the fizz comes from carbonic acid in the water splitting up into COâ and HâO over time. And carbonic acid is â as an acid â sour.
By adding milk to sour water you've created a very convincing emulation of spoiled milk, so I'll believe in a heartbeat that the taste is Not Greatâą.
Imagine being the new secretary for the 141 who definitely shouldn't be working such an important job.
Not because you're bad at it, more so that you're fresh out of uni and definitely don't have the experience or reputation to be handling so many confidential documents every day.
After the team sees you and price together, some conclusions are drawn.
"Hey, kid, did you eat breakfast?" He'll pop into your office while you're talking to kyle, all pinched brow and fatherly worry. When you avoid his gaze guiltily, he's already tossing you a sandwich and huffing "christ, we talked about this. I have lunch too, in my office."
It's the little stuff like that, price looking out for for you despite the fact you should be a stranger to him. Or the fact you two already seem to have inside jokes, how you know his favorite foods and he smiles more around you.
But what really seals the deal is ghost catching a glimpse of some of your paperwork, and where your last name would be Price is written.
Obviously, you're price's kid and only got the job due to nepotism.
A fact everyone was sure of until gaz had to get some last-minute signatures from Price. He didn't bother knocking, too interested in getting back to lunch "sir, sorry to interrupt i needâ holy shitâ!"
Gaz nearly faints, because there on the floor between prices legs is you his fucking kid.
Lips wrapped around his cock, fingers idly kneading the carpet. Price's hand rests heavy and large on the back of your head, keeping you down. He hardly even reacts, too busy admiring you, only glancing up with an expectant look "what did you need, sergeant?"
"Uhâ whatâ sir isn't thatâ"
"Sergeant. Yer interrupting lunch, what do you need?" He prompts, meanwhile gaz is trying desperately not to freak out.
"...it can wait, sir. Uhâ enjoy your lunch."
Thus a new rumor starts. You were only hired because you're sleeping with price.
nobody talk to me i'm having gross step-dad Price thoughts. (cw noncon, spanking, fauxcest)
you're away at university when your mom remarries and you didn't even know she was dating anyone, so you don't meet the guy until the wedding. you bitch and moan about it to your friends but you try to be supportive in front of your mom. it's not her fault the guy is deployed every time you're on break, you just really would have loved to feel him out, because that might have prevented him from feeling you up while you sit beside him at the rehersal dinner.
no matter how many times you pinch his hand or bat it away somehow it always finds its way back to your thigh, more aggressive each time it comes back until he's bunching up your skirt and grabbing your cunt in a motion that makes you jerk violently against your chair. your whole body shakes as your mom asks what's wrong and before you can answer that her fiance is a fucking pervert, Price cuts in offering to take you out for some fresh air. your mum is so grateful she must not see the shock on your face, or the way Price hauls you out of your chair and drags you to the door.
honestly, you're almost grateful she didn't follow after you, the way Price rips your dress up and bends you over, hooking an arm around you to keep you tight against his side. his grip on you is like iron as you struggle to get away, and burning shame hits you the same time his hand does. the first spank draws yelp from you that sweats against the cool brick exterior of the building, absolutely unnoticed in the late summer evening. then the second comes, and the third, until you're sobbing in his arms and barely giving a kick when he spanks your stinging skin.
"it's ok, sweet'eart," he soothes, his hand smooths over your ass, fingers tugging at your underwear to slip between the wet folds of your cunt, "just don't know how to act around a man, tha's all, never been told." two fingers force their way into your tight cunt, hooking against the unprepared entrance to stretch it with a steady tug. "man's children are his responsibility-" you whimper, heat seeping and tingling over your clit, "-that means i got every right breakin' in a bratty little cunt like you."
you whimper. the handle rattles and you feel relief start to rush you, the prospect of being saved taking front focus in your mind. until the massive man that steps from the shadows of the doorway smiles down at you with crooked teeth.
"unless you'd rather i have one of your new brothers do it for me."
almost dad!simon has to remind you to breathe every time he fucks you cause you will forget. you do forget, too busy trying to un-blur your vision when he pushes in for the first time. his tip stretches you with a slight burn that digs your teeth into your bottom lip. when they pull away, youâre bleeding. not by much but enough to catch ghostâs attention.
âin ân out, yeah? just like we talked aboutâŠâ
âhm?â
âbreathe, love,â simon directs, sheathing himself halfway inside your warmth with a couple taps to your cheek. âor youâre gonna pass out like last time.â
finally, you exhale out a choked word of mush. not a full breath but better than nothing. thereâs a look in your eyes, a watery glaze mixed with lost that makes simon question if you even know where you are.
âs-sorry⊠sâjust, mm, really big, youâre really big,â you tell himâremind himâwith small pants. âfeels good. a l-little funny, too. but still good.â
simon licks his lips at that, snaking his hand down to place his palm just below your belly. he presses, gentle and firm at the same time, before grinding his hips until his tip finds your sweet spot. you wail, and simon just watches your face while doing it again. a little deeper and a bit harder, enjoying the strong wet he can feel collecting as your walls cling to him.
he fucks you this way, pulling back then stuffing you with half his length at whatever pace he feels like until you're crying. sobbing and overwhelmed and trembling beneath him as you whimper out blubbering mumbles. "think i... t-think i can feel you... 'n my stomachâfuck. ah, hasn't felt like this before."
"i know," simon grunts. "wanted to try somethin' your uncle told me about. uncle kyle, remember him?"
a lazy nod bobs your head, thinking of the pretty man you could barely say hi to without wanting to run and hide. his smile, his voice made your thighs want to clench, even when you tried to think of something different.
"told me i should push right here," simon tells you, adding more pressure where his palm is scolding your skin as he thrusts inside you again, causing a dizzying rush to overtake you. "then watch you go all dumb. said you'd get nice 'n slick f'me, too. think it's workin'. can feel you drippin' on my sheets, love. gonna have'ta help me clean 'em tomorrow, though. got some more people who wanna meet the reason i can't fuckin' think straight..."
Dad bf!Simon, Like ruffling your hair, pats to the ass, checking your outfit all curt like that makes you feel all confident (lifting your chin up, fixing your shirt, kissing your forehead). Helping you calm down when youâve got big emotions you canât describe. Sitting you in his lap, rubbing your back.
Or telling you to âWatch your mouth.â When you get too smart. Or drawling out his words, âCoool it,â when youâre doing too much.
Doesnât mind wrangling you up out of the truck and making you apologize to the rest of the 141 after being a brat for half the night, drawling out your name, a warning, leans against the hood. The much needed cigarette already to his lips. And youâre a hiccuping and babbling mess while you apologize, itâs all embarrassing because it not like you. You know that, but itâs all too much, tears burning your cheeks as they fall.
You wipe your tears with your wrists, eyes glancing at Simon and more tears building up. Letting out the littlest meek of âDadâ
Heâs scuff, one end of his lip curving upward, âFuckin hell, come âere.â
Youâre lucky youâre cute, adorable and his, gently tugging you into his chest by the back of your neck. Letting your feet stumble as they catch up to his movements, your sobs get muffled into his shirt. Poor thing doesnât even know whatâs wrong with you, Simon does though.
âKids just stressed, lil things more than tired.â Simon explains to the men who are all âawwâingâ, talking as if youâre not there. Just small, by his side.
âStill got her workin mate?â Gaz asks.
ââF she likes it, âf itâs too much Iâll pull the plugâŠâ his thumb rubs your nape, feeling his arms wrap around you, voice coming out so much softer, âBut⊠canât say no to âer.â
a/n: oh shut up his is cute!! Youâre his babyđ„ș Im actually get Deja Vu and might have written this already â ïžâ ïž
you want to be a good puppy for me? then act like one :)
good puppies obey. good puppies don't think for themselves. they let their owners do all the hard things for them, like deciding what to eat, and wear and doâŠ
good puppies don't wear clothes, do they, darling? no, just a collar, if they're lucky. you want a pretty little collar, don't you, puppy? you want to lounge around in nothing but your collar and let me touch you whenever i like.
good puppies learn tricks like heel, beg, bend over, get on your fucking knees... touch yourself, perhaps :) just an example. but if you already know that trick then obeying is just what a good puppy would do, hm?
good puppies bark and mewl and grovel instead of talking. talking is for people, pet, and you're not one of those.
good puppies know their place. good puppies know they're never going to be anything more. never want to be anything more.
you want to be a good puppy, so heel and let me make you one.
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