#GoForGreatness

[natty-top5]

[multimilfs]

Agnes O'Connor x Fem!Reader: Poking The Bear

Summary: Agnes has the misfortune of being called in to work a murder case on Christmas Eve. When she leaves you frustrated, you decide to do what you do best; poke the bear.

AO3

A/N: I said "is anyone going to humiliate this woman in this ultra-specific way?" and didn't wait for an answer. Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals <3

Words: 8k

Included: Established relationship, Christmas, Porn with plot; g!p, teasing, somnophilia (implied), dacryphilia, phone sex, accidental orgasm, semi-public sex, humiliation, jealousy, blowjobs, dom/sub, sub space, throatfucking, unprotected sex, masturbation, light breeding kink, light degradation, praise, orgasm denial.

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Through the peaceful, warm silence of the morning, an alarm clock blares.

Agnes growls under her breath as she does every morning, lumbering from the comfort of the bed and over to the windowsill where the alarm clock sits. A particularly rough blow shuts it up.

God, why did she let Vidal insist on this shift?

Her routine is simple enough she could do it with her eyes closed; and does, for most of it. It isn’t until she turns the shower to a cooler temperature that she feels anywhere close to awake. She needs coffee—bad.

Halfway through said cup of coffee and one of the donuts you picked up, she realizes she hasn’t kissed you good morning yet.

You grumble a bit when she turns you over, untucking your head from the blankets, but you don’t wake. You look heavenly, painted in the warm glow of the Christmas tree you insist on keeping plugged in all night. Agnes smiles.

Pressing her lips to your forehead, she murmurs, barely a whisper, “Be good, baby.”

A hand wraps around her wrist and she startles. Pulling back, your eyes haven’t opened.

“Agnes, come back to bed.” You say, voice gravely from sleep.

“Vidal will be on my case if I don’t show.”

“I can make your morning better than Vidal can.”

You stretch, curling back into the blankets, but hold her wrist just tight enough to indicate you’re still half awake. It’s good your eyes are closed; she doesn’t need you seeing all the kinds of fond you’re making her.

Agnes really shouldn’t get you started, but curiosity kills cats, not bears, “Oh yeah? How would you do that, baby?”

“You’d come back to bed and sleep until I say.”

“And then what?” She prods, trying not to laugh.

“Then we’ll have a really nice breakfast. Donuts for you.”

“What would you have?”

“You.” You answer, casual and so matter-of-fact, “I’ll even swallow, out of Christmas spirit or something.”

Agnes jolts at the change. Though true to form, she can feel the familiar coil of arousal between her legs. She really shouldn’t have gotten you started.

She’s half awake, she won’t remember this, Agnes tells herself as she tries to move from her kneeling position on the bed. Your grip on her wrist remains.

“Sleep. We’ll have fun when I get home.”

“It’s Christmas Eve.” You whine.

“I’ll be home before you know it, I swear.”

“Fine. ‘Love you.” You murmur.

You rescind your hand and turn over, pacified as you burrow back under the covers. Agnes shakes her head.

“Love you too.” She whispers.

With one last parting kiss to your forehead, she’s gone, with you none-the-wiser.

—

You wake up a mess.

There’s a half-remembered conversation with Agnes lingering in your mind, but it’s hazy enough to feel like a dream; an unsatisfying one, the persistent throbbing between your legs says. You offered to blow her, you remember that much—it’s all pretty blank after that.

No, there was something about having fun when she got home, too.

You can’t wait that long.

It isn’t until two of your fingers are knuckle-deep and you’re missing the fullness Agnes offers that the idea strikes you. You scramble blindly for the phone on your night-stand. The movements change the angle of your fingers and you whine, rolling your hips, even as the blind grabs for your phone grow more frustrated.

Once found, it is ripped viciously off the charger, and you open it, going through your messages for the quickest access to her number. You grin at the contrast between your long-winded messages and Agnes’ one word responses.

An infinitesimal movement of your hips reminds you of your intention.

The phone is brought to your ear and it rings… and rings… and rings…

…and rings…

“O’Connor.” Her gruff voice comes down the line.

Your breath hitches in your throat. You squeeze around your own fingers at the sound.

“Yes, Detective, I’d like to report a crime.”

There’s a brief pause on the other end.

“Go on.”

“Well, my wife woke me up this morning and got me turned on, and she didn’t even have the decency to fuck me before she left. What kind of woman does that, Detective?”

You can hear the curve of her grin, “A lousy one. That’s a pretty serious crime.”

Maybe it’s the low, lilting drawl of her voice down the line. Maybe it’s the way you can see how she’s sitting in your mind; shoulders back against the seat but hips forward, legs splayed with careless confidence, one hand toying with her belt. Maybe it’s the easy humor she slips into with you that she’s never had with anyone else.

Whatever it is, two sentences from her brings you closer to finishing than thirty minutes with your hand has.

You whimper, “Keep talking.”

Another pause. Then the faint rustle of fabric.

“What are you doing?”

Her tone is utterly serious. Unforgiving. And god if it isn’t the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard.

“What do you think I’m doing?”

Finally showing your clit some attention, you moan shamelessly. It’s nice to feel full, but your fingers never quite reach the right spots, and you can’t get off on penetration alone—with Agnes or otherwise. It’s fun to work yourself up though; pushing to the heights you can reach there before really giving yourself the stimulation you want.

If she keeps talking, that—combined with the circling motions on your clit—will send you straight over the edge.

The anticipation builds over the line. For a moment, you pull the phone away to make sure she hasn’t hung up. She’s likely weighing the best thing to say to both turn you on and strike the fear of punishment into you.

Instead, her tone is almost pleading, “Don’t do this now.”

An image strikes you of making Agnes beg, of driving her to a point where the easy dominance falls away, and she’s reduced to chasing whatever kindness you give. It brings you so much pleasure it hurts. You need it. But how to get it?

“Is Agent Vidal in the room with you?” You ask.

The idea of Vidal witnessing what you’re doing to Agnes makes your toes curl.

“No.”

“I thought you were stuck with her today.”

“Leave Vidal out of this.” She demands, but it’s strangled.

She’s clawing for control over the situation, scrambling for a foothold. Normally, you’d give it to her. Normally.

“I don’t think I ask for much…” A lie. You make many requests in the sanctity of your bedroom, “all I wanted was for you to fix what you started.”

“Baby.”

You have to pull your fingers away from your clit, desperate to come but not ready yet.

“There are so many ways you could have done it, too. You could have woken me up with your head between my legs… or with you inside me. It could have been nice, right?”

Only the sound of her breathing comes down the line. Heavy, uneven, like when she’s holding herself over you, hips driving her deeper—

God, you’re so close.

You whisper, needing to know that she’s as affected as you, needing to hear her say it, “Are you hard, Agnes?”

“Yes.”

Even though you haven’t moved any part of your hand, the mental image nearly sends you tumbling over the edge.

“Will you come with me?”

“I…I can’t.”

You know. With the shades open, her office is basically an observation room; meaning if she were to do what you ask, there’s almost a guarantee she’d be caught. A sick part of you wants it. Wants to know that you have enough power over her to make her take the risk.

Gently, you begin to toy with your clit again. You can make her do what you ask. All you need is for her to say it—the confirmation that you’ve undone her so thoroughly that she can’t help but fist her cock under the desk where anyone could see.

“Please.” You beg.

You hear her inhale, the sound sharp in your ear. The words are on the tip of her tongue. Her eyes are no doubt shifting around the office, searching for the perfect way to hide what she’s about to do.

You’re standing on the precipice.

The harsh beeping of a disconnected call blares in your ear. Yanking it away, orgasm thoroughly ruined, you yell in frustration.

—

An officer pulls open the door before you can reach for it, nodding, “Ma’am.”

The precinct is busy for it being a holiday. Uniformed officers sit around desks, either on the phone or talking with others. You spy the Chief talking animatedly to a few toward the back.

They’ve really done up the place this year. Last year it’d been sad, grey. Now there are a few little trees spread around, some personal decorations here and there, a menorah on the front desk with candles waiting to be lit. It livens up the place.

In the back sits the partial vision of Agnes’ office. The blinds are somewhat closed, but she’s left the door open, allowing you enough of a glimpse to know she’s in there. You can imagine her without having to see; her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, hunched over the desk, hand toying with strands of her hair as she frowns over evidence.

Gazes follow as you cut through the center of it all. You do your best to ignore the heat working its way up your neck. Once upon a time, a few of the other officers had tried to catch your attention. You’d entertained a few of them. But they were minnows, and you wanted the shark.

You wanted the unapproachable, stone-faced Detective O’Connor.

And you had been the one to catch Agnes, but her fellow officers couldn’t imagine their illustrious Detective not being the one to do the catching. If only they knew how you could have her eating from the palm of your hand.

A swift knock on the open door and you lean against it. She’s exactly as you imagined. Though there’s a faint sheen of sweat on her forehead and her fingers tap on the desk like she can’t sit still.

She doesn’t look up, barking, “I’m busy.”

“I’ll pass this off to one of the other officers then.”

Her head snaps up and you grin. Hanging from one of your fingers is a white takeout bag. The scent of orange chicken and rice permeates the air, but it isn’t what you’re hungry for.

Work forgotten, she looks you up and down, licking her lips. Her fingers twitch on the desk. You clear your throat and she snaps out of whatever daze she’s in. Clearing her own throat, she sits up, tugging on the bottom of her flannel shirt. Your smile widens.

“Close the door behind you.”

Stepping in, you kick it closed with a low, “Yes, Detective.”

“What are you doing here?”

“My job.” You cross to her desk, dropping the takeout bag on top. You’re perched on the edge closest to her. She looks up at you from her chair, lips pursed, tugging on her shirt again, “What kind of wife would I be if I let you go hungry?”

“None of the other guys get lunch delivered personally.”

“None of the other guys are married to me. Do I get a kiss for my troubles?”

Briefly, she looks out into the precinct—not that she can see much with the shades drawn—then back to your lips. Agnes shifts, licking her own, before nodding.

You lean forward and hold onto the chair by one arm, capturing her lips in a rough kiss. Your other hand palms the length you know pulsates between her legs. Upon contact she grunts into your mouth, hips bucking.

Her hand fumbles blindly for your wrist. Catching it in a firm grip, you can feel the tension in her frame as she decides whether to press you closer or shove you away.

Pulling back just enough to smile, “Poor baby. Have you been like this all day?”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what, Detective?” You murmur.

Her breath hitches. Blue eyes so blown out they’re nearly black regard you, her chest rising and falling as she struggles for an even rhythm of breath. You test her grip and find its slackened. The palm of your hand caresses the entire outline of her through her jeans.

Agnes doesn’t push you away, but she doesn’t pull you closer, either. The hand on your wrist allows you enough movement to stroke slowly from base to tip. Every inch of her seems to jump at the whisper of your touch.

Looking into her eyes, you can see how she’s fighting for control. She just can’t find the path to it. Good. You want her like this—panting and desperate. It makes you clench around nothing.

“What have you been imagining all this time?”

She swallows. Clears her throat, “Vidal will be back soon.”

“I can be quick.”

“Anyone… could see.”

“We have a few options. Your favorite is off the table, though.”

The favorite in question being Agnes bending you over the desk and fucking you hard and fast. It’s efficient, allowing her drive in deep while having the benefit of spanking you as she chases her reward. Her cock twitches at the reminder.

She’s tense, taut with energy like she’s only a few strokes from finishing right here. The thought is hot and you want it, bad—but not all dreams can be reality.

“What do we have?” Agnes asks, finally.

“If I crawl under the desk no one would see what I’m doing.” You offer.

Your hand keeps moving. It’s more for yourself than anything; you like feeling her, hard and wanting, yet so restricted, jumping at the slightest bit of attention. A thumb swipes over where you know the head is and she chokes, hips stuttering from what had been a slow roll into your hand.

“Do it.” She demands.

The subtle authority returning to her voice sends a shiver down your spine. One more swipe of your thumb and she keens, before clamping her mouth shut.

You laugh. Waking up this morning, this is the last thing you expected for yourself from the day; but you can’t deny you’re enjoying every second.

“That’s my girl.” You praise.

Bracing to slide off the desk, there’s a knock on Agnes’ closed office door, and disaster strikes.

The knock startles you. You try to turn and look toward the door, but forget just how precarious your seating situation is on the edge of the desk. You lose your balance. You’re able to get your foot under you just enough to fall into Agnes’ lap, rather than onto the cold tile of the office.

Agnes lets out a cross between a harsh breath and a moan as you fall into her. Your back presses firmly to her front.

“Don’t—god, I’m gonna—”

Strong hands settle on your hips to shove you off, but it’s too late. Agnes grunts. Nails dig into your sides as she ruts helplessly against your backside, unloading spurts of cum with every press of her hips.

You freeze in shock.

Then out of habit your hands find hers. With one, you lace your fingers together. With the other you caress her wrist, brushing gently as you turn your head to meet her eyes, careful to keep every inch of your body where she needs you. Her hips tense, stuttering, whimpering as she fights the orgasm that’s ravaging her.

“It’s okay. Let it happen.” You encourage, brushing a finger against her inner wrist. A war is waging over her face as she’s caught between desire and shame. Desire must win out. Agnes movements pick up speed as she furiously grinds up against you, and you can’t help the praise that falls from your lips, “That’s it.”

Now that she’s given in, she can’t stop, the hands on your hips clenching as she presses closer, harder with every thrust, powerless to the desire she can’t stop shooting. A wounded noise leaves her throat. You empathize; you know well how getting what you want can quickly move into pained-pleasure, when your body just keeps giving and giving.

Agnes’ expression is pained, laced with helplessness to her pleasure. Her eyes don’t leave your own as she rides out the waves. You try to sit still, letting her take what she needs. She allows you to watch every twitch of her expression, hear every noise she lets slip—it’s an act of trust that overwhelms. Lifting a hand to her cheek, you wipe at the perspiration there.

Eventually, she relaxes into the seat, her hips stopping in their frantic search for friction. Her eyes slip closed and you watch her breathe.

You’re eternally grateful that whoever knocked didn’t barge in right after; there is no way you’d have been able to talk your way around what was happening. It’s a mercy that Agnes rarely shuts her office door—now that she has, everyone understands something important is going on.

Running a finger along her cheekbone, you whisper, “Are you okay?”

“What do you think?” She growls.

“Given the mess you just made, I’d say you’re on cloud nine.” You tease.

With a sudden show of strength, you’re shoved into a standing position. You turn to take in the weight of Agnes’ glare.

Agnes snarls, “Fuck you.”

“You could have… if you had a little self control.”

Your eyes fall to her lap for emphasis, the evidence of her desire stark against the front of her jeans. Her hands clench on the arm-rests. Blood has rushed to her face, painting her features in red hues that betray her forced calm.

The sight of her so humiliated is doing it for you; and you can see that she sees, regarding you with a loaded, wary look. It will take no shortage of negotiation, but you will be revisiting this again.

You open the take out bag and pluck out the napkins near the bottom. Carefully, you wipe them over the planes of her face, soaking up the sweat that had been clinging to her skin. Agnes doesn’t meet your eye.

“Agnes.” Waiting until she locks eyes with you, “It’s okay.”

She scoffs, “I came in my pants like a fucking teenager.”

“And it was hot.”

“You’re really something else, you know that?”

“Oh, I’m well aware. I also know that you love me for it.”

Agnes rolls her eyes.

“Unfortunately.”

“Careful, O’Connor, I can still give this lunch away to one of your coworkers.”

The bag is promptly snatched from your reach. You laugh.

Now that she’s standing, you breathe a sigh of relief; her flannel is long, perfectly hiding the evidence of your activities from the world. You just hope no one outside was looking in too closely.

Desire rears its head at the thought. You need to get out of here before you do something that’ll get you both caught.

You lean up and steal a kiss, “Enjoy your lunch, baby.”

When you open the door to leave, you come face-to-face with Agent Rio Vidal holding two cups of coffee in her hands. You startle and she raises her brows at seeing you.

“Agent Vidal.”

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here, sweetheart, or I would’ve bought an extra coffee.”

“That’s okay, I was just bringing Agnes something to eat.”

“Take mine.” The coffee cup is held between the two of you. You can see the faint mark of her lipstick on the lid as she leans in, “I don’t need the extra caffeine anyway.”

“Keep it, Vidal. She can have mine.”

You turn so you can take in both of them. Vidal is relaxed, posture brimming with a quiet confidence while Agnes is tense, staring at the two of you like she could throw something—and she would, if she didn’t think it’d encourage the former somehow.

Agnes has always been… odd around Vidal; moreso than the normal awkwardness between two exes. And Vidal has never been subtle with her interest in poking Agnes’ nerves.

Whatever it is, you’re going to use it and see where it takes you.

You accept the offered cup of coffee, making deliberate eye contact with Agnes as you take a long sip. A latte—thank god, Agnes’ black drip would’ve made you gag.

“Thanks for the coffee.” You murmur low. Then you throw your wife a smile, ignoring the promise of pain in her eyes, “See you at home, Agnes.”

—

Coming home you’re delighted to find a few last-minute packages on the porch. Carrying them in, one shifts heavily in your arms, and you know immediately what it is; one of the speakers in Agnes’ car crapped out on her a few months back, so the passenger-side only spits out static where there should be music—or the sports broadcasts, in your wife’s case; you bought her a new stereo system so she wouldn’t have to ‘make do’ anymore.

There’s also a few new shirts, a nice leather belt, and a watch she’d been eyeing but wasn’t willing to buy for herself. You wrap all of them with a smile on your face and slide them under the tree.

The busy work of it all eases the tension in your shoulders and some of the arousal between your legs. There’s a lingering peace in every corner of your home. It’s quiet, barring the music playing from the kitchen, casting a nostalgic glow over you where the lights seem just a little warmer.

You sit down on the couch and take it all in. Ornaments wobble on branches, glittering and winking at you as they twist. There’s a garland draped over the fireplace with dancing lights; you feel warmer inside when you remember how Agnes helped you set it up, shaking her head at your excitement.

With the bustle of the season, you’ve forgotten to take time like this to stop and let it sink in. So many spend Christmas alone, hungry, without a place to go. You don’t have to. You have a wife who will spend every second with you in the warmth of your home. Tears prick your eyes.

You fall asleep on the couch with that warm feeling in your chest.

—

The scent of garlic and butter tickles your nose. You snap awake.

Did you leave the stove on?

You shoot up from the couch and throw off the blanket you don’t remember grabbing. It falls to your feet, twisting in your ankles, and you do all you can not to fall face-first onto the floor. How long have you been asleep?

Wait. Did you even put anything on to cook?

Agnes’ flannel-clad back greets you when you round the corner. A sigh leaves you. One hand settles over your chest, willing your heartbeat to slow to a normal pattern. It all comes back to you; wrapping gifts, sitting down to enjoy the quiet, intending to get up and start dinner afterward.

You step into the kitchen and wrap your arms around her waist from behind, forehead resting between her shoulder blades. A hand lifts your own so she can press a kiss on the back.

“How was work?” You ask, voice muffled by her shirt.

“A waste of time.” She answers. Her form shifts, one shoulder tensing as she stirs what sits on the stove, “It could’ve waited until after Christmas.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault. Vidal’s a workaholic and fails to realize the rest of us aren’t.”

“You are most of the year.”

Agnes grunts noncommittally, “What trouble did you get into?”

“Wrapped a few gifts, took a nap. I’m surprised some of your guys weren’t beating down my door with how rowdy I was being.”

“Chief would’ve just sent me to handle you.”

“I’d like that… you, handling me…” You murmur, hand moving down her front with intent.

A strong, veined hand grabs your own. She forces it back to its former resting place. You keep your hand where it is directed. The haven you’ve found nuzzled against her back—surrounded by the scent of her cologne and the heat of her—is just as inviting as anything more salacious could be.

Something bubbles and pops on the stove. Agnes jolts, before relaxing. You drag yourself from your haven to look over her shoulder; a pan of sauce is stirred on one burner, boiling pasta churning away on another. Simple, but hearty.

You press a kiss to the skin you can reach, just behind her ear, “You’re getting better.”

Before, her dinner of choice would’ve been a canister of peanuts, maybe a microwave dinner.

“Don’t say anything until you’ve tasted it.”

“I’ll do what I want.” You answer.

“Don’t I know it.”

Jabbing her side with a finger until she cracks a grin, “Let me taste, so I can tell you how amazing it is.”

The wooden spoon is lifted from the sauce and over her shoulder to your mouth. You wrap your lips around it, immediately lulled further into bliss by the combination of onion, garlic, and tomato.

“Agnes, that is delicious.”

Her brows raise. With a flourish, she allows herself a taste.

“You love to stroke my ego.” She says in that self-deprecating tone you know well.

Your hand and mouth move before you think, “That’s not the only part of you I like to stroke.”

Whether by a lapse in understanding or simply because she lets you, your hand finds its mark before Agnes can stop it. The full width of your hand presses at the apex of her thighs. Your mouth drops open.

Agnes is painfully erect for the second time today with little work on your part.

She drops the spoon against the pan and removes your hand again, blunt nails biting into your skin in the way you like. You don’t react, still reeling from the information you’ve gleaned. Agnes libido isn’t what it once was—a reality of age—even if she’s like a well kept oldsmobile; capable of going the distance and then some once you get her properly started. But you’ve done very little in the way of actually getting her started since visiting the office.

“What on earth have you been up to today?” You ask, breathless.

“Don’t start.”

“I’d say you’re well past the starting point, given what I just felt.” A laugh escapes, then you pause, “You didn’t…”

Agnes curious gaze meets yours over her shoulder. Understanding dawns, along with indignation, “Of course not.”

“Needing a little extra help is normal.”

“This is all your doing.” She snaps, “Go sit down.”

“If it’s all my doing, you should let me fix it.” You coo.

In a sudden burst of movement, Agnes is out of your arms, sauce and pasta left behind on the stove. You blink. Did something happen at work? Have you hit a nerve?

She crosses the space to the kitchen table. The chair at the head of the table, facing the stove, is yanked from its resting place. You wince as it shrieks against the floor. But she either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, turning the chair and meeting your eyes with a hard look, pointing.

“Sit.”

You move without thinking. There’s a subtle note of steel beneath the command that sends you into submission on instinct, like a pet might jump to obey their owner. The thought doesn’t chafe today; you want to be good, you want to obey.

Plopping down into the seat, hands settle on your shoulders. Agnes growls in your ear, “Stay.”

And you do.

As she finishes dinner, moving the pasta into the sauce with an unsure—but successful—flourish. As she nearly burns herself cutting the garlic bread fresh out of the oven. As she casts quick, dark glances your way every few minutes, as if having to make sure you’re where she left you.

You are the picture of poise and obedience, fighting every desperate urge for nearness to follow her command. But the longer she takes the harder it becomes. Hands settled on your thighs, your fingers scratch anxiously at the fabric of your pants, helpless and without any other way to expel this building energy.

“Agnes.” You whine.

“Quiet.”

It takes ages before she approaches you. She takes her sweet time putting dinner on plates, making it pretty in a way you know is just to drive you crazy; she doesn’t give two fucks about whether or not something looks nice as long as it tastes good.

Dinner is brought over to the table, but you tilt your head. Agnes only brought one plate.

“Up.” She commands, “You’re in my seat.”

You stand. Reaching for the chair next to hers, a hand on the back stops you from pulling it out. There’s the deep sound of porcelain meeting the wood of the table. As she leans around you, the scent of her cologne makes you dizzy.

Agnes snaps her fingers. You jolt, snapping back into your own mind. She points to the floor and your brows furrow. Then, it clicks, and your face grows warm.

You sink to your knees in front of Agnes’ chair as she sits in it.

“I can guess what a perp is going to do just by the way they sit in interrogation.” Agnes drawls, idly tapping her knee as her mind works, “But you… I can never guess how you’re going to act. Look at you now, all good and obedient for me, when you were acting like a whore in my office today.”

So caught up in the dizzying feeling of submission, you’ve been oblivious to the weight of your own desire. Agnes’ words change that in an instant. There’s a needy, pulsing beat between your legs, and you clench your thighs together in an attempt to help yourself. It doesn’t work.

“You started it.” You say, breathless.

You can’t breathe around your desire for her. Oxygen is a secondary need to the feel of her, whether she’s buried deep inside or grazing her fingers over your flesh; you want her and it hurts. But you keep your hands on the tops of your thighs.

Agnes chuckles. It’s a low, rolling thing. Agnes’ usual response to amusement is to grin, maybe even shake her head and scoff—laughter is a rare thing, aged and cultivated until it’s amber laced with smoke over your senses. You feel the heat of it. The intoxication it brings is warm, a weight settling comfortingly over the shoulders.

“I’m collecting on your offer from earlier.”

And with that, her thighs part, and you surge forward without being told. Her belt is unbuckled in one fell swoop. You moan, unable to help yourself, needy for the feel of her skin, to taste.

A testament to the overwhelm of your desire that the concept of toying with her again does not cross your mind. Your hand finds the desperate length of her cock, exposing it to the cool air.

It stands proud, tip flushed and leaking, veins stark against the fair skin. You pant. With single-focus, you lean forward.

An equally fair hand grips your jaw, forcing your eyes to Agnes’, “How many taps?”

You blink. You’re buried beneath desire, mind clawing its way to the surface.

“T-Three.”

Agnes nods and you’re free.

The first thing you do with your newfound freedom is flatten your tongue and lick a broad stripe up the length of her. The hand on your jaw goes slack in surprise, Agnes’ hips jumping. A groan echoes through the room.

You circle your tongue over the tip, drinking in her taste and the sounds falling from her lips. It’s heady, making the room fuzzy around the edges.

Submission brings with it a strange feeling of power. You’re doing as she bids, being good, but every sound and reaction coming from her is real; the truest manifestation of how well you’re doing to please her.

The world falls away. Your head feels floaty, strangely empty despite the manuevers you’re employing with your mouth. You don’t need words, you don’t need thoughts, you just need to offer Agnes whatever she wants.

Which you do by taking her cock in your mouth until she hits the back of your throat.

A thud sounds from her hand slamming on the tabletop, scrambling for something to grip as she chokes out, “Fuck!”

You do all you can to repress your gag reflex, forcing yourself to just relax everytime she hits the back of your throat. Agnes has her head thrown back, eyes closed, chest rising and falling as she pants, whimpering with every movement of your tongue and mouth.

Through it all, her hand remains on the side of your face, a careful guide. You can’t help the hand that sneaks under your skirt; Agnes is shaking with tension, begging to let go and chase her pleasure at your expense, but she’s holding herself back and guiding you through taking her in the way that would do the least harm.

You moan. Agnes’ cock twitches in your mouth and she matches your moan, a semblance of that control slipping with a particularly rough thrust. You gag, tears forming in your eyes.

The hand between your thighs shakes, fumbling for your clit while focusing on what really matters. You’re so wet there’s barely any friction.

You want Agnes to make you gag again. You want her to push into you and take what she wants until you’re crying.

Looking up, you try to will all of that thought and intent into your eyes, but Agnes’ are closed.

You whine.

Blue eyes regard you from beneath drooping lids. You will one thought into your mind and one thought only; use me.

Agnes swallows. The pad of a thumb runs under your eye, collecting some of the wetness there as if to say are you sure? In answer, you take as much of her as you can physically manage, eyes meeting her own the whole time.

Her restraint snaps.

Agnes’ hand travels to the back of your head, her hips moving faster and firmer than you can comprehend. She takes over completely; driving into you for what she needs, making you gag obscenely, without a thought in the world for if it is too much.

Not having to make choices allows you to focus on obtaining your own pleasure. With every tear she forces from your eyes, you swipe over the pulsating bud of your clit. You can feel your own orgasm building low in your gut.

“I’m going to cum.” Agnes groans.

Delight shoots through you. She’s going to cum and it’s because of you; because you were good and gave her everything she needs. It feels amazing.

Why, then, do you pull off and out of reach?

Agnes growls. You blink.

Words. There are words to go with the desire you feel. You close your eyes, searching for them, mentally scrambling at the edges until you can wrap your hands around them and their meaning.

“Can I…” You start, voice rough from the beating your throat has taken, “Can I ride you?”

Agnes makes quite the scene; splayed open on the dining room chair, hair a mess and eyes blown out, cock twitching and needy through the fly of the jeans she ruined only a few hours ago. You clench.

Agnes licks her lips, “Yeah, alright.”

You stand on shaking legs and Agnes holds up a hand, stopping you as she lifts her hips and fumbles in her back pocket. She obtains her wallet and rifles through until she locates a small foil wrapper.

It’s safer, you know. You’ve used one almost every other time for the duration of your marriage.

“Agnes.”

The woman in question pauses before opening the condom. Her brow pops up in an unspoken question.

The words are instinct, comprehensive thought still far away, “I want you to cum inside me.”

Outside, the world rages on. Westview residents race down the street, returning home from last minute errands, gifts in tow that they’ll have to sneak inside. The wind is kicking up and through the trees as snow grows closer with every second.

And then there is you and Agnes, tucked in the warmth of your home, caught in the weight of your words. Stopped in the face of the potential consequences.

Agnes throws the unopened condom on the kitchen table.

“Then come here.”

You stand with your legs on either side of her own, steadying yourself on her shoulders. One steady hand settles on your hip. The other pushes your panties aside and aligns her to your entrance as you lower into her lap.

You could take her in one motion with how wet you are. Yet, Agnes keeps your descent slow, careful. She watches your face with every inch you take—same as you watch hers.

Agnes’ chest is heaving, eyes dark and stormy, face pinched in concentration. She’s the most handsome person you’ve ever seen. You clench around her and her hands tighten on your waist.

“Sorry.” You murmur, out of habit.

Agnes raises a brow, but doesn’t respond, helping you down the last few inches. When you settle fully in her lap you let out the breath you’d been holding.

One hand sneaks under your skirt to trace shapes on the bare flesh of your hip.

“You pulled an interesting stunt with Vidal today.” Agnes says. The hand on your hip tightens, “I’m not so sure I should reward your behavior.”

“Then why let me…”

“Why deny myself just because you’re acting like a brat?”

There’s a small testing thrust of her hips. You clench. She groans, head falling back against the chair. You whimper. Trying to move your own hips, eager for what you’ve been denied, you find yourself held in place.

That’s not fair. All day she’s been teasing you, driving you to the edge of what you want—what you need, just to deny you.

“You started it.” You whine, trying to move your hips again, still finding yourself held stationary as she leisurely thrusts up, “You woke me up and got me all bothered, it’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair, baby.”

“Please.” You whine, “It’s not my fault, please.”

Muscles in her arms tremble as she lifts you slightly before sinking you back down onto her. The fullness makes your toes curl but it isn’t enough.

“Calling me at work and getting me worked up wasn’t your fault?”

“…No.”

Agnes laughs, “If you’re going to lie, you could at least be convincing.”

You won’t win this fight by playing fair, not when Agnes is clearly uninterested in fairness.

“You… You feel so good. Can’t think properly.” You breathe, moaning a bit more than comes naturally, “I’m so full of you.”

The thrust of her is uneven. She stops moving you completely and you fight down a grin.

You press a hand between your bodies, applying pressure to your lower stomach as she continues to thrust, subtly picking up speed. Her pants are growing louder, a wheeze leaving her mouth when you press.

“That’s you.” You murmur, leaning forward and ghosting over her lips, tracing the bridge of her nose with the tip of your own. You press harder and enjoy the way she groans, “Nobody has ever been as deep inside me as you.”

“Fuck.” She snarls.

You’re pushed up again, suddenly empty, and whine, blinking at the change. But then her strong hands are on your hips and spinning you around.

Your front is pressed against the table, bent so your cheek rests on the top of it. The texture of her jeans is rough against the back of your thighs as she lines herself and fills you in one thrust.

“Oh, fuck!” You cry.

Agnes sets a brutal pace, chasing that which only you can offer. Every thrust has her cock brushing that perfect spot inside you and you lose control of whatever sounds you’re making.

“Is this what you wanted?” Agnes snarls in your ear, “For me to leave work and fuck you like some bitch in heat?”

“Yes!”

“You haven’t earned it.”

“No, Agnes, please!”

“Hold it.” She orders.

With every move she makes, you do all you can to ignore the pleasure, to pretend it doesn’t exist. It’s somewhat possible when it’s only her cock. But then she leans down and starts toying with your clit and you cry out, fighting not to roll your hips against them.

You want what you’ve been chasing all day, but you still want to be good. You’re her good girl, aren’t you? You have to keep being good even if it hurts.

So, you hold your orgasm at bay, while Agnes chases her own. Judging by the uneven rhythm of her hips it won’t take long.

“Please let me come, Agnes. Please.” You beg.

“Why should I?”

“I’ll give you anything—anything! Please, my love!”

“Anything, huh?”

The tone of her voice is low, dangerous. Layered with a rasp that nearly undoes you.

If she doesn’t let up, it doesn’t matter how good you are; you’re going to cum.

“Anything!”

Agnes phone is slammed down on the table right beside your head. It isn’t on, but you have the sinking feeling that you’ve just landed yourself into something far worse than expected.

Her thrusts stop, but she keeps a light, teasing pressure that grazes your clit just enough to keep you engaged without getting you off.

It is torture. And the silence building as you stare down the upturned cell phone is only making it worse.

“I’m going to make a call and turn on the speaker. Then, I’m going to fuck you. And you’re going to let whoever is on the phone hear you as I make you cum.”

The weight of it is like a lead weight of nerves in your stomach, “But—“

“If you want to act like a whore you’re going to be treated like one.” She snarls, then her tone grows softer, “Yes or no, angel?”

Whoever she calls and puts on the line, you’ll never be able to look in the eye again. But you’re so full and eager that you don’t truly care at this point.

Besides, it’s Christmas Eve, maybe everyone will be too busy to pick up.

“Yes.”

A harsh thrust that forces the air from your lungs, then her lips are next to your ear, breath hot, “That’s my girl.”

The echo of your own words from earlier make your toes curl. Her phone is snatched from the table and she continues to toy with your clit as she makes the call.

It rings… and rings… and rings…

Faintly, you hear the line connect, and you gasp.

You can’t make out who the voice belongs to, but you hear a faint, “Yeah?”

Agnes barks down the line, “Don’t say a word.”

The bang! as her phone hits the table again makes you jump, a small shriek leaving your lips. It wobbles. Faintly, you’re impressed she hasn’t broken the thing with how she abuses it.

A long finger slams down on the speaker button and as the phone tilts slightly, you read the name on the screen, and your eyes widen.

Vidal.

Before you can say a word, though, Agnes is back to work. Something in the action of being heard has made her more aggressive. You swear you can feel the bruises forming on your hips where she grabs, leveraging you for every single thrust.

You try to choke down your moans and whimpers, not wanting Agent Vidal to hear you like this, but Agnes won’t stand for it; one hand grabs your jaw and pries your mouth open.

She pushes in to the hilt and you let out a shrieking moan.

“You were so talkative before. Have you lost your nerve?”

“I—please—“

“Calling me this morning and getting me worked up, teasing me in the office, in the kitchen… and incapable of handling your punishment.”

“I’m sorry, Agnes. Please.”

“Please, what?”

“Use me. I want—I need you to fuck me until I can’t remember being without you—I need you to fuck me until you cum inside and make me yours forever—please!”

The knowledge that every word from your mouth is being heard by someone else is not forgotten, but you’ve been pushed beyond caring. Agnes is intent on making you beg for what you want and you want it bad.

Agnes’ fingers and cock alternate stimulating you. If her fingers are working, her hips aren’t—and vice versa. You’re frankly astonished she’s been able to last so long because you’re teetering on the edge of pleasure at the barest contact.

But her will has always been steel. And she wants to see you humiliated.

The hand on your clit slides to your lower stomach and presses, mimicking your own actions only minutes before, “When I knock you up, you’re going to feel it right here.”

Something inside you snaps. You wail.

Agnes’ hips are moving at a clip, every inch of her rubbing where you need, setting you alight from within. Her hand doesn’t move. The faster she goes, the deeper she drives, her hips begin to lose their rhythm.

Any words devolve into animalistic grunts as she ruts into you, mouth alternating between kissing and biting at your neck from behind.

You’re so fucking close. If she denies you now, you think you might die.

“Let me cum, Agnes, please—pretty please—I’ll be your good girl, please, I’ll be so good. Let me cum and fill me up, it’s all I want—“

Through gritted teeth, “Go on then.”

Something inside you snaps.

The command is exactly what you need. Your entire body clenches so tight you fear you may never relax again. You lose track of what noises leave your mouth, you think you may even lose consciousness for a few moments.

All you know when you come to is that your throat is raw and Agnes is driving into you, choking out in your ear, “Gonna cum—“

Her hips meet your own at full force and don’t pull back, remaining, pulsing forward as if she can’t get close enough. Every spasm of her cock paints your insides with her desire, marking you as hers. Agnes holds your hips as she presses in with every twitch, struggling to breathe.

Weakly, you reach a hand back to tangle in her hair. Your throat aches, “That’s it, baby. Fill me.”

A groan. Another rough twitch.

It reaches a point where the pressure ebbs. She remains, but she’s not twitching anymore, nor is she fighting to become one with you. There’s only the sound of your breathing in the room.

Agnes moves to straighten and pull out, but you whine, reaching back to grab whatever part of her you can reach.

“Stay.” You whisper.

She pauses.

A hand gently caresses along your spine, “You can’t stay like this, angel.”

“Just let me feel you a little longer.”

There’s a comfort in the fullness; in the knowledge that Agnes is the only woman who can provide this for you. That she even wants to.

It’s all a blur beyond that.

Eventually, you can’t stand being bent over on the table anymore, even if you never want to be without the feeling of Agnes inside you. The call with Vidal is disconnected at some point. You and your wife move slowly, hand in hand, up to your bedroom.

You gently shove her onto the bed while grabbing damp washcloths. Neither of you can stand a shower at this point.

The two of you take your time, being careful to mind the sore spots. You lean slightly into Agnes as you wipe some of the sweat from her flesh.

“You’re so good to me.” You murmur, kissing the underside of her jaw, “Thank you, my love.”

“Consider it an early Christmas gift, angel.”

You tamp down on the urge to say something sappy for her to scoff at. Instead, you guide her down and kiss her, soft and slow.

[jubshead]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬' 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭

Paring: Lithario (Lilia x Agatha x Rio) x Reader

Summary: It was common knowledge among the villages that circled this woodland that the place was haunted, owned by witches and their perverted magic. No one had ventured into it for years and all the men who tried had not returned to tell the tale of what lay behind these trees.

Warnings: Loss of virginity, Foursome, Cunnilingus, (Implied) Oral fixation, (Accidental) Wrong use of magic, Aphrodisiacs

Date: Dec 04, 2024

Comments are always welcome and if you don’t wish to be identified, my ask is open!

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Tag list: @crescendoofstars @diorrxckstar @crazyhatz @oh-rickel @thoroughly--confused @greek-freak101 @frostytherubyrider @alittlewitchyone @gilmoresliarss @lanadelreyaesthic @aggieharkness @filmedbyharkness @nightmare-of-homophobes @confuseuniverse @delusionalforolderwomen @sunshine-makes-flowers-grow @greencurlyhair @emilynissangtr @seaoflittlefires @ofgoldandbraid @czl4t @tremordusk @astrophiliaxx @me-47-47-47 @walkethisway @goforgreat @amethyst-bitch @women-4life @thegoddamnfeels @yourbasicqueerie

─────── ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ───────

Winter is always the hardest time of the year. The soil turns to slippery mud, staining dry leaves and sticking to the boots. The cold makes people sluggish, work is harder when your fingers are numb or your cough hasn’t gone away for a month. Supplies rarely come from outside and, more times than not, the village relies on the merchandise.

A bucket full of water is carried to a small hutt, your arm burns with the effort, the fingerless gloves don’t help with the chill and your palm is freezing. Your body weight is thrown entirely onto your left side, balancing the metal container with your shoulder. Around you whispers run free, the villagers comment on the lack of food, how this has been the worst temperature in years and that the sick people won’t last the season. A few glances are cast in your direction. 

Taking a deep breath and putting on a fake smile, you open the wooden door. The place is almost as cold as it is outside, in the few minutes you have spent out, the fire has died down. A furrow of worry forms between your eyebrows and you almost drop the bucket in favor of throwing more wood into the fireplace. 

➙ continue

A/N: I decided to post it only on ao3, because of the word count!

[inlovewithgreta]

Hiiii can we please get a fic with Joan Ferguson and face slapping kink if you're comfortable with it

Love your writing <3

Kinky - Joan Ferguson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Joan tries something new.

Warnings: face slapping (obvi), degradation, overstimulation, praise, slap kink, spanking, slight dumbification kink, I think that’s it?

Word Count: 2.2k

Taglist: @celasteria @bellatrixsbrat @janewaykove @secretsofthewilde @goforgreat

© Do not copy, repost, or modify any of my works.

Joan's gaze skimmed over the room, basking in the memories that came flooding through her mind. From the window where she fucked you senseless for the world to see. To the dresser, where she bent you over and fucked you raw.

But her favorite spot of them all, was of course the bed. The same bed that she commanded you to lay on over and over again while she ate you out.

The same bed that you were laying on now. Bare. Legs spread. And an eager face.

You had stripped yourself free from your clothes then took your time removing item after item off of Joan until she herself was standing tall, beautiful, and naked at the edge of the bed.

You've been exposed to her before, but this time was different. This time you two were official. No more emotional barriers getting in the way. And now, there was nothing holding Joan back.

"You get even more goddamn beautiful every time I see you like this..." she admitted.

"Joan, I am nothing compared to you," you said back to her. Licking your lips, you took in the sight of her. Her stance was domineering, clearly in control, exactly how you liked her.

Her muscles contracted as she crawled onto the bed. Still a few feet away from you. Her large tits swayed with every movement she made. Her salt and pepper hair fell beautifully down her face. Her rounded hips curved dramatically as she crawled. And her warm, milky plush thighs squished your hips as she straddled you.

"I can never get tired of looking at you, Joan..."

"Must I open the drawer and grab your favorite blindfold?" She teased.

"No, please! I want to be able to look at you... to admire you... to see your gorgeous body taking complete control over mine."

"Then be the good girl I know you are and let me fuck you dumb. I don't want to see a thought behind those pretty little eyes. I want to do anything and everything to you. To leave you whimpering, wet, and crying after I have my way with you."

You don't even hesitate to wrap your legs around her, entrapping her, and grabbing her jaw with one hand to bring her face just mere inches from your own.

"My body and heart belong to you, Joan. I just have one favor, though.."

"And that is?" She questioned, raising a sharp and curious brow.

"Surprise me with something new."

Joan's smirk grew at your words. "Now that, baby, I can definitely do," she said, before her lips roughly connected with yours.

Your hands instinctively were brought to her body. Roaming and feverishly touching every inch. But, they were quick to grasp at her large tits.

Thumbs swiped at her pink nipples, before squeezing them between your thumb and forefinger. Joan moaned into your mouth, loving the attention to her breasts, but not enough to let you think you were in charge.

Her rough hands were quick to pin yours above your head. Large enough to use one to wrangle both of yours together and keep them pinned down.

"Keep your hands to yourself. Got it?"

Your head immediately nodded, but your mind was too fuzzy to comprehend a word your lover was saying.

"That's my good girl," she cooed into your ear.

Kisses were left along the entirety of your neck. Teeth scraped and bit, leaving instant marks, only to be soothed over with Joan's warm, wet tongue as she made a path lower.

Your collarbone was next. Then your breasts. And Joan for one, loved your breasts. The way your nipples grew hard when she tugged at them with her teeth.

Little whines grew as she gave them both her full attention. She was skillful with her mouth. That she proved over and over again. And was going to prove it once more tonight.

As Joan sucked a nipple between her lips and toyed with the other, your hands couldn't help but jump to her hair to move the grey strands from covering her beautiful face.

The moment was sweet, but in an instant was completely changed.

Joan's hand flew, and before you knew it, landed directly against your cheek in a harsh slap. The sound itself was sure to be heard for miles, but the gasp you let out after came in close second.

"I said, keep your fucking hands to yourself. Got it?" She questioned, nose slightly twitching as she attempted to control her anger. After all, she didn't want to actually harm you if she lost control.

"I—" your mouth opened, yet no words came out. You were shocked. Shocked to the core at the unexpected gesture.

Yet for some reason, the wetness between your legs dripped even heavier. Pooling at the covers beneath you.

And Joan, being ever so attentive as she always was, noticed not a single tear shed from you. How the redness in your cheeks grew, and not just in the spot she slapped. How your chest rose and fell rapidly.... And how your thighs squeezed together beneath her plush ass.

"Oh, I see...." Joan tsked. "You liked that, didn't you? You like it when I slap you around. When you act like a filthy little brat and I punish you for it. Isn't that right?"

Your breath hitched after Joan grabbed your cheeks roughly. Yet again, no words came out while your mouth propped open.

"Already speechless, are you? Pathetic..." she stated with a faux pout. "But, let's start with your first punishment before we tackle fixing that."

Joan, being the more muscular one between the two of you, took pride in how easy it was for her to flip your body over. Your front was against the bed, while your backside faced her.

"Do you know what I'm punishing you for?" She asked. "And I demand an answer this time," she deeply demanded in your ear.

"Y-Yes," you shakily answered. "T-Touching you."

"Glad to hear you're still self aware."

You let out a cry at the first smack to your ass, as Joan was quick to start your punishment. Slap after slap, Joan had you easily whining and pleading for her.

Even with the tears falling down your face, Joan knew by the mess your pussy was making, that you were enjoying being her little plaything.

You eventually lost count, while Joan admired the crimson shade that spread across both of your ass cheeks. Her hands kneaded at the skin, and you hissed at the contact.

"For punishment number two, you're going to stay like this. Face down. Ass up," she said, moving and repositioning your body as she spoke, allowing your ass to stand tall in the air. "And unable to look at me."

"But, Joan—" you whined, but were quickly cut off to another monstrous slap to your right cheek, as Joan quickly cut your words off.

"No but's, little one. You brought this all on yourself because you couldn't behave...." she teased, giving your ass cheek a tender kiss, giving you whiplash at her demeaning yet tender words and actions.

"But if you come for me, I might be more than willing to give you another chance to look at me. And we both know you'd be creaming on the spot if I let you watch me fuck you."

Her hands grabbed at your hips, positioning your lower body to allow her better access to your cunt that aches to be touched by her.

"Just look at you.... This pussy of yours is drenched and I haven't even done anything yet. Just how I like it..."

Her long and slender pointer finger slid easily along your folds. You were more wet than Joan had ever seen you, and it was all thanks to her slapping you around. Something both of you took a mental note of.

"So fucking wet..." she nearly whispered, holding your hips in place as her finger drew lazy lines along your folds. "And it's all for me.."

Two fingers easily slipped inside, being immediately coated by your arousal. Your pussy squelched as she got deeper until she was completely knuckle deep.

"You're taking me so well, baby..."

Joan was taking her time. Her fingers didn't move. Her voice became more gravely. More husky. And it only turned you on more.

You let out a soft moan when Joan spread her fingers inside you. Her smooth fingers stretched your ridge-filled walls with ease.

"M-More—" you finally spoke out. Your throat was dry, and your words were shaky.

"More?" Joan cackled devilishly. "So she speaks! Sweetheart, I don't think you're ready for that. Don't be foolish."

Your hips pushed back, and Joan's knuckles left imprints on your ass.

"Please! I n-need you... I need more."

Joan hesitated. First, her deep, dark brown eyes scanned your face. She wouldn't do it if you looked scared, but when you didn't look it, she let out a small breath.

Then, she took note of your body language. And with the way you freely spread your legs wider, she took that as her way to accept what you were asking her.

"You're lucky I find you rather cute sometimes."

A third finger was quick to add to the equation, completely stretching you further than Joan ever had before. You gasped at the stretch, it hurt only briefly at first until she slowly dragged her fingers out of you, leaving you with small moans when she pushed them back in.

But the pace didn't last long. Joan didn't want to waste anymore time. She sped up her ministrations, leaving you to moan with pleasure as she finger fucked you.

It didn't take much for you to come along Joan's fingers, your arousal dripping down the palm of her hand. Her name flew past your lips sinfully.

"Ahh— Fuck!" you whined, face burying deep into the pillow after feeling teeth bite down on your already sensitive ass.

"Such a little whore... I didn't say you could finish," Joan seethed. Teeth marks imprinted, letting it be known for you later when you look in the mirror.

Her fingers stayed pumping, relentlessly, refusing to slow down no matter how loud your cries were. Again, you deserved to be punished. Something Joan quickly became accustomed to.

"Now you're going to give me another one."

Your pussy was sensitive. Too sensitive. Tears brimming at the corner of your eyes at Joan's quickening pace. You didn't know how her hand wasn't cramping.

"I c-can't!" you whined. Although, your body went against your words. "Too sensitive..."

"You can. And you will," Joan demanded.

Tears shed, soaking the pillow beneath you, making it just as wet as the fingers filling up your insides. The pain, which was brief, turned into pleasure, allowing you to enjoy the moment more.

Joan's lips attached themselves to your ass, teeth nipping and sucking along your sensitive, crimson skin leaving dark marks in their wake as she sucked hickey after hickey on your body.

"Fuck, Joan..." your hips pushed back against her slender fingers.

"C'mon, baby, give me one more," she mewled. "I know you're already close again." Her voice was low and husky, while the breath along your bottom was warm yet soothing.

Your pussy clenched at the pet name. It was one of your favorites. And Joan knew exactly that.

"Come for me, baby. Show me what my good girl is capable of," she soothed, giving a soft peck over her marks that were now visibly showing.

After a few more thrusts, Joan's name filled the air a plethora of times. You couldn't help but squeal as your orgasm washed over you, more prominently and rougher than before.

Legs shook violently, and your thighs begged to close, but Joan refused for them to. She wanted the pleasure to last. To stay as long as possible. To watch as you writhed and cried in front of her.

"Joan!—" your voice was ragged and breathless as you yelled out your lover's name. "Holy shit..." your face buried into the pillow, muffling your moans as Joan let you ride out your high.

"That's my good girl..." she cooed.

You felt empty after Joan removed herself. Her gentle hands ran along your shaking body, soothing you in her best way possible.

Even as dominating and demanding Joan could be, this was the side of her nobody but you ever sees. The loving, tender, and soothing side of Joan that crawled up to you, and moved your hair out of your face.

She wanted to check up on you. As she always did after sex, and it made your heart melt when she cupped your cheek and gazed at you lovingly with those big, brown eyes.

"How are you feeling, baby? Was it too much? What can I get for you? Water?" She asked, thumb swiping mindlessly across your cheek bone.

You instinctively cuddled close to your worried lover, legs intertwining with hers, and an arm draped across her stomach while your head rested in the crook of her neck.

"Good. No. Not yet. Need cuddles..." your words were muffled with your face buried deep into her neck.

Joan let out a small sigh of relief. The last thing she would want to do is push you too far or make you uncomfortable. It was her job to take care of you. Make you feel safe and loved.

"Okay, sweetheart..." Her fingers toyed with your hair, twirling the strands carefully between her fingers while the other hand caressed your spine. "Let me know when you're ready to move," she said, kissing the top of your head. "I have to clean you up at some point."

You giggled at her words, while your body pressed tightly against hers. The warmth and comfort of her larger body always soothed you when you were in it, as it was like being in a bear hug.

And Joan kept to her word. Waiting for you to let her know when you calmed down and relaxed enough to let her finish taking care of you before tucking not only you, but herself into bed as well to engulf you into more cuddles.

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[biographiness]

You have the power to create your own success story. Chase greatness, not just good enough, and see how far you can go! 🚗💨✨

Follow For More 👉 @biographiness

#Biographiness #Biograghines #LevelUp #DreamBig #MotivationMonday #SuccessMindset #GoForGreat #LuxuryCars #LifeGoals #HustleHarder #BeFearless #AmbitionOnFire #DriveToSucceed

[jkcassoc]

Don't settle for good when you can achieve greatness. Embrace change, take risks, and strive for excellence. Leave your comfort zone to reach higher goals! 🌟💪 #Greatness #Excellence #TakeRisks #StriveForMore #GoForGreat

[hossainconsulting]

"Don’t be afraid to give up the good to go for the great." – John D. Rockefeller #WisdomWednesday #GoForGreat 👍🚀

[weemssapphic]

@goforgreat 🥹🥹🥹🫶🏼

Post-Gym Workout

Miranda Hilmarson x f!reader

a few months ago, @jadewolf22 requested sub!Miranda x reader hitting the gym together and Miranda getting turned on by reader lifting weights. cue sex with manhandling, spanking, marking, praise, degradation. this is that and I haven't written smut in a while so please be kind 🤍 (also sorry for disappearing I am Overwhelmed and Exhausted but I'm still here and I love you guys)

words: ~2.8k | ao3 link in title

‘I’m outside’ you text Miranda just after pulling into a spot outside of her apartment building, unable to stop your lips from curling into a smile when she immediately reads the text and starts typing.

‘Be right out! x’ 

Dropping your phone into the cupholder of your car, you drum your fingers against the steering wheel and wait for your girlfriend to come outside. It’s unbearably hot, even for an Australian summer, and you crank up the AC and put your hair up to keep it from sticking to the back of your neck. You’re beginning to regret the decision to go to the gym today, but it’s rare that you and Miranda have a day off together and she’s been begging you to hit the gym with her - you’re going to have to suck it up.

A flash of blonde in your peripheral vision makes you turn your head to see Miranda taking long strides towards your car, her gym bag slung over her shoulder. A massive grin lights up her face the second she makes eye contact with you through the windshield and she jogs the remainder of the way to the car, tossing her bag onto the backseat before sliding in next to you and leaning across the center console.

“Hi, baby,” you murmur against the blonde’s lips as she immediately goes in for a kiss, which you quickly deepen. Miranda’s smile is lovestruck when she pulls back and puts on her seatbelt, and the two of you fall into easy conversation on the short drive to the gym.

You notice Miranda’s gaze lingering on your body a few times as the two of you get changed in the locker room - you decide to tease her by making a show of bending over to put on your leggings. When you turn around, you’re secretly gleeful to find that her cheeks have turned a lovely shade of pink. 

“Like what you see?” you tease as you close your locker and grab your water bottle and towel from the bench. Miranda rolls her eyes and smiles sheepishly, turning to grab her own things in a vain attempt to hide her growing blush. 

As you work out, you can tell that Miranda is trying to be subtle about checking you out, but you know her too well not to notice. You can’t say you don’t feel the same way - watching her work up a sweat is starting to make you really glad you agreed to accompany her today (even though your own arousal is starting to feel a little frustrating).

It’s when you’re at the squat rack, reracking the barbell you’ve just had across your upper back, that you look at Miranda through the mirror, sitting on a bench behind you, her eyes glued to your ass and her cheeks gorgeously flushed, and decide you’ve had enough.

“I’m taking you home,” you say abruptly, grabbing your towel and water bottle from the floor next to the rack and turning around to walk straight past your partner. Your tone seems to snap her out of whatever perverted daydream she was immersed in, and she shoots up and trails behind you, her brows knit together in confusion.

“What? Why? Are you okay?”

Her legs might be longer than yours but your determination drives you to the locker room in record time, with Miranda stumbling after you.

“I wasn’t finished,” she whines with a pout as she follows you into the locker room, but you’re too busy checking to make sure you’re alone to respond right away, abandoning your belongings on a bench. Once you’re satisfied that you’re alone, you turn on your heel, with Miranda closer than you’d expected her to be.

“I don’t think you’re going to have any trouble finishing later,” you husk, one arm wrapping around her waist as the other hand slides into her hair and pulls her in for a heated kiss. Miranda’s frozen for a moment - then the meaning of your words registers in her brain and she moans, kissing you back eagerly as her hands find your hips. Her lips part for you in a silent request to deepen the kiss - you slip your tongue into her mouth, your jaw nearly going slack as you taste her and feel your clit throb with need.

You pull back, breathing heavily, your eyes hooded as you look up at Miranda through your lashes - she looks a bit dazed as she looks down at you, her chest heaving and her milky skin splotched with red. You smirk as you step away, opening your locker to pull out your bag and toss your things haphazardly inside, before slinging it over your shoulder. “Well?”

Miranda follows briskly behind you, and it takes all your self-restraint to keep your hands off of her on your way to the car. The drive back to Miranda’s place seems to take forever - the air in the car feels hot and heavy despite the AC, and Miranda doesn’t make it any easier for you by squirming noticeably in her seat.

The second you arrive at home and she closes the apartment door behind her, you’re all over each other again. Your hands find her hips and grip them tight enough to bruise as you push her towards the bedroom, your lips leaving a trail of sloppy, passionate kisses along the underside of her jaw. You wait until the backs of her knees have hit the bed, then give her a little shove - she lands on her back, looking up at you with hooded eyes and a flushed, heaving chest.

You climb on top of her, straddle her, run your hands up the sides of her clothed torso. She shivers, reaches out to grasp your hips, squeezes them. Her pupils dilate as her eyes roam your body, admiring your silhouette beneath your tight athletic wear. Her fingers twitch - you can tell that she’s eager to get you out of your restrictive clothing but she knows you’re in charge, so she doesn’t dare make the first move.

“You’re so beautiful,” you hum quietly as your hands slide beneath Miranda’s t-shirt, pushing it upwards. She blushes crimson at the sincerity of the compliment and sits up just enough to allow you to pull the shirt over her head and toss it to the floor. Her breathing goes shallow as you toy with the wide straps of the sports bra she’s wearing - you snap one of them against her shoulder and she winces, more so out of surprise than pain. You smirk. 

“Are you going to be a good girl for me?” you whisper, bringing your lips to Miranda’s ear and letting your warm breath wash over the side of her neck. Goosebumps form a little trail on her sensitive skin and Miranda nods fervently, her breath catching audibly in her throat. You chuckle condescendingly.

“Good girls use their words, love,” you husk, nipping at Miranda’s earlobe and drawing a shuddering gasp from her chest, her body tensing beneath you. It takes her a moment, but finally Miranda finds her voice and breathes out a soft “yes” that makes your smirk widen.

“Yes, what?” You pull away far enough to look her in the eyes, only to see that hers are squeezed shut. “Look at me,” you command, waiting for Miranda to open her eyes, pleased with the wideness of her inky black pupils. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, I-I’ll be a good girl for you,” Miranda whispers in one breath, her eyes darting hungrily between your own.

“Good.” You run your fingers through her hair, gently scratching her scalp, then suddenly ball your hand into a fist and tug her head back by the hair, baring her neck to you so that you can nip and suck at her pulse point, creating a deep red mark that was sure to bruise. 

Releasing her hair, you start to kiss your way down Miranda’s chest, ridding her of her sports bra with ease so that you can lavish small, supple breasts with kisses. You trace the tip of your tongue around her right nipple, your eyes open so that you can watch each little goosebump erupt in real time. You switch to her left nipple and bestow upon it the same rapt attention, sucking it eagerly between your lips and moaning when Miranda’s hands begin to claw at the fabric of your leggings, when her back arches and pushes her chest against your face.

“God, you’re fucking eager today…” you mumble as your lips nuzzle the skin of her stomach. You inhale deeply through your nose, breathing her in; the mixture of sweat and soap and those base notes that cling to her skin as part of her natural scent. You can’t help but to litter her chest and stomach with bruises - then pull her leggings down and give her inner thighs the same treatment, just so there’s no question who she belongs to.

Pulling down her pants releases the scent of her musk and reveals to you the dark, wet patch at the center of her underwear, and you feel your stomach flip and your own underwear grow uncomfortably wet.

“Such a good girl, letting me mark you like this…” you whisper against her inner thigh, just before you bite down and cause Miranda to cry out, her hands flying to your hair to steady herself.

“P-please,” she gasps out as you soothe your tongue over the bite marks you’ve just left.

“Please what, baby? You want to be fucked?”

Miranda nods fervently, and you smirk against her skin - her thigh twitches against your mouth.

“I think I want to take my time today…” you hum casually, letting your breath ghost over her panties - placing a soft, barely-there kiss to her clothed clit before licking at the seam of her crotch. Miranda whimpers. Tugs at your hair. Rolls her hips against the air. You nuzzle your nose against the wet patch on her underwear, and she gasps, arching her back off the bed, then sinking back down. Tensing and untensing in anticipation.

Once you’ve finally decided that she’s had enough, you hook your fingers beneath the waistband of her underwear and pull it down her legs. You kiss your way back up her legs, starting at her ankles, switching sides, tracing your tongue up her toned calves, licking the back of her knee - she’s ticklish, she squirms - nipping her inner thighs, before finally reaching her cunt and, with gentle kitten licks, lapping up the arousal that’s already dripping out of her and running into the crack of her ass. 

“Mmh… fuck, you taste so damn good…” Your tongue gets more eager, parting her folds and circling her clit, and your pleased moans vibrate against the throbbing bud and send shockwaves through Miranda’s body, to which she responds with moans of her own, loud and unabashed.

You can tell she’s getting close by the way her thighs are trembling against your ears, their hold on your head tightening, her knuckles white against the sheets that she’s holding onto for dear life. You stop just shy of sending her over the edge, your lips leaving her clit in favor of ravishing her blonde curl-covered mound with kisses, and your ears are met with a deep whine as Miranda’s hips buck against you, to no avail.

“What do you need, baby? Hmm?” you husk as you slowly kiss your way back up Miranda’s stomach, between her breasts, well aware that her orgasm is starting to retreat again. You grab one of her breasts, the soft flesh filling up the palm of your hand, and bring your lips to her opposite nipple to kiss it chastely. “Your tits feel amazing…”

Miranda moans again, though it has a whiny, disgruntled edge. “Fuck… please…”

She’s starting to get impatient, her hands leaving the sheets and finding your shirt, clawing at it, trying to push it over your head, and you immediately sit up and scoot back, moving just out of reach and looking down at her with a raised eyebrow.

“Turn around.”

Miranda doesn’t respond right away, staring up at you with wide eyes, her chest heaving and splotched with red, her hair stuck to her forehead as a bead of sweat races down her temple. You stand and grab her hips, giving her a push and flipping her onto her stomach. 

“Ass in the air.”

Miranda complies immediately, shuffling a bit on the bed so that she can bend her knees and bare her ass to you, a fresh wave of arousal glistening between her folds that are perfectly parted for you. Her ass is pale, soft, covered in goosebumps - you caress it tenderly, feeling the flesh beneath your palm, your fingertips. You raise your hand - pause for a moment - smack the right cheek. It jiggles a bit and, when you pull your hand away, there’s a faint red mark.

The harder you hit, the wetter Miranda gets, the louder, more pornographic her moans get, until you’re almost certain her neighbors have been able to commit the obscene sounds to memory.

“If only everyone at the station could see what a slut you are,” you say mockingly, soothing your hand over the pink flesh before drawing it back for another smack. Your words make Miranda’s eyes roll back in her head, her jaw going slack. 

The next spank makes her elbows buckle and she slips forward - you tug your own shirt and sports bra off, then lean over her so that your tits are pressed flush against her back. She shudders and your lips meet the back of her neck, kissing the sweat-slicked skin as your arm snakes around her torso, your fingers slipping through her drenched folds. You slide two fingers into her with ease, the heel of your hand pressing against her clit, and she rolls her hips eagerly, a cry of relief spilling from her lips at finally finding the friction she so desperately needs.

“I love seeing you like this,” you whisper against the back of Miranda’s neck, your own breathing heavy and stuttering. “You’re so goddamn beautiful. So fucking perfect.”

Miranda trembles against you, her hips bucking erratically as she chases her orgasm. As you pump your fingers in and out of her in a steady rhythm, you slowly ease in a third finger - her walls stretch around you, her breath stutters audibly, she whimpers a little.

“Shh…” You nuzzle your nose against the nape of her neck. “Tell me if it’s too much… but I think you can take it…”

Miranda’s thrusts resume their previous rhythm and it becomes clear she doesn’t mind the third finger - in fact, it sends her over the edge moments later, her whole body shuddering and tensing against you, her hips bucking, quivering, a long, deep moan vibrating through the air and drowning out your praises of “good girl” and “that’s it” until her body goes limp against you. 

Her knees give out and you hold her up, lowering her carefully and steadily onto her stomach, then rolling off of her. You scoot up the bed so that you’re resting against the pillows and urge Miranda to join you, winding your arms around her, pulling her cheek against your chest, kissing the crown of her head.

“You did so well for me,” you coo against the top of her head, carding your fingers through her hair. “Thank you for trusting me…” 

You hold her in your arms and brush a strand of hair off her sweaty forehead, kissing it. She curls into you, feeling so small in your arms and looking so content. She smiles and buries her face in your chest with a tired but happy hum. She thanks you and presses her lips to your chest and you chuckle and tighten your grip on her, your heart swelling with affection as you whisper, “I love you, Mir. Let me draw you a bath.” 

Your words are met with a discontented hum and she curls further into you as you chuckle at her reaction. “Can we stay here a few more minutes?” she mumbles - you nod softly and wiggle your hips a bit to get more comfortable on the bed.

“Whatever you want, love.”

Miranda smiles and traces her hand over your hips, giving the waistband of your leggings a meek tug, then clawing weakly at the fabric bunched over your hips. You raise an eyebrow and look down to see a tired half-smirk playing upon Miranda’s lips, and you chuckle and shake your head in amusement. “Whatever you want…”

x

taglist: @alexusonfire @pro-weems-places @bigolgay @kimiinou @imprincipalweemspet @h-doodles @bychrissi @katie-bennet @giogwensversion @gela123 @friskyfisher @justcallmelittleone @michi2504 @scream-queenlover @a-queen-and-her-throne @sequoirius @anne-lister @winterfireblond @imgayforwoman69  @Ssappling2004 @fictionalized-lesbian @i-like-reading @aemilia19 @milfsloverblog @missdowling @billiedeansbitch @The_Demon_of_your_Dream @agathaandbrienneslesbian @http-sam @Cute-catx @saltrage @renravens @opheliauniverse @zillahofviolets-bayolet @scarlettssub @catechristiestuff @niceminipotato @barbarasstar @women-are-so-ethereal @thevillagegay @willowshadenox @lilfartbox1 @larissaoftarthweems @dovesintherain @fallenbutch @lunala-rose23 @ahauandthesun @thenazwife @wh0s-vesper @lvinhs @sweetderacine @daydream-cement @ilovetlcc @wastdstime @ladylarissaweems @spacetoaim22 @m1lflov3rrr @sapphicbee223

[elmerdomingo]

I've tried the Colgate Charcoal Deep Clean toothpaste for several days now and it's almost identical with a regular white Colgate except for the gray "strands" on it. The cool after brush effect is not as intense as the Professional Clean variant but you still have the clean feel. The texture is consistent and not too soft. #GoForGreatness #MadeForGreatness #TryAndReview https://www.instagram.com/p/CZ3uhZ-pNbI/?utm_medium=tumblr

[thedentistisout]

12 Hours in a day may not be enough if you want to accomplish a lot of things and #GoForGreatness, but with time management, total focus and determination you'll get through it and achieve great things without interruption. I begin my day early, and start it brushing my teeth with Colgate Total's 12 Hour Superior + Antibacterial Protection toothpaste, that would keep my smile protected as i take care for the smile of my patients! @colgateph Total's 12 Hour^ Superior + Antibacterial Protection toothpaste is #MadeForGreatness as it is powered with Dual-Zinc & Arginine formula, specially formulated with microcleaning particles to reduce bacteria teeth, tongue, gums and cheeks for 12 hours vs. the previous formula. Colgate Total's 12 Hour Superior + Antibacterial Protection Toothpaste is available at Lazada. ^vs. non-antibacterial fluoride toothpaste with 4-weeks continuous use. #TheDentistIsOut #JustKeepSmiling (at Dr. Xavier G. Solis Dental Care Clinic) https://www.instagram.com/p/CW7Sv_OFhMS/?utm_medium=tumblr

[usailxy]

One Will Drive Success #USAILxy One Will Drive The Successful Crazy #excellence #success #champions #leader #noexcuses #nolimit #goforit #goforgreat #instagood #inspiration #motivation #life #mindful #mindset #dedication #purpose #opportunity #hardwork #work #performance #greatness https://www.instagram.com/p/BzLZ0rXJpyA/?igshid=6o2hynt779wq

[thegr80ne]

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Marc “Greatness” Hunter 💚💰🌱 (@thegr80ne)

Challenge yourself to read 12 or more books this year. Here is how: 1. Get a membership at your local library, it’s free! 2. Turn off the TV for 30 minutes a day. That’s all you need to read one book a month. 3. Learn to speed read. A simple google search will get you the info you need to learn. 4. Listen to audiobooks. It’s a great way to get in some reading during idle time on the way to work or on long road trips. • Become a lifelong learner and challenge yourself to read more, learn more, and earn more. • • • #iAmGreatness #mindsetofgreatness #inspirational #successquotes #hustle #goforgreat #motivation #successful #workout #happy #quotesdaily #healthy #motivationalquotes #destinedforgreatness #hardwork #entrepreneurship #lifequotes #inspirationalquote #positivevibes #wisdom #GreatnessAwaits #quotestoliveby #inspirationalwords #grit #love #faith #motivate #happiness #hope #StrivingForGreatness (at Baltimore County, Maryland) https://www.instagram.com/p/BtFamd4lakV/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=l4lovjp7ofpc

[inlovewithgreta]

Hiii!!!I love your works, I binge read the milf one shots all the time especially Joan's.

I was hoping you could do a story where Joan finds out that the reader has nipple piercings mixed in with a protective thing. Like joan overhears some coworkers or strangers at a bar talking abt reader and are talking abt whether reader has piercings or not and how they would react/do to reader to find out. Obvi joan doesn't like it and just wants to shield the reader from the world (but hasn't told her of her feelings yet) and whisks her away.

Piercings - Joan Ferguson x Fem!Reader

Summary: A night out at the local bar reveals more than just mutual feelings.

Warnings: praise, legal age gap, body worship, reader has nipple piercings, men being gross, protective Joan, mentions of drugs, mentions of alcohol, alcohol consumption, oral sex, vibrator usage, squirting, etc…

Word Count: 4.2k

Taglist: @celasteria @bellatrixsbrat @janewaykove @secretsofthewilde @goforgreat

© Do not copy, repost, or modify any of my works.

To say you admired Joan would be an understatement. She was the best boss you could ever ask for. Taking you under her wing, teaching you to be the best version of yourself, protecting you from harm's way, and even listening to your ramblings about the importance of bonding in the workplace.

Which is exactly what led to today's events.

Where all of your coworkers, including yourself and Joan, were all gathered at a local bar to celebrate Joan's most recent drug bust and all of the hard work the rest of you put into helping clean the prison.

And it just so happened to be your Birthday as well. Yet the only person who knew that, was Joan herself as she was your employer. The person who knew everything about you.

You only knew that she knew because you had not told your coworkers. None of them wished you a Happy Birthday. But she did, when the only way you were able to fully convince her to come, was by admitting to her that today was your special day.

To say Joan was protective over you was an understatement. You were smaller, shorter, more fragile than she was. The first time you were injured on the job, she nearly put her hands on the prisoner who did it. And drunk men at a bar, was always a disaster waiting to happen.

She didn't know what overcame her. Never had she once thought she would be so protective over another person. Not once had it crossed her mind that she would feel anything for anyone.

Yet here she was, sitting shoulder to shoulder with you in the corner most area at a local bar. A place she despised going. Bars were filthy. Full of germs... full of drunk men. But one simple ask from you was all it took for her to cave in.

These past few months of you being her Deputy were the most stress-free months she's ever had being the Governor. And it was all thanks to your lighthearted attitude, your determination, and your eagerness to please her.

"I'm going to get another drink.." You said, leaning in towards your boss, who was playing with the thin straw to her own nearly empty drink. "Would you like another? It's on me.." You asked, with a small smile.

"No thank you.." She grumbled.

"C'mon," you playfully whined. "Loosen up a little bit, Governor. Just for tonight.. For me? Please??" You gave the woman your best pleading look, which instantly shattered her highly built walls and won her over.

"Fine. But just one more." She raised her pointer finger.

"Yes! See, I knew you had it in you to have some fun," you teased, earning an eye roll from Joan.

You turned to leave, but Will and Linda were to your left, deep in conversation and blocking your exit. While on your right, sat Joan, and a pile of everyone's jackets.

The Governor sensed your hesitation as she watched your eyes glance from your left, then right to her lap, to the pile of jackets, and to the bar as you thought of your way out.

Knowing she would have to touch whoever's clothing was to her right, led her to say the words that came out of her mouth next.

"Just climb over my lap," she stated.

Your eyes widened at her words, and you were hoping she didn't notice the rising heat in your cheeks and flush of crimson that quickly spread across your features.

"C'mon, before I change my mind," she insisted.

You swallowed and nodded your head, carefully moving yourself over her. With her being so tall, and the table being so short, you had to sit in her lap very briefly to fit between her and the table, and you swore that even over the loud, blaring music, that you heard Joan suck in a breath.

You instantly felt warmth flood your body at the gentle touch of her hands finding your hips for a mere second to help you finish crossing over her and find your footing.

You didn't dare look back, wanting to avoid your boss seeing your flushed face. And you internally screamed at yourself for the instant gay panic you felt when her hands just barely touched you as you only briefly sat in her lap. A place you never thought you'd find yourself in.

Joan's gaze never left you as she watched you make your way to the bar. Now that you were alone, she felt the need to keep you in her eyesight.

Yet words from her left drew her attention back to your coworkers that were already nearly drunk, babbling, and saying your name. The others were too invested in their conversation to notice Joan still seated there.

All of their eyes were on you, but not in the same way Joan's was.

"Aye, do you reckon those are piercings?" One of the men asked.

"What do you mean?" Linda asked.

"She's not wearing a bra, Smiles. Just look at her chest. You can see something poking out. Looks like piercings."

As you were leaning against the bar, waiting for the two drinks you ordered, your eyes scanned the crowd before landing on Joan. You swore your heart stopped when dark brown eyes were already looking at you.

You gave her a small smile. A smile only you gave to her.

None of the others would even dare to crack one around her. Yet you of all people, did it quite often.

Joan however, didn't reciprocate it. As the words flooding in her ears had her hands turning into fists in her lap.

"I can't really tell," Linda said.

"Well she's showered and changed around you, hasn't she? You have to know if she does or not," another one of the men chimed in.

"I'm not staring at her chest!" She shook her head, but continued the conversation, "Why don't you find out for yourself, big guy," she nudged him.

"You reckon she'd go for me?" He straightened his back, now intrigued even more. "I'd do anything to find out," he said, downing the rest of his drink.

Joan seethed, nose twitching from anger as she hastily made her way out of the booth. She was quick to her feet, keeping eye contact with you as you followed her movements.

The same man unbuttoned his collared shirt ever so slightly to let his chest hair be seen by the public eye as he straightened himself up and made his own way out of the booth.

"Sorry for the wait, the bartender is swimming in orders so it might take a minute," you stated, as soon as Joan came in earshot.

"How about we lose the drinks and get out of here, hmm?" She asked, cutting straight to the point. "I can make far better ones back home for a whole lot less," she offered.

"Oh, okay! B-but what about—" you went to point towards the table where your coworkers sat, but Joan was quick to loop her arm around yours and pull you away with a rushed "forget them".

Joan herself was partially surprised with how quick you were to leave with her without any sort of hesitancy. It made a pool of warmth spread throughout her stomach. It was a strange feeling, yet she welcomed it.

Her salt and peppered hair fanned your neck at her closeness when she grabbed both her coat and yours, and helped you wrap it around your body to keep you warm.

Luckily, you got a ride from a cab, and didn't have a car to worry about. Once the two of you walked outside, you were hit with a thousand pellets of rain. It was cold. Freezing cold. And instantly drenched the two of you.

"Christ..." Joan muttered, before grabbing hold of your hand, pulling you from your daze, and walking unbearably fast towards her car.

Joan felt bad for you. Wearing such a small dress with so much skin showing, and now soaking wet. Your hand was cold, so the second she unlocked the car door, she held the passenger door open for you, and nearly shoved you in.

The last thing she needed was you getting sick. That means no work. And when you aren't at work, she doesn't get to see you.

And Joan needed to see you.

The ride back to Joan's place was quiet, yet comfortable. Quiet music played through the speakers, and the air from the vents gave you a nice warmth.

You felt eyes on you every so often. Joan couldn't help but check up on you. No, you weren't drunk, but you definitely had a good buzz. Which easily explained your giddy smile and fascination with the passing lights outside your window.

Joan couldn't help but shake her head with a small smile toying at her lips. You truly were the complete opposite of her.

She led you into her house with great care, but the second she took off your coat, the coldness returned. You were soaking wet, and your arms instinctively wrapped around yourself.

"Come with me," Joan ordered.

And as usual, you did.

You were then met with her bedroom. A very clean bedroom. And it didn't surprise you one bit as you looked around, standing awkwardly in the doorway.

Joan rummaged through some drawers before handing you an oversized sweater and a pair of sweatpants. "It's not much, but they will have to do. Keep you warm. Come downstairs after you've changed", she smiled softly, hands brushing against yours as she handed you her clothes and left you alone.

They were a bit baggy, but Joan was right... They did keep you warm. And when you breathed in, all you could smell was her.

And it was intoxicating.

Making your way back downstairs, Joan was in the kitchen, but your mind was focused on something else.

Her fencing swords. The tall glass cabinet held an enormous amount of swords. Each one is slightly different from the other. It was truly mesmerizing.

It was clear Joan took great pride in her hobbies, and all you could think about was her training with them. The sword, the gloves, the stance. How tight her gear would be on her body.

God, her body. Her curvaceous body. The way the fabric would stretch around her luscious ass when she would go to bend over—

"Each one of these I've used in a competition and won," Joan quietly stated, jumping you out of your dirty minded thoughts.

"Oh!-" You thought it was just the smell of her shirt that invaded your nostrils, but it was her. The close proximity gave you chills. She was close. Dangerously close. So close where you could smell her, feel her breast against your back, while her free hand rested gently against your shoulder.

The same hand that pretended to pick lint from your shoulder, when there wasn't really any. She just needed a reason to touch you.

"T-That's amazing," you gazed at her. "You must be very talented."

"More than you know, darling." She toyed. "Here, drink this. Will help with the intoxication and make you feel good."

"Thank you," you smiled at her, accepting the tall glass of water before taking a long sip.

You closed your eyes at the refreshing taste and let out a small hum of approval, but the words that came out of Joan's mouth next, had your eyes snapping right back open.

"Good girl," she quietly praised, letting her pointer finger draw imaginary circles along your shoulder. She was eyeing you. Watching your every reaction. Ensuring you listened.

"But, I'm not intoxicated... I'm all here," you whispered. "And I don't need water to make me feel good," you said, taking another small sip to hide the immediate blush spreading across your nose and cheeks.

Of course you had an alternative meaning to your words. How could you not be with her? And with the slight buzz that you still had, the alcoholic courage was still coursing through your veins.

But what you hadn't expected, was for Joan to lick her lower lip, and take the glass from your hands. Your eyes watched with much intrigue as she nearly chugged the rest of the water.

It was so out of character for Joan. And yet, this one small action turned you on immensely. It was all new and exciting, watching her do things she normally would never do. But you knew she only was doing it because of you.

"So, what makes you feel good then?" She asked, quirking a brow in response.

"Oh— y'know, uh— the usual stuff," you choked out. At this point, your face was more crimson than Joan had ever seen it, and she bit her lower lip to hold back a smirk.

To get her focus off your face, you quickly took the empty glass from her hand, and scurried towards the kitchen.

Joan was having fun with you now. It was all too easy. You were putty in her hands. Completely at her mercy. And she knew, in this moment, it was time to make her move.

You were right where she wanted you.

As you set the glass carefully in the sink, Joan was right behind you. Right behind you. Arms rested along the counter on either side of you.

"Let me help you," she whispered in your ear.

"W-what?" you completely froze.

"Don't play stupid. As cute as it is, you and I both know what I'm talking about. Now do you want me to or not? I will not be repeating myself."

"Please," you whimpered. You were unable to get anything else out of you.

"Please what?" She asked.

"Please fuck me, Joan..."

Joan let out a long, hot, yet partially shaky breath at your words. She knew it was coming, and yet it still made her shiver in excitement.

You were scared when Joan didn't move. It was unbearable. The long silence was insufferable, and for a moment you thought you had ruined everything.

That was, until a warm set of lips were plastered across the side of your neck. You couldn't help but suck in a breath. You've thought about this moment over and over again, but it actually happening was so much better.

"Go upstairs to my bedroom and wait for me," she mumbled into your soft skin before pulling away.

For a moment, you froze, not believing what was actually about to happen. But, a forceful smack to your ass pulled you out of your daze.

"Go on, I'll only be a minute," Joan reassured.

With shaky legs, you scurried your way back up the stairs and into Joan's bedroom. Your eyes fell on the bed, and fingers instinctively reached down to trace the soft material.

Time felt as if it was moving slow, making it seem like Joan was taking her sweet time. And maybe she was, as another ploy to toy with you and your impatience.

The door creaked open as you sat yourself down, your eyes instantly landing on Joan as she sauntered in. She had a newly filled glass of water in her hand, and her hair was now out of its ponytail, falling freely down her shoulders.

Fuck, what a sight that was.

She intended to give you the water later, needing you to stay hydrated on her. She planned on taking care of you. In more than one way.

After setting the glass on the bedside table, Joan made her way to you, standing intimidatingly tall in front of you. The way your eyes looked up at her. So full of excitement, innocence, and an eagerness to please.

Fingers grasped at your chin, forcing your gaze to stay hooked on her. "Do you want this?" She asked, in a low, raspy voice.

Your mouth fell agape, yet nothing came out.

"I'm not moving until you answer me, love. It's a simple question. Now use that pretty little head of yours and answer me."

"Y-Yes, God, yes. Please. I want it so bad. I want you so bad." Your hand instinctively pulled Joan in closer by the one that was already touching you.

Before you even had a chance to think, Joan was pinning you down against the bed and had her lips all over yours. A whimper escaped your throat when eager hands hooked under your shirt and traced their way up your stomach.

Joan let out a muffled groan when her fingers touched metal. Piercings. More specifically, nipples piercings.

And fuck, did she need to see them.

"Take my clothes off," you stated, reading her mind. "A-And yours. I want to see you, Joan. All of you. Please!"

Hands skillfully ran over bodies, clothes fell to the floor, and skin met skin as you both quickly and skillfully became naked in front of one another.

Joan took a second to break from the kiss, which easily elicited a whine from you from the detachment. "I'm not going far," she chuckled lowly. "I just want to admire you for a minute," she said, as her dark, lustful eyes scanned your naked body beneath her.

You would normally feel insecure in moments like this, but with Joan, it felt different. The way she gazed down at you, with hands roaming your smooth skin until they grasped at your tits.

Your back arched as her thumbs played with your nipples, and her eyes wandered over the jewelry decorating your tits.

"God, you're beautiful."

Joan took her time to trace every inch of your body, wanting to memorize every nook and cranny. Every dip. You were a work of art right in her bare hands.

"So fucking beautiful," she cooed. You shivered as salt and pepper hair tickled your skin as her lips attached themself to your neck. "And now you're all mine."

"Mine to admire." Kiss. "Mine to please." Another kiss. "Mine to cherish." Another kiss, followed by a deep suck to the skin along your collarbone. "Mine to keep," she finished off her sentence while admiring the newly formed mark she made.

"All yours, Joan..." you wiggled beneath her as her head dipped lower.

Her cold tongue swirled along your nipple before pulling the hardened bud between her lips and sucking. Your back arched, pushing your tits further into her mouth.

The other tit was given just as much attention as the first, Joan ensuring each one got the same amount of treatment.

"Such perfect tits. God really took his time with you," she cooed. Joan kissed, nipped, and licked her way further down your body.

She settled herself between your legs, immediately feeling the warmth between them as she sucked another mark into your inner thigh.

Your eyes were watching her like a hawk, enjoying the way her salt and peppered hair fell down her back. How her ass rose in the air as she kissed towards your cunt.

"And a pretty little pussy too," she groaned.

Your fingers pushed away the salt and pepper strands covering Joan's beautiful face. You wanted to watch her intently as her tongue dove into your cunt.

"Fuck..." You let out a shaky breath. Joan first planned on taking her time with you, but the second she tasted you, a ferocious energy took over her.

Her tongue swirled your clit before she sucked with all her strength. Quiet whimpers were quick to fly from your mouth. She was skillful with her ministrations. Knowing when to suck, to flick her tongue, to let out a low groan to add in a vibrational pleasure.

"You taste so good," she stated. "I'm never going to get enough of you."

Joan hiked your leg over her shoulder to push herself deeper into your pussy. Her tongue poked and prodded, swiping your juices all around your cunt as she lapped ferociously at you.

"That feels so good..." you moaned out, fingers clutching at not only her hair, but the sheets beneath you.

Joan can feel her own slick dripping down her thighs as she eats you out. Her own neediness to orgasm growing with each passing second. But, she needed you to come first.

Your thumb and forefinger twist your nipple while your hips jerk involuntarily in Joan's face. Your orgasm is fast approaching as you watch her between your legs.

"Come for me, beautiful," she coaxed. "Let me taste more of you."

The lewd noises between your legs, and Joan's praising words were more than enough to send you spiraling. Your whole body feels weak, but you push through.

"Good fucking girl," she praised. Joan lapped up your juices, savoring each and every drop as your legs shook around her.

After licking you nearly clean, Joan slithered up your body. Full, wet lips smashed roughly against yours, wanting you to taste yourself as her tongue worked its way into your mouth.

The kiss was heated. Wet. And sloppy.

And your hands desperately grasped at Joan's curvaceous hips. They slipped over the full curves to reach around and grab roughly at her thick ass that was far too big for your hands.

Your hands stayed put, even after Joan broke the kiss to allow both of you a moment to get air back in your system.

"You're so fucking beautiful, you know that?" She asked, fully aware that you were too dazed to respond by the glassy, fucked out look in your eyes.

"Fucking perfect," she whispered against your lips as she kissed you once more. This time it was sweeter, and softer than before.

"But don't think I'm done with you just yet, sweet girl. I know you can give me one more."

You whimpered at her words, and watched as she leaned over towards her nightstand, opened the drawer, and pulled out a wand.

Joan watches your facial and body movements intently, awaiting some sort of 'okay' before she continues her actions.

"P-Please," you cried out.

She bit her bottom lip, repositioning herself above you in a purposeful position.

The hum of the vibrator came to life after hearing your words, your eyes eagerly watching as Joan lowered the toy closer towards you.

"Joan—" you let out a shaky breath as she pressed the toy against your hardened nipple. With the piercings, your tits were more sensitive, and Joan quickly came to find that information out when a moan came out of your mouth.

Fuck, this was hot.

She swirled the toy around your nipple, before doing the same to the other. After all, she had to be fair. Joan couldn't keep her eyes off your tits, watching as they beautifully shook with each breath you took, and the way your piercings perfectly adorned them.

Joan's hand fell further, dragging the wand down your sternum towards the spot she couldn't wait to put it against.

Your hips jerked before the toy even came into contact with you. Your nerves and excitement were coursing through your veins.

Joan leaned in slightly, letting her lips hover over your own as she opened her mouth to speak.

"Come with me."

Fuck.

You cried out when Joan pressed the wand firmly against your puffy clit, the sensitivity immediately making you shake. She pushed her own hips forward, and let out her own deep, sinful moan as she joined you with her clit feeling the same vibrations.

You swallowed hard, and Joan sucked in a deep breath before letting out another moan. Her moans were laced with steel, and each one was embedded into your brain in an instant.

"Fuck— I can't—" you whined.

Your hands grasped at the one holding the vibrator to move it, but in one quick movement, Joan used a large hand to pin your wrists above your head.

"Wait for me," she said sternly.

Your body shook as electricity shot through your veins. Tears formed at the corners of your eyes, begging to drop, only to be wiped away by tender kisses from Joan's lips.

"Such a good girl for me," Joan smiled against your lips before giving you a tender peck. "So fucking good." Her hips rutted against the toy, adding more pressure to you, causing a loud, broken moan to escape.

Joan's dark, hungry eyes were devouring you as she watched you slowly break in front of her. Tears freely fell from your eyes. The need to come taking over your entire body.

"Joan, please—" your head shook as your nails dug into her porcelain skin.

"Now. Come— fuck!"

Joan bit your lower lip hard, nearly bruising the tender area. Even though she was right there, Joan waited for you to orgasm first.

You sobbed out her name, the coil finally snapping in your body, and allowing pleasure to rip through you completely. Joan watched you with satisfaction, before allowing herself to succumb to the pleasure.

"That's my girl..."

It was slick, wet, and came gushing out of her before she even had a coherent thought. She coated your pussy, thighs, and drenched the sheets beneath you as she came. Hard.

She tensed above you, toes curled, and moans mixed with yours in a sinful, harmonic symphony.

"Fucking christ..."

Joan leaned her forehead against yours, waiting until you let out an involuntary whine at the overstimulation before she turned the wand off and tossed it carelessly to the side.

You couldn't think, or even move for that matter. Just watched, as Joan breathed heavily above you, gently using her one clean hand to cup your face.

You were twitching beneath her, the aftershocks of your orgasm still prominent. You were a mess beneath her, and boy was that a sight for her to see.

She smirked at the sight. She was proud of herself.

When her own legs stopped shaking, Joan reached towards the nightstand again, but this time grabbed the glass of water. She brought the iced glass to your lips, allowing you to drink the refreshment.

She urged you to hold the glass yourself so she could move. You went to whine in protest, but the stern look on her face shut you right up. She was only gone momentarily to return with a warm, wet washcloth to clean you up.

You watched as she was careful and gentle, knowing you were now very sensitive.

No words were spoken, yet so much was said as she wiped you clean and took complete care of you first without a second thought.

You were falling.

Falling for Joan Ferguson.

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[honeybethwiggs]

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@quintinwlsfrd @magazinecenterstage Image by @byoliphant Let's #DriveForSe7en and #GoForGreat! Catch my #Fitfluential issue on Center Stage Magazine this fall-winter. Click the link and read more: http://bit.ly/2PoSgc4 (at Viewpoint Media International) https://www.instagram.com/p/B4LtAYgpeMp/?igshid=1cp9td1ritks9