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I have a story (smut??) idea where Michael (any era idc) and reader are the hottest new celebrity couple in Hollywood but one day Michael makes a sex tape of the two of them and it gets leaked…
Sorry if this isn’t the best description cuz i am not good with explaining things 😭😭
Thank you :)
t/w: 18+ mdni, smut, p in v, oral (f! receiving), sex tape, hair pulling, you get ran through a mattress, choking, mature! era, controversially young gf (mid to late 20s), soft!dom michael, after the tape leaked no one ever thought he was asexual again and the “are you a virgin?” questions stopped
wc: 2.4k
⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹
You sat on the bed with your hands in your lap, messing with the edge of the glove you wore. A new outfit Michael had bought for you and insisted that you wore.
He was leaving in two days and would be gone for a while, not to mention you were about to go on a press tour for your new movie, and he had been slowly working up your confidence to get you to say yes to making a tape.
A sex tape.
The thought made you blush as you watched him set up the camera, the lens positioned directly at the bed. Your eyes then cautiously trailing to the door— because of course he chose to do this when your family was visiting. Not only that, you two were supposed to go to dinner with them in an hour.
You already felt light headed. Even though it was just you and Michael, you still felt watched. One half of you found it terrifying, the other a little thrilled.
You loved trying new things, especially if he was excited about something.
Thus your current get up of black latex.
Your eyes then flicked down- it was crotchless.
And there you go feeling lightheaded again.
"Okay," Michael muttered, mostly to himself. "I think that's good." He then stepped behind it, checking to see the angle and the grin that stretched his face as he saw you through the monitor was down right fiendish.
“You look beautiful, baby.” He said softly, “I’m gonna start recording now, okay?”
You bit your lip, eyes glancing at the door one last time before you nodded. “Ready.”
That flashing red light started a moment later and you watched in bated breath as Michael lowered his boxers, his lips tilting in amusement at the immediate starstruck look to your gaze.
You barely had time to appreciate the size of his cock when his mouth pressed to yours in a heated kiss, his hands raking along your bare back and you melted against him. His teeth grazed along your bottom lip and opened for him, his wet tongue sliding into your mouth and tracing every inch.
The feel of your breasts pressed against him sent blood all the way down to his already painfully hard cock and he had to hold himself back from grinding into you. Instead he pushed forward, pressing your back down into the sheets. His lips trailed down to your jaw, a hand winding in your hair and he yanked your head to the side to expose your neck, earning a lovely sound from the back of your throat.
Open mouthed, he latched onto your soft skin, sucking and biting lightly, careful not to leave a mark even though he desperately wanted to. That was fine though, he’d mark you a different way.
“We… we need to be quick.” You managed, your fingers burying themselves in his hair.
“Not too quick, I plan to wreck you baby,” he muttered into your skin as his mouth drifted to your collar bones, his free hand coming up to caress and tease your nipples and that made you groan and buck against him, your bare pussy peeking out from the slit in the crotch and sliding against him.
Michael shivered, reeling in his self restraint. “None of that. Keep still.”
Nonetheless, he pushed against you harder and your hips rolled again, causing him to pull on your hair harder and you whimpered, but it only made you more wet. “You’re a needy little thing, aren’t you?”
“All for you, honey.”
He hummed and you yelped as he suddenly hooked a hand under each of your knees and pushed your legs up and out.
You could hear the voices of people passing by down the hall, but you didn’t have time to dwell as Michael lowered his hips and you ground against his length, an electric sort of friction against your clit and you moaned and a groan tore its way up his throat.
His hands dug into your sides and his mouth latched onto your right breast, causing you to arch into him. Your hands came up to hold his head to you, but before you could manage, your wrists were then pinned above you, Michael holding you against the mattress with his hips to yours and he ground into you again. “Don’t try to take control, baby. You don’t want to embarrass yourself.”
“Usually the man finds it hot when the woman takes control.”
“It’s an entertaining thought but I rather like the sight of you writhing beneath me, and I bet you just love it when I do this…” Michael slowly snaked a hand up your throat, his fingers dancing along the soft and vulnerable skin of your throat before his grip slowly tightened.
You could still breathe, but you could feel your pulse thudding violently and you shuddered as he pressed against you again.
“Keep your hands above your head, don’t move them.” He ordered, his voice a caress on your skin and you nodded, eyes heavy as he started to move down your body.
Then his fingers were pulling the latex out of the way, a blissful sigh leaving him as his breath hit your exposed pussy, making you shiver. “God, look at you… your fucking dripping, baby.”
And then his mouth was on you, tongue flattening from the bottom of your opened and dragging up to your clit before he wrapped his lips around it, rolling his tongue in a point and your back arched off the bed. You bit down harshly on your bottom lip, trying to keep your moaning at a minimum and your fingers grasped at the sheets, desperate to reach down into his hair but wanting to do as told.
You felt like your soul was leaving your body as his mouth dragged down, tongue fucking you as his ofher hand came up to play with your clit.
“Michael, please.” Your tone was torn between a moan and a whimper.
“Use your words.”
“I need your fingers—“
He abided immediately, lips dragging back up to your clit while two of his long fingers sunk into you. Dragging and curling up, his pace quick and deep and you threw your head back, feeling euphoric.
You came embarrassingly quickly, the sensation taking you by surprise but then he kept going— his other hand pressing low on your abdomen while he fucking you with his fingers and his tongue flattened on your clit.
“Michael, I feel… what—“
“Come for me, babygirl. I know you can do it again.”
He pressed down on your pelvis just a bit more and you came again, liquid squirting out of you and all over his face and fuck… he looked so pleased.
“Such a good girl for me,” he praised, bringing up his hand to suck his fingers clean as he then settled his hips against yours.
You bit your lip, your gaze becoming even more hungry as you took him in. Like everything else about him, his cock was an impressive length, thick, and the tip flushed as pre-come leaked out.
Brushing his hips forward, the head of his cock slid through your folds and rubbed against your clit, causing a buzzing moan to leave your lips and you rolled her hips forward, desperate for more but his hand danced back up to your throat and tightened. “None of that,” he warned, his dark eyes nearly looked feral as he glanced down at your dripping and awaiting cunt.
Slowly, he began to enter you, not taking his eyes off the way you stretched around him as he sank in.
“Fuck ,” you hissed, throwing your head back against the bed and you felt dizzy with your lower lack of air supply, his hand warm and firm around your neck.
A groan rumbled in the back of his throat, you were so tight but he didn’t stop pushing in until he was at the hilt. Then slowly pulling out, you clenched around him and he bit into your shoulder to bite back his own moan.
Michael’s thrusts were slow and steady, in no hurry and every few seconds his grip on your throat would loosen before tightening again. He rolled his hips forward, stretching you out and his pelvis created friction against your clit and you moaned loudly, momentarily not caring who heard you but his mouth swallowed the sound as he kissed you, wet and opened mouth.
Picking up his pace, his thrusts rammed into you, rocking the bed frame into the wall and the wood groaned in protest.
You continued to moan and whimper into his mouth, your arms tingling and begging to hold onto him. Michael must’ve read your body language and he pulled back, “rest them on my shoulders.”
They fell immediately, your nails digging into his shoulders and your eyes watered as you were temporarily deprived of air.
“You feel so good, baby.”
He shifted the angle of his hips, dragging himself in deep to the point where he hit your cervix. It was painful and wonderful and maddeningly delicious all at once.
Michael tilted his hips forwards and ground into you, his pelvis creating a slippery friction against your clit, then as he pulled out the the head of his cock dragged against that sweet spot and for fuck’s sake you practically screamed.
“Fuck! Do that again, please, oh my-”
Michael clamped a hand over your mouth, not being able to help it as he laughed and he didn’t stop his rough thrusts—
There was suddenly a knock on the door.
“Sweetheart, we’re gonna leave for dinner in about half an hour.” Your dad called through the door. “You okay? Or still getting ready?”
Michael’s cock continued to drag against your inner walls, slamming into you, his grip on your throat tight and tears slipped down your cheeks. He looked at you pointedly before removing his hand from your mouth, instead burying it in your hair as his mouth latched onto your neck.
“Yeah… yeah, I’m okay. I’m still getting ready… fuck-” Michael bit into your neck. “My hair won’t cooperate.” You bit down on your lip so hard to stop yourself from screaming again as his hand left your hair and dragged down to rub tight circles into your clit.
“Do you want your mom to come help?”
“Fuck no,” your voice was breathless and you cleared your throat the best you could, “I’m sorry, I think she’ll stress me out more. I’m okay… God, I’ll be down soon.”
“Okay, sweetheart.” Your dad walked away and Michael nearly laughed but it turned into a moan of his own as you clenched painfully hard around him. You were close.
“Did that excite you, baby? Nearly getting caught while I fuck you?”
You whimpered, your nails biting into his shoulders painfully and he took in the tears that were streaming down your cheeks, how your chest was heaving, how he stretched you out and how your clit was swollen.
“Come for me, come all over my cock, baby. I want the whole fucking house to hear you.”
The head of his cock rammed into that spot again and he rubbed another circle into your clit and you came with a hard cry, the sensation felt like you just shattered from being struck by lightning.
Michael didn’t stop, but he shuddered violently as you clamped around him.
His rough pace slipped into something erratic, fucking you harshly and the bed slammed hard into the wall, rocking violently on its legs and your heels dug into his lower back, pushing him in deeper.
“Fuck,” he panted, you were trembling and your skin was flushed, his pelvis grinding into your oversensitive clit and you clenched again.
“Just like that baby,” his grip on your throat tightened to the point where it hurt and you genuinely couldn’t breathe.
“Michael!” you cried out, your voice a rasp and laced in pain and arousal.
His whole body shuddered as he came with a deep moan tearing up his throat, his come filling you up, spurting and hot and you felt full.
Michael had never finished inside of you before.
You weren't on any contraceptives, but the thought was lost in the shadows of your subconscious as Michael rode out his high before pulling out, sighing as he watched how his cum mixed with youre pooled between your pussy and dripped between your thighs. He ran a finger through it and you whimpered.
Michael lifted his hand to your lips, his eyes burned as he looked at you, “open.”
Doing as told, you parted your lips and his finger slid against your tongue, which you then took to swirling it around the digit and sucked on it.
He could only long to have those pretty lips of yours wrapped around him, but he knew they didn’t have the time before dinner.
You let go of his fingers with a pop and immediately after his mouth pressed to yours, though this time much more gentle and he slowly lowered your legs and rubbed circles into your thighs through the latex.
“You did so good for me,” he muttered and your hands buried in his hair and pulled him closer, your lips molding together.
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It was seven in the morning and you had only just forced yourself up to make a cup of coffee after the London premiere for your movie when the phone rang. Your tired eyes blinked at it, confused as to why it would be doing such an offensive thing at this hour.
You picked it up on the last ring, voice rough around the edges with sleep, “hello?”
“Baby? Did I wake you?”
Your sleepiness waned a little bit at the sound of Michael’s voice. “No, I got up a few minutes ago. You okay? Isn’t it like two—“
“Have you turned on the tv or read the paper at all?”
As your grogginess faded, you started to pick up on the edge to his voice.
Your brows furrowed. “No? Why?”
He sighed. “Baby, I’m really sorry. Really. I don’t know how it happened, someone must’ve gone through my things. I’m gonna have to have Bill do a screening on everybody and—“
“Michael, slow down.” You pinched the bridge of your nose. “What happened?”
The other end of the line was dead silent and you gnawed at your lip, dread suddenly pooling low in your stomach.
“…No.”
“I’m really sorry.”
Your knuckles tightened on the phone and your teeth sank into your bottom lip before you threw your head back— “Fuck!”
You slumped against the wall, not having the faintest idea on what to do with yourself.
“I mean,” Michael started, tone cautious, “on the bright side, you looked great—“
“Michael, do not finish that sentence.”
You lowered the phone and stared up at the ceiling. Mind reeling because of course this had to happen. Your manager was going to kill you and you dreaded the phone call you’d undoubtedly get within the next hour.
Your gaze then flicked down to the kitchen counter, breath hitching because you had completely forgotten you’d taken a test last night. Two, actually. Just in case.
“Michael,” you started slowly, staring at the two pink plus signs.
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summary: Jack comforts you after a particularly long day, and you're forced to face your true feelings about your 'casual' fling.
pairing: Jack Abbot x fem!Reader
warnings: +18, MDNI, explicit sexual content, unspecified age gap, reader is a college student & a cashier, dramatic!reader (can u tell this is self-indulgent yet?), jack makes you dinner, cozy night in vibes, established relationship, very light alcohol consumption, written by an acts of service connoisseur, massages, finger sucking, nipple play, vaginal fingering, edging if you squint, clit stimulation, unprotected piv, riding, praise kink, pet names, porn with feelings, light angst with a happy ending, jack 'i'll pay for it' abbot, a bit of pov switching at the very end, reader has hair that can be brushed & styled but has no other physical description
wc: 6.3k
note: this was supposed to be a short smut drabble and then i just didn't stop idk what happened, thank you to @thykingdoncome for taking a peak at this for me and if u like this u should def go check out her stuff it has me on my knees rn
[masterlist] [AO3]
It was one of those days where anything that could go wrong does.
By the time you drag your weary bones to Jack's place, your back aches and your feet hurt and your brain feels like mush.
You're still a few paces from the door when he pulls it open to greet you. Just seeing him makes you deflate, and you do so in typical dramatic fashion. Heavy bag drooping from your hand, head falling back, shoulders slumping.
Jack laughs when it happens, but just the sound of his amusement makes you feel better. "Aw, baby," he says, stepping off the front porch to come to you. He takes your bag and sets it over his shoulder with ease. "C'mere. Long day?"
"The longest." You fall into his embrace, letting him wrap you up in his big arms, resting your head on his chest and sighing deep when you hear the steady rhythm of his heart.
Jack rests his cheek against the top of your head and tightens his arms around you, holding you close. You let out a long-held breath in response when he says, "You hungry?"
"Starving," you answer. He loosens his hold only to lace his hand through yours and tug you forward, up the steps and over the threshold.
He sets your bag down near the sofa and you drape yourself over the back of it, face pressed into the cushions, letting out a groan of frustration.
Jack laughs at your theatrics and smooths a soothing hand over your spine. "Hey," he says, voice soft and comforting. "You're home now, yeah? I've got you. Why don't you go on an' get comfy. Shower if you wanna. An' I'll make you something to eat. How's that sound?"
If his words weren't enough, Jack lifts one of your legs carefully into his hands and pulls off your sneaker. He then follows suit to the next, freeing both of your aching feet, and you get this tickle of adoration in your chest.
He always seems to know just what to do. It's one of the things that drew you to him in the first place. Jack's older and wiser and he seems to like taking care of you even more than you like being taken care of.
Your words are muffled in the fabric of the couch as you say, "I don't deserve you."
Jack just laughs and shakes his head. "Nah. You deserve the world an' I'd give it to you if I could."
He lands a stinging, playful smack to your ass and you squeal and flinch in response.
"Now go on," he says, wrapping a hand around your elbow to pull you back up. "You'll feel better when you get outta these clothes."
You nod and press a kiss to his shoulder before wordlessly obeying. Jack has two drawers cleaned out for you in his bedroom, filled with your favorite pajamas and a few outfits you use on the nights you stay over. Which, lately, has been way more often than not.
But you bypass his dresser entirely, opting instead for one of his old t-shirts in the back of his closet and a clean pair of underwear. They're not a pair you'd bought for yourself, but they're soft and pink and you tell yourself you'll scold him later for buying you things you don't need.
You take your time in the shower. Scrubbing your scalp with your bottle of shampoo that lives in the corner of Jack's tub and massaging the suds from his bar soap into the tight muscles of your arms. The water is hot and falls on your skin like a warm rain, effectively cleansing you of the stress that's clung to you all day.
When you're finished, you lather your skin in your favorite scented lotion and brush the tangles from your hair. And when you finally leave the bathroom, you find Jack plating up pasta in the kitchen.
The air smells like fresh garlic and that tomato-based sauce he hand-makes himself. Your mouth starts to water before he turns around to say, "Sit. Put something on the TV. I'll bring it to you."
It makes your chest pull tight, because you know how much he hates eating in the living room instead of at the table, and you know he prefers dinner with the television off to make room for conversation instead. You'd called him an old man for it, but will fully admit that you enjoy the slow quietness of a meal together.
But he doesn't ask for it tonight, because despite what you know he wants, he does what you need instead.
You don't have to ask for anything with Jack. It's like he always just knows.
There's a YouTube video you've been meaning to get to, so you put that on and settle into the corner of the couch with your legs crossed beneath you. You already feel better, but the moment Jack hands you your pasta and a full wine glass, you could cry from relief.
"It's, uh—that Chianti you were looking at," he says.
"The one from the winery?"
Jack nods as you take both from his hands. He disappears from your sight only long enough to grab his food and a bottle of icy cold water before returning to your side.
He sits beside you, and watches as you take a slow and careful sip of the red wine in your glass. It tastes like sour cherry and plum, sweet and aromatic and somehow everything you'd hoped for and more. A low, satisfied hum leaves your mouth without noticing, and Jack chuckles at the sound.
"Y'like it?"
"It's so good," you answer. "Thank you."
He smiles wide and nods towards your food. "Eat. An' tell me why it was such a bad day."
You start from the very beginning, explaining how you'd set your alarm for the wrong time and showed up to your college campus thirty minutes after your first lecture began. And then you tell him about the pop quiz in your organic chemistry class. "And you know how much I hate Mr. Clark," you add. "He's the actual worst. I'm barely scraping by in that class no matter how much extra credit I do. I swear the man has it out for me."
You then tell him about your shift at the grocery store and how a lady had gotten so upset over an expired coupon that she'd complained to your manager about you and abandoned her entire cart. "And of course Mary had me take care of it, which took almost an hour. And I was nothing but nice to the lady, too. Even after she screamed at me, I still told her that I hoped she had a wonderful day. But really, in the back of my head, I was hoping she stepped in someone's gum on the way out."
That makes Jack laugh. He sits there and listens to you vent about the entire day. He doesn't interrupt or lose interest and he asks questions about your coworkers and if you're enjoying the finance elective you'd just picked up a few weeks ago.
By the time your YouTube video is over, the both of you have finished your food and set the dishes on the coffee table.
Jack spreads his arms open and you crawl into them like it's second nature. Wrapped up in his arms, head against his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart behind his sternum.
He's warm. He always is. It's one of the things you think you love the most about him—even if you haven't exactly said the word aloud yet.
You're not quite sure what you believe in these days, but you find yourself sending a silent prayer of thanks to whatever or whoever might be listening.
Because you think it's rare to find a man like Jack, who's comforting and kind and warm, who makes you feel valued and loved and cared for in a way you've never experienced before.
He's said to you once that he wishes you'd met earlier. Wishes that he could've known you when he was your age, so that the two of you might have more time together.
But you often find yourself thinking the opposite, grateful for the entire life he'd experienced without you. Grateful that when you did finally find each other, he was exactly the kind of man you needed.
Wise and gentle. The safety net you've been blindly reaching for since you were young. And here he was, waiting for you with open arms and pasta cooking on the stove.
You think you should say it now. Tell him you love him, because you do. And you think you have for a lot longer than you've known. Longer than the time it took to put a name to the feeling.
But this was supposed to be casual.
He'd been honest with you from the very first date that he wasn't interested in a serious relationship. He had just been looking for someone to pass the time with.
He'd experienced the love of his life already and had tragically lost her. It wasn't meant to happen for him a second time, he'd insisted.
Jack had been adamant about it in the beginning. He'd even given your relationship its own set of rules; no staying overnight, no meeting the family or friends, no work-place visits, no social media posting or labels or feelings.
But by the third time he'd had you naked in his bed, it was Jack who'd asked you to stay over.
And it was him who'd asked you to stop by PTMC late one night just so he could set his eyes on you and kiss you one good time out in the ambulance bay.
It was Jack who'd eventually introduced you to Dana and Trinity and Parker.
And when you passed your exams last semester, Jack insisted on taking you out to celebrate. He chose some fancy restaurant and the two of you had gotten all dressed up. He'd worn a suit and you'd worn a new dress he bought for you.
You'd asked to take a photo together and he'd been delighted to do so. You pressed a kiss to his cheek and he'd smiled wide while the shutter clicked.
Afterwards, you texted him the photo. You both looked so happy in it, because you were.
And the following day when you posted on social media, his name popped up in your likes and you'd discovered he'd changed his profile photo to the one you'd taken the night before.
And, now? You had shampoo in his shower and drawers of your own in his dresser and a favorite cereal spoon. Your apartment served as a storage unit more than an actual home because you always slept better in his bed.
Every single rule had been broken, and not by your hand.
But this rule, well…
Jack shifts beneath you, his fingers stroking your hair back and moving to find your chin. He turns your face towards his, looking down his nose at you in that assessing way he always does. "What're you thinking about?"
You shake your head, unable to hide the smile that tugs at your mouth. "Nothing," you say. "Just that I'm…happy. Here, with you."
Jack blinks, running his knuckles down the column of your throat. "Yeah?"
You nod and touch your temple to his. "Yeah, I am. You always do that, you know."
He chuckles and smiles and you think he definitely knows exactly what you mean, but he still asks, "Do what?"
"Make a bad day a good one," you answer. "It's like magic or something."
"Magic, huh?" Jack grins. His hands find your shoulders then, thumbs pressing gently against the tender muscles in the back of your neck.
Your head falls forward, giving him more access, and he nudges you to turn so you're facing away from him, sitting right between his spread thighs while he leans against the back of the couch.
"I wouldn't call it magic," he says. "I just…I know my girl. I like to pay attention to you so on days like today, I know exactly what you need."
My girl.
The name makes your brain feel all fuzzy. It always does.
His fingers massage the tension from your shoulder blades, working the stress out of your body in a physical way.
The words almost slip from your mouth unbidden.
You love him. God, you do.
But is it worth the risk just to say it? To possibly push him away, to lean too close and force his distance?
Jack loved his wife. And you know he has no intentions of loving another. But would it really be so bad if you love him?
You tell yourself it wouldn't matter if he returned the sentiment, that you could never ask it of him. Especially not when he's been so clear about his boundaries regarding that particular word.
But you know yourself. And you know, too, that you're only setting yourself up for heartbreak.
He works his way down your spine slowly. And if it's not Jack that's magic, you think his hands certainly must be. He touches a particularly sore spot at the small of your back and he spends extra time there. His thumbs dig into the muscle tissue until the pain subsides and all that's left is an aching pleasure.
When he's satisfied, Jack pulls you back until your spine is pressed flush against his chest. You melt into him, eyes fluttering closed when he lays his cheek against the top of your head.
His hands work themselves down your arms, massaging your biceps and your forearms and taking extra care with the joints in your hand.
"Is this a physical, Doctor Abbot?"
The sound of his laughter reverberates through his chest and you can feel it in the curve of your spine. "Just relax and let me make you feel good, would you?" His voice holds that teasing edge you love, and you can't hold back your grin.
But you do as he bids without further explanation, letting his hands work their magic. Your head falls back against his shoulder when he reaches for your calves next.
Jack massages them one at a time, thumbs pressing hard, calloused hands leaving behind a warmth only he can ever elicit.
He moves higher next, squeezing the pillowy flesh of your thighs, starting at the top of your knee.
Your whole body starts to feel like liquid, held together in the shape of a girl by his arms alone. When he gets to the inside of your thighs, you squirm just a little from the sensation, brain short circuiting, sending signals of desire despite the fact that he's done nothing to make you believe his intent is anything but pure.
But then his hand slips beneath your oversized t-shirt, and suddenly your breath becomes shallow.
If he notices, Jack doesn't say anything. Just keeps on his tension-relieving pursuit, massaging your hips next.
His thumbs trace the shape of each one of your ribs, and you swear you can feel the love in his hands.
Maybe he doesn't say it. But he takes care of you after a long day and buys you the Chianti you mentioned only once that you wanted to try. He holds your face when he kisses you and unlaces your sneakers when you get home and makes you dinner despite having worked a ten hour shift the night before.
He picks up your favorite shampoo when he goes that way in town and throws your laundry in with his. He encourages you and has faith in your dreams even on the days you yourself don't.
So, yeah. Maybe he doesn't say it.
But the love is there anyway.
His hands drift even further up your chest, massaging the space just below your breasts. His voice is low and tickles the shell of your ear as he asks, "Can I take your shirt off, sweetheart?"
You nod without hesitation, leaning forward only long enough for Jack to take the fabric by the seam and tug it up over your head.
He lays it on the back of the couch, and you feel suddenly cold. Goosebumps prickle your arms and across your belly, but the cool sensation only lasts for a moment.
Because when Jack puts his hands back on you, your blood heats beneath your skin. His fingers find your breasts, massaging almost clinically. But you can feel him harden in his black sweatpants, his bulge steadily growing as it rests against the small of your back.
Jack doesn't pay it any mind, though. He palms your breasts, massaging the swell of them, fingertips ghosting over the hardened peaks of your nipples.
Arousal pools low in your belly, and you can feel the heat gathering between your legs even though he hasn't touched you there yet.
"You're so beautiful," he whispers.
It slips your mind that he can see everything from where he sits behind you. Embarrassment threatens, but you push the thought far away. Because he's already seen all of you, and he makes you feel beautiful beneath his reverent touch.
Jack lifts his fingers to your mouth. "Let me in, baby," he says softly.
And you do. Lips parting, tongue immediately finding the pad of his middle finger as he pushes it behind your teeth. You can feel his cock twitch as you swirl your tongue around the digit, drool gathering at the corner of your mouth.
Once he's satisfied, he withdraws his finger and spreads your spit over one of your nipples. The wetness allows for freer movement, but Jack doesn't pick up the pace. He moves leisurely, unhurried, taking far too long to touch you the way you want to be touched.
He moves to your other nipple, spreading your saliva, leaving your pebbled skin all glossy. He circles it slowly, fingers flicking over the peak, his breath hot against the back of your neck.
Your need for him grows teeth, the pinpricks of desire becoming sharper with each moment that passes. By the time his name leaves your mouth, the cotton center of your underwear feels wet and sticky. "Jack."
"Shh," he soothes. "Just relax. Let me take care of you."
You think about begging for more. Crying, maybe. It certainly begins to feel like you could.
But then, blissfully, his hands begin to move again. Sliding down your abdomen, over your curves, settling at the elastic band around your waist. You think—hope, that he'll slide his hands beneath the fabric, but he doesn't.
Jack instead runs his hand down your center over your underwear. But the pressure of it and the warmth of his palm pulls a quiet whimper from your mouth anyway. Your hips twist and lift, chasing the friction.
You can feel his smug smile against your ear. "Greedy girl," he teases. "This not enough for you?"
"God, no. Please Jack I want…" Your face heats.
"What do you want? Tell me. Use your words."
"More," you answer, hips bucking up against the palm of his hand. Your clit throbs with need, desperate to be touched.
Jack doesn't make you suffer. "I know you do," he says. "I'm only messing with you, baby. C'mon. Let's take these off, hm?"
You can't move fast enough, lifting your hips while Jack hooks his thumbs into the elastic and tugs it down your legs. He discards them at the other end of the couch and takes hold of your thighs in a firm grip. He spreads you wide, settling your legs on the outside of his own, exposing you completely.
He pulls you back to his chest and presses a chaste kiss into your hair. "M'gonna need you to relax for me," he tells you. "Getting all worked up like I won't take care of you or somethin'."
"I know you will, I—I just—"
"You want it bad, I know," he answers. "An' I'm gonna give it to you, but you gotta trust me. Yeah? Close your eyes, sweetheart."
You do as he says, eyes fluttering closed, lashes resting against your cheeks. You inhale a long breath, willing yourself to sink back into that floaty feeling he'd put you in only moments ago. When you exhale, your mind goes blank, and your limbs start to grow heavy.
"Yeah, there you go," Jack encourages. His hands stroke gently up and down your thighs, leaving a buzzing feeling behind. He traces the same pattern over and over, and it soothes you so much that you think you might even fall asleep, just like this.
But then his hand finds your center, and every nerve ending flares on edge. With his fingers pressed together, he flattens them over your core, spreading the obscene amount of wetness that's gathered there.
Your clit catches on the heel of his palm and you moan. Jack does it again, leaving no part of you untouched. The thick swells of his knuckles press down harder than the rest of his fingers, and each time he passes over your cunt with a tender hand the pleasure ratchets higher and higher.
He moves so slow. God. It's aching and delicious and intentional. His fingers stroke up and down again and again, unhurried as if he's simply enjoying the show and has no intention of anything else.
"How's that feel?"
"So good," you whine, hips canting upwards, chasing the friction of his palm that's now smothered in your arousal. "Can you…want you inside, Jack. Please."
You can feel his answering smile against the crook of your neck. "Yeah, I think I can do that for you. I mean, since you asked so nicely."
Jack strokes your pussy again, but this time on the down motion he slips his middle finger inside your opening. Just one, God—just one, but it's enough to have you writhing. Enough that your breath gets caught in your lungs.
His palm remains flat against your cunt, repeating the same stroking motion. But it's different now, the tendons in his forearm flexing as he pulls his hand upwards. His middle finger pushes against that sweet spot inside you hard, and you gasp in response.
It somehow feels like too much and not enough all at once. "Oh my God."
"I know, I know. You're okay. I've got you."
His voice is like liquid velvet in your ear. Raspy enough to know the sight of you unraveling in his hands—because of his hands—is affecting him, but warm enough to know that he's not worried about the hardness of his cock.
He's only worried about making you feel good.
Jack finds a steady pace. Slow and torturous in the best way, your desire burns hot like embers in your belly. He strokes you with expert precision, and you think this will be enough. It'll be just enough to get you there, to have you stumbling over the edge of release.
But then Jack adds a second finger, and what once felt like embers now feels like a wildfire. "Oh, fuck. That's so—"
"You like that?"
"Oh, God, yes. Yes." The added pressure inside you is nothing short of heavenly. He keeps up his rhythm, clit pulsing beneath his slick palm with each brush of his hand.
When he curls his fingers, narrowing in on the most delicious place inside you, your vision goes all blurry. You squeeze your eyes closed and the heat between your legs intensifies.
"Can feel you squeezin'," Jack says. "Don't chase it. Won't feel as good if you chase it. Let me give this to you. Just let it happen, baby."
You whimper, the obscenities of his words heightening your pleasure. You give in despite the gnawing desire for release that feels tortuous now, instead letting yourself melt back into the intimacy of the moment he's created all for you.
It builds and builds and builds. His hand moves so fucking perfectly, like he knows your body better than his own. He lays wet, open mouthed kisses down the column of your throat, hand moving steadily between your legs.
"Look at me," he orders, nudging the side of your cheek with his nose. When you do, Jack presses his forehead to yours and kisses you deep. His tongue is soft, licking into your mouth, greedily swallowing the desperate moans that spill from your swollen lips.
When he pulls away, he's breathing just as hard as you are. With his eyes locked on yours, he says, "Cum for me, baby."
It's blinding. Your release tears through you without remorse, body trembling, vision blurring with the tears that spring to the corners of your eyes. His name falls from your mouth between a jumble of half-spoken curses, and then—
"I love you," you cry. "God, Jack. I love you. Fuck, fuck. Feels so—hmm."
You don't even notice that you've said it right away.
And Jack doesn't even flinch. He just fucks you through it, thrusting his fingers hard inside you, the pressure of his palm almost too much to bear on your sensitive clit.
The aftershocks of your orgasm have only barely begun to fizzle out before he turns you to face him, pulling you onto his lap.
He tugs his t-shirt off, tugging at the hem at the back of his neck. Jack surges forward to press a searing kiss against your lips, stealing the breath from your lungs.
You reach for the tie at his waist and he's quick to abide this time, tugging his sweatpants low on his hips, pushing them down until his cock springs free. It's heavy and swollen and leaking at the tip, and as much as you'd love to sink to your knees and lick the salty release, you need him inside of you more.
So you lean forward on your knees while you straddle his hips, and Jack helps to hold you up with his hands on the swell of your ass. You line him up at your achy entrance and sink down in one smooth motion.
You're so wet from your first release that he slides in with ease. His head falls back and his lips part as his cock spreads you open real wide.
"Shit," he hisses. "You feel so good, baby."
You anchor yourself with your arms wrapped around his neck and begin to roll your hips, feeling high on the way he groans beneath you.
It doesn't take long, in truth. You ride him with intent, chasing not your release but his, whimpering as the thickness of his cock splits you apart.
You can feel him throb against your hypersensitive walls and you know he's close when he surges forward and kisses you again.
His mouth is greedy and wanting and his hands slide up your back to pull you into an embrace, pulling you into his heart.
You can feel the organ thumping against your own sternum, steady and in sync. And you think to yourself, how could you not fall in love with him?
How could you ever sit here and let him touch you like this, take care of you like this, love you like this—and not feel…something?
Pressure builds behind your eyes, and Jack must sense the change in you. He cradles your face in his hands and says, "Right here, baby, stay right here with me."
You look up at him through bloodshot eyes and thread your fingers through the soft curls at the nape of his neck. The confession almost slips out again, but you swallow it down and bury it deep.
If this is the last time you'll ever get him like this, you want to enjoy it, to commit every second to memory.
Jack's hands twitch against your spine. You roll your hips a little quicker now, taking him deep inside, and then his breath stutters and his cock pulses between your legs.
"Fuck, you're so perfect. I'm gonna cum, baby. Gonna fill you up," he grits out.
Release takes hold of him only a moment later. Jack's grip on your waist becomes bruising, his mouth parting on a low sound of bliss. He kisses you hard, and you think he must be doing this on purpose, right?
How can it feel like that and not be love?
His cock pulses, filling you with the stickiness of his orgasm, claiming you in a way only he ever has. You think it’s only fitting. Everything you are belongs to him, anyway—your womb, your mouth, your heart.
Everything.
You slow your hips only when his muscles go slack, hands loose against your skin now. Exhausted, you fall forward, burying your too-warm face in the crook of his neck, afraid to see the post-coital look on his face.
Jack strokes his fingertips up and down your spine, cheek resting against your head. His breath slows, and you both just sit there.
You think it's to enjoy the last few seconds you have together.
Tears press against the back of your eyelids.
Because you don't want to lose him or the safety net he casts out for you. You don't want to go back to your shitty apartment or your empty bed or your empty heart.
Because that's what it was before Jack, wasn't it? You'd never noticed it before, would never have said it aloud and would've denied it until you were blue in the face.
But that's what it was. Empty.
No real friends, no real prospects, no real warmth between you and your family. It's always just been you and your goals and a straight line from point A to point B.
Jack forces you to slow down. To appreciate small talk and a good meal together and a pit stop at a coffee shop you always wanted to try but drove past every day.
He taught you softness and grace. He taught you how to love, and you’re just supposed to pretend like you don’t?
"Hey," he says, voice tender. "Why're you crying, sweetheart?"
You think you should lie. Say it was just an in-the-moment lapse of judgment. That you'd had such a long day and it just slipped out by accident.
But it hadn't, and the words have been clanging around in your head for almost a month now.
So you lean back up to look at him. And you're sure your face is ruddy with tears and the fear of loss is reflected in your glassy eyes, but you know you need to say it.
You need to tell him.
"Jack, I…" The words get caught in your throat. As if a filter at the back of your mouth tugs them back into the darkest part of your soul. You try again. "I know we weren't supposed to…to do this. And I'm sorry if it ruins everything, but I…"
He waits patiently while you try to soothe yourself. Breathing in deep, exhaling even slower. Jack's thumbs stroke easy patterns into the spot just below the flare of your ribcage and his brow furrows in curiosity.
"I meant it," you finally choke out. "I…I love you. And it's okay if you don't say it back, you know? I could never ask it of you. You—you love your wife, and I understand. I really do, okay? So please don't feel obligated or guilty or…or anything like that. But I know how I feel and I have to be honest with you."
Jack nods, a small smile on his face. He reaches up with one hand and takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger. "Pretty girl," he muses.
It hurts just to hear it, knowing it'll be the last time.
Your bottom lip trembles and when you squeeze your eyes closed, the tears spill down your cheeks unbidden. "Jack," you warn.
He shakes his head. "Hey, no. Look at me."
At first, you hesitate. But you do as he says, even if tears of embarrassment blur at the edges of your vision.
"I'm so proud of you for being brave, okay? It takes guts to do things you're afraid of. And you did such a good job."
His praise only makes that ache in your chest worsen, because you want to keep it. Want to hear it for the rest of your life, tethered to him so you don't feel the loss of warmth so deeply.
"And I know we made all these rules in the beginning but—baby, I've been in love with you for a very long time."
It feels like the world stops for just a single, record-scratch moment. "What?"
"Haven't you noticed? I've broken every single one of those rules and I did it because I love you."
You try to process it, but your brain feels muddy. "Oh—oh my god. Jack, what? Why didn't you say anything?"
He shrugs like it's some easy confession for him, while this whole time it's been eating at you like an awful secret. "This is your first time falling in love," he explains. "I wanted to move at your pace."
And just like that, all your worries fade to nothing. The tension and stress from the day dissipates, your terrifying thoughts of losing him fade to nothing, and what you're left with is this overwhelming sense of relief.
You curl inwards, pressing your forehead to his chest. "Oh my god."
Jack laughs, and the sound is so full of delight and worship you think to yourself, how could I not have known?
"I love you," he whispers, kissing the top of your head. "I love you." Another kiss, to your shoulder this time. "I love you." Your temple.
His cock twitches inside you, and you can't hold back your blithe giggling. "C'mon, old man," you tell him, carefully shifting off of his lap. "Let's get you to bed."
"Old." Jack snorts, laying a playful smack against your ass when you stand onto shaky legs. "Right. Could run circles around you, little girl."
The two of you make your way to his bedroom, and you climb beneath the sheets while he sits at the edge of the mattress to take off his prosthetic.
"I'm on call tonight," he tells you. "So if you wake up and I've disappeared, that's why."
You nod, and Jack slips into bed beside you. He lifts his arm and you slither right up to his side and rest your head on his bare chest. "I have to be at work by seven, so I might not see you before I leave."
He lets out a long breath. "Do you, uh…you like it there? You know—being a cashier?"
The question makes you laugh. "God no," you say. "I hate that place. The people are rude and half the time the work feels so degrading. And you know how I feel about my boss."
Jack's lips quirk up into a smile. "Ugh. Mary," he teases.
You shake your head and close your eyes, weariness beginning to take hold. "Precisely. But it's temporary, so. You know, I'll survive."
He doesn't speak again for some time. So long in fact, you think he might've fallen asleep. But then Jack says, his tone flat and serious, "You should quit."
"God, I wish."
"I mean it."
"If only my student loans would pay themselves. And I've got apartment fees, too. Not exactly light spending since they upped the electricity bill."
"How would you feel about…I dunno. Staying here?"
You lift your head at that. "What, you mean like move in?"
Jack nods. "Yeah, I mean…you could get outta there. Take your time finding a job you actually wanna keep, not just one that pays the bills. And you can focus on school in the meantime." He pokes you in the ribs. "Fill up that pretty head of yours with all that knowledge."
The offer makes your heart race. "Jack, are you…are you sure? What about my loans? And food and textbooks and—?"
"I'll pay for all of it," he says easily. "Just let me take care of you."
It feels almost too good to be true, like you're asking for too much.
But you're not asking, he's offering.
You silently admit to yourself that it would be nice, though. Knowing he waits for you at home with those magic hands and all those sweet words. Knowing that even on your worst days, he'll take you as you are and love you just a little harder.
Still, it's a big decision to make.
Jack says quietly, almost a little bashful, "You don't have to decide right now or anything, I just love coming home after a shitty shift to see you drooling on my pillow."
"I do not drool."
"How would you know? You're sleeping."
You laugh easily and roll your eyes, settling on a temporary answer. "I'll think about it."
And you promise yourself you will.
But the following day, Mary manages to make a snarky comment about the way you styled your hair before you've even clocked in. And you, of course, respond in kind with your two week notice.
Jack comes to your apartment that weekend to help you pack your things. He's going through your cluttered closet, and stashed in the back he finds a loose stack of old photos.
Some of them include your cousins or your grandma or your childhood best friend. But one of them is a small photo of you, no older than ten years old, dressed up in a surgeon Halloween costume that's a size too big for you.
Jack smiles to himself when he sees it and, for the first time in his life, wonders about fate.
He leans over to poke his head around the corner of the closet door. "Hey."
You look up from where you sit in the center of a pile of your belongings on the living room floor.
Jack holds up the photo. "Can I have this?"
"You actually want that?"
"Of course I do," Jack says, smoothing out the photo's frayed edges and reaching into his back pocket. His heart warms as he sticks it in his wallet, where it'll remain for years to come. "It's my girl."
The mattress company I worked for the first time no longer exists. It was long ago eaten and assimilated by a bigger company. But when I started it was an incredibly intense five weeks of training. I was told I was extremely lucky to be selected, and I was. From a pool of a hundred applicants only fifteen of us made the cut to entering the training program.
The course covered how to talk to customers, how to ask open ended questions, how to close a sale, and product knowledge. I learned a lot, and truthfully my greatest takeaway was a lot of social scripts that I could use in other areas of my life.
We also had a midterm exam and a final. Both included a roleplay element with a trainer and a written portion. They told us when we started that the course was challenging but it was still a shock to come in after the midterm and realize half the class had failed.
I was named valedictorian of training- a dubious honor as it meant I’d done the best in the class, but popular lore had it that valedictorians struggled the most on the sales floor. Lo, I struggled.
Not because I wasn’t good. I was. But because my manager set out to systematically destroy my self esteem. Every sale, every interaction I had was scrutinized and criticized.
If I sold a bed with protectors, moveable base, and pillows he’d ask why I hadn’t managed to sell pillow protectors too. His first trainee had thrived on being challenged and he’d never bothered to learn a different way to coach.
It was wretched. My performance started strong but nosedived after a few weeks with him. My trainer, a man I loathed for stonewalling me in my interview, came in to inform me I was on new hire probation. If I couldn’t get my sales numbers up I’d be let go.
His actual phrasing was, “When you have a bandaid do you like to rip it off or pull it slowly?”
Since it was eminently obvious why he was visiting and because I thought it was condescending I sweetly informed him that I liked to soak my bandaids in hot water so they come off on their own.
He was briefly startled at this derailing but then got on with the bad news. I signed some forms stating that I understood my job was in peril.
I went home furious. I thought long and hard about why I wasn’t succeeding and how frustrated I was with my manager. I came in the next day and my anger had crystallized into a cold sharp edge.
My manager opened his mouth to address the probation and I snapped, “Just leave me alone. Go in the back if I have a sale. If you must address a serious issue then you will give me praise on two things I did right and present it as a compliment sandwich. Otherwise just say good job and shut up. Your constant nitpicking just makes me anxious and I do worse. Back off.” Belated and begrudging I added, “Please.”
He raised his eyebrows in dim surprise but I’d gauged him well. He backed off. Dutifully he’d meander into the back when I had a sale and praised me when I closed it. I resented knowing it was only because I’d demanded complimented but they still boosted me up. My numbers skyrocketed, I landed my first split king sale, and I exited probation with flying colors.
The trainer came back in to congratulate my manager for turning things around. To my gratification he gave me credit for setting him straight and said I’d taught him a different way to lead. My manager would often genuinely praise that moment when I’d stood up to him, impressed with my stubborn refusal to fail and my insight into what would help.
My biggest takeaway from the whole thing was just that people need positive reinforcement to succeed. Praise people for doing a good job. If you’re ever in a position where you need to criticize someone put it in a compliment sandwich instead of just saying the negative.
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cw:: stepcest, cheating, virgin reader, lots of praise, so much praise
for the most part, you did feel bad. scratch that — all you could feel right now was the immense pleasure as you rode stepdad! nanami on your hotel bed.
he turned your two stuffed animals around so they wouldn't have to witness this. this... what exactly was this?
you fucking your moms husband. you were the flower girl at their wedding all those years ago. kento nanami: the kind, polite man who was nearly twice your age.
he was the man who showed up to all your dance recitals and school plays while your mom was out gambling.
the man who rushed out of work when you fell off down two flights of stairs at college just to make sure the hospital staff was treating you with the upmost care. your mom? who knew where she was. by the time she reached out —back from a bender, most of your injuries were already healed...
nanami was always the one who would get out of bed to soothe you when he heard you screaming from a nightmare — your mom could never be bothered to deal with it (if she even was home) :(
the incredible man who worked constant overtime just to get you through college and literally anything else you wanted. you were his little girl after all.
the best stepdad who showed up to the father-daughter dance when your bio dad ignored your phone calls :(
kento nanami was the man who taught you how to ride a bike. and he's also the same man teaching you how to ride his cock.
"shhh... i know it's alot. breathe baby. ive got you" and he always did. nearly your whole life, it was always nanami who was there for you. you trusted him. he knew you better than you knew yourself.
and that's why you can't bring yourself to feel regret. you love him and you know he loves you too. had you not walked in one night on your bio dad getting sucked off by your mom, maybe you wouldn't have pursued nanami.
he was the one, of course, to console you. your bio dad wouldn't ever show up for you when you needed him, yet he would show up for that? your mom not even caring she was actively cheating on nanami. her reasoning being "he worked and spoiled you too much." :(
nanami was devastated, but just like he was always there for you, you were there for him. that night you both found out, neither of you could stay in the same house as her — quickly checking into a hotel nearby kento's work.
there was only one bed, but it would be fine. you weren't sharing a bed with a stranger or anything; it was just your stepdad.
the only person to truly provide for you, protect you, love you... unconditionally.
you would quickly strip down to just your panties and a tshirt while nanami was in the shower, and slide under the covers with your teddy bears, feigning sleep.
it was only when nanami finally sat down on the bed, brushing the hair out of your face and whispered "you're everything im not supposed to want, yet here i am in bed with you," did you slowly blink your eyes open.
before nanami backed away, scared he was overstepping, did you pull him back towards you.
"you're everything i want too..." you whisper back. "we don't need her — she wasn't there for us anyways."
nanami softly patted your head, nodding. he agreed, but was still hurt by your mom's betrayal :(
you cuddled with him until you both fell asleep. that was, until you tossed and turned, over and over, waking yourself up at two am. you softly gasped when you realized there was something poking against you >.<
"dad?" you whisper, hoping he's still asleep.
he's not.
"s-sorry, princess" he says a little too quickly. "can't sleep?" you shake your head and scoot even closer to him. whatever was poking you before was definitely still there.
nanami tries to scoot away from you, but there wasn't too much space on this hotel bed.
"p-please, i don't think you should be near me right now..."
"why not?" you pout, crawling even closer. "do you not want me either?"
"of course i do, baby... it's just..." he trails off, closing his eyes with a heavy breath.
"you're hard..."
"yes," he admits. "im sorry. i work alot and your mother never wanted to."
your left hand slowly inches toward his chest then idly slides downward. "what if I helped you with that?"
"no, baby," he protests. gently holding your hand so you don't go down any further. "we can't."
"why not!"
"i'm your—"
"stepdad."
"i raised you."
"that just makes me love you more."
"princess, please don't make this harder than it already is."
you snatch your hand away from his, sliding down his chest to grip his length. "I think you're already pretty hard dad," you giggle, but continue to firmly grasp it like patrick star once instructed on your satruday morning cartoons.
"please, kento. dad. i want this and i want you. it's always been you. please"
your plead snuffed out the last of nanami's resistance. if his wife was going to cheat, it was only fair he did the same. right?
nanami tugs down his pj pants and boxers with your help. his hands find their way to your clothed pussy, slowly rubbing you through the fabric.
once your eyes feast upon nanami's full, throbbing cock, your eye's are immediately going wide.
"she didn't want this!? this fucking monster!"
"language, sweetie."
"sorry."
you tentaively grasp it again, going up and down it with your hand awkwardly.
he wraps his hand around yours, guiding you up and down his length. even in this fucked up situation, nanami was still there to teach you, guide you.
"sorry, im not experienced. i've never..."
"never? fuck. imgoingtohell"
"language, daddy!" you echo back to him with a smile. it actually calms his nerves.
"just follow my lead and if you want to stop-"
"i want this," you reassure him.
he continues to guide your much smaller hands up and down his cock. maybe if you only do this it won't be that much of a sin. if only....
without him instructing you, your tongue finds it's way around his tip. delicately licking as if it were a tootsie pop.
nanami doesn't stop you. in fact, he places his hand on the back of your head, helping you take more of him into your mouth.
"you sure you've never done this before?" he's throwing his head back. your taking more and more of him into your mouth. you shake your head but don't let up. "you're doing amazing, baby."
nanami is a man who loves to give praise and in his case he means every word. "look at you," he's brushing back some of your hair. "doing so well for me."
fuck, if it wasn't for the extreme lack of sex with your mother nanami probably could've lasted so much longer. you bob your head up and down a few more times until it's too much — nanami's lifting your head off of him and grabbing a nearby handkerchief. of course he has one on standby.
you almost wish he would've let you taste his seed. you imagine he would taste sweet, like pineapples.
"maybe we should stop" he suggests. there goes that polite conscience again.
"i want it to be you," you declare, straddling his hips before he can change his mind. "please. i want my first time with you."
he relents, flipping you over in a swift move. "if you insist." he kisses down your neck, large hands sliding down your sides. "i should make sure you're ready for me"
"but i—"
"shh," his long fingers shush you. "god, you're soaked."
he takes his fingers, rubbing you through your panties, circling that sensitive nub. he gives it a loving kiss, then another and another. until he's sliding your panties out of the way—marveling at his stepdaughters beautiful pussy for the first time.
nanami, with most things, likes to take his time — savor the moment. but it wasn't easy with your cute little whimpers and your hands on the back of his head, pressing him down til he was nearly suffocating in your fluids (not that he minded).
his warm tongue lapped at your clit, prasing, worshipping it. over and over, he feasted on you until you were a shaking mess. he carefully added a finger, stretching you out slowly. the last thing he wanted was to hurt you when he finally sunk himself inside you.
god. nanami kento could eat pussy for days.
"i want you inside," you begged. "please"
anything for his little girl. but not before he made you come on his face. he licked and sucked and devoured you even faster now — adding a second finger inside you. it wasn't until you completely lost control, squirting on his face did he stop. he lapped up your sweet taste, savoring the flavor of you.
he (begrudingly) left his spot between your legs to flip you back on top of him. "up here, princess."
and you're straddling him again, wet slick dripping down his cock.
"princess, are you absoultely sure?" nanami's eyes are locked onto yours, searching for any sign of doubt. any reason he shouldn't fill his stepdaughter to the brim.
the kiss to his lips gives him his answer. it wasn't like any previous kiss you had before — those were cute, innocent. this kiss was filled with passion, as if you were his lover, everything a dad-daughter kiss shouldn't be; yet you both loved it more than anything else.
he taps your entrance with the head of his angry cock. once, twice, god, it was agony — the teasing. he envelops the tip, covering it with your slick, hoping it'll make it go in easier.
"this might hurt, but, you're in control here" nanami's voice is low, soft, and controlled, as he always is. "take your time." you nod as his large, warm hands hold on to your sides, and he helps lower you down onto him.
it was heaven and hell.
hell because it fucking hurt. your tears were uncontrollable, freely flowing down your cheeks. it truly broke nanami's heart seeing you in pain like that. "breathe, breathe," he whispered. he didn't move an inch, and fuck, did he want to. it took everything within him not to flip you prone and fuck you like an animal in heat.
yet
it was heaven because your way-too-tight walls were clenching down hard on nanami's cock, it was almost painful for him. but the feeling was euphoric. and it wasn't just the fact he was in someone, but the fact that it was you.
the first person to text him happy birthday every year. the sole reason he celebrates father's day, despite not having any bio children. the person who counts on him to always be there for you. the only woman he would ever want to be inside from now on. his stepdaughter — the love of his life.
your sinking, down, down, slowly onto his cock with his guidance. fuck kento for being so damn big. he was borderline monster size. and it didn't help that he had two prominent veins running down his shaft, two veins you could feel inside.
he's wiping your tears with one of his hands. "shhh... i know it's alot. breathe baby. ive got you".
your holding on to him, adjusting to his enmorous size, and then finally, you move. awkwardly at first — it is your first time, but he won't rush you. in fact, he's giving you nothing but praise.
"that's it princess... just like that." fuck, you're so tight. "you're doing so well for me."
you found a good rhythm, bouncing up and down, like it was the best feeling in the world; and to nanami, it was.
"yes, baby girl," his grunts are vocal now. "that's so good. keep going just like that." and you do. up and down, up and down, up and down. you want to cry again, but this time not from pain. all you feel now is undeniable happiness and pleasure.
you don't know how much longer you can keep this up :(
you want to stay like this forever, but your hips, your legs, they're quickly getting sore.
and of course, nanami notices.
"you're okay sweetheart, you're safe. let me take care of everything."
and just like that, kento nanami has you on your back and he's between your legs again — missionary— his favorite position. call him old fashioned, but he never gets tired of hovering above his lover, looking into their eyes while he's pleasuring them. and the fact that it's you, his perfect stepdaughter? he almost came again the moment he slid back into you. he's surprised he hasn't already.
"you're so tight darling. f-fuck" nanami's panting. "too tight for me, aren't you?"
all you can do is nod in between your moans. you feel so fucking full. nanami, —the man who is usually so calm and controlled— was going feral. he was bucking into your hips, as if his life depended on it. he didn't want to hurt you, but he couldn't hold back anymore. not in this perfect, perfect pussy of yours.
he leans down to kiss you again and it's filled with every emotion neither of you can say aloud. your moans are music to his ears. when your bucking your hips up to him to meet his thrusts, his heart melts <3
he won't last much longer. he's fucking you soo deep into the bed. between your moans and nanami's praise and grunts, all he can focus on is how deep he is inside of you. and how fucking badly he wants to cum. your moans are so loud that you're covering your mouth from embarrassment.
"let me hear you, sweetheart." he reassures you. "let it out". and you do. every sound, every moan, all the pleasure you feel is because of nanami and you're gladly letting him know.
"dad, dad, dad" is all you can make out, as your fingers tangle in his hair and his heavy balls slap against your clit.
kento nanami is a responsible man. ideally he should pull out, cum literally anywhere else. but you've brainwashed him. your pussy was fucking magical and he can't bring himself to pul out.
"i know it's wrong, i know...." he wants to curse his conscience. "but you feel too good."
"it's okay, dad..." you're eyes are open, looking into his. "you can do it inside."
if nanami wasn't going to hell, this was surely the icing on the cake. he plunged into you, deeper and deeper, rutting into your perfect cunt — his cock kissing your cervix. you wrap your legs around him, kissing him.
with a grunt of your name, he spills into you. filling your pussy with everything that is him.
"such a needy little thing, huh? locking your legs around me" he's kissing you over and over and over, from your forehead to your chin, all over your face. <3 "you just wanted to be filled, didn't you?"
"uh-huh," is all you can muster out, and you smile — a happy, genuine smile.
he pulls out of you, rolling over for a moment to catch his breath. he's twice your age, but he's still got decent stamina (something he'll happily prove in the future).
as if it were routine, nanami is sliding out of bed, only to return with a hot towel. he's cleaning you up like it's second nature, and for him, it is. only difference is he isn't cleaning mud off of you from you playing outside in the rain when you were little, he's gently cleaning his cum and rubbing you with his utmost care.
it's truly confusing how your mom could ever cheat on him. he provided, he loved, he cared, he cooked, he cleaned, he fucked, he was perfect. if not for her, then absolutely for you.
your fingers slide down between your folds, scooping up some his seed that he missed. you bring it to your lips, humming when the taste reaches your lips. you were right. he does taste like pineapples :)
"you make the filthiest things feel so pure," he chuckles, sliding into bed with you. "what am I going to do with you?"
oops this got really long >.< i lost the plot again. omg im a freak :((
