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joelsgoldrush · 3 months

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smother - part vi: sanctification

dark!joel x f!reader

series masterlist | main masterlist | ao3 | kofi

summary: whether you're ready or not, joel is keen to take your virginity and your freedom. 9.7k words. chapter warnings: 18+ MDNI! noncon, dubcon - lack of enthusiastic consent & stockholm syndrome, coercion, reader is a virgin (not for long 🤪), big juicy age gap (reader is 19, joel is late 40s), ddlg/daddy dom! joel, sub!reader, fingering, squirting, unprotected piv, the v card is leaving the building, mild choking, corruption kink, pet names for reader (including a new favorite one), dirty talk, joel is just NAASTY y'all, reader has hair that can be grabbed onto, the start of some feelings??? if these darker tags aren't your cup of tea please keep scrolling! a/n: i'm in a hate literally every word i write phase right now but i poured over this chapter countless times and just have to get it out into the world. not very reassuring lmfao but i really hope it's living up to everyone's expectations and desires for the story and this big moment! sending love to everyone who has been commenting and encouraging me during my writing of this story ❤️

reminder i have no taglist anymore, follow @beardedjoel-updates to hear about my new fics!

“Kneel.”

Joel speaks the one word, eyes glued to you with that hungry glare of his. It’s beyond ravenous now, his body taut and buzzing as he grips the leather in his hands.

His hand holds onto your hair and tilts your head upwards and far back to look straight up at where he dominates above you. Your breathing shakes, neck aching already. The moment is so serious, so tense that the air seems to go stale around you. Joel had taken your silent staring moments ago as a chance to explain, tell you exactly what he was holding and why. A collar, he’d said, starting the conversation. The word rendered you speechless all over again, your stomach twisting and turning, the space between your legs feeling that familiar throbbing again. You didn’t know why you felt turned on, and it just silenced you further, only leaving you the mental space to sink down to your knees when he’d asked you to. Let it all go.

“Let’s make things real clear, now, m’little sugar,” Joel says smoothly, bringing the collar down and letting it brush along your cheeks, dragging it across your face. You shudder, starting to tremble a bit, knees throbbing already as they press into the floor. “You wearin’ this is more ‘n somethin’ daddy likes, it means everythin’. It means… you belong to me, you got that?”

“Yes, sir,” you spit out quickly with a slight rasp, finding your voice. Joel gives a harsh tug on your hair before he drops it to kindly caress your other cheek, continuing to drag the leather along your face, shoulders and neck. Almost as if he can’t help himself, the movement descends into him gripping your chin, then your neck, squeezing lightly.

“It means…” he continues, his eyes merely shadows in the quickly darkening room as the sun sets outside. He pulls both hands back, situating the collar in his hands, bringing it down to the correct position across your neck. You start to tremble harder without realizing it, your body frozen as you feel the leather touch the column of your throat, Joel’s hands wrapping it around you. He then stops, not quite clasping it yet, just holding it tight around your neck. “I own you, princess. You are mine. Every little piece. It’s mine.”

You just pant softly as his hold stays steady on the column of your throat, unable to speak. Why can’t you speak? Why can’t you move? Why does Joel paralyze you every single time into obedience with just his words?

“Now don’t go quiet on me. Repeat it back for daddy, sweetie, so I know you want this,” Joel commands, pulling the collar a little more taut. You inhale a strained breath and look at him from underneath your lashes.

“Y-you…” you choke out, feeling him go slightly tighter in warning. “You own me. I’m y-yours.” Your stomach flips again at the admission, knowing you’re getting further and further from a point of no return now. Ownership sounded pretty far gone already, you figure, and here you were, openly letting Joel claim that over you. You feel sickness rise up at the words coming out of your mouth, violent against that part of you that wants this, that feels hot anticipation at the thought of it.

“Oh, good girl, that’s right, princess. You’re all mine.” Joel’s voice is full of eagerness, stuffed down and hidden in his controlled tone, but you can feel it. You whimper a little, terrified by the permanence of all of this, of just how much more you’re giving up to him. But you’d also be lying if you said this didn’t make you feel wild inside, that little part of you screaming out to be completely taken care of like this by Joel. To live an easy life, have everything you need, feel the freedom that he offered here. As ridiculous as it felt to say to yourself, he was offering you freedom from the constraints of your past life, it was just a new set of rules.

Joel catches your wandering gaze, the hesitancy in your expression. He tugs the collar harder against your flesh, his hands still wrapped around, waiting to complete the ritual.

“This just shows the world you belong t’me. Shows me you’ll trust daddy to do what’s right. It’s a good thing, princess. I think…” A dramatic pause as he sighs softly. “That you’re ready f’this. Don’t you trust me?”

Your eyes lock on his. Do you? Joel hasn’t always been kind or perfect, but you suppose he’s never tried to hide exactly who he is from you. “Yes,” you whisper, casting your eyes downward before you can torture yourself further on it. Joel’s smirk spreads across his face, and he pulls the collar as tight as it’ll go, watching the quick flash of fear across your face before he lets up, softening the touch.

“Eyes up here while I do this,” Joel says with an upward nod of his head and nudge to your chin. “Wanna see those pretty eyes while I make you mine.” You try to keep your gaze steady, studying Joel’s face, his lips parted greedily and eyes narrowed and wild looking. You think he just might be handsome like this, when he’s so enraptured by you and the current moment. His fingers work to start clasping the collar closed, moving with a slow reverence for the process, almost giving a feeling of respect for you. You wait with baited breath until he’s finished, leaving it tight but with enough room to breathe comfortably. You carefully continue to watch his face as he keeps his eyes trained on the new accessory around your neck, securing it and then tucking a finger between the leather and your skin, humming out a contented noise at what he feels.

“Fuck…” he grunts out softly. “So perfect… made for my baby…” He gives a little disbelieving shake of his head while he stares straight at your neck, drinking the sight in like he’s been parched for days and you’re the only balm he needs.

“Not too tight?” he asks quietly, and you feel your eyes grow wider when he glances up to them, catching your gaze. You shake your head, your skin tingling where the collar is touching, burning up with a strange, animalistic fever for him right now. You just sit, knees pressed hard into the rug that surrounds Joel’s bed, staying silent with your mouth slightly ajar.

“What’s that look for, hm, sugar?” Joel asks, arching a brow. His face morphs into a lighter, teasing expression, clearly beyond pleased with himself and you right now.

“I- I don’t know…” you stutter out. Your eyes drop, scanning the room with a sightless stare, your mind reeling as you travel deep into your thoughts. “I’m just…” You try again, sighing out in frustration at your lack of vocabulary, lack of being able to even understand what you’re feeling right now.

“Can I see it?” you finally ask with a little more determination. Joel continues to smirk, tilting his head at you, a flash of surprise in his eyes but he blinks it away, acting as if he’d expected you to ask that question.

“Of course, princess,” he replies softly, offering you his hand. You grip onto it tightly and Joel helps to pull you up from where you kneel, swiftly sliding a hand around you with the motion, guiding you with it pressed against the small of your back. He leads you to the large mirror above the dresser, just across the room from where you two had been, and as you approach, the sight that greets you turns your stomach and sends a skitter of sparks up your spine. Joel’s arm, protectively, possessively wrapped tightly around you, his body crowding close. Your face looks… different than usual, you think, but maybe it’s just your mind playing tricks on you. You step closer, Joel following like he’s glued to you, the smirk on his face not fading in the least. His eyes roam over your scantily clad body through your reflection, landing once again on your neck. It makes you shiver, the way you can see what he sees right now, what his eyes are hungry for. You realize now you’ve never seen you and Joel together like this.

“Go on, look at it,” Joel insists, pressing you forward until the front of your body is against the dresser, as close as you can get to the mirror. You lean forward, inspecting the collar - a relatively thin, dainty black band, nothing so thick it takes up your whole neck. It’s almost tasteful in its sleekness, complete with an o-ring hanging off of the front. You’re afraid to question what it might be for, already having a hunch, but you find yourself slowly bringing your hand up to toy with the ring anyhow. Joel’s watchful eyes follow your hands to where you hold the ring between your fingers, inspecting the entire collar, the way it only covers a fraction of the still fading marks Joel had left on your neck the other night.

“What do you think, my little blossom?” Joel asks, leaning over slightly to kiss the side of your head. Your brows twitch inward, your sight tearing away from the collar to find him in the mirror. “What? You like the new nickname, baby?” Joel questions in that cocky tone of his he uses when he already knows the answer. He kisses the side of your head again, planting several more on your hair while he watches you in the mirror. Your open mouth twitches to a small smile as you breathe out the tiniest chuckle.

“It’s cute…” you say with a sudden shyness, feeling your face burning at his special attention.

“Mm, jus’ like you,” Joel teases, his lips trailing downwards, craning his head towards your neck. “My cute little blossom. All mine, ain’t she?”

You nod silently as Joel’s lips brush the sensitive skin near your ear and you shudder. His fingers quickly slip underneath the collar at the back of your neck and tug hard, yanking your neck back with a choked gasp flying out of your mouth.

“Use. Your. Words.” Joel reminds you, using the collar to maneuver your head further back towards him.

“Y-yes, daddy. All yours,” you quickly spit out, shaking as your body responds to the beginning of what it's perceiving as a threat. But you aren’t sure anymore if your mind can discern the difference, if you truly feel threatened by him anymore. Maybe this was Joel’s way of cherishing you, of keeping you, reminding you where you belong now.

“That’s right. Good girl,” Joel replies, giving the collar another tug, softer and more loving this time.

“Now you’re gonna be good ‘n watch while daddy makes you feel good, yeah? Watch how much y’want it,” Joel says, wrapping a hand around you, landing right under your breasts. His eyes dart there at your hardened nipples pressing against the fabric before they flick back to your face.

You find a soft, curious grin pulling at your mouth, letting yourself give him the satisfaction of making you smile. “W-watch it?” you ask warily, feeling your face warming at the idea.

Joel nods, nuzzling his nose into your hair and breathing in. “Mhm, that’s right. Help you learn, babygirl - why it’s all so wonderful, all the things you’ve been missin’.”

“O-okay…” you mumble hesitantly, trying to learn to trust him. You watch as Joel’s hand snakes over your belly, fingers splayed out as his large hand roams downward, ending between your legs. He bunches the thin fabric of your nightgown as he moves, bringing it between your legs where he cups your bare pussy, your underwear long gone down in the kitchen from where he’d cut them off. You whimper quietly, the anticipation of what's to come already building up, your body seeming to pick up where you’d left off earlier before Joel’s outburst.

You breathe out a soft moan as his whole hand rubs your cunt, the fabric gathering up your desperately poured out slick as he goes, watching your face intently as your eyes start to mist over with desire. His dark eyes look so handsome as you meet them, slightly narrowed, his sharp glare so knowing, so confident in what he’s doing to you.

“Daddy…” you whimper quietly, your body pressing backwards, ass grinding into his crotch, hips bearing down onto his hand slightly. “Please…”

“Beggin’ for daddy…” he chortles, “And to think y’were tryna’ run from me, run from this…” Joel’s hand starts to force aside the bottom hem of your dress, slipping underneath so that his calloused fingers brush along your bare thighs. Your spine feels alight with the shiver that travels upwards as his warm hands find your chilled skin. Joel’s lips find your neck once again, nipping lightly above the new collar. He finds himself attaching his mouth to the skin, sucking another fresh mark on you. He trains his eyes on your face as he does it, watching you watch him. Your breathing is ragged, the view you have so sexual and intimate, beyond anything you’d ever have imagined seeing in your life. You’d never known you were missing something so divine yet so dirty, it’s own form of worship that you’d never been clued in on. That’s what Joel is doing, you realize, as his fingers find your slit, gently skimming the outside of your lips while his mouth tickles your neck - he’s worshiping you. Worshiping our body, what you give to him, what he can take from you.

“An’ you wouldn’t even think of doin’ that now, would you? Not after you’ve seen what daddy can give you, hm?” His fingers inch closer and closer to where you need them, your vision cloudy and mind vacant of anything but this feeling.

“N-no, sir, never…” you say, thinking it might be half a lie, but you can’t imagine wanting to leave when you’re well on your way to heaven right this second. Joel’s hand holds steady on the back of your collar, forcefully bringing your head further back, allowing him to admire the column of your throat as the new symbol of his ownership rests tightly against it.

“Not when I own you now… a man’s property can’t ever really get away from him, can it… ‘Cause if it did, he’d find it,” he murmurs close to your ear, threatening and quiet. You look on at your mouth popping open in the mirror as two of his deliciously thick fingers slide inside of you, easily guided along as your fluttering pussy eagerly accepts them. “This is mine. Whenever I please. Whenever I want, whatever I want.”

“Oh…” you moan out quietly, feeling tears sting at your eyes, unsure of why they’re even there in the first place. It feels so good, such a welcome relief, contrasted by his words that threaten to crush your very existence down into a hole for him to fill whenever he desires. But half of you wants that, wants to please him, to make him want you and keep you so that you’ll be taken care of. Joel says those things because that’s how he can be good to you, you realize. That is what he has to give, maybe all he has - that role where you’re under his thumb, where he owns every bit of you.

“You like that, hm? Desperate to be used up by daddy, aren’t you? To watch in this mirror while I fuck you with my fingers? Make my little girl feel good?” Joel grits out, his fingers retreating and then entering you again, tortuously slow. He smirks, his cheek pressed against the side of your head while your eyes are transfixed between your legs where his fingers disappear inside of you over and over again. You whimper fearfully when he tightens the hold on the collar again, stealing your breath away for a brief second as your trachea adjusts to the new level of pressure.

“Shh, shh,” Joel coos quietly. “Feels good, baby, I know.”

You strain out a tiny sound, somewhere between a cry and a moan when his fingers curl inside of you, touching the spot that makes your knees start to wobble.

“Wh-wh-” you stutter out in a rasp, trying to understand. Your breathing labors further as Joel’s smirk grows more sinister, his hold more absolute on the collar.

“You wonderin’ ‘bout this special spot, aren’t you, blossom?”

You nod, the motion only serving to cut your air off further, and you still your head back against his shoulder, trying to catch your breath. Joel responds first with another devastating curl of his fingers, sending your eyes rolling back, losing focus.

“See, you’ve got this special spot that feels extra good inside here, and only daddy can reach it f’you. Bet those little fingers of yours couldn’t do it even if you tried.” He tuts mournfully for you at that fact before he smirks again. “Only me,” he clarifies, tyrannical as ever with his brows crinkled together. You stare on with your mouth agape, your knees going more unsteady as he presses against it again, moving his fingers in and out of you harder each time. You cry out, your belly warm and taut each time he does the motion, building up tension as it starts threatening to release.

“I… it…” you whimper. “So good…” you mumble in between breathy moans, unable to control your body now as it wobbles and grinds down into his hand. His fingers squelch and slip through all of the slickness, and your mind reels with the way you react to him, unable to even understand how your body just knows, how it responds so willingly and abundantly for such a dangerous, sick man.

Joel picks up his pace at your praising words, pressing hard on that spot and keeping the same rigid hold on your neck. Your hands fly up to clutch at the collar, your body starting to go into some kind of fight or flight mode, desperate for just a little more air after going without it.

“Pl-” you start to beg in a croaking voice, but Joel swiftly cuts you off.

“Not ‘till you come, my pretty girl,” he announces, kissing the side of your cheek and moving to your neck, the sensation overwhelming on top of everything else. Your whole body starts to sweat, heat sweeping over your skin, the spot right where he’s touching deep inside of you radiating outwards in a tingling sensation as you feel yourself start to get lost in it.

“Daddy…” you mumble, the word cutting off into a moan as your core tightens, spasms starting to rock through you. “Daddy,” you cry more urgently, eyes fluttering shut.

“Eyes open,” Joel barks sharply, giving the collar a tug, and you snap your eyes back open to watch, and see your body convulsing in his hold as your climax washes over you. Joel stuffs you so hard it almost starts to hurt, pumping his fingers rapidly before shoving them so far in you nearly scream out with the pleasure it brings when he stretches you and pushes on the spongy bit inside of you with all that he’s got. “Fuck…” he mumbles, feeling your slick pouring out in plenty, a never ending well of how badly you want him.

“Oh… it’s so…” you cry out loudly in a panic, hands clawing backwards to reach for Joel, gripping onto anything you can find - the fabric of his shirt, his hip. The sensation builds to a desperate level, then something more you’ve never felt before as it tears through you. “Daddy!” you yell loudly, nearly scared of the reaction your body is having as you feel a sudden gush spilling out of you at the tail end of your climax. You watch in horror at the way your dress gets soaked, the fabric going more translucent with the wetness, eyes wide and urgently searching for answers.

“God damn! Fuck,” Joel punches out eagerly, his breathing hot and heavy right against the shell of your ear while he frantically continues to pump his fingers. “Who woulda thought… first time tryin’, too…” Joel muses to himself, eyes fixated on the same stain on your dress.

You whimper as tears roll down your cheeks, your entire body quaking with the spasms while you come down. Joel’s fingers start to idle, staying inside of you while he looks on in amazement. His hand releases at the back of your neck and you suck in a greedy, shaky breath, chest heaving.

“That’s a very good girl for daddy, y’know that? Daddy’s messy little girl,” he says pleasingly, pecking the side of your head with a few sloppy kisses while he pulls his now shining fingers out of you, absentmindedly bringing them to his mouth and sucking on them. You shake your head in response, finding his gaze with your watery eyes.

Joel reads your lost, alarmed expression and starts to stroke the back of your head. “Shh, it’s okay, sweetheart, you did a good job. That jus’ means you really liked what daddy did to ya, okay? Nothin’ bad, nothin’ scary, promise.”

You feel a slight twinge of relief pass through you and nod wordlessly, letting your body start to settle, your heart rate calming. Joel grips you by the shoulders, spinning you to face him, looking down at you with a satisfied smile.

“You’ve made daddy real happy jus’ now,” he says, stroking along your hairline, fingers curling behind your ears. His eyes bounce around your face, taking in the way you’re glowing a bit, a thin layer of sweat on your forehead. “I wanna reward you.”

You furrow your brow, looking with expectation as you wait for him to continue. “A r-reward?” Your heart jumps a little at the idea, finding the urge to be rewarded by him stronger than you’d realized. The idea is so appealing - pleasing him to the point where he wants to give back in return - it makes your stomach flutter suddenly. You blink up at him, allowing yourself to get a little lost in his dark brown eyes for just a beat. He presses closer, completely closing you in against the dresser and you can feel how hard he is, his cock straining against his jeans when they brush against your center.

“Mhm,” Joel replies. “I think you’re ready, baby,” Joel says tenderly, bringing a gentle hand up to trace along your cheekbone.

“Ready…?” you repeat back meekly, feeling your gut swirl with an unhealthy thrill countered by a quick flash of fear. “I don’t… I-” you mumble, shaking your head, knowing your anxiety at the idea is showing clearly on your face. One of Joel’s hands interlocks with yours, and he starts walking backwards as he pulls you along to the bed.

“Y’wanna know why…” he starts, reaching the end of the bed with you, maneuvering your body and gently, silently demanding you downwards, your ass falling to the bed with a small bounce in your wake. You try to catch your breath, caught in your now swollen feeling throat, your body starting to shake as you see his obvious bulge inside the denim come face to face with you. “...I started to call you my little blossom?”

You tear your eyes away from his crotch to meet his eyes, dark chocolate swirling with the voracious need to feast on you, take this last part of your soul away. You nod, licking your dry lips before worrying on the inside skin of them.

“W-why…?” you ask timidly.

Joel’s body moves, starting to crowd in on you, sending you scampering back on the bed a bit to accommodate him. He climbs up, crawling over top of your body, his hulking form lurking above you in a way that makes you feel hot all over. One arm keeps him balanced while the other cups your face, his eyes softening as he gazes down at your worry stricken face “‘Cause you’re delicate, baby, so precious t’me. An’ I’m about to watch you blossom, help you become a woman. Show you what your body was meant to do.”

You let out a shaky breath as he gives you a keen look, hands reaching for his waistband, unzipping and starting to wriggle his way out of his jeans. He pauses to lean down and kiss you, his lips eagerly meeting yours, trying to soothe the look of concern on your face.

“Shh, shh, I’m gonna make sure it’s proper for you, baby, my sweet little thing. You’re gonna be so happy you gave this special moment to daddy, promise ya.”

You swallow hard and nod, knowing that the surety isn’t reaching your eyes, that Joel can still see the fear in them. You can see it practically spur him on - the more your fear increases, the more turned on he gets. He likes knowing you’re so nervous, that you don’t know what to expect. Your inexperience is his power, his way of keeping you right where he wants you. You don’t know what you want anymore, all of it feeling like some figment of Joel’s desires that are nestled inside of you now, taking over. Do you want Joel to do this right now? Are you ready to give this part of you over to him yet? You’d been taught so much in the opposite vein that it’s messing with your head, the way you crave exactly what you’re not supposed to have yet.

You don’t know how to get your thoughts straight, your mind trying to push through what feels like a swirling cloud of thick fog, unable to see clearly through it all. You lay motionless, though, as Joel’s hands explore your body, running down your arms and landing on your thighs, bunching your gown up in his hands.

“Your dress now, honey,” Joel coos, starting to lift from the bottom, easily sliding it off of you, leaving your body fully exposed to him in mere seconds. The one protection you had is off and tossed to the side before you can even think to protest. You body curls in on itself slightly as Joel moves off of you, quickly standing off the bed to start shucking off his jeans. As he’s pulling his flannel down his arms, he narrows his eyes in your direction.

“Don’t hide yourself, sweetheart. Straighten out, now, lemme see you. Nothin’ to be embarrassed ‘bout.” Your cheeks burn at the way he’s called you out, and you try to unfurl yourself, letting your legs fall open, spread for him, and put your arms at your sides. Your heart thunders in your chest, the reality of it all crashing down and hitting you when Joel starts to strip down his briefs, revealing everything to you. His cock is massive, bigger than you’d remembered in your mind's eye, and you fight the urge to wince at its angry, dripping head, oh so desperate to fill you up. Or, at least you think that’s where it's going.

He starts climbing back onto the bed, crawling over you like a predator, his eyes flickering quickly in the warm, dusk light that streams in through the windows.

“Mmm,” he murmurs sensually, sending a wave of heat over your skin at the primal sound, the way you can feel his bare flesh starting to come together with yours. “Fuck, so pretty, aren’t you? Gonna look so good w’my cock between your legs.” He’s becoming more vulgar by the second, the conqueror in him swelling with excitement, overtaking Joel’s rational brain. You wince audibly when he brings himself down, and you feel the head of his cock brush your leg, squeezing your eyes shut for a brief second.

“I-it’s going… in there?” You swallow down the lump in your throat when his greedy smile answers for you. “P-promise it won’t hurt?” you ask through watery eyes, finding yourself tearing up and trembling as you try to keep still to not upset him.

Joel simpers, cocking his head at you. “Oh, my sweet girl. Sweet as honey…” he marvels, leaning down to kiss your tear stained cheeks. “Your body is made for this, sugar. But I can’t promise this might not hurt some. I’ll just do a little bit, mkay?”

“I d-don’t think…” you start, shaking your head violently as you glance down in between your bodies, seeing the monstrosity of his cock eagerly making its way towards the apex of your thighs. “It w-won’t…”

Joel’s hands move to pin your wrists down, making your breath pick up in a panic, fighting every urge to struggle against the hold - you know what happens when you upset him. “C’mon, sugar, it’ll just be a little bit f’now. You’re ready for this, babygirl.” Joel says with an impatient air as he repositions himself over top of you, his weight pressing down on your body. It makes you feel even more breathless to have him crowding you like this, his thick cock terrifying the hell out of you as you picture any part of it entering you.

“I- it’s not gonna fit,” you cry out, shaking your head desperately, hoping he sees the fear in your eyes and it slows him down, makes him reconsider.

His hand comes to your cheek, the back of it stroking down one time before tracing a finger along your lip, before shoving two of them inside your mouth, effectively gagging you. “Shh, s’okay. Promise it’ll just be a little bit. Only hurt for a second,” he tells you, and you consider his words, having nothing else to go on but his promises. You suck instinctively on his fingers as you brace yourself, eliciting a tiny groan from Joel before he pops them back out.

He doesn’t wait, doesn’t seem to care about hearing any response or protestations as he sinks his hips down, the head of his cock bursting into your tight hole. He keeps his word for now, just pushing in the slightest bit but you feel like you’re being split open already, your walls pulsating around him as a burning sensation takes over. You blanch and whine, ragged breaths ringing out into the room.

“Fuck…” he moans loudly, pressing his hips down a little more. You wince again, drawing a sharp breath in through your teeth as you grimace. A quiet ow leaves your lips and Joel shushes you, pushing himself further into your tight heat. You try to keep yourself quiet, terrified of what’s happening to you, and the wrath you could endure if things don’t go Joel’s way. The burn is becoming unbearable though, your body unable to accommodate his size just yet as he inches in.

“Doin’ so good, such a good girl,” he says with a quiet whimper, finally meeting your eyes for a brief second, finding them wet and glistening, seeming to ignore it. “God, oh, god, fuck,” he groans into your shoulder, burying his face further. He bites down on your skin, teeth sinking right into your shoulder as he groans louder, more animalistic this time. You hold back a sob as he bites harder before pulling back and sucking hard, surely leaving a new, memorable mark.

“Jesus Christ, fuckin’ perfect little cunt. God it’s all mine…” His breathing is erratic, all over the place now, breathy little curses flying out of him as he slips himself further inside of you.

“It h-hurts, daddy…” you whine, but immediately feel it fall on deaf ears as Joel zealously nibbles at your neck as he pulls the little bit of his cock out and pushes right back in, starting a slow rhythm with his hips. After a few pulses he thrusts in a little deeper, releasing an untamed, broken sound from deep in his chest before pulling the skin of your neck between his lips again.

“Daddy, please…”

“Shh, shh, y’just gotta adjust,” Joel says in between marking you, his teeth and tongue scraping along your fragile skin around your pulse point. You whimper quietly, hoping he’s right, that the burning sensation will stop soon. You’ve lost him completely now, though, you realize, as he moves with more vigor, each time his cock slides in more until he’s pushing past your tightness, your pain, and you cry out. Your hands flash up to his shoulder, grabbing on tightly, fingers digging into his skin as you squeeze it through the pain.

“C’mon sweets, daddy needs this, he’s been waitin’ too long f’this. Shush now. Don’t act like y’don’t want this,” Joel mumbles with a few more gentle kisses along your neck down to your collarbone. His hips snap a little quicker, starting to jostle you and you whimper and whine to no avail. He’s so big, your tightness working quickly to try to accommodate his quickening intrusions.

“Okay, baby,” Joel says with a sigh, finally seeming to see some reason as his voice changes to a softer tone from the needy, detached one he’d had just moments ago. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, honey.” He catches your eye, seeing your tears on the verge of spilling out and smiles more kindly at you, stopping his hips completely. “Got carried away w’ya, it jus’ feels so good for daddy.”

You nod, brows furrowing together with worry as you welcome the stillness of his hips. Joel’s hands come to your face, gripping your cheeks, letting his thumbs rub soothing circles along your jawline. “Now jus’ take a deep breath, breathe w’me, I’m gonna go a little more.” Joel imitates a deep breath and you try to follow his lead, your own breath coming out shaky as hell while your body continues holding every last shred of tension it’s hanging on to.

“Breathe…” he reminds you, seeing how tense you’re holding yourself, how tight your chest looks as you keep your breath in. “Jus’ relax…”

“I-I can’t… it’s too much already.” You shake your head as you feel Joel bearing his hips down, the sting of his cock inside of you starting all over again You feel fat, fearful tears trickle down onto Joel’s large hands, little rivulets sneaking through by his knuckles.

“Mm-mm,” he shakes his head, curls of hair falling down onto his forehead where he balances above you. “It’s not too much, you were made to take daddy’s cock, thas’ what your body was made for. Jus’ breathe…”

You start to let go on your next breath out, your entire body relaxing as you slump down into the mattress. “There ya go…” he coos, leaning down to capture your lips. Need blossoms in your core at the wet warmth meeting your own and you moan quietly, starting to bask more in the feeling of fullness now. Joel lets his tongue dance into your mouth and you accept it hungrily, starting to feel more confident in the way you’re kissing him when he lets out a pleasured sigh.

Joel reaches down to hoist your hips up slowly, angling them upwards as he presses in again. He nudges your calves, coaxing you to wrap them around him. “C’mon now, put your legs ‘round me,” he instructs you right against your lips, and you pull your trembling legs around his waist, trying to support yourself against his body. His hips start to move ever so slowly, so that you almost don’t notice that it’s happening yet, too caught up in how incredible it feels to kiss him, feel his needy lips devour you. You shudder when you feel his thick girth slide further now, but Joel keeps his lips on yours, other hand buried back against your head, cradling it.

“Mmm.” Joel pulls back with a groan, “Feel ya, sweetheart. Can feel you feelin’ good now,” he comments, looking down at you with a curious gaze. “‘M right, aren’t I?” he asks with a cocky air, hips grinding slow and steady. It makes your breath hitch when he reaches a new depth and you nod with a more perky livelihood about you. You’re finally starting to understand everything, how it feels to fit together with a man like this, how it can feel good, just like you’d heard people say.

“Mhm…” you whimper quietly in reply, your hips twitching into his. It sends Joel’s own hips rolling forward and your back arches automatically when you feel his depth reach further than you could have dreamed of. Your insides nearly want to burst, the pleasant pulse of your cunt wrapping around his cock making you squirm in pleasure. While it still burns, you’re finding more bliss in the pain, excitement at the way you can feel so much of him.

“Guess what, princess?” Joel asks amusedly, peppering a few kisses along your chin before catching the corner of your mouth. Your desperate lips try to meet his, just missing as he pulls away.

“Hmm?”

“‘M all the way inside you now. Did such a good job.” The look of pride and satisfaction on his face stirs your heart in a foreign way, making your gut tingle pleasantly.

You blink in surprise, hardly able to believe the entirety of the massive appendage you’d laid eyes on earlier could fit… down there. “R-really?” you ask shyly.

You want to glance down but your heart beats out of your chest, afraid to see something so… intimate… so nearly pornographic. Even after what you’d witnessed in the mirror earlier it still makes your cheeks burn hot to even think about, so you keep your eyes on Joel’s, but he’s already looking down, watching his body connect with yours as he starts to move again, a bit faster than he has yet.

“Go on and see f’yourself. It’s fuckin’ gorgeous, sugar.” He notices your hesitation, the way your mouth goes dry and how you bite the inside of your lip. “Don’t be shy, c’mon now, it’s beautiful ‘n natural, what we’re doin.”

He places his hand on top of your head, gathering a bit of your hair in his hand as he forcefully tilts your head downward. Your jaw falls slack and your eyes barely blink as you stare at the sight below - Joel’s girth sliding in and out of your spread pussy, disappearing over and over. The both of you slick and shiny, something you can see and hear as his quicker movements start to fill the room with wet, sloppy sounds. You feel him kiss something deep inside of your body each time he fully thrusts himself in and your mouth starts to water at the lewd sight, unable to take your eyes off of it. Eyes sparkling in complete wonder and curiosity, mouth agape as you stare.

“Thas’ right, ain’t it beautiful? Look how good you’re takin’ me, little blossom.”

You just nod in disbelief before Joel pulls your head back to his level, making eye contact with you. He rolls his hips more quickly now, snapping into you with a power that starts to take your breath away and he watches carefully as your face twitches into a contorted look of pleasure.

He hasn’t let go of your hair yet, tugging it to pull your head back and expose your neck. Joel licks his lips before diving down, licking a stripe up your neck to your jawline, tongue passing over the rough leather of your collar. His lips find a spot and suck hard before pulling away, glancing up at you to see your eyes rolling back at all the sensations you’re experiencing. He continues to press himself up to the hilt with each bounce of his hips, and it’s starting to build a steady warmth deep inside, spreading from where the tip of his cock presses and upwards, filling your entire core. The little whimper you let out has Joel reeling, moving himself more urgently, losing himself to you.

“Yeah? Like the way daddy’s cock fills you up after all, huh?” he grits out as his breathing picks up with the effort. You moan when he hikes your hips up slightly and his length presses in on something amazing with each thrust, that spongy part deep inside once again. You choke on air, eyes flying open wider and staring at him. Your hands scramble up to clutch onto his neck as the feeling intensifies with the speed of his rhythm.

“Daddy…?” you pant out, feeling completely overwhelmed but unable to stop chasing the feeling, your hands gripping tighter around his neck and your back arching. A familiar fire burns inside your belly, growing with each thrust, blooming outward.

“Shh, let it happen, baby, squeeze daddy’s cock for the first time, s’gonna feel so good.” He kisses you again, now knowing it's something that seems to make you feel safer and you gladly accept his mouth another time, kissing him back as you try to breathe in between the meetings of your mouths. You resolve yourself to moaning against him, the sound becoming more uncontrollable as you feel the white heat licking at your lower belly, all other senses starting to fade out.

“Oh… oh my god….” you cry out. “Daddy… please… you….”

“I know, c’mon princess.” Joel urges you on, hands reaching to grasp at the plush flesh of your hips, anchoring you in place to pound into you. You whimper and cry, soreness and pleasure mixing in beautiful harmony while you’re stretched to new limits. Finally, you feel yourself diving off that cliff, the edge giving way and you fall into beautiful bliss, clenching powerfully around Joel’s cock, spasming while you whimper louder and moan, barely able to catch your breath. It’s unlike anything else, unlike the way he’s touched you so far, the other ways he’s made you feel good. It hooks into you so much deeper, the high so much more full and round as your vision explodes with stars and then goes white while you ride your climax, barely aware of the way Joel is moving now.

“Good fuckin’ girl, god damn it, good girl, good good girl…” Joel murmurs a string of praises, intently watching your face go through the range of new emotions while you come hard all over his aching cock. He can barely contain himself, pumping frantically while your hold tightens around his shoulders even further, urging him to bring himself closer to you. His body is slick with sweat as it connects with yours, merely a limp form laying on the mattress now, trying to find a grip on reality. Joel continues to use you, jacking himself towards completion with your spent cunt, grunting out expletives.

“Ain’t gonna last, baby, not w’the way your tight little virgin pussy is squeezin’ me, god damn it,” Joel tells you, grunting louder. “Fuck, gonna fuck my cum into you, aren’t I? Make you all mine, finally…”

“Y-yours…” you murmur quietly with a wanton moan, brain fried while his cock is still hitting the deepest, now overstimulated parts of you. You have the urge to skitter away, your body hot and sore, every nerve lit up and on edge. Your head lolls to the side, then back straight, finally opening your eyes again to look at Joel. He’s gone red, veins on his forehead protruding with the strain, the effort of even holding out this long, knowing he’s gotten everything he wanted now. He’s shining with sweat, his curls bouncing along in front of his face where they hang down and you marvel at him, the most vulnerable you may have ever seen him. It makes you smile, for some reason, and Joel loses it completely at your willful smile, stuttering out something incoherent before his head is thrown back and he groans loudly, his hips stalling deep inside of you. You watch the veins of his neck pulse while you feel his cock twitch, spilling everything he has. You take in the moment, breathing heavily along with Joel as he trembles, trying to hold himself above you.

“Christ,” he rumbles, nearly collapsing before rolling off, exiting you with a loud squelch that makes your mind reel a bit. Your breath catches for a moment while you feel Joel’s spend leaking out of you, hand silently reaching down between your legs to investigate. Your hand is met with so much… wetness that it makes your eyes pop open wider for a moment. Joel is lounging with his eyes shut, gathering himself until he hears a quiet squelch, peeking his eyes open to see you in a mystified state, hand between your legs, but little pleasure written on your face.

“I-is that…?” you question in a hushed tone. You’d seen Joel’s cum before, even felt it the other morning when he’d forced your hand, but this was so different now, the fact that it had been inside of you like that made you shiver for some reason.

Joel chuckles, his arms curling around you protectively, sliding himself close as he brings you against his broad chest, all warmth and strength radiating off of him.

“Thas’ both of us, right there,” he tells you proudly, chest puffed out, riding the high of his dominance, his claim over you. “Means we did it right. Made a fuckin’ mess of you.”

“Huh,” you whisper quietly, pulling your hand away and wiping it on your thigh, leaving a streak of slickness there. You lay quietly now as you process everything, letting Joel hold onto you. The reality of this night is still sinking in, the fact that something you’ve been told your entire life is wrong outside of their set confines just happened like it was no big deal. It was already over. And you were still… you. Nothing had changed, apart from the aching soreness that now tore through you between your legs. Joel peers over at you, eyes glued to the ceiling, hands laying firm at your sides, chest gently rising and falling.

“Hey little one,” he says softly, turning to face you. “What’s goin’ on in that pretty head, hm?”

You shake said pretty head, unsure of what to say, how to articulate it.

“Talk to daddy,” he insists, curling you even closer. You slowly find your hand wrapping around him and landing up by his shoulder, seeking comfort.

“I… I’m the same…” you murmur, knowing it sounds stupid, nearly incoherent. You’re surprised that Joel catches your vague meaning, his eyebrows raising the tiniest bit as he listens.

“No, baby, you’re not,” Joel replies, his voice soft as ever as he thumbs your chin. “Means you’re all daddy’s now, that I’ve got a special part of you. That don’t mean anythin’ to you?” His tone sounds hurt, and you quickly backtrack in your thinking, trying to figure out how to soothe him.

“N-no… it’s not that,” you reply quickly, flashing him a cramped smile. “I… think all of that is t-true. I just mean…” You stumble on your words, thinking for a second. “It wasn’t… bad. I’m not bad for it.”

Joel smiles a little, letting out a chuckle. “‘Course you’re not - you’re my sweet little girl. This is the most beautiful, natural thing in the world f’us to do, my lil’ blossom. So good…” His lips find the top of your head and kiss you. You feel relief, almost like this weight lifted off of your shoulders now that this mysterious, unknown universe has been revealed to you. You’re lighter for it, a more real grin grazing your lips while you look at Joel with hope.

Your cheeks burn hot as you consider your next question to him. “S-so it’s okay? We can do that more?”

“Christ,” Joel chuckles out. “We can do that all the time, sweetheart. Plannin’ on it, in fact.”

“Hmm,” you murmur, pressing your lips together at the pleasant thought of that. While it hadn’t started out like you’d imagined, by the end of it all Joel had left you a satisfied, shaking mess. And you think you’d like to explore those feelings more despite how conflicted you are about all of it.

“You liked it, didn’t you, sweetheart?” Joel flirts. “S’okay to admit you want to be sexual to daddy, you know that, right? Ain’t a thing wrong with it.”

You nod shyly, finding your cheeks warming up all the to your ears, though, still not quite sure if you’re ready to go that far. “W-was…” You clear your throat, swallowing. “Was I good at that? At doing… it?”

Joel laughs, a little chuckle that feels genuine as it echoes across the room. “God, baby, you’re too precious. Almost wanna keep you like this forever, so sweet ‘n innocent.” He squeezes you tightly for a second, squishing you against his chest. “Yes, honey, yes, you did such a good job f’me. You’ll get used to it some more soon an’ it’ll be more fun, sugar.”

You chew on your lip, thinking silently for too long. Joel notices, angling his head to look down at your face.

“Y’seem unlike yourself, darlin’. See those wheels turnin’ in there,” he says, giving you a soft, playful tap on the center of your forehead.

“Daddy,” you mumble, shifting uncomfortably. You steel yourself, unsure of how your blatant question could be perceived, if it’ll rock the boat too much, send Joel into a fury. “I just - why do you want me here? Is it just… for that stuff?”

Joel sighs, his body going a little slack underneath you as you glance at his stricken expression, his lips pressed into a thin line. “My sweet princess…” he starts with another long sigh. “I’m gonna answer this, but I want you to never ask me somethin’ like this again. You got that? Consider it talkin’ back, which, well, daddy doesn’t like.”

You huff out a breath before you can stop yourself. “I don’t know what you like, ‘cause you won’t just tell me,” you snip with irritation. “Not until it’s too late and you’re hurting me.” You cast your eyes away, finding the frustration bubbling inside of you leading to another set of embarrassing tears.

“Oh, honey,” Joel says quietly. “You’re right… I ain’t been clear enough, have I? You have so, so much to learn…” His hand wraps around the back of your head, stroking gently. “An’ I get ahead of myself. I’ll lay things out real clear in some rules, how’s that sound?”

“Yes, please, sir. I- I don’t want to be scared of doing something wrong anymore. I feel so… tired… of being scared.” Your voice cracks a little on your final words, eyes burning with the threat of tears for a countless time since you’d arrived here and you curse yourself, clenching your teeth. You’re surprised at his reaction, though, grateful it seems to be leading to something productive instead of his teeth or hands or worse drawing blood from you.

“Shh, okay, my sweetheart.” Joel’s hand traces soothingly along your scalp. “I got you. You won’t have to worry. Tomorrow we’ll lay out all the rules, hm? Get you to write them down like the good girl you are. Like I’m your teacher in a class, an’ you wanna be my top student. How’s that sound?” He teases, his voice lifting with a sweeter, humorous quality, one of his hands skating along your side to send you twitching as he tickles you. You giggle, swatting his hand away without much effort, allowing him to feel whenever he desires. You finally turn your eyes back to his face and give him a small, more hopeful smile.

“You really will?” you ask. Joel nods sincerely. “Yes, please then… uh, sir.”

“Polite,” Joel whispers the small praise before his lips find yours and he kisses you deeply, a soft groan slipping out against your lips. You melt at the feel of his expert, plush lips and his strong body pressed against yours, so warm and inviting in the chill of the bedroom. Just when you feel that primal need for him start to pull at you again, which mesmerizes you that it’s so soon after you’d just finished, Joel pulls back, his breathing a little heavy while his fingers trace up and down your bare arms.

“The answer is no, blossom,” he announces. You’ve heard his tone like this before - kind, understanding, and so in contrast to his other side you feel you’ve seen equally as often. “It’s not just for sex. ‘M gonna need all that from you, sweets, but you give me so much more’n that, you understand? Don’t ever doubt it again, neither. Daddy would never use you jus’ for that - you’re my everythin’ now, my special girl to take care of and keep close t’me. You make daddy so much less lonely.”

You feel your lips parting in wonder during his small speech, the words more tender than what you’ve heard from him so far. It sends your heartbeat picking up a few paces wondering if he could be telling you the truth right now. Did he really see all of that in you? Someone like you - ordinary, never called out to be special in any way before. Even in your community, at home with your parents, then Harry and Josie, you’d always felt you were kept more in the dark than anyone else. You’d started wondering if it was because Harry, Josephine, and the rest of the group hadn’t deemed you important enough, didn’t really see you.

But Joel. Oh, he saw you. He saw deeper than anyone had bothered to in your entire life. He’d seen your cries for help and tended to you. He’d seen your inexperience and taught you. He’d seen your weakness and accepted you. He was committed to you, your safety, your livelihood. It made your head spin the longer you laid curled up to him, thinking on it. Thinking on how much your life had changed in a matter of days - whether for the worse of the better, you weren’t entirely sure yet.

“Thank you,” you finally mumble, a timid, small voice squeaking out, arm squeezing Joel a little tighter.

He seems amused, chest puffed with a tiny chuckle. “What for, huh? It’s jus’ the truth, sweet girl.”

“You… you see me, I think. Don’t you?”

Joel cups your cheek, his heart nearly bursting out of his chest with self-satisfaction. Your words felt like magic as they landed on his starved ears. He licks his lips, his brain latching onto the idea of him seeing you, really seeing what you need. It was clear you were starved for attention, for knowledge, for anything in life before you’d arrived on his doorstep. You’d needed this, needed the way a man like him could see you as you were and guide you. Joel’s suspicions about your group had long been growing with your naivety and lack of experience in every facet of life being shown to him more by the day. He hadn’t wanted to say the word to you yet, keep things sensitive for now, but he knew what they were, what they’d done to you. They’d kept a sweet, perfect thing so pulled away from the real world, so tucked away and hidden, almost taking away this chance to have you under his care. He feels no remorse as he silently thanks the group that raided your community - they’d sent you running right into his arms. Whatever it took to get you here with him, to keep you here with him was alright in Joel’s book, no matter the casualties along the way.

“I see everythin’ you need, everythin’ my little blossom could ever need. I know you, sweetheart, know what you need. You need someone to put you front and center, make you everythin’. That’s all you’ve ever wanted, ain’t it?” Joel asks confidently, and you watch as his lip twitches in the hint of a smile, the kind he wore when he’d read right through you.

You feel your chest get tight at his honesty and the way he seems to have uncovered your truth so easily, one of the deepest hidden parts of you. It makes you emotional, the endless well of tears you seem to have pouring out a few more. “Yes…” you admit in a whisper. “Nobody ever…”

You turn your face, burying it into Joel’s chest, warm with embarrassment and not willing to show him your shameful face. Wanting attention in the way you had been fantasizing about for years was wrong, you’d learned. All of it drilled into your head, and you’d believed every bit of it, to some degree. It was half the reason you’d never even tried to think about anything of this nature. But it lingered deep inside of you - the hunger to be wanted, to belong, for this attention and reverence placed on you. The proper thing was to wait for it, wait for your appointed marriage to only possibly receive any of the attention you’d been seeking. But it was never going to be enough, no. Too much else in the world to share that attention with, too many other factors at play, distractions. It was never going to satisfy you.

You’d needed… this.

“Until…” you add on in a hushed purr, lips whispering as if it was a prayer, right against the curls of hair on Joel’s chest. You can’t commit to the sentence, commit to locking yourself in even further, a ridiculous thought considering the events of this evening. You’d all but sold yourself over to the devil tonight, became his tamed pet, his property, yet you couldn’t spare him the satisfaction of simply saying it.

“Until…” Joel repeats, his eyes alight with that vulturine stare as he watches your naked body curl further into him, your eyes cast downward like the good little girl you are. A kiss placed on the side of your head, putting his lips right near your ear, where his next words send a shudder through your fraught, vulnerable frame. “Until… me.”

#INCREDIBLE #i love this story so much #fic: smother #joel miller fanfiction

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joelsgoldrush · 3 months

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PEDRO PASCAL in Malta during Gladiator 2 production | via Mark Gauci

#HE LOOKS SO GOOD #pedro pascal

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joelsgoldrush · 4 months

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☾☼🫧 Catfish 🫧☾☼

Summary: a fisherman walks into a bar..you again with the damn umbrellas in his drink.

Pairing | fisherman!Frankie Morales x bartender f!reader

Warnings: fluff, smut, teasing, banter, enemies to lovers (sorta) mean!frankie, grumpy!frankie, is really just a big ole softy!frankie, close proximity, no fish fingers..I swear +18, no age gap, minors dni!

coming soon (probably like really really soon)

Chapters: (I told myself this would just be a oneshot..we all know how that goes!)

chapter 1 -

chapter 2 -

chapter 3 -

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joelsgoldrush · 4 months

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New Girl 2x05 : Models

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joelsgoldrush · 4 months

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okay but i’m watching “new girl” for the first time and i think i’m in love with nick miller

#he is a hottie #and he reminds me of pedro so much ???#like physically

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joelsgoldrush · 4 months

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Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.

Sleazy swimming instructor!Frankie Morales x f!reader Rating: 18+ My masterlist

Summary: In an effort to feel more like yourself and less like the sheltered girl you always were, you take up swimming lessons, unaware of the temptations that are placed in front of you by a man you think might be the devil himself.

Warnings: Smut, non-TF AU, implied age gap, the touching is dubcon/almost noncon at first but she’s really into it so idk, infidelity, reader is married to John Smith, Christianity, sleazy!Frankie, dom!Frankie, oral (f, m receiving), face fucking, cringe protected PIV with reader’s husband, semi-protected PIV with Frankie, creampie, reader was raised Christian and is still practicing, doubting one’s own faith etc, blasphemy, praise kink, religious references, taking the Lord’s name in vain, rough sex, double dipping??, ass play, come play, brief reference to abortion, inappropriate student teacher relationships, weed, possessiveness, mention of doodee in a public pool.

A/N: Special shoutout to @5oh5 for giving me so many fantastic ideas for this!! This one's dedicated to my demonic sub mommy @gracieispunk, the #1 Frankie fan. I'm treating this as my 4k followers celebration, so thank you four thousand times over for following me, for reading my fever dreams put into words, for your comments and messages and everything else. This has been such a fun hobby for me and I hope to give you all even better stories in 2024 🤍

“Damn he really about to give her the father, the son, and the holy semen.” - @atticrissfinch

Word count: 10.9k

The smell of chlorine penetrates your nostrils while the sound of children yelling and screaming and hollering and splashing grates your ears. The community pool is a place that shouldn’t scare you but somehow does, making your eyes shift side to side, looking at the big blue rectangle and the small blue rectangle, one with people swimming laps and the other with kids floating around with those puffy, plastic, floaty things around their arms.

You grab the cross that rests against your chest, wind the thin gold chain around your finger and swallow around a lump in your throat, looking down at your black swimsuit, wondering if it might have been a little too low cut after all, leaving little to the imagination. You would love to turn on your heel right now, to sprint out of here, and find an activity less daunting to start off your year of taking up hobbies to become more independent, to learn how to trust in God and spend time with Him while learning something new.

You've always been told what to do and yet, sometimes, it feels as though you don’t know how to do much of anything. It was time for you to do something for yourself, everyone at church agreed, and you’re not sure who suggested it but something lit up within you when swimming lessons were suggested. It offers independence and self-sufficiency, they said. It’s a survival skill too, really, if you think about it, not just a hobby. But the deep water is so daunting, the tiled bottom you can barely see from where you stand, and the chemical filled, blue water sloshing against the drains.

Learning how to swim, a baptism — what’s the difference, at the end of the day? They both involve dipping your head under the water to become something, at the hands of someone who has done this many times, who hardly sees the novelty anymore while you go through your transformation. It must become routine for them, and you hope it does for you too, that you’ll be able to dive into the lake by John’s family cabin and go for a swim in the mornings when you head down there for the summer. You never knew why your parents never taught you, whether it was your mother’s neuroticism and firm boundary that the beach water could never surpass your knees, or your father’s insistence you went to choir when your friends went to the pool. None of it matters now.

You dip your head and whisper a quick prayer, holding onto your cross, asking God for courage to do something so out of your comfort zone, thanking him for the confidence to come here today in the first place. It wasn’t an easy decision, praying over it with John, then deciding to tell your parents that you would be skipping family dinner on Sundays to take swimming lessons, ensuring them that of course you’d still come to church, and of course you’d join them for coffee and of course you’d go to Bible study with the girls on Thursdays instead. It surely wasn’t a coincidence that the only lessons were available on the Lord’s day - you thank him also for the opportunity to spend time with him one on one for eight weeks, hoping that you can bring something new to the table when you return to your family dinners.

You jump at the sound of your name, snapping out of your moment of recollection, your attention directed up to a man standing in front of you, holding his hand out to introduce himself. He’s wearing swim trunks, a light colored shirt with some sort of birds on it, and a pair of awful looking flip flops — bright red and frayed at the edges, probably a decade old.

“Frankie,” he says with a smile on his face, a smile that deepens the crows feet above his cheeks, that warms his stunning brown eyes, “I’ll be your instructor for the next few weeks, we exchanged a few texts earlier.” The fluorescent lights behind him illuminate his messy hair, the halo of golden brown curls that point in all different directions, that he pushes his other hand through while he raises his eyebrows.

“Yes, right, Frankie,” you say, nodding and smiling back. Your mouth is dry, hands beginning to tremble. What is this strange feeling? Your face feels hot all of a sudden, heat flashing over your cheeks and your temples. Your chest feels like it’s about to break out into hives or something. But he looks so… Scruffy. There are silver threads in his mustache and in the patchy beard covering his jaw — he looks nothing like John and yet you remember feeling something similar to this the first time your now-husband took you out on a date.

“You ready?”, he asks, and you don’t miss the way his dark eyes sweep over your bathing suit, how it hugs your hips, your waist, your chest, how his gaze lands on the golden cross you’re playing with and the rings on your finger, the gold band and the silver one next to it the one with the sparkling diamond. You don’t miss the little smirk that pulls at the corner of his mouth. “Alright, señora,” he says, tipping his chin towards the large pool, “Let’s go.”

You bite back a smile at his words, at being called anything but sweetie.

“We’re gonna start off pretty easy,” Frankie says as he walks you towards the shallow end of the big pool. He unbuttons his shirt and throws it to the side, revealing a set of broad shoulders, his brown curls dipping into his neck and the width of his back as he climbs down the ladder into the water and motions for you to follow. “Come down here and we’ll have you just walk a little, back and forth, nothin’ crazy.”

You nod, hands still trembling and that heat sticking to your chest and cheeks, different from the heat in the dry heat in the room. You curl your hands around the railing and carefully take one step at a time, descending into the blue pool, pausing halfway down, breaths moving a little faster.

Temptation, temptation. The ladies at church told you that you might meet a handsome man one day who makes all kinds of promises, who sweet talks and says he’s good for you, who makes you stray from the Lord and lets the darkness swallow you whole. He has the devil in him, they said, and he will be sent to test the strength of your relationship to God, to your trust in Him and your faith.

“What's the holdup?”

You hear Frankie’s voice from the water and feel the waves crashing against your thighs, snapping out of your frozen state and taking the last step down, the surface of the water reaching your waist as you slowly walk towards him, elbows cautiously lifted in the air.

He waves towards himself and you take three more steps, closing the distance with a bit of a stumble, tripping before Frankie catches you with his hands around your waist, stabilizing you with a firm grip, with big hands and thick fingers spanning an obscene amount of your skin. You gasp at the sensation and he pulls you closer as he clicks his tongue, playfully scolding you for running in the pool, winking and sending a shiver down your spine that settles in your womb with a low throb.

But he doesn’t let go of your waist, even when you reluctantly try to squirm out, brushing against his bulge in the process, under the water, wet pieces of fabric dragging over each other while he looks at you with those deep, dark eyes, those mesmerizing, brown orbs that make you swallow around a lump in your throat when he cocks an eyebrow.

“Promise to be careful?”, he asks. The raspy timbre of his voice turns everything around you into a blur, the screaming and splashing suddenly drowned out by the sound of his breaths as he waits for you to respond.

“Yeah.”

“Good girl.” Your face flashes hot at the nickname, cheeks burning with embarrassment and lust. He leans in, hands still circling your waist, thumbs digging into your bathing suit, and his lips hover right by your ear. “Let’s start with some of that walking, just back and forth,” he says, his tone a little lower now, pulling you even closer for a moment, “Can you do that for me?”

With goosebumps covering your arms, with desire pulsing in your cunt, you nod, and he releases you, letting you turn and walk away from him, putting one foot in front of the other, feeling the waves crashing against your ribs at every step, turning to walk back to him where he stands with his arms folded over his naked chest, smirking like he did earlier, in a way that should irk you and creep you out but instead makes something inside of you fizzle and flutter.

More praises, perfect, good girl, then you try to listen carefully when he talks about proper breathing technique. It’s so difficult, he makes it difficult, especially when he tells you to bend over, just like that, and touches the small of your back, pushing it slightly. Your common sense couldn’t be further away from this pool, but your eyes flit down to your chest and you see the cross resting there, a few droplets of water surrounding it, skin glistening and nipples hardened under the wet, shiny, black swimsuit.

You glance back up, and before you know it, your lungs are filled with air and you’re bending over to dunk your head under the water, plunging in and holding there for a few moments, taking in the soothing silence of the pool, before coming back up, breaking the surface and being met with the noise again, looking up at Frankie.

“You can hold your breath pretty well,” he remarks, swiping his thumb across his bottom lip and nodding in approval, “That’s good to know.” He takes a step towards you and looks down at your wet lashes, clumped together, the drops of water sliding down your clavicle and into the suit.

“Before I forget,” he says then, clearing his throat and gesturing to your swimwear, “You might wanna wear a two piece instead of this, it’s more aerodynamic, you know, under the water? Helps you swim faster, less fabric weighing you down and such.”

“Oh, okay, yeah,” you chirp. He’s the expert — who are you to say that he’s wrong?

“I’m gonna have you floating on your back now,” he says then, and spins his finger, urging you to turn around, then gesturing for you to lean back against his chest. You take in as much air as you can and lean back, letting him catch you with two hands on your back, and your head leaning onto his shoulder. A whiff of his cologne hits you, your breath hitches in your throat, and you feel one of his hands sliding down to your asscheek, cupping it and squeezing, forcing a little whimper of your throat, one you’ve never heard yourself.

You feel the rumble in his chest when he chuckles, and you hope he can’t feel you pushing your ass further into his palm, rubbing against it almost, like a cat in heat or some poor, lost person under the spell of something dark, something twisted and demonic.

When you look up at him, he’s staring at your chest, and again, you should be so incredibly uncomfortable, you should feel violated and upset and creeped out. But you have never been this aroused in your life, and that sweet pulsing in your cunt, the ache in your clit and the sensitivity of your nipples tells you that you’ve never truly enjoyed your body and what it is capable of — your God-given body, with God-given feelings and sensations you never knew existed, that John has never evoked in you. Both of his hands come to your behind then, holding you up while you rest a little closer to his neck, breathing him in, and he kneads your flesh while you spread your legs, entirely upon instinct, with no thoughts running through your mind other than a want, a need, for him to touch you somewhere else.

You don’t know how long you float there, or how long you spend holding onto the railing and kick your feet while he has a hand under your lower stomach to hold you up and his eyes on your ass, but your breathing is heavy and your insides are hot and tight until the session is over and he helps you out of the pool, where the cold air hits you along with the reality of what happened in the heat of the water; the sinful reality of your dance on the edge of adultery, of accepting the touch of another man, one who does not value the sanctity of marriage, judging by the way he looked at your rings with mischief in his eyes.

“Thank you, Frankie,” you say curtly, a tight lipped smile holding back the storm of emotions in your chest — the guilt, the regret, the arousal, the strange gratitude you feel towards this man for showing you how your body can make you feel.

“See you next Sunday,” he winks, drying off his chest with a towel.

—

The drive home is unbearable, the ache between your legs so distracting that you fear you might drive off the road. The guilt should consume you but your primal brain brushes it off, too excited for the carnal desire that has sprung up within you, itching for release, for the touch of that man again.

You feel possessed almost — this is not attraction, it is not love or comfort, it’s something entirely different and dangerous. It slithers around your limbs and tightens around your throat, and the lightheadedness that should concern and suffocate you, instead feels delicious. It feels like adrenaline and blood coursing through your veins, it feels like your clit swelling and your nipples perking up, like his bulge feeling a little firmer the second time you came near it.

Lies spill out of your mouth when you arrive home, when John asks how it went and you say it went well but that it was a big step. He seems to understand when you say it was quite scary at first and that you feel the want to pray about it, to debrief almost, with God, that you only need a few minutes to yourself before you can start making dinner for the two of you.

The bedroom door shuts behind you, the lock flipped, and you kneel at the foot of your bed, hands clasped together in prayer, unsure of what exactly you’re about to ask for.

You try anyway, thanking God for the courage to step out of your comfort zone, for a knowledgeable instructor, but at the mention of Frankie, at the thought of his broad chest, his curls and his eyes, the dull throb behind the fabric of your panties makes a reappearance, an ache between your legs that won’t settle no matter how hard you try to shake it off.

It feels like an affront to God, truly, being so distracted when you speak to Him, and so you decide to revisit after cooling off. You flop down on the bed with a sigh, noticing after a moment that your legs have spread and the button on your jeans has popped open. The locked door stares at you, reminding you that John will not be barging in, no matter what you do.

So with the feel of Frankie’s touch still burning your skin, around your waist and hips and asscheeks, you slip a hand into your panties and slowly begin to rub your clit, stifling your moans as they catch in your throat, not moving an inch so as not to evoke suspicion. Your body is so flooded with arousal that you come mere moments later, his name on your tongue, and then the bitter aftertaste of reality.

Back onto your knees at the edge of the bed, you ask for forgiveness this time too, and for the courage to stick to these lessons, despite your apprehension surrounding your ability to swim.

—

Sunday, the Lord’s day, another afternoon standing across from Frankie, and you’re wearing a two piece this time, at his suggestion, one that barely holds the flesh of your chest and behind. He suggested a warm-up before today’s session, and so you find yourself doing stretches with your eyes fixated on his shorts, and the massive bulge he has seemingly made no effort at trying to hide.

He clears his throat before he speaks with a chuckle, “Checking me out?”

You avert your gaze and brink profusely, feeling that heat in your cheeks again, “No, I’m— I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he muses, glancing down at his crotch, “Probably not every day you see that kinda thing, with the whole, you know—” He gestures towards the cross dangling from your neck and you grab it in response, in defense perhaps, refusing to admit that he’s right.

Never have you seen this kind of thing, never have you seen this kind of man. You’ve been so sheltered that you’ve barely even seen yourself. Frankie is everything you have been told to fear, and everything that begins to churn inside of you, stirring and bubbling up to the surface, slithering into your trembling arms.

You should be so afraid of this man, of the spirit within him that draws you in and makes you commit such awful acts of sin against your marriage, against the vows you’ve taken and the promises you’ve made your husband — promises that a little part of your mind reminds you that he has taken as well, but that he does not keep, because he does not keep you with his actions or his words. Rather, he relies on you being kept, out of obligation and loyalty, never suspecting that outside of the four walls of your home lurks a man whose only intention is to take, to steal, to corrupt and to lead astray.

Frankie tells you to do jumping jacks and he stares at your chest while you do them.

—

Someone calls his name as you step down the ladder and he tells you he’ll be right back. You carefully descend down into the water again, a little less scared this time, and wave your arms around under the surface, creating little waves with your hands in figure eights while you pass the time.

“Hey, señora,” he calls out a minute later, and you look up at him as he approaches the pool. He takes a couple steps down and pauses to look at you, to observe how you stare up at him with wide eyes, your nipples giving you away again, thighs clenched together under the water.

“I could get used to you looking up at me like that,” he mutters, tilting his head, his tongue in his cheek, his brow arched.

You barely even understand what he means but you can tell it’s something that, again, should drive you straight out of this pool and into your husband’s arms, but you like looking up at him too for some reason.

Despite your heart being in your throat and your arms trembling a little at Frankie’s attention, you begin to swim with ease, stretching your arms out and pushing the water behind you, kicking your legs and getting a few feet further every time, staying at the shallow end of the pool.

Then Frankie takes a few steps back, into a deeper section. “Swim towards me,” he winks, holding his arms out and waving towards himself. So you launch forward, kick your legs and wade through the water, and when you get close to him, only an arm’s length away, you feel his fingers brush against your tummy and his hands sliding around to grab your waist.

He turns you around but doesn’t let you swim away yet, holding you against himself, pushing your ass into his crotch, onto his erection, as he praises you, good girl.

Your arms fail you when he releases you from his grip, and you splash around, arms waving and legs floundering, convinced you might drown until he grabs your waist and pulls you towards him. You grab his forearm to stay afloat, breathing fast, nearly panting, distracted and horny and frustrated at yourself.

“You’re unfocused, baby,” he coos into your ear, tracing his fingertips down the muscle that connects your neck to your shoulder, holding onto your waist with his other hand, “That’s dangerous, you know? Need to be aware of your surroundings.”

“S— sorry,” you whisper, tilting your head to the side to stretch your neck further for him.

“I know one thing that might help,” he whispers, nibbling on your ear, taking it between his teeth and pulling it slightly, “It’ll relax you, then you can refocus.”

“Yeah, that— that’s a good idea, whatever it is.”

He releases you from his grip while he whispers, “Just gonna go tell the management that someone shat in the other pool, then we’ll be alone, alright?” before getting out and heading towards the front office. You don’t know whether to laugh or cry, but before you know it, a lifeguard comes out, blowing a whistle, waving his arms and instructing everyone to get out of the water. Frankie speaks to him for a moment and the lifeguard nods, and then he’s back in the pool with you, watching everyone filter out.

You stand against the tiled wall, with Frankie in front of you, pretending to make conversation while he submerges his hand and starts to tug at the strings of your bikini bottoms. Your hand shoots out and grabs his bicep, and you eye him as he tugs one final time and the fabric peels away from your mound. The last person leaves the pool, the lifeguard has disappeared already, and he moves to the other side, one firm tug and your bottoms are floating between your legs. He fishes them out and throws them over the edge of the pool, letting them land with a wet smack on the tile, and nudges your legs apart with his foot, bringing his hand to the apex of your thighs, running a single, thick finger through your folds.

“Think I know what you need, little miss crucifix,” he croons, then looks to his side to see that the coast is clear, puts both hands on your hips and hoists you up onto the edge of the pool, pushes your legs apart as you squeal in surprise and holds them open. He wastes no time, his tongue crashes against your clit and he eats you like a man starved, sloppy and wet and dragging his tongue up and down and side to side, he sucks and releases and nibbles and pulls.

You lay down, only to arch your back and let him spread your legs further, growling into your pussy, pushing his tongue into your opening and rubbing the tip of his nose on your clit so that you’re constantly stimulated, coming back up to lick and suck until you’re coaxed into an earth-shattering orgasm that rings in your ears and rips his moaned name from your throat.

You cover your face with your hands, coming down from your high, your back hitting the tiles while you feel him kiss your folds and your inner thighs. The searing heat of his touch and the biting cold of your indiscretions coalesce into something that sends goosebumps over your arms, and the water on your skin suddenly feels freezing. You sit up and watch him push up on his hands just a little, just enough to get closer.

“This cannot happen again,” you assert as you close your eyes, holding your hand out in front of you, not touching him, but also not stopping him from pressing kisses to your wet chest, licking up the drops of water sliding down between your tits, “I am not a cheater, Francis.”

“My name is Francisco,” he mumbles into your neck, sliding his tongue over your skin and biting into it after. The sound of his name, how his voice carries the syllables — it echoes in your mind, it makes you gasp for some reason, sending a new wave of goosebumps over your arms, following the one from his lips on your pulse.

“Okay, Francisco, well, this is never happening again.” The insistence in your words is rendered useless when you tilt your head to the side, stretching the column of your throat, giving him more space to claim, space that he covers with his lips, one kiss at a time.

“If you say so,” he whispers, his hand making its way to your jaw now, your ear sliding between his middle and ring finger, tilting your head back so he can raise up and begin to kiss you, angle your face and slide his tongue into your mouth. You moan into his mouth immediately, never having been kissed like this, with determination and lust and the taste of your pussy on his tongue.

He places both hands down on the tiles on either side of your ass and lifts up fully from the pool, making the water slosh and little waves crash around him he pulls himself out and up over the edge with his lips still on yours, urging you down on your back while he kneels on the drain and lays down on top of you. His hard cock grinds into your naked center and he growls while tasting behind your teeth, then strokes your tongue with his own, takes your leg and hooks it over his hip.

He overwhelms you with his scent, his weight, his sounds, the size of his cock. He sucks on your tongue and bites your bottom lip, pulls on it and moves to your neck, sucks on your skin and sinks his teeth in. The way he thrusts his hips, the way he humps you, it’s animalistic and wrong and terrible and it turns you on so severely that you can feel your slick dribble out of your opening and slide down between your asscheeks, mixing with the water below. You’ve never heard sounds like the ones coming from his throat and his chest, more masculine and rough than anything John has ever uttered, more hungry and wanting.

John.

Shit.

You tap Frankie’s shoulder just as you feel the head of his clothed cock begin to push into your hole, his wide head barely entering you, and as much as you want to rip down his swim trunks and let him fuck you right here, you get a single moment of clarity when you look up and see the sun shining in through the square window in the ceiling, the rays of sunlight radiating down, reflecting off the shimmering surface of the pool, giving Frankie that halo again, those radiant curls sticking out in every direction.

“What?”, he murmurs, and you wonder if that’s how he would sound if you woke him up from his sleep. It makes your insides twist but you can’t think about the implications of any of that now.

“I— I have to go, sorry,” you say, wriggling out from under him, grabbing your wet bikini bottoms, already gone cold.

“Alright,” he sighs, but before he lets you out from under him, he wraps his paw around your neck and anchors you right there as he leans down to kiss you again, with barely any tongue this time, only a light sweep across your swollen bottom lip, before he plants a kiss to your mouth and then whispers, “See you on Sunday.”

He raises up and climbs off, heads over to the rack with towels and picks one up, coming back to hand it to you — one that you unfold and realize is incredibly small, clearly meant for children, and he smirks at how your struggle to cover your chest and your naked center as you stumble to the showers.

—

Thursday Bible study feels like pulling teeth.

Of course marriage is the topic of the day, and you would’ve known, had you checked the schedule before leaving the house. You’d fake any illness necessary to avoid sitting in Betty’s living room, around her dining table, hearing about how much your friends value their godly marriages, how much they feel like they’ve been brought together by God, destined to meet and be with one another.

Betty says that Cameron was placed in front of her one day, that there is no such thing as a coincidence, and you think of Frankie in half a second. You think of the ad you came across, the availability only on Sundays, how quickly he spotted your cross, your ring, how he immediately knew how to push your buttons.

What would your life look like if this was not how you spent your evening? What does Frankie do with his free time?

Questions you shouldn’t want the answer to, and yet you still wonder.

Somehow, the topic of sex is brought up. The other women giggle, one of them flushes pink and red in the face, another fans herself.

“It’s a part of marriage,” Betty says, sing-songy in her tone, “We shouldn’t be afraid to talk about it.” Reassuring nods around the table encourage her to keep going, and she looks down at her notes, then begins to talk about abstinence, the wedding night, about learning and figuring things out with your partner.

One of the girls shares a story about going away on a trip, and her husband making love to her all night. More stories follow, the girls opening up one by one, but even the most detailed stories leave something to be desired. The more you hear, the more you feel Frankie’s firm grasp, his aggression, his want to take as well as his drive to give. You feel the hardness of his big cock, his hands on your thighs, his voice, low and raspy.

You excuse yourself to the bathroom and take a few minutes to cool down, and the pieces begin to fall in place.

For every saint there is a sinner, for every day there is night, for every angel there is a demon, and for every John there is a Frankie. For every Sunday dinner with your parents, there is an empty hall, a warm pool and Frankie’s head between your legs.

Frankie has been sent to test your faith and your faithfulness, your loyalty and your dedication.

The only issue is that you’re so incredibly weak in your self concept, your beliefs, your awareness of your needs and your desire for your wants that you don’t stand a fucking chance.

You might go to Hell, but at least the burning touch of Frankie’s hand will guide you there.

—

The clock on the wall ticks every second and you find yourself counting to ten, then restarting, counting to then, restarting, letting the sound fill the silence of the dinner table as you sit across from your husband. Neither of you have said much of anything during the entire meal, and while you’re relieved that he doesn’t seem suspicious, you can’t help but feel a little irritated at his inability to notice that you’re being awfully quiet.

It’s probably best if you don’t talk anyway.

“So, um—”, John clears his throat and offers a sheepish smile as he spins his fork around in his hand, “You wanna get down and dirty tonight? Thought maybe we could try a new position.”

You smile back, hoping that maybe a new experience with your husband will curb your curiosities about Frankie, that they’ll ground you again and remind you of why you saved yourself for him, why you’ve decided to hide the truth of your indiscretions, not wanting your marriage to dissolve. “Sure,” you say, simultaneously wondering what’s gotten into this man who usually only lasts around ten minutes in the missionary position, never very creative despite the porn you know he has consumed over the years, that he had to seek counseling for at the church, at one point, realizing he was being tempted and seduced by the ways of the flesh, that a Godly man would not consume such materials.

He wiggles his eyebrows at you, real frisky today it seems, cheeks blushing and that sheepish smile returning, “I was thinking about, like, doggy, you know, from behind?”

You nod, chewing on your last bite of dinner, looking down onto your plate with only a bit of tomato sauce remaining. “Yeah, that— that sounds good, I just have to clean up a bit and then I can meet you in the bedroom?”

—

When you walk in, John is already undressed, lying under the duvet with his hands folded, eyeing you as you begin to remove your clothes, slipping off your sweater and throwing it over the ottoman in the corner, unbuttoning your pants while you hear him whistle from the bed. Sometimes he takes your clothes off, but most often you find yourself taking them off when he’s already naked in bed. You flash him a glance while you take off your bra and panties, dropping them on the floor and stepping over, lifting up the sheets and getting under.

You remember all the wonderful things the older ladies at church told you about the marriage bed, about how magical it felt to finally be intimate with their husbands, learning together, finding out what they like. Until now, you’ve found out a little bit about what John likes but not too much about yourself, and he doesn’t seem too interested to find out much more than how he can get himself off. Before the wedding, you had kissed, held hands, hugged, even took a few naps together on your couch. Both of you had felt tempted, but you were proud of having waited, having saved yourself, giving yourselves over to one another on the wedding night, fumbling with the condom, unsure of how to properly arrange your limbs, getting through it in one piece and trying again the next morning.

But despite the year that has passed since that night, things in the bedroom haven’t changed too much. John is more steady with the condom now, slipping it on despite your birth control pills, never letting you feel his bare skin inside of you, only in between your folds for a few moments before he pulls away to rummage through the nightstand.

Tonight, the silver packet is already placed next to the pillow when you snuggle into John’s side, tentatively giving him a few kisses on the lips. He’s hard already, but the erection that pushes into your thigh when he turns over feels different this time. Selfishly, you find yourself wondering what it would feel like to have something bigger grinding into your flesh, something more like—

You don’t go there.

After less than a minute of kissing, a few light pinches to your nipple and a full grab to your tit, John nudges your legs open and starts to descend towards the foot of the bed, taking the time to kiss down your torso as he makes his way to your spread legs. It’s been a while since he did this, and for a moment, you fear that he can tell it hasn’t been as long for you. Maybe you can blame it on being stressed, if your responses aren’t what he’s used to when, if you’re honest with yourself, you can’t remember how you responded to his tongue anymore.

He begins to lick your clit, one stroke of his tongue after another, wedging a finger into your opening, drawing it in and out, unaware that you’re about to crawl out of your skin, feeling the anxiety begin to creep up when you realize that it surely won’t be enough to get you anywhere, and that even after several minutes of slobbering over your sex, you surely won’t be wet enough to take him, or to even take another finger at this rate. And if he notices that something is different, if he asks what’s going on, the all-consuming guilt of your affair will spill out through the cracks and destroy everything in its wake.

So for the sake of your marriage, just this one time, you allow yourself to go somewhere else inside the confines of your own mind — to the edge of the pool, where Frankie pushed your legs open, where he ripped off your bikini bottoms and devoured you, where he nibbled on your folds and sucked on your clit and made you convulse with pleasure. You close your eyes as you think of him, incredibly guilty but turned on nevertheless, believing that this is what she meant when your mother said that marriage is sacrifice.

You get wetter — wet at all, really — and John pulls away. He never lets you finish when he goes down on you, either with a remark about it taking too long and his boner going down, or noticing you’re close and jokingly pouting that it’s unfair if you get to come now and he has to wait until later. Sometimes you wonder what kind of porn he watched, if his attitudes and beliefs about sex have changed since he was a teenager. He reaches over and grabs the condom, and you can see the tip of his tongue poking out as he slips it out of the foil and finds the right side, rolls it on and climbs between your legs.

There is something unappealing about the whole ordeal, something about the way he focuses so hard that barely any attention is paid to you, about how disconnected from his own body he seems, not letting his touch guide much of anything, deciding on an action and then following it rather than letting his desire guide him. Not that it would guide him anywhere pleasurable for you, but you think it might be more attractive to see him taking what he wants.

Not that you’ve seen that more than once.

“Okay,” he breathes, steading himself on his elbows on either side of your head, guiding his cock to your entrance and pushing it in, giving a few preliminary strokes, his back stiff as a board, grunting when he finds a rhythm he’s happy with, not entirely consistent, thrusting fast, not hitting the place inside of you that you’re doing everything in your power not to think about the existence of — the little spot that the tip of Frankie’s finger nudged into and stroked, the spot you should forget about.

You snake your hand down between your legs and rub at your clit, changing up the direction, the speed, shifting and speeding up and slowing down until you can tell John is close. “Wait, wait,” you say, in an uncharacteristic expression of wanting to get your own before he gets his, “Just— I wanna come, sorry it’s taking some time.”

He groans and pulls out, sits back on his heels and swats your hand away, placing his own fingers on your clit and rubbing in a circular motion, asking if he’s doing it right, getting increasingly agitated as you try to adjust his movements, sighing and giving up at the end of it. “You’re not gonna come anyway,” he groans, moving his hand to his cock to give it a few strokes, trying to get it back to its former state of hardness.

Something about the visual of him, about the contempt in his voice, makes something flare up inside of you. It makes something start to burn as it coils and weasels its way into your ribcage, turns up the heat of your blood and makes the edges of your vision darken. It’s as if something is taking over you, possessing you, using you as a vessel, reaching its hand out to you to say, enunciate the words I feed you and then take my hand, let me bring you somewhere you are allowed to be selfish and where you no longer need to sacrifice.

“It’s fine, don’t worry,” you smile and grit through your teeth, the sickening guilt replaced by something new, something devious and wrong and demonic, “How about— you said you wanted to try something?”

He flashes you a grin and you get on all fours, feeling him shift around and enter you again, pulling your hips back in an unstable manner, while you fake a few moans and he thrusts in some sort of jumpy, inconsistent pattern, until he comes silently and flops down on over you.

You tap your fingers on the sheets and turn your head to smile at him, “I’m just gonna go get cleaned up.” He puts his hand around his dick and pulls out, discarding the condom while you pick up your clothes and snatch your phone off the dresser, heading into the bathroom.

After locking the door behind you and sitting down on the toilet, you grab your phone and stare at the contact name Frankie Morales for what must be a full minute before you open a text message to him.

“What’s your address?”

Your phone is silently put on the countertop while you wash your hands and get dressed, the flushing of the toilet covering up the beep of his response being received mere seconds later.

“i’ll send in a sec. door’s open but no panties allowed in the house so pls be mindful of the rules. they r very strict”

You roll your eyes and wait until his address follows in a second text, then the wheels start to turn. An excuse and a coverup form in your mind while you pull on your pants and your sweater, a way to get out of this hell for at least one night, to see what it is you’ve been warned about for so long, to see if one person’s abyss is another’s salvation.

When you come out of the bathroom, your hand is on your lower stomach.

“Hey, I’m just gonna go to the store, okay? I think my period’s coming soon and I’m out of pads,” you say, nodding towards the door, “I’ll run some errands while I’m at it so just text me if you need anything, I’ll do the whole round.”

“Okie dokie,” he says, and you turn the corner, stepping out into the hallway before you let the resentment set in any longer.

—

Frankie’s place is, unsurprisingly, in a dodgy part of town, one with frequent sirens and more than a handful of boarded up storefronts. There’s a chill in the air when you step out of your car, on the other side of the street from a house with a single porchlight on, lighting up the entrance and the wall of the garage next to the door. You slam the car door closed and take a breath, looking up at the full moon and shaking your head at yourself. Of course it would happen on a night like this, of course it would happen on a day you haven’t felt Jesus’s presence, on a day you wonder if he really does care for you after all.

On a day that you feel the embrace of something else, another shadow wrapping his arms around you and promising you that your desires will be seen, heard, honored, that your wants and needs will all be fulfilled. More than fulfilled, you’ll be allowed to gorge yourself if you go with him, if you turn away from the light and embrace the darkness.

You ring Frankie’s doorbell and take a step back, fidget with the rings on your finger, necklace forgotten despite the cold touch of the gold on your skin as you stand outside and wait. The door opens to a dimly lit house, the smell of weed and cologne permeating your senses. You should be turned off, you should be grossed out, you should be so unimpressed.

And yet, your pussy is already throbbing at the first inhale of his scent, and at the sight of him as he opens the door, chuckling while he pulls off his baseball hat and runs his fingers through his mess of curls, then puts the hat back on and adjusts it with both hands, and takes a step closer.

“That was fast,” he muses, leaning into the wooden frame leading the way to his living room. His bicep strains the sleeve of his t-shirt as he leans on his elbow.

“Shut up,” you quip, your breaths heaving, “You know just as well as I do that I shouldn't be here so don’t push your luck, Francisco.”

He laughs at that, taps his knuckles against the frame and takes a breath, cocks an eyebrow and looks down at you, at the porchlight drenching you in golden rays as it contrasts with his own figure in the doorway, the shadowy inside of his house. “Who am I in your eyes?”, he asks, taking a step towards you and circling your waist with his hands, pushing you over the threshold of his territory, into his space, “Some kind of Antichrist? The devil himself? Put in your life to lead you astray? Make you sin?”

His hands are on your back and the door is still open behind you, eyes adjusting to the warm lighting in his living room that stretches into the kitchen, the couch illuminated by the TV and the hazy air above the coffee table, the ripples of smoke coming from a joint halfway tucked into an ashtray.

“Maybe...”, you murmur, looking down at his shirt with your hands on his chest, swallowing so hard you hear the gulp in your throat, “They told me he'd be tempting, and that's all you've done… Tempt me, into— into adultery.”

He cracks a smile and leans over to close the door behind you, stepping closer when the door snicks shut, until your feet are between his. Refocusing on you, he narrows his eyes as he whispers, pushing your hair over your shoulder with one hand, the other on your hip, “What have I done? Tell me.”

You run your hands up the fabric of his shirt, slide them up along his neck, the patchy scruff on his jaw, up, up, a little further, until you reach his hat and carefully take it off, toss it over to his couch and run your fingers through his hair, separating his curls while he gazes at you in a way that you can feel on your skin, in a way nobody has ever looked at you, not on your wedding day and never since.

“Tempted me into adultery with—”, you say, your voice as shaky as your breaths, gesturing to his chest, then his face, his hair and then his shoulders, his arms, “All this.” You step back, open up the space between your bodies, and with a sudden wave of courage, nod towards his crotch, “And that.”

He seems to like that, pulling you back in and curving both hands around your hips, leaning in to brush the tip of his nose along yours. “Godly cock wasn't doin’ it for ya?”, he whispers, with his eyes blazing, darker than they’ve ever been. His touch is scalding, heat rolling off the skin of his neck and arms, almost as hot as he makes you.

“Shut up,” you mutter, convincing no one, not even yourself.

His lips come to the side of your neck, the bristles of his thick mustache scratching your skin, scruffy and a little unkempt, with hints of gray. Sleazy old man. “You’re going straight to Hell, you know that, right?” He seems to enjoy mumbling terrible things into your skin and pressing the words into your body with a kiss immediately after, sealing it with a lick of his tongue, “No space for girls like you in heaven.”

“Shut up—”

“Maybe even purgatory, adultery is pretty bad,” he chuckles, arms wrapping tighter around you, his hard cock pushing into your stomach through the fabric of his sweatpants. A drop of arousal seeps out of you at the feeling, into your panties, still wet from the lubricant on the condom from earlier.

“Shush, stop—”

He shakes his head and interrupts you with a kiss, finally, dragging you along the floor, through the dim light of his living room, the kitchen, the hallway, to his even darker bedroom, to the unmade bed opposing the reclining chair covered in clothes. With his tongue in your mouth, he undoes your pants and pulls them down, kissing along the edge of your underwear when he’s squatting down, grabbing your ankles and stepping you out of your jeans.

“I told you no panties,” he whispers, teasing the seam of the fabric, moving further in, licking a stripe over the lace covering your clit, making you gasp, “You’ve been such a good girl until now, what happened?”

“Nothing,” you mutter, looking at his hair and wanting so badly to drag your hand through it again, to feel those thick curls on your fingers.

“You seem agitated.”

“No, I don’t.”

“No, I don’t,” he mocks, pulling your panties slightly to the left, revealing part of your mound, kissing the skin that makes contact with the air. “What happened? Got shitty sex from your husband or something? Came here to get the real thing?”

You roll your eyes at him, at the reminder of why you’re here, on one hand wanting to say that yes, it’s only because my husband sucks in bed, and on the other, trying not to spill that you make me feel something I couldn’t even conjure up in my dreams and you’ve possessed me like a demon and I don’t want you to leave my body and I love how you feel.

“How about that,” he marvels as he raises to his feet, moving his hand to your chin and tipping your face up to look into his eyes, “Crawling to the cross… Finally gonna let me fuck that tight ass little pussy? Not reserved for Jesus anymore? Or your husband?”

“Thought so.” Frankie smells like sweat and cologne and weed, and this is a terrible idea and you really shouldn’t be here but your sweater slips over your arms just as easily as your bra, as easily as his own shirt falls from his body and his sweatpants drop to the floor.

“You're gonna smell just like me when I’m done with you,” he coos, and you hate how much his words go to your clit, to your nipples and every other erogenous zone he might discover on the surface of your body, “Gonna smell like my come, my cologne, my spit, my sweat… Like my bed—”

You whimper and he kisses you, then murmurs into your lips, “But first you’re gonna suck my cock, and then I’m gonna fuck you.” He rips your panties down your legs and forces them off, then pushes you to your knees and tells you to open up, digging his thick fingers into your cheeks to pry your jaw open.

Your lips part, jaw separating wider as he rubs the tip of his massive, impossibly long cock on your lower lip, sticky with precome as it oozes out from his slit, and he groans at the sight, putting his free hand on the back of your head. John never forces you to your knees, never shoves his cock past your lips — he begs and pleads, lays on the sheets and takes your mouth in silence, tensing up a little before he comes.

But Frankie,

“Hope you don’t have a fucking gag reflex,” he mutters, then pries your mouth open a little more and presses his cock in, deeper and deeper until his tip hits the back of your throat, placing one large hand under your chin and the other on top of your head, holding you in place while he tips his head back and thrusts.

Frankie fucks your face, relentlessly and without reprieve, shoves his head down your throat, makes you drool and claw at his thighs, forces little sputtering, choking, gagging sounds from you, ones that spur him on and make him growl and moan, pushing in as far as he can and retracting until only his tip is left within. John would have come by now, you note to yourself, sated and done for the night, but Frankie only gets harder, with your nose buried in the coarse dark curls on his pelvis, inhaling his musk, your eyes sliding back at the scent. So masculine and so fucking hot.

“That was your warm-up,” he pulls out with a groan, slips both hands under your arms and pulls you up, leaning you over the bed, kicking your feet apart and slotting his dick between your asscheeks. “Know we haven’t gotten to the backstroke section in the lesson plan yet,” he chuckles, thrusting gently, sliding his length over your asshole, “But you can think of this as another type of backstroke, hm?”

“Yeah,” you whimper, hands fisting in the crumpled sheets beneath you while he pushes you up on the mattress, teasing your entrance with his tip now, bare and dripping, letting your wetness coat him as he feeds you less than an inch at a time, drenching more and more of him before he pushes in, the first time you’ve felt a naked cock inside you, a loss of another type of innocence, an intimacy not awarded to you by your husband.

“Tight fuckin’ fit here,” he remarks with a low whistle, “Looks like John Smith didn’t do much to stretch you out.”

You whip your head around in absolute horror, “How do you know his name?”, and Frankie looks at you, dumbfounded, mouth open, brows scrunched together as he pauses.

“His name is John Smith?” He’s on the verge of a laugh now, dragging a hand down his face, through his curls, then coming to scratch at his beard, “Are you serious right now?”

You roll your eyes at him and concede, “Yes, Frankie, that is his name.”

“That’s your husband’s name — John Smith.”

“Yes,” you sigh, “Frankie, do I need to remind you of what I said when I showed up here?” He pushes in a little further then, amusement plastered all over his face, his sly smirk doing something to you that you can’t quite place, as if you feel it in your chest somehow.

“Remind me of what?” He tilts his head, wraps your hair around his fist and sinks all the way into you, bottoms out and watches it punch the air out of your lungs, a pathetic little breath escaping you while your eyes slide into your head and he gives your hair a little tug. “Remind me of what?”

“That I shouldn’t be here,” you breathe, bordering on delirious already, clenching your walls around him just to feel his size, to feel every curve, every vein, his skin, the burn starting to set in from how you gape around him, fucked open and stretched out. His, now. “I think you might be the Devil or something.”

“Don’t give me that much credit,” he laughs, sliding out, pressing back in, grinding into your cervix and tugging at your hair, listening to you moan, leaning over to whisper, “I am so much worse.”

Then he starts to fuck you, deep and almost punishing in its fervor, his hand gripping your hip so hard you swear he could crush your bones, hand fisted in your hair and pulling on it until your head leans back, and he towers over you, forces you to look up at him while he pounds you from behind, while he shows you how a real man fucks you, one who isn’t tied down and restrained by the shackles of a past spent trying to be pure, trying to suppress his instincts.

Frankie lets go of your hair and purses his lips, lets a glob of saliva fall to your crack and watches it slide down while brings his thumb to his mouth, wets it with spit and reaches down between your cheeks, rubs your tight ring of muscle and gently pushes in while you look back at him, eyes wide with apprehension.

“Yeah, yeah,” he rolls his eyes, pushing further in when he feels you relaxing around his finger, “Sodomy in front of the Lord, I get it.”

You roll your eyes back at him.

“I can promise he’s not looking in here, baby, he doesn’t wanna see this any more than that little husband of yours does,” he says, then narrows his eyes in that way you hate, “What was his name again?”

“Shut up,” you groan, and the hand on your hip finds your hair again, tugging it back harshly while his wide thumb sinks in fully.

“What was that?” he growls, giving you a hard thrust when you don’t respond, your slick seeping out and smearing over your inner thighs when he withdraws and fucks back into you, makes your flesh shake and jiggle.

“Forget it,” you mumble, letting your hands slide out in front of you, suspended by his hand in your hair, feeling your ass bouncing against his hips at every thrust, the wet squelch of your pussy taking him and his balls smacking against your clit, sticky and sinful and the best feeling you’ve ever felt.

“That’s what I thought.” He lets go of your hair, letting you fold in half as your chest hits his sheets and your face is buried in his scent again, and he reaches around to put two fingers to your clit, circling it quickly, bringing on your orgasm in mere seconds. You soften, letting him in even deeper, sucked in by your pussy while your asshole flutters around his thumb, and he chuckles, muttering under his breath, easy to please.

He keeps rubbing, despite your whines and whimpers, fucking you and playing with your clit until you come for him again, then flips you over onto your back, pulls you to the edge of the bed and slides back in. You glance down at his pelvis, sticky and wet with your arousal, thick hair he hasn’t trimmed in what must be months, dark curls you want to feel against your sensitive little nub. Both of his hands slide under your ass to lift you up, his cock reaching so deeply his name rips from your throat with a loud moan, the first followed by more, forced out one by one, his name in there again somewhere, incoherent almost.

Then he lays you down, pushes you up on the bed and kneels between your thighs, lays down on top of you and cages you in with his bulging arms. He captures your lips in a kiss as he grinds into you, pushes his pelvis into your clit, lets his sweat smear across your torso, your shoulders getting covered in the concentrated scent of his underarms.

You're gonna smell just like me when I’m done with you.

It’s like you’re being baptized in his scent, drenched in his perspiration, in the saliva covering either side of your neck from his wet kisses, his precome dribbling out inside you, the taste of it still on your lips.

“Frankie—”, you pant into the crook of his neck, fingers twisting in his hair, your other hand on his upper back, holding him close, “Frankie, I’m gonna— I’m gonna come, I—”

He shushes you with another kiss, with a rumbling growl, letting you come before he throws your ankle over his shoulder and he pounds you until the sound of your moans drowns out the sirens outside the window and his snarls, his curses, the wet slap of your bodies and his grunts when he takes your other ankle and folds you in half again, pushes your knees into your chest and shows you how you’re meant to be fucked.

You can tell he’s close, closer than he wants to be, muttering how fucking tight you are between grunts and moans, both hands gripping your hips, pulling you back onto him with every thrust, his cock so deep within you that the room is a blur, hazy from the darkness, the air thick with the smell of sex. His thrusts slow, trying to abate his orgasm, failing to when you tighten and whimper his name again, when you arch your back and suck him in further, until your walls suffocate him and he grunts your name, panting with his jaw hanging open, lifting up to look down at how he splits you in half.

“Hope you’re on the pill or something,” he groans, while his cock pulses and swells inside of you, while ropes of his come fill you and slide down his shaft. Then he chuckles, his voice going low and gravelly, “You know, so you don't have a little demon baby in here you won't let yourself get rid of. That wouldn't be good for business, would it?”

Crushing you with his weight again, he bites and kisses your neck, staying lodged inside your cunt, body pressing you down into his sheets, a drop of his sweat sliding down your chest, your own heat dampening the backs of your knees. His lips find yours, tongues twisting together, heavy breaths filling the silence in the air. You swallow his saliva, you’d drink it if you could, his blood or his spit or his come.

“You’ve never had that before, huh?”, he murmurs into your mouth, “Never taken a load like that?”

Your hips squirm in response while you shake your head, and another laugh rumbles in his chest. “You like it, though, you like having my come inside you.” You don’t dare tell him you’ve never had a load inside of you at all, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of being the first to own you like this, the first person to risk something. He pulls out and brings his hand to your core, lets some of his spend seep out onto his fingers, and smears it over your folds, your clit, up to coat your nipples, your lips, then back down to rub it into your asshole.

“You like when I cover you in it,” murmured and low, his eyes dark again, piercing and paralyzing while you raise up on your elbows and look up at how he towers over you again, “Not so Godly anymore when you're covered in the Devil's seed, huh?”

“No,” your voice is weak, little more than a squeaking sound.

He cranes his neck down to smell your shoulder, your arm, your chest and your neck. “Told you you’d smell like me,” he whispers, pressing his lips into your chest, right above where he marked you, “Nothing left of you now, it’s just me. All me.”

His finger comes to your stretched out, gaping entrance. It collects more of his slick, warm load, and he brings it to your chest, one streak across and another down the middle. He crosses you with it, with the evidence of your lust, your sin, your adultery, your submission to darkness and evil, to your own wants and your own primal drive towards this man, the desire for you that you sense in him.

“Yeah, now you know who you belong to.”

You look down and see the glistening cross of semen, your nipples still glossy, filthy and revolting and terrible and making your pussy clench so hard another thick drop splashes out of you and onto this bed, your clit beginning to ache again, wanting more and more and more.

“See that?”, he tilts your chin up with one hand, the other planted on the mattress, muscles bulging out, his wet, semi-hard cock hanging between his legs, come still seeping out of him, dripping from his slit, “Don't need God when I’m here to tell you what to do, baby.”

“No?”

“Nah,” he slides his hand around your neck to cradle the base of your skull, moving his knees to the outside of your hips, shifting closer until his cock is in your face. “And now you’re gonna lick up all my come, you’re gonna suck my dick till I’m hard again, and then I’m gonna teach you how to ride me.”

“Okay,” you whisper, lashes fluttering, lips parting at the sight of his thickness, his length, the flushed red tip.

“Not just gonna teach you how to swim, sweetheart — gonna teach you how to take my cock. Mine, just mine, until you can’t do without it, until you come crawling over here every night, begging for it, until you pray to God and ask him to free you from being so cockdrunk and addicted to me.”

You pause for a moment, looking up at his face, eyes adjusted to the darkness now, and then, “Frankie?”

“Yes, angel?"

"Teach me.”

#holy shit #frankie morales x reader #this was so good

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joelsgoldrush · 4 months

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IN A WORLD OF BOYS, HE’S A GENTLEMAN

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joelsgoldrush · 4 months

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happy new years or whatever, but most importantly happy 3 year anniversary to the Picture of ALL TIME

#i want them both #pedro pascal #oscar isaac

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joelsgoldrush · 4 months

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driving home for christmas | frankie morales

Summary | With a long drive ahead of you to reach your parents for Christmas, there's only one thing to do to pass the time.

Word Count | 2k

Pairing | Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Warnings | This is basically porn without plot. Mentions of family Christmas, oral sex (M), allusions to oral sex (f), road head (pls be safe y'all), smattering of cock worship, lil bit of competency kink, dirty talk (y'all this man has hell of a mouth), a little bit of cumplay if you squint.

Authors Note | I don't even have anything to say other than, I love this man and this has made me realise I need to write him more. Enjoy!

Divider by the amazing @saradika

Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi.

There’s something that always happens to you when you sit in the car alongside Frankie. The way he can effortlessly drive with one hand on the wheel, his fingers tapping along to the sounds of the radio, the way his free hand only leaves the top of your thigh to turn the wheel when it’s needed or to change gears and the way he always put his hand on the back of your seat when he’s reversing – it all makes you feel hot, watching his competency in action. It makes you want to fuck him.

But you’re already running late. Overslept this morning, Frankie’s fault for spending so long between your thighs the night before. Your parents, waiting at the other end of the journey to celebrate Christmas together for the first time, a text from your mother suggesting she’s slightly perturbed at your delay – her Christmas Eve meal pushed back a few hours, the bottles of champagne chilling but unopened until you arrive.

“If you take a picture, it’ll last longer, hermosa.” Frankie chuckles, catching your eyes trained on him, specifically the way his arms bulge when he shifts lanes on the highway.

“I don’t need one,” You shrug, “You’re always right here.”

He smiles lightly, watching as you pull your hands from your lap, set it on his knee and start slowly dragging your fingers up his jean-clad thigh. Frankie looks at you through the side of his eye, smirk splaying over his mouth as your hand moves higher.

“You’re insatiable, you know that?”

You shrug, “You shouldn’t be so fucking attractive then, should you?”

“That desperate to suck my cock that you can’t wait until tonight?” He teases, as your hand splays over the bulge growing in his jeans.

“Are you complaining?” You ask, eyebrow raised.

“Not at all, baby,” He shifts in his seat a little, moving himself down so your fingers can work the button of his jeans, “You knock yourself out.”

It’s all the permission you need to unclip your seatbelt and lean over the centre console. Frankie shifts just a little to let you reach a warm hand beneath the material of his jeans and his underwear to pull his cock free, running your hand gently up and down his length. You revel in the way his head tips back against the seat, his eyes fluttering closed a little before he realises he has to keep an eye on the road.

You languidly move your hand up and down his cock, there’s no need to rush, you still have a few hours between you and your destination, and you like the way that Frankie sounds when you tease him a bit, when you know exactly what he wants but won’t give to him just yet. The way he sucks that plush bottom lip into his mouth to save himself from begging, but always ends up doing it anyways.

You watch his face closely as you drag your thumb over his head, flushed red and leaking, the way he inhales gently from his mouth as you drag that slick around the head of his cock, dragging your fist down and back up a few times before you pull your hand away altogether. You can’t help the smile that drags across your face when he groans at your hand being gone, head turning to watch you as you keep your eyes on him, spit fully into your palm before it’s circled back around the base of his cock, fingers tighter around him this time as you drag your hand back up and down, Frankie’s head hitting the headrest, his fingers tightening around the steering wheel.

“You okay, baby?” You ask, sickly sweet as your hand continues to move up and down his cock.

“Would be even better if you put your mouth on me, cariño.”

“What’s the rush?” You shrug, hand squeezing around his length a little, “We’ve got hours to go.”

He clears his throat when your thumb runs over the underside of his flushed head, over that sensitive spot that always makes him grip his hand in your hair when you flutter your tongue over it.

“Because there’s a high likelihood that I’m going to have to pull over once you’re finished and eat your cunt, baby.”

His words make you gasp, heat settling in your stomach and a sharp strike of want right between your legs. The thought of him so desperate for you that he would pull over, spread you out on the backseat and eat you until you cried, like he always did, and there was no getting around it, that would take time, he liked to take his time with you, and you were already running late.

You shift in your seat, sink your body down so you can lean over the centre console. Your hand still gripping his cock, you press your lips to the tiny sliver of skin just above, where his jeans are undone and his t-shirt ends, tongue darting out to taste his skin as your hand keeps pumping him gently.

Your hand grips him near the tip of his cock, holding him still so you can press your hot mouth to the base of him, soft kisses pressed to his entire length until you reach the head of his cock, flushed an angry shade of red now. You smirk to yourself as you dart the tip of your tongue out, running it gently across the head, catching the bead of slick that sits on the slit of him as you go.

His taste drives you wild, it always has. Slightly bitter, but not unpleasant, salty and musky and something distinctly Frankie too. When the first taste hits your tongue, there’s a switch that flicks in your brain, you want more of it, you want every drop that he can give you, so you finally do what he’s been pleading with you to do, you wrap your hot mouth around his head, free hand slipping down to cup his balls in your palm, tongue swirling over his head before you start moving your mouth down slowly on him, pulling your lips off him, hand following up and down his cock to spread the wetness your mouth has left all over him.

“I love your cock so much, Frankie.” You speak softly, nuzzling his length with your nose, watching as your hand squeezes as it moves up his cock, bead of precome pooling at his tip, your tongue licking it into your mouth.

“That right, baby?” He asks, tone low.

“Yeah,” You sigh, subtly trying to rub your thighs together for some relief, “It’s so perfect, always makes me feel so good.”

“You gonna show me how much you love it?” It almost like a dare, and you’ve always liked a challenge.

So with one hand still cupping his balls, fingers moving gently against them, you wrap your mouth back around him and take him as far down into your mouth as you can before he hits the back of your throat, your other hand working across the length of him you can’t fit in your mouth.

“Shit baby,” He chokes out as you set a pace of moving your mouth up and down him, hand following, spreading spit all over him, wetness pooling at the base of his cock, “Yeah, that’s it, just like that.”

His praise makes you weak, makes you wet, you can already feel the slick pooling in your panties, but you know he can do better, you know he can be nicer to you. You relax your jaw a little, move your mouth down a little further than you had been, tip of Frankie’s cock hitting your throat. You hold yourself there for a moment before you bob your head right there where you are, his cock punching at the back of your throat, the wet sounds of him thrusting up into your mouth filling the car until Frankie hits just a little too far down, making your throat constrict around him, gagging and spluttering on him, tears forming at your waterline as you pull off him, string of saliva keeping your mouth attached to his cock as you catch your breath.

Frankie brings a hand down, cupping your chin, tilting your head up to look at him, “Too big for you, huh, baby?” He asks, winking at the end, “Put your mouth back on me,” He always gets a little demanding when he’s getting close, “You know I love it when you choke on me.”

Your tongue darts across your bottom lip before his hand on your chin tangles in the back of your hair, pushing your head gently back towards his cock, pushing your mouth down onto him as far as he thinks you can go. He fists at your hair, flicker of pain settling across your scalp as he uses the leverage to move your head up and down in just the right pace that he can push your throat down onto him, but pull you back off just in time to save you from gagging on him.

He’s getting louder with his moans, and you can feel the slight tightening of his balls in your palm, he’s close. When he drags your head up the next time, you tease the underside of his head with your tongue, which has him gripping your hair tighter, keeping you still right there.

“Jesus, fuck,” He groans out, “Do that again.”

So you do, you keep the tip of your tongue flicking at the underside of his cock, one of your hands coming back to the base of him, pumping his length as you work your mouth over him.

“God damn it, baby, I’m gonna come.”

You moan around him, all the permission he needs to start moving your head again until he keeps you still with your lips wrapped around the base of his cock. You can feel the warm spurts of his cum before he lets out a ragged moan into the air of the car, that taste you love so much spreading out across your tongue, thick and viscose as he drains himself into your mouth.

You’re both still for a moment - you can hear him sucking in breath from above you, his hand loosening it’s grip on your hair to let you sit back up in your seat.

Much like he did before, he grips your chin in his hand, turns your face to his, “Show me.”

You open your mouth, stick your tongue out a little to show him the milky white pool of his cum in your mouth. He tilts your chin down, pad of his thumb dragging across your tongue a little before he closes your mouth for you, raised eyebrow waiting for you to do exactly what you want and swallow him down, opening your mouth again, sticking your tongue right out this time to show him that it’s all gone.

“Good girl.”

He finally lets you sit back properly into your chair, seatbelt back on as he moves to tuck himself back into his jeans.

“Nice work, Morales.” You chuckle, eyes settling on the road ahead, “Road head whilst it’s snowing and we’re still alive?”

It’s snowing a little now, not enough to prove a problem, but enough to make the bubble of excitement meet the bubble of want in your stomach. Christmas is here, you think, warm hand slipping over to rest on Frankie’s thigh, his own free hand coming down to cover your own, smiling at you.

“Well, would you look at that,” He tilts his head towards a sign, “Somewhere to pull over.”

His eyes are expectant, your eyes are wide, thighs rubbing together a little at what that means.

“Want me to eat your pussy, baby?”

But of course, it’s a rhetorical question, because of course you do, his fingers already tipping the indicator down, switching lanes so he can pull off the highway.

“Merry Christmas to us, I guess.”

#gotta love frankie #frankie morales x reader

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joelsgoldrush · 4 months

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When Harry Met Sally... (1989) | dir. Rob Reiner

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joelsgoldrush · 4 months

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When Harry Met Sally... (1989) | dir. Rob Reiner

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joelsgoldrush · 4 months

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"When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible"

When Harry Met Sally (1989)

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joelsgoldrush · 4 months

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Same move, very different energy.

#my love #pedro pascal #dieter bravo

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joelsgoldrush · 4 months

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Therapist: Oh, you definitely have daddy issues

Me: no, I don't

Also, me hours later realizing all my favorite fictional characters are older man....

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joelsgoldrush · 4 months

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a kindness you can't afford (joel miller x f!reader) 18+

kofi | a/n this is a sequel to my fic 'to freeze or to thaw', it's mainly just a lot of filth cause that's all my brain can handle at the moment lmao. pls be sure to check the warnings before reading & i hope you enjoy 💕 also shoutout to the incredible @toxicanonymity whose joel/reader/tommy fics inspired me to get tommy involved here. would highly recommend her fics stuffing & sweet little mess for a similar vibe. summary: there are no limits to how or when joel plays with his special girl. rating: 18+ explicit warnings: dark!joel, ddlg dynamics, daddy kink, big unspecified age gap (reader is of legal age), unprotected p in v sex, creampies, free use, somnophilia, cockwarming, squirting, light pussy slapping, size kink (joel's dick is huge), tummy bulge, oral (m receiving), praise kink, dirty talk, pet names (use of 'little one'), finger sucking, exhibitionism, mentions of pregnancy (but no risk), lil bit of tommy x reader teasing 👀(if you don't like tommy x reader then you prob won't like this) word count: 4.1k

He's so kind.

You've never known kindness like this before; never known the soothing whispers and gentle praises, the calming touches, the satisfying taste of homemade soup on your tongue, the comfort of a roaring fire, made just for you. You've never known the warm embrace of a much older man, the strong arms and solid chest, greying hair and sharp scruff, soft belly and thick cock. You'd spent most of your life in a frightening QZ, the past few years in a cold and unforgiving forest, and now - the warm safety of a cabin.

Woken by the gentle caress of two fingers against your forehead, pushing your hair back gently, a kiss to your bare shoulder, the heat of his solid form behind you, and the press of his hot tip to your soft opening. He doesn't ask, but he doesn't need to.

He pushes inside and you hum sleepily, drifting in and out a little as he feeds you the rest of his cock in one slow movement. Your eyes flutter but you keep them closed, nuzzling against the fluff of your pillow as he pulls you in and presses his body to yours, the hair along his torso tickling the sensitive skin of your back as the throbbing tip of his cock kisses that special spot in your tummy. He's so big inside you, taking up so much space in your body that it's mind numbing.

"Go back to sleep," he murmurs, pulling more hair away from your face and trailing his fingers along your cheek soothingly. His big cock twitches inside you, but he doesn't move, stays still as he waits for you to drift back into unconsciousness.

And you do. But not for long.

You're woken what you're sure must only be a few moments later to the feeling of his cock throbbing within the furthest parts of you, pulsing thick spurts of cum deep inside your body as he holds you tight and groans raggedly in your ear. His fingers are suddenly working furiously against your clit, circling and rubbing and pressing and making you cry out sleepily into the dark cabin. With barely any awareness, you feel the hot coil in your lower belly snap - and you're gushing. You feel him tug his cock out of you at just the right moment, just as a steady stream of liquid makes it's way past your freshly fucked hole, and you squeal.

"Shhh, baby," he soothes, but you can hear the smile in his voice as he watches your juices stain the dark wooden floorboards, watches it drip down into the blankets and soak the cotton, "Shh, I know, I know."

You whimper and squeeze your fists together, releasing another stream of liquid as your eyes roll back. An unintelligible string of words slip past your lips, slurred and broken, almost like you're speaking another language. He pulls you in and hushes you again, presses a finger to your lips as you convulse beside him in the bed.

"That's enough now," he murmurs softly, kissing your cheek and still rubbing your clit, pushing for more, "That's enough, little one. Go back to sleep."

He says this to you as if you can even control your sounds, your movements, as if your pussy continuing to gush isn't a result of his own actions, but he already knows this. He enjoys it, likes watching you fight to regain proper consciousness again after you squirt, likes watching you try to stop it from happening. And god, does he love to make it happen.

"Can't, daddy," you mumble, voice thick with sleep and pleasure, brows furrowed as you open your eyes to look down and see where he's still circling, "Can't stop wh-when you rub it like that."

You feel him press a kiss to your ear, watch him pull his fingers back from your pussy and slap them down lightly, then again, then twice more in succession. Another small gush of liquid spurts from your hole after the fourth slap, and he chuckles.

"Sleep," he whispers, slowing his movements, "I'll stop now, promise."

So you do, and he does - not before slipping his wet fingers past your lips for you to gently suck as you drift. You vaguely hear him murmur Daddy's perfect girl before you're lost to the world again.

You dream of him, as you always do.

He learned very early on that you could squirt. It wasn't even something you were aware of yourself - how could you be? It's not like you'd had many sexual encounters before this, none of them ever worthwhile anyway, and you'd never had it happen to you on your own either. But it's somehow easy for Joel to make it happen, once he knows he can, so easy that now it's one of his favorite things to do when he plays with you.

The first time, you'd been more than surprised - and very confused. You'd been spread out naked between Joel's clothed legs, back against his chest while four of his thick fingers pumped deep inside of you, thumb tapping your clit. He'd crooked them, curved his fingertips in the slightest way - and suddenly there had been a gush of heat, a heavy stream of release. You'd thought you'd done something else, something that had your cheeks warming and embarrassment flooding through your body as you twitched and cried in his arms. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to, it was an accident.

He'd hushed you softly, kissed your lips tenderly and explained to you what it actually was.

"You're such a good girl," he'd praised, carefully easing your head into his lap and threading his fingers through your hair, eyes peering down at where your legs lay open, pussy still dripping, "Such a good girl with the sweetest little pussy, baby. Squirtin' just for me, just for her daddy, huh?"

You'd closed your eyes and let him hold you, soothe you, relax you. I know, little one. Did such a good job. M'so prouda you. Then he'd unzipped his jeans and fed his heavy cock into your mouth, let you suck on his leaking tip quietly for a few moments before he came down your throat with a long sigh, still stroking your hair. After you'd swallowed every drop, opened your mouth wide and showed him your clean tongue, he'd bundled you up and disappeared from the tent to make you dinner, off to fulfill that never-ending kindness and care he'd promised from the beginning. It had only been about a week since that first night where he'd first come into your tent, and you were already settling into the role of his special girl and doing it quite happily.

He'd made you squirt again later that night, had you shaking in his arms and gushing around his cock and close to tears, not because you were afraid or in pain but because it just felt so good. A relief, a release, a moment of bliss, all because of him. Your pussy had pushed his cock out of you with the pressure of your release, and you'd fallen back against him, sleepy and sated.

"Daddy," you'd whined, overstimulated and exhausted as he'd slipped his dick back inside your dripping heat, "Daddy, m'gonna fall asleep."

"That's okay, baby," he'd whispered, fucking into you slow with no plans of stopping, cock bulging in your trembling belly, "You can go to sleep."

You'd woken again a little later, warm in his arms, globs of cum drooling from your opening. You'd whimpered softly, reached down and touched where you were leaking, and - without even really thinking about it - gathered what he'd left there and pushed it back inside yourself before drifting back to sleep, safe against his chest.

The cabin you reside in is only temporary, though you wish you could stay longer. The group came across it in the early hours of yesterday morning, and you've spent most of that time naked in one of its four beds, sleepy and content among the warm sheets. It's been so long since you felt the comfort of a real bed, a soft mattress and thick blankets, and from the moment you passed the threshold Joel was adamant that you spend as much time in it as possible.

He's so kind.

He's been planning something with the others, an upcoming raid, a plan of attack, but you don't pay much attention to those things. When it all goes down, Joel has assured you that you won't be anywhere near the carnage, still safe and warm in the cabin until his return.

"Need you safe, little one," he'd told you softly last night, fingers scratching soothingly across your bare back, "Can't have anythin' happenin' to you." He'd kissed you tenderly, whiskers tickling your lips and making you giggle. "You'll stay here with Tommy, he'll take care o' you."

"Tommy?" you'd asked curiously, unsure which member of the group he was referring to.

"My number two." He'd brushed his nose against yours, touching his index finger to your bottom lip and tugging gently, "Don't worry, baby. I trust him."

"Okay, Daddy."

You can hear his muffled voice now through the door of your room, though you can't make out what he's saying. He's addressing the group, going over plans, but you're sleepy and have been in and out of consciousness for most of the afternoon, lost in the comfort of your warm bed. It's only when you hear someone say the girl, that your ears prick up, brows furrowing as soon as you realize they're talking about you.

Only seconds later there's a light tap on your door and you sit up in bed, gathering the sheets around yourself as it opens. You peer wide eyed at one of the other men of the group, standing there with a hand on his hip and his head tilted charmingly to the side. He's very handsome, dark haired and mustached and from what you've seen, always pretty well put together. You think this one is Tommy, the number two, but you're still not entirely sure.

"Your daddy needs you, sweetheart," he says calmly, though his eyes tell a different story - he looks at you hungrily, like they all do, gaze going glassy and dark. "He asked me to help you get dressed."

"Oh," you whisper, nodding slowly, "Okay." Knowing it's what Joel wants, you let the sheets drop, and now the man you think is Tommy can see that you're completely naked on the bed, exposed and soft. It's nothing new or alarming - Joel has not been discreet when it comes to your relationship, and you're no stranger to the men taking peeks at you, peering inside your tent when Joel's not there, watching the rise and fall of your breasts as you pretend to be asleep.

You watch as this man's eyes fall to your pussy, and you can't explain why it throbs beneath his gaze.

"He just wants you in a dress," he murmurs, leaning down and assessing the few garments folded near the bed that make up your incredibly simple wardrobe; two dresses, two shirts, one pair of jeans. He picks the warmer dress, the blue one with long sleeves, which you greatly appreciate; the cabin may be warm, but it's still the middle of winter.

He approaches the bed with a smile, unfolding the dress.

"Arms up, sweetheart," he says softly, and you obey. You wait for him to help guide your arms and head through but he doesn't, instead opting to stand there for a moment just looking at you. His eyes are glued to your breasts, smile still curving his lips as he reaches out and very gently strokes the side of one with his knuckle. You shiver.

"You're so pretty, honey," he murmurs, trailing his finger up and down slowly, just shy of your nipple, "You know that?"

You nod slowly, eyes hooded and arms still extended, "I- I think so."

His thumb finds your nipple and rubs it gently, bringing it to life under his fingertips. "Your daddy's been takin' real good care of ya, hasn't he?" he asks quietly, circling the hardening nub, "In a lotta ways."

You nod again, aware of a slow trickle of warmth beginning to pool between your legs, and unsure whether what's happening right now is something Joel would want. "Y-yeah."

"Heard him fuckin' you to sleep last night," he breathes, and the words send another throb to your pussy, "He was all up in your guts, wasn't he?" His hand suddenly moves from your breast to your bare tummy, and he palms the soft skin there delicately, "Right here?" You nod again and he smiles.

"You make the prettiest little sounds when you're gettin' fucked like that, babygirl."

His praises send tingles up and down your spine like Joel's do, as well as a blooming warmth to your cheeks. "Thank you," you whisper, unsure what else to say to such a statement.

"You're welcome, sweetheart." As he says it, the fingers on your stomach trail downward a little bit to rest on your mound. He strokes the skin there gently, thumb dipping low to brush against your outer lips. "Soft little pussy," he murmurs, smiling kindly at you again, "You like havin' this all filled up, honey?"

You nod again, still unsure the point of his questioning, of his touches, but also not really wanting him to stop. A quiet whimper slips past your lips when you feel the tip of his thumb lightly brush past your clit and prod very gently against your hole. There's no way he doesn't feel the sudden wetness there, the slow drip of stickiness and the warmth of your arousal, as well the faint remnants of Joel's cum still leaking from where he'd fucked you a few hours ago - he hums quietly, unsurprised.

"Yeah, you like bein' full," he breathes, that dark glint returning to his gaze as his thumb just barely pushes inside, "Y'like bein' used."

It's not a question, but you nod anyway.

He suddenly removes his hand from your pussy and finally helps you with your dress, pulling it down over your arms and shoulders and helping you stand on wobbly legs. With another kind smile, he brings his hand up and gently brushes your cheek.

"So pretty, babygirl" he repeats quietly, "Like a little angel, ain't ya?" He suddenly presses his thumb gently against your mouth, lightly prodding for entrance, and without much thought you allow him to slip it inside; it tastes like your arousal. Eyes sleepy and pussy throbbing, you suck on his thumb obediently, as if it's just second nature to do so.

"Christ," he mutters, watching your lips as you suckle around his thick thumb, "Now that's a good girl."

"Tommy!" Joel's voice from the other room suddenly shouts, and the man who you now know for sure to be Tommy - the man who Joel is planning on leaving you with during the raid - quickly pulls his thumb from your wet mouth.

"Come on, sweetheart," he says, smiling crookedly, "Let's go see what your daddy wants."

There are five other men in Joel's group, from what you've gathered, including Tommy. Four of whom currently stand in a half circle in the front room of the cabin, arms crossed, boots tapping, attention directed at Joel who sits in a dusty armchair in the corner of the room. They all turn to look at you when the bedroom door opens, and watch with those familiar glazed expressions as Tommy brings you to their leader.

Joel's serious expression grows soft when he sees you, a small smile gracing his lined face. He peers at you, crooks his fingers. Without needing to be asked, Tommy carefully hoists you up into Joel's lap. His thumbs linger for a moment on your waist, a small stroke so quick you're not sure Joel notices - you're not sure you want him to - and then he's pulling away to stand beside the chair, asserting the role of number two.

It only takes a few seconds for you to realize that Joel's cock is out, hidden beneath the thick cotton of his jacket, out of sight. With no hesitation you wrap your arms around his neck and open your legs, laying your face against his shoulder and sighing contentedly when you feel his tip notch at your wet entrance. Not fully hard yet, he pushes inside carefully, subtly, and you ease yourself down just as quietly to sheathe him inside of you. You close your eyes and nuzzle into the warmth of his coat, already feeling the soft weight of him begin to stiffen.

You've done this before. Sometimes when he's overwhelmed, in over his head, needing to be grounded, he likes to have you sit on it. The first time it happened you weren't sure how to feel, self conscious with the other members of the group staring and knowing that you were full of him, soft whimpers escaping your mouth with every small movement or jostle. It's okay, little one, Joel had whispered, barely audible, you just focus on me.

Now, it's second nature. You can feel their eyes on your back and you know they can tell what's happening beneath Joel's coat. But now you find that you don't really care.

He starts talking then, continues whatever it was he was discussing before you left the bedroom. It becomes white noise almost immediately, your eyelashes fluttering as you bury your face further into his shoulder and focus on the feeling of his thick cock growing large inside of you. You love the way it stretches you, pushes, begins to prod up and against your cervix. It pulses and twitches within your walls and you squeeze down on him tighter, mewling a little without really meaning to.

At your noise you suddenly hear a soft chuckle from directly beside the armchair. You open your eyes halfway, looking up sleepily at Tommy who's still standing to your left. He smiles at you like he did before, a twinkle in his eye, and then winks. He obviously knows what's going on - standing so close, there's no way he didn't see you settle onto Joel's cock.

You peer back at him, blinking your eyes slowly and tightening your arms around Joel's neck. He tilts his head, and you suddenly let a smile turn up the corners of your lips. Look Tommy, you almost want to whisper, he's all up in my guts, like you said. You're not sure why you feel so unbothered under Tommy's gaze, why you don't yearn for him to look away like the others and for him to pretend it's not happening. There's a feeling in the pit of your stomach that you can't explain, that you don't want to explain.

You stay settled like that on Joel's cock for about fifteen minutes, letting the deep voices of the men around you fade into the background. You close your eyes again but you can still feel Tommy's eyes on you, watching, assessing. Every now and then Joel carefully adjusts you, driving himself a little deeper each time, sending tiny bursts of pleasure throughout your body as your pussy leaks around the intrusion. If Tommy were to lift you up again you know there'd be a dark spot at the front of your dress, a trail of slick on Joel's coat.

One particular adjustment moves the edge of the lining of Joel's coat between your folds, coming to rub against your clit, and without any warning you feel yourself start to come. Your soft cry interrupts the voices of the group, a hush of silence suddenly blanketing the room as you tighten around Joel's cock and gush around him, shaking in his embrace. His arms come up to hold you close, rubbing your back soothingly.

You look up at Tommy again and find that his eyes are hooded as he watches you, lips parted and brow furrowed with what can only be arousal as he watches you fall apart on another man's cock.

"Christ," you hear one of the men murmur, and you feel heat flush your cheeks and ears, the self consciousness returning in full swing as you come down from your orgasm, burying your face in Joel's coat once again.

"Not a fuckin' word, Perry" Joel states, voice firm.

The conversation continues like nothing happened, and you try to let the sudden embarrassment you feel dissipate as much as possible despite still being impaled on Joel's length. You nuzzle against the warmth of his neck, sighing and trying to get your breathing back to normal. Your cunt continues to spasm around him in small twitches, aftershocks, soft whimpers still falling from your lips unconsciously. It doesn't take long for the sounds and sensations to set him off, and there's another lull in the discussion as Joel tenses underneath you and starts to come.

"Oh for fuck's sake," you hear the same voice from before mutter, but his commentary is suddenly lost beneath a soft groan from Joel as his cock twitches inside you. It pulses warmly, thick bursts of cum painting your insides. You gasp softly and squeeze your thighs against his, letting him fill you up in slow and steady spurts, claiming you. Daddy's special girl.

There's a moment of silence, a deep sigh from Joel, and you wait with the rest of the group for him to speak.

"You wanna say that again?" he finally says, voice gruffer this time but stern and serious, as if he didn't just come inside you in front of a room full of his men, "Huh, Perry? You wanna fuckin' say that again?"

Another beat of silence. Then-

"I'm just sayin'," the man named Perry grumbles somewhere behind you, "Aren't you worried you're gonna get her pregnant? I mean, Jesus Christ, Joel, we don't need another fuckin' mouth to feed."

The words send a shockwave through your body, eyes widening.

"And where the fuck do you get off tellin' me what I can and can't do?" Joel asks coldly, angrily. His body has gone stiff beneath you but you think you've gone equally as stiff against him, Perry's words suddenly circling over and over again throughout your mind.

Pregnant? Could you be pregnant?

"I don't know if y'all remember," Joel says coldly, angrily, "but back in my day there was a little thing called a fuckin' vasectomy. Need me to explain it?"

"Oh, fuck off, Miller."

You suddenly find yourself peering upwards again at Tommy, eyes still wide as Joel and Perry start to have a go at each other. He looks at you once, brows scrunching together when he sees the sudden look of shock in your expression, the confusion, the fear.

"We've all been thinkin' it," Perry is saying, voice slightly shaky in his anger, "It's a valid fuckin' concern."

"Well now it ain't a concern at all," Tommy suddenly jumps in, hands clenching into fists at his sides, "She ain't gettin' pregnant, he's shootin' blanks."

His protectiveness sends another confusing feeling of warmth to that pit in your stomach. Your heart is pounding as you continue to peer up at him, eyes still wide, and he shoots you a soft look of reassurance before turning his attention back to Joel.

"Don't know why you had to have her in the fuckin' first place," Perry spits, "She's just some fuckin' girl. And now we gotta stand around and watch you fuck her all the time? It's fuckin' sick."

Joel stands suddenly, almost like he's forgotten you're sitting in his lap, jostling you to the side as his cock slips out of you. You take a step backwards, finding yourself bumping into Tommy's solid form as Joel zips up his jeans and tilts his head from side to side, bones cracking loudly in the tense room. You can finally see this Perry now, a much younger man with dark hair, standing a few feet away. He's thin, almost gaunt looking.

Joel could kill him so easily if he wanted to.

But he doesn't. Instead, he reaches down and takes your hand, pulls you away from the group and back toward the cabin bedroom. He mutters something under his breath to Tommy in passing, something you can't make out, and as he ushers you inside the room you hear the heavy shuffling of boots as the men are lead back out into the snow.

He explains to you what a vasectomy is.

You breathe a sigh of relief.

Wrapped up in warm bedsheets again, you close your eyes and nuzzle against his chest, letting his large form crowd and comfort you, his arms firm around your waist. You can feel his cum starting to drip from you under your dress, making a mess of your thighs.

"I don't like the way he talked to you, daddy," you whisper like it's a secret, voice hushed and muffled against his coat, "I didn't like it at all."

He sighs, pulls you in closer and presses a kiss to the top of your head. "I'll take care of it, little one," he murmurs softly, a sense of finality in his quiet words, "Don't you worry your pretty little head."

He's so kind.

#fuck yeah #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader

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