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SUMMARY: inspired by her song “fxckin (interlude)” + in which you and Kay haven’t done anything but fxck since she came back from being on tour. 🩷
“if walls could talk, they’d say we need some space, ooh. we just been fuckin’ and fuckin’, oh, every day, fuck sake…”
if anybody could see you and Kay, they’d think the both of you were out of your minds. you two hadn’t parted each other’s grasp since she’s been home, practically glued to each other’s hip. wherever in the house she went, you went, and vice versa.
but that’s not all.
not only have you two been glued at the hip, you were glued at the genitalia, too. you two would spend the entire day doing nothing but fucking and laying around — everywhere. in the bed, on the floor, against the wall, on the bathroom counter, in the shower, in the kitchen, on the couch — any and everywhere you felt like it. if she wanted you in a specific place, you’d be there, and if you wanted her in a specific place, she’d be there, too.
not to mention, the different positions in each place as well, and sometimes it’d the same position all day long. if you weren’t before, you were pretty grateful that Kay was a woman because if she wasn’t, you were 100% sure she’d try to get you pregnant.
sure you two would take breaks, but they’d be very short-lived. you’d take a break to eat, shower, hydrate, sleep, lounge around, and maybe more. but once both of you got started back up, what you were doing prior didn’t even matter anymore.
once you needed her, she’d satisfy you, and once she needed you, you’d be on her like white on rice.
“making up for lost time” is what you two would describe as, but she technically wasn’t on tour for very long, so not at lot of time had truly passed like you two claimed. deep down inside, it was probably pent-up arousal and ovulation, but neither of you paid attention to any possibility or explanation as to why you two wanted to be deep in each other’s skin and intertwine your souls so often.
you wanted Kay and she wanted you, too, and that was all that mattered to you.
KWN: Possession + praise.
In which sometimes love needs to be felt.
AN: girl idek what kwn's actual name is -- I know it's K Wilson, so I decided to call her Wilson in this!!
“Finish that sentence and I swear I’m gonna leave and you’ll never hear from me again, Wilson. I swear to God.”
Delilah’s voice cut through the room like a blade, sharp and trembling with heat, her words coiled tight as a whip. She didn’t shout—she didn’t need to. The venom in her tone was enough to still the air between them, enough to make Wilson’s jaw flex as though she’d been struck.
Delilah’s hands moved with clipped precision as she spoke, crossing her arms in front of her chest with all the stubborn defiance of someone refusing to bend, her rings glinting under the dim light as her fingers tugged impatiently at her hairpins. Each metallic snap echoed like punctuation marks to her fury, the long coils of her hair springing loose one by one as if even her body was rejecting the neatness, the composure she’d been forced into all evening.
Her hoops came next, sliding from her ears with a practiced twist, her lips pursed, her expression set into a deep frown that carved her cheekbones into sharp planes. She set them down on the dresser one by one, gold against wood, the sound far too loud in the suffocating silence of the room.
Wilson moved closer, slow and deliberate, her presence filling the small gap between them. She bent low, her mouth brushing against Delilah’s ear, her voice dipping to a low whisper that carried the weight of smoke and gravel.
“It’s just business,” she murmured, soft enough to make Delilah’s chest tighten and her teeth clench. “You know that.”
Delilah’s glare was immediate, her eyes snapping toward her with fire, and she pressed her palms lightly against Wilson’s chest, shoving her back just enough to reclaim her space. It wasn’t rough, but it was firm, a reminder that love didn’t erase boundaries, that no amount of whispered promises could smooth over the raw wound of betrayal—perceived or otherwise.
“You know you’re my girl,” Wilson said then, the edge of frustration softened by the slow drag of sincerity that undercut her words. Her hand rose, hesitant, before finding Delilah’s chin, tilting it up just enough to force their eyes to lock. The weight of her gaze was heavy, steady, a quiet kind of pleading threaded through the stubborn set of her jaw.
“Always have been,” she added, her voice lower now, almost reverent, as if saying it too loud would shatter the fragile moment. Her thumb brushed across Delilah’s bottom lip with a tenderness that betrayed the steel in her frame, the possessiveness that lived in her bones. “Always will be.”
Delilah’s breath hitched despite herself, her chest rising and falling in uneven swells, caught between the urge to resist and the ache that Wilson’s words always left behind. The golden hoops glinted on the dresser, forgotten, but the mark of the moment lingered heavy in the air—love edged with fury, devotion stitched with pride, a battle neither of them wanted to lose but both were desperate to win.
Delilah’s glare didn’t falter, not even as Wilson’s thumb traced the edge of her lip, not even when the whisper of those words—always have been, always will be—settled into her chest like an iron weight. She held her chin high, her arms still crossed in front of her as if she could barricade herself against the heat building between them.
The room smelled of cocoa butter and perfume, their mingled scents clinging to the curtains and the sheets, the air dense and humid with the aftermath of their argument. Wilson stood tall in front of her, male-presenting but softened by the glow of lamplight; the sharp line of her jaw shadowed, her broad shoulders carrying more than she ever said aloud. She looked like a storm trying to contain itself—steady, unyielding, but with lightning simmering just beneath her skin.
Delilah’s hoops lay glinting on the dresser, her hair loose and wild now, coils spilling down around her shoulders as if she were shaking off the careful perfection she’d been forced into earlier. She rubbed absently at the indentations left behind by her earrings, her jaw tightening, her lips pressing thin.
“Don’t sweet-talk me like I don’t know better,” she said finally, her voice quieter now but no less sharp. Her eyes narrowed, searching Wilson’s face for cracks, for any sign that the words were just another performance. “You say it’s business, but it feels like a knife every time you come home smelling like someone else’s world.”
Wilson exhaled slow through her nose, her hand falling from Delilah’s face to rest heavy on her waist instead, fingers splayed wide as if staking claim without needing to say the word. She didn’t argue, not yet—just let the silence stretch, her thumb stroking absent patterns into the thin fabric of Delilah’s slip.
“You think I’d risk us?” Wilson asked at last, her tone careful, controlled, though the vein in her neck pulsed with restraint. “You think I’d ever let business bleed into what we got?”
Delilah didn’t answer right away. She turned her head, eyes darting toward the window where the city pulsed in neon and headlights below, her reflection faint in the glass—a woman wound tight, tired of compromise, tired of wondering if love was strong enough to hold its shape against the world outside.
Wilson stepped closer, erasing the little space Delilah had made, her chest brushing against her crossed arms. “I don’t need business,” she said, voice roughened by truth. “I need you.” Her lips ghosted over Delilah’s temple but didn’t land, her restraint deliberate, punishing. “You’re mine, Dee. And I’m yours. That’s the only thing I’m sure of when everything else goes to hell.”
Delilah swallowed hard, her throat working as her defenses faltered. The heat of Wilson’s body seeped into hers, steady and grounding, and though her arms remained folded, her fingers curled tighter, betraying the tremor that threatened to undo her.
“You don’t get to say that like it’s simple,” Delilah whispered back, her voice softer now, frayed at the edges. “Like being yours doesn’t mean carrying the weight of everything you drag in with you.”
Wilson’s jaw flexed, her eyes flashing with something raw, but she didn’t press. She just nodded once, slow, her hand squeezing at Delilah’s waist like a vow.
“Then let me carry it with you,” she said. “Let me show you I mean it.”
The words hung heavy between them, not a promise but a plea, not possession yet but the precursor to it. And Delilah—still glaring, still unbent—felt her heartbeat stumble at the thought of letting herself believe her.
For a long moment, the only sound in the room was their breathing—Delilah’s shallow, uneven, Wilson’s low and steady like she was holding herself together by force. The weight of the silence pressed down on them, every second stretching tauter, every glance another spark threatening to ignite the air.
Delilah’s arms stayed crossed, her body angled away in defiance, but her eyes betrayed her. They lingered on Wilson’s mouth for half a beat too long, flicked down to her chest rising and falling with restrained control, then darted back up as if she could erase the slip. Wilson caught it, of course she did—she always did—and the corner of her mouth twitched into the faintest, cockiest smirk.
“You don’t want me to touch you,” Wilson murmured, her voice low, dark, like gravel dragged across velvet. Her hand still rested heavy on Delilah’s waist, heat radiating through thin fabric, fingers flexing as though they were barely restrained from pulling her closer. “But the way you’re looking at me says different.”
Delilah’s jaw tightened, her lips parting to snap back, but nothing came. Because she knew it was true. Because her body had already betrayed her, leaning infinitesimally into Wilson’s warmth even as her arms remained crossed in stubborn armor.
Wilson’s smirk softened then, her eyes narrowing with something less smug and more raw. Slowly, deliberately, she lifted her free hand, letting her knuckles graze the edge of Delilah’s jaw. The touch was feather-light, careful, almost reverent.
“Let me fix this,” she whispered. “Just this once. Let me remind you who you are to me.”
Delilah’s breath hitched. She should’ve shoved her away, should’ve stepped back, should’ve reinforced every wall she had so carefully built—but when Wilson leaned in, slow and patient, brushing her lips barely against hers, she couldn’t move. She was caught, suspended in the gravity of it, her eyes fluttering closed as her chest pressed forward despite herself.
The first kiss was nothing more than a ghost—soft, hesitant, like Wilson was testing if she’d be allowed this mercy. Delilah let out the faintest sigh, and that was all it took.
Wilson’s control cracked like thunder.
The second kiss was firmer, hungrier, Wilson’s hand sliding from her jaw into her hair, tugging her head back just enough to deepen the angle. Her mouth moved against Delilah’s with practiced urgency, teeth grazing her lower lip, tongue sweeping past the seam until Delilah gasped. The sound broke whatever resolve she had left, and her arms fell from her chest, her hands finding Wilson’s shoulders and gripping tight.
Delilah tried, weakly, to push her away—half protest, half surrender—but Wilson’s hand at her waist slid around to her lower back, hauling her flush against her body, swallowing the resistance whole.
“See?” Wilson rasped against her lips between kisses, her breath hot and uneven. “You can fight me all night, but the second I touch you—” her teeth caught her bottom lip, tugging—“you remember. You remember you’re mine.”
Delilah moaned, the sound muffled into Wilson’s mouth, and her nails dug into her shoulders instead of pushing her away. The kiss turned sloppy, desperate, all the fury melting into fire, all the fight transmuted into the ache of needing and being needed.
When they finally pulled apart, both of them breathless, foreheads pressed together, Delilah’s voice trembled in the smallest whisper:
“Always have been, huh?”
Wilson’s answering smile was sharp and certain, her thumb brushing over Delilah’s swollen mouth. “Always will be.”
And for the first time that night, Delilah didn’t argue.
Wilson didn’t give Delilah a chance to rebuild her defenses. The second she saw that tiny crack—the way her lips stayed parted, the way her nails dug into her shoulders instead of pushing her off—she pushed forward, claiming the space between them fully.
Her mouth crashed back onto Delilah’s, this time with no hesitation, no patience, just raw hunger. The kiss was hot, messy, consuming—teeth and tongue and low groans swallowed against lips that had spent too long spitting fire instead of sighing into her mouth.
Wilson’s hands moved like she was mapping out a country she’d already conquered but couldn’t stop revisiting. One slid down to cup the back of Delilah’s thigh, hitching her leg up against her hip so their bodies aligned perfectly; the other tangled in her loosened hair, tugging just enough to make Delilah whimper.
“Fuck, baby…” Wilson rasped against her lips, her voice rough, ragged, each word soaked in reverence and filth all at once. “You don’t even know how bad I need you. How bad I always need you. You’re mine, Dee. My girl. My only girl.”
Delilah gasped as Wilson’s mouth left hers only to trail down her neck, biting and sucking marks into the delicate skin until purple blooms blossomed across her throat. She tilted her head despite herself, giving her more space, and Wilson growled in satisfaction.
“That’s it. That’s my good girl,” she whispered hot against her pulse, her teeth scraping. “Let me mark you up. Let me show the whole world who you belong to.”
Delilah’s breath stuttered, a shiver running down her spine as she clutched at Wilson’s shirt, tugging it up over her head in a rush. The sight of Wilson bare-chested above her made her mouth go dry—tattoos cutting sharp across muscle, the kind of body that looked carved from want and survival. Male-presenting, but softened in this light, Wilson looked every bit the contradiction Delilah adored and resented—sharp enough to wound, tender enough to ruin her.
Wilson pressed her down onto the bed, hovering over her, her gaze searing. Her palm flattened against Delilah’s stomach, then slid upward, cupping her breast through the thin slip she still wore. Her thumb rolled over a nipple until Delilah arched into her hand, a helpless moan spilling from her lips.
“Goddamn,” Wilson groaned, shaking her head as if she couldn’t believe her own luck. “Look at you. You’re perfect for me, Dee. You hear me? Perfect. Nobody else gets to touch you like this. Nobody else gets to hear you sound like this.”
Delilah’s eyes fluttered, her lip caught between her teeth as Wilson’s hand slipped lower, under the slip, her fingers dragging down the line of her stomach until they pressed between her thighs. She was already wet, slick and wanting, and Wilson groaned low in her throat, pressing two fingers inside with steady, claiming pressure.
Delilah cried out, her head falling back against the pillow, and Wilson kissed her jaw, her temple, her ear, whispering filth and worship into her skin with every thrust of her hand.
“That’s it, baby girl. Take me. Take everything I give you. You’re so fucking good for me, opening up like this. You know why? Because you’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”
Delilah bucked against her hand, moaning brokenly, nails clawing at Wilson’s back, and Wilson only fucked her fingers deeper, curling them just right, her thumb circling her clit until Delilah was sobbing with it.
“Say it,” Wilson demanded, her voice dark velvet, her mouth at Delilah’s ear. “Say you’re mine. Louder. I want to hear you.”
“I’m yours!” Delilah gasped, her body arching violently as her orgasm ripped through her, shaking her to pieces beneath Wilson’s weight. “I’m yours, Wilson—always yours—”
Wilson groaned, fucking her through it, watching her body writhe and break apart under her hand. She kissed her hard again, swallowing her cries, and when Delilah finally slumped boneless against the sheets, Wilson slowed, pulling her fingers free only to slide them up and press them against Delilah’s lips.
“Open,” she whispered. Delilah obeyed, sucking them in, tasting herself, her eyes hazy as they locked with Wilson’s.
“That’s my girl,” Wilson murmured, her voice a reverent growl, her other hand stroking her cheek with unexpected gentleness. “Always have been. Always will be.”
And Delilah, lips wrapped around Wilson’s fingers, cheeks flushed, heart thundering, knew she believed her this time.
Delilah was still trembling when Wilson pulled her fingers from her mouth, slick with her own taste, her chest rising and falling like she’d run a marathon. She should’ve been spent—but Wilson wasn’t finished, not when the sight of Delilah undone like that had her cock straining beneath the harness she’d strapped on earlier, just in case the night went this way.
Wilson stood, pulling her shirt all the way off, revealing the black leather strap-on secured low against her hips, the silicone cock thick and glistening with the faint sheen of lube. The sight of it made Delilah’s stomach clench, her thighs pressing together instinctively, but Wilson only grinned, cocky and hungry, dragging her palm down the length of it.
“Eyes here, baby,” she said, her voice low, commanding. She gave her cock a slow stroke, the veins catching the light. “This is yours. All yours. You see it? You feel it? That’s me. That’s how I own you.”
Delilah whimpered, her lips parting, and Wilson chuckled, crawling back onto the bed, the mattress dipping under her weight. She spread Delilah’s legs with steady hands, prying her open until she lay there flushed and glistening, every inch of her saying she belonged right where she was—under Wilson.
“You’re dripping for me,” Wilson groaned, dragging the blunt head of the strap through her folds, smearing her wetness across it. “Goddamn, baby girl. You make it too easy. You want me to fuck you, huh? Want me to fill you up till you can’t take anymore?”
“Yes,” Delilah gasped, her voice breaking. “Please, Wilson—I need it.”
Wilson’s eyes darkened, her grin sharp. “That’s my good girl. Begging so pretty for me.”
And then she pushed in.
Slow at first, deliberate, watching the way Delilah’s face twisted with pleasure at the stretch. Inch by inch until she bottomed out, buried to the hilt, her hips flush against Delilah’s thighs. Delilah cried out, nails clawing at the sheets, her back arching.
“Fuck,” Wilson growled, holding still, savoring the sight of her stretched wide around her cock. “Look at you, Dee. Taking all of me. You’re so goddamn tight, I swear you were made for this. Made for me.”
She pulled back only to slam forward again, her thrusts sharp and punishing, making Delilah’s body jolt with every movement. The sound of skin slapping filled the room, filthy and raw, mixed with Delilah’s broken cries.
“That’s it,” Wilson panted, her hand sliding up to grip Delilah’s throat, her thumb stroking her jaw even as she held her there. “You’re mine. Say it again.”
“I’m yours!” Delilah sobbed, her voice cracking as Wilson drove into her deeper, harder, the strap hitting her sweet spot over and over. “Yours, Wilson, only yours!”
Wilson groaned, lowering her mouth to her ear, whispering filth between ragged breaths:
“Good girl—my perfect girl. Look at you, cock-drunk on me. Nobody else can fuck you like this. Nobody else gets this side of you. You belong to me, body and soul.”
Delilah’s climax hit hard, violent, her whole body seizing around the strap as her screams filled the room. Wilson didn’t stop—she fucked her through it, relentless, praising her all the way:
“That’s it—cum for me. Cum on my cock like the good girl you are. Show me who owns this pussy.”
Delilah’s nails dug into Wilson’s back, her voice raw from crying out, her body shaking beneath her. When she finally collapsed, spent and trembling, Wilson slowed, her thrusts turning into deep, lazy rolls as she leaned down to kiss her lips, soft and reverent.
“My girl,” Wilson whispered against her mouth, her hand cradling her cheek now instead of her throat. “Always mine. Always.”
Delilah whimpered, weak and bliss-drunk, and for the first time all night, she didn’t argue. She only nodded, clinging to Wilson like she never wanted to let go.
Wilson wasn’t satisfied, not yet. Delilah lay boneless beneath her, skin slick with sweat, lips swollen from kisses, her thighs trembling—but Wilson wasn’t done claiming her. Not when the strap was still hard between them, not when Delilah had more cries left in her throat.
“Turn over,” Wilson ordered, her voice hoarse, wrecked with lust. She tugged at Delilah’s hips, rolling her onto her stomach, then pulled her up onto her hands and knees. Delilah obeyed, shaky and gasping, her hair falling wild around her face.
Wilson gathered those coils in her fist, yanking her head back just enough to expose her throat. “God, you’re beautiful like this,” she growled, kissing the curve of her jaw before biting it. “On all fours, waiting for me like the good girl you are.”
Delilah whimpered, arching back instinctively, and Wilson groaned low, lining the strap up with her swollen, dripping entrance. She didn’t ease in this time. She slammed forward, burying herself deep in one smooth thrust that knocked a scream from Delilah’s throat.
“Fuck—yes,” Wilson hissed, holding her there, pressed to the hilt. “So fucking tight. You take me so good, baby girl. You’re made for this cock, you know that? You’re made for me.”
She set a brutal rhythm, hips snapping forward, the sound of their bodies colliding echoing in the room. Delilah clawed at the sheets, moaning uncontrollably, her body rocking with every thrust.
Wilson’s hand left her hair only to slide down her stomach, pressing flat against the soft skin just above her mound. She pushed down, hard, making Delilah feel the thickness of the strap inside her, making her gasp and choke on a sob.
“You feel that, Dee?” Wilson panted, her mouth hot at her ear as she fucked her deeper, rougher. “That’s me—so deep inside you I’m right here.” She pressed harder, making the bulge shift under her palm with every thrust. “Nobody else can fuck you like this. Nobody else can fill you like I do. This body is mine.”
Delilah’s cries broke into sobs, her eyes rolling back as pleasure tore through her. “Wilson—please—I can’t—”
“Yes, you can,” Wilson snarled, pounding harder, her teeth scraping her shoulder. “You’re my girl. You can take everything I give you. You’re so good for me—fuck—you’re perfect.”
Her praise spilled out between every thrust, relentless, filthy and adoring:
“That’s it—good girl, take it.”
“You’re mine, Delilah. Always mine.”
“You look so pretty like this—crying on my cock, begging for more.”
“Cum for me, baby. Cum and show me you belong to me.”
Delilah shattered with a scream, her body clamping down around the strap, her arms giving out as she collapsed forward. Wilson didn’t stop—she held her by the hips, fucking her through it, drawing out every last aftershock until Delilah was shaking, tears wetting the sheets.
When Wilson finally slowed, she bent over her, kissing the back of her neck, her words softer now, reverent against sweat-slick skin. “That’s my girl. My everything. Always have been, always will be. Say it back.”
Delilah’s voice was wrecked, barely a whisper, but she forced the words out: “Always yours.”
Wilson smiled against her skin, her hips grinding in one last slow roll. “Good girl.”
And in that moment—cock-drunk, marked, held together by Wilson’s hands—Delilah believed it down to her bones.
Delilah thought she was finished—her body shaking, her voice ragged, her thighs still quivering from the last orgasm—but Wilson wasn’t anywhere near done. She eased out slow, watching the way Delilah’s pussy clenched around nothing, slick dripping down her thighs, and her grin turned feral.
“C’mere,” Wilson ordered, her voice wrecked but firm, pulling Delilah up into her lap. She leaned back against the headboard, the strap thick and gleaming between them, her thighs spread wide. She guided Delilah forward, hands steady on her hips. “I wanna see you take me. I wanna watch my girl ride my cock.”
Delilah’s eyes fluttered, a weak whimper falling from her lips as Wilson positioned her above the strap. Her legs trembled, her nails digging into Wilson’s shoulders for balance, but Wilson only smirked, her grip iron around her waist.
“Go on, baby,” she coaxed, her tone soft but dripping with command. “Sink down. Show me how greedy you are for me.”
Delilah gasped as she lowered herself, the thick cock stretching her open all over again, every inch dragging fire through her body until she was seated fully, flush against Wilson’s hips. Her head fell back, a broken moan ripping out of her throat.
“Fuck, look at you,” Wilson groaned, her eyes locked on the way Delilah’s body swallowed the strap whole. She pressed her palm against her stomach again, feeling the bulge. “You’re stuffed, baby girl. Taking all of me like the good girl you are.”
Delilah tried to lift her hips, but she was shaky, her thighs giving out almost immediately. Wilson chuckled, sliding her hands up to cup her ass, lifting her just enough before slamming her back down. The cry that tore out of Delilah’s chest made Wilson’s jaw tighten.
“That’s it. Ride it, Dee. Work for it. Show me how much you love being my girl.”
Every thrust now was guided—Wilson bouncing her on the strap, her grip bruising on Delilah’s hips, her mouth pressed hot against her ear as she spewed filth and praise like a mantra.
“God, you look so good like this—my girl, my perfect girl.”
“You’re cock-drunk already, huh? Can’t even move without me holding you up.”
“You belong to me, Delilah. This pussy’s mine. This body’s mine. Say it.”
Delilah’s voice broke into sobs, her nails clawing down Wilson’s chest. “I’m yours—fuck—always yours—”
Wilson groaned, snapping her hips up to meet every bounce, driving the strap deeper, harder, until Delilah was screaming. She kissed her through it, biting her lips, swallowing every desperate sound.
“Cum on my cock, baby. Do it. Cum for me. Show me how good I make you.”
Delilah shattered, her whole body convulsing in Wilson’s lap, her walls spasming around the strap as tears streaked down her cheeks. She collapsed against Wilson’s chest, trembling, her moans broken and raw.
Wilson held her there, grinding lazy circles into her, whispering against her hair even as Delilah sobbed from overstimulation.
“That’s my girl. My everything. You ride for me, you break for me, you cum for me, and you’ll always fucking belong to me. Always.”
Delilah could only nod weakly, clinging to Wilson like she’d fall apart without her, her lips trembling as she whispered the words back:
“Always yours.”
And Wilson—grinning, sweat-slick, utterly spent but endlessly hungry—kissed her forehead, her jaw, her swollen lips, holding her as if she were the only thing in the world that mattered.
Author’s Note: This is a one-shot side chapter to my series Taste of Sin. I’ll be uploading a few of these one-shots that show how Smoke and Stack treated their past dolls 👀
Warnings: +18 | Stack x Reader | Dom!Stack | Doll Reader | Praise kink | Degradation kink | Overstimulation | Squirting | Dollification | Mirrors | Your body is being pushed beyond its limits | This is long because Stack is a yapper | Stack is off his fucking rocker and should probably be institutionalized… but I love himmmmmm
Tick tock… tick tock…
An old grandfather clock in the corner of his room ticked loud enough to rattle your nerves, each second was a thunderclap in your ears. You sat perched on the edge of his bed with your shoulders straight, ankles crossed, and breath shallow as a whisper through silk. The air in Mr. Stack’s room was thick with cigar smoke, spice, amber and vetiver, a scent you’d come to associate with your boss, your trainer, your… keeper.
This was the room other girls whispered about but never dared enter unless summoned. It contained no frills or softness. Just raw mahogany, brass fixtures, and the scent of danger in the floorboards. You’d been here once before, two days into your training. Smoke had watched while Stack pushed you to your edge and then dragged you back by the throat of your name. That night had ended in tears, bruised knees and your body trembling from failure.
But tonight… tonight was going to be different. It had to be.
Your palms were clammy against the silky hem of your emerald-green slip, the one he said made your skin glow like dusk. You wore it because he once called you precious in it. That word alone made you quiver.
Today you had a good day. Actually you had a perfect day and hoped it would be enough to receive more praise. Earlier you effortlessly took on two clients, men with deep pockets and darker desires. Together, they requested the Eiffel Tower, something Smoke and Stack had spent an entire week coaching you for. The moment you heard the request whispered in the hallway, you nearly fainted. But when the time came, you didn’t flinch. You moaned, you smiled, and you made your clients believe they were kings even if it was only for an hour. They tipped you like royalty while calling you an angel in silk. And when they left, one kissed your hand and promised to return with friends.
You’ve never been to Paris, never even crossed the Hudson. But you heard the twins talk about the city of love like it was a dream soaked in sin and champagne. Stack once described a woman who danced in nothing but pearls and red perfume. Smoke had scowled and said she could’ve learned a thing or two from you. Your heart swelled remembering it. Their praise wasn’t just air. It was gold in your bloodstream. A fix you’d become desperate for. And after one month of being their doll, specifically Mr. Stack’s doll and special project, you finally proved you were more than just another pretty face in rouge and rhinestones. You were resilient, lucrative and perfect… At least… you hoped so.
The sound of the doorknob turning took you out of your thoughts and you jumped. The tick-tock stopped mattering. The whole room stilled. Your heart raced, your thighs clenched, and your spine straightened like it was strung with piano wire.
And then finally, he graced you with his presence. All six feet and change of polished muscle, charisma, and calculated sin. His suit tonight was navy blue with no tie, top buttons undone to reveal his gold chain resting against his brown skin. His coat hung from one shoulder, fingers toying with the cigarette tucked behind his ear.
His gold tooth caught the light when he smirked. “Well, well, well… look what I got sittin’ pretty in my bed.”
You swallowed. “Sir.”
He chuckled low and syrupy, like molasses dripping off the edge of a spoon. The sound sank between your thighs and turned your belly warm.
“Now that don’t sound like the voice of no tired girl.” He crossed the room deliberately. Each step sounded like a warning. “I been hearin’ ya’ name all night, baby doll. Two men? At once?” He dragged a chair in front of the bed and sat down like a king in court. “An here I thought we might lose you to the angels when we first tried stretchin’ you past ya’ limits.”
Your cheeks flamed. “I—I didn’t pass out this time.”
“Nah, you didn’t.” His eyes raked down your body. “You was beautiful, baby. Damn near painted in sin. I watched from behind a curtain, you know. Couldn’t help myself. You was smilin’. Moanin’. Givin’ ‘em everythin’ we taught you.”
His voice dipped to a hush. “You made me real proud today.”
The words hit harder than any slap. Your chest lifted with the weight of it, the air in your lungs stuttered as your lips parted, soft and appreciative. Praise from Stack was like rare wine, always earned and never free.
“Thank you, sir,” you whispered.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes sharp enough to slice you open. “That’s what you wanted, ain’t it? That’s why you sittin’ here in that lil’ slip with ya’ knees tight like a prayer an ya’ lip bit red.”
Your body reacted before you could lie. Goosebumps rippled across your arms.
“You wanted me to tell you that you did good.”
“Yes, sir.”
He hummed like a preacher deep in thought. “You look like a porcelain thing tonight. My doll. All polished up with nowhere to go unless I wind you up an make you dance.”
You trembled as Stack reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a folded bill. A hundred dollars. He tossed it onto the bed beside you.
“For today. Tips, bonuses, an a little extra from me. ‘Cause not only did you do the job…” He licked his bottom lip. “You made it art.”
Your eyes brimmed with tears. “Mr. Stack…”
“I ain’t done praisin’ you yet.” He stood slowly, towering over you now, his shadow swallowing you whole. His hand found your jaw, gentle but commanding. His thumb brushed your bottom lip. “You learned to take two peckers at once for me. Stayed conscious. Stayed graceful. Stayed sweet.”
“An now you sittin’ here like a good girl, waitin’ for ya’ reward. That what you came here for, baby? You want Daddy Stack to wind you up an make you feel real again?”
You nodded, breath trembling.
“Say it,” he commanded. “Say what you want.”
“I want… I want my reward. Please, sir. I wanna be wound up. I wanna… I wanna make you proud again.”
He smiled. Cruel and sweet all at once. “You already have, baby. But I ain’t just gon’ hand you a treat. You want more praise? You want more of me? Then show me how my doll moves when she proud of herself. Show me what I made.”
You immediately dropped to your knees ready to prove your devotion to a man that meant the world to you. And Stack… Stack just chuckled like the devil himself watching his favorite sin bloom at his feet.
You stayed on your knees and waited patiently for permission to touch him. The hardwood floor beneath you had long since stolen the comfort from your bones, but still, you remained. Palms pressed to the tops of your thighs, your back perfectly straight despite the way your muscles ached to curl inward. Stack didn’t have to say it, your body had learned the language of obedience under his hand. Every tilt of his head, every lilt in his voice, every breath of amusement that slid from between his gold-laced teeth told you what posture to keep and what silence to hold.
Your reward was coming. But only after he was ready.
Stack moved about the room with the same confidence he always had, unhurried and precise. He unfastened the cuffs of his sleeves, rolling them to the elbows with slow, practiced flicks of his wrists. You watched him out of the corner of your eye, already quivering beneath your slip, and he hadn’t even touched you yet.
A wooden scrape echoed through the room and you could feel your stomach drop. Stack was dragging a full-length mirror from the far corner of the room. It was tall, beveled, and had a slight golden frame that gleamed under the low light of the sconce on the wall. He placed it at the foot of the bed, tilted just enough to catch every sinful inch of whatever scene he planned to orchestrate.
He then turned towards you with a grin that could melt candle wax. “Can’t give my girl a reward without lettin’ her see what she earned, now can I?”
You blinked up at him, chest tight. You knew what this was. A hidden punishment wrapped in velvet words. He knew you hated looking at yourself. Not because you weren’t beautiful, you loved what you looked like. But because when he made you fall apart… it always felt too raw, too revealing and too real. You didn’t like how Stack lived for peeling back your layers, but you didn’t call him out. You wouldn’t dare. That would be considered ungrateful.
He unbuttoned his shirt next, one bronze disc at a time, exposing the hard planes of his chest and the skin of a man that kept himself pretty while fighting the devil. His skin glowed under the low light, a mosaic of sweat and power. When the shirt hit the floor, he made quick work of his belt, unbuckling it with a soft metallic clink before dragging the leather free and letting it hang from his waistband. But he didn’t take off his pants just yet.
He sat at the edge of the bed, legs spread, thighs wide and inviting. “C’mere, baby.”
Your knees wobbled as you rose and padded toward him. The distance between the bed and your body felt like a runway to judgment, but you obeyed. You always did.
Stack guided you into his lap, your legs straddled his as your knees sunk into the plush bedding. His hands found your hips, thumbs brushing the outline of your waist through the silk of your slip.
Your breath caught as your eyes landed on the mirror. You tried to look anywhere else in the mirrored reflection. His chest. His lips. The pulse in his neck. But he caught your hesitation with razor-sharp precision.
“Eyes forward,” he grunted, voice like silk laced with command.
“I—I don’t—”
He hummed, dragging a single knuckle along your jaw. “You don’t like seein’ how pretty you look when you sittin’ on my lap, huh?”
You swallowed hard.
He leaned in, breath hot against your cheek. “That’s ‘ight, baby. I like it enough for the both of us.”
Still, you didn’t look. You focused on the warmth of his body beneath yours, on the slow glide of his hands up your thighs. That was safer. That was easier. But Stack wasn’t here to make things easy. His fingers gripped your chin, not hard, just enough to still your evasion as he tilted your face toward the mirror.
His voice dropped into a dangerous hush. “I ain’t gon’ say it again. Keep your fuckin’ eyes open.”
You blinked, heart hammering. And then… You looked. And there she was. You. Straddling a man carved from lust and heat. Eyes wide, chest rising and falling. A silk slip bunched around your hips, your legs bare and trembling, your lips parted like a prayer.
Stack’s chin rested against your shoulder now, his arms wrapped around your waist, keeping you in place like a ribbon tied around a doll that might fly away. “You see that?” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple. “That’s what my perfect girl look like. That’s what success look like.”
Your heart fluttered from the praise and a soft cry trembled from your lips, needy and light. Desperately in need of more.
He dragged his fingers up your spine, causing goosebumps to rise. “You ‘member how you used to cry when I made you bend over for practice? How you’d beg to stop? Couldn’t even take two fingers without foldin’.”
He paused and placed feathered kisses on the back of your neck. “An now look at you. Strong. *kiss* Poised. *kiss* Valuable.”
He ran one hand up your inner thigh, lifting the slip higher until the cool air of the room kissed your heat. “You know what else I see, baby?” His lips were right by your ear. “I see a girl who want more. Who’s addicted to being called perfect. Who’s sittin’ on her Daddy’s lap with no panties on, chasin’ words like they holy.”
Your hips bucked without meaning to.
Stack grinned, teeth grazing the shell of your ear. “Look at that. All I did was talk an you twitchin’ like you already came.”
“I haven’t,” you breathed.
“You will,” he said, smug and certain. “But not before you look ‘yaself in the eye an admit how much you like this. How much you like bein’ my doll. My success story.” He slid his fingers between your thighs then, just enough to tease, to spread, to test. You gasped, your body lighting up like Harlem neon signs.
“Say it,” he murmured.
“I—I like it,” you panted. “I like being your doll.”
“My perfect lil’ money-maker.” He grinded you down against his thigh, slow and punishing. “You know what happens to dolls who do well?”
“They get rewards?”
“They get to meet God.”
Your breath came faster, and you fought the instinct to look away. But his hand was still on your chin, fingers firm with silent command. He didn’t squeeze. He didn’t yank. Just held.
“You gon’ cry for me tonight, baby?” he asked, licking the edge of your jaw. “Gon’ make that pretty face crumple just like it used to before I made you perfect?”
You nodded, dizzy.
Stack dragged his other hand up to rest just beneath your throat. “Good. Then let’s see how far you’ll go tonight.”
You were starting to sweat. Not from movement, Stack hadn’t even really touched you yet. This wasn’t like how he typically touched you with an impatient and ravenous hunger that’s eager to taste. No, this was slower. Meaner. The kind of tease that made your skin hum and your nerves fray. The kind of cruel, calculated torment only he could craft.
Stack was a sweet-talking devil with a voice like jazz and a smile laced in arsenic. And right now, he had you seated in his lap like a doll stitched from obedience and desire. Legs spread on either side of his thighs, slip pushed up past your hips, bare where it mattered most. His calloused fingers skimmed the seam of your puffy slick folds, featherlight and maddening, while his other hand stayed clamped around your jaw, keeping your eyes trained on the mirror.
That damned mirror. You hated it. But you couldn’t look away. Because he wouldn’t let you.
“That’s it, baby,” he groaned, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Look at you. Look at how pretty you sit on me. Can’t even breathe right, can you?”
Your chest rose and fell in stuttered bursts, nipples stiff beneath the silk, throat dry.
“Ya’ cooze begging, ain’t it?” he whispered, pressing his fingers into your entrance just enough to breach. Not enough to satisfy. Not enough to fill. Just enough to make you squirm. “That little throb? That’s ya’ pussy talkin’. Sayin’ please, Daddy Stack, I want more…”
Your head jerked to the side on instinct, and your face flustered with shame as you tried to do anything not to look at yourself unraveling like this.
But Stack’s hand tightened around your jaw. Your lack of obedience was causing his patience to run thin. “Eyes. On. The mirror.”
You whined and reluctantly obeyed.
His grip loosened, then slid down to the column of your throat, resting there with deceptive gentleness. “This mirror ain’t here to embarrass you, baby. It’s here to teach you. You wanna be perfect, don’t you? Then you gotta see what perfect look like.”
You blinked at your reflection, tears beginning to line your lashes from the tension and the shame and the heat. You looked drunk on him. On his voice. On the coil of pressure building low in your belly. And still, he didn’t stop. He rolled his hips forward, letting the hard line of his arousal grind against your slickness through his pants. The friction made your legs twitch.
“I can feel it,” he murmured, the grit in his voice sharpening. “Feel that creamy lil’ mess you leakin’ all over my lap. So wet, baby. You drippin’ like you forgot how to behave.”
His fingers dipped between your folds again, spreading the slick and rubbing it over your clit in mind numbing circles that had you twitching in his lap. And still, he continued to whisper filth… praise… and punishment.
“All that tremblin’,” he said, voice low. “An I ain’t even took my dick out. Ain’t even stretched you. You clenchin’ ‘round air like you need somethin’ thick to plug that pretty hole up.”
You whined louder. Shame burned down your chest.
“Oh, baby,” he cooed, dragging his teeth along your shoulder. “You like when I talk like this, huh? Like hearin’ Daddy describe every filthy thing he see.”
You nodded, barely.
His hand moved faster, the circles over your clit becoming firmer and more deliberate. “Look in that mirror an tell me what you see,” he said, eyes locked on your reflection like he could peer into your soul.
You swallowed. “I… I see—”
“Use ya’ words, doll. Speak the truth. Say it proud.”
“I see your doll,” you whispered, shame threading your voice.
He growled low in approval. “What else?”
“I see… a slut,” you choked.
“Ohhh,” he laughed, voice dangerous now, almost cruel. “There she is. My good girl. My lil’ fuckdoll with manners an a mouth that finally tell the truth.”
You shuddered.
“Say more.”
“I look desperate,” you whispered.
“You is desperate,” he taunted, breath hot against your throat. “You sittin’ on my lap, beggin’ me with ya’ body an still tryin’ to act shy. Look at that slip ridin’ up ya’ ass. Look at them thighs twitchin’. You don’t even know what you want, do you?”
“I want you,” you gasped, breath breaking.
“You want praise,” he corrected. “You want me to call you perfect an stuff ya’ needy lil’ pussy full of dick ‘til it sing. You want my voice in ya’ ear tellin’ you how good you take it. You want to be seen.”
You moaned, hips rolling forward without permission.
“You ever see ‘yaself cum in a mirror before?” he asked, tilting your hips forward so your clit grounded against his thigh, sending jolts up your spine.
“No, sir.”
“Oh, you will,” he promised. “Tonight, you gon’ watch every twitch, every tremble, every goddamn tear roll down ya’ cheek as I break you just right. An you gon’ thank me for every second of it.”
You nodded in understanding, lips still trembling.
“Not yet, though,” he whispered, suddenly stilling his hand just as your climax crept too close.
You whimpered loud.
“No, no, baby,” he tutted, cupping your chin again. “That ain’t how this works. You don’t get to cum just ‘cause you want to. You cum when I let you.”
Tears spilled down your cheeks. You didn’t even realize you started crying and were no longer able to keep them at bay.
Stack licked one off the corner of your mouth with a low groan. “This my favorite part,” he said, tongue dragging slow over your jaw. “The cryin’. The beggin’. That’s when I know it’s real.”
He leaned in, forehead pressed to yours. “You gon’ beg real sweet for me, baby,” he said, voice down to a rasp. “An when I finally give you what you need… you gon’ say thank you, Daddy Stack.”
“Eyes.” The word cracked across the room sharper than a whip and you flinched. Not because he struck you. Stack never laid a hand on you in anger. But it was the tone, the drop in his voice, that gravel-dragging low timbre he used when his patience thinned and the switch from charming to cruel began.
It was all your fault this shift happened, simply because your eyes drifted again just for a moment. Just long enough to escape the sight of yourself flushed, open, and straddling him like some desperate porcelain plaything ready to be wound and used. But Stack saw it. Stack always saw everything. He sighed long and slow like he was counting backwards in his head to keep from snapping. His hand left your thigh and moved to your throat again, not to squeeze, but to hold and remind you of your place.
His gold tooth glinted as he smiled without warmth. “That mirror been sittin’ in front you for damn near half an hour,” he said, voice calm, but laced with something sharp. “An still, you lookin’ everywhere but where I told you.”
You opened your mouth, but no apology came.
“You want to be my perfect doll, huh?” he went on, tilting your chin just enough to force your gaze back to the reflection. “Want Daddy Stack to fill you up, praise you sweet, make you cry while he splits you open like a prize? Then look. AT. HER.”
Your breath hitched as your eyes locked onto the girl in the mirror. You looked blitzed out of your mind straddling Stack’s lap, cheeks flushed, lips parted, eyes wide and glossy with fresh tears. Your slip clung to your body like a second skin, pulled up just enough to reveal the dripping mess between your thighs, the slick proof of how deeply he worked you up without ever letting you fall.
“She’s beautiful,” Stack murmured, nuzzling his nose against your cheek. “A lil’ sloppy. A lil’ disobedient. But so fuckin’ beautiful.”
His hand slid from your throat to your chest, palm pressing between your breasts like he wanted to feel your heartbeat choke on every word he said. “I oughta leave you like this,” he muttered. “Make you sit in my lap for another hour, watchin’ how needy you look. Watch ya’ pussy keep twichin’ from how empty you are.”
You moaned while grinding down on his thigh like it was second nature and he chuckled. “All that trainin’ an ya pussy still ain’t got no patience, does it?”
His hand slid downward, slower this time over your stomach, past your navel, until his fingers dipped between your folds again, spreading you just enough to make you gasp. “You leakin’ like you ain’t never been touched before,” he hissed, voice thicker now, frustration brewing beneath the surface. “I’m sittin’ here, half-hard an starvin’, an you can’t even follow one simple instruction. Look. At. Yourself.”
You obeyed. You didn’t dare test him again. And just like that, his mood shifted again. Sometimes dealing with Stack was like dealing with a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. His tone softened into something candy sweet. “There she is,” he praised. “There’s my good girl. Look at that lil’ mouth tremblin’. You gon’ cry for real now, huh?”
You nodded slowly.
He pressed a kiss beneath your ear, then sat back, guiding you off his lap and onto the mattress in front of him, your legs dangling over the edge. “Don’t move,” he said. “Keep ya’ eyes forward.”
Then he stood and you could hear the slow rustle of fabric, the drag of his zipper and the shuffle of him stepping out of his pants. When he moved again, you felt the heat of his body as he stood behind you, his manhood heavy and hard, pressing against the curve of your lower back.
“Look at what you could have,” he whispered, wrapping a hand around himself, stroking slow while standing just behind your shoulder, keeping your gaze locked on the mirror. “See that? This right here?” He angled himself just enough for you to see his thick length glisten with precum.
“You want me to slide into that pretty hole ‘tween ya’ legs ‘til you beggin’ me to fill you up like the cum-hungry doll I trained you to be?”
You gasped, thighs clenching together. But he saw that, too.
“Nuh-uh, baby,” he tsked. “Keep them legs open. Let her see how sloppy she’s got.”
You forced them apart again, tears stinging your eyes.
“You gon’ behave now?” he asked, letting his 9-inch length brush the crease of your spine as he leaned over you, mouth pressed to your temple. “Gon’ keep ya’ eyes right here? Gon’ earn what’s waitin’ for you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Say what you want.”
“I want you to fill me,” you breathed. “Please. I want you to reward me.”
He hummed against your neck, dick twitching against your back. “Not yet,” he said, stepping away. “You don’t get a reward ‘til you mean it.”
Your head whipped toward him in panic, but he caught your chin again.
“You lucky I’m in a good mood tonight. Stop lookin’ away,” he said softly. “Look at her. Look at the doll I built with my own two hands.”
You obeyed and shifted your eyes back to your reflection.
“Now tell her she’s earned it.”
“I earned it,” you whispered.
“Louder.”
“I earned it.”
“Say what you’re beggin’ for.”
“I want you to fuck me. I want you to fill me up, Daddy Stack. I want your reward. Please.”
The silence that followed your plea stretched taut, like a wire pulled between lust and punishment. Stack didn’t answer you right away. He just stood there behind you and his dick grazed your back as he leaned forward again, palms bracing on either side of your thighs where they dangled over the edge of his bed.
Stack looming over you like a stormcloud. “Say it one more time,” he growled against your ear, his breath dragging goosebumps down your neck.
“I want you to fuck me,” you whispered. “Please, Daddy Stack… Please...”
He hissed between his teeth. “Filthy mouth on such a sweet lil’ doll. Can’t even keep her eyes forward, but got the nerve to beg for dick like she earned it.”
“I have,” you whimpered, voice cracking. “I did everything you said. I worked hard, I—I took both clients—”
“Oh, I know what you took,” he snapped, standing upright. His hand found your jaw again and pulled your head back so you had no choice but to meet your own reflection head-on. “I watched you. Openin’ them pretty thighs for men you don’t even know, moanin’ like a bitch in heat.”
You flinched, breath catching.
“But it wasn’t them who trained you,” he said, voice curling into venom-laced silk. “Wasn’t them who stayed up late stretchin’ you ‘til ya’ legs shook. Wasn’t them who taught you how to suck without teeth, cry pretty, an take pain with a thank you.”
You blinked, a tear sliding down your cheek.
“That was me.”
“I know,” you whispered.
“I know, sir,” he corrected.
“I—I know, sir.”
“Then show some fuckin’ gratitude.”
He grabbed you suddenly, hands hooking under your thighs, yanking you fully onto the bed. Your back hit the mattress with a gasp, the ceiling swimming above you for a moment before your vision sharpened and your legs were pulled wide. Stack climbed between them, kneeling. His hands gripped your thighs like he owned them because… technically… he did… and he shoved them open further until your knees were almost bent to your chest. Your slip rode up to your ribs exposing your core that glistened with anticipation.
You felt obscene. Like art and prey mixed in one.
“Look,” he ordered.
Your head turned, gaze snapping to the mirror. You could see everything. Your own slick smeared between your legs. Stack’s broad chest above you, muscles flexing as he gripped his dick in one hand, stroking himself slowly as he stared down at your trembling pussy.
“Been leakin’ all over my lap, beggin’ like a lil’ mutt,” he murmured, voice low and thick now. “Maybe I oughta keep denyin’ you. Teach you how it feel to want an never get.”
“Please,” you begged, fingers clutching the sheets. “I’m sorry. I—I’ll be good. I swear.”
His eyes met yours in the mirror. You weren’t sure if what you saw was forgiveness… or the storm right before it.
Stack leaned over you, the head of his length brushed your entrance, gathering slick. You gasped, trying to tilt your hips up, but he pinned you with a single hand to your stomach. “You lay there an take what’s given to you,” he growled. “You don’t get to meet me halfway.”
He pushed in his swollen tip. It was thick and heavy and stretched your needy hole in the best way possible but it made your body crave much more. Your arched off the bed with a broken sob and Stack didn’t move. He just watched. He watched your thighs tremble. He watched your core flutter around him. He watched your expression crumble in the mirror as you saw yourself impaled on just the head of him.
“Look at that greedy lil’ hole,” he whispered, dragging his hand over your inner thigh. “She takin’ me in like she was built for it. Like her only purpose is to be stuffed full of Daddy’s dick.”
You moaned high in your throat and he pushed in deeper, filling you inch by maddening inch, until he reached halfway and stopped again.
“That’s enough for now,” he rasped. “Don’t wanna break my toy before I finish playin’ with her.”
You squirmed beneath him. “More—please—”
His hand shot to your throat again, pinning you just enough to still your writhing. “You gon’ get more,” he promised, his voice now vibrating with something dangerous. “But not ‘til you behave like the doll I trained. Eyes on the fuckin’ mirror. Stop makin’ me repeat myself.”
Your gaze jerked upward, tears pooling once more and then he began to move. Just half of him grinded inside of you. Slow thrusts, deep and steady. The sound of your slick sucking him back in with every drag of his hips made the room feel smaller and hotter.
“That’s it,” he breathed. “Watch that face. That’s what a reward looks like. You see her? That mess in the mirror? That’s you. You earned that.”
You cried out, hips chasing his.
He slapped your thigh hard enough to make you freeze and possibly leave a bruise tomorrow. “Stay still. Lemme’ fuck you the way I want. This ain’t ya’ reward if you try to take it early.”
You bit your lip and nodded through the haze.
He leaned in, pressed his forehead to yours, dick still rocking into you slow and deep. His voice dipped, molten and cruel. “Feel good, baby?” he quipped. “That thick dick stretchin’ you open? That’s ya’ halfway prize. You want the rest?”
“Yes,” you sobbed.
“Then earn it,” he said coldly. “Make me proud again. Show me that the pretty lil’ slut I built from scratch know how to hold her fuckin’ gaze.”
Your mouth could barely form the words you were trying to hold in, not when Stack’s length was buried halfway inside of you moving in slow and calculated strokes like he was measuring your sanity one drag at a time.
“Shhh,” he crooned, voice sweet and saccharine, lips grazing your temple like he wasn’t unraveling you at the seams. “Don’t start cryin’ yet, baby. I ain’t even given you all of it yet.”
He was playing coy and he knew exactly what he was doing. Your reflection told the story better than words ever could. Your eyes were glassy, lips swollen, neck flushed, thighs slick and spread wide, every breath a war between obedience and collapse. His hand pressed firm on your belly, thumb occasionally brushing the underside of your breast while the other hand stroked lazy patterns along your inner thigh.
And then he paused for a second. You whimpered, brows twisting in desperate confusion as he leaned back on his knees, your legs still flung open for him. You thought maybe he was going to stop, maybe the reward was being taken away entirely, but no… Stack just spat.
A thick stream of saliva hit your aching clit, catching you off guard. “Messy lil’ thing,” he murmured with a grin. “I’m generous, baby… Ya’ button need attention too.”
He used two fingers to spread you wider, rubbing the spit into your swollen nub with slow, mocking circles and your body jolted. The combination of his half-thrust dick pressing deep and the sudden flick of his fingers over your sensitive clit had you jerking upward like a live wire. A choked moan tore from your throat and your eyes squeezed shut instinctively.
“Ah-ah.” His tone snapped sharp.
His hand came up and slapped your inner thigh again and your eyes shot back open. “You look away from that mirror again, I’ll pull out an leave you empty for the rest of the goddamn week.”
You panicked and your legs shook beneath his grip. He chuckled at the desperation blooming in your face. His fingers returned to your clit, flicking it with the cruel rhythm of someone who wanted to see you break.
“You leakin’ all over my fuckin’ bed,” he pretended to scold you, though the glint in his eyes said he loved it. “Soakin’ the sheets like a dog in heat. An for what?” His hips gave a shallow thrust, just enough to grind his half-buried length against your walls. “You ain’t even got the whole reward yet, baby. This ain’t even half of what you need, an already you cryin’? Tsk. That ain’t what my doll does.”
“Sir…I—I can’t,” you whispered, voice trembling.
He leaned over again, hand wrapping gently around your throat, thumb stroking just under your chin. “You know what happens if you finish without permission, right?” he asked sweetly.
You nodded, blinking back tears.
“Say it.”
“I… I don’t get the rest.”
“An?”
“And I get punished.”
“That’s right,” he whispered. “An not the kind you like.”
His hips rolled again making sure his skilled dick dragged along your g-spot while his fingers never let up their cruel, slippery pace. Your back arched. Your toes curled. You could feel it bubbling in your gut, building faster than your will could hold it back.
“I said hold it,” Stack hissed against your ear, watching your reflection with deadly precision. “You better not disobey me, doll. Not after all this.”
You clenched your teeth, whimpering through the urge. You tried. God, you tried. But your body was trembling violently now, your pussy fluttered around the half of him inside like it was trying to suck the rest in out of sheer desperation. Your juices kept slipping out with every shallow thrust, slick glistening down your thighs, pooling under you, coating his dick and the base of his stomach.
“Oh, baby…” he said with a devilish smirk. “Look at that sloppy lil’ cooze just floodin’ for me. You holdin’ it like a good girl, but ya’ body’s snitchin’.” He tsked, grinning. “Ain’t nothin’ but a fuckin’ faucet down there.”
You sobbed, biting your lip until you tasted copper.
“Poe’ thing,” he cooed mockingly. “Workin’ so hard to be perfect. An still drippin’ all over my thighs.”
He spat again right on your clit and resumed his flicking, faster now, more precise. “Lemme guess,” he murmured, voice low and smug. “You feel like you gon’ explode? Feel like your guts gon’ split if I don’t give you the rest?”
You choked out a sob. “Yes, sir.”
“Mm. Ain’t that a shame,” he drawled, slowing the movement of his fingers to an agonizing tease. “You so close… an yet… you still ain’t proven you can listen.”
He bent lower, his lips brushing your earlobe. “So here’s what we gon’ do, baby. You gonna lay here with Daddy buried halfway inside. An you gon’ let me tease this pretty lil’ clit ‘til ya’ legs forget how to work. An you ain’t gonna cum. You hear me?”
“I… I hear you,” you whimpered, voice broken.
“Say it again.”
“I… I… I… hear you, sir.”
“Good girl.”
And then he started again, flicking and circling, dragging his spit-slicked fingers over your clit while his rod pulsed deep inside you, like a reminder of what you still hadn’t earned.
He kept going for an entire minute and you felt a tiny ripple inside you. A shiver that climbed from the soles of your feet to the crown of your head. Then came the tightness… low and coiled and unbearable, blooming like a firestorm behind your navel. You bit your lip hard, eyes locked on your reflection in the mirror like he told you, forcing yourself to hold on. To obey. To be perfect. But your body… it had other plans.
The rhythm of Stack’s fingers never faltered. Not once. Each flick of your sensitive bundle of nerves shot another lightning bolt through your thighs, sent your toes curling, made your stomach clench, and caused your vision to blur. You were unraveling at the seams and Stack knew it. He felt it in the way your walls tightened around him like a vice, squeezing and twitching, trying to drag him deeper. He felt it in the way your hips twitched against his hand, the desperate hiccups of air you sucked between sobs, the way your slick painted his thighs like spilled honey.
Your body begged loudly for more but your mouth didn’t dare. But then it hit. A sudden collapse of restraint so violent it felt like reality gave out beneath you. Your body spasmed, back arched clear off the bed, legs shook violently, and a long, broken sob escaped your lips as your climax slammed into you.
“S-SIR!”
Your cunt clenched tight—way too tight—and pushed. Stack hissed as your walls squeezed down, slick flooding out in a hot gush, forcing his member to slide out of you entirely with a wet and embarrassing pop. The sound echoed in the room like a gunshot.
The aftermath of your orgasm left your body trembling, sensitive and empty. You barely registered the ruined sheets beneath you, soaked in the evidence of your disobedience. All you could do was look at him with eyes pleading for forgiveness.
Stack didn’t speak at first. He just looked down at his dick that was glossy, twitching, unwelcome and then up at you. His lip curled. Not in rage. Not entirely. No, it was worse than that. He was amused, annoyed and beneath all that… hungry.
“Aw, baby…” he drawled, shaking his head slowly as he stared at the mess between your thighs. “You just couldn’t help ‘yaself, could ya’?”
“I—I didn’t mean—”
“Oh, I know you ain’t mean to,” he cut in, his voice sticky-sweet like spoiled syrup. “But that’s the thing about dolls… they don’t mean to misbehave. They just… break.”
You looked away, shame swallowing your voice. But Stack’s hand shot out, catching your chin and snapping your head back toward the mirror.
“Oh no,” he hissed, the sweetness in his tone now dripping with venom. “You look. You watch what you did.”
Your eyes met the mirror again and you looked wrecked. Tears streaked your cheeks. Your chest heaved, breasts rising and falling with every panicked breath. Your thighs were still spread open, glistening and trembling. And between them… nothing… because you’d pushed him out.
“I was bein’ real generous,” he said as he rose onto his knees, towering over you now. “Plannin’ to stuff you full and call you my perfect girl. But now…”
He reached down and gripped the base of his swollen length, guiding it back to your entrance. “…now you don’t get a reward. Now you get a lesson.”
You whimpered, but your hips still tilted toward him. The punishment hurt, but the ache for him hurt worse.
“Uh uh,” he smirked. “You want Daddy to fill you up again so bad?” He pushed forward—slow, slow, slow—until he was buried deep inside this time. “Then you better take it all without misbehavin’ again. ‘Cause I ain’t gettin’ pushed out twice.”
You cried out, eyes wide, body arching at the stretch and Stack just held himself there, his hands pinning your thighs down to stop your squirming. He leaned down, dragging his tongue up your tear-stained cheek. “Do you still think you deserve a reward, baby?”
“N-no, sir,” you choked.
He smiled, all gold tooth and cruelty. “Good girl. ‘Lemme remind you of what happens when Daddy gives instead of you earnin’.”
Then came the false praise. He whispered it like poison sugar. “Look at you just layin’ there, lettin’ me use this greedy lil’ hole like a fuckin’ cumdump. That’s what you are, ain’t it? Just a pretty doll who soaks my sheets the second I breathe on her.”
You whined, trying to pull back, overwhelmed. But Stack snapped his hips forward with the strength of a black panther's pounce. Hehehe. You screamed, legs shaking.
He growled into your ear. “Don’t you run from it. You want the real thing? You stay the fuck open.”
His hands slid under your ass, gripping, adjusting, locking your body to his as he began to move. Each thrust was intentional, like he wanted to reshape you from the inside out.
“You’ll cum again,” he murmured, voice dangerously low. “An this time, I ain’t stoppin’. I want that mess. Want to feel you milk me ‘til I can’t breathe. But you ain’t gettin’ no sweet words this time, baby. You get truth.”
You gasped, body already quaking from overstimulation.
He licked your throat. “You wanna be perfect again?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then take your punishment like the dirty lil’ doll you are.”
You didn’t know if you were begging anymore. Or breathing. Or even thinking. Your brain had been reduced to static and need. Your body was quaking, soaked, overstimulated and was no longer yours. It belonged to Stack. His hands were locked beneath your trembling thighs, arms caging your hips against his so you couldn’t move, couldn’t shift, couldn’t push him out no matter how violently your body tried to squeeze him out again.
And oh, were you trying. Your walls fluttered in frantic spasms, clenching hard around him, pulling and pulsing like your body wanted to devour and eject him all at once. Your forbidden honey gushed with every twitch, a thick, watery mess that coated your thighs and the ruined sheets beneath you.
And Stack? That nigga was laughing. “Now why,” he drawled, voice thick with amusement, “why you tryin’ to kick me out again, baby? Hm?”
He gave a shallow thrust forward that was deep, mean, unrelenting. He was bullying the most sensitive spot inside your cooze and you yelled in overstimulated delight.
“Ohhh, you cryin’ baby?” he cooed, rocking his hips again, this time slower. “You doin’ all that clenchin’ an squirtin’, makin’ a mess all over Daddy’s dick like he don’t belong there. What kinda message you tryin’ to send, baby?”
You couldn’t answer. You could only sob through the overwhelming pleasure as his dick dragged along your swollen, sensitive walls, his thrusts forced you into a purgatory realm of pleasure and pain.
“Feelin’ full?” he asked, twitching deep inside. “You should. I’m so deep, baby, I could press down on ya’ belly an feel myself wavin’ back.” He did exactly that, one palm pressed against your stomach just above your mound.
You choked on your breath.
“Yup,” he whispered, smiling like sin. “There I am. Deep in ya’ guts an still, you tryin’ to push me out like I ain’t earned this spot.”
Your hips bucked like your body didn’t know if it wanted to send a plea or surrender. But Stack held you tighter, jaw flexing as he rocked his hips harder now, dragging his member from the very end of you all the way back in, grinding on every tender spot like a man who knew your body better than you ever could.
“You wanna know somethin’, baby?” he muttered, sweat beading along his brow, sliding down his chest. “You feel too good.”
He hissed through clenched teeth. “Every time you try to kick me out, these greedy lil’ walls start suckin’ me right back in. You squeezin’ me like ya’ pussy tryin’ to milk every drop outta me an still throw me out the door.”
You whimpered, the pressure building again in your gut.
“But guess what?” he growled, voice suddenly hard. “I ain’t leavin’.” His hips slammed into you, once, twice, until the air left your lungs in sharp cries. “I’m stayin’ right here,” he taunted, “‘til you learn to behave.”
Your hands clawed at the sheets, the pressure unbearable, and your body started pushing again. You couldn’t stop it or control it. Your core clamped down so tight it hurt and your juices coated his rod.
“Already?” he chuckled, mock-sweet. He shifted and hooked your legs over his shoulders, folding you in half as he slammed back inside so deep you almost partook in a tea party with your ancestors.
“Yeah,” he growled, voice now fraying at the edges. “‘Lemme see you push me out from here.”
You screamed, tears streaming freely down your cheeks as his dick bullied your soaked, fluttering walls into submission. He was so deep, so hard, you could feel your climax rising again, sharp and feral this time. His voice dipped to a whisper, syrup-thick with fake tenderness. “You want praise, doll? Here.”
He kissed your tear-soaked cheek. “You’re doin’ so well, baby. Such a good, obedient lil’ slut, takin’ my dick like a champ. Mmhm, that’s right. So fuckin’ proud of you.”
You shook your head, sobbing. You hated when he praised you like that, when it was laced with mockery. But your body loved it and Stack knew.
“Oh, I know you hate when I talk to you like that,” he crooned, still thrusting deep and slow. “All that fake sweetness makin’ your pussy throw a tantrum.” He dragged his tongue along your neck tasting more of your tears. “But you still fuckin’ soak for it.”
He pulled back just enough to watch his dick slide in and out of you slick, messy, filthy before ramming back in and holding there. “Look at her,” he growled, one hand grabbing your jaw, forcing your gaze back to the mirror.
There you were again—wrecked. Tear-stained. Stretched wide, your pussy sucking him in and spitting juices like it had its own mouth. Your body trembled beneath him like a song reaching its final note.
“There you go, dollface,” he crooned, voice dripping sweet venom. “Such a good little slut for Daddy Stack, ain’t you? Cryin’ so pretty, squeezin’ so tight.”
You shook your head weakly, fresh tears rolling down your cheeks, but your hips still jerked upward to meet him, craving every word you hated.
Stack laughed softly as he watched the contradiction on your flushed, tear-streaked face. “Oh, you gon’ tell me that ain’t true, baby? You don’t like hearin’ Daddy call you a slut while ya’ pussy tries to take me for all I got?” He punctuated each word with a sharp, bruising thrust, smiling wickedly as you sobbed louder.
“You floodin’ like you tryin’ to drown me, darlin’. Feels like you fuckin’ cryin’ from down here too,” he said, grinding himself deep and slow, pressing so firmly against your cervix your entire body trembled violently beneath him.
Your thighs shuddered, limbs shaking uncontrollably from overstimulation. Your muscles ached from being stretched and used so ruthlessly, your nerves frayed raw, but Stack gave no mercy.
“I ain’t ever seen you make such a pretty mess before,” he drawled, lips curled in a smug, hungry smirk. “Looks like I finally found what breaks you, huh? Bein’ stuffed an praised like you nothin’ but a pretty hole.”
His voice lowered, dipped into a silkier menace as he leaned closer, lips brushing against your ear. “You like bein’ broken, dollface?”
You whimpered brokenly, unable to form words. His hand came up, cupping your jaw roughly, forcing you to look at your reflection again. Your face was stained and glistening with tears, eyes red-rimmed and desperate, lips parted as needy moans escaped your throat uncontrollably.
“I asked you a question,” Stack whispered against your neck, voice hot and dripping poison. “You like me breakin’ you like this?”
Your mouth opened, struggled to respond through gasping sobs. “Y-yes, sir.”
He chuckled low, dark, utterly pleased. “That’s right. Good girl. That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”
Your body tightened again, clenching involuntarily around him, desperate for release, fighting to shove him away as your climax built violently inside you once more. But Stack was ready this time. He anchored himself deep, hips locked firmly against yours, length throbbing and pulsing inside your trembling walls. You spasmed around him, waves of heat rising like an unstoppable tide.
“C’mon,” he urged mockingly. “Try an shove me out again. I dare you.”
You gasped sharply, your muscles contracting painfully, desperately, and failing miserably as he stayed rooted deep.
“Ohhh, there she go againnn,” he laughed huskily, a genuine ripple of pleasure breaking through the cruelty. “Look at that pussy tryin’ to push Daddy out like he ain’t meant to be there.” His laughter grew ragged, darker, filled with a sinful kind of pleasure as he watched you break apart beneath him. “Try harder, baby. Go ahead, milk me and evict me, all at once.”
Your eyes rolled back, mouth falling open in a silent scream as the dam finally broke.
You came apart brutally and your climax shattered you into a million pieces. Your cunt clenched and spasmed around Stack’s unyielding dick, your essence pouring from you like a river, soaking both your bodies, the sheets, your thighs. Your entire body convulsed beneath him, hips jerking upward, walls pulsed wildly in a desperate attempt to either claim or reject him—but he refused to move, relishing every moment of your breakdown.
And Stack… oh, Stack was losing himself too. His eyes fluttered closed briefly, jaw clenching tightly, lips parted as a deep, ragged groan slipped past. He shuddered, hips faltering slightly as your climax battered his control. His hands tightened around your thighs as he forced himself steady, watching greedily as you unraveled beneath him.
“You see this, doll?” he panted, leaning down so gazes locked in the mirror. “That’s how good you take punishment. Cryin’ like it hurts, cummin’ like you love it.”
Your chest heaved in trembling sobs, breath ragged as aftershocks rocked your frame. His hips remained pressed deep, manhood still twitching mercilessly inside your raw, spent heat.
Stack leaned forward, whispering silkily into your ear, voice like honeyed elixir of death. “I might have to take you off the floor for two weeks, baby. Keep you locked right here in my bed, makin’ sure you feel this every single day, no interruptions.”
You whined brokenly, thighs convulsing at the idea, the sensation.
“Oh, you don’t like that?” he asked, tone dripping false sweetness. “Poe’ thing. Must be so hard bein’ Daddy’s favorite doll, gettin’ fucked an praised ‘til you break. But don’t you worry…”
He began moving again, slower now, controlled and relentless, every thrust deeper than the last.
“You’ll get used to it. Hell, you might even start beggin’ for it.” He grinned against your temple. “An I promise you, doll… I’ll always be right here to give it to you.”
The room was still thick with the scent of sex and sweat, a heavy perfume that clung to the walls like memory. The mirror, now fogged at the corners, still captured the final image of you spread out beneath him: trembling, slick, eyes swollen with tears, mouth parted with the aftershocks of ruin.
Stack’s dick rested deep inside you for a moment longer, a final act of possession. Then, slowly, gently, he pulled out.
You whimpered at the loss, your body too raw and wrung out to hide the sound. Your juices spilled out of you in waves, soaking the sheets further, smearing your inner thighs like a promise kept too long. Stack watched the mess, jaw clenched. He sighed, rolled his neck with a sharp crack, and finally stood. He didn’t say a word as he moved. He didn’t praise you any further or scold or tease you. Instead he collected a warm cloth from the basin in the corner of the room and returned to the bed like he’d done it a hundred times before.
You flinched at first touch, but his hand was tender now. His fingers stroked gently as he wiped you clean with warm water and soft pressure. He cleaned between your legs, down your thighs, and over the shivering curve of your belly. Quiet. Focused. Like he was erasing the chaos he’d carved into your flesh moments ago.
“You did good,” he murmured finally. Not the sing-song, mocking praise he used before. This one was lower and honest. “Even when you didn’t listen. You still held on longer than I expected.”
You blinked through the fog, lips quivering. “…thank you, sir.”
He nodded once then reached for a towel to dry you before pulling a blanket up over your spent form. You relaxed into it instinctively, muscles aching, breath slowing. Your body was still twitching now and then, but the heat of the aftercare softened the ache into something bearable.
Stack climbed back into bed beside you still nude and half-hard. His chest rose and fell with that smooth, unbothered confidence only he possessed. A moment passed and then the sound of a match killed the silence. You turned your head, eyes heavy-lidded, watching him bring a cigarette to his lips. He took the first drag slow, leaned back on one elbow and exhaled smoke toward the ceiling.
And still, he said nothing because you knew what came next.
Carefully, quietly, you pulled the blanket down and slipped between his legs, your sore body moving with caution as you lowered your mouth to the source of your earlier destruction.
He watched you silent and amused as you licked and sucked the mess you’d made from his dick. You took your time. Let your tongue trace the length of him, gathering your slick and the taste of your own sin with every lap. You pressed a kiss to the base, then up to the tip, taking him into your mouth softly.
Stack groaned around the cigarette, lips curling into a playful grin. One hand found your curls and stroked lazily through them.
“Mm,” he muttered. “That’s my girl. Clean it all up.”
You did until he was spotless, shining, and satisfied. You kissed the crease of his thigh once more before crawling back up to his side, your body still humming from being shattered and pieced back together.
Stack tapped ash into the tray on the nightstand. “Like I said, you off the floor for two weeks,” he said casually.
Your eyes widened. “You… you were serious?”
He didn’t look at you. Just took another drag, exhaled long and slow. “Dead serious. Full pay. No interruptions. You gon’ stay in this bed an learn how to take what I give you properly. We ain’t doin’ no more of that shy shit when the mirror’s out.”
You blinked. “But… the floor—”
He turned then, eyes cutting toward you like a blade. “You more worried about the floor than stayin’ in my bed?”
“…no, sir.”
“Thought so.”
You fell quiet.
He took one last pull from his cigarette, then crushed it into the tray before lying back on the pillows, one arm slipping under your body, pulling you to his chest. You melted against him, sighing as his fingers dragged slowly along your spine.
“You too pretty to be so shy, baby,” he murmured into your hair. “In two weeks you’ll be the perfect doll.”
.
.
.
.
.
Author’s Note: Y’all got to experience Mean Smoke but now it’s time to experience Psycho Stack… good gawdddd 🥴🥴🥴😮💨😮💨😮💨 if this was his idea of a reward then you know his punishments are CRAZY because he’s fucking CRAZY. He’s still my lil pookie wookie bear.
AND BAKARI I KNOW YOU ARE LURKING! IF I CATCH YOU WEARING JADE AGAIN WE ARE GOING TO FIGHT!
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Idk why but I think Stack would love the fuck outta Ying Yang Twins music lmaooo I’m wheezing just picturing him in the club turnt the fuck up and Smoke shaking his head fondly
I can't imagine getting pregnant by a lame. Women really be out here giving birth to children for men who deserve nothing but contempt and loneliness, not descendants. Hold onto your power ladies and move with discernment. It's wicked out there.
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watched sinners for the first time and just one superficial take i have on it;
out of ALLLL the fleshed out lovely gorgeous characters to choose from when it comes to making them heartthrob of the movie, yall chose REMMICK???? the way yall talk abt him i genuinely thought he was gonna take up most of the movie but it felt like he was there for 5 minutes 😭😭
as long as they’re white, right?? 😭😭 i’m mostly playin but also cause the two main characters are played by MICHAEL B FUCKING JORDAN. And Miles Caton’s fine ass flooding my screen and yall go for the emotionally deranged leprechaun. ight ight.
𝑺𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ─── it’s stack’s first real father’s day and he’s been waiting to spend it with you and his lil man. just like old times. he told you a week ago his momma was throwin a cookout back home in mississippi, a special day for all the fathers in his family. he even cleaned up his act a lil bit, tryna show he still that man you fell for. instead of showing up with just his son, you bring your new nigga…on his day. you knew better, and now he gotta remind you. remind both y’all.
꒰ babydaddy elias “stack” moore x black!fem reader. established relationship, second chance. strong use of profanity, lots of n-word usage, drama, jealous!stack, toxic arguments, emotional tension, hurt feelings, possessive!stack, threats made, violence, reminiscence, sexual content, sexual tension, angry sex, degradation, rough sex, dirty talk, oral sex, creampie, light breeding kink, overstimulation and lots of other things so scroll now if you don’t want to read about people fucking. ꒱
the ride from atlanta to mississippi was long, too long for how quiet the car had gotten. even with the air conditioner running, the air felt heavy. your baby boy was asleep in the backseat, pacifier slack in his mouth, and his black curls stuck to his forehead from the heat. you had one hand on the steering wheel, fingers tapping in a rhythm to calm your nerves.
the road stretched on forever in front of you, with the GPS voice muted after the fifth "continue straight". your man, dominique sat in the passenger seat mindlessly scrolling through his phone, thumb moving fast like he was tryna distract himself. he had been feeling a type of way since you told him about today’s plans. you caught the look he gave you ten minutes ago, fake mean mugging you with his whole face turned up. full of questions he ain’t bold enough to ask outright.
the tension was cut when he asked, “why couldn’t we just stay in atlanta?” voice laced with too much attitude. “could’ve saved us this whole damn trip.” you sighed, you knew this was coming and could feel yourself getting irritated because he already knew the answer. “because his momma throwing a father’s day cookout. it’s his first one and it’s good for my baby to be round family.”
dominque rolled his eyes while shaking his head. “family? tuh. ain’t none of them came around since he was born, but now they wanna go all out. throwin cookouts ‘n shit.” he tried to mutter under his breath, but you still heard him.
you gripped the steering wheel tighter, eyes still focusing on the rode. “this ain’t about you dominque. i told you that before we even left.” out of your peripheral vision you could see him put the phone down and turn his body in the seat to focus in on you. “you right, it’s not about me.” his voice raised, “but let’s keep it a buck cause its damn sure ain’t just about your son either. you could’ve dropped him off and turned around.” you shot him a look, because now he was doing too much. “don’t start.”
his voice came out sharp, bitter. feeling like he could finally get everything off his chest, like your son wasn’t sleep, but he didn’t care. the words had been sittin on his tongue too long, and now they were spillin whether you liked it or not. “i’m not starting shit”, he snapped. “i’m just saying, look how you dressed. that thin ass sundress, hair done up, wearing jewelry i fasho ain’t get you.” his lip curled as he looked you up and down, voice dropping low, more insult than question now. “this all for me or him?”
his fingers tapped against his fake amiri jeans, eyes still on you, waiting for an answer he assumed he knew. you cut your eyes at him. the way he was acting? like he ain’t realize who he was talking to. like he forgot you had a whole baby in the backseat. “stop raising your voice like you ain’t got no sense”, you snapped. “my son is sleep, and i’m not about to keep going back and forth with you over bullshit.”
he tried to open his mouth, to defend himself, but you kept going. “i’m the mother of elias’ child. i’m gon show up put together regardless. you expect me to pull up lookin like some bag lady in front of his entire family?” the silence was evident after that. you heard him huffing and puffing clearly bothered by what you said.
then came his bitter laugh. he shook his head, staring out the window like he couldn’t believe what he was hearin, “you still call that nigga elias.” he was quiet for good after that, but the disrespect was loud. voice full of resentment and something else y’all both didn’t want to admit to.
this was one of those times you were lucky your baby couldn’t talk yet. if he did, he would of been running to his daddy about what dominique said and you were trying to get them to have a cordial relationship. unfortunately it wasn’t working.
the silence felt suffocating and pushed against your temple like a headache. with dominque’s resentment weighing heavily on you, each mile seemed to go on forever. you decided to pull over when you noticed a faded green symbol for a gas station up ahead. you flicked the turn signal, “i’m pulling over.” your voice was low, you hated arguing because it always drained you mentally. “tank low and i need a minute.” dominque didn’t say nothing, giving you the silent treatment.
you shifted into park, pulled up next to the pump, and released a breath you weren't even aware you were holding. the long drive caused your sundress to stick slightly to the back of your thighs as you climbed out slowly. you went to the rear of your car, swiped your card, and began filling up the tank.
the voice in the back of your head criticized dominque for not getting out to pump your gas. “elias would of did it, argument or not”, you thought. you shook them thoughts away because it was nothing you could do, ya’ll weren’t together anymore. you peaked into the back seat, as the gas nozzle stayed where it was at. inside the car, your son was still sleeping peacefully. completely unbothered by the mess unfolding around him. which he got from his daddy, they both could sleep through anything.
you glanced at your reflection in the car window — lips still glossy, no smudge in your makeup, hoops glinting, and your ass looked fat in this sundress. you fixed the placement of some of the bracelets around your wrist, the ones elias got you, by the way. you looked good and that’s what had him pressed.
from the passenger seat, dominique finally stepped out. stretching like the whole ride wore him out and he wasn’t behind the drivers seat once. he leaned against the car, arms folded across his chest, watching you. “you always gotta make shit harder than it gotta be, don’t you?” he mumbled. you didn’t even glance at him.
“and you always got somethin to say when you feel like you ain’t bein prioritized. ain’t nobody tryin to make you feel small, dominque. but today ain’t about you.” he sucked his teeth, pushed off the car and came stalking towards you. “nah it’s never about me. it’s always elias this, elias that. like he somebody for real. whole time he couldn’t even keep his family together.”
“you got it dominique.” and it was left at that. you weren’t gonna argue in public with a man who couldn’t handle you doin right by your child. you just needed to hurry up and get this over with. drop of your son, play cordial, make you a few plates, and leave before elias reminded you why he was the hardest man to walk away from in the first place.
─────────
after another thirty minutes, you finally made it to elias’ momma house. it took you a minute to find parking since cars was packed in the front of the house and the neighbors. you eased your car into a tight spot across the street from them. “come on”, you muttered hopping out the car.
the air smelt like smoke ribs, burnt ends, and sweet bbq sauce — a classic mississippi summer. your baby started to stir as you lifted him gently from his car seat, resting him against your hip. you didn’t pay dominque any mind, as you made your way to the back of the house. the moore house was vibrant — music loudly playing, uncles loud off liquor while playing spades, elijah was on the grill, kids ran through the grass barefoot with melting popsicles. elias’ momma was setting out foil pans on a fold-up table with her hands on her hips.
as you walked closer, your feet became slightly heavier. every step felt loud and all eyes on you, like everybody at the damn cookout paused just to see who the hell you brought with you. relatives of stack approached you, saying their hellos and cooed at your son. all you could do was give them half smiles in return.
because your attention was focused on him, your babydaddy. he hadn’t noticed you yet, which was a relief at the moment. lazily leaned back in a folding chair with his legs spread wide and elbows rested on his knees. he looked good, too good. stack had his go-to black durag tied tight around his head, white tank clinging to his muscles, gold chain glinting in the sun, and his grills lightly shined when he smirked at something his cousin said. he was having a good time, sipping on his favorite drink — hennessy in a red cup.
all that shifted when one of his messy ass aunties pointed you out in the crowd. “there go your baby mama, eli,” she said, smirkin over her plate of ribs. “ain’t that her right there in that lil pink dress?” he glanced up and just like that, all the playfulness dropped clean off his face.
his shoulders squared up and the relax lean he had in the chair turned into a full sit-up. flexed jaw. eyes narrowed. mean mugging. the moment he clocked the man next to you, his smile vanished, and the gold on his tooth stopped flashing. his eyes moved very slowly, taking you all in, from the bouncing curls on your shoulder to your glossy lips to his little man on your hip.
and the lame ass nigga next to you.
elias’ lips parted just slightly, but he ain’t say nothing. not yet. he just stared.
you felt it, that familiar look he gave you. the one he gave you back when you used to test his patience just to see how far he’d go. heat began to crawl up your neck, not from embarrassment, but knowing you fucked up. he was trying to keep it cute in front of his people, but stack wasn’t a level headed nigga. no, that was smoke. smoke was the calmer twin, the one you could reason with. and when he looked over at his brother across the yard and gave him that sharp nod. saying all the words he needed with his eyes —“if something pop off, be ready”. you already knew what it meant. you and dominique was beyond saving.
you gripped your son tighter, adjusting him on your hip and forced a smile towards elias’ momma who pulled you into a one-armed hug. “hey baby”, she greeted. “look at my grand baby, ain’t he getting big?” you nodded, voice light. “yes ma’am. growing too fast for my liking.”
she gave dominique a simple “hi”, but didn’t say his name. just looked him up and down real quick, then turned her attention back to the food table like she was tryna keep the peace.
peace was thrown out the window when you showed up with another man. stack was looking at you like you personally betrayed him. he rose slowly, as though tension tightened every bone in his body. the red cup hung loose in his fingers, but his whole frame said anything but relaxed.
one of his cousins who already peeped game, leaned over to try and stop him. “aye stack, chill.” but he wasn’t hearing none of that. nobody understood how he was feeling, that was his babymomma at the end of the day.
not just some random bitch he used to mess with. you were his, his headache, his soft spot, his unfinished business. and he would do anything to get his family back. he was already walking toward y’all, straight through the crowd, eyes locked on you. nothing about his body language gave soft or calm.
he made his way across the yard, cutting through chairs and coolers like the crowd wasn’t even there. like his whole family wasn’t lowkey staring, forks frozen mid-air, watching how this was about to play out.
dominque was right next to you, standing tall like he had something to prove. arms crossed over his chest, chin up like he was ready for whatever. stack’s eyes didn’t leave yours once. not even when he got close enough for you to smell the henny and versace cologne on him.
when he finally spoke, it was low and grumbled, like he was trying real hard not to raise his voice “this what we on now?” you didn’t answer right away. you couldn’t. because in reality, this was a terrible idea. there was a familiar sting in the back of your throat. the one you got whenever stack looked at you like this, like he knew you better than you knew yourself. as if he was waiting on you to say something dumb so he could call your bluff.
you shifted your son on your hip and shaked your head. "let’s not do this here, elias." he licked his bottom lip, head tilted slightly. still looking at you, taking you in like you owed him something. “nah we gon do this right here, in front of everybody.” he turned slightly towards dominique, just enough to size him up. “you the new nigga?”, stack asked straight up, grill flashing just a little — a crazed smile forming on his face.
dominque puffed his chest out, “yeah i’m with her. problem?” stack laughed, a serious laugh like what he said was funny to him. “you with her. that’s cute.” and like a switch he turned back towards you, looking dead in your face, expression wiped of every bit of playfulness. “you really brought this clown to my mama house? on father's day? with my son?"
your heart sank, because now whatever jealousy you were trying to get him to feel was biting you in the ass. “elias please—”, he snapped cutting you off. “you knew what you was doing. came all this way looking good and smelling sweet. ‘n had the nerve this bring this lame ass nigga, like i wasn’t gon say something.”
dominque stepped forward a little, trying to come to your defense. “she not doing shit. you mad emotional because she chose me, nigga get over it.” and had the nerve to laugh in his face. it was silent for a moment, stack had to process the straight bullshit he fixed him mouth to say. he stale faced him, voice oddly calm. “nah, she settlin. you the in-between. the lil nigga holding her bag while she waitin for me to remind her who the fuck she belong to.”
you bit your lip hard, head turned away as you gently patted your baby’s back — trying to soothe him, and yourself. you unfortunately knew what was coming next. dominique stepped towards stack, clearly not used to somebody pushing back. “man, i’m not scared of you. you just mad she don’t want your toxic ass no more-”. before he could finish his sentence, stack’s fist came up fast, clean, and cracked him dead in the mouth.
dominique stumbled back hard, hand flying to his lip that was already pouring blood in his hand. stack ain’t even flinch. just stood over him, eyes dark, jaw clenched, chest rising slow. “talk that shit again nigga,” he growled. “i dare you.” you stepped between them fast, voice loud. “alright that’s enough! both of yall need to stop.”
stack’s eyes flickered towards yours, and his gaze softened. he looked at your son, now whimpering soft against your shoulder and his whole face shifted. the anger inside him subsided at that moment. for a second, it was just you, him, and the baby.
and then, of course dominque had to ruin it. “you really gon let him disrespect me like that? you gon stand there and let this nigga think he can put hands on me?” you turned your head slowly. looked at him with nothing but exhaustion in your face. “you shouldn’t’ve said shit,” you muttered.
then you looked at stack again. he was still breathing heavy, still tense, but his eyes were on you now. not dominique. just you. “you comin with me,” he said, voice low, thick in a way that made your knees feel weak. “wait—” he stepped in close, barely touching you but still taking up all your space. “let me word it differently for you, bring yo ass inside.”
you looked back at dominque. his lip was busted. and he was scared to even look stack’s way. you couldn’t even feel bad. not really. you gently handed your baby over to stack’s mama, and she just took him with a sigh and shake of her head.
with your son safely out your hands, he reached and grabbed your wrist. and you let him, didn’t even fight it. he pulled you into his momma house like he paid mortgage himself. the screen door slammed behind y’all, and the second y’all hit the hallway, his hand was on your ass, gripping hard.
“you out your fuckin mind”, he snarled against your neck, lips dragging over your skin. “comin here looking pretty as fuck, smelling good. knowing i ain’t touched you in months.” you gasped, moaning softly when he bit your shoulder, rough teeth dragging over the dip of it before he licked the sting away. the grip he had on your hip got even tighter. you could feel how mad he was. his dick was pressed up against your ass, already hard and heavy through his jeans.
he tugged your sundress up, hand palming your panty covered ass like it was his again. “take yo ass up stairs.” he didn’t have to tell you twice, you practically ran up the stairs, flip flops almost sliding off your feet. you hit the top stair and turned to the first room on the left, his old room — your back hit the edge of the bed right as he stepped through the door.
he slammed the door shut with one hand, not bothering to lock it. stack pounced on you, gripping your throat slightly, just enough to make your breath hitch. he kissed you like he was punishing you for making him wait. tongue in your mouth, lips rough, teeth nipping at yours. his golds cold against your lips, his hands greedy, yanking at your dress like he didn’t care if it ripped. and he didn’t, he’ll buy you a new one.
he slowly peeled the straps of your dress down. you were already bare underneath, no bra, your breasts spilling out and brown nipples already hard. stack’s lips never left yours as he pushed the dress to your waist, palms rough against your back, until he finally pulled away to look.
“god damn”, he muttered, biting the corner of his lip as his thumb brushed across one peaked nipple. “i ain’t seen these titties since you was pregnant. they still mine?” you nodded too fast, chest rising with every breath. his hand came up and slapped your tittie once, not hard, just enough to sting and make your knees buckle a little.
“i said talk, not nod.” “yes—yes, they yours,” you breathed, mouth parted. “always been.” he let out a low chuckle, “i know.” his lips wrapped around one nipple and sucked hard, before doing the same to the other one. now both coated in saliva, he took his two thumbs to brush over your nipples. rolling and tugging on them, just to feel you squirm, to hear the way your moan cracked when it got to be too much.
“fuck i missed the way you sound”, he said while inching toward your neck leaving soft kisses. “you ain’t moan like this for that other nigga huh?”, his voice tickled your ear while one hand was still on your nipples.
“no, fuck no,” you gasped, thighs already rubbing together for friction. “bet he ain’t even know how to suck on these right.” he latched on again, sucking until your back arched, your body begging.
he slid down to his knees, “lay back”, he muttered. “legs up.” you followed quickly. he planted soft kisses on the inside of your thighs. “look at you”, knuckles grazing over your panties. “i can already tell this pussy wet.” you let out a low whine, wishing we would do something, “stack please.”
“i know, i know baby.” he let out a low, knowing grin. his fingers hooked into the sides of your panties, yanking them down your trembling thighs with no patience. slow enough to watch the strings of slick cling to them, but fast enough to remind you he wasn’t in the mood to be soft.
“fuck, look at this pussy”, he murmured, eyes locked between your legs like he was witnessing something sacred. “all this mess? you that fuckin wet for me, huh?” your thighs trembled as the cool air hit your soaked folds, and he held the ruined panties up with a smirk, index finger running through the sticky wetness clinging to the lace. “so sticky, baby. you must’ve missed me real bad.”
you whined when his fingers spread you open. clit on full display and wetness spilling out of your slit. the moment he slid his tongue between your folds, you cried. tongue flat, wide, dragging through your folds with no mercy. he sucked on your clit like he was mad at it. you jerked forward, but he grabbed your hips and pulled you back, eating like a man starved, nose buried, tongue fucking you.
“mmm,” he groaned into your pussy, beard soaked. “you missed this nasty shit, huh?” you could only let out a nod, hands gripping the sheets while your thighs trembled. “missed me suckin on this clit, fuckin you open with my tongue…makin you cum without even puttin dick in you.” “f-fuck, elias—oh my god,” you cried out, back arching.
that tongue was still disrespectful. sloppy, greedy, licking from clit to slit and back again like he missed the taste. he pulled you forward, buried his face deeper, eating like he was trying to drown in it. “i’m about to cum”, you screamed.
he smirked against your pussy, spit and slick dripping down his chin. “there she go.” your orgasm hit hard, too hard, and he didn’t even stop, not while you twitched and cried and begged. when he finally pulled back, you were soaked, thighs sticky, your pussy fluttering around nothing, empty and aching.
he stood, unbuckling his belt with quick hands, pulling his jeans and boxers in one swift motion to free his dick. that familiar fat dick slapped against his stomach, veins thick, tip angry red and leaking. you moaned at the sight. “gimme that dick,” you begged finally, your voice gone, eyes glossy. “elias—baby, please, fuck me.”
“now you remember how to act.” you looked down to see him stroking his dick slow, watching you squirm. “look at you. laid out like a slut. that nigga ever make you beg like this?” you shook your head no. “didn’t fuckin think so.”
“turn around”, he said voice hoarse. you did, planting your palms on the bed, back arched just the way he liked it. he stood behind you, taking a second just to admire. “she so pretty,” he muttered under his breath, rough knuckles brushing over the swell of your ass. “don’t make no sense…”you gasped when you felt him drag his tip through your folds, slow and steady, coating himself with your slick.
the low grunt he let out told you just how good it felt. his tip circled your entrance, teasing. “this my pussy?” he asked, voice a low rasp that scraped down your spine. you nodded your head, trying to push back into him, but he held your hips in place. “nah i need you to say it.” a frustrated, needy whine slipped from your lips. your voice trembled, breath catching in your throat. “yes, eli—”
you couldn’t even finish. he slammed into you with no warning, deep and rough, knocking the air straight out your lungs. your mouth dropped open but no sound came out for a second, just the echo of skin slapping skin and the high-pitched moan that followed once you caught your breath.
“say it again,” he gritted out through clenched teeth, dragging his hips back only to slam forward again. “tell me who this pussy belong to.” “y-you!” you cried out, eyes rolling back as he hit your sweet spot over and over again. “it’s yours elias, it’s yours. i promise.”
your knees were already starting to buckle, the way he gripped the fat of your waist, the stretch of him, it was all too much. your hand reached back instinctively, pushing weakly at his stomach. “eli—slow down,” you whimpered, voice barely a breath. “it’s too much.”
he wasn’t hearing none of that. he caught your wrists and twisted them roughly behind your back, pinning them in one strong hand. “you gon take whatever the fuck i give you.” without breaking rhythm, he lifted one leg up, planting his foot on the edge of the bed. the shift in angle had your spine arching, eyes flying open as the next thrust punched a cry straight from your chest.
he was deeper now, way deeper. dick punching at your g-spot. your face dropped to the mattress, fingers clawing at the sheets. you could barely breathe, and he didn’t let up. just kept digging deeper, rough and steady, the grip he had on your hips making sure you stayed right where he needed you.
“yeah,” he rasped, sweat dripping down his temple. “keep runnin that mouth, now look at you. can’t even talk.” broken moans spilled from you uncontrollably. you was sounding like you were possessed by the dick. repeating his name like a broken record. “sound real obedient now, huh?” his voice turned low, mocking, the gold on his tooth flashing with each groan behind you. “lil mouthy ass always actin like you don’t remember who you belong to.”
he leaned forward then, chest pressing into your back, lips right by your ear. “you do now, though, don’t you?” you nodded desperately, voice gone, body limp except for the way your thighs trembled from being split open and stuffed full.
you started shaking, vision blurry, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth. heat bloomed from your core, spreading through your belly and straight up your spine. your mouth fell open, a soft string of moans tumbling out, breath hitching every time his hips slammed into yours.
your pussy clenched around him on instinct, thighs trembling as you tried to hold yourself up. but you were so close, you could feel it coming. his grip tightened on your waist, pulling you back harder into him. “you about to cum, baby?” he rasped, breath hot on your spine.
you barely managed a nod, a broken, desperate “yes” escaped your throat as he drove into you deeper. “that’s it. cream on my dick”, he growled. “i feel you mama.” your legs gave out completely, collapsing at the weight of your release. the orgasm that hit you was blinding, hips jerking, thighs twitching, body rocking with wave after wave of pleasure as your cries filled the room. you were sure anyone that came into the house would here you, but you didn’t care.
he kept going, fucking you through the aftershocks, letting you ride it all out. “damn, you soaking my shit.” he then flipped you onto your back like you weighed nothing. your legs fell open, lower half completely soaked and mind in the clouds. his body hovered over yours, his face twisted in that look he always got when he was about to nut, jaw clenched and eyes wild.
he lined up again, quick and calculated. one deep thrust and he was buried inside you, both hands sliding beneath your knees, pushing your legs up to your chest. “look at me,” he grunted. “eyes on me while i cum in this pussy.” you could barely breathe, let alone think, but you did, eyes locked on him, lips parted, whispering his name.
“take it”, he snarled. “take all this nut. i’m about to put another baby in you. you want that mama?” you nodded your head fast. “i wanna be a momma again,” you sobbed out, voice breathy and broken, thighs trembling where they clung around his waist. “gimme another baby, elias.” your nails clawed at his back, desperate to hold on to something, anything, while your body shook beneath his. “make me yours again,” you whispered against his lips, eyes glossy, lips swollen. “put one in me so i never forget.”
his strokes got meaner, like he wanted to carve himself into you. like he needed you to feel him even when he wasn’t around. his mouth dropped open, head tilted back, gold glinting as he groaned through his teeth, “okay, mama. i got you.”
his rhythm turned ragged, hips stuttering as he buried himself deep one last time. you felt the pulse of him inside you, warm, thick ropes filling you up, spilling out around his dick. you felt the weight of him collapse onto you, chest pressed to yours, his breath ragged and warm against your collarbone. he whispered low, sweet praise into your ear, words only meant for you. he then eased off you slow, dragging himself out like he hated to leave, his body already missing yours.
he didn’t go far though. just to the other side of the bed, where he leaned against the headboard, chest rising and falling to catch his breath, and dick still standing at attention. his chain rested crooked on his collarbone, catching the light as he reached over on the nightstand to grab one of his pre-rolled blunts, lighting it with a flick of his lighter.
you were curled into the bed, trying to catch your breath. trembling from overstimulation, thighs slick and warm, breath coming in uneven puffs. but when your eyes met his — dark and hooded, full of lust and love, you felt your heart skip a beat. "cmere," he murmured, voice dragging low and thick, smoke slipping between his lips as he stared you down. “we not done girl, come ride this dick.”
you blinked, eyes widened, lips parted in disbelief, and body already reacting before your brain could catch up. his legs were spread, one hand resting lazily on his thigh while the other held his pre-roll near his lips. that smug smirk crept up slow as he mockingly patted his thigh, like it was your permanent seat. “i’m nuttin all in that pussy. ain’t stopping till im shooting blanks”
his dick jumped with the promise of more, still thick and hard, despite busting a nut, slick from both of yall juices. he was making it hard to say no. and you didn’t have the energy to resist him.
A/N: omg who wrote this?!?);&:& anyways this was my FIRST time writing smut so tell me how i did😏. moral of the story don’t bring your new nigga around your baby daddy, unless you wanna get put through the mattress! i proofread this a few times, but if you see any mistakes ignore or you’re anti black LMFAOOOO. i hope yall enjoyed, feedback is welcome <3!!!! (im definitely dropping more bd!stack)
stack having a son inspo
LAYOUT INSPO: @dollerin
TAGS: @zomqiez @n3atjok3r246 , idk why it’s not letting me tag the rest sigh.
small confession … im a smoke girly so next up is smoke fics! what yall want next modern!plug smoke orrrr 30s!smoke.
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