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the-comorbidity · 2 years ago

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Pay Girl

summary: sex was a commodity in the QZ, and Joel Miller would do (and pay) damn near anything to have you

warnings: MDNI!! prostitution, consensual sex, mean!joel, prostitute!reader, oral (m receiving), fingering, p in v, mentions of subspace, overstimulation, use of "baby brain", "dollface", "pretty girl", face tapping? not like slapping, just light taps, biting, possessive!joel

wordcount: 1942

a/n: welcome to my first ever post/work on this account!! i hope you enjoy, please be sure to provide feedback if possible xx

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Joel Miller was not above paying for sex. Here, in the QZ, everyone was on the verge of murder for any sexual release, and men would crumble just for the sweet feeling of sliding in.

Joel Miller was not above paying for sex.

He’d learned of your little business when he was snooping for more passages to the outside. It was… quiet, he’d admit. Didn’t look like what it was from the outside with nothing demarcating the door other than a ratty sock just outside the door. He stepped in trying to scour the place for supplies, and came out with a list of services and prices instead.

He’d tried a few different women, but you were his favorite.

You, with the soft skin and the sweet voice. You, with the fruit scented hair and the vanilla scented lotion. You, who was much younger than Joel.

You, who was the stuff wet dreams were made of.

He could always tell it was you who came to his door. You knocked thrice every time, raps on the door so soft that if Joel had the radio any louder, he would’ve missed it. But even if it were, he scheduled a time and you were nothing if not purely obedient.

He opened the door and you were there, ratty sneakers and a shirt that exposed your midriff. He’d guessed you got your hands on a tube of lipstick, because your cheeks had a light dusting of pink, and your lips looked the perfect shade of kissable.

Joel didn’t say anything, just moved over to let you in, but he was already growing hard at the thought of seeing tears roll down your pretty face.

“Where do you want me?” You say, and he nods towards the bed.

“Sit up on the side, I want your mouth on me first.” You hum so goddamn innocently, and Joel was sure he’d cum in his pants if he had to spend another minute without his hands on you.

He unbuttons the bottom three buttons of his flannel and unzips his jeans while you strip bare and take a seat, and you can feel your mouth water at the trail of hair that goes from his stomach to his cock, which slaps up against the golden skin of his belly. He steps up to you, cupping your small face in his much larger hands, and tilts your chin so he can stare down at you.

“You want me?” He asks and you nod, peering up at him through your eyelashes and fuck, he needs you.

“Beg.” His voice is pitched higher just a little, like the words he’s saying don’t have a filthy meaning behind them. But it’s the way your voice wavers when his cock twitches at your pleads and his hands in your hair that keep your head tugged back and the tears on your bottom lid, it’s that which makes him shut you up.

“Kiss it. No hands.” You do as he says, keeping your thumbs held behind your back as you bend down and kiss the tip, the salty taste of his precum floating over your tongue to coat your senses in everything him. His hands gather up your hair in a rudimentary ponytail, urging you to take more.

Joel tosses his head back, a deep groan etching and carving its way from the bottom of his throat as he feels your constrict around him. Sweet, darling you, he can feel you gagging when the tip of your nose brushes the wiry hair that sits at the base.

He’s so thick, you think, and your lips are tiring from stretching around him. There’s a particular moment in which he tugs you down by the hair but thrusts up at the same time, and you gag so hard your hands come flying forward to push him away on instinct. He practically pushes you off of him, a disgruntled noise coming from him.

“Didn’t I say no fuckin’ hands? The fuck am I payin’ you for?” Your lips tremble, and his hand surprisingly comes up to hold your chin tenderly before winding back and tapping your face a few times as if you were stupid and he were trying to explain the simplest thing to you.

“Do you think you can lay back on the bed? Can you follow those orders, or is it too fuckin’ hard for your little baby brain to comprehend?”

“I c-can do it.” You lay back, just as he says, your back propped up with pillows that smell so distinctly like Joel and as his hand sneaks up your inner thighs to the place that’s dripping for him, you feel yourself start to get a little floaty.

His fingers brush the insides of your thighs, barely inches away from where you need him the most. He hears your breath hitch when he swipes a finger, collecting your juices before bringing it up to his mouth. He hums around his finger, cleaning it off and getting it wet before bringing it back down and pushing it in. He feels you squirm away almost immediately, caught off-guard by the sudden intrusion, but he throws an arm over your hips and leans down, effectively pinning you where you lay.

“Nuh uh, pretty girl, you take what I give you, you understand? No squirmin’ away.”

God, he’s so mean. But as he adds another finger and begins to circle your clit with his thumb, skin rough and calloused, the only thing you pray for is that he doesn’t stop. Your legs shake from the onslaught of pleasure, and he looks like he finds joy in your struggle to speak.

You can’t even tell him you’re on the precipice of release. The noises spilling from you aren’t close to words and he needs you to ask permission before you do, but you can’t escape his pleasure because of the heavy arm over your waist. His eyes are trained on you, lips twisted up in a sick smirk that tells you exactly what you need to know; he knows you’re about to cum.

“Remember to ask, dollface.” He’s so unbearable. Your hands unfurl themselves from his sheets and instead claw at the arm that lays heavy over your waist.

“Joel, ‘m close.” You manage to get out, and he chuckles.

“Yeah?” He says, readjusting himself so his mouth is level with your ear without halting his motions, “hold it.”

“Can’t, Joel, please.” You beg, yet he remains silent, curling his fingers slightly to add to your pleasure. He sighs, as if you couldn’t complete the simplest of tasks.

“If you cum now, you’re not stopping. No breaks.” His voice goes dark, and you try everything possible to stave your orgasm off, but the nips of pleasure become too much and your toes curl as your pussy clenches around his fingers, your thighs tightening over his wrist.

He clicks his tongue at you as he grabs a condom out of the nightstand and rolls it over himself. He makes you feel worthless, with the way he pulls his fingers out of you and replaces them with his cock, stretching you out beyond belief. He quiets your whimpers of overstimulation by shoving his fingers in your mouth, and he gives you no moment of reprieve, fucking you almost immediately after you cum.

You’re sobbing around his fingers. The pace he’s set is unbearable and you want nothing more than him to fully shed his flannel and run your fingers over his skin, pulling him close. You need to feel his weight on you, something, anything. He’s dangling you in this fragile headspace and you need him. Finally, he pulls his fingers away, using his hands to push your thighs up and fuck you deeper somehow, pushing you over the edge again, the orgasm sharp, all pain and pinpricks. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, and he laughs at you, all dark and growly.

“Joel.” He looks up at you from where his glance was, watching you take him almost effortlessly. You reach your arms out, not trusting your voice for anything more than his name.

“You wanna feel me? You want me close?” You tug at the buttons of his shirt, and he unbuttons them quickly and throws his flannel away before allowing you to tug him by the shoulders onto you. He tilts your head up, exposing your neck to him before swooping in and marking you up.

“Mine,” he whispers against your skin, “all fuckin’ mine.” Your nails sink into his skin, dragging down to leave raised red tracks in their wake. He groans into your neck, the pain making him fuck you even harder. The noises the both of you are making are obscene, coupled with the sound of him sliding in and out and the rickety headboard slamming against the wall, it’s all too much and you can feel your third orgasm growing just out of reach.

The sting of overstimulation has faded once again, and you can tell that Joel nears his end, with the way his hips meet yours with no set pace, and the way his hands curl tighter into the meat of your thighs, definitely leaving bruises for the next few days.

“You close?” He asks, just a peak of the softness that lay behind the rough and tumble exterior.

“I need-” You grumble out the rest of your sentence, curling your hand around his wrist and placing his fingers on your clit, the barely-there pressure already causing your body to twist. He gets the hint, circling your clit with more and more pressure until you choke on your words and look up at him with tears in your eyes.

“Awh, you’re gettin’ there, ain’t ya? Almost there for me?” You nod, eyes rolling back once again when the pleasure gets overwhelming.

“‘M there, pretty girl, you gonna cum with me? You gotta cum with me, wanna feel this gorgeous cunt milkin’ my cock.” His words are making you clench around him, and suddenly you’re getting closer and closer to bliss. It’s not razor sharp, not like your first or second ones. No, this seems more gentle, as if you’re running up and then subsequently rolling down a grassy knoll. It’s soft and warm and welcoming, welcoming to the ache in your joints. He cums with a mighty groan, emptying into the condom. He thrusts a few more times, toying with his own prickly feeling of overstimulation before pulling out, ridding himself of the prophylactic and tying it off. Joel groans as he rolls over, pulling you with him until you rest on his chest.

“How was that?” You ask, a chuckle pouring out of the Texan.

“Glad I asked for ya.” He says simply.

From the first time meeting Joel to now, you realized he was a man of very few words, rather showing his affection in ways of service or physical attention. But then again, you’re a pay girl. Aftercare isn’t in the “contract”, so to say. With Joel, you could get about five minutes of his soft, molten interior before he built his walls back up, inevitably getting out of bed to clean you with a towel that had all of the fibers burnt together, like he was wiping you with sandpaper. He’d help you get your clothes on, maybe offer you a drink.

But at the end of the day? You were here for payment. And he’d shell out ration cards and cigarettes to you and call it a day, but the both of you knew that you’d end up in his bed again.

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