please take everything you read with a grain of salt. misinformation spreads everywhere like wildfire, and i've been having major trouble wading through false journalism to get actual updates on everything. some resources i've compiled for myself and anyone who's interested:
fact sheet: israel and palestine conflict (october 2023)
live updates - intense israeli bombardments strike gaza as the war rages on
live updates - israel plans to step up attacks on the gaza strip
little light, no beds, not enough anesthesia: a view from the 'nightmare' of gaza's hospitals
what international law has to say about the israel-hamas war
a dangerous new phase in the israeli-palestinian conflict - expert commentary by the foreign policy research institute (FPRI)
the global conflict tracker (israeli-palestinian conflict)
the arab-israeli war of 1948
the 1967 arab-israeli war
the 1973 arab-israeli war
dr. ghassan abu sitta is a doctor on-site who's also been reporting about the atrocities transpiring in gaza.
also some palestinian aid orgs to donate to. if you have some money to spare/know anyone who does, please consider donating/spreading the word:
palestine children's relief fund
palestine red crescent society
medical aid for palestine
gaza emergency appeal
donate to arab.org with one click
the middle east children's alliance gaza emergency fund
help UNRWA USA reach their palestinian aid fundraiser goal
omg hi guys uhh i’m still alive! sorry for no new fics recently, i’ve been insanely busy these past few months. i’ve also been writing for joel more recently, and developed a hyper fixation on house md 😭 expect a post sometime soon :)
Isn’t It Messed Up? (How I’m Just Dying To Be Him)
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡Pairing: Ellie Williams x Abby Anderson x F!Reader
Summary: Listen to Sugar We’re Goin’ Down while reading this pls :D (aka im 2 lazy to summarize)
wc:4,002
warnings: cw: strap on sex, spit roasting, spit kink, size kink, possessive behavior, dumbification, voyeurism, masturbation, knife play, use of pet names,degradation kink, praise kink, overstimulation, face fucking.
a/n:IT’S FINALLY DONE AFTER LIKE TWO MONTHS HOLY FUCK.
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡
Ellie could have any girl she wanted. She knew that. So why did she want the one most inaccessible to her? That being, her best friend’s girlfriend.
Sure, her and Abby had messed around before, but that all stopped a while before she got a girlfriend. This wasn’t Ellie’s only problem though. She liked Abby, but she also liked you too. The two of them were roommates, and they usually respected each other’s privacy.
That is, until now.
Abby had “forgotten” to inform Ellie that she’d need the room to herself for a bit, which led to Ellie splayed out across her bed, with one of the shirts you’d left drenched in your perfume. Having your scent filling her lungs made her feel dizzy, and she hurriedly shoved her hand down her pants.
She pulled up a link to some shitty porn video on her phone, but it was enough to do the trick. She was damn near dripping onto her bed sheets as she inserted two fingers inside herself. She was so close, and that’s when she heard the lock turn.
She quickly dressed and jumped up off the bed, and hid in the closet without thinking. Seconds later, you and Abby walked in. The taller girl was hurriedly kissing down your neck, urging you to shut the door. You did so, smiling as you turned around to face her.
“Babe, slow down. You’re gonna get whiplash.” She laughed, leaning down to pull your shirt off. “Shut up, you know I always get riled up when you wear that fucking skirt.” You rolled your eyes, but allowed her to take your shirt off anyways. Ellie couldn’t believe her eyes. Was this really happening?
She could barely see the two of you through the little slits in the closet door, but it provided her with enough to know what was going on. Abby tackled you to the bed, her lips pressed against yours. You pulled her closer, hands tugging at her hair.
She groaned into your mouth and slid her knee between your legs, urging you to grind against it. Ellie tried to resist the urge, she really did. But when you moaned, she slipped a hand beneath the band of her boxers. This was risky, she knew that. “Yeah, but it’s also hot.” The other side of her brain told her. She was more inclined to agree with that.
Her brain was too foggy to think about the potential consequences of her actions, your moans mixed with Abby’s were all she could focus on.
You let out a soft sigh as Abby kissed down your neck. “Alright, I’m losing my patience. Skirt and panties off.” She told you. Ellie held her breath as you pulled your skirt and panties down.
Abby licked her lips. “God, you’re so fucking wet.” She slowly ran two fingers through your folds, marveling at the way your slick dribbled down them.
She brought those same fingers up to her lips, and wrapped her tongue around them. “You taste so sweet.” She practically moaned, leaning down to kiss you.
While you were distracted, she slowly pushed her fingers inside of you, making you whine. “Shh, just gotta get you ready for my cock baby.” Abby cooed, pumping her fingers in and out.
Meanwhile, Ellie had one hand down her pants, and the other muffling her moans. She still couldn’t believe this was happening, it was like one of her wet dreams came true.
She had lost count of how many times Abby would complain to her about one of her shirts missing, only for Ellie to have that same shirt shoved in her face while she was on her bed, knuckle deep inside her wet cunt. She just couldn’t help herself, you and Abby plagued her mind in the best way.
Despite her feelings for both of you, she was happy when you two got into a relationship. The three of you spent a lot of time hanging out, usually smoking weed or watching movies. Ellie was certain there was no coming back from this though. She was positively fucked.
She snapped back to attention when she heard you whine Abby’s name, a desperate plea for her to fuck you. Abby had placed the strap around her hips, and was situated between your legs. “You need me to fuck you?” She asked, gripping your chin with one hand. You nod.
“Please Abby, need your cock. Need you to fuck me, please.” Your cries paused momentarily as Abby pushed into you. “Shit, you’re tight babe.” She grunted as she thrusted into you, sweat dripping down her forehead.
You moan as she speeds up her movements, the sound of her fucking your wet cunt echoing through the room. Ellie fucks herself faster, soft little whimpers escaping her mouth. Abby looked down at you, savoring the way your mouth formed an o with each movement she made.
She cupped the side of your face, and you leaned into her touch. “Bet you wish Ellie was here, huh? You want her to see how much of a whore you are?” She asked with a smirk on her face.
Ellie was floored. You both liked her back? Her brain was too clouded with lust to think about anything that wasn’t sex, so she continued to fuck herself.
“Mhm, want both of you to fuck me. Wanna be your pretty little toy.” Abby groaned. “Fuck you’re such a whore, wanting me and my best friend to slut you out.”
You cried out, clamping down around her strap. “Come on baby, fucking give it to me. Cum for me.” You do just that, back bowing as she continues her assault on you.
Ellie follows soon after, so lost in the throes of pleasure that she forgot to cover her mouth. The sound of someone else’s voice catches both you and Abby off guard, and she leaps up from the bed.
“Did you hear that?” She asked. You nodded. “Sounded like it was nearby.” Abby reached for her pants that had been previously discarded, and pulled out a pocket knife.
“Check the closet.” You tell her. She nods, readying the knife. You sat with bated breath, sheets barely covering your naked body.
She swings the closet door open, and you hear a familiar scream. “Ellie?!” Abby exclaimed, lowering the knife. The other girl had little time to cover herself up, so her pants were bunched down to her ankles, and her boxers were halfway down her thighs.
Abby subconsciously licked her lips, giving her a quick up and down glance. “Abby, I’m so-“ Abby glared at her, and she shut up.
“Didn’t realize you liked my girl that much.” She mused. Ellie shook her head. “I-It’s not like that, I swear.” Abby zeroed in on her, stepping towards her.
Ellie was trapped between the wall of the closet, and Abby’s body. “I think it is like that.” She replied, hot breath wafting across Ellie’s face. The shorter girl shivered. “I didn’t mean to spy on you guys, I swear.” She said.
Abby shot a glance at you, but your eyes were fixed on Ellie. She was a little less muscular than Abby, but still incredibly toned. Freckles trailed all down her body, and you could spot her happy trail peeking out from her haphazardly pulled up boxer shorts.
“It’s fine, Ellie. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she liked it.” Abby told her. You blush as Ellie flicks her eyes over to you, and nod your head. “I did. I like you a lot, Ellie.” You confess.
Ellie’s cheeks flush. “Really?” You nod. “I feel the same way.” Abby told her. Ellie could’ve sworn she died and went to heaven. Both of her crushes actually liked her back? “What about you?” You ask her, sitting up.
The sheet slid down your body, giving Ellie a full view of your chest. She nodded dumbly, before realizing you were waiting on a response.
“I like you guys too. A lot.” She replied. You breathed a sigh of relief, as did Abby. “I’m glad we got that sorted out. We can talk more about it after.” She told Ellie. The other girl’s eyes wandered over to you, looking you up and down.
“So, what do you wanna do in the meantime?” She asked Abby, eyes still locked on you. Abby chuckled and circled the bed, gesturing for Ellie to follow. “I think you know.”
Abby looped her arms around your waist, moving one hand up to pinch your nipple. You jolted, a gush of wetness following her actions. “You wanna join us?” Abby asked, absentmindedly toying with your nipple, rolling it between her fingers.
Ellie quickly nodded, and Abby raised an eyebrow. “Words.” She said, causing Ellie to blush. “Yes. I want to.” Abby grinned. “Atta girl. Clothes off.” Ellie slipped out of her boxers and shirt, adding them to the pile of clothes on the floor.
You let the sheet drop the rest of the way, and Ellie’s eyes widened. “Jesus.” She breathed. Abby laughed.
“She’s real pretty, isn’t she?” Ellie was nearly drooling at the sight of your soft skin. “Yeah,she is.” She replied. “You wanna touch her?” Abby asked. “Can I?” Ellie replied, addressing both of you.
Instead of answering her, you took her hand and guided it to the valley of your breasts. “Fuck.” Ellie muttered, gliding her hand up and down your chest.
You leaned into her touch, back arching slightly. Her hands were rough with callouses, which made you shiver when she brushed her thumb against your nipple. “You’re so pretty like this.” Ellie murmured.
“Ellie, please.” You cried as her hand slid further down your body. “Tell me what you need, baby.” Ellie replied. You hesitated for a moment, and Abby kissed the top of your head. “Don’t be shy babe, it’s Ellie. You can tell her.”
You gathered up your courage, and decided to just blurt out what was on your mind. “I want both of you to fuck me.” They seemed surprised by this answer. “Are you sure, doll? I don’t wanna overwhelm you.” Ellie replied.
Abby chuckled. “Trust me, you won’t. She’s got stamina.” Ellie nodded. “Alright then, how do you want us?” All of a sudden, Abby shot up off the bed. The two of you watched her as she opened the closet door, and pulled out a black bag. “I have an idea.” She told you two as she sat back down.
She opened the bag, and inside sat a brand new strap on. “I originally bought this for us.” She said, motioning between you and her. “I have a better way to use it though.”
Ellie looked at her quizzically. “How?” Abby opened up the packaging, handing it and a harness to Ellie.
“She said she wants both of us. You fuck her face, I’ll fuck her pussy.” Abby said bluntly. Ellie blushed at her forwardness.
“Are you sure about this baby?” She asked, glancing over at you. You nod your head. “I actually kind of like the overstimulation.” You admit, cheeks flushed.
Ellie smirked at this. “Yeah? Good to know.” You laughed, and she cupped your face in her hands. “Can I kiss you?” You nodded. She leaned in, and her lips brushed against yours.
You shivered and pulled her closer by her shirt, causing her to moan. Before she completely lost control, she pulled away. “You’re a good kisser.” She breathed, forehead leaning against yours.
You laughed. “You’re not so bad yourself.” “I’m gonna try something.” She told you. You watched, curious as to what she would do. She leaned down and pulled your nipple into her mouth, causing you to gasp.
She gently grazed her teeth across it, tongue poking out to lick at the bud. “Oh fuck.” Your voice quivered as you tugged at her hair, urging her to keep going.
Ellie slid one hand down to your stomach, dangerously close to your cunt. “You want her fingers, baby?” Abby asked. You moaned in response, and they took that as a yes. Ellie’s hand traveled down further, brushing lightly against your clit.
It was enough to make you jerk forward, with Abby having to hold you up for support. Ellie slowly pushed two fingers inside of you, reveling in the way your walls clenched around her.
“Shit, you’re so wet.” She grunted, her own slick dripping down her thighs. “Jesus Els, you’re soaked.” Abby teased, leaning over to press a kiss to her neck. She shivered. “Hey! D-Don’t distract me.” Abby grinned.
“Sorry. Continue.” You would’ve giggled at their banter if it weren’t for the way Ellie’s fingers were moving inside you. They were lithe and long, similar to Abby’s, but a bit smaller.
The callouses created a constant friction, one that made you squeeze your legs around her arm.
Yeah, you like that? Feels good?” Ellie asked. She was easily falling into her role, despite not being too experienced.
Ellie brushed her thumb against your clit, causing you to cry out. Without warning, she pulled her fingers out, and you whined in protest.
“Shh, I’m just impatient. Wanna fuck your throat.” She told you, brushing a stray piece of hair out of your face.
Your cunt throbs at the thought of having both of them at the same time, a fantasy you had relayed more than once to Abby as she made you cum numerous times.
“Greedy fucking slut, wanting to take two cocks at once.” She’d grunt, thrusting into you with her hand wrapped around your throat. You were shaken from your thoughts as Ellie attached the harness to herself. Abby did the same, and the two got into position.
“You ready?” Ellie asked, looking down at you. You nodded. She looked so good like this, towering above you. “Alright. Tap either of our legs three times if you need to stop, or if you want air. Got it?” She asked.
“Mhm.” You replied,eager to get started. Abby grabbed a handful of your ass and leaned down, pursing her lips.
She spat directly on you, watching as the glob ran down your thighs. You were plenty wet enough already, but you’d be lying if you said Abby doing that didn’t turn you on. Still, you decided to egg her on a bit.
“Gotta make sure this pretty pussy’s wet enough to take me.” She told you, large hands trailing up and down your thighs.
You laugh, accompanied with an eye roll. “Right, as if you weren’t fucking me ten minutes ago.” Abby raises an eyebrow at your tone and suddenly yanks your head back, forcing you to make eye contact with Ellie.
“Shut her up for me, will you Ellie?” She asked. You couldn’t see her, but you could hear the smirk in her voice.
Ellie licked her lips. “You heard her, baby. Open up.” You let your jaw hang slack, staring up at her with doe eyes.
You wrap your lips around the silicone, and slowly start bobbing your head back and forth. Although Ellie couldn’t actually feel it, your movements did create a slight friction against her clit.
Abby pushed into you agonizingly slowly, marveling at the way your cunt sucked her in. The two began to move in unison, with Ellie thrusting into your mouth.
“Shit, can’t wait to feel your mouth on me. You look so pretty like this, getting your throat fucked.” You moaned around her and Abby sped up, slapping your ass.
“That’s all she’s good for.” She said, fingers reaching down to toy with your clit. “Just a set of holes for us to fuck into, nothing but a needy whore.” You moan at her words, rocking your hips back against her.
Her eyes meet Ellie’s and she launches forward, pressing their lips together.
It’s a messy make out session, one full of teeth and tongues, but it just turns you on even more. Ellie moans into Abby’s mouth, while Abby uses her free hand to push your head down further.
You’re choking at this point, the silicone cock hitting the back of your throat. When they pull away, a thin string of saliva connects them. Ellie looks at you with a grin, pupils blown.
“Making us feel so fucking good baby, you’re such a good girl,” She murmured, running her fingers through your hair.
You melt into her touch and she coos. “There’s our pretty girl. Little bit faster babe, m’ getting close.” You speed up your movements and Ellie grips the back of your head, bucking her hips into your face. She cums finally, a string of curses leaving her lips.
Abby follows soon after, whispering dirty things into your ear as she coaxes you through your own orgasm. You assume she’ll pull out but she keeps thrusting into you, reveling in the hungry look on Ellie’s face as she watches.
She could see the faint white ring of your arousal on Abby’s strap as she fucked into you. Ellie reaches down and takes off her own strap, tossing it to the side. Her wet cunt was in full view,thighs soaked with her cum.
“Can I try something baby?” She asked. You nodded as best as you could with Abby continuing her movements behind you, albeit at a slightly slower pace. Ellie reached down to the pile of clothes and picked up Abby’s pants.
The two of you watched as she pulled out her pocket knife, and your breath hitched. “You trust me?” She asked as she sat back down on the bed and spread her legs.
You nodded. Of course you did. Ellie was someone who you trusted wholeheartedly, along with Abby. You knew she would never do anything if she thought harm would come to you.
“Alright, come here.” She said, patting the space between her thighs. You obliged, making yourself comfortable.
“You’re going to eat me out while I hold this to your neck. If you stop, I’ll cut you.” You shivered at her tone, and although you knew she wouldn’t actually hurt you, the danger was still there.
You lick your lips, and lean down between her legs. She nods towards you, and you lick a gentle stripe up to her clit. Her breath hitches, and the hand that’s holding the knife falters a bit.
The cold metal is pressed right against your neck, and Abby is behind you with her hands in your hair, guiding you as she watches the way your pussy swallows her.
You pull Ellie’s swollen clit into your mouth, and she jerks her hips. “God, you look like such a- oh fuck..” Ellie trailed off as you pushed your tongue inside of her.
You couldn’t believe you hadn’t done this sooner, you could’ve sworn you were in heaven, right here between her legs. “Oh fuck right there, don’t fucking stop.” She groaned.
You moaned as both Abby and Ellie tugged at your hair, while Ellie grinded her hips into her face. Your nose was bumping against her clit, and her chest was heaving up and down.
The salty sweat rolling down her body combined with the sweet honeyed taste of her dripping cunt drove you closer to your own orgasm. You began to grind against the mattress, until Abby stopped you.
“You don’t get to cum until she does.” She told you, gesturing to Ellie. You pulled away from Ellie with a whine, opening your mouth to protest. Instead of entertaining you, Abby shoved your face back between Ellie’s legs.
“I don’t wanna fucking hear it. Get to work and maybe we’ll help you, yeah?” You moaned, sending a vibration throughout Ellie’s entire body. Abby leaned over you and trailed kisses down Ellie’s neck, before sliding her tongue into her mouth.
Ellie moaned as you both continued your assault on her and before she could warn you, she had squirted all over your face. “Fuck, good girl.”
Ellie panted as she came down from her high. She smiled lazily as she slumped down onto the bed. “You gonna leave our girl hanging, Williams?” Abby asked with a smirk.
Ellie laughed, sitting up on her elbows. “Course not. Just needed to catch my breath.” She replied with a smirk of her own.
“I would’ve thought you’d have more stamina than that.” You teased, fingers tracing her abs. “Shut up.” She replied, pulling you into a kiss.
She slowly pushed two fingers into you using her free hand, and moved them in a scissoring motion.
“Oh fuck, right there Ellie.” She laughed, a cocky grin spreading across her face. “Yeah? You still want me to shut up?” She asked.
Meanwhile, Abby pulled one of your nipples into her mouth and rolled the other between her fingers. It was all too much, but in the best way.
You came with a loud cry, listening to the downright filthy things the two were whispering to you. You didn’t even realize you had fallen asleep until you woke up in the bathtub, surrounded by warm soapy water.
“You alright baby? You fell asleep on us.” Abby told you, running her hands through your hair. “Yeah, it just takes up a lot of energy. I’m alright.” You replied, leaning into her touch.
The bathtub was large enough to feasibly fit the three of you comfortably, so you were all almost fully submerged.
Abby was washing your hair, while Ellie was washing the rest of your body. They were gently pressing kisses to your bare skin, savoring the closeness of the moment.
“That was crazy.” You murmured into Ellie’s chest while Abby washed your hair. She grinned. “In a good way or a bad way?” She asked.
Abby finished putting the conditioner in, so you lifted your head up. “A good way.” You told her.
She smiled, wiping a few soap bubbles from your cheek with her thumb. “I’m glad.” She replied.
Abby cupped the water in her hands and began to wash the conditioner out of your hair, while you mustered up the courage to ask Ellie an important question.
You knew she would say yes, but it didn’t make you any less nervous.
She noticed you were lost in thought. “Whatcha thinking about?” She inquired. You avoided her gaze, and she raised an eyebrow. You decided to just ask her.
“Does this mean you’re our girlfriend now?” Ellie’s eyes widened, a blush forming on her face. “Do you guys want me to be?” She replied.
You nodded quickly, and Ellie’s eyes shifted to Abby. “How about you?” She asked. Abby nodded her head as well. “There’s no way this is just gonna be a one off thing. You’re stuck with us now.” She teased with a grin.
Ellie laughed. “Somehow I think I’ll manage.” She replied. You leaned in and pressed a sweet kiss to her lips, catching her slightly off guard. She kissed you back, running her hands through your hair.
You shifted to make room for Abby, who leaned in to kiss Ellie as well. You stood up on shaky legs as the two helped you out of the bath tub and dried you off.
Abby had somehow found the time to change the sheets and blankets, and had even run them through the dryer so they’d be warm.
As you settled into the bed Ellie laid to your left, and Abby to your right. You were already sleepy enough, but the softness of the sheets and the little kisses they were giving you helped lull you further into an almost dreamlike state.
“You can fall asleep baby, we’ll be right here when you wake up.” Abby reassured you. Ellie nodded. “We’ll probably end up falling asleep soon too.” She said, cuddling further into your embrace.
The two girls had placed their hands on your waist, where they lay entwined. They both pressed a single kiss to your cheek and you slowly drifted off to sleep, surrounded by love. It was perfect.
Summary:You & Ellie attend a party celebrating the end of the school year, and some girl gets too close for comfort.
wc:1,613
Warnings: daddy kink, degradation, possessive behavior,praise kink,strap on sex, r! receiving,strap referred to as cock, slight size kink, slight pain kink, drug use/mentions (weed) i think that’s it??
mdni! 18+ please!
a/n:this is my first time writing for Ellie! Or at least, my first time publishing something I’ve written for her. Either way, I hope you all like it!Reblogs/Comments and Likes are greatly appreciated!
You didn’t consider yourself to be a jealous girl. You trusted Ellie, and she trusted you.
However, that didn’t mean you couldn’t be possessive at times.
That was what led to the position you were in now, pressed between the door and Ellie, with her mouth trailing wet kisses down your neck.
You two had shared a blunt before heading to a frat party, celebrating the end of the school year.
Ellie was usually pretty good at picking up when people were hitting on her, but the weed in her system made her friendlier and less on guard than usual.
A brunette had come up to her, chatting animatedly about how glad she was to be done with school for the time being.
You had stepped out for a moment to grab a drink, and bring one back for Ellie. You passed Dina on the way back, and she pointed towards the room Ellie was in.
When you came back in, there was a girl who was obviously trying to get Ellie to go with her.
As soon as your girlfriend spotted you, she gave you a lazy grin. “Hey baby, what took so long?” She asked.
Despite your slight jealousy, you laughed at the way her eyelids drooped,she was so cute.
“Sydney, this is my girlfriend.” Ellie said as you approached them.
So that was her name. She was pretty, there was no denying that.
Unfortunately for her, Ellie only had eyes for you.
“Cynthia.” The girl replied, voice clipped.
You stifled a laugh, and Ellie smirked. “Cynthia, right. My bad.”
Ellie slipped a hand down to your thigh, squeezing it lightly. “Anyways, we should get going. We had somewhere to be, right baby?” She asked.
Your arousal spreads through you like a wildfire at the possessive action. “Y-Yeah, that’s right. It was nice meeting you, Sydney.”
You barely had time to say your goodbyes before Ellie was sucking marks into your neck.
You stumbled into your and hers shared apartment, and she shoved you against the door as soon as it shut.
“God, you look so fucking hot.” She groaned, reaching down to unbuckle her belt.
You gasped at the familiar sight of the harness she always used poking out.
“Babe, you wore it to the fucking party?” You asked.
She bursted out laughing, finding your question hilarious.
“Course I did.” Without another word she dropped to her knees,pulling your skirt down.
You had worn a simple short black skirt, along with a pair of white lace panties.
Ellie hummed, rubbing her fingers along the fabric.
“You’re so fucking wet, shit.” She groaned.
You whimpered at her touch, rocking your hips against her fingers. “Please..” You begged.
“Shh baby, I know. I’ve got you.” She murmured, kissing your thighs.
She slowly slipped your panties off, groaning when she saw your bare cunt.
“Fuck, can’t believe this is all mine. You’re so good to me, baby.” She told you, running one finger up and down your slit.
Your legs shook, knees threatening to buckle from the slightest touch. “Ellie..”
“Hm?” She said, looking up to meet your eyes.
“Fuck my throat? Please?” You asked, staring up at her with doe eyes.
She smirked. “Dirty fucking slut. Open up, baby.” She replied, pressing the tip of the silicone against your lips. She then thrusted in without warning, causing you to gag.
“That’s my girl, fucking choke on it.”
You reach down to slip your fingers between your thighs, finding your clit. You rub it in tandem with her messy thrusts. You know you’ll probably lose your voice in the morning, but you can’t find it in yourself to care right now.
She groans, the harness pressing right up against her clit. “Shit, I’m so close babe.”
You suck harder, wishing she could actually feel it. You were doing a good enough job though, with the way she was grinding her hips into your face.
“Lemme taste.” You plead, letting go of her with a wet pop. “Want you to cum down my throat.”
“Fuck, baby.” Ellie muttered, scrambling to take the strap off.
As soon as she did, you latched onto her clit, suckling. She could’ve immediately come at the obscene noises you were making, paired with the sounds of her wet cunt.
“Just like that baby, fuck-“ Ellie cut herself off as she came, muttering a string of curse words under her breath.
Before you could say anything, she had flipped you over onto your back.
She readjusted the harness, and positioned herself between your thighs. “You ready?” She asked.
You nodded, spreading your legs open wider.
“Words, baby. Use them.” She reminded you.
“Yes daddy.” You replied.
She grinned, slowly pushing in. “Good girl.”
Your breath hitched as she bottomed out, and she stood still for a moment.
“Does it hurt?” She asked, cupping your face in between her hands.
“Just a little. The good kind though.” You reply, cheeks flushing.
Ellie laughed. “That’s my girl. Let me know when.” She told you.
A few more moments passed, and you gave her the go ahead.
She pulled out agonizingly slowly, before pushing back in again.
She placed a hand on your stomach and she sped up her thrusts. “You feel how deep I am inside this pussy, baby?”
When you don’t respond at first, she grabs your jaw and forces you to look at her. “Answer me when I ask you something, whore.”
You clench around her, and she chuckles. “You dirty bitch. You love it when I call you that, don’t you?”
You nod your head rapidly and lean up to kiss her.
She smiles and presses your lips together, her tongue slipping into your mouth.
She gives you a particularly hard thrust during the kiss, one that causes you to rake your nails down her back.
She groans, a mix of pleasure and pain, and the two of you pull apart with a thin string of saliva connecting you.
“Seeing that girl flirt with you got me all worked up, I wanted to punch her so bad.” You admitted, running your hands up and down her chest.
She chuckled. “Oh, you think you were jealous? I guess you didn’t see the way Owen was ogling you when you walked in.”
She continued slowly thrusting, trying not to get distracted by your breathy little whines.
“I wanted to snap his fucking neck for even daring to look at you. You’re my girl. Swear to God, I wanted to drag you into that bathroom and make you scream.” She spat the words with such venom, but it made you clench around her nonetheless.
“You can still make me scream if you want.” You suggested, giving her a little smirk.
She grinned and lifted your legs, slamming herself in deeper.
“You take it so fucking good baby, s’like you were made to take my cock.”
You moaned loudly, half hoping the neighbors could hear you.
This wasn’t enough for Ellie, as she slammed deeper into you with a grunt. “Louder.” She commanded.
She adjusted her angle, causing you to let out a loud whine.
She smirked, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “Yeah, you like that baby? Fucking scream for me.”
You pulled Ellie closer, craving the skin to skin contact. She lovingly ran a hand through your hair, a total juxtaposition to how hard she was fucking you.
She lifted your chin, forcing you to meet her eyes. “Who’s my favorite girl, huh? Who’s my pretty little slut.”
You move your hand to cover your mouth, muffling the sound of your moans.
Ellie scowls, thrusting into you faster. “Let them hear you baby, want them to hear how good I make you feel.”
You choked on a moan, and she continued her assault on you, reaching down to replace your hand with her own.
“I’m the only one who can make you feel like this, yeah? You’re fucking mine. Only mine.” She hissed, thumb brushing against your clit.
You tighten around, a telltale sign that you’re getting close. She grins.
“You just needed to be fucked, hm? Needed someone bigger and stronger to take care of you?” She asked.
You nod furiously, rolling your hips to meet her thrusts.
“Ellie-“ You whine, but she cuts you off with a kiss.
She pulls away, pupils blown and lips slick with spit. “I know baby, I know. S’alright, daddy’s got you.”
You sob. “Please daddy, m’ so close. Need to cum.” Your tongue lolled out of your mouth, drool running down your chin.
Ellie pulls you into another kiss, sliding her tongue against yours.
“Good girl, you can cum whenever you’re ready baby. Did so good for me, my pretty girl. Always make me feel so fucking good.” She told you with a nip to your collarbone.
You came soon after, gushing around her. As it usually did, this triggered Ellie’s own orgasm.
“Fuck, just like that baby. Good girl.” She panted as she slumped against you, covering your sweaty skin in kisses.
You cuddled further into her embrace, suddenly struck with an overwhelming urge to be as close as possible to her.
“You need anything, babe?” She asked as she came down. “Water or something?”
You shake your head, pulling her closer. “Just you.”
She chuckles softly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I’m not going anywhere, don’t worry.”
“Love you.” You murmur, voice raspy.
She smiles. “I’ll make you some lemon tea in the morning, how’s that sound?”
You nod, not wanting to strain your voice any further.
She kisses your forehead,nose, and both cheeks, before planting a final kiss on your lips.
Here we are again, (hopefully) a little more on time than the first two lol. <- definitely not :') [December me here: I don't even know what to say LMAO]
I haven't been able to read much (fics or books) and I miss it so so much! So let's hope this fic rec list is getting longer next month. But regardless of how long the list is, these fics made my month a lot better, and maybe they can do the same for you!
If you decide to read a fic (any fic) don't forget to leave the author a reblog and a comment! Supporting the creators is so important, show them all your love!!💖
Dec me again: I've had this in my drafts for forever now (aka 8 months lol) and even tho it's not a huge list, I wanted this to be part of the "monthly fic recs masterlist". I love to come back to fics and reread them, so why not give these amazing stories and authors a shout-out and post this, even if it's been 8 months?💋
the rite of movement - pornstar!joel x pornstar!female reader by @tightjeansjavi
javi p drabble by @iamasaddie
Sugar, Spice & Please Fuck Me Nice - neighbor!joel AU by @syd-djarin <3
A Visit To Mr.Miller's House - Joel Miller x F! Reader by @ellieslovr
Summary: On a mission to find—and fight—your best friend’s lying, cheating boyfriend at the bar, you end up throwing your drink in the wrong face and landing in a sticky situation with Joel Miller, who never plays fair.
Note: My favorite sub-genre of country music is ‘I’m Gonna Fucking Kill My Husband,’ and I think Miranda Lambert’s ‘Gunpowder & Lead’ is a perfect representation of that.
Word count: 4.1k
Forgive and forget.
Forgive and forget.
Forgive and—
“I’m about to lay this motherfucker out,” you announced.
Across the line, your friend laughed.
“Yeah? You see him?”
Of course you saw him. Who else would be wearing a Carhartt flannel and jeans in ninety-four degree heat? Not a soul in this world but your friend’s own lying, piece of shit, hopefully-soon-to-be-ex boyfriend, you guessed.
The game that Old Fuckstick Miller had decided to play tonight was a dangerous one—he was dumb as shit, and you were drunker than a skunk. He was dating your best friend, and she was not present at the Tipsy Bison to see the barefaced clusterfuck taking place before you now.
She was home, over thirty minutes away. He had told her that morning he would be working late, and not to wait up. You were here, at the bar, approaching one A.M. with a Redbull Vodka clenched in either fist and a Texas-sized frown on your face, seeing the very same man with his hands all over a woman that wasn’t your friend. You’d wanted to puke as soon as you saw them. You knew you could never trust a man who claimed to be an Austin native and couldn’t name a single George Strait song.
Your friend had only been dating the guy for a month, and you’d just seen his face in pictures up until now, but from what you could see less than twenty feet in front of you—slightly blurred from all the drinks you’d had—this guy was him. A dick. There, cheating on your best friend.
And no man would get to do that and walk out unscathed if you had anything to say about it.
Your grip tightened on either one of your fizzy drinks and, barely managing to cradle the phone between your head and your shoulder, you gestured over to another friend.
“Dave. Take it,” you said, words slurring a little.
Dave York cocked an eyebrow but said nothing as you passed him one of your RBVs and shimmied off the barstool. By the time he was able to pose his question, your ass, your phone, and your one remaining drink were already wobbling the other way. Vaguely, you heard him:
“Where ya headed, hon?”
You turned and raised your drink, then seriously doubted he would be able to hear you over the blare of the music, but yelled back anyway, ‘I’M GONNA KILL SOMEONE!’
The age-old pro-forgiveness aphorism continued to thump in your brain as you made your way over and began to contemplate every feasible method of murder.
A gun in the face would’ve been too simple—and besides, you’d never owned or shot a firearm in your life.
Poison could be fun, but from the way you were approaching the man now, you seriously doubted he’d ever let you get within a mile of his drink. You nudged the phone closer to your ear and took a sip from your own.
“Closing in,” you told your friend simply.
She’d already given you the go-ahead to execute the confrontation and beat his ass any way you pleased after the fact. Now it wasn’t so much a matter of ‘if’ but ‘when’ you’d finally get to encroach on this little loved up scene at the other end of the bar. The man had had his back turned to you, and the stunning redhead hanging off his neck, likewise, had no idea what was coming. You smiled.
“Promise you won’t go to jail this time?” your friend said.
“Will you bail me out again if I do?” Your grin got bigger.
“Well, duh.”
“Good deal. I’ll be the shitfaced inmate with ‘Fuck Men’ tattooed on her forehead. Wait for Travis County to call.”
“I love you, psycho.”
“Love you more.”
You ended the call.
And you were fully ready to end this man’s life when you saw him lean in to kiss the woman’s neck—that was sick.
You weren’t thinking straight. You weren’t seeing straight
You yelled out, ‘He-e-e-ey, honey!’ without blinking.
The couple turned.
As soon as the man had done a full 180, you flung your drink in his face and made sure the cup struck his nose.
“You cheatin’ FUCK!”
He flinched, sprayed by your vodka-infused energy juice.
The music overhead was loud, but not so deafening as to prevent the bar from hearing your shriek. From the front of the room, a band was playing ‘Gunpowder & Lead,’ and you couldn’t help but feel the song had been fate.
“What the f—” the adulterer started, evidently stunned.
You knocked the Shiner Bock out of his hand and spat:
“Working late, are we?!”
And spilled another patron’s beer reeling back.
“Got a little caught up on the way home?”
Gesturing toward the green-eyed beauty to his left. At first, the girl fixed her stare on you as if you’d sprouted another head, but then, by turns, she was tilting it to him.
“You have a girlfriend?” she hissed.
Cheater McFuckstick was wiping his beard with his hand
Shaking his head.
“Hell no, I ain’t never—”
“LIAR!”
Channeling your inner Representative Wilson circa 2009, you let your mouth fall open and stared at the big, burly man like the Congressman had once done to President Obama all those years ago. The semi-stranger in front of you was far less composed than his political counterpart.
“What the fuck is your problem?!” he snapped.
You felt your cheeks heat up.
“Is she your girlfriend?” would-be mistress said, shrill.
“NO!” you and been-knew asshole yelled together.
You saw the man’s nostrils flare, and at the same time, the woman beside him departed. Quickly. A few people around you cleared the way, while others still stared, gawked, and murmured amongst themselves. The Miranda Lambert cover band continued on without a hitch, though you could tell there had been a stir in the crowd. They probably thought the worst of it was over.
They thought wrong.
“You’re a dick,” you seethed, unrelenting.
You almost expected the man to turn and leave.
You thought wrong.
“You’re a cunt.”
And the man chucked a stray whiskey sour in your face.
The $15 spirits splattered on your skin like the meanest insult of all. His aim was better. Though he didn’t let go of the cup, as you had with him, he did make sure to coat the whole of your twisted look with the liquor, and once it landed, he had had the nerve to do something else, too.
He brought the glass to his lips then drank what was left.
“How’s it feel?” he sneered.
You stood in wet, sticky silence for half a second; arguably, you’d earned that cocktail to the face.
On the other hand, who the fuck did he think he was?
You grabbed a random can of Keystone Light and flung it at his chest to give him a hint—and catch him off-guard.
“You’re a bitch, Tommy Miller!”
“Wh—”
“Maria’s my best friend, you absolute f—”
“What—”
“—and you cheated on her for what? All so she—”
“What did you just call me?!”
“A BITCH!”
“No, the NAME!”
“TOMMY MILLER!”
“I’M JOEL!”
Oh.
Oh.
You and Joel were shortly escorted out of the bar.
Joel’s name, and a trace of bourbon, were still fresh on your tongue when you found yourself stranded in the middle of the Tipsy Bison parking lot two minutes later. You leaned into a car beside you and held your stomach.
“Someone drop you on the head as a baby?” Joel barked.
Presently, for you, the world was tilting sideways, and your head was throbbing at a nauseating tempo.
“Go around slingin’ drinks at any old man you—”
Green. Green must’ve been the color of your face as you braced your hands on your knees and assumed a stance as if to scream at the ground. Rather than expecting any noise to ring out, though, you had only to squeeze your eyes shut and hold onto a hunch for something much less pleasant. And viscous.
Reeking mostly of Red Bull and regret, if you had to guess.
Joel took a big step back, and then he took another.
“Da-a-adgummit, girl, what the—”
He turned away just in time to miss the sight of you emptying your guts on the ground, but not quite fast enough to be spared the sounds of you retching. They were loud. Joel Miller was known to be a largely imperturbable force around these parts, but even he was made to feel queasy hearing that. Out of habit, he clapped his hand to his own gut and stumbled off. He stared at the bar, then at his car, then at the gravel crushed under his feet for what felt like the longest time. Then his gaze lingered to his lower half, and he thought:
‘Please, please don’t gimme no daughters. Please.’
He was forty-five. The time for making babies and raising daughters to be anything like a woman of your ilk was probably long past him. All the same, he kept his gaze on his crotch and sighed. Balls, you better not betray me.
When he heard the crunch of rocks, he turned around.
“HEY!”
Oh, no. No. Not tonight.
You were staggering to your car, keys in hand.
“Hey!” Joel called again, jogging after you.
It seemed the second shout had done him no more favors than the first. You were fumbling to get the key inside the door, and you looked as determined as ever.
Over your shoulder, you tossed back, careless:
“You ain’t the boss of me, Tommy Miller.”
You got the key to turn. You opened the door. You were just about to climb inside what looked to Joel to be the ugliest Dodge Ram pickup he’d seen in his life, when he grabbed your arm.
“It’s Joel,” he growled. Pinching your elbow tight as he tugged it back, “And you ain’t driving anywhere tonight.”
Somewhere in front of him, tilted away from his line of vision, you must’ve been grinning, because the next thing he heard from you was the scoff of a laugh.
“Oh yeah?”
Joel flipped you around to face him.
“Yeah,” he snapped.
Feeling a bit like a kid for mimicking your tone.
What were you, twenty-two? Twenty-three? You couldn’t have been a patron of a place like Tipsy Bison for very long, or else he would’ve recognized you tonight.
Then again, you struck him as the type to have had a fake ID since you were fifteen, so he really couldn’t know.
“I’m twenny-wuh-un,” you slurred up at him, exaggerated, once he’d made you step down from the running board and onto the ground. Answering his last unspoken question with the same, sleepy grin as before. Then lifting one of your hands to wag a finger in his face, “I can drink legal anywhere I want to in this country.”
“Not there,” Joel nodded to the interstate.
You looked to where he’d gestured and whistled. Standing and staring, like he had done to his crotch.
“Well fuck me-e!” you said next, dragging out the sound a childish amount, “You the law or somethin’, Mr. Joel?”
“Ain’t no cop.” Joel rolled his eyes.
You kept smiling. Then you turned on your heels.
And instead of trying to climb back into your truck, you sauntered off—in what direction, Joel couldn’t tell. You were more so bumbling about, turning in circles like the world’s most scantily-clad, semi-intoxicated ballerina. And then you stopped. You put your hands on your hips.
“‘Cause I’m the law,” you resumed in a slow, deliberate drawl. The twang you used was mostly feigned, “And you cain’t beat the law. Don’t nobody get away with that, not even a bunch’a Alabama smart alecks, believe you me.”
Joel didn’t know what the fuck you were talking about. The man was Texas born and bred, and you knew it.
He communicated as much by pinning you with a wide, bewildered stare, and something in that seemed to amuse. You stared back, making your eyes bug out too.
“It’s a quote from a movie,” you said, after a beat, “You’ve never seen Fried Green Tomatoes before?”
Joel couldn’t say that he had.
Joel reckoned there was a lot more than just movies he didn’t share in common with you. Miss Twenty-One. Barely a year past the age he’d been when he’d moved out of the house and tried to make a living on his own.
This woman, this girl he saw twirling out in front of him now probably couldn’t pour piss out of a boot with the instructions written on the heel if he’d asked you to. Joel shook his head and moved his feet, frown etching deep.
“Alright, princess. Up.”
You didn’t seem to understand, until he’d lifted you. Up.
You were thrown over his shoulder and carried to a truck much nicer than yours in less than fifteen seconds or so.
“Stinks in here,” you said as soon as he’d set you down.
Then, sniffing the air—and grinning:
“Aw, hell, Miller…you smoke?”
Joel wished he’d said no.
Wished he’d rolled his eyes and told you to pipe down, stop asking him questions. It would’ve made the drive a whole lot easier, and more peaceful. Nowhere near as painful, either, if he were being perfectly honest—the strain in his jeans had already gotten to be more than he could bear, and all you’d asked for was a pack of smokes.
“They call ‘em Cowboy Killers,” you said, matter-of-fact.
“I know what they’re called,” Joel grumbled in reply. Flicking the radio on and hoping to find a tune that would drown out the too-lovely, cloying voice you’d assumed as soon as you thought you might win a cigarette off of him. More chatty now than ever.
And for one, blissful moment, Toby Keith had you beat. The calm was fleeting. As soon as ‘Who’s Your Daddy’ started to drift through the car’s old speakers, you reached across and turned the knob to the left.
“Gross,” you muttered.
“What?”
“Got a light?”
“Blow me.”
Joel’s harsh, clipped tone was deliberate. The way he’d made himself mean—meaner than he’d been around a woman in a long, long time—was a choice. He couldn’t let your faux sweetness win him now. Not after you’d thrown two drinks in his face, mocked his truck, and foreclosed any possibility of getting laid by way of all your publicized infidelity philippics and shit-talking. Giving in to your charms from where you sat in the passenger seat now would only sink him further in his own esteem. Simply put, Joel’s ego couldn’t take it.
“Okie doke,” you said presently. Shrugging.
“Now keep your—HEY!”
Joel nearly swerved his truck off the road and into a ditch. Your deft little hands had slipped into his lap—and started palming his crotch through the denim.
He’d just managed to right the vehicle before jerking a look your way, staring at your hand, then your face:
“What the fuck was that?!”
“You said ‘blow me,’ Joel!” you huffed, and you seriously appeared as distraught as he was, “Sorry for listening!”
Joel grit his teeth with all the force of a cold steel trap.
“You’re fuckin’ nuts.” He gripped the wheel even tighter.
“I’m aware.”
“Where the hell do you live, anyway?”
You told him.
Your hand slipped down to the seat beside him.
And just as Joel let out what felt like the tiniest sigh of relief—he knew where that was, and the address sounded vaguely familiar—he yelped again. This time, he managed to keep control of his truck, but it was hard.
Your fingers had returned, and they were kneading the bulge under his jeans. Joel flushed from head to toe.
He didn’t have so much as half a mind to make you stop. He didn’t want to see you slink back over to your side of the car. But you were twenty-one, and he was forty-five. And you were both under the influence to some degree. And he was driving, for fuck’s sake. Shit like that only worked in dreams—not on a highway in a town like this.
He turned the radio dial to 75. At length, he heard it loud:
‘WHO’S YOUR DADDY? WHO’S YOUR BA-A-A-ABY?’
He saw you cringe.
“C’mon, Joel,” you groaned, “That’s…yuck.”
The fingers of the one hand kept digging, rubbing, but the other reached out and turned the music down again.
Joel shifted in his seat, feeling the pleasure start to bloom from the pit of his stomach, but not wanting to let you off that easy. Briefly, he looked from the road to you.
“What? You got a problem with Toby Keith?”
“I got a problem with anyone sayin’ ‘daddy’ like that.”
You unzipped his fly. Popped the button of his jeans from underneath the soft shelf of belly hanging over it, and held him, finally. You could only cup his erection through his boxers at that point, but the friction was enough to send a shiver through the whole of the old man’s body. He hadn’t been touched like that by a hand that wasn’t his own in…he couldn’t remember how long. He sighed.
“That why you’ve got your hand down the pants of a man old enough to be your father?” Joel quipped.
He couldn’t help it.
Your hand only gripped him tighter. From the passenger seat, you’d leaned over and started crawling. Scowling.
Your knees swiftly planted themselves on the old, upholstered cushion of the bucket seat, and you slipped a touch beneath the waistband of his underwear. With a hand that was smooth and soft and eager to please, you wrapped your fingers around that base and leaned in.
“You sound like you want me to say it,” you whispered.
Under your hand, he pulsed. His gaze stayed on the road.
“Don’t make no difference to me, sweet pea,” he said, and was amazed how even he was able to keep his tone:
“But those ‘Cowboy Killers’ you wanted…”
Your fingers curled tighter. Your head sank lower.
“…they don’t come cheap, y’know.”
Oh, you knew. He saw a smile snag at the corners of your lips as you brought them to his lap, and he had to force himself to look at the road again. It was empty and dark.
The tarmac stretched out for days. The fields rolling past warned sternly, ‘Don’t let her win,’ and something more in between each tree seemed to invite deliberation—remembrance, maybe. Joel was far too focused on the feel of your mouth to give the woods a second thought.
You’d worked the first inch between your lips in a slick, obscene sort of kiss; you made room for just the head and then toyed with a bead of precum leaking out of his slit. You licked it, squeezed the shaft in your hand, and hummed while the first real moan rumbled through him.
Joel turned to putty with just that flick of your tongue. He didn’t have to see your face to know he was losing.
On the wheel, his grip grew tighter, and he choked out:
“Ain’t your fuckin’ lollypop, kid.”
Then, dropping one hand to push down on your head—make you take him to the back of your throat in one go.
“Daddy wants you to suck him like a big girl, hear?”
At the base of his cock, he felt you gag. From the bottom of his heart, Joel knew there was no sound sweeter than that. He ran his fingers over your skull and tapped gently.
“If you want those smokes,” he told you—and really, with all the warmth and moisture of your mouth enveloping him now, he’d had to try to sound rougher than he was, “You’re gonna do what daddy says and suck him right.”
You gagged again, then squeezed his denim-clad leg with the hand that wasn’t wrapped around his member.
Joel yanked you by your hair and made you look up.
Your cheeks were already smeared with spit and tears. Much to his surprise, he found your eyes alight and soft.
Suffused with desire, too, from what he could see.
“Yes, daddy.” You grinned up at him.
Joel knew if he let your gaze stay on his a second longer now he’d either crash his car, blow his load, or fall in love—and he simply refused to let you succeed on any of those fronts, so he shoved your face back down.
You sucked him obediently. Greedily. Mouth growing more pliant and wet by the second, as if your jaw and salivary glands had contrived to get him as close to release as possible, as quickly as they were able.
Joel took a left onto a road he had only a dim recognition as being connected to yours, and he got that feeling again. You were bobbing your head, taking him further, flattening your tongue along the bottom of his member when his pleasure swelled inside him. At the same time, he felt a sense of dread. His hands were shaking on the wheel. He didn’t dare steal a look down to the sweet, soaked, perfect little mouth sucking him dry, because he knew that feeling would only strike twice as hard. He had to cum, or make you stop, or bring his truck to a halt.
As it was, he felt five tiny crescents sink into his thigh as you gripped him tighter, and a noise bubbled up in your mouth. Your breathing went shallow, and your lips stretched wide—you were trying, and succeeding, in deep-throating his thick, throbbing, much-too-old-for-a-girl-her-age member down close to your windpipe, and Joel could feel it. He hit his blinker, not thinking, and saw a sign that marked your street. Trepidation hit him again.
Fully, this time, in a feeling that was more like terror.
He didn’t have another second to question it, either. By the time he had the old, lone farmhouse in his sights and his heart nearly halfway up his throat with fear, your own throat pulsed, and opened the last two inches to him in. Your nose found their home in the rough, grey, wiry hairs at the base of his belly, having swallowed him whole, and Joel quickly sensed the start of what he knew too well.
He came down your throat in one, two, three, four, five long spurts, and didn’t let his foot off the gas even once.
He saw your house, approaching closer now, and paled.
No fucking way.
You’d wanted to skip the whole way up your drive.
Spit still drying on your cheeks, cum resting comfortably in your belly, and a smile as bright as the sun on your face as you waved to the F-150 pulling off toward the road, you’d never felt more alive—or smug—in your life.
“Is your dad…Lucien Flores?” Joel had asked no more than a second after his dick slipped out of your mouth.
“The one and only.”
Somehow, his face got even paler. His jaw visibly clenched, and his palm hit the top of the wheel. Hard.
It was then that you’d learned your father had hired Joel Miller on as a full-time ranch hand sometime last week.
He’d remembered the address, vaguely, but didn’t connect the dots until he’d pulled up in front of your house and damn near punctured your windpipe with his pulsing dick from how fast he’d jumped up—and cum.
His spend had almost shot through your nose with the force of it, but you didn’t mind. Once he’d revealed the wild, gory, and admittedly hilarious details of his newfound employment, you were too busy laughing your ass off to care if he’d torn your throat in two with his dick.
“So you really are a cowboy, then,” you’d said, giggling.
Joel had scowled. Rolled his eyes. Practically turned the color of a tomato when you leaned in and kissed him.
Now you were waving to him from your front door.
Joel’s truck was slow to go. The taste of him was fresh.
And there, weighing light in your back pocket while you said goodbye was a brand new pack of Marlboro Reds.
Summary: You get stuck in the washing machine. Thankfully, your stepdad is around to help you out.
Warnings: 18+. Unprotected piv. Deadbeat-Perv-Peepaw LOVES corny porn tropes and women over half his age. Stepcest & dubcon technically bc Reader’s locked inside an appliance, but she’s into it (getting fucked, not stuck). One (1) kick in the dick. Spanking. Brat-taming. Choking. Daddy issues. Size kink. Praise kink. Infidelity. Creampie.
Note: Saw this post by @ovaryacted and started BARKING. For my Old Man lovers/daddy issues crew, this one’s for you.
Word count: 8.3k
It was the closest thing to porn you’d ever done before.
Still, you weren’t quite ready to call it that.
And why should you? Financial straits were no anomaly to a girl your age, especially in this economy, and almost everyone you knew had a side gig of some kind. It just so happened that your job required slightly skimpier attire. And a webcam. And some very special…accessories that would likely send your grandmother into cardiac arrest if she ever took a peek inside your bottom dresser drawer.
Okay, it was definitely porn.
But you never showed your face, so it didn’t really count as the same kind of stuff that your family condemned.
You scampered out of your room the second you heard the front door to the house slam closed all the same. Arms laden with G-strings, stockings, satin bralettes, lace and tulle bodysuits of almost every style imaginable, you ran a quick, perilous path to the living room window and made sure to keep your head ducked low as you did. You peered out through the gap in the curtains and had to squint hard to see anything in the midafternoon sun.
Then you saw it and felt instant relief—they were leaving.
Your grandma for one, your mother for second, and wherever the latter was headed, you knew her shadow would be soon to follow. You saw a thick plume of smoke outside and surmised that Joel was somewhere around the other side of the SUV, smoking and droning on about how he was perfectly fi-i-i-ne to drive, don’t be like that.
By ‘like that’ he meant sensible. And by ‘perfectly fine’ he meant two Miller Lites shy of completely shitfaced. You could already imagine the wry smile on your mother’s lips as she tried prying the keys from his hands. Your stepdad would probably plant a wet, sloppy kiss on her cheek to win a ‘yes’ in return—and when she shyly reminded him that he couldn’t afford to get another DUI, he’d get pissed and yank them out of her fist anyway.
It didn’t bother you as much today because you knew they were only driving a couple blocks away to get to the farmer’s market, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t hope he’d get caught. Again. Maybe blow a 0.25 this time and land his old, ungrateful, law-breaking ass in Travis County Jail, where his little brother Tommy was likely keeping a cell bench warm for him, per usual.
At any rate, you didn’t have time to be fantasizing now. It was your turn to embody some guy’s grossest wet dreams for the next two to three hours. Stripping away layer after layer of your latest, tightest ‘costume’ while catering to whatever requests happened to float in your inbox, you knew you’d be up to your eyeballs in work. Though almost routine by now, you had to hurry up.
If you could just get the rest of this ridiculous gunk out of your clothing, you’d be all good to go for the job.
TRMAN22: Pour honey on your tits in the next vid???
TRMAN22: Milk too. All over you.
Looking back, you probably shouldn’t have obliged that request. Now you were facing the consequences—forced to throw all your clothes in the washing machine because the milk and honey you’d dumped on yourself for that video had gotten everywhere, and then swiftly congealed while wasting away in a pile of laundry for over a week.
The whole heap smelled rancid. Still felt sticky, too. Presently, you chucked each one inside the washing machine while holding your breath, and as soon as the last was discarded, you sniffed the shirt you had on.
Tolerable. With the rest of your stuff in the wash, you hoped to get at least one request off the checklist:
TRMAN22: Bet you’d look sexy in a schoolgirl outfit!!
TRMAN22: Why don’t you try one on for me?
It was gag-worthy and gross. Slightly alarming for a man who was more than likely twice your age and old enough to remember Watergate, but you agreed to play along. Your old school uniform was, after all, the only clean clothes you had left, and ‘TRMAN22’ was, unfortunately, your top subscriber. He’d paid $300 for this video alone.
TRMAN22: Wear some NEON pink panties for me too ;)
You squatted in front of the washing machine and stuck a hand inside. You sifted around, furrowing your brows.
The brightest undies you owned were in there, soiled, but you figured you could get away with one gross article of clothing, all things considered. You reached a little further and continued to dig. When you couldn’t find it by feel alone, you peered inside the circular, metallic cavern of the washing machine and craned your neck.
Not here…not here…not—
You tilted forward, venturing a closer look with your head, then shoulders, pushing into the machine.
—here, not here, not—
“EW!” you shrieked.
In your search, you’d inadvertently brushed up against a mildewed piece of clothing that had gotten wedged between the grooves of the washing machine’s interior.
A pair of boxers, it seemed.
You recoiled as soon as your fingers grazed the wet and smelly thing. Your skull went crack against the low-sloped ceiling of the appliance, and a jolt of pain was quick to course through you at the contact. You groaned.
Of course Joel had forgotten some old, cum-stained scrap of fabric out of his last load. Always leaving his shit around for you or your mom to pick up like he owned the place. And here you went, again, angrily plugging your nose and pulling as hard as you could on the shorts to get them free from the washing machine. You hardly thought twice, just made a face and then yanked on it.
The boxers wouldn’t budge.
You tugged even harder. The fabric stayed put.
Something akin to a grunt and a whimper, only far more pathetic, slipped out of your mouth, and you slapped the half-hollow steel wall in frustration. Surrounded as you were—fully encased in metal—the sound just echoed.
“Fucking…CUNT.”
You weren’t sure if you were talking to the shorts, the machine, or Joel Miller in the abstract. Or maybe all three. You just hated the thought of washing your lingerie with your stepdad’s skivvies, and no amount of rational thought or practical reasoning could hold you back now.
The tip of your index finger sank deep beneath the same ridge of the wall where the boxers had gotten stuck. You curled it inward, trying to loosen the material up a little. You wriggled your knuckle even further. And just when you managed to get a hold of the cusp of the tangled fabric—just when it seemed the green plaid cluster was about to give way—you heard a low pop. You felt it, too.
Shortly, your finger was pinched inside the deep, blunt valley of steel that had similarly snagged Joel’s boxers. It seemed you’d pushed the tip of your finger so far that you were caught straight down to the second knuckle—trapped between two grooves of unforgiving alloy inside the washing machine tub with no clear means of escape.
You jerked your arm back, panicked. When the metal sank its teeth even deeper, you didn’t stop. Completely heedless of the pain, you operated on impulse and by the feeling of needing to get the fuck out of that little space, quickly, and instead yanked your hand back even harder.
To your horror, your finger was stuck.
“FUCK!”
You stared down at the poor digit, only half-visible inside the wall at this point, then glanced down at the heap of sweaty, sticky, slutty pieces of clothing that were presently strewn about you, and felt an even deeper stab of dread. Stuck inside your family’s washing machine with every bit of damning evidence one could hope to have—and wearing your old school uniform to boot—you realized at once you were fucked if you didn’t get out.
You slammed your palm against the nearest wall once more, shaking your other wrist like an unruly child.
“FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK!”
You weren’t good at solving problems. In point of fact, you sucked at all things prudent resolution-related and regularly made it a habit to capitulate whenever you sensed loss inevitable. You were a little like your mother in that way, quick to give in to life’s uglier challenges. The only way you could conceivably claim to be stronger, the only place you always had the strength to say ‘no’ was—
“Aw, shit.”
—Joel.
Your throat tightened as soon as you heard the voice. Your eyes went wide, and the rest of you went numb.
Bent at the waist and kneeling with half your body inside the washing machine, you remained there, motionless. Back arched and ass out. Thanks to the way you’d rolled your old plaid skirt, the fabric covered almost zero cheek.
Someone behind you cleared their throat. Then coughed.
And coughed again, again, and again. Evidently trying to clear the smoke out of his lungs and the surprise from his eyes as he drank in your sight from the doorway.
“What in the—wh—th—” You could hear Joel wheeze, beating his chest with his fist, “What— in— the hell?!”
“Help me,” you hissed.
You weren’t sure why you chose that as your go-to. It just sounded like the right thing to say, and frankly, you weren’t sure how else to distract from the fact Joel was probably gawking at your ass as he coughed up a lung.
“The fuck do you mean ‘help’?! What are you doing?”
The coughing subsided, if only momentarily. You tried pulling back on your finger again to get out, but couldn’t.
“I-I’m…I was just…” you stammered, heart racing.
You heard the tread of heavy footfalls. You felt them.
“Just—trying…” you ventured again, suddenly at a loss for words and breath alike as you felt a presence draw in.
You could smell him.
That realization alone made you want to stop taking in air altogether. It happened out of instinct, really—feeling the shift of two huge boots settle behind your feet and then flinching inward, further inside the metal tub for…safety? A pang of abject humiliation? You were far past the point of civility with the man, caring what he thought, or fearing for your modesty in a position like this, but something about the proximity now just made you itch.
You wished your finger wasn’t jammed inside this appliance so you could give that feeling relief, somehow.
At length, Joel’s voice dragged you back:
“What’s stuck?”
Too calm. A second passed. Then he added, more stern,
“This some fuckin’ joke’a yours or somethin’?”
“No!”
“Then what—”
“My finger. My finger’s stuck.”
You tried to crane your neck to see behind you, but all your eyes had to feast upon was denim. Bluish-grey stonewashed denim, faded with years of use. Joel stood back for a second, as if considering what to do, and then you saw two hands descend to brace themselves against his knees. He bent at the waist to get a better look below.
When his eyes locked with yours, you got the same twist in your gut as you’d felt before, only sharper. Shameful.
The look on Joel’s face was abnormally bright.
“And how on earth did that happen, dumbass?”
Your shame morphed into chagrin in a blink, seeing the ghost of a smile bleed into your stepdad’s features.
“‘Cause of you, leaving your shit in here!” you snapped. Your chin jerked toward the green fabric, “I was just trying to get your boxers unstuck—and my finger…”
Your finger was kind of fucked.
Joel cast a look inside at the source of your frustration. He extended his left arm and reached over your torso, and as he did, you felt the slightest, albeit solid, sort of warmth press in. The man let out a low groan of exertion—likely at the strain the movements placed on his joints.
The warmth got worse. You weren’t sure where it started.
Vaguely, you were aware of Joel’s thumb pressing into your hand. Gliding down your finger, stroking across the spot where your knuckle had gotten caught, he circled over it, slowly, and made another sound in his throat.
“Well that ain’t…good.” Not one to mince words.
By now, your whole body was on fire. You barely had the strength to keep kneeling, much less speak to the man thumbing your hand and pressing his heat so close—
“Just get me out!” you shrieked.
You heard your mother’s voice in that. A shrill, impatient lilt in her speech that came out, invariably, around Joel. Normally, he would have done something to deserve it. But today, with his hand splayed over yours and his breaths as calm and even-keeled as he could hope to have them while he tried to help, he was blameless.
Evidently, he heard a trace of your mother too, because you heard him laugh. You felt the reverberations of his amusement travel up from his belly all the way to his lips.
“Cool your pits, kid.”
For that, you would’ve loved nothing more than to reach back with your free hand and hit him in the balls. But, as it was, this man was your only hope for escape, and he was being tolerably polite, anyway. He pinched your finger between the tips of two of his and gave it a tug.
“Okay, lemme just—” Joel started.
“Why are you home, anyway?”
The question came out more clipped than you meant it.
“Why are you dressed like that?” Joel countered evenly.
“I asked you first.”
“I asked you second.”
You reckoned he could probably feel you roll your eyes, even if he wasn’t able to see you do it right now. He waited another moment, then leaned back on his haunches and withdrew his arm from the tub.
“Mama don’t like me drinkin’ and drivin’, you know that.”
With that, the warmth was gone. Joel retreated.
“Like that’s ever stopped you before.”
You heard him exhale a little harder through his nose. When he’d steadied himself against the washing machine, gave his knees another second to prepare for getting up again, you could feel his eyes back on you. Maybe he lingered longer than his legs really needed.
Maybe if he hadn’t stayed crouched like that, he wouldn’t have gotten the chance to give your surroundings a second look. He wouldn’t have stopped to watch the rate of your breaths pick up or the way your skin startle to bristle with some strange, unknown sensation. He certainly wouldn’t have felt for himself the fever leaking out from the base of your spine right then.
Today just wasn’t the day for keeping secrets, it seemed.
“And what’s this?” You could feel Joel lean back in.
He was looking again. Peering inside. Steadying his weight with the edge of the washing machine gripped in one hand, while the other snaked its way back inside.
You’d already squeezed your eyes shut by the time Joel got a hold of something. You didn’t know what it was.
But it became painfully clear that it wasn’t just one ‘thing’ that had grabbed his attention at all, but rather a series of items that his hands were just now getting to explore. You didn’t have to see his broad and tan, callus-streaked fingers to feel them roaming over your clothes.
Gross.
Gross.
“Gross,” Joel agreed, as if he’d read your mind. Grinning.
If you thought the embarrassment was bad before, you really only knew a fraction of what humiliation could be. Your finger throbbed along with the pulse in your skull.
Your mother’s husband whistled and lifted something.
“Darlin’, this is just…disgusting.”
You winced. You tried not to pry an eye open, to steal a covert look through the frame of your lashes in that dim and crowded spot, but the inducement was too great—Joel was dangling one of your lime green G-strings like it was a fish he’d just caught out on the lake. Boasting it.
Doting, almost.
“Well I’ll be—”
“Will you quit?!” you snapped.
You grabbed the thing out of his hand and threw it aside.
“Can you be serious? For one fucking secon—”
“Oh, I’m bein’ serious, sweetie,” Joel cut in. Cool as ever, “Serious as the business end of a .45, I swear.”
He paused. Then he reached for a white nylon bustier, drenched in a layer of honey that was as hard as a rock.
“Do you always keep your little…skank tanks so filthy?”
That was it. You kicked your heel back—and up—and made a pass to hit your stepdad square in the balls.
Your aim wasn’t the best it’s ever been, seeing that half your body was trapped inside a home appliance at the moment, but what your jab lacked in accuracy, it made up for in force: your foot plunged into the seam of Joel’s jeans full throttle. From the way the back of your heel plowed into his crotch, and the sound that clawed out of his throat the same instant, you reckoned you did okay.
What you weren’t expecting was a smack in return.
An answer in kind—delivered by the palm of Joel’s hand.
A taut, thoughtless THWACK on the swell of your ass.
Your mouth fell open. Your body barely had the chance to recoil when, shortly, another blow landed on your cheek.
Joel spanked you.
Spanked you.
“Fuckin’ brat,” he spat. His palm had slid up with the weight of his last slap, and now his fingers were clenched in a fist in the back of your skirt. You couldn’t see it, but you could feel him gripping fabric. It was firm.
He was firm—unrelenting in his hold.
Kneeling behind you, yanking back a handful of tartan skirt like it was nothing, then sidling up behind you.
And just when your attention was drawn to some other firm thing, it was shortly diverted by another sensation.
“JOEL!” you shrieked as he gave you another spanking.
The bare skin of your cheeks was on fire. Joel hit hard. Just when you feared you might legitimately whimper with the sting of that last blow, and while the imprint of his palm was still fresh, you felt it move again. Lower.
“Joel.”
That came out more like a whine than a cry of protest. And how could you, now, when he was soothing the raw bite of his hand with a touch that was kneading the skin?
Working the soft, supple flesh of your ass in his hand like he’d never dream of being anything else but gentle to it.
“Good?” Joel said.
Your head flinched to nod, but your brain thought better.
It did feel good. So good, in fact, that your eyelids were starting to droop just a bit and your back was subtly arching into the touch, but those were only instincts. Stupid, useless, brain-rotted reflexes born of years of paternal neglect and replete indifference, the likes of which could bring a grown man to his knees, begging—
“Please.”
But the entreaty was your own, and the voice that spoke it was hoarse. Your belly sank into the circular aperture of the washing machine, and you could feel your ribs scraping close to metal. Nevertheless, you didn’t mind. That ditzy lizard brain of yours was starved for physical touch, and who were you to deny her at a time like this?
No, not when Joel was squeezing like that.
Groping was the more appropriate word for it, really. Notwithstanding the decades of sexual experience that no doubt preceded the man that was standing before you—behind you—today, Joel was unduly coarse. His broad, weathered hand made as if to cool its former sting, but the motions themselves were jerky. Desperate.
He needed this worse than you, the fucking pervert.
Just when the realization had begun to settle over your mind and your legs were getting to feel a little less like jelly, knowing you weren’t the only weak one here, Joel’s palm slowed down. He pressed the heel of it into your flesh as if to force himself to stop, then he took a breath.
“Now use your words.”
“But—” you sputtered.
“I said,” Joel resumed, and you could sense it was through gritted teeth. His movements came to a halt.
“We use our words when we want somethin’, hear?”
It was the first you’d heard Joel attempt to enforce anything close to discipline with you in your life.
That had to warrant a little defiance, no doubt.
Under your breath, quiet: “So ‘we’ includes ‘you,’ too?”
Beneath that one, seemingly innocuous question was lurking another, and both of you knew it: Remember that time you put a fist through the kitchen wall? Was that a good example of what it means to ‘use words,’ Joel? Whether it was adequate provocation or not, you could sense what was coming next before you’d even finished. When the spank landed on your right cheek so loud that it echoed, you didn’t flinch. You did snag your lip between your teeth to keep a sound from spilling out.
“A dad makes rules. Ain’t his to follow,” Joel growled.
You blinked and bit down harder. Watched the broad, amorphous shape of the man’s reflection shift along the back metallic wall in hues of grey and blue and wished you had the strength to turn around and face him then.
“You aren’t my dad.”
“Said ‘a’ dad, didn’t I?”
“You’re not that either.”
Heat was rising to your cheeks again, this time for different reasons. For a cause you were far better acquainted with to date—annoyance at Joel.
“So that means I’m—”
“Nothing. You’re nothing to me,” you finished, tone wry.
Nothing to anyone, you wanted to add. Not with a shiny gold band latched onto your left hand to tell the world that you’re married to my mother, a pack of smokes tucked away in the jeans she washes every week, or a couple years spent under the same roof as me. Nothing.
Your teeth clamped back down—and almost sank clean through your lower lip this time—when next you felt a touch at the plush, covered mound that was normally shielded between your legs. The spot that was hardly ever tilted up in a position like this, exposed to the air and a man’s hungry gaze, now invaded by the press of a single thing: a warm and soft middle finger at your core.
Joel brushed the tip of it against your entrance, through your panties, and sucked a breath through his teeth when both of you felt a tiny squelch at the pressure.
He pressed harder, and the wetness only spread.
You didn’t have to be in Joel’s position to know what he was seeing, but the feeling from his finger overpowered any better sense to speak—or tell him to stop. He traced his slow, cruel circles against your warmth and moved it up to where he knew he’d find your bud, and when you whimpered, he simply added his index to the mix. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind you were leaking heat at that point. You could feel it seeping beneath his touch.
“Nothin’, huh?” Joel breathed, voice low. Your arousal made a sickening hiss beneath his fingers as he rubbed you even harder, “This feel like nothin’ to you, honey?”
You couldn’t speak. He knew you weren’t capable of it.
“‘Cause this sure don’t feel like nothin’ to me.”
Wet and tacky beneath his touch, your warmth supplied the answer that your mouth couldn’t form. It came out in more of a tap, tap, tap, punctuated by breaths that were toiling in earnest not to turn into moans too soon. But, as hulking and clumsy as his hands had once shown themselves to be, the old man knew where to put them, at least. He made circles on your clit with practiced ease.
“You can try lyin’ to me, but she can’t.”
He was right. ‘She’ was a traitor.
You could deny it all you wanted, but the proof was there.
Indeed, she was crying. Aching. Bleeding with desire. Throbbing beneath the pads of Joel’s fingertips and growing only more desperate as he increased the speed of his touch. When he notched the drenched cotton to the side, you had to grit your teeth to keep in a whimper.
Joel whistled.
“See? Seems like she likes me just fine right here.”
Your jaw stayed wired shut with the weight of your own humiliation. Instead of answering aloud, you hummed. Made a sound low and soft in your throat like, ‘Uh-hmm’ and tilted your hips, as if you didn’t know how else to ask. Joel couldn’t see inside the washing machine, but he must’ve felt the gesture, because he greeted it with a motion of his own: he chuckled, and he puckered his lips.
And when you felt the warmth of his spit hit you between your folds, your shame should’ve tripled. Should’ve made you flinch away from his touch and tell him that was so fucking gross, Joel, stop, but then he smeared it up your slit. He pressed in and mixed it with the rest of your arousal; any reproach died on your tongue in an instant.
A part of him was on you now. Trickling in, sticking to the most sensitive part of you, and settling into your skin like a glaze. With his other hand, he found your skirt again.
“Who’re ya wearin’ this for, sweet pea?” Joel murmured.
“No one.”
Another glob of spit landed between your cheeks. Now, the man used the lubrication to sink two fingers inside you—pushing them in until the rim of your cunt met his knuckles. You whined at the stretch, felt him coax your walls open with a consciousness and a carefulness that felt almost mean, but then he stroked down the base of your spine with the hand that still held onto your skirt. He soothed your startled cry with a curl of his fingers.
And he found the soft, spongy patch of flesh inside that made your eyes roll straight to the back of your skull, quickly. Working his fingers in and out, flattening the base of his free hand over the skin exposed by your flipped-up skirt, and watching your body give way to the force of his fingers, he was uncharacteristically patient. Exacting in the way he worked your body open to him.
“What do you care?” you groaned. You winced when you felt a squelch signal that he’d stretched you even wider.
“‘Cause,” Joel started, slow. Pumping his fingers through your folds and likely wondering when he’d add a third, “You got your hand stuck in a fuckin’ washing machine, a treasure trove of this slut stuff piled in a heap…I mean…”
“They’re just clothes!”
“Just clothes?”
In the wake of those terse, incredulous words, you tried your best to match his tone—call his bluff—but the only sound that came out of your mouth was punctured by a pitiful whine. He tried another finger but couldn’t fit it in. As wet as you were, and as strong as he was, your cunt wasn’t quite ready to accept all three of Joel’s thick, probing digits inside. You’d fit more than a thing or two with a girth even greater than that in the past, but you figured your nerves might have something to do with the way you were tightening around the man’s fingers now.
Why you couldn’t take more of him in, as much as you wanted him there, felt, at present, like something of a shortcoming, and a pathetic one at that. You let out a breath, and a second later, Joel slowed his motions.
You didn’t expect him to stop. Didn’t hold out a hope he might curtail his pace and talk you through a quiet, gentle arrangement for fitting a third finger inside you—that just wasn’t him. You didn’t have to share a paper-thin bedroom wall with your mother and her husband for the last however many years to know that Joel Miller was not a tender lover. It simply wasn’t in his nature to care.
So when you heard the clink of a belt coming undone a moment later, your senses strangely flooded with relief. He wouldn’t care, wouldn’t inquire, wouldn’t coddle with false, romantic ideals of how a woman should be treated.
In that way, Joel shared something in common with your father after all: he set standards as low as they could go.
“Just clothes?” he repeated, snapping your underwear against your ass and jerking the fabric further aside.
Then somehow send those expectations even lower.
There was a hand splayed out across the small of your back. Another fiddling with the front of his pants, wrestling the button and zip of his jeans in little more than one, two, three careless seconds, before he drew in closer to your rear. Your slit was messy, wet, and exposed to his eyes once again. For a second, you almost took comfort in the fact that your hand was still wedged inside a groove of steel and you couldn’t meet his gaze.
That was, until Joel slid his bare length along the seam of your cunt. When the inability to see him made it so you had no other choice but to be surprised when he finally touched you was unnerving, to say the least.
And when the head of his cock blended seamlessly between your folds, was drenched in less than a blink and nearly notched straight into the place you needed him most—well, that had an effect on him, too. Joel moved his flat and sweaty palm up your back, found purchase in the hem of your blouse, and gripped it. Tugged it down a little more and let a low groan billow out of his throat while he rocked his hips back and forth.
Desperate, clumsy, pussydrunk Joel was back before you’d even realized he’d left. Only now he was keen to put the disquiet and hesitations to rest; he needed to fuck you before either one of you wisened up just then.
Your parts and his commingled again. First, with the lethally warm trail of precum leaking out from his tip. Then the intrusion that followed, inevitably, glossed with self-indulgence and desperation—soiling any semblance of platonic affection or parental attention—as he fed you the first inch of him. Barely half the head got fitted inside and your grip on that was like a vice. Joel’s was bruising.
Suddenly firm on your hips, carving crescents in the skin:
“When’s the last time you got fucked, baby?”
You reckoned Joel had a guess—and it wasn’t correct.
“Last…week,” you whimpered, words punctuated with a sigh as his cock tried to make room for more of him.
Joel sucked in a breath that almost sounded like a laugh. He’d barely gotten an inch past his tip, facing more resistance than he’d felt in a long, long time, and you were wet, but so tight. He was big but not so massive as that. He couldn’t fathom what you were saying was true.
“That…fratboy fuckstick you went out on a date with?”
“Didn’t think you even saw me leave.”
Joel withdrew, gripped your hips even tighter, then drove his cock to nestle three solid inches inside your cunt. It was extra snug, but he made sure to try to loosen you up with a couple short, shallow thrusts and a hand gradually drifting down between your legs. Of course he saw you.
The circles on your clit and slow-growing movements may as well have been kerosene in your veins. With what limited range of motion you had in that grey, compact space, you let out a sigh and dug the fingers of your free hand into the closest scrap of fabric beside you. Joel’s own touch gradually moved from your hip to drag your hand behind your back, clasping his. He fucked in deeper
“So that’s who this is for?” Thumbing your skirt.
“Y-Yeah,” you lied.
“Wanted to send naughty pics in the schoolgirl getup?”
“Yes,” you lied again. You closed your eyes when Joel sank his cock even deeper and made you stretch inside.
“‘Atta girl,” he praised.
It might’ve been the first he’d validated you in your life.
“Grippin’ this cock extra tight, ain’t ya, sweet girl?”
Never in a million years would you have imagined it’d come this late—or leave Joel’s mouth in a way like that.
‘Elastic’ wasn’t a word you’d ever used to describe your body, either. Frankly, there was no need for it to be; every one of your partners before had been average-sized, and every other object that went inside you, too, had almost always been a comfortable squeeze between your walls. Outside of maybe your first time and a once-off awkward hookup now and again, you were never forced to feel a stretch to this degree. Joel felt huge moving inside you.
He was nearing your cervix and still nowhere close to the base of his cock. Meanwhile, you were stuffed to the brim, saturated with arousal and his spit, and practically keening at every stab of his hips. You couldn’t reach back because Joel’s fingers were still enmeshed with yours, gripping them hard behind your back. As wore down, fucked out, and desperate as you already were, you were less than only a second away from asking him to ease up.
And then he stopped.
Joel pulled out, let go, and pressed onto the old washing machine, where you heard his touch echo through metal.
He was leaning against it. You were about to turn around. Before you could, though, you felt his form mold into yours—this time not in it, but on it, as he drew closer and once more reached into the space where you were stuck.
“Can you be brave for me, baby?” Joel murmured.
“Wh—” you started, soft, only to feel the words plucked straight from your lungs as Joel leaned his body inside. Carefully, and with concerted effort, it seemed, he was trying to squeeze his way into the O-shaped hole of the washing machine, snaking his arm around your torso.
Pinching your finger again. Breathing just gently enough for his exhales to tickle at your shoulders and your neck.
“Can you be brave?” he repeated, and you weren’t sure you’d ever heard him so soft-spoken, or felt him so close.
You nodded, not knowing why.
Without another word, your stepdad pinched the digit even tighter and yanked it out from where it was stuck.
It all happened so fast. Joel freeing your finger, squeezing it tight, helping you out of that hot and crowded space while your legs gave way like mush beneath your weight—and your hand throbbing in pain. You’d never thought a single finger could cause a feeling as strong as that, but it stung like hell. You almost raked your nails through the man’s arm when he tried to hold you back, holding you up just as well as you stood.
“Joel!” you screeched, like the whole thing was his fault.
You flexed your hand and wanted to sob. You could feel the streaks of pain start to claw up your wrist, were just about to shove Joel aside and wallow in agony, when at length, he did something strange and unexpected again.
This time, he lifted your index to his mouth and kissed it.
It wasn’t a sensual kiss. Coming from Joel, it hardly even seemed affectionate. His lips were so warm and firm and decidedly unacquainted with anything approaching a threat of tenderness that his act read almost aggressive. He let your finger rest loosely against his mouth, and he kissed it again, while his eyes burned holes into yours.
‘You’re okay’ came out muffled against your hand.
“You’re okay—hey—baby, you’re good. Don’t cry.”
You hadn’t even noticed the tears had started to form. You blinked and felt one trickle down your cheek. With the hand that wasn’t holding your wrist, Joel brushed his thumb against that lone trail of moisture. He didn’t cup your face, hold you close, or stroke your cheek in the seconds that followed, though he did keep kissing you.
Or, rather, it—your finger.
Joel didn’t have to care for you at all. He just feared he might’ve pulled on your hand too hard in getting you out.
‘You’re okay’ was being mumbled away like a fractured refrain, touch descending gently to your hip, and his eyes grew softer by the second, surely he had to be thinking it.
Sinking inside you, again. He was standing; your hips were tilted to his, and your ass was pressing flat against the front of the washing machine. All it took was an inch or two off the ground and your limbs hanging limply around his hips for Joel to fuck back into you. He sucked on your finger so hard you feared the skin might actually bruise—a hand hickey, of all fucking things—and when his grip tightened on your side, you knew he felt it too.
His teeth succeeded his lips in an instant, and he was biting, gnawing pathetically as a groan shuddered through his chest. If you didn’t know better, you might’ve said the sound was veering perilously close to a whimper.
Fully sheathed inside you, Joel Miller didn’t seem to care. His lids fell like lead across the upper half of his brown, glossy eyes, and the expression behind them was blank.
Safe.
“‘S’alright, baby,” he grunted. Maybe he’d just seen you wince, as he cradled your hand and withdrew another inch, “Keep squeezin’ me, it feels real good. Right here.”
Out of instinct, your gaze drifted down to the spot where his body joined with yours. The sight was hardly a shock, but the feelings it evoked were not—he had you split along two-thirds of his dick, a pretty shelf of belly protruding beneath and gleaming with the arousal he’d drawn out from your body. Tufts of silver and grey littered his skin in every direction, aged muscles tensed with the weight of each thrust, and the warm weathered hand that hadn’t dared touch you once before today was now cupping your chin. Tilting your head closer to him.
“Right here, baby. Look at daddy.”
Wild, unbridled heat flooded your brain in a second. The thing seared the insides of your skull with all the force of a fire and stole the air from your lungs just the same—still, you couldn’t refrain from making a face in disgust.
“What the fuck, Joel?” You shouldn’t have liked it.
His hand ascended your throat in a blink.
“Ain’t that what you want, sweet pea?”
“I—”
Just as you started to answer, though, his cock took a dizzying plunge, hitting exactly the right spot inside you. Like clockwork, your mouth fell open, a whine tumbled out, and Joel took that as his chance to grip your neck even tighter and push your hips against the washing machine, where his height afforded him an easy hold.
“What you want—”
He squeezed harder.
“—what you need—”
You gasped, starved for air. It wasn’t every day a man took your breath away. Not like Joel could, anyway.
“—is me, ain’t it?”
The gaze fixed on your face was alight with desire.
“Bet you miss him somethin’ awful, huh? Been needin’ a man to fill that spot ever since he left, haven’t ya, baby?”
‘He’ required no further clarification. The words stung. You communicated as much by wriggling your hips back and pressing your hand against Joel’s chest, just quit it.
Keep fucking me, but shut the fuck up about my father.
“I don’t miss shit,” you sniffed. Felt the head of Joel’s cock carve a shape somewhere deep inside your body and couldn’t pretend it wasn’t filling a metaphorical void someplace else. You hadn’t got this much attention from a man as many years your senior since…well, ever, really.
You preened beneath his touch. Wanting to feel. Wanting to please. Wanting, more than anything, to be needed.
Joel sated each craving with a simple hand smoothed over your face. His palm moved from your throat to your chin to the hinge of your jaw before coming to rest at the nape of your neck. This time squeezing lightly, bringing your face in close while he fucked you. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, and your stomach tightened inside you.
“That’s alright,” he said, words hardly above a whisper, “No need to miss that man at all, ‘cause I’m right here.”
For once the assurance came as somewhat of a comfort. You suspected it had something to do with the fact he was balls deep inside you and pushing you closer and closer to the brink of release with each painstaking stab of his cock. You fisted his flannel, holding him there. Spreading your legs, accepting his thrusts, taking each movement with ragged, shallow breaths and moans that blended with his own, you felt your body grow warmer.
Almost febrile beneath him as he tilted your head again.
“Who’s your daddy now?”
You winced, shaking your head. You hated that word.
“Who’s your daddy?”
Joel lowered his hand and began to thumb at your clit. Hot pleasure coursed through you, made you whine at the contact and dig your heels even deeper in his back.
“Who’s your daddy, baby? It ain’t that hard to say.”
But it was. Joel stroking your clit, stuffing you full, ghosting his lips against yours without ever furnishing a kiss, just goading you on with: ‘I know you wanna say it.’ Tough grey stubble teased your mouth with each word.
“I know she needs to cum, sweet girl. Know that poor little pussy’s taken a beating—and she’s done so good for me—but she needs to let it out now. All over me.”
His gaze held yours. You couldn’t turn away.
An unmistakable tenderness pervaded that look, and it didn’t seem keen to depart. No matter how tightly you pursed your lips, made fists in his shirt, or choked his cock between your walls in fluttering, desperate pleas, the man remained calm. Attentive. The eyes didn’t stray.
“It’s okay to say it.”
“C-Can’t—”
“Sure can. Be the easiest thing you ever do—D-A-D-D—”
“Please. Please.”
You hardly even knew what you were asking for at this point, only beholden to that big, swollen something in your tummy starting to give way beneath the push of Joel’s cock. Tightening up, leaking out, practically drooling down the length of this man who seemed relentless in his current pursuit. Two more circles on your clit and you were keening, whimpering pathetic as ever:
“Pleasepleasepleaseplease.”
“Say it now. Who’s it for?”
Above you, Joel’s teeth gleamed in a smile—or a snarl, you couldn’t tell. All you knew was the pleasure, the concomitant pain of having to contain this desperation while his thrusts sped up. You were bouncing on him, getting fucked against the washing machine in the raw and terrible central Texas heat wearing a sheen of sweat and a set of clothes that no longer fit your body, but that was just fine. You were okay. Joel was here, and he was holding your head, lips hovering less than an inch away.
“Who’s. Your. Daddy?” His words were slow. Coarse. Spilling into your mouth with every short puff of breath.
You couldn’t take it. You felt a band of pressure come to a head in your belly and the brush of Joel’s cock making its rounds in and out of your swollen cunt, pushing hard, and you knew that you’d had enough. He knew it, too.
“Y-You.”
“Who?”
“Joel.”
“Who?”
Your wet, pearly slick rang a deafening pitch. Enough.
Joel drove his cock, fully coated in you, down to the hilt. He captured your lips in a kiss and didn’t even mind your mouth was whining, hissing, whimpering its filthy pleas for him to fuck a nice, big orgasm out from your body.
“—want yours inside,” you added, without realizing it.
“Sweet girl…” Joel groaned.
You didn’t know what you were asking him for. How badly he wanted it, too. His cock dragged in and out of your precious cunt and was barely more safe from the threat of its grip when you spasmed, at the last. Joel should’ve expected no less, after all the time he’d spent teasing and edging, then begging you gently, in grunts, ‘Cum for daddy, baby. Let me have it, that’s it, good girl.’ Still, somehow, he wasn’t prepared in the slightest.
When you squeezed your eyes shut and kissed him back—that was all it took. When you clenched on his cock, gave the front of his shirt a tug, locked your ankles about his hips so you could more properly increase that friction by fucking him back, grinding in place, he feared he might fairly make an irreparable, unforgivable mistake.
And when the whites of your eyes appeared again—eyelids fluttering open while your lips were glossed with his spit and a lazy smile—and said what you said next, he sensed that his fate was sealed. The old man was fucked.
“Cum inside me, daddy. Please.”
Joel couldn’t have stopped himself if he tried. He shuddered, then flooded your insides with rope after rope after rope of his spend, burying his face in your neck and taking your hips in his hands like a looser grip might lose you to him forever. He fucked his cum deep, deeper, darlin’ don’t move, can’t lose a drop, baby, please, he let out a whimper that made your walls pulse again. You felt him fill you to the brim and keep rutting his hips. Your body and his were shaking by the last of it.
And when he was finished, Joel dropped a kiss along your limp, glistening lips. He slid you back on the metal. By the expression on his face, it was plain to see he was loath to withdraw, but he had to. That tender little hiss and the sounds of your shared fluids trickling out were all the impetus he needed to act quick. As soon as he’d pulled out, Joel was back leaning against the washing machine—tilting your hips back a little, then lowering his sweaty, handsome head to the spot between your legs.
The wrinkles to the sides of his eyes grew more pronounced when he smiled. A happy grin, plastered across his lips, would have struck you as almost smug, were it not for the look of sheer adulation that followed it.
Joel was enthralled, watching his cum leak out of you. He kissed your thighs, flickered his gaze to your own, briefly, then damn near sank his nose inside the place he was watching before your fingers stopped him cold.
It was your body, after all. He had already had his fill.
Hardly knowing what came over you in that moment, you sank two fingers inside your wet, drooling hole and watched the eyes of the man beneath you go wide. He soaked in that sight completely: you pushing his cum back in, drawing it out, using the viscous white liquid as a lubricant of sorts before releasing a pleased little sigh.
Joel closed his mouth reluctantly. It took him more than a second to tear his eyes from that place, but when he did, the motions were quick to grow assured, by turns.
As if remembering something.
In a second, the innocent smile you’d seen before was being infiltrated, slowly, by a look you couldn’t place. Joel’s grin morphed from gentle to contented to plainly enthused and beaming ear-to-ear with a conceited glint. With his finger, he tugged your panties back into place.
“Baby—” he started, only to be cut off lightning-quick.
“What? What is it?”
His smile stretched even wider. By that act alone, you were half-tempted to forget the events of the last hour and set your jaw in a scowl. You looked down, unamused.
“What?”
“It’s just…” The man trailed off, and as he did, his gaze descended with it—straight down to your bare pantyline.
You cast a look there too—“What the fuck is it, Joel?!”
At that, two brown eyes flitted back up to you.
“I thought I asked for neon pink underwear, baby.”
Your breaths slowed. His gaze didn’t waver. Your heart came to a standstill in your chest, and you were amazed you had even half your present willpower then to speak.
“Wait, Joel, wh—”
“Shame you couldn’t get around to filmin’ today. Had me hard as a fuckin’ rock with all that milk and honey stuff.”
You nearly choked on your spit. Joel kept grinning.
“You’re—”
The guy. That fucking subscriber. The one who’d paid almost $500 in commissions in the last month alone.
You stared at Joel with eyes as wide as saucers, and were about to press on, when you heard the front door to the house shriek back on its hinges. Two sets of footsteps followed it, and their entry inside was loud.
Immediately, Joel rose to his feet. It seemed that grin wasn’t meant to stay long on his lips, because the next thing you knew, he was dropping a kiss somewhere soft and sweaty on your face and flipping your skirt back into place, holding his index up to his lips and stepping away. Your mouth twisted into a frown but stayed zipped out of sheer necessity. Seeing this, and likely unable to help himself, your gross, depraved, grinning old man leaned back in and planted his hands on either side of your hips on the washing machine. His nose nudged into your own.
“Between us—” he began, slowly.
“Get fucked,” you finished for him.
Joel nodded his assent, smirk faint. He cast a look over his shoulder, and, hearing what sounded like your mother’s footsteps drawing closer, lowered his voice.
Rubbing his thumb under your chin, making you tip your head back to meet his for one final look—then a kiss:
“You keep my secret, I keep yours, alright?”
—
Note: I’ve never done a real writing challenge before, but hopefully this fic will work for #hotdilfsummerchallenge !!! @hellishjoel this is such a fun ass idea & i hope you enjoy❣️
summary: joel broke off your affair two weeks ago, and now he realises he’s made a grave mistake.
word count: 3.4K
content warning: age gap, joel is old enough to be her dad, reader is mid twenties but unspecified. Reader has cellulite, mentions of power play, Joel’s a bit of a creep lmao, possessive, obsessive behaviour, use of baby girl & daddy dynamic. Collaring, male masterbation, p in v, raw fucking, creampie, sorta rough sex, public sex, submission. (no outbreak)
Everyone has felt the eerie sensation once in their lifetime, the paranoid feeling of being stared at; only this time, you know you're being stared at. Everytime you bend down to pick up a discarded beer can off your fathers perfectly mowed lawn, with each soft handed gesture on one of your fathers older friends arms, every laugh that seemed a little too real.
But it was your intention, for him to notice you. Perhaps to show him that you could indeed live without him, despite the fact that two weeks ago, on his front porch you'd been weeping, grasping onto him as you beg him not to break things off with you.
The shameful memory of snot and tears mingling as you sobbed on your knees for another chance, like you’d even done anything wrong. Clinging onto the small silver chain he'd gifted you - a subtle everyday collar, one he’d promised with the intention of making you his, properly.
That someday he would make you his girl officially.
This evening, it seemed as though that girl had never existed, maybe it was all a figment of his imagination, of how he saw you, and wanted you to be. A sweet little girl dependent on him.
Joel had managed with teeth scraping against his bottom lip that this was for the best, that a sweet girl like you didn't need him invading your personal life, or that this was wrong, for a man twenty years older than you–let alone the fact that he was your fathers best friend.
Now as he watches you standing next to your fathers friends, with a middle aged woman on his arm, he feels sick to his stomach. You should be doing this with him, the shameless flirting, touching and sneakily bending over for him when no one else seemed to notice. It's like now, you didn't care who saw. Any attention was yours for the taking, and that repulsed joel.
The sweet girl he knew wasn't some attention starved daddies girl dying to fuck every single one of his colleagues and friends, Joel was special, had been.
What was this then, revenge? An attempt to outshine the woman he had on his arm that was closer to sixty than he was. No doubt, his date–Sue. She was beautiful, but she was too outgoing, too loud, too chatty. She drank too many glasses of wine and clung onto joel like he was some kind of prized show dog. Much like that mangy purse mutt she had at her house. Joel didn't belong with Sue, in her middle class house and aggressive teacup chihuahua.
The only place he had ever felt himself belong was with you, a subservient, submissive and sweet girl, did anything Joel had ever asked, found pleasure in being submissive. Maybe he did ruin you, turned you into some kind of modern day sexually aware woman that knew that she was too good for him anymore.
Once again, you're bending over to reach into the large cooler in your fathers shed not bothering to pull down your dress, Joel's eyes were drawn to the sight like a hound. He felt himself growing stiff at the sight of your asscheeks barely covered by the tight dress, each curve, hill and cellulite dimple could be seen leaving nothing to the imagination besides one thing.
What colour panties were you wearing?
“Excuse me a moment, won't you?” He utters to sue under his breath, prying her clinging arm off of his own and approaching you across the lawn, swerving between guests. Before he could reach you, you've left the shed, three cans of drink in hand as you hand them out to your father and two of his friends.
Joel scowls, snatching a cold can out of the cooler and watching you shamelessly across the front yard. He couldn't stop staring at you, your legs, the way your hips swing with every step. It was a fucking nightmare knowing that he had done this, created this confident vixen hell bent on torturing him. He couldn't grab at you, swiftly text you to steal you away for a few minutes for a quickie in the bathroom.
He had ended this, told you it was for good, for real this time.
You know he hasn't been able to take his eyes off of you, and finding your stomach, you approach his date later on in the evening after she's had a few drinks and is standing by her lonesome. “Hi, we haven't met, have we? You're Susan?”
The older woman greets you with a look of complete indifference, a non subtle judging stare in her olden glassy eyes as she gives you a look up and down. “Sue, actually, and you are?”
You reply with your name, giving her a sickly sweet and fake smile, standing tall and rolling your shoulders backwards, ready to cause some strife for the old hag. “So.. you're Joel’s.. what exactly..?”
The disbelief in your tone had the woman feeling insulted, and the stiff look of her face gave that away. She seemed incredibly insecure, you noticed the way she had clung onto Joel since they got here. “We’ve been talking for a while, I’ve heard he's going to ask me to be his girlfriend soon.”
A small snort escapes your nose, and before the woman could drill into you about your reaction..
“Oh you know.. He's just not that good with relationships you know? Totally a ladies man, he likes ‘em young–or younger than you, anyway. So don't hope too much that Joel even likes you at all..anyway, it was so lovely meeting you.”
You hear the woman huff loudly as you abruptly turn and walk away, knowing that you caused an absolute shit fire for Joel to deal with tonight, but you didn't expect Sue to start screaming at Joel the moment you walked away from her.
He sends a glare to you, across the yard, his eyes dark and furious. You were the cause of this, he knew it. As Sue screams at him, he drags her away, down the street.
It's a while before Joel returns, but he comes back alone, explaining to your father what happened. “She's having a moment, probably menopause or something.”
That was hilarious to you, and Joel catches you laughing, beelining straight to you. He grabs your hand, which you shake off, and he doesn't attempt to make another effort to grab you.
“The hell was that? Are you gonna start causing issues for me now?”
With a faux innocent tilt of your head you shrug your shoulders. “I'm sorry, I was just being honest with her, is honesty a problem now, Mr Miller?”
He shouldn't have gotten hard over such a minor thing, being called Mr Miller instead of Joel, that doe-ish look in your eyes as you look up at him, he cant help the stiffness in his jeans return again. Of course you notice the tension, the way he becomes uncomfortable, but you don't dignify him by looking at the thick bulge in his pants, not bothering to show any interest at all.
That.. is what bothers Joel the most. Your disinterest.
His eyes are glued to your every step as you walk away, he subtly palms himself through his jeans and makes his way inside of the house with the intent to wash his face and try to calm down the raging hardness of his cock, but when he smells your perfume in the bathroom.. He loses any sense of control he thought he had.
It was the same perfume you'd spritzed onto your skin before sneaking out to see him all those times, the floral scent lingering on your warm velvety neck. He locks the bathroom door behind him, looking at himself in the mirror. “Get a grip, Miller. She's done with you, you're done with her.”
He quickly contradicts his hollow whisper as he picks up a pair of used black panties on the top of the laundry basket, ones he knew were yours, the soft lace g-string, with a silver love heart on the front, covered in small diamonds, ones he had pulled to the side more times to fuck your hole than he could remember.
It's a desperate and shameful act, he knows, but doesn’t care. He desperately unzips his jeans and pulls out his thick, weeping cock from his jeans, stroking desperately. The other hand holds your panties and he looks at himself as he brings the lace material to his nose and smells it. They're used, and he pulls his cock faster as he shoves the material further into his face, a wet patch on your panties is all he can feel.
The smell of you has him groaning into the lace, desperately fisting his cock faster than he ever had. His knees buckle and he whimpers quietly as he starts sucking on the delicious soaking crotch of your panties as he doubles over the sink and spills a thick load, shooting across the basin.
Joel's sweating, taking one last inhale of your panties, before tossing them back into the laundry hamper, stuffing his softening cock into his jeans before turning on the tap to wash away any evidence of the violating act. He cups his hands under the running water and splashes some onto his face.
As he swings the bathroom door open, you're standing there with a shit eating grin. “All good in there?”
“Fine,” he utters, wondering if you knew, he couldn't meet your gaze after what he’d just done.
Fuck, you were evil for making him like this.
By midnight, everyone had gone home, stumbled off down the cul de sac to their houses, but you don't see Joel leave, which is strange. With your father inside of the house, and the lights shut off, you sneak out of the yard with your phone in hand, texting your friend with the intention of going to her house to drink, walking down the pathway down the street to where your car is parked.
Oblivious, you reach your car and are shocked to see Joel, leaning against the driver's side door. “Where do you think you’re going?” The growl sends a shiver up your spine, a feeling you miss.
“Out,” Joel towers over you as he stands upright, no longer leaning against your car.
“Like hell you are.” There's an edge of possessiveness to his tone, and the way he stands over you. “You need to explain yourself, all that shit you've been doing tonight.”
“I don't have to explain shit–” he cuts you off, his hand shoots out quickly to grab onto your hand. But you react without thinking and slap him.
His eyes snap shut from the force of your hand on his cheek, your hand now stinging from the contact. When he opens his eyes, his gaze is darker than before. He wraps his arms around your waist, grabbing a hold of you as he shoves you roughly against the side of your car door, you wince as your back makes contact with the cold metal. He stands flush against you, whispering in your ear as he cranes his neck downward.
“Careful. You shouldn't start something’ you can't finish baby girl.”
“I’m not your baby girl.”
God-if only you knew how much that struck a nerve within him. “Don't start that.” His voice is harsh, fingers digging tighter into the soft flesh of your chin.
“You're nothing to me.” You insist.
He bit back, his temper flailing. “Yeah? You really tryin’ to convince me that I ain't anythin’ to you, baby girl? That you don't care no more?” His thumb grips your chin harshly, jolting your neck up to look into his eyes.
There's a challenging look in your eyes, defiance, no sign of the devotion or submission he's so used to with you, he really has ruined you.
“Move Joel.”
He knew if he could just manage to get a peep out of you, a small whine or a moan out of you, that he could draw you back into him. His hand trails downward to your nipples, pinching softly, he knew it was such a sensitive area for you, which usually had your back arching.
You should have reacted, whimpered and squirmed or let out a small whine from those pretty lips that he was so used to hearing when he touched you like this. But you gave him nothing, no reaction at all, how did he let this happen? “Why the hell are you bein’ like this? Why are you fightin’’ me so hard?”
“Because I realised something, Joel.” Stepping forward, you bring your hand down to his belt, grabbing onto the buckle.
“And what is it that you think you have figured out?”
“It’s you who needs me.”
He couldn't even deny it, how his stomach felt sick at the thought of you knowing. That somehow you knew that this went beyond physical for him too. When he's silent, you roughly shove him away by the buckle of his belt. Stumbling a few feet back, he hated how weak he felt right now.
“You’re old, Joel. You love how it feels to have someone so much younger to pine over you, that's why things won't last with that old cunt, sue. Part of you needs me, joel, that why you were so fucking insistent on pushing me away.”
He freezes at your observation, words that are sharp, and true. Gritting his teeth, with his chest rising and falling, all he could do was breathe heavily.
“But me? I have options, time too. To find someone who would be proud to show me off. But you won't, you’re scared Joel, and it's because you're insecure.”
He feared this, thinking about you with men your own age, how they threw themselves at you, fit and capable of taking you out and giving you everything you ever wanted. Joel was selfish for wanting you all to himself, for craving you, obsessing and unable to let you move on. Because as long as even a part of you still wanted him, he was worth something. The grey hairs didn't matter, nor did his softening belly or the developing ache in his worn knees.
He hated how much he needed you.
You grip his chin, the salt and pepper scruff tickles your palm. Forcing him to look at you. “Say it Joel.”
His entire body tenses as you try to force the admission out of him, try to cut him open and deflower his tightly wound emotions. “Stop it.” He growls weakly, voice strained.
“Admit it!” You shout at him.
Every part of him begged for him to let go of this stubborn defiance and tell you how he felt, that he felt afraid, even though all he'd known was keeping you at arm's length. “Stop!”
With another harsh shove, you growl. “Just admit it!”
“Admit what? That I'm insecure, that I’m afraid of losing you? That every moment all I can think about is you, how much I fucking love you? What are you tryin’ to get out of me, huh?”
As his chest heaves, he can't help spilling out how he felt now, you broke the dam. “I worry that you'll find some other man to love you, touch you. That you'll come to your senses and realise you need someone your own age who is better able to take care of you.”
“So you broke my heart? That's how you face those fears?”
“The hell was I supposed to do?” With a defensive snap, he hated the weakness he felt now that you’d expelled the truth.
When you don't have an answer Joel is becoming more desperate for you to feel something for him, to let him know that there's still some space in your heart for him after all hed done.”Baby girl..” he whimpers, voice cracking with emotion..
“Don’t,” you protest weakly.
Joel realises that you don’t need him like this, all self doubting, you need your daddy.
He cages your body between his own and the car. “Too damn bad, because I’m touchin you, you ain’t rejectin’ me, you ain't gonna ignore me.” He leans his head down to your level. “And you sure as shit aint ever fucking leavin’ me.”
As he slams his hips against yours, finally a pathetically small whimper leaves your lips.
There it was, you were giving into him, that pretty sound he hadn't heard from you in weeks. “There's my pretty girl,” he whispers against the soft flesh of your neck.
“Don't fight me baby girl..” his lips on your neck have your back arching away from the car, leaning flush against Joel’s chest, but he doesn't want you to have any semblance of control. Roughly, he spins you around and shoves your body against the car, his chest flush against your back.
His hands unzip his jeans, pulling out his thick cock for a second time this evening, lifting your dress up to find you weren't wearing any panties at all, his eyes barely able to process the sight of your bare sopping cunt under the haphazard dim street light. “You knew what you were doin’ to me baby, wearing this tight dress and no panties.”
The palm of his hand smacks your wet lips, using the slick to coat his cock as he pumps it a few times.
His cock is thicker than you remember and you whine at the protrusion, forcing his cock inside of you as he forces you against the side of your car. A yelp leaves your lips and he quickly covers your mouth with his large hand. “Shh baby girl.. Daddy is gonna take you in the middle of the street, as a punishment for your actions. Don't want nobody to hear, do we?”
Frantically, you shake your head no, and he shakily praises you. “That's a good girl.”
Without any warning at all, he slams his cock into you, pushing your face into the car as he rams into you ferociously, fucking into you so deep that your eyesight starts to blur. “Think you can leave me? No body ain’t ever gonna fuck you like I do, baby girl.”
You squeal into his hand as he fucks you harder than he ever had, proving to you and himself that he was worthy of you. As your legs begin to tremble, Joel brings his other hand to pinch your nipple, and the orgasm crashes over you in waves, the feeling is intense and your body is limp between Joel and the car. Tears leave your eyes as your cunt clenches around Joel.
Joel's muttering under his breath. “That's it baby.. Make daddy feel so good. I'll kill anyone if they ever try to take you away.”
His thick cock pushes so deep inside of you for a final time as the tip twitches and he cums inside of you. Growling into your ear as his forehead rests on your shoulder.
Hesitant to pull out, he thrusts a few more times into you, making sure most of his cum stays inside you.
Pulling your dress down, he stuffs his cock back into his jeans and turns you around, wiping the steady tears off your cheeks. “Now go on back inside, alright? We’re going on a date tomorrow, a real one. Take you to a fancy place where we’ll sit down an’ eat. Just us. Daddy ain’t gonna leave you again, so that means you start wearin’ your collar again.”
Numbly, you nod, unable to form coherent words after the encounter. Pleased, he kisses your forehead, then gives your ass a light pat to send you on your way back inside your house. He stalks you down the street, making sure you get home safely, before retreating into his own house.
He watches you from his bedroom window as you turn on the dim lamp, and put on your silver collar just as he’d asked. He had his baby back, hell would freeze over before anything came between you, if your father found out.. Joel would handle him when it came to that.
masterlist | series masterlist | notifs blog | on palestine
pairing: college football coach!joel x f!reader
summary: [no outbreak] old habits die hard, so they say. you never understood why, but here you are, breaking into coach joel miller's house for a taste of what he's been keeping from you.
warnings: (18+ mdni) reader is a bad example (a REALLY bad example), joel is so nonchalant that it's almost crackfic material, getting a semi when a pretty girl attempts a break-in, guilty joel attempts to keep his morals intact (and promptly fails), age gap (22/52), could be considered dubcon by way of power imbalance but consent is enthusiastic, undernegotiated kink for sake of storyline but don't follow this example, explicit content, pussy pronouns, daddy kink, degradation, praise, meanish!joel, pussy slapping, belting/spanking with a belt, body writing, m!masturbation, cumplay/eating, panty play(?), face slapping, orgasm denialish (you'll see) [no use of y/n]
word count: 7k (wtf)
a/n: howdy. real cowboys never die so i'm back to continue what i started *checks watch* 11 months ago. (i also promised that if they won the game, i'd write this.) again, all of this is for entertainment parody, and any college implied here is incredibly fictionalized. coach!joel captured all of our hearts and he's here in this incredibly out of pocket (so out of pocket it's right) sequel. enjoy 💋
“This is head Coach Miller at Austin. I can’t get to the phone right now, but you can leave a text or a voicemail and I’ll be sure to get back to you–”
The answering message, as it plays through the tinny speakers of your phone, is dry, lackluster. As if Joel hadn’t wanted to record it at all, had said fuck it after the first take. It sounds nothing like the voice that had talked you through two of the best orgasms of your life.
You’d tried to rationalize it at first – he’s busy, a coach at one of the biggest college football programs in the United States, it’s approaching the playoffs, maybe he’s out of state recruiting some shithead high schooler – but after four missed phone calls and two unanswered texts spread out through the course of the week, you figure that’s that.
He’d been so tender with you after fucking your brains out. Dragging a wet rag along the seam of your thighs, redressing you, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. He’d even refused to let you walk to your dorm alone so late in the night, his guarding, protective arm hanging around your waist as he’d escorted you to the shitty building. Now you’re leaving clingy voicemails in his inbox, staring at a ceiling that’s probably full of asbestos as you try to make peace with the fact that Coach Miller didn’t give a shit about you – only your pussy. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
You were probably just some dumb college girl to him, close enough to graduating that he didn’t lose sleep at night over hitting it, but too far from adulthood to complement his crows feet and successful career.
Conclusion: even if it was the best sex of your life, you should’ve hightailed it out of there the second he’d offered to take you over his knee.
Again – you’re not known for making the best decisions.
You roll over on your stomach, burying your head in your arms and shutting your phone off.
The worst part about it all is that you’re fucking horny. Unbearably so. Even just sitting there, you can hear Joel’s filthy words carouseling through your head, that initial groan when he sank all the way inside of you. Your persistent horniness isn’t the only problem, either. Lately, your roommate never seems to leave the dorm, and when she does, you find that Joel has ruined your vibrator for you. Your pussy might just shrivel up if it doesn’t get the loving it deserves. He’d lit a permanent goddamn bonfire in your stomach, and it just so happened that he was the only one with a fire extinguisher.
But the same guy probably wants nothing to do with you. Probably came to his senses enough to know that everything about fucking his star player’s ex girlfriend is a recipe for bad news in the making.
There’s a version of yourself that doesn’t know when to stop. That’s the version that must be controlling you as you reach for your phone, opening up a new search. ‘Where does joel miller live?’ And, theoretically, you could stop right there, press the tempting little ‘x’ at the top of the screen and pretend that your mind hadn’t even gotten that far, that desperate. Instead, you click on the first article that appears: Miller’s new $1,000,000 Tarrytown home.
You could even stop there. Tarrytown isn’t a place for someone like you, waist-deep in student loans that need paying off. Tarrytown is wealthy and upscale, pretentious and genteel. In fact, you’d only passed through there once, almost blackout drunk in the backseat of your only sober friend’s car. You’d nearly jumped out of your goddamn skin upon seeing a roaming peacock with its feathers all spread, clucking through the street in search of a mate. She’s teased you about it ever since, but with what you have in mind, you’re about to be impersonating that peacock.
Knowing that the bastard lives in Tarrytown would usually be enough to put you off — if it were anyone else. Your ‘eat the rich’ values apparently stutter when there’s a chance of getting your pussy eaten.
Curiosity kills the cat, and so you poke around Zillow for recent sales in Tarrytown. Lucky for you, only one fits the description in the article. It’s multi-story, built on a half acre behind a centuries-old oak tree. And going for the hefty price of $1,002,358.
Nine minutes away. A good commute. Gated, and probably for good reason, considering what you’re about to do.
You throw on a nice, lacy set underneath your black clothes and top it all off with a black baseball cap. You’re pretty sure it’s Lucas’s, your shitty ex’s that had technically started this whole mess, but you can’t be too sure.
You don’t tell your roommate where you’re going, just that if everything goes well, you won’t be back until tomorrow morning.
You chain your bike to a lamppost, and it sticks out like a sore thumb on the cobblestone sidewalk. Even though you’ve already seen the pictures, Joel’s house is hardly even a house. It’s a fucking palace with windows for walls and a vaulted roof. Everything is stacked on top of each other, and the oak tree mentioned in the listing casts a shadow along the structure. The gas lamps adorning the gated limestone archway are on, and the flames wince across the concrete path leading into the home. They aren’t bright enough to blow your cover if Joel happens to peek through the many, many windows, but you steer clear of them regardless.
The gate really isn’t that tall, only about eight feet off the ground. A nearby sturdy tree gives you a good place to prop yourself up as you haul yourself over it and into a well-kept patch of ferns. You roll into the dirt, grunting as you almost fall flat on your ass. Your elbows catch you at the last second, and you take a few deep breaths.
You dust yourself off, squinting through the front of the house in hopes of catching a glimpse at him. He’s definitely home, and probably away, too, judging by the amount of lights that are on. Still, no sign of him. All football coaches have to be a workaholic. You wouldn’t be surprised at all if he was in his home office with his feet propped up, watching tapes of his opponents to prepare for the next game.
Good. Less chance of him seeing you right away.
Joel seems like the type of guy to subscribe to the ‘fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me,’ philosophy, so it makes sense that both of his garages are closed. You half-crawl, half-crouch your way through the front yard, careful not to crush any more of his plants as you creep your way up the front steps. You give his front door a shot. Locked, too.
“Shit,” you mumble to yourself. You inch through the brush, turning the corner of the house and taking cover behind his rumbling air conditioning unit so you can scan the back patio.
Of course Joel Miller has a pool. And you’d bet good money that he never uses it. There’s an unlit fire pit surrounded by a sunken seating area nearby, and you slink through the area to make your way over to the terrace. Your hand reaches out for the doorknob, but it doesn’t even get there before you’re eating shit for the second time that night.
A body slams into yours as you hit the ground with a cry, your shoulder taking the brunt of the impact as concrete scrapes at your palms. Even though it’s dark and everything feels like you’re trapped in a kaleidoscope, you’d have to be an idiot not to recognize the familiar weight pressing into you. Strong thighs wrap around yours. Calloused hands grab at your wrists, effortlessly pinning them over your head. You squirm, trying and failing to knee at the small of his back.
You should be scared, terrified, maybe, of what he could do to you. Push you into the pool and tell you to fuck right off at best, call the cops and have you arrested for two counts of trespassing at worst. But instead, all you can think about is the insistent press of his bulge between your legs, his broad shoulders hanging over your torso, his long fingers twisted around your hands. All of it renders your heart racing and your body motionless. You look up at him, unable to stop yourself from eye fucking him. Loungewear is a good look on him, gray sweatpants low on his waist and a tattered longhorns t-shirt. He has his reading glasses on, and fuck, if it doesn’t do something to you.
A tiny whimper slips out, and, naturally, that’s when Joel’s dark eyes flash with recognition.
Joel mutters your name, surprise thick in his tired voice. “What the hell are you doin’ in my backyard?” He goes back on his haunches and lets go of your hands. You rub at the sore spots he’d left in his wake.
You don’t answer, opting to look away to hide the shame that’s plain as day on your face. This was stupid. You’re so fucking stupid.
“Are you always tryna catch a charge?” Joel asks. He shakes his head at you, forehead wrinkling as he furrows his brows. All you can do is nod in response. “Un-fuckin’-believable.”
He finally lifts off of you, groaning as something in his back pops when he stands upright. He reaches down at you, and, stubbornly, you ignore his hand in favor of picking yourself up. You dust yourself off again, winching as you brush against a patch of skin that’s sure to bruise later.
“C’mon,” Joel says, nudging the back door open. You step inside and pause to wipe your shoes on the rug beyond the threshold.
The interior is also just as fancy as the Zillow photos had suggested. You find yourself in a lounge with a vaulted ceiling, surprised to find just how Joel the space is. There’s sports magazines on the coffee table and a half-empty longhorns tumbler filled with black coffee. The TV on the mantle of the fireplace is playing a rerun of a Dallas Cowboys game, surrounded by memorabilia like an unmarked high school football helmet, probably a souvenir from his varsity career.
“Now, what’s got your panties in a twist?”
“You didn’t answer my texts,” you say, albeit a little dumbly. You rub at one of your elbows to try to shake off the embarrassment.
Okay, aloud, it does sound just a teensy bit like an overreaction.
Joel blinks at you. Takes off his reading glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. Then, releases a long, winded sigh. “Shit – hun, I’m so sorry–”
“Save your sorries,” you spit back, suddenly angry of all things. Angry that he has you wrapped right around the same fingers that had been inside of you, angry that he hadn’t answered your calls, your texts, your voicemails, angry that he has the audacity to ask what happened. “All that talk about treating me right and you can’t even pick up the fucking phone. I’ll leave right now if you’re not interested, but the least you could do is let me know.” Your lower lip quivers.
He goes quiet, toeing at the ground. His hands land on his hips. “Darlin’–”
“He cheated on me and you trampled all over my emotional vulnerability so you could get your dick wet. How the fuck does that make you any better than the boys you promised to be better than? You’re just like them. Fucking your way through half of the campus and nothing to show for it.” You’re breathing heavily as your eyes burn more and more by the second. You keep thinking you’ll have more to say, but you don’t. Everything in your body feels like lead, and time moves like molasses. Only silence meets you. Of course, it’d end like this. You, humiliated, and him, held all but unaccountable for his actions.
You squeeze your eyes shut before turning around on your heel to leave the way you’d come. His hand, soft and guiding as opposed to the last time he’d touched you, wraps around your forearm. You plant your feet in the ground, but still don’t turn around to face him. “You’re right,” Joel says, voice acquiescent. “It wasn’t fair to you. But ‘s part of why I didn’t pick up. Ain’t right, you ‘n me. I took advantage of you. Practically coerced you.” You swallow, but it’s like swallowing needles. “You shoulda reported me the second you got back to your dorm. For… for violating you like that.” He damn near spits the word out like it’s poisonous. Violating.
If that’s what’s holding him back…
You shift, facing him. He scratches the back of his neck. His flush bleeds down to his chest. “Joel, the absolute last thing you did was violate me. I wanted it. Haven’t stopped fucking thinking about it. That’s why it hurt so bad when you left me hanging.” A frown pinches your lips. “You could’ve at least let me know, Joel.”
“You needa quit thinkin’ about it. Ain’t gonna do either of us any good.” He exhales. “Besides. Even if I wanted to reach out, I’ve been workin’ 17 hour days in prep for next week’s game. This is the first day I’ve had peace ‘n quiet since we…” He trails off, cheeks somehow reddening even more.
“How often do you do that?” you can’t stop yourself from asking.
“Do what?” he asks, his own lips falling into a frown. He looks a little bit like a kicked puppy, being on the receiving end of your confrontation.
“Take girls half your age over your knee at the workplace. Let them call you ‘daddy’ while they squirm in your lap. Fuck them?”
He squeezes his eyes shut and hisses. You can almost see the memories flashing behind his eyelids. “Gotta stop talkin’ like that, hun.”
“No,” you say, voice quiet. “Really. How often?”
“Never,” he says, and he sounds sincere. “Been over a year since I was last with someone. Been a whole lot longer since it… felt that good.”
You take a step closer to him, tongue slipping out to lick your lips. “Felt good for me, too.”
He shakes his head, still denying what you’re laying out so plainly for him. “Just ‘cause it feels good don’t make it right.”
“Doesn’t it?” you ask. You cock your head, brows brought together and eyes round with want.
He takes a slow, unsteady breath. But he doesn’t step away.
“I’m an adult Joel.” You reach out to him. Again, he doesn’t step away. Your hand flattens against his shoulder.
“Not one of your brutish, sweaty players who only thinks in frat vocab.” You drag your palm down from his shoulder, across his chest, fluttering along his stomach.
His eyes close as your thumb snags the waistband of his sweatpants. Still, he doesn’t intervene. “I’m a grown woman with a future ahead of myself. It’s not in the handbook that you’re forbidden from engaging in this sort of thing with a student, so long as they’re not one of your players.”
“Yeah, yeah, I read the handbook, kid—”
When you palm at his bulge, he’s already hard.
You hitch a brow at him. A snide remark sits on your tongue.
“Shut the fuck up,” he grouses, and then shoves you back on his couch. Your impact knocks a tacky, tasseled throw pillow out of the way. You yank off the cap you stole from Lucas and toss it over your shoulder.
“Beggin’ for a dickin’ down,” he says. “Trespassing on my fucking property for it like some lunatic. That’s how bad you need this cock?”
You nod like you’ve forgotten how to do anything else. With how you act when you think of Joel, that’s… probably the case. “Joel, plea–”
He slaps you across the face. Your vision pixelates and your head rings, but the handprint blooming on your cheek translates to slick blooming in your panties. “Nuh uh,” he says. “You know my name, smartass.” You moan, hips jerking to meet his.
“Daddy,” you whine. “It’s all I’ve been thinking about.” It is. No silicone toy or plastic cock nestled in your bedroom drawer compared to the man in front of you — and you’d know. You tried them all.
“Ain’t a surprise there,” Joel says. “Bet you’ve been rubbin’ yourself silly thinking of your daddy, mm?”
“Yes!” you damn near squeal out as Joel roughly palms at your tits. You get stuck in the labyrinth of your shirt as you fumble out of it, arms finding all the wrong holes. Finally, you toss the thoroughly wrinkled scrap of fabric over the couch. “Every day, sometimes more,” you admit, because it’s the embarrassing truth. When it comes to him, you’re loopy, off-kilter, teetering with desire and want.
“Dirty girl, aren’t you?” he says, unclasping your bra. He lures your arms out of the straps. His throat bobs as he eyes you up. Based on how you look in the reflection of his dark eyes, he’s been thinking of this. Because for all his virtuosity, Coach Miller crumbles at the thought of defiling you. And he damns himself for it.
He says, “Came allllll the way over here to get fucked in this little number. Why, ‘cause your fingers ain’t enough anymore? Buzzing buddies not doin’ it for ya? Can’t make yourself come without me, hm?”
“No, no, I can’t—” you exhale at him, desperately arching your back to push your tits into his sports-calloused hands. He gives you nipples a squeeze and twist, and it’s electricity straight into your clit. Your squirm, legs kicking helplessly beneath him. “Daddy.”
He pouts at you. “Damn shame. Creamy, drippy little pussy like this…” You hadn’t noticed his hand lowering until he cups a hand around your clothed mound. Your hips jerk. “Bet she’s squeezing real good ‘round nothing, isn’t she? Wants to take daddy nice ‘n deep.”
“Please, daddy, I want you to fuck me,” you gasp out. Your head lolls back as his thumb presses over your clothed clit, the friction from your panties amplifying the sensation as he rubs you in tight, successive circles.
“Yeah, well that’s what you want. What you’ve earned is a belting. Hell, maybe even a paddling for a repeat offender like yourself. Gotta stop getting into scenarios where I needa spank you right. Clearly didn’t whack ya hard enough last time, girl.”
You pout at him, and he only rolls his eyes. “Really. First you had some revenge syndrome, and now you have dick disease. Have to make you earn it, sweetie. ‘Specially when you keep on diggin’ your own grave.”
“You spanked me last time we did this,” you mumble.
“Oh yeah? And I remember you leakin’ everywhere like a goddamn busted pipe. So shut your trap and bend over for me, mhm? I know this pussy likes when I’m rough with ‘er. Know you like it.”
You cross your arms. Consider leaving chin-up with your pride intact — not out of lack of interest, but out of stubbornness. But you can already feel your wetness smearing across your thighs. Not only did you come all this way hoping for this exact thing, but you can imagine just how uncomfortable the bike ride back to your dorm will be with the seat of your bike pressed into your crotch.
You bite the bullet and toss a pillow to the floor. You fold yourself over the couch.
It feels distinctly familiar and indistinctly unfamiliar. Just a few days ago, he’d hauled you over his knee for the same reason. Attraction lit like a match, and discipline served properly.
You hear Joel shimmying around in the vicinity and tilt your head to look at him. First, you’re captured by the broadness of him, how he can easily manhandle you with his stature. But it’s hard not to be distracted by how his house, for all of its grandeur, is little more than a fifty-year-olds bachelor pad.
The walls are mostly bare apart from the occasional art that looks like he snagged from Homegoods. Everything is so modern and brutalistic, all sharp-edged and cubed. “You need to hire an interior designer with that batshit crazy salary of yours,” you tell him.
He huffs out a half-laugh, and returns to your side with a belt he pulled from the table. You squint at the buckle. It’s a pewter longhorn. Of course. It’s like they have a longhorn fetish. They just can’t shake the obsession with the cattle.
“Gonna spank me with your livestock whip?” you snort.
Joel stares you down, unimpressed. “You think you’re funny,” he says. He sits next to where your cheek rests on the couch and gently rubs a circle into your back. His face turns serious for a moment. “I know I didn’t verbally establish this last time — and that’s on me — but you can ask me to stop any time. I hope you know that.”
You give him what feels like a bit of a dopey look. “I know, daddy. I know my limits, too.”
“Attagirl,” he says, patting you on the back. He gives you a look, seeking permission, and you nod. He tugs your pants down. They slump to your folded knees. You tap your fingers against the soft material of the couch. Joel reaches over you and under the gusset of your panties, swiping a long, thick finger through your weeping cunt. Your hips rock, chasing the sensation, and as if reprimanding you, Joel gives a swift tug to the back of your panties, lodging them deep within your cheeks. You squeak in surprise and stop your squirming. He chuckles breathlessly above you.
“Still got this… calligraphy… ‘a mine all over your ass.” He traces his thumb along each letter of the trophy he’d left you. The w, the h, the o, the r, the e. When you left the stadium that night, it was with a reminder of exactly what Joel thinks of you. “‘S like you’re tryna make it last, mmm? You like knowing you’re my whore?”
A tiny whimper splits from your mouth, forehead tilting into the crook of your shoulder as to hide your face. You manage a nod.
“Nuh uh,” Joel says. He reaches for your wrists and pins them behind your back. “Thought you’d knew better than to be repeatin’ the same song and dance. I know you can behave, slutty girl. Just gotta give you a nudge in the right direction.” He palms your ass cheek the same way he’d palmed your tit, and a chill travels along your skin at the perceived feeling of him being so close to your cunt.
He’d ravaged and ruined you, and you walked right back in to let him do it all over again.
Joel folds the belt in half, the gaudy buckle clanking as he turns his day-to-day belt into the perfect implement to administer your punishment. You muffle one of your noises as he drags the leather along your skin, raising gooseflesh in his trail. You can tell he’s tracing the letters, stretched and faded to near-obscurity, along your ass.
You expect him to bring it down across your ass, but instead, he teases it between your legs. Your breath stumbles over your teeth as the leather streaks along your clothed clit. Your hips chase the passing sensation, and the bastard snorts at you. In spite of Joel’s grasp around your wrists, your fingers twirl in anticipation.
“Pathetic ‘lil pussy. Dripping and squeezing even if you’ve got a thrashing comin’ up. Maybe it’s because you’ve got a thrashing coming up. Masochistic mess over here.”
You scoff, “Yeah, and a hot mess, if ‘Lil Joel is any indicator.”
The first hit takes you by surprise. Leather erupts across your ass cheeks, and your fingers scramble for purchase — impossible to find, with how Joel grips your wrists. You make a surprised noise, head tipping to knock your forehead into his thigh. “Shit, were you the quarterback? Packing a punch this time, Coa— mmph.” Your trailing, pathetic sound is muffled by the abrupt splat of his belt back on your exposed ass.
“Had enough ‘a your sass, baby. Can’t be giving me lip when your other set is salivatin’ all over my floor.”
You grunt, squeezing your eyes shut so you don’t glare at him. Dick. Fever licks up your spine. It wraps around your neck, making you lightheaded and nebulous with want. Arousal leaks down your inner thighs. When you press them together in hopes for relief and that Joel’s old man eyes will sabotage him, you’re not shocked by the next thwack of leather against your skin. It still makes you jolt.
“Not gettin’ away with that, sweetheart. Better not see ya ruttin’ against this couch either. Already had to scrub down the one in the locker room since you sprayed your pussy juices all over it like a sprinkler.”
“Yes, daddy,” you grumble. He raises a brow at you, face stern and hard.
You make up for it not verbally, but by arching your back and wiggling your hips. A willing participant in your own demise. It’s only a matter of time before the anaphora of Joel’s belt whacking against your ass has you keening for his cock. You’ve already begged for it every night this week — just with your own hand fishing between your legs for an orgasm you can’t seem to catch, and with his name glued to your pillowcase with your drool.
“See? That’s more like it.” You press back into him as his hand lets go of your wrists. It’s a brief respite, and you cling to the edge of the couch as his hand traces down your back, cupping your ass. Your eyes roll back as his finger slips past your panties and prods at your entrance, barely half of a knuckle.
“Daddy,” you pout.
“Sweet… as…” You look up through lidded eyes at him. Watch as your slick stretches hammocks between his fingers. Watch him slide them into his mouth, sucking them clean with an audible pop. You cunt clenches, demanding something that he doesn’t seem eager to dish out. “sugar.” he finishes. His fingers glisten.
“Daddy,” you say again. Needier this time. Longing. Wanting.
“Bet you could come untouched from this shit, couldn’t ya?”
The thought makes you shiver, but you shake your head back and forth fast enough to give you whiplash. You want — need him to touch you.
“Aww, poor little thing wants to come?” he all but coos at you. This time, you nod fast enough to take your own head off. “Too bad.”
You squeal as he brings the belt down again, toes wriggling as if they can run away from how electrified your body is. “W-what?” you choke out.
“You want daddy to let you come?”
Your hands fist into the couch cushion. “The fuck do you think?”
You don’t even see him move before you feel the belt, ripping like lightning along your inflamed skin. “After you snuck into my stadium?”
“After you vandalized one ‘a our new uniforms?”
You’ve tensed this time in preparation, but it’s not enough. The next swing of his arm has you crying out. Your pussy clenches and more wetness gushes from you. “Ungh, Daddy!”
“After you came snoopin’ around like the Pink Panther?” Two lashings, for that. Both in rapid succession, crackling flames along your hypersensitive skin. You don’t even have time to give him snark. You wail, and half of it jerks out of you in a ragged moan.
He’s too quick at giving your ass another lash. “After being a cock hungry temptress who’d do anything to get that drippy ‘lil hole between her legs stuffed?”
If you were sore after your first encounter with the man, you fear for your capability to sit after this one. “I’m sorry!” You sniffle a little, and while your eyes may be watering, you squeeze your eyes shut so not to cry. It’s embarrassing enough to be laid out in front of him like this, quivering with juices weeping down your legs.
“Cute,” Joel snorts. “Sorry for what, exactly? Bet you got a laundry list of misdeeds. Risqué little girl like you, so quick to put her ass up in the air and take a beating insteada owin’ up to her mistakes.”
“I’m sorry,” you gasp out. “F-For breaking in.” You frown. “...Twice.”
“Coulda had you in the slammer by now, girl. But no. You just want me, dontcha? All up in your guts…” He grabs your ass cheek and squeezes, kneading the flesh there and leaving it with a shrill slap. You whimper. “Whallopin’ this pretty little peach. Sortin’ you out. Bein’ your daddy.” He grips the inside of your thigh, nudging your legs further apart. His hand, large and ridged with callouses, travels up your knee, over your thigh, down to your core. You shudder.
“Daddy…” you plead. You tilt your head and look up at him properly. How he looms over you, his free hand wrapped around your opposite shoulder so he can hold your side against his thigh. A tiny smirk quirks his lips, and his nose crinkles. There’s a glint of mischief in his dark eyes. “Please.” Your voice comes out as a lust-thickened whisper, bittersweet like molasses.
You think he might throw you a bone. Might thrust a finger or two into your dripping heat, which throbs and has a heartbeat of its own whenever he’s around. Instead, he slaps your mound. Your clit twitches, and you stream slick onto his hand. “Ah! Daddy!”
“Drippin’ like a busted pipe, baby. All from bein’ tossed around a bit.”
You’re floating, now. Or perhaps a more apt way to describe it would be that you’re firmly planted on the ground — just facedown while the room spins and spins and spins.
“Honestly, I didn’t know this elite university admitted little sluts like yourself. Bet you hold yourself all prim and proper while you’re all academic during the day. Then you get home and, what, rub yourself silly? Spank yourself because you know you deserve it? You wanna get split open on this cock, roughed up, talked down to.”
“I do, Daddy, I do!” you whine. “I told you — I’m sorry! For all of it. Please, I want whatever you’ll give me. A-Anything.” You feel as if your bones are matches, each one lit up in a chain reaction all the way to your core, which melts and melts down the insides of your thighs. “I’ll do—”
“Anything, baby?”
You nod eagerly, your moistened lower lip jutting out.
“Alright, alright,” he says. His voice is calmer now. Steady. He pats you on the ass softer this time and taps the couch next to him. You scramble up on the cushions, kicking off your shoes and pants in the process, and lay back. Your fingers twitch with the desire to just touch him. From this angle, you can see the definition of his bulge in his sweats. You remember how all of him felt inside of you, as if your entire body had to reshape itself around him, had to make room for the amount of space he occupies. He tosses his belt onto the coffee table.
Your cunt is a kickdrum between your legs. Juices dribble down the creases of your thighs, and for a moment, you fear that you’re actually ruining another couch of his. If you are, he doesn’t say. Just hitches his waistbands down and —
You audibly moan.
“Slutty ‘lil whore,” he says as he takes his fat cock in hand. Precum beads at the tip, and you find yourself licking your lips. You salivate at the sight of him. The heavy balls hanging low beneath his cock, his girth, and the taut, tan skin of his thighs. He’s enrapturing.
“You’re cute, baby,” he says, but the words are condescending. That’s probably why it makes you drip. “You look real good with them ‘fuck me daddy’ eyes. Maybe they’re jus’ that glossy ‘cause your ass is still stingin’. But you deserve it, dontcha? For wanting it?”
“Yes sir…” His eyes flash with something narrowly close to possession. Your teeth dig into your lower lip. With his free hand, he reaches up to your lips, pulling down your bottom lip and running his tongue along the seam of it. You take it upon yourself to suckle on his thumb, tongue swirling around the rough pad of his fingertip. Your tiny moan buzzes around the digit. “Mmph.”
Joel’s eyes, dark and dilated, trail up your exposed form. “I’d shove my cock down that tight throat of yours, but you ain’t earned it.” His hand drags down your chest, tugging and groping at bare skin. His wet thumb plucks at your nipple. Your hips hitch, grinding against thin air. Joel tuts. “Thought I whipped some sense into ya. Or some goddamn manners, at least.” His hand leaves your chest and pins one of your thighs to the couch. You squirm.
“Daddy,” you mewl. “I need – something.”
“Daddy,” Joel mocks in a high-pitched, imitated whine of your plea. “You stay right still. You’re fortunate enough I’m letting you watch.”
It’s then that you realize what he’s planning to do. Deprive you by jerking himself off all over you.
“No, no, please– I promise I’ll be good! I’ll be good, please, I n-need your co–”
Joel slaps you across the face. Again. This time, it’s harder, enough for your head to roll to the side and your eyes to roll back. Your cunt throbs. Your hearing clangs like windchimes. “Do not whine at me like a petulant child. You’re a damn lucky duck that I ain’t knocked you on your ass for all the shit you been pullin’. So you’ll sit there, and if I see you raise so much as a fuckin’ hair on your head to touch yourself, I ain’t afraid to spank that pussy raw, too. Bet you wouldn’t be touchin’ it if it was all sore and achy.”
You look down and give a small, half-nod.
“Go on. Be a good girl and ask for it,” Joel says, brow hitched. Self-righteous bastard.
You mumble something faintly under your breath.
“Wanna repeat that, baby?”
“Jerk your cock off on my pussy, daddy,” you whimper out, hips still squirming on the couch.
“Mmm, that’s more like it.”
Joel taps his cock against your clothed clit. A warning, almost. “Ngh, daddy, I–”
“Don’t start,” he scowls and inches back a bit. Then, he wraps his hand around his cock and gives himself a languid pump. He groans, eyes going lidded as he starts up at a steady pace.
“I was going to say… I want you to come on me.” You take heavy, labored breaths, matching the rapid rise and fall of Joel’s chest. Sweat is darkening the creases of his shirt as he works himself.
“Yeah? Ain’t a surprise, there. Filthy slut wants daddy’s come all over her pussy? Gonna walk back to your dorm with it dryin’ on your undies?” You’ll make fun of him for that later. But now, all you can do is nod at him. “Or maybe I’ll stuff ‘em in your smart mouth. See how ya feel when you can taste how much of a whore you are.”
You gasp, back arching even though there’s no pleasure for you to chase. He gets off on this. On denying you. Degrading you. It’s a high like nothing else. “Please, I– I want you to stuff them in my mouth–”
Joel hisses. You see his cock twitch in his fist. “Make you walk home all leaky and wanting, just like a hussy should? For all those fits you’ve been pitchin’?” He grunts as his hips roll to meet each wet thrust of his fist. His lips are parted, head hung while he stares at your soaked pussy. How your panties cling to your folds. He moans, thumb brushing over his tip. More precum drips from the head, trailing down his wrist. His back curves inwards as he leans closer to you.
He squeezes the hand he’s got wrapped around your leg. “Daddy, daddy!” He’s close, you can tell. Each breath he takes is short and rasping. Each thrust gets clumsier. You think you could come from this alone. The image of him, huffing and red-faced while he fucks his fist right in front of you and calls you names. “Come on me, please, I want to be covered in you–”
He moans, and his cock jolts in his tight grip. “I’m comin’, baby, I’m comin’.”
Ropes of his cum sprays on the gusset of your panties, once, twice, but before the third spirit, he wraps his hand through the leg holes of your panties and tugs up. You make a choked, frazzled moan, and maybe it’s the way the fabric pinches your clit, maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you as if you were made to be devoured. Maybe it’s just how pent up you are.
You tense and then shatter in one go, your orgasm gushing into your panties. Seizing, your back arches up off of the couch as one of your palms clambers for purchase over his. “Fuck, daddy,” you moan pathetically, hips thudding against the couch while you rock into the taut fabric. You fall back, limp and reeling.
“Fuck,” Joel says, breathless. He stares at where your white-stained panties steep in your convulsing cunt, how more juice seeps out of them with each clench of your wrecked pussy. He wipes the sweat from his forehead with the back of his palm. “Really are a nasty girl. A little pain slut, aren’t ya baby?” His eyes glitter while he looks at you, and you imagine he must be close enough to getting hard again that he can’t come through on his promises of anger.
“Roll over for me,” he says, tapping your thigh.
“Mmph?” You say, arm thrown over your forehead. Your eyes squeeze shut while the aftershocks hurdle through your muscles. “Oh, yeah.” You fumble, and your sweat-slick skin sticks to the couch as you turn yourself over.
You hear a little pop, and can’t help but look over your shoulder. Of course. A Sharpie. This time, it’s gold.
“Gonna get a reputation, Miller,” you smirk at him, kicking your feet while he situates himself between your knees. He tugs your soiled panties off, and, as promised, guides the gusset to your mouth. You suck on it, eyes fluttering as you savor the conjoined musk of your mingling juices. It’s tart, but a little sweet. You feel the marker tugging at your ass, and hiss a little when he traces over a particularly sore spot.
“Yeah, well you already got one. I’m just makin’ sure you don’t forget.” He gives your ass another smack when he’s done, and you squeak. The couch stops slumping, and he pads across the room.
You stay there, head rested into your elbows and panties hanging out of your mouth while he rummages around in the vicinity. He comes back with some aloe gel. Gentle, he removes your panties from your tongue and tosses them on the table. You lick your lips, giving him a knowing look. He only rolls his eyes as he massages it into your bruised skin.
“Went a little hard on you this time, darlin’,” he says after a few moments of comfortable silence.
“I liked it,” you say.
“Yeah, I noticed.” He pats you dry. “If you got any ice packs back in your minifridge, wait a while before you ice that. Gotta let the skin repair for a day or so.”
“Aye-aye,” you say before rolling over to face him again. He’s tugged his sweats back on, but he’s golden with a post-sex glaze, a glow of sweat and contentedness.
“‘M sorry,” he says again.
Your brows pucker. “I already told you, I lik-”
“No, for how I treated ya. Ain’t right to promise you somethin’ I can’t give ya.”
“You just gave it to me. Quite well, might I add,” you tease with a cloying grin.
“I can’t take you out,” he says. Your grin slips. He drags a hand down his face. “Everyone in this fuckin’ state, everyone in the goddamn south, even, knows who I am. Imagine the shit they’d say. Lucas–”
“Is a dick,” you say.
“Is a dick, but is also my kid. My mentee. The future of this team and my career, too. And even though he might be an asshole, he’s a good throw. Not to mention the three decades b’tween us. Not a good look, ‘specially for you. You got a whole world ahead ‘a ya. I can’t take that from you just ‘cause we have good sex.”
“So let’s just keep having good sex,” you say. “It’s the simplest thing in the world.”
“Yeah,” Joel says with a roll of his eyes. “Simple.” But then he seems to look like he’s thinking about it. Properly. He swallows. Crosses his arms over his broad chest. “Fine.”
“Really?” You say, brows raised. You’re surprised that worked.
“Want me to take it back?”
“No,” you say.
He simpers. “Thought so. Now c’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.” He beckons you down the hallway after him, and you scoop your long-abandoned clothes off the floor.
A smarter version of yourself would agree with him. But this version of yourself, the version that hopped his fence tonight, wants nothing more than to run back to the throttle of his hand and the loosening of his belt.
That version of yourself is the one who follows him down the hall.
I love your writing so much! If you don’t mind can you do bully Abby strapping the reader down and degrades her while doing it?
cw ! homophobic slurs .
nsfw 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 you hated abby. she was a bully and mean to everyone that didn't suit her, that included you. you could breathe differently and she would be on your ass immediately. it was exhausting.
once she found out your sexuality, you didn't turn up to class in pure fear of what she would do or say now that she had a prime factor. but she was never far behind you.
and it doesn't take long for your face to be forced down onto your mattress, your bottom half bare and your heart thumping in your chest as you feel abby's big hands slide up your thighs. "you got a crush on me or somethin'?"
you shake your head, your breath hitching as her thumb rubs over your slit and spreads your cunt for her gaze. the heavy strap hangs off her pelvis, nudging against your thigh which only spikes your nerves and arousal for what she was going to do.
she snickers behind you, watching your arousal dribble down between your folds. "i knew you were a loser, but a dyke? well, that just takes the cake." she taunts, grabbing her strap and letting it rest at your entrance.
you squeak into the sheets, too embarrassed as you feel the toy inch into you, made easy by how little fight you were putting up.
abby groans softly as she watches you swallow the toy, nudging your knees further apart and planting one hand on your lower back, keeping you in place as her hips grind against your ass.
"god, you're such a slut." she huffs in amusement, watching how your hands grip the sheets and the muffled moans you let out. "you just keep getting better, huh? could make a list of all your stupid attributes."
you knew this would only add fuel onto her never ending fire for you specifically, but you could barely think about that as her hips draw back and slam against you, making your body jolt.
her big hands cup your ass, spreading you open to watch the dildo slide out of you, the faux veins slowly reappearing before she shoves the whole length back inside you. you swear you can feel her in your stomach, but you take it anyway, leaking around her.
abby grunts and shoves you down to lay flat on the bed, mounting you as her hips continue their relentless pace.
she leans over you to hook her arm under your chin, pulling your head up as her hips pause, pressing flush against you. she smiles as you whimper and whine, clenching around the toy nestled inside you.
she then grimaces, making your stomach sink. "you're disgusting, y'know that?"
why does she have a strap?! i don't know! that's her business! also it's my birthday!
cw. strap on sex, over the panties, daddy kink, ejaculating strap!!! 18+ mdni
based on this p link ♡
hanging over the end of the bed, on your hands and knees, abby drags the swollen head of her purple strap along the soaked, practically translucent gusset of your panties. a soft whimper tumbles from your lips in response to the stimulation, your hips instinctively grinding back against your girlfriend’s.
abby responds with a firm smack to your ass, making your toes curl beneath you. “patience, baby girl,” she murmurs, placing her free hand on your back and pressing you down into the sheets. “you’ll get what you want soon. just gotta wait for it — like a good girl.”
‘like a good girl.’ those words are meaningless to you when there’s only one thing on your brain at the moment: dick. specifically, abby’s dick. “abs — daddy — please!” you mewl, wiggling your hips in the hopes of enticing her to just fuck you properly. “put it in—!”
“not yet,” she croons, her thumbs now pressing firmly into the globes of your ass, toying with the thin band of your panties, pulling at it and letting it snap back into place against your sensitive skin, earning a gentle hiss from you. “i like seeing you like this, you know? you’re not so mouthy when you’re face down begging me to fuck you.”
the snarky response you prepare to throw at her dies on your tongue when she thrusts forward suddenly, prodding at the panty-covered entrance of your pussy with her strap, smearing the fake pre-cum leeking from its tip all over the delicate fabric. “holy fuck,” a low groan leaves abby’s mouth at the feeling of your warm cunt against the silicone, just barely separated by your panties — which might as well be invisible at this point. she gives the strap a few strokes before slipping it under your panties and sliding it between your puffy pussy lips. “feel that, sweetheart?” she grunts at the sensation. “that’s what you do to me. what this fuckin’ pussy does to me.”
you reach back blindly, and abby takes your hand and guides it to wrap around her length under your panties. her head tips back as your fingers trace teasingly over the vein running along the underside of it, and then even more so when you thumb over the mushroom tip for good measure, purposeful with your motions so that the base of the strap pushes up against her clit. the friction alone is enough to make her bust right then and there.
“baby, don’t— don’t you want to feel me around you?” you squeak out, your hand moving faster around her strap. it slides up and down your folds with each stroke, nudging your clit, but never actually slipping inside. “you need it, too,” you add, punctuating the statement with a soft squeeze to her cock. “show me who i belong to — who my pussy belongs to. make me cream all over your dick, daddy. please?”
“fuckin’ hell, babe,” abby grunts out through gritted teeth. “you keep saying shit like that and i might cum before i’m even inside you.” she pulls away from your hand and tugs her cock out of your panties, leaving you entirely empty, until she slaps it down onto your mound over the top of the fabric once more. a loud, wet smack! echos around the room, jolting you forward in surprise.
“easy, baby, no running,” your girlfriend soothes you, as she lines herself up at your cotton concealed entrance again. her thrusts are slow at first, but get quicker the more your body responds to her, and for a moment you think the flimsy fabric of your panties might actually give way enough for her to fuck you through them. either that or her dick will poke an abby-shaped hole through them.
“so wet, baby, jesus—” abby grunts, when her strap slips up the third time she ruts against your soaked panties. “should i stop teasing you now? you’re clearly desperate for it. she’s crying for it.”
“abs!” you whine, feet kicking at the sheets. “i swear to god, if you don’t—”
your threat turns into a broken moan as your girlfriend tugs your panties to the side and finally — finally slides inside you, not stopping until she’s fully sheathed, completely enveloped inside your cunt. a moan leaves both your mouths in unison.
“there we go, there’s my fucking girl,” abby mutters, her hands sliding around your waist to cup your stomach, pressing lightly against the slight bulge she feels there. “y’feel good? huh? all your bitching and moaning worth it now? so full, aren’t you? my baby’s fucking filled with me.”
“mhm, so full!” you mewl. “ah, yes! fuck, don’t stop— d-don’t stop!”
abby groans something under her breath, pulling out until only her tip remains inside you, before slamming all the way back in with one sharp thrust. her free hand curls into your hair, yanking your head back, sinking even deeper into you, and your walls tighten around her as she nudges your cervix with each thrust, eliciting a string of high-pitched “ah! ah! ah!”’s
“always so tight for me, baby. god, this pussy’s so fucking good, can never get enough of it. ‘s made for me. made for me to rearrange your guts with—” she babbles out, her lips brushing your ear. “gonna fuckin’ milk me for all i’ve got. desperate fuckin’ slut.”
“daddy, daddy, daddy,” you rasp back, clawing at the bedsheets.
abby picks up her pace, the repetitive smack! smack! smack! of her pelvis meeting your ass over and over echoing around the room, mingling with her low moans and your breathy whimpers — and the shlick of your soggy panties brushing her skin.
“shit— gonna cum. ‘m nearly there, so close. you nearly there, sweetheart?”
you nod desperately, unable to form proper words.
“fuck, fuck, fuck. gonna—” abby doesn’t finish her sentence. instead, she pulls out of you with a grunt of effort, her strap springing up and slapping at her stomach like a real, hard cock would. before you can protest, she pulls you flush against her by the hips, covering your drooling pussy back up with a quick tug of your panties that she’d moved aside earlier. in her other hand, she fists her cock, jerks it once or twice, then presses the head of it to your covered pussy and paints your panties in faux cum — a thick stream of it spurting over the already ruined fabric, dripping from the slit in her silicone dick.
it dribbles down your mound agonizingly slowly, causing the panties to stick to you like second skin, accentuating your swollen pussy lips. the sight alone is enough to draw a few more drops of cum from the strap, fat splotches of it, sticky and messy.
abby grinds forward, chasing the warmth of your hot cunt, pressing your ass cheeks together to form a valley around her cock for her to grind up into. your now empty hole clenches around nothing, slick leaking from it and dripping down the insides of your thighs, mixing with the fake cum.
“ohhh, abs, daddy, oh my god, yes! yes, yes, yes!”
her answering grunt is strained, and it lets you know that she’s close to cumming herself. your pussy clenches harder each time the strap’s balls smack your clit, as if it can sense your girlfriend’s closeness and wants her dick back inside.
soon, abby is cumming — both from the sight of you covered in fake cum, and from the feeling of the base pressing on her aching clit. she collapses on top of you afterwards, riding out her high by panting hotly onto the back of your neck, her hips still subconsciously wriggling against your ass. then when you complain about not being able to breathe, she rolls off you with a kiss to your shoulder and a soft slap to your thigh, just shy of where your pussy still tingles for her, your clit throbbing through the soaked material of your panties.
“those fucking panties,” she mumbles, more to herself than to you, her pupils blown wide with a mixture of awe and lust. “they’re a fuckin’ godsend, baby.”
“well, they’re ruined now,” you retort. the pretty pink fabric, decorated with floral pattern and lace hemming, is now barely recognizable under all the cum that’s been smeared over them, and the elasticity is practically gone from the constant, teasing stretch of abby’s strap.
“ruined, my ass,” abby scoffs, propping herself up on her broad knees. she taps your hip with two fingers, a subtle ‘up’ command, and you obediently lift them to let her slide the panties down your legs, a bit of a struggle that involves her having to delicately peel them away from your pussy lips when a thick string of wetness tries to keep them connected to you — every bit of fake cum having gone through the fabric, mixing in with your arousal. “mine now. i’ll take good care of ‘em.”
you’re too fucked out to respond, but you don’t miss the way she presses them to her face briefly with a contented sniff before tucking them away in her nightstand drawer.
abby was an absolute gym rat. whether it’s wrestling, boxing, weightlifting or even football, she’s always been into some kind of sport or spending countless hours working out.
so realistically speaking, you should’ve seen this coming.
“hmm-hng-prettiest pussy i’ve- ever seen".
she was strapping into you like a bitch in heat, what started out as back shots eventually morphing into a pronebone because you couldn't keep holding yourself up. she was pussydrunk and stupid, short, quick, disgustingly deep thrusts occupying all her attention. one of her hands wrapped around your chest, pinching your puffy nipple between her thumb and index finger, rolling the bud as it stood to attention at her touch.
you were laying on your cheek, tears flowing out of your eyes as she continued to punch heavenly gasps and groans from your sore throat. you lost your ability to be louder rounds ago, your voice now reduced to stuttered gasps and deep breaths, your pussy doing all of the talking for you. bubbles of your cum sputtered out at every possible convenience as the tip of the silicone kept pressing that little button deep within your gummy walls. bullseye.
it was a joke. made while you were high (and it is a well known fact to not take shit you say seriously when you were stoned). something stupid like her having bad stamina and you never feeling fully satisfied in bed. you broke into a random fit of laughter afterwards because it obviously wasn’t true, and you’d assumed that abby just followed suit. but now here you are, 4 rounds in without a single break. and even worse, no signs of her stopping.
you dangled your knees uselessly in the air, kicking her toned back with all the strength you had left (barely any at all ), nails digging in the sheets so hard you heard a faint rip. you came to the grim conclusion that you might actually die before she runs out of energy.
you felt your legs being yanked from behind you as abby molded you into whatever position she pleased, forcing you into a semi squat as you gripped on the headboard to ground yourself.
"know i'm not fucking no damn pillow princess, you gotta do some of the work around here sweetheart."
your drooling cunt was singing to her, the thick white ring at the base of her dick driving her insane. "that's right. just needed me to break her in, hmm?" she locked the crook of her arm around your neck and squeezed, the headlock sending waves of blood to your head. "had the nerve to act like i don't keep you happy, like i can't make you cum."
her strokes began to deepen, the stars dancing in your vision burning brighter and brighter.
drool began to trail out of your mouth and onto the thickness of her arm, your pretty lil windpipes begging for reprieve. your eyes crossed as you continued to get the mario coins pounded out of you, your mind filled with abbyabbyabby-
a pair of fingers snapped in your face abruptly, followed by a gradual slow of her hips as abby's hold on your neck loosened. "hellooooo? ground control to major tom? you still with me?"
she chuckles upon seeing your face, your eyes so teary and big and lost. her poor baby. you had nothing to say, your eyes drooping as you tried to catch your breath, and she took that as her sign to pull out. the feeling of her finally leaving you was brutal, your pussy begging her to stay as your walls gripped around her as tightly as they could. "tsk, tsk, tsk, can't even stay awake can you? this dick had you acting so stupid that you're all tuckered out."
more silence. the buzziness in your head has yet to cease, and you fight the urge to knock tf out as you gather your bearings the best you can. abby gripped your cheeks, forcing your mouth into a pout as she stared deep into your hooded eyes.
"remember this the next time you wanna act all funny on me, yeah?"
a/n: oh did you think this was gonna be a cute lil fluff fic? nahh it’s sad city down there!! be careful..
content warnings: ANGST panic attacks.. hurt (no comfort.) joel is dead. ellie’s a lil sad :/// ellie’s a lil anxious… ellie’s a projection of me.. ANYWAYS. reader and ellie are kinda the same but different ??? swearing ofc.. reader is very much okay with being a lesbian ! and she’s on good terms with the baby fawtha cause what! ellie is not fond of children apparently?? she also might be autistic.
ellie grew up around masculinity, thats why people assume she is the way she is. but ellie can assure that her brain would work the exact same way if she had a mother.
plus, she had joel. that was really all she needed. she still knew how to be a woman. it’s not like she grew up without a mother and didn’t know anything about herself.
2 WEEKS AND 4 DAYS AGO..
ellie sighed and threw the white stained towel over her shoulder. fuck she muttered under her breath as she read yet another email.
ATTENTION STUDENTS!
You will all be required to purchase the following textbooks in order to complete the course - They will help immensely in the upcoming exam. I recommend reading carefully and thoroughly.
Sincerely,
Prof Morgan.
all 5 of the books linked in the email were over $150.00 each. how the fuck was she supposed to work that out? all while paying her own tuition, rent and utilities.
“yo, williams!” her manager jesse yelled, interrupting her calculations.
“breaks over.” he snatches the towel from her shoulder and makes his way back into the kitchen with it in tow.
she scoffs and shoves her phone back into her polyester pocket. jesse’s head pops back into the room “oh and” he starts before turning to her. “you’re training today” she scoffs and lifts herself off the chair.
“is that even in my job description?” she follows him out of the kitchen once again.
“sure it is, i just described it to you.” he winks, ellie huffs.
the sky had dimmed by the time ellies shift was over. skating home was gonna be a bitch.
“you need a ride home?” dina places a hand atop her shoulder, a helpful smile on her face. ellie really wanted to say no. she’s been asking for help from others so much lately.
“no, uhh- i’ll get home t’night. thanks dee.” she nods as she grabs her skateboard from her locker. have the trucks always been this lose?
“no, i insist.” dina presses. she pulls out her keys and throws her bag over her shoulder.
“let’s go, my child.” she giggles at the nickname. ellies shoulders relax.
“thanks again, i really appreciate it.” ellie said, her tone laced with genuine gratitude. dina dismisses her with a hand flick. “don’t even sweat it.” she bragged. “now get goin, it’s late.”
ellie pushes the car door open with a steady grip on her skateboard. her smile falters as she waves dina off.
she unlocks her door with a trembling hand, she hated being alone.
the picture of her and joel neatly placed beside the coat rack mocked her as she placed her skateboard down in its dedicated spot. she stared into the picture until the colors morphed into one big glob.
the loss of not just a parent, but her only parent cut her deep. she could barely lift her head for the first while, nevermind go to work. she should be proud of herself! but she isn’t.
how could she be? she felt like everyone else in her life was doing so much with themselves. dina had a kid for fucks sake! dina had a whole kid and ellie couldn’t even get to class on time.
“fuck.” she muttered as she placed her keys down. bills upon bills were flooding the kitchen counter. tears burned at her eyes, blurring her eyesight.
i look so pathetic right now. she thought. a slight chuckle leaving her throat at that.
she tried to blink back the tears but she couldn’t, they just kept coming.
her silent whimpers quickly turned to snotty sobs as her chest heaved in and out involuntarily. she placed a heavy hand on her heart as she slid down the kitchen cabinet. soon enough she found herself completely breathless and wailing.
she eventually calmed herself through deep breaths and a cold glass of water. as she does through every panic attack, although the melancholic feeling always lingered.
after joels death ellie could never find herself truly happy. especially not in an environment where he was everything, everytime she turned around she was reminded of the man who wasn’t even her real father.
nothing was really hers.
she made her way down the dark, dusty hallway to her bedroom. desks adorned with pictures of her and joel. she ignored them this time.
she stripped of her uniform and took to the shower. the water burning her skin till it turned red. she scrubbed harshly at her scalp and body. she smelt like grease. gross.
the after shower feeling made her feel a bit better. she grabbed her toothbrush and rinsed it before wiping a glob of colgate toothpaste on the bristles and shoving it in her mouth.
ellie chased sleep for what felt like an eternity. her damp hair scratching at her neck was definitely a part of the problem.
thank god she didn’t work saturdays..
the first 30 seconds of ellie’s day were complete bliss, usually. but not today.
today ellie woke up to the obnoxious sound of a child crying. she decided right then and there that the universe hates her and wants her to die. (but she thinks that about everyone in her life..)
she scoffs and walks over to the curtains, her own padded feet already annoying her.
she peeks out the curtain only to be met with a u-haul and an suv parked in the driveway next door.
new neighbors, how wonderful. and they had a whiny kid! perfect.
she continues watching out the window until she sees you hand off the kid to its father. her eyes follow you until you step into the u-haul and start dragging boxes out. that’s when she sighs and decides to get ready for the day. even though she doesn’t want to.
your entire life you were desperate to be equal. to be taken seriously. you craved maturity.
you spent your entire childhood chasing adulthood. you were desperate to grow up. you didn’t know it then, but you would regret it.
the one thing you didn’t regret, was felix. the baby that you got out of your last relationship. that was before you realized you were very much a lesbian..
“cmon baby, just put your shoe on.” you struggled against the child in the backseat as he wailed. the sound was excruciating.
“please- can you just let mommy put your shoe on?” you gritted as you attempted to shove the shoe onto her other foot.
“no!” he screamed, almost directly into your face. that was it.
“you know what? fuck it.” you muttered the last words under your breath. truthfully you already weren’t setting a good example, but hey! let not say fuck infront of our kid!
you gave up on the shoes and shushed him gently as you undid his seatbelt from his car seat. you placed him in the arms of his father, tossing the shoe into his dinosaur covered backpack.
he slowly came down from his tantrum as he placed his head on his dads shoulder.
“you sure you don’t need me to help unpack?” your ex asks, unsure of leaving you behind with an entire house to furnish.
“yep! i’m good!” you smile. you gently kiss your baby’s forehead before shutting your car door.
the father nods in response. “just text if you need and we will be here. isn’t that right felix?” he asks the child who nods profusely.
“of course mama!” he shouts causing you and his dad to laugh. “well alright then!” you rush, it was still early but you were eager to get to your gardening before dark.
you watch as your ex buckles the kid in and situated himself in the car, before pulling out of the driveway he rolls down felixs window.
you blow kisses as the pull out of the driveway and take off to ‘the old house’ in your sons words.
as soon as the car is out of sight you make your way over to the U-Haul.
you’re so focused on getting this last box out of the truck that you don’t even feel the presence creep up behind you.
“hey did you need some hel-”
“what the fuck!”
you jump in fear before turning around. being faced with a red headed, green eyed girl.
“oh my god, i’m so sorry.” she apologizes calmly. an awkward look on her face as you stare at her wide eyed.
you chuckle lightly before putting your hands on your hips. “it’s alright, hon.” you reassure.
you two just awkwardly stare at eachother for a few seconds before ellie finally speaks up again.
“i saw you struggling. did you want some help?” she asks. her eyes drifting to the box filled with gardening tools.
“oh that would be amazing!” you said before wiping the sweat of your forehead.
ellies eyes follow a droplet of seat down your neckline all the way down your cleavage. she finds herself licking her lips
before you introduce yourself.
she darts her eyes back up to your own, praying that you didn’t see her blatantly check you out. “i’m- i’m ellie.” she jumps over her words.
since when did you not know how to speak, idiot? she internally face palms before walking over to pick up the box.
“where do you want this?” she asks with a grunt as she steadys the box in her arms.
“just over here” you direct, letting her follow you as you walked over to the side of the house. she follows you and sets the box down with ease. she jokingly wipes the dirt off of her hands before nodding and starting to walk off.
“oh sweetie! i don’t wanna be a bother but would you mind helping me with one more thing?”
you must’ve been magic because somehow you swindled ellie into helping you with almost everything, and she was totally fine with it.
currently you were both at your kitchen island, laughing over a bottle of wine.
ellie had confided in you about school and you had rambled to her about what it’s like to be a mother.
“yeah, i mean- besides pregnancy it’s not all that bad.” you admit. ellie’s face shifts at the mention of pregnancy.
“i don’t know if i could ever have a baby inside me. i think i’d like- die.?” she questions. “not that i would of course” she giggles. your face becomes a look of confusion.
“no boyfriend? or just not one for kids?” you ask. you totally forgot that it’s very possible for her to be-
“i’m a lesbian” she answers and takes another sip of wine. her eyes watching your face for any negative reaction.
you clap your hands over your mouth quickly. now it seems obvious.
“i am so sorry, that totally slipped my mind.” she laughs at your attempts to redeem yourself.
“it’s totally chill, don’t worry.” she reassures, a smile on her face.
“i am too, actually.” you admit, it was your first time admitting it to someone other than yourself of your now ex husband.
“oh i was just gonna ask if that was your husband out there earlier.” she fidgets with the rings on her fingers as she asks.
“well, ex. it’s not easy to find a baby sitter that actually takes care of my kid these days.” you admit to her. she ponders for a slight moment before speaking up again.
“well, if you’re looking. i’m usually free during the day, i work nights most of the time.” she offers up. she wasn’t really sure why. she wasn’t even a fan of kids.
“really?!” it looks like your eyes had bulged out of your head. “god that would be amazing! i’ll pay you!”
ellie didn’t hear anything besides ‘i’ll pay you’ that’s all she needed to know.
“yeah of course. i’ll take him.” she confirmed.
that night ellie left with your phone number and a smidge of hope in her heart.
summary — it’s been months since you ran away from the loves of your life. you think you have escaped them forever — only for them to return, with a sick game of cat and mouse coming into play as they remind you just how much you belong to them.
warning tags — adult language. extremely dark content; m*rder, stalking, possessive and obsessive behavior, threats of kidnapping, lowkey blackmail (?), threats made with a weapon. strong adult content; slapping, spitting, double penetration, edging, mommy and daddy kink(s), gun play, bondage, threesomes.
author’s message — let me know if i forgot any important missing tags for this. please proceed with caution as this part is extremely heavier than the first part; ellie and abby are so not nice in here, and it gets dark pretty quickly.
“Where the fuck could she have gone?” Abby asked, her and Ellie frantically searching the penthouse. “She knows better than to turn off her location, or leave unannounced.”
“She was just here, sleeping and resting,” Ellie stated, and their panic was overcomed with frustration and anger instead. You knew that if you went anywhere without them, that you had to tell them exactly where and your location could never go off.
They would chip you if they could. They have thought about it numerous times.
Ellie’s phone rang, and she grabbed it out of her back pocket, noticing Joel’s contact. “Hello?” She answered, irritation playing into her tone. “What’s goin’ on, Joel?”
“The police are heading to your place,” Joel said, and Ellie put the call on speaker. “I don’t know what you two have done this time, but it is bad and I am not helpin’ out with any clean ups.”
“What are you talking about?” Ellie asked.
“I’m not some moron, Ellie!” He yelled, and she rolled her eyes. “They know you killed someone. They know your girlfriend was with you, too. I called her, and asked questions.”
“You did what?” Abby shouted. “Joel, what the fuck!”
That’s how they knew you had run away from them. You were a timid and easily frightened individual, and now that you were aware of what they had done, you scurried away and were going to hide. The pair knew they had some time to track you down to your home.
“Fuck off, Joel,” Ellie cursed, ending the call. “We have time to get her, to make up a story or whatever. We can avoid the police for the night?”
They agreed to find you and explain everything, to lure you back to them as they assured that there was nothing to worry about.
Abby’s eyes go wide. “The shirt.”
Ellie cursed under her breath, running to the closet and into the hamper — only to find the shirt completely gone. You had taken it, and now many possibilities surged through their heads.
“It’s gone!” Ellie yelled, and before the two could leave the penthouse to go to you, two detectives walked in.
The amusing yet realistic part of everything is that even though they knew that you thought you had gotten away for good, they were preparing on how to get you back, and never be able to escape again.
You had a particular interest in Philosophy during high school.
You loved to read the knowledge these scholar men would try to pass on, what they had to say about life, beauty, or death. You wanted to understand their wisdom, their perspective of all things, of everything around them, and how they got to a certain point about it.
You remembered a certain quote from Plato, of how Zeus feared the power of two humans mending together as one, leaving them with four arms, four legs, a head with two faces on it. However, he was so threatened by this that he split them into two, and left them to wander Earth to find each other again.
You had believed in that quote when Ellie and Abby entered your life. These two girls, the most threatening pair, would put a grand shift on your life, and how you perceived it as. They utterly shifted your world, they took you in, and prioritized your needs.
You were worshiped by them.
You couldn’t see beyond the horizon of the world without them there, and in your isolation, you still didn’t know how to.
More than sixty-five days since your departure, leaving them behind, and not hearing a single word from them.
When you came to your parent’s villa, your mother opened the door, and you sobbed into her arms, clutching onto her. She hugged you, stroked your hair, and didn’t know if she should’ve spoken or not.
Your tears soaked into her shirt, and she had to nearly drag you inside, afraid of what was happening with you.
“My dear, what’s going on?” She asked, clear to see the exhausted look on your face, your eyes bloodshot as she sat you both down on the couch. “I haven’t seen you like this in a while.”
“I just… Abby and Ellie,” you sobbed, heavily breathing, and shook your head, still in denial of what they did. “I just need to be here for a while. I’m going to transfer to Oxford.”
“You already decided on Columbia,” your mother stated, and you continued to cry, earning a sigh out of her. “You can’t just drop it now.”
You wanted to scream, “they might kill me if I return. They may never let me go after that.” You knew that they were combing through New York, probably already onto their next target — you knew the lengths they would go to just to have you back.
That was something you couldn’t fucking stomach.
“Mom, please,” you whispered, your voice jagged and shaky. “I just can’t go back to the city.” You stared up at her, and she cradled your face in her hands for a moment before nodding, and let you rest your head on her lap.
“Okay, love. You can stay here,” she assured, rubbing your back, and let you sob until you finally calmed down and fell asleep.
The next morning, your father was telling you about Abby and Ellie, wondering if you had any idea about it.
“They’re in deep shit,” he said, glaring at you. “What are you not telling us?”
“I don’t know anything, dad!” You denied, and your mother stood aside, arms folded. “Joel already asked me the same things that you are! I don’t remember shit from that night!”
“So you were there?” Your dad asked, and you fell quiet. He took your silence as an answer, sighing heavily and rubbed his temple in frustration. “You weren’t with any one of them? At all?”
“I… Ellie gave me some coke,” you confessed, guilt reeling into you as you were partially lying, and throwing her under the rug. “I was having a tough night after this guy was harassing me, and after she gave it to me, I was left with Dina and Jesse.”
An exasperated sigh came from your mother, simply frustrated that you had been doing drugs. You were never going to be her perfect daughter, and you didn’t know how long it was going to take until she accepted that fact.
Your dad took a minute to process this information before grabbing your shoulders, and forcing you to look at him. “From here on out, you know nothing. Do you understand me?”
You nodded, and he brought you into a hug, coddling the back of your head. Your father’s affection was never this tender or earnest, and you knew he was only being protective for the family image, but you didn’t care for that — your father was holding you for the first time since you were eleven.
You had to change your phone number, deactivate any social media you had, and new butlers, maids, and chauffeurs were put into place. Your parents allowed you to move to London a month later, staying in a comfortable flat, but were patrolled by bodyguards in answer to your paranoia.
After your readjustment to life, you prevented yourself from hearing anything Abby or Ellie, or if they were at trial. You needed to focus on yourself, get your shit together, and focus on your classes at Oxford.
A few months into the new school, you kept your head low and isolated — something you were used to doing when at Faye Academy, before they made themselves stuck in your existence.
You considered taking your courses online, but knew you’d only lose your mind being stuck in your flat for days on end.
All in four months, your life was granted something that you’d forgotten — freedom.
Not that Abby and Ellie were extremely possessive, but you haven't known anyone besides them in a while. You were able to make friends at Oxford, go out to bars and diners, without the fear they may kill someone who even breathed in your general direction.
It was a relief. And you felt human again.
Your parents constantly checked in on you, and often tried to visit. It was the first time in a while since they hovered over you, and were concerned for your well being.
“Yes, mom. I’m fine,” you assured over the phone, the device stuck between your shoulder and ear as you were returning your textbooks. “I finished classes early, so I was thinking of going back to Milan for semester break.”
“Well, honey, you see,” your mother started off, clearing her throat. “Your father and I were going to attend a gala tomorrow; Joel is throwing it.”
“I thought you guys cut him off,” you said, rushing out of the library, and to your car. “Especially after everything.”
There was silence.
“Mom?”
“Ellie and Abby were found not guilty,” she said, and your heart sank to your stomach. “The trial concluded yesterday— we didn’t want to say anything.”
You froze in your tracks. “What?”
“They didn’t kill that boy. I guess he had enemies all along,” she continued, and your head spun. “If you come with us, they won’t be there. Joel assured us of it.”
“So everything is just fine now because they’re innocent?” You questioned.
“Honey, you’re acting as if you know something,” she stated, and you exasperatingly sighed, continuing your walk to your vehicle. “But Jerry and Joel did say they were going to get the girls in contact with a psychiatrist.”
“Huh, and why is that?”
“I’m not sure,” she muttered, and you hopped into your car, locking the doors. “Would you like to come? And maybe we can then spend a few days in the city. Shop around Fifth.”
“I’ll think about it, momma. Still unsure about the city,” you said, and she sighed, visibly exasperated with your nerves. “I just don’t want an accidental run in with the girls.”
“You guys were so close,” she remembered. “I don’t know what happened, but I hope you all make up soon; they were the best part of your life.”
“Bye, mom,” is all you said, hanging up the call, and tossed your phone into the passenger seat, along with your book bag. You heavily sighed, staring blankly out into the parking lot.
They were the best part of your life.
They were the tragedy of you. They were Hell masked as Heaven, where their lure was nothing more than a ticket to damnation.
Yet, all of them were bestowed to you. You were their alter, their religion, the only reason as to why they believed in life, as you did with them.
But in your time of being free from their grasp, you could breathe, and find a newer light where nothing could dim it.
Your phone dinged, and your eyes snapped over to it, hands fiddling for the device. You opened up the lock screen to see a message from a random number.
Unknown: Image Attached.
You swallowed thickly, your hands numbing as you unlocked your phone and went to the conversation.
It was a picture of you from last night, hanging out with your friend, Delilah. She was someone you had been fond of since attending Oxford, and you had gotten close to her.
Unknown: Cute girl.
R: Who the fuck is this???
Unknown: Didn’t know running made you so dumb.
Nausea washed over you, and fear rattled in your bones.
Unknown: Hi, little lamb. You miss us?
R: I’ll call the police.
Unknown: I’ll tell them you tampered with evidence. We wouldn’t want that, right? Pretty baby like you isn’t suitable for jail time.
R: You would go down with me.
Unknown: You betrayed us. What makes you think we wouldn’t betray you?
You wanted to break your phone on your steering wheel, and you searched the outside of your car, checking your surroundings. There were only a few students, and it was still light outside.
But you knew they were watching you.
Unknown: You run again, and we will find you.
R: Why now?
Unknown: Had some troubles along the way, baby. But we took our time keeping tabs on you. Oxford treating you nice? How’s every bitch who fucks you?
R: You’re stalking me?
Unknown: You really are fucking stupid.
R: Don’t think I won’t get a restraining order against you.
Unknown: Why would you want that, little lamb? After everything we have done for you? Didn’t take you for an ungrateful brat, you know. We have been there when you needed us, taken care of you, dealt with people for you.
R: You mean murder people.
Unknown: Mhm.
Unknown: Be careful, honey. Scary world we live in.
You tried to send another message, but it wouldn’t go through. “What the fuck, what the fuck!” You screamed, going to your phone contacts, and bringing your phone up to your ear.
“Miss, are you alright?” Carson asked. He had been your personal bodyguard since you moved to London, and was respectful of when you wanted to be alone. “Are you in danger?”
“I need my house and the surrounding area to be checked out,” you said, reviving your car engine, and pressed on the gas. “Check for any sort of security cameras, too. Tell Rosaline to pack a suitcase for me as well, I’m heading to Los Angeles.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Carson answered, the call dropping, and you put your phone in your lap. You were trying not to get into a car accident on your way back to your flat, but you needed to leave the city immediately. You were just happy you finished your courses on time, and you didn’t need to worry about your education for a while.
About to reach home, your phone started to buzz in your lap. You pulled over to the side to look at the contact, only for it to be unknown again.
You hesitated on answering, just wanting to let it ring through, but a part of you wanted to know what sick agenda they had planned out for you. You knew they weren’t going to stop, that they needed you vulnerable and scared in order for them to pounce at you at the perfect moment; just like a prey and predator situation.
A game of cat and mouse.
You accepted the call, putting it on speaker. “Hello?”
“Hi, bunny,” you heard Abby’s voice, and your head spun. It had been so long since you heard either girl's voice, that you frowned at the sound of it, and almost how comforting it could be. “Missed you.”
“Abby…” you whispered out, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. “I… You both need to stop this.”
“Why, bun? You don’t like it?” She asked.
“You and Ellie killed Brandon, and probably many others,” you told her, sniffling as tears carelessly dropped out of your eyes. “I know you thought you were doing the right thing, but murder is wrong.”
“You have the shirt, bunny,” Abby stated, and you went quiet. “Why would you do that, hm? If you really wanted to dispose and run from us, you would’ve left it behind, or turned it over to the police.”
You couldn’t tell her your logic or reasoning behind taking the shirt. It even sounded unreal to you, unbelievable, given the circumstances, and how you ran off.
“I couldn’t help but think of what would happen if you both went to prison,” you admitted, hot water running down your cheeks. “I… You and Ellie protected me, and I thought it was only fair I returned the favor. But that didn’t mean I wanted you in my life again.”
Abby hummed. “And why is that?”
“I’m free,” you muttered, inhaling sharply. “You and her wanted to keep me in a cage, keep me locked up forever. You have done it ever since you stepped into my life, and I couldn’t see it until that evening.”
“You make it sound so horrible, bunny,” she breathily chuckled, able to hear Ellie’s own laughter roughly in the background. “Let me ask you again; who’s going to put up with you? Who was fucking there when Miranda Rhodes was fucking spilling rumors about you having eating disorders? Who the fuck handled Timothy Yales after he said he had sex with you after Winter formal?”
“HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW THAT!” You shouted, millions of emotions flooding over you, and taking you at once, drowning “I never once fucking told you or Ellie to go out of your way to do that shit! I can fucking handle myself, and being away from you both has proved that.”
“Oh, bunny. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into,” Abby stated, sharp and clear with you. She talked as if you were dumb, that you were about out of your mind.
You could nearly burst apart, everything of you filled with terror and rage. You weren’t sure if they expected you to bow at their feet for all their maniacal endeavors they willingly decided to partake in, but you weren’t going to.
You had come this far without them, you had managed to escape them for a good time, and you weren’t planning on stopping everything now. You weren’t going to surrender your freedom and life all for them, all because you knew what they were, and what they could do.
“If I have to turn in that shirt to make sure I never see either of you ever again, I will,” you said, and hung up the call, dropping your phone back into your lap, and continued to drive back home.
The moment your car was parked, you rushed up the stairs of the building, and bursted through your front door. Your guards were all there, Rosaline getting finished up with your second suitcase as Carson approached you from the side.
“Miss, we have searched the area,” he stated, following you while you walked into your bedroom. “We found no sort of threat, especially here. I have called your family’s plane to be prepped and ready for take off to Los Angeles.”
“Carson, please close the door,” you said, sitting down on the edge of your naked bed. He listened, shutting it, leaving you and him in your bedroom as you looked up at him. “I need to ask a question, and this stays between us. Do you get that?”
“Of course, ma’am. I am under your and your parents serving,” he reassured, keeping himself near the door, a secure radius between the both of you.
“Is it possible for me to avoid the law? Few months ago, I may or may have not tampered with evidence,” you blurted, and he inhaled heavily, but nodded, tuned in with you. “My reason is so stupid, but I’m regretting keeping it in my possession, and I don’t want to anymore.”
“Well, what is it?” He wondered.
“A shirt,” you began, and he cocked his head to the side. “With blood on it. Someone’s blood who isn’t mine, because my ex-girlfriends in New York beat this dude who was harassing me.”
“And you want to turn this in now?” Carson asked, and you nodded. “Okay, miss. I’m going to see what I can do, and once I do, you can hand it over to me.”
“Thank you so much, Carson,” you smiled, standing up. “Now, let’s head to the city of angels.”
You had your own bungalow at the Chateau Marmont. It was cozy and spacious, everything to your liking, but only stayed at it when you wanted to escape home. You had once brought Abby and Ellie, and to that, you had to undergo a whole alias, and a different room.
You didn’t have much anxiety about being at Chateau, you were packed with protection, and knew the pair wouldn’t make so much time or risks since their trial had concluded, also sure that Abby understood your threat about the shirt.
You had flown late into the night, it was about three in the morning of the next day, and you were drained with exhaustion. Sleep was becoming you, yet you were on high alert, and couldn’t help but to keep checking your phone.
You worried that there would be another call, or a text; that they weren’t quite finished with their game. In your isolation, you had much time to mull over Abby and Ellie, the things they were capable of, or the people they were.
You knew blood and carnage were them. Their beauty and charm was a simple mask that only you were able to see past as violence and cruelty rotted in their souls. Maybe they couldn’t help how callous and aggressive they could be, but they lived off of it; it was all they were. There was nothing to stop them, nothing that could change them.
In a sense, you assumed your presence and soul balanced them out well — you were a complete polar opposite to them, and that’s what stood out to people at Faye Academy.
They were terrorizing, vicious females, standing with you — a loving, and free-spirited person who didn’t do much, and just kept to herself. Nobody understood or could comprehend it, but that didn't matter to them — you were the solace in their life.
You knew that they were still rough with people — mostly men — in high school, but you didn’t know you were the cause behind each act of violence that they performed. But it made sense, even as you built a timeline.
There was Teresa Doles; she had nitpicked at your appearance for weeks. When you had finally gone to Ellie and Abby about it, pictures of her partying, doing drugs, and medical records of her being in rehab had been leaked everywhere. Her family came from a prestigious lineage, and her reckless behavior put a great indent to it. She had to move to England.
Jonathan White had to be admitted to the hospital after an event for the school. Doctors said they found traces of drugs and poison in his system — which made you laugh because he said he would murder you for rejecting him for Junior prom. You recall him shouting at you, calling you a series of derogatory names, but paid no mind. Ellie and Abby weren’t happy when he told you such a thing.
Kayla Lynn was sent to the ER after her body had been found beaten and bloody in the bathroom. She was barely conscious, unrecognizable to those who found her — the doctors had to pull a tooth and fingerprints from her just to get an ID. You remembered how she bullied you for liking girls, calling you derogatory names, and even said she hoped you would be killed for it.
And you knew there just had to be more than those people. So many of your bullies either switched schools, dropped off the face of Earth, or were in physical therapy after you had told Abby and Ellie about what each of those people did to you.
You were too gullible and head over heels in love with the duo to know they were doing so much behind your back. You had been completely tuned in with love and the relationship, all you saw was them as your blessing.
They meant it when they said they would do anything for you.
“We handled it,” Ellie’s voice would play in your head from that morning. It would repeat itself like a broken record, never shutting up.
We handled it.
We handled it.
We murdered someone.
You didn’t know exactly why the murder scared you, or what provoked you to exactly take the shirt.
You were about to close your eyes until a knock tapped at your door. “Ma’am, it’s Carson,” he said, and you welcomed him in, sitting up on your bed.
You turned on the nightstand's lamp, and he gave you a small smile. “I found a way to submit the evidence without it being traced to you,” Carson said, and your heartbeat went still. “If only you’re wanting to give up the shirt, of course.”
“Well, that was quick,” you nervously laughed, staring down at your lap. “What’s the plan to turn it in?”
“I have trusted connections to the NYPD. Some officers work as guards like I do,” Carson reassured, and you hummed, chewing on your lower lip. “We can send the shirt to them as anonymous, and you won’t have to worry about the shipping coming back to you; it’ll be under my name.”
“Are you positive about that?”
“Absolutely, ma’am,” he said, and your body trembled, mind hazy. You knew it would be the moral thing to do; the guy harassed you, but Ellie and Abby could’ve done anything else besides murder.
The only murder you were aware of, of course.
These girls protected and defended you and your name. They would put the world on fire, yet never let a flame brush on your skin; they were the poisonous paradise you couldn’t see as Heaven or Hell.
You had to release them, though. You needed to grow up without them by your side, because you were more than them, and they were more than you.
And if the shirt didn’t get them anywhere, at least it was out of your grasp.
You got up from your bed, padding over to your suitcase and opened it up. You grabbed a brown paper bag, and held it close to your chest. “Please make sure I don’t get in trouble for this,” you said, pleading eyes looking into Carson’s soft ones.
He could tell you were beyond frightened. That you were just someone who didn’t mean to do this, that your kind heart thought you were doing something right.
You had absolutely nothing to do with this crime, but somehow, you looked ashamed and guilty as if you did. In a sense, you were — you called Abby about the guy, you knew very well what she was capable of. It was no secret how violent and cruel Abby and Ellie could be — physically or emotionally.
“You’re safe with me,” Carson promised, and you smiled small, hesitantly handing him the bag. “Are you sure about this?”
The bag was out of your hold, Carson grasping onto it. “They need to learn their lesson,” you said, all your logic and thoughts mixed up in your head, utterly brainless at this given rate. “And I just want them to stay out of my life for good.”
He just nodded, taking the bag with him as he exited the room, leaving you alone again.
You couldn’t sleep after that. You couldn’t even try to rest knowing you were going to ruin their lives, putting into consideration all they did for you.
But, you had just regained your freedom, discovered who you were without them. You were able to make friends without their eyes boring into your soul, you could live in peace.
You couldn’t accept anymore threats or violence, just so you could remain theirs forever. Because you knew if they truly loved you, they wouldn’t put you in harm's way.
You stared blankly at the ceiling, trapped in your mind when your phone had a sudden ring to it. Your heart stopped, and you froze, your body wanting to sink into the mattress.
You let your phone ring through, letting silence fall pass after the noise stopped.
Not even a minute ticked by as the phone rang again.
You reached for your device, answering the call and brought it up to your ear. “What?”
“So much attitude, little lamb. You’re going to hurt my feelings,” Ellie's voice came through, and you sighed, sitting up. “I’m starting to like this game. Because I know you’re fucking scared.”
You scoffed. “No I’m not. I’m just wanting you to leave me alone.”
“You can’t deal with the idea of what might happen if we catch you,” she began, and shivers cascaded on your body, holding in your breath. “You want to keep running, baby? I don’t mind the chase— it’s exhilarating.”
“You’re fucking sick.”
“You knew that, bunny,” Abby joined in, taking over the call. “Why are you acting so surprised? You fucking got off on how insane we got about you, don’t act clueless now.”
“I was naive,” you retorted. “I was manipulated and blinded by you two.”
“Manipulated? Big idea for you to get at,” she continued, and you heard Ellie’s cruel laugh in the background of the call. “You knew what you were doing when coming to us about your bullies. You knew what we all would get out of it.”
“Shut the fuck up,” you muttered.
“You liked us hurting you too, bunny,” she stated, and your breaths were becoming uneven. “Always in skimpy outfits, flirting with others to get our attention. We fucking saw through you. You’re just as sick as us.”
“Shut the fuck up, Abigail!”
“Using my full name? I’m so frightened,” Abby chuckled, amused and lightened by your poor intimidation act. “Got me shaking in my boots here, sweetheart.”
“I hope you die— both of you.”
“God forbid, right? Then who’ll take care of you?” Ellie returned into the conversation. “Not even that Delilah bitch could do it. Or Holly, Nicole, Emily, Zaya— no one.”
You fell quiet for a moment, your eyes widened in disbelief. “How do you know them?”
“Baby, we told you this,” Ellie reminded you, sighing. “If you were to leave us, we would get you again.”
You zipped your mouth, anxiety surging through you.
“Having fun at the Marmont?” Ellie asked, and you shot up from your bed. “Nice name you got— Emily Dickinson. Really… that name?”
“You’re fucking here?” You asked.
Ellie snickered. “Always in your corner.”
“I have people here, patrolling—“
“Oh, we get it, you fucking princess!” She yelled. “We know you have men, we aren’t idiots. For a valedictorian, you are sure fucking dense. You think you’re always one step ahead, but you aren’t.”
“Fuck you, Williams,” you sneered.
“See you real soon, lamb,” she said, and the call ended. You knew there was no point in trying to reach the number again, it was unknown and a useless line.
Ellie and Abby stood at the top of the hotel, Delilah beaten as cable ties strapped her wrists behind her back. “Alright, you bitch,” Abby picked up Delilah from the ground, adjusting the feeble girl on her feet.
“She’s…. she’ll hate you for this,” Delilah croaked out. “And no one will believe I’ve jumped to my death.” Her head was spinning, barely conscious enough to process what these two random, strange women wanted with her, or why they cared so much. She swore a second ago she was in her flat, sound asleep and relaxed, and now she was on top of the roof of the Chateau Marmont.
None of this made sense.
“We are going to share this little secret with you since you will be dying,” Ellie said, taking out a cigarette from her pocket. “You’re not the first person who has pleaded for their life, or thought their death wouldn’t be convincing. We do this all for her, and unfortunately, she does enjoy it.”
Delilah shook her head. “No, no. You don’t know her whatsoever.”
“She brought you here to your death, sweet Delilah,” Ellie continued on, puffing out a blow. “She knows that whoever tries to steal or touch her, will be either beaten or killed by us.”
“She wanted you dead,” Abby added, and Delilah broke into hysterical sobs. “And we do give our girl whatever she wants.”
Ellie cut off the cable ties, and Abby maneuvered the frail girl over to the ledge. “Anything else you need to say, honey?” Abby asked, and Delilah’s lips parted, prepared to speak. “I don’t give a shit,” the blonde said, pushing her off as her and Ellie watched attentively, grinning to themselves as Delilah’s body splat on the concrete, blood making a river around herself.
It wasn’t long until your guards were shouting, and there were sirens in the distance.
“Ma’am, there’s been an incident on the grounds,” Carson bursted into your room, and you swallowed thickly, your phone grasped in your hands.
You threw on a robe and your slippers, pushing your way through the men. “Let me go!” You shouted, Carson being the one to shove them off. “I need to see what happened outside!”
“It’s for your safety that you don’t!” One of the men, Jackson, protested, but Carson seized your arm, and tugged you outside by your bicep.
“We listen to her,” he reminded the group as they all followed you outside. You could hear a wave of voices and distress, police officers talking to one another. In your gut, you knew something wasn’t right, and you were overwhelmed with nausea.
The noise drew you closer to the entrance of the hotel, where a symphony of shouts were clattering, and police lights mixed into the moon’s gleam. A part of you told yourself to get back into your abode, but you couldn’t help yourself. Your feet tugged your forward, curiosity tingling in your body.
You shoved yourself through a heavy crowd, officers trying to get everyone to back away or stop filming what was happening.
“Excuse me!” You yelled, and pulled yourself further in.
You regretted listening to yourself for another time. Fiery and stressed voices shifted into echoes, banging off the earth’s walls, your eyes struck open by a corpse splashed on the pavement.
Your heart beated in your throat, vomit coating it, and knots twisted in your stomach.
Delilah.
Delilah was on the ground. In front of you.
Your brain didn’t dare register any part of the gory, morbid scene that was plastered in front of you. Blood pooled around her head, her scalp visibly cracked open and her eyes open. You swore she was staring at you, everything in you shaking and trembling with great fear.
“Ma’am, get back!” An officer shouted at you, taking you out of your trance. “Please, this is a crime scene!”
“I… I know her,” you stated, and Carson approached your side. “That’s my friend— her name is Delilah Morse.”
“Please sir, let us get through,” Carson chimed in, and the officer sighed, shaking his head. “This is someone she knows. Only she’ll give you details.”
The officer went to discuss with another official, and your hand buzzed. You flinched to it, not realizing you kept your phone in your hold.
You received a message from Unknown.
Unknown: Want to keep playing, baby?
Unknown: Look at you, so scared and sick. It’ll stop once you give up.
A tear from you covered the screen, and Carson had to push you out of your stare. “Ma’am, let’s go,” he said, and you had not realized the officer was holding up the caution tape to let you through.
You heard a female’s voice come to the side of you. “I’m Detective Anna Blake. What’s your name, and relationship to the victim, miss?”
You stated your name, your voice hush and shaky as you couldn’t look away from Delilah’s body.
“And your relationship?” Anna asked.
“We… I was her friend,” you answered. “What… what did she do?”
“It looks like an apparent suicide,” she responded, and that was enough for her to gain your full attention, a confused expression plastered on your face. “She dropped from the rooftop, and ate it right here.”
“That can’t be,” you shook your head. “Delilah wasn’t at all suicidal, or had any ideations. She was the most positive person I knew.”
“Yeah, but people have personas,” Anna stated, and you furrowed your brows. “She could’ve been acting for you, and everyone else.”
“She’s from London, Detective,” you said, and she stared at you appalled, but intrigued. “She wouldn’t kill herself here.”
Anna was quiet for a sparse second. “Huh… do you know something we don’t?”
Why couldn’t you just shut the fuck up?
There was an open entrance for the vehicles to come through, and for a moment, you swore you saw Ellie and Abby standing across the street.
You knew their silhouettes. And they were watching you, witnessing their crime.
You stared at them back, because now you accepted the truth that no matter where you ran off, that would be there. They would create mess and murder back to back until you gave up the running, and realized you only belonged to them.
Fear was a disease in you, and the only way to kill it was to face them.
Your mother wanted you back in New York. She gave you no choice but to attend the Gala with her and your father.
You tried your best to talk your way out of it, explaining that you had just witnessed your best friend’s corpse the previous evening.
Your mother said the Gala would be a great distraction. You tried to make any point or excuse to stay home, until your father had himself step into the argument. He tended to never insert himself into fights with you and your mom, but this time he felt the need to, and that’s when you were left with no choice.
Of course, your main concern was that Ellie and Abby were going to be there, and confronting them was going to be an inevitable situation. You had to prepare yourself the most as to what to say or do if they were to be in your eye radius.
“This dress is killing me,” you muttered, patting down the bottom part of the simple, yet elegant dress you wore. “And the corset of this is smashing my boobs.”
“Your dress is lovely, dear,” your mother assured, and you scowled. “You have always loved long dresses like this; so long at the bottom, we can’t even see your heels. And you always adored sleeveless corset tops on them, too!”
“You look perfect, honey. You wore this exact dress for junior prom,” your dad reminded, and you shivered to the memory of it. Abby and Ellie were your escort — of course — and everyone adored your dress, even making it into a page in Vogue because it was Vivienne Westwood.
“I just… I don’t want to see them,” you muttered, and the limousine came to a halt. “And it just doesn’t feel right being here, having fun and socializing, when my friend just fucking died.”
“Cherie, Delilah’s death was not your fault or anything,” your mother said, and you glared at her. “It is unfortunate it took place at the same time you were there, but she was just an unhappy girl.”
You didn’t want to converse with her anymore, only getting out of the car before any of them, and were immediately blinded by flashing lights. Your parents stood behind you, and you fixed up a promising smile, making your way into the gala.
The second cameras and screaming men were out of your way, you hunted down a busboy for a glass of champagne. “I will take that!” You grabbed the drink from the silver tray, thanking the man, and earned a groan from your parents.
“Can you at least greet people before you get wasted?” Your father asked, and you shrugged, letting him drag you over to the familiar faces of Jerry Anderson and Joel Miller. You hadn’t seen them since the few days before the murder.
“Ah, there she is!” Jerry exclaimed, and you exchanged a cheek kiss with him, and Joel. “We heard you moved to London. Oxford, right?”
“Yes. It’s been quite delightful,” you shortly shared. “I finished exams early, so I came back into town for the meantime.”
“And do you plan to catch up with the girls?” Joel asked.
You knew at that moment that no one quite understood what really took place that night, and you would never confess to it. They all blindly assumed that there was a great falling out in response to the murder of Brandon James, that you simply didn’t tolerate that behavior, and in some parts of that, it was true.
You had no place or reason to tell the whole truth, or to be honest, when there was an exact, appropriate place to share such a thing. Yet however, if you did, no one would believe you — there was no evidential proof or key to say that Ellie and Abby killed him.
They thought the girls were saints, who were being wronged by another higher power.
The actual case would have them dropping to the ground, and you couldn’t exactly say, “Abby and Ellie are sadistic killers who get off to the pain and torture.”
God fucking forbid, though.
“I’m not so sure,” you answered, taking a light sip of your champagne. “I want to keep to myself for the meantime, and make more goals for my future.”
“Well, if they came tonight, I’m sure it would’ve been lovely,” Jerry said, and you dryly laughed with them.
Champagne wasn’t enough to fill the hollow in you. You needed the strongest shit to exist at the bar.
You had a clear cue to let yourself leave their conversation, leaving you alone in the event. You went to the bar, and sat there, requesting a martini. You put your clutch purse in front of you, and sighed heavily, a migraine coming to your head.
You weren’t used to going to these high class functions by yourself — hell, you didn’t even go until the girls became a part of your life, and would be by your side at each and every one of them. It made your parents happy that they were there to tug you out of your shell, make you more extroverted.
A figure sat at the chair next to you, yet you didn’t pay any mind to it.
Until they said your name, and the voice was familiar.
Your eyes flickered to the side, and you saw Dina. Your eyes widened, your body directing toward her, and she smiled. “How have you been!” She cheered, pulling you into a hug, and you could only hug back. “You fell off the face of planet Earth!”
“Oh, yeah,” you broke the hug, facing her. “I… I decided to do school at Oxford. I just needed to get out of the city.”
“Oxford is nice,” she said, smiling small. “Jesse and I were worried about you. The girls said you had broken up with them.”
You gawked at her in disbelief as she went on to order herself a drink.
Who else was fucking clueless?
“Well, I guess,” you mumbled, your martini set down in front of you. “We just had issues we couldn’t resolve from the night before.”
“Oh shit, that sucks,” she sighed, shaking her head. “The breakup must have been terrible to have you move to London.”
Her glass of tequila on rocks came to her as she took a refreshing sip of it, and you were about to claw out your eyes. Either she had brain damage, was lying, or truly wasn’t aware of what occurred that night, but must have since it happened at Jesse’s club.
“Dina Woodward, be fucking serious with me,” you said, and she raised a brow. “You know what happened. That night.”
She blankly stared at you.
“That night… at your boyfriend’s club…”
Dina shrugged, and you were taken aback. “Jesse must know, then.”
“Ellie and Abby were accused of a serious crime,” she began, and you bitterly scoffed, “which they were found innocent to. They had to go through that trial alone, they went through Hell without you.”
“They killed him, Dina,” you told her, yet lowered your voice due to the gossip crowd that circulated. “You cannot seriously be defending them.”
“I’m not defending them,” Dina stated, and you rolled your eyes, downing your martini. “They have plenty of enemies, and you know that, too. Everyone wants to see them at their absolute worst, and do their own dirty work to make it happen.”
You got up from your seat, grabbing your purse. “It was nice seeing you, Dina.”
You shoved your way through the bustling crowd, and were stuck in the middle as soon as your phone began to buzz.
“Not this shit again,” you mumbled to yourself, and pulled out your phone, putting it up to your ear. “What the fuck can I do for you?”
“You look pretty, sweetheart,” Ellie said. “Don’t you worry, we aren’t in your vicinity.”
“Oh, I’m so fucking pleased to hear that,” you exasperated, rubbing your temple in frustration. “Then how do you know I’m here?”
“You’re right, my apologies,” Ellie laughed, and you heard rustling over the line.
“Bunny, we are going to play a game,” Abby came to the line, and your heart jumped rapidly. “We can see you, but we’ve made sure you can’t catch a glimpse of us.”
“What do you want?” You asked.
“You still don’t get it, darling. But that’s okay,” she took a hast pause, collecting her thoughts. “We told you many times that if you were to run, we would catch you, because you are ours. You can hide, change your name, go to different universities, but we will always be there.”
You swallowed thickly, knowing you were getting stares to your frightened look on your face.
“Your parents don’t give a shit about you, they only kept you away so their image wouldn’t be ruined,” she said, and you knew that was more than true; your parents would do anything to remain prestigious and clean, and you were the taint in their life. “You said you kept that shirt to return the favor, but there’s more than that.”
“You don’t know what you are talking about, Anderson,” you scoffed, and she hummed. “I gave that shirt away; you and Ellie are going to prison for good.”
“We’ll see about that, bunny,” she said, and the line went flat. You rushed yourself to the ladies room, nausea building in you as the room spun, and your nerves weakened your muscles. Laughter and shouts from strangers rang in your ears as you dragged yourself further to the bathroom, and the sickening gut feeling came back to you.
You couldn’t pull apart if you were truly just sick to your stomach, or your intuition was stronger than ever.
You pushed the door open to the ladies room, and to your luck, it was completely empty. You lunged yourself into a stall, and collapsed down on your knees, yucking it up into the toilet. Your anxiety and worry got the best of you, making you a mess so easily, and you were embarrassed by it.
You stood up after a few minutes, taking in slow, steady breaths, and gathered yourself, standing back up. You moved over to the sink, and settled your purse down, opening it up to grab your lipstick. You rinsed out your mouth with the faucet water, and sighed heavily, turning off the sink.
You reapplied your scarlet red lipstick, and put the item back into your purse, along with your phone.
Then a click was made from the side of you, gaining your attention.
The nausea came back, but not in a wave, yet in a violent crash. You swore your heart stopped for a moment, but could hear it violently beat in your eardrums while bile stung inside your throat, threatening to come out again.
Your body trembled, knees about to bring you down, and all you wanted to do was die at this very moment.
“Hey, little lamb,” Ellie said, grinning in pride. Your body pressed back against the sink’s counter, and tears approached over your eyes as you stared at her. “What’s the matter, baby? Cat got your tongue?”
“No… no,” you said, able to take yourself to the bathroom’s entrance. You opened it, only to be met with Abby instead, a wicked smile playing on her lips. “You are both not here.”
“Oh, but we are,” Abby said, moving forward in sync to your steps going backwards. She maintained a fairly safe distance, but one close enough to grab you if you tried to run. “Why so surprised, bunny? We promised this.”
Something about them was gravely different this time. There was a darker energy to them, a sense of evil and anger heating off of them as they stared at you down in the way the predator does when they have finally cornered their prey.
Yes, they got you, and you had no way out anymore — what a fucking terrifying and cruel revalation.
The cat got their little mouse, right by the tail.
You had fallen right into their trap perfectly, in all the ways they wanted you to. It took great cunning patience and practice to get you in this position, to have you trapped.
You were beyond scared; this was the reoccurring nightmare you dreamt of since the night you left. You always tried to consider or plan out what you would do if they were to approach you in any way, but you never paid mind to how methodical and intelligent they were.
You doubted their skills and abilities, and you were dumb to think they wouldn’t get you any time soon, that you would be free from them for a few more months, maybe a year or two – maybe even a lifetime — you wished and prayed upon it.
You were stuck now. The cat and mouse game came to their precise ending.
“Are you going to kill me now?” You asked, and they hummed, shrugging to themselves.
“Well, if we wanted that, we would have done it back in LA,” Abby said, and your eyes averted back and forth between them, trying to see if there was a possible way out. “Or back in London, who knows. We had so many open opportunities to kidnap you, but we liked this little game.”
“Is that what you’re planning to do now? Kidnap me?” You asked, snickering dryly. “Keep me hostage forever? Wouldn’t be anything new to me.”
“Don’t act like you didn’t like it,” Ellie told you, tilting her head to the side. “You liked this claim we have on you. You will never admit it and that’s okay, because we know it, baby.”
“Now let’s not be so rude,” Abby said, and you glanced at her. “Let’s say bye to our guests, and go back home, little bunny.”
Ellie and Abby had seemed to have enough time to decorate the penthouse. To your last memory of it, only the shared bedroom was furnished, and now, they had everything perfectly perched in precise spots.
You sat in the living room, on the black velvet couch as you stared out the window with a mindfulness of thoughts. The city was bustling, sirens louder than ever, and traffic stacked up. You tried to concentrate on the noise outside because it would be last time you would hear it.
The pair had finished fixing themselves up a drink, returning to the room, and sat across from you. You didn’t pay attention to them, fits of rage and terror consuming you inside. You don’t know why you thought you would actually escape them, and you had only dug yourself in a deep grave.
The familiar silence moved through the home, and you could feel their eyes spiking into you, waiting for you to say something. You had more than to say and ask, but you didn’t know where exactly to start, or if you were allowed to question certain things.
“You killed Delilah,” you blurted out, your eyes averting from the window. “You killed Brandon James, and many others, I assume.”
“We have,” Ellie answered, drinking her bourbon.
“I don’t get why. Why do you kill people? How do you even get away with it?” You asked, and Abby glanced over at Ellie, communicating to each other through their eyes. “Are you in like a fucking cartel or some shit?”
“Joel didn’t have an easy time getting to where he is,” Ellie began, setting her glass down, and slouched back on the couch. “He has some connections, and so does Jerry. It’s hard to get into it all, but they were doing illegal shit on the side to get money, build their legacies.”
“We didn’t kill until you,” Abby said, and you raised a brow, positioning your body in their direction. They could tell you were now intrigued, and you were; you were more than curious. “It was two months into knowing you, and you told us about Rachel Wayne. Remember her?”
“Of course I do. That bitch bullied me like it was her life’s purpose,” you lightly joked, and she sighed. “Why?”
“It was the day when she beat you in the girl’s bathroom, ramming your face into the blow dryer all because you got a higher score on your SAT,” Abby said, and you hissed at the memory. You were a good fighter, but Rachel’s envy possessed her strength that day, and she kicked you around like an animal in the bathroom.
She locked the door, keeping her friends, you, and herself locked in, while they recorded the whole moment. You went home with a concussion, a busted face, and cried to the girls about it.
“We were so fucking pissed,” Ellie said, scoffing to herself. “We knew Rachel well. We invited her over to my place, and made small talk, getting the information out of her about what occurred. We got names, and everything.”
You remained quiet, but stayed tuned in and fully focused.
“We got her high off cocaine, and once she was zoned out, we beat the fuck out of her,” she explained, and your heart thumped against your chest, about to pop out. “She was crying, and screaming; but it made us think of how that was you previously because of her. Our anger overrode us to the edge, and we started cracking her body in. We didn’t know we had killed her until she was completely fucking limp.”
“Those who had the video were dealt with too,” Abby assured. “If they refused to delete it, we made sure their lives would be ruined, their parents would be left with nothing. We knew how to obliterate these spoiled fucks.”
“Are you serious?” You asked. It was rumored that Rachel ran away to her boyfriend in Spain, and refused to come back because her parents were assholes to her, and just a straight disappointment to them. “How did you clean up your tracks?”
“Well, I called Joel in a panic, and told him everything,” Ellie answered, finishing her drink. “Joel told Abby and I to get ourselves cleaned up, and these men came over like an hour later, picking up after us.”
“They wiped our phones and tracks completely,” Abby said, and slid you forward her glass of whiskey. “And then we did it again, and Joel quickly realized we were doing it for you. He saw that you were our purpose, so he let us use his connections, and everything.”
“He was worried everything was going to collapse the second the cops came about Brandon,” Ellie recalled, and took out a fresh cigarette. “That was a mess we had to fix, of course. Like, I’d never seen Joel so pissed off before, it was insane.”
“How did you get away with the murder?” You questioned.
“Easy shit,” Abby laughed, shrugging. “He had himself in rough, bad business. We basically found someone who he owed money to, planted all the evidence and shit on that dude.”
“Now that motherfucker is serving life,” Ellie lit up the stick, inhaling sharply. “We made sure it wouldn’t come back to us.”
“But the shirt,” you reminded them, and they stared at you for a moment before aweing at your little tactic. “The shirt is with the cops.”
“Is it, though?” Abby teased, and a faint ding of the penthouse elevator chimed, footsteps approaching into the living room. “Right on time, too! God, I fucking love dramatics.”
Your eyes shifted to the noise, a broad and muscular figure walking to everyone; and you swore it was the night you were going to go into shock, or have an aneurysm.
Carson stood before you with the shirt in a clear zipped bag, and Abby stood up. “Thank you so much,” she grinned, and Ellie shook his head. “Your money has been transferred to your offshore account.”
“What the fuck?” You blurted, Carson directing his eyes towards you. “You knew?”
“I’m the one who’s been cleaning up their messes,” he admitted, and Abby opened up the bag, taking out the shirt. “It didn’t take much to convince your parents to hire me. I just needed a believable resume.”
You shot up from the couch, staring him down. “You told them where I was at, and everything! You are a fucking narc!”
“I didn’t have to tell them anything,” Carson dryly chuckled, amused by your terrified expression. “They were able to do that all on their own; I just gave them the starting point, and left it at that.”
You smacked him, the skin contact echoing in the home. He only laughed, finding you childish and weak, and shrugged. “I’ll have you fucking killed!”
“Loved to see you try,” he said, and took his exit, waving to the pair. You stared at where he was in utter shock, widely appalled with slight betrayal hitting your heart. You had trusted Carson wholeheartedly, felt secure and safe with him, and it all was a blinding lie.
Ellie started up the fireplace, and your eyes flickered to the ghostly fire. “No, no!” You shouted, trying to seize the shirt from Abby, but the auburn haired girl entrapped you in her hold, forcing you to watch the shirt to be burned.
“You know, I hope you start to learn tonight,” Abby tossed the shirt into the fire, and you wailed, thrashing in Ellie’s arms, yet it was pointless; in every way, they would always be stronger, you being a weakling.
The shirt crinkled and disappeared in a matter of seconds.
Ellie let go of you, and you glared at her. “We aren’t done talking,” she settled you back on the couch, and Abby brought a glass of chardonnay to you. “Now we want our answers.”
“I’ll fuck you up!” You spat, and they tried not to laugh. “What else shit do you have to say?”
“What did you expect to happen when you came to us about your bullies?” Abby asked, genuine and engrossed. “Did you think we would just have chit chats?”
You took a second to yourself, and you stared down at your lap, fidgeting at your dress. Before Abby and Ellie came into your life for good, they were notorious at the academy, and held that title with such pride. You knew what they were capable of, what they could do, and you saw them as your defenders from everything.
Did a part of you know what you were doing? Yes, but not that it would lead them to murder. You never understood or knew why they were so fixated on you, even before they decided to lure you into their lives. They had been riveted by you, and there was not a clear indication as to why, but you used it to your full advantage.
Your parents didn’t care about you, and they knew that. All three of you played a dangerous, deadly role in the relationship; it was volatile and brutal, but it was all you had, and they were all you wanted.
You spent so much time running and hiding from them, you never took a particular moment to realize your role in everything. You took that shirt because it was a part of you; you had Brandon killed, he was a deadman the second you called Abby about him.
You were just as guilty as them, you were just as part of their games and murder.
No one else was going to do this for you, nobody would burn and tear apart the Earth just to have you in their grasp again.
“There’s our girl,” Abby cooed, and you looked up at them, tears in your eyes. “You finally understand. After these years, now it has come to you.”
“You gave us the cards, we just played them the way you liked,” Ellie said, and you downed the chardonnay, exhaling shakily as you set it down. “We knew you were too much like us, we couldn’t deny you anymore. We had to have you.”
“Every time you said we handled it,” you sucked in a hard, jagged breath, “was that code for ‘we killed someone”?”
“What else would it mean, princess?” She mused, burning her cigarette out alas in the ashtray on the coffee table.
A silence slowly creeped into the room, crinkling of the fire and outside traffic filling it as it lasted what felt like moments.
“You know the first time we say you — God, we just knew we had to have you,” Abby spoke, and your eyes trained focused on them. “You hypnotized us by simply existing, by being in our vicinity. It was like we were blessed to come across one of God’s angels.”
You were always sure that they were attracted to you because you simply co-existed within their class status, and because they knew you were the only girl at Faye Academy that wasn’t corrupted or tainted. You were like this fresh breath for them to use — and you still thought like that after everything they had done for you, and even prove that they did love you beyond your body.
“Why me?” You asked.
“We don’t know what you did to simply draw us in, but we couldn’t resist. Every time I saw you in class, in your nicely ironed pleated skirt, in your dark blue polo sweater… your makeup done so pretty…” Ellie reminisced, a crude grin playing onto her lips as she recalled the first moment she laid eyes on you. “You were so pure, so perfect for us. It was no longer about wanting you, it was about needing you — we had to; everyday that passed by where you weren’t in our grasp, we could almost die from it.”
“You will never truly know how much you have us at our knees for you, sweetheart, and that’s okay,” Abby said, and you sucked in a sharp breath, not knowing you had been barely breathing the entire time they spoke about you. “But understand the risks we would go through for you; we live and breathe you. We crave and yearn for you, despite the fact you are already ours. What is our purpose if you simply don’t exist in our lives?”
There was not much you could say to that, only able to break down. They sat up from the couch, and Ellie reached her hand out for yours, softly looking at you.
“Let’s go upstairs, baby,” she gently spoke to you, and peered up, hesitantly interlocking your fingers with hers. She walked you with her, Abby trailing close behind as an easy quietude settled in place, though your sniffles were the only thing to be heard.
Walking into the bedroom, you were momentarily paralyzed by the memory of your last moment in it. You were on that same bed when you put all the pieces together, and had left them with no letter or anything; you took your absence, and that was that.
Ellie guided you over to the wall mirror, her and Abby brushing up close on your back, the two attentively admiring you. “We would do anything for you, sweet girl,” Abby said, and your sobs slowly came to a halt. “We’ll always happily be your executioner, for the rest of our lives.”
“You’re our girl,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “But I think you need a fresh reminder of what you put us through.” Her hand hid behind her for a moment, grabbing something from the back of her jeans. A gun came into your vision, and your breath hitched, but she kept it by her side.
Your neck was met with Abby’s soft lips, her warm breath fanning against your skin, and her fingers loosened the strings of the corset. You softly moaned, Ellie fixated on the sight of you easily falling apart to Abby’s kissing, and grinned to herself. “Doesn’t take much to have you under us,” she said, and you eyed her, nodding.
The dress was undone, and easily dropped off your body, the duo getting the view they had longed for all this time. You were bare and exposed, only in underwear, and a primal urge had shadowed over them, wanting to ruin you without any thought.
“Oh, bunny,” Abby whispered. “Just as perfect as we remembered.”
Her lips separated from your marked neck, and you whimpered as Ellie pressed her gun to your abdomen. “What a sweet sight that I will never get tired of,” she mumbled, kissing your cheek. “Seeing you fucking petrified as if we will kill you at any moment.”
“But you won’t,” you retorted. “Right?”
“No,” she promised as the gun was slowly dragged to your temple, and she clicked the trigger, only for the barrel to be empty. You flinched to the trigger, your heart racing. “But we will hurt you, I can assure you that, little lamb.”
She used the gun to steer you to the foot of the bed. “On your fucking knees,” Abby demanded, and you collapsed to them, your knees thudding against the cold, hard granite tiles. “Anytime you stop, we use this gun, and you can find out yourself if the barrel is cleaned out.”
“Yes, mommy,” you muttered, and they amusingly hummed. Ellie kept the gun in position, using one hand to unbuckle her belt, and strip off her jeans as Abby did the same. It was a rare thing for them to have their straps under their pants, only if they knew they would have to handle you at any given moment, and this was one of them. You were going to come crawling back, and they were prepared for it, to claim and destroy you all in one.
“Mama gets to have you first,” Ellie said, and you parted your mouth open, Abby’s stuffing your mouth full with her cock, careless to your gagging. She had her way with you, her hand holding the top of your head as she thrusted herself into your mouth, trying your best to not pull back and gasp for air. The gun was there to keep you place, and you couldn’t ignore how it pressed deeply into the side of your head.
“That’s right, baby. Fuckin’ whore,” Abby said, and you tried to best out of your nose, desperate for more air. You used whatever strength you had, forcing your head back, and engulfed amounts of oxygen into your lungs. “What the fuck did we say?”
The trigger was pressed, and your ears rang with it. Empty, again.
“You’ve been away too long, princess,” Ellie said, and Abby retrieved your head, your mouth filled with the silicone object again. “Was too busy fucking other girls, huh? I bet they couldn’t make you like this; I can see you fucking dripping through your panties.”
Your arousal was a wildfire in you, spreading through your stomach, and down into your thighs. You could feel the mess you were making, seemingly ashamed and embarrassed how you got wet from their threats, with a gun pointed to you that was possibly clipped.
“There she is, now you are being good,” Abby praised, her thumb pressing away the tears that fell on your apple cheeks. “Always doing your best for us, hm? Knew you missed us too, baby.”
Ellie crouched down to your level, the gun lined up under your head as her grin turned into a twisted smirk. “All that we did for you, little one,” she mocked a frown, sighing. “And you just ran away like that? Coming home to find you gone, and betraying us?”
You were lightheaded and dizzy, your mind hazy, yet tried to stay focused. Your moans and whimpers gargled in your throat, drool running out of the corners of your mouth, and falling down onto your breasts.
“You belong to us, and you better start getting that through your fucking skull,” Ellie seethed, her bitter fury coating her mind. “You are only hurting yourself by doing the shit you do. A fucking brat you are.”
Abby decided to give up on you, your mouth hollow and free. She grabbed you by your throat, a sinister shade lingering in her eyes, and air whistled through her teeth. “Little bunny, you have no clue what you’ve done to yourself.”
You were put in the middle of the bed, and Ellie looked at her gun. “Let’s see if she can still take us,” she said, and Abby hummed, nodding. Ellie adjusted herself in between your legs, shoving them open, and stripped off your underwear, moaning at the sight of your cunt. “Fucking hell. She’s fucking soaking, babe.”
Abby had bunched ropes in her hand, kneeling into the bed, and stared at your cunt. “What a sick bitch you are, bunny,” she teased, running a finger down your slick folds, and you whined. “All of this from a gun, Ellie. She fucking loves it.”
Nothing else was said as Abby grasped onto your legs, and pushed your legs up against your chest. Her hands gripped on your wrists, having you hug the underneath of your legs, and made sure you kept yourself locked in the placement.
Ellie tied your wrists together, tight enough to not cut off any blood supply, and then went on to your ankles, knotting them in one. She used another string of rope to connect your ankles to your wrists, making your position trapped and stuck.
“We don’t want to hear you enjoying this,” Ellie said, and gave the gun over to Abby as the blonde sat herself in front of you. Ellie took off her strap, letting it drop to the ground, and took off her underwear, only to move herself over your face. She carefully lowered herself down on, and her aching cunt met your mouth as you obediently sucked and ran your tongue on it.
Abby slowly slipped the gun into you, yet you were soaked enough to let it easily be fucked into you. She pressed down onto your stomach as she rammed the cold weapon into your pussy, and you tried to muzzle your needy noises, tending to Ellie’s needs.
The auburn girl rutted herself against your mouth, eliciting shaky moans and cursed under her breath. “Yeah, just like that, sweetheart,” she muttered, looking over at Abby while she continued to fist the gun into you.
You lathered Ellie’s slick on your tongue, pleased how it dripped over your lips as you moaned to the sweet taste of her. If your wrists weren’t restrained, you would keep your arms around her thighs just to eat her out for hours on end.
Abby and Ellie were intensely dominant, it was unwonted when you gave them pleasure. They were refusing about it, saying that you were the one who needed to be desired and tended to whenever you wanted to be.
You couldn’t tell if you were immensely desperate or if the gun was fucking you so well, that you were already at the peak of your climax. You denied your orgasm, needing to get Ellie to hers, and harshly ate her out, fucking her hole with your tongue, sending her into a moaning, pleading mess for you.
“Oh shit, sweetheart— yeah, keep going,” she softly moaned. “Being such a good girl for daddy, gonna make sure to cum in your pretty mouth.”
“She’s making a mess on your gun and sheets,” Abby said, and for a moment, your cunt was not filled until she pushed her cock into you. “There we fuckin’ go, this is exactly what she needs.”
Ellie craned her body near Abby, the two kissing each other in a sloppy manner as the blonde roughly fucked into you. Abby kept her close as Ellie’s jagged moans and whines breathed into her mouth, doing all she could to keep herself up and close.
“You going to cum, baby, hm?” Abby asked, and Ellie moaned against her lips, nodding. “Go on, cum for us. You can do it.”
Ellie’s orgasm came crashing down as she squirmed and cried out, twitching on your mouth. Ellie pushed herself up, kneeling beside your head and leaned down to kiss you, both of you moaning at the taste of her. You sucked on each other’s tongues, Ellie slipping her hand down your stomach, and made way in between your thighs, rubbing your cunt.
She broke apart the kiss, her free hand gripping onto your jaw to make forced eye contact, and spat into your mouth. “Make us proud, baby. Want you to give daddy a good one,” she whispered, and you kept your eyes trained into hers as Abby pounded herself deeper into you, the squelching noises of your slick mixing in with your whimpers and throaty moans.
“So fucking tight, never gonna get enough of this perfect pussy,” Abby breathed, her hands squeezing the back of your thighs. “Made just for us, sweet girl. Everything about you was made for us to worship and ruin.”
“No one fucked you like this back in London, huh?” Ellie asked, and you shook your head. “Oh, I know, sweetheart. Probably had to get off all by yourself while you thought of us, too.”
“Just… just thought of you two the entire time,” you confessed, brows knitted together. “I need you so bad, ‘m sorry.”
“We’re here, baby,” she said, kissing the side of your head. “Next time you try to escape, you’ll absolutely fucking regret it. Got that?”
You nodded, and a warm sensation kindled in the pits of your stomach, knowing the familiar feeling. You squirmed, and Abby glanced over at Ellie. “If she doesn’t understand, we’ll just beat it into her,” she said, making it a sincere promise, and a chaste kiss was made to your forehead. “I would hate to do that, but it might just happen.”
Your approaching orgasm made it too troubling to know if they would harm you in such a way, but you were at the point that you couldn’t put it past them.
“Cum for mommy,” Abby insisted, and you moaned, your hips jittering as your climax broke out of you, broken moans escaping from you. “That was fucking nothing, you crybaby.”
The cum from her strap leaked with yours, dripping out of your hole, and making a puddle in the bedsheets. She unknotted the ropes, tossing them to the ground shortly after, and massaged your wrists.
You laid there for a second before bursting out in a fit of laughter, the two confused by it.
“What?” Ellie bluntly asked.
“Surprised you even let me cum,” you said, laughing a little more. “Usually you have me work for it.”
Abby and Ellie looked at each other before their eyes went back to you as they puckered their lips in thought nodding to themselves. Ellie picked you up from the bed, and brought a violent backhand slap to your cheek, halting your laughter altogether.
“You want to keep fucking laughing!” She yelled, giving you another one. “You are even fucking lucky we are touching you. We could have had you strapped to a vibrator for hours, and hit you every time you tried to cum.” Your lightness turned into sobs, and you stared at her through glossy vision, your pout shaking on your lips. They had simply run over their limit and patience with you, and you no longer doubted the sadism they would lay on you.
Abby just stood by, soaking in your tears and how easy it was to crack you. It was enough for the both of them to get off. She took you from Ellie, putting your arms behind your back as her chest brushed up against it, and Ellie took off her shirt, harnessing back on her strap.
God, I know you hate me, you thought to yourself. But please, have mercy on me.
Abby spat down your ass, using the saliva as lubrication, and dipped you down onto her strap, your ass hole brutally being stretched open. She kept you steady and positioned right for Ellie, who was not far behind as she shoved her cock into you.
“Ride us, bitch,” Abby said, and you obliged, hissing under your breath. The pain lasted longer than you thought, tears flooding into your ears while their size brutalized your cunt. “Such a sensitive cry baby. So easy for us to break you.”
Your head fell back on her shoulder, looking up at her. “Please, mama. ‘M sorry, I’ll be so good for you.”
Ellie grabbed your jaw, a violent smack struck against your cheek. “You enjoy lying to us, all the fuckin’ time. We should’ve disposed of you a while ago, see how you would’ve done without us.”
“What a pity that would be,” Abby taunted, laughing breathily in your laugh. As they found humor at the thought of you being a lost lamb without them, you were ripping at the seams as you went on to ride them at a gentle pace for you, the discomfort shifting into grand pleasure. “I would like to see that. Maybe next time we will leave, have you feel what we did.”
“No no!” You cried, shaking your head, and broke into hysterical sobs. “Didn’t mean to go, swear I didn’t.”
“Yeah,” Ellie jested, that eerie smirk of hers resting on her lips. “Because who will put up with you? Make you feel like this? Give into your fucking sick desires?”
“That’s why you’re perfect for us,” Abby noted, her hand creeping up to your neck, and viciously gripped on your throat. “Just as twisted and fucked in the head as us, more than you’d care to admit. No one will want or need you the way we do.”
You refused to deny them that. They were what you craved, they were the epitome of your lust and dreams, everything you yearned for, and were the helping hand to expose who you were to yourself. You would’ve done the same as them if they tried to leave; you would fucking slaughter those who they cared for just to have them again.
A match made in the ninth circle of Hell.
Your next high came to you, making it easily known as your noises got high pitched, making it an indicator. “Let me cum, please,” you pleaded, sobbing. “Want to cum, I need to— I’ll do anything you want.”
“We like you this way, stupid whore,” Abby said, and made the gun useful again, pointing it to your ribcage. “You cum, I pull the trigger.”
You body tensed, and you nodded, trying to ignore your unbearable high as it was becoming raw ecstasy to you. Your thighs trembled, about to give up on you, and you looked at Ellie through wettened eyelashes, your face drenched with tears and sweat.
The bedroom was rare filth, you could smell sin and vices burning through it. Your life was in their hands in every literal sense, but you wouldn’t have it any other way; you would rather die than not have them, and if that meant they would have to kill you themselves, you would let them. You were utterly nothing without them, and they knew it, too.
You had all the fucking wealth and privilege in the world to be someone, but you couldn’t be if they weren’t there on your side. You were them, and they were you. Your souls were eternally intertwined, and no matter where you went, you would always come back to them because they were it. They were all you sought out for.
Despite their desecration and souls being planted from Hell, they were Heaven and all things bliss.
You needed them. You would always need them.
You were winded out of your head as your orgasm stung inside of you, crying to be freed. You sobbed with it, shaking your head, but had to consider the gun that was indented into your skin. You had not known how much was passing when holding in your cum, but you couldn’t take it, and it was easily making you fall apart.
“Mommy, please!” You cried, blubbering in your tears. “I have to— ahh, please! I can’t do it, I can’t!”
“Yes you can, and you will, you fucking whore,” Ellie argued. “Unless you want to find out if the next shot has a bullet in it.”
You shook your head, and continued to break into sobs, your orgasm threatening to be released at the edge of you. It was becoming too much, your vision was blurring, and your heart was overwhelmed, almost frightened you would have a heart attack of some sort.
Ellie and Abby gave in, violently and recklessly pounding into you, putting your riding to a complete stop. You placed your hands on Ellie’s shoulders for support, Abby’s nails clawing into your throat as she continued to hold onto it for leverage while she maintained to hold you at gunpoint.
Utter euphoria rode over you, your eyes rolling to the inside of your head, and your back perfectly arched, crying out for the both of them. Your nails scratched at Ellie’s skin, your eyes getting a hast look at her fucking your cunt. Your noises and voice grated like rust at the back of your throat, breaths shuddering in your ribcage.
“You want to fucking cum, bunny?” Abby breathily asked. “Cry for it more if you really want it, sweetheart.”
“Mama, please!” You sobbed loudly, your mewls and cries faltering in your cries. “Want to be full of you, need to be bred by you two, please. Make me a pretty mommy for you, keep me trapped with you.”
They fucking lost it on you, ferociously driving themselves deeper into your wet, abused holes, and were coming to their own high. “Yeah, baby? Want daddy to fuck a baby into you?” Ellie cooed, a faux pout dangling on her lips. “Then you wouldn’t have anywhere to go.”
You nodded, on the brink of being braindead. “Yes, yes! I wanna be leaking of you. Wan’ mama and daddy to breed me so badly, please!”
You were an incoherent babbling mess, your voice raw and rough as you cried with your noises of gratification. They easily had you at the tip, and were ready to push you all the way down, keep you sobbing.
“Fucking cum for us, fuck!” Abby demanded, dropping the gun, and let go of your throat. She laid her hands on your torso, her nails scraping against your skin, and you hissed to it. Wanton moans and whimpers echoed throughout the room, and a second hadn’t passed when your climax ran out of you, riding it out as the girls went on to fuck you.
You let them use you like a fucktoy until they had come to their own orgasm, stuffing their cum into you as a symphony of curses sputtered from their lips. All movements came to a stop, bodies trembling and sticky.
You had to internally keep yourself conscious, but it was seeming impossible. You collapsed onto the bed the moment you were unfilled with their cocks, letting them handle themselves before you.
You could feel a warm, wet rag running over your legs, and you stared up at the ceiling, your eyes lazily blinking. “We need to clean you up, sweetheart. C’mon,” Ellie said, and picked you up, carrying you into the bathroom.
The three of you shared a warm bath, sitting in the middle of them as they cleaned you up nice and well, being sure to be gentle to touch you. You had missed the sweet scent of them, or how their violent hands could be so kind to your body, chaste kisses being pressed on your spine and forehead here and there.
It took you a few years for you to figure out your purpose with them, and all that they did for you. It was more than enough. To many, it would seem insane of your justifications and reasonings to why they did what they did for you, but no one else's opinion mattered in the fact. They worshiped you, they devoted every inch and breath of themselves to your protection and well being.
This is all you wanted. You and them forever the rest of your life. If carnage and bloodshed had to present, then so be it; because as long as you had them there by you, it was okay.
