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✶ voluntold ✶

⤷ lee bodecker x reader (no y/n)

⤷ rating: explicit / mdni / 18+ !

⤷ tags: f!reader, large AGE GAP (reader is 18+), dacryphilia, coercion / blackmail / manipulation, DUBCON!, i think this might be the work that transitions into fully needing a DDDNE tag, virgin reader, touch starved reader, milkshake kink?, light virginity kink, 'just the tip' -> penetrative sex, virginity loss, a couple minor implications of dissociation, mentions of drinking, (1) vague mention of vomiting - non detailed and not part of the smut, reader mentions divorced parents/absent dad, daddy issues but no daddy kink, oral sex (m!receiving), fingering (f!receiving), hand on throat but no choking, dry humping / grinding, p in v sex, unsafe sex, car sex, riding, doggy, lee is sweet and then kind of mean, dirty talk, praise, use of 'good girl' + 'honey' + 'sweetheart', use of 'pussy' and 'cunt' for descriptors, one use of ‘whore’, possessive language, some light degradation / humiliation / dumbification, lee reeks of misogyny even if it’s not said outright sorry i tried to make it hot, mentions of forced impreg, no pepsi cup but there is a milkshake cup!, off screen minor character death, implied dark!lee, reader is pregnant in the epilogue part, fucked up happy ending

⤷ word count: 8,6k

⤷ synopsis:

on the night of graduation, trying to impress your crush ends in getting busted for a party you didn't want to attend in the first place - and you're the only one sheriff lee bodecker finds at the scene. he promises you milkshakes if it'll get you to stop crying, but the more you open up to him, the more he decides he doesn't really feel like letting you go. in this town, it's his word against yours. he always gets what he wants.

⤷ notes: PLEASE READ ALL TAGS + WARNINGS! I know I've been toeing the line lately but I think this one truly does dip into dddne. you're responsible for your own media consumption etc.! this isn't too much more wild than the stuff I've already been posting recently so feel free to give it a shot if you'd like, but remember to be safe, be kind, and be smart about your engagement with this work and any work you encounter online.

that said, the tags are pretty straightforward. I want to stress again that READER IS OVER 18!!!!!! let me know if I missed any and I'll be sure to add them! this is also my first time writing lee, so I hope it comes off at least somewhat true to character! it was supposed to be an hc list and I got halfway through and was like... this is getting WAY too long sjdgsjgf maybe I'll just write it out.

not proofread. enjoy! x

fun fact ! the title is a slang term combining 'volunteer' with 'told' meaning 'something that's referred to as being on a volunteer basis but is assumed to have consequences if not agreed to' which honestly just felt perfect for this sjfgjkdfgdj.

You know you shouldn’t have gone to the party.

It was stupid, and impulsive, and only because, after four long, horrendous years of staring at him from across classrooms and crowded hallways, the guy you have feelings for had finally invited you out. Maybe it’s the fact that you wanted to do just one reckless thing before you leave this town for good. Maybe it’s the infectious energy buzzing through the neighborhood streets tonight after graduation, the simmer of possibility.

Maybe, just for the night, you didn’t have to be the good girl who played teacher’s pet and let people copy her homework and was tucked in bed by ten o’clock on a school night. Tonight, you could’ve been anything.

So you’d bid your mom goodnight, slipped into a dress you’d saved up to buy from the department store in town, done your hair and fixed your makeup a little darker than usual, then slipped out your window before you could talk yourself out of the million reasons not to.

It figures, honestly, that things ended this way.

You, shoved haphazardly into a coat closet in the abandoned old house on 10th, one shoe lost in your haste and a lone bottle of beer rolling on the hardwood at your feet that’d betrayed your hiding spot.

And now the Sheriff’s staring down at you with a frown and furrowed brow from beneath the rim of his hat, looking every bit like he’s about to read you your rights and haul you off to the station.

You throw up on his shoes before he can.

You’ve never felt more humbled than you do sitting in the front of the cruiser while Lee Bodecker saunters into the local diner to get you both milkshakes to go.

You’re cold, but you’re too scared to touch anything to fiddle with the AC. The dress you felt pretty in earlier feels like overkill now, the material too tight and too itchy against your skin as you try to tug it further down your legs. You don’t even need to look in the rearview mirror to know that you’ve cried off all your makeup, dabbed at in a rush with a wad of tissues he’d handed you from the glove compartment to little avail.

You appreciate the gesture nonetheless, and the fact that he’d given you water and gum to rinse the taste out of your mouth. The milkshakes had been the result of the fact that you couldn’t stop crying even after he told you you weren’t in trouble, the exasperated pinch of his brow as he sighed only making you more upset with yourself.

It takes you several minutes alone in the car to catch your breath and dry up the rest of your tears, to try for a wobbly smile when Lee returns with two to-go cups and pushes one in your direction.

“You gonna tell me what you were doing there if you weren’t planning on causing trouble?”

The question comes belatedly and a little awkwardly a few minutes into you both sipping on your shakes, the silence sitting heavy in the middle seat in between intermittent crackles of his radio. The thick drink is noisy when you suck it up your straw, and heat rises to your face when you swallow with a calculated shrug.

“I was just bored.”

You very carefully eye the lid of your shake, chancing a look over at him when the quiet lingers pointedly for too long. One of Lee’s brows is raised, eyes narrowed.

“Y’think I can’t tell when pretty things like you are lyin’ to me?”

You’ve never been called that before, but you try not to let the casual compliment go to your head. It’s probably just something he says—you’ve heard about his reputation.

“I wanted to impress someone,” you admit marginally more softly. Typically people tell you you’re wise beyond your years, but right now you’re feeling every bit as naive as most people your age are.

Lee’s other brow raises. “By trespassing and gettin’ drunk?”

“No,” you correct with a gentle huff, picking at the hem of your dress. “I just—I wanted to seem cool. You know how it is in high school. Or—I guess you do, anyway.”

“I’m not that old,” he rolls his eyes.

It’s a relief when he turns back to his drink, the weight of his attention heavier than you thought it’d be. At school you had so much to fall back on, so many accomplishments and accolades and awards that, in the low light of the Sheriff’s cruiser, double your age and more mature than any of the other guys you’ve hung out with, seem to mean nothing at all.

He sips his shake noisily. “So. Who was it.”

“What?”

His eyes skate to yours again. “You were tryin’ to impress someone. Who was it.”

“Oh. Just—this guy,” you say dismissively. When you catch a flash of his teeth behind his straw, your stomach drops. “Are you laughing at me?”

“Not—not at you, honey. Sorry. S’just, life’s too short to do that shit, y’know? You got a promising future. You shouldn’t change yourself just for some punk kid.”

“He’s not a punk,” you argue halfheartedly.

He scoffs. “Well. He obviously ain’t a gentleman.”

The slight smile you’d been building up to fades again, your appetite disappearing with it.

“I wouldn’t really know either way,” you tell him. “My dad left when I was young.”

The cruiser plunges into awkward silence again, and you feel that people-pleasing part of you ready to well up and change the subject, make everything easy and digestible again. But the other part of you, the one that’d convinced you to sneak out in the first place, still feels like a fresh bruise, eager to be prodded at despite the pain.

“Sometimes I wonder if he’d be proud of me,” you whisper.

Lee says nothing, his face twisted up into a cross between concern and discomfort. Apparently, your feelings are too much even for a grown man to handle.

You force a laugh, the smile on your face exceptionally fake as your eyes begin to water.

“Sorry. I don’t know why I brought that up. It’s just—he didn’t come to my graduation, and then everything with the party, I wanted—” your lip wobbles, voice cracking. “I just wanted to feel wanted, I guess.”

“Hey, hey,” he sighs, setting his cup on the dashboard by his hat to reach across the back of the seats and touch your shoulder. “Thought we agreed no more tears, huh? I’m gonna run outta tissues.”

You sniffle, wiping at your cheeks. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“C’mere,” he says after another moment, his stare heavy on the side of your face.

He puts your shake up beside his and tosses an arm out, nodding his head to make you scoot across the seat. And you, not even able to remember the last time someone held you aside from quick one-armed congratulations, fall into him like a magnet.

Your bare thighs unstick from the leather of his seat as you move, pressing the side of your body up against his. The weight of his arm settling around your shoulders feels good enough to make your eyes water, his warmth, even with the badges and belts and the scent of working all day long, is like a drug.

You think you would trade whatever might’ve happened at that party a million times over just to feel this.

He exhales above you, rubbing at your shoulder with his fingers as you wrap your arms around his middle. “Don’t you go tellin’ anyone I’ve gone soft now.”

With a wet laugh, you nod, your soft cheek rough against the material of his shirt. “I won’t. Thanks, Sheriff.”

You linger for a moment just to see if you’ll be allowed, soaking up the tenderness of it before you go home lonely again. You’ve been chasing this for a while, you think; always the first to try to impress your male teachers, a staunch rule follower around authority figures, posters of celebrity crushes on your walls that all have smile lines by their eyes and a little gray in their hair.

None of those hug you, though.

You feel it when Lee’s chest rises with an inhale, the tip of his nose pressed to the top of your head. His arm pulls you in a little more, breath hot on your forehead when he talks.

“You’re a sweet thing, aren’t you,” he mutters to himself, fingers shifting on your shoulder.

He rubs his thumb back and forth there for a minute, your own embarrassment overshadowed by your greed. You’ve never seen the local sheriff dole out praise a day in his life, but maybe, just this once, he’d see how good you’ve been for all these years, how hard you’ve tried, and he’d give it to you.

But Lee doesn’t seem to want to keep talking about your feelings. His fingers dip off your shoulder and down your side, and with your arm outstretched over his abdomen, there’s nothing to stop his fingertips from grazing that sensitive, ticklish strip of skin covering your ribs. The fabric of your dress does little to dull it, and you shift when it sends sparks through you—the kind that are more hesitation than interest.

“Um. I should—move back to my seat.”

His grip tightens around your waist. “Thirsty?”

You shake your head, but Lee’s already reaching for your shake sitting on the dash in front of you. He brings it in close, breath on your cheek as he lifts the straw toward your lips.

Your instincts kick in and you take the straw onto your tongue, thinking maybe if you just get it over with he’ll let you go quicker.

But you take a hesitant sip of your shake and nearly choke on it when Lee’s hand on your waist moves again, kneading at the fleshy skin underneath your dress. It drops to your hip, squeezes, slides back up again until his fingers are almost cupping the underside of one of your breasts. You hadn’t been able to wear a bra with this sort of top. Your arm snaps down on top of his digits, intended to stop him but trapping him there instead.

“Good, hm?” he asks gruffly.

You swallow the thick vanilla, nodding and pasting on a placid smile. “Yes. Thank you for getting it for me. I think I’m full now, though.”

“Aw, come on. Just a little more. Be rude to waste it, right?”

Again, without waiting for your answer, Lee sits your shake on the leather seat between his thighs and pops the lid off the top. His radio crackles from the dash and you hold your breath, hoping he’ll have a call to answer. But it’s just another officer with updates on something Lee obviously doesn’t care much about, unfettered as he sets the straw and lid up on the dash beside it.

When you try to wriggle away in his distraction, his hold on you tightens enough to steal your breath a little. Your palms are sweating, eyes darting toward the door that’s been locked since the moment you got in.

His fingers dip toward the half-full cup of vanilla milkshake.

“Lee. What—what are you doing?”

“Shh. You wanna be a good girl. Don’t you, honey?” he says, rubbing your side. “I’m just showin’ you how. That’s all.”

You swallow, ears ringing. “I think I want to go home now, please.”

Lee’s fingers pause abruptly where they’d been inching toward the shake. He eases in a sharp inhale, one brow raised and head tilted as he leans back. You breathe a sigh of relief at the freedom, already starting to shift back to the other side of the bench seat.

“Not sure if I can do that,” he says casually, eyes on his lap. “Technically, y’know, you were the only one at the scene of the crime. Now, I should be takin’ you down to the station and gettin’ your fingerprints, callin’ your parents…”

You pause at the mention of your parents. Your mom is one thing, but your dad not showing up to your graduation only to get a phone call that you’ve been arrested?

You can taste the disappointment.

“No,” you grab onto his arm before he can reach for his notepad. “Don’t do that. Please. I’ll—” you force your lip to stop trembling, taking a shaky breath. “I’ll stay.”

“Lookie there,” he croons, immediately softening again as he turns to you with a smile. He pats the spot beside him again. “Smart girl.”

Tentatively, your sweat-sticky thighs inch back across the bench. You’re much more rigid this time, shoulders by your ears, back straight, thighs pressed firmly together as you settle where you’d been only moment before.

His attention returns to the open to-go cup in his lap, tracing a finger around the edge of the paper rim. His arm slips around your shoulder again, dragging you in.

“We’re gonna play a game.”

“Okay,” you whisper, trying not to flinch now at his closeness.

He taps the shake. “It was real nice of me to buy you this to cheer y’up, right?”

“Mhm.”

“Usually I don’t allow food in here,” he says conspiratorially. “Well. Anyone else’s food in here. Don’t trust ‘em. This leather’s old, hard to clean, y’know?”

“Sure,” you manage.

“So. We’re not gonna waste any of this. Gotta make sure I get my money’s worth,” he pauses to glance down your body, “but we’re also not gonna make a mess. Any of this gets on my seats and I’ll have to take you back to the station. Got it?”

You bite back a whimper, blinking rapidly to keep yourself from crying. Your body’s stuck in fight or flight, screaming to run one moment and aching for sweet, unfamiliar validation the next. Your eyes stray hopelessly toward where he pops the button on the cuffs of his shirt, rolling them up to his elbows.

You nod. “I understand.”

He smiles.

“Good girl.”

His fingers finally delve past the rim of the shake without hesitation this time, two of them plunging into the white, foamy liquid to the first knuckle. Everything about it looks and feels wrong—so it makes no sense why your mouth is watering, nipples taut where they drag against the material of your dress with each full, nervous breath.

He slides his thick digits out and turns them in the dim, distant light coming from the diner, letting the excess drip obscenely back into the cup. His ultimatum makes you focus on it more than you want to, desperate not to let any spill anywhere that could get you in trouble.

Teasingly slow, Lee lifts them from the cup and toward your mouth, swiping them messily over the seam of your lips. It’s sickeningly sweet, more so than it’d been before, now layered with the musky undertaste of Lee’s fingers as they part your lips and slide in as easily as they’d conquered the drink too.

You gasp, choking a little as he shoves them onto your tongue. There’s no time for hesitancy as he moves them in and out without rhythm or sophistication, the chaos of it causing you to have to chase his hand and take more into your mouth to avoid it spilling down your chin and onto your lap.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he urges, slowing a little when you start using your tongue, catching the risky drips. “See? You’re a natural.”

Humiliated and so warm you feel like you have a fever, the suction of your lips gives way with a lewd pop when Lee’s fingers, now clean, slip out again. He reaches for the shake again and you whimper, shifting in your seat, only for him to shush you still for a second time.

Your eyes squeeze shut when his fingers find their way back inside. He’s even more bold this time, forcing your head back against the seat while he shoves his digits in, tracing your gums, underneath your tongue, reaching back to your molars until not a single inch isn’t left sticky-sweet and claimed.

On the third try, he’s deliberately messy. Careless with the flick of his wrist into the cup, not quick enough when he lifts it to your mouth. If you want to avoid your punishment you have to reach out and grab his wrist to bring it to your lips on your own, means you have to be the one to stick out your tongue and clean them off.

Shame makes the edges of the memory blur, even as it’s actively happening around you. You move from one moment to the next in snapshots, and some of the missed details will cost you.

“Uh-oh,” Lee tuts, twisting his wrist in front of you so that the light catches on two thick, pearly white beads of the shake quickly descending toward his elbow. “Looks like you missed a spot.”

You dive for them, hands gripping his bicep and wrist, catching them with your tongue just moments before they would’ve dripped down onto the seat between your legs. The desperation of the movement makes you burn, muffling a whimper against his skin as you chase the sticky line back up to his wrist.

When you reach his palm, he takes your face in his hand and squeezes. He uses the grip to press you back against the seat, leaning in like he might kiss you.

Against all odds, no matter how much your body is saying no, your traitorous mind envisions what it’d be like to kiss him.

You gasp when something cold and thick lands on your chest, having been so distracted thinking Lee might’ve kissed you to notice him tipping some of the milkshake over your cleavage.

“Lee—!” you breathe, having to shove your chest forward, back arched just to keep it all from immediately spilling off of you.

“Remember our deal,” he taunts, mischievous eyes flicking up to yours.

“I—I can’t,” you whine, trying and failing to dip your own chin enough to clean it without your hands or napkins. A cold droplet of it delves past the neckline of your dress, sliding in between your breasts and making you shiver.

Lee’s dark eyes trace it as it goes. “Better figure somethin’ out fast.”

“Will you—?” you make yourself ask, knowing already that you’re playing into his hands but too desperate to try to come up with a loophole before you lose.

“Will I what?” he asks. “Gotta show me, honey.”

Pushing your pride far, far away, you lift your hand carefully to the back of his neck without moving your chest, slipping your fingers over the warm skin to pull him forward and down.

It feels depraved—making someone put their face in between your breasts. But Lee only grins, the face of a man who knows he’s won, and pushes the barely full milkshake cup into your hand instead of his.

“Hold this for me, sweetheart,” he says.

And then he dives in, your cleavage water as if he’s dying of thirst. You can feel the barely-there prickle of a day’s old shave on his jaw as his tongue spreads flat and warm against your sternum, collecting a broad swath of the shake and sweat from your skin.

Your head falls back against the seat, his hand splayed big and wide over your arched spine to pull you further into him as he laps up the mess, sucking and biting obscenely from one side to the other. Most of the spill was skillfully right above the cut of your dress, the hem wet but thick enough to stop some of it from going beneath.

Lee doesn’t care about this either.

You drop your jaw back down, mouth wrenched open as he yanks the neckline below your cleavage completely, your bare breasts exposed to the cool air of his cruiser, nipples hard and poking into his cheek.

He doesn’t even bother making an excuse for breaking his own ever shifting rules as he groans, mouth sliding over to suck one into his mouth. His cheeks hollow, the indention of his teeth against your soft skin, regrettably, making a shaky moan fall from your lips. Your fingers twitch where they’re still buried in the back of his hair, and the other one falters where you’re gripping the milkshake.

Lee hisses when the cup tips a little too far, pulling off of you enough that you can both see the dark, dampening spot where you’d just accidentally spilled the rest of the shake on the inner thigh of his pants.

Your eyes widen, panic seizing any of the brief flickers of pleasure you’d had, and you barely catch Lee’s filthy smirk as you dive toward his lap to catch it before it hits the seat.

His legs have been spread indulgently wide all night, but he closes them a little purely to watch you struggle to reach far enough to catch it all. Your forehead presses against one thigh, your chin against the other, your tongue and lips stretched, pursed, trying every way you can to suck up the mess until it’s more damp with your spit than with the incriminating milkshake.

You push up with the hand braced on the leather on the other side of his knee, but it buckles when Lee pushes you down by the back of your neck. You lose balance, closing the distance face first with your open mouth shoved against the hard bulge of his cock through his pants.

The noise you make is high and muffled, mouth forced open against his shape, nose tucked under his belt, his scent and heat overwhelming any of your other senses. Your tears soak in inches above your spit as you squeeze your eyes shut, the material of his pants rough against your tongue as he groans and bucks up against your face.

With his grip on your neck, he drags you further down his thigh, pinning you there while he curses and undoes his belt with his free hand. You blink blearily at it from inches away, moving in snapshots again as he unclips his utility belt, yanks the buckle free on the one on his pants underneath it, discards them both in the floorboard. He pops open the button and fly next, groaning loud enough to make you flinch when he gets a hand around himself.

And then he’s bare in front of you; the first dick you’ve ever seen up close in real life. He’s shorter and thicker than some of the ones you’ve come across online, but proportional, probably, for the rest of him. The head pokes over his moving fist, spilling a dot of something that could be mistaken for the milkshake as it slides over his skin to meet his knuckles.

And then, a snapshot later, it’s in your mouth.

You struggle around him at first, your lips and throat spasming to adjust to the intrusion. He thrusts up against your face in short, shallow jabs, using a slick thumb to poke at your lip until you use it to cover up your teeth.

“Open fucking wide,” he warns with a grunt. “Be a good girl. That’s it, that’s it. Fuck.”

Between him holding your head down and his hips riding your mouth, you drift, your mind going someplace quieter to deal with the barrage of new feelings and sensations. There’s spit on your chin and cheek, snot in your nose from your tears, your makeup smudged and dress shoved down to your stomach. Even the leather underneath your knees feels distant.

You come back to yourself when his hand descends down your back.

He shushes you when you whimper, gentling his thrusts as he yanks the bottom of your dress up over your ass and hips. His fingers slip into the back of your underwear without preamble or permission, groaning when he finds you, humiliatingly and undeniably, wet.

He adjusts a little, leaning and fucking into your mouth sideways while he keeps one hand on the back of your head and uses the other to rub roughly at your clit.

“Tight mouth, wet pussy—those boys wouldn’t have any idea what to do with you,” he mutters, dragging wet fingers away from your cunt to grip your ass. He squeezes possessively, then traces back to your opening. “You didn’t let any of ‘em touch you here, did you, honey?”

He pulls you by the hair off of his cock, just long enough for you to gasp out a, “No.”

“That’s good,” he coos, pushing you back down. “That’s real good, sweetheart. Aren’t you glad I found you instead?”

Whatever noise you make is lost in response as his dick fills your mouth again. It’d been so much at first, the scent, the stretch, the flavor—but now you can sort of pick out a rhythm to his movements. You breathe through your nose and try to anticipate his thrusts, relaxing your throat as much as you can so it won’t bruise the way it feels like it’s surely going to.

You tense again when his fingers stop tracing and press in, testing the resistance of your cunt. He dips in and out, playing with you as he slowly begins to ease one thick digit where only yours have ever been before—and that was only ever the times you’d been feeling particularly adventurous.

“Shh, shh. You just keep chokin’ on that cock. Be good. Let me in, c’mon.”

Desperate to feel anything other than the burn of a stretch between your thighs, you try to focus more on your mouth like he’d suggested. Tears slip out of the corners of your eyes as you hesitantly try out a few of the things you’ve read in books or seen in porn, hoping maybe if you make him feel good enough he’ll leave you alone.

But you sink lower onto him, swirl your tongue, try your best to swallow around the tip without gagging when it meets the back of your throat, and still his fingers persist.

He moans appreciatively when one is buried inside of you, your legs shaking, cunt spasming around the intrusion. It moves in and out of you the same way it had your mouth earlier, searching, slow, indulgent; as if you were a possession he could take his time exploring and not a person feeling every movement.

You try to pull off when a second finger tucks up against you and starts to push in alongside it, but Lee only shushes you and keeps you down with a hand on the back of your head. He shifts his hips and thrusts up into your throat while you rest on his thigh, and you suck helplessly on him, spit leaking from the corners of your mouth as you try to soothe yourself.

His fingers are thick and it takes some effort to work them inside of you, Lee huffing impatiently as he extends a thumb to rub your clit until you relax enough to let him in. It feels weird, bigger than anything you’ve had there before, and it’s still not as thick as his cock.

You tremble at the thought of him trying to fuck you, and Lee takes it as encouragement.

“Were you gonna fuck him?” he asks, thrusting them inside of you.

You make a questioning noise between his legs. Him?

“You get a cock in your mouth and your brain cells go with it?” he spits. “I said—would you’ve let him spread these bare fuckin’ legs,” his fingers plunge in deep, making you gasp and choke on his cock, “lift up this slutty little dress you picked out just for him,” he grunts, swirling them around until you moan, “and fuck you in front of all his friends?”

You gulp in air when he lifts you off of his cock again, spit smeared on your chin while you heave. “No! I just wanted—we were just gonna play spin the bottle…”

You trail off when he swirls his fingers again, confused by the sharp wave of pleasure that happens every few seconds when he hits a certain spot. Your eyes blink hazy and slow, fluttering against your cheeks the more he does it.

He keeps talking. “You wanted a little kiss, is that it?”

“Y-yeah,” you nod.

“Hm.” His fingers leave your hair, sliding down your cheek to grip your jaw and bring your face right up close to his. “Did you really want that? Or did you want someone to bend you over and show you what it means to be useful?”

The words are so unexpected, so unconsciously tuned to what you’ve been craving your entire life that you sob when they register, muffled when he yanks you forward and kisses you.

You can feel it the moment you break. Your body sags into his, your mouth opening up for his tongue, your thoughts taking a turn into something gnarled and dark that you’d thought you were far past now. Things like doesn’t it feel good to surrender? and isn’t this what you’ve always wanted? and would it really be so bad to let him fuck you if it meant he could fix you?

If he could make you enough to get someone to stay?

“What did I say about no cryin’, huh? Maybe I should give you somethin’ to cry for,” he murmurs against your lips, kissing you again and again while you nod. “Yeah? You like that?”

His fingers slip out of you and you whimper, Lee chuckling as the band of your underwear snaps back into place. He pats your hip, nudging you toward him.

“Gonna play another game with you. Think you’re gonna like this one.”

A prickle of fear seeps back in, but you can’t cling to it as much as you should when he grabs your face again, pulling you onto his lap and smearing his mouth against yours. The new position lights up your nerves in a new way all over again, unused to feeling thick thighs between yours, broad shoulders beneath your palms, a big, warm body your very own center of gravity.

He scoots over to the middle seat, where he can lean back and your spine doesn’t graze the steering wheel, hands spanning your hips to drag you forward against him in a lazy grind. You moan when his bare dick rubs against your clit through your soaked underwear, shivering on his lap and inadvertently rubbing your still naked breasts up against his shirt.

“Here’s how the game goes,” he rasps, using one hand to adjust your hips while the other dives for his cock. He nudges up against you until your midsections are perfectly aligned, the length of his dick nestled intimately between the folds of your cunt. You gasp and rock forward, the thin cotton of your underwear drenched so much that it’s like there’s nothing between you at all. “Yeah, fuck. Just like that. You’re gettin’ it already.”

The praise is vague and low hanging, but it hits you hard all the same. You moan, head falling to his shoulder as you start to shift your hips back and forth.

The friction is nice but it’s light compared to the intensity of the rest of the night so far, and you find yourself growing more desperate with each rock of your cunt against him. You grind mindlessly, messily, circling and shifting and trying to find what feels the best while Lee tongues into your mouth in lazy, smoke and sweetness flavored drags.

“Hey,” he pants, trapping your chin between his fingers. “You goin’ to college?”

You make an exasperated noise, torn between this pleasant unawareness and the too-lucid tone of his voice. “Yeah, I’m—I’ve always wanted to go.”

“Mm,” he hums distractedly, bouncing you a little on his lap. “I don’t think so.”

“What does that mean?” you ask, slurred just a little at the edges.

“It means that this pussy’s too good to give up,” he says, grabbing onto your hips and thrusting up against your clit until you moan. “Tight n’hot, gonna be all mine one of these days—you’re gonna save it for me, right? Not gonna let anybody else have it until I come and take it?”

You whimper. “B-but I wanted—”

“You want to make me happy, I know,” he interrupts, kissing you deeply. “That’s so sweet, honey. That is what you were gonna say, right? ‘Cause I can always put a pair of cuffs on these wrists if I have to. Whole town’d want you gone after they hear about all the things you’ve gotten up to tonight…”

He grabs your wrists and holds them behind your back as if to prove his point, and you soak his collar with tears, too overwhelmed to focus on the conversation and what’s happening in between your legs. You’re pretty sure, distantly, that that’d been the goal.

Your grinding has devolved into sharp back-and-forths of your hips, greedy movements aimed at chasing the high you get each time the thick, bulbous head of his cock bumps against your nerves. It’s gotten your underwear all twisted up, wet and rough between you, the friction sometimes too much and sometimes not enough.

“Maybe I’ll just knock you up,” Lee says thoughtfully.

You mean to struggle, but the way you tense and try to get off of him only drives you further into his embrace.

“Don’t even need to be inside you to come inside you,” he goes on. “Shit. Bet you’d be even fuckin’ sweeter carryin’ my kid. Make these tits of yours a little bigger, right? Stretch out these hips? Little insurance policy—make sure you stay mine.”

His big hands touch everything he’s talking about, groping freely at your chest and your waist around the bunched up material of the dress at your middle.

The noise you make is ambiguous and needy, and even you aren’t quite sure if it’s an affirmative or a denial.

“Tell you what,” he whispers, hot against your ear while you rock against him, “if you stick around, be my pretty little secret for the next few years—shh, shh, sweetheart—then, when you’re older, I’ll put a ring on your finger and do it proper, hm? Gotta wait ‘til it’s not so taboo, y’know. Don’t want people to talk.”

His fingers slip in between you, playing with the hem of your underwear. You nod frantically at him, hoping he’ll untangle them and fix it so you can get him right up close to you again, but Lee only seems to register it as confirmation of his own fantasy.

“Be so sweet t’you when y’got my last name, a couple of my kids on your hips. Wouldn’t that be nice? Everybody knowin’ how useful I made you?” His fingers slip down past the band, rubbing your clit roughly. “Wouldn’t ever leave you, honey. You’d be stuck with me forever.”

Your body clenches hard as you cry out, but the sensation is still too much too soon, not enough to tip you over the edge. Your teeth sink into his neck to muffle your pleas, limbs shivering while he holds your wrists in one hand behind your back.

It calls out to something inside of you, no matter how much you wish that it didn’t—the alluring promise of forever, even if it’s something you’re trapped into.

His mouth drags from your ear, down your jaw to your chest.

“Won’t ever need to run out for milk when I can get it right here, huh?”

He takes one of your nipples into his mouth again, and when he pulls his hand away from your underwear, it jostles them just enough that his cock slides inside the fabric, tucked right up and thrusting along the sticky, hot grip of your folds.

You both moan, your wrists falling from his grip as his hands move to your hips, yours circling around his shoulders. Need burns hot inside your stomach, between your thighs, everywhere you’re touching as your rhythm doubles.

He feels scorching against you, the real, throbbing length of him so close to your cunt that’s still fluttering from the stretch of his fingers. Something half thrill, half fear swirls inside of you, the sharper edge of it driving you that much closer to the most unexpected, most intense orgasm of your life.

Even though he’d been keeping relatively still earlier, now Lee seems like he can’t help from thrusting up against you with each roll or bounce of your hips. He keeps groaning, rambling against your ear, holding you so close to his chest that he can look down your back and watch your ass while you move on him.

You don’t try to stop him when he reaches down to yank the fabric of your underwear as far out of the way as possible on purpose this time, both of you transfixed by the lewd sounds and sight of his cock disappearing between your legs.

If you tilt your head just right, you can imagine what it’d be like if he were really fucking you, his cock dipping just a little further, a little up until—

“Lee, fuck!”

You grip his shoulders as your hips come to an abrupt stop, your mouth wrenched open around the unfamiliar press of the head of his cock slipping inside of you.

With his head tossed back and jaw clenched hard, Lee takes a breath and then looks at you, sliding a hand down your face. He leans up to kiss you, your own mouth slack against his. You have to remind yourself to breathe, whimpering with every accidental twitch that draws him deeper.

“S’okay, sweetheart, it’s okay—s’just the tip. Doesn’t count.”

You blink wet eyes, lip extended into a wobbly frown. “Really?”

“Really,” he nods. His hand slips around the back of your neck. “Would I lie to you?”

His other fingers tighten on your hip, guiding you in a slow back and forth again. You gasp when his dick falls out of you again, both of you hissing at the contrast.

Slowly your confidence builds again, grinding carefully at first and then more recklessly when you get curious, eager to feel that little bit of forbiddenness again. It’s still a lot but in a different way this time, the combination of his hot length against your clit and the head of his cock poking at your opening a tantalizing aphrodisiac. Each time he accidentally slips inside because of how wet you are you clench hard, the rhythmic pulse of your muscles pushing you closer.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he rumbles, watching you. “Just imagine what it’ll be like when I—fuck!”

Both of you freeze, but it’s too late.

He’d bucked up just as you ground forward, and the combination made the head of his cock slip inside—and in and in and in until he was shoved up to the hilt, not an inch of space left between your hips.

Your virginity, gone between one breath and the next.

“Oh, honey,” he sighs, grin filthy and reverent as he grabs you around the neck. “Now I’m never fucking letting you go.”

“Lee,” you whimper, shock coursing through you as you helplessly twitch and pulse around him.

His tongue catches the salt on your cheek, sucks like he’s trying to leave a mark. “Shh, you can take it.”

“S’too much,” you sob.

“You’ll get used to it,” he says. It’s gentle with a hint of something darker when he grounds out, “Only shape this pussy’s ever gonna know is mine.”

It’s punctuated by an upwards thrust that makes you cry out, but it’s the only one you get before he pulls you up and off of him.

You cling, suddenly lost, and he has to guide your shaky grip toward the leather seat as he crawls over you from behind.

“Hands and knees. Go on.”

There’s rustling and rattling as Lee shoves his pants down further, the press of heat against the backs of your thighs again as he pushes your head down onto the seat and yanks your hips up and back against his lap.

He’s muttering something to himself but you’re somewhere else, too far gone to hear it. It’s the press of his cock back at your entrance that draws a broken noise from your throat, the slick slide of him taking your cunt again that makes you scream.

Lee groans, encouraging your noises as he fucks you proper, hands on your hips and pace quick. You can feel the bottom of his shirt brushing against the top of your ass over his thick gut, the coarse hair at the base of his cock where it brushes your cunt every time he shoves in deep. His cologne swirls in the air as the windows begin to fog above your head, with whisps of cigarette smoke, your own perfume, and the forgotten milkshakes.

One of his hands lands beside your mouth when he leans over you, larger body folded over so he can fit in the confines of the cruiser. Your own hand, lying limp beside you on the seat, twitches to life to wrap loosely around his wrist. Lee chuckles again, and this time, whether he’d meant it warmly or ruthlessly, your body heats with something sweet nonetheless.

The radio crackles again from his discarded utility belt in the floorboard, and both of you seem primed to ignore it as Lee’s hips keep up their pace undeterred. But it goes static for a moment and then crackles again, and a second later, a grainy voice comes through the line.

“Chief?”

Lee’s thrusts slow and then stop behind you, pressing in deep and stilling as he curses. He bends over you completely, his chest against your back as he fumbles for the radio beneath you.

You just like the fact that, if you block everything else out, this still sort of counts as a hug. You turn your cheek just enough to drag a kiss to his fingers.

“What’s up,” Lee holds down the button and grits into the speaker, voice loud right over your shoulder.

“Got a situation out here by the creek,” the officer crackles. “Looks like a buncha kids from that party you busted on 10th. Think they moved the celebration here when they scattered.”

Lee takes a measured breath.

“I want every one of ‘em brought into the station. Especially—” he takes his finger off the button, turns to you. “What was his name?”

You frown. “Huh?”

He thrusts into you once, pointed and harsh, and then starts fucking you steady again. You scramble to grab onto his arms.

“Tell me that punk’s name,” he says, “so I can make sure he never fucking gets the chance to come anywhere near my pussy.”

“He doesn’t want me,” you remind him, moaning with each rock of his hips.

“Bodecker? You there?”

A hand settles on your throat. Squeezes.

“Tell me. Now.”

You gasp, rushing out the name of your crush. He repeats it into the speaker, denies going to help them, but he’s still clutching the radio in his fist when it lands beside your head again for leverage to keep fucking you while he waits for confirmation from his officers.

You cry out when he hits a particularly good angle, and his hand slips around you to cover your mouth. In the corner of your eye, his thumb hovers near the speaker button.

“Gotta—fuck—gotta keep quiet, sweetheart. Don’t want the whole city knowin’ you let me pop your cherry in my front seat,” he murmurs, low and crude. “Can’t let ‘em hear how wet this tight, virgin pussy gets for my cock.”

“Please,” you whimper. “Please, Lee, I need—”

“You still over by the diner?” the radio crackles beside your head. Lee’s hand tightens over your mouth. “You think we need to send anyone out that way?”

“No,” Lee snaps quickly. “Everything is—really good here.”

You only narrowly manage to not make a noise at the praise, muffling it into his palm as you push yourself back against his thrusts.

“If you’re sure. We’ll get these kids back to the station, keep ‘em in holding for the night. Call in if you see anything else we should be keepin’ an eye on.”

Lee grunts. “Will do.”

“Over n’out, Chief.”

The radio clatters to the floorboard a second later, Lee curving over you again, tight enough that his hot, panting breath stains your cheek.

“Where were we,” he rasps. “Pretty sure you were beggin’.”

“Yes,” you nod eagerly, trying to pull on his wrist. “Touch me, Lee, please.”

“Think you’ve been a good girl?” he asks. “Think you’ve earned it?”

A sob catches in your throat, practically vibrating in the tension that’s been building since the moment you left your house.

“Tell me how. I’ll—I’ll be good, Lee, I promise.”

“You will, won’t you?” he purrs. “Be a good girl for your Sheriff?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chant with his thrusts, eyes rolling backward. The pain has finally burned into white hot pleasure, each shove of his hips like an embrace.

“Gonna let me keep you?” he grunts.

“Yes!”

“Gonna let me make y’my pretty little housewife? Put a ring on your finger?” he asks. “Keep you tied down and knocked up the rest of your life so I can always come home to this face and this pussy greetin’ me?”

You nod frantically, head knocking back into his shoulder. “Please.”

“Fuck. Good girl. Only taken cock once and you’re already such a perfect little whore for me.”

The words jumble in your brain, the dichotomy of praise and filth combining to make you even more dizzy, wanting. Lee’s hand slips down the seat, grazes your breast, your ribs, ends up between your thighs, fingers rubbing fast over your clit.

“Doesn’t matter if your daddy left,” he all but growls against your cheek, pushing into you in a daze of hungry, claiming thrusts. “All he did was make it nice n’easy for men like me to come in and make you a woman, huh?”

Your back bows, mouth falling open as you back and shake underneath him, crying out your release. Everything else becomes background noise, the sweat on your bodies, the foggy windows, how you got here in the first place, nothing in the world existing but Lee’s cock and the promise of something sweet and sinister; something you never thought you’d get to have at all.

You’re still coming down from it when Lee pulls out and rolls you over, laid out and loose limbed on your back, skin sticking to the leather. He’s one big blur above you as he strips his cock with his fist, and he should look imposing with his button up and his badges and the nametag pinned to his pocket that you’ve heard campfire stories about for years. A man that uses power like a toy, playing with it how he pleases, getting whatever he wants, even if he doesn’t deserve it.

But he wants you. He’d seen you at your worst tonight, vulnerable and trying too hard and needy, and instead of all those guys that looked at you like you were too much, Lee had bullied himself inside and promised to stay.

You could cry with relief.

“Oh, fuck,” Lee curses above you, eyes pinched shut and brow furrowed as he starts to come. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, shit, sweetheart—”

With your last dredges of awareness and energy, you lift your head off the seat and wrap your lips around his cock where he’s kneeling over your chest. He jerks and groans, his hand falling to the back of your head to hold it for you while he fucks your mouth through his release.

It lands harshly on your tongue, strong and salty and washing away the sweetness of the milkshake when it makes its way down your throat. When you swallow next, all you taste is him.

You can feel hands on your face as your eyes close, lips smearing against your mouth, your jaw, one slipping between your legs to lazily prod at your freshly fucked cunt. You suck automatically when fingers press down on your tongue.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Lee mutters tiredly, distant. “You’re perfect.”

You grin as wide as you can manage around the digits in your mouth, swearing to yourself then and there that you’ll spend the rest of your life saying thank you.

[...]

Lee’s hand is big and warm on your lower back, the swell of your stomach large enough now that it rests there more often than not to balance you when you walk.

The graveyard is nearly empty despite the grim festivities, your father’s picture printed on a styrofoam display board a little further down the lawn. Part of you wishes you could’ve seen him again before he passed. Another part of you insists that no reaction would ever have been the right one; that even if he had been pleased with the way your life has turned out, you aren’t sure you want to waste time trying to earn praise from those who never appreciated you in the first place anymore.

It was your mother who’d gotten the call first when it happened, and then she’d called you. You remember those days clearly—it was the ones you spent in a summer rental with Lee on a rare week off, both of you free to be as openly affectionate with each other as you wanted to be away from the small town where everyone knew everyone.

You’re pretty sure it was the week he’d gotten you pregnant.

It was also the week you finally told him the extent to which your father’s ignorance, greed, anger, and eventual absence had affected your life.

By the end of the next one, your father was dead. You’ve learned not to ask questions.

Most people are gone now, of the few who’d even attended. You’d helped your mother to her car nearly an hour ago, lingering behind with Lee after you’d hugged her goodbye and promised to see her soon. You’re even closer with her these days, especially since asking her to be the one to walk you down the aisle.

“Ready to go home?” Lee murmurs from behind you, chin on your shoulder and palm grazing the side of your stomach. Your wedding band glints in the sun, your mind flashing back to how many people had called you by his last name today—not your father’s. Not anymore.

You nod. “I think I am now.”

You walk back to the cruiser, Lee’s jacket over your shoulders and his hand in yours. You need to get a minivan or something soon, probably, when he eventually retires from the force, but he’s partial to it—both the power that comes with the job, and the private smile that tugs at his lips each time you’re both in the front seat.

Lowering yourself into it, you let Lee help you with the belt and close the door, your ankles aching from being on your feet all day. He’s been quiet all day but he’s loud in the ways you need, the ways you’ve come to love these last few years, his knuckles grazing your cheek as he reaches across the bench to hold the back of your neck.

“M’proud of you,” he says.

Your body melts, soaking up the sweetness despite the fact that you hear it often now. Chest warm and a smile tugging at your lips in spite of the events of the day, you reach for his free hand as he starts up the cruiser and begins to pull out, gravel crunching underneath the tires.

“Lee,” you hum.

“Yeah, honey?”

You glance out at the open road in front of you that heads back to town; only your future now, your past disappearing in the rearview.

“Can we get milkshakes?”

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