my name is mercedes! im a 20yr old nb girlthing (she/he/they), devout trad puritanical catholic and bpd soldier/htsa survivor. im obsessed with stuff like :
every now and then I share posts about my faith or personal vents when im feeling unstable, in case thatâs something youâd rather avoid. otherwise, my posts are mostly jschlatt and moodboard related.
im always down to make new moots, feel free to shoot me a dm whenevaa âč àŁȘ Ë
Schlatt jerking off to the pretty sun dress photos you send him đ!
âïčâŠËâ· đ€ * pressed for time â.àłàż*: âź
imagine: heâs stuck late at the office. youâre feeling flirty. what starts with a sundress ends in disaster (and a happy ending).
â°ïčâĄâËàč *â§ïč⊠àŁȘ Ë â
ïčâ⊠a/n: for the angel behind this sinful little request ⥠i mayâŠhave gone overboard. youâre welcome??
warnings: explicit content (MINORS DNI !!!) · suggestive texting · phone/voice interactions · office setting · exhibitionist behavior · dom/sub language · degradation · reader...being my type ;))
enjoy, pervs (ïœĄâąÌáŽ-)â§
â§â§â§
heâs supposed to be working.
last meeting of the day, notes still open on his laptop, blinds half-drawn in the corner office where no one ever bothers to knock.
and thatâs when it happens.
the text isnât anything dramaticâjust a casual âbabe, look how cute this is?? đ„șâ
and then three photos. mirror selfies. sundress. bare thighs. your expression scrunched up a little, your lips pouty, your eyes wanting...hungry, almost.
his brain short-circuits.
he stares. blinks. stares again.
somewhere between opening the first photo and swiping to the second, he forgets what project he was working on. what time it is. whether the doorâs even locked.
heâs hard.
SCHLATT:
where you think youâre goinâ in all that, angel?
the typing bubble appears instantly.
YOU:
just the farmerâs market đ
YOU:
unless youâre gonna keep me busy?
he adjusts in his seat, jaw tightening. the tension low in his belly curls tighter.
SCHLATT:
everything you wear is distracting.
everything you donât wear is distracting.
you could show up in a fuckinâ parka and iâd still be hard.
YOU:
so what youâre saying is⊠iâm the problem đ
SCHLATT:
iâm saying i need a warning
or a break
or a fuckin miracle
and then?
another image.
closer this time. the curve of your chest. the neckline pulled just low enough to show the soft swell of your tits. no bra. no shame. a tease of lace and sunlit skin.
his hand drops to his lap.
YOU:
what, this?
youâre telling me this is enough to ruin you?
he stares.
his cock twitches. his zipperâs already undone.
SCHLATT:
send another.
lower.
please.
â§â§â§
you leave him on read.
he waits. thirty seconds. a minute. nothing.
so he does the only thing he can think to doâunfastens his belt, pushes his jeans low, wraps one hand around his cock, and angles his phone down with the other.
not even posed. just himâshirt pushed up, face flushed, cock hard and twitching in his fist.
he sends it.
your reply comes in a heartbeat later.
YOU:
âŠyouâre so embarrassing đ”âđ«
YOU:
gimme two minutes
SCHLATT:
i told you
iâm so fuckin hard for you
hurts, baby. iâm dying over here
ding.
photo incoming.
he groans before he even opens itâbecause he knows.
and yeah. itâs lower.
sundress bunched up around your waist. thighs spread. nothing underneath.
a hint of slick between your legs. one hand teasing the hem higher, the other clearly between your thighs.
no caption. just a trap.
his fist tightens. hips jerk. he strokes once, twice, eyes glued to the screen like itâs gospel.
YOU:
be good and make a mess for me?
YOU:
use that mouth too
tell me how bad you want it
he chokes on a moan, trying to keep his breathing evenâlike anyone could walk by. like anyone might hear.
âfuck, baby,â he pants. âyou donât get it. iâd drop to my knees for this...for you.â
another stroke. slow. wet. thumb swiping over the head.
âyouâd ride me in that dress, wouldnât you? let me ruin it. stretch you out. make you drip for me.â
ding.
and another.
the sundress is still onâtechnically.
but the necklineâs been tugged down, pulled low enough to free your tits, soft and full and already flushed.
the hemâs hitched up past your hips, gathered in one hand so the fabricâs bunched around your waist.
everything in between? completely bare.
legs spread. chest out. skin glowing.
youâve got one hand at your chest, fingers lazily circling a nipple. the other? disappearing between your thighs.
you knew heâd lose it.
he nearly cums on the spot.
YOU:
was thinking about your hands under this dress all morning
âŠstill am
he groansâlong, guttural, desperate. his free hand fists in his hoodie. the other moves faster now, rougher, twisting just under the head.
âfuckfuckfuckâyouâre gonna kill me,â he grits out.
then a voice note.
you. whispering.
âthis what you wanted, big guy?â
his hand moves faster. sloppier. the chair creaks.
"fuck, i miss youâŠwhy are you staying overtime at the office, when i'm back home, just sitting here, desperate to be filled by youâŠ"
âfuuuckâbabyâgonna cumââ
rrrringgg.
â§â§â§
the desk phone blasts to life, shrill and way too fucking loud.
he jerks forward, startled, fist still wrapped around his cockâbut he doesnât stop.
rrrringgg.
he hisses through his teeth. âno, no, fuckââ
itâs instinct that makes him grab the receiver. maybe shame. maybe the sheer panic that someone might come knocking if he doesnât answer.
âyeah?â he manages, voice cracked and breathless.
thereâs a pause.
he looks down at the work phone. at his cock. at the fresh notification lighting up his personal cell from where itâs propped beside him:
[5] new images from: baby đ
god fucking dammit.
âhey, uh, itâs wendy? from hr?â she says, chipper and way too loud through the shitty office speaker. âjust wanted to check on the compliance forms from last week. the shared folderâs missing your initials.â
his hips stutter, fucking into his hand under the desk.
he bites back a moan. clenches his jaw so hard it aches.
ây-yeah,â he croaks, staring down at the photo you sent. âiâll⊠take care of it.â
thereâs the quiet rustle of paper on her end. âcool! just needed to know before i close out for the day. appreciate you, by the way! some of the guys still havenât logged their trainings.â
he grunts something that sounds like a yes.
his handâs moving again. slower, now. sneakier. each stroke shallow and maddening. heâs leaking so much itâs starting to pool in his palm.
he bites his lip, hard enough to nearly bleed, trying to muffle every sound.
buzz. another photo. buzz. a voice memo.
his eyes roll back.
ââŠare you okay, sir?â
âfine.â his voice breaks. he clears his throat. âfine. justâlong day.â
âtotally get that,â wendy chirps. âhave a good night, then, sir.â
âmhmm, you tooââ he chokes, barely waiting for the click before slamming the receiver down.
his whole bodyâs tremblingâchest heaving, cock still twitching in his fist, cum so close he can taste it in the back of his throat. all it wouldâve taken was another stroke. a whisper from you.
and thenâ
his phone screen lights up.
a tiny red bar at the top.
recording⊠01:42
ââŠwhat the fuck?â he mutters.
he mustâve tapped it. somewhere in that horny haze, fumbling for volume or the camera, his thumb mustâve started a voice messageârecording every shaky breath, every muffled groan, every whisper from hr that he tried to grunt through.
he fumbles to stop it. but heâs still leaking, his hand still sticky, and when he tries to hit the delete buttonâ
he hits send.
it takes a beat before he realizes what just happened.
before he sees the screen say:
audio sent.
to: y/n
â§â§â§
ânoâfuckâshit, no no no,â he gasps, dropping the phone in his lap like it burned him.
thereâs a pause.
and thenâ
YOU:
just listened.
holy fuck.
YOU:
you were actually jerking off while she was talking, bby?
he buries his face in his hands. lets out a strangled sound that might be a moan. might be a whimper.
YOU:
youâre so sick. i want you so bad.
his face is still buried in his hands when his phone starts buzzing.
this time? it's his personal phone.
itâs you.
facetime request.
his heart stutters.
he hesitates. thumb hovering over the screen.
and then he answers.
the camera opens on your faceâsmirking, flushed, a little out of breath. maybe from laughter. maybe from something else.
âhey, big guy,â you purr, voice thick with heat. âyou okay over there? you sounded so desperate on that voice noteâŠâ
he groans. deep. broken. doesnât even pretend to deny it.
âjesus,â he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. âi thought i was gonna die.â
âI figured Iâd help you start over,â you say, voice gone soft, low, lethal. âSince you accidentally sent me a voicemail of you jerking off in your office like a filthy little freak.â
â§â§â§
then the camera flips.
your tits. out. that fucking sundress still on.
one hand cupping your chest, thumb brushing over a nipple. the other? already sliding downâdisappearing beneath the bunched-up skirt.
he groans againâhead tipping back, thighs spreading wider. his handâs already back around his cock, hips twitching with how badly he wants it. no shame now. just heat. hunger. that unbearable, unrelenting ache.
âwait,â you say, voice dropping to something quieter. hotter. âdonât look away. i wanna see.â
your eyes lock through the screen.
âi wanna watch you stroke yourself for me.â
his breath catches.
âplease,â you add, gentler nowâbut still so in control. âjust like before. messy. fast. please, baby? i wanna hear youâŠâ
he whines. actually fucking whines.
because of course he does. youâve got your fingers gliding between your folds like itâs nothing, like youâre not completely soaked from teasing him. and heâs sitting there in his button-up, tie askew, chest heaving, jerking off to the sight of you falling apart in real time.
âthatâs it,â you breathe, eyes hooded. âgood boy. just like that.â
his head rolls back.
âbet itâs leaking again,â you murmur. âbet youâre so close already, just from hearing my voice. you gonna cum again for me, baby?â
he nodsâfrantic, almost. still working himself through slick, tight strokes. his legs tense, hips lifting off the chair.
âgonna cumâfuck, baby, keep talkingâplease, iâm so fucking close!"
but your voice doesnât soften. it dips.
low. sharp. cruel.
âoh, you are close, huh?â
he freezesâchest heaving, hand trembling where itâs wrapped tight around his cock.
âof course you are. pathetic,â you hiss, just barely biting the word. âi send a couple pictures, and now youâre panting in your office like a dog in heat.â
âfuckââ he gasps. his hips twitch helplessly.
âyou couldnât even wait âtil you got home. had to jerk off at your desk like some perv.â
youâre still touching yourself, slow and lazy now. like this is nothing to you. like you know youâre driving him insane and love every second of it.
âlook at you,â you croon. âyouâre red. sweaty. leaking like a goddamn faucet.â
he moansâhigh and needy, nearly shaking.
âwhat would they all think if they saw you like this?â you whisper. âmister big shot, cock in hand, whining like a slut just because i showed you a little skin.â
heâs trying to breathe. trying to stroke. trying not to cum too soon, but fuck, youâre not making it easy.
âyou wanna cum, donât you?â you taunt.
he nods frantically, mouth open.
âthen beg for it.â
his voice cracksââpleaseâfuck, please let meâneed to so badâbeen thinking about you all day, been hard since you texted meââ
âyouâre so fucking weak,â you sigh. âi bet youâd cum just from the sound of my voice if i let you.â
and then you lean in, eyes wicked, voice low:
âbe a good boy, and finish for me.â
thatâs all it takes.
his back arches. his fist tightens. a ragged moan rips from his throat as he spills across his hand and bellyâmessy, hot, completely ruined. he barely manages to keep his phone upright, catching your devilishly pleased half-lidded gaze as his vision goes white.
he cums hardâhips stuttering, hand sticky, whole body shuddering as your voice carries him through it.
and when itâs over, when the tremors ease and his breathing slows, he slumps back into the office chair like heâs been defeated.
face flushed. shirt wrinkled. lashes fluttering like heâs on the verge of sleep.
ââŠjesus,â he whispers. âi think you just ended me.â
you smileâgenuine this time. voice going warm and fond, like flipping a switch.
âpoor baby,â you coo. âyou shouldâve waited âtil you got home. i wouldâve taken real good care of you.â
his breath hitches, and he lets out a soft, fucked-out laugh. âi think you did, sweetheart.â
you pout. ânot enough.â
thereâs a pause. a hum of soft static between you.
âhey,â you murmur, thumb brushing over the camera. âyou okay?â
âyeah,â he says, voice a little hoarse. âyeah, âm okay.â
your voice drops quieter. sweeter.
âcanât wait for you to come home. iâll run a bath. make something warm. let you lay on top of me and fall asleep.â
he hums, eyes fluttering shut. âyouâre too good to me.â
âno,â you tease. âyouâre just extra cute when youâre all fucked out.â
he huffs a breath of a laugh, then cracks one eye open.
and it changes.
something slow and sharp creeps into his voice.
âbabyâŠâ
you pause.
âyeah?â
he licks his lips. smirks.
âyou didnât cum yet.â
your breath catches.
âno,â you admit softly.
his voice goes low. commanding.
âthen donât get too comfortable. iâm coming home to finish the job.â
you let out a breathless laughâhalf nervous, half delighted.
