After your daughters go off to college, you and Joel become empty nesters in your early 40's. The two of you take advantage of all this alone time, falling into a Sub/Dom relationship and exploring new kinks. No outbreak, these are characters in their 40's with real bodies.
See each chapter for content warnings. Tags include: use of nicknames (little dove, baby, etc.), unprotected p in v, edging, bondage, spanking, consensual non consent, cum play, toys.
BDSMaid (18+ Minors, Do Not Interact)
Complete
After recently graduating from university, your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. It’s only temporary and a good way to save money for when you go back to get your law degree. That’s what you’re promised at least. Easy. Simple. Mundane. That is, until one of your clients is home and everything that you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love.
Maid Discreetly (Tommy Miller) (18+ Minors Do Not Interact)
Tommy’s story in the BDSMaid universe
Wings. Fire. Magic. - AU (18+ Minors, Do Not Interact)
In progress
You just needed one dragons egg, one egg and you could turn the life of you and your family around completely. But when Joel Miller captures you, it turns out that it's his life that gets turned around.
See each chapter for content warnings.
One Shots
Shhh…Just A Little Bit More (DBF!Joel)
Shhh...Just A Little Bit More 2 (DBF!Joel)
Shhh...Just A Little Bit More 3 - Soft (DFB!Joel)
Shhh...Just A Little Bit More 3 - Spicy (DFB!Joel)
Happy Easter, Joel Miller (Husband!Joel)
Sunday With Your Dad's Best Friend (DBF!Joel)
A Lesson In Learning (Dom!Joel)
God Bless the She Devil Who Made Joel Miller (BFD!Joel)
Right Person, Wrong Time (Joel Miller Fluff)
Tess’s Treasures (MFFF)
Joel Miller: Period Master (Joel Miller Fluff)
In my T-shirt - Part 1 (Joel Miller Smut)
In my T-shirt - Part 2 (Joel Miller Smut)
Cannabliss - Part 1 (Joel Miller Smut)
Cannabliss - Part 2 (Joel Miller smut)
I just saw Gabriel Luna’s IG story on set for TLOU and I have no one else to mention it to cause omg 😵💫
oh my god yeah this has me SOO excited for the new season even though i def had my complaints about the last one. i think even with the added tommy scenes that weren’t in the game, he still felt so true to his character. that scene where he’s talking to ellie and says “you and my brother? same god damn fuckin person” i remember being like omggg HE WOULD SAY THAT!!!!
and gabe is sooo beautiful ofc as always like the facial hair the smile the wrinkles around his eyessss 🫠 good LORD i need him biblically
now that the last chapter of Measure of Man has been posted, i'm going to retreat from this place for a bit to work on a new piece without so much pressure to post. beyond a one month hiatus i took to work on Mercy, i haven't taken a break from posting fic since 2023, and i think it's starting to get to me a bit. this is not a goodbye forever post, i'm not retiring from fic, i'm just stepping away for a bit. i'll still be here, and on other social media platforms, so feel free to message me here, send asks, etc. my discord is unrewardingmessages8 if you'd like to add me there, and here is the link to my twitter.
a few months ago, when i decided i was going to take a break from posting fic, i didn't know if another idea would strike me, if i had anything else to write about these characters, but as a parting gift, here's a snapshot of what i'll be working on while i'm away. i hope to share it with ya'll when i return.
Joel and Willow grew on the same street in Austin, Texas; they went to the same school, they rode the same bus, they spent almost every day from the ages of eight to eighteen together. Best friends, inseparable. Then adulthood got in the way. Willow moved to California for college, Joel stayed behind and started a construction company with his brother.
Two marriages, two divorces, and one child later, and Joel and Willow haven’t seen each other in over ten years. But when Willow moves back to Austin to try to spark some inspiration back into her career, the two are forced to face their intertwined past.
__________
Joel and Willow were childhood best friends who haven’t lived in the same city for seventeen years, until Willow moves back to Austin and they get a second chance at what should have been.
Story Summary: After what he did to your best friend, fuck Joel Miller and the horse he rode in on! But a twist of fate has you falling for his brother, who is also your dad’s friend. Oh, and did you mention that you hate him? Can love really conquer all, or should you just settle for kinky hot sex with an older man?
Chapter Summary: Tommy invites you to the club, but you are barely in the building when confessions start to pour from both your lips.
AN: Trigger warnings are underneath the cut in small red letters to avoid spoilers.Thank you so freaking much to every single one of you little cutie patooties who love Tommy and his girl so much! I've honestly loved creating their little world and making so many of you fall for Tommy.
Word Count: 2.5k
TW: biting, tying hands together, kissing, dirty talk, oral (Female receiving, multiple orgasms, use of safe word, aftercare
You
Tommy puts you down in the middle of a room that’s not nearly as luxurious as his. He didn’t need to scan his watch to get into this one, which you assume means that it’s a public space. You glance over your shoulder to see a dark curtain drawn over part of the wall. The room is nothing ostentatious which surprises you. Aside from a chest of drawers and a large bed, the room is empty.
Click.
You head swivels back to Tommy, who’s standing beside the door, his hand on a small dial, the source of the sound you just heard. “What’s that?”
“Microphone,” He juts his jaw to the wall behind you. “They can hear everything happening in here now, sweetheart.”
A smile pulls at the corners of your mouth and you bite at your lip to stop it from forming. Tommy, on the other hand, smiles wide, a small laugh leaving his lips; lips that are stained just a tad from your red lipstick.
“Are you going to let them see?”
Tommy doesn’t answer you, but that’s how you like it. You don’t want to make decisions and that’s the best part of that little checklist you slid under his door - he already knows what you like and what you want to try. Tommy spins away from you towards the set of drawers. His movements are confident and calm, but something dangerous radiates off of him. Your heart rate elevates, your vision honing in on Tommy. You feel like prey, like a deer in a meadow who suddenly senses danger. Unlike the deer though, you don’t want to run - unless it’s towards the one who’s about to tear into you. He opens a drawer, his broad body making it so you can’t see what he’s grabbing. It’s equal parts unnerving and so fucking sexy. You ball your hands into fists, your fingernails digging crescent shaped moons into your palms, the pain of it distracts you from running to him.
“Hands in front of you,” he barks, his voice rough and commanding. When his eyes meet yours they’re nearly black. This is the man who spanked you in his library, not the man who just spent time kissing your entire body. The shift of it startles you, a gasp filling the silence as he walks towards you, a thin black rope in his hands. He continues speaking as he winds the rope around his hands, creating a bow. “Before I let them see you, I need to make sure they know who you belong to.”
He holds up the loops and you slip your wrists through. “It’s only you, sir,” you say through another gasp as he tightens the rope with a single flick of his wrists.
“Oh, I know that already little hellraiser,” he moves to stand behind you. The sound of cotton on skin before his shirt comes over your shoulder and falls to your feet. You don’t dare look, even though a shirtless Tommy Miller is enough to create world peace in your eyes. Seriously, who could continue arguing and fighting when they could just stop and stare at all that sinew and tattooed skin? His warm breath hits your shoulder blade as he says, “But the crowd I’m sure is gathering behind that curtain certainly doesn’t.”
Pain, red hot and sharp, explodes along your shoulder blade. It’s gone before you can react, but when the same sensation erupts along your hip you cry out.
“Tell me about the colours,” Tommy commands, his lips pressing softly to the spots you’re pretty sure he just bit.
“Green means go,” you say as his teeth sink into your side, confirming your thoughts just a few second ago. “Fuuuuck.”
“Keep going,” he encourages and you squeeze your thighs together.
“Yellow means I’m close to my limit.” Teeth pinch the skin of your other shoulder blade, your cunt clenching.
“Ouch,” you whimper, but the moan he pulls from you as his tongue soothes the pain is all the permission he needs from you to keep going.
“R-red means stop,” you breathe, Tommy’s mouth kissing along the globe of your ass before he bites the back of your thigh.
“Ow, fuck, sir.” Your clit throbs with each graze of his teeth and press of his lips. Each pinch of pain is quickly soothed by his kisses or lap of his tongue.
“Give me a colour, baby.” He rasps, his breath heating along your skin.
“Green,” his teeth meet your other side next, sharp and piercing.
“I’m going to open that blind soon,” he says roughly between light kisses down your hip. You arch, pushing your ass towards his face. “They’re going to see every mark, every indent of my teeth on your perfect skin.” He nips at your thigh, just below where your ass meets your leg. “Spread your legs, show me how wet you are.” You shuffle your feet apart, preening at the whimpered praise Tommy gives you. “You have no idea how beautiful you are, sweetheart. This fucking cunt is going to destroy me the first time you let me fuck you.”
You cry out as he bites your ass cheek, your pussy dripping at the thought of people listening just beyond that flimsy little curtain. You imagine them squirming, shuffling from one foot to the next. Them, like you, feeling like they are going to jump out of their skin as they eagerly await Tommy’s next move. With every mark Tommy leaves on your skin, you picture more people crowding the window, some of them so turned on by what Tommy is doing to you that they have to rent rooms of their own; fucking each other with a raw and carnal need as they replay the scene in their minds. Your wrists burn against the rope that binds them together, throat dry from the heavy gasps of air that are forced into your lungs with each bite. Earlier you were so deep in your own head. His lips and hands felt amazing, but every time you were about to relax you started worrying about how intimate everything was, the little voice in your head telling you that this isn’t real, it’s an act, a show. With everything you know about love, passion like this doesn’t exist in real life. But now, the pain as he marks your skin jolts you out of your own thoughts.
Finally, after what feels like hours, Tommy pulls away and wanders back to your front. You blink up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. “It hurts,” you pout.
“The bites? They were supposed to hurt.”
You shake your head and he draws his eyebrows together in confusion. “Not the bites, my pussy. Please let me come now, Tommy.”
He sucks in a sharp breath, his eyes dancing along your face. Whatever it was that you just said has shifted something in his face. He’s softer, some of the honey flecks returning to his eyes, when it dawns on you.
Tommy…
Tommy
He should be mad, furious really. In these walls he is only referred to as Sir. In fact, in the last decade he can’t remember a time someone called him Tommy while they were naked. But he does know one thing, his name leaving someone’s lips has never sounded so…pure, so full of reverence. He glances up to the ceiling, then tugs at one of the long ends of the rope to remove the cuffs. He cradles your forearms gently, checking over the faint red lines the rope left behind. He presses on the pads of a few fingers, watching them go from pink to white and back to pink.
He nods in approval, and turns to head back over to the wall. His favourite part of this room is that it appears to be vanilla, and for the most part it’s used by the less kinky members of the club, but there’s always something salacious hidden in the shadows of JMKink. When he spins back to face you, you’re looking at him with a sense of regret, like you know you fucked up by calling him anything but Sir. He presses the second button on the panel by the door and the curtain pulls open with a soft whoosh. Your eyes flick to the side, like you want to look but he shakes his head, stopping you from looking behind yourself. He wants them to see the red marks, the sparkling rhinestones that spell out “Yes, Sir” along the waistband of your thong. He pushes another button and you flinch at the grinding sound that comes from above you. He watches your breathing speed up, your tits rising and falling rapidly. This time, you don’t look away from him, and that earns you more praise.
“That’s my girl, keep your eyes on me. Don’t worry about them.” The metal bar that he lowered from the ceiling is at the perfect height now, just enough out of reach that you’ll have to go on your tip toes to reach it. He taps the button to stop it, then slips off his shoes and socks before padding back over to you. Something about being in only jeans while making his partner fall apart again and again is like a drug to him and the with the way your eyes trail down his body it feels like that drug is being injected straight into his DNA.
“Remind me, hellraiser. Why didn’t I let you come last time?” This is his favourite part of having an audience. The storytelling; creating a scene, building the anticipation, working in well timed twists and turns, before the…well…climax - both metaphorically and theoretically.
“Because I didn’t listen.”
You look malleable right now, fully immersed in subspace, ready and willing to listen to everything he says. He nods, pushing his hands into his pockets before walking towards you. “Grab onto that bar.”
Your head tilts adorably to one side and he can’t help the small breathy laugh he lets out. “Above your head. Just reach up and grab onto it.” You try to follow his instructions without look away, but when your fingertips wiggle looking for the bar he laughs quietly again and gives you permission to look away to find it.
Yep, she’s deep into subspace alright.
“I’m going to make this a little easier on you than last time, okay?” You nod as he steps into your space. Your warm body pressed against his, still so much shorter than him even when you’re pushed up onto your toes. He pulls you flush against him by your waist. “You are allowed to make as much noise as you want this time, but you are not allowed to let go of that bar. Understood?”
“Y-yes, sir.”
His eyes flick to the window then back to yours. “Your cries of pain drew in quite the audience. I can only imagine how many more will gather around that window when they hear how pretty you sound when you come.”
Before you can respond he’s on his knees, tugging your panties down and then lifting one of your legs over his shoulders before burying his face in your pussy. There’s no slow movements this time, no letting you adjust. Your clit is so swollen that it’s pushed free of its hood. Tommy pulls it into his mouth, rolling his tongue along it. His fingers dig into the meat of your ass, steadying you while simultaneously pushing you harder against his face. If he suffocated to death right now he’d die a very happy man.
The world melts away, your moans become louder, morphing into groans and gasps. He’s not sure how long has passed, or how many times you’ve announced that you’re going to come. He doesn’t care and has no plans to stop, you know what to do if you need the break. So, he drinks you down, his ears greedily wanting more of the moans and sobs and whimpers. His knees ache under the dark wooden floor of the room, your legs shake with a mixture of exhaustion and yet another orgasm.
“Red,” your voice is a hoarse rasp.
“Shit, sweetheart,” he says, catching you as you let go of the bar above your head and slump forward. Since he’s not that much shorter than you while kneeling, he guides you to the ground. When a submissive uses their safe word that grants them access to a safe space - all contact stops immediately and only after he’s asked for consent to move into aftercare will he touch them again. As he lowers you to the ground your arms wrap around his neck, plastering your overheating body to his. Still, he keeps his hands as much to himself as he can without letting you fall. His next words are whisper, quiet enough that he knows only the two of you can hear them. “Do I have your consent to carry you to the bed and hold you until you come back to yourself?”
“Yes, but not that bed,” You manage to whisper back. Your body is covered in a thin layer of sweat, making it easy for him to slip his arms around you. Your mask slips as you bury yourself into his chest, and that’s all the cues he needs.
Tommy pulls you tighter to his body, “Keep your face towards me,” he says in a soft warning, then stands and takes you back to his private room.
okay, so...i need tommy to wreck me. what the heck. ugh this was hot. i just love seeing the development of their relationship. i really love this series. 🖤
Story Summary: After what he did to your best friend, fuck Joel Miller and the horse he rode in on! But a twist of fate has you falling for his brother, who is also your dad’s friend. Oh, and did you mention that you hate him? Can love really conquer all, or should you just settle for kinky hot sex with an older man?
Chapter Summary: Tommy invites you to the club, but you are barely in the building when confessions start to pour from both your lips.
AN: Trigger warnings are underneath the cut in small red letters to avoid spoilers. Hello my little friends!! Sorry for the long wait, buuuut I feel like you're used to that from me lol. Anyhoo, hope you fall even more in love with them after this. I absolutely did not get anyone to beta or proof read this sooo....
Word Count: 2.2k
TW: kissing, dirty talk, flashback of shitty men being shitty, mentions of body insecurities
You
You’ve always loved when opposing things come together and make each other better, build each other up instead of tear it down. Like a dollop of sour cream on cherry pie, or dipping a grilled cheese in apple sauce. In this case, it’s the juxtaposition of Tommy’s private room and his cabin. It’s almost like the two spaces are written in a different font while still remaining…well, Tommy. Where his home had large floor-to-ceiling windows to let in tons of natural light, this room has none. Instead, brushed gold scones illuminate as he leads you into the space. The flooring here is a plush, dark chocolate carpet as opposed to the chestnut brown wood of his home.
Tommy closes the door and wraps his arms around you from behind, the heat of his body spreading a chill through you as you look around. You’re not sure what you expected to walk into when he begrudgingly put you down on your feet and then held his Rolex up to the security pad on the door to unlock it. Maybe a sex dungeon or a bunch of chains and apparatus’s to strap you down. Instead, there’s two oversized plush armchairs and a table to the left; a chess board set up on top of it - the board and pieces in matte bronze and iridescent ivory - and a dry bar just behind it. The counter and backsplash of the bar is the same granite as his cabin’s kitchen. You squirm at the memory of him teasing you with the strawberry, coating it with your arousal and then feeding it to you.
“What are you thinking?” Tommy rasps, moving your hair from your shoulder and kissing your pulse point as you glance towards the large four poster bed to your right. The frame is the same brushed gold as the light fixtures, the silky sheets a deep raspberry.
“I need you,” you hum, leaning back into him and tilting your head so he can reach more of your throat. As your eyes adjust to the dimly lit room, you see hooks and rings on various places around the walls and the bed frame.
So, I wasn’t entirely wrong about apparatus’s to tie me down.
Tommy runs his nose down the slope of your neck, his moustache tickling roughly as he goes. “You are so incredibly beautiful, sweetheart, even more so when you tell me what you want.” His hands burn paths along your body, one trailing up to cup your breast, pinching at your nipple through the thin fabric of your top, the other reaching for the hem of your skirt. “Tell me. I want to hear how much you miss my lips on your skin, my tongue on your pussy, and my fingers buried inside of you.” His hand moves quickly, pulling at your skirt so he can cup your pussy in his palm.
Heat explodes from your core, running up your spine like vines along a fence. You cry out, grinding into the heel of his hand. “I’ve been craving the feeling of you, sir. No one feels as good as you. Please, it’s been agony.”
Tommy straightens slightly, forcing you onto your tippy toes, your head falling back. You can only imagine how he looks behind you; his large frame bent down so he can reach your cunt. The pressure sends stars behind your eyelids. With no intention of pulling away - and every intention of making you suffer a little longer - he says, “Walk to the bed, hellraiser.”
Your hands grip at his arms for balance as you walk on shaky, unbalanced legs. Each step brings you closer to an orgasm that you’re sure will tear you in half. It’s been ten days since he ruined your orgasm in your office. Nearly two hundred and forty hours of your clit twitching and throbbing, practically begging you to give in. As fun as being a brat is, you know that you wouldn’t be able to handle a punishment from Tommy, your sir, just yet. When you make it to the edge of the bed, Tommy’s fingers slip between the snaps of your bodysuit and your panties. He chuckles deeply at the desperate moan you let out and then rasps, “Such a perfect little pussy, gettin’ so wet for me when you want something.”
A few weeks ago, a comment like that would have had you pulling away and apologizing, embarrassed of your body’s natural response to pleasure.
“Please, sir,” you whisper, looking up over your shoulder at him. The lace of your mask catches on the soft cotton of his shirt. When your eyes meet his there’s something both domineering and gentle painted across his face. He pops the buttons of your bodysuit, his nearly black eyes locked on yours. You whimper when his hands move away from the spot that’s been practically screaming for him.
“Shh,” he soothes, his lips pursing. He moves to the zipper of your skirt, talking to you as he lowers it and then moves to pull your top up. “I told you I would take care of it, there’s no need to whine. You’re going to be my good girl tonight, right? Have you learned your lesson? Are you ready to listen, to be patient, and do as I say?”
The body suit is pulled over your head, and in those few seconds where you can’t see him you miss him. You also fear that when the light returns this will all have been a dream. Relief settles like a rock in your stomach when he’s still there, and even though you know those were rhetorical questions, you respond with a slow nod and soft, “Yes, sir.”
Your nipples pebble as his warm hands fall to your hips. He hasn’t looked anywhere but your face, yet you feel his cock pressing into your back. A flash of a memory pokes at your brain. Preston having to fist his cock to get hard, his eyes slammed shut because he told you your pussy wasn’t normal. You don’t let the thought linger, not anymore. It’s too empowering knowing that you have the ability to turn Tommy on this much by just being you. Just as you’re about to ask him to kiss you, he kneels just like he did in your office. As if it’s as natural as breathing, which is something you suddenly can’t seem to do, you bend at the waist, planting your hands on his mattress.
“Fuck me.” His voice is barely a whisper, you’re half convinced you’re hearing things. Tommy peels your skirt agonizingly slow down your legs. You bite down on your lip to stop from whimpering again, determined not to whine. After pulling off your flats he dots kisses along your calves and thighs. Something about the reverence in his touches tonight, about the privacy of the room feels too…intimate.
His fingers trace along the rhinestone letters of your pink lacy thong. “Leave these on, sweetheart. Lay on the bed, on your stomach.”
You don’t look back at him as you follow his request. Crawling across deep red sheets that are softer than anything you’ve ever felt, the rich fabric cool to the touch along your heated skin as you lie on your stomach, a pillow tucked under your chest. His lips meet your calf, the bed dipping with his weight as he pushes your legs apart to settle between them. All of your previous interactions with Tommy were fuelled by lust and taboo desire. This, however, feels like worship and the fear of never being treated this well after him seeps into your brain.
Tommy
His lips graze the curve of your side eliciting an involuntary twitch and a muffled giggled. “Fuck, I love how ticklish you get.” He’s been kissing along the back half of your body for almost an hour, his fingers occasionally grazing the gusset of your panties.
Typically, scenes with a submissive are pre-agreed upon. They may not know his every move but a conversation of their needs or desires for the appointment is a non-negotiable. Yet, with you, he’s breaking his own rules. Sure, you know the safe word system and he knows what it is that interests you, but all of this isn’t his usual way of dominating someone.
Tommy noticed a shift the moment you crawled onto the bed. You tensed up, your breathing pattern wholly different than what it was as you walked towards the bed with his hand cupping your sex. Experience tells him that this is normal for the first session at the club. There’s usually a lot of nerves from both parties, not to mention all the new sounds and sensations. It can be hard for anyone to get out of their heads enough to just enjoy it. He hoped that by bringing you into his private room first that you’d feel more comfortable, but as his fingers dip between your soft thighs and push your panties to the side, he’s met with warm, dry flesh. Years ago, that would have been a metaphorical right hook. Now, he’s smart enough to know that wetness isn’t a sign of how turned on someone is or isn’t. He can tell that you’ve been enjoying yourself; none of your muscles are tense anymore, you’ve let out plenty of sultry giggles and husky moans or groans. Each time his fingers found your core you’d twitch and arch your back, silently asking for more.
Your voice fills his ears, “We were out on the lake, and the thought of someone seeing us or hearing me... Well, it made me come.”
Doubt creeps in. You want to be in the voyeur rooms, and he brought you here because…well, if he’s brave enough to really look into why it’s because he’s not ready to share. He’s witnessed what you look like when you come twice and it’s fucking magical. Selfishly, showing that to the world means it’s just another thing that’s not for him. He guides you to roll over, bright green eyes clashing with his. He has his job because of his brother, he builds homes for other people to build lives in. Yes, part of this club is for him, but it’s really so others can learn and explore a new side of themselves. Nothing is truly his, aside from you, but that’s not what you want. His stomach feels like it’s doing a free fall. And then, you smile at him and suddenly his stomach is in his throat and his tongue is too big for his mouth and he is so fucking fucked when it comes to you.
I’m falling in love with you. It’s on the tip of his tongue, like a champagne cork, ready to burst out into the room like a celebration. He forces himself to swallow the metaphorical cork - and all his organs - down. Unlike Champagne, it doesn’t feel bubbly and happy. Instead, it feels like bourbon, and not the good kind that’s stocked behind the bar at JMKink. This is the cheap kind that you buy when you’ve had a bad day, that you slam back to temporarily block out the pain and insecurity, the thoughts that scream louder and louder until the amber liquid burns them away.
“Please don’t stop,” you groan, spreading your legs to land on either side of his kneeling form. His eyes trail along your exposed skin, watching the rise and fall of your chest, his mouth going dry at the slightest hints of the tan lines on your shoulders. You sit up, looking up at him through the mask, your almost fully naked body so close to his. “What’s wrong?”
I might be in love with you. I’ve never been in love with anyone, and now I’m having these feelings I can’t explain for a woman I cannot have and is my friend’s daughter.
“T-this,” he clears his throat. “Sorry, just, this is…it’s not what you asked for.”
“Yes it is,” you counter, pulling back and bringing your knees to your chest. The fire in your eyes contradicts the way you’re curled into yourself right now. Determination and vulnerability all wrapped into one little green-eyed brunette-haired package.
“That so? Because I do believe that on that little checklist I told you not to fill out, you wanted people to watch.” He looks around his private room, hoping he’s fooling you into seeing that this isn’t about him feeling overwhelmingly head over heels for you and instead about this being a transaction and an agreement about your desires. “There ain’t no one here but me and you, sweetheart.”
You move towards him, your soft skin not making a sound along his 100% silk sheets that cost him more than his first car. You raise onto your knees and kiss him, moaning into his lips as he kisses you back. It starts soft, and it fucking kills him. But someone out there must be watching over him because it quickly transforms back into that familiar forbidden, lust-fueled desire he’s used to with you. He sinks into the kiss, his hand meeting the back of your neck. He pulls at your hair, his tongue pushing into your mouth. This is easier, this won’t get him hurt - as badly. Before he knows it, he has you tossed over his shoulder as he hauls you out of his room and into one of the more - seemingly - vanilla voyeur rooms.
Omg update !!!!!!! I think you should know the strawberry scene still haunts my brain every day but also spoke to me so deeply that I think I have all of Tommy's lines memorized. On a serious note it can feel isolating having a difficult time surrounding intimacy with a partner when it feels like it's easy for everyone else. I love reading as an escape but every once in a while (two, maybe three times ever) I read a scene and am like wait. It may be about me this time
Oh Nonnie, this makes me both happy and sad. I’m so glad you’ve found solace in this smutty little story, but my heartbreaks for you and your struggles. This story is officially for you, change all the descriptions of Tommy’s girl to be yours. Hopefully I can continue to make you feel as seen and treasured as you deserve!
Story Summary: After what he did to your best friend, fuck Joel Miller and the horse he rode in on! But a twist of fate has you falling for his brother, who is also your dad’s friend. Oh, and did you mention that you hate him? Can love really conquer all, or should you just settle for kinky hot sex with an older man?
Chapter Summary: Tommy invites you to the club, but you are barely in the building when confessions start to pour from both your lips.
AN: Trigger warnings are underneath the cut in small red letters to avoid spoilers. Hello my little friends!! Sorry for the long wait, buuuut I feel like you're used to that from me lol. Anyhoo, hope you fall even more in love with them after this. I absolutely did not get anyone to beta or proof read this sooo....
Word Count: 2.2k
TW: kissing, dirty talk, flashback of shitty men being shitty, mentions of body insecurities
You
You’ve always loved when opposing things come together and make each other better, build each other up instead of tear it down. Like a dollop of sour cream on cherry pie, or dipping a grilled cheese in apple sauce. In this case, it’s the juxtaposition of Tommy’s private room and his cabin. It’s almost like the two spaces are written in a different font while still remaining…well, Tommy. Where his home had large floor-to-ceiling windows to let in tons of natural light, this room has none. Instead, brushed gold scones illuminate as he leads you into the space. The flooring here is a plush, dark chocolate carpet as opposed to the chestnut brown wood of his home.
Tommy closes the door and wraps his arms around you from behind, the heat of his body spreading a chill through you as you look around. You’re not sure what you expected to walk into when he begrudgingly put you down on your feet and then held his Rolex up to the security pad on the door to unlock it. Maybe a sex dungeon or a bunch of chains and apparatus’s to strap you down. Instead, there’s two oversized plush armchairs and a table to the left; a chess board set up on top of it - the board and pieces in matte bronze and iridescent ivory - and a dry bar just behind it. The counter and backsplash of the bar is the same granite as his cabin’s kitchen. You squirm at the memory of him teasing you with the strawberry, coating it with your arousal and then feeding it to you.
“What are you thinking?” Tommy rasps, moving your hair from your shoulder and kissing your pulse point as you glance towards the large four poster bed to your right. The frame is the same brushed gold as the light fixtures, the silky sheets a deep raspberry.
“I need you,” you hum, leaning back into him and tilting your head so he can reach more of your throat. As your eyes adjust to the dimly lit room, you see hooks and rings on various places around the walls and the bed frame.
So, I wasn’t entirely wrong about apparatus’s to tie me down.
Tommy runs his nose down the slope of your neck, his moustache tickling roughly as he goes. “You are so incredibly beautiful, sweetheart, even more so when you tell me what you want.” His hands burn paths along your body, one trailing up to cup your breast, pinching at your nipple through the thin fabric of your top, the other reaching for the hem of your skirt. “Tell me. I want to hear how much you miss my lips on your skin, my tongue on your pussy, and my fingers buried inside of you.” His hand moves quickly, pulling at your skirt so he can cup your pussy in his palm.
Heat explodes from your core, running up your spine like vines along a fence. You cry out, grinding into the heel of his hand. “I’ve been craving the feeling of you, sir. No one feels as good as you. Please, it’s been agony.”
Tommy straightens slightly, forcing you onto your tippy toes, your head falling back. You can only imagine how he looks behind you; his large frame bent down so he can reach your cunt. The pressure sends stars behind your eyelids. With no intention of pulling away - and every intention of making you suffer a little longer - he says, “Walk to the bed, hellraiser.”
Your hands grip at his arms for balance as you walk on shaky, unbalanced legs. Each step brings you closer to an orgasm that you’re sure will tear you in half. It’s been ten days since he ruined your orgasm in your office. Nearly two hundred and forty hours of your clit twitching and throbbing, practically begging you to give in. As fun as being a brat is, you know that you wouldn’t be able to handle a punishment from Tommy, your sir, just yet. When you make it to the edge of the bed, Tommy’s fingers slip between the snaps of your bodysuit and your panties. He chuckles deeply at the desperate moan you let out and then rasps, “Such a perfect little pussy, gettin’ so wet for me when you want something.”
A few weeks ago, a comment like that would have had you pulling away and apologizing, embarrassed of your body’s natural response to pleasure.
“Please, sir,” you whisper, looking up over your shoulder at him. The lace of your mask catches on the soft cotton of his shirt. When your eyes meet his there’s something both domineering and gentle painted across his face. He pops the buttons of your bodysuit, his nearly black eyes locked on yours. You whimper when his hands move away from the spot that’s been practically screaming for him.
“Shh,” he soothes, his lips pursing. He moves to the zipper of your skirt, talking to you as he lowers it and then moves to pull your top up. “I told you I would take care of it, there’s no need to whine. You’re going to be my good girl tonight, right? Have you learned your lesson? Are you ready to listen, to be patient, and do as I say?”
The body suit is pulled over your head, and in those few seconds where you can’t see him you miss him. You also fear that when the light returns this will all have been a dream. Relief settles like a rock in your stomach when he’s still there, and even though you know those were rhetorical questions, you respond with a slow nod and soft, “Yes, sir.”
Your nipples pebble as his warm hands fall to your hips. He hasn’t looked anywhere but your face, yet you feel his cock pressing into your back. A flash of a memory pokes at your brain. Preston having to fist his cock to get hard, his eyes slammed shut because he told you your pussy wasn’t normal. You don’t let the thought linger, not anymore. It’s too empowering knowing that you have the ability to turn Tommy on this much by just being you. Just as you’re about to ask him to kiss you, he kneels just like he did in your office. As if it’s as natural as breathing, which is something you suddenly can’t seem to do, you bend at the waist, planting your hands on his mattress.
“Fuck me.” His voice is barely a whisper, you’re half convinced you’re hearing things. Tommy peels your skirt agonizingly slow down your legs. You bite down on your lip to stop from whimpering again, determined not to whine. After pulling off your flats he dots kisses along your calves and thighs. Something about the reverence in his touches tonight, about the privacy of the room feels too…intimate.
His fingers trace along the rhinestone letters of your pink lacy thong. “Leave these on, sweetheart. Lay on the bed, on your stomach.”
You don’t look back at him as you follow his request. Crawling across deep red sheets that are softer than anything you’ve ever felt, the rich fabric cool to the touch along your heated skin as you lie on your stomach, a pillow tucked under your chest. His lips meet your calf, the bed dipping with his weight as he pushes your legs apart to settle between them. All of your previous interactions with Tommy were fuelled by lust and taboo desire. This, however, feels like worship and the fear of never being treated this well after him seeps into your brain.
Tommy
His lips graze the curve of your side eliciting an involuntary twitch and a muffled giggled. “Fuck, I love how ticklish you get.” He’s been kissing along the back half of your body for almost an hour, his fingers occasionally grazing the gusset of your panties.
Typically, scenes with a submissive are pre-agreed upon. They may not know his every move but a conversation of their needs or desires for the appointment is a non-negotiable. Yet, with you, he’s breaking his own rules. Sure, you know the safe word system and he knows what it is that interests you, but all of this isn’t his usual way of dominating someone.
Tommy noticed a shift the moment you crawled onto the bed. You tensed up, your breathing pattern wholly different than what it was as you walked towards the bed with his hand cupping your sex. Experience tells him that this is normal for the first session at the club. There’s usually a lot of nerves from both parties, not to mention all the new sounds and sensations. It can be hard for anyone to get out of their heads enough to just enjoy it. He hoped that by bringing you into his private room first that you’d feel more comfortable, but as his fingers dip between your soft thighs and push your panties to the side, he’s met with warm, dry flesh. Years ago, that would have been a metaphorical right hook. Now, he’s smart enough to know that wetness isn’t a sign of how turned on someone is or isn’t. He can tell that you’ve been enjoying yourself; none of your muscles are tense anymore, you’ve let out plenty of sultry giggles and husky moans or groans. Each time his fingers found your core you’d twitch and arch your back, silently asking for more.
Your voice fills his ears, “We were out on the lake, and the thought of someone seeing us or hearing me... Well, it made me come.”
Doubt creeps in. You want to be in the voyeur rooms, and he brought you here because…well, if he’s brave enough to really look into why it’s because he’s not ready to share. He’s witnessed what you look like when you come twice and it’s fucking magical. Selfishly, showing that to the world means it’s just another thing that’s not for him. He guides you to roll over, bright green eyes clashing with his. He has his job because of his brother, he builds homes for other people to build lives in. Yes, part of this club is for him, but it’s really so others can learn and explore a new side of themselves. Nothing is truly his, aside from you, but that’s not what you want. His stomach feels like it’s doing a free fall. And then, you smile at him and suddenly his stomach is in his throat and his tongue is too big for his mouth and he is so fucking fucked when it comes to you.
I’m falling in love with you. It’s on the tip of his tongue, like a champagne cork, ready to burst out into the room like a celebration. He forces himself to swallow the metaphorical cork - and all his organs - down. Unlike Champagne, it doesn’t feel bubbly and happy. Instead, it feels like bourbon, and not the good kind that’s stocked behind the bar at JMKink. This is the cheap kind that you buy when you’ve had a bad day, that you slam back to temporarily block out the pain and insecurity, the thoughts that scream louder and louder until the amber liquid burns them away.
“Please don’t stop,” you groan, spreading your legs to land on either side of his kneeling form. His eyes trail along your exposed skin, watching the rise and fall of your chest, his mouth going dry at the slightest hints of the tan lines on your shoulders. You sit up, looking up at him through the mask, your almost fully naked body so close to his. “What’s wrong?”
I might be in love with you. I’ve never been in love with anyone, and now I’m having these feelings I can’t explain for a woman I cannot have and is my friend’s daughter.
“T-this,” he clears his throat. “Sorry, just, this is…it’s not what you asked for.”
“Yes it is,” you counter, pulling back and bringing your knees to your chest. The fire in your eyes contradicts the way you’re curled into yourself right now. Determination and vulnerability all wrapped into one little green-eyed brunette-haired package.
“That so? Because I do believe that on that little checklist I told you not to fill out, you wanted people to watch.” He looks around his private room, hoping he’s fooling you into seeing that this isn’t about him feeling overwhelmingly head over heels for you and instead about this being a transaction and an agreement about your desires. “There ain’t no one here but me and you, sweetheart.”
You move towards him, your soft skin not making a sound along his 100% silk sheets that cost him more than his first car. You raise onto your knees and kiss him, moaning into his lips as he kisses you back. It starts soft, and it fucking kills him. But someone out there must be watching over him because it quickly transforms back into that familiar forbidden, lust-fueled desire he’s used to with you. He sinks into the kiss, his hand meeting the back of your neck. He pulls at your hair, his tongue pushing into your mouth. This is easier, this won’t get him hurt - as badly. Before he knows it, he has you tossed over his shoulder as he hauls you out of his room and into one of the more - seemingly - vanilla voyeur rooms.
Story Summary: After what he did to your best friend, fuck Joel Miller and the horse he rode in on! But a twist of fate has you falling for his brother, who is also your dad’s friend. Oh, and did you mention that you hate him? Can love really conquer all, or should you just settle for kinky hot sex with an older man?
Chapter Summary: Tommy invites you to the club, but you are barely in the building when confessions start to pour from both your lips.
AN: Trigger warnings are underneath the cut in small red letters to avoid spoilers.Thank you so freaking much to every single one of you little cutie patooties who love Tommy and his girl so much! I've honestly loved creating their little world and making so many of you fall for Tommy.
Word Count: 2.5k
TW: biting, tying hands together, kissing, dirty talk, oral (Female receiving, multiple orgasms, use of safe word, aftercare
You
Tommy puts you down in the middle of a room that’s not nearly as luxurious as his. He didn’t need to scan his watch to get into this one, which you assume means that it’s a public space. You glance over your shoulder to see a dark curtain drawn over part of the wall. The room is nothing ostentatious which surprises you. Aside from a chest of drawers and a large bed, the room is empty.
Click.
You head swivels back to Tommy, who’s standing beside the door, his hand on a small dial, the source of the sound you just heard. “What’s that?”
“Microphone,” He juts his jaw to the wall behind you. “They can hear everything happening in here now, sweetheart.”
A smile pulls at the corners of your mouth and you bite at your lip to stop it from forming. Tommy, on the other hand, smiles wide, a small laugh leaving his lips; lips that are stained just a tad from your red lipstick.
“Are you going to let them see?”
Tommy doesn’t answer you, but that’s how you like it. You don’t want to make decisions and that’s the best part of that little checklist you slid under his door - he already knows what you like and what you want to try. Tommy spins away from you towards the set of drawers. His movements are confident and calm, but something dangerous radiates off of him. Your heart rate elevates, your vision honing in on Tommy. You feel like prey, like a deer in a meadow who suddenly senses danger. Unlike the deer though, you don’t want to run - unless it’s towards the one who’s about to tear into you. He opens a drawer, his broad body making it so you can’t see what he’s grabbing. It’s equal parts unnerving and so fucking sexy. You ball your hands into fists, your fingernails digging crescent shaped moons into your palms, the pain of it distracts you from running to him.
“Hands in front of you,” he barks, his voice rough and commanding. When his eyes meet yours they’re nearly black. This is the man who spanked you in his library, not the man who just spent time kissing your entire body. The shift of it startles you, a gasp filling the silence as he walks towards you, a thin black rope in his hands. He continues speaking as he winds the rope around his hands, creating a bow. “Before I let them see you, I need to make sure they know who you belong to.”
He holds up the loops and you slip your wrists through. “It’s only you, sir,” you say through another gasp as he tightens the rope with a single flick of his wrists.
“Oh, I know that already little hellraiser,” he moves to stand behind you. The sound of cotton on skin before his shirt comes over your shoulder and falls to your feet. You don’t dare look, even though a shirtless Tommy Miller is enough to create world peace in your eyes. Seriously, who could continue arguing and fighting when they could just stop and stare at all that sinew and tattooed skin? His warm breath hits your shoulder blade as he says, “But the crowd I’m sure is gathering behind that curtain certainly doesn’t.”
Pain, red hot and sharp, explodes along your shoulder blade. It’s gone before you can react, but when the same sensation erupts along your hip you cry out.
“Tell me about the colours,” Tommy commands, his lips pressing softly to the spots you’re pretty sure he just bit.
“Green means go,” you say as his teeth sink into your side, confirming your thoughts just a few second ago. “Fuuuuck.”
“Keep going,” he encourages and you squeeze your thighs together.
“Yellow means I’m close to my limit.” Teeth pinch the skin of your other shoulder blade, your cunt clenching.
“Ouch,” you whimper, but the moan he pulls from you as his tongue soothes the pain is all the permission he needs from you to keep going.
“R-red means stop,” you breathe, Tommy’s mouth kissing along the globe of your ass before he bites the back of your thigh.
“Ow, fuck, sir.” Your clit throbs with each graze of his teeth and press of his lips. Each pinch of pain is quickly soothed by his kisses or lap of his tongue.
“Give me a colour, baby.” He rasps, his breath heating along your skin.
“Green,” his teeth meet your other side next, sharp and piercing.
“I’m going to open that blind soon,” he says roughly between light kisses down your hip. You arch, pushing your ass towards his face. “They’re going to see every mark, every indent of my teeth on your perfect skin.” He nips at your thigh, just below where your ass meets your leg. “Spread your legs, show me how wet you are.” You shuffle your feet apart, preening at the whimpered praise Tommy gives you. “You have no idea how beautiful you are, sweetheart. This fucking cunt is going to destroy me the first time you let me fuck you.”
You cry out as he bites your ass cheek, your pussy dripping at the thought of people listening just beyond that flimsy little curtain. You imagine them squirming, shuffling from one foot to the next. Them, like you, feeling like they are going to jump out of their skin as they eagerly await Tommy’s next move. With every mark Tommy leaves on your skin, you picture more people crowding the window, some of them so turned on by what Tommy is doing to you that they have to rent rooms of their own; fucking each other with a raw and carnal need as they replay the scene in their minds. Your wrists burn against the rope that binds them together, throat dry from the heavy gasps of air that are forced into your lungs with each bite. Earlier you were so deep in your own head. His lips and hands felt amazing, but every time you were about to relax you started worrying about how intimate everything was, the little voice in your head telling you that this isn’t real, it’s an act, a show. With everything you know about love, passion like this doesn’t exist in real life. But now, the pain as he marks your skin jolts you out of your own thoughts.
Finally, after what feels like hours, Tommy pulls away and wanders back to your front. You blink up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. “It hurts,” you pout.
“The bites? They were supposed to hurt.”
You shake your head and he draws his eyebrows together in confusion. “Not the bites, my pussy. Please let me come now, Tommy.”
He sucks in a sharp breath, his eyes dancing along your face. Whatever it was that you just said has shifted something in his face. He’s softer, some of the honey flecks returning to his eyes, when it dawns on you.
Tommy…
Tommy
He should be mad, furious really. In these walls he is only referred to as Sir. In fact, in the last decade he can’t remember a time someone called him Tommy while they were naked. But he does know one thing, his name leaving someone’s lips has never sounded so…pure, so full of reverence. He glances up to the ceiling, then tugs at one of the long ends of the rope to remove the cuffs. He cradles your forearms gently, checking over the faint red lines the rope left behind. He presses on the pads of a few fingers, watching them go from pink to white and back to pink.
He nods in approval, and turns to head back over to the wall. His favourite part of this room is that it appears to be vanilla, and for the most part it’s used by the less kinky members of the club, but there’s always something salacious hidden in the shadows of JMKink. When he spins back to face you, you’re looking at him with a sense of regret, like you know you fucked up by calling him anything but Sir. He presses the second button on the panel by the door and the curtain pulls open with a soft whoosh. Your eyes flick to the side, like you want to look but he shakes his head, stopping you from looking behind yourself. He wants them to see the red marks, the sparkling rhinestones that spell out “Yes, Sir” along the waistband of your thong. He pushes another button and you flinch at the grinding sound that comes from above you. He watches your breathing speed up, your tits rising and falling rapidly. This time, you don’t look away from him, and that earns you more praise.
“That’s my girl, keep your eyes on me. Don’t worry about them.” The metal bar that he lowered from the ceiling is at the perfect height now, just enough out of reach that you’ll have to go on your tip toes to reach it. He taps the button to stop it, then slips off his shoes and socks before padding back over to you. Something about being in only jeans while making his partner fall apart again and again is like a drug to him and the with the way your eyes trail down his body it feels like that drug is being injected straight into his DNA.
“Remind me, hellraiser. Why didn’t I let you come last time?” This is his favourite part of having an audience. The storytelling; creating a scene, building the anticipation, working in well timed twists and turns, before the…well…climax - both metaphorically and theoretically.
“Because I didn’t listen.”
You look malleable right now, fully immersed in subspace, ready and willing to listen to everything he says. He nods, pushing his hands into his pockets before walking towards you. “Grab onto that bar.”
Your head tilts adorably to one side and he can’t help the small breathy laugh he lets out. “Above your head. Just reach up and grab onto it.” You try to follow his instructions without look away, but when your fingertips wiggle looking for the bar he laughs quietly again and gives you permission to look away to find it.
Yep, she’s deep into subspace alright.
“I’m going to make this a little easier on you than last time, okay?” You nod as he steps into your space. Your warm body pressed against his, still so much shorter than him even when you’re pushed up onto your toes. He pulls you flush against him by your waist. “You are allowed to make as much noise as you want this time, but you are not allowed to let go of that bar. Understood?”
“Y-yes, sir.”
His eyes flick to the window then back to yours. “Your cries of pain drew in quite the audience. I can only imagine how many more will gather around that window when they hear how pretty you sound when you come.”
Before you can respond he’s on his knees, tugging your panties down and then lifting one of your legs over his shoulders before burying his face in your pussy. There’s no slow movements this time, no letting you adjust. Your clit is so swollen that it’s pushed free of its hood. Tommy pulls it into his mouth, rolling his tongue along it. His fingers dig into the meat of your ass, steadying you while simultaneously pushing you harder against his face. If he suffocated to death right now he’d die a very happy man.
The world melts away, your moans become louder, morphing into groans and gasps. He’s not sure how long has passed, or how many times you’ve announced that you’re going to come. He doesn’t care and has no plans to stop, you know what to do if you need the break. So, he drinks you down, his ears greedily wanting more of the moans and sobs and whimpers. His knees ache under the dark wooden floor of the room, your legs shake with a mixture of exhaustion and yet another orgasm.
“Red,” your voice is a hoarse rasp.
“Shit, sweetheart,” he says, catching you as you let go of the bar above your head and slump forward. Since he’s not that much shorter than you while kneeling, he guides you to the ground. When a submissive uses their safe word that grants them access to a safe space - all contact stops immediately and only after he’s asked for consent to move into aftercare will he touch them again. As he lowers you to the ground your arms wrap around his neck, plastering your overheating body to his. Still, he keeps his hands as much to himself as he can without letting you fall. His next words are whisper, quiet enough that he knows only the two of you can hear them. “Do I have your consent to carry you to the bed and hold you until you come back to yourself?”
“Yes, but not that bed,” You manage to whisper back. Your body is covered in a thin layer of sweat, making it easy for him to slip his arms around you. Your mask slips as you bury yourself into his chest, and that’s all the cues he needs.
Tommy pulls you tighter to his body, “Keep your face towards me,” he says in a soft warning, then stands and takes you back to his private room.
Story Summary: After what he did to your best friend, fuck Joel Miller and the horse he rode in on! But a twist of fate has you falling for his brother, who is also your dad’s friend. Oh, and did you mention that you hate him? Can love really conquer all, or should you just settle for kinky hot sex with an older man?
Chapter Summary: Tommy invites you to the club, but you are barely in the building when confessions start to pour from both your lips.
AN: Trigger warnings are underneath the cut in small red letters to avoid spoilers. Hello my little friends!! Sorry for the long wait, buuuut I feel like you're used to that from me lol. Anyhoo, hope you fall even more in love with them after this. I absolutely did not get anyone to beta or proof read this sooo....
Word Count: 2.2k
TW: kissing, dirty talk, flashback of shitty men being shitty, mentions of body insecurities
You
You’ve always loved when opposing things come together and make each other better, build each other up instead of tear it down. Like a dollop of sour cream on cherry pie, or dipping a grilled cheese in apple sauce. In this case, it’s the juxtaposition of Tommy’s private room and his cabin. It’s almost like the two spaces are written in a different font while still remaining…well, Tommy. Where his home had large floor-to-ceiling windows to let in tons of natural light, this room has none. Instead, brushed gold scones illuminate as he leads you into the space. The flooring here is a plush, dark chocolate carpet as opposed to the chestnut brown wood of his home.
Tommy closes the door and wraps his arms around you from behind, the heat of his body spreading a chill through you as you look around. You’re not sure what you expected to walk into when he begrudgingly put you down on your feet and then held his Rolex up to the security pad on the door to unlock it. Maybe a sex dungeon or a bunch of chains and apparatus’s to strap you down. Instead, there’s two oversized plush armchairs and a table to the left; a chess board set up on top of it - the board and pieces in matte bronze and iridescent ivory - and a dry bar just behind it. The counter and backsplash of the bar is the same granite as his cabin’s kitchen. You squirm at the memory of him teasing you with the strawberry, coating it with your arousal and then feeding it to you.
“What are you thinking?” Tommy rasps, moving your hair from your shoulder and kissing your pulse point as you glance towards the large four poster bed to your right. The frame is the same brushed gold as the light fixtures, the silky sheets a deep raspberry.
“I need you,” you hum, leaning back into him and tilting your head so he can reach more of your throat. As your eyes adjust to the dimly lit room, you see hooks and rings on various places around the walls and the bed frame.
So, I wasn’t entirely wrong about apparatus’s to tie me down.
Tommy runs his nose down the slope of your neck, his moustache tickling roughly as he goes. “You are so incredibly beautiful, sweetheart, even more so when you tell me what you want.” His hands burn paths along your body, one trailing up to cup your breast, pinching at your nipple through the thin fabric of your top, the other reaching for the hem of your skirt. “Tell me. I want to hear how much you miss my lips on your skin, my tongue on your pussy, and my fingers buried inside of you.” His hand moves quickly, pulling at your skirt so he can cup your pussy in his palm.
Heat explodes from your core, running up your spine like vines along a fence. You cry out, grinding into the heel of his hand. “I’ve been craving the feeling of you, sir. No one feels as good as you. Please, it’s been agony.”
Tommy straightens slightly, forcing you onto your tippy toes, your head falling back. You can only imagine how he looks behind you; his large frame bent down so he can reach your cunt. The pressure sends stars behind your eyelids. With no intention of pulling away - and every intention of making you suffer a little longer - he says, “Walk to the bed, hellraiser.”
Your hands grip at his arms for balance as you walk on shaky, unbalanced legs. Each step brings you closer to an orgasm that you’re sure will tear you in half. It’s been ten days since he ruined your orgasm in your office. Nearly two hundred and forty hours of your clit twitching and throbbing, practically begging you to give in. As fun as being a brat is, you know that you wouldn’t be able to handle a punishment from Tommy, your sir, just yet. When you make it to the edge of the bed, Tommy’s fingers slip between the snaps of your bodysuit and your panties. He chuckles deeply at the desperate moan you let out and then rasps, “Such a perfect little pussy, gettin’ so wet for me when you want something.”
A few weeks ago, a comment like that would have had you pulling away and apologizing, embarrassed of your body’s natural response to pleasure.
“Please, sir,” you whisper, looking up over your shoulder at him. The lace of your mask catches on the soft cotton of his shirt. When your eyes meet his there’s something both domineering and gentle painted across his face. He pops the buttons of your bodysuit, his nearly black eyes locked on yours. You whimper when his hands move away from the spot that’s been practically screaming for him.
“Shh,” he soothes, his lips pursing. He moves to the zipper of your skirt, talking to you as he lowers it and then moves to pull your top up. “I told you I would take care of it, there’s no need to whine. You’re going to be my good girl tonight, right? Have you learned your lesson? Are you ready to listen, to be patient, and do as I say?”
The body suit is pulled over your head, and in those few seconds where you can’t see him you miss him. You also fear that when the light returns this will all have been a dream. Relief settles like a rock in your stomach when he’s still there, and even though you know those were rhetorical questions, you respond with a slow nod and soft, “Yes, sir.”
Your nipples pebble as his warm hands fall to your hips. He hasn’t looked anywhere but your face, yet you feel his cock pressing into your back. A flash of a memory pokes at your brain. Preston having to fist his cock to get hard, his eyes slammed shut because he told you your pussy wasn’t normal. You don’t let the thought linger, not anymore. It’s too empowering knowing that you have the ability to turn Tommy on this much by just being you. Just as you’re about to ask him to kiss you, he kneels just like he did in your office. As if it’s as natural as breathing, which is something you suddenly can’t seem to do, you bend at the waist, planting your hands on his mattress.
“Fuck me.” His voice is barely a whisper, you’re half convinced you’re hearing things. Tommy peels your skirt agonizingly slow down your legs. You bite down on your lip to stop from whimpering again, determined not to whine. After pulling off your flats he dots kisses along your calves and thighs. Something about the reverence in his touches tonight, about the privacy of the room feels too…intimate.
His fingers trace along the rhinestone letters of your pink lacy thong. “Leave these on, sweetheart. Lay on the bed, on your stomach.”
You don’t look back at him as you follow his request. Crawling across deep red sheets that are softer than anything you’ve ever felt, the rich fabric cool to the touch along your heated skin as you lie on your stomach, a pillow tucked under your chest. His lips meet your calf, the bed dipping with his weight as he pushes your legs apart to settle between them. All of your previous interactions with Tommy were fuelled by lust and taboo desire. This, however, feels like worship and the fear of never being treated this well after him seeps into your brain.
Tommy
His lips graze the curve of your side eliciting an involuntary twitch and a muffled giggled. “Fuck, I love how ticklish you get.” He’s been kissing along the back half of your body for almost an hour, his fingers occasionally grazing the gusset of your panties.
Typically, scenes with a submissive are pre-agreed upon. They may not know his every move but a conversation of their needs or desires for the appointment is a non-negotiable. Yet, with you, he’s breaking his own rules. Sure, you know the safe word system and he knows what it is that interests you, but all of this isn’t his usual way of dominating someone.
Tommy noticed a shift the moment you crawled onto the bed. You tensed up, your breathing pattern wholly different than what it was as you walked towards the bed with his hand cupping your sex. Experience tells him that this is normal for the first session at the club. There’s usually a lot of nerves from both parties, not to mention all the new sounds and sensations. It can be hard for anyone to get out of their heads enough to just enjoy it. He hoped that by bringing you into his private room first that you’d feel more comfortable, but as his fingers dip between your soft thighs and push your panties to the side, he’s met with warm, dry flesh. Years ago, that would have been a metaphorical right hook. Now, he’s smart enough to know that wetness isn’t a sign of how turned on someone is or isn’t. He can tell that you’ve been enjoying yourself; none of your muscles are tense anymore, you’ve let out plenty of sultry giggles and husky moans or groans. Each time his fingers found your core you’d twitch and arch your back, silently asking for more.
Your voice fills his ears, “We were out on the lake, and the thought of someone seeing us or hearing me... Well, it made me come.”
Doubt creeps in. You want to be in the voyeur rooms, and he brought you here because…well, if he’s brave enough to really look into why it’s because he’s not ready to share. He’s witnessed what you look like when you come twice and it’s fucking magical. Selfishly, showing that to the world means it’s just another thing that’s not for him. He guides you to roll over, bright green eyes clashing with his. He has his job because of his brother, he builds homes for other people to build lives in. Yes, part of this club is for him, but it’s really so others can learn and explore a new side of themselves. Nothing is truly his, aside from you, but that’s not what you want. His stomach feels like it’s doing a free fall. And then, you smile at him and suddenly his stomach is in his throat and his tongue is too big for his mouth and he is so fucking fucked when it comes to you.
I’m falling in love with you. It’s on the tip of his tongue, like a champagne cork, ready to burst out into the room like a celebration. He forces himself to swallow the metaphorical cork - and all his organs - down. Unlike Champagne, it doesn’t feel bubbly and happy. Instead, it feels like bourbon, and not the good kind that’s stocked behind the bar at JMKink. This is the cheap kind that you buy when you’ve had a bad day, that you slam back to temporarily block out the pain and insecurity, the thoughts that scream louder and louder until the amber liquid burns them away.
“Please don’t stop,” you groan, spreading your legs to land on either side of his kneeling form. His eyes trail along your exposed skin, watching the rise and fall of your chest, his mouth going dry at the slightest hints of the tan lines on your shoulders. You sit up, looking up at him through the mask, your almost fully naked body so close to his. “What’s wrong?”
I might be in love with you. I’ve never been in love with anyone, and now I’m having these feelings I can’t explain for a woman I cannot have and is my friend’s daughter.
“T-this,” he clears his throat. “Sorry, just, this is…it’s not what you asked for.”
“Yes it is,” you counter, pulling back and bringing your knees to your chest. The fire in your eyes contradicts the way you’re curled into yourself right now. Determination and vulnerability all wrapped into one little green-eyed brunette-haired package.
“That so? Because I do believe that on that little checklist I told you not to fill out, you wanted people to watch.” He looks around his private room, hoping he’s fooling you into seeing that this isn’t about him feeling overwhelmingly head over heels for you and instead about this being a transaction and an agreement about your desires. “There ain’t no one here but me and you, sweetheart.”
You move towards him, your soft skin not making a sound along his 100% silk sheets that cost him more than his first car. You raise onto your knees and kiss him, moaning into his lips as he kisses you back. It starts soft, and it fucking kills him. But someone out there must be watching over him because it quickly transforms back into that familiar forbidden, lust-fueled desire he’s used to with you. He sinks into the kiss, his hand meeting the back of your neck. He pulls at your hair, his tongue pushing into your mouth. This is easier, this won’t get him hurt - as badly. Before he knows it, he has you tossed over his shoulder as he hauls you out of his room and into one of the more - seemingly - vanilla voyeur rooms.
Hiiiiiii my lovelies! Thanks for the like.... 3 tags in a row @penvisions lol, plus @sin-djarin , @kokoluwie and anyone else who's been tagging me. Sorry for being so MIA lately but I FINALLY left my shitty ass job and am starting my new one soon! Hooray! So I haven't had much time to write before this, but I had a fantastic writing session with my IRL writing buddy and worked on this chapter. I finished the emotional pinnacle that was giving me grief, so now I'm onto the smutty parts and oooooohWEE Frankie is about to be so goddamn filthy while getting squeaky clean in the shower, hehehe. Smut under the cut!
You purr contentedly. “Your fingers are magic.”
“Oh yeah?” Frankie responds, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. His hands slide down the curve of your ass.
“Fuck, Frankie, please,” you beg. He hums, then the sound of the soap squelching in his wet hands echoes around the tiles.
“So pretty when you beg,” he murmurs, massaging the globes of your ass. You let loose another moan, tipping your head back in search of his mouth. Your glute muscles relax at the same time your cunt starts to throb and clench on nothing. Frankie meets your lips with his own, tongues tangling and sliding in a familiar dance. When his sudsed fingers reach your folds, he swallows the gasp you let out.
“Tell me you need me,” he commands gently.
“God, Francisco,” you moan, “need you to touch me.” You cant your hips back to expose yourself more to him, and his cock kicks against you once again. Thick fingers stroke slowly between your thighs to tease you and clean you simultaneously. The intimacy is diaphanous yet strong, a spider’s web of emotions.
“You need me here?” Frankie asks, moving his fingers to the tight ring of your ass. Your gasp this time is loud, surprised, tinged with a growl. He chuckles when you nod your head rapidly.
Summary: After confiscating Ellie’s pot, you and Joel (your friend and neighbour) get high. It’s your first time, and unbeknownst to you, you experience a body high.
TW: USE OF CANNABIS, reader is an OB-GYN, no describing features aside from having hair, dirty talk, flirty banter, fingering (f!receiving), multiple orgasms, pet names (sweetheart, baby).
AN: Okay fiiiiinnnee, I wrote it! And, for once, I didn’t write a sub/dom dynamic OR an AU...who am I?! Thank you @for-a-longlongtime and @lotusbxtch for indulging me in these two little cuties. Thank you to everyone who commented and shared my initial idea post, I haven’t gotten that much interaction since I posted BDSMaid. Full disclosure, I have never rolled or smoked a joint (I'm an edible girlie), so just disregard any inaccuracies there haha. Nothing makes me happier than orgasms and flirting, but seriously…what do we think Joel’s middle name is?!
Word Count: 7.4k
You
You hear them as you walk up the newly refurbished porch steps, a comic book wrapped in brown paper tucked under your arm. Joel and Ellie; her voice angry, his deep and calm. You can’t make out their words, just mumbled tones.
I should turn around, you think to yourself. But you know Joel has always tried to make birthdays a big thing for Ellie. Plus, it’s not like you’re popping by unannounced. You’re their neighbour, have been since the day they got back from whatever little excursion they went on and Ellie invited you for cake this afternoon. Her exact words were “once you get done dealing with the freak show that is pregnant women, come have some cake. Even though I’m not sure how you eat anything after seeing all of that”.
You and Joel had laughed, shaking your head at her perversions around pregnancy and childbirth. As an OBGYN pre-outbreak, and now in Jackson, it’s never bothered you.
You stop on the third step, one hand around the railing that you painted an eggshell white last weekend while Joel started replacing the railing on the raised back deck. Their voices grow louder, they're close enough now that you can make out their words.
“Ellie, stop. Just listen for one second -“ Joel’s voice is almost pleading.
“I said it’s not mine, Joel! Give it back, I will take it to whoever gave it to me.” You hear Joel sigh in response. Ever the firecracker, Ellie continues. “See! You don’t believe me. You’re accusing me. And what’s the big fucking deal anyway? Everyone around here does it!”
“Listen, it’s your birthday. This ain’t…” he sighs again and you can almost picture him; one hand on his hip, the other rubbing at his beard, a habit you’ve noticed when he’s stressed or flustered. “Look, it’s my job to look after you. Impart some sort of wisdom. We don’t know how this shit will affect you long term.”
Ellie’s laugh is cold. “Long term. It’s a fucking apocalypse, man. We could all be gone tomorrow. We could all be gone in the next ten fucking minutes.”
“That’s enough,” Joel starts, his tone firm. You decide to turn around, one of them will come get you if the original plan is still a go. Just as you’re about to head back down the steps, the metal and mesh screen door flies open and Ellie storms out.
“I, ummm, I can come back,” you stammer, taking in the angry teenage flush of Ellie’s cheeks. She’s gotten taller over the winter, her hair longer than you’ve ever seen it. She’d hate that you can’t help but think how adorable she looks when she gets angry, little pieces of hair flying loose around her temples.
“Just go in. He’s on his fucking high horse today,” she says in a grumble as she barrels down the stairs.
“Well, wait. Take this,” you hold your gift out and the scowl softens a little, an almost smile tugging at her cheek. “Happy Birthday, Ellie. I’ll talk to him.”
“Thank you,” she replies, running a hand over your wrap job. “Hey, think you can get my pot back?” She asks, her still childlike innocence burning on the surface.
You laugh softly, “I thought it belonged to a friend.”
She groans, throwing her head back as she takes the last few steps, mumbling to herself, “Having a dad is a pain in my ass. Worse than a FEDRA camp.”
“It’s because he cares,” you call after her, not accusatory, just a fact like the grass is green. Ellie stops, and in the most Joel-like fashion tilts her head back and pinches the bridge of her nose. Her eyes fall shut, her head slumping forward as she shakes it from side to side. Then she makes a statement that almost makes your heart break.
“That’s what makes it worse than a FEDRA camp. The caring. I don’t want to disappoint him, but I am.”
“Oh, Ellie,” you say reassuringly. “You aren’t. This is part of being a teenage girl. Trust me, you are not disappointing him, or anyone else. Go, I’ll talk to him.”
As Ellie walks off, tearing the brown paper from her gift, you turn back toward the house. You and Joel have been friends since the day after he got back. You were fixing the shared backyard fence, and he came out and helped. The residents of Jackson weren’t thrilled when they first arrived, even less so when they got back. But it’s been a few months now, Ellie is settling in, Joel has been an active member of the community, and you know Maria put him next door to you - the well-loved town doctor who delivers all the babies - for a reason; if you were friends with Joel, others would follow. So that’s what you are. Friends.
You pull open the screen door, the old metal rubbing against itself. You make a mental note, another thing for the two of you to fix in the old home that sat abandoned for years.
“Heard there’s a big mean drug confiscator in here,” you joke, toeing off your shoes at the front door. You’re met with silence. You peek your head around into the family room, empty. As you wander into the kitchen you see the back of Joel sitting on the edge of the still unfinished deck, his legs dangling off the drop. The sliding screen is quieter as you exit. You pad barefoot, the wooden boards warm under your feet from the spring sun. You sit beside Joel, the full length skirt of your strapless sundress blowing wistfully in the breeze.
“Hey,” he rasps, and you both look over at each other, his coffee and bourbon eyes shifting from lost to content when he sees you.
The single or widowed women of Jackson have asked you about Joel, saying how handsome he is. Truthfully, a few years ago you probably would have thought the same thing, but this world is too uncertain, too harsh and cruel. All it does is take, so you keep your heart to yourself now. You cherish the friends you have and that’s where it ends. Loving someone only to lose them is something you can’t do…again.
“Hey. That was a joke, just by the way.” You give him a thin-lipped smile.
“Huh?” He asks, kicking his shoes off, watching them fall the few feet to the slowly greening grass before leaning back onto his elbows. You turn to face him, tucking one leg under the other.
“What I said when I came in. It was a joke.”
“Oh,” his voice is sad, face lined with defeat. “I didn’t hear it.”
You pat his denim-clad thigh and joke, “Getting old.”
He snorts, lightly shoving your hand away. “Careful, Doc. You ain’t that much younger than me.”
“Still younger,” you say with a laugh. “So, you wanna talk about it? I wasn’t trying to listen in, just…timing.”
“No, I know,” Joel reassures and then takes a shaky breath. “Honestly, I just feel like I’m lettin’ her down. Ya know? Bickering all the time. Tellin’ her no.”
“Joel,” it’s a soft whisper, full of compassion. His brown eyes find yours again, glossy and wide now, back to being lost.
“She just deserves a life away from all this. It’s not fair. FEDRA camp then gettin’ stuck with my cantankerous ass.” He shakes his head.
“Hey, listen. This is part of being a…well, dad-like figure to a teenage girl. Trust me, you are not letting her down.” Joel lies flat on his deck, staring up at the clouds with one hand behind his head and the other resting on his stomach. You follow suit as you continue. “Just talk to her. Don’t parent her, just talk. She probably feels the same way you do. You’ve both been through horrible things. Together and separate. She’s going to make mistakes, she needs to know she can go to you for support. Just be there.”
For a few seconds, it’s just the leaves rustling in the warm breeze, the smell of grass and damp soil wrapping around you. Spring is slowly erasing any remaining remnants of a particularly harsh winter. Life almost feels back to normal as the two of you lay here, not this new normal of fungus and death, but the before normal.
“Ain’t so good with words,” he murmurs beside you, his breath warming your neck so you roll your head to face him.
“You just used the word cantankerous, so don’t give me that,” you say with a light laugh, your knee knocking his gently.
“You called me that one of the first times we met,” a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth when he says it and your stomach does a weird flip thing. That must be what he does to the other women here to get them all…bothered.
You look back up at the sky, protecting yourself from feeling any sort of way aside from friendly towards this man. “I remember, you were being cantankerous. Just tell Ellie you’re sorry, that you don’t want to fight and you want to be there for her.”
“You sure you aren’t older than me? Wisdom beyond your years,” he praises and your heart now joins your stomach in its weird stutter-and-shutter era.
“I’m sure,” you breathe. “I was a teenager once too. Oh, that reminds me. Give Ellie back her pot.”
Joel sits up straight, no grunt or effort, for fifty something that seems impressive, and you shouldn’t wonder if he has abs under that heather grey cotton t-shirt, but you do. He spins to face you, eyes wide and lips parted in shock.
“What?” You ask, coming up onto your elbows and looking around like you missed something.
“Doc! Were you a bit of a rebel in your youth?” The teasing disbelief of his voice causes you to blush.
“No!” You reply quickly, fast enough that his eyes narrow as he tries to decipher if you’re telling the truth or a lie. He clearly settles on the second option when he responds.
“Don’t worry. It’s just us back here. I won’t alert the town that the goody goody Doc was a bad girl nearly forty years ago.” He pokes jovially at your ribs, electricity jolting from where his finger met your dress to your belly button.
“Gah! That tickles!” You laugh, shifting your body away as you sit up. “I’m being serious, Joel. I’ve never done it.”
“Never?” He questions in disbelief. “We were teens of the nineties grunge era. You never got high off your tree and listened to Pearl Jam or Nirvana in someone’s basement?”
“Joel Angus Miller!” You feign shock. “You little hypocrite!”
“Angus?” He scoffs, rolling his eyes at yet another failure attempt to win your ongoing game to guess his middle name.
“I’m gonna get it one day!” You proclaim before continuing. “You took away a sixteen-year-old's pot, meanwhile you were smoking it at sixteen yourself!”
“Well, Angus is the furthest away you’ve ever been. But okay, I get it. It’s just, I was young and dumb and in a world that’s not as…” he waves his hands around, “well, as fucked up as all this. What if something happens and she’s high and impaired? It’s not like we have phones anymore, she can’t just call me if she needs me.”
You reach out and rest your hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. Both of you look where you’re connected before locking eyes.
“You’re scared,” you say simply and he nods once. “Tell her that, but you’ve got to relax a bit. I know you don’t want to admit it, but she’s right too. None of us is guaranteed a tomorrow and this is the safest place we can be in this, as you said, fucked up world.”
He nods again and sighs, leaning back to reach into his pocket. He pulls out a clear packet of what looks like crushed dried green leaves, little flecks of silvery purple mixed throughout. He moves the marijuana around through the plastic then laughs softly looking over at you while wiggling the bag.
“So…never done it, hey?” His smile is devious yet playful.
“No. My father was a cop -“
“Same.” He cuts you off.
“Rebel,” you quip. “My mom was a nurse.”
You pause, waiting for Joel to maybe open up about his mom. When he doesn’t, you continue. “Anyway, I always wanted to be a physician. Deliver babies into the world. So I was focused. Studying. Pushing. Learning. We were also incredibly religious. Neither of my parents even drank.”
“Huh, not nearly the same then,” he rasps. You glance over at him, his fingers still playing with the bag, he seems sad. You know enough about him not to push, so you keep talking.
“So yeah. Just wasn’t something in my circle, I guess. And then once I was a doctor and had finished my specialty training and had established myself in a clinic and could finally relax the outbreak happened.”
He glances towards you, “Got anywhere to be today?”
You squint at him suspiciously. “No, why?”
Joel doesn’t answer, just stands up, this time with a grunt because of his knees. You watch as he goes into the house, you hear the slide of drawer or two opening before he comes back outside.
“Hold out your hand,” he whispers, an edge of conspiracy and mischief in his voice. You listen though, turning your palm up for him. He places a lighter and a pack of Zig-Zags in your hand, his calloused fingertips brushing against the soft skin of your palm. “Wanna try it?”
You gasp dramatically, your empty hand coming to your chest as you look up at Joel. “I cannot believe that Joel Bartholomew Miller is going to smoke pot he confiscated from a teenager.”
“Onto the B’s now?” You nod, humming a yes. “Still wrong. More wrong than Angus. And I ain’t smokin’ nothin’. You are…if you want.”
You bite your bottom lip, contemplating and not missing the quick dip of Joel’s gaze to your mouth and then back to your eyes.
“I’m not doing it unless you do,” you whisper.
“Alright,” he breathes, sitting down beside you, legs dangling over the edge of the deck again. He takes the papers from you and you watch as his thick fingers work deftly to roll a joint. Something deep in your core flexes when his tongue peeks out to lick a careful line along the paper. He smiles over at you, his handiwork pinched between his thumb and forefinger. “Ready for everything to get a little funnier?”
“Hopefully Maria doesn’t go into early labour,” you joke with a nod.
He brings the rolled paper to his lips, cupping his hand around the bottom of his face. The unmistakable click of a lighter sounds and he sucks, holding in the smoke then blowing it out.
“You, umm, you might wanna go easy on that one. Little bits at a time.” He turns the joint to you. It feels weird and foreign in your hand. You want to chicken out but he only did it because you wanted him to. Plus, you have been curious, so you bring it to your lips. Sucking just a bit, holding the smoke in your mouth then blowing it out.
You raise an eyebrow at Joel. “Nothing happened.”
He laughs, taking another hit. “Give it a minute, and try to actually inhale some.” He blows the smoke out, coughing a little.
As you take your second attempt the gate to the yard clicks open. “Shit,” Joel huffs, grabbing the joint and putting it out the edge of the deck. His reaction startles you, and you sharply inhale a large drag of the smoke before he rips it away. Immediately you begin to cough as Ellie comes into view.
“Smells an awful lot like pot back here,” she huffs. You cough again, smoke passing your lips. The expression on Ellie’s face is one you’ve never seen before, shocked and smug, “Doc!!!”
“I swear,” you rasp, throat hoarse from the smoke, “it’s my first time.”
“Same,” Joel quickly adds.
Her wide eyes swing to his. “Her, I believe. But you, not so much.”
You try to hold it in, you really do, but you’re now slightly high, and even if you weren’t the situation is pretty fucking funny. You burst out into laughter, covering your face and lying back onto the deck.
“Joel! What if someone goes into labour? She’s so fucking high.”
You can’t see him through your hands but you can picture the cocky shoulder shrug he often does. “No one is goin’ into labour. Here…catch.”
The unmistakable sound of a plastic bag being caught by Ellie fills your ears. “Really?”
“Yeah. Just be smart and careful. And if anything goes wrong, come right back home. Okay?”
“You won’t be mad?” Her voice is quiet, so unlike the vivacious girl you know.
“Ellie, I’m never mad. I’m jus’…” his voice trails off. When you peek through your fingers, he’s looking right at you. You twirl a finger in the air, urging him to say it. “I was scared, okay?”
“Ya big softie,” she teases. “I’ll be careful. Can I go with Jesse and Dina for a bit?”
“Home by ten,” Joel warns, his voice dad-like.
Ellie huffs, “Eleven? I’m sixteen now.”
“Eleven, but not a second later because we gotta be up early for that birthday hike. Big surprise, remember?”
“Deal,” she says, her voice further away as if she’s running for the gate already. As soon as the latch clicks closed you break out into laughter again and this time, Joel joins you. His laugh is light and warm, and it might be the single greatest sound you’ve heard in a long time. The weed has made every muscle in your body feel light as air.
“Well, fuck. Guess we got caught,” Joel says through his laughter, standing and extending his hands to you. His large palms swallow yours as he takes them, pulling you to your feet.
You stumble into his chest, one of his hands steadying you at the waist. Not too low, not too high. The perfect and respectable place for two friends to touch. “Whoops. Might be high now.”
“You don’t fucking say,” he laughs. “You inhaled almost the entire thing.”
Once he’s sure you’re steady, he brings the rest of the joint back to his lips, lighting it again. As he’s lost in the haze of his hit you keep your hands on Joel. Mostly because you feel like you have new legs. However, you realize that you’ve never touched Joel like this, so you let yourself linger, deciding you can blame it on him and pot, and not the fact that he is made of warmth and stone. Hard chest and abdomen lined with defined muscle, smelling like thunder and granite.
As your hands trail down his sides he looks at you, his hand coming to your chin, pulling gently to part your lips. Every touch sends sparks along your skin. Sparks you’ve never felt before. Sparks that could gather, fester, grow into something bigger.
Friends, you remind yourself as he tilts his head down and blows the smoke into your mouth. You remember this from a movie that was popular in your post-college years. Shotgunning.
Joel pushes at your jaw, closing your lips and you hold the second hand smoke in your mouth. You’re sure it’s the high, but it tastes sweeter coming from him. Sweeter, yet dangerous.
As you blow out he winks at you, “You okay?”
“Mmmm, yes. Very okay.” You hum, eyes fluttering shut as he pulls you towards the swing at the end of the deck.
“Let’s get you away from the edge,” he sits, his strong legs keeping the swing steady as your muscles move languidly to lie on the three-person seat, your head on his lap. A gust of wind blows your skirt down, the fabric pooling at your hips. But you don’t care, you let it land where it wants. Between the sun and the breeze every inch of your skin feels alive. Joel clears his throat nervously and you peel your eyes open to see him studying you.
“What?” You breathe.
“Nothin’. Never seen you like this before. All free and relaxed. It’s nice. You deserve it.” He smiles at you, the same smile he gets every time he sees you. The only difference between then and now is the way his fingers twirl around the loose strands of hair near your face.
“Sadly, I think the last time I was this relaxed was when I went to Cuba after graduating med school.” Your arms feel heavy, the left one falling off the edge of the seat, the right one tucked between you and the backrest. Your barefeet are planted; knees bent, swaying in time with Joel’s push and pull of the swing.
“Want me to make ocean sounds?” Joel jokes, laughing to himself but keeping his eyes on yours. Your breath catches in your throat at the crinkling skin around his eyes. There must be something wrong with that pot, because while Joel isn’t unattractive you’ve never been drawn to him like this.
“Yes, actually,” you say, calling his bluff. “I’m gonna close my eyes, you make ocean sounds.”
Everything goes dark as your lashes meet your cheeks, and then he starts, soft, staticky noises passing his lips. It’s sweet really, him trying to imitate such a core memory from before the apocalypse. You fight the smile.
“Don’t laugh,” he whispers. His breath feels like it’s skittering over your skin. “I’m tryin’ here.”
“Sorry,” you say back, the hushed tones of your voice matching his.
“Jus’ keep your eyes closed and relax. Feel the sun, there’s a margarita on the way for you.” He continues the soft whooshing sounds.
Any thoughts of hospital supply shortages, of the woman who didn’t make it through childbirth a few months ago, of the real and imminent danger outside of these walls fade away. You’re wholly and utterly relaxed.
“There you go,” Joel hums softly right before the heat of his palm meets your knee. Regardless of the fact that the patella is not considered an erogenous zone, the feeling of his rough finger tips along your smooth skin sends a rush of heat up your inner thigh, burning even hotter as it settles at your clit. You can’t stop the way your body reacts. Back arching off the recently sanded and stained wood, lips parting, a mix of a gasp and moan - sounds friends aren’t supposed to share - leaving your throat.
Both of you freeze, embarrassment overtaking you. You do what you do best, you decide to run. Run and hide, and protect what little peace you have. But your limbs are heavy, and you refuse to open your eyes to see what you’re sure is going to be a horror-stricken look on Joel’s face. It’s clumsy and awkward as you try to navigate your high, the swaying of the swing, and Joel’s hand still clamped to your leg, and the other one now guiding you to lie back down.
“Shh,” he hushes. “Jus’ take a breath. You’re gonna fall.”
As if someone with strings controls your hands they fly up haphazardly and land on your face. “I’m horrified. I’m so sorry. I need to go.”
Your name is a firm whisper on Joel’s lips, lips that you now wonder how they'd feel on your skin, “Look at me, please.”
You shake your head, “No, I’m so sorry Joel.”
You can feel the tremble in his finger, still frozen around your knee. His voice is rougher as he repeats himself, “Look at me, please.”
Unwillingly, you lower your hands, biting the inside of your cheek to stop from making this worse. Not that you think that’s even possible.
“You have nothing to be sorry or embarrassed about,” his voice is soft and kind, but his expression is not one you’ve ever seen before, because much like the sound you made earlier, this too isn’t an expression friends share.
“You said getting high would make things funnier but…” You trail off, you’re a doctor, you shouldn’t be embarrassed to say that you’re overwhelmingly turned on right now.
“Lemme guess. All your muscles feel heavy, every touch feels heightened?” As he says it, his finger traces down the cartilage of your ear.
“Yes,” you breathe, turning your face towards him, exposing your neck in hopes he’ll continue his caress. He pauses at your lobe, pinching it gently. You mumble an airy ‘Joel’ into his t-shirt.
“We can ask each other for anything, remember?” He murmurs, his fingers meeting your neck, eliciting the same response as before; an arch of the back, a throb of your clit, a hum of pleasure.
“Don’t stop,” you groan. His cock hardens along your cheek.
Joel’s rough fingertips dance along your neck and shoulder, each scratch feeling like heaven. Your brain can’t seem to catch up to the pleasure and you melt further into the solid mass of a man and his earthy, damp rock scent.
You can feel him looking down at you, so you peel your eyes open to see a soft smile and dark eyes. His voice matches his innate Joel-like musk - jagged and unpolished - you can tell he has asked this next question before, but probably not for a long time, “Is this still okay?”
“Mmhmmm,” you nod your head, soft cheek scraping against the ever-growing bulge behind his rough denim. “You smell nice.”
His cheeks pink, a small dimple indenting his beard. “So do you.”
“I do?” You question. “What do I smell like?”
Joel's smile goes from serene to downright devious. “Tell me what you need and I’ll tell you how you smell.”
You slip your bottom lip between your teeth, his nearly obsidian eyes tracking the pinch immediately. You study his face. Any time you mentioned an eligible and interested woman to him he’d say she wasn’t his type or that he’s not looking for anything. You’ve seen him talking to women around Jackson, in the dining hall or at the stables, but he never looked at them as he’s looking at you now. He’s also never hauled his toolbox over to their houses after a long patrol to fix a light socket, or brought them the last slice of apple pie to their workplace. It dawns on you now that you’ve always been the one to say you’re friends, and he’s always been the one that agrees.
Joel
“Aren’t we just friends?” Her voice waivers, almost as if she’s finally putting it all together.
I never had the chance to go to the ocean before the outbreak, yet I tried to imitate the crash of waves on rock for her. I have never baked pies, but when she got called away to the hospital on Thanksgiving I took over, watching them carefully and making sure that she got to taste the fruits of her labour.
I clear the recurring lump she causes in my throat. “We can be just friends if you want. But friends help each other.”
The high is making me feel emboldened, so I drag my fingers from her knee, drawing a swirling, irregular line down her impossibly soft thigh. I keep my gaze locked on hers. In my periphery, I can see the rapid rise and fall of her breasts under the stretchy white cotton of her sundress. I know she’s not wearing a bra, and it fucking kills me.
When my fingers get closer to the apex of her thighs her hips buck forward, gifting me with a glimpse of the baby blue cotton panties she has on. My cock presses painfully against the zipper of my jeans and I will it to soften. She doesn’t need to do anything for me. I just want to care for her. However, when she gasps needily all hope of my erection going down is lost.
“No pressure,” I reassure, “but if you want, or need, to come…all you have to do is ask.”
You
Joel’s fingers continue their abstract patterns on your inner thigh. You know he’s seen your baby blue panties, probably has noticed the darker hues of the soaked-through gusset.
Friends help each other.
His echoed words feel as good as his hands. You haven’t let a man please you since shortly after settling in at Jackson. As the single years passed so did the urge for touch.
“Joel Bradley,” you tease, the hand you’ve since re-tucked along the bench reaching up and finding purchase at the nape of his neck. “Tell me what I smell like while making me come.”
“You got a long way to go in that alphabet, sweetheart.” He guides your left leg, pulling your foot so the sole meets the back of the bench then pushing your knee down. Next, he guides the other leg up and over the back of the swing. You’re squirming with anticipation. If the innocent touches feel this good you can’t even begin to imagine how the not-so-innocent ones will feel. “Fuck me, you’re already so wet.”
“You were touching me,” you state, blinking up at him.
Joel’s tongue peeks out, wetting his lips and you wonder how he’d taste. “I love that you’re drippin’ for me. Like I said, you deserve to be relaxed. Deserve someone to care for you. ‘Specially since all you do is care for others.”
He shifts his body slightly, his hand now massaging your left inner thigh, kneading the muscles gently. Fire practically explodes up your leg, and you’re almost convinced you could come without him even touching you. Joel moves his hand in a calculated and methodical rhythm. You gasp and sink further into the feeling.
“How are you feeling?” His voice is tender, yet another side of him you’ve never seen. Unfortunately, in your languid state, your brain can’t seem to think of words.
“Melty,” you sigh, nuzzling into his covered dick. He laughs silently through his nose.
“Good. You’re stunning like this. All soft and free,” his firm but soothing caresses finally meet the crease of your thigh.
“God, that feels so good.”
“Jus’ Joel will do,” he teases, his thumb pressing deeper into your hip, immediately causing you to pant and your hips to flex forward. “If you change your mind, you can tell me to stop.”
You nod again, closing your eyes, fully unable to form words at this point. His cock gets harder - and somehow bigger - with the friction. Then you finally feel a light brush along the seam of your pussy through your panties. You cry out, your left leg coming up to the backrest as pleasure ignites through you.
“I got you,” Joel murmurs. “Open your legs. You’re okay.”
“Just keep talking,” you ask, leg going boneless and falling open for him.
He plays with you again, one finger running up and down again and again. You can feel yourself getting wetter.
“I’ve noticed that you have two scents,” he begins, keeping his part of the deal to tell you how you smell while making you come. “The first is when you’re at work. The hospital smells sterile, but you smell like winter. Icy, but not cold. Fresh. Like a change is coming, and what’s going to bloom after the snow is going to be more beautiful than you could ever imagine.”
He swirls your clit now. Tight little circles with the pads of two of his fingers. “Oh fuck, Joel.”
“Look at me,” he rasps. When you peel your eyes open he continues, “Tell me how it feels.”
“So good,” you mumble, eyes hooded with pleasure. The sun is lower in the sky now, no longer hot on your skin and instead just a golden warmth. “Just a little harder.”
Joel listens, keeping the pace the same but pressing down and you swear you see stars. “Just like that - hnnng, Joel, fuck. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
“I know, baby. I won’t. Not until you tell me to.”
Baby. No one has called you a pet name like that in years and it causes your eyes to roll back into your skull. He’s consistent, steady and assertive, in the way he plays with you. Those are the things you like about him and your friendship.
“J-Joel, I-ohmygod -“ the pleasure is building low in your stomach, spreading around your back and down your legs. Even though the two of you live away from the bustling Main Street of the commune, you worry that you will not be able to keep quiet when an orgasm finally takes you. Your muscles clench, your hand that’s still on his neck cards through his soft hair, tugging gently. Your other hand finds his corded, muscular forearm connected to his hand that’s still gingerly stroking your neck.
“Jus’ relax.”
“I…I can’t,” you bury your face into his stomach, he hisses at the friction along his cock.
“Yes you can, just let go. Then I’ll push these little panties to the side and give you another one. Explain what you smell like when it’s just the two of us.” His voice is encouraging, praising almost. “Take a breath, sweetheart. Jus’ relax.”
You suck a trembling breath in through your nose, exhaling slowly through your parted lips, sinking back into Joel. He said he’s got you. If anything, Joel Miller is a man of his word. He’s proven it time and time again.
“That’s my girl,” he whispers gruffly, then speeds up his delicious assault of your clit. Before you have time to overanalyze it again a quick, yet intense, orgasm slams through your body. You gasp into Joel’s shirt, legs trembling. “There she goes. Let me make you feel good.”
“Holy fuck,” you exclaim, rolling your head back to look up at him. He slows his ministrations, keeping the pressure while your hips cant back and forth. Joel smiles down at you, the late afternoon sun glinting off the greys along his temples and beard. The amber glow gives you a preview of the tan you know he’ll have soon. “I want to take care of you now.”
Joel chuckles under his breath. “I made you a promise. Or were you too engulfed in the feeling of my fingers on your clit that you didn’t hear me?”
Your cheeks flush. In your experience, men say things in the heat of the moment that are erased more easily than a whiteboard the second they’re offered a turn. Your bottom lip slips between your teeth before you hum, “I heard.”
After carefully tucking the loose strands of hair he’s been playing with behind your ear, he twists at the waist, reaching down, fingers playing with the edge of your panties. “These are soaked through, sweetheart.”
His rough fingertips pull your panties to the side. “You know I woulda taken care of this for you a long time ago if you had asked. Been waitin’ for a while now.”
“I didn’t know,” you gasp, a mixture of the breeze hitting your soaked cunt and the whimper that leaves his lips when he sees you bare for him.
“So damn pretty,” he says quietly, as if it were just for him.
He holds your panties to the side, the other hand prodding gently at your entrance, then sliding along your pussy. He touches you everywhere, testing all the areas that make you whimper or squirm while coating his fingers in your arousal.
“Please, Joel. I’m so wet for you.” You're panting. The buildup and anticipation are almost too much.
“Say please again.”
Even though you can’t see his face now that he’s turned his upper body for better access, you know he’s smirking. That little tug of the side of his mouth that didn’t seem to have any effect on you until today. Now, you don’t want anyone else to get that smirk.
Joel pulls his fingers away, using his thumbs to spread you further. He murmurs to himself again, but you’re too lost in the feeling of him to hear it.
“Please, Joel,” a stream of cool air hits your clit and your pussy throbs and clenches around nothing. Everything melts away, you feel like you’re floating. “Please!”
“All you had to do was ask,” he hums and in one slippery push, two of his fingers are buried to the hilt inside of you.
You can’t breathe, unsure if you ever want to breathe again. Especially if it means you get to feel like this for eternity.
Joel
I can’t remember the last time I had my fingers inside of someone I had a connection with. Sure, there was an occasional hook-up here or there. And Tess was willing when I was in Boston. But this is different. Bigger. This woman cares so deeply for others. Deep enough that she befriended my stubborn ass and then went around Jackson singing my praises. Even though I don’t believe there’s a god anymore, so help me god that this woman will be paid back in my praises for as long as she’ll let me.
I move my thumb to her clit, rubbing it back and forth gently as she adjusts to the intrusion of my fingers. She writhes beautifully at my touch as she relaxes around my digits, short little puffs of air passing her perfect lips. I should have kissed her, slowly stripped her of every piece of clothing before doing this. If she lets me have access to her like this again, I’ll be sure to take my time; be sure to make her feel as special as she makes everyone else feel.
You
“S’too much,” I mumble.
“Do you want me to stop?”
I roll my head from side to side rushing out a no and he responds with that quiet little chuckle that sets my skin on fire. “Talk to me.”
His thumb dances lightly along my clit, the walls of my pussy relaxing at his reverence, the pinch of his finger filling me turning into euphoria. I can’t even remember how long it’s been since someone else has touched me, but I know that no one has ever touched me this…completely.
You feel the fingers holding back your panties tremble as he takes a breath. He’s not hesitating, just preparing; though you aren’t sure what for until he starts to speak.
“Moments when it’s just the two of us you smell like freshly ground coffee beans and sugar-crusted banana bread. Both of which seem impossible since we don’t have coffee or bananas,” he curls his fingers forward just a touch. More fire, more electricity, more being floaty and melty all at once. “You’re the coffee shop I used to go to every morning before I went to work. Before weekend soccer practices or dance recitals. You even somehow manage to drown out all the noise, turning it to comfortable background coffee shop chatter.”
His words hang in the air, heady and welcome. You remind him of before. Of a place he went every day. His routine. He once told you he’d do horrible things for a good cup of coffee. You’re his cup, his coffee, his lifeline.
Joel pumps his hand up, keeping the tips of his strong fingers firmly pressed to your G-spot. His hand moves with expert precision, thumb moving along your swollen clit with the motion. Once, twice. Again and again, wholly focused on you. While you know it’s the high making you feel him this intensely, you also think that Joel just might be that good at all of this.
You whimper, burying your face into his side. “Fuck, fuck. Please don’t stop, baby.”
“Never,” he whispers, just as unfazed as you were for being called by anything but your first name. Soft lips ghost along the inner knee that’s over the back of the swing; his beard both tickles and scratches, and you wonder what it would feel like along the rest of your body.
‘All you had to do was ask.’ His words from earlier trickle along your spinal cord.
His pace picks up, pressure behind your belly button becoming almost unbearable. The fire building from his touches evolves; you feel like you’re being dunked in lava. Your hips try to buck forward but you’re trapped by his strong body.
“Joel,” you breathe, your desperation carried away by the breeze.
“I can’t believe how pretty this pussy is. My hand is drippin’. So soft. So tight.” Even with the rough gravel of his voice his words are light and full of praise.
“I’m gonna come soon,” you moan, your hands scrambling to reach for him, desperate to feel his skin under your palms to ground yourself. It feels like an orgasm might rip you in two, singe every nerve ending, leaving you in a heap of trembling nothingness. A husk that only exists for this. For Joel.
“I know, baby, I know. Squeezin’ me so tight, bein’ s’good for me. Relax again. Relax and let it take you.”
As he speaks, a chill runs from the back of your neck to your tailbone, temporarily cooling your overheating flesh before the taunt muscles behind your navel and snap. You muffle your pleasure filled sob into his side.
“That’s my girl,” he says over his shoulder, his dark brown eyes meeting yours as you fall apart for him. “So beautiful.”
Your hands ball into tight fists, holding onto his t-shirt as you moan and gasp, sucking in oxygen in hopes you won’t pass out from how fucking good Joel is making you feel. He adjusts himself, pressing the heel of his palm to your clit and giving your body the room it needs to take over. You fuck yourself into his hand, moving in time with him. The pleasure starts to ebb, and as if he can read your mind he stops his movements, letting you ride it out without pushing you into a state of overstimulation.
He smiles at you, “It’s all you, baby. All you.”
Your hips slow as your orgasm starts to subside. “Oh my god.”
His smile grows, big and beautiful, all dimples and teeth. He looks at you with a benevolent glow, like you single-handedly found a way to end the apocalypse and then hung all the stars in the sky just for him.
You melt back into the swing, sated yet craving more. With his fingers still inside of you he says, “Are you okay? You’re trembling.”
You bob your head and hum an agreeable sound. His fingers slip free easily, coated in your slick. After putting your panties back in place he cups your pussy with his large, warm hand then sits up straight again. His eyes dance around your face and you laugh low and shy.
“Stunning,” he whispers, pushing some hair away from forehead.
“All I had to do was ask, hey?” You tease, chewing on your cheek.
“I’m just following your lead, baby.” The new nickname said not in the heat of the moment makes you blush. “You want to be friends, I’ll be friends. You want to be more, I’ll be more. You want to never speak to me again, I’ll move.”
You gasp, “No! Not the last one.”
“It’s whatever you want, sweetheart.”
You shake your head, “I prefer baby.”
He pulls you to sit up, “Why’s that?”
Joel stands in front of you, grasping your hands as you answer, “Because you call everyone sweetheart…baby is just between us.”
His cheeks pink a little as he pulls you to stand. Your high has lessened a little but the exertion of your orgasm has your legs feeling like jelly.
“Whatever you want…baby.” He says the last word with a wink before pulling you into his chest. He continues, “Anything else you want?”
You smile into his shirt, taking in the stony, earthy scent of him. “Your middle name, and for you to take me to your bed and fuck me.”
His thumb and forefinger grip your chin, tilting your gaze up to his. He dips his head, nose running down yours before he kisses you softly. A lingering press of his lips to yours. He kisses the side of your mouth next, your jaw, your cheekbone, the soft spot below your lobe, then whispers a name into your ear.
“It would have taken me years to get that,” you murmur and he chuckles.
“I was hoping that would be the case,” his fingers link with yours before he guides you into his house and up to his bedroom.
Part Two
I'm going to tag anyone who commented on or reblogged the original story idea, but I'm not starting a tag list again. So please follow @mountainsandmayhem-updates and turn on notifs for future stories!
Hello, I feel that we are all friends here, last night I tried a new edible and it did not disappoint. I was basically this girl and I think my partner was feeling pretty damn proud of himself, he gave me one of these after I tapped out…
LOOK AT THIS BEAUTIFUL ART THAT @kenobiwanx MADE MEEEEE!!!!
🥺🥺🥺
Thank you again!!! I’m still so blown away by how perfect they are.
And thanks to everyone who loved, shared and recommended BDSMaid. I have officially converted it to a novel! You know her as Reader, and him as Joel Miller and JMKink. But hopefully around this time next year, they’ll be re-introduced to you as Georgia Jones and Rhett Sawyer.
Sorry I've been so absent lately! I have a few things in the works atm and I'm hoping to have some stuff to share soon. I'm on vacation with the husband, my parents, my brother and my sister in law at the moment but I've been enjoying writing in some incredibly pretty places while we're here.
Sneak peek is below the cut! Thanks for putting up with my shit!
She closed the door loudly behind her and you laughed as Joel shook his head, watching you.
“That’s a time honored tradition, right?” You said. “Teasing your kid about crushes and the sex talk?”
“Think so,” Joel said, coming to sit beside you. You sat forward as he did, looping your arms around your legs and propping your chin on your knees so you could get closer to him, still aware that your niece was awake and not far away. He smiled a crooked smile, one just big enough to make his cheek start to dimple. He leaned closer. “You behave yourself this week?”
“Don’t you get a report out from Seth before he passes me off?” You raised your brows.
Joel shrugged.
“Think you got him all wrapped around those fingers of yours, dunno if I can trust his feedback.”
“And you can trust mine?”
“Dunno,” he smiled just a little bigger. “Like to think I can.”
“Well,” you said, stealthily stretching a foot forward to run along the inside of his thigh. “You know how I like to behave.”
Daddy Is A State Of Mind @mountainsandmayhem - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
