2000sbitch - Tumblr blog

2000sbitch · 3 years

Text

tulsa jesus freak.

summary. | He’d never trade your innocent body for a can of gin. No, instead, he chooses to sing you like his favourite bible hymn.

warnings. | Non/dubcon, coercion, manipulation, gaslighting, smut, innocence kink, corruption kink, Daddy kink, dom/sub, manhandling, angst, virginity loss, unprotected vaginal sex, fingering (reader doesn’t come), dirty talk, praise kink, degradation, creampie kink, *religion, drinking (gin), safewording (but not really), dumbification, humiliation, mild sexism/misogyny, mentions of marriage, and more. 18+, MINORS DNI.

word count. | 9k.

pairings. | Dark!Lee Bodecker x Innocent!Reader.

author’s note. | since my birthday is coming up, here’s a gift from me to you! please don’t forget to reblog! if you take ANY inspiration from my fics (i’ll know, trust me) and you don’t give credit, you will be blocked and i’ll let others know. *the father is a preacher, there is no explicit mentions of religion, no blasphemy, or any disrespect. the sex occurs in the forest.

White lace decorates your Mother’s gown, only the finest for the wife of Knockemstiff’s priest. You sit on the red leather chair, your knees bent and back hunched over. You peer out the window with your soft yet scarred hands in your lap, thinking of all the world’s possibilities. Instead of trying on dresses for the service on Sunday, you could be picking strawberries at the field, readying the berries for jam.

But your Mother is a woman who has needs along with wants, and she doesn’t like it when anything is in her way. You always bite your tongue when it comes to these things. You’ve found it best that keeping quiet and never voicing your opinion is better than saying one wrong thing and having almost every churchgoer in town show up at your doorstep with pitchforks and torches.

“I think the cream colour is more elegant than the white, don’t you think so, dearest?” she asks, and you turn your head. You look up at her and quickly fix your posture, not wanting to have your ear chewed out on this lovely Thursday afternoon. “Yes, Ma, it looks elegant,” you gracefully tell her, fuelling her ego just how she likes. You always add gasoline to the fire, and it leaves you with no friends.

You know barely anyone in this town. The occasional words exchanged with the shopkeepers and passersby only occur because of your Father’s exalted status. If only they knew that he isn’t as holy as he seems to be and would much rather worship a bottle of moonshine than anything else. “What are you gonna wear, sweetie?” she asks, still admiring herself in the mirror.

“Well, I just thought that I’d wear that dress Nana gave me for my sixteenth,” you admit to her, and she hums in approval. “Good, we can’t be blowing all our money on useless things,” she sighs in relief, and you’re almost tempted to point out her hypocrisy as the price tag on the dress would be enough to make your Nana have a heart attack. “Do we gotta cook for the service?” you ask her, wanting so desperately to be able to bake a pretty pie or candy some yams.

“No need for any cookin’ this time, sweets; we got people bringing their own food for us,” she reminds you, and you nod. Your eyes dart around the store, the room almost empty with only the two shopkeepers and two customers. Your gaze goes to the mannequins that stand by the windows. You can see the old bobby pins holding the back of the outfits together, and you stifle a giggle.

Even the prettiest seeming things aren’t perfect, and you find that to be so cliche. You haven’t even noticed that your Mother is trying to tighten the straps of her dress until the hushed whispers of the store grow quieter. You believe they’re judging you; they always do. “It’s quieter than that little library you always run off to; what’s goin’ on now?” your Mother grumbles, stepping down from the level that made her tower over you.

The most exciting things that occur in this small town known as Knockemstiff are the occasional murders that usually take place on the outskirts of the city. “Oh lordy, it’s the Sheriff!” your Mother squeals, and you furrow your eyebrows. “Sheriff?” you repeat, not really grasping the concept that there is a Sheriff here in Knockemstiff. “Yes, dearest, and we need to get on his good side!” your Mother exclaims, reaching for her red purse.

She hasn’t stopped wearing it since your Father allowed her to splurge on it a few months ago. Father never really allows splurges, only if your family benefits from it for a while. But he just had to let the unnecessary purchase happen, only because your Mother nearly had his hide because he forgot to do something for Valentine’s day. You tried to convince her that he was just busy, and he indeed was. But your words went unheard, and you swore to never speak on such a topic again.

“But–” you start before getting cut off. “No buts! We need him, dearest; we need to have a good connection with him,” your Mother explains quickly, and yet you’re still lost. These ‘affairs’ of your family and the higher-up townsfolk are always so confusing. Your Father is already powerful (though you loathe the way he abuses it), and yet he still wants his empire to grow.

“You doin’ alright there, Mrs. Preacher?” the Sheriff drawls, a toothpick between his lips and his hands on his slightly pudgy waist. You look away. Eye contact is embarrassing, and the Sheriff is so intimidating that even his presence is overwhelming from just a few feet away. You slowly scoot away from him, still seated in your chair. He reeks of sins and cigarettes, maybe even a hint of that moonshine your Father would drink.

The holster on his leather belt holds a pistol. It’s shiny and clean, with not one scratch or scuff on it. He calls your Mother ‘Mrs. Preacher’ with a hint of disgust in his voice. He’s no holy man. God gave up on him a while ago, and he doesn’t care. But he does care about the swindling election creeping up on the county, just a few mere months away. Blue pins with his name written in bold have found their way in your home and heck—even in your room as well.

“All’s well, Sheriff Bodecker. What brings you here? Can’t possibly be buyin’ a dress for yourself,'' your Mother smiles, and even Lee cracks a grin. “Florence wore my patience out years ago with this bullshit; I’m just doin’ my rounds, Mrs. Preacher. You got a problem with that?” he questions, tilting his head to the side. “No problems at all, Sheriff. Sorry if I offended you… This is my daughter!” she exclaims, pointing at you.

“What?” you mumble out loud, looking up at the two elders. “Oh, uh, hi, Mister-Sheriff Bodecker-Sir,” you stammer nervously as he stares you down like a wolf. “G’day to you too, li’l girl,” he smirks, and you look down in embarrassment. Your Mother clicks her tongue in disappointment, and you just know that you’ll never hear the end of it. Lee’s eyes dart between the two of you, tension seems from the corners, and he can’t help but be confused.

Maybe the happy family scene is just an act…

“She’s just shy… My husband and I were wondering if you’d come to the service this Sunday. You don’t have to stay too long, but I'm sure it'll be very beneficial,” she reasons, with an emphasis on her last two words. Lee nods in understanding, and his eyes flicker back over to you. You’re still looking away, and he doesn’t mind it at all. Knowing how his powerful presence frightens people makes him feel drunk on happiness and ego.

He lets out a small chuckle. “Then I’ll be sure to be there. You got any room for a sinner?” he questions, hooking his thumbs into his belt. “Always,” your Mother gleams, clasping her hands together, almost in a prayer-like manner. “And I trust that your sweet li’l girl will be there too, right?” he asks, turning his head to face you. You sight up straighter at the mention and gulp nervously. “O- Of course, Mister-Sheriff-Bodecker-Sir,” you ramble out. Your Mother sighs in shame, but Lee simply smiles. “Just Sheriff Bodecker or Mr. Bodecker,” he corrects, and you nod.

“Okay, Mr. Bodecker.”

It’s Sunday. You like to assign colours to each day of the week on your little calendar. Monday is orange, Tuesday is yellow, Wednesday is blue, Thursday is green, Friday is purple, and Saturday is pink. But for you. Sunday is white. Maybe it’s the symbolism of the colour, or perhaps it’s because, on Sundays, you’re always forced to wear white. It’s not like you hate the colour; you just get tired of it.

The other girls in town wear different colours, even if most of the time it’s brown. Written in blue pen on the Sunday square is the time of the service. Your Father’s handwriting resembled a chicken scratch when he was younger, is what your Mother says to you constantly. Hers takes a while to decipher, but you’ve grown a skill out of reading it with ease. Your friends would envy your talent of being able to read cursive easily when you were younger, and thinking back, you miss them.

You don’t have friends, not yet and not here, at least. Sometimes, you like to be alone. It’s nice to be by yourself, it’s so very calm and relaxing. You wish you could have a dog, perhaps a Golden Retriever or a German Shepherd. But your Mother hates animals, and so does your Father. So you just use the company of your pillows for the time being. They don’t mind any amount of touch you place on them, and they don’t complain either.

When you were younger, you’d swear that your toys could talk. It was a slight improvement from your imaginary friend, who was named Bethel, but your Father still wasn’t pleased. He demanded you’d be sent to some boarding school to set you straight because at the time, kids your age had learned Santa isn’t real, and the tooth fairy is really just their parents. Your Mother had begged him not to, and you miss those times where she had a heart, and she had a soul.

When she was calloused and egoistical. But you can’t blame her; your Father has that type of sway with his words.

She calls out your name, harshly and her voice turns into a croak towards the end because of the strength she uses. “Are you ready? We have to go set up!” she questions, looking at the watch on her wrist. It’s a gold colour, but that doesn’t mean it’s made of gold or plated with it, either. All the gold jewellery is in the safe, as per your Father’s request. You look at yourself in the mirror, not liking the way the tag of your dress is poking into your skin. You’d try to cut it off, but the jagged edge would be just as annoying.

You reach as far as your arm can let you, and you fold it so that the corners don’t bother you. The skirt of the dress is a bit too long for your liking. It hangs a few centimetres beneath your knees, and it leaves your calves exposed. You’re not wearing your stockings because they have a rip in them, and you’re too nervous about borrowing a pair from your Mother. “Yes!” you yell back, grabbing your purse and your sweater.

You have a small snack in your bag, along with a few other necessities. The purpose of the sweater is to keep you warm because, for some odd reason, the church is always a frigid temperature. You follow your Mother to her car, and you buckle your seatbelt up before she speeds off. The car smells nice and clean; perhaps there’s a new air freshener. A green pine tree hangs on the mirror, and you fight the urge to grab it. “When we get there, you have to go to the forest,” she starts, and you furrow your eyebrows together.

You’re not too fond of the forest, only because of the alarming amount of dead raccoons you always find. “Why?” you question, looking out the window to see women and men of different ages and sizes walking in different directions. It’s Sunday, so most of them might be going to the park. You’ve always wanted to go there, but your Father never lets you. One day you’ll sneak out. You’re sure of it.

“Because we need twigs,” she bluntly answers, staring straight at the road ahead. “Why do you need twigs?” you ask, shifting your gaze from the outside world to her. “For a fire,” your Mother tells you. “Why do you need to light a fire? Fires are for camping and for cooking,” you press, letting your curiosity get the best of you. “Just stop asking questions. It’s annoying and quite frankly none of your business,” she snaps, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes.

Defensive as always. For what reason is beyond even you.

“Where’s your accent gone to? Hm? New York?” you sneer, noticing that her drawl is no longer laced between her semi-hurtful words. “Shut your mouth. I need to make a good impression. I need to stand out,” she informs you, and your face is downturned into a confused, frazzled frown. She makes no sense; one moment, she’s saying one thing, the next, she’s changing her tune. “I thought you said we gotta blend in,” you murmur loud enough for her to hear. “Yes, and things have changed since then. So you need to hide that pathetic accent, and you need to speak like somebody from the big city,” she demands, slightly raising her tone.

You nod, and you keep quiet the rest of the ride. It’s better to leave your Mother to stew than anything else.

There’s another car there, and you recognize it before your Mother can even park next to it. “The Sheriff…” you whisper, stepping out of the vehicle. Your feet hit the gravel and mix the small stones around as you wobble just a tiny bit. “Run along, now,” she orders, closing the trunk with a loud slam. “Don’t I have to greet the Sheriff and Dad?” you wonder out loud, and your Mother rolls her eyes.

“Go,” she eventually tells you, and you run as fast as your feet can go. You step inside, and your skin already pebbles up into goosebumps, but you don’t have the patience to put your sweater on. You see your Father and the Sheriff speaking to each other in low tones, both looking equally as stressed as your Mother. “Hi, Mr. Sheriff Bodecker-Sir,” you nervously say, catching both of their attentions. Lee flicks his dark eyes towards you, and his bitter mood turns sweet at the sight of your smile.

“Good morning, sweetie,” he greets, tilting his head upwards, and your Father grumbles some sort of nonsense. “Go do what your Mother told you, make sure they’re not flimsy and disgusting,” your Father instructs, and you nod your head. “Go do what?” Lee curiously asks, placing his hands on his hips and clenching his jaw. He catches the way you wring your hands together, and he knows you’re intimidated by him. “I have to go collect twigs for a fire,” you explain to him, and he nods.

“Why not branches?” he questions, shifting his posture just a little bit. He stands straighter, and his tummy juts out only a tiny bit more. “I can’t cut them,” you inform, and he nods his head again. “Let me help you out; you’ll need to collect plenty for a fire,” he offers, even though it’s not really an offer and more of a suggestion than anything else. He doesn’t leave any room for you to either accept him or reject him; he just walks past you and out the door.

You follow Lee like a lost puppy dog, trying to keep up with the long strides that quickly take him to the forest. “How old are you, sweetheart?” he asks, taking his baton out. He uses it to smack at the tree branches that interrupt his path, and you have to wait until they stop shaking to pass by them. You tell him your age, and you don’t ask for his in return because it’s not the proper thing to do. “I’m forty. I know you wanted to ask, so there ya’ go,” he meekly tells you, and you nod even though he can’t see you.

“Have you ever done this before?” Lee questions and you have to pause to think. “Well, both yes and no. I use to look around for twigs when I was younger, but I’ve never had them ask me to go find a plethora of them,” you explain to him, looking down at the ground. The grass and dirt of the forest are covered in many dried leaves. Some are crunchy, and some aren’t. You fight the urge to jump on most of them because you know it won’t leave a nice impression on Lee.

“‘Plethora,’ you’re pretty smart, aren’t ya?” he wonders out loud, quoting the word you used in an almost envious tone. You open your mouth to answer, but he beats you to it. “I get, you’re from the big city or whateva,’ and maybe that means shit to some people, but it doesn’t mean anything to me. Alright? Tell your Father and Mother that. They’re too dumb to realize it,” he snaps, clearly frustrated with other things that you don’t even want to know. You obviously won’t tell them those exact words; you’d rather face the wrath of the Sheriff than the wrath of your parents.

Some leaves are wet. Perhaps from some light showers that happened a day or two ago. They stick to the bottom and sides of your shoes, but you don’t care enough to take them off. “Where are you even from anyways? San Francisco?” he rudely interrogates, and suddenly you feel like you’ve committed some sort of crime. Maybe thievery, or perhaps arson. A kind of guilt that would usually accompany those crimes weighs on your chest, and you’re not sure why.

You haven’t done anything wrong; you’ve simply just followed orders that everyone keeps throwing at you.

You wonder if your parents have that guilt. Or maybe they’ve got it as a burden instead. But they walk with a jump in each step, and they do more work than you can ever fathom doing, so there can’t be anything holding them down. No conscience, no guilt, no luggage, nothing. You, on the other hand, drag your feet when you walk. You rarely ever skip down the sidewalk, and you don’t jump around either. Every morning you wake up with butterflies in your stomach.

But they aren’t the good kind, so maybe instead of butterflies, you have moths. And unlike your parents, you just can’t lie without feeling bad.

“We’re from Tulsa, Sir,” you inform him with a whisper in your tone and an awkward smile on your face. There aren’t anymore leaves on the ground, and you begin to search for twigs. You’re unsure if you’re going to find enough for a fire, but you’ll try your hardest either way. Besides, it’s better to have something than nothing, right? “Tulsa? Like in Oklahoma?” he double-backs, not sure if he heard you right. Lee never would’ve thought you and your family are from Tulsa, of all places.

It seems almost criminal for you not to be from a big city where everyone is constantly bustling. You’ve got a sort of simple glamour to you that is meant to be strutted on the streets of New York, not on the rough, broken-down roads of Knockemstiff or Tulsa. Your family certainly doesn’t act like they’re from Tulsa; perhaps they’ve forgotten where they’ve come from. Money does have the known side effect of amnesia, no?

“Yes, Sir,” you affirm, nodding your head and kicking at some stone to find more twigs. You have around six or seven in your hand so far, and Lee has none. His palms are sweaty and hot, but yours are cold and dry. The weather gets you like that sometimes, but the Sheriff just runs hot. “Never thought you’d be from Tulsa. You belong in that New York place that everyone is flocking to,” he jokes under his breath with intentions of letting you hear him. You catch his words, and you let out a giggle because everyone says the same as well.

Lee smiles, appreciating the way you know he’s lighthearted.

“You gotta get more than that. That ain’t gonna do shit,” Lee points out, even though he doesn’t make any movements or attempts to help you out. You’re tired, and all you want to do is go home and sleep for the rest of the day. “About how many should I collect?” you ask him because he’s older and he knows better. He’s worldly, and you’re sure he can lend you some wisdom and expertise. “O’er twenty for sure,” he estimates, squinting his eyes to look at the handful of sticks in your hand.

“You got any friends? Or are you a loner? What about a job? Do you go to university or college?” The Sheriff suddenly bombards you with questions, and you stutter as you try to understand what he wants from you. “No, I don’t have any friends. But I’m not a loner. I don’t have a job, and I graduated college,” you explain to him as you try to keep your feet steady against the bumpy ground. You sort through sticks to find some twigs, and you only end up drawing two from your search.

“Hm, well, I can be your friend if you want. Besides, your parents are going to be inviting me over these coming days, and I don’t want it to be awkward,” Lee offers, and your ears perk up as his words sink in. “Really? Oh, wow, thank you so much, Mr. Bodecker-Sheriff-Sir!” you exclaim to him, turning around and wrapping your arms around his squishy, soft stomach. The hug lasts for only a fleeting moment, just a few seconds. You pull away from him, and you’re smiling so very brightly that Lee just knows you lied to him when you said you’re not a loner.

“Just call me Lee, since we’re friends now,” he tells you, and you nod. “Okay, Lee.” His name feels weird as it rolls off your tongue. Too casual. You feel the need to refer to him by something that carries respect, not friendliness. But you brush off the weirdness of it, knowing that you’ll get used to it eventually. “Look, over there. There’s a bunch of twigs yonder,” Lee points out, nodding in the direction of a shed with two large trees on either side. You look over, not sure how he sees any twigs from so far.

“C’mon,” he urges, stepping in front of you. Lee walks ahead of you, and you quickly follow behind him. You’ve now got around eleven twigs in your head, and they’re all poking your skin in a not-so-very gentle manner. The shed has rust all over it, the silver turning into a copper-brown colour that looks hard to clean. You remember one time your Father made you clean an old, rusted pan that he found in the garage. It took you hours, and by the end of it, you were absolutely exhausted.

Lee leans forward just a bit, bending down and using the black baton to push off some leaves and broken sticks. “There,” he says, slapping the wand on the ground and standing back up. You hesitatingly pick up the few twigs he’s uncovered, and you have a handful and a half. Your bag is resting on your elbow, and your sweater is wrapped around your waist. You don’t want it to get dirty, which is why you aren’t wearing it. “Thanks, Lee, I really appreciate it,” you express, pressing your lips together to give him a kind smile.

Lee nonchalantly waves his baton, and you’re surprised at how laid back and calm of a person he is. You expected him to be strict, a stickler for the rules, and as someone who’d constantly hover over you while you do simple things. Just waiting for you to mess up so he can smoke you out for your mistake. “You move around a lot, don’t you, sweet thing?” he questions after a few wordless moments.

Not silent, wordless.

You can hear each others’ chests rising and falling, both of your mouths slightly parted as you pant just a tiny bit. The wind whistles, shaking a few leaves and makes them rustle. “Yeah, we only settle down for a few months before we’re going somewhere else. It’s tiring, you know? I feel like I can barely catch my breath or sit down for a few seconds. Always taping boxes, writing ‘fragile’ on them, packing my suitcases,” you voice, knowing you could never say these things to your parents unless you want to have them yell at you.

“Well, I’m really sorry about that…” Lee meekly tells you, not sure what else to say. “I- It’s alright, not like it’s your fault, heh. I just want to have a normal life, not one that’s constantly changing,” you murmur to him, wondering about how different things would be—how different you would be if your Father wasn’t forcing you to change locations all the time. Lee thinks nice and hard about a way to change the topic because he can just feel the awkwardness growing by the second.

“You didn’t buy yourself a dress from the store? For the service?” he questions, and you look at him. “Nope,” you shake your head while popping the ‘p.’ You turn your body as you continue to look for more twigs, aiming to add at least fifteen or twenty before you go back to where your parents are waiting. He sucks in a sharp breath, and he clicks his tongue in a disappointing manner. Your furrow your eyebrows. Did you say something wrong? “Such a shame, there was this black one with lace on it. It was on one of the mannequins in the window. It would’ve looked lovely on you,” he explains to you, and you know just which dress he’s talking about.

“Oh, yeah, I liked that one,” you reply, squinting your eyes as you continue on with your search. “Bet your Mother buys more things for herself than she does for you, right?” The Sheriff questions and you nearly choke on your saliva. “Uhm, no, that’s not the case at all, Lee,” you inform him, trying your best to lie. “I’d get you anything you want, you know? Because that’s what friends do.” Lee has a sort of wicked smile on his face, lopsided and bright.

He takes a step closer towards you, mashing some poor leaves beneath his leather shoes. They’ve got steel tips, too, just like your Father. “R- Really?” you ask, stepping backwards to preserve some form of personal space. “Mhm, friends do so many things for each other; to each other…” he whispers. His voice drops to a low tone, breathy and not at all harsh. It’s calming, so very calming. “I never knew that,” you shyly admit to him, no longer looking for twigs. You’ve forgotten about them, in all honesty.

“There’s this special thing that friends do when they first grow a bond, like the bond we have right now! Do you want to do it?” Lee asks, hopeful and starry-eyed. You let out a small gasp, not knowing what he’s talking about yet still wanting to do it. It seems like your parents will be staying in Knockemstiff for a while… So you might as well strengthen your newfound friendship with Lee as soon as possible, right?

You nod your head excitedly, nearly making yourself giggle. Lee smirks at your eagerness, knowing that you’re absolutely clueless about what he’s going to do to you. “What is it? Is it like a game?” you ask him, more curious than a cat. He doesn’t say anything. No, nothing at all. Instead, he drops his beloved baton on the forest’s floor, and he pushes you against the shed. Your back bumps up against the zinc, but you’re not hurt by his suddenness. “Just… Watch, and feel sweetheart,” Lee hums gleefully, and you’re just a tad hesitant.

But he’s your friend, and you need to trust him. So you release yourself from your own binds and just go with what he’s doing. Friends don’t harm each other… Right?

Two warm hands scrunch up the cloth of your dress, forming a pile of white polyester at your lower abdomen. Your crotch area is exposed, and goosebumps immediately find a home on your skin. “Hold that,” he orders, and you listen to him. His hands get replaced with yours, and Lee can feel his blood rushing down to his cock from being so close to touching your pussy. His nimble yet slightly chubby fingers hook into the waist of your cotton panties, and he slowly pulls them down.

You watch him as he lets your underwear fall at your ankles, and your cunt is exposed. He stares you directly in your eyes, only intimidating you and not comforting you at all. But despite your slowly growing discomfort (and slight fear as well), you remain as silent as a grave, and you don’t dare to say anything against what he’s doing.

Those same fingers of Lee’s have been stained with blood and dirt before. They’ve been stained with tears and whipped cream. They’ve been cut up and broken before. Now, they are soaked with your wetness as he lightly touches your folds. He’s not sure why you’re wet, but he likes to think that it’s all because of him. “You’re soaked, sweetie. Why’s that?” Lee questions, a sort of condescending tone lingering between his words.

“Uhm… I- I don’t know, Lee- Isn’t this, like, bad? Since it’s out of wedlock and all…” you nervously ask him, worried about all the things your parents have told you in your life. “Nope, because we’re friends, darling!” he cheers, a bright smile on his face. You let out a sigh of relief, your nerves no longer set on fire due to your unnecessary overthinking. “Just relax for me, and let me do what I need to do,” Lee urges, and you lean your head against the zinc behind you to calm down.

Lee traces his fingers up and down your lips, just barely grazing your swollen clit. He knows he shouldn’t waste any time because these days, it seems to fly quickly. His digits decide to leave your little button alone, and he brings them to your drooling hole. He also knows he shouldn’t take his precious time with every move, which is why he pushes his two fingers inside you without warning. You cry out loudly at the sudden pain that fills you. You feel like you’re being intruded by a rude passerby, perhaps one with eyes that can’t leave anything unseen.

“L- Lee, it hurts!” you whine to him, wondering if you’re being ripped in half. He says nothing, and he lowers himself onto the ground. His left knee rests against the pile of leaves, and he watches the way your pussy hugs his fingers tightly. He’s as stiff as a rock, if not more. He’d love to push you to your limits and even past them, too. Lee strokes your inner walls as he lets you get adjusted to him. With him, you’ll always be filled up with something.

“Does it still hurt, sweetheart?” the Sheriff mockingly asks, but you’re too oblivious to notice the way he taunts you and your weakness. “N- Not as much as before… It kind of feels good, like, tingly?” you describe to him as best as you can, and he just wants to fuck that innocence out of you as soon as possible. ”Aw, I’m glad you’re feeling it now. And plus, I’d much rather see you writing in pain in other ways,” he whispers under his breath. You don’t catch his words because you’re too busy trying to catch your breath.

Lee doesn’t think he’s a sadist; no, of course not. He just believes that you’d look so pretty crying for him to stop hurting you. The burning sensation has turned into something gratifying, and you wonder if Lee has magic laced between his wickedly clever words. Lee’s cock strains against his brown pants, and he has a feeling you’ll be the death of him. “This li’l cunt of yours is so tight, baby. I bet you’ve never touched it before, right? Well, I’ll be damned. I guess first come, first serve really does apply to everythin’,” he casually chatters, talking as though he isn’t knuckle-deep inside of you in the middle of a forest.

“I’d love to ruin this little hole a’ yours. You’d make me the happiest man alive if you let me,” he hums, pressing his lips together as your wetness soaks his hand. “What the fuck am I even sayin’? You don’t gotta give me permission or anything. This is my little pussy. And I’ll do whatever I want with it, even if it isn’t too holy,” he chuckles, and you nod in agreement because you’d trust him with your life, especially since he’s your friend.

Lee slowly begins to thrust his digits in and out of your virgin hole, admiring the squelching sounds and sheen that your arousal causes. Your breath hitches at the growing pleasure, and your hips buck towards him. “Already a slut for me, aren’t ya?” the Sheriff chortles, and you squeeze your hands into tight fists. The twigs poke into your soft skin, and you let out a hiss. You drop them right by his feet, and you look down to where they’ve fallen. Instead of your eyes meeting the ground, they cross with Lee’s, and you find yourself entranced.

You both gaze at each other longingly, and Lee pushes his fingers back into your pussy. Your jaw drops, and you let out a gasp at the lovely stimulation. The man beneath you curls his fingers, and he quickly finds that sweet spot. Your knees buckle, and you nearly give away. “That feels so good, doesn’t it, sweetie? I know it does, and it’ll feel even better in a few seconds,” Lee whispers, shallowly fucking his fingers into your pussy. He tries his hardest to multitask, but he can only really focus on the way you’re slowly turning into a slut just for him.

“Feels- Feels so good, Lee,” you whimper, gyrating your hips against his hand out of pure helplessness. You have no idea as to what you’re doing, but you let your body take control. “Call me ‘Daddy,’ okay?” he orders, and you nod. It’s a bit peculiar, but you’d do anything to make your friend happy. “Okay, Daddy,” you agree before you bite down on your bottom lip. The pads of his fingers stroke your walls and your g-spot roughly. Yet, his movements are still a bit slow as he has no plans to make you come just yet.

You’ve never experienced anything like this. You wonder if this is what heaven feels like because, damn, this pleasure must be from there. And if it’s a place on Earth, it must be wherever Lee goes. Maybe he hails from there. You’ve never met a man so nice like him. He’s the first to ever make you feel anything.

A certain pressure fills your stomach, and your skin lights on fire with a sort of sensitivity. Your legs twitch every now and then, and they nearly clamp down on Lee’s arm. He switches motions, from scissoring his digits to pushing them into you. You’re panting like a bitch in heat, and your cunt is soaking wet. You feel messy, but you don’t care. “Uhm, Daddy? Why does it feel so overwhelming?” you worryingly ask him as a knot in your stomach grows. You’re not sure what it is, and you try your hardest to pinpoint the feeling.

You feel like you need to use the bathroom, and the last thing you want to do is embarrass yourself in front of your new friends. And if you do, you know he’ll leave just like the rest of them. “That’s because of my fingers, baby. Don’t worry, okay? Just relax and let it happen,” the Sheriff reassures, even though you’re still uneasy about it. Something about it puts you off, and even though you want to try your hardest, you don’t want to risk anything. “I don’t think I can, Daddy… I’m really sorry!” you exclaim to him, worried that he’s upset with your words.

And he is. He’s so very upset with not only your words but with you as well.

Lee sighs heavily, with disappointment and a touch of sadness written on his features, too. “I’m really, really sorry!” you apologize once again, even though your words just can’t correctly grasp how distressed you are. He clicks his tongue, and he shakes his head. He feels a bit bad for you, but he also feels hurt that you won’t push your boundaries for him. You’re supposed to be his special one, and you’re supposed to do absolutely anything for him.

A harsh wind cuts through the silence, and Lee almost wants to ignore your pleas and continue to toy with you however he likes. But he’s not that cruel, and he’s not stupid, either. He knows if he messes up once, it’ll forever be engraved in your mind.

Suddenly, he pulls his fingers out of your pussy. He leaves you empty and gaping, and you miss the full feeling that you enjoyed. His hand is sticky with your juices, and the sight of your arousal on him makes him feral. “It’s okay, sweetie, I understand,” he softly tells you, and he even graces you with a charming smile. You wonder how he isn’t married, especially since Lee is so perfect.

Every woman in Knockemstiff either has no taste, or they’re just plain stupid.

“N- No, it’s not okay! Because I ruined it… Will it ruin our friendship? Oh, God, please don’t let that happen! Please, Lee- I mean, Daddy. I can’t lose you. You’re my only friend...” you beg him, only now realizing how grave your mistake is. You want to take back your words so badly, but you know that it’s too late for that. Tears sting your innocent eyes, and your throat aches as you feel a sob build up there. All it can take is one sentence before the waterworks start.

Lee realizes that he can simply just play you like a fiddle. Your naivety may be a curse for you, but it’s a gift for him. “Well, I can’t say for sure what it means for our future. Y’know, that was supposed to be a special moment! But you ruined it, sweetie,” he tells you with sadness on his tongue. Your face forms a frown, and you look away from him to try and push out your heavy emotions. “But, we can fix it,” he adds, and you flash your gaze towards him. “Really?” you ask in disbelief, hopeful that maybe your friendship won’t be going to waste.

“Yes, sweetie, we sure can fix it. You want that, don’t ya? Well, all you gotta do is let me use you how I please,” he briskly explains, and you immediately nod your head. Your heart soars, perhaps like one of the seagulls by the beach, and maybe you’re the happiest person in the whole wide world. “How do I do that, Lee? Sorry, Daddy. Please tell me, I don’t want to spoil anythin’ of ours anymore. Oh, and thank you for givin’ me another chance! I’m really grateful!” you ramble, your face bright even though you haven’t really acknowledged what you’re asking for.

Hearing you call him ‘Daddy” makes Lee want to sin over and over again, without asking for forgiveness from anyone at all. His pants and boxers are just too uncomfortable, and his cock is basically begging to be buried in your canal. Lee abruptly stands up, towering over you like the true monster he is. You gulp thickly, nervous, and just a tiny bit erratic. He moves a little closer to you, and his stomach touches yours. “Turn around and lift up your skirt,” he orders, with his eyes blown out into absolute darkness.

You nod, and you slowly do as he said. He watches you like a hawk, and he stares at your ass as it’s gradually uncovered. He’d love to spank you and play with your butt until you’re begging him to stop, but he knows he shouldn’t get too ahead of himself. Lee’s feet kick at your ankles gently, and he urges you to spread your legs further apart. You do exactly that, and you can feel chills running throughout your body. Patiently, of course, you wait for either his next move or demand. You’re not sure if you should say or do anything else, so you decide to keep quiet until he speaks.

Lee quietly drags his zipper down before he undoes his button and fiddles with his belt. He does it all as quickly as he can, with his chest heavy and face slightly flushed. The vein on his temple bulges out from his arousal, and Lee swears he can’t recall the last time he’s felt this way. He struggles just a little bit before finding the groove of his movements at last. His pants fall down his legs, and he lets his boxers join them, too. Lee’s cock bounces up, hard and leaking, and it slaps against his stomach.

One of his big hands grip the base of it, and he watches as a bead of pre-cum slowly rolls past his slit. He’s a raging red, perhaps almost purple colour. “Daddy?” you eventually call out, wondering if he’s okay. “I’m here, li’l baby, I’m here,” he reassures before taking a step closer towards you. “Hold onto the shed, and don’t make a sound unless it’s my name,” Lee commands, and you do exactly that. You splay your hands on the grey yet copper-coloured zinc, and you press your lips together until they form a thin line.

Lee guides the fat tip of his cock to your soaking wet pussy, and the foreign feeling of something so bulbous has you a bit nervous. He knows that if you saw his cock, you’d panic. He slowly pushes it inside you, watching as your cunt stretches around him. You hug him tightly, and Lee moans loudly. You’re biting down on your lip roughly, trying not to make any noises at all, but it’s hard. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groans, swiping his tongue against his bottom lip. You have no idea what he means, but you have a feeling it’s about something good.

“Just grippin’ me like a fuckin’ fist, hm?” he jokes, bucking his hips into you. His girthy, thick cock sheaths itself entirely inside your pussy, and you feel like you’re either going to burst or split in half. His groin rests against your ass, and Lee tosses his head back. Tears sting your eyes from this sudden pain that burns you without remorse. “D- Daddy…” you whimper out to him, scared that maybe something terrible will happen. “Shh, shut your stupid fuckin’ mouth, it’s okay. You’re okay, just keep quiet and let me fuck you,” he sneers, and you whisper out a quick apology.

You feel full, maybe a little too full for your liking. The kind of fullness that you lost moments before this, but just at a tenfold. “It’s too much, Daddy,” you finally cry out, and Lee quickly shuts you up by clamping a hand over your mouth. “Can’t fucking listen, can’t ya? Gonna have to fix that another day,” he grunts, fed up with your obstinate ways. He waits just a few more seconds, perhaps ten or twelve by his horrible counting, and he decides to just get on with taking what he wants.

He slowly pulls his cock out of your pussy, until just the tip is left inside you. The feeling is funny, but you quickly adjust to it. Suddenly, he thrusts into your cunt roughly, and he begins to fuck you. His other hand grips your waist tightly, and he knows that you’re going to have the prettiest bruises when he’s done with you. “Fuck,” he groans, and he watches as he slides in and out of you effortlessly. His cock is coated in your wetness, and he can’t wait until he’s covered in your cum. You’re wailing loudly behind his hand, except no tears are leaking from your eyes.

A mixture of pain and pleasure is what you’re feeling. “Good girl, good fucking girl. Take it, take my cock like the whore you are,” he spits, biting down on his wet bottom lip to keep himself from spewing even more profanities. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills both of your ears, but you’re just focusing on the way he feels so good inside you. It’s better than having his fingers inside you, so much better. The tip of his cock finds your sweet spot, and he pounds against it mercilessly. You clench down on him from the feeling, but you’re only really adding fuel to the hot fire that burns inside him.

“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!” you moan, though your words are muffled, and he can barely hear you. His cock drives in and out of you quickly and harshly, just how he likes it. His paws hold you like you’re a toy, and he doesn’t care for the way you’re struggling to catch your breath. Each time his cock is shoved back into your sweet pussy, you feel like the wind is being knocked out of you. Drool leaks from your mouth, and it stains his palm like how your wetness stains his cock. “Best pussy I’ve ever fuckin’ had, I swear. Look atcha, eyes rollin’ back in yer head like you’re fuckin’ possessed or somethin’ like that,” Lee snickers, slowing down his thrusts.

His cock doesn’t pound into you as roughly as it should be, and your body is disappointed. You press your chest further against the shed, and you push your ass backwards. You try your hardest to get him to continue, and you’re not sure why, but you’re desperate. Lee lets out a wicked laugh, and he admires the way you’ve turned into his slut in the matter of half an hour. He shallowly plunges upwards, and he lets his cock kiss your g-spot so very lightly that it makes your legs quiver. “You want it so badly, don’t you? Bet your father would go insane if he knew about what I’m doing to you.

Both of your chests rise and fall, and you’re also glistening with sweat. Lee’s movements have ceased, and his lower body is still. “Look at us, just being the best of friends. Do you like this, baby? Well, I know you ain’t gotta answer because I can see how much you love my cock being inside this lovely pussy. It belongs to me now, okay? All of you belong to me. I'm gonna do something, and you better not complain or fight me. But you’re my good little girl, so I know you’ll listen to me,” Lee hums, and you sigh from behind the muzzle that is his hand.

The veins on his cock throb inside you, and you can feel it. You’re hugging him so nicely, just as snug as a sleeve. He removes his paw from your mouth, and you take a deep breath. “Nice, right? Now, I want you to make some pretty noises. Say my name as much as you can. I want to hear it all,” he requests gently, though it’s more like a demand. You nod your head obediently, and you’ve got a smile on your face. Lee fights the urge to pinch your cheeks because he just finds you to be oh so adorable.

The cutest he’s ever had in his hands (and on his cock).

He starts to use you like a ten-cent whore once again, only this time he’s more considerate of you than before. That strange tightening inside you comes back, and you’re nervous. The grip Lee has on you is brutal, absolutely brutal. It hurts so badly, but it’s not enough to wash out the lovely pleasure you’re feeling. You feel like fireworks are being set off on your each and every nerve—sparking up, flying off, and then exploding—and it’s hard to admit that you love the feeling just like how Lee loves his alcohol.

“You know how long I’ve wanted to do this? Ever since I saw you move in, I knew I had to turn you into my fuck toy. And look at yourself now, getting fucked outside of a church when you’re supposed to be a good li’l girl,” he whispers in your ear, and you let out a gasp. Your jaw falls slack, and with one specifically harsh thrust, your eyes fall back into your head. Lee laughs at this dumb look on your face, but his cheerfulness dies down as soon as you clench around his cock tightly.

A moan leaves his mouth, and it has you whimpering. “C- Could barely hold back anymore. Y’know, I had a nice plan, too? We was gonna go to some nice motel, one up by Brewer Heights or some overripe place like that. Maybe I would’ve taken you on a date, but I don’t think your parents would’ve been too fond of knowing that I’d be the first and last man to stuff this pussy full of cock and cum,” he chuckles, almost like some movie villain who is revealing their mastermind plan.

You don’t understand some of the things he’s saying, why wouldn’t your parents be fond of him?

Your eyebrows knit in confusion, and he marvels at how braindead you are. “Goddamn, baby. Really are going stupid ‘cause of my cock, aren’t ya? You’re definitely a keeper, never letting you out of my sights until I get a ring on that finger,” Lee ponders out loud, and your heart jumps at the thought of marrying him. Your Mother has always said it’s better to marry a friend rather than a foe or a stranger. Lee is your friend; he’s your best friend. It would work out well. You know it would. “W- Want that so badly, Daddy. I wanna be yours,” you hazily mumble to him.

“Well, I got a really nice way to make you mine,” Lee informs you, shallowly and sloppily thrusting his hips. He feels his balls tightening up, and he knows he’s just as close as you are. “I’m gonna fill you up with my cum; I’m going to stuff you full with it. And I’ll even watch it leak out too. Everybody will watch it leak from this messy pussy a’ yours,” he husks, and he begins to bring you closer to him. You meet him up at each thrust, and every part of your body is sensitive. “D- Daddy, it’s happening again! I- I don’t think I can do it,” you worryingly tell him, even though your pussy is desperately gripping onto his thick cock.

Lee ignores your words, and he continues to fuck you. Your moans grow louder and louder, making you sound like the slut you are. “Come for me, baby, come all over my cock. Do it, now,” he orders, and your body complies. Your pussy convulses around him, fluttering from pleasure, and you wail from the overwhelming sensation. “Daddy!” you cry out to him, and he hushes you as he hits his own climax. As your juices coat his cock, white ropes of cum shot from his tip and paint your walls. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he groans, resting his head against your slightly sticky shoulder.

He looks downwards, and Lee watches as your fluids mix with each other. His movements halt, and the Sheriff sighs with satisfaction. There’s a slight tinge of blood that colours his cock, but he pays no mind to it. He pulls his softening member out of you and quickly drags your panties up your legs. “Put yer skirt back down. You’re okay. You did a good job, baby. I’m proud of ya,” he admits with a meek smile on his face. “Heh, thank you, Daddy!” you cheer, even though you’re exhausted and in pain. He places himself back in his boxers, and he dresses back up.

You turn around, and lean against the shed that you’ve grown fond of. Lee hoops his belt back together, and he reaches into his pocket. You watch his carefully, feeling his cum leak out of your pussy. It stains your panties, and you squeeze your thighs together to stop it from dripping down to your legs. Lee pulls out a can of gin, and he unscrews the cap of it. He takes a swift swig from it, and you watch as he puckers his face up from the taste. His eyes catch yours, and he stares at you for a bit.

You give him a soft grin, and he squeezes his left hand into a fist. Lee pulls the container away from his mouth, and he disappointingly shakes his head. Before you can even ask him anything, he throws the gin to the side like it means nothing to him anymore. “Is everything okay?” you question, innocently tilting your head as if you didn’t just get your pussy pounded by him. “Yeah, just tryin’ to be holy or whatever it is,” he lies, before deciding to walk off without you. You quickly follow him, not knowing what else to do without him. You’re helpless, and you don’t choose him like how he chose you, you’ll be blown in the wind as you once were.

But you should know he’ll never trade your body for a can of gin. No, not when you’ve got him all over you.

3K notes · View notes

2000sbitch · 3 years

Text

it’s the rush, it’s the lust.

premise: it’s visibly clear how stressed andy is from work and his absent minded wife and son. he deserves to relax, to have someone take care of him. and you couldn’t be more willing to give andy everything he deserves.

pairing: andy barber x (f)reader

warnings: third person pov, cheating because i’m an evil person, smut, blowjobs, dirty talk, agegap, face-fucking, babysitter x employer. reminder: you are in control of your reading consumption so if you don’t vibe with any of the above pls do not go on. 18+ only.

word count: 6k+

etc: this was originally posted on my ao3 before i broke down and finally made a new tumblr for my writing, soo if you’ve read this from there and it looks familiar that’s why. since this isn’t following the shows sequence it’s clearly an au and one where laurie is not so great, no offense to the originally queen of stress, but i had to write this filth. i may make this into a series if anyone is interested…

There was little for her to complain about working for the Barbers.

They would always keep their refrigerated stocked, adding a few snacks of her liking, leaving quick and easy meals to prepare if they didn’t leave money for her and Jacob to order pizza or drive somewhere and pick something up. They always paid her decently, slipping in a little extra for when one of them had worked later than expected or had her stay longer while they worked in their offices’, not wanting to totally make it seem like they were ignoring Jacob while they not present in their home in separate rooms doing their own things, wanting to at least have someone to pay attention to him, make him do his homework, stay off of creepy sites on the internet, or eat with him.

She had been the family babysitter for two years now. She sometimes wondered why they even kept her around, Jacob was old enough to be left alone, could feed himself, keep himself entertained—or maybe that’s the reason why they kept her around, but he wasn’t a helpless toddler. But she also understood why they didn’t quite trust the young boy, several instances being reported by other students and parents and friends of the boy saying he was a little off. And instead of having a lawsuit on their hands—she was sure that being the reason—hiring a babysitter for your teenage son was the safest bet.

It could be worse. She could be watching three screaming children and parents who paid her shit money and didn’t even at least feed her in return. So she couldn’t really complain, not even when she found herself not leaving their house until midnight or having to be a personal distraction for Jacob when his parents were fighting in the next room, like her job entitlement also had ‘part time therapist’ written below it. Even though Jacob didn’t seem to be phased by hearing his parents screaming at each other. But it’s not like his parents made a spectacle of it, the two reappearing in the room as if nothing had happened. Smiles plastered on their faces offering a fake facade that seemed to go bone deep with their marriage, always seeming more picture perfect than they actually were.

It wasn’t something she really let herself wonder about. It wasn’t her business to sit and ponder when the Barber’s were finally going to call it quits or when Jacob was finally going to show some other emotion over his parents having troubles other than a blank stare. No, her job was to entertain Jacob—as much as she could for a teenage boy who could not careless of her presence—until his parents came around, as well as making sure he didn’t get into trouble or worse.

So when Mr. Barber, walked through the door at 8 on the dot she wasn’t surprised when he asked her to stay later while he worked on some things in his office. And when Mrs. Barber showed up thirty minutes later saying she was exhausted, a frown on her face and handing Jacob some money telling him to order whatever he wanted, asking Y/N to join them, staying a bit longer, she didn’t bat an eye.

And when Jacob ordered a meat lovers pizza from the same pizza joint, the one that was more grease than cheese, it was no shock to her. Nor was it when Mrs. Barber came down freshly showered, the color a little more rosy in her cheeks a genuine smile on her face, grabbing a slice and sitting and chatting with them at the table until Mr. Barber walked in. Her demeanor turning to one that made the tension in the room go up. Though they tried hard to hide it. Andy trying to make normal conversation a family would have over dinner; how’s work? School? Anything exciting happen today? Watch any new movies?

But it did little to bring back the chipper atmosphere that was once going around the table.

She could see the frustration on Andy’s brows as he tried his best to hold the facade of his wife’s dismissiveness having zero effect on him. Y/N sending smiles in his direction when their eyes meet trying to ease some of the tension that was visible not only on his face but in the room. And when he would give a tight smile back, it quickly fading as he looked down at his plate going back to his food, she wished she could do more. Not only for him but for the rest of them too. But it wasn’t her place and she was not a licensed therapist, she was no expert on family dynamics—at least not the healthy ones—or what one should say to help from the inevitable happening. It’s not something she was equipped to do. Playing video games with Jacob to distract him or giving Andy sweet smiles or trying to lend a helping hand to Laurie was all she could do.

“Would you stay a little longer?” Laurie asked as Y/N helped her wash the plates they had dirtied with their tense filled dinner. The older woman looking at her with a silent begging in her tired eyes. “Andy is still working in his office and I’m getting ready to call it a night.” She gave a weak smile, “and I know how much Jacob likes when you’re here to enjoy Friday movie night, especially when neither of us want to join in,” she sighed adding a clipped “or can’t.” At the end, turning back to finish drying the plate in her hand, Y/N getting the feeling that was a dig at Andy.

“Of course.” She gave the best deceiving smile. And it’s not like she was completely upset about the request, Jacob did have good taste in movies despite the boy being a little weird—on certain days at least. And it’s not as if she had any other important plans for the weekend so she could sleep in the next morning, no matter how late she got home.

Plus extra money, which was surely to be given to her, was not something she could ever complain about. Who would?

And so after Laurie gave her dismissive son a goodnight, Jacob being too busy choosing the perfect movie to acknowledge her, ignoring her husband and quickly walking up the stairs. Leaving Y/N to sit beside Jacob on the couch, a bowl of popcorn separating the two, screams from whatever bloody movie Jacob had decided on. Trying her best to not cringe at the b-grade movie that the boy was clearly having a ball watching, if the big grin and laughs on his face when someone got gutted was not an indication.

She couldn’t help the few glances she threw back towards Andy’s office, the light from the small crack in the door being the only thing illuminating the room in any kind of light that wasn’t red from whatever bloodbath was playing on the screen. She felt bad for the family as a whole, yes. But she couldn’t help feel more for Andy. Both his wife and son were more dismissive towards him than anything. Jacob a little less than Laurie. It wasn’t a constant dismissal though, the couple had their moments when they really looked like they could stand each other for more than five minutes. When she first started watching Jacob she was in envy of the way Andy would look at his wife with love, and his family with pride. It’s still there, she’s sure of it, it just seems to have dimmed along the way.

But it wasn’t her place to worry about it. It wasn’t her place to want to give Andy reassuring words or praise letting him know that she thought very highly of him, that she thought he was doing his best, that she was sure Laurie didn’t hate him, that couples all go through shit right? That it would be okay. But who was she? The twenty year old babysitter nothing else, nothing more. It wasn’t her place to want to comfort a grown man about his marriage or family. And would she do the same thing for Laurie? Jacob? She wants to think she would . . . knows she would, that would be the right thing to do. But she didn’t feel that pull in the pit of her stomach for the other Barbers like she did for Andy.

If she was to keep score as to who showed her the most kindness in the family Andy would surely be on the top. Where Laurie usually gave her a small smile, made small talk, and ignored her presence the rest of the time she was there. And where Jacob acknowledged her existence—but could careless if she was there or not—and sometimes enjoyed her playing video games with him or watching some gruesome film with her because he knew she wouldn’t complain about it; Andy had always took an interest in asking her about her day, asking her about life, having a conversation’s with her that didn’t consist of when she could be here or there or if she could stay late. She didn’t take offense to how Laurie and Jacob treated her. If she was being honest she liked all of the Barbers, they all had their redeem attributes that made her enjoy being around them.

But there was something about Andy. . .

It was probably pathetic. No, it was definitely pathetic of her to care so much about a man who was older than her, a man that she worked for. It was ridiculous. To care about his marriage troubles or if he was okay. This wasn’t a lifetime movie where he would seek out solace in a girl such as herself; young, had never been in that serious of a relationship before.

So she didn’t allow herself to really dig into why she kept craning her neck to look back at the half open office door, or why she hoped he would come out and watch the movie with them—maybe wanting him to come out more so he would scrutinize Jacob for picking such a ridiculous movie and making him turn it off, she could handle scary movies but these kind . . . she sometimes wondered about the boys sanity.

As she looked over to Jacob as a certain scene of someone getting their head chopped off by a chainsaw, the boy bellowing out a laugh, making her cringe.

“This is amazing.”

“Yeah,” Y/N replied with a fake laugh, or a real one from how crazy this kid was but still enjoying his company, more often than not.

By the time the movie was over she had been convinced that Jacob had the look of ecstasy in his eyes and that when the next Friday came around she was going to demand they watch something of her choosing. Even if Jacob hated her after for it, she could not sit through another b-grade blood porno. She refused to!

But that was a problem for next week and with Jacob declaring that he was going to bed, giving her a smile and running up the stairs, she let out a loud sigh. She could finally go home. Her bed calling her name from miles away.

As she stood from the couch reaching her arms above her head to release the tension in her muscles she didn’t hear Andy walk from his office, round the couch and sit himself down where his son just was, until he spoke.

“How was the movie?” He asked making her jump a bit, a smile on his face in apology for startling her, Y/N softly laughing it off.

“It was . . . something.” She said with another laugh, fidgeting on her feet a little bit not sure if she should sit back down or walk to the door to grab her things and continue her descend.

But as Andy kept the conversation going she opted to sitting back down.

“I’m sorry you had to stay so late again, if I knew Laurie went to bed I would of took a break and hungout with Jacob.” He gave her a smile, “or the two of you.”

She doesn’t know why the last part of his sentence makes her chest feel heavy. Some ridiculous reason, she’s sure. But all she can do is shrug and reassure him that it was fine, she didn’t have anything better to do, it’s no trouble at all. Any reassurance she could think of spilling from her mouth as her nerves suddenly went up the more she spoke. Something that was not a total reoccurrence when talking to Andy. Maybe because of the tense filled dinner they had shared had her feeling a bit on edge. Feeling bad over the whole situation.

Several minutes pass before either of them say anything. Andy’s eyes falling shut as he rolls his neck his knuckles going white as he grips the back of it trying to rub the tension out. His shoulders rolling slightly. Before he reaches for his tie, his fingers gripping the knot loosening it. A sigh falling from his parted lips.

Y/N watching his fingers work, her eyes trailing from the rub of the flesh on his neck to the fabric knot of his tie, the pull, the grip, the loosening of it until it gives way and the sound of his sigh going straight through her. Her body tense, her mind in a whirlwind of thoughts and feelings that she knows why she’s having, but also knows why she shouldn’t be having.

She doesn’t think she’s ever seen Andy look this tense. Seen him be in anything other than his dark blue suit, minus the times she see’s him outside of his house at a town event or grocery store. No, on weekdays Andy was always in a suit, always dressed to the nines. Never looking anything other than perfectly kept and put together.

Except for right now. No, right now he looked utterly exhausted and filled with stress and the way his heavy puffs and sighs came out as he tried to release the tension in his neck and shoulders had her gripping the cushion of the couch underneath her. Her knuckles turning a shade of pure white from the strain.

She didn’t know which was worse: wanting to reach out and touch him, help him relieve the ever present stress and tension in his broad shoulders. Or the fact that just watching him did something made tension build within her in a place that had no right reacting as such; a low ache making her stomach flutter and hold her breath as her eyes continued to follow his every movement. Her eyes running along the small beard on his chin, the curve of his nose, the knit of his brows, the flutter of his eyes as they fall back open and meet hers.

Andy holding her gaze, his movements stopping, his hand falling from his neck to the top of his thigh. An action she catches herself following seeing the slight flex of the muscles in his wrist under his watch.

Y/N looking up to see he hasn’t taken his eyes off of her, his eyes filled with question and something else she’s not sure of. His lips parting as if he were about to speak but quickly pressing them together, as if changing his mind, his attention quickly turning ahead of him.

Only then does she let out a slow shallow breath, looking down to her lap chastising herself for acting like a fucking weirdo. For letting the thoughts of wanting to take care of him, to help with whatever he needed cloud her mind. Andy was surely thinking she had lost her wits about her. And if she lost this, semi-good, gig she was sure she could find herself filling out applications to some retail joint that she sure as hell didn’t want to work at.

So her mind doesn’t really catch up with her when her mouth opens and she asks, “stressful work day?” Her eyes snapping shut as she internally cringes at herself for even speaking, it being the most obvious answer, and why hasn’t she just gotten up and taken her leave? Why was she still on the couch letting the time tick by? Letting herself act foolish?

Y/N finding herself relieved though when Andy does answer and doesn’t just quickly change the subject to her leaving.

“Yeah,” Andy chuckles dryly in a huff, “you could say that.” He leans himself back into the couch a little more. “Nothing new though. Just the everyday life of a lawyer.” He gives her a genuine smile.

“I couldn’t imagine.” She lets herself release her grip on the cushion a bit, relaxing in her spot and shifting so she’s not turned away from him fully and rigid—trying not to look as tense as her insides felt. “I don’t think I could deal with some of the assholes I’m sure you have to deal with.”

This makes him let out a laugh, a genuine one that has his hand falling to his chest. “Yeah,” he nods looking down, “there definitely are a lot of assholes. Most of the time. Sometimes it’s more tragedy than anything.” He sighs, “but that’s the job.”

“And you like it?” She asks in a way that hopefully comes off as more curiosity than rude.

“Probably more than I should.”

She watches the way his eyes squint in contemplation, or something like it, as if debating with himself over the declaration. She watches the way he seems to return to himself and look up at her. A feeling of heat washing over her making her skin burn.

“You should,” She blurts out before her mind can catch up again. “Like it, I mean.” She swallows her eyes never leaving his, “you’re a good lawyer, the best in this town, which is a huge accomplishment in it’s own.” She laughs softly, her skin lighting up again when he returns the laugh, shaking his head.

“Right.” His eyebrows raising and eyes rolling slightly at the comment. “You flatter me.” Andy smiles and it sends something through her. Something daring. Something that should be ignored. Something that has the darkest parts of her mind, the impulsive part that should be ignored, scheming against her.

“It’s no wonder you’re stressed though. Anyone in your position would be.” Her voice sounds braver than she feels, steadier than she feels inside right now. “I’m sure there’s ways you can help that though. I’m sure a massage parlor isn’t too high a price for a lawyer.” She jokes and grins when Andy chuckles. It only fueling her bravery to continue on.

Her fingers twist slightly in her lap her feet telling her to get up and head for the door, to end the conversation where it is, he’s tired, exhausted, he needs to go to bed. Rest. That’s what someone needs when they are stressed. That’s what Andy needs. He doesn’t need to be sitting here having a conversation with her about said stress or be subject to her word vomit and tension she now feels all over her body from the ideas and thoughts going on within her head.

He definitely doesn’t need to hear her ask, “Or, I’m sure Laurie helps. . . in other ways.” The underline meaning of her statement sending a thrill through her. Because if she were in the same position as his wife she would help him anyway he could. With any part of her she could, or he wanted. That’s what this was all about for her. Her demeanor, the heat she felt on her skin, the ache low within her, the tension. She wanted to help him. Relieve his stress. In an inappropriate way she shouldn’t want to. In a way that shouldn’t even be crossing her mind. But not one that hasn’t been present in her mind before when she’s been around Andy, just one she’s usually very good at ignoring, or at least controlling.

Andy doesn’t say anything for a beat his gaze on her, intense and unnerving. She wants to let out a laugh, play it off as a stupid joke or more word vomit. But her lips don’t budge. She’s already stuck her foot over a line that should not have been crossed. It was too late for her to shy away now.

Andy clears his throat and looks away, his eyes downcast staring at the other side of the room. The longer he doesn’t say anything the longer she feels the need to fill the space, the air, to spew out more things she’s sure are not appropriate to say to the father of the kid you babysit.

But it doesn’t stop her, god help her.

Maybe it’s because she see’s a look of slight embarrassment on his face, or is it indifference? Whatever it is she knows that her statement must bring up some ill feelings about him and Laurie. She doesn’t want to assume, but she’s sure that by the way Laurie goes rigid around him is a clear indicator that there’s nothing going on there, in or out of the bedroom.

It makes her chest tighten. She has no right to judge Laurie. She has no right to judge their relationship, their marriage. But she knows if Andy needed her help, had asked her to rub his neck, his back, or other parts of him that required more than just her hand she would do it without question—to relieve any stress he felt of course. Which may have been a pathetic thought. Really. But he deserved it. He worked hard. She just wanted to make him feel better. He’s been so good to her. She wants to be good to him. For him.

Maybe that’s why she doesn’t stop herself from moving closer to him, her eyes not meeting his until their thighs are touching. Her hand shaking slightly in her lap as she dares to reach out and put it on his thigh, the soft fabric of his suit making her already heated hand burn.

“I want to help you, Mr. Barber.” Her fingers twitch against his thigh as she slowly descends up. “If you’ll let me. You’ve treated me with nothing but respect and kindness since I’ve worked for your family.” She hopes he can’t hear the slight shake from the heat burning through her in her voice, “It may be just normal human decency, but I want to thank you. To return that kindness.” Her fingers stop at the apex of his thigh, the heat, or anger? Or whatever it is in Andy’s gaze making a chill fall down her spine, her breath stuck in her throat.

Andy let’s out an exasperated breath shaking his head, his hand coming to grip her wrist. “This is not appropriate.” The look on his face is serious and it makes her stomach fall, shame washing over her. “You are my teenage sons babysitter for Christ sakes.” He lets out a low throaty laugh at that as if it’s another thing to add to this ridiculous situation they are in right now. But his features straighten. “It’s wrong. You know that, right?” His brows come together in question.

All it does is make her feel hot all over, embarrassment finally kicking in, her brain finally coming to it’s senses, finally waking up and realizing how inappropriate this all really was.

Y/N’s eyes drop as a soft, “I’m sorry.” Falls from her lips, she can feel a slight burning in the back of her eyes. She doesn’t think she’s going to cry, no she’s sure she’s not going to. She’s sure it’s still the embarrassment of her ridiculous actions. It’s not as if Andy were yelling at her right, lecturing her in a way that would make her break down. No. She was sure the burning that made her eyes itch was one of mere disappointment more than anything.

But Andy hasn’t removed her hand from his lap, he hasn’t stopped looking at her, she’s tempted to pull her wrist from him, the thought of the loss of contact leaving a dull feeling in the pit of her stomach. But knowing if he pulled her hand from him she would not protest, she wouldn’t beg. This wasn’t a game or something that could be taken back, she stepped over a clear boundary anyone should have with a married man, as well as your employer no matter how basic the job. If she had a job after this she would be shocked.

She hears rather than see’s Andy swallow, a low breath falling from his lips, “have you done this before?”

She’s not sure what he’s asking but it has her meeting his gaze once more, his face unreadable as to what intention his question has. “Hit on the father I babysit for?” Y/N let’s out a breathy laugh, feeling even more shameful that he would think that of her, think badly of her.

“No.” He says a bit sternly that it has her body tensing even more, pressing her thighs together, the intense look in his eyes not helping the matter. “Have you done this before.” He repeats. Slower.

Understanding the insinuation, understanding the answer he’s looking for; has she done what she wants to do to him before. Has she sucked cock before.

Her mouth feels dryer. That flash of heat once again plaguing her inside and out, her thighs pressed closer together, the tension in her belly sinking further and further down. She doesn’t break eye contact when she nods her head yes. She also doesn’t break eye contact when she see’s the way he swallows, hard, a hot breath falling from him that almost sounds like a whisper of something. She can feel his fingers twitch against her wrist, she can see the way he’s breathing just a little bit heavier.

He wants this.

She’s not fully sure of herself until she feels the tightness in the crotch of his pants, the fabric straining where her hand lays.

He wants this.

She doesn’t know what prompts her to say “please”, her voice more seductive than she knew it was capable of. The lust filled part of her brain edging her on as the ache below begs for more. They’ve already reached past the boundaries why not jump over the whole fucking thing? Why not go further. Why not let her take care of him. Help him after a long day. Give him what he needs. What he deserves.

Andy doesn’t say anything though, not with words at least. His face saying it all. His blown out pupils the look of repressed hunger on his face. It’s all there, clear as day and all she wants is to lean in and press her lips to his, tell him that she will take care of it for him. That she won’t stop until he’s coming in the back of her throat.

But she doesn’t get the chance to say anything before she feels Andy’s hand lift from her wrist to her face, running the pad of his thumb along her bottom lip. She can’t help the small moan that she lets out, or how quickly she sinks to her knees when she see’s the slow nod of his head giving her confirmation. Permission.

Her eyes don’t leave his as she sits up on her knees between his legs as he reaches down to the belt of his pants, unbuckling them in a slow sultry manner, the button and zipper on his pants following suit. He doesn’t pull himself from his confines, instead he reaches his hand to her cheek, rubbing his thumb gently there.

“Are you sure?” His voice is low and comes out octaves deeper. He holds eye contact with her as she nods, not hesitating to reach up and rub him slowly through his pants, watching the way his bottom lip twitches slightly, the way his hips slowly chase her hand when she removes it to pull his pants down a bit to reveal his hard cock.

His hand doesn’t remove from her face, neither do his eyes, as she leans forward letting the tip of his cock meet the tip of her tongue. Y/N trying to hide the slight smile she gets when she hears the sharp breath Andy takes in as she lets the tip of her tongue run along the leaking head of his swollen cock. And when she finally wraps her lips around the tip sucking lightly she doesn’t miss the way his hips thrust up ever so lightly, Andy’s hand moving from her cheek to the side of her head tangling it in her hair.

“Fuck,” Andy groans, his head lulling back against the couch. Y/N moving her mouth further down his cock and back up, creating a rhythm, her hand working the parts she can’t quite reach. Her past fantasies of the man below her having nothing on the breaths and low groans coming from his parted lips. The beautiful sounds going straight to the ache between her legs.

This was not her first time in this position, she had boyfriends in the past where such a task was nothing. But with the girth of Andy weighing down her tongue and stretching her mouth, the low ache in her jaw was a first. She loved it. The weight of him against her tongue. The taste of him. The way his fingers would pull on her hair when she took him as far as she could down her throat until she gagged and came back up.

And the way his mouth hung open in pleasure and the glances of eye contact he made with her.

It was all so much. So great. So intense. Her body ached.

“So good.” Andy murmurs. His chest heaving with the effects of pleasure. “You’re so good.” His breath hitch’s as she twists her hand around the head of his cock, her tongue rolling around the tip, his fingers gripping her hair harder than before, her scalp burning in the most delicious way. Showing her how good she’s making him feel.

She could tell that he was holding himself back, his moans, the thrust of his hips. She figured it was just incase someone decided to come down the stairs, hoping maybe he would be able to hear them, that what they were doing would stop before anyone could see.

She didn’t know why the thought makes her cunt ache. The thought of Laurie coming down the stairs to see her husbands cock in her mouth, to see the pleasure she was giving him, see how much he liked it. How much he enjoyed her pretty mouth wrapped around him.

Y/N continued her rhythm on Andy’s cock, up, down, up, down, letting him hit the back of her throat enough times to have her pull off of him, a trail of spit following from where they were once connected, tears in her eyes.

Andy lifting his head from the couch, to look down at her, his thumb wiping away some spit at the edge of her mouth. His voice low and rough, eyes filled with a type of lust she’s never seen before, when he says “Let me fuck your mouth.” His words make her stomach drop, make her pussy flutter. Leaves her breath hitching and speechless that all she can do is nod her head, her body and mouth pleading, begging yes.

She wastes no time in wrapping her lips around his cock again, only this time Andy’s the one to make the first move, the one to thrust his hips up slowly, testing the waters, as his cock moves against her tongue. Pushing her mouth further and further down with each thrust he provides. Words of praise and moans falling from his lips; “that’s it, you’re such a good girl, taking me so well, fuck,”.

Part of her wonders if he’s like this with Laurie or if this is just for her, if the way his hands come to hold her head, fingers gripping her hair, the dirty words, the moans of need and want, only for her. Because she’s making him feel good, she’s helping him relive stress. Making his cock pulsate against her tongue as it hits the back of her throat.

She decides not to think about it. This moment is just for her and Andy. This moment is for Andy, about his pleasure, about making him feel good, about showing him how good he makes her feel, wanting to return that favor.

She finds her fingers digging into the side of his thighs the need to press them between her legs and help the ache that’s soaking her panties, making the tips of her fingers tingle. Each moan, each thrust, each breath of her name making her ache more and more.

“Make me come,” Andy groans, looks down at her watches the way his cock disappears between her lips. The way she gags slightly when he thrusts too deep too fast. “Please.” His begging makes her moan against him, hollowing out her cheeks more, slacking her jaw more letting him use her mouth for his pleasure. She was his to use, he needed to come, he needed to fuck her mouth. He needed it, he wanted it. And she was going to let him until he was sated and satisfied, until she could taste his come on her tongue.

And it doesn’t take long until his groans are nothing but breathy ones coming in and out of him quick and shallow. His eyes closed his mouth slack. His grip tightening in her hair until she feels nothing but her scalp burning. His thrusts faster and unsteady.

Andy moans out before his body tenses, thrusts going rigid, hot spirts of come hitting the back of her throat. A string of moans vibrating against his leaking cock as she hears him, low and hoarsely say, “fuck, Y/N.”

When his hands move from her head she takes it upon herself to let her mouth move up and down his shaft one last time, getting every missed drop, before coming up, eyes locked on his as she swallows him down. Andy never breaking eye contact when his hand comes up to her mouth, his chest heaving, coming down from his blissful high. His thumb and forefinger pulling lightly on her chin, Y/N opening her mouth, understanding his silent request. Andy’s breath hitching when she opens wide enough for him to see that she swallowed all of his come.

He opens his mouth to say something, Y/N waiting and ready to hold on to every last bit of it, ready for more praise, ready for whatever else this man wanted to give her. She would take it. Over and over again.

But before he can get it out a creak at the top of the stairs has both of them moving faster than their limbs can really keep up with. Y/N standing quickly from her spot between his legs. Andy fumbling with his belt and zipper, trying to straighten himself up, fix his suit jacket, fix his disheveled hair.

Y/N not too sure if she should sit back down on the couch or move for the door, not having time to do either other than standing there beside Andy and the couch, before Laurie appears at the bottom of the stairs. A sleep ridden face of confusion as she looks to her first.

“Y/N, you’re still here?” She asks as she roots herself in that spot at the bottom of the stairs looking from her to Andy.

Y/N goes to open her mouth and say, what she doesn’t know, but before she can Andy is speaking up for her.

“We were just going over when we’ll need her next week.” He smiles over at Laurie, his demeanor completely different than it was just mere seconds ago. “Just hashing out all of our schedules.” His tone one of cool and calm, no longer low and sultry like it once was.

“Oh.” She says almost in disinterest as she accepts the answer and walks towards the kitchen. “We might need you next weekend,” Laurie states, going along with the lie. “Andy and I have a dinner with a couple colleagues of mine.” She doesn’t sound too happy about the matter, but that could be the just-woken-up talking.

Y/N clears her throat, tries to sound as normal as possible. “Sounds good, I’ll be here.” She smiles and quickly dashes for the door. “I should get going though. See you guys next week, same time.” It’s not a question, if she’s not fired after this, god only knows, then she will see them next week.

“Y/N,”

She stops in her tracks as she hears Andy say her name for the millionth time tonight, it continuing to have the same effect on her. Flashes of what they had just got done doing minutes ago making her body flutter and tense. That heat coming back. She turns and looks at him. His cheeks no longer flushed but the heat in his eyes still present.

“Thank you.” He says. Simply. Genuinely. Sweetly. He gives her a nod to indicate what for. But, of course she knew what for. And he didn’t need to thank her, it was her pleasure, his pleasure that she wanted to give him, to help him feel. He deserved it after all.

“You’re welcome.” Y/N said with a tight smile and a blush to her cheeks, quickly grabbing her coat and bag and heading out of the door. Her chest booming in her heart. Her thighs wet and cunt aching.

What had she just done?

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