It was all part of the turn-on, to seduce a man and make him believe he was the one owning me. But men can be so silly, at times. They always think they are the only ones with nasty perversions. So few of them think that someone like me, some delicate looking little tipsy woman, can be the one holding the reigns. You just have to do it right. You just have to make them believe they’re raping you.
I found him at one of my favorite prowling spots. A dive bar, on the other side of town. Low lights, loud music, packed to the brim with college kids and party goers. It’s always so easy to look vulnerable there, you just have to wear the right clothes and walk with a slight stumble. He swooped in on me right away, tall and strong, telling me he was going to get me home safe. I feigned drunkeness and tripped into the cab and pretended not to see the devious smirk on his face as he directed the driver to his apartment. He was all mine.
And now he was on top of me. It didn’t take long, of course. I was dripping wet and he was rock hard at the idea of fucking. He pushed me onto the bed and laughed about how naive I was for following him home. I struggled and begged for him to let me go but he covered my mouth with his hand and pushed my skirt up. Of course I had prepared for this, and he laughed when he found I wore no underwear.
“Fucking drunk whore, you fucking want this cock,” He whispered in my ear. “I saw you take all those shots by yourself. I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’ll regret ever leaving your house.”
“Please don’t,” I pleaded. I did my best doe eyes and let a few tears slip, “Please sir, I can’t. Please don’t fuck me.”
He rubbed his cock along my slit and pushed in slightly. He was thick and I could already feel him throbbing with want. I gasped and he rutted against me again.
“So fucking tight, so good…” He whispered, “Fucking drunk slut. You fucking want my cock deep inside you.”
“No, don’t rape me. Please don’t rape me.”
That was all it took. He pushed into me, splitting me open. I moaned loudly, pushing my face against a pillow so he wouldn’t see the look of pleasure on my face. He started fucking me, hard. His hands were on my wrists above my head and he was gripping me tighter and tighter. His cock felt so good thrusting in and out of me, my trembling body quivering with each stroke.
“Drunk little fucking whore. You’re so fucking tight.” He bit my neck over and over again, moaning loudly, “So fucking good. You like this? You like my cock in your pussy?”
I shook my head and cried no, no, please stop fucking me.
“I’m keeping you here all night so you can learn your fucking lesson.”
My body swelled with hot pleasure. My pussy was soaking wet and clamped down firmly on him, my walls tightening with every stroke. I let out the tiniest of moans and shook as he ground himself further into me.
“You fucking like this. I fucking knew it.” He growled in my ear, “I knew you’d go crazy for this, baby.”
He slammed into me again and again and again. His mouth went from my ear to my lips, kissing me deeply. I loved it when they did that. They always thought they were violating me even more, making me more submissive to their little rape game. I held still until he demanded I kiss him back, and I did so, reluctantly at first. Then I kissed him deeper and deeper.
One hand went from my wrist to my tits, squeezing roughly. He bit my lip and then moved his mouth to my nipple, sucking hard.
Then I felt him start to swell. His thrusts became deeper but irregular and his breathing was harder and harder.
“I’m going to fucking cum. I’m going to cum for you, baby. You milked it all out of me.”
“Please,” I whined, looking up into his eyes. “Please don’t cum in me, I’m not on birth control.”
His thrusts paused and he laughed. “Not on anything?”
“Please, my life would be ruined.” I squeezed on his cock and let a tear roll down my cheek, “Please don’t ruin me.”
He began thrusting again, laying himself flat against me. “Oh fuck, gonna ruin you. Gonna ruin your perfect body.”
“Please, don’t,” I whispered, barely able to keep the pleasure from my voice.
“Gonna cum in you. Gonna knock you up. Gonna punish you, you fucking whore.” His thrusts were lazy but deep, splitting me open with each push, “Gonna fucking ruin you. Gonna keep you here all night and rape you till you’re pregnant.”
“Please, don’t. Pull out. Pull out!” I screamed. That was all it took. My body shuddered with heat and I cried out as I came. My fear and my fantasy all rolled together beneath this sweaty stranger and his thick cock. I was in his power, I was his toy.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. Gonna fuck a baby into you. Gonna get you pregnant, take my fucking load!” He thrusted harder and harder and harder, “Cumming in youuuuuuuuuuu!”
Harder and faster and deeper and harder and faster and deeper. His balls slammed against me and I felt the telltale rush of heat in my cunt. He yelled out and pushed down against me, forcing himself as deep as he could into my tender body. Cum splashed in me, his cock twitching as he emptied himself into me.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck. Have my baby, bitch. Have my fucking baby.” He slapped me hard and bit my throat, “Fucking little plaything. Have my baby, worthless slut.”
He fucked me slowly until his cock was completely soft, laying on top of me and keeping inside of me. I was shaking from my own orgasm, my face against his shoulder. It took everything I had not to smile and laugh. He was going to fuck me to my hearts content and he had no idea I had planned it all along.
“You loved it. You fucking slut. I’m going to rape you all night…” He whispered, “Knock you up, make you pregnant… nothing you can do to stop me.”
I struggled in vain and faked trying to get away from him. He slapped me again and kissed me hard.
“All mine, little breeding bitch. You shouldn’t have left your house tonight…”
A story for the “college uniformed classmates” anon. If you enjoy this story, please consider buying me a coffee. 💝
My first semester in college was rough. I had moved two states away from my family and was desperately lonely. Luckily an acquaintance from my hometown had also come to the private college, and he had become my new best friend. Handsome in a non-intimidating way, especially in his uniform tie & jacket, and comforting in his confidence. At the end of classes that first semester I sat with him in his dorm room, and told him I was worried about the upcoming party season. The boys had been grabby and mean to me already, and I was worried about trying to date when I was so shy and inexperienced. He stroked my arm reassuringly and said, “A lot of us boys get nervous too. We act like assholes to mask the fact that we don’t know how to treat girls.” I admitted that I didn’t really know what I wanted out of a boy. I’d only had one boyfriend in high school, and our sex didn’t go well. I didn’t even really know what I liked. His hand on my arm became still, and I felt him lean closer. “Would you like me to help you find out?” Something inside me awoke, sending needy tingles into my pussy, while I told myself what a risky idea it was. After a moment I did ask for his help, and he reached over to caress my breast through my uniform shirt, and softly asked, “Does this feel good?” Blushing but not moving away from his touch, I said yes. He groped again, harder, and I heard myself whimper in pleasure. “And this, is this nice too?” He pinched my nipple hard enough to make me gasp. Heart racing, I nodded, too aroused to stop him. He unbuttoned my shirt, putting his mouth on me. “How’s this feel, baby? Do you like when I suck on your nipples?” I closed my eyes, nodding. “You have nice big nipples. So easy to suck. And bite. And twist.” I cried out as he pulled on them. Felt my pussy start to throb. Nervous but excited, I let him lay me down on the sofa. “Now let’s see what your little pussy likes.” Blushing, I giggled as he pushed my plaid skirt up, then pulled my panties down. “Fuck, your pussy is beautiful. Look how pink and soft you are.” Felt his fingers spread me open and I moaned. “Oh, you like it when I open you up? Does it feel good to have your little cunt spread and inspected?” Panting, I nodded and said yes. He moved in and began licking, moaning as he did. I groaned as he ate me. My legs shook as his hot tongue fondled my folds and circled my sensitive clit. My hands grabbed and pulled at my skirt, ruining the pleats as I tried to watch him. “That’s a good girl. You like it when I suck your little clit?” No one had ever given me oral attention before, and in a shaking voice I told him so. He scoffed. “Unacceptable. A boyfriend should eat your pretty little pussy every chance he gets. Listen to the sounds you make,” he pushed two fingers inside me, licking my clit at the same time. I groaned, I cried out, and my pussy started to throb around him. He moaned as I came in his mouth, fingering me until I dripped. Shaking, almost crying, legs weak, I calmed slowly as he whispered, “Good, shh, that’s it. Good girl. So nice and wet.” I felt a new pressure on my pussy, and I peered down nervously. My friend had flipped his tie over his shoulder and unzipped his slacks - his cock lay throbbing on my exposed cunt. I whimpered. He stroked the length up and down my slippery lips. Uncircumcised, thick, and deep pink with restraint, oozing precum that he rubbed into my wetness with his strokes. “Do you like my cock?” I nodded, suddenly needy again. I knew my pussy was small, and sex with my boyfriend had hurt, and I told him so. He fit the head of his cock into my soaking wet opening. I covered my mouth as a whimper escaped. “Don’t be scared. You’re so wet for me… you’re so ready for my cock to slide inside you. It’s okay.” He pushed forward, stretching my little hole little by little until he suddenly slid a few inches inside me. He felt completely different than my boyfriend had- he was thicker, hotter. “How does that feel? Do you like the way my cock feels inside you?” I whimpered about how big he was, how it felt he wouldn’t fit. He pumped in and out of me slowly, groaning as he did. I felt him pushing a little deeper every time, almost reaching my limit. I whined that this wasn’t a safe time. He nodded, but didn’t pull out. “You feel so nice and wet. Doesn’t my big, bare cock feel so good inside you?” I nodded, moaning that I’d never felt anything so deep. He rolled my clit under his thumb, making me tremble as another orgasm pulsed through my body. “Good girl, that’s right… cum on my cock… fuck, you feel so good shaking like that.” He thrust in and out of my pussy in long and smooth motions, both of us panting. “God, your little cunt feels so good. Look at how well you take my cock… so deep into your pussy… Fuck yes, baby, you like getting fucked while you cum?” I nodded as I groaned, achingly full of his cock, shaking with aftershocks. I felt so special, so warm from his attention. “You like my raw dick inside you? Feeling it fill you up? You like fucking me instead of a high school idiot?” I whimpered yes as he pounded deep. Whimpered yes as he pulled me into his lap. Whimpered yes as he sat me up to ride him. No more thrusting, just rocking my wet pussy on his cock. Skirt bunched up over my hips, my tie swinging between my breasts. He swore, feeling my cervix grind open on his dick, while I leaned onto his shoulders for stability. “God, you’re gonna make me cum soon, baby, do you want that? You want to make me cum with your tight pussy? Fuck, yes… yes, that’s it…” I rolled my hips into him, moaning yes, pressing my womb against him, desperate to feel him cum. “Don’t stop, baby. Just like that… fuck me just like that, yes…” I sank down one more time, cervix spread over his cockhead, and he held me there. “Fuck, oh fuck, I’m cumming inside you… Fuck… I can’t stop. I can’t stop, baby, I’m gonna get you pregnant… fuck…” His cock throbbed hard, and I groaned in surprise as waves of cum filled me. I whimpered, rocking against him, feeling him inside my uterus. “Oh God, yes… fuck… do you like that? Do you like getting filled with my cum? You like taking it deep… all the way into your womb?” He held me down to him and pushed his load as deep as he could, lost in pleasure. I felt lightheaded. I felt wanted. My cervix closed, keeping his cum inside, and he continued to fill my pussy with his cum for another minute. I laid still on him until he leaned me back down on the bed, pulling his soft cock out and inspecting me. His cum slid slowly out, staining my uniform skirt, and he stroked it through my folds, making me gasp again. “That was risky, baby. I was so deep inside you, and you made me cum so damn much… but you liked it, didn’t you? You liked feeling a man cum inside you, filling your little cunt, making it his. Now you know what to ask your dates to do for you.” I nodded, reassured. I thanked him for helping me discover what I liked.
"i know, baby," you reassure me, running a soothing hand up and down my thigh. "here, how about this—i'll put just the tip in. that way you don't have to worry about it hurting and it'll be easier for me to pull out. how does that sound?"
you see i still have a concerned look on my face and feel a flash of annoyance. "or," you start casually, pulling away from me, "we can just not do this at all. i understand if you're not ready."
i panic. i don't want to wait another month just because i'm a worrywart. besides, i know you, i can trust you to take care of me, right?
a smile creeps over your face. "there's my good puppy."
you ease my hands into a tie behind my back, reassuring me it's just so they don't get in your way, and push my face into a pillow. i can feel you admiring the view of my ass and pussy perfectly presented for you and dripping despite my protests from earlier
without any warning, i feel your blunt cockhead at my hole. you start to press in. i squirm against the stretch and you press a hand in the center of my shoulders to immobilize me. "you agreed to this," you remind me
you keep your word—after only the tip is in me you start to pull out to prepare for another thrust. i relax a little bit. some part of me was worried you would go back on your promise, but that was obviously just my anxiety going haywire again. i can trust you, it'll be okay
at first the thrusts stay shallow, and i can feel that i'm starting to lose myself in the pleasure. i guess that's why i didn't notice you were getting deeper and deeper until suddenly your hips slap into mine. i make a surprised noise, but you just push my face deeper into the pillow and shush me
i'm squirming by now, and i start to cry as your thrusts get harder and faster. i try to shake my head, sit up, get away, something, but i'm pinned under your arm and the knots hold fast. to make matters worse, the pleasure is getting to my head, making it fuzzy so i can't think clearly
i'm drooling by the time your hips press flush against mine, i feel your cock twitch, and the warmth of your cum begins to fill my womb
my drool mixes with my tears, my shoulder shake as i cry. you're breeding me. i don't want to get knocked up, i can't! i have to finish school and then find a job and i can't afford a kid! but at the same time, god you fucking me feels so good
you finally pull out and for a moment i think that's the end of it. my hole twitches and i can feel a glob of cum leak out. suddenly your fingers are there, scooping it up and pressing it back into me
i don't know whether to moan or cry, so i do both
"dumb whore," you mutter, and start easing yourself into my cunt once again, and i realize the night's only just beginning
The roads are nearly empty, it is late and my mind is elsewhere. My boyfriend is waiting for me and I don’t intend to keep him waiting long. I’m not wearing much, I dressed swiftly… provocatively… but at this late hour, no one else will know. I zone out, cursing the five-inch heels on my feet that are making driving much more difficult than it needs to be.
My gaze wanders to the odometer, which reads 103 MPH. Shit! How long have I been speeding like that?
Just as the thought crosses my mind, I glimpse the police car nestled between the trees, just waiting to clock someone for speeding. I slam my brakes, knowing I’m probably the only person that has passed him in at least an hour, and he’s going to jump at the opportunity to pull me over.
I try to fight the tears. My license is clean! No points, no record at all. I have never been pulled over before. It wasn’t even eight months ago that I passed the road test.
As expected, he quickly pulls out behind me, flashing red-and-blue lights filling my vision. I slow down, pull over, and put the car in park. Trying and failing to blink away the tears, I dig in my purse for my ID.
Minutes pass, and my heart is pounding. I flip the car’s visor mirror open to see my reddening eyes rimmed with mascara-stained tears. Slamming it shut, I huff and run a hand through my long, dark hair. As if there’s a point in trying to fix my makeup - if this officer decides to be harsh with me, I’m just going to cry more anyway.
A knock on my window startles me out of my self-pitying thoughts. I roll it down, blinking at the cop. He’s about six feet tall, average build, late forties, dark hair.
“Hi,” I squeak.
“Hi,” he states. “Do you know how fast you were going?”
Should I lie…? Maybe if I say no, he’ll believe it was just an accident and let me go.
“No, sir.”
He sighs, frustrated. “I caught you on the laser going 103. The speed limit is 70.”
“Oh.”
He asks for my documents, and I provide them with a trembling hand. He eyes me strangely, and I shrink into my seat as he stalks back to his car. I hate to admit that he’s kind of hot. I feel a rush of embarrassment that in the midst of getting pulled over, I’m fawning over the officer’s appearance.
“Rachel?”
I jump, and he hands me my ID and registration.
“So, we’ve got a ticket for going 33 miles over the limit, which is also a reckless driving ticket. You’re lookin’ at a hell of a lot of fines… and a suspension of your license.”
“No, no, no,” my voice cracks as the tears start flowing, “Please, officer, I have a clean record, I’ve just finished college, I can’t afford the fines or to lose my license! I just got my license. How will I get to class? How could I even afford class after that?”
“Don’t start the waterworks with me, little girl. No one forced you to speed, let alone speed thirty-three miles over. Maybe taking the bus for a bit will teach you a lesson about driving recklessly,” he snapped.
Embarrassingly, his harsh, authoritative tone affects me instantly between my legs. Panic clouds my ability to reason, and I resolve that begging is the only chance I have at keeping my license.
“Please. I’ll do anything. I will never be able to afford the fines, I only make minimum wage and I can barely make my rent as is. Please, I- I swear I will never speed again,” I stutter shakily through my tears.
He observes me for a moment, much to my humiliation. What a stereotypical 21-year-old college girl, trying to cry her way out of a ticket. I swear I notice the ghost of a smirk on his face. Is this fucker amused by me crying?
“Judging by the extent of your recklessness, I can’t be sure that you aren’t under the influence of drugs. I’m going to need to search you. Please step out of the vehicle.”
Drugs?! My face drains of all colour. I feel like a criminal, being searched by a police officer. I hear my heartbeat thrumming violently in my ears as I smooth my short black dress over my thighs. Taking a shaky deep breath, I step out of my car.
“I - uh… w-where do you want me?” I ask, holding my hands up in compliance.
Not bothering to respond, he grips my shoulder and turns me around, places his hand on the center of my back, and pushes me forward so that I am bent forward over my hood.
“Hands on the car, Rachel. Anything on you that I should know about?”
I self-consciously worry about my dress riding up as I place my hands on the hood, but I’m too scared to change my position or make him angrier. Just do what he says, make him happy, and he will let you go, I feebly try to reassure myself.
“No, sir.”
I stiffen as he pats my sides down, uselessly, since I’m only wearing a tight, short black dress with thin straps and a low neckline. Hard to hide anything under an outfit like that. His hands linger over my ass, and finally, the light bulb goes off in my head. No way. I’m not whoring myself out to get out of a speeding ticket.
Anxiety rushes through me, realising both of our cars are switched off, and we’re pulled over on the side of a dark, secluded highway. He could say or do whatever he wants - passing cars, if there were any, wouldn’t be able to see us.
“Um, officer,” I try to sound as assertive as possible, “I don’t think—”
“If you speak one more word without being asked, I will handcuff you and take you to jail for resisting arrest.”
My heart pounds. I shut my mouth, as it seems to be the best option.
His hands feel large and strong as he squeezes my ass, hooking his fingers ever-so-slightly under the skirt of my dress. I press my thighs together, knowing he can grope me whichever way he pleases and there’s no one around to see. A burst of fear, and something else, blooms deep in my stomach.
“Legs apart, young lady,” he orders as he pats my hips.
I cannot help rolling my eyes, but I follow the command.
“Wider.”
I can practically hear the smirk dripping from his voice. Fucking creep! The tears return as the reality of the situation dawns on me. I’m completely powerless. I try to assess my odds at escaping from the situation, whether I have a solid chance at fighting him.
“You said you’d do anything, Rachel?” he says quietly but firmly, trailing his fingers up my skirt, discovering my lack of panties. I curse myself, feeling my pussy dampening due to his masculine touch.
“Pleade… Don’t touch me!” I cry, humiliated, overtaken by vulnerability. I whip around on him, trying to catch his jaw with my fist. He blocks my fist and grips my wrist, stopping me in my tracks. His cold, dark eyes bore into mine, and I blush immediately. He definitely notices, and it seems that I am entertaining him.
“I wasn’t going to do this, but since you can’t just be a good little girl, I guess I have to,” he states, emphasising good little slut mockingly. He removes a set of handcuffs from his belt and turns me around to bend me over the car completely.
He cuffs both wrists behind my back within a minute. Having effectively ruined my one shot at escape, I continue to cry, half terrified and half humiliated that he will see my soaked panties and know why they’re so wet.
“Don’t you dare move,” he warns.
I feel the cool breeze across my skin as he slowly inches my skirt up over my ass, grazing his fingers over puffy labia. Aching desire pools in my stomach, and I feel like such a dirty girl.
He gently palms over my pussy, and I have to suppress a moan. He slips his other hand up my shirt, tweaking my nipple that I haven’t realised was aching to be touched. Without warning, he slips two fingers inside my pussy, making a wet sound that simultaneously fills my entire body with shame and hot desire. He stills with his fingers inside me.
“I’m not a monster, and I would never take a woman without her consent, so I’ll give you a choice, Rachel. You can go, but you will still deal with the legal consequences of your reckless driving. Or, you can please me, let me fuck you, and I can consider this a small mistake, letting you go with a warning,” he says firmly, driving his fingers inside me again as he finishes his speech.
“No, please don’t,” I beg instinctively.
I feel so needy. My nipples are aching. I don’t want to feel like a whore! But he’s hot, and I need something inside me so bad it hurts, and I can’t afford the ticket.
“You’re soaking wet for me, little Rachel. A girl who looks like this on a Friday night is obviously looking for cock. But if you’re sure, I will go and write the ticket.”
“No! Wait. I— I can’t afford that…” My whimper is muffled against the hood of the car.
“Then tell me what you want, Rachel.” He thrusts his fingers inside me again, flicking them against my G-spot.
“I… I- I’ll do it.”
“Do what? You already said no, but you can beg nicely, and maybe I’ll fuck you and let you go.”
My pussy throbs and wetness starts to drip between my thighs. He’s going to make me beg? Humiliate me even more? I’m already bent over my own car!
“Please fuck me, sir. Please, I want you to take me, officer.”
“Good fucking girl,” he says quietly as he coaxes my panties down, cool air washing over my hot cunt.
The cold metal handcuffs cut into my wrists painfully. He fists his hand in my hair, yanking my head back, forcing me to arch my back for him.
I feel his cock prodding at my entrance, and I can already tell he is larger than anyone I’ve been with before. Without warning, he plunges inside of me, stopping when his hips press against my ass. He allows me only a moment to adjust to the almost-painful stretching sensation before pulling all the way out and repeating.
This time, I can’t suppress a desperate moan. It feels so shameful, to be trading my body to get out of a traffic violation. He fills me so completely, fucking into me roughly. I feel my pussy muscles contracting around him tightly, and wetness dripping down my legs.
“How many other cops have you let use this sweet little cunt? I can only assume you’ve gotten out of a dozen other tickets with a tight pussy like this, kitten,” he growls as he tightens his grip on my hair.
Wave after wave of pleasure falls over me as he takes me, hard and fast. His slick fingers, coated with my arousal, circle my clit relentlessly as I whimper on the hood of my car, handcuffed and bent over for his pleasure, jerking forward with every hard thrust. I can’t help my moans.
“Aw, is this little slut actually enjoying this? Enjoying having her tight little cunt taken by a stranger? What’s exciting you, Rachel, the handcuffs? Or is it fucking someone you don’t know that gets you this soaked? You love to feel a stranger’s hands run all over you, using you for their pleasure, don’t you, whore?”
I jump suddenly as he removes his fingers from my clit and prods at my ass. I try to squirm away, but the handcuffs combined with his punishing grip on my hair force me to stay in place.
“Aww,” he laughs softly, mockingly, “Never had anyone touch the back door before, huh, baby? Maybe I should be your first time, just so you don’t forget our time together too quickly.”
I clench up around him in terror and reluctance, but I know he feels the extra rush of wetness at the idea of such a dirty act.
“No, no! Please, officer, it’s going to hurt and I’ve never —”
He cuts me off, taking my breath away, as he slides a soaked finger into my asshole. I whimper in pain, the burning sensation in my asshole only tolerable due to the relentless pleasure of his cock pounding into my pussy. Tears are streaming down my face, but I’m not sure if they’re due to pain, pleasure or humiliation.
I feel my climax building inside me as he slides his finger in and out in rhythm with his cock. To feel him use each of my holes as he pleases, clearly knowing and enjoying the fact that I’m torn between crippling shame and incredible pleasure, sends me closer to my orgasm.
“I want you to cum for me, kitten. I want you to remember how good I made you feel, so you can feel even more embarrassed when you remember this. You should be ashamed of yourself, moaning and arching like a whore while some cop uses you as his pretty little fuck toy.”
With his words, he slides another finger into my asshole, stretching me as I cry out. The unexpected pain and dirty words push me over the edge of my orgasm, and I forget my shame and fear for just a moment as I shudder through the waves of electric pleasure. I don’t hold the whimpers and moans back, and I feel him cum copious amounts of hot semen inside of me.
Coming down from my orgasm, I start to chastise myself. How could I do something so slutty just to get out of a traffic violation ticket? He could easily say that I was the one who bribed him with sexual favors… he could just give me the ticket anyways. Cold anxiety clouds my mind as I realize he is not taking the handcuffs off.
He pulls down and grabs my arms, pulling me off the car.
“W-why aren’t you taking the handcuffs off?”
I look up at his eyes for the first time in a while, and see cold amusement that sends a chill down my spine. He grips my arm, and just about drags me to the back seat of the cop car.
“No, wait! Wait! What are you doing? We had a—” I start babbling, panicking again.
“Rachel, I’m taking you to jail for reckless driving and resisting arrest. Maybe you’ll think before going thirty-three miles over and swinging on a police officer again.” He smirks at me, pushes me into the back seat, and whispers, “The other cops are going to have so much fun with you.”
The car door slams.
****
How is this happening to me? My phone is in the car, my boyfriend was expecting me. My forehead rests against the cool wooden table in the dim, gray interrogation room. Not even fifteen minutes ago, the officer dragged me by my arm through a back entrance of the station, re-cuffed my hands in front of me, and ordered me to sit in here. At least he let me use the restroom and clean up after the events of the last few hours. He didn’t say if he would be back any time soon.
As much as I hate to admit it, every time I start to remember being bent over my car less than an hour ago, it sends a rush of warmth straight to my pussy. It also sends a wave of shame over me, because the cop obviously took advantage of me, and I… liked it. Well, got off on it. Does that mean I liked it? What the hell is wrong with me?
The door clicks, and I jump, bracing myself for the humiliation of having to look him in the eye again. I silently try to prepare myself for asking the cop to just let me pay the fines and leave.
But when the door opens, it’s not him.
The man who walks through the door is older - probably mid-to-late fifties, and much taller, around six-foot-three. He’s stockier than the other cop, but as he walks closer, I can see through his nicely-pressed gray button-up that he’s quite muscular. His hair is mostly gray, with some wisps of darkness still poking through. His jaw is shadowed with stubble.
He pulls one of two chairs out from the other side of the table and sits, setting a small black recorder on the smooth surface. I don’t have the courage to look him in the eye, so I train my eyes on my handcuffs and shift uncomfortably in the hard metal chair.
“Rachel?” he asks, his voice a deep rumble.
“Yes,” I confirm quietly.
“Alright Rachel, I’m Officer Wang. I’ve got a few questions to ask you.”
I hate myself for thinking his voice is sexy. This man is at least a good thirty years older than me. I roll my eyes and huff, frustrated that he has any questions at all. It’s not like this is some high-profile case in need of heavy investigation. It’s not like the other cop admitted that he fucked me, because that would implicate him as well, right?
“I don’t know why you need to ask questions. I was driving too fast. I’m sure you catch plenty of girls in their twenties for driving recklessly,” I snap.
When I look up at him, he almost looks amused. He takes a breath and folds his hands on the table, leaning his elbows on the edge. I take in his thick, muscular forearms framed by his neatly rolled sleeves.
“I think we both know that my questions have nothing to do with your driving, but I think you need to hear this,” he raises his voice, his tone icy, “You can fucking kill someone driving like that, Rachel. You could kill yourself, instantly, driving like that. Do you understand me? I don’t know if you live with your parents, or a boyfriend, or whatever, but you deserve to be put over someone’s knee for endangering yourself and others that way.”
Over someone’s knee?! My hands start to tremble as I realize how much bigger he is than me, and how much scarier he is than the other cop. His authoritative tone, those green eyes boring into mine. I want to think that I don’t need to be afraid of a police officer, that they can’t just do whatever they want or harm me, but only other experience with a cop proves that I have plenty to be afraid of. This thought process just makes me realise that he can do whatever he pleases with me, just like the last guy, and I press my thighs together.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, thoroughly reprimanded.
“Now, onto the questions,” he continues calmly as if he didn’t just raise his voice at me, “Officer Johnson has informed me that you were arrested for driving recklessly, resisting arrest by attempting to punch him, and attempting to bribe him with sexual favors. Are these things true?”
Attempting to bribe him! A rush of shock and anxiety hits me straight in my chest, and I feel tears welling in my eyes.
“No! I did not bribe him!” I squeak, “He forced me to… he -”
“Rachel, because I want to be nice, I’m going to suggest that you don’t lie to me, because it is just going to worsen the situation for you. You asked Officer Johnson to have sex with you,” he says slowly, authoritatively. “And here is how I know that.”
He reaches toward the recorder, and presses a button on it. We are silent for a moment as I notice his hands are big and strong-looking, and he has a very nice silver watch on his left wrist, along with a wedding band on his finger.
Suddenly from the recorder, I hear a shrill-sounding female voice moaning the words, “please fuck me, sir. Please, I want you to take me, officer.”
My heart drops immediately as I realise those are my desperate words, not even a few hours ago. Caught on recording. Making it sound like I was begging Officer Johnson to fuck me. The tears are flowing again, which probably makes me look guilty, but I can’t help it.
“You understand this looks bad for you, Rachel?” Officer Wang says evenly, but the ghost of a smirk is playing at his face.
“He made me say that! He was the one who offered that deal to me. Listen to the rest of the recording. Why the hell would I ask to be taken advantage of like that?” I cry, frustrated.
“Taken advantage of? Sweet Rachel,” he pushes another button on the recorder, and I’m humiliated as I hear my own whimpers and moans. “You sound like you’re having a pretty good time being taken advantage of,” he gestures air-quotes with his fingers. “But the rest of the recording has been lost due to some technical difficulties. Gotta hate technology these days.”
Speechless, I put my head into my hands as silent tears roll down my face.
“Come here, Rachel,” he says, his tone gentle.
I oblige, not seeing any worth in disobeying him now.
I feel his burning gaze rake over every inch of my body in my slutty, tight black dress and five-inch high heels that are killing my feet after so many hours. I regret not wearing a bra, as I know my nipples are poking through the fabric in the coldness of the room. Yeah, Rachel, keep telling yourself it’s because the room is cold and not because Officer Wang is hot.
“Since you didn’t show Johnson, how about you show me what a good little cock sucker you can be? Since you obviously enjoy fucking cops,” he says, his words cruel, but his tone gentle.
I visibly flinch at the accusation, not entirely sure if it’s false.
“I can tell you’re attracted to me, sweetheart. You’re not very difficult to read. I can make you feel good,” he says, trailing his fingers up my thigh. “After we’re done, we can just forget about all these charges. I can take you to your car, and we can pretend this didn’t happen… of course, you will not say anything of this if you want the contents of this recorder to remain private, and for your record to remain clean.”
I don’t stop his hand trailing up my dress, because frankly, I’m not sure I want him to stop. I should know better than to trust this guy, since trusting the last one backfired on me, but it seems like either choice I make will be the wrong one. Bribing an officer is a felony, maybe prison time. I can’t just accept that charge and move on with my life.
I’ve lost count of how many times my panties have soaked through tonight, but as I feel them soak again, I push all doubt out of my mind and decide to go along with it.
I sink to my knees on the concrete floor and fumble with his belt, and he unlocks the handcuffs to help me.
“Good girl. He was right when he said you’re a good little obedient whore once you come around.”
The rude, dirty words register immediately between my legs, and I can feel my pussy throbbing as I remove a daunting erection from his pants. I plant an open-mouthed kiss at the head of it, teasing the tip with my tongue while squeezing the base with my hand. His hand gently strokes my hair, resting at the back of my head as I lick up and down his cock, ensuring I get the whole length wet with my saliva before taking him all the way into my mouth. I feel the tip touch the back of my throat, and swirl my tongue along the base as I suck hard.
Trying not to go too fast too quickly, I realise that I want to please him. I really want to please him.
I wrap a hand around his hard shaft and slide it up and down following my mouth as I fuck my own mouth with his cock, swiping plenty of spit along the length. I’m rewarded with a deep, sexy groan as I fumble my other hand through his zipper to fondle his balls as I continue to take him deeper, get his cock wetter, drag my lips up and down faster. Desperately, I want to feel his come on my tongue and down my throat.
I nearly jump out of my skin when I hear the door’s lock click again, but Officer Wang’s hand on the back of my head firmly pushes my head back down on his cock, forcing me to gag as tears spill over my cheeks. His act of dominance reminds me that I’m completely under his control for the time being, and it turns me on enough that I whimper and squirm, pressing my thighs together needily, attempting to get friction on my neglected clit. My nipples are aching to be touched, and I can’t believe it’s only been a few hours since my last orgasm.
“I didn’t give you permission to stop, sweet little Rachel,” he growls.
The door opens and I don’t dare look away, I just continue sucking and lapping at his hard length as best I can.
“Don’t fuck her throat raw, Wang, you greedy bastard. I’m trying to get a taste of how good little Rachel’s cock sucking abilities are, too.”
My heart drops when I recognize Officer Johnson’s voice.
My mind is whirling, but I feel so needy and horny that I don’t even care that the sleazy, scary man who got me into this situation is back.
“Alright, beautiful, you can let up, we’ve got other plans for you,” Officer Wang’s voice is raspy with lust.
Other plans? Hot lust and excitement gathers in my core, and I realize the charges and fines are forgotten. All I can think about is how much I want these men to use me and treat me like a whore. I sit back on my knees, looking up at each officer, waiting to be ordered around.
Officer Johnson bends down, face-to-face with me, and grips my face so that I can’t look away. His cold, dark eyes bore into mine, and I’m reminded of how hot he is, despite how much colder and meaner he seems than Officer Wang.
“Are you going to be a good little slut for me this time, sweetheart?”
I blink at him, my face still covered in tears, and probably smudged makeup, and spit from the sloppy blowjob he just interrupted.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“‘Yes, sir, I’m going to be a good slut’,” he corrects me.
The statement is humiliating, and it sends another rush of wet arousal to my pussy.
“Yes, sir, I’m going to be a good slut.”
He grins, and brushes his hand over my hair. I close my eyes and lean into his touch, before his hand suddenly lifts and smacks me across my face, hard. I yelp in both surprise and pain.
“That’s for trying to assault me earlier, toy. Say thank you. If you don’t, I’m not going to let you come.”
The threat of not being able to come after all of this weighs heavy on me, so I don’t even think twice.
“Thank you for slapping me, Officer Johnson.”
Officer Wang laughs quietly, shaking his head and rubbing a hand over his stubble. “You’re sadistic, Johnson,” he reprimands lightheartedly.
“Just reminding our pretty toy of her place, dude.”
There’s no way my pussy isn’t dripping right now. Being spoken to like that, being treated like such a little slut by these strong, authoritative men… I can’t take it anymore.
I slide a hand between my legs to stroke the neglected folds of my cunt, and Johnson immediately smirks and turns to Wang.
“Clearly not sadistic enough, since she wants to touch herself immediately after getting smacked,” he says.
I gasp as Officer Wang stands and grabs me by my hair, bending me backwards over the interrogation table. Officer Johnson strides behind the table where I was once sitting, and grips my hair so that my head is hanging backwards off the table, and my ass sits just at the opposite edge… where Officer Wang is standing.
As soon as Officer Wang grips my knees and spreads them apart, I realize they are going to take me at the same time. The thought turns me on so much that I whimper out loud, squirming on the table but not attempting to escape.
“Let’s get her out of this fucking whore dress,” Johnson growls, gripping the hem and pulling it over my head. I don’t fight him. I need their hands all over me, taking and using every inch. Wang tauntingly drags a heavy finger up my slit over my soaked lace underwear, teasing me just enough to drive me insane.
“You should see how pathetically drenched these little panties are, Johnson. We’ve barely touched the girl,” Officer Wang says, genuinely shocked, teasing me a moment longer before yanking the panties off.
I look up to see Officer Johnson’s strong, veiny hands pulling his impressive, hard cock out of his pants. “Believe me, dude, I know. Little slut was sopping wet when I fucked her earlier,” he growls. “Right, Rachel? I think you’ve just got a thing for having the choice taken away from you, having your little cunt, ass and mouth used whether you like it or not.”
Excitement builds further inside me as he taunts me with the cruel, cold words, and I feel strong fingers stroking my soaked folds, dragging my wetness upwards and in circles around my swollen, needy clit. I press into Wang’s touch, moaning in approval. With his other hand, he starts to rub and tweak one of my nipples into a stiff peak, and then the other. The stimulation is delicious after being deprived for however long I was blowing him. I whimper desperately at the almost-painful empty feeling inside my pussy.
“Do you want to suck my cock, baby?” Johnson asks, stroking himself over my face with one hand and twisting one of my nipples with the other, his touch more aggressive and crueler than Officer Wang’s.
“Yes, sir,” I answer honestly, obediently opening my mouth for him.
“Good toy,” he praises me in an appreciative voice, sending a wave of pleasure through me. “Relax your throat, baby.”
I attempt to kiss and lap at his cock the same way I did to Wang, but he shoves his cock into my mouth slowly, gripping my face with his fingers clasping under my chin. He does not stop until it’s all the way in, part of it down my throat. He holds my head down on it, despite my gagging and spluttering, and I moan around his cock, savoring the feeling of having my throat used in such a carnal way.
Officer Wang prods his cock at my slick, hot entrance, and I spread my legs even wider for him as I allow Johnson to face-fuck me.
I squeak in a short moment of pain as his thick erection stretches me, but much like the man using my mouth, he pushes forward until his balls touch my asshole. He doesn’t move, just allows me to stretch around him for a moment while he rubs delicious wet circles around my sensitive bud. The feeling of fullness, both in my throat and pussy, almost sends me over the edge.
Then, he begins to move, keeping an agonizing rhythm that wasn’t quite slow, but certainly not fast. He knows if he fucks me faster, I will come, and they’re trying to drag this out, to torture me as long as they can. I whimper and moan around Johnson’s cock urgently, greedily trying to move my tongue and head to further please him. He smacks my face again.
“Stop trying to regain some control, slut, and take what I give you.”
Wang speeds his punishing pace inside my cunt, slamming into me, his balls now wet with my arousal and slapping against my asshole. I feel my orgasm building inside me, and my eyes roll back into my head as my whole body is consumed by tingly, hot desire and passion.
It’s all too much. My cunt is being fucked hard, my throat is being fucked hard, Johnson has a hand on my throat to hold me down, and Wang is stroking my clit and… oh, my God.
Wang’s other hand trails down to touch my asshole, and once he slides the tip of his finger in, my world crashes into a million little shards of pleasure. I buck against the table, breathing hard, moaning through my orgasm around the cock that is not letting up on my throat.
“Oh, our little slut likes to have her asshole played with, huh?” Wang growls, and I just hear Johnson laugh softly, knowingly.
I lay across the table in bliss, exhausted after my orgasm but still desperately wanting their cum. They both pause, just for a moment, and I hear Wang quietly say,
“You know… I’m sure Smith would love to help her with that.”
“Ha. You’re just as sadistic as me, dude. You just want to see the little whore fucked by as many guys as possible.”
I’m relaxed after my orgasm, but I can’t help the little rush of fear that causes my whole body to tense when my mouth is suddenly empty.
“One second, kitten,” Johnson strokes my face and zips up, leaving the room with another click of the door.
“Wait, what’s going on? Who’s-”
I’m cut off by pleasure as Wang continues to fuck me, placing his strong hand around my throat and looking into my eyes.
“Have we done anything so far that you haven’t enjoyed, sweetheart? Johnson already told you that you are going to take what we give you. If I have to tell you again, I’m going to have to follow-up on that spanking I said you needed earlier, understand?”
“Yes, sir,” I squeak, feeling extra vulnerable when he makes me look into his eyes as he penetrates my sensitive cunt harder and harder, sending waves of hot pleasure over me. A deep groan fills the room as he pulls out of my pussy, stroking himself with his hand and releasing his come all over my tits.
I hear the door open again, and this time two sets of footsteps enter the room.
Wang grips my waist, flipping me over so that I am lying on my stomach on the table, and I have no idea what the new person looks like. This sends a jolt of excitement between my legs, and it fills me with humiliation that I’m so excited to be fucked by someone I have not even seen.
Johnson returns to my face, prodding his cock at my lips once again.
“Don’t worry, kitten, Officer Smith wants to make you feel good too.”
I squeak when I feel my wetness being dragged up to my asshole by more fingers, but I’m so relaxed from my orgasm that I don’t fight the smooth finger that pushes past my opening.
Johnson continues to fuck my face as he was before, gripping the back of my hair cruelly as he did a few hours ago. The finger in my ass becomes two fingers, and suddenly there’s a cock prodding at my tight, pink hole.
I want to resist, but Officer Johnson is holding my hair and my mouth is full, so I focus on pleasuring him as the cock slides in more easily than I’d like to admit. Two fingers start to pump pleasurably in and out of my cunt, and in my peripheral vision I can see that they are Wang’s fingers.
Slowly, my pleasure starts building as the cock at my asshole digs deep, penetrating me in a slower, gentler way than the other men. I don’t even know what this man’s voice sounds like… fuck.
The realization that all of my holes are being used, and those holes are pleasuring men who are complete strangers to me, almost sends me into my second orgasm. All it takes is a loud moan from Officer Johnson, releasing his come down my throat, to send me over the edge again. My vision clouds with stars and I feel my ass clamp down in pleasure, causing Officer Smith to pull out of me and cover me with his release.
****
Funny how last time I was in a police car, I desperately didn’t want to be. Now, after the night’s events, I don’t really want to get out of the car, knowing I will probably not see Officer Wang again. Strangely, he has started to feel safe to me
“Alright, young lady, here we are,” Wang states as he pulls over behind my car, still abandoned on the side of the freeway.
“Um… thank you,” I stutter.
He grins at me, a handsome smile, and I blush like a damn teenager.
“You’re very welcome, Rachel. Hopefully you learned your lesson about speeding tonight, but if you didn’t, at least make sure you do it when I’m on the clock.”
He winks, and I know it’s fucked up, but I’m probably going to miss him. I climb into my car and head home as everything slowly fades to black.
****
I am startled by my phone ringing incessantly and with unnecessary volume. What? I’m lying in bed… my bed. I pick up the phone in a daze.
“Hi Rachel,” it’s my boyfriend, “So, are you coming over tonight?”
“No!” I scream and throw the phone into my pillow. I’m shocked… confused. Did any of it happen? Was it just a dream? I look towards the bedroom chair, my dress is neatly hanging there. My high heels are under the chair, my panties… on the floor. What does this mean? I fall back onto the bed and remember… the aching in my loins… the humiliation. But above all, the feeling of emptiness.
sequel to: i can be your pretty girl (but also can be read on its own)
word count: 3k
summary: after your dad's best friend takes your virginity, he decides he also needs to teach you the important skill of taking it up the ass
tags: explicit sexual content (18+), no outbreak au, unspecified age gap (college-aged reader), manipulative joel, innocent/naive reader, inexperienced reader, dirty talk, anal, degradation, unprotected anal sex, joel gets a little mean
request: "I can be your pretty girl anal sequel 😩 🙏🙏🙏"
You were surprised to hear the knock on the door so late in the afternoon and even more surprised to find Joel standing on your front porch with a 12 pack of beer and a big grin.
“Hey, sweetie,” he said as you stared at him with wide eyes. “Didn’t know you were visiting your dad this weekend.”
You smiled at him and nodded. “Staying for the week… he, uh… he got called into work again, so he’s not here right now.”
You shifted awkwardly under his gaze, struggling to maintain your eye contact. The last time you saw him, he was taking your virginity in the back of your camper. He had left the next morning, without saying goodbye to you or your dad. You had worried that you had done something to upset him, but you were too nervous to call and ask.
Months later, and you were back home for a week while you had time off. You had been anxiously hoping to run into Joel. Your dad was confused when you suggested that he invite his friends over for dinner one night, having no idea that you were just angling to fuck his friend again.
“How’ve you been?”
You stuttered a little when you tried to tell him that you were good before returning the question.
“I’d be a lot better if you invited me inside, darlin’.”
“Oh!”
You quickly shuffled out of the way, holding the door wide open for him while apologizing. He just smiled at you like you were the most adorable thing in the world, kicking his boots off and headed straight towards the couch.
He asked you a few more questions about school, and then you asked him about his work. It was all pretty standard conversation. Until Joel made sure it wasn’t, that is.
“Happy to see you again, you know….” He looked down as he said it, like he was feeling bashful. It was unexpectedly disarming. “I wanted to call you, but… well, was worried you didn’t wanna hear from me.”
“W-what do you mean?”
He shrugged. “I was a bit rougher than I shoulda been. You’re just too beautiful… lost control.”
“No! It’s okay,” you replied fast. “I… I really appreciated what you did for me. It’s um… helped me out a lot.”
He looked back up at you with a quirked eyebrow. “Oh really? Been fucking lotsa guys?”
You laughed, shaking your head. “No, nothing like that…”
“Haven’t put what I taught you to use at all?”
“Yes, actually… I’ve been sorta seeing a guy at school.”
“You have a boyfriend?” Joel asked, and you couldn’t help but notice that he was clenching his jaw.
“No, no,” you quickly corrected. “He’s just a guy I… hang out with sometimes.”
Joel smiled, shaking his head before taking another sip of his beer. “Can’t believe it… what is it the kids call it? A fuckbuddy?”
Your eyes widened involuntarily at the word, and you dropped your gaze down to your the beer in your hands.
“Don’t worry,” he said quietly, rubbing your shoulder. “It’s natural… everyone needs some relief from time to time.”
You felt warm from Joel’s touch, and you had to stop yourself from leaning into it.
“You gotta tell me something, though.”
You looked back into his eyes, eager to answer his questions. You hoped that he would see you as a more confident woman now, not just some scared little virgin shaking under his touch.
“He doesn’t fuck you better than I did, right?”
You were embarrassed by how fast you said no, shaking your head quickly.
He just smiled, leaning back in his chair, with legs spread and his hands in his lap.
“What all does he do to you?”
“W-what do you mean?”
“How does he fuck you?”
“The normal way, I guess,” you began, voice low and cheeks blushed. “Like how we did it.”
“You let him fuck all your holes?”
The vulgar question made you squirm in your seat. You wondered if you knew how much you loved to hear him talk about you like that, objectifying you no matter how uncomfortable you appeared.
“N-no,” you mumbled, looking down at your hands. “Just my mouth and my…”
Joel looked like he was fighting the smile on his face. He sat forward again, picking your chin up with his hand. “Your sweet little pussy?”
You just nodded, focusing on not breathing too hard while you stared into his eyes.
“Say it.”
“What?”
“You’re a big girl… don’t gotta be afraid to talk about this sorta stuff with me, sweetie. Tell me that you let him fuck your sweet little pussy.”
You shifted in your seat, desperate to get some friction between your legs. “I… I let him fuck my sweet little… pussy.”
He chuckled, letting go of your chin. “Good girl.”
You were reminded of how wet his condescending praise got you.
“Not your ass, though, huh?”
You shook your head fast. “No, never. God, I… I can’t even imagine.”
“Never touched yourself there?”
“No.”
He made a disappointed noise, shrugging. “You should consider trying it… it would make you much more popular with the boys.”
“I… I don’t know,” you mumbled, nervously playing with the sleeve of your shirt.
“Too scared to try something new with your boy?”
You shrugged, not wanting to admit how scared you were of the idea of anal sex. Suddenly, you felt like the same mousy virgin you were months ago.
“It’s okay, baby,” he muttered, placing his hand on your knee and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Can be intimidating, I’m sure.”
You just nodded, too nervous to speak.
“You know, I, uh… I helped you out with an issue like this before… Could do it again, if you want.”
“No… thank you, but, um, that’s okay.”
As much as you wanted him to fuck you again, you couldn’t imagine his sizeable length inside your ass.
“I’m sure you’ve done it with a lotta girls, though…”
He gave a small laugh. “Me? No, no. Always wanted to, but… never did. Was gonna be my first time, too.”
You finally looked back up at him in disbelief. “Really?”
“Always been a dream of mine,” he mumbled, his hand inching off your knee. “I meant what I said… about how everyone’s got needs. I do, too, you know.”
“I’m sorry,” you said instantly, full of guilt. You’d been getting off to the memory of Joel for months now, and, with his help, you were able to have more confidence with the men at school. He had really helped you, and you didn’t do anything to pay him back.
“Maybe I could… try…”
His hand returned to your knee, squeezing the flesh of your thighs. “You would do that for me, baby?”
You prayed that he would change his mind and just fuck you normally. Your fear was still strong, and you lacked any confidence in your ability to actually take him.
“M-maybe… or we could just do it like how we did before?”
He didn’t seem pleased by that idea, letting out a quick sigh.
“You wanna impress your little friend, right?”
The only man you really wanted to impress was sitting right in front of you, with his hands running up and down your thighs. The feeling of his calloused hands against your skin reminded you of the first time.
You just nodded at him, like you had done then, and watched him smile.
“Glad you’re still a good girl,” he muttered, leaning in for a kiss.
You pulled away, hands on his chest. “Wait… but… I don’t have any lube.”
“Guess we just won’t use it,” he mumbled.
“What?”
He laughed at your shocked face. “Kidding, sweetheart. Bet I wouldn’t even be able to get a finger in without lube.”
You weren’t even confident of your ability to take one of his fingers with lube.
“How about I take you back to my place? Got some stuff we can use. Besides,” he muttered, looking at the clock on the wall. “Don’t want your daddy coming in and finding his precious daughter getting assfucked by his friend.”
“Fuck,” you whimpered, rolling your hips as Joel lapped up the wetness that had accumulated during your talk. And the ride over, where he began stuffing fingers inside you–with the other hand on the steering wheel–to “help calm you down.”
He had brought you to his bedroom immediately, pushing you down on his bed and pulling your pants off, eager to start eating you out. He kept licking up your slick and then pushing your legs further apart so that he could spit it on your hole, muttering something about natural lube.
Luckily, he finally pulled a real bottle out. He wasted no time in lubing up his fingers, but the sight only made you more scared. He was quick to reassure you that he’d go slow, that he wouldn’t “tear you up.”
“I-is it gonna hurt?” You whispered while he began to rub the tight ring of muscle with his wet fingers.
“No, no. Like I said… gonna go slow.”
With that, he began to push his middle finger in, and you began to squirm on the bed at the sudden discomfort. Joel just put his other arm over your hips and held you down flat against the bed while he continued to work.
“Fingers are too big…”
He grabbed at your hand and brought it down between your legs, causing you to sit up on your elbow. He brought your finger to your ass.
“Stick yours in, sweetie. Smaller than mine… Loosen it up for me.”
You were mortified by the thought, but the look of carnal desire on his face was too sexy to say no to. So, you closed your eyes and began to work your finger inside of yourself, wincing a bit at the pain, wishing your fingernails were a bit shorter.
“Wiggle it around,” he muttered, and the low timber of his voice, heavy with need, spurred you on even further. You even noticed his hand at the crotch of his pants, rubbing his bulge.
You did as you were told, and eventually your entire finger was inside yourself. He instructed you to let him try again.
“This is the wrong angle,” he finally muttered, still trying to shove his finger inside of you. “Get on all fours, baby.”
It was the most vulgar position you knew of, and you hated the thought of being probed by Joel like this without even being able to look into his face. You didn’t want to disappoint him, though, and the feeling of just that part of his finger inside you had you eager to feel more.
So you complied.
“Fuck,” Joel muttered, running his hand along your body, admiring how you looked in the new position. “Spread your ass for me, baby.”
“C-can you turn off the light,” you whispered, feeling insecure.
He just laughed. “No fucking way.”
Just like the first time he fucked you, it seemed that his own desire was outweighing his consideration for your fears. Somehow, that turned you on.
You did as you were told, spreading your ass open for him with your hands. You’d only ever seen pornstars do this.
Joel whistled, laying a hard slap on your ass. “So fucking sexy, baby. Saved this little hole just for me, huh?”
He must’ve been growing impatient; he was less careful this time when sticking his digits inside of you, causing you to groan at the stretch.
“Feels good, though, doesn’t it?”
You nodded, eyes shut tight as you tried to let your desire for Joel overcome the pain you were feeling.
“Yeah, ‘cause you’re a good girl,” he muttered, beginning to prod your hole with a second finger. “You know how to make a man feel good.”
You just nodded, desperate for him to believe that.
“So fucking tight,” he muttered as his second finger began to stretch you out in a way that you couldn’t believe. “Gonna feel so good around my cock, baby.”
Your fingers gripped the flesh of your ass as you continued to hold yourself open for him. The feeling of both of his fingers inside you was overwhelming, but the second he began to make a scissoring motion inside of you, you fell forward, your face now pushed against the mattress.
Joel chuckled behind you, muttering something about how this spreads you out even more for him. He let you pull your hands away so that you could grip the sheets as he pushed in a third finger, groaning through the pain and pleasure of the stretch.
“J-Joel,” you whimpered, feeling him beginning to move his fingers in and out of you. “I-I don’t know if I can–fuck! If I can do this… h-hurts.”
“Quit your whining, baby,” he muttered, slapping your ass again with his other hand. “Fucking turn off.”
His sweet, caring facade was beginning to crack, and felt your hips beginning to rock against his fingers. You even whimpered when he finally pulled them out fully.
You wondered, for a moment, if he was actually going to let you get away without putting his cock inside your ass. Instead, though, he was merely getting up to grab a pillow, shoving it near your face.
“Something to bite on, if you need it.”
You swore he was smiling when he said it.
He walked around to the other side of the bed, and you watched him lazily stroke his cock with his left hand. He motioned for you to move forward, shoving his cock in your face.
“Lube it up for me, baby.”
You spat on the head before pulling it into your mouth, working to take more and more of his length down your throat. His groans helped encourage you to try harder, to get the entire thing inside of your mouth, coating it with your spit.
He pulled out, giving you a few light slaps on the face. “Good job, sweetie.”
Before you had time to express any more concerns, Joel was walking back around.
“Never fucked an ass this tight,” he muttered to himself, running his hand over the flesh of your ass again while he rubbed himself with a copious amount of lube.
“I… I thought you said you’ve never done this before,” you whispered, turning your head around to look at him.
He laughed, looking into your eyes with a cruel grin. “Ah, fuck. Forgot I said that. Guess I’m a liar.”
You opened your mouth to reply, but instead of words, a pained yelp came out as Joel began to push his cock inside you. You took his advice, biting the pillow in front of you while you tried to ride through the pain.
Joel wasn’t in pain at all, though; he just groaned as his cock sunk deeper and deeper inside you. He took a slow pace at first, but your tightness was clearly pushing him to care less and less about the pain you were enduring.
“Fuckkkk,” he moaned. “I know it hurts, but you’re being such a good fuckin’ girl for me.”
Your hips were moving forward practically on their own, an involuntary response to the pain of Joel’s cock pushing deeper inside of you. He didn’t seem to like that, but he eventually got tired of pulling your ass back towards him.
Instead he just pushed your body flat against the bed, and got up with his knees against the top of the mattress. From this angle, you had nowhere to move away from him, not that you could, considering Joel’s body was firmly on top of yours.
You knew Joel was never going to get his full cock inside of you, at least not without much more stretching. It would’ve taken a long time, and based on the grunts and groans spilling from Joel’s mouth, he didn’t have a long time before he would be filling your ass with his come.
“Look at you,” he muttered, beginning to rock his hips gently, letting his cock move in and out of you at a slow pace. “Letting me pin you down and fuck your ass like a whore.”
You moaned against the pillow, beginning to understand why people liked anal. The pleasure was finally starting to outweigh the pain. Though, you noticed you were also enjoying the pain, to a certain extent.
Especially when Joel was saying such nasty things.
“Your dad’s gonna wonder why you’re limping when you come home. You gonna tell him it’s because you let Mr. Miller ruin you with his big cock?”
You were too gone to even bother coming up with responses, just focusing on the feeling between your legs. It was a foul position, but you liked being pinned down by Joel, liked the way his body felt on top of yours.
He finally began to pick up the pace, and you felt tears in the corner of your eyes.
“Joel,” you whimpered.
“Yeah, say my fucking name, baby. Tell me this cock stuffs you up better than that loser you let fuck you.”
“You’re filling me up way better, Joel,” you choked out, beginning to rock your ass backwards.
He must’ve noticed, starting to chuckle. “That’s right, you fucking love this, don’t you? Act like a shy little girl, but I know you’re a fucking slut for me. Letting me use all your holes.”
You just nodded along, moaning as he nestled himself deeper inside you with each thrust. You would have never imagined how much of him you could take.
“Oughta just drop outta school, you know,” he said between thrusts. “Come live here with me… let me tie you up to the bed so I can use these pretty little holes whenever I want.”
It was a grotesque fantasy, but it had you rubbing your cunt against the bed with desperation.
His hands found their way to your shoulders, giving him more leverage to pound into your ass without mercy. It was painful, but you knew that the second you’d be able to start touching yourself, you’d orgrasm immediately.
“Good girls take every inch,” he choked out.
After that, he was unable to get coherent sentences out. He spoke in disparate fucks, muttering goddamnit in between. He was lost in his lust, snapping his hips harder and harder, not caring about your pained sobs.
By the time he let out one last strained grunt and began to spill his come inside of you, you too were a babbling, incoherent mess, shaking underneath. He let his cock soften before he finally pulled it out of you, taking a moment to stretch open your ass one last time to admire what he had done to you.
“So good for me,” he muttered, helping you to turn around on your back, watching you wince from the pain. “Now I’m gonna make you come until you cry all over again.”
a/n: sorry for taking forever on this. thank you for reading <3
ミmy daddy didn't love me so i guess i've moved onto you
🍓 pairing: captain john price x fem reader
🍓 tags: nsfw, daddy kink, undefined age gap, oral sex, unprotected vaginal sex, rough(?) sex, both reader and price have a daddy kink that they indulge in with very little discussion, allusions to reader having a bad relationship with her father (but nothing concrete), price uses a lot of pet names for reader and also calls himself daddy several times
title is inspired by the song peter bogdanovich by my queen CMAT
masterlist
reblogs are always enormously appreciated!
If there’s one thing you know, it’s that you’re damn good at your job.
You have to be in order to survive in this ridiculous goddamn base. There are protocols to be followed, risk assessments to carry out, weapons and equipment requisition requests to send off, and you have to handle almost all of it for Task Force 141. That’s one thing about working with the military – they’re all about action, and rarely have the patience to fill in their paperwork, and then when they do it’s never done properly.
You’re patient when you need to be, willing to push when you have to, and you make sure shit gets done. It’s not an easy job; you work your ass off, and it’s often thankless. Most of your job is done behind the scenes, whether that’s requisitioning on-the-fly tactical or strategic airlifts, liaising with other units, or trying desperately to smooth over any little problems that might crop up with the higher-ups.
It’s challenging and exhausting, and you love it, but damn, it can be fucking infuriating. Working in a male-dominated environment is a little bit soul-destroying, with every condescending comment and lascivious gaze that lingers over your body. But none of that matters, because you don’t need male approval to excel at your job. You don’t need male approval for anything.
You repeat it to yourself on the daily, which is something that you’ve never had to do before. But before, you weren’t working with Captain John Price.
He’s not… rude, per se. If anything, he’s always coolly polite. But it’s obvious, so obvious, that he just barely tolerates you. He’s gruff, short, to-the-point, and never speaks to you outside of brusque orders. It takes weeks for him to start trusting you with even the most basic of files, and even then chunks of information are often redacted. And it shouldn’t matter; you’ve worked for men like him before, you know how it goes, and if anything he’s one of the better ones.
In the beginning, when you had first been assigned to the task force, Price had not been happy about it. It had been a tough transition; your assignment had been approved by Laswell in order to take some of the strain of liaising off both her and Price, but the Captain hadn’t been too pleased about it. He had seen you as a sort of interloper, a silly little pencil-pusher sent in by the brass to do the grunt work of administration that no one else wants to do.
But you work hard, you always have done. And maybe… maybe, part of the reason that you end up busting your balls so hard is because you want– no. Maybe you need his approval. You’d prefer not to think about it; it’s easier to throw yourself into your work, and pretend that you’re doing it for you.
You’re not even sure how it started, but at some point, Price starts looking at you differently. Maybe he realises that you’re competent at your job, or maybe he just needs to get used to you. Maybe, you hope, he’s finally starting to realise that you’re good at what you do; that you can be an asset to the team, so long as they actually work with you.
Whatever it is, he eases off. Stops being such a hard-ass, starts giving you space to do your thing. Eventually, he starts delegating too — stops hoarding the work like a miser, and finally starts treating you like you’re capable of something more than just photocopying.
He’s not a bad boss, not by a long shot. He’s kind, determined, patient when it matters, with a wry sense of humour. He’s also fiercely protective over his team, and that includes you now.
But he’s also older, by at least fifteen years, and he’s not always the most diligent with paperwork. Typical man of action, you’ve seen it a hundred times before. There’s always something more important to do, and while he’s always so cognisant of your workload and careful not to add to it, he is also all too happy to let you take the reins when it comes to bureaucracy. You like to think that you’ve proved yourself to him, but maybe he just respects competency.
That should be it.
But you’re so ashamed to admit that even when Price stops treating you like you’re a hostile target, you can’t stop hoping for his attention. Your mental chants of I don’t need male approval for anything, I don’t need male approval for anything become a daily thing, and sometimes a several-times-a-day thing.
Because the thing is, Price can be a difficult man to please. He’s always so busy that he doesn’t have time to give you the approval that you’re straining for, but when he does it gives you the most shameful warm glow in your belly.
A brief nod or a low grunted ‘Thanks, sweetheart’ is enough to fuel you for days now. Even better is when you’re walking along beside him, briefing him on the latest update from the higher-ups, and he leans his head in towards you as he listens intensely, sometimes even laying his large palm against the small of your back. Ostensibly, it’s to lead the way and guide you out of the path of the running cadets, but it just toes the line of professionalism and you flounder under the touch.
It’s stupid. You’re stupid. He’s just a coworker, and you need to keep your issues to yourself.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ
You’re perfectly self-aware enough to admit when you’re in a bad mood.
You start the day tired, and when you check your reflection in the mirror first thing that morning you’re greeted with the sight of a big, fuck-off pimple on your chin. It’s big, it’s throbbing, it practically has its own fucking heartbeat. You barely restrain the urge to pick at it, though you can feel it even when you’re not looking at it.
Your mood doesn’t improve when you get to the small kitchenette by your office and find that someone has used the last of the fancy French Vanilla flavoured coffee that you’ve stocked for yourself. As if that’s not bad enough, your little stash of chocolate digestives you keep for yourself for emergency bad days have disappeared too.
You clench your jaw and continue about your business. Whatever. You can survive without your coffee and chocolate.
Your resolve falters when you see the pile of paperwork on your desk, but whatever. It’s all part of the job. A little chocolate biscuit to nibble on would definitely make your job easier, but you’re a big girl and you’re just going to have to go without.
Then you get the phone call. One that makes you want to bang your head against your desk hard enough to knock yourself unconscious so that you don’t have to deal with this.
It’s time to update the TF141 personnel files. Orders from above, since there’s been significant changes to medical and surgical history in the last couple of months from injuries on missions.
Normally, that’s not such a big deal. It just involves updating their medical and technical files, making sure that nothing major has changed with regards their addresses or other personal information, even though a big portion of it ends up redacted anyway.
And, naturally, updating their photographs for their files.
You start easy.
Gaz is happy to come to your office when you text him, and he stands obediently for you as you take his picture. He’s gotten a metal plate fitted in his kneecap from the last time his file has been updated, and he sits and chats easily with you as you go through his information. He’s a sweet guy, and so easy to talk to, and you sigh with the knowledge that no one is going to make your job as simple and leisurely as Gaz just has.
After he leaves, you target Soap. He comes to your office as easily as Gaz, but he’s significantly more difficult to photograph.
He just keeps smiling, no matter how many times you tell him to quit it.
“It’s a personnel file photograph, not a photo for your Instagram.” You sigh, irritated. “I need you to have a blank, neutral expression. It’s like a passport photo, Sergeant. It’s for a government document.”
“Can’t help it, lass.” Soap says easily, that stupid grin not even dimming. “I see a camera, I smile. It’s muscle memory.”
You think that your irritation is only encouraging him, which only worsens your mood. In the end, you don’t get a single usable photograph of him for his file. You have to give up on him, swearing that you’ll come get him to try again later. He leaves your office still chuckling, like he thinks your frustration is cute.
You have tougher targets to tackle.
The difficult part isn’t even taking Ghost’s photo — the difficult part is catching him in the first place.
You spend almost three hours trying to track him down (because he won’t read your texts and your phone calls go unanswered), wobbling all over base in your stupid high heels and somehow missing him by mere moments every time. You arrive in the gym, the mess, the firing range, even the barracks, only to see the man’s enormous broad back disappearing out of the other door as soon as you get there.
You can only assume that Soap had given Ghost the heads up that you were on the prowl with a mission and a camera, because the lieutenant is avoiding you like the goddamn plague.
So yeah. You’re in a real bad fucking mood. But you can’t help it — some days your job is entirely thankless, and your mood drops so low that you feel like going home and crying. But you can’t, and you don’t want to show weakness in front of these military idiots, so all you can do is lock your jaw and go about your business the best you can.
You go back to your office, jaw and fists clenched tight, and collapse at your desk with your head in your hands. You have to take a few deep, slow breaths to try and calm yourself, but then you make the mistake of checking your reflection and your mood sinks lower again when you see that the stupid pimple on your chin has worsened.
God, this is just not your day. You have to get these stupid files updated, or it’ll fall on your head.
Eventually, you reluctantly stand up. There’s no point moping; you have a job to do, whether you like it or not, and your next victim is Captain Price.
You walk to Price’s office swiftly, your feet aching in your stupid heels. You wish you had worn something more sensible, but… well. Even subconsciously, you want to impress.
When you reach his office, you throw the door open and march inside without even bothering to knock.
Price is sitting behind his desk, and his head snaps up as soon as you walk in. His expression is set in a hard scowl, though it softens when he sees who it is. You guess you don’t exactly pose much of a threat, so he sees no use in posturing.
“I need you for a moment.” You bite out, allowing the door to slam shut behind you.
You hear Price sigh, before he leans back and settles into his chair, making himself comfortable. He’s wearing the same dark compression shirt that he usually wears for training exercises or to the gym, and he’s recently groomed his beard down too. He looks good, though it takes a colossal amount of effort for you to not notice, because you have other things you need to focus on right now.
“Hello to you too, love.” He grunts, wiping a hand over his eyes. “What’s the problem?”
You struggle not to react to that, his low voice both soothing and igniting something in your blood. You take a breath, try to calm down. You’re a professional, and you’re not here to embarrass yourself in front of the captain.
“I’m updating personnel files,” You say, and this time it comes out calm and steady, “I need to take a picture of you.”
Price’s gaze lingers on you, his stern brow softening a little. For a moment, you think that maybe this is actually going to be easy. That he’ll just stand up and take the fucking picture, so that the two of you can go back to your jobs and relax for the rest of the day.
But then–
“Jesus, kid.” He sighs, already shaking his head. “I’m up to my eyes right now. Leave it ‘till tomorrow.”
For a moment, you don’t react at all. You just stare at him, letting those dismissive words settle over you. He’s already looking back at his paperwork, mission briefings and maps littering the desk, and you feel so effectively dismissed. You feel small, so silly and stupid standing in front of him in a way that you haven’t felt since you first started working with the task force. You had thought that you were past this, that you had earned some meagre sort of respect from him.
“I need it done today.” You say, and your voice comes out a little hollow to your own ears.
You don’t need male validation. You don’t. But damn, you’ve had a rough day and the fact that your captain isn’t even bothering to look at you makes you want to cry.
Price sighs, and rubs at the crease between his eyes. He looks just as tired as you feel.
“Yeah, well. I don’t have time. Tomorrow.”
You swallow, pursing your lips. He’s so effortlessly dominant, which means that his careless dismissal stings all the more.
“I have to get the whole team done,” You say, struggling to keep your voice firm. “Soap wouldn’t stop smiling for the camera, I couldn’t find Farah anywhere, and Ghost–”
Price gives a sharp, derisive snort. “Forget Ghost.”
You scowl. “I need to do the whole squad.”
“Not Ghost.” Price repeats, this time slower and with more emphasis. “Simon doesn’t do photos.”
You take a deep breath, trying to stay calm. You’ve been working alongside the task force for a while now, and you’re familiar with Lieutenant Riley’s penchant for covering his face. It’s not something you have a problem with – usually.
“There’s no reason for him to be the exception to personnel photos, Captain.” You say through gritted teeth. “Everyone else is being photographed. The task force might be covert, but Lieutenant Riley is no more–”
“Christ, enough.” Price snaps, his voice a deep boom that has your mouth closing with a click. “The One Four One is my squad, in case you’ve forgotten. I know these lads, and I’m telling you to leave it out.”
You stare, a little taken aback by the harshness in his voice. He hasn’t been this sharp with you in months, not since you had started to prove yourself competent, useful. Now, you can see the warning signs of his bad mood; the circles under his eyes are pronounced, his skin dull in the ugly fluorescent lights of his office. He looks exhausted, his skin lined and dry like he hasn’t been drinking enough water.
You realise, a little too late, that you might have been pushing your luck by insisting on something as silly as personnel file photos. TF 141 had only returned from deployment at the beginning of the week, and Price has no doubt been drowning in reports since.
“This is why I told Laswell you weren’t necessary,” His snarl is entirely unlike him, and he rubs his face furiously, his palms rasping through his beard. “I don’t need someone coming in here and making demands of my squad for– for fucking photographs.”
You inhale shakily through your nose; to your utter horror, you can feel your eyes burn with hot wet tears. It’s stupid – you’ve dealt with far crueller words from far harsher men. The nature of your job often puts you in the firing line for frustration, and when it bubbles over it’s frequently directed at you.
But this… this feels different, for some reason. You’ve been working your ass off to try and earn some recognition from Price, to show him that you’re a valuable asset to the team, and so his sharp, frustrated dismissal of you cuts deeper than it should.
You hate that your eyes are burning like this. You don’t want Price to think of you as useless, or as the silly little girl who was put on the team by the brass who can’t even do her job right. He was just starting to think of you as competent, and it hurts your ego to have to go to him for help with something that you should be more than capable of handling yourself in the first place.
“Right,” You say, and even you’re startled by the sharpness in your tone. “Fine. Forget the file updates, then.”
You step forward, jaw clenched hard, and toss the files you’ve been carrying around all day onto his desk. They hit the surface with a smack that feels uncomfortably loud in the tense silence that’s fallen over the room.
“I’ll tell the higher-ups that you’re handling it.” You continue, your voice coming out brattier than you’d like. “Since obviously I have no idea what I’m doing–”
“Oh, don’t do that.” Price sighs, as though you’re the one being unreasonable. “What I’m saying is, if you’re going to work with the team, you have to understand the team–”
That, you think, might just push you over the edge.
“Do you think I’m stupid?” You snap out, and Price’s mouth closes. “D’you think I’m– that I’m some kind of idiot?”
Price blinks. It seems like you’ve managed to take him by surprise, as though your bad mood rivals his just enough to pull him out of his own grumpy form entirely. He opens his mouth again, but you’re not ready to hear him speak again just yet.
“I’m here because Laswell put in a request for me to work with you and your squad, Captain. I’m considered an asset to the teams that I work with,” You’re scowling thunderously, all the tension and frustration that’s been mounting all day spilling over. “And I don’t have to put up with being dismissed and unappreciated when I know that I would be respected in other squads for the work that I do.”
Price raises his hands, a frown creasing his brow. “Kid, that’s not–”
Usually, being called ‘kid’ by Price has a warm glow settling in your stomach that you’re absolutely not interested in examining, but this time it only lights an infuriated fire in your belly.
“Don’t!” You snap, your breath juddering unsteadily. “God, you think I enjoy being treated like an idiot? You think I haven’t had to deal with this from men my whole career? My whole life? Even my father–”
To your abject horror, a lump forms in your throat and you can’t finish that sentence. Your eyes are hot with unshed tears, and you’re pretty sure your lip is trembling.
Price stands, his stern expression slackening into something like uncomfortable surprise as he moves to step around the desk.
“Hey,” He soothes, lifting his hands. “I’m not your father.”
“I know that!” You snap, irate. You’re frustrated with yourself, embarrassed at what you’ve unintentionally given away. “I wouldn’t want you to be!”
Price’s expression flickers, as though he can’t decide quite how to react to you. You’re more than aware that you’re being childish, but you find yourself unable to temper your overreactions. In the face of your tears and your frustrated anger, Price looks like he’s at a loss.
“All I’ve done is work hard, and tried to take the burden off you to make your job a little easier.” You continue before he can interrupt again. “And all I get in return is stress, and my chocolate biscuits eaten, and breakouts, and– and–”
“Kid–”
“The only person who wasn’t an absolute dickhead to me today was Garrick,” You rage, on a roll now. “Everyone else has just been so– and look how bad my skin has gotten from the stress of having to deal with men who want to act like children–”
Price watches you with an expression that is plainly bewildered as you gesture at the stupid pimple that’s been throbbing on your chin all day. You don’t even think you’re making sense, too lost in your frustration and humiliation to be properly aware of what you’re saying.
“Your… skin.” He repeats, a little disbelieving.
You whirl away, agitated. You’re not getting your point across well, and Price must think you’re simply demented.
“Hey,” He says slowly, approaching from around the side of his desk. “I didn’t mean to suggest that you weren’t doing a decent job–”
“Whatever.” You mutter, running your hands over your skirt in an attempt to straighten out the creases. “Whatever.”
It’s too little, too late. He’s always been a bit of a hardass, and you’ve always tried so hard to please him, to impress him. But you can’t bear to make a fool of yourself like this any longer.
“I’ll leave the paperwork to you. Update it, or don’t. It doesn’t matter.” You say shortly, turning on your heel and marching towards the door.
“Wait,” Price calls out. His voice is firm, echoing with the grim certainty of a man who is used to being obeyed.
But you’re not one of his soldiers, and his command falls on deaf ears. Your skin is still prickling with humiliation; you don’t think you’ve ever been so desperate to get away from the Captain before.
“Sweetheart, just wait a minute,” Price says, and this time you can hear the exasperation in his voice. “I understand that you’re stressed, that’s normal. Everyone gets stressed in this line of work. But you can’t just go and get your knickers in a twist because some of the lads are bein’ difficult–”
“My knickers are none of your business!” You yell. Truthfully, it’s more of a shriek, high-pitched and unsteady enough to have Price’s eyes widening and darting towards the door as though worried about someone overhearing from the corridor.
“Whoa, okay,” Price says with the air of trying to soothe a spooked horse. “You're right. Your... knickers... ain't my concern. But helping keep this squad running smoothly is, and that can't happen if my admin is on edge."
“Oh, give me a break!” You’re beyond on-edge now, sailing right into fury. “You ignore me most of the time when you're not on deployment, you dismiss me when I’m just trying to do my job, but now you’re telling me you need me to not be on edge?”
You’ve reached the door now, your hand clenched tight around the doorhandle as you take one last moment to turn and look at him. He’s stepping towards you, no doubt with the intent to stop you before you can leave, but you don’t plan on giving him the chance.
“Kid, just hang on a damn minute–”
“Sort the files yourself, or do whatever you want.” You bite out, yanking the door open but pausing in the doorway. “I don’t even care anymore. It’s your squad, you do it.”
Price takes a breath, visibly fighting for patience. Truthfully, you don’t know how he hasn’t lost his head with you already. He was already exhausted and in an obviously bad mood when you had stormed in here, and it couldn’t be more obvious that you’ve just made it worse with all of your frenzied anger and borderline hysteria.
The fact that Price is staying calm and level even in the face of your stress-induced meltdown only makes you feel all the more ridiculous. You wish he would get angry, that he would snap at you like he had when you had first walked in – at least that way you could pretend that you don’t notice the way his stressed scowl had melted into a look of concern as soon as he had seen the tears welling up in your stinging eyes.
“And you don’t have to wear that stupid hat, we’re indoors!” You yell, your voice teetering on the edge of hysteria.
You just have enough time to see his hand reach up to touch the brim of his boonie hat before you hurriedly bolt out of the room, escaping into the corridor before he can stop you.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ
“— just thinking that maybe I’d be better suited with another team, that’s all. I heard Kortac’s liaison is approaching maternity leave—”
“That position is going to be filled internally,” Laswell’s voice is calm over the secure phoneline, a stark contrast to the shaky undertone of stress in your own. “Besides, organising a transfer like that is more trouble than it’s worth.” There’s a pause, then a sigh crackles over the phone. “You still haven’t explained what happened. As far as I can see, you were doing good work there.”
Yeah, you think sourly, because all you see is the paperwork end of it.
“... Internal conflict.” You mutter, playing with the fraying edge of your sweater sleeve.
There’s a long pause, protracted enough that it makes you squirm. You know what she’s thinking – in your line of work, it’s impossible to avoid clashing with some of the big dominant personalities who are used to getting away with whatever they want. But you’ve always been able to handle it, well-versed enough in diplomacy to know when to stand your ground and when to bow out to avoid unnecessary strife.
“Internal conflict.” Laswell repeats, her voice as bland as you’ve ever heard it. “Meaning?”
God, it feels like you’re disappointing your mom or something. You scrub a hand over your face, pacing in the living room of your small apartment.
“I know how it sounds,” You say, “But– they don’t want to work with me. There’s only so much I can do if I’m being met with resistance at every corner–”
“You’ve worked with resistant squads before,” Laswell interrupts. “It’s part of the job.”
“Yes, but…” You start, before trailing off.
She has a point, of course. It is part of the job. There’s no way to professionally explain to your superior that the reason this assignment is so difficult is because you have a mortifying crush on the Captain of the Task Force. It’s making you stupid, making all the stupid bullshit that you’re usually able to look past feel so much worse, especially because all you’ve ever wanted was Price’s approval.
Another sigh. This one, at least, sounds a little more sympathetic.
“Look,” Laswell says, and this time her voice is a little gentler. “I’ve never given you an assignment that I didn’t think you could handle. Whatever is going on, you need to sort it. You’re a capable girl, and the One Four One is far from the most difficult team you’ve had to deal with. There might be some big personalities there, but nothing that you shouldn’t be able to tackle.”
“Mhm.” You grunt noncommittally.
“Sort out whatever’s going on with you.” Laswell’s tone leaves no room for argument, her suggestion falling just short of a command. “If whatever issues you’re experiencing continue, I’ll talk to John–”
“No!” You blurt.
God, you can’t think of anything worse. You’ve already made a show of yourself in front of him, the last thing you need is for him to learn that you’ve gone crying to Laswell about the whole thing. You don’t want him to think of you as any more of a useless little girl than he doubtlessly already does.
“No,” You repeat, calmer this time as you clear your throat. “I’ll… sort it. Sorry to bother you with this, ma’am.”
Laswell hums, and you can imagine her eyes narrowing. Judging by the wind whistling in the background of the call, she’s not anywhere near her cushy office. You’ve interrupted her on whatever assignment she’s on, and she’s been kind enough to listen to your silly little complaints for at least fifteen minutes of her valuable time. You feel more ridiculous than ever, and you pinch at the bridge of your nose.
“... Right.” She says. “Fine. Keep me updated on the situation. I want a sitrep by the end of the week, understood?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
You understand what’s not being said. Laswell expects you to work your own shit out, but you can hear the concern in her voice when she demands an update. All you can do is agree. Laswell has been by your side throughout your whole career, always having a hand in your assignments and your progression, and she’s always been an advocate for you and what you’re capable of. Now, after this conversation, you feel silly for getting so overwhelmed in the face of what is a relatively minor obstacle.
“Good. I’ll speak to you then.”
You hum, wish her goodbye and good luck, and hang up the phone.
For a long moment afterwards, you sit in silence in your living room. God, how did all of this spiral into such a mess?
For the last few days, you’ve been avoiding the base entirely. You have a few PTO days built up, and you’ve taken the opportunity to just chill out. It’s the first chance you’ve had to relax properly in months, since you had started working with the task force. The space is good, and it’s needed.
You get out of the headspace of work, and reports, and files and requisitions and debriefs, and instead treat yourself with full body self-care. You exfoliate, you moisturise, you use a hair mask, you take bubble baths. You even catch up on the trashy Netflix romance series that you had put on hold for ages, just waiting for some free time to indulge.
And you almost, almost, forget about why you’re hiding away in your little flat in the first place.
But your third day off creeps around, and you can’t help but feel as though your little bubble of isolation is about to pop. There’s only so much time away from the office that you’re able to swing, and the longer away the more you feel that your position on the team is untenable. No matter how you currently feel about the task force and your place with them, you’re not willing to let your hard work go down the drain just because you’re too cowardly to face them again after your little meltdown.
So, you go back to work after your little break away.
You manage to slink into your office mostly unseen, other than polite hello’s from other admin staff as you slip through the halls. Your office is far from prime real estate when it comes to office space on base – it’s well out of the way, down several corridors that no one ever goes down, and once you get past the main thoroughfares you don’t come across anyone. Even still, it feels a little like you’re doing a walk of shame, but you walk with your head held high before you finally get your office door closed behind you.
To your surprise, your desk is clear. Typically, any slight break away from your desk results in work piling up on it, just waiting for your attention once you get back. You don’t know what to make of the absence of work; you can’t help but wonder, somewhat uncomfortably, if Price had taken your words to heart and dealt with all of the paperwork himself.
You check the drawers of your desk too, just in case, and come up empty yet again.
Well. Okay, then.
You sign into your desktop, waiting for the encryption program to load before accessing your emails. There’s a lot to catch up on, so you spend the next hour or so organising your to-do list in order of urgency.
You get lost in making your little lists, allowing yourself to relax into finding order in your schedule. You barely even look up until there’s a soft knock on your office door, and by the time you’ve raised your head the door has opened and Farah has slipped inside.
“Oh,” You straighten up in surprise. “Commander. What can I do for you?”
It’s a surprise to see her, especially since you hadn’t received any email correspondence. Your office is tucked away down a remote corridor, and soldier’s usually prefer to just email you their requests rather than make the trek down.
Farah offers a polite smile, approaching your desk. “I hear you are taking photographs.”
Your smile slips a little. “Oh. No, actually, I wasn’t–”
“Captain Price said I was to be photographed,” She says, pulling the chair out opposite you and watching you expectantly. “I tried to find you yesterday, and the day before, but I believe you weren't on base.”
You shift, feeling abruptly rather awkward. “Right. I was– Price said that to you?”
“Mhm.” Farah leans back in the chair, her dark eyes alert as they track over your face. “He said that you have been stressed.”
You feel your face heat, mortified. Oh, god. How embarrassing. Has Price given the team a goddamn debrief on your little meltdown? Farah tilts her head as though she knows what you’re thinking, and a tiny smile quirks at the corner of her lips.
“That’s all he said,” She says. “That, and that we should try to make your job a little easier.”
“Oh.” You shift, embarrassed and awkward. “I– Listen, I had a… rough day at work a few days ago, that’s all. I’m not– things are fine.”
Farah just nods as though that’s perfectly convincing, and you find yourself wildly appreciative of her for a moment.
“So, then,” She says, and raises her eyebrows. “The picture?”
You can’t find a way to explain that you had thrown that particular responsibility right back at Price in a fit of pique, but it turns out you don’t have to. Farah produces a slim folder that you hadn’t noticed her holding, and you realise with another flush of embarrassment that it’s her personnel file.
“There wasn’t much to update, just a recent blood work test.” She says as she lays it on your desk.
“That’s… thanks.” You say weakly, taking the file in hand. You flick through it briefly, feeling something in your stomach squirm at the sight of Farah’s details all filled in – Price’s handwriting is unmistakable, the small neat blocky letters standing out amongst the messy scrawl of Farah’s medical report.
You dig out your camera, still a little flustered, and direct Farah to stand against your plain white-painted wall. She’s an easy subject to photograph; she stands perfectly still, unsmiling, and you get the perfect picture after only a couple of attempts.
“Lovely,” You murmur, flicking through the pictures. “Thank you.”
Farah hums. You’re expecting her to dismiss herself, and it takes a moment for you to realise that she’s still lingering. You glance up, blinking, only to find that she’s standing with her lips pursed, obviously considering something.
“The Captain is worried about you.” She says, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Is everything alright?”
You gape at her like a moron, camera still hanging loosely from your hands. You feel uncomfortably seen; there’s no way that Farah could know what happened, but she’s looking at you with an awful lot of sympathy right now.
“What?” You squeak.
“You fought?” Farah speaks slowly, obviously conscious of overstepping her boundaries. “I don’t mean to pry, it’s just…”
“No, that’s okay.” You say hastily. “We didn’t– there was no fighting, exactly.”
She just nods, as if you’re making perfect sense, then smiles politely. She gathers herself up and steps towards the door, and you feel your head spinning as she turns to go.
“You look tired,” Farah murmurs, low enough that you almost miss it. “When Price wants to fix things, let him.”
“Mhm.” You nod quickly without really hearing her. You’re pretty sure you’d agree to anything right now just to escape the knowing intensity of Farah’s gaze. “Yeah, of course.”
After Farah leaves, you feel like you need another day off. It’s all you can do to just sit in your comfortably padded office chair and groan like a moron, because Jesus Christ you’ve made such a mess of things.
It was bad enough when you were pining like an idiot from afar; you’ve had crushes before, and you know that you would have outgrown it eventually. But then you had your stupid little meltdown in front of Price, and revealed more than you intended, and all of a sudden you’ve made yourself into a fool in front of the squad you’ve tried so hard to impress these last few months.
You have to try hard not to spiral. In fact, it’s a challenge not to cave and grab your phone to call Laswell all over again to demand a reassignment right this second. You have a pretty good idea of what she’d say to you in response, but still, the impulse remains.
All you can do is put it from your mind. You potter about, printing Farah’s photograph so you can tuck it neatly into her file with a paperclip, and then decide to start replying to the many emails that have built up in your absence.
The emails vary in tone, from polite enquiries to not-so-polite demands for you to solve some administrative issues, and you sigh quietly as you respond to some of the more snotty messages from upper management. And if you’re a little bit passive aggressive, then you don’t think anyone can blame you.
Your mind has finally quietened, focusing on your work as the buzz of your thoughts settle down, when another knock sounds out from your door. This one is firmer than Farah’s soft knock from earlier, and a little louder, though this time you don’t look up from your screen.
“Come in.” You call, chewing at your lip as you struggle to keep the wording of your email civil.
You’re half-expecting it to be Soap this time around, or maybe one of the recruits hoping to get you to sign off on their leave. So when you finally glance up only to catch sight of the broad, thick-shouldered figure of Captain Price stepping into your office, you think you might go into cardiac arrest.
Email abandoned, you half jolt to your feet before changing your mind mid-movement and attempting to sit back down. It ends up being a humiliating sort of jerky motion, and you pray that he somehow missed it entirely.
“Captain.” You wheeze, your voice coming out a little weak.
Price’s cool blue eyes dart over your face and then down the length of your body, and you become suddenly, mortifyingly aware of the state you’re in. You might not want to admit it, but your wardrobe definitely changes when the Captain isn’t on deployment. Instead of professional trousers, you wear your tight knee-length pencil skirts and fitted shirts, and totter around in your heels. And it’s silly, but… well, you can’t help but notice the way Price’s eyes follow you when you dress like that, and you like his attention on you.
Except today, you hadn’t been planning on running into Price. You hadn’t planned on seeing anyone, so you had dressed for comfort — you’re wearing a pair of frumpy grey wool trousers and a super over-sized soft purple sweater that practically swallows you whole. You haven’t even done your hair nicely, and you curse yourself. This has to be the least sexy you’ve looked in months.
“D’you’ve a moment, love?”
His voice seems loud in the quiet of your office, even though realistically you know he’s only speaking in a murmur. In the quiet days you’ve spent alone in your apartment, you’d almost forgotten how lovely and low and gruff his voice is, and you feel your toes curl in your shoes at the sound of it.
It’s not as though you can refuse him, though you’re already embarrassingly aware of the way in which you had stormed off the last time you had seen him.
“Yeah.” You swallow thickly in an attempt to strengthen your voice, but it still comes out high and thready. “Sure.”
As if he had just been waiting for permission, Price steps into the room properly and closes the door behind him. All of a sudden, the room feels a little claustrophobic. Price is a big man, broad-shouldered and thickly built with a soft layer of fat cushioning those hard muscles, and you can’t help but feel as though his presence is sucking all of the air out of the room.
But still, he approaches slowly, like you’re some kind of feral cat. Those sharp eyes of his are still tracking over you; he never misses a beat, and you know that he’s taking stock of you in the same way he would for an enemy out on the field. You feel raw, uncomfortably vulnerable. You find yourself wishing wildly and ridiculously that you had worn your usual fitted shirt and pencil skirt, or at least put on a bit of makeup.
“You look rested.” He notes, coming to a slow stop just in front of your desk.
You suddenly curse your last minute choice to stay seated, because now Price’s big body is towering over you in a way that’s honestly making your head swim a little.
“Yeah.” Your voice is a little hoarse. “I guess.”
Price nods, inhales through his nose. A moment passes before he clears his throat and reaches out to place a handful of files on your desk. Despite the plain manila envelopes, you recognise them for what they are almost immediately; the personnel files for 141.
“Finished ‘em off for you while you were gone.” He says gruffly, as though it were no big deal. “Nearly had to nail Soap down to a chair for that damn photo.”
You stare at the files for a long moment, making no move to open them. You find yourself totally, utterly lost for words.
“This is–” You start to say, and truthfully you’re not sure where you’re going with that. You think you’re about to thank him, but he doesn’t really give you the chance to.
“Why don’t we talk?” He says, and motions to the dinky little couch in the corner of the room as if he owns it.
You hesitate a moment, a little peeved about the effortless way he takes command in your own office, but relent and push yourself up from the desk. You don’t make eye contact with Price as you step around him, walking to the corner, but you can feel his eyes on you all the same.
The couch had come with the office, and you don’t even really want to think about how old it is, but you sink down awkwardly onto it anyway. The cushions are worn and threadbare and the springs creak gratingly when you settle your weight onto it, but it’s fine. It does the job.
You’re half-expecting Price to drag the spare chair at your desk over so he can sit opposite you – you’re not expecting him to step right up next to you before he drops down next to you, sighing as his thick thighs spread wide.
You barely bite back a squeak, a little bewildered. You’re not surprised that he’s asked to talk to you. Your behaviour had been wildly inappropriate, and you couldn’t exactly protest if he’s decided to caution you or something.
But you had expected it to be a more formal affair; sitting together on the pathetic, dingy little couch in your office feels entirely too casual for the dressing down you’re sure you’re about to receive.
“Think we’re due a discussion about the other day.” He says, gentler than you had been expecting.
You avoid his eyes, though you can feel his stare boring into the side of your face. Ugh. Time to eat humble pie, you think miserably.
“I’m sorry, sir.” You keep your voice as dispassionate and prim as possible. “My behaviour was unprofessional and entirely unacceptable, and I have no excuse. It won’t happen again, I assure you.”
It’s as professional an apology as you can manage, and you chance a quick side glance at him to see his reaction. Your stomach sinks when you see that his brow is creased in a frown, and you panic a little at the realisation that your apology hasn’t helped matters at all.
“Well,” His voice is gruff enough to elicit a little shiver from you. “I wasn’t–” He clears his throat. “I wasn’t looking for an apology.”
That finally makes you turn properly, your eyes darting nervously over his face. He’s already watching you, his blue eyes searing under the brim of his stupid hat. He’s trimmed his beard since the last time you saw him; the salt and pepper bristles of his moustache and chops are neat and shortened. He looks good, though you try not to notice. He doesn’t look as dehydrated or drained as he did a few days ago either, though he still leans into the couch with an air of quiet exhaustion.
“Paperwork has never been my favourite thing in the world,” He confesses with an air of chagrin that’s painfully endearing to you. “Always found it a pain, to be honest. Puts me right out of sorts. I was… short with you, the other day.”
You frown, making yourself small on the couch. “You said I wasn’t necessary.”
Price winces, then reaches up and pulls his boonie hat off his head so that he can drag a hand over his short-cropped hair. Though you had insulted it only the other day, it strikes you as odd to see him with a bare head.
“Shouldn’t have said that.” He mumbles, resting his elbows on his knees and letting his hat hang from his hands. “You’ve been great these last few months. Don’t know what I’d have done without you, sometimes.”
You’re stupid. It’s the only reason you can think of to explain the way blood rushes to your head and turns your face hot, your whole body going hot and prickly in response to his low praise. You fidget, glance away, and pray he doesn’t notice.
“You know I’m no good at deskwork,” He says, and leans in a little closer like he thinks you’re not listening properly. “Don’t have the head for it. I think you’re the reason the team runs so smoothly in the first place, love.”
The flattery is being laid on a little too thick, but it works. You fall for it entirely, a warm glow settling over you like a blanket, wrapping around you tight and soothing the jagged edges of your anger and anxiety. You hate that you’re so easy to appease, a couple of sweet compliments and assurances falling from your Captain’s lips assuaging all that upset that you’ve been carrying around with you for days now.
But still, part of you isn’t quite willing to let go of the sting, the hurt that his words and his harsh tone had caused.
“Is this you apologising, then?” You ask, watching him from the corner of your eye.
He smiles, close-mouthed. “Yeah. It is. Not doin’ too good, am I?”
“You’re doing okay.” You murmur, before deciding to try to be a bit cheeky. “But you can keep going, if you’d like.”
Price laughs, rich and warm and low. You don’t think you’ve ever actually heard him laugh in all the months you’ve been working with the task force, and the sound of it rumbles right into your bones, settling something inside of you and finally allowing you to relax. No longer tense with stress, you melt a little into the corner of the couch.
“Shouldn’t have snapped at you,” He says slowly. “You do good work. Great work. You shouldn’t feel like you’re not a valued member of the team.”
You swallow thickly. You feel too warm, your head swimming a little. His attention feels too heavy, heating your blood and going straight to your head.
“I overreacted,” You mumble reluctantly. “I shouldn’t… your hat isn’t stupid.”
That gets another bark of laughter out of Price, and he slaps a hand down onto your knee. The contact makes you jolt, eyes widening, but Price’s hand doesn’t shift. His palm is so large, spread across your thigh as his fingers curl over your knee. The touch feels almost scorching even through the thick fabric of your trousers.
All of a sudden, your tongue feels very thick in your mouth. The hand on your knee is not in any way suggestive; it’s chaste, innocent, just resting there like a reminder that he wants your attention on him (as if it could be anywhere else). But your nerves are jangling all of a sudden, every one of your senses straining towards him as you hold your breath.
“The hat isn’t the problem,” Price mutters, though you barely hear him. “I wanted to ask you about something else you said, love. Something you said about your father.”
That has some of the heat in your veins cooling, your eyes blowing wide. “I– what?”
To your bewilderment, Price’s cheeks have reddened beneath the whiskers of his beard and moustache. Despite his clear chagrin, he doesn’t break eye contact with you, his thick fingers squeezing cautiously around your knee.
“Don’t mean to overstep,” He assures you quietly. “And– and don’t mind me if I’m talkin’ nonsense. But I know that you’ve been working so hard, and you’ve got a tough job. Can’t be easy. And I just wanted to say that if you'd like some… guidance – someone to steer you on the right path, that is– well, that I’m here if you ever want to talk."
Oh god. You feel your mouth go dry.
It’s funny, because even though Price isn’t even yet forty, he’s always seemed so much older. Maybe it’s the weight of the responsibility that he carries on his shoulders, or the battle-hardened icy blue eyes, or the paternal sense of protectiveness that he shows over his team. He’s always been like an almost father figure for the squad, regardless of age; you’ve seen the way he’s so protective over Ghost, the way he claps Soap on the back or shoulders in praise to boost him up, the way he beams with pride when Farah excels, the way he always makes time to guide or give advice to Gaz.
It’s sweet. He’s always been sweet, so aware of the personalities on his team, even when he’s acting like that typical military authority figure.
"Sounds like you want to be my daddy." You mean to say it in a derogatory fashion, laughing as though it's ridiculous, though when it comes out you can hear that it’s missing some of the sarcasm you had intended.
Price reacts instantly. He reels back, eyes widening, the pink in his cheeks flares into a deep red flush, and you see his chest heave as his breath catches. You hadn’t been expecting a reaction like this; Price looks as though the words have hit him like a physical slap.
“Jesus. That’s not–” He says, and the gravelly hoarseness in his voice is a shock. “That’s not what I meant.”
There’s a moment of charged silence. Fuck, what have you done? Why would you say that? Why would you say that, to the captain of your task force? Hadn’t you embarrassed yourself enough in front of him the day you had had your silly little meltdown? It’s like you just can’t keep your damn mouth shut around him, like your brain turns to mush the second he looks at you and you just lose the run of yourself.
“I’m sorry.” You blurt. “I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know what– I didn’t mean it.”
The next silence is even worse than the last, tension humming between you like a live wire. He’s so close to you that his scent fills your nose – a blend of sweet cigar smoke, sharp gunpowder, and a heady masculine musk. You feel so fucking stupid, and more than a little panicked. You don’t think you could survive the humiliation of having to call Laswell and beg for a reassignment twice in one day just because you’ve completely humiliated yourself in front of the Captain again.
Price swallows, the sound painfully loud in the silence.
“Right.” He says slowly, before coughing roughly to clear his throat. “Mm. ‘Course. I didn’t mean to– perhaps I overstepped. Since you mentioned your father–”
“I don’t want to talk about my father.” You say swiftly.
God, you feel like your issues are out on display with a big damn spotlight. You feel so pathetic, so damn pitiful, as though your desperate need for approval and affection from an older male authority figure is written across your forehead.
But if your issues are on display, then so are Price’s, because you can’t help but notice that the vibrant red flush on his cheeks hasn’t faded. If anything, that deep flush has spread down his throat and over his chest; you can see how the skin that’s stretched over his pectoral muscles is glowing crimson beneath his shirt.
A niggling boldness begins to creep in, and you find yourself straightening on the couch. You turn, bring one of your legs up on the couch so that you can turn your whole body towards him, one of your elbows resting on the back cushion of the couch.
Price’s eyes sharpen when your body turns towards him, and his body draws tense. Those cool blue eyes dart over you, and you’re surprised to see heat in them despite your oversized purple jumper and unflattering wool trousers. The whisper of his fatigues brushing against the fabric of your own trousers is both a distraction and an invitation, your thighs sliding surreptitiously against each other.
“What if I did mean it?” You blurt out before your courage can flee you.
Price goes so still it looks preternatural, even the breaths in his chest slowing.
“Kid.” He says, and it sounds like a warning.
You don’t heed it, adjusting yourself so that you’re shuffling closer yet again. You don’t think you’ve ever been so close to him, his scent and his body and his heated gaze filling up your consciousness until he’s all that you’re aware of.
“What if I meant it?” You ask again, the whisper coming out low but charged.
Price takes a breath that sounds like a groan, and it surprises you. You hadn’t expected that reaction; it sends a trickle of heated desire running down your spine, and you’re startled by how much you want him in this moment.
“D’you know what you’re asking for?” He asks, the gravel in his voice flooding wet heat between your legs.
His carefully laced words linger in the space between you, daring you to accept, to shred the formal boundary that looms between the two of you. You get the sense that you’re walking a fine line here, that you’re getting close to the point of no return.
“Yes.” You breathe, although you’re not entirely sure that you do know what you’re asking for. All you know is that he’s so close, and he’s staring at you with an expression of such hunger that it’s making you feel weak.
Price moves fast for such a big man, and all you can do is let out a soft sound of surprise when one of his big hands wraps around the back of your neck to pull you in. A deep, guttural sound escapes him when his lips crash into yours, his mouth demanding and greedy.
It feels like you go both lax and rigid simultaneously, before you positively light up. The hand that Price has wrapped around the back of your neck keeps you grounded, and before you can stop yourself you’re burrowing closer. It feels like the tension, your childish argument, the sexual friction – everything has culminated to this electrifying moment, where Price’s full lips are consuming yours, the hair of his beard rubbing over your cheeks and chin and keeping your nerves straining towards him.
The kiss doesn’t start out slow; it skips straight to hungry, fast and dirty, with Price’s big hands on your hip and the back of your neck, holding and guiding you. Overwhelming.
Price’s big fucking body is leaning in, caging you against the couch. The wide shoulders and barrel-chested mass of him pressing you into the cushions is just short of breath-taking, but it’s not enough. You want to be right up against him, under his skin.
You swing your leg over Price’s, and climb up into his lap. His thighs are thick beneath you, wide and muscled, but you’re still hesitant to fully settle your weight against him. You just want to be closer, to feel the heat of him pressed against you, but the second you start moving Price grabs at your hips and pulls you down properly, uncaring of your weight.
“I’ve been–” You manage to say in between kisses, your words muffled and a little wet. “I’ve been working my ass off, for the squad, for you, and you never say or do anything–”
Price grunts, grappling with his sudden lapful of you. His eyes meet yours, and in them, you think you might see the spark of admiration, for your brave stupidity if nothing else.
“Sh, I know,” He says as he grips at your hips under your oversized jumper, encouraging you to settle down your full weight on his thighs. “I know, love, you’ve been working so hard. What would I do without you, huh?”
And the thing is, you’re a very capable woman. You’ve had to be, in order to survive in your line of work. You know that you’re capable, you know that you do good work, you know that you help keep the wheels greased and everything moving behind the scenes for the 141, but even still, Price’s praise sinks into you like warm honey.
“Watching you walk around in those tight little skirts, Christ.” He hums, and his big palms land on your ass and squeeze there suggestively. “And those heels– completely impractical for a military base like this.”
You wheeze a laugh, clutching at his shoulders. It feels completely surreal that you’re currently perched in your Captain’s lap, with his big shovel-like hands groping your bum as he nips at your lips and confesses that he’s been watching you. It goes straight to your head, makes you dizzy, makes you wish wildly that you had worn one of those skirts for him today.
Oh, you could get used to this. Realistically you know the size difference between you two isn’t that immense, but Price is built like a man whose reality is all war, and when he shifts beneath you his muscles roll, unwittingly showing off his physique. You think you could stay here forever, feeling safe in a big man’s lap, cushioned by his body as he tells you that you’re valuable, and important.
“Fuckin’ hell,” Price groans, nipping at your lower lip before capturing your mouth wholly again. “You’re a handful.”
You’d love to argue that – you like to think that you’re perfectly measured and sensible, after all – but you’re already squirming in his lap, your legs spread wide over his thighs. Arousal pools in your stomach, makes you slick your knickers, and you can’t stop the slow grind your hips trace against his thigh.
Price’s breath shudders out of his chest, and his hands clench tight around your hips. “Hang on a sec,” He breathes, “Hold on. I’m still– I’m still your Captain–”
You think that it’s meant to be a warning, or at least a word of caution about the precarious situation you’re in regarding professionalism and inappropriate workplace relationships. What you’re doing right now is ridiculous, after all. You’re still on base, you’re in your office, and if the two of you get caught you don’t even want to think about the consequences. The fraternisation rule shouldn’t apply here, since you’re only considered part of the team by a mere technicality, but even in your lust-hazed mind you can still recognise that sitting on his lap and kissing like this at your workplace is wildly inappropriate.
But if it is a warning, it doesn’t work. The reminder of his authority only inflames you further, and a quiet whimper is torn from your throat when you rock against his lap.
He swears, and beneath you his cock stirs in his fatigues. You can feel the way it fills out where it’s pressed against the seam of your trousers, right between your legs. You reflexively squish your thighs together, tightening them around his hips.
“Christ,” He grits out like a curse. “Alright, then.”
He moves quickly, his hands secure on your back as he lunges forward, flipping you over so that you’re laying on your back on the shoddy, worn-down couch. You go so easily –
you’re soft now, pliable and eager to please, and he could direct you anywhere he wanted.
He’s too large to be climbing on top of you on a couch like this, but somehow it doesn’t even matter. Now that he’s above you, holding himself up with those strong arms on either side of your head, he looks down on you with an expression that you don’t know what to make of. His eyes are still intense, but the lines around them are softened as he stares down, his gaze tracing your face.
“You think I haven’t been looking?” He asks, and his voice isn’t as harsh or gritty as you’d been expecting. It’s softer now, fond, almost. “How could I fuckin’ miss you? Always so pretty, always workin’ so hard. ‘Course I noticed.”
When his fingers creep beneath your big purple jumper, you launch into helping him remove it, eagerly stripping it off so you’re laying in your bra. It’s one of your simple utilitarian ones, and you curse yourself for not wearing a sexier one.
But Price groans at the sight of your simple white cotton as though it’s premium lace. His palms are rough as they trace up your sides, the callouses on his fingers coarse against the soft squishy flesh of your belly. He leans forward and nuzzles at your ear, kissing behind your lobe before scraping his teeth along your jaw until he’s kissing messily at your mouth all over again.
“So gorgeous.” He says, his voice a low rumble that has your nerves buzzing. “I was too mean to you before, wasn’t I? Too harsh, when all you were trying to do was help.”
“Yes.” You whisper, though you feel a little bit petulant for it.
“Let me make up for it, darling,” He whispers back, and it sounds like a plea. “Hm? I’ll show you how good you’ve been.”
You’re nodding before he even finishes, desperate. God, yes. You’re not even sure what it is that he’s offering, but you know that you’ll take anything that he has to give you.
He’s looming over you, so large, as his hands fall to the closure on your work trousers. His fingers are so thick that he fumbles with the delicate button and little zip, and it takes him a couple of tries to pull it open and down. When he’s got it, he shucks your trousers off easily and tosses them aside, then stares down at you in your ugly shapeless underwear as though you’re wearing something else entirely.
Even though you’re laying unclothed and vulnerable, squirming and wanting, Price is so slow to get moving. He doesn’t grab at you, or grope greedily, or take impatiently. He acts as though he’s got all the time in the world, leisurely looking you over as though he’s committing you to memory.
“Need you to say it,” He says, strained like he’s trying to hold himself back. “Need you to say it out loud.”
“Want you to show me how good I’ve been.” You say immediately, your desire leaving no room for shame. “Want you to look after me.”
The request comes out a little bit plaintive, and Price sighs out before ducking his head and kissing you again. He’s so much more affectionate than you had ever imagined, and you feel as though you’re drowning in it. His attention is like a warm blanket, settling every craving you’ve ever had.
“I will,” He breathes like it’s a promise. “Oh, I will.”
His palms are rough and hot as they drag over your skin, deceptively gentle as he reaches your tits and pushes your bra up so that he can knead at the soft flesh there. He doesn’t even bother to unclasp it, impatient enough that shoving the cups up so to free your breasts is enough for him.
He bends his head down, and licks a stripe over your nipple. His tongue feels scorching against you, like you’re hypersensitive to his touch, and he groans against your skin as though he’s tasting something incredible.
You writhe, hips arching up in search of some kind of friction, but Price doesn’t give it to you. He’s too distracted, peppering dozens of kisses over your tits as though they’re something precious even as his hands coast down your back to grope at your ass again where your plain cotton underwear is riding up.
“So pretty, ain’tcha?” He groans against your chest. “Fuck, even when you were walkin’ around with a face on you like a slapped arse, I thought you were the sweetest fuckin’ thing I’d ever seen.”
“Charming.” You snap, but there’s no anger in your tone anymore. In fact, you don’t think there’s a lick of anger anywhere in your whole body anymore, like Price’s hands and mouth on you have washed it all away.
All the brattiness, and the prickliness of your bad mood, is entirely forgotten now that you’re laid out and squirming beneath him. You can hardly even remember what you had been so stressed and angry with him for.
He finally reaches around to unclasp your bra, then tosses it to the side to let it slump sadly to the floor. His next target is your underwear, pulled from you roughly enough that you think the fabric might tear even as his hands cradle the plush flesh of your ass like it’s a treasure.
“Mm, so gorgeous, princess,” It seems like the name just slips out of his mouth, and you feel your whole body draw tense and hot. “So lovely, and I bet you taste even better than you look… like sugar, my sweet girl.”
Jesus Christ. You think your whole fucking body throbs, blood pounding and nerves straining as you wish so desperately for him to touch you. You can’t handle him talking to you like that, so fondly, as if you haven’t just acted like the biggest brat in the world for several days straight.
You can hardly even reconcile this man with the usual stern, gruff man that acts as your Captain, and you let out a choked whine of bewilderment as he slides down your body.
Your thighs are clamped together, shy under his gaze despite how desperately eager you are. You want this, you want him, but you can’t help but feel so mortified by the vulnerability of being nude beneath him on the couch while his big formidable body is still entirely clothed.
Price’s fingers stroke against your hip, his tone low and rich as his lips find your throat again. You can feel his tongue darting out against your skin, his hunger so palpable now that it’s infectious.
“Let daddy see you,” He croaks against the hollow of your throat. “Spread your legs, sweetheart.”
It’s not like you could ever say no to that. The request sends liquid heat shooting straight to your cunt, making you hot and sticky. You spread your thighs, and feel embarrassment flare when there’s a squelch as your cunt unsticks. And– Jesus, Price’s eyes fucking light up, and you realise that he’s clocked your reaction to his honeyed words, the way he calls himself daddy.
The kiss he gives you is claiming and hungry, consuming your lips with a fervour that leaves no room for doubt about his intentions. It’s a taste of both command and reverence — in equal measure. When he pulls away from your mouth you’re breathless, still gasping softly even as he pushes himself down the length of your body.
In the blink of an eye, he’s there — between your welcoming thighs, his hands resting securely on your soft hips, as much a lifeline as a promise of what’s to come. Your pussy is already sloppy, slick and wet in anticipation of him. He shoves his head between your thighs, using his thumbs to spread apart your folds and just look at you.
Your back arches at even the suggestion of his touch, feeling his breath ghost over the heated slick flesh of your cunt. Despite your obvious willingness, and his apparent eagerness, he doesn’t immediately touch you.
You crane your neck to see that he’s staring at your pussy as though the sight of it is earth-shattering. His gaze drinks you in, heated blue eyes taking in the sight of your swollen sticky folds, no doubt throbbing invitingly under his attention. You’ve never seen a man look so hungry, like he’s about to risk anything for it. A dark, groaned "fuck" escapes him as he kneels between your spread legs, head bowed as if in reverence.
"Daddy needs a taste, sweet girl," His deep voice a heavy rumble, vibrating against your soft inner thighs.
It takes a beat for you to realise that he’s holding himself back, that he’s essentially asking for permission to lay his mouth on you, but then you gasp, “Yes, fuck, yes, please–”
Price takes it as the enthusiastic invitation that it is and bursts into movement immediately, reaching out and guiding your legs wider so that he can muscle in between them properly, before leaning in and finally getting his mouth on you.
You choke, hips aching as you try to spread your legs even further. Price drags the flat of his tongue along the seam of your cunt, groaning as though he’s savouring the taste of you, before wrapping his arms around your thighs to keep you all spread open for him as his tongue rasps over your sensitive flesh.
You want to call out for him, but his name stalls on your tongue. What would you call him – Price? John? Captain? Daddy? You think you would die if you said it out loud.
Then his tongue finds your clit, and your thoughts scatter. He flicks the tip of his tongue over you, back and forth, then flattens it to grind eagerly. You had thought, given the way he had taken that moment just to look at you before he’d pressed his mouth to you, that he would start slow. But instead, he gives you everything he has.
You cry out as he devours your cunt, his bushy eyebrows pulling up in delight as you give him your first moan. While your legs had spread wide in the beginning, eager to let him in, you now close them tight around his head to keep him in place. You have a brief, hazy thought that maybe this is an asshole move of you, a little like if a man were to hold your head down while you were sucking cock, but Price doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, judging by the snarl he lets out when your thighs close around his ears, he likes it.
You toss your head back against the worn couch cushions as jolts of white-hot heat spread from where his mouth is working at you, playing with you, tongue painting long, broad strokes up and down your pussy.
Your cunt is syrupy hot, throbbing as his tongue rubs relentlessly at your clit. You’re so fucking wet, and you can’t help yourself from rolling your hips more assertively into his mouth. You’re leaking on his mouth, his tongue, your slick drenching his cheeks and his beard.
Seized by a sudden urge to watch, you clumsily raise your head so you can look down. It feels entirely illicit, watching Price’s head between your legs as he buries his face so enthusiastically into your folds. His eyes flash as he glances up, the bottom half of his face hidden entirely in your pussy as his jaw works, the soft hair of his beard tickling your sensitive inner thighs.
With a jolt, you realise that one of his hands has fallen to his lap, his trousers hastily pushed open. He’s fisting at his dripping cock, red and angry and still begging for release against the thick dark hair of his stomach. Sticky pre-cum leaks from his flushed head, pooling into his skin and clothes as his cock bobs and twitches at the sounds of your moans.
The sudden realisation that Price is getting off on this, on the taste of you and the smell of you and the way you’re whining, sets you aflame. He grunts, one of his big hand’s wrapping around his throbbing skin to pump his length to the rhythm of his tongue inside of you.
“Oh, oh fuck,” You press your lips together, stomach pulling tight as his tongue thrusts up inside of you, “Fuck, fuck, fuck that’s so good, oh god, Captain–”
“Yeah,” Price grunts, his words all wetly muffled, his arms wrapped tight around your thighs to keep you in place as he feasts on you, sucking on your clit like it’s a sweet. “I know, baby, I know.”
He’s so accommodating, so nice to you. You tilt your hips up and grind your cunt into his mouth, sighing in satisfaction as his tongue drags along your clit before dipping to lick inside of you. He barely even shifts when you hump your pussy into his face; he only opens his mouth wider, licks at you more enthusiastically as though your desperation is contagious.
Your belly goes hot and tight, and a high-pitched whimper is torn from your throat. It feels as though you’ve been strung high and taut for months now, and your breath catches at your imminent orgasm. You’ve just been so stressed, and having Price hunched over you on the couch like this with your legs thrown up around his shoulders as he licks and sucks at you so eagerly that it has your eyes rolling in your head feels like it’s curing you.
You think, somewhat madly, that an orgasm like this, with Price’s mouth sealed over your cunt, will solve every damn problem you have right now.
“Wanna come, wanna come, Jesus fucking Christ, please please–” Your chest heaves as you scramble, one of your hands reaching down to cup Price’s head to keep him in place, face buried in your cunt. “Oh god, please make me come–”
Maybe it’s not fair to be so demanding of him, but to his credit Price responds with restless enthusiasm. You double over in pleasure as he heeds your broken little pleas, your nails scraping into the couch as you cling on for dear life. His tongue swirls over your clit quickly and with fervour, tight circles to make your vision go blurry.
You’re lost in the sensation of his hot, wet mouth in your cunt, the way he licks into you like a starving man tasting his first meal. It feels like a sensation overload, as though you’re just completely lost to your own desire, but you just want more of what he is offering.
You grab his hair again and pull him closer, greedy with need, and he hums in affirmation as he allows you to guide his mouth to exactly where you need it. Arching your hips up, you grind into his mouth, chasing your orgasm. You groan, eyelids fluttering as you wrap your other leg around Price’s shoulders, up around his neck, and his hand snakes around your thigh to anchor you there.
Price’s fingers are gripping at your hips, surely hard enough to leave bruises there. You smile, almost deliriously; you could live with some souvenirs from tonight.
Your feeble gasps start to spiral into whimpers as that hot coil begins to tighten in your belly, and your toes start to curl. When your climax finally hits, it does so with a sense of relief that almost knocks you flat. Your body winds tight then releases, and you convulse in a wave of shudders that has you sobbing out loud.
Your chest heaves as you sob, squirming as Price licks at your clit insistently. It feels like your breath has caught in your chest, your toes curling so hard that your feet cramp. You’re panting like a damn dog as your orgasm rocks through you, until the waves of it subside and you can finally get a full breath again.
From one second to the next your nerves turn red-hot and oversensitive, and you clamp your thighs shut around Price’s ears and whimper-whine pathetically. Mercifully, he gets your unspoken message easily, and finally pulls back, chuckling breathlessly to himself as he pushes your legs apart in order to retreat.
“Fuck,” He says, and his voice comes out as harsh and gravelly as you’ve ever heard it. “Jesus Christ. Knew you’d taste sweet, knew that you’d come so pretty.”
The praise practically slams into you, ripping through you like a forest fire. It feels like you’ve lost your breath all over again, and ridiculously you suddenly feel shy.
“I–That–” You start to say, but you still feel a little fuzzy-headed from your orgasm and your thoughts fizz away like TV static.
“Mhm, I know, sweet girl.” He murmurs hoarsely as though you had said something coherent.
When Price finally sits up, you blink hazily. He had been all hunched over you, crammed into the corner of the couch in order to squeeze himself between your thighs like that, but now that he’s straightening back up again you’re reminded with a tired jolt just how big and broad and strong he is.
A small, self-conscious part of your brain screams at you to close your legs. Your thighs are still spread wide, your cunt on display; you’re still all sloppy and wet, spit-slick and dripping, all puffy from the attention Price had lavished on you with his mouth.
But instead of closing your legs, you let your thighs fall open a little wider and shift restlessly under his intense gaze. Your desire makes you stupid – how could you ever experience anything as mundane as self-consciousness when he’s staring at you like that? He’s looking at you like he wants to fall atop you all over again, and you feel yourself throb – you feel so empty, your body craving something to fill you.
And Price notices the way you keep yourself all spread for him, the way you don’t make any move to cover yourself. Beneath his beard, his face splits into a wide smile, the apples of his cheeks practically glowing with pride.
“Oh, my girl, you're so pretty. Just the loveliest girl in the world with your beautiful face and your hair all wild like that.” He leans in then, and presses a hungry kiss to your mouth. He tastes salty-sweet, the iron tang of yourself lingering on his lips. His beard is wet too, practically soaked through.
You gasp when he pulls back, overwhelmed by the kiss and the praise and the electric aftershocks of your orgasm. “Your beard is wet.” You observe dumbly.
He chuckles, as though you’ve said something terribly endearing. “Of course it is, sweetheart. That’s all you.”
You mumble a little incoherently, mostly because you’ve just spotted the way his trousers are still unbuttoned and his hard, swollen cock is jutting out from the band of his boxers. It’s angry looking, the head of it so red it looks a little painful, and you feel a sudden urge to return the favour seize you.
But when you reach out, Price is quick to grab your wrist. He transfers his grip to your hand swiftly so you don’t feel as though you’re being held down, his wide palm and thick fingers winding around yours.
“Don’t have to do that, love.” He grunts, shifting. He’s looming over you, hips tilted towards you and his wide shoulders blocking out your view of the office. “D’you think you could take me?”
It takes you a moment for your slow, stupid brain to catch up and process what he’s asking you. Then you nod swiftly, eyes widening. You're wet and sticky and so so empty, and you have no doubt your body is so ready to take him inside.
You’re still a little limp and drained from the satisfaction of your orgasm, but you keep your thighs spread and wait eagerly for him to touch you again. He doesn’t keep you waiting long; he coos softly at you as he adjusts himself, kissing your tummy then up your sternum and back to your throat. The soft, sweet kisses distract you as he presses his hips between your thighs.
You gasp softly, your clit sensitive enough that when his cock rubs against it, you jolt. Despite the overload of sensation, you find yourself grinding back against him, so desperate for something. As if he can sense what you need, he presses a kiss to your jaw and dips a hand between your thighs. Two thick, calloused fingers circle your clit for a moment and make you whimper, only to dip lower and press inside you.
His fingers are larger than yours, but they still slip into you so damn easily that it’s embarrassing. You barely even feel a stretch, your body so eager for him that your cunt practically sucks his fingers up.
The worst part is the way Price laughs, all soft and breathy as he rubs his callous-roughened fingers into the spongey walls of your cunt.
“Oh, fuck,” He murmurs, his lips dragging over your overheated skin. “Yeah, you’ll take me just fine.”
You burn with embarrassment, but you still don’t close your legs. It’s silly, but there’s still an element of pride as his fingers rub against the soft inside of your pussy; you want him to see how much you want him, how well you’ll take him. It’s obvious how wet you are, and you hope he’s imagining how good you’ll feel on the inside.
“Need you to turn over for me, love.” He murmurs, gripping at your hips and easing you over so that you’re on your belly beneath him. “That’s it, arse up. My knees aren’t what they used to be. Make it easy for me.”
You usually would make a joke about that, some sort of jab about being old before his time, but you simply don’t have the mental capacity for it. You’re too busy dropping to rest your weight on your elbows as you stick your ass up towards him, arching your back and hoping you look pretty.
He doesn’t waste any more time, much to your relief. Your mouth drops open with a sigh as you feel the blunt head of his cock glide between your slick folds, tapping once against your clit just to watch the way your legs jerk, then finally lining up with your entrance and pressing lightly in. His cock notches, catches, then slides in so slowly that it makes you want to scream.
“Gotta let me in, petal.” He says, using his grip on your hips to pull you back onto his cock in increments. “Relax, relax.”
You had wanted this, you’re more eager than you think you’ve ever been for anyone in your life, and yet Price is a big man and the stretch makes your breath stall in your lungs. Your cunt is sucking his cock in further with a hunger that’s almost embarrassing, even as you wince a little at the feeling of being stretched out to your limits. Though you’re wet and eager and ready, two of Price’s fingers briefly testing inside weren’t quite enough to prepare you for how fat his cock is.
Your head is spinning. You’ve never taken a cock this big with so little stretching, but neither you nor Price are patient enough to wait. But the stretch feels good, and you find yourself wheezing like a moron as he presses inside inch by inch.
“Fuck… you alright, love?” Price breathes, adjusting his knees on the couch behind you and wrapping his hands around your hips. The motion only succeeds in shifting him far enough away to make you aware of the feeling of him sliding into you again. You both groan, and you feel Price twitch, deep inside you.
“Fuck,” You moan, breath gasping out of you. “You’re fucking huge.”
It feels like you’re learning for the very first time what it really means to be full. For a few seconds, it feels like you can’t even breathe. It feels like his cock is lodged somewhere in your belly, forcing the breath from your lungs as he nestles his way deeper into the eager clutch of your body.
“Am I– s’it too much, honey?” He asks, his voice rough and low as his hands squeeze at the flesh at your hips. “Need me to take it out?”
“No!” You blurt, and your body clenches up hard as though you’re trying to lock him in and keep him from escaping. “Don’t you dare!”
His cock still feels so big, and when you tighten up as hard as you do it almost feels as though he’s fucking impaling you. Price groans as though he’s been shot, and his head lowers so that he’s burying his face into the space between your shoulderblades. His body lowers too until his chest is pressed to your back, joined at the hips as he rocks inside of you.
“Okay,” He grunts, and you can feel his chest expand as he takes a breath. “Okay, love, but you need to relax. You’re going to squeeze my cock right off.”
“Sorry.” You try to do as he asks, taking a deep breath and allowing your body to go limp and pliant. He grunts in appreciation, and you feel his whiskery beard rasp against your throat as he presses a kiss to your neck as if to reward you.
Your spine is still taut from the pressure of being all stretched out around his cock, and you reach back clumsily to grasp at his belly, the soft fabric of his shirt rucking up between your fingers. Price reaches back and grabs at the neck of his own shirt, tearing it over his head then tossing it aside. Your eyes are all hazy and a little blurred from your overwhelmed tears, but you look back over your shoulder and blink frantically in an attempt to get a proper look at him.
God, he’s so big and strong, his chest furred with a layer of brown hair curling in whorls over his nipples and down over his belly. You feel yourself pulse in response, your mouth dropping open in a thoughtless gasp of desire. He’s exactly the kind of man you think of when you think of masculinity, and your belly tightens in anticipation when he presses all up against you, heavy and hot.
When he begins to pull out and press back in, the noise you make is utterly pathetic. It feels like he cleaving you in two, carving out a space for his cock every time he fucks back into you. He’s cautious at first, conscious of hurting you, but when your thighs close around his hips he grunts and begins to pick his pace up.
“Christ, you’re tight,” Price says, his voice all rough and muffled against your shoulder. “And you're all mine, love, my own sweet girl, ain’t that right? And daddy's gonna love you so good, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” You gasp stupidly, pressing your face into the couch cushions.
Typically, you find that doggy style can be a position that’s a little detached – usually, you like seeing the face of the person you’re fucking. But right now, with Price plastering his whole hairy body against your back as he ruts into you and the sweet filthy words he’s murmuring to you, this position feels so far from detached that it has your head spinning. It feels like he’s blanketing you, the heat from his skin igniting what feels like an inferno between the two of you. Sweat beads at your forehead, and you moan softly as Price begins to fuck you properly.
You’re bouncing against the couch, clutching at the cushions as your body moves under the weight of Price’s powerful thrusts. The sound of it is sloppy and wet, your bodies smacking together quick and hard. And fuck, it feels good. His cock is hitting that perfect spot deep inside of you, and your entire body jolts with pleasure every time he pounds back in.
It’s enough to make you squeal, your nails scrabbling desperately for purchase on the threadbare couch cushions in an attempt to stabilise yourself. Your nipples are sensitive from Price’s licking at sucking at them, and your toes curl as your tits are pressed into the rough-textured cushions, electrifying your nerves to the point of almost too-much.
The noises you make are entirely undignified, and you struggle to muffle them into the couch. Little burbling ah ah ah’s are being torn from your throat every time Price fucks into you, the sensation of his furred balls slapping against you with every thrust has your eyes rolling.
Your body is all loose and pliant from your earlier orgasm, and you whimper as though you’re being fucked absolutely stupid. It’s not that he’s fucking you all that hard, but he’s filling you up so deliciously and knowing that it’s him, your Captain, the man that you’ve worked so damn hard to impress and to please, makes you feel like you’re going to explode. Even through the haze of desire and pleasure, a little part of you is still so aware of making him happy. You keep your back arched, practically waving your ass up in the air as he fucks into you.
“Tell me how you like it, sweetheart. Tell me how it feels.” Price says in a low, rough purr. His chest is still pressed to your back even as the two of you pant and sweat as you rock together. “Tell daddy how good he's making you feel.”
Jesus Christ, Price feels like a fucking furnace against you. It feels almost as though you’ve been glued together, your skin sweat slick as he ruts into you like an animal. Your lungs are burning, and your mind is completely scattered. Getting fucked like this feels feels primal, an exchange of power through pleasure; you’re aware that he’s asked you a question, but you can hardly string two thoughts together. All you can do is squirm and whimper in below him as his weight pins you in place.
“Good,” You groan, vaguely aware that tears are leaking from your eyes and soaking the couch beneath you. Your vision is blurred, and you can’t even see straight. “I just– it’s so much–”
“I know,” He rumbles. “But you can take it, can’t you? You’ve been so good, sweetheart.”
The praise does exactly what he’s hoping for; you practically melt into a puddle beneath him. Your thoughts are slow and sluggish, and your jaw hangs open as you fucking drool. Even still, you manage to nod your head clumsily. You can take him – it feels like a point of pride to prove it now, to show off how good you can be.
Price’s rhythm is practically machine-like, and you make a quiet sound of pure appreciation when his cock slams into that gummy spot inside of you that makes you lose your breath. It’s as though he takes note of it, because from that point on he stays absolutely jackhammering into that little spot, making you see stars and have to bite your lip to stifle your moans. His balls would slam against your clit in a repeated motion that made your underbelly tighten like a coil so close to snapping.
He groans every time he sinks into you, his growls rumbling into your back and ratcheting up the intensity another notch. You feel lost in a sea of sensation, moored only by the places of contact between you and Price. Your hips are humping back against Price’s cock unconsciously, unable to help yourself and unable to get enough of him.
“I wanna come again,” You say, and it comes out in a demanding sort of whine. It’s a little humbling to hear yourself and realise that you sound so honest to god bratty, but you can’t bring yourself to care when Price is apparently in such a giving mood today.
“You’re gonna come, love.” He promises. His voice has that tone to it, the one you’ve always tried to ignore during work because it makes you so horny. The authoritative one, when it drops just a bit in pitch, when it sounds just a little like a threat.
But despite his promise, he doesn’t change his steady pace. You’re just this side of overwhelmed, but you still need more to push you over the edge into the second orgasm that’s simmering in your lower stomach.
“Please, daddy,” You let the name pass your lips on a whimper, finally giving in and calling him by the title he’s so clearly craving. He’s fucked all the shame out of your body at this point, leaving you with nothing but white hot desperation. “Please, please make me come again–”
“Fuckin’ Christ–”
Price’s arm reaches around your front, and you’re startled when his big palm wraps around your throat. You think for a moment that you’re about to get choked, but no pressure follows. He just grips you there, gentle and secure, before using his hold on you to pull you back against him so that he’s rutting up into you at a speed that’s overwhelming in the best way. His other arm reaches around your belly so that he can rub at your clit as he rails you into the couch. His soft grip on your throat ensures that no matter how much you try to squirm your way back into meeting his thrusts, you’re forced into stillness.
It’s exactly what you wanted, and it has you wheezing and hiccuping out moans on every stroke. It’s better than you ever could have hoped for, and you’re nearly sobbing from the sheer sensation of it all. You feel your abdomen drawing tight, heat beginning to build rapidly in the bottom of your belly as he strokes at your clit hard and fast at a pace that matches his fucking.
You know that you’re already starting to shake, trembling from head to toe. You can’t even keep your back arched anymore, though you don’t think Price gives a shit because he just nuzzles at the base of your shoulder as he fucks into you. Between his cock and his fingers, everything just feels too much but your body is strung taut as you proverbially climb higher and higher.
“Oh god, I’m– yes, yes, yes–” You chant, your voice high and reedy and so damn needy.
Then the world falls out from under you. With one last whimpering moan, your body convulses beneath the heavy weight of your captain’s big body. Your vision practically wipes out, and you squeeze down around Price’s dick and pulse. Your whole body rocks with the flood of pleasure, the warm fuzzy feeling that makes you feel as though you’re losing your mind. You know that your hips are twitching madly, simultaneously trying to get more and less as you get overwhelmed by the feeling of him fucking you through it all.
You’re still coming down from the sweet release of your orgasm when Price practically tears himself away from you, leaving you cruelly empty and clenching around nothing. You let out a sharp sound of loss, startled that he’s pulled away so suddenly, and you find yourself slumping bonelessly against the couch now that his hands are no longer supporting you.
The wet shlurping sounds from behind you prompt you to glance lazily over your shoulder from where your face is smushed against the cushions, and you’re blessed with the sight of Price tugging his cock furiously behind you. His cheeks are bright red as he stares at the mess he’s made of you, his jaw soft and his mouth open as he pants.
He sees you looking, and whatever expression is on your face seems to be his undoing. He takes in your tear-clumped eyelashes and your dazed expression, and you can practically see the moment he hurtles over the edge. He practically snarls, his nose scrunching in a way that’s unexpectedly adorable right as his cock gives one fat pump of thick white come, then several smaller sputterings that collect in a creamy puddle right at the base of your spine, just over the swell of your ass.
You sigh, your eyelids fluttering lazily shut as you relish the feeling of his hot come hitting your skin. You still can’t manage to pull yourself together, feeling loose and floaty like you’re on another fucking planet entirely. You’re only distantly aware of his big palm rubbing gentle circles on the small of his back; you think for a second that he’s just trying to soothe you, until your fucked out brain catches up and you realise that he’s rubbing his come into you like it’s goddamn lotion. Your cunt gives a tired throb at the realisation, fluttering as though it’s sad that he didn’t come inside.
“Fuck…” You hear him rumble from behind you, then a hot heavy weight settling over you yet again. This time, he pulls you back into his arms to hold you tight against his chest.
You go perfectly limp, curling into him and nuzzling into his sweaty hairy chest. Despite yourself, you’re reminded of cuddling with a massive teddy bear. All you can do is hum, basking in the affection and hardly able to think at this point after he’s turned your brain into a slurry of feelings without thoughts.
“You okay, love?” Price asks. You can feel his nose nuzzling against your temple, though you can’t quite summon the energy to open your eyes again. “Did I go too hard on you?”
Your legs are still shaky, your hamstrings aching and your back throbbing a little from the pounding you’ve just taken. But Price is being so lovely and soft, so gentle with you right now. His hands coast over your hips, your back, your waist, squeezing a little bit just because he seems to like the way you feel in his hands.
“Shhh,” You drawl shakily. “Don’t make me think right now.”
A low chuckle, and you feel his broad chest rumble with it where your head is laying atop him. His fingers run up the length of your spine, the touch making you shiver. He touches you like you’re delicate, a stark contrast to the way he’d just fucked you into your sad little office couch. It makes something in your belly squirm.
“Alright. My girl just needed to switch off for a while, hm?” He murmurs, and you can hear the clear undertone of amusement in his voice. “How are you going to finish out work today if you’re all sleepy like this, huh?”
That wakes you up a little, and you finally blink your eyes open again in order to look up at him. An edge of panic is beginning to creep in as awareness comes back to you, and you take a deep breath as your hands curl against his chest.
“Oh my god.” You blurt, eyes growing wide. “I– we’re at work!”
“Sharp as ever, darling.”
Not even Price’s lazy wryness can distract you now. You try to wiggle off the couch, already craning your head around in search of your clothes, but Price’s thick arm locks tight around your middle and keeps you pressed to him.
“We have to– oh my god, we have to get dressed, what if someone walks in–”
“Shh, shhh, I locked the door when I came in,” Price grumbles. He doesn’t appear too impressed with the way you’re attempting to wiggle away, but it doesn’t matter so much; even with one arm he’s perfectly capable of keeping you pinned in place against his chest. “Lie back down, love.”
Slowly, you let yourself relax back into him. It’s hard to hold onto your panic when he’s so obviously unbothered, so you end up hesitantly snuggling back up against his chest as his arms come up to close around you. Despite his encouragement, you’re unsure whether or not you’re allowed to be touching him like this. But his hands don’t stray from you, not even once, and gradually you return to your previous state of being a puddle of limbs and pliant muscle.
“That’s it, relax.” He coaxes, clearly pleased now that you’re melting back into him.
“I have so much work to catch up on.” You grumble, though you have no intention of actually going anywhere now that he’s given you the greenlight to stay like this.
His chest vibrates beneath your cheek, and you realise he’s chuckling again. It feels good, and you sigh softly as your fingers stroke lightly over the defined shape of his soft pecs.
“You think I wasn’t capable of keeping the ship afloat for the couple of days you were gone?” He asks, one hand stroking over your flank then dipping lower to flatten his palm over your left asscheek. “I finished out those little files you were stressin’ over. No picture of Ghost for his, but like I said, that’s standard.”
You had known that he had finished updating the files for you when you had seen Farah’s, but hearing it straight from his mouth is something else entirely. You purse your lips and lower your eyes, still embarrassed about your little freak out despite his apologies.
“Thank you.” You mumble.
You try to hide your face in his chest again, but a large hand on your jaw stops you by tilting your head back and forcing you to look at him. A thumb strokes over your cheek, and then he’s leaning in and pressing a sweet kiss to your mouth. You respond tiredly but eagerly, still hardly able to believe that your boss that you’ve been mooning after for months is being so affectionate and intimate with you.
Price pulls back slightly so that your lips are just barely touching, breathing each other’s air for a moment.
“Ask for help when you need it, sweetheart.” He murmurs, his lips dragging over yours. “That’s what I’m here for. We help each other with the workload, alright?”
“Yeah,” You breathe, leaning in eagerly in the hopes of getting another kiss. “Alright.”
Price smiles, his cheeks going all full and round as his eyes crinkle, and you feel your heart throb so violently it feels as though it jumps right up into your throat. He leans in and kisses you again, soft and sweet as his beard rasps against your chin.
You want to stay like this forever, wrapped up so warm and cosy and safe in his arms. He makes you feel so safe, like you’re valued and appreciated, and you can’t even feel bad about being lazy because he so clearly doesn’t want to move either.
“Let me come home with you tonight,” He says suddenly, and you feel his bicep contract as he squeezes you closer. “You have an apartment off base, don’t you? I’ll… why don’t I cook you dinner, hm? Want to show you how much I appreciate all the work you do.”
There’s a pause, then he adds cautiously, “If I’m not being presumptuous, that is.”
You can’t stop the shy smile from overtaking your face. He’s so sweet, and being on the receiving end of this kind of attention from him is more than you ever could have expected. Ridiculously, he seems a little nervous as well, and you come to the slow realisation that he had been vulnerable with you as well when it came to his interests when he had fucked you.
“I thought this was you appreciating the work I do.” You say coyly, glancing pointedly at all of your bare skin pressed up against his.
“Mm. You do a lot of work, and I’m very appreciative.” Price murmurs, squeezing teasingly at your ass.
You giggle despite yourself, relishing the light-hearted air between the two of you. At the sound of your laugh, Price’s expression brightens further; it’s strange, seeing your usually stern, stressed captain being so sweet with you. You’re so used to seeing him with that flinty determined look in his eyes, or barking orders, or with his eyes sagging with exhaustion after a long deployment only to return to a pile of mission reports. Seeing him like this, with those soft eyes and a fond smile, makes your heart feel as though it’s beating out of rhythm.
“I said I’d look after you, sweetheart.” He murmurs, and this time his voice is missing that teasing undertone from before. He sounds so earnest now, almost painfully so. “You just need to let me.”
Yeah, you think to yourself as you let yourself succumb to the drowsy haze that’s been tugging at you, allowing your eyes to slide shut as you nuzzle into Price’s bare chest. You think letting John Price look after you might just be the easiest thing you’ve ever done.
Also something super hot to me about getting fucked while my pussy is swollen and aching from the last pounding.
Telling you I’m too sore and you say okay, that’s okay, just the tip then. Kissing my forehead, lets me cuddle in close. But you rub your cock along my sensitive slit, still horny and wanting - the head of it slipping along my ruined hole, catching the wetness that’s pooled there despite my complaints of being too sore and you fucked me raw and now my cunt is swollen tight and maybe later?
But a shudder runs through you and you press just a little deeper, drawing out a whine from me as you do. I can feel your cock throb and get harder at the sounds I make, as I roll my hips to try and avoid the intrusion of your stiffening cock in my aching fucked-out hole.
You loved being the reason I was so sore, you loved the look and feel of my abused cunt after you’d pounded your load deep inside it. The red flush, glistening swollen clit peeking out between puffy folds, ruined just to take your load of cum. You cuddle me closer still, gentle but firm, not letting me go. I was still so hot and so wet.
Ignoring my whining and timid cries, you continue to nudge the tip of your cock into my slit. Almost involuntarily, the whole head slides in and I’m startled in your arms. You hold me still, the tight hotness of my cunt enveloping the entire head of your cock. It feels so good. I part my thighs more automatically, submitting to you instinctively. It aches but it feels so good.
Telling you it hurts, it hurts a little, and you apologise and reassure me it’s okay, but I feel your nudges getting more irregular now, a little less composed - and you push deeper still, into my swollen little pussy, tight walls clenched around your thickness. You’re holding me down so I can’t deprive you any longer. It’s so sore but it feels so good - your cock massages my insides, relieving the ache - I’m grinding my hips onto your cock now, almost in tears from the combination of pain and indescribable pleasure.
And ofc it ends in my tight fucked little pussy gripping your cock so hard it drives you wild, and soon enough you’ve entirely forgotten that I was “too sore” to fuck again and your hand is clamped over my mouth and you’re splitting me open on your cock, full length, deep strokes, lubricated by the load of cum you brutally fucked into me earlier - you love destroying my pussy, and I love to let you
Okay so I fantasize it in a lot of different ways, but here’s my current fantasy:
I’m in a doctor’s office. It doesn’t matter what for, but scheduling conflicts mean I have to meet with someone other than my primary. I’m waiting, a little chilly in the sterile room, when an older man with graying hair walks in, my chart in hand. We start speaking, the specifics never clear, but the conversation culminates in him scheduling a quick procedure for that afternoon. I’m a little hesitant, but I trust this doctor. He leaves me alone in the room for about half an hour while the nurses prep the space and I get undressed.
When he comes back his cheeks are a little red and he has a silver tray in hand with a little metal jar on it and a wide mouthed syringe, like the type vets use to feed animals. It’s just him and me. He tells me to lie on my back and scoot my butt to the edge of the bed, gently spreading my legs and guiding them into the stirrups. I feel exposed as my hospital gown lifts and my pussy is exposed to the chill air of the room. He sets up a cloth divider, separating my top half and bottom half and preventing me from seeing him where he stands between my legs. Then he comes up next to me, guiding an oxygen mask to my face and telling me to breathe deeply. Everything slowly goes black…
Once I pass out, the doctor returns to the other side of the divider, where my pussy is waiting for him to violate it. He snaps on a pair of blue latex gloves and brings his hand down to brush against my slit. When I make no indication that I felt it, he slowly guides his finger deeper, passing through my folds until he reaches the pucker of my hole. Slowly, he presses a finger in, my unstretched pussy tight around even his index. He fingers me gently, first with a single finger and then two, working me open until I don’t resist the intrusion. When he finally pulls his hand away I’m wet, slick glistening on his gloved hand. “What a sweet little pussy you have,” he mutters hungrily.
He reaches over to the silver tray and pops the lid off the container. Inside is a viscous white goo. I don’t know it, but when he left me to get undressed he went and jacked off twice in the staff bathroom, filling the jar as full of his seed as he could. He grabs the syringe, dipping it in and pulling the plunger until it’s as full of cum as it can be. Turning back to me, he brings the dripping tip up to my cunt, wiping the excess cum off by dragging it through my slit. With one hand he spreads my lips wide, and with the other he inserts the syringe, pressing it against my hole until the wide cylinder forces it’s way in. He goes in about half way, before pulling it out a little, watching my pussy cling to it. In and out, he slowly fucks me with the syringe full of his cum. “Look how good you take it,” he murmurs. “I bet you love this. You’re going to be so full of my seed by the time I’m done, there’ll be a baby brewing in that womb of yours before you reach the parking lot.” He slides the syringe in further, only stopping when the barrel has completely disappeared inside me and the finger rests press tight against my skin. Slowly, he presses the plunger down, flooding my cunt with his thick semen. He waits for a moment and then pull his tool out, watching my hole clench around nothing as he refills, a few drops of white slipping out and tracing down the curve of my ass. He slips the syringe inside me again, this time only half full, and can’t stop from palming himself through his pants as his thumb presses down the plunger and seeds me again.
Keeping the barrel inside me, he carefully removes the plunger. When he kneels he can look inside my most intimate parts through the clear plastic; at my soft pink pussy and the thick white cum he filled it with. Finally, he divests himself of his gloves and unzips his pants, pulling his thick cock out and jacking off as he watches my cunt pulse around the syringe he used to violate and fill me, as he watches his semen slip through the tight ring of my cervix and into my unknowing and unprotected womb. When he feels himself getting close he can’t hold back anymore, staggering to his feet and teasing the syringe out of me. My pussy clings to it, unwilling to let it go, and clenches once it’s gone. Then, with one smooth motion, he plunges his cock into me.
I jerk even through the anasthesia as his fat cock forces it’s way inside, bulbous head reaching deeper than the syringe and slamming against my cervix. If I was awake I would be crying from the burn of his sudden intrusion, at the way it felt like he was going to split my tight pussy in half from his girth alone. As it was, I only whimpered a bit in my sleep.
There’s no slow or soft period. He grinds his thick head against my cervix before pulling out and slamming his cock back in, fucking me deep. He feels his cock beat against my cervix with every thrust of his hips and pushes in deeper, aiming for the impossible and trying to break through. I’m crying in my sleep at how roughly he fucks me, but he can’t see that past the curtain. My cunt is the only thing about me that matters anyways, even my trembling thighs only useful for how he can use them to pull my hips towards him and fuck me deeper.
The room echoes with the slap of flesh on flesh as he drives into my pussy over and over, desperate to cum inside me and fill my womb for the third time. The semen that wasn’t yet absorbed into my body, wasn’t yet seeking out an egg to fertilize, acts as lube, slicking my cunt even further. It collects at the base of his cock, dripping on the floor and splattering across both our lower bodies every time his hips violently meet my ass.
As he reaches his end he pounds into me deeper, harder. He’s frenzied as he does his best to pry open my cervix with just the blunt tip of his cock. It’s my whimper that does it, driving him over the edge. He grips my thighs bruisingly tight, pulling my hips towards him until he’s buried to the hilt inside my abused hole, twitching balls pressed against the skin of my ass. He empties his load deep inside me with a snarl, having too much self-restraint to yell. He pants, keeping his cock still to encourage as much of his seed as possible to fill my womb.
Looking at my trembling lower belly, he can almost picture it. The thick white liquid slipping into my young womb, filling it to the brim with his semen. The individual little sperm invading an unknowing me, searching out an egg and forcing their way inside, fertilizing it much the same way he did me. All his fallen little soldiers who couldn’t impregnate me dripping from my cunt and flooding my panties, smearing along my lips and slicking my every step. His cum lubricating my every step and my uncomfortable, blushing face as I feel my lips slide against each other as I leave his office.
He starts thrusting again.
...
I wake up to the doctor at my side, feeling sore down below in a way I’ve never felt before. It feels like my very cervix is bruised, making even sitting up painful. I cover myself with my hospital gown once I’m upright, and I’m not sure why the doctor smiles.
He explains to me that the procedure went well, and I’m cleared to go home. He says that I’ll probably feel sore down there for a few days, but that I shouldn’t worry about it and let it heal in it’s own time. I follow along as best I can, but I’m distracted by the wet feeling I notice between my legs. I try to subtly shift, wincing at the movement. The doctor smiles at me one last time before leaving me to get dressed. I move slowly, trying to accommodate for the ache I feel deep inside. I don’t notice the thick white seed dripping from my cunt, or how my panties smear it over my skin. I don’t notice the sperm inside me finding an egg and burrowing in, fertilizing me. I don’t notice the doctor’s sly grin as I check out, watching me shift from side to side with pink cheeks and a frown. I don’t notice any of it.
"Miss Eaton." The physician, Charles Tautou, greeted her with a warm smile. "Punctual as always. Please, take a seat in the parlor. I'll be right with you."
Beatrice Eaton nodded once before submitting to his instruction. This was, in fact, a routine matter of course for Dr. Tautou: He believed a sense of "ritual" aided her nerves, and though she could not discern whether it made a difference or not, she would not refuse the polite gesture.
It had been a little over two months since she'd first started seeing the doctor: An hour each Wednesday, at 4 p.m. sharp, for on-going treatments of hysteria; a disease of the feminine senses that presented in herself as acute anxiety, restlessness, and asociability, particularly towards men. This affliction had spurned the advances of several acceptable suitors, and while she was hardly of a spinsterly age, her treatment was primarily pushed at the behest of her worrisome parents. She was eldest child in her family, after all, yet the last of her sisters to marry.
She set herself down on the upholstered settee, her head cast downward in a demure fashion, but her eyes drifted, naturally so, to the grandfather clock on the far side of the foyer. There was something oddly captivating about the contraption: It was easily the oldest and most ornate object in the room, and the sway of the pendulum, timed with the reverberating ticks of the clock, had a way of holding her attention. Stranger still, when her sessions with the doctor concluded at five o'clock, she often found herself struggling to fully recall what had transpired after the—
"There you are, my dear," Dr. Tautou said, interjecting past her thoughts as he handed her a teacup. "With a pinch of honey, just as you like it."
Beatrice fluttered her eyes for a moment, straightening her posture as she accepted the beverage with a brief smile. "Thank you."
"The pleasure is mine, Miss Eaton," he replied congenially as he set himself down in the armchair adjacent to her. Incidentally, the chair had been positioned in such a manner that the grandfather clock was still fully visible in behind him. "Now, why don't we start with a little progress report, hm? Have you been keeping up with your excercises?"
She nodded, sipping her tea. "Once in the morning, once before I retire."
The doctor smiled. If she wasn't mistaken, there was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "And are these beneficial to you? Have you noticed any changes in your disposition?" he enquired, tilting his head. "Be forthright, now. We will adjust your regimen as necessary if it is presently inadequate."
She shook her head, then set her tea aside. "No, it is quite adequate. I do believe the excercises temper the restlessness and clear my head, albeit...after the fact."
"Oh? Elaborate."
For some inexplicable reason, Beatrice felt heat rise in her cheeks. She bit down on her lip briefly, then cleared her throat. "I seem to lose track of the time, in the moment. Never to the point of tardiness, but..." She trailed off and clasped her gloved hands together tightly.
At that, the doctor chuckled. "Oh, that is perfectly natural, my dear. The excercises are designed to relax you in lieu of my assistance." Dr. Tautou paused a moment. "But, it may be worthwhile for you to demonstrate your excercises for me, so that I may correct you if need be."
The heat flaring in her cheeks seemed to sink down through the rest of her torso. She could not fathom why the doctor's request was provoking such a response from her body, but she found herself unable to formulate a reply, short of outright stammering.
Dr. Tautou breathed out a dissatisfied hum and rose to his feet. "I see we must first abate those troublesome thoughts," he said, swiftly coming around behind her and placing his hands on her shoulders. "Stare forward. Focus on the pendulum and breathe in time. Relax."
His touch threatened to overwhelm her at first, but as the doctor pressed and circled his thumbs into her flesh, Beatrice felt herself sink into the familiar sensation, and once again, her gaze drifted to the clock. Her body eased into the settee; her head lulling back, her arms resting loosely at her side. A heaviness blanketed her senses. Her eyelids fluttered languidly. The doctor was speaking, but... she couldn’t quite hold on to his words. At least, not yet.
"Beatrice." The call of her name stirred her to attention. "Show me how the excercises make you feel."
A wistful smile spread across her face. Her body felt hot, flushed — tingling with little sparks of pleasure. Her breathing unsteadied as it fell from her lips. She squirmed, pressing her legs together beneath her skirts.
"Good girl," he said, uttering the words close to her ear. "You want to show me your excercises now, don't you?"
Her eyelids lifted slightly, with more clarity. "...Here?" she murmured.
"Of course. You're in bed, my dear. You only do your excercises in bed."
Her brow furrowed. "But...I am still dressed."
"How very silly of you. You ought to undress, then," he mused. "Rise a moment, my dear. I will assist you to bed."
Wordlessly, Beatrice obeyed: She stood still as the doctor's deft hands made quick work of her many layers of fabric, easing her out of her gloves and jacket, her overdress and petticoat, until she was left with nothing but her shift and tightly-bound corset.
"We will keep this on," he said, holding her waist firm. "Too...complicated for me. Now—" he ushered her back to the settee, laying her down this time "—it is time for your excercises. Close your eyes, Beatrice, and pleasure yourself."
At once, her eyes shut tight, as though she were sleeping. Her hands explored the length of her body, lingering on the most tender spots of her flesh. She stroked her breasts, gingerly tweaking her pert nipples over the fabric. Her breathing faultered, and her heart pounded with the distant awareness of being watched. Neverthless, her hands drifted down. Lifting her shift. Caressing her waist, her thighs, her— She moaned softly, her fingers sinking and stroking into her wetted folds.
"Good girl," the doctor whispered. "Let the pleasure build, and let your thoughts fade. You have no need for them here. Isn't that so?"
"Y-Yes, doctor." She could scarcely recognize her own voice through the wanton whispers and gasps. "I have nn...no need for thought."
"That's right. You have no need for thought, because I will think for you," he said.
"Yes, doctor. You...will think for me." Her eyelids opened; heavy, lidded, and fluttering. "You know what's best for me."
"Very good," the doctor mused with a smile as he cupped a hand to her breast, pulling down the fabric and messaging the flesh. "You are an excellect subject, Beatrice. A near perfect patient for my...our proclivities." Dr. Tautou became silent for a moment. "I believe I shall make you my wife."
Her breath caught in her throat, but her hands never ceased in their ministrations. "D-Doctor?"
"It would be most convenient," he stated in a matter-of-fact tone. "Your father will be expecting some manner of results in respect to your aversion to courtships, but this arrangement will be difficult to continue if you are given to some other man. Besides, it wouldn't be right. You belong to me, Beatrice. Only me."
"I bel-belong...to you." Her voice quaked; dripped with sweet sighs.
"Quite right, too. Of course, we will work to make you amenable to the arrangement—"
"I...am more...than amenable." Her interjection, though spoke with struggle, came to her naturally.
He paused in the circling of her breast, earning a soft whine. A brief smile crossed his features. "Are you, now."
Something in his tone... she didn't quite like. "Yes," she breathed. "I am."
He hummed. "It is not...an auspicious match for you, my dear. Your family will not likely approve. I may need to spirit you away, to wed you in secret," he explained.
"I care not!" Beatrice near-bellowed. She was close, so terribly close, but something held her back.
He frowned, for a moment. "These are not my thoughts... but neither are they unwelcome, if true. Still—" he caught her wrist, stilling her mere moments before release "—we will be thorough."
He guided her upright and retrieved a pocket watch from his vest. "Hold this and keep your arm firm," he instructed, positioning her to dangle the device in front of her eyes. "Watch it sway and listen to my words. Repeat them. Do not let your arm fall, no matter how tired it grows. My words are all that matters." He drew close to her side, his hand inching along her inner thigh, but stopping just shy of her wettness. "Begin."
Her eyes glazed and her jaw fell slack, but she watched. She held. She waited.
"You are mindless."
"I am mindless."
"You are mine."
"I am yours."
"You obey."
"I obey."
"You will be my perfect wife." His fingers glided up and down her folds.
She gasped. "I will be your perfect wife."
"You are weak. I am strong."
"I am weak. You are strong."
"You crave my guidace."
"I crave your guidace."
"My touch."
"Y-Your touch."
"My corruption."
"Your...corruption."
"You are a slave to your desires."
"I am a slave to my desires."
"And I, your master."
"And...you," she stuttered. "My master."
The minutes ticked by with remarkable slowness as Beatrice lost herself in the doctor's ministrations to her mind and body. She dipped in and out of tenative awareness, unable to truly focus on anything but the ebb and flow of pleasure that never quite reached its plateau. The unendingness drove her to the brink of madness; a fact that beared repeating.
"I am a hys-hysterical woman," she cried, her arm quaking in its attempts to keep the pocket watch at eyelevel.
He smiled slyly, holding her legs apart as he knelt between them. "And, pet?"
"An...and, I need my doctor," she finished.
"Good girl," he praised, leaning down to her entrance. "Repeat."
"I am a hysterical wom— ah! Ah... woman," she moaned, her eyes rolling back as he licked her. "And I nn..need...my doctor. I'm a... I am... Ohh..."
He pulled his head back. "Repeat," he commanded. "Let your arm fall if it must, but repeat."
Beatrice could do no more but whimper and nod; grateful to release the watch, but finding it in need of a place to grasp. "I am a hysterical woman," she repeated, curling her fingers into the doctor's soft hair. "And I need...my doctor."
With a devillish grin, Charles Tautou hoisted her legs up over his shoulders. "Repeat," he murmured, "until I am quite finished with you."
A sheen of sweat glistened over her skin as her chest rose and fell with haste. "I am ah-ah! hysterical woman... and I need my d...doctor. I am—" Her chanting continued on. On and on, more feverish and twinged with desperation than the last utterance. His mouth and tongue pressed into her; lapping, sucking, drinking her in. Yet, he continued to pace himself. He slowed as she came closer and closer, each new beginning shorter than the last. Until, at last, the hour tolled. And she, in turn, came undone around his tongue.
"Ah! Ah...ah...! Ah..." She slumped into the settee, too thoroughly spent to move, to think. The chime of the clock lulling her eyes to close. To sink her down, down, down...
"Good... Very good," the doctor spoke with heavy breaths. "Rest now, Beatrice, and remember..."
"I need...my doctor," she said, her eyes fluttering closed, heavy with the promise of sleep.
"Yes." He moved to her side, brushing a stray hair from her forehead. "You do."
Warnings/Tags: DUBCON/NONCON elements, fuckboy Poe (OOC), Enemies to Lovers, degradation/humiliation, mentions of oral sex, SMUUUTTTTTTTT also I’m not sorry for what I did but you’re not allowed to read if you’re gonna get mad at me okay byeeee
***
This.
This shit, right here.
If the question was ever, “What’s the stupidest fucking thing you’ve ever let Poe Dameron somehow talk you into doing?” then the answer is this stupid shit, right the fuck here. This is like. You remember that one game, Mercy? The one where you’d dig your nails in and twist arms and just needlessly inflict pain on each other as children until one of you cried uncle because someone somewhere once decided to turn torture into a matter of pride?
You always thought those games were fucking ridiculous. Who can hold their breath the longest, who can handle a lit deathstick against their flesh the longest, who can take the hardest punch—who cares? It’s child’s play. It’s self-inflicted agony for the sake of bragging rights and even as a youngling, you refused to fall for it.
Word Count: 22.5K DONT say shit alright just don’t
Warnings: Okay. There is degradation in this, some name calling and heated interactions. There is a LOT of smut, dirty talk and rough sex. If these things offend you, please do not continue reading.
***
It’s recommended to read part one first.
***
Getting into the x-wings is always fun.
It actually might be your favorite part. Granted, alarm bells ringing and thousands of jumpsuits scrambling in all directions is never typically a good thing, but there’s also an inherent rush about it, a thrill in launching up the metal paneling as quick as you can and suiting up to provide aid. It’s a side-effect of camaraderie, of being surrounded by like-minded individuals willing to do everything they can to help. You never feel like you’re going to your death, even though that’s often the grim reality for at least one of you on a good day. There’s always a roaring in your ears while you do it, adrenaline sharpening your senses and preparing yourself for conflict, not thinking anything beyond gogogogogo—
But getting out of the x-wing is… not great. At least for you. It’s sluggish. Your body is always completely drained and you never come out of it feeling the same way you went in. Even in times of victory, there’s a somberness inside you after battle. As much as you tell yourself you’re fighting for good, for prosperity against an evil machine hellbent on enslaving the galaxy, there’s only so many explosions lighting up in front of your eyes and screams cutting out through your comms you can take before winning just doesn’t really feel like winning anymore. Most pilots are able to handle it better than you are, but since you joined the Resistance, you’ve never truly felt the desire to celebrate. Not even when you serve a massive, glaring defeat to the other side. There’ll always be at least one missing x-wing, one empty seat at the table, one person not here to celebrate with you.
Ummm stuckage fantasy/writing thing because I’m in a mood 🧍cw for dubcon, petplay, and an undernegotiated creampie
“Hello??” I call out when I hear the front door click. I can tell from the sound of them kicking off their shoes that it’s one of my roommates coming home, and I heave a sigh of relief. If a random maintenance person found me in this position I’d actually combust, though one of them finding me like this isn’t preferable either… regardless, I keep calling out and can hear them as they pause in the doorway and take in the sight of me.
I babble nervously at the silence. “Well! Uh! You were all out today so I figured I’d do some cleaning, and I realized I’d never cleaned behind this arm chair so it must be dingy back here, but um. Ikindofcantgetbackoutnow,” I finish with a rush. I didn’t even get to most of the place before I got the idea, which is the cherry on top of this whole thing.
It was an artsy kind of armchair in the corner of a room, both comfortable and pretty, and it had a distinctive arch of a gap between the back and the seat. The gap seemed big enough, and I didn’t want to risk scratching the floor + it was awfully heavy, so I just bent over and shimmied in. My tummy rested comfortably enough on the seat of the chair and I was able to lean forward to dust the baseboards and whatnot, but then quickly realized I was unable to get my chest and arms back out the way they came. I struggled for a good while attempting to plant my feet and pull out, but I couldn’t get the traction from how I was bent.
I’m sure my roommate could surmise as much from the sight of me, but that didn’t stop me from rambling.
“-een maybe an hour or so but it’s okay because the chair is comfy but I’m getting a little tired of holding myself up on this end, so if it wouldn’t be too much of a bother could you maybe help me out? Please?” I doubted they’d just leave me hanging, but the total silence, not even laughter at my expense, was a little anxiety inducing. Before I could call out again to confirm their presence, I hear their muffled footsteps tread towards me.
“Quite the situation you’ve found yourself in here, cotton-tail.”
I flush at the nickname. Your rabbit tail inspired butt-plug gets intercepted once and you gain an embarrassing and mildly arousing nickname for life. I grumble something before trying in vain to pull myself out yet again, huffing in defeat when I’m unable to. “Listen- you can make fun of me all you want when I’m out of this thing, but can you please help?” I plead.
I hear them chuckle at the attempt. “Alright then. What do you want me to do?” Hm. That’s a good point.
“Um. Maybe grab my hips or something? I haven’t been able to pull myself very well so maybe that’d do it.”
“Well, if you insist,” they say, before doing exactly as I asked, which is unfortunate on my part. I let out a small noise as their warm hands dig into the meat of my waist, thumbs pressing into my back, that had been exposed from my shirt riding up, in what resembles a more… intimate scene.
“Oh! Ah…” I jolt back in shock only to be met by their crotch against my ass, and let out another stupid noise. Get it together! “Sorry, sorry, you just startled me, haha.” Not haha. Not haha. Nothing funny about the fact I’m getting wet as my roommate tries to pull me out of the chair I got stuck in. They still say nothing, and I chalk the feeling of their thumbs soothing up and down my back to my imagination.
“O-ok thank you, ah, I guess you can pull now?” They immediately do as I ask, pulling me by the hips back on to their crotch. I scramble against the chair at the sensation. I let out a gasp and they release me, my waist thudding back on to the seat. “No!” I fluster. “Not like that!”
Their hands shift lower down my back, fingers wedging into the crease of my thigh. “Hm? Why not? I just did what you asked me to.”
I don’t even want to know how red my face is right now, and I’m grateful they can’t see it either. “You did, but…”
“But?”
“Y’know! If felt… naughty,” I whimper.
I hear them scoff lightheartedly from behind me. “What’s, ‘naughty’ is you being bent over in these skimpy little shorts, shaking your ass and begging your roommate to fish you out,” they counter.
My head reels. “That’s not fair,” I protest, still trying to escape from the chair.
“Seems pretty fair to me. In fact, it’s awfully unfair of you to expect me to help you without anything in return.”
What?? Unfair of me? I’m just asking for some help- I’m getting flustered and frantic, and the innuendo nearly goes over my head before my neurons connect and I catch it. “You want to… now?? While I’m stuck in a chair??”
Their hands smooth over my back and ass onto my thighs, thumbs pushing up the backs of my shorts. “Why not? I’ve been wanting to fuck this bunnycunt for months and I walk in today to you wagging it in the air, completely helpless? Besides, you’re even cuter when you’re stuck.”
My brain cells must’ve melted off because I can’t even muster sentences with the heat between my thighs. “You.. I don’t.. I mean, not now.. I don’t-“
They chuckle. “C’mon now, you can’t even pretend you don’t want it now with how wet you are.” They shove a thumb under my shorts and over the crotch of my panties, confirming their claim. I’m making dumb little noises again, totally turned on and utterly cornered. “I think I’ll be able to pull you out nice and easy once you’ve been fucked limp, don’t you think? You’re far to wound up right now to squeeze out.”
“Pleaseeee,” I warble, rutting uselessly against the seat of the chair.
“Please what? Use your words.”
Jesus Christ. “Please, please, fuck me,” I beg wetly, desperate tears welling in my eyes.
I’m rewarded by them hoisting me by the hips up so my knees are now on the seat and my ass elevated in the air, and the feeling of their clothed bulge grinding against my cunt. I audibly moan at the sensation, totally unrestrained now that their intentions are clear. That, and the fact I’m too turned on to think.
“Fuckkk,” they groan. “Been wanting to do this forever; been dying to see this pretty pussy.” They yank down both my shorts and underwear, wet strands still connecting them to my sopping cunt. “Jesus, baby, you this desperate to be fucked?”
I gasp at the sudden cold air against the heat of my cunt. “Not my fault,” I yelp as they thumb my cheeks apart to get a better look.
“Of course, sweet thing, I guess I should take a little responsibility, yeah?” They pull back slightly and the sound of pants unbuckling can be heard before the unmistakeable sensation of a hard cock hitting my ass registers in my mind. They grab on to my hips again and begin slowly rocking against me and slicking themselves up, and I whimper pathetically. They shush me before maneuvering my thighs together so they can fuck them, moaning as they slip in and out of them. I whine because I want nothing more than to what they’re doing to me, and am met with a smack to my ass.
“I said, shush,” they scold, and I brace a hand over my mouth. “Such a loud little pet, we better get you out so we can get that mouth busy, yeah?”
I’m slow to register their words, and before I can react the blunt head of their cock is nudging against my entrance. A muffled, weak “nooooo” escapes me, but not before they pop in. I’m plenty wet but the stretch burns nonetheless, and they gently soothe their hands over my trembling thighs.
“Ohhh fuck, good pet- good pet- so tight for me,” they grit out between their teeth as I’m speared open. I’m gasping and trembling at the stretch, and let out a weak lil’ moan when they sheath themselves in me fully. They stay like that for a second, letting my adjust and taking in the sight, before adjusting their grip. “Mmm, what was it you wanted me to do? Pull?” They mock, before pulling out and slamming me back down on their cock. I moan loudly, hands scrambling for purchase and finding none as I’m fucked roughly from behind.
“Good bunny, good bunny, bouncing on my- fuck- cock.” I keen at the praise, weakly attempting to move on my own but finding myself unable to go against their grip. My cunt is being used like a hole and I’m loving it. One hand reaches around to rub my clit, and I pop like a firecracker.
“Oh god! Fuck, hah,, nghh,” I babble as my orgasm rushes over me, blood roaring in my ears and the sound of skin slapping echoing in the room. More praise meets my ears as I squeeze, vice tight, around their cock, but I can barley register anything. I only process words once the thrusting has stopped, and I blink blearily.
“-etheart, sweetheart, you’re on birth control right? That’s what I see you taking in the morning?”
I pant for a second before responding, “y-yes?”
They groan in relief before continuing to pound me, the chair creaking against the ground at the motion. “Oh fuck,, going to fill you up so good, pump this bunnycunt full of cum-“
I spasm at the promise, overstimulated at the repeated pressure on my clit from their fingers and smacking of their fat balls as they thrust in to me.
“Please please please please fill be up oh god please please,” I beg, wanting nothing more than a hot load in my cunt and to be pulled out of this chair. Im not even humored with a response before I hear them groaning behind me and feel them curling over my back, thrusts speeding up in intervals and groin pressed firm against my ass as I feel them spurt inside me. We both gasp and moan as it happens, and they stay pressed inside me for what feels like forever as they unload a fat load inside me.
Eventually they do stop, and I wince as they pull out of me, feeling very sticky and full. I’m limp and panting, blood rushing to my head from how I’m letting it hang, too weak to keep my torso up anymore. I know I’m being shushed and soothed, but I can only groan weakly as they maneuver me out of the hole, true to their word in ‘fucking me limp’. I blink and they’re sitting on the stair I was stuck in, me hoisted onto their lap with my chest against theirs. I bury my face into their shoulder, sighing grateful as a hand brushes over my hair and down my back. I know I’ll have to clean up the mess I made when I wake, but for now I doze off in their arms.
The idea of having to share a hotel room with someone. Maybe someone I don't particularly like but we're on a big group trip and we have to share rooms for budget reasons.
We each get our own bed, and I don't feel bad going to be early because I don't really talk to this guy. He says something about going to the pool so I just turn off the lights and go to sleep.
I wake up to his voice, "fuck, it's so tight" and notice something pushing into me. I groan tiredly and weakly try to push him away, realizing that I'm no longer clothed. Noticing my consciousness, he slams into me hard and my eyes shoot open. He's above me, fucking roughly into my tight cunt.
"What are you doing??" I try to push him away again. He pulls out and flips me over, holding my hands behind my back with one hand before fucking into me again. He uses his other hand to shove my face into the pillow.
"You're such a fucking whore, you know that?" He grabs my neck. "You act all innocent but you were begging for this in that skirt earlier" I try to protest but he squeezes my neck hard and I gasp for breath.
He keeps fucking me with his hand around my throat, muttering the occasional "good girl" and "you're so tight for me." I feel him hitting my cervix with every thrust and try to keep quiet, it's not supposed to feel good. But I feel the pleasure building and have to start to struggle not to move my hips with him. At one point he thrusts in so deep and I let a moan slip. He immediately starts going harder, releasing the hands holding me so he can slap my ass. With the new freedom of my hands, I only grip the bedsheets as he grabs my hips to fuck into me as hard as he can. I'm a moaning mess under him, not even pretending to hate it anymore.
He lifts me onto his lap and bounces me up and down on his cock. "God you're such a whore," he bites my shoulder and I moan pathetically, "you shouldn't have kept this tight pussy from me." I just moan pathetically as I feel his cock fill me so completely. "Say it slut, tell me you shouldn't have kept this pussy from me."
I pause in humiliation before muttering "I shouldn't have kept this pussy from you." He lifts me off him and throws me back onto my back.
"Good girl," he slaps me in the face, "we're gonna have to make up for this aren't we?" I just nod pathetically and wrap my arms around him, desperately trying to get more. I feel myself getting closer, the feelings of him filling me, slapping me, and grabbing me all over making me feel like a desperate whore.
My moans are unrestrained as my pussy eventually tightens on his cock as I cum, the feeling driving him to fuck me even harder. "You're such a whore for cumming from this, weren't you just pushing me away?" he mocks, "you're such a pathetic rapetoy, I'm gonna show you what you're fucking for." I keep quiet in my humiliation and he keeps toying with me as he pleases. Bending me into uncomfortable positions, hitting me, anything to get himself off.
"I'm gonna cum in you bitch," he slaps my face, "you're gonna take my whole load you useless fucktoy." He thrusts wildly into me, "you're so desperate for it." Then, as he finally cums, he holds his dick deep inside me and tells me I was such a good girl for him before pulling out and going back to his bed wordlessly.
I look forward to the rest of my time sharing a room with him.
Kinda wanna get drunk at a house party and pass out in an upstairs bedroom away from all the people. I get half my clothes off before I’m just too tired to continue, but I tell myself I’m safe up here and fall asleep.
Hi hi! I’m sure you’re being flooded, but I’d love a little something about younger (20 or older though!) reader babysitting for dad! Steve. Smutty if you feel so inclined. Can be single or not, dealer’s choice!
I went wayyyy overboard with this, oops, but it was so sexy omfg
word count: 2k
warnings: huge age gap (45+ vs 20), unprotected sex, breeding kink, oral m receiving, sliiiightly mean dom steve, size kink, stomach bulge kink, daddy kink
You'd been crushing on Mr. Harrington for years, actually... even before the divorce.
It wasn't just that he was good-looking, although that was obviously part of it. It was the way he acted with you, it made you feel all girly and little and dumb; it was the way he played with his kids which made your uterus sob in envy; it was the way he wore reflective shades to the pool and you had to wonder if he was looking at you and seeing how much you'd grown.
For the longest, much to your dismay, nothing happened between you. You'd been trying to make conversation after he came back each night to finish your babysitting shift, but it never really worked. Nothing worked, actually, not even the skimpy outfits or the strategic bending over or the casual touches to his arm or knee.
Nothing worked until last night.
It started mostly normal, except that he was obviously in a worse mood than usual. You asked how his date went; he dodged the question. You pressed again, and he shook his head as he sat down on the couch, running his hands over his hair.
"It's starting to feel futile," he explained, speaking quietly knowing his kids were asleep down the hall.
"What is?"
"All of it," he breathed. "Dating, work, all of it."
You sat next to him, pulling your knees up on the sofa and tilting your head sympathetically. "Tell me about it," you offered.
Amazingly, he did. He told you about how each woman he went out with was worse than the last, and he didn't trust any of them with his kids. That made your heart skip; I'm his babysitter, he trusts me with his kids.
He told you about how rough the divorce had been, and then the custody arrangements. Apparently he was still dealing with that even though Mrs. Harrington had moved out probably almost two years ago now.
He told you about how hard his job was, how the hours killed him, how he could barely find time to spend with his family because he was putting out everyone else's fires at the office.
"That all sounds really stressful, Mr. Harrington," you cooed when he finished his rant. "You need to relax."
He chuckled a little. "Easier said than done."
"Maybe I can help you."
He raised an eyebrow in confusion, but his eyes went wide as he watched you get on your knees on the ground.
"Let me help you relax, Mr. Harrington," you pleaded, running your hands over his legs gently as they stayed slightly spread on the couch.
"Oh, uh— I— sweetie, we can't—"
You reached up to his belt, and even if his words were hesitant, he lifted his hips slightly to make it easier for you to unbuckle it.
"Are you— fuck— are you really—? Baby..."
It made your hips wiggle against the carpet hearing him talk like that. You got his fly open next, and started to rub his cock through his boxers underneath. His eyes followed your every move in disbelief.
He was just starting to get hard when you took him out, but he was already so big... your mouth was watering. You couldn't wait any longer: you looked up at him for just a second before you leaned forward and took his fat head into your mouth.
Groaning and tilting his head back, his hands found purchase in your hair instantly.
"Fuuuck," he breathed, "you're... you're so bad, sweetie, you know you shouldn't... oh my god."
You bobbed your head eagerly, feeling him swell and harden against your tongue until your mouth was stretched to its limit by his size. You hummed around him joyfully, revelling in the softly salty taste on your tongue. Stroking with your hand what your lips couldn't reach, you took a break after a few minutes to look up at him for approval.
"Where'd a sweet girl like you learn how to do that?" he asked with a long sigh. "Fuck, keep sucking... look up at me, baby."
You did as you were told, and he adjusted his hips slightly so it was easier for you to keep eye contact with him while you suckled at his throbbing head.
"Good," he praised, stroking your cheek as you worked. "Such pretty eyes... and that pretty mouth too, god. Take it deeper, sweetie, you can choke a little."
His hand helped push you down until his dick hit the end of your throat, and you gagged helplessly. He moaned loudest at that, eyes falling shut for a moment.
"Too big for your little mouth, huh?" he noticed. "Poor baby. Choke on me again."
You did as he said and noticed his hips rocking up to push his cock even deeper and gag you even harder. Tears welled in your eyes but he purred in satisfaction.
"Mm, good job," he praised, "you're so good for me, sweetie."
Needing a break for your throat, you pulled back and stroked him slowly as you made conversation. "How long has it been since somebody sucked your cock, Mr. Harrington?" you asked sweetly.
"Fuck, I don't even know— years? Before Allie was born, probably. She didn't... she never did it, really," he mumbled, and you tried not to bite your lip. Of course his bitch ex-wife never did this to him, he was probably so starved for affection for ages.
"That's such a shame," you pouted, "it tastes so good. I'd never be able to stop tasting you, Mr. Harrington."
"Then don't stop," he encouraged, pushing your head down again. You got back into the pattern, only taking breaks to lathe the shaft in long licks from base to tip; he seemed to like those a lot.
Sometimes you felt his cock throb and you hoped it meant he would come soon: you couldn't wait. You went on for a while longer, though, and started to get desperate for it. When his heavy breathing made you pretty sure he was close, you broke the pattern one more time to encourage him. "I want you to come in my mouth," you informed him. "M'gonna swallow it, sir, I promise."
"No, fuck no," he interrupted, surprising you. "No, I want that pussy. Fuck, I need your pussy, get up here."
You climbed onto the couch eagerly, straddling his lap as he started to pull your skirt up right away. He snapped your panties off like it was nothing, instantly groaning at the sight of your mound beneath; you felt so exposed in the best way, you worried you were going to drip right down onto his khakis with him looking at you like that.
"Fuck, sweetie, you're so gorgeous," he sighed, "such a gorgeous little pussy. C'mere..."
He held your thighs, petting them as he guided you down to his cock. He stopped looking at it once he was just barely pushing inside, instead starting to watch your face as you sank down onto his length with a moan. "Fuck!" you whimpered. "Fuck, too big, you're too—"
"Shh, shh," he soothed, "gotta be quiet, baby, the kids are asleep."
Your gut burned from how stupidly hot that was, and you bit your lip to try to keep it down. His cock reached the end of you and you jolted, trying to move back up, but he shook his head and kept guiding you down.
"No, sweetie, you need to take all of me," he scolded gently. "You're gonna take all of me, fuck, so good..."
Finally, somehow, he managed to get it all inside until your thighs were flush with his. You were shaking, it was so deep you were shaking; there was a slight bulge in your tummy where his cock filled you. "Mr. Harrington, it's too deep..."
He growled, actually growled, and held your hips tightly. "No, baby, it's just the right amount. You're taking me so good... all of my cock is in you, sweetie, you're doing so fucking good. Now just ride me."
Shaking and whimpering, you started to rock your hips on top of his; he sighed and watched you, looking wrecked in the best way.
"Yeah, fuck," he encouraged, "fuck, you know how long it's been since I had pussy like this? Tight, wet, young pussy like yours? You feel so fucking good..."
"You too," you moaned, "you feel so good, Mr. Harrington..."
He smirked a bit. "I think we're on a first name basis by now... but I want you to keep calling me that anyways. It's so fucking cute."
Pulling you a little closer, he whispered right by your ear.
"Maybe," he suggested, "you could even call me daddy."
"Oh, daddy," you pounced on the opportunity immediately, and he groaned in satisfaction. "Daddy, it feels really really good..."
"Yeah? Well then why don't you cream for me, huh? Let that cute little pussy come on my cock—"
You didn't even let him finish. You'd been worked up since he got here and it hit you all at once. He watched you proudly, thin laughter ringing in your ears.
"God, you're so sensitive," he groaned, "it's gonna take me a while, baby, I'm not as young as you... takes me all night sometimes."
You shuddered; "I don't have anywhere to be..."
"Yeah you do," he corrected, starting to guide your hips as your motions faltered from the exhaustion of coming. "Your parents are probably worried about you, sweetie. They don't know what a slut you are, do they?"
You shook your head. "N-no, daddy..."
"Fuck," he breathed, "you're so cute... show daddy your tits, sweetie— lift up your shirt for me and show me your tits."
He was more than capable of doing it himself, but he preferred to watch you roll up your tank top and let him see your tits, hardened from being so turned on by all this. You'd stopped wearing a bra around him months ago, and it was all worth it as he reached up and palmed one of your breasts.
"Mm," he hummed, "you've got great tits, baby— you show them off too much, though."
He slid his hand across your chest to touch the other gently. "I only did that for you, Mr. Harrington," you promised, "I just wanted your attention... wanted you to see how grown up I am..."
He smirked. "You got my fucking attention, sweetie."
With renewed energy, you started to take control again, riding him in earnest. "Really?" you confirmed hopefully. "Did you think about me, daddy? Did you ever jerk off and think about my tits?"
He delayed his answer by hissing a little, looking down at where your pussy slid up and down on him before tilting his head back again. "Yes," he admitted, "yeah, I thought about you. I would've done it a lot more if I knew you wanted me to."
"Of course I wanted you to," you giggled, "I have such a big crush on you, Mr. Harrington, I have for so long..."
"A crush, huh?" he laughed.
You nodded eagerly, whining when he held onto you tighter and started to thrust up into you off the couch.
"You know I'm more than twice your age, right?" he reminded you with a purr, and you nodded. "You know I'm older than your dad, right?"
Your head was spinning, but you nodded again.
"And you know I could get you pregnant... right?"
You moaned, head falling back, and he laughed.
"I knew it," he gloated, "I knew that was what you wanted— knew you needed some babies fucked into you, sweet girl. Daddy's gonna knock you up, s'that what you want?"
"Yes, yes!" you sobbed.
You weren't moving at all now, you were limp and useless as he thrust up into you hard and fast, making you cry and moan so loudly he had to cover your mouth. "I'll come, fuck, nice and deep," he promised, "and give you a baby, yeah? Get you so full and pregnant, just how you want it."
You were begging him for it, but it was all muffled into nonsense under his hand as he fucked up into you rough and fast. It ended with a groan, his head falling back and his body going limp under you as he came. You collapsed onto him, both of you sinking into the couch as you caught your breath.
His hands rested on your thighs still, sometimes petting them or moving up to your waist; you shyly hid your face in the crook of his neck, hardly believing that this really happened— and terrified you would wake up and realize it was all a wonderful dream. "Think I'm gonna need you to babysit for me again tomorrow night," he broke the silence suddenly. "I'll pay double for the short notice."
