jack knows your routine like the back of his hand. you take your time in the shower, getting all relaxed and wet for him. you slather lotion all over your naked body. and you slink into jackâs study where heâs finishing some reading or watching something on his ipad. youâre always stark naked and glowing, chirping âiâm ready for bed, daddy!â
he knows what you want from him, what you need. but he plays along just for that little song and dance, and his response may vary. sometimes he cocks his head up and drags a slow gaze over your curves until he meets your eyes. he replies in a soft grumbly voice, âokay darlinâ, iâm cominâ.â or when he smirks and leans back in his chair, patting his lap. when you plop down on his thigh he gives your tits and ass a good squeezing and puts his tongue down your throat. he might even get impatient and fuck you over his desk. but some nights you get the the dreaded âalright, have a good sleep babyâ without even a glance. just to feel him slink into your bed twenty minutes later and palm your pussy with his big hand. waking you up for a snuggly, desperate little fuck.
When you woke up, you didn't smell John's cigar or the smell of breakfast cooking, which made you pout. You hated to admit it, but you'd gotten attached to your boyfriend in an almost codependent way. It was entirely his fault, and had been his plan all along, but you didn't need to know that.
You slowly crawl out of bed, the nightgown John had bought you brushing against your thighs. It was a simple plain slip, just like all the others, but it always made you feel cute. Special. John didn't ask if you had wanted the nightgowns. He had just bought them for you; he didn't ask if you wanted your steak cut up; he just made sure it was when he gave it to you.
Just like he didn't ask if you needed a babysitter for the weekend; he had just left one with you.
"Uncle Nik!" You squeal once you see him, leaning lazily against the kitchen counter as he drinks his tea. He chuckles when you all but pounced on him, arms wound tight around his neck. "I didn't know you were coming to visit!"
"Your Dad didn't tell you?" He presses his hand to your lower back, slowly wandering down. He squeezes your bottom, letting out a disappointed sigh when he realizes you aren't wearing any panties. "Do you always sleep bare?" He murmurs as he flips up the back of your nightgown, relishing in the squeak you let out.
"It's summer, Nik! I get sweaty at night." You protest, gasping when he spreads your cheeks apart. "Uncle Nik, stop.." You whimper in embarrassment, breath hitching when his calloused finger trails between your folds.
"Does your Dad know you sleep bare? All exposed like a dirty girl?" He chuckles as he slowly flicks your clit back and forth with his index finger. "That you cling onto your uncle with a wet cunt, already ready for taking?" He grabs your head, forcing you to stare at him.
"Sometimes Dad wants to have me when he can't sleep." You admit, shoot up onto your toes when he pinches your clit roughly. He forces his knee between your legs, leaning up against the counter for leverage. Your clit brushes roughly against the fabric of his jeans, one of his fingers prodding at your hole.
"Still doesn't explain why you cling to your Dad's best friend with no panties on. Did you want me to do this? Hmm? To treat you like the dirty girl you are?" Your breath hitches when two of his fingers press deep inside you. The burn of the stretch was perfect, a small moan breaking free from your throat.
"Mm, I was right." He chuckles, fingers pumping faster as he grinds your hips down onto his thigh. "I'll make sure you remember to put your panties on before you leave your room, yeah? What if your brothers had been here? Would you have flaunted yourself for them as well?"
"No! No, Uncle Nik!" You plea as you writhe in his grip. He was unrelenting, fingers pressing against your sweet spot brutally. You clench around his fingers as an oragsm ripples through you, soaking the denim underneath you.
"You're lucky they aren't here. Hungry boys, they are... they would've loved a look at this sweet cunt early in the morning." He purrs, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Stop squirming, girl... Let Uncle Nik teach you a lesson."
Thinking about ghost who never realized what dom-drop is despite always being a dom...
Truthfully, ghost doesn't know anything about kink. What he knows he learned in shitty divebars or in the back alleys with strangers that felt like every wrong decision. Spent his time rutting into people he met hours before, hands around throats or blades to skin between growled insults.
He learned he had to take care of them afterwards, that part came naturally. Ghost never had anyone take care of him.
He knew, deep down, that he was the sick thing. For wanting to hurt people, for getting off on it. Of course no one asked if he was okay, he was the one who hurt them when they asked, not the other way around.
Then you come along and you're different from the others.
You talk to ghost days in advance, ask him what he's comfortable with and purse your lips when he rattles off a list of everything he's done. When you take ghost to bed, it's different. It's good.
Intense is the only way he can describe it. Intense and intimate and real, your skin beneath his hands and your blood pooling into a fresh bruise. It's precision and connection and euphoria with you beneath his hands.
When it's over, ghost is already drawing away.
He knows what comes next. The anger, the shame. The disgust with himself for every enjoying such a thing, for allowing him to believe you wanted it too.
"Hey, hey, siâ" soft hands break him out of it, forcing ghost to look at you. Your cheek will surely bruise tomorrow, but your voice is tender when you say "thank you. You did good."
"Whâ whatâ?" Ghost furrows his brow, stomach rolling.
"Thank you. You did right by me. I loved it." You press a kiss to his nose, then wince when you stand up "help me run the bath, yeah? I think it's big enough for us both."
Later, when ghost is snuggled against you in bed still warm from the shower, he'll think oh. This is it, huh?
This is that warm good feeling everyone online talks about. That feeling of belonging and love. Ghost kisses the back of your neck, and for once he doesn't question if he deserves to touch you after everything he did.
simon riley and his spouse don't wear wedding rings.
work makes it risky for him. you simply don't want anything between your skin and his when he entwines his fingers with yours.
instead, you get matching tattoos. small, black hearts on the inside of your ankles, and identical ones tucked behind his ears - hidden by the mask at work, and by tufts of blonde hair when he's at home.
no dates. no names. nothing that would obviously link the two of you.
now heâs got you folded in a mean mating press - knees crushed to your chest, legs hooked over his shoulders, cock buried as deep as it can go. every thrust makes you whimper, nails biting into his biceps, his breath hot as it fans over your neck. your ankles press against the sides of his head; the hearts tattooed there lining up perfectly with the ones behind his ears - permanent reminders of your favourite position to be in together.
jack abbotâs tummy. thatâs it. thatâs the post.
fem!reader, mdni. chokehold, doggy style, dom!jack. porn no plot
youâd insist that he fucked you doggy, forearm and bicep curling around your neck, squeezing just enough to enhance the dizzying sensation his cock ramming into your cervix gave you.
his tummy was warm and heavy, pressing up against the divot of the small of your back, arching perfectly for him to fit against you like a puzzle piece.
whining around his arm, desperately pawing back at his tummy, trying to tug him harder against you.
âstop whininâ.â heâs growling against your ear in between rough pants, cock slowly dragging out to just the tip, pausing momentarily before plunging back inside your greedy cunt with sheer force.
âmngh⌠jusâ need it.â you complain, drooling down against his freckled skin.
âoh, youâre fuckinâ taking it.â grunting as his muscles around your neck contracted. you just nodded along dumbly.
someone tries to pick you up at the club while youâre at the bar, grabbing drinks for you and price. when you look up, you blink in disbelief because itâs the same fucking guy that tried rubbing himself on you while you were feeling yourself on the dance floor, greedy hands finding purchase on your hip. thank god for john who yanked him away by his collar and telling the asshole to beat it. youâre clearly very unavailable and very much uninterested so what the fuck is this dudeâs deal?
âcâmon, sweet thing,â he says, crooning. âwhy donât we go somewhere private?â
âare you serious?â you ask, crossing your arms in front of you, the anger now shadowed by self-consciousness. you know that the issue isnât you but you canât help but feel that way when someoneâs blatantly disrespecting your boundaries.
he shrugs, shooting a sleazy grin your way. âyeah, why not? âsides, you see anyone else out with their dad tonight?â
you pause, the anger and discomfort petering away for a moment of utter confusion becauseâ
âwhat?â
he nods his head somewhere behind you and you turn, seeing john stalking close, having seen the asshole whoâs back to bother you.
âi mean,â said bother starts, so utterly submerged in his wrong assumption. âitâs sweet that youâre spending time with him and everything but donât you wanna hang out with someone from your generation? what, was mommy too busy for your step-dad?â he laughs at his own joke. at least heâs entertaining himself, you suppose.
john finally gets close, his arm curling over your hip to splay his palm on your stomach. you uncross your arms, hand finding his to hook your fingers.
âwhatâs goinâ on here?â john asks and impatience coats his words.
the man turns to you, eyebrow cocked like youâre about to take him up on his offer, like the fact that youâve yet to reject him means that youâre considering him as an option but thatâs not the dilemma that youâre going through right now. because explaining to the asshole that john is certainly not your dad would be easier, but a sudden fever has taken root in the pit of your stomach. itâs slowly steeping, making its way to your core, lighting you up.
âsweetheart?â john asks again, this time softly.
you gulp down the spit that pooled underneath your tongue and turn just enough to catch johnâs eyes.
âhe wants me to ditch you for him, dad,â you say, pursing your lips in your fake distress. johnâs reaction isnât obvious, but you feel his palm spasm on your stomach, as well as the way his chest rattles in his next breath.
his gaze darkens and he pokes at the inside of his cheek with his tongue, making it jut outâand oh he looks so delicious like this when his desires slam into him unexpectedlyâbefore he pulls you behind him to tower over the man propositioning you with a boring time.
âi told you to beat it, didnât i, son?â johnâs voice is deep, intimidating. the man buckles at hearing john like heâs just realizing how much dangerous the man before him is.
âi justââ
âstop bothering my little bird and leave.â john isnât yelling but his command is resolute; itâs unthinkable for anyone to disobey him. the man looks at you then back at john before turning around and running away to disappear amidst the throngs of people.
you smother a giggle behind your palm and turn to thank john but johnâs leaning far too close, his breath hitting the bows of your lips.
âjohn?â
he tuts. âsânot what you called me, sweetâart.â
your eyes widen, the hunger coming back angrier. you part your lips, trying toâ
what? deny him, deny yourself, what it is thatâs bubbling in your core? johnâs looking at you with a question, his need palpable, hot to the touch, and its balm is simple. all you need to do is be good.
ââŚdad?â you try, voice a fragile hum. your body locks, cunt dampening, making your panties stick to your skin uncomfortably.
âthere she is,â john coos, and he sounds so, so proud before he cups your jaw with his big, warm hands. ânow why wonât you be a good girl and show your olâ man a good time, huh?â
MmmmmmâŚ.. knight!Simon who fell in love with whore!reader and promised heâd return when he had earned enough to buy her freedom and take her as his wife. He disappears, and you hear rumors of his capture, that he has almost certainly died. You weep for himâ of course those romantic dreams were too good to be true.
Only for a knight in dark armor to approach your brothel on horseback, a skull plate welded to his helm, a sword with blood still flaking from its pommel at his hip. The madame has you all lined up, smacking those who dare to tremble in front of an honored guest with her riding crop. A bag of gold, far more than the price for a single night, gets tossed on the counter as a hand gauntleted in black steel points at you.
âSir, this is more thaââ
âNot âere to stay the night. Oiâm takinâ that one with me.â
