Summary: You and Soldier Boy, drive through the heavy Florida heat. He’s on a short break from work and takes you to an expensive hotel. Once there, he notices how tense you are and offers cocaine “to take the edge off.”
Warnings: MDNI, NSFW, 18+, drug use, rough sex, dumbification, fake sympathy, mild degrading, coke line on chest, hair pulling, manhandling, bruising, overstimulation
The Florida heat was a living thing against your skin, it pressed down in thick waves, the kind that made the air shimmer above.
The convertible’s roof was down, the leather seats hot enough to burn if you sat still too long, and the wind tore through your hair as Ben drove with one hand on the wheel and the other resting heavy on your bare thigh.
Your feet were propped on the dashboard, ankles crossed, the soft fabric of your dress riding high enough that the sun painted warm stripes across your skin.
The break from work had come sudden and short, and you’d both decided to spend it the only way that made sense: far from anyone who might recognize him, somewhere expensive and quiet where the only thing that mattered was the two of you.
Ben pulled into the hotel, killed the engine, and sat there for a second with the key still in the ignition, looking at you..
“You look tense, sweetheart,” he said, voice low and almost gentle. He reached over, plucked the cigarette from your mouth, took a long drag himself, then crushed it out in the ashtray. “Poor thing. Gettin’ that pretty little head all worked up, huh?”
Before you could answer he leaned in, fingers sliding into your hair, gripping just tight enough to tilt your face toward him. The pull was slow, deliberate, the kind that made your breath catch.
“You know what this is, doll?”
He let go of your hair only long enough to dig into the inside pocket of his jacket. The little white baggy dangled between two fingers, the powder inside shifting when he gave it a lazy shake, the bag swinging gently in front of your face.
You swallowed hard. Of course you knew.
Your pulse kicked hard against your throat.
Ben’s mouth curved, slow and knowing. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.” He leaned in closer. “Coke. Good shit, too. Not that stepped-on garbage they push on the tourists. This is the real deal. White lines, pretty baby.”
He didn’t wait for an answer. He got out of the car, came around to your side, and opened the door like a gentleman.
The baggy and the bottle disappeared into his jacket again. He guided you through the lobby without slowing.
The suite was on a high floor, all white walls and floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the ocean.
The air conditioning hit like a second skin the second the door closed behind you. Ben tossed the key card onto a side table, set the bourbon down with a soft clink, and turned to face you fully. The baggy was still in his hand.
You went. He backed you up until the backs of your thighs hit the edge of the massive bed, then kept pushing until you were sitting. He stood between your knees. One hand came up to cradle your jaw, thumb stroking slow across your bottom lip.
“You’ve been wound tight for days,” he murmured. “I can feel it on you. That little tremor under the skin. Thought I’d take the edge off. Thought we’d both take the edge off.”
He opened the baggy with his teeth, careful, then tapped a thin line onto the back of his own hand. The powder was pure white against the scars and the old calluses. He held it out to you, eyes never leaving yours.
“Go on, doll. Don’t make me ask twice.”
You leaned in. The first hit was sharp and cold and then suddenly bright, a rush that lit up the back of your skull and made the room tilt soft at the edges. Ben watched every second of it.
When you sat back he did a line of his own, then another, the motions practiced and unhurried. The bourbon came next, he took a long swallow straight from the bottle and then passed it to you, the glass still warm from his mouth.
Ben’s hands were on you again, pushing the straps of your dress down your shoulders, mouth finding the side of your neck. He kissed like he was claiming territory, slow, open-mouthed, teeth grazing just hard enough to make you shiver.
“That’s better,” he said against your skin. “Look at you. All soft now. All mine.”
He guided you further onto the bed, following you down until the weight of him settled over you, solid and inescapable. The baggy ended up on the nightstand.
Ben kept you right there on the edge of the bed, standing between your knees while the rush from the first line still buzzed under your skin. He tipped the baggy again, tapping another thin white line carefully across the top of your chest, right between your tits where the dress had already slipped down. The powder sat clean against your skin.
“Look at that,” he murmured, voice dripping with that fake sympathy. “Poor little thing. All wound up and now you’re just sittin’ here lettin’ me do whatever I want. Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll take real good care of you.”
He leaned down, one hand fisting in your hair to hold you still, and snorted the line straight off your tits. The burn hit him fast, you felt the sharp inhale against your skin, then the rough drag of his tongue cleaning up what was left. He straightened, eyes already sharper.
“Fuck,” he breathed, almost laughing. “That’s better.”
He shoved you flat onto the bed hard enough that the mattress bounced. Your dress was yanked the rest of the way down and tossed somewhere behind him. He didn’t bother undressing fully, just shoved his pants down enough, gripped your thighs, and dragged you to the edge of the mattress so your ass almost hung off. One hand pinned both your wrists above your head. The other shoved your legs wider.
“Been tense for days,” he said, voice low and mean now, the sympathy gone. “I felt it every time I touched you. Figured I’d fuck it right out of you.”
He pushed in in one rough thrust, burying himself deep enough that the air left your lungs. No slow start. Just hard, deep strokes that rocked the whole bed, the headboard knocking against the wall. His free hand stayed locked around your wrists, keeping you pinned while he drove into you like he was trying to leave bruises on the inside.
“That’s it,” he gritted out, leaning down so his mouth was right against your ear. “Take it. Poor baby can’t even think straight anymore, can she? Just lay there and let me use this pretty cunt until you’re not tense anymore.”
He fucked you harder, the wet sound of it loud in the quiet suite, mixed with the low growl in his chest every time he bottomed out. When you tried to move your hips he just pinned you tighter, using his weight and strength until all you could do was take it. Sweat started sticking your skin to his. The coke still sang in both your bloodstreams, making everything sharper, every thrust, every rough grind of his hips, every time he bit down on the side of your neck hard enough to mark.
He pulled out sudden, flipped you onto your stomach like you weighed nothing, and dragged your hips up. One hand stayed between your shoulder blades, keeping your chest pressed to the sheets while the other gripped your hip hard enough to bruise. He slammed back in from behind, deeper like this, the angle making your toes curl against the mattress.
“There we go,” he muttered. “Look at you. All soft and open now. Didn’t even need to ask nice. Just needed a little help and a good hard fuck.”
Ben’s grip on your hip tightened until it hurt in the best way. His other hand stayed planted between your shoulder blades, keeping you face-down and open for him while he fucked into you harder, the wet slap of skin on skin loud in the quiet suite.
“Can’t even hold yourself up anymore.” He cooed.
His rhythm turned brutal. Short, deep strokes that forced the air out of your lungs every time he buried himself to the hilt. You could feel him getting closer, the way his hips stuttered, the low, animal sound that started building in his chest. He leaned over you, chest pressed to your back, mouth right against your ear.
“Gonna fill you up,” he muttered. “Gonna pump you so full it’s gonna drip down your thighs for the rest of the night. That what you need, sweetheart? Huh?”
He slammed in once more, twice, then buried himself deep and stayed there, hips grinding tight against you as he came hard. The first pulse was thick and hot, flooding you in heavy spurts while he groaned low and rough against the side of your neck. He kept rolling his hips through it, working every last drop into you, the hand on your back pressing you harder into the mattress so you couldn’t move away from it.
When the last tremor left him he stayed buried, breathing heavy against your skin, the weight of him solid and inescapable.
“There,” he murmured. “All better.”
He pulled out slow, watching the thick mess of his cum immediately start to leak out of you and down your thighs. A low, satisfied sound rumbled in his chest. He dragged two fingers through it and pushed some of it back inside you, almost gentle, almost cruel.
“Don’t waste it,” he said. “I worked hard for that.”
I just wanted to thank everyone for the support as well, thank you all, and I really am thankful for the nice dms/requests and comments I get, thank you, and I love you guys!!
gummygunk
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
kianamaiart
areudirty
