Blanca. SD 🌴 27. 20+ (minors and larries dni pls and ty) Requests closed. follows/likes/replies from @wonderlandiswhereitsatyo Calum pls answer my dms so I can be Duke's stepmami.
Only a black woman can get shot at and cheated on and the blame is put in her
It’s irritating and ridiculous
The fact that ROC Nation is even being demonized for providing an attorney for a black woman who was assaulted by a black man proves the hate towards black women
It’s insane how people do Megan
Just say you hate black women and go and if you’re woman in favor of Tory, you’re BIRD BRAINED BITCH
I STAND WITH MEGAN AND IF YOU DON’T LIKE THAT THEN GET THE F OFF MY PAGE
Gif sets are SO important to me. Yes, please take this scene and break it up into 4 or 6 three second loops that I can study over and over to appreciate the small details of it
pairing: of!model robert "bob" reynolds x gf reader
synopsis: you and bob head to his shared lake house for a little long weekend fun!
content: [18+ MDNI!!] ok. this is a cnc kink scenario, boundaries have been discussed beforehand, off-page. if this is not your thing please feel free to skip this one!! no hard feelings <3 i am not responsible for what you choose to consume!! established relationship, soft bob, established boundaries, roleplay, mean bob, unprotected pinv, blackmail, biting, no foreplay (sorta kinda),name calling (bitch and slut), creampie, m and f orgasms, veeery lightly edited, if u catch a mistake come to me gently <3
word count: 5.8k
taglist: @everydaydreamer, @xxsquiddkiddxx, @heliosphere8, @alyssinwunderland-blog-blog, @adoringanakin, @mossmydarling, @loiita-xo, @fandomxo, @hallowedactias, @cillixn, @magicwithaknife, @mornomn, @theoriginalfemmebot, @laniec03, @kitkatkaitin, @raidstarz, @hoodharlow, @someblessedmonster, @cassandakillian, @she-sounds-hidieous, @dracuula98, @1eliana123-blog
author's note: this is my first time ever writing something like this so i am posting this extremely scared. i tried to convey what a first time foray into something a little darker would look like for these two without going crazy on the word count/perfectionism! if you like this please... reblogs, comments and asks would be highly appreciated (#needsvalidation). thank u guys! hope u enjoy mwah! also lowkey soft-launching pb&jj in-universe.
of!bob masterlist ☆ main masterlist ☆ join my taglist
“Ready?” Bob secures the last of your bags in the trunk of your rental car, making sure everything is in place before he slams it shut. The sun has barely had a chance to rise, and Angie mewls pathetically in your front door.
“Don’t worry sweetheart, it’s just a couple of days. Yelena will be over to feed you a bunch, and the twins will take you for walks,” you say with a soft scratch under her chin. She perks up at the mention of Yelena, brightens at the word ‘walks’ too, her sad mewls replaced with curious ones.
“Knew that would make you happy,” you laugh.
Bob comes over to say bye pressing a soft kiss between your ears.
“Why can’t we take her with,” he asks, looking at her longingly.
“She gets carsick,” you remind him. “You know this Bob,” you laugh when he pouts.
“She just looks so sad and she’s gonna be all alone,” he sighs. “What if she’s scared of the fireworks?”
“She’s gonna be with Yelena on the fourth, Bob. She will be okay. Or would you rather kill this trip so we can stay home and be cat parents?”
He breathes deeply, shaking his head before ushering her inside so he can close and lock the door.
“Good. We need to get moving before everyone else decides to start driving too. Don’t wanna rush,” you remind him, tossing him the car keys. “We’ll switch halfway, okay?”
He nods, and after he’s adjusted his seat and set the GPS up, you guys are ready to go start the steady crawl towards Lake Erie.
“I wish you’d told me you shared a lake house sooner,” you say when you guys are finally cruising. Holiday traffic is still low, and you finally relax.
“I forgot. Never had a reason to go,” Bob hums. “The guys normally use it to film anyways. Can’t remember the last time it was a holiday home proper,” he adds.
“The guys? I thought it was just yours and Joaquín’s, you didn’t tell me you had other friends,” you say.
“Of course I have other friends,” he says, offended. “Do you think Joaquín’s the only person I talk to?”
“He’s the only one you talk to me about,” you argue, “and Bucky but I had to be surprised by him, remember?”
Bob goes to argue, then sighs. “I told you. I like keeping you to myself,” he says with a squeeze of your thigh. You try not to focus on the warmth of his hand, turning your attention to the passing scenery.
“Joaquín also likes being the only one who’s met you,” Bob continues. “He likes being special that way.”
“Watch the road,” you remind him, when you feel his eyes on you. Joaquín’s becoming a Topic in your relationship and you’re not sure how to navigate it, caught between trying not to hurt Bob’s feelings and exploring the weird butterflies any mention of his name bring up in a deep corner of your stomach. Bob says he doesn’t really care — that bringing him into the fold won’t hurt him as much as you think it will — but you struggle to square his reassurance with the fact that Joaquín is his best friend.
“You’re thinking too hard,” Bob says, fingers drumming on the steering wheel. “You’re not meant to think this weekend,” he reminds you, and the butterflies are gone, replaced by a small spark as you cast your mind to what lies ahead.
“You nervous?” you ask him.
“I’m not the one who has to be nervous,” he reminds you. “That’s all you.”
He’s almost got the faux confidence down to a tee.
“I know, but I just wanna remind you that we don’t have to do this. This can just be a holiday,” you say. You reach out so you can squeeze his thigh. “It can just be normal,” you remind him. “Safe.”
He takes your hand in his.
“It’ll be safe either way,” he says, bringing your hand up so he can kiss the back. “That’s the whole point remember. Safety. I’d be a bad boyfriend if I wasn’t safe with you.”
You smile at him. Weeks of talking, whittling down roleplay fantasies into something that Bob would be comfortable doing with you as a beginner had led to this — a trip to Lake Erie so he could give you the stranger danger roleplay you’d been begging him for since you first watched one of his more intense videos.
“Thank you, Bob.”
“Always. I’ll do anything with you.”
You hum, content as you settle in to the passenger seat and continue to watch the scenery pass you by. The roads aren’t as busy as you thought, holiday goers apparently kicking off their Fourth of July weekends a little later than you thought they might. It’s good. An early arrival meant more time to settle, to familiarise yourself with the lake house before getting into the weekend’s objective.
The drive is smooth, even as traffic begins to build and the sun begins to beat down relentlessly, forcing you to keep the aircon on.
You stop for lunch — gas station pies and energy drinks — before Bob insists on driving the rest of the way.
“Finding the turn to the lake house is difficult. We miss it whenever we go,” he says, planting himself stubbornly in the driver’s seat.
“Then you should’ve let me drive the first half.”
“Sure, but I don’t mind. You’re a pretty passenger princess.”
“Don’t flatter me Bob. I’m driving us home,” you concede.
“If you remember,” he laughs.
“I’ll remember,” you say, showing him the reminder you’ve put in your phone.
“I’ll delete it while you sleep,” he threatens, pulling back onto the interstate.
You just laugh, adjusting the volume on the radio as he cruises, beaming at your lack of argument.
By the time you arrive, you feel stickier than you have any right to, your legs dead beneath you.
You stretch your legs as you bring things into the house, having a look around as Bob turns on the aircon and packs away the food you brought.
It’s cosy, not at all the type of place you expected to be used ‘just for filming’. Board games are piled on the coffee table, and there’s a rack of haphazardly stacked DVDs next to the TV.
“Who’s who?” you ask, looking at a framed picture on the mantle. You recognise Joaquín, though his hair is shorter. There’s a blond with his arm wrapped around Bob and a somewhat nervous looking brunette next to the blond.
“Johnny,” Bob says pointing at the blond, “and Peter,” he says pointing to the brunette. You commit their names to memory.
“You’d probably like Peter’s girl, MJ,” he says. “I should probably introduce you soon.”
He wraps his arms around your waist and presses his nose into your hair.
“You don’t have to. You can wait until you’re comfortable,” you say. “I can wait.”
“I’m comfortable now. It’s just weird y’know. Haven’t been this serious with someone in a long time. I don’t wanna jinx it,” he whispers.
You turn so you can cup his face in your hands.
“Bob, you don’t have to. I’m happy to wait for as long as you want me to,” you remind him. You lean into him so you can give him a soft kiss. “You can set the pace for this, I’ll follow,” you whisper.
“So good to me,” he says, nuzzling into the crook of your neck as he crushes you into him. “The videos, and the relationship and this,” he starts, his hand slipping under your shirt. “You’re so good to me. I love you.”
It’s not the first time he’s said it, but it thrills you to hear it nonetheless.
He pulls away with a sigh, motioning for you to follow him over to the couch where he pulls you into his arms.
“Promise me you’ll tell me if you’re even the tiniest bit uncomfortable tomorrow,” Bob pleads. His voice is muffled by your stomach, but you hear the tremor, the slight note of hesitation. “I love you. I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, not for the first time.
“I know you love me,” you say. “You’ve never shown me otherwise,” you say, twirling his hair around your index finger.
“It’s gonna feel like I don’t tomorrow. Gonna feel like I hate you,” he says.
He laughs at the soft sigh you let out.
“You want that? Want it to feel like I hate you?”
He’s looking up at you, something imperceptible swimming beneath the blue of his eyes.
“Isn’t that the point?”
You’re ignoring the way his hand has snaked between your legs again, gliding between your folds with the utmost ease.
“It’s a yes or no question. Do you want it to feel like I hate you?”
The soft authority in his voice sets your skin alight, and you can feel desire bubbling up in you again as if he hadn’t just spent the past hour turning you inside out with satisfaction.
“A little bit,” you say.
You’ve gone over this already. Rules, safewords, and colour systems. Everything to gently guide you into a big new step for your relationship while assuring Bob that it wouldn’t change how you saw him, but you’d repeat it as many times as he needed to hear, iron everything out down to the minute details if it meant putting his mind at ease about what you wanted.
“I’ll do that,” he says with a gentle kiss to the flesh near your belly button, dipping his head lower so he can kiss at your thighs too. “I’m gonna be a little mean tomorrow,” he reminds you again. “It’s not how I feel about you.”
“I know, honey,” you sigh out when he nips at the soft flesh on the inside of your thighs.
“I know. Just reminding you. I love you,” he says, and then spends the rest of the night showing you, bit by bit, with soft gentle nips followed by even softer kisses. I love you whispered after slow, soft drags of his tongue against your core, over and over again while he drives you to the edge.
When he’s done, he clings to you until you both fall asleep, warm and sticky and wholly satisfied, on the living room couch with the TV still running in the background.
When you wake up the next day you’re in bed, a sticky note on the bedside table.
Gone out walking. Didn’t wanna wake you. I’ll see you soon :).
Love you. ♡ ♡ ♡
The clock on the bedside reads 11:45 am. You’re not sure when he got up and you consider texting him, but decide to give him his space, busying yourself with tidying up and cooking.
When the space is clean, and you’ve had lunch and Bob still isn’t back you decide to take a dip in the hot tub, poring over the instructions someone has handwritten and left in a basket on the deck. You turn down the heat, sighing in relief as you take a dip. Even with the sun overhead beginning to beat down on you, you feel content.
Out here it’s quiet, the sounds of traffic so far off they don’t even register. You know the lake isn’t too far away and you consider packing a big and sitting lakeside instead, but the thought of walking in the heat keeps you in the water.
You’re not sure how long you’ve been in there, eyes closed as you listen to an audiobook when you hear the doorbell ringing. You think you’re imagining it at first, but when it rings a second and then third time you reluctantly climb out.
“I’m coming!”
You dry off as much as possible, trying not to track water through the house you’ve just cleaned.
“I’m sorry, I was a bit distracted,” you say, opening the door without checking. You expect it to be Bob, but it’s not. It’s a stranger on the other side, dressed in a tank and board shorts, brown hair dishevelled and cheeks red.
His eyes linger on the way your wet bikini clings to you and you wish you’d at least thought to put a t-shirt on before answering.
“Sorry. Can I help you?”
“Uh yeah. Car broke down and my phone’s dead. Can I use yours to call a tow?”
You should wait for Bob to get back, but you have no reason to doubt him. He looks sweet enough.
“It’s on the coffee table in the living room,” you say, stepping aside to let him in. “I’m just gonna get dressed,” you explain as you click the door shut behind you.
“Thank you,” he smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Had to walk through so much fucking nature. Didn’t think anyone lived out here,” he says, looking around the living room his eyes landing on a picture of you and Bob.
“Who’s this?”
“My boyfriend,” you answer.
“Is he home?”
Without thinking, you tell him the truth — that he’d gone out on a walk, but he was going to be back soon.
The stranger just nods, and you take that as your cue to slip out, shuffling down to the bedroom.
When you’re in the bedroom, pulling Bob’s shirt over your head you’re thrilled, heart racing in excitement. You never realised Bob could slip so easily into the role of stranger. Sure you’d seen it on screen, heard Joaquín talking about how he could turn it on when the cameras started rolling but seeing it live? Mesmerising in a way you couldn’t quite describe.
You join him in the living room again, where he’s flipping through TV channels, with his feet on the coffee table. You try not to get annoyed because you just cleaned up, but you remember he’s been walking for some time and is probably just tired.
“Would you like some water?” you ask, ignoring the cold prickly feeling you get when his eyes land on you.
“I’d love some, thanks,” he says, turning his attention back to the TV.
“Were you able to get someone on the line?” you ask when you’re back, putting a cold glass of water on a coaster for him.
He takes a sip, then sets the glass down — not on the coaster — before turning back to you.
“Yeah. It’s gonna be another two hours before they can get someone to me. Is it okay if I stay here?”
You can tell he’s not asking, because he’s nestled himself comfortably into the couch cushions.
“Sure,” you squeak out, pressing yourself into the corner of the couch. If he notices how far away you are, he doesn’t say anything, focusing on the TV instead.
The next time he speaks to you, its to ask for the toilet and you sigh in relief when he’s gone. It’s fine at first, the opportunity to catch your breath and relax without worrying about the strange man on your couch, but when five minutes turns into ten turns into fifteen, you feel a strange turning in your stomach. The house is too silent, and you don’t like the thought of him being somewhere you can’t see him.
He’s not in the guest toilet when you check, and your blood runs cold when you realise he’s not in the main bathroom either.
When you do find him, he’s in the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed as he thumbs through something. Your stomach drops when you realise just what they are.
A stack of Polaroids, meant only for Bob. Pictures taken when you’d helped Joaquín film for his channel in the spring.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
If your tone of voice rattles him, he doesn’t show it.
“I found these lying around. I was interested. Is that you in the pictures?”
His voice is steady as he holds one of them up. It’s you and Joaquín, smiling into the camera while he gropes at your breast.
“That’s not your boyfriend, but that is you?”
You reach out for the picture but he yanks it away, steadying you with his free hand.
“I’m not done looking.”
“They’re not yours to look at,” you remind him, making another grab for the pictures. You’re unsuccessful and all it does is irritate him.
“Shouldn’t have left them lying around then. It’s like you wanted me to find them.”
“You aren’t even supposed to be in here,” you remind him again, voiced laced with anger. “They’re not for you.”
He rolls his eyes.
“Who are they for then?”
“None of your business.”
“Don’t be like that,” he says, clicking his tongue.
“They’re mine,” you half yell. “I’ll be however I want.”
The rest of the pictures are spread out behind him, out of reach, and your stomach turns as you think about him seeing them. There are so many. Some are just you, almost naked but not quite, pouting into the camera. Joaquín is in a couple. Bob is in most. He picks up another one that’s just a picture of Bob’s hand over your tits, squeezing softly, your faces off camera.
“This still you?” he asks, waving the picture at you.
“Please just give them to me,” you plead. “They’re private.”
He seems to think for a moment, hands resting on his knees before he speaks.
“Show me,” he says, like it’s the most obvious idea in the world. “You show me those pretty tits and I’ll give them back to you. Just wanna see if they’re as good as the pictures,” he says.
“ I just have to show you?”
“Scout’s honour,” he says.
Your gut says no, tells you not to trust the type of man who would go snooping in a woman’s bedside drawers after she welcomed him into her home, but you just want the polaroids back. You slide Bob’s t-shirt off, standing in front of him in nothing but your bikini.
His eyebrows shoot up as he motions to the bikini.
“No. You can see them well enough. Give me my pictures back,” you say holding your hand out.
“I wanna see your tits, not the bikini.”
“You’ve seen them in the pictures. This is my house. You don’t walk in here and violate my privacy and think you can tell me what to do,” you say, trying not to let your voice betray the fear you feel. Your stomach is a sinkhole, growing bigger and bigger with each passing second as he looks you up and down.
“Stop wasting my fucking time. Take it off,” he says, “now.”
His eyes never leave you, and you don’t have a shot at moving him.
“Just fucking take it off. No point being shy when you’re already a slut.”
You flinch, but your hands come up to the bikini tie, tugging it loose.
“There we go. Not so hard is it,” he groans, watching as the material floats to the floor. “Fuck, better than the pictures. C’mere, let me see ‘em up close.”
You listen this time, feet shuffling as you inch towards him.
“You said you just wanted to see,” you remind him, the sinking feeling in your gut all consuming as he gives one of them a harsh squeeze.
“Think about it as payment for wasting my time,” he replies. “Uh uh. Don’t start crying yet,” he says when you let out a shaky whimper. “I’m not doing anything bad. Just having a feel.”
He lets go of the polaroids, but only so his hand can snake around your thigh and tug you between his legs.
You try to stay calm, focus on a spot on the wall behind him. Bob will be home soon. Bob will handle this. Bob would never let you get hurt.
“Aw, you’re shaking. You scared? You don’t need to be scared. Not of me,” he whispers, lips brushing against the swell of your breast. “I’m not scary. Just curious. What’s so special about you that he shares, huh?”
Despite the sweat clinging to your body you’re ice cold, tongue turned to lead in your mouth as he nuzzles between your breasts, sighing into them. Your silence is a neon green light, emboldening him as he places soft kisses along them before taking a nipple into his mouth.
You find your voice, albeit small and shaky.
“You said you just wanted to see. Scout’s honour.”
“I’m not a fucking Scout.” He hesitates slightly before adding, “You might be dumber than I thought. Letting a man you don’t know into your house. Taking your shirt off because he made you an empty promise.”
He latches his mouth over your nipple again, fingers digging uncomfortably into your waist. In the living room, the TV still plays, the distant sound of sitcom studio laughter echoing down the hall as he he grunts around your tit.
“My lucky day. Dumb bitch with her boyfriend out the house. Couldn’t have asked for anything better.”
You shudder, pushing at his shoulders to get him off of you. Your resistance is rewarded with a bite, quick and harsh, that stops you in your tracks.
“Quit it,” he grunts. “You wouldn’t be in this position if you didn’t want to be. Could’ve left and called your boyfriend home but you didn’t, so don’t act brand new now.”
You have nothing to say to that, because a part of you knows he’s right. That if you’d done the logical thing, you wouldn’t be in this mess.
“That’s it,” he says with a smile, switching over to the other breast. He gives it the same treatment, licking and sucking and biting while he moans into you and there’s a brief moment where he moves off of you and you think he’s done but then his fingers snake under the waistband of your bikini bottom and you jolt away, perplexed.
“That’s not what we agreed on,” you remind him, hands closed around his wrists as you pry him off. “I’ve given you more than you wanted. Give me my pictures back.”
You lean forward to reach for them, stretching past him and you’re almost there when you flips the script on you and stands up so he can push you into the mattress.
His grip is tight, the weight of him heavy as he holds you in place and despite the way you struggle you don’t budge.
His fingers find the edge of your bikini bottoms again, tracing along the edge as he presses his growing erection to the back of your thigh.
“You really thought that would be it? What am I supposed to do with this, huh,” he says grinding into you.
“Not my problem. You need to get off of me,” you kick behind you blindly, feel hope when your foot catches his thigh but he doesn’t budge.
“I’m just having a feel,” he says, finger pressing over your clothed clit.
You let an involuntary whine slip through, the heat of embarrassment blooming in your stomach.
“There we go. Now you’re being honest,” he croons.
“No. Anything else, please,” you beg.
If you offer him something worthwhile, you think you can still walk out of this with the pictures and what’s left of your dignity. “I’ll suck you off okay? Swallow and everything, please, just not that.”
He just hums, fingers working over your clit in small, tight circles as his hips rock against the back of your legs.
“Please I just want my pictures. They’re special,” you plead again.
“So you’ll let me do this then?”
He presses his fingers against your clothed slit, holding you down when you jerk away.
“My mouth. We can do that. As rough as you want,” you offer. “Not that please.”
“You keep saying you don’t want this but your pussy says otherwise,” he says, pressing his finger through the material of your bikini bottoms. “Feels like she wants this. Sure your boyfriend won’t mind. Maybe we’ll take a picture and leave it for him huh? Show him how you get around when he’s not here.”
You shake your head.
“It’s not like that. He knows. He knows about his friend,” you whimper, trying to pull away. The arm pushing you down presses harder.
“So you’re a slut with permission, then. Even better. Sure he won’t mind if I get a turn.”
“Don’t call me that,” you reply, squirming in an attempt to get him off of you. Even a little more space will do, a little relief from the press of his erection against you.
“What do you call it then? When you have a boyfriend who loves you and you fuck his friends and keep the evidence? What do you call it when you answer the door for strange men in nothing but a wet bikini and a t-shirt?”
He turns you over and when you look into his eyes you feel a chill run through you. There’s nothing behind them, and you know pleading with him is useless but you try anyway.
“Do you want them? You can keep them,” you try, head tilting towards the pictures. “It’s fine, it’s not a big deal.”
You clamp your thighs shut but he pries them open, dragging you closer to him as he settles between them.
“Seemed like a big deal when you got your tits out for me,” he purrs. He leans down so he can press a kiss to your collarbone. “Colour?”
It throws you, takes you a moment to respond but he doesn’t do anything while he waits, just rubs gently at your thighs with his thumb.
“Green,” you manage to get out. He smiles, then its gone when he buries his face back into your chest.
“Seemed like a big deal when you were offering to let me fuck your face in exchange for the pictures,” he reiterates, mockingly repeating your words back to you. You squirm, but his grip never falters. “What’s the difference between my dick down your throat and right here,” he says, slipping his fingers between your bikini bottom and your embarrassingly wet folds.
“I don’t want that. That’s the difference. It’s too far,” you reason.
“Not about what you want. You said you’d do anything, right? Anything to keep your little pictures. Might as well let me in. Your boyfriend won’t mind will he?”
“He will,” you wriggle away, manage to gain a little room before he pulls you back against him with an exasperated sigh.
“Don’t be so difficult, okay?”
He strokes your face gently, thumb lingering over the corners of your mouth. He lets his hand glide down your body, almost tender. “Just be a good girl for me. Let me see what you’ve got,” he groans as he undoes the tie on his board shorts, pushing them down just enough to free himself.
You whimper when you see him, thick and hard and leaking, waiting for you. You shake your head when he presses his tip against your clothed core.
“You think I’ll fit?”
He almost sounds curious enough to genuinely care, but the way he pushes against you lets you know one thing: he’ll make it fit.
You breathe deep try to relax, use your hands to push against him but he’s surprisingly sturdy. Before you can protest he’s pulling your bottoms to the side.
“Oh god look at her. Won’t even have to do anything,” he sighs, sliding the tip between your lips. He starts with a few testing prods, watching your face as he does, and then without warning he pushes into you, his other hand tightening on your hip to keep you in place.
“Fuck, that feels good. I’d pass you around too if I were him,” he grunts when he’s all the way in. The stretch is one you’re not prepared for, and it stings, brings tears to your eyes that you try to hide by turning your face.
“Hey, hey, don’t do that,” he says, voice soft as he stills. “Don’t do that, okay. You gotta look at me.”
You nod blinking back back the tears.
“Do I need to stop?”
You shake your head, then remember what he said about using your words.
“No. It’s okay, I just wasn’t prepared. I’m used to… I’m used to the prep,” you answer truthfully. It’s embarrassing. You’d begged him for less consideration and when he obliged, you couldn’t even take it right away.
“No, no. Just, give me a moment, please. Come here, I miss you,” you say reaching out.
“You miss me?”
“I miss you,” you answer, ghosting your lips over his when he leans down.
“Say the word and I’ll stop,” he remind you again.
“Don’t. I like you like this too,” you say. It feels better now, less pain more pressure and you squirm impatiently.
“Yeah? You like when I take?”
His grip on you tightens, and you watch something in him shift as his eyes harden again and his stare sends a shiver down your spine.
“I’ll take then,” he says, one hand on your hip and the other on your shoulder. His eyes glide down to your tits, the way they bounce as he pushes into you, still a little soft at first then harder when he’s convinced you’re okay.
You grit your teeth, try blink away the tears stinging at the corner of your eyes and stifle the whimpers bubbling out of your throat.
“Oh sweetheart, don’t cry,” he coos, his thumb wiping at the corner of your eyes. “It’s gonna feel so good, know it is. She’s already taking it so well,” he pants. “Fucking beautiful the way she swallows me up. Maybe she’s made for me instead. Maybe I’ll cancel the tow truck and just stay here,” he says, pace brutal as he finds that deliciously sweet spot inside of you.
“Not yours,” you manage to get out. He’s not interested in your protests, his thumb pressing into your mouth. He hisses when you bite down, then grabs your face, fingers digging in hard.
“Told you not to make this difficult,” he says with a hard squeeze. “All you have to do is behave,” he instructs, hand moving down to rest on your throat. “That’s all. Just behave until I’m done. Don’t make me hurt you.”
You want to point out that he’s already hurting you, that the way his fingers dig into your thigh as he holds the bikini bottoms in place is going to leave bruises, but the soft pressure of his palm on the column of your throat reminds you who’s in charge.
He moves his hand, places his index then his middle finger in your mouth, cocks an eyebrow when he feels the testing bite you give him before you relent.
“That’s it, good girl,” he coos, even as the tears spill from the corner of your eyes. “So pretty with your mouth full,” he sighs, eyelids fluttering shut as he presses his fingers into your mouth. “Should’ve taken you up on that offer,” he grunts, only stopping so he can tug at the strings on your bottoms, swatting the fabric away when the knots come undone.
He shifts so he can press his body into yours, pushing your knees into your chest as he continues fucking into you. Your pleas muffle around his fingers, but you’re losing your train of thought your body aching with a need you’re all too familiar with despite your resistance.
“Almost done, sweetheart I’m so close. See how easy it can be when you listen.”
You tug at his wrist, pulling his fingers out of your mouth.
“You need to pull out, please. Just this one thing,” you eke out, grimacing as his hands find your tits squeezing. The laugh he barks out chills you to the core, but you feel yourself clench around him and he falters.
“Don’t think I could if I wanted to, she’s squeezing so tight,” he whines. You try pushing at him, but he’s still sturdy, still relentless in his need to have all of you.
“S’okay,” he whispers. “It’s okay she wants this. Can feel her practically milking me, it’s okay.”
His fingers press down onto your clit and you buck into him. This is all the permission he needs to rub in tight circles.
“Just giving you what you want? Feels good, doesn’t it?”
You shake your head but this only seems to spur him on, until finally your body gives in, your walls spasming around him.
“Shit, I’m right there,” he pants, “can’t pull out, you understand right?”
You’re too tired to protest, and true to his word he’s not far behind you, spilling into you as he finishes, leaning down to press his forehead to yours.
You feel your heart hammering in your chest as he presses a kiss to your cheek, then your forehead.
“You okay? Everything’s fine?”
He brushes the tears off your cheeks, pulling out gently so he can roll over and pull you into his arms.
“Words, please,” he asks, when all you do is nod.
“Yeah, Bob. I’m good. I’m perfect,” you giggle.
“Need anything?”
“A bath would be nice. You guys have such a nice bath tub,” you yawn.
He’s up and running it before you can even put it together, gently guiding you into the tub. It’s steamy, and the water is just the right amount of warm as you slide in sighing. He waits on the side, hair damp with sweat, face flushed and eyes bright as he watches you relax.
“Get in with me. I miss you,” you say, sitting up.
“It’s your bath. I don’t wanna crowd you,” he hums.
“It’s big enough for both of us, get in,” you insist and he listens this time, stripping down and sliding in behind you. You let him kiss you, gentle along the nape of your neck as he squeezes you.
“You okay?” you finally ask, when you feel yourself settle.
“Of course I’m okay, I’m not the one—”
“I know that Bob. But I know it also felt… weird for you. Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I liked it. I like you a little scared, you were so good for me,” he responds, pressing a kiss into the crook of your neck. “I’ll need some time before we do that again,” he whispers. “I liked it, but I need time. Wanna be soft with you again. I love you.”
“Of course, honey. We don’t ever have to do it again if you don’t want–”
“Didn’t say anything about never doing it again. Just need a little break,” he assures you, pressing his face further into the crook of your neck. It’s comforting to have him there, pressed into you after the afternoon you’ve had. “I love you,” he repeats, over and over as his fingers drum on your hips.
“Love you too,” you sigh, your hand coming down over his so you can slot your fingers between his.
“We should probably hurry, before the water cools down,” Bob says, even though he makes no move to hurry.
You laugh, letting your eyes flutter shut as he presses kisses into your hair. You’d be in here well past the point of pruning, letting his hands glide gently over your body, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.
