Hi, I'm Dot and I'm happily drowning in the Catfish Pond and the Joel Hole sections of the Pedro Pascal fandom. I'm an Old, but not new to fandoms. 18+ only please, there be smut here. | AO3
All my completed fics are also on Ao3 (legendarypinkdot)
I don't use "Y/N" in my writing. None of my fics have an age gap. I try to write Female Reader as generally as possible: she occasionally has long hair but there is rarely if any reference to her race, ethnicity, height, weight, or other physical attributes.
Legend: 🔥 Explicit smut | 🌸 Angst/character stuff
Triple Frontier: Francisco "Catfish" Morales x f!reader one-shots:
Hinterland 🔥
(Some kind of) addiction 🌸
Bush Pilot 🔥
Airport Pickup 🔥
Stages of Growth 🌸 (an ode to Frankie's hair)
Home at Sunset 🌸 (an ode to Frankie's aviators)
Triple Frontier: Francisco "Catfish" Morales x Santiago "Pope" Garcia x f!reader threesome one-shots:
Reposting without the porn gif because tumblr doesn’t want me to be great and I don’t want to have my whole account torpedoed
(Pretend there’s a gif right here showing a waist down image of a naked woman on her back with her knees spread and her hands framing her bare pussy. She moves her hips up and down to slide it against the underside of a man’s turgid member. There is no penetration.)
“Please, Frankie. Francisco, please. I need it. I need you so bad,” you begged. “Shh. No. Just like this. This is all you get.” Frankie bit his bottom lip hard, fighting his own temptation to slam his cock into your wet pussy and pump you full. He knew he would come instantly if he did. He knew that would be cheating, too. Frankie isn’t a cheater.
There's been a HUGE surge in AI fics recently and so....
i would like to put you all onto this ai detector
the amount of ai junk that has started to infiltrate this fandom recently is so fucking insulting to people who are actually spending time writing.
i conducted an investigation the other day, the following photos are from a blog in this fandom that is churning out ai fics (i have blocked out the text so i'm not outright doxing them, but keep in mind these are only a few of the fics that i pasted into the detector, the majority of them were all 100% AI):
this is from my own fic, because i wanted to ensure that the site worked correctly, i pasted several pieces of my own fic into the detector and they all came back at 0%, so my own fics worked as the control in this experiment:
the point of this post is not to be an asshole, but to plead with you all not to read AI generated fics, don't paste people's fics into AI to "finish" them for you, don't use AI chat bots to talk to your favorite characters. art is supposed to come from the soul, it's supposed to be shared and appreciated, AI is literally killing art, and as a writer, this shit pisses me off so unbelievably that it makes me want to stop writing for this fandom, and i know i'm not alone in that sentiment.
if you're a reader in this fandom who wants to support REAL WRITERS, please feel free to use that detector if you suspect a fic is AI. a good telltale sign that a "writer" is posting AI fics is if they're posting at an inhumane rate-- no one can write 10 fics in a day... i'm telling you that with confidence as someone who has been writing for over 15 years.
if you're using AI to write fics for you-- the least you can do is be honest about it. I would urge you to stop, for the sake of the community, for the sake of artists who are constantly getting their work scraped to better these bots, for YOURSELF-- but i know most of you will not listen to me. so please, at the very least, place a disclaimer on your fics if they are AI generated, because you're not tricking real writers.
Pairing: Frankie Morales x reader x Santiago Garcia
Rating: Explicit, 18+ only, MDNI. 🏳️🌈
Warnings/tags: Oral (f + m receiving), deep throating, lots of cumplay, PiV, fingering (f), masturbation, titty fucking, one time use of 'slut' (directed at m), queer af, everybody is bi. Reader is mostly a blank slate, uses she/her pronouns, has breasts and a vagina.
Word count: 1.2K
A/N: This was very loosely written + edited, and what @lotusbxtch called my brain backlashing against the Materialists trailer 💀 (hence the title - no shade intended, it's just very much the opposite). Thank you to her and @mountainsandmayhem and @sin-djarin for letting me test drive this in real time, ditto for @magpiepills who encouraged me to not fuss around too much with editing and just post it!
main masterlist
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Laying with your head in Santi's lap while he strokes your hair, as he doesn't even want you to suck him off, but to just to lay there while Frankie fucks you prone bone and he can admire the view, every now and then reaching out to cup your ass in his hand, or his fingers around Frankie's dick as he's fucking into you. And when Frankie is getting close to coming, Santi tells him to pull out at the last min and come over your ass.
He'll probably wipe Frankie's cum off you with his fingers and then use it as lube to jerk himself off lazily. "She only came once, Frankie. You'd better eat out that pussy and do it well."
So Frankie flips you over on the couch and eats you out with vigor as Santi watches. The top of your head resting against the outside of his thigh, and he's still calmly jerking himself off, brushing his thumb slick with his precum and Frankie's spunk over your bottom lip.
"Lick it up." Voice low and demanding, but of course you are gonna oblige - would’ve even done it without the order.
Frankie pauses for a moment to watch you lick Santi's thumb clean, his breath still hot against your cunt. When Santi notices that he's stopped, he frowns at him and snaps his fingers. "Didn't tell you to stop, Francisco. Get back to it and give her two fingers."
Then Santi fucks your mouth with two fingers, pretty much at the same pace as Frankie fingers you while sucking on your clit. "She'd better be crying your name loudly when she comes on your tongue."
You do, so Santi decides that Frankie deserves a reward. He tugs Frankie by his hair, over your body and towards him, so he can kiss him and lick your taste out of his mouth. "Good job," he purrs at Frankie, who can't help but preen at the compliment, and before he can respond, Santi pushes his head down, urging Frankie's mouth to his cock. "Here's your reward, make it sloppy."
And you're still laying there, catching your breath with Frankie leaning over you and giving Santi the nastiest, sloppiest head. You brush your fingers over his nipples - always so sensitive - and lean up to press your lips against his heated skin, kissing his chest, and you feel him shiver in response.
It's not long before Santi is panting heavily, because Frankie knows exactly how to suck him off hard and quick. You can feel Santi's hips bucking up even though you can't actually see what's going on - but fuck, do you hear it. The slick sounds of Frankie feasting on his dick have you dripping wet, and you reach down to touch yourself, slipping two fingers inside to satisfy the yearning. It’s good, intoxicating even with your two guys pressed so close against you, but nevertheless your digits don’t fill you nearly as adequately as Frankie's fingers did.
"Deeper," Santi gasps, and you can feel how he urges Frankie's head further down, pushes himself all the way in probably, because for a second Frankie gags, then recovers as he continues. His own dick has stiffened but he’s not quite able to get fully erect again, bobbing against your stomach as he's smearing a mess of your combined cum all over your belly.
The guys are both panting now, and Frankie moves a bit further over, presumably to better position his mouth over Santi before he comes. Suddenly he groans, low and yearningly, and pushes at Santi to move. You're so gone on the rush of them as you’re fingering yourself, your other hand playing with your clit as you rub it, circling it slowly as your hips buck up - and initially you don’t get what's going on. You just feel Santi shifting a little away from you, making more room for Frankie to reposition himself.
With an obscenely wet sound, Frankie's sticky cock finds a home between your tits, accompanied by his groan of relief at the sensation. Everything happens so fast that you're barely able to keep track of it. Because Santi curses, his voice low and laced with lust ( "Mierda, Francisco - look at you being a greedy slut") as Frankie reaches down, his big hands grabbing both of your tits. He pushes them together tightly and fucks them, hard, more slick of his cock now dripping all over your tits and sternum, and you can hear him gasping for air - trying not to choke as he still has Santi’s dick in his mouth.
With Santi' thick thighs having moved a bit away from you, there's just enough room now to tilt your head back further into the mattress. The angle is beyond awkward and strains your neck, but it's absolutely worth it as you see Santi's hips thrusting up, his cock red and almost visibly throbbing while he fucks Frankie's throat - the pepper and salt curls of his pubes soaked with Frankie's drool that's dripping down Santiago's length.
You whine as you fuck your fingers harder, thumb directly on your clit now, and your nipples so hard from the friction of his fingers teasing them. It’s clear that Frankie is desperately fighting his refractory period, riled up and eager for a release so he can come on your tits, even though all three of you know it's very unlikely to happen.
He suddenly pulls off Santi's cock as he gasps for air - two, three quick breaths, his lips almost impossibly slick - and he is just in time to put his mouth back on him before Santi erupts. Seconds later, you hear that familiar groan from Santiago as he comes hard, cursing up a storm, and you see the drops spilling from Frankie’s swollen lips as a visual betrayal of Santi’s release. It’s the last visual you have as your cunt tightens and you come hard on your own fingers, a gasped cry that starts out as Frankie’s name but morphs into something nonsensical as you can’t take your eyes off the guys.
Frankie’s full body slumps, no longer able to hold himself up, and you feel his overheated stomach brush your forehead as he lets go of your tits. You're pretty sure he didn't come, as he's clearly exhausted, needing to accept the defeat of his urge to climax again, but still being gifted Santi's release in his mouth.
"Jesus Christ, Frank," Santi's voice croaks as you close your eyes, trying to catch your breath while you hear and feel the guys rearrange themselves into more comfortable positions. "Give it to her," he adds a moment later, with that raspy sound that always gives you goosebumps, and you feel Santi's hand tap your cheek softly along with his demand. "Open up, hermosa."
You open your eyes when you feel Frankie's thumb tug slightly at your lower lip, and you stare up at him - the glorious mess of his face, his hair revealing how Santi clearly had his hands buried in those curls. Brown eyes still watering, multiple bodily fluids slick on his nose and lips, and his eyes asking you silently for permission.
You nod mutely as you open your mouth, sticking out your tongue and then at last receive that prize he's passing on. Slick and plentiful, tasting a bit of him but mostly of Santiago, who curses again as he watches Frankie feed his cum to you.
"Fuuuck."
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Tagging y'all who wanted to be notified of this being posted (and some more folks who might be interested) (I'm deliriously tired because it's way too late so I'm sorry for everybody who I'm forgetting to tag):
Pairing: Francisco "Catfish" Morales x reader (no gender specified, but female in my mind)
Rating: Mature (is that still a common rating today? I'm an Old)
Warnings: A couple references to sexual activity, but nothing too graphic.
Word Count: 1,000 on the nose
Summary: A chronicle of your relationship, and Frankie's hair.
Notes: Fuck you, Pedro, for having such pretty hair. I spend way too much time thinking about it. And about Frankie generally. ❤️
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When you first met Frankie, his hair was medium brown and short. A close-cropped buzz cut, mandatory for basic training, given to him without choice. It suited him, but also didn’t – a perfect match for his ambivalence about joining the military and what the service meant for him. You wondered what personality his hair would have once it had a chance to grow in. What kind of man Frankie would become, the promise his future held, what kinds of things he could and would learn to do.
When you finally had your first night together, he had just arrived home, on leave from a long deployment, your letters having kept him company and chronicled your growing connection. His military haircut had been allowed a reprieve as well, one of the perks and markers of being chosen for Special Forces training, needing to blend in with the locals of the various foreign countries he was sent to. That length of hair reflected well on him and the way he carried himself with new confidence, though there was still a tendril of ambivalence left, along with one wayward tress on his nape that insisted on rebelling, growing literally sideways with no sign of ever giving in.
On that first night Frankie had let you excitedly fist your hands into his longer locks as you kissed, quietly observing how it added fuel to your fire. Later that night, he let you guide his mouth to wherever you wanted it on your body, your hands in his hair acting as reins or restraints when needed and as silent praise when not. When you came, you had pulled his hair so hard that he saw stars and it spurred his own high, barreling him uncontrollably into it seconds later.
By the time he quit the military after many years of dedicated service, his locks had matured into a deeper brown – “English Walnut 7533” according to the Pantone color chart you had pilfered from your interior design firm – and had changed shape and texture, expressing itself in mostly neat, evenly shaped waves and curls, especially in humid weather or the rare time he let you style it for him with your carefully chosen products.
One of your best memories from that time was a hazy, lazy day in the tropics when you were both too overcome with the heat to do much else but lie in shaded loungers on your balcony. Frankie was suffering from the temperature, and the light strokes of your fingers across his brow hadn’t been enough to soothe him, or to satisfy you.
Coconut was the hotel room’s free shampoo offering, and soon the scent of sweet suds had wafted between you. You felt tiny soap bubbles pop, carbonation as you slid your fingers through his locks; you saw the frown lines on his forehead gradually smooth out as his eyes drifted shut and he sighed in delight; you felt the air around him drop several degrees purely from relaxation. You relished his moans when the cool rinse water sluiced down his scalp and into the repurposed ice bucket from the previous night’s champagne. Despite the humidity, his curls had dried by the time night fell, only to turn into sweaty waves again once you tumbled into bed with newfound energy to explore each other’s bodies.
On his first day at work as an aviation mechanic, his pilot’s license having been suspended over some cargo he shouldn’t have flown, he smushed his hair into an old baseball cap that read “Standard Heating Oil”, borrowed from a close friend and military comrade, and took to wearing it almost constantly. He said it was for practical reasons and that he was just too lazy to fuss over his hair, but you knew better. That hat was the first thing he took off when he got home, and the last thing he put on when he left, like he was some method actor with dual personalities.
When he came home a week late from a private group mission gone disastrously wrong, dropping his bags in the doorway and enveloping you in a crushing hug, one of your hands had automatically threaded into the curls on the back of his head, longer and strongly defined now, more for you to hold and more for him to be anchored by.
When he finally shared what went wrong on the mission and how they had lost their leader and friend, he buried his face into your neck, your tears trickling down your cheek to be absorbed by his scalp. One glance downward and all you could see was his locks shot through with silver and grey – much more of it than he had left with. Whatever he went through in South America had quickly accrued compound interest.
He had also lost his hat somewhere during the mission, and from then on never wore one again unless required to at work.
When he had nightmares or panic attacks from that mission, the touch of your hand gently weaving through his hair was his lifeline, something to focus on as he fought his way back to reality and to you.
Now solidly in middle age, Frankie has fewer nightmares, the dreams having receded both in frequency and intensity, and the silvery grey evolution of his hair color seems to have abated too, a rare pause in time.
He keeps his hair at the length you like: long enough for the curls to fully develop and be free, but short enough that he doesn’t have to fuss over it too much. He lets you style it, even lets you wash it for him as your new Sunday evening relaxation ritual. He lets you do whatever you want; you’ve earned it after everything he’s put you through as part of his messy, fractured life.
Tomorrow, Frankie’s pilot license is finally set to be reinstated. Maybe you’ll suggest he get a haircut to celebrate this next stage of his life. Or maybe not.
i just read this and this was one of the cutest things i have ever read 🥰 there is just something intimate about running one's hands through another person's hair and i could imagine how nice it would feel to run them through frankie's
Awwww thank you SO much for the lovely feedback, it made me sniffle. 🥰🥰🥰 I'm glad you enjoyed the fic! I LIVE for the thought of running my fingers through Frankie's hair. 😭
To all the fans in the Pedro fandom who feel like they don't belong
I see you. We see you. You have a place here among all of us, and we want you to be here - we really do.
No, this isn't a Kumbaya post, I'm fuckin' for real.
To all the writers...
... who receive racist messages, death threats, are being told their reader insert isn't good enough, that this and this character wouldn't be with someone who looks and sounds like you, that you're not using the right words or that you misspelled something --
I am so fucking sorry people had the fuckin' gall to direct that hate at you, because you don't deserve it. You share your stories and characters with us, and they are adored and read and celebrated exactly for who they are - not despite of who they are.
To everybody who lurks, reads, but doesn't feel like they can participate...
... who see how their skin tone, language, identity, gender, body type, sexual orientation, culture, type of relationships, and so much more is underrepresented or actively treated with hostility --
I'm so fucking sorry, and I - as many of us - understand completely why you feel that way, because it's absolutely valid. But I promise it's not how the majority of people feel about you. I know that doesn't make up for shit, but I do want you to know that most of us care a lot.
Nobody should stay in an environment where they feel like they're not wanted, or where remarks are made carelessly without regard for how hurtful stereotypes are. But if this has ever happened to you, be it out of ignorance (or at times malice), please know - your presence matters.
To everybody who has ever felt insecure about their kinks or liking smut...
...please don't. Seriously. Your kinks are what they are and they are completely fine. Liking smut is fine. Liking Pedro characters in smutty fic is fine too. Kink exploration in fic should be a safe space and respected.
Don't shame others here, especially not as an anon. Yes, certain topics that writers address in fic may be challenging for you for a number of reasons, but guess what? You don't have to read it! You don't have to dissect *why* someone wrote that! Don't like smutty fic? Cool, so don't wade into fics marked as explicit. Don't like certain kinks? That's cool, just read the warnings and skip fic when it doesn't appeal to you. Sure you're entitled to your own opinions, but you do not need to air them out in public or trash an author because you didn't like how they wrote something.
To everybody in this fandom...
... especially those of us who are white, able-bodied, straight, cisgender, had formal education, are a native English speaker, and/or many of the other privileges that a lot of us carry in our backpack every day:
We need to do better. Please. For so many reasons.
We need to be aware of our blind spots, biases, the fact that at times everybody fucks up - because we live in a racist, homophobic capitalist patriarchy -, and that occasionally means admitting we were wrong. That we unintentionally said something that was hurtful and that we're sorry for hurting people with our words. That ignorance can slip so easily into words that we type, and that the only way.
Exclusion doesn't only happen if you're actively spreading hate - it also happens by not taking accountability for when you fuck up, or when you are erasing and ignoring identities. If the word 'representation' doesn't mean much to you, that's probably because you constantly see yourself reflected in the stories and people in society (that, in itself, is privilege too) - and hey, good for you! But there are many of us who that doesn't apply to in the same measure.
I've had many conversations lately about this with fellow queers as well as brown/black/Latinx folks, so I really wanted to post this. Not as virtue signaling or whatever the hell, but because I know a lot of people are seeing and reading things that are understandably make them reluctant to engage.
So hey, let's do better and look after folks in our community whether we directly engage with them or not. The amount of comments that are always gushing about 'I love how Pedro cares about others/is an ally!' is very disproportionate to seeing similar support expressed for creators and fellow fans. Let's also not forget he's a Chilean man, the son of socialist refugees, who has always actively been on the barricades for LGBTQIA+, rallies against white supremacy and the toxicity of patriarchy -- so if you appreciate his dedication to 'causes', lets apply that to the very real people in this fandom too.
(oh, and if you feel like I'm being a moralist about this - feel free to unfollow or block my ass. You do you! I don't care. I care about the people here who don't want the community harmed by anons who get their kicks from being a bully.)
Soooo what if… you’ve been fucking around with Santi for months, but he refuses to commit? And you’re tired of wasting your time on him, but you can’t get him out of your system.
Your mutual friend Frankie, who’s had a crush on you forever, suggests a way to make him suffer for it.
So one night, you text Santi to come over. He does, and then when he gets inside your bedroom, he sees Frankie in the corner. “What the fuck is going on, bebita?” he asks, eyes flicking between you and a smug Frankie.
“Sit down, Santiago,” you order. He sits in the chair that Frankie’s vacated, Frankie now behind you, his hands on your hips.
“She’s lost her patience with you,” Frankie says, kissing your shoulder. “If you want to even entertain another chance with her, you’re gonna sit in that chair and watch what it looks like to lose your girl to someone else.”
Santiago has to sit there and watch Frankie “The Pussy Eating King” Morales go down on you, making him ashamed, but also wildly turned on. And the night is about to take a turn you didn’t expect.
Y’all wanna read this? 😏
Thank you @for-a-longlongtime for workshopping my horny thoughts with me, heehee 🤭
ANON come here and let me kiss you on the forehead!! This one is special to me 😍
First of all... young!Joel Miller x young!MarcusMoreno is not a pairing that comes completely out of nowhere. As a matter of fact, they're lurking in my masterlist, tucked into a story, but I don't want to spoiler it for other people who may not have read some of the fics I wrote last year.
However, if you know - you know. 😏
Let's get into it:
This is probably one of the heftiest WIPs that I haven't posted anything from yet, as the doc clocks in at about 5K so far - and it's actually going to be a series! I'd say a tentative 9 to 10 (not super long, hopefully LOL) chapters at this point. And I'm actually going to try to have most of this written, or at the very least have half of it done before I post the first chapter, just to make things a little more manageable for myself.
We meet Joel and Marcus in Austin, TX when they're about 20 and 21 years old, and the series will span a period of approximately twenty five years actually, so I'm very excited about that! They meet in a bar - that Joel isn't supposed to be at, because he's not of legal drinking age - when they're trying to break up a fight among their friends, which results into the two of them getting kicked out.
Joel has been working long, long days in construction for a few years in order to support himself and Tommy, as their parents died when Joel was 16/17 years old. One of the reasons why he rolled into that line of work - besides the money - is because the childhood house that they still live in needs so much work done, and the only way he could think about being able to afford that somehow is by learning how to do all the work himself because he'd never be able to afford a contractor.
His life couldn't be any more different than Marcus', who is busy with college and who tries to hide a part of his life for most people - namely that his father is the leader of the Heroics and his mother is a Heroics trainer. There is the expectation that he's going to follow in their footsteps, but his powers haven't shown up yet, so he's trying to focus on blazing his own path.
They end up becoming friends, and music plays an important role in that; the series takes place in the (early/mid) nineties, so get ready for a good amount of grunge / rock / etc. There are a lot of twists and turns in their story (apparantly Little Beast was only the beginning of a whole lot of angst/drama pouring into my fics), so I don't want to reveal too much it, but let's just say that it's a tough ass road and things don't go the way they've planned.
But! I do have enough written so far that I can show you a little snippet of a very rough outline from chapter 2:
Joel and Marcus listening to grunge music and smoking so much pot at Joel's place. Careful first kisses. Giggling about it as they’re so stoned and kind of nervous. (They only smoke pot when Tommy isn’t around/going to be home that night, also to help manage Joels aches as he tends to be sore after a long day at the construction site - that's half of the reason why Marcus brings over weed).
They’re both too high to do anything that requires much coordination but Marcus starts grinding against Joel’s dick and they eventually get eachother off that way, clothes still on, sitting on the couch.
There are more kisses while they're both still panting, now with a giggle in between breaths every now and then, and the weed just makes them lose track of time - and it's not all that long before Joel finds himself grinding his hips up against Marcus again.
"Fuck. Fuck, I…." He can't find the words, especially not when Marcus rocks back against him, just a little slower on his refractory period. "I want…. Fuck. 'm too high. I can't…"
Marcus hushing him with another kiss and Joel moans, grabbing Marcus' hips and shifting on the couch, until Marcus is on his back and Joel on top of him. Nudging his hips into Marcus until they line up, still fully dressed, and the little “oh my god” once he gets it right.
"Take it, take it, take it," Marcus panting under him, holding onto Joel's broad shoulders, which makes Joel moan against him, and when Marcus' hands grab Joel's ass, something just clicks inside of Joel's brain. And despite that everything is still slow and soft, he just goes feral because he wants it - wants Marcus - so goddamn bad
"Wish I was inside you," against Marcus' ear, and Marcus cries out at that, imagining it, and because it feels so good that Joel is fucking his cock against him.
"I wish I…" And not all of it is coherent, it's a string of words that fall from his lips, but he kind of talks Marcus through it, what he wants to do to him, and Marcus just loses his shit because holy fuck, Joel's voice is so deep when he's been smoking like this, and nobody has ever talked to him like this while getting off, and he loves it.
Thanks again for asking, Anon!! I honestly can't wait to write more on them and to eventually share these boys with all of you.
Want to know more about fics in my WIP folder? Check out the original post!
pssst, this is me looking innocent and tagging y'all for no reason whatsoever except for that you might be interested to see this WIP that's in the making 😇😘 thank you all so much for the support you gave to GP! @oliveksmoked @ohforficsake @wannab-urs @baronessvonglitter @angiewatson
And I’m gonna be greedy and ask about stripper whiskey as well because girl whaaaaat i am here for that 😮💨
Hi darling! So dude ranch DBF!Joel x f!Reader is something I've had knocking around in my head for a few months now (I even made a Pinterest board for it!) but haven't gotten around to actually writing.
The premise is that Joel and Reader's dad were best friends growing up, but went to different high schools and thus took different paths in life. Reader's dad became something white collar and six-figure... an attorney, a marketing executive, etc. Joel stayed blue collar, and so the two of them drifted apart. (So Reader and Joel have never met before.) However, Reader's dad runs into Tommy somewhere and Tommy invites him to come visit the dude ranch that he and Joel run outside of Austin.
Reader's dad is a bit of a prick and only cares about Reader for her braggable qualities ("my daughter went to ____ college," "my daughter works at ______", etc.). He likes to keep up appearances and has run out of friends, so he wants to rekindle his friendship with Joel. He decides that Reader's whole family will be going to the dude ranch for a month-long summer trip.
Joel and Reader both fight their attraction to each other for different reasons, but as the summer goes on, it becomes harder and harder to deny it to themselves and to each other.
Also for anyone that doesn't know what a dude ranch is: what is a dude ranch? (I realize that it may be a very American thing, haha)
Tropes: forbidden romance, age gap romance, dad's best friend, cowboy romance, city girl/country boy. Perhaps others! Let me know if you'd like to be tagged when I write it.
If you want to see more of my WIP titles: click here
GameWarden!Joel Miller x F!Reader
Explicit 18+ MDNI | 3.8k WC | AO3
Summary: Your hike into the woods doesn’t go as planned when a depraved Game Warden catches you breaking the rules.
Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. Power imbalance. DUBCON (could be considered NONCON). Reader is into it but she still doesn't have a choice. Reader is smaller than Joel and has hair he can grab. Explicit smut. Oral (male receiving). Fingering. Violence. Manipulation. Unprotected P in V. Cum talk. Creampies. Dark!Joel.
Notes: Please read the warnings. HUGE thanks to @joelmillerisapunk for beta'ing (love you, Odi!) Also FYI Game Wardens (also sometimes known as conservation / wildlife / DNR officer) can have broader authority than police and can even search your person / property without a warrant, are expert marksmen and usually work alone.
M A S T E R L I S T | A O 3 | N O T I F S
You saw the sign and ignored it, like you always did, as you walked down your favorite hiking trail. The one that few people knew about. The trail that was always peaceful and quiet and you rarely met another soul. Your hidden secret that you loved to escape to. The one that had been marked as “Trail Closed” for months now for reasons you could never quite figure out.
As the forest thinned you finally reached the majestic bounty you sought. A quaint pond, nestled in the pines. The waters edge pebbled with rocks and ferns. Water lilies sparsely decorated the surface. What once was a sprawling picnic destination was now overgrown. Serene and abandoned to nature.
You knelt down and ran your hands over the stones, picking up and admiring their unique beauty of the ones that caught your eye.
You were so preoccupied taking in the comforts of the world around you that you never heard him. Never even considered there were eyes on you, watching you from behind some overgrowth.
“Excuse me, miss,” his voice startles you as you stand quickly and turn around. “You’re in violation of State Park rules and regulations.”
“Huh?” Your words come out sounding dumb and caught off guard. You quickly scan for the source of the voice and see some movement in the bushes, revealing a man.
He walks towards you, emerging from his hiding spot. A tall and broad man, head to toe in the standard olive green uniform that the wardens wore. A tactical belt and vest and a scoped rifle slung on his back. His toned physique mesmerizes you with each step forward.
“It’s my sworn duty to enforce the law and enact justice as I see fit.” His words were robotic and rehearsed.
As he got closer you could see he was an older man and incredibly handsome with some greys in his beard along his jawline. His hair was shorter with wavy curls, pushed back neatly with some silver catching in the sunlight. His skin weathered by the sun. His aquiline nose made his face look even more intense and powerful, matching his words. Broody and serious. This was a man who was in control.
“And you’re trespassing,” he lowers his voice, “in my territory.”
You were trespassing. He wasn’t wrong. You felt your body flush with a wave of panic, with a hint of arousal crawling somewhere deep inside you. Lurking and waiting with intrigue and fear.
“Area’s posted.” he says as he now stands in front of you. You are at a loss for words, caught doing what you thought was harmless.
He senses your panic and it rallies him to toy with you.
“This is a protected wildlife conservation that you’re messin’ with, sweetheart.” He pauses and changes his tone to intimidate you as he leans in close. “And you see, I don’t like that.”
You feel your heart race. Were you actually getting in trouble for taking an innocent hike in the woods?
“You know who I am?” He crosses his arms in front of his chest while he waits for you to speak. His veiny, chiseled forearms distract you. He looks so scrappy and dangerous.
“The Game Warden?” You hesitate.
“That's right.” he nods with a cunning smirk. “Name’s Joel, but you’re gonna call me Sir.” He enunciates it firmly.
You feel your body overwhelmed with conflicting emotions. You were scared but also felt a pulsing go through you when he spoke. You didn’t want him to be upset with you. Everything about him was screaming: dangerous, do not piss off.
“I’m sorry about trespassing. I didn’t know… Sir.” You added his title for good measure.
But you did know. You knew every time you walked past the sign at the entrance telling you not to. Bullshit was not going to fly here and only fueled him more.
“Lying to an officer too?” He shakes his head as it hangs low. He circles you with intimidation, looking you up and down. Lecturing you with silence and waiting for your reparations to be determined.
You can’t fight off that lukewarm feeling inside you that grows warmer. Slowly it gnaws away at your resolve. Seeing him with the tactical vest on that snuggly accented his chest and left his belly exposed with nothing but his green shirt covering it. The only spot that was vulnerable and soft. The rest of his body was strong, protected by his excessive gear, lean muscles and mean looks.
You see his name badge embroidered with ‘MILLER’ and accidentally whisper his name out loud like it's a question. Wondering who this man is and what his intentions are. In the peaceful calm of the woods in the middle of nowhere, your whisper may have well been a shout.
“Officer Miller.” He corrects with authority in his tone as he leans over you. “And I’m gonna have to discipline that mouth of yours.”
You’ve never been in trouble with the law before, and certainly never had a run in with a Game Warden. You knew they were essentially lone wilderness cops with a god complex and few restrictions. Still, you knew this was far from acceptable behavior. Everything about how he was acting was wrong. You open your mouth to protest, but hesitate on his threats. He relishes in how you work it out in your head that talking back isn’t going to get you out of this. You can only bite your tongue so long.
“I’ll report you.” You threaten back, acting like you have some moral upper hand to hang over him.
“Go ahead. Ain’t nothing you can do about your situation right now, sugar plum.” He scoffs. “Not to mention, s’your word against mine.” He stops circling and leans into your ear as his southern drawl makes the words sound smooth and buttery. Hot and melting on his breath as they drip out of his mouth.
“Wanna take a guess who wins?” He says deviously and you can feel his patchy beard scrape against your jaw as he pulls away. A shiver pulses through you, right down to your pussy. Beating to his unsought touch.
Why is this turning you on so much?
“You see darlin’, I’ve been watching you for a long, long time.” He circles again. “And you keep breaking the rules.”
Your heart races. This was getting serious. The realization hits that he can do whatever he wants and get away with it, and that is exactly his intention.
“On your knees, and hands where I can see ‘em.” he barks.
You obey, folding under his commands. Hoping your obedience would lessen the blow.
You drop down gently unsure of what exactly he was playing at, treating you like a violent criminal. You stretch your arms out to your sides with your palms up in submission. He stops just in front of you, scooching down so he is eye level. A tiny grunt as his knees bend. Tobacco and leather scents accompany him.
“I’ll let you off with a warning… if you promise me you won’t be doing it again.” He offers. Sweet words coming out slow and sticky like honey.
“I won’t. I promise. It won’t happen again.” You quickly plead. Foolishly hopeful this was it. Ignoring the conditional implication of his terms.
He stands back up with his arms crossed before raking one of his hands through his hair, thinking. He wasn’t buying what you were selling.
He paces in front of you. The obscene bulge in his pants was impossible not to notice as he parades it past your sightline. Back and forth, back and forth. He was packing more than just a firearm.
He stops directly in front of you so your eyes are mere inches from it. You look all the way down to his feet in an attempt to hide the red that flushes your face. Trying to dismiss your own arousal that was getting louder and wetter.
He reaches down to your chin and cranes your neck up to look at him with an urgency.
“Gonna’ need some convincing, sugar plum.”
Fuck...
He releases you and walks to the nearby weathered picnic table and lays his rifle down. He unsnaps his utility belt that was strapped over his waist and leg and tosses it along with his handgun in tow. It made his broad shoulders look even wider with his waist unhindered by the bulky gear.
The uppercase “WARDEN” embroidered on the back of his green tactical vest serves to remind you that he is an officer of the law. It taunts you as he takes his sweet time laying out his things neatly on the table while you wait with anticipation for whatever was happening next.
As he turns to walk back towards you, snatched in his vest, he tries to conceal the smirk pulling up from the corner of his mouth. You hate how good he looked, as if it could ever excuse how disgusting he was behaving.
He stands coolly just a foot in front of you and unbuckles the modest leather belt. The metal clasps clank loudly as he lets it hang down and unzips. He clocks your reaction as he pulls up his shirt enough to show his messy thatch of hair trailing down his lower belly.
He can’t be serious…
Reaching a hand inside his boxers he pulls them down slowly as his cock peeks out. Big and fat and leaking. Aching to be touched.
He is serious.
His eyes are focused intently on yours, watching them widen as you take in his cock. It's just in front of your nose as you look up and sit back on your haunches.
“Go on,” he growls and lowers his voice. “Convince me.”
He reaches his hand around his cock and pumps it. The broad head glistening in his precum as he drags his hand down his shaft. You wonder how long he had been watching you and if he had been stroking himself before he approached you. Maybe this interrogation was all foreplay for him. In fact, you were certain it was.
The hot feeling surging in your core surprises you. You were actually turned on by this pig. Still, you knew this was beyond fucked up. You hesitate with what to do next, conflicted by his abuse of power and the inappropriate way your body was betraying you.
“You gonna disobey a warden?” He threatens, getting impatient.
You wonder what if you refused? What if you didn’t play his game? What would he actually do? It still didn’t feel like there was an option other than what was right in front of you, demanding your obedience.
This was only ending one way. His way.
“No, sir.” You swallow and fight back the tears. You place your palms and claw your fingers into his thighs as you sit up straight. You start to open your mouth and look up at him with glossy eyes. Conceding to him.
You catch that spark of darkness igniting in his eyes. Burning hot and formidable as it spreads through him. Your misfortune was making him harder.
He parts your mouth open with the tip resting on your bottom lip. He teases it in and out, letting you feel the weight as the ridge catches on your lip.
God he was big.
“Give it a kiss first and be real polite.”
You close your lips over the tip and appease him with your gentle touch. Polite even. You suckle it delicately, drawing out beads of saltiness as it drips onto your taste buds. You can’t stop your natural impulse to flick his slit with your tongue and it makes him stiffen even more, twitching in response.
“Good girl.” he praises as he tangles his free hand in your hair. You wince as his firm grip pulls you closer to him. He pushes into your mouth. Inch by inch. The hand on his cock held it steady until you were adjusted to his size. He lets go and slides his hand above your nape, letting you take the full weight of his cock as you hollow your cheeks.
He was so thick.
You decide to give him something he wants without asking, attempting to entice him to be kinder. His roughness was starting to hurt when he pulled at your hair and dug into your skin. Relaxing your mouth he pushed further in without your protest. Nestled tight in your warm and wet paradise. You notice his urgency shift.
“Nice and slow. No need to rush.” He commands as you take him deeper. This order sounds more like it's for himself so he doesn’t cum too early. You can feel how close he is. He was ready to burst the moment you dropped to your knees.
You gag as the head hits the back of your throat.
“Oh, you sound pretty like that.” He moans as he closes his eyes and leans his head back. “Choking on my cock.” He makes a guttural sound as he nudges his cock even deeper into your throat. He was impossibly large as he fights to stuff you full.
“Hold still.” He fucks into your mouth. Harder. Harder. Harder. Pulling your hair too tight and pushing your head too far onto him as he bucked into you.
With tears in your eyes making your nose run you can hardly breathe. Gasping and choking and a cock stuffed in your mouth, bruising your throat with each plunge.
He snarls as he looks down to you, locking eyes. Blown out. Feral. Dark and desperate like he was giving in to his wildest, forbidden desires with no regard for you. It was a selfish need he was taking for himself and only himself. You were nothing. A wet hole for his cock to fuck.
He was coming undone. His moaning and panting echoing across the serene pondscape and tainting your safe escape forever. Even that memory he was taking from you.
You were waiting for it. Bracing for his hot spend to pour into you but instead he slowed. Thrusting deep into you with a grunt before dragging out his wet, dripping cock. He winced as it popped out of your mouth and you gasped for air.
This sick fuck was edging himself.
He wanted more. Needed more.
“Get up.” His haggard, breathy words bite at you.
He lifts you up by your hair. You quickly comply to relieve the pressure on your scalp as you stumble to your feet. A whine escapes you as he lets go roughly.
“Gonna make sure you learn your lesson today.” He gestures to the picnic table just a few steps away and you shamefully go to it.
He pushes you to lean over the bench and bends you in an ‘L’ shape. You press your arms against the seat to hold yourself up. He drags his hand down your back and around to your hips, admiring your delicate form laid out before him. He wanted to lose himself inside you.
He drags a hand between your legs and feels your cunt hot and wet against your shorts. He lets out a growl as his fingers get soaked along your seam.
You hate how good it feels to have him touch you where you ache for friction.
“Mmm…” he groaned as he breathed in your arousal on his fingertips. “Knew you wanted this cock inside you.” He ruts his hardness against your ass.
He slides his hands over your back. Over your hips. Down the sides of your legs until he stops abruptly. Fingering at something jagged in your pocket. Something you forgot was there.
“What's this?”
Your heart stops. You can tell from his tone that he knew exactly what it was.
He slips his hand in your pocket and pulls out two shiny stones you had collected from the waters edge.
Fuck.
“Caught stealing from the cookie jar.” He clicks his tongue to scold you. He was stacking his case with further evidence to hang over your head.
“Oh, Darlin.” He fakes a sympathetic tone. “You’re in big trouble now.”
It was then you realized he knew all along. He was watching your every move. He was waiting for the right moment to manipulate you to his will.
“Bad girl. Larceny is gonna cost you more than just an apology.” He drops the rocks carelessly and grabs your waistband, pulling your shorts and panties down to your ankles in one motion. You gasp as he makes you step out of them as he pushes you forward so your knees are on the bench seat. You catch yourself on the edge of the table. Half naked, exposed and totally fucked.
“Spread 'em nice and wide for me.” He knocks your legs apart with his knee as he stands behind you, his cock notched against your entrance and it sparks an adrenaline surge inside you when you feel his tip press into you.
“Please!” You beg him. “Please stop. I’m not letting you fuck me!” You spit out with an attitude. This was a line too far. A line he was intentionally pushing to see how far he could go before you fought back.
Unsurprising to you, he liked playing with fire.
He reaches out and grabs your neck with his wide grip, roughly pinning you prone against the table so you can’t move. He leans over, and hovers low to your ear as his shaft drags against your seam.
“Ain’t making you do nothing, sugar plum.” He pauses and breathes in the sweet scent of your shampoo as he prods you gently with his nose. Tantric and hungry with his movements.
“I can take you now and then we’ll be done with it, or I can take you in. S’your choice.” He loosens up his grip on your neck and sits back slightly. He feels the way you tremble under his touch, and the way your cunt throbs against his heat still pressing against it.
You feel it too. Something you can’t explain. A primal feeling of desire. Surrendering to your most basic human needs. That having him inside you might not be so bad. A rationalizing in your brain that you did wrong after all. It’s only sex.
Only sex. You’ve certainly done worse with lesser men under the guise of alcohol.
“I can promise you, they won’t be nearly this forgivin’ at the state prison.” He traces his finger down your spine, being delicate and gentle. Tracing until his finger runs into his belly pushed flush against you. He leans back and grabs his cock. Painfully hard and still soaked from earlier. He presses the head right against your swollen clit and rubs it against you.
You let out a moan and he knows he has you.
“Tell me you don’t want this. That you don’t want to cum all over my cock.” He strokes your clit with his head again and again. Knocking at your door and waiting for you to answer.
“I’ll make it real good for you, sugar plum.” Your clit pulses on his cock. Needy and hedonic. Forsaking any restraint you have left to say no.
You take a deep breath and curse under your breath, curling your fingers around the edge of the table as you sit up and face forward.
“Get on with it.” You concede.
He smiles wickedly. He was always going to get what he wanted in the end.
With you still sitting on your knees he locks his body against yours, his feet planted firmly on the ground. He pulls you up so your back is flush with his chest and wraps a hand around the front of you, rubbing and pinching at your clit with his rough fingers and dipping them into your hole. Spreading your slick. Stretching you open as he scissors his fingers.
His body against yours was so much bigger. Broad and strong. You were the mouse and he was the lion about to pounce. His heat piercing through your skin. You felt him line up at your entrance, nudging you with his tip.
There is no more patience or preparation. He needs to fuck you now. Needs to have that friction choking his cock that has been rock solid for too long. Without warning he thrusts into you again and again and again. Each time a little deeper and harder. His fat head catching on all your ridges as your pussy grabbed onto him.
It felt so fucking good and you hate it. You hate him.
He stretches you more than you’ve ever felt before. The initial pain subsides as he rubs your clit fiercely with his fingers. The pleasure inside you builds. He kept his word that he would make it real good for you.
He puts his leg up on the bench for leverage and bottoms out inside you with a grunt as he pulls you down on his cock. Fucking up into you and impaling you with his cock.
Your moans run away from you, loudly filling the air with obscenities. You feel your climax building up inside you. You’ve never been fucked so hard in your life and you are soaking him. You know he won’t last much longer.
“Please..” you beg him between moans.
“Please what?” he snarls as he fucks you harder, his cock ready to spill.
“Please... Sir. Pull out,” you beg him.
He laughs at your ridiculous request and ignores you, wrapping his arms around you to pull you hard against his body. One hand wrapped around and splayed over your belly and the other curled around your breasts and pushing on the front of your throat. He had you held so tightly to him there was no way you could stop him.
Your climax tears through you.
“Carry in… Carry out.” He recites the most basic of park rules between grunts while you brace for it. “Leave nothing behind.”
He releases into you. His hot cum coating your deepest walls as he empties into your cunt with the loudest orgasm. He pushes you down prone and fucks it deep inside you before he starts to soften, making sure you know he was deliberately filling you up with his seed.
He collapses on you and you breathe together for a moment. He leaves an unexpected kiss on your shoulder and another on your neck, silently thanking you for letting him use your body.
“Next time pay attention to the game cams, sugar plum.” he nods up at a nearby tree and he gives a side smile. Mocking your mistake.
He withdraws his cock from you and lets you fall forward, his cum already running down your legs. He eyes your mess with a smirk, pleased with his conquest.
“I’m always watching.” He says with a wink.
Tagging some cool people that I love very much and fellow Joel Hole comrades (please note if it’s too dark for your taste it’s totally ok to skip!)
Pairing: Frankie Morales x f reader x f reader’s friend x Santi Garcia
Word count: 1k
Summary: you and your friend meet a couple guys on their way back to Florida from Colombia. One thing leads to another and you end up at a motel.
Warnings: SMUT! PIV, oral f receiving, fingering, ff, kissing, facials, creampies, masturbation, unsafe sex, sex with strangers. No beta no editing no proofreading, NO PLOT JUST PORN
A word from the author: idk man. You tell me.
The pink-red light of the neon MOTEL sign blinked against the window, partly obscured by the glare of the bedside lamp. No one had bothered to close the curtains. Just like no one had bothered to take off the cigarette burnt polyester bedspread. You’d all bundled in, talking and laughing and kisses smacking against skin, and once you were inside Frankie, the taller and quieter of the two men had switched on the lamp and unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his jeans, heaving his belt buckle swinging beside his bulge.
Santi was busy kissing your friend, and you took off your shirt. The room was gold and your nipples we’re already hard, inviting Frankie to suck one sharply into his mouth, scraping it against his teeth as you slid your hand up and down the generous heft of his cock through his jeans.
“That’s enough,” he smacked your ass and followed it with a squeeze that grazed your pussy. “I want you both undressed and on the bed.”
You exchanged a look with your friend, who looked at Santi, the shorter, flirtier friend and he unzipped her skirt and gave her a playful push toward the bed.
Frankie was sitting toward the headboard of the too-firm double bed, pants off, grey tshirt tossed over the lampshade, and turgid member in his hand. He stroked himself base to tip, watching you and your beautiful, shy friend with menace in his big, dark eyes. You pulled her onto the bed with you, and on your knees before the near stranger, you kissed her. You touched each other, stroked each other's hair and necks and tits. Santi looked on, cock in hand, thumb hooked around the thick base as he cradled his balls.
“Lay down,” Frankie instructed, showing you how he wanted you, side by side, heads at the foot of the bed, knees bent.
He admired you for a moment, two naked women, last names he never bothered to ask, first names he wasn’t entirely confident he knew, totally bare and spread out, serving themselves on a platter for him. His cock throbbed. “Perfect.”
He swiped his fingers over your pussy, covering them in his slick before doing the same to your friend. He turned his attention back to you, slurping your pussy, spreading you open with two tick fingers, going straight for your clit only for a moment before stopping.
He took your hand and put it on your girlfriend’s pussy. “Can’t have her feelin’ left out.”
He went back to your cunt, licking, sucking, covering his patchy beard and the tip of his beautiful, curved nose in your arousal.
He gave you one finger, then two, pumping them as he lapped at your clit.
You slid two of your fingers into your friend and pressed your palm against her clit. It was no match for what Frankie could do, but Santi liked it.
“She going to make you come, hermosa? You going to cum together? I know Fish has her close. She can’t even keep her eyes open.”
He was right. You were close, and with a few more pointed swirls over you clit you came hard.
“Got something on your face, Frank,” Santiago laughed and Frankie wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, smiling proudly at how hard he was able to make you come.
He turned his attention to your friend, shuffling between her legs to kiss her, dipping his tongue into her mouth so she could taste you. He fucked her deep and slow while she pinched her eyebrows together at the stinging stretch of his cock. When she relaxed, he sped up, snapping his hips down into her as she keened and scratched at his shoulders.
Santi stroked his cock faster in the chair, edging himself while his best friend fucked the girls from the airport bar.
You leaned over and kissed your friend again, moaning into each other’s mouths while you gently rubbed your clit, mixing her wetness with yours, teetering on the edge of overstimulation, but not near ready to let the fun end.
You sucked her nipple, rubbed her clit, and encouraged her. “You look so hot taking his cock. He feels good doesn’t he? Got you nice and full.”
Frankie watched you, teeth bared, grunting as he pounded into her, watching his friend watch him.
Your friend came, legs shaking and back arching off the bed. You felt her clit twitch under your fingers.
Frankie pulled out of her, slick and creamy with her cum, and turned back to you. He sank in slow, grumbling at your tightness, glad for how wet younwere to ease his way. He bottomed out and pulsed his hips against yours, making you cry out at the feeling of him so deep, so thick inside you.
Santi came to stand over you, still jerking himself, but allowing your friend to suck and lick his heavy balls as she rubbed her pussy with one hand and yours with the other.
She turned her head to kiss you, and as she licked into your mouth, you came hard on Frankie’s cock.
“Ohh fuck,” he muttered. “Fuck, I’m gonna come.” The sounds in the room were obscene, wet, squelching sounds, skin against skin, and the uninhibited moaning you can only get away with in a run down motel with two men you just met.
As Frankie filled you with what felt like a gallon of cum, santi aimed his own release onto your face. His seed spattered onto your cheeks and nose and lips, but you didn’t stop kissing your friend. You tasted his cum in your mouths and licked the rest from each other's faces, sharing it in deep, passionate kisses.
Frankie and Santi panted, softening cocks hanging heavy, exposed and unashamed.
“I wanted you to come inside me.” Your friend pouted to Frankie. He looked at her with exaggerated sympathy and scooped an errant glob of cum from her chin and fed into her. “If you want my cum, you can eat it out of your girlfriend’s cunt.”
Summary: a short but dirty interlude with the pussy eating king, long may he reign.
Warnings: oral f receiving, fingering, Frankie’s curls
A word from the author: Oh nothing, just something I think @legendary-pink-dot might like. Little ode to the hair we all love.
They feel like silk. The smooth strands slip between your fingers, twisting and tangling, warm in your hands.
Frankie knows you like it when his curls are wild are unkempt, a rebellion against his early military days or short cropped hair, he lets it grow.
You love the way it spills out from under his trusty blue cap, mocha, hickory, java, chocolate, walnut, and now hints of silver beginning to thread through Frankie’s hair. Despite the tell-tale sign of his aging, his locks are still thick, still called for you to run your fingers through and tug gently, or scratch lightly at his scalp when you kissed him. He purred when you did, and groaned when you buried your nose in his hair and pressed your body close to his. The smell of his sweat and his shampoo were as good as any cologne.
Frankie tightened his arms around you and maneuvered you to your back. He pulled your hands from his hair and pressed them against the kitchen table he laid you out on and kissed you soundly, devouring your mouth, sucking his way down your neck and across your chest, fighting to tug your tshirt up so he could mouth at your breasts and lave his tongue wetly across your perking nipples.
He squeezed your hips as he kissed down your belly to the waistband of your jeans. He made a frustrated sound as he fumbled with the button and the zipper, his thick fingers rushed and clumsy, but he had them undone and pulled down your thighs before you could stop him or do it yourself. He was too overcome with need to stop, anyway.
He forgot about your sneakers, knocking together now as your ankles crossed and your knees were pressed up and open for him. Without hesitation Frankie buried his face into your pussy. He relished it, the taste, the smell, the way your heat radiated against his face. Sucking and licking, he ate you. He felt crazed, greedy, hungry for more and more.
Beneath him, you squirmed, your body seeking his out, blooming for him, open and welcoming. When two rough fingers ease inside, you clench, soaking him, making him moan.
Until now you’d kept your hands where he put them, he made you want to be obedient for him, but as you felt the heat beginning to spread over your hips and thighs and belly, you grabbed his hair in your fists, keeping him right where you needed him, lips and tongue working diligently against your clit as his thick fingers pumped in and out, a warning of the stretch his cock would be.
Your hips and knees jerked as your orgasm rippled through you, like a seismic wave of pleasure, leaving you panting in its wake.
Frankie licked you carefully, kissing your tender pussy until your body relaxed. He took your hands from his sweat damp curls once more, and told you “turn over.”
I don't know much, but I know Joel Miller loves having fingers twist through his curls and his hair pulled hard because he's used to pain and it's something comforting to anchor himself to.
