mountainsandmayhem

[mountainsandmayhem]

😏😏😏

She is a woman who knows what she wants!!! Thank you for reason and sharing

And also, I was kinda nervous about doing first person, but I figured the reverse age gap (which, eww let’s just call it age gap and stop making women feel like they’re backwards or wrong) is a niche market and the readers won’t care if it’s in “you” or “y/n” format haha. So thank you for saying that, as well! 🫶🏻

F*ckin’ Forty - Part 2

40 year old reader x young Frankie

18+ || Minors Do Not Interact

Summary: Men your age don’t do the way a twenty five year old future helicopter pilot can.

A/N: once again, all p*orn, no plot. This is written first person and there’s a few minor description of reader. Listen, I don’t know when I turned into a cougar BUT HERE WE FUCKIN’ ARE!!! This is in no way proofread or beta read; much like 40 yr old reader, we don’t care.

T/W: subby Frankie, pet names (baby, sweet boy, etc), I don’t speak Spanish but googled told me Mi Reina means My Queen (just ignore it if that’s not right, there’s bigger problems right now!), teasing, dirty talk, masturbating, Frankie being whiny (but in a good way)

Word Count: 2.5k

I love my job, and that’s not something a lot of people can say. But, as an owner of a small romance bookstore, I am not only living my dream but countless others as well. However, this week, when all I can think about is the weekend and Frankie’s never-ending hard cock? Yeah, I hate my job.

After work on Thursday, I went to buy some sexy lingerie. The last time I put something like this on was for my ex-husband about five years ago. He took one look at me and went, “I think we are a little too old for pyjamas like that”.

Too old? We were fucking thirty-five! And pyjamas? I went back into our bathroom to change and did the worst possible thing I could have - I looked in the mirror. My eyes instantly went to the imperfections of my body and I promptly went on a spiral. Stretch marks from being pregnant three times. Breasts that didn’t sit as high as they used to. Thighs that touch. Bits of cellulite dimpled my ass and hips.

But when I put on this delicate baby blue lace bra, panty, and garter set, I felt powerful and sexy. None of the things, including the few extra pounds I gained in the last five years of my marriage, jumped out at me this time. I don’t know if it was just the way the fabric hugged me just right, or the small “BEG” that was embroidered along the front of the thong (which, yes, is crotchless) but I couldn’t wait for Frankie’s reaction.

While having sushi last Sunday, I told Frankie that I’d prefer to keep all communication to just the weekends since I'm not looking for a relationship or to make this more complicated than just sex and sushi. His response gave me yet another reason to keep fucking younger men, “I’m not looking for anything either, so that is more than okay with me, but if you need me for anything, I’m here.”

Friday had finally arrived. Around noon, I checked my phone and had a text from Frankie.

Frankie: I can’t wait to be buried in that sweet little pussy all fucking weekend

You: now, now, is that any way to talk to a lady? Be nice, or I’ll make you beg for it, sweet boy.

Frankie: I’ll get on my knees and bark like a dog if that’s what you want.

You: that so?

Frankie: woof woof, mi reina

You: see you in a few hours

After an everything shower, I pace in my kitchen nervously while sipping a glass of red wine. I’m in just the baby blue barely there outfit and a short silky black robe that sits mid-thigh when Frankie knocks on my door right at nine o’clock. The soft rapping of his knuckles sends sparks across my skin.

I let him in, his soft brown eyes meeting mine, and the world melts away. No bills, no shitty ex texting me about parents weekend next month, no worrying about the event for local writers coming up at work. Just Francisco “Magic Tongue” Morales.

“Hi, baby,” he says, then brings his lips to mine in a heated kiss. I let him take me, let him close the door and then turn us and press me against the thick white wood that keeps us tucked away from the world.

I kiss him back feverishly as if he’s charging me back up after an entire week without him. I bring my hands to the nape of his neck and scratch gently at his scalp. His grip tightens on my hips. He’s already hard behind his jeans as he grinds into me.

“You look so fucking hot,” he hums between kisses and I remember that I had a plan tonight, so I bring my hands to his chest and push him back just enough so I can see his face.

“Get on your knees and keep your hands to yourself. Then I’ll show you what’s underneath this robe.” I don’t command him or say it harshly. It’s soft and flirty. My words tug a smile at the corner of his cheek, showing off his dimple amongst his patch beard.

“Yes ma’am,” he whispers, his hands giving me one last squeeze before he steps back and lowers himself to his knees.

I run my hands along my thighs, and his eyes track every inch of skin that I expose to him. I lift the sides of my robe, then let it flutter back down around my legs as I reach for the delicate tie around my waist. His breathing speeds up as I play with the fabric.

“What’s the matter, Francisco?”

“N-nothing,” he stammers, watching as my fingers trace the lapels of the silk.

“That so?” I coo, pulling the robe open so he can see part of the light blue bra. I do the same to the other side, showing my cleavage, but not fully letting my breasts out. The fabric is thin enough that you can see my nipples through it, and he hasn’t earned that yet.

His big puppy eyes flick up to my face. He licks his lips before saying, “Please stop teasing me.”

I laugh seductively, shaking my head as my hands pull the tie of the robe. Frankie is nearly panting in anticipation, but I don’t let what’s keeping me covered from him fall open just yet. “I’ve only just started playing with you though.”

“Fuck,” he whimpers when my hands move away from the knot. I use one hand to push his curly hair back. Just as he leans into my touch I grip his soft chocolate brown hair and tug back so he’s looking at me. He hisses, but his eyes are practically onyx with desire when they meet mine.

“That what you want? Me to play with you? Make you work for it?” He looks so goddamn hot on his knees that it takes everything inside of me not to abandon my plan and just let him fuck me senseless.

“Yes, mi reina. Whatever you want. Just please let me see you. Please.”

“You sound so good when you whimper like that,” I bend down and kiss him hard, nipping at his bottom lip as I pull away. “Such a good listener, keeping your hands in your lap like the good boy I know you are.”

He looks wrecked already, whimpering when I stand back up and release his hair. My fingers work the loose knot that’s holding my robe closed. I stop when he looks down.

“No, no, baby. Eyes on mine.” He groans in frustration and then looks back at me. As I continue, I open the robe the rest of the way. “That’s my boy. I’m going to let you look, and touch, but only after you do one tiny little thing for me.”

He nods, his breathing quick and shallow. My eyes flick down to my panties then back to him, he doesn’t break eye contact, so I do it again. “Read them, sweet boy.”

He lowers his chin slowly, his eyes branding my skin as he takes me in. He blinks at the three letters embroidered on the panties just above my clit - BEG. I let the robe slip off my arms and fall to the floor.

“Oh fuuuck,” he breathes. And then, on his knees, his face level with my pussy, he does exactly what I want. “Please, my queen. Let me touch you. Let me make you come so many times you forget your name.”

I step my feet apart so he can see that the lacy blue panties that he’s salivating over are open where the gusset would usually be. His face goes soft, lips parting as his hands ball into tight fists on his lap.

“You can do better than that,” I taunt.

“Fuuuuck me. Your pussy is so damn beautiful. Shining for me already. I’ve been craving your taste, missing how soft you are against my tongue. Please. Let me lick your perfect cunt.” His voice is airy and desperate and I can feel myself getting wetter. He looks up at me and continues, “I’ll stay clothed. I’ll stay on my knees. Fuck, I’ll stay right here all weekend with my tongue out if you want. Just please. Please let me taste you.”

“Open.” That heaven-sent tongue of his wets his lips before he opens his mouth. “Tongue out.”

I place the pads of my pointer and middle finger on the flat of his tongue and a whimper bubbles from his throat. “Here’s what you’re gonna do, baby. You’re going to get my fingers nice and wet, then you’re going to take out that pretty little cock so I can watch it while I touch myself. After I come all over my fingers, assuming you’re my good boy, you can clean them off.”

He hums a sound of agreement, nodding his head as I push on his tongue, watching the saliva pool in his cheeks. I lean down, sponging my lips to his right eyebrow, feeling him gravitate towards my caress.

“What are you waiting for, Francisco?” I whisper, my voice full of love and encouragement. He sucks eagerly, bobbing up and down on my fingers, swirling that perfect tongue along them. For a moment, I wonder if he’s ever sucked a cock before, and for some reason, the thought of that turns me on more than I expected it to.

“Fuck, you’re such a good listener,” I coo, and he preens at the praise. “Okay, that’s enough now, Frankie”

His lips release with a pop. “Please, I need to see you spread out for me.”

“Take off your shirt,” he whips his white t-shirt off so fast and I laugh silently. He’s so fucking cute. “Show me your cock. I haven’t stopped thinking about it all week.”

His hands scramble to his belt. Then he fumbles with the buckle and the button fly of his jeans because he’s wholly focused on my nearly exposed cunt. He tugs his jeans and boxers down just enough so that his cock springs free and I feel myself melt into the door behind me.

“Beautiful,” I murmur and he smiles up at me. “Ready?”

He nods, “Yes yes, I want to watch how you make yourself come, mi reina.”

I press my shoulder blades into the door, lifting my left foot and resting the arch on his shoulder, letting my knee fall open before rolling my hips forward. He’s so close that I can feel the heat of his shaky exhales on my skin. I bring my wet fingers towards my center, stopping just before they make contact with my swollen clit.

“Hold onto your cock for me, sweet boy. Right at the base. But don’t stroke yourself.”

“I - I c-can’t,” he stammers.

“Yes, you can, because you’re my good boy. Right?” I say, my voice equally encouraging and taunting.

“I’ll break. I can’t.” He whines.

“Francisco Morales,” I bark, “Wrap your fist around that pretty cock or I won’t let you cum all fucking weekend.”

He looks up at me through his lashes, eyes dark and pleading, then does as I ask. He squeezes his cock and a bead of pre cum leaks from the tip.

“That’s my boy,” I whisper, then drag my fingers along my cunt. I was never this wet for my ex-husband. I start at my entrance, gathering my arousal and spreading it up towards my clit. I gasp as my fingers touch where I’ve been needing them; swirling a little circle around my most sensitive spot before repeating the motion.

“Fuck, your pussy is so incredibly beautiful. All needy and flushed pink,” Frankie murmurs, the heat of his breath making me a jerk. “Get more of your juices for me. Coat your fingers. Make a mess. Make me clean your entire hand.”

“Oh my god, Frankie,” I’m already right on the edge, white blurs the side of my vision as it gets tighter and tighter behind my navel. I slip my fingers inside myself easily, feeling the way the walls of my pussy grip and pull, desperate for more. “Hnnnng, fuuuck.”

“Yes, my queen. Shit, I’m so hard for you right now.”

I pull my fingers from my cunt, looking down as I spread my arousal up my pussy and then focus on my clit. I rub tight, fast circles along it. My legs start to tremble.

“I’m…oh god…I’m gonna-“

“Show me,” he whispers, then blows cool air along my aching cunt and I fall over the edge. My pussy clenches around nothing again and again, but I don’t stop my ministrations. I let the moans fill my apartment, uncaring that anyone walking past my door would be able to hear me. It’s just him and I, the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

“Keep going, baby. I know that must feel so good.” Frankie’s praise feels like the sun, warming my skin and revitalizing me. I keep teasing myself, my body jerking through the aftershocks.

My wrist goes limp, my eyelids falling shut as I catch my breath. After a few quiet moments, I find it in myself to lift my foot off Frankie’s shoulder. He’s still got his hand wrapped around the base of his cock. I stumble slightly, his free hand coming to my hip.

“Easy, baby. Go slow.”

I both hate and love how soft he’s being right now, but then I look back down at his dick. The tip is red and leaking cum; it looks almost painful.

I lift my hand to his lips. “Clean them,” I croak, my voice already hoarse just from one orgasm; I must have been moaning louder than I thought.

Frankie sucks my fingers into his mouth. His eyes rolled back at the taste of me.

“Does that taste good, my beautiful boy?”

He groans in agreement, his breathing changing to be erratic. His hand releases his cock, and I watch as it twitches before he cums on the floor in front of me without even being touched. He releases my fingers, then falls to his hands.

“I’m sorry. Oh god. I’m sorry,” he says through his panting breaths.

I start to laugh, not in a cruel way and definitely not at him, mostly because I don’t know what else to do. Frankie’s big brown eyes look at me.

“I’m sorry,” I say through my laughter. “I’m not laughing at you. I’m just…I’ve never done something like that before. I don’t know what came over me.”

Frankie gestures towards where his cum is pooled onto the tile of your front entrance. “Well, I clearly liked it.”

“Take me to my room,” my voice is a hum and then Frankie shows me once again why fucking a younger is superior when he hoists me over his shoulder as he stands; strong, no lower back or bad shoulders. I squeal, watching as he shuffle steps to my room, his pants pooling around his feet. “Don’t you dare drop me.”

“Never, baby. Never.”

[mountainsandmayhem]

There’s some amazing stories on here! Thank you for including my little story 🫶🏻

more joel miller fic recs hell yeah

my last one took me SO long to do but I loved making it and shouting out my favs, so here we go again! again red means read ASAP!!

Joel Miller:

Healed - @whocaresstillthelouvre

Jackson Sunset - @carbonfiction

Can't love you enough - @majestyeverlasting

Sunlight & Sawdust - @pandapetals

Falling for you - @burntheedges

Beck and Call - @ilikeevilblondes (I love ex!husband joel, call that trauma ig)

Texas Sun - @from-the-clouds

Need You Now - @pandapetals

Forever, With You - @pedroscurls (ohhhh my god i love this)

Ain't No Grave - @pandapetals

In My T-Shirt - @mountainsandmayhem

Practice - @tinytinymenace

The Trade - @thatcorporategirlie (ANYTHING by kiwi is unmatched, im making 'The Pitt' rec list next and shes gonna be ALLLLL over it)

Lazy Mornings - @ilikeevilblondes

Honey Love, Dark Eyes - @capuccinodoll (this one HURT)

Cause I'm so Into You - @dixons-sunshine

It Ends With Him -@studiogrimm810

Claw Clip - @suuuupernovaaa

Line In The Sand - @touchtheinvisiblestars

Sundays At The Millers - @velvetinks

Still Yours - @touchtheinvisiblestars

Stitches - @pedgito

Paid in full - @majestyeverlasting

Save a Horse, Ride a... - @blueberrykefir

Peck On The Cheek - @thatcorporategirlie

Long Overdue - @honeyedmiller

Stages Of Devotion - @penvisions

Henry Castillo:

Love at last - @pedroscurls

Somebody to Love - @punkshort

Change of plans - @toomanystoriessolittletime

Hey There Sugar Baby! - @sceletaflores

Marcus Pike/Javier Pena/Frankie Morales/Din Djarin

Two Pikes, One Bed - @absurdthirst

The Epilogue - @javier-pena

Until It Takes - @mellowswriting

Midnight Snack - @pilotispunk

Weekend Getaway - @cosmicaura7

Invisible String - @hauntedhowlett-writes

Sugar, Spice, and Starlight - @lamentationsofalonelypotato

Chrysalis Heart - @kedsandtubesocks

Mine - @joelsbloodyhands

Hollow Star - @lincolndjarin

Did You Miss me? - @thatcorporategirlie (clint flood)

[mountainsandmayhem]

Well, since @for-a-longlongtime let the cat out of the bag, it’s time to come clean.

A select few of us are part of a top-secret, underground conspiracy to make Pedro Pascal seem more gay than he actually is. I’m sorry you had to find out this way. We are called the Pedro Pascal’s Gay Shadow Council. PPGSC.

With this news coming to light, we at PPGSC understand that full transparency is the only way to gain your trust going forward. That is why we are deciding to post external communications for positions that have opened up. This is a busy time of year for us with all the press he’ll be doing for Eddington and Fantastic 4, so we need to fill some desks ASAP!!

About Our Organization:

Here at PPGSC, we’re not just co-workers; we’re family. Over the years we have cultivated a corporate culture that we love to boast. Look forward to pizza parties, coupons to Tex-Mex restaurants, and free coozies!

Your Role:

PPGSC meetings happen every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday - but the work never stops! You will need 40 hours a week to produce and present the following:

- Making Pedro look more gay in photoshoots

- Making Pedro act more camp and queer in press interviews

- How Pedro’s social media presence can be more queer

- How we can gaslight the Pedro Pascal fans into believing he has been taking queer roles since before some of them were even born (ie: Greg from MTV’s Undressed was our most successful gaslight yet. Nobody knows we just planted AI footage of Pedro as his younger self in a TV show that aired in the late 1900’s)

- How to produce and boost gay fanfictions of Pedro Pascal’s characters (some fans don’t know that his characters aren’t actually him- so this method has been our most successful!)

- Come up with new, innovative ways to make Pedro Pascal look gay!!!

Your Experience:

- Major or Minor in Women’s and Gender Studies is preferred but not required

- MUST have seen every episode of Queer as Folk (UK and US)

- Can recite at least three Lady Gaga songs from start to finish

- Proficient in Google Sheets

Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion statement:

Here at PPGSC we accept everyone as they are. Even if you’re not queer, still apply! Straight people’s opinions matter SO much to us. You are not alone.

[mountainsandmayhem]

Pedro is leaning into being more camp and queer presenting because of fans like you. His PR team have seen the opportunity to cater to fans that want him to be gay so badly, now they have him doing shoots that looks like gay porn. He was never like this before... Hope you are happy. 😒

lmao are the straights okay??

First of all queer fans simply existing and enjoying a fandom are not a threat to you so stop acting like we are. We have no more influence than anyone else on how a celebrity/their team chooses to present. Pedro is a fully grown man who acts how he wants to act and looks how he wants to look, and he is also a man who likes to express himself creatively and have fun with it (both fashion and personality wise!!) oh and btw he has not changed. He hasn’t. I’ve been in this fandom a long time and I promise you he has not changed how he presents.

Secondly I have NEVER stated that I think he is gay or anything else. I'll reiterate that I have no interest in speculating about any celebrities (or anyone else's) sexuality. That's not why I and most normal fans are here. We're here because we enjoy his talent and think he's a wonderful person, and because we want to talk about his characters, and that's that. I write & read queer stories for his FICTIONAL characters because I am a queer person and that is what makes me happy.

Also I don't think you know what gay porn is my dude 💀

Now fuck off. Fuck off queerphobes you are not welcome in this fandom.

[mountainsandmayhem]

F*ckin’ Forty - Part 2

40 year old reader x young Frankie

18+ || Minors Do Not Interact

Summary: Men your age don’t do the way a twenty five year old future helicopter pilot can.

A/N: once again, all p*orn, no plot. This is written first person and there’s a few minor description of reader. Listen, I don’t know when I turned into a cougar BUT HERE WE FUCKIN’ ARE!!! This is in no way proofread or beta read; much like 40 yr old reader, we don’t care.

T/W: subby Frankie, pet names (baby, sweet boy, etc), I don’t speak Spanish but googled told me Mi Reina means My Queen (just ignore it if that’s not right, there’s bigger problems right now!), teasing, dirty talk, masturbating, Frankie being whiny (but in a good way)

Word Count: 2.5k

I love my job, and that’s not something a lot of people can say. But, as an owner of a small romance bookstore, I am not only living my dream but countless others as well. However, this week, when all I can think about is the weekend and Frankie’s never-ending hard cock? Yeah, I hate my job.

After work on Thursday, I went to buy some sexy lingerie. The last time I put something like this on was for my ex-husband about five years ago. He took one look at me and went, “I think we are a little too old for pyjamas like that”.

Too old? We were fucking thirty-five! And pyjamas? I went back into our bathroom to change and did the worst possible thing I could have - I looked in the mirror. My eyes instantly went to the imperfections of my body and I promptly went on a spiral. Stretch marks from being pregnant three times. Breasts that didn’t sit as high as they used to. Thighs that touch. Bits of cellulite dimpled my ass and hips.

But when I put on this delicate baby blue lace bra, panty, and garter set, I felt powerful and sexy. None of the things, including the few extra pounds I gained in the last five years of my marriage, jumped out at me this time. I don’t know if it was just the way the fabric hugged me just right, or the small “BEG” that was embroidered along the front of the thong (which, yes, is crotchless) but I couldn’t wait for Frankie’s reaction.

While having sushi last Sunday, I told Frankie that I’d prefer to keep all communication to just the weekends since I'm not looking for a relationship or to make this more complicated than just sex and sushi. His response gave me yet another reason to keep fucking younger men, “I’m not looking for anything either, so that is more than okay with me, but if you need me for anything, I’m here.”

Friday had finally arrived. Around noon, I checked my phone and had a text from Frankie.

Frankie: I can’t wait to be buried in that sweet little pussy all fucking weekend

You: now, now, is that any way to talk to a lady? Be nice, or I’ll make you beg for it, sweet boy.

Frankie: I’ll get on my knees and bark like a dog if that’s what you want.

You: that so?

Frankie: woof woof, mi reina

You: see you in a few hours

After an everything shower, I pace in my kitchen nervously while sipping a glass of red wine. I’m in just the baby blue barely there outfit and a short silky black robe that sits mid-thigh when Frankie knocks on my door right at nine o’clock. The soft rapping of his knuckles sends sparks across my skin.

I let him in, his soft brown eyes meeting mine, and the world melts away. No bills, no shitty ex texting me about parents weekend next month, no worrying about the event for local writers coming up at work. Just Francisco “Magic Tongue” Morales.

“Hi, baby,” he says, then brings his lips to mine in a heated kiss. I let him take me, let him close the door and then turn us and press me against the thick white wood that keeps us tucked away from the world.

I kiss him back feverishly as if he’s charging me back up after an entire week without him. I bring my hands to the nape of his neck and scratch gently at his scalp. His grip tightens on my hips. He’s already hard behind his jeans as he grinds into me.

“You look so fucking hot,” he hums between kisses and I remember that I had a plan tonight, so I bring my hands to his chest and push him back just enough so I can see his face.

“Get on your knees and keep your hands to yourself. Then I’ll show you what’s underneath this robe.” I don’t command him or say it harshly. It’s soft and flirty. My words tug a smile at the corner of his cheek, showing off his dimple amongst his patch beard.

“Yes ma’am,” he whispers, his hands giving me one last squeeze before he steps back and lowers himself to his knees.

I run my hands along my thighs, and his eyes track every inch of skin that I expose to him. I lift the sides of my robe, then let it flutter back down around my legs as I reach for the delicate tie around my waist. His breathing speeds up as I play with the fabric.

“What’s the matter, Francisco?”

“N-nothing,” he stammers, watching as my fingers trace the lapels of the silk.

“That so?” I coo, pulling the robe open so he can see part of the light blue bra. I do the same to the other side, showing my cleavage, but not fully letting my breasts out. The fabric is thin enough that you can see my nipples through it, and he hasn’t earned that yet.

His big puppy eyes flick up to my face. He licks his lips before saying, “Please stop teasing me.”

I laugh seductively, shaking my head as my hands pull the tie of the robe. Frankie is nearly panting in anticipation, but I don’t let what’s keeping me covered from him fall open just yet. “I’ve only just started playing with you though.”

“Fuck,” he whimpers when my hands move away from the knot. I use one hand to push his curly hair back. Just as he leans into my touch I grip his soft chocolate brown hair and tug back so he’s looking at me. He hisses, but his eyes are practically onyx with desire when they meet mine.

“That what you want? Me to play with you? Make you work for it?” He looks so goddamn hot on his knees that it takes everything inside of me not to abandon my plan and just let him fuck me senseless.

“Yes, mi reina. Whatever you want. Just please let me see you. Please.”

“You sound so good when you whimper like that,” I bend down and kiss him hard, nipping at his bottom lip as I pull away. “Such a good listener, keeping your hands in your lap like the good boy I know you are.”

He looks wrecked already, whimpering when I stand back up and release his hair. My fingers work the loose knot that’s holding my robe closed. I stop when he looks down.

“No, no, baby. Eyes on mine.” He groans in frustration and then looks back at me. As I continue, I open the robe the rest of the way. “That’s my boy. I’m going to let you look, and touch, but only after you do one tiny little thing for me.”

He nods, his breathing quick and shallow. My eyes flick down to my panties then back to him, he doesn’t break eye contact, so I do it again. “Read them, sweet boy.”

He lowers his chin slowly, his eyes branding my skin as he takes me in. He blinks at the three letters embroidered on the panties just above my clit - BEG. I let the robe slip off my arms and fall to the floor.

“Oh fuuuck,” he breathes. And then, on his knees, his face level with my pussy, he does exactly what I want. “Please, my queen. Let me touch you. Let me make you come so many times you forget your name.”

I step my feet apart so he can see that the lacy blue panties that he’s salivating over are open where the gusset would usually be. His face goes soft, lips parting as his hands ball into tight fists on his lap.

“You can do better than that,” I taunt.

“Fuuuuck me. Your pussy is so damn beautiful. Shining for me already. I’ve been craving your taste, missing how soft you are against my tongue. Please. Let me lick your perfect cunt.” His voice is airy and desperate and I can feel myself getting wetter. He looks up at me and continues, “I’ll stay clothed. I’ll stay on my knees. Fuck, I’ll stay right here all weekend with my tongue out if you want. Just please. Please let me taste you.”

“Open.” That heaven-sent tongue of his wets his lips before he opens his mouth. “Tongue out.”

I place the pads of my pointer and middle finger on the flat of his tongue and a whimper bubbles from his throat. “Here’s what you’re gonna do, baby. You’re going to get my fingers nice and wet, then you’re going to take out that pretty little cock so I can watch it while I touch myself. After I come all over my fingers, assuming you’re my good boy, you can clean them off.”

He hums a sound of agreement, nodding his head as I push on his tongue, watching the saliva pool in his cheeks. I lean down, sponging my lips to his right eyebrow, feeling him gravitate towards my caress.

“What are you waiting for, Francisco?” I whisper, my voice full of love and encouragement. He sucks eagerly, bobbing up and down on my fingers, swirling that perfect tongue along them. For a moment, I wonder if he’s ever sucked a cock before, and for some reason, the thought of that turns me on more than I expected it to.

“Fuck, you’re such a good listener,” I coo, and he preens at the praise. “Okay, that’s enough now, Frankie”

His lips release with a pop. “Please, I need to see you spread out for me.”

“Take off your shirt,” he whips his white t-shirt off so fast and I laugh silently. He’s so fucking cute. “Show me your cock. I haven’t stopped thinking about it all week.”

His hands scramble to his belt. Then he fumbles with the buckle and the button fly of his jeans because he’s wholly focused on my nearly exposed cunt. He tugs his jeans and boxers down just enough so that his cock springs free and I feel myself melt into the door behind me.

“Beautiful,” I murmur and he smiles up at me. “Ready?”

He nods, “Yes yes, I want to watch how you make yourself come, mi reina.”

I press my shoulder blades into the door, lifting my left foot and resting the arch on his shoulder, letting my knee fall open before rolling my hips forward. He’s so close that I can feel the heat of his shaky exhales on my skin. I bring my wet fingers towards my center, stopping just before they make contact with my swollen clit.

“Hold onto your cock for me, sweet boy. Right at the base. But don’t stroke yourself.”

“I - I c-can’t,” he stammers.

“Yes, you can, because you’re my good boy. Right?” I say, my voice equally encouraging and taunting.

“I’ll break. I can’t.” He whines.

“Francisco Morales,” I bark, “Wrap your fist around that pretty cock or I won’t let you cum all fucking weekend.”

He looks up at me through his lashes, eyes dark and pleading, then does as I ask. He squeezes his cock and a bead of pre cum leaks from the tip.

“That’s my boy,” I whisper, then drag my fingers along my cunt. I was never this wet for my ex-husband. I start at my entrance, gathering my arousal and spreading it up towards my clit. I gasp as my fingers touch where I’ve been needing them; swirling a little circle around my most sensitive spot before repeating the motion.

“Fuck, your pussy is so incredibly beautiful. All needy and flushed pink,” Frankie murmurs, the heat of his breath making me a jerk. “Get more of your juices for me. Coat your fingers. Make a mess. Make me clean your entire hand.”

“Oh my god, Frankie,” I’m already right on the edge, white blurs the side of my vision as it gets tighter and tighter behind my navel. I slip my fingers inside myself easily, feeling the way the walls of my pussy grip and pull, desperate for more. “Hnnnng, fuuuck.”

“Yes, my queen. Shit, I’m so hard for you right now.”

I pull my fingers from my cunt, looking down as I spread my arousal up my pussy and then focus on my clit. I rub tight, fast circles along it. My legs start to tremble.

“I’m…oh god…I’m gonna-“

“Show me,” he whispers, then blows cool air along my aching cunt and I fall over the edge. My pussy clenches around nothing again and again, but I don’t stop my ministrations. I let the moans fill my apartment, uncaring that anyone walking past my door would be able to hear me. It’s just him and I, the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

“Keep going, baby. I know that must feel so good.” Frankie’s praise feels like the sun, warming my skin and revitalizing me. I keep teasing myself, my body jerking through the aftershocks.

My wrist goes limp, my eyelids falling shut as I catch my breath. After a few quiet moments, I find it in myself to lift my foot off Frankie’s shoulder. He’s still got his hand wrapped around the base of his cock. I stumble slightly, his free hand coming to my hip.

“Easy, baby. Go slow.”

I both hate and love how soft he’s being right now, but then I look back down at his dick. The tip is red and leaking cum; it looks almost painful.

I lift my hand to his lips. “Clean them,” I croak, my voice already hoarse just from one orgasm; I must have been moaning louder than I thought.

Frankie sucks my fingers into his mouth. His eyes rolled back at the taste of me.

“Does that taste good, my beautiful boy?”

He groans in agreement, his breathing changing to be erratic. His hand releases his cock, and I watch as it twitches before he cums on the floor in front of me without even being touched. He releases my fingers, then falls to his hands.

“I’m sorry. Oh god. I’m sorry,” he says through his panting breaths.

I start to laugh, not in a cruel way and definitely not at him, mostly because I don’t know what else to do. Frankie’s big brown eyes look at me.

“I’m sorry,” I say through my laughter. “I’m not laughing at you. I’m just…I’ve never done something like that before. I don’t know what came over me.”

Frankie gestures towards where his cum is pooled onto the tile of your front entrance. “Well, I clearly liked it.”

“Take me to my room,” my voice is a hum and then Frankie shows me once again why fucking a younger is superior when he hoists me over his shoulder as he stands; strong, no lower back or bad shoulders. I squeal, watching as he shuffle steps to my room, his pants pooling around his feet. “Don’t you dare drop me.”

“Never, baby. Never.”

[mountainsandmayhem]

🥹 thank you so much for reading and sharing. It took them a while, but they made it.

BDSMaid - Epilogue

AN: You can blame Mexico and Onyx Storm for my delay on this one. But for those who are curious, here is our sweet little epilogue for Joel and Freckles. Thank you so much to everyone who read, commented, shared, and encouraged me while writing this story. I love you, and so does Joel and Freckles. XO

Series Masterlist | My Masterlist

Five Years Later

“You wanna come,” he practically taunts, “Don’t you, sweet girl?” 

Every muscle in your body is weak, causing the leather cuffs of the St. Andrews Cross to rub at your wrists and ankles. He’s been teasing you for hours, stopping every time you’re about to shatter. 

This night has been a long while in the making. After five years with your firm you were finally given the lead on a big case; a case that your boss handed to you and said this was your chance to earn your partnership. You spent upwards of eighty to ninety hours a week preparing and Joel could not have been more perfect during that time. He’d often show up with food or coffee for you and your team of junior lawyers, interns, and paralegals. He never complained when you’d bring work home; however, every time you said something negative about yourself, Joel would mark it on the fridge. Over the three and a half weeks of prep work thirty ticks ended up on the small piece of paper that was hung with a Berkeley magnet. You didn’t have time to ask Joel what they meant, and truthfully, you didn’t really care; you trusted that whatever he planned to do with those ticks was for your own good. 

During the trial, another twelve ticks were added. When the verdict was announced and you had won your case, Joel was there in the courtroom, smiling warmly at you when you glanced back at him. When you got home that evening, after a celebratory round or two of cocktails, Joel made you kneel in front of him as he explained that each tick, all forty two of them, symbolized a denied orgasm, a punishment meant to remind you not to talk bad about things that Joel owns. Especially brilliant lawyers who win their first big case and secure themselves as partner.  

As he strapped you to the padded X shaped piece of furniture tonight, he said, ‘if you’re the sweet girl I know you to be, then you won’t whine when I stop. Instead, you’ll say “Thank you, Mister Miller” and I’ll count that as two. Forty two orgasms being denied is not going to be easy, so do yourself a favour and don’t whine; you don’t want to know what happens if you do.’

The only response to his teasing that you can muster now is a whimper and a nod. He clicks his tongue in disappointment. “Use your words, honey.”

Your voice is almost silent. “Yes, Mister Miller.”

He walks behind you, trailing the small vibrator along your skin. “Such a good girl for me tonight. Saying yes to everything. Remind me, how many orgasms have I denied you so far?”

Your pussy throbs with the deep timber of his voice, this is truly torture and your safeword is on the tip of your tongue. “Twenty one,” you mumble.

“Poor, sweet girl,” He says from behind you, leaning in closely to whisper in your ear. “Did you learn your lesson?”

“Yes, Mister Miller.” You swallow the dry lump in your throat.

“Should I let you pick how you want to come?”

He completes his circle around you and the crossing, stepping in close to you. He uses the little vibrator to gently tease your nipples. You can barely form a thought and just let a small ‘yes’ mixed with moans leave your lips as your sweat covered back arches off the padded back of the cross. The heat of Joel’s body this close makes you feel like you’re on fire. 

“Want to come on my fingers?” He asks, then easily slips three of them inside of you. Your gaze shoots to his as a strangled cry fills the room. 

“Yesyes - fuuuuck, please.” You feel your pussy tightening around his digits.

“What about my cock? You love being stuffed full of my thick cock while I strum your clit. Don’t you? My perfect little slut.” He teases you further by pumping his fingers forward once, revelling in the feel of you clenching tighter around him. He doesn’t give you a chance to respond as he continues.

“No, I know,” his fingers slip out from your pussy and you gasp, unable to protest in your weakened state. Not that you would protest; you know better than to do that, and he told you not to whine tonight. You are a good girl, you know that what your dom says is best. Plus, you need to come so badly that you think you might actually die if you don’t, and Joel is just sadistic enough to keep you like this for days. 

He gets onto his knees, his warm breath hitting your cunt as he speaks. “What if I put my lips around this swollen little clit? Huh? Suck her into my mouth and drink up every ounce of your cum?”

He uses his thumbs to pull the lips of your pussy further apart. He’s so close that your breath catches in your throat at the promise of relief. He blows cool air along your soaked pussy; you clench your molars together and focus on your breathing. You don’t come until he tells you. 

“Would you like that, my sweet girl?”

The restraints cut at your wrists when you try to push your hips to his mouth. “Yes. Yes. Please, Mister Miller.”

He stands abruptly, hand wrapping around the hair at the nape of your neck before he tugs to bring your gaze up to his. The pull of your hair relaxes the muscles of your neck and upper back and you melt into the padded cross.

His eyes darken as he asks, “You really would say yes to anything, wouldn’t you?” 

“Y-yes. I just need to come. Please.” He releases your hair, stepping back and crossing his arms. The veins on his forearms pop, the sleeves of his rolled black dress shirt tightening under his biceps. Since officially retiring, he’s had a strict exercise regime. He was sexy when you met him almost ten years ago, but like a fine wine, he gets better with each passing year.

The gravel in his voice returns, “But you’d say yes even if I told you we were done for the night and it was time to get dressed. Right?” 

Your eyes clench close, head falling back as the panic of not getting to come tonight races through your mind. You take a calming breath before whispering, “Yes, Mister Miller.” 

“Eyes on me, sweet girl.” You peel your eyes open and tilt your chin down to look at him. His hands are now buried in his pockets, and there’s a shift in how he’s looking at you, a slight softness to his dark eyes. 

“And what if I asked you to marry me?” His voice is shy and raspy.

He slowly pulls a ring out of his pocket and holds it up for you. A thin, gold band with a single, albeit very large, solitaire diamond on it sends sparkles all around the room. Tears line your lash line, mirroring his. He clears his throat softly.

“Here’s what we’re going to do, sweet girl. Listen carefully for me,” he pockets the ring and steps closely, wiping the happy tear that rolls down your cheek. The rough whorls on his thumb send goosebumps cascading down your body. “First, I’m going to make you come. Then, I’m going to untie you, get you all cleaned up, and get some sugar into you.”

You nod, leaning into his touch as cups your face. His eyes dart towards the bed as he says, “After that, we are getting to that bed so I can kiss you until neither of us can breathe.”

“And then,” he smiles sweetly, a tear rolling from the corner of his deep brown and honey flecked eye to his greying beard. “And then I’m going to ask you to marry me.”

[mountainsandmayhem]

….sooo….what if I had a part 2?

F*ckin’ Forty

Young Frankie x Older F! Reader

18+ || Minors Do Not Interact

Summary: Men your age don’t do the way a twenty five year old future helicopter pilot can.

A/N: this is basically all smut and no plot, just a quick synopsis of your/her past. This fic is written in first person and I basically have no idea where this came from. I just woke up feral over the idea yesterday and here we are! Thank you @lotusbxtch for reading it and then saying you have no notes lol. Support banners by @saradika-graphics.

T/W: Divorce, mention of alcohol consumption, oral (both sides), cum swapping, kissing, lots of sex and talks of sex, dirty talk, pet names (baby, sweetheart, etc.), age gap (she’s 40, he’s 25), riding, talks of doggy style, talks of shower sex, squirting (because who wouldn’t with Frankie). I’ve probably missed a bunch, you’re responsible for the content you consume, but there’s really nothing that dark happening here; just a girl getting throughly and properly dicked down.

Which is probably how I found myself in the situation I’m in now. With an indescribably hot twenty five year old private helicopter pilot nestled between my thighs, lapping endlessly at my pussy with his magic tongue.

My Masterlist

You know that infamous saying, “Time flies when you’re having fun”? Well, it also flies when you get pregnant at nineteen, married at twenty, pregnant again at twenty-one and twenty-two, and then stuck in a dead-end marriage with a guy who peaked in high school and had a combover by the age of thirty.

I know what you’re thinking, ‘why not just leave him’, right? Well, truthfully, it wasn’t all bad. We made great memories as our kids grew up, but the older they got, the more alone time he and I had. One evening, as he was passed out on the couch at 7:30 pm on a Friday night, I realized that I fucking hated him.

Shortly after my fortieth trip around the sun - our kids are now twenty-one, nineteen and eighteen - I had officially packed the last one up for college and then myself up for a divorce. You should have seen the way my ex-husband grovelled.

“But I love you!”

He bought me lilies for Mother’s Day three years in a row, I’m fucking allergic. But sure, you love me.

He offered to make spaghetti and meatballs for dinner two nights before I left him. And then called and texted me relentlessly simply to ask me what he needed to get from the store. But sure, you love me.

I have never been able to sit out in the sun (thanks to my Irish grandparents for that gene) and he tore down the gazebo in our backyard because “no one uses it”. I sit out there almost every day after work. But sure, you love me.

Forty for some people is scary. Not for me. For me, it was a metamorphosis. Not over the hill, standing at the top of the hill, conquering it, and building a goddamn castle. Only letting in who I choose and if they think they can stay for nothing, they can fuck all the way off. That might make me seem like a heartless bitch, but that couldn’t be less true. I’ve spent all of my twenties and thirties caring for other people. It’s time for me to take what I want now.

My new motto for my fourth decade on earth? “If you aren’t actively contributing to my life…leave”.

Which is probably how I found myself in the situation I’m in now. With an indescribably hot twenty five year old private helicopter pilot nestled between my thighs, lapping endlessly at my pussy with his magic tongue.

“Good boy,” I hum, arching into his puffy, slick-covered lips. “Don’t fucking stop. Oh god.”

He groans at my words, alternating between slow, calculated licks and a swirl of his tongue around my clit. We met two nights ago in a small bar. I entertained him at first because he was cute and dopey, plus, even though I’m not an “older woman” per se, in comparison to him I am, and who doesn’t enjoy a little attention? I don’t know how it happened, maybe the tequila, maybe the way he could two-step, maybe just the insane rush of hormones from being premenopausal, but for almost 48 hours now we’ve been as naked as the day we were born and have fucked on almost every surface of my apartment (aka my castle on the hill).

I swear we’ve had more sex since Friday night than I had over the last few years of my marriage. It’s wrong and depraved. He’s so much younger than me and easily could date my oldest daughter, but that’s the thing about turning forty. You just don’t give a flying fuck anymore what other people think. This can just be my dirty little secret.

“Jesus Christ, Frankie. Your fuckin’ mouth.”

I’ve lost count of the number of orgasms Francisco Morales has pulled out of me, and giving him more of them seems simultaneously easy and impossible.

“Fingers,” I gasp. “Please, baby. I want more.”

He obliges, slipping two of his long, skilled fingers inside of me and curling them forward as I adjust to the intrusion. The facts that he can get hard over and over again - mixed with his eagerness to please and disinterest in being in a relationship - are the absolute chef’s kiss trifecta of fucking younger men.

His fingers pump up and down again and again. A steady, teasing, delicious motion and when he sucks my poor abused clit into his mouth I fall apart. I scream his name for the hundredth time this weekend as my body shudders, the walls of my pussy throbbing and clenching appreciatively around his fingers. Frankie doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up until I’m a human puddle. Boneless. Muscle-less. Connective fucking tissue-less. I look down as he pulls away from my cunt, and after slipping his fingers from me he sucks them clean while giving me that goofy grin he gave at me at the bar.

“My uh friends think that someone as beautiful as you wouldn’t talk to me. So, can you laugh like I said something funny?”

“Shit, Frankie. That was amazing.” He crawls up my body, kissing my stomach and up my sternum before lying beside me. I roll to face him, both of us using our arms to support our heads. “I can’t believe we’ve been fucking for two days straight.”

He smirks. “My favourite time was still when you rode me backwards on the shower bench.”

“Ya, that was good. Especially when you figured out the detachable shower head.”

He tucks some hair behind my ear and then slides closer. He’s hard again, I can feel his cock pressing into my thigh, already leaking that salty-sweet pre cum.

“What was your favourite?” He whispers, then kisses the tip of my nose.

“Hmmm,” I fake like I’m in deep thought - I already know what my favourite was. “When you had me bent over the back of the couch, one of my legs propped up.”

I swear he blushes as he remembers it. “Good thing that couch is leather,” he says with a wink.

“Who knew I could squirt, but maybe everyone does at five orgasms. You’re kind of a menace.” I grind into him, ready for more already.

His hand comes to my hip, gripping and pulling me closer.

“Me? You’re the one who seduced me. Then introduced me to the best sex of my life.”

“Haven’t introduced you to everything quite yet, baby boy,” I murmur, my lips ghosting over his. When he tries to kiss me I pull back, revelling in the needy little whine he makes. “Want me to show what it’s like when a real woman sucks your cock?”

How I managed to go this long without getting to blow him is beyond me, he’s just always giving.

“Talk a big game there,” he quips, challenging me by raising an eyebrow.

I push at him, forcing him to roll onto his back and rake my eyes unapologetically over his body; tanned, broad chest, the V cut of his hips, the little line of hair from his belly button to his beautiful cock.

“Francisco,” I rasp seductively, getting on all fours to shimmy down the mattress. “I’ve been sucking cock since before you were born. I am about to show you why the lyric “I like my girls a little bit older” is so popular.”

I don’t waste any time, I don’t slowly suckle on him or tease him with my tongue. Instead, I open my mouth as wide as I can and swallow his thick cock greedily. When my nose meets his pelvis and the leaking tip of his dick hits the back of my throat I close my lips around him and moan.

“Holy shit,” he breathes from above me, but he hasn’t seen anything yet.

I slowly pull him free from my mouth, his cock like steel, standing straight up. “Hands up, grab onto the headboard. I want to feel your cum down my throat.”

When he reaches up the headboard my mouth and pussy salivate at the way his biceps look with his arms over his head and how his forearms pop as he grips tightly to the metal bars of my bed frame.

Again, I don’t fuck around, sliding him to the very back of my throat. This time, when I get to the bottom I push my tongue past my bottom lip and it flicks along the top of his balls.

“Fuuuuuuuck, that’s my girl,” his voice airy and on the edge of a moan. “God damn you’re gonna make me cum soon if you keep that up.”

I move my mouth almost agonizingly slow up his cock, my warm tongue trailing along every vein and ridge on the underside of his length. When I get to the tip I wrap my hand around the base, pumping as I swirl my tongue around the tip, paying extra attention to the bottom ridge every time.

“Fuck, fuck. Yes,” he mumbles, his hips flexing forward and I take that as my sign to move my hand and swallow him down again. I can taste my pussy on him from when he fucked me recently and something about my heady sweetness mixed with his salty flavour that’s innately him makes me absolutely fucking feral.

His body falls to the mattress. “Again. Please, do that again.”

I‘m tempted to tease and taunt him, make him beg for me, but since he was so happy to give me everything, I decide to give him what he wants. Slowly, so very slowly, I pull up along his shaft. I can feel him trembling beneath me and it’s intoxicating. Thank god his refractory period is about three point five seconds because after I swallow every ounce of his cum I’m going to ride him until neither of us can breathe.

I reach the tip, glancing up at him as I swirl my tongue. His knuckles are blanched from how hard he's squeezing my headboard, assumingly to stop from grabbing at me.

“Such a good listener,” I praise, watching the way the words make him more pliant. His cock twitches in my hand as I say it. “You like being praised, don’t you?”

He nods, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “That’s my good boy,” I practically coo at him before sucking his entire length down my throat again. I bob up and down and up and down. Moaning at the taste of him and I, my hand following my mouth, I feel him getting harder - a telltale sign that he’s getting close to coming.

“Fuck me, that’s so good. You’re so good. Don’t, oh shit, yes. Don’t fucking stop.” He slurs the last bit of his pleas of pleasure. “I’m gonna come soon. Oh god.”

I can taste the cum that’s already leaking from his cock, so I swirl around his tip a few more times. His body twitches.

“Let me taste you. Swallow you. Give it to me, Frankie,” I slam him to the back of my throat again, pushing my tongue further to tease at the sensitive spot where his balls meet his body and he lets out a deep, grumbling moan before shooting his cum down my throat.

“D-don’t swallow,” he stammers, making eye contact as he practically drowns me in cum. Another bonus of fucking someone this much my junior, they have copious amounts cum each and every time.

Frankie’s cock throbs along my tongue as I continue to work him through his orgasm. One of his hands comes to my hair and he pulls at me gently. I let his still-hard cock fall from my mouth and look up at him with parted lips, his cum glistening for him to see. He moves his other hand from the headboard, gripping my cheeks to keep my mouth open for him. He pulls again, urging me to climb up to him.

“Kiss me,” he breathes. “Kiss me with a mouth full of my cum.”

I straddle him, my wet and needy pussy hovering over his rock-hard dick. I start to worry that if neither of us tires, we’ll both be calling in sick to work tomorrow.

He pulls my face towards him, his tongue passing my lips, testing to see how much of himself he wants to swallow. He must enjoy it because before I know it he’s kissing me roughly, his tongue invading my mouth in the most deliciously sinful way. My body acts on its own, grinding against his cock until he slips inside of me and we both groan. I bounce up and down as we swap his cum between our mouths, working him in deeper with each flick of my hips. Once he’s fully inside of me we both pull away from the kiss. I sit up, letting my head fall back to stare at the ceiling as I catch my breath. I pant, sucking in air as his hands come to my hips, then up my body to my breasts. His hands cup them, fingers ghosting over my nipples causing me to shiver.

“Shhhh,” he soothes, “Slow your breathing for me, baby.”

I let my eyes flutter shut, pulling air in through my nose and then out my mouth.

“You’re so beautiful. Always so ready to take my cock. Always squeezing me so tightly. How the fuck do we ever stop? Huh?”

I look down at him, a small smile tugging at my cheeks. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

“Ride me,” he growls. “Make yourself come again. Let me feel the way your messy little pussy pulsates around me.”

I don’t hesitate; I’m probably more needy than him at this point. I lean back, my hands gripping his strong thighs and roll my hips at a slow, albeit rough, pace.

“Frankie,” I whine, the e of his name lasting a few seconds longer than it should.

“That’s it, baby. Use my cock. Make yourself feel good.” His hands run along my body. “Oh shit, that feels so good. God, your fucking pussy.” My thighs start to tremble and he kneads my sore muscles. “I love watching you use me. Watching the way you go all soft before you fall apart. I’m so fucking deep, I bet you feel so full right now. Don’t you?”

I nod, incapable of forming words as I chase my next high.

“Yeah?” He says, a cocky smirk pulling at his cheek which carves a dimple into his patchy facial hair. “Needy little pussy is dripping for me. Isn’t it?”

“Fuck,” I whimper in a high pitched almost pornographic way.

“Yes. Fuck. That’s all I want you to do. Fuck me, or let me fuck you. I’ll never get tired of seeing you come. God, you’re so wet right now.”

It feels like it did when he had me over the couch. The pressure is almost unbearable, the squelching of my pussy getting louder. I have the same thoughts I did then; it’s too good and too much, I should stop, but I really fucking don’t want to stop.

I lean forward, grabbing the vibrator that Frankie discarded on the pillow after we fucked earlier.

“You’re gonna squirt again, aren’t ya?” He asks rhetorically, smiling, his eyes soft and encouraging.

“Keep talking,” I murmur, leaning back again and clicking my vibe on.

His hands burn a path along my hips and up my sides. “Your skin is so soft. Every. Single. Inch. Love the way it feels under my fingertips. I think you like it, too, based on the goosebumps that follow my touches.”

“Mmmm, fuck fuck,” I feel like I’m being lit on fire from the inside out. I up the speed of the vibrator swirling it easily along my soaked clit.

“Do you feel that? The way the soft head of my thick cock kisses your g spot?”

“Yes, yes,” I chant like a church prayer.

“Fuck, baby. I can feel all that cum just waiting to be released. So damn wet. Turn the vibrator up. I want you to soak me.” His voice is deeper, more demanding and I do what he says.

“Frankie!” I gasp, slowing my movement because it’s all too much.

“I know,” he soothes, gripping my hips and taking over rocking motion. “I’m right here. Right fucking here.”

“Can’t,” it’s a weak croak between breaths, pulling the vibrator away just a hair.

Frankie sits up slightly, one of his hands laying a sharp smack on my ass, then he uses that hand to grab my wrist and push the vibrator tightly to my clit. A scream of pain and pleasure rips itself from my lungs before Frankie thrusts up into me. I’m going to split in two but fuck this is a good way to go.

“Give me that fucking cum, sweetheart.” His thumb finds the button on the vibrator and he pushes it once, twice, increasing the speed until I’m brainless and dumb and practically floating with relentless pleasure. “Eyes on me. I want to see your face when you explode around me.”

I open my eyes and everything falls away except for Frankie and his coffee-brown eyes, plush lips, and hooked nose. I snap, no shatter, into millions of pieces. My pussy constricts so tightly that I’m sure I’m hurting him but he doesn’t let me move the vibrator. I’m definitely screaming but can only hear the blood rushing through my ears. I can only see Frankie looking at me like someone seeing a sunset for the first time. I can only feel the way my orgasm rolls through me and the gushing of my pussy, making his pelvis and my thighs slippery as he continues to fuck up into me.

“Shit,” Frankie whispers before I feel his thrusts getting sloppy and then he comes, filling me and marking me with his release.

Just when I feel like I might black out, all my muscles go slack and I fall on top of Frankie. He pulls the vibrator free and clicks it off before wrapping his arms around me. Holding me and stroking my hair and back as I try to come back to my own body. I bury my face into the crook of his neck, letting the woodsy scent of his skin relax me further.

When I finally have all five of my senses back I whisper, “Holy shit.”

Frankie’s lips press to the top of my head. “My thoughts exactly.”

“I think I saw the afterlife just now.”

He chuckles quietly. “I knew you were an angel.”

“That was so fucking cheesy,” I joke, but secretly I soak it all up. One of my hips pinches and I hiss at the jolt of pain.

“What do you need?” Frankie asks, pulling his head back so he can look at me.

“New legs. New muscles. Food.” I list, holding up a finger with each point.

“Okay. Ready?” Frankie’s ability to go from a deep, growl while talking dirty to this soft, sweet man has my stomach doing cartwheels.

“Ready,” I confirm and then he helps me off his cock. He’s soft now, for once, as he slips out of me. I left out a disappointed whine at how empty I now feel.

“I got you,” he whispers as he rolls me to his side and pulls me in tightly, my head resting on his chest. I hook my leg over him, careful to keep my sore pussy from pressing against him. “Are you okay? That was intense.”

I smile into his skin, looking down at the mess we’ve both made. “That was phenomenal.”

“Yeah?” He kisses my hair again. “Should we do it again next weekend?”

“Only if we can go for all you can eat sushi every Sunday night.” I’m famished, and can only imagine he’s feeling the same way. “Unless you’re worried about people seeing us together.”

“Abso-fucking-lutely not. They can mind their own damn business,” he responds. “Shower, then sushi.”

I nod and he squeezes me into a tight hug before rolling off the bed and heading to my bathroom to start the shower.

Ok, so maybe he won’t be entirely a dirty little ecret, but I do plan to spend every weekend of the foreseeable future with my fingers entangled in his curls as he licks or fucks me. Being forty has never felt so good.

[mountainsandmayhem]

Little baby Tommy. Stop. He’s so adorable.

gabriel luna as boro polonia , FUBAR .

[mountainsandmayhem]

Haha, everyone is on their own journey here!

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BDSMaid - Chapter 2

Masterlist || AO3

Pairing: Millionaire Joel Miller x Female Reader Series Summary: After recently graduating from university, your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. It’s only temporary and a good way to save money for when you go back to get your law degree. That’s what you’re promised at least. Easy. Simple. Mundane. That is, until one of your clients is home and everything that you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love.  Chapter Summary: Try as he might, Joel just can’t shake the memory of you. Try as you might, you can’t stop thinking of the woman tied to his desk. CW: The slow burn is burning. Mentions of death and underage drinking. Topless in public, this is a love story about BDSM after all. Reader does have some physical descriptions, so maybe more of an OFC, or just pretend you have pouty lips and a slightly upturned nose. Double POV (reader and Joel). AN: Thank you SO FUCKING MUCH for all the love on chapter one of this story. I literally cannot believe it surpasses 1000 notes in just a month, you're all insane and I love you. Dividers by @saradika-graphics. Biiiig shout outs to the bb's who have been so supportive of me spiralling and panicking this last month over the next chapter. I'd be in a deep dark cave without you @mermaidgirl30 @littlevenicebitch69 @lotusbxtch @evolnoomym @joelmillerisapunk and @milla-frenchy . Thank you! I feel like I'm giving some sort of Oscars speech and if you're still reading this, you're the real MVP. XO Word Count: 8.5k

~ Joel - 27 Years Ago ~

Joel’s stands in the garage of someone he barely knows, surrounded by drunk and rowdy classmates from his high school. He’s a senior, graduating in just a few weeks and moments like this are one of the perks of being the star designated hitter and first baseman, everyone wants you at their party. Someone hands him a warm, flat beer that was pumped poorly from a keg as they pat his back roughly in congratulations. Joel’s not sure how a bunch of seventeen year olds managed to get a keg, most likely an older brother, but he drinks the shitty beer all the same. Speaking of brothers, he hasn’t seen Tommy in a while. He’s only fifteen and he promised their mom he’d keep an eye on him. The younger Miller shouldn’t be at a seniors party, but that's where those perks come in again, because if Joel was good, Tommy was better. In fact, he was so much better that he’s played up a whole age group his entire life, always right beside Joel. Tommy was the back catcher, and tonight he got the eleventh inning game winning out at home for them to win the state championship. 

He finds Tommy chatting with a group of girls, all of whom are incredibly beautiful. They’re going to be very disappointed when they find out how much younger he is than them. Joel smiles into his red solo cup as he takes a sip of stale beer. He tucks his free hand into the pocket of his light blue wranglers and walks over to the wall of the garage. He leans back and crosses one cowboy booted foot over the other. The brim of his cowboy hat grazes the unpainted drywall behind him. Texas, and the country, in the late nineties was where everyone wanted to be, and Joel Miller could have been the poster boys for teenage country boys in 1997.

Brooks & Dunn plays on someone's CD player in the corner, laughter and people talking overlaps until it’s just noise to Joel. He stands back, watching his younger brother effortlessly charm the five pretty girls around him. All of them in tight blue jeans, lacy white tops, denim vests and cowboy boots. He grabs one by the hand and Joel overhears, “I’ll teach ya how to two step, shame to not know in a place like this.” Then the motherfucker winks at her like he’s some sort of cowboy Casanova. Joel lets out a silent laugh through his nose and sips the beer again shaking his head. 

Just as Tommy pulls the pretty little blonde over towards the unmarked and unofficial dance floor in the corner of the garage the song changes. Slow guitar, followed by the unmistakable twang of Tim Magraw’s voice. Joel didn’t know it then, but that song would change the course of his life and intertwine itself in the very fabric of his being.

‘Dancin’ in the dark, Middle of the night’

That’s when he sees her, tall and slender, deep olive toned skin and pale green eyes. Her dark curly hair cascades over one of her shoulders. She’s laughing with another classmate, and even though he can’t hear the sound of it over the noise of the party, he can tell it’s a light and melodic sound, and he wants to spend the rest of his life drawing that out of her. 

‘Takin’ your heart, An holdin’ it tight’

He puts his warm beer on the work bench beside him and takes off his black felt Stetson, placing it over his broad chest, hoping the comfort of his favourite hat would slow the rate at which his heart is beating. 

‘Emotional touch, Touchin’ my skin, And askin’ you to do, What you’ve been doin’ all over again’

She looks over at him, smiling shyly, and before he knows what he’s doing he’s walking over to her. His legs move on their own accord, knees shaking as he approaches the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen.

‘Oh, it’s a beautiful thing, Don’t think I can keep it all in, I just gotta let you know, What is that won’t let me go’

Everything in the room fades as she fully comes into view. Beautiful doesn’t even begin to describe the girl in front of him. She radiates a warmth that he’s only ever known his mother to radiate. It’s the first time he’s ever seen this girl, but she feels like home. This is it, that one thing that everyone says you’re supposed to feel. The thing his grandpa told him when he was younger, “Son, you’ll just know. It sounds ridiculous, but when I saw your grandma it was like a pull behind my belly button. I just knew, and I’ve known everyday since then.”

“Howdy, ma’am,” Joel says, tipping his hat to her before placing it back on his head. 

She giggles, confirming his earlier thoughts. It really is the sweetest fucking sound he’s ever heard. “Hi.”

He holds out a hand to her and she takes it, her skin is so warm and smooth. In that moment he knows that hers will be the last hand he ever holds. Fire flushes through his veins as he continues, “I’m Joel, what’s your name?”

“Oh, I know who you are Joel Miller,” she flirts, not letting go of his hand. “I’m Tiffany.”

“Tiffany,” he repeats, his voice going deeper as he says it. It’s egotistical but he loves the way girls shiver just a little when he lowers his register. “And how is it that you know who I am?”

She slides her hand from his and reaches up to grab his cowboy hat, plopping it onto her head. “Star first baseman and designated hitter, everyone knows Joel Miller. Look around, look at all these girls lookin’ at you, cowboy.”

For the first time in his life Joel finds himself blushing, but he doesn’t take his eyes off Tiffany. 

“I only see one girl.” She rolls her eyes and swats at his bicep at the cheesy line, but that was it for both of them. From that point they were inseparable. 

They both turned eighteen a few months later, and just ten months, and a thirty two hour labour after Tiff turned eighteen, a tiny little Sarah came into the world all pink and screaming. Joel hears that song again as he watches Tiffany hold that little bundle of blankets, ‘Better than I was, More than I am, And all of this happened, By taking your hand.’

They get married when Sarah is just a few months old. Both his beautiful curly haired girls in white dresses, Tiffany grabbing that same black Stetson off his head during their first dance. He holds them both, swaying from side to side, a hot tear rolling down his cheek at how goddamn happy he is. ‘And who I am now, Is who I wanted to be, And now that we’re together, I’m stronger than ever, I’m happy and free’.

Things for their little family of three are perfect. They buy the house with the white picket fence and the wrap around porch. Joel gets a job working construction and enjoys a nightcap with his beautiful young wife on their front porch every night. They make love often, slow and sweaty, Joel worshiping her soft copper toned skin inch by glorious inch. Tiffany wraps every minute of her day around Sarah and being a sweet, devoted housewife. Nothing seems to stand in their way. Until the diagnosis shortly before Sarah starts Kindergarten. 

Tiffany is too young, they’re all too young. This isn’t something that happens to people their age, they haven’t had enough time. Joel spends the next few months in a haze, it has to be a bad dream. The appointments, the treatments, the call to 911 when the illness starts to win. This isn’t how it was supposed to go. 

He holds Tiffany until the very end. Sponging a soft kiss to her forehead, whispering his goodbyes as they shut off the machines keeping her here. “You’ve been so strong, my love. You fought so hard. I know you’re scared to go, I’m scared too, but we’ll do it like we do everything else. Together. I’ll be ok, Sarah will be ok. Just rest now. I love you.” 

As she takes her last shaky and shallow breath, a sound will live with him until he takes a breath that matches hers, that song echoes through his hollow chest. ‘It’s your love, It does something to me, It sends a shock right through me, I can’t get enough’.

You - Present Day

You roll to a stop outside Mister Miller’s house for your second day of cleaning. As you look towards the impressive house your pussy flutters at the memories of yesterday - the almost pornographic noises that were made in that office, his soft and kind eyes as he apologized profusely in the kitchen. You were supposed to go to a study group last night, but instead you got lost in a rabbit hole of porn where women are tied up and fingered. You got yourself off four times thinking about a man you’re not even supposed to know, wishing it was his thick fingers hitting that spot inside of you that you can’t reach on your own. You felt guilty about it last night and now being back in his home you have that same sinking feeling again. 

Stupid. Sacrificing my future for a fantasy. Never again. 

You let yourself in the house and look at the list in your cleaning app. You pop in your AirPods and start listening to your favourite true crime podcast; thankful for the new episode, a gruesome distraction as you scrub baseboards and lightswitches. The episode ends and in an attempt to not let your mind wander to the gorgeous man that lives here, and the depraved new things you’ve discovered about yourself, you start an educational audiobook about civil rights law. You might want Joel Miller to strap you down and whisper filth in your ears, but you are a good person, and your aspiration in life is to help people who face discrimination on a daily basis. 

You breeze around his home, checking off each task and before you know it it’s almost one in the afternoon. You have almost your whole list complete, his soft sheets are in the dryer (and yes, you are incredibly proud of yourself for only putting the luxurious white fabric to your face twice on the way to the washer). You only have the patio furniture to spray down and the kitchen counters to wipe. That’s when your stomach growls, almost as if to remind you that it’s the perfect time to take a break while the dryer finishes. You haul all your stuff out to your car and lock up, sitting in your front seat as you take out your lunch container.

An engine revs in the distance and your heart skips in your chest. Before you even have time to wonder if it’s Joel’s car, one of the black garage doors slides open and Joel’s obsidian coloured Aston Martin rolls by you, stopping with precision on the shiny cement floor of the garage. You avert your eyes, focused on your container of chicken noodle soup. The left side of your face feels the warmth of his gaze fixed on you. Without looking over you can tell he is studying you and it takes everything you have to keep your eyes on your measly lunch. 

The afternoon sun is blocked as Joel raps his knuckles on your window. You glance over at him, looking up through your lashes. He’s looking at you intensely but you can’t quite place his expression. As always, his deep brown eyes are locked on yours, he could either be happy to see you or incredibly disappointed in you. But one thing is for sure, he’s calculating your every need with those warm and inviting eyes. He knocks again so you crank the handle to roll your window down a crack.

He raises one eyebrow at you, both hands rest on the roof of your SUV as he leans forward to speak to you through the small opening in the window. “Seriously?” His voice is laced with sarcasm. 

“What?” You say, “Can’t be too safe.”

He blinks at you before continuing, “What'd ya doin’ out here?”

You lift your tupperware container a little, willing the tingles between your thighs to stop, “Eating my lunch.”

He rolls his eyes, running his hand along his greying scruff. “You’re eatin’ lukewarm soup in your car in the middle of February.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement, but his voice is warm and curious, and you start to realize that the look on his face isn’t happiness or disappointment, but concern. 

You nod, “Yes.” His eyes dance around your face and you swear your heart is beating as fast as a hummingbird’s wings. Fluttering so fast that it’s traveling up your throat and you wouldn’t be surprised if he could hear it. 

“Get out of the car. Come warm that up and eat inside.” His voice is thick with concern, entire face soft as he looks at you. 

You swallow your heart back down to where it belongs, “I’m not allowed to do that, Mister Miller.”

His cheeks redden a little and some of the softness in him disappears, “Don’t call me that, it’s jus’ Joel to you.”

“I’m not even supposed to know your name, Mister Miller. I can’t call you by your first name.”

He shifts his weight onto one foot and points a thick finger at you through your window, “Don’t. Either you call me Joel or nothin’ at all. Come inside,” he drops his pointer finger to the door handle. He pulls on it to find it locked. “Seriously?”

“I told you, I can’t be too safe!” You can help but think how cute he looks all flustered - shaking his head at you for being cautious in a neighborhood where you could probably scream your credit card number and no one would use it. If anything, the wealthy homeowners on this street might transfer you money when they see the state of your vehicle. 

“You’re eatin’ inside.” He says flatly. 

“I told you, I can’t. We aren’t allowed to do that. You’re a client, Mist - I mean. Sorry, I just can’t. We aren’t allowed.” You glance towards the clock on your dash. At this rate your break is going to be over before you finish eating. 

He jiggles the door handle again, as if he can convince the metal to bend and unlatch itself with just his sexiness alone. “You like rules, don’t ya?”

He’s got you there, you do enjoy following the rules. You nod and hum a noise in agreement. 

“Unlock the door, please,” his voice has changed, he’s being more commanding now. A deeper, huskier sound leaving his lips. The sound seems to latch onto something deep in your mind, strong fingers wrapping around the control center of your brain, guiding you to do his bidding. You blink the feeling away. 

“Mister-,” his eyes flash with darkness, “Sorry. I can’t. It wouldn’t be right to eat in your house, plus my break is almost over.”

Joel releases your door handle, raising his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose and lets out a breath, as he drops his hand back to the top of your vehicle an amused smirk flashes across his face. “Do you consider yourself to work in customer service?”

“Yes,” you say nervously.

“And isn’t the main rule of customer service that the customer is always right?” His lips form a tight line and a deep dimple carves into one of his tanned cheeks. Your brain flashes back to one of the videos you watched last night, a man sucking on a woman's nipples as he rubbed her clit, her arms and legs strapped to a padded table. He had a dimple, but he had nothing on Joel. 

“Yes,” you croak and then clear your throat gently, shifting in your seat at the fire building behind that bundle of nerves between your thighs. 

“Then unlock the door, darlin’ and eat inside.” He doesn’t give you a chance to respond, turning and walking towards the house. He stops on the front step, opening the large glass front door. You follow, flip flops slapping on the concrete, carrying your powdered chicken noodle soup and plastic spoon up towards his fancy home. When you reach the threshold, he holds out his large hand palm up and you place the old, stained tupperware with your half eaten soup into it. He looks down at it and then back at you, eyes trailing along your body and it feels like he’s running a torch over you. “Is this all you have to eat?”

You nod, giving him a tight lipped smile. 

He cocks his head towards the kitchen and one pushed back curl that’s laced with a few greys falls into his eyes with the movement. In order to stop from pushing his loose curl back you squeeze your fists gently and head towards the stool you sat on yesterday. As your flip flop hits the tile you stop and look back towards your car nervously. “I, umm, I forgot my shoes.”

His large, warm palm comes to your lower back and he pushes you gently towards the kitchen. You sit as he transfers your soup into a matte black bowl and places it in the microwave. He opens a cupboard and pulls out a loaf of fresh bread, as you go to protest he flicks his eyes up to yours and something about the expression on his face tells you not to argue with him. He pops the two carefully cut pieces into the toaster. He breezes effortlessly around the kitchen for someone so broad and masculine. You didn’t realize someone making toast could be so sexy. The microwave beeps and he grabs a gold spoon from a drawer before wandering around the island, placing them both in front of you. His arm brushes yours as he pulls away and your heart flutters at his touch. He walks back around the kitchen island and grabs a glass. 

“Still or sparkling?” He says as if that’s just a normal question to ask when you get someone a glass of water. Just another thing that proves you don’t belong here. The toaster pops and you jump a little. He chuckles as he grabs the toast, slathering it with butter. “Still or sparkling, darlin’?” 

You breath hitches, he’s called you darlin’ twice now. Is that just that southern charm you hear about so often, or is it more? You shake the thought from your head, there’s no way someone like him is interested in someone like you. “Still is fine, you don’t have to trouble yourself.” 

You take a spoonful of soup, blowing on it gently before putting the spoon in your mouth. Joel is watching you in the same way he was yesterday. Assessing. Observing. Calculating. It feels like he’s looking into your very soul. He slides the plate of toast and then a glass of sparkling water over to you from across the island.

“Thank you,” you say quietly. “You didn’t -”

He holds his hand up, stopping you in the same way he did yesterday. “I wanted to.”

You feel your cheeks redden and you have to look away as you take a bite of toast. He’s too handsome standing in the kitchen with the afternoon sun highlighting his features. He’s wearing a black dress shirt today, the top few buttons undone, accentuating the perfectly groomed salt and pepper hair on his chest. You swallow your bite of warm, salty, buttery toast, allowing your eyes to flutter closed at the delectable flavour, holding back a moan. 

Joel clears his throat and crosses his arms across his broad chest, “So how did ya get into cleanin’ houses?”

You look up at him through your lashes. Why is he being so nice to you and taking care of you? He apologized yesterday. And after you told him it was fine he left you a massive tip. He said he wants to do this, but why? He’s rich and handsome and you can probably safely assume that that icy blonde from yesterday was his girlfriend. Unless…could she possibly be a mistress? You decide that that must be it. She’s his mistress. He has a wife. He’s just like every other rich man, cheating on his beautiful and age appropriate wife with someone much much younger than him. He’s probably terrified that you might find out who his wife is and tell her. That tip was hush money.

“I’m saving money,” you say and then shake your head, willing the thoughts in your mind to calm down. “For law school.”

“That right?” He says, raising an eyebrow at you as you take another spoonful of soup.

“Yes, I want to be a lawyer. I graduated a semester early and needed some money before going back to university. Assuming I even get accepted. This job meant I could work part time so I could study to take the LSAT again and also make good money.” You take another bite of the toast, mainly to make yourself shut up. 

He watches you the entire time, nodding along, his eyes constantly assessing. “Take the LSAT again?” he asks.

“I passed it already and applied to schools but I haven’t heard back yet. Law school is pretty competitive, so I’m going to take it again and hopefully have a better mark for the next round of college applications.” You’re talking too much, you need to shut up and just eat, but Joel doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away. No one has ever listened to you like that, not even your parents.

“Next round?” He asks curiously. 

You feel your cheeks redden. You don’t want to admit to this obviously successful man in front of you that you probably won’t get accepted to any of the eight universities you applied to. “Yes. It’s competitive, and I probably won’t get in. So I’m preparing to be better the second time.”

“Where did you apply? If that’s not too forward of a question.”

“No, not too forward. Umm, a few places. Strength in numbers, I guess. Harvard, Yale, Columbia, Berkeley, Duke, University of Toronto, but I don’t think I’d survive a Canadian winter. I also applied at Notre Dame and University of Texas here in Austin.”

Joel laughs at you mentioning the Canadian winter and once you’re quiet, he looks down at his expensive dress shoes, “I, umm, I know some higher ups at UT Austin if you need me to put in a good word.”

You smile at him when he looks back up at you, “I don’t think that’s quite how it works, Joel. But thank you.”

The two of you are silent for a moment while you finish your first piece of toast. You glance up at him and he’s looking at you with that same hint of pride he had yesterday while you drank your water. He’s making you feel like eating toast is something to be proud of. You can’t explain it but his facial expression wraps around like a corset. Pulling its metaphoric laces and making you sit up taller, holding your head up higher. With just the shimmer in his deep brown eyes you feel like you could take on the world. You need to break the silence so you say, “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” he says, leaning back to rest on the countertop behind him. His arms uncross, his strong hands wrapping around the countertop on each side of his body. 

“What do you do for a living? To have all this?” You gesture around the house as you sip your sparkling water.

“A few things. I used to own a construction company, sold it a few years ago to retire but I got bored pretty quickly. Now I own a few properties, I rent them out.” You nod as you listen to him, eating your lunch. One hand rubs at his patchy, salt and pepper beard nervously before saying, “I also own a club.”

You let out a little giggle into your water glass, immediately praying that he doesn’t think that was you being rude. Of all the professions that could have come out of his mouth, owning a nightclub was the last thing you expected. Joel smiles at the sweet melodic sound leaving your lips and relief washes over you. “Why’s that so funny?” His voice is light at his inquiry. 

“It’s not,” you say after swallowing your water. He furrows his brows at you. “You just - I mean, I guess I don’t know you, but don’t seem like the nightclub type.”

“You’re right, you don’t know me. But you’re also right that I am not a nightclub type,” he states. Something about the way he says it makes you sense that that’s as far as you’re going to get with it, but you also realize that the club is probably how this man meets young women to bring home.

You put your spoon down and place your hands in your lap. “Can I umm, ask you something else?”

“Of course,” he repeats. 

“What’s with that little dinosaur toy on your coffee maker?”

He smiles and reaches over to grab it, rubbing his thumb along the faded and scuffed brown paint of the little toy. He looks down at it and a hint of sadness seems to fill his coffee and amber eyes as he looks at you. “My daughter, she umm, she got it for me from the prize box in Kindergarten after her mom -” he stops mid sentence, sadness lining his features. Joel’s not married, you roll your eyes at yourself internally for thinking the worst of him. And truthfully, you of all people know he’s not married. You clean his house, you’ve been in his bedroom, and there are no women's clothes. You’ve also been in all the spare bedrooms and there’s no chance another person lives here with him. He continues, choosing his words almost carefully, “Well, just after she was gone.”

“I’m sorry, Mister,” his eyes flash onyx for just a second, he looks lethally sexy and you swallow your words before starting again. “I’m sorry, Joel.”

“It was a long time ago,” he says, placing the dinosaur back. He runs his fingers through his salt and pepper curls, letting out a little sigh. There’s a shift in him, like suddenly the world is heavier. He tries not to let it show, and maybe most people wouldn’t notice, but you see it. The slight fall in his face, a little slump in the shoulders, a breath held for just a second too long. He clears his throat gently and says, “I’ll be in my office. Eat your lunch for me, please.”

Joel

Joel closes the door of his office and rests his forehead against the smooth wooden surface. He can’t remember how much he spent on these doors when he built the house, but he would set any door that separated him from you on fire if he had to. 

Get it together, Joel.

He closes his eyes and only sees you. The way your glossy, pink lips formed a little O as you blew on your soup. The way the gold plated metal spoon slid softly along your tongue. His cock twitches in his pants and he feels the urge to throw all the spoons in his house away. 

Great, you’re jealous of a spoon. 

He shouldn’t be home. He signed a contract, and more importantly, you signed a contract. In order to protect him and you there is to be no contact between the cleaner and the client. That’s what you consented to when you took your job at Maid Discreetly, and now he’s caused you to break that contract not once, but twice. But he cannot seem to get you out of his mind, and as he sat in a meeting at his club he couldn’t focus. You were here, cleaning his home in that form fitting white polo shirt and those black pants that hugged at your hips in all the right places, and he just had to know if you were as beautiful as he remembered. Just a quick peek, he convinced himself as he made up some bullshit excuse to leave. 

When he saw you sitting in your rusty SUV you looked so innocent and pure, you were more than beautiful. The afternoon sun lighting up your high cheekbones and slender, slightly upturned nose, it gave you an almost angelic glow that temporarily took his breath away. If he had to describe you in two words he would say that you were simply ravishing. For the first time in almost thirty years he wished he still had the calming comfort of that black felt cowboy hat. But that soft Stetson went with her because she loved it so much. 

As he caught his breath and looked at you from his garage, he was overcome with an urge to bruise and corrupt you. He’s a bad man for the thoughts he's been having about you. He can’t help himself, but even in his most twisted of fantasies, he’d never do anything you didn’t want him to. But, fuck, he’s sure he could mold you into exactly what he wants in a submissive. 

Joel isn’t new to the world of kink; he’s had many subs, all of whom have referred to him as Mister Miller. However, his name has never sounded so fucking sweet as it did coming off your lips. Those two little words leaving your pouty, pink lips feel like that first sip of whiskey after a long day, and it might kill him if he doesn’t make you his. 

He sighs into the white wood of the door before standing and walking to sit behind his desk. He drops into the soft leather chair and lets his head fall back onto the headrest and closes his eyes. What is it about you? Why can’t he stop thinking about you? You’re way too young. Way too sweet. Way too…sinless. And even though he can’t explain it, and he knows you don’t know it, you’re way too “exactly-what-is-going-to-ruin-his-entire-life”. 

You’re not someone he can just play with. No, he’s good at reading people, and you’re the kind of person that deserves being invested into. You’re also not someone who is going to stick around. You have dreams and well laid out plans on how you’re going to achieve them. He can’t cage you in, he’ll have to let you spread your wings and fly no matter how much he sees himself as the man he used to be reflected back in your eyes.  

He opens his eyes and pictures you kneeling in the corner, perfectly manicured hands that he pays for you to have done weekly folded on your lap as he works. He imagines calling you over with a curl of his fingers, you crawling across the plush carpet and resting your head on his lap as he responds to emails, takes calls, or plans events. He could reach down and run his fingers through your soft, silky hair as you nuzzled deeper into his lap with your cheek. “My perfect, sweet girl,” he’d hum.  

His body falls forward, forehead hitting the sturdy wooden desk with a thump. Jesus Christ, Joel. 

It was one thing when he only found you beautiful - he could live with being attracted to you, he could find a way around it or stuff that attraction down, maybe he’d find a new sub to distract himself with. That would be easy for him, but then you had to open your mouth, you had to speak so passionately about your future. Why couldn’t you just be pretty like all the other women he plays with? You might be one of the most driven people he knows: the way you push yourself, already planning for the next “no”. And that kills him, ruins him really that you are programmed to think there will automatically be a “no” and that you’ll have to endure another round of LSAT’s and college applications. You’re smart, and he wants to kill whoever made you feel like you need to push yourself this hard. 

His phone vibrates in his pocket; annoyance courses through his body until he sees his brother's name across the pristine screen of his newest iPhone Max. 

“Ya?” He says harshly. 

“Everything ok with the alarm?” 

Joel’s mind goes blank, “What?” 

Tommy is silent for a second before he responds slowly, “The alarm? You left in the middle of a meeting because of an alarm.” 

Joel shakes his head. Right, the alarm. The bullshit excuse he made up so he could leave to see you. “Ya, right. Ya, it’s fine. Got it all, umm, all fixed up. Should be back soon.”

“You ok, brother?” Tommy asks suspiciously. “You seemed, I dunno, distracted today.” 

“I’m fine,” Joel snaps. 

“Alright. Well, come back soon, pretty big night here and we need ya.” 

Joel hangs up without saying goodbye. He’s the owner, he knows it’s a big night, but he’s sort of busy having an existential crisis over possibly being in love with his house cleaner. Whoa, in love? Pump the fucking brakes. Joel’s heart stops beating for a second at the thought of it. He can’t possibly be in love; he doesn’t fall in love. No, he decides, it’s just because she’s new, and exactly my type, and it’s been a long time since I found someone that’s my type.

Just as he stands from his desk, he hears the hose outside turn on. You must be at the pool furniture part of your list. He takes this moment to sneak out of his own house, because he’s a weak man when it comes to you, apparently. He slips into the Italian leather front seat and lets the new car smell waft over him; he loves the smells of a new sports car and has never owned one long enough for it to stop smelling that way. It’s a matter of status to him. He takes a good hard look at himself in the rear view mirror. That’s enough now. For both of your sakes. Leave her alone. 

You 

After spraying down the pool furniture you rush inside to warm up. Seriously, who needs their pool stuff cleaned in the fucking winter? As you jog up the stairs to grab Joel’s freshly laundered sheets, you blow into your cupped palms. The warmth spreads from your frozen fingertips to your palms. Joel’s office is empty; he must have left while you were outside. Your brain swirls with unanswered questions as you pull the fitted sheet back onto his king size bed. Why would he come home? First of all, he knows you’re here this time and second of all, he knows he’s not supposed to be here. So why? And then there’s his calculating stare, always watching and usually with a flash of pride in his features. Did he come back here just to talk to you? Maybe even to get to know you? 

It’s safe to say that you’re more confused than ever, and you make a mental schedule of studying and reading to keep you busy later tonight so you won’t spend hours trying to google him again.

It takes way too much effort, and a silent promise to yourself to get back to the gym, but you manage to wrestle the oversized duvet back into its cover just as three o’clock rolls around. You jog down the wide, open staircase and your phone bings in your back pocket. Jamie’s name is splayed across your cracked screen, the sunset from your last trip to California shining back at you. 

What are you doing tonight? Want to make a bunch of money serving drinks topless?

You laugh to yourself. Truthfully, nothing Jamie asks you seems to surprise you, and some sort of odd job where you’re topless or in a sexy outfit is practically a guarantee as a condition of your friendship. As you reach for the black envelope on the kitchen island you text back. 

What?

You barely have the thick parchment of the envelope open when she responds, like she already had the text locked and loaded and was just waiting for you to try to fight her on it.  

Remember Laren? My cousin? She has a topless catering company and needs help tonight. It’s at some exclusive VIP poker game downtown. 4 hours, $300 + tips.

You respond as a thousand dollars falls out of the tip envelope. 

I’m in.

Jamie picks you up a few hours later and parks her blacked out Range Rover in the alleyway behind a shiny black building in the heart of downtown. You’re once again surrounded by wealth and success thanks to Jamie. The dress code tonight is a black pencil skirt, black heels, your tits, and a bow tie that Laren will give you. Speaking of whom, Laren is holding open a staff door for you and Jamie with her hip, waving the two of you into the warmth of the building. She pulls you both into a big hug, “Thank fuck! You two saved my ass tonight. Gotta love having friends and family with great tits!”

“You’re so weird,” Jamie says, brushing past her and into the building. You follow her in before Laren ushers you towards a service elevator. 

“They’ve already started, you’re part of the second shift. I think the first set of girls made about four hundred each in tips, helps if you serve the guys that are winning though. The first round of games is almost over, winners move on soon.”

“How were their tits though? As great as ours?” You joke. Underneath the calm and collected mask you’re wearing you are definitely nervous. All these strange men are going to see you half naked, you know nothing about poker or serving drinks. Your two friends laugh as the elevator opens to a small changing room. Girls from the first shift are putting their tops back on, handing the bow ties back to Laren who gives them to you and Jamie. 

She cocks her head towards a swinging door, “Just through there when you’re done. Go to the bartender for a tray and table assignment. Two girls per table and only six seats so it should be pretty easy. Make sure you smile!”

“Yes, ma’am,” you and Jamie say teasingly as you strip off your tops and bras. She flips you the middle finger as she heads back out to the poker game to supervise. The cool air of the room stiffens your nipples, nerves fluttering behind your navel as you put the bow tie on.

You overhear the girls that are leaving talking about the men, “Did you see the one with the curly hair at the table by the bar?”, one says. 

The other responds, “He was so fucking hot. Total daddy, I think he owns this place.” 

A third pipes up with, “Fuck, I should have flirted more. I could use a sugar daddy.” 

As they walk towards the elevator the first girl says, “Did you know that this is a sex club? Too bad we can’t go explore the rest.” They giggle as they leave and you take a steadying breath. You’re going to be topless, in a sex club. 

“Ready?” Jamie asks, adjusting her bowtie around her slender neck. 

“Did you know this is a sex club?”

She laughs, “Ya, it’s like an exclusive kink club apparently. Laren said it’s owned by two brothers who are insanely hot. Maybe I should see if they need a maid.” She winks at you as you both walk towards the swinging door. 

You step into the dimly lit room and find the bar directly across from you. After rolling your shoulders back and down, you cross the dark hardwood floor to the bar. Everything in the room is black or deep forest green. Black paint covers the walls, your heels click against the sturdy black wooden floors, even the poker tables and chairs are black. A pop of deep green velvet only along the seats and table tops. It looks soft, like one of those fuzzy blankets you have on your couch and you fight the urge to run your hand across one of the empty tables as you pass. 

The bartender hands Jamie a tray first and then quietly tells her to go to the table in the far right corner. She sways her hips like the sultry goddess she is as she walks to the table. Relief floods through you when you notice that none of the men have raised their eyes, they’re focused intently on the card game. This isn’t some sleazy club like you initially thought when you heard ‘sex club’ leave the lips of the other servers. You relax a little at being able to just be yourself tonight, maybe a bit more naked than you’d usually be but yourself nonetheless. 

You take the black marble serving tray as the bartender points to the table closest to the bar. The curly hair man that the women were talking about in the change room faces away from you. Your heart leaps in your chest. Joel. As you approach the other server standing behind the table, he starts to turn his head. Time stops, your heart speeds up, and it starts to feel simultaneously too hot and too cold in the room all at the same time. It’s almost as if he’s turning his head in slow motion. As you catch his side profile he has the same hooked nose, in the dim light of the room you can’t see any greys along his temples and he doesn’t appear to have a beard. After what feels like an hour, his eyes finally meet yours and you let out a breath, although you aren’t sure if it’s disappointment or relief leaving your lungs. It’s not Joel Miller.

“Mind bringin’ me another Macallan neat, sweetheart?” His eyes stay locked on yours as he smiles at you sweetly. He holds the crystal glass out for you and you take it with a soft ‘yes, sir.’

Something about those eyes, and the way they flash darkly at being called sir, feels all too familiar. In the time it takes for you to take the six or seven steps to the bar you convince yourself that it’s just your brain seeing him everywhere. You tell yourself that when you bring this drink back he’ll look nothing like the man you caught knuckles deep in a woman as she cried out, nothing like the man who was so gentle and sweet, yet slightly bossy and commanding with you this afternoon. 

That’s definitely it, you say to yourself with finality. You’re just cock drunk over a cock you’ll never have. 

The bartender pops the whiskey open and the hair on the back of your neck stands up, you can feel someone looking at you. Almost feel their stare heating the right side of your body. It feels as if all of your exposed skin is being covered by the gaze of whomever is looking at you, shielding you protectively from the view of the other men. The bartender's eyes flick to the corner of the room and then back to you while he hands you the drink. The shift of his gaze confirms that you weren’t imagining it, there is someone looking at you. You place the whiskey on your tray and spin cautiously to the right, stopping dead in your tracks when you lock eyes with Joel Miller. He looks dangerous, sitting at a low table along the wall, his face just barely illuminated by a single candle on the dark wooden table top. His fingers are laced together, forearms of his black dress shirt resting on the knees of his black dress pants. His lips are pressed in a thin, disapproving line. 

He stalks over to you and you wish your tray was empty so you could shield your tits from him. The way he moves is almost menacing, like a jaguar stalking his prey, his eyes are almost black in the low light of the room. Your nipples stiffen under his intense gaze, your mouth fills with saliva and you gulp loudly. You stand frozen, the whiskey for that man you had convinced yourself isn’t related to Joel forgotten about on your tray. He plucks the drink off the marble slab, the glass looking like one of those disposable paper cups you have in your bathroom in his hand. He takes two long strides and drops the glass beside the man. 

“Thanks,” he starts to coo, a ten dollar bill clasped between two fingers. After realizing it’s not you, he adds a confused, “Brother?” 

He tries to pull the money back, but Joel is quicker. Snatching it from his brother's grasp and tucking it into the breast pocket of his dress shirt. Joel turns back to you and steps in closely, your lower back hitting the cold marble bartop and you gasp, arching your back and naked breasts towards Joel. His jaw flexes as he fights to keep his eyes level with yours. 

“What are you doin’ here?” he says in a harsh whisper. 

“I’m working,” it comes out a lot more bratty and defiant than you intend it to. 

“Not here you ain’t.”

You take a small step forward, your hard nipples lightly grazing the soft fabric of his black dress shirt. “I’m not leaving.” 

His hand circles your bicep and you twist out of his grasp. “You’re makin’ a scene, darlin’.” 

“You are, Joel. I’m just trying to make money.” He grabs you more firmly this time, not tight enough to hurt you but enough for you to know he means business. 

What’s his problem anyway? He doesn’t own you. What you do outside his home is none of his business. He can boss you around via an app every other week, but that’s it. That’s where it ends. You glance desperately over at Jamie to find her back to you as she speaks softly with a man who’s waiting for the next round of poker. Her hand grazes his bicep flirtatiously, she makes it look too easy to get what she wants from men. Joel guides you towards the staff changing room, keeping your body in the dark edges of the room. He’s breathing heavily through his nose, like an angry dragon and you’re honestly surprised smoke isn’t billowing out of his nostrils. 

In the bright lights of the changing room you feel more exposed than ever. You want to lift your tray, but in order to prove to him that you don’t care what he or anyone thinks you don’t. In fact, you stand up taller, holding your head high and pushing your chest out. It’s infinitesimal but he looks down just for a nano second. You smirk when his eyes come back to you. 

“Put a shirt on.” 

“If none of the other girls have to put a shirt on then neither do I.” You pop your hip out and pull your arm free from his large calloused hand and rest it on your hip. 

“Don’t fight me on this.” 

“I’m not fighting. You are. So all those other girls are fine, but I’m not? Why? My tits aren’t big enough for you?” 

“That’s not,” he pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a breath with his eyes closed. When he reopens them his eyes land softly on yours. “I just need you not to be here. Please.” 

Bright red anger sparks along the sides of your eyes. Seriously, who does he think he is? “You aren’t the boss here, Mister Miller.” 

“Do NOT call me that.” His neck flushes the same colour as your vision. You stand your ground, eyes narrowing into glaring slits. What is his aversion to being called Mister Miller, and why does it turn you on a little bit to rile him up when you use it?

“You aren’t my boss or my dad, Joel. You can’t make me leave or tell me what jobs I can or can’t take.” You’ve figuratively dug your heels in, you aren’t leaving. He can’t make you. Only Laren or whoever owns this sex club can ask that of you. “You can’t kick me out like you own the place.” 

“Actually,” he says darkly, “I can.” 

“What?” You say through a nervous breath, eyes widening. 

“I own the place. So I can kick you out, and I am kicking you out. Get your shirt.” 

Your shoulders fall slightly. You feel about two feet tall with the realization that he doesn’t want you here. This afternoon you thought that maybe he cared, he seemed like he cared, and now you’re half naked and he wants you to leave. He watches as you unclasp your bow tie and slide on your bra and shirt. 

You look over at Jamie’s clothes and it dawns on you that you didn’t drive here. Your face falls as you blink around the room and then towards Joel. 

“What’s wrong?” he says through thick concern.

“Nothing. I just…” 

He steps towards you, he’s so broad, his presence so large that you start to feel almost claustrophobic when he’s this close, but you never want him to step away. You’d happily let him smother you with his innate Joel-ness. “You just what?”

“I didn’t drive here,” you say quietly, looking down at your hands. Your left thumb nail immediately finds purchase along the cuticle of your right thumb. 

His strong palm cups your chin, lifting until he’s looking at you again. You’re becoming more and more used to the amount of eye contact Joel seems to make. He seems constantly dialed in on you when you’re in the same room.

Yes, I would be very happy to let him smother me. 

The harsh lines of his face soften, “I can get you a car. They’ll meet you at the staff door.” 

You nod into his hand and find it exceedingly hard to stay mad at him when he looks at you that way. He drops your chin and turns his large, broad body back towards the swinging door. He looks over his shoulder and says, “I’m sorry. I just can’t have you here, this is on me.” His voice is soft and sad, almost as if he’s full of remorse and just hoping you won’t hate him before heading back into the poker game. Any bit of anger is flushed from your system, replaced with the disappointment of having to leave wherever Joel is.  

You drag your feet to the elevator and then towards the staff exit. You let the heavy door close behind you with a loud bang as a blacked out SUV pulls up. The driver says your first and last name as he opens the back door for you. You look towards the black building one last time. 

“I’m sorry. I just can’t have you here, this is on me.” 

JMKink is written in shiny metallic black on the door and all the information of the evening hits you at once. JMK. Joel Miller Kink. Joel Miller, insanely handsome millionaire, owns a sex club.

Next Chapter

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[mountainsandmayhem]

Pride Month Clouds!

Also, happy first Pride to my baby bi @lotusbxtch

[mountainsandmayhem]

Soft lil baby boy 🥰

Tommy Miller? You arrived in Jackson after being found by a patrol. You weren't infected, but still injured by being attacked by raiders or whoever else you think is best. When the patrol arrives back with you in tow, Tommy becomes entranced with how beautiful you are, but he still keeps a safe distance. After getting patched up, he visits you day in and day out, making sure you're okay. He isn't sure why, but he does it anyway. Over time, you two become close, smut? And eventually, cautious love?

Just Stay

PAIRING: Tommy Miller x reader

Word Count: 1212 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

The Last Of Us Masterlist

The last thing you remembered before blacking out was the sound of hooves and shouting,then warmth, hands grabbing you, lifting you off the frozen ground. The raiders had left you bruised and bleeding, but they hadn't broken you.

You woke up in a small clinic room, the smell of antiseptic clinging to the air. A bandage wrapped around your thigh and another on your shoulder. Your clothes had been changed. A blanket was tucked around you.

Then he appeared.

Tall, broad-shouldered, with kind brown eyes under a worn cowboy hat. He had a rifle strapped across his back and worry creased into his features like it had been carved there over time.

"You’re awake," he said quietly, standing in the doorway. “How ya feelin’?”

You blinked at him, dry-throated. “Like I lost a fight.”

Tommy chuckled, stepping in slowly. “Well, you kinda did. But you’re safe now. Name’s Tommy. You’re in Jackson.”

“I didn’t mean to trespass,” you muttered, trying to sit up with a wince. “I was just trying to find shelter.”

“And you found it,” he said, walking over and gently placing a hand on your arm to keep you from straining. “Take it easy. You were out cold when we found you. Raiders did a number on ya.”

You looked up into his eyes. “Thanks… for bringing me in.”

“Weren’t just me. We’ve got good folks here,” he said, but his gaze lingered a moment too long. As if he hadn’t expected someone like you to show up at his doorstep.

Over the next few days, he came by often. At first, it was just an excuse,a check-in, a meal drop-off.

“You’re not tryin’ to starve yourself, are you?”

“I brought you some soup. Dina swears by it.”

“Thought you might want a book. This one’s got horses. Don’t know if you like horses.”

Each visit stretched a little longer. You’d talk. Not much at first. You asked about Jackson. He asked where you came from. You told him enough,just enough.

“You got family?” he asked one day, quietly.

You shook your head, eyes on your lap. “Not anymore.”

He nodded like he understood.

Eventually, you were strong enough to walk around town. He gave you the tour. People waved to him. Some eyed you warily, but no one questioned your place. Not while Tommy was around.

You started working in the greenhouse,just enough to contribute, to earn your keep. But you always saw him. Every day.

“Don’t you have somewhere better to be?” you teased one evening as he lingered outside your little cabin.

He shrugged. “Not really. You mind the company?”

You didn’t. You never did.

It was a cold night when it happened. Snow fell outside your window, soft and silent. He’d walked you home again, even though your cabin was less than three blocks from where he’d been drinking with Joel and a few others.

“You don’t have to do this every time,” you said, laughing a little as you unlocked your door.

“I know,” he replied. “I just want to.”

You turned, hand still on the doorknob. “Why?”

He looked at you for a long time. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “Somethin’ about you… I just wanna make sure you’re okay.”

Your throat tightened. You pushed the door open. “You wanna come in?”

There was a flicker of hesitation,but then, he followed.

You sat beside each other on the couch. Close, but not touching. He watched the firelight flicker in your eyes, his hand resting on his thigh, clenched and uncertain.

“Y’know,” you said, voice barely above a whisper, “I’ve been waiting for you to kiss me for weeks now.”

He exhaled slowly. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t wanna cross a line,” he murmured. “You’ve been through a lot.”

“So have you,” you said softly. “Don’t think I haven’t seen it in your eyes.”

His gaze fell to your lips. And this time, he didn’t hesitate.

The kiss was tentative at first, warm and unsure. You leaned into it, fingers brushing his jaw. He pulled you closer, his hand cradling the back of your head.

Before long, heat built between you, urgency replacing caution. You straddled his lap, your lips never breaking. He tugged your shirt off, hands gliding over your waist, slow and reverent.

“Tell me if you wanna stop,” he whispered, breath hitching as he kissed down your neck.

“I don’t,” you gasped, pulling at his belt. “I want you, Tommy. Please.”

He groaned low in his throat, lifting you and carrying you to the bed like you weighed nothing. You felt safe in his arms,wanted, not pitied.

Clothes fell away. The room was quiet save for the soft rustling of sheets and your quiet, breathless moans. You traced the scars on his chest, his ribs, the years of surviving etched into his skin. His hands trembled as they mapped your body, as if you were something sacred.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion. “Goddamn…”

He kissed your collarbone, your chest, slowly dragging his lips down your stomach. He took his time, like he needed to learn every inch of you, memorize you.

When he slipped between your legs, you gasped,his mouth warm, careful, deliberate. His tongue teased you, slow strokes building and building until you were trembling, clutching at the sheets, crying out his name.

“Tommy,fuck,please, I need you,” you whimpered.

He climbed up your body and kissed you again, tasting you on his lips.

“Tell me if anything hurts,” he whispered, lining himself up.

You shook your head, cupping his face. “Just be with me.”

When he entered you, it was slow and deep, a stretch that left you gasping. He didn’t rush. Every movement was deliberate, steady, his forehead resting against yours. His hand slid between your bodies, his thumb circling where you needed him most.

You broke apart slowly together, clutching each other through it,moaning each other’s names like a prayer, like a promise.

When it was over, you collapsed into each other, hearts racing, skin damp. His hand stroked your spine, the room silent but for your breaths.

“Was that okay?” he asked softly.

You looked up at him. “More than okay.”

He smiled,just a little. “I don’t do this kinda thing often.”

You nodded. “Me neither.”

The next morning, he was gone when you woke,but there was coffee on the table, still warm, and a note in his handwriting:

> Didn’t wanna wake you. Gotta do a run today. But I’ll be back tonight. I’d like to stay, if that’s alright.

– T

You smiled for the first time in a long, long time.

Weeks passed. Nights together turned into mornings. He didn’t move in, but he stayed more often than not. You never defined it,but something was there. Something real.

Still, you saw the fear in his eyes sometimes. Like he was waiting for it all to fall apart.

“Why are you so good to me?” you asked one night, curled up in bed with his arm around you.

“I don’t know,” he said, brushing his fingers through your hair. “But I don’t wanna stop.”

You leaned up and kissed him, slow and soft.

“Then don’t.”

He didn’t.

And little by little, the broken parts inside you both began to mend,together.

[mountainsandmayhem]

I need him to just not be so handsome. And if he’s going to continue being this handsome can he at least kiss me a little?

Just posting these to get me through tomorrow. He doesn’t even know it, but he’s a little anchor for days that feel too heavy.

[mountainsandmayhem]

With Maid Discreetly - I was going to read it anyway because I loved BDSMaid, but I wasn’t sure I would like it as much as the other series. I’d like you to know that I like it even more and the reason is your writing. Like I would prob pick Tommy at this point if I had a choice out of the two from your writing heheh.

Either you’re the second person I’ve converted or this is @lotusbxtch hiding behind an anon 😂

Honestly though…same, but don’t tell Joel lol

Thank you soooo much! It honestly has been SO FUN writing Tommy because I know absolutely zip about his character, so I’ve just made him my own little sassy German shepherd of a person haha.

[mountainsandmayhem]

I am SO obsessed with Tommy’s side of Maid Discreetly! Your writing is incredible 🫶🏻

Is there an ETA for the next chapter?

🥹🥹🥹 omg stop. Don’t be nice to me, I’ll fall in love haha. But honestly, thank you so much for loving them and for your incredibly kind words.

I, unfortunately, don’t have an ETA. I’m writing the last half of the story now, but I maybe might be able to give you one more chapter this month. Maybe? Haha.

Buuuuttttt since everyone has been so nice to me, here’s a weeeee little snippet….

“I thought you didn’t fill it out for me,” he reminds you. Those were your words last night when he told you not to do it after all. That you weren’t filling it out for him. He knew you were full of shit, he knew that you knew you were too.

“I didn’t,” you start, but he cuts you off before you can continue.

“Then why does it matter if I read it or not? I cannot do that with you.” He states, lifting his wine glass to his lips, desperately needing something to wet his dry throat with.

Your head falls back on the couch as you let out an exasperated sigh, his hand aches to wrap around your throat as he tells you not to whine. You keep your eyes on the ceiling for a minute, then look back at him with a contemplating stare, your wine glass still in your hand.

[mountainsandmayhem]

I fucking love your Tommy and Maid Discreetly as a series, I was overjoyed to see two fucking chapters out today! Thank you so much for writing this series!

🥺🥺

Thank you!!! It might be a while before I have other chapters ready as I finish writing the last half of the story.

[mountainsandmayhem]

🥹

Thank you for sharing BDSMaid, seeing my name amongst all these talented and wonderful people is wild to me. 🫶🏻

These are the fics I have been reading recently by some really amazing writers. I hope you all find something you like in these.

Cupid of Wyoming (Joel Miller x F!reader) - @joelsrose

Coffee Snob (Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x F!reader) - @randompiecesofwriting

The after (Sam Winchester x Jessica Moore x F!reader) - @saltcxrcle

Still (Pedro Pascal x F!reader) - @joelssimp

Construction Corner (Joel Miller) - @for-a-longlongtime

A Cambridge Love Affair (AU!Pedro Pascal x F!reader) - @bronzepascal

All the luck in the world (Robert "Bob" Reynolds x OFC) - @myinconnelly1

A price I'd cheat to win (Harry Castillo x F!reader) - @whoevenisjavier

Untitled Fic (Tommy Miller x F!reader) - @daryltwdixon

Healed (Joel Miller x F!reader) - @whocaresstillthelouvre

Beck and Call (Joel Miller x F!reader) - @ilikeevilblondes

BDSMaid (Joel Miller x F!reader) - @mountainsandmayhem

If any of you have any fics that you'd like to share, I'd love some suggestions on what to read next.

My masterlist in case anyone is interested.

[mountainsandmayhem]

man who peppers reassuring kisses to your forehead, cheek, neck, chest and tummy to remind you you’re breathtaking before gently pulling your legs apart when you’re being timid about your body