Captain

You’re talking to your aunt at your mom’s birthday party when you feel his eyes on you. Trying to be discreet, you throw a glance at the sofa and your heart skips a beat when you meet his gaze. The voices around get muffled as if you’re under water, the people around you disappear, and you see only him - Professor Miller, your mom’s friend, your tutor, your Joel, a man you’ve been sleeping with for a month now. Hot, unforgettable, perfect month.

There’s a deep crease between his furrowed brows, but you recognize a playful tingle in his eyes, when he pats the spot on the sofa next to him. Not waiting for your aunt to finish her sentence, you walk to Professor Miller, give him a polite nod and take a seat, not too close, but enough to hear his low velvet voice,

“You look beautiful, sweetheart.”

A little smile tugs at your lips as you’re staring down at your hands on your lap rather than at him. The secrecy of your relationship makes your heart pound in your ears and your pussy tingle.

“Thank you. You, too,” you whisper barely audible. “Have you done the homework I gave you?” Joel asks a little louder, his question being appropriate for the other guests to eavesdrop.

“Almost finished that book,” you nod, glancing at him for the first time since you sat down. This feels like a mistake right away - his broad torso straining the white shirt, his kissable lips, his dark eyes focused on you behind his glasses — everything about him immediately turns you into a puddle. He’s too hot to handle, especially in a room full of people, with your parents only a couple feet away from you two.

Trying to calm down you take a deep breath, but his next question shatters your restraint into tiny pieces.

“What about the other task?”

You turn your face to him in confusion.

“What task?”

A corner of his lips rises up as he lowers his voice so only you could hear and whispers,

“Not to play with your little pussy thinking of me until our next lesson.”

Your breath hitches and a hot flash licks at your core. You’re blinking at him speechless while the flames of arousal are burning you alive. Your pussy aches so much for him, you’re probably failing to hide the need in your expression, and Joel curses under his breath and mutters,

“Go to your room, baby. Give me five minutes.”

You’ve never done it. Never fucked Joel in your bedroom. His place is much more suitable for your clandestine affair. Definitely more suitable than your house today, full of your relatives and family friends.

Yet nothing can stop you two. The desire is too strong to contain, too overwhelming to ignore. That’s why Professor Miller’s eating you out right now, kneeling by your bed, holding your thighs apart with his big hands. He’s showering you with praise between fucking your hole with his tongue and lapping at your folds, slurping loudly.

“delicious— give it to me— sweetest pussy—oh, baby…”

Your back arches when he sucks your clit between his lips, and you come so hard, you have to bite on your hand to stop a cry from flying out of your mouth.

“Yeah, like that, my good girl,” Joel pants, gently kissing your pussy and caressing your trembling thighs with his palms.

When your body relaxes, you lie on the bed completely spent, until Joel carefully takes you in his arms and puts you on his lap. You flutter your eyes open and look into his handsome, kind face.

“Here she is,” he smiles, his voice laced with honey. “You ok, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, it was amazing, Joel. Just a little tired. And anxious.”

“Anxious? Why?” he asks, running his fingers over your arm, and you rest your head on his broad shoulder, hiding the worry in your eyes.

“What if someone finds out? About us.”

Joel sighs and hugs you, enveloping you in his tight embrace, calming your nerves with the warmth of his body.

“Well,.. I’m ready to fight for you, my love. Until then…,” he chuckles softly, “— I think our cover is solid. As far as your mother’s concerned you’re getting some extra exercises from me right now.”

“I’m about to,” you giggle against his neck, and elated by his reassurance, start unbuckling his belt with impatient hands. You’ve been ignoring this big hard cock under your ass for way too long.

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MASTERLIST || Good Girl

You are looking out of the window at the night street, illuminated by a few golden lights, when you feel Joel’s heavy hands on your hips and then his lips plant a kiss on your neck from behind.

“Let’s go to bed,” he mumbles, his gruff voice coated with lust.

“No, fuck me right here.”

He smiles against your neck.

“Really? Want the neighbors to see us, dirty girl?”

“Yeah. Neighbors,” you smirk, not tearing your eyes from the car parked outside your apartment building. Your ex’s Pickup.

Joel pierces you with his big stiff cock and before you start moaning like a whore, you open the window a little so you two can not only be visible, but also perfectly heard from the street. Cool autumn air hits your heated face and your nipples get hard under your thin dress.

"Oh yeah, Joel! Harder!" you cry out, reveling in the way he's dragging his huge manhood in and out your channel. You're taking it like a good girl-always wet and tight for your boyfriend's cock.

Your fingers swiftly pull down your neckline, exposing your bouncing tits to whoever might look through your window. And you're sure that someone is looking.

Not knowing about your sick game, Joel is grunting loudly, thrusting deep and hard into you, your back flush with his broad chest. He’s rubbing his stubble against your neck, then your cheek until you turn your face to him and your lips lock in a sloppy and passionate kiss, while he’s holding you close, drawing pleasure from your tight pussy.

Joel’s hand snakes under your dress and having found your naked cunt, begins swirling your clit between two thick fingers. You part from his mouth, whimpering loudly.

“Yeah, baby! Let ‘em hear what a slut you are for me. Getting fucked in front of the whole neighborhood.”

His words push you over the edge and you come on his cock, crying out from pleasure. You don’t fake it. There is no need. He is that good.

Joel follows you soon and shoots his thick warm cum into your pulsating core. When he stills and pulls out, you hastily fix your dress and grab your dog’s leash.

“I’ll walk Tom.” You kiss Joel with tongue and leave the apartment, leaking your boyfriend’s load with every move.

When you step out into the night, you walk along the street a few meters and tie your dog to a street pole. On your legs, trembling from the hard orgasm, you saunter to your ex’s truck.

The passenger door is already open for you when you reach it and you get in, feeling cold air lap at your pussy, coated in Joel’s cum.

A pair of beautiful kicked puppy eyes greet you there and you turn slightly in your seat to see your ex better in the dark car.

Frankie’s wearing a denim shirt, dark blue jeans and his favorite baseball cap that you always hated for hiding his gorgeous curls. He looks the same as the day you left him. Maybe the bags under his eyes are darker but it could be the poor lighting at fault.

“What are you doing here, Frankie?” Your voice is soft and calm, with a pinch of sadness thrown in for his sake.

The man nervously fixes his cap and glances at you from the side, like a guilty dog. He clears his throat and lies,

“ ‘m checking on you.”

His velvety voice caresses your ear, it’s soft like everything about his character. He starts chewing on his lip while his eyes are staring into the darkness ahead of him.

“No, you’re stalking me, baby. I see your Pickup everywhere I go. Near my work last week. I spotted you at the bar today. And now you’re here… spying on me through the window.”

He proves that he watched your little show when he spreads his thighs wider and bucks his hips, unwillingly attracting your attention to his big bulge. You both are quiet for a few moments.

“I miss you,” he finally admits, turning to you. His eyes are sad and sappy and you should feel sorry, bad or at least sympathetic but the overwhelming feeling in your heart is a triumph. He’s not over you. You’re the best he’s ever had and he desperately wants you back.

You’ve been feeling elated lately when you noticed Frankie stalking you. It’s been fun playing with him and you don’t plan on stopping. You pull your brows together and coo,

“I understand, baby, but you can’t keep coming here. Joel’s a jealous type. I don’t want any problems.”

While you’re talking, Frankie’s nodding along, eyes downcast. You place your hand on his shoulder and give it a comforting squeeze. His own big paw flies to yours and after bringing it to his mouth, he presses his lips to your palm. Your heart flutters at his need for you and your pussy tingles when you remember the way his plush lips were leaving kisses all over your body weeks ago.

“Baby,” you breathe out and he looks at you, not letting go of your hand. You see tears in his eyes, not enough to spill but enough to fuel up your ego. His eyes are so pretty like that, wet lashes and glossy chocolatey irises.

“Aww, Frankie,” you coo and open your arms to him. He rushes to you as if you’re his lifeline, wrapping his big strong arms around your torso and burying his face in the crook of your neck.

You’re hugging him back, trying not to suffocate in his steel embrace and rubbing his muscular broad back. Frankie’s as big as Joel, both are much bigger than you, and warmth spreads deep in your core when his scent envelops you just like his body.

You smile when you notice him still wearing your favorite cologne.

Soon your body craves something more than just a hug so your lips part and a soft whimper escapes your mouth. You know well that your pretty noises always make him wild.

Your ex reacts immediately and you feel an open mouth kiss on your neck.

“Frankie.” Your tone is scolding yet fake and you sigh deeply, brushing his chest with your barely covered breasts. Your ex grumbles at the sensation and then whispers, his voice already strained with lust.

“I miss you so much.”

You hug him tighter and feel his hot breath on your cleavage when he leans lower to plant another kiss on your collarbone. His cap slides off his head and falls on the floor but he doesn’t care. Looking down at his beautiful dark curls you run your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp with your nails and Frankie almost roars against your chest. His arms pull you closer to him, even though your torso is already flush with his. He slightly lifts you off the seat and you tug at his hair in warning, steel in your tone.

“Put me down, Frankie.”

He listens to you like he always does but your roughness earns another loud groan from him. You smile, imagining how hard his cock must be now.

Frankie leaves soft kisses on your clothed chest, your belly and soon his head is resting on your lap, while his arms are wrapped around your hips as if he’s scared you’ll float away.

You’re stroking his head, marveling at the silky waves of his hair, shining even in the dim light, and slightly tilt your hips up when his prominent nose pokes your mound through the thin fabric of your dress. As if thinking about the same thing, Frankie breathes in full lungs of your arousal and a guttural moan vibrates against your covered pussy.

“I miss her, mi amor,” you barely hear him mumble and you sigh. Recently satiated by Joels’s pounding, your core gets reignited with sticky desire and you bite your lip, your dark gaze sliding over his sexy shoulders and his head, with his face hidden. You part your legs just slightly, letting him closer to your needy pussy.

Like a dog sniffing out his favorite treat, Frankie’s nuzzling your lap, and his lips and nose are brushing against your thighs, your lower belly, your cunt through the fabric.

You gasp when his fingers dig into your soft hips a bit too hard and he hastily relaxes his grip and looks up at you.

“Sorry, princesa.” His blown out eyes are filled with guilt and want and you give him a smile, cupping his scruffy cheek.

“It’s ok, baby, just be careful with me, ‘k? No marks.”

“Yes, yes, of course, mi amor,” he murmurs, returning his head back onto your lap.

After a couple of minutes in his arms, the fire in your core morphs into an ache and you squirm under him with impatience.

“I should go, Frankie. Joel’s gonna worry.”

“No, please,” he almost whines, hugging you tighter. “I—,” he stumbles.

“Yes, baby?”

“Can I —? Can I see her?”

He’s staring up at you and you tilt your head to the side, faking confusion.

“Who?”

He knows that you understand but you need him to say it. So he plays by your rules. Like he always does.

“Can I see your beautiful pussy?” He sits up, facing you, his huge body squeezed in between the wheel and his seat. His bulge looks even more prominent now and you gush at the thought that he must be leaking into his boxers.

“Oh, Frankie, baby, you know I have a boyfriend. I can’t.”

His pleading eyes are fixed on you as he begs,

“Please, mi amor, just a look. I miss her so much. I miss you. Please.”

With another fake sigh you glance out of the window to check the surroundings, and after finding the street empty, you turn back to him.

“Ok, just for a second. Get in the back.”

“Thank you, mi amor,” he mumbles, hurrying out of the truck.

You squeeze between the front seats and sit down, turning to Frankie as he joins you at the back of the car. Your ex impatiently grabs the hem of your dress but you stop him.

“No one should know about this, understand?”

Frankie nods eagerly, mumbling yes’s like a junkie before getting a hit of his drug and you let him lift your dress and expose your naked pussy.

Your hands clutch the dress against your waist, and your legs are pressed together but it’s evident how wet you’re - your folds shine with Joel’s cum and your slick arousal.

Frankie’s breath hitches and his broad chest expands, straining his shirt.

“Beautiful,” he praises as his hand flies to the apex of your thighs.

“Nah-ah”, you grab his big paw midair and place it on top of your thigh.

“No touching. You wanted to look, right?”

“Yeah,” Frankie halfheartedly agrees, furrowed brows showing his discontent. “Then at least open your legs, princesa. Need to see her better.”

You try to contain your excitement as you tut at your ex,

“You’re so naughty, baby.”

You slowly part your thighs wide enough for your pussy to bloom in front of his hungry eyes.

Frankie’s mouth goes slack and his gaze clouds up when he sees your glistening pussy lips, puffy clit and your inviting hole. You shift a little on the seat, leaving wetness on the leather, and when you clench your walls in anticipation, you both see a little bit of pearly white liquid slide out of your entrance.

“Is this…?” Frankie mumbles, not tearing his eyes off your recently used cunt.

“Yeah. I know you’ve been watching Joel fuck me so don’t pretend that you’re surprised. My pussy’s full of his cum,” you say with defiance and wait for his reaction.

Frankie’s softly growls and his hand on your thigh contracts into a fist.

“Shhh, big boy,” you purr, bringing your fingers to your pussy. You gather some of Joel’s seed, leaking from your hole, and spread the creamy juices over your hardened clit. You rub yourself a few times and when a soft moan escapes your lips, Frankie echoes you.

“Feels so good,” you admit and begin pleasuring yourself in front of your ex.

“Jesus— fuck,” Frankie mumbles. His eyes are obsidian, forehead glistening with sweat with a few wet curls stuck to it. With his gaze tormented and pained, he reaches down to his belt.

“What are you doing, baby?” you ask, pausing your ministrations.

Frankie freezes and replies, stumbling over his words,

“I need — need to take my dick out. It hurts.”

“Ok, Frankie.” He hastily unzips his jeans when you add, “But don’t touch it.”

Frankie groans but then sighs with relief when he pulls the waistband of his boxers down, tucks it under his balls and his cock springs free. It hits his shirt and leaves a dark wet spot.

His member is throbbing, the dark pink tip, glossy and fat, is oozing his clear need for you and you lick your lips, enticing the man even more.

Frankie follows your orders and lets his cock bob and drip pre-fuck juice all over his balls and jeans while you moan again, tracing your sopping hole.

Your ex rubs his cheek, focused on the place he desperately wants to claim with his tongue and cock and croaks after wetting his plush lips,

“Let me kiss her, mi amor.”

Bingo.

That’s what you wanted as soon as you saw him at the bar today. If you cared to admit maybe you already dreamed about it when you noticed him stalking you last week. But what’s a prize without a game? Now it feels extra special.

With a little smile, you throw off your shoe and plant your bare foot on the seat, opening your thighs wider for him.

“You gonna taste another man’s cum on my pussy? just to kiss her?”

Frankie’s eyes snap up to yours and you see his defeat, his despair, his love in their depths.

He nods silently.

“Aww, you’re so sweet,” you coo. “Ok, baby, go ahead.”

With a grunt Frankie bends down, slowly adjusting his position between your legs so it’s comfortable for you, and when his soft warm lips kiss your cold cunt, you flutter your eyes shut with a pleased mewl.

Frankie’s always been the best at pussy eating. Joel often goes down on you but it’s different. He demands your ecstasy, claims your pussy with his mouth, makes you scream when his rough tongue impatiently rubs at your clit. His movements say ‘Give me’ while he’s eating you out.

But Frankie. He’s whispering “Take it”. Take your time, take your bliss, take my lips and tongue and use them, let yourself drown in pleasure. He laps at you softly and languidly, licking your pussy like it’s the most delicate flower, the most delicious fruit.

You grab your phone out of your pocket and text Joel that you met a friend by accident and need to catch up.

Frankie doesn’t see any of it, he’s gone, fully concentrated on pleasuring your soft cunt. His hands are gently holding your thighs apart, his face buried in your pussy.

“How’s she?” you whisper, raking your fingers through his silky curls and tugging on them slightly to get his attention when he doesn’t respond right away.

“I taste him on you,” Frankie grumbles, parting from your sex, “‘m gonna get it off you.”

He returns to work, making out with your folds and sucking the other man’s cum off your clit and you already feel yourself close to unraveling.

“Yes, like that, baby. My pussy misses you.”

You feel Frankie smile against your cunt before he begins stroking your clit with his tongue again and again until you cry out his name into your hand, while your hole clamps around nothing, walls contract and release another portion of Joel’s thick load.

Trembling from the orgasm that’s rippling through your body, you watch Frankie lap at your entrance, drinking the runaway seed and your slick, prolonging your shattering climax with this depraved act.

He doesn’t stop kissing your pussy until you get overstimulated and try to close your legs.

“Did so good for me, Frankie,” you murmur through heavy breaths.

“Thank you, mi amor,” your ex gruffs, sitting up, his face blushed, the gaze hazy and drunk on you.

He’s shivering from the arousal, his engorged cock generously leaking precum, and you take mercy on the man.

You scoot closer to him, wrap your hand around his hot cock and start slowly pumping it. It’s soaked with his juices so your palm slides easily over his hard length but to make him absolutely wild you gather some slick off your cunt and rub the underside of his cock where his tip meets the shaft with your wet thumb.

Frankie moans like a needy slut and in a second the first rope of cum shoots out of his slit.

You hastily lower your head, take the head between your lips and start drinking his load as he’s feeding it to you, jerking and thrusting his hips up, while your hand is gliding over his shaft.

You swallow everything to the last drop and lick it all over, cleaning his cock and earning a jerk of overstimulation from your ex. Then you sit up, wiping your mouth curled into a satisfied smile.

“Fuck, princesa, I love you,” Frankie breathes out falling onto the backrest, his cock softening but still standing at attention. You smile at his confession and your hunger finally seems satisfied.

You begin fixing your clothes and he watches you for a few seconds before tucking his cock into his jeans and then shifting closer to you. He gets into your space and you feel his warm hand pressed to your lower back. His huge frame is looming over you and you look up into his chocolaty eyes. They seem sad again.

“I want you back, mi amor—I... I need you.”

You sigh deeply and shake your head, taking his big hand in yours.

“You know it’s over, Frankie. I’m sorry, but I’m with Joel now.”

“Why? Why can’t you be with me? Why is he better?” He asks, furrowing his brows and leaning even closer to you.

“Baby,” you whine, averting your gaze from his puppy eyes and tracing hearts on his hand. “We talked about it. He’s …he’s like whiskey, he’s rough and heady and… you’re like hot chocolate, Frankie. You’re sweet but you’re too saccharine for me.”

“I can get rough with you, princesa.”

You giggle and shake your head.

“It’s not who you are, baby. And it’s ok. Someone will love you for it one day.”

You hear him sniff before he yanks his hand away from yours.

You know you should leave, break it off once and for all but the sick, mean, greedy side of your soul wants to pull him back as soon as you have pushed him away.

“Frankie,” you purr and grab his arm as he’s about to get out of the car. A slight touch from you is all it takes to stop him and he turns to you, his eyes glossy, his expression defeated.

You get closer to him and take his face between your hands. To kiss him goodbye. To poison him more.

He falls into the kiss head first, embracing you tightly, pressing his torso to yours so close it’s difficult to breathe.

You both moan against each other’s lips and you pull on his hair with passion and possessiveness. His tongue is licking into your mouth and you’re tasting yourself, sensing a faint trace of Joel’s cum. It’s so sick and twisted that another surge of arousal burns your core.

You make out for some time until you part from his lips.

“I should go, Frankie,” you whisper, snaking out of his embrace.

Frankie’s arms fall and he nods, looking lost and inebriated. You use this moment to hastily get out of his car.

“Bye, baby,” you chirp, smiling at him, but before you close the door he wakes up from the trance and calls for you.

“I won’t stop, mi amor,” he admits with determination in his shaky voice. “I’m gonna keep coming. I need you.”

“I know,” you say with a fake sigh and close the door.

You’re walking to get Tom, feeling Frankie’s eyes on your back, and trying to calm down, you bite your lip, but the excitement overwhelms you and soon a triumphant smile spreads across your face.

Thank you for reading! Leave a comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic!💖

prequel- OBSESSED || Frankie Morales ML || MASTERLIST

tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @evolnoomym @keylimebeag @joelmillerisapunk

-

There was something beautiful about watching a strong, built, capable man like Joel Miller absolutely fall apart under you. The way his high pitched moans bounce within the confines of your bedroom, not one secret of his confessions ever leaving the safety of these four walls. His flush skin adorned in bright claw marks, almost a way of claiming him under those rugged clothes. His stomach tensing then releasing with each breathy pant, eyes rolling as he tries to hold on to the little control he has over his orgasms.

An unearthly sight. Just for you.

“Ah—ahh fuck!” He cries. Joel’s hips crash up against yours, shaking as he concentrates on starving off his orgasm.

You slow the rocking of your hips to gentle glides, your palm caressing the stubble of his cheek. “Shhhhhh, I know. I know. You’re bein’ so good tonight, baby.”

He nods with furrowed brows, eyes closed and head thrown back into the soft white pillow. His beautiful brown curls splayed out on the satin case like a god. “I’m—I’m bein’ so good,” he repeats, swallowing the lump in his throat as he feels himself regaining composure over the tight coil wound in his stomach.

“That’s right. That’s my good boy,” you praise. 

You start a slow rhythm again, softly bouncing on his thick cock that’s been teetering on the edge for an hour now, buried snugly in your suffocating pussy. 

“Good boy,” you coo again. “Mommy never leaves your aching cock neglected, huh? Let you live in my warm sopping pussy all day and night.”

“mmmm—yeah—yes Ma’am. Treatin’ me—s’good.”

You’ve trapped his body, your knees caging him between your legs. You can feel the tense quivers in his spread thighs, unable to do much as your ankles have wrapped back over the meat of them, pinning him below you. He can’t fuck up, can’t squirm. If he wanted to throw you off him, there’s no doubt the immense strength in him could. But he doesn’t. 

His hands are on your waist reassuringly, only to remind himself that you’re still here, guiding him through it. He’s gotten so much better at not taking back control, relinquishing his mind, body, and soul to you.

You feel the steady twitch of him inside you, dragging so deliciously along your walls, taking full advantage of his girth pushing to the crest of your womb. “You’re the best cock I’ve ever cum on.”

“Hahhhh, oohhhhhgggghhhh, tha—oh f-fuck!—thank you—“ he can’t help the slight canter of his own pelvis rolling up into you, brushing his tip along your cervix. “Thank you, Mommy. I—You feel so good—I feel—feel amazing, sweetheart. J-Jesus fuck. Love—love your tight pussy—choking’ my cock. Usin’—usin’ me.”

“Yeah? You like being my fucktoy?” The hand on his face slow glides to his mouth, your thumb hooking on the side and tugging before letting it spring back to place. You then push your fingers around his thick throat, the other hand planting firmly on his plush chest to hold you up. You don’t crush his neck, only leave your touch there as a warning. You ass slams down harshly on his fat cock, making him hiss, encouraging the new rough fucking you’re giving him. The room fills with the obscene slapping of skin against skin as you ride him harder.

“Yeah—yeah! Ye—ah fuck—fuck yes!” He croaks, teeth gritting as he stares you down with hooded eyes. “I l-love bein’ your little fuck stick. Comin’ home n’ fuckin’ me, fuckmefuckmefuckme!—turning’ me into y-your personal dildo. FUckMommy, yeah!”

His tongue sticks out, smiling hazily as his neck arches, head thrown further back, pushing him into your touch. He looked so fucking pretty wrapped around your fingers.

He doesn’t realize his hands have grasped at your breasts, squeezing them in his big hands. 

“Look at me,” you command, breathless yet still pulling your authoritative voice over him. His head snaps back, watching the way your body glistens on top of him with each bounce. Your hips were practically flush together, grinding down on him with precision. “Did I say you could touch my tits?”

He retracts his hands immediately, returning to their rightful place on your hips. “N-No, I’m sorry. I’m sorry Mommy, please.”

You tighten your grip around his throat. “You live— for my pleasure.”

He lets out a guttural groan from deep within his chest. “Yeah—yeah fu—oh fuck, shit—yes Mommy! squeezing’ me so tight, m’just for you, all yours, want you to feel so fuckin’ good, mmmm—” He’s nodding quickly, little wailing growls growing louder as you crash your pussy down on his weeping length over and over again. His lips are parted, fast short breaths being forced out as he feels his pleasure climbing.

“That’s right,” you pant, lost in the prickling feeling of your clit snagging against his pubic hair, smothering your throbbing nub.

“Nnffmmmm—I’m—I’m gonna cum, Mommy. Please, please tell me I can cum,” he whines.

You stop your hips entirely, ignoring the way his face curls into anguish and cries out pathetically. His body is shaking violently under you with the denial.

 You laugh wickedly in his face. “No, nonono, sweet boy.” You let him continue to whimper and quiver below, his cock twitching between your folds. You lean down and grip his hair, kissing him with your tongue invading his lips like a serpent in a rabbits den. You suck his bottom lip before pressing your foreheads together, rolling into a slow, devastating grind that has him seizing in near pain under you.

“I still want more cock.” 

Joel elicits a small whimper, reducing himself to nodding again. You cup around his cheek once more, a loving, natural tone slipping out of you. “Can you do that for me?”

 “Y-yes. Yes.” He coughs obediently, voice strained beyond recognition. 

You sit back up, both of your hands digging into his chest and start riding him more aggressively again. “Fuck me like you want to give me more cock.”

He gasps out a pained yelp. Joel’s beefy fingers clench your sides, nails pinching into your lower back. His knees bent, feet planted wide apart digging into the mattress to thrust up into you. He fucks you with vigor, ignoring his own pleasure too rapidly building inside him again in exchange to watch your tits bounce, hear your gorgeous voice flood the air with each powerful ram. 

“Ugh—oh yeah, baby that’s it!” You cry, tilting your head up to the ceiling. “Fuck me, fuck me so good, baby!”

But his hips are rutting too high, too fast, breath coming out too shallow. “Oh—oh god, I’m gonna—Mommy fuck I can’t! I can’t stop, I’m gonna—!”

“Don’t you dare fucking cum, Joel,” you snap. Your pussy contracts around the width of his cock in a death grip, unable to stop the aggressive back and forth grind as you chase your orgasm.

He’s shaking his head, eyes squeezed shut as you start to cum around him. 

“Oh f-fuCK I can’t—ICAN’T!—I’m—FUCKfuck!—“ His balls draw tight as he releases thick spurts of his seed, load after load filling your convulsing cunt as he forces out harsh pants through clenched teeth—“Mommy I’m sorry! I’m cumming! I can’t stop—I can’t stop fuckin’ cummin—ohjesus I’M CUMMING.” He’s absolutely pouring buckets, each throb of his cock inside you pushes more cum deep into your convulsing womb. The two of you are moaning together in high tune, though his even more desperate, slightly pained after being denied all night.

You settle before he does, eerily quiet atop him as his staggered breaths and fluttering chest calms. When the fog in his mind clears, his eyes fly open, shame washing over him at what he’d done.

“M-Mommy I—“

But you don’t listen, slowly driving back down with his spent cock sloshing in and out of your drenched cunt.

“Ah!” He yells, fingers tightening around your waist in a plea to stop the overstimulation. You yank his wrists off of you and pin them above his head. With each rock of your hips, you feel his stomach tensing and releasing, unsure of the overburdening sensation you’re forcing on his poor dick.

“mmmfffff—nnoo, Mommy, No more, please!”

You still ignore him, rutting your ass back down on his dick now that it’s fully erected again. His seed spills down the base of his cock, wet slaps overlapping with his pathetic pants.

“AURRgghhHH!! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” He begs. “I’m—Mommy—fuck—fuck I can’t!”

“You can and you will.” You state plainly, pace continuing without falter.

His shaking digits desperately try to collide with the death grip around his wrists. “Please, please, how can I make it up to you??”

You smile inwardly. The desperation in his hoarse yet sweet voice, his shaking limps both squirming away and subconsciously thrusting back up in to your tight heat, more, less, more, he’s so unsure of the overstimulation wracking his bones. You liked this Joel. You want to keep this Joel. 

And he knows. 

“We’re not done until you fuck a baby in me.”

- - - -

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He should turn away right now, burn the vision and memory from his brain, but your sweet soft whimper of "Daddy please..." followed by a high pitched groan, and the schlickslick sounds of your finger working through your folds has him planted in place, mesmerized.

"Daddy's here," he hums under his breath barely over a whisper, not removing his tranfixed gaze from your naked wreathing body in bed as he fishes out his leaking cock and begins to pump it with his fist. He would have genuinely never guessed, never picked up on how needy you had been all this time for him. Too busy denying yourself and pushing him away when you really needed him shoving his cock right into your aching little cunt.

He's practically salivating. Each time you let out a "Daddy m'gonna cum, wanna cum on your cock!" He can feel his length pulse wildly in his palm.

"Cum for Daddy!" he rasps, jaw dropping in a silent please as he bursts over the lower panel of your door. At the same time you arch your back, tits piercing the air while your orgasm tears through you.

He steadies his breathing as low as possible, still not sure if he's dreaming. His vision regains focus on you just as you bring your sticky fingers to your lips and suck them clean of your juices with a satisfied hum.

Joel chokes, accidentally stumbling against the door.

You sit up only to hear a frantic rush of footsteps disappearing down the hall and a door slamming at the end.

-

After that, Joel avoids you like the plague but stalks you from a distance. He's too nervous to act on both your desires. He had set out on this family to be a good husband, a good father! Your dad was shit so of course you'd been neglected that vital role in your life.

He just can't help but get hard every time he thinks about you.

Whenever you go out with friends for the night, he sneaks into your room and slips into your bed. The aroma of your shampoo and body wash, sweat and skin rubbing along these same sheets fills his senses. Joel palms over his bulge, buring his nose into your pillow with a pathetic sigh. It smelled like sex, like you'd been rubbing your slick pussy all over your bed, marking it, making it evident of your possession like a nest.

He finds a pair of used panties sitting on the floor beside the bed, pressing the damp crotch of it firmly into his nose. He already has a thick hand wrapped around his girth as he tongues and sniffs your used undies, rolling his hips into his hand. God, he wants you. And he knows you need him. Should he be the big man, step up as any father would and take care of your needs? Is that what you were waiting for? Waiting all this time for Daddy to ruin your sweet tight hot little cunt and fill you to the brim with his seed--

Hes about to cum when your door swings open. Yhe blood from his body drains into his cock as you stand, catching him red handed, literally, with your crimson panties wrapped around his fist and bare dick in your bed jerking off to the thought of you.

"What the FUCK, joel??" You screech, slamming your door closed behind you, trapping him in here with his confessions laid out for you to direct.

"I c-c-I uh--"

Vowels tumble from his mouth but nothing coherent comes out. He should put his cock away, but he just catches the way your eyes glance down every half second, ans it only makes him swell with righteousness even more.

He breathes in, smirking, knowing he has the upper hand here. "Heard ya crying for your Daddy few nights back. Wanted to give ya what you--"

"Just because I have a "daddy" kink doesn't mean i was crying for you, you perverted fuck!" You shout.

Joel's shit eating grin disappears into horror. "You--you didnt--"

He wants to crawl into the wall, but even worse than the situation he's caged himself in, you start walking closer. "IS that what you thought? That i was rubbing my pussy to the thought of you??" You cackle. "That's fucking disgusting. I call my BOYFRIEND 'daddy.' Only a sick, perverted old fuck like you would think I'd be wanting my step dad of all people!"

Daggers piece his insides at each word. You stalk towards him even more, ans he's practically crawling up the bedframe in fear and embarrassment. It doesn't help that his cock is fucking leaking all over your pillow, bobbing painfully with the reddened tip thrombin another glob of precum from his hole.

"I-"

"Is that what you are, Joel? A perverted, sick fuck who thinks about fucking his step daughter?"

"Please--please i--I'm so sorry -- I didnt... I misunderstood..."

"Misunderstood?" You've finally cornered him, knee pressed to the matress and leaning over so he has no where to look but you. "Did you plan to use that as your excuse when I tell my mom I found you jerking off in my bed with my underwear wrapped around your face?"

"Please--please don't tell her..." he could die. Die right now that he's one centimeter from fucking this whole family to hell, the family he had wanted to make right for so long-andwhyishisdickstillsohard??

"I'll do anything," he whimpers. "I'll make it up to you."

He hopes you're gonna bleed his wallet dry, or get him to do your dishes, or buy you a apartment, but instead, your eyes drop down to his spread legs, biting your lower lip with a sickening hum.

You don't say anything as you shove him, his back flat bouncing onto the bed. You straddle his waist, his face bound in surprise. Joel stutters a whine but snaps his throat shut as his cock brushes along your ass, your very naked, bare ass underneath that sorry excuse for a skirt.

"I wanna see just how desperate you are to get inside your stepdaughter," you hiss, your hand snaking behind the two of you and gripping his length.

His face is pale, shocked and aroused and confused all at once, but he doesn't protest at all when you rub his tip through your soaking folds. He tilts his chin down to watch the scene between your legs unfold, unsure what kind of punishment miracle this must be.

"Daddy," you whine.

His head snaps back to your face like a dog ready for a treat.

You laugh. "That's what you wanted to hear, wasn't it? Me crying for my daddy when he's about to push his big--fat--cock inside my little pussy?"

You both let out a moan, wide eyed and open mouthed as you sink fully onto his length.

"Ohhh, dadddyyyy," you tease, experimentally rolling your hips. Joel's hand slap to your hips, instinctually holding you up as you begin to ride him. Whether you were making fun of him or actually enjoying yourself, he didnt care. All he cared about was the warm, wet suction of your heat sucking him back in each time you grinned your hips down on him.

"Do you like this, Daddy?" You moan, looking down on him.

He grits his teeth, beautiful brown eyes making contact and nodding. He has no words.

You giggle. "Me too, Daddy. Your cock is so big, stretches me so fucking good. Never had cock like this," you gasp, one hand planted on his collar as you set off a quicker pace, humping him with delicious rhythm.

He has already edged himself before you had come in. You could tell he was close, his thrusts meeting your every roll of your hips.

"Do you wanna cum? You wanna cum inside me Daddy?"

He nods fervently.

"Tell me."

"I wanna cum--wanna cum inside, inside your sweet pussy baby fuck, please let me, let me cum, let daddy cum inside you!"

"You can cum inside--but only if you do everything I tell you." You expertly swivel your hips so that his impending orgasm is subsided, making him growl. He has no other option but to focus on your words as if it were law. "If I want you to eat my pussy at the dinner table, you do it. If I tell you to finger me when Mom is talking, you do it. And if I tell you I want you to myself all night...?"

"Im here," he moans obediently. His blunt nails dig into your belly as he bucks harder into you, agreeing to everything you say just so he can burst.

You smile. "Cum inside me Daddy!"

He obeys, shouting as his hips still high in the air and thick ropes of his spent cover your walls. You laugh at him, laugh and moan and laugh ans gasp and laugh, and he can't get enough of it. He's never cum so hard in his fucking life, filling you to the brim until it's leaking down his shaft in a creamy mix of yours and his fluids.

Of course, you knew he wanted you. You did think about him every night since he shook your head eith "Hi, Im Joel," like the upstanding citizen he was. You knew he was a perverted mess. And ever since you found that sticky surprise plastered on your door, it only confirmed it. Joel Miller was a needy man, and you were a needy woman. He was meant to be here, and you weren't about to fight destiny.

Collapsing against his sweaty chest, your lips connect with his in a messy link of wet kisses and breathless moans as Joel comes down from his high. You can see it in his hazy eyes: He'd do anything for you right now. Jump off a cliff, eat poison, stab your mom--

"And if I tell you to get on your knees and spread your ass...?" You hum casually into his mouth before sucking his tongue.

He stops, eyes fluttering open slightly with crinkles in his forehead. You know he heard you. You raise your brow, waiting for his move.

Joel glances down at your plump, wet and swollen lips once more before rolling over and planting his knees into the bed, bending forward so his face hovered over the pillows.

Your legs clench together in excitement as you position yourself behind him. He hesitates for a moment before bringing his fingers around his sides and spreading his cheeks before you, his hole exposed to your devilish gaze.

He can't see behind him, but the sound of your squelching pussy as you finger yourself to his ass makes him whimpers into the pillow.

You pull a glob of Joels and yours cum from deep inside and spread it along his asshole. He flinches, not being used to -- well, fuck, ANYONE touching him there in his whole life. He's touched his hole before, out of curiousty more than anything, but thats the extend Joel Miller has ever gone.

Not that you are paying any mind to his apprehensions, as your thumb messily circles the tight edges of his entrance like a finger painting.

It's warm and sticky as you smear his cum over the rim, dribbling in excess down his crack to his balls and hanging cock. He can feel pulses of excitement and anxiety twitching, undoubtedly for you to make fun of him more.

What the hell would a pretty girl like you want with his old hairy aashole?

"You have such a pretty hole, Daddy," you hum against his cheek, nipping it softly with your teeth. He feels your lips glide over the swell before the warm heat of your breath tickles his opening, and your lips settle with a gentle, innocent kiss. He let's out a low sigh, closing his eyes while you make out with his ass.

His step daughter is making out with his ass hole right now, and he's getting hard as a rock.

Your tongue prods his rim, making him stutter, pushing back slightly against you again. You giggle, obliging and wiggling the tip around his puckered entrance enclosing your lips again to suck and kiss before repeating. One of your hands starts tugging on his cock, squeezing along the base before yanking up and down like you're trying to milk him.

Joel's head fully sinks into the pillow, his tongue lolling out as he let's out happy groans. His eyes roll back every time you straighten your tongue a little harder. Trying to work its way inside, wiggling and kissing him softly.

Joel thinks to hell with upstanding dad, upstanding husband routine he had envisioned when he first laid eyes on you and your mom. He can feel his irises morphing into literal hearts as you continue to lap at at his ass, never having fallen in love and fallen to his knees for a woman so quickly in his goddamb life.

- - - -

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But you had started to notice other things that were strange in his behavior. One time you had gotten up at 3am to feed the baby, Joel still asleep by your side. When you had finished and crawled back in to bed, reaching out for the warm security of his body, he wasn’t there. You groggily waddled down to the kitchen to find your husband chugging a gallon of whole milk like a fish out of water. His eyes fell upon you,  the way you yawned, dressed in a dissheveled night gown and asked if he’s ok, unaware that you were rubbing your sore breasts in your palm. He wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, predatory eyes wide as he stares at your chest, ready to pounce on you like a wolf.

You knew pretty well right then what his little “problem” was. 

From then on, you intentionally were seeking him out in tighter shirts so he could see your bouncing swollen breasts more clearly, leaning over in front of him more often, or just straight up asking if he could give you a tits massage. Complaining about how “sore” they felt, or not wanting your milk to go to waste since the baby couldn’t drink it all even after having an entire freezer full. 

You feint a sigh. “Maybe I should donate it…”

“NO!” He shouts a little louder than he intended. “I mean… uh.” He coughs, unable to think of a reasonable excuse.

“Yeah? Who else is going to drink it, Joel?” You taunt. Joel was a tough man, but admitting things that he wanted was difficult to force out of him.

“I—I mean we—we could—“ he shook his head and went to sit on the couch. “Sorry, I mean. That’s a great idea. You should do that. Be nice for other moms.”

Joel wrings his hands together and looks away, clearing his throat.

You stride over to him and straddle his hips, his pupils going big with shock. You sit up on your knees with him caged under you, your breasts level with his nose as you rub your fingers through his brown curly hair. “Is that what you want?”

You can see the way his eyes are trained forward, looking at the swollen nipples poking through your tank top. He swallows heavily and licks his lips, hands resting on your waist, fighting the urge to bite.

“No…” he whispers softly.

“No? Is there someone else who should get Mommy’s milk?” You tease.

He closes his eyes, a low growl rumbling in his throat. 

“Speak, baby boy.”

“M-Me,” he says, head tilted up to you as he nuzzles the scruff of his cheek into your chest. You cup his head to firmly press his face harder, his nose gliding along the cleavage as he inhales your scent sharply. His hands creep up along your sides before grasping the droopy fat of the underside of your breasts, making you gasp.

You don’t even need to sit down on him fully to feel the tent poking your clit as you hover over him. He squeezes your tits roughly before wrapping his teeth around a nipple and tugging gently, releasing it with a satisfying bounce back in to place. The result was a slight damp spot around the peak where a drip of your milk seeped out. 

And Joel Miller fucking whimpers for the first time in his life.

You hum in delight. “Can you ask Mommy nicely?”

He doesn’t hesitate: “Please, can I have Mommy’s milk?”

Holy fuck, you’re a sucker for your man.

-

Now a half hour later, Joel is still greedily suckling at your tit as if being starved his whole life. You’re sitting on the couch  while cradling Joel’s head in your lap, having him lying down on his back in the perfect position for the milk in your breasts to just flow right into his hungry mouth.

His eyes are closed, jaw working open as his lips suction tightly, gulping your sweetness. You stroke the greying hairs on his cheek, feeling the way he hums contently vibrate against your skin.

He feels safe like this, in such a vulnerable position. The idea of protecting you, being on guard, defensive, all of that stress melts away while being swaddled by you. He can let go of worry, of anxiety, taking deep breaths and feeding soothingly under the gently, nurturing embrace of his beautiful, life-giving wife.

You had palmed his hard-on the entire time, not releasing it quite yet until you were satisfied with how full his tummy had grown. You could even hear the little sloshes of bubbles in his stomach as it filled with new nutrients. He’d let out a tiny whimper, milk caught in his throat when you’d squeeze around his base possessively before returning to your palming. His precum smears along his thigh and shorts. 

“You’re so hungry, baby,” you coo, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “This whole time you just wanted a taste of Mama’s milk, hmm?”

He nods absentmindedly, refusing to let go of your golden titty. 

Unsatisfied with his response, you grip his hair and yank his head down, his lips detaching and falling away from your breast. He lets out a needy whine and stares at you. “Y-yes Mommy. Wanted your milk. Please can I have some more?”

You giggle and nod. His tongue darks out to lick the little drips that had trickles down before attaching back to your nipple and suckling happily.

You pull his throbbing length out though the hole in his boxers. “Gimme a little spit,” you command softly.

Joel sits his head up, cheeks full of milk. You put your hand out in front of his lips as he release the creamy substance into your palm. Your newly silkened hand finds its way back to wrap around his base before stroking him. 

“Ohhhhh f-fuck Mommy!” he groans, eyes closed and leaning back against your thigh. But the sensation was too good, hips bucking up that he had to force his chin back up to continue watching. Your fingers expertly curled around his mushroom tip with each pass, the assistance of the milk acting as a lubricant. He licked his upper lick, his leg twitching with how hot it felt. You lean forward a bit and push your tit closer to his lips again. His eyes dart to you, tongue sticking out to capture your nipple again before resuming his impatient guzzling.

“Naughty, boy, getting all hard when drinking from Mommy’s tit.” You swirl his slit with the tip of your nail, his steady flow of precut oozing out and mixing with the milk. You feel his throat flex with each stutter, his mind reeling in and out of sanity, fists balled at his sides to avoid taking control. Joel’s lips were a sin everywhere else on your body, and this moment was no different. They were full, pouty, and his lower lip juts out enough to be able to easily catch your nipple and hold on with each insatiable gulp.

“Maybe I should bottle it up and let you bring it to work with you. Can share your special bottle with the other boys,” you laugh.

Joel growls angrily, browns crunched as he bites your nipple possessive. 

You hiss out in pain, fisting his curls once again. “Ow! Bite me again and you’re done,” you warn. His face relaxes, eyes staring up at you with sorrow as you resume your pace pumping his shaft.

“Ah-m srorry—Momm-ee,” he mumbles against the fat of your breasts, soothing over his bite mark with his warm wet tongue. 

You sigh deeply. The weight on your chest is almost fully lifted now that Joel has swallowed so much of the milk that had built up.

Your baby was just so little right now, there was only so much he could fill in his tiny body, leaving you aching, heavy, and swollen all day and night. But your full grown 5’11 200 pound hunk of a husband? He could drink for HOURS and drain you completely so that fresh milk can replenish your system just for your baby. 

“Maybe we should make your feeding a regular thing too. Would you like that?” You hum. You increase the speed of your hand, now jerking his cock violently.

“Ahh—ah! Ye-oh fuck, fuck Mommy—yes, yes I want it!”

“Yeah? You wanna be full of Momma’s milk all the time? Bet you wanna cum too. Taking such good care of me, I think you deserve a reward.”

He swallows another big load before his panting forces him away, creamy liquid spilling over his cheeks. “Ah—ugh-ugh oh fuck, fuck yeah! Wanna cum, wanna cum on Mommy’s hand, please! Please, keep tuggin’ my dick just like that, Fuck! FUCK yes Mommy!”

His mouth falls open, breath caught in his throat as you feel his hips raising off the couch slightly. You take the opportunity to lean forward and shove as much of your tits in his mouth as you can, suffocating him. His eyes roll back as the first of his cum spews up into the air, followed up big spurts rapidly shooting as you violently work his cock.

“Shhhh, that’s it, that’s my good boy, keep cumming all over Mommy’s hand, such a good boy. Don’t forget keep drinking your special milk. Mommy made it just for you.” You bite your lip at the idea of motherhood just falling so easily over you.

His whole body shutters, moaning and sucking around your breasts, unsure what to do with himself as he keeps cumming in your hand. His dick pulses the last of his spent, dribbling globs of sticky, thick semen all over your fingers and his full stomach. He quivers from the overstimulation, suppressing a burp. 

You remove your hand, caressing the heft of his bulging stomach just as he takes a deep breath through his nose, calming his breathing. He opens his eyes to see you licking the glorious mess of his cum off of your palm, each finger dipping in to your sinful mouth and sucking his spend clean. 

“Fuuucckkkk, that’s hot. Eatin my cream when I drink yours.” His eyes are positively drunk off of you. He babbles quickly: “Wanna keep ya milkin’ every year. Kids or not. These tits are mine. Keep me stuffed full of ya sweet cream, Momma. Never need to buy dairy again. Just drink it straight from the tap.”

You grab his hands down by his side and bring them up to your tits, guiding him to rub your sore breasts gently. “Gotta work them up to get more in you.”

Joel doesn’t argue, taking over the movement and squeezing your breast like icing bag, bringing your nipple back down to his lips as he milks more of your love into his mouth.

- - - -

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It’s shortly after 11 pm and you’re having a little snack in the kitchen, watching videos on YouTube. Your EarPods are in so you miss your stepdad returning home. Noticing some movement in your peripheral vision you turn your head and see Joel pouring himself a glass of water at the sink. He’s looking broad and tall in his favorite denim shirt and dark blue jeans and you shamelessly check him out while he’s gulping the water down.

When he turns around, you quickly look away. Your mom’s home so you expect him to go upstairs but when you glance back you see him standing by your side. He’s looking at your phone screen, hands on his hips, brows furrowed as if he’s trying to concentrate on something.

You’re blinking up at him, puzzled by his weird behavior — usually when he comes home all you get is a cold ‘hey’. The best you may hope for is a slap on your ass as he calls you a slut for wearing your tiny home shorts. When your mom’s not around, of course.

You take your EarPods out just as he asks,

“Whatcha watchin’?”

Your mouth pops open and you stare up at him speechless. Your stepdad is suddenly interested in something other than your holes! Did he hit his head at work? And then you see it — his eyes are bloodshot, his curly hair’s slightly disheveled and he’s swaying a little, standing with his feet wider apart than usual.

He’s drunk.

Your eyebrows shoot up. Joel drinks, yeah, but never a lot, usually only beer, and you can tell that he’s had some only when you taste it on his lips later. The sight of him visibly drunk now fascinates you but also weirds you out.

“Ehm.. it’s a make-up tutorial,” you reply, watching him closely. He hums and takes a chair next to you. Now you sense a distinct scent of whiskey on his breath. He places his thick forearm on the table and locks eyes with you. His gaze is warm when he says, his speech a little slurred,

“Your make-up's always pretty. You can do it professionally I reckon.”

Your jaw drops and you mumble ‘thanks’, not knowing how to react.

What’s happening?

The way he talks to you like you’re a normal person and not his ‘cock-hungry stepdaughter’ who he regularly fucks feels so strange, you avert your eyes from him, completely lost for words.

Joel quietly watches you for a few seconds before he leans closer and gets your attention, gently swiping his thumb over your shoulder.

“Listen.. if you ever need any money.. for make-up or whatever.. don’t be shy to ask, ‘k?”

Now you’re positively gawking at him. Did aliens abduct your stepdad and send this considerate version of him back?

Joel keeps surprising you.

“Hell…” he gruffs, pulling out his wallet from his jeans pocket. “Here,” he grabs your hand, puts some cash into your palm and closes it. “Buy something nice for yourself, babydoll.”

“Thanks,” you say quietly, looking at the money in your hand and barely believing that this is real.

Meanwhile Joel scoots closer to you and places his arm over the back of your chair. For a few moments neither of you speaks, he’s just watching the video with you, his hazy eyes gliding over your body from time to time. As always being close to your stepdad you feel tingling between your legs but your mother’s upstairs so, trying to distract yourself, you ask, “Went out tonight?”

“Yeah.. with a few guys,” he nods, smiling at you with his head tilted to the side.

Then Joel scratches his scruffy cheek and chuckles, “Those poor fuckers… bitchin’ about their wives all night.” He shakes his head. “Made me realize how lucky I am…” He puts his warm hand on your shoulder, gives it a light squeeze and finishes, “to have you.”

You know he’s drunk but his words make your heart flutter and your lips spread into a smile. His next statement wipes that smile off your face immediately.

“Almost told ‘em about us, can you imagine?”

Your stomach churns at the thought and you thank all Gods for stopping Joel from spilling your darkest secret.

Unaware of your momentary panic, your stepdad leans in and kisses a spot on your neck, just under your ear.

“Wanted to brag about you so damn much,” he whispers against your skin, sending chills all over your body. “How your tight pussy feels around my cock… how good you feel.”

You tremble at his touch and glance at the door, scared to be caught by your mother. Joel told you before that he’d always be careful but now, in this state, you surely can’t rely on him fully.

Without a care in the world, your stepdad slowly drags his lips up and nuzzles your cheek, mumbling,

“Every damn day I run home just to see you.”

Clutching the dollar bills in your clammy hands you slowly melt next to him, his confession filling your belly with butterflies.

Joel pecks the corner of your mouth but then he rests his forehead on your shoulder and gruffs, “Fuck, why’d I drink so much?”

He’s sitting motionless for a few moments, and hoping that he won’t fall asleep like that, you squirm in your seat and ask,

“Not feeling well?”

“A lil,” Joel replies, sitting up and getting onto his feet. He holds onto the table top for stability and then grunts, “Need to wash my face.”

You nod but when he walks out of the room, your shoulders droop. This strange version of Joel has made you feel so warm and fuzzy inside you wish he’d stay. A smile lights up your face when you remember his words, ‘lucky to have you.’

You’re staring at your phone screen, not listening to the video at all, your mind occupied by Joel and the unexpected dialogue you two have had, when your stepdad suddenly strides back into the kitchen and walks up to you.

“What…?” All you have time to say before he bends down and kisses you. You gasp right into his mouth, your hands clasping his shirt. He cups the back of your head to keep you close, his other hand begins kneading your breast over your clothes.

“Mmm…,” you mewl, scared that your mother will come in, but your stepdad’s lips make you forget about everything. They’re slowly moving against yours, his tongue swiping over your lower lip asking, begging to slide inside. You let him in happily and he licks into your mouth, leaving a taste of whiskey and Joel on your tongue. The kiss is sweet and dizzying but too short.

“I’ll come tonight, baby… when she’s asleep,” Joel whispers and pecks your lips before walking away again, swaying a little.

You go up to your room right away, turn the lights off and wait for your stepdad in your bed. Your mind plays the night on a loop - Joel’s confession, the kiss, his eyes on you full of warmth and something else you have no guts to name even in your head.

The fluttering in your belly makes your heart beat faster. You shouldn’t feel it, you mustn’t. It’s just sex. Depraved, filthy, mind blowing sex.

You fall asleep with Joel in your thoughts and dream of him hugging you close, running his big hands over your body, lightly squeezing your curves. Then his cock slowly slides into your pussy and he begins gently rocking his hips, sending it deeper with every languid thrust.

Ahhhh! With a quiet moan you open your eyes and realize that it’s really happening — your stepdad is spooning you from behind, fucking you in your sleep so gently you could have been unconscious throughout.

“Joel..,” you moan his name with the same warmth in your tone that you heard from him in the kitchen. It’s still present as he murmurs in your ear, “M’here, sweetheart.”

You turn your head, trying to see your stepdad’s face in the darkness of your room, and he uses your movement to catch your lips with his. Just like earlier today the kiss you’re sharing is nothing like you used to with him - it’s sweeter and gentler and you whimper, caged in his strong arms, taking his big cock.

Joel’s hand snakes under your top and he begins pulling and twitching your pebbled nipples, carefully so as not to hurt you. Your eyes roll to the back of your head and as you clench around Joel’s fat length, he lets out a moan. You’ve never heard such a noise from him before, it’s always grunts and groans when he claims you, feral growls of an animal tearing its prey apart. But not tonight.

“My good girl…only mine,” he whispers against your lips and you as well might be in heaven. Where’s your need to be degraded gone? You don’t know and don’t care. No time to self reflect. All you want right now is to stay in these arms forever, keep him inside like he’s a part of you. Like you were meant to be his.

Joel hugs you tight and then his hand slides down and under your pajama shorts. With his member still massaging your walls, he spreads your folds and swirls your wet clit with a tip of his calloused finger. You mewl as he starts drawing tight circles over it, nibbling on your earlobe. His voice so soft, it’s barely audible as he orders,

“Come on my cock… make this sweet pussy squeeze me..”

You nod, obedient to his wish, and let him bring you to the peak. It doesn’t take long. His bulbous tip is rubbing the soft spot inside your core in just the right way, his fingers are rhythmically moving over your puffy clit, and soon you’re coming, moaning so loudly, Joel has to cover your mouth with his palm.

“Shhh… I know, I know…daddy got you.”

He explodes right after and spills his hot cum inside your pulsating cunt. To shut his own whimpers he nuzzles the back of your head and breathes in the scent of your hair, fucking you through his and your orgasms.

When you both relax, Joel doesn’t pull out and slowly softens in your stuffed pussy, cuddling with you, his lips brushing your temple. You don’t dare to move, scared that he’ll leave you and go to her. He doesn’t though and you drift off satisfied and happy in his arms.

When you wake up the next morning, your bed is empty. The only evidence that last night wasn’t an amazing dream is Joel’s cum leaking out of your still wet pussy.

After taking a shower you hurry to the kitchen, wishing to see your stepdad there, hopefully without your mom.

To your delight you find Joel alone, leaning against the counter, sipping his coffee.

“Morning, daddy,” you chirp, running up to him, and peck his cheek.

He squints and growls,

“Shhhh! Headache’s killin’ me.”

You draw your eyebrows together and mutter a quiet ‘sorry’. He seems to be different today and you glance at him, pouring yourself a cup. He’s so hot in the morning, wearing his grey sweats and tight black t-shirt, your lower belly burns and you crave his body against yours.

Acting on your desire you walk up to him and place your hand on his shoulder, turning yourself on even more when you feel his strong muscles under your palm. Joel looks down at you with his brows furrowed, and you purr, batting your lashes at the man,

“What are you doing today? Maybe we can go to the movies together?”

He stares at you quizzically for a few moments and then chuckles,

“Did I replace your brain with my cum the last time I fucked your throat? Want us to walk around town holding hands? Let everyone know that I’m fuckin’ my stepdaughter?”

He laughs loudly at your suggestion and you pout your lips, hurt by his words. He places his mug down and mumbles under his breath, ‘Slut lost her damn mind.’

You take a step away from him and stare at the counter, your eyes welling up with tears. Of course, he’s back to being his usual self — an arrogant, mean prick. You sigh, thinking that you’re going to miss drunk Joel.

Suddenly you feel him behind you as he presses his body to yours. His arms wrap around your waist and he kisses your neck.

“We can watch a movie at home, my needy slut. Tonight, k? Just you and I?”

You don’t say anything for a few moments, hating to give in so easily, but that ‘my’ and the sensation of his big body against yours melt the ice in your heart and you whisper an ‘okey’.

“It’s a date, then,” Joel says with a smile in his voice, slaps your ass and leaves the room.

Thank you for reading! Your comments and reblogs will make my day!♥️

Stepdad Joel Masterlist || MASTERLIST

Tag list for the story: @tearsweetenedtea @mads198-9 @mydarlingjoel @quitchie @kaliisapunk28 @hhsjsbs1 @oldenoughtoknowbetterstuff @magpiepills @joelsslutt @bearbo28 @wand-erer5 @rhysuric @iloveoldman-stfu @gorzelnia-blog @kokoluwie @time-for-my-weekly-spanking @hystericalanduseless @idknananchimaybe @heartpascalispunk @maried01 @missadangel @ningaispunk

Tag list: milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @keylimebeag @pascaltesaye @pedrofan @meetmeatyourworst @callmebyyournick-name @tateypots @matildagirl1 @chloeee20 @ess-evo

oh my god I loved it!! I already told you but this idea is brilliant 😍😍 her so confused (just as I was 😂) him so... different! the confessions omg I wasn't expecting it and I love when characters act different than usual 😍😍

The somno was perfect of course 😌

And then the morning after 🤭

“What are you doing today? Maybe we can go to the movies together?” He stares at you quizzically for a few moments and then chuckles, “Did I replace your brain with my cum the last time I fucked your throat? Want us to walk around town holding hands? Let everyone know that I’m fuckin’ my stepdaughter?”

bwahahahahahaha 😂😂😂 sorry reader, I love you, but I love his degradation even more 😂😂😂

It’s shortly after 11 pm and you’re having a little snack in the kitchen, watching videos on YouTube. Your EarPods are in so you miss your stepdad returning home. Noticing some movement in your peripheral vision you turn your head and see Joel pouring himself a glass of water at the sink. He’s looking broad and tall in his favorite denim shirt and dark blue jeans and you shamelessly check him out while he’s gulping the water down.

When he turns around, you quickly look away. Your mom’s home so you expect him to go upstairs but when you glance back you see him standing by your side. He’s looking at your phone screen, hands on his hips, brows furrowed as if he’s trying to concentrate on something.

You’re blinking up at him, puzzled by his weird behavior — usually when he comes home all you get is a cold ‘hey’. The best you may hope for is a slap on your ass as he calls you a slut for wearing your tiny home shorts. When your mom’s not around, of course.

You take your EarPods out just as he asks,

“Whatcha watchin’?”

Your mouth pops open and you stare up at him speechless. Your stepdad is suddenly interested in something other than your holes! Did he hit his head at work? And then you see it — his eyes are bloodshot, his curly hair’s slightly disheveled and he’s swaying a little, standing with his feet wider apart than usual.

He’s drunk.

Your eyebrows shoot up. Joel drinks, yeah, but never a lot, usually only beer, and you can tell that he’s had some only when you taste it on his lips later. The sight of him visibly drunk now fascinates you but also weirds you out.

“Ehm.. it’s a make-up tutorial,” you reply, watching him closely. He hums and takes a chair next to you. Now you sense a distinct scent of whiskey on his breath. He places his thick forearm on the table and locks eyes with you. His gaze is warm when he says, his speech a little slurred,

“Your make-up's always pretty. You can do it professionally I reckon.”

Your jaw drops and you mumble ‘thanks’, not knowing how to react.

What’s happening?

The way he talks to you like you’re a normal person and not his ‘cock-hungry stepdaughter’ who he regularly fucks feels so strange, you avert your eyes from him, completely lost for words.

Joel quietly watches you for a few seconds before he leans closer and gets your attention, gently swiping his thumb over your shoulder.

“Listen.. if you ever need any money.. for make-up or whatever.. don’t be shy to ask, ‘k?”

Now you’re positively gawking at him. Did aliens abduct your stepdad and send this considerate version of him back?

Joel keeps surprising you.

“Hell…” he gruffs, pulling out his wallet from his jeans pocket. “Here,” he grabs your hand, puts some cash into your palm and closes it. “Buy something nice for yourself, babydoll.”

“Thanks,” you say quietly, looking at the money in your hand and barely believing that this is real.

Meanwhile Joel scoots closer to you and places his arm over the back of your chair. For a few moments neither of you speaks, he’s just watching the video with you, his hazy eyes gliding over your body from time to time. As always being close to your stepdad you feel tingling between your legs but your mother’s upstairs so, trying to distract yourself, you ask, “Went out tonight?”

“Yeah.. with a few guys,” he nods, smiling at you with his head tilted to the side.

Then Joel scratches his scruffy cheek and chuckles, “Those poor fuckers… bitchin’ about their wives all night.” He shakes his head. “Made me realize how lucky I am…” He puts his warm hand on your shoulder, gives it a light squeeze and finishes, “to have you.”

You know he’s drunk but his words make your heart flutter and your lips spread into a smile. His next statement wipes that smile off your face immediately.

“Almost told ‘em about us, can you imagine?”

Your stomach churns at the thought and you thank all Gods for stopping Joel from spilling your darkest secret.

Unaware of your momentary panic, your stepdad leans in and kisses a spot on your neck, just under your ear.

“Wanted to brag about you so damn much,” he whispers against your skin, sending chills all over your body. “How your tight pussy feels around my cock… how good you feel.”

You tremble at his touch and glance at the door, scared to be caught by your mother. Joel told you before that he’d always be careful but now, in this state, you surely can’t rely on him fully.

Without a care in the world, your stepdad slowly drags his lips up and nuzzles your cheek, mumbling,

“Every damn day I run home just to see you.”

Clutching the dollar bills in your clammy hands you slowly melt next to him, his confession filling your belly with butterflies.

Joel pecks the corner of your mouth but then he rests his forehead on your shoulder and gruffs, “Fuck, why’d I drink so much?”

He’s sitting motionless for a few moments, and hoping that he won’t fall asleep like that, you squirm in your seat and ask,

“Not feeling well?”

“A lil,” Joel replies, sitting up and getting onto his feet. He holds onto the table top for stability and then grunts, “Need to wash my face.”

You nod but when he walks out of the room, your shoulders droop. This strange version of Joel has made you feel so warm and fuzzy inside you wish he’d stay. A smile lights up your face when you remember his words, ‘lucky to have you.’

You’re staring at your phone screen, not listening to the video at all, your mind occupied by Joel and the unexpected dialogue you two have had, when your stepdad suddenly strides back into the kitchen and walks up to you.

“What…?” All you have time to say before he bends down and kisses you. You gasp right into his mouth, your hands clasping his shirt. He cups the back of your head to keep you close, his other hand begins kneading your breast over your clothes.

“Mmm…,” you mewl, scared that your mother will come in, but your stepdad’s lips make you forget about everything. They’re slowly moving against yours, his tongue swiping over your lower lip asking, begging to slide inside. You let him in happily and he licks into your mouth, leaving a taste of whiskey and Joel on your tongue. The kiss is sweet and dizzying but too short.

“I’ll come tonight, baby… when she’s asleep,” Joel whispers and pecks your lips before walking away again, swaying a little.

You go up to your room right away, turn the lights off and wait for your stepdad in your bed. Your mind plays the night on a loop - Joel’s confession, the kiss, his eyes on you full of warmth and something else you have no guts to name even in your head.

The fluttering in your belly makes your heart beat faster. You shouldn’t feel it, you mustn’t. It’s just sex. Depraved, filthy, mind blowing sex.

You fall asleep with Joel in your thoughts and dream of him hugging you close, running his big hands over your body, lightly squeezing your curves. Then his cock slowly slides into your pussy and he begins gently rocking his hips, sending it deeper with every languid thrust.

Ahhhh! With a quiet moan you open your eyes and realize that it’s really happening — your stepdad is spooning you from behind, fucking you in your sleep so gently you could have been unconscious throughout.

“Joel..,” you moan his name with the same warmth in your tone that you heard from him in the kitchen. It’s still present as he murmurs in your ear, “M’here, sweetheart.”

You turn your head, trying to see your stepdad’s face in the darkness of your room, and he uses your movement to catch your lips with his. Just like earlier today the kiss you’re sharing is nothing like you used to with him - it’s sweeter and gentler and you whimper, caged in his strong arms, taking his big cock.

Joel’s hand snakes under your top and he begins pulling and twitching your pebbled nipples, carefully so as not to hurt you. Your eyes roll to the back of your head and as you clench around Joel’s fat length, he lets out a moan. You’ve never heard such a noise from him before, it’s always grunts and groans when he claims you, feral growls of an animal tearing its prey apart. But not tonight.

“My good girl…only mine,” he whispers against your lips and you as well might be in heaven. Where’s your need to be degraded gone? You don’t know and don’t care. No time to self reflect. All you want right now is to stay in these arms forever, keep him inside like he’s a part of you. Like you were meant to be his.

Joel hugs you tight and then his hand slides down and under your pajama shorts. With his member still massaging your walls, he spreads your folds and swirls your wet clit with a tip of his calloused finger. You mewl as he starts drawing tight circles over it, nibbling on your earlobe. His voice so soft, it’s barely audible as he orders,

“Come on my cock… make this sweet pussy squeeze me..”

You nod, obedient to his wish, and let him bring you to the peak. It doesn’t take long. His bulbous tip is rubbing the soft spot inside your core in just the right way, his fingers are rhythmically moving over your puffy clit, and soon you’re coming, moaning so loudly, Joel has to cover your mouth with his palm.

“Shhh… I know, I know…daddy got you.”

He explodes right after and spills his hot cum inside your pulsating cunt. To shut his own whimpers he nuzzles the back of your head and breathes in the scent of your hair, fucking you through his and your orgasms.

When you both relax, Joel doesn’t pull out and slowly softens in your stuffed pussy, cuddling with you, his lips brushing your temple. You don’t dare to move, scared that he’ll leave you and go to her. He doesn’t though and you drift off satisfied and happy in his arms.

When you wake up the next morning, your bed is empty. The only evidence that last night wasn’t an amazing dream is Joel’s cum leaking out of your still wet pussy.

After taking a shower you hurry to the kitchen, wishing to see your stepdad there, hopefully without your mom.

To your delight you find Joel alone, leaning against the counter, sipping his coffee.

“Morning, daddy,” you chirp, running up to him, and peck his cheek.

He squints and growls,

“Shhhh! Headache’s killin’ me.”

You draw your eyebrows together and mutter a quiet ‘sorry’. He seems to be different today and you glance at him, pouring yourself a cup. He’s so hot in the morning, wearing his grey sweats and tight black t-shirt, your lower belly burns and you crave his body against yours.

Acting on your desire you walk up to him and place your hand on his shoulder, turning yourself on even more when you feel his strong muscles under your palm. Joel looks down at you with his brows furrowed, and you purr, batting your lashes at the man,

“What are you doing today? Maybe we can go to the movies together?”

He stares at you quizzically for a few moments and then chuckles,

“Did I replace your brain with my cum the last time I fucked your throat? Want us to walk around town holding hands? Let everyone know that I’m fuckin’ my stepdaughter?”

He laughs loudly at your suggestion and you pout your lips, hurt by his words. He places his mug down and mumbles under his breath, ‘Slut lost her damn mind.’

You take a step away from him and stare at the counter, your eyes welling up with tears. Of course, he’s back to being his usual self — an arrogant, mean prick. You sigh, thinking that you’re going to miss drunk Joel.

Suddenly you feel him behind you as he presses his body to yours. His arms wrap around your waist and he kisses your neck.

“We can watch a movie at home, my needy slut. Tonight, k? Just you and I?”

You don’t say anything for a few moments, hating to give in so easily, but that ‘my’ and the sensation of his big body against yours melt the ice in your heart and you whisper an ‘okey’.

“It’s a date, then,” Joel says with a smile in his voice, slaps your ass and leaves the room.

Thank you for reading! Your comments and reblogs will make my day!♥️

Stepdad Joel Masterlist || MASTERLIST

Tag list for the story: @tearsweetenedtea @mads198-9 @mydarlingjoel @quitchie @kaliisapunk28 @hhsjsbs1 @oldenoughtoknowbetterstuff @magpiepills @joelsslutt @bearbo28 @wand-erer5 @rhysuric @iloveoldman-stfu @gorzelnia-blog @kokoluwie @time-for-my-weekly-spanking @hystericalanduseless @idknananchimaybe @heartpascalispunk @maried01 @missadangel @ningaispunk

Tag list: milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @keylimebeag @pascaltesaye @pedrofan @meetmeatyourworst @callmebyyournick-name @tateypots @matildagirl1 @chloeee20 @ess-evo

oh my god I loved it!! I already told you but this idea is brilliant 😍😍 her so confused (just as I was 😂) him so... different! the confessions omg I wasn't expecting it and I love when characters act different than usual 😍😍

The somno was perfect of course 😌

And then the morning after 🤭

“What are you doing today? Maybe we can go to the movies together?” He stares at you quizzically for a few moments and then chuckles, “Did I replace your brain with my cum the last time I fucked your throat? Want us to walk around town holding hands? Let everyone know that I’m fuckin’ my stepdaughter?”

bwahahahahahaha 😂😂😂 sorry reader, I love you, but I love his degradation even more 😂😂😂

But then, youre offering him one every time he leaves for a lunch, comes back from a meeting, shaking hands out in the lobby. You always seem to be perfectly in stock too: when one disappears, another is replenished within the hour. It heats your cheeks every time he gives you a kind smile when snatching one off your desk.

You started taking on his lunch orders too. Of course, everything was perfectly curated by his personal chef. He hadn't order takeout in a long time. So while he eats his bland meal, you also bring him a little extra bite: a burger or plate of fries. Perhaps a milkshake when a deal closes or a few cookies and slices of cake when he's there past 5.

You always leave it on his desk. He' usually busy on a call, but when he swivels to see you standing there clearing room on the table for his tray of goodies, his face lights up, licking his lips as he mumbles an excited "ah huh" into the receiver. You watch as he rushes to end the call before diving in. Whereas before, he'd take nibbles while entirely focused on work, now he slams his laptop shut and dedicates his entire attention to his treats. He lets out happy groans and hums with each bite. Wipes the cream or crumbs from his eager lips and sucks his fingers clean. Always after cleaning the whole plate, he'd sit back and sigh, smiling gently to himself.

You're clearing out the tray when he heaves himself up and trying to change for a new meeting. Harry lets out a grunt, undoing his belt and latching it to the widest hole possible. He frowns in the mirror, staring back as he shifts.

"You look wonderful, Mr Castillo," you tell him softly. He grins and nods, ignoring the new weight settling in stomach and thighs.

His doctor had questioned how his weight had increased so quickly. Harry assures him its temporary stress but hes keeping up with his routines. He doesnt bother to hide the fact that the food has made him less stress than ever before. In fact, his mood had improved tenfold. He was indulging and enjoying food again, and it made him more motivated to keep going.

He was embarassed to ask you to schedule him a tailor appointment for new suits. His clothes feeling tighter must all be in his head. A couple extra treats here and there surely wouldn't have made a noticeable difference on the outside? No, it was just bloating from having foods he'd repressed for decades.

He stops telling himself that when he finds himself cupping your ass in your pencil skirt, seated across his spread lap as you dip another choclate covered strawberry into his mouth. This had become a weekly to nightly occurance. Late hours resulted in late hour munchies. He felt bad keeping you after hours but you insisted if you could parttake, you wouldnt mind all. He thought that meant getting a bite to eat along with his orders, not... this.

He finishes chewing and swallows, humming as you rub his large belly. You had helped unbutton his shirt and pants to help let his gut fall out more natutally. There was no reason to be strung up in uncomfortable clothes when no one was here, you told him. A few glasses of wine didnt hurt either. It felt nice to have the heat of your body against his chest and thigh. He pet your smooth legs curled up against his knee. Your body felt fantastic, especially your thighs. When drunk he had fewer pretense to worry of how it might look, having your boss run his palm up your thigh, above your skirt line. It felt nice for both of you.

You held a cup of chocolate, dipping various snacks layed out on the table, and feeding him one by one. You leaned against his chest and kissed his cheek and neck, listening to his struggled breath trying to keep his arousal at bay. The food piling in his stomach only added pressure to his already hard cock.

You could sense his discomfort. He whined slightly when you sat up. His disappointment is replaces by raised, excited eyes as you unclasp your blouse, revealing your push up bra that accentuated your breasts and cleavage. "Thats better," you hum. "Now you."

He nods as you take over to pulling his hardened length out. It sprung free, slapping the curve of his stomach. "My my, Mr Castillo. I knew those rumors were true."

He blushes. Yanking you back to his lap, you begin to jerk him off with one hand, proceeding to feed him again with the other. Harry is enamoured, his eyes lidded and lust filled, panting as you encourage another bite. You had made a mess of chocolate over his dress shirt, not that he minded one bit. His member throbbed violently in your hand. Your craddled his head to your chest, pumping his length faster. He dipped his finger in the chocolately mess and pressed it to your lips. Your moan sang with praize as you sucked his finger off, enough to make him cum with a yelp all over your hand.

But then, youre offering him one every time he leaves for a lunch, comes back from a meeting, shaking hands out in the lobby. You always seem to be perfectly in stock too: when one disappears, another is replenished within the hour. It heats your cheeks every time he gives you a kind smile when snatching one off your desk.

You started taking on his lunch orders too. Of course, everything was perfectly curated by his personal chef. He hadn't order takeout in a long time. So while he eats his bland meal, you also bring him a little extra bite: a burger or plate of fries. Perhaps a milkshake when a deal closes or a few cookies and slices of cake when he's there past 5.

You always leave it on his desk. He' usually busy on a call, but when he swivels to see you standing there clearing room on the table for his tray of goodies, his face lights up, licking his lips as he mumbles an excited "ah huh" into the receiver. You watch as he rushes to end the call before diving in. Whereas before, he'd take nibbles while entirely focused on work, now he slams his laptop shut and dedicates his entire attention to his treats. He lets out happy groans and hums with each bite. Wipes the cream or crumbs from his eager lips and sucks his fingers clean. Always after cleaning the whole plate, he'd sit back and sigh, smiling gently to himself.

You're clearing out the tray when he heaves himself up and trying to change for a new meeting. Harry lets out a grunt, undoing his belt and latching it to the widest hole possible. He frowns in the mirror, staring back as he shifts.

"You look wonderful, Mr Castillo," you tell him softly. He grins and nods, ignoring the new weight settling in stomach and thighs.

His doctor had questioned how his weight had increased so quickly. Harry assures him its temporary stress but hes keeping up with his routines. He doesnt bother to hide the fact that the food has made him less stress than ever before. In fact, his mood had improved tenfold. He was indulging and enjoying food again, and it made him more motivated to keep going.

He was embarassed to ask you to schedule him a tailor appointment for new suits. His clothes feeling tighter must all be in his head. A couple extra treats here and there surely wouldn't have made a noticeable difference on the outside? No, it was just bloating from having foods he'd repressed for decades.

He stops telling himself that when he finds himself cupping your ass in your pencil skirt, seated across his spread lap as you dip another choclate covered strawberry into his mouth. This had become a weekly to nightly occurance. Late hours resulted in late hour munchies. He felt bad keeping you after hours but you insisted if you could parttake, you wouldnt mind all. He thought that meant getting a bite to eat along with his orders, not... this.

He finishes chewing and swallows, humming as you rub his large belly. You had helped unbutton his shirt and pants to help let his gut fall out more natutally. There was no reason to be strung up in uncomfortable clothes when no one was here, you told him. A few glasses of wine didnt hurt either. It felt nice to have the heat of your body against his chest and thigh. He pet your smooth legs curled up against his knee. Your body felt fantastic, especially your thighs. When drunk he had fewer pretense to worry of how it might look, having your boss run his palm up your thigh, above your skirt line. It felt nice for both of you.

You held a cup of chocolate, dipping various snacks layed out on the table, and feeding him one by one. You leaned against his chest and kissed his cheek and neck, listening to his struggled breath trying to keep his arousal at bay. The food piling in his stomach only added pressure to his already hard cock.

You could sense his discomfort. He whined slightly when you sat up. His disappointment is replaces by raised, excited eyes as you unclasp your blouse, revealing your push up bra that accentuated your breasts and cleavage. "Thats better," you hum. "Now you."

He nods as you take over to pulling his hardened length out. It sprung free, slapping the curve of his stomach. "My my, Mr Castillo. I knew those rumors were true."

He blushes. Yanking you back to his lap, you begin to jerk him off with one hand, proceeding to feed him again with the other. Harry is enamoured, his eyes lidded and lust filled, panting as you encourage another bite. You had made a mess of chocolate over his dress shirt, not that he minded one bit. His member throbbed violently in your hand. Your craddled his head to your chest, pumping his length faster. He dipped his finger in the chocolately mess and pressed it to your lips. Your moan sang with praize as you sucked his finger off, enough to make him cum with a yelp all over your hand.

A stray tear wells up, threatening to spill. He smiles warmly and brushes it away for you. He doesn’t want to see you cry when you don’t even know why.

If you were a little more observant, you would have questioned why it was only Dr Miller moving forward with an anesthesia-induced operation. Typically there’s always more than one practitioner in the room. You would have wondered why nobody else was in the hospital at all.

 He told you he could make a special booking for your physical exam, just the two of you, to help alleviate any anxiety about the scary aura of a hospital, the sick people roaming around and watching, peeping in through the doors. He made sure you were the only one here today, to help you get comfortable and have nothing to worry about.

Of course, it is Sunday. Nobody operates on Sunday. The hospital was completely empty save for his office and this room.

Not only is this out of standard procedure, this was off the books.

This was illegal, and you had no idea.

“Dr. Miller, log 47,” he says into his little recorder. “Patient is sedated fully. Heartrate and breathing—“ he gently hovers his fingers rigor below your nose, his eyes scanning the beeping monitor next to you—“ normal and stable. Beginning examination.”

Maybe, if you were smart, you would have also questioned why you needed to be sedated for a basic physical exam. You didnt ask what a physical really entailed, which gave him the perfect excuse for... well. This.  

Joel had offered you some privacy before where he left his office to allow you to change your day clothing into the sterile gown. Such gentlemanly, professional attitude is tossed out the door as he doesn’t hesitate to unfasten the front, popping the buttons off one by one. He starts at your chest, exposing the silk smooth curve of your breasts. “Beautiful, healthy body,” he breathes. Every entimeter of your skin is observed closely. He continues, making his way down to your stomach, admiring your naval with his thick hand petting softly over your belly and unbuttoning down your hips. “I can already see excellent shape for reproduction, should she choose…”

He grins, now having you fully exposed to him under the bright light. Joel places his recorder in his chest pocket, leaving the mic on so he can continue to do his work with both steady hands.

“Fuck me,” he groans, the tent in his slacks already pressing against the cool metal table under you. He adjusts himself slightly, no concern for the perversion of his hard cock jutting out in the open as he brushes it against your legs and arms while circling you.

Dr. Miller was a practiced man. He'd lifted enough unconscious body parts throughout his career, being careful yet precise. It took him no time to hoist your legs into the cradled bend of the stirrups, spread wide and slightly elevated so that your core was exposed.

“Testing reactivity,” he says before pressing your feet with his thumbs. He massages your arch, feeling the tendons shift and resist. His lips ghost the ball of your foot. "Smooth here too. The skin of the feet haven't started callousing yet." Joel’s wet tongue glides along the crevice, thick and warm, before sucking on your toes, lubricating them with his tongue over and over again. He moans, closing his eyes and palming his bulge. You don’t seem to stir at all, but he does briefly catch the way your eyeballs shift underneath your lids, brows drawing then releasing.

He pushes the stirrups forward more, hands on the backs of your thighs until your knees are bent, as if ready to birth.

“Very healthy looking patient below the waist. I’ll need to taste more—test more before the insertion.”

Joel shifts along your side, and with no hesitation, grasps your tits roughly. He scrunches and squeezes tightly, pushing your nipples out until they’re hardened and swollen. He loves the way they feel in his big palms. It was last week when you let him do a breast exam, he was able to fondle them to his liking. He wanted to give them a taste then, but knew you weren’t ready for that.

Consciously, anyway.

A hot month descends upon your breast, and he glances up once again to see your reaction. He rolls your nip around and around before biting lightly. That receives a flinch. He smiles, sucking harder. They’re so warm and firm in his mouth, and he can’t help but suckle along them with fat suctioning sound each time he releases. “Very good potential for milk. Bet she’d make the sweetest milk.” He draws away, grabbing something from the table next to him. “Documenting …” he dabs some freezing cream directly onto your nipple and snaps a picture when your head jolts in surprise. Little sounds get lodged in your throat as he rubs it into your skin, kneading your mounds like dough. “Pretty thing…” he whispers seductively. 

He alternates between his hot mouth and the cold cream, watching your head toss slightly here and there. Your heartrate had also picked up, beeping a little more fervently. Nothing major, but a few beats per minute quicker than before. 

“We’re gonna stress her breathing next,” he sighs, moving up above your head. He feels your collar bone, working his hands up along your esophagus and underneath your neck. Pressing slightly to watch how much further your chest expands for air to ensure you’re still adjusting breath properly. 

Dr Miller unzips his trousers, his hard length falling free and slapping your forehead. He chuckles lazily, rolling it over and over, his tip nudging your nose and closed eyes. You’re so compliant like this. Not even a peep of protest as he nestles his balls overtop your sockets and pushes his head against your soft lips. 

“Seeing how well she can take …foreign objects…obstructing the jugluar.”

He presses in, your lips parting of their own accord to accomodate the intruder. “Ughhh,” he growls. His hands splay along the table, inching himself forward with a roll of his hips. Your jaw opens wider, forced to take the growing girth of his member. A strangled noise hiccups in your throat, and he immediately draws out. The monitor by your side beeps loudly before returning to a regular pace.

He aligns himself again and fucks your mouth, this time further than before until the mushroom tip is bulging in your throat.

“Ahhhhhhhhhhh,” he moans heavenly. He pulls out, lets you breathe, then forces it deeper.  Again and again until you’re taking him for five seconds at a time, deeper and deeper, the table rattling with his incessant humps. “Fuck..you take that, swallowing my cock like a princess, you take cock so good little slut.”

He thrusts in and out until he’s on the verge of cumming. Slipping his cock out the final time, he grips the base, growling to keep his orgasm down. He’d been thinking about it a long time, where he’d defile you last with his seed. As tempting as your tight throat was, he knew there was better ways to make you his confidential patient, forever and always. 

Your vital signs were steady again, although more elevated than you started. Your head twitched to the side slightly, eyeballs rolling under your eyelids. Your body can sense something is happening externally, but cannot rouse itself to intercept. 

He smiles, stroking your spit stained cheeks. “You’re doin’ very well, sweet pea.” its one of his favorite things about these types of exams. Watching how much a patient's instinct tries to fight his ministrations. Yet failing under the sedation and trusting senses of its owner.

For the next hour, Dr. Miller plays with your body. He’s inserted a bullet vibrator up your vaginal walls, controlling its speed and intensity on the little device. With each change in setting, your body reacted differently. Your hips bucked involuntarily, head swayed side to side. Hums of pleasure bubbled in your chest and out your nose, straining to make a coherent noise. He watched, spreading your folds so your little clit was perfectly on display. She throbbed, swelling to an engorged state. So vibrantly colored, filled with blood as he sets her nerves ablaze. 

He’d press his warm lips to her before patching it with a cubed ice. Your body didn’t like that, stomach tensing and knees wanting to lock. He had to get the stirrups tightened around your calves to keep you spread open for him. 

“That’s my girl,” he whispers quietly against your thigh, his plush lips ghosting the inside. He’s left his mic on recording, giving himself the freedom to savor your goosebumps for himself. 

Dr Miller circled around you again, viewing your exposed chest. Your nipples were stiff, and he makes note about how erect they’d become since starting your test. He presses his mouth there, his fingers dancing south to come in contact with your drooping pussy. He’s got a little cup underneath your butt, to capture any of your juices that might leak from his ministrations. For extra (taste) testing in the future.

With his mouth on your breast and three fingers rubbing your clit in clockwise motion, Joel suckles and fingers you with deadly precision.

 “Trying to make the patient—“ his tongue circles over your nipple thrice before nipping at your nipple, sucking it to a point—“reach climax.” 

He spanks your pussy, rewarding himself with a quiver from your body. “That’s it babygirl, you feel that?” He slaps it again, your body jolting, but his teeth sink further into the flesh of your boob to keep your chest in place.

He removes his hand entirely, focusing solely on sucking your tits. There’s a little device wedged inside you, not unlike the bullet vibrator, but this one can sense contractions. It connects to a monitor across the room, recording the pulses inside your pussy.

“That’s it—I see it—she’s working up to it—“ he sucks harder on your tits, swallowing his own saliva, eyes desperately strained to see your cunt reflected back on him on the TV and the matching pulses growing next to it.

The lines reach their heightened point, and your body wreathes appropriately as you cum. Your poor little cunny, contracting around nothing as you orgasm from his tongue on your breasts alone. 

“I want to see if I can just—“ he slips his hand back down to your pussy, diving three fingers in at once and rapidly squelching upward towards that gummy part inside. 

Suddenly, you let out an audible yelp, knees folding inward as liquid gushes from your opening. 

“Oohhhh yes, that’s a good girl, that’s a good girl!” He praises, smirking as you continue to squirt all over his palm and splash onto the floor. The fucking cup wouldn’t capture all of it, an he’d have to really clean up. But he wasn’t expecting such promising results. 

“She’s well hydrated for sure.”

By the way you shake your head, eyes starting to peep over, it doesn’t seem like you knew you could squirt either.

“Shhhh,” he hums, putting his palm over your eyes to block the light. “Rest now, you’re in good hands. Do you want to keep sleeping?” He glances over at the IV bag, already dripping another extra droplet into your system. “You’re so warm and safe here. Let’s rest a little more.”

You let out a sigh, eyes closed and nodding slightly before falling to the side, back into a deep state of unconsciousness.

How pathetic you can’t even tell your lower half is soaking wet of your own doing.

He makes his way back to stand between your legs, kicking away the little rolling stool. 

“See how well this pussy takes a real poundin.’” He pumps his shaft along your slick entrance, dabbing it repeatedly and grinning at how wet it sounds. He’d been edging himself this whole time. Not just this evening, but the entire few months he’s been you ever doting, caring, overly invested doctor, waiting to get you right here, spread out for him.

“She’s still so soft, so tight,” he gulps with a pant. Your chest was inflating up and down more quickly, so he knew you could feel something happening. “You’re doin’ great, baby. Just—just a little more—“

He notches the tip along your weeping hole. “She’s so patient for me.” He wonders if you’ll feel this in the morning when you wake.

Sliding in the first inch, Joel opens his jaw in silent prayer, head tilted back towards the ceiling. He pushes in again, feeling the first bit of resistance from your walls. Shit, he knew you were a virgin. You had marked it embarrassingly during one of the first appointments where he intimately needed to know all your sexual activities. You’d admitted having masturbated, which he encouraged as healthy, though the truth was so that he wouldn’t have to try too hard to stretch you out at this exact moment. Luckily he had loosened you up pretty well with his fingers and tongue this good hour, so when the good doctor pulls out then thrusts half his length in one go, you can’t offer any more rebellion to it.

When he finally bottoms out, he lets out a satisfied whimper. His cheek turned upright into a selfish, wicked grin. “Fuck, your pussy looks so good around my cock,” he says loudly, taunting the fact that you couldn’t retort even if you could hear him properly. He hasn’t had any relevant, professional notes to take for a long while now, instead resorting to little ‘fuckfuckfuck’s as he thrusts his hips in and out of your now loosened cunt. 

He reaches for the wand vibrator, switching it on and positioning it right at your clit, against the base of his dick. Its whirs to life, making your whole body contract in on itself.

“Auuggghhhh fuck yeah—fuck that’s it sweet girl—just feel that—feelin’ it so good.” He continues to fuck you open, biting his tongue and watching you shift with each rut into your unconscious body. Your eyelashes flutter, instinct fighting to get you awake. Jesus he wants it—wants you to wake up right fucking now, see what he’s doing to you. The way your eyes would float, confused, coming into focus as the trusted doc is battering your once pure insides in the name of your health. 

You didn’t know he’d already been fired and relocated from 6 different hospitals across the country for this exact reason. Granted, most anyone could report was inappropriate behavior and groping. He’d have his way with girls like you, in this exact position before. If anybody ever fully caught on to this, he’d be strung up in jail by now.

Whines bubble up from your chest as he gropes your tit with one hand, swirling the wand around your nub with the other. It takes a few minutes of on and off before he feels you clenching around him and cumming. Your back arches slightly, gasping through your mouth. He has to steady himself with his hands flat on either side of the observation table, hunched over and ramming into you while you’re still squeezing the fuck out of him. He likes the way your juices splash down his thighs and balls with each puncture. He’s a good doctor though, making sure you wouldn’t bleed or tear throughout this rough ordeal. He’s a proper man when it comes to his practice.

“Shit, shit—babydoll—fuckyeah this pussy—I’m not gonna be able to give this one up--“ He hums to himself, eyes shut.

You barely register the fact that you’re coming to. Your eyes are slitted but the tunnel vision is still so strong. Foggy and muffled, you can feel your body moving but can’t bring your muscles to do anything about it.

“D-J-oel,” you rasp, eyes fluttering close again as you definitely feel something deep within your stomach. You’re still so out of it, half your senses fading and drawing while being stimulated, unable to fully reach your brain. Your body is screaming to wake up though despite the tempting lull back to sleep. So you open your eyes again, rollin them around you. Your vision becomes clearer, still blurring but able to make outlines and lights now. Still in the hospital, still with the bright lights, still with Doctor Miller—

Doctor Miller, standing between your spread, naked legs with his wet, hard and long cock disappearing in and out of you. Doctor Miller, cursing and staring at where your bodies join, oblivious to your aroused state. Doctor Miller, telling you sweet words like how he’s gonna take you home, he’s gonna keep you like this till you’re full of him, then he's really gonna watch you grow, none of it really making coherent sense to you at the moment.

But there is that feeling inside, deep within your core that’s growing. Everything feels so wet and hot at the same time. He’s incessantly rubbing something delicious, electrocuting your nerves to an awakened state so far more than anything else.

You let out a strangled moan, and his head shoots up, watching you roll your neck and look around. Your sounds get louder, jaw flexing to let them loose.

He's been caught, and he doesn’t stop. “Fuck-fuck babygirl that’s it—M’takin real good care of ya—watch…watch me…watch me when ya cum—“ he groans, gripping your hips and slamming into you almost abusively. 

“Ah-ah-ah-ah!” You wail, unable to tear your limited vision away from him as he ruts like a dog in heat, his hips humping your ass. 

He lets out a startled bark, stilling inside you all the way. That makes your eyes fly wide open, more awake now than before as you start to cum around him. You don’t know what’s happening, don’t understand it and yet your body only knows pleasure, and that’s what your brain releases all over your insides and out. He’s so warm inside, filling you with something hot and sticky. 

There’s a thin sheen of sweat on you, and even greater on him. He pulls out, mummuring some  praise at your pearly, pulsing slit. Your heart is pounding, but body exhausted, like you’d been at this for a while now. You can’t move your head, and your eyes feel heavy once again.

“Hey, hey,” he coos softly next to you. He cups your face in his big hands, bringing you to look at him. “Hey there, angel. How we feeling? You did amazing.”

He feels gentle, touching your fuzzy spots all over again like honey. “Mmm,” you nod. 

He smiles, beginning to turn off the monitors and unhook you from the sensors. “Did such a great job for me, never had a patient as good as you.” He kisses your forehead, long and comforting. now with the needle out, you still feel drowsy, but with his reassuring words and touches, you don’t feel the need to get up any time soon.

“Here, drink this—“ he hands you a little platic cup of water with a straw. You take a few sips, suddenly feel a massive, near painful pressure in your throat, like something had been lodged there not long ago. Coughing slightly, you give him back the cup, falling back against the headrest.

“Shhh, it’s okay. No need to fight it. You can keep resting.” He kisses you on the lips, silencing any protest. Your brain still feels so floaty, you don’t even question the way his tongue swipes along your teeth. You don’t care, enjoying the way he’s treating you so well after the procedure. He makes you feel safer than ever.

“Gonna clean you up now. Take you home.”

Of course, you don’t think about it, as he makes you feel so at home now. You quickly fall back asleep. Joel wheels you out of the room, down towards his un-registered truck and into the back where he whisks you away to your very new, very permanent, very secluded "home." 

- - - -

Taglist:

You bite your lip and stare up at Tommy, trying to contain your excitement and nervousness. Joel rarely brought guests, especially never while you were in this state, but when he put his collar on you this afternoon and told you to wait patiently by your crate, you did as you were told, your exposed clit twitching with anticipation for the last few hours. You were so excited for your playdate that you may have accidentally wet your bed—only a little!—but had otherwise been containing your pee until you were let out.

Tommy is—shocked, to say the least. You literally panted like a dog with your tongue out, tilting your head back to stare at him with cute wide eyes as if he was going to pet you.

“Uh—um—“ He just needed to use the bathroom, not… get involved with whatever you call this kind of “play.”

“He’s just shy, Puppy. Did you miss your Daddy?” Joel knees and rubs your head, and your whole body goes jittery with love and untaimed energy from Joel’s affection. 

“Uncle Tommy said he needs some…release. Told him I got a special thing for that.”

You paw at him energetically, twirling in circles and almost ready to stand up on two legs and hug him with how excited you are to show off your trick that Joel had been training with you.

“Okay okay, settle down. "At’s my good Puppy. He’s gonna need a demonstration first.” You sit back on your haunches, your breath quickening as Joel undoes his belt. “Let’s  show ‘im how I mark you as mine.”

There’s a sliver of drool ready to drip from your mouth as Joel lightly tugs on the leash, wrapping it firmly around his palm, and pulling tight enough that its straightened, keeping you within a close radius of his crotch. Not that you were considering backing away, watching with admiration as he fists his half hard dick in his beefy hand. You had learned through many trials that you were to wait for Joel’s command, no matter how greedy and starved you were for him. Even some times you got spanked for grazing his cock with your teeth due to your clumsy eagerness. 

“What—what are you—“ Tommy begins, trying to avoid studying your tits all pressed up between your arms as you sit straight, back arched perfectly like a good dog.

“Shhh, she’s still trainin', just watch.”

Joel pumps his length a few seconds, with a knowing smirk that he’s teasing you. He likes watching your brows furrow, the way your gaze is stuck on the prize between his legs out of frustration and desire. He’s taught you not to leap at him anymore when he holds your favorite toy out, and despite your little desperate whimpers, you’re doing just as you’re told.

“Come."

You scurry forward to his cock, your head tilted back and mouth open to accept his package. He jerks himself slowly a few times, pushing the tip along your waiting tongue. “'Atta girl. Good girl. Okay, go ahead. Show Tommy your trick.”

Your focus is entirely on the older Miller, your absolute good Master, as your lips close around his tip and you moan, eyes closing to savor the salty taste of his hardening length in your mouth.

“Shhhh, shhh good puppy, just suck. Suck it, just like that,” his voice is strained as he prepares himself, strokes your head soothingly. “Daddy’s got your treat.” 

You know it’s coming, had gotten used to the sensation through the weeks of training and punishment and rewarding. You suction tightly around his tip, suckling his length until Joel is sighing heavily above you. 

Tommy watches you flinch only slightly before hearing your big gulps from your throat. The bulge of fresh warm liquid traveling down your esophagus with each swallow, ans you close your eyes and embrace the taste of Joel's piss.

“Are you—Is—is she really…?”

"Open your mouth, sweet girl, and show him.”

Your jaw opens as a pool of yellow swirls around your gaping mouth, more trickling from his slit as joel continues to pump his pee out of his member. It's miraculous as how much you can hold without it pouring over.

"Swallow, no spilling.”

Your lips enclose again around his tip and you make a audible gulp, all of it straining from the gigantic pressure billowing down your esophagus all at once, but successfully traveling down your neck in one go, then opening your mouth again as proof and ready to take more. 

“Holy—“ Tommy covers his mouth in astonishment, watching your tongue catch the underside of Joel’s cock before taking him back in your mouth and leisurely sucking like a lollipop. 

Tommy can see it. Through your lovesick eyes never breaking contact with Joel’s fucked up dark ones urging you own without a single word passed between the two of you. There’s something inside you that’s… absent. The part of you that should be embarrassed, ashamed, disgusted. what distinguishes a social norm by people that we have strong repulsion to, its completely missing from your little brain that Joel had whittled down, carved and sewed back up into your body that you really were an obedient, dumb little pup.

Joel chokes his cock at the base to prevent from fully emptying himself.

“You try.”

Tommy turns back to Joel’s, a wide eyed horrid expression plastered on the younger brother’s face.

But when he looks back down at you, he crumbles a little inside: your pleading shiny eyes on him now, grinding down on your heel like you know you’re not supposed to, but you’re too excited on the inside to be able to fully contain how much you’re salivating closer to Tommy clothed crotch.

I’m not drunk enough for this, I’m not drunk enough for this. I'm not drunk enough for this.

He shakes his head uncertainly, glancing back at Joel who still has a firm grasp over your leash. But then he feels your lips grazing his hardened bulge under his jeans, and he falls back down to you. You’re near tears, lower lip pouting as your tongue traces along his sensitive spots—fucking begging with those soft puppy eyes that would have any man doing whatever you wanted.

He feels his brain going blank he holds eye contact with you, unblinking and unaware that he’s unbuttoning his jeans before you and tugging his pulsing member out of his boxers. 

Your chest shivers, sad puppy whimpers encouraging him as your orbs turn into little hearts, tongue sticking out with a smile that you’re about to get a second treat for the evening. 

Tommy’s cock slots just perfectly into your mouth and you moan as you swallow around him.

“Uuuhuughhhh,” he grunts, nearly falling over at the warm, wet, heavenly sensation of your mouth on him. Joel passes him the leash wordlessly, and your breath quicks along his pelvis at the implication that he’s passing ownership—temporarily—to a new master. 

It’s unlike any woman who’s ever sucked his cock before. Most girls put their tongue on him, swirl it around and push their lips up and down. But you—you’re actually sucking, your tongue working the underside like you’re coaxing it to give you something only he can give you, and he knows what it is. Just witnessed it in front of his brother, god, and whatever depraved soul that happened to know what’s going on in this bedroom right now. 

Your messy slobbery building so much in your mouth that you preemptively swallow around his cock. He’s scared now, with his cock now hard and still painfully full, he can’t fight the urge in his brain to pull out of your sweet, warm, welcoming, safe lips.

Tommy’s panting halts, and your mouth goes still, tightening your lips around the edge of his tip because you’ve been trained to recognize it, the rush of warmth that starts to travel up along his shaft before spurting into the hot vacuum of your mouth.

His taste surprises you, not that you’re unused to it. Joel’s piss was so bitter, repulsive at first that it took so long just for you to open your mouth when he demanded it. Now it has no effect on your gag, the ammonia dulling after drinking buckets from him day after day. But Tommy? He’s—sweeter. Still vile, but there’s almost a cleanliness to his warm urine as it travels swiftly over your tongue. It’s pleasantly hot, not tainted with the copious alcohol, bad diet and cigarettes that Joel consumes. 

It takes just a few flexes of your throat, the sound of your repeated gulping intertwined with overwhelmed moans before Tommy is falling in love with your beady puppy eyes staining with gratitude back up. 

Your core squeezes in on itself, and the unmistakable throb of need draws attention to your neglected cunt.

Joel asks when you start rocking back and forth, rubbing your slick pussy along Tommy’s boot. 

“Bad, bad dog. No humping Tommy when he’s giving you a treat.”

“I—ooh f-fuck darlin’—I think she needs to go, Joel.”

Joel eyes your desperate posture once again, and your eyes briefly flicker to your master, agreeing with the younger brother.

Joel stares you down. “Puppy still needs to learn her potty training.”

You nod sadly. Sucking cock will grant you potty time, so you lean into Tommy’s touch and put your best effort into taking him as deep as you can go.

But Joel grabs your collar and yanks you off of him. 

“Play time is over. Now be quiet while Uncle Tommy and I watch the game, okay puppy?”

-

An hour later, Joel's drinking beer and watching the game, lounging on the couch with a disappointed shake of his head as the score draws nowhere near victory for the Cowboys. As the halftime commercial roll in, Joel gazes at the many empty bottles on the coffee table. And the empty seat next to him.

Tommy had gotten up at some point with a mumbled excuse that Joel barely acknowledged. He can barely hear a quiet thumping in the hallway past the kitchen and wonders what the fuck you could be doing to be making such noises when he explicitly told you to behave.

Joel straightens up from the sofa, swaying a bit to gain his balance. He hadn’t had THAT much to drink, did he? Still, not nearly as many as Tommy.

He meanders across the floor and down the hallway, where he finds his brother…and his puppy girlfriend.

Tommy has you on your knees, your head smashed against the wall as he lazily thrusts into your mouth. His one hand is buried in your hair, the other holding half a beer in his hand as each languid rut of his hips pushes his length to the hilt, your nose suffocated by his public hair as he holds you there. he sighs pornographically, mouth dropping over in a half hearted smile as he clearly relieves himself of all the alcohol swimming in his system. 

Must be a lot, Joel thinks, as you rapidly swallow around his cock in quick successions to be able to drink his piss without spilling. There are stuttered gulps struggling to finish from your throat with how tightly he’s pressing himself into you and into the wall. He takes another swig of beer over head, beginning his pace of fucking your face again before pouring some over the base of his dick when your lips retreated to just his tip. The next time you engulf him, you get the taste of alcohol mixed with his piss, the aroma making your mind fuzzy as he giggles when you hum around him. His cock twitches so deep in your throat as more of his hot urine is forced down, his mushroomed tip so deep that you don't even need to swallow anymore as it deposits directly to your stomach. 

You like when Tommy uses you, he tastes better than Joel, even though you've gotten so used to his. Joel can see your wide pupils making contact with him, but its not panicked—no, its curiosity,  eagerness, piss drunk, and full dumb-dog overtaking your now barely human brain at getting to be played with so much by a new friend. 

You probably also like that Tommy doesn’t scold how you’re touching your messy swollen little clit between your legs. He’s either so turned on or too drunk to notice.

 Joel’s focus trails down. The combined amount of urine Joel and Tommy have dumped down your throat is starting to bloat at your tummy, drooping over with a squishy, gluttonous jiggle.

You whimper over Tommy’s cock, sucking him even harder now that Joel is approaching the two of you.

He nods towards Tommy, urging the younger man to step you away from the wall. Tommy holds your collar and pulls you towards him, never leaving the comforts of your mouth as Joel mounts behind you. 

The older Miller unzips himself and carefully eases your tail plug out of your puckered hole. It twitches pathetically, chasing after the plug and desperate to be filled again. “Such a pretty pretty hole, puppy. Wanna make sure you can keep it tight, don't want anything to spill when we’re done with ya.” A big glob of spit falls onto your hole which swallows it up as Joel spreads it over, coating you in slick.

He pushes his hard member into your gummy ring. 

Each inch you take is glorious, moaning like a whore around Tommy’s cock as Joel stretches you far better than any of your tails could. 

Both boys don’t wait before they begin fucking your holes like a proper bitch. The men snicker at one another, leaning back to watch your mouth and ass greedily take them back in every time they thrust in and out.

“Cheers, to a well trained bitch,” Tommy holds his bottle over you, and Joel clinks it with his own. They both chug their drinks to the last drop.

“Shit, she’s drank so much of it, man. She’s fuckin’ thirsty for it.”

You wiggle your butt against Joel at the compliment. “S’what she’s good for.”

“Fuck, I gotta take a leak again.”

“Wanna do it in her ass? She takes it just as good.”

Tommy laughs. His hands cup your face so you stare back at him through teary drunk eyes. “Nah, I’m in love with this throat. You gonna take my piss like a good doggy?”

He hears you gargle a “mmhmm” before laughing at you again. His eyes go hazy, lips twitching before his pelvis tilts up, and he’s relieving himself once again today. It burns a bit through his slit, but you gobble it up so willingly, suckling his tip with the relentless spurts of piss filling you up. His hand wrapped over the back of your head to make sure you take every last drop. 

He glances at Joel, who is so lost in fucking your ass at the moment. Tommy puts his finger to his lips, a knowing look passed between just the two of you. You stare at him through his eye lids, daring him. And for good measure, your tongue slides up along his veiny shaft under his cock to flick his balls. A few more thrusts and he’s stills again, holding his groans as he fills your mouth with his thick, creamy and salty burst of cum. You continue gulping his generous load with each pump, humming as remnents of his piss still fill your tastebuds now mixed with his seed.

You barely have half the mind to remember Joel is pounding your ass before he’s buring himself balls deep, knees spread so wide as his mouth drops to an “o”. You feel the tight, hot pressure of his piss filling your guts up, unable to go anywhere else but to pool at your already bloated lower belly that hangs heavily towards the floor. 

Joel’s hand’s clasp around your belly, feeling the heft of your piss-logged stomach as he drains himself of the beer in his system. You’re so unbelievably full, warmed from all the bodily fluids dumped into you despite being naked all day. You still have Tommy’s cock in your mouth, simply too dumb to do anything but suck on it as your eyes shift in and out of focus.

Your legs quiver when Joel uses you to hump, getting the last of his urine out. His hands hold you tightly to him, compressing everything in your lower region so compactly that you can no longer press your thighs together or clench your tummy to avoid it.

A” loud hissing sound splatting against the floor stumps both Joel and Tommy out of their orgasmic haze. 

“Uh oh. Little puppy making a mess all over my floor again,” Joel says. he pushes even harder into your stomach, the hissing growing in strength and puddling quickly all over the floor. You don’t even realize you’re cumming too, untouched, just so fucking full of Tommy and Joel’s piss, clouding your intuition to give a fuck, and relieving yourself like an untrained dog in the house.

“Someone needs a punishment for being a naughty little pup.”

- - - -

Sorry to my taglist peeps on this one and especially to everyone probably sick of Piss kink stories!

Taglist

He didn’t expect her to be there when he slipped the card key into its slot, waited for the beep, then opened the door to the hotel room they’d shared for several nights leading up to Wrestlemania. But there she was, sitting on the mattress he’d fucked her into the night before, wearing one of the plush robes provided by the hotel. Punk stopped in the doorway as she looked up—his pretty peach, the young thing he still expected to be gone every morning following one of their trysts, the beautiful girl he expected to find someone her own age and leave him for and how could he blame her if she did?

She stood, pulling the belt of the robe tighter around her waist. The room was colder than normal, the AC whirring in the background, and Punk wasn’t conscious of his decision to step inside with his suitcase or the one to allow the door to click closed behind him. The temperature seemed to rise several degrees with the closing of the door, but Punk ignored the sudden prickling of sweat on the back of his neck as he set his suitcase aside and took a few steps toward the younger woman. 

She opened her mouth to speak.

Punk put up a tattooed hand, and she clamped her lips shut. He still had control, she was still obedient, and he was glad not everything had changed since this morning. He folded his colorful arms across his broad chest, tilting his head, green eyes glaring down at her, and though all he could feel was blinding rage, the giddiness that surged through him when she gulped, when she tightened the robe belt again, when her gaze fell to the floor, did not go unnoticed. 

“Did you know?” Punk rumbled.

She shook her head. “No.” Her chest rose and fell quickly, hands still tugging at the ends of the white belt.

Punk chuckled softly through his nose, shaking his head. “I don’t believe you,” he said. She tried to speak again, but he cut her off, “I don’t fucking believe you.”

The pretty girl’s eyes darkened, her mouth opening once more, but Punk was quick with a hand to the back of her head, the other one clamping over her lips, and her hardened gaze was instantly infiltrated by that familiar obedience and, somewhere in the distance, that familiar fear. Her own hands clutched at his wrists, squeezing, but neither pushing nor pulling.

“I’m gonna ask you again,” Punk quietly explained, brows rising, towering over her, “and you look me right in the fucking eye when you answer. Do you understand?” Her eyes switched swiftly between his before she nodded as much as his tight grip on her head would allow. “Did you know what your father was gonna do tonight?”

She waited for him to remove his hand from her mouth, her tongue sneaking out to lick at her lips, drawing Punk’s temporary attention—that pretty pink muscle sliding along her upper lip in one direction, bottom lip in the other—while triggering a battle within him over whether or not to touch his tongue to hers. She wasn’t simply wetting her lips—she was tasting him, licking his flavor up and swallowing it down—despite the air of unease enveloping them like a weighted blanket. 

“I didn’t know,” she replied. “I swear, Daddy, I didn’t know.”

Punk sneered down at her, again shaking his head, a futile attempt at knocking  loose the blossoming arousal and sudden desire to forgive her. “You think calling me Daddy is gonna make everything okay?”

She blinked, the innocence there clear, but Punk was pissed off and he needed someone to be pissed off at and she was standing in front of him and she just so happened to be his enemy’s daughter. Swallowing, she shrugged, lopsided smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “It usually works,” she whispered, and when she realized her joke was ill-timed, she went on, “The only thing I do know is … I think he used me.” Punk’s gaze rose from her lips to her wide eyes. “He introduced us. He was there when we fought. I just think … he meant for this to happen.”

Punk absorbed the suggestion, berating himself for not coming up with this scenario all on his own. “Meant for you to be … what? A distraction?”

Had she been? Had he been one hundred per cent focused going into the match tonight? Racking his brain, Punk recalled fantasizing about what position and exactly where he was going to fuck Paul Heyman’s daughter after he won his first ever Wrestlemania main event. He remembered kissing her in a dark corner, an mmph barely audible from his lips as she’d tenderly cupped his cock and balls caged within his yellow trunks. He’d been thinking about her, tasting her on his lips while walking toward Gorilla, zipping up his hoodie, where he’d met Paul, his fatass sitting near the curtain, texting away on his phone. Had he been texting Seth? Had Punk been paying so little attention that a grand plan had been masterminded right in front of his fucking face? 

“Just seems like something he would do,” she answered softly, her grip loosening on Punk’s wrists. “But I didn’t know. I swear.” 

“Then why did you leave before I even—?” 

“To get ready,” she interrupted with a whisper. Her eyes shifted again, catching fire, smoldering.

Punk’s focus descended to the plush, white robe she wore, the belt cinched around her waist, accentuating her supple curves despite the thick material. “What’s under this?” he asked, suddenly interested, warm, rough hand sliding down her neck, shoulder, breast where he felt a hint of a peaked nipple, to the belt, but she stopped his progress with her hand still around his wrist. 

“Will you let me take care of you?” she wanted to know. “You know I can make you feel better.”

Punk’s eyes narrowed as he considered her proposition. “You didn’t answer my question.” he said just as quietly. His grip had softened on her skull, his fingers playing with the belt, though not trying to untie it.

Her smile was small, apprehensive, and her hands gripped the bottom of his t-shirt. Punk helped her to lift it over his head, his hair mussed and sticking in all directions as he dropped the article to the carpet. Her small, soft hands climbed his abs, his solid, inked chest, to his head, where she used both hands to card through his still-sweaty hair. Punk successfully refrained from closing his eyes or moaning at the near-orgasmic sensation of her nails scratching along his scalp. She tugged at the ends of his hair, Punk sucking a breath through his nostrils. 

“Why don’t you take a shower?” she suggested. “And then I’ll show you what’s under this robe.”

Punk could disagree. He could untie the robe even if she fought back. He could order her to take it off slowly. A million and one things he could do instead of obeying her, but he shot them all down—he was covered in sweat, and he could smell himself, which was never good. Without a word, or a touch, or a kiss, he separated from his favorite toy and headed for the bathroom where she’d laid out towels, all the items from his shaving kit, and she’d turned the overhead heater on because she knew how much he hated stepping out of a hot shower and into freezing cold air. Sighing, suddenly comforted by all his things surrounding him and the mere thought of a shower, but mostly the girl waiting for him in what he suspected what’s absolutely nothing under that robe, Punk turned the water on its hottest setting, removed his clothes, and climbed behind the curtain.

Images of her flawless, limber body had him resisting the urge to put a chokehold on his growing erection. As the water beat down on his face, he flipped through options of what she might be wearing under the robe  like the pages of a magazine—nothing, new lingerie, some kind of new something the kids were into these days. The curiosity got the best of him, and he washed as quickly as his sore body would allow, wincing when he scrubbed his cock and balls, no thanks to Paul’s low blow. Son of a bitch.

Not too long after he’d entered, Punk exited the bathroom, steam billowing out like fog in a horror movie. He’d foregone dressing, presenting himself to Miss Heyman naked as the day he was born, save for the towel on his head he was using to quick-dry his hair. The girl was standing with the backs of her thighs to the bed, arms folded, though now the robe was open, the belt hanging on either side of her. Only a sliver of her skin was visible, but enough had been revealed that Punk spotted something foreign just below the diamond belly button ring he’d bought her. Something pink.

Punk tossed the towel aside, hands on his hips, and the woman’s eyes dropped immediately to the Vs he was barely covering. “Now,” he said, “what’s under the robe?”

She smiled. “Will you please lay down?” she asked.

After a moment, Punk complied—only because she’d said please, he told himself—passing her and rolling into the bed on his back. He lifted himself up against the pillows and headboard, her eyes now drawn to his biceps and triceps as they flexed, as a few droplets of water slithered down his vivid arm. Combing his fingers through his damp hair, giving him the slicked back look from years ago, Punk watched the girl round the bed to stand at the foot. She leisurely opened the robe, the garment sliding off her arms, and Punk’s jaw set, his teeth gritting, and he wished he wasn’t naked because both of them caught his limp, but still thick, dick twitch. She wore one of his white merch shirts, the bottom cut off just below her nipples, the sleeves tattered, and if that wasn’t enough, she also modeled a pink waist and thigh leather ʜᴀʀɴᴇss buckled snugly around her unblemished curves. She stood there in all her young, stunning glory, turning on the balls of her feet to show him the back, the straps with the bow embellishments that crossed over her ass cheeks, the clasps for some unknown attachment, and Punk didn’t battle the urge this time to reach down and give his hardening cock a few quick tugs. 

“I thought you could look at something pretty while I helped you relax,” she smirked, slowly climbing onto the bed between Punk’s spread feet. 

“I’m always lookin’ at somethin’ pretty, Peach,” Punk mumbled. “But sometimes there’s … bonuses.”

She giggled, her soft, gentle hands gliding along Punk’s shins from his ankles to his knees, coming back to his feet. Her eyes locked on his, she raised one of his feet to her shoulder where she peppered kisses along his ankle, the side of his foot, and then Punk suddenly felt her hot, wet tongue licking his heel, her gaze still fixed on him, and then her tongue pressed into the arch of his foot. A sensation he’d never experienced before, and his back bowed, a moan conjured from his diaphragm soaring out of his gaping mouth, and he’d have been embarrassed, but it felt too good. The girl licking his foot giggled, pressing one last kiss to that foot before showering the other foot with the same attention. 

“Fucking …” Punk whispered, brows knitted together, his emerald eyes homed in on her glistening tongue and lips as they continued up his legs, and once she’d made it to his thighs, she stretched out onto her elbows and knees, popping her ass and its emphasizing harness into the air. Punk drank in her perfect skin, the elasticity of it, the sweet bounce of her ass as she spread her knees. She kissed his inner thighs, a few kitten licks here and there, Punk still stroking his near-fully erect cock above her face. His balls were bathed carefully by her tongue next, minding the soreness, Punk’s head falling back, one after the other, slurping them into her mouth so daintily as if she weren’t one of the filthiest women he’d ever met. 

“I know you’re mad,” she whispered, massaging his dense, aching thighs, and Punk thought he might die right there, but then she reminded him of the night’s events, and he wasn’t so relaxed anymore. She sat up, lifting her shirt, Punk’s gaze lingering on her perky tits, traveling down her abdomen to the cute pink harness buckled around her waist and connected to the harnesses buckled around each of her thighs. “Take it out on me.”

Punk’s hooded eyes blinked upward, boring into hers, searching for … he didn’t quite know what. Did she really understand what she was telling him to do? They’d gone rough before, sure, but the mood he was in, the festering wound of betrayal burning inside, told him taking it out on this little girl would probably end badly. 

“I can’t do that, Peach,” he rasped. 

“Yes, you can,” she replied, crawling up his body, straddling his trim hips, the leather on her thighs  a new and most welcome thrill, and she settled her hands on his ample chest. “You know I can take it. I’m young … and tight,” she finished with a sultry, playful tone.

Punk reached up, clamping her jaw between his fingers, and he pulled her down until their noses kissed. “You think I’ve been rough with you?” He watched her eyes, but he saw her jaw pop with his peripheral vision. “Sweetheart, we’ve been making love compared to what I could do to you.”

One of her hands snaked up his chest, sliding around his neck, thumb at the hollow of his throat. Punk still held her mouth hostage, so her words came out garbled and almost unintelligible. “I can take it,” she repeated. “I can take it for you.”

Punk released her mouth, his hands settling over the straps on her thighs, tugging on them, testing their durability. I can take it for you. He’d have to dissect and lose sleep over those words another time. “No safe word,” he said, meeting her eyes. “Once I get started … I can’t stop. So you need to think real hard—” 

“Fine,” she agreed, head dipping so she could kiss his neck, wet lips and tongue trailing along his skin, breath hot and shallow, and Punk heard her inhaling his clean scent, the fresh aroma of his body wash, the fragrance she’d named Punk No 5. “No safe word.” She raised up, their gazes meeting again, pupils expanding, both bodies adjusting to one another in an effort to just get closer. She leaned down, lips brushing his, “I want you to hurt me, Daddy. I want you to use me. Please?” The desperation in her tone flipped the last switch, the swipe of her tongue over his lips, not to mention her pussy settling on the underside of his cock as it was pinned between them. It never took much to get the girl wet, but fuck, she was drenched from … what? Their conversation? Licking his balls? Licking his feet? Did worshipping him turn her on? His eyes rolled back suddenly when her hips moved, her pussy lips splitting to allow Punk’s cock to slide freely along her swelling clit.

“Get back down there and suck my cock,” he ordered, “but bring that ass up here.”

Giggling—Punk even smirked, partly because the girl had no idea what she was in for, partly because she had the most delightful laugh—she turned so he had a full view of her side, still down on her elbows, ass poised. Punk dropped his hand on the back of her neck and urged his dick into her burning mouth, not interested in allowing her throat time to get used to his girth. He pumped his hips off the mattress as he fucked her throat, his free hand gripping the strap connecting the waist strap to the thigh straps. Drool dripped down his dick, curling over his balls, and Punk’s anger was only beginning to rise to the surface. 

“You knew,” he groaned, shoving her nose into his saliva-covered balls. “You fucking knew, I know you did.”

When she was finally released, she gasped for air, Punk slapping her ass just to be aggravating, and she wiped at her sticky lips and nose. “I didn’t—”

Punk shoved his cock back into her mouth, past the pulsing ring meant to keep him out, and into her throat. He’d never been able to do this to a woman before, and if he had, they’d instantly gagged and shoved him away and called him an asshole. But Miss Heyman took it, just like she said she would, and his ego was starting to come back, his confidence coming out of hiding. Unfortunately for his precious peach, he’d only just begun. He shoved two thick fingers inside her slick pussy, her body lurching, hand grasping the base of his cock as he removed his hand and she was free to bob at whatever pace she desired. 

“You were wet before, but once you get my cock in your mouth, it’s a fucking waterfall,” Punk snickered derisively. He pumped his fingers in and out of her bare, immaculate cunt at a steady pace, thumb flicking her rosy clit whenever he felt like it, and she groaned, forcing him in her throat again, body convulsing as she gagged, and there was nothing sexier than a woman forcing herself to gag without being told to, because she enjoyed it. “That’s right, whore,” Punk breathed, “get yourself nice and wet.”

He yanked the lower half of her body closer to him, separating the round globes of her ass so he could clearly see her leaking pussy. Above that, Punk’s eyes dimmed as he inspected the tiny, adorable, puckered hole—untouched, virgin, she’d claimed—and his dick twitched in the younger woman’s hungry mouth. “That’s a good girl,” he praised both her cocksucking skills and her virgin ass, still pumping his fingers in and out of her, feeling her walls tighten, feeling her juices thicken until they dripped down and over her clit, eventually pooling on the sheets in one unbroken bridge of filth. Punk’s mouth filled with saliva, but again he refrained from losing control and making a meal of her twenty-something-year-old cunt—he wasn’t sure how many more times he would be successful in denying the feral animal within, however. He both hated and loved that this girl could so easily take him apart piece by tortured piece.

Once his fingers were sufficiently coated with her slick, he pulled them out, the girl with his cock in her mouth whining at the emptiness, and Punk smirked, middle finger now making circles along her asshole. She yelped, pulling her mouth off him, and she turned to look at him. 

“Da—” 

“This is what Daddy wants,” Punk finessed, carefully inserting his finger only a few breadths. “I’m pissed off at your stupid fucking father and I wanna take it out on his daughter’s ass. Because she told me to.”

She swallowed, still staring at him. “But …” 

“But what? You wanna go back on a deal? Just like him?” He felt no remorse as unadulterated exploitation spewed from his mouth with practiced efficiency, brows climbing into his hairline as he silently pressured her for an answer, finger poking in to the first knuckle and out, hooded eyes hypnotized by her gleaming opening.

She took a few breaths before shaking her head. “I’m not like him,” she said quietly. 

“Then you’re gonna let Daddy have this ass?”

Blinking, swallowing, she nodded this time. “Yes, Daddy.”

Wolfish grin behind his salt-and-pepper (but mostly salt) beard, Punk thrust the remainder of his thick finger into her unyielding asshole. She cried out, head thrown back, hand taking over the work of her now-gaping mouth on Punk’s straining cock. 

“Shh,” Punk hushed, pumping his finger in and out, curling it, and her sweet body jolted at the foreign sensation. She was tight, so fucking tight, and the fact that no man—or toy, for that matter—had ever been inside this hole had precum drizzling from the head of his cock, had his balls tightening. “You said you could take it for me,” he taunted. “Like a big girl.” 

“I can take it for you,” she whispered, breath ghosting along the wet head of Punk’s glistening cock. Her tongue fell out of her mouth and she licked the head, swirling, sucking, lapping up the oozing precum.

Punk groaned, adding his index finger into her stretching ass.

“Fuck!” she cried out, gripping one of his muscular thighs as she endured the insertion until both his fingers were buried to the hilt in her unused ass. 

“That’s it,” Punk breathed, his eyes glassy and focused, watching her cute hole open wider and wider. He’d never seen anything sexier, anything more breathtaking, and oh shit … He snatched her mouth off his dick before he came prematurely—something he would never live down, especially to a girl twenty years younger than him. “I’m gonna give you one more finger because you’re being so good for Daddy. But then you’re gonna sit your ass on my cock and make me feel better, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Daddy,” she forced out, eyes squeezed shut, voice strained as she endured what Punk imagined was quite an awkward and painful intrusion.

He slipped his ring finger inside her after sliding it along her pussy to lube it up. Pleasuring him was lost on her as she mewled, burying her face in his thigh, squeezing his dense muscles for comfort, or a distraction. Punk fucked his three fingers in and out at a steady pace, his cock threatening to split right down the middle if it got any harder as he watched her take it—watched the determination and distress tug at her beautiful features mashed against his thigh, watched her ass open so prettily and fucking easily, like it had been waiting all this time for CM Punk to come along and wreck it. 

“Alright, come here, princess,” Punk beckoned, reluctantly removing his fingers, grinning ear to ear as her hole gaped, pulsed at the loss of him. He watched the blush-colored harness as she moved to face him. “Ah, ah.” He held up a finger, making a circle toward the ceiling. “Turn around.”

She swallowed, her throat bouncing, and Punk’s gaze drifted to her peeked nipples behind his merch shirt and the curves of the bottoms of her breasts just before she obeyed, putting her back to him. Licking his lips, Punk grabbed both sides of the harness at her hips and directed her to straddle him, and his attention was instantly drawn to the clasps at the top of her crack. 

“What are these for?” he asked, finger tapping the golden hardware. His eyes rose when she turned her head, and he followed her gaze to the table beside the bed. Punk had no idea how he’d missed them, but there they were: two leather handcuffs, each with a small belt to make them as tight as desired. Punk wondered if today was Christmas and nobody had told him. “Aw, Peach,” he cooed, reaching over and grabbing the cuffs. “You really do wanna make Daddy feel better.” 

“I always wanna make Daddy feel better,” her voice throaty as her hands glided down his legs, lifting her ass, displaying her soaking pussy and begging asshole, the straps with the bows at her cheeks digging into her smooth skin. Biting his bottom lip, Punk slapped the right globe, making the girl squeal, jump, and he massaged the area after so he could feel it get warmer. 

“Alright, sweetheart,” Punk whispered, setting the cuffs beside him so he could take hold of her hips. He lifted to encourage her to do the same, and he grabbed his cock, still wet from the throat job, slapping it against her ass, reveling in the sticky sounds. “Hold your ass open.” Her hands apprehensively came into view, sliding down her lower back to grip her ass cheeks and pull them apart, and Punk was again gifted with the hottest set of tight holes he’d ever seen in his forty-something years. “That’s my fucking girl,” he breathed, lining his cock up with her ass, gently pushing inside. 

“Ow, fuck,” she whined, fingers squeezing her cheeks, digging her nails into her skin. 

“Take it for Daddy,” Punk said, acknowledging she’d whined but having no idea what exactly she’d said, if anything, as he stared at his thick cock stretching Miss Heyman’s asshole, disappearing inch by inch. “Almost there.” Moments later, she was seated on his hips, his dick completely enveloped in her narrow heat, and he shocked himself when he was able to fight off yet another orgasm. “Fuck,” he sighed, finishing with a chuckle. “God, you’re so fucking perfect.” 

“Daddy, please move,” the young woman pleaded, glancing at him over her shoulder. 

“Oh, you’re gonna make Daddy do all the work now?”

After a moment, her hands were on his thighs again, squeezing, her nails promising to break the skin, and following another moment, her ass began to rise, revealing his rock hard length between her cheeks, between the sweet little bows of leather attached to the harness. Before the head could pop out, he grabbed her hip and changed her direction, watching with ferocious green eyes as his cock disappeared again. The groan in his chest was unexpected and uncontrolled, particularly after a few more tender pumps when, finally, she started moving on her own, a little faster, a little harder, until she was bouncing. 

“Oh my …” she moaned. “Fuck, it feels …” 

“You love it, don’t you?” Punk breathed, hands still on her hips, helping to raise her up and bring her down. “Daddy’s cock up your ass.”

She, too, was panting, grip never relenting on his muscular thighs. “Yes, Daddy,” she mumbled. “I love it. God, I fucking love your cock in my ass.” He noticed the surprise in her tone, nearly lost amongst the lust and need, and Punk smiled. She mewled, “Ah! It feels so fucking good. It feels so fucking good …” And she repeated the mantra several more times in rhythm with their fucking, Punk taking over the thrusting, accelerating the pace to near warp speed.

Then he remembered the handcuffs. One by one, he tightened them around her wrists, then clasped them to the O ring at the top of the harness. He helped her to turn around, the bulbous head of his dick popping out of her ass lewdly, and he positioned both of them on their sides facing one another, heads sharing a pillow. Somehow he’d forgotten how pretty she was, how fucking tempting, how bad he wanted to lock her away and throw away the key and keep her only for himself. Tears brimmed her seductive eyes, several rivers having already fallen down her cheeks, and Punk wiped away what he could with his thumb. His cock twitched—there wasn’t much hotter than a girl making herself cry. 

“Look at you,” Punk quietly said. “So pretty … so pathetic.”

Her eyes closed, hips rolling. “I need you so bad, Daddy,” she whined, moving her face closer to his on the pillow. 

“Where?” 

“In my ass.” 

Punk heard the clasps behind her clinking together, her shoulders undulating. Smiling, Punk lifted her thigh over his hip, gripped his cock, and guided it back into her ass, a lot less gentle this time, forcing his length in to the hilt. Miss Heyman cried out, and Punk stole the opportunity to stick his tongue in her mouth, licking at her teeth and her own tongue until she finally closed her lips around his, forming a feral, borderline violent, kiss. 

“Yes, Daddy,” she moaned, voice cutting off with each pump of Punk’s hips. 

Punk groped her breast, thumb flicking her nipple, and she had to stop kissing him to release the most pitiful whimper he’d ever heard, and it became even more wretched when he tugged on that nipple, tugged until he spotted fresh tears trickling down her hot cheeks.

Suddenly there was a pounding at the hotel room door, the girl jumping, wrapping her leg further around Punk, tightening it, and she tucked her face into Punk’s sweaty neck. Punk glared at the door, hand finding its way to the back of her head. 

“Open the door right now!” Paul Heyman hollered from the other side. “I know it was you that sent the jet back home. The fuel for the new one is coming out of your allowance, little girl!”

Punk never stopped pumping into Paul’s daughter’s vicelike ass, and he tugged on her hair so their eyes could meet. “You can go with him,” Punk breathed, his hips picking up the pace. Her foot bounced off his lower back as he pounded into her, imprisoned hands behind her fisting the sheet, eyes squeezed shut. “Look at me.” Her lids fluttered open, eyes glazing over when they met Punk’s, and a soft smile spread her lips. “You can go with him. I can pull out right now—” She opened her mouth, brows knitted in protest, and Punk held up a finger. “I can pull out right now, and you can go with him. Or … “ His fingers slipped without warning between her slick folds, skating along her clit, and she let out a moan that had to be heard by the entire floor. “Or I can come inside your ass, and we can fall asleep together with your stupid show on.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “What do you want?”

She kissed him, still somehow tightening her leg around him. “I want you,” she answered.

Punk smiled, wide enough to show the endearing gap in his teeth, but it quickly disappeared as he began pumping his hips at a much harder, faster rate than before. She moaned, spewing obscenities, whispering his name like a prayer. 

“What—” Paul, still behind the door. “Is he in there?”

She nodded, nose and forehead brushing Punk’s, their eyes still connected. “He’s in there,” she rasped, body bouncing with Punk’s hammering. 

Punk shook his head as much as he could against the pillow, smirking. “You dirty slut,” he whispered.

She nodded again. “Your dirty slut.” Punk mirrored her action. “Now come in my ass.” She kissed him, licked his lips. “Come in my ass while he’s out there.” 

“Fuck,” Punk sneered at the vulgarity, but mostly at the way it turned him on. 

“Come inside me, Daddy. Your pretty little peach.” 

“If you don’t open this door right now—” 

“God, fuck!” Punk shouted without regard for the man behind the door. His cock pulsed as he came inside Miss Heyman’s asshole, load after load pumping into her, and their lips sought the other’s out, tongues tangling. 

“You’re a sorry, disgusting excuse for a daughter,” Paul groused, “and you are cut off!”

His daughter blinked slowly, Punk’s thrusts coming slower until he inevitably pulled out. She giggled softly. “You’re already leaking out.”

Punk smiled, and he’d heard her speak, but couldn’t quite comprehend what she’d said. “I’ll buy you whatever you want,” he rumbled. “I’ll take you wherever you wanna go.” 

“Cool,” she sighed, tucking herself into Punk’s chest again. “How ‘bout room service?”

It’s a Sunday afternoon and you’re sitting on Joel’s lap in the living room, watching a baseball game on TV. To be fair you’re mostly just staring at the players running around on the screen, not registering what’s happening at all because of a big and juicy distraction — your stepdad’s cock deep in your pussy.

Joel’s sweatpants are pooling at his feet and he’s leaning comfortably against the backrest, keeping you still with his big hand splayed on your lower belly. Your short skirt is bunched up in his other fist, and you’re slowly losing your mind over how much you want to get fucked, already drooling like a dog in heat.

“Joellll,” you whine, squirming against his broad chest. “Fuck me already. Mom’s waiting at the mall.”

You try to bounce on his crotch but he stops you right away.

“Nah, you’re here to warm my cock,” he commands and then pulls your neckline down, exposing your naked tits. His calloused palm covers your hardened nipple and he begins kneading your tit leisurely, his moustache tickling your ear,

“Imma watch the game and ya gonna practice some self-restraint. Can’t have you runnin’ around like a horny slut. Ya need to know how to control your urges.”

“Like you can control yours,” you grumble through heavy breaths, exasperated by the lack of friction. You immediately earn a tit slap from your stepdad and yelp, not in pain, but mostly out of surprise.

“I need a second dick to plug your mouth, too, huh?” Joel gruffs in your ear, sending chills down your spine, and then slaps your naked breast again. A soft moan falls from your lips as electricity shoots through your whole body when his hand grazes your nipple. Sweat beads on your forehead from the restraint and Joel’s chest, that’s heating you up like a furnace.

“Aww, you like bein’ slapped,” he cooes without a question in his tone. “Yeah, you do, dirty slut. This pussy gripped me hard.”

Impaled on his cock, you feel your walls buzzing around his stiffness, your cunt gushing more and more, your wetness sliding down to Joel’s huge balls.

You wanna scream with how much you need Joel to pound you, the frustration burning your chest. You practically hate him right now but only he can turn you into a horny mess in seconds.

“Daddy…,” you moan weakly, hoping that the pet name will make him fuck you. Joel sucks in air through his teeth, definitely struggling himself, but keeps still.

“Daddy’ll fuck you, babydoll, but I need ya to tell me somethin’ first.”

“Huh?” You furrow your brows and slightly turn your head back to him. He pushes his nose against your neck and breathes out,

“Wanna know how you got those audios.”

“W—What audios?” As always when your pussy’s full of Joel, your mind feels completely empty, it’s impossible to concentrate on anything except his shlong deep in your core.

“Jeez! So cock-dumb when I stuff you full... The ones I found on your laptop!” Joel explains with a trace of annoyance in his voice. “Of me talkin’, and those … where I’m groanin’ and shit… fuckin your mom.”

“Oh…”

“Yeah! ohhh!” Your stepdad chuckles and then growls, probably feeling another pussy squeeze from you. A wave of emotions runs through you at the mention of those tracks - shame, embarrassment, guilt, arousal. So much arousal.

“I… I recorded them,” you stummer, slightly bucking your hips and immediately whimpering with the way Joel’s cock drags against your soft walls.

“Hey, no fidgetin’! Keep still,” Joel scolds you and then his lips brush against your ear as he whispers, “How d’you do it?”

Ughhhh! Why’s he asking all these questions while you’re dying from desperation to get railed. It’s hard to talk, to think, to form sentences when your core is burning up from arousal, your pussy flooding his cock with rivers of slick, your body’s on fire and the only thought ringing in your head is ‘fuck me- fuck me - fuck me!’

“Joelll,” you moan and purr again, “Daddy…”

Your stepdad replies with a grunt, wraps his strong arm around your torso, pushing your naked tits up, and smirks in your ear,

“Ain’t movin’ unless you tell me everythin’. With details.”

You almost burst into tears with horny frustration but even with your mind clouded by arousal you realize that Joel won’t budge.

“Ok..,” you whine and start talking.

You’d never admit it to Joel but you began developing a crush on him as soon as you moved into his house. He was hot in a rugged way, confident, reserved and seemed not to give a fuck about you which was even more attractive for some weird reason. You’d never been into degradation or so you thought but suddenly imagining that big gruff man being mean and rough with you made you gush into your panties.

Like a good daughter, you tried to keep your desire at bay, avoiding Joel as well as you could, but one night tipped the scales of your depravity and you fell into the pits of hell swinging. It happened when you heard your stepdad fucking.

It was late at night and you were on your way downstairs to get some snacks. Passing Joel and your mother’s bedroom, you suddenly froze when you heard strained grunting behind the closed door. The sounds made your heart beat faster. They surely belonged to Joel and at first you thought that he was jerking off all by himself.

An image that popped into your mind almost made your knees buckle — your hot stepdad sitting on the bed butt naked, his huge cock in his veiny hand. The door was closed and you had no guts to peek inside so you walked up to the door, barely breathing. Then you heard Joel speak,

“Fuck.. move up a bit… ahhh, yeah, like that.”

Oh nooo! Your mom was with him. You scrunched your nose in disgust, trying not to think about her and rather focus on your stepdad’s sexy noises. At the back of your mind you couldn’t believe that she was silent like that. You’d be screaming like it’s the best day of your life if that man had been plowing you right at that moment.

Hiding in the darkness of the hall and leaning against the wall, you were listening to Joel’s grunts, imagining that you were there with him, under him, in his strong arms, being destroyed by his big (you were sure of it) cock. You were chewing on your lower lip, barely breathing, your pussy clenching like crazy around nothing with a desire to be fucked by your stepdad. Too scared to touch yourself, you still let your hand snake under your pajama top and began twitching your perked up nipples, rising to your peak fast, thanks to Joel’s husky growls.

When you heard a strained moan you knew he was coming and immediately began to unravel with him, shaking against the wall, your eyes squeezed shut in pleasure.

Wow! You thought lying in your bed and staring at the ceiling a few minutes later. That was one of the hottest experiences of your life and all you had to do was to listen to your stepdad’s grunts. That night you fucked yourself twice with your pink dildo, imagining that it was Joel’s dick, his growls behind the closed door still ringing in your ears.

Having tasted the forbidden fruit, you kept sneaking out of your room every night, trying to eavesdrop on Joel and your mom. It was depraved and filthy but you couldn’t stop yourself— the desire to hear him was too strong.

By a process of trial and error you came to the conclusion that Joel fucked your mom every Saturday. As sad as it seemed, finally you knew the schedule for your next trip to hell. You came untouched in the dark hall a couple more times, listening to your stepdad’s groans, but then an idea popped into your horny mind — what if you record Joel? Thank fuck your mom was always silent like a corpse. Your eyes lit up when you thought about the result. It would be so much better to lie in your bed, EarPods in your ears, listening to your stepdad’s sexy-as-hell moans while your hand is pumping your loyal pink dildo in and out of your pussy. It sounded like heaven. The next best thing would be to be fucked by Joel Miller himself but that option seemed impossible at that time.

The plan you came up with turned out to be easy to carry out — one Saturday you planted your old phone in the master bedroom with its dictaphone turned on. When you were sure that Joel and your mom both fell asleep, you tip-toed back and retrieved your phone.

Having returned to your bedroom you listened to the recording. At the beginning your mother gossiped about the neighbours, Joel complained how his brother Tommy was whipped by his wife, but then you heard it — shuffling of bedsheets, some chuckles and soon filthy sounds of your stepdad grunting and growling began flowing from your phone.

In the darkness of your bedroom, probably looking like a horny perv, you transferred the audio to your laptop, cut your mother’s yapping off, uploaded the track to your current phone and voila! — you had your stepdad's ecstasy-bringing voice at your disposal.

That lucky night you broke a personal record of how many times you came in a row, all while listening to that audio. It became your favorite track in the whole world. Fuck porn, fuck real sex, nothing and no one could make you come as hard and fast as your stepdad grunting in your ears.

You got so obsessed you began recording him talking to Tommy, or on the phone with his clients. You didn’t care what he was saying, only the sound of his raspy voice made you gush and tremble.

You’ve told your voyeuristic story to Joel, alas stumbling and making pauses, your thoughts scattered across your horny mind, all while sitting as still as you could on his huge cock.

Joel listened to you without interruption, giving you his full attention, humming approvingly at some parts, chuckling from time to time at the other. The only commentary he gave you consisted of ‘damn’, ‘holy hell, girl’ and ‘fuckkkk’. Judging by the way his chest expanded during the juiciest parts of your story, he loved hearing what length his stepdaughter had to go to get those depraved recordings of his sex noises.

When you finish talking, your stepdad wraps his arms tightly around you and squeezes you hard. He’s trembling, breathing in your scent greedily with his nose pushed into your hair. He’s fighting his own arousal, it’s overwhelming him and you’re sure it won’t take long now. Fanning your neck with his hot breath, Joel gruffs against your ear,

“Can’t believe you did all this, baby. Ya wanted me so much, huh?”

At this point your skin’s covered in sweat, your mouth’s dry, your pussy’s the wettest it’s ever been — you don’t want to and can’t lie to him in this needy state.

“I did,” you mewl pathetically and add, “I do.”

You hope this will do it. But Joel’s full of surprises. Vibrating against your body he still leans back and mumbles,

“‘Bit later. Still watchin’ the game.”

Your jaw drops and you blink at the screen, seeing red.

“I told you everything!” you exclaim and then whine loudly, “Fuck me already!”

Suddenly Joel covers your mouth with his big warm palm, pulls you close to his chest and growls in your ear,

“Doncha dare raise your voice at me, sweetie. Or ya gonna see my juicy cock only in your wet dreams.”

You’re completely immobilized, chained by Joel’s strong arms, his hand keeping your mouth shut. A feeling of being small and helpless skyrockets your arousal and you almost come pierced by his cock.

Joel’s breathing hitches and he presses his forehead to your shoulder.

“Damn…What your pussy’s doin’ right now…holy hell. Want me to bust my load, baby?”

It’s obvious that by edging you, Joel’s torturing himself, but you know that the asshole’s too stubborn to stop.

“Wanna come?” He recovers and asks with a smirk. “Do it yourself.”

Being on the edge of tears, you bring your shaking hand to your pussy and start drawing clumsy circles over your puffy clit. You graze Joel’s cock base a few times and his thighs tighten at the sensation.

Your walls squeeze him slightly as you’re moaning, touching yourself, and when you’re so close you can feel your climax, he pushes your hand off your poor pussy and grumbles,

“Fuckin’ hell! Can’t do nothin’ without me, little slut.”

With his wide palm he begins rubbing your whole cunt, clit and folds, and you drop your head back on his shoulder with a loud moan, your eyes rolling back, ecstasy flooding every cell in your body. You come instantly under his caress and Joel keeps moving his hand over your pussy, prolonging your bright orgasm.

You’re still spasming around your stepdad’s engorged cock, when he roars and turns the game off. The tv screen morphes into a black mirror that’s showing you a sinful view — you coming on your stepdad's lap with your legs spread wide.

Joel can’t wait anymore. He grabs the backs of your thighs, pushes them up and then lifts your whole body over his lap.

“Oh my god, Joel!” you gasp, panting. You’re digging your fingers into his hairy forearms, steadying yourself in the air, trying not to fall.

Your stepdad chuckles, his voice shaky,

“Saw it in a porno. We can do better, right, babydoll?”

He’s not wrong. You two are looking absolutely pornographic at this moment — your skirt is pulled up, your tits out, your pussy soaked, your hole spread around your stepdad’s bulbous tip while his long shaft is out, glistening with your creamy slick. Joel’s heavy balls are drenched with your juices which are trickling out of your entrance.

‘Stepdad ruins his hot stepdaughter’s tight hole.’ Yes, you watched a lot of videos like this, imagining you and Joel in the place of the actors. Dreams do come true!

“Hold on tight, sweetie,” you hear from Joel before he suddenly thrusts up into you, sending his whole length deep into your cunt and kissing your cervix with his fat head. You both moan loudly, watching your pussy swallow his cock and then clench onto his veiny shaft as it’s sliding out inch by inch.

Joel immediately picks up the pace and starts rutting up into your cunt hard and fast, growling into your ear,

“Shit, take my cock! Ya wanted it. Now take it!”

“Daaaah—-ddyyy—-,” you’re mewling, jumping up and down in Joel’s arms, your legs up and bent, his hips slapping your ass rhythmically. Lewd squelching of your dripping pussy fills the room and mixes with your pathetic whimpers. Your tits are jiggling with every thrust, your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, while Joel’s dick is massaging your insides perfectly. When your stepdad bites slightly on your earlobe and whispers, you might as well be in heaven.

“Ahh..you like it, yeah? Love your daddy’s voice? Love to fuck yourself silly, listenin’ to me?

“Yes—yes—yes..,” you chant, bouncing up and down in his arms, your core getting tighter with pleasure.

“What about daddy’s dick? Ya love it, too? Say it! Say it, little slut!”

You drop your head forward and watch his fat cock slam into your blooming pussy. Mesmerized by the sight, drunk on Joel’s voice and on the filth pouring out of his mouth, you obediently mumble,

“I love daddy’s cock. Love it so much.”

“Yeah, you—you do,” Joel cooes, his breath labored and unsteady. He’s close and you’re, too. “Ya gonna drink daddy’s milk with your pussy, right? You want daddy’s cum?”

“I do! I want —- want your cum—please.”

You’re not lying. You want it desperately, want to be dripping wet with his load, dirty and filthy, full of it to the brim.

“Good fuckin’ girl.”

The praise pushes you over the edge and you cry out and start shaking over his lap, your spread thighs tensing up, your clit twitching, your nails scratching Joel’s thick forearms.

Your stepdad roars like an animal, bucks his hips hard and stills with his ass up in the air, his cock deep inside you. He begins flooding your core with his hot jizz, squirt after squirt, then plops his hips on the couch and immediately thrusts them up again, fucking his cum back into you.

He’s draining his big balls in your cunt, sending his cock in and out, and you’re milking him like it’s not enough. And it never is.

When you both finish coming, Joel lowers you down carefully, his cock still inside you, and you slacken over his body — stuffed, spent and satisfied. Your weak limbs are trembling and you have no idea how you’re going to walk to your car and drive to the mall. So you take your time, catching your breath on your stepdad’s lap, until he slaps your thigh and gruffs,

“Hop off, bunny. Your mom’s waitin’.”

With a whine you get up onto your shaking feet, ready to go, but Joel circles your waist with his hands and turns you around. He grabs your panties out of his pocket and bends down with a grunt.

“We don’t want you leakin’ all over, huh, baby?”

He smirks and you widen your eyes, lifting one foot after the other. With quick hands Joel slides the underwear up your legs and tugs the panties over your ass.

You shift on your feet, feeling your stepdad’s warm cum leak out onto the gusset, soaking the material.

Joel looks up at you triumphantly.

“Daddy’s load gonna be with you all day, little whore. My little whore.”

He lifts your skirt and presses his lips to your mound covered by the thin material. Your lips part and your breathing quickens, as you’re getting horny again. What if he eats your pussy right now? Filled with his own cum?

You start daydreaming about the filthy scenario and Joel lifts his head and laughs, watching you sway drunkenly between his spread legs.

“You look fuckin’ wrecked. My cock’s better than your little audios, huh?”

“Mmm,” all you can muster to say and Joel shakes his head.

“Jesus, girl. C’mon. I’ll drive you to the mall myself.”

“Thanks,” you breathe out with a little smile and, walking like a cum-filled zombie, follow him out of the house.

Thank you for reading! Please, comment and reblog if you enjoyed the story. It's the greatest compliment for a writer💞

Stepdad Joel Masterlist || MASTERLIST

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It was fun for the first four months; watching Punk enter through the front door after his late night matches and training sessions with his wrestling boots in one hand and a bouquet of wildflowers in the other— withholding some sort of surprise or gift for you that he’d kept hidden in the glovebox of his car. Each month was something new.

Month one was a pair of studs; a dainty set of pearls to put in your new second ear piercings. Punk had taken you to get that done, too.

He’s already had quite the influence on your opinions of piercings and tattoos.

Months two, three and four were necklaces— all in which you still wear every day. Month three was your most favorite of all; a silver braided chain and a heart-shaped locket, with a picture of the two of you inside of it.

You remember it’s there every once in a while, clutching it between your fingers whenever you were having a particularly hard day at work, or simply just bored of the reruns playing on your TV.

Despite it being you and Punk’s five-month-iversary, it was just one of those nights. You were curled up on the couch beneath a blanket after a long day at work, watching an Ancient Aliens marathon. Punk always poked fun at you for indulging in that fake television documentary bullshit— finding the host of it as creepy and off putting as the aliens that they talk about.

You’d stepped into your pajamas the second you got home, knowing that your beau wouldn’t return until much later on. The soft blue glow of the screen and the occasional flashing lights were the only thing keeping you awake and waiting for Punk’s arrival.

Just then, you hear a car door slam shut, and the honk of a horn from outside. You shoot up excitedly, muting the TV and scurrying over to the kitchen island to wait for him.

“Honey, I’m hooooome.”

Punk’s teasing voice rings out before you can even see his face— you withhold your excitement for only a moment longer, not wanting to knock him off balance by pouncing on him in the doorframe.

You hear the crinkling of cellophane, the squeaking of sneakers, and finally you see the face of the man that you love.

“Hello gorgeous,” you purr slyly, colorful petals and foliage catching your eye as you scurry closer. Punk chuckles at your display of affection, holding out his arms for you to skip into them.

You do exactly that, pulling him into a tight embrace that slightly teeters him off of his feet. He wraps his arms around you tightly, planting a rough kiss against your hair.

“Missed me so much that you got up from the couch? I’m impressed. You’re usually out cold by now.”

“Mmmh, nope. Didn’t wanna miss out on my surprise,” you squeak excitedly, stealing a quick kiss from him that leaves his face hanging lazily, dressed in a smile.

“It’s not much of a surprise if you’re expecting it, player. That’s not how surprises work.”

“Well, sue me for being happy you’re home. And sue me for loving pretty flowers that I have the pleasure of keeping alive while you’re out beating people up for sport.”

Punk laughs heartily, finally having the chance to close and lock the door behind him. He steps out of his sneakers, propping them against the wall and dropping his wrestling boots beside them. You take the bouquet of colorful flowers from his hand prematurely as he hangs up his keys, knowing damn good and well who they were for.

“These are so pretty. Where’d you get them?”

“I‘ll never tell.”

“Booo. Lame.”

You give Punk a moment to collect himself— letting him shed his layers of workout clothes and free his hands from wrist tape after a long day of prepping for a match he has this upcoming week. The way that Punk worked amazed you; for his busy schedule left him barely any time to rest. He stayed up late, got up early, and had roughly two off days in an entire three week work period.

A part of you felt concerned for him, but the bigger parts knew that he was a workhorse. There was always something new to prove when it came to him, and there was simply no rest for the wicked.

After putting your new flowers in a vase with fresh water, you sat on the couch patiently, Ancient Aliens was still playing in the background. But you weren’t paying the show any mind. You were far more into the STRAIGHT EDGE tattoo that scrawled across your boyfriend’s midriff. The one you’d seen hundreds of times.

“Like the view?” Punk asks slyly, stepping out of his sweats to only his boxers, balling up the pants and tossing them towards the base of the stairs.

“Always. Get your sexy ass over here before I throw the remote at your head.”

With a quirk of his eyebrows, Punk obliges, striding towards you with those long legs of his and scaling the back of the couch to plop down next to you. He immediately pulls you into his lap, letting your hands sprawl across his pecs and travel daintily towards the back of his neck.

Your hands tangle in his hair as you admire the new beard that dawned Punk’s jaw. He was usually the type of guy to keep his facial hair minimal— only allowing a bit of chin stubble and the occasional 5 o'clock shadow.

But Punk has a hard time saying no to you. Asking him to grow it out was simply just selfish.

“I’m still getting used to this beard. It’s fuckin’ hot,” you hum, blurting out your thoughts as they come.

“Hot? It makes me feel like a lumberjack.” Punk scoffs, lifting his hips in order to get you closer.

“And you don’t think big burley men that chop down trees are hot? C’mon. I know about your little tendencies.”

“Alright, alright, enough out of you, smartass. It was one time and I told you about it in confidence. No need to wave it in my face.”

You open your mouth to speak again, but before you could even take a breath, Punk is pressing his slender, tattooed index finger against your lips, smushing them together.

“Aht aht,” he tuts, “Pump the breaks chatterbox. I’ve actually got something to ask you.”

Your eyes widen, still running aimless lines up and down the side of his jaw to the top of his right pec, “Mmmwhatisit?”

Though your lips were pressed together by the force of his finger, Punk’s face softened at your muffled curiosity. He takes a moment to make sure you’re at full attention, before removing the blockage from your mouth.

“I didn’t get you another surprise this year. No jewelry, or any of that other shit.”

You shrug, a satisfied smile sprawling across your lips as you remember just where you’re sitting. Right on his lap.

“S’really not a big deal, Punky Brewster. You could’ve walked in here empty handed and I still would’ve been trying to bite you through your t-shirt.”

You chomp at him playfully, your teeth clicking together as you pretend to nip at his nose. But Punk just holds his hand out, pressing it against your forehead to block you from getting any closer.

“You’re an animal.”

“Stop holding me back from my truest potential.”

In the heat of it all, Punk seemed to stop, and think to himself for a moment; possibly willing to risk it all and forget everything he was about to say to you. But instead, he shook his head, getting his mind back on track by anchoring his hands to your hips.

“No, no. Stop. I wanted to ask you something. And you’re making it really hard to do that while acting like a feral raccoon.”

“Thought you nicknamed me Bunny for a reason—”

“—Zip it.”

Slightly stunned by his sudden stoicness, you make a fake zipping motion with your hand, pretending to tie your lips up under lock and key. Punk sighs, and you could feel his leg start to anxiously bounce up and down beneath you.

“Since I didn’t get you anything, I was wondering if maybe… you’d possibly want to…on the offhand…try something new together?”

Your forehead notches in curiosity, scoffing at Punk’s embellishments and inability to get through his sentence, “New? Like what?”

A nervous chuckle leaves the pit of his throat. Removing one of those hands from your hips to run it through his hair, he sighs, “Well, I have an idea. But— I don’t think you’re gonna like it. Which is why I'm uh, hesitant to ask it.”

“Enough with the theatrics, Princess Punk. Tell me what you want. I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?” Punk asks, his eyes slightly shimmering with hope.

“Mhm, just about. Unless you’re gonna ask me to go skydiving— I’d rather take a dirt nap.”

“Not skydiving, no. But honestly, I think your hatred for what I’m about to ask you has surpassed your fear of free-falling out of planes.”

Suddenly, your eyes narrow. You were onto him, and he was definitely up to something. You hated how much time he had whilst alone in the gym to sit with his own thoughts and plot against you. It was annoying as all hell.

“Just ask it,” you blurt, taking your hands off of his body and tightly lacing your arms across your own chest.

“Come to the gym and train with me?”

“Are you out of your mind?!”

Your hands clam up almost immediately. It was a known fact that you and the gym never particularly got along. There was a brief phase you had in high school where you’d go on mile long runs to sweat off the stressors of being a teenager— but other than that, working out was only something you found yourself doing when you were forced to.

“I really don’t think it’s that big of an ask, Bunny,” Punk chuckles, putting on those dumb, pleading eyes of his, “It’ll be fun. I’ll teach you some moves, we’ll get a little sweaty, and after we’re done I’ll take you to the ice cream shop and we’ll get milkshakes.”

“Don’t try to bribe me with dairy, dickhead. You know how much I hate exerting more physical energy than I’m legally obligated to.”

“It’s not a bribe. It’s a peace offering. Consider it a prefaced apology,” you scrunch your nose at him, and he swats your sour face away with his index finger, “It’ll be an ‘I’m sorry for whooping your ass’ milkshake.”

“Now why would I want you to whoop my ass? Did you hit your head tonight or something? C’mon, baby. You should know me well enough by now. I don’t. Do. Workouts.”

Punk sighs, momentarily defeated. He had resorted to rubbing small circles against your cheek with his thumb, trying to do anything in his power to butter you up. But for once in your life, you stood tall. Well, sat tall, with your chest puffed and your arms crossed.

“I understand if the answer is no,” Punk huffs dramatically, running his hand up your chest to rest at the base of your neck. His head cocks, those kelly green eyes still sparkling and pleading, “But it would make me really, really, really happy if you did.”

You were now tangled up in a web of conflict. After thinking to yourself and questioning your capabilities as a girlfriend, you realize that Punk does indeed make a lot of sacrifices for you.

The playing field was mostly equal; Punk has sacrificed many of his favorite songs in place of yours when driving in the car. He stays up late and gets up early just to have your morning coffee on the kitchen table before you even arise.

But then again, you compromised your fear of awkward social situations on the multiple nights that Punk had forgotten his gear, and needed you to barge through a crowd of sweaty wrestlers to get it to him.

“Five months together and we’ve never sparred,” your beau continues, blowing out a dramatic breath, “I think it’s about time I whipped you into shape.”

“You calling me out of shape?” you quip, raising your eyebrow and feigning sarcastic hurt, “I’ll have you know that I— stay active.”

“I should rip those pretty lips right off your face. No, I’m not calling you out of shape. I’m just— pointing it out.”

“Well it’s a shitty observation,” you bellow, your expression suddenly growing timid as you trace the Pepsi logo tattoo on his shoulder, “I’d rather put a bullet through my head.”

“Does the drama ever stop with you?” Punk laughs, taking your theatrical blows straight to the gut and letting them glide off his back, “Look at me.”

Punk cradles your chin in his hand, forcing your gaze back up into those eyes of his. You knew full and well that you were being dramatic, but Punk had grown accustomed to your stubbornness. He tilts his head to the side, almost condescendingly, and trails his thumb against your bottom lip.

“What would be in it for me?” you ask quietly, knowing the answer already.

“Honestly? Nothing. But it’s a day out with me and the days that we do get to spend together are few and far between—”

“—Yeah, and who's to blame for that?—”

“—Me. I’m taking full responsibility for being the asshole that’s always at the gym. Then again, you can’t really complain. You knew what you were signing up for.”

You sigh again; it’s loud and dramatic, demanding attention from the hand of his that sat idly by your hip. Punk does what he does best, picking up on your signs and trailing that hand towards your midriff.

“Can I just sleep on it?” You shake your head, that’s now scrambled up with thoughts and a sliver of guilt for being so hardheaded, “Let me wallow in my suffering before I let you beat me up in a wrestling ring.”

“Sure. Sleep on it tonight. But have your answer by six sharp tomorrow.”

“Six? In the morning? Puuuunk!”

Your whining is no match for him. He was coaxing you with his eyes alone, and you could tell that he wouldn’t give up on this no matter how much you pleaded or negotiated.

“It’s not even that early, Bunny girl. If I was really a sadist, I’d have you up at three and make you run across the Brooklyn bridge to have you at the gym by 4:30. You’d be surprised at the way some of the meatheads at my gym start their fuckin’ days.”

To divert from the pitiful look on your face, you roll your hips against his, feeling his cock take shape almost immediately beneath his boxers. He stiffens when you move, anchoring his hand onto your hip and letting his fingers tighten and dig into your flesh. His eyes narrow at you, the corners of his mouth straightening into a disgruntled line.

“If you’re gonna have me up at ungodly hours of the morning, the least you could do is let me get you into bed first.”

You continue the torturous drawl of your hips, rocking them fluidly back and forth, back and forth. A small grunt leaves Punk’s lips, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip before he’s snapping his gaze towards where your bodies connected.

“You don’t wanna wear yourself out before tomorrow, don’t you, Bunny?”

“Maybe this will be a testament of my stamina,” you shrug, playfully walking your fingers up his shoulder.

“If I give you what you want, you better have your mind made up by the time your head hits those fuckin’ pillows.”

You freeze for a moment, your lips pushed to the side.

“Fine. I’ll do it.”

His eyes widened in pure disbelief, “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. Don’t ask me again though, I might change my mind.”

Before you could even grasp the gravity of what you’d just agreed to, Punk is pulling you by your cheeks into a fierce, passionate kiss. He sighs into your lips, murmuring sweet nothings as his back lifts from the couch cushions and takes your entire body with him.

“You’re the fuckin’ best, baby.”

“Best in the world?” you giggle sweetly, teasingly, nipping at his lip ring.

“Don’t get a big head now,” Punk tuts, keeping you steady and sitting on his lap while your legs wrap around his back, “Save that confidence for the ring.”

You pull Punk into a kiss, immediately staking claim over his mouth and tangling your tongue with his. He groans into you, loving nothing more than the taste of you after a long day of training.

“You’re lucky that I like you a whole’ lot,” you breathe out between heavy, dirty kisses, “I wouldn’t do this shit for anybody.”

Just then, as you’re consumed in the moment and the feeling of his lips, Punk stands, hoisting you up with him. You squeak at the act, wrapping your legs around his hips and locking your ankles to keep you steady.

“And you’re lucky that you’re easy to convince, Bunny baby. ‘Cause I’m not gonna go soft on you.”

“Clearly not,” you gesture down to where your bodies connected, teasing him with your double entendre, “I expect to be worked out, stretched out, and worn out.”

With your comment, Punk raises an eyebrow, shifting his hands down to grab your ass and hold you up higher, “You’re still talking about tomorrow, right?”

“Mmh, sure. Whatever floats your boat.”

The kiss continues. Punk is walking you blindly through your shared space and up towards the bedroom. He’s trying his best to keep himself collected, as you can tell by the feeling of his fingertips digging into your skin whilst he moves his assault of kisses down towards your neck. You giggle as he slowly walks you up the stairs with precision and ease, adapted muscle memory from all of the instances where he simply couldn’t wait to put you through the mattress.

“I still can’t believe you said yes,” Punk huffs, kicking open your bedroom door.

“Neither can I,” you reply, a fluttering feeling sitting at the bottom half of your stomach when he adjusts you in his arms, “But if I think about how early I have to get up tomorrow for any longer, I might start crying.”

“Ah, yes, there she is. My stubborn, whiny Bunny. Have you ever thought about your wrestling persona? Because honestly, you’ve got the chops to cut a wicked promo. Everyone would fuckin’ hate you.”

“I’m assuming that’s a good thing in wrestling?” you snap, your eyebrow quickly raising in defensiveness, “it better be, I’ll kick your teeth in if it isn’t.”

Punk chuckles, finally lowering you down onto your bed, “Of course it is. If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t have said it. But you just proved my point. You’re one of the most quick-witted people I’ve ever met—I really think you’d love standing up there in the ring with a microphone.”

“Don’t turn this into an ass kissing sesh, Punker. Just because I like the sound of my own voice and am sparring with you tomorrow doesn’t mean I want to do it full time. I’m not built for that life, I’m too fragile and perfect. Would you throw fine china in a dishwasher?”

“It’s not recommended, no—”

“—Exactly my point.”

You could feel the teasing energy culminating in the air, Punk unable to hide his catty smile as he ran his tongue across his top teeth. The bottom part of his tongue piercing catching between them.

“You’re gonna fuckin’ get it if you keep talking like that,” he warns, loud and clear.

“I’m here for it, baby. Get that one last ego boost in before tomorrow, when you actually have to be helpful and patient with your favorite girl.”

“Mhmm, that might be hard, knowing you…” His hands slowly trail up the front of your body, allowing you to lower your back down onto the mattress.

“…But I hope I’ll be getting much more than an ego boost from those pretty lips tonight.”

—

A bedside alarm clock gets your heart rate pumping promptly at 5:30am.

It took you a moment to sit up fully, drowning in grogginess and remnant sleepy thoughts, with your head feeling like a bag full of bricks as it lifted off of your fluffy down pillow.

“G’mornin’,” the casual, yet oddly chipper sound of your boyfriend’s voice snaps your attention to your chest of drawers. He was already stepping into a pair of dark green nylon gym shorts, wearing a pair of compression leggings that hugged his butt in all of the right places.

“Mmh.”

That was, unfortunately, the only sound you could muster.

Punk chuckles at your morning grumpiness, shaking his head while walking over to stand at the foot of the bed. A packed gym bag sat beside his feet on the floor, but it felt silly to roll your eyes at an inanimate object.

“I don’t get my usual? My ‘good morning Punker, ready for me to make your day hell?’. Is my girl too sleepy for her knock knock jokes?”

His teasing tone mixed with the frustration of having to wake up earlier than the sun made you seethe. You huffed out a short, dramatic grumble, and rubbed your eye with the heel of your palm, “Stop it. I’m not in the mood.”

“I hope that’s temporary,” Punk smiles cattily, grabbing your ankle above the blanket, “Because I’m gonna need you to get up, dressed, and in the mood within the next half hour. Up and at ‘em, hot stuff. Chop chop.”

He wiggles your leg playfully, before clapping his hands together, the sound loud and piercing to your freshly woken ears.

“Bossy,” you grumble again, shaking your leg out of his grasp and ripping the blanket off of you.

The cold air from your bedroom hit you like a bus. You understood why Punk was acting the way that he was, as you agreed to be his wrestling protege for the day. But you just wished the day didn’t have to start so fucking early.

You’re a good person. Not a morning person.

As you hobble to the bathroom, you hug your arms to your chest to keep the heat that was once beneath your covers, and curse the existence of blackout curtains.

Although you had put up quite the fight, it didn’t take long for you to get ready. April mornings were still unforgivingly brisk, despite the promise of Spring, so you opted to layer up with a tank top and crew neck stolen from Punk’s collection. You slid into a pair of biker shorts and layered a pair of matching grey sweatpants over top of them.

“Prison break?” Punk’s eyes narrow and float down to your groutfit, eyebrows wiggling, “Is that your court-mandated jumpsuit?”

“Fuck off, I picked the first thing I saw.”

“The world is your oyster and so is my closet, Bunny.”

“One more rich comment out of you and I’m smacking that lip ring off your face,” you growl, sliding past him towards your closet to bust out your beaten up tennis shoes from high school. The only athletic shoe you owned.

“It’s hard to believe that you’re this fired up already. Should I comment on those busted ass sneakers or would that earn me a roundhouse to the balls?”

“You’re skating on very thin ice,” you pinch your fingers, nose scrunched and already bothered enough by the fact that it was morning.

“Oooh, don’t tempt me.”

After you were all dressed and equipped for the day, Punk led you down the stairs with a begrudged wrist tug. He began to speak vaguely about your plans for the gym; dancing around what he was to teach you and how exactly he’d go about it. He also explained the importance of warming up, although he didn’t feel the same towards the heat in his car.

He opened the door for you, not without a kiss to your cheek, and let you slide in. You were still pouting and groaning at just about every quip he had up his sleeve. But that didn’t mean much to Punk. What meant something to him was the fact that you were there with him, when you typically wouldn’t be.

“No breakfast? Coffee? Nothing?” you ask softly, watching Punk maneuver out of his parking spot.

“We could get breakfast if you want. I usually don’t eat ‘till later but— I don’t want you to suffer too much.”

A smile trails his sentence, clearly enthralled by your presence. His persistence and knowledge was almost endearing at this point, so you decided to cut the stick up your ass attitude and try to enjoy the moment.

“Maybe just a coffee. I’m definitely gonna need it.”

As he drives through the already busy Brooklyn streets and makes his way onto the parkway, Punk’s hand moves from the steering wheel down to hold your thigh. You glance down at it, ogling at his tattoos and getting yourself hyped up for the long day ahead of you.

Punk sighs, tapping the hand of his that remained on the steering wheel, “Be honest. Are you actually mad about this?”

“No, I’m not, I’m just— being dramatic.”

“I expected that.”

You shake your head and flick his arm, “I’m willing to make today a good day despite my phobia of workout equipment and sweating. And besides, doing it with you is the easiest part.”

“You think so?” he asks, his eyes flitting to your face in his peripheral view.

“I know so, baby. A full day spent with you is the best gift of all.”

“You’re corny,” Punk scoffs, but you could see the blush race to his cheeks.

“I know.”

The rest of the drive to the gym was ordinary; metal music turned down to tolerable volume, a pointless conversation about why Punk thinks red means stop and green means go, and far too many sexual quips for this early in the morning.

After a quick coffee run at your favorite local Manhattan coffee shop and a half-assed park job in the parking garage where the two of you shared your first kiss, you and Punk set off into the crisp morning air towards the training gym.

“Have you thought about what moves you’re gonna teach me?” You ask from beside him, sliding down to interlock your hands.

“I have,” he hums, “I most certainly have.”

Punk swings your arms as he walks, his sentence trailing off into a whistle. But you eye the side of his face, an eyebrow raised with a demand to know more.

“You’re… not gonna tell me?”

“There’s no fun in just— telling you. You’ve gotta find out for yourself once we get in there and warmed up.”

“Puuunk,” you whine his name, watching the back entrance to the gym appear closer and closer, “C’mon. Just tell me one thing. One move you’re gonna teach me. Please? Pleeeeease?”

“No. I’m standing my ground just this once. You get away with a lot of shit with that cute face and big sparkly eyes. I’d like to keep at least one thing sacred.”

“Maybe you’re not telling me because you’re scared that I’ll be better than you.”

Punk stops in his tracks, just before the entryway of the gym, “Scared? Of my cute little Bunny? Baby, don’t make me laugh.”

“I thought Bunny was an endearing nickname! Not a condescending one for when you feel threatened by my super secret wrestling skills,” you huff dramatically, stomping your foot against the pavement.

No match for your empty threats, Punk slides in front of you, his arms crossed as he blocks the gym door, “I’m not being condescending. I’m just layin’ out all the facts. If you get in that gym and prove me wrong I’ll admit it, but there’s no way that the girl who runs from treadmills is gonna be an instant pro.”

You roll your eyes. He’s got you there. Maybe you figured puffing up your ego to be as large as his would make all the difference. But in reality, you still knew practically nothing about how to do moves, or when to tap out.

You barely knew anything about wrestling at all.

“I’ve been to a few of your matches,” you continue on your tirade, poking a finger into his toned pec, “Maybe I’ve subconsciously picked up on a few things.”

Just then, Punk snatches your petite hand up in his larger one, bringing that extended pointer finger of yours up to his lips.

“Well when you put it like that— I’d like to think that I lead by example.”

You giggle softly, and Punk nips at the tip of your finger with his teeth. He just can’t resist pulling you into him, snaking his arms around your waist to stare deeply into your eyes.

“Surely this is a fire hazard,” you quip, eyes narrow and fueled by the flame of your beating heart for him.

“Who gives a shit? The blockheads in there wouldn’t leave their machines if a tornado swept through the building.”

Punk leans down and envelops your lips into a soft, commanding kiss. You found it hard to pull away after a moment, though it was necessary for your day to continue. A breath catches in your throat when he flees the kiss with a tug to your bottom lip.

“Punk,” you warn, “you better cut it out. We might not even make it to the locker room at this rate.”

“We’re already blocking the doorway. Might as well take the next step— inside.”

With that, Punk steps forward, and fishes a blank white keycard out of his pocket. He taps it on the sensor, the door unlocks, and just like that, he’s swinging it open for you like the gentleman he is. Before entering, you take a deep breath, feeling Punk’s eyes boring into you as you ground yourself.

“Ready to kick some ass, Bunny girl?” he asks sweetly, his arm gesturing towards the inside.

“You fuckin’ know it.”

When you walked into the gym, you were surprised at how empty it was. It was a Sunday morning, and maybe Sundays were considered off days for most training athletes, but not for your beau. He had you up and early before the sun even reached the horizon and packed away in the car like a little stowaway. You could tell that Punk was relieved by the vacancy of the gym, as he immediately made a beeline towards the men’s locker room.

“Alright uh, stay here— I’m gonna scope it out. Make sure there’s nobody hidin’ in the showers or anything so you can get undressed.”

He shoots you with finger guns and the click of his tongue before backing away into the locker room. You wave him off, glancing around at where you’ll be spending your day.

The gym was very open concept, a raised ceiling with large ceiling fans, reminiscent of a brutalist warehouse. Surely it was a reinvented warehouse that was bought out by a company with not enough money to raise its own structures. Off to the side were a few scattered workout machines, and in the middle sat the ring.

You were tempted to step inside it, to bounce off the ropes and see what it was like to feel the adrenaline rush of a thousand little spindles of fiber burning across your back. Something about it was just so enticing, despite your total lack of interest in being a pro-wrestler. But instead of giving into your thoughts, you just waited, with your shared gym bag slung over your shoulder.

“Coast is clear, hot stuff. Come on in here and strip, we’ve got work to do.”

You giggle at Punk’s head popping out to fetch you, scurrying towards the locker room excitedly. You weren’t sure why, but seeing the ring so free and empty of any well-meaning and trained professionals gave you the confidence boost that you sorely needed.

When you stepped into the locker room, Punk was already standing by the sink, admiring himself in the mirror. He had been waiting for you to come in, keen to how he spun around the moment you appeared in his line of sight.

“Hand me the bag,” he demands, his arm outstretched and fingers wiggling impatiently.

“Already acting like a princess. No tiara?” you comment, hooking the bag to his forearm.

“We all know who the real princess is in this locker room. Take off that prison jumpsuit and get the fuck over here. I don’t have all day.”

When you pull off your crew neck, you nail it at his back, shaking your head as you start to step out of your sweatpants. You were now left in a tight fitted tank top, a pair of spandex bike shorts, and a ruthless smile that you couldn’t seem to wipe off of your face.

“Come here. I wanna wrap up your wrists.” Punk’s words are muffled by the permanent marker wedged between his teeth. He motions for you to join him at the mirror with a wiggle of his eyebrows, although his gaze was occupied by the search for his wrist tape.

“Ooooh, wrist tape. Thought that was reserved for the pros.”

“Don’t be stupid. This is my one opportunity to turn you into a mini me, and I will not pass it up.”

You lend him your wrists, and watch as he skillfully finds the ripped end of the tape to start unraveling it. He tears out a large piece, keeping it intact to the roll, and starts to gently, skillfully, wrap it around your wrist and hand.

He does the same to the other, occasionally catching your wandering eyes as they stare at his nimble fingers.

“You’re really good at this,” you comment, your voice soft and silky.

“And you’re kissing my ass. I’ve been doing this shit every day for the past ten years.”

“Can’t blame a girl for trying to flirt with the hot guy from the gym.”

“What, is this a roleplay now?” Punk chuckles, ducking down to tear the last bit of wrist tape off the roll with his teeth, “We could do the strangers deal. And maybe later, I’ll let you play doctor.”

“God no,” you huff, catching onto his playful crosstalk, “I take it back. I’m already out of my element as is. The last thing I need right now is to play pretend.”

“Actually, I think you’re wrong.”

He finishes wrapping your other wrist in tape, mastering his methodical routine.

“Wrong? How so?”

“Wrestling is intertwined with playing pretend. If you pretend that I’m not your boyfriend and instead, the thorn in your side that can’t seem to let you win no matter how hard you try, you might be motivated enough to put me away.”

You raise a curious eyebrow, though still deeply infatuated by the sound of his voice, “You want me to pretend to hate you?”

“I’m not saying exactly that but, something along those lines. A bit more of that unbridled Bunny-girl rage might be good for your first time in the wrestling ring.”

You take Punk’s words into consideration. Perhaps it was all just a big game of pretend. Although he seemed to dumb it down in a way that you, someone with the bare minimum knowledge of wrestling, would understand, there seemed to be some truth hidden within.

Once both of your wrists were wrapped, it was finally time to hit the floor. Punk jogged out of the locker room, but you trailed timidly behind.

“Don’t get shy on me now, you were just talking a big game outside that door over there.”

“I was trying to impress you.” You raise your eyebrows, and watch closely as Punk saunters over to a stretching mat tucked in the corner of the gym.

“Lying out of your ass doesn’t impress me, baby,” he pauses his sentence with a grunt as he bends down to move a set of weights out of his way, “Progress does.”

You roll your eyes; he was right once again. He motions for you with his eyes through the mirror, and you join beside him, feeling two feet small.

“Okay, we’re gonna stretch first. We’ll do some individual dynamic stretches, some partner stuff, and then I’ll get you into some high knee laps around the ring. Sounds good?”

You nod wearily, your face already half flushed with dread. “Sounds like I don’t really have a choice.”

Punk eyes you in the mirror, laughing down to the floor before hooking his arm around you and pulling you into his hip.

“Atta’ girl. Such a fast learner.”

And so it began. You were off like a shotgun. The stretches were the tamest part of your workout, though you hadn’t felt those parts of your body being worked out since last night. It was nice to feel looser, agility wise. The partner butterfly stretch was probably your favorite, since the compensation for stretching out your legs and groin was a kiss on the lips.

When it came time for jogging, high knees, and jumping jacks, Punk took it slow. He made sure not to leave you in the dust of his long, muscular legs, and instead kept the pace steady for a novice like yourself.

After your tenth and final lap around the ring, your body already felt like it was teetering on the edge of weakness. It was just sad at this point.

“That… was the warm up?” you puff, resting your hands on your knees with your face to the floor.

“If it got your heart pumping and your legs feeling like they could wrap around the back of your neck? Yes. That was exactly it.”

Punk began to stretch his legs again, grabbing each ankle from behind and pulling them upwards. He watches you as you collect yourself, hoping you’ll look up to see the still unwavering smile on his face.

“Consider me… warmed.”

“Yeah?” he teases, running his tongue across his bottom lip and letting it catch onto his lip ring, “You look like you just got hit by a car. Poor thing.”

Your breathing was still labored and choppy, but that didn’t stop you from flipping him off.

“While you’re out here collecting yourself, I’m gonna go get changed.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Changed? What do you mean changed? You’re already in workout clothes—”

Before you could even dream of continuing, a tattooed finger is smashed against your lips. “Shhh. You’ll see.”

When Punk walks away, you’re left standing in confusion. In soreness. In feeling worn out and whooped already. You were upset at the lack of sleep you’d gotten last night, though it was nobody’s fault but yours (and Punk’s collectively, since it takes two to tango).

As much as you hated to admit it, you were excited to get to work. Learning wrestling moves that you’d seen done so many times in the last few months, and learning them from someone that you trusted more than your own two feet. The more you stood and listened to the fans whooshing around in the gym, the more that looming pit of anxiety turned into adrenaline.

In the midst of your space out, a long, loud whistle catches your attention. Your body snaps to it, without thinking, and is faced with just about the most glorious thing you’d ever seen.

Was Punk… in a fucking Speedo?

Your jaw hangs open, tongue practically unraveling and falling out of your mouth as Punk stands at the entryway of the locker room shirtless with his hands on his hips.

“Was it worth the wait?”

“Holy shit.”

You were extremely tempted to run up to him and tackle him in wet, sloppy kisses; the sight of him so bare, yet so damn confident in his skin made you want to tear through that small scrap of spandex with your teeth. There were Chicago stars lining the waistband, the garment itself a vibrant shade of canary yellow.

At every match you’d attended in the last five months, Punk has wrestled in basketball shorts. You’d heard him talk about wrestling gear before, recalling the time he told you about his trunks, and how they almost came down to his ankles during one of his less recent matches. You assumed what he was wearing right now to be the trunks in question.

“You look killer,” you whistle, walking circles around him like you were a puny dog barking up a tall tree, “That bikini bottom has got me bothered.”

“Consider this a part of your gift— I never train in trunks. Ever.”

“It is—quite the gift,” you guffaw, shamelessly ogling at the smallest bit of his stomach that spilled out over his waistband, “but I can tell you right now, this is gonna be a distraction for me.”

“You’ll get over it. The same way I do when you’re making pancakes in no bra and a t-shirt.”

“Touché.”

Entering the ring was the one thing you were anticipating since walking in here; and now, it was finally time. Punk slid beneath the ropes on his hands and stomach, twisting into a kip-up that made your insides churn. He leans onto the ropes with a devilish smile, glancing at your figure down on the floor.

“Don’t try that at home,” he jokes, walking to the corner of the ring and holding out his hand for you, “M’lady.”

You blush at the simple action, timidly stepping up the steel stairs that lead to the apron. He watches your every move like a hawk: each step you took, how your spandex shorts complimented your hips and ass, how there was now sweat forming on your chest and pooling towards your sports bra.

You bow your head, feeling the energy of an imaginary crowd chanting your name and buzzing with excitement. A smile spreads across your face as Punk holds open the ropes for you, allowing you to step into the ring gracefully.

“You just nailed that entrance, baby,” Punk smiles, almost sizing you up with his eyes, “They love you.”

“Who, the crowd?” you giggle in return, folding your arms as you watch your lover bounce off the ropes a few times.

“Mhm. Can’t you hear ‘em screaming? They’re yelling ‘Bunny! Bunny, you’re so perfect! You’re the most beautiful girl in the world!’”

He makes fake crowd noises, cupping his hands around his mouth. But you’re so rowdy with anticipation that you smack his hands away, teetering on the edge of losing patience.

“C’mon, stop stalling. Teach me something. I’m fuckin’ pumped.”

Punk raises an eyebrow at your ballsy gesture, “A stark contrast from this morning.”

You run in place, pretending to toss punches at him and shuffling back and forth on your feet, “Oh get over it, you know I’m not a morning person.”

Standing at attention and watching as Punk lazily traipsed alongside you felt borderline embarrassing. Were you too excited about this training session? Maybe so. But now, you were just waiting for anything he was willing to throw your way.

He stays still, arms crossed, occasionally snickering at you trying to provoke him. There’s a flicker of desire in his eyes; you could tell that he hadn’t the chance to appreciate how sexy you look in your workout clothes.

“Swing at me. Go on, do it. I’m ready.”

“Are you?”

“Oh, for the love of God Punk, yes. How many times do I have to say it?!”

Punk smirks, running a hand through his hair. He’s got an air about him now that looms over the gym; in essence, this was his ring. His crown, his throne. You were simply just a court jester.

“Before I do anything, let me let you in on a secret. One little thing you need to know about being in the ring…”

He steps closer to you, his words fanning across your face which makes you drop your clenched fists down at your sides. You were anticipating it, waiting and watching hungrily.

But just then, there’s a wall pulled over your eyes. Suddenly, your feet were no longer on the ground, and your ass was hitting the mat.

“…you have to be vigilant.”

You stare up at him, stunned by the impact of your body giving out in such a way. A heavy breath leaves your larynx, as he just stares at you with a smile.

“Told ya’ I wasn’t gonna go soft on you.”

“Fuck you for that,” you grumble, remaining on the ground and basking in the humiliation of having your feet swept out from under you.

“No hard feelings?” he offers a hand, and it takes you a moment to grab it.

Once you’re back upright, having dusted yourself off and reconfigured your posture, you were back with a fighting chance. Your fists were, once again, clenched at chin level, egging him on.

“If you kick my feet out from under me like that again, you’re sleeping on the sidewalk.”

“The sidewalk? Don’t be like that, player. I just said there’s no hard feelings.”

The dance between the two of you continued on. From teaching you basic grappling techniques, simple move sets, and ways to dodge a punch, Punk had you trailing his every move. Eventually, you got him with a good whack to the nose— reminiscent of the punch you’d hit him with on the night you met him.

You watched with narrowed, concentrated eyes as Punk carried on like the punch was nothing, seeing blood pour from his nose, coat his jaw, and drip onto the mat with each shuffle he took.

“Alright, lunge at me,” he says, his voice rugged and eager as your matchup heats up, “Come at me like you mean it.”

“I’ve tried!” you whine, jumping in place, “You’ve dodged everything I’ve attempted!”

“Just do it. I’ll let you hit me. I’ll sell it like you just knocked my soul from my body. C’mon baby, just do it. Show me what you’re made of.”

With a steady grounding breath, you lunge at him. Two wide steps lead you right into his muscular, glistening arms. But a high pitched yelp gets caught in your throat when he ducks down, catches your midriff, and hoists you over his arm.

“Put me down!” You squeal, arms flailing as he spins you horizontally to rest atop both of his shoulders.

“Fight your way out of it. Don’t let me get the chance to finish you off,” he suggests, attempting to help, his words jagged and breathless.

“How?! How am I supposed to get— out of this?!”

You begin to wriggle your way out of his grasp, feeling his arms loosen with each sharp movement you made. He grunts as you fight, though he seemed like he was letting you off easily.

“Knee me in the face. Just’— do it, Bunny.”

“No! Put me down!”

You flail your limbs with equal force to which he was holding you, eventually sliding off of his shoulders and landing back onto your feet. You gasp in shock at your own abilities, and take the first chance you can get to tackle him onto the ground.

A loud grunt rips through your chest, a sound you never knew you were capable of making. Soon enough, you were sitting beside him, with his arm and neck both trapped in a headlock.

“Fuck!” Punk shouts, the wind knocked from his lungs as you hold him. Your confidence came swooping back in like a hawk, giving you the push you needed to extend your leg and press your shoe into his side.

The only thing you seemed to grab onto from Punk’s lesson earlier was a singular submission hold. A signature of his.

The Anaconda Vice.

“Tap out! Tap the fuck out!” you shout at him, tossing your head back as you pull his arm and neck with you.

Your head was spinning, Punk’s breathing was erratic; neither of you could believe the position you were in. You had seen him do this move before. All of the pieces may have finally been falling into place.

“Tap out you fuckin’— son of a bitch, c’mon!”

You feel your vocal chords shred with each hurtful word, you could see the blood and sweat just raining off of Punk’s face, his stubborn ways of life not letting him give up without a fight.

Through grunts, whines, and a practically dislocated shoulder, you and Punk’s eyes meet. There’s a fire between them that holds so much emotion, so much tension, so much pain.

“Let me have this! Let me win! For the love of fuck, tap out!”

“Tighter.”

You barely catch his hushed request through the sound of shuffling bodies. “What?”

“You fuckin’ heard me.”

You follow his command, stiffening your bicep and squeezing him into the crook of your elbow with another loud grunt.

“That’s it. That’s the stuff,” he nods quickly, sweat flicking off of his hair and onto your arm, “Keep fuckin’ going.”

Eventually, your grunts turned into full on shouts. You wouldn’t be surprised if someone walked in the gym and thought the two of you were getting mauled by a lion.

“Tap out!”

“Tap the fuck out!”

Ding ding ding.

The imaginary victory bell rings out in your head the moment your boyfriend’s palm starts violently smacking against the mat. He groans as you release him, the two of you collectively sighing and rolling onto your backs.

That wave of adrenaline from earlier had peaked the moment you’d successfully gotten him into a submission hold; and now, you were just simply basking in the aftermath; blood, sweat, heavy breathing and all.

“Holy shit,” Punk comments, wheezing through the two words between breaths, “I didn’t think you picked up on that.”

You roll your head over to face your lover, who was staring at the ceiling in dismay with a hand tucked between his black locks.

“I’m a good selective listener. The submission stuff seemed the most fun to me.”

“Fun?” he forces out a chuckle, “You think that shit’s fun?”

“It was fun to do it,” you shrug, sprawling out like a starfish and letting your hand drape across his chest.

“Can’t teach a pillow princess shit. You know there’s a difference between submission and submissive, right?”

“Please, I’m not a fuckin’ idiot.”

Punk laughs dryly, clearly beaten up by your little sparring match. But you just as well. There was thick air that hung above the wrestling ring, it was brooding yet wildly energetic— a palpable tension between you.

“You alright there, champ?” You speak to the ceiling.

Punk doesn’t reply.

Your lips pull to the side as you attempt to sneak a glance at him through your peripheral. His abdomen kept a steady rhythm of up, and down, up and down, catching his breath and seemingly processing the hell of a match you’d shared.

Just as you attempt to speak again, you feel your entire body being pulled by two strong hands.

“Shit!” you squeal, somehow managing to end up straddling Punk’s hips while still in your exhausted daze.

“Bunny, baby,” Punk pants, his eyes jaded and gloomy, “that shit was hot.”

“What—?”

Before you can process anything about what had just happened or where your bodies had ended up, Punk’s hands run down to the small of your back, and simply just rest there.

“You have any idea how fuckin’ sexy it is to have my own move done to me? How goddamn gorgeous you looked while screamin’ at me to tap out like a little bitch?”

You shake your head, still too much at a loss for words to even think about clapping back.

“My own fuckin’ move got me all hot and bothered, baby. All because of you.”

“I don’t—” your own thoughts are interrupted by a jagged thrust of Punk’s hips. They lunge upwards, and you feel the shape of his growing erection through the two layers of spandex that separated you.

“Feel that, Bunny? Feel what you fuckin’ do t’ me?” Punk whispers, his neck craning to let his lips meet your chest and dance towards your collarbone.

“Punk,” you whine out, finally able to digest the magnitude of this situation, “We’re in the middle of the ring.”

“Like I give a shit?” he huffs, his arms snaking around you like the anaconda he emulates, “I never knew such a sweet little thing could get so fuckin’ nasty.”

Just then, a catty smile sprawls across your face. You didn’t quite understand what your lover was on about. But after careful consideration of his words and the feeling of his cock prodding your pussy through your gym shorts; your head seemed to screw on right where his was.

“Didn’t have faith in me, did you?” you tease, taking advantage of your position and rolling your hips against him.

“Of course I had faith. Baby, I’d a’ let you tear my arms off if you kept up. But fuckin’ Christ, the way you saw your opportunity and immediately went for the kill? Talk about a murder-suicide.”

One thing about Punk, despite how much he teased you about acting like a lust-sick fool— was that he was equally as smitten.

He runs his hands past your back to cup your ass, gazing at you through those sea-glass eyes of his. You swore he hadn’t blinked in a few minutes.

“I’m glad I’ve been a good protégé,” you smile warmly, running your hands across his chest and dipping down to collect his lips into a tender kiss, “I had fun with you today.”

Punk returns the kiss, and it’s soft at first. Savoring the taste of you on his tongue while taking a moment to let it all linger. The feeling of your body, slick with sweat and pressing against his. The gentle thudding of your heartbeat, that seemed to pick up the moment your lips connected.

But just as you’re under the guise of this being a sickeningly wholesome moment, Punk’s hand snaps to your throat, squeezing the sides of it roughly enough to force open your eyes.

“Cut the sappy shit. I want a rematch.”

You gasp as the reignition of the kiss knocks the air from your lungs, wondering if you should prepare for more sparring, or something else along those lines.

“A— a rematch?” You pant, interrupted by Punk sinking his teeth down into your bottom lip, “But— we’ve been at this for hours.”

“Weren’t you saying yesterday that this was all a ‘testament of your stamina’? Where’d that fiesty girl from a few minutes ago go, hm? Did I knock your head around a few times too many?”

“You’re being such an asshole,” you giggle, pressing your lips down onto his chest and tasting the saltiness of his perspiration, “and my God are you sweaty.”

“I’m sweaty? No shit.”

His sarcastic giggle seemed to propel him forward and due to your current position on his lap, took you with him. He lifted you gracefully, with precision and ease, causing your heart to skip a beat and a small little gasp to get caught in your throat.

Punk anchored his hands on your ass to stand upright. You were now tight against his body, with your ankles locked behind his back and your hands clasped around his neck, holding on for dear life.

“Yeah. You’re fuckin’ sweaty. It’s gross.”

“Y’know, you make a compelling point there, Bunny girl. I guess you didn’t seem to pick up what I was puttin’ down as far as a rematch goes. How about we wrap up our in-ring business and take this to the showers?”

You aren’t even granted the opportunity to respond before Punk is walking you towards the ropes. He sets you down gently, and holds open the top rope to allow you to step out onto the apron. The second his feet hit the actual gym floor, you were back in his arms, and your lips were reconnected like magnets.

“You sure there’s nobody else here?” you pant, your hands unable to decide which part of his back to claw onto.

“Just trust me, would you?”

The feeling of his hands cradling the backs of your thighs was already getting you worked up— the roughness of his fingertips combined with the feeling of scratchy, unraveling wrist tape was a sensory overload. Surely the same went for Punk, since your taped up hands had been crawling across his back since the second he picked you up in his arms.

You heard the gentle squeaking of his wrestling boots guiding you into the locker room, noticing the second they hit the tiles as he rounded the corner. You were so wrapped up in kissing him, letting his tongue twirl with yours and explore your mouth while trusting him to blindly, yet softly, place your ass on the counter top.

Kissing Punk never gets old. No matter how many times you’d lean in to sneak one over the center console of his car, or the plethora of kisses he’d steal one from you to shut you up before bed. Each time was special. It was like the ground rolling under your feet while fireworks lit up the sky above.

Fireworks. Butterflies. Anything that flutters about and paints the world around you in vibrant colors. Whether that world is the comfort and privacy of your own apartment, or the sweaty, dimly lit training gym.

Everywhere Punk kissed you felt like home.

Unfortunately, that fantasy of ‘feeling at home’ was but a daydream. You were now perched onto an oddly clammy granite countertop, feverishly making out with a man who had just spent three and a half hours kicking your legs out from under you and having a damn good time doing it.

“Did you really have fun today, Bunny girl?” Punk’s words knock into your teeth, he was too eager to get his sentence out before fully pulling away.

“I did, surprisingly. Don’t think I’ve worked out like that since I was in PE class but, I digress.”

Punk chuckles, his thumb right there to catch your eyes that dropped down to his torso, “I thought you told me you do things to ‘stay active’? Was that— a lie?”

His expression feigned hurt, though you could see right through those big green eyes in a heartbeat. He was teasing you, he always did.

“Okay, I may have bent the truth. But I’d never lie. I’ll have you know that I walk to the foot of the driveway to grab the mail like, every day.”

“Training for a marathon, I see,” he puffs sarcastically, his wandering hands driving you a bit insane with the way that they cradled your hips, “But seriously, I’m proud of you. And I’m really happy we did this.”

Sincerity was a rarity, coming from Punk. But in the odd moments in which he let that big heart of his show through that tough, blistered exterior, you could almost see the glimmer in his eyes. The fluorescent lighting of the locker room seemed to give him a bit of an angelic halo and the only thing you could think about at this moment was how happy you were to be here.

“I am too. Sorry for uh, being a whiny brat about it.”

“I said it once and I’ll say it again, I wasn’t gonna go easy on you. You took that shit like an absolute star.”

“Did I really?” You were smiling so wide that it actually started to hurt your face.

“Of course, baby. You’re a fuckin’ champion.”

You smirk at the compliment, finding it hard not to shy away and blush, “Your champion?”

“Mmmhm.”

“Best in the world?”

“We’re getting ahead of ourselves now, don’t you think?”

In the ways he does best, Punk shuts you up with a kiss. You expected not to be talking for much longer— as the promise of a shower was still up for grabs. He wasted no time in upholding that promise, reaching down to thumb the elastic of your sports bra. A silent plea, permission to tear it off of you.

“Go for it,” you read his mind, catching that catty smile of his out of the corner of your eye.

He peels you out of your bra, freeing your breasts and allowing himself to cup them as he kisses you. The action pushes you backwards, a soft moan trapping in your chest when he starts to thumb at your sensitive nipples

“God, that sports bra is a nightmare. It’s tight as hell,” Punk comments, ignoring the way you squirm beneath his touch.

You decide not to answer, wondering if your hushed little moans were enough to communicate with him telepathically.

It seemed to be enough after a few moments of tender loving care, as he was now making his way towards your shorts. That spandex was uncomfortable, especially after working out in it for hours in a building with very little air conditioning.

In a frenzy of undressing, quick jabs and plenty of laughter, the two of you were fully bare. Punk had switched you over to the wall towards the shower, with your back pressed firmly against the cool tiles.

“You’re fuckin’ beautiful, do I tell you that enough?” Punk murmurs, his breathing heavy as his lips travel down to your collarbone to shower it in love bites.

“You tell me plenty, Punky Brewster. Keep it up.”

You could feel him grinning widely against your chest. His lip piercing cool to the touch, despite the heat surrounding the scenario. Cool enough to jolt your entire body the moment he wrapped his lips around your stiff peak.

You moan through a sigh, your leg seeking refuge at the notch of his hip as he pulls you in closer. He was always one to pay attention to detail, and right now was no exception.

“Punk,” you groan, your hand lacing into his jet black hair and pushing it out of his eyes.

He hums around your breast, taking his opportunity to snake his free hand down between your bodies and attach his index finger to your clit. Slow, aggravating circles around the sensitive bud bring an electric shock down your spine.

Both you and Punk were impressed by how wet you were already.

“Unreal,” Punk hisses, his face finally coming back up to meet yours and tower over you once again, “un-fucking-real.”

You raise a wobbly eyebrow, barely able to manage your facial expressions as he works away at you with his fingertips, “Hey, you started it.”

“And you let it continue.”

Without warning, Punk plunges two fingers into your soaking wet heat, causing you to gasp and your knees to buckle. His viridian eyes were like daggers, unintentionally claiming your soul.

“So fuckin’ wet for me baby. God, you’re a dream. Is what happened out there what’s got you all worked up?”

You stammer, begging your brain to let you have just one final quip. But your mouth betrays your plea, unleashing a low grumble instead as his fingers pick up pace inside of you.

“Oh, my sweet Bunny girl. Can’t even answer my question, can you? You’re so goddamn needy.”

“Punk,” you whimper his name like a song, “please.”

“Please what, hm? You’re a big girl with an even bigger mouth. I know you can say it.”

Your attempt to speak is ripped away from you the moment Punk finds his rhythm. Your rhythm. His fingers pumped deeply, hitting that sweet spot with each snap of his wrist.

“Oh, I see. My Bunny wants to get fucked doesn’t she?”

A quick nod of your head was all you could muster.

“Really?” he answers you, despite your lack of words or any sound at all, “Right here? You wanna get fucked in the locker room where I tape up my wrists and get changed? In the gym that I’m at every single day? So that every time I’m in here I’ll remember those sweet, desperate eyes of yours?”

You nod again. He understood.

“Well, I’d never deny my baby the pleasure,” he scoffs, though the situation was anything but funny, “You always end up getting what you want at the end of the day anyway, don’t you?”

Punk’s last comment seemed to resuscitate you; you were now not only able to speak, but you were able to think clearly, despite your first orgasm of the day on the horizon.

“That’s— your fault,” you breathe out, narrowing your eyes as the sound of your arousal is now audible, “You— you spoil me.”

“Oh, trust me. I know,” he replies, a sly smile on his face as he picks up on the signs of what was to unravel at the hand of his fingertips, “I never said I was complaining.”

You slam your lips against his; albeit a bit roughly. He lets out a huff, abruptly pulling his fingers out of your pussy.

You squeak. That wasn’t what you asked for, nor expected.

But you also didn’t expect Punk to pull you into the shower and press you against the wall by your neck.

The sequence of events left both of you breathless, now in a silent battle of whose eyes could make the other one fold. A flutter of your eyelashes seemed to do the trick, as you watched Punk melt before you.

“Want me to be rough?” He asks gently, his hand still clamped around your throat while the other caresses your cheek. Quite the juxtaposition.

“Do whatever you please. I’m yours… All yours.”

You kiss him again. You just couldn’t help it. He moans into your mouth and drops his arms to your waist as you run your hands across his broad chest, still slick with sweat. The passion between you was undeniable, you could kiss him for an eternity, though that wouldn’t fly in a moment like this.

Punk pulls away, laughing softly as he guides your body away from the path of the shower head. He turns the nozzle, letting that first bout of water splash against the tiles. You could feel already that it was too cold, pooling at your feet as he reached over to adjust the temperature for you.

No jokes about how you like your showers hotter than the surface of the sun, no teasing. Just you and Punk in comfortable silence as the water thrummed against the floor.

“How is it possible that you could switch from a condescending asshole to a cuddly teddy bear in a matter of seconds?”

Punk’s eyebrows raise, his hand feeling out the water as his body glistens.

“I wouldn’t be like this if it weren’t for you, y’know.”

“I hope you mean that in a good way,” you smirk, “Because personally, I like you better when you’re not being a dick.”

“But you also like it when I am. Don’t think I don’t notice.”

Punk takes your hand and guides you into the warm stream, the water falling over your heads like a storm and trickling down into your eyes.

“I guess I’ve got a bad poker face,” you smile, changing the subject, “Is this an okay time to tell you that I’ve always wanted to be kissed in the rain?”

“It is. Now, is that separate from your lifelong dream of kissing me in the shower, or—?”

He laughs again, and snakes his hands back down to where they rested on your hips, but you just sigh in awe of him, “You’re not very imaginative.”

“Meh, I’m more of a realist. But if kissing me in the rain is what you want, you bet your sweet ass you’re gonna get it.”

He pulls you back in, his lips are salted from sweat, yet inherently sweet in the way that he kisses you. The water runs between your bodies as you press yourself into him.

Your mind was racing with thoughts— but as there was a lull in the pacing of the kiss, you figured, what better time to speak your mind.

“Punk?” you whisper, grabbing his attention in an instant.

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

Punk’s eyes widen, his mouth slightly ajar. You were kicking yourself for speaking so out of turn but in a way, it just seemed so right.

“Bunny, baby….,” he scoffs, pure disbelief, “…Holy shit, I love you too.”

You weren’t lended a moment to process what had just been said— Punk was hoisting you up by your thighs to hold you, spinning you around to press you against the wall of the shower where the water could still reach.

The smile hadn’t left either of your faces, it was evidently clear.

“I’m kinda mad that you said it first. Had this whole spiel planned and everything—”

“Oh my God, you absolute bullshitter!” you chuckle at his sarcastic whining, unable to control your hand from brushing through his wet locks, “you can’t even decide on what you want for dinner most nights. No way you had something planned.”

“Nah, you’re right. Maybe I’m just bitter that you stole the moment,” he admits, biting his cheek.

“Well, you snooze, you lose. Now we can say it whenever, Punker. No holds barred.”

“Jesus Christ, I didn’t even take that into consideration,” he wipes an imaginary bead of sweat from his forehead, “Mind saying it again?”

You roll your eyes in protest, still being held up by his body flushed against you. The contact of wet skin on wet skin was making you antsy. Hell, the admission to loving him combined with your current position was making you more aroused than you were before.

“Fine, how’s this; I love you. So much. Now can we cut this conversation short and can you just— fuck me, please?”

Punk grumbles, taking your face in a handful. His eyes glimmer when they look at you, an expression of pure adoration, “God, I love you more.”

The next few moments spent with Punk had given you severe whiplash; first, he was kissing you tenderly, letting his hand wander across your hips, to your tits, to any place within his reach. Then, he was leaving little nips and bruises across your chest, painting your flesh in dark shades of purple where only he could see.

But suddenly, in the midst of all the whining, moaning, and the sound of water smacking against the tiles, Punk was scooping up your wrists and pinning them above your head.

“You ready for me, baby?” He asks, his voice gravely and eager.

You nod confidently, “Mhm.”

Just then, with as much core strength as he could muster, he keeps you pinned against the wall with your arms raised above, and lines his cock up with your entrance.

You glance down at where your bodies were connected, biting your lip and stifling a high pitched moan at the way he pumps himself a few times to prep.

He slides into you slowly, his thick shaft stretching your walls comfortably and drawing a long and loud sigh from your chest. You couldn’t help but smile, your eyelids fluttering closed as he pushed himself deeper.

“Mmmh, s’ fuckin’ big,” you mumble high bouts of praise, the feeling of him a bit overwhelming at the start.

“Yeah? You look so pretty takin’ my cock, Bunny.”

His hips began to snap; it was evident that he was losing all sense of control when it came to being inside of you, but he tried his best to take things slow. He wanted to savor this moment with you, despite the rough and tough flirting and the obvious desire to split you in half like a log.

“Fuckin’ shit, Punk,” you whimper out, your wrists feeling tender now as his hand kept them hostage.

Punk listens closely to the sound of your pleas, using them as means of communication as your mouth was quickly occupied by his thumb.

Your eyes shoot open when he slides his thumb into your mouth, cupping your chin and forcing your gaze into his jaded eyes.

“Look at that face. That gorgeous, gorgeous face…”

You suck gently on his finger, widening your eyes double their original size as he continues to thrust into you. It was getting unbearable— all of the emotions and feelings swarming around you had left a swirling feeling in the pit of your stomach. You were smitten, love sick, drunk on the way he admired the explicit scenes of your lips wrapped around his thumb.

He picks up the pace, you moan around him. You were thankful that he’d taken the liberty of using his own hand as a muzzle for your desperate sounds.

Tears began to form in your eyes at the pressure of his cock hitting that sweet spot with each thrust; the shower water still trickled down your forehead, swooping off the bridge of your nose. But Punk just smiled at the vulgarity of your face before him, watching remnants of leftover mascara run down your cheeks and paint them with streaks of charcoal.

“You’re close, aren’t you?”

You nod.

“I thought so, my girl.”

He slides his thumb from your mouth, antagonizing you with the pace of his strokes and watching with wide eyes as a string of your saliva follows.

“Gonna cum for me baby? Make a mess on my cock?”

Punk takes the hand of his that was once entrapped by your lips and rests it on your waist, allowing himself to thrust his hips with even more force. You yelp at the change of pace, your ankles locked around his back.

“Please. Please. Please.”

The most you could do was beg now, the both of you panting heavily at the other’s disposal. You clench your walls around him, pinching your eyes shut at the wave of pleasure that slowly started to build at the bottom of your stomach.

To speed things along, Punk reaches between where your bodies meet and attaches a finger to your clit. You were already squirming, the vulgar sounds happening around you clashing together like the sounds of a symphony.

It almost felt as though you were too busy writhing around to look at him.

“Look at me. Fuckin’— look at me.”

He reads your mind. Your wish is his command.

“Let me see that face while you cum for me, Bunny. Such a good girl...”

One last deep thrust of his hips had you doubling over in ecstasy. Though you couldn’t move very far due to the restraint of your wrists, you felt stars begin to fog your vision as the two of you chased your orgasms in tandem.

It was a fleeting moment; one simple gaze into his eyes made you melt. He grumbles, watching you unravel beneath him, shifting himself impossibly closer as he remains buried inside you.

“Punk, holy fuck,” you whisper, your voice fleeing the scene.

“You’re fuckin’ absurd. ‘Got me all messed up in the head. God, I could look at you for hours.”

What was once a moment fueled by lust and passion had turned rapidly into tenderness— there was something so special about being this close to Punk. Feeling this close to Punk. Your body was sore, and limp, though thoroughly satisfied. You hadn’t a thought nor complaint in the world about what it would feel like waking up tomorrow.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” Punk comments, finally releasing your wrists and keeping you pinned to the wall with his body alone.

“I’d like to hope so. It’s what you signed up for.”

He smiles at your wit, bringing him back to that typical snarky expression that he wears so well. You were still in a daze from getting your lights fucked out.

After a few minutes and a plethora of stolen kisses; Punk slides out of you gently, letting your feet drop to the tiles. He steadies you with a helping hand, knowing full and well that your knees could give out at any moment.

The rest of your shower with Punk is amorous and unspoken. He had taken on the task of running out to the locker room while naked to grab all of his shower necessities from your gym bag.

He bathed you delicately, running the plush washcloth up and down your body like he was polishing a piece of fine china. You smiled at his gentleness, returning the favor moments later as you washed his hair.

After your shower, Punk set you up nicely on the warm up bench with a fresh towel and a pat on the ass. You were sure that your hearts were still fluttering after saying ‘I love you’. It was now just a matter of when the spell would break.

“You alright back there, player?” Punk glances at you through the mirror, stepping into a clean pair of briefs.

Your towel is hugged to your chest, “I don’t think I brought a change of clothes.”

“You fuckin’ serious?”

“What?! It was early! My brain doesn’t start working until like, 1pm.”

Without another word, Punk chuckles, and reaches into the gym bag. He pulls out a pair of boxer shorts and a lacy bralette of yours, still keeping your gaze in the mirror as he tosses them behind his shoulder.

The clothing lands at your feet. He smirks at his own reflection.

“I know you a lot better than you think, Bunny girl. I’m always one step ahead.”

You didn’t think such a simple thing would bring heat to your cheeks— but you were simply obsessed with the way he thought of you.

You were in love.

Once you were changed back into the clothes that you’d worn on your way in, freshly showered and well-taken care of, Punk gathers your shared belongings and slings them over his shoulder.

“Still want that apology milkshake?” he smiles, extending his hand. Another quip. But for some reason, that spell still had yet to be broken.

Obery lay on his side as you entered the room, lazily stroking along the arm of a whore. A very pretty whore, you had to admit.

"My sunshine! I was waiting upon your return," he exclaimed and propped himself on an elbow while gesturing you to approach.

"Come. I found us a very pretty little thing tonight… Her name is Lysia. She comes from very far away... Pentos. And her skin is just as warm and soft as they say the Pentosi beaches are. Isn't that right, sweetling?"

The girl giggled as Oberyn's fingers playfully pinched her nipple. He only averted his gaze from her once he realized that you weren't heading toward the bed but the table.

"My sweet love. Do you not feel like joining us? She can do lovely things with that cheeky little tongue of hers. I'm sure you would be more than pleased."

In response, you sat down and crossed your legs, which was an obvious sign. And now even Oberyn seemed to understand that you weren't in the mood for his games tonight.

"Y/n? Are you feeling quite alright?"

He let go of the girl, straightening up on the bed, fully on alert now.

"Yes. Yes, I'm fine, just… Just a little tired."

You sighed, chewing on your bottom lip. Oberyn, on the other side was on his feet at once, putting a hand on the whore's shoulder.

"Please leave us."

The girl reacted quickly, eyes jumping between your husband and you one last time before she rushed out of your bedchambers. The door quietly closed, Oberyn already taking his seat next to you.

"Look at me, my sunshine… What happened?"

Your lips pressed together, forming a thin line as you laid out what you wanted to say next.

"I just… I just didn't have a very good day. I had a bad fight with my father, my stomach is cramping and then – then I came in here just wanting to be close with my husband, but it seems like you were already busy."

You gave him an accusing look that was not at all justified. Oberyn and you slept with other people outside your marriage, sometimes even together, sometimes not. How many times had he entered your rooms only to find you in bed with multiple men or women, tangled up between sheets while you asked him to join you. You didn't have a problem with Oberyn sleeping with other women, but today was the kind of day when you simply liked to complain. It wasn't just the fact that you were bleeding but also that deep, prominent desire to be close to your husband – which hadn't been satisfied yet.

"I'm sorry, my love… I didn't know. But you know I'm never busy when it comes to being there for you. I'm here for you now. You're my priority…"

He took your hand, pressing a soft kiss on the back of it. Then, he trailed along your knuckles, lips enclosing around every single one until he continued with your wrist.

"You're cramping, my sweet?" he wanted to know, worry flickering behind his eyes.

"Yes," you muttered, softening as Oberyn's unoccupied hand reached for your lower stomach.

"Are you bleeding?"

"Yes," you repeated, eyes automatically closing as his warm palm came in contact with your tummy.

"Oh honey… Why haven't you come to me earlier? You know I always like to take care of you, mhm?"

He leaned back in his chair, though his hand kept applying light pressure on your belly.

"I don't know… I thought I would just have to endure it."

Oberyn's head shook, leaning forward to cradle your face.

"No, no, no. You're not going to endure it. You know what? I'm going to make it better, my little sunshine."

He squeezed your hand before standing up in front of you.

"Come, love."

Your eyes narrowed, looking back at him through small slits.

"Oberyn – "

"Shh," he hushed you and pulled you up by your hand.

"Get on the bed. Relax and let me take a look at your sweet little cunt. I'm going to make it so much better, I promise."

You uncertainly tilted your head but allowed your husband to guide you toward the bed, feeling both exhausted and aroused. Oberyn had done all sorts of things to you while you were on your period, even licking you between your legs where all of that blood was gushing from. At first, you had been reluctant, telling him that he couldn't do those things while you were filthy and impure. Over time, though, he showed you that your body could receive just as much pleasure on those days as usual.

Therefore, you also decided to trust him tonight. You even managed to give him a smile, all the strain and stress slowly resolving. He just had this kind of effect on you.

"Lay down, sunshine. Get comfortable. I'm going to take care of everything else."

Your head touched the soft cushions, hair sprawling out while Oberyn crawled to lay on top of you. He was especially careful around your stomach, not pressing you into the mattress, just hovering.

"Are you still hurting right now?" Oberyn whispered, brushing the hair out of your face, so he could get lost in the depths of your eyes.

"A trifle. It is better than in the morning but from time to time I can still barely withstand it."

"Then let me put your mind elsewhere, my love."

Oberyn shifted on top of you, his hand lifting the hem of your skirt to find his way between your legs. At first, he only used his fingers to spread your folds, gathering some of your blood to use it as lubrication. As much as he felt with you and wished your pain and discomfort would magically disappear, he loved how wet you naturally were while on your period. He could immediately plunge two fingers inside you, slowly twisting them while his blood-drowned thumb started touching your pearl.

It seemed almost like witchcraft, how quickly and effectively it helped you. One moment you were squirming and weakly whining about the pressure in your tummy, and the next your chest arched off the bed, veins flooded with throbbing adrenaline.

"Oberyn," you murmured and reached for his other, free hand, which he immediately used to trace patterns over your wrist.

"I know, my love… Do you like that?"

"Yes. Feels good."

Oberyn shifted his position slightly, lying partly on top of you, which gave him better access to your pussy. However, you didn't seem to welcome it, writhing and gripping his shoulder.

"N-No. Please, stay, Oberyn, please," you complained, voice trembling with despair.

"Don't worry, little love… I'm not going to leave you… Just need to touch that little cunt just the way she likes it."

Oberyn thrust his two digits in you, curling and swirling but not hitting you too deep – avoiding to hurt you further at all costs. Meanwhile, his thumb did most of the work distracting you from the cramps, circling and pressing into your bundle of nerves.

"Oberyn?" you asked after a while, wrapping your hand around his thumb.

"Yes, darling. Talk to me."

"Please spit in my mouth," you demanded with a relatively sturdy voice.

"Mhmm… you want me to mark that sweet mouth?" Oberyn growled, untangling his hand from yours to bring it to your lips. Then, he parted them, hooking his middle and ring finger in your lower teeth and prying your mouth open while he let a few drops of spit dribble onto your tongue.

"Is that what you wanted, sweetling?" Oberyn's sultry voice brushed against your ear.

"Y-Yes. Just need you, Oberyn…"

You let out a sigh of delight as he leaned forward, allowing you to nestle your face against his neck. A few minutes later, you came undone around his fingers – unexpectant and so sudden, you chocked on your own gasp. Perhaps you had been too distracted by Oberyn's strong scent of lavender and honey to notice the early signs.

Your husband talked you through it, threading his fingers through your hair affectionately before pulling back and watching your face that was drawn with tranquillity.

"How are you feeling, my sweet?" he asked and traced along your nose.

"Good. So good, Oberyn."

You watched him remove his fingers from your core and lick them clean without hesitation or doubt.

"You think your little cunt can handle more? Want to handle more?"

You briefly contemplated about his words, then looked down your body.

"Yes. Yes, I can. I need to feel close to you."

And so it happened.

Oberyn once again came into the enjoyment of entering your hole that was so perfectly warm and wet for him, your blood drowning and sucking him in. Considering your tummy ache, he paid attention to not overwhelming you tonight, superseding deep and brutal pounds in your cunt with slow and careful ones.

Based on your noises, it was just what you wanted and needed. Gratefulness stirred in your eyes, mouth forming an 'O' while he entered you over and over – making you feel stuffed, so goddamn full of his manhood.

The stretch was light and brief, but posed a welcoming diversion from your cramps. And even as it faded, the feeling of being plugged with his cock, his hand wandering across your stomach to rub away the pain, his plump lips trailing along the bulging veins at your temple made you want to cry out in sheer pleasure.

In the end, neither of you had an orgasm. After a while, you simply placed a hand on his bicep, your hooded eyes seeking his gaze.

"Oberyn?" you whispered, sounding tired and on the brisk of dozing off.

"Yes, my love?"

"Can we just rest a little? I'm so tired all of a sudden."

Your husband nodded in agreement, grazing with his thumb over your cheekbone while he attempted to pull out of you.

"No, can you – can you keep it inside a little longer? I like it so much, Oberyn."

How could he ever possibly deny you a wish?

In the end, Oberyn laid you on your side, his cock immersed inside you from behind. One of his hands had splayed out on your lower tummy, carefully massaging and warming you from outside while his cock did the same from the inside.

His other hand was in your hair, combing and caressing until you were sound asleep.

Obviously, Oberyn couldn't follow you — it was 5 p.m., after all.

But what did it matter as long as he was less than a fraction of an inch away from his sweet, perfect wife?

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