I don’t know what I’m doing here but hey…👋
ps I love Joan Ferguson 🤭
I am 18! (If you have any fic recs lmk🙏)
(This is my first time having this app lmao😭)

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@girllover62
I don’t know what I’m doing here but hey…👋
ps I love Joan Ferguson 🤭
I am 18! (If you have any fic recs lmk🙏)
(This is my first time having this app lmao😭)
Night at the Ballet: Joan Ferguson x Reader
Summary: Imagine being a ballerina and dating Joan Ferguson, shes obessed with your perfection, the music you dance to calms her down, and it all makes her feel real.
Warnings: smut 18+, ballerina!reader, some angst, strap-on usage & oral (r receiving), light mommy kink
Word count: 9.8k
a/n: omg this is my first Joan fic, kinda nervous. PLZ let me know your thoughts! As usual requests are always open and comment to be on the taglist for Joan! Another Joan fic is already in the works as well hehe
──୨ৎ───────୨ৎ───────୨ৎ ──
5x01. Scars.
Dream ft. Pamela Rabe & shower
Had another Pam dream last night! Of course (as usual) she was Joan. No names were used but that was the vibe.
I was in a large bathroom and taking a shower. The shower was huge and my mom and Pam came into the bathroom. I pulled the curtain closed more cos Pam was standing where the gap was. My mom left her in there to shalower in another spot.
SHE IS PERFECTION
If you can’t see a radiant goddess you need to go get your eyes checked
"Arse out of Birdsworth's face." 😁
Wentworth is on tubi, and if you watch it on web with Firefox or one of its forks +uBlock Origin, it'll skip through the ads.
In These Moments
Gentle hands, quiet words… and permission you’ve never had before.
IM ALIVEEEE !!! only slightly, you can thank a bottle of cheap wine for this. I’m so sorry I vanished but here’s a chapter which is different from the Joan we know , she’s lowkey SOFT??? which I literally never thought I’d write so idk what’s happened to me but here’s it is , obviously we are still going to have mean Joan but this felt like a well deserved moment for reader so I hope you enjoy ❤️
I was watching s7 in the background whilst writing this and it’s boring me because I want JOAN GIVE ME JOAN!
Also this gif is perfect ! Not mine but thank u to the creator 👹
———————————————————————————
Joan had kept a careful eye on you throughout the day. The privacy of her office allowed it—brief glances at the security feed on her phone, each one followed by the faintest smirk at the sight of your trembling body. You had impressed her.
She would never say it.
On the drive home, she adjusted the settings—turning the vibrations higher without hesitation—before tossing her phone into her handbag and returning her attention to the road.
She was curious to see what state you’d be in.
⸻
Time had long since lost meaning for you. All you knew was the ache—deep, consuming, relentless. Your wrists burned from the restraints, your body trembling under the strain, desperate for release.
The sound of footsteps outside the locked door snapped your head up.
Each step sent a cold rush through your veins.
She was here.
The door unlocked, and your governor stepped inside. Joan paused briefly, lifting a hand to brush her hair back—loose now, softer than before. She looked tired, but her composure remained intact, sharp as ever. Still… there was something else there.
If you didn’t know her better, you might have thought she was pleased.
The higher setting had long since pushed you past pleasure. It was too much—painful, overwhelming—yet your body still betrayed you, intoxicated by it, by her.
Your breathing was uneven, chest rising and falling rapidly, drawing her gaze. Joan stepped closer, taking in the sight of you—your heaving breasts, your slick thighs, the way your body responded despite itself.
Her bare hand rose, fingers brushing lightly along your throat.
“Well, well… it seems you’ve had quite an amusing day.” Her voice was calm, measured. “Did you miss me?”
You strained toward her touch, a broken whimper slipping past your lips. “Y-yes, Governor… I’m so glad you’re back.”
Her hand drifted lower, flattening against your chest before trailing further down. The mere thought of her touching you there made your body tense, overwhelmed.
“Did you learn how it feels… to give up control?”
Her fingers grazed over your swollen, sensitive cunt, barely there, yet it was enough to make your breath hitch.
“Mmm—” Words failed you, your mind too clouded, your body too consumed by sensation.
“Yes, Governor… I did.”
She moved then, not lingering. Her fingers hooked around the loop of the vibrator, slowly pulling it free. The overstimulation made your body jolt, a sharp edge of sensation cutting through you—but then—
Nothing.
She turned it off.
“Good girl.”
Relief washed over you so suddenly it made you laugh, breathless and unsteady.
Her eyes flicked up at the sound. In any other moment, she would have corrected that—punished the lapse.
This time, she didn’t.
“Let’s get you down.”
Joan stepped behind you, her movements precise as she lowered the rope and began untying your wrists. You hissed softly as the blood returned, the sting sharp, but she didn’t pause.
Still… there was a gentleness to her touch. Subtle, controlled—but there.
Different.
Your arms fell to your sides, weak and heavy. Her hand came up, brushing your cheek, her thumb catching faint tear tracks you hadn’t realised were there.
Her gaze lingered—your lips, your face—before she leaned in.
The kiss was brief. Soft. Controlled.
But undeniably there.
A quiet sound escaped you, melting into it, and when she pulled back, she noted the way you trembled.
“Follow me.”
You obeyed without hesitation, your steps unsteady, legs weak beneath you. The scent of lavender reached you before the sight did, along with the soft sound of running water.
She led you into the bathroom—warm, elegant, lit by candlelight. A large bath sat waiting, filled with bubbles, steam curling gently in the air.
Joan’s arms came around you, steadying you as she guided you into the water.
The warmth enveloped your body instantly, soothing the ache, easing the tension that had consumed you for hours. A quiet sigh left you as you sank into it, your muscles finally beginning to relax.
Peace, at last.
She knelt beside the bath, rolling up her sleeves before dipping her fingers into the water, idly swirling it.
“You did well today, Y/N.”
There it was.
Not praise—never that.
But close enough.
“You deserve this. Relax.” A pause. “I’ll be back soon.”
You already missed her before she even stood, the absence settling in too quickly, too deeply. The need for her presence clung to you, overwhelming and constant.
But the warmth, the quiet, the exhaustion…
Your eyes drifted shut.
And for the first time that day, your body finally gave in—sleep taking you gently as the water cradled you.
————————————————————————
The rest of the night blurred into something distant and hazy. You weren’t sure how you’d ended up here—how you’d made it into her bed—but the feeling of silk against your skin grounded you, the faint scent of lavender still clinging to your body.
Your eyes fluttered open, then closed again.
This wasn’t the same room.
Panic flickered briefly in your chest before settling into something quieter.
Her room.
You turned your head slightly, catching the soft glow of light spilling from what you assumed was the en-suite. The sound of running water filled the silence—steady, calming—paired with the faintest hum.
Joan.
The water stopped.
Time stretched again, your body still heavy, your mind slow to catch up, until finally the bathroom door opened. You kept your eyes barely shut, just enough to watch without being caught.
She stepped out, her hair damp, clinging to her skin. A dark burgundy towel was wrapped securely around her body, her movements unhurried as she brushed through her wet hair. The soft hum continued—something classical, no doubt.
Of course it was.
Your breath caught.
You let your eyes close fully again, feigning sleep, your thoughts racing despite your stillness. This couldn’t be real. You were in her bed. She had just stepped out of the shower—
Which meant she was…
Heat rushed through you, and it took everything in you to remain still beneath the sheets, to keep your breathing even.
Don’t ruin it.
You listened instead—the quiet rhythm of her moving around the room, drawers opening and closing, fabric shifting. Then, finally—
The bed dipped.
You stayed perfectly still, eyes shut, not daring to move. A part of you feared that if you acknowledged this—if you pushed too far—she would pull back. That she would become the version of herself you knew best.
Cold. Sharp. Untouchable.
This… this was something else.
Something fragile.
Something you didn’t want to lose.
But curiosity—bravery, perhaps—got the better of you.
You turned slowly, carefully, until you faced her.
Joan sat upright against the headboard, her bedside lamp casting a warm glow over her. Glasses rested low on her nose as she read, her damp hair falling loosely over her shoulders. The dressing-gown she wore softened her—made her seem almost… approachable.
It was jarring.
You stared.
She turned a page, completely unfazed.
“It’s rude to stare.”
Her voice was soft—but the authority beneath it hadn’t gone anywhere.
You bit your lip. “I’m sorry, Governor.”
“Joan.”
She closed her book and placed it neatly on the bedside table before finally looking at you.
“You may call me Joan in these moments.”
Joan.
You repeated it quietly, tasting the name, warmth blooming in your chest at what she implied.
These moments.
You smiled faintly. “Joan.”
Her gaze lingered on you, slow and deliberate.
“What are you thinking, little mouse?”
You shifted closer, turning fully onto your side, your head sinking into the pillow before lifting again to meet her eyes.
“This is…” You hesitated. “Strange.”
Her brow lifted slightly.
“But—” you rushed, “—nice. I love when you’re mean. God, I crave it… but I never thought I’d enjoy this side of you too.”
For a moment, there was silence.
Then Joan tilted her head back, letting out a soft, breathy laugh—rare, unguarded. Her hand reached out, fingers slipping into your hair, stroking gently.
“Believe me,” she murmured, “I am well aware of your preferences.”
Her touch lingered.
“But if you are to be in my home—” her fingers tightened slightly, “—as mine… I will take care of you as well.”
Your breath hitched.
Mine.
Heat pooled low in your stomach, your body responding instantly, almost embarrassingly so. Your eyes fluttered at her touch, guilt flickering briefly at the shift in your thoughts—but your body didn’t care.
And neither did she.
Joan’s lips pressed into a thin line, a quiet tsk leaving her.
“Insatiable,” she muttered. “I would have thought today’s… activities would have been enough to keep you satisfied for at least a few days.”
But the heat only grew.
Your breathing deepened, your gaze locking onto hers—silent, pleading.
She saw it.
Of course she did.
Her fingers tightened in your hair just enough to pull a soft whimper from your lips—then stilled.
A pause.
A choice.
“Go on, then,” she said calmly. “Do what you wish.”
You froze.
The permission felt foreign. Wrong, almost.
But you didn’t question it.
Not when she was offering.
You pushed yourself up, the sheets sliding down your body to pool at your waist. Sitting on your knees, you spread your legs slowly, deliberately—for her.
Her eyes darkened.
“Come here.”
You moved without hesitation, crawling across the bed until you straddled her thighs. She watched you closely, something amused flickering beneath her composure as her hands came to your sides, gliding up along your thighs, your hips, your torso.
You straightened slightly, leaning back just enough to give her the full view.
An offering.
Her gaze sharpened.
You met her eyes through your lashes, then began to move—slowly grinding your hips down against her, the silk of her nightdress doing nothing to dull the sensation. A soft moan slipped from your lips as you leaned closer, your breath warm against her skin.
“Please, Joan…” you whispered, lips brushing near hers. “Kiss me.”
She didn’t hesitate.
Her hands slid around your back, pulling you firmly against her as her lips captured yours. The kiss was deep, controlled—entirely hers. Her tongue moved with deliberate dominance, setting the pace, taking what she wanted.
And yet—
She didn’t move further.
Didn’t rush.
She knew this alone was enough.
Your hips continued to grind, your moans spilling into her mouth as your body heated, your skin damp, your mind slipping further under her control. Her hands moved slowly along your back, grounding, steadying, while your movements grew less so.
The kiss stretched on, unhurried, intoxicating.
You finally pulled back for air, breathless, your eyes drinking her in—her glasses still perched perfectly, her gaze fixed on you, filled with something deeper now.
You wanted to stay here.
Forever.
“Lie down.”
The command cut cleanly through the haze.
You obeyed instantly, sliding off her and settling back onto the bed, the sheets twisted beneath you. Joan moved just as quickly, her body hovering over yours, hands braced on either side.
Your breath came fast now, anticipation curling tight in your chest.
She leaned down, pressing a brief kiss to your lips—then her hand closed around your throat.
Not tight.
But certain.
Control reestablished.
A smirk flickered across her face before she lowered her head, her damp hair brushing against your skin as she moved downward. Your chest rose sharply, and she paused—just long enough to glance up at you.
Breathe.
Then she continued.
You lay there, legs falling open instinctively as she settled between them, her hands resting firmly on your thighs. She didn’t move right away.
She watched.
Took you in.
Memorised you like this.
And stored it away.
Her head lowered again, her lips brushing your stomach—slow, deliberate—her tongue trailing lower, lower—
Until finally—
You broke.
Your hands flew to your face, a sound tearing from your throat, somewhere between a sob and a moan.
She started slowly. Painfully slow.
Kissing. Licking. Mapping every inch of you with practiced precision. Your toes curled, your legs shifting, caught between wanting to pull away and desperately needing more.
Her arms hooked beneath your thighs, holding you open, keeping you exactly where she wanted you.
Every movement was controlled.
Measured.
Intentional.
“I can be kind,” she murmured against you.
A slow lick.
“I can be cruel.”
Her teeth grazed your clit, and your hips bucked sharply.
“If you are good to me…”
Another slow drag of her tongue.
“Then I will be good to you.”
This time she didn’t hold back—her mouth closing around your clit, sucking gently, firmly, sending a sharp wave of pleasure through you that made your head spin.
“Are you going to be good?”
Again.
“Y-yes—yes, I will—I’ll be so good—”
Her breath ghosted over you.
“Mmm. We’ll see.”
Then she gave you exactly what you needed.
Her rhythm built—steady, relentless—her tongue working you with precision, alternating between slow, deep licks and focused attention on your clit. Your body unraveled beneath her, your sounds breaking, your thoughts dissolving into nothing but sensation.
She felt it—the way you tensed, the way you neared—and instead of easing up, she pushed you further.
Over.
And over.
And over again.
Until your hands finally dropped to her hair, fingers tangling weakly, a silent plea she understood.
She slowed.
Stopped.
Pressed a soft, final kiss to your sensitive cunt before rising again, her presence towering over you once more.
Joan leaned down, capturing your lips in a slow kiss.
You tasted yourself.
You smiled.
“Thank you, Joan,” you whispered.
Her thumb brushed your cheek, almost absentmindedly.
“Rest now, little mouse.”
A pause.
Her eyes held yours.
“Tomorrow… I may not be so kind.”
In These Moments
Gentle hands, quiet words… and permission you’ve never had before.
IM ALIVEEEE !!! only slightly, you can thank a bottle of cheap wine for this. I’m so sorry I vanished but here’s a chapter which is different from the Joan we know , she’s lowkey SOFT??? which I literally never thought I’d write so idk what’s happened to me but here’s it is , obviously we are still going to have mean Joan but this felt like a well deserved moment for reader so I hope you enjoy ❤️
I was watching s7 in the background whilst writing this and it’s boring me because I want JOAN GIVE ME JOAN!
Also this gif is perfect ! Not mine but thank u to the creator 👹
———————————————————————————
Joan had kept a careful eye on you throughout the day. The privacy of her office allowed it—brief glances at the security feed on her phone, each one followed by the faintest smirk at the sight of your trembling body. You had impressed her.
She would never say it.
On the drive home, she adjusted the settings—turning the vibrations higher without hesitation—before tossing her phone into her handbag and returning her attention to the road.
She was curious to see what state you’d be in.
⸻
Time had long since lost meaning for you. All you knew was the ache—deep, consuming, relentless. Your wrists burned from the restraints, your body trembling under the strain, desperate for release.
The sound of footsteps outside the locked door snapped your head up.
Each step sent a cold rush through your veins.
She was here.
The door unlocked, and your governor stepped inside. Joan paused briefly, lifting a hand to brush her hair back—loose now, softer than before. She looked tired, but her composure remained intact, sharp as ever. Still… there was something else there.
If you didn’t know her better, you might have thought she was pleased.
The higher setting had long since pushed you past pleasure. It was too much—painful, overwhelming—yet your body still betrayed you, intoxicated by it, by her.
Your breathing was uneven, chest rising and falling rapidly, drawing her gaze. Joan stepped closer, taking in the sight of you—your heaving breasts, your slick thighs, the way your body responded despite itself.
Her bare hand rose, fingers brushing lightly along your throat.
“Well, well… it seems you’ve had quite an amusing day.” Her voice was calm, measured. “Did you miss me?”
You strained toward her touch, a broken whimper slipping past your lips. “Y-yes, Governor… I’m so glad you’re back.”
Her hand drifted lower, flattening against your chest before trailing further down. The mere thought of her touching you there made your body tense, overwhelmed.
“Did you learn how it feels… to give up control?”
Her fingers grazed over your swollen, sensitive cunt, barely there, yet it was enough to make your breath hitch.
“Mmm—” Words failed you, your mind too clouded, your body too consumed by sensation.
“Yes, Governor… I did.”
She moved then, not lingering. Her fingers hooked around the loop of the vibrator, slowly pulling it free. The overstimulation made your body jolt, a sharp edge of sensation cutting through you—but then—
Nothing.
She turned it off.
“Good girl.”
Relief washed over you so suddenly it made you laugh, breathless and unsteady.
Her eyes flicked up at the sound. In any other moment, she would have corrected that—punished the lapse.
This time, she didn’t.
“Let’s get you down.”
Joan stepped behind you, her movements precise as she lowered the rope and began untying your wrists. You hissed softly as the blood returned, the sting sharp, but she didn’t pause.
Still… there was a gentleness to her touch. Subtle, controlled—but there.
Different.
Your arms fell to your sides, weak and heavy. Her hand came up, brushing your cheek, her thumb catching faint tear tracks you hadn’t realised were there.
Her gaze lingered—your lips, your face—before she leaned in.
The kiss was brief. Soft. Controlled.
But undeniably there.
A quiet sound escaped you, melting into it, and when she pulled back, she noted the way you trembled.
“Follow me.”
You obeyed without hesitation, your steps unsteady, legs weak beneath you. The scent of lavender reached you before the sight did, along with the soft sound of running water.
She led you into the bathroom—warm, elegant, lit by candlelight. A large bath sat waiting, filled with bubbles, steam curling gently in the air.
Joan’s arms came around you, steadying you as she guided you into the water.
The warmth enveloped your body instantly, soothing the ache, easing the tension that had consumed you for hours. A quiet sigh left you as you sank into it, your muscles finally beginning to relax.
Peace, at last.
She knelt beside the bath, rolling up her sleeves before dipping her fingers into the water, idly swirling it.
“You did well today, Y/N.”
There it was.
Not praise—never that.
But close enough.
“You deserve this. Relax.” A pause. “I’ll be back soon.”
You already missed her before she even stood, the absence settling in too quickly, too deeply. The need for her presence clung to you, overwhelming and constant.
But the warmth, the quiet, the exhaustion…
Your eyes drifted shut.
And for the first time that day, your body finally gave in—sleep taking you gently as the water cradled you.
————————————————————————
The rest of the night blurred into something distant and hazy. You weren’t sure how you’d ended up here—how you’d made it into her bed—but the feeling of silk against your skin grounded you, the faint scent of lavender still clinging to your body.
Your eyes fluttered open, then closed again.
This wasn’t the same room.
Panic flickered briefly in your chest before settling into something quieter.
Her room.
You turned your head slightly, catching the soft glow of light spilling from what you assumed was the en-suite. The sound of running water filled the silence—steady, calming—paired with the faintest hum.
Joan.
The water stopped.
Time stretched again, your body still heavy, your mind slow to catch up, until finally the bathroom door opened. You kept your eyes barely shut, just enough to watch without being caught.
She stepped out, her hair damp, clinging to her skin. A dark burgundy towel was wrapped securely around her body, her movements unhurried as she brushed through her wet hair. The soft hum continued—something classical, no doubt.
Of course it was.
Your breath caught.
You let your eyes close fully again, feigning sleep, your thoughts racing despite your stillness. This couldn’t be real. You were in her bed. She had just stepped out of the shower—
Which meant she was…
Heat rushed through you, and it took everything in you to remain still beneath the sheets, to keep your breathing even.
Don’t ruin it.
You listened instead—the quiet rhythm of her moving around the room, drawers opening and closing, fabric shifting. Then, finally—
The bed dipped.
You stayed perfectly still, eyes shut, not daring to move. A part of you feared that if you acknowledged this—if you pushed too far—she would pull back. That she would become the version of herself you knew best.
Cold. Sharp. Untouchable.
This… this was something else.
Something fragile.
Something you didn’t want to lose.
But curiosity—bravery, perhaps—got the better of you.
You turned slowly, carefully, until you faced her.
Joan sat upright against the headboard, her bedside lamp casting a warm glow over her. Glasses rested low on her nose as she read, her damp hair falling loosely over her shoulders. The dressing-gown she wore softened her—made her seem almost… approachable.
It was jarring.
You stared.
She turned a page, completely unfazed.
“It’s rude to stare.”
Her voice was soft—but the authority beneath it hadn’t gone anywhere.
You bit your lip. “I’m sorry, Governor.”
“Joan.”
She closed her book and placed it neatly on the bedside table before finally looking at you.
“You may call me Joan in these moments.”
Joan.
You repeated it quietly, tasting the name, warmth blooming in your chest at what she implied.
These moments.
You smiled faintly. “Joan.”
Her gaze lingered on you, slow and deliberate.
“What are you thinking, little mouse?”
You shifted closer, turning fully onto your side, your head sinking into the pillow before lifting again to meet her eyes.
“This is…” You hesitated. “Strange.”
Her brow lifted slightly.
“But—” you rushed, “—nice. I love when you’re mean. God, I crave it… but I never thought I’d enjoy this side of you too.”
For a moment, there was silence.
Then Joan tilted her head back, letting out a soft, breathy laugh—rare, unguarded. Her hand reached out, fingers slipping into your hair, stroking gently.
“Believe me,” she murmured, “I am well aware of your preferences.”
Her touch lingered.
“But if you are to be in my home—” her fingers tightened slightly, “—as mine… I will take care of you as well.”
Your breath hitched.
Mine.
Heat pooled low in your stomach, your body responding instantly, almost embarrassingly so. Your eyes fluttered at her touch, guilt flickering briefly at the shift in your thoughts—but your body didn’t care.
And neither did she.
Joan’s lips pressed into a thin line, a quiet tsk leaving her.
“Insatiable,” she muttered. “I would have thought today’s… activities would have been enough to keep you satisfied for at least a few days.”
But the heat only grew.
Your breathing deepened, your gaze locking onto hers—silent, pleading.
She saw it.
Of course she did.
Her fingers tightened in your hair just enough to pull a soft whimper from your lips—then stilled.
A pause.
A choice.
“Go on, then,” she said calmly. “Do what you wish.”
You froze.
The permission felt foreign. Wrong, almost.
But you didn’t question it.
Not when she was offering.
You pushed yourself up, the sheets sliding down your body to pool at your waist. Sitting on your knees, you spread your legs slowly, deliberately—for her.
Her eyes darkened.
“Come here.”
You moved without hesitation, crawling across the bed until you straddled her thighs. She watched you closely, something amused flickering beneath her composure as her hands came to your sides, gliding up along your thighs, your hips, your torso.
You straightened slightly, leaning back just enough to give her the full view.
An offering.
Her gaze sharpened.
You met her eyes through your lashes, then began to move—slowly grinding your hips down against her, the silk of her nightdress doing nothing to dull the sensation. A soft moan slipped from your lips as you leaned closer, your breath warm against her skin.
“Please, Joan…” you whispered, lips brushing near hers. “Kiss me.”
She didn’t hesitate.
Her hands slid around your back, pulling you firmly against her as her lips captured yours. The kiss was deep, controlled—entirely hers. Her tongue moved with deliberate dominance, setting the pace, taking what she wanted.
And yet—
She didn’t move further.
Didn’t rush.
She knew this alone was enough.
Your hips continued to grind, your moans spilling into her mouth as your body heated, your skin damp, your mind slipping further under her control. Her hands moved slowly along your back, grounding, steadying, while your movements grew less so.
The kiss stretched on, unhurried, intoxicating.
You finally pulled back for air, breathless, your eyes drinking her in—her glasses still perched perfectly, her gaze fixed on you, filled with something deeper now.
You wanted to stay here.
Forever.
“Lie down.”
The command cut cleanly through the haze.
You obeyed instantly, sliding off her and settling back onto the bed, the sheets twisted beneath you. Joan moved just as quickly, her body hovering over yours, hands braced on either side.
Your breath came fast now, anticipation curling tight in your chest.
She leaned down, pressing a brief kiss to your lips—then her hand closed around your throat.
Not tight.
But certain.
Control reestablished.
A smirk flickered across her face before she lowered her head, her damp hair brushing against your skin as she moved downward. Your chest rose sharply, and she paused—just long enough to glance up at you.
Breathe.
Then she continued.
You lay there, legs falling open instinctively as she settled between them, her hands resting firmly on your thighs. She didn’t move right away.
She watched.
Took you in.
Memorised you like this.
And stored it away.
Her head lowered again, her lips brushing your stomach—slow, deliberate—her tongue trailing lower, lower—
Until finally—
You broke.
Your hands flew to your face, a sound tearing from your throat, somewhere between a sob and a moan.
She started slowly. Painfully slow.
Kissing. Licking. Mapping every inch of you with practiced precision. Your toes curled, your legs shifting, caught between wanting to pull away and desperately needing more.
Her arms hooked beneath your thighs, holding you open, keeping you exactly where she wanted you.
Every movement was controlled.
Measured.
Intentional.
“I can be kind,” she murmured against you.
A slow lick.
“I can be cruel.”
Her teeth grazed your clit, and your hips bucked sharply.
“If you are good to me…”
Another slow drag of her tongue.
“Then I will be good to you.”
This time she didn’t hold back—her mouth closing around your clit, sucking gently, firmly, sending a sharp wave of pleasure through you that made your head spin.
“Are you going to be good?”
Again.
“Y-yes—yes, I will—I’ll be so good—”
Her breath ghosted over you.
“Mmm. We’ll see.”
Then she gave you exactly what you needed.
Her rhythm built—steady, relentless—her tongue working you with precision, alternating between slow, deep licks and focused attention on your clit. Your body unraveled beneath her, your sounds breaking, your thoughts dissolving into nothing but sensation.
She felt it—the way you tensed, the way you neared—and instead of easing up, she pushed you further.
Over.
And over.
And over again.
Until your hands finally dropped to her hair, fingers tangling weakly, a silent plea she understood.
She slowed.
Stopped.
Pressed a soft, final kiss to your sensitive cunt before rising again, her presence towering over you once more.
Joan leaned down, capturing your lips in a slow kiss.
You tasted yourself.
You smiled.
“Thank you, Joan,” you whispered.
Her thumb brushed your cheek, almost absentmindedly.
“Rest now, little mouse.”
A pause.
Her eyes held yours.
“Tomorrow… I may not be so kind.”
For fucks sake...someone HELP!!!
Pamela Rabe as Laura in Seven Deadly Sins: Greed (1993)
more pics of Pam from Drive Your Plow rehearsals
Director's Cut [Part 2]
Joan Ferguson x Reader
[Part 1]
Summary: You and Joan's meet-cute.
“We’re going to get the appeal through. I promise. I’ve been working overtime to pay for the new lawyer.”
You say this to Sarah inside the Wentworth visitation room. You've been visiting her every Tuesday. She's been detained for a crime she didn’t commit. Today, you’re wearing a pastel knit sweater, your fingers trembling, uncomfortable with the atmosphere inside Wentworth. Opposite you is your friend Sarah, dressed in a teal tracksuit.
Sarah lets out a hollow laugh. “Don’t… This place… it’s not what you think. Don’t come too close. I’ll be okay.” She forces out a faint, trembling smile.
You wipe away a stray tear, seeing your friend in this state. You don’t know what it’s like inside Wentworth, but you know your best friend isn’t safe here.
Black and white. High contrast. The CCTV monitor flickers in the Governor’s office.
Joan catches a glimpse of your face. Soft eyes pooling with tears, a gesture so profoundly innocent it feels like a sin in her prison. You look small. Vulnerable. Like a misplaced porcelain doll in this gilded cage.
Her gloved hand rests on her organized mahogany desk. She leans forward as the light from the screen reflects in her eyes, turning them into cold, polished gates. Joan’s thumb traces the outline of your jaw on the monitor.
Joan whispers, “So soft. Like silk in a briar patch. Who are you?”
She watches you stand to leave, smoothing down your skirt. Joan’s eyes narrow, tracking the sway of your hips, the way you seem to shrink under the guards’ gaze.
“You don’t belong here.”
Her eyes land on your friend.
The next day, Joan sits behind her desk, the epitome of power. Sarah enters her office.
“Good morning, Ms. Davidson,” Joan greets with a charming smile, looking up from her paperwork.
“Please, make yourself comfortable.”
Sarah sheepishly takes the seat in front of the Governor.
“How’s your stay so far, Ms. Davidson?” Joan says, but she is quickly cut off by Sarah.
“Why did you call me here, Governor? What do you want?”
Joan leans back in her leather seat, a gentle smile playing at her lips.
“Your friend. The one who visits on Tuesdays. She seems… devoted.”
Sarah’s brows furrow, her defenses slowly rising at the Governor’s sudden inquiry about you.
“Leave her out of this. What do you want?”
Joan sighs, aligning the carefully lined pencils on her desk.
“I’m offering you a trade. Increased visitation. A private room. Perhaps even… a recommendation for early parole.”
Sarah’s eyes widen, a spark of desperate hope igniting. But then she remembers that Joan Ferguson does not dangle freedom in front of someone unless she wants something in exchange. Sarah waits.
“All I require is information.”
“About what?”
“Everything. About your friend. Where she lives, where she works… every detail of the life she leads outside these walls.”
Sarah’s eyes begin to well up. “No. I’m not selling her out to you. I know who you are, Ferguson. I know how evil you are. I know how filthy you are.”
Joan looks Sarah straight in the eyes and smiles at her kindly.
“Do you? Think about it, Ms. Davidson. Mr. Stewart!”
Jake Stewart opens the Governor’s office door.
“Insubordination. Take her to the Slot.”
You continue visiting Sarah at Wentworth for the next four months, unaware of what she endures in the Slot every night at the hands of the Governor. As the nights pass, Joan becomes more relentless in trying to make Sarah break.
Today, sunlight hits the pavement in the city. You are power-walking, clutching a portfolio along the busy street. You look professional, nervous, and utterly beautiful.
Suddenly—THWACK.
A tall, imposing figure in a charcoal suit steps into your path, and you feel hot liquid splash across your chest.
“Oh! Oh my God! I’m so sorry!”
A massive dark stain blooms across your pristine white blouse. It’s a disaster.
The person you bumped into gasps, her eyes wide with “horror” and apology. When she speaks, you finally snap back into reality.
“Oh, good heavens! I apologize. I was looking at my watch. I’m a clumsy fool.”
Oh…
You’re taken aback by her. Her tall frame. Her sharp eyes. Her sharp yet soft complexion. Her lips. Her—
“My interview… I’m so, so, so sorry. I should’ve been more careful. It’s in ten minutes. It’s right in that building. Oh no, I look like a mess. I—”
Joan watches you adoringly but masks it with faux concern.
“Please, let me make it right. I can’t let you go in like that.”
Joan gently guides you into a secluded alleyway and begins unbuttoning her own crisp white long-sleeved shirt. Underneath, she wears a black silk camisole that emphasizes the powerful, lean lines of her arms and shoulders.
Damn. Who is this woman?
You start blushing and awkwardly look upward, noticing a cat sitting on a windowsill watching you both.
“Take it. Please. It’ll be a little oversized, but it’ll look gorgeous on your frame.”
Joan begins unbuttoning your shirt and draping hers over your body.
“I can’t just—”
Joan doesn’t listen, continuing to dress you. Her fingers linger against your skin a second too long.
“Go. You can do it!”
She pulls you out of the alleyway and back into the open. Joan stares at your coffee-stained shirt in her hands, holding it with a victorious glimmer in her eyes as she walks away.
“Your résumé is… unconventional.” Mr. Henderson, a senior manager, sits across from you behind a glass table. “You’ve jumped from hospitality to paralegal work. Why should I hire someone who seems to be in a constant state of flux?”
Your heart is still pounding from the rush. The feel of the kind, sexy, captivating woman’s $500 shirt slightly oversized on you gives you a boost of borrowed power.
“Well, Mr. Henderson, I like to think of it as ‘versatility.’” You flash a bright, charming grin. “In hospitality, I learned how to handle a bridezilla who lost her bouquet. If I can negotiate with a woman in a white dress who hasn’t eaten in six hours, I’m pretty sure I can handle a disgruntled litigant.”
Mr. Henderson’s lip twitches.
“And this role requires someone who is meticulous. High-pressure. Can you handle the heat?”
You take a deep breath, letting the nerves settle, answering as honestly and confidently as you can.
“Sir, on the way here, a stranger accidentally drenched my favorite blouse in scalding coffee. Instead of crying, which was my first, second, and third choice. I ended up in an alleyway, did a high-speed costume change into this shirt, and made it to your lobby with three minutes to spare.”
I have nothing else to lose, so here goes nothing.
“If that’s not handling the heat while maintaining a professional aesthetic, I don’t know what is.”
Henderson laughs, his chair rocking back slightly. He closes your folder and stands.
“I like you. Most people come in here terrified of me without me even saying a word. You’re hired. Don’t make me regret it.”
You stare at him, speechless. “I… I won’t, sir. I promise.”
He shakes your hand before heading toward the door. He pauses and turns back.
“Try to keep the coffee inside the cup from now on.”
You push through the heavy glass doors, elated and proud of yourself for acing the interview, and actually getting the job. But then your adrenaline fades, replaced by a sudden realization: I'm still wearing a stranger’s $500 shirt. How am I going to return it? I didn’t even ask for her name.
And there she is.
Joan sits on a bench, a sleek black sedan parked nearby. She’s holding a small paper bag and looking directly at you.
She watches you skip down the steps, your skirt fluttering. She likes that her shirt is on you. She watches as you grow shy upon recognizing her.
Walking toward her feels like prey being drawn toward a predator. She feels the thrill ripple through her body.
“Hi! You’re still here?”
Joan flashes an innocent smile. “I couldn’t very well leave you without your own clothes, could I? I use a portable laundry service for emergencies.”
She hands you the bag. Inside, your white shirt is pristine, pressed, and still warm from the dryer.
“How was your interview, by the way?”
Blushing, you glance at your shoes before forcing yourself to look back up at her.
“This is… incredible. I—uh—want to give yours back, but I can’t exactly strip in the middle of the sidewalk.”
“A fair point,” Joan chuckles.
“I’m Y/N, by the way—”
“Joan. My name is Joan.”
She holds your gaze, but her eyes drift briefly to your lips, your neck, your collarbone.
“As for the shirt… I’m in no rush to part with it if it looks that good on you.”
Joan doesn’t care about the shirt. She cares about inching closer to you, little by little. She watches your reaction, the way you try to hide its effect on you. She counts the seconds as your mind spins through solutions she knows you’ll suggest.
“I have an idea! I mean, it’s a bit weird, but… I live thirty minutes away. Why don’t you come over for a thank-you dinner? Maybe? I can change, give you your shirt back, and I make a mean carbonara. It’s the least I can do for my guardian angel.”
Joan tilts her head as if hesitating.
“Please?”
There it is.
Joan smiles, making your stomach flip.
“Dinner? I’d be delighted.”
You relax at her answer.
“I can give you a ride… if you want.”
“If it’s okay with you.”
She guides you to her car. “Marvelous. You can tell me about your interview on the way.”
She opens the door, and you slide into the leather seat. Everything about her hits you all at once. You think it’s all just coincidence.
But little do you know that’s exactly what she wants you to think.
As Sarah spends the week in Wentworth’s closed infirmary, unconscious.
You don’t know what you’ve just opened the door to.
Taken Control
Joan Ferguson x Reader
Plot: You explore each others bodies.
AN: This is just 6k words of straight p0rn. Absolutely no plot whatsoever but I hope you enjoy!
Warnings: slapping, power imbalance, implied bad ending, smut, eating out, fingering, spanking, cnc, face sitting, choking, kissing, scratching her back, praise, degradation, hair pulling, strap use, double sided strap, betrayal, love confessions, marking, grinding.
Word count: 6,033
😍♥️