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millerillusions · 4 hours ago

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Gainin' Control | Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Joel is always in command, both in and out of the bedroom, and you always surrender willingly to it. But just once, you want to see what it's like to gain that control over him instead.

Pairing: Old Man!Joel Miller (The Last Of Us) x f!reader

Word Count: 8.6k

Warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, pwp, dom!Joel turned reluctant sub!Joel, dom!reader, rope restraints, dry humping makes joel cum in pants!! cum eating, overstimulation, oral (m!receiving), ball worship, edging & orgasm denial, tiny little bit of ass play, unprotected piv for just a sec (wrap it in foil yall), old man Joel (late 50s-60s), reader age unspecified (is 18+), joel whimpering and begging is a warning in itself, no descriptions of reader other than female anatomy

A/N: i was working on my wips then had this sudden thought of old man Joel and i took a break to write it. this is just pure filth. it was supposed to be a quick under 1k word drabble, but like always i got carried away... really carried away. i love that old man. thanks to anyone who reads <33 dividers by @/saradika-graphics also starting a taglist, just ask!

Masterlist

You can’t stop thinking about it. About him.

About how he’s always in control. Even just in every-day life; he’s always steady, staunch, steadfast.

Thinking before he acts, a burning strength coiling around each of his limbs every time he walks out of your shared house. Like a maneuvering tank, broad and hefty despite his older age and his aching back, hauling a hunting rifle over his shoulder before he places a kiss against your temple when he leaves for patrols in the morning.

Joel Miller is always in control.

You wonder what it would be like for him to have to surrender it, to take instead of give. Just once.

To have him relinquish what he always holds within thick, clenched fists that he sometimes has to strain just to stretch out his fingers, even though he’ll still adamantly pump and curl two or three of those thick digits inside your sopping cunt just to watch you writhe for him.

Even in the bedroom, he likes to have control. And you always give it over to him easily, finding solace in the grasp of his hands on your tender skin, on the scratch of his brown and peppered-grey beard along your flushed neck and your kiss-bitten thighs. And he swallows it down like you succumbing is the sweetest, freshest juice he could hope to find. A caring, blooming, saccharine thing like you gleefully passing over the abundance of your trust with cupped palms like it’s an offering.

You rarely see him stumble in that control. But even he says you’ve always been a determined person.

He’s barely through the front door, his body sagged with exhaustion from the day, movements languid and slow, when your body is practically barreling into him just the same, hands rising to cup his stubbled jaw and lift your face to his, lips pressing to his chin, then his lips in haste.

“Missed you today,” you murmur. Like clockwork, his burly arms wrap around you and despite your blindsiding enthusiasm, he’s kissing you back with equal eagerness, mustache tickling your upper lip as your mouth slots over his.

“Missed you too, sweetheart,” he rumbles back against your lips, pulling away just barely with a sharp breath, swaying slightly when his knees ache after being on his feet all day. His brows are twitched inwards with slight dubiety, even if he isn’t at all repelled by your attention, just curious about your immediate eagerness. “What’s the occasion?”

You don’t keep your mouth off him for long, dipping your face down to litter kisses and short, sharp nips down his neck, eliciting a soft exhale from him, his head tipping back instinctively to allow you more access.

“It’s the end of the week. Meaning I don’t have any more early shifts at the armoury for a month,” you mumble into his skin, tongue whisking out to taste the lingering tang of his day, sweat and earth permeating comfortingly along your taste buds. Like melting wax of a candle, sandalwood and zest.

A grin ticks at the corner of his mouth.

“So we can go back to having regular morning sex?”

A snort of amusement falls from you, rumbled against his throat, along with a toothy grin as you retort back, “Yeah, meaning we can do all of Jackson a favour by making sure you’re not grumpy the entire day.”

Joel tsks as if offended despite his mirth, one of his hands splayed over your lower back sliding up to instead cup the nape of your neck and drag your face back up to him, lips carving over yours firmer this time.

“It’s a good thing, though,” he murmurs, mouth pulling away slightly, biting gently against your lower lip, “you deserve a break.”

You hum in concurrence, hands flexing against his cheeks before guiding downwards, around his shoulders, arms looping. You tilt your head back just slightly, eyes flickering between his, a swirling hunger you don’t bother to swallow down kindling in them.

“Think I also deserve something to celebrate, don’t you?” You suggest, fingers toying with the hairs at the nape of his neck, twirling through a curl. Continuing softly, “Like a reward.”

He pauses, a brow quirking with teasing gaiety, “Does it now?”

Nodding, you lift yourself up higher, deliberately dropping your tone to a coquettish lilt, eyes dipping to a heavy-lidded leer.

Your lips brush with his, a barely-there graze of mingled breath. “Yeah. Think you can help me, Miller?”

His lips are determinedly pressing against yours again. More intentional, purposeful as his hands glide over your curves, tracing your sides with calloused fingers. His tongue traces the seam of your lips, coaxing them apart, opening you up to him. Demanding it.

You conform easily, sighing with repose, shoulders slackening, allowing yourself to lose yourself in the rough movement of his mouth against yours, the taste of his tongue, tangling with yours in a dance that grows heavier and more prudent with each passing beat.

It quickly shifts into something thick, ungraceful- a groan travelled from his throat into your mouth, which you eagerly swallow down. His hands become forceful, urging you backwards until your spine gently meets the plastered wall by the stairs. Your chest arches against his, lower spine preening, his hands pawing at every part of you he can reach; along hips, stomach, upper abdomen, thumbs scathing at the underside of your breasts through the swimming material of his shirt draped over you.

“Upstairs,” you urge breathily against his mouth, never once breaking the kiss- not even as he grunts in approval, large hands sweeping down under your bare thighs, hoisting you up effortlessly. You beam against him, legs mechanically wrapping around his waist and squeezing lightly.

The journey up the stairs is a mess of heavy, panting breaths, grabbing hands and twisting fingers, messy kisses, aching knees, and an exceptionally sore back.

Wood creaks under boot until Joel is haplessly throwing you down onto the bed, joining you a moment later, his hefty body crawling atop yours with surprising speed for a man his age. His hands paw at your legs, clothed in just an oversized pair of his sweatpants, kneading at your thighs to spread them, lifting himself up onto his knees.

“Spread,” he orders in a mutter, darkened eyes hungrily roving over you. Dressed in his clothes like it’s the finest, estimable silk. His large shirt draped over you, white cotton panties peeking out from beneath the hem. And fuck, he swears his heart palpitates at just the sight. He’s positive one of these days you’re going to send him into cardiac arrest earlier than he anticipated.

He shrugs his jacket off unceremoniously, throwing it carelessly to the floor in a haste to get his hands back on you. Soft, pliable you. Then he’s lowering himself back down, hands bracing on either side of you, mouth lowering down to your flushed neck, sucking at the delicate skin, lathing kisses back over to soothe. His hips press flush to yours, letting you feel the effect you consistently have on him over the covering of your centre.

“I’ve.. I’ve been thinking,” you say ardently, caught in between a gasp in the tangled web of hunger.

“About what?” He replies distractedly, mouth moving over your throat, nipping by the flutter of your pulse, by your carotid artery.

“My reward. I wanna try something new,” you explain, pleading with your own volition to remain intact, to not back away.

“Mhm. What’s that, sweetheart?” He mumbles, tongue tracing out to dip by your neck where the collar of his shirt sits over your shoulder.

Your bottom lips purses with the smallest breath of hesitation, hands trailing up his sides, to his chest, splaying there.

“I wanna… wanna be in control this time.”

He pauses.

Head lifting from the crook of your neck to glance down at you, wondering if he heard you correctly. His brows pinch inwards, as though he doesn’t even know how to begin with interpreting the idea.

“You want to be in control?” He parrots dumbly.

Your bottom lip catches between your teeth, wavers of apprehension curdling in your stomach at his reaction. You hadn’t expected him to immediately leap and cheer, sure- but you also hadn’t expected the way his face falls dubiously. Still, you swallow harshly, and nod.

His eyes tilt over your face, scanning, examining. Then they soften, something more tender ticking at his lips.

“You reckon you can?” He rumbles, a teasing curl to his tone, head cocking just slightly down towards you.

“Joel,” groaning his name, you tap your hand against his chest, insisting. “I wanna try.”

His amusement seems to subside there, realising how ardent you are about the idea, that you’re not just toying with his buttons. He looks unsure, multiple leaden beats passing before a heavy sigh falls from him, like there’s an anvil placed atop his spine.

“Please?” You try, desperately hopeful. His gaze flutters, then his lips thin; you see the intrigue murmur past his expression.

“Okay, then. Yeah, a’right,” He huffs, like he’s averse to the prospect of yielding to any control, like his cock doesn’t twitch beneath the zipper of his jeans at the thought of it being with you.

You beam, “Really?”

Affection crosses his features, that permanent furrow of trepidation between his brows smoothing out as he peers down at you. “Really.”

Adrenaline pulses through you all at once, having half-expected for the idea to be shut down. You hadn’t really planned this far ahead, and now you’re stuck with Joel atop you, suddenly uncertain where to go from here.

You hear him chuckle softly, dipping back down to press a kiss against your collarbone, then the curve of your breast over the fabric of his shirt.

“What do you want to do first?” He coaxes, virtually urging the reigns into your clammy palms.

You exhale shakily, mind soaring through an arrangement of crude, potent ideas.

“Get, um.. get on your back,” you direct, nodding your head in gesture towards the empty space of bed beside you both. Joel’s mouth ticks again, as if entertained by your blatant apprehensiveness stepping into this newfound role. You’re determined to stifle that amusement.

He acquiesces, a sighed groan falling from him as he strenuously rolls off you and around onto his back, spine flexing and shifting to adjust himself comfortably on his strained, aching bones.

“Like this?” He murmurs, eyes tracing back around to you, that familiar warmth he reserves for only very few settled comfortably in his gaze.

“Mhm,” you agree, drawing in a final, shaky breath to conceal your nerves and upright your voracity. Rolling around, you flick your leg up and over to straddle his waist, thighs bracketing him. You peer down towards him beneath you, his hands automatically settling on your waist without thought. His chest rises and falls steadily with a strength you’ve become so familiar with.

His body feels newer lately.

Since you both arrived in Jackson, you were gifted the freedom of security, of safety. You were able to let yourself relax, and so was Joel. He didn’t have to be consistently on guard like he always insisted on being, didn’t have to always be astute and keeping a keen eye out for danger- he could let himself be pliable, content.

Present, with you. Instead of with the threats that always loomed when neither of you had confirmed security.

And with that contentment was comfort. A plush, soft bed at night, wrapped in warmth in a place you can call home. And steady, consistent meals. He’s grown softer. His belly slightly rounder, gentler, curving over his belt that he complained is beginning to feel too tight lately.

You adore it.

You’ve always loved how broad he is- how firm and steady beneath your palms he’s always been. The veins in his forearms flexing each time your hands trail along it, how his stomach flexes and clenches with the drag of your fingertips. He once scowled at the idea that he’s grown more plush, but you just beamed in satisfaction, more than pleased to press the curve of your nose against the slope of his tummy where the coarse, graying hairs of his happy trail begins, leading down to slightly unruly curls that disappear beneath the hefty buckle of his belt.

You hook your fingers under the hem of his grey cotton shirt, tugging firmly once. He lifts his hands away from your waist and raises them above his head to assist you, dragging the material away and discarding it carelessly to the floor. Your hands fall back to his plush stomach, and he hisses softly at the light chill of your touch, his jaw tensing once.

You glide your hands up the expanse of him, feeling up his sides, his ribs, along his chest again- and before he has a chance to lower his arms, you drag your touch up his biceps, then his forearms to his wrists, holding them above his head still.

“You trust me?” You murmur, anticipation burning alight through your veins. He peers up towards you, a noticeable flutter of confusion passing his features, before it softens.

“Always,” he answers.

You send him a lopsided grin, then shimmy your body off his lap, climbing off the mattress and towards your backpack stashed by the dresser. You can feel his gaze burning into you from the bed, slinking smoothly over the bare expanse of your legs from behind. You unzip the pack as you crouch by it, hand shovelling around briefly and curling around a frayed, scratchy line you stored in there days ago when this idea first began to forment.

You straighten, turning towards him, a bundle of rope secured in your hands.

It’s not hard to spot the instantaneous uncertainty that crosses over him.

“Baby-” he starts, eyes fluttering sharply between the brown threaded rope in your fingers and your determined face. You trot back towards him, crawling back onto the bed to straddle his hips once again.

“Please?” Your eyes search his face, settling into the hesitation lingering through the air, through his expression.

His bottom lip purses in that way it does when he’s deep in thought, that doubt swirling like wires in his mind. You lean forward slightly, and press your hand to his chest, just beside the frantic pace of his heartbeat, your fingers splaying out, brushing with such reverence it makes his face slacken.

And for one of the first times since you met Joel Miller, you see his shoulders fall, his jaw relax, fingers twitching and unclenching from his fists. Like he’s easing his own grip on the reigns, carefully passing them to your dutiful care instead. Entrusting you with it.

He exhales heavily through his nostrils, like the weight is physically lifting away from him, then he nods.

You tilt yourself forward, fingers brushing over his wrists, before you’re tying them together with slow, meticulous knots, brows pinched together in focus. You secure them to the headboard, tugging softly to ensure it’s steady enough. The rope is frayed and digs into his skin slightly, but it’s steady enough to keep him held.

“Okay?” You murmur, checking in. He grunts in acknowledgement, nodding again, shifting beneath you. Immediately feeling the bulge of him against his jeans, the firm press of his arousal he’d outwardly deny if it wasn’t pressing into your centre so insistently.

You smile lopsidedly, pleased, and trail your palms back down his arms, fingertips brushing over the strain of his neck, tracing over his bobbing Adam’s apple as he swallows, then lower. Over his stomach, brushing through the silver curls of his happy trail. You shift yourself downwards, your fingers tangling with the buckle of his belt. The clink of metal rings out in the room along with Joel’s shallow breaths as you slide the leather through the loops, before working at the buttons of his jeans, keeping your movements slow.

You drag the denim down his legs, tugging off his boots as you go, discarding each item off the bed with a clatter as they hit the floor. Leaving him in only his boxers, you climb back over him, settling down onto his lap, both of you sounding simultaneous sounds as your covered centre meets the firmness against his boxers- him grunting whilst you exhale sharply.

“Look good like this,” you comment, hungry, rounded pupils trailing over him, up the slope of his tummy, the heave of his chest with hoarse breaths, the broad stretch of his shoulders and the flex of his neck and jaw. His dark eyes peering up at you with a mixture of curiosity and blatant lust, and his wrists tied above his head, wrists straining against their binds, his forearms taut with tension.

You lean yourself forward, and in a moment of gifted benevolence, lay a gentle kiss against his lips. Fleeting, making him huff as you pull away, just to brush your lips over his cheekbone, then his jaw, lips pursing against his stubble, grazing over the brown and grey strands that tickle your upper lip.

“You’ll tell me if it gets to be too much?” You muse, and he nods stiffly. You chide him by nipping once at his jaw, stern.

“Say it.”

His eyelashes flutter with surprise, another breath drawing from him, but he relents. “I’ll tell you.”

You hum with triumph, your tongue softly smoothing over the place where your teeth sunk into his pliable skin, coaxing and reverent. You reward his compliance by slotting your hips more firmly over his, rolling down once into his jutting erection, feeling his pelvis twitch at the feeling, his arousal already bundled-up, sitting heavy in his balls yet confined in his boxers.

Like him, you don’t shy away from marking his skin. You apply more pressure to your kisses as you move down the length of his neck, licking just above where his carotid artery sits before parting your lips and sucking. Feeling the gentle stretch of his skin in your mouth as you suckle firmly, teeth barely scraping against the pliable flesh. You pull away with a soft pop, watching with victory as the skin quickly begins to bloom in a blush of maroon and purple.

You continue downwards, kissing along his collarbone, the stretch of golden-tanned skin, your tongue sliding over the dip between his shoulder and the crook of his neck, over the small swoop of the bone there. Your need pulses and writhes, but you keep your movements steady, slow.

“Been thinking about this for a while,” you admit against him, slightly muffled. Nose dragging up the line of his throat, kissing reverently at the erratic flutter of his pulse, feeling it jump beneath your lips.

“Yeah?” He rumbles, and you inhale softly, body preening into his familiar scent. Like woodchips and something heavy- something that smooths over you like the slow flicker of a candle, wax dripping heat down the curve of your spine. You can smell the fresh waver of his shampoo, letting it soothe you as you swipe your tongue over the sensitive patch of skin behind his ear, feeling him tense with a short shudder beneath you.

“Yeah. About giving you what you always give me,” you murmur, one hand returning to his chest and gliding down smoothly, tapping against his ribs until you reach the waistband of his boxers, fingertips teasing over the edge of the fabric. “To have this control.”

His chest inflates with a hefty intake of breath as you let your index finger barely graze over the prominent tent in his boxers, tracing the outline of his length over the fabric, feeling it jolt beneath your touch before you pull it away just as swiftly.

“Jesus Christ,” he mumbles beneath his breath, and you lift up to settle more promptly on top of him, hands steadying yourself against his chest, gaze flickering back up to his face. Your chest constricts with joy at his expression- he already looks ruined, his lips parted with curter breaths, the coffee brown of his irises swallowed by the inky darkness of his pupils, swimming with hunger.

He looks nearly desperate beneath you. Cock jumping where your covered centre drags over it when you shift, hips tilting. You can feel wetness pressing into you, and it’s not only from your own arousal already staining the gusset of your panties- but his boxers, dampened where his tip is flush with it, leaking beads of precome onto the worn material.

“Think you like this idea more than you want to admit, baby,” you purr teasingly, a knowing brow quirking towards him. He clicks his tongue, chin jutting upwards like he’s going to defy your suggestion, but he doesn’t quarrel.

“Yeah, know you do,” you tease. Then, finally relenting just enough, you grind your hips down more securely, soaked panties dragging against wettened boxers, over the persistent throb of his cock beneath you. He grunts, fingers flexing where his wrists are bound atop his head.

“Know he does too,” you purr, thighs tensing around his hips, hips ticking forward again, watching his eyelashes flutter.

You don’t give him a chance to respond before you’re continuing, leering down at him,

“Think I should play nice, honey?”

“Yeah,” he answers immediately, hips flexing up towards you with a nod towards his boxers, attempting to assert his own control despite his position beneath you. “Take ‘em off, sweetheart.”

You cock your head at him with a mock expression, unamused.

“Do you ever play nice with me?”

You see the immediate flutter of bemusement that flashes across his face, his eyebrows threading together.

“Don’t be a cocktease,” he scoffs back gently, hips rolling up into you, seeking friction.

You tut, letting him see the sardonic roll of your eyes, and shift yourself back so you’re not slotted so promptly over his clothed erection.

“No, you don’t,” you answer for him, fingers flicking around the hem of his shirt craning over you, tugging it up over your head. You let it fall away, discarding it to the foot of the bed as your arms twist behind you to unclasp the clip of your bra. His eyes instantaneously snap down to your chest as you allow the material to peel off your body, letting it join the growing pile of clothes on the floor, left in only the simple, delicate white cotton panties.

You watch his eyes darken further with lust as he takes in your breasts, sitting against your chest like the most inviting prize he can’t reach, nipples already pebbling in the frigidness of the air that’s stifled with the heat of your arousal swarming through your veins. You see his neck tense as your own hands lift to cup your tits, squeezing the supple flesh, letting it bulge between your fingertips.

Inviting, sweet, a cruel smile stretching along your face. His face is slack, his tongue unconsciously swiping out to dampen his bottom lip.

“You want something, Miller? Gotta speak up,” you urge, coax, fingers tightening around your own breasts, breath stumbling as your thumbs brush over your peaked nipples.

“You know what I want. Jus’ give me a taste,” Joel grunts back, his inky gaze never leaving your chest.

You tut, chiding, tongue clicking against the upper ends of your mouth.

“That’s not how this is working tonight, baby. You’re not calling the shots.”

He frowns deeply at the reminder, unimpressed, his wrists tugging experimentally against the bounds around his wrists, testing. To your relief, they don’t budge.

“Think I like you like this,” you tease, hands coiling, wrapping around his sides then pushing upwards to his pecs, smoothing over his warm chest, up his arms raised above his head.

“Like what? Tied up and desperate?” He huffs, eyes narrowed at your importunate, persistent teasing, his hips tensing in an effort to not buck up into you.

“Exactly,” you breathe, tone like honey dripping from your tongue, breathy, body leaning forward to press your bare chest to his, breasts squishing to him. His eyelashes flutter with a strained breath as your mouth brushes over his bottom lip, “All mine to do what I please.”

“Baby-” Joel groans, chest lugging upwards with another strangled breath, but you promptly cut him off by settling your waist back onto his lap. You grind down, hips rolling, the outline of his thick cock through his boxers pressing to your underwear.

“Can tease you for as long as I want with you like this,” you continue, ignoring his needy breaths puffing against your lips as your fingers brush back down from his arms, your hips keeping a slow, steady pace, not applying too much pressure as you rotate your hips above him, over him. “Could make you ache and beg for it like you always do with me.”

His eyes narrow at the threat, his thighs tensing beneath you. You can feel the pulsing heat of your cunt pressing against him through your panties, drenched and sticking to your puffy, soaked folds. He throbs beneath you, so unremittingly it must be painful, his face flushing with harsher pants, pre-come staining his boxers, leaking steadily from his tip that must be so sensitive and needy.

“Not gonna beg,” he gruffs out, and you straighten, a cocky grin lilting up your lips.

“We’ll see,” you tsk back quickly, coyly, keeping up the grind of your hips. You fix yourself atop him, your ribs constricting with need as a rough, guttural moan slips from his parted lips, his eyes glazed over as they dart downwards to where you’re both connected, hips rolling, covered core sliding over his straining thickness.

You hum, bringing your hands down to his stomach, nails raking over his skin gently to coax his attention back up to your face, quickening your pace slightly. His bleary gaze snaps back up, and now you notice the sheen by his temple, the cover of sweat quickly gathering over his skin.

“Untie me,” he scowls abruptly, his features firming, seemingly fed up with your toying acts, playing with him, his muscles straining in his arms whilst his wrists tug resolutely at their restraints.

You beam down at him.

“No,” you chirp, far too pleased to deny him, the roles so swiftly reversed between you both. You feel his cock jump again, the fabric of his boxers sticking tightly to the length of him, the space between you both growing sticky with your combined arousals sticking to your underwear. His hands ball into tight fists above his head, his eyes rapidly flickering over you like they don’t know where to settle on your body first.

“Sweetheart- let me out of these,” he echoes again, wrists tugging at rope, his brows furrowing with disheveled concentration.

You smirk, lopsided and relentlessly cruel, the thrill of finally seeing him like this beneath you scourging through your veins like ecstasy, the adrenaline it gifts you filling you nearly the same way his length would. Full, brimming with bliss. You hook your thumbs into the waistband of your panties, letting it snap out, before you’re lifting up just to drag them down your legs, throwing them off to the side.

He groans like he’s in pain. Hips bucking up towards nothing.

You circle your waist back down to settle back on him, a soft moan slipping from your lips and your head lolling forth as your sopping pussy makes contact with the dampened material of his boxers, rough and wiry, dragging over your puffy, slick folds.

“Jesus Christ,” Joel grunts, low and hoarse, his head falling back into the pillows behind him with a rasped breath.

“Feel good, baby?” You tease, rolling your hips in a devastatingly slow grind, sliding with how much your arousal has collected on his boxers. He twitches beneath you, hips jerking upwards again, seeking more friction, needing the contact.

“Gonna regret this when I get out of these, sweetheart,” he promises, his eyes dark and forbearing. But you’re formidable, and you can spot the desperate glint of his gaze as he stares down towards where your bare, glistening folds drag over the straining pulse of his cock over his boxers.

You swallow down a whimper, your nails scratching up his belly and ribs to his chest, curling against his collarbone.

“If you get out,” you muse, half-mirthful and half-earnest, an emphatic grin ticking at the edge of your mouth. “Might just keep you like this- laid out for me to use.”

A noise akin to a growl rumbles in his chest beneath your palms. Deep, formidable. But you’re relentless, only responding by quickening your pace, swallowing down a whine as your sensitive clit catches on the damp material of his boxers, your arousal dripping steadily from your hole.

“Baby..” Joel rasps, gaze raking up your body. He looks vulnerable, raw, stripped open for you, unable to do anything but endure the torturous roll of your hips down into his. You clench your thighs around his waist, grind, swivel- and a whimper tears from him.

You want to swallow the sound, let it fester in your ribcage until it’s synonymous with the rush of your blood swinging through your veins.

“I know, honey. Know you want more,” you croon, hands smoothing over his chest, hips never ceasing in their relentless grind against him, your clit puffy and swollen with each wanton roll down into him. He gasps out, his lower back bowing upwards in a jolting motion.

“Baby- I can’t-” he chokes out, a panicked look crossing his face for a beat, his inhibitions cast aside, and you feel his cock jerk nearly violently beneath you.

“You can,” you correct sweetly. His bottom lip trembles like he’s biting back a wail, your name coiling out instead in a shaky, rasped tone. It sends a shudder up along the expanse of your spine, and you only press harder into him, thighs spreading wider to frame his waist entirely.

Another whimper. Wrecked and needy. His arms bulge, veins flexing prominently, hips bucking up.

A strangled groan as his head falls back, his chest heaving with effort, and you see him lock up, his entire body tensing abruptly beneath you-

Then you feel it.

A pulse, heat, his cock jumping erratically beneath his boxers, firm and damp, sticking to the fabric. You feel the drool and wash of warmth below you, a liquid that’s thick, sticky- more than just your arousal or his pre-come.

Oh, fuck.

You still, your breath stumbling in your chest as you watch his throat convulse around a desperate gasp of air, his cheeks flushed over with heat, burning, sweat smeared over his forehead, his greying curls sticking to his skin.

He just came.

Inside his boxers, just from you rubbing yourself over him.

“Fuck,” you breathe shakily, pelvis tightening and churning with arousal. He shifts, an uncomfortable expression pulling like a grimace over his face as the realisation tips over him.

“Joel-” you start, and he responds with a grunt that sounds devastatingly more like a whimper, his hips squirming beneath you and his eyes diverting downwards in a reaction akin to shame. You feel him slacken beneath you, the fabric against your cunt entirely drenched, the outline of his cock prominent, still twitching with aftershocks. But not as firm, softened with his orgasm.

It’s not difficult to see the mortification stretched along his winced features, his jaw set in a firm grind, molars pressing inwards together. Something nearly malicious tugs in your chest, a burning satisfaction curling up through your body to your mouth, curling it upwards unconsciously.

“Oh, baby..” you purr, coo, keeping your waist still as you lean down to meet him, face hovering over his. You brush your lips over his cheekbone, which burns beneath your touch, your breath casting hotly over his skin. “Already?”

His head turns away, his jaw flexing as he bites down against the tip of his tongue, pupils blown wide with a mixture of chagrin and lust, like a reflection of what he usually reduces you to. And each time, he does it without mercy.

“Don’t gotta be embarrassed,” you hum sweetly, ignoring his shame, casting it aside as you dip your face to his neck. Licking a stripe up the side of his throat, tasting his sweat on your tongue, melting against your tastebuds like ash and salt- you can almost taste his humiliation.

“Did so good f’me, coming like that when I haven’t even touched your cock properly yet,” you continue in a pleased rumble, laying a kiss against the crook of his neck. He’s silent- or at least trying to be, his breath coming in short, heavy pants by your ear, arousal swelling thickly through you. Cunt throbbing in neglect, but you ignore it, sliding further down his body, pressing your lips in fleeting kisses over his sweat-slicked chest. His stomach twitches as you kiss over it, a hitched breath cramping his chest when your fingers hook over the waistband of his boxers.

Then, unhurried, seeing as it’s at your leisure, you pull his boxers down. Peeling the drenched material away from his skin, watching as it stretches away from the softened line of his cock.

Your eyes widen taking it all in. His limp cock stuck to his pelvis, pulsing still, and saturated in sticky, white release. It coats over his base, along his inner thighs, sticking obscenely to his heavy, sensitive balls you’re eager to make full again. The coarse silver curls at the bottom of his length damp and flush with his flesh. There’s so much come.

“Fuck.. so messy,” you murmur beneath your breath, which casts just barely over his overwrought flesh, making his hips twitch against the mattress. You drag his soiled boxers down further from his tarnished body, dropping them away to the floor with a wet plomp.

Your attention is rapt on him, his matted curls at his pelvis, the grey darkened with his spend, his skin flush and glistening with it. Your mouth waters at just the sight, and you can’t help yourself, quickly dipping down to swipe your tongue out- starting from the base of him, and licking one smooth, slow stripe up the side of his length until you reach his sensitive tip. Tasting the smear of salt and musk on your muscle.

He sounds a choked version of your name, his cock jumping weakly at the overstimulation.

“I know,” you coo, swallowing with a satisfied noise, eyelashes fluttering as you dip back down, but avoid his cock this time- instead licking at his pelvis, feeling the thick stickiness of his come pool on your tongue in a glob, before you’re curling your tongue up and eagerly swallowing it down.

“See how it feels, hon? Achin’ and unable to do anything about it?” You mock, though your tone sings with feigned innocence, a flint grin sent up to him. Taking in his dishevelled appearance, his hair damp with sweat, chest heaving and flushed, his blown-out pupils locked on you between his thighs, lathing wicked torture on his come-soaked flesh.

Exhilaration burns through you- seeing what you’ve been able to reduce him to. His muscles trembling when you lower yourself to them at lick at the sensitive skin at his inner thighs, cleaning up the mess he made with a complacent hum before nipping at his flesh and making him groan, his spent dick palpitating with interest.

You drag your nose up by his pelvic bone, inhaling slowly, smelling the salty headiness of him, able to taste his lust, his desperation. You wonder if this is the same thrill he so often procures with you- this control clutched and spilling out from between your fingers, hanging on so tightly whilst the other can do nothing but squirm and plead for reprieve.

Sickly sweet, you smile.

Mocking his usual deprived remorseless acts he bares on your body.

Dipping your head down again, your hand rising to press against the base of his dick, worn-out and weary, but slowly gaining thickness once again with the lewd sensations. You angle the soft skin upwards, parting your lips, then wrap them around his engorged head, purple and swollen with sensitivity.

You suckle, and he moans; a ragged, ruined sound.

“Too- s’too much,” he stumbles out from above you, hips jerking downwards into the bed like he’s trying to escape the warm embrace of your mouth. You only suck harder, cheeks hollowing to pull inwards and bring more of him into your mouth, tasting his release directly from the source. He nearly wails as your tongue swipes over him, lilting through his overly-sensitive slit, his thighs quivering and wrists jerking adamantly at his restraints.

“Can’t- baby, stop. It’s too much,” he slurs like he’s inebriated, drunk on lust. You suction him in further, swallowing him down until you reach halfway, his cock stiffening unconsciously in the wet warmth of your mouth, tongue lathing over the underside of him, tasting his smear of release.

“Jesus fuckin’- gonna fucking regret this so much when I get out of these, shit-” he sputters out, all in one breath- hopeless and rushed. He’s cut-off with a wrecked whine, his head slinging back and hips jerking upwards, not of his own accord. His body attuned to you, achingly seeking out more despite the churning wants and needs of his mind.

Allowing some surrender, you pull off his half-hardened dick, which slaps wetly up against his pelvis, base quivering with reactive tension. You purse your bottom lip, blowing a stream of cool air against his sensitive tip, watching in awe as it twitches, pulsing purple and angry.

“Want me to stop?” you croon, coquettish gaze lilting up to him, like the very epitome of a demonic creature posing as an angel, sent to this plane just for his sickened demise. He stiffens, his thick thighs flexing and relaxing rhythmically, jaw churning and chest heaving.

You wait, a brow lifting expectantly. You spectate the bob of his throat, the flick of a greying curl sticking flush to his forehead, and then the tilt of his stubbled, silver and brown chin as he shakes his head from side to side. Wordless, and so, so needy.

You grin up at him, pleased. Effervescent at how you’ve waned this staunch, stalwart man down to something shameless, loose.

Maybe unmercifully, you crane your neck downwards, seeing his cock jump once with intrigue as you lower down further between his thighs. Curling your tongue out with licentious intent, wrapping it along the underside of one of his leaden, sensitive balls.

An obstructed, smothered cry of your name tumbles from his spit-swollen lips. His eyes nearly rolling back into his skull as you repeat the action, tasting the slick of his come on the base of your tongue, before you’re hollowing out your cheeks and suckling the heavy sack into your mouth. Moaning around him, the vibration reverberating up along his spine, making him jerk, then moan- anguished and hasty.

You let his ball fall away from your mouth with a wet pop, angling his cock upwards with two fingers and reaching your head back up before dropping your hand back to his thigh. Wrapping your lips around his tip, a smear of his pre-come splayed out over his pelvis where it dribbled.

You swallow his gradually hardening cock down, down to halfway, then further, relaxing your throat as he nudges at the back, fists curling to reduce your gag reflex. You feel his length twitch against the walls of your throat as you glide your head down, lower, until your nose is pressing against the slope of his tummy, buried in the slick, silver curls of his happy trail.

“Oh, shit..” he breathes hoarsely, his hips instinctually rising to grind up against your mouth. You gag, spluttering slightly, but swiftly retaliate by lifting your hands and splaying them over his thighs, nails raking sternly, warning him to be still. He stiffens, groaning lowly at the sharp pierce of crescents into his skin.

You swallow around him, feeling him thicken, growing girthier against your tongue, a vein pulsing along the muscle, his scent thick and heady, wading through your senses like the drip of a cool lake over your tired bones.

Drooling happily on his cock, eyes slipped closed in content.

You lift your head, cheeks sucking inwards, tongue swirling rapidly over his swelled tip. There’s an obscene slurp as you dip back down, repeating the action languidly, slowly bobbing your head up and down over him. Taking him into your throat, swiping your tongue along the underside of his length, moaning in awe as he hardens, despite his creaking knees and his resisting stamina.

You drag your mouth off him with a wet pop, but don’t give him a moment to protest before you draw in a hasty breath of air and swoop back down to his balls, greedy tongue lapping out on his other come-smeared sac, sucking it firmly into your mouth. He whimpers, pelvis jolting upwards, then grinding down. You decide not to chide him, too lost in the feeling of his heavy, salty balls sitting sluggishly on your tongue, full and sensitive.

You lap and suckle and moan, alternating between each ball, lathering attention on each one, licking up his prior release until they’re both shiny and slick with your saliva instead. One hand drags slowly up from his thigh to curl around his spit-coated cock, nearly entirely hard in your grip now, stiff and throbbing when you squeeze at the base. Veins prominent and pulsing along the length of him, your thumb drags over them as you slowly pump up and down. Continuing to suck firmly on his balls, daubing recognition on either of them, dribbling on his sensitive skin like it’s the sweetest candy you’ve tasted, attempting to suckle them both into the wet pressure of your mouth at once like some twisted game of chubby bunny.

“Tha’s it.. keep on sucking on ‘em like that, sweetheart,” he crows out from above you, rasping and drawling like the drag of a chisel along wood.

Just to deny him, you pull away, his chest constricting with the efforts to huff back a groan of frustration, lamenting. Your eyes dart up towards him, glossy with your arousal, his own inky black with need, wrists tied above his head, cock perched and weeping at full-mast.

You move. The shift barely even registers in your mind, your body moving of its own accord, led entirely on lust and a depraved desire to see him squirm- your chin tilts, dark eyes perched on his to gauge his reaction when you move lower. Press your face forward and experimentally curl your tongue out, letting it swipe over the pucker of his asshole, wet and hot and filthy.

You see his entire body go taught, his thighs tightening and his breath stumbling in his throat like he’s been punched. His eyes widening and pooling round, dumbfounded and he stares down towards you.

“Baby-” he croaks, shaky, his hips grinding down in one swift roll down against the bed sheets like his body is unsure if he’s trying to keen closer to the sensation or climb away from it. Your hand stills around his cock, drumming a frantic pulse and leaking in your touch, your hot breath casting over his tight back entrance.

But you spot it. That flutter of uncertainty in the pull of his bottom lip, his jaw clenching with hesitation no matter how far his eyes darken. Yours search his with a heated sincerity, scanning over his weariness.

You reluctantly pull back. Allowing him reprieve, not wishing to push too far without a rawer conversation, aware of the freshness of the act and how many barriers he’d have to relinquish to release his tension for something of that unknown territory. You don’t entirely abandon the idea, instead just allowing it to settle, thick and coiling through the air like promise, stashed away but present. But you don’t continue, not this time.

Instead you just flutter your eyelashes up towards him, swarmed with understanding and a quiet acknowledgement neither of you speak aloud. You lift your head back up, and wordlessly take his cock back into your mouth, lips wrapping around him and sucking him in deep. Moaning softly with equal need as the primal, gruff sound that rips from his chest when you sink down to the hilt. Swallowing to stave off your gag reflex.

His face twists with tension, deprived and desirous, hips rolling up once again.

You let him this time, the both of you falling into a sloppy, obscene rhythm where you bob along his length, and he meets you with sharp, unceremonious thrusts, lower back preening off the mattress towards the wet embrace of your mouth.

His moans and grunts meet your ears like something sinful, something delicious, your nose bumping against his stomach with each drop downwards, eagerly accepting him into your throat even when you splutter and drool, tears spiking at your waterline with the short cramping of your ribs.

“Feels so- oh, fuck- swallowing me down so good. Baby, ain’t gonna- shit, ain’t gonna last long like this,” he curses, heaving out like it pains him, his eyes lidding as he watches you zealously choke down on his cock like it’s your redemption, pelvis meeting your mouth with enthusiastic puffs from his parted lips. Fucking into your mouth as his wrists strain against the ropes, the frayed material digging reddened marks into his skin that his mind doesn’t even register.

You pull off abruptly.

He groans in protest, whilst you draw in a desperate gasp of air, blinking away the tears that gathered in your vision, a few dripping down your cheeks, slipping from your chin as your eyes meet his.

“You wanna come, baby?” You rasp, palm curling back around him, pumping his slick flesh slowly, seeing his dick drool in your hand, pre-come beading copiously from his tip with just the smallest squeeze.

He nods, firm and quiet, sweaty throat bobbing with his grating swallow.

“Ask for what you want,” you demand, eyes set assertively on his, waiting, expecting.

“Told you I’m not begging,” he gruffs resistantly, pupils narrowing towards you defiantly. It almost makes you want to laugh- how he still refuses despite the position you’ve placed him in, body nearly curdling with throbbing arousal against your hand with every slow drag of your fist.

Your tongue swipes over your bottom lip with an ironical glare towards him.

“I can stop,” you threaten dreamily. Hand stilling around him.

He grunts, like he’s devastated, drawn from his chest with a piercing fish hook. His hips press up into your stiff, unmoving hand to no avail, which he quickly realises. His chest rises and falls, tummy raising with harsh breaths.

His nostrils flare, eyes glistening like he’s going to deny you, refuse to yield. But his lips work with an opposite agenda, forming the words, tongue loose and wanton.

“Please.”

It’s sharp, bitter. Like he has to physically lasso it out from his throat.

“What was that?” You purr, pushing and coaxing.

His jaw works, chewing over the words with blatant vexation. You squeeze around him, fist swiping up to drag your thumb promptly through his weeping slit, his cock jerking violently against the touch.

“Jesus- fuckin’- please, baby- gotta come in your hand, in your mouth-” he scowls harshly, then whimpers, his pelvis tight and rolling upwards, seeking more. Messy and haphazard. Cock leaking like a faucet, nearly drooling down onto your fist wrapped tight around him.

Abandoning all false pretenses, grating, his heart pulsing in a raucous beat, “Let me come, please.”

Triumph swims like blaring, calamitous fireworks in your chest. You nearly purr with your delight, a gratified grin stretching along the swollen, wet expanse of your lips. You tilt, and lay a single kitten-lick to his tip, swallowing down another bead of pearly-white pre-come.

Then you’re crawling up the expanse of his body.

“I’ll let you come, honey,” you promise sweetly, hand releasing his cock as you climb up over him, coming to straddle his hips once again. His breath cracks in his chest as you lower yourself, your sopping, drooling cunt pressing down against the underside of his slick cock.

You both moan simultaneously at the warm, firm contact, your head lolling forward with a tremble that strikes down your spine like electric shocks. Finally placing some stimulation on your abandoned, needy pussy.

You grind down just barely, your folds spreading over him, coating him in your arousal, dragging up and down with a distant squelch.

“Please- take me inside you, shit, let me feel you,” he nearly babbles, eyes glazed over, wrists twisting in earnest against his rope confines. “Gotta feel that sweet cunt wrapped around me.”

Joel’s chest burns with a deep, unfiltered sound, his cock jerking beneath you, his head falling backwards with a rasped whine when his red tip catches at your clenching entrance. Your hands glide up, over his chest, one settling gently on the side of his neck, the other coming to delicately cup his jaw. Holding him in your palms like he’s something fragile, cradling him like he’s precious- which he is, to you.

You soften, heart throbbing with an affection only he has bestowed upon your weakened psyche, an endless stretch of fervour and want you’ve never experienced before. Not with anyone but him. With his firm body that softens in the middle, his stubbled jaw and the wrinkled crow’s feet by his glossy eyes your thumb strokes smoothly over now, his face mechanically tilting into the warmth of your touch despite his haste.

Lowering down, you press your lips to his. Gentle, tender, breathing into him like a life source, exhaling into his mouth the same way his fondness and devotion has for you. He’s still for a beat, before he’s kissing you back with a surprised but careful intimacy, melting into it like second nature. A reverence coiled like a secret between you.

“Gonna give you what you want. Did so good for me,” you mumble into his lips, tongue dabbing gently at his bottom lip as you pull away. You tilt your hips up, the hand against his jaw sliding down between you to curl back around his stiff cock, angling to line him up with your aching entrance.

You notch him against your drooling hole, then finally acquiescing- you sink down. Slow, taking your time, letting you both feel each ridge and drag of him against your wet and warm walls, embracing him like a slick, tight vice.

A groan and a whimper mingling in the air, conjoined like your bodies as you lower, until your hips press flush down with his, thighs bracketing him, his forearms flexing like his hands itch to guide the pace, to settle on your hips with firm intent. He sighs like he’s finally been granted something divine and sensational, his length nudging deep within you, the angle pressed to make it feel as though he’s in your stomach- exactly where you always crave for him to be, and to never leave.

Your body adjusts quickly, your slick sliding briskly over him, mind foggy with relief at the feeling of being so full of him.

You brace your hands against his chest, eyelashes fluttering and head dropped forwards as you tardily drag yourself back up, lifting, your arousal clinging to his pulsing girth and your cunt clenching around him, relishing the feeling of him dragging over your sensitive walls.

Right as you’re about to sink back down, you hear a vague, distant shift, then a noise akin to stretching rubber, unravelling. Then a rumble, deep and low-

The ropes binding Joel’s wrists snap.

"If you can't fight and you can't flee, flow." - Robert Elias M.D

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