Welcome to The Pit! I’m Dave York, and I run things around here. You can call me Suburban Murder Daddy, or “Daddy” for short. I expect every single one of you to read and memorize the following rules.
I have received a flood of filthy asks and sexy DMs. I didn’t anticipate such a swell in interest, and between my work at the CIA and my “night job” it’s going to take me a little while to catch up. Please keep your panties on, at least until I tell you you can take them off.
You must be 18+ to come play in The Pit. I check each and every one of your slutty little landing pages. If I come across any minors you will be blocked and reported: No. Fucking. Exceptions. If your landing page does not say “18+” and/or have an age or a birth year listed, I will not answer your messages.
If you are 18+, you may send me any little filthy thought, GIF, or post that your heart desires, no matter how depraved. If I think it’s too rough for The Pit I’ll ask you to slide into my DMs for some special attention.
Anonymous Asks: Pick a secret emoji that is not already taken, and then DM me privately to tell me who you are. I need to know so that we can play safely together, and make sure that we are all 18+. But I won’t reveal you to the rest of The Pit.
Sending me multiple DMs and Asks: each and every slut in my Pit is special, and deserves as much personal attention as you do. If you send 1-2 messages or Asks, do not send any more until I can get back to you. If you spam me with too many in a row, I will discipline you. A second violation will result in blocking you.
What Daddy says, goes. No backtalk. I won’t hesitate to block you, even though it would break my heart to lose such a special little slut. You want to be my good little whore and come play in The Pit, don’t you? Don’t disappoint Daddy.
Just remember that I want to please and punish you all, and I will be here when I can to have some fun with you. 🖤 - Dave
These emojis are taken. Use a different one for your first Anon ask:
💋🍭🔥♉🐺🧷🍓🍍🌸🍑👛🎀🦊🌙🌻🌌🐙🪐🐭🐝🍒💫📚🎞🥐👽🧁🧚💃🏻👻4️⃣🧸🔪🩺☀️😇👑🌹🐧
If I send you to The Punishment Corner it's final. But you can get out for good behavior or for taking your spankings like a good little slut.
The Pit Anthem is The Good, the Bad and the Dirty by Panic! at the Disco. It’s fitting.
Ships: Dave York x fem!reader (same couple as in Make Your Bed, Then Lie In It, but can be read on its own)
Warnings: Infidelity (I do not condone cheating, I just wanted to make Dave and Reader as bad people as possible), h/c, sexual tension, there's a man (not Dave) who doesn't understand the word no but it's nothing dramatic, cunnilingus, fellatio, choking, spanking, rough PiV sex.
Summary: You work with Dave both at the CIA and outside of it, and you have a secret, sexual relationship with him. That is all. But when he shows up injured on your doorstep one Friday night, asking for sanctuary, you realize that it may not just be about sex.
Words: 5,778
A/N: You guys I am so proud of my fine self! I came up with the premise for this fic over a year ago, and started writing it, but put it on the back burner when I realized I had no idea where to take it. And then a week or so ago, it just hit me. And I managed to sneak moments to write here and there. And here we are. I finally enjoy Dave York. I hope you do, too.
It’s one of those rare Friday nights when you don’t have to work late, and don’t have any plans. Dressed in capri lounge pants and a top, you park yourself in your favorite couch corner with a second glass of wine (the first you had with dinner, takeout from the Chinese place where the staff knew you by name), and a novel. You’ve been to the gym, showered, eaten, and now you’re wonderfully relaxed and looking forward to falling asleep on the couch.
The door buzzer cuts through the silence of the apartment. Frowning, you go to the intercom in the entry.
“Yeah?” you bark, annoyed with whoever it is that dares ruin your evening.
“Can I come up?”
Dave? What the fuck does he want? He’s supposed to be out of town!
“Not tonight,” you tell him sternly. “I need this, I don’t have the energy for – “
“Please.”
Suddenly you hear how strangled his voice is, how labored his breathing. That’s not good. You buzz him in and wait by the front door for him to step out of the elevator. When he does, your eyes widen slightly.
His face is ashen, his brows knitted in discomfort. He tries to move with his usual smoothness, but you can see that he’s struggling. You don’t say anything until he’s inside, and the door is closed.
“What the hell happened?” you demand grimly. His elegant, inconspicuous weekend duffle falls to the floor before he zips open his leather jacket and shows you the blue shirt underneath, dark with blood at the side.
“Didn’t pay enough attention.”
“That much is clear.” You lead him to the bathroom and kick away the thick, soft mat to avoid having to clean blood from it later. He sinks down on the toilet lid with a sigh and a grimace, and you can see that he’s in more pain than he’d like to admit.
“Take your shirt off,” you tell him as you take out things from the first aid kit. His left side, the injured side, clearly bothers him as he very slowly and deliberately moves his arm to first unbutton the shirt, then shrug it off. You’re done washing your hands before he’s even began to try and get his t-shirt off, so you stand in front of him with an expectant frown. When he’s finally topless, you crouch in front of him to look at the wound.
It’s a stab wound, clean and no longer bleeding. It can’t have hit anything vital, or he would’ve been unconscious with blood loss already.
“I don’t think anything’s damaged,” Dave tells you, leaning back a little to display the wound better. He tries to sound unperturbed but you can tell that his vocal cords are still as tight as his jawline.
“It’s quite neat,” you agree. “But you know you’re going to need stitches, right?”
He looks at you with one raised brow and you shake your head.
“No, Dave.”
“You said it yourself, I need stitches.”
“You know that's not my forte. You should go to the hospital.”
“And you know I can't do that.”
You let out your breath in a frustrated sigh and stand up, crossing your arms in front of your chest as you press your lips together and tilt your head back, staring up at the ceiling for a short moment before getting on with it.
“Fine.”
Not long after, you're crouching in front of him again, carefully stitching the two edges of the gaping wound together. Dave is breathing heavily, a sheen of sweat glazing his skin, the acrid smell of adrenaline and pain wafting off of him. It has a familiar tang to you from countless secret missions and stolen fucks, but this is the first time you can tell that he is in pain, and that he is afraid. You cannot tell from his perfectly composed face - except of course you can tell that something is amiss from the perspiration and the way he keeps trying not to knit his brows together - but you can feel it in the held-back vibrations of his body.
Against your better knowing, you glance up at him. “You okay?”
“Perfect.”
“I thought you were in LA. A one man job, you said.”
“I don't tell you everything.”
“Clearly not.”
A moment of silence is interrupted by Dave's quick, sharp intake of air as you pierce his skin with the needle.
“What are you going to tell your wife?” you ask lightly. The two of you never talk about his wife or children and how your actions might affect them. How he breaks a promise every time he sticks his cock in you, his weddings vows stretched so thin they're practically invisible. You know he loves his wife, adores his children, but they know nothing of how he earns his extra income; the lives he ends with your help, the animal attraction between the two of you that keeps you together beyond the corridors of the CIA and dark alleyways of your extracurricular activites.
“That's none of your business.”
Of course not. You don't even care, not really, but the situation is tricky. And you're very well aware of the fact that if Dave goes down, so will you. It's in your best interest to keep his secrets as well as your own.
“I take it you will take precautions so that I don't have to suffer for your mistakes,” you tell him and barely bother to hide the acidity in your voice. Dave's abs flex and he glowers down at you.
“Don't worry.”
You finish up the stitches and reach for self-adhesive gauze. With efficient and quick movements, you pull off the protective film on it, fit it over the wound, and press down.
“There.”
Nimbly, you get off the floor and wash your hands. Breathing a sigh of relief, Dave gingerly turns his torso first one way, then the other. You don't need to look directly at him to know that he's assessing the damage, trying to figure out what he can get away with.
“You shouldn't move around so much,” you point out as you gather the medical supplies in the sink and turn on the hot water tap. He knows this, of course.
“Can I stay here over the weekend?”
The question is blunt and very unexpected. You turn to look at him with a frown on your face.
“I don't think that's such a good idea...”
“Please.” His low voice is sincere and his dark eyes are imploring you in a way you have never seen before. It makes you lose all bearings, your eyebrows shooting up at the sudden display of weakness in him. Dave is not a weak man. Dave is a ruthless killer. Seeing him like this is almost disturbing.
“I didn’t know where else to go,” he now continues. “I need to keep a low profile until Sunday evening when I'm supposed to return home.”
You don't like it one bit. There goes your relaxed weekend. But you realize that he has a point.
“Fine,” you sigh. “But I'm not going to be your nurse. ”
“You don't have to.”
Your tone is no-nonsense and Dave nods mutely. No matter what he calls you in bed, what he does to you with a whip and chain, the marks he leaves on you and the cum he shoots into you despite being quite happily married, he respects you. He always has. He respects your boundaries, your will, your competence. The things the two of you do to each other in the bedroom is based on that mutual respect: without it, you would never have let him touch you. When he nods at your request, you know he takes it seriously.
“And see to it that you don't bleed through the gauze,” you add. ”I don't want your blood on my shit.”
”I’ll do my best.”
“Good. I'll get you set up on the couch,” you tell him curtly as you turn around and leave the bathroom.
Later, curled up on your side in your bed, one hand under the pillow on which your head uneasily rests, you imagine that you can hear Dave breathing on your living-room couch. You had left him there with your guest linen and a glass with two fingers of your better Scotch - you figured he needed it. You retired soon after that, in no mood to spend the rest of your ruined evening watching TV with him. You had drained your glass of wine, grabbed your book, and brushed your teeth before retiring to the bedroom, thinking that you'd make an early night of it. Get up bright and early tomorrow, go into town, or out of town, or whatever. As long as you didn't have to be social with Dave. You don't have it in you this weekend.
Sleep evades you tonight, however. Dave's presence in your apartment in always so intense, maybe because every time he is here it is to fuck you six ways from Sunday. That, of course, is out of the question now.
You can't believe that you're thinking about sex now when he's injured. You should be trying to figure out what happened to him - but you realize that you don't care. If Dave decided to take on a job on his own, without your help, well, that's his problem. Maybe he understands now that it wasn't a good idea. He needs you.
Your hand finds its slow way between your legs and without making any sound, you touch yourself to a simple, uninteresting orgasm that relaxes you enough so that you can go to sleep.
You snap awake as the smell of bacon and eggs makes your way into your dreams. Unable to understand where they come from at first, you sit up and look around your bedroom in an attempt to orientate yourself. You're home. But why do you smell breakfast?
Dave.
Frowning, you get up and wrap your bathrobe around you before opening the door and stepping out. The sheets on the couch are folded neatly to the side, and when you enter the kitchen, you find Dave by the stove, making breakfast.
Dave making breakfast.
The ide if preposterous and the sight so peculiar that you can't but be harsh.
"I was saving that bacon for a special dish."
Dave looks up, amusement flashing through his dark eyes.
"I'm good for a pack of bacon."
You scoff but don't move. Instead, you're left standing by the spacious opening between kitchen and hallway, looking at the strange display before you. He looks so normal, so unlike himself, dressed in a simple gray t-shirt and sweatpants that he no doubt fished out of his weekend bag. You know the exact contents of that bag from many ”work” weekends together. He always brings sweatpants for an hour in the hotel gym or for stalking a poor bastard who’s going to end up dead.
Family man Dave.
The thought flashes through your mind. This must be what he's like at home: making weekend breakfasts for his family, kissing his wife and kids when they join him in the kitchen, laughing at the musings of his daughters, admiring the way the robe caresses his wife's body.
"Sit down, coffee's ready."
Despite the instinct to turn around and flee the scene, you make your way to the kitchen table and sit down at your usual spot. As Dave pours you a cup of coffee - he remembers how you like it because of course he does, it's that commitment to minuscule levels of detail that makes him so good at what he does - you strengthen yourself, make yourself get a grip. You've heard him talk about his wife and kids at work. You have worked in a room alone with him before. What's so different?
What's different is that he showed up bleeding on your doorstep last night like your apartment was the only place he felt safe, and this morning he's making you breakfast.
You sip the coffee and reach for your iPad so that you can read the news and avoid any conversation. After a few minutes, a plate of bacon and eggs lands next to you, and you're force dto look up and thank Dave.
"Sure," he says easily as he takes the seat on the other side of the table from you. He moves like his in discomfort, you notice, and you ask him how he's feeling.
"Bleeding's stopped," he replies with his eyes uncharacteristically cast down at his plate. "The wound is neat. You did a good job."
"Are you in pain?" you hear yourself ask. He shrugs and shoves a fork loaded with scramble into his mouth. You know it means yes, but he doesn't want to admit it.
"You're confined to that couch today."
"Don't remind me," he grunts, looking up at you with a line between his eyebrows. You realize that he's just as uncomfortable with the situation as you are.
"I have three streaming services that I never watch," you offer lightly, "feel free to fuck up the algorithms."
"What about you?"
"What about me?" You raise your eyebrows along with the cup of coffee, and take a sip.
"You going out?"
"I have a prior engagement," you state vaguely but with a tone of finality. Dave only nods and goes back to his breakfast. He insists on cleaning up after and you don't protest. Instead, you hide in your bedroom to dress, then apply makeup in the bathroom before leaving your apartment-turned-sanctuary.
Carrying a couple of shopping bags, you return in the late afternoon with plans to go out for dinner with a friend. You just need a change of clothes and, you have to admit, a check-up on what Dave's doing in your home. You trust him not to invade your privacy but there is something uncomfortable about the knowledge of him occupying your home. Why the fuck did you let him stay anyway, you should've just told him to figure it out and leave you out of it.
Of course you know that that's impossible. Next time it could be you looking for a safe space, and you need to stay on his good side, just as he has to be on good terms with you. Both of you depend on each other to keep your lives interesting and for the extra money to come in.
You step in and leave your shoes and bags in the foyer before heading to the bathroom to wash your hands. Opening the door, you freeze in the doorway when you see Dave in front of the sink, carefully inspecting the stab wound in his side, nothing but a towel slung around his hips. Drops of water run down his shoulders, and his short hair is tousled and damp.
"Sorry," you murmur, but you don't back away. Instead, you take your time looking him up and down, caress his wet skin with your gaze before dropping it to to the wound.
"How's the bite?" you ask casually, as if you hadn't just walked in on him after a shower. Dave tilts his head slightly.
"Can't complain."
You nod before stepping into the bathroom and taking space by the sink. You wash your hands while keeping eye contact with Dave in the mirror.
"Did you enjoy your day?" he asks, his voice flat and neutral.
"As much as can be expected, considering the circumstances," you shrug as you grab a towel and dry your hands. "You kind of ruined my weekend plans, but I'm adaptable."
"Terribly sorry." He doesn't sound sorry at all as he brushes past you on his way out of the bathroom. You follow him with your eyes in the mirror until he's gone.
Dinner is fine but when you want to go for drinks after, your friend excuses herself to go home to her husband and infant. Understandable, perhaps, but disappointing. So you find yourself in a bar by yourself, looking over the male clientel because you realize that you don't want to go home tonight and deal with Dave occupying your couch. You can easily afford a hotel for the night but you have an itch and need someone to scratch it. Despite the carefully chosen establishment, however, the pickings are slim and very depressing. When you finally find someone worthwhile you decide to take him for a test drive, and end up in the bathroom with him. His handsome, funny, charming company doesn't transfer well to foreplay and despite your constant redirecting of his hand to your throat, he doesn’t get it but keeps slobbering wet kisses all over your neck.
"I think we're done here," you finally tell him as you push him away. He doesn't get it, the poor bastard.
"We're just getting started, baby." He tries to slide his arm around your waist but your grab his elbow, quickly and elegantly twirling on your heel and twisting it behind his back in a lockhold.
"I said we're done," you bark, ignoring his whines of pain. "Try to understand that the next time a woman tells you so."
"Okay!" he grimaces, "Jesus fucking Christ, just let go of my arm!"
You tighten the lock just a fraction, knowing that if you pull his arm a little more, you'd hear the satisfying pop of his shoulder dislocating. You decide to be lenient this time, though, so you release him and kick open the stall door, marching out. You order a ride and when sitting in the backseat, you decide that this is all Dave's fault. He took a job without you, risked his life and exposure for himself as well as you, showed up at your door and ruined your weekend. And to top it all off, he looked so fucking good doing it.
You're in a foul mood when you come home but refuse to let Dave know. Without a word, you go straight to your bedroom and shed your clothes. Wearing only your bathrobe, you open the door to go to the bathroom for a shower, but find Dave blocking the doorframe with his broad shoulders and intense gaze.
”You okay?” he asks, searching your face.
”Perfect,” you snap, moving as to go past him, but he doesn’t budge. With a sigh, you cross your arms in front of your chest and glare at him.
”Get out of my face, York.”
”What’s that?” He raises his hand to your neck and you feel his fingers brush over your skin.
”What?”
”You have red marks here. They weren’t there earlier today.”
Your jaw clenches as you remember your would-be one-night-stand’s futile attempts at being rough: he clearly had no idea how to choke someone.
”It’s fine,” you dismiss Dave’s query, but his eyes have turned obsidian as his hand gently guides your head to the side, exposing the marks even more.
”Who did this to you?” The words come out as a low growl and makes your head snap back in surprise. Does he think he needs to look out for you? That he owns you? That you’re his little side piece that he gets to protect and use until he’s tired of you? That’s not what this relationship is. Twisted though it may be, what you have is a partnership.
”Someone whose shoulder is going to hurt for a while,” you grimly quip, and Dave’s lips curl up in a proud smile.
”Atta girl.”
He’s never called you that. Slut and whore, yes, but never girl, and never with a hint of soft warmth lacing his voice. You don’t know what to make of it, but your gut is swimming with hot thick desire. You need that shower now, need to give yourself relief, wash that guy’s touch off of you along with Dave’s concern.
But you can’t move, fixed as you are by Dave’s eyes. His hand is still on the side of your neck and now he moves it to the back, cupping the back of your head firmly.
”I can smell your cunt,” he tells you, his voice dropping another octave. ”Do you need me to do something about that?”
You’re gone. How the hell are you supposed to ever let any other man touch you when David York can make you drench your panties with just a few words?
”Your wound…” you try, although you really don’t care.
”That has nothing to do with what I asked.”
”Yes, Dave.” This is familiar territory. This is what you want and need. ”I need you to do something about it.”
”Then kiss me.”
You crash your lips to his immediately, a gasp traveling from your mouth to his when he threads his fingers through your hair along your skull and pulls, making your scalp sting just right. Your hands drop to the hem of his t-shirt and pull it up, tearing your mouth from his to instead duck your head to his chest, where you nibble and suck on his nipples. Dave pulls the shirt over his head and lets out a satisfied grunt at your ministrations. When you bite him hard enough to make him hiss, he grabs a hold of your hair and pulls you back up for a searing kiss as he unties the belt of your robe and unwraps you from the soft, thick cotton. The robe walls to the floor and Dave’s arms are around your naked body, pulling you in as he devours your mouth and takes your breath away. When he eventually pulls away you’re both panting but he doesn’t give you much of a break as he grabs you by the hips and walks you backwards to the bed. You feel the bedspread against the backs of your thighs and want to sit down, but Dave holds you upright. He drops his forehead to yours and traces his forefinger along your jawline.
”Been thinking about this since last night,” he murmurs. ”Been wanting you since I came here.”
”You did ruin my weekend plans, so you owe me,” you point out as your hands claim every inch of his smooth, strong chest. Moving further down, you skim the patch that protects his wound, and feel the warmth of the skin around.
”Will this hold?” you ask. Dave grabs your wrist and turns you around so that you’re standing with your back to him.
”Let me worry about that,” he breathes in your ear before shoving you down on the bed and slapping your ass. Your gasp quickly turns into a moan when he kneels behind you and shoves his face between your legs and his tongue against your clit. A deep tremble runs through you and your hands fist into the bedspread as he finally gives you what you need. He kneads your ass cheeks roughly as his tongue works your clit, licks into you, his full lips nibbling your folds before sucking your throbbing clit in between them. You keen into the bedding and buck back against him. Dave reciprocates by pinching your ass sharply, then releasing your clit and going back to licking it with a broad, soft tongue. You let him take you higher as you sink into the soft bedding, your mind going blank except for one thing: the pleasure blooming in the apex of your thighs, spreading through your lower back and gut, making your heart beat faster in a delicious, mad sprint towards total surrender. Dave growls against your sex and the vibrations translate in a loud, moaned curse that turns into a protest when he takes a moment to catch his breath, straightening up and slapping your ass with a satified grin.
”Please, baby,” you moan, wiggling your ass, ”more, I need more, I’m so close.”
”Why did you think I stopped?” he remarks casually, slapping your ass again before sliding his fingers between your thighs to tease your clit. Your thighs twitch and you push back against him. You hear a groan of fuck before he’s back in, greedily licking you towards your orgasm. Your body is flushed when the first waves wash over you, making you squirm on the bed, legs kicking as the muscles spasm. Dave’s tongue doesn’t stop or slow down, mercifully or perhaps mercilessly, and you ride his face through the wet release until you’re panting on the bed, a shiver traveling through you when he finally withdraws and slaps your ass with both hands, rubs your cheeks roughly before slapping them again. You yelp weakly and glance back, seeing him stand up straight, his sweatpants tenting in the front.
”Your would-be man wouldn’t be able to do this to you, would he?” he asks arrogantly. You always hated men with an exaggerated sense of self, God knows you’ve seen enough of them in your line of work. But when it comes to Dave and sex, you just want more.
”Why do you think I returned home for the night?” you quip as you slowly pull your legs up on the bed and turn around. It’s true: you could have found someone else, but it was Dave that you wanted all along. Only with him can you be yourself.
Eyes trained on his erection, you crawl to the edge of the bed. Dave helps you pull down the sweatpants and kicks them off, and you cup his balls through his underwear as you glance up at him, your eyelids heavy, your lower lip caught between your teeth. He groans when you place a lit kiss on the tip of his cock.
”That’s it, beautiful…”
”What do we say?”
”Please.”
You rubs your lips along his clothed length, breathing audibly in little purrs as you take him out with one hand and kiss him again. Dave exhales your name and you part your lips to let your tongue out for a long, teasing lick from tip to root, your free hand pulling down his boxers a little more. He bends down a little to get rid of his underwear and kick them off and when he stands tall in front of you again, his thick cock is bobbing expectantly right before your face. Eager to pleasure him, you take him in your mouth, slowly sucking his tip and enjoying the sounds he makes. Glancing up, you admire the long stretch of his neck as his head is thrown back in pleasure, the abs flexing, his hands twitching by his sides as he fights the urge to grab you by the back of your head and shove his entire cock in your mouth. You reach for his hand and place it on top of your head as you start to bob back and forth, taking more of him as you fuck him with your mouth. He fists his fingers into your hair but follows your pace, doesn’t thrust or force you but lets you decide how you want it. The salty taste of precum is strong in your mouth and your lower lip is dripping with saliva, your hums punctuated by the wet squishy sound of your lips around his girth.
”Can you take my cum?” he growls above you and you reply with a deep murmur that makes him gasp. His other hand lands on your head but without bereaving you control. You massage his balls lightly with one hand and reach your fingertips to his taint, pressing lightly as you suck hard. The reaction is a surprised shout and a forward jerk that almost chokes you.
”Fuck, beautiful, do that again!”
You comply and see before your very eyes how his thighs are shaking, so you settle into a pattern of massage and sucking that fills the bedroom with Dave’s cursing. His endurance is usually staggering but now it’s a question of mere minutes before he’s filling your mouth with thick ropes of hot cum. His cock is still twitching when he pulls out, a long string of spit following before breaking to hang from your lips. Your eyes are tearing with the effort and you draw a deep breath, coughing a little before raising your hand to wipe your mouth, but Dave grabs your wrists and pulls you up for a rough, desperate kiss. The taste of his cum is blended with the earthy musk of you as he drinks your moans before letting you fall back onto the bed. You close your eyes and sigh deeply, legs falling open as you relax and enjoy the postorgasmic calm settling in your bones. A wet sound makes you open your eyes again, and you see Dave stroking himself, eyes trained between your legs.
”Another one?” you query with a little smile. You didn’t think he’d have the strength for it, given his injury, but realize that of course he would.
”I can’t have that pretty little cunt right before me and not fuck it,” he admits, still admiring the slick apex of your thighs. ”Touch yourself for me, beautiful.”
You gladly do as he tells you to, spreading your labia apart with your fingers before dipping your middle finger inside you and drawing out the glistening arousal before smearing it around you, finger coming to a lazy circle around your clit. Dave’s jaw is tense, you see the muscles working as he keeps himself hard, a frown drawing his brows together. Is he in pain? Before you can ask, Dave comes down on his knees on the mattress and tells you to turn around.
He takes you from behind, sitting back on his heels with his thighs spread to accomodate you between them. You detect a restlessness in him, a sharp twang of frustration in the smell of his sweat, and realize that he is indeed in pain. But not only that: he’s angry at himself for what happened on his solo mission. His greedy hands are on you, one closing around your throat, the other palming your tits harshly, his teeth sinking into your shoulder until you stop rubbing his cock against your wet folds and let him in.
He drives himself all the way in, taking your breath away both with the way his rock hard cock spears you and his hand closes around your throat. His breath is searing against your ear when he whispers into it, his voice strangled:
”Feel me. All of me. In your tight little cunt. Take it.”
”Yes, Dave,” you whimper, your hands on his wrists, but not to remove his lockhold of you, but to keep it good and tight. ”Fuck me. Use me.”
He releases you then to put your hands down on the bed, and starts to pound into you with quick, vicious strokes. You cry out, words jumbling together into guttural sounds as you let him claim you however he sees fit. His cock drags along your slick yet tight walls and when Dave grabs you by the hair with one hand, the other holding onto your hip, you slip one hand between your legs. You rub desperate circles around your clit until your walls are fluttering in a violent, loud orgasm that has your arms shaking until they give in. Dave releases your hair and lets you fall onto your belly, but he still continues his assault on your quivering pussy. His fingers dig deep into your hips, bruising you as he picks up the pace, his breaths thunderous above and behind you, his hips connecting with yours at an almost impossible speed, how is he still going so strong, fuck, he’s going to cleave you in two unless he finishes soon but at the same time you never want it to end because only you can do this to him, only you can make him fall apart as totally as he does when he finally sputters your name and gets up on his knees to bury himself balls deep into you, filling your core with his cum. He thrusts into you with a growl, your spanked buttocks stinging from the impact, and then another time before staying still, his cock twitching inside your cunt’s tight embrace. He stays inside you when he lets himself collapse on top of you, exhaustedly dragging his lips along your shoulder. You turn your head to the side and find his mouth for a lazy, panting kiss before he pulls out of you and tumbles onto his back next to you.
You must have dozed off because you’re suddenly roused by Dave rising from the bed. Blinking against the light, you follow his slow walk out of the bedroom, and try to gauge his level of discomfort. Despite your postcoital exhaustion, you get up as well and follow, finding him in front of the bathroom mirror, slowly peeling off the adhesive covering his wound. The wet, dark patch on it tells you everything you need to know.
”Let me.” You crouch by his side and when the bandage is off, you see that one of the stitches has ripped.
”Worth it,” he shrugs as you give him a look laden with told you so. You get the first aid kit and patch him up for the second time in twenty-four hours. You even break into your secret stash of pills, giving him a precious Vicoden to take the edge of the pain.
”You had these all along?” he asks you with a raised brow as he accepts the pill and a glass of whisky. You give him a lopsided smile.
”You were doing fine without it until you decided to whip your dick out.”
”I’m not the one who needed to get laid,” he quips before popping the Vicoden and chasing it with the Scotch.
”How kind of you to help out with that,” you reply sarcastically as you take a clean towel out of the cabinet and step into the shower booth.
”Just my way of saying thanks to a friend,” he replies quietly before stepping out of the bathroom to let you shower in peace.
Later, when you’re in bed and you hear Dave come out of the shower, you get up and walk of soft feet to the bedroom door. Opening it, you startle Dave who’s on his way to the living-room. The hallway is dark and you can’t see his face, but you feel his gaze lock with yours. With a little nod, you turn around and return to bed. Moments later Dave comes in, dropping the towel on the floor before walking around the bed to get in on the other side.
Oh daddy! I've missed you! Work and life have just....ugh. I'm stressed. But, its got me in a very precarious position(hehe) because I want to rile you up, I want to be naughty. I'm sorry. But I'm not. 😛😛😛
God...this Dave fic is gonna end me. I was feeling really bad earlier about a certain part I was writing but I texted @absurdthirst and asked her a few questions because she's written some yummy and dark Dave stuff and I feel much better about where I'm taking this fic.
God...this Dave fic is gonna end me. I was feeling really bad earlier about a certain part I was writing but I texted @absurdthirst and asked her a few questions because she's written some yummy and dark Dave stuff and I feel much better about where I'm taking this fic.
God...this Dave fic is gonna end me. I was feeling really bad earlier about a certain part I was writing but I texted @absurdthirst and asked her a few questions because she's written some yummy and dark Dave stuff and I feel much better about where I'm taking this fic.
