Title: Kinktober Day 16 (Public / Medical Play / Body Swap)
Word Count: 822
Pairing: Captain Spaulding / Reader
Warnings: Slight humiliation
@glistening-gore, @captain-spauldings
It’s a slow day, as are most days, but for whatever reason, today, the dragging of time was beginning to gnaw at your nerves. It made you almost wish that some curious passerby would make their way through the door before flooding you with questions about the curious nature of this shop. Of course, you couldn’t blame them, it was peculiar, but in your time here, you’d grown used to it and had grown to find the questions uninspiring. It made you understand why Spaulding was the way he was with tourists who landed here and acted as though they had just stepped foot off a spacecraft. Perhaps that was a sign you had let your roots grow too deep within this small town in Texas.
The glass is hard against your elbows of where you rest your weight, a book by Manly P. Hall placed between them. Your eyes skim over the worn, yellowed book’s pages absorbing the words printed on the musty pulp. The sound of gravel crunching beneath tires can be heard faintly from a distance, and you exhale softly in anticipation of having to deal with some snot-nosed tourist. Presently though, the sound of heavy footsteps approaching is something that has your eyes flickering up from your book to catch the source before they return to their downcast position.
“Ya know, I pay ya to work, not read.” Spaulding speaks in a lilting voice as he putters around the oddities shop. It’s hard to tell if he genuinely is joking around or in a sour mood; the two seemed to often coexist in such an indistinct fashion. However, you’re willing to roll the dice of chance and bank on it being the former.
“That line might work if you, ya know, actually paid me.” You roll your eyes, rereading a passage you hadn’t entirely absorbed due to being rudely interrupted.
“Roof over yer head ain’t enough?” The man snaps back. However, the chuckle he emits shortly after tells you that this is nothing more than banter, and you didn’t have to worry about facing the temper that simmered below layers of greasepaint.
“Could be better.” You say, lifting your head with a smirk to catch his gaze. Blackened lips spread into a yellowed smile before he let out a long whistle that echoed through the storefront. He walks towards you, clown shows flopping against the stained cement. You don’t give him the satisfaction of acknowledging him or his advances instead of focusing on the words printed on the paper. They’ve lost meaning at this point and seem to be closer to hieroglyphics than English.
You catch your lower lip between your teeth, swallowing an undignified nose as Grimey hands find your waist. And while you can swallow the noises you make, the shiver that rolls through your body like a wave can’t be hidden. “This whatcha want?”
You don’t answer, instead just press your hips back against his groin in a not-so-subtle attempt at seduction. Spaulding laughs; the noise snared between glee and something more sinister. He leans forward, the blue pom-poms of the patriotic clown suit pressing into your shirt. Lips press against your ear, puffs of warm breath tickling the skin. “Want me to fuck ya like a whore right out in the open?”
This time, you moan aloud, head tipping back to rest against his broad shoulder. The grip he has on your waist tightens as he begins to grind his swelling cock against the curve of your ass. “I believe, I asked, ya a goddamn question.”
“Yes, please.” You whisper, eyes falling shut. A wet kiss is placed to the side of your head in praise for your obedience, you’re sure some paint probably stains your skin and clings to the wisps of your hair, but you can’t bring yourself to mind.
“Don’t even care if anyone walks in? Or is that what ya want?” Sometimes, you think that Spaulding just enjoys hearing himself prattle on, allowing filth to slide off his tongue and worm its way through your soul, leaving heat in its wake. Of course, you’d be a filthy liar to say that the depraved things he spewed didn’t affect you. “Do ya want to be the center of attention here, baby? Might draw in some better cash than the murder ride, what do you think?” You go to open your mouth to sputter out a response, but a crisp bell ringing derails your train of thought, leaving the remnants to catch fire.
Eyes snap open to see the shocked faces of what was clearly out of place tourists staring at the sight before them. Mouths slightly agape and cheeks flushed yet unable to turn their sights away from the horrors that lay before them. You wonder what had them so shell shocked? Was it Spaulding enveloping your body with a wicked grin? Or perhaps the alligator boy who was proudly displayed.
