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gutsby · 6 months ago

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Too Close for Comfort

Pairing: Joel Miller x Babysitter!Reader

Summary: You’ve been babysitting Sarah Miller forever. One day, you’re surfing the web on her dad’s computer, and you find some…unusual things in his search history.

Or, Joel likes to jerk off to your lookalike on PornHub. It’s time you showed him what the real thing is like.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Oral (m!receiving). Creampie. Mommy/Daddy Roleplay (HEAR ME OUT!!) Brief boot humping. Squirting. Perv!Joel. Breeding kink.

Note: ‘Just call me if anyone else checks in…and by anyone, I mean any swingin dick’ is a line from No Country for Old Men

Word count: 12.7k

Purple slime had been Sarah’s idea.

It was an innocent thing, really. The four-year-old had practically been bouncing on the balls of her feet, eyes wide and shining with excitement when she’d begged—‘Can we pleeeeease?!’—and who were you to tell her no?

You’d only be breaking one small rule of Joel’s, after all. One silly little admonition he’d made before leaving for work the first day you’d started babysitting for him. That had been over a year ago, and he hadn’t even sounded that serious when he’d said it. He probably wouldn’t mind if you bent the rule this one time at Sarah’s behest.

‘Don’t go in the computer room, please.’

Don’t use Joel’s desktop. Don’t rifle through any of the drawers in Joel’s office—it was a mess, but everything was in its place, according to him. Just don’t go in there.

But in exchange for Sarah agreeing to take her nap that day without protest, you’d promised to order her slime.

Purple, gooey, glittery, sticky stuff for her new collection.

You weren’t sure when the fuck putty had become the plaything of choice for kids in Pre-K, but you hadn’t been in a place to judge; whatever Sarah wanted to do, so long as it was safe for her to play with, was totally fine by you.

It was just one rule.

Surely if Mr. Miller knew how badly his daughter wanted the slime, he’d be fine with you booting up his computer once. That was what you kept telling yourself, anyway.

What kept humming through your mind as the desktop came to life and you toggled straight for Google Chrome.

Be quick, be quiet, it’s fine. It’s fine.

Purple goo—it was safe. Innocent. Completely justifiable.

What could the sweet, old, forty-something and forever polite Joel Miller possibly have to hide on this machine that made it wrong for you to buy this one simple toy?

You reached for the keyboard and inhaled a quick breath.

Then you typed one letter, and your heart nearly seized.

P…

…ornhub.com

It was the very first thing that appeared in the search bar.

You couldn’t unsee it. Instinctively, your hand clamped over your mouth, and your eyes widened. You couldn’t help but read the four URLs that immediately dropped down below the first; they were just so garishly inviting.

Hot, Naughty Babysitter gets POUNDED by her Boss!

Slutty Babysitter Gets Railed from Behind and Loves It

Big Dick Boss Gives Babysitter a Passionate Raw Fuck

‘I’ve Never Done This!’ Babysitter Deepthroats Cock

“Oh…my gosh,” you said, words muffled by your palm.

You couldn’t believe what you were seeing. It was just too bizarre, too far out of character, too unlike your boss.

The man had scarcely said ten words to you altogether that didn’t relate to your job in some way or another. He rarely ever engaged in casual confab, and he certainly wasn’t the type to flirt, or make you uncomfortable in the slightest. Frankly, in all the time you’d been babysitting, you always thought you were just…invisible to Joel Miller.

Not this. Never this.

You were still staring at the screen when you realized that you’d missed one URL title from the list. It was long.

It was the most unnerving one of all, you came to see.

Babysitter Lounging Poolside in Hot Red Bikini Gets a BIG Surprise—Her Old Boss Teaches Her How to FUCK

Your hand lowered from your face. It trembled, contemplating, before coming to rest atop the mouse.

Something about this seemed familiar. Strangely…off.

You couldn’t explain it, but your head and your heart and your hand gravitated to that one odd link in particular. You hadn’t even meant to move the mouse. Or press it with your finger. But there you went, following your instincts like some dumb, brainless ditz, and then the screen was changing. Going dark with the shift to an adult site before brightening anew with the thumbnail.

It was paused on one frame. Your jaw slackened.

The girl staring back from the scene was you.

Or looked exactly, uncannily like you anyway.

It was then that you noticed what she was wearing, too—what you guessed wouldn’t be on her body for long—and you glanced down to your own shoulder. Just like your on-screen doppelgänger, you were wearing the same bikini in a bright, cherry-red hue beneath your tank top.

You wore it under your clothes damn near every day, indulging in the Millers’ backyard pool more often than not, and even being allowed to swim there on the days Sarah had summer camp—Joel had been so obliging.

So accommodating and sweet.

You never thought he’d be seeking your fucking twin online on a porn site after watching you traipse around his property wearing it. Your gut clenched; you clicked.

“Hey, sweetheart! Everything go OK?”

The voice that rumbled through the speakers was low. Male. Vaguely paternal and with a hint of a Southern lilt.

You swallowed, knowing exactly where this was going.

You weren’t sure why you were even watching when you could already predict what would become of it. The camera panned over a body identical to yours; it landed on a face that was smiling and sweet and so like your own you almost had to question whether it might not be you after all. Had you somehow forgotten this secret porn alter ego in a bout of amnesia? You kept watching.

The girl bit her bottom lip and let out the phoniest giggle.

“Yes, sir. Perfectly fine. Do you like my new bikini?”

Be so fucking serious, you thought, critically.

Then you remembered it was porn, not an Oscar-winning film. You saw the camera tilt down to her tits, and you had to admit, she had a great rack. A bit nicer than yours.

For a beat, you wondered if Joel had thought the same.

You had to batter those thoughts away, because the next second brought a big, burly hand onto the screen. It reached for the girl with her perfect, perky breasts and it kneaded them softly. No further pretense or prelude was needed—they just jumped right in and let it happen, like this was a normal thing for a babysitter and a boss to do.

Maybe in some other universe it was. In a world where a girl your age could just smile, and bat her eyes, and let them roll back gently as a whimper crossed her lips and she begged him, ‘More, daddy, more!’ this was all okay.

The man squeezed the flesh harder. She whined, and he proceeded to push the red nylon aside and expose the whole expanse of her breast—and holy shit, even the nipple looked like yours. Your mouth opened wider, and for a moment, it was like you couldn’t breathe as you watched that old, sun-kissed hand fondle the breast of a girl who looked just like you. Who was peering up at a man who sounded almost like Joel, murmuring, ‘Attagirl.’

You’d heard your boss say that once.

It had been such a silly, off-handed thing that you doubted he even remembered saying it. But one time, you’d struggled to open the passenger door to his truck before he drove you home. Once you’d narrowly managed to pry it open and slide into your seat, he’d laughed and rumbled: ‘Attagirl.’ Your face had warmed.

Just like your cheeks were doing now, all hot and bothered and desperate to hear more. Presently, the man slid the top off of the girl’s chest, and her breasts hung freely. You could hear him groan behind the camera at the sight, and not too long after that, before he could reach to touch her tits again, she was crawling on her knees toward him. Shuffling easily and expertly across the lawn chair and undoing the belt, button, and zip of his pants in a matter of seconds. A hand smoothed over her head, and you could see her preen beneath his touch.

Before she’d even wrapped her lips around his cock, your stomach was churning. Your fingers were stirring from the mouse and moving gently—again, of their own volition, it seemed—toward the waistband of your own bottoms. It was sick, admittedly. So wrong to be wanting to touch yourself to the very same video your boss had indulged in himself, in the very same chair he had done the deed. But you couldn’t help it. Your fingers slipped under the the fabric of your shorts, then your bikini, then your throat let out the tiniest noise upon seeing a cock appear on-screen. It was abnormally large, of course.

Silently, you wondered if Joel’s might not look the same. Your stomach flipped as soon as the girl took it in her mouth, and your index and middle fingers landed on your clit. You barely needed to touch to feel a jolt of pleasure.

Her head bobbed up and down. You felt powerless to do anything else but rub. And circle. And moan the slightest bit when you saw her coat his length with her shiny spit.

You heard that your noises mirrored hers. You didn’t care. Really, it felt as though you were in a trance, and you couldn’t stop watching, or touching, until you’d had your fill. Like Mr. Miller had done himself. It was all too much.

Before you even realized it, five minutes had passed, the man and woman on-screen were shifting from oral to raw, penetrative sex, and you were nearing your peak. Right before the cock that had been lodged down the girl’s throat could slide into her wet, glistening cunt, you felt your stomach lurch. You rubbed harder, watching the fat and leaking tip of the man’s cock tease through her folds, and just as he was about to slide in and you could finally find your release…a door banged open downstairs.

You almost screamed.

As quickly as you could, you yanked your hand out of your pants and clicked out of that browser even faster. The second you heard footfalls on the steps, you scampered out of there. Half-sprinting, half-tip-toeing down the hall and toward the bathroom, before halting at the door. You made your presence known with one light stomp of your foot, pretending to be turning and walking out, and as soon as you did, Joel was right there. Staring.

Sweating.

Scrubbing at his face with one weary hand, before taking a rag and wiping it through his beard. He sighed heavily.

“Long day?” you chirped while trying to mask the panic.

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Joel answered, voice wan, “How’s my little terror? Asleep? She give ya any trouble?”

Just asked me to buy her a toy online and inadvertently led me to find your internet Spank Bank archives full of women who look like me. Other than that, it was fine.

“I put her down about an hour ago. She was great.”

You forced a smile, and Joel seemed to believe it.

“Perfect. Need me to give you a ride home?”

“No, no, you should stay here with Sar—”

“‘S’alright. Tommy’s right downstairs.”

Of course he’d brought him home.

“No, really, I can walk. It’s fine—”

“Don’t be silly. C’mon, kiddo.”

Kiddo.

The man had been jerking off to the thought of you for who knows how long, and now he called you ‘kiddo’?

You hated how arousing the nickname sounded from him

You despised yourself for rubbing your clit in his office.

Most of all, you loathed the way your panties had gotten wet the last time you’d climbed into his truck and heard that word crawl off of his old, drawling tongue: ‘Attagirl.’

Reluctantly, you nodded your head. You followed him downstairs and hoped the car door wouldn’t stick again.

He had to stop.

It was no longer a matter of ‘if’ but ‘when’ his dick would lead him straight off a cliff, and today, Joel was starting to think that precipice was looking extra nice. Tempting.

Almost as inviting as the divot he could see at the small of your back, glimmering with a couple hot beads of sweat under the midafternoon sun. He swallowed.

Sarah was at camp today. You’d had the time to yourself, and the weather was blistering hot, and of course, where else would you be but his backyard? He’d told you ad nauseum, ever since you started babysitting his kid, that his pool was open to you whenever you so chose to go.

Presently, Joel wished he could revoke that invitation.

Seeing how you were flipped on your stomach, body all soft and warm and splayed out on one of his deck chairs—wearing that fucking red swimsuit, of all things—Joel was left to ogle from his office window, and inside, he felt like a certified pervert. Arguably, he was. His old, worn hands had all but glided to find his mouse as soon as he’d sat down at his desk and saw you out there, and no sooner had his cursor found Chrome than his cock started to stir. He’d wanted to watch. If not you in all your bare, sun-baked glory, then surely the woman he could see getting her throat and cunt stuffed on his screen.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

Was he really that much of a gooner he couldn’t let his kid’s babysitter lounge outside without stroking his dick?

Shit. He had the bottle of lotion in one hand and the box of tissues in the other in no time at all. He ripped three free Kleenex aside and reached for his mouse once more.

He was pissed at himself. He toggled over to the Hub with a grunt, and in no time at all, had you pulled up.

Joel liked to pretend it was you, anyway.

If he couldn’t have the sweet young thing every swinging dick in this town would’ve killed to have himself, he could rub one out to a girl exactly like you. He could fantasize.

He could skip the video to 8:53 on the dot, as he always did, and he could rub himself raw. It wouldn’t take long.

He always fast-forwarded to that exact part, without fail, because she moaned like you then. He’d never forget it.

It had almost been six months since it happened, and he still remembered that sound as clear as day. You’d been hauling your backpack off the couch in the living room, having stuffed the thing full with more school supplies than you could feasibly carry, and Joel had been in the kitchen, unseen. You’d lifted the bag with effort, and once you had, you let out a soft but audible whine. You dropped the bag back down to your feet, and when you bent to try again, you’d moaned fully. It was like the stretch had made you feel good, or something. You’d huffed and managed to get the weight slung over your back with modest success, then left, but Joel had been changed. Too quickly had he retreated to his office and swore to find any clip where a moan sounded like that.

“Please! Feels like a fucking dre-e-e-e-e-eam—oh, OH!”

Granted, the dialogue was cheesy, but the sound after it was identical to the one you’d made. Joel repeated it.

He hadn’t even noticed, but he’d already lathered his hand and cock with lotion. He was scrubbing vigorously while your twin wiggled her hips and begged her co-star to put it in, to quit teasing her pussy like that, can’t you see I’m practically dripping for you, daddy? Look at it!

Unfortunately, Joel’s head was turned the other direction—away from the screen, and toward the window—watching you where you sat out on the lawn.

He stroked harder. He groaned.

You had just turned onto your back. Your tits looked incredible. Joel reckoned they’d look even better with his dick pushed up between them, and at the thought, his mouth watered. His lips were slightly parted, and he feared he might drool. What a sight he must have been then: jaw slack, lids heavy, cock in hand, and moan after moan bubbling out of his throat. He got closer to climax.

“Gonna teach ya, honey. Teach ya how to please a man.”

It wasn’t long after that that Joel heard the girl whine in pleasure—the man behind her had notched in the first inch and told her to behave—and meanwhile, he watched your chest rise and fall, rise and fall outside. It was calm. Unlike the girl being taught how to fuck poolside, you remained untouched. Spotless. Placid and serene while your hands picked up a magazine and began flipping through it. While Joel’s orgasm crested inside him, he wondered if you’d ever want to try something like that. Roleplay. Or would it be fake at all? Had you ever been touched by a man, shown the best ways to give and receive pleasure, or was it all brand new, like it was supposed to be for the woman on his screen? Joel panted, and he fucked his hand harder. He groaned.

“Oh, daddy, it’s so big! Feels so good going inside me!”

“You love gettin’ fucked by an older man, don’t you?”

“Yes, daddy, yes! Please don’t stop—oh, OHHH!”

Joel wanted to be the only older man you had.

If he wasn’t the first, he sure as fuck could be the last. Give you all the dizzying, euphoric feelings your body deserved and stretch you open gently for the taking.

He could teach you so much, ruin you for any oth—

Shit.

What the fuck was this asshole doing here?

At the back gate, he saw his neighbor Dieter.

The man strolled across the lawn, and Joel’s orgasm receded in a blink. He was walking right over to you.

No. No, no, no. Joel released his dick from its vice grip and felt the thing twitch in indignation. Meanwhile, the sound of skin on skin continued to flood his eardrums from out of the computer speakers, where the happy babysitter-boss duo was hitting a brutal pace. The girl let out one over-the-top shriek of pleasure, and Joel clicked pause. He toggled out of the browser. Then he redirected his gaze out the office window, where his own girl was being accosted by Dieter. His blood boiled with anger.

Who did this creep think he was? The man never so much as looked Joel’s way or approached his property unless it was to ask to be ‘lent’ some booze or else ask after some friend, relative, or coworker Dieter wanted to be introduced to—he was perennially unemployed and a fuckboy bachelor to his core. The last Joel had heard, he’d spent the last year in Los Angeles, or Paris, or some other too-big city to chase his singing and acting dreams

And here he was now, hitting on his poor, defenseless babysitter. Joel wouldn’t stand for that in any world.

Though his dick was still erect, it had softened some, too. His rage facilitated that, and him shoving his length back in his jeans, zipping it up, and all but punching the desktop off made it spongier still. He walked like he was mad at the floor beneath his boots. He wasn’t sure why he was feeling so defensive—he had just been rubbing one out to the sight of you less than five minutes ago—but now wasn’t the time for thinking. He had to act.

Protect, if he had to.

What if his neighbor wanted to go for a swim, too?

Joel would drown the man with his two bare hands if he so much as reached for your bikini-clad form. He stalked loudly down the hall and searched for a less sweaty shirt to wear, then some deodorant, then a comb. He peered in the bathroom mirror and saw his black-and-grey locks all out of sorts, and for a second, he contemplated taking a shower. You’d probably be able to smell his unsatisfied desire from outside. He looked, and felt, a bit unhinged.

Joel decided he didn’t care, before plodding downstairs.

Outside, you lay in the same position he’d seen you last. Your hand was shielding your face. You were smiling.

And beside you, Dieter was grinning even bigger.

Joel made a beeline down the porch steps, then across the lawn, like his life might’ve depended on it. Scowling.

“—but getting cast in Gladiator II would’ve been wild—”

Of course Dieter was yapping about his failed acting career. Of course. Joel could hear him drone on as he approached, though he didn’t register a word of what he said. Instead, he waved a hand. He feigned a calm tone:

“Dieter! How’s it going?”

And he slowed down, too.

Just as he drew in, his neighbor volleyed a look his way. Joel couldn’t miss how his smile twitched down a little.

“Joel.”

Accepting a cordial hand in greeting.

“Doing alright, how ‘bout yourself?”

Joel nodded fine, just fine and offered some offhand remark about not having seen him since last summer, and Dieter couldn’t resist the chance to puff up and mention a school he’d been attending. Joel didn’t hear it, or give a shit. His gaze was already trained on you. Your own flitted from Dieter, to Joel, then to Dieter again, and your lips were smiling kindly enough. You seem humored.

“Mr. Bravo just got back from Berlin,” you beamed.

Then Dieter met your look and shook his head.

“Dieter, sweetie, Dieter. Or Dee, if you want.”

Joel almost wanted to vomit in his mouth.

“Germany, huh? What brings you here?”

No sense in beating around the bush.

Joel meant to ask why Dieter was here, in his backyard, with his babysitter, of course. Why the fuck he was eyeing you like that, like your tits were two Emmys and the only way to earn it himself was to stare as long, and as hard, as possible. Joel cleared his throat instinctively.

Dieter blinked and cast a glance back to him.

“Oh, here. Yeah. I, um…I just wanted to see if you had that— that—” He snapped his fingers, “That leafblower.”

Leafblower?

He was so full of shit.

“My leafblower,” Joel repeated.

It was fucking July, for crying out loud.

Evidently, his neighbor didn’t seem to care. He met Joel’s gaze with an even look, and he nodded his head.

He doubled down: “Yeah, the leafblower. I’ve had some debris pile up in my yard since I’ve been gone, y’know.”

“Are you gonna be in Austin long? Or are you going back overseas once you’ve had that casting call?” you asked.

You cocked your head with genuine curiosity. Joel grit his teeth, but he tried not to let his discontent show anyplace else on his face. A muscle might’ve jumped when he saw how smugly Dieter smirked at your intrigue.

“Oh, I’ll be here long enough, don’t you worry,” he said.

That was it.

Joel gestured to the shed in the back corner of the yard, about to tell Dieter that the leafblower was in there, go knock yourself out, when his neighbor cut in once again.

“In the meantime, maybe I’ll have you babysit for me. I hate to steal Sarah’s pal, but maybe you can split your time between my place and Joel’s. What do you think?”

You blinked a little quicker, like you weren’t quite sure what to say at first. Joel took the chance to interject.

“You don’t have any kids, Bravo,” he practically growled.

“I know. I’ve got cats, though,” Dieter just grinned back, flitting a cheeky look to you. “And you have no idea how naughty those pussycats can get while a man’s away.”

That was really all Joel could take. He didn’t even let you answer; he just pointed to the shed and made a fist with his other hand at his side. His chest was heaving breaths.

“You and her can chat when she’s off the clock, how ‘bout that? Leafblower’s in the shed. Door’s unlocked.”

His words didn’t invite protest of any kind. Dense as he was, Dieter probably sensed that he’d ticked his neighbor off with the suggestive comment to his babysitter, and he backed away, both literally and figuratively. He bid a quick, cavalier goodbye with a shit-eating grin stretching his lips, and then he went to the storage shed and left.

You were still blinking, still creasing your brows tight, by the time the back gate had slammed shut behind him. You watched after him, teeth gnawing at your cheek.

“He seemed like a funny gu—”

“What do you think you’re doin’?”

Joel’s words appeared to sting like a slap in the face. You jerked your head back to him, seeming to say, ‘What?’

“You know what. Don’t play innocent now,” Joel griped.

You continued to stare, then started to shake your head.

“Mr. Miller—”

“Don’t Mr. Miller me, either,” he snapped, far shorter than he’d ever spoken to you before. His nostrils flared, “You’re old enough to know better. You did all of that.”

“All of what?” you shot back.

“Attracted men like Dieter into my yard.”

“He’s your neighbor! What do you expect?”

Offense marred your tone. He didn’t entirely blame you.

“No, no—he never sticks his nose over here unless he sees something he wants. You were flaunting yourself.”

At that, your mouth fell open.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Miller? Are you serious?”

“Language, young lady—”

“I don’t give a shit.” You stood up from your chair. Your eyes flashed with ire. Just like his hands had before, yours curled into fists. You stood your ground with him. “You invited me to come swim here whenever I wanted to. You did that, asshole. What did you expect me to sunbathe in, army fatigues and fucking combat boots?”

Joel blinked hard at that. He didn’t like being mocked.

“Still shouldn’t be that damn skimpy. And I said lang—”

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks, dad. Don’t act like you’re mine.”

Don’t act like you’re mine.

Joel’s chest tightened. His gaze seared into yours, almost as though he were as angry as you were now, but deep down, the man only felt remorse. Resentment. Whatever rage he harbored now was reserved for himself

He shouldn’t have gone there.

He shouldn’t have masked his own jealousy with pseudo paternal scolding. He looked like a dickhead doing that.

And you weren’t shy to let him know it in the slightest.

Presently, your finger was jabbed in his face. You were planted less than two feet from where he stood, and though you were noticeably dwarfed by his size, your next words had him beat by a foot, if he’d had to guess.

“I watch your kid, Joel. I am not your daughter. If you don’t want me hanging around here in my hot red bikini, then you can just say that. But don’t blame me for him.”

Joel bristled at your words, though he wasn’t sure why. When he opened his mouth to speak again, you added:

“And don’t blame me for that, either.”

Suddenly, he realized your finger was pointed at his legs.

Or, rather, what was poking up stiff between them.

Joel’s cheeks heated up to a thousand degrees.

You’d just caught him. You’d seen his arousal.

And you were turning on your heels again.

Before Joel could even try to summon the words to his tongue, you were grabbing your things. Shoving your shoes onto your feet. And Joel had only to stand there.

Feeling stupid and inert beside you.

As you went to the back gate, he somehow managed to call that you didn’t have a car, let him drive you back.

You didn’t even dignify his words with a verbal response.

You just raised your middle finger over your shoulder.

And then the gate crashed shut behind you.

You would be walking home that day.

Two big eyes and round cheeks were all you could see.

Then, they darted beneath the covers and were gone.

“Oh no, where’d sweet Sarah go?” you wondered aloud. Sitting at the edge of the bed and pretending not to see where she’d just dipped her head under the blankets, you furrowed your brows and proceeded to pat around you.

Everywhere you felt with your hands, you completely ignored the big lump under the duvet. It was a game.

A silly one at that—hide-and-go-seek was generally best left to places where you couldn’t figure out her location in the blink of an eye. But you played along. You heard a soft giggle. You continued feeling around the twin-sized mattress like this was the most bewildering puzzle of all.

“Whe-ere’s Sarah?” you sing-songed.

You heard a shuffling of limbs, a sniffle.

Your palm tapped right by those little feet.

And as soon as you did, she screamed. At four years old, Sarah hadn’t quite mastered the art of being stealthy.

You’d cut her some slack. You always had.

Blindly passing where her body lay, you glided to the opposite side of her bed and tapped inquiringly there.

“Is she…here?” You got a pillow.

“No!” Sarah shrieked back.

Such a helpful, obliging kid. She’d make a terrible spy.

“Is she…up here?” You rapped the headboard twice.

“No!!” she squealed.

You glanced over at the clock on her nightstand. It was approaching bedtime. Taking note of this, and knowing you couldn’t keep up with the charade for much longer, you let out a sigh. You stood from the bed, looked around the room with dramatic éclat, then started to walk away.

“Okay…I guess if Sarah’s not here I’ll have to leave…”

The second you said that, Sarah threw the covers back. She jumped up in bed, and she stomped her little feet.

“No! No! I’m here! I’m here!”

You spun on your heels, eyes wide with faux surprise.

“Sarah!”

And then you rushed back over, just in time to watch her drop to the bed and flash you a wide, exuberant smile.

“Your Sarah,” she corrected.

She adored it when you called her that. Your Sarah.

You nodded your head in agreement, “My Sarah. Sorry.”

She nodded too, like she’d just reminded you of the most important thing, and then she slipped back under her covers. She let you drag the purple duvet over her frame, all the way up to her chin, and when she was all snug inside, she gave another smile. She kicked her feet again.

“Stay,” she commanded, tone still sugar-sweet.

“I will, baby. ‘Til your daddy gets back, I’ll be here.”

“I mean forever!” Sarah dragged out the last syllable, and, not yet content with the answer you’d proffered, tried swaying you again, still more emphatic, “For-ever!”

If your daddy wasn’t such an ass, I might consider it.

Instead, you smiled back at her and shook your head. You smoothed the hair away from her face, then you leaned in and kissed her forehead with a gentle peck.

“Then my family would miss me. I gotta see them.”

“Says who?” Sarah’s pout was unmistakable.

Before you could reply, she cut in again.

“You can be my family. My mommy.”

Your throat constricted at those words. You weren’t sure what to say, or how to assuage your sweet Sarah then.

Again, you were about to open your mouth to speak, when your pint-sized companion piped up again. This time, her voice was softer. Surprisingly delicate and low.

“I want you to be my mommy,” she told you quietly, “Then you’ll live here. With me and daddy. And you’ll never have to go home again and we can play all day!”

Your heart ached. You kissed the tip of her nose and turned away, momentarily, to hide the hurt on your face.

Sarah Miller deserved much more in a mother than you.

When you looked up again, her grin was big. Hopeful.

“Don’t you wanna be my mommy too?” she asked.

“‘Course I do, baby,” you answered without hesitation, “But…don’t you think your daddy should have a say too?”

Somehow, her face got even brighter.

“He will! He— he…”

Sarah trailed off a second, as if considering her words. She didn’t understand what marriage meant. You’d help.

“Your daddy,” you finished for her, speaking slow and soft as you leaned in close, “is a good man who deserves a good woman to make your mommy. Don’t you agree?”

She bit the inside of her cheek.

“Yeah, but—”

“And a mommy’s gotta be someone he really loves.”

“But he…”

She was thinking again. You could tell. You pressed on.

“He is gonna find someone great someday. He’ll love you and her to bits, and y’all will get to play together all day.”

“But he loves you!” Sarah cried, at length.

A beat.

Your breath faltered.

The girl’s words had scarcely hung in the air for more than two seconds, and their meaning hardly registered in your brain before your own were coming out fast. Certain

“Your daddy doesn’t love me, baby. I’m just his friend.”

“Yes, he does! He told me so himself!”

Again, you shook your head.

“You misunderstood him, sweetie.”

You tried to smooth her hair back again, but Sarah’s head bucked away. She scrunched up her nose in clear protest and refused to let you cradle her face until she’d spoken her piece. When she did, her voice was pleading all over:

“Daddy loves you, he told me. You can be my mommy.”

And for what seemed like the hundredth time that night, you felt your heart balloon in your chest. Your gut clenched—but not for the reasons she or you wanted it to. The truth was that you didn’t have the words to tell a four-year-old girl that her father didn’t love you like that at all, that his head and his heart were anywhere but with you, and that, if you were being honest, you were furious with him. How he could so much as hint at such nonsense was beyond you. His little girl dreamed of having a mother. It was stupid and senseless and cruel to even suggest that that woman could be you. You sighed.

But, despite your every thought and feeling to the contrary, you knew you had to soothe the girl with some small semblance of hope. Something to hold her over for the night, so she didn’t cry herself to sleep thinking that you didn’t want to be her mommy. Gently, you leaned in.

You lifted the covers back up from where they’d fallen. You tucked them snug around her torso, and you paused.

Your tone was measured and soft when you spoke next:

“I don’t know about your daddy, baby. What I do know is that I would be the luckiest lady alive to get to be your mommy, alright? I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

And you meant it. You saw one look light up her face, and every ounce of anger that had been provoked by her father was forgotten in an instant. Her grin ensured it.

“Anywhere,” she parroted back.

“Anywhere,” you said, again.

Then you kissed the crown of her head, wished her sweet dreams, cut the little light off. You left the room quietly.

It was only when you were out of there and far enough away down the hallway that your skin started to burn.

You couldn’t help it. Anger was fast to trickle back.

This feeling was only compounded when the next moment brought a sound to the landing on the stairs. You glanced over down the hall, muscles all tensing at once, and when you saw him there, it was as though your rage just bubbled over. Your jaw clenched; your stomach flipped in a way so decidedly unlike how it had done for him two days ago, in his office, and suddenly, your throat was working again. You kept your voice low this time, keen not to draw Sarah’s attention out there, but the words you used were clear. Quiet. Doubtlessly effective.

Even in the dark, you saw his brows jump when he heard:

“Joel, we need to talk.”

It had been two years since he’d had a woman in here.

Joel wished it were under any circumstances but these.

Presently, your eyes were ablaze. The two of you had just stepped into his room and shut the door behind you, and with the click of a latch, you hadn’t thought to hold it in:

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

He blinked.

Well, many things.

Joel wouldn’t have had the space to explain it all if you’d given him a week, and still, he had to say something. He blinked again, made a sound in his throat as if to clear it, then shook his head. His shoulders sagged in his jacket.

“I…I’m sorry.”

For the other day. For getting caught up in his own anger and taking it out on you. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was apologizing for now, or what he should say, but he thought it best to start there. He shrugged his jacket off and set it over the back of the nearest chair. He turned to you again, where you were standing with a warning look.

“Don’t say sorry to me,” you said. “Say sorry to Sarah.”

Sarah?

Before he could speak, you went on.

“You’re just setting her up for heartbreak, you know that? I mean how selfish— how stupid could you possibly be?”

You pursed your lips like tears might threaten if you didn’t. This caught him off guard—his daughter? What could he have said or done to hurt her in any of this?

“What are you talking about?”

“You said I’d be her mom, Joel!”

He winced. You furrowed your brows and set your mouth in a line—really trying to fight the emotion behind it—and, while all the rest of you bristled in anticipation for what was to come, Joel softened. He didn’t mean to. He didn’t want to be the guy who lost his head at the thought of seeing you cry and forget the whole reason you were upset with him in the first place, but he couldn’t help it. Though you looked like you wanted to kill him right then, Joel drew closer. He shifted toward you.

“Did— did she, uh…call you…mommy?” he said, pained.

“Yeah. And you let her believe she could,” you spat.

He hadn’t meant to do that, either. Sarah had been calling you that for a while when you weren’t around to hear, and after enough times telling her otherwise, he’d just stopped correcting her on it. Sarah wanted a mother. You were the closest thing she had, and who was he to sabotage that? At the time, he’d just wanted to…pretend.

That was a running theme he had going with you.

Right now, you didn’t seem to care about that.

You just rolled your eyes in that cool, juvenile way when you didn’t hear a response from him, and he had to bite his tongue from saying something worse. He hated when you did that. It made him remember your age—the reality of you being his kid’s babysitter and how guilty he should feel for wanting to do something more about that eyeroll.

He wasn’t your father.

You weren’t Sarah’s mother, either.

You most certainly weren’t the girl on his computer screen, as much as he would’ve liked to see you that way, and even though you were standing here in his bedroom.

That was all fantasy. Make-believe. This was his reality.

You were visibly pissed and wouldn’t budge an inch.

“Is it really so bad if she says it?” he grit out.

Your eyes widened. You scoffed.

“Of course it is, Joel!”

You backed away.

He hated seeing that, too. He hated having you move from him, not toward him, wearing that scowl on your lips as you did. His fingers twitched—itched—at his side.

“Sarah’s young. She doesn’t…mean anything by it. She’ll grow out of it soon enough. And I don’t want to hurt her.”

“You’ll hurt her even worse by not telling her the truth!” you snapped. You sounded exasperated saying it now. “We’re not a family. I’m the goddamn babysitter, and— and— you’re Sarah’s father. Act like it, for Christ’s sake.”

That set his teeth on edge.

Joel felt the urge to fight back, but narrowly refrained. He flexed his fingers, and he bit down hard to keep the vitriol at bay. Because that was exactly what fathers did. They controlled their anger; even when faced with a smart-mouthed babysitter who wore his patience out.

Even when your arms were folded over your chest in that impossibly tight, white tank, and your tits looked like they might spill from the fabric at any given moment. Joel swallowed and refocused his gaze before going on.

“Don’t tell me how to be a father.”

Something flared in your eyes.

“Why? I’m fucking right.”

“Language, young lady.”

That only seemed to irk you worse; your hands flew up.

“Yeah, well,” you started, accusing, “If we’re playing house, I might as well be allowed to say what I like.”

“We are not playing hous—”

“But you want to, right? That’s why I’m always here.”

“No, I need a—”

“Maid? Mommy?”

You paced closer. Joel’s jaw clenched.

“Obedient little housewife?” you sneered.

Your eyes were shining like two derisive pools. With every blink, you seemed to mock him more. Goad him on and beg for your reward, though you hardly knew what it was.

“C’mon, Mr. Miller,” you chided, voice low, “What is it?”

What he was, or what he’d stand to take. It wasn’t this.

“Keep runnin’ that fuckin’ mouth, I’ll show you what.”

The words flew off his tongue before he could stop them.

It was a reflex—something that had been stewing in his mind since the second you’d set foot in his room and went on provoking him. But it was wrong, of course.

He was wrong for even thinking it, much less saying it.

Now your eyes were round, and your mouth was slightly agape, and your brain was likely working a thousand miles a minute to process what had just been said.

Joel had to fix it.

“That— that ain’t—” he began, already hating himself.

To his surprise, and embarrassment, a laugh rang out.

Its sound was explosive and short. It split the air with such hot, bitter force that his words dropped off. His gaze had no choice but to remain plastered on yours.

“Oh, I bet.”

You grinned, humorless.

You didn’t appear shocked in the slightest. In fact, his remark seemed only to embolden you then, as you teased that smile wider, drew yourself closer, and tipped your chin up. You looked doubly enlivened by his last admission. Vindicated in some strange, inexplicable way. Your breaths were warm, and the swell of your breasts came to hover just inches from his chest when the last thing he needed to happen, happened between you next.

You pointed again. Joel didn’t need to look down.

“‘Don’t tell me how to be a father,’” you repeated his words from before, voice taking on a low, faux baritone.

Your amusement was clear. His cock was hard.

It seemed you’d never let the latter slip past you.

“Is that what we’re gettin’ at here, Mr. Miller?” you asked, tone now precocious. Probing, “You showing me what a great daddy you are, and me being the mommy you al—”

“No.”

Joel pushed off. He didn’t want to hear another thing.

He headed straight for the door, prepared to usher you out of it. This conversation had taken an irreparable turn.

When he reached for the handle, though, he had to stop. Your voice made him stop, echoing from the opposite end of the room. Joel turned, and he saw you on his bed.

“I’m just curious. Is that really what you meant?”

You were sitting at the foot of it, legs casually hanging off. Your look was innocent, and still more knowing than Joel could bear. The heat left to swirl in his groin nearly suffocated him below the waist, and he inhaled deeply.

“Mean what? I didn’t…mean anything.”

His touch fell from the doorknob all the same.

Your feet were swinging when he faced you completely.

“Just like you didn’t mean for Sarah to call me mommy?”

Maybe he had meant it more than he let on. He couldn’t answer. Joel felt every bit the creep he knew himself to be—decades your senior and letting you rest on his bed, soft, smooth legs kicking back and forth as he watched.

He was good at that, wasn’t he? Watching. Waiting. Aching from the comfort of his home office while he watched those filthy clips on repeat, images of you flitting through his mind at every stretch, moan, and whimper. His will was powerless to his perverted needs. He had only to defend himself against their influence by planting his feet firmly in place and refusing to move.

“You wanna teach me, though. Don’t you, daddy?”

It was as though your words reached him from another place. Somewhere deep within the recesses of his mind—his memory—and the tone of it stirred him. It was familiar, in ways you couldn’t have possibly understood. Unless you were living in his head, there was no way in hell you could’ve known what those lines meant to him.

‘Gonna teach ya, honey. Teach ya how to please a man.’

It made him ache.

Joel still wouldn’t move, but you could come to him.

He blinked once, and you were there. Off the bed. Walking to him. Down on your knees in front of him.

This had to be the work of his own sick imagination.

He groaned at just the sight of your smile, curving slow.

And then you peeled off your top, revealing the bright, nylon, cherry-red fabric he’d seen far too many times on his computer screen and off it—on you, by his pool. Joel sucked in a breath and shook his head, gaze darkening.

“Thought you didn’t wanna play mommy,” he growled.

If this was all just in his head, he could talk as he wanted.

“I don’t,” you answered him soberly. Suddenly, your chin was in his hand. Your eyes were still glistening up at him. “But you need to get this out of your system. Just once.”

Out of his system.

Joel was out of his fucking mind with desire.

“Just once?” His voice cracked as he said it.

Only one time. That was alright. Forgivable.

From what he half-believed to be a figment of his own perverted mind came the word from your lips: ‘Once.’

The next had the thumb that was cupping your chin slipping between those same lips. Still smiling while your mouth slid down to his knuckle. You sucked him gently.

And in just one glimpse, one fleeting second on that lone, thick thumb, the sight below him had every other obscene thing entrenched in his memory beat by a mile. You were better than everything else he’d seen or tried to dream up. You were real, he hoped, sliding your shiny wet lips up and down the surface of his skin, and when you pried them off, and you asked for his cock, he had no choice but to oblige. He had to rack his brain for words.

This was his babysitter, his daughter’s companion, his—

“Sweet fuckin’ girl,” he said when he first felt you there.

Before he even knew what became of his belt, buckle, and zip, the base of his cock was in your hand, and your lips were hovering precariously over the tip. Your breaths were soft and hot. Your graze drank him in with curiosity.

“Should I kiss you here, daddy?” Your mouth lowered.

“Right there, sweetie,” Joel breathed out.

He truly couldn’t believe it when the warmth of you enveloped his tip. When the first lick of your tongue came to collect the bead of precum sitting at the slit and he damn near bucked his hips up. You licked at it again.

And again. And again. And again.

You whimpered lightly, enjoying the taste.

The second you pulled your mouth away, Joel hissed.

“Baby, please—” he started, tone strained.

“What? Where does daddy want it?”

The question was so innocent.

It was clear you wanted to hear him guide you through it, as evidenced by the way your lips twitched at his hand smoothing down and over the crown of your head. Joel held it like he might never get this chance again, and, at once, his voice lowered along with it. He scarcely recognized himself with how gently he spoke then.

“Let daddy show you,” he said, “Open your mouth.”

And you did.

Your jaw fell slack, your lips split apart, and your eyes peered up with a wide and open stare. In a look, you seemed already to say that you trusted him to fill it.

No sight on a screen could’ve made him so hard.

He fed you an inch, eyes locked with yours as he did. His cock slid in another, and another, then stopped. He pulled back. The wetness and the warmth of your mouth nearly did him in, and the way you whined for more had him fisting your hair tight. Trying to keep his composure.

“That alright, honey? Feel…nice goin’ in?”

“Yes, daddy,” you hummed obediently.

Your mouth opened wider.

“More, please?”

Your tongue was flattened in a second. Joel slid back in, and his shaft was greeted by the slick, shiny cushion of the muscle underneath. He sank in. He invaded every inch of your mouth he could find, and he breathed out.

“Just like that, sweetie. Takin’ daddy so well.”

What little gurgles he heard stifled between your lips at that, spit drooling gently from either side, he only found more endearing. When he pulled back and saw strings of your spit trail after its path, he felt delirious. You were real, coating the whole throbbing length of his cock with your saliva and your precious soft whines, and you were sweet for him. Pliant for his cock. Jaw obliging and inviting and hanging wide open for him to fuck again.

He let you have it. He slid in once, grazed your throat, slid out again. He cupped your face in his hands and thumbed your cheeks. He coaxed your lips wider for him. You took it all well; you responded to every tender little directive from the man who was stuffing your mouth, ‘Faster now, atta girl’ and ‘Take daddy deeper’ and ‘Keep that pretty mouth open and those eyes on me.’ Joel was so caught up in the feel and the friction and the intimacy of every passing moment that he almost didn’t see when you started to shift your legs. Parting them.

And, right when the head of his cock had reached the back of your mouth and was teasing down your wet, open throat, he felt it fully: your whimpering plea.

You grinding your cunt against the toe of his boot, and peering up at him with eyes all wet, wide, and needy.

You rutted your hips. It looked like you couldn’t help it.

It seemed as though it were a mere spasm of the body that you couldn’t control—like his cock down your throat was too good for your sense or your oversexed mind to handle. He’d scarcely stirred in place when he felt you humping him, whines rippling down his length with every bob of your head as you keened for some kind of release.

Joel had never seen anything like it. He didn’t know what to say or do except stroke his hand over your scalp and pin you with a look. His cock twitched in your mouth.

“Is that how we ask to get fucked in this house?”

His tone surprised him with how steady it stayed.

Your mouth still full of him, you tried to shake your head.

What came next was more instinct than logical thought; Joel pulled you off his cock and onto your feet. His touch on your body was soft. He couldn’t pinpoint a reason for his being so gentle, but every second that elapsed now seemed to demand it. He was teaching you to please. There could be no better place for kindness than here.

He’d lead you to the bed and guide you down himself. He’d tell you to open your mouth and then he would kiss it, and lick inside it. Maybe spit inside it, too. He’d tug at your bikini straps, watch your breasts give way to the pressure of the pull before bouncing right back in place. He’d take off your top. Latch his mouth around a nipple, swirl his tongue across the skin, and he’d kiss you again.

Joel did all these things, and you let him. You met him with whimpers, with wide open legs, and eventually, with your feet digging into the covers beneath you, begging, ‘Daddy, please put it in.’ Your gaze was febrile as you did.

Whether you meant it, or were simply pretending for him, gave Joel pause. Just as you’d tried to yank your jean shorts down your legs, he dropped his hands to your own. He stopped them in their path. He leaned closer.

“Do you know what you and me are about to do, hm?”

His question was barbed but sweet. Testing the waters.

Were you game to keep playing house? Did you want it?

These things mattered to Joel; whether the wetness between your legs was meant for him and him alone. Whether you needed him there, like the breath in your lungs. He wouldn’t fuck you if he wasn’t. He might feel lonely at times—desperate to feel your cunt squeeze his too-old cock like your life depended on it—but he was a man who wanted to be wanted, too. An instant of clarity hit, and suddenly he was asking it, plain and in your face:

“Do you wanna do what mommies and daddies do?”

Your mouth fell slack. Again. You nodded.

Either you were the single best actress, or you wanted it. Hoping desperately for the latter, Joel kissed the side of your face. You turned your head, quickly, and captured his lips in yours instead. You pulled him down to you.

“Like this?” you murmured, words muffled against him.

You wrapped your legs around his waist and then ground your clothed lower half with his—Joel’s cock was tucked haphazardly back in his boxers, and his jeans, unzipped, hung just underneath them around his hips. He felt like a teen again, clothes thrown askew and hormones all wild.

Except he wasn’t. He was a grown man, in his own bed, with his child fast asleep down the hall. He thanked his lucky stars that their rooms were as far apart as possible, and that he no longer had to worry about the prying eyes of his mom or dad trying to catch him out after curfew. This wasn’t high school, or a night out in college, or the time a condom had split and Sarah had been conceived.

Now if he could just make sure she didn’t get a sibling…

Kidding.

“Pill,” Joel choked out, just as your legs drew him in to meet your movements, “Are— are you on the pill, or—”

Am I going to have to hit up a Texaco at 10 PM to get some rubbers and admit I haven’t gotten laid in a year?

You grinned.

“IUD.”

That works, too.

Joel probably shouldn’t have seemed so eager. He probably shouldn’t have taken your face in his hands and kissed you so hard, either. But his skin was ablaze; his eyes were wild; his limbs were molten; and his head—you didn’t want to know where it was. What he was thinking.

What he wanted to tell you while he tugged his cock back out and started working his hand up and down it. It felt too intimate, too depraved, to be spoken aloud.

Then, to his shock, you said the words yourself:

“Show me how you’d make me a mommy anyway.”

If not for protection. If not for common sense. If not for that thrumming, pulsing, warning repetition in his head: Do not get her pregnant. Do not give your kid a sibling.

But this was all pretend, wasn’t it?

Joel yanked down your shorts, practically tore them from your legs, and situated himself between them, breathing hard and fast, before he nodded his head and kissed you. With his one free hand, he held the base of his dick, and he guided it closer to your slick, puffy, aching entrance through the barrier of your red bikini. He rutted his hips.

You were bare beneath him, save for that one scrap of fabric between your lower half and his. You smiled, and you wriggled your body against his, and you drew him in. Joel groaned when he felt you slide your bottoms to the slide and let him feel, for the first time, how wet you were. How warm, inviting, and tight that cunt must be and how badly he needed it. How desperately he had to be buried inside that heat—he all but panted the words:

“Can daddy put it in?”

You spread your legs wider. You nodded.

Then he did. Without one breath of a thought to the contrary, he pushed the head of himself past the fabric, through your folds, into that wet and precious spot he’d only dreamed he’d ever feel, and he let out a full-throated moan. He felt your walls contract, heard the tender little squelch of your body making room for his length, and he damn near blew his whole load right there. You felt good.

Your chest rose with a breath, and your eyes widened.

Like you hadn’t just had him down your throat, drenched in your spit and gliding in and out: “He’s so big, daddy.”

Joel’s lips kissed your cheek. His tip kissed your cervix. You whined a little, and he pulled you in closer to him.

“I know, honey, I know,” he cooed, rocking you with the softest motions, “Ain’t that what mommy likes, though?”

Your lips parted again. A strangled whine of assent slid out, just as his hips withdrew himself back to that shiny, bulbous head, and then he fucked back in. Back and forth, back and forth, Joel sent your body bouncing with every thrust. He felt you clench, and the strokes sped up.

The bed creaked underneath. It seemed to shake the whole room. In truth, there wasn’t a thought in Joel’s head except for the ones relating to you and how good you took his cock, but somewhere, not far off, there was the instinct of a father idling too. With every stab of the headboard against the wall and every moan of yours under him he had to smother with his lips, he was reminded you two had to be quiet. He leaned in.

Grazing your ear with a stubbled chin, and fucking you gently into his bed, Joel sank his weight even lower.

“Can mommy stay real quiet for daddy? Can she try?”

From the way your eyes were glazed, he expected you to nod. And you did, just barely, heels digging in the mound of his ass and your fingers finding his sides. But then you slid a touch up his ribs; you squeezed the flesh. You let him pound your cunt for a few more precious seconds, and just when he thought that was the end of it, you tilted your head to him. Your nose bumped his, and you grinned, flashing the single most pretty, fucked-out look.

“Feels like a fucking dream, daddy,” you breathed.

Joel balked. He almost stopped right then and there.

Please! Feels like a fucking dre-e-e-e-e-eam—oh, OH!

Oh.

You couldn’t have known that.

There was no shot you knew where the fuck those words were from. Or what they meant. Joel furrowed his brow and kept rutting his hips, hands tightening in the sheets beside your head as the scene from his naughty all-time favorite film flickered briefly through his mind. No shot.

Then your legs wound around the backs of his even tighter, and your eyes were all but shining with a fresh, twisted glint. With a measured tone, you went on for him:

“He’s so big, daddy. Feels so good going inside me.”

You even mimicked her tone. Joel paled above you.

His hips stalled a moment, and your cunt hugged him tight. Your teeth nipped at his chin, playfully, and before he could even try to speak again, your lips were there.

At his ear, whispering what he’d dreaded hearing most.

“You should really clear those PornHub searches after you’re done. Or at least lock your office while I’m here.”

Joel’s thrusts stopped completely.

He was about to search for his voice again, when your walls clamped down around him, and his vision went swimming. His cock pulsed inside you, and he groaned.

Then his hips picked up; it wasn’t a conscious decision. He just needed to fuck, needed to finish, needed to see the light twinkle and burst behind your eyes while he stuffed your cunt full. It didn’t matter what you knew—your lips were curled in such a sweet, smug smile below him, there was likely no use in trying to explain himself now. Joel just gritted his teeth, and he tried smiling back. He fucked you faster, and harder, than he’d done before.

When you clawed at his back, the pace grew merciless. Every inch of the space around him, it seemed, was filled with the sounds of skin slapping skin, whimpers, and moans. As before, Joel almost didn’t recognize his voice.

‘That so?’ was all it could manage to get out at present.

With your cunt fluttering repeatedly, hips rolling with his own, and those lips letting moans spill out one after the next, it was all he could do to try to keep his composure.

Joel kissed you, and then he flipped your body around. He moved back to find the headboard and rest himself against it, got your legs straddling his, and slid you down

Down, down, down on his cock. Stretching you out. Then moving you back up again. Making you bounce in his lap and have your hands fumble to find his shoulders. You squeezed his biceps and moaned, and at the same time, his slick-smeared lower half rutted to greet yours. Your essence drenched him; he could feel it soak straight through the black-and-gray hairs at the base of his cock.

You looked perfect like this—better than any girl on camera could’ve been. Your hips rolled, and you moaned while sliding up and down on his dick, again and again. Joel felt the trembling pulse through your body and his, groaned at the grip of your cunt around him, and helped you ride him. With one hand at the small of your back and the other cupping your face, he held you close to him. Your pace quickened, and the hand at your chin made its way to your throat, to hold you firmly there.

Joel had a thumb on your pulse and his eyes raking over your writhing form when he felt compelled to talk again.

Share a truth, since all the rest was coming out anyway.

He didn’t think so much as feel it flow from there, like the blood rushing through his veins. Joel winced at a fresh influx of pleasure and let you grind on him twice more. Then he was gripping you tighter, fucking up into you harder, and he was skimming his teeth along your skin. As a knot coiled deep within his stomach, he let it out:

“Wanna cum inside this pussy, baby. Fill her up with me.”

The head of his cock struck a dizzying blow to someplace close to your cervix, and you held him tighter.

“Yeah, Mr. Miller?” You couldn’t help the teasing tone.

You fought a breathless laugh, then were forced to suck in a gasp of air just as quick; his length sheathed itself inside you completely, and Joel’s grip constricted on your throat. He kissed you. He lapped his tongue into your mouth while he fucked up into you, again and again.

You whined, and he mumbled against you, “That’s right.”

You hissed at him deep in your guts, and he went on:

“Gonna stuff her full. Make her wet and messy and drippin’ with me. Show mommy how much daddy lov—”

He cut himself short. His balls were heavy, full, and ready to paint you white, but that line was a touch too far, even now. He couldn’t say it outright and not sound like a fucking creep, no matter how deep in this roleplay you happened to be. Joel squeezed your hips and grunted.

And, for what felt like the fifteenth time that night, you surprised him. Your chin tilted to his, your lips brushed against his mouth, and you smiled, again. It was tender.

“How much does daddy love me, hm? Show me.”

Your walls clenched at the end of the last sentence, and Joel couldn’t help but groan in your mouth. His eyes lifted to yours, and in your gaze, he found anything but incredulity—you already knew what he felt, somehow.

“Sarah tell you that, too? That I love you?” he growled.

He’d said it once. At the time, he hadn’t thought he’d meant it at all, but the words just sounded so good when it came to you. Sarah had asked him if he’d wanted you to be her mommy someday, if he loved you like a daddy loves a mommy, and he’d said he did. Looking back, it hadn’t felt half as good as it did right now: peering into your eyes, feeling your warmth swallow him whole, and sensing you were nearing your climax, all because of him. It made him want to say it over again, now face-to-face.

Be it roleplay, fantasy, fixation—he needed to say it now.

“Daddy does love you,” he went on, before you could even respond. His pelvis rutted against yours, and his gaze stayed steeped in desire as he felt you grip harder, “Loves you so damn much he wants to stuff a big load in that pretty little cunt. Make you his. That alright by you?”

Your gaze went blank in an instant. Your lips twitched.

Something delectably wet, tight, and far too tempting shuddered someplace inside you, and with pride, Joel sensed the remnants of it leak out and smear his tummy. You liked that idea. Still, you seemed hesitant as your teeth snagged your bottom lip between them. You drew one steadying breath, and you slowed your movements.

“I’ve never…had that,” you admitted quietly.

Then that sticky-sweet embrace your cunt held him in got even wetter. Like your mind wasn’t fully on-board, but your body was all in. You were close, by the feel of it.

But Joel would only give what you were fully ready to take. At length, he lowered one hand to the small of your back, and his thumb rubbed at the skin. He let you feel him in only the shallowest of strokes, bouncing you softly

“Ain’t gotta be inside, then,” he murmured, assuring, “I’ll shoot this load wherever mommy tells me to go, alright?”

That made you whimper.

From there, your mind seemed to be decided all at once.

“Cum inside. I-I want it.”

Joel swallowed thickly.

“You sure, sugar? I can—”

Suddenly, your hips were stirring. They started up quicker than before, and your hand was swift to plant itself flat on his chest, as though to stabilize yourself.

“Cum. In. Me.”

It was the most decisive, and desperate, you’d sounded all night. Your gaze flitted to his, and in it, he saw a plea.

With a look like that, Joel knew he couldn’t make you wait. He wouldn’t make you wait. Trying not to smirk as he did, he leaned in and kissed you, and felt you drip more arousal as something knotted in your belly. He smoothed your hair away and delivered the gentlest thrusts from below—he knew it wouldn’t take much.

“Mama goes first,” he prodded. He felt you tense, and clench, and leak a little more down his front, and when the head of cock nicked a soft ridge, he groaned, too. “Cum for daddy now and he’ll give you his load, OK?”

Then his touch slipped between your legs. You keened.

“Daddy, I—” you hiccuped, grip tightening like a vice when his thumb found your clit and started rubbing.

Joel circled faster.

“Breathe, baby. Breathe.”

“I can’t,” you cried, “Feels too—”

Good. Your body seemed to finish for you.

It started with a pulse. Then a pinch. A trickling warmth. Joel hardly knew what else to do but keep rubbing that little pearl between your folds, even when you started to gush around his hand. It wet his tummy; it drenched all the hairs around the base of his cock, and still, he kept thumbing your clit and rocking you back and forth above him. He let you cry out and bite his shoulder while your climax tore through you, and though he knew you had to be quiet, he couldn’t help but relish the sound. He smiled

“That’s it. That’s my girl. Give it to daddy.”

And, while he also told you to keep breathing and let him have it all, he was right here—in a matter of seconds, he was slipping off, too. He couldn’t hope to try and stop it. With one more pulse of your walls, you groaned and got your wet, spent, needy hole stuffed full of him, just how you’d asked. Joel flooded your insides with his seed and kept you fucked straight down to the hilt so he wouldn’t see a drop of himself escape. He hugged you tight and heard you whine at that primal sensation, getting pumped with rope after rope of his cum, then he felt your limbs go limp. Joel kissed the side of your face. He cradled you, held you securely in place, and let the last of his spend paint your walls in a couple more gentle spurts

When it was over, he stroked your back. He sensed the aftershocks of your climax pass through your tired frame, and he made sure not to rock you too hard against him. He just wanted you to feel that he was there, if the heft of his cum and his cock still deep inside you wasn’t enough.

His head grew clearer, too. While still drawing short, ragged breaths in time, he managed to find the words that had evaded him before—what he should’ve said.

“‘M’sorry,” he mumbled into your hair.

You just nuzzled your face deeper.

“Don’t be.”

“But I—”

Then you tilted your head—enough for your gaze to meet with his, briefly, and tell him all that he needed to hear.

“You’re a good dad, Joel.”

He opened his mouth, but you were already pressing on.

“And I don’t…mind if Sarah calls me what she wants for now. I’m sure you’ll find someone great to be her mom someday, and then this whole thing won’t even matter.”

For some reason, the sound of it made Joel wince.

He couldn’t quite place the feeling, but he knew he didn’t want you thinking that. His grip constricted around you.

“No,” he muttered, indistinct. Defiant.

“No?”

You almost laughed.

It was insane, admittedly—just last night he’d been dreaming of the feel of you in the grip of his fist, wishing for nothing but his own release and a fleeting thought of your body underneath him, and here he was, doing this.

You’d said it was a one-and-done deal, and maybe it was.

But for him, maybe, it wasn’t. He’d be remiss not to try.

If you shot him down and left him to pine and meander through the manifold archives of PornHub for the rest of his horny life, that would be alright. At least he had tried.

With these thoughts thrumming through his brain, Joel was about to pull you closer and venture to speak again, when, for the second time, his words were cut short. His voice was presently supplanted by a sound that startled you both, and in a moment, he recognized what it was.

A knock.

“Da-a-a-a-a-a-addy?”

Shit.

He nearly caught a knee to the gut with how quickly you tried scrambling off his lap, limbs revived and frantic and desperate to get your clothes back on before that tiny voice could resume its speech—or get a hand to the door

“Yeah, sweetie? Give— give daddy a—” ‘Fuck!’ he cursed under his breath as he tripped over your shorts on the floor, “—a minute. I’ll be right there. Just gimme a sec.”

Joel fell. You floundered. His hand snagged the edge of the bed before he hit the ground fully, while you set off across the room to fight the strings of your bikini top and wrestle the thing on. The second you sensed that battle was lost, you grabbed your shirt instead. You were just yanking it on, and Joel was just regaining his bearings and about to chuck your shorts your way, when a voice through the door stopped the two of you cold—again.

To your horror, it was hopeful. Too sweet to be real.

“Can I sleep with you and mommy tonight?”

You could’ve soundly beat Joel’s ass with that pretty, skimpy swimsuit in your grasp and not regretted a thing, if he had to guess by the look you were flashing him now.

He didn’t blame you. His hands shot up in silent defense.

“Mommy— mommy’s not here, honey. She went home.” Joel shortly tried, and failed, to keep the pretense of innocence alive, all while dodging the first swing of your bikini’s bra at his head. He ducked; you struck a lamp.

He jumped back, a wordless grin stretching his lips as he righted that fixture fast. With one look, it seemed to say:

I’m so, so sorry, baby.

But inside his head, he couldn’t help but admit this was a little bit funny. Probably sensing this, you swung again.

“Yes, she is! I heard her,” Sarah huffed outside.

Joel was sliding up his jeans. Apologizing with his eyes and also trying not to crack an even bigger smile at you.

“Don’t be silly, Sar—”

“You’re having a sleepover!” she accused.

Well, in a manner of speaking.

Joel had just buckled his belt and redid his zip when a flash of red nylon smacked him in the face. Playfully.

You were evidently beginning to fight a grin like his, dropping the feigned indignation and pacing closer.

“Sleeping my ass—” you started in a whisper.

And you were about to chase him again, or else propose jumping from the window to get out now and save face, maybe, when Joel felt an old, familiar feeling crop up inside him. Like before, it wasn’t the kind of urge he could fight; his instincts took over, and he did it swiftly.

Admittedly, the timing was terrible—but he kissed you.

He pressed his lips to your own and relished the feeling. He grabbed both sides of your face and walked you back to the bed—the same one drenched in sweat and your release, which he’d definitely need to change in a minute—and for a fleeting moment, it was all he needed. Your mouth was on his, grinning a little and promising silently that if Sarah ever does walk in on us, I’m gonna kill you.

Against his better judgment, he pushed you back on the bed. He dropped his weight over your body and kept the kiss ongoing, feeling need surge inside for something far beyond the physical. It couldn’t be ‘one-and-done’ here.

But for now, at least, in spite of his feelings, it had to be.

Joel didn’t want to let go or stop kissing, but the next second left no room for much else, unfortunately. His daughter’s voice returned, and the words that followed proved impossible to ignore, for either one of you then.

All color drained from his face, and your eyes widened.

“I heard mommy screaming before. Is she alright?”

#THE WAY I’VE NEVER WRITTEN A NCFOM-INSPIRED FIC IS INSANE #IT’S ONE OF MY ALL TIME FAVORITE MOVIES AND THE TITLE IS SOOOOO FITTING FOR JOEL 😪#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller tlou #the last of us fic

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ninisdollie · 2 months ago

Text

kiss it better - nishimura riki 𓈒ིུ ❤︎ ˖ ݁

‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Ⳋ᧙ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺

“In which reader teaches her dear friend how to treat a woman right. Or in which reader teaches ni-ki how to give head”

‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ❤︎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⊹　₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ͏͏✧ Content: +18MDNI

fem! reader x ni-ki, friends to lovers, usage of riki and ni-ki, oral sex (f. rec), masturbation (f), reader is in charge, fingering, spitting, face riding, needy! ni-ki, pussy drunk! ni-ki (he’s a mess) grinding, coming undone, slight voye.

hate comments will be deleted and blocked !! likes and reblogs are appreciated <3

Summer trip was always fun with your friend group. But this year was one of your favourites, there was nothing like spending the day on a tanning bed beneath the burning sun, chewing on fresh watermelon after a dive in the beautiful clear waters of the ocean, surrounded by your favorite people in the whole world.

The hotel pool glowed under the summer night, wrapped in string lights and the kind of drunken laughter that only came when everyone forgot about the world outside vacation. Music pulled from a speaker, bass steady. The air smelled like sunscreen and chlorine and you were tasting something fruity on your tongue from the drink you just finished.

You had just slid back into the water, the chill clinging to your skin as you moved through the shallow end. Your bikini hugged your body, still damp from earlier, and your hair stuck to your shoulders in soft waves. Most of your friends where on the deck now, draped across pool chairs or sprawled on towels, passing a bottle of tequila back and forth and yelling about nonsense.

Ni-ki was the only one still on the water.

He floated on his back with his eyes closed, legs lazily moving to keep him afloat, looking so relaxed like he didn’t have a single care in the world. So him.

You swam closer, water swirling around your waist, and nudged his side with your hand.

“You’ll drown”

“Let me.” He murmured, not even opening his eyes “Feels like a good way to go.”

A small laugh left your lips.

“Dramatic.”

Ni-ki opened one eye then, just enough to flash you a lazy smile

“Says the girl who almost cried when we splashed on her drink.”

“That was an expensive drink.”

“You’re expensive” He shot back, quickly.

That caught you off guard, and you blinked.

It wasn’t even that serious, just Ni-ki being Ni-ki. But still, it stuck. Hit something strange and sudden in your chest. Maybe it was the way he said it, or the way his gaze lingered a bit too long before flicking away. You’d always thought he was cute. Objectively, anyways. It wasn’t like you were blind, Ni-ki was tall and lean and had that perfect face that made even simple hoodies and cotton sweatpants look good. He was your friend, sure, you’d known him for years now. The same friend that threw up on your lap in Sunghoon’s backseat last summer, the same friend that stole your notes because he never did his homework on time. But that never stopped the thoughts that stuck in your head sometimes, thoughts you never let stay.

But for some reason, tonight felt different.

He ducked under the water suddenly, disappearing from your view. You barely had time to react before strong hands grabbed your waist from behind and lifted you with a splash, so easily.

You shrieked, laughing, trying to escape.

“Ni-ki!”

He just laughed, breathless and smug as you turned and splashed him back, right in the face. You were both soaked now, your bikini clinging tighter to your tanned skin, water streaming down your neck.

Ni-ki was still close, enough to feel the warmth radiating off him even in the cool water. His hands already dropped from your waist, but you could still feel them.

You felt your breathing shake as your eyes met his. There was something in his expression you couldn’t quite name. Like heavy and charged.

Then he blinked, swam backwards, and said casually.

“Alright. I’m bored.”

You barely had time to ignore the feeling before Heeseung called out from his chair, arms spread like he was announcing something big.

“Let’s play a game.” He said “Truth or dare.”

Jake made a face.

“We always do that. I’ve lost the count on the amount of times I’ve licked Sunghoon’s neck”

Your friends laughed at him, and you chuckled under your breath.

“Never have I ever then. Loser has to buy all our drinks tomorrow.”

Groans followed, but no one said no. You all gathered near the edge, some wrapped in towels and half-drunk already.

You ended up sitting next to Ni-ki, still damp, still trying to ignore the echo of his hands on your waist.

The game started innocent as always.

“Never have I ever lied to a date.”

“Never have I ever faked an orgasm”

“Never have I ever cheated”

The group slowly loosened between sips, laughter and more laughter, getting louder and messier by the second.

“Okay, I have one.” Heeseung then leaned in, grinning. “Never have I ever gone down on someone”

A few hands went up, including yours.

You didn’t look around, didn’t think much of it, but then you noticed that Ni-ki didn’t move.

He just sat there, calm, fingers tapping slowly on the ground. Then you turned your head.

“Wait, seriously?”

He looked at you, then shrugged.

“Yeah.”

Heeseung just stared.

“Wait wait wait - you’ve never gone down on a girl?”

Ni-ki shook his head.

“Nope.”

Sunoo gasped, hand flying to his chest

“What? Riki, oh my god!”

Heeseung was already laughing

“Bro. That’s practically illegal.”

Jake leaned in like he was interrogating him.

“You scared of it or something?”

Ni-ki scoffed and pushed him.

“Shut up.”

Sunghoon smirked

“So, what’s the reason?”

Ni-ki leaned back on his elbows, his expression unreadable. He didn’t look embarrassed, but he didn’t look thrilled by their teasing either. You didn’t expect it, to be honest, Ni-ki wasn’t exactly a playboy, but he wasn’t a saint either, you’d seen him a thousand times shoving down his tongue in random girls throats at parties.

“I just haven’t found the right person yet.”

That only made the boys laugh louder. Heeseung clutched his chest and someone said something about how he was a “certified mouth virgin”.

You watched Ni-ki stay still through it all, quiet.

Something in your chest pulled tight, and you sat up a little straighter.

“Okay, enough.” You said, cutting through the noise “What are we? Twelve?”

The group quieted a little, eyes turning to you.

“He’s just waiting for the right person, that’s not a bad thing.” You glanced at Ni-ki, met his eyes again. He looked back at you like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or grab your hand. “It’s not that deep. Honestly, most guys think they know how to do it, just doing it doesn’t mean you’re good at it.”

Ni-ki still hadn’t looked away from you.

But as the group moved on, laughing at the next prompt, the air between you didn’t shift back. It felt heavier.

The hotel was quiet now, after the chaos of earlier. You could still hear faint laughter from somewhere down the hall, someone’s speaker muffled behind the closed doors, but for the most part, you started to settle.

Your skin smelled like sunscreen and coconut from your body spray as you stood at the sink in your oversized tee and underwear, hair half-damp and twisted into a towel, the bathroom mirror foggy from your shower. Your limbs ached in a satisfying way that only summer could bring.

You were just about to crawl into bed when the knock came.

One, two, three soft raps, hesitant.

You froze for a second, staring at your reflection wondering who could it be this late at night. Then you padded across the room and peeked through the peephole, opening the door without thinking.

Ni-ki stood there, hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie, hair damp and curling slightly around his ears.

“Hey.” He said.

You blinked, a bit surprised about his visit and the unsettling look on his face.

“Hey. Everything okay?”

He nodded, but didn’t move.

Then you stepped back, opening the door a little wider.

“Wanna come in?”

He didn’t answer, just walked in, quiet, his presence filling your small hotel room instantly. You shut the door behind him, suddenly too aware of how you were dressed, and the silence between you two.

He looked around, then sat on the edge of the bed like he’d done it a thousand times before.

But now it felt different.

“You good?” You asked again, crossing your arms trying to play it cool.

He nodded again, slower this time.

“Yeah. I just… couldn’t sleep.”

You leaned against the dresser, watching him. He was staring at the carpet, then at his hands. Then up at you.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said.” He admitted and your heart thudded.

“What part?”

“That it’s not about doing it, it’s about knowing how to treat someone.” He paused. “No one’s ever said that to me before.”

You swallowed, his voice was lower now, like each word was deliberate.

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you” you said.

“I wasn’t embarrassed.” He replied “I just… never talked about it out loud.”

There was a long pause, and you waited, but he didn’t look away.

“I think that’s why I came here.”

Your pulse skipped.

“To talk?” you asked, even thought you were sure that wasn’t what he meant.

He smiled a little but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Kind of.”

You stepped a little closer before you could overthink it, the soft carpet sinking under your feet. You were standing between his knees now, and he was looking up at you from the edge of the bed.

“Riki” You said softly “Why did you come here?”

You knew the answer.

But the silence that followed cracked open something between you, something thick and heavy and real. You felt it settle over your shoulders, wrap around your ribs. Your skin prickled with awareness, his breath, your proximity, the weight of what you weren’t saying.

“Because I want to know what it’s like.”

Your breathed deep.

“What what’s like?”

His voice was quiet, barely above a whisper.

“To be with someone who actually wants to teach me. Who doesn’t think I’m weird for not knowing. Who… wants me to get it right.”

You stared at him.

He wasn’t smiling now. He wasn’t teasing. He looked serious, vulnerable, even. And it did something to you. Twisted something deep in your stomach. This was your friend, that not only trusted you enough to ask you this but you also thought he was cute and hot and perfect.

The room felt hot. Too small. Too quiet. His thumbs rubbed slow circles into your thighs now, and you realized he hadn’t looked away from you once.

“Okay,” you breathed. “Then come here.”

Ni-ki shifted before he could even think, his hands sliding up to your hips like instinct. And when he leaned forward, lips brushing yours, it was cautious at first. Feather-light. Testing.

You tilted your head and leaned into it.

The kiss deepened slowly, like water spilling over the edge of a full glass. His mouth was warm, hesitant but eager, lips moving with just enough pressure to make your knees weaken. You could feel the tremble in him, like he was holding back, waiting to be told it was okay to want this. To want you. So you gave it to him. One hand slipped into his hair, anchoring, and the other trailed down his jaw, guiding him as your mouths melted into each other. His breath hitched against your lips when you sucked gently on his bottom one, and he made the softest, most desperate sound, half whimper, half groan. He opened his mouth and his tongue crashed with yours, wet sounds as you tasted his saliva on your own, sighing softly against him feeling how his fingers dig into the bare skin of your thighs.

You pulled back just enough to whisper against his mouth.

“Get on your knees, Riki.”

He blinked up at you, dazed, lips red, eyes wide.

And then he obeyed.

His hands slid down your thighs as he sank slowly to the floor in front of you. Kneeling. Breath shallow. Waiting.

Completely at your mercy.

He looked up at you, already breathless. You could see it in his face, that eager, desperate curiosity masked by restraint. Like he was doing everything he could not to touch. Not to beg.

You didn’t say anything at first.

Just reached for the hem of your shirt, lifting it slowly, intentionally slow. You felt his gaze drag over every inch of skin as it was revealed, your bare breasts in front of him, nipples hard the second the cold air of the room touched them. His pupils were already blown wide, jaw clenched like he was trying so hard not to react. You dropped the shirt beside you, left in just your panties.

The overhead light was off, but the warm hotel lamp behind him painted your skin gold, throwing soft shadows along your collarbones, the curve of your stomach, the tops of your thighs.

Ni-ki looked like he’d stopped breathing.

“You okay?” you asked softly.

He nodded too fast.

“Yeah. Yeah, I just—fuck.”

The sound of his voice sent a shiver down your spine. Rough and a little hoarse, like it had scraped his throat just coming out.

You slipped your thumbs under the waistband of your underwear.

His eyes dropped instantly.

You swore you saw his fingers flex again, digging into his jeans like it physically hurt not to reach for you.

You slid them down slowly, stepping out of them with a grace that felt foreign even to yourself, because god, the way he was looking at you was doing something to your head. Like you were the first naked girl he’d ever seen. Like he didn’t know what to do with the sight of you. Your bare intimacy was in front of him now, and you were dripping, glistening arousal that you hadn’t even noticed until that point, pulsing and needy and wanting him.

When you stood fully bare in front of him, you saw his throat bob as he swallowed. Hard.

“Still okay?” you asked again, voice barely above a whisper.

He looked up at you like you were unreal. Like you weren’t even part of the same world.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he breathed out, like it slipped from him without warning. “I don’t—what the fuck.”

Heat crawled up your chest. You weren’t used to being looked at like that. Not with that kind of reverence. Not like he was wrecked by just seeing you.

“You wanna learn how to do this right?” you asked, stepping closer until your knees touched the edge of the mattress.

He nodded, already breathless.

“Yeah. I want to learn everything.”

You smiled, heart pounding, then gently climbed onto the bed.

“Then watch me,” you whispered against his lips, not kissing him yet. “And listen to me. I’ll show you exactly how it’s supposed to feel.”

Settling back against the pillows until you were laying flat, you parted your legs just enough to keep him staring.

His breath audibly caught.

From below, he had the clearest view. Your skin glowing under the dim bedside lamp, the soft rise and fall of your chest, your thighs spread open with nothing hidden. Your dripping, swollen pussy. You watched his eyes flick from your face to between your legs, and stay there.

“You still with me?” you asked, your voice low and teasing.

He nodded slowly. “I’ve never—fuck, I’ve never seen anyone like this. Like you.”

Your core tightened at the way he said it, raw, reverent.

You bent one knee, dragging your heel up onto the mattress, spreading yourself more for him, breathing heavily, your heart pumping against your chest and your pussy pulsing under his gaze.

“Then pay attention,” you murmured, bringing your fingers between your thighs. “I’m gonna show you how I like it.”

Ni-ki looked wrecked already, and you hadn’t even touched yourself yet.

You started slow, fingers gliding down to part yourself gently. Your other hand gripped the sheets beside your ribs as you circled your clit, slow and lazy. Soft breaths fell from your lips.

You let your eyes drift shut for a moment, focusing on the warmth building low in your stomach. But you could feel his eyes on you. Could almost hear the tension in his throat as he swallowed thickly, breathing uneven.

“Can you see?” you asked, voice hazy, cracked at the edges.

“Yeah,” he said, too fast. “Yeah, I can see everything.”

You glanced down at him through your lashes. He looked dazed. Kneeling obediently between your legs, jaw tense, his hands fisted at his sides like touching himself would break whatever spell you’d put him under.

“Does it make sense now?” you breathed, dragging your fingers lower to gather slick and bring it back up, circling with a bit more pressure. “It’s not about being rough. It’s about paying attention.”

Ni-ki exhaled hard.

“You’re fucking unreal.”

A faint smirk tugged at your lips. You were soaked already, turned on by your own touch—but also by him. The way he looked at you. Like he was watching something sacred. Like he’d get on his knees for you again and again if it meant seeing you like this.

You kept your eyes on him as your fingers moved, lazy, deliberate circles that made your hips twitch every now and then. You weren’t putting on a show. This was real. You wanted him to see what it looked like when it was good. When someone took their time. When someone cared.

And judging by the look on his face, Ni-ki was already on the edge of losing his mind.

Still on his knees, his jaw was tight, lips parted like he kept forgetting how to breathe. His hands had fisted into the hem of his hoodie, knuckles pale from the grip. You could see how tense his thighs were. You could see the bulge against his jeans, hard and throbbing. How his chest rose and fell too fast.

You tilted your head, voice smooth and low.

“You want to touch me, don’t you?”

His eyes shot up to yours, wide and ruined.

“So bad.”

You let out a soft hum, letting your fingers slow, just enough to keep the pleasure alive.

“I know,” you said. “You’ve been staring like you’re starving.”

“I am,” he groaned, frustrated. “You’re—fuck, you’re driving me insane.”

You gave him a slow, lazy smile.

“Good. That means it’s working.”

He let out a strangled breath, his hands twitching again, like he didn’t know whether to beg or fall apart.

“Can I… please?” he tried, his voice rough. “Just a little—let me touch you.”

“You are touching me,” you said sweetly, dragging your fingers through your slick just to show him. You brought them to your mouth, tasting yourself on them before sliding them between your legs again “With your eyes. Can’t you feel it?”

He looked like you’d punched the air out of him.

“Don’t worry,” you added, voice a little lower, “I want you desperate.”

He exhaled shakily, dropping his gaze to your thighs again. His whole body was tense, on edge, like he was fighting every urge in his body to crawl up the bed and ruin the distance between you.

“You said you wanted to learn,” you reminded him. “So listen when I tell you this, Riki.”

He looked up again. Waiting.

“Pussy isn’t about technique. Not really. You can memorize all the tricks, flick your tongue every direction—but none of it matters if you’re not obsessed with the way she tastes. The way she feels when she’s shaking under you. The way she moans when you find the spot that makes her legs tremble.”

He blinked like he wasn’t breathing again.

“And if you’re not ready to worship her,” you whispered, dragging your fingers slow and deep between your folds, “then you’ve already failed.”

“Holy fuck,” he choked out, his voice barely a sound.

Your smile turned wicked.

“I haven’t even let you touch me yet and you’re falling apart. What do you think’s gonna happen when I put your mouth here?”

He groaned and tilted forward slightly on his knees, like the weight of your words pushed him closer.

You paused your hand and raised a brow.

“Getting needy?”

He nodded quickly, voice rough.

“Please. You’re killing me.”

Your chest rose with slow, smug satisfaction. He was so close—so close to breaking.

“You wanna taste me that bad?” you asked.

He licked his lips.

“So bad I think I’m gonna fucking lose it.”

You let your hand drop from between your legs and spread your thighs a little wider, baring yourself completely for him, your wetness dripping between your folds until you were soaking the bed beneath you.

“Then come closer,” you said softly.

He crawled forward the second you gave him permission, kneeling between your legs like it was the only thing in the world he wanted to do. His hands hovered just above your thighs, like he still wasn’t sure if he could touch you yet. You reached down and threaded your fingers into his hair, gently tugging until he looked up at you.

“Slow,” you murmured. “I want you to take your time.”

He swallowed hard.

“Okay.”

“Start soft,” you said. “Don’t rush. Just… taste.”

He nodded, breath catching like he was trying to anchor himself, but his hands were already trembling as they finally landed on your thighs. His touch was reverent, almost like he thought you’d vanish if he wasn’t careful. He leaned in slowly, plump and wet lips brushing the inside of your thigh first, and you gasped at the contact. Just a kiss. Just barely there. But it lit up your nerves like a fuse.

The warmth of his breath followed, and your skin prickled with goosebumps. His mouth moved again, pressing another kiss, this time closer. He wasn’t rushing. He was listening. To your voice. To your breathing. To the way your thighs tensed when he got nearer to where you really wanted him.

You threaded your fingers tighter into his hair, guiding him, not forcing, just showing him you were there.

He looked up once, like he wanted to be sure, and when you gave the smallest nod, he lowered his head again, mouth finally dragging over your pussy, hot and open.

It was slow.

So slow it burned.

The first lick was cautious, just a flick of his tongue, but you moaned softly anyway, hips twitching up toward him. You could feel how his breath hitched in response, how the small sound you made seemed to fuel him.

His lips parted again, tongue sliding a little firmer now between your soaked folds, tasting like he’d never tasted anything before. Like he was memorizing every part of you. The way your thighs shook. The way your breath caught. The way your fingers gripped tighter at his scalp when he hit the right spot, tongue licking wet and hot and perfect over your swollen clit.

“Good,” you whispered. “That’s good… just like that.”

He let out a low sound against you, something desperate, something needy. His hands slid up to your hips like he couldn’t help himself anymore, holding you in place, mouth pressing deeper. The flat of his tongue moved in slow, indulgent strokes, and your stomach clenched, your toes curling against the sheets beneath you.

You exhaled shakily, fingers still buried in his hair, the sight of him between your legs already enough to keep your head spinning. He was trying, so hard, too. Tongue warm, mouth open, but a little unsure still, like he wasn’t convinced he was doing it right even though your thighs kept clenching around his ears.

“Riki,” you murmured, voice a little breathless, “slower—press your tongue flat. Yeah, like that.”

You felt him pause, adjust, and then try again, this time dragging the full weight of his tongue through your folds, slower, deeper, like he was tasting you properly now. Your hips lifted off the bed without meaning to.

“Mhm, fuck—just like that,” you whispered, your voice catching as a sharp pleasure lanced through your core.

You kept your eyes on him, watching the way he reacted to every sound you made. Like he was feeding off them. His lashes fluttered, lips shiny and swollen now, and when he glanced up at you, it was like he needed more. Needed to hear it from you.

“Circle your tongue around,” you whispered, tugging gently at his hair to keep him exactly where you wanted him. “There… slower. Keep it soft. I want to feel everything. Spit on it baby, get me soaked.”

His groan vibrated against you as he obeyed, the wet glide of his tongue sending another wave through your stomach, and then a thick string of saliva fell on your already soaked pussy. His hands clutched your thighs tighter now, nails pressing into your skin just enough to ground himself, like he was getting lost in it. In you.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” you whispered, letting the praise drip from your lips. You saw the way his eyes rolled back slightly when you said it. How his movements got a little more confident, a little messier, but somehow still just right. “Taste me—really taste me. Don’t just lick, use your mouth.”

He obeyed with a quiet desperation, sucking gently on your clit, tongue slipping lower before dragging back up again, slow and thick, like he wanted to devour every inch of you.

You gasped. Moaned. Tugged harder at his hair.

“Fuck, Riki—don’t stop—”

He didn’t. If anything, he got hungrier, greedier. His tongue started moving with more pressure, his lips sucking softly at the spots that made your thighs shake.

You didn’t even have to look down to know he was gone.

You could feel it, in the way his mouth moved, in the way his grip had turned bruising on your thighs, in the low, desperate sounds he kept making every time his tongue dragged through you like he couldn’t help himself.

But when you did look down, your heart almost stopped beating.

Riki’s eyes were barely open, glossy and wild, lips swollen, wet from you. His face was flushed, hair clinging to his forehead with sweat, and he was panting between licks like he physically couldn’t get enough.

And he kept talking.

Mumbling between mouthfuls, between kisses to your soaked skin, between long, obscene licks like he was drunk on the taste of you.

“Fuck—you taste so good…” he breathed, voice hoarse and wrecked. “S’fucking good… I can’t—god, I can’t stop.”

You moaned softly, hips rolling toward his mouth, and he whined into you. Actually whined.

“It’s the best,” he said again, more to himself this time, like he couldn’t believe it. “It’s the best thing I’ve ever had. I swear—fuck, I need—need to keep tasting you.”

His tongue flattened again, dragging up, slower this time, like he wanted to savor it. He licked you like it was holy.

You gasped, gripping his hair, pulling him tighter to you.

And he loved it.

Didn’t even flinch. He moaned loud into your cunt, licking deeper, rougher, sloppy now, his mouth messy and wet and insistent. Every word he slurred out came like a prayer, like he was in some trance.

“I wanna eat you every day,” he groaned. “Fuck, please let me—I’ll be so good for you, I’ll learn everything—just don’t make me stop—”

Your head fell back against the pillows, legs shaking. He wasn’t even listening anymore, just moving off instinct, tongue flicking exactly how you taught him, sucking just enough to make your stomach twist with heat.

“You like it that much?” you teased, your voice barely holding steady, but it was still firm. Still in control.

His eyes fluttered open, unfocused but burning.

“I love it,” he said immediately.

Your legs trembled around his shoulders, and still—still—he didn’t stop. His tongue was relentless now, messy and hot and wet against you, every slow stroke making your stomach twist tighter, your breath hitch faster. But you wanted more. You could feel your body hovering right on the edge, just one touch away from snapping completely.

You slid one hand down, gently brushing your fingers through his hair, guiding him just enough so you could breathe.

“Riki,” you panted. He blinked up at you, dazed and glassy-eyed, his mouth still open, his chin glistening. “Use your fingers too.”

He nodded without hesitation, licking his lips like he didn’t want to waste a drop.

“I—I don’t wanna mess it up,” he said, breathless, hand twitching at your thigh. “Just tell me what to do.”

You grabbed his wrist gently, brought it between your thighs, your own fingers wrapping around his to help him feel you.

“Start with one,” you whispered. “Slow. Let me open up to you.”

He swallowed hard and did exactly that—one long finger slipping into your heat, careful, reverent. The moment he did, a soft sound escaped your lips, your walls fluttering around him.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, almost choking on the words. “You’re so warm. So—fuck—tight. Is that okay? Is that good?”

“So good,” you gasped, voice trembling. “Now curl it—just a little. Mhm… yeah, right there.”

He groaned at the way you clenched, and then his mouth was on you again—tongue working in tandem with his finger now, stroking inside while he sucked and licked and moaned like he was starving.

You let out a high, breathy moan, your hand still guiding his wrist, helping him learn the rhythm. Your hips rocked up to meet both touches, tongue and finger now perfectly synced, and he responded instantly, desperate to give you exactly what you needed.

“Add another,” you said, your voice shaking but firm. “You can take it.”

He hesitated only a second before easing a second finger in, slowly, and when he felt your body stretch around him, another broken groan left his throat.

“Fucking perfect,” he murmured, his voice wrecked. “You feel so perfect—I wanna stay here forever.”

Your back arched, thighs trembling around his head, and he fucked you with his fingers just like you taught him, curling them right, keeping his mouth exactly where you needed it, letting you grind against his tongue shamelessly.

“That’s it, baby,” you moaned. “Just like that. Keep going—you’re gonna make me come.”

And the second those words left your lips, Riki lost it again, messy, moaning into you, thrusting his fingers harder, tongue flicking faster. You felt your climax building like a wave you couldn’t stop.

His lips were slick and red, cheeks flushed, hair clinging to his forehead. But it was the way he was moving that really undid you, hips rocking slowly against the mattress beneath him, grinding like he didn’t even notice he was doing it. Like he physically couldn’t stop.

He was moaning into you, low, broken, filthy sounds muffled by your thighs, and every time you tugged his hair or praised him, his hips pushed down harder, desperate for friction.

“Fuck,” you breathed, your whole body twitching under him. “You’re so needy, baby. Can’t even control yourself, can you?”

He moaned again, loud and desperate, and nodded just barely, face still buried in you.

“I—can’t,” he slurred between licks. “You taste too good—I need it—need to make you come—please, I can’t stop—”

The grind of his hips sped up, his fingers curling perfectly inside you while his tongue flicked your clit again and again, completely in rhythm, completely feral. His thighs were trembling from the way he was using the friction beneath him, like he was getting off just from serving you. From the taste. From your voice.

From the fact that he was the one making you fall apart.

“That’s it,” you groaned, hips bucking up toward his mouth. “Keep grinding, baby. Fuck yourself while you eat me. God—look at you…”

But he wasn’t looking anymore.

His eyes were squeezed shut now, brows furrowed in focus, mouth and fingers soaking wet, hips stuttering with every moan. And from the way his body was shaking, you knew, he was so close. Without even being touched.

You were shaking, heart hammering, your breath catching in short, ragged gasps. Every flick of his tongue, every curl of his fingers sent sparks rushing down your spine, your thighs trembling around his head. Ni-ki didn’t slow down, if anything, he was more focused than ever, like every sound you made fueled him. Like he needed to pull you apart, needed to feel you break for him.

You could barely keep your eyes open, barely breathe with how good it felt, how intense it was. His hands gripped your thighs like lifelines, grounding himself there, mouth working like he was starved and you were the only thing he’d ever wanted to taste.

Your hips jerked. You were so close it hurt.

“Riki,” you gasped, your voice cracking. “I’m gonna—”

“Come, please, need to feel you come on my mouth baby” He whispered, breathless, sucking your clit so hard that you cried out.

That did something to him. He moaned again, deep and wrecked, and it vibrated against you, just enough to push you over.

Your back arched off the mattress, your fingers tightening in his hair as the world blurred and broke around you. The orgasm tore through you in waves, sharp, warm, overwhelming. You cried out his name, legs closing around him, but he didn’t move, didn’t stop. He held you through it, mouth still soft, slow, working you gently as you came down.

When your muscles finally stopped trembling and your breathing slowed, he looked up at you.His lips were swollen, eyes glassy, flushed and ruined, and he was still panting because he came too, hard and soaked and messy against his jeans from just eating you.

You reached down and stroked your thumb over his cheek.

“You did so good,” you whispered, still breathless. “So, so good.”

And the look in his eyes when you said it? Like it was the only thing he’d ever wanted to hear.

You were sure you created some kind of monster.

It was like something had snapped open between you and Riki that night, something hungry and undeniable. He hadn’t touched you in front of anyone since, but you could feel it: the way his gaze followed you when you walked past in your bikini, the way he’d bite his lip when he thought no one was looking.

But it was worse when you were alone.

Because now, it wasn’t just once. Now he wanted you constantly.

You hadn’t even made it out of the hotel earlier that morning without him pulling you back into the bathroom, dropping to his knees like it was the only place he belonged. He’d barely said a word, just looked up at you with those dark, desperate eyes and mumbled something about “missing the taste of you.”

It had been messy. Rushed. You had to muffle your moans into your hand and clamp your thighs tight around his head just to keep quiet.

Now, three days later in the afternoon, you were sitting under a beach umbrella with a drink in your hand, pretending like you weren’t still flushed from the memory. Pretending like your legs weren’t shaking.

Ni-ki was stretched out on a towel a few feet away, sunglasses on, the sea breeze lifting his hair. He looked calm to anyone else—maybe a little too calm—but you saw the truth. The tension in his jaw. The slight curve at the corner of his mouth when he caught your eye.

And then he mouthed something at you across the space between your friends.

Please.

You blinked.

What?

He glanced toward the beach showers. Then back at you. And mouthed it again:

Please. Just five minutes.

Your heart stuttered.

You shook your head. Barely. But your thighs pressed together instinctively, heat blooming low in your belly. He tilted his head, still pleading, like he was barely holding it together.

He wanted it again.

He wanted you again.

And it hit you then, this wasn’t just about curiosity anymore. This wasn’t a one-time thing.

Ni-ki was hooked.

The sun was beginning to dip lower, casting everything in a hazy gold, and the breeze off the ocean carried laughter and music from your friends further down the beach. You were pretending to still be sipping your drink when Ni-ki brushed past you, close enough that your knees touched for a second.

No one noticed. Or so you hoped.

He didn’t say anything, just walked towards the showers without looking back.

But you followed.

Your heart pounded as you crossed the sand, the faint sound of water trickling from a half-open faucet masking your footsteps. The beach shower area was quiet, stone walls, open-air, private enough if you were quick.

You slipped inside, and there he was.

His back was against the tiled wall, hair tousled, lips parted, like he’d barely been breathing since he left you on that beach chair.

“I thought you said five minutes,” you whispered, stepping in closer.

He shook his head, chest rising and falling beneath his shirt.

“That was a lie.”

You raised a brow, teasing.

“So you dragged me out here to lie to me?”

“No,” he said, voice low, hoarse. “I dragged you out here because I need you.”

And that was all it took.

You kissed him first, quick and hot, stealing his breath. But he dropped to his knees before you could blink, already pushing your swimsuit bottoms down your legs with shaking hands, reverent and hungry.

“Wait,” you breathed, glancing toward the open side of the shower. “Someone could—”

“I don’t care.” His voice was wrecked, hands firm as he pulled your thighs over his shoulders. “I’ll be fast. I promise. I just—fuck, I missed you.”

And then his mouth was on you.

The rush of it stole your breath. The contrast of the cool tile behind you and the burning warmth of his tongue had you clutching the stone wall for balance. He moaned into you, shameless, like the taste of you alone was enough to undo him. You bit your lip, trying not to make a sound, failing as a gasp slipped out when he flattened his tongue and really got into it.

“God, you’re so good,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “So greedy—”

He groaned, grinding against nothing, his fingers digging into your thighs as he pulled you impossibly closer. His mouth was wet, messy, insistent, and every time you tried to look down at him, you saw how gone he was, red cheeks, glassy eyes, flushed and panting like he needed this more than air.

“Riki,” you warned, breath hitching as the pressure built again, sharp and fast. “We don’t have long—”

“I don’t care,” he mumbled against your skin. “Let them see. I’d still stay right here.”

That nearly ended you.

You didn’t even hear the footsteps pass nearby over the sound of the waves and your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. You just held his face, riding the edge, knowing it wouldn’t take long.

By the time you stepped out of the beach showers, your legs were still trembling.

You’d tried to fix your hair in the tiny mirror, smooth out your expression, but your mouth was swollen and your swimsuit still clung awkwardly to your damp skin. Riki walked a few steps behind you, his shirt thrown over one shoulder, cheeks still flushed, his lips a little too red.

And worst of all, he was smiling.

You elbowed him as you walked, muttering under your breath,

“You’re being obvious.”

“I am obvious,” he said softly, brushing your fingers with his as you passed a stray towel on the sand. “And you liked it.”

You glared at him—only half-serious—and picked up the pace, ignoring the way your thighs still ached.

When you reached your friends, Jake was the first to spot you.

“Well, well, well,” he grinned, raising his sunglasses. “Look who finally decided to rejoin society.”

“We weren’t gone that long,” you said quickly, dropping your towel back down like nothing happened.

Jake squinted. “You guys missed the watermelon. And Sunoo was telling this insane story about—wait.” He paused, eyes narrowing slightly. “Why do you look like that?”

Your stomach flipped. Riki coughed behind you.

Sunghoon glanced up from where he was drying his hair.

“Yeah. You guys look kinda… flushed.”

“Hot out,” Riki mumbled.

“Hm,” Jake said slowly, like he didn’t quite believe it.

You sat down quickly on your beach chair and took a sip of your drink, trying to will your heart rate back to normal. But Riki flopped down next to you, casually propping his sunglasses on top of his head, lips still a little too pink.

You glanced at him.

“You’re enjoying this.”

He smirked.

“A little.”

“Don’t say anything.”

“I won’t.” He leaned closer, voice dropping so only you could hear. “Unless you want me to tell them how good you taste when you—”

“Riki.”

He grinned wider and leaned back like nothing happened.

You tried to look normal. Innocent. Unbothered.

But the looks your friends kept throwing your way said one thing clearly:

They knew something was up.

And if they didn’t know now, they would soon, because Riki’s knee was already brushing yours under the towel, and the second you leaned towards him, he gave you that look again.

Hungry.

Summer trip this year had just started.

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boomkitty86 · 1 year ago

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#paris hilton #blonde bombshell #that's hot #paris in love #the simple life #pink bikini

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tojipie · 7 months ago

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content: suguru x fem reader, smut, filming sex

having the world’s most insatiable perv as a boyfriend meant satisfying his needs in the craziest ways

˚ ✧ ──────────────────

“Oh my god that’s perfect,” Suguru whines, admiring your glistening body through his phone’s camera lense. The cold breeze of the living room fan contrasts with the glossy layer of oil he’d rubbed all over you earlier, goosebumps erupting up your thighs and back.

Your monthly photo shoots with your boyfriend seemed to be the least perverted thing Suguru had convinced you to do over the course of your relationship. Every bikini, every set of panties, and every tiny little skirt you brought home deserved got one— his sick little way of christening your wardrobe.

A simple black bikini had set him off this time, something simple you’d bought at the mall last week. You had tried so hard not to roll your eyes after he’d waltzed into your shared bedroom with the dangling from his fist, tempting you with the biggest puppy dog eyes he could muster.

“Please?” He whined, reaching for your hands to pull you up and out of bed. “For me?”

“..Fine,” you say sternly, knowing there was absolutely zero way he’d let you buy something skimpy without taking a couple pictures for his spank bank. You swear you spy him jumping up and down in your peripheral as you strip out of your pajamas.

And that’s —for better or for worse— how you’d ended up on the living room carpet with your boyfriend standing over you, covered in a thin sheen of body oil he’d tenderly massaged into your skin and staring right into the twin cameras on back of his cellphone.

“Fuck— stay like that,” Suguru marvels, adjusting his obvious hard-on through the fabric of his lounge pants.

“What? Like this?” You giggle, pulling at the middle of your bikini top to show more cleavage. The breathy noise it earns you is nothing short of adorable. Suguru shakes like a leaf as he snaps a few more photos, holding onto his sanity by a thread while all the blood in his body drains right into his dick.

You shade your eyes from the camera flash, blowing him a kiss from where you kneel on the carpet. Suguru kneels behind you, a wave of warmth radiating off of him as he reaches to move your hair across one shoulder.

A calloused palm on your back coaxes you face down onto the carpet, back arched with your thong-clad ass in the air.

“Shit…” he marvels. The tiny piece of fabric leaves so little to the imagination, settling in the rift between your lips perfectly.

You wiggle your ass back and forth in invitation, giggling as his thumb pulls the sticky thong to the side and rubs over your heat.

“Take a video, no?” you tease, feeling a thick finger slide into you as the man behind you groans in earnest. Suguru slips his thumb out of you slowly, bringing his hand to your mouth to have you suck his finger for the camera.

“I’m never deleting this— never— fuck,” Suguru groans, dragging the pad of his thumb across your tongue. You hear him save the video before whipping his phone onto the couch, using his free hand to pull his cock out and slowly push into you from behind.

#suguru smut #geto smut #suguru geto x reader smut #geto x reader smut #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #suguru x reader #jjk suguru #getou suguru x reader #geto suguru #suguru geto #getou suguru #jujutsu kaisen suguru #suguru x you #geto drabble #geto imagines #geto x reader #jujutsu geto #suguru geto x reader

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tojisteddy · 14 days ago

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Ok but hear me out Simon and reader meeting on love island

a/n: lord knows I love love island

Okay but hear me out: Simon entered the villa as a bombshell and everyone is coupled up. But like, hes kinda too stand off-ish and awkward so none of the girls really like him :(.

Everyone but you, of course.

He takes the longest to pull you for a chat, but it’s not because you’re his last resort! you’re his dream girl in every way imaginable so he has to build up the courage to come talk to you! From your curves, the stretch marks he notices while your in his favorite bikini of yours (black), Sun dancing off your pretty skin, the way you move your curls off your shoulder— he’s head over shoes.

You’re more than casual at first, just letting him talk so you can go back to your partner, but you’re more than interested that he cooks for his younger siblings. How he genuinely likes walks in the parks, and playing with his dogs. It’s almost two sweet on your heart, you have to ask him what kind of food he likes to cook the best and your favorite parks to walk in.

Everyone thinks it’s just casual conversation. Simon picks another girl at first but after two more chats, hes still hung up on you. Always trying to get you to do something around the villa. Up until it’s recouple night where the girls choose. Everyone thinks your gonna go for James since you’ve still been talking to him but you’re standing around the pit, hands behind you back, heart pumping.

“This guy has caused a lot of chaos since being here, but it turns out, he’s just a sweet guy, and he opens up beautifully like a flower with time. He’s been so kind to me, fed me the best breakfast since I’ve been her, blushes so cutely— I can’t help but want to give him a chance.”

The camera cuts to James who is smiling at the ground, Simon on the other hand is neutral faced, then back to you, gorgeous as ever in a black dress.

“The guy I choose is…. Simon.”

There are gasps and wide eyes as Simon comes to your side, ears and neck red as ever when he kisses your cheek. You try your best not to contain your smile but can’t.

Everyone, even the viewers think you two are just doing it for the game. The girls try to get you to take it back before next recoupling, even talking behind your back. The guys get at Simon for “playing someone��s girl” but he ignores them. Calls them “fuckin children.” and “fucks the point ‘f bein a bomb shell if I don’t fuck a little thing up. And it’s gotta be little if I can fuck it up. He obviously didn’t fancy ‘er enough.”

But it’s the way Simon talks to you in the confessional that gets the UK to love the both of you.

“She’s a sweet girl, and she’s always encouragin’ me t’ go ‘nd talk more and that’s so not like me *laughs* but i-it feels right. Bein with her, talkin to her, kissing her. Every time I see ‘er I swear, I turn a shit color ‘f red. I hope that I’m makin her feel like I do too. We talk about everything together. I really do like her more than anythin.” And he does infact turn bright red which makes the girls at home squeal.

And the producer probably asks if he’d want to try exploring other people, “Fuck no, the other lads here- bloody hell— just stay ten feet. Me ‘nd that one are going to the ends of the earth.”

Edits start flying on every social media app, clips of you using the barley used pool, racing in the villa, Simon properly correcting your workout form, how Simon leans on you every time you’re together or the simple fact that the tattooed man can’t keep his eye off you when you’ve been away for too long.

Do you two win?

No, 2nd or 3rd place.

But you two are still the fan favorites, Simon is more reserved when it comes to your relationship and doesn’t usually post on social media— but he posts you, a few of your vacation spots, pictures of you sleeping on the couch. And you may do a live with Simon shyly sitting right next to you that fans snort up like coke. You two start a YouTube channel and it blows up but it’s more so you two cooking together, teaching each other new things and trying new things. Even have a few celebrity guests.

It’s cute, you’re the last couple from your season still standing lol. Most successful too.

a/n: I know @cameronsbabydoll had a love island post about Simon a while back! Definitely a inspo but I did my own thing. Thanks for the suggestion!!

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wandasaura · 1 month ago

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AMERICAN HONEY

summary — there’s a wild wild whisper blowing in the wind, and it wraps around you tightly in the form sunshine and strong hands.

warning(s) — established relationships, polyamorous relationship, married wandanat, dom/sub dynamics, bdsm dynamics, daddy kink, mommy kink, butt plugs, slight anal play, public play, exhibition kink, exposed positions, verbal humiliation, light dumbification, degradation, pool party, bathing suits (wink wink bikinis), pussy inspection, praise, hair pulling, prolonged edging, begging, crying, ruined orgasms, fingering, teasing, alcohol consumption, smoking, whining, threat of pussy spanking, kitchen sex, kitchen counters, face grabbing, name calling, mention of subspace, elements of aftercare, fluff if you squint?, truly just depraved 4th of july smut, men/minors dni

authors note — i wrote this in between a million different activities, high noons, and cart hits… so please forgive me for being late, im just a girl trying her best under hard circumstances. this was almost named courtesy of the red, white, and blue… btw

Sunlight gleams down upon already sparkling water, rippled currents in the pool blown wild by the sweet whisper of wind that sneaks into the open landscape backyard. Not many trees conceal the happenings of your residence, nor does the white picket fence that only comes up to Natasha’s waist, but there’s an unspoken solitude regardless — a safety when they’re around.

Your unwavering trust in them is sensational — one of a kind most certainly, if you ask them at least. It’s evident now, as the breeze swings through the backyard and creates ripples in the west traveling current, and Natasha drags an eight-foot spa skimmer along the surface. She’s creating tension and simultaneously breaking it. She knows that too.

The classic blue-and-white gingham pattern sitting over your shoulders is timeless, a staple piece for a holiday so proudly rooted in historical achievements. That’s not the reason you chose it though. The pattern reminds you of picnic blankets and comfort; Wanda’s comfort. She’d been in your mind when you purchased it. You’d considered her opinion when you’d noticed the triangular top and tie-side bottoms emphasized by a ruffled trim that would undeniably catch her attention. Wanda had been your thought three weeks ago, but Natasha takes up your brain now.

The breeze is warm, twinged with a feels like temperature of 91°f, but it feels cold as it blows against vulnerable inches of soft, glistening skin. Natasha notices the involuntary shimmy from across the pool, and her eyes sweep over the gleam on your skin with captivation. A smirk crawls onto her lips. It’s smooth, simple, discreet enough to leave you unsure if it happened at all.

“Cold, baby?” Her voice carries over the pool with the breeze, and it hits you with a force that has your hips rocking in desperation you can’t hide. You should be embarrassed, humiliated that you’d ever let yourself be pinned to this situation, but they’ve had you like this for hours now, and you’re beyond the point of really giving a damn. Still, your cheeks flame at Natasha’s supposed indifference. Scratch that, just her indifference. Natasha doesn’t feel bad for you. She loves you, she wants the world for you by her fingertips and only hers, but you made your bed, and she’s always been keen on natural order.

A whine pulls up from somewhere deep and soft in your belly. Your hips rock, searching for pressure, pleasure, anything. All you manage to accomplish she pressing the plug deeper into your ass, the flared base stretching deep within a hole they’re still waiting patiently to fuck. Natasha’s going to be first. Wanda’s already given her that promise for when the time comes. The fleeting thought doesn’t help your flustered and highly strung state, but somehow you find a response. Simple words. “I don’t know.” There’s a whine in your tone, a tremble of petulance that comes with your utmost submission. It’s walls crumbling down, thought slipping away, replaced with natural impulse.

“You don’t know?” Natasha huffs when the spa skimmer passes through a single handful of leaves, blown over the fence from Agatha’s yard where Rio tends to flagpole cherry blossoms — the only reason you know specifically because Agatha makes sure to correct everyone on Rio’s behalf. She’s barely even paying attention to you right now, huffing beneath her breath as she slams the skimmer into the grass, and it drives you further up the wall of desperation.

“No?” It’s a question pointed at her when it shouldn’t be. It’s your body, not hers, she has no way of knowing what you perceive as cold if you don’t communicate as such, but you find yourself asking her anyways, and Natasha finds it cute; amongst other things.

“Don’t know much of anything right now, do you? Too hard to think with your cunt on display for me?” She doesn’t yell the words, but they’re definitely not a whisper either, and your cheeks flame with heat as the breeze seems to project her tone through the yard. You wonder if Agatha heard, if it carried over distinctly enough for her to really pick up on it. Natasha’s probably wondering the same, though nowhere near as muted with nerves.

“Yes, Daddy.” A hushed whisper, involuntary and soft. You’re exactly where she wants you, but she can’t help but want to push a little harder, keep you here a little longer. Nobody’s set to start arriving for another three hours, so she has at least two to break you down however she pleases. “Please.”

“Please what, malysh (baby)? Please touch you, please make it feel better, please come over there and spank my pussy because I know I told you to keep your legs fucking spread, so why are they closing?” Natasha’s glare hardens, deep and cold as she narrows her gaze and wills her eyebrows together until they’re scrunched and misshapen. It was an unconscious thing, but still shame pools in your belly and heat flames in your core as you peel your thighs open, further this time, and give her access to all of you.

The matching gingham bottoms, adorned with a band of ruffles along the top that sits right at your navel tightly, is discarded on the lounge chair to your immediate right — already wet, but not from the pool. Natasha had directed you to take them off twenty minutes after you’d joined her out in the sun, sent away by Wanda who needed to shower without your needy wandering hands, and they’d remained there dutifully for what you suspect is going on an hour.

The chair is becoming damp beneath you, slick with arousal that drips out of your wanting entrance teased and taunted relentlessly by the fullness in your ass that’s incessant and unmoving, so insufferably understimulating. Natasha can see the pearls of need glimmering on your lips, and your thighs, not just sweat that lights you up with glittering sparkles and radiant beams. Need for her is what unmakes you, and it feels heavenly to have that reassurance in just the way you let it happen like this at all.

“Go find, Mommy.” She directs, pulling her attention away from your cunt, letting it drift to your eyes, and the way you stare at her lazily, drunkenly, blissfully and submissively. So many words to describe the stars in your eyes as the words register in your head, but there’s not enough time in the day for Natasha to prattle off every synonym.

“What?” You stutter, harping on the simplicity of her statement because certainly she’s not sending you away right now, not like this. When you’re ready and willing to eat out of the palm of her hand and she hasn’t even done anything more than push that plug into your ass bent over the bathroom countertop.

“Is that head too fuzzy?” Natasha scoffs, shaking her head. Her hair is twinged with strawberry highlights from the sun, a soft shade of golden pink that feels neatly on with the darker auburn curls that frame her face wildly. “I said, go find Mommy.”

A rebuttal is on the tip of your tongue. A strong-willed declaration that you hate the idea of leaving her and will not be doing anything of the sort of your own volition, but then her eyebrow raises at you challengingly from across the pool, and the butterflies already in your belly are plunged into boiling oil until that flutter and flap about uncontrollably.

“Bottoms on first, dorogoy.” Natasha smirks when she notices the faint twitch of your muscles beneath your skin — intention budding to the surface, mere seconds away from leaving you exposed to whoever in Westview glances over the picket fence paces away. A scarlet hue twinges your cheeks, and Natasha laughs sweetly as she shakes her head and watches you dress with anxious movements and mousy fingers. “So eager you were gonna prance right through the yard all exposed? By all means, baby, I love seeing that cute little plug, but that’s a little desperate, no? Even for my little slut?” She’s baiting you, teasing you because she can, and it works wonders against you as your skin flushes pink.

“Daddy.” There’s a sickening whine in your tone as it floats with the breeze toward Natasha, a desperate plea for her to do something, anything, clear as day beneath your single utterance of her title — the very one she’d initially had to break you down and coax you sweetly to use. You’ve come a long way since then. They’ve corrupted you in unspeakable ways since the very first night you spent together in the business district of Manhattan. “Please.”

“Inside, dorogoy. Now.” Natasha knows what you want even when you don’t. She won’t deny that you want to cum. She’s known you’ve wanted to be brought over the edge of a blissful orgasm since seven am that morning, but she knows what you want even more that you just can’t see beneath all of that fuzziness in your head. You want to cum, but you want to be broken down and used between them both even more. Your fingers twitch, your knees lock, you're desperate for relief, but even more so for their unwavering control that’s been interlocked with aspects of your relationship from the jump.

Natasha’s not looking for an answer from you, she’s looking for obedience. The blue-and-white gingham bottoms feel light on your hips, the dangling ties tickle your thighs with every gust of wind that blows past. “Okay.” You concede softly, breath only a whisper as it fights against the changing breeze that throws the submission right back in your face like a brick wall.

Natasha doesn’t say anything. She just watched how you prance like a baby deer on new legs through the yard because every little step spreads pleasure through your ever slowly frying nerves. It’s a slow process, a tedious game. They have you in a good place, all sweet and pliant, but they could have you somewhere deeper, darker with warmth that feels cold when they leave for too long. She doesn’t say anything, but you hear the aluminum rustling behind you when you reach for the handle on the sliding glass door and strain your eyes for Wanda’s silhouette in the kitchen.

She brought a High Noon outside with her before you joined. Grapefruit flavor because it’s the one inclusion in the variety pack that you and Wanda turn your nose up at entirely. The watermelon ones, with the green detailing on the front, are reserved solely for you, and the pineapple Wanda. It’s a system that established itself around the third Fourth of July you spent together, and it crushes you like an elephant now as you spare one glance over your shoulder and watch Natasha lift her chin to chase a sip of the fizzling vodka seltzer.

You think she knows you’re looking at her, lingering by the door with your glassy eyes set solely on her, but she never turns her head to find out. She takes a sip, then two, and then she reaches for the spa skimmer and returns to her task of scooping out leaves that haven’t even fallen into the water yet. She’s meticulous, sometimes annoyingly so, but you know her skin crawls when people come over and mess with her things, so you let her have the one element of control she can grasp with white knuckles unapologetically.

“Find Mommy.” You remind yourself softly as your attention turns back to the door. You find her easily now that you’re really looking for her. She’s standing by the sink, her back to the living room, face to the window that overlooks the garden she’s packed full of blueberries and roses. The glare from unforgiving sunlight beats down on your back and the door, twinging her slightly yellow and darkening the specifics of her movements, but it allows enough insight for your belly to grow anxious with a desperation for proximity immediately. Your bones feel cold without hands touching your skin, even when sunshine crisps you beyond golden quickly.

Cold air hits you in the face in an unforeseen ambush that you truthfully should’ve anticipated, and the sound of the door gliding against the track pulls Wanda’s attention to you just as a shiver runs up your already sensitive spine. She looks like she’s about to greet you, coo about the adorable way your muscles twitch when you’re cold, but then her eyes lock onto the ruffles laying over your navel and the swell of your breasts, and she can’t seem to find any words on her tongue at all.

Your hands curl into tight fists at your sides, stunned to stillness by the drastic change in temperature, her undivided attention on your body, and the fact that she’s standing here in only a bikini that accentuates every curve she’s worked devotedly to maintain.

You’d known she was going on-the-nose patriotic for a while, but you’d never specifically sought out her choice of bathing suit when you’d been purposefully hiding yours in Natasha’s bottom drawer like a mischievous child. You don’t think she’d intentionally gone to the same lengths of secrecy, but it dawns on you slowly that she’d also probably avoided showing you beforehand with intention.

“Well hello, devochka (baby girl).” She coos when she gets it together, voice sweet, sickeningly so. Her head cranes just slightly to the left, and the way her hair falls away from her shoulder provides the perfect glimpse at red and white striped straps dangling daintily down the center of her spine, two perfectly formed bunny ears catching your attention from just below her earlobes. “Look at you! Did you get that suit just for me? For Mommy?”

Natasha doesn’t show you an inch of sunshine until you’ve earned her gentle warmth, but Wanda smothers you in it deep until you can’t even seem to think for yourself without her prompting. She misses no beat even now, her tone sweet like honey, her words curled with such invitation it lures you forward without command.

“Yes.” You answer, because you know she wants one. You can still think semi-clearly enough to fall in line with the expectations they’ve painstakingly engraved into your subconscious. Your eyes, already glassy from Natasha’s unmaking, already wide with need and desperation, somehow intensify as you drown in Wanda’s appearance.

You can tell what she’d been doing before you came inside. The counters are clean, the sink dry of any water spots or dishes. But she stands by the sink, on hand on the countertop, the other on her hip. Her chest is angled out toward you, just slightly, just enough to really be able to tell that the cups of her bathing suit are mismatched, mimicking the American flag in a way that doesn’t scream anything overtly annoying or untrue about herself and her views. It’s tasteful, classic, and alluring as you analyze the seemingly crinkled ribbed texture of the two piece.

“Oh, my good girl.” Wanda preens, humming in satisfaction that you’d only been able to anxiously anticipate seeing for yourself — a fate you chose admittedly, but that’s besides the point. “Come here, come closer. Let me really see it.” She directs, sweet and comforting, her hands coming up to her sides to draw you into her embrace.

It feels like a waddle as you pad across the kitchen tiles in a pair of flip flops that’s sole purpose is to save the soles of your feet from the blistering concrete out back. Every step jostles the plug in your ass, sparking pleasure that taunts you relentlessly. You’re full, you haven’t forgotten, you can’t forget, but not full in the way you need, not stimulated in the way you’ve been trying to grab onto and secure all morning. Your knees are week, your core throbbing and slickened with arousal that continues to pool out of you at their prolonged nonchalance, and you’re certain that Wanda’s memorizing this wild picture of you to draw inspiration from later on when she has all the time in the world to do this slowly and meticulously.

“There you are. Come on, come sit.” Wanda smiles sweetly, she holds onto your hips and without any warning lifts you up onto the countertops that are cold to the touch from the stream of air blowing down on them as relentlessly as the sunlight on beige concrete. You shiver again, goosebumps prickling your skin, but it's another sensation that trips you up too.

The lounge chairs out back are threaded with a flexible net, one that shapes to your body even just a little bit. You hadn’t realized how forgiving that flexibility had been on the plug, but now that her hands hold your hips firmly against the counter, driving the plug further into your ass — deeper — you can’t avoid the pleasure and the devastating disappointment of your cunt remaining empty.

“Did you have fun out there? You put on quite the show for Daddy. Who taught you those things, devochka)? To sit with your pretty pussy on display for anyone to see and touch. That’s so naughty. Not for little girls who listen to their Mommy’s.” Wanda tsks, and your belly drops with a feeling you can’t name in this haze. Your eyes glisten, tears stinging your waterline as your bottom lip pouts at her sweetly. Oh, how she loves to see you cry for her. “You listen to your Mommy, don’t you, milaya devochka (sweet girl)?”

“Yes.” Your head bobs unconsciously, the answer falling off your tongue before you can even process what she’s asked. You’re already proving your point, her point. Wanda smiles in satisfaction, an amused hum falling into the air around you as she tangles her curious fingertips into the strings at your hips.

“Lift your hips for me, baby. Mommy just wants to check something really quick.” Wanda directs gently, but there’s no room to argue with the tone she sets, especially not as it wraps around you tightly and turns all that remains of your proud independence into pitiful codependency that lingers for hours. It doesn’t occur to you that floaty and clingy is how they want you, but it’s the honest truth. The strings come undone with one testing pull, and in seconds Wanda taps the inner section of your thigh with enough intention to sting, and has them off and in the air before you can even blink dazedly. “Oh my, did Daddy let you take a dip in the pool?” She asks, and your eyebrows furrow innocently.

“No, Mommy.” Your head shakes, strands of hair that escape your cowboy boot shaped claw clip tickling the nape of your neck and your cheeks as the motion swings them easily in the manufactured breeze.

“Then why are they all wet, my love? Certainly it’s not all because of that little cunt.” Wanda frowns, tracing her manicured nail over the patch of wetness that’s not entirely visible through the waterproof material, but is still easily identifiable when fingertips graze the sodden garments. Your cheeks flame, and while your thighs had never truly been spread to acclimate the presence of her between them fully, they squeeze tighter shut with her condescending attention on your aching core. “Oh, but that’s what it is, isn’t it, my good girl? You’re just too needy, you can’t even help it — can’t even go one morning without needing somebody to make it all better for you. That little cunt just always wants some attention, doesn’t it?” She’s overwhelming you with questions she doesn’t really want answers to, but she likes to see you squirm at the imagery she lays brazenly at your feet without pity. She might be burning alive without her tongue between your thighs, lapping up any evidence of your arousal, but she’d happily burn with the knowledge that she’s dragging you down with her just because she can; because you let it happen.

“Yes, Mommy.” You squeak, voice high, officially floaty as it takes on a pitch Wanda hadn’t thought possible before she met you. Her eyes are wild with lust and affection, wild passionate affection that can’t be stifled or diluted by decades of learned self control. She’s a tamed beast, a trusted shot in a war, but sometimes she breaks free of the chains she made for herself to preserve her fragile heart, and when it’s let out on you, there’s no coming back from the heaven she creates out of syllabus and taunting curls.

“Does it hurt, baby? Is it achey?” Wanda crones, her eyebrows pulled taut with faux sympathy, but even with the knowledge of experience, you can’t see past her sweet questions and gentle movements despite the crudeness of her commentary.

“Yes.” You whisper, head bobbing. Your eyes trace her face. Her eyes, her freckled cheeks, her nose. The trail across her jawline, the sharp cut of her cheekbones. Her hair falls over her shoulders, not untamed, but rather unconfined; free.

“Look at me, malysh.” Soft, hard, firm. She cuts through the air and the fog of your mind with one clear order, and when you find her eyes again, deep green and glowing beneath the yellow lighting Natasha’s been itching to switch out for LED, they’re so much darker then you remember, pupils blown wide with lust and glittering refractions of light dusted across the enter dazzling orb. “Open your legs.”

Your thighs fall open instantly, and your core that’s no longer concealed by the gingham pattern of your bottoms is exposed to her without a barrier now. Your clit pulses at the exposure to cold air, hard and pebbled from tension that nobody’s been kind enough to relieve. Your entrances clenches and unclenches, no rhythm, no reason, just begs whimsically for something to probe it unkindly and brutally. Your lips are puffy, swollen and red. How much of the glow comes from unforgiving sunlight or arousal Wanda’s uncertain, but for the moment she’s captivated by the effortless beauty of your pussy as it begs her for anything.

“Oh, so eager already?” Wanda groans, before her attention is pulled to your clot when it throbs unabashedly at her condensation. Your cheeks can go flush, your brain can go fuzzy, but your pussy is the biggest tell of them all. “Aw, that must feel so icky, princess. Yeah?”

“Mommy!” Your feet kick against the countertops petulantly, a whine pulling from somewhere in your belly that’s only explored when they can get you there; here. Wanda’s eyes harden, her jaw clicks at the audacity you somehow still have even halfway to the moon and out of touch with everything else.

“We do not kick.” She scolds, sharp and clear, and your throat bobs with a thickness that somehow even burns in your eyes. “Now be quiet and let me check. God only knows what your Daddy did while I wasn’t watching you both.” Wanda rolls her eyes, and before you can even really process what she says, her fingers pull your lips apart, exposing your clit and clenching hole. It’s another level of exposed, a deeper shudder of pleasure that runs up your spine and shakes you just enough to shift pressure on the plug. “God, look at this pussy. So pretty, baby girl. Remind me, whose pussy is it again?”

It takes a second, more like three, for you to find an answer in your head as her fingers continue to simply hold your pussy open for her eyes to marvel at, but eventually you do, leaning closer to her unconsciously as your eyelids bat heavily. “Yours.”

“And what’s my name, baby?” She hums, half satisfied but wanting more. She always wants more, she’s as insatiable as you, though neither one of you can compete with Natasha.

“M-Mommy!” You gasp when her fingers brush your clit, just once, just hard enough to really feel how pebbled and click your pulsing bud is with arousal right now, before anyone really even touched you. A whine of disappointment falls off your lips when she doesn’t make a move to repeat the action.

“Yes, milaya devochka?” She smirks smugly, and it’s a miracle that your muscles don’t move on their own accord and thrash against the countertop in petulant frustration that’s been building for hours on end now. One push too far and you fall down a spiral they need undivided attention to pull you out of, but if you continue to glide just right, they know there’s heaven in your future — all of your futures.

A strangled whine falls off of your lips, your hands reaching out to grapple at the strings of her bikini. You know Natasha’s planning on wearing a white top and black athletic shorts that she has no reason to take off before she jumps into the pool, but it won’t be as captivating as how Wanda looks right now.

“I wonder how desperate this pussy is for me. If I just press right here… yeah, just like this, oh fuck, baby. Not even pushing into you and this tight little cunt is just beginning for more.” Wanda moans beneath her breath, her eyes closing tightly for only a second before they focus on your core again. “Let’s see what happens if I do…this.” She questions, and then she eases that one single digit into your entrance and nothing else matters anymore.

A high pitched whine escapes you, and despite the stillness that follows her quick intrusion, the complete fullness that finally settles something in your bones sparks you into all encompassing pleasure quickly. Your hips don’t rock on their own accord, they’re infuriatingly still despite the pleasure blooming in your core halfway, and Wanda knows that you won’t be able to move until something lightens up, but you don’t want that either. You want whatever she gives you, whatever gets you there.

“So responsive for me, baby.” She teases when you gasp again, and when her finger curls, pointedly and with clear intent against that spongy part of your walls that’s buried just perfectly behind your clout, it’s all over for you as your forehead drops to her shoulder and you gasp out ragged breaths. “Oh, does my pussy like that? Do you like it when I finger you here? On the counter, with your legs all nice and spread open. Fucking hell, you’re close already? Just from this?” Wanda groans, her eyes screwing closed, concealing the aroused amazement that floats in her eyes as she feels your walls contract around her finger tightly. Just the one, she hasn’t offered any more.

“Please!” It’s the only thing you’ve managed to say, to bring yourself to ask in minutes, and Wanda feels so smug to know that in darkness, the one grain of light you found was the expectation to ask before you cum. She knows you’re not really asking though. You’re telling her you’re cumming, falling over the edge into her single finger that doesn’t even fuck you, just curls up and against your g-spot every few seconds without rhyme or reason. This was never about fucking you. She’d never told you that, nor led you to believe it. But what your mind made up on its own was none of her concern when she’s told you time and time again to let her do the thinking. “Nu uh! No! No! Please!”

Wanda’s fingers pull away from your cunt quickly, just as she felt your walls tightly so impossibly around her knuckle that even she knew any second longer and you would’ve fallen over the blissful edge into paradise. Instead, her palm slaps against your core, still exposed despite how your thighs tremble hanging off the edge of the countertop. Wanda coos, she grabs your ankles between delicate fingers, guiding your legs up until your chin rests on your knees and the soles of your feet are firmly against the marble, your core still open and exposed to her eyes, but the slight cant of your body now leaning to engage more core support opens up an entrance that Natasha’s left untouched since the early morning.

Wanda doesn’t even address the ruined orgasm, but she watched how your cunt pulses and clenches with need and desperation. She groans when a single tear falls down your cheek, your bottom lip bitten and a picture of desperation. Your clit pulses with the beat of your heart, and despite the heavy feeling in your bones and the way this position has you still, your hips try to chase the sting of her palm slapping against you mercilessly.

“Daddy picked such a pretty plug for you, malysh.” Wanda coos, her manicured fingers tapping against the jeweled plug in your ass, adding to the sensitivity that bites at your exposed nerves and core. Your hips try to jump, but they can’t with the way your hands hold your ankles tightly, having taken Wanda’s place with quiet submission. You know what she wants, and sometimes you give it to her without question. “But it’s time for it to come out now. We’re all done playing.” Wanda tells you firmly, the boundary now drawn clear, but you still whine in defeat as excitement bubbles in your belly and becomes twinged with anxiousness at the prospect of going all day unsatisfied. You need her, all of her, and she’s only giving you what she wants.

“Please! Please, I don’t want to be all done!” It’s almost a wail, definitely a whiny plea, but it’s silenced by fingers grabbing at your cheeks until your lips pucker like a fish. Wanda’s hold is unrelenting, tight and dominating. She’s all done toying with your body so boldly, but her control hasn’t wavered for even a second.

“We are all done. I’m going to take the plug out of your ass, and then we’re going to put another layer of sunscreen on before Maria and Yelena get here. Do I make myself clear?” She let’s go of your face only so that you can nod freely, your hand coming up to rub away the itch on your face from where the tear had slowly fallen with cinematic timing. “Words.”

“Yes, Mommy.” You whine, and she allows it, only because you look so sweet fucked out and scolded on the counter, a puddle beneath you that you either have noticed, or aren’t aware enough to be embarrassed about. Satisfied with your answer, Wanda pulls you off the counter and spins you around under the edge of the marble digs into your belly, right above where the ruffled fabric lays against your navel.

“Relax for me baby. Take a big deep breath in.” Wanda’s fingers find your clit at the same time as the other hand fings the base of the plug, and as you breathe in through your nose, she rubs tight loose circles around your still throbbing bud and works the plug out without teasing. She wasn’t kidding. You’re all done playing. But it still disappoints you that she didn’t at least try and drag it out any longer. “Good girl. Good job. Now, put your bottoms back on and wait for me.”

“Why do I have to wait?” You pout, wanting only to be wrapped up tightly in her embrace at the very least if she wasn’t going to work you through a mind blowing orgasm. The only thought on your mind is her, her and Natasha, but the redhead is still locked away outside, still treating the pool and skimming the water and putting off getting dressed because that’s the very last thing she has control of before chaos ensues for hours. You think that vaguely, but it doesn’t hold much weight. Nothing outside of earning her praise and her attention holds any weight to you.

“Because, you made a mess on my countertops after I just cleaned them.” Wanda scoffs, and your cheeks flame, and you whispered a muted ‘Oh’ because what do you even say to that, and she smiles mischievously over her shoulder as she drags a paper towel over the mess and then reaches for the all purpose cleaner that smells like lemons and vanilla all at once. “Yeah, oh.” She giggles before she throws the paper towel away and turns her attention back to you, sighing softly when she sees you’ve made no effort to reclaim the still untied bottoms on the ground and redress yourself despite the time ticking by faster and faster.

“You feeling okay? Just a little floaty? A little needy?” Wanda asks, assuring that you know she already knows where your head is at, but wanting to make sure nothing else had breached the surface of your little paradise found in her arms as she wraps you up tight in her embrace, forgiving eye contact for only this moment as you snuggle in deep and use her for all the warmth and comfort that she packs in her body.

“Okay. Just wanna be close.” You muse, eyes closing, but you’ve never known Wanda or Natasha to let you rest after a session, and without fail she tugs your head and begins guiding you down the hallway to the bathroom, directing you to pee while she sifts through the sunscreen in the cabinet until she finds the one specifically for you.

It doesn’t dawn on any of you until hours later that the plug was left in the kitchen, right in plain sight on the countertop, but you’re eternally thankful to Maria who moved it without question after noticing, and only brought it up to Natasha with smugness three times throughout the night.

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