🌸💗 PadI 💗🌸

****

“Another finger? Is that alright, sweetie?” With your heart pounding in your ears, Joel’s raspy voice seems both close and far. You nod and mumble a shaky ‘yes’ before he inserts a second digit into your lubed up asshole. You moan, Joel growls, both at the same time. Your boyfriend curses under his breath.

“Hooooooly hell,” you exhale against the pillow, clenching bedsheets with your clammy palms while Joel’s scissoring your tight ring open. “This … it’s amazing.”

Joel pulls his fingers out of you and chuckles yet it comes out strained. You know it takes everything from him not to whip his cock out and fuck you right now. Jack seems to feel it, too.

“Dad, maybe that’s enough?”

“No.”

“No!”

Your yell drowns out Joel’s reply. Your cheeks burning, lust clouding your mind and overtaking your body, you lift your head off the bed and glare at Jack.

“Mr Miller needs to… we need to learn what to do next. Right?”

Jack crosses his arms, his lower lip sticking out.

Completely disregarding his son’s suggestion to stop, Joel nods at you and asks Jack as if it’s some depraved sex ed class.

“She’s nice and ready now. What's next?”

Jack blinks at his dad, a mixture of frustration and confusion plastered on his face. He shrugs. “I fuck her.”

“Wrong!” Joel sits up straight and gives him a disappointed look. “Son, the most important thing about anal is consent.”

You drop your head back on the pillow and nod with the ‘obviously’ expression meanwhile Joel continues.

“Even after you did all the necessary prep, you ask her again. And if she says ‘no’, you stop! Got it?”

You watch Joel in the mirror, his bushy brows furrowed, two obsidian eyes piercing Jack. He’s not fucking around.

“Yeah.”

“Huh?”

“Yes, sir,” Jack mumbles. He looks so pitiful now you get scared of your pussy turning into the Sahara so you hastily move your eyes to the mirror with Joel’s reflection in it.

You watch and feel your boyfriend’s dad lean down to you. His hot breath fans your naked back, sending chills down your spine, as he asks,

“Can I fuck your ass now, baby?”

Your voice is wanton and needy, you’re almost drooling onto the bed, as you reply, “Yes, Mr Miller.”

****

Nobody look at me. If you want to be tagged (you freak), leave 🍑 in the comments😘

You’d never considered yourself jumpy. Living alone had never bothered you. The quiet cul-de-sac sat on the edge of town where nothing exciting ever happens. The loudest disturbances were usually kids kicking footballs or Mr. Harris mowing his lawn at eight in the morning. Your neighbour, Joel Miller, fit right into that peaceful routine. He wasn’t particularly social, but he wasn’t unfriendly either.

If your garbage cans tipped over in the wind, he’d silently set them upright. If your car battery died, he’d already be halfway across the driveway with jumper cables before you’d even finished sighing. He spoke in that deep Texas drawl that somehow made even complaining about the weather sound comforting.

You wouldn’t call the two of you friends, just friendly neighbours. Until Wednesday night. 

You found yourself standing barefoot on your front porch at eleven at night staring across the short stretch of driveway separating your house from Joel Miller’s.

You almost laughed at yourself. The age of you and you’re frightened by a few strange noises in the garden. Still, your hands trembled as you wrapped your cardigan tighter around yourself. Someone had been in your backyard, you were sure of it.

The knock barely left your knuckles before the porch light brightened. A deadbolt slid back, door opened and Joel stood there in faded grey sweatpants and a navy T-shirt, his salt-and-pepper hair going in all directions. The concern arrived before the words did. “You alright?”

Nothing came out.

His brows pulled together. “What happened?”

“I…” You swallowed. “I think someone’s in my backyard.”

He looked over your shoulder toward your house. “You see ’em?”

You shook your head. “No, but I heard someone.”

“What’d you hear?”

“Footsteps, mumbles.” Your voice shook despite every attempt to steady it. “Ive heard it a few nights now.”

Joel opened the door wider. “Come inside.”His tone wasn’t forceful, it simply left no room to argue.

The warmth of his house wrapped around you almost instantly. He locked the door behind you before guiding you toward the sofa. “You want some tea?” You nodded. He disappeared into the kitchen, the familiar sounds of a kettle filling and cupboards opening somehow grounded you. It was normal. Comfortingly normal.

Joel returned with two steaming mugs before crouching beside the coffee table. “You stay right here.” He was up and leaving before you could stop him. “What are you doing?”

“Gonna have a look.”

Your eyes widened. “No. What if someone’s actually there?” 

“I’ll be alright.” His mouth twitched into a faint smile. “—they’ll wish they picked on somebody else’s backyard.”

You couldn’t help smiling back, but it disappeared almost immediately. “I’m being serious, Joel—I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’ll be fine, darlin—just stay put.” He pulled on a canvas work jacket hanging beside the door. “You lock this behind me.”

“I really don’t like this, Joel.”

“I know.” He rested a reassuring hand briefly on your shoulder. “But I won’t be long.”

Twenty minutes felt like two hours. You sat listening to the old clock in Joel’s living room, jumping every time the house creaked. When the front door finally opened, relief flooded through you. Joel stepped inside, wiping mud from his boots against the mat. His jeans were streaked with damp soil.

“Well?”

He sighed, “Yeah…” Your stomach dropped. “What did you find?”

He shrugged over his jacket, throwing it on the couch. “Your flowers’re all trampled.”

You closed your eyes. “I knew it. Damn it…”

Joel stood above you, adjusting his belt. “But I didn’t see anybody. Maybe it was a real heavy raccoon lookin’ for food.”

“A raccoon?”

“Yeah—big fucker.” Despite yourself, you laughed softly. “I don’t think raccoons flatten flowerbeds, they go for trash cans.”

He scratched at his beard thoughtfully. “Maybe it was somebody’s dog.” You looked into your mug. “I know what I heard, Joel.”

Joel’s expression softened. “Yeah I believe ya, Darlin.” After a long silence, he clapped his hands together. “Right, you can stay here tonight.” You shook your head quickly. “No no I can’t.”

“Of course ya can.”

You shook your head again, like it’s finalised. “No I’ll be fine. I’ll just lock my doors and have a knife ready.”

“Jesus, Girl—yeah but then you’ll spend all night wonderin’ if every noise is somebody outside.”

“…Probably. So?” Truth be told, you didn’t wanna leave, as much as you argued—your feet remained planted. 

“My bed’s clean, I’ll take the couch.”

“I’m not kicking you out of your own bed, Joel.”

“You ain’t kickin’ me nowhere.”

You sighed. “Oh my god, you’re stubborn.”

“So I’ve been told, darlin.”

It happened again three nights later. You were sat at your kitchen table, reading the paper when you saw a flash. It was one of those things where you don’t know if you imagined it or not, but you stood and went to look out the kitchen window. You couldn’t see anything in the sea of darkness, but then you heard shuffling from just underneath your window. You heard it again and banged a balled fist against the glass. “I know you’re out there fucker!” 

More noise then you saw—undeniably—a tall figure standing now a few feet away, hidden in the shadows. 

You scream and ran out the front door and sped to Joel’s, frantically knocking on his door. He takes him a minute to answer, you push your way in and slam the door behind you. 

“Sorry darlin I was in the basement. What the hell happened?” He reached for your shoulders trying to centre you. “Darlin, I need ya to calm down.” 

You were taking gibberish, panicked. “I saw someone. I saw them Joel! Big fucking guy—it had to be a guy. And he was right by my window!” Joel pulls you in against his chest. “Okay come on now, I need ya to calm down.” He strokes your hair a few times. “It’s okay, you’re here now—safe with me.” He shushes you and kisses the top of your head. “I’ll be right back.” 

You barely let him escape the grasp you have on him. “No, Joel please don’t go. Just—stay, let’s just stay here okay?” He gives you a kiss on the cheek. “Okay, darlin.”

The two of you ended up in Joel’s bed watching a movie. You kept looking towards the window and door. Joel noticed everytime. “Darlin, no one’s coming to get you okay? I’m here—not going anywhere.” 

You lowered your head with a defeated sigh. “Well…I can’t keep living like this—being fuckin’ scared all the time. I’m gonna get some of those little security cameras, stick a few around the place.”

Joel nodded. “Now that’s a good idea, darlin’. I know a guy who’ll sort you out with a good deal if you want me to ask.”

Thank God. You hadn’t the first clue about security stuff. “Aw, thanks, Joel. You’re the best. Do I need to meet him, or…?”

“If you want to. He’ll probably just drop ‘em off at my work site, though.” He gave you a reassuring smile. “I’ll help you get ‘em set up, darlin’. Don’t you worry.”

You were so grateful to have Joel in your life. At first, having a friendly neighbour had been enough, but recently he’d become the one person you could always rely on. You rested your head against his chest. “God Joel you’re so warm.” You giggle to yourself wrapping an arm around his torso. “You won’t leave me alone will you?” 

Joel brings you in for a closer hug, “darlin, only for pee breaks.” He crosses his heart, and relaxes against the pillows. You softly hum and drift off to sleep, some little snores rattling against Joel’s chest making him laugh. “Silly girl.” 

 A few minutes later, Joel carefully shifted you off him before slipping out of bed. He padded into the bathroom, flicking on the small light above the mirror. Rubbing a hand down his tired face, he pulled out his phone and made a call.

After a few rings, someone answered.

“Hey, man, it’s me. Listen, I’m gonna need a few of those cameras for someone… Yeah—a woman. Think she’s been seeing someone in her backyard.”

The man on the other end agreed, promising to drop them off in a day or two.

“Good man. I’ll have the money for you then. Take it easy.”

Joel ended the call and switched off the bathroom light before making his way back to the bedroom.

He paused in the doorway for a moment, simply watching you sleep. His T-shirt was bunched up but swallowed your frame. The sight of you wearing his boxers low on your hips, made him go hard in his. 

He quietly crossed the bedroom, careful not to disturb you, and made his way downstairs to the basement.

Stopping in front of the washer and dryer, he rested both palms against the tops of the machines and let out a long, defeated sigh.

“Fuck me…”

He crouched down, grabbing a pair of jeans and boots from the floor. Both were caked in dried mud, flecks of soil still clinging stubbornly to the leather. “That was fuckin close” He turned one boot over in his hand, a guilty smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He rubbed a thumb over the thick layer of mud, knocking loose a few crushed daisy petals caught in the tread. One petal floated to the concrete floor. “Fuckin’ flowers…” he muttered, shaking his head, thinking he could make it through them without sinking and crushing them more.

He chuckled quietly to himself, remembering the way you’d yelled and bolted for his house, and him barely making it back in time before you knocked. “Ya cut it fuckin close, Miller.”  

He scrubbed a hand down his face and sighed, unbuckling his belt and dropping his pants to the floor. He pulls out his phone, searching through it and places it down onto the dryer. the screen showed a picture of you, sitting at your kitchen table playing with your hair, moments before you witnessed Joel’s accidental flash. “No darlin, you weren’t imagining it.” He chuckles to himself. “Stupid fuckin flash.” 

Joel spat into his palm and drew in a slow, steady breath, his jaw tightening as he stroked his cock. “Fuck…” he muttered, his voice rough and low. His eyes slipped shut for a moment, his head tipping back thinking of you and your sweet mouth sucking him off. A crooked smile tugged at his lips despite himself. “So fuckin’ hot—fuckin slut…”

His breathing grew heavier, frustration and longing twisting together in his chest. He scrubbed a hand over his face with a quiet groan, as he grew closer and closer to tipping over the edge. He imagines you kneeling before him, big teary eyes, mouth full of his cock—thanking him for being your saviour.

“Yeah baby just like that.” He grunts low as his stomach tightens and cums—it landing on his phone. “Fuck—me—“ His body sputters while one hand rests on the dryer. “Fuckin hell.” He lets go of his softening cock still dripping cum for the tip. 

Joel wipes his brow, sweat dripping at his temples. He leans down and brings up his pants and tucks himself back in. He picks up his phone— giving it a much needed wipe—trying to focus on the name to call. The phone rings. 

“Yeah?” 

“Hey it’s Joel. Got one for ya if ya interested. Gonna have to give me a week or two to wear her down though.” 

The voice chuckles down the phone. “Joel you’re a cold bastard. She hot?” 

“Yup. Fuckin gorgeous figure, pretty face, pretty smile. And I bet she makes some sweet ass noises.” 

The voice laughs again, “well let me know when you’re ready—send me some pics of her in the meantime. Clothed, unclothed. Bikini. In the shower. Then we’ll talk.” 

“Sounds good. I’ll get ya the pics in a few days. Gotta be careful.” 

“Understood” then the line went dead. 

Joel cleaned himself up, putting his muddy jeans in the washer and he’ll finish the boots tomorrow. He wants to get back to you. And speak of the devil…

“Joel?” Your voice sounded so small, frightened coming from upstairs, he barely heard you. 

“Yeah, I’m here.” He heard the creaking of the floor as he goes towards the stairs, “I’m coming, darlin—don’t worry.” You stood at the top of the stairs, playing nervously with the hem. “Where did you go?” You asked sheepishly. 

“Sorry, darlin—had to sort out some laundry while it was in my head. Come on, back to bed.” He shooed you playfully, giving your thigh a small tap. “You gonna be a good girl, f’me?” 

You give him a shy smile and as you turn to walk back, the floor disappeared. “Whoa. Fuckin hell, Joel—put me down.” 

“Nah, we’ll get there quicker this way, baby.” 

You preen at the name, maybe turning a little pink as you rest your smiling face against his neck, “thanks, Joel—you’re just the best.” Youve put him on a pedestal, and Joel was eating it up. 

This was going to be so easy. 

And today is just one of those days. He’d spent the night tossing and turning, trying to massage away a kink in his neck that persisted well into the afternoon. But he hadn’t had time to complain or think too much about how excited he was to crawl back beneath the sheets, because the northernmost barn was falling to pieces. 

So, not only was he functioning half empty from the start, but the work today was also strenuous. Sawing raw timber to the perfect length, sanding down the sharp edges, hammering nails into plywood. A full day. 

And when Denise had stopped him on his way home, waving him down with a glass of freshly squeezed lemonade in hand, she’d given him that bright, hopeful smile and said, “Little Sammy ran that damn bike into the back door again. Would you mind fixing the hinges?”

His back ached and his knees were creaky, but Joel soon found himself knelt on Denise’s porch, screwdriver and fresh nails in hand.

It didn’t take long, but it did take every last scrap of energy that remained inside of him.

Joel’s house was always quiet. Too big for him, really. Ellie was in the garage already, lights still on, up too late when she had early patrol the following morning. But Joel didn’t have it in him to remind her how important sleep was. Not when he was running on fumes himself.

So he dragged those tired, old bones inside. Kicked off his boots and jeans right at the door of his room, hung his flannel over the back of the chair at his work bench, and let out a long sigh as he climbed beneath icy cotton sheets.

He’s half asleep, eyes closed and muscles sinking into the mattress, when he hears it. 

The click of the latch on the unlocked front door. The creak of your careful steps as you climb the stairs.

Joel feels you before he sees you. Too exhausted to pull himself out of blissful almost-sleep. The mattress dips beneath your weight, limbs outstretched, seeking him out of instinct. 

This isn’t the first time this has happened. Not the first time you’ve found yourself peering out of your window next door waiting for him to get home. Not the first time you’ve ended up in his bed or in his arms.

And Joel knows he should put a stop to it—you’re too young, too sweet, too…good. 

But he’s too worn out to fight his impulses. He’s tried for months to keep his thoughts pure when you cross his mind, but it’s been a losing battle from the start.

Especially when you’re like this. Warm and soft, pressed up against his side, wearing an old t-shirt he’d let you borrow the night before and not much else. A comfort that feels more like home than this house does.

The tips of your fingers tickle his forearm, rousing him just enough that he lifts the heavy limb so you can crawl right into his embrace.

Joel holds you tight. He always does. Biceps big and strong around your shoulders. He holds you like he might lose you tomorrow, because there’s a part of him that fears one day you’ll wake up and see something you don’t like. 

He worries you’ll begin to see him for what he is; old, weary, tired. Not even half the man he used to be. Not half the man you deserve.

But for tonight at least, you still wear those rose tinted glasses. Pressing sweet kisses to his face; his nose, his forehead, his cheeks. Nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck, making cute, whiny noises at the back of your throat. Like you’re desperate, unable to get close enough despite every inch being pressed against him, leg hooked over his hips. 

You find a comfortable position and still beside him, letting out the same sort of long sigh Joel did just moments ago. But you don’t sleep—your breathing doesn’t even out, your muscles don’t go slack. 

Joel knows what you need. Long before your hips tilt, before you press your center against his thigh, before you whisper his name in the dark. 

“S’okay, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice deep and dark and sleepy. “C’mere.”

He reaches over and brackets his arm around your waist to drag you on top of him, your center already warm and wanting.

It’s starting to get out of hand, he knows. Starting to become a routine. But Joel doesn’t have many sweet thing in his life, not anymore, and he finds you near impossible to resist. “I’ve got you,” he says. “Take what ya need.”

You lay against his chest, ear pressed right over his heart. Joel kisses the crown of your head when your hips begin to tilt, rubbing yourself against the steadily growing bulge beneath the thin fabric of his boxers.

Soft, wanton sighs leave you at the sensation, and even with a barrier still between you he can feel your clit pulse against the underside of his cock. 

Needy little thing you are. But Joel doesn’t mind—he likes the feeling. Of being needed, wanted. Especially by a girl as sweet as you.

You grind on top of him for a while. Not seeking release, not yet. Just feeling the hard warmth of him beneath you, savoring the weight of his big hands stroking softly up and down the expanse of your back. 

He can feel your arousal growing with each pass, wetness slowly seeping through his boxers, slick and sticky. Joel nudges you gently with the tip of his nose, the prickly hairs of his mustache tickling the side of your face. “C’mon, sweet girl. Let’s get this shirt off, hm?”

When you nod, you pull yourself up tiredly. The movement is slow and thick like molasses, so Joel uses the last of his energy to help you. 

His hands find the hem of the oversized t-shirt and pull it upwards, over your head to be discarded on the floor beside his bed. It leaves you completely naked, bared for him in more ways than one. 

In an instant, you fall back against him, breasts pressed up against his chest. Your skin feels cool against his, smooth and pillowy. “S’warm,” you mutter, rubbing the side of your cheek against the coarse hair that litters his chest, graying in some places.

Joel’s cock throbs beneath you, but he doesn’t pay it any mind. He just lets you settle back down and allows you to rest. His hands wander, though, the way they always do. 

Sliding down your back, over the sides of your thighs, thumbs massaging gentle circles. He strokes his fingers gently back up to your shoulders and then brings them down your arms, smiling when he sees goosebumps rise in his wake.

When they settle back at your hips, his touch is a little more eager. Kneading at the softness, inching over the curve of your ass until that’s all his hands are filled with. 

Joel loves touching you. Not just suggestively, but intimately. He loves feeling the closeness and the trust you put in him to take care of you, to keep you safe, to make you feel good.

He massages the supple flesh, holding you close, until his need for you begins to grow teeth, gnawing at his psyche. 

Joel knows he shouldn’t. He knows that. 

But he’s just so tired, and you’re so soft. Gentle and kind. And you make him feel loved—something Joel Miller has not felt for a very, very long time.

He guides you with his hands gripping at your curves, sliding your slick cunt over his aching cock. His breath feels hollow, stuck in his lungs.

When he lifts upward, just a little, enough to provide a little extra pressure, you mewl in response. 

Joel is quick to soothe, shushing softly into your ear. “Shh, you’re alright. Hang on, sweet girl. M’right here.”

He knows what you need. It’s become a nightly ritual at this point. You come to him seeking connection, seeking the comfort of an older man. Most nights you just need to be held, to be nurtured, to be loved the way you deserve. 

But other nights, Joel knows you need a little more. A connection that runs a little deeper.

He reaches beneath you, hooking his thumbs in the elastic band of his boxers and tugging them down his tired legs. Just enough to free his cock, already hard as stone just from your proximity. 

Joel pulls your forward, up his torso, giving himself room to line his length up with your entrance.

He slides in real easy.

You’re already soaked, dripping with arousal. And the moment he’s fully seated inside you, stretching you real wide, filling up your belly, you let out a breathy whine.

It feels right, being here like this with you. It feels like coming home. 

Joel moves you slowly, guiding each roll of your hips, slowing you down when you try to pick up the pace. 

There’s no rush. Not here, not with him. He’ll get you there. He’ll get you what you need. What’s the sense in hurrying through it? 

He wants to savor it. The feel of your sweet, soft pussy, clenching and leaking around his length. The way your stuttering breath tickles his skin. The way your hands grip him harder and harder, holding him impossibly closer.

He wants to savor the way you love him. 

“Gimme a kiss, baby,” he whispers in the dark.

You turn your head, just enough so that he can press his lips to yours. In this, too, Joel moves painfully slow.

It’s not a claiming, it’s an exploration. His lips move against yours, memorizing the feel of them, the shape and the taste. He slowly licks into your mouth, tongue gliding against yours, breathing in your exhalation. 

The building coil around his spine is anything but slow, however. He loves being here with you maybe a little too much. He loves you a little too much. 

Joel thrust upwards, keeping a steady, unforgiving rhythm while he slides his hand between you. His fingers search blindly for your clit and he finds it in seconds, circling those slow, tight circles around the pulsing nerves. 

Your sounds grow louder, release building. The sound of your joining echoes in the empty room, slick and wet and feverish.

He knows your close when you start manually breathing—lungs stuttering, chasing the delicious relief that only he can provide.

“You got it,” he encourages. “S’right there, baby. Give it to me.”

Your eyes stay locked to his, lips parting on a jagged moan. You don’t say anything; no warning, no begging. You just feel it, feel him, moving deep inside you, fucking you through it. 

“That’s it,” he says, voice all soft and warm the way it only ever is when he speaks to you. “There you go.”

He doesn’t stop until you find the natural rhythm of oxygen again, until the shaking in your thighs relents to an easy tremble. 

Joel feels that white-hot coil beginning to spool within himself, and pulls out of you with just enough time to shoot thick ropes of cum over your pubic bone.

He thrusts the underside of his cock through your syrupy folds, a gentle rocking until he’s spent. He somehow finds the energy for a few extra thrusts, smearing his release over your clit.

You don’t move an inch, and Joel doesn’t want you to.

Instead, you just lay there on top of him, sticky mess between you, your head resting delicately on his chest. 

When you reach up to card your fingers through his graying hair, Joel feels his muscles go completely slack, tension bleeding from his weary bones.

“M’sorry I woke you up,” you say, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I know you were tired.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Joel says, and he means it. “I’ll always have time for you."

The cold November mud stuck to the soles of your bare feet as you sprinted through the trees. It felt like a million icy daggers were stabbing into your lungs while you whimpered and wheezed. But you couldn't stop. Mr. Miller said this would be “fun.”

──── ୨୧ ────

You'd been so bored in the small wooden cabin he built off the river, trying to find anything to amuse yourself. Sewing, cooking, cleaning, reading; it all ended the same. You'd stare out the window, daydreaming about the life you wish you had.

You'd read about girls who went to college, lived in big cities, had boyfriends. Mr. Miller was certainly not your boyfriend. No matter how many times you'd woken up to soaked panties, whimpering his name before you even knew you were awake. But he wasn't your father either.

He had found you a few years prior, you were only fifteen at the time. Your camp had been overrun by infected and you were the only survivor. On your own for almost six months, you collapsed one day near the icy river. Joel had been out hunting as he usually is, not hesitating to pluck you from the frozen water and nurse you back to health. He told you that your skin was as blue as the sky, snow clinging to your eyelashes, barely breathing. From that day forward, he vowed to take care of you as his own. He'd never let you starve. Freeze. Want for anything.

But you were nineteen now and in many ways, still as little as the day he found you. You were naive to the horrors of the world, only five when everything fell apart. Your parents did a good job of protecting you, allowing you to hold onto that childlike whimsy. It was a blessing and a curse. Joel didn't enjoy having to teach you how to take down an infected, seeing your fear as you cried. You wouldn't even look at him for two days after. That nearly broke him.

Joel always tried to see you as nothing more than a roommate . A companion. But he couldn't deny the way your curves had filled out your clothes the past few years. The tiny moans that would escape your sweet mouth as he slept next to you. He cursed himself each time his pants grew a little tighter when you'd bend over to grab firewood. He wouldn't be the one to take your innocence. He really tried.

But one day, you finally caved.

It started as any other day did; Mr. Miller left at the crack of dawn to find food for the week, you tossed and turned in bed due to the loss of warmth, eventually rising and preparing to clean the cabin. But everything was already wiped down, all the game secured in the freezer, laundry washed.

You couldn't stand another day staring out the window wishing for fairytales. You were going to talk to Mr. Miller when he returned today. Tell him you're done. That you needed more. So, when he busted into the cabin covered in snow and dead leaves, you were sitting at the kitchen table with your rehearsed speech practically falling off your tongue.

You expected him to be angry, tell you no. And you'd yell back that you're an adult and you don't need him anymore. What you didn't expect was what happened next.

“Looks good in here, bunny.” Joel flashed you a smile as he sat his gear down in the living room, crossing the floor in only a few steps as he made his way to the fridge.

His musky scent filled your senses as he passed you, a strand of your hair blowing back behind your exposed shoulder. Joel would always nag at you to wear more layers, mostly so he could shove down the dirty thoughts. But it was warm enough in the cabin that you didn't mind walking around half naked. Besides.. it was Mr. Miller. He's basically raised you these past few years.

“Thank you, sir.” You could taste metallic on your tongue from how torn up your cheek was, your teeth gnawing on as you picked at your raw fingers.

“Got a deer for the week, not too bad. We gotta start rationin’ soon before it gets too cold out to hunt. Maybe I should build another freez-” Joel paused when he finally laid eyes on you, shaking like a leaf, holding onto the dining table for dear life. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing, sir. Just- could you sit down? I wanna talk to you.” You gestured to the seat across from you, sitting down yourself.

His brows furrowed, worn eyes crinkling as he sat down with hesitation. The last time you sat time down like this, you told him the story of how your camp was overrun. He remembered how you cried, choked on your sobs as you told him of your father’s demise. He held you all night, even brought out one of his old records to soothe you.

“Scarin’ me, bunny. Talk to me.” Joel's hands laid flat on his jean clad thighs, big brown eyes as dark as his leather jacket.

“I've been thinking lately.” You took a deep breath, smoothed out your white lace dress in an attempt to compose yourself. It didn't work. The room started to spin as you looked him in the eye. “I wanna leave. I wanna take the trip to Jackson.. on my own. You've been putting it off for years, Joel.” Your posture slouched when you saw the way his jaw clenched at the name.

He didn't speak at first. He needed to think. The only reason he put it off for so long was because he knew you couldn't survive that trip. States away, it would take weeks. Months. You were too innocent, too weak, too helpless. He'd never put you in harm's way if he could help it.

“Leave?” Joel readjusted in the old creaky dining chair, huffing and letting a dark chuckle slip past his pursed lips. “You wouldn't last a goddamn hour out there on your own.”

Your timidness and anxiety slowly morphed into soft anger, fists clenched under the table. Your cheeks flushed as you snapped back at him. “I’m not a fucking child, Joel! Even if you treat me like one, I’m not. I don't need you. I need more than this stupid cabin in these stupid woods!” The tears that pricked at your lashes pissed you off even more.

Joel’s brooding expression quickly turned into one filled with amusement. “Oh? Is that so, bunny. Hm..” He stood slowly, standing there statuesque as he stared down at you. All of his morals seemed to fly out the cabin window as he stepped closer to you, his hand falling to cup your cheek while he kneeled down in front of you.

“We’ll see about that. Get up.”

──── ୨୧ ────

So, there you were; running for your life half a mile from home. You cursed him in your head as your bare feet continued to ache, sticks and rocks digging into your heels. He was a sick and twisted man…why were your thighs sticky from your pooling slick?

“Run, bunny, run!” Joel wasn't far behind you, his knuckles were white from the tight grip on his shotgun. He had no intention of using it. But he needed to scare you. Show you the dangers he'd spent the past four years protecting you from. He ignored the way his jeans hugged his growing bulge, keeping on after you.

His voice rang through your ears as you picked up the pace, cutting through a small group of pine trees. “If you win, you leave. But if I win, bunny..” Joel didn't elaborate any further. And you wouldn't admit to the excitement that pulsed through your veins when you took the first step out the door.

You stopped when you reached the last tree before a huge clearing to catch your breath. You never had to run like this; for your freedom. Your heart was pounding out of your chest, throat scratchy from the harsh winter air. Snow began to fall.

“Gonna get cold out here, babydoll. Come on out.. come home.” Joel's knees cracked with every step, his body growing too old for this kind of shit. But he didn't care. All that filled his mind was the thought of his reward for catching you.

You peeked out from the right side of the large pine, seeing the coast was clear to take off again. But just as your leg propelled forward, you felt rough, calloused hands wrap around your waist. You shrieked out, fighting against him to no avail. He won.

“Seems you weren't fast enough, bunny. Such a shame.. you were so close.” He scooped you up in his arms before you could protest any longer, securing your legs around his waist as he walked the two of you back home..

In the back of your mind, you knew you wouldn't win. Yet you let him chase you anyway. Part of you liked it. The other part was terrified. If you ever did want to get away.. you couldn't. The worry was gone soon enough, though, the scent of his musk stained flannel soothed you as he carried you into the warm cabin.

Joel didn't bother taking off any of his gear before taking you to the bedroom. He tossed you down on the bed, your body bounced up and down on the rusty springs with a squeak.

“J-Joel..?” You barely completed your thought before his hands were on you again, snaking up your thighs and resting on your hips.

The sensation pulled a choked gasp from your raw throat, your hips bucked up against his grip as you pushed at his shoulders. “Joel, what are you doing?!”

“Stop callin’ me Joel, sweetheart. Jesus, you're freezin’.” His harsh rasp turned soft as he continued caressing your trembling body, his heart nearly gave out when a whimper escaped you as he brushed his thumb along the hemline of your cotton panties. You were an angel. You were his.

“You know why you're soaked right now, baby?” He held eye contact with you as he climbed on top of you, resting between your thighs as he breathed in your sickeningly sweet scent in between your neck and shoulder.

Shivers shot up and down your spine as his lips grazed your soft skin, it felt like fire burning you. You couldn't find the words to speak, too stunned to even move. You'd dreamt of this moment plenty of times before. But you never expected it to happen. You never expected Joel to want you the way you need him. Because no matter how bored you get, how stuck you feel; you would always need Joel Miller. You shook your head “no” at him.

“Oh, poor girl.” Joel’s fingers trailed down to your chest, taking your pebbled nipple in his hand and rolled it between his index and thumb. “It's because you're worked up. So damn worked up, you got mad. And that's fine, bunny.” He gripped your jaw roughly, forced you to look up at his unwavering authority. “But if you ever try to pull that shit again.. I will chain you up in the kitchen without thinkin’ twice. Got it?”

“Y-Yes, sir.” Your body responded for you before you could even register what he said. His hands on your body had your brain turning to mush, your legs spreading slightly for him out of instinct. He gave you a look of approval before he brought his face close to yours, his lips brushed up against your reddening cheek.

“Gonna be a good girl? Tell me if ya’ wanna stop?”

“Yes, sir.”

That was all Joel needed to press his lips to yours, kissing you softly as he dragged your dress over your head. You laid mostly naked under him, aside from your panties that were see-through at this point from your arousal. “Oh, bunny. Been thinkin’ ‘bout this for so long.” His calloused fingers snaked down to rest on top of your clothed core, a guttural groan escaped him. “Seems you have to.”

“E-Every night. I dream about you..” You didn't know where the sudden honesty came from, and you immediately regretted saying anything when he looked up at you with a raised brow. “Is that so? Knew those sweet moans were for me, baby.”

He couldn't hold off any longer, his erection bordering on painful as his zipper dug into his sensitive tip. Joel's lips latched onto your neck, sucking and biting softly until you were marked as his. He left a trail of red and purple marks down your chest until he reached your breast. His large hand enveloped the other as he wrapped his lips around your nipple and sucked lightly, swirling his tongue to soothe the sting.

You were squirming beneath him, pulling at his messy salt and pepper curls as you panted. It was unlike anything you'd ever felt before. Joel’s warm breath soothed your icy skin while you grinded up into him looking for any sort of friction. You were throbbing, clenching around nothing as your feet rested on his back.

He finally released your over sensitive nipple with a pop, smirking down at you while he growled. “Be patient, bunny. Gonna take my time with ya’. Be nice and gentle.”

Joel’s scruff scratched against your soft tummy as he kissed down to the pink lace that lined your panties, taking them between his teeth as he pulled them down to your shaking thighs. The rush of air that blew against your aching cunt had you fighting the urge to scream, your legs spread fully now as you beamed down at Joel needily. “Please.. please, sir.”

“Don't gotta beg, sweet girl..” He reached his hand up to your face and pushed his thumb in between your lips, gathering saliva off your tongue. He thought about how you'd look with those pretty, soft lips wrapped around his rock hard cock. Not today, he told himself.

He brought his, now lubricated, thumb down to your swollen clit. He chuckled as you jumped up off the bed, his free hand resting on your hip bone to hold you down. “Just relax, sweet thing. I gotcha..” He started rubbing slow, tight circles on the sensitive nub as you whined and thrashed under his harsh grip. He'd never seen something so beautiful.

“N-Need more.. need you inside..” You clawed at him, grinded into his thumb as you felt yourself already nearing the edge of your orgasm. You'd never cum before. You'd tried on your own, but could never get it just right. Joel did. He knew exactly the pace to set, where to touch.

He gazed at your leaking hole as he quickened his circles, rubbing up and down your waist as you fell apart underneath him. “There ya’ go, honey. Such a good girl.. cummin for your old man.”

You were shaking, twitching softly every few seconds as you came down from your high. You thought that was it, that was sex. So, when he licked a long stripe from your quivering hole to your overstimulated clit, your whole body jerked. “Jo-” You had half the mind to correct yourself. “S-Sir, what're you.. oh my god.”

Your hands rested in his hair as he wrapped his lips around your throbbing clit and teased your entrance with his index finger. “Shhh, trust me. You're safe here. Safe with me, bunny.”

Your body was jello under him now, your legs fell apart and your head tilted back against the pillow as he licked and sucked at you like it was his last meal. It nearly sent you into a second orgasm as he pushed one finger into you. He groaned against your cunt as it sucked him in, spitting on your clit and watching it drip down to your hole as he pushed more inside of you.

“Gotta stretch you out, bunny. Gonna fit this whole cock in ya..” You quivered and moaned obscenely as he began thrusting in and out of you softly, pressing quick kisses to your clit. You nearly saw stats when he added a second finger. He sat up, holding you tighter as he fucked in and out of you while he unbuttoned his flannel.

Once he was undressed down to his boxers, he took his fingers out of you with a groan, shoved his fingers in his mouth to lick up all of your arousal. You tasted so damn sweet.

Tears threatened to fall from your lash line as he positioned himself between your thighs, grinding his clothed bulge into your soaked core as he leaned down and kissed you once again. “This okay, bunny? Wanna.. feel you. Goddamn.” He cupped your blushed cheeks, peppering kisses over your face. He'd dreamt about this for months.

You wrapped your arms around his biceps, pulling him closer to crash your lips against his. “Yes, please. Please.. daddy.” Your eyes widened as you surprised yourself with the name.

And that was it. That broke him.

Joel's boxers were across the room in an instant as he grabbed your hips, pulling you up against him as his tip nudged against your worn clit. “Yeah, baby? So needy for daddy’s cock.. I’ll give it to ya’.. hold on, bunny. Daddy’s got ya. Oh, fuck..” His head tilted back against his shoulder blades as he thrusted just the tip of his leaking cock into your warm, tight cunt.

You could tell he was huge just from that, you hissed out quietly and held onto him tighter. As you looked into his eyes, you knew you could trust him. You'd always trusted him. Just in a different way, now.

“Relax, babygirl. Gonna.. holy shit.. go slow.” He inched in slightly deeper, letting you adjust. It took him five full minutes before he bottomed out, grunting and moaning when he felt his balls hit your ass.

You'd never felt so full before, your walls squeezing his length as you gasped and moaned into his ear. You whined something that sounded like “please” before he pulled out almost fully and thrusted back into you. You swore you could feel him in your stomach, your legs flew up and wrapped around his hips as he set a slow rhythm.

“So good for me. Takin’ this cock. It's all yours, baby.” Joel moaned deeply as he continued fucking you harder, bringing his hand up to hold your face. “And you're mine. Say it. Tell me you're mine.” He smirked as his balls slapped against your ass, a mix of precum and slick dripping down onto the bed between your thighs.

“I’m y-yours, daddy. Forever. A-All yours.. don't stop. Never stop.” Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you felt your second climax nearing closer. “G-Gonna.. daddy.. I need to pee.” You clawed at his arms, not able to hold in your whimpers and moans.

“Ohhh, sweet baby. Come on, girl. Cum on this dick. Squirt on daddy’s cock. Come on.” Joel struggled to hold in his own release as he lifted your leg up, bringing his hand down to rub your clit again as he fucked you deeper than before. You couldn't protest anymore before you were screaming, your cries echoing off the cabin walls as you squirted all over your thighs and his length.

“Good fuckin’ girl… take my cum. Take my fuckin’.. ohhh..” Joel grunted as his thrusts became sloppy, his grip bordering on bruising as he painted your tight walls white with his warm seed. Rope after rope. Years of tension finally gone. Into you.

He collapsed onto your trembling body, breathing heavily as he held you closer and kissed every inch of you he could reach. “Did so good for me. My perfect angel.”

You both groaned in unison as he pulled out, his body falling to the side of you as he tucked you in. Joel enveloped you, your back to his chest as he rubbed down your waist and kissed the back of your head. You'd never felt safer than you did at that moment. All you could think of was Joel. His touch, his scent, his voice.

You realized how stupid you were to want more. Because all you needed was right there. Joel Miller was, and is, everything you will ever need.

he bends to pick the pieces up, tossing them into the pile of already cut wood. you’d like to say that prepping the cabin for winter is going really well. joel would say otherwise. although the two of you are flying through the checklist, you spend more time making him go pink at the cheeks with all your unabashed admiration than actually getting anything done. not that he minds, he's good at what he does, efficient. which is what's making your attention that much worse for him, and you. 

like now, for instance. you can't help but stare at his ass, those jeans antagonise you, offensively form-fitting. you gulp, and you think he can hear it from where he's standing because he lets go of the axe, leaning it against the stump he works on. his hands come up to his hips, thumbs hooked into the belt loops as he looks at you properly this time, a knowing head tilt in tow.

“d’ya need me?” his question is unbelievably kind, devoid of any teasing. he’s ready to drop everything and you can see it in his eyes. you almost feel bad, almost being the keyword.

you push yourself up, palms braced at your knees, and lug over the piece of wood, dropping it near joel and turning to face him. this close you can see the sheen of sweat on his face and forearms, the way areas of his shirt have dampened in the heat.

“this is the last one, then i want you upstairs.”

his spine straightens imperceptibly to the firmness in your words, “yes ma’am.”

you lean up and kiss him on the jaw before heading back inside. the stairs creak as you haul yourself up them, fingers smoothing over the banister when you round the corner. you shrug off the flannel you have on–joels flannel–and sit at the edge of the bed, toying with the hem of your tank top you wore under. 

before you know it, joel is by the doorframe, one arm crossed over the other. a small smile breaks out on your face and joel mirrors it, walking over to where you’re sitting. he pushes a stubborn strand of hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear. his hand settles over the nape of your neck, tilting your head back. the sight of him, tall, broad, in front of you sends a little shudder through you that you try to ignore. 

“you okay? you were a little distracted out there,” he asks, mildly concerned.

you curl a few fingers behind his knee, the warmth of your skin seeps through the denim of his jeans. “can you blame me?” 

he chuckles, a bashful tint dusting over the highs of his cheekbones. joel prompts you up with a small chuck of his head and two fingers hooked under your elbow. when you stand, he pulls you into a kiss, light and easy and entirely not enough to pull an embarrassingly needy sound from your mouth, but still, it does.

your lips part for a breath, exhaled into each other's mouths. he is so warm, it exudes off him in waves and doesn't do much to quell the heat building in you. it's just a kiss, he's just kissing you. joel moves to do it again but you hold him back, conflicted palms braced over the hard planes of his chest. 

“god, you’re making me feel crazy,” you scoff. he’d be concerned with the rapid rise and fall of your chest if he didn't know you better, but he knows you so well. 

“yeah, darlin’? what's got you so worked up?” 

you can tell he's talking just to talk now. he knows what, why. so he doesn’t expect an answer from you when he dips down to kiss at your neck, lightly chapped lips working over the area just below your jaw. his beard scratches your skin in a way that feels deliriously good.

you hum, absent-minded, threading your fingers through the hair at the back of his head, curling your fist into the strands. you hold him there, and knowing him, you’re also succumbing yourself to a glaringly obvious mark on your neck. you don’t mind, not when you’re out here on your own. hell, you’d let him mark you up everywhere.

the hand not occupied with tilting your head to his liking sneaks down to your waistband. joel pops the button, easing your jeans off. you let your impatience get the better of you and slip your panties off too, kicking the clothes off to the side. he laughs into your neck, sending a vibration down your spine that has you pulling him closer.

he doesn’t touch you, though. not yet. 

“up,” his murmur is a soft command, accompanied by his arm hooked under your ass. you wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull yourself higher, crossing your legs over his hips. joel clambers onto the bed, carrying you to the pillows.

when he drops you down, he doesn’t part from you, only trails his lips lower. the spot on your neck blooms in soreness, a light tingly sensation that you relish. joel moves lower, settling between your legs with a satisfied hum. he pushes your thighs apart, sweeping his eager gaze over your cunt. his eyes fixate on the glistening pool at the centre.

“messy girl,” he coos, turning his lips to your inner thigh. “all that for me?”

“mmh-yeah.”

“haven’t even touched you yet,” joel chuckles at how small your voice goes. god forbid a girl gets shy. 

his tongue peeks out from behind his lips, licking a firm stripe up your entrance to your clit. his mouth seals over the sensitive bud and sucks, just the way you like.

“jesus, fuck!” you cry out.

joel groans into your pussy, enamoured with the sight of your arched back and your head thrown in pleasure. his hand pushes your top up to paw at your breasts, a large, warm palm settles heavy over one, squeezing the flesh over the material of your bra.

the layers madden you. you frantically pull the tank off, fingers shaking trying to unclip your bra. when you get the garments off, joel is extremely happy, and he shows it by pushing two fingers inside you.

the abrupt stretch pushes a loud moan out of you. you like that you get this out of the cabin, the noisy vulgar freedom that the isolation rewards you. he takes it as an incentive to add another finger, still intently licking over your clit. 

“there we go, baby,” joel rasps. “gotta get her nice and stretched for daddy, yeah?”

“uhuh,” you keen with a nod that's pathetically enthusiastic.

he makes a noise, like he’s in pain, you know he's anything but. the term slips out occasionally. a freudian slip, maybe. regardless of whether he means it or not–in the heat of the moment, it tends to drive you both up the wall. a quiet murmur of it when he’s buried deep and he can't help but blow his load. neither of you dwell on it. 

joel huffs a dazed fuck and doubles down on his efforts. the calloused pads of his fingers rub up persistently without remorse, it sends an audible squelch around the room. you’re increasingly getting closer to your peak, it pools, hot and viscous in your belly, limbs growing heavy and sinking into the mattress. 

you’re so close–and maybe you’re your own worst enemy–but you need to have him inside you. now. so you reach down, fingers curling around his wrist to stop him, fighting every nerve in your body that wants to finish. joel pulls away, face pulled into a puzzled twist that quickly turns to something smug and knowing when you sit up to desperately remove his clothes.

you tug the collar of his shirt over his head, momentarily blinding him with fabric before moving onto his jeans. you undo the belt buckle with a resounding clink and his jeans and underwear are shoved down his thighs before he crowds back over you. 

god. he's beautiful and solid above you. the lingering smell of sweat trickles off his body, it makes you squirm under him, a restless pull urging you upwards. you’re met with his hard-on, slipping through the mess in your folds.

joel gives himself a tug and then lines up with your entrance, pushing into you with a low moan. he’s always a stretch, the girth of him causing you to wince. he softly kisses the tense furrow of your brow till he’s buried to hilt. 

“so deep, y-you’re so–” you whine through gritted teeth.

the smile that spreads across his face is shit-eating, you’d wipe it off if you had the wherewithal to do anything but lay there and feel. “yeah but ya take it so good, don't you honey? always take me perfectly.”

joel gives a shallow thrust, barely drawing back to push in further. his tip nudges at your cervix and you want to scream. you settle for digging your nails into his shoulder, pain sparks under the crescent shaped indents that you leave and shoot right down to his dick. 

he leans down to drag the tip of his nose across the edges of your face, planting barely there kisses as he goes. it's tortuous, the rate at which he pounds into you but is seemingly unaffected enough to blanket you the way he is. he loves you so much.

your thighs strain as he pushes them higher, reaching unfathomable depths inside you. joel grunts, in effort and in agony, as you clench around him, face tightening as he tries to keep his rhythm. you can feel him in his entirety, the ridges of his cock rubbing against your walls, the drag of a protruding vein doing nothing but driving you closer to release. the coarse hairs littered above his cock rub against your clit and your teeth sink into your lip, hard. call it instinct. he’ll have none of that.

he presses a thumb to your chin, pulling your lips apart, “aw, angel girl. feel good?”

“yeah, so good. mmph–fuck me so good, baby,” you whimper, words pushed out through desperate moans, high and rampant.

he chuckles, low and pleased, “y’always make such good sounds for me, should fuck you more often so i can hear this all the time. sweet little pussy can't help herself either, can she? so wet, she's soakin’ me.”

“joel,” you gasp at a particularly meaningful thrust, anchoring yourself to the moment. it hits you without warning, a spark set off by the obscenities still flowing out of his mouth. whatever he was saying was beyond you now, a comforting familiar murmur as your orgasm washes over you. you hear the tail end of a good girl as you come to again.

“keep going,” you whisper. you hold his face between your hands, looking at him through the daze. his features shine out like a beacon, you push the hair out of his face. unobstructed, your eyes trail over the faint tan, sunkissed, over the high points of his face, the result of how much he's been doing, how much he still is. 

“you are so, so wonderful, so good at everything you do, i don't know how you do it,” you murmur, gaze drenched in reverence. 

joel tries to speak then, eyes glazing over, to give himself a moment before you continue. to compose himself before the back of his neck grows too hot to handle, he has to hold it together otherwise he cant fuck you like he wants. it's not often the praise gets whirled back at him.

“need you to cum, joel,” you sigh. “fill me up, please.”

the quiet please does him in. his hips stutter, messy and impetuous as he chases his high. the peak crashes and he spills into you with a shout, muffled over where his lips press to your forehead.

you wrap your arms around his shoulders, casting your hand over his back, rubbing in soothing strokes. he flips over with a tired huff. you’re lazily draped over his body, face smushed in his chest.

“i mean it, y’know,” you mumble. joel has to strain his ears to hear you, because you aren't making any effort to move. “you’re so capable, i can't handle it. i can barely control myself from shoving my hand down my pants around you.”

“hey, i’m not complainin’,” his voice rumbles under your cheek, stupid and smug.

you give him a hard poke in the stomach, to which he winces at, and then you continue. “all that being said, i think you’re just neat.”

he's smiling so hard that his cheeks hurt, he's glad you can't see him and tease him about it. “right back at’cha, sweetheart.”

I get home after a long fucking day. Crosby's been breathing down my neck. We still haven't managed to catch another one of the Cali cartel godfathers after months of chasing ghosts. Feistl broke some agreed-upon rules again and almost screwed over the entire DEA because of it. Just a shitty day all around.

And the cherry on top? She's not home tonight. Usually when I get back, she's here. I hear her softly humming along to one of those songs she likes that drive me insane. Then she comes to greet me, and from that moment until I fall asleep, she's basically a clingy little koala that won't leave me alone.

But you know what? I fucking love it. Except tonight isn't like that. She had to leave overnight for work. No, I'm not thrilled about it.

Cali has their fingers everywhere. They know about every little thing that moves in this goddamn country, and they especially keep an eye on people connected to the American embassy. That's why I always send one of my agents with her. Just to keep an eye on her. Nothing more.

Thankfully it doesn't happen often, and most of the time she's here in Bogotá. But today, of all days, the one day I actually need her. Need her laugh. Need all the stupid random bullshit that comes out of her mouth.

When I walk inside, all that greets me is silence and darkness. I toss my keys into the bowl on the dresser, shrug off my jacket, loosen my tie a little without taking it off completely. I try to distract myself at first. I turn on the TV just for background noise. I stand in the kitchen going through some files I brought home from the office. Doesn't help.

My thoughts keep drifting back to her. To yesterday. To the way she was packing a few things into her suitcase. Running around the apartment in those ridiculous little shorts that barely cover her ass. The kind that always give me a perfect view of her legs and the bottom curve of her cheeks. Just thinking about watching her lean over that suitcase yesterday makes my cock twitch. Fuck.

At one point I grabbed her by the hips and pressed myself against her until she could feel exactly how hard I was. Sometimes I swear being around her turns me into a horny teenager who can't keep his dick under control. I couldn't help it.

She just laughed. But then she started deliberately wiggling her ass against me, pressing herself right against my crotch. And that was the end of that.

I unbuttoned my pants, shoved them down just enough, pulled out my hard, throbbing cock, pushed those stupid tiny shorts aside and realized she wasn't wearing a damn thing underneath. That alone nearly drove me out of my mind. I pushed into her without another word and she let out a little gasp.

She was already soaking wet. She always is. Perfect. Tight. Wet. Mine.

Jesus Christ. Just thinking about it makes my groin tighten and my cock start responding. Fuck. I need her right now. After a day like this.

I drop heavily onto the couch. On the coffee table, I spot one of her hair ties. I'm always finding her hair ties all over the apartment. That's nothing new. Tonight, though, it gets under my skin a whole lot more. I pull a cigarette from the pack sitting beside it and light up. Maybe that'll get my mind onto something else.

But then I remember this morning. And not just the part where she said goodbye at the door, smelling like vanilla and shampoo. I remember what happened before that.

The way the blanket shifted and woke me up as she slipped underneath it, moving down toward my hips. She rested her hands on them, and then I felt her lips wrap around my morning hard-on. She gave me one hell of a blowjob before I was even fully awake. Sucking me, licking me, like her life depended on it.

At one point I couldn't take it anymore and pulled her up toward me.

She understood immediately. She climbed on top of me and, with a soft sigh and those half-lidded eyes she gets when she's turned on, lowered herself onto me.

I just watched my cock disappear inside her. Watched her ride me. Watched the way she rolled her hips, finding exactly the angle she loved.

After a while, with her wrapped so tightly around me, holding me inside her, I couldn't take it anymore. I started thrusting up into her, digging my fingers into her perfect ass to help her move faster. And then I came so hard I saw stars.

While she tightened around me, her own orgasm tearing through her body, I was completely gone. She was shaking above me, breathless, and I couldn't look away. God, I loved it. Perfect fucking morning.

And suddenly… I don't even realize I'm doing it at first. My palm slides over my cock. Through my pants. Because I never bothered taking them off. So now I'm sitting here like an idiot with a hard-on trying to punch its way through my slacks while I think about the way she took me this morning.

The way she wrapped herself around me. The way she felt. The way she smelled. Like sex. Like her.

I wet my lips. My hand keeps rubbing the bulge that's getting impossibly hard. Jesus Christ. I'm not really about to jerk off on the couch like some desperate asshole. But fuck. This hard-on isn't going anywhere.

I don't think about it for long. I crush the half-smoked cigarette into the ashtray and reach for the phone. I know exactly which hotel she's staying at in Cartagena. I booked it myself.

When the front desk answers, all I have to do is give my name. The receptionist sounds like she already knows who I am and transfers me to her room without any questions.

She picks up on the second ring. "Hello?"

The second I hear her voice, my cock practically loses its mind. "Cariño, it's me," I murmur.

"Oh, Javi. I wasn't expecting you to call." I can practically hear her smile.

"Not happy to hear from me?" I tease.

"Actually..." she drawls lazily. "I was about to read, so... you're kind of interrupting me, sir."

I smile against the receiver, my hand still resting over my cock, which somehow feels even harder just from hearing her voice. "Hmm. Then maybe I should let you go..." I say slowly, squeezing myself through my pants. "...so I don't keep you from your reading." A quiet breath leaves me.

And somehow I can feel her attention sharpen. I don't know how. She's hundreds of miles away and all I've got is her voice through a phone line. But somehow I know she realizes I'm not calling just to chat.

"Javi...?"

"Mhm?" I'm not even trying to hide the quiet groans anymore. My cock throbs hard beneath my pants as I gently squeeze the tip through the fabric with my palm. I'm trying to recreate her touch.

The way she teases me under the table during those boring dinners with embassy politicians just to completely ruin me. Just because she likes teasing me. Because she finds it funny. Every single time, she wraps that little hand around me through my pants, giving me slow squeezes while I have to sit there pretending nothing's happening.

But at home… when we get back… I never let that little brat get away with it. I always make sure she remembers exactly why you don't do shit like that in public.

She always ends up sighing into my ear, moaning while I fuck her hard. Completely under my control. But we both know that was her plan from the beginning.

As I think about it, I already know that whole "I'm not jerking off on the couch like a teenager" idea is officially dead. This ends one way. A groan slips out before I can stop it. I hadn't meant to make a loud sound. But fuck. There's no holding it back.

"Oh... you're thinking about me, Javi?" Her voice is different now. Not innocent. Not playful. Serious. Lower. A whole octave lower.

Exactly the way it always gets when I'm taking her. When I'm buried inside her. When my hands are on her. When we’re fucking. Her voice always drops.

Maybe you'd think a guy like me wouldn't notice something like that. But I fucking notice. And I fucking love it.

I don't answer.

So she keeps going. "Do you miss me?" she whispers. "Tell me how much you miss me." She's not really asking. She's not pushing.

And suddenly I'm reminded how goddamn much I love her. How she always knows.

"Tell me what you miss most right now, Javi..." She sighs softly, and I hear sheets rustling through the phone. Sounds like she's getting comfortable in bed. Like she's lying back. Like she's getting ready to touch herself too.

Fuck. I know it. I know exactly where this is going. "I miss you, cariño," I say, sinking further into the couch.

"And what else, Javi...?"

"I miss those ridiculously short shorts I fucked you in yesterday."

"Mhm..."

"You wearing them right now, baby?" I whisper.

"I am."

"Will you take them off for me?"

She doesn't answer. But I hear the sheets move again. A few seconds later she hums softly. "They're off, Javi."

Just imagining them sliding down that perfect ass makes my cock somehow get even harder. If that's even fucking possible. "You lying down, cariño?"

"I am. And..." she pauses. "Those shorts were the only thing I was wearing."

I swallow hard and let my head fall back against the couch.

"So now I'm just lying here… completely naked… and there's nobody here to do anything about it, Javi." She says it with that mock-offended tone she uses when she's fishing for exactly the answer she wants.

"What exactly would you want me to do if I were there, baby?" I ask, playing along. My cock twitches so hard it's practically demanding to be let out of my pants.

"I'd want you to see how wet I am, Javi..." Her voice drops even lower. "I'd want you to find out just how wet your little slut is for you."

Fuck it. I unbutton my pants, pull down the zipper, and slip my hand inside my boxers, wrapping my fingers around my cock. Hot. Hard. The vein running along the shaft pulses wildly beneath my grip. Fuck. "Baby... spread your knees for me... nice and wide..." My voice catches as I pull myself free from my pants. "Touch yourself for me. Be good and let me hear you, baby."

Finally. Out. My cock stands painfully hard, a bead of precum glistening at the tip. I haven't been this worked up in a long time. And that's saying something considering we fucked last night and again this morning.

"Hmm... I'm wet, Javi..." Her voice pulls me out of my thoughts. "Really wet... exactly how you like me."

"That's my good girl." I murmur into the receiver. "So fucking perfect. Getting wet just from hearing my voice, huh, bonita?" As I say it, I picture whispering it directly into her ear.

Picture my hands on her. Picture my fingers testing just how wet she is. My thumb rubbing slow circles while my fingers tease her, making her squirm.

The image is so clear in my head it's almost torture. Somewhere along the way I realize I've started stroking myself. Slowly dragging my hand along my hard cock. Working the head. Thinking about something completely different than the couch I'm sitting on. "Put your fingers inside yourself, mi amor," I order quietly.

"Mhm..." The sound she makes tells me immediately she already has. "I'm doing it, Javi..." she breathes. "Two fingers... and I keep wishing they were yours." A soft moan follows. "Yours are better."

"Yeah, cariño..." My grip tightens. "I know exactly what you like."

Her breathing catches.

"Exactly the spot that makes you arch off the mattress."

Another quiet moan.

"Lift your hips for me, cariño. Give yourself what you need."

Hearing her like this only makes everything worse. Or better. My stomach feels hot. Wave after wave. My hand keeps moving. Slow. Faster. Slow again. Then faster. I'm trying not to finish too soon, even though I'm already dangerously close.

"Javi?" she whispers.

"Yeah, baby?"

"If I was there with you right now..." Her words keep breaking apart between breaths. "...I'd touch you."

I close my eyes. "Yeah?"

"I'd wrap my hand around you..." she continues softly. "And make sure you could feel exactly what you do to me."

The image hits me like a punch. My hips jerk upward on instinct. Fuck. That's my problem. My imagination works a little too well. And the second I picture her hand on me, I know I'm completely screwed.

"I love your hard cock, Javi..." She keeps talking like she knows exactly how fucked I am. Like she can feel every hot wave rolling through my body. Like she knows my cock is twitching in my hand. Knows how swollen the head is. How badly it wants to be buried inside her beautiful pussy. Because somehow, despite knowing she's miles away, part of my brain still hasn't accepted that I'm not getting inside her tonight.

That all I've got is my hand and her voice. Don't blame me. Ever since we started living together, we fuck practically every day. So yeah. This situation fucking sucks. Still… what she's doing to me over the phone isn't bad. Enough? For one night, maybe. Bad? Not even close.

"Cariño... I want you to grab a pillow and put it between your thighs... rub yourself against it... pretend it's my cock rubbing against your sweet little pussy..." I whisper, completely drunk on what her voice, her moans, and my imagination are doing to me.

I hear rustling. Then muffled sounds. Like she's got the phone tucked against her shoulder. Like she needs both hands free. Like she's grinding her pussy against that pillow exactly the way I told her to.

And I can hear it. Or maybe I just think I can hear it.

At the very least, I can hear her moaning. Loud. Sweet. The same way she moans when I'm moving inside her.

Fuck. I want her. I want her so fucking badly.

"Javi... ahh... I... this feels so good... like you were..."

"Shhh, baby..." I murmur. "Take care of yourself... like I would."

For a while there's nothing but her moans coming through the line and my own rough groans as I squeeze my balls and try not to come too early.

But fuck. My whole body keeps jolting with pleasure. My cock feels like it's going to split open from wanting to be inside something.

"Javi..." Her voice comes through again. "Tell me... would you want me to suck your cock?"

Fuck.

"Would you want me to lick the tip... lick up every little drop... and take you so deep my lips would be brushing the base of your cock?" Her words break apart between moans. "And... fuck... you know how much you love that, Javi..." She's stopped trying to control herself. And somehow that only makes her sound hotter. Maybe that's exactly why she sounds so fucking hot.

"Cariño, fuck!" I press the head of my cock hard into my palm and squeeze. It's nothing compared to how it'd feel in her mouth. Or her pussy. But fuck. I'm wrecked. I don't have much longer.

"Javi, stroke it for me, please..." she whispers. "Like you're fucking me."

And after that… I don't remember much.

Just her moans. My own groans. The way my hand starts moving faster. The wet sounds coming from my own pleasure. The rustling from her side of the line as she moves faster and faster across the bed.

"Javi..." Her voice cracks. "I'm gonna... fuck... I'm gonna come..."

"Come for me, baby. Come for me. I want to hear you. I want that pussy coming just for me," I groan. "That's my good girl. You're so fucking beautiful when you come..." Fuck. I know I'm not gonna last much longer.

And then she's gone. Moaning. Crying out. Completely losing control. And I know her pussy is clenching around nothing while her orgasm tears through her. I know she's soaking wet. I know she's grinding her hips up wildly.

And it's that image, more than anything, that finally pushes me over the edge. My cock starts twitching violently. Heat surges up from my balls. I stroke myself once. Twice. And then I come with a loud groan. "Fuck, baby..."

Drops of cum land on my shirt. My tie. I don't give a shit.

I was planning on wearing that damn tie tomorrow too, and now I definitely can't because there's cum all over the fucking thing. Jesus fucking Christ.

My cock pulses hard as I ride it out, squeezing it in my fist the same way I'd be buried inside her tight pussy while it clenches around me.

After a few minutes… "Javi?" Her voice sounds distant. Tired. Satisfied.

"Yeah, baby?" I breathe out and finally let go of my cock. Half-soft, it drops against my stomach while I'm sunk deep into the couch.

"That was... wow."

I let out a tired laugh. "Hmm. You trying to tell me a pillow is better than me?"

She laughs. "No." A pause. "I'm saying the combination of your voice, my imagination, and what you're capable of doing to me over the phone should probably be illegal, agent Peña."

I smirk. "Hmm... I don't think either of us gets to complain, cariño." I reach for a cigarette and light it. Fuck. That was really good. Way better than I expected.

"So..." she teases. "My work trips aren't going to torture you quite as much anymore?"

I roll my eyes and take a drag. A cigarette after sex, even phone sex, is the best thing in the world right after the sex itself. I swear. "No." I chuckle and blow smoke toward the ceiling. "I still prefer having you here. With me. Under me. On top of me..."

"Hey, you pervert..." she laughs. "You're awful!"

"And you still love me." I say it like it's nothing and take another drag.

"Hmm... I do." Silence settles between us. "I wish you were here, Javi."

That one hits me right in the chest. Because yeah. I'd rather have her here too. Curled up against me. Warm. Satisfied. Perfect. Her soft skin against mine while we fell asleep together. Me wrapped around her. Her tucked against my chest. "Tomorrow at this time we'll be together again, baby." I tell her without letting her hear how fucking much I'm looking forward to it.

"Okay."

"Okay."

"So... goodnight, Javi," she whispers.

"Goodnight, mi amor."

The line goes dead.

I finish my cigarette, crush it into the ashtray, and run both hands through my hair. And I already know that tomorrow… tomorrow we'll make up for tonight.

But the biggest thing I know? I'm not looking forward to seeing her just because of the sex. It's because this apartment is so fucking quiet without her. And so is my life.

Thank you so much for reading ♡

💌 @idknananchimaybe @theeverodriguez @mothmanuwu @pascalispunkbr @reasonablyluminousquill @justmasblack @indiegirlunited @saralovesjoelmiller @picketniffler @canonisoptional @katyispunk @daltoncharm @kirsteng42 @borinquenasoy @cuteanimalmama @negramurguera @senoratess @misstokyo7love @suestormnotcheatingversion @lizette50 @grxnde-dwt @harriedandharassed @somedayheaven @ningaispunk @ladyofmidlo72 @bardot49 @scarlettval2 @goonersquad101

you're immediately fussy and grumpy at being woken up just to be pawed at. "nooo," you grumble.

he hums with amusement at that whining, the way you sound all groggy and bitchy and adorable. he knows you can get cranky when he wakes you up so early, but he can't resist the urge to rile you up right now. he squeezes the bare skin of your side, the one that he knows is a little ticklish. "come on, princess, wake up for daddy."

"whyyy?" you whine, burying your face in his neck as your legs kick in frustration.

"'cause daddy said so," he rumbles against your ear before nipping gently at the shell of it with his teeth. "he wants your sweet pussy right now."

"why now?" you whine again, petulant and overtired as you writhe in his arms.

"because i've been waiting for this all night," he seethes, his patience with your protests growing thin. his hand drags up to pinch at the soft curve of your ass through the fabric of your panties before adding gruffly: "... and 'cause i know my little one likes it when her daddy tells her what to do."

and it's true. you can't really deny that at all, that you're loving this as much as he is. "... okay," you acquiesce limply.

"good girl," jack practically growls, triumphant and impatient, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties and yanking them down your thighs. "that wasn't so hard now, was it? bein' all bitchy for no reason, lemme show you what i want." his palm smacks against your bare ass once, making you yelp, before sliding between your thighs with a deep groan.

"goddamn," he mutters as his thumb drags between your dripping folds, the wet squelch louder somehow in the dim room. "why the fuck were you bein' such a brat n puttin' up a fight? you're beggin' for me."

"daddy," you whine, overstimulated already.

"yeah?" jack rasps, watching your face closely as he finds your clit with his thumb, rubbing slow circles over that sweet little spot. "you like it when daddy touches you like this? when i tease my angel 'til she's all messy and needy?"

you huff, kicking against the mattress in indignation. "i'm tired!"

your little kicks just make his grip on you tighten. "yeah, you're tired," he agrees as the edge in his voice darkens into a hypnotic command. "but you're gonna be a good girl and make daddy feel good right now. okay, baby?"

you huff again irritably, feeling a protest form in your throat. jack knows that sound, the way your shoulders tense as you get frustrated, the way your pretty little mouth starts to pout out into a sulk. his hand tightens on your hip.

"hey," he snaps, his tone suddenly rougher, more authoritative. "i asked you a question, little one. you gonna be a good girl for daddy and let him have that sweet pussy?"

"...yeah," you mumble back reluctantly, and that's enough for him. his thumb immediately drags down your slit and nudges at your fluttering cunt, just teasing, before sliding back up to your throbbing clit.

"there's my girl," he mutters as he feels just how wet and sensitive you are for him. his other hand grips your chin to tilt your face up toward his. his gaze is dark, prideful. "now keep them pretty eyes on daddy while i make 'em leak."

jack loves the way you look at him with those wide eyes, all needy and submissive and obedient. he's obsessed with you. your hips begin to rock into his touch, and when you let out those soft, sleepy, shy moans of not daddy, but dada, he grins.

"you gonna make a mess for dada?" he coos, his thumb still circling your achy clit as his eyes burn into yours. he is so madly in love. he leans in close, his lips so close to yours that his breath brushes against your mouth as he speaks. "you gonna make dada proud, little one?"

your whole body shivers. he's making you feel so good that all you're capable of replying is a whimpered "mmmn..."

he lets out a huff of a breath that's almost a laugh as his thumb speeds up, mercifully bringing you closer to your orgasm.

"use your words, baby," he murmurs, the roughness gone from his voice, replaced by something more tender as your body start to shake. "tell dada if you're gonna make him proud."

Ten minutes until showtime.

It was a Friday night and his trailer was quiet aside from the hum of his refrigerator and the distant whine of a truck down the highway. Joel sat on the edge of his bed, mattress springs groaning under his weight.

He rubbed his calloused palm over his stubble. Construction dirt was ingrained in his skin, under his nails. He'd taken a quick shower after work, but after so many years, it simply became a part of him, present no matter what he tried.

He shoved his laptop across the bed, the screen flickering to life. It illuminated his room— mostly unidentifiable clutter, such as a coffee mug and a pack of cigarettes that he swore he'd quit five times now. He never had.

The sight of the adult cam website greeted him. It was familiar by now, but the knot in his stomach it gave him never really went away.

Joel had started this a year ago. He'd been so desperate for cash at the time. Bills kept piling up week after week, while his construction work paid him less and less. He had to make ends meet, and fast.

He'd taken on normal jobs at first. A handyman, a janitor, a security guard. But he had to quit each job not long after starting them due to the incompatibility with his construction work schedule, and the fact they paid like shit.

Joel had been out of options. But one day, as he was reading a news article about how much the adult cam industry paid, he knew he had to give it at least a try.

He'd hated it at first. Something about having a bunch of strangers watch you jerk off made his skin crawl. He swore he'd never do it again, until he saw how much just half an hour had made him. And ever since, JM went live twice per week.

"Alright," Joel— or in this case, JM— muttered to himself. "Let's get this shit over with."

He adjusted his webcam, making sure it was low. Always showing just his chest and below. No face, that was his rule. The last thing he needed were people he knew in real life stumbling across him jerking it.

The angle framed the worn khaki flannel shirt he'd thrown on, unbuttoned just enough to show the patch of grey hair on his chest. He leaned back against a bunch of pillows, making himself comfortable. He wasn't young anymore and neither was his back.

The chat was empty for now. Truth to be told, he never quite read the chat besides donations. The more he read the things overly horny people threw at him, the less he wanted to keep doing this.

11:00 PM.

Joel hit the 'Go Live' button. The tiny red dot blinked, and a rush of adrenaline spiked his veins, cold and sharp.

The viewer count was zero for now. He took a breath, letting it out slow. He nervously scratched the fabric of his jeans, waiting for the first notification to roll in.

"Evenin' folks."

The viewer count jumped. Ten. Twenty. Fifty. Within a minute the room was packed, at least to Joel's standards. The chat rolled at such a fast pace the text became a blur of grey text and colorful usernames.

Joel leaned forward a little, making sure his face stayed out of frame.

It was easy money, he kept telling himself despite the way his heart hammered against his ribs. The numbers don't lie.

"Alright, alright," he rumbled, the microphone picking up his deep voice. "Settle down. Y'all are especially restless tonight."

He glanced at the donation section. A few were already dropping in; five, tens, twenties. A generous fifty from someone with the username SilverFox. That one alone would cover the electricity bill for the week.

Joel shifted, the denim of his jeans brushing the sheets beneath him. He took a quick look at the requests scrolling past.

Take off the shirt.

Show us your muscles.

Talk to us, daddy.

He let out a grunt, the sound low in his throat. His hand reached for the top button of his flannel shirt. His fingers felt rough, the skin dry as they fumbled with the tiny plastic disc.

"Patience," he said, voice dropping as he slipped into the persona they craved. He didn't rush, he never did. He made them wait. "We've got plenty of time."

He popped the first button. Then the second. The fabric parted slowly, revealing a sliver of his tanned, hairy chest and the white tank top he always wore underneath.

Joel leaned back, pushing his chest out. The camera captured the definition and width of his shoulders perfectly.

"See somethin' you like?" he asked, watching as the chat exploded in response. "Y'gotta speak up if you want somethin' more."

He let his hand linger on the third button, waiting for the next wave of donations to hit before he gave them what they all wanted.

The chime of incoming tips rang out like a damn slot machine payout. He didn't rush, as he knew the value of anticipation and the way the chat seemed to like it more if he took his sweet time.

He worked the rest of the buttons, letting the fabric fall open.

His flannel slid down his arm and landed on a heap on the floor next to him. The exposure made his skin cooler. The white cotton of his tank top clung to the damp heat of his skin, reading the scrolling text without really taking in the words.

More.

Take it off.

Joel hooked his fingers into the hem of the tank top. It was a tighter fit than his flannel was, hugging his broad shoulders and the slight softness of his middle. He pulled it upward, the friction dragging against his hair as he peeled it over his head.

His hair was a mess now, sticking up in tufts. Not that he cared or bothered to smooth it down— these people couldn't see his face anyway.

There was definition in his chest. His pecs, the ridge of his sternum. But it was all buried under a layer of lived-in softness. His stomach wasn't flat like it had once been. It rounded out slightly over the waistband of his jeans, proof of the cheap beer he liked to drink after a long day at work. Even so, beneath the softness were cords of muscle that came from hauling lumber and concrete since he was a teenager.

A thick dusting of salt-and-pepper hair covered his chest, narrowing into a thinner line that eventually disappeared into his jeans.

Joel leaned back, stretching his arms over his head. He flexed his muscles, watching as the comments flood in. Praise for his dad bod, the hair, the bulk. He never would've thought his aging body would attract any kind of attention on this website, but he had been wrong. It was paying off.

"Y'all likin' the view?" he asked, voice low. He ran his hand through the hair on his chest, scratching his nails against his skin. "Been a long day. Still got some dust on me from work."

Glancing at the donation goal, he saw it was inching closer and closer to the mark for the 'main event' to begin.

"Who wants to see what's under this denim?" he growled, fingers dropping to his belt buckle. The metal clinked loudly in the otherwise silent room. "Y'know the drill."

The banner flashed across the top of the screen seconds later, a bright gold: goal reached. The cheerful chime that accompanied the banner felt absurdly out of place.

Joel let out a huff of air through his nose. "There we go," he murmured. "Knew you folks would come through."

He shifted his weight, bringing his hands to his waist. The belt was a heavy, worn thing, a thick leather that had definitely seen better days, cracked and chipped in places.

He worked the buckle with ease, the metal clack loud in the room. He didn't pull it out of the loops, instead just letting the ends hang loose, the tension around his midsection vanishing.

Next came the button. It was tight— these jeans were his oldest work pair and he hadn't bothered to buy new ones in a while. It still fit and it wasn't torn, so he saw no reason to replace them.

He popped the snap, the relief immediate. Soon after that the zipper followed, teeth parting slowly with a low rasp.

Joel spread his thighs wider to fill the camera angle. The denim fell open, revealing the front of his boxers— grey cotton, definitely way too thin. The outline of him was clear, a heavy, resting weight that pressed against the fabric.

He didn't take his jeans off, though. Not yet. He liked the tease, the way the denim would frame his hips. So instead he brought his right hand to his crotch, cupping the entire bulge in his palm. It was warm, heavy. Promising.

"Well, look at that," he grunted, voice dropping even lower. He squeezed, digging his fingers into the flesh, feeling the blood start to pool, the familiar heavy throb of waking up. "That's what yer payin' for, ain't it?"

He kneaded the fabric, thumb brushing over the head still trapped inside the cotton. He felt the twitch, the way his hips jerked involuntarily against the friction. He tried not to focus on the chat too much, finding it easier to get aroused that way.

Joel rubbed his hand up and down the length, the knot of arousal tighter in his gut. The cotton dragged over the sensitive skin, coaxing him to full hardness to fill the space.

"Gettin' there," he muttered, half to the audience, half to himself. He squeezed the base, groaning softly as the pressure built. "Just gotta warm him up."

He lifted his hips, the effort making his breath hitch audibly. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers, dragging the grey cotton down over the curve of his ass.

He didn't take these off either; simply pushed the bundle of denim and cotton down until they bunched around his upper thighs.

Gravity did the rest.

His cock sprang free, slapping heavily against his lower abdomen with a fleshy sound. He was impressive, not pretty in the usual sense but rather long and thick, the shaft a flushed red color that stood out against the tan of his stomach.

He was manly. His foreskin a puckered hood that still half-concealed his tip, glistening where a bead of fluid was gathering, shaft slightly curved upwards and with a dense patch of salt-and-pepper hair curled at the base of it all, thick and unkept. His balls hung low, heavy and full, settling onto the denim bunched beneath him.

Joel looked down at it, a low rumble vibrating in his chest.

"There he is," he muttered, voice thick. He wrapped his right hand around the shaft, fingers barely meeting around the girth despite his large hands. He squeezed, hard enough to make the head flare and push fully out of the foreskin, shiny crown emerging red and angry.

"Big enough for y'all?"

He gave himself a slow stroke, pulling the skin down to the root and letting it slide back up slowly, friction wet and audible.

"He's hungry tonight."

He shifted his legs wider, planting his feet on the mattress. He angled his hips up to give the camera a better angle of what he was working with between his legs. The chat was a blur of praise and desire, but he tried not to pay too much attention.

"Alright," he grunted, spitting into his right palm to slick up his length. "Let's get to work."

The rhythm he set initially was heavy, a friction that nearly bordered on too tight. Joel never went for light, teasing touches; instead gripping the shaft like it he was holding a jackhammer, palm calloused against the slickness of his skin.

"Shit," he grunted, the sound tearing from his throat as his fist hit the base. His hips lifted up, a thrust that drove his cock upward through the tight circle of his fingers.

He settled back down only to drive up again, meeting his own strokes halfway. The wet slap of skin and his breathing were the only sounds in the room.

The head emerged from his foreskin, redder and angrier each time with each stroke up, leaking a stream of pre-come that slicked his grip.

"Look at 'im," he growled. "Look how damn hard he is for ya."

His left hand drifted lower, away from his shaft and instead towards the heavy sack beneath. He cupped the weight of his balls, rolling them between his thick fingers, tugging them down away from his body. His breath hitched at the sensation, a sharp intake of air that whistled through his teeth.

"Fuck," he hissed, accent thickening. "Tha'ss it."

The pace increased, just a fraction. Joel could feel the heat coiling in his spine. The chat was scrolling too fast to read, but the money kept pouring in, and it motivated him to keep going.

"Yeah, y'want this, don'tcha?" he rasped to no one in particular, voice dropping to a whisper. He squeezed the base hard, cutting off blood flow slightly, making the head swell purple.

"Wanna make this big ol' cock spill for ya."

He leaned his head back against the pillows, exposing the thick cords of his neck to the camera, face just out of frame. "Gon' make a mess soon," he muttered, slurring. "Gon' cover everythin'."

The sound of his fist jerking off his cock was loud and obscene, filling the small room. His breathing had turned into a ragged noise, chest heaving as he worked himself up and down the rigid shaft. He fucked up into his own hand, driving his hips up off the bed with every downward plunge of his wrist.

"Jesus," Joel gritted out, head falling back. "He's so fuckin' wet."

Pre-come leaked from him in a steady stream, pouring over the swollen tip and slicking his palm until his hand was just a blur of motion. It was dripping down his knuckles, matting the hair at the base.

"Look at that," he growled. He stopped for a fraction of a second to pull the foreskin all the way back, exposing the glossy, now purple head to the camera.

"Look at 'im. Swollen as a damn tick."

He wrapped his hand back around it, squeezing tight, forcing another drop of pre-come from the slit.

"Yeah, y'want this," Joel spat. He was sweating now, beads of it rolling down his temples and tracking through the hair on his chest. "Y'wanna see me empty these?" His left hand squeezed his balls.

He picked up the pace, the wet slap of his sack against his thighs audible even over the sound of him fisting his cock. He was utterly hard now, the curve of his stiff cock rigid. At his age it took him longer to get like this, but when he got there, it was worth it.

"Gon' make it hurt," he rasped, hips bucking erratically. He roughly tugged on his balls with his left hand, pulling them away from his body to delay his release, groaning at the jolt of both pleasure and pain it earned him.

"Gonna milk every last drop outta him."

Joel grunted, a deep sound that bordered on animalistic. His eyes squeezed shut for a moment— not that the audience could tell— as he got lost in the friction of his own fist.

"Talk to me," he demanded, babbling more than that he actually meant it. "Tell daddy how bad you need it."

The coil in his gut snapped tight, pulled to a breaking point.

"Yeah, fuck—!"

Joel's hips jackknifed off the bed, abs crunching hard as the first wave of his release hit him. It was an explosion, his hand moving as if on autopilot, jerking his shaft hard and fast, dragging the pleasure out of him by force.

"God damn—"

The first shot was a heavy, pearly white rope that arced through the air, landing with a wet splat on his upper chest, right in the center of his salt-and-pepper hair. He couldn't stop. His hand kept squeezing, demanding more of himself.

"Fuck! Take it, fuckin' take it..."

Another spurt followed, this time painting a line onto the soft curve of his belly, pooling in his navel. It felt hot against his cooling skin.

Joel grunted again, a deep sound that vibrated through his body, his head thrown so far back that his muscles strained.

"Yeah... Fuck yeah..."

The intensity evened out, cock pulsing in his grip, spilling a messy flood that dribbled over his calloused knuckles, dripping down his shaft and eventually matting the pubic hair at the base.

His strokes slowed, fist milking the last few drops out, breathing ragged. He looked down at himself through lidded eyes, sweat dripping down his temple to mix with the mess he'd made at his collarbone.

"Look at that," he breathed. His voice was wrecked, barely even above a whisper. He slowly released his grip, hand falling away to rest on his thigh, strings of come stretching between his fingers before snapping. "Fuckin' drowned me."

Joel sat there for just a moment, staring down at the screen through half-lidded eyes the audience could not see. The post-nut clarity hit him like a wave, as it did each and every time he did this. The adrenaline faded fast, leaving him with just the sticky, cool reality.

The mess on his stomach was cooling rapidly, turning tacky and uncomfortable. Joel stared at the chat, a waterfall of praise, heart emojis and a whole bunch of words in caps-lock. It meant very little to him beyond the numbers that would appear in his bank account soon.

He couldn't help but laugh at himself internally. Fifty-six years old and jackin' it on the internet.

A pang of vulnerability shot through him that made Joel want to pull the plug and call it a night. But he hid it, wanting these people to return next time.

He tilted his chin down, allowing just his stubble and a forced smirk onto the screen.

"Alright, that's all she wrote, folks," he drawled, voice slowly regaining its strength, though slightly more tired. "Y'all drained me tonight."

His eyes glanced at the top donation. "Appreciate y'all, as always."

Joel leaned back, stretching his arms wide one last time, showing off the sticky mess one last time.

"JM signing off. Go do somethin' productive with yerselves."

The red light died, screen going black. The silence of his trailer rushed in again accompanied by the hum of his refrigerator.

She doesn’t bother questioning it after five or six rounds in one night over the Saturday of her last jobless weekend before the start of her new position the following Monday. It had done wonders for the stress in her body, the tense and worried state it was nearly permanently in. She’d gotten better at taking it all up to the hilt, stuffing it inside up to her stomach after taking an edible and throwing on whatever TV show could make decent background noise. She grins with her heavy lidded eyes falling closed while another load pumps inside her. The second one of the hour to be exact. That addicting feeling of her toy cock gradually just losing it, losing all control like her pussy did things that triggered this quick, heavy release.

She’ll hang around her home in nothing but her underwear and her robe, eating cookie dough ice cream straight out of the carton, higher than a dopey teenager stuck in her own element. It doesn’t take long for her to take her favorite toy and rut her clit against it until it got warm like some kind of horny genie lamp. And then like clockwork it fills up for her again like it’s getting hard, twitchy, and ready all just for her pleasure. In the very back of her head she thinks this thing is so real it could have the off chance of somehow getting her pregnant since the cum had the consistency and the warmth of a real breathing person.

When Monday inevitably arrives, she gives up making sure every single hair stays in place and just parts it all to one side, buttoning up her favorite coat as armor against the unpredictable weather. As she strolled along the streets to her new work building, petting the dogs passing by on their owners’ leashes and twirling the cord of her headphones, she imagines what kind of office would hire someone like her. Blunt, casual, some neurological differences that make it difficult to focus if the topic didn’t interest her. Virtually no prior experience in the field she’s been hired in. It didn’t feel real getting the call back to learn she’d been selected, but who the hell was she to call them stupid for picking her of all the candidates?

The hustle and bustle was apparent as soon as she entered the building, asking around with wide eyes where her section was, what floor was she supposed to go to. Everyone looked busy but remained patient and kind, directing her to her floor, telling her to find a tall, shaggy haired man by the name of Clark.

It wasn’t hard to seek him out of everybody else, large frame still evident even with his hunched over posture, diligently typing away on his computer. When he looks up she was struck to find that he was almost dangerously beautiful. Handsome, pretty, dorky, everything that had always baited her into making terrible decisions. Just by talking to him she could tell he had anxiety, stiff movements and facial expressions that had her wondering if he was nervous from the pressure of being in charge of a new hire, or if he was more specifically nervous about being around her in particular.

Clark is attentive and sweet, helpful and patient with her learning new things, getting used to the environment and what was to be the new routine. Picking up the mail, distributing the mail, transferring phone calls, helping Lois with office duties and finding supplies with low stock to re-order. Certain areas felt overwhelming but overall the job itself seemed mundane. The only thing sticking out to her was Clark and his antsy eyes and big arms, anxious ticks and shy smiles. How he bent over backwards to help her with just about every question thrown his way or another way, making himself of use to her in any way she may have needed.

On her smoke break she feels the rain start to pour within seconds of going outside, and although she’s walked through rain and shine plenty it was still a bit of a test to see how far Clark would actually go if she’d asked to take her home. And he was so eager, so easy. If she got to know him well enough and if they became comfortable enough, she could give him the nickname of being her own mister Yes Man. Yeah, of course I’ll take care of that for you. Yes, you don’t have to worry about that, I’ve got it. Yup, no worries. Yeah, I’ll get this going for you. He was so full of yes’s she almost wonders what the limit may be.

Throughout the day he reciprocates just about every glance, every minor, innocent brushing of arms and fingers and touches on each other’s shoulders, upper back, arms. He hands her a pen and she grazes his fingers entirely on purpose and doesn’t hide dragging the moment out. The more she does the more flustered he’s become.

When Jimmy meets her and shakes her hand, he pulls her aside to whisper in her ear that Clark is very, very single and she laughs so hard she snorts. And when Clark comes back from his lunch break wearing different trousers than he was before he left, she doesn’t attempt any subtlety at eyeing his new pants up and down and shrugging with a little knowing nod at what might’ve made him have to change. Clark makes up some half baked lie about spilling hot sauce on his other pair, and she nods enough to try convincing him she believes it.

After her training is done and the paperwork is filed and the day is finally, finally over she gets a nod from Clark across the room, tilting his head in the direction of the elevators with briefcase in hand. He nudged his glasses further up his face and sniffled, waving bye to staff and pressing the button to head down, holding the door open with an extended arm.

“Thanks so much again by the way,” she graciously squeezed the thick muscle of his upper arm as the elevator doors close. Clark’s turned bashfully red almost immediately, chin down at the ground pretending to look at his shoes.

“It’s nothing. I really wouldn’t want you um, getting all soaked out in the rain, that wouldn’t be right. I’m glad you felt safe enough to ask me.”

“Of course I did. You’ve been nothing but a big sweetheart. Seriously, if anyone’s intimidated by the height they could have one conversation with you and it’ll change their mind,” she laughs, meeting his wide eyes framed by his thick glasses. The elevators ding to alert they’ve arrived to their destined floor, Clark taking a second too long to process before shoving his arm back out to stop the doors from closing in on them again. His version of a curse word slips under his breath while he nearly drops his briefcase, clearly still tripping and stumbling his way out to the parking garage.

“Well I guess so. I’m not that tall. Maybe a little over average, but— I hope I’m not intimidating. Um, here, let’s go this way,” Clark awkwardly trails off, pointing to his little beat up blue vehicle parked way over in the corner. When he points it out she wonders how he even fits himself in there.

“Uh, usually I prop the drivers seat back for my legs. A little crammed but I’ve had her since I started driving. My Pa gifted me this, and she’s still been up and running good after all these years so I don’t really see a need for finding anything else.”

She nods her head and smiles, impressed. He doesn’t let her hand go even near the handle, ripping it open and holding it while she slides in and sets her bag down on the floor near her feet. “Wow. You know, that shows a ton of loyalty to keep one of these for years like you have. I like that.”

He sheepishly nods his head with curls moving on his forehead before gently closing the door and jogging over to the other side.

She takes in her surroundings, observing the little details. His hanging dog charm around the rearview mirror. Taking in all the neatness, the warm vanilla scented air fresheners. How the seat is propped back as far as it could possibly go to accommodate for his height. She notes how he kept himself a spare pair of glasses in one of the cupholders, another style than the ones he wore to the office. When he turns the car on, music began to boom through the speakers, jolting him with a twitch as he rushed to turn the volume all the way down, laughing through a string of apologies. She only giggles harder, clearly less upset than he was, more amused if anything.

Each mundane little thing about Clark piled more on to this growing irresistible urge to just make the plunge already, to crawl in his lap, to kiss him so hard his glasses get crooked and eventually fall right off his face. It became more tempting with each passing glance from the side, every accidental brush of her thigh with his hand while he shifted gears, a murmured apology with those signature pink cheeks. He always looked so embarrassed, and it somehow always served to really turn her on.

“Uh, so I’ll turn here right?”

“Yeah. Yeah just, just turn then you’ll go straight for a while. I’ll let you know when we’re approaching.”

Clark follows directions, going about five miles below the speed limit as he keeps his eyes on each house passing by, curiously wondering which one could be her home. Was it the well groomed, modern style with a picket fence, or an old school, overgrown lawn with an artsy mailbox?

He slows down more as the end of the street was coming, pulling off to the side as she pointed out her home. Clark forgets to hide how eager he is to scope it out, the little pink painted one story home with healthy plants branching out from their pots on the porch, the lady bug mat, the absence of any cars parked out front. Figures she must only get around anywhere on foot.

Rain still patters on the windshield as his windshield wipers barely keep up in time from the heavy drops, and puddles outside forming in the potholes of the road. Her plants looked to be the only happy ones to have some rain to quench them.

“This is me right here,” she reluctantly says, a sigh leaving her throat while she peers back over to the man in the driver’s seat. “I had fun, says a lot for a first day at a new job. Those are always pretty stressful but you’re such a great teacher that I know I’ll be in good hands,” she says, rubbing the lipgloss leftover on her lips together while eyeing him up and down, back and forth between his pretty face and his robust chest.

“I… I’m not that good, you just made it easy,” he disputes. “You asked all the right questions, you’re smart. I know you’ll get the hang of it real soon—“

“—You know, when I met Jimmy today he told me you were single,” she interjects before her mind could steer her away from the risky decision. “So was he… was he joking or was he—“

Clark groans loud, making a fist and then nearly slamming his forehead into it to hide his face, mortified that Jimmy set him up like this. To have this awkward interaction with his now co-worker.

“Gosh…. of course he did… that’s— no. I’m sorry he was acting inappropriate—“

“No as in you’re not single.”

Clark pulls his head back up, blinks, utterly confused.

“No, no I’m—“

“No as in yes?”

“N-No, no as in he’s right. I… I am, it’s just I didn’t want him disclosing stuff like that that to you, that information. Like as if you’d even care if a co-worker is single or not is ridiculous. If he makes you uncomfortable again I can talk to him, it doesn’t have to be a whole HR thing but if you want it to be I can absolutely help…”

She chews her bottom lip to prevent another shit eating grin from spreading onto her cheeks, placing a deliberate hand back on his upper arm to nab his attention, soothe any of his sudden woes.

“Listen, stop. Listen to me Clark. I was asking to clarify it with you because I was hoping that he was right,” she admits, a soft laugh not far behind the end of her small confession, trailing off with a rub of his shoulder, making him hold his breath and keen from the contact.

“You um. So you aren’t freaked out, you aren’t uncomfortable in any way? I just can’t imagine what it’s like, being a… a woman. A beautiful woman you know, like you, in a new workplace and having men be obnoxious on top of that—“

Clark stutters and takes a breather, shutting his car off and tilting his head up so his neck is exposed, blankly looking up at the ceiling.

“Clark.”

“Yeah?”

He doesn’t look back down or turn his head, Adam’s apple of his throat bobbing as he swallows more nerves down.

“I’m not uncomfortable. Not freaked out. And if you want me to just get my stuff and go, not mention any of this tomorrow, then I could,” she starts. Clark takes a deep breath in like he wants to interrupt, but she holds a finger up and he obeys, shutting his mouth closed. “Or,” she began. “I could kiss you for being so sweet, and we can act normal tomorrow, but you can give me another ride home if you aren’t busy again. And we can see where this goes.”

The drop of his jaw was nearly out of a cartoon, heartbeat throbbing so fast it might as well be audible in the quiet of the small space of his car. He can’t take his eyes off her, blinking ever so slightly when his eyes start to dry up. It looked like he wanted to pinch himself just to make sure everything was real.

“I… I really like the second option more. A lot.” he finally mutters. Licks his lips while staring down at hers like he had countless times today, this time with layers of restraint stripped away.

“I like the second option more too,” she chuckles at his dumbstruck face, soothing a palm over his thigh and rubbing his flexed muscles through his trousers. “I also noticed you changed your pants after lunch.”

Clark swallows while her face comes closer, nearly nose to nose, sharing and exchanging breath.

“Uh, yeah, yeah I….”

“That story about spilling some hot sauce was bullshit, right?”

Clark nods without a second thought, confirming everything she already knew.

“Did you have a little too much fun? Make too much a mess, had to end up changing before you got back to the office?”

“Yeah, yeah I did,” he bows his head down a bit, licking his lips again. Still close enough to smell her perfume, to stare at the glittery shine of her lipgloss, begging to know what it tastes like.

“I thought so.”

Clark doesn’t get another moment to think or conjure up a response before she’s leaning in and he’s dreamily shutting his eyes, humming into her mouth while she tilts her head to the side. Her nails splay out across his neck while he whimpers in her mouth, trying to keep up and savor the exquisite taste of her while he can. With plenty of hesitation trying to hold him back, he goes for it anyway and takes his own palm to the middle of her back, hugging her close to him while they kept making out like it wasn’t any different than coming home after years of being away.

“You’re really pretty, makes it really hard,” he pants. Pulls away but not too far, lips still brushing hers as he speaks.

She laughs right at him, tucking a curl behind his ear and adjusting his glasses so they’re straight again on his face. “Apt word choice there.”

“No! No I mean, that’s not what I meant….”

“As much as embarrassment looks cute on you, you don’t have to be,” she assures with another giddy laugh, kissing his cheek and leaving a subtle glossy mark on the skin. Then aims for each corner of his lips only to be pulled back in by him to get the heated momentum back up and running.

“You’re unbelievable,” he breathes. “I want to just… I wanna keep going forever.”

Shit, is he talking too much too soon?

“I mean you don’t have to, really, you can head home whenever you like… I only meant I like this a lot.”

She doesn’t let his overthinking become worse, just grabbing him by the collar and kissing him again. Adding tongue swirls into the mix.

“You taste like your Spearmint gum,” she observes. “Really nice.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Clark nods, his meek persona still in full swing even after having her tongue in his mouth. “You’d tell me if my breath was bad, right?”

“Of course I would.”

The pair still kept exploring each other’s kissing techniques, her hands stroking his arms and his chest while Clark’s stayed on the middle of her back in easy circles. It could’ve been ten, fifteen, even twenty minutes passing by while the rain hardly lightens up from pouring out from the gray clouds scattered in the sky. Clark offers to walk her up to the door so she could get home safe and dry, and she couldn’t pass up the offer, even if he kept reassuring her he didn’t mean to allude to any funny business. He takes off his own jacket to hover it over her head as they make the short trip, insisting he does it as to not get her hair wet.

“I like your plants, your place is cute. I can pick you up and take you home tomorrow if you’re up for that.”

She grins and gets up on her tippy toes to kiss him once again, an innocent little smooch he graciously accepts and reciprocates.

“And how about the day after that, and then the day after that, and the next week after that…”

Clark laughs at her and puts his jacket he’d been using to shield her from getting doused by the rain, squeezing her hip with another smile and going back in for yet another because it was too good to pass up.

“Absolutely. Rain or shine, I’ve got you.”

“Great. I’ll see you tomorrow then. Bright and early. Do you have my number? Wait, hold on,” she unzips her purse and shuffles through it before finding her keys, unlocking the door and barging inside. Clark remains respectfully at the doormat, not willing to push any boundary this early, besides a car makeout here and there. He watches her in blissful astonishment as she scribbles on a piece of paper, folds it up then marches back to put it in his front pocket herself.

“For emergencies. And you know, anything else.”

Anything, she says. Anything else. “Right. Yeah. I’ll text you.”

“Please do. And text me when you’re home safe!”

“I will,” he chuckles, leaning his head back down to steal another goodbye kiss before he walks back to his car with a pep in his step that he hasn’t had in a long, long time.

“Bye!”

She waves from her porch before he chastises her to get back to her house so she doesn’t stay in the rain, but she just sticks her tongue out at him then goes back anyway.

It all felt intoxicating. He wondered if he could even drive in such a distracted, head in the clouds state like this.

His gut fluttered with butterflies and his cheeks hurt from smiling so much, back on autopilot as he starts up the car, blasts the volume back up and turns back to the main road. It felt overwhelmingly unreal that he can still taste her lip gloss and how much it’s rubbed off on him. How he can still feel the ghost of her hands touching and caressing parts of him that haven’t been touched and felt like that. He has stars floating above his head like he’d been knocked the fuck out, unconscious.

Just as he’s venturing back to the street towards his place, his dick starts to feel wet against his left thigh. Still trapped by his boxers and his trousers, that same familiar sensation creeping back up on him before he could press the gas after a red light turns green. He clenches his jaw and tries to stay concentrated with tight hands on the wheel. Gasping when his dick starts tingling as he’s teased and rutted on by that same mysterious force, gliding him in between their lips, teasing their opening with his tip.

Clark barely makes it home and sticks his face in the steering wheel, licking his lips, breathing with his mouth stuck open. He feels when it goes inside, how the thrusts are long and filling and slow at first, excruciatingly wonderful as it’s taking him in down to his balls. Drenching him down with wet arousal on every pull out. His full body shivers again, butts his head against the wheel five times before accidentally bumping the horn.

Mortified with horror, he ducks his head down as much as he could and peaked around to catch only a few witnesses of his neighbors taking out their trash bins out on the curb. He awkwardly waves and subtly grabs onto his bulge through his trousers, dampness seeping through the fabric. With a braced huff, he counts to ten to enjoy the warm embrace before he’s exiting his vehicle, slamming the door and not bothering to fix his floppy hair before snatching his briefcase from the backseat, covering his crotch from the world and jogging to his door, soft rain still falling from above.

When he makes it inside he throws his belongings to the ground, rushes his clothes off akin to how he did on his lunch break earlier. As naked as he was born with those glasses still on, he lies back on the couch and clenches his jaw, absently thrusting up into the unknown heat. Feels the heat react with more tight clenches, taking his breath away. He closes his eyes and hugs a pillow to his abdomen while he pictures his new co-worker on top of him again, bouncing just like this wet heat on top of him right now. Wants her lipgloss to stick to his skin, wants to be engulfed in her hair, her perfume, her smile. Her laugh when she’s making fun of him.

Without any warning but the pit in his stomach squeezing and dropping, he cums like a fountain and it ripples out of him so fast it punches him into a straighter posture, all the sudden sitting up. He sees his own cum lathering his dick and his pubes, and he can distinguish the very moment she’s cumming not long later too.

After Clark lays there and chugs an old but full glass of water lying on his coffee table, he caught up to his breath as he tries to get himself together to draft up a text when he finds the energy to get up and pull that crumbled piece of paper out of his pant pocket.

With multiple tired, anxious tries of attempting to find some neutral ground between sounding caring and interested versus sounding desperate or obsessive, he takes a deep breath and presses send before he could talk his mind out of it.

Hey this is Clark. I made it back home safe awhile ago and forgot to let you know. Just wanna say I had fun and I’ll pick you up around 8:30 if that’s cool. Good night :)

Clark thinks of throwing his phone across the room to ignore the insecurities bubbling out of him. What else should I say. Was what I said too much. Will she even want to kiss me again? She said she’d tell me if my breath tasted bad. What if tomorrow things are different—

A text tone buzzed his couch cushion, phone screen lighting up. Surprised but delighted, he rips it back up off the couch and shoves it in his face to read carefully.

I probably had even more fun than you. Glad you’re home safe and I’ll see you tomorrow :) 8:30 sounds perfect Mr. Yes Man. I’ll be waiting out front for you, get good rest! goodnight!

Gobsmacked, he’s left re-reading the same words over and over and over until his eyes grew heavy and he knew time for bed was gonna have to be a little early tonight. He brushes his teeth, wishing he could keep the remnants of her lips on his mouth but knows he just has to wait until tomorrow for more kisses. With a hiss he scrubs his dick of the sloppy mess left thick and slathered on his entire lower half with a warm washcloth.

While he’s in bed he idly wonders what her nights looked like. If she spends them alone like Clark does. If she was more outgoing than him, had people over, went out more. If her life had more color on the pages than his. Dirtier thoughts naturally start to seep in after that, threatening to really take over the narrative he’s built in his mind. Does she touch herself nearly as much as he does? Can she cum multiple times if she’s coaxed? Does she take more charge or does she want him to take over? Or maybe she wanted both. He could do both.

Endless wonders still can’t help flooding his thoughts, so much so that they infiltrate his dream as he slowly drifts off to sleep. Dreaming of her on top of him, of playing with his tie before yanking on it to pull him around as she pleased. She got down further and nuzzled her cheek against his bulge through his office pants and took him out to lick it down like a lollipop was between his legs, even squeezing on him so good it hurt a little bit.

The dream ended with her on top and riding him, backwards cowgirl style, tight hold of his tie still in her fist. When he’s pulled out of his dream and awoken it’s around two in the morning, and somehow his dick had gotten just as wet and used in the night again, this time while he wasn’t even conscious. Clark thought he’d aged out of having any more dirty, raw, cum-in-his-pants type of wet dreams like these. He guessed that now after the day that he had and the girl that he met that everything was about to turn upside down.

. . .

thank you thank you to everyone who commented and reblogged and liked my first part im so happy you guys are enjoying its so fun reading everyone’s reactions :) i like the alternating POVs too for this between her + him

****(only able to fit 50 tags per post, I’ll make another one linked to this post so I can tag the rest!)

Softdom!Joel loves to have you on your back, fully sprawled out and on display for him. He has access to everything; your pretty tits bouncing as he juts into you and pushes your head up the bed, your beautiful face he paws at and cradles, and your soft legs that sometimes sling around his hips and other times just lay stretched out away from you, especially toward the end of the sex when you are already exhausted.

Softdom!Joel cums inside you every single time. No exception. The two of you can have a quick fuck in the bathroom at Tommy's during his garden party, and he will still stuff you full of his seed and not let go until he has pumped every ounce of his cum into your walls. First and foremost, he does it because you love it just as much as he does, maybe even more. Which is why you get upset whenever Joel even just puts the idea of cumming anywhere else in the room. No, his seed belongs inside you. It's supposed to fill you up to the brim, stick to your wet walls and make your head just as messy as it does your insides. It's supposed to leak from your hole before Joel scoops it up with two fingers and shoves it right back in.

Softdom!Joel always takes good care of you after he fucks you. Not only are you in need of a special amount of love and tenderness once he has made the two of you climax, but there's also another much more primal, filthy reason for it: he has to ensure his cum is secure inside you. Most of the time, Joel lays you down, one hand playing with your mouth or your cheeks while his other is knuckles deep in your cunt. He keeps it there for a while, two fingers preventing his seed from escaping the place where it's meant to mix with your own arousal. And then he talks to you, whispering how well you took it, how much he loves to shoot his seed in you and how much he wishes you could see this for yourself. Only when he is certain his semen has coalesced with your body and become a part of you does he let go, either licking his fingers clean himself or feeding you his digits.

Softdom!Joel already thinks about knocking you up again, even though you have only just found out about your pregnancy. The two of you love the idea of your belly filling with his cum, with his child, because it's the perfect complement to his seed flooding your pussy every night. You, completely owned and claimed by him. And Joel doesn't even have to be cold or brutal about it. He just buries you underneath his weight, keeps one palm loosely brushing over the swell of your belly while his cock pursues his favorite activity in the world: fucking into you with the aim of cumming inside you. His other hand is wrapped around the side of your face, keeping your attention on him as he delivers slow, deep thrusts that make you think he intends to get you pregnant again, even though that's a biological impossibility. "I love you so much, babygirl," Joel murmurs quietly, and yet somehow he's still emitting a certain dominance and authority that is a divine addition to his sweet, protective nature. "You're mine… Every inch of you. And the evidence is growing in your belly as we speak." He parts your legs wider, treating you delicately, although his actions are marked with the knowledge that you were his to adjust and move around to his liking. "You're mine to mark with my cum, babygirl… Mine to knock up over and over… Gotta have my seed drip down your legs until there's so much I can't keep stuffing it back inside."

Softdom!Joel can barely keep it inside his pants with you around him. You don't exactly make it easy for him with your doll eyes and your hands that constantly seek his proximity. It's even worse now that you're pregnant. One time, Joel and you are over at Maria's for her birthday party. About halfway through the evening, you bring his hand to your stomach, look up at him through your lashes and whisper "I can't wait for you to fuck me later… I need to feel even fuller of you, Joel." That's all it takes. His restraint snaps, and Joel is on his feet dragging you inside. The bathroom is not ideal, but it serves its purpose. Since he is careful with you, his pretty princess, and doesn't want you in a position that brings you discomfort, he wants you to sit on the sink, but you insist on bending over instead. After all, you are in the second month of your pregnancy and still feel pretty strong in your body. Joel pounds into you from behind, a hand lying over your mouth because you can't keep silent, like always, after he turned you into a cockdrunk mess just by working his cock inside you. His lips are inches from your ear, softly nibbling at the lobe. "Good girl… You're squeezin' me so tight. Makes me think that this pussy is tryna tell me something…" "Yes," you pant at once, gasping as he grabs your breast tightly and loosens his grip on your mouth. "And what is that?" He is so fast, fuck, the other guests must hear the way his hips crash into yours. "I… I want you to cum inside." Later, you briefly regret that request. Very briefly. Joel has filled you up, of course, just like you desired it. The only problem is the creamy liquid running down your bare legs that are on display today with your short yellow summer dress. Eyeing you up and down, the corner of Joel's mouth ticks up, and the next thing you know, he is smiling at you widely. "Why don't you stay like that? Mhm?" "What do you mean?" you whisper, desperately glancing down your thigh to assess how long it would take to wipe it off. "You look nice. Mine." You're starting to understand. "You mean…" "Yeah. It's just another way of showing who you belong to, isn't it? Most won't even see it. And those who do… let 'em know. That you're off limits. They should know what we've been doing in here. They should know that my cum was too much for your pretty pussy, so it all dripped down your leg. Besides, it's what I want. Having you fucking covered in my cum." So that is exactly what happens, and you would be lying if you said that you don't enjoy it.

Softdom!Joel and you always find new positions for him to fuck you in. He has been even more feral and wild about it before your pregnancy. Nowadays, he enjoys missionary as it allows you to lay on your back comfortably and him to carefully jut his hips into you at his chosen pace. Before that, he was quite experimental about it, though. Aside from missionary, Joel's personal favorite had been doggy. That way, he got to crush his pelvis into your back, quickly driving his cock into you at the most perfect angle. The best part, without a doubt, was when he felt his orgasm bubbling within him. He would use all his force, shove you forward until you were flat beneath him and pump you full of his seed while you quivered and whimpered under him, experiencing your own high.

Softdom!Joel knows how much you enjoy taking him on your side. Your favorite place in the world is lying in front of him, being spooned by his strong, broad body, so naturally, you also like to take his cock in that position. Another favorite is you riding him, with Joel interrupting your rhythm the moment he is about to unleash the tension inside him. He plants his hands on your hips, grinds his teeth and holds you down on him while his cum fills you so deeply you feel like it's swamping your belly. "Take it, babygirl, that's it…" Joel grunts through clenched teeth, keeping you pressed against his center much longer than necessary. All you can do is whine and yelp, sweat dripping down from your forehead onto his. "Feel how deep I am? S'all me, sweetheart… Me fillin' that pretty pussy up. You're gonna have it everywhere, babygirl. You're gonna taste it in your mouth, gonna feel it for days. It's so deep in your body, honey, ain't nothin' I can do about it." And as Joel pushes you down further, his tip hitting your cervix in a way that makes you wince, you all but believe him.

Softdom!Joel sees it as his duty to claim your pussy from every single angle, in every way that is possible. To him, it's just another necessity. It's not just about pumping you full of his semen every single day, sometimes even twice, but also about ensuring that your cunt knows how to take his cum in all the different ways there are. Hence the variations in the positions and places he fucks you in. On the kitchen counter, in the shower, in an old broken car that stands beside his house, on the floor like two dirty animals, in a chair and sideways on the bed. At times, Joel is careful about doing it somewhere other than his home as he doesn't want to worry about his cum soiling whatever place it is, but usually the thrill of it all is worth it. Once he finds a new position to fuck you in, you are absolutely ravenous and keen about it, putting on your prettiest underwear and greeting him at the door when he comes home. Normally, Joel whispers it in your ear in the morning, telling you that he has something special in mind for you. It's a cruel thing to do to you as you are on your toes all day, but at the same time, it makes you so excited for the night that you feel giddy every second.

Softdom!Joel apologizes a million times whenever he doesn't cum inside you. It doesn't happen often, of course not. Filling you up is a given, something you don't even have to ask for at this point. But occasionally, he is unable to avoid it, for example when his cock doesn't work the way it's supposed to – he's not the youngest anymore – or when he spills inside your mouth by accident. Every time that happens, Joel quietly curses under his breath, cradles your head once you have swallowed and kisses your hairline before you can start complaining. "I'm sorry, baby, I'm sorry…" he then murmurs, getting down to your level. You determinedly wipe your mouth, eyes flashing at him and brow furrowed as though you were about to start crying any minute. "I wanted it inside me," you whine and clench your hands into fists. "I know, sweetheart… I'm sorry. You just feel too good, you know that? Your pretty mouth is so good, I couldn't help it… I'm sorry. I love you, okay?" Your features soften at his apologies, though you still feel anger flapping in your stomach. Right where his cum is supposed to paint your inner walls at that moment. Sure, his seed is filling you one way or the other. But you prefer it to be your vagina rather than your throat. Joel makes sure to make it up to you extensively. A mistake like that usually leads to him rewarding you with load after load of his creamy spend stuffing you full. He goes all night, lazily playing with your pussy while he waits for his cock to harden again. Then, he fills you up all over again until you tell him that it's enough and your pussy feels raw. At that point, the sheets beneath you are dirty and stained with his fluids, your thighs are glistening wet and your cunt is unable to swallow all of it, no matter how hard he tries to push it back inside you. You squeal and whimper, squirming on the bed and wriggling with your bruised hips, though you do it in the most content and satisfied way. After you're cleaned up, Joel lays beside you, a hand on your swollen belly, from the child he has fucked into you a couple of weeks ago or his cum, you are not exactly sure. He isn't either. "Look at you, baby… So full of me. Can't fit any more inside, m'sorry. I could've kept goin'… but your tiny pussy can't take it. S'all mine already. I already claimed every inch of you, you see?" You nod in understanding, putting a hand on top of his. "Sleep now, babygirl." You do, and somehow, it seems as though not just your body is owned by his seed but your mind as well. Because that's what you dream of all night long.

You had met him at a café – a lone American sitting at the bar while the locals sat outside. Your elbow had bumped into his when you went inside to pay, and your apology had turned into a conversation, and then into an offer to meet up.

He – Francisco, as he introduced himself – was traveling for a few weeks, and in a show of courage that had you surprising yourself, you offered to be his guide.

Maybe it was the glint of interest in his eyes. Or maybe it was the hint of dark curls under his hat, ones that had you wondering how soft they were. Maybe it was the look on his face – first an assessing, intensely soulful look that pinned you in place, then a surprisingly vulnerable one that held you there.

Whatever it was, you offered and he accepted. Day trips had turned into night walks, had turned into this meeting at your place for a home-cooked meal, which had then turned into….this.

This aching space, where anything was possible.

This muted space, that was devoid of color but so rich in other things: in the low, gravely drag of his voice, in the heady, masculine scent of his skin, in the gentle caress of his fingers playing idly with yours.

Slumped together on your sofa, shoulder to shoulder, a low pitch of conversation is exchanged between you in the dark room. Your breath is shallow, your heart racing, your mind hoping – yet you sit still and let him play: his fingers sliding between yours, his thumb brushing over your skin, his touch tracing your knuckles.

He is so close you can feel him talking as well as hear it. So close you can smell a whiff of the detergent he uses.

Turning your head in reply to something he says, your warm breath mingles in the shared space between your mouths. His breathing seems just like yours, a cross between holding it in fear of breaking the moment, and taking sips just to breathe each other in.

The room around you is pregnant with intimacy, with the occasional street noise that drifts in on the wind, and in this aching quiet, his hand lifts to cup your jaw, the tension between your bodies swelling to new heights….

And then, he kisses you.

His mouth is tender, exploring. Weighted, firm. His lips press fully against yours, capturing you in place, fingertips brushing against the hinge of your jaw. Your mouth parts to invite him in, and he accepts with a slow slide of his tongue, tasting, tasting, tasting. The kiss deepens with a sigh, your body melting backwards to pull him on top of you and he follows your guidance, seeking out your closeness and your flavor, his hands beginning to wander, just like yours.

The comforting, solid weight of his body presses you into the couch, his hips finding a home between the cradle of your thighs. You kiss, and kiss. Lips sealing together, mouths opening wide, tongues sliding together to savor taste.

The room sees it all – a blank canvas for the bright bursting thing happening between you two. The thing that’s been there from the start, finally coming to fruition. Everything drips – the grey walls bathed in intimacy, the muted tones awash with arousal, the clinging cotton covering your core.

Your laps grind together, your aligned bodies melding as his strong arms wrap around you to hold you close, and your ankles hook over his lower back. Your fingers slide through his curls and they are exactly as soft as you thought they’d be, like slippery silk.

You give them a tug, and are rewarded with his lowest, neediest groan yet.

Weighted with want, rumbled into your open mouth.

The movie ended an hour and a half ago, and his form joins the dusky tones of the room when he kneels between your bare thighs, your jeans and panties hooked around one ankle while it’s his tongue this time that sparks and lights, washing your body in arousal so strong it hurts.

He delves deep, licks wide, flicks and swirls and laps.

With your back arched, he devours.

His broad back is reflected in the black screen of your TV, the filthy image of his grey t-shirt pulling tight between his shoulder blades in his hungry hunch, his dark curls tucked between your spread thighs. Your fingers curl to grasp at the blanket beneath you and you roll your hips into his hungry mouth until your moans break the weighted silence, joining the night sounds from outside.

He joins you on the couch after that, even though it’s not big enough for what he has in mind. It’s a two seater, a small thing, but he makes it work when he stretches out on top of you and smears your own wetness against your mouth with his searing kiss, and reaches between the press of your bodies to unbuckle his belt.

There are other people in your building – a neighbor whom you share a wall with, who you only hear on football match days. A woman beneath you, the shouts of her children heard sometimes through the vents. Still more in the floors beneath them, and in the streets outside, and in the expanse of the city as it spreads across the earth – yet your entire existence is reduced to this one room when he opens your mouth with his just as he slides forward to break you open with a filling, weighted grind.

Your teeth catch his lower lip when you whine underneath him, and you can tell he likes it, this confirmation that he’s a lot to take. He grins against your mouth – decadent and filthy, slightly cocky and mischievous – and begins to fuck you on your couch like he’s been planning it since day one, from that first meeting in the bar.

He fucks with intent, with purpose. With experience, with competence. But also just like that first meeting, his intensity gives way to something more base, something feral and open and vulnerable. Like he can’t help the need that pours out, or the way he seeks your warmth.

His hips rock forward, demanding you take him in your pinned place underneath his body. His strokes are a rolled grind that has you lifting yours to meet his, forcing him deeper as your nails dig into his lower back, holding on.

The room absorbs every filthy sound: the humid panting of breath, the needy, low moans, his grunts that match the rhythmic punch of his hips. Filthy confessions pour from his mouth – your pussy feels so good, I wanted to fuck you the first time we met, bet your mouth was made for me too, your fucking pussy is so tight I’m gonna cum, you’re going to make me cum.

Every piece of praise washes over the sensitive hollow beneath your ear.

It’s like rebirth, like baptism. Like your life was as muted and dull as the small room around you and he found you and tugged you into the bright bursting daylight, plunging you into a colored life of sensation, of aching desire, of feelings too strong to be real.

When he comes, you join him, a tear sliding from the corner of your eye.

The movie ended two hours ago, and dawn breaks on the horizon somewhere outside. It trickles in through your open window, a slice of barely illuminated gold.

Sated and spent, he lays on top of you and your fingers drift mindlessly through his damp roots, over his soft shirt, along the firm planes of his skin. It’s a tight fit, an uncomfortable one that you don’t mind, when he shifts his weight off you to tuck himself into the back of the couch, holding you close against him.

While he dozes, you stay awake.

Bird sounds replace the quiet, light illuminates the darkness. From your spot crushed against his chest, you watch his pulse beat under his skin, strong and steady. Leaning in, you inhale his scent from the place on his body drenched with it – the hollow of his throat.

Slowly, lightly, as light slips into the room and brings color with it, you brush your fingers over the freckles that dot his skin just above his collar. There is a cluster you’ve been obsessed with since you first saw him, and you find them, dusted across his skin.

Resting your mouth against them, you let your eyes close as you press a kiss that lingers.