâs rough, he has to be. With how relentless as he is on the waters, it makes no sense for him to be anything else. His fancy, custom belt buckles snicking as it comes undone so he can yank his jeans down and get inside of you. Those chains he always wears would hang in your face, swaying with every roll of his hips into yours as he chases his pleasure deep inside of yourâ
âWoah there, darlinâ,â a honeyed voice coaxes you, a muscled arm darting out to stop you in your path. âAlmost walked right into the lake.â Your head snaps up to look at Joel, the very inconvenient object of your fantasies. You swallow the quickly-forming lump in the back of your throat. âYou sure you ainât had too many?â
âPositive,â you say. You havenât even done a shot s0 far today.
âMmm, alright.â The playful glint in his eyes doesnât seem too convinced. It makes your heart stutter before you remind it to keep beating. âTell ya what, youâre welcome to âsober upâ on my boat.â
You look between where your dadâs dock sits empty. Heâs out with his co-workers today, shooting the shit too much for their own good. Then you look between Joel and his boat, the beauty of a Ferretti thatâs just two steps away.
Mouth already watering at the possibilities, you say, âI do remember you promising me a ride, old man.â
Joelâs lips curl into a knowing smirk, and he makes the long step from the dock to the boat, hand held out for you. You donât hesitate to let him help you aboard.Â
Youâre on your knees in front of the captainâs chair before he gets to the middle of Lake Travis.
âOld man,â he mocks above you with his legs spread as far as they can go. You kitten-lick his hardened cock, making sure to lap up the obscene amount of his precum. Thereâs certainly one part of Joel that doesnât need to go to a retirement home, and itâs in your mouth. You suckle at the leaking head of his cock while his strokes your cheek, only pulling away to spoon a drop of his precum from your lip onto your tongue. âYou like suckinâ an older manâs cock, pretty girl?â
You nod eagerly, taking him deeper so you can tongue the vein along the underside of his cock. From that, he groans, head slumping on the headrest so he can gather himself. You spit a generous amount into your hand, wrapping around the base to properly suck him.
âBet thereâs a whole ânother lake in that skimpy lilâ bikini of yours, ainât that right?â You nod around his length and go a little deeper. Heâs heavy on your tongue, long and girthy all at once. He presses lightly against the back of your throat, prompting you to gag around him, but you wouldnât pull away from him even if the yacht itself set on fire. He moans as you start to bob your head up and down. You rub your thighs together just thinking about what his cock could be capable of between your legs. âMhm, I know, baby. You wanna push that outta the way and give it a rub for me? A rub for your real daddy?â
A choked whimper punches its way out of you. His hips jerk from the vibrations, unintentionally pushing himself further down your throat. You expect it to be too much, but it isnât. You pull away from him, taking a quick breath as you wrap your hand around the wide palm seated on his thigh and raise it to the back of your head. âPlease fuck my throat, daddy,â you pout up at him, a mixture of your spit and his precum dripping down your chin and into your cleavage.
Another groan tugs its way out of him when he looks down at you. He cups the back of your head and brings his cock back to your mouth. âCanât say no to such a gorgeous fuckinâ face. Gonna look so damn good covered in my cum.â You keep licking his tip, not wanting to miss a single drop of him. âGo âhead and put a hand on your pussy, baby. Rub that clit that daddyâs got all throbbinâ.â
And how could you ever say no to him? Your hand is down your bikini within seconds, peeling your tacky panties away from your cunt so your fingertips can rub circles along your clit. A circle against your swollen core pulls a moan from you right as he thrusts into your throat. He starts out slow, tentative as he pushes all the way into your throat and then pulls all the way out. His second thrust is much harder, stifling your breathing for a moment as a strangled noise of pleasure leave his parted lips.
He nudges you further down onto his cock, burying your nose into the triangle of skin exposed by his rumpled button-down. You force down the gag that builds in the back of your throat. Joel keeps your mouth speared on his cock with shallow rolls of his hips into the warm wetness of your mouth. You whine, prompting a hearty chuckle from him. âGood girl, daddyâs good little girl. Keep playinâ with yourself for me.â He smirks down at you. âAinât much different than what you do in your own bed, huh? Pussy just cryinâ for some cock, I bet.â
You moan in agreement as your eyes flutter shut when you rub your clit harder, harder, harder until arousal is smeared all over your knuckles and across your mound. âNuh-uh,â he says with a punctuating adjustment of his hips. You gag, spit webbing through Joelâs happy trail. âEyes on me.â
Youâre satisfied to find him just as debauched as you feel. Strands of his usually put-together hair are out of place along his forehead, and his golden chain glistens with sweat. His hands grip the arms of the captainâs chair, spread on the tanned leather and exerting dominance over your kneeling silhouette. But you arenât fooled. Thereâs a certain rosiness to his cheeks, a flare to his nose, that lets you in on the secret: heâs just as wrecked, just as in deep as you are.
You pull up and immediately sink down on his cock again, pleading eyes looking up at him, asking him. I want it daddy. I want you. And then heâs fucking your throat in earnest. His hips buck up to meet the back of your throat. You struggle to keep up with his size, his pace, but you suck his cock even with the knowledge that you wonât know how to explain your sore throat or raspy voice to your dad.
Joel squints down at you, absorbing the seeping spit from the corners of your raw lips, your droopy, ecstasy-laden eyes. He sighs, sinking down into the chair as he grinds his cock into your mouth and moves your head up and down his length. You take the hand that isnât playing with your clit and reach to grab at his balls, kneading them. A narrow breath trips out of his lips. âNasty bitch. Fuck, baby. Daddyâs close. Keep â keep doinâ that.â You drag your tongue along that bottom vein again, kneading one of his balls and making sure that when he pulls you off of his cock, you treat the head to one final taste.Â
âOpen up, slut,â he coaxes. His cock twitches. He jerks himself once, twice, and then cums, rope after rope hitting your damp skin. His cum is hot, sticky, and youâre too preoccupied with trying to catch some of his release that your hand stalls over your cunt. You whimper when his cum lands on your tongue and follow it up by swallowing. Joelâs breath is unsteady as he looks down at you, cock softening in his lap. âGood girl,â he praises, reaching out to run his thumb along your stained skin. Drop by drop, he feeds you his cum, and you lap it up just as eagerly as youâd lapped him up.Â
You pull your hand out of your bikini when heâs done, tacky arousal stretching between your fingers. Going back on your haunches, you suck in a deep breath through your abused throat.Â
Joel pats his wide, thick thighs above you, the same ones youâve been fantasizing about since that first day in the bar. âI promised you a ride, didnât I?â A familiar, hooked smirk pulls at his mouth. Your face lights up in recognition and you practically scamper onto his thigh, stumbling as you tug your bikini out of the way to settle yourself on the linen coral shorts he has on. Joel laughs, a noise that has your cunt leaking onto the fabric, clit fluttering from the friction. Heat pulls tight in your stomach.
His hands land on your hips, guiding you back and forth when you hesitate at first. âGrind on daddyâs thigh, baby. Wanna see you cum on me.â Your head tips forward, forehead slotting against his shoulder when you start to push your hips into his. Need springs awake in your stomach when he drags you forward. A frayed moan tumbles out of you from his near-manhandling. You rut into Joel, bouncing, grinding yourself on him in the same way that youâd imagined yourself doing at least a dozen times before this.
âDaddy,â you whimper when the muscle goes taut underneath you, plucking something in your cunt. At the same time, a speedboat passes Joelâs yacht outside, leaving the ship rocking on the water in time with your movements as you ride his thigh. You yelp, a strained noise as the pressure intensifies on your clit. âClose!â
He grips your hips even tighter, bounces his thigh up against you. âThatâs it, thatâs it. Let it happen baby, give it to daddy.â
You come undone with the taste of his cum still rich on your tongue and his words ringing in your buzzing ears. Your orgasm whips through your body and leaves you shuddering against his center, halfheartedly continuing to roll your hips up against him. His thumbs rub circles into your skin while you come down. You suck in a shaky breath, Joelâs palm stroking the small of your back. âDid good for me, baby. Look real pretty when you come. Real pretty.â
You give him a shy smile, and he leans forward to kiss you, a brief moment of gentleness amidst his usually ubiquitous harshness. He pulls away with a tiny pat to your ass. âLetâs get you cleaned up.â
You stumble off of him on shaky legs, leaning against the captainâs console. Joel pulls his shorts down his thighs and tucks his cock away, the wet spot your cunt had made on him beyond visible as he stretches himself out. He fishes around in a drawer in the galley for his baby wipes and joins you back at the console. He takes them to your face, wiping down where his cum had hit your skin. He even dabs gently at your thighs. Orgasm bliss clings to the edges of your vision still, and you canât help but lean into him as he takes care of you.
âCould take you for a real ride, now,â Joel says with a moderate shrug. âNice cove on the west side of the lake, good for a quick swim. Iâm sure your dad would throw a fit if he knew, but Iâm sure youâre good at keepinâ secrets, too. Got a real good mouth on ya.â
You playfully punch his shoulder with a roll of your eyes, and in that moment, it feels like youâve known Joel much longer than you have at all. Like this isnât your first time on his boat, and this wasnât his first time being in your mouth. âAlright,â you begrudgingly smile at him. âWhatever you say, old man.â
Itâs his turn to roll his eyes as he starts the engine.
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comeuppance | qz!j.m. x f!reader
masterlist | notifs blog
pairing: qz!joel miller x f!reader
summary: [post outbreak] when your recklessness causes an arms deal to go south, joel makes sure you regret it.
warnings: (18+ mdni) qz!joel, age gap (late 20s/early 50s), written with hbo!joel in mind but with game!joel lore, guns, mentioned executions, misogynistic names outside (and in!) a sexual context, canon-typical violence as in murder (joel kills a soldier 'on-screen'), reader is a little shit but joel is worse, darkish & dubcon, spanking as a punishment, gunplay, attempted boot humping, degradation, humiliation, one kick to the cunt, mean!joel, orgasm denial [no use of y/n]
word count: 2.7k
a/n: this is my (admittedly late) submission for @iamasaddie's writing challenge 2.0! my prompt was 'you can't hide forever'. the genre was technically dark but joel himself isn't scarily dark here. thank you so much to aly for, once again, bringing this fandom together with her challenges. it's a steep task but she does a great job every time! and even more thanks to @joelsdagger and @lovesickonmybed for helping me brainstorm! (i have half of a brain without my wonderfully creative friends).
It only takes one deal gone south to fuck everything up.
You know the compass is already ticking that way the moment you and Joel, your longtime smuggling partner, enter the abandoned warehouse. Much like everything else in the Boston QZ, itâs falling apart. The corrugated metal walls are pitted with rust, and old blood is caked all over the floors. In another life, it mightâve been a slaughterhouse, but thereâs no real way of knowing. Itâs been long enough that any signage has deteriorated. The buildingâs state of decay, however, isnât what messes things up.
Itâs the singular man that walks in from the opposite side of the atrium.
FEDRAâs favorite executioner. Slitted eyes far apart, thinned out lips, and graying black hair. Rarely seen away from the gallows, only recognizable to you from all of the nightmares youâve had of his face being the last you see.
If it were drugs, youâd think nothing of it. FEDRA soldiers buy quietly from you all of the time â but they have no need for guns that they donât already have.
Joel steps forward, merchandise in the duffel bag over his shoulder, none the wiser. A knot ties itself in the base of your throat. Youâre too busy trying to figure out what to do, what to do, what to do that you barely even realize that the soldier has a gun aimed right between your eyes until youâre looking right down the barrel.
Your hand jerks to your holster, drawing your pistol in one swipe.
âDrop your fucking gun!â he barks in your direction. It clatters out of your hands. âDonât you dare fucking move.â Your hands fly up as you take a step back, nearly stumbling into a nearby crate. âJoel Miller and his bitch,â the man sneers. âWhat a lucky find. You two have quite the bounty on your heads.â
âDonât do anything stupid,â Joel says, face completely blank.
âEasy for you to say,â the guard says with a nagging smirk. âYour little cunt here already did. Pretty fucking dumb not to check who youâre selling your merchandise to, huh?â
Joel tenses, ultimately huffing through his nose. âCan we get this over with?â
âIâll make it easy, Miller. Come with me alive so I get paid, or come with me dead so I still get paid.â
Joelâs fingers twitch behind his back, and after almost three years of working with him, itâs impossible not to pick up on the subtext. Keep him busy. His hand is already reaching for the revolver in his back pocket.
âTurn the other way. I can make this worth your time,â you say. âBut youâre lucky if those sons of bitches you work for even offer you half the reward theyâve posted for us. Dragging the bodies from Area 5 to the closest checkpoint⌠youâd have your work cut out for you.â
âYeah fucking right,â he spits. âYou two have been running around free for too damn long. Causing too much trouble. Not anymoââ
The manâs mouth freezes around the words by the time the bullet soars throat the canvas fabric of Joelâs duffel bag and through the manâs jugular. The soldierâs hands claw for his throat while he gargles on the blood as he begins the descent to the ground. New blood, still pumping directionless from the split artery, joins the old.
Much like him, where heâs slumping against the ground, chest moving until the very end, your hands clutch at your own throat. âWe need to go,â you say, knowing the rest of FEDRA will come looking for the firefight at any second now. Joel doesnât move. âJoel!â You reach out to tug his sleeve, but he doesnât react. âJesusâ move!â
Joel turns to face you, gun still hanging from his hand. His fingers flex around the grip. âWhat the hell were you thinkinâ, little girl?â You can hear his breathing, amplified from how close he is to you. His once inexpressive face is now red, lips curled, skin tight like a crushed soda can.Â
âIâ what?â
âNot vettinâ your buyers. First fuckinâ thing I told you all them years ago, wasnât it? Gotta check so you donât sell shit to the wrong guy, yeah?â He stalks closer to you â you stumble back.
Not vetting the now dead executioner, whose blood is currently creeping up to the soles of your boots. Your mistake, yes, a potentially catastrophic one that youâll definitely never make again after this, but heâd been on your ass about finding buyers and after an entire day of burning bodies, the last thing you wanted to do was go asking around about the âJohnâ in search of guns that youâd talked to over the radio tower.
âWeâre alive, arenât we?â
Joel finally jerks his sleeve away from your grip. Your hand falls slack by your side, burning from his fire stoker touch. âAnd you oughta count your fuckinâ blessings for that. Dumbfuck of a girl, gonna get me killed,â he spits. Spittle flies across your neck.Â
You flinch â and not because youâre scared. Youâve never seen him like this before. You hear noise in the distance, the moving of FEDRA trucks, no doubt. âJoel! We can do this later â we need to fucking goââ
âThen you better start running,â he says gruffly.
You donât need to be told twice.
You sprint out of the atrium, cursing as your bloodied soles carve tracks behind you. A stack of crates blocks the door, which you vault over and shimmy your way through the broken glass panel. The hallway ahead of you is dark, and you have no idea where the fuck youâre going, only that you canât stop. Each impact of your foot on the ground is like being struck by lightning, carbonating the racing blood pumping through your body. More glass crunches behind you, and a shock of terror pierces you when you hear Joelâs snarls filling the corridor.
Thereâs a metal cart in your way, which you send whirling in Joelâs direction. He grunts, presumably hitting him in the stomach before it goes clattering on the ground. You make the most of the diversion, hurtling forward and lurching through a cracked door.
Dead fucking end.
An office, by the looks of it. Desks all over the place, leftover tasks still pinned on cork boards from outbreak day, chairs on their sides. You hear Joel huffing and puffing behind you, and fear forks through you. You fall to your hands and knees, crawling underneath the labyrinth of desks and tucking yourself against a wall, carpet-burned hand to your mouth to muffle your breathing. Your chest avalanches with every single breath.
âYou ainât off the hook,â Joel says, voice getting closer with every word. You can hear the thump of his boots against the carpet. See the spread of his shadow roaming across the wall. You squint through the seam of two desks. He's looking over his shoulder when you haul yourself across the room to the next closest desk.
You look around for anything that might get you out of this long enough to slip back out of the door. If you can make it back to the apartment, maybe he can cool off on his own walk back. You reach up for a stapler and take a brief second to peek over a filing cabinet before flinging it against the wall. It snaps open, spilling decades old staples all over the floor.
âOnly a clickerâs fallinâ for that,â he tuts at you. His boots land on the floor again, one, two, three steps closer to you. You wince, balling your hands into fists.Â
All you can hear is the thrashing of your own heart. You scooch away from the desk â maybe if you throw something small at him, like a pack of sticky notes, itâll be enough to abduct his attention long enough for you to slip byâ
âYou canât hide forever,â Joel goddamn coos at you. You see him bending at the waist, scoping out the undersides of desks, seeking you outâ
You crawl out from under the desk and book it to the door.
Stupid. Fucking. Idea.
Joel hauls you back by the belt loop, laughing as you cry out. You try squirming away, kicking at him, but his other arm wraps around your torso. It hits you then that you have no idea what he might do to you. Youâve trusted him with your life before, but what would he do when you risked his? Youâd always been too scared to find out. He spins you, slamming you over the desk. You cry out as your chest meets the wood. His hand drags your wrists together, pinning them at the small of your back.
âLet me â the fuckâ go!â you yell at him, trying to bend your elbow at the right angle to nail him in the chest.
He tightens his grip so much that you can barely move an inch. âMade your fuckinâ bed, gotta lie in it, sweetheart,â he tuts, shaking his head at you. His hand grazes over your ass, and you stiffen as he looms over you. He is just a man. Your mind spins to the worst-case scenario. No, no, no, noâ
âHow about an⌠old-fashioned corporal punishment to set ya straight?â Within the next second, heâs yanking your jeans down your thighs.
Oh. Oh fuck.
âJoelââ you exhale, breath shuddery. âKnock it offââ
âNo panties? I was gonna be nice and spank ya over themâŚâ Joel frowns at you. âPoor baby. âS gonna sting real bad.â
You snap at him, âWhat, you want me to go to the local QZ Victoriaâs Secret?â
Joel swats, hard, across your asscheek.
Youâve seen how intense Joelâs brute strength can be. Youâve just never been on the receiving end of it. A cry pushes out of your throat, and you hunch over the desk as you struggle helplessly against Joel. Tears spring at your eyes.
Mercifully, Joel runs his calloused palm over the smarting skin. âShh, shh, shh, shh. âS okay, Jusâ gotta teach ya a lesson. Make sure it sticks.â He strokes the nape of your neck as you whimper into the desk.
You tense up in preparation for the second hit, but, if anything, it just makes the impact worse. It prickles your other cheek, leaving your knees shaky. And God help you, your clit twitches. Twitches. Your thighs are already heating up, and you canât help but squirm in a good way underneath Joel. A single tear slips over your waterline, and you have to tilt your head into the shoulder of your shirt to wipe it off. You donât want him to see you weak â not that weak.
The next spank makes him grunt from how hard he swings his palm into your backside. âJoel!â you shout, pain nearly splitting you in two. Your feet raise off of the ground as you prop yourself up on the desk, kicking uselessly at his shins. All he does is chuckle at you.
Horror sinks like a cinderblock in your stomach when you realize that your hole, leaking slick, is practically fucking winking at him. You thank the darkness. Itâs about the only good thing about this place.
âYou donât like that?â he mock-pouts at you. Itâs enough to make you throb. The opposite, youâd say if you could.
A series of spanks follows, but at least these are lighter, and in rapid succession. Still, you jerk with each impact, squirming so that your fingers dance in his grip. âStupid little girl. Thought you could sell our shit to a FEDRA bitch and get off scot-free? Really thought you could get away from me, huh?â
You try clamming up, desperately attempting to close your legs together. You squeeze your thighs together, relieved at the pressure â and then you hear a resounding click behind you.
You still.
Joelâs gun, still fucking hot from the bullet itâd fired right into the executionerâs throat, traces up the small of your back⌠all the way to your throat. âCould put one right here,â Joel whispers, more to himself than you. âShow ya what happens to girls that donât follow orders.â He jams it into your skin, and you hiss at the pain, at the bruise itâs sure to leave. And in spite of it all, you fucking gush. God, youâre fucked up.
He wouldnât kill you â he needs you more than you need him. But common sense isnât enough to prevent the thrill, the arousal smiting your body from head to toe.
âIâll reconsider if ya give it a kiss.â He nudges the barrel carefully against your lips and you stop breathing for a second, maybe two. âGo on. Give it some lovinâ. Suck it like a cock. I know youâre good at it. Hear all the guys you bring over.â
You whimper at the thought of Joel listening to you getting your hook ups off â at the thought of him fisting his own cock while he listens. Obediently, you part your lips, slowly, ever so slowly, taking the gun down your throat. It fills your mouth up in such a strange way â all hard edges. Itâd be freezing cold if not for the fact that itâs a weapon of death, a scythe in its own way. One press of the trigger, and youâd be just like the guard. You suck even harder at it, eyes rolling back in your skull. Your thighs twitch, stripes of slick running down your thighs.Â
Joel reaches between your legs, grabbing at the meat of your inner thigh to spread you open. Instead, he gets a handful of the arousal thatâs been pooling between your legs since he first bent you over the desk.
You freeze, pausing your ministrations on the pistol. He himself freezes before he drags his hips over your folds. His finger pads hover over your swollen clit before he properly rubs you once, and then twice. Your hips cant into the closest thing â his hand.
Joel makes a disgusted noise and swats your leaking pussy before shoving you forward and stepping back. Youâre panting, properly fucked out even though heâd barely touched you. Cross-eyed, tongue hanging out, face hot. He looks you up and down, brows furrowing with revulsion. âHorny fuckinâ bitch. Creaminâ all over me. That long since you got action that a spankinâ and a gun in your mouth is all it takes to get you riled up? Pathetic.â He shoves the gun back in his pocket, still shining with your saliva.
He wipes your wetness all over your leg, grabs the back of your collar, and drags you to the floor in one foul swoop. You fall on your hands and knees again, ass still stinging from his treatment, lightheaded from how needy you are. Even his brutal treatment makes you whimper.Â
You reach for his calf, pulling yourself up to brace your dripping cunt against his boot. You rut against it, not even fully cognizant of your movements as you roll your hips, praying that he lets you have this if nothing else. Your orgasm, wetting his boot thoroughly. Your scent, clinging to him on the walk back to the apartment. You buck into the boot, moaning as the toe bumps against your clit. It might be enough, if you could just do it one more timeâ
Joel tears his shoe out from underneath you, face pinched with aversion. âNo!â you cry, still grabbing for his calf. You fall onto your back, legs spread and panting. Your ass needles from his spanking. The ceiling tiles spin above you.Â
The same toe youâd been humping kicks into your cunt, and you yelp, curling in on yourself. Another tear slides down your burning cheek as you reach down to cup your sore pussy. Even that pressure feels like touching a live wire.Â
Joel looks down at his shining boot and makes a disgusted noise. âDoes humiliatinâ yourself always get ya dicked down?âÂ
He turns around, already walking away from you without a care in the world. The gun grip pokes out of his pocket, taunting you.
âPull your goddamn pants up and get a move on. Curfewâs soon.â
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now that i'm officially putting my soapbox away to (hopefully) gather dust in the closet... next up from me is... đĽđĽđĽ a lesson in condom sense!
i'm aiming to have her out in the world by this weekend, tags are subject to change because this is only 1/3rd done, but please keep in mind i'm a full time student (and working in editorial!) so my schedule can be unpredictable. that said, the support on my blog has been beyond phenomenal and i am so grateful and humbled to see all of you enjoying my work â can't wait for you all to see this one <33
Update: POSTED!! đŠ
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can you share a snippet of condom sense i need it in my life
you got it, nons xx
more pink vibes of course, courtesy of this glittery ass fic. 18+ below the cut.
UPDATE: condom sense is posted!!
Maybe itâs because youâre surrounded by phallic dildos, maybe itâs because youâre goddamn stupid, but Mr. Miller, who seems to be fresh off of a worksite, looks good. Even though thereâs an unmistakable surprise stricken across his brown eyes and a splotch of dirt on the slice of neck above his flannel collar, his hair is mussed perfectly, his scruff tamed along his jawline. Your eyes flash down to what heâs holding: a fleshlight.
You hate how quickly your mouth goes dry at the thought of Joel himself thrusting desperately into the dumb toy, and worse is the thought of him using your cunt to get off instead. Youâre quick to remind yourself. Off. Limits. First of all, you donât fuck customers. And you definitely donât fuck customers that are your dadâs best friend.
Joelâs fist tightens around the box as if trying to obscure what you already know. His face is redder than youâve ever seen it, cheeks like apples. In the end, itâs him who speaks first. âThis ainât a Walmart, hun.â
Your face heats up, and you shrug. âPays well.â
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JOELOVERTURE: UP âN COMING
â vetty highlights her plans for the coming weeks/month
MORNING CARDIO is now a single-parter, open to riffs & oneshots. id touched on this earlier in the month but never formalized it. the main reason for this isâŚ
DBF JOEL MOVES IN: a still in-the-works and backburner project of mind thatâs going to be fun for all of us, i think. it has a much more flexible plot, and the dynamic is much more complex than what âdaredevilâ, the series that once housed âmorning cardioâ, had. im aiming for a summer release đ¤
but letâs talk about whatâs happening now in vettyâs brain
HOOK âEM: a mini-fic: i keep talking about it. i promise i havenât forgotten about it. she. is. coming. (literally). she doesnât have a single word to her document, and i have three versions of where it could go â which is why the deliberation period will be much longer for this one than the drafting period. but she will show up. just fashionably late.
REQUEST #1: one of the requests i got. âď¸ đť (you know who you are) (this is just the request that formed in my head the fastest â id love to have the others for future use! everything i received from this post has been phenomenal and has kicked up the dust bunnies in my head)
DRABBLES: many of the coach!joel headcanons i received are all so so so drabble-worthy. i hope to pursue these after part two is up
EXPANSION: im eager to write for more characters pedro plays. he brings such an unadulterated spirit to the camera and has an energy that i want to riff off of in my own creative practice! so look ahead for more non-joels out there.
â all of the housekeeping business out of the way, i canât wait to dive headfirst into all of this. reminder that my ask box is open for business 24/7 and i love talking about my work! my process! my joels! most writers jump for joy about it, definitely including myself.
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about vetty
so, to properly introduce myself:
i'm vetty (20s, she/her), and i've been lurking in the backwoods of tlou tumblr since early summer, give or take. i'm currently studying for my mfa in fiction.
i can be considered the following:
⪠a diehard defender of sweet tea, pretentious about poetry, an antique store regular, and a museum appreciator
i cannot be considered the following:
⪠a bigot. this blog is safe space for everyone of all marginalized identities! my door is open to you.
who i'm writing for:
⪠currently, only joel miller. mostly for pedro's interpretation of joel, but game joel readers should be fine here. everyone's welcome!
â except for minors. this is an 18+ blog, and most of my content will be nsfw. minors, please do not interact.
please, feel free to stop by at any time! my dms and inbox are 1000% open to discuss writing, films, literature, and more. even if you just need to talk, i'm happy to listen.
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⪠vetty's masterlist âŞ
hi, welcome in !
my blog is 18+ â mdni. warnings & tags can be found on each work of mine. do not copy, translate, repost, or put my writing into ai in any capacity.
i don't have a taglist, but you can find my updates blog @joelovertureupdates. turn on notifications to learn when i post new fics.
JOEL MILLER : THE LAST OF US
⪠comeuppance: when your recklessness causes an arms deal to go south, joel makes sure you regret it.
⪠daredevil: after a chance encounter when your dad's best friend catches you sneaking home from a hookup, he has an interesting way of making sure it doesn't happen again.
⪠hook 'em [series] : trying to get back at your cheating quarterback ex-boyfriend leads you right into the arms of his coach. you plan on staying there for a little while.
⪠a lesson in condom sense : the last customer you expect to be waltzing into your secret day job is your dad's best friend. you can only fight the tension between you two for so long before giving in.
⪠sea-cret obsession : your dad's always had a superiority complex when it comes to his place at austin's finest yacht club. when joel miller joins the club, not only does he dethrone your dad â he also becomes your newest obsession.
⪠snowbound : joel is the only guy you know with four wheel drive in the rarely-snowy state of texas, so it seems like a no-brainer to have him pick you up from work â until his truck breaks down, leaving you two to the classic 'huddle for warmth' solution.
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⪠hook 'em : series masterlist âŞ
pairing: college football coach!joel miller x f!reader
rating: explicit, 18+ mdni
series summary: [no outbreak] trying to get back at your cheating quarterback ex-boyfriend leads you right into the arms of his coach. you plan on staying there for a little while.
series warnings + tags: au, college football coach!joel, cheating & misogyny carried out by an oc, minor violence, brief mentions of drugs, alcohol, age gap (22/52), could be considered dubcon by way of power imbalance but consent is enthusiastic, explicit smut [check chapter warnings for specifics]
main masterlist
đ main series đ
one : hook 'em horny
two : [coming soon!]
three : tba
four : tba
five : tba
six : tba
đ bonuses đ
coming soon. . .
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a lesson in condom sense | dbf!j.m. x f!reader
masterlist
pairing: dbf!joel miller x sex shop employee!reader
summary: [no outbreak] the last customer you expect to be waltzing into your secret day job is your dad's best friend. you can only fight the tension between you two for so long before giving in.
warnings: (18+ mdni) what it says on the can: reader works at an adult store, many sex toys referenced (& used!), age gap (mid 20s/early 50s) brief mention of sex work, don't follow reader's example, joel buys a fleshlight, joel fantasizes about you, brief mention of bondage, mostly pwp, reader humps a chair + gets caught doing it, mild exhibitionism, 'just the tip' that leads into unprotected piv, creampie, oral (f!receiving), vaginal fingering, joel uses a vibrator on reader, degradation, praise, soft dom!joel, pet names, aftercare [no use of y/n]
word count: 6.5k
a/n: condom sense is, in fact, a real sex shop that exists and serves the DFW metro area, so not exactly austin, but the name was too perfect not to pretend. unlike these two, please favor condom sense and wrap it up. dbf sex shop joel won the poll for my next wip, but expect coach!joel pt. 2 to be right around the corner.
Admittedly, working at a sex shop isnât the highest point in your life, but it certainly isnât the lowest, either. The 40% off employee discount does soften the blow of lying through your teeth at cookouts. Saying youâre working at Walmart while trying to navigate a competitive job market goes over better than saying you work at Condom Sense.
All things considered, itâs not the worst place youâve worked. Your manager, a 60-year-old stuck in the 70s named Sally, is much more lenient than your past bosses. You get to recommend toys to the girls that come through, and you also get the satisfaction of them coming back to sing your praises. Condom Sense never wouldâve been your first choice of work right out of college, but now you almost mourn the day youâll have to leave.
Thumbing through an old issue of Cosmopolitan, your bubblegum is beginning to lose its flavor. The tinny noise of Madonnaâs âLike a Prayerâ purrs out of the ancient radio sitting alongside tentacle dildos. Itâs still a little weird to have a constant audience of whips, handcuffs, vibrators, fleshlights, and everything in between, but since your bedside drawer has gotten fuller with every shift you take, you really canât judge anything stocked here.
The later shifts are normally slower, especially this close to 11:00. Sometimes thereâs a gaggle of sex workers outside of the door, dressed skimpily no matter how biting the rare Texas cold is, but that isnât the case tonight â youâre the only one here, feet kicked up on a pink stool.
As if the world has it out for you, the rust-eaten bell lets out a metallic jingle, and you canât help but roll your eyes at the thought of having to put your Cosmopolitan away. Who the hell comes into a sex shop twenty minutes before close? Someone whose vibrator gave out on them, someone who needs lube, or both.
âWelcome to Condom Sense,â you put on your customer service voice, reluctantly bouncing off of the stool. You flip your magazine shut and toss it onto the counter, breaking into a crouch to finally make yourself useful by restocking the condom display. âLet me know if you need anything.â
A small grunt comes in response, and then some heavy footsteps carry through the store. Great, even better, you think to yourself, itâs a man.
The crowd thatâs attracted to Condom Sense is mostly college-aged or middle-aged women, not with too much wiggle room in between. Itâs Texas, after all, where ownership of more than six dildos is âprohibitedâ. Sometimes thereâs a stray overeager boyfriend or creep with a receding hairline, but normally Sally is right around the corner to tell anyone out of line to scram, waving around a broom as if trying to fend off a stray dog. Thatâs not the case tonight.
You hold your breath and keep putting boxes of Trojans into the glass display case. Whoeverâs in here is quiet, at least, not the type to ask for help or make too much of a ruckus with knocking shelving units over. Hopefully you can get him checked out quickly so you can close up and head home.
You stay like that for five minutes, sorting through boxes and marking stock until a throat clears in front of the counter.
Jolting up, you smooth out the wrinkles in your clothes, fiddling with your nametag. âHi, yes, you all seeeee-â
Who the hell comes into a sex shop twenty minutes before close? Apparently Joel Miller does. You know, your dadâs best friend.
Maybe itâs because youâre surrounded by phallic dildos, maybe itâs because youâre goddamn stupid, but Mr. Miller, who seems to be fresh off of a worksite, looks good. Even though thereâs an unmistakable surprise stricken across his brown eyes and a splotch of dirt on the slice of neck above his flannel collar, his hair is mussed perfectly, his scruff tamed along his jawline. Your eyes flash down to what heâs holding: a fleshlight.
You hate how quickly your mouth goes dry at the thought of Joel himself thrusting desperately into the dumb toy, and worse is the thought of him using your cunt to get off instead. Youâre quick to remind yourself. Off. Limits. First of all, you donât fuck customers. And you definitely donât fuck customers that are your dadâs best friend.
Joelâs fist tightens around the box as if trying to obscure what you already know. His face is redder than youâve ever seen it, cheeks like apples. In the end, itâs him who speaks first. âThis ainât a Walmart, hun.â
Your face heats up, and you shrug. âPays well.â
âCanât blame ya there,â he nods along. ââS been a while. You alright?â
âI mean, I work at a store called Condom Sense. What do you figure?â
âCâmon now, canât be that bad,â Joel grins at you.
âIt isnât,â you concede. You look him up and down again, trying really hard not to spend too much time on the toy in his hand. âLong day⌠contracting?â
Joel lets out a long, winded sigh through his teeth. âYeah⌠my guys fucked up our concrete job. Had us there two hours longer than we were sâposed to be. Probably gonna be another long one tomorrow.â He runs a hand back through his already disheveled hair, his nose flaring. âNot your problem though, sweetness.â His eyes flick over you, over the counter and the neon signs behind you. âYour daddy know you work here?â
You freeze, eyes widening. âHeâd have a cow, Joel. And if you think youâre about to hold this over my head or somethin-â
âWoah, woah, now when did I ever say any âa that? Thatâs none of my business, hun. Youâre an adult, as long as you're gettinâ paid and youâre comfortable? I donât see the issue.â
You nod, heart slowing to a steadier pace, or at least as steady of a pace as it can manage with Joel standing on the other side of the counter holding a fleshlight. âSo, uh, relaxing night in orâŚ?â You swallow hard. Professionalism, you remind yourself.
Joel laughs, an almost nervous sound as he rubs the back of his neck. âJust⌠a bit dry lately, I guess.â
âFirst time buying?â you ask with a raised brow.
âThat obvious?â He slowly slides the box across the counter to you, and you inspect it under the fluorescents.
You hum under your breath, tilting the box away from you to get a better look. âNot a bad first choice. Iâve heard good things. Since itâs your first time, are you more of a spit-in-your-hand kind of guy, or do you have some massage oil or lube?â
Joel stares at you, almost sputtering as his lips try to form words. âWhat?â
You shake your head, veins suddenly iced over. âShit, sorry, I shouldnât be asking-â
âNo, no, not a problem, sweetheart. Itâs your job. Just⌠donât expect to be hearinâ... that from you.â He chuckles, but it sounds strangled. âI⌠normally spit. âS faster.â
Joel, desperately shucking off his belt and pants, pulling his hardened cock out, spitting into his hand so he can wrap his fist around himself. That first groan of pleasure he lets out, hand moving up, down, up, down. He treasures his alone time so much that he has to be the type to savor itâ but you canât think that far. Your tongue darts out to swipe along your lower lip, and you swear Joel tracks the movement. Your chest is tied up in knots.
âWell, youâre gonna want a heating massage oil. Moves it along easier, feels realer, yâknow?â You reach across the counter and pluck a blue bottle from the display. âThis is our bestseller.â Mustering up the most casual smile you can give him without wincing, you tap your fingers along the countertop.
Joel looks between you and the bottle, gnawing nervously at the inside of his cheek. âThanks, hun. Thatâll be it, then.â
You ring him up, sinking the fleshlight, the oil, and a complimentary toy cleaner deep into a bag that says THANK YOU four times along the side. The printer buzzes as it spits out his receipt, and you hand it all to him. He gives you a nod, casual, simple. You could keep it that way, a tiny interaction isolated to the four walls of Condom Sense, but you feel the words knocking at the backs of your teeth.
Youâre saying them before you can second guess them: âEnjoy yourself, Joel.â
He makes eye contact for what must be the first time that night, eyes murky with something that, if you were more gullible, could come across as want. âI will, sweetheart.â Joel nods, wrapping a large hand around the bag. You donât watch him leave, but you do hear the ring of the doorbell as the door knocks shut. Itâs not enough to distract yourself from thinking of what his moans sound like.
Joel sweats like a whore in church the next time your dad calls him. He practically is one when he thinks about what itâd be like to be inside of the divinity of your body, a rosary of sweat collecting on his neck. Heâd say every prayer if it meant he got to keep thinking of you like that â feels realer, a spit-in-your-hand kind of guy, enjoy yourself. Enjoy yourself. Enjoy yourself.
Itâs shameful, the way he thinks of you, the daughter of the man he considers his best friend. But he canât make himself stop. Every time he pulls the fleshlight out of his drawer, you appear in his head. Sometimes youâre bent over the counter, whining as he rolls his hips into yours. Sometimes he rucks up those fucking skirts you wear to shove his face between your thighs, lets you soak his face as you pull his hair. Sometimes youâre riding him, moving how he shifts the fleshlight over his leaking cock.
Every time, regardless of what he imagines, he shakes himself loose in post-orgasm bliss, guilt chewing at his stomach. Every time he passes Condom Sense on the way to a job, he wonders if youâre working. Whatâs a respectable amount of time to stop in for a second sex toy purchase? Joel wouldn't know, and he doesnât want to be selfish. Money doesnât grow on trees, unlike his arousal. The fleshlight is already miles better than his own hand, and he worries what he might say if he sees you bouncing around, say, restocking dildos.
He manages to keep his self control. He doesnât get on his knees and confess his sins to your dad on the phone, or when they run into each other at home depot. By some miracle, he doesnât get any further than flicking his turn signal before immediately turning it off when he passes Condom Sense.
And then he has the dream.
Itâs his day off, a Sunday, and he wakes up to his dick softening and his cum drying on his abdomen and all of the hair spattered there. Thereâs traces of the dream in reach, tugging on the harness heâd tied around your body to pull you back on his cock.
This time, he canât shake himself loose.
Heâs standing in Condom Sense by ten in the morning, running his hands down his sides and feeling oddly exposed, as if every camera or wandering employee can see the shame painted on his skin much like his cum had been. He hopes youâre not here; heâs not sure he can handle it, but he is sure of the arousal that would brim in his lower belly at the mere sight of you. Itâs bad news â everything about this is bad news.
Youâre bad for Joel, and you have been ever since he saw you for the first time after your college graduation, partying in your old manâs living room. Four shots deep and a feather boa around your neck, wearing a low-cut top as you scream-sung Dolly Parton into the busted karaoke machine from your childhood. That was the first time he ever saw you as anything more than your dadâs little girl. It shouldâve been the last, too.
Joel takes a relieved breath when thereâs no immediate sign of you in the store, but you very well could be squatting behind the counter like last time. There's a woman in a pink polo shirt with bangle bracelets standing over by the wall of ropes, reorganizing and sucking on her teeth.Â
He doesnât even know what heâs here for â heâs chasing something he canât have, or at least a semblance of it. The obvious choice is the restraints from his dream, but he has nobody to put them on, no skin to feather with kisses as he pulls them secure. Another fleshlight would be greedy.
And then he hears it. The unmistakable sound of your voice, a shockwave to his chest. He slips behind a display, almost ready to make a beeline for the door when you say, âWe restocked the wands.â Joel glimpses you through the grid of butt plugs heâs hiding behind, where youâre waving around a rectangular white box. âYou were asking for recommendations, right? Well, this oneâs a trooper.â
âThat so?â your co-worker clicks. âMight be too intense for me. Youâre known to be an overachiever.â
âNo shame in a little overstimulation,â you shrug.
Joel slams a fist on his chest to stop himself from hacking out a surprised cough. His thighs go hot, a warmth that spreads between them and tightens his pants as he thinks about you with a wand to your glossy clit, hips squirming for more and less all the same.
âYeah, for you. Iâd be bawlinâ into my pillow in two minutes.â
âItâs my favorite! Only just gave out on me yesterday⌠had her for years, though. My old faithful. Have to say, itâs a little rough waiting for my next paycheck. Nothing else does it for me. Feels fucking incredible.â
Joel walks out. Not because he wants to, but because if he doesnât, he wonât be able to stop himself from spending almost a hundred dollars on that wand and handing it to you in broad daylight. It occurs to him on the uncomfortable drive home, hard and throbbing between his legs, that he wants to be the source of your pleasure, to make you feel good.
Itâs a damning thought for a man like him, but not damning enough.
Pent up is one way to describe the way youâre feeling.
After the unfortunate passing of your trustworthy wand, your fingers nor the rest of your collection of comparably wimpy toys, have been able to do the trick for you. And the worst part of it all? Your paycheck is still three days away.
Youâd like to say not getting off in four days is the source of all of your arousal, but youâre not a liar. At least, not to yourself, because you wouldnât stand at the podium and confess your nastiest Joel-centered fantasies to his face. Itâd been bearable when it was only him fucking the fleshlight taped to the backs of your eyelids. You blame it on the pervy part of yourself thatâs always rubbed her thighs together from watching a man get himself off. Itâs no longer bearable when you start envisioning him moaning your name while he rocks his hips into the toy, chasing his release.
No, itâs not bearable at all.
Sitting behind the same counter youâd checked him out at makes it worse, roughly the same hour of the night that heâd popped in the other day. You keep thinking of how he looked at you, first caught like a deer in headlights, then almost shy, a word youâd never once use to describe the man youâd come to know as your dadâs best friend.
An even more pervy part of yourself, the same one that hopes he thinks of fucking you when he fucks his recent purchase, slowly rolls her hips into the stool. Itâs imperceptible, not something that has a chance of being picked up by the camera. You grind your clothed, needy pussy onto the pink vinyl cover, smothering a whimper into your fist. The seam of your shorts catches on your clit, snuggled between your folds. Your arousal clings to the gusset of your drenched panties. Pleasure spools in your stomach, winding around your cunt and spine.Â
You curl in on yourself, burying your head into your folded arms and panting as you grind on the stool. You let yourself pretend itâs Joelâs lap; the mound-like shape of the foam beneath isnât at all close to what Joelâs bulge must feel like, but with every press of your hips, it matters less and less.
The taboo of it all, knowing youâll have to go into the security system and delete the footage once youâre done soaking the vinyl, being in view of the unlocked door, is doing just as much for you as your vibrator back home would. So much so that with your head tipped low, your eyes squeezed shut, and your hips canting back and forth, you donât even notice the rusted rasp of the bell above the door.
You donât notice a damn thing until a strangled sound comes from the front of the store.
Your head snaps up so fast that you go toppling off of the back of the chair, just barely able to catch and prop yourself up on a shelf behind the counter. An embarrassed cough knocks its way out of your gut. Too taboo. Youâre still panting when youâre stricken by a passing thought: youâre definitely going to lose your job, the last one this part of Austin seemed to have to offer. Shit.
Your dignity on the other hand is long gone, somewhere in the smear of arousal you left on the stool. âSorry â fuck! Iâm sorry,â you blurt out in a last-ditch effort to keep your job, fingers crossed that itâs someone who understands or at least doesnât care.
When you look up, you get none of that. For the second time this week, you get Joel Miller. Joel Miller with his messed up hair and work-worn hands, slack jaw and rapid blinking.
You must be matching his expression now, mouth opening and closing with your eyes widened in the ultimate form of disbelief. Your head bows and your chin meets your chest. Apparently it wasnât enough for your dadâs best friend to buy a fleshlight from you. He also had to find you getting off in public.Â
âJoel, shit, Iâm so sorry,â you start, planting the heels of your palms on your temples. Your legs feel weak, a death sentence with your sluggish, blistering heartbeat. Joelâs silence bears down on you, an inescapable weight, and youâre talking before you can stop yourself. âIâ Iâve just been so pent upâŚâ Cheeks burning from the inside out, you scrub your hands from your forehead to your chin.
âShut up,â Joel says stiffly. A wince cleaves its way out of your body.
Another apology sits on your tongue. âIâm s-â
He cuts in, âKnock it off,â and thatâs when your eyes drift lower. Below his belt buckle, but not much further. How could you look any lower when his cock is rock fucking hard in his jeans, fighting against the denim? You whimper, unable to stop yourself from rubbing your thighs together. âJesus, are you in fuckinâ heat?â Joel snaps.
It doesnât achieve the desired effect â you just let out another whimper, your arousal still clinging to your thighs. âJoel, please.â
Joel pinches his nose bridge. He shakes his head, dissolving into a muttered swear under his breath. âNo, hun. Not gonna end up balls deep in my buddyâs little girl, even if you beg real pretty for me.â
âWhy not,â you practically whine, pushing off of the shelf and walking closer to him. He only folds his arms over his broad chest as if to keep you away.
His voice is strained. âBabyââ Your heart flutters. âCanât do that to your dad. Youâre just houndinâ after a poundinâ, ainât ya?â
âI am,â you huff, brain clouded by the arousal thatâs currently casting a shadow through all of your being. âPlease, I havenât come in days.â
Joel hisses at that like heâs in pain. He shakes his head again, much faster. Thereâs a line of remorse pressed between his brows, but itâs far overpowered by the pressure of his cock pulling his jeans taut. âYour little âmassagerâ quit on you, sweetheart?â
You bite your lip. Right on the money. âHowâd you know?â
âCame in for⌠somethinâ... the other day. Heard you fussinâ about it to your co-worker.â He shrugs.
Youâre burning up, a match struck against the gritty concrete of Joelâs voice. It doesnât matter that heâs a customer, doesnât even matter that heâs buddies with your dad. You just want him to replace your aimlessly working fingers at night. You want release, and you want it with him. Begging wonât get you there with Joel, youâre realizing, even if all you want is to get on your knees and cry for his cock. You need to rile him up until he breaks. âNeeded another pocket pussy to put your dick in?â you tease.
âWatch yourself,â Joel says. âYou really that cock starved, darlinâ, that youâd beg your daddyâs friend to stick it to ya?â
âYouâre one to talk,â you smirk. âWhat is it you said? A bit dry lately, right?â
âI clearly got more self control than you, hun.â
You say, âNah.â Your smirk widens, and you take another dangerous step towards him. âYouâre hard as a rock, Joel Miller. Bet you were thinking about sticking it to me all along. Thatâs why you came back, huh? Get another glimpse of me for your spank ban-â
Joel seals the distance between you two, fist going to curl up around your jaw and squeezing. Your mouth pops open, a choked whimper dislodging from your lips. âYou got batteries behind that register?â He asks, voice stern. His eyes are all pupil, plunged into black. You struggle to nod in his grasp. âGrab âem.â
He leaves you standing in front of the door, buzzing with nervous energy as he walks towards the vibrator section. Your stomach does what feels like ten cartwheels in a row. You lean over to the door, flipping the sign to closed and drawing the curtain shut before practically jogging to the batteries.
You grab the type your beloved wand takes, not even concerned with cashing him out before heâs in front of you again, slicing into the box with his truck keys. You slide the batteries over, and heâs peeling apart the plastic to expose your favorite pink wand, armed with six different settings that never fail to make you come. You only notice youâre rubbing your thighs together again when he gives you a sharp look while heâs popping the batteries into the proper compartment.
He pats the counter. âUp.â You hop up, maybe too eager, your eyes big and needy. Joel grabs you by the shoulder and leans you back, starting to work on the button of your jeans. âThis is how this is gonna go,â he says, voice hardened with an order. âYou want me to stop, say so. Iâm gonna put this wand on your achy little clit, gonna make you feel better, because you ainât slutty enough to be humpinâ a chair.â You nod so fast that youâre surprised your head doesnât fall off. âNot gonna give you my cock, got it?â
âG-got it,â you get out shakily. He taps your hip, and you arch off of the counter so that he can yank your jeans and panties down, leaving you spread out and exposed.
 Joel spreads you with his pointer and middle finger. âShoot, baby, you poor thing.â He runs a thumb through your seam, thumb coming up sticky with your wetness. âDrippinâ like a faucet.â He brings his thumb up to the corner of your lips, and you greedily take it into your mouth, tasting your musk off of his callouses.
âThatâs it, suck it like a good slut,â he coaxes as you run your tongue along his skin. He pulls away with a pop and weighs the wand in his hand. Flicking one of the buttons with his freshly-sucked thumb, the toy whirrs to life and thrums in his large hand.
You squirm below him and his intense gaze, gripping the edge of the counter for any semblance of purchase you can get. Without warning, he places the toy down onto your clit. Your vision crackles black at the edges as you cry out. You writhe underneath him, hips helplessly bucking. Joel laughs, the bastard that he is, and rolls it along your sensitive nub. It moves freely with the help of your wetness, and even on the lowest setting, itâs more than you thought it would be.
It helps that Joelâs the one using it on you, knowing just went to add extra pressure and lift up, and it also helps that youâve been untouched by even yourself for the majority of the last week. You push your palms down on the counter and desperately grind your hips against the wandâs head. Your head lolls back, the neon signs on the wall behind you shining on your sweat-slick skin.Â
Joel flicks between two of the settings, a constant push and pull between low and a little higher, the sort of sensation that has your stomach stirring. âThat feel good, hun? Better than rubbinâ this needy pussy on that stool, I bet.â You let out a pitchy sound of half-disagreement, half-pleasure in response, managing to push yourself up on shaking elbows to get a good look at him. Heâs still hard, if not more than heâd already been, rolling the wand in easy motions against you. âShh, itâs okay, baby. Not a bad thing that you only think with your cunt. âS cute,â he coos at you. His words make you gush.
âM-more,â you rasp, hips stuttering. You crave more, more of him, even though heâs already denied you that much. Thereâs a supernova of need flaring inside of you, enough to crack your lips into a ragged moan. Your cunt tightens, squeezing out more of your arousal. You crave him inside of you, buried deep and rolling his hips into you. âJoel, I need â need your cock.â
He turns it up, notches it to a faster pace that engraves pleasure onto your swollen clit. âNo you fuckinâ donât. Quit your mealy mouthinâ and take what I give you. You were âbout to spray your whore cum all over that chair, this should be more than enough.â Joel punctuates his sentences with hard jabs of the wand against you, drawing pathetic moans from your chest.
âJ-J-Joel! Fuck!â
âJ-J-Joel,â he mocks above you, shaking his head. His dark hair flops around with the movements and his tongue sneaks out to lick his lips while he watches you quiver below. âYeah, youâre in heat alright.â Joelâs hand goes to the hem of your shirt and yanks it up, and your trembling hands help him lower the cups of your bra so he can grab and knead your tits.
His thumb circles your nipple when he turns it up to the highest setting, the one that makes your clit go numb and your back arch. You hardly have time to choke out, âCl-close!â before Joel rubs the wand just right.
As your orgasm soars through you, you can hear him saying Attagirl, give it to me, so pretty when you come through the veil of your hearingâs fuzziness. You whimper, still rolling your hips as your fingers clamp around his over your tit, and he rubs circles into your palm while you ride it out. âThatâs it,â he says when you come down fully, starting to shiver away from the pressure of the vibrator. He lowers it until it stalls in his hand and sets it down on the packaging.
âGood?â he asks, reaching up to stroke your cheek.
âGood,â you nod with a tiny little sigh.
You manage to haul yourself up fully onto your elbows, thighs still trembling. When you look him up and down, you notice two things: thereâs the tiny etching of guilt in his eyes, but his cock is definitely still hard. Joel breathes out your name when you reach for him, cupping his sizable bulge through his pants. He hisses. âCanât be doinâ that, baby.â
âWhy?â you ask, lips contorted into a pout. âBecause youâre scared youâll bend me over and fuck me?â You feel his cock twitch under your hand. His resolve is breaking, and youâre loving it. âJust the tip, Joel.â
He winces from your words, but he looks at you, right down to your still-dripping cunt where your release trickles down your inner thighs and your seam. When you spread yourself out for him like he had done and run your finger tip along your opening, that seems to be the last straw. Joel curses under his breath and g0es to make quick work of undoing his belt with one hand, his other still holding yours. âJuâ just the tip,â he reiterates, voice stony.Â
Joel pulls himself free, groaning when his cock springs up. A noise of surprise catches in your throat when you see him in full. Heâs even bigger than he looked in his jeans â which you had no idea was possible. âDonât worry, darlinâ. Just gonna give you the tip, remember?â
âYeah,â you exhale on a shaky breath.
Despite his insistence, he still reaches out for the condom display next to you, already popping a box open. You grab his wrist urgently, shaking your head. âDonât need one. Want â want you like this.â
âWe shouldnât,â he says, still holding the box. âI mean, hun, this joint is literally called Condom Sense. Oughta have some, shouldnât we?â
âDonât care.â You gather some of your cum on your fingertips, wrapping them around his head so you can brush over his slit. His hips jump, a dead giveaway to what his answer will be.
He grunts, tossing the box somewhere off to the side. âYou protected? Clean?â You nod, victorious. âAlright,â Joel sighs. Apparently coming all over his fleshlight isnât enough, because Joel bends over the counter and dips his head to press his lips against your clit, kissing before he sucks gently on it. You yelp, but quickly feel that heat returning and sparking in your core. He licks at your entrance, swirling his tongue around. âTaste fuckinâ delicious, baby.â You have a feeling he isnât prepping you for the tip anymore, even more so when he pulls back to feed your cunt two of his fingers.
You whine, desperately rolling your hips down against his thick fingers, fucking yourself down on him as he opens you up properly. He curls his fingers, rubbing that spongy spot inside of you. Your stomach twitches. âThat it?â
âMhm,â you whine, and he starts thrusting his fingers in and out of you, always sure to brush your g-spot. The heel of his palm slaps against your clit and you whine, looking at where his fingers fuck into you. Itâs an obscene view, his knuckles drenched in your juices while you clench down around him.
âGood girl,â he sighs when he finally pulls his fingers from you. He gets a good grip on his cock, rubbing the head through your slippery, sensitive folds. He coats it in your arousal before notching it at your opening. When he pushes in, he stays true to his word so far, but the tip is enough to make the room spin all over again. You squeeze down on him and he groans a rough, âFuck. So goddamn tight.â
His words make you clench again, and his head tips to meet your shoulder blade, body poised at an awkward angle while he fights to stay at least partially outside of you. âDidnât expect you to feel this fuckinâ good, sweetheart. So fuckinâ... good.â He gives you shallow thrusts with the tip, just barely enough to slip in and out of you. His teeth sink into your shoulder as if trying to keep himself quiet, trying to steel himself into remembering who heâs on top of and who he just made come.Â
âJoel,â you whine, carding a hand through his hair and tugging lightly until he brings his eyes on you. âFuck me.â
For once that night, itâs enough. With his eyes on you, he eases into you, groaning with every inch he gives you until heâs bottomed out in your cunt. With all of Joelâs prepping, thereâs no pain, only the fullness of what itâs like to throb around him, to leak down his cock. Your fist tightens in his hair when he pulls out of you only to slam back into you. You look down where his body almost covers yours, and through your silhouettes, you can see the stretch of your arousal sticking to his happy trail, stretching between your skin. The room does spin, now, a blur of pink and pleasure.
Joel says, nipping at your ear, âThis what you wanted? Wanted me to stretch you out, make you take my cock like the whore you are?â He rolls his hips into yours and effortlessly finds your g-spot like before. Your legs scramble for purchase, wrapping around his waist and pulling him flush against you. His happy trail, spattered with your arousal, rubs against your clit. You grind your hips down, dig your nails into his biceps, desperate to meet his thrusts. When you donât respond, he pinches your nipple, and your legs wind even tighter around him in surprise.
âYes! Wanted it â wanted it when you first walked in, fuck,â you whine.
Joel smirks into the place between your shoulder and neck, kissing up the expanse of your skin. âHorny little girl. Bet you went home so excited to put that wand on your pretty clit, only to find out it quit on ya.â You can only moan, boneless and foggy underneath him as he rocks his hips into you. âFucked my fleshlight thinkinâ of you, but I bet you already knew that, didnât you? Wanted to bounce you on my cock so bad. Fuckinâ choking me like I knew you would.â
âFuck me like you fucked it, then,â you say in a rush, your whimpers still poking through your sentences. âH-hard, Joel, want it rough.â
Joel grunts, twitching inside of you from your request. âShit, canât say no to ya. Gotta have⌠gotta have a goddamn death wish or somethinâ, baby.â With that, he finds a punishing, ravenous pace, the filthy noises of his body slapping against yours filling the store from wall to wall. He grins. âBut you like it, dirty girl. Can feel ya gettinâ close. Câmon, gimme another, baby.â
You come with a cry, soaking his cock, eyes watering from relief while you grip him. Warmth seeps into your bones and turns your brain to mush, electric from dopamine. You go limp on the ledge while he continues fucking into you, voice filling your ears, âThatâs it, thatâs my girl, fuuuuck, way better than that fleshlight. Shoulda bent you over the counter and fucked you that first night.â You moan at the thought, pussy still clenching his cock.Â
Youâre too busy coming to notice him reaching to the side, retrieving the long-forgotten wand. You could scream when he touches it to your clit again on the medium setting, and then your thighs are shaking around him even stronger and youâre coming for the third time that night, launched from one orgasm straight into another with Joel hovering over you, still fucking into you. âFuck, again?â he asks, voice layered with disbelief. âSuch a messy pussy, baby. Drippinâ down my thighs. Gonna make it even messier, pump you full âa my cum, sweet girl.â
Your vision whites, palms slapping on the counter before he wraps his hand back in yours like before to ground you. You squeeze his hand and moan in response. He turns the vibrator back to low and keeps rolling his hips into you. âClose, baby, gonna shoot this load up your pretty pussy.â Joelâs forehead drops to the counter, still mouthing at your neck when you feel him jerk inside of you. You feel the warmth of his cum spill into you while you still flutter around him, his debauched moans filling your ear as he empties himself into your cunt.
Both of you are breathing heavily by the time he pulls away from you, you laying down on the counter and staring at the ceiling tiles. Theyâre unfocused and blurry in your post-orgasmic bliss. You blink yourself back to reality, giving him a look with your hooded, tired eyes. His chest rises and falls, mouth and softening cock smeared with your cum. Heâs looking at you with the same eyes youâre giving him, something crossed between incredulity and shamelessness.
Joel fishes around in his back pocket before finding a red flannel handkerchief, which heâs careful to dab at your inner legs. Youâre both silent until he separates from you with a peck to your forehead. âDid good for me. Youâre, uh⌠really somethinâ, sweetheart.â
You grin at him. âThat mean this is gonna happen again?â You ask as he tucks himself away and buckles his belt. You stuff your tits back in your bra, pulling down your shirt and securing your pants and shoes from where theyâd long fallen into piles on the floor.
âDonât jump the gun, baby.â He rubs the back of his neck and licks his lips. âBut I ainât rulinâ it out.â
A cocky smirk tugs at your lips, and you hop fully off of the counter, tugging your jeans up your waist. Joel taps the vibrator box when youâre all done. âCash me out?â he asks, stuffing the handkerchief back in his pocket and grabbing his wallet instead.
You nod, scanning the damaged vibrator box and batteries and reading off his total. You bag up the soaked vibrator, the on-the-house toy cleaner, and the rest of the batteries heâd bought. âHere you go,â you say, holding it out for him.
âNah, hun. Thatâs for you. What use am I gonna get out of a vibrator unless itâs makinâ you come?â He pats the back of your hand and slides the bag across to you again.
You stare at him, fighting not to let your jaw loosen. âJoel⌠thatâs a lot of money.â
âAnd you deserve to come as much as you want, got it, pretty girl?â He smiles at you with a shrug as if he hadnât just wrung three out of you within an hour. âBesides, you have my number. You know who to ask if you ever need someone to talk you through it.â
You choke, nodding dumbly at his proposition. So definitely not ruled out.
âThank you,â you say, bringing yourself to match his smile.
He gives your hand a squeeze and says, âSee you later, sweetheart,â before heading out.
And sure, this entire thing is a tornado that could toss up your life like a trailer park, but for Joel? Youâd let it happen.
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