#tdatt

"Awh," you could help but coo with a smile on your face. Seeing your husband — your scary bulldog of a town sheriff — all dressed up in red and white for the winter holidays, a station Christmas party. Lee, much to his dismay, drew the short end of the stick. "My little Lee all ready to give the kids their presents? You got the reindeer all ready? You got Donna and Blitzen all hooked up on your sleigh?"

His smile was tight. A real smile, you could tell that — lee loves your poking and prodding. Relished in it, in fact. He loves dragging out your teasing and weak insults, spurring the flame inside his chest until he can no longer keep himself, and his cravings at bay. "Laugh it up, babygirl, cus when i get home, I'm wiping that damn smile off your face."

"Putting me on your naughty list already, Mr Clause?" You cocked a brow, feigning innocence with a hand on your chest.

"Oh, you fuckin' bet." The words sneered from his lips like a hiss, all bark and bite. Stewing over this playful rut over the next few hours while he endures hell — a work party — just so he can have his way with you. All a chaotic and messy dance the two of you know off by heart by now.

The hours dragged like thick snowfall. Staring out the window onto the oranged street, securing the scene in a layer of synthetic warmth with its glow, watching the bulky snowflakes settle upon the tarmac and front lawn.

You slumped on the dining room chair, book in hand, knee bouncing up and down with the eventual arrival of your 'punishment'. The fire blazed on in the living room, embers of red painting the walls, spilling into the kitchen. The warmth lingers against your legs. No matter what, everything seemed to go back to Lee and the scolding you'll be reckoned with the second he gets home.

It got your thighs tensing with the thought, a simmering heat deep in your belly with each moment passed without the Sheriff in your company. Each minute a countdown to a punishment you helped deal out, a punishment wanted — hungered for.

You skimmed the pages of your book. Top to bottom, and back again, until it repeated like a mantra in your head, you could practically recite the lines if asked. Every little creak and whine of car tires outside your home got you flinching up to check the driveway — that was until lights flooded the room.

Engine spirting to a stop, headlights fading to black, you got up — but before you could actually head to the door, Lee was already through the entryway.

He didn't look at you. How you stood anchored to your spot on the archway between the living room and kitchen, hands clasped on your front, absentmindedly picking at the skin of your cuticle, heart jackrabbiting at his presence, just watching your husband as he enters your home. Tired, irritated.

Though he payed you no mind, you could tell his eyes held aggrivation. Not bothering to take off his shoes at the door like usual, chucking his keys onto the side cabinet without a care. You should be nervous. Scared, even. But you've played this game far too many times.

Your sheriff slumped on the couch with a disgruntled huff. His jacket — itchy red velvet and irritable white fluff, dampening in spots from the snow — sat unbuttoned against his vest clad belly, and his legs that sported the same bothersome material, splayed open almost automatically, his thick bulge evident beneath the thin fabric. Lee's jaw clicked, his cheeks flushed a pale red, from the cold or drinks, you had no clue, but his blue eyes finally bore into your stance.

You stayed put, nipping at the inside of your cheeks, almost rocking back and forth from toe to heel like an naive schoolgirl.

"Don't you start actin' all innocent," he grumbled low. The memories from only a couple hours ago appear in his mind, and you watched as his lips quip into a sly smile, teeth baring only to drag against his bottom lip. "C'mere, pretty, between m'legs."

You did as you were told, albeit eagerly, but you walked. Sucking on the soft skin of the inside of your mouth, trying to cover the smirk threatening to uncover.

Lee's hands hold your thighs, and you gasp quickly at how cold they felt. He dragged them up and down your warm skin, pinching at the flelsh, palming, relishing in how you responded to his touch, humming with delight.

"Been a naughty girl, huh? T'sa good thing you're wearin' a skirt tonight," he kept his voice a low growl. intimitation and want all that circled his mind and body. His candence got your heart thumping in places that would make an angel blush. "Haven't been good enough for my thigh, n'god forbid you cum on my cock… cant let you have that now, can i?"

Your breath stutters in your lungs like a exhale forced out like a kick to the stomach. His eyes flick down to the floor quickly, a blink and you'll miss it kind of look.

"Kneel down. On my boot there, baby, thats it,"

Before you could question, your body moves for you. Brows taut in mild confusion as you sank down atop his boot — on your haunches, both palms hooking above his knee, fingering the width of his thighs, dampening panties right against the tongue of the leather where the laces meet toe. The flakes of snow melted along the soul, leaving cold puddles for your flushed skin. He could feel you shiver against him. The sheriff shuffles in his seat, one hand palming at his erection, and the other curls into your hair carefully.

Tucking a strand behind your ear, Lee rumbles, "since you wanted to be a smartass before I left," Lee squeezes the tightness in front of you before hooking his thumb underneath the itchy white cotton of the hem, pulling it down with his boxers.

It's unfortunate how pavlov'd you've become to your husband's cock. Even just looking at it brings a sore ache to your abdomen, your body remembering the shape of him inside of you, ruining you for anybody else. He stood tall and braud, veins peeking through the soft, velvety skin, his blushed tip peeking out from his foreskin.

Lee sighed in relief, holding his chub at the base, giving it a shake before finally tugging. A slow ascent to his tip, squeezing at the broad head, a pearl of prejack slipping from his slit.

The sight has your jaw lax and your cheek resting against his knee. you could almost taste the salty, headiness of him against the tip of your tongue, oozing its way down to the back of your throat until all you can taste is Lee.

Keeping up with his ministrations, a tease for both him and yourself — making a show of how worked up you got him — his plans slowly came to fruition.

The sight of him, full, thick and needy, has your hips shifting against his boot. Your panties soaked through against the worn leather, clit brushing the tight laces, and your entrance teased at the front, resting against the dome right where you ached to be filled.

As your hips twitched, you whined airily.

Lee grinned, watching as you hesitantly slide up and down his shoe, his plan working without him even saying.

"Atta girl," he spoke louder, drawing out the words with a laugh, with pleasure, watching you work up the courage against him. "Be a good girl n'sit pretty for me… warmin' my boots up like the good wife you are."

Your hips start to squirm as his words roll from one ear out the other, yet seemingly soaking into that pit, deep in your belly. Jerking yourself against the tattered leather, your panties soaked and smeared damp streaks against the dusty brown, darkening the leather.

The few hours spent after deliberately provoking your husband, letting yourself fester within the hold of lust, neediness and strain, it all bleeds out of you with each wanton breath you expell and every buck your hips give, pushing your clit into the tightened laces.

As heat pulls at every muscle in your body, flooding your senses with a hazy cocktail of hormones, you could barely take your eyes off of your sheriff in front of you. Tracking his hand as it moves steadily over his shaft, choking his head in his grip, hips bucking off the cushions, and letting more pearls of pre run along him, lubing himself up. Though he couldn't get his eyes off you.

How your fingers scratch at his thighs for leverige, your hips trembling without a real rhythm, just purely going off the sight before you like you've been stripped to your baser instincts. How your eyes darkened, leaving just the tiniest ring of colour amongst them, flushed hot, jaw slack, lips parted and slick with saliva left to drip onto his knee as he holds the side of your face with his free hand — your cheek squashed against it, wallowing in his touch.

The urge to beg, to whine and to grovel, burns in the depths of you, searing hot in your loins as you grind a little faster. You gather the spit collecting in your mouth, swallowing with a harsh gulp, licking your lips. You repeat yourself, trying to hold the build up of pleasure in your chest, just to get a simple request out of your lips, but Lee knows exactly what you're doing.

He pauses himself for a moment, grip at his base, waving his cock in your face tauntingly, and you watch absolutely hypnotised.

"You want my cock?" He asked, pulsing his fist on his shaft.

You nodded. But he sucked his teeth with a tut, pursing his lips out in thought.

"Had a lot of shit to say earlier, didn't you," he tugs again, faster, pulling a little harder to fully reveal his ruddy tip for you. "Go on, sweets, beg f'me."

You just cant stop watching him. A luscious droplet releasing, just about to fall, and your words seem to fail you.

"Please—" You whisper as your mouth opens, tongue feeling too big for your mouth.

Too flimsy, too weak.

"Such a cutie," he chuckles, two fingers swiping into your slacked jaw, allowing you just a couple licks of him before retreating — slicking up his thick shaft with the saliva gathered, swiping your treasure away from your gaze. "Keep beggin', baby, I know you can do better."

'Be good, be good, be good', plays like a scratchy record in your mind as you work your hips harder, shuffling up just to catch his scent, just to maybe steal a pearl for yourself — but when are you ever good.

You wail as your clit grazes in a particular spot, pawing at his leg, lungs burning for Lee's air. Lee's touch, Lee's taste, Lee's everything.

You look up from your half-lidded eyes to find him relishing in your reactions, content in your suffering, watching you beg and regress and whine like an animal for him.

All of your asks dissolve.

This was your punishment. You helped dish it out.

"Such a pretty girl when you're all desperate for my cock. God, look at you, baby, look at these cheeks," Cooing, he takes his hand from your hair and presses it down against your jaw, holding your face with his thumb on one side, and four fingers on the other. The squeezing, condescension soothing through his lips with the rugged panting of his nearing release had you weak. "Makes me wanna mark you up, paint your goddamn pretty face."

It tolls around you. Words muffled by gritted teeth — teetering at the ridge of his cockhead, teasing until all he could feel was an achingly sweet pulsing — he stayed tempting you, holding out his hand for you to take. Letting go of your cheeks, he gives it two strong taps, breathing bated with a roguish laugh, "You'd fuckin' love that, wouldn't you, darling."

His words not even asked as a question, but an accusation — the truth — because he knows you. He knows the knot in your stomach keeps growing and growing, how your cunt is pulsating rapidly with his claims, and he also knows how good you'll beg by the end of it.

You hum with a broken breath, nodding eagerly.

"Keep moving those hips, babygirl, need you all over these boots — fuck, that's my girl." He whimpers, head tilting back as his hand rolls up and down.

With your own whine, you tremble on the floor, the sound chesty and gutteral — a cry in agony, watching your wants and needs dangle in front of you, only to be snatched out of reach at the very last second.

You work hurriedly, matching the slaps of your husband's hand and hips. Grinding with a desperation, breaking a sweat, nails digging harsh crescents into the meat of his thighs — you hope it stings, but you know deep down the sting sparks in his gut. Your breaths come louder, moving into desperate jolts, and jerking motions, all the while you finally find your voice.

"Oh my god—" Eyes clamping shut, you jerk yourself against his boot erratically, chasing your high. Your jaw clamps shut as wails and sobs reverberate in your throat.

Knotting his fingers in your hair, Lee pulls your head up with a firm fist, inciting a loud bleat as he fists himself faster, shuffling himself to the edge of the couch, making sure to get the perfect shot.

"Been a fuckin' brat — shit — all day… Say what you want, baby, tell me what you want." He orders, holding you tight in his grip. You steady yourself with each palm on his knees, eyes wet and raw with tears from the prickle in your scalp.

"I wan—" You gulp and sputter, an unintentional toy at Lee's patience, so he shakes you.

"Big girl voice." Voice loud, authoritive, patronising. You dont know if the butterflies in your stomach erupt from anxiety or arousal.

"Ple—ase, please, wan' it so bad," You sputter, thighs clenching as you watch his hips waver, "please—fuck, please cum on my face, Lee. "I need it so bad, please!"

His cock twitches in his white-knuckled hold, choking his cockhead, with a few breathy moans. Spurts of cum land on your cheek, flicking in thick lines against your lips, making you flinch at the sudden warmth. But Lee's grip only tightens with his release, using you as his tether, throbbing his fist as he finishes with muttered praises.

"Atta girl — such a good girl, fuck."

A few minutes pass in silence. Your breathing slowed, warm against his thigh as you rest your cheek against his knee, staring up at him with a calm of reverence, letting the now dying embers of the fire cover your back. You watched how his belly eased with his slowing pants, tucking himself back into his boxers, with a soft and satisfied smile on his face, sweat shining on his forehead, sitting in that post coitus glow.

Dopamine and serotonin still buzzing in your bloodstream like the old christmas lights that tinged you both, picking up slightly as his gaze drops down to you. You who's still clung to his leg like a koala, cheek nuzzled, eyes glinted and warmed by the soft yellows of your tree lights. Lee takes in a deep breath, still staring, head tilting to the side before he mutters.

"C'mon, babygirl," his hand waves once, "let's get you washed up." Leaning himself down from the sofa, his arms automatically draw to your hips as you stand with a grunt, steadying you before rising from the couch himself, picking you up and in his embrace, bridal style.

While walking to the kitchen, he brushes a lock away from your face. Circling the skin of your inner knee, kissing your hair, and leaving his lips against you, even as he sits you down on the countertop. You wince quietly at the temperature of the cold wood against the backs of your balmy thighs.

Lee works in silence. Not the kind that says 'business', or 'malicious', and definately not the type he uses while at work. It was the kind he keeps only for you, during nights where the two of you cant seem to sleep, though too tired to move or speak, so you lay in jaded silence while he works his hands over your back, or thumbing the soft inside of your elbow. Keeping you close, reminding himself that you are alive. He uses a clean towel, making sure the water is a decent temperature before working at the tenderness between your thighs — making sure to teasingly whistle low at the damp patch he helped create, earning him a pinch to the side and a chaste blush — all before cleaning that out and wiping your forehead.

Looking back at the chair you sat in before, he turns and holds you close again. Same position, with an arm under your knees, and the other against your back, keeping you close. He mouths against your temple, babbling soft and meaningless words neither of you could decipher, but the sentiment was laid unsheltered.

Sitting down at the dining chair, Lee eases your head down onto his collarbone, as his other squeezes the top of your thigh.

"Wasn't too rough, was I?" He murmured against your hair. With each small inhale he takes in the scent of your lavender shampoo, the gentle burn of the log fire, and something so distictly you, it made his palms tingle.

You hummed into his chest, though it came out more like a sharp exhale, fanning against his chest. "No, never."

"Even with your hair?" He reaches up to the top of your forehead, fingertips barely skimming the strained skin and follicles. " You'd tell me? You'd tell me if I ever go too far?"

This time you huff, sharp and strong, a hitch in your ribs. You straighten your back to get a full good look at your man, one hand against his shoulder, the other smoothed against his plump cheek, thumb caressing the peeks of stubble growing in.

"You know me too well. Any small expression of mine, you've got deep in that head of yours," your warm palm migrates from his stubble to his hair. Threading your fingers through his scalp, you smile as his eyes flutter. "You'd know somethings wrong before me."

Sitting in full, comfortable silence — the two of you breathing in each others presence, watching how his eyes glisten with droplets of fairylights — you inhale, lips pursed out mischeviously.

"Hey, Lee?" He hums lazily.

"Is this when I say what I really want for Christmas?"

His brow furrows, looking away from you for a second before turning back. "M'sorry?"

Shuffling in his lap, you bite your lip, trying to conseal the smirk adorning your lips, shoulders shrugging. "It's just, I'm sitting on Santa's lap. That's usually what happens, right?"

His cheeks strain with a smile so big you wonder if it aches a little. With a tip of his head, shaking, he pinches you in the side "Fuckin' minx, y'know that, young lady?"

Squirming in his hold, he pinches your ass, his big burly size keeping you still. "You love it!"

"Too damn much," he noses against your cheek, teeth capturing his bottom lip. "I love you."

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“Now, I’ve tried every goddamned thing I can think of to try and keep the peace in this damn county. I did it for years until you came along,” he drawls, making eye contact with you in the rearview mirror before looking away. “I’ve verbally warned you. I’ve arrested you. I’ve had you sit in the drunk tank all night. But every damn time I think you’re gonna do right by me and this county, you blow it.”

“Sheriff, I-” 

Bodecker slams his fist on the dashboard of the cruiser. “I did not ask you a question. You speak when spoken to now, you little shit.”

That shuts you up. When you look dejectedly outside of the windows of the cruiser, you realize you should already be at the station with the amount of time he was driving. You don’t know where you are, and you are with the man that hates you more than your damn Daddy. The farther he drives, you notice fewer lights and street signs and more open and wooded areas.

Dragging your eyes away from the window, you look back to the Sheriff. He gnaws a toothpick so hard that his jaw clenches. You catch more of his face in the reflection of the rearview mirror and think if he didn’t grimace all the damn time, he’d be such a handsome man. The kind that everyone would pay to see on the big screen.

You could hear your Daddy’s voice in your head: ‘Ain’t no son o’mine gonna be no damn pervert. I’d rather die.’ His words didn’t have the intended effect; you just became louder and prouder. But now and again, his words would creep into your subconscious, making you think that every damn thing you did was wrong because you were wrong. A design flaw, a mistake.

Your thoughts on your old man are cut short as you feel the cruiser slowing to a stop. Gravel crunches under the tires. Just as you were going to ask the Sheriff where you are, he opens the driver’s side door and gets out, shutting it behind him. You watch as he walks to the back door and opens it. You try to slink back further into the back seat, but he grabs your ankle. You kick at him with the other foot, but he catches it.

“Listen here, son. You try to kick me again; I’ll break it and tell the doctor you fell. Don’t test me,” Bodecker seethes, pulling you the rest of the way out of the cruiser. 

He grabs you by the elbow and walks you into the woods at the side of the road. Pulling you along behind him, he walks into a clearing that is barely lit by moonlight. He pushes you down to your knees. You somehow catch yourself from falling forward onto your front. Walking around you, Bodecker gets your attention by calling your name. He smiles a toothy grin when you look up at him with fear in your eyes.

“Now, I wasn’t gonna say nothin’, but your old man asked me to keep an eye on you. Said something or other about his son not being interested in chasing skirts. Wanted me to talk with you, but I think I got a better idea,” he remarks, sitting on the tree stump nearby. He waves you over, and you walk on your knees slowly before stopping in front of him. 

When he taps his thigh, you chance asking what he means. “Sheriff?”

He sighs, reaching for you and pulling you to lay over his lap, his strength on display. “Just hush now; the only words I wanna hear outta you are how good you beg. You’re up a creek, son, and the only paddle is my goddamned hand.” 

You’re lost to what you’re in for until a heavy wallop lands across your ass cheek. The force with which Bodecker spanks your ass is so much so that you cry out in pain. He must like the sound of that because he delivers another lash to your other cheek. He groans, and you can feel the bulge hardening in his pants just under your stomach.

You can’t believe it, but Sheriff Bodecker is spanking you like an ornery child. He’s enjoying it, too. While you hate this man, you can’t help but grind your dick into his thigh with every whack he executes. 

One after the other, he tears into you until you’re a sobbing mess. With a dick so hard it could cut diamonds, you give in to begging. “Sheriff, please. I can’t take anymore. I’ll do anything; just please make it stop.”

He pushes you off his lap, and you land on your back with a thud. “I told you, you would eventually start begging,” he breathes, coming down to kneel next to you. 

Before you know what is happening, Bodecker is bent over you as he fumbles thick fingers through unbuttoning and unzipping your pants. Your cock springs free in the cool, night air as your pants are tugged to your ankles. With your hands cuffed under you, you’re unable to have any shred of modesty. 

But it would seem that Bodecker doesn’t mind that at all. It would appear that he likes what he sees, judging by the way he palms himself while you watch him stroke you slowly. 

You throw your head back into the dirt, and he groans after you let out a whimper, so happy to finally be touched where you need it. But not for long. Letting go of your cock, he tuts when you whine at the loss. Lifting your legs, he folds you like a pretzel with your thighs pressing into your stomach.

You know exactly what Bodecker’s intentions are once you hear his belt being unbuckled. But it’s when you hear his zipper that you know you are about to be fucked. And you couldn’t decide whether to be upset or thankful. All you know is that you need him to get to it fast. 

Unable to see past your legs, you hear rather than see him spit into his hand. And you thank him silently for at least trying to make taking his length a bit more bearable. Once you feel the wet tip poking at your puckered opening, you wince and wiggle your ass but stop when a warning slap hits your thigh. 

“Hush, now. Sooner you let me in, sooner this’ll all be over,” he insists, pressing further inside you until he is balls-deep inside you. As if crafted by the gods, Bodecker is not only long but thicker than any guy you’ve been with. He grants you half a minute to get used to his size before he pulls out and thrusts back inside you. 

The strangled cries of ecstasy that leave your mouth echo through the trees; the sounds of flesh against flesh dance on the midsummer night’s breeze. You could never have guessed in a million years that you would end up in this predicament. Hell, you wish you would have thought of this earlier, fucking the Sheriff to keep him off your back. 

“Fuck! You’re so fuckin’ tight. Feels so fuckin’ good. Takin’ me so well, like a good little slut,” he praises, changing his angle and leaning into you. With his hands on the backs of your thighs, he pounds into you and revels in the garbled nonsense that trickles from your mouth. 

Your cock, hard and forgotten, twitches when Bodecker hits your prostate. Your ass clamps down around his cock as you let your orgasm wash over you. Stars explode behind your eyelids as you come untouched. Thick, creamy ropes coat your chest where your shirt rides up and exposes your skin. 

As you come down from your high, Bodecker chases his release. His grip on your thighs loosens, and he groans as he blows his load, painting your insides. As he softens, he slips from your hole. You feel his cum dribbling out of your used asshole as he stands up to straighten his uniform and dust off his slacks.

You lay there, looking up at him until he helps you to stand. He unceremoniously tugs up your pants as you stand on wobbly legs. Grabbing you by the arm, he leads you through the dark woods to where his cruiser is parked. You’re shoved into the backseat, and he takes his time staring you down before closing the car door.

Once seated in the front seat, Bodecker pulls a piece of candy from the glove box. Unwrapping it and putting it in his mouth, he noisily lets the hard candy clack against his teeth as he sucks on it. He all but ignores you as he turns the key in the ignition and pulls back onto the road. 

You sit quietly looking out of the window as the familiar sights of Knockemstiff come back into view. Your ass hurts and leaks on the entire drive while dried cum plasters your shirt to your torso, but you don’t make a fuss. Noticing the Sheriff has turned down the road leading to your house, you’re somewhat relieved for this night to be over. 

He stops in front of your house, shuts off the car, and turns around to face you with his arm thrown over the seat. “Am I gonna see you causing trouble in my county again? Or am I gonna have to take you back out to the woods and…straighten you out?” His piercing blue eyes show no other emotion but annoyance.

“No, sir,” you lie. You have no intention of being a good little soldier for your Daddy, the Sheriff, or anyone else. But a piece of you wouldn’t mind being a good little slut for Bodecker. 

“Good man,” he replies, turning back around and exiting the vehicle. Letting you out of the backseat, he uncuffs you and lets you start up the walkway to your parents’ house. He whistles to get your attention, and you turn around. “You be good, now. I’ll be watching.”

You simply nod, unsure of what to say. Pulling the key from your pocket, you unlock the front door and enter the house. Leaning against the front door after you close it, you hear his cruiser’s engine turn over and exit down the lane. 

The living room light comes on, and your father appears from the hallway in his pajamas and slippers. “Was that the Sheriff?”

“Yeah, Dad. He gave me an earful tonight. I’m exhausted; I just want to sleep,” you babble, stepping away from the door and walking past your father to get to your bedroom.

“Well, I hope you were listening to what he said. Maybe spend less time out there causing all kinds of trouble?” He encourages, crossing his arms.

“I’ll do my best, Dad,” you lie again, just wanting to disappear into your room. “Good night, Dad.”

“Good night, son,” he sighs, letting you off without a lecture.

You collapse on your bed, not bothering to take off your dirty clothes. A fitful sleep awaited you, and you wouldn’t keep it waiting long. That night, you dream of blue eyes following you through the dark, and it does nothing but spur you on to make the next wrong decision.