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Thirsty Thursday is now all week
@ghotifishreads
MASTERLIST | Sideblog for fic writing, recs, and reads for user @undutchable11 | she/her | 30s | if you're not old enough to vote you shouldn't be around these parts | reads and reblogs mostly p. pascal & o. isaac characters
Updated - December - Christmas camping fic with Dieter Bravo x assistant gn!reader - Dieter Bravo Christmas fic - Make the Waves Smooth
🔞Over 18s only, minors dni! 🔞 Please indicate in your bio that you are over 18! I go through and will delete and block followers with no age indicators.
I do not give permission for my work to be republished, reposted, or translated.
All probably contain smut of some kind, please heed warnings in each story.
Most of my fic are [character] x f!reader, but I do have some x gender neutral reader fic which are indicated below with X gn!reader.
I don’t do a tag list, but follow my writing sideblog @ghotifishwrites and turn on notifs -- I’ll reblog only my writing there.
ASSORTED PPCU BABES
Babes from the Dark: gothic monsters headcanons
Babes from the Deep: aquatic mythological creature headcanons
JOEL MILLER
Salt and Sugar It - 1970's AU! - You go to the roller disco and give Joel a blowjob.
I Find Myself in Cautious Times - In a world overrun with clickers, where mere survival is a struggle, sundresses are a frivolous relic of the past, right?
Company Assets - You’ve had a tough day at work. Joel knows how to help you relax. (Joel spanks you while you’re still wearing your corporate office outfit, ya’ll!)
When I Move You Move - ballet dad!Joel x dance instructor!reader - Sarah Miller is very nervous to take her first ballet class, so her dad Joel asks if he can accompany her at the barre. AKA Joel is a ballet dad and just a good dad, and also a very sexy man.
Ferris Wheel - FLUFF - fake dating and Joel's afraid of heights
Dressing Joel up for Halloween - drabble
Haunted House with Joel or Ari - drabblet
Joel Miller - DILF disaster dater - fluff blurb
Send Out the Morning Birds - Javi Gutierrez x reader x Joel Miller threesome morning after blurb
Baker!Joel imagine Joel Miller x gn!reader
*new* Groping - 2 separate mini blurbs - 1 w/ Dieter & 1 w/ Joel
DIETER BRAVO
*now completed!* Down This Chain of Days - [COMPLETED multichapter] Palm Springs AU -- aka the time loop rom com one.
Luster - personal assistant!reader. You accompany Dieter to the Met Gala. He has some ideas about what you should both experience whilst at the world-famous museum's most infamous night
Luster drabble - Dieter has a special long distance lady pillow for when you're apart
Luster! prequel - Us as Bookends - Luster!Dieter Bravo x assistant! f!reader
Netflix and Chill with Dieter - smutty drabble
Dieter Bravo x Ari Levinson x reader preview thots
Furrowed - fluff - Dieter x gn!reader - Dieter feels bad about getting older and you soothe him
S'mores - Dieter x gn!reader - Christmas camping fic
Groping - 2 separate mini blurbs - 1 w/ Dieter & 1 w/ Joel
*new* Fairy Queen - 1960s Dieter Bravo x f reader
FRANKIE MORALES
Poolside - pool boy! Frankie
Hometown Honey!Frankie - coming soon
Ticklish!Frankie - 2 drabbles
JAVI GUTIERREZ
Send Out the Morning Birds - Javi Gutierrez x reader x Joel Miller threesome morning after blurb
Drabble - Javi throwing a themed party
TIM ROCKFORD
Snowed In - there was only one bed with Tim Rockford
A walk home through the park - sweet drabble
Against a hotel window - smutty drabble
Wearing Tim's holster and riding him - smutty drabble
Fic idea wicker man au
Drabble - making Tim dress up for your costume party
I am so tired of short-attention-span, trim-the-fat culture.
All writing advice these days is for how to write like Chuck Palahniuk. "Cut 'think', cut 'feel', cut 'wonder' - only action, only pushing forward, show and move and move and move." What if I could emulate this style, and still don't want to? What if I want to write like Henry James, with three paragraphs of introspective musings between each dialogue line?
The music advice is, "make it shortform, make it Tik-Tok compatible, make it punchy, hit the refrain as soon as possible." What if I want that 10-minute prog rock piece? What if I want that symphony? What if I want it slow and luxurious and lazy?
Movies. Series. Poetry. Bodies. Everything is "trimmed trimmed trimmed trimmed, stripped bare, you have three seconds to win me over, make it airport chic." I don't want to win you over, then, I guess.
I want the fat left it.
I want the pleasure and the indolence and the indulgence.
Fuck this art-advice that's always "your art needs Ozempic."
Safe - Younger!Sub!Harry Castillo x Curvy mistress!f!reader
Rating: +18, MDNI
WC: 6,9k
Summary: Harry brings you to the company party and finally gets a revenge on his asshole dad.
You give him the best reward for finally being brave.
Tags: Smut, fluff, dom/sub dynamic, fighting, struggling, unprotected p in v (as previously mentioned in Bunny, reader is on the pill and they both take blood tests once a month, be careful irl!!!), using of a dildo, using of a butt plug, mention of spanking (Harry’s favorite 😌), masturbation, teasing, dirty talking, pet names, reader calls Harry "bunny", Harry calls reader "ma'am", cum eating, doggy-style fucking, luxurious party, dancing, mention of alcohol, a lot of feelings, Harry has a terrible dad and he’s slightly younger in this (in his 30s), reader is the same age in my head, reader is not described except for being explicitly curvy, no use of Y/N, no kissing allowed between them (😌).
A/N: part 2 of Bunny, I wrote this for the PPCU fandom writing challenge hosted by @pedroscurls , I’m sorry it took me so long to finish this 🥺 I really hope you like it, I love this version of Harry, he’s such a good boy 😌 Thanks to anyone who read the first part, I was so happy to see your fabulous response ♥️ Special thanks to @aurorawritestoescape for being my precious beta, you’re the best, babe! 🫂 English is not my first language, any mistake is still on me!
Dividers by @/saradika-graphics
Harry waited for you at the bottom of the stairs, leaning against his car.
The sun was setting, bathing everything in a pink and orange light.
He wanted to be casual, so he hadn't gone upstairs, but the cold air of the spring evening crept into his bones as he waited for you.
He looked up at the sound of your heels clicking on the concrete steps.
“Hey.”
He raised his eyes and what he saw nailed him to the ground.
Wrapped in a floor-length black lace dress, your hair pulled back, your makeup understated and elegant, you almost looked like a different person, yet at the same time you were so unmistakably you.
His gaze glided over your curves, hugged by the dress, supple and soft, your skin smelled of coconut when you stepped close to greet him, and Harry felt his mouth water.
“Hey, bunny,” you whispered, pressing your lips against his cheek.
Harry whispered back, “You're beautiful,” as he looked at you, and saw your eyes light up and your smile widen.
“I'm not really used to wearing dresses like this, but I have to admit it's really pretty. Your assistant certainly has good taste,” you mused.
“I picked it out myself.”
Your eyebrow raised, a smirk curving your lips. “Yeah? You’re such a good boy”
Your voice went straight to his cock, like always, like anything about you.
You pinched his butt through his black tie suit pants while he was opening the car door for you and he almost tripped on the sidewalk at the unexpected provocation, a shiver of pleasure running down his spine.
“Maybe it’ll be better if you call me by my name during the party,” he said, trying to regain some semblance of balance, and you laughed, “Not my first ride, honey,” accompanying your sentence with a wink.
Nothing else existed for Harry anymore—not the sounds of traffic around him, not the chatter of people walking on the sidewalk on their way home from work, not even the cool breeze ruffling his hair.
The car ride was pleasant.
Harry was completely captivated by you and for the first time, a work party didn’t feel like a death sentence to him. Even though you didn’t really know each other very well, he felt strangely safe with you next to him.
You were more talkative than usual and he was happy about that. The sound of your voice calmed him, and he hoped to learn more about you.
“I saw you in the newspaper the other day.”
“I’m often in them,” Harry admitted, “much more than I’d like.”
“Hmm, well you looked cute in the pic. So… Mr. Castillo, huh? Are you a multimillionaire or something?”
Harry nodded, adding immediately afterward, “More than anything, it’s my father,” and he physically felt his mouth twist into a grimace, involuntarily, like an unconscious reflex.
“You don’t like your father.” It wasn’t even a question; it was a statement. In a split second, you already understood him better than anyone else around him.
“Yeah,” he exhaled, gazing out the window. All around him was Manhattan—the traffic, the neon lights, the honking horns—everything moving swiftly, in a trail of light that shifted rapidly from yellow to green to red, fading into a buzzing cluster of lives.
“Typical,” you declared, your head nestled against the seat, one hand resting on your thigh, your fingers lazily tracing circles on the lace of your dress.
You seemed relaxed, at ease.
This wasn’t your first time with a guy of his kind, as you’d been careful to point out to him. You’d probably come across other frustrated guys before—millionaires’ heirs, tired and bored with their lives, or arrogant and conceited in the way that piles of money can make you.
“I'm curious to meet him, this famous dad,” you joked.
“I don't think you'll like him,” he blurted out. “He's the biggest jerk I know.”
You smiled, your fingers brushing the lapel of his jacket, your voice confident. “I know how to deal with guys like that.”
The moment the car stopped, Harry felt a rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins.
What would his father think when he saw you?
He helped you out of the car, taking your hand in his.
The valet gave instructions to his driver, while you looked around beside Harry.
You seemed uncertain, almost intimidated for a moment, before straightening your back and looking him in the eye.
“Okay, let's do this. I'm ready,” you said confidently.
Harry smiled, it was the first time he'd seen even the slightest crack in your armor.
You climbed the stairs together, you holding onto his arm to avoid falling on the slippery marble steps that led to the entrance of the building.
As soon as you entered, a couple of waiters curtsied to Harry, as if he were some kind of royalty. He felt a certain uneasiness churning his stomach, he didn't want you to think he was pretentious, but everything around him only reminded you of how much money his family actually had.
You walked down a wide corridor that led to the room where the party was being held, tapestries hanging on the walls, paintings worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, Persian rugs spread across the polished marble floor.
You looked around amused, noting a portrait of an old man “is he one of your ancestors or something?” mockingly winking to him and Harry laughed, the tension of his shoulders loosening up.
“I don’t know who he is and honestly, darling? I don’t care. He looks like another prick in a uniform.”
You chuckled, agreeing with what he said, resting your head on his shoulder for a moment. “The first of many tonight, I understand.”
“It’s a good thing I paid you, huh?”
“It really is, Mr Castillo” you whispered into his ear, so sweetly Harry thought for a moment about turning around and getting back to your place, entirely skipping the party.
He couldn’t though, he already confirmed his presence to his dad’s assistant a week ago.
Amidst soft chic lights, and ridiculous canapés served by waiters who efficiently moved around the room, tables draped in pristine tablecloths where bartenders served cocktails, huge crystal chandeliers that reflected the lights, and large stained-glass windows along the walls, reaching all the way up to the frescoed ceiling and with hundreds of people dressed in outfits worth thousands of dollars, Harry felt a knot in his stomach that was eased only by your hand clasping his.
He had always belonged to that world, and yet he never stopped feeling like a fish out of water amid all that glitz.
Eating pizza out of a box with you while drinking beer straight from the bottle would have been a far more appealing prospect for him.
He took you to the bar, offered you a drink, trying to put off as long as possible the moment when he would have to say hello to his father.
He wanted it to be worth it for you, he wanted you to have fun.
There was a small band playing live music, and Harry asked you for a dance.
Holding you close amidst all those people, seeing your eyes sparkle as you looked at him, your amused smile as you were moving to the tune of an old classic—it was making it all worth it for him.
Your hand rested discreetly on his shoulder, but at one point you leaned close to his ear and whispered, “I’m having fun, thank you. You deserve a special treat tonight.”
Harry felt his face flush as he replied, “Thank you, ma’am.”
You giggled so tenderly, you seemed so into it, genuinely thrilled to be there with him, you had your eyes fixed on him as if no one else in the room mattered, and to Harry, it almost felt as if you were truly his.
Harry knew it would never be possible; he was well aware that you were there because of money and the dress he bought you, and he remembered clearly every time you had told him you didn’t want a boyfriend. Yet, feeling his body brush against yours, seeing your radiant face, a part of him still held out hope that perhaps you might feel the same way.
He hoped that at some point you’d tell him you wanted to be his girlfriend; he hoped to take you on vacation to Italy, to walk hand in hand with you through the streets of Florence, to show you the Uffizi, and to watch the sunset with you from the top of Piazzale Michelangelo.
He dreamed of taking you to Rome, of seeing your amazed expression in front of a Caravaggio, of having dinner with you in a small osteria, drinking wine and eating pasta.
His mind kept wandering, filling up with so many impossible fantasies.
“So, are you going to introduce me to this famous father of yours?”
Your question crushed him back down to earth.
The moment Harry stepped right in front of him, his father looked you up and down, his contempt clear.
His face said, “Who on earth is this?” as you held out your hand to him, smiling, proud in your posture and demeanor, stunning, radiant, wrapped in your dress that made you look like a goddess.
His fifth wife, a 25-year-old size-zero model with a haughty air, greeted you both, then immediately excused herself to go gossip with some tycoon’s wife.
His father didn’t seem impressed, not in the slightest.
Mr. Castillo Sr. was trying to make you feel uncomfortable, as he always did when he didn’t like someone.
You told him your name, and Harry easily recognized the look of disgust on his father’s face—a barely perceptible twitch of the lips that said, “You don’t belong here.”
That was always what his father had been. A man whose millions made him believe he was better than others, a man of facades and pretense, a man for whom good appearances were the same as being good.
Harry felt anger rising in his chest, not only because of how his father was treating you, but also—and above all—because in that moment he truly realized how much he had allowed his father to control him, to impose his expectations without the slightest regard for the person his son actually was.
It didn’t matter; all that mattered was that Harry acted as a calling card for him. Perfectly printed, with clean edges, no smudges, pre-set fonts on thick, expensive paper that clearly showed who his father was.
Never Harry.
And while he was used to being treated like that, seeing his father use the same tactics he’d used on him against someone else was driving him crazy.
His father kept bombarding you with a thousand questions—where you were from, what you did for a living—in a way that was clearly meant to make you feel uncomfortable.
How could he have thought he’d win?
In some sort of way, he hoped to have a little revenge on his dad, parading you out to the ultra formal company party.
And now he was ashamed. And the greatest shame was having put you in that situation.
Harry took your hand, as if to say silently, “We shouldn't be here. I'm sorry.” And you squeezed it.
He had been watching his father the whole time, his mind filled with thoughts of how he’d want to see one of those pathetic canapés get stuck in his throat, and when he looked back at you, he saw you looking calm. Completely unshaken by the disgusting behavior of the man with whom he had the misfortune of sharing his genetic makeup.
“Not my first ride,” you told him.
“I know how to deal with a guy like that.”
And Harry knew you had meant every single word.
“Have we met before?” his dad pressed.
“I don't think so,” you replied calmly.
Because right after that, in a voice loud enough for him to hear but at the same time quiet enough to be discreet, you added, “Unless you like being spanked, sir.”
All the commotion in the room—people exchanging pleasantries, clinking glasses, background music—all of it reached Harry’s ears as if muffled.
This was the second time you’d had this effect on him, making everything else but you disappear. As if only you truly mattered—like a sound his brain really needed to register.
Harry tried to hold back his reaction, but a smirk danced on his lips, tempting him like the devil.
His father was livid, visibly furious, cornered as he struggled to contain his reaction so as not to make a fool of himself in front of the millionaire investors and other wealthy guests who had flocked to his glamorous party.
And there you were, as serene as ever, with a neutral, courteous expression, as if you hadn't said a word.
There was a slight twitch at the corners of your mouth, a tiny flinch of your cheekbone, but other than that? Your expression gave nothing away, and perhaps that was what was bothering Harry’s father the most. He loved to belittle others and wanted them to care; he wanted to feel that power clenched in his hands. Nothing gave him more satisfaction than knowing he held the strings of everything tightly in his fist. And there you were, reminding him that he couldn’t bend everyone to his will. That there was someone who didn’t give a damn about what Castillo Senior thought was appropriate.
No matter how much the ground seemed to be falling out from under Harry’s feet, no matter how much he regretted bringing you there, there was a warmth in his heart now.
He had never felt so proud to be close to someone as he did when he was with you at that moment.
“What?! How dare you?!” His father grabbed Harry by the sleeve, pulling him close, and hissed right in his face “You brought a slut to my party?”
Harry couldn’t take it anymore.
Calling you a whore was the last straw.
“We're leaving,” he said, pulling his sleeve out of his father's grip “and don't expect me at work on Monday—I quit.”
And then he did the unthinkable.
He spit right in his dad’s face.
A globe of saliva landed on his cheek and he froze. Stunned.
His wide-open eyes and gaping mouth made him look like a fish gasping for air.
It was the last thing he expected from his son—and from Harry himself, for that matter—but the satisfaction Harry felt in that moment was second only to the day he’d met you.
The truth was that Harry had never believed he could do it because when you get used to feeling considered a waste of space sooner or later you end up convincing yourself that you really are. Only now he was beginning to understand that he deserved better, that all the money in the world would never give him the inner security that he saw within you instead.
He took you by the hand and led you out of the room, even as you protested that you could easily stand up to that asshole.
He turned to look at you just outside the room. “I know. I know you can put him in his place, but there’s no need for you to do that. That man is wicked, far more than you saw tonight, I assure you. And there’s no need for you to deal with him anymore, and you know what? Same for me.”
He felt tears stinging his eyes. For the first time since he was born, he had rebelled against the man who had fathered him. He had gotten the courage to quit his job. On one hand, he felt that his life had truly just begun; on the other, the realization that he had finally broken free from his father’s shadow paralyzed him. He leaned against the wall, repeating to himself, “Damn, I really did it,” under your worried gaze.
You brought a hand to his face, caressing his cheek. “I know it’s scary.”
He turned his gaze to you, sweet and reassuring, as you whispered that everything would be all right.
He relished the tender touch of your palm on his skin, murmuring “I’m so glad you’re here. I feel safe with you.”
“I know, baby, it’s okay. Let’s go back to my place.”
Harry didn't hesitate to follow you. The noise of the party faded behind him, growing fainter and fainter, until it seemed insignificant.
The drive home felt longer than Harry could remember; as the car drew nearer, he felt a whirlwind of emotions swirling inside him.
Fear, but also excitement about what the future might hold for him.
He had his savings set aside, a sort of a safety net that would give him some time to experiment and discover who he truly wanted to be. It wasn’t his father’s billions, but it was still a considerable sum.
He had the house, registered in his name, and a small cottage in Connecticut that he’d bought as an investment and rented out to other bored rich people who wanted to escape the hectic life of New York.
He was still richer than most people.
He cursed himself for waiting so long before doing what he really wanted.
But maybe he had to meet you before realizing he was tired of being bossed around by his family. The only one who gave him pleasure when you did it was you.
Now he knew for sure. And suddenly, as he looked at your face in the dim light, your gaze fixed on the view outside the window, he felt terribly sad at the thought that sooner or later it would all come to an end.
You turned toward him, sliding your hand across the leather seat, taking his fingers in yours, and whispering, “I’m so proud of you”—and his heart skipped a beat.
Once inside your house, Harry didn’t wait for you to tell him before loosening the tie that was choking him and unbuttoning the top buttons of the pristine white shirt he was wearing under his tuxedo.
As you made your way toward the bedroom you used with him, your catlike steps echoing down the hallway, you turned for a moment to glance at him over your shoulder. “Sure, get rid of those things—you won’t need them much longer anyway.”
That made him smile; you accepted this little act of defiance on his part so willingly, understanding his frustration.
You probably understood even better now where he was coming from. You were smart, much sharper than that idiot of a father of his could ever have imagined. And you knew how to read people.
In the weeks leading up to the party, he’d visited you often, and sometimes you’d lingered for a little chat after the sessions, before kissing him on the cheek and holding out your hand to receive your payment.
The marks usually faded within a week, but the one you’d left on Harry’s heart was still bright red, throbbing, hot, and no soothing cream would be enough to make it go away.
Submitting to you had set him free.
You weren’t indifferent to how your behavior might make him feel; you weren’t thinking only of yourself. You were focused on him and his reactions every time you interacted—far more so than anyone else ever had been. And this was perhaps the closest thing to love that Harry had ever experienced.
“Sit on the bed,” you said as soon as you walked into the room.
Harry obeyed, feeling as if he were floating in a dream.
You stood in front of him. His eyes slid from your slender ankles in a pair of sky-high black heels up the lace of your dress that hugged your curves, your hips, your soft belly, your firm, full breasts, all the way to the sweetheart neckline that accentuated your collarbones and further up your neck and the line of your jaw. His gaze lingered on your open, sincere smile, with a mischievous touch that slightly curled your upper lip, and your deep, piercing eyes.
There was something so magnetic about you that Harry still hadn’t quite figured out. He knew everyone had been staring at you at the party, he’d felt their unworthy eyes scrutinizing you, probably thinking petty things you didn’t deserve, because it was as clear as day that you didn’t belong with that kind of people or in that kind of situation. You were so much better than them.
“Take off your jacket,” you ordered.
Just as he slipped off his black Tom Ford jacket, he watched you reach for the back of your dress and heard the zipper slide down slowly.
“The shirt,” you continued, stepping out of your heels.
Harry began impatiently undoing the buttons, and you scolded him, “Slow down, bunny. Breathe.”
His nervous fingers stopped.
“Breathe,” you said again, “let out that frustration bubbling inside you.”
Harry felt his lungs fill with air and let it out, once, twice; he inhaled and exhaled, and his eyes closed at your command.
“Relax. I’ll take care of you now.”
He had never felt so taken seriously.
He felt his body unwind, the weight on his shoulders lighten, the lump in his throat loosen, his hands finally calm.
Guided by your warm voice, he focused on those sensations, clearly feeling every cell of his settling down.
When he opened his eyes again, your dress was unzipped halfway down your back, and your hair was falling over your shoulders, free from the elaborate style you’d worn at the party.
You were even more beautiful in your element.
“Nice work,” you praised him, “now take off that shirt.”
Harry stood shirtless, under your watchful gaze as it scanned every detail of him that you must have come to know so well by now.
He felt his nipples harden and his lips curve into a smile as you slipped out of your dress, revealing the black Agent Provocateur lingerie set he’d had delivered along with the dress.
When he’d chosen it, he’d hoped he’d gotten the size right.
He noted with some satisfaction that it hugged your breasts perfectly as they stood proudly encased in the finely crafted lace.
His mouth watered at the sight of the delicate embroidered bow in the center.
He wanted to press his lips against it, to smell your sweet scent, to feel your soft skin against his cheek.
He did nothing. He waited. He felt his breath in his chest struggling to stay quiet.
He saw the look of satisfaction light up in your eyes as you asked him, “So, do you like it?” while one of your fingers slowly traced the edge of your panties.
“Yes” he nodded, immediately “You’re gorgeous, ma’am.”
“I saw a whole new side of you tonight,” you teased him. “Who knew you could be so assertive, bunny.”
“I—” Harry began hesitantly, but you cut him off right away.
“You don't have to explain yourself. He deserved it.”
Harry nodded, smiling at you.
“Maybe you are a little bratty, after all,” you chuckled.
“Maybe,” he agreed. You seemed intrigued, and Harry thought he saw a certain pride in your expression, which delighted him.
“Mmm, if you do that to me, you’ll be punished, you know that, right?”
Harry felt a rush of heat rise from the pit of his stomach. Oh, he was sure he could accept your punishments—in fact, he was eager to do so.
His hands were still shaking as he recalled a few nights earlier, when you’d used a big pad with “bunny” written on it.
Somewhere on his ass cheek, the writing was fading. He’d seen it in the mirror that evening, right after getting out of the shower.
So yes, not only had he gone to his father’s party with you, but he’d done so with the marks of your spankings still clearly visible under his tuxedo.
Everything he had done that evening was incredible and tasted of freedom.
He was over thirty and had finally found the courage to tell his father exactly what he thought of him. Better late than never.
“Yes, ma’am” he replied and he felt his cheeks burn. He could feel his cock getting hard under his tuxedo pants.
And you noticed, too.
“Get rid of those,” you said, pointing at his pants.
He took them off before you had to ask again. Maybe there really was a bit of a brat in him somewhere, but this wasn't the time to show it.
Not when he wanted you so badly.
“Good boy,” you cooed, clicking your tongue, and added, “Well, look at that… someone’s already hard.”
His cock was pointing straight at you, hidden only by his boxers.
You eyed him from head to toe, one hand resting on your hip, a smug little smile on your face, tapping your heel on the floor.
“How much do you want me?” you asked, and Harry couldn't help but say,
“Oh ma'am, I want you so badly.”
You lifted your chin, giving him an authoritative look.
“Not yet. Sit back down on the bed.”
As soon as Harry obeyed, you sat on his thighs, keeping your distance from his cock.
Your fingers slowly traced a path from his wrist up to his shoulder, first on one side and then the other.
Harry swallowed a moan of protest, trying to focus on the sensation of your polished nails scratching his skin.
His hands moved instinctively toward your hips, but you rebuked him immediately.
“You know the rules. You can’t touch me until I tell you to.”
Harry’s hands fell back onto the bed; he clenched the sheets, trying to fill them with something, to quell that need to hold you tight that had overwhelmed his senses.
Your nails made their way across his chest, down to his stomach, and then to the left until they reached his side, where you pinched him.
Harry bit his lower lip, closing his eyes, letting you do it. Immediately after, he felt your lips caress his neck, gently, slowly, along his pulse point.
“Mmm, you smell so good,” you whispered before biting down on the soft skin below his ear.
Harry gasped, feeling his body tense as you licked the spot you’d bitten.
“Good boy, bunny… stay still for your mistress.”
Your fingers teased his happy trail, moving up and down in an agonizing yet delightful way.
You pulled down his boxers just enough to expose his cock, and it stood erect between your bodies.
Harry was impossibly stiff, so much so that it hurt, and he couldn't say how much longer he could hold out.
He almost lost it when your hand slid between you, stopping just an inch from its tip. You didn’t touch it, you left it suspended in the air, moving it slowly in a circle, as if you were about to touch it at any moment, and you watched him squirm so intensely while your gaze never left his. No hesitation, complete control of your body, and the promise of a touch that never came.
Harry was entranced, completely captivated, his body was screaming for attention, his tip was swollen and red, and precum was dripping down his shaft.
“Let's see if you can wait a little bit longer,” you whispered against his skin and then you got up and walked over to the table where you kept your toys.
Harry could feel the blood boiling in his veins, he wanted to scream, he wanted to beg you, but he knew the rules and knew that the reward would come if he behaved himself. He couldn’t help but let out a moan as he watched your hips sway in front of the table while you were busy with your toys.
His legs were shaking, his heart was pounding in his chest like a hammer, and he could feel beads of sweat forming on his forehead.
Finally, you picked up a suction-cup dildo. You moved closer to him, sliding it along his jawline, all the way to his mouth.
“Suck it, bunny. Make it nice and wet for me.”
Harry was hesitant, his lips trembling at the rubber tip. Finally, he opened his mouth under your commanding gaze.
The tip slid over his tongue, all the way in.
He had never sucked a cock in his life, real or toy.
He didn’t mind the feeling of his mouth full; it was a little uncomfortable, but his jaw adjusted easily after a while as you pushed it in and out of his lips.
“That’s it, keep going,” you encouraged him. “Drool all over it.”
Harry could feel his saliva pooling around the toy; he could feel the tip pushing almost all the way down his throat. “No teeth, baby,” you warned him, and he tucked them behind his lips before sucking again. A trickle of spit ran down his chin as you kept fucking his mouth, slow and relentless, the dildo clenched in your palm.
He was breathing heavily through his nose and could feel his lungs running low on air, but he didn’t stop until you pulled it out with a satisfied click of your tongue.
You looked at him with satisfaction, praising him, “Great job, bunny,” and your thumb wiped his saliva from his lower lip.
He watched you walk away again and let out a grunt of disapproval, and he grew even more frustrated when he saw you slip off your bra and your panties, revealing your neatly trimmed bush to his eyes.
He would have given anything to bury his face in your pussy.
You fixed the dildo to the wall opposite the bed, in front of him, next to the door and Harry wondered how much longer he’d have to endure before he felt the warmth of your body again.
You didn’t seem inclined to give it to him easily tonight, and deep down, he liked that.
He loved how you pushed him past his limits, how you took your time and teased him, making him feel that everything you did was worth the wait. You made him feel wanted and desired by not letting your games end too quickly.
He gasped as you lowered yourself onto the dildo, letting it slide all the way into you with a moan.
You started moving up and down on that bright pink silicone rod; Harry could clearly see the toy appearing and disappearing between your folds.
He was losing his mind.
The squelching sound of you fucking yourself against the wall was filling his ears along with your moans and your incessant teasing of him,
“Like what you see, bunny? You want to fill me up, huh? Take this dildo's place and stuff me with your cock?”
Harry tried to move his hand toward his aching erection to get some relief, but you scolded him, and his palm went back down onto the bed.
Your juices were now flowing heavily onto the dildo as you moved your voluptuous hips in circles, two fingers rubbing your clit and one hand clutching your breast, pinching one of your nipples.
“Mmm, that feels so good.”
You were on the verge of coming, and Harry knew it; by now he knew every moan you made, every expression that crossed your face, how you threw your head back and closed your eyes, he could have sworn he’d never tire of watching you like that.
“Watch me come,” you whispered before picking up the pace on the dildo and the fingers on your clit, which was now moving furiously, rubbing it convulsively.
Your skin was covered in a thin layer of sweat that glistened in the dim light of the room, your wet bush and your swollen, soaking folds greedily sucked the dildo all the way in.
The moment you closed your eyes, Harry disobeyed. He’d never done it before, but he felt like he was about to explode. A hand flew to his cock, jerking it a couple of times.
“Just a little,” he thought
“I can stop,” he lied to himself.
When his palm wrapped around his cock, he felt he was at the point of no return.
It was too much. Your naked body so far away from him, your breasts bouncing with the force of your thrusts, your spread and dripping pussy, your hips writhing—he couldn’t take it a minute longer, no matter how hard he tried.
He knew he would suffer the consequences. But after all, even those were sweet to him, since they came from you.
You opened your eyes just as your orgasm was subsiding and thundered, “Harry! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”
Harry stopped just short of his climax and looked at you with pleading eyes.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “You’re so beautiful, I… I can’t… I just can’t.”
You calmly slid off the dildo, unhooking it from the wall and leaving it standing on the dresser, still coated with your juices.
Harry’s heart was in his throat as you approached him with slow, deliberate steps.
One of your hands cupped his cheek while the other slid down to your folds.
Harry watched in ecstasy as you gathered your juices with two fingers, then brought them close to his mouth.
“Suck them clean,” you ordered, shoving your fingers into his mouth.
Your taste spread across his tongue as he sucked obligingly and greedily.
He moaned when your fingers reached almost to the back of his throat.
The satisfaction etched on your face made him hope you would forgive him.
His cock stood between you, still stiff and throbbing, and suddenly your hand left his cheek to slap it.
A quick blow to the shaft that made him almost sink his teeth into your fingers.
“Bad boy,” you hissed, “that's not what I taught you.”
The pain radiated across his belly, rising up to his stomach, and soon faded into a pleasant tingling.
Sharp but sweet, just like you.
“Is this the day of rebellion?” you demanded, pinching his chin between two fingers and forcing him to look you in the eye. A mischievous smile played on your lips.
You weren't angry.
“I have to admit, I'm proud of you. The first time you came here, you were afraid of your own shadow.”
Harry knew he had changed, and it was thanks to you, too.
You had given him the clarity and willpower needed to see things from a different perspective.
“So... do you want to fuck me right now?”
Harry had never nodded so quickly.
“I don't know if you deserve it.”
“Please, ma’am”
You looked at the way his cock bobbed when you lowered yourself to kiss him on his forehead.
You seemed willing.
“Okay...” you conceded, “but on one condition.”
Harry agreed immediately. “Anything, ma’am.”
You smiled, letting go of his chin and turning your back on him to head back toward the dresser.
You picked up a butt plug and a bottle of lube.
“You’ll wear this while you fuck me.”
Harry had hesitated the first few times you’d suggested it. After some discussion and a few attempts with your fingers, he’d agreed to try some small plugs, and he had to admit that, with a generous dose of lube and your patience and gentleness, he was starting to like it. You’d used other plugs on him, but Harry had never seen this one. This one was bigger.
A shiver of pleasure ran down his spine, and he felt his cheeks flush as you approached, wiggling it between your fingers.
“It arrived in the mail the other day,” you told him, biting your lip, “and frankly… I couldn’t wait to try it.”
Harry was equally amused and aroused.
He wouldn’t have done it for anyone else but you.
You told him to get on all fours on the bed, and once he was in position, he felt your fingers gently caressing his hole.
“Relax, bunny,” you reassured him as your finger lingered at the opening without entering. You slid it in slightly, and Harry let out a sigh, trying to focus on the sensations.
He felt you squeeze out a generous amount of lube and felt your fingers, coated in the cool gel, slide in slowly, just the tip at first.
“Everything okay?” you asked, and Harry nodded, “Yes, ma’am.”
You stimulated the area a little more before sliding a bit deeper, gently stretching him.
When Harry felt ready enough, he whispered, “I think I’m ready.”
“Good boy,” you praised him, one hand running down his back.
You picked up the plug again and coated it with more lube, then began slowly inserting it into him.
Harry felt himself filling up inch by inch as the cold metal slid inside him.
“Almost there,” you reassured him, “you’re doing great.”
Harry felt proud to please you. Everything he’d agreed to try, you’d guided him through calmly, letting him get used to it—firm but gentle—and this had allowed him to explore many things he’d never considered before and to discover new forms of pleasure.
“Okay...you’re set,” you said to him with a playful tone.
Harry got up and knelt on the bed.
It was a strange feeling but the sensation of fullness was pleasant, and when you moved it around a bit, thrusting deeply a couple of times, all the uncertainty faded away, overshadowed by the excitement.
“Oh…oh,” he stammered “fuck this is…”
“Great, isn’t it?” You purred, lowering yourself towards him, grazing the shell of his ear with your tongue.
“Yeah…”
His cock was still incredibly hard as a rock, and by now Harry felt that if he didn't have you right away, he'd go out of his mind.
“You want to shove that big cock of yours in my cunt, huh? ” You asked and Harry begged.
He begged hard “Please ma’am. I need to feel you… I need it so bad.”
You climbed onto the bed, and this time you were the one getting on all fours in front of him. Your ass swayed before his eyes, you arched your back, your pussy open and eager before his eyes.
“Take me,” you ordered “fuck me hard, bunny. I know you can.”
Your folds were still soaking wet, and Harry had no trouble sliding inside you.
With every inch he entered, he felt the plug stretch him a little more.
The sensation of filling you while he himself was filled was inconceivable; he had never felt this way before that moment.
It was like being subjugated and subjugating at the same time, a precarious and delicate balance between domination and submission that made his head spin.
Yes, you were on all fours for him at that moment, but you had made sure to remind him who was in charge.
“Oh God… oh my God,” he whispered, clinging to your hips to steady himself, feeling your walls welcome him and pull him in.
“Fill me, Harry, all the way,” you urged him.
When he began to move, his fingers dug into your flesh, gripping your plump hips with both hands; with every thrust, he felt himself plunging deeper and deeper, sweat beading on his back and forehead.
You moaned like a woman possessed beneath him, slamming your ass against his groin, his balls slapping against you.
“Fuck,” he groaned “I don't think I can hold out much longer.”
It was overwhelming. All of it.
The plug filling him, his cock pressing against your sweet spot, your sweaty body shaking with each thrust. It was a dizzying sensation that blurred his vision and dulled his hearing; it was a pleasure that shook him from the tips of his toes to the tips of his hair.
His cock throbbed violently and after a few seconds he shot his load deep inside you.
He kept thrusting into you until he felt you tense up and then scream as you came; you slumped onto the bed, clutching the sheets with your hands, your hair tousled across the bed, as you writhed wildly beneath him.
You collapsed onto the bed and brushed your hair away from your face. Harry lay down beside you, after removing the plug and tossing it on the floor.
A few seconds later, you turned toward him, moving closer and nestling against his chest.
“You've been so good for me,” you purred, leaving a kiss on his peck and then looking up at him.
Your eyes were hazy and tired, but happy.
Harry felt he had everything he needed right there in his arms, and without thinking, he kissed you on the lips.
You didn’t scold him, you didn’t protest, you didn’t try to push him away.
You leaned into the kiss, running a hand through his curls.
Harry had never been so happy in his entire life. He didn’t dare say anything or ask you anything, he simply savored the kiss, sucking your soft lower lip between his own, feeling your tongue exploring his mouth.
It was an evening full of triumphs—the first in a very, very long time. Perhaps, deep down, you were starting to see him as more than just a client.
And he was even more surprised when you whispered to him, “I don't want any money tonight.”
Npt for the people who loved Bunny: @milla-frenchy @baronessvonglitter @mcthsman @rosharanfiction @morriggannlostinfandoms @doveloveloser @mothmanuwu @brittmb115 @speaktothehandpeasants @lilynotdilly @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff @missadangel @simpingforjoel @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @readingiskeepingmegoing @mabelmiller @indiegirlunited @joelmillerspnk
People who showed interest in the WIP when I posted it: @peepawmiller @dreamedaboutitinthedark @sawymredfox
Bunny - younger!sub!Harry Castillo x curvy mistress!f!reader
Rating: +18, MDNI
WC: 8.2K
Summary: Harry has always been subjugated. In life, at work, with his family. When he meets you, he discovers the only realm where being submissive brings him the most exquisite form of pleasure and pain.
Tags: Harry’s pov, mistress reader, she’s described being curvy, having hair, having big breasts, soft hips, stretch marks and soft tummy (cuteeee 🤤), she’s mostly wearing robe, lingerie and leather in this, no other details added. Harry is in 30s here, reader’s age is not mentioned so you can imagine a legal age gap if you want to (she’s the same age as Harry in my head), Harry has a dickhead dad, struggling, low self esteem, conflicts, just an hint of abuse as a kid, psychological abuse as an adult, Harry never tried a mistress before, mention of Lucy (you won’t believe how I used that girl’s name LMAO), Harry is literally drooling over reader, sub!Harry, dom!reader, mention of safe word (not used), mild BDSM (nothing too hard, not an expert so if you find some inaccuracies I’m very sorry), feelings (of courseeee who do you think I am if not an hopeless romantic), sex for money, boot licking, whip, silk ribbons, nipple clamps, paddle, mention of blood but very mildly and briefly, reader calls Harry by pet names (mostly bunny, good boy and baby), Harry calls reader ma’am, pussy pronouns (maybe even cock pronouns at some point, I’m not sure anymore, sorry 😵💫), no kissing allowed, unprotected p in v (reader is on the pill, blood tests requested, everything is safe - but please WRAP IT IRL, this is fiction!!), riding that big gorgeous cock!!, spanking, a lot of begging, Harry is such a good boy 🥰, dry humping, almost cumming from that only if you squint, masturbation, oral (m!receiving), just a mention of other kinky practices, did I mention that Harry is totally starstruck by you?, mention of expensive clothes and Harry expensive lifestyle, he’s such a miserable sad person in this though 🥲, until he meets you heheheh… I think that’s all, honestly this is just porn with a very little plot and wrapped in feelings, let me know if I missed something, thanks ♥️ Open ending because… you tell me if you need a part 2 of this or not. English is not my first language so I apologize if you find any mistakes.
A/N: Probably written entirely by my pussy, I don’t know, I just want this rich, broad gorgeous man all pliant for me 🥵 I really hope you’ll like it, let me know what you think and please be kind, it’s my very first attempt at writing Harry and a mistress. (To be honest I want them both and I really hope you’ll get the same feeling if you’re bi like me 🤭)
Thank you immensely to @aurorawritestoescape for reading this over and fixing my mess, as always your help was so precious! Love you dear, so much 🥹♥️ Any mistake is still on me!
dividers by @/saradika-graphics
Part 2: Safe
Harry looked up at the top of the skyscraper he had just left. Full-length windows lined up one after another, set against a leaden gray sky.
Luxury, power, ambition.
All things Harry had known since he was a child.
Mr. Castillo, his father, was the most feared man in Manhattan.
And rightfully so.
Harry couldn't remember ever seeing him smile. A smirk, a slight twitch of the lips, a hint of cruel irony on his face? Sure. But a real smile, a broad, joyful one, the kind that lights up the whole face? Never.
Especially not in his presence.
Harry's mother had left when he was a child. It was a million-dollar divorce that had filled the front pages of tabloids.
She lived in a luxurious villa in the Hamptons, playing bridge, sipping tea, taking tennis lessons and having an affair with the coach who was younger than her own son.
She never remarried. She just had those wild escapades like a twenty-year-old. The tennis instructor was the latest one in a long list.
Harry lived with his father. He attended the best private school, graduated from Princeton with a degree in economics, and worked in the family business.
He had done everything by the book.
Everything that was expected of him, not what he really wanted.
Yet his dear daddy still considered him a weakling.
An annoying insect born and raised in his shadow.
A pathetic waste of space who didn't have an ounce of his drive, his perseverance, his business acumen.
Every time Harry did something well, he would look down on him, pressing him, “Is that all? Is that the best you can do?”
Every time he failed he had been throwing it in his face for weeks and months, not failing to point out what a huge disappointment he was for the entire family.
Even though Harry started from the top, from the highest step on the social ladder, he never felt up to anything.
His life was a constant jostle to make room for himself, to get his father to notice him, to receive more than a condescending glance from him.
In response, his father put his brother in charge of marketing, effectively making him Harry’s boss.
His younger brother was in charge of him, overtaking him in the line of succession.
Harry was no quitter. He worked hard, harder than anyone, making decisions every day for which he received no credit.
Harry couldn't understand what on earth he had done to deserve being treated like this.
As far back as he could remember, it had always been that way.
And even worse.
His father's relationship with alcohol was problematic, to say the least. A lot of money had been spent to cover up his nights at strip clubs, his angry outbursts and public scenes, as well as his numerous encounters with high-class prostitutes.
Despite preaching the importance of a traditional family, he had been married five times and Harry strongly doubted that he and his brother were his father's only children.
Mr Castillo controlled not only the media but also the police, maintaining that facade of a brilliant businessman and devoted father through generous monthly bribes.
Anyone would have sworn he was a perfect man, anyone except his children.
Most of the time, he showered Harry and his brother with money just because they had to maintain a certain standard. To appease them. To keep them quiet.
Money is no substitute for a father. Harry learned this very early on.
There was only one thing he really liked to buy with his money.
And that was your company.
He found you one night, surfing the internet while he couldn't sleep.
You offered maximum discretion.
You were beautiful. The most beautiful woman he had ever seen in years.
Especially because you were so far away from him and his world.
You were unlike any of the girls he had dated. Rich, spoiled princesses with their snooty attitudes, Ivy League degrees, six-figure bank accounts, and more cosmetic surgeries than he could count on one hand.
Looking at your photos, he was seeing a real person. Wrapped in a black latex bodysuit, your breasts spilling out of the fabric as if it struggled to contain them, your soft hips, stripes adorning your thighs like a coat of a tiger.
Your lips, coated in a red lipstick, like ripe fruits waiting to be tasted.
And your gaze. Magnetic, intense, slightly intimidating.
The first time he was with you, he realized that there was much more behind that gaze.
You were probably forced to grow up quickly. Learning too early that all life had to offer was spit in the face and, in most cases, no one to wipe it off.
Harry made an appointment that same night, filling out the form on your website.
No driver, he took a taxi.
The Castillo heir taking a smelly taxi to the other side of town to meet a dominatrix.
Now that was front-page tabloid news.
He got out of the car in front of an old red brick building. He wrapped himself in his cashmere coat and looked up.
Third floor, you had told him.
There was no name on the doorbell. Just a little black bow, the same logo he saw on your website.
Harry climbed a few steps, leading up to the front door, feeling nervous.
He didn't know if you would like him. And he knew that wasn't the point, but he cared anyway.
No date had ever unsettled him like that.
He rang once, waiting on the steps for the sound of the door opening, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, breathing in the cold air.
He entered and got into the elevator and looked at himself in the mirrored wall.
Perhaps you would have found his hair too neatly combed, so he ruffled it by running a hand through his dark curls.
Perhaps he had been wrong to button his shirt all the way up, so he undid a couple of buttons.
Perhaps you would have found his appearance pretentious, so he took off his coat and hung it on his arm, hoping you wouldn't notice the label.
He knocked on a red lacquered door.
When he heard footsteps approaching, he held his breath until you opened the door. Harry exhaled, seeing you for the first time in the flesh.
You were even more gorgeous than in the photos.
You nodded to him, inviting him to come in.
You were wrapped in a black silk robe that softly enveloped your hips, your hair falling over your shoulders. Your voice was firm, not a hint of a smile on your lips. You looked him up and down without saying a word, as if studying your prey.
You smelled of roses.
“Did you take your blood test?” You asked and he handed you a folded piece of paper. You examined it, your gaze running up and down, making sure he was clean.
It was an explicit request on your website.
“Ok. Stay in that corner. Wait until I call you,” you ordered him. Leaning against the entrance, Harry murmured, “Yes, ma'am.”
You disappeared into a room at the end of the hallway.
There were several doors, all closed.
A couple of wall lamps cast a soft light that stretched in lazy stripes across the wall.
In that unreal silence, Harry could count his breaths, hear his heart pounding in his chest.
He was still contemplating whether he should leave. Maybe that would be better. Maybe he wouldn't get anything out of this. Yet he couldn't move until he heard your voice calling him.
“Come,” you said to him.
Harry’s $800 leather shoes moved across the parquet floor in slow motion. He pushed open the slightly opened door and crossed the threshold.
The room was rather bare.
A bed on the wall opposite him, white sheets and a black bedspread. There were heavy red curtains on the windows, artificial light was coming from a floor lamp. Harry saw a series of sex toys, lined up on a dark wood dresser. You were standing in front of the bed.
Black fishnet stockings ran down your legs, disappearing in a pair of black leather boots.
He looked at you again and knew that wherever you wanted to take him, he was ready.
It was an old cliché, the powerful man getting spanked behind closed doors, leaving behind every decision that plagued him.
That wasn't exactly the case for him. That wasn't why he was doing it.
Harry was used to stern looks.
He was used to people thinking he was a pushover.
“Kneel,” you ordered.
For the first time, someone was giving him orders without judging him.
For the first time, he didn't feel subordinate, but rather understood.
Somehow, what you exuded, your unwavering resolve, your aura of control, were reassuring to him.
Finally, giving power away didn’t feel like he was giving away his soul, but rather that he was taking care of it.
He knelt before you, hands on his thighs, looking into your eyes, searching for what he had never found anywhere else.
Willingness to give him what he needed.
“What’s your name?”
“I’m Harry.”
He could have given you a false name, but his real name had slipped from his lips.
Only time would tell if you were going to use it against him but you didn't seem to have any interest in blackmail or else, just doing your job.
“What do you want, Harry?”
For years no one had asked him that when they were genuinely interested in knowing the answer.
“I would like..,” he paused, pondering what you wanted to hear.
“You're thinking too much.” You caught him off guard and he looked at you as if not knowing what you meant.
“We're not here for me.”
There was no derision in your voice, if anything, he heard patience. You were waiting for him to unfold in front of you.
Damn, you were good. You were worth every dime.
He looked up at your body wrapped in leather, the curves of your hips and breasts, that little roll of belly pressing against your bodysuit.
Your expression was stern, but not in a bad way. You had a pride of someone who knows they have a knife in their hand but without the cruel desire to sink it into his flesh.
His cock swelled beneath his pants.
“You know...” he replied, watching the diamond pattern unravel along your thighs.
“Eyes on me, baby,” you ordered.
“I want you...” he admitted, bringing his eyes to yours.
“Yes? You want me?” you pushed gently. “How?”
“Any way you’d like,” he replied and he meant it.
“Okay, Harry,” you finally conceded, watching him squirm uneasily on his thighs, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, as you noticed the bulge growing in his pants.
“Your safe word?”
Harry thought for a moment.
“Lucy,” he said. His ex, Lucy.
The only other girl he had dated who wasn't a rich heiress.
Lucy, who had dumped him to go back to her ex.
He couldn't think of any other word that would bring him back to reality more easily.
“So, Harry... I have a few rules. No kissing. Payment for each session, I don't give discounts”
Harry felt like a fool, enchanted by your warm, seductive voice. He couldn't stop staring at you.
“If you intend to come back, you'll have to bring me a recent blood test once a month. I don't want to know where else you stick your dick, but I'm not going to catch any STDs from you, understood? You can see mine too. In fact, here they are.”
You moved toward the dresser, bringing him a medical report.
There was no name on it, but the tests were perfect.
“I’m on the pill. And finally, Harry, no strings attached. You'll never get my private number, no gifts, no flowers or any of that crap. I don't want a boyfriend.”
“Okay,” he nodded, “got it. How much do I owe you per session?”
You thought about it for a moment, then boldly replied, “500.”
Harry snorted, “No way.”
And you raised an eyebrow and pointed to the door, dismissing him, “That's the way out.”
Harry stood up to you, “It said 300 on your website.”
“So what? I just raised my rates. I didn’t think it would be a problem for you, Mr. Cashmere Coat.”
You weren't stupid, you had noticed his clothes. Or maybe you had seen his photo in the newspapers, who knew.
A defiant smile spread across your face, your eyes sparkling.
“So? What are you going to do, bunny?”
Harry shrugged. “Ok.”
You approached him and said with a smirk, “I would have agreed to 300.”
He chuckled, “I would have given you 1,000.”
“Yeah? Then…Lick.”
His breath caught in his throat as he tried to guess what you wanted from him.
“Show me that you understand who's in charge. Lick,” you gestured, pointing to your leather boots.
Oh.
He lowered himself. The heir of the Castillo family was crawling at your feet.
Who knows what his father would have said. Harry brought his lips close to one of your boots, inhaling the smell of leather.
He stuck out his tongue, brushing it lightly over the sole.
The taste was sharp, earthy and slightly sour. He couldn't compare it to anything else.
He kept his head down, unsure, waiting for your command.
“You can do better,” you raised an eyebrow, a small smile curving your lips upward.
Harry licked again, this time more convincingly, moving up the calf.
“Just like that…good boy”
Your praise went straight to his cock. No one had called him a good boy since he was six and his mother left home.
“Get up,” you said to him.
The smell of leather still filled his nostrils, the salty taste spread across his tongue as he stood up, his chest warm, his legs slightly wobbly.
“Get undressed.”
Maybe he should leave before it was too late. Pay you, walk out the door, and go back to his stupid life as an unhappy rich man.
What was he complaining about? He lived in Tribeca, in a penthouse. If he said that out loud, anyone would laugh in his face.
However, looking into your eyes, he saw none of that.
Harry’s hands trembled as he unbuttoned his shirt, letting it fall to the parquet floor.
His breath churned in his chest like wind whipping against the trees.
Your gaze was fixed on him, examining the hair on his chest, his pecs puffed up from expensive sessions with a personal trainer who was trying to get him back in shape.
He loosened his belt, the metallic sound of the buckle the only noise echoing off the walls, and let it fall to the floor next to his shirt.
Harry took off his shoes by pulling them off his heels, the leather creaking. His hands moved to unbutton his pants, revealing his happy trail as he let them sag to his ankles.
He stepped on them. $1500 worth of tailored pants, and he let them pool on the floor without a second thought.
You moved toward the dresser, your hips swaying, studying what was on top of it.
“What about this?” you asked, showing him a black leather whip.
“Perfect,” he exhaled.
You stood in front of him, running your finger along the tip of the whip, licking your lips. His black boxers were struggling to contain his erection.
You hadn't even touched him.
Pathetic? Maybe. But Harry was sure he had never experienced anything more exciting. It was something that no yacht, no dinner in a luxury restaurant, no night out in a trendy club had ever given him.
Harry wasn't even thinking about his scars anymore, the ones on his legs, which were there to remind him that he had needed surgery to gain those six inches that took him out of the ranks of short men.
You were working like magic on him. You moved closer, your warm breath on his skin.
“What I'm going to do with you, huh?”
Your voice slid into his ear, down his spine, goosebumps flaring on his skin.
“Sit on the bed.”
He moved past you, your hand brushing against the waistband of his boxer shorts.
“One more thing, you can call me ‘ma'am’. You'll never know my name,” you specified, slapping the whip on your hand.
Harry gulped, “okay”
“Lie on your stomach.”
He crawled onto the bedspread, face down on the mattress.
You walked around the bed and stood beside him.
The whip brushed his back, slowly descending.
You noticed his tense body, his slight quivering in response to the whip's touch.
“First time?”
“Yeah…”
“Don't worry. I'll go easy on you,” you cooed.
The whip stopped on his ass, brushing against it over his boxers. And then cracked through the air.
You hit him once and Harry gasped.
A dull pain radiated up his back, tingling on his skin, before becoming pleasant, warm.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
You hit him again, harder.
“Manners.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
You struck him three more times. His cock was already leaking profusely after the second lash.
The fabric still acted as a barrier, but your blows were no less effective.
They were meticulous. Carefully planned. Right, left, in succession. Raw, precise, and exactly what he had imagined.
Every sensation in his body was amplified. He could distinctly feel the sweat beading on his neck and forehead, his teeth grinding with each lash, his spine tensing and relaxing, his breath itching, heat invading him and running through his chest.
His nipples pressed against the mattress, and God only knew how little he had ever considered them. They had always been there, two unused buttons on his chest. What are they for, he had wondered. Not anymore, not after you. Returning home, thinking back on that sensation, he wondered what it would be like to feel the whip there. Or maybe try some clamps, when he felt more daring.
Harry was just a novice, and you had just made him discover things about his body that he didn't know about.
Not just his nipples, but also the delicious way his toes curled. How much the vein on his cock could actually throb. The number of red marks he could endure before his skin broke.
It happened only once and it didn’t hurt so much.
Not as much as what his dad did to him when he was a kid and spilled chocolate milk all over his work papers.
Until then, his body had been a vessel, a rather uncomfortable one because he recognized in it his father's features, the same curve of his nose, his large hands, his curly raven hair.
Harry was a man in his thirties with a whole new world unfolding before him.
And he was eager to find out more.
How much time had he wasted doing what others expected of him, without ever listening to his own desires?
How many years had he thrown away having mediocre sex with girls who were all the same, just because they were the type of girl his dad expected him to marry?
How long had he spent trying to be seen? Truly seen, truly accepted.
All the money in the world had never bought him that.
But his money could buy him an outlet for his repressed desires, the ones that pressed onto his chest. And in those times, he felt alive.
He didn’t need any speeches, no business deals, he could just leave that stressing part of his life out of those four walls and just focus on you.
And you… you were a whole new experience, giving him a reason to smile whenever he saw red marks on his body.
Harry always found it difficult to date, to fall in love, to even start thinking about settling down. It was a scam. Women were always interested in his bank account more than in anything else about him.
But with you? There was no pressure, only pleasure.
The following week he booked another appointment.
He arrived at your door dressed more casually. A shirt, a pair of jeans, lace-up leather shoes.
You looked at him and gave him your usual nod.
Harry walked down the long hallway, admiring your red slip, your garter belt, and the way your heels accentuated the sway of your hips.
“What would you like tonight, Harry?” you asked him, scanning him with your gaze.
He saw a smirk of approval curve your lips and felt his stomach flutter.
“Whip. Please, ma'am.”
And it was always that, at least a couple more times.
Whip. Nothing else.
He had asked to take small steps.
He would come home hard as a rock in a shabby taxi, take a shower, examine the red marks on his ass, and jerk off before falling asleep.
He didn’t get more until the fourth time.
When you asked him what he wanted that evening, he said — to cum. He left the rest up to you.
When filling out the form on your website, he also indicated a number of preferences.
“Undress. And lie down on the bed,” you instructed him, before walking over to the dresser, contemplating which toy to choose.
He looked around, feeling his breath quicken in anticipation. You glanced over your shoulder and saw him standing in front of your bed, still wearing his boxers.
“Everything off, Harry,” you tutted and he obeyed straight away.
He was naked, lying on your white sheets, his head on the pillow, a faint scent of lavender enveloping him. A small ray of moonlight was coming through a gap in the curtains and dancing on the parquet floor.
He looked at you. The leather bodysuit was hugging your figure, embracing that voluptuousness that made his mouth water from the moment he walked in.
You tapped your lower lip with your finger, your eyes darting from one object to another.
Finally, you picked up some silk ribbons.
You swayed toward him, bending down at the side of the bed and taking his wrist.
You slipped the strap through a metal ring on the headboard and tied the ends to his wrist.
You gave it a tug to see if it would hold, smiling at your own handiwork.
After doing the same with his other wrist you stated, “You’re not ready to touch me yet. But I can touch you, make you feel good. You’d like that?”
Harry nodded without even thinking “Yes. Yes, ma’am. Please.”
You smirked, lingering on his eyes for a little, studying his pleading face, his pliant body, waiting and yearning for you to play with him.
Harry could already feel his cock stiffening, demanding attention.
There was nothing he wanted more than to please you. The confident, commanding way you carried yourself, the charm you exuded, the way you felt comfortable in your own skin, your firm but seductive voice—all those things sparked admiration, reverence and respect in him. Even a little envy. He would have liked to feel so in control of his own body.
You didn't have to prove anything to anyone; it was as if the command came to you naturally because it couldn't have been any other way.
You leaned over him, brushing his body with your fingertips. His shoulders, his chest, down to his stomach. He could feel your warm breath on his skin, the smell of leather, a hint of warm, enticing vanilla. You moved back up, brushing his nipple. You took it between two fingers and suddenly squeezed. Hard. His hips jerked.
You grabbed his hair, your head tugging it hard, “Stay still or I'll tie your ankles, too. Got it?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“The first time you got here, you said you wanted me, didn’t you? Prove it. Be a good boy.”
“Yes ma’am.”
You straddled him, your bodysuit crackling slightly, your soft thighs wrapped around his waist.
The room was silent around you, filled only with your breathing.
He felt his pulse quicken, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths, a light sheen of sweat beading on his neck.
Your pussy was just above his hard cock.
“Do you want to feel me?”
He had never nodded so quickly in his life. “Yes, ma'am.”
Even so, he could feel the heat between your legs, the scent of your arousal. He wanted to reach down, dip his fingers into your slick, taste your flavor and make you come on his lips, while your juices were dripping down his mustache, lips, chin, and neck.
You would have been sweet on his tongue, intoxicating like a drug.
Unconsciously, he pulled hard on his wrists, meeting resistance from the silk ribbon.
You pushed your hips back, brushing his naked cock with your still-clothed pussy and Harry couldn’t help it. He gasped hard, lifting his hips, searching for more friction.
You slapped his face, shooting him a withering look.
“Behave.”
“I'm sorry, ma’am,” he whispered, the stinging pain of your slap inflaming his cheek.
Nothing stopped his cock from throbbing, though. Quite the contrary. It had never been so hard.
Harry couldn't take his eyes off your breasts, swollen and taut beneath your bodysuit.
You followed his gaze. “Would you like to have a taste?” You whispered.
“Yes. Please. Just - fuck - I need it.”
“Oh, poor boy, you need it so bad?” you cooed. There was no derision in your voice, no mocking, no pity, just honey and cotton-candy sweetness.
You pulled down the front zipper of your bodysuit, your tits popping free from under the fabric.
You smiled at his eager, passionate gaze.
He had never seen anything more perfect.
You moved your hips a little upward, your pussy now brushing on his stomach as you leaned in, your tits one inch above his mouth.
“Take it, baby, show me how much you want it,” you whispered in his ear.
Harry didn't need to be told twice. His neck stretched out, his lips closed over one of your nipples, and his cock twitched desperately at the sensation.
It was soft, warm and tasted so good. It was like it was made for his mouth.
Your fingers entangled in his hair, roaming through his curls.
You moaned, “Good job” and the praise went straight down his spine and filled his limbs.
He felt your breath itching while his mouth continued to suck, his tongue swirling eagerly over your hardened bud, his teeth gently grazing, enough to make you moan again.
He smiled against your skin, feeling proud, feeling so good about being able to elicit that kind of reaction in you.
“Yeah, baby, go on, suck on them.”
Your pussy was throbbing, he could feel it distinctively, your wetness making the leather slippery and wetting his stomach.
He put his mouth on your other breast, giving it the same treatment, your soft skin making his head spin.
He wanted you so badly, so badly he wasn’t even able to express how much in words at that point.
“Nicest tits I’ve ever had,” he dared to say and you smiled, your eyes locked in his.
The zipper pulled halfway down scratched his chest, but he didn't care. All he could feel was your body, which he had dreamed about since the first time he had laid his eyes on you. And you felt even better in reality than when he imagined, jerking off before bed.
Your pussy realigned with his cock and he couldn't help but groan.
“Don't stop,” you breathed, as you began to move your hips against his, your pussy sliding back and forth on his cock.
“Fuck - I need…more, ma’am, please,” he whined. “Let me feel you.”
“Yeah, you want my bare pussy, huh? Such a needy boy,” you smiled teasingly. “Think you can handle her?”
Harry pleaded, “Yes. Please, ma’am. I’ll be good for her, I promise.”
You didn't even get up, you just moved your bodysuit aside.
And in an instant, your dripping wet pussy was on him.
He groaned so hard at the touch, his cock engulfed in your folds, leaking precum, the veins on his shaft throbbing so hard he knew he was about to burst.
He snarled like a feral animal, desperate to touch you, tugging at the ribbons so hard he would have bruises the next day.
“Just like that, baby, you’re doing so good.”
He melted at your praises, his mind foggy, his mouth dry.
Your nails scratched his chest as you searched for an angle that would stimulate your clit even more.
Having to put touch aside, he focused on the smell of your body, on the lascivious noise you made rubbing against him, on your hungry moans, on how you used his body for your own pleasure.
You were gorgeous as you writhed on top of him, your hair tousled, your mouth half open, your eyes fixed on him, your voluptuous hips moving back and forth, how the tight, thin skin of his uncut cock retracted and covered his swollen, angry tip to the rhythm of your thrusts.
“I’m - fuck - I’m near,” he babbled.
“Yeah? Wanna come, baby? Wanna give me all you got?”
“Please ma’am,” he begged, feeling sweat running down his neck.
“Such a good boy. Come for me,” you breathed.
He came heavily, throwing his head back on the pillow, while you continued to ride him, taking your orgasm without caring about his cum dripping between your thighs, over his balls, and on the sheets.
That night after coming home, he didn't care to take a shower first. He lay down on his bed, still smelling of you, and furiously jerked off, imagining your pussy strangling his cock.
And tonight, after yet another furious argument with his father, in which he had yelled at Harry that he was a spineless coward with no business sense, he knew that the only thing to calm him down would be you.
Harry had never done it before, but he sent a last minute email. He waited with bated breath, leaning against the wall of the building he had just left, the headquarters of the Castillo empire.
When his cell phone lit up and he saw your affirmative reply, he rushed to call a taxi.
Leaving an extra tip for the taxi driver, he got out and rang your doorbell.
You opened the door with a questioning look, studying the needy expression on his face.
Harry felt his hands tremble as he looked at you. You were even more beautiful than usual.
You were wearing a black lace babydoll, stockings, and a silk robe.
Your hair smelled of coconut and vanilla, leaving a trail behind you as he followed you down the hallway.
You were barefoot, probably because you had gotten ready in a hurry due to the short notice.
He wondered what was behind the other doors, whether this was really your home or just a place you used for work.
He had never heard noises coming from other rooms, nor had he ever seen anyone other than you there.
He wondered if you used each room for a different client, how many there were, how hard they were willing to let you hurt them, if they had ever asked you to do very extreme things, and if they had made you uncomfortable.
How many got turned on by being humiliated, how many asked you to whip them hard, how many asked you to piss on them.
Harry hadn't gone that far. Maybe in time. Some things intrigued him.
“I’ll pay you extra,” he offered and you smiled softly.
“There’s no need, honey, you seem to be in a lot of distress, aren’t you?”
He murmured ‘yes’, fascinated by your keen observation skills.
“I see,” you said. He followed your gaze until he realized he was unconsciously picking at the skin around his thumbnail. And he was pretty sure it was written all over his face.
Every day he woke up thinking about leaving the family business and finding another job. His father would certainly take it as a personal insult, probably disinheriting him, but Harry was tired. He was too exhausted to endure any more humiliation. His brother systematically took credit for his achievements, and his father was so obtuse that he didn't even notice, even when the truth was right under his nose.
He was in 30s for Christ’s sake, it was time to stop crying for daddy’s approval and start building something on his own.
“It's work... and my family,” he muttered without looking you in the eye. He was ashamed, feeling that it wasn't something appropriate to share with you.
You immediately softened, moving closer to him and caressing his cheek.
“Tonight we can just talk, if you want,” you offered “You can trust me, what you say will not leave this room.” Your fingers moved along his jaw, warm, soft, reassuring.
“No…but thank you, ma’am” he hesitated, his eyes flicking to your lips.
He wanted to kiss you so badly. And he knew it was against your rules.
So he just sighed, wondering what your lips would taste like…probably heaven.
“Okay,” you replied, breaking the heavy silence between you two. “Are you ready?”
Harry nodded vehemently. “Please, ma’am.”
Your hand moved down between his legs, rubbing his cock over his pants.
“You need me to take the lead, huh? Need to relieve some stress from your body?” you purred.
“Yes,” he whispered “It’s all I need. Please.”
“You have a gorgeous cock, have I ever told you that?” Your voice was as sweet as honey in his ears.
“I- no. Thank you, ma’am.”
“Yeah. It is. Bet you'd like to stick it inside me…” you whispered against his neck, grazing his skin with your tongue.
Harry felt goosebumps all over his body, adrenaline rushing through his blood. He wanted to touch you, but didn’t dare to move without your order.
He just uttered a shaky ‘yes’ that made you giggle.
“You’re so delicious. Always so obedient,” you licked the soft skin right under his ear. “So eager to be a good boy for me.”
“Yes - fuck - I need it so badly - I - please ma’am,” he groaned as your hand moved faster over his pants.
“I know, baby, I got you. Undress for me and get on the bed on all fours.”
Harry cried at the loss of your hand. He was already rock hard just from your brief touches and your voice. There was something about your voice. It struck him every time. The way it was so steady, commanding, but also gentle, reassuring. Like you knew the perfect way to talk to him.
Harry undressed completely, dropping his office clothes on the floor. He climbed onto the bed and got on all fours as you had ordered him to, and waited while you went to the dresser to choose what you would use on him.
You picked up a paddle and nipple clamps.
A little variation in your spanking routine.
You bent over the side of the bed and took one of his nipples between your fingers, pinching it lightly before clamping it. You attached the other clamp to the end of the chain to the other nipple.
“Too tight?” You asked and he shook his head.
You smiled, your breathing fanning over his clamped nipples, making them ever more sensitive.
You got up and moved with the paddle in your hand.
The first spank came unexpectedly, air left his lungs, a curse dying in his throat.
“Can you take more, baby?”
“Yes,” he replied immediately. “Please, ma’am.”
The second one was stronger. He felt his skin heat up and burn.
Third one started to become pleasant.
By the fifth one, his cock was literally crying for release.
By the sixth, he forgot everything about his dad screaming and calling him a loser and a disgrace to the family.
There was only you and the stinging pain on his ass cheeks giving him shocks through his spine all the way up to his chest and his clamped nipples.
The exquisite line between pleasure and pain got blurred and his moans were filling the room, bouncing off the walls around him.
When his cock started dripping over the sheets, you stopped.
Harry’s chest was covered in a sheen of sweat, tears welling up at the corners of his eyes, his head empty and dizzy.
“You good, baby?”
He could feel clamps tugging at his nipples, ass cheeks burning, his arms almost giving up from the effort of staying up and still for you.
“Yes, ma’am,” he breathed.
“You did so well,” you praised, your voice sweet as cotton candy. “Now turn around for me, baby, lie on your back.”
Harry lay down and watched you sit on your heels beside him. Your thighs were inches from his hand; he could have reached out and touched you, squeezed your soft flesh. But he didn't. Not until you would tell him to.
You took his cock in your palm and began to stroke it gently. Your other hand took the chain and softly pulled at his nipples.
“You like that, huh? Me playing with you?” You purred.
“Oh fuck - yes - yes ma’am.”
You smirked, “yeah, I figured. Just like that, bunny. You wanna come for your ma’am? Wanna cover my hand with your cum?”
“I want - “ he muttered and then immediately corrected himself, “I'd like… to feel... your pussy.”
You smirked, tugging at his nipples again, another moan escaping his mouth. “Filthy bunny…”
“I’m so-” he tried to speak but you stopped him with a finger over his lips. “Shhh don’t say you’re sorry, it’s okay. My pussy is so good, isn't she?” You asked caressing his cheek.
“Yes…I bet.. I know she's the best pussy I could ever have.”
“Nice answer, pretty boy,” you cooed.
You stood up, without taking your eyes off him. You placed one leg at a time on the edge of the bed, pulling down your stockings. You took off your babydoll, letting it slide down your hips, soft on your thighs, stepping out of it. Your panties followed the babydoll to the floor immediately after.
Harry looked at you completely naked in front of him.
Only then did he realize that that was the first time. He had seen parts of you exposed, but never your whole body at once.
Now he could see every inch of your skin.
You were beautiful. More beautiful than he had ever seen before. Your big breasts, your pert nipples, your soft tummy, your legs…
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he cursed and you giggled, placing your hands on your hips, one leg slightly forward, looking at him proudly.
“Please, ma'am, come here…,” he begged, his broken voice bursting with want.
You approached him and he sat up in bed, reaching out his arm toward you. He took your hand and brought it to his mouth, while a smile lit up your face and made your eyes sparkle.
He kissed your wrist. He could almost feel your pulse fluttering beneath his lips, along with the coconut scent that delightfully filled his nostrils.
His lips moved up your arm, as he was pulling you toward him, his mouth caressing your warm, soft skin.
“Oh, little bunny... you're venturing into Wonderland,” you joked. “Will you ever come out?”
“I don't care,” he whispered into the crook of your arm.
You pushed him onto the bed, giggling, and straddled him immediately afterward.
Sliding gently onto him, you began to rub yourself against his stomach, his hard cock slapping against your ass, tugging at his nipple clamps.
Harry gasped, murmuring, “Please, ma'am.”
He was one step away not only from falling into the pit, but from sinking into it with his whole being.
“Not yet...” you warned, “me first.”
The sensation of your slippery pussy lips on his skin was too much, really too much for Harry to resist for long.
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying with all his might to control himself.
“Mm, no, bunny, look at me.”
Harry begged, unsuccessfully.
You pulled the string. “Look at me,” you roared, as the lewd sound of your wet pussy moving back and forth filled the room.
He obediently opened his eyes again.
He watched your bouncing breasts in front of his eyes, the rolls of your belly that he wanted to bite so badly, your juices dripping onto his skin.
His cock bobbed against your ass cheeks, precum running down between his legs. His whole body was tense, covered in sweat, he could feel the vein in his neck swelling, his breathing becoming shorter.
You were a tiger on top of him, relentlessly pursuing your peak, filling the room with your moans, your hair tousled, your face twisted by pleasure.
No girl had ever treated him like that before. They were all reverent, delicate, awkward little things, struggling to hold his cock in their hands, let alone think about putting clamps on his nipples, or spanking him, or putting their pleasure before his.
Not that there was anything wrong with that, but Harry was looking for something different. Someone like you. Untamed, fierce, experienced, and in command. Someone who could guide him, someone with whom he truly wanted to push his limits and explore them.
When your orgasm exploded inside you, you clung to his chest, the squelching sound of your pussy, your fluttering lips against his tummy, your fingers tight around clamps, wails coming out of your throat incessantly.
Seeing you lose your composure like this for the first time gave him the courage to wrap his hands around your hips. You didn't scold him or try to move them away; instead, you placed your hands on top of his and squeezed them.
Once your orgasm subsided, you rose slightly, taking his cock in your hand, guiding it toward your throbbing opening.
Harry could see your swollen, twitching clit, your slick, soaked opening, and he held his breath as you impaled yourself on him, little by little, letting yourself stretch around his cock, granting him the most intimate part of you.
He wanted to kiss your half-open lips glistening with your saliva, he wanted to pull you toward him and nuzzle and bite at your neck, he wanted to feel your boobs pressed against his chest.
But it was your conditions, your reins to control.
“Fuck…it’s so huge,” you exhaled. “So good.”
You started bouncing on his cock right after being filled to the hilt, your clit brushing against his happy trail. Harry was going wild, staring at you.
His hips thrust against yours as soon as they felt you clenching around his cock, desperately strangling him, his tip hitting your special spot again and again.
It didn’t last much longer, having you writhing on top of him overwhelmed his restraint.
“Kiss me…,” he pleaded. “Please, ma’am.”
It was just a whisper that he couldn't bury deep in his throat.
“I don’t do that,” you cried out.
“Ma’am…”
Your eyes, barely crack open, looked at him sternly. “Shut up. Just fuck me.”
Harry did as you said. But not without clasping his hands around your hips, in a way that he knew would leave a mark, his small act of rebellion in a world dominated solely by you.
But Harry knew it, he could feel it in your body. He wasn't the only one who wanted more, he wasn't the only one who didn't see you as just a means to an end, not anymore.
He felt your thighs tighten around him, he felt your hands scratching and pinching him, as if claiming his body, he felt your pussy stretch for him and clenching him as if she never wanted to let him go.
He could see it in your unhinged expression, in your panting mouth, in the sweat beading between your breasts, which made his lower lip quiver with the desire to lick you, in the way your clit pressed against his pelvis, in the frantic way you tried to merge with him.
Your overstimulated pussy raced toward its second peak, your hands moved from his nipples to yours, rolling back and forth on his cock.
You came, throwing your head back, moaning like Harry never heard you do before.
You collapsed on top of him immediately afterwards, overwhelmed, sweaty, exhausted.
Harry hugged you, at least he was allowed to do that.
You sighed against his neck, hiding your face. “Well, bunny, you're really cheeky today... but you have a great cock, no doubt about it.”
Harry chuckled, your boobs moving up and down against his chest.
You removed the nipple clamps and threw them on the nightstand next to the bed, the metallic sound echoing throughout the room.
“I won't kiss your lips, but I can kiss other things, you know,” you meowed.
And with that, you lowered yourself onto him, leaving a trail of hot kisses on his sternum, down his stomach, stopping just above his happy trail.
“I like your belly,” you murmured. Harry was usually ashamed of it, but not now, not when you bit it as if you wanted to devour him, leaving a red mark just below his navel, his head clouded with exquisite pleasure.
“Fuuuck,” he hissed. “Okey.” As if he were the one giving you permission, when the reality was that he was totally subjugated by you.
“Yeah, that's what I thought,” you smirked.
Your lips closed around his cock a moment later.
You expertly took as much as you could into your mouth, circling the base with your hand.
Your tongue traced its way up his shaft, sliding against the vein that ran along it. A shiver of impatience shook his whole body. He clenched his hands into fists on the sheets, trying to resist the urge to explode between your lips immediately.
Watching you like that, completely focused, your mouth full of his cock, was the most erotic thing Harry had ever seen. No blowjob had ever been like that. Your tongue expertly circled the tip, then the underside, before you began to suck hard. Your cheeks hollowed out to make room for him, taking him even deeper.
Your nose was buried in his pubic hair and he could feel the back of your throat. He felt completely lost, totally enveloped in you, his cock nestled against your palate, his shaft throbbing on your tongue, your spit coating it, the warmth cradling him.
You released him with an lewd pop, immediately throwing yourself back onto his angry red tip, licking clean the precum that was oozing out.
“Mmm…You taste good, bunny,” you moaned.
Your nails were digging into the flesh of his thighs, your other hand moved down to massage his balls. Your tongue slid over his tip like a hot blade, and Harry couldn't take his eyes off you, your glistening mouth, your swollen lips.
It was too much, it was all too much.
You squeezed his balls hard, sucking out the most intense orgasm he had ever experienced. His back arched, his hips bucked, long, thick spurts of his semen hit your throat and palate, and you swallowed it all.
Every drop, like your last meal.
Your tongue continued to caress him until he calmed down, until his fists on the sheets loosened.
“Happy now? Good enough compromise?” You cooed and he couldn’t say no.
He nodded, exhausted, motioning for you to get back on top of him, and you obliged.
He had wanted to ask you something all evening. He had been thinking about it since he found out the date of the annual company party. He was nervous about asking you, he wanted to try right away, but you had been so nice in asking him what was wrong, he didn't want to ruin the mood.
Now you were both relaxed, tired, you seemed at ease. So he tried.
“Ma'am...” he ventured, his arms wrapped around you, his hands wandering over your back, “would you come to a party with me?”
You looked up, staring at him in bewilderment, “What?”
“A party... I'll pay you good money.”
“How much,” you asked, raising your eyebrow.
“3000. For just one night. I'll come and pick you up and bring you back here, and I'll pay for your dress.”
“Harry... I told you, I don't want gifts. Or a boyfriend,” you scolded him, your eyes boring into his.
“It's not a date,” he scoffed. “It's just a business transaction. I need someone trustworthy to take to a work party. That's all.”
“Are you really sure?” you pressed, pinching his reddened and swollen nipple hard.
“Ouch! Yeah, that’s all I want. No strings attached. $3000 in cash, paid upfront.”
You were skeptical, and Harry could see it in your face, but you said yes anyway.
“Okay. Just one night. And let's be clear, it's only for the money.”
“Deal,” he said, stifling his excitement and trying to calm his heart, which was racing like a drum in his chest, afraid that you might hear it.
It wasn't just business for him, but you weren't supposed to know that.
npt for the people who showed interest in the wip when I posted it:
@milla-frenchy , @baronessvonglitter , @indiegirlunited , @rosharanfiction , @mcthsman , @missadangel , @arcane-fox .
Summary: You and Javi go grocery shopping in Laredo.
Warnings: All domestic fluff! Established relationship. Nicknames cause it's me (baby, pretty bird). One plot point I won't tag to avoid spoilers (it should be fine? I've never written this trope before! But if you read it and think it's worth tagging/spoiling, let me know!)
A/N: Written for @the-blind-assassin-12's A Picture is Worth 1000 Words Challenge (sorry I went a wee bit over the limit!) - when Alyssa very kindly gave me the above left picture, I knew I had to write something very domestic and fluffy for our favourite beleaguered DEA agent. He happy now 🥹 If you want to, you can image this to be the HEA for Birthday Present!Javi, but it's not necessary 😊 the story is a standalone! (When I wrote it, though, I was thinking of them 🤭) As for the interaction in the middle, could be ambiguous? You should read it however it comes across to you, but to me, it's totally friendly, no bad vibes👍🏻Cause that's what Javi deserves 🥹 Thank you for hosting, Alyssa!! xoxoxo / Dividers by @saradika-graphics 😘
“What’s this?” you ask, as Javi deposits a pair of brand new oven mitts into the cart.
A roguish grin flashes at you and before you know it, the mitts are lightly bopped on your head in a loving fashion, “Oven mitts, pretty bird.”
“I know what they are, Javi,” you giggle, “I just mean, why are we getting them? They’re not on the list.”
“You and your list,” Javi chuckles fondly, “You nearly burned your hands yesterday night taking the lasagna out of the oven. Chucho hasn’t baked in 30 years - those oven mitts of his are so old, a piece of paper has better insulation. You should have let me do it, baby.”
“I’m trying to impress your father, Javi.”
“You don’t need to try, pretty bird. That man would go to war for you. All the Peña men would,” the daring DEA agent flashes his famous smile at you - not the same one you fell for long ago back in Columbia, but it’s no less devastating. The old smile was a little tighter and it strained to reach the pain in his eyes; that smile was a weapon, a mask, elusive and fleeting. The smile he flashes you these days is no less dangerous, but it comes more naturally and more frequent; its lines have settle easily on this man’s gorgeous face, deep and earned, softening all his features but especially the browns of those same eyes. Both smiles can and have made you swoon on the spot; you’re grateful you have the bar of the shopping cart to lean on for support.
The two of you grin dopily at one another over your cartful of groceries, oblivious to the other shoppers in this Laredo grocery store. You may be far from home, but the love you share is the same everywhere, unwavering and soul affirming. Neither of you count the minutes that pass, it could be one or twenty, before you both snap back to the present, to the ambient muzak playing over the produce section.
“Okay, baby, I think we’ve covered everything on that list of yours, all that’s left is tonight’s dinner. We got the steaks for grilling - anything else?” Javi rubs his hands together, eager to get back to the ranch and show off his skill on the barbeque.
You giggle and gesture cheekily around you, “Vegetables?” At Javi’s nose scrunch, you crook your index finger for him to lean forward, planting a quick peck to that kissable pout of his, “If the Peña men are to go to war, they’ll need to eat more vegetables.”
Javi chases your lips, capturing them with a passionate, but still public appropriate smooch, “Okay, okay, can’t ever say no to you, pretty bird. Peppers. Some asparagus. Corn?” He’s already walking away, headed for a barrel of sweet corn when you shout after him, “Mushrooms!”
“Mushrooms!” comes the confirmation, loud and clear, accompanied by a thumbs up held high. You hum to yourself, ogling the man’s backside as he starts digging through ears of corn – you hope he never gives up those tight jeans, no matter what the current style is. There’s little danger of that happening; Javier Peña has never been one to try and blend in, follow trends – he’s one of a kind, this man of yours.
“You’ve sure got that man all trained up, running around fetching the groceries while you stay with the cart.”
You turn to see a pretty woman with dirty blonde hair and a pleasant look about her, she’s around Javi’s age and pushing her own very full shopping cart – unable to determine if her tone is awestruck, joking, or… something else, your reply is a little wary, “Sorry?”
“I never thought I’d see the day when Javier Peña would be seen doing run of the mill, domestic tasks here in Laredo. Did he move back?”
You know who the woman is now, and while you’re still no closer to figuring out the intention of her comments, she’s no threat, “We’re just visiting from New York, here to spend some time with Chucho before I’m not allowed to fly anymore.”
The woman raises her eyebrows as you push off the shopping cart bar and step back, straightening so that your pregnant belly comes into view.
“Oh!”
“Hi Lorraine,” Javi is back, he’s casual in his movements as he deposits the veggies of his labour into the cart, but deliberate in wrapping a protective arm around your waist, unsure of what was said before his return, “I see you’ve met my wife?”
You introduce yourself and extend your hand towards the other woman for a friendly shake; the lack of any further polite introductions is an indication that no explanations on how everyone knows one another is needed.
“So,” Lorraine smiles brightly, “How far along are you? Has it been a good pregnancy so far?”
“Yep!” you chirp, your warm expression relaxing your husband’s shoulders, he takes a calming breath and places a proud hand on your round belly, “Just a little over five months!”
“Well, congratulations! I’m very happy for you both,” the blonde woman is as gracious in her felicitations as you are in accepting them. Before she turns to go, her curiosity gets the better of her, “Do you mind if I ask, boy or girl?”
“Boy,” you answer, clearly elated.
“Another Peña ready to storm the beaches,” chuckles Javi and the two of you instinctively tilt your heads towards one another, sharing in the private joke. Lorraine takes your impromptu tête-à-tête as her cue to leave, bidding you and your husband good luck and farewell, leaving you to inspect the produce Javi has selected for tonight's dinner.
“Did I do good?” grins Javi, all thoughts of his ex-fiancé gone as quickly as she had suddenly appeared – his attention fully on the only woman who ever occupies his thoughts.
You pretend to pick through his selections, reserving your praise, “Hmmmmm… Baby Boy Peña doesn’t want any of this sadly.”
“What?” the normally steely head of New York’s DEA field office panics, dismayed at the idea that he’s disappointed his still in utero child, “What does he want?”
“Sushi.”
“The baby wants sushi?”
“Mmmmhhmmm,” you sigh with a dreamy far-off look, “Mercury enriched sashimi. And an Italian deli meat sandwich from that bodega around the corner back home. With extra sauce. And brie! The baby wants brie, Javi.”
The man chuckles, “Me too, baby.” You get misty-eyed (damn these hormones!) remembering that in solidarity, Javi has also given up all the foods you can’t eat for the duration of your pregnancy. Though you had insisted there was no need, it does make you feel incredibly supported and lucky to have such devoted partner; cupping your husband’s handsome face in your hands, you whisper, “Thank you, my love.”
He kisses your eyelids lightly, then with one arm still around your waist, starts pushing the cart towards the checkout, “Thank you, pretty bird. You’re so strong and beautiful, I owe you everything for carrying our child. I love you.”
“I love you too, Javi.”
“Please try to remember that when I have to cook your steak medium well tonight,” sheepish, he kisses the corner of your mouth and tries not to chuckle at your frozen look of abject horror, pretending to focus entirely on loading the groceries from the cart onto the checkout conveyor belt.
“You have to eat yours medium well too.”
“What?!!”
A/N 2: I will not be taking any comments about the best doneness for steak (it's medium rare) 😌😌🥩🥩🥩🥩🥩😂😁😁
