George takes a long, slow drink of his beer, and you fight to keep your thoughts under control when he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “That’s good,” he remarks, passing you the cup. “We should start stocking that,” he adds, and you scoff.

“You’re not the bar manager yet,” you tease. “Who put you in charge of what we stock?” But you eat your words seconds later, sipping the beer cautiously. “Oh, fuck. That is good.” You drain the rest of the pint eagerly, tugging George in for a kiss that gets a little indecent.

You spend an hour or two wandering through the park with one of your hands laced through George’s; the other is clutching a pint glass like it could escape your grip. Your shoes are caked in muddy grass, your nose red from an early-October chill you can’t feel through the alcohol coursing through your body. George is remarkably sober by comparison, having, for some reason, only sampled each of the drinks before passing them straight to you. You giggle as George tugs you onto a bench, passing you a box of cheesy chips and shaking his head fondly. “You’re hammered,” he laughs, and you pout.

“Am not,” you scoff, kicking his shin under the table. “Besides, you love getting me drunk. Or d’you not remember shift drinks last week?” you add, smirking as you watch the memory visibly flood back on his face. You’re a horny drunk, and he knows it all too well; he’d been plying you with cocktails all night, teasing you and only bringing you home once you were damn near begging on your knees for it. Thinking back to how he’d thrown you onto the bed and fucked your mouth wildly is making you dizzy and needy, and you turn wide, pleading eyes on George.

He takes a long sip of your beer, the muscles in his neck tensing as he swallows, and you’re suddenly starving for him. “Yeah, sweets, I remember,” he grins, the expression familiar and dangerous. His eyes glint with lust, and he leans forward to speak lowly. “Needy girl. If I take you home right now, are you gonna be good?”

Heart jumping to your throat, you nod. “Mhmm. I’ll be so good for you, Daddy. Do whatever you want,” you murmur, frenzied desire pulsing in your veins. George downs the rest of his drink and gets to his feet, and you follow suit eagerly. You stumble as you scramble after him, and he laughs, catching you and pulling you in for a slow, deep kiss. Body melting against his, you surrender willingly, let George sweep his tongue into your mouth and swallow every drop of the desire pooling there.

The walk back to his flat feels agonisingly long, interspersed with needy, hungry kisses and groping that’s frankly inappropriate for how public you are. The second you’re inside, you kick off your shoes and leave them in a pile with your coat at the front door, clumsy fingers fumbling with the buttons of George’s shirt. He laughs condescendingly. “God, you’re desperate, aren’t you, sweets?”

“Yes,” you moan. “Please, Daddy,” you whine, giving up on his shirt and discarding your own instead, breaking out in goosebumps as cool air brushes your skin. George grabs your hips, slides one hand into your panties, brushes over your clit.

Your entire body jolts, pleasure creeping up your spine as he rubs circles into your sensitive nerves. “You’re fucking soaked,” George remarks, annoyingly casual, and you grind down against his fingers. “Sweet girl needs Daddy to fuck her stupid, huh?”

“Mhm,” you murmur, letting him walk you into the living room and push you gently down onto the couch. When he climbs on top of you, you get a little more purchase on his shirt buttons, finally tugging it free with a happy little sound. Your hands map the expanse of George’s back, locking your legs around his waist as he kisses you hungrily, head spinning with a combination of alcohol and desire and a lack of oxygen.

His fingers find the button of your jeans, slowly pulling them down your legs and leaving you in just your underwear. “How do you want it, sweets?” George asks, sliding a hand behind your back to unhook your bra and grinding his hips down against yours. You can feel his cock straining against you even through his jeans, whining as he leans down to suck on your tits. His tongue is sandpaper-rough over your sensitive nipple, and you forget he’s even asked a question until he nips at you gently and repeats it.

“I wanna— fuck, George— I don’t wanna do any work. Just wanna lay back and feel good. Please?”

George grins down at you, slides your panties down your legs and tugs off his jeans and boxers in one movement. As ever, your mouth starts to water at the sight of his cock, hard and flushed and dripping, and you arch your back needily. He pins your hips back down against the sofa. “Ah-ah-ah,” he chides. “You wanna lay back and get fucked like a little princess, y’gotta let me do all the work, okay? That means staying nice and still for Daddy, yeah?”

“Okay,” you murmur, widening your legs a little so George can fit himself between them, brushing the head of his cock against your clit and covering your mouth with his. “Mmh, please,” you whine, arching your back as he kisses the tip of his cock against your hole teasingly. You’re whining and begging, his instruction already forgotten in a haze of desire and lingering drunkenness. 

George doesn’t seem in the mood to make you wait for it, though, filling you up in one fluid, delicious motion. It always takes you a minute to adjust - he’s so fucking big - but you’re quickly back to begging desperately. “Needy fucking girl,” he says, fingers coming down to rub your clit. “Yeah, I know y’are. S’okay, sweets. Gonna fuck you just how you need, promise,” he murmurs, pulling out of you and slamming back in all at once.

Crying out, you wrap your legs around him and rake your nails down his back, panting hard into his mouth as he fucks into you relentlessly. “C’mon, Daddy, harder. I can take it,” you plead, head thrashing back and forth and hips grinding down against his.

“I know you can, sweets,” George croons, kissing your neck and circling your clit. Pleasure rolls over you as he fucks into you, deeper with every thrust, so deep that you’re almost choking. Wet, obscene noises fill the room, mixed up with sounds of pure pleasure; yours pitchy and drawn-out and his low and staccato. Screwing your eyes shut, you lose yourself in sound and sensation, the weight of George’s body on yours, the sweat sliding between you, the pure ecstasy spilling under your skin.

Heat spreads through your body, your cunt aching gloriously where George slams his hips into yours, groaning into your mouth as you clench around him. “Fuck,” you moan against his lips. “M’close, Daddy,” you whine, driving your hips down with abandon and carelessly chasing your high.

George’s fingers speed at your clit, his callouses rubbing quick, tight circles that bloom into unbridled pleasure racing through your blood. “Fuck, I love this pussy so much, sweets. Gotta make it cum for me before I fill you up, yeah? C’mon, baby, cum all over this dick. S’all yours, you know that, right?” He buries his head in your neck, still fucking you in a wild, unpredictable, perfect rhythm. “You feel so fucking good,” he almost whines, your cunt pulsing at his words.

You’re fucking throbbing, so close you can almost take your climax in your hands, reduced to a babbling, pathetic mess under George. He’s kissing and licking and biting your neck, your eyes rolling back in your head, and all at once it’s just too much. You break apart, your entire body disintegrating at the seams, melting into a puddle of pure euphoria in George’s palms. A scream of his name echoes off the walls, and you dimly feel his cock pulsing inside you, painting your insides white as he gasps against your lips.

“Shit,” you breathe, gazing into George’s eyes as you come down from your high. “Fuck, I think that’s some of the best sex we’ve ever had,” you laugh, sighing happily as he bends his head to kiss you, sweet and sloppy and lazy.

George works his way down your neck, lips roving over your chest. He takes your nipple into his mouth and sucks gently, and you arch your back and squirm at the sensation. “Fuck, I wanna eat you, sweets, please,” he murmurs, his eyes wide and beseeching. “I need it,” he adds, sucking a bruise into the inside of your boob.

You giggle. “Mmm, okay. Can I sit on your face?” A month ago, you wouldn’t have dreamed of asking that question, but George has made it very fucking clear how much he loves it, how much he’d welcome suffocating in your cunt, and it’s quickly become your favourite way of getting oral. George grins, tugging and flipping you so you’re straddling him, your stomach lurching at the movement. You grind your hips down against George’s abs, moaning at the messy slide of slick and cum smearing between your bodies.

George grasps needily at your hips, pulling you towards his mouth. You shuffle awkwardly up the length of his body, giggling when you almost slip. There’s really not enough room on this sofa for the two of you, but as you lower yourself onto his face, you can’t begin to care. His tongue swipes through your folds, lapping up every drop of his cum as it drips out of you.

“Fuck,” he moans into your cunt, tongue flicking insistently over your clit. You’re still sensitive, already close, and you moan his name helplessly as you grind down against his tongue. The air is thick with sweat and sex, a struggle to pull into your lungs. You grip the arm of the sofa for dear life, George’s tongue fucking in and out of you gorgeously. Head spinning, you arch your back, the blunt pain of George’s nails digging into the fat of your hips delicious. “Fucking love this cunt,” George groans, the vibrations of his words rippling through your entire body, your muscles tensing and toes curling. “Taste so fucking good. Think y’taste even better from this angle, sweets.”

You don’t even have it in you to blush, just tipping your head back and whining needily. “I wanna cum,” you whimper. “Please, Daddy, I need you to make me cum.” George sucks and licks at you with furious hunger, devouring you like you’re his last goddamn meal, moaning like your taste is a fucking delicacy. You’re teetering on the edge, sweet, blissful oblivion reaching out to you, and you’re so, so ready to give in to it.

Then, a key turns in the lock, and you freeze. George either doesn’t hear or doesn’t care - it’s likely some combination of both, and mostly the former - grabbing at your thick hips to try and urge you to keep moving. You’re stock-still, eyes locked on the door as it swings open, Matty’s face contorting into a near-comical mix of lust and horror when he spots you. A silent flash of something passes between you, and he smirks as George drives his tongue deep into you and pulls a gasp from your lips. 

A sweaty, grease-stained tank top clings to Matty’s chest, a hint of his tattoo just about visible. Unmistakeable, too, is the line of his cock just starting to fill out his jeans. “Shit, don’t stop on my account,” Matty laughs, making no move to leave the room. George, ever the exhibitionist, takes that as a fucking challenge. And you’re so fucking close that you can’t hold it back, can’t do anything but close your eyes and let your orgasm overtake you. Knowing Matty’s watching sends a dirty thrill up your spine, this orgasm somehow more intense than your last. Whimpering and gasping, you can’t even find it in yourself to feel self-conscious; it just feels too fucking good. Your eyes crack open to see Matty palming himself through his jeans, subtly grinding against his hand as you cum against George’s mouth.

He’s gone when you’re back to Earth, climbing off George with a shocked sort-of laugh. “I can’t fucking believe him,” you giggle.

“He’s just come off four clopens in a row, he probably thinks he’s hallucinating,” George snorts, pulling you on top of him and kissing the taste of you into his mouth. You swallow greedily, moaning a little as he swipes your sweat-soaked hair away from your face. Then, he seems to sober slightly. “Does it bother you? That he’s, y’know, the way he is? ‘Cause I can talk to him about it, if you want,” he offers.

You smirk wickedly against his mouth. “You’re sweet. No, it doesn’t bother me. Actually, I think it’s hot as fuck that he’s in there, getting himself off, thinking about us. Don’t you think that’s hot?”

George grins. “You’re so filthy,” he says admiringly, pulling you to your feet and steadying you when your knees buckle. “C’mon, sweets, we need a shower.”