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I am currently on permanent hiatus -- thank you to everyone who was a loyal reader over the past few years! Lately, I’ve been writing upwards of 5K words a day in preparation for becoming a published author, so I do not have the time to write fanfic anymore. Please rest assured that if inspiration ever strikes again or I find myself with loads of free time, I will try my hand at fanfic again!
Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader, Marc Spector x fem!Reader, and Marcus Pike x fem!Reader
Warnings: excessive smut, age gap (Reader is 18+), voyeurism, gang bang, unrelated characters interacting, slight housewife kink, possessiveness kink, exhibitionism, spit kink, dom/sub interactions, hand job, degredation, oral sex (m and f receiving), jealousy, squirting, cum eating, creampie, unprotected p in v sex, breeding kink, etc.
Hi y’all! My fingers slipped and created this filth. Does this span multiple universes based on my current faves? Yes, yes it does. Enjoy!
Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers (as AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'). You also agree that you're at least 18+.
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Their eyes never leave your figure as you replace empty beer bottles and put chips out in the center of the table -- not like it bothers you. After all, each one has seen you naked and completely cock drunk, so there’s nothing left for you to hide. You return their heavy stares with a flirtatious wink and prance back into the kitchen, the bounce in your step making your ass jiggle enticingly.
Frankie, your current employer, had asked you to play hostess for the night while he and his friends played cards. You’d eagerly agreed, wanting nothing more than to spend the night around other adults instead of Frankie’s toddler, though you loved her dearly.
You arrived ready to feed three hungry men and be Frankie’s eye candy for a few hours, but were surprised to see both Marc and Marcus sitting at his table, “Oh! What a small world! I had no idea you knew each other!”
With a smirk, Marc saunters over and take the grocery bag out of your left hand, murmuring, “You know we all have similar tastes, sweetheart.”
“Oh,” was all you could say, now certain that Frankie didn’t just want you to be his hostess for the evening. So while you served dinner and made jokes and even played a couple hands, you indulged their wandering hands and shameless innuendos with pride.
But after a few hours, the men start to get bored and are in need of entertainment. Frankie calls your name and you come stand over his shoulder while he wraps a familiar arm around your hips. “I’m hoping you can settle a bet for us, querida,” he says with his face tilted up towards yours and split in a knowing grin.
Based on how the rest of the night has gone, you’re pretty sure what he’ll ask, but you feign innocence and play along, “Of course, Frankie. What is it?” Three pairs of dark eyes rake over you, lingering hungrily on your pouted lips and exposed shoulders and popped hip.
“We’re wondering,” Frankie gestures around the table, “Who is the better fuck.” You follow the motion of his hand and meet the gaze of Marc and Marcus, the former offering you a sly look and the latter flushed pink but still confident.
You gently pull away from Frankie and begin to circle the table like a shark, “What an interesting question. Honestly, I don’t know...” Trailing off as you lean down to wrap your arms around Marcus’ shoulders, you purr, “I might need a reminder.”
Marc chimes in, “That can be arranged, sweetheart, as long as we get to watch. You know, fairness and all.” Giggling, you nod, and Marc asks, “Alright, who do you want to have first?”
You lick the shell of Marcus’ ear, making him shiver, and you breathily offer, “How about in order of employment? What do you think, sir?” Without giving Marcus a chance to respond, you slide into his lap and slip your hands beneath his half-buttoned dress shirt.
The honorific stirs something in the mild-mannered man, hardening his stare and tightening his grip on your hips. “I think my old secretary has some organizing to do,” he murmurs, flicking his tongue out to lick it across your bottom lip, “Gotta figure out how we’re ranked...who goes where, huh, baby?”
To your left, Marc groans, and behind you, Frankie curses low and dark. “Wanna have some fun,” you whine in response, circling your hips against Marcus’ stiffening cock.
“I know baby,” Marcus murmurs, “Why don’t you get my cock out so the guys here know what you’re used to taking.” As you undo the zipper and button on his suit pants, the men behind you inconspicuously lean forward so they can size up the competition.
“Fuck, you used to fill me up so well, sir,” you whimper, running your thumb up the throbbing vein along his shaft, “Can I ride you...please?”
“Of course, precious,” your first boss replies with a grin, any semblance of shyness gone, “But first, you’ll need to get me wet enough to slide inside.” The stained glass lamp hanging over the table is bright enough for Marc and Frankie to see the strands of spit clinging to your lips when you lick your palm generously.
That sight, and the sloppy sounds of your hand working Marcus’ cock, cause Marc to shift in his seat. He waits impatiently for his turn and has to resist rubbing his dick against the seam in his jeans as you prepare to fuck his friend.
With a feline smile, you pull the crotch of your shorts and lacy panties to the side, exposing your pussy just enough to fit Marcus inside. He helps guide his cock into you and groans when you push yourself to take the last inch of him.
“You didn’t used to be able to take all of me,” Marcus mutters as you grind down into his lap, “Who taught you to do that, hm?”
Eyeing Frankie with a grin, you proudly gasp, “I-I’ve had some practice since you last fucked me, sir. My new boss is just so impatient...” You trail off just to tease Frankie, who looks like he’s two seconds away from laying you across his knee.
The men watch with delight at how your hips stutter against Marcus’ and the gropeable, exposed flesh of your cheeks jiggles deliciously. Your fingers come up to trace the scruffy hair dusting the agent’s chin and you laugh, “You look so wild like this, Mr. Pike. I wonder how it’d feel on my pussy.”
Marcus’ responding chuckle is cut off by a grunt when you reach behind you to fondle his balls where they’re still trapped in his pants -- “If you do as you’re told tonight, sweetheart, maybe you’ll find out.”
His promise spurs you into action, so you beckon Marc and Frankie over in between rolls of your hips, “I’m very good at multi-tasking, boys. Oh, but you already knew that.” With dark expressions, they comply, pulling themselves out so you can watch their flushed dicks bounce heavily as they join the festivities.
You present them with your empty palms and a smirk, but Frankie doesn’t seem to like that, instead gripping your chin to turn you towards him, “No, I want your mouth, mi chica. Open up.”
Simply dancing your fingers along Marc’s length has a similar effect: your second boss harshly envelops your hand in his own, tightening your grasp around his manhood. “Looks like someone’s forgotten her place,” he reprimands, “If you’re gonna act like that, we’ll just jerk off on your face and leave you wanting.”
Through a throatful of Frankie, you somehow manage to gurgle out a promise to behave, making Marc’s lips curl in a sneer, “Don’t talk with your mouth full, sweetness.”
You resist the temptation to roll your eyes at him and stroke your hand over his cock just the way he likes, twisting your wrist at the base so your fingertips can brush against his balls.
Occupied by your other employers, your hips have begun to move more sluggishly against Marcus and as he watches you service them, he decides to take matters into his own hands.
Firmly clutching your ass in his large palms, Marcus lifts your thighs away from his body so he has room to thrust up into you. The first sharp spike of pleasure makes you yelp, which opens your throat even wider for Frankie.
“Holy fuck, querida,” the man groans, temporarily removing his hand from the back of your head to flip his cap backwards, “Can’t decide if your pussy or throat’s tighter.” You try to smile around him while being rhythmically jostled in Marcus’ lap, drool dripping from your bottom lip and splashing on your bouncing tits.
Your doe-eyed, pleasing expression leaves them all wanting, craving, more of you, so Marc grunts out, “When do I get a turn, Marcus? I’m dying over here, man.” His length pulses dramatically in your palm, spilling precum over your knuckles that you long to lick up.
Marcus looks up with a teasing expression, “I think you’re just jealous she chose me first. Kind of...ah fuck, look at the mess you’re making, baby...kind of shows who’s best, huh?”
With a growl, Marc bats your hand away and lifts you under your arms, pulling you off of his friends to lie on the table. You whine at the loss as the glistening strands connecting you to Marcus and Frankie’s cocks break, splattering across your skin. But your pouty expression quickly disappears when Marc tears your shorts and panties off to sheathe himself inside you as his thumb presses tight circles into your clit.
Frankie and Marcus frown indignantly at Marc’s display and are about to pull you back into their arms when you reach out for them. Nestled among beer bottles and playing cards, you moan, “Marcus...Frankie...please, n-need you.”
The glossy look in your eyes breaks them and your parted, pleading lips cause their balls to draw up tight. “What do you want, pretty girl?” Frankie asks to your left, his hand lightly caressing your sweat-sheened cheek.
To your right, Marcus adds, “C’mon, baby, let us make you feel good,” while swiping his fingers along the underside of your jiggling breast.
Above you, Marc huffs out a chuckle at your eagerness to be ruined, snapping his hips even more harshly, “Yeah, let ‘em make a mess of you, dirty girl. I know how good you are at cleaning up.” You clench around him at the innuendo which reminds you of all the times that Marc would make you squirt on the floor and then mop it up before repeating the process all over again.
Their towering, broad figures make you light-headed and drunk with pleasure, so it’s a struggle to get the right words out, “Wa-want to...to taste you ah--again.” The men share a smile at your brazen wantonness before Marcus and Frankie lean over the table simultaneously.
The pink of your tongue compliments the ruddy hues of their manhoods as you arch beneath the three men, making you look like a debauched angel in an old painting. They take turns stuffing your mouth, taunting your tastebuds with translucent beads of arousal which mix with Marc’s spit when he tells you to open wide.
Frankie’s dining room vibrates with the sounds of Marc’s heavy thrusts and the throaty groans from each man as they wait to claim you with their virile loads. When you cry out for Marc, he cums, hips stuttering against yours and he struggles to push himself deep while you clench around him rhythmically.
There’s barely any time for you to share a moment with Marc while his spend coats your insides before Frankie is muscling his way in, flipping you over and filling you abruptly. The movement knocks the other two men out of the way, but they are quick to rejoin the fun with Marcus throbbing in your mouth and Marc whispering praise in your ear.
Marc’s cum froths over your used hole, smearing across your puffy lips and oversensitive clit. It’s pushed out of you by Frankie taking you ruthlessly from behind, eager to show his friends why you love to work for him.
“Oh, bebita,” he groans, eyeing your tight hole struggling to take his fat cock, “You’re so obedient...do such a good job of taking care of us. I bet you’d even let me put a baby in you...make you a real mommy to my daughter.”
Marcus watches with drooping lids as your expression slackens with want and you subconsciously nuzzle closer to his full sac like the little cumslut he trained you to be.
Marc notices your reaction as well, switching from murmured flattery to filthy promises, “Is that what you want, sweetness? To be passed around until our seed takes root?”
Because your mouth is occupied with serving Marcus, you answer every question by throwing your ass back against Frankie, forcing his tip that much closer to your cervix. A surprised grunt gets knocked out of him, “Oh, fuck! Yeah, just like that, honey. Pull every, single drop out of me.”
And that’s how you cum for the second time that night, milking Frankie for all he’s worth. Your moans shudder through you, electrifying the way your lips are wrapped around the base of Marcus’ length and making him hurriedly tug you off.
“I want to ice your pussy,” he explains with a cheeky, flushed grin which causes you to giggle tiredly.
Frankie pulls out of you gently, pressing a scratchy kiss to the small of your back before he flips you back over. All three men crowd between your shaking legs to enjoy the view, but you aren’t finished just yet.
“Spread her for me,” Marcus tells the former soldiers and they comply, gingerly wrapping their calloused hands around your thighs.
He stares at his friends’ combined releases welling up at your abused entrance and starting to drip down to the tight ring of your asshole. “Tan hermosa,” he murmurs, fist rapidly stroking his painfully hard cock, “Gonna cum all over you, precious girl.”
Your other employers’ eyes flit between your soaked pussy and the smirk gracing your spit-slicked lips where your sassy attitude from earlier has returned. “Please, sir,” you purr, bringing a hand down to play with the mess between your thighs, “I’m yours to use.”
That phrase brings back memories of Marcus finishing paperwork with you at his feet, keeping his cock warm in the back of your throat. With encouraging, hungry looks from Marc and Frankie, he paints your pussy with his own load.
It stripes in thick spurts across your spread lips, dripping into the strawberry-red center of you and cascading down the backs of your thighs. When Marcus’ fist finally releases his softening cock, he slowly gathers up every dribble of cum that has escaped you and pushes it back inside with three of his fingers.
You keen for him, whining for something you can’t put words to, but he understands, shifting to kneel between your legs. The other men watch entranced as he keeps you plugged, ordering, “Keep us inside you when you cum for me.”
The tip of his tongue flicks out to tease your clit, rolling the sensitive nerves against his clever, wet muscle, as you pulse around his thick digits. Marc and Frankie tighten their holds on your quivering thighs, forcing you to remain spread for the man worshipping your pussy.
“Cum for us, sweetheart,” Marcus quietly demands while laving at you and scraping his scruff against your soft skin, “Need your pussy to pull our seed closer to your womb.” You have no choice but to do as he asks, so well-trained by each man here.
For the third and final time, you succumb to the pleasure they bestow on your body, trembling on Frankie’s now-sticky dining room table.
The three of them help you calm down, washing away dried tears and the errant drips of their cum that still managed to escape. Then they help you over to the sofa with reverent expressions and touches, making sure you’re settled before asking who won.
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Author’s Note: I’m back babes! I know I’ve been gone for a while, but I will try to post more now that my life isn’t so hectic.
Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💖
Hello, my friend! Thank you for sending this! :)
My fave fics (in no particular order):
Plata o Plomo Studios (series, multi PP characters x fem!Reader)
The Queen's Jewels (series, multi PP characters x fem!Reader)
Baby Shower (Kinktober 2021, TF Boys x fem!Reader)
A Dream is a Wish (series, Frankie Morales x fem!Reader)
We Can Do Better (one-shot, Dave York x fem!Reader)
Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💖
Hello, my friend! Thank you for sending this! :)
My fave fics (in no particular order):
Plata o Plomo Studios (series, multi PP characters x fem!Reader)
The Queen's Jewels (series, multi PP characters x fem!Reader)
Baby Shower (Kinktober 2021, TF Boys x fem!Reader)
A Dream is a Wish (series, Frankie Morales x fem!Reader)
We Can Do Better (one-shot, Dave York x fem!Reader)
Warnings: smut, angst, mentions of PTSD, a deluge of weather-related similes/metaphors, smidge of breeding kink, and p in v sex
Hi y’all! Here’s another very short, romantic blurb for WW! Thanks to Autumn and Thia for running @writer-wednesday!
Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers (as AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'). You also agree that you're at least 18+.
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He makes you think of rolling thunder. Of the earth-drenched, moist air after rain. Of the tiniest hint of the sun peeking out from behind dark clouds.
Sometimes it’s after you’ve argued and the tension hangs thick between you. Emotions boiling until they rise to the surface and mist over an otherwise wonderful day. The electricity crackling in your raised voices, a shout rumbling deep in Frankie’s chest before it crashes into the wooden floors you both pace upon. His footsteps which land heavily and shake the delicate dishware in the cabinet he built for you. Fury etched in your faces, the hateful expressions only broken by the drip-drop of tears that give way to soothing embraces.
Sometimes it’s during a barbeque or movie night or beach party where you watch that look flash across his face. It’s equal parts relief and fear. It’s the storm on the horizon that warns you bring the umbrellas inside and find a movie to curl up to. You know it’s borne of desperation, of having only one place to shelter when the the nightmares and depression are too strong. If he ever lost you, Frankie would be adrift in an ocean of problems without a lifejacket. That look lets you know you’re what keeps him afloat.
Sometimes it’s when he’s carving through you like a bolt of lightening through a tree. His desire is charged with unspent energy, proven by the static that sparks in the bedsheets against his legs as he thrusts into you. Goosebumps which ripple over your flesh as your juices shower Frankie’s lower stomach and he hoarsely whispers, “There’s my girl.” And finally, finally, the heat of his seed that he hopes will be nurtured within your body to grow something new, like the flowers that sprout after floods.
Frankie reminds you of petrichor, of walks in the woods during a late summer drizzle. It is a release, a reminder of what he’s capable of, and a reassurance that he loves you through it all.
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Author’s Note: Was I feeling sappy? Yes, yes I was.
You can add yourself to my taglist by using the link on my main page
Warnings: excessive smut, dom!Reader/sub!Dieter, elements of BDSM, dick slapping, use of ‘mistress,’ orgasm denial/edging, and p in v sex
Hi y’all! Here I am, once again, striking while the iron is hot. :) Like I always say, this is an AU that was roughly inspired by the Playboy Mansion, but as always, here there is no exploitation and consent is crucial.
Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers (as AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'). You also agree that you're at least 18+.
Disclaimer: This blog is sex/sex worker positive and Reader is 18+
Pt. 1 ~ Sc. 1 ~ Pt. 2 ~ Pt. 3
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Mrs. Heart keeps a running roster of her establishment’s most consistent customers. If you ever cared enough to look at it, you’d recognize many of the names, the majority of which belong to celebrities who visit you regularly.
When you asked her once why she bothered to make a list like this, Mrs. Heart had responded in a business-like manner, “This is how I make the invite lists, sweetheart, for our big parties.” She thought for a moment and then added, “And, it serves as proof of the validity of my establishment.” You’d chuckled at the gleam in her eye, which held all the stern determination of a self-made woman with a successful venture.
You played with the idea of making a catalog of your own filled with each and every conquest. And the more you thought about it, you decided the first name on the list would have to be Dieter Bravo.
---
Whenever he was planning on visiting The Queen’s Jewels, Dieter would always send a text to your personal number. This morning, you awoke to several.
Dieter Fuckboi Bravo: Hey sweetheart I’m gonna be stopping by tonight.
Dieter Fuckboi Bravo: Wear the leather. It’s been a long week.
Dieter Fuckboi Bravo: Please.
You’d scoffed at the man who loved calling you “mistress” making demands, but nevertheless, you got up and neatly laid out what he requested. Then, you took a picture of your fingers trailing enticingly along the smooth, black material and sent it with the words, “Anything for my good boy.”
He’d left you on read, but you got a little rush knowing your response would haunt the man for the rest of the day and make him all the more eager to see you tonight.
---
Of all the girls parading around the place, you’re certainly the most scandalously dressed. The strappy leather hugs your curves and accentuates them in an almost threatening way, warning anyone who dared to approach that your beauty had barbs. Of course, he wasn’t deterred by your harsh allure; in fact, Dieter was drawn to it.
You watch him approach with a smirk on your face which only widens when he visibly gulps at the sight of your elbow-length gloves. “Well, if it isn’t Mr. Bravado,” you tease, eyeing his jeans with mock distaste, “Dressed very casually tonight, aren’t we?”
Dieter offers you the drink in his right hand with a slightly sheepish grin that’s replaced with a smarmy leer, “Thought you’d want me to wear something I could quickly strip out of, mistress.”
One of your eyebrows raises at his boldness, “You must be really looking forward to me training your cock tonight, huh, baby?” You sip your drink as a flush spreads across his cheeks and decide to toy with him a little longer, sighing, “I hope I won’t be disappointed in your load. Have you been saving it for me like a good boy?”
He downs his drink and gives you a knowing grin, “Of course. Care to check?”
Dieter’s playfulness is one of your favorite things about him and it makes you nearly double over with laughter when he cheekily cups the bulge beneath his zipper. “Let me finish my drink first,” you giggle, “Why don’t you show me how much you appreciate this outfit in the meantime?” You reach out for one of his hands to place on the swell of your breast.
Without bothering to find a dark corner, Dieter worships you. There are a few curious glances, but nothing more as his fingers dip beneath your neckline to swirl around your nipple. He smirks when your breath hitches and removes his hand to rest it on your hip. And then, very slowly, he kneels, taking time to kiss a trail from between your breasts to right above your cunt. Dieter looks up at you with hooded eyes, watching for your reaction when his tongue laves over the leather covering your pussy.
You gasp his name and arch forward, following the wet heat of his mouth as he plays with you. When you tug on his curls, Dieter stands and waits patiently, as he’s been taught to do, for you to knock back the rest of your drink. With a final swipe at your glossy lips, you murmur, “Follow me, baby.”
---
He hadn’t been lying about how full his balls are. That much is obvious as you stroke his pulsing length using his dribbling precum as lube.
As soon as the door was shut, Dieter was on you, his hands skittering over your body until you reprimanded him with a hand around his jaw, “Did I say you could touch me, sweetheart?” He quickly shook his head, cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment, and you smiled cruelly, “There’s my good boy. Take off your clothes.”
Dieter hurriedly stripped and made you giggle at the eager bounce of his cock when he rose back to his full height. Stepping forward, you watched his eyes flutter shut as you cupped his balls, rolling the heft of them between your fingers while you spoke, “What’s your safeword, Dieter?”
It slipped from his mouth like a muted prayer -- “Grapefruit.”
You released his sac and earned a whimper that turned into a yelp when you smacked his ass playfully, ordering, “Get on the bed, honey.”
After tying his shaking limbs to the bedposts with soft, red silk, you shimmied out of your pants, revealing the crotchless bottom half of your lingerie. Dieter’s mouth moved in a fervent, “Please sit on my face,” as he eyed your slick, exposed pussy.
With a roll of your eyes -- he should know better by now -- you knelt on the bed and took his cock in one hand. Then, without warning, you smacked the tender flesh with your leather-covered, open palm. It was a sharp sound and a bright burst of pain that made Dieter’s hips buck up against yours as he grunted your name.
You chuckled, “Have you forgotten what you call me, baby?” and slapped his cock again before wrapping your hand around it to ease the burn.
The man beneath you took several deep breaths before groaning out, “No, mistress.” When you raised your hand again, his eyes widened and he stutteringly added, “I’m sorry...mistress.”
Your expression softened and you regarded Dieter with a gentle grin, “That’s better. Now that you’ve remembered the rules, we can have fun.” His length twitched excitedly in your grip and as a reward, you pumped him a couple times, firmly drawing the precum up his shaft.
That was an hour ago. There are tears drying on Dieter’s cheeks at how many times you’ve worked him up to an orgasm only to plug the tip of him with your thumb while squeezing the base of his cock. The fierce wit rolling off his tongue has been reduced to whispered pleas for more that you’ve responded to by reminding him, “You wanted this, baby.”
Now, as your tongue traces every vein on his thick manhood and the degloved fingers on your left hand tease his blood-hot sac, you think he’s had enough. Sweat dapples his hair line and the creases of his thighs, something you note with pride while you climb into his lap. His eyes are glazed but they snap back into focus when you softly call his name, “Dieter...I’m gonna give you my pussy now.”
A moan tears from his throat when you grind your dripping pussy against his length and add to the shiny slick coating it. You lean down to press a kiss to his swollen lips, murmuring, “You’ve been so good for me, sweetheart. Just relax and enjoy yourself, ok?”
Because you’re feeling merciful, you slip your right hand into his mouth, giving Dieter something to suck on while you ride him. His tongue laps at the leather covering your hand, still slick from his precum and your spit. With your left hand, you line his reddened cock up with your pussy and fit just the tip inside.
He cums instantly. Your hand falls from his mouth as it sputters a litany of “I’m sorry”s while his length spits viscous, white seed. All you can do is stare in wonderment at how beautiful his release looks and feel the warmth of it dribble out of you onto his hips.
Dieter’s still gulping for air after you shift off of him and undo the bindings. When you come back into your room with a warm washcloth, he manages to murmur, “Thank you,” and you smile kindly at him while wiping your number one customer clean.
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Author’s Note: This was challenging to write, but very fun to think about. ;)
You can add yourself to my taglist by using the link on my main page
Warnings: smut, oral sex (f receiving), ANGST, p in v sex, and possessive behavior
Hey y’all! In honor of “The Bubble” premiering this week, enjoy a romantic blurb with Dieter. :) Thanks to Autumn and Thia for running @writer-wednesday!
Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers (as AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'). You also agree that you're at least 18+.
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The cover of your book is blue with red lettering.
He remembers sitting with you at the kitchen table covered with rectangles in different shades of azure and cyan and cerulean obscured by cut-out letters in every color of the rainbow. You’d agonized over the whole scheme of it, wanting your readers to get hooked on first glance.
Finally, after hours of comparing and contrasting designs that looked almost identical to him, you’d settled on sky-blue and strawberry-red. “I think this will really grab their attention,” you told him proudly, tongue poking out from between your lips as you used a glue stick to piece it all together. He’d smiled and raised his half-full glass of whiskey in a toast that you acknowledged with a giggle.
You’d been ecstatic about receiving a letter expressing interest from a high-end publisher in New York, the building mere blocks from the hotel he’s currently staying at for a photo shoot.
First, you’d propped it up on your open laptop as inspiration for finishing the last few chapters, which came to you much easier now that you had an offer. Then, it had taken the prime spot on the fridge, displayed alongside pictures and to-do lists. Finally, one night after a long day of work, he had come home with a simple black frame and a bottle of wine. He suggested that your achievement be prominently exhibited by the coatrack so that everyone who entered your home would know they were in the presence of greatness. When you rolled your eyes and said that it might be a little over the top, he had shrugged and cheerily replied, “I’m just proud of my girl.”
Dieter knew romance wasn’t his strong suit, but when it came to showering you with affection, he was a master. That night, he praised you between sips of wine that cascaded from his lips onto your waiting tongue. You’d smiled shyly when he asked you to read to him from your book while he ate you out, begging you to start with the steamy parts that he hoped were inspired by him. And as he filled you, the thick weight of his cock making you whine desperately, the tip of his finger traced over your engagement ring. He’d murmured how lucky he was to be marrying a girl like you who could make ink on a page transform into a piece of art that would define the human race. Again, you laughed at his facetious compliment, before your eyes widened in a startling orgasm that covered him in your juices.
After the publisher -- that looks busy from the quick glance he throws over his shoulder -- printed your book, they commissioned you for two more. There were lavish parties that he attended as your eye candy, happy to schmooze with literary types while you got the recognition you deserved. A couple of times he had to casually wrap an arm around your waist when high-paying publishers’ sons would invite you to a meeting that they promised would be “more than worth your while.” But, you took it all in stride, brushing their flirtatious attempts off with a grin and a loving kiss to his cheek.
Dieter picks up your book and looks at the back, eyes softening at the small picture of you which he assumes was taken recently. It’s been a few months since he’s seen you and it feels like the first time all over again. The sparkle in your eyes is still there and to his astonishment, so is the ring he proposed to you with. That makes him flip to the beginning of your book and as he does, he thinks back to when it all started to fall apart.
At first, you were content with each other’s schedules that kept you apart more often than not. Whether he had a new movie to film or you were on a press tour, you always found time to talk at the end of the day, sharing the little details that made the distance seem smaller. His pea-soup green robe, whose color you joked about constantly, was passed back and forth between you so that whoever was traveling would have the smell of the other person wrapped around them at night. You even went so far as to address him at the end of live interviews so that he’d always know you were thinking of him, even if it was a simple, smiled, “I love you, Dieter.”
And it had been good.
Until the big blowout two weeks before the wedding where you confessed that being this far apart was weakening your feelings for him and he admitted that he no longer looked forward to your calls. “It’s just stress, honey,” he had promised, reaching out for a hand you were no longer willing to extend, “I promise I’ll take a break after the next movie so that we can go on as long of a honeymoon as we want.”
“That’s not enough,” you whispered back, pointedly ignoring the sad look on your fiancé's face, “We need to be able to grow and right now, we can’t do that together.” Although it had broken his heart, he let you go, knowing that you were only trying to do the right thing and be fair to both of your careers.
The press tried to make it seem like he’d had an affair and that you were a woman with such “lofty” career goals that you’d stomped all over the man you loved. But even when they tried to drag your relationship through the dirt, all that was ever said was, “We can still love each other without being together. They’re...my best friend.”
Even now, the weight of your engagement ring is a comfort, as it lies on a chain against his chest. He holds his breath and reads the inscription you wrote:
“To Dieter, with everlasting love and appreciation.”
Glancing up with a grin, he notices that you’ll be doing a book signing at this store next week -- how lucky he still is. After gently setting your book back on display in the front window, he gets out his phone and dials your number.
He hopes you’ll let him take you out to dinner.
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Warnings: excessive smut, excessive tangoing, no use of (y/n), fingering (f receiving), and p in v sex
Hi y’all! I’ve never written for this Javi before, but there’s no time like the present! Like I always say, this is an AU that was roughly inspired by the Playboy Mansion, but as always, here there is no exploitation and consent is crucial.
Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers (as AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'). You also agree that you're at least 18+.
Disclaimer: This blog is sex/sex worker positive and Reader is 18+
Pt. 1 ~ Sc. 1 ~ Pt. 2
----------------------------
One of your favorite things about the gentlemen you meet is how many of them ask you to dance before moving onto the real reason they’re there. And many of them, surprisingly, are light on their feet.
The ballroom heightens the façade of romance within The Queen’s Jewels, all the women in their beautiful gowns twirling with their suit-clad partners on the glossy wood floor. This pretense offers an elegance and sophistication that promises the guests that you love them, not their wallets. That you express admiration through pretty smiles and giggles and blowjobs.
That illusion of true desire is rarely returned.
---
The music is different every night; you waltz and salsa and swing depending on what mood Mrs. Heart wants to set. If she wants a grand parade of wealth, then she’ll ask the band to play Strauss. Themed parties where you wear poodle skirts are often backed by trumpets that blare brightly. And on quieter nights after long work weeks, Billie Holiday echoes softly off the vaulted ceiling.
On this particular hot summer night while the mosquitos buzz drunkenly, the band is playing tangos. Sweat drips like molasses into cleavage and chest hair, adding to the humid electricity sparking between couples. Manicured fingers clasp tightly to broad palms as wriggling hips simulate what’s to come. Heads nod enthusiastically before hair is tugged back in a rough grasp, exposing delicate columns of throats for lips and teeth.
You watch the erotic display with a few of other single girls, tittering amongst yourselves at how handsome some of the men are and making notes about which dresses must be borrowed later. The song ends in a flourish of dips and sighs, hanging heavily in the air before another begins. Some of the couples drift away giving you a clear line of sight to the opposite side of the room.
When you look over, the man across from you is already staring, unapologetic in the way his eyes drag up and down your figure. You’d dressed for the weather, barely covering yourself in a thin black dress that almost reaches mid-thigh. And you can tell Mr. Gutierrez likes what he sees.
He’s one of Mrs. Heart’s biggest investors so when he raises his eyebrows at you, you answer with a charming smile. He grins, taking off his olive green jacket and rolling up the sleeves of his black button-down to expose muscled forearms. The clock strikes nine, dimming the lights automatically, and he goes to meet you on the dance floor.
You wait until Mr. Gutierrez holds out his right hand, cutting a clear path through the swaying couples, to find your own way over to him. His steps are purposeful, his gait graceful yet powerful, his presence commanding -- it all makes you weak in the knees.
When you’re inches away from each other, you go to slide your palm into his, but Mr. Gutierrez pulls his hand back, keeping it a hairsbreadth away from yours. “Follow me,” he murmurs, raising his outstretched arm up in an L-shape.
You move with him, mimicking the mirror image he’s created, and Mr. Gutierrez nods with a smile before stepping to his left. He leads you in a circle, always keeping you close enough to feel the warmth from his skin, but nothing more. After a few turns, he switches hands and takes you in the opposite direction.
Then, to your surprise, he slips behind you and rests his hands in the air just above your hips. He guides the rhythm of your body without touch and in return, you raise your hands to almost tangle in the curls kissing his collar. The man moves you like a marionette on invisible strings, wordlessly controlling how you writhe to the beat. Your breaths are the only connection between you two, parted lips hovering so close to each other as half-lidded eyes loll with desire.
There’s a popping strike of a drum and then finally, he wraps the fingers of his right hand around your left wrist. The movement makes you gasp, thighs clenching at the firmness of his touch, and your heels clack as he spins you to face him. With a wicked smile, you place your free hand on Mr. Gutierrez’s chest, reaching past the deep V of his half-buttoned shirt.
His eyes widen when you march him backwards, stepping in perfect time with the sensual beat, your fingers splayed over his thrumming heart. He lets you lead for a moment before using his grip on your wrist to tug you close, slotting one of his thighs through your legs. As the violins slur sultrily through a minor scale, Mr. Gutierrez’s left hand reaches up to caress your jaw before sliding down the length of your body to rest on the small of your back.
There’s a fire in his eyes when he dips you in a half circle around his hips and your breath hitches at how he licks his bottom lip when your heaving breasts nearly spill free from your low neckline. You snap back up against him, unintentionally grinding against the growing bulge in his pants and pulling a growl of your name from his throat.
The other dancers swirl around you in a blur as the tempo increases, prompting Mr. Gutierrez to release you, except for your left hand, which he grasps with his right. He twirls you like a pirouetting ballerina, your dress fluttering around your thighs invitingly, as the music swells to a frenzy.
It all blends together -- the tango, the whirling women and their guests, the smell of exhilarating arousal -- but through it all, his broad, shadowy form remains defined against the blood orange-tinted walls.
You collapse into his arms on the final flourish of the guitar and his voice is soft as he scoops up against his chest, “You’re a wonderful dancer.”
Your breaths tickle the fine hairs on his neck when you huff out a laugh and allow him to carry you upstairs, the crowd parting diligently as he walks past.
---
The door to your room closes with a quiet click as Mr. Gutierrez gently sets you on your feet. You steady yourself by holding onto his shoulders for a moment and then turn away, feeling around in the dark for the lamp. It brightens the room with a warm glow that make the rings on his fingers glitter, a sharp contrast to the stern look on his face.
Your smile is sly, “What’s the matter, Mr. Gutierrez? Am I not entertaining enough for you?”
His lips quirk up in a small smirk as he cheekily explains, “We never finished our dance,” again inviting you into his embrace with an open palm.
Giggling, you offer a mock curtsey, which makes Mr. Gutierrez chuckle, and take his hand once more. Like many other nights, you can still hear the seductive chords of the tango from downstairs very faintly, so your guest has no trouble resuming where you left off.
This time though, his lips are passionately locked with yours as he presses against you, tongues tangling in a tantric dance of their own. Mr. Gutierrez’s hands wander over every inch of you, his fingertips digging into your thighs and breasts without hesitation.
Though this dance is less coordinated than before, the man still manages to find a rhythm that leaves the both of you breathless and wanting and perspiring from the heat of your bodies. With a satisfied grunt at how you shimmy your tits in time with the rattle of a tambourine, Mr. Gutierrez suddenly cages you in against a wall with his large hands that lead to flexed forearms.
“Why, Mr. Gutierrez,” you purr, looking at him from beneath your eyelashes, “You seem to have trapped me.”
He nods approvingly, “And what a prize I have caught.”
Your blood heats at the compliment, making you look down at the floor bashfully until he ducks his head and tips your chin up again with a smooth kiss, “Do not hide from me, mi diablilla...mi princesa de la noche. I want to see every sinful thought you have flash in those clever eyes of yours.”
And he does.
When Mr. Gutierrez asks you to jump and wrap your legs around his hips, you wink while joking about how pent up he must be after a night of dancing so intimately.
When he slides two fingers into your dripping pussy, your eyes roll back at the cold metal resting on your puffy flesh before he forces them deeper, momentarily chilling the feverish walls of your sex.
When he fumbles with the button on his pants, you glance down with curious eyes that widen at his reddened length that drools precum, some of which drips onto the floor with a wet splat.
When his gaze returns to yours, your eyes crinkle at the edges with an enthusiastic and needy ‘yes.’
When you reach between you, gripping his cock and rolling the foreskin back to drag the tip through your soaked pussy, your eyes flutter closed to focus on the feeling of him stretching you out.
When he fucks you roughly up against the wall, making your eyes sparkle with pleasure at harsh thrusts that match the syncopated beats from below.
Mr. Gutierrez takes you as ardently and as skillfully as when he danced with you. This tango no longer whispers unspoken desires and spine-tingling anticipation but rather celebrates indulging in erotic pleasure. The ecstasy that can be found in holding another person’s body close, in a climax so powerful it makes veins pulse and muscles shake.
He gives you that -- a moment of naked appreciation and honest joy -- and when you cum, your whisper of his name gives it all back: “Oh, Javi...”
Warnings: implied smut and a smidge of breeding kink
Hey y’all! Enjoy this romantic blurb and thanks to Autumn and Thia for running @writer-wednesday!
Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers (as AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'). You also agree that you're at least 18+.
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He brought you here because of the flowers.
You’d casually mentioned one day that you had a fondness for beautiful things that grew all on their own, somehow managing to stay vibrant through the forces of nature. Din had thought it was both poetic and ironic, the way you described it, because to him, you were no different than the blooms you loved so dearly.
On a whim, he steered the ship towards a planet he knows cultivates the rarest and most colorful plants, forgoing his original plan of hunting a bounty.
Your smile bounces brightly off of his armor when you realize where you are and you immediately begin to catalogue everything you see. At first, Din doesn’t understand why you keep commenting on the various hues of the flowers until --
“C’mon, take off your helmet, Din! I doubt your visor lets you see more than some fuzzy outlines...look, I’ll even turn around for you.”
And really, he shouldn’t, but the playfulness in your voice lifts that weight off of his shoulders. Din waits for you to fix your eyes on the horizon, head whipping left and right to excitedly take in the splendor around you. The hiss of the airlock mingles with the light breeze blowing past that lifts and settles in his helmet-squished curls. A faint smile graces his lips at the warmth of the sun on his skin for the first time in a long time and then, he opens his eyes.
The landscape bursts before him, teeming with possibility and brilliance, highlighted by shades of every color in the rainbow. There are chartreuse-tipped grasses and periwinkle-tinted waterfalls and azure-laced plums with pink blossoms. Din thinks it’s the most wonderous thing he’s ever seen.
And then he looks at you.
Standing amidst all of it, already a part of this world in your own way, and putting even the tiniest stone to shame. You don’t blend in, you never could; instead you intensify the glory spilling from this land. In this grand pastoral scene, you are a principal player: the goddess bending low to grant life, the maiden resplendent in the afternoon sun, the queen of his heart surrounded by nature’s treasures.
His treasure.
Your smile sparkling like the dew-dappled leaves. Your skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat that Din has lapped at like a parched nocturnal creature. Your curves that beckon to his base nature with the promise of fertility, a call that grows stronger on spring days like these.
Din has never felt worthy of something as preciously sublime as you, always believing that his rough hands would be ruinous in their touch. But maybe, he can be lucky, just this once.
He takes it all in one last time, allowing hope to fill his chest --
Warnings: excessive smut, no use of (y/n), Reader has periods, mentions of infidelity, period sex, blood, and a hint of monster-fucking
Hey y’all! Welcome back to another chapter in my new series! Like I said last week, this is an AU that was roughly inspired by the Playboy Mansion, but as always, here there is no exploitation and consent is crucial.
Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers (as AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'). You also agree that you're at least 18+.
Disclaimer: This blog is sex/sex worker positive and Reader is 18+
Pt. 1 ~ Sc. 1 ~ Pt. 3
---------------------------
The men who came to The Queen’s Jewels seeking comfort and company often had odd requests. They were always couched in supposedly pitiable phrases like, “My wife never lets me do this at home, but you will, won’t you, honey?” And as much as they wanted you to believe that true suffering was going without anal sex, you were never convinced.
But, instead of rolling your eyes or giggling at the absurdity of a request, you’d always coo, “Well that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” and take them upstairs.
Of course, Mrs. Heart always preaches and upholds consensual sex, but that doesn’t mean you haven’t had your fair share of unique encounters. Like the proposal that was just directed at you --
“You smell different tonight, baby...sort of sweet. Why don’t you take me upstairs so I can eat you out and help you with those cramps you must be suffering from.”
At first, you think Max is joking, or at least trying to give himself an out by requesting something he thinks you’ll deny. In the couple of years you’ve been working here, no man has wanted to do anything other than have you suck his dick while you’re on your period and you assume Max is no different.
He waits with an expectant eyebrow raised so you plaster on a grin and reply, “Max, you’re one of my favorite customers. You know I’d never ask that of you. Why don’t you vent about work while I play with your cock instead?”
You assume he’ll just shrug and let you lead the way, content to only focus on his pleasure this time. But, to your surprise, Max actually looks offended. “You know I don’t offer anything I’m not willing to follow through on,” he says, wrapping an arm around your waist, “C’mon, sweetheart, I wanna make us both feel good tonight.”
All you do is stare at Max, eyeing him sharply to try and figure out his game, which makes him huff out a laugh. Guiding you towards one of the many dark corners in the main ballroom, he places you in front of him and the two of you watch the other revelers twirl in expensive suits and dresses.
His hand drags up the red velvet draped over your thigh to dip into the slit there and rest on the soft flesh where your leg meets your cunt. Max murmurs your name, “Look at those idiots...do you really think I’d be like them? What man would pass up a pussy as delicious as yours, especially when it’s extra juicy?”
You sigh wantonly at his innuendo, eyes fluttering closed so that you can focus on his voice alone. Max’s free hand reaches up to trace calloused fingers along your exposed collarbone, causing goosebumps to shiver across your skin as he whispers, “You look so beautiful like this. Lush and ripe, like a piece of fruit I wanna sink my teeth into.”
Sinking further into his embrace, you don’t even flinch at the feeling of him nipping at your jugular before laving over the burst blood vessels with his tongue. You know he doesn’t care about leaving a mark, only that you relish the ache it causes within you, that you’ll carry the memory of his bite in your muscles, your veins.
Max continues to harshly kiss your neck, his attentions bleeding to your jawline and shoulder, making you moan loud enough to draw notice. “Shhh,” he chides, moving the hand at your collarbone to wrap around your throat possessively, “I’m the only man here worthy of hearing those mouth-watering noises, sweetness. If I wanted the others to know how needy you are, I’d take you right in the middle of the room so they could see your bloody pussy clench only for me.”
Your head lolls back on his shoulder when Max pushes your panties to the side and slides a finger through your mess. “Look at that,” he murmurs, withdrawing his hand to gaze at the cherry-colored syrup coating his skin which he hungrily cleans as you watch with heavy-lidded eyes.
“How...how does it taste?” you rasp, eager to know why he wants you like this.
The taste of woman lies indulgently on his tongue when he answers hotly in your ear, “Like strawberries in the afternoon sun, tangy and fresh. Like dark chocolate, almost as bitter as the kind I’ve dripped on your skin, but far more intoxicating.”
“It sounds like you want to devour me, Max,” you purr, lost in the arousal pooling in his eyes, and when he grins revealing red-tinted teeth, you lead him upstairs.
---
Max stands patiently with his hands in his pockets and a smirk on his face while you spread a towel out on your bed. He thinks it’s cute the way you take extra time to smooth any wrinkles that will return momentarily, as though he’s important enough for such decorum. Eventually, he saunters over to the light switch and when you look at him questioningly, cheekily explains, “I don’t want you to be distracted by my dashing good looks while I’m eating your pussy.”
A playful roll of your eyes is all you have time for before the room is shrouded in darkness. The muted sounds of the party drift through the air, disturbing the silence and hiding the sound of Max’s footsteps. You’re sure he’s circling you, waiting for the right moment to recapture his prize, the anticipation of it turning the pitter-patter of your heart into a bursting thrum.
“So full of adrenaline, aren’t you baby?” he says somewhere to your right, “All that dreading anticipation, that unsatisfied lust mixing together...don’t you know it makes you irresistible to someone like me?”
Fingertips brush over the pulse point at your wrist, causing you to shudder with skin-prickling goosebumps. “I’ll bet it’s making you drip for me, isn’t it, honey? The depravity of being taken, in the dark, is a strong aphrodisiac...”
Max trails off, leaving you to spin in a circle, trying to figure out where he is. Just as your eyes adjust and you begin to see rough outlines of your furniture, a large figure fills your vision. A growl vibrates through his chest as he cups both sides of your face to tilt it up to his in a passionate kiss. When he releases you, pulling a spit-slicked, swollen gasp from your lips, you turn and run for the bed.
You giggle when he grunts your name and nearly collapse on your plushy mattress as the edge of it suddenly hits your thighs. In two long strides, Max is behind you again, pressing a firm hand to your lower back and making you bend over.
Lying with your cheek against the cold material of your comforter, you almost start to relax, but Max suddenly rucks your dress up over your hips, exposing your scarlet-stained panties to his eyes. Swiftly, he peels them down your legs to secure your ankles and leave you no other choice than to take what he’s about to give you.
“Heavenly,” Max murmurs, reaching up to pin your arms to the bed by your wrists before leaning in to inhale. You squirm above him, embarrassed to have someone this close to your ruby-tinted sex, and instead of jerking away, Max licks you.
Without your sight, the angles of his face feel sharper against the inside of your thighs, like the scent of gore has turned him into something otherworldly. Gone is the man who compliments you with dirty jokes and charming smiles, replaced by a ravenous beast eager to corrupt your thoughts of propriety.
You know it’s just your imagination, painting Max as anything other than a person with peculiar appetites, but what he says next only draws you further into the fantasy:
“Delicious girl, so generous to let me drink the wine from her veins. Perhaps next time you’ll let me sample it from your throat.”
A guttural whimper echoes in response, tugged from the most sinful part of you, the need to be desired and consumed in a world that feels like a dream. To succumb to a man and a place where the consequences won’t follow you in the morning.
So you do. You let Max give you this violent pleasure that leaves your thighs streaked with ichor and that blooms like rose petals when he forces it to drip, cum-soaked, onto your sheets.
Pairings: Dave York x fem!Reader, Whiskey x fem!Reader, and Marcus Pike x fem!Reader (allusions to other PP characters as well)
Warnings: excessive smut and masturbation (f)
Hi y’all! For this week’s Writer Wednesday, please enjoy a small side chapter from my new series! Thanks to Autumn and Thia for running @writer-wednesday
Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers (as AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'). You also agree that you're at least 18+.
Disclaimer: This blog is sex/sex worker positive and Reader is 18+
Pt. 1 ~ Pt. 2 ~ Pt. 3
--------------------
You’re grateful that The Queen’s Jewels is always quiet first thing in the morning. Mrs. Heart has a strict rule that no guests are allowed to stay the night, even if they’re up fucking her girls until three in the morning. This keeps everyone from getting attached -- it’s much easier to move on if their scent isn’t on the pillowcase -- and allows you all to wake up much more peacefully.
Usually, when the dawn is just peaking over the horizon to reveal a line of frost on your window, you’d snuggle under the covers and sleep till noon. But today, instead of burrowing beneath your blankets, you’ve kicked them down to your ankles. Being in this line of work doesn’t afford you many orgasms, so it should come as no shock to you that you’ve got a vibrator pressed against your clit right now. What does surprise you, however, is whom you’re thinking of.
Or rather, the several someones currently filling your fantasies.
There have been men, few and far between, that left your pussy a quivering mess. Their names run through your mind in a list, a silent prayer of thanks to the guests that made your job thoroughly enjoyable.
Frankie...Max...Javi...Din...
You let out a quiet gasp and trail your fingers down to rub gently at your swollen lips, winding webs of slick between them as you do. There are specific acts that you remember during moments like these --
Like Dave, who had smoked a cigar while fucking your mouth in the room where clients are taken to get to know the girls better. The unflinching display of power had made you so needy that after he came, you begged him to let you writhe against his dress shoes while sucking on his fingers. And the look he gave you when you dirtied the glossy leather while lapping at his wedding ring was pure sin.
Or Whiskey and his riding crop. With your permission, he’d tied you to a hook hanging from the ceiling in your room with his lasso and drawled about “taming his feisty filly” while delivering stinging strokes to your soft skin. When your eyes finally went glassy with pleasure, he released you and spent the rest of the time peppering your body with kisses while showing you just how much of a stud he is.
And Marcus, whose FBI training made him wary about visiting girls in your line of work, until you showed him just how open you were to a variety of interests. He’d wanted someone who could let him give up control for the evening while still maintaining the illusion of a buyer and a seller. At his command, you edged Marcus until he was whimpering your name and when you finally sank down on his cock, you both relished in how his cum soaked your pussy.
Your orgasm is so close you can feel the pull of it in the center of your being. What makes you finally shake and tense and arch isn’t a specific memory, but an amalgamation of all of these men. Their broad forms bending and twisting you to their will as they prove their manhood through indulging in your own hedonistic desires. There’s no selfishness or jealousy, only an honest expression of passion that leaves you boneless and pleading in its path.
They are but a dream, an echo that you crave in the early hours of every morning that you wake here.
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Author’s Note: I know this was short, but y’all know how much I love teasing future chapters with blurbs like these!
Warnings: excessive smut, Reader is a sex worker, implied p in v sex, oral sex (m and f receiving), and no use of (y/n)
Hi y’all! Okay, so this idea was born of me watching a docuseries on the Playboy Mansion and getting thots. In this AU, there is no exploitation and consent is crucial unlike the real deal. I will likely also turn this into a series, enjoy!
Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers (as AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'). You also agree that you're at least 18+.
Disclaimer: This blog is sex/sex worker positive and Reader is 18+
Sc. 1 ~ Pt. 2 ~ Pt. 3
-------------------------
You take one last look in the vanity, ensuring that your evening gown shows just enough to entice the guests who will be arriving soon. Downstairs, the other women talk and laugh, eager to spend the night dancing with men who have cash fluttering from their pockets. And hopefully getting generous tips for faking orgasms with their legs spread.
It’s sometimes hard reconcile, your job, because as taboo as it is, you make an above average salary and are free to explore what brings you pleasure. Your boss, Mrs. Ruby Heart, regularly checks on the women in her service and encourages them to readily report any exploitation or malfeasance. Which is especially important considering the people who come streaming through the doors are often high-profile celebrities and politicians looking for a pretty girl or two. All things considered, you love your job.
Particularly at parties like these, where you get to experience the thrill of flirtatiously offering yourself while wrapped up in silk and lace and velvet. And you know it’s going to be undoubtedly thrilling when someone like him walks through the doors of The Queen’s Jewels.
---
The poor thing looks lost at first, nervously running his hand through his curls and fidgeting with the collar of his starch-white dress shirt. He’s joined by three other guys, who all share similar expressions of excitement and wonder as they gaze at the crowd of beautiful women before them. Quickly, and much to your new fascination’s chagrin, they all disappear in search of what places like these promise, leaving the hapless man to fend for himself.
You decide to go help him. The guest notices you as soon as you start walking over, your approach less assertive than usual, but just as tempting. His eyes slide down your body, simultaneously calculating and appraising -- it makes your skin prickle with goosebumps.
“Hello, handsome,” you purr, placing your hand lightly on his scruffy cheek, “Is this your first time at our house of ill repute?” The last part is whispered in mock snobbery, which makes the man laugh and you get to watch a smile bloom on his face like an orange marigold.
He huffs, “Yeah,” and scratches the back of his neck before suddenly bringing his hand down self-consciously, “My name’s Frankie Morales...oh fuck, are we allowed to use our real names here?”
A genuine giggle bursts out of you at his awkwardness, startling your new friend, but you rapidly recover by leaning in and murmuring, “Mrs. Heart doesn’t mind if the guests share their names, just as long as we don’t reveal ours.” You pause and pretend to consider letting Frankie believe he’s special, a trick that works every time, “But, since I’m your first girl, I think I can make an exception.”
Your eyes glitter mischievously when you tell him your name, fabricating some inside joke, some secret between you and Frankie that has him blushing to the tips of his ears. This seems to give him some confidence because one of his hands reaches up to lightly brush against your upper arm when he asks, “Do you want to dance with me?”
A breathless smile decorates your face, “I’d be delighted.”
---
He twirls you around the floor gracefully, leading you about and around the other swaying couples with an elegance you hadn’t expected from his broad frame. The dress you’d chosen for tonight, made of sky-blue chiffon, floats around your frame and occasionally wraps around one of Frankie’s legs for the briefest, most tantalizing moment. It makes you look like an angel, he notes, before remembering why the guys had been pestering him about coming here for months.
After scanning the room, Frankie concludes that out of the four of them, he’s the only one who hasn’t taken his partner to bed yet. Ever the gentleman, he waits until you’re pressed to his chest during a slow ballad to whisper, “What do you plan to do with me after this?”
Your laugh is muffled by his suit jacket which you’ve nuzzled into to get closer to the warmth radiating from him. And, if you were being completely honest, his intoxicating scent that reminds you of summer evenings and dirt roads. “That depends,” you reply, “What do you want, Frankie?” He seems surprised, as though his life revolves around making others happy, and you swear you can see the gears turning behind his eyes as he considers every option.
“Is there a place we can go that’s...more private?”
---
You’d led him up the grand staircase, every bit the siren luring a sailor towards his destruction, and into your room. You were vaguely aware of the few pairs of eyes that followed you both, some jealous and some knowing, but all you care about right now is making Frankie feel good.
He immediately scopes out your space, lips parting and eyes softening at the small touches of you that he sees scattered here and there. Like the throw pillows on your bed that are the color you told him is your favorite while you were dancing. Or your framed posters that artfully decorate the otherwise bleak walls. But what really does him in, is the peek of pink lace that sticks out from one of your dresser drawers, and he hopes you’re wearing something similar now.
“Will you help me with this?”
Your question breaks him out of his reverie, and he’s glad it does because you’re gesturing to the zipper on the back of your dress. Frankie’s hand is firm when it comes to rest on the back of your neck, but there’s the slightest shake to his fingers as they bare you to him, revealing daisy-yellow lingerie beneath.
“What do you think?” you purr, turning to face him and watching with delight at how his eyes immediately drop to the see-through fabric of your bra.
Frankie subconsciously licks his lower lip and without thinking answers, “You look delicious, querida. Like one of those cakes in a café.” He blinks and bashfully mutters, “Sorry, that probably sounded really cheesy.”
You shake your head gently, reaching out to take one of his hands in yours, a move that has his darkened eyes snapping up to yours. Placing his palm on your breast and letting his thumb slip into your cleavage, you invitingly tease, “Are you ready for dessert, Frankie?”
He swallows thickly and nods before kneeling. Quickly shedding his overly-expensive jacket to carelessly toss it somewhere, Frankie leans in and sucks your other nipple into his mouth with a moan. His tongue flicks at it through the transparent material, making you gasp and tangle your fingers in his hair. Only after the cups of your bra are thoroughly soaked and your chest is aching with unresolved indulgence does he take you to bed.
There, the man you thought was meek transforms into the master of your pleasure. Frankie gingerly peels away the cloth covering your curves and cunt, staring unrepentantly as he does as though he’ll never have a woman beneath him again. You’re ready to gasp his name with sugary-sweet tones while thinking about the errands you have to run tomorrow when he presses a tender kiss to the inside of your thigh.
“Can I taste you, beautiful girl?” he murmurs, splaying his hand along your pelvis so that his thumb rests on your clit. When you say ‘yes’ with a small look of shock, he slowly pushes the flesh protecting your delicate bundle of nerves back and slides his tongue up your glistening pussy.
Your hips fly off the bed when he reaches your exposed clit and sucks it into his mouth. Frankie smirks against you and releases it only to repeat the action more assertively. “Oh my god!” you scream, toes curling and knees bending, to which he responds by thrusting two fingers from his free hand into you.
As he makes a mess of you, praise spills from your lips and you actually find yourself desperately pleading for him to make you cum, “No-nobody ever makes me feel like this, Frankie. Wanna...wanna show you what no other man has seen.”
That peaks his interest and as he coaxes your muscles to tighten around his fingers, Frankie watches your face scrunch and go slack with pleasure. You tremble above him, crying out loud enough for everyone downstairs to know that a real man chose you tonight.
You return the favor mere seconds later by wiggling out from under your guest and insisting he sit up against your headboard. “Need to make your thick cock sloppy enough for me to take it,” you coo with a wink after dragging your tongue up his thick cock and earning a grunt of your name. Bobbing your head expertly, you push Frankie closer and closer to the edge, eager to make his balls even heavier with unspent cum.
Just when the muscles in his lower back tense where you’re caressing him, you lift up with a smile and climb into his lap. His throat hitches when you place a soft kiss on his Adam’s apple and lustily ask, “Can I ride your cock til you cum in me, Mr. Morales?”
Of course, he says yes.
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Author’s Note: I hope you all enjoyed the start of this new series!
