hook 'em horny | j.m. x f!reader
masterlist : coach!joel masterlist
pairing: college football coach!joel miller x reader
summary: [no outbreak] seeking petty revenge on your cheating quarterback ex-boyfriend leads you somewhere you shouldn't be â and then it lands you over the knee of his coach.
warnings: (18+ mdni, don't make me say it again.) cheating done by a referenced oc, briefest mention of drugs, porn barely garnished with plot, age gap (22/52), smut, unprotected piv sex, creampie, vaginal fingering, potentially dubcon by way of power imbalance but consent is enthusiastic, daddy kink, sir kink, 'punishment' spanking, degradation, praise, brat tamer!joel, dom!joel, joel spits on her ass but otherwise no butt stuff, mild choking, body writing, so many pet names of so many varieties, aftercare, surprisingly fluffy [no use of y/n]
word count: 6.4k
a/n: this is a crazy idea to have considering joel can hardly handle ellie. i don't think he'd be able to handle ~118 college-aged boys. however, the idea of football coach! joel is hot to me (i mean, seriously, look at those sluts on the sidelines) so i made it happen. on a serious note, i am so sorry to the unnamed university this is based on. i toured you. i'm legacy. but... joel miller. let's make it clear this is for entertainment purposes only. this is a fictional work about fictional people that does not reflect the school itself, which is a fine institution whose head coaches historically do not fuck students in the locker rooms. shoutout to my dad who, unknowing what this information would be used for, explained to me how he snuck into this stadium 3x. don't do that, either.
You canât even remember the last time you made a good decision.
Your track record definitely isnât the cleanest: you chose to go to school in Texas, and then chose to stay there for four years. Choosing to go to that frat party in late junior year wasnât your brightest moment, either, evidenced by the resulting hangover from hell and, predictably, frat flu. All things considered, those choices pale in comparison to hooking up with their all-star quarterback, Lucas Scott.
Dirty-blonde, blue-eyed, muscled Lucas Scott. Heâs the sort of guy who looks like an eight when youâre looking at him after a few shots of tequila and a four when youâre sober. The sort of guy who, after over a year of dating, makes you split the bill halfway after ordering the more expensive entree. Crowned as the most efficient, precise, and instinctive quarterback the Longhorns have ever had. Apparently that instinct hadnât been enough to drive him away from dipping his wick in every sorority girlâs candle wax.Â
No matter how much post-orgasm Lucas panted into his ear that he loved you, you werenât stupid enough to trick yourself into believing it. Staying with him was the easier choice, not yet wanting to reduce yourself to locker room talk. Walking in on him sloppily fucking some redhead nursing major was the breaking point. When it became less about you and more about your dignity.
So, yeah, youâve never been one for making good decisions, and you certainly arenât about to start now.
You thought breaking into the stadium would be some sort of monumental task. Trespassing here was normally reserved for campus rooftops and after-hours exploration, but once youâd gotten this batshit crazy idea in your head, you knew it wasnât going to shake until you at least proved it couldnât be done.
The open garage at the back of the building doesnât help to deter you. Itâs like thereâs a welcome-mat outside saying, âCome on in and get what you deserve!â.
Who would you be to decline such a sincere invitation?
The garage is empty apart from some cushy golf carts, and the steel door behind them couldnât be more tempting. If itâs locked, you tell yourself, youâll go back to the dorm and forget about your incident of near-trespassing.Â
You take small steps to the door, testing the handle. It springs right open, and all thoughts of leaving dissipate from your mind.
Who leaves the garage open and forgets to lock the door? Probably people with just as little between their ears (and legs) as Lucas. You scoff in half-disbelief, half-luck as you close the door behind you.
The energy feels stagnant this late at night, no announcer on the loudspeaker or swarms of burnt orange hats and T-shirts standing shoulder-to-shoulder. Industrial lights flicker above, their hums loud enough to make you wonder if you have tinnitus. Concrete lines the hallways, interrupted by a few silver-painted pipes arranged in a labyrinth up against the walls. A few security cameras are pointed at you. Before going any further, you pause to raise the hood of your Longhorns sweatshirt.
Even if you should be, you arenât in much of a rush; you amble about, really taking in the sterile ambiance of the empty stadium. You turn a few corners, going in what feels like the right direction. You figure youâre getting closer when you spot what looks like it could be a security tower. Crouching behind a trash can, you wait it out, trying to peer through the untinted windows to figure out if thereâs anyone in there at all. When youâve determined itâs unmanned and let out a shallow exhale, you go back up to full posture and keep wandering around unsupervised.
You know youâre in the right place when you find your toes hovering over a red line painted on the oil-stained concrete: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT.Â
Bingo.
Crossing that line without really thinking about it, you stick to your (so far) tried and true method of going wherever feels the most promising until youâre standing in front of the two black doors you were looking for. The doorâs handle is an obnoxiously large longhorn, and you quite literally have to hook âem to get inside.
Youâre starting to understand where the rest of the universityâs funding is going when you walk into the locker room. After dating Lucas for a year, you know the football team is full of itself, but the Longhorniness of it all is⌠excessive. Thereâs the silhouette of the logo glowing on the goddamn ceiling, and if the jerseys the players are wearing on their digital nameplates isnât enough of an indicator of who they play for, every backlit locker has a drawer with, you guessed it: a longhorn painted at the center. A brown vinyl couch wraps around the front of the room in direct view of a powered down videoboard that you can only assume replays highlight reels.
You roll your eyes. Again, your track record with decision-making isnât the best, because you chose a school who puts every penny towards sweaty frat boys with brain damage from the amount of concussions they get.
And then you see it: a sign tacked onto the middle aisle of lockers that reads CORE VALUES. From top to bottom, HONESTY, TREAT WOMEN WITH RESPECT, NO DRUGS, NO STEALING, and NO WEAPONS. You have to physically clamp your jaw shut to restrict your laughter at the second one.
It doesnât take you long to find what youâre looking for. Lucas Scott, #10.
His sweat-stained jersey hangs limply from the rack, and you eagerly tear it off, tossing it down onto the floor. Eager like a child ready to color outside the lines of a coloring book, you kneel down in front of it, pulling out the one thing you had prepared for tonight. A bold black Sharpie.
You pop the cap with your teeth, spitting it out somewhere on the floor as you start scribbling. Disguising your handwriting isnât intentional, but youâre writing so carelessly and on such a foreign material that it comes naturally. Your tongue sticks out of the corner of your mouth as you work. In a year and a half, youâd never felt such satisfaction about â and certainly not from  â Lucas.
TWO PUMP CHUMP along the side. FIVE INCHES FULL MAST on the other. CHEATER at the bottom. WHORE across the front.
A throat clears behind you. You drop the Sharpie, a blot of ink forming on the mesh. You startle backwards, scooting until your back hits that stupid longhorn drawer. Youâre expecting a janitor, maybe a security guard if youâre extra unlucky.Â
That isnât the worst of your options, apparently, because when you look up, itâs at Joel fucking Miller, head coach of the longhornâs football team.
Your lower lip starts trembling, and that moment is when you decide maybe you need to start making good decisions. Youâve heard enough about Joel from Lucas to know heâs a total hardass. He could drag you by the ear to the dean and have you kicked out at the tail end of your second to last semester in this hellhole.
He glares down at you with his head cocked, hazel eyes far darker than they ever seem on TV. His scruff stipples his hardened jawline, lips thinned out like the worry lines pressed onto his forehead. If you were interested in digging yourself any deeper, you might stall to think about how good he looks: the faint trail of chest hair vanishing down into the neckline of his longhorns polo shirt, his fitted khakis, broad leather belt slung around his waist, and the slight bulge of tummy above it. You swallow hard and kick yourself for it.
âWhat exactly,â Coach Miller drawls, voice syrupy and sticky. âdo ya think youâre doinâ?â
Your mouth moves, but no words come out. He doesnât seem very amused, his muscled arms crossing over his wide torso.
Joel shakes his head. âAinât a good look for you, hun, scrawlinâ that chicken scratch all over my QBâs jersey. Could get a real ugly charge for that.â
Heart crashing into your ribcage, you bite down on your lip. âI can pay the damages,â you blurt out.
He sizes you up all over again, eyes dragging up and down your body. They linger on your chest for a few extra seconds that youâre convinced that you just made up. âCan you, sugar? âCause to me, looks like youâre the type to be chasinâ tips at whatever joint hires you.â
You donât have the bandwidth to be as offended as you should be, especially because heâs right. You settle for glowering at him instead. A huff of laughter pinches out of him. âYou give everyone you vandalize that blue look? Or is that lilâ number jusâ because you found out Lucas really ainât that loyal?â With ease, Joel bulldozes over whatever thinning resolve you have remaining.Â
âWhatâs that sign over there say? âTreat women with respectâ?â You say. Joelâs backlit like all of those over budgeted lockers behind him. You squint your eyes. âYou know thatâs fucking bullshit. So what if I give him a taste of his own medicine when heâs been a minute man for every girl with a pulse on this campus?â You cap your Sharpie and clip it back onto your collar and get to your feet. So much for good decisions. âFuck right off with that.â
âHey, hey. Down, hun.â Joel holds his hands out to you, and you notice just how heavily youâve been breathing, just how close you are to him. âNever said you were wrong. Kidâs a fuck up in all sorts âa ways. But I donât like how youâre mouthinâ off at me, Miss Priss. If I didnât know any better, Iâd say youâre in dire need of a spankinâ to set you right.â
Your breath cuts short and your cunt bottoms out without your permission. You donât need a mirror to know your eyes just went glassy, your lips parted as your mouth goes desert dry. As discreetly as you can manage, you squeeze your thighs together.
Joel doesnât miss it. You can tell from the moment his brows raise and his eyes sparkle, the corner of his mouth picking up a smidge. âOh, yeah? That do somethinâ for ya, hun? Nasty little girl.â Thereâs a dangerous, uneven grit to his voice that has arousal burning like a candle in your stomach, the wax of your arousal syrupy against your thighs already.Â
Your tongue darts out to wet your lips. Fuck.
âNo,â you breathe out stubbornly, but youâve already given yourself away, even to yourself. The insides of your thighs are molten, twitching with every throb of your clit between your legs. That flush of warmth from your pelvis is spreading, overheating.
Joel tuts. âYou really think that? You can whine all you want âbout wantinâ respect, but at the end âa the day, you just wanna be treated like some whore, huh?â And, yeah, he has you figured out, has you in the palm of his hand. Even though you have no idea what someone like him could do to someone like you, you want him to do it. You want to find out. âIâll tell ya what, sugar, you walk outta here right now and nobody but meâs gonna know you came pitchinâ a hissy fit in my locker room.â
You frown at that, a small arc of your pouty lips that has Joelâs eyes gleaming.
âOr,â he says. âYou can pull those wet fuckinâ panties down â donât gimme that look, I know they are â and I can give ya a real lesson in respect.â He shrugs, hands going to his waist as he looks you up and down.
He knows he has you the same way you know, but you arenât just going to give in that easily. You flare your nose and counter, âIf thereâs nothing keeping me here other than a firm hand, why should I stay?â
Heâs looking at you like he wants to take you apart. His fingers jump against his hips for the opportunity to break you down.Â
âSweetness,â Joel shakes his head as if itâs obvious. âif you let me, I could make you feel good. Iâm guessinâ you got some vibrator sittinâ in the back of your desk drawer to use when your roommateâs out ân about, but you donât wanna use that tonight, do ya? You want the real thing, hun, and Iâd give it to ya real nice once I teach ya to behave.â
There it is again: Coach Joel Miller has you all figured out. Every syllable he says is doomed to send another shiver up your spine, and damn it, fuck playing coy.
Youâre too busy tearing off your hoodie to think about how unsexily dressed you are, but the rushed nature of your actions punches a chuckle out of Joel. âEager thing.â Youâre halfway through kicking your shoes and leggings off when he saunters over to the couch, plopping down on the edge and patting his broad, khaki-covered thigh. Your mouth waters when you look back and see just how much the fabric strains against his leg. âWhenever youâre ready, hun.â
You waddle over to him, stripped down to the basics of your sports bra and everyday panties. Itâs the furthest thing from erotic, but the way heâs looking at you isnât. Itâs primal and ravenous, enough to have you forgetting all about how youâd even gotten there in the first place. He licks his lips as he trails his eyes all over you, darkening a couple of shades when he looks at your cleavage. âLucas is a fuckinâ idiot, baby.â
âKnew that already,â you mumble.
He pats his thigh again, bounces his leg. âCâmon, over my knee like the good girl I know you can be. Hurry up and Iâll only give ya five.â
You shuffle forward, relishing in the rubbing of your thighs that comes from it. Heâs sitting on the corner of the couch at the perfect angle for you to rest your head on the arm. It doesnât take any more convincing for you to put yourself over his lap, not that he needed to do much in the first place. You feel so much smaller than him. Your ass is up for him to do whatever heâd like to; itâs a tantalizing feeling you hadnât gotten out of any intimacy â if you could call it that â with Lucas.
âMmmmmm,â Joel groans as he runs a hand between your legs. He rubs at your slit through the soaked gusset of your panties. You canât stop the way your hips buck, or the pitiful shout that jumps off your lips when he pins you down by the small of your back, robbing you of any friction. Between one arousal-riddled breath and the next, Joel tugs your panties off and flings them to the side. You know how it feels, tacky and cold on your core and thighs, so you can only imagine how it must look. Joel gives you a pretty good idea when he reveres, âGoddamn, pretty cunt is throbbinâ for it.â
He pulls apart your folds and you think you hear him lick his lips above you before he lets them go. The schlick noise your dripping pussy makes is nothing less than pornographic. Joel gropes you carefully, kneads the skin of your ass like you have all the time in the world. Under his ministrations, itâs easy to melt into the couch, forgetting why youâre there in the first place until his palm cracks down on your ass cheek.
The stinging impact has a slurred hnnnngh leaving your lips, and a fresh gush of wetness between your legs to accompany it. You keep your head tucked into the sanctuary of your folded arms, eyes squeezed shut so tight you swear youâre seeing stars. Joelâs quick to rub the spanked patch of skin, his palm soothing his ache. âThatâs one, baby.â You nod into your arms. âThink you can take four more?â Another nod.
âI need to hear ya, hun. Câmon, head up fâme.â He taps the side of your cheek, and you prop your cheek up on your forearm. âThink you can take four more?â he repeats.
Your voice hitches, courtesy of the beating that echoes in your chest and between your legs. âY-yesâŚâÂ
When the second hit lands, you donât expect it. You flinch away from his hand when it comes down with a clap that leaves you squirming in his lap. âYes, what?â
âYes sir,â you whine out, back arching. Although a punishment, that spank has the same effect as the last: a live wire of arousal strung from your spine to your cunt.
âTakinâ it well,â he praises, squeezing your ass cheeks together. âSure didnât expect anyone to come crawlinâ in when I left that garage open, âspecially not some slut like you with an ass that needs a spankinâ six ways to Sunday.â Just as quick as he can build you up, he can take you down a notch, but you canât mind when it has you moaning all the same. âOh, she likes that,â Joel clicks.
He rubs your ass again, and youâre bracing yourself for that next strike, pulled stiff with an arousing, anticipatory sort of fear. Only when you convince yourself it isnât coming do you let all of that tension flood out of your body â and thatâs when Joel smacks his hand across your far-too-trustworthy ass.
You cry out, pouting over your shoulder at Joel, who has a proud smirk drawn all over his face. You donât even feel your hips rocking down, seeking whatever pleasure you can get until he reprimands, âRuttinâ against my fuckinâ leg, now, huh? Donât pretend you donât like this.â
With a particularly good grind of your hips, you feel his bulge pressing into your thigh. From a mere graze alone, you can tell itâs huge. A whimper tears out of you at the same time he groans above you. âYou got nothinâ to prove, ainât gonna change the fact youâre a slut who needs to get spanked ân stuffed to talk âer into behavinâ a bit.â
âCanât even follow your own rules,â you huff, apparently still interested in shooting yourself in the foot even when Coach Miller has you ass-up over his knee.Â
âDonât see how you careâŚâ Joel slides a hand down between your legs. He rubs at your clit, an intense pressure that has you wanting more and less all at the same time, before dragging a thick finger across your opening. Arousal squelches between your legs and your hips jump â a dead giveaway to just how turned on you are, whether you like it or not. âwhen it gets you this turned on,â he finishes. Then that same finger is prodding at your mouth, glistening with your wetness. You whimper before tasting yourself, sucking obediently on his finger until he pulls away with a pop.
You sulk, âDonât act like I canât feel you ripping a hole in your jeans, Millerââ
The fourth spank is the hardest by far. The skin of your ass feels bitten by Joelâs âfirm handâ. Itâs the kind of hit that makes your legs kick in his lap and your fingers clutch in the couchâs arm for purchase. You wail, âDaddy!â Pain disappears from your mind when you realize what exactly you just said, quickly replaced by the churning coolant of embarrassment. If you were paying attention to anything else other than the shame suddenly inhabiting your chest, you mightâve been able to feel the twitch of his cock in his pants.
âDaddy, huh?â Joel hums, rubbing your hurt ass with one hand while the other strokes your shoulder. You bury your face back in your arms as an apology takes shape in the back of your throat. âLucas your daddy, too?â
âNo!â You squeak, adjusting in his lap. The hood of your clit catches on the rough material of Joelâs pants. Unable to stop yourself, you hump his knee again, shallow rolls of your hips. You can still feel his hardness against you. Needily, you tip your head up, panting as foggy pleasure hangs over your head.Â
âStop makinâ a mess of daddyâs dress pants, baby, unless you wanna be on your knees, lickinâ it up.â You keen, and he chuckles knowingly. âShoulda known, little whore like you gets off on that.âÂ
Joel gives you a longer reprieve between the fourth and fifth spank. Instead, he strokes your ass and asks, âOne more gonna be enough to set you straight, sweetheart?â
âY..yes daddy,â you whimper. He hums in approval.
You shift back and forth, waiting for it to come â and when it does, itâs softer. Itâs by no means a love pat, but it pales in comparison to his previous work. You still sniffle, squeezing your thighs together as he coos, âI know, I know. Poor baby, actinâ all high ân mighty. Canât be on her high horse when sheâs over Daddyâs knee.â Gentle, he pats your ass and guides you on all fours at the edge of the couch. He hums in approval. âSee? Not throwinâ a hissy fit anymore. Sheâs all nice ân obedient when you get âer to act right.â
Joel spreads your pussy with his thumbs, and you hear the vulgar noise of him collecting his saliva before you feel his spit landing on your clenching hole. Youâve never felt so empty, not when your bottom drawer vibrator is buzzing against your core, definitely not when Lucas fucks you in the same old missionary. Whimpering for him, you arch your back to try to rub against his crotch.
âQuit your whininâ,â he snips, his thumb finding your clit in one swipe. Joelâs touch is firm, but not too firm, just enough to make your hips push down with a need only heâs ever made you feel.Â
Without warning, his middle finger slides inside of you, thick and calloused and so, so right. âFuckinâ... tight.â Another slides in as he starts scissoring you open, apparently satisfied enough when he crooks his fingers deep in your cunt. Instantly, he catches that spongy spot that you can never reach on your own. You nearly crumple with the sensation, limbs going weak and buckling. âThat the spot?â he asks, but he already knows.
âMhm,â you moan, chin instinctively tucking against your chest as if you can get away from the pleasure heâs giving you, as if youâd ever want to.
Then â he stops.
His fingers sit heavy inside of you, so close to where you need them to go. âWhat the fuck, Joel?âÂ
"Baby, sâthat how you get what you want?â He rubs your thigh with his free hand and gives it a quick swat. âHelp daddy out, tight girl. I'm not just gonna let you get away with beinâ a spoiled brat. Work yourself on my fingers."
Youâre putty in the palm of his hand â malleable, docile for him to treat or mistreat you however gets him hard. You whine, punching your hips back nonetheless. Grinding down, down, down, your cunt unresisting when he gives you another finger. Itâs crude, the way you moan for him.
Even though heâs hardly doing anything, just the hand youâre getting yourself off on, that all-consuming strain in your body only gets stronger. âDaddy â close, pleaseâŚâ
 âAttagirl, atta-fuckinâ-girl, give it to me.â He rewards you with a press of his fingers against that golden spot inside of you. Your orgasm splinters through you, an ecstasy-charged mist fanning over your body. Your release runs down Joelâs hand and your thighs with every clench of your cunt, like youâve been skinned and set ablaze by your own desire. You fall forward on the couch, no longer able to hold yourself up, arms a tangled mess as you gasp into the cushion. âYou come so pretty, baby. Messy pussy, too. Soaked me up to my goddamn elbow.â
Youâre still reeling from the best orgasm youâve had in months, maybe ever, when you hear obscene slurping noises from behind you. You cast a look at him, your arousal returning with a vigor at the sight of Joel sucking his fingers clean. He groans at the taste, and you swear you see his cock jump in his khakis. Stomach warped with desire, youâre about to plummet off of the very dangerous edge of doing just about anything for him right now.
âPlease fuck me, daddy,â you plead, and in any other position, with any other person, it might be mortifying, something worth clutching your pearls over. But this is Coach Joel Miller, the last person you ever expected to be fucking, giving you the best fuck you never expected.
âThereâs those manners,â Joel praises, leaning over you to press a brief kiss to your shoulder blade. You can smell your release on his lips, a sweet smell thatâs so distinctly you. He eases off of you, presumably to take off his pants. Thereâs the shuffling of fabric, and when he returns to your side, youâre disappointed to find he hasnât even unbuckled his belt.
You pout at him again, still desperate to get your way. Eye-level with his bulge, youâre salivating over it. You had made a mess of his dress pants, a wet spot formed just above his knee, taunting you. You lick your lips.Â
âThink itâs only fair,â he says, looming over you. Heâs holding the Sharpie youâd brought along with you. Your brows furrow as you look up at him through your lashes. âIf I give ya the same treatment you gave his jersey.â His gaze is cocky as he pops the cap with his thumb, giving the marker a twirl.
Oh.
It shouldnât turn you on as much as it does. Nothing about this should turn you on as much as it does, yet here you are, in a puddle of your own sweat and cum, itching for the next thing he gives you. And if itâs marking up your body before he fucks your brains out, so be it.
He nudges his head, gesturing for you to get down on your stomach. You lift your knees up and flatten yourself out on the cushions. The vinyl sticks and pulls from your skin as you get where he wants you. A soft, surprised noise leaves you when he straddles your thighs, his clothed cock nudging at your seam.
âHoly fuck,â you breathe out, because itâs the only phrase you can think of that even holds a candle to what all of this has become.Â
A laugh fans out from under his breath as he starts at your freshly spanked, raw ass. The Sharpie is cold and foreign, tugging at your skin as he inks you up. âGotta make sure you match before I dick you down, donât I? What is it you wrote on his jersey? âWhoreâ? Between the two âa ya, I woulda put my money on you for that one.â
If that wasnât enough indication, you figure out what heâs doing by the time he gets to the right cheek, what feels like an âRâ taking shape across your ass. He finishes the âEâ and sets down the Sharpie for a moment, his meaty palms spreading your ass. It still thrums with the afterglow of his spanking. You donât think you can throb any more than you already are, but then he spits on you for the second time that night, this time landing it on your puckered asshole. A gasp flutters from your lips as you grind down into the couch, his spit dripping down your folds.
âSee? Real whorish, fuckinâ my couch.â He taps your ass for good measure. âAsshole makes a perfect fuckinâ âOâ, baby. Looks a whole lot better than that chicken scratch shit you put on his jersey.â You think maybe, just maybe, heâll dismount you and pull his cock out, but instead he keeps writing, scribbling on your back and upper thighs. Every pull of your skin under the bleeding ink has you aching for him.
When heâs content with his work, he lifts off of you, hands fumbling to undo his belt. It snaps apart, dangling open around his waist as his hands open up his khakis. âYou let Lucas fuck that sweet lilâ cunt raw?â he asks.
âNo, I donât,â you admit, unable to tear your eyes away from his cock as he pulls it out, and fuck you. Your eyes donât even feel big enough to take all of him in, and you have no idea how youâre going to fit him between your legs. You almost go cross-eyed at the sight of it, his head leaking precum.
âThought so. You gonna let me fuck it raw?â
âYes, daddy,â you breathe out, drool pooling in your mouth at the thought of having him inside of you, having him inside of you bare. Yet another thing you never gave to Lucas in a year of disappointing sex, but are eagerly giving up to Joel.Â
âGotta be a real nasty slut,â Joel says, returning to his place atop your thighs, his thick ones framing yours. Your breath hitches when you feel the weight of his cock gliding through your ass cheeks and down to your cunt. âto let your ex-boyfriendâs coach bareback ya in the locker room.â A heady gasp tears from you when the head of his cock bumps your clit. He teases you â his cock, slippery with a combination of your arousal, skating from your clit to your spasming opening, not quite nudging in.
âDaddy, please â I need it⌠need you to fuck me, fuck meââ
He doesnât make you wait any longer.
When he pushes in, it knocks the air out of your lungs. The only proof that youâre still breathing is when you let out a pitchy, desperate moan. Joel grunts, teeth gritted as he flattens himself down against your spine so he can roll his hips into yours. The pain of his size becomes an afterthought just as quickly as the pain of your spanking, dwarfed by the pleasure he gives you just as easily.Â
âFuuuuck,â Joel groans, nuzzling into the crook of your neck and shoulder. Inch at a time, he works you open, grinding his hips into your opening. âCould you be any goddamn tighter?â He bites at your neck from behind with every rock of his hips into yours until he bottoms out.
âBig,â is all you manage to squeak out as he hauls you back on his cock, already prodding your g-spot with his head. Your eyes roll back as you clench around him.Â
His fingers go up to run circles around your shoulder, soothing you, grounding you when his cock has you anything but. âMmm, I know, I know. You can take it. All whores can.â With that, Joel starts fucking you, really fucking you, a punishing, relentless pace where he pulls out entirely before filling you to the brim. Each snap of his hips into yours fills the locker room with shameless sounds, the mere background to your depraved moans.
âNever had your pussy stretched by a man double your age before, huh?â
âNâno! Never⌠never had my pussy stretched muâŚmuch at allââ
Joel slams into you, laughs at the strained noise that you make. âYeah? Those dumbfucks on my team not doinâ it for ya, baby?â You donât answer, donât think heâs expecting one until his hand wraps around your front, forearm pressed firm against your tits. His thick hand wraps lightly around your neck, jostling you. Itâs not hard enough to blur your vision, but just hard enough to remind you of the power he has over you. The power you allow him to have. Itâs invigorating. Everything about him is.Â
Moans spurt out of you as you fumble to answer, âNo daâ daddy! You â ah! â do it for mâme!âÂ
âAnd what do you say for that? For goinâ outta my way to show you what a real fuck is?â
âThank you, Daddy!â you cry out. Youâre spilling down his thighs, the wet suction of your pussy around his cock making noises more vulgar than youâve ever heard in porn.
His hand squeezes again at your neck, and you feel floaty, a bubble just waiting to pop. Pleasure dances in every one of your veins, every nerve ending burning like a match that he keeps striking ablaze.
âThere you go, desperate slut just needs a freshly spanked ass, a good dickinâ down, and a hand âround her throat to behave.â Joelâs pace stays just as harsh, crushing your g-spot with his cock. âShould keep you back here for when we lose, tie you to the goddamn desk. Let my staff take turns with you, see how much crybaby you have left in ya when a dozen menâs loads are drippinâ outta your reamed fuckinâ cunt. Bet you like it when men use you.â The whine that almost gags you on its way out is enough to confirm it.
If he keeps talking to you and the wind blows the right way on your clit, you know youâll be coming. Youâre wringing out his cock with every flutter of your pulsing pussy. The beginning embers of your orgasm turn into a wildfire when he wedges his free hand down between your legs, rubbing messy circles into your sloppy clit. âFuck, please, please, please,â you sob out, too riddled with pleasure to care about how pathetic you sound or look as you hump his hand while he pounds you.
âCan feel you squeezinâ me, baby.â Joel rasps, nipping at your ear. The hand around your throat falls fully to your chest, pressing you solid against him so he can fuck deeper, deeper, deeper. Itâs enough to make you scream, hands clawing and scratching down his muscular grip on you. âCâmon, hun, give it to me, come on my cock, fuck.â
With another thrust, he has you pushed right down onto his fingers, rubbing and flicking you every which way. Itâs all you need to come undone, your second orgasm of the night unlatching through you like something forked and angry, battering your sore limbs until thereâs nothing left of it or you. Youâre a mess, spit oozing down your chin as you slur âthank you daddyâ like a broken record, thighs clamping around nothing.
Joel groans as you clench around his cock and continues his relentless pace, hips slapping against yours. The hand heâd been using to rub your clit migrates to your tits, grazing and then thumbing and then tugging lightly your nipples. âThere it is, told ya you could be a good girl. Lettinâ your daddy use this cunt to get off, lettinâ me use you. Iâm fuckinâ close, baby, where do you want me?â
And you want it even if you shouldnât, want his cum deep inside of you, want it to leak out into your panties as you walk back to your dorm. Youâre still no good at making decisions, too fucked out to tell right from left when you beg, âIâinside, fuck, come inside me, daddy, please.â
Joel practically growls at that, thrusts losing their steadiness as his hips jump and he hurtles towards his release. âYeah, youâre a goddamn whore, begginâ for this cum. And youâre gonna fuckinâ take it, yeah⌠fuckinâ take it.â He slams all the way into you for the last time before shooting his cum into your cunt, swearing and moaning. Breathing like heâs run a mile, he goes slack on top of you, pets the back of your head while he comes down from the exhilaration of his high.
With a gentle kiss to your shoulder, he rises, and the fantasy is over. His cock slips from your pussy, and you feel hollow with the loss. This is where he tucks himself back into his pants, runs a hand back through his hair, tells you to never show your face in his stadium again, and shoves you out the door.
And he does: tucks his softening cock into his boxers, zips up his khakis, does his belt, tames his post-sex head of hair. You wince even if you expected it, leaning down over the edge of the couch to grab your hoodie, already moving to tug it over your head.
âWhat do you think youâre doinâ?â Joel asks, and his tone sounds much more different than the first time heâd asked you. He sounds offended. You blink confusedly, dazedly at him with your arms halfway through the armholes. âLet me clean you up, hun.â Joel side-steps the pile of your leggings and shoes, adjusting the hoodie on your arms and pulling it down your torso. âI know Lucas ainât done you right, but you deserve to be taken care of, pretty girl.â Your heart pinches in a way that it shouldnât, not for a hookup with your ex-boyfriendâs coach.
You shift, and he canât help but look back between your legs where his cum escapes your hole. He manages to pry his eyes away, but not without licking his lips first. âIâll be right back, baby. Promise.â
When heâs back, itâs with a damp rag. He crouches down in front of you, taking it to the apex of your thighs and wiping away the combination of your releases, careful not to nudge your sensitive clit. He kisses your thigh gently before pulling back, folding the towel on the arm of the couch youâd been crying into just a few minutes ago.
Joel shimmies your ruined panties up your thighs, followed by your leggings. You let him, breath cut like a snipped wire from the sheer intimacy of it all, intimacy youâd lacked with Lucas even after a year of trying. Youâd stayed with him for comfortability at your own expense. How stupid could you have been?
Joel pats your knee, eyes soft and weirdly sincere as he looks at you. âIâm sorry about Lucas, honey, but I meant it when I said you deserve to be taken care of.â He rubs the back of his neck before holding something out to you. A business card, his work number plastered in bold sans-serif font across the bottom. âI know this is in reverse ân all, but Iâd really like to take you out and treat you right, if youâll let me.â
Saying yes is your first good decision in a while.
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snowbound | dbf!j.m. x f!reader
masterlist | updates blog | ao3 mirror
pairing: dbf!joel miller x f!reader
summary: [no outbreak] joel is the only guy you know with four wheel drive in the rarely-snowy state of texas, so it seems like a no-brainer to have him pick you up from work â until his truck breaks down, leaving you two to the classic 'huddle for warmth' solution.
warnings: (18+ mdni) dbf!joel, age gap (assumed 20s/40s), reader borrows joel's coat, but does not wear it and uses it as a blanket, self-indulgent humor & banter, joel has sarah and she's a 15y/o menace which means liberties are taken with the timeline, blink & miss it drug mention, close proximity, unprotected piv sex, vaginal fingering, (mocking) dirty talk & dirty talk alluding to anal but no actual anal, daddy kink, degradation, dom!joel, brat!reader, brat tamer!joel, mild bondage (with a scarf), rearview mirror sex, clit stim, riding, doggy, a few pussy spanks, 2 spanks, truck sex, sort of edging, getting caught after the act [no use of y/n]
word count: 12.3k
a/n: this fic was a labor of love from a request i received earlier this month. i didn't expect it to be this long but i really enjoyed these two! massive massive massive shoutout to talia, @lovesickonmybed, for putting up with me + advising. this fic was way too much to handle on my own. they're the reason i pulled it off. joel is latino here, but i think game!joel can be interpreted as latino too, so read who you'd like.
âLooking ahead for our chances at wintry precipitation tonight â measurable snow, freezing rain, or sleet. Itâs hard to get snow here in central Texas â if only, huh? Weâre seeing some strong flurries tonight, turning into snow showers in the early morning. Low chances of any significant build up, but you can expect hazardous driving conditions. Black ice and low visibility will make extensive travel dangerousââ
The radio in Keithâs Hardware is old fashioned, curving around the volume and tuning knobs. Itâs one of the ones that still has a dial pointer, which is almost always aimed at 92.7 if Keithâs in the back (country); 96.7 (pop) if itâs just you and the only other girl that works in the carpenterâs wet dream of a store. Right now, though, itâs neither of those stations. The pointer is at 162.4, the weather station.
Youâd known you were in for it on the drive into work. Watch the weather and itâs real nasty out there airing from your parents lips on your way out of the house for your eight hour shift. The drive had been a gunmetal sort of gray, clouds streaked through the sky and spitting bullets of sleet at your windshield.
For a little bit, the weather had almost cleared up. Youâd sworn youâd seen a splotch of sun when youâd tried to step out for break, just to be driven back in by your too-thin jacket and the cold as balls temperature.
Now, though? Itâs fucking freezing, and the flurries that the weatherman mentioned are starting to fall. And as much as youâd told Keith that your shitty two-wheel-drive couldnât handle it, heâd insisted on scheduling you and Liz for close.
Which is where Mr. Miller comes in.
Joel Miller, your dadâs buddy. Joel Miller, the grumpiest secret-softie youâve ever met. Joel Miller, a knight in shining armor with his 4x4 Ford F150 instead of a horse. Although, if your fantasies are correct â and you like to think they are â whatâs between his thighs certainly makes up for the lack of a horse. But he isnât bringing you for a ride on his cock. He just so happens to be the only man your dad knows with a four wheel drive vehicle, or at least the only one willing to spare you from spinning out by giving you a ride home. Just thinking about it has a knot pinching in the back of your throat. His hands, big and wide and stretching over the gear shift. One muscled arm dangling over the wheel. Looking over his goddamn shoulder to back out â
Liz hops up on the check-out counter where youâre counting up the last of the cash, a spread of Hamiltons, Grants, and Jacksons. You wouldnât expect a girl like her to work at a hardware store, especially one in the backstreets of the seedy part of town. Some sort of family emergency had driven her back to Austin from NYU design school, which youâre thankful for. Mainly because you get out of cutting wood panels since she has the better eye for measurements, but also because after years of sulking in Keithâs, you finally have someone to talk shit with.
âThose heart eyes arenât for fuckinâ Alexander Hamilton,â Liz says, tapping her acrylics on your ledger to get your attention. You cough, flipping her off with your pen still in-hand. Liz hums, pretending to think about it as you put down the last numbers. âAlthough I wouldnât be too surprised. You do love a geriatric man.â
âJoel isnât that old,â you scoff, arranging the bills into slim white envelopes and then licking them shut. âHeâs just an⌠acquired taste.â
âSure, his jizz probably tastes like prohibition-era boozeââ
âWhat the fuck,â you wheeze, hands going out to brace yourself on the closest display case. Your head dips as your chest shakes with laughter.
Liz stays completely straight-faced as she continues, âYouâll have to have 911 on speed dial because if you clench, his heartâs giving out.â
âIt is not,â you say, voice still strained with the laughs that wonât stop punching out of you.
She puts her hands up in defense and crosses her legs at the ankles. âHey, itâs not my fault you like playing whac-a-mole with Great Depression dick.â
âLiz!â You playfully shove her off of the counter, thrusting the envelopes into her hands. âYouâre nasty. Fucking nasty.â
She splays a wounded hand over her heart, fanning herself with the envelopes. âYou know you love me.â She slips into the office behind the register. You hear the click of the safe before she calls over her shoulder, âAny particular reason youâre fantasizing on the clock?â
âNot fantasizing,â you refute. Liz pops out of the back with a uncertain look scrawled on her face. âMy dad talked him into picking me up today so I donât drive into a snowbank.â
âSounds like the beginning of a shitty porno.â
âDonât give me hope.â
âIâm just saying,â she grins. âYou can still come to mine. Only a five minute walk with zero chance of rejection.â
âYou have such little faith in me.â
She purses her lips. âMkayâŚ. Pro-tip: Keith probably has some Viagra sitting around in his desk drawers.â
âLiiiiiiiz,â you say. Youâre about to tune her out completely when familiar headlights light up the wet asphalt, beaming through the windows. The engine idles, a soft rumble through the linoleum floors. The truck lights dim, leaving Joel in the buttery shine of the streetlamp. His thick arms stretch across the wheel, and he rakes one large hand through his hair. âShit, speak of the Devil.â You clip off your nametag, tossing it into your half-open bag. âCan you finish closing tonight? I promise Iâll make it up to you.â
âNo problem, no favors necessary.â She closes the register. You fumble to get your bag over your shoulder, not wanting to keep Joel waiting. âUse protection!â she calls after you, and you make sure to flip her off one more time as the door clangs shut behind you.
A wall of cold hits you like a blade of lightning. Wind unfurls, mauling telephone lines and frosted treetops, rippling your jacket. Not even the worn scarf around your neck seems to be doing its job. Suddenly, every one of your limbs feels like an icicle. Joints almost freezing up, you half-jog, half-penguin strut your way to Joelâs passenger side. You wipe the ice off of the door handle with your sleeve. A few stray flurries dust you as you tug the door open, exhaling in relief as you haul yourself onto the side steps and into the toasty warmth of the Ford F150.
You cozy up in the seat, too preoccupied by thawing your hands with long, winded breaths to notice the affronted look Joel is throwing your way. âAre you tryinâ to catch your fuckinâ death, girl?â
âNo death to catch. Itâs not that cold.â The way youâre shivering says otherwise. Joel pins you with the raise of his brow.
Before you know what heâs doing, heâs groaning as he reaches over the center console into the backseat. You see a flash of his trucker jacket before it lands in your lap, flannel-lined and heavy. You use it like a blanket, draping it across your torso and wrestling your hands into the inside pockets. The canvas smells like car exhaust and off-brand Dollar General deodorant, two things that are so inextricably Joel. As much as you hate to admit it, the warmth is already inking its way across your skin â or maybe itâs just being next to Joel thatâs heating you up. âThanks,â you grumble.
When you adjust in your seat, the inside of your foot catches an empty Dr. Pepper can on the floor. It rattles when you accidentally kick it forward. You lean down and pick it up, going to place it down in the cupholder, only to find it overpopulated with random Home Depot and Whataburger receipts.
âTax deductions,â he shrugs. âGotta eat on the job.â
âAnd aâŚâ You pick up the receipt and squint at the faded typography. â$3.29 strawberry milkshake is part of that, I figure?â
Joel grunts, âTommyâs order.â
You smirk. âSure it is.â
âQuit shit stirrinâ and put on your fuckinâ seatbelt.â
You reach back, fingers snagging it and tugging it down. Groping for the belt between the seats and the center console, it goes on for at least five seconds too long before Joel grabs the buckle and shoves it into the slot. His fingers brush your thigh as he pulls away from you and settles his foot over the gas pedal. The singular touch shouldnât make butterflies beat at the walls of your stomach, but it does. Everything about him does.
Now that youâre all settled in, everything about him is also settling in. The fact that heâs only wearing a tight-fitting white t-shirt now that his coat is off. His sleeves are constricting enough that his muscles bulge below the strip of fabric. Ample scruff dapples his jawline, and his hair is disheveled in the way that youâve learned you like it. You trail your eyes down his body, his tummy, across the undone drawstrings of his dark gray sweatpants, and no, you move on quickly from there, because you refuse to get riled up in the passenger seat.
Heâs slowly peeling out of Keithâs parking lot, arm thrown over the back of your seat. Youâre starting to fail at your mission of not getting riled up when you see the flex of his bicep, the way his eyes meet yours as he turns to look through the back window. He turns out of the parking lot and onto the relatively barren, icy streetsâ
âWhat the hell are those?â
Joel side-eyes you, brows furrowed. He follows the line of your gaze to his feet, which youâre used to seeing in New Balances or steel-toed work boots, but are instead wearing⌠fur-lined crocs.
âThese here? Yeah, got âem recently, good for my days off with all this nippy weather. Sarah told me theyâre âall the rageâ with the youthââ
You canât help it. You damn near double over with laughter, clutching at your stomach. Joelâs coat nearly slides off of you, but you hang onto it with your pinkie finger, quickly going dizzy from lack of air. ââAll the rageâ? Oh my fucking Godâ Joel, she was pulling your leg. Those are fucking hideous.â
âHey, nowââ He sighs, pinching his nose bridge with the hand that isnât dangling over the wheel. âZip it, I donât needa justify my shoe choices to ya.â
âDoes she do anything other than give you shit these days?â
âYouâre one to talk about givinâ shit, yâknow,â Joel says. Unfailingly, he smiles. The smile that pulls at the edges of his lips. The smile that he only ever gets when talking about Sarah. It doesnât matter where â loading up his plate with barbecue, your dad asking him while heâs picking up junk mail in the morning, or on the job. If someone asks him about his daughter, Joel fucking beams.
He sucks on his teeth for a second, and then, âSheâs picked up soccer. Goalkeeper. Damn good at it, too, all them other kids on her team canât match her collapse dive.â
âOf course they canât,â you say. âSheâs got better reflexes than a house fly.â
Joel hunches over the wheel, effectively ending the conversation as he concentrates on the road. The only noise is the rumbling engine and the wagging of the windshield wipers as he attempts to navigate the black ice polka-dotted roads. It shouldnât be as arousing as it is, seeing him in such a state of focus, his thighs tensed as he manipulates the gas and brakes to stop early, start slow. His arms thickening when he makes a right turn. Thumbs drumming drumming drumming on the wheel and maybe theyâd do the same between your legsâ
âSo howâs work?â you blurt out.
Joel mumbles something that you canât quite make out.
âHuh?â
âFuckinâ âbig shotâ gringos up my ass all day. Goddamn shitshow.â He shakes his head, his lips thinned. âI tell âem terraforming is gonna make it look like a Flinstone-owned-and-operated putt-putt course. They say do it anyway. I tell âem that orderinâ custom windows is gonna put us months behind. They say do it anyway, then come up jibber-jabberinâ all âbout how long itâs takinâ. And itâs fuckinâ... window madness, not one window in that hellhole matches another. Ainât had so much trouble buildinâ a house since Sarah had me build her one from Hobby Lobby when she was little. Their architect musta been doinâ lines.â
You think youâve seen Sarahâs dollhouse before when visiting, just in passing when the guest bedroom door was left open a smidge. You remember stalling in the hallway to look at it, with a fleece of dust growing on the tediously placed shingles and the oakwood front door left open like itâd been waiting for someone to come home. But Sarah outgrew it, and although Joel would never admit it, you know heâs too sentimental to leave it on the curb.
âHow bad can building a dollhouse from a kit be?â
âWith a five year old yellinâ like a drill sergeant in your ear? Worse than you think. She even made me rig the damn thing with electric so she could have her pink chandelier.â
You pout at him, âWah wah, Iâll bet you loved it.â
âWas a nuisance at the time. But, uh, she was fiddlinâ with some âa the dolls Iâd gotten her. Donât think she knew I was watchinâ, had gone to put âer to bed âcause it was a school night. She was readinâ this book I always read to her. Something about⌠a stuffed bear with a missinâ button and a girl that was tryna to buy him. I donât fuckinâ knowââ
âCorduroy?â
âYeah, that. Anyway, she was reading, usinâ the same tone I always used with her, tucked her dolls in for the night, and switched off the lights. I donât think I loved it until then.â Thereâs a glistening in his eyes at the memory.
You smirk, âSentimental bastardââ
The truck slides. Or maybe it coasts, skimming across the thin film of black ice. Joel eases down on the brakes, hauling to a stop next to a Minivan with its warning lights on. Itâs a long stretch, and you canât even see all the way down the highway with how thick the snow is. No two snowflakes are the same, but you find it difficult to believe when youâre looking at what must be millions of them. They pirouette, landing on window panes, rooftops, and wind-agonized tree branches. Everything is blotted with white. Red warning lights glare on the ice back at you.
âShiiit,â Joel says as he squints at the road ahead of him. He scratches at his scruff.
âTell me youâre not going to drive through that shit.â
âIâm not,â he says.
âThen how the fuck are we getting home?â
âChill itââ
âThatâs the last thing I need to do,â you huff.
âIâm takinâ the detour.â
With that, he jerks the wheel â a bit too recklessly considering the weather, in your opinion â and pulls off onto a slippery backroad. The snow seems to have clung to the trees more back here, a sort of incandescent saran wrap over the oaks. At a bend in the road, icicles hang from a yellow sign that says CURVE 30 MPH. Joel takes it at ten.
Youâre not checking out his hands while he drives, no, of course not. Youâre looking at the gazillion lights on his dashboard display. âYou usually have that many lights on?â
âAinât your truck, ainât your business.â
âIâm ridinâ in it, ainât I?â you mock his accent.Â
Joel sighs heavily. âDrivinâ me up the fuckinâ wall.â His hands clench briefly around the wheel. âAuto repair shopâs been price gouging, Iâm tryinâ to get Tommy to hook me up with his buddy in San Antonââ
âWonât be able to drive to San Antonio if your bumper falls off halfway there.â
Joelâs voice is dry as bone. âHa ha. You get off on beinâ a smartass?â
Itâs three words â thatâs all it is. Just a throwaway phrase that he probably doesnât even realize he said. If it were anything more, youâd know. But Joel, saying those words in that order? Damn him, because it turns your blood effervescent. You stop yourself from rubbing your thighs together underneath his coat. Youâre about to make another quip thatâll not only distract you, but also surely drive Joel up the wall, one of your favorite activities.
His truck putters from ten miles per hour to eight.
Eight to six.
Six to four.
âMotherfuckinâ.... shit,â Joel says again, this time much more urgent as he wrests the wheel to the side. The truck skims over the frosted roads and onto the shoulder, rolls for two seconds, and then falls to a complete, utter stop. The windshield wipers pause while theyâre still up. Heat no longer spits out of the dusty air vents.
Itâs the loudest silence youâve ever been in.
â...So do you get off on letting your truck break down orââ
Joel sighs in the way that dogs do. âThin ice, missy.â He unbuckles his seatbelt and pulls out his phone. âIâll give Tommy a call.â He stares at the screen for ten seconds. Taps it. Shakes it.
âNo service?â you ask.
âNo service.â
âLet me try mine,â you mumble, shifting in the car seat. Sure enough, zero bars. Even though you know it wonât work, you press your dadâs contact. It goes straight to voicemail. âWell, shit.â
âShit,â Joel echoes.
Itâs unspoken, but you both know the harsh reality of this harsh wintry night: no phone service, no operational truck, and⌠no heater.
âHang tight,â Joel says, reaching over the center console and hijacking his coat from your lap. He wrestles his arms through the sleeves and zips it up. He shoves the door open against the hoarse wind that keeps the trees at a slant, hops out, then slams it shut hard enough for the vehicle to rock. From how hard the wind was blowing, stray flurries dust the truckâs interior.
You canât really see what heâs doing â the snowâs too heavy, the hood popped wide open for him to investigate the truckâs viscera. You run your hands up and down your thighs, already feeling cold. Without the heater, it wonât be much longer before you turn to an icicle in the passenger seat. The hood bangs back down.
Joel climbs in from the backseat, slams the door as hard as humanly possible, and then scoots to the middle seat.Â
You crane your neck to see him as he shakes out his cold-reddened hands before puffing air into his cupped palms. âWhatâs wrong with it?â You ask.Â
He lets out a frigid breath. âDonât fuckinâ know, snowinâ too damn hard to tell.â
âTen bucks it was one of the lights on your dash,â you say.
Joel glares at you, still huffing into his hands. His fingertips are bright red to match his ruddy cheeks. Snow is sprinkled through his hair like soot, quickly melting to beads of water on his windblown curls.
âGot some⌠hand warmers up in that glovebox. Grab the whole pack.â
You lean forward, kneeing it open and rifling through all of his shit. Insurance papers, more receipts, Miller Contracting business cards, a folded pocket knife, lens wipes, and â
âWhenâs the last time these saw daylight?â you huff out a laugh as you hold up a battered box of condoms.Â
Turns out, snow isnât the thing that makes Joel Miller redder than a tomato. Itâs the fifteen year old, very expired condoms hiding in his glovebox.
He clears his throat and averts his eyes. âJesus. Forgot those were in there.â
You shake the box around and pluck a condom out of it. Looking for the expiration date, you turn it over and over in your hand. âAugust 31st, 2004. Really that long since you got some, Miller?â
âPut âem back,â he grumbles. âPain in my ass.â
You snicker, replacing the condom box with the box of hand warmers. Theyâre unopened, still sealed. You snatch Joelâs keys out of the ignition and swipe them across the tape. âHappy?â you toss them over your shoulder.
âNo.â He tears open the pack and rubs his hands together around the warmer, sighing when it begins to heat.
âDick,â you grumble.
More tearing. âBrat.â Another warmer lands in your lap.
âOughta get comfortable. Weâre gonna be here a while,â Joel says.
âAnd whose fault is that?â You ask as you weigh the warmer in your palms. The front seat already feels cramped, and youâre quick to unbuckle your seatbelt. Your legs and arms fold like pretzels as you climb into the backseat. The curse that leaves you when you hit your head on the roof has Joel rolling his eyes.
âPipe down. First thing in the morninâ Iâll make the walk out to that country club a mile out and use their phone. Just gotta ride out the night. You ainât ever roughed it before?â
You fall on all fours on the backseat, finally pulling yourself upright next to him. âNever had a reason to. Like, what if I have to piss? What if I get hungry?â
Joel shrugs. âTough.â
The cold is starting to settle into your bones. Even your tongue feels popsicle numb, and your fingers are stiff where they wrap around the warmer. Itâs like youâve been trapped in a snowglobe and shaken up by a handsy toddler with how the wind rattles the truck and the snow swishes outside. You suppress a shiver, leaning against the door. Condensation is already building on the windows. Absent-mindedly, you begin to trace a portrait of Joel in the moisture. Your fingertip squeaks against the glass. Your masterpiece wouldnât be complete without his signature scowl, so youâre sure to paint a frown on his face and his forehead wrinkles on thick.
âDidnât know you were an artist,â Joel comments from the opposite side of the back. âLooks nothinâ like me, by the way.â
You smirk, âBut you knew it was you.â
Because thereâs nothing better to do than burn time, you spend the next ten minutes filling up the window with whatever nonsense doodles come to mind â hearts, stars, trees, and of course, the only one that Joel seems to be fond of: Sarah, smiling and curly-haired.
Reality only settles in when youâre done with the ephemeral illustrations, their outlines starting to dissolve back to regular droplets that streak down the windows. Youâre stuck, for God knows how long, on this shady backroad that the Zodiac Killer wouldâve loved during his heyday. With your dadâs best friend that youâve been harboring a dangerous crush on.
And itâd be impossible to forget that itâs freezing fucking balls.
âJoel?â you say into the dark truck.
âHm?â
Always one to speak your mind, you say, âItâs freezing fucking balls.â
A sound that might be a laugh leaves him. âHere,â Joel says, unzipping his jacket. He tosses it over to you, and you snuggle back up with it, nose burrowing into one of the creases in the fabric. His coat smells like him â like cheap body wash, chewing gum, and gasoline.Â
You try putting your hands in the pockets, even going as far as to open up a new hand warmer for each one, but theyâre full of loose change and, expectedly, more receipts. When you curl up against the corner between the door and the seat, the hard plastic bites into your oversensitive back. Sitting upright or cross-legged doesnât work, and when you test drive sitting diagonally with your feet propped up on the console, Joel makes a disproving noise and swats gently at your shin. You prop your forehead up against the window, but itâs cold enough to give you a brain freeze.Â
âJesus Christ,â Joel snorts. âGet over âere, you wuss.â He hauls you over, big hand splayed over your waist, and drags you across the bench to his side. You yelp in surprise, but only for a second before youâre crushed against Joelâs side. âCanât have ya gettinâ hypothermia,â he jests.
You donât know where to put your hands, but eventually, you settle on cupping his neck. Touching Joel, hell, even just being near him, is like being by an open furnace. Or maybe the heat is just your stomach doing somersaults at being this close to Joel after years of frivolous pining. His nape emanates warmth, the kind that flows down your arms and wraps comfortingly around your chest.
Joel exhales, the tendrils of his breath curling from the frigidity. He grabs his coat from the side and flattens it over the both of you, a piss poor replacement for a blanket, but all youâve got.
Still, cold seeps in through the cracks in the doors, spoiling whatever lukewarm air remains. It doesnât help that Joel had hopped in and out of the truck to play eye spy under the hood. The truck struggles to hold onto heat properly, especially when it isnât producing more of it.
Joel sort of⌠flickers against your back. You think nothing of it until it happens again, this time in short bursts, and then turns into full on shivering.
âWhoâs the wuss now, old man?â
Joel tenses up behind you. âFunny,â he says. With your hands cushioned against his neck, you feel the grate of his voice in his throat. âThis is the best youâre gonna get unless you wanna be butt ass naked to share heat.â
It should be a joke. But the way he says it⌠doesnât sound like a joke.
You go still, lifeless, not even sure if youâre shaking anymore. Because now, the only thought in your head is being pressed against Joel, his soft cock hardening against you, his palms splayed and rubbing over your stomach to keep you warm. And if his cock needed to get somewhere warmer, tooâŚ. Your clit twitches at the thought.
You smother the initial shock in your voice with your usual solution: sass. âSo what, weâre gonna fuckinâ huddle for warmth?â
As much as you enjoy the idea, you're already dripping â and thatâs just from your body being pressed against his, breathing the same air as him, closer now than youâve ever been before. With no panties in the way, itâs not a stretch to say youâd be dripping down his thighs. Youâd hate to have that conversation.
âWould you rather freeze to death?â Joel asks. You look up at him from where youâre curled into his side and find no gleam in his eyes. This isnât just some knee-slapper for him. Joel Miller is being completely, irreversibly serious.
âIâd rather something less like Naked and Afraid, Joel!â
âIt works,â he says, nose flaring. âThey do it in those fuckinâ... action movies all âa the time.â
âI didnât know Hollywood was writing survival manuals for pervsââ
âGod, youâre a piece âa work, ya know that?â His eyes flick down to you, and maybe itâs just the fact that this road is damn near pitch black, but his pupils seem larger than before. âListen, I ainât tryna perv on ya. I also ainât tryna send you back to your old man with four fingers missinâ from frostbite.â
Thereâs no way youâre actually seriously considering this. Youâve heard of cold temperatures impairing thinking, but not like this. Your dadâll go chasing after Joel with a pitchfork and a shovel if he finds out the man who was supposed to get you home safe and sound was cuddling naked with you. Cuddling naked with you in the backseat, no less. Youâre certain Joel wonât try anything â heâs not like that. No matter how flustered you get in his lap, heâd never take advantage of you. What you arenât certain of is your ability to stop yourself from asking him t0 take advantage of you.
This is practical. Itâs only supposed to be practical. He wouldnât be suggesting something this drastic if you both werenât shaking like a rattlesnakeâs rattler.
âFine,â you say, already unwinding your scarf from around your neck. Determined to keep some semblance of boundaries up, you add, âNo peeping, Miller.â
Joel makes an exasperated sound as you once again scoot out from his coat and across the bench, working yourself out of your shoes, your cotton zip-up, and then the stiff Keithâs uniform â a blue polo and jeans. Joelâs eyes are respectfully trained on the truckâs floor mats, which youâre only just now noticing has a sun-bleached Lisa Frank sticker tacked onto it.Â
Down to your bra and panties, your heart rate picks up. Your fingers are so fucking cold that itâs hard to get your bra straps out of the way so you can unclasp the damned thing, and then it falls to the floor. Your nipples harden in the face of the cold. The only thing you keep is your scarf, which do you do your best to cover your tits with. Scooping up your discarded clothes and tossing them to the front seat, you let out a shaky breath.
Fuck it.
You shimmy out of your panties and get rid of them just as quickly. When you try telling Joel youâre decent, or rather indecent, nothing comes out. Instead, you have to clear your throat with a strained, âAll good.â
âAlright,â Joel says, rustling around. You hear his crocs scrape against the mat, and then his shirt swishing over his head.
He doesnât tell you to look away, but since itâs implied, you look out of the window. The snowy trees tremble in the wind, and you almost wince when you see a small sliver of his tanned skin reflected in the glass. His crocs clunk on the ground when he kicks them off, and you watch his criminally tight t-shirt go flying over the passenger seat. You casually grip the Jesus handle, hoping that Joel doesnât notice your fist tightening around it when you hear him untying the drawstrings of his sweatpants. When his sweats and boxers follow the path of his shirt, breathing gets a lot harder than you remember it being.
Just an hour ago, youâd been certain that this would be nothing more than a ten minute drive. Maybe, if you were lucky, heâd call you a casual pet name that would fuel the wriggling of your hand between your thighs that night.Â
The tension in the air is thicker than molasses. Each breath you take is fragile.
âIâm ready when you are,â Joel says.
Since youâre already half-naked, and since chickening out is out of the question, you inch over to Joelâs side. The air tumbles out of your lungs in one fell swoop when your bicep meets his. With some fidgeting, you bring your legs up at an angle beneath you, wrapping around his side in a way that has you feeling a little bit like a koala. You talk yourself into keeping your eyes forward and then scrub your palms across your freezing arms.
Joel, more indifferent than you think anyone else in this situation could be, abruptly casts his coat back over the both of you.
And, fuck him, heâd been right. The engulfing canvas of his coat keeps warmth trapped where it can be passed easily between the two of you. Or maybe itâs just being confined and skin-to-skin with Joel that has you heating up.
The silence is cruel â itâs much harder to make conversation about work or dollhouses or whatever the hell else when youâre naked. Only the windâs sibilance keeps you company.
You can get used to this, you think. Drift off into a somewhat sound sleep with your head on Joelâs shoulder and hope that you donât drool all over him or moan his name in your sleep. More embarrassing things have happened to you.
But then, as if youâre the unluckiest person alive, the temperature drops even more, and suddenly, youâre shaking like a leaf all over again. Your teeth almost clack together as you try to stammer out to Joel, âCâcold, Jesus fucking⌠Christ thatâs cold.â
Joel pouts down at you, but you donât miss the way his lip quivers. âShould I call the wambulance?â
âShould I call the rârârâretirement home to piâŚpick up a ruârunaway resident?â It sounded a lot better in your head than bouncing off of your frozen tongue, you have to admit.
âDrama queen,â Joel mutters into your ear. âCanât do anythinâ more about it. Sorryââ
âCan I sit on your lap?â you blurt out so quickly that you donât even have time to think about it. You grimace, partially covering your face with your hands. Shit.
Joelâs eyes widen. âExcuse me?â
Youâre already half doomed. Why not go all the way? âListen, itâs just fucking⌠fucking freezing, Joel. Holy shit.â
âThat bad?â he chokes out.
âYouâd be warmer than the seats,â you defend. âIâll be careful, I promise. Best behavior.â
Joel seems to ponder it for a moment, brows stitched together while he looks down at you from where youâre furled up against his side. He gnaws on the inside of his cheek before giving you a slight nod. âAlright.â You nod in return, heart in your throat. ââBut you better mean it when you say best behavior. Canât have any âa this shit gettinâ back to your dad.â
Another nod. You hold your breath as you shinny your way onto Joelâs lap, mounting him from the front so his chest hits your back. In your attempt to get comfortable, you bracket your legs around his. His soft cock fits at the small of your back, and even though heâs as flaccid as can be, heâs big. Apparently your imagination isnât too far off. Joelâs sharp intake of breath forms a pit in your stomach, and you know when youâre warming up for an entirely different reason than close proximity, you also know that you need to calm yourself down. Fast.
Think of something awful. Like that time that you had to dissect cow eyes in sophomore year biology. Think about mold. How many murderers youâll walk by in your lifetime. Expired leftovers. Anythingâ
You adjust yourself in an attempt to get away from Joelâs cock. Instead, your hips move just so his cock slips between your thighs and bobs against your slit.
You whine.
Your body immediately locks up once you realize what youâve done. Crawling out of the truck to die a hypothermia-induced death seems like a much kinder fate than facing Joel, but no matter how much you scream at yourself to reach out and unlock the door, your hands refuse to move. You hadnât noticed how wet youâd gotten, and you have no idea how. Itâs smeared across your thighs, and now pressed up against your back after Joelâs dick had dragged through it all.
Shit shit shit shit shit shit shitâ
Chancing a look over your shoulder, youâre surprised to find the tips of Joelâs ears flushed, cheeks cherry ripe. His Adamâs apple bobs when you meet his eyes. Holy fuck.
Youâve flustered him.
For some reason, the thought makes your chest a lot lighter. You look away nonetheless, but this time, with a newfound gleam in your eye. Thereâs no such thing as a bad accident, right?
Maybe Liz was right about having to call 911, because when you âaccidentallyâ repeat the movement, Joel stops breathing all together. His cock, almost hard now, youâve noticed, bumps against your clit. You almost swallow your tongue trying to keep your moan down.
âThe fuck you think youâre doinâ?â he asks, his gruff voice scratching at your ears.
âI didnât mean to,â you lie straight through your teeth, a smug little grin spreading on your face. Something about his semi-hard cock between your bodies tells you heâs going to say no to your next suggestion. âMaybe you should put the coat between us, insteaââ
âAre you outta your fuckinâ mind, girl?â Joelâs voice comes out raspy. He shakes his head, clears his throat. The vibrations rumble up your spine. âAnd take away the whole point of stayinâ warm? Now quit it. Ainât that hard to sit still.â
You try your hand at listening â for all of two seconds.
You hike your hips up, fumbling with his coat as you slot his cock against your slit once more, pushing yourself forward. The coat slides right off of you, falling in a dark lump on the floor. Neither of you care â youâre both too heated for the lack of cover to make a damn difference. Joel hisses, a sound like water hitting an open flame. His hands fly down to your waist, anchoring you to his lap. A surprised noise squeaks out of you.
âWhat, you got rocks rattlinâ around in your brain?â Joel scowls. âYouâre real impolite for a cocktease, sweetheart.â
Butterflies flap around in your stomach from his words. Itâs enough to make your head tip against his chest so you can look up at him, lips shaped in a perfect pout. âIâm not,â you say.
âNot a cocktease, huh? Not even when youâre rubbinâ all over my lap?â
You gasp as your hands fly down to cover Joelâs, nails etching into where his fingers meet your bare skin. You tug at his wrist, trying desperately to guide him where you so desperately need him.
âNot happeninâ,â Joel grunts, yanking your hands behind you and pinning them to your waist like youâre nothing more than a poseable doll. His large, work-worn hands make yours look damn near miniature as he holds you down. The sudden roughness douses your inner thighs with a new wave of wetness. âJesus, girl. Poor thing, gettinâ all hot and bothered. Donât blame ya for tryna get me to help out. Can feel ya dripping down my legs, gushinâ like a sprinkler.â
âSâsorry, fuck, âm sorry,â you whisper, words sticky with your arousal. Your clit twitches from his words, embarrassment and need doing all the work to keep you warm.
âNahhh,â he says. âI donât think you are, baby.â Maybe itâs the condescension heâs purring in your ear, maybe itâs the pet name; most likely, itâs a combination of both that has you convulsing in his lap. Itâs like heâs found all of the right buttons to press to get you riled up, getting you back for all of your snide comments earlier.Â
His fingers find the fabric of your scarf, luring it off of your neck so he can cord it around your wrists. You squirm when you realize what heâs doing, and a breathless huff of his laughter brushes your cheek. âIâll be damned if you ainât gonna be, though.â He draws it tight, tight enough for you to feel your pulses bumping into each other. Joel leaves a fair amount of your unreasonably long scarf loose.
âJoel, what the fuck are you up to?â
âTeachinâ you some sweet southern belle etiquette, darlinâ. Such a goddamn troublemaker, grindinâ on me like Iâm some kinda⌠frat boy.â He shakes his head, disbelieving. âPullinâ that shit with your popsâ friend. Real fuckinâ classy.â
âLike youâre so different. Whoâs the one thatâs tying me up? Huh, Milââ
You hear the hit well before you feel it, a firm whack to your cunt that makes your vision blacken and electricity scurrying up your spine. It takes you a second to come back to yourself before a ragged cry pulls its way out of your lips. You jolt in his lap, bound arms bobbing in front of you as your body instinctively lurches for control. You damn near kick your feet, accidentally ricocheting yourself into Joelâs chest. His forearms hold you there.Â
âGuess Iâll make it crystal clear for ya, baby, since that dumb lilâ head âa yours is havinâ some trouble. My truck, my rules. Youâre ridinâ in it, ainât you?â You nod reluctantly as he turns your words from earlier in his favor. âThat was a warninâ, you showoff. Think you can bat your slutty âfuck meâ eyes anâ get away with murder.â He fucking tsks at you.
He pulls his hand away from your pussy, and youâre both surprised and not surprised at all to see it covered in your arousal, webbed between his calloused fingers.Â
âGot a whole goddamn slip ân slide down hereâŚâ murmurs Joel. You whine, bucking your hips against him. âOughta justâŚâ he starts, nudging his cock towards your hole. The noise you make is pathetic. âStop ya from ruininâ my seats. Cork you right up.â You tense up, fully expecting the intrusion, but his dick passes your cunt right up, instead sliding up to meet your clit. It taps against your swollen nub, and if his goal was to stop you from ruining his seats, youâre certain heâs already failed with how quickly you gush all over the upholstery.
âBut thatâd be real nice, wouldnât it? Givinâ ya what ya want so early onâŚâ Instead of pulling away like you expect, Joel griiiinds the head of his cock against your clit. You moan helplessly, head falling back across his shoulder.
And then he does it again.
And again.
And agaiâ
âJoooooel,â you whine, knees jerking each time his tip meets your most sensitive spot. Heat spins in your stomach.
He backs his hips up âWhat? Thought you loved this with how much you were gettinâ at it earlier.â
You shake your head rapidly in the negative, chest rising and falling at a breakneck pace while he teases you.
âSo you can deal, but you canât play?â
âI think youâre just taking your sweet old time getting it up, old man,â you grit out, knowing damn well heâs stiffer than titanium behind you.
Joel hums. âAh, sheâs got jokes.â His cock slips back, quickly replaced by his hand engulfing your mound. Your clit twitches ever so slightly against his palm lines, and youâre almost convinced you could get off from that alone. His palm cracks against your cunt again, somehow even harder than the first time. You cry out, eyes burning from arousal and the slightest edge of pain.
With his thumbpad, he taps your clit like heâs just scrolling through the cable guide with a remote. Fleeting movements that have you wanting more more more. It heals the sting of his slap even if the echo of the hit still simmers in your stomach. Your cunt throbs so hard that it hurts, jumping up to meet Joelâs scarce ministrations.
When he retracts his hand, your hips chase the movement. âSee this?â he taunts, fluttering his wet fingers in front of your face. You make a choked noise when his drenched middle finger breaches your lips. He doesnât even need to tell you; you latch on and suck yourself off of his calloused skin. Youâre mostly salty, but a little sweet, and tasting yourself on your own tongue by his insistence manages to make you even wetter.
Joel takes his spare fingers, just as soaked, and smears them all around your chin and lower cheeks. He presses down on your tongue as he does. You gag from the pressure, and you canât hear his laugh over the roaring of your blood in your ears, but you feel it rattle his chest where it meets your spine. Your slick cools quickly against your burning skin, syrupy as it clings to your face. âNeed a bib, baby?â
He pulls his finger from your mouth with a pop and your scarf-wrapped hands spring to wipe yourself from your lips, hoping to save yourself from the humiliation of having your own pussy juice anointing your face. You only scoop up a little before Joel lowers his forearm over yours, but for once, youâre faster than him. You swipe your wet hand over his mouth, smudging as much as you can along the scruff surrounding his mouth.
He wraps a burly hand in the scarf and yanks your hands back into place. All you can do in response is giggle, but the breath is swiftly knocked out of you when he drives his cock right into your clit. âThink youâre funny, donât ya?â He asks, and finally grunts as he rolls his hip into you. A break in his resolve, a sign that he wants this, or at least the discipline of this, as badly as you do.
You almost weep from the pressure, that rope of pleasure in your stomach that he keeps knotting tighter and tighter and tighter with each stroke of his cock, his fingers. âJoel!â you cry out as he follows it up with another firm swat to your clit. His cock spreads your folds as he softens the bashing, nuzzling his tip against your spasming cunt.
âReally, oughta give standup a go one âa these days. Be a real hotshot.â
âOh yeah?â you pant, light headed and woozy.
âMhm. If the whole crowdâs drunk.â His cock nudges your nub with a new vigor.
âAsshââ
Right as youâre about to press down and follow the sensation, Joel senses it. His cock gives way through your cheeks, just in time for him to land a ruthless slap across your pussy. Itâs harder than the others â makes your ears ring for a second, gives you a sort of visual snow that has you doubling over and gripping at the closest object for purchase, which just so happens to be the metal rods coming out of the headrest.Â
âAinât what you should be sayinâ if youâre planninâ on gettinâ what you want, sugar,â Joel tuts. He shakes his head at you. âDonât wanna hear no lip from ya, girl.â
You open your mouth, argument on the tip of your drool-loaded tongue, but your halfhearted attempt at defiance doesnât last long. Joelâs hand clamps around your chin, denting your skin into your teeth. He jerks your head to face him, knocking you down a peg with scathing eye contact. âYouâre pushinâ it.â He loosens his grip.
âAs if, Miller. If those pre-Cold War condoms are anything to go by, youâve been dying for a chance to get your dick wet. Doesnât matter how much lip I give you, you arenât gonna blue ball yourself for much longer.â Satisfied, you raise your brows at him.
Turns out, he is going to blue ball himself for much longer, because he lands six slaps in rapid succession across your sopping cunt. The skin smarts, and you cry out. Your grip tightens around the headrest rod to the point of strangling it. Your eyes water, and you canât tell if youâre crying. Too consumed by Joel, everything has melted into him â the smell of sawdust perpetually sewn into his skin, his cock sealed against your body.
âHow many times are ya gonna poke the bear before you learn your lesson, you cheeky little shit?â Joelâs palm cups the inside of your right thigh, just above the knee. He traces circles with his thumb, and heat trails after him with everywhere he touches. âSee, the thing about havinâ âpre-Cold War condomsâ is that Iâve had a helluva lot more time to learn self control than you. Can wait as loooooong as it takes for you to get your head on right. Donât matter if youâre waterfallinâ down my seats or not, pretty girl. Iâm giving you exactly what ya deserve.â
You whimper, trying (and failing) to get your magma hot core closer to Joelâs unfairly large hand, still splayed out on your inner thigh. You canât stop how you squirm in his lap, smearing your arousal everywhere with each movement you make.
At a snailâs pace, his hand begins to inch up your leg. Joel pauses to grope at you as his hand travels upward. Handfuls of your skin, rubbing at your scalding hot thighs. Your patience is wearing thin by the time he gets midway there. You need him to touch you. And thatâs just the tip of this impossibly destructive iceberg.
You shouldnât be doing this, shouldnât have let him go down this shitty backroad, shouldnât have agreed to your dadâs ridiculous idea of Joel picking you up, shouldnât have asked to be naked on his lap, shouldnât have gotten naked on his lap, shouldnât be leaking like a twenty-year-old pipe in a building heâd been hired to renovate. If your dad ever finds outâ
âJoel, please, please â pleaâŚâ you trail off, dissolving into incoherent whimpers as his hand hovers over your cunt. Youâre running hotter than a radiator now, and if you both wanted to be warm, then youâve got your wish. Although mostly gibberish, Joel has to understand what you want from him. Itâs just that the bastard is unwilling to provide.
Joel reaches down to pinch your clit, and your body canât even discern from pleasure and pain anymore. You react the same to it all, back arching as you try desperately to plant yourself on his cock. âShhh, shhh, quit runninâ your filthy mouth. Only gonna get yourself into more trouble.â
You swear you hear angels singing, swear you see the pearly gates when he gives your clit a merciful rub. Melting into him, you exhale shakily.
âSee? All nice ân quiet when sheâs gettinâ what she wants.â You wouldnât even dream of mouthing off to him now.
âI want â I needâŚâ you gasp out, putty in his hands. Moldable to his liking. Everything youâd pretended not to want.
âGo on,â he coos. âTell daddy what you need.â
You donât even hear him say that word. Youâre too hooked on begging, begging, begging. âPlease â Joel, oh god, please â I need⌠I need⌠please please please, fuck, it hurtsââ
Joel clicks his tongue. âNuh uh. Start over. Always such a chatterbox âcept for when I need ya to be.â
âWhaâŚ?â you ask, admittedly dazed from the harsh treatment that youâve come to crave more of.
âTell daddy what you need,â he repeats, words molasses slow.
You clench, gushing even more all over him. Shit, your next paycheck might have to go to replacing the goddamn seats if you keep up like this.
âDâD⌠D-â you start stammering out, but youâve lost autonomy over your body long ago, and apparently that goes for your tongue, too. âDaâ Da⌠plââ
âAny day now,â he scoffs.
âDaddy!â you spit out all at once. âPlease, please, daddy, fuck â fuck me, daddy, please, I want your cock, daddy. Feels so fucking big. Need it daddy, it hurts⌠please, nghâ daddy!â Tears are burning the corners of your eyes, fueled almost entirely by arousal and partially by frustration. You squirm, cunt crying all over the place.Â
âMâkay, baby,â he says. Running a hand down your chest and squeezing your nipple on the way down. He slides his hand down your stomach to cup your mound, giving your clit slow, gentle circles. Your hips jump forward, and this time, he doesnât stop you. âDaddyâs got ya.â
At the first intrusion of his middle finger in your cunt, you jump. Itâs a lot compared to what heâs been giving you, but nowhere near enough. A second finger slips inside. He doesnât have to do much work to stretch you out â youâve been seeping out of you since you first got on his lap. Heâs all too quick thrusting them in and out of you â the messy squelch of your pussy filling the backseat has you burying your chin against your chest, averting your eyes. The heel of his palm bumps persistently at your clit with each shift of his fingers inside of you.
âI know you ainât a virgin, but youâre soakinâ like one. Too damn cocksure to ainât have had a cock in ya before. Prancinâ around like a glorified dick trap.â You inhale sharply when his fingers scrape that spongy spot inside of you that you can never reach yourself. A moan rips out of you. The combination of him talking down to you and rubbing your g-spot has you dangerously close to cumming. Your moan is quickly swallowed up by more of Joelâs condescension.Â
He starts mumbling to himself then, obscenities that make you clench even tighter around his fingers. âGonna get you all sore baby, make you regret begginâ for this dick like a horny âlil bitch that ainât ever been laid in her life. Fuck you so hard youâll be cryinâ for daddyâs cock up your ass instead, turn you into an anal slut, too.â Heâs too busy listening to himself talk, too absorbed in his own world to feel you balancing on that razor-thin edge.
The noise you make is inhuman. You pulse around him, doing your best to stave off your impending release. âDaddyââ you warn, but he cuts you off then, too. Joel grinds his cock between your ass cheeks, his precum dripping down your slit to meet your trembling cunt.Â
âEver been fucked here before baby?â He swipes his tip along your asshole, and the way you shudder is answer enough for him. âDonât get all jumpy, sweetheart. Ainât gonna fuck ya there right now. Be cruisinâ for a bruisinâ.â Still, he replaces his tip with his free handâs thumb, simply rubbing at the ring of muscle. You fidget in his lap without an end-goal. You just want to be close to him, want to take everything heâs willing to give you. His fingers hook just right inside of you. âWould love to be the first to unlock this pretty backdoor. If this tight âlil pussyâs anything to go by⌠Christ. Youâd look so pretty squirmin with my cock in your ass, babyââ
âDaddy!â You scream as your orgasm guts you. His fingers and his voice rip your climax right out of you and your cum streams down your inner thighs and Joelâs hand, still smacking against your clit with each thrust. Your cunt spasms around his flexing fingers. He has to fold an arm over your chest to keep you from sliding off his slippery lap entirely.
All the way through the aftershocks that make your limbs quake, Joel holds you upright against his body, still bumping his palm and fingertips against your clit and g-spot. You swear you can feel him smiling against your shoulder.
âDidnât tell ya you could cum, darlinâ,â Joel murmurs, flicking his cum covered finger across your clit. You wince in overstimulation, a whine catching in your throat.
ââM sorry, daddy,â you pant. His hands go up toÂ
ââS okay, babygirl. Pretty pussy couldnât help it when I was talkinâ âbout fuckinâ your ass, huh?â His hands rove up your stomach to play with your tits, palming and stroking, getting his hands all over every carnal part of you.
You hum into his bicep, âMmmm.â
âThatâs alright. Donât mean youâre gettinâ away with a slap on the wrist though. Câmon, up,â he guides with a small slap to your thigh. You adjust, bringing yourself onto your knees so he can enter you from behind. You look down at his sturdy thighs, flexing as he adjusts himself between your legs. He gives you one more teasing thrust through your thighs, poking your oversensitive clit one more time before reaching down to spread your folds.
You moan as he presses against your entrance, and itâs not the best time to have a come to Jesus moment, but â Joelâs size was in no way over exaggerated between your legs. You stiffen in realization, and Joel, attentive as always, notices. He guides your chin to face him and nuzzles his nose up against yours, mouth tracing down to your lips. Your breath mingles, stagnant in the long-forgotten chill. A cushion of softness against all of his spiky edges that showed up tonight. âYouâre on top, baby. Take it as slow or as fast as ya want.â
Nodding at the reminder, you find yourself that you donât want to take it slow. You want to be as sore as heâd promised, want to feel him for days and be reminded of this every time you look at the winter morningâs frost on the shingles outside.
Sinking down over his throbbing length yanks the air out of your lungs as you seat yourself with him bottoming out and going balls deep in your cunt simultaneously. He grunts against you in surprise, softening the blow of your heady moan. âAttagirl,â he huffs into the crease between your neck and shoulder. Itâs a stretch, searing up your thighs and to your lower back. Youâre brought back to yourself when Joel rolls his hips into you, making the pain liquefy into mind-numbing pleasure. You spend thirty seconds waiting for him to fuck up into you in a way that changes your philosophy around the world, but instead, heâs still and solid inside of you.
âGo on,â Joel coaxes, placing a steady hand just shy of your mound. âGotta prove you deserve to cum again.â He taps your thigh as if heâs telling you to giddy up, and the shame warms the back of your neck better than any heater ever could.
You whimper. His hands coast up your thighs, squeezing your hips tight before falling to grip the seats below. Youâre still weak from your last orgasm, shaky legs struggling to hold yourself up as it is. âDaddy⌠I canâtâŚâÂ
âAinât no different than fuckinâ yâself on that vibrator or dildo or whatever the fuckâs in your nightstand. Girl like you, gotta have a wimpy âlil fucktoy somewhere.â His words make you clench around him, and he groans into your neck. Joel looks up at the front window, now covered in snowflakes. He smirks when he spots the rearview mirror. âOughta make you watch yourself. Show a pathetic, cockstarved slut what happens when she bites off more than she can chew.â At that, you mewl, grinding yourself down. The chuckle he lets out is lined with cruelty.
Joel pins you to his chest with one burly arm and leans forward with a hash of grunts from effort. He reaches out towards the rearview mirror, lowering it to face the middle seat that youâre both braced on. He sinks back quickly, and it almost gives you whiplash before you make eye contact with yourself. You can see everything. Tremors travel up your legs and into your arms. Your body is getting freezer burn from how cold and hot you are at the same time. Pleasured tears threaten to spill over your waterline. Joelâs smug fucking face as he murmurs endlessly at you.Â
Your mouth is parted as you take yourself in, truly a pathetic, pretty little picture as you pant. âCâmon,â Joel coaxes, squeezing your ass. âYou can do it. Make daddy proud. Iâll even give you a boost.â Joel reaches to your tied hands and quickly undoes the scarf, letting it drop to the floor. You flex your fingers and then reach out for the chairs ahead to get a good grip.
You prop yourself up on your knees, anchoring yourself to the two chairs in front of you. Using a combination of your upper and lower body strength, you rise halfway off of Joelâs cock before your body gives out. His balls slap wetly against your clit. He laughs, still not touching you at all. Your head flops forward as you look down to where the two of you meet, and then at the mirror where his cock is buried deep inside of you. You whine in dismay.
He wasnât lying when he said he was going to get you sore. You can only moan. Itâs pleasure like youâve never had it before â too much, not enough, painful, so good. âPlease, Joel â I canât⌠canât handle it.â
âIâll decide what you can handle,â he says.
âYouâreâ youâre so fucking mean,â you rasp.
âGets you this soaked, baby. Donât see your pussy complaininâ. You love beinâ treated like a piece âa meat. Like a little fleshlight for men to fuck.â
You clench, tight. âAh!â Joel fucking sniggers behind you, but a rush of confidence spills through you at the underlying moan in his throat.
Determined to get what you want, you tighten your grip on the front seats. Haul yourself up, almost so that the tip slips right out, and then collapse back onto Joelâs cock. And, shit, itâs a lot. You doubt you could handle his cock in missionary, but being made to ride him in such a compromising position, sprawled out across his shitty backseat? Thatâs an entirely different animal, one that you hadnât expected to have to handle.
You focus on doing just enough to please him and just enough to keep yourself intact. You repeat your movements two or three times, rising and falling. Little moans and whimpers, some pained, some good when he nudges your g-spot just right, slip in and out of you.
âMmmm, yeah, thatâs it. Daddyâs âlil wannabe pocket pussy. Doinâ a âlil better baby. Keep doinâ that. Jusâ keep doinâ that.â
Youâre shaking like a leaf on his cock as you somehow manage to lift yourself another time before fucking back on him. âDaaaddy.â Your lips quiver as you form the word. A single tear runs down your face from overexertion, and heâs quick to wipe it up with his thumb as if it was never there. You look truly whorish and pathetic, just like heâd wanted, bouncing on his cock with the last of the energy you have left in you.
His tip jabs against that goddamn spot again, and you double over on the center console. You take heaving breaths, making eye contact with yourself in the mirror, desperate to please as you attempt to keep humping him with the change in angle. Youâre letting out strings of disoriented words, but barely can tell that youâre talking.
âI fuck you dumb already? Slutty little girl. Told ya you were in for it. Ainât ever had much of a knack for listeninâ. Gonna dick you down now, sweet girl.â He drags your legs into the crook of his elbows, holding you upright for him as he shifts to his knees between your legs. Braced on the center console with your pussy settled on his cock, the new angle makes you cry out. You hold yourself up on your elbows, giving shallow rolls of your hips in return as Joel gets settled inside of you.
The first thrust makes your eyes roll back so far that you see black. âFeel good?â
âSo⌠so fuâfucking goo⌠good daddy,â you whimper into the console, gripping the sides of it just so you have something to hold onto.
âSwallowinâ daddyâs dick whole in this greedy cunt. Goddamn, drippinâ down my fuckinâ balls. Such a masochistic slut, all after a poundinâ from an old man. All up in a tizzy for this cock.â
You moan your agreement, completely submissive to Joelâs wills. You move like a ragdoll for him, letting him yank you back on his cock while he meets you there, thrust for thrust. He pulls out, a small mercy, but when he sheathes himself back inside of you in full, itâs the beginning of a punishing pace.
You donât even notice yourself drooling all over the console until Joel says something about it. âDroolinâ from two places. Yeah, baby, you needed this. Daddyâs pretty cockslut.â You whine especially loudly when Joel drags you back across the console, damn near fast enough to give your stomach rugburn.Â
Hands framing your spread legs, Joel hooks them both around his torso, using the leverage to plow into you. Youâre boneless beneath him, mouth frozen in silent moans. His hips meet your ass with each shove of his cock in your sloppy cunt, the obscene sound of slap after slap pealing out within the truck. âDamn lucky weâre in the middle of nowhere,â Joel growls on another thrust. âSomeone woulda been knockinâ on the window long time ago with how loud youâre beinâ.â
âMmph,â you gasp when Joel tosses one of your legs up and over the passenger seat. You hold yourself there as he digs his fingers into your other thigh, shifting his spare hand to your mound.
âDaddy please please please pleaââ you start panting like a broken record, desperate to feel his hand on your clit, which throbs with inattention on the console. You grind frantically on the edge just in case he denies you again.Â
Joel laughs above you, fully smudging two fingers across your clit in a blur of indescribable pleasure. âAinât gonna make ya beg this time. Canât wait to feel ya creaminâ âround me⌠maybe Iâll make ya lick that up too. Nasty bitch.â
âJoooel, oh fuck, pleaseâŚâ you whine as he continues railing you, this time fiercely tweaking your clit in-time with his movements.
The new position has his thrusts meeting your cervix, and you scream, pleasure corkscrewing through your body. Thereâs nowhere for all of it to go with how viciously it burns in your stomach â all you can do is take it and whine for him. âTakinâ it real good. See what happens when ya behave? You get this fat cock splittinâ your whore cunt in two, jusâ like you were askinâ for.â
He grips your hip tight, clearly expecting an answer. You slur, âMhm, daddy!â
Joel rubs faster circles around your clit, spouting filth while he drills your pussy. You can tell heâs chasing his own release, too, hips frantically fucking in and out of you, his cock twitching every single time you clench. Youâre burning up as he jackhammers your pussy. Your second orgasm of the night brims low in your stomach, âCome on, baby, know youâre close. Feel this slutty pussy squeezinâ me. You gonna ask permission like a good girl this time, or are ya gonna go back to your defiant little slut self?â
âNo, daddy,â you whimper, suspended in thin air over orgasmic bliss. Heâs rubbing your clit erratically, doing everything he can to hold you in place. âP-please daddy, can I come?â You practically scream it out.
âGo ahead,â he says. âCome for daddyâs, come allll over daddyâs cock.â
The band snaps. Your back arches, and you feel time stop in the second before you fall slack on the console, spasming from the best orgasm of your fucking life. Your clit feels like thereâs fucking pop rocks on it, something that not even your vibrator has ever achieved. âThank you daddy!â you cry out, repeating it as you lose all feeling in your bones. You hardly have any control over your body anymore â itâs just Joel Joel Joel Joel. Sated and weary, you just lay there, letting Joel fuck into you.
And fuck into you he does â roughly, helping you ride out your orgasm as he pursues his. âThatâs my girl,â he says, and you swear that alone could make you cum all over again. âLettinâ your daddy use this juicy, well-fucked cunt to get his own.â He canât hold back his moans, thatâs how you know heâs close, grunting and gasping as he rocks his hips into yours. His hand lands on your ass in a sharp smack, and your pussy clenches in exactly the way that he expected. He lets out a particularly ragged noise, folding himself over you to nip at your neck and rest his forehead against your shoulder blade. âDaddyâs close, where do ya want me, baby?â
âTits,â you whine. Itâs a miracle you can even get that one word out, but somehow, you manage a few more. âCome on my tits, daddy.â
âFuck!â Joel shouts, yanking himself over you. You help him roll yourself over and sit up on your elbows, and he jerks himself once, twice, before spraying his load all over your tits with the loudest groan yet. His brows fold together as he cums, eyes drooping and his mouth parted as he takes deep breaths.
You sit there for a handful of heavy minutes, listening to each otherâs jagged breathing and the sawtoothed wind outside. Youâre both so fucked. Literally, and figuratively. Stuck in the buttfuck middle of nowhere, you with your dadâs proclaimed bestieâs cum drying on your tits, and said bestie staring at you with post-coital puppy dog eyes and your cum all over his balls.
Youâre the first to speak up, still winded. âThat was⌠that was good.â
Joel nods mindlessly, tongue swiping out to lick his lips. He beckons you closer, and on trembling legs, you bring yourself to the backseat. You return to your previous position, huddled up and curled next to the door. Joel fumbles around under the back bench for a little until he comes up with a small, sunbleached pack of princess-themed pocket tissues that have to be as old as Sarah is. He dabs at your chest before stuffing them into the closest empty cupholder, and then brings you closer to his chest.
You donât notice yourself falling asleep when all you can feel is Joel.
Thereâs better ways to wake up than a furious rapping on the window, but that isnât the first thing you notice. You blink your eyes open groggily, only to face an egg yolk sun cracking wide open over the treeline and snowmelt bleeding out from every given surface. Joelâs behind you, nose in your neck, snoring softly with his arms wrapped around your middle. You take a moment to admire him â his sun kissed skin and his peaceful expression. It takes you a moment to remember you slept with him. You slept with Joel, and it was the best fuck of your life.
Youâre stretching, on the verge of a yawn, when you see the familiar head of black hair over the window. âShit!â you shout. Joel jerks to life behind you, mumbling something that sounds a lot like âwhat?â.Â
You scramble to pull the coat over the both of you from where it fell off of you in the middle of the night, covering your naked bodies. âGet dressed!â you hiss to Joel, searching for wherever the fuck your panties ended up last night.
âWhat the hellâs gotten into yaââ he starts, and you feel the exact moment that he realizes Tommy Miller is outside of the truck. âMotherfucker,â he curses, swaying towards the front seat to snag his clothes. You see him almost put his head through his T-shirt armhole three times before he gets it right. His sweatpants are next, which he tugs up his bare legs without even searching for his boxers.
âJoel?â Tommy shouts outside. âWake up, sleepinâ beauty!â He knocks on the door again, the windows blurry from melting snow. You have that to thank, at least. It buys you enough time to tug your polo over your head, but not enough time to button it all the way up.
âFuckinâ... dumbass,â Joel huffs as he clips the lock on the door and kicks it open, looking at least somewhat composed. You take deep breaths, looking between the two of them. âHowâd you find us?â
Tommy looks Joel up and down, scrutinizing him. âWhat happened to southern gentleman manners? I came out here to save ya from Mt. Everest, brother! Least you could say is âthank youâ.â
âThank you,â you fill in for Joel, even if the last thing youâre feeling is grateful.
âHer daddy threw a hissy fit, yâknow? Told him you were fine and weâd go lookinâ for ya in the morninâ. We saw all that backup on the highway, I went this way, he went that way, turns out my gut was right. âCourse my dumbass brother would take this route⌠hey, youâre truckâs a fuckinâ mess.â Tommy sinks his hand into the closest cupholder, pulling out a wad of tissues that have been soaked in his cum. You hiss as if youâve been scalded with boiling hot water.
Joel starts, âTommyââ
âWhat the fuck is this shit?â The realization seems to dawn on poor Tommy when heâs peeling apart the tissues, and he drops them like theyâre a thousand pounds. You canât even bring yourself to scold him for littering as the wind carries them away. âJoel. You dirty dog!â He says, eyes flitting between the two of you like itâs the most impossible thing in the world.
Your heart picks up to a speed that can rival most NASCAR drivers and your face burns like hot asphalt. You look pointedly down at the ground.
âJesus fuckinâ Christ,â Joel seethes, pinching the bridge of his nose. âGet outta here, you little shit.â
Tommyâs hands go up. âHey now, I ainât doinâ anything. That is not a conversation I wanna have with her daddy.â He clears his throat, effectively clearing the air along with it. âSo, uh, truck break down?â Joel grunts in affirmation.
âBeen tellinâ ya you need to make a stop at the auto shop⌠Câmon, Iâll get y'all home,â Tommy says, jingling the keys to his own truck. âCall a tow on the way.â
Joel drags his feet all the way to Tommyâs passenger side. You get your wallet and jacket together, winding the latter around your waist. The sun almost blinds you on your way out, and Tommy stops you.
âI hope you didnât let âim stick it to ya with them prehistoric condoms. Youâre smarter ân that.â
âGod, no,â you huff out.
âI dunno whatâs stupider, lettinâ my asshole brother hit it raw or gettinâ a UTIââ
âOkay!â you announce, hands going up as you round the back of Tommyâs truck. âConversation over.â Youâre still smiling playfully at Tommy as you clamber into the back of the truck, sighing when the air conditioner hits.
Just like that, back to the same old same old sunny, shithole state of Texas. Joel looks at you in the rearview mirror and winks at you. You guess not everything has to stay the same these days.
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