i never love it! (old:aubamevang)

‘My boyfriend’s dad was teaching us anal and fucked me so well, now I want more. How do I make it happen??’

You won’t find a story like this on Reddit. And hell, you almost posted it yourself, looking for advice. Yes, you’re that desperate.

After Mr Miller showed Jack how to make anal pleasurable for you, all your thoughts are about the older man. His hands caressing your body, his lips on your tight butthole, his tongue breaching your ring and gently licking in, his cock slowly sinking into your virginal ass, at the same time dissolving the boundaries of what’s appropriate between your boyfriend’s dad and you. How can you be ok with that unforgettable experience staying a one time thing when Joel looks, smells, fucks like that? You’re obsessed and want more but, to your chagrin, Mr Miller has been acting like nothing happened.

“Night, sweetheart” — that was the only thing he told you the next time you saw each other after the ‘lesson’. He came home from work, went up to his bedroom and that was it.

‘How’s your ass?’ Can you walk alright? Want me to fuck you again?’ None of that. Did that night mean nothing to him? Is there even a tiny part of him (or a big part like his cock) that wants to touch you, feel you, penetrate you again? Your heart tightens with frustration and hurt every time he does not do any of those things. You are devastated and horny.

Jack on the other hand is fine. He didn’t dump you. More than that, he seems even happier. He finally got what he wanted — your lovely ass. You were surprised to see that he had really been listening to Mr Miller and when you two finally had anal, he was careful and considerate. He asked you questions, noticed the slightest tension in your body and paused when you needed it.

With your butt up in the air, Jack slowly taking you from behind in your ‘most vulnerable place’ (his dad’s words), you close your eyes and imagine Mr Miller fucking you instead. Joel’s cock is thicker and longer than Jack’s, his hands bigger, his presence more dominant but you have a powerful imagination and with the help of a magic combo - your memories of that night and your fingers on your clit you come easily and with a loud cry. You don’t hide your noises in the softness of the pillow, you hope Mr Miller hears you and feels jealous.

A few weeks have passed and Joel treats you the same way - he’s polite, sweet but distant. You keep pining and picturing him while being in bed with his son. A dick is a dick after all. Besides, what if you dump Jack? You have a terrifying feeling that you’ll never see Mr Miller again. After that amazing night when he busted deep into your ass he didn’t sweep you off your feet, his truck didn’t drive you away into the sunset. He didn’t even bend you over a bathroom sink during a clandestine rendezvous. No, he stayed your boyfriend’s dad. Who fucked your ass that one time.

That lesson won’t be the last! you promise yourself, half listening to Jack gushing about a new game he’s been playing. You have to be clever and work out a plan on how to get into Mr Miller’s pants. And Jack will have to help you.

You roll onto your back and bat your lashes at your boyfriend. You two have just had anal which Jack loves more than anything now so his eyes are hazy, a smile plastered on his flushed face. It looks like he was in heaven just a second ago so while he’s completely ass-drunk, you decide to act.

Jack plops on the bed by your side, breathing heavily, still grinning. You cuddle up to him, place your head on his shoulder and give him a few moments to catch his breath. Then you kiss his neck and purr,

“Honey, remember how your dad… you know.. taught us this?”

Jack’s whole body tenses up.

“How could I forget?” He deadpans.

“Yeah it was …a lot,” you giggle, gliding your palm over his hairless chess. “Crazy night. But he gave us awesome advice, right? And now we both love anal.”

“Yeah,” Jack agrees, a dopey smile spreading on his face again.

“So I was wondering.. maybe he can help us with something else?”

“Baby..,” Jack’s voice rumbles as he’s sitting up, making you slide off him. He rests his back against the headboard and you sit up, too, your naked tits on full display. For a stronger effect. Jack immediately fixates on them, his eyes darting between your nipples while you pout and say,

“You wanted anal, right? And look how happy it makes you now. I want something, too.”

“What’s that?” He asks your tits.

You bite your lip and squeeze your boobs between your arms, fast-freezing his brain.

“I want your dad to teach you how to eat me.”

A few long moments pass. Then Jack flinches and his gaze slowly travels up to your face. His brows furrow.

“You always said you didn’t like oral.”

You don’t reply, just stare at your boyfriend, letting him get there by himself. It takes him no less than ten seconds.

“Ohhhh,” he exhales, “so I suck at it?”

You scoot closer to him, rushing to reassure him before his fragile ego shutters into a million pieces.

“Nooo, you are not, you’re good! it’s a me-problem. But also… maybe you can do something differently.” NOT SUCK AT SUCKING PUSSY, you think but say the following,

“Maybe Jo— your dad could help us with it.”

Jack crosses his arms and stares in front of himself, side-eying you from time to time.

“You really want my dad to eat you?”

I want your dad to ruin all my holes and drown me in his cum!!!! You want to say but instead shrug nonchalantly.

“Just want our sex life to be perfect.”

Jack pushes out his lower lip, his chest rising and falling quickly. You know him well enough to realize that in a second he’s going to say ‘no’.

Before your boyfriend opens his mouth, you square your shoulders and glare at him. The softness in your voice is gone, replaced by threatening defiance.

“If you say ‘no’, Jack, you will never fuck my ass again.”

Yeah, you blackmailed your boyfriend into letting his dad eat you out, so what? What’s important is that your threat worked and now the three of you are sitting at the kitchen table in the Millers’ house, having dinner all together like a one happy fucked up family.

“Mr Miller,” you start timidly, watching the older man devour his burger. It’s a takeout from his favorite place. You can’t cook for shit but your mom always says that ‘a way to a man’s heart is through his stomach’ and you hope that the food you bought for him will facilitate the conversation.

“Yes, sweetheart?” Joel asks between bites. The way his jaws are working while he’s chewing makes you all hot and bothered. As well as his broad muscular shoulders straining a black home t-shirt. Your panties are already wet.

Jack isn’t looking at any of you, tense and quiet, he’s staring at his burger like it owes him money.

“Jack and I were wondering…,” you start. “You helped us so much last time.”

Joel glances up at you and hums, not pausing the chewing, so you continue.

“And we thought.. ehm… maybe you can help us again?”

Mr Miller quickly gulps down his bite and glares at his son,

“Goddamnit, Jack! You still can’t hit it properly? I explained everything in detail!”

“Nonono!” You shake your head, palms raised, quickly reassuring the man before Jack opens his mouth and starts arguing. “In anal department… all good. Thank you again.”

Joel’s face and tone softens when he looks at you. “You sure, baby? He treats you well?”

“Yes,” you smile, melting under his warm eyes. “He does and I love everything except…”

Jack shifts in his chair, chewing the inside of his cheek. Joel places his burger on the plate to give you his full attention but only after sucking the sauce off his thumb and making your mind short circuit for a few moments. You finally compose yourself and say carefully,

“There's something else I’d like Jack to learn.”

“What’s that? How to find a well-paid job?” Joel barks a laugh and you giggle.

“That would be nice.” Your smile falls as soon as Jack throws you a glare.

“No.” You drop your eyes for a moment and take a deep breath. Embarrassment and fear grips you. What if he laughs at you? What if he says no? Oh to hell with it! You want Mr Miller’s mouth on you too much to chicken out now.

“I have trouble.. reaching the … the.. destination,” you widen your eyes, hoping Joel will understand what you mean. “When Jack ehm…when he orally... you know ..”

Your boyfriend’s dad leans forward, placing his meaty forearms on the table, and searches for your eyes.

“You can’t come when he eats you out?”

Your cheeks and neck burn as you nod, your heart racing in your chest.

Mr Miller nods with understanding, not a glint of surprise in his expression.

“I see. So you two need my help?”

Jack freezes, burning a hole with his eyes in the burger. You sigh,

“Yes. I.. we would really appreciate it. Unless—,” you hurry to add, “you don’t want to. I know some men don’t like going down on a woman.”

“Yeah, those men are called losers,” Joel adds with a chuckle and looks at Jack. His eyes narrow as he asks his son,

“You ok with it?”

You stop breathing.

If Jack ruins this for you…?! Your boyfriend is staring at his dad, probably surprised that someone asked his opinion. Before he ruins your plan you raise your brow and use all of your telepathic powers to remind him — ‘No ass for you if you fuck it up!’ Jack blinks at you for a few seconds and then mumbles,

“Yeah, totally.”

You quietly let out a sigh of relief and look at Mr Miller.

“Ok. I’ll help, son, don’t worry.”

“I don’t worry about shit,” Jack grumbles but you don’t hear him. Joy is filling your heart, your pussy throbs.

“Whenever you have time, Mr Miller. No rush,” you chirp, barely containing your excitement.

“Let me finish this delicious burger and I’m all yours, sweetie,” Joel says with a smile and takes a big bite.

For the first time in your life you’re in Mr Miller’s bedroom. He insisted on delivering the lesson in his bed this time, claiming that Jack’s was too small and creaky. You didn’t protest. Everything in this room smells and feels like ‘a man’. Strong and reliable. It’s clean and modestly furnished. No lying around socks and shorts like in Jack’s room, no neon lights that make your head ache, only natural wood, golden lighting and quiet colours. The place is decorated with Mr Miller’s carvings, standing on the shelves and the desk. Their craftsmanship fills your heart with warmth.

Sitting on Joel’s sturdy bed, your back against the headboard, you wonder if it would be hard to make it shake. You’d happily take on the challenge.

“It’s so comfy, Mr Miller!” You gush, bouncing a little on the soft mattress.

“A field that has rested gives a bountiful crop, right?” Joel says, smiling proudly, hands on the hips. “Bed is the most important thing in a house.” He tells you that he’s made the frame himself and this fact makes butterflies swirl in your belly.

Joel sits down on the bed facing you and the mattress dips under his heavy weight.

“Jack!!!” He shouts and you glare at the door, wondering what's taking your boyfriend so long. You realize what when you hear wheels rolling on the wooden floor. Jack appears in the doorway, pushing his gaming chair in front of him.

“Jesus. I have a stool right here, son.” Joel nods at one in the corner. He probably made it, too, you think, creaming your panties.

“Ain’t gonna sit on your stupid stool,” Jack grumbles, stopping at the foot of the bed, and takes his cuck throne.

“You won’t see shit from there. Roll over here.” Joel points his finger at the place on the opposite side of the bed and Jack begrudgingly does what his father told him.

Ugh! Can you better roll the fuck away from here? you think, glaring at your annoying boyfriend, and then smile at Joel when he turns to you.

“Ready to start, darlin’?”

You melt from this new pet name and croak ‘yes’. You should feel more confident than the first time but nerves start churning your stomach. What if Jack ruins it? What if Mr Miller decides it’s too much? With panicky thoughts flooding your mind you sit up and start unzipping your jean shorts.

“Woah, not so fast, baby,” Joel gently stops you with his hand on yours and you drop your arms at the sides, blinking at him. Your smile fades away. He doesn’t want you naked?

“Sorry, Mr Miller,” you mumble, closing the zipper, your eyes downcast. Joel pinches your chin and makes you look at him.

“It’s ok, sweetie. We’ll get there. I just need you to wait a little.”

You breathe out an ‘ok’, getting lost in his chocolatey eyes. Your core is simmering, pussy aching for the man in front of you. A good girlfriend in you hopes that Jack won’t notice what his father’s doing to your body and heart but a needy slut in you doesn’t give a flying fuck.

Mr Miller looks at Jack and you take a deep breath, grateful for a respite from his hot stare.

"Speakin' of anal, what's the most important thing, son?"

"Consent."

"Yes and..?"

"Prep."

"Good. Very good." Joel nods and Jack's chest expands. Is it a smile you see on your boyfriend's face? Pfff. Someone's happy to receive daddy’s praise.

"Now what about oral?" Joel continues.

Your boyfriend rubs his neck.

"Mmm.. don't know.. tongue?"

"Yeah, can't do without," Joel chuckles. "But in my experience...," he turns to you, "— it's anticipation."

His intent gaze warms up your skin, his raspy voice seeps into the deepest parts of you, as he speaks, "When you two are out and about— bar, movies, Trader Joe's, wherever, do this."

Mr Miller sits closer to you and leans in. His hot breath licks at your ear, his scent, masculine and enticing, makes your head spin, but what turns you into a puddle is his soft words,

"Can't wait to have you to myself tonight and taste your little pussy."

Your lips part, you take a sharp breath, liquid fire floods your lower belly as blood rushes to your core.

Mr Miller pulls back a little and tilts his head to observe your face.

"See?" He says to Jack while his gaze is on you.

"Her breathing quickens, her eyes get hazy. She's gonna be thinkin' about it all day. Picturin' you eatin' her out over and over."

You're trying to control your expression, your burning up body, your tingling center but Joel's effect on you is undeniable. You're nothing but a horny mess right now.

"Why not start the foreplay hours before, right?" the older man glances at his son. "Don't yap on and on about it, of course, it'll get annoyin' but one more phrase s'fine.. something like..." Mr Miller lifts his big hand to your face, gently cups your cheek and says, "Wanna feel you drip on my tongue so damn much."

Fuck! Good thing you're sitting because your knees would definitely buckle and you'd collapse on the floor right this second. His voice, both velvet and gruff, and the things he's saying with that voice are affecting you in a way you've never experienced before. You could come just listening to his dirty talk, breathing in his heady scent, sensing the heat of his huge body crushing against your skin like a powerful wave.

Joel's next question, quiet, only for your ears, might as well be a headshot.

"Is it workin'? You gettin' wet, sweetheart?"

"Yeah," you rasp and clear your throat.

"Good," Joel reacts with a warm smile. "Now could you take your shorts off for me and lie down? Let's start."

It feels like a wet dream — Mr Miller and your boyfriend sitting fully clothed in the room with you, while your shorts are on the floor, only lacy panties and a crop top covering your trembling body. You’re already shaking like a leaf with anticipation and need, Mr Miller’s words ringing in your ears - ‘Wanna feel you drip on my tongue.’ Fuckkkkkkkk

“S’ok if I position you how I want?” Joel asks you softly and you nod, hiding your shaky voice.

With gentle hands the older man bends your legs and places your feet on the bed quilt, spreading them but not too much. You feel like a fuck doll in his big skilful hands, small and powerless. It makes your core pucker.

Joel’s palm playfully squeezes your knee as he asks Jack,

“She tells you what to do when you go down on ‘er?”

“Mm, no.”

“Why don’t you guide him, sweetie?”

Both of them are looking at you so you press your thighs together and mumble, fumbling with the hem of your top,

“I— don’t wanna be rude I guess? And also… I don’t really know what I like.”

Joel shakes his head.

“Nothin’ rude about it, baby. It’s your pleasure. It’s important. And how come you don’t know? Never had it done well?”

“Not really,” you admit, glancing up at Joel.

“What the fuck?!” Jack jumps up in his chair, gripping the armrests. “What about that time on Christmas Eve? You were moaning and stuff. You came.”

You squirm on the bed, your back getting sweaty.

“Yeah… it was good.”

“Good?!” Jack squeals. “Clearly more than just good!”

“Hey! Shut it!” Joel gruffs and points his thick index finger at his son. “Don’t you dare raise your voice at ‘er! You need to be listenin’ and learnin’!”

Secretly taking pleasure in the way Mr Miller is scolding Jack, you avoid your boyfriend’s glare and focus on a sexy vein that’s bulging on Joel’s neck.

The older man turns to you and asks softly, his head cocked to the side,

“You faked it, sweetie?”

You sigh and nod.

“Fucking hell,” Jack curses and throws his arms. Joel flashes him another fiery glare before taking your hand in his. He’s all warmth and care when he addresses you.

“Thank you for openin’ up, darlin’. Promise me you’ll never ever fake it again, not with me, not with anyone else. Your enjoyment is worth more than any man’s ego. Demand it.”

Your heart skips a beat and then proceeds making somersaults in your belly while Joel talks.

“Today I need you to be honest with me, to show me how it really feels. Can you do that for me.. for us, baby?”

“I’ll try.” You’re melting from Joel’s huge hand wrapped around yours, his kind eyes looking at you like you’re the most precious person in the universe.

“Good girl.” Mr Miller gives you a warm smile and licks his lower lip. You’d do anything to lick it too but Jack’s right here and you have to be in control of your desires.

Of course you fail immediately as Joel’s next words set your whole body on fire.

“Is it ok if I touch your pussy over the panties now. As a little warm up.”

You can’t reply fast enough.

“Yes, Mr Miller.”

You glance at Jack who’s blinking quickly at his dad like a dummy. Joel doesn’t give him any attention and instead reaches for the apex of your thighs. You open them wider to accommodate his wide palm which soon covers your clothed center. The heat of Joel’s skin seeps through the thin lace and your pussy starts purring like a cat in the sun. Mr Miller’s hand is pleasantly heavy and you buck your hips, meeting his touch, hungry for more pressure.

The older man lets out a little laugh.

“So eager. She always this impatient?” He asks Jack, not looking at him, and your boyfriend just hums. You desperately need him to keep his mouth shut so you could forget that he’s in the room. You want to drown in Mr Miller’s caress.

“Don’t give it to her right away. Play with her,” Joel teaches his son while his fingers petting your pussy lips, still over your underwear. You clasp the quilt with your fists and clench your teeth, keeping yourself from grabbing Mr Miller’s arm and grinding against it like a dog in heat.

“Light touches for now.” While Joel’s teasing you, you’re mesmerized by his veiny hand massaging your cunt. He’s just started and you’re already a hot mess.

As always attentive to every twitch of your body, every expression on your face, Joel smirks,

“I reckon I can make you come like this, huh? Would you like that, darlin’?”

You open your mouth to agree but Jack interrupts you.

“Why? Thought we were learning oral.”

What the fuck is your problem?! you scream in your head, boring a hole in your boyfriend’s face, but don’t dare argue with him. What if he storms out and disrupts ‘the lesson’?

Thankfully Mr Miller handles him. He turns to his son and replies, annoyance thick in his tone as if he’s explaining what two plus two is.

“Look at ‘er. She’s trembling thanks to your tantrum, her nerves so on edge she’ll come the moment I lick ‘er. And where’s a challenge in that? Where’s the lesson? So sit tight, grab a damn drink if you want and let me do what I need.”

Jack scoffs and his dad turns to you.

“What do you say, sweetheart? Want a release?”

“Yeah, it’d be nice,” you mutter, trying to sound normal and not feral and horny. Joel smiles and starts rubbing your clit over the panties with a pad of his thumb. His voice seems distant now, his caresses bringing you on cloud nine.

“Don’t get how eatin’ this one can be a problem, son. She came hard for me last time. And that was anal which ain’t a walk in the park for no one. Lookit, she’s drippin’. So receptive to my touch.”

He’s right. Your pussy is a waterfall under Joel’s praise and caress, the lace under his finger glistening with your slick. The man hums approvingly at the wetness, coating his skin.

Jack clears his throat, reminding you that he’s still in the room, and says louder than usual so you’d hear him through the fog in your mind,

“Maybe she can’t come ‘cause she gets too much in her head? She said so herself. Not my fault.”

“Like hell it isn’t,” Joel retorts. “Who’s doin’ the eatin’? Fuckin’ Pope? If she can’t come, it’s on you. If she’s in her head, it’s on you.”

Mr Miller’s telling his son off while his fingers are stimulating your lace-covered clit, his free hand on your knee. With your mouth slack, your eyes hazy, you're watching him bring you to your first orgasm of the night.

“Don’t let her think, make her feel,” the older man continues, calmer now. “Tell ‘er how beautiful she is, how pretty her pussy is.”

He looks at you now with his gaze bursting with adoration. “Your pussy is just so pretty, baby.”

You smile at each other and like that, drowning in his beautiful dark eyes, you come for the first time tonight, whimpering and writhing on Mr Miller’s bed while he keeps kneading your pussy with his hand, giving you more ecstasy.

“See?” Mr Miller says to Jack through heavy breathing. “Didn’t even take her panties off.”

“Congrats,” your boyfriend grunts but you don’t hear any of them. You’re panting, heart eyes set on Joel, a drunk smile on your face, forever a fan of the shuddering orgasms your boyfriend’s dad gives you.

“Get ‘er some water,” Joel tells his son who begrudgingly gets up and drags his feet out of the room.

While he’s away Mr Miller assesses your state, his eyes intent, his thumb rubbing your kneecap. When your breathing returns to normal he says softly,

“I usually get on the floor but my left knee’s givin’ me grief this week. S’ok if I lie down on the bed, sweetheart?”

“Sure, Mr Miller,” you say quietly, hiding jealousy in your answer after hearing that ‘usually’. Your heart pangs, wishing you were the only one he tastes.

Joel carefully settles between your legs, glancing up at you as if you were an easily spooked little animal. Probably because of your widened eyes — before asking him at the back of your mind you couldn’t believe that your boyfriend’s dad would really agree to another lesson.

You chew on your lower lip, watching him get comfortable. The bed is big but he still has to hang his legs over the edge. The sight of Mr Miller’s broad shoulders spreading your thighs, his ass hugged by the grey sweatpants, his handsome face hovering over your pussy makes you gush so generously, you’re wondering if you’re leaking out of your panties.

“Make sure she’s comfortable,” Joel says to Jack after he returns and you quickly down a glass of water. The older man’s gaze slowly crawls over your body, from your clothed center to your face. As your eyes lock, the spark you felt in Jack’s room between Mr Miller and you ignites brighter.

“All good, darlin’?” His voice is low as if there’s only you and him in the room. Ughh, you wish.

“Yes, Mr Miller.”

Then he addresses Jack.

“You should be comfortable, too. Eatin’ takes time. You shouldn’t rush, just like with anal, but the reason is different.”

Joel’s staring at his son, his head hovering over your heat, his hands absentmindedly gliding over your spread thighs.

Jack fights it for a few moments but when you make big eyes at him he caves in,

“What reason, dad?”

Joel smiles and leans his scruffy cheek against your inner thigh, sending chills through your whole body. “You love blow jobs, yes, Jack?”

Your brows shoot up; you don’t often hear a father ask his son this question. You try to suppress a giggle seeing your boyfriend’s jaw drop.

“Right?” Joel pushes and his son hums in agreement.

Joel’s eyes find yours and he gently rubs your thigh with his stubble, “Bet you do. Her beautiful lips wrapped around your cock, her eyes teary with how big you’re. She’s moanin’ and suckin’ you off. She moans for you. To let you know how good she’s feelin’, how much she’s enjoyin’ your cock. So do the same. Moan for her. Show her how delicious her little pussy is. It’ll drive her crazy.”

While he’s talking, your mind is drawing these images he’s putting in your head, but it’s not Jack’s cock you’re picturing, it’s his father’s. Thick and long, oozing precum for you to lick off, his heavy balls tickling your chin, then resting on your tongue. Ahhhhhh, how much you want to give him head!!

“Can I kiss ‘er?” Joel’s question makes you wake up and flinch. You look at him quizzically.

“Your pussy, sweetheart. Can I give her some kisses?”

Oh! You start bobbing your head like a Funko pop toy.

A gasp falls from your lips when Mr Miller leans down and presses his plush lips to your soaked panties. With your mouth agape you’re watching your boyfriend’s dad pepper kisses over your lace-clad pussy, your oversensitive clit, sending electricity to your core.

“Mr..Millerrrrr,” you mewl and moan when Joel darts his tongue out and licks you over the fabric.

“Hmm?” He doesn’t stop, his eyes closed, his lashes flickering over his rosy cheekbones, his lips moving with determination.

You stutter, “Shhh— should I take my panties off?”

“Jus’ a second.” The older man peers up at you, a mischievous glint flashing in his blown out eyes, and sucks in your wetness through your panties. Shittttttt

He smacks his lips savoring the taste of you and groaning as you’re shaking under his big hands and hot mouth, desperately wanting your underwear gone. You need his tongue on your unclothed bare naked pussy NOW!! or you’ll die, so you break into pleading,

“Mr Miller, please, let me take my panties off. I want… we need Jack to see better, yeah?”

Joel stops and lifts his head.

“Right.” His face is serious as if he really bought your bullshit argument but then he winks at you.

Joel hooks his thumbs under your panties and you, thanking all the gods, lift your hips so he could slowly, too fucking slowly, guide them over your ass. He slides the wet garment down your legs, takes them off and lovingly puts them on the bed by your naked butt.

“Now may I help you… so Jack could see everything, yes, darlin’?”

You nod with a smile and Joel glides his calloused palms over your inner thighs, spreading your legs as wide as they would go. Your bent leg is resting on the bed now, and he helps you to put the other one on his broad shoulder. Your pussy blooms for him, cold air licks at your exposed wet clit and leaking hole. You shiver as both men are staring at your pussy — Mr Miller’s gaze full of hunger, Jack’s — full of terror.

“I can’t believe I agreed to this. Again,” your boyfriend mumbles and your heart stops for a second. What if Mr Miller pities his son and takes a u-turn away from your needy pussy?

To your immense relief, Joel rolls his eyes at his son.

“Your woman wants you to learn, Jack. Don’t be a sourpuss and watch how to treat this pussy right. Do you have a good view?” He adds, glancing at the younger man.

You can hear Jack grinding his teeth, see him gripping the armrests of his gaming chair, but the access to your ass is on the line for him so he swallows his complaints and grumbles,

“The best.”

Mr Miller nods and his eyes return to your pussy, served to him nice and hot. Or rather wet and throbbing. He groans at the sight.

A part of you wants to cover your pathetically needy cunt but it’s a tiny and silly part. You can easily ignore it while the rest of you is screaming for an opportunity to be eye-fucked like this.

“Beautiful,” Mr Miller says to your cunt and lifts his eyes to show you his sincerity. “May I touch her, sweetie?”

‘Of course’ falls from your lips the next second. Joel doesn’t make you wait. One of his hands slithers from your inner thigh to your center. He makes a V with his middle and index finger and rubs your puffy labia. He takes a sharp breath while you’re panting like a dog.

“Oh, baby,” Joel coos, his puppy eyes trained on your pussy, his fingers moving up and down, making your engorged lips stretch. “Look how swollen and wet she is. Been playin’ with you for too long?”

You hastily shake your head, hating to worry him. “No, Mr Miller. I’m just … too excited.”

The man’s face lights up, wrinkles appearing in the corners of his eyes.

“Would hate to hurt you, darlin’. I get carried away sometimes. I’ll kiss it better.”

Quick on his promise, Joel leans down and plants an open mouth kiss to your naked pussy lip and then the other.

Fuck.

Me.

Senseless.

Your hole is clenching like crazy, your breathing hitches, your mind short circuits. You grip the bed quilt so hard you’re afraid you’ll rip holes in it. Unaware of your devastation Mr Miller talks to Jack in between kisses.

“Be gentle and take it slow.” Kiss. “She senses it..-“ Kiss. “-when you do it just to get..” Kiss. “— head in return.” Kiss.

He parts from you and cocks his head, observing your cunt like it’s a piece of art while licking your slick off his lips.

“I never understood men like that. I can spend hours here.”

Yes, pleaseeee! Your pussy screams and your core is aflame while Mr Miller’s looking at your heat with a loving gaze.

You’re beaming at Joel who gives you another kiss but when you accidentally glance at Jack, your smile falls. He’s boring his narrowed eyes at you. Will he ever get over it?? If he were a sex god like his dad you wouldn’t be here now! Though you don’t regret anything. You’re definitely where you want to be.

Meanwhile Joel’s lips travel away from your needy pussy and he begins kissing your inner thighs, nibbling on your skin there slightly, tickling you with his facial hair until you giggle.

“Her laugh is so damn cute,” he mutters to Jack who doesn’t seem in the mood to coo at you right now.

“Can we get to the point?”

Joel parts from your thighs and lets out a deep sigh.

He talks with a calm yet disappointing tone as if practicing gentle parenting with a naughty toddler.

“S’exactly what I was talkin’ about. You rush it and she fears that you don’t like it. She starts overthinkin’ and can’t come. And you’re still sure it’s not your fault?”

Jack opens his mouth but finds zero argument in his defence and shuts up.

You buck your hips with a smirk, waiting for Mr Miller to continue the lesson.

And he does. He kisses your thighs again and soon his plush lips return to your pussy. He lightly squeezes your thighs with his big hands and asks you,

“Do you mind if I lick your little hole now?”

You almost choke on your drool before speaking, “You can do whatever you want, Mr Miller. Seriously. I trust you.”

Your voice is so wanton it’s almost obscene how little fucks you give that your boyfriend is sitting an arm length away from you while his dad is about to stick his tongue up your pussy.

“S’nice to hear,” Joel says, flashing you a charming smile. “Thank you, baby.”

He brings his hands to your cunt and, using his thumbs, carefully parts your folds revealing your puffy clit and crying hole.

“Holy hell look at this, Jack,” he groans. One of the perks of makin’ her come before eatin’ is now I get to have more.”

Joel runs his thumb over your entrance that’s generously leaking clear juices.

“See?” He lifts his hand and shows Jack his glistening finger. Before your slick runs down and lands on the bed Joel quickly pops the digit into his mouth and hums, sucking on it.

“Delicious,” he winks at you and you might as well die of lust.

“Can I have it all, sweetie? I promise to be gentle.”

“Please.”

You whimper when Mr Miller sticks his wide tongue out, and keeping you folds spread with his thumbs, licks a fat stripe over your clenching hole.

“She’s so soft here. Like a flower. Remember to be careful.”

Joel’s voice is strained and you wonder how hard he’s in his sweatpants. He’s lying on his cock and you hate for him to be hurting. Maybe you can offer him to pull his dick out? It’ll probably be more comfortable. But then your eyes dart to Jack who watches his father lick his girlfriend’s pussy, his hand clasped over his mouth. The scene is obviously too much for him already so his dad’s naked boner would definitely make it worse.

Joel is slurping up all the wetness he can gather, groaning loudly, his hot mouth wide open. You throw your head back in pleasure as he keeps licking you. Lap lap lap. Slurp slurp slurp.

He cleans up your folds thoroughly, visibly enjoying the process. The sounds he’s making, his mouth kissing you, his tongue dancing over your lips but barely brushing your clit is enough for you to come but he drags your pleasure out and touches your bundle of nerves only in passing.

You don’t know how much he spends licking and kissing your folds and entrance like that but you’d hate him to stop. You’re moaning and whimpering, dancing on the precipice of ecstasy with every swipe of his tongue.

“When she’s close,” Joel says to your boyfriend through the fog in your turned-on mind, “you can tongue-fuck her hole. If she wants, of course. Do you, baby? May I lick inside you?”

You lift your head and give him a drunk sounding ‘yeah’. Joel chuckles.

“Yes, I figured you’d want it. You enjoyed it when I rimmed your asshole, didn’t you?”

A needy moan is the only response you can give.

“Yeah, sweetheart. I know you love gettin’ your holes filled with tongue.” Joel’s dark gaze is full of lust as he winks at you.

“You’re so good at it,” you gush at him, bringing a proud smile to his face.

“‘S because you’re sweet all over.”

You smile at Mr Miller and your lips part with a gasp when he brushes your tight butthole with his thumb. Your muscles tense up, the extra stimulation sending you into a frenzy.

“Don’t worry, baby. Your ass is safe today,” he chuckles. “Gonna focus on this delicious pussy,” he coos, kissing your mound.

You nod but your body craves Joel in your every hole now. You’d give your butt to him any day.

“Bend your legs and hold them under your knees for me, will you? Yeah like that,” He says softly and you press your knees to your chest, exposing both your holes to your boyfriend and his dad, just like you did during the previous ‘lesson’.

Mr Miller's face inches from your asshole, he groans and glances up at you.

“Maybe jus’ a kiss?”

You nod, aroused to the maximum. Joel places his big hands under your asscheeks and lifts your hips, bringing your butt closer. He leans down and leaves a soft wet kiss on your butthole that clenches gingerly at the touch of her first man.

Mr Miller parts from your crack, breathing heavily, the act is doing something wild to him, and without asking he goes for another kiss, a third, a fourth, his fingers digging into your ass. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, your whimpers fill the room as your boyfriend’s dad is making out with your asshole.

“This ain’t her pussy,” Jack spits, stopping Mr Miller, who parts from your tight ring, looking drunk.

“Yeah, sorry, son. Got carried away,” the older man croaks and you wish Jack bit his tongue off and swallowed it. Fucker!

Joel adjusts his poor boner squished against the bed and then asks Jack.

“You know where her g-spot is?”

“Yeah.”

Jack answers so fast and sounds so sure you want to laugh in his face. He wouldn’t find it with a damn flashlight but look at him, lying to his dad like that. Joel clocks the disbelief on your face.

“Just to be sure..,” he says after giving you a wink. “It's a couple inches from the hole, you don’t need to go far and you might reach it with your fingers or even your tongue.”

Jack doesn’t say anything so Joel spreads your pussy lips again.

“Gonna push my tongue inside you now.” You breathe out an uh-huh and Joel turns to Jack.

“If you’ve done a good job, you won’t need to open her up, her hole will swallow your tongue or fingers right up.”

‘My hole can swallow you to the elbow’, you think, staring at the hot older man. Joel darts his wide tongue out and slowly pushes it into your entrance. Your pussy hungrily sucks it in, desperate to be filled, and Joel moans, when your walls clench around his hot muscle.

He flutters his eyes shut in pleasure and begins tongue-fucking you. Your juices are flowing right into his mouth, your loud moans are mixing with his like a depraved symphony, interrupted by annoying huffing and puffing of your jealous boyfriend. To hell with him! You’re in heaven!

“Look at this waterfall,” Joel pants, parting from your pussy to watch your hole clench and cry for him.

“Yeah, hope she won’t get dehydrated,” Jack grunts, side-eyeing your cunt that has never been that wet for him.

Joel ignores his son’s displeasure.

“Tongue fucking is fun but we also need to give attention to this little jewel here.” He places his thumb on your mound and lifts the hood, making your clit pop.

“This cute button is a powerhouse of her pleasure.” Joel grazes it with his thumb, drawing a whine out of you. “Make it your best friend and she’ll be the happiest girl.”

Joel’s talking to his son but his obsidian eyes are on yours.

“Now I’m gonna kiss ‘er clit. Gently, with a little suction. I won't stop until it’s big and throbbin’. Until she begs me to make her come.”

He lightly pinches your bud with his thumb and index finger and you mewl.

“Will you be a good girl and beg for it?” he smirks.

You have no idea how your mushy brain can produce a naughty answer but it does.

“We’ll see.”

Joel cocks his brow and his face darkens. You’ve been such a good student for him but the fire in his eyes tells you he’s enjoying the brat in you as well.

He smirks at you and without a heads up spits right on your clit.

“Ahhhh,” a pathetic whine escapes your lips, your eyes widen, your core aches so much it hurts, Jack curses under his breath.

“Oh we’ll see,” Joel smiles, enjoying your reaction. His warm saliva trickles down to your clenching hole that immediately swallows it up.

“Make it wet,” Joel says to Jack and, staring right at you, spits on your bud again. It hits you so perfectly you almost come.

Your hand cups your clothed tit and you begin kneading it, absentmindedly, your eyes locked with Joel’s.

“Pull your shirt up, sweetie. Play with them,” he says softly, staring at your breasts. “No need to be shy.”

You glance at Jack and lift your top over your chest, exposing your hardened nipples.

“Yeah, like that.” Joel’s blown out eyes are focused on your tits now, he’s licking his lips. “Now can I ask you for a favor, darlin’?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Twitch your nipples with one hand and the other… give it to me.”

You do what he says and his warm hand wraps around yours. He brings it to your pussy and shows what to do.

“Keep her open like this for me, please… need your clit ready for my mouth.”

You press your fingers to your pussy and pull up, exposing your clit. It twitches in anticipation.

“Yeahhh, baby, perfect.”

Joel kisses your throbbing clit, applying suction to it, his lips so soft, caresses so gentle you buck your hips, searching for more pressure, for harder stimulation. Joel tuts,

“Needy little thing.”

He glides his palms over your thighs and smooches your clit again, laps at it, sucks it between his plush lips, slurping loudly.

“Show ‘er…,” he begrudgingly parts from your pussy to teach Jack. “Show how much you love eatin’ ‘er.” He growls and the vibrations he’s created radiate through your core, all over your body.

“Swirl your tongue over her clit, like this.”

He sticks his tongue out and draws tight circles around your bud, making your whine.

Shittttttt!!

“Or flick it left and right— like this.” He shows how to do it. “Or jus’ lick it like the most delicious ice cream.” Mr Miller starts lapping at your clit, he laps and laps, dragging his wet hot tongue over your most sensitive spot and your thighs start shaking, tears appear on your lashes, that’s how amazing he’s making you feel.

Ahhhhhhh!

“Hurts?” Joel pants, lifting his head, his gaze concerned, and you choke on your words, watching him through your watery eyes.

“No-no— keep going— so good.”

Joel smiles and turns to Jack.

“She’s close. Let’s bring it home.”

You don’t look at Jack, don’t hear him, by now he’s blurred into the background. The only man you see is Joel, splayed on the bed, hair disheveled, his beard, moustache and lips soaked with your juices, his hands gripping your shaky thighs, helping to keep you open for him. He looks drunk on your pussy.

“Mr Miller,” you say, barely recognising your own needy voice. “Can I— may I —- ahh—put my hand — in your hair.”

Joel flashes you a smile and croaks,

“‘Course, sweetheart. Tug if I’m doin’ a good job, ok?”

You cry out when your boyfriend’s dad pushes his long fat tongue into your hole. Deep. He curves it and licks over your soft spot, injecting so many endorphins into your veins, your head spins and core tightens. He pulls out and slowly drags his wide tongue up, up, up, over your entrance, between your folds and to your clit. He sucks on it gently, before his tongue snakes down to fuck into your hole again. You rake his salt and pepper curls with your fingers and then pull at a particular deep tongue thrust.

Mr Miller groans and the vibrations make your thighs tense, your pussy clamping on his tongue.

“Please…,” you mewl.

“What’s that, baby?” Joel mumbles into your hole. “Tell me.”

“I— keep fuckin’ me— with your tongue— Please, sir.”

Joel almost roars right into your hole like an animal.

“Come for me,” he orders and pushes his tongue into your gaping hole.

He’s curving it against your g-spot, slurping down your slick, moaning and groaning into the mouth of your pussy and you can’t hold your climax off any longer.

You scream like a madwoman and start shaking against his bed, coming hard, rolling your hips and fucking yourself on Joel’s tongue. His prominent nose is bumping into your clit and you moan ‘Joellllll’, while your walls are squeezing his tongue, your hands clasping his locks mercilessly. You’re using him to penetrate yourself deeper, rub your clit harder, prolong your orgasm more, more, more. You’re thrashing and moaning until your arms and legs fall on the bed limply and you’re breathing fast with your eyes closed, your heart pounding in your ears. You’re completely spent.

Mr Miller’s voice makes your eyes flutter open. It takes you a few seconds to register that he’s talking to you.

“You’re ok, sweetie?” He’s sitting on the bed next to you now. You can’t speak, too inebriated, too euphoric, floating in the river of afterglow so you give him a nod and a weak smile.

Jack is saying something too but you don’t listen. You close your eyes again and let yourself rest.

A few minutes pass (or so you think) until you hear Joel speak over you.

“She ever squirted with you?”

“Mm, not sure.”

“No then. You’d definitely know.”

“Whatever.”

“I haven’t,” you croak and clear your throat, your eyes open. “With anyone. I doubt I can do it.”

Joel takes your hand that’s resting on your still heaving belly and leans down to you.

“I’m sure you can, darlin’,” he coos. “Wanna try or you’re too worn out?”

Even being tired and doubting your ability to squirt, you hate to leave Mr Miller and go to Jack’s room so you agree.

Joel beams at you but your boyfriend isn’t as happy.

“Dude! You lost your mind? You look barely alive!”

You roll your eyes.

“Don’t dude me, Jack! I’m fine. I wanna see if I can do it!”

“Ugh!” Jack crosses his arms and falls back into his cuck chair.

Joel’s jaw shifts as he watches his son for a few moments, then he looks at you.

“So… two lessons for the price of one, huh?” He jokes and you giggle. “I can make you come again, but …”

“What?”

Joel looks down at your pussy.

“You might be overstimulated right now. Don’t wanna hurt you.”

You spread your legs and follow his gaze to your puffy lips and clit.

“Mmm, don’t know. Can you check?” You purr, glancing up innocently at Joel.

The air between you two is hot again, your core filling with sticky desire.

“Sure thing, baby.”

Joel brushes your clit with his calloused thumb and you jolt. He pulls his hand back.

“See.” Joel shakes his head but your core aches for your boyfriend’s dad with a renewed force.

“It’s ok. Touch me some more. I’ll be fine.”

“Brave girl,” he chuckles and returns his fingers to your heat. He begins swirling your clit, his movements feather-light and slow.

You hiss at the dull pain that soon morphs into pleasure and your eyes roll back as Joel caresses your slicked up clit.

“Jack,” he calls his son and starts explaining to him how to make you squirt. Something about fingers and pressure. You can’t grasp his words for the life of you. All you can do is moan, your back arched off the bed while Joel’s thumb massages your clit.

“Baby,” Joel coos and you reply with a needy moan. “I’m gonna insert two fingers inside you, ok?”

You bob your head and lift yourself on your elbows so you could watch Joel’s thick digits slide into your hole.

“Yeah, you better watch. It’s a sight,” Mr Miller smiles at you, pumping his fingers in and out of your entrance.

“I’ll let you get used to the girth,” he says, finger-fucking your stretching hole.

His thumb is still on your clit, rubbing it up and down, and you bite your lip, another orgasm building fast.

“Now you’re gonna feel pressure,” he warns you and the next second you gasp, “Oh my God!”

Joel bends down and searches for your eyes.

“You good, baby? It might be a lot.”

“Please, go on. I… never felt anything like this.”

“If it’s too much, tell me immediately. I’ll stop, k?”

“Yeah.”

Joel smiles and pulls his bushy brows in concentration.

“Let’s make you squirt, sweetie.”

Your mouth is open, your eyes half-lidded as you’re watching Joel work on your pussy. His warm palm is splayed on your lower belly, skillful thumb strumming your clit, bringing you closer to your climax. Fingers of his other hand are deep inside you, making your core tighten, pushing up, up, up into your bladder.

“Oh-fuck-fuck-fuck,” you whimper, gripping Joel’s hairy forearm in panic. His muscles are bulging, steel under your fingers.

Joel’s forehead is wet, he asks through heavy breaths.

“Want me to stop?”

You’re staring into his black eyes, panting and trembling, overwhelmed with the sensations he’s bestowing on you, but you shake your head.

“No— keep going.”

And he does.

His fingers push and push, the pressure growing unbearable and you squeeze your eyes shut with a loud whimper.

“Let it go, sweetie. Trust me. It’ll feel so good. C’mon, beautiful.”

You hear Joel and the dam breaks. With Joel’s fingers pushing deep inside you, clear liquid starts spraying out of you, covering his forearm, your thighs, his bed. Joel grunts triumphantly, you cry out in surprise, Jack rolls back in his chair like a scared little bitch but you don’t care. Your squirting pussy is squelching loudly and you’re embarrassed for a second but soon the feeling is swept by the immense pleasure as you come with a shameless moan.

“Here we go,” Joel groans and keeps hitting your clit with the heel of his hand, his fingers flooded inside you. “Attagirl.”

When overstimulation hits you again, you gently push his soaked hand away. You’re a sight— cheeks wet with tears, thighs and pussy glistening and dripping.

“Woah,” Jack comments, gawking at his dad’s ‘work’.

You clumsily sit up on the wet bed and take in the mess — the soaked quilt under your ass and in front of your pussy, Joel’s forearm wet with you. Your cheeks and neck start burning.

“My god, Mr Miller, what have I done?” you whisper, panicking.

“Shhh, none of that, sweetie,” Joel pants like he’s just run a marathon and well, he’s given you so much pleasure it’s understandable.

“Go get ‘er a towel, Jack,” he commands. You don’t notice your boyfriend leave the room, your widened eyes still set on the big wet spot on the quilt, your hands clasped over your mouth.

“I’m sorry, Mr Miller,” you sob, emotions overwhelming you as you look at the man through tears of embarrassment.

“Jesus, darlin’, C’mere.” He scoops you and pulls you closer. You immediately nuzzle his broad chest, cuddling up to him and sniffling quietly in his embrace, enveloped by a cloud of his manly scent.

“Don’t you worry, sweetie. You did wonderful. So proud of you.”

“I’ll do your laundry, I promise.”

Joel squeezes you with his strong arms.

“Hell no, I’ll do it. I made a mess myself,” he chuckles and you pull back to see what he’s talking about. Only now you notice a dark stain on his grey sweatpants. Right over his crotch.

“Mr Miller,” you mumble, your eyes darting between his face and his wet bulge. “You..”

Joel squirms on the bed, scratching his scruffy cheek.

“Yeah.. embarrassin’. But when you came on my tongue…. You were…it was so hot. I couldn’t stop myself.”

Your lips spread into a grin— this big hot sex god busting a nut in his pants while eating you feels like a giant compliment.

You stare giddily at the cum spot, your tears dried up already. A naughty thought pops into your mind and feeling ballsy you purr,

“I wish I could help you clean this up.” You peer up at him, suggestively licking your lips. Joel takes a sharp breath, his gaze moving from your eyes to your mouth, until he whispers,

“You’d do that for the old man? ‘Fraid my cock’s covered in my load, too.”

Your heart’s almost jumping out of your chest, your eyes locked when you mutter,

“Why don’t you fuck it into me then?”

Mr Miller sighs like it’s the hottest thing he’s ever heard. He leans in, his hot breath fanning your lips, as he says,

“I want it so fuckin’ much, sweetie, you have no idea.”

You place your palm on his thick thigh and admit,

“I want it, too.”

Joel looks at your hand and then into your eyes. The next three words that fall from his lips make your throat tighten — “You are Jack’s.”

“What if I weren’t?” You’re not sure Mr Miller hears your question because he suddenly moves away from you, creating distance between you two.

“Couldn’t find a clean one,” Jack grunts, stomping into the room. He passes Joel and comes up to you, side-eyeing the big wet stain on the bed. When he gives you the towel you take it with shaky hands and fallen face.

“You ok?” Mr Miller asks while you’re drying your thighs. Not looking at him, you lie, “Yeah.”

In truth, you want to curl into a ball and cry. You want to stay, want him next to you, on top of you, inside you…

“Let’s go to my room. Thanks again, dad,” Jack throws to his father. Your boyfriend grabs your panties and shorts, and with the towel wrapped around your hips like a skirt, you follow him as he leads you to the door by the hand.

Before leaving you glance back and meet Joel’s eyes. They are pensive and sad.

Do we want a part 3 or …? 👀 Tell me your thoughts plssss loves!

Thank you for reading! Please, leave a comment and reblog if you enjoyed the story💞

Pt 1 Let Me Teach You || MASTERLIST

Tag list: Milla @harriedandharassed @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @keylimebeag @pascaltesaye @meetmeatyourworst @callmebyyournick-name @tateypots @pedrofan @chloeee20 @ess-evo @upintheclouds95 @ashleyfilm @shadowqueen2024 @time-for-my-weekly-spanking @libre-sol @iamladyp @somebody-get-me-rehab

Joel tag @/libre-sol @roserxein

You meet the wolf before the man. There is a shortcut between the pharmacy you work at and your home, the old train tracks that haven't been used by anyone other than junkies since the mid 60s. It is a cold, crisp evening, and you're halfway home before you run into another person— It is not unusual for the tracks to me empty this time of year, when the weather gets colder and the people that reside by the tracks start taking shelter under the overpass near the only highway in and out of town.

The person in question is Henry, an old man that used to be friends with your father before he passed. You think you used to call him Uncle Henry back when he was a constant in your home, back when he pulled you on his lap and it made you want to cry; it's been many years since then, the childhood memories foggy but still anxiety-inducing, and you have just finally started to manage being around him without a panic attack. He is a big man, beer gut belly overflowing above his belt and always in a constant state of grimy disarray, most of the time mildly to highly intoxicated even if he has a whole family to care for. Henry is always smiling though, talking to passersby or to himself or to the ghosts of past mistakes that keep haunting him so. This time, there is no smile on Henry's face. Just terror.

Pure, unadulterated terror that doesn't match a grown man's face, the sort of anguish that you expect from a frightened child.

“Run!” He screams at you, but you don't. You don't believe there is any incoming threat just yet, have seen more of your fair share of drunken meltdowns to not believe a word out of Henry's mouth, be it good or bad. The boy who cried wolf, you think at the time, and there's something both ironic and laughable at how right you are about it.

Maybe you should've ran. Maybe you should have smelled the fear wafting off his pores as he runs past you, stumbling through the tracks, tears and snot running down his flushed face. Things certainly would've ended differently if you did. Or maybe not. Maybe this was fate, and things happened just the way they were meant to. Maybe you'd never get to meet the man before the wolf, maybe there was another crossroad between your path and the wolf’s further down the future before the first time you lock eyes with Joel Miller.

The wolf is bigger than any animal you've ever seen in person. It's taller than you even on all fours, its fur thick, chocolate brown mixed with gray in large swirls, snout curled into a snarl as it pounces from the heavy trees onto the train tracks. It's the eyes that catch your attention first: They're warm brown, captivating in a way that you can't explain why. Its eyes seem… Sentient. Sad and haunted like he has seen horrors you can't even imagine. The wolf approaches you slowly, its black claws scraping against the wood and gravel of the tracks, those sad eyes glued to your face like you're the best meal it'll ever have.

Still, you don't run. Not because you're so petrified you freeze, but it's almost like your brain doesn't register the monstrous animal as a threat— You don't run because there isn't any instinct in your body telling you to do so, even as Henry eats shit as he trips on the tracks, still screaming.

The wolf moves slowly until it is just a breath away from you, its sharp teeth no longer showing. It just stops, standing in front of you with curiosity in its eyes as it leans in, long snout bumping into your shoulder; it takes two bumps for you to understand it's trying to push you away and you step to the side, out of the tracks, clearing the path for the beast to reach Henry.

The events that follow are ones you've recounted time and time again to paramedics, police officers and then animal control: The huge wolf pounces forward in a flash of fur and muscles, his teeth sinking down on Henry's shoulder before you could even blink. The man screams, but the animal doesn't relent— It shakes its head from one side to the other, its movements sharp and fast, Henry's head connecting with the rusted iron of the track three times in the process. There's blood and bone shards and brain matter splattered all over the ground and the wolf, its light-colored snout turning deep crimson, bits of flesh hanging between its teeth. It all happens in a matter of seconds, one moment the wolf is by your side, the next he's dragging the dead man's leg into the depths of the woods, leaving the rest of his body behind at your feet like a gruesome gift.

What you don't tell the paramedics, police officers and animal control is how the scene made you feel. Henry's screams were pathetic, yes, but the snarling of the animal reverberated deep inside of you, the anger and violence in its eyes settling in your core, the trail of blood on the grass so enticing your underwear is still wet by the time you finally make it home, hours later, with a dismissal from the police saying they might be in touch and the telephone number of a trauma counselor.

You meet Joel about ten days after the encounter with the wolf, which has been consuming your mind at every waking moment. It's a slow shift at the pharmacy, and you're playing a game of throwing pencils up into the styrofoam ceiling when he stops at the checkout counter, three cans of toddler formula in hand. He is a tall, impossibly broad man, his curly hair — chocolate brown streaked with gray — slicked back in a fashion that tells you he cares about his looks but doesn't really have the time to put too much effort into it; the man looks tired, purple bags under his eyes and cheeks slightly hollowed, old and weathered but with a soft quality to the crinkle in the corner of his eyes, a faint scar on his temple that disappears into his hairline.

It is his eyes that make you freeze. Warm and brown and sad and haunted. Sentient and oh-so-human. You instantly think back to the wolf — the one you started calling yours in your head —, the similarity so undeniably there that you forget the greeting you're supposed to give. Joel stares at you with the same intensity as you do him, toying with his wallet for a moment before he plucks a can of mints from the display next to him and throws it on the counter.

The metallic clanking of the tin can brings you back to the present, finally being able to breathe as you start to scan his things, hands shaking so badly it takes you three times to properly scan the barcode for one of the toddler formulas.

“Who are you?” You ask, though that is not how you wish you had formulated the question. You've been living in this backwater town in Mississippi your entire life, and a man like him certainly would've caught your eye sooner. He's an outsider, someone new— Odd and off-putting, much like the giant wolf from the woods.

“Joel.” He says, not seeming one bit bothered by the rudeness of your question.

“You don't live here.” You say as he bags his own items— Something that is supposed to be your job, but you're too busy staring at the discoloration around his ring finger that tells you there used to be a wedding band there not too long ago.

“I do now.” He gives you another nod. “It's nice to meet you.”

Joel says your name as he leaves, soft as the petal of a flower, and you're so flustered by how it sounds in his gruff voice that you don't even notice you never told him your name.

After that, you see him everywhere. You're unsure whether he starts showing around town more or if you're suddenly hyper-aware of his presence, but wherever you go, Joel is there— Always with a little girl in tow, a tiny little thing that can't be older than three years old, curly hair bouncing as she waddles next to him or glued to his back like a baby opossum.

He doesn’t even try to hide his staring. Be it in line at the grocery store, or at the only coffee shop in town or as you sneak away from the morning mass at the local church — which you only go because it appeases your grandmother, not because you're particularly religious — he's always there, in the corner of your eyes, his striking brown eyes always glued to your face.

You don't realize that the wolf is always there too, almost every evening, prowling the treeline that surround your backyard until one autumn evening, when you're in your kitchen busying yourself with dinner — frozen mac and cheese that was discounted at the store because of how close to expiring it is — and you catch a glimpse of two bright lights between the trees. At first you think it might be a reflection on the window, or perhaps a trick of the light, but by the third time it happens you find yourself padding outside barefoot, your microwaved mac and cheese in hands; sure enough, a pair of glowing eyes stare at you from the darkness, tracking every move you make. You sit down on the stairs of your dilapidated backyard, shivering from the cold for forty minutes, staring at the animal that holds your gaze intently before it disappears back into the woods.

Five days later, you find a mass of black fur on the railing of your back porch; you think it is a dead animal at first, poking it with kitchen tongs to make sure it's dead before you realize it is, in fact, a throw blanket— It's made out of thick, coarse dark fur and by the size of it you think it might be from a bear; you've only seen a black bear once, when you were a kid and your father took you hunting, but you don't think you'll ever forget the fear you felt then. The blanket is heavy, the pelt clean and smelling faintly of cedar. That evening, you sit on the porch again, warm from the bear pelt wrapped around your shoulders— And when you find the wolf's eyes, you could swear it looks prideful.

You hear it on the evening news that they've found another body torn to shreds in the woods; it's in the county news, the story spreading fast considering how nobody really believes that the attacks were done by a giant wolf. The town's Sheriff goes on TV to say that it's definitely a bear attack and that people shouldn't panic or worry as long as they don't go into the woods. The body this time is of a church lady, some pillar of the community that you know to be a huge racist that buys sleeping pills from the local drug dealer but all they speak about is how kind and caring and loving she was— Her husband, who has a very active Grindr profile, cries on screen and urges people to join a vigil in her honor.

You think about all the addicts and homeless people who went missing — five in total, if your math is right — before anyone gave a shit about the wild animal running rampant. You go to the vigil anyway, in a black dress and a gold cross hanging from your neck, because you know your grandmother would call you selfish if you didn't.

Joel isn't there, and you think it is the first time since you met him that he isn't in the same public setting as you.

You go back to the train tracks the day after the woman's body is discovered. You tell yourself that you're not expecting to see the wolf again, not really, but you still have a pack of dog treats shoved deep in your pocket. You're not even certain if a people-eating wolf would like Pup-Peroni but it is cheaper than buying a steak— Which you actually considered doing, even though you've been living on off-brand cereal and discounted TV dinners for the past few months.

It's been raining all day, your black rain boots squeaking with every step you take— You want to go into the woods, want to search for the wolf but you think that might be a tad too crazy: As if standing there staring at the trees with dog treats in your pocket already isn't enough.

It doesn't take long for the animal to appear — at most five minutes, and you wonder if it's because it was already there or if it, too, had been searching for you — but, unlike the first time you meet, it doesn't come out of the protection of the tree lines. You hesitate for a moment, watching as the remnants of the rain fall on the top of its head, the fur wet but not wet enough for an animal that supposedly had been out in the pouring rain all day.

You step forward, pulling the packet of treats from your pocket.

“Got you something.” You say, opening the package and pulling one jerky stick from it. "Wanted to get you a steak, but I can't afford that right now."

You take another step, and then another, waving the jerky in front of you. The wolf watches, unmoving. “C’mere boy, I think you'll like it.” 

The wolf approaches you slowly, carefully but you have the feeling that it is more for your benefit. You throw the treat on the ground — you’re not afraid of the wolf, not really, but it could easily chomp down your fingers alongside the Pup-Peroni. It noses against the treat on the ground, huffing before it turns its big head back to you. The wolf doesn’t eat the jerky, but it still stares at the package in your hand; you hesitate for a long moment, at a standstill— And then, before you can regret it, you pull out another jerky and offer to the wolf without throwing it to the ground, extending your arm as far from your body as you can. 

The wolf is still careful, but not slow anymore: It moves forward, one giant paw at a time, before it plucks the jerky stick from your hand with the sort of gentleness you’d never expect from an animal this big. It doesn’t even touch you, just a brush of its wet nose against your fingers as it pulls the treat away. The wolf munches on it, and then sits back on its hind legs, watching you intently. 

The expectant look makes you giggle and you offer another treat, startling when it becomes bolder, nudging your hand as it takes the jerky with the same gentleness it had before. You give it — him, you assume, awfully shy when you think about taking a peek between its legs to confirm it — a quick pat on the head before pulling back. He headbuts you, then, the treat half forgotten inside his mouth as the wolf bumps his forehead against your hand. You take the hint, scratching the wolf’s ear— The fur is soft and clean, not brittle or dirty as you expect, and you find yourself sinking your fingers into it, brushing your fingers through a small knot near the animal’s neck. In the space between his right ear and his right eye there is a small, hairless line. A scar, which must be old because it doesn’t look painful or irritated, and you only notice because of the thin strip in which he lacks fur.

He eats the entire package like that, one treat at a time, always taking it from your hand directly; you talk while he eats, blabbing away about everything and anything— You tell him about your dead-end job, about your overbearing grandmother and about how Céline, your only friend, left for college a couple of years and how awfully alone you are now; she still calls sometimes, you tell him, but things aren’t the same: She’s in a big city, working towards a medical degree with a fiancé and a whole new group of new, more experienced friends while you feel like you’re failing in this back alley town with a shitty job, no friends and barely any money to afford both groceries and your weed.

The wolf nudges your collarbone as you mention your parents, both of whom died when you were very young, and the struggles of having to go to church every week to pray for a God you don’t really believe in anymore; the shoulder of your white dress slips down, briefly, and then the wolf pushes it back into place with his snout. You’re certain it was a mistake, because no animal has the consciousness to do that, but it still makes your stomach flutter. You stay there for hours, sitting on the train tracks with your wolf until the rain picks up again— The animal walks you home, its soft fur pushing against your arm whenever you shiver. The wolf doesn’t cross the boundaries into your backyard, but it watches from the treeline as you pick up the extra key beneath the mat in front of the backdoor and slip into your chilly, empty house.

You feel Joel’s presence even before you turn around. You’re crouched with your back to the door when you hear the familiar swoosh of the automatic doors and you know it’s him— You stay where you are, restocking the candy aisle and letting Jenny deal with whatever it is that he needs; you have about twenty minutes left until the end of your shift but you start to stock the neat rows of Reeses’ Cup a little slower, acutely aware of Joel’s presence as he makes his way through the drug store, listening to the soft babble of the little girl you assume to be his daughter. 

They end up in the candy aisle, naturally. You keep your head down, hating the way your hands tremble a little. Truth is, Joel Miller makes you nervous. Big, broad and imposing, always around, always watching— There is something equally unnerving and attractive about him and you’re not sure which wolf you should feed: The one that tells you he is dangerous, or the one that tells you he could fuck your brains out. The little girl says something in that language toddlers speak that only their parents seem to understand before reaching for a bag of Skittles next to your head. Joel tuts, carefully extricating the brightly colored package from her hands. 

“Absolutely not.” He huffs. “You’re too young for that one. How about this?”

Joel plucks a Reese’s Cup from the shelf you’re currently stocking. “You like chocolate, don’t you, pup?”

“Has she ever had peanuts?” You say before you can stop yourself. You raise your head, still crouched on the floor. Joel stares at you for half a second as if he doesn’t believe you’ve spoken to him before shaking his head. 

“Not really, but it’s better than chokin’ on a Skittle.”

“You should give it to her in the parking lot of the clinic.” Once again, you seem to be unable to hold back the words. “Just in case she’s allergic.” 

“Do you have children?” He cocks his head to the side, eyes glinting as if he already knows the answer. You jump to your feet, embarrassment making your stomach drop. 

“No— You’re right, I’m overstepping. Shouldn’t be telling you how to raise your kid.”

Joel flails, eyes wide and he doesn’t even notice when the little girl shoves the corner of the Reese’s package in her mouth. 

“I meant— That’s not—” He closes his eyes and takes a breath. “Thank you. For caring.” 

“She also probably shouldn’t be putting unwashed plastic in her mouth.” You say, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “We have a lot of rats in the storage.” 

Joel pulls the package from his daughter’s mouth, hoisting her on his hip. The girl blinks at you, owlishly big brown eyes that seem to stare deep into your soul before she reaches to the cross necklace peeking from your ugly shirt uniform.

“Sorry.” Joel says, turning a little to pull her away from you. “Sarah’s going through her dragon phase.” 

“Not sure the phase of enjoying shiny things ever goes away. It just gets more expensive.” You chuckle, and from the corner of your eye you see Jenny’s head pop up, her green eyes staring curiously at the two of you and you already know the sorts of tales she’s going to spin about this. You take a step back, putting a little bit more space between the two of you, arms crossed over your chest. “I’ll let you finish your shopping. Have a good night, Joel.”

You’re shaking by the time you make it to the employees only area, your heart hammering inside your chest, palms sweaty; there’s no logical explanation as to why you’re so nervous around him but your body still reacts, almost dragging you back into the main area of the store just so you can look at him one more time. It’s a crush, you tell yourself. A stupid crush because you have a penchant for older men and he’s hot and doesn’t have a wife. You’ve been alone for too long, no friends or dates for the better part of the last three years, and that is why you’re so anxious that an attractive man is giving you an ounce of attention. 

You clock out on autopilot, a heavy raincoat thrown over your uniform and you wish you could’ve spoken to Joel in a different setting, somewhere you dress nicely for, maybe with a little bit of make up and your hair out of the company mandated bun. For a second you consider letting your hair out of its cage but you know that will only make it worse after a full day of being pulled back so harshly you can feel each individual strand tugging at your scalp— And it’s a silly thought anyway, because Joel probably left in the ten minutes that takes you to regain your composure. 

But if that is the case, why do you still feel his presence outside the door? 

You don’t see him inside the store, but Jenny’s eyes follow you as you bid her goodnight, holding your coat tight as if it could protect you from the small town gossip. Joel is still in the parking lot, Sarah in the backseat of his double cub pick up truck, drinking from a sippy cup; he’s talking to her, something low that you can’t hear, but his head snaps up like a dog to a squirrel when you step through the automatic doors. 

“Let me drive you home.” His voice is commanding but not overbearing, the tone of a man that isn’t used to asking for things but would still respect your choice. You hesitate, shifting your bag on your shoulder; it’s late, close to eleven pm on a night that the clouds are so heavy they hide the moon and the stars, the parking lot dark even with the lamppost flickering just a couple of feet away. 

“I don’t know…” You bite your bottom lip; you want to spend more time with him, you want to know what the inside of his truck looks and smells like, you want all of his attention but the rational part of your brain knows it’s not safe to get in a stranger’s car. “You could be a killer.”

“I could.” He answers easily. “But I wouldn’t kill anyone in front of Sarah. And she’ll be there the entire time.”

“Yeah, but then you’ll know my address.”

“Washington Street, number fourteen.” You gawk at his answer, all the warning bells ringing inside your head and you’re ready to bolt away from the man that knows your fucking address but he doesn’t seem one bit concerned by how weird that is. “I’m a contractor. I’ve been working on the Anderson’s porch and I saw you get home one day.” 

You cross your arms over your chest, eyes falling on the toddler inside the car, thinking of how sweet and gentle he is with her. Joel leans forward a bit, towering over you but not crowding, and his eyes find yours. “I promise I’d never do anything to hurt you, sweetheart.”

For some stupid, self-destructive reason, you believe him.

Joel has a scar. You only notice as you’re stepping out of the car, after he parks in your driveway and you finally gather the courage to look at him; it’s faint and almost imperceptible and you think that, maybe, you only found it because you’d been subconsciously looking for it. It slashes across right his temple, from the end of his eyebrow into his hairline, thin and raised, the skin slightly discolored. The exact same placement as the wolf’s, the exact same eyes, his silver and brown hair the same shade as the wolf’s fur. 

You don’t sleep that night. Instead, you call your weed guy and pay him with the money that was supposed to go for your electricity bill and you smoke and drink the cheap liquor you save for emergencies until you convince yourself that, although you are certifiably insane, you shouldn’t be committed. 

But the idea is there, and you’re not sure there is enough weed and cherry flavored Evan Williams in the world that can make you forget about it.

You wake up in the afternoon after you pass out from exhaustion and intoxication, thankful that you have the day off from work. Between the headache, the dry mouth and the menstrual cramps that always show up during the worst possible time, you can barely drag yourself out of bed— Your doorbell is ringing, a sound so foreign that it takes you a moment to understand what it is.  You can’t remember the last time anyone rang your doorbell, but you’re fairly certain it hasn’t happened in the last two years: There was a short period, just as you moved into this place, that you had enough money to afford Postmates every so often.

It’s Joel. He’s standing on your porch with his shoulders hunched up to his shoulders, a thermos in one hand and a to-go bag from Krispy Krunchy Chicken in the other; his hands are a little dirty, fingers stained with white plaster and his jeans smeared with sawdust. 

“ ‘S for you.” He shoves both items towards you, his hair pushed back and a little damp from what you assume to be sweat. You take the food and the thermos without thinking, obeying to his silent command before you can think it twice. “Reckon the greasy chicken might help with the hangover, and the thermos has soup. I made it for you. ‘S a lil’ too salty, but I hope it helps.” 

“How’d you know I’m hungover?”

“Just a hunch.” Joel shrugs, already retreating away from your front porch before you can properly process what is happening. “Put on some socks, it’ll help with the crampin’. And drink water.” 

“What?! Joel!” You call out as you watch him jog back to his car but he doesn’t turn around, just jumps into his truck and drives away. 

You’re so freaked out that you close the blinds and make sure the front and back doors are locked before you finally give in and eat the food he brought— The chicken is warm and just greasy enough to settle your stomach so you save the soup for later and, while you hate to admit it, the socks do help. 

The whole situation is unnerving in the possible worst way; he could’ve watched you through the windows, could’ve seen you drinking through the night but there is no way he could’ve known about the cramps. You feel like crawling out of your skin, jittery as you try to settle on the couch and then on the bed and then, finally, on the back porch. There is no sight of your wolf, but you still feel like there are a thousand watchful eyes staring at you through the trees.

Townsfolk are rallying up to hunt the killing bear. You stare at your TV in your fluffy socks and heating pad, the bear pelt wrapped around your shoulders, the container of soup starting to cool down. It is announced in the commercial break on the evening news, the husband of the church lady actually buying the time slot to rally people to find the bear and kill it. The announcement is made on the parking lot of his shop, with the man in his company’s uniform and a rifle in his hands— It’s mainly an ad for his car dealership, the man that is supposed to be a grieving husband tipping his Stetson hat to the screen with a grim expression, but he talks about the bear that took his wife and then there is a brief shot of an expensive car that he calls the spoils of anyone brave enough to be a hero. He doesn’t say it out loud that the car is a reward for killing the bear — bear hunting is illegal in Mississippi, and you reckon that is why he’s looking for a third party — but the words are carefully crafted and the message is clear: There is now a price on your wolf’s head, and you’re certain half of the dimwitted rednecks in town are already gearing up to tear through the woods searching for a bear that isn’t there. 

They won’t find a bear, you know that, but they might find your wolf. The giant, murderous wolf that you told the police about— The wolf people make fun of you for, thinking you’re a scared little girl that mistook a black bear for a wolf too big to be real, but you know they won’t hesitate to shoot if they come across it.

It’s late by the time you see it, doomscrolling on your phone when you come across the post from your town’s official Instagram account— It’s a public announcement reminding people that bear hunting is illegal in the state of Mississippi and that the person responsible could be fined up to five thousand dollars. The comments are atrocious, from people talking about how a ‘good woman’s life’ should be worth more than that to people offering to cover the legal fees to whoever manages to ‘catch the damned thing’ to people even saying they should overturn the law. 

You jump from the little depression nest you’ve made on the couch, shoving your rain boots over your fuzzy socks and going through the old storage chest you keep in the laundry room with all sorts of shit you haven’t been able to let go of yet until you find the collar and leash of the dog you had as a teenager — a 178lbs Newfoundland dog named Cerberus that you took for yourself after it became clear your grandmother wouldn’t take proper care of him — and you’re not sure the collar will fit around the wolf’s neck but it doesn’t look like it would be too tight. Cerberus had been a monstrous yet loving thing, the sort of dog that made people cross the street and gawk at whenever you took him for a walk.

The forest is so dark the flashlight on your phone barely helps, illuminating a patch small enough that you have to take short, small steps. It helps you not step on any insects or tripping over tree roots but you’re still terrified of how dark and damp everything around you is, the forest far quieter than you thought it would be. The silence is heavy, loaded with something you can’t name but that still brings a chill to your spine. You can hear your own breathing, the twigs that crack underneath your feet reverberating like gunshots. The wolf is nowhere to be found, and you’re not sure where to look; He’s always there, always coming to you rather than the other way around, but you walk aimlessly for a bit, trying to stick to the same direction so you don’t end up getting lost. 

The wolf you find is not yours. Its fur is stark black, blending it with the darkness of the trees and you think you only see it because it shows itself to you: The wolf is big, although smaller than yours, thinner and not as fluffy as it stands in your path, staring straight at you. You freeze, flashlight glued to the animal’s face; it moves slowly but it doesn’t seem aggressive, head tucked between its shoulders. The wolf bumps its nose against your stomach, pushing you backwards. You stumble but you don’t fall, your heart racing inside your chest— For some stupid reason, you think this might be the killer wolf as if you hadn’t watched your own torn a man apart on your first meeting. This interaction is different, though: The wolf isn’t aggressive, just pushy as it guides you backwards, but you don’t feel the calm and ease that come from the other one. You’re scared and unsure, thinking you should simply turn back and run as fast as you can but you’re too afraid that it might trigger some sort of hunting instinct. 

The black wolf keeps pushing and pushing, never coming too close but always keeping you on your toes— You fall twice, feet tangling on roots and the wolf is on you in a second, sniffing at your legs and arms while you struggle to stand up. It nudges you all the way to your backyard, rounding you whenever you try to go off course, never letting you stray too far; this wolf doesn’t cross the boundaries into your home like yours usually do, standing about ten feet away from the treelines, sitting unmoving like a Sphynx. You trudge back home, the collar and leash grasped tight in your hand, body hurting from the falls before you turn around, your eyes catching the animal’s face. There is a brief hesitation in which you think you might’ve gone crazy and this was simply proof of that— But you were alone in the woods, with a wolf that was too organized not to be sentient and it wasn’t like it could tell people you were a freak. 

“They’re looking for him.” You warn the wolf. “They’ll kill him if they can.” 

The wolf doesn’t answer, even though there is a small part of you that hopes it will. It simply stands back up and rushes through the trees away from your home.

You don’t go to work the next day, your period cramps worsening throughout the night and hitting you with such force that you think you might be dying. You don’t die, though, but you do have a hellish night of pain and very little sleep so you call in early in the morning to let your boss know you won’t be coming in. Your manager is a huge germophobe — which you find quite ironic, considering her career choice — so you make up a lie about a highly infectious flu and she doesn’t even let you tell the tale of how you threw up all over yourself before she tells you to stay home. It’ll be deducted from your pay, you’re sure of it, but you feel so much like death that you can’t find it in yourself to care. 

There’s more soup by the time you manage to drag yourself out of bed, a black thermos sitting on the windowsill of the window in the kitchen, the one that faces your backyard. You’re so tired you don’t even have the energy to feel creeped out, you’re just relieved for the free already-made food; you know it’s Joel’s because the flavor is exactly the same as the previous one, hearty and warm and just a little spicy. You’re starting to collect his containers, though, and you wonder if that is a sneaky little way of giving him a reason to talk to you again.

Jenny doesn’t bother to hide the curiosity when you finally make it to the pharmacy two days later, and you really wish you could just ignore her all day. Jenny is one of less insufferable people in town but you still wouldn’t call her a friend by any definition of the word: She’s a coworker, someone you’re able to put up with most days but today you really, really hope she doesn’t talk much. 

It’s a fruitless hope, of course, because she’s babbling the second you assume your place behind the register. 

“Some guy came in looking for you yesterday.” She says, her eyes sparkling with mischief and curiosity. “Not the same guy you left with the other day.”

You frown, trying to avoid looking at her. You couldn’t phantom anyone that might’ve come for you that isn’t Joel, and she goes on with her rant before you can cut her off. 

“I mean, he didn’t ask for you by name but he browsed a lot and then asked about ‘the regular cashier’ and then I said you were sick and he got all frowny and left without buying anything.” Jenny leans in, her smile reminiscing of the Cheshire cat. “Who is he?”

“I don’t know, Jenny.” You sigh, but the entire situation leaves a pit deep in your stomach. You assumed the soup came from Joel, but what if it didn’t? What if there was another weird man breaking into your home? “Did he say his name?”

“Nope. Big guy, though. Tall, black long-ish hair with a mustache… He was with the little girl your man usually brings around.” 

You ignore the jab about Joel being your man, even if the words send a small thrill down your spine. You don’t answer her at all, instead plastering your customer service smile on your face and beckoning the old lady that hovers near the register with a frown, clearly pissed off that you’re chatting instead of scanning her medication. 

Mystery Man doesn’t leave your brain, though, and no matter how much you want to pretend it’s not happening, your mind keeps going back to the black wolf you saw in the forest, the one that was just as sentient as yours. Your hands itch most of the day and you find yourself doodling on the corner of a forgotten receipt during the slow hours; you haven’t drawn in years, not ever since you left your grandmother’s home, but the blue ink from the ballpen paper takes up the shape of a wolf’s snout without you meaning to, sharp teeth bared to the faded words on the paper.

You don’t take the tracks when you go home, choosing instead to walk the main street— The path is longer and you hate how busy the streets are at that time of day but it feels safer than the emptiness of the tracks, which have been even more vacant than usual after Henry’s death. 

Mystery Man is coming down your porch just as you turn the corner to your street. You freeze only for a second before you quicken your pace, almost jogging to catch up to him before he gets into the pick up truck — Joel’s pick up truck — that is parked on your sidewalk. He stares at you, eyes wide as if he hadn’t expected to get caught but, to his credit, he doesn’t run. 

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Tommy.” He hesitates for a second, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Joel’s brother. He, uh—”

“You broke into my house.” You bark, cutting off whatever he’s going to say. “I should call the police.”

“Joel is indisposed,” The man says, a little more forcefully. “He asked me to check in on you. I tried ringin’ the doorbell, but you didn’t answer.” 

You’re pretty sure he’s lying— Despite the ungodly amount of painkillers you had taken, you still think you would’ve woken up to the sound of your doorbell. You cross your arms over your chest, very much aware of how empty your street is; He’s taller and broader than you, even if he is smaller than Joel, and you know he could grab you and throw you into his car without breaking a sweat. 

“Stay the fuck away from me. Both of you.” You try to sound intimidating, but your voice wavers too much. “Or I swear I’ll call the police.” 

Tommy presses his lips together and he looks quite displeased but he nods. “Yes, ma’am.” 

You move to the side as he walks to the truck, putting as much space as you can between the two of you. He walks slowçy but surely, his head turned to the ground and hands stuffed inside his coat. He stops just as he opens the driver’s door, looking at you over the rusted metal.

“For what it’s worth, Joel ain’t ever gonna hurt you. He just got a weird way of takin’ care of his people.” 

You don’t want to trust him, but you think of the wolf, and you do.

You don’t see either of the Miller brothers around for the next week, and there are no new foods on your porch; you keep telling yourself that you don’t care but Joel is constantly on the back of your mind. You check both porches every morning, and you crane your neck whenever you walk past Anderson’s house to see if he’s still working on whatever it was that he told you he was. Joel is never there, he doesn’t show up at the pharmacy and you don’t run into him at the grocery store or at the church. You think you miss him, a little bit, and you hate yourself for that. You tell yourself that you just used to Joel hovering nearby, and that he’s actually a good cook and you’re not used to homemade meals anymore, but you think it’s more than that— The man and the wolf are both gone, and you’re plunged into a deep loneliness. The sort of loneliness you’ve always told yourself you enjoy, that you’re used to it, but now that you’ve tasted the smallest bit of companionship you can’t help but crave it more.

No people are killed in the week he is missing.

You wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, your back and your cunt drenched as the remnants of your wet dream follow you back into reality. You reach to your bedside table while refusing to think about the repercussions of what you’re about to do, pulling the toy from the drawer— the pale purple rabbit you bought out of fearful curiosity a couple of months ago and has just started getting comfortable with using. 

Masturbating, for you, it’s usually a pretty straightforward affair: You don’t tease or edge yourself, just hold your toy or your fingers to your clit so you can come as fast as possible before falling asleep but, tonight, you take it slow. You take off all of your clothes before you turn the toy on the lowest setting, running it between your folds to smear it with your own wetness before you slide it upwards, setting a trail from your clit all the way up to your nipples. The vibration makes you squirm, nipples perking up as you sigh— It’s just enough to make you wetter but not enough to properly get you off, and you throw your head back against the pillow, eyes closed as you circle your nipple with the toy.

The image comes to the forefront of your mind unbidden, so strong that you cannot help but indulge in it: Behind your eyelids you see Joel, haunched over your, the bristles of his mustache brushing against the soft skin of your areola, his warm tongue just barely touching you. You imagine the weight of his body on top of yours, how his chest would press down on your stomach, his hands roaming over your body. You think he’d be sweet at first, those soulful eyes glued to yours as he licks his way down to your cunt, his rough hands prying your legs open. 

You’re already on the verge of an orgasm by the time you bring the buzzing toy down to your clit just from thinking of Joel and you can almost hear the way he’d growl as he lapped at you, his fingers digging into the plushness of your thighs are enough to leave marks behind. You think of how he’d flip you over as you push the toy inside of you, of the way he’d pull your hips up and take you from behind, his cock hitting all of the perfect parts inside of you as his belly pressed to your lower back, his breathing hot and heavy on the nape of your neck. 

You come with Joel’s name on your lips and tears in your eyes, your cunt spasming around the toy you so desperately wish to be the man you can’t stop thinking about; you let the low vibration remain against your clit until you’re twitching from overstimulation and you barely have the chance to throw the rabbit to the ground before you’re falling back asleep.

Somewhere deeper in the woods, a wolf howls.

next chapter.

⊱ ⠀ ⠀ 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧.

part one: monte-carlo, monaco

part two: lagos, portugal

part three: ibiza, spain

part four: sicily, italy

part five: mykonos, greece

part six: epilogue

⊱ ⠀ ⠀ 𝗠𝗜𝗦𝗖𝗘𝗟𝗟𝗔𝗡𝗘𝗢𝗨𝗦.

read on ao3

pinterest board

playlist

#summer affair

main graphic credit @/devociones

divider credit @/bronzewasp