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ghostsslutss · 7 months ago

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Guitar Player Joost Klein x Reader TWs: Penetration, Oral (r receiving), Joost is kinda a bully, overstimulation, sliiiiight hand kink it’s barely there, RPF!! W/C: 2684 A/N: First time writing smut, idk if I liked doing it😭 I feel a little bit embarrassed? Or maybe it’s shame, i am NOT sure but ill still probably write it for you guys

“So when you go to play, you put your fingers on the fretboard…and these strings. Like this.”

For the last 50 minutes or so, Joost had been trying to teach you the guitar basics. You sat together on your shared bed, with your legs crossed around one another as he explained a guitar's different parts and components, making sure you knew what he was referring to when he said certain pieces of info.

You watched his fingers closely, admiring the way they bent and pressed on each string. His blue-green tattooed knuckles caught your attention more than the lesson ever could, reading the same numbers you had seen every single day.

“Like…this?” You murmured, copying his hand placement on your brand new electric.

“Yeah, like that.” He nodded, strumming his fingers along the steel wire, creating a light and lively sound from the strings. “That’s an A chord.”

You nodded, holding your pick a little awkwardly before plucking the same chord, being a little bit more gentle with your strings. “Like that?” You asked, glancing up at him for approval.

“Very good, that was great schatje.” He beamed, giving you a quiet round of applause. “Alright, now let me show you uhh…D chord. Yes.” He nodded, immediately diving into an explanation of the chord.

Unfortunately for Joost, his voice fell on very deaf ears.

All you were focusing on was his face. The pretty mole at the bottom of his lip seemed to speak right over his voice. It commanded your attention like some sort of ray of light, begging you to stagger towards it like a moth to the moon.

And then his hair, oh dear god don’t even get me started. It sat so perfectly on his head, his bangs messily clipped away with one of your pink flower clips. He had long since dropped his attention back to his star-shaped guitar, trying to demonstrate where to put your fingers.

But all you could think about was where he could put his fingers.

“You’re not watching.” He murmured, catching on to how spaced out you were.

It didn’t take him long to glance at you, tilting his head in faux curiosity. He left out a soft chuckle that almost sounded like a scoff, giving you the faintest smirk ever.

“You’re not watching.” He repeated, gripping your jaw firmly and lowering your gaze so it stared at the guitar stationed in his lap.

“Sorry sorry sorry, what were you saying?” You murmured, feeling the apples of your cheeks grow flush with fever.

“Put your fingers here,” he murmured, waiting for you to mirror his hands with a smug smile.

You nodded, copying his hands and then nodding.

“And then you skip these two…and strum from the third.” He nodded, running his finger along the strings.

You nodded again, this time a little slower as your brows furrowed in concentration. You copied exactly what he did, but for some reason, your chord sounded unstable; almost like it was vibrating against the wood of the fretboard.

“Ah. That’ll happen.” He nodded. “Push down harder with your ring finger.” He muttered, poking your knuckle playfully.

“Mhm…” you hummed, pushing down a little more but still yielding the same sound.

You frowned, rolling your eyes before taking a deep sigh. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong!” You huffed, immediately sensing yourself losing motivation little by little.

“Don’t stress about it, schatje. Guitar is…not easy.” He giggled, immediately remembering all the many times he had been so desperate to break his guitar and never return.

“You just have to learn what works best…C’mere.” He murmured, setting his guitar on the floor and reaching over to you, lifting you up from under your shoulders.

“Oh. Okay.” You snickered, letting him place you in his lap.

“Alright, so,” he began, propping your guitar back up in your lap, and placing his hands over yours.

His hands were soft, but the pads of his fingers were rough and calloused due to years of practice. The very definition of rough around the edges, and every second you spent with him felt like heaven.

“Alright, back to D chord, ja?” He smiled, resting his chin on top of your head. He placed your fingers in the appropriate place, keeping his firmly on yours.

“Your ring finger. It’s not pressing hard enough.” He rasped, pressing your smaller digit on top of the wire. Not enough to hurt, but enough to hold it still.

“If you can’t keep it still, it‘s gonna move.” He reminded. “That’s what’s making that weird noise.”

“But that’s uncomfortable…do I have to press that hard?” You asked, furrowing your brows in slight annoyance.

“Guitar is uncomfortable.” He smiled. “So yeah, you do.”

“I’m about to drop this guitar, I swear to god.” You huffed, strumming the chord again, noticing how much better it immediately sounded.

“See? Much better.” Joost smiled, patting the side of your leg. “Just when you were about to quit. Look, you’re getting better.”

You had to admit, you almost laughed at how quickly you had calmed down when you heard the correct note and not that nonsense you played earlier.

“Alright, we’re gonna do it over again.” Joost giggled, releasing your hands but keeping you in his lap. He leaned back slightly, propping himself up on the palms of his hands.

“Start from E. I’ll help you if you mess up.” He smiled.

“Wait…E was this one?” You murmured, placing your pointer on the 4th string, middle on the third, and ring on the second.

You glided your pick across the strings, nodding when you yielded a bright and fun-sounding strum.

“Good job!” Joost smiled, giving you another quiet applause. “It’s not so hard, see?” He murmured, wrapping his arms around your midriff.

“You literally just said it was hard earlier?” You chuckled, rolling your eyes.

“I lied.” He giggled. “Guitar isn’t really hard, but I am.”

“Oh wow.” You giggled, maneuvering your hands around the guitar to pluck different chords experimentally.

“Now do C7.” He giggled.

“No, I hate you, and I hate C7.” You groaned, rolling your eyes.

It wasn’t really a hard chord, considering he was still showing you the basics, but it was annoying. Your fingers didn’t like positioning themselves so awkwardly.

“C’mon, you can do it. Learning is a process.” He assured, resting his chin on your shoulder instead so he could monitor your hands.

You sighed, fighting the urge to throw the guitar and play the little game of finger crochet you had been playing for almost an hour now.

“Nope…this finger goes here,” he corrected, immediately moving your hand. “Try again liefje.”

“Nope. I quit.” You huffed, letting go of the guitar completely.

“No, don’t do that.” He laughed, raising his eyebrows with slight shock. “Giving up isn’t good, you’ll never learn. Just try again.” He urged, fiddling with the bottom of your shirt.

“Maybe I’m overreacting…” you sighed, picking up the guitar and assuming the proper position again.

You played the chord over and over again, pressing and tweaking with the wires repeatedly to try and get it right but it was impossible to focus.

“Joost, move your hands, I can’t play like this.” You giggled, rolling your eyes.

“What? I’m not doing anything.” He teased, gently squishing and prodding at the fat of your breasts. “You can play just fine, I’m not blocking your hands.”

“I’m not blocking your hands!!” You mirrored in an exaggerated high-pitched voice, intending to mock him but giggling through your words.

“You can play just fine, look!” He protested with a wide grin before pinching your nipple between his fingers gently, earning him a small whine.

“Close enough, sounds like B major.” He giggled, sticking his tongue out impishly.

“Y’so mean, feeling on me while I’m trying to…learn guitar..” you muttered, still trying to pluck your notes as he attacked your neck and chest.

Your breathing grew labored, and your focus flew out the window. You had always admired Joost’s hands, but there was nothing better in the world than to have them on you.

“Can I take this off?” He asked, lifting the bottom of your shirt slightly.

What a blessing.

“Yes.” You said, a little quicker than you would have liked to admit. But shame is just a social construct.

“Thank you,” he purred, lifting your shirt up in the same breath.

Joost’s hands squished and prodded your delicate and sensitive skin, being as gentle as possible as if you were the softest of angels.

“You poor thing…can’t even concentrate on playing…” he cooed, grinning evilly as your guitar slid out of your lap and onto the floor below with a sharp thud. “I’ll help you, don’t worry.”

His small, patronizing tone and soft smile would have been annoying if it was anybody else, but it was hard for it to be anything but attractive when both of your heartbeats drowned out the afterthought of shame.

“You’re beautiful” he murmured, sucking purple and blue hickeys on your neck, holding your head still by placing his hand firmly on your jaw.

“Lay down, baby. Let me help you” he urged, slowly lifting you from off of his lap and setting you down on your sheets.

Joost was a gentle man, no doubt about it. No, probably not a gentleman, but a gentle man. He took his time with you, running his hands up and down the plush of your thighs.

“I love you” he reminded, pulling down the waistband of your sweatpants.

He leaned down, trailing kisses from your sternum to your lower stomach. He was so slow; his pace was killing you with how feather-light and leisurely it was.

“Joost, c’mon, please..” you whined, reaching your hand down to tangle your hand in his hair.

“Be patient…” he smiled, leaning his cheek against your inner thigh. “Good things come to those who wait.”

He kissed the soft skin of your womb before flattening his warm tongue against the fabric of your panties, relishing in the way you twitched at the contact.

“Don’t run,” he chuckled, holding you by your thighs.

“I’m not running…” you snickered, rolling your eyes at him as you ruffled his hair a bit.

“Not now,” he smiled, pulling your simplistic panties down with his canines. “But you probably will.”

And without any warning or signal whatsoever, Joost latched onto your cunt, lapping and sucking your poor and achy clit.

The sounds were filthy; wet and slick slurps mingling with your pants and moans. You tugged at his hair, making any sort of effort you could to ground yourself.

“I know, I knowww.” He hummed, sending vibrations straight to your sensitive core as he held your free hand.

He was so persistent, his head not disappearing from between your thighs even once. He tugged you closer to him, wincing a little as you kept a vice grip on his hair.

He peers up at you, his two-toned brows furrowed slightly as his eyes gaze into yours with heavy lust and admiration.

His tongue feels delicious against your weeping folds, his other hand leaving your thigh to bully your sensitive bud.

The room around you was fading to white; your senses became overcrowded with the many factors screaming in the room.

The sinful sounds of Joost eating you alive like he was a starved man, your tiny tears that pricked your waterline, the whines of Joost’s name filling the little amount of empty space left between you and the 4 walls of your room, all of it.

“Joost—! Please, 'm gonna-“

“I know.” He murmured, giggling into your cunt as he pried your entrance open with his two fingers, which was more than easy due to how wet and pent-up you were.

Your breath caught in the back of your throat and the world faded into a blank slate of white, a loud and abrupt whine ripping through your vocal cords. But that didn’t stop your boyfriend, no! Never.

Even after your orgasm had crashed against you like a tidal wave, Joost didn’t even slow down. Not one bit.

He continued to suck and tease your now overstimulated clit, giggling subtly at your little cries of pleasure.

“You can take it, I’m not done” He mumbled against your entrance.

He was so hard it hurt; at some point, he was beginning to wonder if he was just eating you to try and alleviate the ache in his boxers. But it didn’t matter, you tasted too good for him to even think about prying his mouth away from you.

“Mmh, je smaakt lekker” He hummed, working his fingers in and out of you, abusing the spongy spot against your walls that had you crying for more.

He knew your body like he knew his guitar; what keys to press, where his hands should go, and how to keep himself from breaking anything that shouldn’t be broken.

“Joost—! Can’t…Can’t, ‘s too much!” You stammered, laying your hand flat on his head as you tried to push him away.

“It’s too much!” He mocked, coaxing you into one more orgasm on his tongue before giggling and kissing your trembling thighs.

“Het spijt me, vergeef me alsjeblieft.” He smiled, pulling your pink flower clip off his head so he could take himself seriously before pulling down his sweatpants.

“You wanna hold my hand?” He offered, letting you weakly find purchase in his larger palm.

Everything about Joost was big, which is funny enough considering his name meant small. His hands, his legs, his height.

And that large size carried through EVERYWHERE, making sex a tight squeeze.

He slid his boxers down, just enough to let his light blush-pink tip spring free, angry and neglected as pearls of clear dribbled down onto the sheets.

“You okay?” He asked, swiping his length across your shiny and sensitive folds. “I won’t do anything until you’re ready…”

You nodded, lacing his fingers gently between yours. “Yeah, you can, it’s ok” you nodded, smiling at him softly.

Joost nodded, lining himself up with your entrance.

He squeezed your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles as he pushed into you, whining quietly as he buried himself in your welcoming warmth.

You don’t even recognize your sounds as your lips part to make way for broken and breathy moans.

He gave you slow but deep thrusts, not wanting to accidentally hurt you. His right hand found purchase under your hip, holding you steady as his hips met yours again and again.

“Just like that…there you go.” Joost huffed, picking up the pace with his hips.

His dick bullied its way through your entrance, intimidating and prodding that spongy spot up against your walls over and over again.

Breathy moans and low groans fell from you and Joost’s lips. His fingers holding your hip pressed into your skin were sure to leave little bruises in the shape of the pads of his fingers.

“I love you…” He rasped, staring down at where you connected.

It was a sinful sight; a murky white ring around his glistening dick. He smiled, biting down on his lip before leaning down to kiss you.

You were so close— just teetering on the edge as your tongue danced with Joost’s. He swallowed your moans like they were liquor, throwing back shots that burned down and kept him giddy and satisfied.

“Almost there, baby…” he murmured, letting go of your sore and barely-bruised thigh to rub small and tight circles on your clit.

Oh, it was so over for you.

With one loud screech of Joost’s name, he clasped his hand over your mouth to save you a noise complaint as you painted him white with your release.

Joost let out a heavy, guttural moan as he shot hearty splurges of white right through your womb before collapsing on top of you, panting right next to your ear.

“You’re so pretty, I love you so much.” He slurred, kissing your cheek.

“I love you, too.”

Your guitar lay forgotten on the floor, counting the beats of silence per minute as the pair of you drifted off to sleep.

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ghostsslutss · 7 months ago

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love this xxxxxxxx

The Patriarchy (gr63)

↳ A/N So @sadiethekoala encouraged my curiosity of dabbling in writing/posting my 'darker' kink content so...here you go 🫣

↳ Summary: Of course George is a feminist; but who is he to deny you when sometimes you just want him to treat you like his property.

↳ Pairings: George Russell x Fem!Reader (NO use of y/n)

↳ Word Count: 3.5k

↳ Warnings: 18+, NSFW, light drinking, patriarchy kink (major fetishization of traditional gender roles), arguably free use kink, breeding kink, heavy degradation and dumbification and objectification (name calling like 'slut', 'whore', and 'bitch'), spanking, spitting, hair pulling, restraining, dirty talk, choking, rough unprotected sex, aftercare is NOT written in this fic but take it that it will be IMPLIED (aftercare is a MUST after intense and degrading scenes like this!!!).

George had been proud of you for as long as he had known you. You were a hardworking and determined woman and he loved seeing you pursue your career so strongly and passionately. It was honestly one of the things George admired you most for. You weren’t someone to take anyone’s shit and certainly not when it came at the expense of your beliefs, passions, or those you cared for the most.

In a man’s world, you pushed the boundaries of what a woman was capable of and George, of course, backed you every step of the way. Especially while so invested in a vastly male-dominate sport such as Formula 1, George only grew more and more aware of the prejudices and disparities that were hidden between the lines. And, in such, he always made himself publicly viable as someone who believed in equality without bounds.

Behind closed doors, that very same belief lingered. In your Monaco apartment, you equally divided up household chores and tasks, shared the responsibility of cooking, and came to mutually agreeable terms that made your life together that much more enjoyable and refreshing. A relationship built on trust and equality, it was the balance of give and take that left you both as strong as ever.

What came with the ease of your relationship was open communication and, with that, a bit of a pre-disclosed agreement from months before that George had figured you had forgotten about. It was something said haphazardly one night when the two of you were wine drunk and cuddled up on the living room floor; a little secret you had been harbouring, whispering to him plainly about your deepest desires. Your smiling confession was something so unlike your natural persona that for a moment he had thought you were entirely joking. But you were serious, pleading with him that if he ever saw you donning that vintage blue gingham dress, that he had your unspoken consent to push the hazy boundaries into a roleplay vastly different from what you were familiar with sharing together. George agreed to your terms and thought it wouldn’t ever really come to fruition.

It was a joke, he was sure of it. No fiercely independent woman such as yourself ever wanted to be treated under such taboo, out-dated, and almost cruel mid-century gender roles. Right?

Until on Thursday night when George came home from media duties just about the time you had finished making dinner, finding you donning that sweet 1950s gingham dress and matching white kitten heels. It was the last thing he had expected to come home to, falling to a surprised stop as he entered the apartment to the smell of a delicious meal waiting for him.

You smiled over at him in the foyer and hurried over to take his jacket off of him, “Welcome home, love.”

“Hello.” George said slowly, letting his arms slip out of his collared jacket as you carefully pulled it from his shoulders. His suspicions were simmering as you leaned in to kiss him once before hanging up his jacket in the front closet. He asked a tentative, “What’s all this for?”

You tucked your hand in the crook of his arm and led him over to the table that was neatly made up with two place settings, “I figured you had a long day at work and wanted dinner as soon as you got home.”

“Yeah...that’s nice.” George said, testing the waters a little.

He sat down and watched you walk over to the bar cart to pour him a drink, topping it with a few ice cubes before bringing it back over to him. You set the short glass in his hand and left a kiss to his cheek and headed into the kitchen again, your heels clicking over the hardwood floors. George watched you silently, sipping his drink and leaning back in his chair with his left hand drumming a slow quiet pattern on the mahogany table top as you bustled around the kitchen to finish up.

“You look pretty today, love.” he tried.

You smiled to yourself as you plated the food, “Thank you, sweetheart.”

It wasn’t far out of George’s mind that he wanted to marry you one day - although he always told himself that was for years in the future - but there was something about the stereotypical domesticity of it all that seemed to...enlist a change in him. At first hesitant about carrying through with your agreement, he suddenly felt a flutter of something curious deep within him, wanting to try this out for himself. And if you wanted it? Who was he to deny you that?

“Was work alright?” you asked sweetly as you brought over two filled plates and set them on the table.

“Yeah, it was hectic.” George set his half finished drink down on the table and pushed his chair back a little to lead you onto his lap. You obeyed, perching yourself on his thighs, staring at him quietly as he eyed you up. His blue eyed gaze traced the side of your dress up to the clothed curves of your breasts and then across your collarbones, your neck, and jaw, finishing at your rouge painted lips. He swiped the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip and pulled it down gently to watch it fall back into place, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” you replied, your voice a sweet drawling purr as your arm draped around his shoulders, manicured fingers toying with the seam of his Mercedes team shirt.

Your soft words made a small smile tug at the corner of his mouth and he set his hand down on your thighs right at the hem of your dress, patting your lap gently before he gave a gentle squeeze to your flesh.

He pressed you on with a cheeky, “How much?”

“Way too much,” you answered, an angelic smile on your lips, knowing exactly what you were doing when you punctuated your reply with a, “sir.”

That word always snapped something in him, digging right down to his raw desire to just have you at that exact moment the three letters fell from your sweet lips.

The sudden speed at which he moved made you gasp, forced off his lap as he stood. He pushed you right up against the edge of the table until the edge was pressing right against your pelvis and your hands fell flat against the wood surface. The filled plate rested, steaming, between the frame of your hands.

“Is that so?”

He was right behind you, his body pressed up close and his breath right against your ear. His hands slid down your straight arms before resting right on top of yours, holding them down on the table.

“Is that why you wore this pretty little dress for me?”

“Yessir.” you breathed shakily, your heart already racing with anticipation. Your home cooked meal sat warm on the plates in front of you but any appetite for real food was gone; you were too busy craving him instead.

“Yeah?” George growled against your ear as he pulled up the bottom of your dress, having to take a few handfuls to successfully bunch up the dress and the voluminous petticoat underneath. When he had enough of the fabric in one large hand, he used his other to slap down hard against your ass.

The sharp spank echoed through the apartment and you gasped forward at the impact. It wasn’t often that George got rough with you - he was more the sweet and gentle type within his passion - so the rare times the more dominant side of him came to the surface, you capitalized on it. Especially now, when something much more intense seemed to have come over him, like he was really ready to go all out to give you exactly what you had confessed to him that you wanted.

You withered as he pushed his hand around your waist and under the bunched up fabric of your dress to slide over the front of your panties, pressing his whole hand down on your pussy, the heel of his palm right over your clothed clit. His lips met your neck in sloppy kisses, moaning lowly as he felt how warm you were under his touch while he sucked hickeys into your skin and breathed you in completely.

“Baby…” you whispered, “What about dinner?”

“I don’t want it.” he reached around you and shoved both plates to the side and out of the way, clattering the cutlery and a fork fell to the floor in his bit of an aggressive rush. He then bent you forward over the table and spanked you hard again, “I want my pretty little housewife to take my whole fucking dick while I fuck her like my own personal little whore.”

You could have sworn you could have dripped down your thighs at his demand, biting back your eager grin as he held your head down against the table by a tight grip at the back of your neck. He spanked you again with his other hand, once, twice, a third time. A pink handprint was undoubtedly appearing on the curve of your bum where he hit you. Unperturbed, George just linked his finger in the thin fabric of your panties to pull the waistband higher, giving him a full canvas of your perfect ass for him to slap his palm down harder.

“Please.” you squeaked out.

“Please what, my love?” George pressed, groping your ass before spanking you hard again. “I hope you’re not trying to tell me what to do right now. You know who’s in charge here.”

You let out a little whimper in silent submission, your cheek still pressed to the table top from where he held you down. George then linked his finger around the lace of your underwear and followed the fabric right down between your legs where you were already soaking through the material.

“Really missed me, huh, sweetheart?” George taunted, gently pinching your clit to pull a sharp gasp from your throat. Then, without warning, he grabbed the thin material of your panties in his fist and tore it right off you.

The slight sting of the ripping fabric over your hips and the rough grunt that left his chest with his strength had your teeth sinking tightly into your bottom lip through a small whimper, hands still pressed flatly to the table top on either side of your head.

“Fucking hell,” George chuckled darkly, lifting up the puffed skirt of your knee length dress again to keep it bunched up around your middle, “you look so fucking pretty like this.”

“Please, sir.” you breathed, pushing your hips back on him until the front of his slacks were pressed up snugly between your legs.

You could feel the bulge in his pants and how it was pulling the fabric taut. It made your mouth water, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip again with a small hum, desperately grinding back on him to somehow get him right where you needed him most.

“God, you’re such a pathetic little slut, my love.” George tisked, slapping his hand down on your ass one more time before shoving you forward again, trapping you entirely between his body and the edge of the table. He kept you there firmly while he worked to unpin his belt, the faint clinks of the metal buckle and what it implied had your pussy fluttering in anticipation. With his belt undone and slacks unzipped, his large hands groped your hips and followed your desperate motions back against him, grinding against you a little more with your feet planted securely on the floor in your kitten heels.

George didn’t even strip completely, he just pushed his pants and boxers down to the tops of his thighs just enough to pull his dick out and then he was shuffling up close behind you.

“Please, fuck me. I need you so bad, sir.” you whined.

“Listen to you, sweetheart; calling me ‘sir’ like a submissive little bitch.” his voice was low and gravely, full of lust.

He took his hand from the back of your neck to, instead, wrap around your throat to pull your chest off the table. This way, he could lean forward and brush his lips over the shell of your ear while his dick pressed teasingly up against your entrance, feeling the way your body shivered at his words.

“Yeah, you like me calling you my little bitch?” George purred right into your ear, his hot breath falling against your neck and raising the hairs on your arms while his fingers squeezed the sides of your throat, “Wearing this pretty little dress...making a shitty little meal to get my attention...just asking for me to fuck you stupid.”

“Yeah.” was all you could whine out, lashes fluttering.

“Yeah?” he mocked you tauntingly, barely giving you a moment's warning as he pushed inside you strongly.

Your mouth fell open in silence as he stretched you out, letting out a soft little squeak at the pressure he spread across your hips. Your hand squeaked across the wood table as you tried to find something to hold onto, ending up reaching up to grasp his wrist.

“Fuck.” George huffed stiffly, his hips flexing against yours, tightening his hand around your throat. “Love this tight fucking cunt.”

He started rocking into you slowly at first, savouring each stroke as if to feel you all, to give you every inch, and his slow breaths fell against the side of your face warmly.

“So good.” you whimpered, pushing back on him in steady time, “You’re so big, sir.”

“Yeah, you love my cock, don’t you, sweetheart?” he spoke lowly, “Been waiting for this all day, huh? Wanting me to come home from work and fuck you full?”

“Yeah. Please.” you cried, pressing your palms down harder on the table top as he sped up.

He shoved into you a bit harder, grunting hard against your ear until all you could focus on was him; the stretch he pushed through your body, the smell of the light alcohol on his breath and his familiar cologne that still dotted his shirt from that mornings application, and his hand around your throat.

“Oohh, God.” you squeaked out, mouth falling open as he took you over the side of the dining room table.

“Good girl.” George said lowly against your ear, his salacious words a lustful chant, “My good little housewife...good little fucking whore. So pretty and submissive for me. Gonna let me fuck you how I want, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, sir, please, please, please-” you begged shakily.

“Yeah?” George pulled your head back by your throat, finger and thumb pressed right up under your jaw to hold you tightly.

Your head was almost bent entirely back to look at him upside down, your mouth agape as a flurry of pleasured sounds tumbled from your lips uncontrollably. He fucked the sounds from your throat with practiced ease, the dishes on the table rattling with every firm ram into your body as he took you how he pleased.

You squealed loudly, hands rolling into fists on the table top as tears pricked your eyes through the painful pleasure he expertly pushed through your whole body. He held you in place with one hand fisting your dress and petticoat over the small of your back and the other squeezing your throat until your mouth was falling open through little gasps.

“That’s it.” George groaned, pulling your head back towards his shoulder before he was pinching your cheeks between thumb and forefinger to spit loudly in your mouth. “Want me to put a fucking baby in you, sweetheart?”

The words were unexpected but the way your body clenched so hard around him that he almost lost it right then and there was his answer enough. He shoved two fingers in your mouth and picked up speed a little more, groaning hungrily against your cheek

“Yeah, you do. Gonna get you nice and full and pregnant. My pretty little wife’s gonna look so good knocked up.”

“Yes, sir, yes, sir, please-” you mumbled through his fingers, words barely sensible as you drooled down his palm involuntarily as he kept you gagged.

“Oh my God, baby.” George gripped you tighter, fucking you harder and faster until the table was nearly scraping across the hardwood floor with every thrust. “Gonna make a fucking mess of you...cum so fucking deep inside you. Gonna knock you up like my good little bitch.”

“I need it! Fill me up, baby, please!” you cried messily, clawing at the table as your pussy pulsed strongly around him.

“You need it?” he cooed, “You need me to cum inside you? To make you a mommy? Hm?”

All you could do was stumble out a chant of, “Yeah, yeah, yeah-”

In one swift movement, George pulled his fingers from your mouth and tangled his hand in your hair to shove you down against the table again. You caught yourself on your forearms with a squealing gasp, sliding forward under his controlling hand until your chest was flat to the table and your fingers could wrap around the opposite edge of the table. The slick lewd sound of your skin colliding filled your modest apartment as he ravished you from behind, harmonized so prettily with your shared breaths and moans.

“I want you to cum for me, sweetheart.” George spoke through his teeth as he held you face down on the table, “Show me how good I can make my pretty little wife feel while I pump her full of cum.”

His other hand slipped around your waist under the plethora of fabric from your dress without faltering the firm thrusts he gave you. His fingers were easily coated in your slick wetness as they blindly found their way between your legs, making it almost effortless for him to rub easy circles over your clit. You fell perfectly silent at his added touch, gripping onto the edge of the table even tighter as you felt that indescribable warmth coiling strongly within you. In seconds, your eyes were nearly rolling back and your toes were curling in your heels as you came around him, gasping and panting and moaning as your body clutched right down on him like a vice.

“That’s it!” George groaned loudly, shoving into you faster and more desperately to help you draw out your orgasm, “That’s fucking it, baby. I’m gonna put so many babies in you…show off that you’re mine. My perfect little cockslut housewife. Begging to be fucking knocked up. Shit-”

Oversensitive from your orgasm, his aggression had you whining loudly, tears burning in the corners of your eyes. He wasn’t letting up, taking exactly what he wanted from you, just how you had begged him to all those weeks ago in your tipsy confession. Your eyes were screwed shut with pleasure that bordered on the precipice of pain, unable to control the way you cried out until your voice echoed through the apartment. George slapped his hand over your mouth.

“Take it.” he ordered through his teeth against your ear, “You’re gonna take my whole fucking load until you’re dripping like a pathetic little bitch.”

You whined into his warm palm and felt him twitch inside you as your muscles pulsed around his thick length.

“Fucking...take it.”

George came hard, bucking into you sloppily through loud moans and grunts. His eyes scrunched closed through it, fingers pressing you harder into the tabletop as he shot thick warm spurts deep inside you. You could only grab onto his arm as he filled you up, withering behind the erotic feeling of him claiming you completely. His moans were heavenly and you nearly came a second time at the overwhelm of it all and his hand that was wrapped around the back of your neck only tightened as he finished.

He let you go after a second and you pushed yourself up from the table, your arms straight and hands flat as you glanced back at him over your shoulder. George’s lips grazed your jaw and he left a few lazy kisses over your skin as you both took a moment to catch your breaths, lingering in the post-orgam bliss together for a moment longer. His hands ran down your sides warmly and you let out a shaky sigh.

George then reached a hand up to gently tilt your chin towards him with a soft, “Come here.”

You kissed him sweetly, sharing lingering kisses with his dick still pressed up nice and deep inside you. After a few moments, he leaned back to look at your face and he gave your hand a squeeze before shifting back from you and pulled out slowly. Your body ached as he left you empty but his fingers pressed themselves between your legs instead.

He could feel your heartbeat right there, not to mention how soaked you were, dripping his cum out and onto his fingers, hidden under the skirt of your dress as it fell back down around your thighs. George left a little kiss to your shoulder when he finally pulled back and he gave your bum a little pat before he was zipping up his pants again,

“Order us a pizza, sweetheart. Dinner got cold.”

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