John Price who's deeply in love with his wife (reader).
He loves the way you look at him, the way you wait for him by the door when he calls you to let you know he'll be finally home and how you wrap your arms around his neck.
But what he loves the most is the way your pussy devours his cock, how he can feel every little twitch you give him when you are close.
He loves bending you on the corner of the bed and he places his palm on your lower back and pounds you over and over while your eyes are closed and your mouth is open enough so he can slip his thumb between your lips.
And looking and feeling you like this makes him realize how much he would love you being round with his child, he would finally give you a couple to mind too.
The day blisters over the motel pool. The sun shimmers soupy in the sky. Sweat draws up together and rolls from your scalp to your shoulders to the strings of your bikini.
You'd been strategic this morning, grabbing one of two pool shades. You weren't going anywhere, even if you needed to use the washroom and you were thirsting for something cold and icy. The ice would melt immediately in the dense heat but you wouldn't let it last long enough to get that far.
It's a dangerous sort of summer day, when the heat is a force of nature, pushing you. The idea of soaking up the sun and getting soused with drink is far too great a temptation. You didn't need to add in the beautiful man sitting across the pool in his own chair, the sun pouring down golden over his glistening brown skin. You'd spent the late morning eyeing him up behind your large sunglasses.
There's a mouth-watering bulk to his body; muscle taut under delicious fat. He looks like he eats his greens and then some. You'd cook him up big, hot suppers when it turns cool — gravy and sauces, buttery carbs, and perfect cuts of meat. He'd moan appreciatively, his mouth full of your cooking, eyes closed to absorb every morsel. You'd kiss the gravy off his beautiful mouth, lick butter from his teeth if you could. On a day like today, he'd come into your kitchen like a farmer, drenched in sweat and starving, ready to eat a huge plate of cold food, like a heavy potato salad and cold cuts sliced thin. You, in the kitchen, foot propped up on the other, smiling at him while he wolfs down your meals and chugs at his lemonade or iced tea, his throat working in earnest.
Your book, a pulpy paperback you'd grabbed from a gas station, is a wonderful cover for your ogling. You turn the pages to complete the theatrics of it all, but your body, saturated and buzzing with sugar-sweet liquor, is slowly transforming into a woman in heat.
Eventually, a younger family climbs out of the pool to go cool off in their air-conditioned room and eat some late lunch. A couple slips off, giggling, into their room.
You and the man are left alone, on opposite ends of the pool area, the hot-blue water stilling in between you. You sigh, laying the book face-down, and stand up. You grab the bottle of sunscreen, shake it, and squeeze a fat dollop into your palm. Rub both hands together slowly and then begin from your forearms, dark brown and radiant from sweat and sunscreen an hour ago, working the cream up into your shoulders. Throat tipped back, up to your ears, sending your dangling earrings swaying, and then down your neck, around to the nape. Another dollop, spread across the tops of your breasts where your bikini top is drawn together with string. Fingers splaying out under the string, lifting and shifting it, your breasts with it.
"Need a hand?"
You don't expect him to be English. Your fantasy burns into a new mirage of being in a small, rambling cottage, laying out cold ham and hard cheese; a ploughman's lunch for your sweating English farmer coming in from the croft. He smells like sheep's milk and stones and dirt, and you want him to wash up before he digs in. He'd take a clean rag, soak it under the cold running water, and wipe at his dirty throat, down to where his shirt opens at his chest.
"I'm doing just fine, thanks," you demur, smearing it across your tummy and tops of your thighs. If your thumbs drag at the bikini bottoms a little, so be it.
"You're missin' spots," he says leisurely, sprawling out in the lounger next to yours like a cat in a pool of sunshine, openly watching you behind his tinted sunglasses.
"Hm," you hum haughtily. Your fingernails are painted a cool cherry red, and you both watch as your fingers slide the lotion into the soft creases of your inner thighs where your flesh is plumpest. You wonder how hungry he really is. You're hot inside under his heavy gaze, but make no other sign of it.
Down to your toes, you work fastidiously, making a meal of it. When you glance over, you see that the man has gotten hard in his swim trunks, but his hands are laid out calmly on his thick, hairy thighs. Patiently waiting, for something.
As you finish, you stand back up and throw the bottle into his unsuspecting lap. He laughs abruptly in surprise, then hauls himself up. Instead of standing in front of him, you lie down on your own lounger.
He follows your cue, kneels down beside it, and puts some lotion in his big hands. You turn your face in the opposite direction of him, as coolly relaxed as ever. He huffs a short chuckle, and begins to drag his hands from the tops of your shoulders down your nape, across your shoulder blades.
"Undo them," you mutter boredly.
There's a slight hesitation, and then the strings at your neck and breastbone are released in sequence, his fingertips gliding across your skin.
More lotion, more drag, down your ribs to where the fat of your breast is plumped to the side. His hands are good, strong, sturdy. Every bit the farmer's hands holding his wife to fuck each night in their bed.
Down to your lower back, across the band of flesh above your bikini bottoms. He's not missing one single inch. You fight the squirm that your body wants to do, signalling the sites of interest for him to rove over. His hands massage and knead delightfully, and you sigh prettily into your towel.
Lower down now.
Cheekily, he undoes the side strings of your bottoms before you decide whether to tell him to or not. You inhale deeply, the anticipation suffusing through you like melted ice. One wayward finger of his will reveal that you've soaked your bikini bottoms.
He strokes over your ass, keeping the fabric mostly in place, and then, dreamily and hotly, his fingers tighten and shape your thighs, thumbs coming together as they encircle your flesh. The tips of his fingers are so close to your pussy, you hold your breath until he drags his hands up and off. Next thigh, same move. Back and forth until now you are twisting a little in your spot.
He makes a soft groaning sound, and then he moves on. He spends a longer time on your hamstrings, the damp underside of your knees, and the full curve of your calves. Ankles and feet to end.
You're wound tight and loosened all the same by the time he reties your bottoms and pats your ass firmly.
You fall asleep under the shade; wake up sometime later, the sun dipped low, casting its final beams on the motel room windows, hazy on the water. You're sweaty and overheated when you sit up, forgetting your top's still untied.
The pool area is empty. You dive into the water, which is unfortunately not cool enough to be refreshing anymore, but better than nothing. The sun disappears for good and you stay swimming, holding the heat at bay. You do some laps, then lay out on the shallow-end steps, listening to the rasping grasshoppers and buzz of cicadas. You have no desire to return to an empty motel room, alone and trapped in stale, recycled air.
"Got heatstroke, do ya?" The voice comes from above you. You open an eye to see the man standing so he's peering straight down at you. You can, almost, see up his shorts — different ones from earlier.
You shrug, picking at your nail. "Get me a drink then."
He wanders out of the pool area, comes back several minutes later with ice cold drinks for you both. He cracks them open and hands yours down to you, then sits down with his thick legs in the water.
You float back from him a little, taking a deep drink, using your big toes as your grounding force on the pool floor like some motel ballerina.
"Got a name?" He asks, a look on his face saying he doesn't really expect you to give one.
You do, but it's your middle name.
He gives you a big, earthy smile when he hears it. He leans back on his hands, elbows straight, legs lightly swishing. Watching you closely.
"So, where—"
"Can you hand me a smoke? From my bag." You point. He squints at you a little, then retrieves it. Sees your wet hands, lights it up for you. You toe your way to the edge of the pool and tilt your face all the way up.
He dutifully places the cigarette in between your lips, his gaze dark and low-lidded.
Then walks down into the pool, joining you.
You orbit one another like tentative lovers do, the string of teasing pulling and snapping tighter as your bodies circle, the radius getting smaller by tiny measures.
You drink and smoke, ignoring his questions about you until he gives up. He's getting restless. He begins to swim beneath the shadows and flickering neon from the motel sign, back and forth.
You idle between the shallow and deep end, watching him. Tracking him under the water until he resurfaces right in front of you. He looks delicious as he blinks off water, then rubs a hand down his face to disperse the rest. Shakes his hair a little. Then his arms are caging you in against the edge, his mouth lowering down to yours in increments.
His eyes are hot, dark with want, pinning you to the spot. Not waiting to hear your rebuttal.
You had none, anyway.
His lips are chlorine and beer and a smokiness you can't fully catch in your mouth. He plays with your mouth, teasing you open, his tongue meeting yours early. He's a pleasantly full mouth kisser, your heads tilting in tandem to accommodate one another, to find the groove of a good kiss. You're both making sounds up through your throats, a loop of noises that drive you both closer. His hand floats down into the water, and yanks the triangle cup of fabric down and away from your nipple.
His fingers are bold, tweaking and pinching while he mouths wetly at your neck, the spit and chlorine mixing. You gasp a little at the tug in your stomach from his fingers. "I wanna get my fingers inside you," he groans in your ear, sending a fizzy sensation through your body, anchoring in your pussy. "I wanna know how you taste." His hand curls against and cups you through the bikini bottom, and you push up against him tensely.
Logistics. Like sand poured over a fire.
You stare at him — figure it out.
He gropes your ass cheeks, head probably empty but scrambling for thought. "My room…my roommate's been passed out since dinner. Sleeps like a rock."
You raise your eyebrows. I know you don't think that's gonna fly.
He laughs a little, which actually resets you a little. "Trust me, I know how it sounds. But the man has slept through bombs going off—"
You stare.
He continues. "He drank himself into a dead mess at dinner and won't be up til at least 10 tomorrow, best guess. We—he's military, so he sleeps through anything."
You definitely don't want him in your room. There's no insidious reason for it; you just want to fuck the man and go back to your own, without needing to peel him off you and negotiate his exit. You'll be gone by the time the town's sweating tomorrow, anyway.
"Door stays unlocked."
He nods.
"No games."
He shakes his head.
He wraps you in a sun-warmed beach towel and leads you back to his motel room; he's on the second floor like you, although you don't tell him this.
By the time you've reached the stairs, his body is butting up against yours, his cock pressing into your hips and back before you can even climb properly. "Fuck sakes, woman," he mutters hoarsely.
You don't trust the iron balcony railing, but he does. He sits on it for a moment outside his door, grabs at your lush hips, pulling you closer into him. "C'mere. Let me just look at ya before we're in the dark," he groans. "You're so fuckin' hot."
You let him look, the beach towel yanked down a little so he can suck at the tops of your breasts, releasing small heated groans along the way. Your neck is the lightning rod and when he fastens on, with no pool water to dull the sensation, you feel your pussy tingle.
"What can you do to me in there?" You tease.
He closes his eyes in pain. "Tell me. Whatever you want. I'll eat you out. I'll eat that pussy so good for you. I'll let you do whatever you want to me." He's babbling now, a desperate thing in your palm.
You cup his cock through his shorts, sending his body into a jerk. "Fuck."
John Price and his new young wife (reader) who has been seen in family events with him recently, carrying herself as if she already made it. And boy she did.
They had been dating long before he finally got divorced from his wife, she was supposed to stay just as the pretty bird he picked up on a bar but he couldn't resist going back to her and let's just say that it made her pussy all sloppy when he would rub his wedding band against her clit.
Everybody wanted her to believe that she wasn't more than a fling, but, she knew better than letting her and his friends get to her. After all, she knew he was a man of word and if he had already told her he would leave his wife then he would leave his wife.
John Price and his new young wife who he had been showing off publicly just a month after the divorce had finalized, he didn't bother trying to keep things he didn't care about, he just wanted the rest of the properties (since he obviously let his ex wife keep the house) and a few things his sweetheart had seen around his house that she told him she had liked for their new home or herself.
His money was all to himself since his kids had already graduated college but he was generous and offered to give his ex some money too, of course, he made sure to give his baby double the money so she wouldn't feel bad. It wasn't as if he had retired on a small check anyways.
After that time when his kids cornered them and made sure she heard how they tried to talk some "sense" into their father about her being part of his midlife crisis and how dating a woman that was three years younger than his youngest was weird and wrong that he never let anyone disrespect her like that.
So yeah, he let her carry herself as if his ex had never existed, he would buy her anything she wanted, because she wasn't any of the filthy things that his old and envious aunts say when they think he wasn't listening; she was an amazing person and he loved her so much.
And his poor mother didn't have other options but to accept her into the family because if his boy had decided she was the one then she was the one, besides, he never liked his ex anyway and she is sure her new daughter in law will definitely give her some beautiful grandbabies.
cnc, dubious consent, memory loss, john price is an ejemplar husband and a good stalker.
Life has been moving slow since your accident, at least that is what you think but it isn't your biggest concern since you cant really tell.
It’s been a month since you were discharged and the same time since you quitted your job by your husband’s recommendation, but you can’t complain since he was only looking out for you.
But he was right…How could you go back to work where you almost died? Better stay at home and take care of the house, enjoying the life he provides for you in exchange of a nice meal and a couple kisses.
You don't really know much about him except for what you had the chance to ask at the hospital after waking up and noticing that he was the only one sitting there.
The doctor said it was only natural for you to have this memory gaps after what happened to you but you can’t help but push your mind to remember because how could you forget your whole marriage?
He told you that his name is John, he is almost forty when you are only twenty two! but you can’t really mind the age gap when he is the most handsome man you have ever seen, and even if you cant remember much you are sure that you will learn your way with him again.
When you ask about your family he tells you that you have none but there is nothing to worry about because you have him and his man.
At home his house, sorry, your house feels kind of empty, not much decoration but he reassures you that it is only that way because you two were never home. The next morning he hands you his card and tells you to go shopping and to get whatever you like and whatever is necessary to make this place feel a home.
He doesn’t leaves you alone much, he even asked for a temporary leave so he could stay with you at home to help you remember but when you don’t he tells you that you two will have to make new memories then.
Sometimes when you look at the mirror after taking a shower you feel like you don’t look like the name he told you was yours. But the doctor said that was only normal…You can always learn to love the things you forgot.
At night you lay quietly there with your eyes closed while john slips his hands under your shorts and underwear to cup your ass or your pussy. He tells you that he can only sleep if his hands are there and that you never had a problem before.
“Oh, sweetheart, it’s okay, don’t cry, I’m your husband remember? It is natural for my hands to belong there, now go to sleep f’r me”
And what else can you do when he has been so good to you? Being so patient even when you can’t remember his face or his mother’s name. It is weird that you hadn’t have visitors since you came home from the hospital but he tells you it is because you two were too busy at work to make friends outside the base.
You cry when you kind find your wedding ring after weeks of looking for it, it is hard to do it when he won’t show you a picture of it but he is quick to reassure you and tell you that he will make you a new one, bigger and even more beautiful.
He is secretly impressed if you having the ability to become a housewife in such a short time, he praises you and makes sure you don't ask too much questions that he cant answer with honesty.
By the third month you are sure that you love him and that he loves you, but there are nights were you still stare at him while he sleeps, watching as his chest rises and there is this gut nagging feeling that cant see to go away no matter how hard you try to ignore it but you cant really point if it is either the fact that he is also missing his original wedding ring or that you don't have any picture of the two of you together in the house what is wrong.
John Price! who has the perfect wife at home, highschool sweethearts, married for years, she always waits for him with a warm homemade meal and a face that seems to brighten when he crosses the door.
Price who tries to masquerade his disgust when he sees her waiting up for him so they can both go to bed together, who tries to not show his boredom when she tries to initiate any kind of physical affection and has to oblige when she starts crying and asking if she has done something wrong.
John Price who goes out every morning wearing his uniform and drives across the city to his secret house where a pretty young thing is waiting for him with a nice meal and no rush in getting a ring on her pretty fingers. And he feels like he couldn't ask for anything else.
At least not until he's back with his wife after she has been calling all day to ask where he is! What a distraction! he went out in his uniform, of course he's at the base!
"Johnny?" you ask, placing a hand over his that has been resting on your thigh since the start of the ride.
"Mhm?" he looks at you for a moment and then goes back to the road "What's wrong, hen?"
"I was just wondering if you were up for a snack".
Now hes kneeling between your legs in a store parking lot, trying to make you cum before some pervert see you.
"Johnny, i think someone's coming–" but he doesn't really care, he keeps enjoying your pussy, his tongue fucking you while his nose rubs against your clit.
John Price is a man who loves bird watching, is almost a hobby now but he hasn't found one that really captures his attention. He's very... special, he's a special man and has pretty high standards.
By his fifth time he actually finds one that he thinks is made for him, a pretty one, one with a good height and pretty eyes. He doesn't want to scare it, but it's no problem cause he's also a really gentleman!
So he began with slow approaches. At first, he would walk past the little one so maybe he won't look like a stranger anymore, then casual words, praises and smiles.
Then he invites his little bird out for a cup of coffee or a good cuppa, he's not kinky, at least when it comes to casual drinks.
By the end of the first date he knows that he finally found the bird he's been looking for his whole life and when people ask "how did you two meet?" he would just simply shrug and say "guess life knew we were born to be together" but just because he can't go on saying that he would sit in the park near your work, or at the coffee shop near your house! and there's no need to say that, you know it is just how it was supposed to be.
i have such a deep need for duke john price and an arranged mairrage but it all goes horribly wrong.
like imagine growing up along side john and you get along swimmingly ; so when the topic of marriage starts budding, you have full faith that he'll pick you. it's not even as if you two are completely in love but you can't fathom a world where you and him do not marry.
where the problem begins, is everyone believes you and john are meant to marry. at balls neither men nor women approch either of you, as kyle and johnny recive courting gifts all he gets is your daily letter, even his parents push him to prepare for his rapidly approching married life.
and that grates on him. it's his life, it's his marriage. it doesn't matter if you get along, or that you've known each other since infanthood, or that he doesn't think any man can treat you the way you deserve, he can't let everyone else have the pleasure of him doing what they want him to. his pride won't allow him to be pushed around and pick someone just because they've been hanging off his leg since childhood.
and the day comes, your family sits for dinner to open the official request of marriage, it's a beautiful letter, written in john's perfected script, requesting that the eldest of the price sons, marry your older sister.
Just imagine being John’s neighbor and having him fucking you nice and easy as a payment every time you ask him for a favor. I’ve been imagining it a lot lately.
Price, early in his career, rescuing a girl who goes on to develop a pseudo-electra complex with him. or even gets adopted by him (and the then Mrs Price), and grows up through the evolution of knowing this man isn't her dad, but also is, and despite that weird, blurred line, she wants him anyway.
and Price grappling with the same nebulous shift from protector, provider, stand-in father figure, actual father (for all intents and purposes), to idealised lover—going numb with the shock that this person they raised wants him. this idea of a complete family fracturing as he realises that the lines of parental affection are being twisted and smeared; from agape and storge to eros. dad—fond, exasperated, drenched in anger; to dad—wanting and needy. desperate. carved with yearning for something he can't begin to understand.
(for something he understands too much.)
the guilt, eating him alive, as he wonders if he did it on purpose; questioning where in, the entire symbiosis of your relationship, did he go wrong. did he hold you too much? not enough? what part—from childhood innocence, hand-drawn father's day cards, to bratty teenager rolling her eyes at him, calling him lame; to the slow coalescence of an almost adult taking shape in his eyes—did it start? or were you both doomed from the beginning.
but the problem is: he's been wrapped around your finger from the moment he saw you in the middle of carnage. ensnared. and so when you crawl into his lap with a little "c'mon, daddy, please" that guts him in the worst (and best) way, he knows, however awful it is, that he's not going to push you away even though he should.
(and the guilt, then, when he realises that the choice comes as quickly as his next breath. and that he's been wanting, hungry for something he didn't understand until now from the start.)
just thinkin about singer!simon (i know probably most people think of him as a rockstar but i like to think about him in other ways too, hehe)
singer!simon who you discover one day while scrolling through youtube or maybe one of his songs pops up while playing some music and when you look up his profile you discover that surprisingly he is not that well known.
So, eventually, you start listening to his music and when you see that he announced on his instagram page that he was going to sing in a cafe in your city...you knew you had to go.
The venue wasn't that packed when you arrived (eventually it was) so you got to be on the front. You sang along and he couldn't stop looking at you, and giving you a smile that could make your legs shake.
Safe to say that after you posted a story and tagged him and even said how much you enjoyed it he gave you a follow back.
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