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katiexpunk · 4 months

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Nightmare Before Christmas | Pairing dark!Joel Miller X Fem!Reader

This story is a gift fic for @xdaddysprincessxx as part of the @pedrostories Secret Santa event. You wanted dark and I hope I delivered. Merry Christmas, babe.

Summary: As an escort, you’ve found yourself in some pretty fucked up situations before. Years of experience have taught you to navigate such situations with a combination of tact and assertiveness. Most of the time the men who exude an air of sleaze shrivel back into the corner, embarrassed and limp dicked. Most of the time. Tonight is not one of those times. Rating: 18+ Minors DNI Word Count: ~3.6K Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. Tommy and Joel are not nice guys in this one. Escorting. Non-Con. Guns. Knives. Kidnapping. Spitting. Ropes. Chloroform. Alcohol. Degrading pet names. Joel calls reader kitten. Reader jumps out of moving vehicle. Blood. Rope burns. Unwanted creampie. Conflict on pleasure. Fingering. Explicit/rough penetration. Breeding kink. No major physical descriptions of reader/graphic is for visual purposes only. No specific age gap mentioned. No use of Y/N. No happy ending. Authors Note: Special thank you to @kewwrites for lending me her brain on this one. Additionally, thank you to @toxicanonymity for writing dark content that I had to binge-read to put me in the headspace to even write this lol. And thank you @sydneyinacoma for holding my hand as I wrote this one. Also submitting this as part of @romana-after-dark's Dead Dove December event. Merry Christmas? Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Notifications Extra dark smut below the cut.

As an escort, you’ve found yourself in some pretty fucked up situations before. Years of experience have taught you to navigate such situations with a combination of tact and assertiveness.

Most of the time the men who exude an air of sleaze shrivel back into the corner, embarrassed and limp dicked.

Most of the time.

Tonight is not one of those times.

++++

It’s Christmas Eve, and you’re in the bathroom of your sleek apartment on the twenty-fifth floor in the heart of Los Angeles, preparing for another evening of playing the part of whatever and whoever your client wants you to be.

Sometimes you’re the arm candy, sometimes the new girlfriend, and sometimes you’re just something to look at. It wasn’t always easy, not at first, but the rewards are well worth the endure.

You slept with a handful of your clients early on, only because you needed the money, but now it’s your hard line. You ensure your prospective clients know your rules before you agree to go out with them, and for the most part, they don’t try to cross them. Sure, some try, but all it takes is a quick threat of I’m leaving and they’re happy to fall back in line. You think half of them are convinced that they’re charming enough to make you break the rules, just for them, but none of them ever are.

You stand before the mirror in a chic ensemble that accentuates your curves without revealing too much. Wear something black and don’t make it trashy, his instructions said. You run your fingers through your hair and give it a final touch before fastening a pair of statement earrings that sparkle like the lights on your Christmas tree.

The gentle chime of your phone signals a new message. You pick it up, the screen illuminating your face with a soft glow. Your client for the evening, a successful entrepreneur named Tommy, confirms the details for the evening and informs you that a car will meet you at the agreed-upon location at 8:00 pm sharp.

You check the time and still have another 15 minutes. You meander over to your bar cart, pour yourself a nip of vodka over ice, and sip it while you kill time. You’re not usually nervous, but tonight feels different.

Not before long, you take a deep breath and head out the door.

++++

The night air is crisper than usual for LA this time of year, but you ride with the windows down anyway. Your destination is a trendy rooftop bar where Tommy has chosen to meet. He hasn’t told you the occasion or why he’s hired you, but your best guess is that it’s some swanky holiday party or circle jerk between a bunch of rich people.

The car pulls up to the entrance, and the driver walks around the vehicle to open the door for you. You adjust your dress with sweaty palms as you step out and head into the building.

The rooftop offers a panoramic view of the city. Much to your surprise, nobody is there, except for the waitstaff and a man far from the entrance. Tommy is seated at a corner table, engrossed in the cityscape. You approach with grace, and as Tommy turns to greet you, your eyes lock in silent acknowledgment.

The night unfolds as most of them do.

There’s nothing strange about it. He orders a bottle of Dom, and you share a meal over casual conversation. He tells you that he rented out the entire rooftop because he wanted some privacy. Which isn’t unusual, you figure he might be some high-profile figure, or maybe he’s married, but you’ve come to learn it’s best not to ask.

There’s nothing inherently different about this client than any other.

But for whatever reason, you can’t shake the pit of lead that’s settled in your stomach, and the gnawing little voice inside your head that’s screaming danger.

He touches your bare knee under the table and gives you a dark look, causing the hairs on the back of your neck to rise to stand. The gnawing little voice might as well be an opera singer at this point.

You clear your throat and take your phone out of your purse to check the time. Fuck. You test your luck and try to excuse yourself early anyway.

“Well, this has been lovely, but I –” you start to say, but you’re cut off by his dark eyes.

“Nuh-uh, you’re mine for another two hours, doll,” he says in a raspy low voice.

You watch as he slips a few $100 bills on the table. As he silently rises to stand, you catch a glimpse of the handgun that’s fastened on his hip beneath his suit jacket. Your pulse quickens at the sight.

You follow him to the elevator, and he presses the lobby. Standing next to you, you realize how much bigger than you he is. He’s broad and built, he looks like he could rip a phonebook in half with his bare hands.

Stay cool, stay cool, stay cool.

On the ride down, you feel him snake one hand behind you and he hikes the hem of your dress up and runs his cold fingers up the back of your thigh and over the curves of your ass.

“Tommy, I don’t sleep with my clients. Please stop,” you ask, your voice firm.

He turns to face you and cages you against the elevator wall. He’s so close, you feel his hot breath on your lips. Your eyes glance over at the screen above the numbers, and you still have another 15 floors to go until you’re at the lobby. Your stomach drops.

“You’ll do whatever I ask you to tonight, doll,” Tommy rasps, his voice cold. A shiver runs down your spine as you feel a hard metal pressed up against your ribs – the gun. “Do you understand?” he asks, not questioning.

Tears well up in the corners of your eyes, and your adrenaline courses through you like an F1 car. When you don’t respond, he presses the barrel of the gun harder into your ribs. Ow. “Better answer me now, Doll, or this isn’t gonna be fun for you,” he threatens. You manage to rasp out a shaky “I understand.”

Just as you do, the elevator signals that you’re in the lobby and the doors open. He steps back from you and you slump down the wall for a moment, utterly terrified. He nudges his head toward the exit and walks closely behind you, the gun now positioned on your lower back. There’s a dark suburban waiting at the entrance of the building.

You slip into the vehicle, the cool black leather cold on the backs of your legs, and he follows in behind you. There are three other men in the car, two in the front, and one in the far back. They’re all dressed in dark colors, most of them covered in tattoos, and you’re willing to bet that all of them are armed.

“Ooo, she’s a pretty one. We’re gonna have fun with her,” the one in the back says in a heavy voice.

“Fuck you,” you yell back, spitting on him. It lands on his face, and a terrifying look crosses it.

He wipes the spit from his eye before he grabs the gun from his side and holds it firm against your temple. Your breathing catches in your throat and your heart freezes mid-beat.

“You better behave you little cunt, or I’ll make it hurt more than I’m already going to,” he rasps and you let your eyes go glossy as you stare out the window, silent. He removes the gun from your head and sinks back into the seat.

As they drive off, you consider your options. You could fight them, you think, but that probably wouldn’t end well for you. You consider trying to grab the handgun from Tommy, but he’s so much bigger than you, that probably wouldn’t end well for you either; plus you’re not even sure you’d know how to shoot it. You could grab your phone and try to call 9-1-1, but Tommy would notice you rummaging through your purse for it.

As they’re driving, you notice that they failed to lock the doors. You’ve never kidnapped anyone, but even you know that’s a rookie mistake. You watch the road blur behind a road of tears, and then it dawns on you – your only option is to jump. You clear the tears from your eyes, set on your escape plan, and wait for the perfect moment.

Once the car is at a reasonable speed, or so you guess, you don’t know how fast you’re going, and there seems to be no car directly behind you, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. You swiftly pull the door handle, and do your best imitation of a duck-and-roll.

You hit the pavement with a loud thud, and roll a few times, completely fucking up the skin on your knees and palms. Giving yourself no time to think, running on pure adrenaline, you stand up, abandon your heels, and make a run for it.

“FUCK!” Tommy yells, “God damn it, man, turn around, we gotta go get her!” he yells to the driver.

You have no idea where you are or where you can go, but you allow your legs to propel you forward.

Don’t stop, just run.

You look over your shoulder and see the suburban making a U-turn, and you assess your options once again. You see a Taxi idling in the distance. You don’t think, you just pound on the glass for a quick second before opening the door and slipping into the vehicle.

You’re panting, out of breath, and borderline hyperventilating. You scream “DRIVE, DRIVE, DRIVE.” The Taxi driver looks back at you, eyes wide, noticing the blood that’s dripping down your legs in thick streams.

“Did you hear me!? Drive, please they’re going to find me,” you scream. He turns his head back to the windshield, pulls the lever into gear, and hits the gas. The back wheels of the taxi spin out in the gravel as he deftly pulls out into the road ahead.

With your breathing still erratic, you look behind you through the rearview mirror and are pleased to find that nobody is following you.

Holy shit. You escaped.

You sit back normally in your seat and hold one hand on your heart, and the other on your stomach. You assess your hands and legs, noticing you’re covered in blood and gravel. You go to reach for your purse, but shit, you must have lost it when you jumped.

“What the hell was that about?” the taxi driver says in a raspy low tone, looking at you through the rearview mirror. You don’t respond, your hearing still muffled and ringing from the adrenaline.

He drives for a few minutes and then turns into a dark alley.

“Wh – what are you doing?” you ask, keyed up, running on fear. Your hand instinctually finds the door handle, like you might need to jump again. He unbuckles his seat belt and whips around to face you, the leather of his seat squeaking a little as he does.

He’s big, you can tell he has broad shoulders and thick biceps. Salt and pepper curls grace his head, and he has a scruffy beard to match. There’s a deep line between his eyebrows and a rugged handsomeness to him.

“You haven’t told me where you want to go, and you’re not listening to me. ‘M not driving you anywhere until you tell me what the fuck that was about. And ‘sides, you’re bleeding. Can’t have you getting blood all over the back of my car,” he says.

He turns back around and opens the driver's side door.

“Where are you going?” you ask, voice shaky. What the hell?

“‘M grabbing the damn first aid kit out of the trunk,” he retorts, a tinge of annoyance to his voice. You’re not sure why he’s being so rude in the first place. You hear the trunk pop open, the sound of ruffling like he’s grabbing something, and then the sound of the trunk slamming shut.

He rounds around to your passenger side door and opens it.

“Look I’m fine, I don’t need you to –” he shuts you up with a thick rag pressed firm against your face.

You swear you see him smirk before your vision blurs and fades to black.

++++

The air in the dimly lit basement hangs heavy with dampness, and a faint odor of mildew lingers in the stale atmosphere. As your consciousness slowly returns, you realize you’re standing and tied up against a support beam in the middle of the room.

Your wrists are bound with coarse ropes above your head in a tight knot, causing them to lose circulation. You try to wiggle yourself free, but your body is pinned firmly against the wood by ropes that also extend across your legs. You try to scream, but there’s no point. A thick strip of duct tape covers your lips, muffling even your loudest of efforts to cry out.

You frantically observe the room around you. It’s illuminated by a single flickering light bulb overhead, the walls are concrete that have been stained with age. The only audible sounds are what you assume are footsteps in the house up above. You try and wiggle yourself free, but it only exhausts you.

You float in and out of consciousness. As your eyes fall closed, you hope that when you wake up you’ll find that this was all just one big fucked up dream. A nightmare before Christmas.

++++

You awake to the sensation of cool metal on your cheek. You groggily come to, and once your vision clears, you see the face of a man – the taxi driver. Your eyes bug out and you whimper beneath the duct tape.

“Shh, shh, hush kitten,” he coos, running the flat blade of the knife over your soft cheek. “You’re okay, ‘m gonna take real good care of you, I promise.”

Hot tears well in the corners of your eyes, your eyes now bloodshot. You whimper something that sounds like a muffled “please,” under the tape and you see his pupils dilate. A devilish smirk crosses his face.

“Oh my kitten has manners, does she,” he rasps, dragging the knife down the razor edge of your jaw, over your sternum, and down the valley of your breasts. “Say it again for me,” he says. You’re a full-blown factory of tears at this point, and you muffle out another masked please. You tug on the ropes and stare back at your captor.

You flinch as he uses the knife and cuts your dress down the middle. Your perky tits spill out of the tight fabric, and he looks at them with hungry eyes. He sheaths the knife and uses his thick hands to rip the rest of the fabric off of you until you’re completely bare before him, minus the thin scrap of your underwear.

“Well shit, baby. Look at you,” he takes a step back and admires your body, bringing his hand to palm at the growing bulge in his pants.

You turn your head so you don’t have to look at him, trying to focus on something, anything but him. You hear the clanking of his metal belt unbuckling, and the faint sound of his zipper coming down. He drags his pants and underwear off of his body, and stands before you, fully hard, his large cock throbbing and red. He looks down at it and spits.

Massaging his length in one hand, he stares at you and tells you, “Look at me, kitten.”

You don’t.

A deep growl escapes his chest, and he steps closer to you. Still massaging his cock with one hand, he uses the other and grips your jaw tightly, smushing your cheeks together, forcing you to look at him. “There she is, my pretty girl, that’s better,” he taunts.

“See what you do to me?” He says, nodding down to his cock, his jaw slack. “This is what you’re gonna get for tempting me,” he darkly adds. He continues to work at his cock; to him, you may look like you’re watching him, but you’re doing your best to blur your vision, to think about anything else.

His hand leaves his cock and comes to rest on your chest with his palm flat. He trails it over your breast and cups the weight of it, rolling your nipple to a stiff peak between his index finger and thumb.

“If you promise you’ll be a good little kitten for me, I’ll make this feel good for you,” he says. All you can do is whimper and cry as he uses you.

He drags his flat palm down your body, over your tummy, and cups your pussy over your underwear, feeling the warm heat of it. He growls and hooks his fingers under the fabric until the tips of them are nudged into your slit, near your hole. He dips the tip of his middle finger into your cunt, and you flinch.

“Good little kitten, already wet for me,” he says, and then plunges the length of it inside of you. You gasp, and he smiles. He drags the length of his finger, now covered in your slick, up the seam of your pussy until it lands on your clit. He begins to draw tight circles there, and you can’t help but moan at the sensation of it.

A low growl reverberates through his chest as he works at you, his dark eyes trained on your face. You try to suppress the need to come, and he can tell. “Filthy little girl, pretending you don’t want to come for me. Go on, baby. I know you want it,” he says darkly, coaxing you closer and closer to your orgasm.

He alternates between fucking his fingers into you and rubbing your clit. You don’t want to come, but you can’t stop it. Can’t fight it. As much as you hate it, you’re at his mercy. You’re scared to admit what it might mean if you were to come under circumstances like this, but you’re so tired, you just want to feel something good. “Be a good little slut for me, kitten. Come on my fingers, know you want to,” he says, and shit. Your vision goes white, and for the first time tonight, you don’t feel anything except pleasure.

He collects the slick that’s formed as a result of your orgasm and uses it to coat his hard cock. He watches you and admires the fucked out look on your face.

“Gonna free your legs now, kitten. Don’t go getting any ideas or I’ll find another way to use my knife other than cuttin’ these ropes, got it?” he rasps. He ducks down, pulls the knife from his back pocket, and uses it to saw the ropes until you’re free before once again tucking it away.

He drags your now-soiled panties down and off your legs. You know he’s going to fuck you. And as fucked up as it is, and as much as you don’t want it, there’s a little tug at your low navel, a thread of arousal that tells you otherwise.

He uses his hands to grab your hips and he tugs at them until your back is slightly arched against the beam. Your wrists hurt, the harsh rope burning your skin, but it pales in comparison to the thick stretch of him in your cunt.

He fills you in one thrust, giving you no time to adjust to the size of him. He holds you up, your legs wrapped firmly against his core, and he fucks into you. He fucks you hard, his thick cock punching against your cervix with nearly every thrust. You whimper from the intensity of it.

“That noise…keep making it,” he begs, his voice wrecked. You fight your hardest to stay silent after hearing that. “Need to know, kitten – are you on birth control? IUD? Anything?” he asks, and you think if you tell him the truth, maybe he won’t come inside of you. Stupid, stupid mistake. You shake your head “No,” and he groans.

His hips slow and stutter. “Fuck, fuck – yeaaaahhhh, kitten. Fuck, you’re mine,” he pauses with himself buried to the hilt deep inside of you as he pumps his seed deep inside of you.

“So good for me, kitten. You’re so good,” he says, caressing your cheek with his thumb, still inches deep inside of you. He rips the duct tape off your lips in one swoop, the tearing sensation causes your eyes to water. He plants a soft kiss on your lips, before biting your bottom lip hard enough to bleed.

“Taste good, too,” he adds, licking your blood off of his lips.

He pulls out, leaving you completely wrecked, and his cum smears all over your thighs.

“Names Joel by the way,” he says, his voice impossibly dark, “just thought you might wanna know the name of the man who’s gonna make you a mother.”

END

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aurorawritestoescape · 4 months

Text

THE BURGLARY

written with @milla-frenchy

Pairing: burglar!Joel Miller x f!reader x burglar!Tommy Miller

Summary: two men break into your house and take more than just your valuables.

TW: 18+ mdni. DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. NON-CON. Smut. Violence, suffocation, knife/gun play, penetration with a gun, mfm, bondage, degradation, praise, oral (male receiving), a depraved game, butt and pussy slapping, unprotected piv, creampies, cum eating, swearing.

Word count: 4,6k

A/n: @milla-frenchy and I wrote this fic as our contribution to Dead Dove December by @romana-after-dark. Romana, thank you for hosting this amazing event celebrating dark fic! @milla-frenchy I had so much fun writing with you! I love you, baby!❤️🫂Dividers by @saradika-graphics

If you’re sensitive to any of the warnings, do not read the fic! We don’t condone the actions of the characters. It is all fictional!

MILLA’S MASTERLIST | MY MASTERLIST

You’re standing in front of the bathroom mirror, the sound of water filling the tub is calming and hypnotizing. You’re wearing nothing but a pink robe, soft and warm. You untie it and open it wide before your gaze travels down to your breasts. You cup them gently and rub the nipples with your thumbs. They perk up at the touch and you flutter your eyes shut as the waves of arousal are spreading through every nerve in your body. One hand leaves your breast and glides down to caress your tummy and then mound. You dip your finger in between your folds and swirl it around your slightly wet clit. When you open your eyes, the mirror reflects your blown pupils back to you. You contemplate getting your vibrator from the drawer and using it in the bath. Your husband is away on a business trip and he won’t be back for a few more days but the idea of waiting for him to satisfy your desire excites you so you take a deep breath trying to calm down.

You take the robe off and hang it next to the sinks. You turn around, come up to the already full tub and bend over to check the water temperature. This is when he grabs you.

The iron grip of his hand is holding your wrists behind your back. His bulge is pushing in between your naked asscheeks. He’s big and strong and you’re helpless against him. He’s keeping you bent over the full bath and then pushes your torso down. Your head is submerged in the tub and you scream and thresh about but your cries are completely silenced by the water suffocating you. Your attempts to break free are fruitless. His fist is clenching your hair and it burns like hell but the pain in your burning lungs overshadows everything else. You’re trying to free yourself from his hold, to kick him and push him away but his beastly strength doesn’t let you.

You’re about to black out when he lifts your head by your hair and your mouth finally takes a life-giving breath. You cough and cry trying to get as much oxygen as he lets you and exclaim, “No, no, stop it, please!”

He growls and pulls your torso up and flush against his chest. You’re covered in water droplets, already cold and shivering but for another reason. The stranger might kill you and the thought makes you tremble and beg for mercy,

“I’ll give you everything, I’ll do anything! Pls let me go..”

You’re crying and screaming but he’s deaf to your pleas. You feel his breath on your cheek and he bites it. He doesn’t break the skin but the pain makes you wail. The man shakes your body and laughs, “Silly girl, the louder you scream the harder it’ll make me.”

Your back is pressed to his broad chest and your whole body is shaking as if electricity is going through every part of you.

“I saw you touching yourself, little slut. Made me hard like a rock,” he bucks his hips into your ass and you feel his clothed hard-on. “I coulda just taken what I wanted and left. But now I think I’ll take this pussy too.” He slaps your mound a little harder than a lover would and a whine escapes your lips.

“Started without me?”

You feel even more terrified if it’s even possible when you hear another voice.

“Nah, just gave this pretty slut a wash. Don't wanna touch her husband's crusted cum on her. We gonna leave our own.”

“Right, brother.” They laugh and you feel you might be sick. It can’t be happening. The sobs are shaking your body as you’re trying to turn your head to the side so you could see the new man.

“Please, let me go,” you plead, hoping the other intruder will be kinder to you.

The first attacker yanks your whole body to the side, turning you away from the tub so you’d face the second man. Your tears make his image blurry, resembling a dark shadow. He’s wearing all black and his face is hidden behind a balaclava. He sounds younger than the other one and is not as huge but he’s still bigger than you. He comes up close, takes your wet cheeks between his gloved fingers and pushes making your lips pout. You mewl and they both laugh. His other hand darts to your mound and he grabs your pussy squeezing your flesh with his harsh fingers. You whine and he looks at the other attacker over your shoulder, “She’s so soft and pretty. Can’t wait to use her.”

His accomplice hums in agreement, pressing his covered chin to your cheek and rubbing your delicate skin with the material of his mask, “need her to open the safe first.”

The second man agrees and steps out of the way while you’re being pushed to the door and into the master bedroom. You walk clumsily but as soon as you reach the doorframe you push all your weight to the side making your capturer crash into the door. Startled for a moment he eases his grip on you and you launch forward. The wetness of your body helps you to slip out of his hands and you’re running out of the room and along the hall crying for help as loud as you can.

Thoughts rush through your head as you realize that you need to get out of the house. So you race to the stairs but as soon as you reach them a hand grips your hair and pulls you back. It hurts and you try to break free but the man overpowers you with ease, drops his weight on you and you both fall on the floor. He grumbles and you realize that it’s the second intruder. He grabs your hands and ties your wrists behind your back with a rope.

“Stop, please, no!” you cry out, feeling pain in your scalp and body but the ache is dull as all your senses are fully focused on survival.

“Slippery bitch!” the younger man spits out and having restrained your hands, sits up on the back of your thighs panting heavily. He slaps your naked asscheek and you sob, tears soaking the carpet.

You hear steps and the first man comes up to you from the side. “Nice try, little slut,” he mocks you, pushing your shoulder lightly with the tip of his black boot. He orders to take you back to the bedroom.

You’re sitting on the floor in front of the safe in your walk-in closet. The men are towering behind you not afraid of you running away as your hands are securely restrained and you look and feel exhausted from the nerves and your attempts to break free.

The bigger man crouches next to you and his gloved fingers grasp your hair. Like a puppeteer he turns your head to him and rumbles, “Password, sweetie.” You begin saying the numbers immediately not seeing the point in protecting your valuables while your life is at stake.

“Please, take everything, just let me go… please,” you beg with a shaking voice but a carnal grin flashes in the opening of his balaclava and panic grips your heart.

“Open your pretty mouth, sweetheart,” he coos at you with a fake care as the other man chuckles and you see him bringing a knife to your face. It looks like a switchblade. You start pleading and crying again, horrifying images flooding your mind. Not waiting for you to calm down, the intruder turns the knife handle up and inserts it into your mouth.

“Hold it,” he orders, “just imagine it’s your husband’s dick. Bite it real hard, I’m sure you’re mad at him for leaving you alone now.”

He pushes your head down to the safe and you bend over awkwardly trying not to fall, knife between your teeth.

You hear the other man’s voice, “Press the buttons for us, princess, come on,” his voice is soft but it makes your hair stand up.

You sob and the knife nearly falls out of your mouth but you clench your teeth around it more tightly and bring the blade to the buttons.

“That’s our girl,” the first man mumbles, as his hand in your hair keeps you from falling.

You push the numbers with the tip of the blade and hear beeps. “You have a nice ass, baby,” the second intruder comments, apparently ogling your butt while you are bending over. You hear a click of the safe door and they push you out of the way hurrying to get their hands on the things they came for. At least you hope they came just for that.

You look up at them, wondering what they're going to do to you. You still hope they will leave, now that you've opened the safe for them.

You try not to panic and focus on your breathing. You can see their dark eyes through the openings of their balaclavas. They look at each other communicating without a word, and then the bigger one turns to you.

“How much time do we have?” he asks his accomplice, his gaze locked with yours.

“Half an hour, easy,” the other man replies.

Your hairs stand up and your breath catches in your throat. You feel that your brain is trying to convince itself that they are not going to hurt you more. You don't dare imagine what they are capable of.

The younger one grabs you by both arms and forces you to get up.

“We have plenty of time to have a little fun,” he laughs, dragging you towards your bedroom. You try to resist, but in vain. He turns around and pushes you against the wall. His hand grips your throat and you watch him in fear as he removes his balaclava. He has brown, shoulder-length wavy hair, and a mustache. The fact that he is uncovering his face terrifies you. These men don't care if you can describe them, and you wonder if you will make it out alive.

He brings his face closer to yours, to the point where your noses could touch, and leans his pelvis against you. You feel his hard cock on your lower belly and the last hope your mind was trying to cling to is now gone. He tilts his head to the side and smiles, looking at you. You hear his brother laugh behind him and say “you’re a fuckin’ psycho, Tommy.” He takes off his balaclava as well, and his face appears behind his brother. He has short, brown hair, a light beard and a mustache. You try to memorize their faces, in case you can describe them to the police. Later.

That “later” fades away when Tommy moves closer to your cheek and slowly licks his way to your cheekbone. You start shaking like a leaf and he laughs, unties your hands behind your back, and grabs your arm before tugging you after him. He pushes you onto the bed, where you fall on your back.

You try to get up, but the other man pulls a gun out of the back of his jeans and points it at you,

“You’re starting to piss me off, sweetheart, so I’m gonna set things straight. We'll fuck you and then we’ll leave. If you struggle, you'll turn us on even more. If you scream, we'll fuck you harder. Do I make myself clear?”

His icy voice, his words stop you and you lie down again. He hands the gun to Tommy and says “I’m gonna need my hands.”

You widen your eyes when he unzips his jeans and pulls out his cock. Thick. Much too big.

“Oh, sweetie, judging by your reaction, your husband has a small dick,” he says, laughing again. His brother chuckles too and adds, “She’s so not ready for our cocks, Joel.” He grabs your legs and pulls them towards him to lay you down.

Joel approaches the bed, slowly jerking off, and kneels on the bed at your side, before bringing his cock closer to your face, “Now you’re gonna suck me off, sweetheart. And after any dumb move from you, my brother will blow your brains out, ok?”

You nod. Your only hope now is that they end this quickly. You try to put aside another source of anxiety that is gnawing at your heart - their uncovered faces.

Joel taps your face with his cock twice before you part your lips slightly, and he says "Sweetie, open wide, or it ain’t gonna fit". You hold back the tears that are stinging your eyes, and you open your mouth wider. He slides the tip into your mouth, and you round your lips around it. He doesn't wait any longer, and sinks into you, holding your head in his hands.

He stops halfway down his member, then pulls back, before thrusting in with one stroke, making you choke. You hear Tommy laugh and can no longer hold back your tears as panic overtakes you and amplifies your suffocation. “Stop it, Tommy, you’re scaring the little thing!” Joel says with a chuckle.

He pulls out of your mouth and releases your head, and you feel Tommy get between your thighs. You murmur, “No, please”, but Joel adds, “Come on, sweetheart, my little brother needs to get his dick wet, too, right?”

Tommy rubs his cock against your folds, then against your clit. His tip rubs it several times, and to your horror you feel your pussy getting wet.

“Little slut is so wet for our cocks, Joel, can you believe it?”

“They always are. All fuckin’ whores.”

Tommy pulls back a little and looks at his cock, before slowly pushing it into your pussy, and growls "Fuck...she's tight, man." You wince as you feel your folds parted.

“Point your gun at her. I’m gonna fuck her throat, I don’t want her to do anything stupid.”

Tommy cocks his gun at your head and starts fucking you, thrusting deeper. Joel grabs your temples with his hands again, and his erect cock sinks in your mouth. He grips your head tighter, and quickly fucks your mouth, grunting. Your saliva pools against his member, and he is thrusting deeper and deeper, at the same pace as his brother is fucking your pussy. His cock hits the back of your throat, and he suddenly pauses, holding your nose pressed against his pubes.

“Don’t move, sweetie.”

You try to calm down, your mind in shock at what’s happening to you. In your home, where you should be safe. He finally pulls away, before thrusting in again, yet not going all the way to your throat.

“You’re taking us good, baby”, Tommy says, leaning over you and pressing his nose to your neck, the gun against your temple.

Still fucking your mouth, Joel tells his brother,“Stretch her with the gun. The handle. Let’s see if her little pussy can take it. Afraid I’ll split her in two with my cock.”

You want to scream, your mouth full of Joel’s cock, but only a vague moan leaves your mouth.

“And I’m the psycho?” Tommy laughs, pulling out and sitting up.

Joel pulls out too, and moves away from you with his hard cock in his hand, watching Tommy position the handle of the gun at your entrance with one gloved hand, and pressing your stomach with the other to hold you against the bed. He pushes gently and you cry out, “No, please stop, it won’t fit!”

“We’ll make it fit. You’re wet enough to take it.”

He keeps pushing, and the tip of the handle sinks into you.

“Say ‘thank you’ to Tommy for stretching you, sweetheart.”

You feel like you're going to pass out. You look at their faces, their eyes fixed on your pussy dilated around the gun, and you try to relax. A part of you wants to rebel and fight, but the other one takes over, knowing that you have no way out of this.

“Look, Joel, she's dripping. Good that we’re using the handle, she woulda ruined the barrel with her wetness,” Tommy comments and they laugh again degrading you.

“Ok, pull it out. She’s ready. Gonna fuck her now”, Joel says and adds, “Get on all fours.”

You don't move, too scared at the idea of what happens next, and Tommy points the muzzle at your forehead. Your tears start to fall again and you finally turn around, exposing your ass to Joel and standing on your hands and knees on the bed.

“I forgot that you had such a nice ass, sweetie!”

“Please… don’t do that”, you whimper with sobs in your voice.

“Don’t worry. I’m not gonna damage your ass. Don’t have the time for that. There’s one more thing we’ll have to do, after we’re done with you.”

You don't have time to ask or even think what they want to do next, Tommy is already on the bed pressing his cock against your mouth. Joel grabs your hips with his hands, and thrusts into you in one swift move. You suffocate under the intrusion, and Tommy pushes his cock in between your lips.

“Come on, baby, be a good girl and let me fuck this wet hole of yours,” Joel mumbles opening your thighs wider and begins fucking you with quick thrusts. Then he slides his hand down to your clit and you try to shake your head, but Tommy holds you tight, his cock buried in your mouth.

Joel coos at you, “Come on, sweetheart, wanna feel your pussy squeeze my big cock.”

You try to resist, but his finger slides against your clit perfectly. You tell yourself that it will end faster if he gets what he wants and let your mind retreat, and the emotions in your body take over. You feel your orgasm building, and your pussy begins to contract.

“Tommy… little slut is clenching my dick so hard, and she hasn't come yet”, he groans with a smile.

Tommy pulls your hair with his hand, and pushes his cock into your mouth one more time, before pulling out, gloved fingers clasped around his shaft. You moan, and cum on Joel's cock while your eyes roll back and your legs are shaking. He’s groaning, feeling your spasms around his cock, “Fuckin’ hell, little slut must be so bored with her husband.”

Tommy’s carnal gaze is sliding down your body and he looks manic when he lifts his eyes at Joel and asks with a smile, “wanna play like that time?”

Joel looks back at him, pulls out of your crying pussy and chuckles, “you’re fucking crazy, brother.”

“Why?” Tommy mumbles running his gloved hand through your messy hair. He looks right into your eyes drinking your fear and his cock twitches.

“The last one wanted it. This one looks too gentle.”

Tommy leans over you bringing his face so close you smell cigarettes on his breath and tells Joel,

“She might surprise us, brother. I’m sure she’s freaky. Aren’t you, princess?”

He grabs your pussy and you gasp. Your gaze darts to Joel who watches his brother’s fingers massage your wet folds and begins stroking his cock,

“Fuck, yeah, let’s do it. If she chokes my cock till I come… might spare her.”

You hear his words and sobs are about to break out of your chest but Tommy senses it and places his free hand over your mouth, “we’ll play one game, princess and then we’ll leave, deal?”

He’s waiting for the answer but you can’t agree without knowing what this psycho means so you just stare at him with fearful eyes.

He straightens up glancing at his brother, “Fuck, I forgot I don’t have to ask cos I have this,” he takes out a gun from his waistband and waves it at you.

“On your mark, brother,” he says to Joel and the bigger man grabs your legs and pulls you roughly on the bed towards him. His cock pushes between your folds and you moan.

“See! The whore loves it!” Tommy points at your with his gun, triumphant smile on his face and you feel a tip of a cock thrust into you. Joel’s huge member parts your folds again and you plead for him to stop but he doesn’t hold back as its head jams right into your cervix after a couple of deep and hard thrusts.

“Hey, hey, Joel. You’ll come too soon! Where’s fun in that?”

Joel pauses his movements deep inside you and you look at the men with confusion and fear twisting your face. What game are they going to play with you? And are you going to survive it?”

“Ready?” Tommy asks and you catch your breath waiting for the worst. Then Tommy leans down a little and slaps your pussy with his leathered palm, just a few inches from the place where his brother’s cock is buried deep inside you. You cry out when the pain catches you off guard and to your horror realize that it’s quickly mixing with pressure. Joel grunts shutting his eyes for a second and then opens them to glance at his brother, “Fuck, you were right. She’s squeezing me real good. Fucking chocking my cock, little slut.”

You sense your walls contract around his girthy length and you hate yourself for it. “That’s just one”, Tommy warns as he lands another blow to your tortured pussy. “Two,” he counts and you mewl, your eyes rolling back while Joel’s groaning through his teeth and plants his hands on the bed at your sides.

“What is it, brother? She’s so pretty and sweet that you’re about to come already?” Tommy mocks the man and Joel looks up at him with a pained and angry expression.

Tommy backs off with his hands in the air still chuckling and then comes back to slap your clit again.

As soon as he says, “Three” you feel warmth filling your pussy up as Joel is coming with a long growl grasping your hips leaving white marks on your soft skin. He starts thrusting into your core again pumping you full of his spend and you feel sick when your core is tightening. You won’t come. You won’t give it to him.

“Holy fuck, princess, you have a magic pussy. To make my bro bust a nut just after three slaps!” He laughs and takes your head in his hands kissing your mouth. First as a joke he pecks your lips but after parting from you for a second he comes back for more as his tongue pushes between your lips. You freeze when he’s stealing another part of you, licking into your mouth while his brother prolongs his climax with short thrusts into your swollen pussy.

Finally Tommy parts from you and straightens up grabbing his cock. “Fuck, Joel, my turn. This bitch is so hot.” He looks into your eyes while Joel pulls out his semi hard cock, and you feel his cum leaking out of your stretched hole and slide down to your asshole.

The men switch positions and now Joel is standing over you while Tommy gets on the bed between your shaking legs. He sits on his heels staring at your hole and says in a calm but stern voice, “Squeeze it out, princess.” It’s so sick that you’re blinking at him until suddenly he directs his gun at you and repeats his command a little louder, “I said squeeze out the cum, little slut!”

You swallow loudly and tighten your muscles. With a satisfied grin he’s watching a string of milky liquid flow out of your hole.

“We need to hurry up,” Joel rumbles, zipping up his pants.

“Yeah, yeah…” Tommy replies, seemingly deaf to his brother’s words, his gaze fully focused on your pussy.

Still having his gloves on he brings his hand to your folds and pushes two fingers into your hole. Then he takes them out and climbs over your body. Without a word be pushes the leathered digits between your lips,with an order, “Clean them up, princess.” You do as you’re told, tasting Joel’s bitter cum and leather on your tongue.

“Good slut,” Tommy half praises half degrades you watching your tongue swirl around his covered digits.

“Fuck, Tommy, come on!” Joel hurries up his brother and the younger man finally listens, gets between your thighs and pushes his cock in with a growl. He slides in easily, your pussy wet with Joel’s cum and stretched out well.

“Come on, baby, let’s win this thing,” he says and you mewl, knowing what’s coming next.

Joel’s hand hits your pussy harsher than Tommy’s and you jolt from the pain. The younger man is hissing through his teeth looking at your swollen reddish folds. He shivers and grips your hips tighter. “Fuck you’re choking my cock, baby!”

Joel doesn’t wait long to stroke you again and a tear slides down the side of your face. Tommy shuts his eyes tilting his head back and as another slap lands on your poor clit you moan and squeeze Tommy’s cock so well it pushes him over. His balls tighten and he shoots his cum deep inside your core. His seed mixes with Joel’s and it’s too much cum for your poor pussy so it leaks out of you in globs pushed out by Tommy’s cock still moving inside you. When he stills panting heavily, he pulls out and announces, “Three-three, bro! Guess we’re both suckers for her pussy”. He tucks his cock away hastily and when he’s ready he leans over your swollen mound and gives it a peck, whispering, “killer-pussy!”

Joel is already gathering the things they’re taking with them and you’re lying not moving a muscle wishing for them to forget about you and leave. But soon Joel comes up to the bed and you see a phone in his hand. He reaches to your face and you flinch, “Shhh, sweetheart, it’s gonna be over soon. Just wanna take a few photos, for the memories,” he mocks you with a smirk trying to fix your messy hair and wiping your face with his sleeve.

“Give me, I’ll do it,” Tommy appears from behind Joel taking the phone from his brother. He directs the camera at your face and commands, “Smile, princess, show us how happy you’re that we’re leaving.”

You smile weakly and he takes a few photos of you splayed on the bed, marks covering your skin. He makes you open your legs and takes a photo of your pussy leaking out their spend on your marital bed. Then he’s checking the photos and mumbles talking to you ,

“You’re a great fuck, princess. Can’t believe your asshole of a husband gets to have you whenever he wants…he’ll have a hard time filling your pussy after we stretched you that good,” he laughs and adds, “we might come back for more one day.” He says it in a seemingly benign manner looking into your eyes but you see a threat rooted in his words. “Keep your little mouth shut and forget our faces or these pictures of you will be everywhere. Surely your hubby will have to say bye-bye to his political career. You got me?” His gaze is serious and intent and you nod hastily.

Your heart is beating fast when you see Tommy take black bags from Joel. Will they keep their promise and leave you alive?

“Take care, princess,” you hear Tommy’s voice as he puts his balaclava back on and walks out of the door. Joel doesn’t say anything. With his face already covered he heads to the door, stops right outside and turns his head to you. He brings his gloved finger to his lips in a silent sign, and then leaves as quietly as he came.

Thank you for reading!

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!❤️

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #deaddovedecember2023 #joel miller x you #tommy miller x you #pedro pascal #dark joel miller #dark tommy miller #pedro pascal characters #joel miller #the last of us #tw noncon #tw dead dove #cw noncon #non con #dark fic

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corazondebeskar-reads · 4 months

Text

the art of breaking (dark!joel miller x f!reader; dead dove do not eat)

very dark!Joel Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 10k

Summary: Your meeting is happenstance, but everything that follows? Well, that’s all Joel. He just knows you’re going to be his perfect little toy. He just has to show you how.

written for the #deaddovedecember2023 event hosted by @romana-after-dark | also on ao3 | dedicating this to @kewwrites, who is a master and icon of unsettling-but-still-romantic dark fic & whose incredible vibes made me feel brave enough to write this. love you ty 🖤

dividers by @saradika-graphics

NOTE: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT.

Seriously, I am saying this as clearly as I can: read the warnings carefully. If anything listed is something you don’t want to read, don’t. The working title for this was “the darkest joel” for a reason (and I actually tamed it down/cut out some of the intense scenes). It’s modern-day/no outbreak, but Joel still lost Sarah and went off the deep end. He was probably a good dom at some point, but now he’s just fucked up.

If you're worried it'll be too dark, it probably will be.

Warnings under the cut:

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, non-con, dub-con, very dark!Joel, BAD bdsm etiquette, not SSC/RACK compliant, sadist!Joel x masochist!reader, coercion, corruption, manipulation, isolation, gaslighting, captivity, sadism, masochism, pain play, extreme punishment, semi-permanent damage (a bone is broken, I’m not fucking around), whipping, spanking, face slapping, tit slapping, impact play in general, mentions of vomit (no description), oral, anal, vaginal, degradation, humiliation, overstimulation, edging, denial, dacryphilia, bastinado (mentioned), restraints, very brief knifeplay, tiny drop of blood play, Joel sees reader as property, inadequate aftercare

Again, I cannot say this enough. This is a dark fantasy and should not be taken as representative of a good d/s relationship—it’s abuse masquerading. Just because I wrote it doesn’t mean I’m condoning it.

Please read responsibly.

I. in media res

-the fracture

There’s one comfort Joel almost never denies you.

Well, never denies himself.

Unless you’ve been real bad, you always take your place in bed with him at the end of the day. You think it’s so he has easy access to you if he wakes up horny, but honestly, that happens a lot less than expected. He works hard all day; he needs his sleep.

No, he likes the comfort of your warm body next to his. The way you curl up and press kisses to him, no matter how bad he hurt you during the day. His sweet little pet, desperate for every bit of his affection you can earn. He’s always gentle with you here.

It’s part of what makes The Pit so effective.

It fucks with your brain on so many levels, exposes you to so many fears, and then you have to reconcile that you were bad enough for Joel to deny himself the comfort of you in his arms at night. That you’re so undeserving of his love.

Of all of the ways he punishes you, this will be the worst. You can take the humiliation, the pain—not easily, but you can, and there’s usually immediate care after.

But a night in The Pit will tear you down completely.

You hadn’t known what to expect when he said you’d have to spend the night alone, but it wasn’t this.

“No, please,” you scream, stumbling to keep up as Joel pulls you by your hair.

“Shut up,” he snarls.

The soil is loose, clinging to your sweat as you try to right yourself. It’s a futile effort. When you reach The Pit, he holds you down with his boot on your chest while he unlocks and opens the bars.

“Get in,” he says.

You’re sobbing and shaking, skin already gone cold. Somehow, you manage to obey.

The Pit is exactly what it sounds like. It has an open wooden frame with mesh on the side walls to keep the dirt in place. The bottom is bare soil. Mounted to the top of the beams is a grate of bars that sit flush with the ground.

It’s big enough for you to curl up at the bottom—which is what you do now.

“I’m sorry,” you cry.

He shuts and locks the gate.

II. from the start

-intact

It was kismet, really, that he was there that night. He didn’t usually go out for drinks with the guys, not wanting to be the boss who was always cramping their style. But Tommy had dragged him out tonight, and so he was witness (with the rest of the pub) to your relationship falling apart.

And okay, maybe he went outside for a smoke after you moved the fight to the alley so he could eavesdrop. But it wasn’t his fault. How could he not?

You had said, “Maybe you’re just not man enough for me,” to the brawny but pathetic prick across from you in the booth. “Wanting you to be rough doesn’t make me a freak.”

“That’s not rough; that’s fuckin’ abuse. You’re sick,” your boyfriend had practically shouted.

The discussion evolved into a screaming match in the alley, where Joel had been pleased to be right. It was about more than just a little rough sex or spanking.

At the end of it, your boyfriend stormed off, and you went back in the pub. Joel found you at the bar, throwing back another shot and wiping your tears away.

“You did good back there,” he says.

You startle and look at the stranger. The very handsome stranger. Rugged, with a salt and pepper beard and a scar across his nose.

“What do you mean?”

“Standin’ up for yourself. Not a lot of people woulda been confident enough. ‘Specially not a girl lookin’ for that.”

You glare at the bar counter. “M’not a weirdo.”

“Nah, you’re not. Shit like that is perfectly normal. He’s just pathetic.”

You look back up at him, and he sticks one hand in his pocket, trying to adjust himself discreetly. The tear streaks on your cheeks are getting to him.

“I don’t know. He’s probably right. It’s not your garden variety shit,” you say. The tequila and his gentle eyes have loosened your tongue.

“I doubt that. Try me,” he says.

“What?”

“Try me. Tell me what he freaked out over, and I’ll tell ya if it’s weird. Trust me, I’ve seen it all.”

You hesitate, but he looks genuine and kind. “I asked him to hit me. Like, in the face. And to, y’know, pin me down and—” you trail off.

“And make ya take it?” he guesses.

You nod. “He thought I like, I dunno, actually wanted to be raped,” you whisper the last word, eyes darting to the people around you.

Joel laughs. “Honey, that’s so normal, you wouldn’t believe. I’ve helped ladies out with that little roleplay more times than I can count. If that’s your deepest, darkest fantasy, and he couldn’t take it, then you’re better off without him.”

“It’s not,” you mumble.

“Speak up, honey.”

“It’s not my deepest, darkest fantasy. It’s probably one of the least of them.”

He grins. “Then you’re definitely better off. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with likin’ things on the darker side, sweetheart.”

You’re feeling hot all over and are about to ask him more when your phone rings. It’s your idiot boyfriend, who’s realized you have the car keys.

“I better go. Thank you,” you say, standing and offering him your hand.

He gives it a firm shake, tipping his head. “I’m Joel. And if you’re ever so inclined, I’d like to take you out sometime.”

You laugh. “Let me break up with my boyfriend first, Joel.” But you dig a pen out of your purse and write your number on one of the tiny bar napkins.

Your first date was so normal. You’re not sure what you expected. To jump right to hardcore sex?

But no, he turns up at your door in a neatly pressed green button-up, black slacks, and an ostentatious belt buckle. He greets you with a kiss on the cheek and a bouquet of wildflowers, lavender stalks nestled between pink honeysuckle and red salvia. Not a traditional arrangement, but it reminds you of a summer sunset.

“From my garden,” he says a little sheepishly, but you like them a lot better than some generic store display. You tell him as much and his cheeks flush a little.

You return the kiss and pop the flowers in a vase of water before he sweeps you off in his pickup. You aren’t surprised, really, but it’s more charming than some of the other men and their gaudy trucks.

Joel’s is older but well-kept, with minimal rusting around the wheel wells. The bed is open, and you can see streaks of grease and paint spills. A silver tool chest is mounted against the back of the cab. Everything inside and out has a light coating of sawdust.

He isn’t some insecure man with a truck big enough to make up for what isn’t in his britches, that’s for certain. You’d hazard a guess that the corded muscle of his forearms and the breadth of his shoulders are well-earned.

He holds the door open for you, which you tease him for as you slide onto the truck’s bench seat.

“Ain’t doin’ it ‘cause you’re incapable,” he drawls. “Or because you’re a lady,” he adds when he sees the glint in your eye.

“Oh yeah, cowboy?”

His grin is lopsided, a little dark. “Nah. I just think you deserve to be taken care of, s’all.”

You flush, the back of your neck burning, but you don’t fight the smile that threatens to break out. “Thank you, Joel.”

He shakes his head. He’s pretty sure, now, that if he plays his cards right, he’s found somethin’ special.

He waits three whole dates to take you to bed, and even then, it doesn’t start dirty.

“Let me get to know your body first, baby,” he urges when you ask him to fuck you rough. Instead, he takes you apart piece by piece. First with his tongue, and then his fingers. He brings you to the edge over and over, but never lets you fall.

After a while, you’re a broken record, pleas and sobs spilling from you.

“That’s music to my ears, darlin’,” he says, pulling his fingers out abruptly to see how your cunt throbs for him. He spits on your clit and watches it drip down to join the mess between your thighs.

“Please, please, Joel,” you beg.

“Please who now?”

“Please, sir,” you try, and are rewarded with his sharp grin. But not with an orgasm.

He slaps your cunt. “That’s more like it, baby. You remember who you’re talkin’ to, alright?”

You nod. “Yes, sir; thank you, sir.”

He shakes his head, sucking on your clit for a moment before pulling back to get a good look at you. “You do like a little pain, huh?”

“Would like more,” you say.

“Oh yeah? What would you let me do to you?”

“Anything, please, sir.”

He clicks his tongue at you. “Don’t go sayin’ that to someone you barely know. It’s okay to mean it when you trust somebody, but you’re gonna end up in more trouble than you bargain for if you pass that out like candy.”

“I do mean it.”

“Yeah? You’ll let me do this?” His open palm smacks across your face, leaving a sting tingling on your cheek and a lightness to your brain.

Tears spring to your eyes, but you nod frantically.

“What about this?” he grabs a nipple in his calloused fingers and yanks, twisting.

You yelp, but it trails off to a moan, and you nod.

“Goddamn, baby. S’good. But what about this?” He flicks open the switchblade he keeps in his pocket.

You jerk and whine, eyes wide and wet as he brings it to your breast. Your breathing falls shallow as you try to hold still, the point scraping the delicate skin as he circles it. But the look you’re giving him almost has him cumming in his pants like he were twenty years younger.

“Fuck, you weren’t kidding. I mean, you’ve gotta have limits; everyone does. But you just want me to hurt you, huh?” He digs the tip of the blade in a little on the side of your breast, cock throbbing as you gasp, and you both watch a tiny drop of blood bead and trickle down the blade.

He puts it away. “No,” he says when you whimper. “Not today. I ain’t prepared for all that.”

Joel doesn’t like to break his toys. Not permanently. Just enough that he can put them back together how he likes and then do it all over again.

“Don’t need to be prepared; just do it,” you whine.

He slaps you again and wrenches your head up with a hand in your hair. “First of all, I fuckin’ told you no. Second, I know you want to be a stupid little cunt for me, but I’m not about to cut you open without any goddamn first aid shit.”

He leans back and smacks the breast he had cut. He hits you over and over, alternating sides, until your chest burns, and you’re sobbing.

He looks you over briefly and then shoves his hand between your thighs. “You’re wetter than a slip ‘n slide, baby.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” you whisper.

“I know,” he says, and wipes the tears from your cheek with his thumb. He feels your cunt twitch when he brings his thumb to his mouth and sucks it clean.

It’s the last straw for him. He’s not opened you enough, but he has a feeling you’ll like it better this way anyway.

You cry out, back arching when he shoves into you. He meant to go slow, he really did, if only to drag out the anticipation. But you’re so warm. So wet. So he just stuffs himself inside.

It’s not that he doesn’t believe you love the pain; it’s just that he can’t resist feeling the evidence for himself. He slaps you across the face while you’re still processing his cock, and the resulting clench and jerk of your body drag a moan from him.

He holds back, regulates his urge to pull each whimper and scream from you, but it’s still so fucking good. It’s been a long time since he’s doled out real cruelty to a slut like you who loves to suffer.

When he finally lets you cum, it’s when he’s about to. He pulls out and spanks your cunt, granting his permission. As your pussy flutters desperately around nothing, he cums on it, watching the way it gets prettier as he paints it.

You black out for a minute. When you come to, he’s wiping you down gently with a warm washcloth, wicking the sweat off your face and chest before cleaning his cum from your curls. You whimper, and he grins, leaning over to steal a kiss.

Even after that first night, he goes slow. He can’t scare ya, not while you still have someplace to run. Plus, it’s so much easier if he starts planting the seeds for your training now.

He knows you’ll beg for it, anyway. He’s been getting the nastiest text messages from you. Part of it is the dopamine; he’s not stupid. But part of you really wants this shit. And the rest? Well. You’ll get there.

It’s the little things. He orders you a black decaf at the drive-thru when you ask for a latte. You start to correct him, like you think he’s made a mistake, but he gives you a look, and you shut your mouth immediately.

When he pulls away from the speaker, you look over at him again. “Sorry,” you mumble.

“Sorry…?”

You squirm a little, heart pounding, unsure if he’s really doing this at the Dunkin’ Donuts. “Sorry, sir.”

He smiles and rubs his hand on your thigh where it peeks out from your skirt. “Thanks, baby.”

And that’s all it takes. You take the cup when he hands it to you and you’re quick to say, “Thank you, sir,” even though the kid at the window is still passing things through to Joel and can clearly hear you.

-fissured

It goes on like that for a couple of months, but it doesn’t all go so smoothly. One night, he picks you up from work and takes you to a restaurant, saying he wants to treat you. Halfway through the meal, he asks for your panties.

“What?” you say, shocked at his vulgar language in the dining room.

“Take ‘em off and hand ‘em to me.”

You go to stand, probably thinking you can go to the bathroom to obey.

He shakes his head, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “Right here, right now, baby.”

“Joel,” you hiss, sitting back down, “I can’t do that.”

He fixes you with a calm smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, raising one finger in the air. “I’ll give ya three choices. The first one, the one I’m going to advise you pick, is that you do it right now, and I’ll only punish ya for talkin’ back.”

“The second one,” he holds up another finger for emphasis, “is you can go to the bathroom to take ‘em off, but you’re gonna pay for it when we get home. The third one is where you don’t listen, we leave right now, and you learn to fuckin’ regret it.”

Your breathing is shallow, and your pretty eyes are shining. If he wasn’t fully hard before, he is now.

“I-I can’t,” you whimper. “Please, sir.”

“You got about thirty seconds to make up your mind.” The softness is gone—from his voice, from his face, from the set of his shoulders.

“Fuck,” you whisper, and you stand up. You’re only in the bathroom for a minute, and when you sit back down, you try to hand them to him under the table.

“Nah, that was only a choice if you were good,” he says, smirking and laying his expectant hand on the white linens.

Mortified, you ball them up tight in your fist and press them into his hand. He slides them into his pants pocket.

He doesn’t say anything else about it for the rest of dinner, asking instead about your projects at work and your visit with your parents over the holidays. You feel sick, barely eating a thing, and biting your lip to stave off the tears.

As soon as you’re in the truck, you start to cry. “I’m sorry, I was just scared and—”

“Shut up. You made your choice. You’re not sorry. You’re just afraid of the consequences.”

“N-no, I am sorry, I mean it.”

“You’re gonna have to prove it.” He doesn’t look at you on the drive home, doesn’t speak again. Doesn’t even turn the radio on; just listens to you sniffle.

When he parks, he sets his hand on your thigh. “Don’t worry, baby. I know you can be my good girl. All you gotta do is take your punishment and learn from it, okay?”

You sniffle again and nod, blinking through tear-laden lashes at him.

“So pretty when you cry for me,” he murmurs. He gets out and comes around to open your door, offering a hand to help you step down from the tall truck. You take it, and he holds on, leading you inside his house.

He sits sprawled on the couch, thighs parted wide to make room and waits until you’re comfortably kneeling between his legs. You’re sat in silence, head bowed, arms folded behind your back.

“Tell me what you did wrong today.”

This is a first, but not a last. Even on days when nothing egregious has happened, you will follow this ritual. He’ll ask for your sins, and you’ll confess. There will always be something you’ll owe him for.

“I argued when you gave me orders. I was disobedient.”

“Anything else I need to know about, baby?”

“No, sir.”

“Why’d you argue?”

“I was afraid. I’m sorry.”

“Save your grovelin’ for after, baby. Why were you afraid?”

“I didn’t want people to see. I didn’t want to get kicked out or arrested.”

“You think I’d let anything happen to you? You think I would have given you an order that put either of us at any kinda risk?”

Your face burns. “I—”

“I thought you trusted me.” He sounds hurt, and you’re a little nauseous when you look up to see his eyes wide and sad, lips turned into a wounded scowl.

Your shoulders slump. “I didn’t think. I panicked.”

“Hmm. Okay, I can work with that.”

You look up at him, brow scrunched and lips pouting as you try to parse his words.

He smiles. It’s cold, and his eyes are steel.

You swallow hard, and his grin widens, quirking into a smirk.

“Alright, baby. I got just the thing.”

He leads you into the ensuite. You kneel on the little rug by the tub while he fills it. You’re too afraid to ask what’s happening, so you just sit quietly. He leaves the room and doesn’t come back until the tub is nearly full, and you’re starting to worry that you were supposed to be monitoring it.

He comes back in, and once it’s nearing the lip of the tub, he turns off the faucet. He has you kneel on the top of the three steps leading up to the edge. It’s the most luxurious thing in this house, and you suspect he installed it custom so he could soak his aching muscles.

He bends you over the edge so you’re leaning close to the water and crouches down behind you. It’s a pleasant surprise when he spreads you wide and licks from your clit to your asshole.

He stays there for a few minutes, indulging in your wet cunt and the cries it draws from your lips. After he’s had his fill, he stands up and lubes up his cock before pushing his way into your ass. He’s generous with the lube but rarely preps you, since you both like it better when it hurts.

You’re writhing a little beneath him, wriggling your hips to try to ease the passage. Once he’s fully seated inside you, he grabs the back of your head and shoves it under the water before fucking hard into you.

You thrash, displacing water from the tub, until he yanks you back up.

You gasp for air and scrabble to get a grip on the wet tile, but he pushes you back down and groans at how tight you get while you’re struggling.

He pulls you roughly back up. “Gonna keep going until you stop makin’ a fuss.”

You go to protest, to panic, and he pushes you back down.

The next time he pulls you out, he spanks you until your skin is burning. “Fuckin’ trust me. You think I’m gonna let you drown?”

“No, sir,” you cry, but it’s garbled as he pushes you back down. You’re still fighting him each time.

He pulls you back out and repeats the beating. “Relax, or we’re gonna be here all night.”

He continues the process a few more times and then gives you a reprieve, letting go of your hair so you can rest your cheek against the cold edge of the tub while he pounds into you. He reaches and rubs featherlight circles around your clit until you’re softly moaning.

“You gonna trust me?”

“I’m trying, my body panics,” you pant.

“I’m not gonna let anything happen to ya. You hear me? You know you’re panicking, so focus on me instead.”

“Yes, sir.”

It shouldn’t make sense, but you think he’s long warped your brain anyway. The next time he pushes you underwater, you clench your fists tight and focus on what oxygen you do have, even if he knocks a little out with each thrust.

His hand in your hair is your anchor and buoy. You tense when you feel your body start to jerk, trying so hard to control it.

He pulls you up. “Just like that, baby. Again.”

It gets just a little easier each time. He leaves you under longer, until your lungs are burning, and you’re on the edge of gasping in water, but he pulls you out in time.

“Fuck, you’re doing so well.” He’s a little fascinated. He hadn’t really been sure it could be done or if your survival instincts would go into a frenzy. But here you are, letting him almost fucking drown you.

Not that he would.

Despite being balls deep in your tight little asshole, he isn’t trying to reach his orgasm. Not yet, staving off his pleasure so he can keep a clear head.

He keeps it up just a little longer. You’re getting tired and tolerating less and less time underwater. The last time he pulls you up, he pinches your clit and tells you to cum while he fills you.

He dunks you again while you cum, and you clamp down on him tighter than you have before, convulsing on his cock. When he pulls you back up, you’re gasping and sobbing. He pulls out and wraps you in a towel, easing you to the wet floor while he cleans up.

When he comes back to you, he helps you stand and dry off, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“So?”

Your brow furrows. It’s not what he usually asks after a punishment, but you think you know what he means. “I’m sorry. I trust you, I promise.”

“I know. M’so proud of you for taking that. You’re turning out so nicely, sweet thing.”

In the morning, you’re almost late to work after sucking him off when you should have been getting dressed. He’s about to walk out the door to head to the site when he hears your frustrated voice from the bedroom.

“Joel, where are my underwear? I need to fuckin’ leave.”

“I told you, baby. There was a price to pay when you picked the bathroom. Y’ain’t wearing ‘em anymore.”

“What?”

He doesn’t need to see you to smirk at the shocked expression he knows is on your face. “We’ll talk about it more tonight; I gotta run.”

-avulsed

“Y’know, baby,” Joel says, leaning forward to rub your shoulder. “They just don’t fuckin’ appreciate you.”

You’re bent over, elbows on your knees, crying with your face buried in your hands. You sit up and sniffle, wiping the tears. “It’s fine; it’s not like I need to be coddled at work.”

All the stress of the PR world is getting to you, and you hate it, you fucking hate it, but you dropped 50k on a degree, so now you’re stuck.

“But they make you work all this overtime, cut your team in half, and then berate you when you can’t meet the client’s deadline? You do not deserve that, baby.”

You let him coax you into his lap, facing him so you can bury your face in his soft, worn tee. He rubs your back and holds your head to his chest.

“You’re too good to me,” you mumble.

“Nah, darlin’, I’ve told ya a thousand times. You deserve to be taken care of.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “I, well. I was thinkin’...”

You wait, but when he doesn’t pick back up, you sit up and look at him.

“I dunno. It’s nothin’,” he says.

“Please tell me?”

“Alright, fine. Now, I don’t want ya to feel any pressure. It’s just a thought. But maybe you should just quit and stay with me a while, ‘till you can find something better?”

You can’t tell if he’s joking. He must see something on your face, because he tips your chin up so you’re looking into his eyes.

“I know it’s sudden, but I mean it. Let me take care of ya while you figure shit out. We don’t gotta treat it like living together if y’ain’t ready. But I’d be open to that conversation, too.”

It doesn’t take much more than that. The first couple weeks, he lets you give it a try—searching for new degree programs, applying for jobs you know you’re overqualified for just to try something different.

After nothing pans out, he suggests you both take a week off. Him from work and you from the burden of trying to escape unemployment. Just relax, like a little staycation.

It’s bliss. You go on dates, eat pizza and marathon the “Jurassic Park” movies, and fuck like crazy.

On the third night, he sits you down. On his cock, of course. While you’re bouncing and brainless, he cups your cheek. “Baby, you’ve been too damn stressed still. What if we… well, what if we tried out a day or two like we’ve been talking about?”

Sometimes, you whisper to him in the darkness, usually while he’s balls deep, how you wish you could be his all the time. His good girl. His pet. And he whispers back, lures you right in with promises of taking care of everything, of you not having a worry or care in the world. Just him.

Now, he fondles your tits while he murmurs to you. “We can just wake up together, and I can take care of ya. Everything you need, baby. All you’d have to do is be good for me, yeah?”

You moan and grind down harder on his cock. “Please, sir. I want it more than anything. Just to be yours.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

Joel had no patience for brats, so he usually broke his toys in sooner into the training process. He liked ‘em nice and obedient—scared, if that’s what it took, but devoted. But you had been from the start—you wanted to be good in all the ways you could never seem to be to other people. Your family, your job, the world seemed to just demand more and more.

Joel was the first person to make you feel like you had actually, really, truly pleased him. There wasn’t a higher mark you should have made. There wasn’t any expectation for you to give more and more.

His orders were complete, always. You learned that very quickly. Attempts to go above and beyond were rebuked.

“If I wanted that, I woulda said so,” he told you. And like everything else, you committed his words to memory.

It helped that he gave praise freely. You didn’t have to wonder if he was satisfied, if you should have licked him differently, if you should have made prettier faces while you came. He reassured you until you believed him, and then kept going anyway.

It made it easier for him to slowly peel you away from the ungrateful world.

“You don’t have to take that,” he’d say after watching your face fall further and further while on the phone with your mom. “Family ain’t supposed to make you feel like shit.”

They made it too easy, really, and your relationship with them would have likely just fizzled out. But in the end, he had to step in and snap it off.

You asked him to come with you to dinner at their house. He was hesitant. He wasn’t really the boyfriend type. He wasn’t really even your boyfriend. That was too weird a word for either of you, not when he owned you.

But he knows you didn’t want to go alone, and he has a feeling he’ll be cleaning up the mess anyway.

You want to give them a chance. Things have been so tense, and they said they missed you. But they didn’t even make it through the entrée without ridiculing you.

When your father asks how work is going, you quietly confess to quitting, hastily reassuring them that you are looking for a new position. Though, and you keep this part to yourself, you maybe haven’t been trying that hard.

“What do you mean you quit? How are you paying your bills? You better not have come here to ask for money,” your father says, setting down his fork to glare at you.

“Well, I’ve been living with Joel,” you mumble to the tablecloth.

“I didn’t raise you to be a gold digger,” your mother chides.

Joel tries to bite his tongue and let them dig their own graves. But your father calls you a “fucking whore,” and he can’t stand it. Can’t stand the way you’re cowering in your chair, fighting back tears.

“You watch your mouth,” Joel snaps at your father.

You look up, mouth agape, eyes darting from Joel to your parents.

“Mind your business,” your dad tells him.

Joel stands up and throws his napkin on the table. “She is my fuckin’ business. I wouldn’t stand by and let anyone talk to her like that. You’re not an exception just because you managed to get it up long enough to cum in your wife.”

“Joel,” you whisper, tugging at his sleeve. You’re burning, melting on the spot, from the vulgar way he’s talking to them. For him, someone who’s always strict about manners and proper hospitality, to talk back like this? God, you think, he must really love you.

He puts a hand on the back of your neck and holds firmly as you lean into it. He rounds back on your parents. “You treat her like fuckin’ dirt beneath your feet, and I’m tired of it. You don’t deserve the fuckin’ dirt beneath her feet.”

He shoves his chair back and grabs your hand. “C’mon, baby; we’re leaving.”

You take it and stand up, letting him pull you along. Your father follows you into the foyer, and you try not to look at him while you shove your shoes on.

Joel holds your coat out while you slip into it, and you tune out whatever your dad is yelling now. You don’t want to hear it; you know it’s nasty, and your whole world has narrowed to Joel anyway.

He holds out the key. “Go wait in the truck, baby.”

And you do.

He comes out about five minutes later, red-faced and huffing with fury. He doesn’t say a word when he gets in; just throws the truck into reverse and pulls away. You both ignore the blood on his knuckles.

Once you’re on the road, he looks over at you and sighs. “C’mere, sweetheart.”

You unbuckle and slide over to the middle seat, tucking your hand between his warm body to curl around his arm. “I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“Whaddya sorry for? None of that was your fault.” He kisses the top of your head and cups your cheek at the stoplight. “It was gonna happen eventually, anyway.”

“Thank you.”

The rest of the ride home is silent while you breathe in his comforting musk and try to relax. But the tension is unrelenting, the horrible rotting feeling eating away at your spine.

He knows. Knows what you need, knows what he can do to seal this moment forever. He waits until he’s unzipping the pretty little cocktail dress you’d stressed over.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” he murmurs, breaking away from where he was sucking his claim down your neck to swap out your delicate necklace with his collar.

He unhooks the bra and kisses the marks he left behind with the cane, your penance for being allowed to wear it. It leaves you bare to him, and his hands turn greedy. He presses biting kisses against your lips while digging fingers into your bruises, swallowing your whimpers.

He grabs you by the neck and squeezes the sides of your throat, holding you to him while your vision blurs. When he lets go, you stumble, but his arm around your back holds you upright. He slaps your face with quick, sharp blows in rapid succession to keep you unsteady.

“Knees, hands behind your head,” he says, and lets go.

You fall but are quick to right yourself and take the position. He wastes no time, giving you another harsh smack before grabbing your hair and shoving his cock into your throat.

You choke and gag but keep your hands in place even as your head spins. You feel limp and grateful that he doesn’t seem to require any effort from you as he uses you without mercy.

“Look at you. You’ve got my whole cock down your throat. You’re so fuckin’ good for me.”

Your eyes are already glazed over, and you moan your appreciation around him.

He pulls out and hauls you to your feet. “I know what you need, sweetheart. Get your ass downstairs.”

He fucks you, beats you, uses you wherever he wants. But the basement is where he keeps the heavy equipment and where you know you’re about to have your mind and body pushed to the absolute limit.

You’re ready, he thinks, when he gets down and finds you waiting perfectly in place for him, eyes wide like he’s descended from on high. He jerks a thumb to the wooden post, and you meet him there.

“Forget about what they want you to be,” he murmurs as he closes the steel cuffs around your ankles. “You know what you want, baby. Right?”

“Mhm,” you nod, already slipping away into that safe place only Joel can get you to.

“What do you want to be?” he asks, binding your arms up over your head to the eye bolt at the top of the post.

“Yours.” It’s half-whisper, half-whine.

“Yeah? You just wanna be mine? You don’t want to get a new job?”

“No,” you finally confess. “But—”

“But what, baby? If you say somethin’ about money or bills, I’m gonna be mighty unhappy.”

You bite your lip. “I’m scared one day, you’ll wake up and not want me anymore.”

“That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said, sweetheart. You think I put all this work into helpin’ you, into teaching you how to be mine, just to toss ya out? You’re hurtin’ my feelings.”

“I’m sorry,” you say automatically.

He slides a silicone cock into the bracket lined right up with your mouth. It’s a fairly standard size, since he knows you’re going to thrash around and doesn’t want you gagging too much and throwing up.

Your torso gets tied to the post by your tits, the wood nestled between them and rope woven around. Securing you there forces your head onto the toy, but he doesn’t make you take it all the way. You keep your mouth open and don’t move closer or further, waiting for his command.

“Suck on it whenever you’d like. You’re going to need it.”

Your eyes roll back a little at his promise. If he thinks you’re going to need something in your mouth to self-soothe, you’re in for an absolutely amazing time.

“Focus on me. That’s all you’ll need to do from now on, baby. No more worries in that pretty little head, okay?”

The first strike is a warm-up. When you feel the lash of his favorite whip lick your ass, you moan. It’s a moderately short signal whip that he wields like a fucking pro. His warmups are quick but thorough, and you’re squirming when he moves on to your thighs and shoulders.

“Already?” he says, laughing when you whine around the silicone cock.

You’re absentmindedly sucking on it when he starts a harsher assault. A particularly sharp strike stings at the valley where your ass meets your thighs, and you yelp, jerking a little and gagging yourself on the dildo.

His smirk burns into your back as the cry melts into a moan, and you writhe a little, trying to get friction where you need it most. What you get, though, is the tip of the whip against your cunt.

By the time he moves around to your tits, they’re covered in spit, heaving with the effort of holding back your orgasm. He comes up to you first, and pinches at your nipples.

“Aw, does my dumb little cunt want to cum?” He croons, tugging and twisting until you moan. He laughs when all you can get out is a muffled “mhm.”

“Tell ya what. You can cum all you want while I hurt you tonight, okay?”

He punctuates it with a particularly cruel pinch, and that, combined with his permission, is all you need to let the pleasure shudder through you.

“Yeah? You gonna get off to being my little toy? Gonna let me do whatever I want?”

You moan around the fake cock, easing it further into your throat.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He doesn’t give a warm-up on your tits, figuring you’re already so far gone it doesn’t fuckin’ matter.

He’s right. The first lash is harsh, a welt blooming across the top of your breast in its wake, but you groan, trying to press your cunt up against the post for any relief.

You don’t need it, though. He brings you to your peak again with the skilled flick of his wrist, landing blows across the fat of your breasts. He waits until you’re mid-orgasm to bring the whip hard across your nipples.

The resulting wail almost makes him cum in his pants. He does it only twice more, relishing in your agony, but restraining himself from just letting loose. Not with the whip, as much as he’d like to. Maybe later with a flogger.

Once he’s taken it as far as he’s willing to risk, he moves back around to give the rest of you the same treatment. The hardest hits push you over the edge, and by the time his arm is getting tired, you’re sobbing and writhing in your restraints, overstimulated in every way.

He unlatches your ankles first, helping you find steady footing before untying your wrists and torso. You drop to your knees and open your mouth, throat aching for his cock after the tease of the toy.

He doesn’t have the willpower to torment you by denying it tonight. Instead, he nearly pops the button off his jeans in his urgency to pull his cock out and shove it as far down your throat as he can.

Your arms find their place behind your back, and you just take it. He fucks into you without restraint. It’s filthy, from the mess you’re making to the wet choking sounds he pushes out of you with each thrust.

You’re shaking, and he pulls out abruptly.

“I said while I’m hurting you. You don’t get to just cum from getting facefucked.”

“Then hurt me, please,” you sob. It’s right there; you’re so close.

He slaps you across the face and laughs as you cum, shoving back into your throat while you’re still riding out the aftershocks.

He pulls back out, and you whine until he yanks you up by the bicep and pushes you over to the padded bench, bending you over it and shoving into your sopping cunt.

“Still disappointed?” he teases.

“N-no,” you pant. “Please hurt me.”

“Beg me properly, greedy little cunt.”

You clench around him just at the words, but obey. “Please, sir, please hurt me so I can cum. Please.”

“I’ve been hurtin’ you all night, baby,” he says, voice thick with false pity. “Don’t you want me to be gentle with you now?” He can feel how hard you’re trying not to cum as he mocks you.

“No,” you sob. “No, love me, hurt me, please.”

It’s got an edge of desperation and heartbreak to it that he just loves.

He smacks your already bruising ass until you sob harder, shaking uncontrollably as you cum. He wraps his hands around your throat and fucks you through it until he cums, hips stuttering, and filling your cunt with his spend.

He lets himself collapse a little on top of you, pinning you with his weight against the bench with his softening cock still buried in you. “Feel loved now?”

You’re still crying, and when he folds his arms around your chest, elbows resting on the table, you cling to him. “Love you,” you murmur over and over, pressing kisses up and down his forearms.

He nuzzles his face into your neck, kissing and sucking at you. “I know, baby. You know I love ya.” He’s half-hard—not something that happens a lot anymore at his age, so he’s not gonna waste it. He pulls out just to manhandle you up onto the bench on your back, climbing up between your legs and shoving back in.

It’s a little sloppy until he’s fully hard again; your combined cream making things a little too slippery. Once he’s erect, though, he sets a punishing pace, folding you in half with your legs up by your ears. He works your clit with his hand, relishing in the way you’re fucking exhausted and overstimulated, but your poor clit’s been neglected. It means he can twist and pull on it, tugging until you give him more and more, until you’re sobbing for mercy that you know you’ll never get.

He doesn’t ease up until he pulls out to cum over your tits and face.

“Mine,” he snarls, shoving his fingers into your swollen cunt and feeding you what’s left of his first orgasm and your… well, he’s not really sure how many. A fuckin’ lot. “You’re all mine. Little fuckin’ toy to do whatever I want, right?”

You’re still gasping for breath, having been half-suffocated in that position, but when you look at him, it’s like he’s a fucking god. “Yes, sir.”

-broken

The day had started out fine.

He’d laid out a dress for you to wear. Sometimes, he made you go around bare for a while, just to fuck with your head a little, but he prefers to unwrap you like a present.

Plus, the sight of you crawling around in nothing but a slutty, barely-there dress is picture-fuckin’-perfect. He’d know; he’s got a bunch of ‘em on his phone.

And crawl, you do. You haven’t been allowed to walk further than a couple of feet in a long time. There’s penance to be paid if you can’t avoid it.

Joel collects your penance whenever possible, gathering what’s owed for your sins and dealing out forgiveness when it's settled. It’s how he shows his love.

And he does love you. How could he not? Such a perfect little toy. He’s spent so much time training you right to be his prized possession.

He knew it’d happen eventually, so when you commit one of the worst offenses, he has to make it count. You were testing your limits, of course; he had expected it. He had expected it months ago. It was worse now, after you’d been so good and earned so much trust. But now that you’d been nothing but his for two months, you had finally fucked up.

Your punishments were never painful. Okay, they weren’t pain-focused. Sometimes, he had to put you over his knee to let his frustration out before he could give you a proper punishment. But the pain wasn’t the point—you both liked it too damn much. No matter how much farther he took it than a regular session, and no matter how sick you were with guilt, you were always a soaking wet mess after a beating.

This time would have to be different, though.

It was time to finally break you.

He knew as soon as he got home. Not the particulars, but that you’d made a huge mistake.

On the surface, nothing was amiss. You were knelt by the door in your pretty little dress, a short number in navy blue. You had your head down and arms folded behind your back in perfect posture.

But something was off. It didn’t feel like you were happy he was home. And he was pretty sure there would only be one reason for that.

He hung up his keys but didn’t bother to take off his shoes, coming to stand in front of you. “What’d you do?”

You flinch and have to re-tense to hold the position as a sob escapes you. Your hands are balled into fists to fight the urge to cover your face. “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t ask if you were sorry. I asked what you did.”

If it were still the early days, when this shit usually happened, he might have been just a little softer. At least until he coaxed the confession from you, anyway. But you were in too deep, now, too entangled in this life that he had little patience for your reticence.

“I—”

“I recommend you spit it out. You’ll tell me in the end, anyway.”

You start to cry. “I can’t say it.”

“You better figure it out pretty fuckin’ fast, little girl.”

“I had an orgasm,” you blurt, whimpers escalating to sobs.

He pauses. It’s worse than he thought. The rush of disappointment and anger sends his heart racing, and his fingers flex in longing for a cane.

“Did you enjoy it?” he says.

It catches you off guard. “No, I promise.”

“That’s too bad, ‘cause it’s the last one you’re gonna have for a while.”

You aren’t surprised; you’re actually relieved. Of course, of course he’ll fix you.

He finally takes his shoes off and sets his phone on the counter, beckoning you to follow him to the living room. Taking his seat on the couch, he waits until you’re settled at his feet.

“Why’d you do that, baby?”

“I-I didn’t mean to. I was edging for the last time today, and I don’t know what happened. It was just there, and I knew it, I knew it was coming, and I—” You choke on the guilt, the grief.

“You what?”

“I don’t know. I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t convince myself to stop. I kept thinking ‘no, you stupid cunt,’ but I couldn’t pull my hand away.”

He regards you for a moment. He’s burning inside, but trying to calculate the most effective approach.

“Thank you for telling me right away,” he says, but even though he means it, the words are cold and clipped. “Which hand?”

You look at him, eyes wide and brows furrowed. “What?”

“Which hand did you use? Give it to me.”

You lift up your right hand, and he cradles it in his.

“Listen close.” He waits until he’s sure you’re focused on him, on his words.

This is where things have fallen apart in the past. No amount of training and manipulation can get someone across this hurdle; they have to mean it. The last thing he wants is someone running to the police because they don’t fucking understand how serious he is.

“This is going to be your last chance to back out. I will stop right now and let you pack your shit and leave. But if you stay, you’re agreeing to anything I do to you past this point.”

You bite your lip, stomach churning. “You’re scaring me,” you whisper.

“Good. You should be scared. What you’ve done is one of the worst things you could have. That’s got some serious consequences, baby.”

“What’re you going to do?”

“I gotta hurt you. Bad. Y’ain’t going to like this; I can promise you that. I can’t punish your cunt because you’re such a stupid pain slut; anything short of permanent damage is gonna make you wet. And I’m not lookin’ to do permanent damage.”

Your lip trembles, heart pounding. You’ve never been so afraid, but you’re also enthralled. Lured in by the timbre of his voice and the salvation it’s promising.

He squeezes your hand where he’s still holding onto you. “I’m going to break one of your fingers.”

Your heart falters, blood rushing. “Oh god,” you whisper, shaking your head. Instinctively, you tug back on your hand, but he grasps it tight, tight enough that you feel the bones grind under his large fingers.

“It’s up to you. That’s half the price for forgiveness. The rest is gonna be spending the night alone.”

Somehow, that sounds worse. You can’t breathe.

“Gotta choose, baby. You wanna go? I’ll pay for a cab. You can walk away, but you can’t ever come back.”

You think you might be drowning. Leave? How could you leave? There’s no debate in your head; you have nothing without Joel. Nowhere to go, no one to turn to. And the idea of losing him feels catastrophic.

You’re crying again, and you’re vaguely aware of his soothing voice trying to coach you through breathing. When you focus on him, just like he’s taught you, you start to calm down.

It’s Joel, you think. He’ll take care of you. And he said he didn’t want permanent damage. You just have to suffer for your betrayal and he’ll forgive you.

“I think I might throw up,” you warn him.

He sighs, the fear of losing you flooding away, taking some of his anger with it. “We’ll do it in the bathroom.”

He stands up, and you follow, albeit slowly, as the wave of nausea rises. You do throw up as soon as you get in the bathroom, thankfully making it to the toilet. He holds your hair and rubs his hand across your shoulder blades.

“It’s okay, baby, get it out of your system. You’re being so brave for me,” he croons. He helps you up to sit on the edge of the tub and gets you a little cup of mouthwash.

“I’ll help you brush your teeth after,” he promises. “I’d do it now, but, well. You’re probably going to puke again.”

When you’re done swishing the mouthwash, when it’s all turned to foam and you’ve spit it back in the cup, he swaps you for water. You rinse and spit that, too.

He’s laid a few things out on the counter. You feel dizzy all over again. Something tells you the comfort you feel is wrong, but he’s prepared an ice pack and medical tape, and has four little ibuprofen out next to another cup of water.

The other, louder part of you is whispering, see? He’ll take care of you. The act of wondering what’s wrong with you feels like a farce. You’re thinking it because you think you should, just going through the motions.

He takes off his belt and brings it to your mouth. You clench it between your teeth, letting a shaky breath through. His hand cups your cheek, and you lean into the warmth.

“I knew you were somethin’ special,” he whispers. You’re not sure he meant to.

Your whole body is shaking uncontrollably. He watches you for a moment, worried you’re going to faint, and then sits on the floor with his back against the tub, pulling you into his lap. He lays you back against his chest, caging you in with his arms and thighs. The ice pack sits to his right, already popped and frozen. Waiting.

Gently, he lifts your hand and brings it in front of your chest, taking it in his left. It’s a macabre mockery, the way he cradles it in his palm, fingers wrapped around the sides. In his right hand, he notches his thumb on the knuckle of your middle finger, bringing the other fingers in below it.

He doesn’t drag it out, doesn’t take pleasure in your terror. When he moves, it’s faster than a gunshot. Your scream is raw, breaking free from the spaces between your teeth and the belt. The taste of leather will remind you of this moment for the rest of your life.

He has the ice pack on it before you mentally register that it’s over. You’re sobbing. Horribly, he’s right, and you are sick again. He holds your hair in one fist, holding the ice pack to your mangled hand in the other.

When you’re done, he pulls you back against him, wrapping his limbs around you in a perverse embrace as you shake harder. With his free hand, he brings a damp, cool cloth to your face, cleaning you of the viscera of your sickness.

He’s shushing you, head bent close to your ear. “It’s alright, baby, it’s over. You did so good. I’m so proud. I love you so much.”

It’s good that he doesn’t expect an answer because he doesn’t get one. You’re too lost in the pain and shock.

When it’s time to take a break from the ice, he grabs the medical tape and wraps it around your index and middle fingers. You cry out again as he jostles the break. Once he’s splinted it, he lowers your hand gently to your lap so he can grab the medicine.

“I can’t; I’ll throw up again,” you say, voice cracking.

“Don’t have a choice, baby. Gotta keep the swelling down.”

He feeds you each pill, one by one, chasing them with sips of water.

You look so sad and precious that he almost feels bad. Unfortunately, he’s also rock fucking hard, so he shifts you a little to pull his dick out.

You don’t say anything when he lifts you to lower you on it. He’s careful, trying not to shake you around too much. He was right; you didn’t enjoy this pain. You’ve never been this dry for him before, and you whimper pathetically at the pinch and sting of his girth.

You may be worn out and in agony, but your cunt doesn’t get the message. He grins when he feels you getting wet and clenching around him. He doesn’t push it though, doesn’t torment you, just fucks up into you gently until he fills you.

You’re limp against him now, and he presses a kiss into your hair. “You may have to walk for a bit,” he muses. “But I’ll cap your penance at ten.”

You wince. Ten strokes with the cane on the soles of your feet every day until your finger heals? You usually only owe enough for two or three. It is a mercy, though, so you nod and thank him.

Joel can hardly contain the way his chest is flooding with warmth. You’re so close; he can feel it. So close to being completely his to put together just the way he likes.

He can’t wait to take you to The Pit.

-kintsugi

You’re cold. So cold. You’re curled in on yourself, tucked into a corner in the hopes that you’d be able to keep warmer. Your whole right hand throbs.

Moonlight only cuts across the corner, but it’s a comfort still. The soil is loose and you keep shuddering, feeling the tickle of a dozen phantom insects.

Worst of all, your chest aches, like he may as well have hewn you open. Dry sobs work their way free every now and then, leaving your mouth tacky and your throat full of cotton.

The only rest you get is when you blessedly pass out. Every time you close your eyes voluntarily, you see the heartbroken look on his face when you begged him not to leave you there.

“I wish I didn’t have to. I wish you hadn’t broken my trust and I could keep you close, baby. But you’re never going to learn how to be good if I don’t show ya.”

Bad, I’m bad, he doesn’t want me anymore, you think to no end.

When the sun starts to rise, you’re limp, still in your corner. You barely turn your head when a shadow falls over The Pit, but your heart starts to pound when the lock clicks, and Joel raises the gate.

“Oh, baby,” he says, soft and sorrowful. “C’mere.” He reaches out a hand, and you scramble to him, letting him take your left arm in his grasp and pull you out. You move immediately to your knees, body bent forward as your knotted muscles protest. He scoots his boot out of the danger zone near your broken finger.

You keep whispering, a broken record of “Sorry, please, I’m so sorry.”

He picks you up and holds you to his chest, shushing until you fall quiet. It doesn’t take longer than a few seconds as your brain desperately clings to any scrap, any way you can be good for him.

He brushes the loose dirt from you before going inside and upstairs to the ensuite. He sets you on the little rug next to the full garden tub, and he tests the water with his fingers before peeling his clothes off.

You flex your left hand, balling it in and out of a fist. You’ve never been particularly ambidextrous and wonder how you’re going to wash him without falling in or hurting your hand.

Before he gets in, he feeds you four more little red pills. Once he’s settled, he reaches out and guides you carefully by the waist, pulling you into his lap in the warm water.

That’s all it takes for you to start crying again. He doesn’t try to quiet you; just holds you there against his chest and lets you sob.

By the time you’ve calmed, the water has cooled, but instead of getting out, he just drains a little and runs more hot water.

Joel tips your chin up gently with the knuckle of his index finger. “You ready to be my good girl again?”

You nod, lip trembling.

Joel does nothing you hadn’t asked for. The trouble for you was that you asked for too much. Gave him too much. And it was far too late to get any of it back.

He gave what he could, though. Couldn’t replace what he’d taken, so he pours himself in the cracks, puts you back together with a firm hand and loving care. Sure, his love doesn’t look like what you’re used to, but he knows you see it for what it is.

“I know, baby. You took that all so well. Don’t worry,” he pauses to kiss you, “I forgive you. My perfect little toy.”

pls be nice, I'm so nervous about this.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic #dddne #tw noncon #non con #dark fic #tw abuse #seriously heed the warnings #don't like don't read #deaddovedecember2023

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auteurdelabre · 5 months

Text

Code Broken (Series) dark!Joel Miller x f!reader

rating: explicit, 18+ mdni

summary: "You broke into my house," Joel says moving his gaze from your eyes back down to your mouth as his wide hand grazes his belt buckle. "Moved my shit around. Least you could do is be polite."

You only wanted to pull a silly prank on your neighbor, Joel. Who could have seen it ending up like this?

[AU where Joel Miller ends up in Jackson City by himself.]

warnings/tags: Extremely dubious consent, oral sex [m receiving], rough oral sex, face-fucking, Come shot, Joel is bad at feelings, Mean Joel, Dirty Talk

word count: 6.9k

a/n: Y'all, this whole series is pretty depraved (from my perspective) and much darker than my normal stuff. I wanted it as a challenge and I had a lot of fun doing the series, there's 5 parts so I hope you enjoy it. Comments and the like really make my day. xx

masterlist

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Chapter 1: Go your Own Way

Joel Miller is the most serious man you've ever seen. The rigidity of his spine when he walks, the dark eyes always darting around in stormy irritation. People still greet him when he goes into the center of town, and he nods politely and makes small talk. But he never looks anything other than bothered.

He terrifies you.

You know his name only because of your friends in the small community of Jackson City. His brother is Tommy, a cheerful man married to Maria with a baby on the way. Tommy is the one that welcomed you into this settlement years ago, the one that settled you into the modest home you now live in on the end of Rancher Street. Larger homes buttress you on either side and yours is dwarfed in comparison but you don’t care. You still can’t believe you have your own house. Your own bed. Your own everything.

You watched the survivors come from all over the globe, watched as the community swelled in number and joy over the years. It was like a slice of heaven in and amongst a hellish landscape of the undead.

And then Joel Miller had entered and everything for you changed.

Tommy and Joel couldn't be more different. Tommy is sweet and polite and likes to ask after people to make sure they're okay. He’s stoic and his dark eyes light up when he laughs or makes a joke.

Joel keeps to himself. He doesn't talk to many people. He answers people with a serious tone in his drawl. He likes horses and he likes music, that's as much as you can tell about what he likes because he rarely does anything else.

When he'd moved into Jackson City he'd been given the home next to yours. Yours was a simple one bedroom, meant for singles, his was a spanning home with a garage. You rarely saw him outside unless he was headed for the stables or communal meals.

Sometimes on nights your window was open to let in the night breeze you heard him playing his guitar in his place. On rare occasions he sang, his voice rasping and mournful under the chords. It made your chest tight and your eyes prick with tears. It made you remember a youth you’d rather forget.

It was actually the music that had inspired your first attempt at an introduction.

You'd been out planting in your garden when you heard the front door to his place creak open. You walked casually over to the fence that separated your properties to see him sitting on the front stoop of his place, a pale blue coffee mug in one hand.

He was looking into the middle distance, his profile strong. You'd leaned on the fence, hoping to catch his attention. As a man always on alert he had, his dark eyes sliding over to you as you greeted him.

"You play really well," you told him enthusiastically, recalling the tune you heard him play late into the night the evening prior. "Was that Fleetwood Mac you were singing yesterday?"

Joel hadn't replied. In fact he'd given you the coldest look you'd ever received, stood up and gone back into his house. You'd stood there looking after him in shock for several moments until going back to your gardening.

When you'd told your friend Trish what happened that following Tuesday during your weekly "book club" (drinking poorly made wine and playing cards) she'd laughed in that annoying way of hers and told you to stop being so sensitive.

Trish told you that Joel Miller was rude to everyone. That the only reason people put up with it was because his brother was Tommy and because Joel himself was one of the few bachelors in the community. Then she’d gotten a soft look in her eyes and sighed that Joel was gorgeous in that sullen, quiet way that made older men mysterious. You hadn’t understood that, having never found poor humor and a bad attitude attractive.

You’d decided it had been a one-off. Maybe Joel was just tired that morning. You tried waving to him if you saw him in the street, one hand usually on the reigns of a horse tugging it gently behind him. He never returned the gesture.

It came to a head when you and Trish had been to a movie night in the square some months later, the summer heat always driving you indoors where it was cooler. They were playing an old science fiction feature and finding seats was near impossible. It was always like this when a popular film was showing. The popcorn lay in big tubs and patrons brought bowls to scoop the kernels into.

The children were hunched in front of the large white blanket that acted as a screen chatting animatedly. Your co-workers waved, observing how busy it was as you scanned the space, seeing an empty chair in the middle row near the back. Trish told you to grab it and that she'd search for another free one.

You'd been so intent on taking the chair that you didn't even realize who was seated next to you until you plopped down, brushing arms with the bare forearm next to you.

You noticed his jeans first, the way they seemed molded to his muscular thighs. Then his forearms, his plaid shirt rolled to the elbows and then finally up his neck to his profile, the full lips, the hawkish nose and the dark eyes that you could clearly see were trying to ignore your presence.

"Hello neighbor," you'd chirped trying not to sound as nervous as you felt. You'd watched as he glanced out the corner of his eyes at you, nodding briefly. Emboldened by this you motioned towards the large white sheet.

“You a big fan of Charlton Heston?”

He’d given a short nod, a grunt of a reply. This had felt like such progress to you and you relaxed a bit into the seat. You saw Trish heading your way with popcorn in hand and your knee bumped into Joel’s as you swivelled in your chair, angling your neck to see if there were any other free seats.

"Do you see any other empty seats? My friend Trish-"

He gave you one sharp look, scanning your body from top to bottom before rolling his eyes and jerking from his seat. Your face went bright red as he sidled past you just as Trish approached with popcorn.

"What was that?" Trish asked, looking after his frame quickly disappearing down the street. You'd shrugged, embarrassment overtaking you.

But the message was clear: Joel Miller can't stand you.

You suppose after that is when you decided on payback. Something innocent, really, silly in hindsight. Something that would irritate him on a daily basis.

The plan was to hide his guitar somewhere within his home. Specifically, in the back of his under his kitchen sink... then the bathtub ... then under his bed.

It's immature, especially at your age. But you'd missed out on so much life during those twenty years of running and hiding that this felt fun.

You could imagine him going insane trying to find it. Shouting angrily when he realized it was misplaced only to find it popping up in random places in his home.

It was an innocuous prank, borne out of boredom and humiliation. And if Joel caught on or accused you and brought you before the sheriff, what could they do? The guitar never left his house. How could it be stealing?

It had seemed like the perfect plan.

But now as you pull the black hooded jacket over dark jeans and look into the night sky this evening, you're wondering if this was really is the best idea.

You've gotten away with it twice before. Once to hide the guitar in his shower. Once under his kitchen sink.

You do this once a month on one of the evenings that everyone is at the movies. After your last experience with Joel, when you started to internally begin cataloguing his movements, you'd noticed that Joel attends every single one. His only habitual act that you can count on.

His visits with Tommy are regular but never scheduled, sometimes they go to the bar, sometimes at Joel's and you assume, sometimes at Tommy's. He's not a big joiner, not found during game nights at the canteen. He rides, that much you've seen and know. He likes to be around the animals.

There’s not much to do in the evenings in Jackson City, and that usually rests easily on the community. After so much violence it’s nice to have quiet, peaceful nights. But the movie nights provide popular and give you enough time to act, a good hour and a half minimum. You could push it to two hours but that seems foolish. It's a perfect time because it's where your neighbors are usually spending their time as well.

The first time you'd navigated from your roof to his, you'd been shocked at how easy it was. Your homes were close together and jumping onto his shingles was nothing more than a gentle leap in the darkness.

The window to his hallway was unlatched, just as yours was, just as most everyone's was. You lived on a glorified compound; no one felt the need to lock up the upper floor windows.

You'd squeezed in, falling gracelessly onto the wood floor. You'd worked quickly, finding the guitar beside the fireplace downstairs and gently placing it into Joel's shower half leaning against the tile.

Then you'd run back, closing the window after you, jumping back onto your roof and throwing yourself back into your bedroom with your heart in your throat. You hadn’t taken time to catch your breath before you'd rushed down your own steps and run to the movies, coming in the back to make it seem like you'd always been there, standing near the far corner with your heart racing, trying not to giggle.

When the lights flickered on and everyone rose to leave you made sure that Joel saw you, brushing past him intentionally. You had to have an alibi. He needed to see that you’d been here the whole night, just as he had.

"Excuse me," you'd said airily, not even put off by the silence of his reply when you ‘bumped’ into him.

The second time in his place you were finding an appropriate hiding spot for his guitar when you'd noticed other things about him. Like the detailed wood carvings that lined the mantle over the fireplace. The paintings of landscapes filled with animals hung around the sparsely decorated home.

You’d taken time to wander around the home, noticing the records, the other guitars hung on the wall. You’d seen the reading glasses on the coffee table in front of the sofa and the woodworking space in the garage. It had been thrilling seeing this interior life, knowing that the impenetrable Joel Miller wore reading glasses and carved wood figurines. There was something beautiful in those small pieces of him.

But tonight as you stand looking at yourself in your mirror you wonder if maybe that's enough. You've had your fun. You've tricked him twice; you've snooped in his home. That's enough.

That should be enough.

But you haven’t seen his bedroom yet. Something holds you back every single time you consider it. You’ve walked by that closed door twice, knowing that solving the mystery of Joel Miller could be even closer if you just walked over the threshold.

You’re broken from these thoughts when you hear his front door open. You creep to your bedroom window, hiding in the shadows to see his tall frame pulling his jacket on, locking his front door and heading to the center of town for the film. His boots crunch the leaves underfoot as he moves and when he turns the corner you know it's time to move.

You traverse across your roof silently, cloaked in the darkness of the night. The neighborhood is mercifully quiet and you take a moment to appreciate the view. Your thankful for the still of the evening, the quiet and you glance up to see the stars dotting the sky.

Then you’re back focusing, leaping onto Joel's roof and hurriedly moving inside. You pass the familiar sights of his closed bedroom door, the creaking wood hallway leading to bathroom. The single red toothbrush that sits sadly in a fogged water glass. You jog quickly downstairs to retrieve the guitar, always in its stand by the fireplace.

It gleams in the moonlight streaming through the window, as if it’s begging you to grab it, to hide it, to play a game. You take it into your hands, always sure to be careful with it. Pulling a prank on him is one thing, willful destruction quite another.

It's your last time doing this, you've decided. So where should you hide it?

The answer comes to you almost immediately - his bedroom. The only room of his house you haven't snooped yet. The only space of his that you haven’t conquered. Excited tingles go through you as you race back up the creaking step to his bedroom, pushing the door open without ceremony before your nerves overtake you.

It's a simple box shaped room, larger but the exactly the same shape as yours, which is exactly the same as the many homes that line these streets. Joel's is much less inviting than yours though.

He has a bed near the window, tan sheets and blue coverlet. The bed is hastily made, as if he'd been in a rush to leave. There is a small nightstand next to his bed holding a pile of books. On one wall is a well built shelf holding a myriad of records, all ones you've heard him play and on the table below it is the record player.

You observe that his closet doors are half open and you pull them smoothly apart, your gaze going hungrily over the contents inside. You’re amazed at how neat and organized it is. Shirts and jackets are hung, hats on shelves, belts strung on hooks.

The familiar green plaid is hanging there dead center, reminding you of that embarrassment at the movies. Despite this your fingers go to the fabric and you find it soft with use and age. Without thinking you dip your face forward, dragging the fabric to your nose and you inhale. It smells like him, or how you imagine he smells. Like the outdoors and fresh laundry and warm cologne. Probably the cologne you saw in his bathroom during your last adventure.

You take the smooth neck of the guitar and place it gently in the far side of the closet floor, next to what looks like a beat-up tan backpack. You close the closet doors with a smile of self satisfaction, imagining what his reaction will be.

You've never actually seen Joel get upset by these pranks but one day working on your garden you did hear him complaining to Tommy over coffee that he must be getting old because he can’t remember where I put my fucking guitar.

You'd giggled yourself silly at that, trying your best not to be heard as you moved the soil under your gloves. It had tickled you immensely to know that your small inconvenience was upsetting him. You felt vindicated for the way he had treated you.

You stand in the center of his bedroom and your eyes drift back to that pile of books and you find yourself curious about what he reads. You traces the spines with your forefinger and your gaze and you're shocked when you find classics by Jane Austen and books on astronomy. You'd expected worn paperbacks of cowboys or travel.

You notice that behind this stack of books there's a framed photo of a smiling Joel and a sweet faced little girl, obviously his daughter at what looks like a carnival. You can see a waving Tommy in the distance. You’re shocked at how different Joel looks when he smiles, his dark eyes crinkling authentically, his smile broad and his face boyish. Perhaps he is sort of attractive, in a brooding way.

You notice the yellow of age in the corner of the photograph and the realization that the photo is over twenty years old. When you look closer you can see Joel is younger, his hair and beard not threaded with grey.

Knowing what that means in this dark world of carnage is what solidifies the realization that you've overstepped.

You need to leave. Fuck the prank. Fuck harassing a guy who clearly has very good reason to not like people. You were so quick to judge, so fast to make it about you when maybe, just maybe, he was just a loner who never got over the loss of his kid.

You even think about taking the guitar back to its place by the fire when you hear the distant jingle of keys hitting the lock to the front door.

What the fuck? He was supposed to be gone at least another hour!

Your heart sinks when you hear him enter his home, tossing the keys onto the kitchen table and moving quickly to the stairs.

Fuck.

Now his footsteps are on the creaking staircase coming your way. If you run for the window in the hallway he'll see you through the gaps in the banister. If you hide under the bed you'll be easily seen.

Panic overtakes you and you do the only thing you can think of and dash into the closet, sure to avoid hitting the guitar with your leg. You close the doors, leaving them open just a hair, just as he had.

You don’t want to arouse suspicion. You'll just stay here a little bit. Wait until he goes back downstairs and then try to sneak back out the window.

"The fuck?"

You hear Joel on the landing and now you realize your fatal mistake when he murmurs something else to himself and you hear the heavy sound of the window being closed.

You left the fucking window open.

He knows someone is inside.

You cover your mouth, muffling the shallow pants of terror that go through you when Joel enters the bedroom. Through the slits between the slightly parted closet doors you can just make him out. He doesn’t turn on the light in the bedroom, so everything is still bathed in a blanket of darkness tinged blue from the moon’s glow.

He’s wearing a flannel, this one tighter around the shoulder, emphasizing the muscles of his back and broad expanse of his upper body. He looks suspiciously around, his face stoic like someone on a deadly mission.

He walks past the closet, his body strong and his movement’s solid in a way that intimidates you. If he wanted he could snap you in half and not break a sweat. He scans the room before slowly dropping to his knees beside the bed, craning his head to see underneath.

When he sees it's clear he stands again and moves out of your view.

You tilt your head, trying to listen for his footfalls but hear nothing but silence. Did he go downstairs? You figure he's gone to check out the other rooms when the closet doors fly open revealing you to him.

Joel is there, his hands on either door as he looks down at your hooded frame hunched in the corner.

"I fucking knew it."

He reaches in and pulls you out of the closet by the arm of your jacket but you stumble out, wrenching out of his grip enough to run into the hallway, your heart pounding.

The window is closed. It'll take too long to open. Your best bet is to run downstairs and out the front door. You think since you're hood is still on he hasn't seen your face properly and there is a chance to make an escape.

You move swiftly down the hallway, your eyes on the nearing stairs but he's immediately there, gripping you by the back of your jacket and tugging harshly. You fall back into his arms before he’s whirled you around to face him.

You give a sharp yelp when he slams you against the nearest wall, his hand around your throat pinning you there.

"Who the fuck are you?"

His voice is loud and echoes in the barren hallway. He sounds furious, not that you're shocked. If you'd come home to a stranger hiding in your closet you likely wouldn't be elated either. You try to hide your face in the hood of your jacket, panic making you feel cold all over. If you could just-

His large hand comes to rip the hood of your head, taking with it a few loose strands of your hair. You give a hiss of pain as your scalp tingles.

You're caught.

Joel's stares down at you with fury in those dark eyes of his that fades abruptly when he recognizes you. "You live next door."

He still has you loosely pinned to the wall by the throat, but now he drops his hand, gliding it down your collar before pulling it from your body. He smooths his palm over his wavy hair, not out of nerves but more out of disbelief at seeing you of all people in his home.

"Did I hurt you?"

You stare up at him in shock. You've broken into his house and he's the one asking if you're hurt? You shake your head. The slam of your back against the wall had shocked you more than anything. He looks confused, his eyes narrowing on your face.

"How'd you get in my house? Why are you here?"

You're both breathing heavily and you can only hope he doesn't see the fear in your eyes.

"I'm sorry," you sputter instead of answering him. "Just a joke, was just-"

"How did you get into my house?" He repeats though this time his voice isn't as hard, more curious.

"I j-just climbed in the window," you explain shakily pointing to the window at the end of the hall. "My roof is close enough to yours that..."

You trail off, not wanting to incriminate yourself further. He's so close to you that you can feel his warm breath falling over your cheeks.

"I've never stolen anything," you assure him just in case that's what's really upsetting him. "Never touched any of your stuff except your guitar. Just hid it a few times and I was really careful with it."

"Why were you doin' that?'

"It was just a joke," you say again weakly, though now under his severe eye line you can't understand why at one time you thought it was so amusing.

He's not responding, not replying, just staring at you with that inscrutable gaze. There is a flutter of panic starting in your belly, the realization that no one knows you’re trapped between Joel Miller and the wall. The knowledge that despite a few interactions, he remains a mystery.

"I should get back home," you whisper, trying to sidle off to the left. "My boyfriend is waiting for m-"

His palm comes to lay flat against the wall just next to you, boxing you in. Its dark in the hallway, but the moon hits you both, silhouetting you and showing you Joel’s expressive eyes.

"You live alone," Joel says with a sigh, as if your lie has disappointed him. "Have for as long as I've been here. Only company you get at your place is on Tuesday nights with that gal of yours."

You gape up at Joel, shocked at how accurate he is. Your brows furrow in confusion. "How do you know that?"

"Same reason you know I go to the movies every other week."

He's been watching you.

Just as you've been watching him. And while you know why you've been following his schedule, noting his arrivals and departures you can't understand why he would be doing the same for you. He just keeps staring at you in that intense way of his that makes you feel warm and tingly all over.

"My friend Trish-"

"No one knows you're here," Joel murmurs, his eyes moving to your mouth and then back to your eyes. His voice is so low, so velvety, so soothing despite the inherent menace in the sentence.

You swallow thickly, the sensation of fear slowly curving the length of your spine. You’re suddenly so aware about how little you know of Joel Miller. For all you know he could be a serial killer.

But that doesn't fit with how he's studying your face. He looks more open, even bordering on amused. But that can't be right, he can't stand you and now he knows you've broken into his house on more than one occasion.

"Had a feeling someone was fucking with me,' Joel observes evenly. "S'why I turned around tonight. Realized the guitar thing only happens when I'm out at the movies."

You remain silent, feeling so stupid. Why had you needed to keep going? Why didn't you just go with your gut instinct and stay home?

"I’ll go," you croak, hoping that Joel will take pity on you and just let you leave. Joel's face remains placid, his hand going to rest where your neck meets your shoulder, stopping you from leaving.

"You broke into my house," Joel says moving his eyes from your eyes back down to your mouth. "Moved my shit around. Least you could do is be polite."

Polite? What is that supposed to mean?

The meaning becomes quite obvious when you feel his heavy hand on your shoulder begin to press, moving you back to slide down the wall until you're on your knees between he and it. The wood floor bites into your denim clad knees, but you remain still.

His eyes stay on your face as realization dawn's on you. His fingertips are ghosting over your shoulder and you watch as his free hand goes to his jeans, undoing the button and bringing down the zipper. You can see his pale boxers underneath and watch his hand flexing.

Your eyes dart back up to his face, seeing the way he towers over you, his breathing elevated only slightly and his eyes fixed on yours.

Why aren't you running?

He reaches and grips your wrist in his fingers. You watch almost detached as he opens your hand with his own and slides it under the waistband of his boxers.

Why aren't you screaming?

His stomach is warm and taut, strangely smooth for a man of his vocation. You hesitate before his hand is forcing yours to continue, wrapping it tightly around his hard cock. You hold in a gasp as your palm hits it, instinctively curling.

"Like that," he murmurs gently.

He's warm and thick and under your exploratory fingers you can feel him twitch which excites as well as terrifies you. He hisses through his teeth softly as you begin to squeeze, your eyes focused on his face. His eyes never leaving yours, the full mouth dropping open as he groans.

You continue slowly, feeling the ridge of his shaft, the pulsing heat of that iron under velvety skin. He has his palm flat on the wall above your head, his forehead moves to rest in the crook of his arm as he gently shifts his hips.

You stare up at him from your spot kneeling on the floor, still in disbelief that this is happening. Usually just the sight of him walking down the same street as you is enough to send you bolting in the other direction.

But now his gaze is soft and half lidded. His mouth isn't curled into a sneer or scowl. Joel Miller is much less intimidating when he's leaning into your stroking hand.

Then with a soft grunt he bats your hand away and brings himself out of his boxers. You hide a sigh at the sight of his broad hand curling around his thick cock. You hadn’t expected beauty in him, a softness of movement inside his rigid edges.

He remains standing there unmoving and watches you stare, breathing shallowly as you drink him in. You think he must like it because you can see droplets of pre-cum gathering on the tip. It's obvious what he wants.

Your heart gallops. "I don't-"

"'Course I could just go down to the sheriff and see what they make of this break in," Joel interrupts tightly. "Whatever you'd prefer."

It's blackmail, plain and simple. And considering how the threat of being tossed into the wild with the ravenous clickers is always an option when it comes to the sheriff, you know your choices are limited.

His large hand has come to slip over the head of his cock, his hips moving to press into his fingers slowly. You seriously consider your chance of survival outside these walls survival when Joel tilts his head slightly, a small smirk playing on his lips.

"I think you want it," he croons, his hand continuing to stroke himself shallowly. "Think you've wanted my cock for a while now, pretty eyes. Just been afraid to ask for it."

You frown, protestations dying on your lips as you consider his words. Had a small part of you been wondering what lay beneath your neighbors rough exterior? Was that why you had been so determined to engage with him in the first place?

Wait, did he call you pretty eyes?

A steady thrum starts between your legs at that, your knees pressing into the wood floor harshly. You feel too warm in your jacket, but you don't dare move. You feel like a trapped animal trying to outwit an apex predator.

"Just a taste," Joel suggests when you don't reply, his hand moving from his cock to cup your cheek. You feel your lips parting subconsciously to take in a sharp breath as you regard him twitching inches from your mouth.

Fuck why are you even considering this? You should be screaming, running away, not on your knees and looking at Joel's hard cock with what feels like a burgeoning anticipation.

No. You're not doing this. It's fucking degrading. You barely know Joel Miller and this is- Your eyes fly open when his hand comes to grip your chin. His eyes are heavy lidded with lust, the pupils blown wide.

"Open up," he commands huskily.

When you don't immediately acquiesce you feel his thumb drag over your lower lip, curling over your bottom teeth and urging your mouth to open for him.

After a moment of consideration your jaw goes slack and you feel your heart leap when Joel gives you a ghost of a smile. There is a brief shadow and you're almost convicted you saw a dimple in his right cheek.

You don't have time to consider this because he's taken his cock in his hand again, stroking the base languidly.

"Mouth open. Tongue out."

You hesitate, wondering how far this is all going to go. He's not actually going to go through with this, is he? You open your mouth a bit, your breathing coming out in hurried puffs. The amusement has fled from his features and he narrows those dark eyes of his on you

"Tongue. Out."

The words are clipped and offer no room for negotiation. With a quiver that goes through your core, you do as instructed, slowly inching your tongue out of your mouth and letting it hang over your lower lip.

He moves slowly, but you're still shocked when his hips shift forward. You turn your head at the last minute, panic overtaking you. Joel gives a grunt and you feel the warmth of his cock pressing against your cheek having just narrowly missed your mouth.

He growls in frustration, his hand coming to grip the back of your head as he drags his cock along your cheek. You feel the pre-cum smearing along your skin to the corner of your mouth like some debauched trail of pleasure but you seal your mouth closed, a small form of rebellion.

"Don't make me ask again."

His voice is low and dangerous. If it hadn't been so intimidating you might have pointed out that he hadn't asked for anything, just demanded. But as it is you’re caught in his home, his hand is wrapped in your hair and he doesn’t look like he’s fucking around.

You tilt your jaw and again stick out your tongue. With cock still in hand, he taps the weeping head onto your flattened tongue before letting it rest there, heavy and pulsing. The salty flavor of him explodes on your tongue, the ridges of his cock pronounced on your sensitive tongue.

Your eyes crack open and move up the length of his body, noting that Joel's breathing picks up when your eyes meet his again.

Without ceremony he slips past your lips, tensing only when you let out a small cry of surprise. When you offer no other protestations his cock inches further into the slick heat of your mouth. He gives a small shudder, his head tilting back and exposing the column of his neck.

Your eyes shutter closed, your mouth working around him, confused as to why you're not fighting this more.

"You deserve this," he says through slow exhales, his hand bracing on the wall behind you. His eyes are closed so you're not sure if he's talking to you or to himself.

His hips snap forward and you whimper, feeling him inch closer to the back of your throat. One of his hands moves down to stroke your hair as he withdraws, his slick cock dragging against your lower lip. You exhale through your nose, catching your breath as you look up at him.

He's breathing heavily, his mouth parted ever so slightly.

"You can take it all," he tells you plainly.

And without another word he's thrust himself back fully into your mouth. So deep that your nose brushes against the wiry hairs at the base of his cock. You feel him hit the back of your throat and it takes everything not to gag or pull back. You have a feeling if you did he'd stop.

But you want to continue. You want to hear what other noises Joel Miller makes when he gets his cock sucked.

Does he do this often? Instruct women like he's done to you this evening? Fuck their mouths? The thought overruns your senses, imagining Joel in the throes of orgasm. Imagining that its you doing it to him. Your tongue swirls on the underside of him and you're rewarded with a shallow gasp.

Joel groans, watching your bob your head along his shaft. His hands are on either side of your jaw, guiding you along his slick member.

"I just know this is makin' you wet," Joel grunts as his hips continue to thrust forward. "Me fucking this sweet mouth of yours."

While you wish you could deny it, he's completely right. You are shocked at how wet you are. You can feel it there, pooling between your legs as you suck him.

His movements increase in tempo, the motions are abrupt and you search for purchase anywhere. Your hands go to the bottom of his t-shirt, gripping it as you urge him to bury himself completely in your mouth.

He growls as he begins to fuck your throat hard, so hard your head jerks back and presses into the wall behind you. He pins your head there and shoves his cock deeper into your throat, giving sharp moans as you whimper and writhe, knowing you can't escape. For a moment all you can feel and see is Joel's cock, slick with your saliva sliding between your lips over and over again. After a few guttural grunts and thrusts his movements slow and he lets his cock simply pulse there, your lips straining to wrap around it.

"Show me those pretty eyes," he murmurs. He doesn't need to ask you twice, you lift your gaze up the length of him, hollowing your cheeks. When your eyes finally meet Joel's you hear a sharp inhale from him.

"You have no idea how fucking gorgeous you look right now," he says, his teeth clenching as you continue to suck him. "F-fuck, those eyes staring up at me.. Your mouth so... So full of my cock... You like it don't you? Having my cock fill your sweet mouth?"

You make a low humming noise of approval. Those words, those filthy, delicious words wrap around your insides. Now your hands are at the base of his cock, stroking him as you swivel your tongue along his shaft.

"So good," he grunts, his hand going to the top of your head. But instead of using it to brace you and push further into your mouth, it just rests there, almost fondly.

It's you who grips the back of his thighs, urging him down your throat. You who moans wantonly not for him but because you're so turned on you can barely function.

You suppose that's what tips him over the edge, your open desire.

Now his movements are erratic and he's fucking into your mouth so harshly you think you might faint. Not from pain but because it feels so fucking good to be used like this. So taboo to have the grouch from next door using your mouth for his pleasure. So fucking heady knowing that he’s going to come because of you.

Your hands fly back to the base of his cock, stroking him as you swivel your tongue along his shaft. He makes a sound that could almost be a whimper if it weren't so low and gravelly. He tilts his chin down, watching you.

"You want my come?" He grunts, pulling your hair back at the nape of your neck, forcing your gaze to his. You nod, your mouth stuffed with him and he makes a noise in the back of his throat as he pulls out from between your lips.

"Say it.” He's visibly shuddering as he takes his cock in his hand and begins stroking.

"I want it," you whimper, your body aflame.

"What do you want?" He asks jerkily, his movements becoming staccato-ed. "You know what I wanna hear."

"Please Joel," you say; drifting forward and licking the reddened head of his straining cock. "I want your come. Please."

He licks his lower lip swiftly.

"Fuck yeah you do," he sighs almost reverently before the fist around his cock increases in speed. "You're gonna take every last drop aren't you?"

Another nod from you and now your tongue is out, flattened and ready for him as you arch. Joel makes a tortured sound in the back of his throat.

"Keep those pretty eyes on me," Joel whispers raggedly. "Don't you dare look away."

Your eyes open just in time to see Joel Miller come undone before you. The face normally contorted into a frown or grimace is replaced by his mouth curved into a disbelieving smile as he looks down at you, his breathing coming out in short little rasps. Then he stills and you watch him spill out over his hand.

Thick ropes of his come erupt over you, landing in warm strips along your cheeks, your lips, your tongue. His hand continues stroking, painting you with him, muttering filth that you can't really hear before he is spent.

Joel's legs tremble a moment, but grow steady as he leans against the wall with his forearm. You go to wipe your face but Joel shakes his head.

"Don't move," Joel demands breathlessly. "I.. I just need to look at you."

You sit there, your face decorated with his seed and your eyes fixed on his face for what feels like forever. He looks at you as if you are art. As if you were designed and molded to be everything he wants.

You want to bathe in the warmth of his eyes forever, but soon his breathing becomes even. He tucks himself back into his boxers and zips up his jeans.

You sit there expectantly, unsure of what to do next. After everything that happened is-

"Get out."

You blink twice as the words sink in. You’re still kneeling there, still staring up at him when Joel pulls back, his gaze hard again. He raises a brow in irritation, a silent question of why are you still here?

Humiliated again by Joel Miller.

You hastily wipe at the cooling seed on your face with the arm of your jacket as you scramble to a stand. Your eyes go to the stairs, thinking of how you'll get back inside your place and you make a motion to go down them. His hand shoots out, holding it in front of you to stop your movement. You notice he doesn’t touch you when he does this.

"You can go the way you came," Joel says without inflection and somehow this option of escape feels like a further sting. He steps back, indicating the hallway window with a tip of his head and you move past him quickly, hot tears pricking the back of your eyes.

You pull open the window with ease, not looking behind you to see if he’s watching. You hope he’s not. You pull yourself over the sill and lower yourself onto the roof. You hate yourself for looking back over your shoulder, hoping he’ll stop you and bring you back inside.

Instead you watch as Joel brings his wide hands to the lip of the window, preparing to shut it the moment he stops speaking.

"Don't ever break into my house again."

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller #joel miller smut #smut #fanfic #pedro pascal #dad joel miller #fanfiction #dark!joel x reader #dark!joel miller #dark!joel #deaddovedecember2023

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milla-frenchy · 5 months

Text

Deja vu

2k9 | Joel Miller x fem reader Summary: after a bad experience with a former boyfriend, you meet Joel who makes you trust him fully in the bedroom Warnings: 18+ mdni. Dead dove - dark - noncon Footjob and jerking off in public (restaurant), drug added to alcohol without reader's knowledge, mutual masturbation, oral (f receiving), unprotected piv, dirty talk, degradation, ass play, rimming, ignored safe word, anal, manipulation, lies, creampie, forced orgasm No age specified, no outbreak a/n: Thank you @romana-after-dark for this dead dove december 🤌 Thank you @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog for correcting me, and for the depraved ideas on this one, again 😏💕🫂 Heed the warnings. If any of this makes you uncomfortable, do not pursue reading. This fic isn't for everyone, and that's ok. I don't condone any of this. Follow @millafics and turn notifications on for fics updates

Read on ao3 | Masterlist

*********

You and Joel have been seeing each other for a few weeks. You met during Thanksgiving at the Adlers’, his neighbors, who were your distant relatives. You exchanged phone numbers, and he called you back a few days later. He was charming, magnificent, polite, and gallant.

And great in bed. He proved it to you orgasm after orgasm, whether with his tongue, his fingers or his cock. He was generous and attentive to your pleasure, before his own. It was like you had found the perfect person, sexually.

You talked a lot about your desires, your fantasies, you discussed them before realizing them, and you had put in place a safe word. In a few weeks, you were more confident with him than you had ever been with any other man, and this complicity, this closeness, made you want to give him more and more.

A few rare practices had been put aside, whether categorically, or “perhaps one day”. One of those “perhaps” was anal. You had a bad experience in the past, a former boyfriend who was too pushy, to whom you hadn't been able to say no, who hadn't taken your discomfort into account, and until now you had never wanted to try again.

You had talked to Joel about this experience and he had been understanding, as usual. He had reassured you by telling you that if you ever did it, it would be when you were completely confident.

He had introduced you to rimming, and you loved it so much that since then he did it regularly. You also realized that you took even more pleasure when he pressed one of his fingers against your ass while he fucked you, or even when he pushed one of them lightly in it.

Once, he brushed his cock against your ring, and it turned you on. He asked you if you felt ready to try, and you answered yes, because you really thought so. He had prepared you, eating your ass for a long time, and the moment he squeezed his cock and started thrusting in, you got scared. You thought about this previous experience and used your safe word. He had stopped immediately, caressing your cheek, and thrusting slowly in your pussy, whispering in your ear that it was ok, that your pussy was enough for him, felt so good and gave him so much pleasure.

He had been so understanding and gentle that since then he had eaten your ass again, touched it, and you still loved it just as much, without apprehension. You told yourself that one day this blockage would go away, and you’d be capable of more.

One evening, you went out to a restaurant and during the meal you thought about one of his fantasies: a footjob. You took off your shoe and moved your foot up his calf, before placing it on his knee.

He smiled and said “what are you doin’, sweetheart?”

You smiled innocently at him, sliding your foot along the inside of his thigh, before coming to place it delicately against his already swollen crotch. You heard him groan from across the table, and you smiled again, a little less innocently this time.

You stroked his cock through his pants and he passed his hand under the table, placing it on your ankle, accompanying your movement.

“You’re a naughty girl, baby… taking advantage of me in a public place, when I can't do anything.”

“Oh, that’s a shame, Mr. Miller,” you replied, drinking your cocktail through a straw. He looked down at your lips and you saw his Adam's apple contract with difficulty.

He moved his hand under your ankle and lifted your foot slightly, while he unzipped his pants with his other hand, and pulled out his cock.

He had rested your foot on it, and you felt his skin under your sole. You stroked his cock, and all you could think about was making him cum, right in the middle of this restaurant. So you dropped your other heel, and your foot came to join the first, grabbing his cock in between. Slowly, you began jerking him, his eyes fixed on you. You said softly and slowly so that he could read your lips “come for me”. But you didn't have time to make him cum with just your feet without the risk of attracting attention, so he released your ankle and grabbed his cock, starting to jerk off while your feet continued to move slightly up and down his shaft.

He sped up the movement of his wrist and you placed one of your feet slightly lower, on his balls. Just before he came, he held your feet against him, preventing you from removing them. His jaw clenched so hard that you couldn't help but smile, as you felt his cum leak onto your skin.

In the car on the way to Joel's, he patted your knee as you were driving. You looked at him and asked “so… did you like it?” smiling mischievously.

“You, little brat, made me cum like a teenage boy.”

“Yeah you came soooo quickly… my feet still remember it.”

He laughed and said “it was perfect, sweetheart. But I’ll make up for it soon.”

“Oh really? And what do you have planned?”

“You’ll know soon enough.” You looked at him, his charming smile made you fall for him, and you stepped on the accelerator to get to his house a little faster.

Once the front door closed behind you, Joel grabbed you and pulled you against him, gripping your ass with both hands.

“Mmmm you smell so good” he said, his nose buried in your neck.

You put your arms around his shoulders, and you felt the shivers run through your body. You loved feeling his torso against you, surrounded by his arms, him leaning slightly towards you.

“Go wait for me in the bedroom, I’ll be there in 2 minutes while I bring us something to drink.”

You sat down on the bed and a few seconds later he arrived with two glasses of champagne. He handed one to you and took a few sips. You did the same, enjoying what you recognized as your favorite champagne while your eyes were fixed on each other.

You told him to take off his clothes, and you watched him do so, crossing your legs and taking another sip of champagne. He unbuttoned his shirt and took it off, undid his belt and slid it down his waist then let it fall to the floor. He paused and you nodded, mentioning him to continue. He unzipped his jeans and grabbed his bulge with one hand, stroking himself through the fabric.

“Why don’t you finish that glass of champagne, baby, so you can slip your fingers into your panties?”

You smiled, finished your glass and placed it on the floor, pulled your dress up to your waist, before spreading your thighs and slipping your hand into your panties, reaching your already soaked pussy.

“Go ahead baby, stroke your clit.”

You moved your wet finger up to your clit and gently swirled it over it, and said “take your cock out, Joel. I wanna see you jerking off.”

He pulled his pants and boxers down to mid-thighs, and his cock pointed upwards. He spat in his hand and started jacking off, his gaze moving from your panties to your eyes.

“Take your panties off now, I wanna see your pussy dripping for me.”

You took them off and he added “let me see her, sweetheart.”

You spread your legs wide, and pushed your index and middle fingers into your pussy again, before running your index finger over your clit. You groaned from the shivers you felt and leaned your head back.

“Fuck, I wanna taste you,” he said, removing his clothes completely. You removed your dress and bra, and climbed back up to the top of the bed. He lay down between your legs, his forearms surrounding your thighs. He lapped you from your wet hole all the way to your clit.

“So wet for me, baby.”

He pushed two fingers into your pussy, wrapping his lips around your clit to suck on it. His tongue came rolling over your clit.

“You taste so good”, he said. He looked down at his fingers digging into your pussy.

“I love the way you look when I fuck you with my fingers.”

“Fuck, Joel…”

You grabbed your breasts in your hands and bit your lip, just as his tongue caressed your clit again. He took his fingers out and spread your folds with his thumbs, watching your wetness trickle down to your ass.

“Can I eat your ass, sweetheart? I just… I wanna feel it under my tongue. You know how I love it.”

You looked at him and nodded.

“Answer me, sweetheart. I need to hear it.”

“Yes Joel, do it. I want it.”

“Tell me the safe word, baby.”

“It’s purple.”

"Good. If you want to stop, you say so. And I’ll stop immediately. You trust me?”

“Fully, Joel.”

He looked down at your pussy, its folds still spread with his thumbs. He pushed his tongue inside and fucked you with it, one thumb now rubbing lightly over your clit. You spread your thighs as far as you could, your hands resting on his head. The tip of his tongue trailed down to your ass, pressing against that tight ring. He softened it, going up to your pussy a few times while his thumb continued to caress your clit.

“Fuck, sweetheart, I love it so much. So much.”

He pressed his tongue against your ass again, which was beginning to open. The tip entered it and you loved that feeling. You trusted Joel, and your body was much more relaxed with him than with the other men you had known. You knew he wouldn't force it, that he was attentive to you, and your mind allowed your body to relax.

“You like that, don’t you, baby?”

“Yes, Joel, I love it.”

He licked from your ass to your clit, and pushed two fingers into your pussy again.

“You’re gonna cum for me, sweetheart? You’re gonna let this little pussy scream for me?”

“Y… Yes. Come suck my clit, please. Make me cum.”

He placed his tongue on your clit, and pushed the third finger into your pussy. As he swirled your clit under his tongue, he pulled the ring finger out and slid it to your tight hole, pressing on it lightly. His finger went in easily, and the sensations felt in three places simultaneously made you cum on his tongue.

He accompanied you with his tongue and fingers until your moaning stopped, your fingers gradually releasing their pressure in his hair. He knelt down for a few moments and said “you’re so beautiful all spread out like this…I’m gonna fuck you now.”

He moved up to your face and kissed you. You loved feeling your taste on his tongue. He pushed his fingers into your mouth, then put his hand on your pussy, and fingered you again.

“You’re so fuckin’ wet for me. You want my cock, baby?”

You didn't answer him right away, you felt a little weird. As if slightly feverish.

“Baby?”

“Yes, sorry… I felt a little strange but it’s alright now…”

“Did you have such a good orgasm, sweetheart?” he asked you, laughing.

You smiled, before responding “yeah… fuck me Joel, please.”

He took his cock in his hand, pressed it against your entrance and thrusted in with one slow movement.

“Oh god, Joel… it’s so good.”

“Yeah…This tight pussy couldn’t wait anymore to get fucked, didn’t she?”

“Mmmm yeah…” you replied, and he pulled his pelvis back before thrusting in again, still slowly. Your pussy was gradually getting used to his size, and you put your legs around his waist so he could thrust deeper.

“You feel so good, sweetheart”, he said, setting a faster pace, and your fingers dug into his shoulders every time he bottomed out.

He stopped after a few minutes, and said “on all fours, baby.” You turned around and the feeling came over you again.

“I feel a little weird again…”

“It must be the champagne. It’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

He grabbed your hip with one hand, his cock with the other, and thrusted into you. Something was wrong. You saw everything through a layer of fog, but the pleasure you felt taking his cock was too great to stop.

“That’s so good, baby. You take my cock so well.”

You moaned, and he said “I’m gonna play with your ass a little bit. OK, baby? You know how you cum harder, when my thumb is buried in your ass.”

"Yeah….I do."

He dropped his saliva on your ass, and his thumb came to rest, before quickly digging in. He held it down, as he now fucked you harder. You were having trouble thinking. You felt that you were experiencing pleasure, but the realization of no longer managing the sensation made you uncomfortable.

“Joel? I really don’t feel good.”

“It’s ok baby… Just a little bit more, okay?”

“Okay…” you replied, but without really being aware of what you were saying. You struggled to stay on your hands, and you bent your elbows to rest on your forearms.

“Yeah? Wanna feel me deeper? Such a good slut for me.”

He groaned, thrusting deep into you, his thumb still in your ass, feeling that you were more and more absent from what was happening.

“Wait for me, sweetheart, I’ll be right back.”

He got up from the bed and you could barely make out what was happening.

“Joel…”

“I’m here, baby.”

He came back to kneel behind you and you vaguely heard the sound of a bottle opening. You felt like sometimes you were falling asleep, unable to stop your eyes from closing.

“Joel?”

“I’m right here, sweetheart.”

You felt his fingers on you, behind, but with such a vague impression that you couldn't formalize what he was doing. His cock pressed against you again but the feeling was different. And he pushed.

“Joel, what…what are you doing?”

“What do you mean? I’m fucking your pussy baby… fuck… I’m just… Oh shit… that’s good.”

“No, Joel, stop it please. I feel really weird.”

“Shhh. It’s ok. Keep takin’ my cock like that… Fuck.”

“No, Joel… Pur… purple!”

You heard him growl, and he didn’t stop. Why didn’t he stop?

You felt him pushed all the way in. But it wasn’t in your pussy, despite what he told you. The feeling was too different. You tried to concentrate, to understand what was happening. He pulled back, then sank in harder, and pain shot through your body. His movements sped up and he said “fuck yeah! Just a little harder. Fuck, that’s good.”

“Stop… stop please, you’re hurting me…” you said in such a low voice as your mind and body were drained of all energy, unable to rebel or defend yourself mentally or physically.

“I know. Shut up now. Let me fuck that ass.”

You could no longer stand on your limbs and you fell flat on the bed. He lay on top of you and continued to pound you. His mouth against your ear, he whispered “I’ve been waiting for so long to fuck this ass. Shit… way too long, you have no idea.”

He kept thrusting while you moaned.

“Now you’re takin’ it like a good girl. Like a fuckin’ whore. Oh fuck, that’s good, that hole is so tight. You squeeze my cock so well. Your pussy’s good but fuck… this ass?”

He growled, and your mind drifted further and further away.

"You like that? I bet you do. You can finally get your little slut’s ass fucked.”

He groweld and added “fuck I’m gonna cum. I'm gonna shoot my cum in your tight ass, fuck!”

He came inside you, as you moaned under his movements. He pulled out, and spread your ass cheeks to look at your open ass dripping with his cum. He grabbed you to flip you onto your back and spread your legs, coming to lick your pussy.

“ ’m gonna make you come again.”

He ran his tongue from your pussy to your ass, licking up his spend.

“Can’t leave you with this cum leaking out of your ass, can I?”

You moaned, your body responding to his tongue. You no longer had any awareness of what was happening, you felt no pain. Just the pleasure building. And you kept moaning, feeling uncomfortable but not knowing why.

“Just let it happen, baby. Cum for me.”

You came, while he told you that you were a good little slut, always cumming for him when he wanted you to, and now ready to get fucked in all your holes by his big cock.

In the morning, you woke up when Joel was still asleep, turned towards you. You had a terrible headache. You got up to go take some painkillers and came back to bed. Joel woke up when you lay down.

“Are you alright, sweetheart?”

“I have a headache, and just vague memories of last night, after the restaurant. It’s so strange."

"You don’t remember? I guess the champagne hit too hard. Don’t worry about it”, he replied.

“No, I really don’t. That’s so weird.”

“It’s ok, baby, you're probably just a little tired”, he added, kissing your forehead.

You held yourself against him, waiting for the headache to dissipate.

**********************

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koshkamartell · 5 months

Text

Training Day

summary: set in AU, no outbreak. You get more than you bargained for after trying to make Joel jealous. My first submission for @romanarose's Dead Dove December fic event, I'm so excited for this challenge!

warnings: degradation, noncon oral sex and DP, talk of anal, forced training, slut shaming, unspecified age gap between reader and the Miller brothers, manipulative Joel, mean Tommy, good cop/bad cop dynamics, brat taming, mention of pregnancy.

You had a long day at work, forced to work overtime to complete the workload left by several colleagues that were out of the office on sick leave. Your feet were aching from tottering around in your heels all day. You had spent the whole drive home fantasising about the luxurious bubble bath you were going to have once you reached the house you shared with Joel. He had finished work early today and you couldn't wait to cuddle up with him and order take out, maybe watch a movie until you passed out on the sofa curled against his chest.

But when you arrived home and walked through the front door, you were immediately met with the unmistakeable sound of company. Male company. The intermingling of loud voices, laughter, clinking of bottles, and the obnoxious commentary of some sports program playing on the television. Suspiciously similar sounds to guys night.

You frowned. Joel hadn't said anything about seeing the guys tonight. What was going?

You trotted down the hallway and into the living room, the clicking of your heels along the ground alerting whoever was there of your presence. When you appear at the entrance of the loungeroom, your heart sinks with disappontment.

Joel was sitting on the sofa, manspread with a beer in one hand, inbetween his brother Tommy and one of their friends Mike. There were two more men in the armchairs and one sprawled on the floor by the couch. When they saw you they all turned to greet you warmly.

"Hey baby," Joel said, glancing from the television to you. He took a swig of his beer. "How was work?"

"Hey." You gave him a small, tight smile. "It was long."

"Hi sweetheart," Tommy sang out, tilting his head up in a gesture of acknowledgement. He gave you one of his charming smiles, his brown eyes dancing with a hint of mischief. You always liked the younger Miller brother, the more charismatic and sociable one of the duo. "How are ya?"

"Pretty tired," you sighed softly.

You catch Tommy and two of the other men look you up and down discreetly, and you know they are checking you out. You feel strange, oddly on display. Your black skirt sits just above the knee, displaying the smooth length of your stocking clad legs. Your white blouse is fitted and accentuates your breasts, the buttons straining against your chest deliciously. You wear a smartly tailored black jacket that doesn't hide anything, instead complimenting the curves of your body. Despite not being overly revealing, you know the outfit tends to have a favourable effect on most men.

Tommy is more bolder than the other men, letting his gaze rest on your eyes as he lifts his hips ever so slightly to readjust his crotch. You blush and look away from him and clear your throat. "Uhm, so, did I miss something? Is it boys night tonight?"

"Game's on," one of the men said vaguely, as if that explained anything. You roll your eyes.

"Joel?"

Joel turns from the television to you and sees the unimpressed confusion on your face. He quickly gets up off the sofa and takes ahold of your elbow and leds you to the kitchen.

"Baby, the game's on tonight." He whispers, as if it's a secret.

"Yeah, I know. But why are the guys here watching it?"

Joel frowns slightly before a sheepish expression passes over his face. "I invited 'em here to watch it. Wanted to show 'em the new flat screen."

You cross your arms over your chest and glare at him. "We were supposed to be having a quiet night together. I wanted to get dinner and just hang out with you. We talked about it this morning, remember?"

Joel sighs deeply and rubs his palm over his face. "Shit, baby. I'm sorry, I forgot."

"Gee, thanks Joel," you grit out. "Didn't even fucking consider me before you just make plans with the guys."

"Sugar, it ain't like that," Joel says calmly, gently. "Come on now, don't be mad. You go relax and take it easy, have a bath or somethin'. I'll be up when the game is finished."

"What about dinner? I'm hungry." You pout.

Joel stares at you blankly for a moment, then clears his throat and looks at the ground.

"What? Joel?"

He rubs the back of his neck and winces as he mumbles. "We got some pizza delivered. Didn't know what you wanted, figured you might wanna make somethin' else."

"Oh," you say flatly. A mixture of anger, disappointment and hurt swirls in your chest, and it takes every bit of restraint for you not to slap Joel.

"I'm sorry, baby. I wasn't thinkin'." He says softly, looking back at you and reaching out to cradle your face. You pull away from his touch and he sighs again.

"Yeah, no problem, Joel," you mumble, wrapping your arms around your waist, feeling small and worthless. Yeah, fuck you, too.

"Can I make it up to you tomorrow night? Maybe we can go out somewhere fancy and you can wear one of those little summer dresses I like." Joel purrs at you. He's trying to be soft and placating now, his way of apologising and trying to right his mistake, to sooth the sting of his lack of consideration.

But it just makes you more angry.

The thought of you dressing up for Joel's pleasure so he can whisk you off to some restaurant to wine and dine you as a consolation prize doesn't entice you at all. Joel making a show out of seducing you into forgiving him for his lack of attention isn't what you want. Especially not after him neglecting you over the last few weeks because of a big project his company has been working on.

But now isn't the right time to argue, so instead you appease him.

"Yeah, sure, sounds great." You flash him a fake smile before turning away to go to the fridge. Joel smiles back, seemingly relieved with how the conversation turned out, and walks back to the living room. You seethe alone in the kitchen.

You hate that Joel didn't grovel for your forgiveness. You hate that he doesnt kick the guys out in favour of spending time with you, even though you know how irrational it would be. You feel spiteful and jealous. It makes you want to show Joel that he is being a neglectful asshole, prove to him that you are hot enough to get another man's attention, that if you really wanted to you could easily fall into the lap of someone more caring, more attentive.

Then an idea comes to you.

You take a serving tray from the cupboard and set a single bottle of beer on-top of it. Then you take the clip from your hair and let it fall over your shoulders, combing your fingers through the locks to give it more volume. You remove your jacket and then unbutton the first two buttons of your blouse so your cleavage spills and the lacy black trim of your bra peek out. You hurriedly search through your hand bag and retrieve one of your more expensive brands of lipstick; the vampy shade of red that you've only worn a handful of times. You carefully apply the crayon to your plump lips and smack them together.

Perfect.

A moment later you sashay from the kitchen to the lounge balancing a tray on your palm, the click of your heels echoing through the hallway.

When you enter the room once again all of them, including Joel, are too occupied by the game to divert their gaze to you. Except Tommy.

His eyes widen when he sees you. His dark brown eyes lock on yours, then slowly wander down to the swell of your breasts on show. His tongue swipes over his bottom lip slowly as he stares, a slow smirk spreading across his mouth. He spreads his legs a little wider. You notice how he is clutching his near empty beer bottle on-top of his crotch, and the way his thumb is slowly sliding over and circling the mouth of the bottle.

"Well, hello again, honey," Tommy drawls. "You playin' hostess for us tonight?"

You smile sweetly at him and bat your eyelashes coyly. "Something like that. Are you feeling thirsty, Tommy?"

"As a matter of fact, I am, little lady," Tommy purrs. He's actually fucking enjoying this, you realise. And you are starting to find that lazy, mischievous grin of his quite seductive. "How about you pass me that drink you got there?"

Here's your chance, you think. You straighten your posture so your tits pop out. You slowly slink across the living room towards him, your eyes focused on him. Tommy watches your every move intently.

You stop in front of Tommy and lean down to place the bottle of beer on the coffee table by his knee, the plush of your tits on display for him. His hand reaches out to gently caress your wrist.

"Thank you, sugar," Tommy murmurs, gazing up at you with that grin that makes your knees weak.

"Welcome, Tommy." You smile brightly.

You were too concentrated on Tommy to notice that Joel and the other men are now staring at you, too. You straighten up and walk back across the living room, not bothering to glance back at the other men in the room. As you're about to enter out into the hallway, you're shoved from behind.

"What the fuck do you think you're doin'?" Joel hisses.

You can't even turn to see his face before he manhandles you down the hallway and to the stairs. You don't need to see him to know he is pissed off, though. Joel grabs your wrist and pulls you up the stairs with impatient ire.

Shit. You didn't expect this reaction. You weren't even really sure what reaction you were wanting from Joel, or to what extent you were going to flirt with Tommy. You suddenly feel silly for the impulsive idea.

But knowing Joel, you should've really thought it through before taking such a risk. You knew he could be possessive and jealous, occasionally irrational, always quick to anger. Maybe if you'd apologise and explain yourself he would understand.

"Joel, I'm sorry, okay?" You plead desperately. His large hand is wrapped around your wrist as he drags you to the bedroom, and you try not to stumble over your own feet. "I didn't mean it."

"Too late for that now, don't you think?" Joel spits angrily.

He hauls you through the door and shoves you onto the bed roughly. The force pushes you onto your back on the mattress with a thud. You scramble to sit upright and look at Joel with wide eyes, willing him to listen to your apologies and see you're truly sorry. He slams the door shut and rounds on you.

"I didn't mean it to go that far," you blabber. "I'm sorry, really--"

"Shut up," he snarls, glaring at you with any iciness in his dark brown eyes. "Shut the hell up."

With tears welling in your eyes, you purse your lips and look down in your lap, gingerly rubbing the stinging red skin of your wrist. You know you're in deep trouble. The rage radiating off of him is palpable, filling the room with an electric kind of energy that makes your gut anxious. Joel stands with his hands of his hips, his nostrils flaring, his face twisted in a scowl.

Oh, he's mad, alright. Really fucking mad.

"Just what did you think you were doin'?" He growls. "You think that little fuckin' stunt you pulled was funny?"

You quickly shake your head and a tear slips and falls into your lap. You can tell by the harsh drawl of his voice that he won't accept your answer anyway, too consumed by his anger to even try go comprehend the reasons behind your behaviour tonight.

"What the fuck is the matter with you?" Joel barks. "So hungry for attention you gotta go flirt with my goddamn brother? Is that it?"

"I just wanted your attention, Joel," you argue back.

"That mean you gotta act like a slut infront of all my friends?" He retorts sharply.

A slut, seriously? Just from a little flirting? You scoff and get up off the bed, slightly unsteady on your heels but prepared to storm out and leave the house for the rest of the night.

But you don't get that far. Joel doesn't let you even reach the door before he lunges and wraps his hand firmly around your throat. It stops you in your tracks and you gasp in shock. Joel yanks you back to face him. You squirm and try to escape even though you know you can't; the strength he possesses in one hand far outweighs the strength you have within your entire body.

"Stop," Joel barks. "Fuckin' stop movin'."

He squeezes your pulse point in warning and you quickly obey, stilling in his grasp like captured prey. His dark eyes wander carefully over your face, as if assessing you. His jaw ticks in irritation.

"You know I love you, baby," Joel scowls with reproach. "But goddamn, why do you provoke me into hurtin' you?"

Joel releases your neck from his grip and you swallow thickly, the bundle of tangles nerves thick and cloying in your throat. You love when Joel is dominant, when he is a little rough and commanding during sex; but his demeanour right now, coupled with the menacing way he towers over you, has your thighs trembling. He is so close and he's never looked so pissed towards you. It scares you.

Joel's fingers skate over your collarbone and down to the crease of your cleavage. "Thought you'd get your pretty little tits out, huh? Show the guys how lucky I am to have you?" His voice is soft but there is no gentleness to it. It is taunting, dripping with cruel condescension.

You shake your head. No, you want to say, I just wanted to show you what was waiting for you.

"Nuh-huh," Joel tuts, "no lyin' now."

"I wasn't lying."

Joel grabs a handful of your hair at the base of your scalp and tugs it so that your head tilts back. The move is swift and painful and has your eyes pricking with tears instantly. You sob loudly.

"Yes, okay!" You admit. "I was trying to make you jealous! I was angry at you!"

Joel scoffs. "What? Ya think showin' off your body like some kinda whore is a good idea? Just cos you're angry with me?" He sneers at you.

You shake your head tightly.

"So what, you like men lookin' at you? Seein' what's mine?"

"No, Joel," you whimper. "Just want you."

Joel huffs a laugh. He releases your hair and takes a step backward to let his eyes roam over your body. All you can do is stand still, frozen on the spot, your eyes brimming with hot tears. The darkness in his brown orbs is disconcerting as he studies you, causing a stab of fear twists in your stomach. Whatever is going on in his mind is not wholesome or loving or kind.

Joel grabs onto the collar of your shirt with both his hands and rips it apart with alarming agility, the buttons flying off and the material ruined. You squeal. He wrenches the shirt from your arms and it falls to the ground, leaving you in your skirt and lacy black bra.

"Joel, what're you doing?!" You shriek. He gives a little shrug and cracks his neck.

"If you wanna act like a slut, you can dress like one." He says matter of factly.

The coldness in his voice spurs you to move. You try to weave past him and spring to the door to escape, but Joel wraps his strong arm around your waist and captures you. He is so powerful that bringing you to a halt is easy, like he's swatting a fly. You squirm and yell and beat his chest with your fists but it's no use.

"Seems like I gotta train you to act right," Joel mutters. His hand holds you steady at the waist while you struggle. "Walkin' around here flirtin' with whatever man will look your way, right in front of me, fuck sake. Like a little bitch in heat."

His words sting. How dare he say these things about you when he was the one to provoke you, to ignore your feelings and needs so selfishly?

You reach up and slap him. "Fuck you, Joel!"

Joel's face turns slightly to the side from the impact of your smack.

Oh no.

Oh fuck.

That was a mistake, and you realise it straight away.

His jaw ticks for a moment. Joel slowly turns his head back to the centre to face you. His eyes appear black now, glinting with a sadistic iciness that makes you whimper and shrink away. He lets go of your waist and you quickly back away from him.

Joel momentarily shuts his eyes as he inhales a deep breath and then exhales, as if trying to centre himself. "Fuckin' knew it," he mutters to himself. "Too fuckin' young and stupid to know how to behave."

He opens his eyes again and narrows his gaze down at you.

"This is what's gonna happen. You're gonna listen to what I say and do exactly what I tell you." He commands firmly. He doesn't wait for you to respond. "Take off your skirt."

You stare at him defiantly.

"Do it," he says through clenched teeth.

When you don't move, Joel reaches out and lands a slap across your face. You wobble on your heels. Your head jerks to the side and you cry out in shock, your ear ringing from the impact. You cradle your stinging cheek.

"Take off the fuckin' skirt.'

The tears are cascading down your cheeks now. Dumbed by the shock of Joel's slap, you shakily unzip your skirt and let it fall to your ankles. You are left only in your bra and matching thong, along with your stockings and heels. Although Joel has seen you naked many times before, the energy and emotion surrounding this moment is starkly different - you feel weak and exposed, not at all sexy or aroused. You stare down at the carpet with your palm still cupping your cheek.

"Good girl," he murmurs. "Now, where's that cute lil cheerleader outfit you got?"

You frown and lift your head to look at him. He's surely not talking about the costume you brought last year, the sexy cheerleader costume you surprised him with one night?

Joel looks at you with raised eyebrows expectantly.

Oh. He does mean that costume.

"Its in the closet, to the left." You whisper.

Joel slides open the closet and rummages through your clothes until he finds the set. It hangs neatly on the coathanger; a tight white crop top with the words "babygirl" written in pink block font, and a very short pleated pink skirt to match. You remember how crazy it had driven Joel to see you dressed and roleplaying as a slutty cheerleader, something he'd always fantasised about. It was exciting and fun. But now, as Joel holds it out for you to take from him, there's nothing fun about wearing it again. Not in this situation.

"There. Put on that skirt." Joel orders you. You dare to look at his face.

"I dont want to," you say weakly.

"Aint got a choice in the matter, sweetheart." Joel clicks his tongue. "Gotta suffer some kinda consequences for your bratty behaviour. Gotta teach you some life lessons. Can't have the boys thinkin' you're a cock starved little slut whose daddy can't control her."

"I don't care what they think!" you snap at him.

Joel suddenly clutches your face inbetween his thumb and fingers and squeezes your cheeks, silencing you. "Stop fuckin' arguin' and put on the damn skirt. Now!"

Joel gives your face a tight shake before letting go. You are weeping freely now. You take the hanger from him and put the skirt on, stepping into it and slipping it up and over your legs. It is incredibly short, only covering a few inches of your thighs, the bottom of your ass cheeks exposed. You go to remove the tank top from the hanger but Joel stops you. Even with your blearly vision you can recognise the lust written on his features, the feral hunger in his eyes.

"Don't need it," he mutters. "Look like a perfect lil whore just like this."

Your cheeks heat at his words. "What now?"

"Look at the mirror." Joel growls.

When you dont move fast enough, Joel grabs your upper arm and hauls you towards the full length mirror in the corner of the bedroom. He stands behind you and positions you directly infront of the mirror. Joel's front is flush against your back and you can feel his hard cock poking your ass through his jeans. With horror, you realise he is actually fucking enjoying this, and what's more, he finds it arousing. His hand snakes around your front and palms one of your breasts.

You watch your reflection. Mascara is streaked down your flushed cheeks, your lipstick is slightly smeared around your mouth, and your lips are swollen from Joel's slap and the tears you've shed. Your vacant expression coupled with the scant outfit you wear makes you look like a cheap whore, you think. Joel smirks at you when your gaze meets his, as if he can read your exact thoughts.

"Pretty little thing," Joel whispers, his mouth close to the shell of your ear, his beard lightly tickling your skin. His large calloused hand squeezes your breast roughly. "'Specially when you're bein' obedient. Shoulda been more tough on ya from the beginnin', trained you properly from the first time you took my cock."

You glare at Joel in the mirror. "I'm not your damn dog, Joel."

He suddenly bites the side of your neck, sinking his teeth into your skin. It is painful and sharp, making you scream. Then he relaxes his jaw and begins sucking hard, bursting capillaries and bruising your flesh.

"Stop!" You beg. You thrash around and his grip on your breast tightens. Joel's other hand tangles in your hair and wrenches your head backwards. "Fucking hurts, Joel!"

Joel breaks the seal of his mouth on your neck with a wet pop, then licks at the dark reddish purple spot that is left in its place. "Needa know whose boss here, baby," he rasps. "If I gotta treat you like a dog for you to learn, then I will."

You sob helplessly. The strength has drained from your body and you subconsciously relax back against him. Joel hums in approval, taking this as a sign of you accepting defeat, of your submission to him. He loosens the hold on your hair so your head flops forward and your eyes meet his in the mirror.

"So here's how this is gonna go," Joel says cooly, "If you don't do what I say, then you'll be punished. Simple as that."

"Punished how?" You dare to mumble, wondering what could be worse than the slap or his bite. Joel chuckles darkly and presses a chaste kiss to your cheek.

"Trust me, darlin', you don't wanna fuck around and find out. I got no problem turnin' you into my own personal fucktoy and violatin' every one of your little holes. And when I'm through punishin' ya, you're gonna wish you never opened your fuckin' mouth."

This cannot be happening, your mind screams. How could this possibly be Joel, your Joel, who is usually so soft spoken and caring and kind to you? Has he been hiding his true nature this whole time?

"And so when I say kneel, you're gonna drop to your knees. Aint that right?" Joel murmurs.

You nod halfheartedly. A smile of satisfaction spreads across his face and he smooths his hand over your hair affectionately.

"Now, turn around and get on the ground and kneel."

Your mind is muddled, unable to process just what is happening and unable to move your body quick enough for his liking. Joel sighs and twists your nipple through the lacy material of your bra, causing you to squeal and buck your body forward.

"What'd I just fuckin' say?" He growls lowly, impatient.

The pain snaps you into action. You weep as you turn around and carefully lower yourself to kneel on the carpet. You bow your head, meek and dejected, while Joel unfastens his belt and unbuckles it.

"I'm the only man you look at, the only man you serve." He tells you while pulling his belt from the loops of his jeans. "You'll keep your eyes to the ground whenever Tommy or the guys are over. And you'll speak only to me. You got that?"

You nod miserably. It's only when you feel Joel's warm calloused hands on your neck that your head snaps up to look at him, panicked and confused. He bends down and deftly slips the leather strap around your neck and pulls it tight, taut enough that it isn't cutting off your oxygen supply but still serving as a threat. You whimper and your bottom lip quivers.

"Joel, what are you doing?" You whisper through tears. You are desperate to know what his intentions are for making you dress this way, why his belt is around your neck, what is he planning on 'teaching' you.

"Gotta do it, baby," he murmurs and strokes your cheek with his large thumb. "This ain't just for my benefit, either. I'm doin' this to protect you, sugar. There's plenty of guys out there that won't hesitate to abuse you and throw you away once they've got what they want. Ain't no other man who will protect you and love you like I do. And I'm gonna prove it to ya."

He gives the belt an experimental tug. "Come on, we're goin' downstairs."

You want to protest and refuse, to put up a fight, but you also don't want to face the wrath of defying Joel. So when he moves toward the bedroom door with the end of the belt firmly in his hand, you crawl on your hands and knees behind him. He takes you to the stairs, and you feel more and more degraded with each burning shuffle of your knees across the carpet.

Downstairs the house is quiet. The low hum of the football game is the only thing audible to your ears. It's as if everyone has left. You're not sure what is going on, but when Joel leads you to the living room you stop suddenly.

"Joel, no!" you whine. You can't face the men dressed like this, crawling on the ground like an animal on a leash. Joel wouldn't really force you to do that, would he?

"You're okay, baby, just trust me." He says calmly. He jerks the belt tightly and you have no choice but to continue behind him.

When you both enter the living room, you're surprised to find that the only person left is Tommy - the other men have disappeared, no where to be seen. When Tommy sees you and Joel he quickly jumps up from the couch.

"What the hell is goin' on here, Joel?" Tommy demands. He frowns as his eyes dart from you to Joel. You stare at the floor, ashamed.

"Had to have a bit of a talk with my girl," Joel grunts. "Where'd the guys go?"

"I told 'em to go to the bar and we'd meet 'em there. But her," Tommy gestures to you. "Bit of a talk, Joel? About what? You got a belt around her neck like a damn dog!" Tommy snaps at the older brother. "Why's she dressed like that?"

Joel gives a slight shrug of his thick shoulders. "She didn't give me a choice, Tom. Said she was flirtin' with you and puttin' on a show cos she was pissed off with me. I had to put her in her place. "

Tommy's mouth drops open and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Is that so?"

"Yeah," Joel mutters resolutely.

There's a few long moments of silence as Tommy seems to process the reality of the situation before him.

"Can't let her be doin' that shit," you hear Joel whisper. "Gonna need your help here, Tommy."

You glance up to see the men looking at one another as if in mutual contemplation, like they are silently communicating with each other.

"I hear ya," Tommy whispers back. Then he shakes his head and let's out a wry chuckle. He no longer looks concerned for you or outraged at Joel. Infact, he looks amused, and it makes you feel sick.

"Tryin' to get you jealous cos you made her angry?" Tommy muses with a smirk.

"Yeah. So I told her I'll be teachin' her a few things. Like how she can't walk around actin' like a desperate slut, unless she wants to be treated like one." Joel mutters. He sounds so nonchalant and cold, speaking about you as if you were a disobediant pet. It's humiliating.

Tommy tilts his head to the side and smiles down at you, his beautiful brown eyes gleaming with roguish excitement. "So you were just teasin' me? Can't say I ain't disappointed. Was startin' to think I finally had a chance with ya, sweetheart."

Shame heats your cheeks and you look down at your fingers as they figet with the hem of your skirt.

"But my big brother's right, you know," Tommy adds conversationally. "Ya can't be showin' off your goodies to just any guy for attention. Wrong person could really take advantage of you."

Despite not looking at Tommy you're listening intently to every word he's saying. Joel hums in agreement.

"And ya know what? I'm feelin' generous today, sweetheart. I'm gonna help you remember to be a good girl, okay? Show ya just what could happen if you're not careful."

"What...what are you going to do to me?" You ask meekly.

Tommy chuckles but there is no mirth or warmth in his tone. "Don't you worry about a thing, Joel knows I'm a great teacher."

Your mind screams at you to run but you can't.

A minute later Joel is standing with his back against the wall and his arms folded, his biceps straining under the material of his shirt. His eyes are fixed on you, his expressjon unreadable. You are still kneeling, but this time you're positioned in front of Tommy. He has sat back down on the couch with his legs spread wide, only now his jeans are pulled down his thighs and his hard cock stands naked. He fists himself with languid strokes as he stares at you. His other hand holds the end of Joel's belt.

"Come closer and suck my cock, honey." Tommy croons. "Show me what that sweet lil mouth can do."

You turn your head to look back at Joel. "Joel," your voice warbles, "please, I'm sorry, don't make me do this."

He just shakes his head stoically. Tommy jerks the belt sharply to redirect your focus back to him.

"Come on, I'm bein' gentle with ya right now," Tommy admonishes. "But I ain't playin' around, kid. Suck my dick."

He wraps his fingers around the base of his cock and angles the fat wet head slightly downwards toward you.

"Do it, baby," you hear Joel encourage you softly. "Show me how sorry you are."

You sniffle and let out a shuddering sigh. You're still not exactly sure how this is supposed to be teaching you a lesson, but you're determined to prove yourself to Joel. Because you love him too much to let him go, because you'd do anything to make him happy, even if that means letting yourself be degraded by him and his brother.

You creep forwards a little more so you're right in between Tommy's legs and close to his cock. You purposely avoid meeting his stare; you want to get this over and done with quickly, and hope that by treating it like a chore, a task without intimacy, it will be easier to endure. You open your mouth and give the head of Tommy's cock a kitten lick.

"Come on, no more teasin'," Tommy drawls.

You obey and lick a long stripe up the underside of his length, making him moan lowly. He isn't as big as Joel but he's still well endowed, still thick and veiny. You press a few wet kisses along his shaft, your red lipstick smearing across his skin.

"That's it, sweetie," Tommy sighs, his voice rough with lust. "Put it in your mouth now."

You open your lips and take the head into your mouth, then begin to suck. Tommy brings his hand to your head and grasps a hank of your hair to gently coax you to bob further down. You follow his silent instruction but feel yourself start to zone out, your mind drifting.

You can do this.

Then the warm touch of Joel's hands slide over your thighs and your ass, his rough skin prickling along the sheer nylon of your stockings, and you realise he's now crouched behind you on one knee. You freeze. What's he doing now?

"It's okay babydoll," he cooes. "Keep goin', you're doin' so good."

Tommy bucks his hips a bit to puntuacte Joel's command. You continue to suck around Tommy's cock, bobbing your head up and down lazily, only taking him halfway inside your mouth. You're too absorbed with Joel's hands caressing your ass to really pay attention to Tommy. You still don't look at him, instead focusing your gaze on his stomach.

Then you hear the tearing sound of your stockings as Joel suddenly rips the material apart with both hands, leaving a large hole at the crotch. He yanks your thong to the side and you feel his fingers splay open your pussy lips from behind. Your pussy clenches involuntarily and your body tenses. You make a muffled noise of alarm.

"It's just me, baby," Joel whispers soothingly.

"Think I've given her enough time, brother?" Tommy interjects above you, the amusement in his voice evident. "Think I've been plenty patient."

"Yeah," Joel mutters in response. "She's ready."

Ready for what?

Your mind buzzes with dread. You start to pull off Tommy but his grip on your hair tightens.

"Hey, where you think you're goin'?" Tommy laughs. "We're just gettin' started, sugar. Now open your mouth wide like the little whore you are."

Tommy suddenly pushes your head down onto his cock forcefully, stuffing your mouth full of his girth. You splutter and choke on him, tears immediately pricking your eyes. You flatten your palms on his legs and try to push away from him but he holds your head still.

"Fuck yeah, there we go," Tommy groans. "Right in there."

He restrains you for a few more moments, then yanks you off of him. You gasp and cough, lungs burning. You barely have a moment to recover before you feel the head of Joel's cock prodding the entrance of your pussy. Joel gives you no opportunity to protest; he pushes himself inside your pussy in one swift, agonising stroke, stretching your hole so painfully that you scream raggedly.

Tommy laughs. "Aw, that hurt ya, sugar?"

Joel remains buried fully inside you as he sinks his hands into the flesh of your hips to stabilise himself. "Always so tight," Joel grunts. "Usually work her open first."

"You're a lucky man, brother," Tommy grins. He takes his dick and rubs the tip over your lips, smearing more of your red lipstick. "Me and the guys still can't believe you get to fuck this sweet lil thing."

You sob and screw your eyes shut. Joel slowly rocks his hips back and forth in an effort to stretch you out, gradually letting you adjust. Your body trembles uncontrollably while you whimper loudly.

"You're alright, baby," Joel murmurs. "It's okay, you're doin' so good for me."

You hear Tommy scoff.

"Stop bein' soft on her, man," Tommy barks. He gives you a sharp slap on the side of your face and you wail. "She's gonna finish what she fuckin' started."

Using both hands to hold your head in place, Tommy shoves his dick back into your mouth and begins pumping his hips rapidly. He fucks your face with short brutal thrusts, the head of his cock knocking the back of your throat with each stroke. You struggle to breathe around him and clutch the bunched material of jeans around his thighs. Your eyes are still shut tight as the tears run freely down your face.

Joel continues to fuck you at an unhurried pace, your pussy slowly adjusting to the unexpected intrusion. Although his movements are not anywhere near as rough as Tommy's, the mere sensation of fullness borders on overwhelming. You feel surrounded by them, your body possessed by them, split open and violated like you're an object, a toy. The room is filled with the sounds of Tommy's panting, Joel's heavy breathing, and the obscenely wet gagging noises your throat makes. If your stomach wasn't empty you'd surely vomit all over him.

Tommy is rentless as he fucks your mouth. He doesn't give a shit that you cannot properly breathe, and you fear you may pass out.

"Oh shit," Joel moans, his voice deep and rumbling. "Pussy fuckin' squeezin' me so good."

Tommy slams his hips into your face so that his entire cock is buried down your throat, and stills. Your throat constricts around him as your body is robbed of air. Joel's fingernails dig painfully into your flesh.

"How about now?" Tommy asks Joel with a breathless laugh. "She get tighter?"

"Uh-huh," Joel moans. "Chokin' me like a fuckin' virgin." His hips start to move faster and he begins to slam into you with more force, getting lost in the intense pleasure of defiling your body.

"Yeah? Well she's chokin' on my dick like a fuckin' pro." Tommy releases you with a sigh.

You cough miserably and try to suck in gulps of air. Tommy gathers the saliva dripping from your abused mouth with his fingers and rubs it over your face.

"Stop!" You manage to screech through the rawness of your throat. You use all your might to rear your upper body back. "Stop it! Joel, please!"

Joel slows his thrusts hesitantly, but doesn't halt altogether. You wish you could see his face, wish you could read his expression; maybe he would take pity on you if he could see how wrecked and sorry you are. His thumbs stroke your hips lightly, as if reassuring you he's still there, that the man you love so much is still with you.

"Joel," you sob pathetically, hoarsely.

"Baby," Joel drawls. His voice is thick and slurred, the way it gets when he is engrossed in pleasure while fucking you. "Ain't finished yet. Just a little longer, I promise."

"I can't!"

"Oh no," Tommy suddenly growls. "I ain't done with you yet, bitch. Joel might be soft with ya, but I don't give a fuck how much you beg."

He grabs the back of your head and manhandles you back toward his cock. He takes advantage of the split second when you open your mouth to take in a breath of air and then shoves his cock past your lips. He begins brutally fucking your mouth again, simultaneously pumping his hips and moving your face in a punishing rhythm.

"Won't be lookin' for another man's attention now," Tommy pants heavily, "not after I fill that throat."

Joel's hips pick up speed and he drives his cock faster in and out of you. He doesn't speak though, seemingly too preoccupied with fucking you doggystyle to add to his brother's words. The slap of his skin against yours echoes around the living room. He isn't fucking you as hard as he usually does; this tempo feels almost tender and loving, like he's going easy on you, a small gesture mercy. A few groans and moans slip from his mouth, but otherwise he remains a quiet dominating presence behind you.

You can't do anything but allow Tommy to violate and bruise your throat. It only takes couple of minute for him to reach his climax, although it feels like forever to you. He grunts loudly, like an animal, as his dick pulses and a warm load of semen shoots into your mouth. When he pulls out you are quick to swallow it, desperate to be able to breathe unobstructed once more. You splutter and sob, your windpipe thick with cum and tears and pleghm.

Joel orgasms soon after. You feel his cock throb and then spurt hot ropes of cum deep inside your pussy. You clench around him and moans rumble through his chest.

"Good girl," he says breathlessly. He pats your hip.

Tommy rolls his eyes and shoves you backwards to stand up from the couch. He pulls up his jeans and underwear and tucks his softening dick back into his underwear. He tsks as he wipes his red stained fingers on his jeans.

"Messy little whore," Tommy mutters to himself.

Joel removes the belt from your neck gingerly and lets it fall to the ground. He then withdraws from you and stands, his knees cracking as he straightens up. The abscence of his large frame bracketing you makes you collapse on the carpet, body weak and wracking with shivers, wanting so badly to be swallowed up by the ground disappear completely.

Tommy scoffs and stares down at you with cold hate in his eyes, a frightening juxtaposition to the sweet Tommy you have always known.

"Stupid cunt," Tommy snarls with disgust. "Next time ya even think about playin' up, remember how I wrecked your mouth." He fastens his belt, the large metal bullhead buckle glinting. "Joel's the only man who'd ever put up with your bullshit. If I were him, I'd throw ya out on the street, let the fuckin' dogs have you."

He steps over you, uncaring as his boot treads on your hair, and murmers something quiet to Joel. Joel responds but you can't hear what is said. Then Tommy walks out of the room and leaves the house, slamming the door shut behind him.

The house is deathly silent apart from your heavy breathing and weeping. Your throat feels raw and scratchy, and your lips feel puffy and sore. Joel's cum is beginning to seep out from your pussy but you can't bring yourself to move.

"How ya feelin', baby girl?" Joel asks as he crouches down beside you. His large hands smooth the hair from your face and his big puppy dog eyes roam over you, studying you closely. "Are you okay?"

When you don't move or verbally respond, Joel slips his hands underneath your body and lifts you into his arms. He grumbles with exertion and his joints crack when he stands up to carry you out of the room. Your head rests instictively against his broad chest and one of your hands clutches at the collar of his shirt.

"I want you to get in the shower and get yourself clean," he instructs you sternly. "But don't take too long."

Joel carries you up the stairs and you feel like a broken doll in his strong arms. He reaches the bathroom but just before he is about to set you down, you whine pitifully.

"I'm sorry," you croak tearfully. "I won't do it again."

Joel sighs and carefully deposits you to stand on the tiled floor. You wobble like a newborn foal on your heels and he steadies you with his hand around your arm. A gush of his cum runs down your inner thigh.

"I know you won't," he admits. "Because if you do, I'm gonna fuck your ass so hard you won't be able to sit for a week. Might even let Tommy or one of the others have a go, too."

"No!" You grip his shirt tightly in your fist and shake your head vehemently. You stare at Joel with wide, panicked eyes. The thought of either brother punishing your ass terrifies you. You've only tried anal once with Joel, and his dick was too thick and fat to even breach your asshole. He was understanding when you cried and told him to stop. He has been wanting to try again but you haven't been ready yet, and although he has been patient, you know deep down he desperately desires to claim your ass. And after tonight, you know Tommy wouldn't hesitate to stick his cock in without any preparation. He would most likely get off on your screams, the mess, the blood. It sends a shiver up your back.

"You've learnt your lesson?" Joel cocks an eyebrow at you inquisitively.

You nod eagerly. "Yes Joel, yes. I swear, I promise I won't do anything like that again."

He nods, satisfied, and gives you an affectionate slap on your ass.

"Get cleaned up and wash your mouth out. I'm stayin' home to watch the game. And I want you downstairs pourin' me a glass of whiskey in ten minutes. Understood?"

"Yes, Joel," you whisper timidly. His jaw ticks as he gives you one last, lingering look.

"Good girl," Joel drawls. Then he stalks away, leaving you alone in the bathroom.

You start the shower and stare at your reflection while you unclasp your bra. Your red rimmed eyes are glassy. Your cheeks are filthy with the remanents of smudged mascara and lipstick. Your lips are swollen and bruised.

You look used and broken.

Your eyes wander down to your stomach and you have to bite back a sob.

It has only been 6 weeks. Joel doesn't know yet. You wanted to tell him tonight, but obviously that plan didn't end up happening.

You have to wonder if Joel would've still let Tommy hurt you like he did, if he had known.

You quickly dismiss the question and step into the hot shower. You scrub your body zealously with a soapy loufa and wash your mouth out thoroughly with water and mouthwash. You worked quickly, mindful not to be any longer than necessary, just as Joel had instructed you. He needed you to serve him and you couldn't keep him waiting.

After all, you had learnt your lesson.

The end.

I hope you guys liked it! A massive thank you to the legendary @romanarose for coming up with Dead Dove December and for giving dark content writers a safe space to explore and share their work.

#joel miller dark #dark!joelmiller #dddne #deaddovedecember2023 #tw noncon #dark!tommymiller #joel miller #dark! joel miller

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anama-cara · 4 months

Text

fight club (dark!joel miller x f!reader; dead dove do not eat)

Summary: Post outbreak set in the Boston QZ. You decide to go against Joel in an underground QZ fight club for some extra coin. Joel doesn't take kindly to the competition and decides to punish you in his own special way. Word count: 3.6k

Warnings/tags: Dead Dove Do Not Eat. 18+ minors dni. Unprotected PIV, fingering (f receiving), slapping, choking, hair pulling, violence, blood, degradation, curse word, age gap, dark content, noncon, dubcon.

a/n: This is the darkest one I’ve written so far so let me know what you think. Author is 18+ Written for #deaddovedecember2023 hosted by @romana-after-dark

You’ve had your fair share of blunders and brushes with death, but this has got to be one of the stupidest things you’ve ever done. But you’re desperate. Really freaking desperate. And desperate people throw out all caution and logic and good old fashioned common sense. So here you are, sweaty hair plastered to your forehead, heart racing, knuckles bloody. And you’re about to make another terrible mistake.

You’ve been in the Boston QZ for about 2 years now and every side hustle and grift you’ve tried has ultimately failed. One of your fellow con artists mentioned some back-alley action, an illegal underground fight club. So you follow his direction to the hideout, through an alley to the back of an abandoned building and down the stairs to the basement. You think the place must have been used for storage before, its mostly unfinished. It’s a large square room with low ceilings. All the furniture has been pushed to the sides of the room, leaving the center open. There’s a mob of people shouting and cheering, mostly large men but you spot a couple of females too. You recognize a few faces amongst the crowd as smugglers you’ve previously dealt with. There are a few lamps in the corners of the room but it’s still dimly lit. There’s a poker table pushed up against the wall, bottles of alcohol, and a caged rooster in the back. You guess this place does everything – speakeasy, gambling, cock fighting, and the ring.

There’s smoke in the air that burns your eyes and when you walk little clouds of dust follow in your footsteps. The smell of sweat, alcohol, and cigarettes engulfs your senses. The place is packed and noisy with swearing and shouting. You push through a throng of people to get to the bookie sitting on a high stool in the corner. She’s wearing a red and black flannel with black jeans and combat boots. She nods to you as you approach.

“Never seen you here, but if you’re here that means one of us trusted you enough let you in. Welcome. So, what can I do for you? Who ya bettin’ on?” She nods to the ring.

Ring is a generous term. Really it’s a cleared away area in the center of the room with a white circle on the floor drawn in chalk. There are two burly men inside fighting it out, fists flailing and blood flying. You notice that one has several teeth missing and cauliflower ear. He seems to be winning.

You turn back to her. “I’m not betting, I’m here to fight.”

She pauses to read your face and once she sees you’re serious she chuckles. She looks you up and down, taking in your skinny arms and round unscarred face. She holds out her hand. “The name’s Tess.”

You take her hand with a firm grip.

“Alright girl, you’re in. But I hope you know what you’re doing.” She gives you all the rules. Basically, you win if your opponent steps out of the ring or they don’t get up after a 10 second count. “I’ll be rootin’ for ya.” She says as you turn to leave. She sounds sincere.

You’re already starting to feel sick. Your stomach is turning, you’re so nauseous and the loud noises and metallic smell of blood isn’t helping. You go to a corner room, as far away as possible, and sit on a flipped over crate to wait. You’re wearing a loose t-shirt with your green cargo jacket overtop, black leggings, and your combat boots. You watch your swinging feet, trying to calm your nerves and not think about the sound of crunching bone you just heard. You wonder whose nose was just broken, Big Guy or Toothless.

As you’re sitting, zoning out, you feel someone walk up beside you. Your head snaps up.

“Hi there.”

Now this is a face you definitely don’t know. You’d remember him. He’s probably in his late 40’s, tall and broad shouldered with patchy facial hair, a strong nose and jaw line, and a pinched brow that makes it look like he’s permanently scowling. But there’s something in his dark brown eyes that catches your attention. It’s alluring and yet it makes you very uneasy. There’s a danger hidden there. He sits on the crate next to you with a sigh. He’s wearing jeans and a tight grey t-shirt that shows off his sculped chest and hugs his tanned biceps. That catches your attention too. You watch his muscles flex as he lowers himself onto the crate. Maybe you’re staring too long. He kicks you crate with a heavy boot.

“Hello?”

Even his voice is entrancing, gruff, dark, masculine, with a thick Texan accent. You blink and clear your throat. “Hi.” You say flatly. You try to appear confident and nonchalant, like you’re bored with this whole thing. Like you’re not scared shitless right now. You’re trying to convince yourself just as much as him.

“You come here often?” He asks and you can’t help but smile at the lame joke. His eyes move to your lips as you smile and his own form a wicked grin. It scares you. Your mouth falls back.

“Um no, this is my first time here. My first match in the ring.”

“You’re fighting?” He sounds equally surprised and impressed. His eyes light up and that predatory grin appears on his face again. “Little thing like you… going up against these grown men. You must be one tough little girl.”

You shift your weight, his words making you uncomfortable.

He quietly adds, “How I like ‘em. A fighter.”

Before you get a chance to respond there’s a roar of the crowd and you watch as they drag a body from the ring and prop him against the wall. You hope he’s just unconscious. You turn back to the stranger but he’s gone. The crowd quiets and you hear Tess call out, “Next round is against my partner Joel. Y’all know Joel. Any takers?”

You get to your feet. The crowd is too thick to see the opponent in the ring. But you don’t even care to see what he looks like first, no point sizing him up. You know all these fighters will be bigger and stronger than you. You have to do it now before you lose the small amount of courage you have left. You can’t sit still any longer.

“Here.” You call out. As you walk to the ring you tell yourself over and over again that they may have more muscle, but you rely on your speed and your skill.

You push through the circle of onlookers, most don’t even seem to notice you or bother to move out of the way. You’re too short to see over their heads so you raise your hand in the air and repeat, “here!” Finally they part. Faces look down at you as you pass and you can read the looks of disbelief and amusement in their eyes. You step over the line of chalk and face Tess. “I challenge,” you say in your most confident voice. Tess looks uncertain, even worried for you. Her throat bobs and she looks like she might say something, but instead she just nods. You turn to face your opponent. Oh shit, it’s the stranger. Joel. You know his name now. He’s giving you that horrible predatory grin again as he looks you up and down shamelessly. He’s so cocky it boils your blood.

“Well look who it is, Newbie.”

You snarl in response but he just laughs at you.

“Begin,” Tess announces.

You start circling each other, moving clockwise as you study each other’s movements, looking for the right time to pounce. You kick up dust as you slide your feet. Your boot catches on something sticky, dried blood. You push the thought from your mind, concentrating on watching Joel. You observe his muscles flexing, his balance, the length of his strides and his footwork. You can tell he’s strong, but he’s slower. You’ll use that to your advantage. During these brief moments of sizing each other up you’ve kept your own strengths hidden. You copied his pace, circling him just as slowly with deliberately timed steps. You want your real fighting style to remain a surprise. You want this fight over quickly, a few strong punches from him and you’d be lights out. You know you can’t overpower him and keep him down for a 10 count, so the only way is to trick him into stepping over the white line.

The crowd is getting impatient, their jeering getting louder and more vulgar as they scream at him to pummel you. With no warning, no tell, he lunges at you and lands a right hook into your jaw, rattling your brain. You dodge his incoming blow, ducking under his arm and side stepping past him. So maybe he’s not so slow after all, that’s okay, you’ll just be faster. Your jaw is aching and you taste blood in your mouth. You spit on the floor and Joel smiles. Just one punch and you’re already dizzy. He closes the gap in one step, towering above you with a vicious gleam in his eye. He does a jab cross combo and you manage to block both. As he’s pulling his fist back you land a hook right into his ribs lightning fast, then quickly pull your punch back and step back into your fighting stance with your guard raised. He looks a little surprised. You actually snuck a blow in. The crowd cheers and his surprise turns to anger. It chills your blood and weakens your knees but you stand your ground. Furious, he attacks you in a brutal volley, jab, cross, hook, elbow. He’s pummeling you with hit after hit and you’re moving swiftly, weaving under his fists as you step backwards, leading him closer to the edge of the ring. Your heel touches the chalk. He throws a powerful cross but he’s late on the recoil so you grab his wrist, leaning into his momentum and pulling his arm, swinging him to the right. He takes a single step to correct his balance. A single step that’s out of the circle.

You drop his wrist as the crowd erupts in shouts of approval at the surprise and swearing as bets are lost. You turn on your heel, not even bothering to look at Joel as you march up to Tess.

“Well color me impressed. If you come back again you could probably make a lot more ration cards. Everyone likes an underdog ya know.” Spectators flock to her, passing up cigarettes, pills, bullets, and food, you even spot a piece of gum. After a minute of tallying she hands you a stack of ration cards. You stuff them in your jacket pocket and nod farewell. This should tide you over for a while, at least until you find another smuggling job. Tess seems okay but you hope you never have to come back here.

You rush out of the hideout and exit into the alleyway where you lean up against the wall and breathe in deeply, relishing the fresh cool night air. You close your eyes for a moment and relax your head back against the cool concrete, letting your body calm down after all the adrenaline.

A hand wraps around your throat, squeezing and cutting off your air. Gasping, your eyes flutter open and you stare wildly at the man in front of you. Joel. His face is flushed and his eyes are black. You choke out, “J-Joel, what-“ but he squeezes even tighter and your plea dies.

“Shut up bitch,” he snaps. Oh you made a big mistake. Now you understand what kind of man Joel is. You humiliated him when you won. You took his power. And he wants it back.

“How dare you trick me like that.”

You’re desperately shaking your head, unable to speak. He slams your head back into the wall. You feel your scalp scrap against the concrete and blood seep into your hair.

“You think you’re better than me, is that it? Huh?” With his other hand he grabs a fistful of your hair. “Huh? Answer me!” he shouts.

You shake your head desperately. He feels the blood on the back of your head now and slides his hand from your hair. Holding it up, he angles his hand to better see in the light from the streetlamp, admiring the sight of your blood on his fingertips. His other fingers are still pushing into your throat, bruising the skin underneath. You have to get out of here. Not knowing what else to do you kick him in the groin, hoping he’ll drop you or at least loosen his grip. It works and you wrench free. You run one, two steps before he catches you and slams you into the wall. You squeal. His hands pin your wrists against the cold wall by your sides and his body is pressed into yours, squishing you against the wall so tightly you can’t move. His chest is heaving and his breath is in your face as he looks down at you.

“Joel please,” you plead desperately.

“Oh now you have manners.” He scoffs. “Too late little girl,” he says darkly. You whine in desperation and his lethal gaze shift to one of greed. “Oh honey you’re giving me a new idea for how to punish you.” He smiles and you watch as lust clouds his gaze. You feel his cock twitch against your middle. Your eyes widen in terror and you gulp. His predator gaze deepens as he clocks your fear. He feeds off of it. He takes your wrists and pins them above your head with one large hand.

“Gotta show you some respect little girl. Put ya in your place.” He leans his hips into you, pushing you deeper into the hard wall as he grinds into you. With no warning he slaps you across your face. It stings as you feel tears forming in your eyes.

“That’s better. Cry for me girly. Think you can beat me, no, I’ll show who’s in control here.” His other hand other slips beneath the hem of your t-shirt and reaches up to grab at your breast. He gropes you roughly, his cold callous fingers kneading into you. He flicks your nipple and you cringe at the pain, but harden under his touch as he rubs it between his finger and thumb. He groans and his hips grind into you again, rutting up against you and pushing you roughly. You feel your skin grating against the rough concrete behind you. He kisses you sloppily, greedily making out with your unresponsive mouth as you try to turn away. He drops his hand from your breast and slides his hand around your neck again.

“I’m gonna let go and yer' gonna take off your pants. Got that little girl?” You spit in his face. He laughs like a mad man. “You’re a fighter. I said I liked ‘em feisty. You remembered, huh girly?”

Then he abruptly stops and he squeezes so tightly you see black spots. “But right now I need you to behave.” You nod vigorously.

“Good girl.” He releases his tight grip and drops your hands. You undo your pants and push them down with your underwear and are about to step out of them when he stops you. “Leave it.” It restricts your movement more, you can’t run.

“That’s it, good job girly. Now me.” He commands. You undo his belt with shaking fingers and tug his zipper down. You tentatively pause and he smacks your hip. “I didn’t stay stop,” he growls. You tug his pants and boxers down to his thighs and his cock springs free. He’s so big and angry looking that you start to cry.

“Fuckin’ weak.” He wraps a hand around the base of his cock and strokes himself slowly as you watch. The thumbs the tip of his cock where a bead of precum is leaking out. He raises he fingers to your mouth and slides his thumb over your lower lip roughly before pushing it inside your mouth.

“No biting.” His thumb glides over your teeth and he pushes further. Your tongue flicks against him instinctively and his cock twitches. “You like this girly? You a little slut?” With his thumb deep in your mouth you’re unable to answer but your eyes glare at him. He just smirks. He taps your jaw with his other fingers then brings them to your lips as you open your mouth wider. You suck on his fingers, saliva gathering on them. When he's satisfied, he pulls them out with a lewd wet noise. He pets your check once with the back of his hand. You feel the scratch of the dried blood as his split knucks skim across your face.

He reaches down between you and slides two fingers into you without hesitation. The stretch burns and your muscles clench in surprise. “Fuck, so tight.” He slides his fingers in and out, punishing your hole as you try to adjust. “We gotta stretch you out a bit if you’re gonna fit this big cock.” He pushes another finger in and you scream. He glares at you and silences your scream with his mouth. He bites your lower lip as he fucks you with his fingers. You taste blood as he pulls way.

After a few more thrusts he feels your body adjust and your slick starts to seep onto his hand. He laughs, “Not such a tough girl now huh?” Your face reddens in embarrassment as your body betrays you.

He slides his fingers out and slaps your wet pussy. “Just a little slut. Knew you wanted this cock.” He pushes his fingers through your folds, playing with you and gathering your slick. He slides his fist down his cock, spreading the wetness.

“Wanna see you cry on this cock.” With his fist wrapped around the base he guides himself and notches at your entrance then pushes all the way inside you, filling you up and splitting you open. You gasp at the stretch and struggle against him. He clicks his tongue. “None of that, stay still,” he grunts as he pulls out to the tip then slams back in to you. “Gotta take your punishment,” another hard dominating thrust.

“Gonna ruin your little pussy.” He’s hitting something deep inside you with each painstakingly hard thrust. You feel your body responding, heat pooling and your walls flutter around him. He pulls out halfway and pushes back in, setting a new shallow pace as he fucks you against the wall. It’s faster and more desperate. You see sweat forming on his brow. You think you could probably get out of his grip right now if you tried, he’s distracted and out of breath already. But for some reason you don’t. You stay still as he brutally rails you, your back arching against the wall causing you’re your shoulder blades to sting as the scrape the wall.

The sounds of skin slapping slick skin and groaning fill the narrow alley. The street light flickers and for the first time it dawns on you that anyone could walk by and see you. You shiver and try to push against Joel’s hold but he growls at you through gritted teeth. “I said stay still.”

He’s close, you can see it on his scrunched-up face, so you relax and decide to just let him finish. Your body is marked with purple fingerprints and red marks where he slapped you. The blood in your hair has dried. Maybe it was stupid to fight him, you think as he continues to pound you. He feels good inside you, you can’t deny that. You close your eyes and focus on that feeling now, your hips moving to grind into him. It building and building and you can’t stop it as you come on his cock with a cry. Your walls squeeze his cock and it’s enough to send him spilling into you. His muscles twitch and he presses his entire body up against you, flattening you with his full weight as he comes inside you with a groan. You feel the warm gush of his cum inside you as it spreads and fills you. He sighs and slides out with a lewd squelching sound.

“Hmmmm, hope you learned your lesson little girl.”

Your legs are shaking, cum trickling down your thighs. He steps back and releases his hold on your wrists. You slide down the wall and sit crumpled on the cold ground. He drags his cock against your check once before stuffing it back into his pants and fixing his belt. He smirks down at you, proud of his work. “See ya around,” he says before stalking off, leaving you sitting alone in the dirty alley, pants still around your ankles.

You look down and watch his seed seeping out of you. You gulp, feeling your sore throat ache from his chokehold. You swipe your fingers over your cheek, wiping away your tears cooling against the night air. Your fingers brush against your bloodied swollen lips from his crushing kiss and drift to your sides where you see red prints marking your skin. Your fingers slide lower and find the wetness on your thighs. Without thinking you draw your fingers up to your mouth and suck, tasting him. Hand in your mouth you snap back to reality and glance down the alley to make sure no one is looking. You scrambling up, hand against the wall in support. You hurriedly pull up your pants and rush out of the alley in humiliation.

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darkuselesssomebody · 4 months

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𝕡𝕦𝕡𝕡𝕪 - dark!basil stitt x dark!reader

complete masterlist

words || 𝟛.𝟟𝕜

summary || in which the reader is a manipulative bitch - and basil snaps because of it

a/n || this is really, really dark lowkey eek!! also i don't know if this is too late (it's still 2023 where i am) but this is my entry for @romana-after-dark's dead dove december event! if you're into dark content, they're an s-tier pedro and oscar writer!

➵ warnings for specific content before the divider

➵ i never watched lightningface so if he's ooc excuse me, also, reader is very manipulative and lowkey a bad person too!!

➵ not proofread

➵ comment/message if you'd have a request

warnings || smut/dark (dddne)

➵ unwanted creampie and sex

➵ unprotected sex and cunnilingus

➵ spanking and slapping

➵ manipulation

➵ death threats and some pain play-ish stuff

➵ degradation/name calling

“tell me about it, right?” she giggles into the phone, feet propped up as she lays back on her couch, hearing some tinkering in the kitchen, “yeah, sorry about that, jas, that’s just - i’m getting my sink fixed right now.”

in the bathroom, basil hears that, and smiles a little to himself. she sounded appreciative, right? he’s helping make her life easier, which is what matters.

after a few more minutes, he’s done, and he sits back, sighing in relief. he sits back up, coming out and seeing her on the couch. god, is she gorgeous. her body stretches out, allowing a little glimmer of skin as her shirt rides up. she’s got a big grin on her face, talking to her friend, and she wants to just go over and press a sweet kiss to her lips.

“yeah, he was mental, i swear i’m still sore!” she jokes to her friend, and his face falls. ‘he’? who is ‘he’? basil swallows. it must just be a PT or something. yeah, that was it. after managing to convince himself, his smile returns. maybe she’d like a massage?

approaching her with that grin on his face, she looks up at him with an expectant raise of her brow, “just a second, jas.” she takes the phone away from her ear.

“done?” she points to her bathroom.

“yep!” he responds excitably, and she hums - not in appreciation, but in expectancy.

“good. thanks.” but it’s out of habit, “bye, basil” she forces a smile, shooing him off.

to him, it’s a wave, “yeah, see you! wanna - um, i was wondering if you maybe wanted me to order some food for you tonight? maybe we could eat together?” he suggests, and she has to resist a roll of her eyes.

“we’ll see.” she curtly dismisses him, and he nods, leaving and closing the door of her house, returning to his own just across the hall. returning to her phone call, she scoffs, “god, did you hear that?” her voice lowers - the walls are thin, “yeah, jas, he’s that neighbor i told you about. total loser, but he does whatever i want.” she giggles, “he thinks i’m gonna fuck him. whatever, that’s not my problem. can you imagine, he buys me food, he fixes my shit, i get him to vacuum sometimes. like my own little manservant.”

like her little dog.

basil was painfully in love with his neighbor. she was just so sweet, she paid him attention, and sometimes - when she was a little drunk or was sleepy, she’d lay against him, cuddling. the feeling of her thighs against his own, her breath on her chest, or the way her fingers teasingly toyed with the hem of his shirt - right above his cock.

maybe he didn’t have only holy intentions - yeah, maybe he did want to fuck her - but he’d never be greedy for more than what she gave him, not wanting to ruin their relationship.

and it paid off, that one night she had been wine drunk, and had invited him over, asking for only the cheap gift of thai food in return for her priceless company. as they sat back on her couch, watching tv as she ate and drank, there was a point where her hand had wandered - bored by the movie. her head laid on his chest, a leg hooked around his own, especially touchy because it was a cold night - and he was warm. as basil breathed in the smell of her perfume, he could imagine them to be dating or - if he could imagine a small glimmer on her finger - married. he held her around the waist softly, and she hadn’t yet pulled away, much to his joy.

her hand slowly trails over his chest and then his biceps, before sitting up a little, and pulling his head down to his. her lips find his, as she breathes into his mouth. it’s a lazy kiss, purely driven by the alcohol, and her need for warmth and contact.

his eyes widen in shock, but he wouldn’t let this opportunity go to waste, pulling her closer and - while he let her lead the kiss - his fingers go to her hair, pulling it out of her face to kiss her better. she whimpers softly, arms wrapping around his neck, before finally pulling away. she hums in satisfaction, burying her face in his neck.

“goodnight.” she mumbles, promptly falling asleep on top of him. his head reels, but he’s on cloud 9.

“goodnight.” he kisses the top of her head, laying back as he also lets himself fall asleep.

they never spoke about it again.

she didn’t let herself get drunk with him anymore, and he cursed himself as to how to solve the issue. nonetheless, they still spent time together, and he would still do anything for her, but things were different.

but her mind was working differently. annoyingly, that kiss with basil was getting her disgustingly hot and bothered. this wasn’t the plan: she wasn’t planning to ever actually fuck him, lest she lose all the leverage she had been building by teasing him. that’s why she’d been so strict in not touching him for the next few weeks: reducing her temptation.

but it was getting too much. she spent far too much time with her hands between her thighs, thinking of him (but nothing close to how much he’d do the same for her), and she needed an out. but, she also had to make sure basil wouldn’t become confident, and stay out of line.

she had an idea.

she called him over that night. an ordinary thing to occur, but, when he joins her shortly after, his mouth falls open.

she’s in this gorgeous, deeply hued camisole that just does down to her hips, and as his eyes travel lower, the lacy panties she wears makes his breath catch. she has to bite her lip to stop the smirk that threatens to grace it.

“basil.” she murmurs her name, and he snaps out of it, finally looking up at her.

“what… are you doing?” he thickly swallows.

“you don’t like it?” she teases, and he immediately shakes his head fervently.

“no - no - you… you look…” he doesn’t know how to describe it, “beautiful.” perhaps a cliche - but he doesn’t use it in the standard way. she exactly embodies the word. for once, a genuine smile pulls at her lips. it makes her heart warm, and she almost feels bad for what she’s about to do.

almost.

she gestures him forward, and he stumbles due to the speed at which he tries to reach her. finally, once he does, she points to the couch.

“sit.” she orders, and he agrees, getting on the couch, rubbing his hands in anticipation. “you’re not very subtle, basil.” she murmurs, slowly sitting on his lap. his cheeks burn.

“s-sorry?”

“you know how hard it is when you wanna hang out with your good friend, and you know all he’s thinking about is fucking you?” her voice is vicious, and he swallows thickly.

“i’m sorry.” he whispers, looking into her eyes, an evident begging in them. he’s pleading that she’ll forgive him. her fingers go to gently weave through his hair.

“it’s hard… you know?” she says softly, playing the victim to a tee, “i thought that… maybe that’s the only thing you see when you look at me.” she admits - but it’s a complete lie.

“never, oh - oh my god.” the thought makes basil sick. she - she thinks he sees her as an object?! “i swear, i see you as so much more than that - yes, you’re fucking gorgeous, but you’re so much more than just your body!” he assures, but she pretends to already be hurt.

“you’re just saying that, you know i’ll give myself up to you with these sweet words and-” he says her name softly.

“don’t think like that, please, don’t think like that.” he begs, taking her hands, “how - how can i show you how much you mean to me. please, tell me, and i’ll do it.” he’s holding her hands so tenderly, he wants to lavish her in ways she’s never even thought of.

she goes quiet, and he’s dead terrified he’s lost her.

“i want you to forget any insecurity you may ever have, i want to make sure you never lift a finger, i want you to never yearn and to only be satisfied.” his voice is thin - needy. “i want to worship you.”

that’s what she needs to hear.

“you do?” she murmurs.

“i’m begging you to let me show you how much you mean to me.” there it is. she smirks.

“can i… suggest something?” she asks - in faux timidness.

“anything.” he assures her.

“maybe… so i feel the most… assured… if we have sex, can i take charge?” he blinks. it’s not much different than their current relationship, so he immediately agrees.

“of course, of course. that’s totally fine.” he assures, and she smiles.

“alright, good - that’s good. thank you, basil!” she chirps, and his heart warms.

“yeah, of course.”

but that’s when the switch occurs.

“get off the couch.” she orders, and he blinks, a little shocked by her flip from a shy tone to a commanding one, but he complies, standing up.

she takes his place, sitting on the couch, before looking at him expectantly, “on your knees, c’mon.” his cheeks heat, as his brow furrows curiously, falling to his knees. “you said you wanna worship me, right?” she smirks, when he nods, “take off my socks.” she orders, the woolly socks that he knew she wore as she was always cold felt itchy against his fingers, as he pulls them off. she hums happily, and raises a brow when he presses a kiss to each sole, “fuck, i knew you were freaky.”she giggles, letting him kiss her ankles, “how much have you thought about this?” a small whimper escapes his throat.

“a-ages.” he admits, and she smiles.

“okay, stop.” she commands, and he stops his mouthing of her feet, “come closer.” he places her calves over her shoulders, shuffling closer to her - and, as much as he tried to be respectable about it, his eyes fell onto the small breadth of her covered by her underwear. she held his forehead - almost brutishly - to deter him, “behave. did i say you could look at her?” she scolds him, and he bites his lip.

“no, i’m sorry.” smiling, she lets go of his head.

“what should i do with you now?” she whispers, and he looks at her thighs pleadingly.

“can i touch your thighs? can i feel you?” he begs, and she laughs.

“go on.” she assures, as she pets his hair. he really is like her little puppy.

kissing up her thighs, she inhales her scent, brain going into overload.

“oh - oh, please, let me taste you, please!” she begs, and she smirks. he was begging - just as she wanted.

“take my panties off.” she whispers, and he sighs in relief, as if a massive weight has been taken off his shoulders.

"oh - oh, thank you - thank you," he breathes out, inching closer to let his fingers hook into the sides of her underwear, pulling them past her thighs and down, off her ankles.

when she finally spreads her legs, his mouth waters as the pretty prize between them, biting his lip.

"can i taste you?" he wants to confirm it. his body's buzzing, he needs her so bad.

"how bad do you want it?" she goads, and he bites her tongue.

"i don't think i can explain it." he admits, and her cheeks warm. what a compliment.

"yes, you can taste me." lowering his head slowly to her cunt, he spreads her legs, holding onto her thighs that are draped over his shoulders tightly. goosebumps erupt over her flesh at the sensation of his breath on her skin.

"you're wet?" he asks excitedly, unbelieving that he can coax this reaction from her.

"I'm not exactly feeling patient, basil." she warns, and he swallows.

"yeah, okay." he licks up the length of her cunt, and her breath hitches, catching in her throat as she puts her hand over her mouth, gently biting a knuckle to disguise her moan. motivated by the action, he spreads her wider, licking experimentally and quickly, sucking softly and harshly, making sure to keep trying different things until one finally breaks her dam of willpower, and her back arches as she loudly moans into the otherwise empty apartment.

"oh my god-" she cries out, panting as her hand clutches his hair, pulling him closer into her weeping cunt, desperate for his continued ministrations, "use your fingers." she gasps out, and he immediately obliges, bringing a finger to her hole as he sucks at her clit. he slowly pushes it into her, and - per more whimpered instructions from her - he curls his finger inside her, making her thighs squeeze around his head,

"just like that, keep doing just that." she assures, looking at him with the closest thing to love that she feels for him - desperation and satisfaction, because good lord, is she close. but it can't end like this. she needs to make this last longer.

just as she feels herself on the precipice of her climax, she pulls his head away from her cunt - to both her and his chagrin.

"why?" he whines, simultaneously pulling out his fingers, as she struggles to catch her breath. using him to help herself up, she stands, looking down at him.

"get on the couch." she pants, and he does as he asks, "take your shirt off," the instruction continues, and his deft fingers - one still drenched in her slick - quickly unbutton the shirt, pulling it off his broad frame. she bites her lip, bending so that her fingers can reach his fly and jean button, swiftly undoing them.

"i'm gonna fuck you. and you're just gonna take whatever i give to you, understood?" he nods silently as he looks up at her, and she hums in satisfaction and she pulls down his trousers. seeing his eyes all blown out is a crazy power trip, and it all becomes better as she straddles him. palming his hard cock through his boxers, she notices the way he twitches and how his moans gargle in his throat, all while he desperately bucks until her hips. "keep your hands behind your back." she instructs, and he nods, a whimper bubbling up to his tongue. after his hands are securely behind his back, she sighs happily. truly, she could do anything to him now, and he'd just take it. she wanted to know how much he could handle.

she started by fishing out his - inexplicably impressive cock. it was almost comical - how little sex appeal he oozed while hiding this weapon away from the rest of the world.

then, she simply ghosted her fingers over his tip, owning to a few stuttered bucks of his hips. she returned each of those with a scolding smack on any skin she could find - usually, his chest.

she slowly raised to her knees, lining him up with her entrance as she looks down at him, "don't move without permission." she whispers, and a strangled groan releases from him, making her laugh. finally, though, when he agrees, she sinks down on him, moaning out behind her hand as he does the same - though without the muffle and rather unashamedly.

she doesn’t move for a moment, and he waits.

another moment, and he waits.

another, and he’s done. he starts thrusting up, wanting the both of them to chase their pleasure, and her eyes widen, as she slaps his cheek. stunned, his movements immediately stop.

he dared to go against her word?

she hated that he undermined the power she held over him. pulling at his hair, her eyes blow out in anger.

“who the fuck do you think you are?” she hisses, and he winces.

“i’m sorry-” he tries, but she slaps him again.

“you think we’re equals? you can just pull that shit?” he wonders where all this anger is coming from, almost fearful. she doesn’t want to admit that her rage stems from the fact that she liked the sensation of his thrusts - enough to almost just… let him continue, even against her orders. she can’t lose that power she has on him, “you wanna know how little you really fucking matter?” she growls, grabbing her phone, and thrusting it in his face.

still disoriented, he swallows as he looks at what she’s showing him - a chain of texts. about him. they’re from her, to her friends, all mocking and making fun of him.

his heart, quite literally, shatters. he had thought this entire time, that - though they may be little more than friends - she at least liked his company, liked hanging out with him, appreciated him. but now, to read her stating how annoying and clingy he is, how she hated hanging out with him, but accepted it whenever he came with some gift or food, how she had used him, a heartbreak made his blood pump harshly in his ears. but when he glances at her smug smile behind the phone, it’s not just heartbreak. it’s rage.

“is this real?” he whispers, voice so low she can barely hear him.

“aww, poor puppy, thought i was - what? in love with you?” she mocks, knowing he won’t do a thing in retaliation.

that’s where she’s wrong.

trembling in rage, he grabs her phone, throwing it ferociously onto the floor, breaking it immediately. her eyes widen in shock, but before she can shout at him, his hands wrap around her throat, choking her with such a rage - she’s worried he might break her windpipe.

she claws at his hands, as he pulls her off of him, and slams her, face first, into the couch. her eyes well as she feels her nose smash into it, pained to hell as she cries out, trying to clutch it, but it’s of no help, as he’s already sinking back into her tight, wet, and suddenly rejecting cunt. but his pulling cock gets past the resistance bottoming out with a gurgled sigh of satisfaction. his hands go back to her throat, with a softer hold, as he wants to feel her pulse under his fingers. tearfully, she looks back at him in terror.

“basil, what are you-” he slaps her ass so hard, she wonders if his palm took her flesh with it. crying out, she sobs, giving up entirely, as she looks away, still clutching her nose.

“shut the fuck up, bitch.” he hisses harshly, voice and cadence not only deadly - but lethal, as his fingers flex experimentally on her throat. pulling her up so her back is pressed against his chest, and his other hand palms her tits, something he’d been wishing to do so long. but in his fantasies - he’s delicate, not so much anymore, as he roughly tweaks and pinches and grips her nipples.

then again, she’s a different woman than what he’d imagined as well.

this time, he’s not slow in his thrusts, he’s harsh and mean, thrusting in and out of her cunt to the sweet melody of her cries and sobs, muffled by the hand clutching her now bleeding nose. his moans are loud and gruff in her ear, causing an overlord of her senses, and she’s terrified.

“i should fucking kill you.” he hisses, and she whimpers, sobbing harder, “but you’re too good - of - a - fuck!” he punctuates every word with a thrust, but his voice sounds almost sweet and reassuring - only able to be distinguished as a facade due to the undertone of a growl behind every word.

“i’m sorry, please-” she begs, but he slaps her ass again, thrusting deeper, as he hits her cervix with each thrust, making her cry out in pain.

“did i say you could speak?” he hisses. she shakes her head, terrified, and shutting up. he’s getting close. unfortunately, she is too, “calling me a fucking puppy, saying you’re my fucking master - whose cunt’s the one squeezing my cock, huh? who’s the one begging - for - my - mercy?” he growls, once again, thrusting to each word, and she cums around him - a strange mix of the pain on her nose and ass, her restricted ability to breathe, and his sharp, filling thrusts are the perfect mix for her to reach climax, jolting and twitching as her cunt grips his cock, and her core tightens.

he holds her up even as she slumps in exhaustion, pulling her back by her hair to see her face as he tells her,

“i’m gonna cum in you.” he whispers, kissing her cheek tenderly. her eyes widen.

“no - no, please don’t - please, i’m not on birth control-” she begs, but he bites her earlobe to quieten her.

“shut the fuck up. you’re gonna be my cumdump. say that you understand.” he whispers, and she swallows.

“i - wait, please-” he slaps her again, and she squeaks, “yes, yes - i understand! i’ll be your cumdump!” he growls in satisfaction, finally releasing her and letting her fall forward onto the couch, as he grips her hips pulling her ass to him as he cums inside her, moaning loudly in relief.

there’s a few beats of silence, and afterwards, he looks down at her with a snarl. he’s disgusted, and pulls away - not by his actions, but that he hadn’t lived up to his expectations. she was an evil, and he was a vigilante. that - the cum dripping down her thighs, her perhaps broken nose, her whimpers and cries - that was revenge. it was necessary.

after cleaning up and getting ready, he looks back at her. she’s sitting up, curled into herself as she was turned away, crying into her palms.

she looked like a puppy - scolded for bad behaviors. and in many ways, she was.

he sighs in satisfaction.

it was necessary.

#deaddovedecember2023 #basil stitt #basil stitt oneshot #basil stitt imagine #basil stitt x reader #basil stitt smut #dark!basil stitt #lightningface #oscar isaac

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boredzillenial · 5 months

Text

Bad Bet

William beats you in a poker tournament, but you just can’t accept defeat, not yet…

Themes: DEAD DOVE - DNE f!reader, Dark!William, stealing, kidnapping, bit of violence (reader knocked unconscious, a headbutt), bondage, teasing/degradation, a spank, use of honorifics (good girl, attagirl), heavy eye contact, choking, nipple play, non-con, pinv, ruined orgasm

Wordcount: 2.6K

A.N: Huge thanks to @lunar-ghoulie @lunar-ghoulie4art ! I loved working together with the artwork and the fic! The Circle of Smut continues 😘

No, no this couldn’t be happening. How were you losing! You’d studied every player, every little tick and tell, and now you were losing to this guy?

You glared ahead at the man taking your money hand over fist. His slicked back salt and pepper hair shone like silver in the dim lighting of the casino. Piles of poker chips sat in-front of him and mocked you with every card dealt. Those had been yours… That was you’re fucking money stacked in-front of him…

All that money you’d so confidently walked into the casino with, all those chips - were gone. That son-of-a-bitch had taken of it… You stood slowly as you glared across the table, and this motherfucker had the nerve to give you a flat smile and a dismissive nod.

That was it, the final thing to snap your resolve. There’s no way he was keeping your money… You stalked to the edges of the tournament and watched it finish out from the shadows. This guy didn’t even win the damn tournament. He’d stopped during a hot streak and bowed out. You heard his name through quiet whispers of on-lookers next to you, William Tell.

You continued to lurk just out of sight as he sat at the bar. Adjusted from machine to machine to keep line of sight without drawing attention. He sipped on his whiskey like he was purposefully trying to waste the night away. Finally after what felt like an eternity he cashed out. The cashier piled stacks and stacks of your money onto the counter. He stuffed it unceremoniously into his jacket, flicked his sunglasses on and strolled out into the frigid air.

You followed several lengths behind and squinted in the abnormally bright winter sun as you stepped outside. After a few moments blinking away the sudden adjustment your heart nearly stopped as William passed you in his silver sedan. Quickly you found your own car and trailed behind him, keeping a few lengths back until he pulled into a shitty motel. Bingo… The wheels in your head churned as you passed by and found a decent spot to U-turn. Not only were you gonna get your money back, you were gonna take a little extra for your bruised ego.

~~~~~~~

Hours passed slowly as you sat at the far end of the parking lot, watching his shadow move back and forth across the drawn curtains of his room. Finally, a crack of light crept across the lot as he came out into the bitter night. Your leg bounced in anticipation as he got in his car and drove off. You had to be smart about this, wait a few minutes to ensure he wouldn’t double back in case he forgot something, then get in.

A couple minutes felt like a lifetime and you just couldn’t wait any longer. Streaking across the lot like a shadow you jimmied the already busted looking lock on the door and made your way inside. What you saw froze you in your tracks.

All of the furniture in the room, including the bedside lamp, has been meticulously wrapped in white sheets and tied with twine. “Fucking psycho.” You muttered under your breath as you made your way inside. Your eyes flickered to the movie playing on a beaten down dresser. Some old western with a few too many gunslingers, the noise louder than you’d like for your already fried nerves. You looked around for bags, a suitcase, something - but the room appeared to be bare. Then your eyes connected with the closet, there had to be a safe…

Unease made your movements uncoordinated as you peered inside, unsure of what exactly you’d find. A soft sigh left your lips as your eyes lowered and settled on a small dingy hotel safe. “Jackpot.” You muttered with a smirk. Gunfire went off in the background and jolted you forward into the small closet. You shook off your nerves and settled back into your assessment of the safe.

It was a tiny black thing that looked like it’d been beaten within an inch of destruction. However, while the outside was dented the lock itself held steady against your prying fingers. You shook it out of sheer frustration and realized it wasn’t actually secured to anything. “Fuck it.” You muttered as you lifted the small safe up out of the closet and set it onto the bedside table. If you couldn’t crack it here, better to take it home.

The tension in your chest settled now that you had your prize. With no movement outside you grew bolder and decided to snoop. You found his suitcase and duffle bag tucked behind the sheet covered armchair in the corner. The suitcase was light when you pulled it out and set it atop the chair, the only things left inside was another white sheet and a spool of twine.

The dufflebag however, was much heavier. You lifted the brown leather bag with a huff as you set it beside the suitcase and opened it. Confusion knitted your brow at what you initially saw: pliers, a hammer, medical shears, gloves, and a black sack. Your heart thundered in your chest at the uses you imagined for all this. Then, be it bravery or stupidity, you dug around past the layer of torture tools till you hit something different, cash. Stacks and stacks tucked neatly underneath the grizzly tools.

You rummaged around to see just how many layers there were when another round of gunshots rang out from the tv. Unbeknownst to you they covered the sound of the door as it swung open. It was too late when you heard the rustle of clothing behind you a second before blinding pain exploded in the back of your skull and sent your world into darkness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first moments of regained consciousness were hazy. Sensations came first, pain pounded in the back of your head, a soft fabric loosely around your head, rope bit into your ankles. You went to sit up until the similar bite of rope around your wrists stopped you.

“Don’t bother.” An apathetic voice muttered behind you.

You twisted slowly, the pang in your head sent your vision blurring despite the only thing you could see was darkness. A vague shadow passed infront of you. “Will-iam?” You groaned.

“Who else, you did break into my room.” His footsteps drew nearer and your heart nearly lept from your chest. “It was cute you know, watching you as you lost all that money.” You watched the shadow on the other side of the fabric. “I thought I would enjoy just watching you. Enjoy watching your nose wrinkle and that little snarl on your lips. That look when you left the table.”

One rough tug and the bag was pulled from your head. William slowly came into focus as he leaned forward, his dark eyes peered into your own. You held his gaze as you tested your bonds behind your back. “What wasn’t as cute, but far more interesting, was catching you following me here. I thought you’d just tail me for a bit then peel off, but you didn’t -”

You took the moment of him monologuing and lurched forward. Your forehead connected with the bridge of his nose. He stumbled backward and caught himself, holding his face as he stood. Tension drew his shoulders up as he turned his back to you and walked over to the dresser. The sound of metal on wood felt like it scraped across your nerves.

He turned on his heels, a slow red trail flowed down over his lip. A tight grin revealed the tint of red spread across his teeth. You shivered at the sight of him as he adjusted those blue gloves over his fingers and squinted for a moment. He assessed you, curled and tied on the bed, seemingly made some decision and turned to grab the medical shears off the dresser.

As he dragged his gloved fingers across his lips it left a crimson streak across them. William strode over slowly, grabbed hold of your ankles and twisted till you laid on your back. Your bound hands dug uncomfortably into your spine. You went to kick but the combination of his eyes boring into yours, his grip tightening, and the snarl on his lips made you still.

“Hours later, after you should’ve lost your nerve and left, there you were in your car, waiting.” He slotted the shears at the cuff of your pants and cut slowly. “You’re not nearly as inconspicuous as you think you are gorgeous.” His breath left him in a slow sigh as your bare leg came into view. His tongue dragged across his upper lip to clean the scarlet stain.

“So I gave you a hand. Busted the lock on the door just in case your burglary skills matched your ability to blend in.” His cuts were steady till they hit the band of your underwear. His smirk shifted to another quick snarl as he pressed the scissors against your skin, caught the edge of your panties and in one swift motion your right leg was free from ankle to hip.

“When I pulled in and saw your shadow across the blinds I thought I was imagining it. You really had the guts to try to steal from me.” Panic set in as he moved the shears to your left pant leg and began to cut. You wiggled despite the vice-grip he had on your ankles, which earned you a low growl. His hand shifted to a bruising grip on your hip to steady you. With another firm cut your left leg was freed and a wicked grin spread across his face.

In one swift motion he yanked your tattered pants, the chill from the stale hotel AC ghosted across your exposed pussy. “You sick son of a bitch!” You spat.

His grin twisted your belly as he gripped your bound ankles and lifted them straight up. “I like guts. In fact, that’s how I know you’ll be perfect for what I have in mind if you can manage to behave.”

“Let me go!” You arched and twisted till a harsh slap cracked across your ass.

“Enough!” He pressed forward till your knees touched your chest. Your breathing came in short gasps as he continued. “I need you to do as your told. I promise you, you don’t wanna know what’ll happen if you don’t.” Your gaze flickered to the brown leather bag sitting open on the armchair. The image of what it contained stilled your movements. “Ahh good girl, you remember what you saw in there?”

Your eyes grow wide as you nodded. You looked back as him leaned over your legs, his groin pressed against your bare core. “You’re mine now. Understood?” You nodded again.

“Attagirl, I like a quick learner.” His voice was low as he quickly undid his belt and zipper. His length came free and pressed against your soft folds. “Been needing someone to bury my cock in.” He rolled his hips slowly, gathered slickness along his girth before the fat tip pressed into you.

The stretch of him stole the last bit of air you had. He smirked at your shallow breathes but relented, leaned back a bit and kept your ankles on his shoulder. You filled your lungs greedily before a snap of his hips punched the air from you. “I’m taking you on the road with me. If you’re good, I’ll even teach you how to play poker.”

“Fuck yo-uuu.” He sunk further twisting your curse into a groan.

“Gladly.” He leaned back, grabbing the shears and raised a brow. “Behave.” In a quick cut your legs fell to either side of his hips.

A thought flickered in your mind, if you could just wrap your legs around him and squeeze as hard as you could you might be able to -

William leaned forward and wrapped his hand around your throat. “I see those wheels turning. Whatever it is your thinking, don’t.” His hips snapped forward again and set a steady pace as you grew lightheaded. You were so preoccupied with the buzzing in your head that you hadn’t noticed his other hand. Dexterous latex covered fingers met your clit and rubbed firm circles over it.

The pressure, the angle, the stretch of him. It was too much. You felt your eyes nearly cross as you looked up at him. Mouth agape in a silent plea as he shoved you closer and closer to climax with every buck. “See? See what happens when you behave?” He breathed between thrusts.

Fuck him for doing this to you, fuck him for making you feel so damn good. Fuck him for - With a final press he sent you over the edge, your head thrown back and a choked groan escaped your throat as he let it go. “Good girl,” He cooed. “Give in.”

Your muscles melted as you came down from your high, only vaguely aware of him shifting positions. He lifted your legs over his shoulders and leaned in. “Look at me baby, eyes on me.” His gravely tone brought you back to the moment. You looked up at him. His silver hair fell forward and a tinge of red remained on his upper lip. You groaned as he lean further still, deliciously deep in your channel. “That’s right, look at me as you take it. Take all of it.” He buried himself as deep as he could. The stretch almost too much as you quivered around him.

“F-fuck.” You whimpered as he began a slow, deep rhythm. The part of you that wanted to protest became a soft, distant whisper somewhere in the back of your mind. His hands snaked up to your collar and ripped the fabric till your breasts fell free.

“Perfect.” He whispered as his gloved fingers gripped your breasts. You arched into his touch as the latex grazed against your hardened nipples. Eyes squeezed shut as you bit your lip. A hard twist made you gasp and jolt forward to give him an angry glare. “Eyes. on. me.” He growled as his thrusts grew harsher.

Frustration and pleasure roiled inside you as his pace quickened. You held his gaze with as hard of an expression as you could muster until his touch suddenly grew gentle on your sensitive peaks. Your brows tilted up as you bit your lip to stop the whimper he tried to draw from you. “Let me hear it.” He growled.

You shook your head as your bite teetered on painful. His cock hit that spot deep within you as he churned, his pelvis grinding against your clit. Your breath quickened despite your attempt to fight off the pleasure he brought. “Last chance, let me hear you.”

A metallic tang spread across your tongue as you bit down harder and shook your head. “Fine.” His pace quickened, sent you right to the edge before pulling completely out. Your heels hit the bed as you whimpered and groaned. Channel clenched around nothing, orgasm completely ruined. Tears stung your eyes as you glared at him.

“Should’ve listened.” He smirked as his cock twitched, covered in slickness. Your gaze remained on his length. “You gonna listen this time?” He mocked as he took off his tie. He waited for your response with a confident smirk and slowly took off his dress shirt. Your gaze flickered to his muscular torso as it came into view then back down to erection still hard and throbbing.

You swallowed the metallic taste in your mouth along with your pride, and gave a curt nod. That one minute motion sealed that evening and many more to come. Or in your case, not to cum.

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