⤷ 𝙛𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙗𝙤𝙙𝙮𝙜𝙪𝙖𝙧𝙙!𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙩 𝙭 𝙣𝙚𝙥𝙤𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙮!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧
⤷𝐜𝐰: 18+, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐬𝐮𝐛!𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭,𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥, 𝐝/𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐲𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐬, 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤 (“𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐛𝐨𝐲”), 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭 / 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐚’𝐚𝐦
Matt was exhausted. He rode home with the radio off and the window down, letting the cool night air sting his cheeks. His mind had been everywhere all week; the stress was catching up to him. Work dragged. All he could think about was getting home to you. Smell you. Touch you. Kiss you.
He tossed his lunch box onto the counter, pulled the containers out, and rinsed them. You always packed his lunch and slipped in little notes. He looked forward to lunch just to see what you’d written. The house smelled good — you always made sure it did — and was already decked out for Halloween. He wasn’t complaining; he loved this season.
“Baby?” he calls from the sink.
You step out of the bedroom in a short navy-blue cop costume, hat tilted, badge catching the light. You giggle — he’d caught you trying on your Halloween costume early.
“Freeze, soldier,” you laugh, finger-gun pointed at him. “Hands above your head.”
Before you could say anything else, Matt turned on instinct. Hands laced behind his head. Feet shoulder-width apart. Eyes on the floor. Pure muscle memory — the stance drilled into him since boot camp. The sound of the running sink snapped him out of it. He blinks, cheeks warming, and turns back to shut the water off.
“Why are you dressed as a cop?” he asks, leaning against the sink.
“Halloween costume.” You could tell he was embarrassed. “Why did you listen?”
“I dunno. I’m… super tired. I guess it was just reflex.”
“Well, at ease, soldier.” You wink, walking up to him and pressing a hand to his chest.
He lets out a gruff laugh, shaking his head, licking his lips. “You look good in a uniform.” His arm snakes around your waist, pulling you closer, and he squeezes the flesh of your ass.
“You look good when you listen like that,” you whisper, looking up at him as he raises his eyebrows at you. “I think I like bossing you around.”
He snorts, but the corner of his mouth twitches. “Do you now?”
You let your fingers trail up his sternum and over his jaw until you’re cupping his chin. “Kneel,” you say softly, half-teasing, half-testing.
Matt’s eyes flutter shut for a second, and his hand clasps around your wrist. “What’re you doing, baby?” he murmurs.
Matt swallows, the muscle in his jaw working. He can still feel the weight of your hand on his chin, the faint smell of your perfume mixing with the candlelight and the sharp scent of dish soap. His thumb keeps circling your wrist; he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it.
He’s not a submissive man. Not at work. Not in the bedroom. Not anywhere. He gives orders. He protects. He shields. But right now his knees feel heavy, like they’re made of sandbags, and something in your voice — soft but firm — is cutting through the static in his head.
“You want me to kneel?” he says again, voice low, testing himself as much as you.
Those eyes. The ones that get him up at midnight to refill your water bottle, the ones that make him say yes to things he swore he’d never do. Those eyes that have him cooking dinners he’s too tired to eat, holding your purse without a second thought, driving you across town just to see you smile.
He exhales, a long, shuddering sound, and then — almost before he’s decided — his knees hit the hardwood. His big hands settle loosely on his thighs. The house is silent except for both of you breathing.
Maybe he’s more submissive than he thinks.
“Awaiting further orders, ma’am.” Another reflex. Muscle memory. Heat crawls up his neck, his eyes trained on the floor, waiting.
For a moment, you just stare. One of the most dominant men you know — the man who usually drags you onto his lap, controls your orgasms, holds your throat while he pounds into you — is kneeling on the kitchen floor, calling you ma’am and telling you he’s waiting for orders. The sight makes your heart skip; your thighs press together, slick already gathering between them.
You feel frozen, your mind blank. You’ve never seen him like this, never seen the crack in his armour this wide. Matt looks like he might fall apart if you breathe wrong.
You swallow, finding your voice. “Look at me, Matt.”
His eyes lift. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. Hands behind your back.”
His shoulders roll as his palms slide to the small of his back, fingers lacing. The movement makes his chest open up to you; he looks so vulnerable, so exposed. A muscle ticks in his jaw, his breathing heavy, a blush still painted across his cheeks. He keeps his gaze locked on yours, silent, waiting for what you’ll say next.
You step closer until you’re standing between his knees. Your fingers brush the back of his neck, sliding into his hair. “Good boy,” you murmur, softer now. “You’re gonna listen?”
Matt’s eyes flutter shut at the touch, a low groan escaping his throat. Warm breath fans against your stomach as he exhales. He shifts on his knees, cock growing heavy and uncomfortable. His head tilts up to you. “Calling me a good boy?” He lets out a little laugh, desperate to claw back some control even as his brain is screaming that this is what he wants.
Your hand slides to his cheeks and squeezes hard, squishing them together — something he’s done to you countless times. His eyes snap open wide, heart thudding against his ribcage. “I’m… I’m gonna listen, ma’am. I’ll listen, ’m sorry.”
You loosen your grip, thumb brushing against the corner of his mouth. “Good,” you whisper. “Because you have to listen, right?” You tilt your head, looking down at him.
He nods instantly, almost too quickly. “I have to listen,” he echoes, voice low. His hands flex behind his back, shoulders tight, but his eyes fixed on yours as he repeats your words back to you.
His hands are at your waist immediately, fingers trembling as he slides the fabric down. The navy-blue costume pools at your feet; you step out of it slowly, watching his face. For a second, his palms cup you, thumbs brushing the curve of your hips, and then — instinctively — he spreads you, the obsession in his eyes making your breath hitch.
You fight the urge to melt. “Hands back behind your back, Matt. Now.”
He jumps at your tone. Blinking fast, he pulls his hands away and laces them behind his back again. “Yes, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am.” His voice is rough, a little hoarse, as he straightens his spine on his knees and waits.
Your leg goes up against the kitchen counter, opening yourself in front of him. He looks up and licks his lips; you see the little jerk in his shoulders, the impulse to reach out and touch you, and then the way he stops himself.
You tighten your grip in his hair and tug him closer until he can smell you, feel the heat radiating off your skin. He lets out a hiss through his teeth.
“You wanna taste me?” you murmur.
“Please…” he breathes, eyes flicking up at you. “Please, ma’am. Want to make you feel good.” He shifts on his knees, straining forward, and you catch the outline straining against his jeans.
“Oh my poor boy is super hard, huh? Does it hurt?”
He nods instantly, voice gone ragged. “Hurts really bad, ma’am. Am I allowed to take it out?”
“No, baby, I’m so, so sorry.” You coo, thumb brushing his cheek. “But I’m gonna let you taste me, okay?”
You catch the flicker of disappointment on his face, but he straightens immediately, desperate to take whatever you’ll give him. “Gonna be a good boy and eat your pussy,” he mumbles as you guide his face toward your wet folds.
His tongue is on you instantly — licking, lapping, circling your clit — loud and greedy. Slurping, moaning into you. You rock your hips against his face, your grip still tangled in his hair; his nose bumps your clit, and for a second, you worry he can’t even breathe, and then you hear him. Wet noises and your moans fill the house.
Whimpering. Shifting on his sore knees. “Tastes so good… thank you… thank you,” he mumbles, completely lost now, letting you move him, use him, worship you. “This fucking pussy, god,” he gasps.
You can feel him trembling against you, his hips shifting, twitching. “You can’t take it?” you murmur, glancing down at the outline straining his jeans.
He nods, voice wrecked. “H-hurts, ma’am…”
“Then take it out,” you whisper. “But keep your hands to yourself. Don’t you dare touch me with it. You get yourself off while you make me cum.”
“Yes, ma’am. Yes, I understand.” His voice shakes. “Thank you, ma’am.”
He fumbles his jeans open; his cock springs free, angry-red and pulsing. He hisses as his hand wraps around the base, but his mouth finds you again immediately. Tongue working, he jerks himself off in ragged strokes as he buries his face between your thighs.
You’re so close now; it’s all too much. The sight of him on his knees, jerking himself off, his cock slick with precum and his face shiny with you, makes your head spin.
“Oh, shit, baby… that’s it. Keep sucking my clit,” you gasp, head falling back. Your hips roll against his mouth; Matt groans, fingers flexing where they grip the base of himself.
“M-ma’am, I’m… ’m gonna cum, ma’am.” His chest rises and falls rapidly, voice breaking. “I-… I’m sorry,” he whimpers.
“Yeah, baby?” you murmur, looking down at him. “You wanna cum with me? Cum when I cum?”
“Please…” he breathes, eyes squeezed shut.
You tighten your grip in his hair, pulling him hard against you as you start to tremble. “Then do it. Do it now. With me.”
He moans into you, his body shuddering; you feel him twitch and spasm against your thigh as he works himself, and the sound of his broken moan mixes with your own as you come apart on his tongue.
You slide down against the kitchen cabinets, legs trembling, and sink onto the floor next to him. Matt shifts from his knees to his butt with a groan, rubbing at them. His chest is still heaving; his hair is a mess.
“You’re fucking—” He clears his throat, chuckling as he drags a hand down his face. “I don’t… Jesus.” He laughs again, voice rough. “You gotta be careful with the shit you ask me to do, because apparently I’ll do just about anything you ask.”
He looks over at you. The corner of his mouth twitches, and you break into a fit of giggles. He rolls his eyes but ends up laughing with you anyway. He reaches out, thumb brushing a smudge of himself from your thigh, then laces his fingers with yours. You lean your head on his shoulder; he kisses your hairline.
“Crazy girl,” he murmurs, his thumb stroking over your knuckles. “C’mon, let’s get off the floor before our knees lock up.”
[a/n: This was unbelievably hard for me because I didn’t want to completely remove him from the character. Thank you to @mi-co-uk and @cinnamonsturns for reading this before I posted it, because I was ready to snap my laptop in half ]
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