paquita ✨

summary: against joel’s best intentions, he decides that yeah; he’ll have to be the one to teach you a thing or two.

(smut—the whole shabang, corruption kink?, daddy is always a guarantee, morally righteous joel until he isn’t!) a/n: i actually hate writing smut lol i love every bit before it but this idea was gnawing at me so i had to get it out. she’s a long one. hope you enjoy! my titles are always songs and i highly recommend listening along:)

Joel didn’t want to take you home.

He had a rule; one strictly enforced and well maintained far into his fifties. Of course, that didn’t mean he couldn’t talk to girls your age. Not that there were many seeking him out — or any he was even interested in, thinking them too young and naive — but he was allowed to talk, if need be. And you talked a lot. Joel noticed when you entered the dive bar that night. You were college-aged, he assumed — too young for him — but beautiful, sure. With a friend dressed in a similar too-short-skirt-get-up with a boyfriend groping at her behind. College kids. He payed you no further thought as he drank his beer clean to the bottom of the glass, instead watching the band play tunes he was happily familiar with until he was interested by a screech. The empty stool beside him scraping across the floor; you sitting beside him. You smiled at him in polite acknowledgment and he hummed. A polite college kid. He forgets you’re even there — too enthralled in his drink and the band and the peace before he hears a small cough. You. You’re smiling at him again before asking, “hi, what’s your name?” He replies in a curt ‘Joel.’ Short. Polite. Uninterested. You tell him your name and he seems unbothered. But then you continue. “So. What are you doing sat all by yourself, Joel?” And then, with a sigh and shake of his head, Joel was forced to reconsider your respectful stature and study the long expanse of your legs and lousy attempt of cleavage — not demure or classy at all, and he had no a idea why a girl your age you would be trying to chat up the oldest man at the bar. You could’ve been able to play it off as making friendly conversation if not for the grin splayed on your tilted face, held by your hand rested below your chin. You’re peering up at Joel with a look he can only describe as trouble. Of course a girl your age couldn’t hide her emotions well. But he could. “Lookin’ for some peace and quiet.” You snort. “At Smokey’s dive bar? On live-music-special-Saturday?” Joel nods and turns away from you, instead facing back toward the bustle. “C’mon. You aren’t bored?” You speak to him again and he only spares you a quick glance before staring back out toward the performance. “Go back to your friends, kid.” He can see your smile widen in his peripheral and he hates to give in to your cheek, but you were right; he was bored. “Can’t. It’s kind of hard to ‘hang out’ with people only interested in grinding on eachother all night, y’know.” “Ain’t that so. Well. That’s when you’re supposed to take your cue to find someone else to…dance with, or whatever you call it. Easy out.” Look at him, handing free advice to a young girl, and he almost feels accomplished with just that; slightly hoping you’ll take it and go and dance with a frat boy that is surely hiding within the sea of bouncing heads. But then, of course, knee high boots and flirty smile you — he should’ve known better when the toe of your shoe began to graze his — says “and you don’t think I’m doing that already?”

Trouble. He was right, you are trouble. Hah, he laughs at your gall. “I’m old enough to be your father, sweetheart. I ain’t gonna be dancin’ with you.” Ridiculous. You’re ridiculous. He scoffs into his drink. “You’re trying to tell me you’re only here for a bad cover band and cheap beer?” And now you’re the one laughing, inching closer than before and he can smell lingers of your perfume. Sweet, sugary, syrupy, like sticky caramel and if he had smelt it on you anywhere else, he would’ve thought you to be the same; sweet. “I’m sure as hell not here for the same reason you are, that’s for sure.” “And what do you think that is?” He meets you in the middle. Leaning on the wooden bar and being the one to move even closer to your face. He watches your sultry expression falter for a second so quick he almost missed it; your eyes widening when he plays you at your own game. If he knew any better, he might think you intimidated. “Well, you ain’t old enough to know half of these songs. And you ain’t exactly dressed like you’re here just to network, so a man can put two and two together, kid.” “Ouch.” But you bite on the straw of your drink with a sly smirk still in tow and Joel finds you so irritatingly cheeky. Talking to him like this, flirting with him like this. Where is your father? “So not only are you calling me a slut, but you’re saying I have bad music taste? Thanks a lot.” “Hey, I didn’t say anythin’. That’s all you.” You have the nerve to bridge the already little gap between you and Joel, positioning yourself to whisper in his ear and he should have half the mind to pull away, but he doesn’t. He can feel the graze of your lips when you whisper,

“Well, neither are true.” You murmur it out in a punch like it’s a venomous secret. Like your admission is something dirty, something so volatile that even the hedonistic crowd behind you would frown. “So you regularly listen to,” he hears the rumble of the band playing a song he had on his walkman when he was around your age “Kiss?Okay. Cool.”

Your previous unbothered complexion now starts to flush in embarrassment and you move back to an appropriate distance between you and the grown adult across from you. “No. I mean yes, but no. No, i’m trying to say—“ “That you ain’t no slut?” You nod and he smirks. He wants to say prove it, he knows what the youth do in college (he was worse in his day) but you’ve turned so suddenly meek and quiet that it just spurs him further. “Well that’s nice sweetheart. Real nice.” You aren’t stupid. He’s being plainly sarcastic and you want to wipe that arrogant smirk off his face. “No, I mean it Joel.” “Oh, so you mean it?” His smirk twists deeper. But then you say something he didn’t expect from you. “Yeah, I mean it. I’m a virgin.” He’s not sure if you’re playing at some weird college-girl fantasy he thinks you think he has, or if the new constant of your jolting leg is a tell that you’re revealing a coaxed truth that came from you actually taking offense at his jeer. His brow lifts all the same. “That’s…well, okay. Good for you.” “I’ve only ever, um— I’ve only ever kissed before, too.”

Now he finds that hard to believe. You appeared so promiscuous. But now that he’s really looking at you; scrutinizing your wide-eyed gaze, your neatly manicured nails and pretty pout, he supposes maybe he was wrong about you. Examining you, he’s not really sure you’re even old enough to be in this bar. He doesn’t know how to reply anymore because this isn’t the same harmless flirting like before, it’s something…else. “You don’t gotta…you don’t gotta tell me more, kid, I believe you.” “Joel you’re not— you’re not understanding, okay?” “Enlighten me. What’s there to understand?” You look frozen. So opposite to the fox who approached him like a predator on the prowl, a girl so confident and proud in your presence. Now, he thinks you resemble something closer to a baby fawn; frozen in headlights and staring at him so clearly unsure of yourself or what your move is here. He’s finally seeing through you, past that big girl facade you greeted him with and he’s thrilled. “I want you to…” You start but nervously pause, biting at the flesh inside your cheek. “I wanna…you know.”

Oh he knows what you want. He suspected it when you first sat beside him, but now he knows what exactly you’re seeking from him. “You wanna what? You look flustered. You’re fidgeting with your hair and just blinking at him, silently. And he likes it. He likes that you’re nervous— good, you should be. Shit, he needs to be teaching you a lesson. What if you had come up to any other degenerate geriatric man? What if you had encountered Joel’s own delinquent brother? There’s no telling what they’d do to you and now Joel’s getting furious. So irritatingly agitated at you for your stupid naivety like all girls your age, and this is why he doesn’t like to go younger. The father in him is worrying that it’s your father’s fault — maybe it’s the reason you’re seeking male validation from a man like him, and he hopes he did a good enough job with his own daughters that they’ll never carry that same burden he pities you for. It’s sad, really. Now he’s just feeling sad for you. And angry for you. And at you.

Well what would you know, damn, maybe even a little paternal for you. And if you’re really lucky, maybe Joel will give that satisfaction to you.

Maybe. He hasn’t decided yet. You’re still staring at him wordlessly with your mouth parted like you’re trying to think of what to say, starting to form a word but instead choosing just to gape at him. “I think it’s time you go home, kid. I ain’t giving you what you want. It ain’t right, you hear me?” He can’t help but put on the same stern voice he uses when he lectures his own children or the men working for him (children in their own right) and you go still. “You got a ride home?” You nod. “Now don’t go tellin’ me it’s those idiots over there.” You don’t reply and he sighs. “C’mon. Be smarter than that. They’re halfway from blacked out. What’dya supposed to do now, smart girl?” He’s shaking his head and standing up off of the bar stool with a low groan, mumbling swears as he fishes his wallet out of his jean pocket. He takes out a size-able guess of both your totals. “I’ll give you a fuckin’ ride. C’mon. Let’s go.” He knows you’re scared at his annoyance, his gruff tone and constant shaking of his head, but he’s glad. Again, you should be. He’s selfishly hoping you’ll say yes to his offer so he can lecture you even more. Stranger danger and all that. If your old man won’t, he will. He’s not scared to be a surrogate.

You’re still just looking at him with this shocked expression on your face and he could laugh at how much your demeanor has changed. You were way out of your league here and now you know it, this is what you get for trying to act grown when you’re just the naive little girl he saw enter the bar. “Um…” “I ain’t waitin’ all day.”

You don’t hesitate. You get up and follow him out the bar. He’s hoping the cold air from outside the disgusting heat of the room will shaken you up. Make you reckon with the fact that you’re about to get into a strangers car all by your own stupid mission. He unlocks the passenger seat of his truck for you to get in. “Nice truck,” you say, and it’s the first normal thing you’ve said to him all night. You sound so young, with your voice shaking a bit, and maybe you truly are as sweet as the sugary scent of you that mixes with the ash-littered smell of his car.

“Thanks. Buckle your seatbelt.” The ignition starts and now he’s driving. You haven’t even told him where you live yet. Are you that naive? “You get in the car of every old man who offers you a ride?” “No.” “Well you’re in my car. What’s that about? You better not be accepting any more rides from strangers, you hear me?” He glances over at you and meets your gaze in the middle; you’re already watching him with an expression he can’t quite discern. “What were you thinkin’ tonight, huh? No — actually, you weren’t thinkin’ at all, were you? Tryna sleep with a man old enough to be your father…fuckin’ hell.” He hears you gulp. “I just…I just wanna do it already. Get it over with. Everyone else in college has.” So childish. Of course you’re falling victim to inadvertent peer pressure. He should be taking you over his knee. He sighs low and disappointed. “Get it over with? If you’re tryna ‘get it over with’ you go find a nice little frat boy your age. Not a grown man, damn it.” “But I don’t want some frat boy! I wanted, someone…you know.” He peers over at you again with his eyebrow raised. “Someone…experienced. Like you.” You’re looking at him with a brazened look of lust. That is what he couldn’t read on your face. It’s not outward like your previous persona, it’s a timid, reserved doe-eyed ogle that in any other circumstance he wouldn’t have picked up. “You’ve gotta be shittin’ me. You’re still tryin’ this bullshit? I—“ You’ve rendered him speechless. He doesn’t have a clue on what to do with you. On how to get it through to you that this is wrong. He swears lowly to himself again. “You are way out of line here kid. Where’dya live. I’m takin’ you straight home.” He’s so close to raising his voice at you. You’re testing his patience now. “No, Joel, listen, can we just maybe…please?” Please?

You say it so quietly and reserved that it nearly causes him to fucking crash. Please?

He’s infuriatingly sober and yet he can feel himself start to think illogically. He’s thinking about taking you home. He’s beginning to realize that maybe he’s going to have to scare you a bit. Really show you how out of your depths you are. Give you the chance to chicken-out. Please? Or if it comes to it, if it really has to come to it, maybe he has to be the one to take initiative. Teach you what you’re at this point begging him for, to ensure that you will never, ever, have to ask some other stranger again. For your safety. He turns the car around. He doesn’t say a word, and he swears he can hear your heart beating. Make out the dull thump of it in the silence. “Where are we going?” He lets you figure it out yourself, pulling into the drive of his suburban home five minutes later and turning off the ignition of his truck. “Let’s go.” You follow him right inside without even hesitating and he can’t tell if he wants to laugh or shout at you. Inside, Joel’s home is exactly what you expected from him. Homely. Typical suburbia interior. There’s a fire place and picture frames of two girls, only a few years younger than you, plastered on every wall of the house — his daughters, you presume — and you’re slightly jealous. Jealous of the respect he must have for them. The care he must have for them. Enviously wishing it was you in those photos, making Joel proud, standing in the family gallery. You don’t even know him. When Joel tells you to ‘take a seat’ you can feel your heart leap into your throat. You’re nervous, of course. You don’t know what he’s deciding to do with you and truly, aside from the nerves, you’re excited. You’re beginning to think he’ll just lecture you. Give you a practiced speech you’re sure his own daughters have received and you don’t know what to do with the rush it sends down your spine. You sit on his leather couch, sinking into it as you watch him light a cigarette. He drags a kitchen chair from the dining table, lifting it until it’s positioned in front of you. He sits down, right across from you, leaning back and spreading his legs with a stoic expression. He doesn’t say anything. He just stares at you. Resting his arm on the back off the chair. Waiting. You aren’t sure what you’re supposed to do here. You wait a little longer for him to do…anything, but he just takes a slow drag of his cigarette, making direct eye contact with you as he blows the smoke right into your face. “Well?” He’s got you cornered now. You’re in his house, the balls in your court, but he knows you haven’t figured that out quite yet. Still waiting on him to make a move that he never plans on making. You shrink into the seat, picking at the fabric of your skirt nervously. “Are we gonna…?” He shrugs. Taking another drag of his cigarette. “You’re a big girl. You tell me.” If you want to play grown ups with Joel, you’re going to have to do it yourself.

He thinks he watches the moment it clicks for you. You blink once, twice, three times, and he watches your throat bop again in a gulp. And then, he can’t fucking believe it, but you slowly begin to move off the couch, sinking both your knees onto the carpet below you, kneeling in front of him. He chokes on the smoke he’s inhaling. “Well, shit.” You’ve got gall, he’ll give you that. He can visibly see your hands shaking on your lap as you peer up at him, tucking your bottom lip behind your teeth. If Tommy could see him now. Having a girl probably more than thirty years his junior — fuck — on her knees in front of him. Unsure of what to do because she’s never even done this before. So innocent. Pure. What better is he than Tommy? He’s got a company. He’s a father. Yet he’s here defiling you. Another man’s daughter. Taking this from you and no, he isn’t any better than Tommy at all. In this moment? Maybe even worse. ‘I’ve only ever kissed.’ “What are you doin’?” “I don’t…I don’t know. I just—“ His pinches the bridge of his nose with a sharp exhale, closing his eyes briefly before cupping his mouth and jaw with a shake of his head. He shouldn’t be doing this. You shouldn’t be here. You’re a fucking baby. So young, so disgustingly trusting, chaste yet so dirty. He can’t believe that he’s about to tell you to,

“Lay down on the couch.” “What?” “Lay down.” He sighs. “C’mon.” His eyes are still closed like he can’t even watch what’s about to happen. When he opens them, you’re still on your knees. “What did I say?”

“No, Joel, I wanna—“

“That ain’t happening.” “I wanna learn. Please. I don’t need you to—“ You sound petulant. Almost whining at him and he pinches the bridge of his nose again, this time harder, with his eyes shut tightly like it’ll snap him out of allowing this to continue. “If we do this, you gotta promise me you ain’t gonna be askin’ no more fuckin’ strangers for shit like this. Okay? I’ll…fuck, I’ll teach ‘ya a thing or two, but you’ve gotta behave now. Okay?” You nod slowly, and he can tell it’s hit you that this is happening. “Okay, okay I swear Joel—” “Good. Unbuckle my belt, then.” It’s only now that you realize he’s hard. Really hard. Like so visible through his jeans you’re sure you can make out exactly where…everything is. You’re staring so blatantly at it and you don’t even know it but Joel’s been hard since your little ‘please?’ He laughs at you. “What? You ain’t ever even see a hard on before?” You shake your head ‘no’ and he smirks. “Forgot you’ve only ever kissed before, shit. No wonder you’re so fuckin’ desperate. C’mon. You know how to unbuckle a belt, big girl?”

“Yes, Joel, I know how to unbuckle a fucking belt.” You scoff at him and move your trembling fingers toward his leather belt. He’s about to tell you off for your potty mouth, teach you a lesson in respect, but instead watches as you fumble with the notch of his belt with a huff. Your hands are so clammy and shaking so aggressively that you can’t even do it. He laughs again.

“Y’sure about that?” “Yes! I’m— fuck, just wait, let me—” he shoves your hands away, holding both your wrists in one hand as he unbuckles his belt with the other in one clean move. “I gotta do everythin’ around here?” He tuts and his hand moves toward the zipper of his ratted jeans and your breath hitches. “Thought I was supposed to be teachin’ you, how am I meant to do that when you can’t even unbuckle a belt, sweetheart?” He sighs and shakes his head like he always does, and his condescending attitude would get to you if he wasn’t so intoxicatingly handsome. Greying hair, broad shoulders, so much bigger than you and stronger than you and older than you; you feel it in the tight grip he has on your wrists, you know if he wanted to he could snap both your wrists in his one palm, and you’re reminded all over again that he’s old. He’s got children. Close to your age. He’s wrinkled with arms more muscular than any other boy you’ve ever seen on your college campus, built from years of labor. He pulls both his jeans and boxers down in one movement. You gasp. “So. This is male genetalia, meant for repr—” He’s smirking at the pure look of disbelief on your face and he chuckles when your brows furrow in an annoyed pout. “Shut up Joel!” “Well? What’dya think? You gulp. “You’re…you’re really um…” “Big?” He says it through that same cocky smirk he’s developed. You nod. He’s not just big, he’s long — thick, graying even down there, and you feel clueless on what to do next. “He ain’t gonna bite. You can touch him.” You hate that he’s called his… parts him, but you’re too focused to say anything about it. He thinks maybe you’ll freak out. Smarten up. Wondering if the brazen size of him will send you spiraling to your senses. Instead, your quivering hand reaches out toward his solid heft. You give him one nervous tug and he groans. You stop. “Keep goin’.” You do it again, this time a bit more slowly, and he cups his large hand over yours, gripping your hold over him and squeezing, tugging down harder than you would’ve yourself and you gape at him. You don’t know anything. “I ain’t fragile. You can use a bit of your muscle, baby.” His gruff laugh morphs into a short groan when your thumb nervously grazes the tip of him as he moves your hand back down. “It look how you expect it to look?” “Yeah you’re just really…” you can’t even think straight because you’re so focused on watching your hands move together. Watching as the tip of him leaks a pearly white and notice how your hand has to stretch around him, your fingers not even close to closing around the thick of him. “Big.” You squeak and he breaths out half a laugh and half a hiss. “Wait, Joel, I wanna…” You shake your hand out his tight grip and hold him yourself now. Scooting closer and gently kissing the pink tip of him.

“Fuckin’ hell.” He groans above you and you look up, batting your eyes and his hips twitch towards you. “Yeah, yeah, okay, you can, shit, you can try that, honey.” Look at you, playing adult so fast. You do it again and he hisses. This time, you use your tongue. Running it from the base of him all the way to the tip just to gauge how he tastes and he groans deeper than you’ve heard before. “Am I doing okay?” He peers down at you through hooded eyes and grabs a tight fist of your hair. “Yeah, yes, you are sweetheart. You’re a—” you try take him deeper into your mouth. Opening your jaw wider to try and make it fit. “Fuck, yeah, you’re bein’ a good girl for me.”

Joel is trying to keep his cool composure, but he’s not sure how that’s possible when you’re mouthing at him like that. So innocent and curious. You sometimes knick him with your canines but he doesn’t even mind it, he’s just staring at how you force yourself deeper and grabs your hair even harder when you start to gag. “Y’can…take it slow, don’t—” he’s almost all the way down your throat. He can feel it convulse around him. “Don’t hurt yourself, kid.” And then he’s all the way. You’ve taken him all the way into your tiny throat. He’s the first to ever be in there, and he almost cums on the spot. You gag and sputter over him, trying to get away when he selfishly holds you there for a second longer than you would’ve allowed yourself. Tightly gripping your hair with an unintentional thrust of his hips before letting you pull off him with a muffled choke. You open your mouth in a gasp for air and if he was any more gone he would’ve used it as a way to shove himself back deep. “Well, shit. You’re a natural, honey.”

“Was that okay?” There’s a bead of sweat on your forehead from how hard you worked and he wants to lick it clean.

“You did great, kid.” You smile up at him with a toothy grin, reaching out to take him again and he tuts. Acting so brave when you were just choking on him. “C’mon. On the couch now.” You hold him by the base and try again, but he grips you by your forearm and tugs you up — shoving you onto the couch and groaning when he gets a quick peek of your panties. “Joel…” You’re shaking now and he smirks. “I can’t leave you high and dry, can I? That would be a very bad lesson, wouldn’t it?” You nod meekly and his hand comes to squeeze your thigh. “Take off your skirt.” You freeze and he cups your jaw in his hand. “C’mon, little girl. I don’t like repeatin’ myself. Take it off.” Begrudgingly, you bring your trembling fingers toward the waistband of your skirt and pull it off. Revealing your best pair of panties — a lacy white thong — and you hear him grind his teeth. Your laid out like a lamb for the slaughter. In white lace nobody but he knows you wear. Pure. Virgin. Thirty-so-years his junior. He wants to make some sort of comment but he’s so hard he can’t even think. He grips your jaw firmly and wastes no time pulling off your panties. You gasp and shut your knees tightly but Joel pry’s them open anyways, fighting you when you try again. “Y’wanna make it hard for me, huh? What happened to your cute please? C’mon. Open.” You kick, and he tuts, manhandling you with a strong latch as he sits against the armrest of the chair. He pulls you by your nape and uses it as leverage to position you with your back against his chest, using his legs to force yours open by bracketing your knees. “Fuckin’ hell.” You’ve stopped thrashing now, and instead, he feels your legs shivering. He holds your jaw once again, hoping he’ll be able to soften you out by bringing your mouth to his and closing the gap; kissing you and using your cute gasp to meet your tongue with his. You whine and he holds you tight enough you think you’ll bruise. He looks at where you’re spread for him and hisses. You’re wet already. So inexperienced that just a little touching does it for you. “Shit. You ain’t ever been touched here?” You shake your head and try to close your legs again but his legs hold yours in place. “Poor baby. Waitin’ for so long. So desperate, ain’t ya. Wantin’ someone with experience. Y’just wanna feel good.”

The hand on your jaw comes to rest on your throat, with the other begin to venture down your torso. He squeezes at your chest rudely and your hips twitch up. Responsive. Cute. He doesn’t wait for your approval before pulling your top off and doing it again. Laughing when you whine at him. You can feel him behind you still hard, the weight of him pressed against your back. And then, he touches you. His hand brushing where you’re most sensitive and you gasp, jolting in surprise but his solid legs keep yours in place. “Gonna make you feel good, honey.” You feel his stubble graze roughly against your jaw and try to kiss him again, but get interrupted by the feel of his fingers beginning to move. You whimper, hiding your head in the crook of his neck, taking in the musk of a man so much older than you, remembering he’s old enough to be your father, he’s touching you with the experience to prove it. He inserts one finger and you cry. “Joel!” Even his one finger feels thick. And then he moves it. In, and out, and you cry out again. You don’t even recognize yourself yelping and he just laughs at you.

“That feels good, huh? I bet.” You feel his mouth moving against your cheek and the burn of his stubble and the feel of his finger moving inside of you is too much. You just feel him. His strong body behind you, still in his jeans and white t-shirt. His deft hand that’s brought countless others to completion just like this. “Poor little girl, waitin’ for so long. Bet you’re just aching, honey.” “Y-yes!” you moan and he adds a second finger. All you feel is pressure and Joel. He’s thrusting them now and you wail, your entire body convulsing and twitching and you can’t even stop the high-pitched whimpers coming from you. You’re so wet you can feel it dripping onto your thighs. Hear it making a mess. “Shit. You’re soaking me, little girl. Fuck, tell me how it feels. Use your words.” He groans when you move your hips against his hand, fucking back against his curling fingers and you yowl.

“Feels…oh!” his hand moves even faster now and you can hear him against your ear groaning in short breaths at the exertion. “Feels so…feels really—ah! Full. Joel. Joel!” He fits a third finger inside you and you cum on the spot. Your entire body seizes up into a ball of pleasure and you scream. But he doesn’t let up.

He keeps thrusting his fingers up into you, curling where you’re most sensitive and you can feel yourself physically crying. He almost wants to punish you a bit. Force you to come until you can’t. Or maybe edge you onto the cusp of another and tell you he’s driving you home. But then you mewl, “Joel! I want you inside, please. Please. Please.” He’s abstenmindenly thrusting his hips against the small of your back and you keen, trying to reach for him from behind you. “Fuck. Are you sure?” “Yes! Please, please, p-please, just put it in!” He groans with you when he pulls his fingers out, using the hold on your nape to pull you off him and onto your back. He grabs his base with the hand you’ve soaked and greets your seam with his thick tip. Dragging it through your folds and you push your hips against him. “Please.” “You want it that bad, huh?” “Yes! P-please,” he teasingly breaches the first inch into you before stopping, sneering when you cry out and try to move him further into you. “Hm. Don’t think it’s gonna fit, honey. You’re too small. Fuck baby, ain’t nobody’s been in here. Should be with someone your own age—“ he groans when you hold him by the base, trying to make him go in all by yourself and he catches your wrists in his large hand.

“—you’ll make it fit, please!” “Don’t fuckin’ interrupt me. Bad girl.” He slaps your clit with the head of him and you cry. “Cryin’ cause you want it so bad. Look at you. What a pretty sight. Pretty little virgin, ain’t you? You want it? You want it bad?” “Yes! Please. Please.” “You want it bad enough you’ll let me in raw?” You nod so fast that he can’t help but laugh at you. At your pure eagerness. “You even know what that means, virgin? Tell me how much you want it. C’mon.” “I want it so bad. Even raw, Joel. Even raw— please, please. Please. Please,” you have a nickname burning at the tip of your tongue. You want to squeal it when his mean grip on your wrists gets tighter. You can’t think of anything but saying it when you see his stern look and hear his strict, gravelly tone. Daddy. Daddy. “Please, daddy.” He can’t nearly fucking believe it.

Daddy. So fucking immoral. He’s a real daddy, and you want him to be your daddy. He just stares at you like he can’t believe his ears. You’re dirty. He grumbles a fuck, ramming the full fat weight of him into you so fast you keen. “Oh!” He thrusts the entire length of him into you in one, swift punch. He feels bad, he’s sure it hurts, he wanted to make a big fuss of your deflowering, but his ears are ringing and he can’t think of anything but fucking you. Not when he hears you crying for him to be your “daddy.” “Yeah, fucking ‘oh.’ Shit. You feel—“

“Too full, daddy! You’re too. Big—“

He pulls out all the way before plunging right back in, thrusting in a deep succession and your high-pitched whimpering is doing his head in. He’s not sure how he hasn’t come yet, not with your hips twitching beneath him or at the sight of you being so much smaller than him. You’re so tiny beneath him. He thrusts again and you moan, “daddy!” “Yeah. That’s what you need, huh? Y’need,” he groans and you bite the junction of his neck with a sharp cry. “Y’need me to be your daddy don’t you? Fuck. You’re fuckin’ squeezing me. Such a,” he feels you pulse around him and he collapses onto you, the full weight of him now crushing you as his pubic bone grinds against your clit. “Such a naughty girl for daddy, who knew.”

"Come on, baby… make that dick hard for me again. Yeah, just like that—spread those legs, touch that wet pussy, let me see you."

He spits in his hand, wrapping it around his thick, semi-hard shaft, stroking slowly.

"You want this cock? Then show me, baby… make me so hard I can’t help but fuck you all over again."

Like yeah, he's objectively attractive. He's funny. He's a fantastic fucking actor. He's unproblematic. He loves his family.

But what really makes him truly fucking attractive is his advocacy for human rights, trans rights, womxns rights, LGBTQ+ rights, climate change, black rights.