#vonalyn

His fingers pressed down on your tongue and gripped your chin brutally hard, bracing your body while he fucked into you from the back. Your desperate sounds were muffled by his fingers, the crude way he held you causing spit to dribble down your chin and fall in sticky drops to the concrete floor. 

Curtis’s grip on your wrists, restraining them to your lower back, his fingers shoved into your mouth, and his big, broad body pinning you across the seat of his motorcycle meant that you couldn’t move an inch. All you could do was make muffled, pitiful sounds of need while he railed you. All you could do was take it.

The fingers in your mouth pushed deeper, forcing you to choke and gag as they brushed against the back of your throat, which only made your pussy clench harder around Curtis’s cock. A deep grunt ghosted against the bare skin of your back and Curtis’s sweaty forehead fell to your spine, between your shoulder blades, his hips slowing like he was savoring the slick, wet heat of your cunt.

“Ya might’ve told me to get lost, princess,” Curtis growled, “But I’m gonna fuck this slutty pussy until it’s ruined—you’re gonna be feeling my filthy cock in your cunt for fucking days by the time I’m done with you.”

His beard brushed against your sweat-damp skin a moment before he sank his teeth into the curve of your shoulder, making your whole body clench tight in response. Your pussy squeezed his cock so hard, he groaned and nearly slipped out, but he shoved himself back in, pressing his hips flush against your ass and grinding his cock into your cunt.

Your hushed sob was stifled by Curtis’s fingers in your mouth, pressing against your tongue so roughly, you could taste the salt of his skin and the lingering leather of the gloves he wore riding his motorcycle back to the garage. 

It was so vulgar, having his fingers shoved in your mouth while his cock split you open and he growled filthy, degrading things in your ear, that your pussy gushed with even more arousal. 

And you couldn’t help but remember how you’d gotten yourself into this situation. 

It was Valentine’s Day, and you’d wanted to do something special. You’d wanted a night with a man who wouldn’t be gentle with you, who’d treat you like his own personal fucktoy. So you’d gotten yourself all dolled up in your sluttiest outfit, and went to the local biker bar.

Once there, you’d hesitated, but for only a moment, knowing your plan reckless and veering into dangerous, but you had contingencies if the night took a wrong turn. So you sucked in a deep breath, feeling the cold night air filling your lungs and giving you the fortitude you needed, and pushed into the bar. 

You felt Curtis Everett’s cold, merciless gaze find you immediately. Blue as ice and sharp as knives, his eyes followed you as you sauntered into the dingy establishment, his attention making it easy for you to throw your shoulders back, stick out your tits and put some extra sway in your ass as you made your way to the bar.

As you walked, you noticed your presence garnered much more attention than just Curtis’s. 

Your leather jacket did little to hide the fact that you were wearing a low cut crop top with nothing underneath, your nipples unmistakable through the thin cotton. And your skirt was so short, your heels so high, they bordered on obscene. You looked, to all the men in that biker bar, like a woman who wanted to get fucked.

However, there was only one man who’d be fucking you that night, and it was Curtis Everett. Thankfully, you were confident he’d make sure of it. 

The attention of so many pairs of eyes settled heavily around your shoulders as you stepped up to the bar and leaned over it, getting the bartender’s attention and ordering a drink. The move pushed your tits out and made your skirt ride up the back of your thighs, offering a teasing glimpse at the curve of your ass—just enough for anyone looking hard enough to see you weren’t wearing any panties.

Curtis, of course, noticed, since he was watching you so closely. Then, you could feel the energy in the bar crackle with tension the moment he realized other men were noticing as well. He stood from his seat in the corner, where he’d been nursing a beer while he waited for you, and made his way to the bar.

You tried to keep the interest off your face as you raked your eyes over Curtis’s tall form, taking in his close-cropped dark hair, his bright, icy blue eyes and his thick, bristly beard. His shoulders were broad and he was tall, towering over everyone in the bar.

He’d dressed the part of a sleazy mechanic, with a leather jacket thrown over a dirty, white t-shirt and filthy work pants. There were even streaks of oil and grime on his face, like he’d wiped his brow with a dirty rag, and refused to clean up after his work day. 

Still, Curtis’s handsomeness shown through, and your body responded to him, warming as he leaned against the bar beside you. He was far too close to be polite, but you didn’t move away; you leaned in, letting the scent of oil and leather fill your body with excitement for what was to come.

“Get lost,” you forced yourself to say, dragging your eyes away from Curtis’s face, and tossing your head haughtily. It took every ounce of your self-control to pretend like you didn’t want the dirty mechanic beside you, but it was important for you to play your role.

You flashed a flirty smile at the bartender when he deposited your drink, delighting in the way Curtis’s body bristled when the man’s eyes lingered a little too long on your tits. Curtis pressed closer into your side, one of his hands falling possessively to your lower back. 

“What the fuck did you just say to me, princess?” The pet name was spit from his mouth with so much condescension, it made your breath catch in your throat as you forced yourself not to cower. 

Instead, you cocked your head to the side and gave him an imperious look out. You went so far as to rake your gaze over him dismissively before turning your nose up at him—which was a feat, considering he was so much bigger and taller than you, even in your heels. 

“You heard me, grease monkey,” you said scornfully, enunciating your words perfectly and making sure your voice didn’t waver. Only your fingers, fidgeting with the cold glass of your drink on the bar, belied the slight tremor of anxiety you felt talking to Curtis this way. “Get. Lost.”

You put as much venom as you could muster into the words and cut your eyes to the dirty mechanic, searching his face for his reaction. It was immediately clear that Curtis didn’t like you telling him to get lost. He didn’t like it at all.

“You’re going to regret that, princess,” Curtis growled, his tone dark and mean. His fingers wrapped around your upper arm and, using his palm on your lower back, he spun you around and pushed you, none too gently, toward the door of the biker bar. 

You were so shocked by how easily Curtis manhandled and maneuvered you out of the bar, that it wasn’t until the chilly February air hit your burning cheeks that you remembered you were supposed to be putting up a fight. But no matter how hard you tugged against the iron grip of Curtis’s fingers around your arm, you couldn’t free yourself.

You liked that. You liked the fact that the more you fought, and the more Curtis showed you his strength, the more turned on you got. That only made you put up more of a fight, your feet kicking up dust as you tried to dig your heels into the dirt and gravel parking lot, but it wasn’t any use.

Curtis’s unyielding grip never flagged as he dragged you toward his bike in the corner of the parking lot. He was so much stronger than you, and he pulled you along easily, ignoring you while you made a fuss—though you didn’t call for help, of course, because you weren’t actually trying to stop Curtis from taking you home.

When you got to his motorcycle, Curtis pushed you against it, your hips pinned to the big, metal beast while he pressed his thick bulge against your ass. You sucked in a sharp breath, the sound loud in the silent night, and felt the fight drain from your body entirely as wetness began to drip from your damp slit down your thighs. 

“Are you going to behave, princess,” Curtis spit out, his hands wrapped around your arms, holding your back to his heaving chest as he worked to keep his temper leashed. “Or am I going to have to teach you lesson right here in the parking lot?” 

Curtis ground his bulge into your ass lewdly, and you shuddered in his hold, arching your spine to push back against him. He felt so big and hard through his pants, and your pussy was aching desperately to be filled with every thick inch of him.

When you didn’t respond to his question, Curtis pressed his mouth close to your ear, growling, “Do I need to put you on your knees and skullfuck the attitude outta you?”

A delicious whimper fell from your lips and you shook your head wildly. The gravel would be hell on your knees, and though another night that might’ve sounded appealing, you were too eager for Curtis to get you back to his garage so he could fuck you properly. 

“Good slut,” Curtis rumbled, affection bleeding into the coldness of his tone like he couldn’t help it. 

Before you could comment on it, Curtis was using his big, strong hands to manhandle you onto his motorcycle, getting you settled in the seat before he threw a booted foot over the bike and sat behind you. 

He was close enough that you could feel his bulge press against your lower back, and you squirmed deeper into his lap. A smile curled your lips when you trapped his hardness between your bodies, ensuring you could feel him on the entire ride home. 

Curtis grabbed a helmet from where it had been stowed in a saddlebag, but before he pulled it down over your head, he ducked close. His lips and coarse beard brushed against your soft cheek as he spoke in a low tone.

“Are you having fun, baby?”

The sweet affection in his tone had your muscles loosening, tension you hadn’t even realized had been gathering in your shoulders draining out of you at the question. You leaned back into Curtis’s chest, inhaling the familiar scent of oil and leather that always clung to him, and you let yourself grin.

“So much,” you purred huskily, turning your face up and pressing it into his thick beard. You nuzzled into the coarse hair, delighting in the rasp of it, until you were sure he could feel your smile against the underside of his jaw. “We might need to make this a Valentine’s Day tradition,” you murmured playfully, your words slightly muffled.

Curtis chuckled, his hand wrapping loosely around your throat, just under your jaw, and dragging you away from his beard. Then he pulled you in for a kiss over your shoulder, his lips moving sweetly against your mouth before he eased you away.

“We can discuss that later,” he said, a smirk curving his mouth. “After you’ve seen how dirty and rough your filthy mechanic can fuck you.” His blue eyes were sparkling with hunger and mischief as he tugged the helmet over your head and made sure it was secure before putting on his own.

Then Curtis started up the motorcycle and ripped the engine loudly, making the metal beast rumble deliciously between your thighs. He pulled out of the bar’s parking lot in a spray of gravel that had your heart racing with excitement and he peeled off toward his garage.

When you got there, Curtis kept up his gentle treatment only long enough to get your helmet off and toss both it and his aside. Then he was manhandling you roughly off the bike, ignoring the way your legs kicked aimlessly and your nails scoured into his leather jacket as he dragged you from the seat. 

He’d made quick work of pulling off your leather jacket and bending you over the motorcycle before pushing your skirt up and delivering a harsh slap to your bare ass. He’d laughed at your slightly outraged cry, then kicked your feet wide and shoved his hard bulge into your sensitive pussy. 

You’d moaned obscenely at the rough rasp of his jeans, thankful that Curtis’s garage was on the edge of town since it meant you could be as loud as you wanted, and gave yourself over to his merciless whims.

Before he’d truly begun, Curtis bent over your back, pressing kisses up your spine, and gripped your chin firmly. He guided you to meet his eye over your shoulder.

“Remember, all you have to do to stop me is say red, or pinch me anywhere you can reach,” Curtis had reminded you, his handsome face serious as he recounted the rules you’d negotiated when you’d discussed the scene you wanted to play out on Valentine’s Day. “Say yellow or tap me repeatedly if you want me to check in.”

“Yes, sir,” you’d said with a nod, showing Curtis the same level of seriousness. But your excitement couldn’t be contained for long, and you’d ducked your head, sucking Curtis’s thumb into your mouth, giving him a bratty nip before pulling back and tossing over your shoulder, “Bring it on, grease monkey.”

Curtis’s eyes had gone dark and stormy and he hadn’t wasted any more time, pulling out his cock and slamming into you without preamble. 

It was a good thing you were already drenched and ready for him, your pussy slick from the game you’d been playing and the rumbling of his motorcycle on the ride home, because it meant he slid home with only a slight twinge at the sudden fullness. 

Then he’d set about his task of making you regret telling him to get lost, fucking you rough and hard, bent over his motorcycle, his hands pulling your tits free from your top to sway with the movement of his thrusts. 

When you’d tried to dig your nails into his thighs and pull him closer, he’d pinned them to your lower back with one of his big hands, loose enough that you could use your safe signals if you wanted. His other hand had slid up your neck before shoving his fingers in your mouth.

“This is what you fucking deserve,” Curtis growled, bringing you back to the present moment with his harsh words and the cruel way he hooked his fingers in the side of your mouth. It forced you to make a dumb face, which only made you wetter, your arousal dripping obscenely down your spread thighs. “You dress like a whore and treat me like dirt, you’re gonna get fucked like the pathetic slut that you are.”

A ridiculously needy sound fell from your lips, nearly unintelligible with the way Curtis had your mouth contorted, but you couldn’t help it. It was depraved how good he was making you feel, with the rough, brutal strokes of his cock and the ease with which he degraded you with his hands and his words.

“And you know what’s so fucking funny—deep down, I know you want this,” Curtis went on, his voice a rough rasp as it met your ears with just as much ruthlessness as he fucked you. “You want to be treated like a filthy slut whose only purpose in life is using the three holes in your body to make my cock feel good.” 

Curtis shoved his cock and his fingers deep inside you at the same time, making you choke and moan while pleasure swirled mercilessly through your body. You were proving his point, but he didn’t seem happy about it.

“Isn’t that right, princess?” Curtis seethed, his beard rasping over the tender spot on your shoulder where he’d bitten you, making your whole body tremble beneath his larger form. “Your only purpose is to make my cock feel good?”

At the same moment as he uttered the question, Curtis shoved the rest of his four fingers into your mouth, stretching your lips obscenely and making your pussy clench down on his cock. It felt like he was everywhere, and yet it still wasn’t enough, you wanted more. 

You sobbed, unable to answer him in any other way, tears beginning to fall from your lashes and trickle down your cheeks. It was the only sign you could give him to continue, to keep being rough and brutal with your body and keep treating you like a slut.

Curtis laughed meanly, thrusting his fingers into your mouth and pressing down on your tongue, your sobs turning into obscene, babbling sounds of pleasure. 

“Don’t worry, princess, you don’t have to deny it—at least, not to me,” he said patronizingly, keeping up the one-sided conversation while he fucked your bent-over body. “I can feel how wet you are for me. I can feel your greedy cunt sucking my cock deeper when I remind you you’re just a fucktoy for me.” 

Letting go of your wrists, Curtis reached around to your front and groped your tits roughly, kneading your soft flesh and pinching and pulling on your nipples until you were crying out and pushing back on his cock. 

You didn’t move your hands from where they were, your fingers wrapping around opposite wrists to hold yourself pinned in the position Curtis had put you in. You loved the helplessness of it, you loved being at Curtis’s mercy—it was depraved and deviant and so fucking delicious, you couldn’t get enough.

“All ya gotta do is take my cock, princess, and you’re doing it so fucking well because you were made for this, weren’t you?” Curtis went on, growling in your ear. 

He paused only to drag his tongue up the side of your throat, licking your sweat from your skin and groaning in pleasure. Inside you, you could feel his cock throb like he was getting close. When he spoke again, his voice was impossibly lower, deeper, meaner.

“You were made to take cock and make me feel good, right, princess?”

His fingers finally ripped free from your mouth, leaving you to gasp for air while they wrapped around your throat, choking you lightly as he kept pounding into you from behind. His heavy body pressed down against your back, pinning you more firmly to the seat of his motorcycle, his hips working his cock deep with every thrust.

“Tell me, dirty slut, tell me how much you like getting fucked hard and rough by the filthy grease monkey after you told me to get lost,” Curtis ordered, his voice lashing out at you with its fury. 

“I love it,” you sobbed, pleasure coursing through your body in almost devastating waves as he fucked you brutally, his cock splitting you open and leaving a permanent brand on your pussy. 

It felt so good that it had you babbling mindlessly, responding to all the filthy things Curtis had said, “I love your cock, I was made for your cock, I’m just a set of holes for you to use.”

“Good girl,” Curtis rumbled in your ear, his fingers digging into the sides of your neck enough to make your vision swim, the gray concrete of the garage floor going murky before your eyes. “Good fucking girl, good fucking slut.” His other hand slapped and groped your tits, playing with them like they were simply toys. “You’re my fucktoy aren’t you, princess?”

“Yes, yes, I’m your fucktoy,” you responded obediently, tears and spit dripping down your face and darkening the floor beneath you. “I’m your cocksleeve, your fuck doll—use me, use me, use me, please!”

“That’s it, know your place, princess,” Curtis gritted out through a clenched jaw. His cock was twitching violently in your pussy and your own pleasure was coiling tightly in your belly, ready to snap. “Now cum on my cock, slut—show me you belong to me by squirting all over my dick like a good whore.”

Curtis’s hand abandoned your tits and shoved beneath your hips, finding your clit and rubbing it roughly while he choked you and slammed his cock deep into your cunt. 

You were gone before you could even take in a breath, pleasure crashing over your body in overwhelming waves as you came, a scream tearing from your throat and ricocheting around the garage. 

Above you, Curtis grunted and groaned into the curve at the base of your neck, his hips rutting into your body so hard the motorcycle rocked precariously on its kickstand. 

With one final thrust, Curtis shoved his hips against your ass, burying his cock so deep in your pussy, you thought you could feel him in your guts. His teeth sank into your shoulder again, biting you while he came viciously.

His cock throbbed and twitched in your pussy, sparking another wave of pleasure to sweep through your core, making you moan loudly as your cunt milked all the cum from his dick. Curtis emptied his balls inside you, flooding your pussy with cum while he rocked his hips against your ass.

“Good girl, good slut, so fucking perfect,” he murmured as he came down from his high. His fingers eased from your neck and he brushed soft kisses to the places where he’d bitten you. His tongue lapped at the indents of his teeth, soothing the sting and making you sigh softly in contentment. 

“Thank you,” you murmured, turning your head and brushing a kiss to Curtis’s sweaty forehead. You felt him smile against your shoulder blade, his beard teasing your sweat-slick skin as he pressed kisses along your spine. 

Before you could grow too uncomfortable in your position, Curtis eased himself up, his strong hands supporting your weight as he lifted you from the motorcycle seat. Gently, his softening cock pulled from your well-used pussy, and Curtis bit back a groan, the sound rumbling low in his throat, as his cum spilled down your thighs. 

“You look so pretty with my cum leaking out of you, baby,” Curtis rumbled in a deeply pleased tone that made you smile and laugh lightly. 

“Take me home and you can push it back inside before filling me up with another load,” you quipped, your voice still breathless from the orgasm that had wracked your body. 

Your humor was short-lived, a moan spilling from your lips when Curtis began massaging your shoulders. His calloused fingers methodically kneaded at your muscles, easing the ache of having your hands pinned behind your back for so long. 

“You ok, baby?” Curtis asked while he worked, turning you around so you could sit on the motorcycle and lean against his chest. You buried your face in his neck and breathed him in, letting your body relax under his tender ministrations. 

“Yeah,” you answered on a happy sigh. “That was fun.” 

Your words dissolved into a pleased giggle when you thought back on all that you and Curtis had said and done to each other that night. It had been very fun, and very pleasurable indeed. You absolutely wanted a repeat, and would be talking to Curtis about making it a tradition.

“I’m glad you had fun, baby,” Curtis rumbled, his hands working down your arms. He lifted your left hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the base of your ring finger. There, Curtis’s full name was inked as a permanent brand of your love and devotion to one another. 

Happiness surged in your heart and you threaded your fingers through Curtis’s, turning his hand so you could press a sweet kiss to the same spot—where your full name was inked around his ring finger. Curtis’s other arm banded around your lower back, holding you close. 

“Ready to go home, wife?” Curtis asked, and you nodded against your shoulder, where your head had fallen as exhaustion washed over you. “Ready to let me take care of you?”

A smile curved your lips and you nodded again. “Take me home, husband,” you said softly, the frayed edge of sleep seeping into your voice. 

Curtis chuckled indulgently, letting you rest for a moment before he hauled you into his arms and helped you walk from the garage to the house behind it where you lived.

For the rest of the evening, Curtis took care of you, cleaning you up—along with himself—and feeding you chocolate before wrapping you up in his arms beneath the blankets of your bed. It was tender and sweet, all the things Curtis was in your everyday life.

Before you fell asleep together, and as you’d promised him, Curtis fucked another load into your pussy. His movements were gentle and reverent, and he whispered sweet words in your ear about how much he loved you, his big hand splayed possessively over your belly.

It was a very special Valentine’s Day, and the game you’d played did become a tradition. Curtis Everett had left a permanent brand on your heart and your skin, and he reminded you of it each year when you told him to get lost and he proved he’d never leave.

“Come on. You know what,” he answered, crossing his arms as he leaned on the table. “Or do I need to say it?”

“Please, enlighten me,” you said as you placed a square on the board. You knew exactly what he was referring to, but you’d play his game. “Go on. Don’t be shy.”

“Steve and Natasha sleeping together,” he answered.

Big boy actually said it.

You allowed the eyeroll to happen when he smirked. They left the two of you alone almost an hour ago and it was a feat that you went that long without acknowledging it. “No, I’m not. Why would I be?”

Bucky pointed at you with his beer bottle. “Because you used to hook up with Steve.”

“And you used to sleep with Natasha,” you said without skipping a beat. That wiped the smirk off his face. “So sorry you got stuck playing Scrabble with a reject like me.”

You didn’t have super soldier hearing the way he did, but you heard his teeth grind when he selected his next piece. “You’re not a reject,” he said above a whisper.

Neither of you spoke as you kept playing. After a bad mission months ago, you slept with Steve. It wasn’t a big deal. Adrenaline was high and he gave you the release you needed. Expecting it to be a one time thing, it surprised you when he shoved you against a wall days later. You fell into a “friends with benefits” arrangement with him after that.

While he treated you well enough, you both maintained that it wouldn’t go beyond sex. From what Natasha told you, she had a similar arrangement with Bucky. It worked for your needs.

You were content.

Until you noticed how Steve and Natasha’s gazes lingered on each other after briefings. How easily they fell in step beside each other despite their sometimes opposing views. She trusted the Captain, which wasn’t easy for the former spy. Steve respected her and that said something. You accepted that they needed each other and quietly removed yourself from the equation.

Bucky did the same.

“You know what? I am jealous,” you admitted, the game forgotten at that point. “But not because they’re sleeping together.”

Bucky’s cheek twitched, like he didn’t quite believe you. “Then why are you?”

Glancing down the hall before you looked back at Bucky, you sighed. “As happy as I am for them, I'm a little sad for myself. Because they found something in each other that no one has found with me,” you told him, narrowing your eyes when his slightly widened. “What?” you asked. If the former Winter Soldier made fun of you or laughed, you wouldn’t hesitate to smack him because you weren’t afraid of him.

“Nothing,” he said, the index finger on his vibranium hand tapping the table in a fast motion. “I just understand how you feel.”

Shame flooded you for thinking he’d poke fun at your vulnerability. He wasn’t a bad guy. Far from it. In fact, Steve never got jealous or insecure when you talked to Bucky and Natasha hadn’t either. They encouraged the two of you to become friends. Looking back, it was easy to think they supported the friendship to phase you two out. But you knew that wasn’t the case.

They weren’t cruel.

What would’ve happened if I slept with Bucky instead of Steve? Is it wrong that I’ve thought about that more than once?

“So, why are a couple of 'rejects' like us who are not jealous of our former lovers sitting here playing board games instead of going out and looking for ‘the one’?” you teased.

“Because I was too chicken to ask you out tonight, even after I got the okay from Steve.”

What?

You blinked once. Twice. “Your best friend, who has been inside me, is cool with you asking me out?”

He winced at your choice of words. “Well, when you put it like that. Yeah?” he replied, before he straightened up, confidence filling those pretty blue eyes of his. “I don’t give a fuck that you slept with Steve. I’m asking you out.”

Your smile turned a little warmer and you reigned your claws in. “You want to take me on a date?” you asked, your heart swelling when he ran a hand through his hair and nodded. "If this is just to fill a void, I don't think it's a good idea."

If Bucky needed that, you understood. But could you do that again? No. Not with him.

"I'm asking because I want to, doll. You're a badass and I like your company," he said. That was a big deal since Bucky only seemed to like a handful of people. "And if you’ll let me, I’ll ruin you.”

Fuck.

“I don’t know,” you said in a singsong voice, stretching and purposely sticking your chest out to draw his gaze to your breasts. “We’ve both done the whole friends with benefits thing before and-”

He reached across the table to take your hand. “You wouldn’t be my friend. You’d be my girl.”

Your stomach did a funny flip, something you hadn’t felt in a long time. The word “yes” was on the tip of your tongue. Because you had a right to be happy. All of you did.

I slept with Steve. Natasha slept with Bucky. Steve is sleeping with Natasha. The next logical step is sleeping with Bucky, right? Who knew math could be fun?

“What would Nat think?” you asked. Though you were certain she had no feelings for Bucky beyond friendship, you didn’t want her to be uncomfortable just because you were fine with her and Steve.

Your phone buzzed a half a minute later with a text from the former Black Widow herself.

“Go for it. He'll be good to you and you deserve it.”

Bucky chuckled when you looked back down the hall. “Steve and his fucking hearing,” you muttered before you threw your head back. “Stop listening to our conversation! That’s rude!”

“Sorry!” Steve yelled back.

You smiled at Bucky, the atmosphere lighter even with the tension. “Okay. You beat me in Scrabble, you pick where we go for our first date. I win, I get to pick and no complaints.”

His eyes lit up as your heart raced. “Deal,” he said, the smirk slowly appearing on his face again. “But the loser has to play the next game naked.”

“Game on, Barnes.”

So, there we go. 😂 I hope you lovelies liked it! More of these two with A Couple of Cuties. Love and thanks for reading. 💙

Friends, who weren't really there for you, unless you could share a scoop that boosted their work.

There were many handsome men in fancy suits around you, but they all were too focused on gains, business wars and fucking their assistants.

Month by month you felt drained and lost and hating everything about your life. Until you snapped.

Your mother called it a mental breakdown, since she couldn't comprehend the sudden decision to sell your apartment and buy a house in the middle of fucking nowhere.

She was even worse at accepting you falling down from the grace of high position into the disgusting role of a bartender slash waitress slash who knows what at a small pub.

It wasn't even a place where you could wear your pretty high heels and chic dresses.

But it was a place where you felt comfort, camaraderie, slow pace of life being truly enjoyed.

Sure, there were occasional drunken arguments, but your boss and the owner of the pub dealt with them quickly and without much force.

Curtis presence might have been the best part of your job. So unlike any of the bosses from your past. He had his standards he wanted to be met, but there were no mind games, no pressure, no yelling.

It was easy to say "Yes, Curtis," to anything he asked.

And with time you said it more and more eagerly.

When he told you to leave early, because a snowstorm was coming. "Yes, Curtis."

When he asked to come early and help scrub the bar clean, because a couple of locals wanted to host a birthday party. "Yes, Curtis."

When he warned you to be careful around Pete, who liked to flirt with you. "Yes, Curtis."

When he asked if you'd like to eat with him, because he was making a pot roast. "Yes, Curtis."

But when he locked the bar after the last customer, took the glass that you were polishing out of your hands, placed his hands on the bartop on both sides of your body and boldly asked you in that raspy voice to come upstairs with him, so he could take off your underwear and feast on your cunt?

You were speechless.