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senipsenipsenip · 7 days ago

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Dipper sighed as he felt another pen crack between his molars. Great, Mabel was definitely going to make fun of him for the ink stains on his mouth when she got home. He could hear it now, Wow Dipper, I knew you were a nerd, but I didn't know if I left you alone you'd start kissing your homework.

Dipper sighed and threw the pen into the trash with the other three he'd already snapped. It wasn't fair - he spent the whole summer fighting monsters and saving the world, why did he have to learn the stupid Great Depression's effect on American Literature or whatever. He glanced at the calendar. Only a little over a month until winter break. Grunkle Stan and Great Uncle Ford had promised to try and make it back to Gravity Falls so they could host the twins for the holidays. Sure, they had only been on the open ocean for a couple of months, but the two of them decided it would probably be best to start with a shorter trip then build up from there. After all, despite their age, they were still rookies. Besides, there was nothing on the sea that would help jog Stan's memory other than Great Uncle Ford's questioning. Being on home soil would hopefully bring back some more of Stan's forgotten past.

Dipper's phone pinged. He frowned. That shouldn't happen. He had his phone on Do Not Disturb so he could finish studying. The only alerts that would still pass through were texts from Mabel, Grunkle Stan, or Great Uncle Ford. Mabel never texted when she was out with her friends, and it's not like there was a lot of cell reception out at sea. Curiosity peaked, Dipper unlocked his phone.

It was Stan. More specifically, Stan's boots on the deck of the boat. It was a video, and before Dipper could press play, three little dots appeared indicating Stan was typing. Dipper sat back and waited. It usually took Grunkle Stan awhile to type out his messages. He always blamed the too small phone screen, saying it wasn't designed for fat fingers and cataracts.

What does this mean?

Dipper frowned at the message. Was he asking Dipper to decode a message? Why wouldn't he just ask Great Uncle Ford? Unless...oh gosh was Great Uncle Ford in danger? Did they need help? Why wouldn't he call? Dipper turned his volume up as high as he could, pressing play with a sweaty thumb.

The video started on Stan's boots, but quickly shifted as Stan started pointing his phone at something on the...oh. The wooden planks Dipper had seen Stan standing on weren't the planks of the boat deck, they were floorboards for an outdoor patio. A patio that was full of people speaking...some sort of language. Something Nordic maybe. Geez, weren't they freezing? Maybe not because...Nordic.

The camera was pointed at the door separating the bar from the patio, specifically, the top right corner where a set of speakers had been hung. Oh, Dipper realized. He's trying to record the music. Dipper held the phone to his ear. Maybe Stan was trying to figure out a secret code in the lyrics? He was pretty sure he had told Stan all about that day when they saved Wendy from Robbie's horrible music. This sounded a lot different than Robbie's music though. It was way more upbeat and -

...comin' through, that girl is youuuu...

"Oh my God," Dipper groaned, letting his head fall to his desk. Of course. Of course that's what would be playing. Of course a Nordic bar would be blasting Icelandic Pop Sensation BABBA.

Now Stan's message made sense. He had heard the song and felt "The Itching". That's what Stan had taken to calling it when he could feel himself starting to remember something, but needed a little extra help making it make sense. Stan said it was because it felt like an itching in the back of his brain. Dipper was pretty sure he called it that because if he announced he had "an itch that needs scratching" it was always a fifty-fifty toss up as to whether he needed help with a memory or literally wanted someone to help him scratch himself. Sometimes it was both. Either away, Stan got a kick out of how many times he could trick Ford.

Dipper grimaced. Maybe he could get out of this one. After all, Stan doesn't need all of his memories...right? He could forget some of the more embarrassing ones.

It's a song by BABBA. He typed. It's called "Disco Girl." There. The fact Stan's going to know that Dipper can identify the song is embarrassing enough, he doesn't need to remember The Incident.

The three dots appeared. Then disappeared. Then appeared again.

Oh. OK.

Dipper sat his phone down. There. That was that. He didn't need to feel guilty about how Stan somehow managed to sound disappointed with two words. Besides, he had homework to do. He was a busy guy. Yep, not gonna think about it.

His phone pinged.

Made me think of you.

Okay. Starting to feel guilty now. Dipper sighed. Even over text message, he could hear the tone of voice Stan would say it in. That tone where he would say something like it was just a careless aside so that you wouldn't think he was taking something seriously, so then you wouldn't take it seriously, so that he could tell himself you didn't take it seriously because you thought he wasn't taking it seriously and not because you don't take him seriously or care about him seriously or -

Dipper frowned. Maybe these English classes were doing something after all. Apparently all of that fictional character analysis made him better at analyzing his uncle.

He could picture Stan now, having already sat his phone face-down on the table, wondering why there was some memory of Dipper that Dipper didn't want to share with him. Oh man, he probably thinks Dipper's tired of helping out with his memories or something.

That's because you heard me sing it once. Dipper wrote. That should be enough to jog Stan's memory a bit.

The three dots. Heard or saw?

Dipper groaned. Maybe Stan was just messing with him. He probably remembered the whole thing and was just trying to get Dipper to regale him with the story again so he could laugh at him.

Whatever. Dipper would be the bigger man.

Both. You walked in on me after I got out of the shower. You really need to learn how to knock, man.

There. That should be enough. Hopefully Stan and Ford will get back on the boat and see a giant Kraken or something equally as awesome so Stan forgets all about this conversation.

He exited out of their message thread and opened up his thread with Great Uncle Ford. Whatever "clever" joke Stan wanted to make at his expense would probably take forever to write. Might as well take advantage of the good cell service while he knows they have it.

Hey! Are you with Grunkle Stan?

Three bubbled appeared. Dipper didn't have to wait long. Ford was a surprisingly quick texter.

Yes, we're exploring the town together. I take it you're the one he's been texting?

Yeah. He had an itch. Nothing crazy, just a song he heard this summer he couldn't remember the name of. Okay, he probably could have told Ford. Especially after learning about the whole Kiss-Bot incident, Dipper's BABBA incident definitely didn't come close. But c'mon, wasn't Dipper allowed to have at least one family member who thought he had a shred of dignity left?

He smiled. Probably not. After all, he was a Pines.

Ah, that explains his behavior then.

Dipper frowned. Behavior? Is he okay?

Oh yes, of course. My apologies if my language was alarming, Stanley says I tend to word things "dramatically". He's simply trying to ask the table next to us if there are any music stores nearby. I didn't realize children still used physical CDs.

Wait. Stan is looking for a music store? Why specifically mention children? Dipper typed slowly, wording his questions as discretely as he could.

Oh? Is Stan looking for a CD?

The bubbles appeared. Then disappeared. Dipper frowned. They reappeared.

Disregard my earlier message.

Oh they were definitely up to something. Two could play at that game. You don't live with a professional con man all summer and not learn how to get what you want out of someone.

Okay. Hey, Grunkle Stan showed me a bit of the patio. Can you send a video too? Would be interested in seeing where you are.

Of course. One moment, please.

Dipper sat his phone on his desk while he waited. Realistically, he should be working on his homework while he waits. It's not like he'll be able to focus on anything when Mabel gets home. But, it's not like he can focus on anything now, mind buzzing as much as it is.

After three minutes and fifty-three seconds, Dipper's phone pinged. He grinned and pressed play.

The video started pointing toward the other side of the patio. Made sense, Ford was probably sitting across from Stan at their table. Stan was nowhere to be seen though. He must have stood up to speak to the table next to him. Dipper could see townsfolk sat at their tables in heavy winter coats, hats, scarves, and gloves. Everyone was wrapped up in their own conversations, and while Ford panned slowly across the porch, Dipper recognized another BABBA song playing faintly in the background. The owner must have had a playlist going. There were fairy lights strung up across the porch, street lamps helping illuminate the night. Wherever they were must have been in the middle of some small town, probably no bigger than Gravity Falls.

"Ford!" Grunkle Stan's voice rang out. Dipper quickly held the phone up to his ear again. There was a loud metallic grating sound - probably Grunkle Stan pulling out his chair to sit down again.

"You're never gonna believe it!" Stan sounded excited about something.

"A moment, please, Stan," Ford murmured.

"We don't have to go to the music store! Those people didn't speak English but the guy who runs this place does a little. That internet translator did the rest."

"Google, Stanley."

"Whatever. Anyway, he said he'd sell me the CD he's playing right now when he closes up for the night."

"That's great Stan. Hold on a moment I'm just trying to film this for -"

"Dipper's gonna love this! I think. It's sort of coming back to me. I think that memory he helped me with, I think..."

Stan trailed off. Dipper pulled the phone away from his ear to see if the video had ended, but Ford was still dutifully scanning their surroundings with the camera. It looked like Ford had stood up, holding the phone high above his head to show Dipper the coastline beyond the porch railings.

"I think I told him I was proud of him that day." Stan's confession was quiet. But Stan quiet. Which meant loud enough to be picked up on Ford's camera.

Ford's movement stopped. "You did? Why?"

"Well. I sorta did. I think. He was tryna prove he was 'a man' or whatever, so I told him he was. He stood up for what was right even though no one else agreed with him. And then I think I uh...ripped my shirt off and showed him my chest hair. Maybe I should get him to fill in some of those blanks there."

Ford laughed. "I don't remember it taking much to get you to take your shirt off."

"I'm a gross, old man now, Ford. We'd all prefer if it stayed on."

Ford hummed. "So how much is the CD?"

"Eh, he wants like 500 Kroner."

"Seems overpriced."

"Well it's gonna be free."

Ford sighed. "Stanley..."

"What?" Stan cried indignantly. "He's obviously tryna scam me anyway! Besides, it's worth it. Dipper will love it! It's a CD of a band he likes from Iceland stolen from Iceland. Trust me it'll be worth the -"

All sound stopped. The video had ended. Dipper sat at his desk, a small smile on his face. He had been so worried about Stan remembering one of his more embarrassing moments but...Stan remembered it as a day that Dipper made him proud. Huh.

He exited the video and saw that Ford had sent him another message only a minute after sending the video.

Please disregard that video. Terrible audio quality, I have to retake it.

As Dipper began to type a reply, he saw three bubbles appear. He waited.

I'm going to infer that the delay in your response is because you didn't see my message in time and already viewed the video. My apologies, I forget how strong the audio quality of phone cameras are.

Three more bubbles.

Please act surprised.

Ah well. Dipper had omitted the truth a couple of times tonight. What was one more? He started to type.

Sorry, I was working on my homework while I waited for an answer. Guess I got distracted. Should I not watch the video?

Three bubbles. Ah, I see. Yes, that would be for the best. I'll take another video for you now. In the meantime, keep up the good work!

Dipper sat his phone back down on the table and picked up another pen. Might as well do a little more homework so he wasn't totally lying. But first...

He opened his message thread with Stan.

Need help with anything else?

Nope. Go to bed.

Dipper laughed. There it was. The curmudgeon was back, trying to hide the fact he was a big softie underneath.

It's earlier here you know. If anyone should be in bed, it should be you.

I'm old. I do what I want.

Okay old man. Love you!

Sap.

Dipper snorted and sat down his phone. A moment later, it pinged again. He glanced at the screen and saw it was another message from Stan. It was only two words, but they knocked together like flint and steel, lighting something warm in Dipper's chest.

You too.

AN: A continuation of this! I kind of just want to write a bunch of one shots going with this. Some ideas are brewing!

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the-sin-hole · 9 days ago

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fuckin' brat

stanxreader, 5.9k words NSFW 18+ it's smut time again baby!!!

fem!reader, vaginal fingering, PIV sex, handcuffs, spanking + choking, multiple orgasms, general brat taming activities, this was supposed to be 2.5k words lord help meeeeeee

+++

A poor night’s sleep. Five tour buses at once. Some kid spilling a giant milkshake in the showroom. One tourist hitting on you. Several other tourists giving you multiple kinds of shit. Another kid spilling an entire half-gallon of lemonade in the gift shop. The twins accidentally breaking the Sascrotch during an impromptu game of “Throw The Dodgeball As Hard As Humanly Possible”. These things are all bearing down on you as the day ends. You’ve never been so happy to watch Stan flip the Open sign to Closed. You were starting to snap at customers in the final hour, something far outside your norm, and you could practically hear Stan’s teeth grinding as the last tourist left the shop.

You’re in his office now, counting out the tills as fast as possible while he nails the underpants back on the Sascrotch. He doesn’t normally let you do this, but today’s an exception considering all the extra closing tasks you’ll have to knock out before he’ll let you call it a day. As you count you hear Mabel, Dipper, Soos, and Wendy all rush out of the gift shop, followed by Stan calling after them, frustrated, asking what’s so important they have to skip out on work. Mabel rambles an answer on her way out and you can hear Stan’s aggravated grunt as the door slams. You sigh. It’s going to take even longer to clean up just the two of you. You neatly organize the tills, tuck the carefully counted profits into a large envelope and slide it into a drawer on your right. You stack the two tills and heave yourself out of his chair, mentally crafting a plan to blow through all the cleaning tasks as quickly as possible. You only make it a couple feet in front of his desk before it all comes crashing down.

When you collide with him it sends it all flying, including the two of you, bouncing against each other and falling back on your asses amongst scattered change and bills.

If you were both being honest, you’re both at fault. You were still looking down at the tills as you walked to the door, and he was focused on straightening a handful of dollar bills from the tip jar as he entered. But neither of you are in the headspace to give grace right now.

“You have GOT to be kidding me,” you exclaim angrily, not specifically at him, but rather to the powers that be.

“It’s not my fault you don’t watch where you’re goin’!” Stan immediately retorts, assuming your exclamation was pointed, and you can feel your irritation bubbling.

“Watch where I’m going? You’ve got eyes too, buddy. Unless those cataracts of yours are as bad as you try to convince the cops they are.”

“Yeah, they’re bad alright, and the only thing worse is your situational awareness.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, standing slowly as he does too. “Just say you’re sorry and we can move on!”

“I should say I’m sorry? Sorry but that ain’t gonna happen when this isn’t my fault. And it also wouldn’t happen even if it was.” He adopts an aggressive stance, one that you match by balling your fists.

“There you go, acting like I’m some sort of prissy bitch, when all I ever do is call you out on your shit!”

“I ain’t acting nothing! You’ve got an attitude, princess.”

Anger flares.

“I told you not to call me that! And I don’t have a fucking attitude! I just don’t bow down to everything you say!”

He steps forward.

“Yeah, and things would be a lot easier around here if you did.”

You stand your ground.

“You’re just a stubborn old man, and you can’t handle a stubborn woman? Embarrassing.”

He steps forward again. He’s only couple feet away now, trying to loom over you.

“The only thing embarrassing here is you throwing a fit!”

More anger flares.

“You started this shit! You know what your problem is? You can’t handle any pushback! As soon as anyone questions you—” you jab a finger into his chest to emphasize your point, tilt your face up to him, and hit him with your best glare, “—you just—”

He grabs your left wrist, yanking your hand away from his chest, cutting you off.

“You know your problem? I know the real reason you’re such a brat. You’re under sexed!”

You blink.

“Excuse me?!”

“You heard me! I ain’t stupid, sweetheart” —the term of endearment, however sarcastically said, sends something through you— “I see the way you look at some of the tourists that run through here.” He unconsciously squeezes your wrist. “I see the way you look at me.”

A shock runs through your spine.

Fuck. You’ve been that obvious?

“Sorry for stealing a glance every now and then, boss. You’re a gross old man, you should be familiar with the practice,” you say with as flippant an expression as you can muster, though you can’t stop the slight heat creeping up your neck.

His eyes dip down to your body quickly before jumping back up to your eyes. He hasn’t let go of your wrist. You’re starting to feel something too close to arousal for your liking… You have to get out of here before you do something extreme.

“That’s it. I quit.” You try to wrench your wrist away but he doesn’t let you. A pulse of warmth throbs within you at his strong grip, and you curse the heat you can feel now rising to your cheeks.

“You don’t get to quit. Cus I’m firing you. In thirty minutes.” His face is serious, but something in his voice sounds… eager?

“Seriously? Thirty more minutes? You that desperate for my help?”

“Once those thirty minutes are up, you can walk outta here scot-free. I’ll even give ya your pay on the spot.”

You’re trying to read his expression. It’s not working- you have no idea what he’s thinking. You don’t really want to quit- you just wanted him to admit he needed you. But maybe after a half hour you’ll both have calmed down enough to renege. Still, you’re not going to back down that easy. Not yet. You’re still riding your wave of frustration, needing the outlet.

“Fine. You get me for thirty more minutes. As long as after that I don’t have to work for your overbearing ass ever again, I’m satisfied.”

His eyes glint. He’s still holding your wrist.

“I don’t think you are satisfied. You got anything you wanna say to me before you’re no longer my employee?”

“No.”

“Anything you wanna do?”

“No,” you repeat, more firmly this time, more to yourself than him, keeping unwavering eye contact. The glint in his eyes sharpens.

“You’re real good at sayin’ no, aren’t you?”

“Better than I am at saying yes.”

“Heh. Cute. We’ll see about that.”

He pulls your arm back, forcing you to step closer to him. His left hand grabs your jaw from underneath, four fingers on one side and a thumb on the other, holding you firm. He slams his lips into yours. The sudden unexpected contact has your nerves alight, your heart jumping in your chest, and an undeniable throb running through you.

He steps forward, pushing you back to his desk, pressing his hips hard against yours and making you hop up on the desk to escape the pressure. He slides between your legs. You try to scooch back to allow more room but the hand on your wrist finally leaves to find the small of your back and pull you back to the edge, against his groin. His lips are aggressive against yours, as if he’s still trying to fight you wordlessly.

You break for air. His hand remains on your jaw. You place your palms behind you on the desk, lean back on them so you can look him in the eye. “You’re just trying to get out of paying me, aren’t you? Hoping I’ll forget?”

He bears down on you. Your chests are nearly pressed together.

“Oh sugar,” he starts before leaning in. You reflexively lean back further but his hand moves from your jaw to the back of your head, grabbing a fistful of hair to hold you in place. He tilts your head to the left, exposing your neck. His lips find your ear and he veritably growls,

“I’ll fuck you so hard you won’t remember your own name.”

A shiver runs through you. You like the sound of that. But you’re not going to make it easy for him.

“I should sue you for sexual harassment, old man.”

He bites your earlobe, the hand on the small of your back running down to grab your hip and squeeze.

“You can tell me to stop aaaaany second now, princess. But I think we both know you’re too desperate to do that.”

“Oh fuck off,” you say, irritation at the demeaning nickname flaring, “If I were desperate I would have taken that cowboy up on his offer to take me for a ride this morning. I’m just here to make sure I get my money,” you lie, in an effort to rile him up even more.

The hand on your hip moves up under your shirt, up to your breast. Despite the throb of arousal that runs through you when he grabs your breast, you continue.

“I’m sure this won’t take too much time… how long can an old man like you last anyway?”

He finds your nipple and pinches, bites your earlobe again. Your back arches.

“Can’t wait for you to find out.”

Before you can retort, he suddenly moves you. His hand moves to your sternum and he presses, guiding you down to lay longways on his desk. He throws his other arm out in one large swipe to get rid of the various papers, pens, and knicknackery on the desk and allow you space. You swing your legs up on the desk and the lamp tumbles to the floor. Fully sprawled on his desk now, he looms over your right side, taking in the look of surprise and fluster on your face with great pleasure. You quickly shake it off, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

“Let’s get this over with then,” you say, reaching a hand out to his crotch. He intercepts it, then grabs your other wrist, bringing it into his left hand and pinning them to the desk over your head.

“Oh no, it ain’t time yet sugar,” he says, and his right hand trails down to your shorts. He’s already unbuttoning them, unzipping them, and diving beneath your underwear when he says,

“I wanna hear you beg for it.”

You fight the throb that runs through you.

“Tch, you haven’t even done anything yet—”

His finger finds your clit and presses hard. You squirm despite yourself, the touch sending hot flashes of pleasure through your body. He releases the pressure for just a moment before applying it again, just as harsh, just as exhilarating. He repeats the cycle, each time making your body seize.

“Haven’t you ever- nngh- heard of a delicate touch?”

“I can tell you’re one of those who doesn’t like a delicate touch.”

You can’t deny it to yourself- you’re already desperately aroused. But you don’t need to let him know that.

“You don’t know shit about me.”

“You can stop tryna act up” —suddenly his finger leaves your clit, and he thrusts two large fingers inside of your wet pussy— “proof’s right here.”

You gasp when the fingers enter you, arch your back at the sudden penetration. You’re ready for his fingers to work inside you when just as fast as they entered you, they leave, and he’s right back to work on your increasingly sensitive clit.

“Nngh- stop wasting my fucking time, already. I’m getting bored.”

“You got a real smart mouth, you know that?”

“Yeah, and you’re gonna have to work- nngh- way harder than that to shut it up.”

His hand leaves your clit again. He shoves his still-wet fingers into your mouth. He massages your tongue, smirks down at you, enjoying how quickly red spreads across your face.

“I know you’re easier than that, sugar.”

You clench your thighs together, getting more aroused every second. Then his fingers dip too deep, traveling into your throat, making you gag. You strain against the hand holding you by the wrists.

“Heh, didn’t expect you to have a gag reflex. Don’t worry, we’ll take care of that.”

You take the first two thrusts in your throat, horny enough that you almost let yourself fully submit to him. Almost. When he goes in for a third you bite down on the fingers that are now knuckle deep in your throat. Stan removes his hand quickly. You manage to break free of his grasp and you sit up, close to his face. Through your arousal and red hot face you manage to pant out,

“I’m not gonna just lie there and take it.”

You expect to find displeasure on his face. To the contrary, Stan looks pleasantly surprised at your defiance.

“Yeah, you will.”

He grabs the back of your head again and kisses you, this time shoving his tongue inside your mouth. His tongue works against yours in a few large strokes before he moves you yet again. He breaks the kiss and twists your head to the left, other hand forcing your right hip in the same direction, flipping you over, and before you know it he’s pressed your left cheek to the hard wood of the desk and your body is now fully prone in front of him. Holding you down by your neck with his left hand he uses his right to reach under you and grab your groin. With a mighty lift he hoists your hips up so you’re on your knees, ass in the air. With that same hand he yanks your shorts down, your underwear coming down with them, down your thighs, exposing you. Before you can fully comprehend the new position he’s put you in, he smacks your ass. You let out a short “ah!”- both at the stinging contact and the rush of arousal that makes your pussy throb immediately after.

“You gonna apologize for biting, princess?”

You’re stunned by the sudden escalation. You definitely don’t want to apologize. And you definitely do want more of what you just got.

“Not ‘til you apologize for how weak that was-”

He smacks your ass again, a little harder this time, eliciting another short high moan. He doesn’t give you a chance to speak before laying two more on you, each stinging more than the last, the hand on your neck squeezing while he does it. The sting is almost too much, as is the intense yearning in your pussy for any sort of stimulation as a result of it.

“How about now?” Your face is turned away from him, but you can hear the satisfaction in his voice as he asks.

You’re breathing heavy, panting, head swirling with arousal, hands clenched in fists on the desk. He lays another one on you as you don’t respond, and another deep throb of desperation runs through your cunt.

“Aaah— S-sorry”

Another smack. Another throb.

“Sorry who?”

You know what he wants to hear. You’ve refused to call him this since your first day working at the Shack, rolling your eyes whenever he’d urged you to do so. You grit your teeth. “Sorry… sir.”

“Atta girl,” he replies deep and low, and you’re almost embarrassed at the shot of excitement those two words induce.

He runs a hand against your ass, getting dangerously close to your cunt.

“Just a few little spanks and you’re dripping back here, huh?”

“Are you gonna do something about that or just keep wasting my time?”

He lays a gentle tap against your swollen cunt that spurs a sharp groan in your throat. He chuckles.

“I’m gonna keep wasting your time. I’m having too much fun hearin’ you make all those noises. And you can act tough all you want, but I can see you are too.”

He gropes your ass a few times, each grasp teasing your desperate pussy. You can feel your thighs tensing with arousal, and the low hum you ca hear him making in his throat tells you he can too.

“I think I’m gonna need both my hands for this next part though.”

The hand on your neck leaves you, and you actually miss the pressure it had on you.

“Don’t move a muscle, or else. That ass of yours is red enough as it is.”

He walks around behind you, hand trailing from one side of your ass to the other, gently grazing your pussy as it does. He pulls open a drawer, grabs something that clinks in his hand. You identify the sound instantly.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me-” you start to raise up on your palms on the desk so you can turn to him and properly mock what you know is coming. He swiftly walks back around the desk and pushes your upper body back down onto the hardwood, pressing your left cheek back down onto the desk. He takes your wrists and places them in a pair of cold steel handcuffs behind your back.

He smacks your ass again. You moan.

“Told ya not to move, sweetheart.”

“G-great, so you got me handcuffed like I’m in a bad porn. What’s next, you gonna pretend to be the pizza boy?”

He goes back to his spot next to you on the desk. His left hand grabs a fistful of hair. It doesn’t pull, just rests against your scalp so you’re aware that he could so do whenever he wanted. His right hand runs from the underside of your left thigh, up to your ass, before finally letting the tips of his fingers run over your wet cunt.

“Why would I wanna roleplay when I already got you right where I want ya?”

He shoves two fingers inside you again, and you let out a whine at the penetration your pussy was so desperate for. But this time he doesn’t stop, he keeps thrusting his fingers hard and fast, pressing downwards and dragging against your g-spot. You can’t help the long moans it draws out of you.

“You sound like you haven’t been handled like this in years. Too much for ya?” he asks from behind you, and you can hear the smirk in his voice.

“H-hardly. I was j-ust thinking how small they f-feel— aaah!”

He shoves a third inside without hesitation. Your moans get louder.

“If this is how you act with just a few fingers in ya I can’t wait to see how you cry when you get the real deal.”

You can’t even respond to that one. You’re building up to a climax and trying to hold back. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction of making you come so fast. Unfortunately for you, he’s perceptive.

“Speaking of real deal… it sounds like you’re real close.”

His fingers leave you and you immediately miss their presence. You take in a gasp of air to catch your breath when he takes your thighs and pulls, bringing your hips to meet the short edge of the desk, then turns you over. The edge of the desk digs into your sore ass, the handcuffs on your wrists dig into your lower back. The discomfort only bolsters your excitement. He looks down at you, red and sweating through your shirt, with great satisfaction. Now that you’re facing him you can see he’s starting to get red too, heat creeping up his neck. Your eyes find his. He’s looking at you like he wants to devour you.

He pulls your shorts and underwear off your legs the rest of the way, letting them drop to the floor.

He places one hand on your left hip while the other shoves three fingers right back inside you, continuing their relentless pace. You’re still trying to hold back, but it’s no use. After just a few thrusts you feel it about to crash over you. You reflexively turn your head as it mounts.

“Look at me.”

You barely hear him say it.

The hand on your hip raises to your jaw. It grips hard, turns your face up to his. He leans over you so he can better look at your face. That look of hunger in his eyes is inescapable, and it pushes you over the edge.

The orgasm hits you like a tidal wave. Your hips buck, your head reflexively tries to snap up as the pleasure rolls up your spine, but the strong hand on your jaw keeps it in place, keeps your eyes with Stan’s as he drinks up your face in the throes of ecstasy.

You come down. Stan’s fingers don’t stop, only slow, and the continued sensation is almost overwhelming.

Stan chuckles as he sees your face screwed up, desperate over the stimulation.

“I’m not hearin’ a thank you.”

You’re barely holding onto coherent thought.

“Th-thank you.”

“Thank you who?”

“Thank you, asshole”

He picks the speed of his fingers back up and you let out a cry. He chuckles again.

“Still got some fight in ya, huh? I like it. Let’s see how much longer that lasts.”

His fingers leave you again as he straightens up. You let your head loll back, swallow deep breaths at the break from sensory overload. He’s still standing between your legs at the edge of the desk, but you hear him reach a hand back into a drawer. You manage to raise your head enough to see him tear a condom from a roll. You swallow.

“W-wow, how long have those been g-gathering dust in there?”

“Got these about six weeks ago.”

It takes you a second to realize the timing.

“Don’t tell me…”

He chuckles as he unbuttons his pants.

“You were so busy lookin’ at me you didn’t see me returning the favor. Even in the interview. You really gotta work on that subtlety.”

You hear him unzip. You try to raise your head up further to watch him pull it out, heart working overtime to manage the come down from your orgasm in addition to a new wave of arousal at the prospect of him sticking his cock inside you. Stan notices; he reaches up and grabs your jaw again, forcing your head back against the hardwood, unable to look at anything other than the ceiling.

Another bolt of arousal shoots through you, blooming through your spent cunt and making it throb again. Hand still on your jaw, his other hand rolls the condom on. He places the head of his cock at your entrance.

“You think you can take it, princess?”

The demeaning nickname you hate so much makes even more aroused.

“Oh please,” you respond, trying to keep your voice steady despite the intense excitement, “there’s no way it’s that big.”

He enters you slowly. You realize instantly you’re going to swallow your words. You can’t hold back the high moans that escape as his head pushes into you, his girth stretching you far wider than his fingers had just a minute ago. He keeps going, still holding your jaw so you can’t see how much further he has to go. Every second the moans in your throat get higher, more urgent. With every inch that enters you you’re sure that’s it, his hips are going to meet yours, but he keeps pushing in. You start babbling “oh my god” over and over again, completely beyond yourself at the sensation. After another inch you can finally feel his hips about to meet yours. His free hand grabs your left thigh and lifts it, throwing your knee over his shoulder so he can go even deeper, and for a moment you think you might not be able to take it. Finally, he’s to the hilt, and you’re panting like you’re trying to run a marathon in between loose, weak “ohmygod”s.

Stan finally lets go of your jaw and lets his hand trail down to your chest. He pulls your shirt up so he can watch your breasts heave as you pant. His hand continues to trail downward, caressing your torso as it goes. His thumb finds your clit and presses just as hard as he did before, forcing a strangled “ahng!” from your throat. Your hips try to buck, but Stan uses his grip on the thigh thrown over his shoulder to keep you in place, keep you impaled on his cock. He doesn’t thrust, just assaults your clit with friction and pressure to watch you twitch and writhe.

“When was the last time you had dick this good, princess? When was the last time someone hit you this deep?”

You don’t answer at first, still reeling. He presses even harder on your clit and you answer in a desperate whine.

“I d-don’t know! I don’t remember! Probably- nngh- never!”

You look at him, standing at the edge of the desk, balls deep inside you, one large hand gripping your thigh and another working your clit. He’s got a cocky grin on his face as he takes you in. He’s also red, starting to break into a sweat, not quite panting yet but certainly breathing heavily. You’ve fully recovered from your orgasm and the initial shockwave of his large cock, and your arousal is building up in earnest again. He releases your clit. He reaches up, undoes his tie and the first few buttons of his shirt, gold chain and chest hair in full view, and you can’t help but stare. His grin somehow gets more cocky.

“I’ll make sure you remember this.”

He pulls his hips back slowly, pulling more high moans from your throat. He pushes back in, faster this time, and you cry out at the feeling of his girth stretching your cunt, his length hitting you so deeply. Heat flushes to your face as your blood pumps. Again he pauses, watching you pant, letting out small “hah”s as you struggle to adjust.

“I told you I’d have you cryin’ on my cock.”

He pulls back again at a steady pace. After a moan you manage to eke out,

“Just c-cus it’s big d-doesn’t mean you know how to u-use it-”

He slams into you hard, making you cry out again.

“Oh I know how to use it. And I’m gonna use it to fuck the brat right outta you, sweetheart.”

He fucks you fast, watching your body tense and writhe in front of him, watching you strain against the handcuffs under you. His eyes travel up to your face, screwed up again in pleasure and overwhelming sensation, mouth open as it lets out a stream of high moans. He can tell you’re getting close again.

“Look at you, ain’t even been five minutes and you’re drunk on my cock. You’re takin’ it good, too, takin’ the whole thing for me. How’s it feel?”

His talking you through it has you beside yourself because he's right, it's almost embarrassing how close he has you after such a short amount of time, you're just so pent up, not just from the frustrating day, but from the weeks of daydreaming about Stan, wondering what he'd feel like inside you, and now that you're here it's almost too much. Another orgasm is about to shoot through you. Before you completely lose the ability to talk, you stutter out a lie,

“I-it’s fine.”

“You deny it all you want with that mouth of yours but the cunt squeezin’ around my cock says somethin’ different.”

That does it. With a few broken sobs you come, and it’s hot, sharp, rolling through you, making you jerk against him. He holds you down so your bucking hips can’t interfere with his thrusts, the hand on your thigh gripping it hard and pinning it flush against his torso, his other hand pinning your hip. You feel like putty in his grip, mind swirling at the intensity of the orgasm wracking your body. You come down and he slows the tempo, again not stopping entirely, just relenting enough for you to catch your breath. Once he sees you stabilize he reduces his rhythm to painfully slow, gradually pulling all the way out before pushing all the way back in.

“You done bein’ a fuckin’ brat yet? Or am I gonna have to pound it outta you even harder?”

“Nngh- d-don’t give y-yourself a heart attack.” You’re almost slurring your words as you struggle through the response.

He chuckles. You look at him, still thrusting his hips into yours. While the grip on your thigh remains, the hand pinning your hip to the table is now wandering, feeling up your torso, your waist, your breasts. Beads of sweat line his brow and his cheeks are are fully flushed red. The cocky grin is still there but underlined with something more ravenous. The newly slowed thrusts are drawing whines out from your throat, embarrassingly high and desperate sounding, but you can’t help it. He’s keeping you on the edge of overstimulation. Your pussy is sensitive from your climaxes and you’re fighting to recover.

“You need to be careful, sugar. I got you right where I want you. You’re not exactly in a position to fight back, y’know.”

“D-don’t -nngh- need to be. I know you’re about to bust, I’m in the -nngh- home stretch.”

He grabs your breast, gropes it hard. He lets out another chuckle.

“Who says I’m letting you go after I’m done with my first round?”

The threat sends a fresh wave of arousal through you.

“O-oh yeah? And what do you think -nngh- you’re gonna do to me?”

“I’ve been meaning to fuck that smart mouth.” Another wave of arousal. They’re hotter now, feeling like lava pooling in your lower half. He’s keeping the same arduously slow pace, still pulling out entirely with each thrust, and you can hear the slick of your come with each reentry.

His hand wanders up from your breast. It travels up your sternum, brushing past your clavicle before finding your throat. He rests his thumb on one side and lets his fingers fall in line on the other.

“I bet I’d like what you say a lot more with my cock down your throat.”

He squeezes gently, applying light pressure to the arteries under your jaw. You gasp- you immediately feel lightheaded. Your brain was already struggling to maintain coherent thought and is now fogged over, barely able to register any thoughts other than how good his fat cock feels sliding in and out of you.

“There we go,” Stan growls, and your cunt throbs on his cock. “Tell me how it feels.”

“N-not bad.”

He applies a little more pressure. You gasp again.

“G-good.”

“That’s what I thought.”

He watches you closely as more lava-hot arousal builds within you. The feeling of thrust after thrust after thrust emphasized by the fingers around your throat and the restraint of the cuffs and his grip is all starting to drive you insane. Before long you feel burning hot, feverish, an almost primal lust blooming within you. You start weakly trying to get him to increase his speed with your hips, but he doesn’t let you. He keeps his torturously slow pace.

“P-pick it up old man-”

He pulls out entirely and keeps his head at your entrance. You feel so empty when he leaves you, you want his cock back inside you immediately, no, actually, you need it, and you try to push your hips to lead it back to your pussy but he holds you in place.

“You want my cock? I’m gonna need to hear you beg for it.” He fully releases the pressure on your throat, giving you the ability to speak unhindered.

“P-please, I want your cock,” you mumble.

“Didn’t quite hear ya.”

“Please, I want your cock,” you begrudgingly say louder.

“Who’re you talking to?”

You let out a noise halfway between an exasperated sigh and a moan. “Please, I want your cock, sir.”

He nestles the head of your cock between your folds, pushing in just an inch before pulling back. You whine.

“That doesn’t sound like beggin’ to me.”

“Please fuck me, god, I just want you to fuck me sir!”

He slides the first couple inches in but goes no further, looking down at you expectantly.

“Please sir, I’m desperate for your cock, I’ll do anything if you just fuck me again, I’ll shut up, I’ll be good, I’ll—”

He slams his hips into you and you yelp. He doesn’t fuck you as fast this time. Instead he slams into you hard and rolls his hips, mercilessly pounding every inch of your cunt. You’re yowling, babbling ‘thank you’s and ‘oh god’s and arching your back as an unbearable pressure builds in your body, and as he fucks you he’s telling you how good you are for taking his cock, how he knew he could shut that bratty mouth up, how next time you talk back to him he’s gonna bend you over the counter in the gift shop and fuck you however he wants, how pretty you look crying on his cock, and oh god you are crying, the intense stimulation after two strong orgasms making a few tears well up and spill over, and as you get closer your babbling dies in your throat, you’re only able to make small strangled “ah”s, pathetic little noises that make Stan fuck you even harder, and-

-fuck-

you’re coming. It’s sharp, less like a wave and more like a dam breaking. Your body is wracked by powerful throbs making you seize against Stan’s relentless hips, but finally as he watches you struggle on his cock for the second time, he lets himself finish too, giving you a few final pounds before plunging deep and remaining there as he groans.

The two of you come down together. He’s panting heavily, you’re all but whimpering. He takes you in. You’re a sweaty mess blinking tears out of your eyes and gasping for air. He pulls out of you slowly, watches you react one final time to his cock. He lets your thigh slide down off his shoulder. He takes the condom off and pitches it. He reaches back into the drawer.

He grabs you by the shoulders and gently hauls your upper body into a sitting position. You fall forward into his chest, barely able to support yourself after all that exertion. He reaches a hand down behind you and unlocks the cuffs. Your arms fall down and find purchase pressing against the same edge of the desk digging into your thighs. He stands there, letting you pant together as you lean into him, and rubs small circles into your lower back where the cuffs had dug in and made impressions in your skin. You nuzzle against his chest for a minute letting him do so, feeling fuzzy and rubbery in the afterglow. After that minute passes, you lean back and look up at him.

“Well, good news Stan. You’ve convinced me to not quit.”

He chuckles.

“Good. Cus your thirty minutes were just about up.”

You smile, and he looks down at you with a smile far softer than you expected. It sends a different kind of warmth through you. Stan, seeming to become self-conscious of his intimate gaze, clears his throat.

“I’ll keep ya around. But you better stay in line, sweetheart, otherwise I might have to call you into my office to, uh, discuss your performance. I’m big on employee discipline, y’know.”

You smile wider and nuzzle back into his chest as he continues working out the impressions.

“Oh yeah. I’ll be real careful.”

#i love when i start writing out small chunks of a piece and then i black out and a week later i'm in 6k words deep #stanley pines #stanley pines x reader #sinposts #sinwrites #smut

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