Ėļ½”ąØ LEAKY PIPES .Ā·ą¼»
pairing farmhand!jason todd x citygirl!reader
run down: NSFW! subby/inexperienced jason, more than I intended originally. size diff obviously, anticlimactic climax, but we have fun :P oral f receiving
What on earth could you have possibly done this time to deserve this? Youād take anything elseābeing grounded, having your phone confiscated. Hell, even being shipped off to some allāgirls boarding school in Switzerland. But this?
āTwo months on my land out near Wayne Ranch.ā
Your fatherās deep voice vibrated through your pierced ears. The silver hoops did nothing to soften the blow. The punishment didnāt just fail to match the crimeāit overshot it by a mile.
Sure, you had a reputation. The party girl. A little too wild, a little too shiny. Juicy Couture sweats, Dior miniskirts, and tops so tiny most people would mistake them for a belt.
But you werenāt most people. You were the daughter of a millionaire. Didnāt that buy you at least a little freedom?
So yes, fine, you did crash his most prized possession. A ā62 Chevrolet Corvette.
Into the aggressively curved curb framing your aggressively oversized home. But honestlyā¦ Was that really worth exile to the middle of nowhere?
The drive out to Y/L/N Ranch felt like a banishment by carriage, minus the carriage and plus your fatherās silent treatment.
When the SUV finally rolled to a stop, you stepped out in a swirl of soft pink and glitter, the kind of outfit designed for VIP lounges, not farm soil.
The place before you looked like the set of a postcard your grandmother might mail at Christmas: a quaint white farmhouse in the middle of an ocean of green, glowing under the honeyāgold sunset as if it were advertising butter or homemade jam.
The grass was too tall, the air too still, and the only trace of civilization was the faint smell of gasoline drifting from an old pickup by the barn. This was it. Your new prison. Picturesque, yes, but still a prison.
The house itself was almost offensively charming. Two stories of white wooden siding, windows trimmed in that soft vintageācream tone decorators rave about. A wraparound porch hugged the front, scattered with mismatched chairs that looked handāmeādown rather than purchased.
A little greenhouse leaned off to one side, and behind it stretched a fenced pasture where a few horses grazed like props hired specifically to make the scene more rustic.
And there you were: standing in shimmering featherātrim heels, a tiny plaid skirt straight out of a pop princess fantasy, and a glossy black top that definitely did not belong anywhere near hay.
Dust curled around your pink, furādipped ankles as you tried to understand how the universe had decided this farmhouse, this field, this exile was where you would be spending the next two months.
Bruce Wayne was the first to greet you, stepping out from the porch as he had personally been waiting for this exact moment.
He looked almost comically out of place against the farmhouse backdrop, all polished, calm, and quiet authority. Without a word, he took your overstuffed pink luggage from your hands with one arm as if it weighed nothing.
Dick Grayson followed behind him, bright and easygoing, offering you a warm smile that actually made the place seem less like exile.
Then came Jason, all sunātanned shoulders and roughāaroundātheāedges swagger, the kind of guy who looked like he lived outdoors and didnāt mind it one bit.
He grabbed your second suitcase before you could protest, his expression unreadable beneath the brim of his hat. Together, they made an oddly coordinated trio, guiding you toward the porch like you were some visiting celebrity instead of someone being punished.
Bruce waited until the last bag was set inside before turning back to you. His hand landed gently on top of your head in a surprisingly soft pat, as if he were checking that you hadnāt shattered on arrival.
āIāll call your father and let him know youāre here,ā he said, already pulling his phone from his pocket as he walked off toward the yard.
Dick stayed close, offering to show you where everything was with that easy charm of his, while Jason lingered behind him, shoulders relaxed but eyes sharp, taking in your glittery heels and plaid skirt with a mix of curiosity and amusement.
You pick up on the raven-haired, green-eyed man, noticing you long before he realizes how obvious he is being.
Every time your perfume drifted his way, his posture stiffened just a little, like your soft, sweet scent was some kind of test he hadnāt studied for.
When your skirt shifted with your steps or the sunlight hit your skin just right, his gaze flickered over automatically, then snapped away so fast it was almost cute.
He carried your suitcase like it was a shield, jaw tight, eyes everywhere except directly on you.
You didnāt say anything, but the tiny smile tugging at your lips wasnāt exactly subtle. It was hard not to be entertained when someone who built, who was that stubborn, that tough-looking, was clearly out of his depth just standing next to you.
The more amused you became, the more flustered Jason got. When your hands brushed as you both reached for the same bag, he froze like heād touched something electric.
You felt his breath catch, saw the way his fingers tensed, the way he immediately took one careful step back as though giving you space would somehow help him regain control. It didnāt.
You could feel the shift in the air, that barely-there pull of attention he kept trying to hide. So you offered him a light, knowing smile.
Nothing dramatic, just enough to acknowledge the tension he was trying so hard to ignore.
His ears turned pink under the brim of his hat, and that alone made you want to laugh. He wasnāt intimidated by you. He was fascinated. And he clearly had no idea what to do with that.
Jason and Dick carried your boxes up the narrow staircase, the old wood creaking under each step. The bedroom they led you into looked like something out of a countryside fairytale, all soft greens, floral patterns, and quilted blankets.
Sunlight filtered through sheer curtains, dust motes drifting lazily in the warm glow.
You stepped forward to get a better look, leaning over the bed to smooth a hand along the vintage quilt.
Jason, still holding one of your suitcases, froze for a split second as you bent forward, his gaze snapping away so fast you almost heard the mental brakes screech.
He cleared his throat and shifted his weight, ears going pink under the brim of his hat. You didnāt call attention to it, but the flicker of amusement warming your smile was impossible to hide.
Dick set down another box with a thud and shot Jason a quick, knowing glance, the kind only an older brother could manage. āNice room, right?ā he said to you, but his smirk was aimed at Jason, who refused to look in either of your directions now.
You wandered toward the window, admiring the soft curtains and the light streaming through them, the gentle creak of the floorboards following your steps. Behind you, Jason busied himself with stacking the last of your luggage, even though it didnāt really need rearranging.
Every time you moved, his posture stiffened just slightly, that quiet, unpolished awareness thick in the air. You felt it, savored it, let it settle sweetly between all three of you as the cozy little room became your new stage.
āA little too small, but it's cute.ā Your voice was soft and always had that tinge of sensual teasing, something light and feminine.
Dick glanced around your new room with a low whistle, then shot you a sideways smile.
āThings out here run a little bigger than what youāre used to in the city,ā he said lightly, not looking at you so much as looking at Jason, the corners of his mouth tugging upward.
The comment itself was harmless, almost innocent on the surface, but the tone carried just enough mischief to make Jason stiffen midāstep.
He flicked a quick, irritated look at Dick, already knowing exactly what he was implying, even if no one said anything directly.
You caught the way Jasonās jaw tensed and how he immediately busied himself with a box that didnāt need moving, ears warming under his hat.
Dick only shrugged, feigning innocence as he brushed some dust off his jeans. The unspoken layer of the comment hung there in the quiet room, soft and warm like the afternoon light through the curtains.
You didnāt have to say a word; the tiny, amused smile you hid behind your hand said enough.
Jason noticed it too, which only made him more flustered, his shoulders shifting as he tried to look unaffected while failing completely.
The moment stayed suspended between the three of you, āOh?ā you said softly, tilting your head as if genuinely curious. āI guess Iāll have to see if thatās true.ā
It wasnāt a flirt. Not a challenge. Just a light, airy comment delivered so calmly that Dickās smirk widened in triumph, and Jason nearly dropped the box he was holding.
Dick didnāt answer, but his eyebrows lifted in a smug little arch, pleased you played along.
Jason muttered a quiet curse under his breath and focused hard on stacking your luggage in a perfectly straight line, pretending he was unaffected while the tips of his ears betrayed him completely.
The room warmed with the unspoken tension, sweet and teasing, hanging between the three of you like dust motes in the sunbeams.playful and charged in all the ways no one was willing to acknowledge out loud.
The tiny plaid skirt, the glittery heels, the perfume. None of it matched the playful sharpness you just threw back at him.
āCute,ā he murmured to himself, barely audible, more amused than teasing now, as if the idea of a small, girly city girl surprising him with bold comments was genuinely endearing.
Jason didnāt even look up, ears red, jaw tight as he pretended to be completely absorbed in rearranging your luggage for the fourth unnecessary time. The room warmed around the three of you, tension soft and fizzing like champagne bubbles, impossible to ignore.
Dick clapped his hands together, satisfied that everything was finally in place.
āAlright, Jaybird,ā he said, heading for the door with that same easy confidence, tipping his head to the side, motioning to his little brother to depart. Jason lingered behind him, pretending to check the lock on your suitcase even though heād checked it twice already.
Just as they reached the doorway, you stepped after them. āWait.ā
They both turned. You smiled, soft, grateful, deceptively gentle, those sparkly glossed lips pouting, and leaned up to press a quick kiss to Dickās cheek, then Jasonās.
Dick froze for half a heartbeat, then broke into a wide grin, the kind that lit up his whole face. āAnytime,ā he said, sounding more charmed than before. Jason, on the other handā¦ Jason didnāt move.
His breath caught, shoulders going rigid like heād been hit with a tasing spell. The warmth of your lips hadnāt even fully faded from his cheek yet, and his entire brain seemed to shortācircuit.
He managed a weak nod, eyes firmly on the floor as he followed Dick out the door. In his head, everything was a blur, your perfume, your soft voice, the featherālight brush of your lips.
He wasnāt thinking anything clear or clever, just a panicked string of thoughts that all crashed together: too close, too soft, too pretty, what was he supposed to do with any of that?
By the time Dick nudged him down the stairs with a smirk, Jason still looked dazed, like heād been handed a challenge he definitely wasnāt prepared for.
Jason followed Dick down the stairs, but his brain stayed stuck in the bedroom doorway, replaying the moment your lips brushed his cheek like it was a glitching video loop he couldnāt shut off.
He could still smell your perfume on his shirt from where youād leaned in, that warm, sugary scent that knocked the air clean out of his lungs. And your hand, she kept seeing them, small and soft, the way theyād brushed his arm when youād stepped past him.
Why did that get to him? Why did everything about you get to him? It wasnāt fair. You were effortless in a way he wasnāt built to process: glittery and confident and impossibly pretty, looking up at him with those big, bright eyes like you had no idea what effect you had.
By the time he reached the bottom of the stairs, Jason was so flustered he nearly missed the last step. Dick didnāt say anything, but Jason could feel his brotherās grin even without looking.
He stepped outside, letting the cooler air hit his face, but it didnāt help. His thoughts were still a scattered mess, jumping from the warmth of your cheekākiss to the softness of your voice to the way you kept smiling at him like you knew something he didnāt.
He muttered something low under his breath, trying to steady himself, but it didnāt work. For someone who thought heād seen everything, Jason Todd had never met a girl like youā¦ And it terrified him how fast youād gotten under his skin.
Dick didnāt wait long. The second they stepped off the porch, he nudged Jason hard enough to make him stumble.
āOne little cheekākiss and youāre acting like she just rocked your entire world,ā he said, smirking. āCareful, Jayā¦ at this rate sheāll end up showing you a thing or two before the summerās over.ā
Jason followed Dick across the yard, jaw tight, trying not to think about how humiliatingly true the teasing was.
He still didnāt know how to handle being a virgin in a grown manās body, taller and broader than he used to be, strength he hadnāt fully grown into yet, hormones hitting harder than sense.
Everything felt too big, too loud, too much, especially the way youād kissed his cheek like it was nothing.
His chest felt too tight for someone built like him, and the worst part was that he had no idea how to navigate any of it. One soft kiss from a pretty girl and he was already falling apart inside, completely out of his depth.
Morning came early on the ranch, earlier than anything you were used to in the city. The cold shower was the first reminder. No endless steaming hot water like back home, just a brisk, wakeāyouāup chill that had you squeaking as it hit your skin.
Your girly products looked almost funny lined up on the old wooden counter: pastelāpink bottles, floralāscented hair masks, a tiny jar of shimmering moisturizer, your favorite rosewater toner.
The scents of berries and vanilla were wildly out of place next to the pineāscented soap the boys used, but you made do, working through your skincare and smoothing conditioner into your hair with practiced ease.
When you finally slipped into your outfit. A soft, blushāpink silk dress with delicate lace trim that caught the morning light. You looked like a Barbie someone had delivered to a ranch by mistake.
The ranch might take some adjusting, but at least you could bring a little of your city style into the quiet country morning.
Unpacking felt strangely soothing in your little bedroom, the soft morning light warming the wooden floorboards.
You rummaged through a suitcase until you found the one CD you absolutely refused to come here without: Born to Die by Lana Del Rey.
Your dad had told you the ranch still had an old CD player, and sure enough, it sat waiting on a shelf under the window. You slipped the disc in, and the dreamy, echoing intro filled the room.
Lanaās voice was low and wistful, murmuring a melancholy āwhy?ā that made the air feel cinematic.
The sound wrapped around you instantly, glamorous and sad and strangely perfect for the quiet countryside.
Before you knew it, you were swaying, then fullāon dancing your way toward the door, the silk slip dress skimming your thighs with every step.
The lace hem fluttered as you spun down the hallway, bare feet whispering across the old wooden floor.
The house felt like a movie set, sunlight pouring in, soft music drifting through every room, your dress catching the light as you moved.
By the time you reached the stairs, you were practically gliding, silk slip and panties brushing lightly against your skin, the whole place turning into your own private music video.
Ranch life might be new, strange, and a little punishing, but in that moment, wrapped in Lanaās voice, you felt entirely, beautifully yourself.
You danced your way toward the entrance hall, the slip dress catching the morning light in soft roseācolored flashes.
The old floorboards hummed under your bare feet as Born to Die continued in the background, Lanaās voice floating through the house like a candle's scent after being blown out.
When the lyrics began, you heard her murmur something about blue jeans and a white shirt, that unmistakable line about someone walking into a room and making her eyes burn. It fit the moment too perfectly, like the soundtrack knew something you didnāt.
You spun once, the hem of your dress flaring softly, hair brushing over your shoulders as the music wrapped around you.
The front door creaked ever so slightly, just enough for you to glance over, and there he was. Jason stood half in, half out of the doorway, one hand on the frame, eyes wide as if heād walked straight into a dream he had no business seeing.
Sunlight from behind him made his outline glow, while the soft pink light inside the house lit you up from the front. He didnāt speak.
Didnāt breathe, maybe. He just stared, frozen in his worn jeans and a red tee. You felt your heartbeat lift, a flutter of warmth rising to your cheeks as the music swelled.
For a moment, neither of you moved, just the two of you suspended between the doorway and the song.
You let the silence stretch, the music curling around the edges of the room like velvet. Then, with a small, knowing smile, you drifted toward the coat rack where a light robe hung.
You didnāt rush, if anything, you tied it on slower than necessary, smoothing the fabric over your slip while keeping your eyes on Jason.
āMorning,ā you said, voice airy and unbothered, as if you hadnāt just been twirling through the house like the star of your own music video.
Jason swallowed hard, his gaze darting anywhere except directly at you. āBābrought, uhā¦ your delivery,ā he managed, lifting a small wooden crate of fresh vegetables and two glass bottles of milk as evidence, his ears turning red.
He stepped inside carefully, boots quiet on the old floor as if he were afraid to disturb something.
You walked toward him, robe tied loosely, hair still damp from your shower and smelling faintly of warm sugar. āMy first official countryāgirl provisions?ā you asked lightly, brushing your fingers over the rim of one bottle.
Jason nodded, still avoiding your eyes, though every muscle in his jaw looked tense from the effort. āYeah. Thought youādā¦ need them.ā The crate wobbled in his hands, just barely. YouĀ
leaned in with a soft smile, not cruel, not mocking, just amused at how adorably undone he was, and said, āYou know what I need, Jason?ā
His name sounded different when you said it, warm and sweet and far too intimate for a simple morning errand.
He blinked once, twice, then set the crate down like it was suddenly too heavy to carry, muttering an attentive āwhat?ā before looking at you with those gentle green eyes.
āI need a man around to keep me entertained, I've never tried a country boy before.ā The words hung in the air, warm and heavy.
āKnow anyone who might be up for the job?ā His breath hitched; you saw it in the way his shoulders tightened.
Jason didnāt turn around; he couldnāt, but the deep flush creeping up his neck told you everything you needed to know before he stumbled out the door like the air had become too thick to breathe.
Your giggle floated through the quiet entryway, soft and wickedly sweet, and Jason finally turned to face you.
At six foot five, he was still the taller, broader, more imposing presence in the room, but that did nothing to stop the deep flush rising across his ears until they matched the red of his shirt.
He tried to hold himself steady, shoulders squared like he was in control, yet his gaze kept flicking over you and snapping away as if it burned. He might have been the bigger, stronger presence in the room, but you had the reins. And he knew it.
The warm water ran over your shoulders, a soft sigh escaping as the day finally slipped away.Ā
Two weeks in, and you were finally starting to feelā¦ comfortable.
The old farmhouse creaked around you, but it had a charm now, a rhythm youād learned to move with.
Steam curled around the edges of the shower, and for the first time since arriving, the quiet felt like a friend instead of a prison. You lathered body wash into a light tan loofah, letting the suds slide down, blissfully alone.
Then came the sharp hiss, metal groaning in protest. Water sprayed wildly from the wall, and a strange rattling echoed through the pipes.
You froze, heart jumping, shampoo running down your arms. Slowly, reluctantly, you stepped out of the shower, wrapping yourself in a fluffy towel, slipping slightly as your bare feet met the wet floor.
In a haze of panic, you shuffled down the hall to the old landline, fumbling to lift the receiver with soapy hands, trying not to drop it.
āMr. Wayne?ā you asked into the phone, voice high and nervous, fingers slick on the receiver. A calm, deep voice answered, whom you assumed would be Bruce. You relayed everything that happened, and strangely, you only heard him hum.
After the short call, you sat on the edge of the sink counter, awaiting the gruff older man's arrival, deciding to opt for a fluffy Victoria's Secret robe rather than your skimpier lace one. You weren't that desperate for male attention.
You blinked, a soft flush creeping over your cheeks as the door opened to reveal Jason Todd standing there, toolbox in hand.
His white shirt was just slightly damp, clinging to his broad shoulders, and the faded blue jeans looked impossibly effortless, like heād stepped right out of one of your city-daydream fantasies.
Something about the way he moved, measured, deliberate, yet carrying a subtle heat, made your pulse lift, curiosity flickering in the quiet corners of your mind.
Seems the younger Wayne brother took some inspo from one of your favorite artists, and dressed for the encounter appropriately.
Jasonās green eyes caught yours for a heartbeat, sharp and focused, then flicked to the pipe as he set the toolbox down.
Even in that small movement, there was a quiet intensity to him, something unpolished and raw that made the air feel thicker between you.
He cleared his throat, just slightly, as if aware of the tension but unsure how to navigate it, and you felt a small thrill at the way his restrained energy brushed against your own playful curiosity.
You leaned slightly forward, smoothing the robe around yourself, drawn to the subtle power in his presence, the way he was both careful and bold, strong yet still figuring out how to handle it.
You let the towel slip just enough to catch his attention, leaning slightly toward him with a smirk.
āThe pipe burst,ā you said, voice low, deliberate, letting the words linger. āSprayed everywhere, tiles, floorā¦ a real mess.ā
Your fingers tightened on the robe, brushing just enough to tease without revealing too much, and your eyes flicked up at him, daring him to react.
Jasonās jaw clenched, his quiet restraint failing against the heat that had already begun to rise, and you couldnāt help the small, satisfied thrill that came from watching him struggle to keep control.
Jason stepped fully into the bathroom, toolbox in hand, boots clicking softly on the wet tiles.
He glanced at the mess on the floor, then back at you, eyes lingering a fraction too long, sharp with that unpracticed intensity that made your pulse quicken.
Without a word, he set the toolbox down and crouched to check the burst pipe, careful hands brushing the wet floor as he worked.
You watched him, leaning casually against the counter, a subtle tilt of your head making sure he noticed just how calm and unbothered you appeared despite the chaos.
Every careful movement he made seemed charged, every glance stolen toward you carrying that quiet, new heat, and you couldnāt help the small, teasing smirk curling at your lips as you soaked in the tension between the two of you.
Jasonās eyes flicked to the ledge near the window almost by accident, catching the sight of delicate, lacy panties folded neatly on the wood.
His jaw tightened ever so slightly, throat dry, and he found himself standing a fraction straighter, trying to reclaim control of the heat that had quietly coiled in his chest.
Every instinct screamed for him to look away, but something about the effortless way you carried yourself, the calm in your posture despite the mess and the morning chaos, held him rooted.
He shifted his weight, trying to focus on the pipe, on the toolbox, anything other than the soft curve of your robe brushing against your skin, the faint scent of soap and something uniquely yours lingering in the air.
His hands hovered over the tools, then tightened around the wrench, jaw flexing, as his eyes betrayed him just enough, stealing glances at you that he instantly wished he could retract.
The quiet flush creeping up his neck told him he was in uncharted territory, both exhilarated and nervous, aware now that every casual motion of yours carried a subtle invitation he wasnāt sure he was ready to accept, but wasnāt entirely willing to resist either.
Jason knelt by the pipe, hands steady now, eyes flicking up at you with a faint, cocky smirk.
āCareful with that robe,ā he said quietly, voice low but amused, āwouldnāt want it slipping.ā
The corner of his mouth tugged like he knew exactly the effect he had, and you felt a soft rush of heat climb your cheeks.
You raised an eyebrow, leaning just enough to make the point that you werenāt intimidated.
āMaybe itās supposed to slip,ā you said lightly, voice teasing, letting your gaze hold his. Jasonās green eyes darkened, and for a heartbeat, he hesitated, caught in the unspoken challenge between you.
Then you smiled, a small, knowing curve of lips, and stepped closer, reclaiming the rhythm.
Jason shifted, slightly caught off-guard by how quickly you took control of the playful tension heād been cultivating.
His smirk faltered into something warmer, quieter, heat gathering under the surface as he realized this game wasnāt entirely his to win.
He straightened slightly, letting the wet shirt cling even more, daring you to notice. You smiled, pulse picking up, enjoying the way he was playing with you now, aware and deliberate, but still trying to hold onto control.
āCareful, Jason,ā you said lightly, letting your tone carry just enough challenge, āor I might start thinking you like being watched.ā
His smirk tightened, shoulders shifting, and for a moment, neither of you moved, both of you caught in the quiet, electric anticipation of what was coming next.
Jason steps closer, the heat between you palpable.
The cute boy places his thick, calloused hands on your thighs, gently spreading them so he can stand between them.
He leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, tentative kiss.
Breath hitching as you deepen the kiss, your fingers tangling in his damp hair.
Letting out a low groan against your lips, his large hands slide up your thighs to grip your hips, pulling you closer to the edge of the counter.
Completely putty in your hands.
His Adam's apple bobbing as he watches you with half-lidded eyes.
His large hands tremble slightly on your hips, betraying his nervousness despite his confident words.
The wet fabric of his t-shirt clings to his chest, and you can see his heart pounding beneath it.
"Go on then... show me what you got, city girl."
āMe show you what I got?- I think youād pass out, farm boy.ā
He inhales sharply, his eyes widening as you rub your knee against his hard length.
Now completely unprepared for the sensation, and it shows.
Absolutely rock hard beneath his jeans, the rough fabric did nothing to hide his sudden erection.
Gripping your hips harder, pressing you back against the mirror as he leans in close, his breath hot against your ear.
"Two can play that game, darlin'."
His large hand slides between your thighs, pushing your robe aside as he watches your face for a reaction, determined to make you lose that smug expression.
"You sure you can handle me?"
A soft chuckle came out past your lips at Jasonās attempt to be cockyā he was cute, youāll give him that, and you guessed you could indulge him.
Purposefully trying to act more innocent for him.
āI think I can,ā whispered, coupled with a soft pout.
Then you feel two fingers inside you without waiting for an answer, his thumb finding your clit.
His movements are confident now, a slow, almost teasing rhythm that matches the challenging glint in his eyes. The other hand tangles in your hair, pulling you into another heated kiss.
"Mmm, that's what I thought. All that talk, but you're soaked for me."
The vast push and pull of Jasonās confidence, or sometimes lack thereof, was confusing to you.
As he fingers you, his kisses grow sloppier, more desperate.
He's clearly overwhelmed by the situation and the intense feelings coursing through him.
His hips buck forward, pressing his hard length against your knee as he seeks friction. He breaks the kiss with a gasp, his face flushed and eyes hazy.
āPlease, what Jay?ā You began to regain control, reeling at the fact that just his fingers were enough to make you question the men youāve slept with in the city.
His face drops to your neck, kissing and sucking desperate marks as he fingers you faster.
The thought of tasting you makes him wild with need. He pulls back just enough to whisper against your skin.
"Let me... Let me eat that pretty pussy, please."
āAww- you want that, huh?ā
The way that man looked up at you made you grin like the Cheshire Cat, that distressed, longing look in his beautiful, big green eyes.
The irony in such a big man asking you for permission was not lost in your usually pretty vacant mind, most of me. would push you down, take what they want.
Not forcefully, but in a dominance that made you gag from annoyance rather than pleasure.
But Jason?- Oh, he was just adorable, first being all assertive and helpful, but then melting into just a pathetic little farmhand,Ā begging you to eat out.
And who were you to deny such a request?
Your fingers end up in his fluffy black hair, messing with the tuff of white as you lower him down to the ground. You felt so powerful doing so.
He drops to his knees in front of you without hesitation, parting your thighs wide with trembling hands.
His large frame is suddenly very submissive as he buries his face between your legs without waiting for permission.
His tongue licks you eagerly, like a starving man discovering his favorite meal.
You sharply kicked his side, pouting your pretty lips as you looked down at him.
āDid I say you can do that?ā
Jason shook his head side to side line a sad puppy- a kicked puppy perhaps :3
After waiting around a minute, he licked your lips and nodded your head.
You didnāt expect him to really know how to eat a firm out-, but there was something alluring in playing a little teacher-student scenario.
He's clumsy but eager, sucking too hard on your clit and making you wince before catching himself. A desperate tongue slaps against you awkwardly as he tries to mimic what he's seen in pornos.
"Is thisā is this right?" He pulls back, looking up at you with wide, uncertain eyes, his face and beard glistening.
āGo slower, baby- Up and down.ā Your voice rang in his ears, flushing his cheeks.
A retry begins, more gently this time, kissing your inner thighs and licking slow trails up to your entrance.
Discovering your sweet spot by accident when he presses his nose against you, and the way your back arches makes him whimper.
Thick fingers find your clit, rubbing in small circles while his tongue licks messily. He's slow but trying so hard.
Taking a deep breath and diving back in, this time using his fingers to spread you open more, getting a better look.
Licking a slow stripe up your slit, then tries to mimic the command you whispered. Licking up and down your entrance with his tongue.
It's obvious he's never done this before; his movements are jerky and inexperienced, but his enthusiasm is undeniable.
āHaving fun there, slow poke?ā The tease slipping through your lips, you couldnāt help it; he was taking his sweet damn time.
āJustā speed up for me, baby,ā You said in that slow, condescending voice, your fingers slipping through his hair.
He moans low at your fingers in his hair, the praise clearly going to his head. But when you pat his head like he's a good puppy, his ears turn red.
"I'm... I'm trying my best."
He mumbles against your thigh, then dives back in with renewed determination, his tongue pushing inside you while he sucks clumsily on your clit.
The combination of his clumsy, eager efforts and your condescending praise pushes you over the edge.
He isn't skilled, but he's devoted entirely to pleasing you, and that intensity carries him through.
When you finally come, he doesn't stop, he keeps licking and sucking through your orgasm, making messy, needy sounds against your pussy.
The praise rang through his ears; he couldnāt help but whimper. Jason never thought of himself as a submissive guy.
For being absolutely built and handy, he always thought heād be more controlling in bed, but turns out he much enjoyed being controlled by a bratty, pretty girl.
A bratty, pretty girl who happened to make him cum from just eating her out.
āNow about those leaky pipesā¦ā
hiii kinda hate this but whatevaaaaa
