A Very Wiggly Writer

Trucker!Simon who’s got you- the pretty little bird he picked up on the side of the interstate at 2am, thumb stuck out in your pretty little sundress, soft tits spilling heavier over the neckline every time you breathe, panicked, after you’d quietly explained through the open window that someone had ditched you out there, hundreds of miles from home with nothing but your bag and you just needed a ride to the next town, anywhere, please- in his sleeper, curled up on sheets stiff with old sweat and cum, stained more than clean.

Soft thighs pressed together, pretty mouth parted, eyes wide and already glassy in the low light from the dash. He’s too big for the space, has to duck his head, shoulders brushing the sides, and he fills it completely when he crawls in after you.

Shirt half unbuttoned and stuck to his chest with sweat, jeans open and shoved down, freeing that heavy cock that you’ve seen the outline of under his oil stained pants when he’d palm at it, bulging against his thigh when he drove under street lamps to this trucker stop.

It hangs thick and flushed between his thighs now, heavy balls drawn up tight, the skin at the base dark with dried sweat and the pre he’s been leaking into his boxers since he got a whiff of your sweet floral perfume as you climbed into his rig.

Kneels on the mattress, one big hand braced on the low ceiling, the other reaching down to fist his cock slow and lazy, eyes dragging over you, your soft curves, the way your pretty clothes are already rumpled from being in his rig, the little tremble in your thighs that only gets worse when he leans in closer.

Mattress dipping under his weight, until his chest is right in front of your face, heat rolling off him intense. You wrinkle your nose hard, trying to turn your face away, shoulders curling in like you can escape the stench.

He shifts his weight anyway, knees forcing between your thighs, spreading them wider, one nicotine stained hand wrapping around yours, yanking it down to wrap around his cock. It’s hot, heavy, the skin at the base tacky. Your fingers don’t quite meet around it.

You flinch violently, trying to yank your hand back with a soft disgusted sound, but he just wraps his bigger one over yours and makes you stroke him once, twice, slow, firm drags that smear fresh precum down the shaft while your lower lip wobbles and your breath comes in tiny, hiccuping gasps. He groans at the skin of your hand around his cock which is all too used to the feeling of his calloused hands and scratchy sheets and not at all used to soft and warm.

His fingers thread into your hair, digging into the base of your skull, and he forces your face down the trail of coarse hair on his stomach until your pretty mouth is pressed right against the root of his cock.

The smell is strongest here, musky and sharp, the faint bitter trace of old piss where he’s been too lazy to stop properly. You squeeze your eyes shut and try harder to twist away, soft disgusted whimpers catching in your throat, hands pushing weakly at his stomach, nose wrinkling as you gag at the smell of him. He holds you there until your lips brush the tacky skin.

Rocks his hips forward, the fat head of his cock smearing across your soft cheek, leaving a shiny streak. “Open up.”

When your lips part and you take him in, he grunts low, the wet heat of your mouth making his balls draw up tighter. He pushes the taste of road and sweat across your tongue, then deeper.

You choke immediately, a wet, panicked sound bubbling up as your hands fly to his hips, pushing hard. Tears bead in your lashes and spill down your temples, nose wrinkling hard at the stench, but he doesn’t let you pull back. Both big hands sink into your hair, fingers twisting tight at the roots, dragging you down, groaning when he pushes into your throat, feels it convulse around the fat head of his cock.

“Fuck,” he rasps, barely a word, more a punched out sound of satisfaction.

Then he shoves you down the rest of the way, using his grip on your hair to force your pretty mouth lower, inch by inch, until your nose is pressed flush against the sweaty, crusty hair at the base of his cock.

Your throat spasms hard around him, fluttering and squeezing, and he groans again, deeper this time, hips twitching forward. Saliva floods your mouth instantly, thick and messy, spilling out around your stretched lips and dripping down his balls in shiny strings.

He holds you there, nose buried in the damp, crusted pubes that smell like days of sweat and road grime, cock buried to the hilt in your spasming throat.

One thumb slides forward, pressing against the outside of your neck, feeling the obscene bulge of his cock stretching your throat. He rubs it slowly, while your eyes water and more tears track down your face.

Then he starts to rut, grinding his cock deeper into your throat while saliva pours out of you. Every time he pulls back just enough for you to gasp a wet, choked breath, thick strings of spit stretch between your lips and his cock before he shoves you back down again.

Your hands keep pushing at his thighs, manicured nails scraping over sweat slick skin, but he just tightens his grip in your hair and fucks your throat harder, deeper.

The wet, gurgling sounds are obscene in the cramped sleeper. Your mascara is running, pretty face a mess of tears and spit, nose still wrinkled in disgust even as your throat keeps fluttering and milking him. He groans every time you gag, the sound low and satisfied, hips rolling in steady, filthy ruts that smear more of your saliva into his pubes and down his balls until they’re shiny and dripping with it.

He doesn’t let up until your vision starts to blur at the edges and your hands go slack against his thighs. Only then does he pull you off with a wet, obscene pop, cock shiny and flushed dark, strings of spit connecting your swollen lips to the head. You cough and gasp, chest heaving, tears and saliva dripping from your chin onto the stained sheets while he fists his cock once, twice, smearing the mess you made all over himself.

Then his hands fall to your hips, manhandles you between his highs, one big hand under your soft legs. The sundress gets shoved higher, bunched under your tits, grips your panties and pulls, ripping them off, forcing your legs wide even as your thighs tremble and try to close.

You’re crying harder now, soft hiccuping sobs, hands pushing frantically at his stomach and chest as he lines up, eyes wide and pleading up at him.

“Please- wait” your voice cracks, small and teary, “- condom? Do you have a condom?”

He pauses for half a second, the thick head of his cock nudging against your slick folds. Then he answers, low and rough, “Ain’t got one.”

The stretch of his cock is immediate and overwhelming, feels like he’s splitting you in half. Your back arches hard, a broken whimper slipping out as your hands beat harder at his chest, trying to push him off, soft thighs shaking uncontrollably.

He’s too big for the cab and he’s too big for you, hips grinding forward, heavy balls pressing tight against your ass, coarse hair at his base rubbing against your soft skin while fresh tears spill down your temples.

You keep pushing at him, palms flat against his sweaty chest, trying to create space, soft disgusted sounds mixing with the first helpless little moans that start slipping out every time he bottoms out.

The mattress creaks. The sheets stick to your back, stiff and filthy. Every thrust makes the cab rock slightly on its suspension. Sweat rolls off his chest in fat drops, splattering onto your soft belly and the swell of your tits while he fucks you in deep, heavy strokes that grind right up against your cervix. The wet slap of his heavy, pendulous balls is loud in the cramped space, scent getting thicker the harder he works, mixing with the new smell of sex and your own unwanted arousal until the whole sleeper reeks of it.

He breathes heavy, low grunts punched out of him every time your cunt flutters and squeezes around the thick drag of his cock. One hand stays braced on the ceiling, the other gripping the back of your soft thigh hard enough to leave bruises, holding you open while he uses you.

Your hands are still on his chest, pushing weakly, fingers slipping through the thick sweat coating his skin, but the resistance is turning sloppy. Your pretty face is scrunched, eyes going glassy, mouth falling open on broken little moans.

He fucks you through an orgasm like that, grinding rolls that drag the fat head of his cock inside you until your soft body locks up and you sob out a high, whiny sound, cunt pulsing and gushing around him.

He doesn’t stop. Just keeps using you, sweat dripping from his jaw onto your collarbone, the wet slap of his balls getting filthier as your slick and his precum mix into a messy froth at the base of his cock.

You’re babbling now, soft and fucked stupid, little “ah- ah- plea- ” sounds that don’t quite form real words. Your thighs are shaking so hard they can’t stay wrapped around him. He catches one and folds it higher, nearly bending you in half on the narrow mattress, and the new angle makes you wail, eyes rolling back as he grinds right up against your cervix with every thrust.

When he gets close he drops forward heavier, chest crushing your soft tits, the full weight of him pinning you down into the stiff sheets.

You panic the second you realize what’s about to happen, hands shoving harder at his sweaty chest, legs kicking weakly, soft sobs turning frantic. “Nono, pull out, I’m not on birth control- please-”

He doesn’t even grunt in response, just wraps his arms around your body, shoves you down on his cock throbing deep inside you, and then he’s cumming thick, hot spurts pumping straight into your womb, flooding your uterus with days’ worth of heavy, pungent load. It’s so much it forces its way out around his cock in messy rivulets, smearing down your ass onto the already ruined mattress.

Empties every last drop deep inside you, flooding you until your lower belly feels warm and full. Only when the last spurt finishes does he pull out, thick strings of cum stretching between his cock and your messy cunt.

Before you can scramble away he grabs tou, big hands flipping your soft, trembling body onto your stomach, then hauling your hips up so your face is shoved down into the filthy mattress. One heavy palm plants between your shoulder blades and stays there, pinning your face into the stiff, sweat-and-cum-stained sheets. Your sundress is rucked up around your waist, soft ass presented, and he’s already lining up again, the fat head of his cock nudging through the mess leaking out of you.

You try to twist, try to push up on your arms, panicked little sounds muffled into the mattress. “Wait- wait, you can’t- ”

He pushes in anyway.

“Haven’ fucked anyone in months,” he mutters, hips snapping forward hard enough to jolt your whole body and your mouth opens on a moan, drool pooling onto the mattress beneath your head. “Balls been so heavy they ache. Ain’t wastin’ it on these fuckin’ sheets again when I got a pretty little hole right here to fill over and over.”

cw: smut (+18, MDNI!). canon divergence, modern!au, age difference (baelor is in his late 40s and reader in her late 20s), erectile dysfunction, oral (female!receiving), pussy pronouns, pussy worship, spanking, slight anal play, outercourse. | wc: 1633

modern!baelor targaryen x female!reader.

part one.