ᥲᥒցᥱι ✿

You are only a table away, sitting with some of the women from your patrol group who gossip about potential suitors in the room, especially amongst the newcomers. However, you don’t really pay attention to what is being said because the love of your life sits across from you. It makes you able to admire him, struck by his transformation since he first came to Jackson and barged into your life. Your heart is so soft for him. 

The most obvious change is the hair. It’s gotten longer, the ends curling slightly in a way that softens his otherwise rugged appearance of big leather boots and tripled layered clothing. He used to have it shorter, and while you loved its fluffy bounce on top of his head whenever it was caught in the wind, it doesn’t compare to how it now frames his face by just brushing his collar in the back. It may be a subtle shift to others but to you, it means that Joel is more at ease with who and where he is, and that he has allowed change to find him.

His beard, too, has filled out. It is now thick and even, not at all the patchy scruff that you noticed the first time he talked to you by the rag pile in the trading center. He’d searched for fabric that could be used for shining the creations that he makes when seeking respite in wood carving. You had noticed the patch that resembled a heart first, your own heart skipping a beat as you forced yourself not to point it out to him immediately. That patch is gone but you’ll spend no time mourning it when the result is Joel looking healthier than ever, almost as if his body has responded to happiness with you by filling in all the gaps that heartbreak had left. 

Then there’s his face. It glows, despite his age, with a newfound youth, the signs of weariness and stress of years lived too hard it once bore completely wiped away. When you first met him, your heart had ached for his tired eyes, bags underneath them revealing all the sleepless nights and the burdens that he carried. The way they shine when they look into yours has your heart at ease and you can only hope he feels the same. 

Around you, the women keep chatting, talking animatedly and giggling while you sip your drink and stay silent until they are nothing but a low hum in the background. 

You only snap out of it when your name is said out loud. You furrow your brow, “Sorry?”

“I said that you don’t have to worry about things like this,” one of them chirps happily, “You already got your man.”

“Guess not, guess you’re right,” you chuckle softly and start to feel shy. You have never been one to be glaringly obvious in your happiness to the point where you display it at every opportunity but then Joel came along. He may worry about the gap of years between the two of you, often feeling undeserving of your love and attention but you only wish that he could see himself from your point of view. To you, he is everything. He doesn’t see how his presence calms and grounds you, how he makes you feel safe even in a world beyond repair. In his embrace, you feel even the biggest of anxieties and the worst of your challenges shrink into nothing. All he has to do is put his gentle, calloused hands on you and talk to you in that familiar southern drawl, and then your mind quiets down instantaneously.

However, if not his hands or his voice, his loving gaze also seems to do the trick. He suddenly turns his head in your direction, catching your eyes, and the sound of the lively conversations from each table mutes to nothing. He smiles at you and mouths a ‘you okay?’ at you. 

‘Save me’ you decide to mouth back at him, making a face to see him smile with amusement. He slaps his brother’s back before putting both hands on the table to push himself to stand. You didn’t think he would take it seriously but just the sight of seeing him approach you makes you want to go home with him. 

“Ready to go, honey?” He asks when he reaches your table, placing a hand on your shoulder and gently squeezing. 

“Hi Joel,” your friend group says in unison.

“Ladies,” he nods and they giggle like schoolgirls, “Gotta get this one home.”

You shake your head with a little smile at their reaction. Then you swing your legs over the side of the chair. Joel helps you up and a moment after having said your goodnights, you leave together like you’ve done for a few years now. 

Outside, people are scattered across the town square where a huge bonfire has been erected in the spot where the Christmas tree usually stands. Today is the annual midsummer celebration. Jackson is decorated with bundles of flowers that have replaced the painted eggs that tell people it is Easter. You smile at the memory of Ellie having been forced to join in on getting people in the spirit of Easter which had resulted in you trying to guess which of the eggs hanging from the sky had been crafted by the angry teen. You had decided that it might’ve been the one painted completely black.

Now, bright colors from nature hover above your head instead as you make your way down the main road. Joel holds your hand all the way home. He strokes the back of it with his thumb, feeling no pressure to fill up the silence between you as it has reached a point where it is comfortable. 

When you reach your shared house, Joel stops you by the front door instead of opening it for you in the gentlemanly way he always does. He stands in front of you, the porch light softening his features as he gazes at you.

“You seemed a bit distracted with your friends tonight,” he notes, “Is everythin’ alright?” 

“Just thinking about how lucky I am,” you answer with a smile, your voice sincere, “To have you.”

“I’m the lucky one, baby,” Joel huffs out a little laugh of disbelief, trying to brush off how flattered he always feels each time you say things like this. He gathers your hand in both of his, lifting it to kiss the back of it a few times, “Best fuckin’ thing that ever happened after the world ended.” 

“Don’t let Ellie hear that,” you tease gently. In your chest, your heart hammers against your ribs from being loved by him. 

“I’d never dream of it,” he steps closer with his eyes burning to get closer to you. You see them darken slightly as desire fills them and your heart jumps into your throat at the realization of what he wants. 

You. 

He wants you. 

That’s the one thing that has also changed since you met him; he has become much more untameable when he has you around. Who knew that his stamina was so impressive? Who knew that Joel Miller getting a confession of love - whether it consisted of the actual words or simply was said in your actions - would have him dragging you to somewhere private as soon as possible? 

“I love you, Joel Miller,” you say dreamily, pulling the trigger, “To the day that I die.”

And then suddenly Joel rips the door open so roughly that you’re afraid it might come off its hinges, pulls you inside along with him and slams it shut behind the both of you afterward. He locks it without hesitation, not about to be interrupted by any of your neighbors even if it’s most likely that everyone is out and about the town to be social. 

You are pressed up against the door next, his broad hands resting on your hips as he holds you against it. He bunches up the skirt of your sundress, groping your sides on top of the fabric, and you sling an arm around his back. Your other arm reaches up so you can cup the back of his head, your fingers sliding into the hair there. He has the perfect length for pulling these days - you should know - but you’ll wait for the right moment. 

His lips nearly bruise yours with how hard he kisses you, beard scratching your skin as he practically eats at your mouth to the point where your head swims and your belly swirls with hours of suppressed desire. You need him now, already soaked through your underwear and ready for him to be inside of you.

“Fuck me,” you whine against his lips, heart beating rapidly in your chest. So much that your breathing is already uneven, “Please, Joel, please.”

“S’alright, baby, I know whatcha need,” he rasps as his lips messily start descending on your chin, all the way across your jaw until his mouth attaches to your throat. You let your head bump against the door with a breathy moan, giving him access to bruise your neck too. He creates a purple mark that you will try to hide tomorrow during patrol to avoid interrogation on how Joel Miller is in bed. Only you can know. 

Your skirt falls down the slight amount it has been pulled up when Joel goes to unbuckle his leather belt. The noise of the metal sends a shiver through you, anticipation rising to your cheeks by heating them up underneath no touch. You look down to see the belt hanging open, him shoving the denim down around his thighs afterward and following up with his briefs too. 

The sight of his cock makes your mouth water. He is fully hard already, standing into the air at full attention and threatening to smear your pretty dress with his precome by poking into your belly if he dares get closer. You moan pathetically and he shushes you gently. 

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” he soothes you like he would a child that has scraped their knee. He curls his fingers in the fabric of your dress once more before hiking it up along your thighs until he can stuff the bottom of the skirt into the top of your dress, effectively holding it up so it doesn’t fall down over your soaked panties again. 

You grab at the sides of your underwear to shimmy out of them but Joel doesn’t exercise enough patience to wait for you to step out of them, so he hooks his fingers into the front. He finds your eyes when he feels how wet the cotton fabric is, doesn’t directly say anything about it but just shows you how full-blown his pupils are at the realization. Without warning, he yanks your panties to the side. 

Satisfied with his work, he makes you gasp as he bends his knees to reach down and splay his strong hands on the back of your thighs. He lifts you off the ground and wraps you around him, pressing his knee into the door to hold you up while guiding his throbbing cock into you. You moan desperately at the initial sting, brows furrowing with slight pain as he sheaths himself inside of you to the hilt. 

“Oh my God,” you whimper, letting his name fall from your lips in a helpless chant as he pulses from how your walls choke him as you strain to take him like you always do in the beginning. He might just split you open right here in the hallway when he starts fucking you. 

“Shh, you can take it,” he whispers with the most brutally gentle peck on your zipped lips, “It’s okay. She knows it’s big, baby, but she can take it. I always fuck ya real good, don’t I?” 

You nod helplessly, and fuck you, he does. It’s fast and hard and dirty. The poor wooden door rattles alongside the jingle of his belt buckle with each slam of his hips, the doorknob painfully gnawing into your lower back, and you fear the fabric of your underwear will snap from the strain that is put on it as it sits to the side. Sometimes you think you might even cut a hole in some of your pairs with how often Joel, still two years later, rushes to get his cock into you. There’s something oddly satisfying and offensive about just being able to bend over and let him see that all he has to do is push in. 

“That’s it, look at me, baby, such a good girl f’me,” he praises to get you back to him, not here to lose your attention to the way his cock feels inside of your tight heat. Your eyes settle on him again, your mouth hanging open to elicit pathetic gasps each time he knocks the wind out of you by driving his hips up into you and effectively pounding your g-spot. His face is so close to you; you can feel his breath and share it with him, can study every little imperfection in the form of tiny scars and dark lines that you hadn’t been able to see earlier from your seat a few tables over. 

“Joel,” you pant, digging your heels into the small of his back, clinging on desperately and angling your hips as he has his way with you. The slight adjustment has him going deeper, touching something inside of you that ignites the first sparks of an orgasm. Your nails claw, dig and scratch at his back in ways that would have been enough to draw blood if he wasn’t wearing a shirt, “Fuck, baby! Don’t— ngh, don’t stop.”

“You feel so good,” he replies with a groan, most likely powering through the exhaustion and strain on his body to make you feel even better. He is everywhere on you, his hands on your thighs, gripping and squeezing. He is everywhere in you too, his cock twitching inside of you each time you cry his name.

“I’m—“ you sob.

“Let go, baby, I can feel ya,” he growls when you dance around the edge of your orgasm because your fingers on both hands tangle into his beautifully chocolate hair, yanking harshly as impending pleasure knocks the breath out of your lungs. Your skin burns, your whole system halts and goes into overdrive at the same time until all you can do is shout silently at the ceiling. Your walls clench in mind-altering ecstasy then and your quietness is over, replaced by a relieved whine as you come on his dick. It is intense from how fast you’ve gotten there since he entered you, your body writhing as it is held against the wall. He fucks you through it, has you wailing as he chases his own high. 

You cradle his head during his last few thrusts, feeling his damp breath against your shoulder as he buries himself inside of your spent cunt and comes hard. It feels so good when he groans as he fills you up, the sound vibrating through his entire body. You whimper at the ceiling with the way he pulses deliciously with each breathy moan until he has no more to give you. 

He leans all his weight into you as he comes down again, holding you in place with his chest against yours to make sure that you won’t fall down and drag him with you. He gives you a moment and places a string of lazy kisses on your lips until he slips out of you with a soft sound. 

Carefully, he places you back down on the floor and eyes you as he does it to be certain you won’t collapse. He moves off of you when it feels safe to do so. 

“I say it back?” He asks as he leans against the door with you. Automatically, you tilt your head towards him. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, turning his head a second later to fully look at your disheveled state. You have a hand on your chest to calm your breathing but it still matches your fluttering heartbeat. He still aches between your legs.

You look back at him, awaiting his words with short breaths, “Say what?”

He makes a gesture to the both of you, “Before what we just did happened. I tell ya that I love you too?” 

“No?” Your reply is almost a question. 

“Shame on me,” he smiles and turns his whole body so that he faces you completely, shoulder against the door. His eyes soften as he reaches out, his hand gently cupping your cheek. The warmth of his touch is nice when the sweat has started to cool you down, and you lean into his palm, feeling the roughness of his calloused skin against you. 

“Shame on me, indeed,” he murmurs, eyes on your slightly open mouth, “Because I do love ya. More than I can understand sometimes.”

“You don’t have to say it back every time, Joel. I know,” you try to brush off how much your body and mind buzz at the same time. 

He shakes his head slightly, his eyes never leaving your mouth, “No, I do needa say it. You deserve to hear it. I love you.”

You nod and reach to hold his wrist when he leans in to press a gentle kiss to your open mouth. Just a few minutes ago, the now-careful hands had been rough on your skin and his words had dripped with sin.

“Now, how ‘bout I take you to bed?” He asks and pulls your dress’ skirt out of the top, watching it tumble down and fall back into place around your knees. 

While you wait for him to get dressed again, fatigue seems to finally have caught up with you because you feel like you might collapse in your hallway at that suggestion. When it’s safe to do so, you let yourself fall into his arms and he catches you without hesitation. 

He scoops you up, goes upstairs with you in his arms, undresses you, washes you down with a warm flannel, and gets you into bed. You curl up on your side and after a while, after hearing his boots come off and the shuffling of clothes, the bed dips from his weight. 

The warmth of his body against your back lulls you to sleep. Oh, how simply he loves you. Forever doesn’t seem like a lot to ask for.

.

.

The invitation shouldn’t have made you as wet as it did. But it had. And Joel just grinned, lips twitching beneath his big fake beard and palms pulling you toward his body.

The kiss had had to be wholesome and quick. Before long, he’d be surrounded by a sea of eager, wide-eyed, and awe-stricken children in the middle of Jackson’s town square, and what sort of example would you be setting if you were the girl caught kissing Santa Claus?

It wouldn’t rally much confidence in Father Christmas, if either of you had had to guess. You let him go. With a soft, innocuous tug of his belt buckle and a pat on his padded belly, you’d promised to be extra good while he was gone and leave more than just milk and cookies out for him later. Joel had blinked twice, and in the glint of one look, you could tell he’d wanted to say much more.

But then Tommy, dressed as an elf and scowling like Ebenezer Scrooge, had tugged him off your porch.

“You can get those cookies later, Nick. Let’s go.”

And that had been the last you’d seen of the pair before you’d snuck off to see Maria about Joel’s secret gift.

Now, two hours later in the glow of a roaring fire and near-unbearable excitement, you were perched on the sofa. Sitting with your knees tucked underneath you and a glass of milk, a tray of cookies, and a small, rectangular box tied with a bow set beside you on the coffee table.

You really hoped Joel would like his present.

You also guessed it wouldn’t hurt that you were currently half-naked in a ruby red satin teddy for his return home.

As soon as you heard the creak of the front door, you straightened up. You watched a body shuffle in, head bowed and shaking snow off his sprayed-white locks. Joel looked perfectly ancient in his present get-up: thick black boots, velvet crimson pantsuit, chest-length beard, and lopsided hat. He looked haggard and adorable, too. You could tell by the way he kicked off his shoes and left them stranded by the door he was absolutely drained by the events of that night—dealing with every kid in town under the age of ten likely hadn’t been his first choice.

But now he was here. Joel had been so preoccupied with getting off his boots that he hadn’t even seen you on the couch, and the instant his gaze landed on you, it froze.

“Baby…” he groaned.

His whole face softened, like he couldn’t believe the sight in front of him then, and his arms stretched out for you.

He looked childlike, almost, with the way he lumbered over. His limbs were heavy, and they felt that way coming to crash over your cowered frame on the sofa. You leapt back and squealed, only to feel two big palms grab you by the hips and pin you underneath him. Joel’s breaths were warm, and his eyes were alight with rapt intrigue.

“This all for me?” he asked, sliding his hands down your thighs and in between them. He cursed feeling the heat.

You had to bite back a laugh at how silly this looked—Santa Clause, a staple of your childhood, prying your legs apart and all but drooling at the sight inside. Pawing at your legs, then at your hips, then at the band of your panties beneath the tulle hemline of your teddy. It felt fun in a depraved sort of way. You felt naughty, like you might not want to share Joel’s gift with him until after all the fun was over. But, deep down, you weren’t that cruel.

“Don’t you wanna see your gift? Have your milk and cookies?” you asked sweetly, just narrowly managing to slide an arm out from underneath Joel’s weight and pointing to the assortment of goodies on the table.

Joel looked that way briefly, but then his gaze was back on you. Its warmth was smoldering. Darkening in time.

“Later. Santa’s got a bone to pick with you first.”

You squealed again as fingers hooked in your panties.

“But— but— you’ll really like this gift, Joel. Really.”

“Yeah? Already got one for you right here, kiddo.”

In a crass, graceless sort of gesture, Joel removed one hand from you to grab his crotch, and shake it firmly—‘Got a good seven inches of this gift to share, sugar’—and from there, you had no choice but to acquiesce. If Joel really didn’t mind putting off his gift for yours, at first, that was on him. You leaned back to get comfy.

“If you insist.” The smile you flashed him was coy.

Knowing, as your underwear was slid down your legs and Joel nestled in between them on the couch. You propped your head on a pillow and watched, feeling another small wave of sick nostalgia wash over your senses; Joel was still fully dressed as Kris Kringle stripping you naked.

He’d just moved to pull off the white beard, tied snug with a string, when you reached down and stopped him.

“Leave it,” you said, voice quavering with the threat of a giggle. This was insane. “Leave the beard. Leave all of it.”

Joel flashed you a look with a brow cocked up, confused.

“You want me to eat you out as Santa Clause?” he asked.

He grinned, and you almost laughed again. His expression was still puzzled—mixed with arousal, the look suited him well—and before he could say another word, you just nodded. Shimmied your red panties the rest of the way down and kicked them off at your feet.

But when Joel reached for your legs to pull you closer to him, you slipped off the couch. Your limp, shimmering frock that barely covered the globes of your ass underneath it brushed the bare skin as you darted off.

You’d meant it to be playful. Joel couldn’t brush aside gift-giving and get his way quite that easily. You stood on your own two feet, pivoting back to face him before starting to make your way toward the stairs. You waved.

“Okay. Give me a minute. If you’re giving me my present now, I need to get the rest of yours ready. It’s…upstairs.”

Joel’s—or Santa’s—whole face dropped. He stood.

“That wasn’t the deal, kiddo. You before me.”

He was already pacing after you, slowly at first; then, when your feet reached the first step, he broke off in a run. You screamed, and tried to tear your way up the rest of the stairs, but before more than four thuds had sounded on the wood, you were being thrust back in Joel’s arms—hoisted off your feet, and carried to the living room without another breath or pause from him. You kicked your feet, pretended to be indignant, and were smiling to yourself, inwardly, the whole time. He would really be kicking himself for this later, you knew.

“Gonna be a good little girl for Santa and stay put now?” he huffed, setting you down on your feet. Rather than heading for the couch, he’d placed you on the rug by the warmth of the fireplace and the winking lights of the Christmas tree, where he knew you felt coziest. And, in the glow of both, he could drink the view in completely.

You dropped to the floor where you knew he wanted you.

Still smiling. Fighting a laugh: “Yes, daddy. I’ll be good.”

Joel laid you back. Spread your legs. Tugged your butt right where he wanted it beside the fire and slotted his torso in between your thighs. Your body was practically humming with anticipation as he brought his head lower.

The fluffy white bobble at the end of his hat swung in front of his face, preventing his mouth from sinking in.

He groaned.

“Fuckin’ kids.” He batted the thing out of his way.

“Been toyin’ with my hat and beard all goddamn night. You’d think I was a…a jungle gym to those little hellions,” Joel added with an edge of taut frustration to his voice.

You knew he’d liked the ‘hellion’ antics, whether he was willing to admit it or not. He’d pretend to be pissed at the kids for being kids, but deep down, he was always more than willing to oblige. He’d practically volunteered to take on the role of Santa before the ballot had even been cast for who’d get to play the Big Red Man for the festivities.

He was your old man. A softie at heart.

Hard in other places, but that was just how you liked it.

He spread your legs with both of his hands and practically moaned at what lay before him now.

You were wet. Glistening. In the light of the fireplace and the evergreen behind him, he could see it all too clearly: how pretty and slick and shiny you were along your slit. You’d been patient awaiting his return, and he could tell. Though you were dripping nectar through your folds, you hadn’t smeared one drop with your fingers—you sat like a gleaming, unwrapped present for the man to devour.

And maybe it felt wrong, all swollen and stiff beneath his costume pants and his hair dusted white to make him look even older than he was—about 1,700 years, give or take, instead of fifty-nine—but the look in his eyes said he wanted it all. He felt raw, and needy, and debased.

You liked seeing Joel this way. You liked feeling wrong.

It was what most of Jackson thought of you, anyway. What had taken Tommy, Maria, and the closest of your friends the longest time to accept, nearly all of your neighbors still thought was pretty strange: how Joel was decades your senior and you two were dating—happily. What they were liable to think when the news of you trying for a baby spread in town was anyone’s guess.

Joel seemed to forget all that as his head sank lower. He forked two of his big, meaty fingers in the shape of a ‘V’ and pushed your folds apart in just the way you liked, and he breathed out slow, warm puffs of air over your cunt. You shuddered, and you waited for his tongue.

“Baby…” he trailed off again.

“Yeah?” Your voice was tight.

A beat of silence passed.

“I’m…probably gonna need to take off the beard.”

You breathed out a soft, reflexive laugh, and you didn’t protest. Joel tugged down the big, white, wiry clump of hair from his face and let his other, shorter one surface.

This one wasn’t white, but it was a handsome black and grey, with a lot more of a silver sheen to its these days. You smiled as Joel drew closer, and that smile only faltered a little as the man kissed your inner thigh.

He did the same to the other leg. He dragged his mouth down the skin toward your center and let his lips part a little. He kissed you again, this time at the top of your mound. It made an extra low, almost lewd sort of sound. He rubbed his nose against your lower belly, and the contrast of the weathered texture to your own was stark.

Joel was old. He looked it even more with his hair painted white and his mouth hovering over your slit.

“She been good this year?” he hummed, peering up.

Before you could answer, Joel’s tongue slid out, and he drew a fat, wet line over the seam of your pussy. Your hips jolted in response, and his free hand held you down.

“She tastes good,” he went on in the most casual tone.

Then, without further warning, his jaw slackened some more and he started lapping at the tender flesh beneath it. He dragged his tongue through the thick, stringy mess and closed his eyes, like he was savoring the taste. His lips curled, and he kissed you again—this time, it closed around your clit, and he suckled you gently. With the first wet pop and a sickening squelch from his mouth, your eyes nearly rolled back in your head; Joel’s opened again as he flashed you a shit-eating grin between your legs.

“She’s been real good for me this year, hasn’t she, hon?” And he squeezed your leg to indicate he wanted a reply.

You tried to answer, but it came out garbled and weak:

“So good, daddy. So— so—”

Oh.

Joel’s fingers moved from their forked position to push his index inside your weeping hole. At the same time, the tip of his tongue flicked delicately against your clit. The two parts of him moved in tandem, and from the feeling of both, you had to bite your lip to keep from letting out a cry. Your hand reached down to grab his hair, but all it could find was that goddamn Santa hat. Joel snickered.

With his lips, tongue, and finger still working your needy cunt, he couldn’t help but smile as you cast the hat aside

“Damn thing,” you cursed, fingers lacing through his hair.

“Language, young lady,” Joel murmured.

Like he was one to talk.

You made a fist with the chalky white locks and rutted your hips the tiniest bit, too flush with pleasure to give a single fuck what words came out of your mouth, and from the way Joel grinned and slid a second finger inside, you had only to guess he didn’t mind either.

He could pretend, though. He licked a little harder, then:

“She’s gonna be sweet for her old man, isn’t she?”

“Y— yes, she is.”

“Nice and polite before she gets this cock?”

“I promise.”

Appearing satisfied with this response, or else simply wanting to bring you to the edge and make you cum on his tongue, Joel wedged his fingers even deeper, then curled them. He brushed the soft, fleshy wall in a beckoning motion and, at the same time, sucked your nub between his lips. He felt you tense, heard you moan, and likely sensed there was no better time for his tongue to dart out again. Just as he released your clit from its airtight kiss, he was back licking circles on the tender, swollen thing, eyes flitting up to yours to hold their gaze.

“Daddy,” you whimpered.

When his fingers curled another time, you cried out.

Your brain was on the fritz; your heels were digging in the rug, stomach tight as it had ever been, and your hands seemed to move with a mind of their own. One was gripping Joel’s hair, giving you leverage to cant your hips against his face, and the other was palming your breast through the thin lace fabric of your teddy. You craved stimulation—couldn’t breathe without the feel of something on you, and in you, as you were about to cum.

Joel nodded his soft approval. He watched you fondle yourself and seemed enthralled, even from where he lay.

“That’s it, baby. Touch yourself while daddy licks your pussy. Lemme see how good she’s feelin’, sweetheart.”

His words were all the propulsion you needed and more. You pinched your nipple through the fabric, whined at the pleasure wrought by your fingers and by Joel’s simultaneously, and felt an even deeper twist in your gut. You grip constricted in his hair; you didn’t need to speak.

“She’s right there, isn’t she? I know that feels nice, baby,” Joel groaned, voice low, “Gonna cum for daddy now?”

You whined. You gripped tighter. Your body needed this.

“C’mon, hon. Let me have it. Cum on daddy’s tongue.”

Two more strokes of his tongue, a gentle thrust of his fingers, and the brush of your own touch across taut, pebbled flesh was enough. The next second had you clamping down on Joel’s hand and giving him all you possibly could, lips parted and spilling a feverish, shrill whine while your orgasm washed over you. Your toes curled into the rug, and Joel pressed your hips down as his tongue fucked you through it. He licked and sucked and coaxed your needy walls again and again; he felt you tremble, and he let your wet essence soak him through.

By the time you were done, his face was glistening.

He lifted his head from between your legs, gaze wild and lips shiny with your full release. He licked them, elated.

“All good, hon?”

“Amazing.”

You let out a shaky breath and pet his hair. Joel smiled.

“Wanna go upstairs? Be a little comfier in the bed, I bet,” he offered, slowly starting to rise, before wincing. Then when his knees audibly cracked, “Your old man needs it.”

You had no doubt about that. You sat up and smiled, and let him lift you to your feet along with him. Another snap.

“Aw, hell,” Joel hissed, shaking his head.

You wrapped an arm around his waist before pacing another step. He leaned a little into you, though not too much, and you couldn’t help but flash him an arch look.

“Did your wishlist include new kneecaps, by chance?”

“No ma’am. Just stronger hands to spank with.”

Joel didn’t miss a beat, grinning down at you.

You would’ve returned with something equally cheeky and light, had you not remembered that thing close by.

“Wait, wait—your present!”

Joel eyed the square box as you retrieved it. His eyes flashed with curiosity before you reappeared under his arm and helped him start up the stairs. He walked, and let out a soft groan, and when you’d made it halfway up, he shook his head at you again. It was slow but emphatic

“Gotta finish your gift first, sweetheart,” he murmured.

And, try as you might to get an inch of give after that, you sensed fighting Joel’s generosity was futile by then. You knew him well enough to guess that he’d only be satisfied receiving his present once yours had been properly secured with another orgasm, and his spend dribbled in big, thick rivers down the insides of your legs.

You heaved a sigh and smiled, walking slowly with him.

Joel, if you only knew.

Despite his best efforts, the man still couldn’t work out how he’d ever gotten so lucky to find something like this—someone like you. As his hips worked their way up to a near-desperate pace, bordering on frenzied as he fucked into you, Joel decided that he wouldn’t bother guessing.

He’d accept this for what it was: a gift he didn’t deserve.

The two of you hadn’t even gotten around to the business of unwrapping your presents yet, and Joel already knew that he had it all just looking down at you.

With your back arched and your hands making fists in the sheets beside your head, wet and glistening cunt accepting each one of his thrusts and squeezing him tight on every stroke, Joel had to steel himself just feeling how good you were, knowing how well you fit him in every way, and sensing this was as close to replete happiness as he’d ever get. He couldn’t ask for more.

Even without a baby, he knew things would be okay.

The two of you had been trying for months now, wholly without success of yet. There had been the night he’d bought a blue pill and fucked you four times in one day, and you’d told him at the end of it all that your period was late. But then you’d bled the next morning, and your hopes, for the present moment, had been dashed away.

No pregnancy hopes since then had amounted to anything else, and at length, you’d agreed not to let it get your spirits down—or try not to, anyway. You’d fuck as often as you could, but you wouldn’t let the thought of wanting a baby make the process less fun for you now.

That didn’t mean Joel couldn’t remind you every now and then what you were hoping the endgame would be.

Presently, he leaned over your prone body on the bed and pressed his lips to your ear. He ground his hips against your ass so his cock wedged itself all the way in to the hilt, and when the tip was just threatening to graze the edge of your cervix, he dropped a kiss on your cheek.

“Want me to put a baby right here?” He spoke gently.

Your walls clenched around him involuntarily, and your head reared back to fall against his shoulder. Joel took this as his opportunity to start peppering more kisses. He knew how much you liked the dirty talk while he was deep inside, talking about how much he wanted to blow his load and knock you up. It was a melting point for you both, and he sensed that you wouldn’t last long after it.

He had your head tilted to his, your lips spilling moan after moan as his dick plunged further inside and your eyes struggling to stay open. They flitted between his, and they gave him a hopeful look. You managed a smile.

“Right…right there, daddy,” you whimpered out.

Another sound escaped your mouth and flooded his, and Joel couldn’t help it: he kissed you, and he fucked in deeper. He couldn’t have wanted this more if he tried.

His forehead was slick with sweat, as was yours. Your bodies were grinding together—Joel’s soft, warm belly filling the concave space where your spine curved down, and he rutted repeatedly into you, like an animal in heat.

His face was right beside yours as his teeth gritted out:

“My sweet girl want a baby in her for Christmas, that it?”

Again, you whined and rolled your hips against his, nodding your head, and the look in your eyes was wild.

“Baby—please. Please fuck your baby in me, Joel.”

Joel could do more than that. Much more. Ask him for twins, triplets, or however many kids you could’ve wanted, and he would’ve given it to you then.

He wished it were that simple, and he could’ve knocked you up and made you happy a long time ago, but sadly, that hadn’t been in the cards for you two. Joel shortly brushed that thought away, not wanting to lose his momentum or delay the oncoming orgasm about to rattle your body underneath him. He kissed your shoulder this time, thrusting with his stiff, wet cock in just the way you liked, and in seconds, he got what he wanted—what you needed, clearly, as your muscles seized and your lips let out a sharp, shrill cry in response.

Joel held you to him as long as he could. He felt you melt into the bed and only held your body tighter, rutting his hips at their relentless pace to keep your pleasure alive. He heard you whine, tell him to cum inside me, daddy, please, and from that point on, he sensed he’d have to slow a little. It couldn’t be helped. When he came, he had to pin you down and fill you completely—take his time working his spend inside your needy, pulsing cunt, and when he was done, just keep you there. Let you feel him. It was a satisfaction unlike any other for you both, and it was one he’d come to love these last few months. He stilled inside you, feeling his cum coating every inch of your walls around him, and he grinned. You let out a sigh.

“So I…I made the ‘Nice’ list, Mr. Clause?” you panted.

Joel’s head dropped to yours in a short, rumbling laugh.

His dick twitched inside you, and his belly growled a bit. He definitely should’ve taken you up on those cookies.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d say we’re square,” he breathed back.

How long you laid like that was anyone’s guess. Joel didn’t bother keeping track of the seconds or the minutes spent splayed out over your body; he only sensed when he was starting to go soft and you wriggled your hips underneath. He shifted and let you flip around.

His cock now completely out and a smile touching your lips as you turned to face him, your gaze flitted to his.

“Can you go get me one of your shirts, please?”

You were also both stark naked, thanks to the lightning-quick stripdown you’d both done the second you’d made it to the bedroom. Though Joel was sleepy, he knew the routine: get you a shirt, get him a clean pair of boxers, and get the two of you off to sleep. It’d been a long day.

“Yes, dear,” he answered dutifully.

He pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose before rising. He padded his slow, heavy feet over to the dresser at the opposite end of the room, and he opened the top drawer.

“Second one, please. With the flannels,” you called out.

Okay.

Joel snagged a pair of underwear for himself, then went to the next drawer to get you a flannel to wear, since the scorching heat of your house evidently wasn’t enough to keep you warm. He smiled to himself, about to crack a wiseass comment about you being cold-blooded or something, when the man was obliged to stop. He took one look inside, dropped his boxers, and paused a spell.

When Joel started again, it wasn’t to speak—he just turned and lifted the first thing he saw in the drawer.

“Wha—oh, shoot. I was supposed to wrap that,” you said swiftly, wincing as he held it. Still smiling at him, though.

“Seems a little small to be a gift for me, don’t you think?”

In his grasp was a miniature onesie. Beneath it, in the drawer you’d directed him to, there had been at least four more just like it. All soft, pastel-colored, and small.

Your smile stretched even wider as you shook your head.

“It’s from Maria and Tommy. More of a…future present, for the two of us,” you shrugged, pushing to sit up in bed.

Joel eyed you a moment. He wasn’t sure what to say.

On your face, he saw hope and excitement etched bright. Like you were fine to keep waiting on this ‘future,’ no matter the duration. One glimpse of that and Joel felt a lump the size of his fist in his throat. He walked over.

And it had to be the last thing you wanted to see, surely—him setting the onesie down, dropping beside you in bed, then fumbling gracelessly, uselessly, to hold you.

Feeling every bit the remorseful, too-old man who couldn’t give you what you wanted. He wanted it, too.

“I’m sorry, honey,” he blurted out, unthinking. He pulled you to his chest; within his own, his heart was pounding, “I know…I know it’s taking us awhile. That’s my fault—”

“Joel.”

“My cum’s as old as dust and that’s probably why—”

“You don’t—”

“—you aren’t pregnant yet. I know it’s frustrating for—”

“Seriously, Joel—”

“—you to deal with. All of that disappointment, I mean—”

“JOEL.”

“What?”

His pulse was still thudding away. You blinked once.

Then, in a slow but deliberate path, your gaze trailed over to the nightstand. Joel’s followed after in similar fashion.

“You still haven’t opened your present,” you said. Stern.

It wasn’t the tone Joel had been expecting to hear at all.

And when you handed him the box, he felt his blood pressure spike. Absently, he thought that couldn’t be safe for a man his age. He couldn’t even tell what it held, and still, the prospect of it had him anxious beyond words. He turned it over; something rattled inside.

‘Go on, Joel.’ Your voice coaxed him gentler then.

And he did, though his fingers trembled some.

The weight in his grip could’ve been an ounce, a pound, or a ton, and his hands would’ve shaken all the same. Joel felt a current pulse through him as he slid the lid off.

Then he just stared.

His eyes widened.

“That’s…”

“Exactly what I have been trying to give you all night!” You laughed. The sound was light, not derisive or cruel.

When he looked up to you, your cheeks were as full and high as he’d seen them all day—you were smiling so big.

That made him think that this wasn’t a joke. Or a dream.

Surely his brain couldn’t have contrived both the most perfect, blinding smile on your face and a slim, white, pink-capped little stick with a ‘+’ on the screen at once.

It still hadn’t hit him completely, though, so he blinked.

“Really?” His voice was hoarse. Vacillating.

“Really.” Yours was more certain. Happy.

And, while the truth of it was slow to seep in, Joel knew he couldn’t waste another moment. He didn’t think—just pulled you in and squeezed you to him as tight as a vice. He couldn’t think—the rush of his blood in his ears and the puffs of your breath and the clatter of that positive pregnancy test in its box, discarded, were all too much.

As soon as he squeezed, your next breath was a sob.

“I meant to tell you, Joel. I meant to. I’m…I’m sorry.”

Your confession came out muffled against his chest, though Joel heard it all with total clarity. In a blink, he had you drawn back a little, just so he could hold your face and search your gaze with his own in a wide look.

Before he could even speak, he saw the tears welling up, as if coming from nowhere. You were still trying to smile.

“It’s been weeks. Since…since my period. I just—” With a wince that could’ve shredded Joel’s insides in two, you went on, “—I couldn’t stand disappointing you again.”

The same way he’d felt. Why you couldn’t tell him.

“Baby, hey, no— no. No, no, no. Please don’t say that.”

It was all Joel could do to keep his own emotions at bay.

“After the last time, and the— and the way you looked so happy at the thought of being a dad, I…I…had to be sure. Maria got me a test, and we triple-checked.” You sniffled.

Moving to wipe at tears as if any of this was your fault. Joel’s thumbs only grew more fervent in their path to smear the moisture away, and his head kept shaking back and forth—‘No, sweetheart, that’s not on you. Don’t even think that. Come here.’—as he tried to be a comfort. He couldn’t be happier. He hoped you were too. While tears engulfed his hands, he hoped you would be.

Even if his bones were old and his knees were weaker than he wanted them to be; even if you couldn’t count on two hands how many years stretched out between you and the decades made it seem like forever to the people in town. Even if this baby was the first, and last, you had.

Joel just wanted you happy.

It was all he could ask to have.

“We’re gonna be parents,” you said, half in awe.

You blinked harder and more tears slid down, but the look behind them was brighter. Your eyes were on his.

“We’re gonna be parents,” Joel repeated, “You and me.”

Then he pinched your puffy, wet cheeks, pictured a baby that looked the tiniest bit like you, and he had to lean in. He kissed slower than he meant to—had to savor you.

A baby.

His baby.

Your eyes were a little wider when he pulled away.

“Happy with your present, daddy?” you teased.

Joel blinked, and he thought of the dozen-odd boxes he had laid out under the tree downstairs—all for you to unwrap in the morning—and he realized then that you had him soundly beat in the gift department that year. Though none of what he’d bought could even hope to hold a candle to what you’d given him tonight, there were still ways to try and make it up. Say thank you.

“I love my present. And I love you.” Joel answered softly.

And just as you smiled, were about to slide back under the covers and tell him you loved him just as much, he grabbed your ankle. Started to lower himself after you.

Your eyes widened more.

“Joel Miller.”

His smirk widened right back.

“One more present before bed?”

You might’ve rolled your eyes, but you let him climb over you just the same. You felt his weight shift over yours, sensed a familiar stir in the depths of your body, and peered up to meet a matching smile you knew you’d find.

Joel was beaming from ear to ear like this was the luckiest day he’d lived to see. Like he couldn’t wait to show how glad he was to be a dad—over and over again.

“Just wanna make sure we made it…stick, y’know?”

He was grinning now. Gently laying you down.

You sighed, smiled, and spread your legs.

“Too late. You’re stuck with me, Miller.”

“Yeah? I like the sound of that.”

“What?”

When your stick lips trail down to her tits, your body follows down with it, and something, she doesn't know what, nudges the silicone cock held at her waist by the harness she so loves to use to fuck you with, and she groans. The tiny nudge of the base against her clit, that is truly the only thing she has gotten in the past 30 minutes. She's such a crybaby, you're thinking to yourself. Has you endure this for hours, yet she can't handle a little, sweet teasing?

Your lips wrap around the soft bud of one of her nipples, giving it a soft suckle. If she could, she would tangle her ring-adorned fingers into your hair, tug you off of her and punish you for being such a bitch. Not that she isn't obsessed with the feeling, because she does love the way your tongue swirls around her nipple. No, it's just the fact that she knows that as soon as she visually embraces it, lets out a soft moan of appreciation and asks for more, you will only pull away with a sweet, innocent smile.

When you inevitably do, Ellie takes in the view. Her head is reeling, she feels almost feverish. Have your tits always looked that good? Your face, lips tugged upward as you play coy, brows relaxed, and your eyes twinkling with just a mix of animosity (probably from last night when she fucked you only to rip your orgasm away for her own entertainment) but some relieving love in the mix, as well. She can't see your pussy at this angle, but she's seen it enough to just picture it, clit swollen and your sweet hole just weeping for her. She wants you on her cock so fucking badly right now.

It feels like hours of torture she endures, rightfully so. Warm tongue over her pulse, soft lips at her navel. The more she takes, the more she begs. So sweetly, and the evil girl who just wants to fuck you is stripped down into a needy, sweet girl; just as you wanted her to be initially.

"Please. I'll do anything, I'll never fuck with you again-" her words so frantic, but does she mean them? You swirl your tongue over her bellybutton and she arches up into it, hoping for mercy, and nearly sobs when you pull your mouth away before she can fully get to feel anything. This is pathetic, Ellie.

Her idealized version of teasing is much different than yours. While she is too impatient to do something like this, you're not. She didn't catch the memo when she had you previously begging for cock like you'd die if you weren't piped in 10 seconds. Now, you won't even touch her pussy. You won't even fuck yourself on the strap you have adjusted to her hips. She is actually, worriedly, starting to wonder if this is all some sick game. Her initial comfort was that at least you have the cock there, so that means she's guaranteed to get to watch you ride her until she cums from the friction, right? She doesn't even know anymore. Fuck, she didn't realize sex could ever be like psychological horror, but her mind was starting to spin. What if you just never fucked her? What if she sat here, begging for hours and hours never to hear that sweet relief, the pop of you sliding down on her cock-

She snaps out of her thoughts when you wrap your lips around the tip, suckling it so politely. Oh fuckkkk... You're like an angel, she thinks. Like a fuckin' angel, even though she can't even feel you licking up the veins of the shaft. It's not hers, but it might as well be. She feels high at the point, even though the last blunt she had was last week. It couldn't still be in her system, right? She isn't sure of anything at this point.

She should be mad at you, she should fuck you senseless as soon as she gets out of the handcuffs for all of this. But she just can't feel anything but pure need, and after probably hours of just kisses on her skin, gloss stains covering her pale, freckled skin, she is so gracious. Tamed, you could say.

She has to lean up to see the view of her cock disappearing in your mouth, craning her neck up almost painfully, but it is so worth it. You're like her own personal goddess, you have to be godsent, and pussy is aching, clenching around nothing. She can't feel it, but she swears that she does. Just as she thinks she can't take anymore, chanting a chorus of begging and pleases, she thinks you'll undo the handcuffs and walk out of the room. But no. You sink down onto her cock, and her eyes practically roll back into her head.

Your hips don't bounce, don't shatter down against hers, but instead grind so slowly. It feels good on her own neglected clit, and she can just imagine how heavenly it feels for you to have the tip rubbing into your g-spot. That is nearly as relieving as her own pleasure is, because you getting to cum may just be her favorite thing. You don't seem to make a plan to cum anytime soon, though. It's torture, sweet torture, but to a girl teased for what feels like decades, she will take anything she can get. She decides to just screw it, suck up to you and get on your good side.

Ellie loves her sweet girl more than anything. She knows this is fair, but you're still gonna be (mainly) her pillow princess after this. You just need some sweetness. You're too much of a ball of sunshine to really go through with denying her, right? Too smiley, too tender with her. You melt at her touch, and she hypothesizes in that head of hers that if you didn't tie her down, you wouldn't have gone through with this. You would've melted at the first graze of her fingers over your clit. But she still has her voice. Still has her sweet words which she knows can you can nearly cum off of. (Backed by evidence of a series of calls in which you had your pussy stuffed with your own fingers, getting off to her lewd remarks over the line).

"That feel good, baby? You like riding my dick?" She asks, and she knows that she sounds different than usual. Definitely more needy, as if she had just run a cross-country race as well.

And there it is, that sweet whine of approval. She might just cum on the spot. You nod and lean up with those sweet, plush lips. You kiss her sloppily and this is it for her. You just made a huge mistake.

Ellie shoves her tongue into your mouth, pushing against yours. The kiss should be a warning sign for you, but when your hips begin to lift to slam back down against your cervix, you lose yourself. Forget why Ellie's tied up in the first place.

Ellie is a smart girl. You've always adored that about her. She can solve calculus problems that usually leave you deciding to procrastinate on your assignments (that never get done). She is extremely intelligent. You underestimated her, and probably should've wrapped some rope around her ankles, because now she slams her hips up into yours, right up into your pussy.

You melt. She doesn't stop fucking up into you, even though it's tiring. You forget that she's strong, too.

"C'mon, baby. You really don't want this, do you?" She coos in your ear, making you even more dizzy. "You wanna get fucked properly."

"Ellie, please.."

"Yeah? I'll fuck this pussy so good, just uncuff me."

You don't hesitate, not when she sloppily kisses your lips, not when she pounds into you even tied down. Fuck, you want her so bad. So you quickly grab the key, and as soon as you made the mistake of letting her go, she's flipping you underneath her, your ankles hitched up onto her shoulders, and she is going to murder your pussy.

Deep, hard thrusts. Those are usually reserved for when you act bratty or when you beg her to be extra rough with you on certain nights. It's clear that she's not messing around with you, and you say your prayers in your head. Or you would, if you could think of anything right now.

Instead, you're left a mess. A whining, sobbing mess underneath her. That, accompanied by sounds of skin slapping and your sopping wet pussy being drilled into, are only things Ellie imagined to be real. You've got her impatient, otherwise she'd rip that orgasm right from underneath you and slam the door behind her.

"You think that was cute?" She scolds, voice husky and breathless, her words strewn all over because of the thrusts she is currently dealing to you. You don't answer? That's fine.

Ellie delivers a harsh smack to your bouncing tits. If that isn't enough, she could always just pull out, but she hopes it is because she doesn't know if she could leave your pussy right now.

"I'm sorry, Ellie!! I'm so sorry, I'll be a good girl-" you sob, and she scoffs.

"You should've been a good girl before tricking me into that."

"Please. Please, need you to make me cum. I'll be your good girl forever."

Ellie can't resist you. With one deep hit to the ribbed walls of your cunt, she's got you creaming all over her cock. You can feel it all over your body, and you shouldn't be feeling an orgasm in your fingertips or toes, but you do. It's everywhere. It feels like you're ascending to the pearly gates. Her face is angelic, carved not in focus in fucking you, but probably from cumming herself.

When it all ends, you let out a breath of relief. Then, Ellie is flipping you onto your stomach and giving a petty smack to your ass. You gasp, trying to pull her off of you, but.

"Nuh-uh, baby. I'm not done with this pussy, yet."