freak in hiding

You notice him the second he walks in, not because he’s loud, but because he isn’t. He doesn’t blend into the usual crowd of men who stumble in already drunk on noise and expectation; instead, he stands just inside the door for a beat too long, scanning the room with a focus that feels out of place here. His leather jacket looks worn in a way that tells stories, his posture loose but coiled underneath, like he’s always ready to move and when his gaze lands on you, it doesn’t slide away. 

It stays, steady and assessing, and something about that makes your lips curve before you’ve even decided to approach. You’ve seen every kind of man walk through these doors, but there’s something about this one (Dean, you’ll learn soon enough) that feels like he carries a different kind of weight.

By the time he reaches the bar, you’re already there with a drink, leaning your elbow against the polished surface, one heel hooked loosely behind the other and hips popped to the side as if you’ve been waiting for him all along. Up close, he smells like leather and something sharper underneath; whiskey, maybe, or something that clings to him no matter where he goes. “You lost, or looking for someone in particular?” you call out without moving, voice smooth, carrying just enough to reach him without inviting anyone else in.

His head turns immediately, sharp, and when his hazel eyes lock onto you, it doesn’t slide away like most do. “Neither,” he answers as he approaches, a hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Just looking.” You hum, dragging your gaze over him slowly, deliberately, taking in the worn leather jacket, the way he holds himself like he’s used to trouble. “Careful,” you murmur, turning slightly so the light hits your glowing skin just right.

“Most guys who come in here looking don’t leave with what they expected.” He stops close enough now that you can smell whiskey and something darker on him, something that doesn’t belong to the club.

“Yeah?” he says, leaning one elbow on the bar beside you. “What do they leave with?” You tilt your head, eyes flicking to his lips for half a second before meeting his gaze again. “Usually less money,” you reply, a small smile curling your mouth. “Sometimes even worse.”

He huffs a quiet laugh at that, but there’s something distracted about it, like he’s already losing track of whatever brought him here. “Name’s Dean,” he says, and you take your time before responding, fingers tracing idle patterns in the condensation of your glass. “You don’t get mine that easy,” you answer lightly, glancing at him from under your lashes. “But you can earn it.” His brow lifts, interest sharpening. “Oh yeah? How?” You push off the bar then, heels clicking softly against the floor as you take a step back, letting him look, really look; at the shimmer of your outfit, the way the thin straps sit against the fat of your hips, the slight sheer of your lingerie set. 

“You play cards?” you ask, and when he smirks like he already thinks he’s won, you know exactly how this is going to go. “Poker?” he says. “I’m decent.” You laugh, soft and knowing, already turning to lead him toward a quieter table tucked under dimmer light with more privacy, letting him have a view of your ass bouncing with each step you take. 

“That’s what they all say,” you toss over your shoulder. “Strip poker,” you add without looking back, and you don’t need to see his face to know you’ve got him now. “You serious?” he calls after you, and when you glance back, it’s with a smile that’s all promise. “Dead serious. You in, or are you just here to stare?”

He follows, of course he does.

When you sit across from him, crossing your legs slowly, deliberately, you can feel the shift in his focus already, the way he tries to stay sharp but keeps getting pulled back to you. The way his hazel eyes lingers on the sparkling set of lingerie like he can see through it, the way his tongue slides past his lips to wet them, or the way he sighs quietly when looking back at your face.

The cards feel familiar in your hands, smooth and easy as you shuffle, your movements unhurried, deliberate, giving him time to settle, to get comfortable enough to lose properly. “Rules are simple,” you say, dealing the first hand, your voice dipping slightly as the music pulses around you.

“You lose, something comes off.” He leans back in his chair, eyes flicking between your face and the slow, precise way you handle the cards. “And if I win?” he asks, already sounding like he’s picturing it. 

You glance up at him, a hint of a smile tugging at your lips. “Then maybe I take something off.” He exhales through his nose, amused. “Maybe?” You shrug, crossing one leg over the other, letting your heel swing just slightly. “Depends how good you are, Dean.” The way you say his name makes his fingers tighten slightly around his cards, and you don’t miss that. You never miss anything.

You let him win the first round, you always do with clients. It builds confidence, makes the fall sweeter. “Told you,” he says with a grin, leaning forward as he sets his cards down. “Decent.” You hum like you’re impressed, even as you reach up and slide one strap just slightly down your shoulder before pushing it back into place, more tease than reward. “Lucky,” you correct, and by the second round, that luck runs out. 

You take his jacket first, tugging it from his shoulders yourself when he hesitates just a second too long. “Don’t tell me you’re shy now,” you murmur, fingers brushing briefly against his neck as you pull the leather away. “Not even close,” he replies, but his voice dips just enough to give him away. The third round costs him his flannel, and the fourth has him leaning back with a frustrated exhale as you reach for his belt, your fingers slow as you undo it, making his hips jerk toward your hands mindlessly.

“You hustling me?” he asks, watching you too closely now, his attention slipping from the cards entirely. 

You glance up at him, lashes low. “Would I do that?” you ask sweetly. He snorts. “Yeah. Yeah, you would.” You laugh, and it’s soft, pleased, entirely unbothered. “Maybe you’re just distracted,” you say, and when his gaze drops to your chest again, you tilt your head knowingly. “See? Something on your mind, I suppose?”

By the time his shoes are off and his things are stacked neatly beside you, he’s shaking his head, a disbelieving smile tugging at his mouth. “This is ridiculous,” he mutters, dragging a hand over his face. You lean back in your chair, stretching slightly, letting the movement draw his eyes to your belly again as you gesture lazily to the pile of cash you’ve been collecting between rounds. “Look at all the money I just won,” you say, voice light, teasing.

He glances at it, then back at you, something warmer creeping into his expression now. “You enjoying this?” he asks. You hum, nodding your head. “Maybe you deserve a little compensation,” you reply, and before he can respond, you’re already standing, already stepping toward him.

There’s a flicker of something in his eyes then; something that shifts from frustration into something warmer, something more intent and when you mention compensation, you can practically feel the tension tighten between you. His eyes are focusing on you, watching as you step closer; the way your skin glows under the strip-club lights, the tiny set of lingerie and the high-heels that sound dangerous.

When you slide onto his lap, it’s slow, controlled, your hands bracing lightly on his shoulders as you settle against him, and the way he stills beneath you is immediate. “Hey, remember the rules,” you murmur, close enough that your lips brush near his ear, “no touching.” His breath catches, a quiet, shaky sound that makes something flicker low in your chest. “You’re kidding,” he says, hands hovering awkwardly at your sides, unsure, restrained. His fingers close in fists, trembling like he just wants to put them on your body and touch the softness of your epiderm, feel the lotion you so carefully put on before working.

You pull back just enough to look at him, a small smile playing at your lips. “Not at all.” He lets out a breath that turns into a laugh. “That’s cruel.” You shift slightly in his lap, subtle but intentional, and the way his jaw tightens doesn’t go unnoticed. “Then maybe you should’ve played better,” you tease. His hands hover closer now, fingers flexing again like they’re fighting against instinct. “You really expect me to just—what, sit here?” he asks, voice rougher now. 

You nod lightly. “That’s the game, Dean.” He shakes his head, but there’s no real protest left in it. “You’re killing me,” he mutters. “Am I?” you ask, leaning closer, your nose brushing his. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah, you are.” Dean can feel his heart skipping a beat inside his chest; he doesn’t know if it’s the thrill of having you so close, if it’s passion, if it’s curiosity but it’s surely something new.

You shift slightly in his lap once more, not enough to be obvious, but enough to make him react, enough to feel the way his body responds even as he tries to stay still, to follow the rules you’ve set. His voice drops when he speaks, rougher now, threaded with something that sounds dangerously close to pleading, and you can’t help the way your smile softens just a fraction at that. “It’s torturous, hope you are aware of that. I really want to touch you.”

When he asks for a kiss then, it’s quieter than everything else he’s said so far. “C’mon,” he murmurs, eyes flicking between yours and your lips. “Just one.” You tilt your head, pretending to think about it, even as you let your lips hover dangerously close to his. “Are you begging?” you ask softly.

He huffs a weak laugh, but he doesn’t look away. “Maybe,” he admits, voice low. “Please.” That lands somewhere deeper than you expect, and for a second, you just look at him, really look at him, before you close the distance.

The kiss is slow at first, your lips pressing to his in a way that feels almost gentle compared to everything leading up to it, and the sound he makes against your mouth is quiet but real, like relief slipping out before he can stop it. His hands twitch at your sides, lifting just slightly before stopping themselves, hovering there, trembling with restraint. “Careful,” you murmur against his lips, and he lets out a soft, breathless laugh. “Don’t care,” he replies, leaning into you just a little more. You deepen the kiss just enough to make him react, just enough to feel the way he melts into it, before pulling back slowly, leaving him chasing it for a second longer than he should, his eyes half-lidded and looking at your face.

You can see it in his expression; the way he’s a little undone, a little dazed, like he’s not entirely sure how he got here but isn’t questioning it either. You let your thumb brush lightly along his jaw, a small, almost absent gesture that feels more intimate than anything else you’ve done so far.

“That’s it?” he asks, but this time it comes out softer, rough around the edges in a way that makes it sound less like a complaint and more like something pulled out of him without permission. His eyes don’t leave your mouth, like he’s already chasing something he hasn’t been given enough of, and when you brush your thumb along his jaw for the third time, he leans into it just slightly before he can stop himself. “C’mon,” he adds, quieter now, voice dipping into something almost boyish despite everything about him. “You can’t just… that’s not fair.”

You tilt your head, studying him, the way his composure has slipped so easily, the way his hands are still hovering at your sides like they don’t know what to do with themselves. “Not fair?” you echo, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You agreed to the rules.” There’s amusement in the way you say those words, slightly teasing the man beneath you.

“Yeah, well,” he exhales, shaking his head with a breathy, almost embarrassed laugh, “I didn’t know you were gonna—” He cuts himself off, jaw tightening as his gaze flicks back to your lips again. “Please,” he says instead, more direct this time, and there’s no hiding it now. “Just one more, please?”

That word lingers between you, heavier than it should be, and you can feel the shift in the air, the way the teasing curls into something warmer, softer at the edges. You let him wait half a second longer: just enough to make him feel it before you lean back in, closing the space again.

This kiss isn’t as careful.

It’s still slow, still controlled on your end, but there’s more of him in it this time—the way he leans up into you instinctively, the way his breath catches and then deepens as your lips move against his again. His hands lift without thinking, hovering closer now, almost brushing your waist before he stops himself at the last second, fingers curling like it physically hurts to hold back. “God,” he mutters against your mouth, barely pulling away for a second. “You’re—” He exhales sharply, shaking his head as if he can’t even find the word.

You don’t give him time to try to speak up as you kiss him again, a little deeper this time, just enough to make his restraint snap tighter and just enough to feel the way he almost forgets himself completely. One of his hands drifts upward again, hovering just inches from your side, and this time his voice breaks through, low and pleading. “Please—just let me touch you,” he murmurs, the words catching slightly, like he’s not used to asking for things like this. “Just a little. I won’t… I’ll be good, I swear.”

You pull back just enough to look at him, lips still close, your breath mingling with his, your expression soft but unyielding. “No touching,” you remind him quietly, and there’s no teasing in it this time but just a firm line he can’t cross. Rules are rules, Dean knows that.

He lets out a frustrated breath that melts into a quiet laugh, head tipping back slightly before his eyes find yours again, a little dazed, a little wrecked. “You’re really not gonna give me anything, huh?” he asks, but there’s no bite to it, just disbelief wrapped in something that looks a lot like admiration at you not wielding.

You smile faintly, and instead of answering, you lean in again, pressing another kiss to his mouth: shorter this time, softer, like a reward you’re choosing to give rather than something he’s earned. He chases it when you pull back, just barely, like he can’t help himself. His breathing is labored, the apple of his cheeks are rosy and almost hiding the pretty freckles he has on.

“Hey—” he starts, voice low, almost desperate now, but you’re already shifting, already sliding off his lap before he can say anything else. The absence of you hits him immediately: you can see it in the way his hands drop uselessly to his thighs, in the way he exhales like he’s trying to steady himself, like the room feels a little too quiet without you pressed against him.

“If you want more,” you start, but your voice softens just slightly as you shift your weight back onto your heels, one hand gliding down the curve of your waist to your hip like you’re grounding yourself back into your body after being so close to him, “you’ll have to come back.”

He doesn’t answer right away, no, he’s still looking at you like he hasn’t caught up yet, like he’s somewhere between the kiss you just gave him and the absence of you now, and it shows in the way his chest rises a little too fast or in the way his hands flex uselessly against his thighs.

“You’re—” he starts, then cuts himself off with a quiet, frustrated breath, dragging a hand through his hair. “You can’t just do that and walk away,” he mutters, voice low and rough, a clear thread of something almost pleading slipping through. His eyes flick back to your lips again, then up to your face. “C’mon… just stay a little longer.”

You don’t move closer again, but you don’t step away either, letting him sit in that space between you, letting him feel it. Your smile is small, knowing, just soft enough to take the edge off your refusal. “That’s not how this works, Dean,” you murmur, and there’s something almost gentle in it now, even if you don’t give him what he’s asking for.

He huffs out a breath, shaking his head, but there’s no real fight left in it but just that same dazed, caught look you’ve seen take over so many men before, except it sits differently on him. “Yeah,” he says quietly, more to himself than to you. “Yeah… figures.”

You let your gaze linger on him for just a second longer before you finally turn, but you don’t rush away, you never do. Instead, you gather what you’ve won first, bending slightly over the table, the neon light catching along the curve of your back as you collect the scattered bills with practiced ease. Your lingerie shifts with the movement; thin straps stretching across your hips, the sheer fabric barely there, rhinestones glinting like tiny stars against your skin. 

When you straighten, you don’t reach for a bag or a pocket. Instead, you slide the folded bills into the delicate strap of your thong at your hip, tucking them there with a slow, unhurried motion, letting the gesture linger just long enough to be seen. 

The contrast is almost deliberate: the soft shimmer of your set against the crumpled edges of cash, chains resting against your chest as your fingers smooth the fabric of your bra back into place. It’s casual for you, routine even, but you don’t miss the way Dean’s breath hitches again, the way his gaze drops and then lingers before he forces it back up.

“Jesus,” he mutters under his breath, almost to himself, like he’s overwhelmed by the simple act of watching you exist in this space.

You glance back at him over your shoulder then, a small smile playing at your lips, and for a second it feels like the rest of the club fades again, like it’s just the two of you caught in that quiet pocket of neon light. “You gonna be okay?” you tease softly.

He lets out a short, breathless laugh, shaking his head as he leans forward slightly, elbows braced on his knees like he’s trying to steady himself. “No,” he admits, honest in a way that surprises even him. “Probably not.” His eyes lift back to yours, something intent flickering there again despite everything. “You serious though?” he adds, voice dipping. “About me coming back?”

You hold his gaze for a moment, letting the answer sit between you before you give it. “Yeah,” you say quietly, and this time there’s no teasing in it at all; just something certain, something real enough to keep him hooked.

He nods once, slow, like he’s committing it to memory. “Yeah,” he repeats, softer.

And then you turn fully, heels clicking against the floor, ass bouncing as you slip back into the glow of the club, disappearing into pink light and movement and music, leaving him exactly where you want him; breathless, a little undone, and already thinking about the next time he’ll see you again.

npt:: @wintrynightz @heart-of-alex @pittsick @rogersgal @kismetsfawn @amourflores @userhotd @im-miss-worldblog @prettysouled @severedlamb @dontlistentodaisy @deadbeatpup @fawnrott @gilmrres @gengarwebs @heapingfern @lilahthedoll @carmysdoll @cup1dssorrow @cumkissed @vlarrtrgryn @beafond @nuitts @meiyokstarr

no pressure tags!!

Your sloppy cunt lowered all the way down to his base, soaking him in your juices before stopping all movements. Dex groaned, head rolling onto the pillow as he realized you weren’t going to give him what he wanted, once again. His thighs shook under your body, hands tugging on his restraints but most importantly, his cock twitched inside your warm hole. His lips opened wide, drool leaking from his mouth and toward his cheek. You moved one hand to wipe it off, caressing his scar at the same time.

“I heard someone wanted to come, here? Who’s that?” You teased, voice full of mockery as Dex’s body shook, his insides all warm and burning up at the fact that another orgasm was ruined by you. His balls contracted and relaxed a few times, the veins all along his length throbbed against your velvety walls. It was nothing but torture to him; to feel you so wet, so close, so good but not being able to shoot his load inside your cunt.

His blue eyes shut tight as he tried to gain his thoughts back. “Me! Fuck, it’s me. I need to come… Let me come.” He whined at you.

It was your first time seeing him so… depraved. Dex was no stranger to being in control. He loved control; because control meant being in power and being in power meant having an advantage over people. But when it came to you? All control, all power and all advantages disappeared. His thoughts were nothing but about you and the way you made him feel. Because no one had truly made him feel that way before; like he was allowed to give up power and lay in his feelings.

“My cock hurts, m’fuck… Shit.” He groaned again, voice muffled by the pillow as he rolled it around. You hummed, moving both hands to brush sweaty hair away from his forehead. His skin was warm to the touch, you almost thought he had a fever for a second or so. A smile appeared on your face, less mocking than any before. “It hurts, baby? You want me to stop?” You asked, even though you knew Dex would never want to stop unless the safeword was used. So, he shook his head. Pleasure is pain, pain is pleasure. 

“That’s a good boy. You can take it, right?” You asked, brushing his sweaty skin with your fingertips until they stopped at his chin. Dex opened his blue eyes just to focus on your face, he licked his lips before talking. “Yeah, I can. I fuckin’ can.” A smirk appeared on his face and his eyes became half-lidded as you pushed two fingers against his lips.

He immediately understood, his jaw dropping and mouth opening to let you push them in. 

“That’s it, you’re doing so good, Dex.” You hissed while pressing your fingers against his tongue and deeper inside his mouth. Dex wrapped his lips around your digits and started to suck on them, rolling his tongue around and coating them in his saliva. 

He probably didn’t expect you to do it, so a loud muffled moan escaped his mouth when you rolled your hips and pushed his cock deeper inside your sloppy cunt. His head rolled onto the pillow as he now struggled to suck on your fingers and gather his thoughts at the same time. You decided to be merciful to him, and pulled your fingers out of his warm mouth; a thread of saliva connected the tips of your digits to his lips. It made you moan. “God, look at you. I’ve never seen you like that, so submissive and pathetic.” You voiced to the man beneath you.

Dex only replied with a groan, tugging on his restraints once more and you wondered if he felt his skin becoming raw under the rope. Did it add pleasure to him? Given how freaky he was, probably.

“Yeah, no shit… You’re the devil.” He hissed as you rolled your hips once more, clenching your walls around his throbbing cock. He pulsated inside you, pushing against your insides and stretching your cunt so good. A look at where you were both connected made you see the creamy white ring around his girth and how good he also made you feel.

He was so big, filling you up with his mushroom tip slightly kissing your cervix but not enough to make it hurt. 

The previous words leaving his mouth made you chuckle. “Come on, it’s just a little teasing. What should I say when you do the same to me?” He snorted, head rolling onto the pillow once more before his mouth fell wide open as you pushed yourself up from his cock. “Fuck, fuck… Your pussy’s so warm.” Dex groaned when you lowered yourself back down all the way onto his length. His back arched from the bed.

Obviously, he was overstimulated from the number of orgasms denied before, and the slightest movements were making him lose his mind.

“Focus, Dex.” You said, moving your hands to his chest. You caressed his scars slowly before focusing too, pressing your palms flat on his pectorals for support. Only then, you started to bounce up and down on his shaft—torturing him once again with your tight pussy. Dex gasped, the bed creaked as he squirmed under you and tried to tug on his restraints. Moans escaped his mouth, blue eyes closed shut as he tried to gather his thoughts with no effort and tears rolled down to his cheeks due to pleasure and overstimulation.

“Please, fuck, let me come this time. I’ll be good, yeah?” He hissed, eyes opening again just to watch your pussy leaking onto his cock; how your juices made everything glisten, how your clit rubbed into his base as you lowered yourself or how you took all of him. “You want to come? You want to fill my pussy, baby?” You asked him with mockery, leaning your upper body toward his chest so your breasts and nipples would rub against his pectorals. 

Only then, you fastened your pace, eyebrows furrowing due to pleasure. Tears kept rolling from Dex’s eyes and you moved your face closer just to lick them off of his skin.

The bed creaked as you slammed your pussy down onto his cock, your ass slapping onto his thighs and loud squelching noises echoing in the room from your sloppy pussy. Your walls clenched around him, his pre-cum mixing with your juices and leaking from your hole to stick to his balls. 

“I’m going to fill you up, yeah? Going to make sure you’re so fuckin’ full of me.” Dex groaned in your ear before you lifted your upper body up, sitting back perfectly onto his shaft. Your movements were now uncoordinated as you rolled your hips, bouncing with no true support. The noises echoing in the room were nothing but perverted and disgusting; a telltale of the sex that was happening. 

You didn’t even reply to the words leaving Dex’s mouth, too busy with rubbing your cunt down against his hairy base—your clit being roughly stimulated that way. One of your hands shifted to your back and lower until it got to your ass. You reached under, which was harder than you expected it would, just to wrap your palm around Dex’s balls. A loud gasp came from his mouth and his back arch from the mattress. “Fuck! Fuck, yes!” He cried out, muffled by the pillow as he hid his face.

You tried your best to mix bouncing and rolling his balls into your palm at the same time; bringing more stimulation to him. The hiding of his face didn’t do anything and you could clearly see all the tears that rolled to his cheeks as he cried from overstimulation. His body squirmed beneath yours, thighs shaking and hips jerked to thrust inside you—which you weren’t sure was on purpose.

His tip rubbed at your entrance, making your pussy leak more juices and wetness. It was a mess; all was sticky and slick and glistening.

Your hand tightened its grip onto Dex’s balls, thumb rubbing at the skin there before almost pinching it. “Fuck! Too much, fuck, I’m going to come!” He cried, bringing more strength when tugging on the rope around his wrists. He didn’t seem to care about burning himself. “Going to come? You want it, baby?” You asked, before suddenly letting his balls fall from your palm just to slap them. Dex groaned loudly, hips jerking and before he had time to warn you; he came.

His whole body contracted, muscles convulsing under you as he shot his load inside your pussy. It was warm, thick and way too much. You could only keep bouncing as he filled you up, dragging his semen all the way down his length and to his base as you fucked yourself on his cock. “Shit! Shit! Coming!” He cried, and you slapped his balls again which made him shake from overstimulation. 

Your free hand moved to his pectoral and you held yourself up for supper before giving real bounces on top of him. Your cunt clenched, filled up with his semen that leaked out of your hole in globs just to decorate his base and thighs. “Fuck, Dex—” You cried out too, trying a new angle just to feel his tip rub and hit your g-spot. Your mouth opened wide as pleasure ran through your body, making your thoughts foggy.

Dex cried out as overstimulation made his body shake, and neither was he able to think at that moment. 

Your cunt clenched around his softening cock as you finally came—loudly crying out his name, body arching on top of his and pussy pulsating. The bed stopped from creaking and the room was filled with loud breathing for a second before you slowly pulled yourself up from Dex’s cock in a wet, shlick noise. “I think I just saw Heaven.” You joked to him and he only smirked in answer, still needing to gather his thoughts before talking. 

Your walls clenched around air before you pushed, which made more come leak from your sloppy hole. Globs of semen fell down directly onto Dex’s cock and he groaned at the view, his shaft twitching for a second. “Untie me.” He finally spoke and you just did that, seeing his red and raw skin from all the tugging. He didn’t seem to care at all, so you didn’t mention it. 

All Dex did was wrap his arms around your waist and pull your body down onto his. You were both naked, laying down in silence for what seemed to be eternity. Then, he spoke. “We definitely need to do that again,” his eyes lowered to your face, seeing you almost asleep from all the effort. “Turns out I’m really into overstimulation. And ball torture.” The last words made you laugh out loud. “Uh? Are you now?”

He rolled to face you, one strong hand on your lower back to caress your skin. “Use my knives, next time.” You rolled your eyes at that. “You’re insane, Benjamin Poindexter.” 

He leaned his face, pressed his lips to yours for a kiss that only lasted a moment or so. “Yeah, I fuckin’ am. Insane about you.”