#try quinn

[kisscoabbot]

SHAWN HATOSY EATING YOU OUT AND BEGGING TO FUCK YOU WHILE HE CALLS YOU A GOOD GIRL AND DEMANDS TO KEEP YOUR EYES ON HIS WHILE HE LITERALLY LITERALLYYYY RAMS INTO YOU OMFG

[heatedrivalrysource]

via Aaron Idelson

how much hudcon is too much hudcon? 🥸 another batch of fun ones from @connorstorrieofficial and @hudsonwilliamsofficial for @tryquinn - first two episodes available now in the app!!!!

[dearwalker]

Shawn Hatosy really said I see you all writing fanfiction and now I’m gonna give you porn in audio because I want to be part of it I–

[nowimconvinced]

18+ or dni

Teasing Grant

Grant Reilly

Contains: public orgasm, cnc orgasm, coaxed orgasm, grinding, some fluff if you squint

🩷🩷🩷

Grant was slowly rubbing your hips in slow circles as you sat on his lap, trying to concentrate on the conversation. Drinks after work with the team after service, which usually you would avoid staying for, preferring to leave twenty minutes before Grant, sitting in his car ready for him to take you home and to his bed. It was Tim's birthday today, and he'd put in an excellent shift, so Grant had felt he needed to stay for one. With the lack of chairs in the kitchen, you had innocently sat on his lap. He really, really hoped you wouldn't stand up and reveal how fucking hard you made him. Or he hoped you would so he could calm down a little. Grant tried to keep up with conversation but it was impossible. Your hair brushed against his face, the smell of your neck (perfume? body wash?.... fresh sweat?), and your natural movement on his hips as you laughed and reached for your drink. Fuck, he was hard.

Grant found himself finding excuses to move, any reason really, to feel your lap grind against his cock. Pleasure shot through him over and over and over again. Just little circles, he thought, pressing into you. No one would notice. Grant knew he was kidding himself. He also knew you felt it, his hardness pressed against the soft gap between your perfect ass and, what felt like dampening, pussy. He wasn't sure how you were giving such a good performance, a deadpan face and contributions to the conversation, when his eyes were practically rolling.

Grant was too old for this. Forty was too old to be dry humping your illicit love / co-worker in a group of friends. And yet... Sure, when you were sad, he would pull you onto his lap for comfort, sweet and slow, intimate movements to feel loved. Cared for. Or when you were on the sofa and you straddled him with that look in your eye, and that certain smirk on your face, he knew he would get to touch you. 'Like this? Does this make you feel good?' Grant always wanted to make sure you came first, with or without underwear. Positioning you wgere you whispered you wanted, then dragging your hips back and forward, grinding his cock up into you to give you the friction you needed. Pulling you along your whole length, often pausing at the head of his cock and rolling his hips so it kissed the sweet bud at the top, over and over until you came, his name spilling out of your mouth like your wetness soaked his boxers.

Sometimes you liked to grind on him, lying on his back, eager and pliant for you to take what you needed, coaxing the orgasm from deep within your stomach, until eventually you came. You came and it was the most beautiful sound. He would lie back, panting, chest heaving, looking up at you, his hair wild, barely able to speak.

But this... Fuck. As conversation went on, and you got bolder with your glass of champagne, your movements became more calculated and persistent. A sound escaped the back of Grant's throat, hopefully quiet enough that no one else heard, but an involuntary warning to you he was close. Grant had never cum in public before, as old and experienced as he was, it had just never happened, and he wasn't sure he could keep it together. The longer you continued, the more sensitive he became, until he could feel it coming. He was be helpless to stop it. Grant squeezed the side of your hip no one could see to let you know. You stopped moving as much, it was clear he couldn't take any more teasing, and you weren't that mean. Until someone made you laugh. Really made you laugh, hard. It was too late. It was coming.

Grant's body went still, a suppressed moan left his mouth, and he tried desperately to keep his face neutral. His orgasm washed over him, making his body shudder a little, his calf muscles clenching and unclenching. You felt a final thrust of Grant's hips up into you, less discreet this time, more on reflex, as he came. A forty year old man cumming in his boxers whilst his pretty coworker, twenty years younger, had sat innocently on his lap. No one had thought anything of it, but they turned when Grant made a sound.

'Grant!' Hannah exclaimed. 'Are you okay?' Grant couldn't speak, he was still cumming, his hard cock still relieving itself of the pressure. Spurts of cum spilled all inside his boxers, spraying down the material. Grant just nodded his head, his breathing erratic, as waves of pleasure continued washing over him. And then you moved. Oh, you moved. Your perfect little ass ground just a little more, prolonging his orgasm, and he was helpless to stop you, to stop cumming.

'I think he's got heartburn,' you said quickly. It was a ridiculous excuse, it didn't make any sense, but Grant was head chef and no one wanted to comment on the old man's health.

Everyone hastily returned to conversation, and Grant's head flopped back a little, praying you didn't stand up and reveal the rapidly spreading wet patch in his drawstring pants, and the sticky back of yours.

He longed to kiss you, to thank you, to show you how lucky he was, open mouth kisses where he could moan your name onto your tongue and you could swallow his satisfied bliss. That would need to come later... when he could finally walk again.

[shilyas]

HUDSON WILLIAMS | Ember & Ice Extended Quinn Interview

[i00que]

MEMO ── JACK / TASTE TESTER .

NOTES : you are chef abbot's favourite waitress and taste tester, he decides he wants to taste you instead.

WARNINGS : light food play, foreplay, fingering, kissing, boss x employee, age gap, finger sucking, kissing, semi-public, female oral, chef kink, spanking, aftercare, praise, degrading, sauce is included.

CONFIDENTIAL MATERIAL ── 18+ ONLY.

the dinner rush had ended an hour ago, but jack's kitchen was still alive with the low hum of cleaning equipment and the smell of stock simmering on the back burner. he stood at the pass, jacket unbuttoned, sleeves rolled to the elbow, marking up tomorrow's menu with a pen that had seen better days.

he didn't look up when you came in.

"you're late," he said, flipping the page. a beat of silence. then — a plate slid across the steel counter toward you. something small. perfectly plated. the dish he'd been testing all week, the one he hadn't let anyone taste yet.

he still didn't look up.

"tell me what's wrong with it."

you approach the counter slowly, your waitress uniform—a simple black blouse and skirt that hugs your hips—still carrying the faint scent of the dining room's polished wood and lingering wine. at 24, you're his favorite for good reason: quick on your feet, always with a smile that disarms even the rowdiest tables, and those soft curves that catch his eye when no one's watching. the kitchen feels quieter now, the back door cracked open to let in the cool night air, but the faint clatter from the dish pit reminds you you're not entirely alone. there's a charge in the air tonight, thicker than usual, like the steam from the pots has woven itself into something unspoken between you two.

you pick up the fork, the plate warm under your fingers, and take a small bite. it's rich—tender meat glazed in a sauce that's savory with a hint of spice, paired with delicate vegetables that melt on your tongue. but there's something off, a subtle imbalance in the seasoning that lingers just a touch too sharp. you savor it, letting the flavors settle, aware of his presence like a weight at the edge of your vision.

"it's almost perfect, chef," you say softly, setting the fork down, your voice carrying a hint of nervousness that you can't quite hide. "the sauce is bold, but maybe a bit more sweetness to balance the heat?"

jack finally lifts his head, his sharp blue eyes locking onto yours. at 42, he's all lean muscle from years on his feet, his face etched with the lines of someone who demands excellence. a smirk tugs at his lips, slow and knowing, as if he's been waiting for this exact moment. he doesn't move at first, just holds your gaze, letting the silence stretch until it hums with tension. the pen taps once against the counter, a deliberate rhythm that matches the quickening beat of your heart.

"almost perfect," he echoes, his voice low and gravelly, rolling the words like he's tasting them himself. he rounds the counter then, not rushing, each step measured, closing the distance between you with a predator's patience. the air thickens, charged with that unspoken tension that's been building for weeks—stolen glances during service, his hand brushing yours when passing plates, the way his eyes linger on the sway of your skirt as you weave through the dining room.

he stops just inches away, close enough that you can smell the faint spice on his skin, mixed with the kitchen's warmth. his hand reaches out, not to touch you yet, but to hover near your face, thumb brushing the air as if deciding. then, with deliberate slowness, he swipes a stray bit of sauce from the corner of your mouth. the pad of his thumb lingers on your lower lip, pressing just enough to part them slightly, sending a spark through you. he brings it to his own lips, sucking it clean with a soft hum, his eyes darkening as they stay fixed on yours.

"you've got good taste, sweetheart," he murmurs, the endearment wrapping around you like smoke. "but words aren't enough in my kitchen. i need to see how it sits with you. how you react."

your breath catches, the proximity making your skin prickle. he doesn't back away; instead, he leans in closer, his free hand settling lightly on your hip, fingers splaying over the fabric of your skirt. it's not forceful, not yet—just a claim, warm and steady, grounding you against the counter. the faint clatter from the dish pit fades into the background, but the risk of it sharpens everything, makes your pulse thrum in your ears.

"jack," you whisper, unsure if it's a plea or an invitation, but he smiles at the sound of his name on your lips, small and intimate.

"shh," he soothes, his thumb tracing your jaw now, tilting your chin up. "just relax. let me show you what i mean." his face dips lower, breath ghosting over your neck, not touching yet, teasing the sensitive skin there with warmth alone. you tilt your head instinctively, exposing more, and he rewards you with a soft chuckle, the vibration rumbling against your collarbone.

then his lips brush your neck—light at first, a feather-touch that raises goosebumps. he kisses there slowly, open-mouthed, tongue flicking out to taste the salt of your skin mingled with the faint trace of the dining room's bustle. each press is deliberate, building heat layer by layer, his stubble scraping just enough to make you shiver. "you work so hard out there," he murmurs against your pulse point, lips vibrating the words. "bending over tables, smiling through the chaos. makes a man wonder what else you're good at keeping up with."

his hand on your hip tightens slightly, pulling you flush against him, and you feel the hard line of his body, the evidence of his arousal pressing into your belly. but he doesn't rush; instead, he trails kisses up your neck, nipping at your earlobe before capturing your mouth in a kiss that's surprisingly gentle at first. his lips move against yours with a slow exploration, tongue teasing the seam until you open for him, letting him deepen it. it's intimate, consuming—the taste of him, coffee and spice, mixing with the sauce still on your tongue.

you melt into it, hands rising to grip his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric as he explores your mouth with languid strokes. when he pulls back, it's only enough to rest his forehead against yours, breaths mingling. "that's better," he says softly, voice roughened. "now, about that dish..."

he guides your hand back to the plate, his fingers intertwining with yours as he dips them both into the warm sauce. the liquid coats your skin, sticky and inviting, and he lifts your joined hands to his mouth. his tongue swirls around your fingertips first, hot and wet, sucking gently while his eyes hold yours captive. the sensation shoots straight down your spine, pooling heat between your thighs. he moves to his own fingers next, but not before pressing a kiss to your palm, lingering there as if savoring more than just the food.

"see how it clings?" he asks, releasing your hand with a wet pop. "that's what i want from you—clinging, needy, perfect." his free hand slides up your arm, tracing the curve of your shoulder before tangling lightly in your hair. he kisses you again, deeper this time, the sauce forgotten as his body presses closer, trapping you against the counter.

the foreplay builds like a slow simmer, his mouth returning to your neck, sucking marks into the skin that you'll have to hide tomorrow. his hands roam—sliding under your blouse to caress your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts through your bra. you arch into him, a soft whimper escaping, and he groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your throat.

"fuck, you're responsive," he breathes, nipping at your collarbone. "my favorite little waitress, all flushed and eager. been thinking about this all shift—getting you alone, tasting every inch." his fingers work open the buttons of your blouse one by one, exposing lace and skin to the cool kitchen air. he doesn't strip you fully, just enough to palm your breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers until it's peaked and aching.

you gasp, hands fisting in his jacket, pulling him closer. the tension coils tighter, every touch electric, the semi-public setting amplifying it—the distant hum of the exhaust fan, the occasional clink from afar. "jack, please," you murmur, voice breathy, your body aching for more.

he smiles against your skin, dark and promising. "patience, sweetheart. i want to savor you like one of my recipes." he drops to his knees then, surprising you, his hands pushing your skirt higher as he kisses a trail down your sternum, over your stomach. the counter supports you as he hooks his fingers into your panties, sliding them down slowly, inch by inch, letting the fabric drag against your thighs.

exposed now, cool air kissing your bare folds, you feel vulnerable and thrilled. he doesn't dive in immediately; instead, he presses open-mouthed kisses to your inner thighs, alternating sides, teeth grazing just enough to tease. "spread for me," he commands softly, and you do, feet parting on the tiled floor. his breath fans over your cunt, warm and torturous, before his tongue finally makes contact—a long, slow lick from entrance to clit, savoring you with a deep hum.

"better than any sauce," he mutters, voice muffled as he laps at you steadily, tongue flat and broad. his hands grip your thighs, holding you open while he explores—circling your clit with the tip, then dipping inside to thrust shallowly. the wet sounds fill the kitchen, obscene and intimate, your arousal coating his chin as you thread fingers through his hair, holding him there.

pleasure builds gradually, his pace unhurried, drawing out every gasp and moan. he pauses to kiss your thigh again, looking up at you with hooded eyes. "you taste so fucking sweet, dripping for your chef." then he's back, sucking your clit gently, fingers joining to slide inside you—two thick digits curling against your walls, stretching you with a slow pump.

"j-jack—oh, it's too good," you stutter, hips rocking against his face, the coil tightening low in your belly. he adds a third finger, the fullness making you clench, his tongue relentless now, flicking and sucking in rhythm.

but he doesn't let you cum yet, pulling back with a smirk, lips glistening. "not on my tongue alone. i want you begging for my cock." rising, he captures your mouth again, letting you taste yourself on him—the kiss messy and deep, his hands everywhere, pinching nipples, gripping your ass.

finally, the tension snaps into action. he spins you roughly, bending you over the counter, your chest pressing against the cool steel. the plate is shoved aside, sauce spilling slightly, and he uses it—dipping his fingers in to trace the liquid along your spine before licking it off with hot, possessive strokes. "marked with my flavors," he growls, smacking your ass once, the sting blooming into heat.

"good girl, so ready for me." he frees his cock, thick and veined, rubbing the head along your slick entrance, teasing without entering. you push back, whimpering, and he chuckles, delivering another light spank. "eager little thing. my pretty slut in the kitchen."

with a firm thrust, he sinks in, the stretch intense and perfect, your cunt gripping him tight. he doesn't pound immediately; instead, he rolls his hips slowly, grinding deep, one hand in your hair to arch you back for neck kisses—wet and sucking, marking you further. "feel that? chef's cock filling you up, right where you serve my plates."

the pace builds gradually, his thrusts deepening, the slap of skin echoing. he reaches around to rub your clit, fingers slippery, drawing out moans. "take it, sweetheart—let me ruin this tight cunt."

pulling out, he turns you again, lifting you onto the counter. legs wrapping his waist, he slides back in, face to face, kissing you deeply as he thrusts up, slow and intimate at first, then rougher. he sucks on your neck, whispering dirty praises—"so beautiful like this, bouncing on me, my favorite girl."

he grabs a bit of the meat from the plate, feeding it to you mid-thrust, the intimacy of it heightening everything. 

your orgasm crashes over you in waves, body shuddering as you clench around jack's cock, walls fluttering and milking him deep inside. the intensity pulls a ragged cry from your throat, muffled against his shoulder as you bite down lightly on the fabric of his shirt. he thrusts through it, grinding hard against your clit with each roll of his hips, prolonging the bliss until your legs tremble uncontrollably around his waist.

jack follows seconds later, burying himself to the hilt with a guttural groan, his release flooding you in hot spurts that paint your insides. his arms band tight around your back, holding you pinned to him as he rides out the aftershocks, cock twitching with every pulse. the kitchen air hangs heavy with the scent of sex and spilled sauce, the counter sticky beneath you from the forgotten plate.

he doesn't pull out right away, staying seated deep as your breaths sync in the quiet aftermath. slowly, he eases you down from the high, one hand stroking up your spine in soothing circles while the other cups the nape of your neck. his lips find your forehead first—a soft, lingering press that grounds you, followed by a trail of gentle kisses across your temple, down to your cheek. 'easy now, sweetheart,' he whispers, voice husky but warm, all the earlier roughness melted away into something tender.

you wrap your arms around his neck, fingers threading into the short hairs at his collar, pulling him closer as if afraid he'll vanish. he indulges you, nuzzling into the crook of your shoulder, planting feather-light kisses along your collarbone and up to the sensitive spot just below your ear. each one is unhurried, reverent, his stubble grazing your skin in a way that sends little aftershocks tingling through you. 'you did so good for me,' he murmurs between kisses, lips brushing your jaw. 'took every inch like you were made for it.'

the intimacy wraps around you both like a blanket, his body still joined with yours, the warmth of him seeping into your core. he shifts slightly, careful not to jostle too much, and captures your mouth in a slow, deep kiss—no rush, just the slide of tongues and shared breaths, tasting the remnants of sauce and sweat. your arms tighten around his neck, holding him there, and he hums in approval, one hand sliding up to cradle your face, thumb stroking your flushed cheek.

minutes pass like that, lost in the soft exploration, until your heartbeats slow to a steady rhythm. only then does he withdraw gently, a wet slide that makes you both hiss at the loss. he helps you off the counter, steadying you on wobbly legs, his hands never leaving your hips. 'got you,' he says softly, turning you to face him fully. he buttons your blouse with careful fingers, tucking a stray hair behind your ear before leaning in for another kiss—this one to your nose, playful and sweet.

you lean into his chest, arms looping back around his neck, and he obliges, wrapping you in a loose embrace. his lips ghost over your neck again, not heated this time, but comforting, tracing the faint marks he'll have to explain away later. 'feel better?' he asks, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes, a small smile curving his mouth.

'mm, much,' you reply, voice still breathy, nuzzling closer. the distant clatter from the dish pit reminds you of the world outside this bubble, but it feels far away, insignificant.

jack chuckles low, his hands settling on your waist as he sways you gently, almost like a dance. he kisses your lips once more, soft and chaste, before glancing at the ruined plate beside you—the meat half-eaten, sauce smeared across the steel. his eyes sparkle with mischief. 'so, now that you've had your fill... how was the meat?'

you burst into laughter, the absurdity hitting you amid the post-orgasm haze, burying your face in his neck to muffle the giggles. 'jack! you're terrible.'

he grins, unrepentant, pulling you tighter. 'what? quality control's important. can't have my favorite critic going hungry.' he waggles his eyebrows, stealing one last kiss before helping you straighten your skirt. 'but seriously—tomorrow night, we refine the recipe. starting with dessert.'

you leave the kitchen with a smile, legs still a bit unsteady, the promise of more lingering like the best kind of secret.

[yothatlifewecouldvelived]

i genuinely think about them in fairy wings multiple times a day

[noahreids]

Connor Storrie & Hudson Williams for Quinn "I did this for his sister, specifically." 😂