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ruinix · 17 hours ago

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The question that I have been asking for so long 🥲🥲🥲

recent walk in..sugar daddy quinn mad when he realizes you haven’t been using the black credit card he gave you for expenses

Hello, lovely. Of course, hehe.😏 You did not catch me writing this. I am just a ghost taking over the keyboard. I need to put this out before a new walkin comes out.... (edit not really fully sugar daddy!quinn. But he totally would pay for everything type of boyfriend)

Broken Promise, Broken Cards

TW/CW: 18+ MDNI, Smut, Spanking (pussy slapping??), Edging, Unprotected sex (protections, lovelies, they’re important), Squirting, Just Quinn being so angry that he became calm and he edges you coz he can.

Count: 3356 words | Masterlist

You’re sending him pictures of your shopping. One picture after another. One choice after another. Quinn helps you pick when you ask for his opinion. He has no problem answering your texts while he watch a replay of a game. The only problem is that Quinn has yet to receive a notification from any of your purchases.

With that, he can no longer focus on the game. It’s just white noise now while he refreshes his inbox.

Swipe down. Exit. Close the app. Open it. Swipe down.

Over and over again, whenever you send him a new photo of your successful purchase.

None. Not a single fucking one.

He is getting too agitated when he receives a photo of a paper bag of a particular brand of lingerie with your delicate hand holding it. You have your nails done earlier this morning. It’s so pretty with your favorite shade of pink and flower designs. Just like how you described it will be before you went out. He can’t wait for your hands around him tonight.

‘Focus,’ he reprimands himself.

Shaking his head, focusing on the paper bag instead of your beautiful hands, he gives the purchase a few minutes to process—or whatever the fuck—but again, nothing. His eyebrows meet as he stares into his screen. He remembers having every purchase to be sent over his email too. He set that up long before. So, where the fuck are they?

Are you actually buying things or are you stealing them?

Did you bring cash?

Quinn didn’t give you cash for anything but your nails and the tip for its service today. His frustrations build up that he is so close to calling the bank and making sure that the card is activated.

When he receives another message from you, he takes a moment to calm down, before opening it. He immediately gets distracted by how bright you look. You are grinning so much that your eyes have crinkles on the corners, a blush flushing your face. Your nails are on full show again as you hold up the bag next to your face.

After a solid five minutes, he remembers to refresh his inbox. Only then does it dawn at him. Are you even using the card he gave you? No, that can’t be. You promised him to use that card today. You are definitely using it.

Aren’t you?

One last swipe down to refresh his email. Still nothing.

What the fuck.

You’re definitely not using the card.

Quinn paces. He’s getting angry for you breaking your promise, getting worried because you’re buying a lot of stuff today. More than you usually do. Didn’t you just complain about your depleting savings last night? It’s one of the reasons why he secretly transferred a few hundreds of dollars—exactly three thousand—into your account. He knows you didn’t notice it because you would’ve transferred it back to him after you lecture him about it. If it’s not that, did you suddenly replenish it in your own way? He quickly checks the date and confirms that it’s nowhere near payday, so that’s not it.

Where the fuck are you getting your spending money?

He refuses to acknowledge that you are using your old credit card. The one with a fucking limit.

It can’t be.

There is no fucking way.

Something snaps in his head. He rushes to your office, powers up your computer, and signs in without a hitch. You’ve never put a password on it. If you do, he knows about your little notebook of passwords, which is just under your little plant next to your monitor.

He never really goes through your stuff. He is content and trusts you with everything. Even if sometimes you hide your phone from him, he knows you are just texting your friends about him. It’s always obvious because you keep snickering while throwing glances at him. But, right now, he is losing it. He needs to see. Just this one time. He’ll apologize for it later.

His eyes are locked on the notifications, the receipts, the confirmations. The account number on every single one of them is not the one on the black credit card he has given you. He memorized it, and it doesn’t fucking match. You are not fucking using it.

An ache forms in his chest. It feels horrible like a backhand that could shake up his teeth. So horrible that he had to run his tongue over them, making a clicking sound, as he crosses his arms. His legs are spread wide as he slouches against the backrest, one leg bobbing up and down. He glares at the screen like the emails will disappear if he burns them one by one in his mind. Or the account number would magically change. He rubs a hand over his face. His head pounds at the start of a headache.

His phone pings from another message. It sounds like a blaring siren, making his ears ring. After a few moments, a new mail pops up.

This is so much worse than you realizing the deposit in your debit. Because one, you broke your promise. Two, he feels useless.

If you were not going to use the card, you could’ve let Quinn accompany you during this shopping spree that would at least appease his soul. But then, he can force his card into the hands of the cashiers.

Realization hits him.

That’s exactly why you didn’t let him tag along. Exhaling, a chuckle escapes him. A smirk forms on his face as he gazes up the ceiling. You are such a clever girl, aren’t you?

He’ll give this to you, but you are in so much trouble.

As if on cue, you text him, “I’m on my way home.”

He turns your computer off, standing up. An eerie calm envelope him as he undoes his second top button. He guesses if you really want to use your credit card, you can. You’re your own person, but you should have kept your promise. Such a bad girl.

He walks back to the living room and sits down on the single seater, reaching the remote to close off every curtain, making his place dimmer and dimmer.

Then he waits.

He waits until you come in with your impressive haul. Extremely because you got your arms full but you only put them down so you can go back to get more. It’s amusing how your grin looks so self-satisfied, not fully realizing that he’s just sitting in the corner of the room, until your eyes land on him. Your smile turns sheepish, taking your hands behind you, not daring to come closer. Truly clever.

“Hi, Quinny. Didn’t see you there.” You wave.

“My Love,” he greets, beckoning you with a finger, but you refuse to come, shaking your head. “What’s wrong?”

“I need to put these away.”

He watches you take one bag, telling him about the little nightgown you bought. You’re distracting him and it’s working. Slightly. His amusement grows the more you ramble. It’s clear that you’ve enjoyed your shopping trip. You speak at a quicker pace than you usually do. You have a little bounce on your step as you take everything out of the paper bags that you also fold right after. He knows you’re aware that he knows. That’s why you’re taking your time but he’s aware that you are genuinely delighted with everything you purchased that you distract yourself more than him.

He’s proud and happy that you enjoyed your day.

Truly.

It doesn’t erase the fact that he’s lost it. His anger had turned to this calm that keeps him from pouncing you, from taking you over his lap and slamming his hand on your ass until you got handprints that would bruise and ache for a couple of days.

He can’t believe you’ve broken him just from breaking your promise.

It’s entirely laughable.

Yet heat streaks down his spine, down to his cock.

He’s so fucking hard.

He stands up, silently walking towards you while you’re crouching to pile up the paper bags. You’re still rambling about a pottery workshop you’ve come across, where you want to go back with him, so you can make mugs for each other. So adorable. So clueless about the danger prowling towards you.

He stops, his shadow looming over you. He counts the seconds, but you still don’t notice him. Do you? He sees how your hands start to shake. You do. Silly girl.

A chuckle escapes him as he grabs you by your arm so he can pull you up then lifting you over his shoulder.

“Quinn!” You squeal, hitting his back a couple of times. “Put me down! You’re making me dizzy—”

You let out a moan when Quinn slaps the tender spot under your ass. “Quiet,” he orders, making you whimper like the dirty slut you are. “What did you say before you left?”

“Bye?” You sound so confused.

He spanks you on the same spot, making you groan when he slips his hand under your skirt, fingers trailing up and up, then he put you down on the bed. You flip and look at him like he has taken everything from you. He can already hear your protest on the tip of your tongue. He glares at you, daring you to speak them, but you don’t take the bait. You usually do.

Interesting.

“You bought a lot.” Quinn crawls on the bed, his hand flattening over your sternum, effortlessly pushing you down.

Your pupils are so blown out when he levels his face with yours, his nose grazing yours, your breath mixing with his. He can smell the gum you chewed on before you arrived, the perfume you’ve sprayed behind your ears. Your eyes fall down his lips then up again, perfectly seducing him, but he refuses, moving away when you try to kiss him, tongue even darting out. Not yet.

“Quinn,” you whine.

“Why’d you do it?” He asks, kneeling up and flipping you over your stomach, immediately pressing a hand over your lower back to keep you from doing whatever you’re planning.

“I didn’t do anything,” you say with pout, shuddering as he slips his hand under your shirt, unclasping your bra without a single effort. “What are you doing? I haven’t showered yet.”

Quinn doesn’t fucking care if you showered or not. Since when did he care? He doesn’t care if you come from a workout. He has fucked you like that. All sweaty and dirty. He already licked your sweat as he plunged deep inside your quivering pussy like that. You coming from a whole day of shopping is simple play for him. You’re just trying to get out of the punishment you knew coming.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he rumbles against your ear, sliding his fingers under you so he can touch your tits. So soft. So perfect in his hands. Your nipples are so hard as he pinches them, so sensitive as you moan, hips coming up to grind against his.He pulls away, making you groan. “Uh, uh. Answer me before you get what you want, you dirty slut.”

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp.

“That’s what you are, isn’t it?” He grits, sliding one hand down your front, down into your skirt, down to the wet patch of your panties. “See? So fucking wet. I barely touched you.”

“Quinn, please,” you plead, panting.

Why are you still not telling him about the promise you’ve broken? He’s getting so annoyed that he forces your clothes off, tearing every piece of clothing, ignoring how much you complained, ignoring your little ‘ouch’, because you’re full of shit. There’s no way it would hurt when he is tearing the fabric instead of pulling it against your fucking skin. Do you think he’s fucking stupid? Do you think he’ll hurt you that way? He’s not a fucking rookie.

He keeps you down, spreading your legs, watching how your pussy drips on the silk sheets, how your entrance quivers begging to be filled. Languidly, he feels your folds, making you gasp and moan like you’re already getting fucked. So sensitive.

Then he gives you a slap right there, his other hand gripping over your hip to keep you there. You attempt to crawl away but he gives you another slap. Then another. Another. You are moaning and writhing from the pain, begging him to stop when you keep pushing your wet cunt right against his palm after a brief second of reeling away, when your eyes keep looking over him as if to say, “More, more, more.”

Such a slut.

Quinn slides his middle finger into your heat, observing how red your pussy is from the slaps, smirking at how your walls quivers around him. His thumb teases your other hole, making you gasp and grip the sheets. You’re not running away now, huh? Not when he is fingering you, reaching that specific spot that makes you scream loudly and breathlessly.

He adds another finger, thrusting them into your heat harder. The squelching noises are music to his ears when it’s coupled with your moans and groans. Then he feels the familiar pattern of your walls. You’re going to come. He knows you so much. Knows your pussy more than you. Knows your little tells like how your thighs quivers, how your toes curl. He knows it all.

So, it’s so fucking easy to just…pull away.

You look back harshly, looking so betrayed, panting so hard. He takes his fingers wet from your arousal to his lips and slowly licks them like he’s licking your pussy, groaning at how you taste. Fuck, you’re truly his favorite flavor.

“Quinn, I…” you call, your eyes tearing up. He flips you over, resting your ass over his thigh while your legs are spread forward. “You didn’t…”

“Didn’t?” he mocks, but you only process that as a question because you’ve already been dumbed by your pending orgasm.

“I didn’t come,” you whine, jutting your hips up the air, begging for another touch. “Please make me come.”

“Yeah,” he nods. That makes you smile, sighing in relief. Shaking his head, he says, “No.”

He doesn’t let you say another thing, plunging his fingers into your pussy again. He fucks you fast and deep, thumb swiping over your clit just so perfectly, only to pull away when you’re on the verge of an orgasm. By the third time, you finally understand what’s happening and you’re begging and begging.

Your pleas don’t reach him though.

They can’t because the strange calmness finally starts to dissipate the more you make a mess while not getting what you want. The more beautifully and frustrated you cry.

Oh, his poor, sweet Love.

“Quinn, I’m sorry. I just wanna use my card.” You sob. “I’m sorry. Please. Please. I need to come. It’s been an hour.”

An hour? You’re counting?

Still, he pauses his torture, because you are finally talking.

You cover your face, hiding your beautiful blushing cheeks, hiding how your hair sticks to your skin. “I saw you deposit money in my account again. I thought using my card would be a great revenge. Now, I know it’s not. This sucks! It hurts not to come. We both know you’re just going to pay for the bill when it comes.”

You sob, looking absolutely hurt and exhausted. Quinn quickly pulls you up, soothing you with a hug, sighing as you melt into his touch. You sniffle but your hand reaches between you two, tugging at his pants.

“You have to make me come.” You beg, looking at him with your best puppy eyes. “Please?”

“You always beg so beautifully.” He tucks your hair behind your ears. “Wasn’t so hard to admit your wrongs, was it?”

“I know. I said sorry already—”

He cuts you off by pushing you to the bed, tugging his pants down, pressing his dribbling cock to your entrance. One swift thrust and he’s seated inside of you. Fuck. Your pussy is truly made for him. He perfectly fits. All of him. He can feel every crevice, every texture, every arousal that coats you deep inside. Shit. So good. He can come just by being inside of you. Did you know that?

But he knows it’s not enough for you tonight. You need him to fuck so he does. He fucked you hard and rough that your eyes are rolling up as you come.

Even then you plead for more and more.

So he gives you everything.

Changing the tempo here and there, going slow and deliberate, going back to a fast pace. He gives you everything because you deserve it.

Every time he feels you’re about to come again, he whispers into ears, “That’s my good girl. Give me one more. That’s it. My good little slut. Take what you need. Come, my Love.”

Every time.

He draws out your fifth orgasm before he comes deep inside you, swearing as his eyesight dims as your pussy milks every drop of his cum. How he manages to flick your sensitive clit while he comes so hard is a mystery, but it doesn’t matter when you start to gush.

You’re making such a mess.

You always do.

“Quinn, oh my, fuck,” you cry out.

“It’s okay. I got you. Just let go, my Love,” he encourages, flicking your clit again and again, until you’ve successfully drench both of you. “No more?”

“No more. No more.” You shake your head, so he stops. “Kiss me.”

He kisses you, giving you praises in between. You both spent minutes just kissing until you’ve calm down. Quinn gives you one last kiss before he stands up to run a bath, putting a few drops of lavender and chamomile there. It’ll soothe you. He comes back out to wrap you with a fresh and heated towel while the bath fills up.

You look so spent so Quinn holds you for a few more minutes, whispering more soft praises in your ear, because you’ve earned it. When he hears the bath getting full, he takes you to it.

“Just relax here. I’ll join you in a bit, okay?” He says as you settle. You nod at him as your eyes slowly blink. “I won’t take long. Don’t sleep. Not when I’m not here.”

“Okay, Quinny,” you say as you yawn. Your tummy rumbles. “Hungry.”

“I’ll get you a sandwich then I’ll make dinner after our bath. Sounds good?”

You smile at him, making his heart flutter, his stomach filling up with butterflies. He presses another kiss on your head, before he’s off, leaving you to have a little alone time. He got one thing in his mind.

He made his way to your bag that’s left behind on the floor. Humming a soft tune, he carries it to the counter, setting it down, as he takes out the ingredients for a light sandwich. Just bread and your favorite jam. Washing his hands quickly, he fixes your sandwich for you, placing it on a plate. He also takes a fresh and cool bottle of water. It will do for a light snack, but he doesn’t take it immediately to you.

He sits on a stool, rummaging through your bag, finding your wallet. He smiles at your photo with him there. It’s taken polaroid. He knows there’s another photo behind it that you printed personally of him and you in an ice rink. You’re truly cute.

He touches your face, heart pounding at how breathtaking you always look. Even when you’re so fucked, your beauty never changes. He can’t wait to grow old with you. He bet with everything he has and more that you would still look like the beautiful woman in the world, because you are.

Then he takes the credit card you’ve used today.

His smile never goes away as he stares at it for full minute.

Then he snips it in half and does the same to another and another.

Now, you only have one card left.

#so hard out here jk #quinn hughes #ruinix chats

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