a thousand kisses deep

the autumn afternoon light filtered weakly through the heavy velvet curtains, casting long golden shadows across rows of dark oak desks. outside, the wind whispered against the ivy-covered stone walls of the old university building. it was only midway through your first semester, yet you had never felt more alive. english literature, this world of fiction worlds and theories. had already begun to consume you. you were doing well.

the lecture hall was almost empty, the last few students trickling out while chairs scraped against the old wooden floor. you stayed behind, clutching your notebook like it could steady you. professor miller was still at his desk, sliding papers into his leather satchel. the sleeves of his charcoal sweater were pushed up to his forearms, revealing quiet strength. he carried an air of severe and magnetic authority. you approached slowly. “hey, sir,” you said, stopping right in front of his desk. “i think i already know what i want to write about in my final essay. it’ll be about the magic mountain.”

professor miller looked up, one eyebrow raised, an amused smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. he leaned back against the edge of the desk, hands resting on either side of his hips. “but you have the rest of the semester to think about it,” he replied, voice calm and low. “there’s no need to rush.” “yeah, i know” you said, shifting your weight. “just thinking ahead.” he studied you for a moment, those sharp, intelligent eyes lingering on your face a second longer than they should. the silence felt heavy. when you spoke about hemingway’s iceberg theory, when you lingered after class to ask about faulkner, even when you stayed quiet in the back row. “listen,” he said finally, gentler now, “you should go for something easier to start with. a short story. something compact so you can really develop an idea with substance. don’t forget the literary theory we’ve been studying, alright? i have some books in mind i can lend you. then you can think more clearly about your essay.” he reached for a pen and a small piece of paper, writing quickly. “that’s my address, come by this evening if you’re free.”

your pulse quickened. “yes, sir. thank you so much.” professor miller gave you a slow nod. you gathered your things, a shy smile playing on your lips as you left the room. you slipped the piece of paper into your coat pocket, fingers tracing the ink he had touched only moments ago. the corridor stretched long and dim before you, lined with portraits of dead scholar. this world was everything to you now. you were only twenty — still soft around the edges, still eager and untouched by the real weight of the literary world. professor miller was… something else. he could show you the way. he could mold you into the kind of scholar you desperately wanted to become. the autumn wind howled softly through the quad as you stepped outside. you headed toward the classics building for your latin class, but your mind was far away. by the time you reached the lecture room and sat near the back, your cheeks were flushed from more than just the cold. as the professor droned on about declensions and the ablative absolute, your thoughts kept drifting back to professor miller, to the quiet promise in his invitation. all the way home, you kept wondering which stories he had in mind for you.

it is a cold evening. the autumn wind had sharpened into something biting, and your hands were freezing by the time you reached his street. your backpack hung heavy on your shoulders, filled with notebooks, a half-read copy of the magic mountain, and the nervous weight of anticipation. streetlamps cast pale golden pools on the wet pavement as you climbed the stone steps to his building. it was dark grey, almost black. his apartment was on the 7th floor.

he opened the door wearing a green overcoat. you noticed that the years had touched him beautifully — silver at the temples, fine lines at the corners of his eyes when he smiled. he looked like the kind of man who had read every important book twice and still found new things to feel. “evening,” he said, his voice low and warm, cutting through the cold air. “you came.” there was quiet pleasure in his tone, as though he hadn’t been entirely sure you would. professor miller closed the door behind you with a soft, deliberate click. the warmth of the apartment wrapped around you instantly. it was darker than you expected. intimate and shadowed. the air smelled faintly of old paper, cigarrettes, coffee, and something like cedar. a record player sat in the corner where a chet baker record was playing. the walls almost entirely hidden by tall, overflowing bookshelves that stretched from floor to ceiling. you couldn’t help but stare. thousands of volumes. you wondered if it was possible to truly read them all in one lifetime.

“have you read all of these?” you asked, still standing somewhat awkwardly with your backpack clutched in front of you. professor miller smiled — a slow, charming smile that deepened the lines around his eyes. he slipped off his green overcoat and hung it up, revealing a dark sweater that fit him perfectly. even in his mid-sixties, he moved with the calm confidence.

“most of them,” he said in his deep voice rich with experience. “some i’ve read three or four times over the decades. others i keep for the pleasure of revisiting them when the right mind comes along.” you swallowed, feeling painfully young and inexperienced next to him. still, the words slipped out before you could stop them: “i’ve read most of dubliners already… but i don’t mind reading it again with your notes in the margins.” the moment the sentence left your mouth, you felt a flush of embarrassment. it sounded so eager — almost childish — but you couldn’t help it. you were still so obviously starved for everything this world had to offer. and especially for his guidance.

“greedy boy,” he murmured, his deep voice warm and slightly amused. the affectionate nickname sent a shiver down your spine. “i like that hunger in you. it’s rare.” he reached out and gently took hold of your backpack strap, his fingers brushing against your shoulder. “here, let me take your jacket and your backpack,” he said, his tone low and intimate. “you won’t need them in here. let’s go somewhere comfortable.” he led you into the living room, where a large, deep leather sofa sat facing the bookshelves. the room was bathed in the warm glow of several antique lamps. you sank into the soft leather, acutely aware of how small you felt in such a refined space. professor miller didn’t sit immediately. he stood in front of you for a moment, then leaned against the edge of a heavy oak table, hands resting on either side of his hips. the position made his sweater stretch across his chest. “you’ve been doing an excellent work this semester,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “better than excellent, actually. i don’t say that lightly.” you knew how rare his praise was. other students called him strict, even ruthless — a professor who could destroy an essay with a single red line and a few coldly precise comments. he was feared for his high standards. yet, from the very first week, you found yourself able to contribute confidently in class, even when discussing difficult theory you had barely encountered before. he made you feel capable.

“would you like something to drink? tea? wine? whiskey?” only then did you notice the small but elegant bar cart in the corner of the living room, dark wood and glass, stocked with crystal decanters and heavy tumblers that gleamed under the lamplight. it looked like something from another era. sophisticated. adult. your eyes drifted back to professor miller. an almost empty whiskey glass sat on the oak table beside him, the amber liquid reduced to a thin shimmer at the bottom. you had never tried whiskey before. the thought of drinking something so strong, something clearly part of his world, made you feel thrilled. “i’ll have whatever you’re having, sir,” you said quietly. “bold choice,” he murmured, clearly amused. “whiskey it is, then.”

he moved to the bar cart with the calm confidence of a man who had done this many times before. you watched as he poured two generous measures of rich amber liquid into heavy crystal glasses. he handed you one of the glasses and sat down on the sofa beside you — close enough that you could feel the warmth of his body and catch the faint scent of his cologne.the leather creaked softly under his weight. professor miller took a slow sip from his glass, savoring it, then turned his sharp, intelligent eyes on you. you held the heavy glass in both hands, the whiskey’s honeyed aroma rising to your nose. you took a small, careful sip. it burned pleasantly down your throat but a slight wince betrayed you. professor miller noticed immediately. “you’ve never tried whiskey before, have you?” he asked, gentle amusement coloring his deep voice. you hesitated, cheeks warming. you didn’t want to come across as an inexperienced boy. “not… not really, sir,” you admitted quietly. “it’s alright,” he said, rising from the sofa “this jack daniels honey is already quite gentle, but we can make it even kinder for your first time.” he walked over to the bar cart and returned with a can of red bull. he poured a generous amount into your glass. “try it now. slowly.” “so much better” you said. professor miller watched you with quiet amusement, then leaned back into the sofa, resting one arm along the backrest. being this close to him, you became aware of details you hadn’t noticed before. his chest was broad and firm beneath the charcoal sweater. you could see the faint outline of firm muscle. the strong line of his jaw softened by a well-groomed salt-and-pepper beard, and the elegant veins on the back of his large hands. his jet-black hair that was strikingly distinguished by elegant streaks of silver at the temples and throughout, catching the warm lamplight like threads of fine metal. it made him look wise, experienced, and impossibly handsome all at once. sitting this close to him made your own youth feel almost fragile by comparison. he was everything you hoped to become one day.

“tell me,” he said, voice low and curious, “what’s your favorite genre? what kind of literature truly moves you?”

“i don’t really have one favorite,” you answered honestly, a little shy under his attentive gaze. “i like anything that makes me feel something. anything with a powerful narrative that stays with me… that leaves me thinking about it for days. it doesn’t matter if it’s sad, unsettling, or beautiful. as long as it moves me.” professor miller watched you intently, his expression softening with quiet satisfaction. he rested one arm along the back of the sofa, his fingers not quite touching your shoulder. “that’s a good answer,” he said, nodding slowly. “an honest one. most students your age try to impress me by naming the most intellectual or fashionable authors. but you… you want to be affected. i see that hunger in you,” he continued, his voice dropping lower. your face burned. you felt trangely electrified. “do you like poetry?” he asked. you hesitated, suddenly self-conscious under his attentive gaze. “i… don’t read much poetry, sir,” you admitted quietly. “i’ve tried, but it always feels like i’m missing something. like i don’t know how to read it properly.” professor miller smiled, the smile of a man who had guided many young readers through their uncertainties. “that’s perfectly alright,” he said gently. “most people are never taught how to read poetry. they’re expected to simply feel it, which is unfair.” he stood up and walked over to one of the tall bookshelves. his fingers moved with practiced familiarity across the spines until he found what he was looking for. he returned with a beautiful cloth-bound volume and sat back down, even closer this time.“i won’t push poetry on you tonight,” he said, opening the book with care. “but i will show you something better. someone who writes prose that feels like poetry.” he handed you the book. the collected stories of katherine mansfield. you took the book reverently. it was an old edition, the pages slightly yellowed, the cover soft under your fingers. professor miller leaned in slightly, pointing to a story titled “the garden party.” “start with this one,” he murmured. “it’s only a few pages long, but it will stay with you for years. i’ll lend you this copy. make notes in the margins if you want. i want to see what you feel when you read her. keep it as long as you like.” you smiled, unable to hide your excitement. “thank you, sir. i can’t wait to read it,” you said softly, your voice warm with genuine joy. you held the book a little tighter against your lap, already imagining yourself curled up in your room later, reading the words he had chosen for you. already imagining late nights spent underlining passages he had once read, hoping he would approve of your thoughts. the idea that he wanted to know your thoughts made you feel seen in a way no one else ever had. professor miller watched your eager expression with quiet satisfaction. “are you thinking about getting a master’s degree?” he asked you hesitated, unsure how to answer. the truth was you hadn’t thought that far ahead yet.

“you should consider it.” his thumb brushed slowly along your jaw. “it would be a waste not to let that mind go as far as it can.” a small, teasing smile curved his lips as he studied you. his voice dropped even lower, laced with seductive amusement. “though i suspect..” he murmured, eyes darkening, “deep down, you want someone to master you…” the words settled over you like warm velvet. professor miller let them linger for a moment, his thumb still tracing slow circles along your jaw. then his voice dropped even lower, rougher, thick with desire. “i’ve seen the way you look at me in class… how you stay behind after everyone else has left, lingering by my desk even when you don’t have a question. we both know what this is.” his fingers slid gently to the back of your neck, holding you with quiet possession. “so be honest with me, velvet porcelain boy… what exactly are you hoping i’ll teach you?” the question hung in the air, heavy and intimate. you had tried, in the rational hours, to construct other explanations for why you read three times over every text he assigned. why you want so bad to say something precise enough to make him pause. to make him look. you had told yourself it was ambition. academic devotion. he reached out and slowly brushed a stray lock of hair from your forehead, his thumb lingering for a moment against your temple. the touch was gentle. the mansfield book still rested in your lap like a silent witness to the growing tension between you. “i…” you swallowed, voice barely above a whisper. “i want you to show me things i don’t know yet. i want to know everything” “everything,” he repeated softly, tasting the word the way he would a delicate line of poetry — slowly, deliberately, savoring its weight. “that’s a very large appetite for such a careful boy.” his hand returned to your neck, fingers stroking the sensitive skin with soothing possession. “you’re trembling,” he observed softly, almost tenderly. “there’s no need to feel nervous around me.”

professor miller’s voice was low and reassuring, like warm honey dripping over velvet. he rose from the sofa with calm, deliberate grace. the lamplight cast a golden glow across his broad shoulders as he stood before you. “let me teach you your first real lesson.” he picked up his whiskey glass and without breaking eye contact, he reached down and slowly undid his belt, then the button and zipper of his trousers. he freed his enormous cock — thick, heavy, full of veins and half-hard — letting it rest against the rim of the glass before slowly lowering it into the warm whiskey. ‘i’ll teach you how to drink whiskey properly.” the sight was obscene and strangely elegant at the same time. “kneel for your master.” professor miller stood tall and commanding in front of you, one hand still loosely holding the glass, his wet, glistening cock waiting for you. this was really happening. the distinguished professor who had spent weeks shaping your mind was now offering something more. you slid off the sofa and knelt before him without a word. the carpet was soft against your knees. as you looked up, the sheer size and weight of him so close to your face made your mouth water. professor miller’s hand came down gently to rest on the top of your head, not pushing, just guiding. you leaned forward and took him into your mouth. the first taste hit you immediately — sweet honeyed whiskey mixed with the warm, masculine flavor of his cock. you sucked slowly, savoring the way the sweetened whiskey coated your tongue while his thick shaft grew steadily harder between your lips. the more you sucked, the harder he became, filling your mouth with growing heat and weight. professor miller let out a low, pleased groan, his fingers tightening gently in your hair. “what a receptive boy you are…” he praised, his voice rough with pleasure. you moaned softly. you could feel him growing fully hard now — impossibly thick and rigid — stretching your lips as you worked him deeper. “easy, boy… just like that,” he murmured, guiding your head with gentle pressure. “a little deeper. let me feel your throat. you can take more. i know you can.” he pushed in a little further, careful but firm, watching with dark, hungry eyes as your lips stretched around him. the taste of whiskey was fading, replaced more and more by the warm, masculine flavor of his skin. “you’re doing so well,” he whispered, voice full of approval. “look at you… such a brilliant, beautiful boy on your knees for me…” professor miller let out a low, satisfied groan and gently pulled your head back by the hair, sliding his thick, glistening cock from between your swollen lips.

“come here, sweet boy,” he murmured and before you could fully process it, his strong hands slid under your arms and lifted you effortlessly. in one fluid motion, he pushed you back onto the deep leather sofa. your back hit the cushions as he followed, covering your body with his much larger, heavier frame, pressing you down with weight. his tongue pushed past your lips with confident hunger, sliding against yours, tasting you thoroughly. he kissed like a man who had waited weeks for this: slow, wet, and demanding. his tongue explored every inch of your mouth. the faint taste of whiskey still lingered on his tongue, mixing with the taste of his cock that was still fresh on yours. you moaned into his mouth as he devoured you, his silver beard brushing softly against your skin. he tilted his head and kissed you even deeper, sucking on your tongue, licking into your mouth with filthy, luxurious strokes. one of his hands slid down to grip your thigh, pulling it higher around his hip as he pressed his still-hard, heavy cock against you as he started to take off your clothes with hunger. his fingers moved with practiced urgency, pulling your shirt up and over your head in one smooth motion, barely breaking the kiss. he tossed it aside and immediately ran his warm palm over your bare chest, thumb brushing across your nipple as he groaned into your mouth. “so soft,” he whispered as he touch your skin, voice rough with desire. “such a perfect boy.” he sat up just enough to work on your pants, unbuttoning and unzipping them with impatient hands. in one strong pull, he dragged your pants and underwear down your legs together, leaving you completely naked beneath him. “open your mouth for me” you obeyed instantly, parting your lips. he leaned over you and spit slowly into your open mouth. the act felt so filthy, so possessive, that a needy whimper escaped your throat. you loved it. you held his spit on your tongue, tasting him, swirling it slowly in your mouth like a sacred offering before finally swallowing it with a soft, grateful moan. “good boy,” he growled softly. he stood up from the sofa, pulling his charcoal sweater over his head, revealing a broad, powerful chest dusted with dark hair threaded with silver. fully naked, he was magnificent. “come here,” he order, looking at you with commanding affection. “let your master teach you how to worship properly.” you rose to your feet and stepped close to him. professor miller towered over you, radiating quiet power. he placed one large hand on the back of your neck and gently but firmly guided your face toward his raised arm. you moved slowly, reverently, tasting the faint salt of his skin. professor miller hummed in approval, his fingers threading gently through your hair. “that’s it… good boy.”

encouraged, you moved lower, kissing and licking down the center of his torso. your tongue traced the defined lines of his abdomen, savoring the firm ridges of his six-pack. he was impressively toned. you took your time, licking every groove, pressing open-mouthed kisses against the hard muscle, occasionally sucking lightly on his skin. you lost yourself in it, licking and kissing with increasing devotion, sucking lightly on the sensitive skin. the more you tasted him, the harder you became. “good boy… such a hungry, perfect boy,” he praised, pressing your face deeper for a moment. “you worship me so beautifully.” your mouth moved past his toned abdomen, following the sharp v-line of his hips. you looked up at him for permission. professor miller stroked your cheek with his thumb, eyes dark and full of possessive affection. he cupped your face with both hands and kissed you deeply, tasting himself on your tongue. he led you back to the sofa, guiding you down onto your back with careful strength. the leather was cool against your heated skin. he lowered himself and took your cock into his mouth. the heat was overwhelming. his mouth was incredibly warm and skilled. his tongue pressed firmly along the underside of your shaft while his soft silver-streaked beard brushed teasingly against your thighs. a deep, guttural moan escaped your throat as pleasure shot through your entire body. he took you even deeper, relaxing his throat and swallowing around your length with practiced ease, then pulled back to swirl his tongue around your sensitive head, savoring the taste of your precum. he looked up at you with dark, satisfied eyes while his mouth continued working you so beautifully. “you taste so good,” he murmured against your wet cock, stroking you slowly with one large hand. “do you like when your professor takes all of you in his month?” “yes— fuck, yes, sir.” you gasped, voice wrecked with pleasure. “i love it. it feels amazing, sir. please don’t stop—”

“such a filthy boy” he praised while grabbing a firm handful of your ass. he squeezed it possessively while he continued sucking you with slow, wet strokes. suddenly, he pulled off your cock with a wet pop and flipped you over onto your stomach. you gasped as your chest pressed into the leather sofa. professor miller knelt behind you, spreading your legs wider and pulling your hips up so your ass was raised for him. “such a perfect ass,” he growled softly, voice thick with lust. “so soft and untouched…” he leaned down and spat directly onto your hole, you felt the cold liquid right into you. then he did it again, making sure you were dripping wet. his fingers joined in, spreading his spit around your tight entrance, rubbing slow circles. now you could feel the thick blunt head of his enormous cock, he slapped your ass with it twice before he pushed in slowly, steadily, the spit and precum letting him slide in surprisingly deep on the first thrust. you felt every inch as he filled you, stretching you open in the most delicious, overwhelming way. “fuck— professor…” you whimpered, fingers gripping the sofa. “that’s it.” he stayed buried deep for a moment, letting you adjust to his size, his large hands gripping your hips. then he began to move — slow, deep thrusts that made your whole body light up with pleasure. every stroke dragged against that perfect spot inside you, sending waves of intense bliss through your body. “you feel incredible,” he breathed against your ear, pressing his chest to your back. “so tight… so warm… gripping me so beautifully. my clever, eager boy.” he started fucking you harder, deeper, the wet sound of his hips meeting your ass filling the quiet room as he claimed you completely. professor miller’s enormous cock felt impossibly thick as it slid deep inside you, filling you completely, pressing against every sensitive spot. the wet, filthy sound of his spit-lubricated shaft pushing into your tight hole made your mind hazy with pleasure. he pulled back slowly, almost removing his entire length, leaving just the fat head inside you — only to slam back in with one powerful thrust. your eyes rolled back, a broken moan tearing from your throat as intense pleasure shot through your body. “so wet…” you whimpered, voice shaking. “it feels so fucking good, professor…" professor miller groaned in satisfaction. after a few more deep thrusts, he suddenly pulled out, flipped you onto your back, and grabbed your legs. he hooked them over his broad shoulders, folding you beneath him. he looked straight into your eyes with a possessive gaze — the look of a man who knew he was claiming something precious. “look at your master while he ruins you.” one of his large hands wrapped around your rock hard cock, stroking you in time with his hips.

he started to fuck you harder, picking up a relentless rhythm. his hips snapped forward with powerful strokes, driving his enormous cock deep inside you again and again. you could feel every thick vein dragging along your walls with each thrust — the heavy, ridged texture stretching and rubbing against your most sensitive spots perfectly. he looked so strong above you. broad shoulders flexing, powerful chest glistening with a light sheen of sweat hair falling messily over his forehead as he pounded into you. he gripped your thighs tighter, folding you further as he railed you faster, deeper. the wet, obscene sound of his heavy balls slapping against your ass filled the room. every brutal thrust made you feel him completely — the heat, the thickness, the way his cock throbbed and pulsed inside you. you didn’t need to say anything. he could read you so easily. he knew exactly how desperate you were to be filled. “cum for me, baby” he growled, voice rough and desperate. his hand stroking your cock faster. the pleasure crested violently. “that’s i— good b— fuck!!” professor miller growled. “urghhhhh!” with desperate moans, you both came at the same time your cock pulsed hard between his skilled fingers, shooting thick ropes of cum across your stomach and chest. at the exact same moment, professor miller buried himself to the hilt with a deep, guttural groan and began flooding your insides. he came hard, pulse after heavy, powerful pulse, pumping an incredible amount of thick, warm cum deep into you. you could feel every throb, every spurt as he filled you beyond full. he kept thrusting through his orgasm, slow and possessive, fucking his massive load even deeper into your body. even after reaching his edge, he didn’t stop moving. he continued with long, lazy strokes, making sure every last drop stayed buried deep inside you. for a long moment neither of you moved. the book you had come for had fallen to the floor at some point.

"fuck," he rasped "god, you are just…" he growled with deep satisfaction, staring down at the creamy mess leaking from your ruined hole. thick warm cum slowly dribbling out of you, running down your balls and onto the sofa. “fuck, you’ve got such a tight little ass, baby,” he groaned, rubbing the fat head of his cock against your cum-soaked entrance. “let’s push professor’s cum back where it belongs.” he gripped your hips and pushed forward. a broken moan escaped your lips. he felt even bigger this time, sliding through the sloppy mess he had already pumped into you. your heart was still going. you could feel it everywhere, your throat, your fingertips, the place behind your sternum where something bright and almost painful had taken up residence and showed no sign of leaving. "look at you," he dragged a thumb through the mess on your stomach, swirling it. "absolutely ruined. and you fucking love it, don't you?" "mm-hmm," you hummed, your voice cracked and breathless. "my little scholarly seducer.” he said. the dark leather of the sofa was slick, stained with the evidence of our collision— spilled whiskey, sweat, and the cooling traces of our release pooling in the creases of the upholstery. "you're so devoted, aren't you?" he pulled me closer, his skin sliding against mine with a wet, tacky friction. "not just to the texts, or the theories… but to the sensation of being completely undone."

🌙⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚✨

joel’s eyes lingered on you a second longer than necessary as he stepped inside, the scent of wood hitting you as he passed. you closed the door behind him, heart already beating a little faster.

“you really didn’t have to come over on your day off,” you said. “dad’s too lazy to fix anything himself, huh?”

joel glanced up at you, a small smirk tugging at his mouth. “i don’t mind. gets me outta my own empty house.” he pulled out a screwdriver and started tightening the hinges. “besides… i like comin’ over here.” 

the way he said it made heat crawl up your neck. 

“yeah?” you asked, trying to sound casual. “even when my dad’s not here to bother you?” 

joel let out a low chuckle, deep and rough.  

“especially then.” he took a slow look at you from where he was crouched. “don’t get me wrong, i love watchin’ the matches with your old man… but he can’t ever shut up long enough to actually enjoy the game.” he shook his head with a fond smile. “constant yappin’ the whole ninety minutes.” 

“yeah, i know how it goes,” you said with a soft laugh. “you two get too loud.”

you took him upstairs first, straight to your bedroom. the shelf above your desk had been half-pulling out of the wall for weeks. joel set his tools down and got to work, muscles flexing under his shirt as he held the shelf in place and drilled new anchors. you leaned against the doorframe, watching the way his jeans hugged his thick thighs and that perfect ass every time he shifted.    

you felt a strange rush of nervousness. this was your space, with your bed, your posters, your clothes all over the place, the little pieces of you scattered everywhere, because you a pretty messy boy and wasn’t expecting a visitor. and now that hot old man was standing in the middle of it.

the greys in his beard and the faint lines around his eyes only made him more attractive to you. he looked strong, experienced…in a way that made your stomach flutter. 

joel drilled in the new anchors with steady, practiced hands, then tested the shelf, making sure it was secure. after a moment, he stepped back and gave it a firm tug. 

“all done,” he said, satisfied. “should hold now.”

his eyes flicked to your bed, then back to you. “nice room,” he said quietly. “feels very you.” the air between you felt thicker. joel cleared his throat, his voice coming out a little rougher than before.

“does your dad got anything cold to drink?” he asked

“beer?” you offered, smiling.

“perfect.”  

you went downstairs to grab a couple of cold beers from the fridge, heart racing the entire time. joel was alone in your bedroom right now. the thought made you feel strangely tense and nervous… but also incredibly excited. 

when you come back, joel is looking at your record collection: “damn… this is a good collection,” he murmured, genuinely impressed as he pulled out born to run. “you got taste, kid.”

“thanks, i like old music” you said, feeling shy but happy he noticed your taste.  “i’ve always liked older music. it just feels… warmer. more honest.” 

joel looked up at you, brown eyes soft. “yeah. i know what you mean.”  

he took the beer from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours for a moment longer than necessary. 

then he asked, almost casually: “does your dad let you drink?” 

you smiled, a playful, bratty little spark lighting up in your eyes. 

“he doesn’t need to know, right?” you teased.

since the shelf had been broken for weeks, you’d been keeping most of your vinyls stored in two big wooden crates on the floor. joel didn’t seem to mind at all. he sat with his back against the side of your bed, legs stretched out comfortably, while you sat close beside him.  

the afternoon sun poured through the window, casting everything in a golden hue. 

joel carefully slid the record out of its sleeve and placed it on the player with the gentle care of someone who truly loved music. the opening chords of “thunder road” filled the room, low, intimate, and full of quiet yearning.

for a while, you both just listened. joel took slow sips of his beer, nodding along, one knee bent as he rested his arm on it. every so often his eyes would drift from the records over to you. 

“you got springsteen, pearl jam, the eagles… even neil young,” he said, impressed. “most kids your age only listen to whatever’s on tiktok.” 

you passed him another record, an old pearl jam one to show him the coverart you loved, and when your fingers brushed, neither of you pulled away immediately. 

“you know,” he said after a moment, voice quieter, “i don’t get to do this much anymore. just sittin’ and listenin’ to music with someone who actually gets it.” he looked at you, really looked. 

you kept talking, showing him different albums, telling little stories about where you found them. he listened attentively, asking questions, laughing quietly at your stories. every time you leaned in to point something on a lyric, your shoulders pressed together. every time he handed you a record, his eyes dropped to your mouth.  

“i’ve always loved springsteen the most,” you admitted, pulling out born to run. “there’s something about his music that feels… defiant. like he’s saying ‘fuck you’ to the way things are supposed to be.”

joel’s mouth curved into a slow, knowing smile. he took the album from you, his thumb brushing over the cover almost reverently. 

“yeah… that’s exactly it,” he murmured, voice low. “springsteen writes about rebellion, but not the loud, stupid kind. it’s quieter. more desperate. like runnin’ away from everything that’s tryin’ to keep you small. he makes you believe you can outrun your circumstances if you’ve got the right person ridin’ shotgun.” 

you shifted slightly closer, your shoulder pressing against his. “is that why you like him so much? do you feel like that? like you want to rebel?” 

“i was a rebel when i was your age, you have no idea” he said “gettin’ into trouble, chasin’ girls i had no business chasin’… thought the whole world was mine to take. i’m supposed to be past all that rebellious shit. supposed to know better.” 

his eyes dropped to your mouth, then slowly dragged back up to meet yours. “supposed to stay in my lane… and definitely not be sittin’ on the floor of a boy half my age’s bedroom.” he smile. 

you swallowed, heart racing. 

the music played on.

at one point joel stretched his legs out more, his thick thigh pressing firmly against yours. he didn’t move it away. neither did you. the heat of his body seeped through your clothes and made your pulse throb.  

“you keep lookin’ at me like that, darlin’…”  joel finally muttered, voice rough around the edges as he stared at your lips again. 

“like what?” you asked, barely above a whisper. 

“like you want the same thing i do.”  

the tension was thick enough to taste. your beers were over forgotten beside you. joel’s hand rested on his own thigh, fingers twitching like he was fighting the urge to reach for you. 

your faces were so close now. close enough to count the faint lines at the corners of his eyes. close enough to see how his pupils had blown wide. his gaze dropped to your lips again, heavy and wanting.

“been wantin’ to kiss you for so long,” he confessed, voice low and gravelly. “every time i see you… every damn time, but i never had to courage to do it. could never get you alone like this.” 

“you can kiss me” you breathed. joel cupped your face with one big, calloused hand and closed the distance. 

the kiss was slow at first, warm, deep, and full of all the restrained yearning you’d both been carrying. then it turned hungry. joel groaned into your mouth, tilting your head as he licked inside, claiming you properly.  

you climbed into his lap, straddling his thick thighs as his hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer.  

warm lips pressed against yours, tasting faintly of beer and restraint. but the moment you parted your lips, something in joel snapped. he groaned deeply into your mouth, tilting your head as his tongue slid against yours, claiming you with years of pent-up hunger. the kiss quickly turned filthy — wet, desperate, and deep.

“fuck” he panted against your lips. “that’s a dangerous thing we are doing” his words sent a shiver through you.  

“been thinkin’ about this for so long,” he confessed between kisses down your neck. he sucked a mark just below your ear, then soothed it with his tongue. 

“tell me to stop,” he rasped, even as his hands tightened on your hips, guiding you to keep grinding on him. you shook your head, lips brushing his.  

“i don’t want you to stop, joel. i want this.” you said shily, feeling his hard cock pressing insistently against you.

he let out a shaky breath and kissed you again, hungrier this time. his hands moved with more purpose — sliding under your shirt to pull it up and off. the moment your chest was bare, his mouth was on you, kissing and licking down your collarbone, sucking your nipples while rough hands explored every inch of your skin like he was trying to memorize you.

“goddamn, look at you…” he breathed, almost in awe. “so fuckin’ perfect.”

emboldened by his words, you tugged at the hem of his shirt. joel helps you out, lifting his arms so you could pull it all the way off and toss it aside. his hands dropped to your ass, squeezing hard as he pulled you tighter against his cock.  

 the friction was driving you crazy, but he kept the pace torturously slow, like he wanted to savor every second of this forbidden moment. 

your hands move on their own. you ran your palms across his hairy chest, tracing the strong lines of his pecs and stomach. 

you leaned in closer, burying your nose in his armpit, breathing him in deeply. he smelled so masculine, so warm, right before you are moving your hands down his strong arms, squeezing the firm muscle of his biceps and forearms. everything about him felt so safe, and so addictive.

in one smooth motion, he flipped you both and laid you down on your bed, hovering over you. his broad shoulders blocked out most of the golden light coming through the window. 

“your dad ain’t home,” his voice was low and rough, “so right now… i’m gonna be your daddy.”   

the words sent a bolt of heat straight through you. joel leaned down, brushing his nose against yours. “tell me how you want it, darlin’. tell me you want this old man to fuck your sweet hole.”

“i want you, joel” you breathed, trembling with need. “you can have me the way you want.”

he kissed you again, slower this time, pouring every unspoken feeling into it.    

you sat up on your knees, heart hammering. joel stayed kneeling on the bed, watching you with hooded eyes as you reached for him. your hands moved to his chest, you could feel how fast his heart was beating.  

your fingers found his belt. the metal buckle felt cool compared to his skin. you looked up at him as you slowly unbuckled it, the quiet sound of leather sliding through the loops filling the room. joel’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t rush you. you popped the button of his jeans and dragged the zipper down, the sound loud and obscene in the quiet bedroom. you pushed his jeans down his thick thighs, and joel shifted to help you pull them off completely. you threw them onto the floor, leaving him in just a pair of black boxers. 

the bulge in them was obscene, thick and rock hard, straining against the fabric. you leaned in and pressed your face against his clothed cock, breathing him in. he smelled so fucking good, so musky, masculine, with that warm, heady scent. you nuzzled against the thick length, inhaling deeply, and joel cursed under his breath, one hand gently threading through your hair. 

“fuck, baby… are you tryin’ to kill me?” he rasped. 

you hooked your fingers into the waistband of his black boxers and pulled them down. joel’s heavy cock sprang free, thick and flushed, the fat head glistening with precum. it bobbed heavily in front of your face, veined and intimidating.  

you leaned forward again without thinking, pressing your nose right against the base of his cock, breathing him in deeply. the scent was even stronger here, you dragged your nose up along the thick shaft, savoring it.

joel’s hand tightened slightly in your hair, a low groan rumbling in his chest. 

“jesus christ, darlin’…” his voice was wrecked. “you like how daddy smells?” 

“yeah, it smells so good, can i taste it? it looks so sweet.”  

“yes, baby,” he breathed, voice deep and rough, thick with lust and affection. “daddy’s here to make you feel good.” 

the words sent a shiver down your spine. joel’s thumb gently stroked your cheek as he looked down at you with dark, conflicted eyes. 

“go on then,” he murmured, guiding your head just a little closer. “be a good boy and lick it. but slow… so you feel taste it all, feel it all over your mouth”  

you dragged your tongue up the thick underside of his cock, tasting the salty skin and the bead of precum at the tip. joel hissed through his teeth, hips twitching forward slightly. 

“fuck… that’s it, sweetheart. just like that.” his voice dropped even lower. “a needy little boy. look at you… so pretty with your mouth on me… you look so goddamn pretty like this… i don’t think i can stop you, baby.”

joel gently pulled you up, then laid you back down on the bed. without a word, he grabbed your thighs and lifted your legs, resting them over his broad shoulders. the position folded you slightly, leaving you completely exposed to him. 

“been watchin’ you grow up for years” he says while touching your face “and now i’m finally gonna bury every inch inside you. you gonna take it all?” he whispers.

he spat into his hand, stroking his thick cock once, twice, coating the head with his own spit.  

his eyes stayed locked on yours as he pressed the blunt, leaking tip against your tiny hole. “fuck…” he breathed, already sounding wrecked.

he pushed in slowly, just the fat head breaching your tight ring of muscle. joel groaned deeply, low and guttural, as your walls stretched around him. 

“goddamn… so tight” he breathed hard.

you gasped, back arching off the bed at the intense stretch. joel paused halfway in, forehead pressed against yours, breathing shakily.  

“easy… breathe for me,” he whispered tenderly, even as his hips trembled with the effort of holding back. “that’s it, good boy. takin’ daddy’s cock so well already.”

he pushed in a little deeper, groaning again when your heat swallowed another inch. he was so big and your hole was so tight. 

“that’s it, sweetheart… takin’ me so perfect.” 

once he bottomed out, joel stayed still for a moment, just holding you, just feeling you, kissing you tenderly while you adjusted. then he started moving, deep, rolling thrusts that made the bed creak softly. 

“you’re so beautiful like this,” he whispered against your neck, voice wrecked with pleasure. “been dreamin’ about havin’ you under me.” 

“you’re so full of me right now. my boy… takin’ every inch of this old man’s cock.” he fucked you with long, steady strokes, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other gripped your thigh, spreading you wider. every thrust hit deep, dragging against that spot inside you that made you moan his name.

“joel— fuck— feels so good…” 

“yeah?” he kissed you again, slower and sweeter even as his hips snapped harder. you both could hear as the record would start skipping but you got all his attention, you were only his. “that’s my good boy. let me hear how much you like it, moan for me.”  

he wrapped a big hand around your cock, stroking you in time with his thrusts while murmuring filthy praise against your skin. but after a few minutes, joel slowed down and pulled out, leaving you empty and whining. 

“on your hands and knees, darlin’,” he ordered “want to see that pretty ass while i fuck you.” 

you obeyed quickly, arching your back and pushing your ass up for him. joel groaned at the sight, running his rough palms over your cheeks before spreading them wide.

“look at you… so fuckin’ eager.”

“fuck, yes—” you gasped, fingers twisting in the sheets. 

joel set a punishing rhythm, hips slapping against your ass with every deep stroke. the new angle had him hitting your prostate perfectly on every thrust, making your eyes roll back.  

he started fucking you harder, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room. his hand came down again — sharp, rhythmic spanks that made your hole clench around his thick cock with every strike.  

he suddenly pulled out of you, leaving your hole clenching around nothing. you let out a desperate whine at the empty feeling, already missing the thick stretch of his cock. 

you didn’t have to miss it for long. joel grabbed both your cheeks and spread them wide open, exposing your twitching hole. without any warning, he buried his face between your asscheeks and dragged his tongue right over your sensitive rim. you moaned loudly into the mattress. his tongue was hot, wet, and greedy. he licked broad, slow stripes over your hole at first, tasting you thoroughly, before turning filthy. he stiffened his tongue and pushed it inside you, fucking you with it in deep, hungry strokes. 

“such a sweet hole, you taste so good, baby.” he groaned loudly against your ass, the vibration shooting through your body. he was eating you like a starving man — messy, wet, and completely shameless. loud, obscene slurping sounds filled the room as he licked and sucked at your hole, trying to push his tongue as deep as possible, desperate to taste every inch inside you.

“atta boy,” he growled, one hand gripping your hip hard while the other delivered another sharp slap to your ass. “arch that back more. let me fuck you proper.” 

you moaned loudly, pushing back to meet his thrusts. joel kept spanking you between strokes — firm, rhythmic slaps that left your skin burning and your hole clenching tighter around him. 

“i want you to slap me, dad. i’ve been… craving you too much.” 

joel’s eyes darkened with pure lust. he rubbed his palm over your ass once, almost soothingly, before bringing his hand down harder — a loud, sharp smack that echoed in the room. 

“like that?” he asked, voice rough.  you moaned, pushing back onto his thick cock “jesus christ,” joel muttered under his breath, clearly losing more of his control. “such a filthy boy.”  

“you like that, baby?” he panted, voice strained with pleasure. “like when daddy spanks this pretty ass while he fucks you?” 

“yes, daddy.”  

“such a naughty boy… letting dad use your body in the way that he pleases.”

the sting bloomed into heat, going straight to your cock. joel slapped the other cheek harder, then rubbed the heated skin soothingly before lining himself up again. he pushed back inside in one smooth thrust, burying himself to the hilt.

he started fucking you with deep, powerful thrusts while his hand came down again and again — firm, stinging slaps that made your skin burn beautifully. each spank made you clench tighter around his cock. 

“that’s what you wanted, huh?” he panted, spanking you between thrusts. “wanted your dad to bend you over and spank your ass while he fucks you?” you cried out, gripping the sheets tightly.  

joel inside you felt like he was meant to be inside you all along. his thick, warm cock fit you so perfectly that you felt protected, safe, and completely owned all at once.

you felt so full, so claimed, so wanted. this was everything you had secretly dreamed about: joel miller, strong and rough, ruining you in your own bed. you felt small beneath his big body, protected and completely overpowered all at once. 

“you’re squeezin’ me so tight,” he growled, breathing ragged. “you want me to fill you up, sweetheart? want daddy’s cum deep inside this tight ass?”

“yes— please, joel—” 

he chuckled darkly and slowed his thrusts to a teasing grind, keeping you right on the edge. 

“i don’t know… only good boys get filled up.” another hard slap landed on your ass, making you cry out. “you gonna be good for me? gonna keep this pretty ass up and take everything i give you?” 

“i’ll be good— i swear, gonna take every drop” you whimpered, desperately pushing back onto his thick cock. “please breed me, daddy. i need it” you were only his desperate baby boy.  

he reaches under you to stroke your leaking cock while the other kept delivering occasional slaps to your reddening ass.

“that’s my boy,” he panted, voice strained with pleasure “so perfect. you’re gonna make me cum so hard, baby.” 

the combination of his deep thrusts, his hand pumping your cock, and the sharp sting of his palm sent you spiraling. you came first with a broken moan, clenching hard around him as you spilled over his fingers and onto the sheets.

joel cursed loudly, burying himself as deep as he could go. “good boy— f-fuck, daddy is gonna fill you up.”  

he snapped his hips a few more times before he came with a deep, guttural groan, flooding your insides with thick, warm pulses of cum. “fuck, bab!—” he scream as pushing your hips closer so he could fill your insides.  

his cock pulsed hard inside you as he flooded you with thick, hot spurts of cum. he kept your hips pressed tightly against him, grinding deep as if he wanted to push his hot release as far inside you as possible. the warm, wet sensation of his cum filling you was overwhelming, heavy, claiming, and addictive.  

you wish we would never pull it out.

he stayed buried inside you for a moment, both of you panting. then he carefully pulled out, groaning softly at the sight of his thick cum leaking from your used hole. then flipped you onto your back again, collapsing on top of you. his mouth found yours in a slow, tender kiss as his hand gently rubbed your sore ass.   

“goddamn…” he whispered hoarsely, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. “never felt anything better than this…” 

you wanted to feel joel’s cum inside you forever. feeling it trickle down your thighs, like having a piece of him inside you. you loved it. you craved it.  

you wanted to keep every drop of his seed inside you forever. you wanted to walk around the house with his cum steadily leaking from your used asshole, feeling it smear between your cheeks with every movement. 

you wanted to spend the rest of the day leaking joel miller’s cum like the desperate little needy boy you were for him.

“when i was downstairs watching soccer matches with your dad…” he murmured, voice low and sweet, almost shy, “i was always thinking about you. wonderin’ what you were doing up here in your room. sometimes i’d hear you moving around and my heart would start beating faster like some damn teenager.” 

he let out a soft, self-deprecating chuckle and held you tighter, one hand gently cupping the back of your head. 

“but the best days were when you’d come down and sit with us. i’d try so hard not to stare… but i couldn’t help it. you’d smile or laugh at something and i’d forget the whole game. i just wanted to look at you.” 

“i knew it was wrong. knew i shouldn’t be feeling that way about you… but i couldn’t stop. every time you walked into a room, it felt like the air got lighter. and now that i’ve had you like this…” he swallowed hard, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “i don’t think i can go back to pretending anymore.” 

you felt your chest tighten at his words.  

joel leaned in and kissed you — slow, deep, and incredibly tender. when he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours. 

“i’ve wanted you for so long, darlin’,” he whispered. “not just your body… i wanted you. all of you. i like to be around you.”

keys jingling. familiar footsteps. 

“shit,” you whispered, eyes wide. joel’s body tensed instantly. “get in the shower,” you said, getting up from bed. “i’ll tell him i offered you a shower since you got sweaty from fixing the shelf.” 

he leaned down and kissed you once, quick but deep, before grabbing his jeans and shirt off the floor. you watched his broad, naked back disappear into your bathroom. a second later, the shower turned on. 

your heart was hammering as you quickly pulled on some shorts and a t-shirt, trying to look casual. you could still feel joel’s cum slowly leaking out of you as you hurried downstairs. 

your dad was in the kitchen, setting down a couple of grocery bags when you reached the bottom of the stairs. 

“hey, kid,” he said, smiling at first. then his eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at you. “joel come by to look at the screen door?”

“yeah, but we decided to fix my shelf first, he was sweaty so i offered him a shower.” 

little did you know your dad would never buy this story. he knew joel too well. he’d known him for over thirty years.