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winxanity-ii · 3 months ago

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SINS OF DEVOTION [2/3]

ship: father charlie x fem!nun!reader warnings: nsfw 🔞 (p in v ; fem. receiving hand-job/fingering; overstimulation; creampie, wrap before you tap kiddos; coercion/dub-con?; sacrilege, heavy religious imagery) word count: 3.6k a/n: wasn't planning on expanding the one-shot, but here we are. i literally stayed up 7+ hours to write this just cuz i got a bunch of praise in the notes 😩 i'm weak... anywho this is a continuation of my previous one-shot, '𝐒𝐀𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.' If you haven't read that yet, I recommend starting there to understand the progression of their relationship….final part: 𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

★·.·´ɢʀᴏᴛᴇsǫᴜᴇʀɪᴇ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

Ever since that night, you couldn't look Father Charlie in the eyes. How could you, when the man—the symbol of the glory of the Father above—had been buried between your thighs like a man starved?

Just looking at him brought back all the feelings, the emotions that twisted and churned inside you, leaving you breathless and overwhelmed.

Every time you saw him in the chapel, his gaze lingering on you from across the room, your heart would race, your skin tingling with the memory of his touch.

You would try to focus on your duties, your prayers, but the image of him kneeling before you, his mouth claiming every part of you, would flash in your mind, making you falter. Your hands would tremble, your voice would break, and you would feel heat rising in your cheeks, knowing he was watching you.

And he was always watching you.

His eyes would find yours whenever you entered a room, his gaze dark and intent, filled with a hunger that hadn't diminished in the slightest since that stormy night.

You could feel it even from a distance—the way his eyes seemed to follow your every movement, as if he was marking you as his. It made your breath catch, your body reacting in ways you couldn't control, a mix of fear and anticipation coursing through you.

It was a regular Sunday mass when he finally cornered you; a neighboring pastor was visiting, giving a sermon, while you were cleaning out one of the confessionals.

The faint sound of the sermon echoed in the background, the low, rhythmic cadence of the visiting pastor's voice carrying through the church. You were kneeling on the ground, scrubbing the tiles, your sleeves rolled up to keep them out of the soapy water.

The scent of cleaning solution hung in the air as you worked, your humming soft, almost absent-minded, a gentle hymn that you barely even noticed yourself singing.

You were so absorbed in your task that you didn't notice the shadow fall over you until it was too late. You looked up, startled, your eyes widening as you tried to regain your composure.

"I'm sorry, this confessional booth is out of commission at the moment, I'm cleaning—" Your words trailed off as your gaze traveled upward, and your breath caught in your throat when you realized who was standing there.

It was Father Charlie.

His presence filled the small space, and you could feel the air grow heavy around you, your pulse quickening as his eyes locked onto yours. There was something about the way he looked at you—something dark and knowing—that made your heart pound, your hands freezing where they rested on the damp cloth.

The brush slipped from your fingers, falling back into the soapy water with a splash that sprayed droplets onto the floor and your habit, snapping you out of your daze. You stuttered, "F-Father Charlie," quickly standing up, giving a short bow. "Blessed Sunday morning, Father."

Charlie's lips twitched up into a smile as he stepped further into the cramped confessional booth, the door closing with a soft click behind him. "Blessed Sunday to you as well, Sister ____."

Your eyes flickered to his lips, your breath catching as your mind flashed back to how he had used that very mouth to bring you to the brink of pleasure—his lips, his tongue, every sinful movement etched into your memory. You swallowed hard, your face warming at the thought, your hands fidgeting as you struggled to look anywhere but at him.

You cleared your throat, your voice coming out small. "Is there... is there anything I can do for you, Father?"

Charlie hummed thoughtfully, taking another step closer until he was right in front of you, the space between you almost nonexistent.

Your gaze dropped to his chest, the black fabric of his cassock filling your vision, the scent of him overwhelming—something warm and clean, with a hint of incense. You could feel your heart pounding, your breath hitching as he spoke, his voice low and deep.

"There are many things you could do for me, Sister," he murmured, his tone shifting, darkening, as his lips curled into a smirk. "We could pray... or perhaps," he paused, his eyes glinting as his voice dropped even lower, "you could help me find a different kind of release."

Your eyes widened at the crude implication, your gaze shooting up to meet his, only to find him already watching your face, his eyes hooded and dark, filled with a hunger that made your stomach twist.

You felt heat pooling low in your belly, the tension in the small space between you almost unbearable. You shook your head slightly, your voice coming out in a whisper, shaky and unsure. "Father Charlie, we shouldn't... we can't..."

Charlie didn't answer, not with words. Instead, he took another step forward, his body pressing against yours as he used his arms to cage you in, one hand bracing against the wall of the confessional beside your head. His other hand moved to cup your cheek, his fingers tilting your face upward, forcing you to meet his gaze.

You could feel his breath, warm against your skin, his face so close that your noses almost brushed. His eyes were dark, filled with something raw, something that made your knees feel weak.

He leaned in even closer, his lips hovering just above yours, his voice a whisper, almost pleading. "Do you know what you do to me, Sister? How you push me to sin, how you make me want things I shouldn't?"

His hand left your cheek, moving down to grab your wrist, guiding your hand between your bodies, pressing it firmly against the hardness straining beneath his cassock. Your breath caught in your throat, a soft gasp escaping your lips as you felt him, your eyes widening, your entire body tensing at the sensation.

"Feel that?" he whispered against your lips, his voice thick with desire. "That's what you do to me. Every time I see you, every time you look at me with those innocent eyes... you make me lose control."

You felt your heart racing, your mind spinning, a mix of fear and something else—something dark and thrilling—coursing through you as Father Charlie's hand held yours in place, his gaze locked onto yours, unrelenting, his lips brushing against yours in the barest of touches, waiting, coaxing you to give in.

Your thoughts raced. So many times since that night, you had fantasized about him, dreamed about him fully taking you, about giving in to the desires that had been eating away at you. But now, with him right in front of you, so desperate, so wanting, it made you dizzy.

You were a nun, a devoted daughter, a wife to the Lord—yet here you were, on the verge of surrendering. Your lips parted as you took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself, trying to cling to the last shreds of your faith.

But then you licked your lips, and you saw how his eyes immediately zeroed in on the movement, darkening with something almost primal. His gaze was intense, unblinking, and you felt the pull, the weight of his need, and it made something inside you snap.

With all the bravery you could muster, you leaned forward, pressing your lips to his.

It was soft, a gentle peck, barely more than a brush of your lips against his, but it was enough to make your heart race like you were running a marathon.

For a moment, you thought you could pull back, that this brief kiss could be enough to satisfy whatever it was burning between you.

But then Charlie groaned, the sound deep and raw, and before you could pull away, his hand moved to the back of your neck, pulling you back to him, his lips crashing against yours with a hunger that made your knees weak. His tongue slipped between your parted lips, invading your mouth, exploring, tasting.

The kiss was nothing like your timid attempt—it was fierce, overwhelming, consuming.

You felt his tongue caressing the inside of your mouth, tracing the shape of your teeth, stroking your own tongue, coaxing it to move with his. He moved slowly, deliberately, as if he had all the time in the world, as if he was savoring every second, every taste.

You felt your head grow light from the lack of air, your body trembling, but still, you were locked in the kiss, unable to pull away, unable to do anything but respond to him.

Your hands moved of their own accord, one of them gripping the front of his cassock, the other reaching up to tangle in his hair. The soft strands slipped through your fingers, and you could feel the heat radiating from his skin, the way his body seemed to hum with tension, with need.

Charlie's other hand moved to your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you could feel the hard lines of his body pressing into yours, the heat of him searing through the thin fabric of your habit. It made you feel like you were drowning in him, in his touch, his taste.

You whimpered against his lips, the sound muffled by the kiss, and he responded with a low growl, his hand tightening on your waist, his lips moving more insistently against yours.

Charlie pulled back, his forehead resting against yours as he panted, his breath hot and heavy, mingling with your own. His eyes were dark, filled with something raw and unrestrained, and he let out a low groan, his voice rough with desire. "I wish so badly to mark you up, to strip you down right here and lose myself in you," he murmured, his words sending a shiver down your spine. The explicitness of his words made your cheeks burn, your face flushing as you pressed it into his neck, trying to hide your embarrassment.

But he wasn't done. He tilted your chin back up, his thumb brushing over your flushed cheek, his eyes searching yours. "But it's too risky," he whispered, his voice filled with regret, and something almost feral. "So I'll settle for something much quicker."

As he spoke, his hands moved down, fingers traveling lower, bunching up the fabric of your tunic around your waist. His touch was frantic, almost desperate, his hands squeezing and kneading every inch of you he could reach, as if he couldn't get enough.

You could feel his fingers digging into your thighs, your hips, pulling you closer, pressing you against him, and it made your head spin, made your body ache with a need you didn't quite understand.

Your hands trembled as they found their place on his shoulders, your fingers hesitating, curling slightly in the fabric of his cassock. You wanted to touch him the way he was touching you, to let your hands explore, but you were too shy, too overwhelmed.

The intensity of his presence, the way his body felt against yours, it all left you breathless, your heart pounding in your chest.

Charlie's gaze remained locked on yours, his eyes dark and filled with something raw, something that made your pulse quicken. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a low murmur, almost a growl. "You don't have to be afraid... just let me take care of you."

Your breath hitched, your body tensing as you felt his hands venture lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your underwear. Your eyes widened, a soft gasp escaping your lips, but it was quickly swallowed by Charlie as he covered your mouth with his own, his lips moving against yours, silencing your small cries and whimpers.

His fingers moved with purpose, finding your most sensitive spot, rubbing slow circles against your clit. The sensation made your knees go weak, your body trembling against him as he worked you with an expertise that left you breathless.

You tried to pull away from the kiss, to catch your breath, but he wouldn't let you, his mouth insistent, his tongue coaxing yours to move with his, swallowing every sound you made.

Your hands clung to his shoulders, your fingers digging into the fabric as you felt his fingers slide lower, teasing your entrance before slowly pushing inside.

A muffled whimper escaped your throat, your body tensing at the intrusion, the sensation both strange and thrilling. He moved slowly, his fingers stretching you, coaxing your body to relax, to accept him. You could feel every movement, every inch as he filled you, his touch deliberate, patient.

His lips never left yours, his kiss growing deeper, more demanding, as if he could feel your hesitation and was trying to coax you further, to draw you into the darkness with him. He pulled back for just a moment, his forehead resting against yours as he spoke, his voice a low whisper, thick with desire. "You feel so good, Sister... so perfect. Just let go for me."

Before you could respond, before you could even catch your breath, his hand moved to your thigh, his fingers curling around your leg as he lifted it, wrapping it around his waist.

The new angle made everything more intense, his fingers sinking deeper, his thumb brushing against your clit, drawing a shuddering moan from your lips.

The warmth in your belly grew, turning into a small flame that licked at your insides, consuming every thought, every hesitation; your body responded to his touch, your hips moving against his hand, seeking more of the pleasure he was giving you.

Charlie's breathing grew shallow, his eyes darkening as he watched you, his gaze roaming over your flushed cheeks, the way your lips parted, the soft gasps escaping your throat.

Your thighs trembled, your body growing tense as you felt the pressure building, the sensation coiling tightly in your core, threatening to snap at any moment.

But just as you felt yourself teetering on the edge, just as the first waves of your orgasm began to crest, Charlie stopped. He pulled his fingers away, leaving you gasping, the sudden emptiness almost painful.

A soft, desperate whimper escaped your lips, your eyes fluttering open, wide and confused as you looked up at him.

He met your gaze, his lips curling into a wicked smile as he brought his fingers to his mouth, his eyes never leaving yours as he sucked them clean, his tongue swirling around each digit, savoring the taste of you. "You taste so sweet, Sister," he murmured, his voice thick with lust, his words sending a shiver down your spine. "I could spend all day between your thighs... but right now, I need something more."

He shifted, his hands moving to the waistband of his robe, shuffling the fabric around as he freed himself. You couldn't see anything, the fabric obscuring your view, but you felt it—the hard, heavy length of him brushing against your inner thigh, the sensation making your breath catch, your leg twitch involuntarily at the contact.

Charlie moved with a practiced ease, his hands gripping your hips as he shifted you, lifting you as if you weighed nothing.

Your back pressed against the wall of the confessional, the cold surface a stark contrast to the heat of his body. He adjusted his hold on you, his arms wrapping around your thighs, lifting them until both of your legs were hooked around his waist.

You felt exposed, vulnerable, the position leaving you completely at his mercy, but there was something about the way he looked at you, something in his eyes that made your heart race, made your body ache for more.

His gaze locked onto yours, his eyes filled with a mix of lust and something deeper, something that made your breath hitch, your fingers clinging to his shoulders as he held you up, pressing you against the wall. His forehead rested against yours for a moment, his breath warm against your lips, his voice barely above a whisper. "You drive me mad, Sister... Forgive me, I can't hold back any longer."

He adjusted his hold on you, one arm wrapping tightly around your waist, holding you up against the wall with ease while his other hand moved beneath the ruffled fabric of your habit.

Your legs hitched open wider, instinctively allowing him more access as you felt the warmth of his hand trailing up your inner thigh, his fingers brushing against your skin. The anticipation made your breath catch, your heart pounding in your chest as you waited, your body aching for his touch.

You gasped softly as you felt something blunt press against your clit, moving up and down your slit, the sensation different this time—firmer, hotter. You thought it was his fingers again, but then Charlie let out a soft sigh, a quiet, breathless "fuck" that made your eyes widen, the realization hitting you all at once.

He wasn't using his fingers. It was him, the hard length of him brushing against you, spreading your slickness as he moved, the pressure making your head spin, your body growing even wetter at the sinful, blasphemous intimacy of it.

His movements were slow, deliberate, his eyes locked on yours as if daring you to look away, to deny what was happening. But you couldn't—your gaze was trapped by his, your lips parted as soft whimpers escaped, the sound swallowed by the heavy air between you.

Charlie's breath grew more ragged, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "Do you feel that, Sister? Do you see what you do to me?" His voice was thick with lust, his words a mixture of reverence and something far more depraved. He moved his hips, sliding himself against you, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through your body, making you moan softly, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

His lips moved to your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against your skin as he began to push inside you, his voice low and shaky as he muttered a scripture, the holy words twisted by the desire lacing his tone. "Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death..." His voice trailed off into a deep, guttural groan as he sank deeper, the stretch almost too much, a sharp burn that made you gasp, your eyes squeezing shut as your body struggled to adjust to him.

Charlie paused for a moment, his forehead resting against yours once again, his breathing heavy, his eyes searching your face as if looking for any sign of hesitation. But you were too lost in the sensation—the way he filled you, the way your body seemed to mold around him, the burn slowly giving way to something else, something that made your toes curl, your breath hitching as you nodded, a silent plea for him to keep going.

He smiled, a dark, almost tender smile, his lips brushing against yours as he whispered, "Perfect." His hips moved again, slowly at first, his movements careful, deliberate, as he began to build a rhythm, each thrust sending a wave of pleasure through you, the feeling overwhelming, all-consuming.

And as you clung to him, your body trembling, you knew there was no turning back, no escaping the hold he had on you.

The two of you got lost in one another, the heat between you burning like a fire, desire crackling like embers, growing hotter with every movement. Charlie's pace quickened, his breaths coming out in harsh pants, his groans muffled as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his body pressing against yours as if he couldn't get close enough.

The rhythm of his thrusts grew more erratic, each one more desperate than the last, the intensity making your head spin, the pleasure building until it was almost too much.

You could hear him, his voice a mix of groans and soft, needy whines, his lips brushing against your neck, the sensation sending shivers down your spine. His hands gripped you tighter, holding you in place as he moved, the friction, the pressure, everything pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

Your body tensed, your muscles clenching around him as the band inside you finally snapped, the pleasure washing over you in a blinding wave. You gasped, your head falling back against the wall, your eyes squeezing shut as your entire body trembled, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you clung to him, riding out the high.

Charlie shuddered in your arms, his own body tensing as he felt you tighten around him, his movements growing sloppy, desperate, until he finally stilled, his hips pressing against yours as he let out a low, guttural groan.

You felt the warmth of him spreading inside you, the sensation almost surreal, the realization that you had pushed him to this point, that you had made him lose control, making your heart pound even harder.

He stayed like that for a moment, his forehead resting against yours, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his eyes half-lidded as he looked at you, something almost soft in his gaze.

Slowly, he pulled away, his hands moving to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing against your flushed cheeks as he leaned in, his nose bumping gently against yours, a small, tender gesture that made your heart swell.

Charlie's eyes held yours, his gaze intense, filled with a mix of emotions that you couldn't quite decipher. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, his voice still thick with the remnants of his desire. "Pleasure is deceitful... as it was for the harlot, yet I cannot resist you."

A/N: alright guys, chill with the praise and notes or i won't be able to get rest 😔🫶🏾🫶🏾jkjkjk keep them coming i'm a whore for them 🥴

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eyesxxyou · 4 months ago

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First Smoke 🚬

💨・・・l. howlett x fem!reader

rating. m

word count. 2.5k

synopsis. you were everything logan shouldn't want. young, religious, and innocent. you were sweet to everyone. and you've never been touched. logan wants to be your first everything.

warnings. age gap relationship (reader is 21, Logan is nearing 50) , religious reader, innocent reader, smoking, shotgunning smoke, dubious consent, dry humping, spanking, a bit of toxic relationship dynamics, logan is not a good person, not edited

↳ pt.1 / pt.2 / pt.3

You’ve always been attracted to Logan Howlett. From his strong build—broad shoulders, the fine lines of veins on his arms—to his carefree disposition. You liked the way he carried himself, confident, lumbering, like his dick was too big between his legs. You especially liked his belts. The thick, worn, leather. The large buckle was always either silver or bronze, engraved with a design.

It was a worldly lust, one you shunned for many years growing up. One you tried to pray away. A test from God to see if you could remain devout. And for a while, you were doing so good. You kept your left for him down, you prayed for the strength to face him everyday.

And then he offered you a drink.

You were back the next day, and the next, and the next. All with the promise of great pleasure and even greater corruption. You prayed every night for forgiveness and went back to commit more sins, more atrocities against your body. You never let Logan take your virginity, but he did penetrate you with his fingers nearly every day. You’ve seen his erect cock, long and thick, 8 to 9 inches of solidity, while he jerked off while fingering you. He came on your belly, just nearly missing your cunt.

You sat like a pretty, little doll in Logan's garage in white stockings with flower designs on them, a white dress dotted in lilacs that went down to your shins, a white cardigan you knitted yourself, and your iconic mary janes heels. You fiddled with the pearl necklace sitting delicately on your collarbones while your heels clicked and your cardigan fell slightly off your shoulder.

Logan was shirtless, the muscles of his sweat covered back flexing as he rummaged through his toolbox. He was beautiful, sun-kissed, pants hanging low on his lips with that thick belt of his. His hair stuck slightly to the nape of his neck.

After a moment, he grunted, closed his toolbox, and reached into his pocket for a lighter while going over to grab a cigar. He placed the thick thing between his lips and flicked his lighter.

“Isn't that dangerous, Mr. Howlett? Lighting a cigar around grease and oil and gasoline?” You ask softly, watching him take a long drag before blowing the smoke. He looked at you with a quirked brow. “Don’t worry about it, doll.” He sat down on an old chair across the garage out of the sun, fingers motioning you over to sit in his lap as you always did. He loved you in his lap, your frame so pretty on top of him, the way you squirm.

Your eyes flickered to the open garage door, rolled up all the way to let the waning sunlight in. “I can't, Mr. Howlett. Someone will see us.” And that someone will recognize you as the pastor’s daughter and inform your father that you were caught in his lap. Canoodling with not only a man, but a man twice your age. He’d never let you out of the house again.

Logan glanced out of the door. “Nah, we’re hidden behind the bike.” A lie that fell too smoothly from his lips. You both were in the corner, in the shade. Eyes would glaze right over your bodies. No one would notice you two unless they were truly taking the time to look. People rarely ever did.

You seemed to calm a little at his words and carefully made your way over to his little corner where he lounged. Logan offered out a hand to keep you steady as you hiked up the skirt of your dress a little and straddled his thighs. You placed your hands on his chest to balance yourself. You liked the hair on his chest that led down his rock solid abdomen. There was a single vein leading down below the belt.

You looked back over your shoulder at the open garage door, eyeing the street as a car passed by. Logan noticed the worry pressing wrinkles to your face, the doubt in your eyes and grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him instead of the street. Smoke came out of his nose slightly, “stop worrying.”

He took another long drag of his cigar and watched with amusement as you eyed the thing curiously. “You don't want none of this, baby. It’s too strong for you.” Logan’s hand stroked your thigh through your stockings. Your lips unintentionally formed into a small pout. You were used to being told no in your life, but Logan never did. You liked the freedom that came with being with him, even if that was at the expense of your soul. You were making dealings with the devil.

Logan sucked up smoke into his mouth and grabbed you firmly at the back of the head, pulling you in to press your lips to his. He blew the smoke between your lips and let it fill your mouth and billow down your throat. Breaking away, began to cough into the back of your hand.

“I told you; too strong for a little babydoll like you.”

The taste lingered on your lips and in your mouth, smokey, bitter. How could he possibly enjoy this stuff? He smoked and drank like it was nothing but you had remained abstemious your entire life, you weren't accustomed to the taste yet. More importantly, your lips had tasted his lips. He had so suddenly stolen your first kiss from you.

You whispered to him, “that was my first kiss.”

“Oh baby,” Logan leaned forward, chuckling softly. “That wasn't a kiss. I can show you what a real kiss looks like.” He took his cigar from his mouth, enjoying the way you shuddered as his prickly facial hair brushed against your cheek. He kissed you because he could, because he wanted to, because he knew if he didn't steal your first kiss from your delicate hands, someone else would. He had to take everything from you, be your first everything, possess you wholly.

You were awkward, squirming, unsure of what to do with your mouth, your tongue. Logan held you by the hips, pulling you ever closer, tasting of smoke, whiskey, and bad decisions rolled into one. His tongue pressed to yours, tracing and exploring every crevice of your mouth. He was not gentle with you. You were no child, you could handle it.

Your lips tasted like a medley of fruit from your lip balm and toothpaste. You were fresh, clean, so terribly pure that every lick of his tongue against yours, every orgasm he drew out of you dirtied you in the mud of sin. Your hands were clawing at his shoulders, your hips pressed down into his lap with the help of his hands.

Another car went past and you leaped away from his kiss, panting. “Someone’s going to see us, Mr. Howlett. My father will kill both of us.” Logan didn't seem to care all that much. He pulled the skirt of your dress up and pulled you down until your body pressed flush with his. Your little cunt pressed right to the large buckle of his belt.

He reached between your legs and found a weak spot in your stockings, jabbing his finger through and ripping the lacy fabric through the middle to access your pretty center. You were wearing another pair of cotton panties, white, with a little bow on the front. “Mr. Howlett.” You whined at your ruined article of clothing. You’d never be able to explain it to your parents. “Listen to me. We can't, not here.”

“We'll be fine, doll.” He grunted, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck. Logan was so much stronger than you, his hand forcing you to press yourself down onto him, your cotton-covered clit catching along the design of his buckle. You gasped, shuddering, your eyes growing heavy. Your hands on his shoulders, rubbing his chest. You weren't like you were before. Timid. Afraid. You were scandalous in a way you never thought you would be. You took the time to grind your hips against his buckle, finding just the right ridge to play with your clit.

How he's tainted you.

Logan leaned back, smoking with a serene smirk while he watched you take your pleasure against his belt. It was quite the show. Your fingers against his solid chest, your eyes fluttered to a close, the way you humped him almost like a desperate bitch in heat. Dulcet moans passed your lips like a song, silky and sweet with a touch of depravity.

“Oooh– Mr. Howlett~” You liked all the bumps and ridges of the design on his buckle, the way it all tickled your pussy at just the right spots and angles. Logan stroked your hip with his free hand, smoking with his other. You were all whiny and squeaky, already falling apart in his lap. He’s made you something monstrous, disgusting. And you liked it.

You were soaking through your panties. Any other time you would have been humiliated, the sin of your lust. But oh, you were hitting all the right spots and you couldn't hear anything beyond the ringing in your ears. Someone could have walked right into Logan's garage and witnessed you pleasuring yourself on his belt of all things and you would have hardly noticed.

Logan, thoroughly amused, took a long drag from his cigar and blew it into your face. You felt a little hazy, whining a little. “Stop.” He did it again, smiling and chuckling lowly as you squirmed. “I can get the whiskey out again, doll. You seem to enjoy yourself better when you’re drunk.”

You shook your head. “Nuh uh, let me– let me keep going. I'm…enjoying myself– just fine.” You squeaked as you found a little nub to rub your bundle of nerves across. You could feel everything as if you didn't have any panties on at all. Your underwear stuck to your cunt like a second sink, so thin that it might as well not be there in the first place.

You were a sensitive little thing. Getting you to cum was an easy task. A few clicks at your clit, a few dirty words in your ear, and you were melting into a puddle in his lap. This time, you were doing it all by yourself, showing off all you had learned. But there was nothing quite satisfying about that. Logan liked his unwavering control over you.

So as you teetered towards the edge of relief, Logan grunted, “Don't you cum until I tell you to.” There was a warning hidden behind his voice. There would be consequences if you disobeyed. You were used to obeying, you just found a new master to serve.

You cried softly. “No, no, no, ‘m so close,” you slurred, rutting your hips like a wild animal. Logan tapped his cigar off the side of the chair before placing it back between his lips. “Don't you dare, doll.” It threatened unknown possibilities, an infinity of punishments. “I’ll march you out into the street and finger you in the front yard. Everyone will see you for the slut you are.”

He’d never actually do it. Logan would like to keep the sight of you cumming to himself alone, but the threat was enough to keep you at bay, to keep his firm control over you.

You shook your head wildly, still rubbing and humping, tears pricking your eyes. “No, please–” You wept at the thought of being ousted from your community, disowned by your family, made to be some shameless whore on the street. A man like Logan would never marry you. He'd never make you his wife. He liked playing with the hearts of little girls like you, who didn't know any better.

So you try your best not to cum with tears streaking your face, tears that only make Logan harder. You look so pretty when you cry. Partially from pleasure, partially from fear, maybe some pain. Your legs trembled with the weight of an orgasm denied.

You went like this for 2 orgasms. Your pussy rubbed red and puffy through your panties, a wet patch on the crotch of his pants from your dripping cunt. “I can't! I can't, Mr. Howlett.” You were sobbing hysterically. Your entire body shook violently with your next orgasm that rushed you like a freight train and came with a hot flash throughout your entire body.

Logan watched you cum on his belt, pussy pulsing and rubbing. You almost went cross-eyed, how cute. Your cheeks were dripping wet with salty tears he could just lick right off your face if he so desired. He liked seeing you cry, liked the way you sobbed like you had no sense.

You were panting, aching, nearly fell right off his lap if he didn't catch you. “‘m sorry, ‘m sorry. Please don't take me to the yard. My– my family will never look at me the same.” You murmured out your words, still crying like a baby.

“I ain't gonna take you to the yard, doll.” Logan, thoroughly amused by your panic, guided you to lay over his lap with your ass facing the open garage door. “I am gonna give you a spanking though.” He smiled at the whimper you let out; his hand flipping up your skirt to reveal your ripped stockings and soaked through panties.

You were reminded of when you were a little girl, in your father's lap when he would spank you for doing something bad. You wiggled and writhed with anticipation, fingers gripping his thigh. Logan soothed his hand over the soft skin of your ass as he gripped great handfuls of flesh into his palms.

The first one came with a great ring of skin against skin. You yelped, lunging forward. More tears, more childish crying. Logan rubbed the spot where he spanked you to soothe the pain. “Quiet down. You don't want anyone to get curious, do you?” You shook your head with feverish intent. You couldn't have anyone looking this way, watching you get spanked, reporting back to your father.

Logan raised his hand and brought it down against your other asscheek. You bit your lip to stifle the sob that threatened to leave you. You did the same when he spanked you again and again, biting so hard you could taste the metallic beginnings of blood.

In total, Logan spanked you 15 times before he deemed it enough and let you up. You were shaking like a startled dog, your once neat, pinned up hair now ruined, your dress wrinkled, your stockings ripped. You were a beautiful mess. His beautiful mess. He was ruining you.

“Come here, babydoll.” Logan coaxed you towards him as he put out his cigar in the ashtray nearby. He took you by the hips and pulled you back into his lap. You were so small and meek, you didn't even fight.

Logan brushed your hair out of your face, carefully fixing it back up with various bands and clips until it looked reasonably neat again. He was gentle for once, taking your chin in between his fingers, and he kissed you. He was tender with that too, licking the blood from your bottom lip with a smile.

Logan always had a habit of destroying his favorite toys.

#x men wolverine #wolverine #wolverine x fem!reader #wolverine x reader #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #logan howlett x fem!reader #james howlett

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fibfoolingart · 29 days ago

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i swear this was just supposed to be some fun aesthetic swap doodles, but then i started thinking about The Implications and now i have a wholeass story behind this au lol

any world where grace chasity isn’t a horny, homicidal prude, we lose the original plot, so this au would revolve more around the church of the starry children then max jägerman lol

solomon decides the best way to wield power in hatchetfield is through religion instead of government and he unites all the tiny denominational churches into his church, becoming the pastor (happening around the same time steph starts middle school.)

it works. almost everyone attends solomon’s church, and it becomes a required social event for anyone who’s anyone in hatchetfield.

but it’s all a manipulation for bigger purposes as solomon slowly incorporates text from the black book, pushing the church into culty territory.

as the preacher’s kid, steph is under constant scrutiny. she might have wanted to rebel as a kid, but the wrath of god is a much bigger threat than just breaking her phone and solomon uses fear and guilt to keep her in line, turning her into a model of godly behavior (at least on the surface).

the chasitys refuse to join solomon’s church, but their small congregation shuts down when there aren’t enough people left.

grace’s parents encourage grace to pour all her free time into individual bible study to make up for the lack of church, church activities, and church outings, but grace starts treating the bible like a textbook instead of a spiritual guide.

without structured church activities, her obsession with rules and procedures shifts to the school system

grace unknowingly separates herself from spirituality when her bible obsession becomes academic. she’s still a christian, but she’s more likely to corner you in the library to infodump about angelic hierarchies than preach about purity.

travis coulson was ruth’s older cousin. it freaked her the hell out that someone could be bullied that bad that they have to transfer and their entire life is erased for a dumbass lie that everyone believes. so ruth vows that she and her friends will never be outcasts (or timberwolves) and drags pete and richie into a "popularity pact" in fifth grade, forcing them to get cool or else.

the trio spends their summer doing research and practicing social skills. (they basically spend their time practicing masking autism and refining their ability to camouflage.)

the trio starts researching what’s cool. their findings? football players, student council presidents, and school play leads are the pinnacle of popularity. so, they throw themselves into middle school tryouts and campaigns to fit these roles:

richie tries out for football but ends up as the mascot.

ruth auditions for the lead in the school play but gets relegated to lighting tech.

pete campaigns for class president but only gets elected secretary.

instead of quitting there, they regroup and try again in high school:

richie uses the athleticism he got as a mascot to land him a spot on the swim team.

ruth works her way up to the the student/assistant director for the school plays

pete works his way up the student council ranks, eventually becoming class president.

the trio is finally just cool enough that their quirks get rebranded as "quirky-cool" instead of "weird." they still bond over star wars and anime in secret, but their popularity ensures they’re never targets again.

#actual plot wise i'm not sure what would go down but i got this background shit figured OUT #i want to tag them as lautskity bc they'd be such an entertaining throuple #nerdy prudes must die #npmd #hatchetfield #starkid #artwork #digital art #my art #lautskity #lautski #stephanie lauter #peter spankoffski #richie lipschitz #ruth fleming #grace chasity

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gh0stsp1d3r · 12 days ago

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I’m your god

cw: religious imagery, questioning of God, sex in church bathroom, p in v, you call church bullshit, a lot of cussing…

a/n: my kickstart to angel!reader !

You didn’t believe in God.

Not really, anyway. It was merely a facade you crafted for your parents, a delicate mask worn to maintain their “precious reputation.” This was the belief system was instilled and drilled into your head from a young age, a doctrine you were taught to never question. At the age of eight, a flicker of doubt ignited within you, yet you chose to play the part of your parents’ “darling little girl”, continuing the charade.

Inside your twisted little head, Rafe was your God. And you were his little angel. His servant. His devotee. His. Only his.

As you stepped into the church, the scent of polished wood and old hymnals enveloped you. You plastered on a wide, false smile while you held the oak door open with an exaggerated flourish for the congregation streaming in.

The warm chatter of familiar faces filled the air. The pastor, had asked you personally, recognizing your family's long-standing bond with the church, to do this job. Hold open the doors and greet the people coming in, hand them flyers, it was easy enough.

Your parents, with their insistent nudges and pointed looks, had driven you to take on this role, leaving you feeling like a puppet on a string. So, you resigned yourself to the expectation, reminding yourself to embody the good girl everyone admired—even if the smile didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Your smile faltered when you caught notice of him. The last person you expected Rafe Cameron was in a church. He smiled at you, you smiling back.

“Hey, sweetie!” Ward greeted you, stepping aside to wrap his arms around you. Rafe also stepped aside, his hands in his pockets as he watched you hug his father.

“Hey, Mr. Cameron!” You spoke, offering a smile to your boyfriend who was behind Ward. He pulled away, you giving Rafe a hug next, before giving him a small, seemingly innocent and cute kiss on his cheek.

You and Rafe locked eyes for a moment, before Ward interrupted.

“Why don’t you go on ahead, Rafe?” Ward spoke, waving his hand. Rafe’s smile fell, nodding along, before walking away to the rest of his family.

“You know, I really feel the need to express my gratitude to you,” he said. “I think you’re truly making a difference in his life. He actually asked to join us for church this morning,” he chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “I mean, can you believe it? That hasn’t happened in years!” A broad smile spread across his face as he glanced at you, you nodding in agreement.

“God will do that to you.” You replied, and god, You were too good at this. He so fucking believed that. “I’m so glad, Mr. Cameron.” You smiled at him sweetly, him patting your shoulder before walking to the rest of his family.

As the service started, the air felt heavy with incense and the rhythmic cadence of the pastor’s voice drifted over the congregation.

Your gaze flickered to the side, where Rafe loomed in your vision. He stood in the shadows, his eyes locked onto you with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

It was as if you were a fragile deer caught in the predatory gaze of a wolf. A small, knowing smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, while the rest of his family sat beside him, oblivious to the charged tension that crackled between the both of you.

Your gaze kept drifting back to him, that undeniable pull drawing your attention. Suddenly, a vibration from your phone in your lap broke your attention. You quickly shifted the device to your side, careful to shield it from your parents, and stole a glance at the screen. You looked at the message, excitement flowing through you at the words.

rafe ! 🫶

bathroom.

You cast one final glance at him, feeling a flutter of anticipation in your chest. As you rose from your chair, you gently smoothed the fabric of your dress, ensuring every wrinkle was gone before you stepped away. Leaning toward your parents, you whispered you were going to the bathroom. They merely waved you off, their expressions full of indifference.

You swung open the doors that led into the narrow hallway where the bathroom door was slightly ajar. You leaned against the cool wall, your heart racing as you waited for him. When you heard the door open, your eyes went to him, noting the way he darted his gaze around, taking in his surroundings and making sure no one else was around. Finally, he made his way toward you, hands buried deep in the pockets of his jeans.

You got on the tips of your toes to plant a kiss on his lips, his mouth moving against yours. He let out a quiet groan when you put your tongue into his mouth, his hands traveling your body. He put his hands on yours ass, gently patting it. You jumped up, him holding you as he walked backwards intro the bathroom, locking it behind him.

“Oh, fuck.” You breathed out, your back hitting the cold tile wall. His hands fiddled with his belt buckle, pulling it down and his pants pooled to the floor. He bunched your little white dress up, pulling your panties to the side.

“We gotta be quick, baby. My parents-“ you started, before he cut you off with a kiss.

“Your parents can suck my dick.” He retorted, “I don’t give a fuck.” He panted out, his lips ghosting yours as he pulled his hard cock out, putting it to your entrance. The both of you panted, your breath mingling together

“Oh shit,” you cried out when he slowly slid in, his mouth moving to your neck, letting out a low chuckle, his hot breath on your neck. He left open mouth kisses on your neck, gliding his tongue and his teeth over your soft skin.

“Rafe.” You cried out when he continued to slide into your warm, velvety walls. He was so deep, yet half of him wasn’t even inside of you.

“I’m barely even in, angel.” He spoke mockingly, you could feel the grin he had on his face. He looked up, moving away from your neck.

“And you know you have to be quiet. Wouldn’t want your precious little parents to find you here, watching you get fucked by your ‘sweet, cute, little boyfriend.’”

You nodded, hiding your own face in his shoulder, wrapping your arms tighter around him. You looked almost like a koala hugging a tree branch.

He breathed out as he pulled out of you, before his hips bucked back into your warmth. You let out a cry, your hands bunching up the shirt he had on, tears falling onto it.

You could already hear your pastors voice ringing in your head. Don’t fall a victim to lust, but you couldn’t find yourself to care when Rafes hands were sliding down your thighs and his slender fingers moved to your clit, rubbing it in circles.

“Oh god, oh my god.” you cried out.

“I’m your god, baby. Say it. Say I’m your god.” He spoke breathily.

“You’re-“ you were cut off by a particularly hard thrust.

“Say it.” He repeated.

“You’re my god!” You spoke while you came, hiding your face into his neck.

He grinned once again, his hips slowing for a moment, before he shot his seed into you, painting your walls. He groaned out, the both of you relishing in the after. You moved your legs from his waist, and stood up on wobbly legs.

He smoothed out your dress, pulling your panties to the side for you, collecting the mixes of both of you on his finger, before shoving his finger into your mouth.

You grabbed his wrist, letting out a moan on his digit as you swirled your tongue around it. He removed his finger from your mouth with a ‘pop’, and a sick smirk made its way onto his face.

“How’d you even keep me up for that long?” You asked with a giggle, wiping the remnants of the liquid from your lips.

He flexed his muscles with a smirk, you rolling your eyes and giggling at him. “It’s what I work out for.”

Your smile fell when you looked down at the Apple Watch on your wrist, grimacing now.

“What?”

“We’ve been gone for like 10 minutes, ray!”

He shrugged nonchalantly, “Who cares? Just say you got your period or some shit.”

“What about you?” You asked him with a pout, leaning closer into the mirror, fixing your makeup and hair, looking at him through the reflection.

“I’ll say I couldn’t help myself and was having sex with my super sexy girlfriend.” He replied, leaning against the wall, staring at you from the mirror.

“Rafe!” Your cheeks warmed up at his dirty words, him smiling.

He laughed, “Nah, nah, I’ll just say I ran into some old lady and helped her or something. I don’t know.”

You let out a soft sigh, amusement dancing across your features as you turned to face him. Your lips formed a small, sad pout as you gazed up into his eyes.

“I don’t wanna go back,” you admitted, your voice tinged with a hint of vulnerability. As if sensing your reluctance, his hands found their way to your waist, drawing you in closer, enveloping you in his warmth. “Everything they say is bullshit, anyways,” you continued.

“Then don’t.” He replied, as if it was that easy.

“I have to.” You let out a weary sigh. You leaned in closer to the boy, pressing your lips softly against his in a gentle kiss that. As you pulled away, your fingers brushed the warmth of his skin before dropping to the cool metal of the doorknob.

“Well, I’m gonna go Toppers' party later, if you want to come.” he said casually. You turned to look at him, your expression curious as you met his gaze over your shoulder. "How about I swing by and pick you up?”

“Sounds good.” You beamed, him moving to your side to kiss you one more time.

“Love you, sweetheart.” He told you, patting your ass once more when you opened the door. You giggling and rolling your eyes at him.

“Love you too, ray. See you.” You blew him a kiss over your shoulder as you left, him smirking to himself, running a hand through his now messy hair, and looking at his reflection in the mirror.

“Damn.” He mumbled, pulling his collar down to look at the marks your lipstick had left from when you kissed his neck, smiling and shaking his head to himself as he pulled it up higher.

With every sinful act you committed, you dug a hole deeper and deeper into hell. You couldn’t find yourself to care, because Rafe was there right next to you, shovel in hand.

#angel!reader #season one rafe #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x y/n #obx rafe cameron #obx #rafe cameron smut #rafe fanfiction #rafe smut #rafe obx #rafe fic #outerbanks rafe #rafe imagine #rafe cameron blurb

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wandaslovey · 1 month ago

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𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇’𝓈 𝓆𝓊𝒶𝓇𝓇𝑒𝓁

➺ pastor’s!wife!wanda x fem!reader

wc ~ 3.4k

a/n: i just finished watching love & death for the 4th time and it made me go absolutely feral for lizzie with a southern accent. i’m debating whether or not i want to make this a short series—especially writing a second part where i better establish the background of these two characters. let me know if you guys would like a part 2!

*not proofread*

cw: brief mentions of religious background, infidelity/cheating, forbidden relationship, legal age gap, established relationship, reader almost smokes a cigarette but doesn’t, punishment, [wo]man-handling, spanking, humiliation, inspection, finger licking/sucking, praise, mommy kink, reader is kind of a whiny brat in this fic (she’s really just overstimulated), and some fluff at the end

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ ୨♡୧ ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

you pace back and forth along the side of a red and white striped tent, kicking up some dirt and rocks as your feet drag. your skin feels like it’s tingling and your ears cringing at the sheer amount of sounds coming from the carnival you were currently at. you reach into your bra, retrieving one of the two cigarettes you had secretly stashed there unbeknownst to wanda. it was very unlike you—the smoking—but it was a nasty habit you picked up during your rebellious teen years. wanda had been trying to break you of it for months now. she’d gone as far as taking it upon herself to search through your things every time you two escaped to a town over to be together. any time she found a pack or a lone cigarette, she would throw it away claiming that her “sweet baby” shouldn’t be doing such a thing as “harming her own lungs.”

you hadn’t actually smoked one in awhile, but knowing you were coming here today, you stashed a couple in case you became overstimulated, which you now were. it didn’t help that you were already in a sour mood upon arriving here. wanda was all smiles and encouragement, happy and chipper to spend time with you. you weren’t sure why you were in such a poor mood, especially since you got to be with her, but at the moment you couldn’t care less about the series of events that may have drove you into this corner.

you pat your other breast, seeking the lighter but it wasn’t there. shit, you must’ve left it in your overnight bag or maybe in wanda’s car. with the cigarette hanging limply from your lips, you stupidly look around you as if there would be something around you to light it.

as you step out from behind the circus-like tent, you scan the small herds of people surrounding the area. there were so many families here along with couples and groups of young teens out with their friends. you hated being in places that were overly crowded. stepping out into this scene only made you feel worse and just when you were about to step back to your makeshift hiding place, you spot wanda walking rather briskly over to you. she was clutching onto the straps of her purse with two hands, her eyes intent on you as she made her way seamlessly through the crowds to get to you. normally, the look on her face would make you cower instantly, but you were in no mood to give into her dominating presence.

the cigarette that had been dangling from your lips was now stuffed back into your bra, your hands shoving themselves into the pockets of your t-shirt dress.

“now just where the hell did you think you were going? i’ve been looking all over for you, (y/n).” her southern accent bled into her words, which under different circumstances you loved, but right now that fact didn’t matter.

you cross your arms over your chest, taking a step around her as you attempt to walk away to blend in with the other crowds of people. she easily falls into step next to you, looking at you expectantly.

“i just needed a minute,” you say in a monotone voice, looking straight forward as you walk. clearly, she’s not sufficed with your answer. you count three, four, five steps before you feel her arm wrap around your bicep, her fingers curling tightly but not painfully as she pulls you back to the side, ducking around the corner of a carnival game tent.

“what is going on with you? you’ve been nothing but a fuss pot ever since i picked you up.” she uses her thumb and forefinger to hold your chin in place as you look up at her, her other hand still holding onto your arm. you feel your tough facade begin to crack, fissures seeping into your mind that made you want to cave and pout like the little girl you felt like right now.

“mm’fine wanda,” you mumble, looking at her pretty blonde cropped hair instead of her eyes. when you were in a mood like this, her eyes were the most dangerous place to look. those green orbs wielded more power than any god you’d ever been told to believe in.

“(y/n). look at me.” she commands, her fingers gripping more firmly onto your chin. she gently shakes your head back and forth until she gets the desired reaction and your eyes meet hers. you immediately feel a little more wobbly where you stand, her eyes all but piercing into your soul. “do not lie to me. ever. do you hear me little miss? i know something is going on with you.”

your bottom lip quivers slightly, jutting out into a pout and wanda watches your eyes widen and go soft around the edges, mimicking that of a guilty puppy. you hold eye contact with her for another second and all of a sudden the invisible cracks in your mind remold themselves. you harshly turn your head to the side, freeing your chin from her grasp. you didn’t want to give into her just yet.

“don’t wanna talk about it. let’s just go have some fun or whatever the fuck it is you’re supposed to do in this godforsaken shit show.”

you turn from her, already out in the midst of groups of other people before wanda can think about grabbing you again. from her place at the side of the tent, she watches you walk away, exhaling slowly to maintain her nerve before she catches up to you.

for the next hour or so, you go from tent to tent, playing the rigged games and forcing yourself to “have fun.” after being unkind to a couple of the attendants and giving her attitude for the last while, wanda was at her wits end. she had no idea what was going on with you and no matter how gently or forcibly she probed, you refused to tell her what was wrong.

it wasn’t until your final throw at a bean bag toss that she decided enough was enough. after hearing your “this was never my idea to be here” comment under your breath, she grabs your arm again, all but dragging you out of the carnival. there was a group of teenagers who stopped to watch you as you huffed, kicked and dragged your feet along as wanda pulled you wordlessly to the parking lot, but neither you nor she could care about that now.

she rummages through her purse with her free hand, angrily retrieving her keys at last as she unlocks the car. she opens the passenger back seat door, all but shoving you inside of it before shutting the door firmly behind you. she hurries to the other side, coming into the backseat with you.

a thick silence falls over the car, her eyes burning holes into the side of your face as you had yet to look at her. wanda wasn’t sure what to say—which approach would best get through to you in this moment.

“i’m going to give you one more opportunity to explain yourself before you’re in even bigger trouble than you already are.” her voice was artificially calm. anyone else would perceive her now as perfectly composed, but you knew better. you picked up on all the subtleties—the slight shake in her voice at the end of her sentence and her hands twitching ever so slightly. you had really pushed her today and you knew a punishment was inevitable. as you sat there in the silence of the car, you realized that subconsciously you were making today enormously difficult on purpose to earn her harsher hand. you were normally such a good girl for her, but today was about pushing buttons—and you really were overstimulated from everything at the carnival.

you glance at her from your peripheral vision, inhaling slowly as you begin to fidget with your hands in your lap. wanda’s normally impeccable patience had gone thin though, and when another beat of silence passed over the two of you, she was done waiting. she reaches over the middle seat, pulling your body till it was flush with hers. she lifts your legs over her lap, bending them in a slight awkward angle from being pressed against the side of the door. a gentle hand lifts your face, her fingers smoothing some of the frizz from your hair before she tucks the strands behind your ear.

“what happened to my sweet girl, hmm?” this time her voice was genuine and warm, her facial expression softening. she knew that paired with her sugary sweet sweetness and being wrapped up in her arms, you would melt. you could never deny the fact that regardless of your mood, you always wanted to be her good girl and to please her.

your pout from earlier came back full force as you began to feel a pang of guilt growing in your tummy. you had been unfair to her today, giving her attitude for no reason and denying her comfort at every turn. she deserved better.

your nimble fingers find the collar of her blouse and you fidget with the material absentmindedly. your brows pull together like you’re thinking hard about something as you stare at a random spot on her chest.

“i’m sorry, wanda,” you mumble, the edge of a whine in your tone. she strokes the back of your head, beginning to gently coax you into that fuzzy headspace you both love so much.

“well i sure do appreciate that, but an apology’s not what i asked for, is it?” you shake your head at her question, curling further into yourself to feel smaller in her lap. she easily adjusted her arm to support the new distribution of your weight while the hand on her other arm continued to caress the side of your cheek.

it was almost pathetic how easily you gave in to her touch. it had barely been a couple of minutes and you were already feeling much more compliant.

“i…it was just loud and bright,” you state simply in a small voice, offering no further explanation. you hoped she didn’t need clarification since you didn’t feel much like talking at the moment.

“the carnival? was my darling girl feeling a little overstimulated?” she asks sympathetically, tapping her finger against your cheek so you know to look up at her. your eyes slowly drag up her neck and her face until you’re looking in her eyes again. you nod once, your pout becoming impossibly deeper. she hums, a hand at the back of your head as she presses her lips against your forehead, planting a kiss there.

“i’m sorry sugar, mommy didn’t know. you have to tell me these things, honey. as much as i’d like to, i can’t read your mind.” she kisses your temple, watching your shoulders shrug in response to her comment. you wished she could read your mind. there were so many things you knew you needed to communicate to her that your stubborn refusal prohibited you from sharing.

“i really am sorry you were uncomfortable today sweetheart, that was never my intention. now i know for next time, right?” she pauses for a moment, noticing your line of sight was on your fingers that were still fiddling with her top.

“however, you did fail to communicate your needs with me despite the fact that i tried to get you to talk to me. on top of that, you were snotty and rude to not only me, but a few of the workers at the fair. you understand that is unacceptable, right?” she watches your head nod a few times, your eyes glazing over and she knows that right now, you’re her compliant little girl and you’ve already accepted your consequences.

“mommy’s gonna have to punish you. you understand why now, don’t you baby?” you nod once, but still clutch onto the collar of her shirt, your thighs pressing together as the word “punishment” passes through her lips. it doesn’t go unnoticed by wanda, but she chooses not to acknowledge it for now.

wanda gently pries your fingers from her shirt, maneuvering the both of you until you were face down across her lap. she had one of her legs crossed over the other so your lower back had a nice arch, your ass sitting higher in the air. she lifts your dress up over your rear, bunching the material at the middle of your back.

she hums to herself, her mouth watering slightly at the sight of your cute ass framed by your cheeky baby blue lace underwear.

“oh baby doll, you have the cutest, spankable cheeks, you know that?” the first teasing smack lands on your right cheek, already warming the skin. you groan at her question, feeling your panties dampen and the urge to press your thighs more firmly together.

“i’m going to spank you 40 times. i want you to count and say ‘i’m sorry mommy,’ for each spank. understood?” her hand caresses over the skin she just smacked, soothing the slight sting.

“yes mommy,” you reply, your voice muffled as your face was half pressed into the car seat. wanda purrs at your obedience, giving your ass cheek a squeeze. “good girl,” she murmurs, still rubbing your backside.

the first real smack lands on your left cheek, your body jerking slightly from the force. “one, i’m sorry mommy.” you breath out. you weren’t expecting her to start out so strong.

another blow. “two, i’m sorry mommy.” she measured the hit, ensuring she hit the same spot twice.

smack. “three, i’m sorry mommy.” you bite your lip, your core beginning to tingle.

smack. “four, i’m sorry mommy.” you feel your arousal continuing to wet your panties.

smack. “ffive—i’m sorry mommy!” you press your thighs together, only relieving a bit of the ache that was rapidly growing between your legs.

you hadn’t taken an inordinate amount of spankings, but you experienced enough that you knew that on average, the pain just surpassed the pleasure after about 18 hits. by the sixteenth one, your small pitiful whimpers turned to whines, and by the twenty-fifth the first low sob tore through your throat. tears were beginning to prick your eyes, threatening to roll down your pink tinged cheeks.

wanda pauses after the thirtieth spank, unable to ignore your increasingly squirmy little body. she could see your legs pressed firmly together, your body desperately trying to grind down onto her thighs. she tuts, tapping the back of your thigh in a silent command to open your legs. you feel a singular finger trace down your slit through your panties, the sticky feeling causing you to groan.

“oh sweetheart, look at you—all wet and sticky..” she trails off, her finger purposely rubbing up against your clit before she swipes back down to your opening. “you like it when mommy hurts you, don’t you?” it was mostly a rhetorical question, your arousal being evidence enough.

she brings her arousal coated finger up to your lips, which you eagerly suck into your mouth. you hum around the digit, swirling your tongue around it as any last rational thoughts you had turn to static.

“such a naughty baby. good little girls aren’t supposed to get so aroused by a punishment.” she pulls her finger from your mouth, a small popping noise emitting from the action.

“mommy,” you whimper pathetically, not quite sure exactly what you were begging for. you were past thinking clearly.

“shhh, i know honey. just 10 more spanks and then i’ll be done,” she runs a soothing hand down your back and then presses it down in the middle of your lower back. her last 10 smacks are just as harsh if not more than the other 30. by the end, the tears that been building in your eyes were spilling down your cheeks and you begin sniffling as your nose starts to run.

her hand carefully rubs across your now red, inflamed skin. she marvels at the sight. it was a bit sadistic, but she loved seeing the aftermath of a good spanking.

“mmm, i love it when you cry for me, baby.” her other hand finds its way into your hair, her fingernails gently scratching against your scalp. you melt into her affection, your body laying limply across her lap.

“let’s see how much more sticky sweetness is between these legs now, hmm?” she readjusts her hold on you, her leg propping you upright so your back is nice and arched again. her finger returns to your panties, finding them completely soaked through and ruined. you hear her chuckle amusedly before she presses the soiled material up against your opening, her fingertip just barely pushing into your hole. you let out shrill whine, your hips backing up into her touch. she shushes you, sliding your panties to the side and you all but jump as her finger grazes up against your unclothed pussy. she gathers the wetness there, drawing a line up and down your slit, taunting you. you bite down hard on your bottom lip, your hips wriggling under her touch.

“hush now… let me see.. ohhh, my listen to that.” you moan, her index finger sliding tantalizingly slow inside of you. you can hear your pussy squelching as she does so, your walls desperately clamping down around her digit. she wiggles it as far as it’ll go, her knuckles brushing against your clit. she does an experimental bend of her finger, your body jerking in response as she stimulates your g-spot.

just when you start to finally feel some relief, she slowly withdraws her finger. as she pulls it away, a string of arousal clings to her finger, connecting your went cunt to her before she pulls it far enough away that it disappears. she was going to have you clean it off, but the sight was too delicious to resist. she sucks her own finger into her mouth, cleaning off the evidence of your wetness. you swear you hear a small purr of pleasure coming from her, but you couldn’t be sure with your heart pounding in your ears.

she smooths your dress back over your ass, grabbing onto your waist and twisting you so you were now sitting facing her upright on her lap. she reaches up and holds the side of your face, a twinge of a smile on her lips as she notices your dismayed expression. she pouts sympathetically, stroking your cheek with her thumb.

“what did we learn today, (y/n)?” you don’t stop pouting as you answer. “to not be mean and to communicate my feelings..” you mumble, your expression solemn and wounded as if you had just been told the saddest thing. it turned out one of the most tragic things was having wanda tease you and then leave you high and dry.

“that’s right, sweetness. good job.” she smiles warmly, kissing your nose affectionately.

“you did so good for me, sugar. mommy’s very proud of you.” she smiles encouragingly, and despite how mopey you felt about being denied an orgasm, you glow under her praise and affection. you purse your lips together as you try to smother a smile threatening to cross your lips. wanda chuckles at this, playfully tapping her finger against your nose.

“i see that smile, little girl. you can’t fool me.” she attacks the side of your face with kisses, a wide smile now erupting across your face as you giggle gleefully.

“you’re gonna make my face all soggy—quit it!” you protest lightly, half heartedly pushing against her chest to put some space between your faces. wanda makes a mock gasp.

“i beg your pardon, missy? i can give you all the kisses i want!” she growls playfully through gritted teeth before she plants more sloppy kisses all over your face. you squeal and giggle, finding that moving your face around did nothing but give her new places to kiss.

you were so happy and content in your little wanda bubble. you never wanted it to pop.

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