#nanny!reader

It’s not like you asked the guy to come up to you, you were both looking for last set of blue ornaments and reached for the same one.

The stranger didn’t mind giving them to you, long as you told him why you needed them.

Stupid? sure, you could’ve just grabbed them and went on your merry way. But the dude wasn’t half bad looking, tall, low fade, a model-esc smile, piercings— you didn’t mind indulging him.

All an excuse to create some space between you and Simon which had gotten so much closer since you started living in the Riley household. You (and the twins of course) slept in Simons room almost 4 times a week.

So much so, the alarm got put on your side of the bed because Simon had a habit of turning it off and flipping over. You’d sleepily turn it off with closed eyes and let out a little grunt, leaning over the twins and shaking Simon hard enough to get up.

And it’s times like that, you were so tired, so exhausted, you didn’t even realize whenever Simon got out ‘f bed, he’d grumble a ‘mornin’ to you and you’d hum, taking over the roll as the twins pillow with your arm. And Simon would tangle your fingers together, gently kissing your knuckles.

He loved it.

You on the other hand, you were denying the love.

If you even tried to explain this to yout friends they’d bombard you with questions non stop, Simon was your employer. Not for romance, a big fat no no.

And yet, you still talked for hours in his and your bedrooms, when he wasn’t able to make dinner you’d wrap him a portion and leave it on the counter for him to see. Simon would get the errands you asked for and put them away, folded laundry with you on the weekend— when you just weren’t feeling yourself Simon could spot it out a mile away and let you go read a book or take a nap, even when you were on the clock and he was off.

Hell— when you fell asleep on the couch, Simon would take you into his bedroom and you’d wake up in his muscular arms.

You were inches away from heaven.

You had to wake up though. Even today, Simons touch lingered on you, it really felt like- like you guys were a-

“Mommy! There you are!” An oh so familiar voice sighed in relief, running into you as hugging your waist.

“I- Julie-“

“Jamie ‘nd I were looking for you everywhere! We thought you got lost!” She pouts, big brown eyes looking up at you and then looking toward the stranger. She scowls, “Who are you?”

He clears his throat, eyebrow raising, “You have a child?”

Your eyes widen, air sweeping you up, stammering, “This- I don’t have any-“

“—Mom! We finally found you!” Jamie comes running down the aisle, hugging your other side.

Your hands almost instinctively caress their heads, still confused as to what and why this was happening and like clock work, theres Simon close behind. “The kids were worried ‘bout you dovie,” he slips his large hand down your waist, pulling you closer to him and kissing your temple, “Don’t make us wait too long next time. Somethin happen with the ornaments?”

And the older brute eyes peer down at the stranger, and he takes a step back in fear- “You have a good day with your family ma’am.”

With that, the man dashes away, leaving you in the hold of three Riley’s.

You let out a chuckle, almost unamused but you truly can’t believe they’ve pulled this stunt.

You look up Simon, mouthing, ‘You’re a fuckin cunt’

And he lets out a snicker from his belly, arm wrapping around you shoulder and kissing your cheek before whispering in your ear, “Oh, you fuckin love it.”

And heat rises under your cheeks making you squirm.

Okay fine, you give up.

Maybe you did fucking love it.

a/n: it’s the holiday season, I want to do a Christmas post to!!!

Aaron has a car.  

Okay, correction—Aaron, has a very nice car. A very nice, very particular car. A sleek, elegant, totally unnecessary but painfully sexy kind of car. He got it last year for Father’s Day. Something about treating himself, living a little, embracing the midlife crisis with just enough self-awareness to make it endearing. 

And at the time, you were thrilled for him. Because, honestly, he deserved it. After everything he’d been through—work, Jack, his ex, work again—it made you happy to see him do something purely for himself. 

Of course, that was before. 

That was before he became yours—before you were the one kissing him goodnight and crawling into bed with his FBI-grade tension. Before, the car was just a car. Something expensive and fast and just out of character enough to make you smile. But now? Now, it’s a piece of Aaron that you can’t quite let go of, and part of a larger plan to aide in his relaxation. The only problem? He’s not aware of your plan—like, at all.  

So, imagine his surprise, when he comes home, parks his government issued—and dearly beloved—Chevy Tahoe to the garage, and sees you perching on the hood of his Porche 993 Carrera S with the most mischievous smile on your face. He blinks. 

You can see it—the way he stares at you like his brain’s trying to reboot. He’s still in full work mode: navy suit jacket, pressed shirt, Bureau face set in that professional mask. But you know him too well now. You see the twitch in his jaw, the ghost of a smirk he's trying (and failing) to suppress. 

“You’re sitting on the hood,” he says, pointing out the obvious. 

You tilt your head, all mock innocence as you gasp. “Am I?” 

“You know you are.” His voice is tinged with bemusement, even though he tries to restrain himself from giving into smirking. “And you’re wearing the dress.” 

“I seem to have put it on,” you agree, leaning back on your arms to show the dress off. “Good catch, counsellor.” 

His eyes narrow—barely—but you catch it. Just like you catch the flicker of his gaze trailing down the line of your legs slowly as he catalogues every inch of skin the hem of your dress doesn’t cover. “Honey,” he exhales, “what is this about?” 

You lift a brow. “Remember when you bought this car in hopes of using it? Well, it’s been a year, and you have not used it, like, at all.” 

Aaron huffs out a breath—somewhere between a laugh and a sigh—and sets his briefcase down by the door. He shrugs out of his suit jacket with deliberate slowness, the tension in his shoulders finally beginning to ease. “I drive it.” 

“To the grocery store,” you counter, indignant. “Once. You parallel parked it, Aaron.” 

“I did,” he says, deadpan, loosening his tie. “Perfectly, I might add.” 

You narrow your eyes at him, but it’s hard to hold the glare when he starts walking over, rolling his sleeves up like he has every intention of turning this into a negotiation. “That car deserves better,” you declare, swinging your legs a little. “And frankly, so do I.” 

“So, you’ve decided on breaking and entering and seducing me by sitting on my car to make me listen?” He asks, one of his eyebrows popping up. 

You grin. “Technically, I live here.” He hums; and you take it as a sign to continue. “And technically, I seduced you months ago,” you murmur. “This is just... grilfriend priveledge.” 

He presses his lips together, like he's fighting a smile, then stops right in front of you. His hands find your knees, thumbs brushing lightly over the skin there. Hotch chuckles, the sound low and warm in his chest. “You’ve put some thought into this.” 

“Obviously,” you say, wrapping your arms loosely around his neck. “You’re very tense. This is me being helpful.” 

His hands at your knees flex slightly, his thumbs sweeping over the soft skin in idle, thoughtful strokes. It’s deceptively gentle—like he’s still weighing what he wants to do with you, with this moment, with the Porsche that now has a very pretty distraction sprawled across it, not that he minds.  

Aaron tilts his head. “And what does your plan currently entail?” 

“Well first things first, we should probably get you out of your suit.” You sigh, your hands sliding across his shirt-clad chest and slide upwards again to tug lightly at his loosened tie, as your fingers curl around the silk. “Which I happen to love, by the way, but not as much as I love what’s under it.” 

That earns you a real smirk — sharp, crooked, rare. The kind that doesn’t come easily, but always lands right in your chest. 

“Manipulative,” he murmurs, stepping between your legs until there’s nowhere left for you to go but into him. His hands trail up your thighs, slow and deliberate, bunching the hem of your dress as he goes. “Calculating.” 

“Resourceful,” you counter, tugging his tie looser. “You love resourceful.” 

“I do,” he admits, almost too easily. His hands settle at your hips firmly, as he works through the fabric to bunch it up at your hips. And I love that dress.” 

You blink innocently. “This old thing?” 

Aaron chuckles under his breath, leaning in just enough for you to feel the brush of his breath at your cheek. “Don’t play coy now. You planned this. Waited until Jack was at Jessica’s. Waited until you heard the garage door. Waited for me.” 

Your lips twitch. “Maybe.” 

He groans, dragging a hand through his face as he chuckles softly, “You've profiled me into this.”   

The only response you provide him is another string of giggles, your eyes locked to his as you bend your knees as rest your feet onto the hood of the car, letting them fall open to the sides whilst you push him slowly so that he can get a good look. His breath hitches—and your reaction is almost immediate as you tilt your head to the side with a smirk on your face.  

“That’s not a nice thing to say, Aaron,” you tut, “I only wanted to help you.” 

He hums in thought, bending down as he gets on his knees. “I should thank you properly, shouldn’t I?” 

The words alone make your breath catch, but it’s the way he says them—low, gravelly, laced with quiet reverence and intent. Your fingers tighten instinctively around the edge of the hood, your back arching slightly as he settles between your legs. It’s such a contrast, seeing Aaron Hotchner—stoic, calculating, the embodiment of composure and propriety—kneel for you. Kneel willingly. Eagerly. 

Your voice is softer now, teasing, but undeniably breathless. “It’s only polite…” 

Aaron looks up at you through his lashes, eyes dark, focused. “You’ve always been so very  good for me,” he murmurs, hands sliding slowly up the backs of your calves, guiding your legs further apart with gentle, possessive confidence. “Taking care of me. Thinking ahead.” 

“I wanted to help,” your voice trails off into a soft sigh as he throws your legs over his shoulders, his lips quick to trail over your thighs starting from your knees. You’re barely aware of the sound you make—a breathless, needy sound that slips past your lips before you can swallow it down. He hears it, of course. Smiles against your skin like he’s won something. “Aaron…” you breathe, threading your fingers into his hair, your voice shaking now, caught somewhere between desire and disbelief that this is real. That he is here. Like this. 

He doesn’t answer—at least not with words at first. Instead, he tightens his grip on your thighs, pulling you closer to the edge of the hood until there's no space left between you. One of his hands slips under your dress, fingers tracing idle patterns over your hip while his mouth continues its torturously slow journey whilst he pulls down your underwear without disturbing your position as best as he can. He tucks the fabric into the pocket of his jacket, right where a pocket square is supposed to go. He is almost gentle with his movement; he folds the fabric and tucks it away as if it’s most precious.  

To him, at least. 

Because Aaron Hotchner, for all his restraint and rigid professionalism, is a man who cherishes what’s his. And in that moment, with your underwear tucked neatly into his suit pocket and your thighs trembling around him, there’s not a doubt in your mind—you are his. You glance down through heavy lashes, and the sight nearly undoes you: Aaron Hotchner, kneeling in a $2000 suit with his sleeves rolled up and his tie barely clinging to his neck, devouring you like a man starved. 

And you are his favorite indulgence. 

The tension in his shoulders is gone now. Replaced by something warmer. Something that rolls off him in waves as he lowers his mouth to you again—but this time, as he drags his tongue across your inviting folds, he is nothing if not at peace. He takes his time, he’s leisurely, and it absolutely drives you crazy. You don’t recognize the sound that escapes your mouth next—some high, breathless, broken thing—but he does. His gaze flicks upward just enough for you to catch it: the sheer satisfaction that darkens his eyes when he hears you come undone by nothing more than his mouth and patience. 

“Aaron,” you whimper again, your fingers twisting in his hair, needing to anchor yourself to something. Anything, but he doesn’t give up. 

If anything, the reverence in his touch only deepens. His tongue moves with precision now. Slow, unhurried strokes that have your hips stuttering forward against his mouth. You can feel the hood of the car slick beneath your palms, the metal cool in contrast to your skin, but none of it matters. Not the car, not the room, not the faint creak of the garage door settling. Just him. 

And the way he devours you like he’s starving and you’re the first real thing he’s tasted in weeks. 

You gasp when he sucks your clit into his mouth, your thighs instinctively tightening around his head—and God, the groan he lets out at that makes you shiver. It's not just a sound. It's a declaration. A warning. A praise. 

He likes it. Loves it. Lives for it. 

You’re barely aware of the way your body starts to tremble, tension coiling low in your belly like a ticking time bomb. It’s building faster than you’d planned. Than he had planned, if the way his grip tightens on your hips is anything to go by. He knows you’re close. He feels it like he always does, because he knows you that well. 

You arch, fingers gripping the edge of the hood like it might keep you from letting go completely, your head falling back as the first wave of pleasure crashes into you. You sob his name, loud and needy, and he doesn’t stop. Not through the first wave or the second, not until you're writhing under him and tugging at his hair with shaking hands. 

Only then does he slow—lets up just enough to press a kiss to the inside of your thigh. Then another. Then one more, right over your still-sensitive core, just to remind you who's responsible. 

You're panting when he rises, hands braced on either side of your hips now, his body crowding yours until you’re forced to meet his gaze. He looks wrecked in the best way—hair mussed from your fingers, cheeks faintly flushed, his mouth glistening with the evidence of you. And the look in his eyes; low, satisfied, and utterly ravenous, almost undoes you all over again. 

You reach for him without thinking, fingers wrapping around the knot of his loosened tie as you tug him closer. “Come here,” you murmur, voice hoarse, lips already parting for his. 

He kisses you without hesitation. 

It’s filthy and tender all at once—hot, wet, open-mouthed, like he needs you to taste yourself on his tongue. Like he’s claiming you all over again. His hands are firm on your thighs, pulling you to the very edge of the hood until you're flush against him, until you can feel how hard he is through his slacks. 

You shift your hips, just enough to grind against him, and he groans—head dropping to your shoulder as his hands dig into your waist. “You’re insatiable,” he breathes, voice ragged. “Do you know that?” Then, he’s kissing you again in the most delicious and messy way possible. “You taste like trouble,” he rasps against you, voice hoarse, reverent. “My trouble.” 

You smile, or rather, try to. It comes out shaky. “You love trouble.” 

“I love you.” 

Your breath catches, body freezing just slightly—not because you hadn’t known, but because he said it. Just like that. Between kisses and heat and half-laughed confessions against the hood of a car neither of you have any business being this reckless on. 

He pulls back just enough to look at you, face flushed, hair mussed from where your fingers had threaded through it so tightly. “You know that, right?” 

You nod—frantic, desperate. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I know.” 

“Good,” he says, a little gruff now, standing up and dragging you up with him. “Because I’m not letting you seduce me on the hood of my car and not tell you I’m in love with you.” 

You blink up at him, breathless, and laugh completely dazed. “That’s a very bold time to drop the ‘L’ word, Hotchner.” 

“You started it,” he mutters, pressing his mouth to yours. “Coming out here, sitting on my car like a goddamn dream. You ambushed me.” 

“You loved it.” He doesn’t deny it. Just lifts you by the hips, strong and capable and full of restraint he's rapidly losing and sets you down carefully on your feet—if only for a moment, but he keeps his arm around you. 

“I’m going to take you upstairs now,” he says, pressing your back gently against the side of the car as he kisses your neck, your shoulder, the corner of your mouth. “And I’m going to show you what else this ‘quality assurance’ visit of yours has earned.” 

You shiver, hands fisting in his shirt. “And after that?” 

he left to work and thought about you all day.

thought about the attitude he had left you with. the way you refused to bid him your usual cheery farewell. thought about the way you danced around the living room to avoid being alone with him, chasing after his children with their socks and shoes in hand.

he thought about how upset you had been last night. how disappointed you were that he, john, was once again leaving you alone in the emptiness of your flat like some kind of arsehole of a situationship after a good fuck. he thought about your sadness and your confusion that he called you his wife, but left to his real one.

it made his heart clench, and his stomach churn just a bit. guilt, eating him alive. parasitic. chewing away at his subconscious like some kind of sentient being with a mind of its own. it did crush him knowing how much this damaged you. wounded you. he wished he could fix it, but now just wasn’t quite the right time to do it.

— he convinced himself.

despite this, and the thoughts of you fluttering around his head shrouded in sadness, he also thought fondly of the kiss you shared on your front step: slow, calm, passionate, loving. he also thought of just before that, when he fucked you into the mattress and had you screaming out daddy. these thoughts, like some kind of old fucking pervert, overrode his feelings of guilt and embarrassment. his cock twitched in his trousers, and he had the desire to rub one out under his desk.

he decided against it, though. however, he mulled it over and over in his head until he had to place his palm against the seam of his trousers. the way you called for him, the pretty sounds that tumbled from your lips, the way your body moved and melded with his. god, you were the most beautiful thing in the entire world.

flickers of your behaviour this morning flitted through his head, weaving between mental images of you face-down and gushing all over your bedsheets. your frown, your avoidance, your coldness. being curt and snappy with him, your patience running out, wearing thin.

it frustrated him. not to the point where he believed it necessary to have a discussion with you. he didn’t want to have to have a professional conversation with you.

no. he was not that kind of man. not with you.

he knew he had to fuck you to tears, clear the attitude from your system, and make you realise he was not the one to fuck around with.

—•—

that evening, it was a friday, and mrs. price had, rather begrudgingly, taken the herself and the children to her mothers for the night. it had been scheduled months ago, and john almost leapt for joy when his mother-in-law had suggested he stayed home because he looked so tired.

john had called you into his bedroom, and you loitered nervously in the doorway. he stood across the room, leaning against the doorframe of the ensuite, fiddling with one of the cuff links on his dress shirt. in the low lighting, he looked so good. unbelievably so, you caught yourself thinking with an ache down below.

“you wanted to speak with me?” you asked hesitantly, and the way he was looking at you was nothing less than predatory. you felt your heart rate picking up.

he dislodged his cuff links and placed them aside before slowly unbuttoning his shirt. he did so whilst watching you with a keen eye.

“have you dropped the attitude yet?” he asked, finally shrugging his shirt off of his shoulders and tossing it into the ensuite behind him.

you swallowed thickly at his soft abdomen, muscular pectorals and the hair growing everywhere— particularly the thick trail leading from his navel to beyond the waistband of his suit trousers.

“i don’t know what you mean,” you replied quietly.

“don’t play dumb, sweetheart,” john said, now unbuckling his belt. the sound of it clinking was deafening in the silence of the bedroom. it made your pussy clench. “you’ve been pitching a fit all damn day.”

“s’nothing,” you responded. “just annoyed from last night, that’s all. but i’m so—”

“sorry?” john interjected, pulling his belt from the loops. he placed it on top of the vanity nearby. he then unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers. “s’that it? you’re sorry?”

you nodded. “yes, sir. i didn’t mean to, uh, act the way i did. i promise it won’t happen again.”

john’s trousers hit the floor and he kicked them away, leaving him only in his plain black boxer briefs. you swallowed thickly again, completely failing to ignore the bulge at the front.

“you’re right,” he said, taking a couple of steps across the room. “it won’t happen again, will it?”

you shook your head as he approached. “no sir, it won’t.”

john hummed, thinking as he crossed the room. when he reached you, he placed a finger to your chin and craned your face upwards. you were forced to gaze right into his eyes, and he hummed again, eyes scanning every detail of your face.

“it won’t happen again,” he whispered, finger rubbing at the base of your chin. back and forth, incredibly gentle. he paused for a moment, then slowly leaned in until his lips were just brushing yours. you could taste mint and the slightest tang of bourbon on his breath.

something to steel his nerves, john wouldn’t admit.

“sweetheart…” he began.

“yeah?”

“take off your clothes.”

you did. immediately, you undressed, slowly revealing yourself. all the while, john had taken a step back towards the bed and was watching you with wicked satisfaction.

when you were finally naked in front of him (for some reason, you were yet to feel a lick of embarrassment), he beckoned you to him with a crook of his finger. he sat on the edge of the bed, and with one hand, patted his thigh. you froze momentarily, looking down at his leg, before flicking your eyes up briefly to where the belt lay on the vanity.

john followed your eyes, and then tutted, shaking your head. “i don’t think i’ll be needing that tonight, but it’s there as a reminder, yeah?”

you chewed on your bottom lip as, gently, slowly, john guided you into position across his lap. goosebumps raised along your skin as he folded you neatly over his lap, your arse in the air and your face hanging over the side of him. his bare legs were warm against your abdomen.

soon, you felt his strong hand splay over the curve of your arse, squeezing at one of your arse cheeks. rhythmic clutching, playing with the fat there.

“here’s what’s going to happen, baby,” john said, his voice smooth as his hand travelled downwards.

his hand split your arse cheeks apart to reveal your cunt, swollen and slick from behind, clit already puffy. he paused to tut again, shaking his head as he caught sight of the wetness leaking from your pussy.

two fingers dragged up and down your slit, catching you off guard. you keened, a high-pitched whimper getting stuck in the back of your throat as the warmth of his fingers spread slickness across your core.

“i’m going to play with this pretty little pussy, and you’re going to lay there like a good girl until i decide when you’ve had enough,” john told you with two fingers pulling your lips apart, revealing your soaked hole. you withheld a whimper. he continued. “and you don’t get to come. if you come, i’ll spank you.”

simple and effective. you let out an involuntary whimper when his other hand quickly reached around to drum his fingers against the tight fat of your arse. it was gone in a matter of seconds to steady you against his lap.

“you understand?” he concluded, two fingers now completely slick finding your puffy clit. he pressed against it and you gasped.

you knew this was going to be difficult, if not impossible. you annoyed him. tested the waters a little too close to the shark. you knew he wanted to leave a sting against your arse.

“yes,” you whispered, purposely leaving out what you knew he wanted.

you regretted it instantly. his fingers left the warmth of your core and reeled back, landing against your arse with a resounding smack. you yelped, a brief shot of pain zapping through your skin, but it dissipated the moment john’s fingers were back to rubbing against your clit.

“don’t try me,” he uttered, applying pressure to your clit. two fingers and wet circles. you whimpered and arched further into his lap. john chuckled fondly. “let’s try that again— do you understand?”

“yes, sir,” you said first, then gasped out as he pinched at your clit. “yes, daddy—!”

he smiled to himself, picking up the pace in which he was circling your clit. faster, more pressure. he knew how you liked it. he knew how he could get you to come. he knew you needed a good few spanks to settle you back in line. one down…

you writhed against him, your first orgasm already rearing its head. you started to tremble, your pussy clenching around nothing, slick threatening to leak down onto his lap from between the thick press of your thighs.

“john…” you said, breathless.

his fingers stopped, and your eyes flew open. fuck— he smacked your arse again and you yelped. you knew what you did wrong, and that time, you didn’t even do it on purpose.

“daddy,” you corrected, panting. “please, i’m gonna come— please—”

john’s fingers were back on your clit and pushing you towards your orgasm. body tight and wet and hot, you shook in his lap, moaning breathlessly, air sucked from your lungs as he scrawled tight circles against your clit. polishing the pearl, scalding hot and glistening gold.

he was going to make you come. then, he was going to shove the same two fingers deep into the heat of your cunt and fuck you.

“oh, god, please,” you begged, tears threatening to spring to your eyes at the ferocity in which he was pushing you towards release. “please, daddy, fuck— i— i’m gonna come, please don’t—”

“aww, my poor baby,” john interrupted, cooing. mocking. taunting. “s’alright, my darling, you can come. yeah, you wanna come? show me how this pretty pussy makes a mess on herself?”

“nooo,” you wailed, but it was too late. his words knocked you over the edge— and he knew it—, your orgasm smashing over you. he was decent enough to rub you through it briefly, but you couldn’t bask in the bubbling pleasure for long. you felt his hand lift, and braced for impact.

his hand connected with your left arse cheek with a loud crack. the loudest yet. this time, instead of yelping, you let out a brief sob, shattered and strained from your orgasm. john smoothed over the impact site with a warm palm and calloused fingers, before pulling your pussy lips apart again and watching the way you glistened against the low light of the room.

he hummed, pleased. “what a mess. my girl is always so messy, isn’t she? let’s see how much messier she can get.”

“john,” you moaned, and you were surprised that didn’t earn you a smack.

he was concentrating on the sight of your cunt, glossy and swollen, opening up for him as he spread you. then, the same two slicked fingers that had rubbed at your clit, delved into the tight heat of your hole.

you moaned out again, writhing in his lap as he pushed his fingers all the way to the knuckle. hairy knuckles, strong and warm against the folds of your cunt as he slowly, slowly, began to work you into a spin.

“f-fuck,” you whispered, eyes rolling. heat bloomed through your body. your brain was filled with cotton, all fluffy and blurred and all you could focus was the deep, solid strokes of john’s fingers against the perfect gummy spot inside you.

“yeah, you like that?” john leaned down to utter lowly in your ear. his fingers worked in and out, wet squelches drawn from you as your legs trembled. “fucking hell,” he continued. “such a pretty girl.”

his other arm lay along your bare back, warm and heavy against your spine with his fingers gripping at the fat of your arse. pinning you to his lap, keeping your legs open.

his fingers picked up speed, and shrouded in a veil of overstimulation, your orgasm prickled inside of you until static burst through the capillaries of your legs, forcing your toes into a curl. you let out another pathetic sob, hot tears springing to your eyes, as john fucked two of his fingers deep into you, curling up against your g-spot with each backward thrust.

john watched you. “want you to come for me, sweetheart.”

“nooo,” you cried again, shaking your head as your entire body wracked with spasms. “i can’t—”

john tutted, the squelches from your cunt growing more and more lewd. you could feel your previous release beginning to leak out from under the pistoning of his fingers.

“come on, sweet girl. i know you want to come.”

“but—”

he blatantly ignored you, his free hand splaying out against your arsecheek before gripping it. gripping the flesh, melding it into the grooves of his palm, squeezing. he did this while fucking his fingers into you hard and fast, as if it were his cock, in and out at such a pace that, as you screwed your eyes shut, you had the briefest sensation of vertigo.

“oh, god, m’gonna come,” you said in a breathy whisper, more to yourself than to him. you could feel his cock, hard and warm beneath his briefs, against your body as you curled over his lap. your body was thrumming with pleasure; bees in a glass jar.

he chuckled darkly. “i know, baby. i know. it’s okay, you can come— come all over my fingers like a good girl.”

he said that as if the repercussions of your orgasm was not the solid slap of his hand against the soft flesh of your arse. but yet, his words coaxed you further and further, until stars were bursting behind your eyelids, and you called our a sickly-sweet,

“john!”

you had no time to bask in the pleasure, however. as soon as the first initial waves of climax crashed over you, john’s other hand raised and fell, slapping against your right arse cheek while his fingers were still inside you, pumping you through your orgasm. you yelped, then moaned, and he lifted his hand again to deliver one last smack— or so you thought.

two down, and he lifted his hand again, still moving his fingers inside you in small ruts, knuckles barely moving from where they pressed against your sensitive core. you wriggled against him, attempting to look over your shoulder, but struggling—

you spluttered. “wait, why—?”

he spanked you again, and the smack was loud and almost echoey. you rolled into yourself, eyes slamming shut and mouth dropping open, skin stinging.

“don’t think i didn’t catch the john before that one,” he muttered, massaging the flesh of your arse.

then, he pulled his fingers out. you released a small gasp, the emptiness making you feel hollow. he massaged both of your arsecheeks, squeezing and holding the dimpled flesh beneath his palms.

“daddy…” you whispered, and you felt his cock twitch beneath you.

carefully, he picked you up. unsurprised by his strength, you let him, and he manhandled you until you were straddling his lap where he sat on the edge of the bed. his briefs were tenting, cock straining against the dark fabric, a noticeable wet patch growing near the split in the fabric; the fly that you could use to just pull his cock free and—

“fuck, look at her. such a messy girl,” he cooed down at your pussy, bringing the same two fingers to rub at your slit. he spread wetness up and down, and you whimpered softly at the tingling it produced. his tone turned to a whisper, “messy little pussy, huh?”

“yeah,” you whispered back, brain foggy.

“yeah?” he lifted his eyes to look at you, rubbing you gently. “all messy for daddy?”

“yeah—” you whined, high-pitched and needy until he placed his mouth on yours and swept his tongue behind your lips.

you opened your mouth as he rubbed against your overstimulated core. lips parting for his tongue, yours knocking into his, spit exchanged. you whimpered into his mouth, and he grunted in kind, lips warm and smooth, tasting of everything you’ve come to know and love.

as he kissed you, he briefly stopped rubbing at your soaked cunt, and you opened your mouth against his to protest, but he silenced you with a bite to your lower lip. he worked deftly as his tongue delved across your teeth, pulling his briefs down enough for his cock and balls to fall free, heady and heavy, tip leaking and flushed red.

john pumped himself quickly, hurriedly, coating his shaft in the slick he had accumulated on his fingers. it made his breath hitch while he kissed you, his tongue curling against yours as your own hands, tossed around the back of his neck, kept you anchored to him.

“come on, baby,” he uttered against your lips, his words seeming to reverberate around your mouth. “come sit on my cock.”

you kissed him again as you lifted your hips, legs trembling. his other hand, gripping your hip tightly, helped you up, until you hovered just enough for your puffy folds to ghost over the tip of his cock. the sensation had you panting into his mouth, and he groaned as he gripped his cock and dragged it purposely along the wet seam of your cunt, collecting your arousal.

“oh, fuck— daddy, please,” you whimpered against his mouth, core fluttering in anticipation. your lower abdomen was throbbing with need, and your legs were beginning to tremble even more.

“i know, baby, i know,” john said with a lilt, the ruddy head of his cock sitting at your soaked entrance. he pushed, and was met with a slight bit of resistance, but he stopped anyway when only the flared head sat inside.

you moaned into his mouth, and tried to pull out of the kiss to complain, but he chased your mouth and stuffed you full of his tongue. he did this as he ground you down, moving your hips for you, slowly splitting you open on his cock.

“there we go, sweetheart. that’s it, good girl,” john praised as, slowly, you lowered yourself onto him until his cock was fully sheathed inside you.

you moaned, and he finally gave you enough breathing room, leaning back slightly to take a good look at your naked body poised on his lap.

“what a sight you are,” he said. “the prettiest fucking girl in the world, aren’t you? an absolute dream.”

you felt yourself heating up as he helped you set a pace. short, sharp movements. not allowing you to do a lot of the work, and the hand he had on your hip was strong in the way it guided you.

he watched briefly where the two of you connected: the wet heat of your cunt sliding up and down his cock, arousal dropping onto his rolled briefs and down the curve of his balls. you don’t know how your cunt’s gotten this wet from a bit of spanking, but you weren’t complaining. she looked so pretty all stretched out around his cock, swollen clit shining like a star.

“fuck, baby, m’not going to last long,” he told you breathlessly as he helped you pick up the pace.

your arse slammed down against him, your hands gripping his shoulders tightly as he began to set the pace. he kept himself upright as he fucked into you, leaning forward only to place his face between your breasts, growling into your soft skin.

you took the opportunity to use one of your hands and rake your fingers through his hair, a moment of softness as his rhythm faltered. it only lasted a minute, before he was pulling back and falling flat back onto the bed.

you almost lost your balance since you were holding onto his shoulders, but he caught you and righted you, keeping you snug on his lap and stuffed full of his cock. he looked up at you with dark eyes.

“there we go, sweetheart,” he cooed as he helped you lift up and down until you were riding his cock at the pace he wanted. he smiled lazily at you, a light flush on his cheeks. “such a good girl for your daddy, huh? being so good.”

your mouth dropped open, his cock pummelling against your g-spot and stretching you wide. the fizzing feeling in the base of your belly was strong, your clit was buzzing, and your head was filled with cotton still, bleary from pleasure. you were drunk off of it all. and his cock.

john held both of your hips now and held you tight as he fucked up into you, his hips raising to meet yours. he grunted, deep in his chest, as he bounced you on his lap, the fat of your thighs and stomach rippling with each movement.

“fuck, you’re so fucking good,” he whispered. “such a good girl. my best girl, baby.”

you swooned at the praise, stomach crammed with butterflies battering against the base of your sternum. your pussy squeezed around him, obviously happy with the compliments.

tears were blurring your vision, the pleasure building and building, a wall inside you of intricately layered bricks. built up since the moment he had pulled you across his lap. weighing heavy inside of you, pushing you closer and closer to release.

your body was trembling and you released a long line of whimpers, head rolling forward as the pleasure made it difficult for you to sit straight. your clit pulsed with your heartbeat, no doubt flushed with the heavy blood flow, arousal leaking from you and out and around the thick of his cock.

indescribable. his cock was hitting the perfect place inside of you and you could feel the warmth of his legs against yours. his hands on your hips were orgasmic, rough and calloused in their touch but gentle and firm in their hold.

hot tears slipped down your cheeks. just a pair of them, rolling as you moaned and his cock knocked up towards the plug of your cervix.

“feels so good, daddy,” you whined, and he grunted in return. pleasure wracked through his body, on the verge of release, but he withheld, knowing you were so incredibly close. you continued with a moan. “fuck, please—”

“you can come, baby. want you to come, okay? can you do that for daddy? be a good girl and come all over my cock?”

the questions were basically rhetorical given how close you were. teetering on the edge. his words set you on fire, and you sobbed as your climax fizzled hot and high in your veins, almost choking you.

more tears fell, another pleasured cry tumbled from your lips, and as more “that’s my good girl”’s fell from john’s lips, the more your orgasm built within the confines of your body. thrumming with need, hot and sweaty.

“john,” you called out to him, hands grasping at the warm softness of his tummy as you leaned over, unable to keep yourself upright anymore.

“i’m here, baby. i’m right here,” he said, voice hoarse.

“john, daddy, i’m—” you cried out, and then you snapped— orgasm ripping through you like nothing you’ve felt before. he had hit some deeper part of you, some untouched part, that had you creaming thickly around his cock, streams of arousal dribbling out of you.

you moaned loudly, body shaking, your orgasm long and strong; a powerful earthquake. it had you delirious, tears streaming blisteringly hot down your face. you couldn’t help it— you whimpered, whined, begged for him; his name, over and over, until what tumbled out of your mouth seemed just right:

“i love you,” you whined, eyes screwed shut.

john groaned, and came inside of you. release filling you hot, some squeezed out by the tightness of your cunt, dribbling out in milky droplets.

your arms gave way and be caught you, cock still inside, and brought you to his chest, arms wrapping around your sweaty body. your tears dried in the curled hair along his chest, and he stroked your head, face pressed to your forehead, kissing you.

“i love you too,” he whispered, and it came directly from the very depths of his soul. it felt good to finally be able to say that.

he held you like that for most of the night, and the both of you forgot that this whole thing was meant to be a punishment. in the end, though, it seemed far from it.

—•—

the next morning, you struggled to walk, limping across the kitchen with an ache between your legs.

you and john hadn’t gotten much sleep last night, and even the warm towel he had given you, and the hot bath, hadn’t eased all the pain of being stretched out on his thick cock for hours on end.

but you hid it well— hid it as you dished out the children’s morning snack, and hid it while you spoke with his wife. she seemed to be in rather good spirits, and the two of you chatted about the kids’ time last night.

“well, i suppose you could head home for the weekend,” mrs. price told you, and her tone was genuinely kind, it seemed. “i’ll be home for the first time in years, probably, so this’ll be a good chance for me to spend some time with them.”

in saying that, her daughter lifted her head and gave you a look that you couldn’t quite articulate, before she returned her eyes to the TV while she ate.

“oh, alright! that’s great,” you said, grabbing your bag. “thank you! and have a nice weekend. i’ll see you on monday.”

mrs. price smiled to you, and john finally emerged from the hallway as you reached the door.

“you off now?” he asked casually, bored tone well-practiced and a far cry from the way he cooed at you all of last night.

you nodded. “yes, sir. for the weekend. i’ll see you all on monday morning.”

“oh.” he cleared his throat quickly. “alright, then. have a good weekend.”

“thanks. you too.”

“uh—” he continued as you had a hand on the door. “do you need a ride home?”

you shook your head. “no, i’m okay, thank you. i’ll take the bus.”

you left before you could hear him say anything else. but, you left the house a bit lighter than when you left. and when you got further enough away, you pulled out your phone and, unsurprisingly, saw a text from john.

nothing lewd or scandalous or a giveaway, but to you, it meant a lot.

john price

— get home safe, and have a good weekend.

you smiled, and pocketed your phone. sore but sated, most of your way home, your face was graced with a subtle smile.