Not fighting a man who says "c'mere" once in that voice like gravel wrapped in honey. Joel Miller crooks one finger and suddenly I'm domesticated livestock.
Being crazy about a piece of media for any amount of time will leave a weird mark on you forever because years later you’ll see someone posting something about it like “can we talk about this frame” and you’ll be like “ah that frame. i know all about that frame. I was once a scholar of that frame.”
sucking old man!joel miller (+18) ╱ want to read more? click here
you drag your tongue in a lazy line down towards his waistband, right over the messy trail of curly unkempt hair over his belly before it looses itself under his jeans.
"these need to go off" you murmur, fluttering eyelashes and eyes all innocent. like a show.
"what for? 'm gonna come in this fucking pants 'fore you even get my dick inside that filthy mouth of yours" he chastises, voice low and gravelly, fingers tightening around your hair.
"want me to stop?" you ask sweetly.
joel tugs the fistful of strands on his closed fist harshly to make you look up.
"did i say i do?"
your fingers find the buttons. "no"
through gritted teeth, "then don't"
your chest flutters at his lack of patience and self-restraint.
"i've got you good, haven't i, old man?" you tease without malice, but a lick of your lips might say otherwise.
"shut up and hurry" he says, a breathy sound slipping in between.
one thing about your man is, behind closed doors, inhibitions are gone: never would townsfolk guess that who they feared upon his arrival, stories and blood trailing behind, or the one they've come to respect, he who has put his worn hands into expanding their home, is such a noisy little crying thing in bed.
(be it how touch starved he was or age, you feel blessed)
another thing is, he loves to have your mouth around his cock, not caring how loud and messy he can get when that happens.
"impatient, aren't we?" as you unbutton and get rid of his belt. it lands with a thud in the silent room filled only with your teasing and his gasps for air, lungs getting all worked up.
"quit teasin'" as he helps you bring them down until it hits the floor, "actin' like you don't love to have your pretty lips 'round me"
"never said i didn't. i just love to see you all flustered"
he scoffs, "you're mean"
"i'm yours"
joel chuckles weakly, "how's that supposed to correlate?"
"because you chose me" you pull the soaked sticky underwear down, "means you like me the way i am"
his cock springs free: thick, slapping up against the swell of his soft stomach with a wet smack, its angry red head throbbing with need as it leaks with precum.
"no, 's 'cause i love you"
your thighs press together as your heart beats. he lets out a smug chuckle at your silence, eyes telling.
"this the part where you say i love you, joel back"
he wraps a hand around the base of his cock, giving it one lazy stroke, throat swallowing dry and heavy. you watch the motion in silence.
"you can say i got... distracted"
joel smirks, "like what you see?"
you lean in, hand over his own, laying at the base―thick enough to make your wet walls clench in anticipation.
you feel him tense under your touch as your soft-spoken tone fills the living room. "i could show you better"
he tenses again as a small fluttering kiss is placed over his skin, lips brushing right to the underside.
and then, your favorite part: a whimper. small, barely perceptible.
you smile. "keep that going for me, baby. i wanna know how good i'm making you feel"
you run your tongue over the thick vein that runs from base to tip. he chokes on his spit.
"remember two can play"
another whimper falls past his dry lips. "i said don't tease"
you nod, mischievous grin adorning your mouth.
"let's get to the fun part then, shall we?"
you open your mouth wider and take him in, licking around the slit to take every drop of his leaking girth.
joel groans, head falling back against the couch. "that's right, baby" he whimpers at your flickering tongue, "don't let it go to waste"
your cheeks hollow as you sink down further, lips stretching to the shape of him. you gag when it hits the back of your throat, and joel? well, he's barely holding on.
his knuckles turn white from the tight grip he's balling his fists into and each breath seems to rob him of air, puffs turning into ragged moans.
"goddamn, angel" he rasps, fingers tightening in your hair. "i-i don't think i can hold much longer if you keep on like that. you're gonna suck me dry"
you pull back, a thread of spit connecting your lips to the head of his dick before you dive back down, bobbing your head faster.
he stutters your name, syllables messy and melting into one another as you double down, hand stroking what your mouth can’t reach.
joel can't do anything but become an animal: savage, as when he thrusts up into your mouth, fucking your face just enough to make your eyes water, or submissive like a prey, right at your mercy. he could kill with his bare hands, but under your tongue and mouth? he becomes the shell of a man: nothing but a mess of whimpers and self-control.
"hey, i'm talking to ya'" he growls, voice between strained and tired.
you can imagine his toes curled inside his worn-out boots and the roll of his eyes as his head falls back once again.
"guess you ain't much of a talker, huh?" he lets out a breathy chuckle, eyes lost on the ceiling. "can't speak with my cock shoved up your throat, fuckin' minx"
you glance up through wet lashes. His thumb brushes over your cheekbone. “my pretty girl, my good girl. takin' me so well"
joel is an impatient man: he guides your mouth down further down a little by your hair. you gag a little again.
spit pools at the corners of your lips, dripping messy down your chin. his hips rock a bit, balls throbbing at the view.
"such'a mess. my mess. mine" your core clenches so tight, you whimper against his cock. he groans at the vibrations, whining, hips bucking up in the air. something creaks, probably the furniture; him. "g-goddamn. takin' care of your ol' man, choked up on 'is cock"
you watch him through heavy wet eyelashes, mouth too full to answer. you feel your swollen lips against his glistening tip, each thrust of his another inch to take.
"that's right. eyes on me, doll"
you gaze through his dark hazy eyes, mouth working harder. joel looks down at you, unable to form a sentence. his thumb brushes your cheek instead, hips rocking into your mouth.
joel's voice is wrecked when he speaks again.
"i-i think i'm gonna... p-please stop 'fore i-" he cuts off, pating. you hum around him, the vibrations making joel whine yet again. "let me- fuck. please, let me fill your mouth. gonna come in your mouth, pretty baby. please, let me fill it-"
you enjoy his rambling and panting. now, both hands find your hair, fists tightening in between damp strands.
"'s too much, angel. please, let your ol' man cum. need to- fuck, i need to- need to cum"
you nod. God, that's the signal. he won't wait any longer.
"fuck"
he spills your name as he does in your mouth, hot ropes of his thick cum sliding down your throat. you swallow on instinct, taking every spurt out of his twitching cock.
you remain on your knees, lips swollen and shiny, chin dripping with spit and him.
his thumb traces your bottom lip and then, without a warning, he hauls you up, bones creaking as the couch with your combined weight. he wraps a hand around you, pulling you into his lap.
joel's mouth crashes into yours immediately, tasting himself on your tongue. goddamn, you're going to be the death of him.
he smiles lazily, eyes lovingly drinking in the sight of you. "attagirl"
a/n: everyone say thank u bts for 'cause djdjd four damn years waiting for an album... and it's a masterpiece 🚬 i was inspired *ੈ✩‧₊˚ taglist: @klmr0 @zmbi3gr1 ╱ join here
You've had all sorts of people come into your beauty parlor but Joel Miller, the old man that treats haircutting in the same wavelength as teeth pulling, just might be your favorite client.
click here for my main masterlist.
warnings: no outbreak/modern setting, hairdresser!reader, reader is afab, old man!joel, age gap (joel's early 60s, reader's age is not specified apart from being a lot younger), brief sarah cameo, little bit of erotic massages, requited unrequited love, smut, joel's got it bad, pet names galore, untimely erections, improper use of a backwash unit, oral (m receiving), dirty talk, unprotected piv, size kink, praise kink, joel miller's monster cock, fingering (f receiving), pussy/cock pronouns, cowgirl, creampie, fluff and smut, kind of sugar daddy vibes if you squint.
rating: 18+.
word count: 6.7k.
fox says: hi friends, thank you for reading! this is based off of this request by the incredible @time-for-my-weekly-spanking ! ive been a hairdresser for almost a decade now but i'm not north american and let me tell you... it was quite the challenge to translate the proper vocabulary into english, i've never noticed how much i could never do my own job in an english-speaking country because i have no idea what anything is called lmao but i had fun writing this and i hope you guys enjoy it as well!!
also available on archiveofourown.
You don't do walk-ins. Your clients know and understand this, most of them booking their appointments weeks in advance but, when Sarah first came into your salon while dragging her sixty year old father by the hand like a stubborn toddler, you couldn't find it in yourself to turn them away.
“He's been cutting his own hair for years.” She tells you as the both of you coax Joel to sit down in your chair, a scowl on his face, his entire back taut.
“And I do a damn fine job.” He grumbles, but Sarah just waves him off.
“His eyesight ain't what it used to be, I'm surprised he hasn't snipped his own ear off just yet.”
Joel gives her an affronted grunt that yanks a laugh out of you. His hair is styled back, as if he'd just pushed it away from his face with a little bit of styling mousse and the way it sticks out of the sides is clear that he does it to hide the choppy cut, the curls at the nape of his neck doing wonders to hide just how uneven it is. His broad back stiffens when you run your hands through his hair, the curls catching on your fingers; it's clear that he's uncomfortable, but you're not certain if it's just because he's in a beauty salon rather than a barber shop or something else entirely.
“I could just clean it up a little.” You say, your hands resting on his shoulders for a moment before you pull away. “We don't need to change the haircut, I can just make sure it's even, give you a fresh canvas for you to muck up at home when you decide to cut it yourself again.”
He doesn't laugh, not really, but his lips twitch under his mustache and his eyes seem lighter somehow, which you take as a good sign; Sarah isn't a helicopter daughter — and thank God for that —, choosing instead to sit in a corner with her nose buried in her phone while you work. Joel is tense at first, sitting straight as a rod in your chair and then barely lowering himself into the backwash unit, his head tilted halfway up in a position that you know water is going to pour down his back the second you turn the faucet on. So, you pull the trick that your old boss, a lady with bleached blond hair that was three stories high and a voice rougher than gravel, had taught you: The scalp massage.
It's not something you do often considering that the bent position you're in while shampooing a client's hair kills your back at the end of the day, but you take your time with Joel. You apply just a little bit of pressure with the pads of your fingers, mindful of your nails, running clock-wise circles from the top of his head to his temples, grinning to yourself at the way he stiffens even more before his entire body melts against the porcelain basin, the hands folded over his lap clutching his reading glasses tightly as you work him over, shampooing and moisturizing his hair, tugging and rubbing until he's all but asleep.
Joel Miller becomes a fixture at your beauty parlor after that. You don't have a lot of male clients, your entire salon mostly avoiding booking appointments for men after one too many creeps but Joel is the exception you can't stop yourself from making: He comes in every twenty days 'just for a trim', even if he wears his hair on the longer side and doesn't really need trimming that often. He also starts buying a stupid amount of haircare products once you mentioned you earn a small commission off of every sale, always leaving the salon with a new beard oil or hair moisturizer or curl defining cream that you know he'll never wear on his own. The girls you work with start teasing you about your not-so-secret admirer and, while you laugh and roll your eyes at them, your stomach still burns with something that is not embarrassment. Truth is, you find Joel to be quite dreamy.
The girls don't agree with you— Too old, too weathered, with a daughter whose age is closer to yours than yours is to his but they don't see him the way you do: The way his impossibly broad shoulders relax when he sees you, the shy smile he gives when you welcome him to your chair, the soft sigh he exhales the moment your fingers touch his scalp. Joel Miller is a man built on contradictions: His hair is soft when his frown is prickly, his body language skittish when his words are warm, his brutish hands gentle whenever he shakes yours in goodbye: You found the handshake odd at first, as if you were sealing a business deal rather than saying goodbye to the man whose hair you've just spent the last forty minutes intimately touching, but you've come to appreciate that small moment. The only time your touch is reciprocated, the couple of seconds where his large hand engulfs yours and his warmth involves you in a way that lingers far beyond the handshake.
Maybe you're the one that is the not-so-secret admirer, in the end. You look forward to his appointments, terribly saddened by the few occasions in which he had to cancel, and it has very little to do with the easy money you make off of him.
He's usually your last customer of the day, and you're pretty sure that it's because he likes it when it's just the two of you. Joel seems more comfortable like that, more prone to talking about himself when your ears are the only ones listening— You learn that he's the single father of two daughters, Sarah and Ellie, and that he tried to retire a couple of years ago but got so antsy he had to go back to work. He owns a contracting company with his brother and, with his old age, he's taken the admin duties while his brother and a couple of guys take on the manual labor. He enjoys cooking and woodcarving and he lives on the other side of town— Sarah's apartment is close to the salon, and while he makes it seem that he only comes in to get a haircut whenever he's visiting, you get the feeling that it's not exactly true. And while you share just as many details of your personal life with him, the relationship has always been strictly professional.
It all changes on a rainy January Tuesday.
Joel comes in as your last customer as usual, but this time he's about fifteen minutes late, which is unusual for the man that is always so punctual. He's more disheveled than you’ve ever seen him, his hair is in disarray, curls undone and sticking everywhere; he's in black sweatpants, a t-shirt and the jacket he doesn’t seem to ever take off, but the ensemble is still something you've never seen before: He's always in jeans and some sort of button down or flannel, his sleeves rolled up and his boots shiny, like he takes good care of it. It's always casual but calculated, like he actually put in some effort before leaving the house.
“I'm so sorry, sweetheart.” He says as a greeting, shoving an iced coffee towards you— The coffee is a newish and welcome addition, even if Joel grumbles about how caffeine so late in the day is bad for you, he always shows up with pink-tinted cheeks and the iced caramel latte he knows you enjoy. “Had to drive the kid to the airport and traffic was crazy, ended up not havin' time to go back home to get dressed. Am I too late?”
“No, you're fine.” You smile, taking a sip of your coffee as he shakes off the remains of the pouring rain from his coat before sitting in your chair. Your late policy means you shouldn't be taking in the appointment: The salon has a maximum of ten minutes of tardiness but even if you tell yourself that you're breaking policy simply because he's the last client you have today, it truly is because he is Joel, and you'd let him run you over with his car if he wanted to.
You go through the motions as you usually do: Placing the towel over his shoulders — the larger ones, always, because the regular size doesn't fit him properly —, and then the bright pink cape — which you always pick for him because you think it's funny of see a man that size wrapped in a bat-like pink cape — before clipping his sideburns and the nape of his neck; the scruff on his cheeks is on the longer side today, but you don't touch them. You like him with a beard, and you often pretend to forget about it unless he specifically asks for a trim of his facial hair too. By the time the two of you make it to the shampooing station, Joel's already halfway through his tale of Sarah's out-of-state girl's trip for a friend's birthday and how it's the first time she's taking a long trip without him. It's cute, the way he talks about her as if she's just a teenager even though you know she's a grown woman, the way he voices his worries to you and then finishes a sentence with ‘didn't say that to her, of course’, as if he's apologizing for his over-protectiveness to her through you.
Joel falls oddly silent after the first wash, his voice cutting itself halfway through a sentence as you rinse away the shampoo, his once closed eyes snapping open. He shifts a little, one of his hands flying downwards as you fill up your hand with shampoo again and your eyes drift to follow the movement, your stomach dropping in the split second in which you think he's touching himself. He's not, not really, his hand closed into a tight fist and carefully placed over his crotch in a poor attempt at concealing a very impressive hard-on that tents through the pink cape. His eyes flit to yours, the two of you making eye contact for just a second before your hand overflows with the mint-scented shampoo.
You work in silence, biting down on your bottom lip to hide the giddy smile that threatens to show.
Normally, if it were any other man on Earth, you would've been disgusted by it— Or annoyed, at the very least, but you're not. You take your time with the scalp massage, rubbing your fingers against him slower, more teasingly this time, doing your best to remain as professional as you can while having fun with it. Joel's entire face is bright red and his eyes are shut tight, but he doesn't seem as uncomfortable as he was before, his breath catching when your fingers dip close to his temple. You're not supposed to use your nails, you know it can be quite uncomfortable for some people but you can't help the way you allow yourself to scratch softly as his scalp, his mouth parting slightly at the sensation.
Joel doesn't look you in the eyes when you walk him back to the chair, which is not uncommon for him, but the air is electrified and you look away as he tries to readjust himself; the cape does nothing to hide his erection, though, and you know the imagine will be ingrained in your mind for a long time.
The two of you are silent throughout the entire haircut, with Joel shuffling in his chair every so often, clearly uncomfortable, and it makes your job at evening out the ends just a tad harder— You're not certain it's completely even by the time you're done, your hands shaky and your mind entirely distracted by him but the curls hide it well; if he never shows up again, you won't ever know if it's because of the uneven cut or because of the ten or so minutes he spent rock hard at your shampooing station. He seems a little more relaxed by the time you're removing the cape from his neck, his face still flushed red but at least his cock is down.
It's almost as if the Universe is conspiring against you, the rain pouring twice as hard by the time Joel finishes up his payment — with an extra 25% tip and a beard shampoo that you're certain he'll never use —, the two of you standing awkwardly by the door for a moment.
“Can I drive you home?” Joel asks all of a sudden, hands shoved inside the pockets of his carhartt jacket. “The rain ain't gon' let up soon.”
You open your mouth, ready to politely decline: Despite your crush, Joel is still someone you don't know that well and you're not certain you want him to know your address or to be inside his car for so long. But he blinks at you with his big brown eyes, shoulders drawn tight as if he's bracing himself for a rejection and suddenly you simply can't think of a single reason as to why you shouldn't take a chance. And, in the end, it was better than getting home late and sopping wet after taking the bus under a thunderstorm.
“Okay.” You nod, your smile broadening when he smiles back. “I would love that, actually.”
Joel's car is old, a large red pick up truck that he clearly uses for work, dirt on its tires and sides. He opens the door for you and helps you climb in, large hands respectfully wrapped around your waist when he hoists you up. You're a little shy when giving him your address, afraid he'll be annoyed by how far it is but Joel simply nods and turns on the radio, an old rock song coming through.
You sip your coffee, which is not as iced anymore by this point, sharing it with Joel every so often. He takes the cup between red lights, and you don't miss the way he twists and turns the cup to make sure his lips touch the exact spot where your lipstick has stained it— It makes desire simmer low but constant in your belly, his own lips staining with a soft shade of red.
By the time his truck pulls up into your driveway, the rain is somehow worse than it'd been before. The two of you sit in silence for a moment as you gather the courage to leave the warmth of the truck's cabin, and Joel hums to the song on the radio as if he didn't mind you stalling at all.
“Do you want to come inside?” You ask, and while the question might seem innocent enough, you can't get the outline of his hard cock from your mind. “I mean— It's just… It's dangerous for you to drive home in the dark while it's raining hard like that— I mean, uh, not hard, I—”
You burst into a fit of giggles, hating yourself from even bringing the word up. Joel closes his eyes, his face going pale before he blushes so hard his face is almost purple.
“I'm sorry for that. I…” He stops, visibly unsure of how to finish the sentence. “I'm sorry.”
“Don't be.” You say, softly, and Joel's eyes finally snap to yours as if he can't believe what you just said. “Just come inside, Joel.”
“Okay.” His voice is so low it's almost a whisper, gruff in a way that flies straight through your spine. “If you're sure.”
You don't dignify him with an answer, instead simply hopping out of the truck and rushing to your front door, hoping he'll follow.
Your house is small and in a somewhat sketchy neighborhood, a little messy and full of mismatched secondhand furniture and you're a little embarrassed as you shrug off your coat but Joel doesn't seem to mind, his intense gaze focused solely on you. You're suddenly acutely aware of how sweaty you are after a whole day of working on your feet.
“Make yourself at home.” You tell him, hopping around the room to collect the shoes that are scattered near your couch. “Do you mind if I take a quick shower?”
“Take your time.” Joel drops down on your couch, his hands rubbing his own knees. “How about I order us some food in the meantime? You must be hungry. Any allergies?”
“Sounds good.” You connect your phone to the bluetooth speaker on top of the coffee table, scrolling through your playlists as fast as you can to pick out anything that might be of his taste. “No allergies, no.”
Joel seems entirely at home in your cramped couch, his long legs stretched as he scrolls through the cellphone which he holds comically away from his face, too stubborn to put on the glasses you know he wears— You’ve seen them in his hands or hanging from the collar of his flannel but he never puts them on around you.
You try to be fast with your shower, but you still take the time to exfoliate and shave and moisturize every bit of your body. The clothing is a problem all on its own: You want to look pretty, but you're home after work and you can't simply show up to your living room super dressed up. All of your nice pajamas are a little too skimpy and, since you already invited him in, you don't want to walk out half-naked either— Sure, you are throwing yourself at him, but you still would like to pretend that you are not. In the end, you decide on putting on your prettiest lingerie and then covering it with a pair of comfortable shorts and the only oversized shirt you own that isn't torn or stained, an old Van Halen shirt that you mostly use only in the gym nowadays.
All your worries melt away when you pad back into the living room and Joel drinks you in; he's standing by your fridge, analyzing the thousand polaroids pinned to it. He looks at you like you're the only woman in the world, his darkened gaze going from your thighs to your chest to your face.
“Nice shirt.”
“Thank you.” You tug the hem of the shirt a little, self conscious even though you love the way he looks at you.
Joel clears his throat, his eyes snapping away from you to the square white box on top of the kitchen counter. “I ordered pizza. Reckon it was the safe choice, I dunno what you like to eat.”
“Pizza's great. I'm not fussy.” You rifle through your purse, and Joel frowns when you pull out the bills from the tip he gave you earlier. “How much was it?”
“What're you doin'?”
“Paying my share of the food?” You offer him the crumpled bills, but Joel crosses his arms over his chest.
“You ain't payin', are you crazy?”
“Joel, with the obscene amount you tip me, I could probably pay for the whole meal.”
“Use it to buy somethin' pretty for yourself.” He simply waves you off. “Go sit, we should eat before it gets cold.”
You want to make a sugar daddy joke but you're so flustered by the whole ordeal that you simply smile and do as you're told; you're not used to things like that, men opening doors and offering to pay and being so gentle with you— Most of your past boyfriends were nice enough, but never went above and beyond to make you feel special in the way Joel does.
You eat on the couch, pizza box perched on the coffee table and mismatching plates balancing on your legs but Joel doesn't seem to mind, leaning across the couch to refill your wine glass — and isn't that fancy, having an actual bottle of wine with your food rather than the boxed stuff you usually buy? — whenever it starts to run low, his own glass tucked on the ground near his feet.
The conversation flows easily, easier than it usually does at work when there are too many interested eyes and ears on the two of you. Joel seems more at ease too, his face flushed from the wine and brown eyes gleaming under the warm light of your living room. Your feet end up on his lap somehow, the TV playing a movie you're not exactly paying attention to: Despite how much you try to seem relaxed, you are incredibly aware of Joel's imposing presence by your side, quietly watching the screen with the prescription glasses he finally perched on his nose when you first offered to turn on Netflix. His large, calloused hand rests on top of your feet, not moving at first, just holding onto you.
And then his thumb slides down, pressing softly against the arch of your foot. Your eyelids flutter, the dull pain from an entire day on your feet evaporating as he rubs against your skin, applying just enough pressure to have you melting into the couch. You don't remember the last time you've been so relaxed, especially around someone that is virtually a stranger, but you close your eyes and lean your head back against the cushions and do your best to keep the little moans trying to escape trapped behind your teeth.
The first time you feel it, it's just a soft bristle on the bridge of your foot, so feathery light that you think it must've been a breeze. And then you feel it again, the soft and scratchy tingle of Joel's beard on the inside of your ankle. You don't say anything and neither does he, his lips traveling a little higher, pressing a small kiss to your shin. Joel's nose runs upwards ever-so-slightly, bumping against your knee.
“This okay?”
You nod, a little embarrassed that just a couple of small pecks were enough to get your body thrumming. You feel Joel's lips twist into a smile as he turns his head to kiss the inside of your knee.
“I gotta hear you say the words, sweetheart.”
“Yes, Joel.” You breathe out. “More than okay.”
He moves slowly up your body, and you giggle at the small grunt Joel gives as he twists, kneeling on the couch so he can run a line of open mouthed kisses up your leg, his aquiline nose brushing over your clothed mound before he started mouthing at the band of your shorts, pushing your shirt up so he could pepper kisses up your stomach all the way to your sternum; he doesn't touch your breasts, and the only touch to your pussy was the brief brushing of his nose, but you feel your entire body already on fire, legs falling apart so his hips could fit between yours before Joel finally presses his lips to yours.
He tastes of wine and remnants of pizza but the only thing you can focus on is the weight of his body on top of yours, his mouth moving against yours with experienced precision, one arm next to your head holding most of his weight while the other roams your ribs underneath your shirt. You giggle and squirm when his fingers ghost a particularly tickly spot, and Joel pulls back to watch your reaction, a soft smile on his face.
“I've been wanting to do that since the day we met.” He admits, his graying curls falling over his forehead. You reach up, pulling it backwards, unable to keep the smile off of your lips.
“I got a lot more that I've been wanting to do to you, old man.”
“Minx.” Joel gasps, but you can tell he's not offended by it, free hand wrapping at the nape of your neck before he pulls you up until the both of you are seated, your thighs straddling his lap.
Joel holds you close as the two of you kiss, your hips grinding down against him, your chest pressed against his as his hands roam from your back to your ass, grabbing handfuls of it as he dictates the pace but, no matter how slow or fast or rough you go, he doesn't seem to get past half-mast. It is as if he can sense the inquisitive tilt of your hips, head falling back against the couch as his hands knead your ass cheeks.
“ 'M real sorry, darlin'.” He says, redness crawling up his thick neck. “It just— It takes 'im a minute sometimes.”
A shiver runs down your spine when you realize that the him he's talking about is his own cock— You have never had anyone speak like that before, and although you expect to find it weird, you can feel yourself get wetter.
“Maybe we should move this to my bathroom.” You tease with a small smile, trying to ease the tension he clearly feels. “Let me wash your hair again and he'll wake right up.”
He groans, leaning forward to hide his face in the crook of your shoulder. You take pity on him, your nails raking through his hair before you lean back just enough to face him.
“We don't have to do anything tonight, Joel.”
“I want to.” Joel answers immediately, fingers flexing against your skin. “I want you— Fuck, darlin', you have no idea how much I want you.”
You press a kiss to his cheek. “Let me help, then.”
Joel watches you curiously as you climb from his lap, his legs parting automatically as you settle on your knees in front of him. His meaty hands flex, but he keeps them to his sides, mouth opening and then closing as if he's swallowing down whatever it is that he was about to say. You start slowly pressing soft kisses to the tent in his sweats that, while not as big as the one you'd seen earlier, it is still more than you thought it should be; you cup him through his clothes, warm and heavy, before sliding his pants down to his ankles. Joel shifts, toeing the sweatpants off just eager enough to make you chuckle, the fabric bunching as it gets caught on his left shoe.
He's only half-hard still, cock heavy laying against his right thigh, twitching in the night air— You take him in your hand, pumping him slowly, but all you can focus on his how big he is: Thick and long and uncut, bigger than any cock you've ever seen and you don't think there is any way he can grow any bigger once it's fully hard. You’re tempted to just swallow him at once but you don’t, holding him upright as you place soft kisses to Joel’s inner thighs, making your way upwards until the tip of your nose brushes against his balls— Joel jolts, just a little, but his legs spread a little more and you take that as a sign. You start with kitten licks, your hand still pumping his cock as you run tongue your over his balls; the noise that comes out of his mouth is almost painful, somewhere between a grunt and a gasp. You switch directions then, placing small kisses at the base of his cock— Joel looks wrecked just from those simple touches, his hands fisted by his sides, his eyes dark with desire as he looks down on you.
“So fuckin’ pretty like that.” He breathes out, his hands pulling your hair away from your face, holding it in a makeshift ponytail— Joel doesn’t use it to guide your movements though, letting you explore him freely without the hair getting in the way. “Wish you could see yer’self.”
“Maybe next time I’ll let you take a picture.” You say as you circle the head of his cock with your tongue. Joel moans, his grip tightening in your hair and you can feel his cock twitch under your touch, hardening under your ministrations. You lick a fat stripe from the base up to the tip, following along the vein on the underside of his shaft, suckling on the head; you can taste his precum, salty and a little shy, but he’s far more responsive than you expected.
“C’mon darlin’.” Joel goads you. “Take ‘im in. I know it’s big, but you can do it.”
Your lips quiver as you hold back your smile, your mouth slowly sinking onto him; you’re able to take about two thirds of his cock before it hits the back of your throat and you pull back slightly, breathing through your nose as you pump whatever part of him you can’t fit inside your mouth. It’s quite the stretch, drool pooling in your mouth and dribbling down the sides, and your core pulses as you think about how it’ll feel inside of you.
“Fuck, there you go— Such a good girl f’me.” You find a pace that is comfortable for you, the weight of his cock on your tongue, the saltiness and warmth of his velvety skin making your eyes roll to the back of your head.
He somehow grows fatter in your mouth, thicker and heavier than before. You take him as deep as you can, only pulling away when you feel his cockhead hitting your throat, and Joel whines every time. You can see he’s trying to behave, the hand not holding your hair fisting the couch, straining as he tries to stop from thrusting into your mouth, which you are thankful for— While you don’t mind a little bit of throat fucking, you’re quite intimidated by how big he is.
“C’mere.” Joel begs, tugging on your hair for the first time as he pulls you away from his cock. “Take those shorts off and sit on my lap.”
His words send a thrill of desire down your chest, your skin feeling warm and tight all over as you climb on top of him, your shins bracketing his thighs. You’re still in your oversized shirt, the hem coming down to the top of your thighs but you shiver when Joel’s now hard cock bumps against your wet cunt. You tug at his shirt just as Joel pulls you in for a kiss and the both of you chuckle at the clumsiness, his cotton shirt half tangled with his limbs; Joel separates himself from you just enough to yank his shirt off, the clothing falling somewhere behind the couch before he’s dragging his lips back to yours.
You have never been with a man who really likes to kiss before— For most of your partners, kissing was just a means to an end, just a pitstop before getting to the foreplay but Joel takes his time with it, making out like you’re teenagers, his hands exploring every bit of your body underneath your shirt. It leaves you aching, your hips rutting against him, little needy whines escaping your throat.
“Need something, sweetheart?” He has the gall to smile against your skin, his mouth trailing off from your lips down to your jawline.
“Your cock.” You answer, throwing your head back so he could keep kissing the column of your throat.
Finally, finally, Joel’s hand trails down between your legs. The pads of his fingers trace your clit and your labia, stroking softly as if he’s mapping you out, spreading the wetness that has been leaking out of you and dripping down onto his shaft.
“I don’t think yer ready for ‘im.” Joel mumbles against the hollow of your throat, his southern accent heavier than you’ve ever heard it. The tip of his middle finger teases your entrance, circling without pushing in and you buck your hips down, mewling when his finger sinks inside of you. Even his fingers are thick and you chase after the stretch, your torso leaning so far back that you need to grab onto his shoulders not to fall over.
“Give me another one.” You all but beg. Joel leans back on the couch, one hand between your legs, the other holding you by the small of your back and you clench around his finger when you realize he pulled back so he could watch as he plunges his ring finger into you. You already feel so full your mouth waters thinking just how his cock is going to feel, how Joel is going to stretch you enough that you’ll be reminded of him every time you move.
He fingers you slowly with precise, careful movements, his eyes never leaving your cunt and you keen every time he pushes his fingers to the hilt, his palm kneading against your clit. By the time Joel’s third finger slips inside you’re so wet the squelching sounds drown out your moans, your legs burning from how you bounce against him, fucking yourself on his fingers.
“Fuck,” You moan, hips bucking faster as you try to chase your orgasm, your pussy clenching him so tight that Joel moans. “Joel— Please, I’m gonna—”
A whine falls out of your lips when Joel abruptly pulls his hand away, your slick dripping down his wrist. He holds eye contact as he licks his own fingers clean and you clench around nothing, your body thrumming with desire and annoyance at being denied your peak.
“I want you to come on my cock.” He says, but the glint in his eyes tell you that it’s more than that— He wants to tease you, drive you to the edge of madness and be the one in control of your pleasure. Joel takes hold of himself, rubbing the tip of his cock against you and you gasp when it bumps into your sensitive clit. Everything feels heightened after your denied orgasm and you lift a little bit, wanting nothing more than just to sink on top of him. You start slowly, the hand that isn’t holding his own cock steady kneading the fat of your hip as you take him inside. It’s a lot, even just the head of his cock being thick enough to hurt, and you pause when he’s just a couple of inches deep. Joel kisses the soft flesh underneath your chin, his breathing deep and ragged, and you can tell he’s trying to control himself.
“I’m sorry—” You breathe out and try to sink a little more. “I didn’t think you’d be this big— Fuck, that hard on at my shampooing station was just a half chub, wasn’t it?”
Joel chuckles, his grip tightening on you. “Don’t apologize. I know it’s a lot, darlin’. Just take your time, you’re doin’ so good f’me.”
You clench around him at his words and the both of you groan in unison, Joel holding you so tight you know you’ll have bruises in the morning. You take another inch and his cock hits the exact spot inside of you that makes you see stars; you come just like that, your cunt spasming around him, your fingernails digging into his shoulders. It’s never happened before, you don’t think you have ever come from penetration alone, especially one where neither of you are properly moving but the fresh wave of wetness that comes from it and the way your knees give out makes you sink on top of him all the way down to the hilt.
You think you’d scream if you had any air left in your lungs. Joel makes a pained sound, something between a groan and a whine, his teeth digging into the soft spot between your neck and your shoulder.
“Goddamn it, did you just come?” There is a hint of wonder in his voice and you giggle, a little embarrassed. You moan and squeeze him again, unable to form any coherent words.
You hold him close, eyes shut, your nails raking through his hair. You’ve never been this full before, not even with your largest toy, and it burns and hurts and it’s fucking incredible all at the same time. You give your hips a little rock, testing the waters, but Joel stops your movements.
“Fuck, gimme a second, here.” He mumbles into your shoulder. “You’re just— So fuckin’ tight—” Joel kisses your shoulder and your neck, his mustache tickling your overheated skin. “Perfect f’me, takin’ me so well, such a good girl.”
“Can I move?” You barely recognize your own voice, breathy and lost in pleasure and desire. “Please, Joel, I need to feel you.”
His hands move from your hips to knead your ass and that is all the answer you need. You start slow, a little back and forth and some circles, trying to get used to the sheer size of him but you pick up the pace quickly, head thrown back as you fuck yourself on him. Joel is a lot more vocal than you expected him to be, moaning and groaning with every thrust, talking about how you’re a good girl and how you were made for him. It’s easy to get lost in it, his string of praises egging you on, the sound of your body colliding against his reverberating through the room.
His hand finds your clit, not rubbing but simply holding steady, and every time you move up and down his fingers press against your clit just right and suddenly you’re shifting your position, subconsciously trying to rut against his hand. You don’t think you can come twice, but the way his cock keeps pushing against the perfect spot inside of you makes you crack, your second orgasm coursing through you like lightning. Your muscles lock as you moan, pussy clenching hard around Joel’s cock and he comes just as you’re regaining your breath, thick ropes of cum filling you inside— You’re so full from his cock and his come that it pushes against your belly.
Joel rubs your back when you settle against his chest, exhausted. You can feel his cock softening inside of you, his spend and your slick dribbling down over his balls.
“You did so good f’me.” Joel whispers against your ear. “I knew you’d be perfect the first time I saw you.”
“Is that why you kept coming back to the salon?” You ask, head slumped on his shoulder, trying to hide the disappointment in your voice.
“Yes and no.” He answers, rubbing his cheek against your temple. “Knew I wanted to take ya on a date, but I would never have the courage to ask— You’re too young and sweet for a bitter old man like me. So I settled for the haircut, yeah, but I wouldn’t come back if I didn’t think you’re good at what you do.”
You hum at his words, your stomach fluttering at the idea of going on a date with Joel. You didn’t expect him to be actually interested in anything other than sex, and you smile against his neck.
“I would’ve said yes.” You whisper, your fingers flexing against his chest. “If you had asked me out.”
Joel’s muscles stiffen underneath you and you panic, thinking that maybe you’ve just said the wrong thing and that he’s not interested now that he got what he wanted, but he speaks before you can figure out a way of taking your words back.
“And now? Would you still say yes to that date?”
“Especially now.” You giggle, the words coming out a little too fast. “With a dick like that, I’d be crazy to say no.”
His chest rumbles with laughter, and from your position you can’t see his face but you watch in real time as his chest and neck turn red with embarrassment.
“How about tomorrow, then?” His voice is a little shy, rough and low. “Can I take you out for breakfast?”
“Only if you spend the night.”
Joel turns his head then, pressing a kiss to the bridge of your nose.
“Wouldn’t have it any other way, sweetheart.”
He keeps coming back for his trims, always your last appointment of the day, always with some sort of sweet treat or coffee or flowers. He tips generously and rolls his eyes when you say that he has boyfriend privileges now and doesn’t need to pay. But he never leaves the salon alone.
And neither do you.
general taglist: @itsafullmoon @time-for-my-weekly-spanking @hopecomesbacktolife @rosharanfiction @shadowqueen2024 @ess-evo @trulyourslola @keylimebeag (i also tagged some peeps who seemed to be interested in this but no pressure!!)
Summary: You and Joel want to do things differently, and take things nice and slow.
Warnings: explicit content, 18+ only, mdni, mature themes, unprotected sex, p in v, nipple play, established relationship, soft Joel, orgasm, praise kink, dirty talk.
Word count: 1.4k
Authors note: hello everyone! Tag list is open for Pedro so don’t hesitate to ask, and my inbox is always open so feel free to message me! Reblogs and comments on my fics are always encouraged and highly appreciated! Thanks everyone for your continued support. Enjoy the view☁️
Tag list for Pedro: @meetmeatyourworst @lilacs97 @dreamedaboutitinthedark
The Clouds
"C'mere, baby." He murmurs his voice like gravel, as you listen to the soft patter of raindrops on the roof. "Nice and slow just like we said."
You nod once throat tight with anticipation more than nerve as you crawl forward on your knees. The sheets drag softly against your shins. When you're close enough, you brace one hand on his shoulder, the other on his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heart beneath coarse salt and pepper hair. He was always so warm.
He helps you swing one leg over his hips without ever breaking eye contact. The blunt head of him nudges your inner thigh first, then higher, painting a slow, wet line along your folds as you hover. You're soaked already and have been since he spent fifteen minutes between your legs on his back, beard scraping the insides of your thighs while his tongue worked lazy circles around your clit until you were shaking and begging into the pillow.
Joel's left hand slides up to cradle the back of your neck, thumb brushing the sensitive skin just below your ear. His touch was so intoxicating you felt like you couldn’t live without it.
"Easy.” He instructs you softly. "No rush baby let me feel you open up for me."
You exhale with a slight tremble and begin to sink. The stretch is immediate and exquisite. Just the head breaches you and your breath hitches with a sharp little sound you can't swallow. He's thick enough that even after all this time the first push still feels like too much and exactly enough at once. Your nails dig reflexively into his shoulders almost drawing blood.
"There you go.” He growls biting his lip. "That's it sweetheart. Just like that just a little more."
You roll your hips in a tiny testing motion as another inch slides in. Your walls flutter hard around him and he groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours.
"Fuck you're tight tonight.” He mutters, almost to himself. His right hand leaves his cock and settles on your ass but not grabbing just simply cupping, steadying. "Relax that pretty cunt for me. Let me in deep where I belong."
You whimper forehead dropping to rest against his. The words hit you harder than they should. You've always loved how filthy his mouth gets when he's turned on, but tonight it's softer, slower and almost reverent.
Another slow roll and he's halfway buried. You pause there, breathing against his lips, feeling every thick inch of him splitting you open. The pressure is exquisite almost borderline overwhelming never having felt him like this before. Your clit throbs against his pubic bone but you don't grind down yet, you want to savor this part. Joel's hand on your neck slides into your hair, cradling your skull.
"Look at me.” He whispers affectionately.
You lift your lashes. His pupils are blown wide, but the expression on his face is tender almost pained with how much he's holding back.
"You feel that?" He flexes his hips just enough to nudge deeper without thrusting. "That's all you, darlin'. Takin' me so fuckin' good. So wet I can hear it."
A mortified little sound escapes you. He smiles with a small, crooked and devastating look. Joel knows exactly what he’s doing to you.
"Don't hide from it.” He murmurs. "I love that sound. Love knowin' how much you want this cock."
You sink another inch on a shaky exhale. Now he's deep enough that the head is kissing your cervix with a dull, sweet ache that makes your thighs quiver. You pause again, panting softly against his mouth.
"Good girl.” He praises you his thumb stroking your cheekbone. "You're doin' so good for me."
The praise sinks into your bones like warm honey. You lift up just an inch and then sink back down much slower this time, letting yourself feel every ridge, every vein. Joel's head tips back against the headboard with a low, guttural groan.
"Christ yeah, just like that. Ride me nice and slow, baby. Let me feel every little twitch."
You start a steady rhythm then it’s not fast and it’s not frantic. Just deep deliberate rolls of your hips lifting until only the head remains inside, then sinking all the way back down until your ass meets his thighs and he's seated to the root. Each descent drags a soft, broken moan from your throat.
Joel's hands roam now up your sides, over your ribs, cupping your breasts and thumbing your nipples without hurry. He watches the way they pebble under his touch, watches your face flush darker, watches the way your lips part every time he bottoms out.
"Look how pretty you are sittin' on me.” His voice deep, low and rough. "Tits bouncin' just a little. Face all soft and fucked-out already. You love this, don't you? Love feelin' me stretch you open slow like this."
You nod frantically the words slipping from your mind. All you can do is lift, sink and repeat. Joel had you right where he wanted you. And he wished he could take a picture.
He slides one hand down between you, thumb finding your clit with practiced ease. He doesn't rub fast circles the way he does when he's trying to make you come quick. Instead he presses firm, steady pressure and lets your own rhythm grind you against the pad of his thumb.
"Feel that?" He groans with encouragement. "Every time you take me deep, your little clit gets kissed right here. Gonna come just from ridin' me, aren't you?"
The thought alone makes you clench hard around him. He hisses through his teeth knowing his words were getting to you.
"Fuck baby do that again. Squeeze me just like that. Let me feel how close you are." You bear down on the next descent, walls fluttering and gripping, and Joel's hips jerk up involuntarily. Just once before he reins himself back in.
"Sorry.” He rasps almost laughing at himself. "You feel too goddamn good. Almost lost it."
You shake your head, lips brushing his. "Don't hold back, wanna feel you lose it."
"Not yet.” He says as his eyes darken at your words. "Not till you come all over me first. Then I'll fill you up. Deep as I can get."
The promise makes your next roll stutter. You're climbing fast now too slow a syrupy pleasure gathering low in your belly, tightening with every drag of his cock against your front wall. Every press of his thumb against your clit Joel definitely feels it.
"That's it.” He coaxes with a teasing voice. "Right there. You're gettin' so tight, sweetheart. Gonna come for me? Gonna soak my cock while I'm buried all the way inside you?"
You nod frantic little jerks of your head. Tears of pleasure and not pain prick the corners of your eyes. He cups your face with both hands now, thumbs brushing away the dampness.
"Look at me when you come.” He says voice low and commanding in the gentlest way possible. "Wanna see your eyes when that pretty cunt comes all over me."
You lock gazes with him and the intimacy of it is almost too much. His face so close you can feel his breath mingling, your bodies joined so deep there's no telling where you end and he begins.
Your rhythm falters and you grind down hard, clit crushed against his thumb, cock pressed right against that spot inside that makes stars burst behind your eyelids.
"Joel, oh god.” His name leaves you like a sob.
"I've got you.” He whispers soothingly and in a comforting way. "Let go baby I’m right here. Come on my cock. Let me feel it."
The orgasm rolls through you slow and devastating like thunder that takes forever to reach you and then shakes the whole sky. Your walls clamp down in long, pulsing waves. You cry out high, broken, and keep moving through it, riding him through every aftershock, drawing it out until you're trembling and oversensitive and still somehow greedy for more.
"Fuck I’m gonna come.” He grits out through his teeth.
"Inside me please Joel.” You gasp without even thinking, and he honestly can’t believe the words that came out of your mouth.
He growls low and feral and finally letting his hips snap up to meet yours. Once, twice and then he's grinding deep, holding you down by the hips as he empties inside you in thick hot pulses. You feel every twitch, every spurt, feel the way his cock kicks against your fluttering walls.
He buries his face in your neck, breathing hard, teeth grazing your skin without biting. You stay locked together for long minutes. Sweaty, trembling and your hearts beating in tandem. His arms come around you, pulling you flush against his chest so there's no space left between you. Eventually he kisses your temple, your cheek and then the corner of your mouth.
"Stay right here.” He mumbles against your lips. "Don't move yet, wanna feel you keep me warm a little longer."
Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI)
Summary: The sleeve squeezes him, the grip and pull of the latex is just enough as he jacks himself off. He groans, hand flexing as he slides the toy down to the base of his cock, then back up. His hips rock with the rhythm, and he slows down, wanting this pleasure to last. But he’s thinking about you, the way your soft lips formed to say pussy, so plainly and unaffected. He wonders if you’d smirk at him, knowing he’s home getting off with what you sold him.
Warnings: smut, joel jerking it with a fleshlight, voyeurism, cum eating, pussy fingering, sex shop, porn, i'm gonna make that man yearn, listen to grunge, and cum in everything i write
Words: 7,000
A/N: Enjoy two of my loves... Joel Miller and vintage porn. Thank you to @mothandpidgeon, @schnarfer, @magpiepills, and @sin-djarin for letting me talk this whole thing out with them.
Masterlist
—-
Joel Miller doesn’t know why he stopped into Austin Fantasy Gifts on the way home from the construction yard. Maybe it’s the fact that his house is empty for the first time in eighteen years. Maybe it’s due to his and Tess’s breakup almost a year ago, when the distance between Detroit and Austin got to be too far. Could be because he’s been too damn horny and he’s too scared to Ask Jeeves for porn on his work laptop.
The store welcomes him with a loud ding-dong when he steps into the oddly bright space. Fluorescent lights reflect off the black and white tiled linoleum, and he doesn’t know where to look. There’s a giant wall full of dildos in all different sizes, shapes, and colors, a rack of lace underwear he’s sure he can rip in one pull, and an empty check out counter. Nobody greets him, he feels all alone amongst the plastic and vinyl. It almost feels like he shouldn’t be here all alone, but he walks the perimeter, pretends to browse, but mostly tries to keep his eyes level and his mouth shut. There’s a slightly musky, plasticky smell in the air mixed with a sweet vanilla, it’s almost intoxicating in a good way. His boots occasionally squeak on the tile as his footsteps lead him across the store. He can feel the hot blood in his neck and his ears, and he almost wants to admonish his forty-year-old self for the feeling of shame he holds.
He finds the movie section… rows upon rows of clamshell cases lined up under a sign promising “OVER A THOUSAND HOURS OF FUN.” He browses through title after title, barely looking at the covers because after a while, the photoshopped fronts all blend, no matter the name. PUSSY PIRATES 14, QUEENS OF ANAL 3, LESBIAN LOVERS 39… the women all look the same: long acrylic nails, swollen and injected lips, rock hard tits, and platinum blonde fried hair. Joel grimaces and rolls his eyes. He’s not sure what he’s looking for, exactly, but it’s not this.
He thinks of his first porno, bought at the skeazy hole-in-the-wall “newsstand” near the dairyette he used to work at during the summer. He can still perfectly recall the cover… the title in bright red and the pretty brunette on the cover in a white bikini. Oh, the times he had with that tape.
Back then, the women looked like women, and the sex felt real. It all seemed so goddamn sincere to whatever is going on now. He suddenly feels so nostalgic as he slides a box titled “SORORITY SLUTS 7” back onto the shelf and wipes his palm on his jeans before picking up “COLLEGE HUSTLERS 4.”
He hears a soft cadence of steps approach him, and his body straightens. “Welcome. Can I help you find something, or are you just browsing?”
Your voice is sugary sweet, and Joel nearly drops the case he’s holding as he places it back on the shelf. He glances toward you, his eyes widening when he sees you. Oh god, you’re pretty. Even prettier when he sees what you’re wearing. You’ve got an olive green flannel on, it sits open and oversized atop an old Nirvana shirt. Your jeans are ripped at the knees, light blue like the sky, and your boots are dark, scuffed, and used.
Shit, he’s staring. He attempts to recover with a throat clear. “No, I’m, uh. Good. Just lookin’, thanks.”
“We get a lot of just looking here,” you say before you tell him your name. “I’m here if you need any help or any recommendations.”
His mouth feels dry, and he can only nod before you turn back and head towards the checkout counter. What kind of person asks for recommendations at a place like this?
Nothing really catches his eye, but he settles on a movie, because at the end of the day, tits are still tits, even when they’re stuffed full of silicon. Joel could leave now, he’s accomplished what he came in here to do… until he sees the long, flashlight-looking apparatus. FLESHLIGHT, he chuckles at the pun. He picks it up despite himself. The image on the box makes his brows rise in surprise. That’s…. that’s a pussy, pink and open, waiting.
He glances up at the sound of you walking through the beaded curtain to the back, and he wonders what your pussy looks like. Fuck.
He’s never fucked a toy before, but there’s a curiosity. A grown man, a father, a builder of homes, standing here in a fluorescent wonderland of fake cocks and cunts, considering taking one home. The consideration doesn’t take long, he picks up the black box and heads to the counter, setting both the movie and the Fleshlight down without a word.
You walk back through the curtain and don’t bat an eye when you ring up the movie, then the toy. “We’ve got lube too, if you want. I’m pretty sure you’re going to want it,” you say with a smile.
He stares at the wall behind you, covered in ads of women in different states of undress, unable to look directly at you. “Yeah. Uh. Sounds good.”
You walk out from behind the counter, and Joel can’t stop staring at the sway of your hips as he follows you down the aisle. He should be a better man and maybe keep his eyes up, but damnit, he can’t look away. Especially when you crouch down to pick up a bottle from a lower shelf. He struggles so hard not to reach down and adjust himself.
You hold up a bottle, the label an orange flame. “This one’s supposed to warm on contact. It’s the big seller for the customers who buy a pocket pussy.”
A tingle runs up his spine, and he feels his cock twitch. Jesus Christ, the way you say “pussy” so casually… it’s almost admirable.
“That works,” he nods, his head bobbling slightly as he follows you back to the counter.
You finish ringing him up and hand him the brown paper bag.
“Thanks for coming in—”
“Joel, I’m Joel,” he blurts.
“Joel,” you repeat his name with a smile, and he wonders if you look at all your customers the way you’re looking at him. “Don’t be a stranger.”
The bag feels heavy in his hands when he makes his way back to his truck. It’s such an odd transaction, he just handed over a $100 bill to you, leaving you with the knowledge that he’s going to get off later tonight.
—-
Joel’s shut all the curtains in the house, even if he’s in his bedroom upstairs. He’s also shut Sarah’s room door, just for good measure, even if she’s 200 miles away at college in Dallas.
He feels ridiculous. Why does he feel so shy all of a sudden, especially in his own home? Hell, one of his and Tess’s favorite things was to go out into the middle of the fields east of town and fuck in the sunlight.
He sits down on the plaid, overstuffed reading chair he uses more as a glorified closet than a place to rest and flips the TV on. The DVD menu is all loud pinks and purples. A naked woman with her pouting red lips stands to the left of PLAY, TRAILERS, and DELETED SCENES. As soon as Joel hits play, a loud saxophone over a techno beat plays, and he rolls his eyes.
Everyone’s impossibly smooth and shiny, fake moans and plastic parts. He lets the overwhelming SEX of it all happen for a couple of minutes before he mutes the sound and just lets the images play.
He opens the lube, and it already warms when he feels it between his fingers. He slicks his hand and wraps it around his cock. He wonders if you’re even warmer than this magical gel. He’s already so worked up, and it’s not from the porn stars on his TV, no, it’s from you, from knowing you knew exactly what he was going to do tonight. He grunts, squeezing tight and stroking just enough to let his dick stand tall and hard.
On the screen, a blonde on her knees gags herself on some roided-out dude’s monster cock. She’s all watery eyes and smeared mascara. Her pussy shines under the blue studio lights, all bald and pouting, her slit almost looks fake.
He’s so fucking worked up, and it’s not the porno flickering in front of his eyes. It’s you. He wonders what your pussy looks like, if it has hair, if one lip's bigger than the other, if it's as sweet as he thinks it'd taste.
He hovers the toy over his cock, and slowly pushes it down, letting the silicone swallow his cock. It’s tight and hot, and he imagines he’s anywhere else but inside his bedroom. Maybe he’s back at that sex store, pressing you up against the counter, fucking you so hard the mug full of pens that reads I LOVE COCKS gets knocked off the glass top. Maybe you’re on the silk sheets like the big-titted brunette in the movie, and he’s over you, railing into your tight pussy as you moan his name.
The sleeve squeezes him, the grip and pull of the latex is just enough as he jacks himself off. He groans, hand flexing as he slides the toy down to the base of his cock, then back up. His hips rock with the rhythm, and he slows down, wanting this pleasure to last. But he’s thinking about you, the way your soft lips formed to say pussy, so plainly and unaffected. He wonders if you’d smirk at him, knowing he’s home getting off with what you sold him.
He imagines you spread out on the counter, mouth open for him, hand between your legs, fingering yourself with the same lube he’s using now. Joel twists the toy and palms his balls with his free hand. He wonders if he looks as desperate as he feels, grinding into the toy as if he’s grinding into you.
He shocks himself when he moans your name, but he lets any shame leave when he imagines you straddling him in that back room hidden behind the beaded curtain, pulling at his chest hair, calling him an old perv while you ride him until he shoots his cum inside you. He fucks the toy harder, his thighs quivering, breath huffing out deep and fast as he edges himself closer and closer.
He’s barely even watching the TV, where two too-tanned orange blondes get fucked by just-as-orange bros. He catches himself muttering, “fuck, fuck, fuck, you’re so tight,” as if you’re there with him, moaning into his ear. He imagines the shape of your tits under the flannel, the color of your nipples, if you’d bite your lip when he sucked them. He grinds the toy all the way down, feels himself throb hard against the walls over it, and he shudders as he cums. His hips are canting higher and higher off the chair now, he doesn’t know what’s leaking out of his toy down his thigh, if it’s lube or his cum, or both. But he’s a fucking mess. He’s grunting and groaning, twisting the toy around his hard, aching cock.
Joel’s orgasm is dizzying. He milks himself for all his worth, filling the toy with every single drop of cum he’s been saving. He imagines it’s your wet cunt, and you’re under him, moaning his name, your tits bouncing as he fucks his cum deep into you. His head thuds against the back of the chair as he pants and stares up at the ceiling. He stays like that for a while, his cock still shrouded in the fleshy latex.
He wonders if you ever bring your work home. If you ever mind the way people look at you, and wonder what you’re like in bed. He slides the toy off and sets it on the dresser with a shaky laugh of amazement. The movie still continues, and he can’t even look at the TV when he picks up the remote and shuts it off.
Maybe he will take you up on those recommendations.
—-
Joel makes it three days before he caves and heads back to the store.
He pulls into the parking lot and checks himself in the rearview mirror. Why? Who knows. Maybe he does want to impress the pretty girl behind the counter with the fishbowl full of condoms.
The same ding-dong plays when he steps in, and his heart begins to race in his chest when he sees you. This time, you’re at the counter, same flannel as before, but this time it’s tied over a black PEARL JAM shirt. Goddamn. Joel’s pretty sure he’s found his dream girl in a strip mall across from the HEB.
“Hey,” you smile. “Welcome back.”
He can only offer a grunt of “hi” back.
“What brings you in today?” you ask.
He’s actually not sure what brings him here, he really just wanted to see you, but he quickly finds an excuse and blurts it out. “Need a different movie.”
You fold your arms across your chest and raise an eyebrow. “Oh? The one you bought is a hit here.”
“I think I, uh, like the more vintage variety of…. that entertainment.” Joel cannot believe he admitted such a thing to a practical stranger, but the way you nod in understanding, and the look you give him that holds a hint of mischief, calms his internal struggle.
“Fully understand that. What are you thinking? The Golden Age? Polyester, tighty whities, shag carpet, brown furniture, and full bush?”
There’s an almost flirty lilt to your voice, and Joel wants nothing more than to respond with a “you’re reading my mind,” but he doesn’t; he only offers a nod.
When you step out from behind the counter, Joel’s heart almost stops at the sight of you in cutoff jean shorts, the hem landing high across your thighs. You lead him to the wall of movies, kneeling down to the bottom shelf. You’re digging through the titles, searching through the blocky VHS covers and thin DVD cases. It’s then that he realizes just how close your head is to his crotch. It blinks through his mind first before it stays constantly, the image of your mouth stuffed with his cock. He takes a deep breath, trying to hide the rumble of his inhale.
You look up, tugging out a box from the shelf. “This one’s a classic,” you say, still squatting down and level with his cock that’s now pulsing under his jeans. You turn the box in your hand and reach it up to him. He takes the box, your eyes locking for a second.
“Full bush, polyester, and some plot,” you say, rising up. You’re closer now than before, and he smells the sweet, citrusy scent of you mixed with the vanilla warmth of the wax melts by the register.
Joel’s pretty sure you’re sauntering back to the counter for him, and his eyes cannot look away from the swell of your ass underneath the worn, light blue denim of your tight shorts. He almost trips over his steps when he lets himself imagine your legs wrapped around his body.
“Anything else?” you ask him, ringing up his video.
Joel quickly glances around, still overwhelmed by the sight of plastic parts and nudity. “Not today,” he responds.
You hum a response and slide his change across the counter. You dangle his bag from your finger, but you don’t reach it out to him yet. “You know, I do have my own collection of movies that might be more up your alley. I work tomorrow, I can bring them in, see if you’re interested in borrowing something?”
God, you’re bold.
“Sounds good,” he instantly rasps without any thought.
Your smile is wide and wicked, one edge of your lips lifting higher than the other. He catches the way your eyes flick down to his mouth and back up to his eyes. It’s been so long since anyone has looked at him like that, at least as far as he knows.
“We close at 8. If you want to meet me here around 8:15?”
It almost feels like a date.
“Sounds good,” Joel repeats.
Christ, he needs to find more words.
“Cool,” you say, reaching his purchase out to him. “Enjoy.”
Goddamn, he will. He wonders if you can sense the way he’s growing hard in his pants, if you know he’s already so fucking worked up, he’s going straight home and fucking himself as he thinks about you. The thing is, he doesn’t really seem to care.
—-
Can you dress up for a trip to the sex store?
Joel wonders it to himself as he tucks and untucks his blue denim shirt. It’s about the only non-plaid and flannel button-up in his closet. He’ll leave the plaid-wearing to you, hell, you look a lot better than he ever could in it. He leaves it untucked, and he doesn’t slick back his hair. He doesn’t want to make it seem like he’s trying too hard when he’s meeting someone to look at porn.
The bright OPEN sign is now off, and Joel knocks a couple of taps against the glass door. He hears the click of the deadbolt and the familiar ding-dong when you open the door.
He’s pretty sure his jaw drops when he sees you. Same irresistible flannel, but this time, only a thin, black tank top is under it. You’re not wearing those ripped jeans or shorts like before; no, your legs are on display thanks to the short, denim skirt, and you’ve traded your Doc Martens for a pair of chunky loafers and ruffled socks. Joel isn’t sure if he’s fantasizing this whole experience or not, but when someone describes his dream woman, he’s sure it’s you.
“Hi,” you say. There’s a slight growl to your voice, and it causes his back to straighten.
It takes Joel a whole ten seconds to realize he’s standing in the doorway, mute. You give him that look he thought about just last night as he came so hard he felt like he was going to black out. The one that tells him you know exactly how much he likes you, and how you know what men are thinking.
You crook a finger and beckon him inside. The lights are lower now, the drop ceiling fluorescents are off, and only the few spotlights above the displays are on. You lead him past the racks of strap-ons and novelty vibrators, past the wall of lube in every flavor and viscosity, until you reach the beaded curtain at the back of the wall. The beads part around you like water, and he follows.
Joel expects to see a stockroom or a break area, but that’s absolutely not what he finds. There’s an old TV on a desk and a small, round coffee table. What really surprises him is the loveseat, fake leather, and glossy, a pale camel color. He’d never think an adult video store would have decorative pillows, but two lie on the couch, one in the shape of a red heart, the other a turquoise Aztec print. There’s a glow to the room thanks to the couple of strands of multi-colored string lights.
“There’s a lot of downtime,” you reason over your shoulder as you remove your flannel. Joel swallows a thick gulp of need when more and more of your skin is revealed to him.
You turn and lift a messenger bag onto the folding table. He tries to look anywhere else but the swell of your tits that are framed perfectly by the low neckline of your tank… but he loses the fight. Especially when the little gold chain you wear disappears between them. There’s something so mysterious to you, an aura of sex and acceptance. He knows you can feel the heat of his eyes, and yet you ignore them, letting him gawk and gaze as you pull out a stack of DVDs and lay them across the table.
It is a ridiculous feeling, standing in the backroom of some strip mall porn shop, waiting for someone to show him “the goods.” It’s all perfectly legal, and yet it feels taboo.
He sees the film before you even put it down… the title in that familiar, red print across the spine. Joel’s body tightens, all the memories of him watching the battered tape at any chance he could when he was a horny teenager. Sneaking down into the basement at 2 AM while his dad and Tommy slept. His teenage self, on the ripped floral couch, the TV on mute, his breath held, hoping he doesn’t hear the creak of the stairs. And now, it sits on the table, angled so the cover is facing him.
He looks up at you, and he tries for casual, but it comes out gruff, “Didn’t think I’d ever see this one again.” He reaches for the DVD and picks it up, assessing the pretty brunette on the cover.
“That one’s my favorite,” you say.
His stomach tightens. Of course it is. He mulls over the DVD, assessing it like he’s some sort of expert.
“There’s a website that sells all of the classics on DVD,” you say. “A little expensive, but worth it… in my opinion.”
Joel nods, reading over the minuscule blurb on the back cover over and over, unsure where to take the conversation or the situation.
“Want to watch it with me?” you ask. Your voice is low and slightly gravely, and when he looks up, he sees pure heat in your eyes.
He bobbles his head up and down, a little too rapidly and eagerly, and reaches the DVD out to you. You take it, your hands grazing over his, staying for a beat longer than propriety should allow. Suddenly, he no longer feels like just a customer or consumer, he feels like someone desired.
“Go ahead and get comfortable,” you say, head nodding towards the sofa.
He settles on the couch, sinking into the overstuffed cushions. He wonders just how many of your other customers have done such a thing. If you make a habit of parting the beaded curtains for just any person who steps into the store. His boot nervously taps on the floor, and he stops it, his whole body tight and awkward in the small space.
You turn the TV on, the static sound fills the room and the snowy fuzz of the screen backlights your body. You bend over, your skirt hiking up your thighs, and Joel gulps. There’s a peek, just a peek, of black lace in between your legs, and he adjusts the way he’s sitting as imperceptibly as he can.
The DVD is loaded into the player with a whirr, and you turn back towards him with a slight smile. Every step you take closer to the sofa, his heart beats harder and harder, and when you settle next to him, your bare knee touching his, he can feel the heat of your skin through his jeans.
“You good?” you ask, your hand holding the remote suspended in the air.
This is all so absurd, and absolutely something he’d never expect he’d be okay doing. But Joel nods an affirmative and responds with a low “yes.”
You hit play on the 25-year-old porno.
There is no preamble, no credits, no opening scroll. Just music and full bush. It’s why a much younger Joel enjoyed it so much. No plot, no performances, just pussy. Joel is thrust right into it, sitting next to a pretty girl watching a cavalcade of women get dressed and undressed. He really doesn’t know where to look. It’s not like he’s uncomfortable, in fact, it seems like the opposite of that, because you’ve done nothing but greet him with openness and acceptance.
It’s quiet between you two, Joel keeps glancing to your side, your profile lit in an almost ethereal glow by the light of the porno. He can already feel his dick growing hard, he doesn’t know what he’s anticipating more, the next scene or the next time you’ll say something.
Funny, he hasn’t seen this movie in over twenty years, and yet he can remember most of the very few lines of dialogue. The diary is pulled out of the drawer on the screen. Joel thinks he knows this whole scene by heart. He always found it ridiculous how the girl lies on her bed in her bright, red high heels, but before it can bother him anymore, his favorite scene begins. Joel catches the way you lean towards the TV when it starts.
“They were married in real life,” you note, eyes planted on the screen.
“Oh?” Joel manages, though it comes out a little too high-pitched than he’d like it to be.
“Mmhmm. I think that’s why I like it so much,” you say, turning to him. “Sometimes you can just tell.”
He stares into your eyes, unblinking. You stare right back at him, and his vision narrows. You’re sitting so close, all he’d have to do is lean a little closer, and his lips could be on yours… he bets they taste so sweet.
Your lips curve up like you’re about to spill a secret for him, but instead you tip your head back to the television. “I love when I can feel how real it is. That’s not a script moan.”
Joel thinks he could listen to you wax poetic about porn for hours. “Yeah,” he says, and it’s gravelly, almost a cough. “You can tell.”
On the TV, a brunette arches her back, mouth open, hand reaching between her legs to stroke herself as she fantasizes. He can’t help himself, looking over at you, watching the way your lips part in tandem with the actress as she pets her pussy. Joel wonders what you look like when you touch yourself… if you draw a circle or line, if you use one or two fingers to fuck yourself.
Fuck. He has to stop thinking, or else he’ll cum in his jeans right here and now.
He tries to turn his brain off. Tries so hard, but when he glances over at you again, you meet his eyes.
“Is it everything you remember?” you ask.
“It is,” he responds.
You hmph a satisfied sound and scoot closer to him, the plastic leather squeaking under you. He hasn’t shared space like this in so long, ever since Tess left back for Detroit. He almost feels dizzy, and he knows he’s already sweating under his shirt. He’s never felt so immediately wanted.
On the screen, the pretty brunette is lying down in front of a fire, her legs spread wide, a man in between her legs eating her out. Joel thinks of you spread out in front of him, your hips canting into his mouth, his big hand pawing at your chest. It goes quiet in the scene, and he can hear your breathing… he wonders what you sound like when you moan.
You lean even closer, you’re now pressed so close to him, and your hand rests on his thigh. He glances down at it and then back up at your face. You have that same look on your face, a little amused, soft with understanding, and yet direct with desire.
Your hand drags up and down, slow, so slow, hovering so close to where his cock is pressing against his zipper. You watch the movie like nothing is happening, as he wills himself to calm his breathing.
“So,” you say after a while, “I keep meaning to ask… how’s the toy?”
Toy? What toy?” It takes Joel a bit to catch your meaning, and then more time for him to collect his thoughts while your palm still runs along his thigh.
Does he tell you he’s used that thing every night since he first met you? How he thinks of your pussy wrapped around his cock instead of the overpriced latex? How he imagines you’re so much softer and wetter than anything he could ever find?
“S’good,” he says, and then again, “S’good,” because apparently he only knows a few goddamn words now.
You huff a delighted sound out of your nose. “Good.”
Your hand moves higher and deeper up his thigh, your thumb brushing at the side of his hard-on, and he can’t help the way his hips jerk an involuntary movement.
“I keep thinking about how you look using it,” you confess, and Joel blinks at you. “In fact, I can’t look at a box the same since you bought it.”
Your palm wraps around his cock and you squeeze him. Joel’s breathing’s gone hard. He whimpers, actually whimpers. Your grin is sly and warm, like all you needed to hear was his need for you.
“We got a new model in,” you say, your hand sliding up and off. He aches, fuck, he aches so badly. It’s all caught up to him so quickly. “It just came in yesterday. This one is full of new features.” Your eyes sparkle, and Joel feels his brain go into total failure mode, shorting out, synapses firing off like the old Christmas lights hung across the wall.
“Oh,” his head bobbles. “Wow.”
Fuck, he feels like an idiot, a goddamn useless and horny idiot.
“Let me show you,” you say, already standing up and crossing the small room.
You don’t bother pulling your skirt hem down for decency when you bend over and reach into a cardboard box. You’re making a show of it, your hips softly swaying as you rummage through the box labeled NEW, the globes of your ass and the tiny string between them revealing themselves to him as your skirt rises higher and higher. His mouth waters, and he’s shocked he hasn’t already creamed all over his jeans.
Suddenly, he doesn’t care much about the porno on the TV. Even if he knows what’s about to happen on the TV, he can hear the scene progress, the moans getting louder, and the music reaching its crescendo, but he can’t look away from you. He’s just going to have to miss the cum shot.
You tilt your head back and look over your shoulder at him. “You wanna try it?”
He chokes a laugh, maybe a moan. “Now?”
“If you’re okay with it.”
He nods, all wide-eyed and in awe, and you gift him a triumphant sound of joy, sauntering back with the orange and black box in your hands. You kneel on the floor in front of him, and he parts his legs wide to make room for you. You hold the box up and give him a honey-sweet sales pitch, purring out words like “vibrating” and “heated.”
You tear the box open, and he can hardly believe what’s happening when you pull out the silver cylinder. Porno plays on the tv, the collective sounds of moans, groans, and saxophone comingles with the crinkle of the plastic as you unwrap the toy from its plastic shell.
You hold it like it’s a trophy. The toy is sleek and silver, and when you thumb the dial at the base, it begins to thrum in your hand. You stare at him as you drag your finger around the rim slowly, and then you spit, a steady dribble down to the latex hole. He shudders at the sight, and he’s pretty sure he’s never been this hard before. Your finger circles your spit into the opening, pushing just the tip inside. You angle the toy up, showing him the way it flexes around your finger, and he feels his heart skip every other beat.
He grunts, and you laugh all soft and delighted and wicked. Your other palm presses against his cock. “Bet he’s dying to try,” you tease, your hand around it underneath the dark denim of his jeans. “Can I see?”
Joel nods, unable to do anything but. His fingers fumble with the zipper and button of his jeans, and he frees himself, all flushed and leaking and desperate for you to see. He’s not even shy, hell, he’s too fucking horny to be shy when he wraps his hand around his base and squeezes himself, gifting him the pressure he’s been craving.
“Knew you’d be big ‘n pretty,” you admire with a lick of your lips.
You reach to your side, pop open the drawer on the desk, and pull out a bottle of lube. The cap flips open and you squirt a cold glob into Joel’s palm. “Go on,” you say.
He wraps his hand around his cock, stroking a slow line across his length, your eyes watching his every movement. You bring the Fleshlight to your lips, dragging your tongue along the entrance, and Joel nearly loses it right then, squeezing himself tight and thinking about the cost of lumber to keep him from cumming all over himself.
You look up at him and grin, all beautiful and tempting. “May I?”
He hisses. “Jesus, yes.”
You lean forward, and when he gets the first buzz of vibration as you push the toy down along him, he sees a galaxy behind his eyelids as he flutters them shut. You slide him deeper in, and he has to will every tightly wound nerve in his body not to let him explode right then and there.
The toy pumps up and down, the friction is tight, the wet gloss of your spit, precum, and lube enveloping his cock is perfect. Joel can’t look away from you, your eyes focused on his cock moving in and out of the toy, your bottom lip captured between your teeth. Your eyes flick up to him when you twist the toy around the crown of his cock, and he lets out a needy gasp. He’s past trying to hide how much he wants this, how wild you make him.
“Here,” you say, unwrapping your hand. “You try. I want to watch you.” There’s a dare in your voice, and the heat spreads through his body.
He feels so clumsy when he wraps his hand around the toy, but he gets the hang of it, fingers tight as he torques the silver cylinder up and down.
“Fuck,” you whisper. “You look so good, Joel.”
Oh god, the way you say his name. He grunts, sliding it faster and a little rougher, his balls drawing up as he tests the limits of the toy and himself. He barely even remembers there’s a movie playing behind you… all that TV is now is just a source of more light for him to see your beautiful face.
You watch, your face mere inches from his dick, all greedy-eyed and heavy-lidded with lust. He sees the way your chest is heaving, the gold chain around your neck rising and falling with each breath.
Joel can’t believe how in the hell he’s got himself here, legs spread on the fake leather couch, dick gripped by some sort of futuristic sex tube, and the prettiest woman he’s ever seen in his life crouched in front of him. You watch him like he’s some sort of art piece in a museum, like he’s the most interesting thing you’ve ever seen. Your hand comes up and rests on his knee. You give him a reassuring and encouraging squeeze. You’re waiting patiently, he can feel your need for him simmering, and it makes him want to show off. He jerks himself faster, the slurping wet of the toy making an obscene sound when it’s layered with the now-ignored sound of fucking coming from the TV. His hips rock up when he chases the pressure, the toy buzzing around his cock.
You hook your thumbs under the thin straps of your black tank and pull them down, gifting him the sight of your gorgeous tits. There’s no ceremony, no awkwardness, you expose yourself all confident and cool, and all Joel can do is stare dumbfounded by your beauty. He grunts and pushes the toy all the way down his shaft and his whole body tightens, arching off the couch. He explodes, his orgasm ripping through him, his cum surging into the toy. He can only groan and stare, his eyes flowing from your face to your tits, then back as he fills the latex.
You reach up, take his chin in your hand, thumb tracing his jaw. “Good boy,” you growl.
You take the toy from his tight grip, a stream of his cum and lube dribbling out when you lift the cylinder off of him. Before Joel can even process what’s happening, you bring it to your mouth, making a show of sticking your tongue out to lick up the mess, and you moan. Joel can hardly believe it when his overwhelmed cock jerks at the sight.
“Jesus Christ,” he mouths. You look up, tongue out, and he wants to reach for you and kiss you. It’s like you can read his mind. The toy lands on the table with a thunk when you toss it behind you and crawl up onto his lap. You straddle him, your skirt hiking up, and the heat of you radiates against the sticky head of his cock when you begin to grind down.
You kiss him, fucking finally, and it’s messy, open-mouthed, and feverish. You taste of peppermint and him, and Joel groans into your mouth when he sucks the taste from your tongue.
“Touch me,” your breathy voice implores against his mouth. “Touch me.”
His hand slips down between your legs, and he cups the soaked lace of your thong, thumb pressing into the wet gusset of your panties. You give him a moan of approval and a slight nibble against his bottom lip.
Fuuuck, you’re so hot. He grabs at the flimsy scrap of lace, pushing it aside, and the wet heat of your cunt practically sears his fingers. He keeps his hands there, letting you rut against his palm, smearing yourself across his fingers. It’s filthy, the way you’re grinding so shamelessly, and it makes him want to make you sob and shake and scream his name.
He slides two fingers into your eager hole with a single push, and you gasp, clutching at his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin. The gasp is a real sound, not some porn star scream. Your needy cunt clamps down on him, greedy and pulsing, swallowing his fingers.
He holds your hips tight in his other hand, helping you grind against his knuckles. You break the kiss, head tipping back, panting and moaning. Joel marvels at the way you look, your face wild, lips swollen from his scruff and mouth. You’re so beautiful, he feels like he can’t breathe. He just mind be the luckiest man to have ever stepped foot into a sex shop.
Joel buries his face in your neck and breathes the heady scent of you in, his tongue licking against the sweet taste of your skin. He feels like he’s a teen again, fumbling and desperate, learning new pleasures, getting lost in the sensation of the creamy heat clutching him, in the wet sound of his fingers fucking your cunt. He grins against your throat, a little cocky, a little skeptical of how lucky he feels, because he can tell how close you are for him, the way your muscles tighten around him and your thighs tremble. He wants every other man to pale in comparison to him, he wants you to ache for him the way he’s ached for you.
And so, he brings his free hand up to your neck, cupping the back of it, angling your head to look at him. He stares into your eyes as he crooks his fingers and runs them against the spongy swell of you. You stare back all wide-eyed and awe-filled, moans escaping your lips.
“C’mon, baby, I got you. I got you,” he grits.
Your pussy pulses and squeezes Joel’s fingers so hard he can hardly move them. Your eyes stay on his as you ride him out, clenching and gasping, your body shuddering against his. You flood him, the slick and hot nectar of you dripping down onto his knuckles. You’re beautiful, every single fucking part of you, and Joel can’t stop looking at your face.
You slump forward, your head landing against his chest as you catch your breath, and Joel lets out an incredulous-sounding chuckle. The TV is still flickering porn, and Joel pays no mind to it. He stares up at the drop ceiling panels, feeling like he’s in his own porno scene… with a pretty girl on his lap and his fingers still nestled in your hot cunt.
When he pulls his fingers away, you shudder and sigh, your body heavy with satisfaction against him. Joel feels like a champion, like he’s won some sort of competition, and your satiated body atop his is the prize.
“Your boss know you do this?” he asks.
“She does,” you chuckle, nestling closer against his chest. “I’m the boss.”
“Well, then, you do this with your other customers?”
This time, you pull away and look into his eyes, an almost serious look on your face. “Just the VIP list… and there’s only one member on it.”
Joel can’t help the wide smile that spreads. “Reckon I like being a VIP.”
i wholeheartedly believe that jackson joel would be a quiet, but strong lover. from afar, before he mustered up the courage to actually talk to you, he would make sure the horse you preferred was tacked up and ready to go for your shared patrol shifts. he would drop off baskets of the fruits and vegetables that he knows you prefer from peering down at you while up on scaffolding doing repairs on the main street as you meandered through the shops
he would offer you quiet but unyielding strength and trust in a partner when patrol would get tough or the weather decided to be anything other than a nice, sunny day. he would insist on doing any of the repairs you put in a request for on your assigned house, admiring the way that you made the space your own and so cozy
the image of you bustling around the kitchen and humming to yourself or curled up in the living room with a book flash in his mind because he'd seen it firsthand and his heart skipped a beat
that first time he really touched you, your bare skin- it was when a storm fell out of some heavy clouds and stranded you at a checkpoint for a whole day. the wet clothes were making you shiver, and he insisted on setting up a clothesline inside to help them dry faster. the brush of his fingers as he helped you to your outer layer off only to find you in a tank top underneath just about flushed his whole chest and neck
he was a goner from then on, the looks you would give him silent encouragement to test the waters. he suggested sleeping in the same space to conserve heat and keep close through the storm- his hearing not what it used to be and your safety the most important thing
when you finally fell asleep, you rolled into him and pressed your face against his chest. the little puffs of your breath and the flutter of your lashes enamored him, and he didn't get a wink of sleep as he watched all night. that's when you started touching him back, from that night on. little brushes of your hand over his arms and shoulder, palms to the small of his back or thigh during town meetings
the first kiss was when he walked you home after a shared meal, equal excitement for a dish served only sometimes and would run out fairly quickly at the tipsy bison. the kiss wasn't chaste; it was openmouthed and desperate- the build up to it intense and not ending there
the way his body moved against yours, hovering, pressing, thrusting was all so much, his body so large and strong that it made your head spin and whimpers fall from your lips as you tried to keep up. his mouth that takes the time to explain things to those under his wing at sites and tell snippets of his life before is biting and soothing all at once over your skin. sucking peeked nipples into his mouth and searing hot tongue swiping through drenched folds
sounds you never knew you could make fly from your lips, his attention all that mattered whenever you had it. his body meeting yours, filling yours, pulling sensations you thought you would never experience again from you so easily and quietly. his eyes trained and blown out, his attention so fixated
his love is private, but it brough you back to life in a way you had given up on. you only hope yours had done the same to him and when you ask him one day, he crosses the room in two strides and just holds you to his chest, arms tight around you.
'of course you did, darlin', ain't nothin' coulda done that but you'
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