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comicsbeat · 7 years ago

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Why can’t the world just be ruled by cabals of mighty librarian queens? Organizing to create policies, looking out for the marginalized, fighting censorship, advocating for the education and literacy of all – we’d be led into a golden age of knowledge and peace.

Or at least that’s the fantasy I conjured after attending my very first American Library Association annual conference this past weekend in New Orleans.

Okay, maybe it’s just the exceptional people who I hung out with – the librarians driving the growing acceptance of graphic novel collections around the world. Whip smart and passionate about their advocacy, I soon came to realize the thing that was most powerful about this group: not only do they love reading, they love it when YOU read, too, and they do everything they can to help more people enjoy reading.

https://twitter.com/librarylandia/status/1011285466560237568

This was undoubtedly a banner year for the graphic novel pavilion at ALA. Perhaps it was the lure of the exotic New Orleans setting – supposedly attendance geos up whenever the ALAAC is held in the Crescent City. But maybe it was destiny. Not only was it my own first ALA (something that shocked everyone I told) but the number of publishers attending for the first time or returning after a long absence was much remarked upon. Titan, Rebellion, Humanoids, the French Comics Association, Europe Comics, Zenescope and several other were set up for the first time. Fantagraphics and Boom were returning after long absences. And even DC, long represented by distributor Random House, had finally returned with a booth promoting their Ink, Zoom and Black Label lines.

The only publisher missing in action? Marvel Comics, a fact often noted that drew some tough talk from librarians. But that will be returned to.

It wasn’t just publishers – the people who were attending for the first time, besides me, Berger Books; Karen Berger, Black Crown’s Shelly Bond, Lion Forge’s Carol Burrell, Aftershocks Steve Rotterdam, Dynamite’s Alan Payne and many, many others were experiencing the library market first hand for the first time, joining such veterans as our own Torsten Adair, and Random House Graphics’ Gina Gagliano.

They all came together in NoLA’s voodoo tinged fever swamp perhaps to present an alternative to the twitter culture wars and comics shop vs Wal-Mart narrative that was keeping everyone else busy. And it was also the cusp of a milestone obscure outside the library world but momentous inside it; the establishment of a Graphic Novel Round Table. In the hierarchy of the ALA this classification allows for membership dues, budgets and greater resources for organizing projects. The drive was spearheaded by Tina Coleman, who’s been organizing the graphic novel pavilion and the artist alley at ALA for several years, with a bold squadron of graphic novel library knights behind her as shown in this photo.

The effects of this new roundtable may not be seen directly outside the library world, but we’ll feel its influence in future endeavors. It also marks a momentous trek from the base camp that began back in 2002, when comics first invaded the ALA with a presentation by Neil Gaiman, Colleen Doran, Art Spiegelman and Jeff Smith, four swashbuckling creators whose talents and charisma could not help but win over the library world.

Anyhoo, I know I’m waxing rhapsodical over a conference. Maybe it’s just the effects of dehydration and overheating as I wandered the 97-degree swamp of Chartres St – maybe it’s destiny.

So let’s go back! I arrived in New Orleans back on Thursday. Looking around the gate at Newark airport, most of my fellow passengers were women reading books. It was a very ALA bound crowd.

The event kicked off with a reception for the French Comics Association at the French Consulate in New Orleans. That was as swell as you might imagine, a huge, gracious mansion opened for the evening to the library cabal plus a few publishers and the French comics contingent of Barroux (Alpha), Cati Baur (Four Sisters), Aurélie Neyret (Cici’s Journal), Benjamin Reiss (Super Tokyoland), Julie Rocheleau (About Betty’s Boob), Eve Tharlet (The Wild Cat: Mr. Badger & Mrs. Fox) as well as French BD industry folks.

Flore Piacentino of the French Publishers Association gave a little talk and mentioned the influence of manga, bande desinee and “comics” coming together. I’ve often heard the three great branches of world graphic literature around the world categorized like this, and maybe it’s time for us in the US to accept the “comics” name with pride for our bombastic yet fantastic strain of storytelling. Standing in the hot backyard of the manse, with its mix of Haunted Mansion moldings and mid-century furniture, it was fun to hear of the panels and meetings to come.

After the reception, I grabbed some dinner with Karen Berger, Eva Volin and Robyn Brenner, Berger Books and the library world exchanging information over some super tasty shrimp and grits. Not only was this to be a weekend of smart talk, but a food marathon of surviving crusty bread, butter drenched fish and the occasional vegetable.

The next morning the conference kicked off. Here it must be mentioned that a teeny little con war broke out, GraphiCon vs Library Con. The first is a forum organized by the ALA GN interest group – and this year focused on adult graphic novel collection, a frontier topic where best practices are still being developed. Library Con was held across the hall and in somewhat the same time period and is organized by Random House. There was some grumbling about the timing, although both programs were arranged to fill up the time before Michele Obama’s keynote and the exhibit hall opening at 5:30. There were some great panels on both programs, and certainly a lot to do. Random House did stack the deck a bit by offering a free boxed lunch. I decided to eat half of an egg salad sandwich from Starbucks instead. This delicacy is no longer available in NYC – probably because it’s too fattening for diet conscious New Yorkers – but one half made a great breakfast and the second half made a good lunch!

Graphic Con kicked off with a panel on “Building and Justifying Adult Graphic Novel Collections in Public and Academic Libraries” with Andrew Woodrow Butcher, Amanda Melilli (University of Nevada, Las Vegas) Marcela Peres (Lewiston Public Library, ME), and creators Ezra Claytan Daniels and Eric Shanower.

The main point of all the programming is that just as kids and YA collections – now well established at most libraries – started out slow, adult collections need to build on the success of those other age groups. Shelving remains a problem though. A recurring villain was “741.5” the Dewey Decimal category where graphic novels are shoved into one big blob. How to organize within this number – by author or series or age rating – is an ongoing issue.

Also what to collect is hard to pin down since there are more lists and awards for juvenile categories. (The Beat was mentioned several times as a resource for more information on graphic novels, giving me a serious case of “must do more!”) Adult collections are still built on a case by case basis. “Going online to find titles is not the best approach. One size doesn’t fit all since libraries don’t all have the same users and needs,” said UNLV’s Mellili. “You want it to be a reflection of the rest of your collection.”

Peres had a few success stories. She said the adult collection at her library has grown from 300 check outs a year to 1300 over the last five years. She’s also used innovative marketing approaches, such as a GN reading group held at a local brewery.

Shanower noted that his Age of Bronze was still finding an audience in libraries. “I don’t think there’s resistance like there might have been in 20th century, but there is still education that needs to be made.” Asked about whether his book has ever been challenged he joked “I wish it would be!”

Subsequent panels delved more into the topic from the publisher and creator sides. Image has a robust library program, led by Chloe Ramos Peterson, a former librarian herself, and the importance of catalogs, lists, newsletter and other resources for librarians was repeatedly mentioned. For creators, sometimes it does become a content issue – one scene may push a title from a comfy home in the YA section to an uncertain future in the adult collection, and it’s a decision creators have to weigh.

Reader resistance was also mentioned a few times. “Some adults are just embarrassed to be seen checking out comics,” said one librarian (sorry my notes don’t say who.) Overcoming this resistance with events and education is a slow but necessary step.

After the library conferences wrapped up everyone but me went off to see Michelle Obama speak. People had been lined up since 9 am – a different kind of Hall H indeed – and I didn’t want to get caught in a long line.

The exhibit hall for ALA has a kind of mini preview night – very mini as it’s only 90 minutes long – and after the keynote, everyone filed in. A big topic when I was around – maybe because I kept bringing it up – was the announcement of DC’s Wal-Mart exclusive. I had a lively discussion of the topic over dinner with retailer Brian Hibbs who, like myself, had been brought to the show by Lion Forge to liaise with the library world. (Brian promises he’ll have one of his epic columns about the experience next week.)

As lot of our discussion can be seen in the piece that I wrote the next morning. Brian feels strongly that exclusives that the DM can’t get are the wrong way to build a bigger audience for comics, but that’s his story to tell and I’ll leave him to state his own case.

Saturday, for me, was more of the same, wandering the vast hall to find the comics folks, and chatting them up. The Ernest Morial Convention Center – a place I haven’t been since before Katrina – is very very long and narrow and the show floor had the GN stage and pavilion at one end, with long stretches of library tech in between, studded with pockets of publishers.

Despite all the excitement over books, many exhibits at ALA are given over to actual library tech. I don’t really know what all those scanners and conveyor belt sorters did, so I will leave librarians to explain what they were looking for. Fantagraphics had set up with Norton, D&Q with McMillan, Uncivilized and Iron Circus in Consortium, Dark Horse and DC set up side by side in the Random House aisle. Some publishers made the decision to be in the distro area, but many other stuck it out in the GN pavilion, notably IDW/Top Shelf, Boom and all of the manga publishers on hand, Viz, TokyoPop, Yen Press and Udon. While it was all the way at the end of the hall, the Graphic Novel Stage served as a focal point.

There were many creators on hand, including a host of the DC Zoom and DC Ink writers, and of course the whole artist alley, which was small but significant. Due to the size of the hall, crowds would tend to come in waves. Much like BEA there were often long lines for signings, and librarians love free stuff just like everyone else.

I did attend the presentation DC Zoom and DC Ink lines led by VP Michele Wells and featuring writers Mariko Tamaki, Danielle Paige, Shea Fontana, Ridley Pearson, Kami Garcia, Meg Cabot, and Lauren Myracle. Unlike the long ago Minx (which this is often compared to) these lines feature veteran YA and kids authors who bring their own followings to an initiative aimed firmly at bookstores. It’s funny how retailers aren’t worried about THESE comics, isn’t it?

The mood was very different from the usual superhero hype panel, which usually consists of something like the following. “Remember issue #327 of Amygdala Man, where he finds a pair of underpants on the beach? Well in issue #600 we’re going to find out who they belong to and how it fits in with what Sprawlmeister has been up to.”

Instead the plans all spoke to the aspirational and emotional state of the young superheroes, with their motivations and family issues being covered to show how they overcame – or didn’t – problems to be heroes. Basic stuff really. The giveaway booklets for both lines featured sizable previews of most titles, and the art is sharp on these! As mentioned on twitter, DC Superhero Girls is the real disruption in the superhero biz, with thousands and thousands of copies sold and a whole generation of girls coming to love these characters.

Saturday night saw a sort of comics social event of the ALA, the Will Eisner Library Grant Reception, led by Carl and Anne Gropper and John Shableski. Grants were presented to two libraries for their projects, and a few speeches were made. Jason Latour (above) delivered a key note, noting how styrange it was “for a kid who spent a lot of time in detention to be talking to a room full of librarians.” Olivier Jalabert of Glenát also delivered some very funny remarks.

The event was another one where the spirit of Will Eisner was conjured. In a display of unique clairvoyance, he foresaw the rise of the graphic novel. Perhaps New Orleans was the place for his ghost to appear and see that his works were good.

Sunday was pretty much just more of all of this. I did the “Underrated and Overrated graphic Novels” panel, a terrifying chance to go on the record with some disses, but I won’t reveal what was said. My fellow panelist Gene Ha did repeatedly ding Chris Hart, whose “anatomy books” for artists are cheesy and full of mistakes, so I’ll go along with that: Christopher Hart isnogood!

I also popped into a panel featuring Mark Siegel in a panel discussion with First Second star authors Vera Brosgol and Ngozi Ukazu. At one point in the free-flowing conversation, Vera and Ngozi were asked why their artwork connects with readers both inside and outside the comics ‘geekdom’. Vera answered with a tip for young artists: “make the eyes bigger.” And the conversation went on into why humans are hardwired to love baby features, and sometimes cartooning might just tap into that – the appeal of “neoteny” in current comics styles hasn’t been much explored, so here’s your cue!

Also the great Raina, so often mentioned, was in attendance, although just to hang out, and led to this epic photo.

https://twitter.com/goraina/status/1010976229065940992

Sunday afternoon was also the big day for the presentation to the ALA governing board about the Graphic Novel Round Table. The librarians presenting the proposal had been nervous about it all weekend. Honestly no one thought it wouldn’t be picked up. When a call for interested parties went out they hoped for 200 responses but got 1000.

And that’s really the bottom line about the ALA. Librarians love comics not because it’s a secret hobby they try to fob off on other people – graphic novels are highly circulated books in libraries. There is an avid readership and a growing need for more information about all of it. I think a lot of first time ALA attendees thought that their job would be trying to persuade librarians to give comics a try, but the reality is that curators are way ahead of that – they’re always looking for MORE information about the publishers and authors their patrons are interested in, and more information to justify their purchasing budgets. They are hungry for more books that people can read and enjoy.

Far from the roil of the DM, graphic novels were clearly on the upswing “Graphic novels are big and they’re just going to get bigger,” someone at the Disney booth, of all places, told me.

Creator Frank Cammuso had an even more blunt assessment. “I think libraries saved comics,” he told me. Looking back at how comics emerged from the wreck of the post speculation market into the manga-fueled era of bookstore comics, and the recovery following Borders going under, library sales have risen steadily, an invisible but integral part of the business for publishers smart enough to get in on it. The numbers don’t lie: There are an estimated 119,487 libraries in the US, including 16,000 public libraries and nearly 100,000 school libraries. A hit in this market dwarfs the direct sales market, and doesn’t even show up on Bookscan.

So yeah, it was a good time. Despite all the shit going on in the outside world, I couldn’t help but feel optimistic as I made one last stroll through the feels-like-105-degree sauna of New Orleans. Perhaps I was just infected with a swamp dream, maybe it was just the low-stress experience of spending a whole weekend surrounded by smart, literate people. Maybe I was just bathed in the smiles and fellowship of people talking about the thing they love. For me, the ALA in New Orleans was the time and place to be feel good about what we’ve accomplished and look forward to doing even more.

https://twitter.com/marcelaphane/status/1011631881396391936

ALA 2018: Graphic novels shine in a very different Hall H Why can’t the world just be ruled by cabals of mighty librarian queens? Organizing to create policies, …

#alaac 2018 #First Second #gnrt #Graphic Novels #hall h #librarians #new orleans #tina coleman

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ronearoundblindly · 3 years ago

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Well. That's a strong opening, ma'am.

I FUCKING KNEW IT!

I win. I don't know what I win reading more of this but I win.

Fuk u, Michael.

Oh, but...ouch, bae.

Lloyd is near giddy as he forces Michael to watch you get violated on screen.

Oh. I do not have words.

But this loser you married? It took him six months to break.

watching you through your home security cameras

yeah, i gotta admit i didn't see it being lloyd for the whole 6 mths...and I should really find this darker than I do...

Lloyd just laughs. “She’s fine,” he says. “Better than fine, I would argue. In fact, I think I might keep her—at least until the job is done.”

mercy. i beg mercy, woman.

And, of course, he wants to see the man’s face when you tell him the kid’s not his. That’ll be absolutely delightful.

absolutely dies. is ded.

First, he decides to give you a little taste of the domestic.

and this is the most afraid i have ever been while reading this

“That’s my boy,” Lloyd says, and he finds himself feeling a surprising surge of pride.

i cried. i'm going to hell.

“Not if I buy off the coach,” Lloyd quips. “So what else?”

WHY DID I CRY HARDER?!

“That’s what he wants you to think, Porkchop."

Bringing it on back to Fuck-You-Lloydville. Welcome home, sweetie.

“Six months, but-”

“You think I wanted to have to go see your piece of shit husband every goddamn week knowing that he goes home to my girl and my son?"

::absolutely vomits everywhere:: omgomgomg

Because if that was me, Porkchop—if you were my wife and some asshole came into my office and told me not to touch you, I wouldn’t last a fucking day. I’d go home that night and fuck you harder because of it.

Here lies Ro. Murdered. She loved it.

Yikes.

Lloyd smiles. Yes, yes you are.

ndvur;ihe;ruvndknvdfbvlvbndlkuvbd;iuvh;gnrt;ht;fi

you could have cried because the last thing in the world you were expecting was for Lloyd Hansen to actually care.

I literally took my glasses off and pinched the bridge of my nose. Oof

OOF. ::fills a bowl with chocolate and goes to town::

Cue chorus of nope, nope, nope, nope, nopenopenope, nope-nope, nopey-nopers.

“What I want is to eat your sweet cunt until you cry."

Gurl, the chocolate is already gone. I am not prepared.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Flavor savor?! oh god, real vom, jesus christ, resume chorus of no's

i don't know what emotions i'm feeling anymore. there's too many. Yup, welcome to the Horny Horror Fanfic Show, audience of my stupid ass for staying up really late to read this masterpiece of fuckery.

your dick

I WALKED AWAY FROM THE COMPUTER. He said 'baby?!?!'

oh no, i woke the whole house with my gasp. welp. I'm absolutely never going to recover from that. Cheers to you, ma'am. I am deceased.

Special Girl - Part 5

Summary: You arrived at Harvard as a shy, nerdy girl. You never thought a guy like Lloyd Hansen would notice you. But Lloyd saw you—really saw you—and for a time you became his special girl. Now, years later, you’re stuck in a sexless marriage. Unloved and unfucked for months, you’ve decided enough is enough. The fact that Lloyd has been keeping tabs on you for years has nothing to do with it… or does it?

Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x Reader

Word Count: 7.7K

Warnings: DUBCON (alcohol use/manipulation); INCREDIBLY unsafe/unhealthy/deadass wrong BDSM practices (Lloyd doesn’t do safewords or aftercare); plus-sized reader/fatphobia; cheating; degradation; bondage, spanking/whipping, gagging; knife kink; blood kink; CNC roleplay; gunplay; rough oral (m receiving); explicit sex (O,V,A); unprotected sex (Lloyd doesn’t wear condoms, ok?); unwanted pregnancies/abortion; physical intimidation/abuse; general toxicity; Lloyd is a psycho and he’s fucking mean—Dead Dove Do Not Eat! 18+ only, no minors.

Series Masterlist

Part Five

Lloyd leaves you catatonic on the bed, his cum dripping out of your every hole, and makes his way over to the pool house. He’s still there, tied to a chair, his right eye swollen shut and his split lip finally starting to coagulate. By Lloyd’s estimation, he’s got at least two broken ribs, three broken fingers, a dislocated shoulder, and a nasty case of testicular torsion. He’ll probably lose the nut, not that he’s using it much these days.

“Hey there, Mikey,” Lloyd says. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I was doing a bit of entertaining.” Lloyd scooches a chair up next to Michael—slowly, deliberately—and points his Ruger at his stomach. “Now, have you thought any more about the question I asked you earlier?”

“I told you,” Michael says feebly. “I don’t know where my father hid the drive. I just need more time—another week, maybe two, and you’ll have everything you need.”

Lloyd pokes him in the ribs with the muzzle of his gun and Michael winces. “And that would have been fine,” he says, “except you broke my rules.”

Michael’s one good eye goes wide as he looks up at Lloyd. “I didn’t. I-”

“Hope the head was worth it, buddy,” Lloyd says, clapping Michael on his fucked-up shoulder before rising from his seat. “You really should have let her finish. Little wifey sure knows her way around a dick.” Lloyd grabs the laptop off the table and pulls up the video file he’s just uploaded. “Believe me, I know,” he says, and he winks at your husband as he presses play.

Lloyd is near giddy as he forces Michael to watch you get violated on screen. After all, he did give him fair warning this would happen, and it’s what the guy deserves for being such a pain in the ass. It should have taken a month tops for Michael to collect the evidence on his father, but the guy is just such a wimp—too intimidated to stand up to his old man, too scared to go snooping around in his own parents’ house. So Lloyd had come up with a motivational tactic he thought might move things along: he had told your husband in no uncertain terms that if he engaged in any PG-13-and-up activity with you before he’d finished the job, you would be the one to pay for it. But if Lloyd is honest, it was less about getting the intel and more that he’d really just wanted to see if Michael would listen—if he was really so fucking weak that he’d let another man tell him if and when he could fuck his own wife.

If you were his wife, Lloyd thinks, there isn’t a person in the world—including you—that could stop him from fucking you whenever and wherever he wanted. But this loser you married? It took him six months to break, and even then he was too much of a pussy to stick his dick down your throat and take what was his; you’d practically forced yourself on him and still he could barely get it up. And then he fucking cries? Lloyd chuckles every time he thinks about it: watching you through your home security cameras, giving your husband one last chance to prove he’s worth a damn, down on your knees in your pretty little dress with your tits out, begging your own husband to want you. It was so fucking pathetic.

But you’d stuck to your guns in the end, told him to fuck off like the worthless piece of shit that he is. Lloyd had known you wanted out, that you have for years—all he’d done was give you a little incentive, just the push you needed to remember that you may have been married to Michael for all these years, but you’d never really been his. Your husband had never owned you—mind, body, and soul; only Lloyd Hansen has that distinction.

Lloyd sits with his hands clasped in his lap, his long legs spread wide in Michael’s direction as the man in front of him curses and weeps at the violent imagery playing on the laptop screen. He wears his most devious smile as he listens to you play the victim, and he watches your husband go through the gamut of human emotions one might expect in this particular circumstance: disgust, fear, anger, despair. If this guy only knew, Lloyd thinks, that this is tame for his wife. Every time Michael tries to look away, Lloyd tsk tsks him and raises his gun and barks, “Keep watching.”

Of course, Michael doesn’t know that you like everything that’s being done to you on that tape, that you asked for it, that you’ve been dreaming about it for years. Maybe if he did, he’d be crying even harder. As it stands, though, Michael is gagging as he watches you swallow Lloyd’s cum, and by the time Lloyd’s got his dick in you, your husband is retching up stomach acid all over his bare chest. His skin has to burn like hell, too, with all the cuts Lloyd had made.

“Turn it off,” Michael begs. “Please.”

“Ohhh, but it’s just about to get really good,” Lloyd says. “You ever fuck her ass, Mikey? I’m willing to bet that you haven’t. Well, let me tell you, It’s like heaven in there.”

“Did you kill her?” he croaks out. “Did you kill my wife?”

Lloyd just laughs. “She’s fine,” he says. “Better than fine, I would argue. In fact, I think I might keep her—at least until the job is done.”

“I’ll do whatever you want,” Michael begs. “Please just let her go.”

Lloyd leans in and whispers in Michael’s ear, “Not a chance. She’s just so much fun to play with.”

Lloyd leaves the video on repeat, checking Michael’s wrists and ankles to make sure his binds are secure before locking the pool house back up. The man is already broken, more malleable than he’s ever been, and Lloyd knows this thing could be finished tonight if he let him go—that he’s finally willing to man up and stand up to his father and get the fucking job done—but Lloyd is simply enjoying this too much. Psychological torture isn’t usually Lloyd’s thing, but he’s too close to this one; he wants Michael to suffer in every possible way because he committed the worst crime of all—he took something that doesn’t belong to him.

Walking back towards the house, Lloyd makes a decision. He’s spent months working this guy to get the job done the way the client wants it done—totally under the radar, no casualties—but he’d stopped caring about doing things the right way the second he saw Michael watching that video. What Lloyd wants now, what he needs, is for your husband to know everything, to see everything. He decides he’s going to let his team handle this business with the Senator—send them in quick and dirty, even if that means the old man dies bloody and the client doesn’t get exactly what he wants—because it’s not about the job anymore; it’s about what Lloyd wants, and what Lloyd wants is for your pathetic, weak-willed pussy of a husband to watch you get fucked live and in person so he knows that you are his, always were and always will be, and that there hasn’t been one single hour of one single day where you wouldn’t have chosen him if he’d given you the option.

And, of course, he wants to see the man’s face when you tell him the kid’s not his. That’ll be absolutely delightful.

It’s not that Lloyd feels threatened—how could he? The man is an ant and he is a boot. No, he just wants to see if you’ll do it, if just the chance that Lloyd might want you is enough to get you to cuck your husband and finally tell him the truth. You’ve already left Michael, but are you willing to hurt him? Might you even enjoy it? Is it possible that, deep down, you and Lloyd really are the same?

It’s Lloyd’s last test for you—his most important test—and if you can prove yourself to him then maybe, just maybe, he’ll give you what you’ve always wanted. The kid is a problem, of course, but Lloyd is nothing if not a problem-solver.

First, he decides to give you a little taste of the domestic. He walks back up to the bedroom and finds you freshly showered and wearing the Harvard football jersey—his jersey—that he’d left out for you. He likes you in it, wearing his name and his number: a branding of its own, just not Lloyd’s favorite kind. It pisses him off that you’d tattooed over his initials but he understands. What man would want to fuck a woman with another man’s name carved into her leg? Lloyd gets it, he does, but he’s already planning where he’ll cut you next, what he’ll write. Perhaps a Property of Lloyd Hansen right above your pussy. No, that’s too many letters for knifework, but maybe the tattoo gun…

“Hi,” you say. “Sorry I kind of passed out.”

“S’alright, Porkchop.” He crosses the room with a few purposeful strides and kisses you lightly on top of your head. “I know I gave it to you pretty rough.”

“I liked it,” you say, squinting your eyes and using that husky little voice you do when you want him to know how much you love the pain and how much of it you’re willing to endure for him.

“Oh, I know you did.” He wraps you up in his arms and feels you relax into him. “Now will you come downstairs, actually eat something this time? We’ve got all weekend, you know.”

You look up at him, as surprised as Lloyd expects you to be at his just throwing the invitation out there.

“Really?” you ask.

“Of course,” he replies. “Did you think I was just gonna kick you out? After all this time? No way, Porkchop. I’ve got big plans for you.”

Lloyd runs his thumb across the apple of your cheek and you lean into it and close your eyes. He kisses your forehead and then your lips—those plump, pillow-soft lips that feel so fucking perfect against his own. Lloyd isn’t big on kissing, never has been, unless it’s you. He pulls away because he has to or else he’ll end up back in bed with you. That can’t happen, not right now; he’s got work to do.

“Let’s go eat,” he says, and you follow him down the stairs.

Lloyd lets you reheat the food in the kitchen. He lets you pour him a drink. He lets you make him a plate before making one for yourself. Such a good little wife, so well trained. He knows you would live to serve him and he’d live like a goddamn king if he let you into his life. It really is a shame, though; you’re so much better than this, so much more. You would have made an excellent lawyer—and not a dirtbag, either. You would have done something of substance, something that mattered, something that helped people. You’re so very good at making other people happy.

After you’ve cleared his plate and yours, Lloyd lets you rinse the dishes but tells you to leave the rest. “Come sit with me,” he says. He pours you another glass of wine and takes it, and you, into the living room before making a fire in the oversized stone fireplace.

You’re cradling your glass of wine in both your hands, sitting on the big brown leather couch with your legs tucked under you. You’ve got nothing on under his jersey and it takes all the strength Lloyd can muster not to throw you on the rug in front of the fire and fuck you half blind. But no—not yet. He has some questions he needs to ask you, some things he needs to say.

“So,” he says, poking at the fire and turning around, “tell me about Harrison.”

He watches your eyes light up and your quick attempt to hide it, but of course he clocks it—he was waiting for it.

“I didn’t think you were interested,” you say, but not unkindly.

“Well, I am… in my way.” He sits next to you on the couch and places his hand on your bare thigh. “Look, I never wanted to be a dad. You know that. I fucking hate my dad and I’d probably be a far worse one than he was, but… you know… he’s my son. I want to know about him. That is if you want to tell me. I understand if you don’t.”

You smile softly and Lloyd can see your eyes start to water. Hook. Line. Sinker.

“He’s a lot like you, actually,” you begin. “I mean, he looks like you, but it’s not just that. He’s whip-smart and he knows exactly what he wants at all times—has even before he could talk.” You laugh a little, thinking about it. “And he’s a tough kid, maybe a little too tough, honestly, but he’s got a good heart underneath it all. And he’s so sweet when he wants to be.”

“He gets that part from you,” Lloyd says, and you roll your eyes. “What kind of stuff does he like?”

“He loves superhero movies and pepperoni pizza and, of course, football. You’ll be happy to know that he thinks flag football is for ‘wusses’ and he can’t wait until he can play tackle.”

“That’s my boy,” Lloyd says, and he finds himself feeling a surprising surge of pride.

He didn’t think he would actually care about any of this, and he was more than prepared to fake it for your sake, but the more he learns about his son—that there’s a tiny little Lloyd running around out there with that same innate urge to hurt—the more vainglorious he feels. He created this life, forced it into you so that you could push it out into the world and give the universe another Lloyd Hansen. There’s a certain power in that that Lloyd had never, until this very moment, understood or recognized.

“He’s definitely his father’s son,” you say, searching his eyes for any sign that that means something to him. Lloyd gives you what you’re looking for, of course, and you smile. “He’s gonna get kicked off the team. I swear.”

“Not if I buy off the coach,” Lloyd quips. “So what else?”

“Well,” you continue, “he loves everything about the fall—the leaves and the pumpkin picking and Halloween costumes and candy. He hates me because I don’t let him watch scary movies yet, and he hates me because I make him go to school, which he despises even though he’s the smartest kid in his class.”

“Keep the kid in school, Porkchop. I mean it. Don’t let him grow up to be some degenerate dropout loser.”

“Oh, he’ll stay in school, because he can’t play football if he doesn’t. He’s starting to learn that sometimes you have to suffer for the things that you love.”

“Harsh lesson for a six-year-old,” Lloyd says, taking a deep pull of whiskey.

“Yeah, well, it’s a harsh world.”

Lloyd puts his drink down and turns to face you before grabbing your bare legs and putting them in his lap. “Look, I know you know what I do, that my particular line of work isn’t exactly conducive to being a family man. It’s not that I don’t care. It really isn’t. It’s just… complicated. I mean, you can’t expose a kid to that.”

“I know,” you say. “I understand, I do. I’ve never asked you for anything, Lloyd. I never even told you he was yours.”

“You didn’t have to tell me. Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

Your eyes drop to your hands in your lap and Lloyd notices, for the first time, that you’ve taken off your wedding ring. “At first,” you say, “but then you just kept popping up and I knew you must know.” You look back up at him, searching his eyes for a truth you’ll never get. “Is that why you’ve been following me? Is it because of Harrison?”

And now, Lloyd thinks, it’s time to lay a few cards on the table: not all of them, of course, but enough to nudge you towards where he wants you—needs you—to be.

Lloyd sighs deep. “I need to tell you something,” he says, “and you’re going to get upset, but I need you to promise me that you’ll just listen to everything I have to say before you freak out, ok?”

Lloyd can smell the fear wafting off you. “You’re scaring me, Lloyd.”

“Good,” he says. “You should be scared. I’ve been trying to protect you from this shit for years, but it’s getting really ugly now and it’s time you knew the truth.”

“Protect me? Protect me from what? What the fuck are you talking about?”

Lloyd has decided to give you the broad strokes, taking a bit of creative license where it suits him, and he begins.

“I told you not to marry Michael. I told you his father was a scumbag, but what I didn’t tell you —because I didn’t know then—was that the Senator is a very dangerous man. I always knew he made his money selling secrets. That’s about the worst kept secret in Washington but… you know… selling secrets is a D.C. staple. I thought it might hurt him eventually, but I never thought it would hurt you.”

You sit up straight and turn to him, sitting cross-legged as his jersey rides up your thighs and Lloyd tells himself don’t look, don’t look, focus.

“What do you mean hurt me? What the fuck is going on, Lloyd?”

Lloyd takes your hands in his. “The Senator’s been selling the wrong secrets to the wrong people—high-security intel he shouldn’t even have access to and he’s auctioning it off to the highest bidder—the fucking Russians, no less. But he’s got friends high up in the agency, probably because he’s got dirt on them too, so no one was doing a goddamn thing about it while I was there. But now there’s been a change of the guard, the CIA wanted to move on him, so they brought me in, and that’s when I found out that… well…” Lloyd takes a deep breath and prepares himself to tell the Big Lie, the one you absolutely have to believe if any of this is going to work. “Michael knew. He’s always known. And a lot of his money—your money—it’s from the Russians.”

Lloyd looks you in the eye, daring you to question him, and you find in them what you’ve always found: exactly what he wants you to see. “I don’t understand,” you say, your voice shaky. “He doesn’t work with his father. He barely even talks to the man anymore.”

“That’s what he wants you to think, Porkchop. He doesn’t want you to know that you’re using blood money to send your kid to school and get your fuckin hair done.”

“What do you mean blood money?”

“About a year ago, the Senator sold off the names of a bunch of undercover agents. As of today, there’s only one left alive. The Senator got millions for it. That’s around the same time Michael got that big bonus and you bought your fancy new house, no?”

You bring your hands to your mouth and make a sound that’s not altogether human. “Oh my God,” you say, but you’re not quite ready to believe it. You shake your head. “No, Michael wouldn’t do this. He would never take the money if he knew that people would die because of it. He just… he wouldn’t.”

“He would, Porkchop, and he did. I can show you the paper trail if you want, but that’s not even the worst of it.”

“How can this possibly get any worse, Lloyd?” you ask, and you’ve got that look in your eyes—that fear that Lloyd finds so goddamn addictive. Christ, he can smell it on you. Focus, Lloyd.

“Things can always get worse,” he says, “especially when the Russians are involved. The Senator fucked up this time because he’s a greedy sonofabitch. He smelled that oligarch money and he decided to play the Russians off each other to drive up the price. Let’s just say, these are guys who do not like to lose, and now the losers are pissed, and they’re out for blood—specifically your family’s blood, and they do not give a single fuck who they drain it from. I killed one of them outside your house four months ago, another one outside Harrison’s school his first day back, but they just keep coming, Porkchop, and you know I’d kill a fucking army of men for you but they’ll just keep sending more unless Michael gets me what I need.”

Lloyd can see your hands trembling a bit as your mouth drops open. “You… you killed someone… for me?”

Lloyd takes a sip of his drink and puts the glass back down on the coffee table. “Technically, I’ve killed 23 people for you over the past 14 months, but who’s counting? That’s not the point. The point is that”—he grabs your hands again and stills them—”and I need you to just listen here and don’t get mad, I’ve been trying to work with your husband for a little while now, to get him to help me help the government take control of this situation, to get back the intel the Senator has and get him to turn himself in. And they’ll take it easy on Michael if he cooperates, but he won’t.”

You snatch your hands back from him and straighten your spine. “You’ve been working with my husband?” you ask, quirking your eyebrow at him. “For how long?”

“A couple of months,” Lloyd says, “it doesn’t matter. What matters is-”

“How long, Lloyd? Exactly.”

He can see in your eyes that you already know the answer. You always were too smart for your own good.

“Six months, but-”

You push away from him, to the other end of the couch, and you drop your head into your hands. “I should have known. Fuck. I should have fucking known you had something to do with this.” You stand up and start pacing back and forth between the couch and the fireplace, cursing under your breath, before you turn back to him, “Is any of this even true? Or did you just wake up one day and decide, ‘Hey, I’m gonna go threaten Michael so he’s too fucking scared to fuck his own wife and then she’ll come crawling back to me like she always does because she’s so goddamn predictable.’” You grab your wine glass and finish the contents in one gulp. “I’m such an idiot. I’m so fucking stu-”

Lloyd rises quickly and you stop speaking, backing away from him as he walks toward you. He takes the glass from your hand, setting it down next to his, and then he grabs your wrists—not as roughly as he could, but not gentle either.

“I didn’t fucking ask for this, ok? Six months ago, my guy at the CIA comes to me and tells me your fucking husband is dirty, hands me a fat paycheck, and tells me to turn the guy, so that’s what I’m gonna do. That’s my fucking job. And you know what? I’m glad he came to me with it, because there’s no one else on Earth that will do more to protect you, to keep you safe, to keep Harrison safe. You think I wanted this?” He drops your hands and runs a hand through his hair. “You think I wanted to have to go see your piece of shit husband every goddamn week knowing that he goes home to my girl and my son? Please. I didn’t fucking ask for this. I told you not to marry him. I told you what would happen if you did and guess what, Porkchop? I was wrong, because this is waaaay fucking worse. So, really, you should be on your goddamn knees thanking me because if they hadn’t come to me, all of you would be in the fuckin ground by now.”

“I- I don’t…” Lloyd can see your mind racing, trying to sort through the infodump he just unloaded on you—to make sense of it, to catch him in a lie or find any evidence whatsoever that the things he’s telling you are untrue. You won’t, of course, and a lot of it is true; you just don’t need to know which parts. “What happens next?” you ask.

“My guys are… let’s just say working with Michael as we speak,” Lloyd replies. “They snatched him up from some shitty motel, and it’s a good thing they did because the Russians tailed him from your house Wednesday night.”

“Th- they were there?”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Porkchop,” he says, cupping your cheek. “They are always there.”

“What about Harrison? My parents? Are they-”

“I have people on your parents’ house. They’re not going to touch a goddamn hair on the kid’s head, I promise you that. I may not be Dad material, but I’m not gonna let anyone hurt my son.”

You’re crying now and Lloyd can feel his cock starting to stir in his pants. He wants to grab your face and lick the tears off your cheek. Fucking focus, Lloyd. Christ.

“I need Michael to cooperate, to get us the information we need so we can figure out who exactly we are dealing with overseas. I can’t stop these guys for good if I don’t know who’s sending them.”

“Well, I’m sure your guys have ways of making people cooperate.” You shudder after you say it, not wanting to let yourself think too hard about what those methods might be. “I can’t imagine Michael would last long under that kind of pressure. I’m shocked he didn’t fold the second you walked through his door.” Lloyd can see it occur to you in real-time that your husband—your weak, spineless loser of a husband—has avoided any real repercussions for months. You look up at him, staring daggers into his eyes. “Why is that, exactly? Why didn’t you make him cooperate months ago?”

Lloyd has been waiting for this question. “I could have,” he says. “Fuck knows I wanted to, but the agency wanted it done clean and my methods are… messy.”

“I don’t believe you,” you yell. “You could have ended this ages ago, but you kept it going. You let me stay in the line of fire for months, Lloyd. Why?”

“I would never have let anything happen to you,” Lloyd replies, and that’s the God’s honest truth. “But… I will admit to having some ulterior motives.”

You roll your eyes and throw up your hands. “Of fucking course you do. You always do. What kind of sick game are you playing? This is life and death shit and you’re playing your fucking games?”

Lloyd takes a deep breath and grabs your shoulders. “I just… I needed to know,’ he says.

“Needed to know what?”

“That you don’t love him anymore. That you really wanted out. So, yeah, maybe I threatened him, told him not to fuck you just to see if that would speed up the process. Because if that was me, Porkchop—if you were my wife and some asshole came into my office and told me not to touch you, I wouldn’t last a fucking day. I’d go home that night and fuck you harder because of it. But this guy? This fucking loser you married?” Lloyd scoffs. “I needed you to finally see it, ok? To see what I have always seen—that he’s weak, a fucking coward, that he’s not good enough for you or strong enough for you.”

“And then what?” you snap. “I leave him and you show up and then what, Lloyd?”

“Then maybe… I don’t know… I don’t know, ok?”

“You’re the coward,” you shout. Your palms connect with Lloyd’s chest and he lets you push him away. “You’re the weak one. All of this shit you pulled and you still can’t fucking say it.”

Lloyd stares you down, watching your chest rise and fall beneath his jersey. Goddammit, you look so fucking sexy when you’re angry, but he’s so close now. He stalks toward you and grabs your neck, shoving you up against the wall and trapping you there—a caged animal, ready to strike. He’s never seen you this angry; you’ve never allowed yourself to show him this side of you—because he’s never allowed you to—and Lloyd is enjoying it a little too much. He wants to punish you for it, for your insubordination, for daring to question him, but he needs you angry—just not at him.

Lloyd puts just the right amount of pressure on your carotid artery and presses his forehead to yours. “Call me weak again, Porkchop. Go on. Keep talking your shit, see what happens.”

Your eyelids flutter. He knows how much you love this grip, what it does to you, how stupid you go in his hands. But are you stupid enough to believe him, to trust him, to do exactly what he wants despite everything he’s done to you?

“I’m sorry,” you wheeze. “I didn’t mean it.”

Lloyd smiles. Yes, yes you are.

“All I’m trying to do is keep you safe, Porkchop.” He releases some of the pressure on your neck and you gasp for breath as he runs his thumb across your bottom lip. “I need you to work with me here, not against me.”

“Wh- what do you need me to do?” you ask.

I need you to pass your final exam, Lloyd thinks.

“I need you to listen very closely,” he says, “and do exactly what I say.”

***

Your mind is racing as you wait for Lloyd in the strange bed. You didn’t believe him at first, thought it was just some cruel joke he was playing, but he showed you the evidence—photos and bank statements and all sorts of shit that had your head swimming as the reality of it hit home: Michael knew, he was involved, he profited. Your husband—your sweet, gentle, honest husband—is an enemy of the state.

And that should have been the worst of it, but Lloyd saved the actual worst for last: a video recording of the two of them in Michael’s office a few weeks ago, with your husband telling Lloyd that he didn’t care about you anymore—that there was no point in going after you because he was going to leave you anyway.

But, if you’re honest, you didn’t need to see or hear any of that. Even before you learned that Lloyd had killed for you, you were already all in. Seeing the look in Lloyd’s eyes when he finally said the words “my son”—you could have cried because the last thing in the world you were expecting was for Lloyd Hansen to actually care. He tried to hide it but you could see it on his face; he was emotional (as emotional as Lloyd Hansen gets, anyway) and you’d decided then and there that there’s nothing you wouldn’t do to put your family—your real family—back together.

And he’s finally admitted, in his way, that he wants you. He won’t say it, of course, but he was so close to admitting that he has real feelings for you, that you’re more than just a fucktoy for him to play with, that you’re still his special girl. And so you’d agreed to do what he asked you to do—horrible as it is—because you truly believe that if you do it, he’ll finally admit the truth: that he loves you and he’s always loved you, that he’s ready to make you a real part of his life. There is nothing Lloyd Hansen could ask you to do that was too much, no line you wouldn’t cross, if it meant he would finally make you his.

You’ve got no love left for Michael anyway. He lied to you, he put you and Harrison in danger, and (if you’re honest) Lloyd is right: he’s weak, he’s a coward, and he’s not strong enough for you. You don’t want to hurt him but you know you have no choice. Lloyd explained that it would be better for him in the end—that this is the push he needs to finally cooperate. Without you, without his son, he’ll finally accept that the jig is up. He’ll finally do the right thing and turn the evidence and his father over to the government.

All this should bother you a hell of a lot more than it does, but you have to admit that it’s exciting. You’re on the verge of a whole new life, though you don’t yet know what that looks like. At this point, any life without Michael in it is looking pretty good to you but the life you really want—the life you’ve always wanted—is so close you can taste it. So close, in fact, that it’s currently stripping naked and crawling into bed with you.

The bed dips with Lloyd’s weight and then he’s next to you, one arm around your waist and his head perched atop yours. “All set,” he says. “I’ve got some of my guys at your house. They’ll bring by your and Harrison’s things in the morning. You can’t go back there—neither of you—until this is over.”

“And Michael?” you ask.

“They’ll bring him by, too.”

“Are you sure there isn’t another way?” you ask.

“I’m sure,” he replies. “If he was gonna break, he would have. My guys worked him over pretty good.”

You should feel something when he says this—some disgust, some horror, some sympathy pain—but you don’t. You feel cold and hard and angry. You feel like he did this to himself, that he deserves whatever nightmare he’s currently living at the hands of Hansen Government Services.

“And you think… if we do this… it’ll break him?”

“Oh, Porkchop, I know it will.”

Lloyd runs his hand down your thigh as he kisses your neck, finding your pulse point and sucking a bruise into it. You missed his marks; you want to be littered with them. Your legs open for him and his fingers work their magic on you as he nibbles and sucks at your tits. He’s not as vicious as he usually is—he’s not breaking the skin; he’s almost gentle with you and between this unexpected softness and the feeling of his mustache on the sensitive flesh of your breasts, you're so worked up that you’re already arching your back and yanking at his hair.

“Oh, God, Lloyd. Fuck me. Do whatever you want, I don’t care, just please fuck me.”

Lloyd chuckles against your skin, your nipple still in his mouth, and says, “Whatever I want?”

“Yes,” you whisper. “Please.”

He releases your nipple with a wet pop and smiles up at you. “What I want is to eat your sweet cunt until you cry. Haven’t gotten a taste yet, Porkchop, and I’m fuckin starving for it.”

“It’s yours,” you moan.

“Oh, I know it is.”

Lloyd kisses and sucks his way down your body until he reaches your center, and he shoves his big nose against your clit and his stache against your pussy and he inhales deep. “Fuck me,” he says, and you feel his deep voice rumbling against your most sensitive flesh. “You smell so fuckin good.” He peers up at you from between your thighs and he cocks his head. “Haven’t eaten you out with the flavor savor yet.”

A giggle erupts from the back of your throat and you clasp your hand over your mouth to stop it. You look down at Lloyd, waiting for his expression to go from mirth to malice, but he doesn’t shift.

“What, you don’t like it?” he asks.

“I do,” you say, still trying to keep the giggles at bay. “I love it.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “You want a mustache ride, Porkchop?”

Now it’s pointless to try and stop from laughing, but Lloyd isn’t angry; he’s ravenous. He’s gripping your thighs in his big hands and running his tongue and his teeth up and down them, lightly grazing your clit as he moves from one side to the other and back and forth and back and forth until you’re dizzy.

“Please,” you whimper, so needy to feel his tongue where you need it most.

Suddenly Lloyd releases you and crawls up to the head of the bed, and you’re too distracted by the bounce of his hard heavy cock to even whine at him for teasing you. But you should have known: Lloyd Hansen always gets his before you get yours. You shift your body, ready to suck the soul out of his dick, but when you move to take him in your hand, he stops you.

“Sit on my face,” he commands.

“Wh- what?”

“You heard me. Get the fuck on and strap the fuck in.”

Well, this is new, you think to yourself. Lloyd had never once let you get on top of him unless you were riding his dick. You look him in the eyes, trying to ascertain whether he’s fucking with you or not, but you can see he’s serious even before he snaps, “Sit. On. My. Fucking. Face. Now.”

You don’t have to be told twice, and you throw one leg over Lloyd and straddle him, grinding your soaked pussy against his length and dragging a long hiss out of him.

“That’s not my face, Porkchop,” he says. “But if you’d rather ride my dick…”

“Later,” you say, and you move up his body until you’re hovering over his face.

“I said sit, goddammit.”

Lloyd grabs you and pulls your full weight down on him as he starts to devour your pussy from below. You hold on to the headboard and try to pull off of him a bit but he grabs your hips and holds you down tight against his face. As he pushes and pulls you, he’s got his nose grinding rhythmically against your clit and that fucking mustache is doing something indescribable to you as he fucks you with his long, thick tongue.

“Yes,” you cry out. “Oh fuck. You feel so fucking good. Don’t stop.”

Lloyd just growls into your pussy before sticking his tongue all the way out and sliding your body against it. You’ve got one hand on the headboard to brace yourself as the other tugs at his hair. You allow yourself to pull a little harder than you normally would, and when you give it a nice hard pull on one particularly satisfying swipe of his tongue, he fucking moans—it’s that same moan he does when he’s in the throes of an intense fuck, when he reaches the point of no return and he couldn’t tear himself out of your pussy if there was a gun to his head. You could have cum just from that sound, but luckily you don’t have to because he’s got you so fucking close with his tongue.

He lifts you off him briefly, telling you, “Cum all over my fuckin face. Do it,” before getting back to work, and within seconds you’re calling out his name as you gush all over his chin.

“Mmm,” he grunts, “so fucking juicy.” He lifts and guides you off of him and you lay next to him on the bed, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. “Now clean up your mess.”

You grab Lloyd’s face in both your hands and bring it down to yours and you lap at his chin and his lips, tasting yourself on his skin as he stares you down.

“Leave the mustache,” he says. “I want to smell you for days.”

You smile and he opens his mouth to let your tongue inside, and he kisses you soft and slow and deep until your absolutely aching for him.

You pull out of the kiss. “Need you inside me, Lloyd.”

“And I need to be there,” he replies, “but I can’t decide how I want my pussy served.”

“Anything,” you moan. “Just fuck me.”

“Alright,” he says. “All fours, ass up. Get moving.”

You hop to it quick as can be, and before you can back it up for him, he grabs your hips and digs his fingers in deep and he pulls you back until your ass smacks his lower stomach. You can feel his cock hot and hard in your hand as you reach between your legs and position him just right, and when he snaps his hips and enters you with one punishing thrust, it knocks the wind out of you.

He palms your ass cheeks hard as he fucks you from behind and God you want him to hit you, and somehow he just knows because he starts to spank you—one hard smack for every four thrusts, alternating sides until your ass is fucking burning and your eyes are watering. He reaches down and grabs your throat and pulls you upright, fucking up into you as he squeezes the sides of your neck. His other hand rubs violent circles on your clit as you start to shake in his arms.

“That’s it,” he says. “That’s my girl. Cum all over this dick—your dick. Come on. You can do it, Porkchop.”

You lean your head all the way back so you can look at him, and you expect to see his cold shark eyes staring back at you. But what you see is something different: his eyes are almost soft and his brow is furrowed and he’s slack-jawed and he looks almost… is that loving?

You cum almost instantly the second his eyes lock onto yours, and you don’t let your eyes flutter closed and you don’t blink because all you want is to watch him watching you come undone on his cock. You want him to see in your eyes how much you love it, how much you love him, but most of all you don’t want to miss one nanosecond of this look that he’s giving you. He’s never looked at you like this before. You clench down hard on him once you regain control of your muscles because you want to see his face when you do.

“Oh fuck. You are squeezing the fuck out of me, Porkchop. Gonna make me cum.”

“Do it,” you say.

“Not yet.” He pulls out quick and you’re clenching around nothing, missing the feel of him deep inside you and it’s only been two seconds. He pushes you forward and you bounce on the mattress. “Turn around. I’m goin deep.”

The second you’re on your back, Lloyd grabs your ankles and throws them up on his shoulders before pressing your legs back and entering you again. It’s your favorite position and he knows it—you never feel more full of him, never feel him deeper inside you, than when he fucks you like this. He’s going deep but surprisingly slow; his thrusts are softer than usual and he’s taking extra care to roll his hips just right so that he’s hitting your spot with every slow silky drag of his cock. You are so fucking wet—almost too wet—and all you can hear is the creamy sound of your own pussy and Lloyd’s moans as he fucks you.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum. Need you to cum again. Can you cum again, baby? Can you cum for me?”

You clench involuntarily when he calls you baby. He hasn’t called you that since the first time he fucked you. After that, it was all slut and whore and bitch—and you like that, you do, but baby… baby is different. Everything about this feels different.

“Yes,” you say. “I’ll cum for you. I always fucking cum for you.”

“That’s cause you’re my special girl. My perfect girl. Oh fuck, baby, please I’m so close.”

“Harder,” you say, and he does what you command, fucking you deep and rough while he kisses you soft and gentle. The dueling sensations have your head swimming and it doesn’t take long before you’re close.

“I’m gonna cum. Cum with me?” you ask, and you know you sound meek and desperate but you don’t fucking care because the way he’s looking at you…

“You want me to cum with you, baby?” he asks, and you nod.

He puts both his hands on your head and you know he could crack your skull open like a watermelon with them but he’s not squeezing hard—just using you for purchase as he pistons his hips and hits you hard and deep, just the way he likes.

“Oh fuck. Oh, baby. I’m gonna cum.” He lets out a high-pitched grunt as he tries to hold it back, to wait for you, but you’re right there with him. “I fucking love your pussy. I.. I… fuck… I love you. I fucking love you.”

You’ve never cum harder in your life. Just those words and your whole body is shaking and trembling and you’re crying out to him, telling him how much you love him as he shudders and spills himself inside of you. You revel in the feel of his dick twitching inside your walls, clenching down on him hard and holding him inside as you take in your favorite sight in the world: Lloyd Hansen, fucked-out and blissed-out—and finally, after all these years, in love.

He’s laying on top of you, still inside as he goes soft, and a tiny smile is playing at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t ask if I meant it,” he says, running his thumb across your bottom lip. “I think you know that I do.”

But you would never have questioned him. Lloyd Hansen doesn’t just accidentally say I love you when he cums. He also doesn’t cuddle after sex, and he certainly doesn’t fall asleep beside you with his arms wrapped around you.

Except that’s exactly what he’s doing, and while your body is wrung out and spent, you barely get any sleep that night because your mind is on fire and everything is Lloyd.

PART SIX >>>

#lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen smut #smut

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