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keeksandgigz · 11 months

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in the wind and in the water

eddie munson x reader

a/n: This came from my headcanon that Eddie is a Sagittarius close to Christmas and hates his birthday so uhh enjoy (can be read as being in the same universe of one breath in, three breaths out) for context, you and Eddie have moved out of Hawkins and are now going back for the holidays.

cw: 3.2k words, sad language, mention of parental death, mention of alcoholism, mention of PTSD, some fluffy bits, mention of younger Eddie being sad (that deserved a tw), just overall angst with a happy ending, no y/n, no physical description of reader

baby taglist: @kellyxo1, @cryingglightningg, @tlclick73 (do let me know if you wanna be tagged in any future works!)

inspired by chemtrails over the country club by lana del rey

please like, comment and reblog! feedback is always appreciated and my ask box is always open <3

December 21st, 1990

The snow is unforgiving. Much like the passage of time. He turns 24 today.

He's alone in his bed. The heating in the trailer hasn't been working properly for years, he shudders in the layers he wore to sleep, in the mountains of blankets Wayne had given him once he'd decided to retire for the night. His uncle had even offered to give him his heater, Eddie declined.

You'd arrived in Hawkins early in the afternoon, Eddie's van once again withstanding the drive to your parents' house, where he'd dropped you off.

He'd been offered to stay, but the thought of Wayne being alone even if he was in the same town made his heart shrivel like the gray leaves in your pretty front yard decorated for Christmas.

You'd asked if he needed you to stay with him, in case of any night terrors, but he'd refused. He didn't want to put you through the arctic temperatures of his room in the winter. Once he'd dropped you off with your family he drove off towards Forest Hills.

That place felt haunting during Christmastime. Not that it was any less creepy all- year round, but there was an eerie feeling in the dirty, grey snow, the holiday spirit that attempted to come alive over their side of town felt more like the last dying breath of Father Christmas.

The flickering colorful lights, empty, barren Christmas trees. He saw a bunch of kids playing in the dirty snow.

He prayed there weren't any glass shards from the bottle of some drunken father, coming home to screams and cries. He still remembers the feeling.

He'd eaten crappy TV dinners, missing your warm stews and soups you'd make around this time. Wayne had insisted he took the armchair. He sank into it with guilt overtaking him.

The only part of Hawkins he'd never wanted to leave behind.

He gets out of bed, carrying a makeshift cape made out of a blanket. He smiles to himself, his mom would've called him Superman, and he would've started running around the house with his fist straight in the air.

But today there's just him. Him and a fancy cupcake with a candle stabbed in it Wayne must have spent at least $30 on. A sticky note reads 'In the next town over for a job, will be home by 6. Happy Birthday, kid'

He exhales, he's tempted to drive over to you, but it's still too early and you, ever the late bird, are still asleep.

He pictures you in your small twin bed in some silly pajamas you found in your drawers, happily snoring in the warmth of your home. He misses you in the kitchen making coffee, dancing around to some jazz record you found in his pile.

He runs in his room, grabbing a lighter from his old weed stash, which now contains a dirty bong and a broken glass pipe and a yellow lighter with barely any fluid in it. He grabs it and goes back into the kitchen, lighting the candle on the small chocolate cupcake.

Make a wish! his mom would have said. Make a wish, Eddie!

His mind scrambles to find something. A do- over. To do his life again. Choose a better dad. Let his mom live. Be able to see his mom's smile again.

The wax falls over the white frosting while he ruminates. What good is a wish if it never comes true?

He blows the candle. "Happy Birthday to me" he's sarcastic about it. There's nothing happy with the way the Christmas tree in the corner seems to be staring back at him, as barren and as empty as his mind.

The white smoke from the candle envelops the kitchen as he sets it back down on a plate. He'll share it with you later.

Then he goes back into his room and lays on the floor, enveloped by three quilted blankets, and just stares at the ceiling.

Nobody ever remembered Eddie’s birthday. Except his mom.

When he turned six she took him to get pancakes. She made sure they were extra special for him, a smiley face made out of chocolate chips adorned his breakfast as he drowned it in maple syrup. December 1972, there’s a polaroid of the two of them from that day he’d kept in an old run- down copy of The Hobbit. The one she’d gotten him that same day.

When his mom died and he went to live with his dad, December 21st, 1973 was the year his birthday began to cease existing. “What do you need a birthday for, Junior? Christmas is right around the corner” his dad bellowed over a cup of spiked hot chocolate that was more whiskey than milk.

Christmas 1973, Eddie's dad taught him to pick locks as a gift.

Sometimes, his dad wasn’t even around for his birthday. He spent his day cooped up in his home, scrounging for whatever he could eat. He’d learned to hate Christmas. And his birthday.

One December, after being left at home for a week, on Christmas day, Wayne came to visit. He came to wish Al and Eddie Merry Christmas, bringing some socks for the kid.

When he opened the door, Wayne found Eddie on the couch eating stale cereal dust.

“Where’s your dad, kid?” Wayne had asked. Eddie just shrugged.

“He’ll be back.” Christmas 1975.

Wayne looked around the house. Eddie had learned to use a stove, but not to wash the dishes. A pile of them sat precariously in the sink, the odor emanating from there made the man assume Eddie had grown nose blind to it.

He’d also not been taught to shower regularly, as he found a ball of matted hair in the back of Eddie’s skull. Grown nose blind to his own smell, too. He sighed.

“My mommy would brush my hair for me” the kid protested.

After many wails and I hate yous, Eddie was brought back to Wayne’s trailer, where they spent the rest of Christmas day trying to get rid of the matted hair.

After a couple hours, Wayne had grown tired, seeing little to no progress. As a man of not really much patience and resources, he’d grabbed his razor and some kitchen scissors and shaved Eddie’s head.

Christmas 1975, the year Eddie got a buzz cut as a present.

He'd kept that same buzz cut all through the end of elementary until seventh grade. "Good for lice," Wayne explained.

Eddie had mentioned in passing that his dad always forgot his birthday. Wayne’s ears perked up.

“When’s your birthday, kid?” he’d asked, leaning forward on the armchair while Eddie was playing with some sort of action figures he’d drawn on paper.

“Oh, December 21st” then he went back to his game.

Wayne ran to the calendar he kept hanging on the kitchen wall and scrolled through the pages. He grabbed a pen and wrote Eddie’s Birthday in bold red letters. He never forgot another one.

So when you came around, after everything that had happened in Hawkins, his birthday was the last of his problems. You'd met in one of the makeshift infirmaries spread throughout the town. He called you his 'cot buddy.' After the summer, you both were able to move back into your houses.

You hung out pretty much almost every day, not really bothering to put a label on whatever it was that was happening between the both of you. Enjoying and reveling in each other's company, healing. Also kissing.

Unprompted you’d asked him “So… what are we doing next week?”

The hairs on his neck stood straight, in fear he’d forgotten a date.

“Sorry, sweetheart, I don’t mean to be stupid, but what’s next week?” he’d asked, sheepish, scared you were gonna get mad at him.

“Your birthday, silly. I asked around. Tell me why Dustin had to hack into your old student files to get that information. Nobody knew when your birthday was” you laughed “I literally asked everyone. It’s like you’ve never been born” you said.

He thought it was irrelevant. All his friends would go on winter vacation after final exams, there was no one to celebrate his birthday with but Uncle Wayne. He’d take him to see a movie, use his savings to treat him to something that wasn’t TV dinners or Spaghettios.

After that conversation you two had, you’d made it a tradition to bake him a cake. Chocolate with cream cheese frosting. You’d put together a party for him at your house. Invited all his friends. You’d get him two presents. One for his birthday, one for Christmas.

On Christmas day you’d handed him a box, he looked at you confused.

“What’s all this about? I already got my gift, hon. Literally four days ago, that new vest was really cool, see I’m wearing it right now” he said, pointing at his new denim battle vest.

“That was your birthday gift, Ed. This is Christmas” you smiled at him.

He’d never felt more loved before. His friends pitched in and had gotten him a new record player as both a birthday and Christmas present. You’d gotten him a bunch of new records. Megadeth, Anthrax, Slayer.

His eyes did light up like a kid on Christmas day.

Christmas 1986, the year Eddie got a girlfriend. And some sick presents.

A knocking startles him. He’d fallen asleep on the floor, wrapped up in blankets.

He looks at his watch. 2:00 pm.

Groggy, he stands up and slides his hands in the pockets of his sweater and goes to see who it is.

“Ed!! Ed, c’mon open up! I'm freezing out here” it’s you.

He opens the door and you run in, seeking refuge from the snow. You’re holding a small box. You look so pretty, face bitten by the cold, making the tips of your ears and nose a pretty blushy shade.

"Took you long enough" you huff "I was about to get hypothermia"

“Why’d you drive all the way here, hun? That snow looks pretty bad” he says, rubbing your coat to get the snowflakes off of you.

“Well, yeah, but it’s your birthday! I made a cake” you gesture towards the white box in your hands.

“Sweetheart, you didn’t have to” he smiles, and pressed a kiss to your cold forehead, riddled with snow. You never have to. The fact that you want to do such nice things to him is still something he struggles to wrap his head around. He helps you out of your puffy coat, grabbing you a warm blanket from his room.

"Why'd you bring it here? I thought we were gonna go to your house?" he said as you shed the layers you'd wrapped yourself in.

"Too much family at my house, we have my aunt from Virginia staying with us, and my grandparents. You don't wanna meet 'em, trust me" you laugh.

"You told everyone to meet here? You could've told me, baby, the trailer's a mess" he scrambles to pick up some dirty mugs from the coffee table.

"It's okay, Ed, I'll help you. Come here for now" you circle the counter to put the cake down.

He huffs, giving you a kiss on top of your head.

“So, what have you been doing here, birthday boy?” you nudge him, opening the cake box.

“You know, the usual. Despair about the passage of time, be sad about my mom, be sad about my dad, blow a candle and make a wish” he smiles half-heartedly. It makes you sad that he’s never able to fully enjoy his birthday.

“I’m sorry, Ed. I know your birthday is never an ideal date for you. Anything I can do to help?” you quip, smiling at him from the counter.

“The cake you made looks like it could be a good contender,” he smiles. You open the box, a simple chocolate cake with frosting says “Happy Birthday Eddie!” in bold chocolate letters. His heart feels like it's doubled in size since he woke up.

He gives you a kiss on the crown of your head as you reach into your purse, a packet of candles in your hand.

“Do you have a lighter?” you ask, kicking yourself for forgetting it. He tosses the almost- dead yellow lighter at you.

You stab the cake with the candles. You’d bought 24. He smiles, no one had ever done something like that for him before you.

You sing to him. The lights of the candles hitting your cold bitten face, making your eyes look shiny, like you had the sun from within.

Happy birthday to you,

Happy birthday dear Eddie.

Happy birthday to you!

He breathes in, then blows out the candles while you clap contentedly, the white smoke of the candles dissolving into the air between the two of you. Setting the cake down, he gives you a kiss.

It's a soft kiss, full of gratefulness. Full of the thank yous he'll never get to tell you, just because you'll jokingly roll your eyes with the amount of times he'll say it. It's a sad kiss, a kiss that makes you remind him of his mom, the softness and gentleness with which she'd hold him. The kindness she'd show him, the same kindness you gave and continue to give him.

The kindness he wasn't allowed to have throughout his life, with the names and the threats and the beatings.

A whole town turning on a twenty year- old kid.

The kindness his dad had never given him, coming back whenever he needed money, or a place to hide. His rainy day funds raided, with no trace of Al Munson in sight.

Your kisses taste like summer, summer of '86, when he kissed you for the first time. High and clumsy in the back of his van, being too much of a pussy to ask you if you wanted to be with him.

His eyes become watery, almost like his thoughts materialize in the reflection of your eyes, where he can see himself. Tall, sad, Eddie the freak. Eddie the freak who just wanted to be loved, who wanted to be accepted.

He isn't a religious guy by any means, but your kisses feel like a baptism. Everything has been washed away by your love, forgiven for things he's never done. Sins he'd never committed, absolved by the taste of your lips, the feeling of his hands holding your waist, as if to never let you go.

The way you hold his face, cold, shivering hands against the feel of the slight stubble of his jaw. He'd manipulate the weather so you'd never feel cold, he'd bring down the heavens and hell to not make you feel any pain.

A tear falls down his cheek, too many emotions, too many thoughts. It collides with your thumb, you break away from the kiss.

"You okay, Ed?" you press your lips to his cheek, kissing the lone tear away.

He's okay, he just gets overwhelmed by all the love you have for him. He nods.

"Just miss my mom, 's all" he sniffles, then smiles.

"I'm sure she would've been so happy to see her baby turn twenty- four" you reach for a knife to cut the cake.

"No, split this with me" he says, showing you the small cupcake "Save the cake for when everyone gets here, Wayne probably spent a fortune for this one single cupcake" he chuckles.

You cut the cupcake in half, clinking the two halves together as one would two overflowing cups of champagne.

"They'll be coming in a couple hours. I already took care of food and everything, but I came here 'cause I wanted to give you my gift" you say, it never gets easy, getting him gifts. He's so tight lipped about needing things sometimes you just don't know what to get him.

"You didn't have to do that. The cake and the party are enough, sweetheart" he whispers, giving you a soft kiss between chocolate crumbs.

You reach for your bag on the counter, extracting a small black box from it.

"Happy Birthday, Ed" you say, nervous he might not like it.

Words become hard to fabricate, so he gives you a tight smile, almost embarrassed, guilty, you did this for him.

He opens the small, square box. He's not really sure what it is at first, but the nylon and cotton feeling feels familiar. The leather ends, with a loop in between. The red stitching. It's a guitar strap.

He gingerly takes it out of the box, bated breath, holding it horizontally.

The red stitching on the strap says Corroded Coffin, with a red border. But his favorite thing is his initials and yours on the end of the strap, right above the leather bit. He smiles. A smile so wide that you could have been blinded by it.

"I didn't know what to get you, just everything felt so, like, obvious and cliche. I had my mom help me" you rambled timidly.

"It's perfect, honey, thank you" he goes to hold you, guitar strap still in hand. As if it held the fabric of time and space itself, he refused to let it go.

Once he lets go of you, muttering thank you, baby's and i love it, it's so perfect's he grabs his guitar, crackled red and black paint chipped by the passage of time. He changes the straps and plays a few riffs, deft fingers moving across the fretboard, the sadness of the twenty minutes before seems to have vanished, as he spends the rest of his afternoon playing around with his guitar.

You clean up, and at around 6, Wayne comes back with the food you'd requested him to go pick up. All of Eddie's favorites from the diner he'd used to go with his mom. The smiley pancakes, the spaghetti and meatballs, the little sausage and eggs and pizza pockets. His smile is as wide as you've ever seen it, thoroughly shocked that you'd remembered everything he'd told you.

At 7, all his friends start to arrive, bringing him baskets of sweets, cookies, presents. The parties the years before had never been this large- scale. Or maybe the trailer is just small.

Everyone goes outside, wrapped up in their winter clothes that quickly become too hot as they play with the dirty snow, checking for glass shards in every one. In the lights of the shitty street lamps, Eddie is throwing a snow ball at Steve, and Robin throws one back at Eddie. You have a video camera in your hand, documenting every single moment of Eddie's night. His night.

He's frost bitten, his nose and the tips of his ears sticking out from the knitted hat Nancy had gotten him. His smile infectious as he hides behind a car after having thrown a ball at Steve's team. Everyone's on a sugar high, giggly and happy, reveling in the snow, the looming holidays making everything feel a bit lighter.

He opens up birthday presents and eats pancakes until he feels sick. But he's never felt better.

Everyone leaves at the late hours of the night. You decide to stay over, albeit the bite of the cold that forces the both of you to huddle close for warmth. Neither of you complain. Your house is too crowded anyway.

December 21st, 1990. Eddie Munson has had the best birthday of his life.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #stranger things #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson angst #stranger things au #stranger things fanfiction

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littledraga · 1 year

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Becile Birthday!

It’s @ask-the-becile-boys 11th birthday for the AU! Had to do something special for it! Not sure if this is it, but it’s what I did! It’s late, it’s only half edited, have fun with that. :p Thanks for keeping these funky dudes alive!

Maybe it was a little weird for Scratch to give Tatters a little scratch post a month after Christmas. It wasn't like her claws needed it, but no one said anything. And Tatters did like beating it up and napping on top of it.

When he got Locksmith mustache wax at the end of March everyone was confused. No one more than Locksmith himself. It was left with a card with a cake covered in candles. Odd? But who was he to turn down such a thoughtful gift?

Dee screamed when someone other than Hare knocked on her door. She threw open the door, intent on clawing at whoever was there. Instead of a person, there was a box with a bright bow. Inside were old records and a little bear with a loud sweater. Holding the teddy close, she looked around before slamming the door hard enough that some walls shook. Jazz filled the halls while she slowly danced around with her new little friend. It made the stifling heat as summer crept closer a little more pleasant.

Later, when summer was fully on them, Hare caught Scratch wrapping something in the lounge, struggling with tape that had gotten stuck on his shirt. Turning around this way and that, more and more tape unrolled and he huffed behind the respirator.

Hare huffed a small laugh as he walked over to take the tape before Scratch became a mummy.

"Whatcha got there?" He asked, trying to look over Scratch over his shoulder.

At first, Scratch tried to cover it with his body before his shoulders slumped. Sitting up, he offered a small wrapped box to Hare.

"I was going to wait until tomorrow, but I guess a day early won't hurt," he signed.

Taking the box, Hare tilted his head, looking at it carefully. "What is it?"

Scratch laughed enough his shoulders shook.

"It's a present. For your birthday." He paused and tilted his head a little.

"Power day? Turn on day?" He signed, not really sure what to call it.

Smoke billowed out of his cheeks.

"Wha? You remember sometin' like dat?" Looking at the wrapping paper, he scrunched his good eye.

"Uh, thanks?" He said before tentatively opening the small box. Inside were three small locks. More confused, he looked at Scratch.

He looked confused and tugged at his sleeves a moment before he explained.

'It's a lock picking kit. I know you've been practicing. So I thought you'd like some new locks." It may have made him a little uncomfortable, but he didn't think of Hare as a bad person. And he did seem to actually enjoy picking locks, just because.

Hare grinned, at least as much as his faceplate would allow.

"Thanks! 'Priciated." Hare shuffled a little from foot to foot, not sure what to do. Another quick thanks and he hurried off to put his new locks in his room.

It wasn't long after that that Scratch came up to Jack, looking nervous and holding a bag behind his back.

Jack was in the garden, watching the birds and twirling a blade of grass between his fingers, enjoying the freedom now that Riker had fixed his wires.

He noticed Scratch's shadow first. Turning around, he smiled warmly up at him and hopped to his feet.

"Good morning, Scratch! It's good to see you." He paused when he saw how nervous he was. "Are you alright?"

Scratch stalled a moment before quickly holding the bag out in front of him. Waiting for Jack to take it with a confused look, he finally explained.

"I wasn't sure what you would like. I hope it's okay?"

Blond curls bounced while Jack tilted his head.

"Oh? I'm sure whatever it is, it's lovely." Digging into the bag, Jack pulled out a short top hat and a new bow. They were older, and it showed, but still in good condition. His face split into a wide grin.

"Oh! These are lovely! Thank you, Scratch!" Holding them to his chest, he did look a bit confused.

"But I'm afraid I don't know the occasion? Surely it's not so late in the year it's Christmas again, is it? I haven't gotten you anything."

Scratch laughed, though mostly his shoulders just shook.

"It's to celebrate another year, Jack. From when you powered on first. A birthday," he signed, smiling as much as his limited face would allow.

"Oh my! I had completely forgotten about that! Thank you, Scratch! This is very sweet." Something for his first birthday since he was repaired.

"You're welcome! I need to wrap Skull's now. Take care!" Waving him off, Scratch hurried off back inside.

By now, the manor had caught on to what he was doing. So a few days later when Skull saw him from the corner of his eye while he was taking a rare moment to relax and knit, he put his needles down.

"Hey, Skull." Scratch lifted up another bag.

"Happy birthday. Or um wake up day? Or?" He still didn't know what to call it.

Skull watched him for a moment, pretending not to notice the bag in Scratch's hand.

"Birthday is fine." It was a human thing anyway.

"Thanks," he huffed. But before he could pick up the needles again, there was a bag in his lap. Looking up, he saw Scratch looking at him expectantly. Smoke curled from his neck as he sighed.

Looking inside the bag, he carefully pulled out skeins in various colours and a new set of needles.

"I know you have some yarn already, but I thought you might like having some new colours," he explained.

Skull's face softened. Or at least as much as his faceplate would allow.

"Thank you. They're good colours. And I did need some new knitting needles. I appreciate it." When Scratch beamed, he laughed. Just a single chuckle.

"You've been busy."

Which made the man beam more. Or as much as he could.

"Everyone deserves something good on their birthday. It's important!" He enthusiastically signed.

"We always had big parties when I was growing up."

Skull hummed at that. He wasn't sure he remembered any kind of birthday celebration. Even when Thaddeus was alive there were no celebrations at the manor. Frivolous things he would call them. But Thaddeus wasn't here anymore.

Things were quiet, for a little while. Then Scratch took to the kitchen at the end of July. He was cooking up a large batch of chicken and dumplings and sides. Something that had the robots peeking around the corner.

Hare spoke up first, walking over to look over Scratch’s shoulder as the man seasoned some chicken in a pan with what looked like dough in a bowl.

“This doesn’t look like a smoothie,” said Hare while he tried to figure out what was going on.

Scratch stopped long enough to quickly sign.

“Chicken and dumplings. It’s Riker’s birthday. So I thought I’d make him something while he was down in the workshop.”

Hare looked at Skull, who was still at the doorway. He just shrugged.

“Looks like a lot of work for someone that just eats ramen. When he eats,” huffed Hare, moving when Skull gave him a hard look. It wasn’t like it was his fault!

“It’s his birthday,” explained Scratch simply.

“Everyone needs to have something nice on their birthday.” And he was back to cooking away, leaving the two to look confused. It wasn’t like they had a lot of experience with birthdays.

After too long in the workshop, trying to keep the tools from getting too rusted to use, Riker nearly cried when he saw a banquet set out just for him. Scratch had to push him into a seat to get him to eat.

“Man, this is better than Ma's from when I was a kid.” Riker suddenly stopped, spoon halfway to his face to glance at Scratch who was looking rather proud of himself.

“Don’t ever tell her I said that.” As if anyone here would likely meet her, but a man couldn’t be too sure.

Scratched crossed his fingers over his chest before putting away the leftovers. At least Riker would be eating real food for a couple days.

A week later, Riker found himself cornered in the workshop by three robots. Even if they, probably, wouldn’t hurt him, it was still unnerving. Crossing his arms over his chest and a cigarette hanging off his lip, he watched them, waiting for some explanation as to why they were ganging up on him. Jack broke first.

“What do you do for birthdays?” He asked and stepped into the room, careful to give the workbench as wide a birth as he could.

He grinned a little, just a smidge. “It’s about Scratch’s turn, ain’t it?”

Hare huffed and followed Jack in.

“Yeah, and we wanna know what yer ‘sposed to do for a birthday.”

Riker just shrugged.

“Been a while. Mostly a lot of drinking, but I don’t think Scratch would be real interested in that,” he told them as he put out his cigarette.

“I’ve heard that people like surprise parties. Do you know about those?” inquired Jack innocently enough.

A brief memory and Riker shuddered. A surprise of people, never something he wanted. When the other three looked at him with concern, he quickly brushed them off.

“A surprise birthday party would mean keeping him out of the manor or at least part of it. Guess this place is plenty big enough. Normally they decorate the room, have cake and presents, and do stuff the birthday person likes,” he explained.

Tapping his chin, Skull thought that over for a moment. Smoke curled from his neck vents as he started to plan.

“Cake wouldn’t be a good idea. Scratch can’t eat it,” he reminded them.

When Hare shoved his hands into his pockets, pretending not to pout, Riker tried not to laugh.

“Probably a bad idea,” he agreed.

“But they have ice cream too. Could probably make him a shake?” he offered, leaning against one of the tables.

Skull looked up at that.

“There’s probably some kind of birthday milkshake. I’m sure I can find something.” With his mission decided, Skull made his way back upstairs.

“Well, that’s one thing settled,” huffed Hare, still looking sour.

“We could decorate the lounge?” offered Jack with a smile.

“We’ve seen movies. I bet we could do something spectacular!” When Hare perked up a little, Jack’s smile grew. Taking Hare’s arm, he gently tugged Hare away They had planning to do.

But at the door, Hare turned to look at Riker, pointing a gloved hand at him.

“We’ll get it planned, but you gotta keep him busy for a while, got it?”

Riker rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll tell him I need to check his leg or somethin’. Now get goin’. I need a drink.” he muttered as they all left. There was plenty to do.

It was hot when Scratch’s birthday came around, it was easy to get him down to the workshop for a look over. At least it was cooler in the basement levels.

“I haven’t been having any more trouble than normal,” he explained while Riker was looking the knee over. It may have been a cover, but it didn’t hurt to look while he had the chance.

“That’s good. Everythin’ looks fine. I just want to make sure I ain’t missin’ somethin’,” he explained. Eventually, Scratch got a clean bill of health. Or at least the machine part of him did. There was no way anything ‘living’ was going to be healthy here. But still, Riker kept looking. At least until he heard three bangs on the floor above him.

“Looks like you’re right as rain!” He sarcastically cheered as he backed up to let Scratch get to his feet as he put his tools away.

“Why don’t we head up and get something to drink? Should be something cold in the fridge.”

Scratch nodded and would wait for Riker.

“Wish I could eat popsicles,” he signed while they walked.

“Used to be the best part of summer.”

“Ya know, that does sound pretty good,” he agreed as they walked.

“But I can think of something better.” As Scratch looked to him for an answer, Riker stepped into the lounge and waited for him.

Inside was a messy banner that had ripped in three places when they tried to hang it up. A few messily wrapped boxes sat on the coffee table as well as two oversized shakes covered in tiny sprinkles.

Everyone, save Dee, who refused to come downstairs, was waiting for him. Jack was smiling brightly.

“Happy Birthday!” They all said at once, some with more enthusiasm than others.

Scratch stood still, looking at everything. His remaining eye teared up.

“Thank you,” he signed once, twice, and again, and again. There was static from the vent. It was hard to tell if it was laughter or a sob.

Skull stepped over with his gift, handing it to Scratch.

“You told us birthdays were important,” he reminded him as he pressed the wrapping paper into his hand. Inside was a box set to an anime Scratch had been talking about.

Scratch took his time with each gift, gushing with everyone. Even Locksmith was at least, mostly, agreeable for the party. He’d be up late with his new anime and shipping on yet another birthday cake shake. Best birthday.

#becile bots #spg #birthday

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hippiegoth97 · 11 months

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Diary of a Hawkins Hussy: A Stranger Things x Reader Anthology

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Content Warning 18+ Only, Minors DNI: swearing, smut, drug references, age gap, groping, fingering, unprotected sex, praise, dom/sub dynamic, use of a shock collar (do not try this at home), use of restraints, edging, orgasm denial, light crying, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, light squirting, problematic characters

Word Count: 12.5k

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Diary Entry #1: Martin Brenner

May 28th, 1983

Dear diary,

Today marks the day I officially join the adult world. I just got back from graduation. I'm still dressed in my cap and gown, with my diploma sitting in front of me on the desk. I did it, those four years of hell we all call high school are finally over. I'm free. And now, I can focus my attention on my true ambitions in life. No more Chem flashcards or asshole teachers telling me what to do. No more Mom and Dad policing my every move. Nope. I fully intend on doing the one thing I've been itching for from the moment I saw that 'Help Wanted' sign in the shop window. I'm going to work at Waxed Out Records downtown, as an assistant manager.

Waxed Out is the coolest store Hawkins has to offer, though it doesn't have much by way of competition. I've always loved going there, ever since I was a kid when Mom would bring me along on her trips to pick up the new ABBA or BeeGees. Music is my lifeblood, I can't go a single day without listening to some form of it. I've dedicated almost my entire (though limited) existence to curating my collection of vinyl and cassettes, expanding my tastes as far as the eye can see. I love it all, rock, hip-hop, pop, country, blues, jazz, disco, metal, the list goes on. I'm the perfect candidate to work at Waxed Out. I only hope the lame owner, Mr. Harris, will see that at my interview tomorrow. But until then, it's a relaxing night of Stevie Wonder and weed to calm my nerves. I'll let you know how it goes.

May 29th, 1983

Dear diary,

I got the fucking job! Mr. Harris was totally impressed by my extensive knowledge of all things music! I knew I had this in the bag, but I'm so excited, I could just scream! My hand is absolutely shaking as I write this, you have no idea. I start next week, and my first shift can't come soon enough. I need to get the hell out of this house, and into my own place. It shouldn't take long, I've saved up all of my graduation money in a very special hiding place. Just a couple hundred bucks more, and I'm finally on my own. I won't have to listen to Dad tearing apart the house, searching for things to pawn off to buy more booze. It's a good thing I have multiple self-installed locks on my door, or else my collection would be toast. I also won't have to listen to Mom telling me how much of a drain on her I am, or her lectures about 'ambition' and 'wanting more for myself'.

I like to think I am very ambitious. I got this job all on my own, and I'm saving up my pennies like my life depends on it. I know exactly what I want out of life. Simple pleasures, like music and sex. More on that particular subject, I highly intend to expand my current hook-up pool. High school boys (and girls) were all well and good while I was still under the legal definition of a child. But I'm a woman now, and I have every intention of bagging any man or woman that catches my eye. From freshly graduated young women, to strong men in their fifties, and everything in between. As long as they're hot, nothing else really matters. And in that department, Hawkins sure knows how to deliver. Chief Hopper, Mayor Kline, Joyce Byers, this one white-haired guy in neatly pressed suits that comes to town every so often...I'm getting a little turned on just thinking about it. More to come later, probably about my first day of work.

June 1st, 1983

Dear diary,

You'll never guess who came into the shop on my first day of work today! It was none other than that guy with the white hair I mentioned before. I didn't learn much about him, except that he really likes classical music. He picked out some Bach and Mozart, which isn't usually my strong suit. It sounds pretty and all, but it comes off a little hoity-toity, if you know what I mean. But it makes sense for a guy like him, he seems very intellectual. Oh, you should've seen him. It took everything in me not to stare as he browsed the classical section. But his hair was styled neatly as it always is, though a little longer than what's typical for a man his age. And he had on this grey suit that fit him extremely well...I managed to get a couple good glances at his ass. And shit, he must have a Soloflex at home, or something because...it was as tight as a twenty-year-old's, I swear.

He didn't say much. He smiled at me when he came up to the register, and I could totally feel my cheeks burning bright red. It was embarrassing, at first. But if my mind wasn't tricking me, his smile got wider at my reaction. I didn't bother to say much to him, I know I would've made a complete and utter ass out of myself if I tried. But I managed to get out a 'thank you' once I'd rung him up and he paid. He said he'd be back in a couple weeks, almost like it's a routine for him. I'm not sure why, there's only so much Beethoven and Chopin in the world, ya know? But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't counting down the days until that gorgeous, yet mysterious, man with blinding white hair comes walking through the shop door again. Safe to say I won't be able to get that smile of his out of my mind either...fuck me.

June 15th, 1983

Dear diary,

It happened. He finally came back, and this time, we actually had a bit of a real conversation! I (mostly) managed to keep myself together this time, and I'm beginning to think that he likes me. At least, I hope he does...

You hear the little bell hanging above the front door to the shop tinkle, signaling for you to repeat the phrase Mr. Harris has trained into you. "Welcome to Waxed Out. Let me know if I can help you find anything." You say flatly, not looking up from the romance novel you picked up from Melvald's earlier this afternoon. You hear purposeful steps clicking on the linoleum, taps and drags of men's dress shoes on a path to you.

"Yes, miss..." A voice you recognize speaks just across the counter from you. You look up from your book, realizing it's the exact man you've been hoping would return. He's wearing a charcoal suit this time, but that seems to be the only thing that's changed about him. He smiles at you, eyes flicking to your chest to read your name tag. "...Y/N. I was wondering if you could help me find something in particular." He speaks in a calmly commanding, slightly gravelly voice. You hadn't heard much of it upon your first meeting, but it certainly sounds very pleasant to your ears. He carries an odd air of authority, which just as bizarrely makes you want to follow any orders he might give you.

"Sure thing, sir. What did you have in mind?" You reply kindly, coming out from behind the register in preparation to locate whatever it is he's looking for.

His eyes follow your form as you come over to him, and you realize just how tall he is in comparison to you. He's well over six feet, which only adds to his intimidating nature. He seems a bit distracted by you, though, as it takes him a moment to answer you. "Oh, yes. Well, I was hoping to find something for my...daughter." He says with a strange pause put before that final word. Your heart sinks at this revelation, and you suppose he's probably married, too.

"Oh, I see." You reply, and you're sure he can see your face falling slightly at this bit of information. You force yourself to perk up, to make the sale, even if your hopes to potentially sleep with this man have been dashed. "How old is she?" You ask, clasping your hands behind your back.

"She's about to turn twelve, so this would be a birthday gift." He replies, still smiling at you. You take a peek down at his hands, looking for a ring. But they're nestled in his pockets at the moment, leaving you without that small piece of evidence to confirm your suspicions.

"Oh, that's nice." You say awkwardly. "Do you know what she likes? Or did your wife give you a list?" You ask, trying to crack a small joke. But his face hardens, which makes you immediately regret asking.

"No wife, I'm afraid. She died when Ele— Jane was very young." He says, bringing the smile back slightly.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean—" You try to apologize, but he puts a hand up to stop you.

"That's quite alright, you couldn't have known. But I raise Jane all by myself, and it's hard to know what girls her age like. So, I was hoping your female perspective could help me with that." He gestures at you, his smile widening again.

"Yeah, sure. Um, let me see what we have here..." You trail off, going around to the other side of the store towards the soundtrack section. Musicals are usually a pretty safe bet. Wholesome enough for parents to approve of, while also entertaining enough for kids of all ages to get something out of it. You flip through the records, digging out Grease, The Wizard of Oz, and The Music Man. "I think these are pretty good options. What do you think?" You're about to turn around to bring the albums over to the man, but you find that he's been standing right behind you this whole time. You bump into him in the process, and his close proximity startles you. "Jesus!" You gasp when your record-full hands meet his chest.

"Pardon me, I didn't mean to sneak up on you like that." He says with a laugh, putting his hands on your shoulders to calm you. "Are you alright?" He asks, gazing down at you with concern.

You try to speak, but all words have escaped you in this moment. You're too busy getting lost in his eyes and taking in how strong and firm his hands feel as he touches you. You find yourself wondering how they'd feel while touching you in other places, which you realize is wildly inappropriate. A harsh blush creeps up your cheeks, and you force a thick swallow down your throat before answering him. "Yeah, I'm good. But, uh...here." You hold the records out for him to look at. He takes them from your hands, and you're finally able to breathe easy again. "Do any of these look alright? If not, I can keep looking." You add, wanting him to leave as a satisfied customer. If you do well here, maybe he'll come back again...and again...and maybe for more than just music.

"These look great, Y/N. She's going to love them. You mind ringing me up?" He says, drawing your eyes to his again.

"Oh, you're going to buy them all?" You ask curiously. Parents are usually pretty stingy when it comes to getting albums for their kids. Perhaps it's a fear of the discs getting scratched or broken.

"Why, yes. Should I not?" He questions, raising an eyebrow at you.

"No, no. I just meant...I wasn't sure you'd do that, I guess." You fumble over your words, walking the both of you over to the register now. Perhaps some distance from him will help you calm the fuck down. If you come off too doe-eyed and naïve, he may not have much interest in you.

"Well, let's just say you're a very good saleswoman." He chuckles, the sound of which stirs something inside you. You punch in the prices on the stickers Mr. Harris put on said albums, which comes to a total of sixteen dollars.

"Thanks, I appreciate that." You giggle, biting your lip slightly before taking his payment. He pays with a credit card, from which you nosily read the name of its owner. Martin Brenner. He doesn't look like a Martin. Although, you suppose you don't know what he does look like, either. You bag up the records for him, handing them and his card back to him, as well as a receipt. "Here you go, sir. I hope Jane enjoys the albums." You say sweetly.

"I'm sure she will, thanks again for the help. And please, call me Martin. I'm sure I'll be back here again soon. You've got good taste, Y/N." Martin winks at you, before heading towards the door to leave.

"See you 'round, Martin." You say cutely as he leaves, earning another pleased glance in your direction. Once he's walking down the street and towards his car, you double over onto the counter to take some deep breaths. "God, that man is sexy as hell." You say aloud to yourself, overwhelmed with the entire interaction that's just transpired. You know he's a bit advanced in age, but Martin sure knows how to flirt. You're a little weary of the fact that he has a kid and everything, but it's not like you're looking for anything long-term. You just know you want to fuck him, even if it's only once. You can tell there's something secretive about that man, and you're dying to have a peek behind that proverbial curtain to see exactly what it is.

June 26th, 1983

Dear diary,

Martin hasn't come back the the shop in a while. It seemed like things went pretty well the last time he came in, but who knows. Maybe he was just being polite. I haven't even seen him very much around town like I used to. I suppose he could be busy with his kid, or something. Being a single father can't be easy. But I can't help it, I think about him all the time. He's so handsome, and the way his hands felt when they touched my shoulders... They were so warm, and felt firm and strong. I replay that moment over and over in my mind. I even dream about him now, about everything I think he might want to do to me.

The dream is almost always the same. I'm at the shop, and Martin comes in. There's no one else around, and he's not there for records this time. He's there for me. He comes right up to the counter with purpose, beckoning me out from behind it to put myself in front of him. He caresses my cheek, before leaning down to kiss me. He's gentle and tender, and his hands lift me up to sit on the edge of the counter. We kiss for a while, enjoying the moment.

Now, this is where things really heat up...he undoes my jeans, pulling them and my panties down to my ankles. He reaches between my legs, and he puts his fingers inside me. They're thick and long, and they feel so damn good. While he does that, I unbuckle his belt, and open up his slacks to pull out his dick. He's fucking huge, at least, he is in the dream. I pump him in my hand a few times, and he lets out a quiet groan while staring down at me. He's so damn hot, I can barely stand it. He pulls his fingers away, and takes hold of his cock himself. He gets closer, and shoves himself into me. Once he starts, he doesn't slow down. He fucks me fast and hard, and I like it. He holds me down while I squeal and squirm for him. He grunts and growls with every thrust, railing me against the counter until I'm screaming his name.

I always wake up right after I cum, having to change my panties because I've soaked through them from my orgasm. It's clear that I want Martin to an embarrassing degree, I only hope he will want me just as much. Time will tell, diary. Time will tell.

June 30th, 1983

Dear diary,

Martin came in again today. He seemed...off. He still talked to me, nice as ever. But it was like he was stressed out about something. Our transaction was very short this time around. Every passing second where he didn't look at me, or touch me, or talk to me felt excruciating. All I could think of was the insane desire I felt to just go up to him and make my intentions perfectly clear. I was shocked to find I hadn't actually done it, the fantasy became extremely vivid. But when Martin came up to register with a couple new picks, and his cock still in his pants, the daydream quickly dissolved into shame.

I realized that I probably shouldn't think and feel so strongly about a perfect stranger like this. All it does as make me feel like a silly child, not to mention I basically gave myself away by blushing so damn much. I mean, I'm only eighteen years old. What could an experienced, well-established man like him possibly find desirable in me? Who knows, maybe I'll hold out hope a little longer. Maybe if I wait for him to make a move, this might work out. Ugh, I need some weed to think this over.

July 8th, 1983

Dear diary,

You're never going to believe this, I can hardly believe it. Martin came in today, for much longer than all the other times. He really chatted me up, and I was happy to talk to him for as long as I could. It felt like he was waiting to ask me something, but he couldn't quite find the words, or courage. To think, he was the one who was nervous. But once I got the ball rolling on a much-anticipated conversation, it became very clear as to why...

"Oh, hey, Martin. What would you like today?" You chirp as the man walks into the shop. You perked up immediately once you saw him crossing the street, waiting for him to come inside and give you the time of day.

"Afternoon, Y/N. I'm not too sure what I want, honestly." He says oddly, not quite looking your way. He seems anxious, or nervous. Could it be because of you? "But I know I can always trust your recommendations." He turns his head to meet you with a smile, putting his hands in his pockets as he comes toward the counter.

"You got it. You lookin' for more classical? Or, perhaps you'd like to branch out into something...younger?" You hint, standing before him in a meek pose. You clasp your hands behind your back, and look up at him from under your eyelashes.

"I-I suppose I could try something new." He stutters slightly, looking you up and down. Shit, maybe it's working.

"Sure thing! Follow me." You spin around, your short skirt flouncing upwards at the motion. You lead Martin towards the Lionel Richie and Phil Collins. You figure he doesn't want to waste time on teeny-boppers. He clears his throat before following you, and you smirk to yourself at him losing his cool. You pull out the albums you have in mind, and fully expect him to be standing right behind you again. You guess correctly, but this time, you purposefully put your hands on him when you turn back around. "Oh, didn't see you there. Not a lot of space in these aisles." You speak somewhat suggestively, running the back of your hand along the lapel of his navy blue suit jacket.

"Quite right. What do you have for me?" His eyes flick down to where you're touching him, then to the sultry smile on your face. You give him the albums, and he chuckles while looking them over. "I don't know, Y/N...these might be a little too hip for me."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that, Martin. You seem pretty 'with it' to me. Besides, Lionel and Phil are perfect for when you bring a woman home. If that's your thing, anyway." You continue to run your hand along his jacket, gauging his response to it. He hasn't told you to stop yet. If anything, he seems to enjoy it.

"It's been a while since I've done that, actually. Much longer than I'd like to admit." He says, somewhat embarrassed.

"I don't believe that for a second, you're way too handsome." You compliment him, still testing the waters.

"Oh, you don't mean that. A young lady like yourself surely has no interest in someone like me." He shakes his head, laughing at your suggestion. He probably thinks you're really trying to sell him on the vinyl, but you honestly don't give a shit about that.

"I wouldn't be so sure, Martin. I personally find you...very attractive." You speak lowly, turning your hand over to actually touch his chest now. Your palms creep up along his clean white shirt, and you gently take hold of his necktie. "And I'm not just saying that to sell you more records." You give him as sincere a look of desire as you possibly can, batting your lashes to make it clear to him what you're looking for.

Martin thinks it over for a moment, contemplating that you could potentially be a really good time. But he shakes his head, sighing deeply. He can't possibly take such a young woman home. It wouldn't be right...would it? "I-I'm flattered, Y/N, really." He sets the records down, taking hold of your hands. "But I don't think I could give you what you're after." He says sadly, already kicking himself for denying his desire to have you. He's been thinking about it for weeks, but he's sure you couldn't handle what he truly has in mind.

"Why do you say that?" Your eyebrows scrunch together in confusion. You were sure this would work. Doesn't he like you? Doesn't he think you're pretty?

"Forgive me for coming off a bit crude, here. But I'm just not sure that you're mature enough to handle the kinds of things I'm into, intimately speaking." You're confused by his words, you don't understand what he means by that.

"And how would you know?" You ask, becoming irritated with him for thinking you're some immature girl. He scoffs, surprised by you.

"I guess I don't, Y/N. But I wouldn't want to hurt you. I really like you. I think you're very pretty, and sweet. I'm just not sure it's a good idea." He shakes his head again, putting your hands down before pulling his own away.

"Well...maybe I'm not afraid to get hurt, Martin." You smile again, his attempts to deter your interest have only piqued it further. "It's very simple, really. I want to sleep with you. I don't care what you're into, I got up to some pretty crazy shit in high school. But if you really don't want me, that's fine. I can find someone else if I really want to." You figure there's no use for formalities at this point, so you lay it all out for him. The ball is in his court now, it's only a matter of if he wants to play.

He sighs again, still unsure of what to do here. "You make it very difficult to say no to you..." He says, pausing as he reads your expression. He supposes it can't be all bad, you're the one coming on to him. If you really want this, then who is he to deny you? "Are you absolutely sure this is what you want, Y/N?" He asks, cupping your cheek like he does in your dreams.

"Yes, I want this more than anything." You reply breathlessly, unable to believe this may actually happen. There's a tense moment of silence between you, and he finally nods in agreement.

"Alright. What time are you finished here?" Martin asks.

"Nine o'clock." You answer, biting your lip in excitement.

"Perfect, I'll pick you up. In the meantime, would you mind ringing me up for these?" He smiles, picking up the records you've chosen for him.

"Okay." You practically skip over to the register, though you don't really want him to leave. You bag up his purchase, and he makes his way out onto the street. You'd been hoping for a goodbye kiss, though perhaps that would've been too weird. You glance over at the clock, finding that you have two whole hours left before closing time. You pick up your novel, but you find it hard to focus on the words. All you can think about is what Martin could possibly like in bed that he thinks would be 'too much' for you. Handcuffs? Been there. Whips? Done that. Spanking? Roleplay? Anal? Check, check, and check. High schoolers are way kinkier than anyone gives them credit for. You can't come up with anything else, so if anything, you'll show Martin just how well you can keep up. You hope that'll impress him, for some reason.

The time passes excruciatingly slow, but thankfully a few more customers come along to distract you for a while. You make four more sales before the shift is over, not too bad for a record store in a less-than-booming small-town downtown area. You gather your things at 9pm on the dot, and head for the door with keys in hand. You step out into the muggy night air, turning your back to the street while you lock the door to the shop. You suddenly feel a figure behind you, who extends a hand to grab hold of your waist. You jump and let out a small scream, whipping around to see who it is.

"Shit, Martin! You scared me!" You say once you see that it's just your new conquest who's been waiting for you.

"I'm sorry. Are you ready to go?" Martin asks, slowly pulling you into him by the hip. He takes a second to get a good look at you, as if he hadn't already done so while you were helping him in the shop. He finds you to be very alluring, in your Cyndi Lauper t-shirt that hangs off one shoulder, and the short skirt that barely covers your behind. Not to mention your beautiful face, without a single blemish or sign of age to be found.

"Ready when you are, Martin." You reply suggestively, running your hands up and down along his shirt again. Your touch seems to break him out of his trance, and he turns the two of you to head towards his car. It's slick, and black, with a driver and everything. "Nice wheels." You comment, sliding into the seat while the driver holds the door open for you.

"Thank you." Martin replies smoothly, getting in after you. He sits very close to you, and the driver closes the door behind him.

"So, where does a man like you live around here, hm?" You ask coyly, putting your hand on his thigh. He peers down at you, watching your every move. You've noticed he's pretty restrained overall, very methodical with his movements and reactions.

"Oh, it's a humble house, really. Not far from here." Martin replies, and you nod.

"'Humble', huh? Does your job not pay you enough to have a large house and a driver?" You giggle, bringing your hand a little further up his leg. "I guess I never asked, what do you do for work, exactly?" You question curiously.

"I work in government, at the Lab." He replies shortly, too focused on your hand growing closer to his crotch. You're so forward with him, it's kind of throwing him off.

"Oh, I see. I bet that's pretty interesting." You continue on your teasing journey towards his cock. You want to feel him, and play around a bit before you reach his home. You've always had a problem with patience.

"You could say that." He says, just as your fingertips brush against his length. You smirk in satisfaction at finding it, and boldly take hold of it. His throat catches at you groping him, and you find his eyes to see how he's doing. His mouth sits slightly agape, but he doesn't say or do much else. You think he's enjoying this, since he's growing in your hand. But you'd be hard pressed to know for sure.

"Does this feel good, Martin?" You ask quietly, not wanting the driver to hear.

"Y-Yes." He stutters. You continue to touch him over his clothes, becoming very wet yourself as you watch him hold back his noises. He lets out muted sighs as opposed to moans and grunts, but the sound is still more than enough to turn you on further. "We should be there soon, Y/N." He says, taking your hand away from his cock, holding it in his instead.

"Sorry." You apologize, realizing that you've possibly made him uncomfortable.

"Don't be. It's alright. Just be patient for me. Can you do that, Y/N?" He says lowly in your ear, sending a chill up your spine. You nod silently, but he needs to hear you answer. "Use your words." He commands in a husky tone, sending a flare of pleasure between your legs. Now I see what he was talking about. Lucky for him, I've played this game many times before.

"Yes, I'll be patient." You answer breathlessly.

"Good girl." He answers simply, smirking at your quick obedience. Maybe you can handle him after all.

...and there we were, off to his house to have sex. I swear, I kept having to pinch myself to make sure it was actually happening, and not some extremely elaborate dream. But every time I felt that little sting of my nails digging into my flesh, all I was doing was driving myself even more crazy. That little confirmation of reality repeated again and again, made me feel all tingly inside. We couldn't get to his home soon enough, I wanted to touch every inch of his body in the back of that car. But I had to be patient, because that's what he told me to do. I could feel it in my soul that disobeying him would have been a very unwise decision...

"Here we are. Home sweet home." Martin says as the car pulls up to a house on the end of a dimly lit street. It's unassuming, the basic 'white-picket-fence' home of the typical middle class worker. It's not unlike your own house, perhaps slightly smaller. But you suppose a single man with a young kid doesn't need very much space. Your mind turns to his daughter, Jane. You wonder if she's home, and if she'll be upset that daddy brought home some random girl.

"Is your daughter home?" You ask nervously.

"No, no. She's at a friend's house tonight. Don't worry, we'll be all alone." He chuckles at your concern, he finds it very sweet.

"Oh, okay. Good, I'd hate to have upset her." You reply, waiting for the driver to open the door to let you both out.

"I appreciate that, Y/N. But please, I'd hate for the evening to focus on Jane. Especially when I've brought such a beautiful young woman home with me." He says warmly, gently pulling you along as he steps out of the vehicle. He leads you to stand upright, and you both walk to the front door. He unlocks it, letting you inside. The interior is exactly as you expect, a warm little house for two little people. Children's drawings on the refrigerator, kitschy trinkets on shelves and cabinets, probably left over from his deceased wife. That thought makes you a little sad, though it quickly disappears when Martin wraps his arms around you from behind once he's closed the door.

"Hey there, handsome." You giggle, leaning back into him for a moment. "I love your home, it's very cozy."

"I'm glad you think so, Y/N. It does get a little lonely sometimes." He speaks softly, lowering his head to press a kiss to your neck. You sigh blissfully at finally having his lips on you, they're very warm and soft.

"Well, hopefully I can help with that. At least for tonight." You reply, tilting your head to the side to give him better access. He responds well to this offer, planting more blazing kisses to your throat. He doesn't nip or suck your flesh, which would usually disappoint you. But the way he's holding you close like this makes it feel just as passionate. His hands wander up your body, palms brushing over your shirt. He stops just below your breasts, apprehensive to venture further. "Go ahead, Martin. I want this." You murmur, turning your head to look back at him. He seems different now, the air between you has changed. The atmosphere has become charged with expectation and anxiousness, and you can feel his erection prodding against your ass. He resumes his journey upwards, carefully cupping your tits over your shirt. You let out a quiet moan, gazing at him as you do so. He smiles at the sound, pressing a little harder with his hands to earn another one.

"Shall we take this upstairs?" He asks lowly, and you nod. He lets you out of his grip, stepping ahead of you. He takes your hand, leading you up the steps to his bedroom. You pass a quaint bathroom, and what looks like a kid's room along the way. You don't bother to take more than a small peek inside, you'd hate to come off nosey. Martin takes you to a room at the end of the hallway, pushing the door open to reveal the master bedroom. It's still as warm and cozy as the rest of the house, dressed in those signature hues of yellow, orange, and brown left over from the 1970s. He gestures for you to sit on the bed, and you take a seat on the edge of it. You take your shoes off, and he removes his suit jacket.

"So, what's this strange 'thing' you're into, Martin?" You ask curiously, setting your bag down on the night table beside you.

"You'll see soon enough. But I'd like to...get to know you a little bit first." Martin answers, giving you a look while undoing his tie. He loosens the knot around his collar, before slipping the loop over his head and untying it entirely. "Have you ever been tied up before?" He asks, holding the ends of the tie in his hands with purpose.

"Yes." You reply simply. He nods, bringing the tie over to the bed. He lays it out neatly beside you, presumably to be used later. "Should I...take my clothes off?" You ask, becoming a little unsure of yourself.

"Not yet. I'll tell you when and how to do everything. Is that alright?" He speaks firmly, expecting you to agree.

"Yeah, that's fine." You say casually. You watch as he hangs up his jacket, and methodically takes off his shoes before placing them neatly in his closet. He comes over to you, sitting beside you on the bed now.

"You're very beautiful, Y/N." Martin says, brushing a loose hair behind your ear.

"Thanks." You blush, looking down at your feet. He puts a finger under your chin, bringing your head up to face him again.

"Can I kiss you?" He asks.

"Yes. Please." You reply, you've been waiting for him to do this for a very long time. He brings his face closer to yours, and your eyes flutter closed in preparation. His lips meet yours, and you immediately melt against him. "Mmm." You hum into the kiss, following his small movements. He doesn't use tongue, you suppose he's a bit old-fashioned that way. But you don't mind, he's still a very good kisser. He pulls away, taking your breath with him.

"Take off your shirt, please." He orders politely, clearing his throat. You do as he asks, pulling the garment over your head and tossing it to the floor. You look at him expectantly, waiting for him to make his next move. "Pick it up and fold it." He says, a serious look on his face.

"Oh. Sorry." You laugh nervously, bending down to pick up the shirt. You follow his instructions, holding in neatly in your lap now.

"Now, put it on the table." He says. You do, and he smiles again. "Good girl." You face him again, wondering what he's going to ask you to do now. He doesn't say anything else, but he reaches his hands forward toward your chest. His eyes flick to yours, asking for permission. You nod, and he grabs hold of your breasts through your bra. You moan at his touch, quickly becoming hungry for so much more. He massages your tits, almost as if he's inspecting them. You oddly feel a bit like an expirement, and he's taking mental notes of your behaviors and reactions. "Does this feel good, Y/N?" He asks in a neutral tone.

"Yes." You breathe. You decide to try and strip him down a little bit too, reaching over for the buttons on his shirt. His eyes follow you, almost waiting for you to break an unspoken rule. You stop in your tracks. "Can I?" You ask, biting your lip anxiously. You want to see him, but you don't want to make him angry.

"Can you what?" Martin smirks, and you see now that you need to use your words again.

"Can I unbutton your shirt, Martin?" You ask, clearer this time.

"Yes, you may. But from now on, call me 'sir'. Okay?" He says.

"Yes, sir." You giggle at how it sounds at first, but if he likes it, then so do you. You resume your desired task, starting with the button at his collar. You push it through the stitched hole, exposing the rest of his neck. You notice Martin's grip tightening a little, which makes you moan again. You wonder if he'll do it every time you undo another button, testing the theory. You open the next one down, and he does the same thing, squeezing harder for a moment, before resuming his gentle massage. You undo the next button, and the next, moaning louder with every squeeze he gives you.

"You make very nice noises, Y/N. Are you enjoying yourself?" He questions, still coming off painfully formal. If it were anyone else, you'd probably be put off by it. But his overall sense of confidence whenever he speaks makes everything he says sound attractive to you.

"Yes. It feels really good." You answer, still opening up his shirt. There's just three more buttons left, and what you've revealed so far is exactly what you were hoping for. This man clearly works out, he's very fit. His muscles aren't anything crazy, but he has not let turning gray slow him down one bit. His chest and stomach are toned, with a small amount of salt and pepper hair in all the right places. You tug the tails of his shirt out of his slacks, undoing the final button. "Your body is amazing, sir." You say breathlessly, meeting his gaze again.

"Thanks. I try my best to stay in shape." He smirks at you finding him so attractive. He massages your chest more roughly now, drawing more noises from you. He leads you to lie down, with your legs hanging off the edge of the bed. He presses his lips to yours again, one hand leaving your breast to slip under your back. He unclasps your bra, and slides the straps down your shoulders. He folds it up nicely while still kissing you, setting it off to the side for a moment. Martin grabs hold of your bare breasts now, rolling the nipples between his thumbs and fingers.

"Mmm." You moan against him, enjoying every second of this. You feel up his own chest, marveling at his firm muscles. After a little while, you want to feel more. You lower a hand down his stomach, over his belt until you reach his erection again. You ghost over it, earning a low groan from Martin's lungs. It's the first one you've heard from him, and it's sexy as hell. You start groping him again, your heart pounding in your chest as you expect him to stop all this and punish you. But he doesn't, he lets you continue to touch him, still letting out those same breathy groans. "Please, sir. I want you so bad." You whimper when his lips leave yours to go to your neck again. You squeeze him a little harder in your hand, wanting him to move things along.

"Patience, Y/N. Be a good girl for me." He pants between kisses on your throat. He loves how needy you are, how badly you want him to touch you and be inside of you. He's never seen a girl so desperate, but he's only getting started. A few minutes later, Martin pulls away. He sits up, taking off his shirt entirely. He stands to go hang it up, and then turns to look at you again. "Take off your skirt." He orders.

"Yes, sir." You answer, standing off the bed to remove it. You fold it nicely, putting it and your bra on top of your shirt on the table. You sit back down, and he smiles at the sight of your pink lace underwear. "What should I do now?" You ask, feeling oddly self-conscious while sitting in nothing but your panties and socks.

"Lie down, Y/N." He says, before digging deeper into the closet for something. You do as he says, putting your head on the pillows. You try to position yourself casually, posing your arms and legs in various ways. But nothing feels right. You decide to stop trying so hard and just lie still, though you're curious as to what he's looking for. He comes back over to you, holding a silver metal box. He puts it on the bed, and silently opens the clasps. He pulls the top open, revealing what looks like a collar. It's a large, tan ring with white, squared nodules around the inner circumference. There's an electronic lock on the side, and a small remote next to it. It appears to be a shock collar, which makes you swallow hard.

"What's that?" You ask, though you feel a bit stupid asking. What else could it possibly be?

"Oh, just something to ensure that you'll follow my every order." Martin answers simply, looking at you with an odd smile. He raises a brow at your widened eyes, closing the lid of the case for a moment. "Do you still want to do this, Y/N? I completely understand if you don't." He offers you one final way out. But you want this, a little shock can't be that bad. It could be a lot of fun...right?

"I want this, sir. I'll do anything you ask." You reply, and he nods. He opens the box again, and takes the collar out of the foam lining inside. He clicks a button on the remote to open the ring, and comes over to you to put it on.

"Sit up for a second." He says, and you do. He puts the collar around your neck, the nodules digging into your throat with light pressure once he clicks it in place. You lay back down once he's finished, and he presses another button to power it on. A low buzz kicks on around your neck, the sound startling you. You gasp slightly, drawing his eyes to you again. "Is everything alright?" He asks, checking in on you.

"Yes, sir." You nod, breathing heavily. He puts the remote down on the table for a moment, and picks up his necktie.

"Put your hands above you head." He commands. He ties your hands together at the wrists with the silk fabric, leaving a small amount of slack so you don't lose circulation. "Good girl." He praises, taking in the image of you in your newly bound state. Your eyes have blown wide with desire as well as fear, your chest rises and falls with heavy, rapid breaths, and the cherry on top is the small wet spot of arousal on your panties. "Are you ready to play, Y/N?" He asks with a grin, very eager to set things into motion.

"Yes." You reply, hoping he'll touch you soon. He's been quite stingy with his touches thus far, drawing everything out for the sake of driving you crazy.

"Good. I only have one rule. If you misbehave, you get a shock. But I'm sure a smart girl like you has already figured that out." He chuckles darkly, almost looming over you from the side of the bed. You nod in understanding. "Perfect." He brings a hand to your chest, carefully caressing the side of your breast. You gasp at his touch, the softness of it sending tingles along your spine. He travels downwards very slowly, going down to your stomach and waist. He meets the hem of your panties, looping a finger around the fabric. He reaches over to do the same on the other side, and gingerly pulls your underwear down your thighs, knees, and ankles. He doesn't fold them up this time, nor does he put them with the rest of your clothes. Instead, he puts them in his pocket to keep as a souvenir of your night together. You don't mind, many guys have done that before. You take it as a compliment, if anything.

You instinctively spread your legs apart a little, expecting him to start touching your pussy soon. But it appears you've guessed wrong, because Martin quickly picks up the remote and presses it. You feel a strong, paralyzing current running through you, making you cry out as your body convulses outside your control. "Fuck!" You huff when he finally stops, your muscles relaxing against the bed.

"I didn't say to move, did I?" He asks angrily, and you shake your head. "Use your words!" He almost shouts at you, holding up the remote as a threat to shock you again if you don't speak up.

"No, sir! You didn't! I'm sorry!" You apologize frantically, fumbling over your syllables. That shock scared you, there's no doubt about it. But you're surprised to find that it also felt...kinda good.

"That's right. Now, have you learned your lesson?" He asks, eyes burning into you as he waits for your answer.

"Yes." You nod. He doesn't say anything else. Instead, he drags his hand lazily along your ankle, creeping up toward your knee and thigh. He draws closer to your cunt, watching your breath hitch and heart skip a beat while you wait patiently for him to touch you. You observe silently as he continues to torture you with waiting so long. You need to feel his fingers on your clit, or sinking deep inside your pussy. You feel compelled to cry and scream for him to give you what you want at this point. But you hold it all back, you have to obey him if you're going to get what you so deeply desire.

Martin's hand reaches your inner thigh, and he presses on further to touch the very outside of your silk. You moan at the sensation, as unsatisfying as it is. "Hmm, so soft." He observes aloud, wondering how often you shave or wax your most intimate areas. He travels deeper, finally making contact with your clit with the very tips of his middle and ring fingers.

"Fuck." You whine, using every ounce of willpower to keep your hips from bucking off the bed. You don't imagine he'd take very kindly to such lack of self-control.

"More?" He questions.

"Yes, sir. Please, touch me." You whimper, begging him with your eyes. He does as you ask, dragging his fingertips along your slick folds. You're quickly heating up as he continues to stroke you, sweat forming inside your pores. He's still very slow and methodical, noting your every sound and expression like before. "More, please." You beg, still resisting the urge to buck and thrash around on the bed. You'd love nothing more than to grind your hips to get yourself off against his fingers.

"Well, since you asked so nicely." He smirks, moving further down to press a finger inside your soaked hole.

"Oh, god." You gasp. He pumps the digit in and out of your pussy, brushing against your g spot ever so slightly. Without you needing to ask, he adds another. "Fuck...yes..." You moan breathlessly, your eyes rolling back into your skull. His fingers are the perfect size, as long and thick as you dreamt they would be. He keeps his snail's pace, but you don't even care. He's inside you, and it feels so damn good.

"That's a good girl...do you like having my fingers inside you?" He asks curiously, though the answer reads plainly on your face.

"Yes, sir. You feel so good, I'm so wet for you." You shake your head in the affirmative as you speak, letting him know how amazing he's making you feel. Normally, Martin would have a mind to shock you again for responding in such a vulgar way. But he likes hearing these dirty words falling from your lips. You're different than the others, you're special. You make every single salacious statement sound like lines of poetry to him. This may only ever be a one-time thing, but you'll certainly be one that he'll never forget.

"I'm glad to hear it, Y/N." He says softly, continuing to work you over like it's his day job. He continues to go slow, but your insides are boiling all the same. You can sense your release nearing, and you're sure Martin can as well. "Are you getting close?" He asks, noticing your walls have started to flutter around his fingers. He'd love to see how beautiful you look when you climax.

"Yes, sir. Please, don't stop." You plead as the waves of your oncoming orgasm begin to roll over you.

"I won't, Y/N." He says softly, almost like a promise. It's uncharacteristically sweet, considering he's got your hands tied up while a shock collar sits tightly around your neck. Just a little longer, and you'll be calling out his name. He hopes so, anyway. He certainly likes how it sounds coming from you.

"I'm almost there...can I cum, sir?" You ask, meeting his eyes.

"Not yet, Y/N. Hold it for me, just a bit longer." Martin replies firmly.

"O-okay..." You stutter, gasping slightly when you feel your orgasm about to sneak up on you. You try your best to hold it back, to obey Martin's orders. It's becoming increasingly difficult, however. Your thighs keep twitching, and a constant whine floods from your lips from keeping it all inside.

"Just a little more, I know you can do it. Be a good girl for me." He insists, increasing his pace ever so slightly to up the stakes.

"Fuck...sir, please...I want to be good for you. But I nee—" You beg, which is quickly interrupted by another intense shock. His fingers left you at the last second before he flicked the switch, but the painful waves seem to only extend your pleasure. You continue to moan until he presses the button to stop the electric current.

"I told you to wait, Y/N. Don't make excuses, and don't disobey me." He shoves his fingers back into you, and rapidly curls and thrusts them this time.

"Oh, fuck!" You cry out, tears pricking your eyes now. He's purposefully trying to make you break the rules, but you refuse to earn another shock anytime soon. You keep your orgasm tangled up in a quickly dissolving chain, waiting for him to give you the go ahead.

"Do you want to release, Y/N?" He asks flatly, peering down at you. He marvels at your resolve to follow his orders, he knows it's taking everything in you to hold on for him. What a strong little thing she is... he muses to himself.

"Yes! Please, sir! I want to cum so bad..." You exclaim, your bound hands helplessly clawing at the pillow beneath your head.

"Go ahead." He nods, giving you a small smile again.

"Fuck...Martin!" You moan loudly as your release takes over. Your thighs quake, and your insides clamp around Martin's fingers. The pleasure is so intense, like nothing you've ever experienced before. Holding off for so long has made your orgasm ridiculously powerful. You're blinded by bright white light that consumes your entire being, and you can't stop trembling and moaning for a good fifteen seconds. He watches this event unfold, his gaze drawn downwards when your arousal spills warmly into his hand. He takes his fingers out of you, grabbing a washcloth to wipe his hand with as you come down. You're left panting wildly, slathered in sweat that's dampened your hair and the bed beneath you.

"Was that enjoyable for you?" Martin asks, as if he didn't just witness you having the best orgasm of your entire life.

"Yes, sir. It was amazing." You gush, smiling uncontrollably at the utter bliss you feel inside.

"Good. I liked it quite a lot, too." He replies, and you hear the jingling of his belt opening. You open your eyes to see Martin undoing his pants. You watch hungrily as he exposes his clean white briefs, and the stiff cock sheathed inside them. He puts the slacks away, and comes back over to the bed. He makes sure you're paying attention, before slipping his underwear down his legs. His dick slaps against his stomach, the head red and swollen with need. You want to take him in your mouth, or to ride him, it doesn't really matter. You just want him inside you again, to make your fantasies a completed reality.

"Can I suck your cock, sir?" You ask cautiously, looking up at him with doe eyes.

"No, thank you. I've never liked that very much. But I think you want something else a bit more, don't you?" He questions you again, taking hold of his length and stroking it a couple of times.

"Yes, sir. I want you to fuck me." You say boldly, biting your lip.

"I ought to shock you again for that filthy mouth of yours." He threatens, but he's not really all that serious about it.

"Do you not like the things I say, sir?" You ask with a bratty pout, toying with him a little bit.

"I-I do. Much as I shouldn't, I really do." His tone falters, which clues you in to how much he immensely enjoys you saying dirty things.

"Do you want to fuck me, sir?" You continue with your own inquiries, hoping to drive him to slam his cock into you, or even shock you again for acting out of line. You're enjoying this far more than you'd truly expected, and it appears he is as well.

"Yes." He almost whispers.

"Do you want to make me scream your name?" You press on, testing the limits.

"Yes." Martin continues to rub himself as you speak. Slow and languid, not nearly enough to make him lose control. Just revving himself up for when he's deep inside you.

"How do you want me?" You ask again.

"What do you mean?" He replies, confused as to what you're referring to.

"Laying down? Hands and knees? On your lap? How do you want me?" You repeat yourself, your words dripping with lust.

"Oh, I see." Martin blushes slightly at his misunderstanding. He thinks it over a moment, before answering. "This way is fine...for now." He says, climbing onto the bed to join you now. He spreads your legs apart with his hands, tenting your knees and placing himself between them. He gives you another kiss, warming you up before the main event. His hands grab at your tits, massaging them roughly.

"Mmm." You moan against his mouth, wishing you could bury your hands in his hair and tug on it. His lips move lower down to your neck, and he brings a hand to rub against your clit for a moment. "Oh..." You whimper quietly.

"Are you ready?" He asks in your ear, ceasing his touch on your bundle of nerves. He takes hold of his cock, running his tip along your silk.

"Yes, sir. So ready...you have no idea." You reply, waiting for him to penetrate you. Without another word, he puts his head above yours to watch you as his dick slips inside you. "Oh, fuck." You exhale while he fills you up. He's the perfect size, reaching every inch of your soaked pussy flawlessly. "You're so big, sir." You compliment him once he bottoms out.

"Thank you. You're very...warm." He says, somewhat awkwardly. You're guessing that's his best attempt at talking dirty.

"Do I feel nice and tight inside? Am I wet enough for you?" You try to help him out, saying all the vulgar things on his behalf.

"Yes. You're perfect, Y/N." Martin rasps, slowly pulling out before slipping back in. He lets out a low groan at the slickness of your insides. He continues to thrust in and out at a very slow pace, similar to how his fingers were working inside you earlier. But you want more, you want him to rail you like he does in your dreams. You know he has it in him, but you're unsure how to say it without him shocking you again.

"Can you go faster, sir?" You ask politely.

"Not yet, Y/N. Patience." He says in warning, still moving so very slow. You swear he's just trying to make you squirm. You can't help your neediness, so you grind your hips to meet his thrusts. He pulls his cock out of you as a result, and takes hold of the remote to give you another shock.

"Shit!" You shout at the painful current going through your body once more. Your muscles seize up, and Martin just watches the helpless look on your face. He lets it go a little longer this time, making you afraid that you might pass out. But just before you're about to possibly lose consciousness, he turns it off.

"It appears you have a problem with listening." Martin growls, which only turns you on more.

"I'm sorry, sir. I only want you so bad, you feel so good inside me." You explain, the pitchy whine in your voice making his cock twitch. How can he resist you when you sound like that?

"You promise to be good for me? To listen to what I say?" He questions, his expression stone still despite his ever-growing hunger for you.

"Yes, sir. Please...I need you." You beg tearfully.

"Very well." He responds, before slamming his cock inside you.

"Fuck!" You squeal. He proceeds to hammer himself into you now, gripping your thighs with frustrated strength.

"Is this what you want, Y/N?" He asks while panting as he fucks you good and hard.

"Yes, sir. This is exactly what I want. You feel so good." You continue to moan with every thrust, wrapping your legs around him to keep him close. He allows you to do this, using you as leverage to keep pounding your pussy like his life depends on it.

"Should I go harder? Faster? Tell me what you want, Y/N." Martin offers, spellbound by your helpless noises.

"Fuck me harder, sir. I know you can...you're so strong...I can take it." You plead to him, bringing your bound hands down to rest around his neck. You have to hold him, to feel him in any way you possibly can.

"I'm sure you can. You're such a good girl for me." He chuckles, snapping his hips to drive into you with more force.

"Shit, I'm getting close again, sir..." You warn him, though you're not sure how well you can hold it this time. He's hitting your sweet spot with every motion of in and out, and you're sure he isn't far behind.

"You know the rules, Y/N." He burns, picking up the remote again. You watch him with frightened eyes, though your lips curl into a mischievous smile.

"Do it." You blurt the words out.

"What?" He asks, dumbfounded that you're actually asking him to shock you.

"Shock me. It feels really good, sir." You reply seductively.

"If that's what you really want..." He trails off, still thrusting roughly into you as he presses the button. It appears the collar works like a taser, sending an intense shock to you, without affecting him at all. You moan at the sensation, savoring the pain and pleasure mixing together inside your clenching belly. Your walls spasm around his dick, making him groan. That's another reason why you asked him to do it, you knew he'd like it, too. He lets the current go on for longer again, watching your face twist in ecstasy. "You really are something special, Y/N." He says, in awe of you. He flicks the switch to turn it off, and your body relaxes underneath his.

"I try my best." You quip, breathing far more heavily than you were before.

"Here, let's try hands and knees for the end, hm?" Martin suggests, quickly pulling out and rolling you onto your stomach. He pants erratically behind you, waiting for you to get on your knees.

"Mmm, yes, please." You hum, kneeling before him while arching your back. You lean on your elbows, your hands resting just below your head.

Martin takes a moment to look at you in this position, noting your readiness to take him once more. He can deduce that this is your favorite position, and as a man of science, he can understand the anatomical reason as to why. He takes hold of his cock, running his leaking tip along your folds to tease you again. He grunts at his sensitivity, needing to hold back himself so he can fully please you. He'd hate to leave a woman unsatisfied. "Ready?" He asks, barely pressing the head of his dick against your entrance.

"Yes, sir. Please, fuck me." You plead, fighting the reflex to back yourself into him.

"Well, I am partial to begging." He says with a light laugh, before shoving his length into you.

"Fuck, yes." You moan as he hits even better angles inside you from behind.

"More?" He asks, needing you to tell him exactly what you want. He loves how verbal you are, how unafraid you are of sounding so pathetic.

"Yes, sir. Fuck me hard and fast...I wanna cum on your huge cock." You're whimpering and teary-eyed again, but you can't possibly be bothered to care.

"Sure thing." He answers simply, grabbing either side of your waist. He pulls out, making your skin slap together loudly as he thrusts back in with force. You cry out, gripping what you can of the covers below you. It's hard to manage with your hands stuck together, but you try your damndest. Martin grunts very loudly as he continues to fuck you at the pace you asked for. You're almost there again, and he can feel it. He's right behind you, his stomach preparing to tense as his balls tighten.

"Can I cum, sir?" You ask through a moan. You can feel your arousal lubing him up with each stroke, some of it rolling down your inner thigh in warm drips.

"Not yet. Soon." He mumbles, driving himself as deep into you as humanly possible. Your insides are so snug around him now, threatening to strangle him altogether. He's looking forward to feeling you let go around him.

"Please, sir...please, please...please..." You repeat the words incoherently, they're the only things you can think to say. You're an absolute mess, holding your orgasm in so hard that it almost hurts. Your brain has turned to mush, and you know you can't keep it in forever.

"You've been a very good girl tonight, Y/N. Let it all go for me." He growls, sensing his own end taking him over.

"P-push the bu..." You trail off, unable to finish the sentence.

"What?" Martin asks, trying to figure out what you're saying.

"The button. Push...the...button." You force the words out, every syllable of which threatening to open the floodgates. But you want to feel that delicious shock as you cum, you just know it'll all be worth it.

"Of course, Y/N." He says breathlessly. He does as you ask, forcing his own climax back for the sake of you violently losing control around him. He presses the button, and you finally feel it wash over you.

"Martin!" You choke out his name as your body seizes up one last time. Your pussy clenches around his dick, yanking a loud groan from his throat.

"God—" He thrusts into you uncontrollably, his cum coating your insides messily. If you could flex your vocal chords right now, you'd scream at how good his sloppy bucking feels. You continue to tremble and convulse, releasing a small mess of juices from your pussy. The warm liquid soaks his cock, making him groan again. "Y/N, I—" He gasps, unable to believe how otherworldly you feel inside. He keeps thrusting through the pleasure, forcing your cum to mix and spill out onto your thighs and the bed.

You're on cloud nine in this moment, savoring every second of electric current pulsing through you, and every needy stroke Martin continues to make inside you. He finally turns off the collar, powering it off entirely. You slump against the bed, taking him with you as he still won't stop fucking your pussy. "Martin..." You moan, trying to warn him that he's gonna make you cum again if he doesn't let up.

"You feel so good, Y/N. I've never felt anyone like you..." He praises.

"G-gonna cum again..." You make a second attempt, but he doesn't seem to hear you. You've broken him, in a way, making him the desperate one now. You let him keep going, regardless of the fact that you're getting a little sore. His thrusts feel so good, and he seems to want to experience you clamping down on him one last time.

"One more, just one more...can you do that for me, Y/N?" He asks with desperation in his voice. His breath lands hotly on the back of your neck, his body sliding around on top of yours as you're both covered in sweat.

"Y-yes...I'll be so good for you, Martin. Make me cum." Your words are all the motivation he needs. He picks up his pace again, pounding you into the bed as he tries to give you another orgasm. You cry out over and over, waiting to feel ecstasy rush through you for the third time.

"That's it...just like that, Y/N. Good girl." He pants, feeling your walls fluttering again.

"Oh, shit...I'm gonna cum, sir. Can I cum, please?" You whimper.

"Y-Yes, you can..." He stutters, and you sense your high taking over once the words pass his lips.

"FUCK!" You scream, thighs quaking as you're rocked to the core again.

"Mmm, ah—" His breath catches in his throat as you soak his cock again, even more than last time. You spill down your thighs and his, every spasm pushing more fluid out of you. You almost start sobbing as your final high subsides, and he stills himself within you. He carefully pulls out, gazing at the sticky mess left between your legs. You lie still, trying to catch your breath. As you do so, Martin gets off the bed and unlocks the collar. He takes it away, putting it and the remote back in its case. He also unties your hands, checking for any bruises left on your wrists. Finding none, he retrieves a damp towel from the bathroom to clean you up with. "How are you feeling?" He asks as he wipes away the mess from your sore flesh.

"I'm great, Martin. That was so fucking good." You say softly, feeling completely exhausted now. Once he's done cleaning you up, he helps you sit up and redress, sans your panties. "Thank you." You say, standing to meet him once you're fully clothed.

"For what?" He asks curiously.

"For giving me what I've been dreaming about for weeks." You reply cheekily, giving him a short kiss. You suppose it's time for you to leave now, to go back home to your parents.

"You dreamt about me?" He questions, as if it's impossible for you to have done such a thing.

"Mmhmm, every night since the first day you came into the store. Shit, I've had to change my panties in the middle of the night so many times because of you." You giggle, playfully poking his chest.

"Right." He gives you a soft smile, unsure how to respond to that. "Well, I can have my driver drop you at home, if you like. Or the store, if your car is still there." He offers.

"The store is fine. Thanks." You reply, and he goes to a phone on the dresser, presumably to speak to the driver. He retrieves a robe to put on to escort you to the door after the brief call, tying a firm knot around his waist.

"Come along, then." He gestures at the bedroom door, and you open it and head for the stairs. You go all the way down and to the front door, stopping for a moment. "What is it? Did you forget something?"

"No." You shake your head, lifting up your bag to show that you've got everything. "I just...if you ever wanted to do this again, I wouldn't say no." You end with a shrug, unsure he'll even consider it.

"I wouldn't be opposed to that." He answers, smiling a bit bigger for your benefit. Unfortunately, for your own safety, he can't do this again. If only you knew the kinds of things he's gotten himself caught up in these last few years, the awful things he's done in the name of 'science'. He can't put a sweet young thing like you at risk, no matter how amazing the sex is. But for now, he can let you think there's a chance, he can't bear to break your heart. You'll just need some time to forget about him, to move on to someone your own age. That's all. At least, he hopes so. He'd hate to have you come back here looking for him, when this isn't even his real home at all. It's all staged, sitting empty and waiting for him, or anyone else working in the lab, who needs a cover to blend in. It's a shame you fell for it so willingly, though he supposes that's kind of the point.

"Cool. Well, hopefully I'll see you in the shop again. Or around town." You say, going to him for one last kiss goodbye.

"Of course. I'll be around." But no, he really won't. He'll have to avoid your store like the plague now. What a shame, you've got such a wonderful selection of Chopin. He puts a hand on the small of your back, giving you the final kiss you're waiting for. He kisses you hard, wanting to sweep you off your feet one last time. You hum against him, wishing you didn't have to let go. But he makes the decision for you, and the regretful look on his face tells you he won't be coming to you again.

You're not stupid, you know this was probably a one-time thing anyway. It hurts to know he's lying to your face, but you're sure he has a good reason. You figured his vague answer of 'government' as his job meant something top secret, maybe even dangerous. You get it, truly, you do. And he doesn't need to know that you see right through him. Let him have his illusion, it'll only hurt more to shatter it.

"Bye, Martin." You give him a small wave, and go outside to the car that's waiting for you. It's a dead silent ride back to the record store, with the driver glancing back at you suspiciously a couple of times. He drops you off outside Waxed Out, and you walk down the street to the lot where you've parked your car. You get inside, turn the key, and drive home while replaying the exquisite moments you and Martin shared together. It'll be a while before you get over that man, and you don't mind that one bit. He was something special tonight, and you're sure he feels the same about you. At least he has your panties to remember you by.

August 10th, 1983

Dear diary,

I was right. Martin hasn't returned to the store, and I don't think he's ever going to. I get it, his work is probably too much to balance with hooking up with me and taking care of his kid, if he even has one. I still dream about him every so often, and we do all the things we did that night over and over again. I still wake up with soaked panties every time, but all it does is remind me that I'm never going to see him in that way again. I hardly see him around town, either. And the few times I have, he ignores me when I wave at him. It's like I don't exist, or at least, he turns away before I can see him look sad. I'd like to think that's what he's doing, anyway. I know, I know, this was only sex. Wild, crazy, kinky-as-fuck sex. But still, that's all it was. And that's all it needs to be.

As they say, onwards and upwards. Speaking of that, I've finally got my own place! No roommates or anything! It's totally cheap and doesn't look like a complete dump. And it's all mine. No more nosey parents, not after I move in there in a couple days. I've got my shit all packed up and ready to go. My freedom can't come soon enough, diary. Until then, I'm gonna get high and masturbate while thinking about Martin again. What can I say? That dick was something else...

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