Summary: 1.7K / dbf!joel, mention of eventual dark!joel, f!reader (everything you could ever want, just trust me <3)
Warnings: 18+ mdni, SMUT, age gap (24/50s), female masturbation, joel masturbating, dominate & aggressive joel, cam girl, pet names (kitten, birdie, sweetheart, darlin’), praise kink, he talks you through it, talk of: ass play, fingering, oral (m & f receiving), unprotected p in v, sucking fingers, tit fucking, spit, edging, kinda stalker joel, pure filth.
Holy fuck this is filthy… just porn with a (surprising) plot.
“I never wanted a quiet, sensible sort of love. I wanted to be devoured.” - Beau Taplin
“Oh kitten. You’re a fuckin’ slut, aren’t ya? I don’t think seein’ how I could ruin your three holes is enough swee’heart, I need more of you.” Both of his massive hands were squelching against his spit-covered cock, pumping up and falling heavily down onto his thick thighs, his knuckles tightening, squeezing out the spit and precum between his fingers as he gripped harder.
His breathing was turning almost whimper-like, your favorite. His deep Texas accent always presented itself when you got him worked up like this, right before he spurted thick white ropes across the computer screen, stomach hitching and cock visibly throbbing. “Oh fuck, oh fuc-k Birdie,” he would let out. Sometimes you were lucky enough to catch his asshole puckering as he emptied himself, if he was positioned just right in his office chair.
“What’s a big, bad man like you doing whimpering for me?” You cooed, smirking at the computer screen. He could see you, all of you, spread eagle for him, cunt glistening with thickening slick, turning whiter every time you brought your fingers in and out of your hole, every once in a while reaching deeper to wet your asshole. He always moaned when you did so. His moans were deep, guttural. What a dirty fucking perv.
But still, you wanted to see him, you imagined his mouth falling slightly open as he squeezed his eyes shut, fucking deeper into his hands, chest heaving.
You could tell by his build he was at least in his late 40’s, pushing away the thought that he was around the same age as your dad. Not married, obviously. No kids, or if so they were already out of the house.
Figures, as he was sat in front of his screen, ass-naked every Thursday night for the past three months. He found your profile on the cam website and has only touched himself to you and the filthy pictures you send him nearly every day, since. He says he likes the way your stomach looks soft, how when you turn around and spread for him your back rolls form ever so slightly, and how the two dimples on your lower back are, “callin’” his name.
“Fuck baby. Shut the fuck up ‘n open your mouth for me,” he demanded.
You did as he said, sticking out your tongue to show him that you wanted his spend to fall down your tongue and land right between your spread legs. You wanted to push it in your whimpering hole and keep it there.
“Oh what a good girl,” he praised, nearly purring.
He watched as the saliva dripped between your breasts, bulging out of the top of your nearly see-through black dress, and he tried to imagine what his cock would look like between them. How warm your throat would feel as he stuck his fingers down it until he collected enough spit to make fucking between your breasts easier. Not that he particularly cared whether you were in pain or not, but he imagined your tiny throat around his thick fingers would feel good. Slapping the head of his cock against your face, seeing it’s outline in your throat as you choked on it.
He cried out in pleasure as a small amount of cum dripped out of his weeping hole, using his other hand not wrapped around his cock to collect it. He wiped it down his shaft, using it to further edge himself. He sulked deeper into the chair he was sitting in, making sure not to lower his head in pleasure too much. He didn’t want you to see him.
You loved moaning for him, whimpering and drawing out his screen name as he talked you through your orgasms- talked himself through his own.
“Let me see ‘em sweetheart. Take off your dress for daddy ‘n let me cum one more time on your pretty tits, yeah?”
His mind wandered, what color would your nipples be, how would they feel swelling under his tongue? What would your pussy smell like? Licking lines between one tight hole and another, weeping and wet- eventually having your arousal run down his chin wetting his patchy and graying beard. Your cum drying on his lips, sticky against his neck. He moaned breathlessly.
“Mmm daddy, you see, I would love to, but our hour is up, and I’ve gotta go. What a shame,” you pouted at him. He had a truly worrying number of orgasms for a middle-aged man, another and he might fall right over. “Send me an extra 80 and I’ll find some time to sneak away to the bathroom tonight. I’ll see how far I can fuck my fingers into my pussy for you, hmm?”
You hit end before he could gather his breath, and a response. Your phone dinged with the money he owed you, plus a little more. Wiping your own spit and slick away from your mouth, you got up to shower. You needed the cold shower to take away the red in your cheeks and the red marks across your body. Self-sustained, of course, but for him. For his pleasure. For the money.
The gallery evenly hummed under hushed warm lights and a whispering crowd. Your artwork, you, were splattered so carefully across the walls, and your friends and family were looking upon you. You’d already made your away around to thank everyone for coming, for putting on a brave face just to later mimic the thoughts they’d been sharing with you since you picked up a paintbrush. “And how will this sustain you? What kind of job will this get you?” You didn’t have the heart to tell them that currently, a nearly 50 year old man was sustaining you for fucking yourself in front of a camera for him.
Where was Sarah? It was like her to be late, but not this late to something so important.
Your eyes roamed the smallish room, and there was another person you had missed. Sighing from the promise of more conversation and “what’s next” questions, you moved your hair behind your ear and started walking towards him.
Amidst the crowd, your eyes were drawn to the man, unfamiliar. You had only invited family and close friends. Sure, the show was open to the public, but who would have taken time out of their Thursday night to come see some art senior’s capstone show?
He emanated both beauty and fear- timidness on your part. There was an undeniable allure about him, your curiosity piqued. You observed the man closely, trying to place where you had encountered him before, who he could possibly be. His large back was turned to you, but you could see by the gray in his hair that he was too old to be one of your friends’ play things.
He turned away from the piece he was admiring, showcasing his side profile first, and something inside of you clicked. Not knowing if it clicked in place or out, the feeling quickly dissipated into fear. He was ethereal and your chest was heavy. Your palms sweating, you looked around to see if he had the same effect on anyone else, but no one was paying attention.
He was fully turned now, approaching you, but you couldn’t make eye contact. Your spine tinged with a sense of familiarity that sent warning signals to your senses. His eyes bore into you, and suddenly the half-naked self portraits on the walls felt like nothing compared to the depth in which his gaze cut into you. You felt like you needed to run. Your nipples hardened almost painful under your dress.
The air around him reached you before he did. Aged whiskey, honey, musk… a man. The flannel he was wearing draped over his broad shoulders perfectly, looking too thick for a May night. He looked completely out of place. He reached his hand forward and all you could do was stare at it.
What the fuck was wrong with you?
It was massive, his fingers thick and calloused from hard work and time. They looked familiar, even. Surely not… You recognized your pause and looked up at him, taking his hand as he introduced himself.
“Didn’t mean to scare ya, Birdie,” He smirked beneath the facial hair, lips turning upwards on the right side, showing his teeth. He looked down upon you, eyes darkening as skin touched skin. He saw in your eyes as you realized who he was.
“Joel Miller,” his deep southern accent dripping with charm and an underlying edge that made your heart race, “and you?”
No.
“Hey! Oh my god, I’m sorry, Chase called me so I had to step out for a minute,” Sarah entered the liminal space, nearly squealing. “THIS IS INCREDIBLE. I am so proud of you.” She had you immediately in a hug. “Oh, and I see you’ve met my dad.” She said cheerfully. “I thought I’d drag him out here to meet my bestie so it won’t be so awkward when you come and visit me. Cause you’ll be coming to visit me… right?”
You smiled, as warmly as possible as your body was fighting off a panic attack.
Recognition flickered in your mind, triggering fragmented memories of perfectly unsettling encounters. Joel was the one who had whispered, screamed, filthy words to you over the computer screen. His messages laced with cum and an intensity that had left you both captivated and unsettled- but always wanting more. You hadn't invited him to the gallery, and you had certainly never met him in person. The puzzle pieces fell into place, and a chilling revelation washed over you as he continued roaming your body, eye-fucking you, as you half listened to Sarah- he knew exactly who you were. He was here on purpose.
You introduced yourself to him, reaching your hand back out as his engulfed yours, warm and dry. “Sarah has told me so much about you,” he winked, “work has me busy so I don’t visit here too often but I couldn’t miss this,” he gestured.
He pulled your body into his for a hug. What a fucking gentleman, huh. Suddenly the ground wasn’t solid and your body was being held against his stoic frame… and suddenly your thighs were slipping together under your dress, wet and sticky.
“You cleaned up nice baby. Couldn’t look too fucked out for tonight, could ya?” He whispered into your ear, chuckling deeply into your hair as it moved against his warm breath, tickling your neck.
“Joel Miller, as I live and breathe.” His warmth was suddenly gone and the air felt thick, empty. “Now who would have thought our girls would end up being best friends? How come we didn’t put two and two together before?” Your dad patted Joel across the back
also in the trenches at work but I will be posting a follower celebration for @pascalsbby + a new lil one shot 🥹 i’m excited and wish I was home alreadyyyyy
Summary: 2.1K Javier mistakes you for someone looking to make money. He doesn’t know that your dad is his boss - Or - Extremely frisky Javier gets bratty reader on her knees and takes what he wants <3
Warnings: 18+ mdni, SMUT, age gap, flirty and sweaty Javier, face fucking, he takes what he wants, dominate & aggressive, darkish!javier, pet names, praise kink, dirty talk <3
Based on this ask from @justlulu : Hey, I LOVE your dark content 🩷 I was wondering if you write for Javi Pena too, and also if you take requests?
I do take requests!! Thank you for your kind words. This is my first Javier post. Please comment and let me know what ya’ll think! 🤍
You wanted his huge hands to pull you up to his mouth, light you on fire and suck whatever he needed from you. You’d burn for him, one look in your direction and you were sure.
The store’s bell rings as the door opens, letting in more of the unforgiving summer air. Along with it comes a broad figure, cast in the shadow from the awning. A quaint “buenas,” was directed towards the register as the fluorescent lights flickered, taking him in too. The artificial glow on his sweat-covered skin dropped down the collar of his shirt. It was a darker pink, unbuttoned and covered in his swelter. Leather jacket atop.
You knew what he was right away. In the way he walked, scanned the room before even stepping two feet inside of it. This town was full of them. You knew who he was a few moments after. He turns towards you, eyes hidden behind yellow aviators. They were one of three prominent features gracing his face, the others being his nose and neatly trimmed mustache. Each guided his presence with a dignified assurance, leaving an indelible mark on anyone fortunate enough to gaze upon his countenance.
In other words, he was fucking beautiful. And he was fucking delusional if he thought the Ray Bans weren’t going to set him apart from the general public. They were his staple and they screamed, “I’m probably a fucking DEA agent.”
You’d heard of him too, Javier. Or Peña, in the stories your dad told you. “You could never tell anyone these things mi vida, I tell them to you because I want you to be safe while we’re here.” You’d spent too many times looking at the pictures on his desk, the ones he had put in front of you stating, “puedes confiar en estos hombres si lo necesitas.”
“You can trust these men if you need to.” Is that so? Since when have you been able to trust any man? Especially ones who look like that in a pair of fitted blue jeans. Especially ones who take you from everything you know and move you to a different country in order to ‘make sure you’re protected’.
The store was mostly empty besides you- and now him. His presence was heavy, not easy to ignore. He looked too pretty- and he looked like your next game piece.
His cologne immediately filled the air and was followed by what an entire pack of cigarettes must smell like. You wanted his huge hands to pull you up to his mouth, light you on fire and suck whatever he needed from you. You’d burn for him, one look in your direction and you were sure.
Javier must have felt you eating him up and you blush, feigning casual interest in the snacks in front of you. But he smirks as his lips part, catching you starring. “No he visto a nadie tan hermosa como tú en mucho tiempo.” Fuck.
He was in front of you, having already looked you up and down as he walked towards you. What a dog.
“I’m sorry?”
“Ah,” he chuckled, looking around. “You speak English.”
“I do.” At least you used to, before he spoke to you and you had to crane your neck upwards to meet his eyes. He had taken his sunglasses off at some point, you were too enamored by his waist to see much else.
“I said, ‘I haven’t seen anyone so beautiful in so long.’”
He swiped his thick thumb across his pouting lips while he waited for your response. That usually works, huh?
It did.
He was flirting with his bosses daughter. He had absolutely no idea who you were, where you were going after this. The power that you yielded, simply from the last name you held. You quietly laughed. He must think you’re full of information, by how hard he’s trying. Why wouldn’t you want to be full of him? He was trying to get something from you.
His demeanor shifted as he waited for a response. Not towards embarrassment, he doesn’t seem the type. More so towards, ‘Fuck. Maybe I came on a little too strong.”
You open your mouth, contemplating what to say next as your eyes return to his. A spark of something…lust? Recognition? No.
His gaze flickers before he turns his attention back to the snacks. He knows that this is the most important part of the conversation.
“I was thinking the same when I saw you walk through that door.” You surprised him. He sat down the crumpled bag and looked back at you.
“Is that so?” He started, but you interrupted, not wanting him to keep the conversation going and figure who you were, how young you were, that you weren’t worth a shit when it came to flirting. That you weren’t someone who couldn’t be an informant.
“Can I have one of those?” You pointed towards his crotch, meaning his back pocket where his tattered box of cigarettes sat against his ass. You watched as his smile spread, laughing beneath the deep breath he takes as he pulls them out and smacks them flat against his wide palm. He picks one and hands it to you.
He lowers his voice as he steps even closer. “You can have whatever you want, conejita. Let’s take this outside.”
You looked down at his fingers and imagined what they were capable of, how long they were. All of the spots inside of you that they could caress. You took the cigarette and looked into him.
“Let’s.”
You imagined Javier liked to keep his outside of work activities on the low. His dirty little secrets were easier to keep when he hid them behind the facade of work. Of doing good for the world. They also happened to do well with his cock. You wondered if he paid them, too.
Of course he does. He’s a gentleman. ‘Someone to rely on’.
You put it between your lips as he dug in his other pocket for his lighter. “How can you fit anything in those? Let alone find anything.”
“Hey, these jeans don’t look good on just anybody, baby.”
Baby.
You huff and he falls back, scrunching his eyebrows towards the setting sun as he lights his own cigarette, first. What a gentleman. The fine lines of his face soften after he takes a long hit.
His hands ghost your face as the click of the lighter ignites and the fire burns closely to your face.
“What’s your name, anyways?” You ask, pulling in the burn.
“Peña.”
“Do you have a first name? Or is the last one just cooler?” He smirks.
Both of you sat in silence for a moment, looking around the street at the children playing.
“S’not too safe for you out here right now.”
“Why’s that?”
“Mierda, eres difícil, ¿no? Just trust me.” He huffed out a laugh.
So you did. There were eyes everywhere, if need be. You said what he had been pining for the entire time.
“So take me home then, Peña.”
He wasted no time walking you to where he was staying, the warmth of his palm not leaving your lower back until you made it to his front door. He had been trying to get small things out of you during the stroll. Where were you from? Why were you visiting? You didn’t give him much and you could tell it was bothering him. Every once in a while he would look down at you, his breath falling right into the ticklish spot on your ear. You wanted him.
It didn’t come as a surprise to either of you when he guided you in the door, shut it quickly and then grabbed the back of your head, moving his lips against yours.
He was soft and gentle, but his grip in your hair was stern- he’d seen the world, felt it. Watched it bleed, be unmerciful. He kissed you on your lips, then once on your cheek as an apology for not being able to contain himself. He kissed between your collar bones, lovingly, moving down to your breasts.
“How old are you again?”
“20’s. Old enough.” You were breathless. His lips were kissing at your sweat.
“Mhmm,” he moans against your skin.
“Gonna have to fuck it out of you, aren’t I?”
“I don’t give away information for free, Peña.”
“Get on the bed mi conejita.” He growled. For his line of work, he wasn’t very patient.
It was dark in his room, and the entirety of it smelled of him. You wanted to sink into his sheets and cover yourself in him. You made your way to the bed in the right corner of the room, the only light from the orange streetlights, barely on from the newly descending darkness.
He had been a flirt since the moment he opened his mouth, but he saved himself for the darkness. You prop yourself up, sitting at the middle edge of his bed with your feet on the ground, waiting for instruction. He seems like he’s the type who wants to be in charge.
His shirt is off quickly, and the amber light hugs the curves of his chest, his hips. His lips touch exactly what he wants them to, nothing more. You wanted them to wrap around you like they had his cigarette, before.
His nose kisses you, too. He kisses like he never will again. And he doesn’t, not really. Not many people have touched his lips, as compared to the rest of him.
He’s an angry man, it runs through his veins, and you can feel it in his force. But he wants so badly to be calm, still, soft, in the way he caresses you. How can you not be angry at the world when you’ve seen what he has?
The thing is, you have. Not to his extent, surely. But you’d seen a lot pass your dads desk.
“Now tell me, cariño, what do you need to give me what I want?” You scoffed as he pulled away, removing his arms from either side of you on his bed.
“Tell me your first name and then let me suck your cock.”
Who was winning at this game?
You pushed him forwards and made enough space in front of him for your body, as you slid down to your knees, hitting the hollow wood harder than anticipating as you unbuckle his belt. You go ahead and take it all the way off, kissing his stomach as you fidget with his zipper. His hair peaks out over the top of the layers as you impatiently pull his jeans lower.
He’s so hard that it’s making it difficult to take them off, cock pressing against the tight denim. He gasps softly as your hand reaches him. You pull his already showing head out of his boxers, licking your lips before wetting his tip and licking up anything he was already willing to give you.
“Javier,” He gasps his own name.
“Mmm,” you moan as you hold it in your hands. It’s heavy, long. His balls are heavier as you grasp them, only imagining the sound they’ll make slapping against your cunt.
You’d teased him enough.
“Javier,” you were whining now. He groaned at his name on your tongue, mixing with his precum.
“Hush and open your throat.”
You pushed your wet tongue into the bottom of your mouth, opening your lips wider in attempt to take him easily. But this wasn’t going to be easy, considering the size of him.
You let the saliva pool in your mouth and he lifts an eyebrow, asking for permission. You look up at him and nod.
Immediately his hand are in your hair, moving them around as he finds the right grip to fuck himself into your mouth.
“Too big baby? I thought you were a big girl? Old enough? That’s so cute, it’s not even all the way in. Let’s see if you can do it, hmm?” He lifts his head and it falls backwards as he takes your throat completely, your neck and body jumping at the intrusion. You find yourself lifting your hands to his hips, trying to find anything to hold onto as he fucks himself down your tongue and into the back of your mouth.
“So pretty, little bunny.” Finally revealing the nickname he gave you. “But I’m not finished yet.” You sputter around him, opening your throat even wider.
Your knees are carrying a dull ache, and you almost wish you hadn’t asked to suck him off. You remove yourself from him and attempt to catch your breath.
He continues carving out the shape of his cock in your throat and you relax, letting his angry head hit the back of your neck.
His voice is so deep, vibrating even, but his whimpers aren’t as they slip past his lips. He’s ruthless in his attempt.
“All done, sweet thing?” He pulls himself from your throat and looks at the connecting spit.
“I’m not. If this mouth isn’t gonna tell me what I want to hear than I might as well fill it as I see fit, yes?”
Summary: 5.5K/ f!reader, dark!joel, bfd!joel, brat tamer!joel
“You were infiltrating his space, now. You stayed still, and she mumbled something. You pressed, “keep watching” on the screen and let the TV voices drown out your reality- the one in which Joel is awake, unknowing that you’re in his house and in his daughters bed.”
Warnings: 18+ mdni, SMUT, age gap, knife play, lil bit of blood play, breath play, choking, he takes what he wants, dominate & aggressive joel, pet names, praise kink, p in v sex, face fucking, dirty talk <3, he talks you through it, tells you what to do- the usual pure filth + a little more this time.
A/N: SHIT’S HAPPENING! I got a little carried away. Lemme know what you think, please? 🤍
You had surrendered the recollection of what it felt like to be touched, held, a long time ago. For the person touching you to feel you for themselves, too.
A delicate pass, the very essence of tenderness has materialized into his calloused fingertips. Small hairs from his beard kissing your skin, just as his lips brush up and down your neck. He’s breathing into you, the condensation is warm, making your own sweat drip. Lips whispering, gliding along the delicate curve of your neck, his movement like a goddamn poem.
His fingers dipping into your depth, wet from prodding in your mouth.
Pleasure and pain, almost annoyance at how good it feels. It tickles. It feels wrong, even. Joel dips down and licks your sweat pooling in a tucked-in spot between your collar bones.
It feels heavy with guilt. It feels safe. His thick arms are holding you against his body, he’s making promises in your ear.
It’s not real, though- it’s a dream. A dream you’ve been having for days, over and over. But it never really leaves when you wake, either.
It’s what Joel felt like- will feel like when you meet again. The familiar gnawing in your chest aches. Where does the feeling of him end, and I begin? Am I finally lost within? I’d stay here forever. Maybe that’s what I was meant for… to be lost in the chest of a man in my own brain.
9:45pm, sat on either side of Sarah’s bed in her still-pink room that she’d outgrown years ago.
“Dad says he’ll repaint it once I promise I’ll stay here until I graduate, during the summers at least,” she had said. “I guess that gives me more time to see you since you’ll be here now too.” You corrected her, “Until I can move out of my parent’s house again. Maybe I’ll just live here, it’s better than going back there.” Sarah frowned at the joke, knowing what you had shared about your family to her.
What were you doing? Joking about staying here. This was Joel’s house. He was asleep two doors down. Now wasn’t the best time to be making jokes, but it felt easier than trying to face what was truly happening.
Sarah had promised he was sleeping whenever you snuck through the back door, putting her finger to her lips to quiet you when you were suddenly falling over the molding on the way in the door. You’d never been one for graceful movements.
She held in her giggles all the way until her door was closed, though.
“Were you trying to wake the sleeping bear?”
“Maybe,” you giggled.
And that was the truth. You were terrified, but you wanted him to know you were here.
You were angry at him, but you wanted him. You wanted to see his room, not through a computer screen on a cam website- but in person. You wanted to be near him.
You were infiltrating his space, now.
°:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡
It had been 6 days since Joel had shown his face. It had also been 6 days and few minutes less whenever he had left the bathroom you two shared. He decided not to share his plan with you, once again. You were a puppet in his game.
‘Break with him? For him?’ You had, momentarily on the bathroom floor. The sobs were clawing their way out unmercifully, but you also didn’t want to stop them. You had believed what he told you. He held you like a little girl, arms wrapped around you in safety. And you had listened and believed. Why? When has a man ever followed through in their promises to you?
He had left you in the bathroom, fending for yourself on how to clean up the mess he made. He had cleaned up the visible mess of your cum, his, sure, but not what he awoke inside of you.
You looked into the mirror and formed a half smile, looking at the faint shadow of where your mascara had been running.
Your neck was red where he’d wrapped his hand around you.
You took a few more deep breaths and then patted down your dress. There, on the inside of your thigh was his fingertips, branded into your body from force.
You wanted to tattoo him on your body, make him permanent. But you also wanted to scream and throw a fit against his chest. You felt like a child.
When you got tired of looking into your own eyes, you went to go face the truth.
Sarah had found you first, immediately boring into you. Her face was disappointed, frowning. You knew in that moment that she was gone, months of friendship thrown away.
She knew, she knew that there was something going on between you and Joel. She knew you fucked him in that bathroom. She knew he’d been paying you to ruin yourself for him.
You waited for a sharp pain, a crying voice, something.
She quickened her pace and ran to you after she could see that physically, you were fine. But she didn’t hit you. She wrapped you in her arms and the breath you had been unknowingly holding, released. She whispered to you, still holding you tight.
Suddenly the world was spinning, for probably the fifth time that night. But when was the last time you felt like you were standing on solid ground, anyways?
“Dad told me, I’m so sorry, I had no idea or I would have beat his ass myself, I swear to God.” She released from the hug and held you at arms length, looking you over.
You’ve never been a good liar, praying that your eyes wouldn’t give it away. ‘I’m fucking your dad.’
She looked like Joel in that moment, sounded like him. Concerned, brow set downward.
Joel was standing a few feet away, facing you while Sarah’s back was to him. He was smiling ever-so-lightly here and there as your family talked at him, his eyes lifted from his dad’s face to you. You imagined your eyes were wide, still red from tears, from being handled by him… fucked into the concrete wall.
Your eyes returned to Sarah as she started again.
“I didn’t know you were seeing anyone! How could you not tell me! I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I know this isn’t the time. I just thought you would have told me that he wasn’t treating you right, that he was supposed to be here on your big day. I’m sorry.” She said again, softer, realizing she was getting worked up about the ‘wrong’ part of the story, and you probably couldn’t handle that energy at the moment.
You dared look at Joel again, the indention between his brows was visible for a few moments, he nodded his head towards you, looking at you through his eyelashes after looking down at his feet. Play along. Stop choking. Stop starin’.
You returned to her gaze, as she waited for your response.
God damnit, answer her…. C’mon Birdie.
You could still feel his fingers in the back of your throat.
“Sarah, I’m so sorry. I just thought it would turn out differently. He seemed so sweet and interested in me and that usually doesn’t happen so I ju-“
She cut you off, shhhh’ing you.
“We don’t have to talk about it right now. This mystery man has spent too much of your time tonight.”
He had told your parents the same story, and they believed him. So much so they didn’t even care to ask you anything, all you got was a “sorry” nod from your mom. Your dad was too busy talking to other family members, probably telling them how hard he worked to get you here.
And yet again, here you were, the victim in a string of lies that weren’t even your own.
The story was simple: you had been seeing some guy for a few months and invited him here to meet your parents on your big night. He didn’t show- and when Sarah came in all excited talking about Chase, it made you upset. Joel followed you because he thought you were upset that he was there without notice, and he didn’t want to worry anyone else in the gallery by bringing your parents into it.
It was good. Why are you surprised? You knew he was a good liar. All your fucking encounters had been premeditated- even today. Maybe even this one, in where he sticks his fingers inside of you and fucks you to tears, then blames it on some other guy.
But it didn’t surprise you how quickly they fell under his spell. You did the same, and all it took was whispered filth in his deep, vibrating voice. All it took was his fist wetly wrapped around his throbbing cock.
Your emotions were never really taken into consideration, and this was another one of those moments- but this time you were grateful. No one asked questions about the mystery asshole again. Except for Sarah.
That’s how you ended up in his house, in her bedroom. You felt like you owed her the ‘truth’ of what happened between you and mystery boy.
You wish the real mystery boy wasn’t her dad. Why couldn’t he have been the neighbor, or some professor from school? You’d never really looked at older men in this manner, before Joel.
Shame was growing deeper amidst the entanglement of lies you felt like you’d eventually get stuck in.
And they were sticking to you, the lies. Thick, heavy. They played themselves over and over in your dreams, dancing in circles and spinning webs.
He whispered to you, “Mine. Mine. Mine, Birdie.” But just in your dreams. You had wings and he washed them gently, petting and taking care of you.
She had texted you at least a hundred times since that night, asking about this guy, wanting to know every detail. So you decided it was best to see her in person, tell her whatever story you could come up with on the spot and then hopefully hear nothing about it again.
“Maybe… maybe I scared him away? I don’t do well with things needing me, or being close to me. Maybe it’s externalized resentment towards the world for having been born as the ‘older sister’ in a broken home, or for having to be the parent of my parents, the house, myself. I don’t like dogs jumping on me and licking me, I don’t like the grabby hands of children, I hate when my mother asks me a question that she could easily figure out herself,” you finish, out of breath from quickly trying to get your thoughts out before they left. Or maybe before you realized who you were telling your secrets to.
And that was the truth. You knew you’d been a shit friend to Sarah. You couldn’t see it getting any better from here, but you also somehow knew what would be worse: losing him even though he wasn’t even yours. He felt lodged in your chest like he was an integral part of your body and its ability to work.
“I think that makes sense,” she nods. “You were in survival mode, you didn’t have enough energy for extra anything- including relationships or extra overstimulation. That’s how dad is, too. I’ve begged him for years to acknowledge the pain, but then put it down for a while. Or let someone hold it with him, at least. He grew up similarly to you, I think.” She pondered on. “I think he would do well with someone caring for him. You too.”
“Uh…” you stuttered, “yeah. He seems like he’s had a rough go at it. From what you’ve told me at least. I remember him being sad that summer he worked on the shed, too, but I guess I just assumed it was cause you weren’t there n’ he missed you. I don’t remember a lot of it though, to be honest.”
“‘Don’t know,” she trails, “he’s always been like that. Even before the divorce. He’s been a hell of a lot happier this six months though. He says he doesn’t know why, just ‘feels lighter.’ I assume he’s seein’ someone, just won’t tell me who. Probably Ms. Tammi down the street… he always eyes her when she’s workin’ in the garden. She’s too young for him though, she’s like 35,” She scoffs.
Damn.
35 is a helluva lot better than 24. But this isn’t the time or place to have that conversation.
Sarah continues on, quickly changing the subject and falling into other conversations as you listen intently, happy to not be at the receiving end of questions at the moment.
You can’t help but wonder what Ms. Tammi looks like. It fades quickly, though.
That’s how the majority of the night went, and you were happily exhausted by it all. The nodding, “yes!”’s and “I agree. I agree”’s, the giggling, the comfort in the face of it all.
Around 3am you both settled down and she gave you a blanket that smelled like their home. It was soft, warm. Sarah put New Girl on and she was out in 5 and a half minutes. You always fell asleep last at sleepovers, unsurprisingly. You didn’t sleep well as it is.
Her room was comfy. Boxes were still littered around from what she brought home for the summer. Her pink walls radiated the soft glow and heat of the lamps. Her TV was dancing across the walls, casting shadows. Her windows were open, welcoming in the cooler, muggy night. Cicadas were still singing their lullabies.
Her walls were adorned with proof that she had been taken care of, loved. Pictures of Joel throughout their life, littered under string lights.
She’d always been a photographer, ever since Joel put her first camera in her hand when she was 5. Sarah had lit up talking about it a few hours earlier. She took the family pictures on their vacations- meaning, she attempted to squeeze her and Joel into the frame, considering how much shorter her arms were than his. He let her, not too worried that half of his face was cut out.
“Always knew you were gonna be somethin’ special, kid.” He had told her.
There were the ones of just him, too. Black and white speckled film. He was turned to the side in one, his profile taking up the whole shot, looking forward. He was younger then, more clean shaven and… just smaller. He looked lighter in a different regard. Happier, maybe.
He looked beautiful, but not the way he does now. The years are present in the fine lines of his face- they are there to tell his story. One you didn’t even know yet but wanted to drown in.
The testament to how much Sarah loved Joel was right here. The proof of how much he loves her, staring back. She had a safe childhood, you think.
And you’re jealous because you can see it; the difference in the two of you. No, you don’t want to be like Joel’s daughter in that way… you just… hate having to admit to yourself that the time for that has passed. Your dad never showed up in that way, and he never would.
He wasn’t the one who covers your cuts and carries you to your bed when you fell asleep watching one of his cowboy shows on Saturday night. He was the type of dad that screamed your weaknesses back at you, stabbing through you- except this time through your back and into your chest; not even looking you in the eyes while hurting the little girl within you, again. And again. And again-
Back to Joel, please. You begged your mind. Your hands were shaking, too. The soft hum of Sarah sleeping next to you brought you back. You hate that it makes your heart swell that much more, the fact he took such good care of her. Such good care that she doesn’t have any inkling of what’s going on between her two favorite people.
She’s sleeping peacefully in a place that’s never been a war zone, and yet here you were. Who would be the first causality?
You drift off eventually, uncomfortable at first because you don’t want to move her bed too much, waking her. Eventually you sleep, and you sleep peacefully despite the elephant on your chest. Despite the war on the horizon.
Perhaps this was the best sleep you’d had in years, even. You felt safe in her safety, in Joel’s.
You dreamt about him again, this time he was bleeding.
And then a crashing in the kitchen followed by a muffled “fuck” caused you to gasp out of your nightmare, and Sarah stirred to your entire body stiffening.
You stayed still, and she mumbled something. You pressed, “keep watching” on the screen and let the TV voices drown out your reality- the one in which Joel is awake, unknowing that you’re in his house and in his daughters bed.
But God, you have to pee. He scared the shit out of you. You raised off the bed slowly, making sure not to wake her. It had been five or so minutes since the sound, and nothing else had happened. He’s probably getting ready for work, you convinced yourself.
On a Saturday?
You check your phone to see if he had texted you. 5:46am. A new habit you’d formed in the past week since your last encounter. Nothing. Still.
So you tiptoed to the door and cracked it, letting the light from the TV guide you. Her bathroom was three doors down, she had told you earlier in the night. There was a nightlight on, too. You could see it pouring out from under the door.
No other lights in the house, or at least upstairs, seemed to be on. Joel had either left for work or went back to bed, whatever he was doing seemed done.
You cursed at yourself for not bringing your phone with you to use as a light, but it was one long hallway… you could do it. Deep breaths.
You made it halfway when you heard something downstairs and practically peed yourself right then, hurrying your footsteps to the nearest door. You opened it and backed in, looking at the stairs and down the hallway for any sign that he might have seen you.
Nothing. And then a breath that wasn’t yours.
“Oh, now you’re breakin’ and enterin’ into my house? Couldn’t stay away, huh? Coulda just called, Birdie.”
There’s no fucking way.
“Came to see Sarah and didn’t even say hi to your daddy? Mmm, what a shame.” You imagined he was shaking his head, but you couldn’t see too much from the fucking wrong night light in the corner of the wrong fucking room.
“Thought you were gonna be a good girl ‘n lay low for a while?”
You turned around, slowly, and there he was. He was in boxers, laying in the bed you’d seen him fuck himself into. It smelled like him in here, too. The sheets were slept in, the same color as the ones he would shoot his spend into, grunting and calling you pretty names.
He was grinning, not even startled by the fact you were somehow standing in his room at 6am.
Lay low? That plan was never shared with you.
Heat washed over you, embarrassment maybe. You wanted to be needed by him, wanted to be grabbed, licked, kissed, handled. You’ve been waiting for him, but he hasn’t reached out. You wanted him to hold you like he held you in that bathroom, except this time you wanted him to push your face into his sheets while he did.
“Answer me,” he growled. He couldn’t have been up for long, his voice still heavy with sleep. It was lower in tone, deeper.
“I’m trying to be a good girl Joel, I-I was just looking for the ba-“
“No. A good girl wouldn’t fuck her best friends dad, n’ call him daddy while doin’ it. She wouldn’t come over and sleep in her bed, just to sneak into her dad’s room, doin’ and lookin’ for god knows what.”
He was enjoying this. He was just as much to blame- no, he was THE person to fucking blame for this.
“That’s fucking unfair, Joel. I came over here to try and put a patch over loose ends that you left whenever you left me in the floor of that bathroom,” you huffed, teary-eyed and still stunned, still sleepy. “I didn’t- I don’t, wanna hurt her.”
He stopped grinning then, sitting up. He didn’t lift his feet off the ground, but you were scared he might.
You felt like that same, scared little girl who was being punished and yelled at for letting a tear slip. But he was fucked just as much as you if this went public, and it emboldened you. You knew he didn’t want to hurt her either.
“You know what’s unfair?” You pointed at him, continuing in his silence.
“You. That I finally made a friend who is so good- so good- and you stalk me? You find me and you use me for some perverted pleasure that your wife didn’t give you, n now I have to pick up the pieces and lie to my best friend?”
He was face-to-face with you, staring down at you, waiting for you to dare open your mouth again. And then, his hand was around your neck and he was forcing you to look into his eyes.
“You don’t know ‘nothin’ ‘bout my ex-wife, don’t ever bring her up again. ‘Specially when you’re standing in my house, in my god damn bedroom. Got it?”
“No.” You gasped out.
His grip tightened.
“No?” He spat in disbelief.
“‘Musta forgot who you answer to. Didn’t know your pussy would forget so fast who she belongs to. Don’t make me put you back in your place, sweetheart.”
His nose meets yours, the hug of your face, faster than his lips. He nudges, wanting more. Sucking, teeth hitting teeth in a want to be as close to each other as possible. He goes for the bottom lip, always, tucking the side of his nose under yours. Gently. Then he returns to your lips and bites down, searching for blood. He get its, and he chuckles.
You gasped into his mouth.
“You need me to ruin you, huh?” He whispered into your hair as he pulled your head to the side, making it easier to suck on your neck. He was nipping at your jaw, licking lines like he had in your dreams. His hands were engulfing you and all you could do was stand there and take it, sucking the pain away from your own lips. Rough palms feeling at you.
You let out a plea for more.
“That’s why you came lookin’ for me? Sweet girl,” he purred, “couldn’t stay away? Want me to take care of you, stretch that tight hole around daddy’s cock, hmm?”
That hit a nerve, deep. You wanted to surrender yourself and hide in his arms. From the world, Sarah, yourself. You wanted to believe what he had whispered to you in the bathroom, you wanted to break against him and rest your bones.
But first, you wanted him to sink his teeth into you. To ruin you. And then maybe he would stick around this time and pick up the pieces.
He was solid, sturdy, safe. You reached up and put your hand on top of his, letting him know this is what you want, giving him the ‘okay’.
He didn’t even need to ask you, you walked closer to his bed and laid yourself over it, ass up, giving yourself to him. He sighed in lust, watching you sink into his sheets, spreading your smell onto them. You turned your head and laid your cheek against the soft, looking up at him.
You spread your legs and struggled out of your shorts, he stepped towards you and ripped them off. You were taking too long. The room was silent, save for both of your breathing.
“This what you needed?” The bed squeaked under you as he pulled you towards the end of and ordered you on your knees. He lined himself up with your core and spit after kissing your cunt with his tip.
The spit hit your pussy, tickling its way down as it dripped. He took his fingers to it, pushing it around and then into your hole. He used it to wet the head of his cock, too.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he coos at you, grabbing for the nape of your neck, pulling your hair and hence your head back towards him. It hurt so good, and your neck was at an angle that made it harder for your chest to rise and fall.
He slid into you at the same instance, and the breath you were halfway through caught in your throat, your whole body reacting to his length. Your eyes were watering from the intrusion, from the pain and simultaneous pleasure. He put his palm against your mouth, muting whatever scream had just come out.
And he fucks you while you grunt out sounds each time he hits that spot inside of you. Your eyes roll back, then focus again. His hand blocking not only your mouth but your nose. Your stomach is tighter, trying to fit his size. He’s breathing heavy above you, sweat dripping and falling onto your back, not realizing that he’s cutting off your air supply.
He’s doing what he said he would all of those times, fulfilling the promises he had made. It’s different now than in the bathroom. He was angry then, but he wasn’t in the comfort of his own home. He could do whatever he pleased, now. Sarah under the cover of the whispering TV in her room.
He throws his hips to yours, each one tearing moans from your throat. “There you go.” And suddenly you were seeing faint white lights in the corner of your vision. But you don’t care, you were just tired, blissed out. You felt comfortable under the weight of him, fucking into you. You relaxed and took what he was giving you. Over and over an-
His voice was muffled. He repeated himself.
“Hey, breathe for me, pretty thing.” And you do, forgetting it for a moment. He reached his wrist in front of you, taking your neck between his thumb and pointer finger. “Lemme feel you breathe baby. Gotta listen t’ me.” You sucked in what you could, and he ‘uh huh’ed you, feeling your neck contract and take in the air. “That’s right, just like that. Can’t have you passin’ out on me baby girl. Not there yet.”
He went slower for a moment, aware that he almost suffocated you. But he didn’t stop, and you were glad. He pulled out and decided he’d choke you with his cock, instead. You whimpered at the loss of him from inside of you, but you knew what he wanted and you wanted to give it to him.
You slipped from the bed to the ground, finding it harder to move and get on your knees than you thought. He’d fucked you silly, shaking, raw.
“Can I feel it? Let me feel it.” Ordering, more than allowing, the tip of his cock passed your lips and went straight for the back of your throat. You coughed him out, just for him to return again, dripping your saliva.
“Shhh, shhh, shhhh,” he whispered, grabbing fistfuls of hair on both sides of your head as he fucked his hips into your mouth, relentlessly. You felt something warm, wet drip from you and hit the ground next to your splayed legs beneath you.
“Cumming with my cock in your mouth? Knew you were a’ bad girl.” He was breathless, shocked at how you were letting him play with you, limp, almost. Fucked out. On the verge of passing out.
You didn’t know how many times your stomach had tightened and then released. How many times you came for him. You stopped counting after two, unable to do much of anything. Not wanting to be anything, then the person under his touch. Full of him.
And then you were wearing him again, bent over the edge of his bed, hips hurting from hitting the edge of the mattress.
“Joel,” you managed, “pl- please.”
“Now you’re talkin’? Couldn’t get any words out before. Poor baby. What do you need from me?”
“Hurts, Joel.”
He liked that.
“Want me to stop, then?”
“No,” your voice was hoarse.
“Then what do you need? Can’t give it to ya if you ain’t able to say it.”
“Inside. Cu- oh fuck- cum inside me. Please. Please, please.”
He liked the sound of you begging for him to fill you up.
“N’ whose cunt is this, baby? Who do you want to cum inside you?” And those filthy words pulled another orgasm from your hips.
“Your-“ you mumbled.
“Louder. Use those pretty words you know from goin’ ta school.”
“Yours Joel. This pussy is yours, s’all yours.”
“What a good girl.”
He halted as deep as he could inside of you with a groan, growl-like, and he filled you with his warmth.
He stayed inside, afterwards. Not wanting any of his spend to go to waste outside of your womb.
You didn’t say anything, fighting the urge to just fall asleep where you were, in the comfort of his bed. But you didn’t cry, either. And that was a first. He completely defiled you, yet you weren’t breaking under his touch. You felt like, even if it was fleeting, he broke you and then put you back together right. The correct way.
He pulled out and grunted, and suddenly you felt a soft cloth wiping at your core. He placed soft kisses up and down your shoulders and back as he cleaned you up, your goosebumps the only reaction you gave as you closed your eyes.
A few minutes passed.
“Do you trust me?” He whispered, running his hands up and down your bare skin.
“Mhmm,” you let out.
“Look at me, Birdie. Need to hear it.”
You rolled over, more awake from the serious tone in his voice.
“Yes, Joel, I trust you.” But he didn’t looked like he believed you.
“Want you to do somethin’ for me.”
“Whatever you want.” Your patience was wearing thin, you just wanted to curl up and sleep, surrounded by him, surrounded by the smell of him, the safety.
You felt heavy.
He lifted himself off of the bed but you didn’t follow where he went, you caught yourself falling asleep again, so you slightly shook your head in an effort not to.
He returned and a hissing sound sprung through the air. Then immediately, something hard, cold, wet maybe? Slid across your skin. His weight was weighing down the bed as he sat back down next to you.
He moved your hair out of your face, rested your cheek against his palm and spoke clearly.
“Want my initials here, baby.” He was holding a switchblade against the inside of your thigh. “Remind you who you belong to while we figure s’all out.”
You were awake now.
He kept the blade there, but his eyes found yours, searching for an answer, praying you wouldn’t get up and run from him.
Instead, you took his wrist and moved it even closer to your core, on the inside of your thigh.
“How ‘bout… here?”
“S’perfect.”
He got off the bed then, sinking to his knees as he settled you comfortably on your back.
The birds were chirping through the window, the orange sun slipping past the blinds and onto his bed, streaking over his face. You welcomed the pain, if it felt anything like his pleasure. You trusted him. And you know you shouldn’t, but who is going to stop you?
He kissed up your legs, starting by leaving wet marks on the back of your knees. He made it to your nude mound and kissed it, too. Gently, soft.
“You sure?” He asked, for once, giving you an out if you wanted it.
“M’ sure, Joel.” He sighed at the sound of his name leaving your lips, sleepily. He reached your thigh and settled the blade comfortably in his hands.
He kissed you one more time in the spot he had chosen, and then he carved his initials into your body, slowly. Painfully. You hissed.
“Want me t’ stop?” He asked.
“No. It feels good.”
It felt like your own version of love, one both of you shared together, secretly.
The warmth spreed as his tongue followed the blood down your thigh, catching it before it fell to his sheets.
Summary: 2.3k/ f!reader, dark!joel, dbf!joel, brat tamer!joel
“Truth is, he’d been waiting for your mouth to form his name all day. He knew you’d be here, always were on the fourth regardless of what boy you were running around with or what was happening in college. This time you were here for good. Or for a while, until your daddy caught on to your problem.”
Warnings: 18+ mdni, SMUT, age gap, joel masturbating, dominate & aggressive joel, unprotected p in v, slight stalker!joel, pet names, praise kink, dubcon, he talks you through it, tells you what to do- the usual pure filth
Notes: In honor of 420 followers + no work tomorrow, here is a 4th of July, neighbor dbf!joel, quickly written and poorly looked over one shot. Love you!
It was entirely too hot to be prancing around outside in that too-tight dress, pretending you missed all your daddy’s other friends- ignoring Joel purposely. Punishing him, swaying those hips towards every other man but him.
Then, you’re bending down to pick up the cornhole bags with no regard to his wandering eyes. Giving the guys hell for throwing them at you while you were walking behind the boards. Wearing red panties, white socks.
You return the bags to who they belong to, and suddenly you’re hanging off Tommy’s collar. Laughing at some dumb joke he’d probably muttered.
He offers you his beer, you take it with a giddy smile. “Oh, Tommy,” you giggled, singing his name.
How fuckin’ rude.
It was Joel’s turn. He’d seen enough of everyone else getting your attention. He walked towards the two of you, catching your gaze and holding it, intensely.
“Hi there, little lady.” Little? Hardly. At least where it mattered. But it slipped out of his mouth, more as a warning to how you were acting than anything else.
“Saved the best for last, did you?” He stepped closer, hand engulfing a beer bottle.
He nudged Tommy, fuck off.
His beard had taken on a tinge of gray, hugging his jawline and accentuating the strong contour beneath it. Wrinkles traced his neck, along with a permanent frown between his eyebrows. His skin was darker than last summer, he’d been outside working on his truck. His crow's feet had deepened with time, age.
"Hey, old man,” you dared step even closer, patting him on the back, “Feelin’ okay? I’ll go get your rocker if you need me to,” you teased.
“Long day for you, almost time for fireworks and then we can tuck ya into bed.” You continued, grinning. He could tell this is the reaction you wanted.
Teasing had always been your nature, kissing his cheek before running your fingernails against his back as you hugged hello, pressing your hips closer to his when saying goodbye. The sighs you would quietly let out as his ear passed your mouth.
You use to leave your blinds slightly ajar at dusk, enticing him to peek through and catch a glimpse of the show you put on, from the comfort of his own home. Most of the time he watched you apply lotion, focusing on your pretty, heavy tits.
A few hours later he’d see you mosey out, around 11pm, rolling and cursing cause it doesn’t turn out like you want it to. You end up smoking it anyways on the back porch.
You never could get your joints to light on the first try, either. Something else he added to his list.
He would watch your shoulders relax, your gaze follow the lightening bugs; the cicadas quiet for the frogs. Then you would dizzily sneak back in.
You started that a few years ago, picking up weed from some ex you’d brought from school one summer.
Joel imagined what your soft insides would feel like completely stoned, fucking in and out of your wetness. Sometimes he’d dip into his stash and smoke after you, using his hands in place of your mouth… your cunt.
It became a habit.
“Joel?” You asked. He stopped imagining your pussy kissing his cock.
Truth is, he’d been waiting for your mouth to form his name all day. He knew you’d be here, always were on the fourth regardless of what boy you were running around with or what was happening in college. This time you were here for good. Or for a while, until your daddy caught on to your problem.
“So you’re nice n’ graduated huh? Pretty and smart. Always knew you were gonna be somethin’,” he smirked. His eyes wandered lower than your lips. This time he didn’t stop. He was starting at your nipples through your dress, poking so pretty against the white material. They’re pierced.
Fuck. That’s new.
“You know what they say,” You leaned into him further, moving higher on your tippy toes to be face to face with him- almost.
“Mm, and what’s that?” He muttered, playfully.
You moved your hair behind your ear, looking deeply into his eyes, welcoming him in.
You want me so bad, he thought.
Then you brake his trance, and answered as if it was your turn to embarrass him. You backed up and talked in a normal-toned voice now.
“I don’t fuckin’ know, you’re the one who told me college wasn’t gonna make me any smarter. Step it up, old man- you’re fallin’ behind.”
God damnit, you were a fucking brat. And he knew it was wrong his cock hardened beneath your smart ass words.
But it didn’t stop him from indulging regardless.
He’d heard stories about you all over town since you got back. It’s been four weeks and you were already making a name for yourself, becoming a town problem.
“‘Ya know Dan’s little girl? A slut, apparently. Sheriff caught ‘er down at the lake with Andrew’s boy, said he’d call her daddy if it happened again.”
Stories of whose son did what to you when. This was a small town, and he knew you knew that.
Before you could pull completely away from him, he walked up beside you and leaned into your ear, tickling your hair falling against it.
“Be more careful who you’re suckin’ dick around, pretty. People talk.” He whispered.
You huffed at him, ready to protest but he continued, “Wouldn’t want your daddy knowin’, would ya?”
Embarrassment reddened your cheeks, eyes faltering with surprise for a moment.
“Mr. Miller, if you wanted to fuck me, you should have just asked.” You dared, saying it loud enough to make his entire body stiffen, he looks around to see if anyone heard. Then he shakes with anger at how fuckin’ stupid you’re being. No one else heard over the chattering and screaming kids, throwing snap pop fireworks onto the shimmering concrete.
Now would be a good time to teach her a lesson. No one’s listenin’ to the loud noises around them, all engulfed in their own happenings. No one would be lookin’ for her.
He’d had enough of you trying to put his reputation on the line. He reaches out, snags your arm and pulls you closer to him, forcing you to walk by his side towards the house. His body heat is radiating off of you.
It’s better he teaches you now, rather than someone else worse down the line.
“We’re gonna go inside and you’re gonna let me teach you somethin’,” he says through his teeth, leaning down into your ear, “first thing you’re gonna learn is silence, baby. Don’t say a fuckin’ word while you bend over that bed for me.” He pointed his eyes towards you with a nod. “Got it?”
He waited for confirmation.
“Oh sure, Joel,” you mocked, “whatever you want.”
“You’re just not gettin’ it are you?” He spat.
-
He’s pulling you up the stairs now, back door slamming. Everyone’s out back getting ready for the fireworks, setting out blankets and calming the children. There isn’t much light to see who is missing and who isn’t.
In front of you are Joel’s broad shoulders, left arm hanging behind him as his biceps flex from dragging you with him. He looks impending, massive, from the view you have a couple stairs down.
His grip stings, your hand starting to lose feeling. He hasn’t said a word the entire time you two have been in the house. Grunting here and there at the weight of you, not letting you move at your own pace.
The fun was gone.
“You’re scaring me, Joel.”
“Good, pretty girl. Someone needs to.”
He knows the exact path to your room, and he takes you there before busting the door open and throwing you inside behind him. He closes the door with one push of his arm.
The release of his grip knocks you to the floor in front of your bed. You catch yourself, wincing in the thud your body had made.
He didn’t apologize for it, he didn’t even help you up. He put his back against the corner of the room and was looking at you, waiting, arms crossed behind his back.
He wanted you to bend over.
His breathing was heavy and his eyes set a little lower, darker. You got up on your knees, facing him. Face red, your tears were starting to form out aggravation of how Joel was treating you, but also the tickle in your mound.
You locked eyes with him, shuffling close enough to him to reach out and unbuckle his belt. He let out a breathy chuckle, laughing at how pathetic you look- compared to your confidence from earlier.
You did what he asked, demanded, and stood up to bend yourself over your childhood bed. You spread your legs, allowing the air to hit your pussy, then your tight ring of muscle before he spit down on it, turning hour over so you’re on your back, centering himself to you.
“That’s right. Let me feel it, pretty.”
He didn’t even do you the favor of one finger to stretch you out a little. He sheathed himself into completely.
“Squeeze. Uh huh, just like that,” his mouth is barely open, in awe, looking down at you.
“I want you to watch me fuck you, okay? Can you do that?” His tone was sweeter, yet more condescending.
You lift your head, peering down at your angled body as your lips spread to suck him in, over and over and over.
“J..Joel, please.” You begged, gasping for reprise.
“It’s so much, I know. But look at you, sweet thing, you’re taking it so well. Stretching yourself on my cock so, so good.”
You pathetically whimper back. Words had left you minutes ago. And that was okay with you. Joel was taking what he wanted from you, but you wanted it just as much. So you shut up and took it.
“I know, I know, pretty girl. Shhhh,” he coos, shoving himself into you. He’s so fucking big, you’d never felt this much pressure inside of you before. You throw your arms against his chest as high as you can stretch them, trying to push him away, overwhelmed by him. Overstimulated from the depth of his cock and the tickle of his calloused fingers, running circles around your throbbing nerves.
A cry escapes your lips, and he takes it as a cry of want rather than pain.
He grabs both of your wrists in one hand then hits you. Your jaw slacks the same as your head as it fall one way. He reaches out and rubs your cheek, holding your head in his hand.
“I said be quiet, did I not? I knew this would be too much for you. No wonder the entire town knows who you’re fuckin’- they can hear you.”
Your cunt fluttered and then slowly dripped release against him.
You start to argue, no, beg for him to slow down a little. His frame is lit from the orange hued streetlights on the street below, his hair falling into his face, disheveled from how he was moving his body.
The sun was almost set when you two had come in, providing some light, but no one turned on a light. No one outside could see in. That wasn’t enough to promise this would stay hidden.
Joel drops your head and puts his palm over your gasping mouth.
His grunts above you are guttural. Joel throws his shoulders back, his head following. Fuck, it’s been so long. And you… you had decided you wanted to tease him with the neighborhood boys, with his brother.
“‘N you think any of those boys down there are gonna touch you like this?” Satisfaction filled your gut as he sat you up, holding him your arms so that the tip of his cock could kiss you deeper, and suddenly you’re finding it hard to keep the smirk off your face.
You knew you’d piss him off, hanging around Tommy like that. Looking at him like that. Bending down in front of him, taunting him while Joel stood on the side of the yard.
He noticed your grin. Oh, he hadn’t fucked it out of you yet.
“Daddy would be so sad to know that he raised a fucking slut. But that’s okay baby, I’m gonna teach you how to be a good southern bell. That’s just what you need, ain’t it?”
You didn’t answer him in time, too busy looking at your shaking thighs, burning and tired as his length stretched you further every time he pulled out and slammed back in again. You, creamy and white against his cock.
He reached out and grabbed your throat, shaking your head yes for him. “There you go. Yes.”
His grip tightened at the base of your throat, pushing out ungodly sounds until your stomach bursts with fire.
Your eyes roll back into your head, bitting your lip so hard that you can taste a familiar metallic taste. You went limp for a moment, taking what Joel had to give you.
“Tommy, I-“ You started to beg him, assure him nothing was going on between you two. You started the sentence with the wrong name.
“Did you cum so hard you forgot who was filling this pussy up? Stop saying his fuckin’ name,” he growled, pushing your face into the bed.
You stopped trying to talk and instead melted further into the feeling of Joel.
“Another thing we gotta teach you is knowin’ who you belong to.”
Warnings: 18+ mdni, SMUT, age gap, Joel defiles you, talks to you through it, then comforts you. dominate & aggressive joel, pet names, praise kink, stalking, p in v, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), spitting, talk of anal + the usual pure filth. you’re so welcome.
Made this extra nasty for my Joel girlies <3
“The enormity of my desire disgusts me.” - Richard Siken
Joel doesn’t want it to be this way, but it just is, and he thinks it always has been. A shameful nagging that started even before his wife decided she didn’t want him anymore. Maybe she saw it, the pinhole, sitting slightly to the right of his chest, veering ever so slightly towards his heart.
Women are better at telling those things, just knowing this and that. Identifying the rotten thing before they ingest it.
He’d been captivated by other women before. Coworkers, thigh-high wearing sweethearts at the bar. Sarah’s friends. His ex wife’s friends. It was easier to keep up with them when he knew where they lived, worked, who they hung out with. Accidentally running into them at the local corner store… offering to pump their gas whenever he happened to be there, too.
This was different though.
The chasm cracked the day Sarah had shown him the photographs of you. He felt the sudden release of tension before the pain of the wound itself settled in. This… this is what his being had been searching for, right? You. And it just took longer cause he’s 26 or so years your senior. He’d lived an entire life before you, the same amount of time you’ve been alive.
If anyone was gonna save you, it’s him.
He spent hours in the depths of whatever website would give him what he needed to sustain his interest. He knew exactly where you grew up, he’d walked the beige colored halls before. But that wasn’t enough. What door was yours in Sarah’s apartment complex? Before he found out, he bet it was the one with the evil eye mat in the front. He was right.
What car held you as you drove through town… when’s the last time you checked the oil? He found out quickly, knew you wore your seatbelt too. Good girl. He’d even opened the hood one evening and checked the oil. It was entirely too low, so he filled it up. You needed to check this stuff.
What bars did you frequent? One was The Strip, where you spent most your time outside at the bar politely dodging older ‘men’.
He knew your favorite aisle of the water-damaged grocery store down the street. You spent the most time deciding on which hand soap you wanted, smelling them all and scrunching your nose when you didn’t like the smell.
What boys were you seeing? And at what times? As far as he could tell, none. And that’s how he liked it. But he couldn’t be inside your long classes with you, and he gave up sitting outside of them a couple weeks ago. They were three hours long and you usually went straight home. What if there was a boy in there?
He needed to physically insert himself into your life and then maybe… maybe you’d want him to stay. See how good for you he could be.
When he turned from the nude woman painted on the wall, a version of you in oil, to the warm, guts and roaring blood of you- the gash completely tore itself open in the moments it took for his eyes to eat you in. Every nerve ending in his forty plus years heeding, 7 trillion of them.
God you were a pretty little thing. He knew that, from watching you defile yourself for him over a screen. Listening to your pussy shush itself as you slipped your fingers between your folds, cooing at him. But having seen these things before, having seen every crevice of you, didn’t stop his cock from all but jumping towards you. He wanted to be in those crevices; tasting, smelling, feeling.
He’d never been a man to beg, but he’d do it for you.
He knew too, in that moment, that you hated him the moment your eyes settled upon his face and your heart, body, told you precisely who he was; before he’d even reached out his hand and introduced himself. Before he even got the chance to touch your skin. What a hard-ass.
Here you were in front of him, pretending like he didn’t just tear your world open. What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t think of another way to do it… there was no other way. You wouldn’t have met him if he asked, or on the off chance you would, you wouldn’t have stayed long enough for him to explain himself after he uttered a few words of who he actually was.
You’d spent too much time being told, screamed at, by men telling you what to do. Why would you listen to him? He knew it. But he was hoping that your chest opened for him, too. That you had the same defect for him.
He had to get you in public, around the people who you were hiding your secret from. That was the easiest way to guarantee that it stayed that way. No telling Sarah, no telling your dad.
You had looked so scared. And it thrilled him, honestly. He had that over you. You were trembling and he wanted nothing more than to bend down and lick the sweat from your forehead. He did that, made you feel that way, had that control. It meant he had a chance to talk you out of the fear. Fuck it out of you, even. Hush your whimpers and screams into his palm.
He needed to see you, touch you, smell you. Seeing you over a computer screen, no matter how intimate, was not enough. He feared what he would do if, when on his stalking sprees, he saw you with another man. He needed to get this feeling out of himself, before he hurt someone.
“I said, excuse me.” You interrupted your dad.
Joel's instincts took over as he reached out for you, his fingers grazing the warmth emanating from your hip beneath your dress as you pass, almost walking through him. He is struck by the velvet-like softness that greets his touch, a sensation that lingers in his fingertips as a dull ache. Your warmth seeps through his skin, ripping the hole in his chest even further than he thought imaginable.
How could these two realities simultaneously exist on the same plane?
That deep-rooted desire to comfort the hurt within you. To hold the ever-wounded little girl and brush his lips across your forehead. Tell you that he’s here, you’re just fine. He’ll protect you. Lay you down on his chest and shhh your fears away. You deserve to be protected.
He wanted to raise goosebumps across your freckled shoulders and be the person you melt into at the end of the day. He wanted you to intertwine your tired bones with his.
He would do, be, better this time around. You wouldn’t leave him like she did, no. You would devour yourself for him, spit back out your bones and let him put them back together.
There was another place within him where he desperately needed your body. He needed to feel your hole flutter against his tongue, his cock. One where he could slip his spit covered fingers into your tight heat and stretch you just big enough to fit the girth of him. The sound that would vibrate through your lips would unnerve him, he would do anything for you. Fill any hole you wanted.
You’d fit around him so tight, so well. Always such an obedient sweetheart for him. “Oh c’mon darlin’, use your words. Pull them apart, oh goooood. Shhh. You can take it. It’ll only hurt for a minute Birdie.”
He wanted to push you onto the ground beneath him and unravel your inhibitions- force you to come undone for him. He yearned to scatter bite marks across your soft stomach and side, lick between your breasts, kiss the back of your knees.
He wondered what his initials would look like carved into your soft inner thighs. Marked by him, for him.
How could he undo you while trying to hold you together? A deafening need heaved through his chest. It fucking hurts.
He knew, deep down, that you would willingly surrender to him. Even though hatred was spewed across your face. Whether he asked kindly enough or convinced you that his involvement was obligatory rather than just desired, he sensed you would comply. He couldn’t help that his blood simmered for you, it stung him. He felt like he was burning from the inside, out, clawing around in his insatiable desire to explore the depths of you. To feel those depths with his fingers, his cock, his tongue, his nose.
He gathered himself out of his thoughts, and drew his body toward the path you had taken in your escape. He didn't pause to ponder the questions that would be asked: why he, out of all people—neither your mother, father, nor best friend—was the one chasing after you.
It was him. It had to be. It always has been. He had decided it the day he met you that summer, the first time he heard your laugh. Then, you grew up. And he wanted more. He was so fucking ashamed but there was nothing he could do to stop the want. He didn’t try very hard, though.
He didn’t want to stop it, because then that meant you were gone. You wouldn’t have kept accepting the calls if you didn’t want him back. You wouldn’t have nearly fallen to your knees in front of him if you didn’t care. Which is why he stopped trying to get rid of this vile thing you nursed inside of him, because you wanted him, it, just as much. You just haven’t had the chance to realize it for yourself.
The moment he entered your warmth, you would feel it too. He knew.
Why would you lay yourself out for him, reaching down to spread yourself wide open for his view, for his pleasure, and beg him to defile you- if you were just gonna leave?
As he observed you throwing yourself against the metal doors between stairwells, he caught the faint scent of your perfume—notes of bergamot, vanilla, and ire. When your eyes met his, truly and not merely through photographs, he felt an overwhelming urge to drop to his knees and weep in front of you. He wanted to surrender his entire being, to give himself over entirely if it meant that you would believe he meant you no harm besides the kind you wanted. The kind that felt good. That he was chasing a feeling that erupted within him and wouldn’t stop knocking at his chest.
You smelled heavenly, perfume and fear. You embodied the rest of his life.
The whole in his chest was the shape of you.
With a deep breath, he entered the bathroom, realizing that he needed you to remain by his side long enough for him to articulate the growing emotions within him. He yearned to explain why he acted the way he did, hoping that you might find it in your heart to forgive him for just showing up (and being seen this time).
He was still trying to figure it out himself. Why the world chose him for you, and why it was making it so hard for him to fulfill that proposition.
At the beginning he brooded over whether to stay and ultimately hurt you no matter how often he argued within himself that he would never… or to go and leave you be. That wasn’t an option anymore. It never had been, really.
You looked maddened, irate. But the blush kissing your cheeks from the heat of your anger looked so pretty.
“I was 15,” you spat at him. “Do you do this often, Joel? Stalk your daughters friends and tell them how much you want your nasty cock in their mouth? Pay them to strip for you and pay them extra to stick their fingers in their pussy so you can get off? How many? How many fucking girls have you done this to Joel?”
Ouch. You only saw the illicit side of everything he was willing to give you. He was paying you, even, to stay in his life. How could you not see he just wanted to be closer to you? But you weren’t wrong, it did look like that from the outside. An older man pursuing his daughter’s best friend, his best friends daughter. Finding her online, showing up to her gallery show.
Sarah would probably never speak to him again if she knew the extent of his need… the things he’s done to himself in your name. No one knew how much it hurts though, to know you’re out there in a world where he can’t have you all to himself.
He didn’t answer in time.
“Should I ask Sarah?” You continued.
Absolutely fucking not.
“Shh, shh. Lower your fucking voice,” he spat as he stepped towards you. You looked so small beneath him, face red and angry. He gripped your shoulder and pushed you against the concrete wall. He liked having this control over you, and he knew you liked it too in some sick way.
It was easy for you to give up control if it meant cowering down beneath his broadness. He was rock hard.
He felt himself buzzing, seeing the slight shock against your face before you pulled it back and turned it to anger. He watched your nipples harden beneath the thin layer of your dress and knew you wanted this just as bad, whether you admitted to it or not.
This was all for you. The possibility of losing his relationship with his daughter.. this is a small town, he could lose his job, then his house. Everything. All for you to stand here and pretend you don’t want it, basically yelling it down the hallway for everyone to fucking hear. After everything he had given you and how intimate he’d been for you. After just last night, you watched him spit on his fingers and fuck himself.
Yet you stand in front of him, threatening his dissolution.
“One word out of your pretty mouth and I will break you.” He whispered into your hair, once again inhaling you deeply. He kissed your forehead, a weak apology for being quick to anger. But you were starting to thrash around, making it so much harder than it needed to be. So he stood himself sturdy in front of you and put one arm above your head and the other next to your side, pushing you further into the wall.
Maybe if he showed you how good he could make you feel, you’d stay. He just needed to remind your cunt how good a cock felt inside of it.
There was silence, a contemplation.
“Why me?” You looked up at him through your eyelashes.
Fuck, you needed him, it was written all over your face. Who else was going to protect you like could?
“It was your eyes, Birdie.” He admitted.
You continued to run your pretty mouth, but he wasn’t having it. He begged for you to listen to him, but you wouldn’t. Finally, he had enough of your talking.
“If you don’t shut your fuckin’ mouth,” he accidentally spit and watched as you licked it away without thought. Fuck. He would happily give you more. His already hard cock pushed even further against his struggling zipper.
“What? What exactly are you going to do?”
You questioned, softening in tone and running your hands up his chest. That was an invitation. He took it.
“How ‘bout I show you, you fucking brat. You can’t hide from me. I see you, I can see through you. I saw you the very first time our eyes met and I see you now. Wigglin’ beneath my touch. You need me sweet’heart, stop denyin’ it. I know you remember how I made you feel without me even touchin you. So let me touch you.”
Before you could argue some more, he moved his hands to your small shoulders and turned you around. His hands were massive compared to your body, and he liked it. Your curves were dying to be let free, held in too tight by the dress. Your breast, begging to be cupped and played with.
Oh he’d imagined so many times rolling your hard buds between his lips, tonguing them. Your breath hitched, and he let out a low chuckle. Already, you were giving in to him. He knew you would, such a good girl.
He threw the dress to the ground and looked upon you, naked, standing below and in front of him with your palms against the wall. You were completely ready for anything he wanted to give you, stick in you.
He couldn’t help but moan into your skin, you answering in response.
“Now go on, tell me more ‘bout how much you hate me, Birdie,” he growled into your ear, pushing his entire body against yours, taking your breath away as his cock brushed against your back.
You made sounds, no full words.
“That’s such a pretty noise,” he nudged. You didn’t respond but your cunt did, releasing more sticky want.
“S’okay, you can hate me Birdie, but your pussy flutters every time I look at you. She doesn’t hate me, princess, she needs me ‘n she wants me.”
You let out a barely audible fuss.
“Aww lookie there baby, she’s drippin’.”
He reached down and caught the drop with his finger, sucking it clean into your ear as you dizzily looked into the concrete wall, attempting to level your want for him. He didn’t even know if you fully heard his teasing in your state.
“Your effort not to melt under me is truly admirable.” He growled as he stuck out his tongue and ran it along your ear, sucking and breathing, tickling. Fuck. You tasted sweet but your nervousness had caused you to sweat, but he liked that too.
Then, he slid down to his knees so he could be level with your pussy, immediately reaching to spread you open and take you in. He reached in front of you and grabbed a handful of your stomach, pushing your ass more towards his face. He could smell your arousal, and he almost came right then and there, like some goddamn teenager.
Red underwear stared him in the eye, a deeper burgundy down your seem where you’d been dripping for him.
“Oh so fuckin’ pretty sweet girl. Look at that,” he traced his thumb down the back of your cunt, pushing the fabric deeper into the slick already coating them. You whimpered and attempted to buck your hips back, rotating your hips so that your holes were even more open for him.
“Nuh uh uh,” he tutted as you started to squirm even more. That wasn’t gonna do, he needed you still so he could have at you. He dug his thumbs into your ass, spreading you open once again, without a doubt leaving marks that would later bruise, showcasing his want. Reminding you that you were entirely his.
He held your pussy open, air hitting your open holes, licking lines up and down your slit as you moved. Your cunt wide open, showing him that she was ready for him, sucking up a mix of his spit and your cum every time you moaned and your walls fell in on themselves, pushing in and out in want.
He laid his tongue flat and licked from asshole to cunt, flicking and sucking on the thin skin between the two.
He spit.
“You’re the dirtiest girl I’ve ever seen, you know that? Letting me stick my tongue and nose on your pretty little asshole. Want me to fuck you here baby girl?” He circled it, pushing his spit in with the tip of his pointer finger. You whimpered as your hole swallowed the tip.
He knew if he fucked you there right now, the tip of his cock wouldn’t even make it in before he came, and that wasn’t the type of game he wanted to play right now.
“Hmm, I hear you. We’ll save that for next time. It wouldn’t be fair of me not to work you open first.” Breathless, he heard a “please Joel” fall from your lips.
“Oh fuck. Say it again. I’ve been waitin’ for my name to pass your pretty lips.”
He didn’t know how much he needed to hear you mutter his name like that until it hit him in his fucking chest.
“Joel, please.”
He smirked against you, pointing his tongue into your hole, circling and lapping at you as you continued to drip onto his tongue.
“Could taste these sweet juices for the rest of my fuckin’ life.” The sounds your body made as he pointed himself in and out of your cunt were godlike, vulgar.
He told you to keep your palms against the wall and stop moving, your final warning. His nose was covered in you.
“Joel, I-“
“Tell me baby, use your words,” he murmured into you.
“Take me, right now, please. Can’t wait Joel, I’ve been waiting so long.” God you sounded pathetic for him, begging and wanting him.
Without warning he fucked two of his fingers into you, and realized how tight your walls were stretching against them. You were already completely full from just two fingers.
“You wanna take my cock? You’re so tight you can barely handle two of my fingers. So fuckin’ impatient, hmm?” He curled them upwards and the spongey insides of you continued squelching, you tightened around him and he knew what you wanted… needed. You just needed to let go, stop thinking.
“Let it happen. Stop fightin’ it and let it out baby. I’ll catch you.”
You threw your head back and your long hair fell against the top of his head as he crouched below you. He wanted you to cum down his wrist so he could lick it clean in front of you.
You looked pure, hungry, and your body shook around his fingers as all of your sounds immediately stopped. Your orgasm rocked through you and the bathroom was dead silent, only filled with the sounds of his fingers coaxing out more juices.
Then your thighs stopped shaking aggressively and you spoke.
“I can take it. Please Joel. Please, sir.”
He rose from the ground. Did you just fucking call him sir? That was all he needed.
“Then take it.”
Somehow during all of the movement he had taken his cock out of his jeans. It was fully erect, kissing his stomach every time he moved further into your pussy with his face.
He wrapped his large hands around it and guided it to the back of your cunt, precum sticking to your lips. He tapped your cunt with his throbbing tip, moving his cock around to pick up your juices and mix his in with yours.
Finally. Finally you were going to be his.
He wrapped his arm around you from the back, his forearm covering your mouth before you dropped your head back onto his bicep. Your hair was sticking to your face from the sweat, eyes rolled back in anticipation.
And then he was one with you, cock hugged by your tight warmth. And it was everything he thought it would be, but better. He let out grunts as he fucked into you, hips hitting your ass as the sounds of your wetness meeting bounced of the bathroom stall. You fit so well on him, he fit so well against your walls. It was meant to be, he knew even more so now.
Breathless moans left your lips and he bent his head down to swallow them. Sucking on your top lip as you sat limp against him, his body holding you up as you took him like the good girl he knew you always were, would be, for him.
“S’tight baby girl. I don’t know how those little toys even fit in these holes. Gonna need to stretch you out better next time ‘n it won’t hurt so much. I’ll fit you even better next time.” He shushed your moans, dropping his nose into your hair, completely lost and intoxicated by the smell of your sex.
“I-inside,” you managed. He almost shot his spend into you right then. You could warned him before you said something so nasty, so good.
“Want me to cum inside that tight cunt, is that what you’re tryin’t ask me? ‘N what about your daddy, hmm? What would he think ‘bout you walking out of this bathroom with his best friend’s cum drippin’ down your legs?”
Defeated, you let out another sound.
“Dirty girl. I want nothin’ more than to fill you up. But this isn’t the time or the place. You know that.”
You came again, squeezing his cock so tight, and Joel pulled out as fast as he could after your walls kissed against him, wanting, but not letting himself cum just yet.
“Turn around, baby.” He ordered. And you did, slowly and shakily. You were having a hard time catching your breath.
He then pushed you onto your knees from your shoulders, not caring whether he was hurting you or not. All he saw was how fucked you looked, pure bliss still lingering between your legs, tiredness clouding your eyes from cumming multiple times on his cock. It was his turn.
You grunted in pain as your knees hit the floor, and that’s all he needed from you. He cupped his heavy cock and stroked himself, spitting down to it making it even wetter.
“You’re fucking sick, you know that?” The words getting caught in your throat. That’s all he heard as he planted his feet into the ground and threw his head back, grunting as his cum spit out of his aching tip, dripping all over and down your pretty face. He swore he saw the slightest grin reach your lips before you stuck out your tongue and caught the mess he was making.
And then it was over. You were covered in his cum from what didn’t reach your mouth, bare and still shaking. You looked so pathetic, ruined. Your mascara had fallen down your face at some point and it looked like you had been crying.
Now what?
His mind was clear for the first time in months, thinking about how they’d been gone thirty minutes or so. How would they answer the questions that would undoubtedly be thrown their way? How the fuck were you going to be able to get yourself together again, looking like what you did before you came into the bathroom?
You were sitting on the ground, wiping cum from your face with paper towels that you got from above you. Joel reached to the side and handed you your dress after fitting his soft cock back into his jeans.
“Here, baby.” He said softly.
Silence.
There was something hanging in the air, unsaid. Was it guilt? Shame? For acting like complete animals the first time you two were alone together, devouring one another whole.
And then, your shoulders heaved and a deep sob left your mouth. It was the saddest thing he’d ever heard, full of pain and hurt. He immediately felt it in his own chest.
You weren’t going to cry naked on the bathroom floor, so he picked up your dress and held each of your arms up as he put it over your head and dressed you, letting out soft, “shhh”’s to you.
He wet a few paper towels and bent down to face you, gently grasping your face as you were shying away from him, tears falling. Your eyebrows were turned inwards, your face showing just how much pain you were feeling.
He wiped your face softly, focusing underneath your eyes where your mascara was running. He cleaned you up and then held your face in his hands, you, squeezing your eyes shut so he couldn’t see you. Or rather, you couldn’t see him and the look upon his face.
He sat fully on the ground and pulled you into his lap, doing a once-over to make sure you were all dressed and clean. You’re immediately nestled your head into his neck and he placed his large hand on the back of your head, holding you there gently.
“Shhh, it’s okay baby girl. You can let it all out, okay? I’m here baby. Let them out, it hurts too much when you don’t.” He stroked your hair and prayed that you felt comfortable in his arms.
He could tell this was painful for you, crying in front of him- the vulnerability and nakedness it took to completely lose yourself in front of another human. He understood that he had just taken something from you, had just hit something deep within you.
“Birdie, look at me,” he whispered. You opened your eyes without question and waited.
“Be weak with me. Break, rupture, scream. Intertwine your bones with mine and I will hold ‘em safely so they can rest. I’ve got you baby. ‘M not gonna hurt you.”
You didn’t respond, so he put your back against his chest and rocked your slightly, letting you have the silence and calm.
Minutes passed and your sobs eventually stopped, Joel’s shirt soaked from them. You moved so that he was holding you, but could look into your eyes better.
“I’m sorry baby girl, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He let out, shamefully. He knew he could be overpowering, he’d been told before. “Let me stand up and I’ll leave, okay? Tell ‘em that I couldn’t find you but I looked everywhere.”
“You can’t just touch me like that and then leave,” you let out, begging him.
Warnings: 18+ mdni, SMUT, age gap, Joel talks you through it, dominate & aggressive joel, pet names, praise kink, brief mention of religion. talk of: anal/Joel masturbating/fingering himself + the usual pure filth. you’re welcome.
“I beg you. Eat me up. Want me down to the marrow.” - Hélène Cixous
The resonating depth within his voice reached out and caressed you for a moment. For that split second there was warmth, excitement. And then terror.
Your gaze instinctively fell upon the intricate web of veins tracing an unmissable pattern across his skin. You weren’t listening to the words leaving his mouth, all you remember is him on his knees last night, spread open on his bed as he pleasured himself with his own fingers to your decree.
“Mhmm, so good. Now stick in another one.” He moved it around his tightness, then did as he was told.
“Just like that,” he whimpered at your praise. “Good boy. Does it feel good? Has anyone ever touched you there? I bet you have plenty of times, haven’t you? Cumming hands free with your own fingers in your asshole. Such a naughty boy.”
He wanted to “try something new.” He said he’d pay you double if you played along well. It wasn’t hard to say yes to him, you would have probably done anything he asked of you, money or not. Seeing him in such a vulnerable position, fucking his fingers in and out of himself was enough payment for you. His stutters had been godly as he shoved his face down into the bed, reaching further into his own bliss.
Now, the irony became clear as day: his intention to grant you a sense of control only fueled the impending destruction he had planned for you. It dawned upon you that this twisted game was nothing but a source of perverse pleasure for him, unwaveringly. You felt it punch you in the chest.
You would be damned if you were going to fall to your knees in the middle of your own capstone show. It wasn’t even that, though, the possible embarrassment of collapsing and then having to make up a reason why. It wasn’t even him encumbering such a momentous occasion in your career, in life. It was that you’d shown this man everything you had and he took it in his weighty fucking hands and crushed it. He took advantage of you. He knew every one of your catches, he knew how to mold you.
He knew how to undo you, too.
Had he been recording your encounters? Did he know where you lived? What car you drove? Sarah lived right down the fucking hall.
Sarah.
You were so full with shame it felt like you were going to puke it up. It felt like it was moving up your throat, blocking your airways and tightening its hands around your throat.
He found you. He was Sarah’s father. He was your fathers apparent best friend. He was your dirty secret. He was your stalker, prowling for god knows how long in the shadows.
“Joel here reached out to me a couple months ago, askin’ how the family was. It’d been ten or so years since we’d seen each other last, right?” Joel nodded his head at your dad. Much quieter and reserved in real life, you guessed. Asshole.
“I’m glad you reached out, it’s been good getting to know you again, old man. Just like the ol’ days. 10 years is too long.”
10 years… You’d met him before? You couldn’t remember when exactly. How could you not remember him? No, you were a child ten years ago- this wasn’t your responsibility nor was it your fault. He’s met you before. He remembered. You didn’t.
-
In all actuality, he did remember the day he met you. You were 15 years old, a shell of a person. You weren’t happy, running around with your friends that summer like he thought all 15 year olds ought to be. He watched a much younger Sarah running around the front yard in the sprinklers, screeching and throwing her hands up in great fervor that summer. You spent most of your time indoors, painting out of long-gone watercolors.
Joel was there helping your dad build the shop that summer. To a teenager so stuck inside of herself, he was probably just passing through. A quick, fleeting memory.
Most nights he would stay for dinner, Sarah was at her mom’s for the summer, so he had no one to go home to anyways. He sat across from you, his attention perched upon your father, mostly talking about whether they should get this lift or that. What type of metal was best for that kind of support. Joel always pushed his peas to the side, hoping no one would notice.
In those rare moments when you did grant him your full attention, your eyes met his with an imploring intensity, silently begging for understanding, a touch of heartfelt empathy. He would pass you when he came inside to go to the bathroom and his steps would falter. Should I ask her if she needs me?
One time your parents were in the kitchen and he thought he’d give you something to laugh about. Mainly to just see if he could make you smile. See if you could laugh.
“Hey…” he broke the silence, broke you out of whatever trance you’d been in. Your brown eyes found his.
“I’ve gotta question for you, darlin’,”
“Okay,” you had hesitated.
“Tell me, a horse walks into a bar- now what does the bartender say?” He paused, waiting for a response, his half-smile sneaking up the edges of his lips.
Silence, waiting.
“… why the long face?" He let out.
And then your laughter erupted. The awkwardness was far more funny than the joke itself.
“I’m sorry but that was the dumbest joke I’ve ever heard, Miller.”
“I’m glad you liked it,” he grinned.
He knew your dad could be a cruel man, but he’s always hoped after college he would grow out of it. Especially once he married and had a kid, then two. They didn’t keep in close contact after college, but maybe he should have been checking more. If anything, to see how you were. To see if your brother knew how to be a man. He knew your mother wasn’t emotionally or really even physically present herself.
He never once had any sexual or unruly thought about you then. But he had an overwhelming feeling of wanting to care for you, protect you. The world hadn’t been fair to you.
He built the shop over three months and then was gone.
It wasn’t until the day after Sarah showed him those pictures that it clicked for him. Those eyes had gazed upon him before, asking the same question. He did some more digging and realized who you were, whose daughter you were. Only after touching himself. He couldn’t take those touches back, the thoughts or the fire in his torso. That only added to the guilt, but it wasn’t enough to stop it from turning into something ugly.
-
How long had he been at this?
“Excuse me,” you croaked out, lamentably.
No one heard you over the chatter, over your dads feeble storytelling.
“It was good of you to come today, Miller.”
Sarah must go by her mother’s mai- Miller? The guy who has helped your dad build his shop one summer. He would stay for dinner and always sneak glances your way.
Over the past four years being separated from the environment you were forged in, many secrets had unveiled themselves. Most of them nothing but a fragment attached to something bigger. A thrown beer bottle shattering at your feet, road rage, anger directed towards your mother. A therapist told you it was a coping mechanism, it’s what little you’s brain had to do to survive- forget. And so you did, and were still often a forgetful person.
“I’m glad we’ll be able to get our families together more often, now that we know our girls are best friends,” he smiled, happily.
He has no fucking idea. No idea that his daughter was bent over for Joel last night, spreading herself wide open for him while he whispered how badly he wanted to ‘fuck her into the ground’. Tear her apart by his teeth, his fingers, his tongue.
“And Sarah,” he turned to her, “it’s nice to see you again too, sweetheart. ‘Not the same seeing you grow up on your mom’s Facebook. No wonder this one here is so drawn to you,” he looked in your direction, “‘specially if you’re anything like your father. God he used to make her laugh.”
Communication with your father had been sparse over the past four years. In your childhood bedroom, you would often find solace on the floor, fervently beseeching any divine entity that would listen, imploring for an escape from that house. Once you finally broke free, a newfound sense of liberation washed over you. However, it wasn't an emancipation from the burdens accumulated, but rather a conscious decision to spare yourself from the weight of conversing with him frequently; what that meant to do so and what it brought back up.
The pieces of the puzzle now fit together, as if orchestrated by the stranger who stood before your father, deliberately intertwining these unresolved threads, demanding their resolution. It made sense that these loose ends didn’t fulfill until now; until the stranger standing across from your dad wanted them to.
Joel chuckled and you wanted to punch him his fucking teeth. Everyone was looking at you now, waiting for your joyous relief at the rekindling. But you couldn’t speak, and you were sure the color was flushed from your face.
“It’s a shame Sarah was at her mothers that summer. Coulda started bein’ friends years ago. I would ha-“ Joel started.
“I said, excuse me.”
You’d heard enough.
You tore between Sarah and Joel to get as far away as possible. The look on her face hurt, oh my god it hurt. She was so confused why you had a problem with one of her favorite people, her dad.
Before you could get away from him he reached out and brushed his fingers against your waist. How fucking dare you touch me, you thought. But where his skin had touched yours was rising warmth, goosebumps, TV static- a trigger. Your body answering to his, pitifully, willingly.
You made it to the door before anyone caught you or could stop it. All of those people in that room were there for you. It hurt leaving them, but it would hurt even more to have to bare it all to them.
You headed to the third floor of the art building, saying fuck it to waiting for the elevator. You didn’t want to give anyone the chance to catch you and ask questions. The sharp shutting of each metal door made you jump as you got to the last one, feet creaking the old water-damaged floor. This hidden bathroom had always been a hiding spot on particularly hard days, when critiques tore you down or you simply just couldn’t hold in erupting sadness. This was a new sinking feeling.
Despite the pain that gnawed at your jaw each and every time, you became adept at concealing tears, mastering the art of hiding the hurt as the drops silently rolled down your face. Tears meant weakness, it meant getting torn into deeper in your childhood home. A place you’d never really left.
You heard his footsteps before the door creaked shut. His boots falling heavy beneath him. He came into view and he started to open his mouth.
“I was 15,” you snarled.
“Do you do this often, Joel? Stalk your daughters friends and tell them how much you want your nasty cock in their mouth? Pay them to strip for you and pay them extra to stick their fingers in their pussy so you can get off? How many? How many fucking girls have you done this to Joel?”
Rage. You didn’t like to let out it of where it spent most of its time, walking back and forth across your chest, heavy, always present just beneath the skin. The one thing you had inherited from your dad. It was painful to keep it in, hose it down and stop it from simmering. It was easy to let it loose. It felt like unfurling.
He looked like a wounded puppy, brown eyes turned downward beneath drooping eyebrows. Why wasn’t he angry? You knew how to ‘deal’ with anger. It was easier to scream back and fight than it was to sit and be screamed at.
“Should I ask Sarah?” You threw the words in his face.
“Shh, shh. Lower your fuckin’ voice,” he growled. His entire demeanor shifting.
There it was.
He stepped towards you, towering above as he grabbed your shoulder losing himself for a moment, throwing you against the concrete wall behind you. You winced as your shoulder blades hit the cold. “One more loud word out of your pretty mouth and I will break you.”
One hand against the wall above your head, the other held out against the wall beside you, keeping you in place. He leaned down, smelling your hair, inhaling deeply. He kissed you on your forehead- all attempts at disarming you.
You thought about running again. Telling your dad how much of a perv his best friend was, simply to watch him release his anger. You knew how hard he hit. It was Joel’s turn.
“Why me?” You fawned.
He looked down into your eyes, moving his face close enough to yours to feel his warm breath against your cheeks. He was completely intoxicating. He smelled faintly of cigarettes, of booze. Lust. You could get lost beneath him. It wasn’t like you practically hadn’t across a computer screen, already.
“It was your eyes, Birdie.”
“My eyes?” You threw back at him. Looking into his eyes made it increasingly harder to think of anything other than your past encounters. His moans resurfacing, caressing the hardening of your nipples.
“What the fuck are you talking about you fucking psycho?” You attempted a shove, using your body weight to try and flee. You didn’t want to give into him. You needed to get away from him.
He didn’t move an inch. But you did invite more fury. His hand left the wall above you and moved down to your throat, then your chin. He moved it up towards him, so your eyes had nowhere to look but into his. His grip released some, but you were sure he’d leave bruises on your cheeks.
“Let me explain, okay? It’s not what you’re thinkin’. I’m not a freak. I saw that picture of you and I just wanted to help you, hold you, baby. This got out of hand and it wasn’t what I meant it to be. I didn’t know I was gonna need you like this. Just sit down and let me talk.”
The husky ‘baby’ hung in the air. It hung between your thighs, too. Why are you always drawn the bad, vile, disgusting things?
“Listen to you quantify how much you wanted to fuck 15 year old me? How it never left so you stuck around and waited for the ‘right’ moment? The one where you might not get arrested if you get caught? How you wanted to stick your cock inside your best friends daughter?”
“If you don’t shut your fuckin’ mouth,” he warned for the last time, spit hitting your lips. You licked it away, instinctively, and his cock twitched beneath his zipper.
“What? What exactly are you gonna do?”
You invited, drawing your hands up his chest.
“How ‘bout I show you, you fucking brat. You can’t hide from me. I see you, I can see through you. I saw you the very first time our eyes met and I see you now, wigglin’ beneath my touch. You need me sweet’heart, stop denyin’ it. I know you remember how I made you feel without me even touchin you.”
You nodded in disbelief at how disarming his words were.
“So let me touch you.” It wasn’t a question, as much as a demand. He moved his hands to your shoulder and turned you around, pulling up your dress from your front. He stopped midway, slowly releasing your breasts from where they sat in the part of the dress that snugly embraced you. One dropping, and then another. The clothing slid against your hardening buds. You could hear your breathing quickening.
As soon as your clothing thumped to the ground he returned to your skin, cupping your breasts. His hands completely engulfed them and for a moment it felt like he’d done it a million times. You fit so well against him. You were warm, buzzing for him.
He ‘hmmm’ed praises at your back as he pressed himself against you, moving you further into his hands, pushing you both deeper into the concrete wall. He was hard, fully erect against your back. You could feel him against your panties, so long his tip was hitting your lower back. He was big enough that his whole body had a point of contact with yours, enveloping you.
“Your effort not to melt under me is truly admirable.” He snarked, leaned in close, his warm breath tickling your earlobe as his tongue traced a path along the contours of your ear, sending shivers down your neck. He licked them, too. More appearing at the scratch of his beard against your neck.
Then, the warmth of his face was gone and you heard his knees crack as he bent down, reaching in front of you to move your ass towards his face, bending you ever so slightly to his will. Your underwear was delicately covering your cunt and he realized he’d never wanted anything more. He reached and spread your cheeks open.
“Oh so fuckin’ pretty sweet girl. Look at that,” he traced his thumb down the back of your cunt in awe, pushing the fabric deeper into the slick already coating them. You groaned at the relief of his fingers so close to the entrance of your holes.
“Nuh uh uh,” he tutted as you absentmindedly started to squirm beneath his wandering hands. He dug his thumbs into your ass, spreading you open once again. The warm pad of his fingertips turned wet, licking lines up and down your slit, panties pulled to the side. His face was fully between your legs, his nose teasing against your perineum. It wandered to your tense rim, and the flat warmth of his tongue was gone.
He spit.
“You’re the dirtiest girl I’ve ever seen, you know that? Letting me stick my tongue and nose on your pretty little asshole. Want me to fuck you here baby girl?” He circled it, pushing his spit in with the tip of his pointer finger. You whimpered.
“Hmm, I hear you. We’ll save that for next time. It wouldn’t be fair of me not to work you open first.” Breathless, “please Joel” falling from your lips.
“Oh fuck. Say it again. I’ve been waitin’ for my name to pass your pretty lips.”
“Joel, please.” You begged. At this point you didn’t know what exactly you were begging for, besides a release. A release from the situation at hand but more so a release from the pressure he’s causing in your abdomen… in your cunt.
He smirked against you, pointing his tongue into your hole, circling and lapping at you. The noise you made against his tongue as it entered you was absolutely vulgar.
“Could taste these sweet juices for the rest of my fuckin’ life.” He was on his knees now.
He was coaxing sounds out of the base of your throat that you’d never heard before, directing you to stand on your tippy toes, palms against the wall so he could fuck his tongue deeper into you.
You wanted to take him whole, right there. Feel the stretch as he sheathed himself fully into you, claiming you. You wanted the pain.
“Joel, I-“ God he felt so fucking euphoric, mustache tickling your clit as he worked his way up and down your pussy.
“Tell me baby, use your words,” he murmured into you.
“Take me, right now, please. Can’t wait Joel, I’ve been waiting so long.” God you sounded pathetic.
Two of his fingered entered you, fully. You gasped at the fullness and lack of warning.
“You wanna take my cock? You’re so tight you can barely handle two of my fingers. So fuckin’ impatient, hmm?” He curled them upwards and you felt the release.
“Let it happen. Stop fightin’ it and let it out baby. I’ll catch you.”
You went to church a few times growing up. You always admired the fervor and devotion the congregation would sing to the sky, lift their arms and release themselves. That is how you wanted to give yourself to Joel, to sing for him, exalt him with praise and surrender yourself completely.
You wanted him to release you from all of your sins.
“I can take it. Please Joel. Please.”
He rose from the ground, pulling his fingers out of you and suddenly the room had quieted from the sound of your desire, now covering and dripping down his wrist, his chin.
“Then take it.” He tapped your cunt with his throbbing tip, moving his cock around to pick up your juices.
He wrapped his arm around you, covering your mouth, letting you drop your head on his bicep, face towards the roof as he made himself one with you.
Then, you let yourself go and he ripped you open. And you laughed and laughed, through the pleasure and the undoing. The fullness of him was enough to turn you slack in his arms. Screaming moans against his hand, until all of your devotion turned violent.
-
Chapter 4: DEFILE
”And all of my devotion turns violent.” - Japanese Breakfast, Boyish
A/N: THANK YOUUU for over 1.1k notes on Part 1 and 200+ follows. Writing has been a much needed escape for me, so thanks for coming along for the ride <3
Summary: It used to be benzos to take off the sharp pain of the day, this life- now it’s Joel fucking Miller.
Warnings: mdni, 18+, eventual smut (c’mon…wouldn’t be a celebration without it)
This is satire. Kinda. It’s me laughing at myself & my love for this fictional man. But you’re laughing along, because you get it. Let me know what you think!!
This is a part of my 700 follower’s celebration. Read the detailed description here 🩷
It all started with this:
Let me set the scene:
It’s 9:45pm on a Friday, and this is better than having the house to yourself. This is the time of week where we tuck our children (and husbands) in, and we gather around this shitty glass table as the tales are whispered through. It starts off with your usual: sugar-salted peach margaritas turned to two, a joint, and then the riveting conversation of, “now who would leave that dick?”
We call ourselves ‘Joel Miller’s Neighborhood Wives’. It’s a mouthful. But we like a mouthful. So- sit down, have a smoke, a wee little drink, and listen to the goss.
The neighborhood wives (Kat, Kali, Chloe on the right of you, Kit, Vic, Bug & Angela to the left) are all cuddled around Kat’s patio, enacting a dramatic retelling of ‘who the fuck is Joel Miller?’ Himself, somewhere across the street, wondering why every now and then he hears a chorus of squeals. Then, he smiles to himself and wishes he had the guts to grace y’all with his presence. He’s not invited though.
This is the first time you’ve hung out with them, and maybe the last, tbh. No way this Miller guy is worth all this fuss.
And, action.
It used to be benzos to take off the sharp pain of the day, this life- now it’s Joel fucking Miller. We take whatever we can get from him, between when we hear his truck two streets over, lightly running across the hollow wooden floors to put on our slippers. The low growl from his truck pipes (or yours) grows louder as he turns the corner onto the street. We watch as he drops out of the truck and thuds against the concrete, slamming that damn door closed. Probably how he lets all his ladies know he’s home. Our eyes follow his form, tapping all the way up to his front door before he takes those goddamn cowboy boots off. We stumble out of the front door and check the mail. Well, only for the third time that morning. What? We are all always expecting something, alright? You catch what you can before his shoulders disappear through the blue-chipped front door, right back into his house. We close the mailboxes simultaneously and sadly drip back to our front doors. No hello’s today.
Sometimes later in the night before supper, you’ll see the door shaped hole widen in the darkness, warmth boasting from behind as Joel’s form takes up the light, smiling as he pats Tommy on his way inside. Tommy usually drinks too much and stays the night, so we sit back and tend to the family. We ride our delusions in the meantime. Then, the cycle continues. It’s like… the cycle of life. You know?
He seems like your typical gentleman, Joel. A Southern-raised man, one who would let you be his nuclear-family sweetheart. Cook for him, clean for him, spread *it open for him, let his massive fucking hands feel any part of you they wanted. Especially if that meant they were to explore more under the stiff shirtwaist dresses. Or in. We would all rather him in.
Spread, what, exactly? Oh yeah dude, sorry. I meant: *Cunt, asshole, any part of you he wanted to look down the middle of and split open, really. We aren’t shy about it when it comes to talking to each other. Obviously.
The aforementioned Tommy?
That’s his brother, probably about seven or eight years younger. He is a beau too, but he doesn’t seem the type to really fuck it out of ya. I mean sure, he has done his fair share of fucking around with the moms’ of the neighborhood, too. Bug even whispered a tale of Tommy going after those mom’s college daughters, swooping in to help clean the pool before setting them gently on the concrete and swiping their panties to the side as he buried his face in them. He always made sure they were at least 22. This is only moments after the pretty younger girls make their way back into the pretty, white iron gates afront their parents' houses.
Fair enough, he has the same curls wrapping down the base of his neck, kissing the skin beneath them. He has the ‘Miller Smirk’ - what the town wives call it. The Miller brothers are known throughout the neighborhood for their distinct brand of charm. Both possess an effortless charisma that begs you to get on your knees. But they never let us. Sad. Their shared features aren’t few, but none are as similar and charming as their half-smiles. Grins always slightly tilted, as if they were sharing an inside joke with each other but not the rest of the world.
So of course Tommy is desired to an extent, physically, of course. Emotionally? Probably not. But shit, you’d have both if you could. Paris looks great this time of year. Anyways.
He wasn’t the Miller we all grappled over and wanted so deeply, despite a metal band around our fingers (or not). His competency and willingness. They way he looks at his daughter. Oh yeah…girl dad. The way he looks in the Texas heat. His back, flexed and sweating through his too-tight shirt. “The day that man wears a white shirt and it’s over 90 degrees- I will drop fucking dead. Someone take care of the kid for me,” Kat.
There’s been one story about Joel that is retold over and over like it’s fuckin’ Genesis Chapter 3, creation and all. The story on how, why, we all got here to begin with. No one can agree who first told it. Angela or Bug, shit…was it Chloe? Okay, okay, it really doesn’t matter at the moment. Just listen.
It was late August, three years ago. Hot and dripping with the dead-end heat of summer. Almost as if it was giving all it could before the last of it sputtered out and away, knowing Fall was right around the corner to take its place- happy to finally have a rest. A for sale sign that had been smiling at you for months was suddenly gone, the dirt still fresh from where it had been happily ripped. Joel Miller, Mr. Texas cowboy himself showed up one day as the crickets started singing, he kissed the cicadas goodbye for the season, unloaded the Miller Construction van and then he never left. A few weeks later after he and his brother fixed up the place, a little girl was running up the concrete to the front door. But there was no wife.
When he moved into the neighborhood, a new era dawned. It was one where the wives would rather mow the lawn, take the trash cans out on Wednesday nights, and tend to the long-forgotten garden. No really, all of our gardens are pristine now. Because somewhere not too far away there was a beautiful, muscular man with a mustache you wanted to wet, and God, his nose. A nose that was prominent even a few houses down, sun setting behind as it sat there strong and just uh- you knew a nose like that would be tickling your clit while he used his tongue other places. Or the other way around, whichever way you were sitting. Whatever way he wanted you to sit.
It was something about that deep navy cotton shirt his chest and shoulders grace about once or twice a week. The other is some form of a Lakers’ tee, yellow or purple, love-worn but scrunched up and stretched in the right places. You’ll see. Maybe that in itself, how it wraps around his sun-bathed/loved/kissed skin is the reason for everyone’s fever induced fluster. Maybe it’s the drawl, and the fact he absolutely drips of sex.
Most interactions end with deep breaths leaning against the door, knocking on your chest. Or texting the group message (we’ll add you in a minute, it’s called JMW)((Joel Miller’s Whores)). He always has something to say, something to coo at you while you in turn try not to purr back… at least with your mouth. Although no, because you would purr around him with your mouth if he’d only ask for it.
But you? Metaphorically, denoting us all. No, he would never look down upon you, between his eyelashes and brooding smile, dark, tanned skin smelling of the day- “want you to pull the pretty dress up and get on your knees. I’m tired from the day, workin’ so hard for this family. Leas’ you could do is suck my cock, no?” And he didn’t know it, but he was right. He did work so hard for this family. He was your maladaptive daydreaming, he’s what you giggle at during fake conversations, he was the cock slipping between your hungry folds at night.
Instead, it was half-baked smiles and short waves in the drop off line in the morning. He walks Sarah in, every single day. She’s getting to the age where she seems like she’d deter the sweet action, but she doesn’t- she loves him that much. We never see him in the afternoon, his barely-present wife (he has to have a wife, right? Like Bug says, “I mean look at him”), was probably the one picking up Sarah. Probably taking her to some even bigger house on the richer side of town because it's her turn to watch her. How the hell could you leave someone like Joel?
But regardless, we never see her. Never have the entire time we’ve peeked out of our blinds, running to turn off the lamp so no one can see the strip of light coming from the window.
He has never brought a woman inside of that house, let alone has anyone left it. Once, Tommy brought a girl to their Thanksgiving dinner and Vic told Kit she had come alone, first, and hugged Joel. That “Joel was extra smiley to her.” Moral of the story, we don’t know for sure if he’s still married or he’s just somehow keeping that dick to himself.
Jesus, Kat retold that story for three fucking weeks. But, we don’t really blame her. It was how it all began.
Don’t get me wrong, Joel Miller is available- if that pesky little wasp hive directly atop your living room window is getting out of hand, and you just happen to be a single mom who so desperately needs a man’s touch. Not like that. Well, yeah like that. Then, you could count on Joel Miller to back up his old blue truck bed into your driveway, set up his ladder, and allow you to spend the next hour watching through the window as his shirt pulls up his stomach as he does his diligent work.
His v-lines kissed by veins and tufted black hair towards his middle, peeking up and saying hello every time his jeans got a little too low. Musta forgot his usual belt. Or maybe his work belt was a tad too heavy today. Uh, to take that pressure off of his back for him, and into your hands.
-
But him owing you? That’s a different kind of available. It was a week later, the morning before the mom gathering, and you had only seen Joel once. Yes… peaking through your blinds. Then you heard his voice.
“Hi ma’am,” he waved, turning your attention from where you were setting your bags in the car. “Sarah, ask the pretty lady what you wanted, don’t make her wait any longer in this heat.” He was loading his work tools into the bed of his pickup. Another bed of his you’d like to grace.
Shit. Maybe this Miller was worth the fuss.
-
Part 2 later this week babes <3 It will be an actual fic, hehe.
