hustle make you high (sub!lance tucker x femdom!reader)
summary: it’s your anniversary, and this is how you and lance celebrate
pairing: sub!lance tucker x femdom!reader
trigger warnings: femdom, riding, restraints
ask box / masterlist / faq / ko-fi
Lance Tucker is nothing short of an absolute fucking asshole. He’s stubborn, way too observant in the absolute worst way, and blunt to a fault. No matter where he is and what he’s supposed to be doing, Lance Tucker will find a way to tell you why what you’re doing is 1) wrong, 2) that it annoys him, 3) that you’re a terrible person, and 4) that he doesn’t like you.
Anyone who knew Lance Tucker when he was still competing knows that he’s a stuck-up asswipe of a gymnast, and he only got worse when he began coaching. A control freak with a God complex, the man will push any button to remain in charge of any and all situations that he is involved in. The man is focused on his fame (or, more accurately, the perception of fame) than anything else, especially the feelings of other people.
In short, he’s a total, utter dick.
God, you’re totally and completely in love with him.
He’s a fantastic husband in every sense of the word, along with being a wonderful friend. He’s sweet and caring, always putting your needs over his own. He remembers every anniversary, every birthday, every small achievement in relation to your work.
You absolutely fell in love with him on your first date together, it didn’t even take an hour for you to know he was the one. It was a blind date, set up by two of your mutual friends. Well, actually, it was a bet between the two of them. One thought you two would be too different to hit it off, but the second person knew better - much, much better.
On your first date, Lance was a bumbling mess who could barely get out a sentence. It was positively adorable. Lance was chivalrous, sweet. Everything, and you mean everything you had heard about him had been completely and utterly false. He asked you about what you did for work, why you chose your incredibly boring field of a tax law, what it was like, and so on. He took a genuine interest in you, what you did, who you were as a person. It was so completely different from every other guy you’d ever tried to date and it was so refreshing.
When you asked about him, though, he seemed even more nervous than before. He stuttered, and it was obvious he was worried of what you would think of him. When he dropped you off at your house (and walked you to your door - what a gentleman), you kissed him on the cheek and he blushed like a schoolgirl and bit his lip like a teen caught in a massive crush.
Immediately after you got all your makeup off and changed into a more comfortable outfit (your first date had been a fancy dinner halfway across town and all you wanted to do was wear sweatpants, take your bra off, and wear the comfiest/grossest shirt you could find), you scheduled your next date. It was the week after when you met at your favorite small coffee shop right after the lunch rush. You and Lance talked for hours about your lives and what you wanted out of them. You asked him about training and a gym addition he was planning; he asked you about a case you were thinking of taking up. When he had to leave for a night session with a girl who missed the morning one, you went for it and kissed him. Just straight up. He seemed stunned, but after the initial shock wore off he went in for another. It was magical. His hands tenderly placed themselves on your waist, resting on your thick green sweater. You wrapped your arms around his neck, locking him close to you. The only thing that could’ve made it better was if there was a small drizzle of rain, a way to seal the romantic moment.
When you stepped away, the dopey look that flashed on his face made you want even more. You wanted to mess up his perfectly gelled hair and jump his bones.
But you were a lady, and ladies wait until the third date. And, if that third date happened to be less than forty-eight hours later, that’s okay. It was dinner at your place. Normally, you’d mind always making the first move. But something about Lance convinced you that you being a driving force was okay. You guessed that it wasn’t that he didn’t want to initiate a lot of things, it’s just that he was nervous. And if you liked anything, it was making extremely pretty boys extremely nervous. Maybe it was because you’ve always liked control. Maybe it was because your desk job made you feel useless. Maybe it was because things you’ve always liked things that made you feel like you were sexy, a feeling you’ve never really felt before.
Either way, that night, you were getting it. You were determined to fuck him (with his consent…of course…). You didn’t care if that meant some boring missionary shit or you riding his dick and/or his face for two hours; you two were cumming. Together. Coming together.
The meal you had cooked was normally pretty simple, but instead of just roasted chicken slices you cooked an entire one so you could carve it. You thought it would be a good thing to take your sexual frustration on (since you know…large knives and stuff).
The man of the hour arrived at six o’clock sharp, just as you’d instructed him to. It took all of your might not to cum right then and there, not only because he had followed orders, but also because he was punctual. It’s one of your biggest pet peeves - when people don’t show up on time, and it happens all the time at work. The last thing you want is to come home to someone who can’t find a place on time. It sent a shiver up your spine as you wiped your hands on a dish towel before you went to open the door.
Lance was dressed the sexiest you’d ever seen him. His jeans were tight, and his shirt hugged his body like latex. It was white, and you could almost see his obnoxious tattoo through it. It took all of you not to pull him in the door by his neckline and suck him off right then and there. Just a second, Y/N, let the man have dinner first, is all you could do to keep yourself from jumping him right then and there.
Ever the gentleman, he also brought you some flowers.
That’s when you decided to get your power back. As you and him made small talk (he mostly just asked about your home, which you happily answered), you “struggled” to find a vase.
In truth, you know where the want you want is, it’s up high. Despite this, you choose to look through all of the lower cabinets, so you can show off how tight the dress you’re wearing is.
It’s obvious when he catches sight of your ass, because Lance immediately stops speaking. The only sound in the kitchen is the sizzling of green beans. When you turn around, faux-perplexed as to the whereabouts of your favorite crystal vase, Lance is smirking.
“I thought you said the bank turned you down for that loan,” the line is shaky, he’s obviously nervous as he says it. It makes you quiver a little, admittedly. You love making boys nervous.”
You shake your head, confused. “If you’re trying to hit on me by bringing up the worst part of this year…”
Lance immediately backtracks. “No, no I mean, that like they said you didn’t have any…assets…”
That’s when you get it. He’s trying to creatively compliment your figure. You break down giggling, flustered. “That’s…that’s good. I haven’t heard that one before.”
When you finally “find” the vase, you realize it’s a little higher than you remember. You need help reaching it for real…and-
Shit. This isn’t how you planned for the night to go.
“I, uh,” You gulp, turning back around with heat dusting your cheeks. “Can you help me reach the vase?”
Lance laughs and gets up, moving to easily grab what you cannot.
That is the first time you see the now-famous tattoo up close, and the first time you drag his face down to your level so that you can make out with him against your kitchen counter.
Now, after three years of dating and four years of marriage, nothing has changed between you two.
He may have become an incredibly selective and successful coach; you may have become a partner at your firm. You may have moved to a house that’s better for entertaining his gymnasts and your lawyer friends/foes/potential clients. You may have adopted some cats. Everyone may have called you a power couple and banned both of you from drinking at any and all office parties at both of your jobs. Some coworkers may have also had to be convinced not to tell your respective bosses about you making out (and worse) in bathrooms and empty conference rooms and storage closets and each of your offices.
But in your relationship? Nope.
You still absolutely adore each other. Lance still gets those flutters in his stomach that always make him stutter around you. You still love making him nervous. Most importantly, you both still loving having sex. Together. With each other.
Some nights are lighter than others, some require days of planning. You’re (mostly) past hook ups in utility closets, preferring to sleep in your own bed.
Which is why you tease him all throughout dinner, flat out banning him from clearing it of its contents and thereby not allowing him to fuck you on it.
This is likely why when you lure him upstairs and push him onto the bed, he immediately becomes pliant.
It’s cute, almost, the way he’s reacting to your touch, how his breath hitches when your nails trace over his muscles – his shirt long discarded and you looming over him.
“You want me to tie you up, baby?” you coo, heat in your center pulsing as he moans. “You want me to fuck myself down on your cock while all you can do is watch?”
Lance whines high in his throat, nodding.
“Yes, please tie me up,” he moans.
And who are you to deny him?
You abide by his wishes easily, undressing him the rest of the way before tying his arms and legs so that he lays spread-eagle in the center of the bed.
Once he’s secured you strip yourself, removing each item of clothing slowly as he strains his neck to watch you.
“God you’re so beautiful,” he moans. “Please fuck me!”
You smile as – finally – your panties are discarded. Wordlessly you climb over him once more, aligning him with your dripping center, moaning lewdly as he bottoms out.
“Please let me touch you,” Lance groans, pulling at the restraints. “C’mon, let me make you feel good.”
“I’ll think about it,” you mumble breathlessly as you used your hips to grind down onto his cock. “Let me feel you first.”
“God I love your pussy,” he moans, hands flexing in their fixed position. “Fuck it feels so good!”
You giggle, grinding down onto his cock. Maybe it’s because you’ve forced him into abstinence for the past week, maybe it’s because it’s your anniversary and you’ve been stuck in this hazy love cloud for days.
“You want me to untie you?” You ask. Immediately, Lance is moaning and nodding his head deliriously. “You want your hands on me while I cum on your cock?”
“Fuck yes!” Lance begs, fucking harder into you. “God please let me touch you, oh my God.”
You unclick the ankle restraints first, then lean forward to free his wrists, using his chest for balance.
“Your tits look really good at this angle,” he says with one of his big, show-stopping smiles.
You laugh as you readjust, moaning as you slide back onto the cock. “Yeah? They still look good from here, too?”
Lance’s hands roam your body, landing on your ass. “Hell yeah, they do.”
You ride him with everything you have, moaning in tandem with him.
“C-can I rub your clit?” he asks, head thrown back and eyes screwed shut. “Can I please make you cum?”
You smile, tossing your hair to the side and gazing down at him. “Yes, but you can’t cum yet.”
Lance looks pained at not being allowed to cum but remains eager to give you pleasure – sucking his thumb into his mouth before quickly finding the most sensitive part of you.
It doesn’t take long before you’re coming undone with him inside of you – eyes rolling back in bliss.
It’s only when the ringing in your ears stops when you see Lance is nearly lost to his own pleasure.
You smack his right thigh to remind him of his place. “Don’t forget to ask permission, baby,” you hit the left one slightly harder. “It’s our anniversary, but it doesn’t mean our rules have been suspended.”
Lance struggles to swallow before speaking. “Please, can I come? I need to come-“
“Not yet,” you hiss, not letting him finish. You continue to ride him, slowly moving your hips up and down as your eyes roll back once more.
Lance, in all his obedience, could never give up his stubbornness.
“Please!” he cries out, tension in his voice indicating how close he really is.
You smile as you grind down on his cock once more. “Cum.”
His face immediately relaxes, head thrown back and mouth agape as he comes inside of you with moan so loud you worry the glass of water next to the bed will shatter.
“Oh, fuck that feels good,” he says, panting. “Your pussy always feels so fucking good.”
You laugh, also breathless. “I appreciate it.”
It takes a minute for you to find the energy, but eventually to grab a tissue to clean off before crawling back into bed with your husband.
You curl up into Lance’s chest, tracing random patterns into his sweaty skin.
“Happy anniversary, baby,” he says, chest rumbling as he does so.
“Happy anniversary,” you say back, leaving a small kiss over one of his deepest bruises.
