Lessons For A Genius - Lesson One
Sub!Spencer Reid x Dom!Fem!Reader
Lesson One: Slick Silicone
(aka the one with the pocket pussy)
Summary:
What could a certified genius possibly have to learn from someone like you? Turns out - a hell of a lot.
And the real ‘teaching’ started when your graphic explanations of slang toward Spencer for the sheer shock value of it turned into something a lot more… hands on.
Sub!Spencer Reid x (BAU)Dom!Fem!Reader. Co-Workers to Friends with Benefits. Smut. Set during early Season 2.
Word Count: 17,200
Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link
THIS IS A RE-POST. This is a fic from my old blog (a blog that was shadowbanned, forcing me to move). This fic is not stolen, it is completely mine, and I am just re-posting it to help people find my new blog, and to make my masterlist complete when I post new fics for this fandom.
Detailed warnings and author’s notes below the cut.
Warnings: A lot of general stuff pertaining to an average Criminal Minds episode - mentions of death, mentions of murder/killing, mentions of possible trauma from being in the BAU, somewhat graphic descriptions of a dismembered corpse; this is not a casefic but there is a small section where Reid, Morgan, and the reader are at a crime scene and details of a case are mentioned (not a case in the canon, one that I made up); the reader sticks her hand inside of a corpse to get something out of it for the purpose of discovering evidence; making inappropriate jokes about dead bodies - the reader character uses dark humour to cope with the trauma of the BAU job; Spencer doesn’t understand sexual slang and the reader has to explain it to him (warning for slightly awkward moments because of this?); the reader calls Spencer ‘honey’ (could be considered condescending); use of Y/N and L/N (meaning Your Last Name); Reid struggling with his sexuality/Reid has some internal biphobia; mentions of anal sex/anal stimulation but it does not take place during the fic; passing mentions of Reid being bullied in school; mentions of past Spencer x Lila Archer (in this fic, she blew him while he was working that case but they didn’t keep contact when he left LA); mentions of the reader going to a sex shop; mentions of the reader dressing feminine/wearing lingerie; mention of Spencer being taller than the reader - but I think he would be taller than most people.
This is primarily a smut fic; there is sub/dom dynamics - Reid is submissive and much more inexperienced (he is 'learning’ about sex from the reader character, but he is not completely a virgin, he has had one singular sexual experience before); the reader is dominant and much more experienced sexually; the reader has a vagina and uses she/her pronouns; mentions of Reid being 'innocent’ (it’s more so that sex is an under-researched area of his life and he is too shy to explore it by himself); undertones of corruption kink; use of a sex toy - the reader gifts Spencer a fleshlight/pocket pussy and they use it together; hand kink - the reader admires Spencer’s hands; undertones of corruption kink - the reader is enjoying 'corrupting’ Spencer and showing him these things for the first time; BDSM/kink negotiations, possibly under-negotiated kink; the reader teaches Spencer BDSM terms.
Everything in this fic is fully consensual and safe for the characters; Spencer calls the reader 'Miss’; mentions of Spencer cumming inside the reader (does not actually happen during the fic); passing mentions of Spencer being insecure (about his sexual skills and his looks); Spencer is very obedient; the reader calls Spencer: 'good boy’, 'baby’, 'pretty boy’, 'dumb baby’; most of this fic is Spencer being fucked with a fleshlight while it’s controlled by the reader; heavy praise kink (from the reader toward Spencer); light bondage - Spencer’s hands are bound behind his back; edging - orgasm delay/orgasm denial (from the reader toward Spencer); the reader makes Spencer ask permission to cum; some size kink - big dick Spencer is too big to fully fit inside of a fleshlight; Spencer does a lot of begging in this; slight crying kink - the reader thinks Spencer looks pretty when he cries from being overwhelmed/edged a lot; degradation kink, dumbification kink, reader is condescending towards Spencer; some overstimulation toward the end; slight cum kink - Spencer cums all over himself and the reader enjoys it. I believe that’s it. There is descriptions of aftercare!
A/N: fair warning - a lot of this fic is build up/sexual tension (my speciality). and there is a long section before the smut where the reader is teaching Spencer BDSM terms and teaching him how to pick a safeword, but I think it’s interesting and I enjoyed writing it. and it’s worth the pay-off imo.
...
Being an FBI Profiler meant there were some rather… strange parts to your day.
Things that were once in a lifetime tragedies for other people that had become intensely casual routines for you. Things like - looking at gruesome crime scene photos, seeing a dead body in person, facing down a killer.
You liked to thank your nihilism and dark sense of humor for keeping you sane, working a job that would have driven others insane in such a short amount of time. You also liked to distance yourself from the darkness of it, and preferred to think of the people you helped, rather than the people you couldn’t.
Especially during moments like this, when you were exiting the car at yet another crime scene. It was a dump sight for the body of another young woman, adding to the trail of victims this newest killer was challenging the BAU with.
“Just like all the others… the limbs and jaw are missing. Eyes gouged out. This guy has one hell of a compulsion.” Morgan commented, looking down at the body… or rather, the torso, with intense disdain.
“I would say it’s less of a compulsion, and more of a fractured sense of reality.” Reid commented. “It’s likely that the UnSub sees these corpses as pieces of art. It’s why he was frustrated when the first four weren’t found soon enough, that they weren’t discovered when they were… ‘fresh’, so to speak. That’s why he started leaving the clues for law enforcement. He wants his ‘art’ to be seen in a timely manner.”
“Couldn’t the guy just take up painting or something?” You replied, looking at the body, still slightly shocked by how brutal the whole thing was.
“Looks like we got another one.” Morgan pointed out, crouching down beside the body, motioning toward a large gash between the victim’s ribs. “Another clue, that is.”
For the last three victims, the UnSub had cut a hole into their torso and left some kind of object inside. Something small that hinted at where the next victim would be found.
Morgan looked over his shoulder at you, as though waiting for you to make a move. When you turned to Reid, he was looking over the rim of his coffee cup at you with very expectant eyes, the thick lenses of his glasses making his stare all the more imposing.
You quickly realized that both of the men wanted you to stick your hand inside the corpse and pull out whatever was inside.
“What?” You chuckled. “You want me to do it? Is it just cause you think I’m the gross one?”
Your reputation for having a strong stomach preceded you.
You were shy or squeamish about anything, socially or functionally, and the team often took advantage of this. They would throw you into an interrogation with a suspect who made crude comments and you would end up grossing the man out with even more graphic words. They would have you sifting through a suspect’s trash looking for receipts or pieces of evidence and sometimes you would laugh at the things you found, rather than gagging at the smell.
It was rare that anyone on the team saw you flinch.
“The body’s been sittin’ out here in the sun for three hours.” Morgan said, glancing from the corpse up to the bright sky overhead. “I’m not doin’ it.”
You chanced another look at Reid. The small smirk he wore told you that he wouldn’t have to give some lame excuse about how he was squeamish and had just eaten in order for you to truly give in.
“Ugh, fine.” You said.
You naturally met Reid’s hand when he came out of his pocket with a blue latex glove for you to wear. You put it on, switching places with Morgan so you could kneel down beside the body. You put your ungloved hand on the ground to support yourself, and then inserted your fingers into the cavity - the hole between the ribs that the UnSub had made.
Luckily, you didn’t have to reach too far inside before you felt something. Though, because of the slight decomposition of the body and the bloat from the sun beating down, you did have some trouble getting a good grip on the item to pull it out.
Naturally, your discomfort with the situation caused your dark sense of humor to act up. You needed the comfort and you barely thought about the odd joke before it left your lips.
“God, it’s like a fucking fleshlight in here,” You groaned, disgusted laced through your voice as you finally hooked your fingers around the object and managed to pull it out of the wound.
Morgan chuckled at the joke and held out an evidence bag for you (which he had gotten from one of the uniformed officers on the scene). Before any of you could truly analyze the item that you had just pulled out of the body cavity, a voice trampled over your thoughts as you dropped the item into the plastic bag.
“Don’t you mean flashlight?” Reid piped up, so eager to correct you, as always. “Also, how is that comparable?”
You looked up at Reid with awe.
For a moment, you wondered if he was fucking with you.
But the look of genuine confusion plastered across his features - something so rare for the certified genius. That look made you realize that he genuinely didn’t know what a fleshlight was. He had no idea what you were talking about.
Your insides tingled with glee at this realization.
Morgan sighed when he saw the look that you and Reid exchanged. You, wearing filthy, smug dawning and Reid painted entirely with cluelessness. He hated where the exchange was going, knowing how shameless you always were in conversation. He quickly tried to distract from the interaction.
“So, this looks like a horseshoe-” Morgan said, motionting to the object in the evidence bag.
“No, I meant fleshlight.” You said, quickly trampling over Morgan’s words. “F-L-E-S-H-L-I-G-H-T. Fleshlight. Do you not know what that means?”
This caused Morgan to sigh sharply and shake his head.
You took off the glove with a snap and tossed it away, happy to be rid of the smell.
You stood back to your full height, entirely intrigued by Reid’s continued confusion.
“It could represent luck. Maybe a casino?” Morgan tried in vain to distract the two of you from the conversation once again.
Maybe he was trying to preserve Reid’s naive innocence, something you were determined to dismantle piece by piece because it gave you intense joy to see the shock cross his features whenever you explained outrageous concepts to him. The time you had explained to him what a ‘blumpkin’ was, you hadn’t stopped laughing for hours when he could hardly believe you.
“The nearest casino is 45.6 miles away, it’s far outside the UnSub’s geographical comfort zone.” Reid said, quickly dismissing Morgan’s thread of conversation before he turned back to you. “And no, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Is it a coroner’s term?”
You let out a harsh snort at this. You had gotten a degree in mortuary science before you became a Profiler (likely something to thank for your strong stomach). But it was your other area of ‘study’ that made you an expert in this.
“No, honey, it’s not.” You quickly answered.
There was a slight flash through his features when you called him ‘honey’. You weren’t sure if it was shock or displeasure, but either way he quickly straightened his face and went back to intrigue. He stared at you with his full attention, ready for you to explain it to him. He was ready to learn and catalog the information in that big brain of his.
It was something you found entirely endearing.
“L/N, please, don’t-” Morgan begged you not to explain it any further, once again wanting to keep Reid in the dark.
Mostly, he wanted to save himself from the embarrassment of witnessing the interaction between the two of you.
“What?” You chuckled sharply, turning to Morgan. “There are some things the genius still needs to learn, apparently.”
Reid rolled his eyes at this. He didn’t want to admit that it was true.
“The other night I had to explain to him what the distinct difference between a Butt Dial and a Booty Call is,” You continued, giving an example to prove your point. “Because he walked into the bullpen and loudly announced to JJ and Elle that he was sorry that he booty called me at 3am and woke me up.”
Morgan choked on his laughter when you explained this.
“Dude, seriously?” He posed, raising a brow at Reid.
“I fell asleep with my phone in my back pocket when I was reading Voltaire.” Reid explained, a heavy blush falling over his cheeks. “I thought - I thought -”
“Okay, playboy, I’m gonna go call Hotch about this,” Morgan announced, motioning toward the evidence bag. “And I’m gonna pretend not to hear anything that’s happening over here.”
Morgan walked off to the car, and Reid turned to you with a defeated look cast over his features.
“I do appreciate when you explain these kinds of things to me.” He told you softly. “It… it saves me from future embarrassment.”
As much as you enjoyed the shock factor of watching Spencer’s innocence melt away when you explained such crude things so abruptly - that was also part of your motivation. You knew that as much as he was a genius - had stunning intellect on paper, could recite statistics by heart - he didn’t have the kind of social skills or social knowledge that you did.
“Do you really wanna know what I was talking about before?” You posed, giving him one last chance to preserve that innocence.
He nodded, ever thirsty to chase an unanswered question.
You held back a giggle.
“A fleshlight is also called a pocket pussy.” You told him, launching into a quick, efficient explanation for his confusion so that he could have his question answered.
“What?” He gaped, having the most beautifully dumb look on his face as the words left his lips.
“It’s a sex toy.” You told him.
His face scrunched even further into bewilderment, and you knew that now he was simply jumping through mental hoops, wondering what kind of sex toy a ‘pocket pussy’ could be. So you decided to make your explanation a bit more detailed.
“It’s a…” You thought for a moment about how to explain it to someone who had never seen one before. “A kind of tube? Usually in the shape of a large flashlight, and on the inside there’s a silicone vagina, or sometimes a silicone anus, and it’s meant to simulate intercourse the same way that a dildo can simulate intercourse by going into a vagina. Or an anus, of course. You do know what a dildo is, right?”
Reid quickly nodded his head - that bright flush even fresher on his cheeks as a deep thoughtfulness came over his features.
“Yeah. Y-yeah. I got it.” He quickly stuttered out, assuring you that he now fully understood.
“Cool.” You said, walking by him and thumping him on the shoulder for reassurance that the conversation was over.
“Wait, is that the hand that you - inside? You haven’t washed your hands yet!”
“I wore a glove, Reid!”
…
Turns out the horseshoe had a unique stamping on it from a closed down metalworks business. Four thousand square feet of abandoned building, perfect for the UnSub to make his ‘art’ inside. He had intended for the clue to lead the team to a barn where he had staged the next corpse, but you broke into the building and caught him in the act of drugging another woman before she was killed.
The state of the building was horrifying - the limbs of the other victims strewn about, a lot of them put on display like trophies.
Overall, you would call it a good day. There was a life saved.
On the way back home, Spencer could barely make eye contact with you while on the jet. His eyes constantly flickered away from you with purpose whenever you looked near him. The two of you played Gin Rummy and you had to remind Reid to take his turn several times. There was even one point where he won a hand and you had to tell him so - he claimed that he had ‘forgotten the rules’. As if.
You couldn’t figure out why he was acting so strangely. You wanted to chalk it up to the harshness of the case, the graphic nature of things - but you both had seen much worse. The ‘fleshlight’ conversation was so minimal on your radar, such a shameless moment for you. It was something you considered so entirely regular as an interaction on the rollercoaster of all things bizarre that was Spencer Reid. You were barely even thinking about it.
You had no clue that it was racing through his mind at top speed as he remembered your words from earlier that day.
…
Spencer couldn’t stop thinking about it.
He wasn’t sure why it had never occurred to him before. Sure, there were plenty of things he didn’t know, like you said. Plenty of things he was curious about, but far too shy to look up. Plenty of things he didn’t want to get caught looking up out of fear of embarrassment.
He knew some things about sex toys. He knew far more about the history of sex toys than he did about modern sex toys. He could tell you that Cleopatra had owned one of the first rudimentary vibrators, made from the shell of a hollowed out gourd filled with bees. But if he walked into a sex shop today, he probably wouldn’t know what half the stuff was or what it was used for.
When he thought about what you had told him, it only made sense.
Of course there would be some kind of solution, some kind of ‘opposite’ to a silicone penis used to simulate sex inside a vagina.
(“Or an anus, of course.”)
Those words flying out of your mouth so casually had sent Reid’s imagination flying into an array of interesting directions. Of course he knew that plenty of men liked to partake in anal stimulation for pleasure. There were no particular statistics about this that came to mind, because it was never something he had directly read a study about.
It was something Reid had always been curious about, because he did know that prostate stimulation was often considered to be the height of pleasure for men.
(Spencer’s attraction to men was a can of worms that he would leave untouched and attend to another day. The innate warmth that he felt when he looked at Morgan was something he always felt the need to suppress. Even though it was quite literally impossible for him, he was still trying to forget the involuntary reaction he had when he looked at a gay porn magazine that his classmates had left in his locker as a joke when he was thirteen.)
For the most part, his mind was hyper-fixating on your explanation of that object he had never even heard of before. The antithesis of a dildo, the supposed inversion of the male genitalia in a more portable form.
A pocket pussy.
You talked about it so casually, explained it so perfectly. You spoke about it in such a way that it left Reid’s mind whirring, wondering what such an object could specifically look like. Of course, he knew what a vagina looked like. In theory.
Yes, he was a virgin.
He actually wondered if he fit that definition exactly. He knew that most people considered virginity to be a milestone passed once they had participated in full blown intercourse for the first time. But he wondered if what he had done would ‘count’ as losing his virginity. It was something he would have asked you, would have wanted your social colloquial opinion on - if he wasn’t so embarrassed about being a virgin in the first place. (Or maybe being a virgin, he still wasn’t too sure.)
He had been touched by a woman before, but only once.
After he and Lila Archer had climbed out of the pool, before the team had arrived, she had kissed him on the mouth again and continued to thank him for his ‘bravery’ and ongoing protection in a very interesting way. And before he could truly process it or stop her (due to the intense unprofessionalism) - his pants were down and her mouth was on him. Because of his inexperience, it had lasted a whopping three minutes. (According to Spencer’s impeccable memory and the fact that he had been glancing between the top of her head and a clock on the wall, worried they would get caught, he knew for a fact that it had been three minutes and fourteen seconds to be exact.)
Which, at the time, was lucky. Because as she licked off her lips and looked up at him through her lashes, Morgan called out his name through the house, finally looking for them. He had rushed to straighten his clothes and look normal - but because Morgan caught them both looking incredibly guilty, he had hounded Reid for days about the ‘details’. Reid gave him none.
But that had been his only experience with a woman sexually. His only experience with anybody, for that matter. So any of his knowledge about vaginas was based entirely on pictures; scientific diagrams, and renaissance art. He was never gutsy enough to buy porn for himself.
He tried to imagine what a silicone vagina would look like - how one would fit molded into a plastic tube. He tried to imagine how it would feel to stick his penis into one.
Of course, he had plenty of experience with masturbation.
His instincts had taken over at the right age for that. Even though his brain was always advanced well beyond his years, puberty kicked in just the same. He had been a hormonal teenager just like everyone else. (Of course, he was the only one going to CalTech getting a PhD in chemistry, but he was right on track in terms of his physical development.)
And naturally, his imagination often ran away with him whenever he had the time alone to masturbate now that he was an adult.
One of the things he thought about most often when he masturbated was you.
The fact that you were so self-assured, so confident, the fact that nothing could shake you. It always made Spencer imagine you pinning him down, taking control of him, kissing him hard. He had orgasmed in his hand a great many nights, imagining you on top of him - imagining what you might feel like around him, on top of him, riding him.
He found it intensely difficult to pay attention to Gin Rummy when all of these thoughts were running through his mind.
…
You barely remembered the fleshlight conversation at all. Barely remembered it, that is, until you were on your way to work the next morning.
There was a small fender bender between two cars on your normal route and the traffic build-up around it caused you to deviate. Because of that, you just happened to drive by your favorite sex shop. The sign caught your eye, and you figured: you were already late. There was a great coffee place across the street. You could grab yourself a latte if you parked.
You were surprised that a sex shop would be open so early in the morning, but you were glad that you made the stop. Usually, you would have taken your time to browse. You liked to see what was new, especially in terms of costumes and lingerie.
You didn’t have a long term partner to impress, but sometimes you did like to strut around the house in lingerie (in your fleeting free time away from the BAU) just to make yourself feel good. That, and it was always fun to see the look on a date’s face when you gave the sensual promise of ‘slipping into something more comfortable’ and then came back in a latex nurse’s outfit and six inch red heels.
Unfortunately, today you were low on time and very set on what you wanted.
You went straight to the wall of toys and zoned in on the selection of fleshlights. You picked out the most ‘basic’ one you could find. You didn’t want to assume Spencer’s preferences, but you picked one that resembled a pussy rather than an ass.
It was on the expensive side, but you knew the look on Spencer’s face when you gave it to him would more than pay it off in your mind. That and imagining him using it, knowing that it would be far too tempting of a gift. He would never be brave enough to buy something like this for himself and once it was in his hands when he was alone, he would be far too curious not to use it - yeah, it was definitely worth it.
You walked past a rack of lube on your way to the cash register and realized that it would be rude to give this kind of gift without a bottle of lube in accompaniment. So you bought a bottle of your favorite water based lubricant. An unscented one, knowing that Spencer was a no-frills kind of guy, even though you usually bought a strawberry scented one for yourself.
You got the items put in a discreet, labelless black bag and then got yourself a latte. And you couldn’t help but to grab an almond croissant for Spencer because when you spotted it in the pantry case, you did think of him.
Of course, when you walked into the office (the black bag safely in the backseat of your car) Hotch just happened to be walking by with a handful of files on the way to his office.
“You’re late.” He commented, not looking up from the paper he was reading.
“Traffic was hell.” You fired back.
“Yeah, and I’m sure that latte just magically transported into your hand.” He said, his tone blank and unreadable as usual. “I want all your reports about the case on my desk by tonight.”
Usually, there was a grace period of two or three days to get the reports about a case done. But clearly, Hotch didn’t like your tardiness. You considered it worth it.
“Yes sir.” You mumbled under your breath.
He didn’t say anything else after that, simply retreated off to his office.
You figured he couldn’t be that mad. He knew the job could be an emotional strain, and it was okay to deviate from such a hard routine every now and then. Especially because now you were going to be spending the next five hours writing out all the gory details of how you had pulled a horseshoe out of a woman’s dead torso in order to catch a killer.
You walked over to your desk, which was right in front of Reid’s, and placed down the paper bag with the croissant on top of one of his files. This easily distracted him from whatever he had been writing - most likely one of his reports about the case.
“Almond croissant,” You said, placing down your coffee cup and placing your purse underneath your desk. “Your favorite, right?”
“It is.” He grinned at you. “Thank you.”
It was that sweet little smile, those big kind eyes staring up at you through the lenses of his glasses like you hung the stars in the sky - it was that bit of sweetness that got you through writing your reports. So yeah, it probably wasn’t just dark humor and nihilism that helped you keep your sanity. It had a lot to do with the pretty boy you got to sit across from every single day.
You worked on your reports. And yeah, you took too many coffee breaks, including a long lunch break with Elle, Penelope, and JJ where they insisted on discussing your ‘crush’ on Spencer.
You denied it.
Elle profiled your lie (which you insisted was not a lie) and JJ laughed about it. Penelope started humming wedding music under her breath and you threatened to spit in her salad.
By the time you actually got the reports done, it was late. Everyone else had gone home - except for Spencer, who was still sitting at his desk across from you with his lamp on and an air of quiet concentration. When you got finished with the last report, you slammed the file closed and let out a sigh, leaning back in your chair and running your hands harshly over your face.
“Finally done?” Spencer’s delicate voice inquired, peeking up over the median between the desks to look at you.
“Yes, finally.” You grinned back at him. “You done too?”
You couldn’t help but to ask. Spencer was always incredibly quick with his reports, simply by the nature of the speed at which he could read and compose writing. You wondered what exactly he had been doing at his desk for the past few hours. Perhaps he had been looking through old case files, possibly unsolved ones, thinking up new leads while there was no pressure looming over his brilliant mind.
“I finished up at three o’clock.” He said.
You glanced at your watch - it was getting close to nine. That made you entirely curious about what he had been doing, sitting at his desk for that many hours. What had he felt the need to stay so late for?
“So what has been keeping you busy this late into the night, Doctor?” You asked.
“I was reading.” He told you honestly, motioning toward a thick novel that he had in his hands.
“How many books do you have over there?” You chuckled.
Again, you knew that because of the intense speed he was capable of reading at, it would take a lot of books to keep him busy.
“Just one.” He answered, easily catching your eye and maintaining eye contact.
Both of you knew what this meant.
For a while, he had been rereading through old case files. But, not wanting to haunt himself with those gory details, he had chosen instead to simply sit at his desk and reread the same book over and over again because he had wanted to keep you company.
What you didn’t know was that his mind had still been heavily plagued by thoughts of your sex toy discussion from the other day, so he wasn’t exactly reading at lightning speed as per usual. Instead - letting his imagination wander, thinking about where he would get a silicone vagina if he wanted to buy one and if a toy would feel as good as yours. What yours would feel like around his penis if he ever got the minuscule chance to actually experience it.
“The Hollow Men by T. S. Eliot - but um, I was waiting for you, actually.” Spencer announced, making his intentions entirely clear, just in case you hadn’t already figured it out. “I was hoping maybe we could get dinner together? We haven’t - we haven’t hung out in a while.”
He seemed nervous asking you this, even though you were always enthusiastic in welcoming his invitations to spend time together outside of work.
Last month, he had brought you to a conservatory housing and actively breeding endangered species of butterflies in order to save the populations from extinction. It was a building full of plant life, an indoor jungle filled with the beautiful insects that took your breath away. Listening to him ramble on about the different species and their latin names, the patterns on their wings and their purpose of camouflage - it had been one of the most pleasant, most romantic non-dates of your life.
You didn’t understand why others on the team acted like his presence, especially his ramblings, could be a bother.
“Sounds good.” You told him with a smile.
He smiled back at you fondly.
“I have to drop these on Hotch’s desk and then we can go.” You explained as you stood up and began gathering your files. “But uh, I don’t really feel like going out? I’m way more in the mood for take-out and a comfy couch.”
“There’s a good Chinese place a few minutes away from my apartment.” He told you. “If you consider my couch comfortable?”
You resisted the urge to tell him that you loved his apartment because the smell of books penetrated every inch of it; the scent of yellowing, worn paper living there like the comfort of a library. But you held that back - choosing instead to say something else.
“The comfiest,” You grinned at him as you walked by with the armful of files.
…
You weren’t entirely sure when you were going to give the ‘gifts’ to Spencer.
A large part of you thought that it would be best to have an out, in case he got embarrassed, or hated it. Most likely, you would wait until after dinner and hand him the bag on your way out without telling him what it was. Which was why you shoved the black plastic bag holding the lube and the sex toy into your oversized purse while Spencer was distracted with carrying the takeout bag toward his apartment.
One thing that had not surprised you about Spencer when you found it out: he didn’t have basic cable. Part of you was surprised that someone who was so pro-book and anti-technology even had a TV at all. But apparently he had some favorites that he couldn’t stand to miss out on, like Doctor Who and Star Wars. So he had a DVD player hooked up to a very small TV that was banished off to a corner of his living room. A device that was dwarfed by bookcases, which did make a lot of sense.
He said that he spent so much time reading and away at work, traveling for cases that it just didn’t make sense to pay for cable. He said that he could get his mental enrichment from reading, and his nerdy pleasure from rewatching his old favorites, and apparently he got the news from listening to the radio. The radio. Sometimes you wondered if he was Benjamin Button - an old man who had somehow gotten into the body of a twenty five year old. It truly mystified you.
Either way, it meant that you spent dinner with season three of Friends on as background noise. Friends being a box set of DVDs that you had gifted him because you considered it to be classic television that he needed to see. The first time he had asked Morgan to his face if a girl had ‘friendzoned’ him with full confidence in what the term meant, you knew that Spencer had been watching it in his free time.
You easily fell into the comfort of your surroundings, enjoying the comforting canned laughter of the show, paired with the delightfully greasy food and Spencer’s ongoing commentary - both about the show, and about other, completely unrelated things. You were so relaxed that you had almost completely forgotten about the gift you had waiting in your bag for him.
It was such a strange coincidence that he had been the one to bring it up.
He offered to take your plate into the kitchen, leaving behind a waft of soy sauce as he went. You were wonderfully full and reached to the small side table where you were nursing a half empty (now warm) diet coke. You took a few sips from it, and heard Spencer’s footsteps shuffling back into the room. He hovered behind you as you watched Monica rush out of her bedroom with her phone pressed to her chest, concerned about calling Richard.
You were so focused on the show that you almost didn’t hear Spencer’s shy, tentative voice when he spoke.
“I’m sorry about the other day.” He said quietly.
“Hmm?” You looked over your shoulder at him, wondering what he meant.
He was rather nervously fidgeting with his hands, standing in the white glow of the TV in the dimly lit room - the only other source of light being a small lamp on the side table and dimness of the light above the stove shining in from the kitchen at his back.
You grabbed up the remote and paused the show, silencing the characters and their temporary problems in order to address the stress that Spencer was very clearly feeling - his whole body tight, hunched over, his face quite tight with worry.
“I’m sorry about the other day.” He repeated himself, slightly louder this time - perhaps not more confident, but simply not drowned out by any further noise.
You didn’t want to butt in, and gave him the room to explain himself slowly.
“I - I didn’t mean to put you in such an… uncomfortable position. If I don’t understand the things you say, I should just pull you aside and ask you privately what you meant.” He sighed. “I - I know that I need to learn to keep my mouth shut sometimes. It’s something I’m working on.”
You became flooded with peril at this. Had he really thought that he had inconvenienced you? Put you in an ‘uncomfortable’ position?
“Come sit down.” You told him, beginning to feel annoyed with craning your neck back to get a proper look at him.
Like a dog being beckoned, he couldn’t help but to follow your order.
He sunk down against the other arm of the three seater couch, leaving quite a bit of space between the two of you. He had his arms folded - closed off, clearly nervous. His eyes were focused on the leg of his pants, distinctly refusing to look at you. Perhaps he was afraid he would find disgust or disappointment among your features. You turned off the TV completely then and angled your body to face him before you continued speaking.
“First of all, you don’t need to learn to keep your mouth shut.” You told him easily. “I’m not sure who, or what gave you that impression, but it’s not true. Whenever you open your mouth, something brilliant comes out, and we’re all better for it.”
Reid’s lips flexed into a smile at the intense direct praise, and this made you happy.
“Second, you didn’t make me uncomfortable the other day.” You told him honestly. “I meant what I said - despite you being a genius, there are still some things you need to learn. And I’m more than happy to teach you.”
These words sent a shiver down Spencer’s spine.
There were so many things that he would beg for you to teach him if given the chance. But he didn’t want to embarrass himself. And most importantly, he didn’t want to come off as creepy or desperate toward someone as perfect as you.
When he dared to glance up at you, you were boldly staring him down. You wore a small smirk across your face. Heat began to stir in Spencer’s gut, and he couldn’t help but to wonder if you were thinking the exact same things that he was.
You couldn’t be. You couldn’t possibly want someone like him. You couldn’t possibly want a nervous, inexperienced ‘virgin’ like him.
Oh, but you did.
You were thinking all of the same things that he was. You were imagining giving him the most intricate ‘hands on’ lessons for everything he had ever been curious about. Giving him the most close-up, detailed tour of the female anatomy he ever could have asked for.
“Spencer,” You called out his name gently.
This forced his attention up from fiddling with a loose thread on the edge of the couch cushion - clearly something out of nervousness - and got him to look at your face. You wondered how someone who was six feet tall could look so delicately small, purposefully slumped over in his seat like that. You wondered what his pretty features would look like warped by an orgasm.
“What are you thinking about right now?” You asked him. You had to know if he was truly on the same filthy wavelength as you.
He knew he had to make up a lie. Because he wouldn’t be brave enough to speak the words out loud. He was too shy to actually tell you that he was wondering what it would be like to bury his face between your breasts, that he wanted to drown there.
“You… you did get me curious.” Spencer admitted quietly. “About the… the - uh-”
He trailed off, clearly too nervous to say the word for himself now that he knew the filthy implications behind it.
“About the fleshlight?” You finished the sentence for him, wanting to encourage him.
You wanted to make him feel brave about the topic. You were too curious about where this interaction was heading - you couldn’t bear to have him get shy on you now.
“Yeah.” He nodded, nervously clearing his throat.
He went back to fidgeting with the edge of the couch cushion, once again purposefully looking anywhere but at your face. You stared him down with purpose, all too intrigued by whatever might come out of his mouth next. Especially with the tense, thoughtful expression dipped along his eyebrows - the same one he got when he was reading or staring at maps.
“I was thinking - I was curious - curious about - about where someone might get one of those.” He finally announced.
He put intense stress on the word ‘where’ - his voice low, almost a lulling whisper in the already quiet apartment. He was speaking as though he was asking you about something incredibly illicit. Like a college kid asking where he could buy weed or a lonely man in his thirties inquiring about a prostitute. Though sex toys were perfectly legal, you guessed that for someone like Spencer, this was just as trepidacious.
You felt a sense of eager giddiness stir within you. You resisted the urge to bounce on the spot like an excitable, hyper kid on their birthday waiting to open their present. Even though he wasn’t looking at your face, you forced yourself to hold back a grin.
You didn’t want to ruin the surprise, after all. It was just too perfect.
“Well… lucky for you, Doctor Reid,” You told him, easily capturing his attention with the use of his proper title and the fact that you shifted slightly in your seat, reaching down by your feet to grab your bag. “I happen to have a spare one right here.”
Spencer watched you cautiously, his neck still sloped with anxious shyness. He almost had to believe that this was a prank, and you would pull a tape recorder out of your bag and laugh because you had captured his perversion for everyone to know about.
But of course - you weren’t that cruel. You were honest, and you were definitely not half as shy as he was. In fact, he would go so far as to say that you didn’t have a bashful bone in your body.
So of course, it made sense that it was not a big deal for you to walk into one of those stores and simply purchase that kind of toy.
Spencer watched eagerly as you pulled out a cardboard box. He heard the rustle of plastic inside your bag and guessed that it was a shopping bag. But he couldn’t be too focused on that once your arm extended out to him, showing him what the rectangular box was.
Spencer had never seen a sex toy in person before, but he quickly realized that they were packaged similarly to any other product. A clean, white background with a picture of the product on it, several claims and promises (‘new and improved design!’) (‘easy to clean!’) (‘soft and durable!’) - and a picture of someone smiling on the front, unconsciously promising a good user experience. In this case, it was a stereotypically beautiful woman in lingerie holding the… item, as though it were comparable… to her… to her parts.
“Open it.” You encouraged him, wagging the box in his direction. “Unless you don’t want it. I could return it.”
It was then that Spencer realized he had been sitting with his hands numbly in his lap for several silent moments, staring at the box in your extended hand.
“Oh!” He said quietly. “No! I mean - yes. I - um.” Rather than trying to articulate it, he reached out and grabbed the item, finding it surprisingly heavy. It easily compared to the weight of a good book in his hands. “Thank you.”
You would be lying if you said that watching him inspect the sex toy as though it were an object from an alien planet wasn’t the hottest thing you had seen in your entire life. Doctor Reid approached this the same way that he approached everything else in life: with intense scrutiny. Clearly his analytical mind was working hard as he carefully peeled back the cardboard flap of the box and slid out his prize.
You had to wonder if that mind of his ever shut off.
You wondered if you could make him dumb and cum drunk, make his head completely empty. You wondered what he would look like mindlessly chasing an orgasm, begging for release with absolutely no statistics or scientific papers running around inside that big brain of his. You wanted to see him completely worn down, just his base instincts at play. You wanted to see him with just the need to fuck and cum and have his release pounding between his ears as he whined desperately for more.
There was a sharp pain between your legs, intense arousal at the thought of it.
That arousal only increased when Spencer dropped the box in his lap and then - like man walking on the moon for the first time - he held the toy delicately in one hand and popped the cap off with the other. Clearly, it was a big discovery for him. Watching his eyes widen with shock did bring you an intense joy. It also immediately made you wonder if seeing the silicone pussy was his first time seeing a pussy so up close and personal at all. That thought only made your own cunt throb with need.
What he did next nearly sent you into orbit.
He gently placed the cap down on his lap, and without looking at you, his thoughtful eyes still entirely focused on the fake pussy - he reached toward it and oh-so-gently stroked his fingers across it. From your perspective, with the angle he was holding it at, you had a perfect view of his gorgeous hand delicately exploring the toy. Your cunt fluttered, clenching around nothing, and you knew that at this point you were definitely sitting in soaked underwear. If you didn’t know Spencer any better, you would have guessed that he was doing this on purpose, to tease you.
But that’s what made it so perfect - he was just naive, just exploring these things for the first time.
When he dipped two of his fingertips into the opening of the toy, you had to consciously hold back a moan. It was almost too hot watching his strong, thick fingers get swallowed up by the soft entrance of the toy. Of course, imagining how those fingers would feel dipping into your pussy with such tender grace.
“Wow.” Spencer said quietly, almost a gasp under his breath as he pulled his fingers back, in pure awe at this new discovery. “I didn’t expect it to be so soft.”
“It’ll feel even better when it’s wet.”
The words came so naturally from your lips, you couldn’t have stopped them if you tried.
Spencer looked up at you with a distinct pinkness spreading over his cheeks, clearly imagining that tight, soft wetness wrapped around his cock.
You dared to take a glance downward and surely enough - beside where the empty box was sitting in his lap, a bulge was forming in his slacks, pressing harshly against the zipper. You deeply resisted the urge to reach over and grope that bulge, not wanting to scare him by coming on too strong. Instead, you put that grabby hand back into your purse to get the other thing you had to give to him.
“Another lesson for the genius,” You announced, extending out the bottle of lube for him to see it. This time he was quicker to grab it, bringing it up to his face to inspect it with thoughtful eyes. “Water based lubricant is best. It’s water soluble, so it’s easy to clean up. And unlike other kinds, it won’t wear down the silicone of the toy over time or wear through the latex of condoms.”
You bringing up condoms caused a jolt in Spencer’s chest. Were you just giving him some friendly advice about safe sex or - or did you actually intend to have intercourse with him? Would there be a need for condoms between the two of you in the future?
The words gave him a temporary bold streak (that and the sexual adrenaline pumping through his system) and he decided to voice his thoughts before he became too shy.
“Can I ask you something?” He asked quietly, his voice taking on that sweet, mousy quality that it usually did whenever he got nervous.
“Of course.” You nodded.
You thought that he might have more questions about the lube or the toy. But what he said next - combined with the fact that he looked at you shyly through his lashes like a doll, like he knew exactly what he was doing - absolutely knocked the wind out of you.
“You… You said that you like teaching me things. So - do you think-?”
He paused for a moment, clearing his throat.
“Could - could you give me a demonstration?” He asked, his voice still shy and sweet.
Your lips gaped in shock - at first you thought you had misheard him. And when the words fully penetrated your ears, you thought that you had somehow misunderstood him. He couldn’t possibly mean-? He wanted you to use the toy on him?
You were shocked that Spencer Reid was openly asking for something like that.
Seeing the shock and slight confusion across your features, Spencer’s mouth raced past his better judgment. His lips plowed over that thing in the back of his brain nagging at him to shut up - and he kept on going.
“It only seems logical that, when tackling something new, especially something this… skill-based, I would need to be shown what to do.” He explained, his mouth running off in that way it always did when he sounded far too much like he knew what he was talking about. “It seems advisable to be shown by someone with more experience. Experience that I don’t have. I need you to show me. Please.”
The last word came out as a breathy plea from him. You could have easily gotten stuck on the fact that he had basically just admitted to you that he was a virgin. But instead, him simply saying that word: ‘please’, begging to you like your attention was the most precious thing in the world; it kickstarted something in your brain and switched on the dominant persona that you had always wanted to use with him.
The air shifted in the room then, and you both knew it. It was like a fire crackling around you. Spencer didn’t know what to do with it, but luckily, you did. He waited with anxious breath for your guidance, your instruction.
“You need me to show you?” You repeated his words, using the buttery sweet voice that you usually did when you had someone so willing and pliant for you.
Instinctively, you reached over to him and gently cupped his cheek. He easily leaned into the touch, shuddering with delight and letting out a small sigh as you made contact with his skin for the first time. It was the first time you had really touched him, aside from casual hugs of comfort after stressful situations that the job naturally gave the two of you. But this was entirely different.
He hummed in affirmation to answer your question, his eyes growing large with lust, pupils blown out as he melted into you.
“What do you want me to show you, pretty boy?” You asked, running your thumb along his bottom lip, admiring how absolutely pink his mouth was.
You hoped that you could prompt a genuine answer out of him - get him to say the words. You had never heard Spencer talk about anything crude before, and you wondered if he was even capable of talking dirty. You hoped that if he wouldn’t say the words on his own, you could coach him into doing it. You could only imagine the satisfaction of getting that smart mouth to utter such filthy things.
“I want…” Spencer swallowed harshly, clearly having a difficult time with his mouth drying out now that you had a hand on him, even though the touch was fairly ‘innocent’. “I want you to show me… everything.”
The intense emphasis that he put on the word sent sparks flying inside of you.
It sounded like he wanted a lot more than just a ‘demonstration’ of the toy. It sounded like he wanted a lot more than just a one night stand to get off.
Intense want flared up of you.
The temptation to own him, to make him yours… the temptation to take all of his first and have him tied to you like a lost puppy because of it - it was an intense one. But you wouldn’t hurt him, no. You would do it right. You would own him in that way because he wanted it just as badly as you did.
“Spencer,”
You said his name suddenly, harconing for his attention with it. You stroked your thumb along his cheek before you pulled the touch away completely. His head bobbed forward slightly to chase your hand, but he let you go without protest.
“If we’re going to do this, there has to be rules.” You told him firmly. “If I’m going to be your teacher, you have to listen to me. Teachers need rules, right?”
Spencer nodded vigorously at this.
“Of course. Yeah - yeah. You’re right.” He eagerly agreed. Then of course, he asked the obvious question. “What are the rules?”
You beamed a smile at him, loving his enthusiasm.
You knew that he would be a good boy. He was so eager to follow rules, to learn. Your body began tingling with delight at the thought of him looking up at you with hazy eyes, asking for his next command.
You had to forcibly clear your head. Right now you had to be level headed in order to teach him the rules.
“Okay the first rule - the most important one,” You prefaced, causing Spencer to straighten up slightly, showing his attentiveness, an eager student ready to learn. “Is that you need to pick a safeword. A word you can say during the scene so that I can know if you’re uncomfortable or if you need to stop.”
“‘The scene’?” Spencer asked, repeating back the phrase to you. “Also - why can’t the safeword just be ‘stop’, or ‘no’? Wouldn’t you just stop things if I said ‘no’?”
You decided to tackle his questions one at a time.
“Calling it a ‘scene’ - it’s lingo.” You said. “You know that everything comes with its own set of linguistics.” You told him, playing into his pre-existing knowledge. He nodded at this.
You then continued your explanation.
“A ‘scene’ means… any type of sexual play. Some people call it ‘playtime’. It’s lingo that exists because for a lot of people, sex is much more than just intercourse. It can start with speech and behavior and any interactions that they have with their partner when they’re alone. Like foreplay. So a safeword needs to be included in those moments too, in case someone needs to call timeout.”
Spencer nodded at this. It made him wish that he had developed a safeword with Lila Archer. Not because he hadn’t enjoyed the oral sex - but because to this day, he still shuddered at the possibility of being embarrassed by someone walking in on them, or the consequences if someone found out about the improprieties of it all.
“As far as the safeword being ‘no’, or ‘stop’…” You took the time to find the right words to explain it.
Spencer waited patiently, feeling curious about this.
“I will always look out for your safety, and if you seem uncomfortable, I’ll ask you if you’re okay.” You assured him, giving him a gentle pat on the knee. Spencer smiled at this, and you enjoyed that you had comforted him with these words.
“But sometimes ‘no’ doesn’t work.” You went on to explain. “Like… if I asked you something like ‘do you want me to stop?’ and you say ‘no’, that is a positive affirmation to continue what I’m doing, but it uses a negative word. Same thing with the word ‘stop’. If you told me ‘don’t stop’ - but your voice was too quiet on the first word or I didn’t properly hear you, then I may stop when you wouldn’t want me to.”
For the first time, Spencer felt as though he was the one being schooled.
You telling him ‘I may stop when you don’t want me to’ had him drawing an image up in his head of you vigorously riding him, taunting him while you were so well composed and he was reduced to a stuttering mess because of your wetness clenching around him. With you mistaking his words for a signal of distress, and taking away your beautiful body before he got to orgasm. It would be tragic.
He easily understood what you meant.
“The point of a safeword,” You continued on. “Is that it stands out. It’s a word you would never otherwise say during playtime. A word that would never come up during sex - except for you signaling your discomfort. So when I hear that word, I know that we need to shift gears into aftercare.”
“What’s aftercare?” Spencer asked, eager to learn another new term as it was introduced to him.
Again, you were puzzled about how to explain it, how to put it into words for someone who had no clue what the word meant.
These were things you had known about for years, words that were a natural part of your vocabulary now. Things you had been doing before you even knew the terms for it. It was strange having to explain it to someone so fresh.
“It - um…” You thought for a moment. “Aftercare is what happens after a scene. It’s the period of time when you mentally and physically wind down, in order to take care of your body and mind. Because of the physical exertion and the endorphins, sex can be exhausting and mentally tedious, as much as it is fun. So - aftercare helps transition the body and mind back into non-sexual activities. Different people need different kinds of aftercare, but usually it’s things like: drinking water, eating a snack, cuddling, words of affirmation.”
“That sounds nice.” Spencer said quietly. “Would you do that for me even - even though I’m not your boyfriend?”
You held back what you instinctively wanted to say - that you wanted him to be your boyfriend. That you wanted to own him like a cute little pet and didn’t want any other woman (or man) to touch him.
Instead, you went with the diplomatic answer.
“Of course I would.” You told him. “Aftercare is part of being a good - a good teacher.”
You quickly cut yourself off from using the word ‘dominant’ and replaced it with ‘teacher’ instead. You didn’t want to scare him with the idea that you would be intimidating, mean, cold - traditional ideas behind the term ‘dominant’.
“I want to be good to you, Spence.” You quickly added on.
His cock throbbed inside of his pants at this.
“So, you have to pick your safeword.” You told him. “Something that stands out, something that will easily come to your mind.”
Spencer took a moment, and you saw him take a sideways glance at the coffee table. The chess set that was there caught his eye, and that didn’t surprise you.
“Bishop?” Spencer posed, looking at you with eyes that said he was absolutely searching for your approval. “Is that good?”
“Yes, baby, that’s perfect.” You told him.
If you did your job well enough as a dominant, then he wouldn’t need to use the word.
You would be able to tell just by his body language and him voicing his enjoyment how far you should take things. And when he was comfortable enough, you would discuss other sexual acts, and what else you should try. Though, for tonight, you had a feeling you should take control without telling him too much of what you wanted to do. You didn’t need him getting shy on you just because of some dirty talk.
“You said that was only the first rule,” Spencer mentioned, remembering what you had said. “What are the other rules?”
“Well, the second rule is: you listen to me. You listen to everything I say. You do everything I say. You don’t question me.” You told him firmly. “Because I’m the teacher, I’m in charge.”
Spencer wanted to question you then. He wanted to point out that this sounded like multiple rules, but the way you said ‘I’m in charge’ caused something inside of him to quake, and he easily fell under your authority.
He nodded.
“The next rule is: you speak when spoken to, Spencer.” You told him, your tongue sharp on the words.
You were heavily enjoying ordering him around now.
These were two roles that the two of you fell so naturally into: he was soft and submissive under your dominant energy, and he only wanted more as your ego thrived off his eager submission. It was the start of a beautiful relationship forming.
“Yes.” He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” The title came flying out of his mouth before he could stop it, and then he instantly wanted to backpedal. “I’m sorry.”
“No, I like that.” You told him with a grin. “Though, if you want to give me a title, call me Miss.”
You held back from telling him the true title you desired. Again, not wanting to scare him away. Perhaps it was something you could ween him towards on another day.
“Yes, Miss.” He corrected, nodding. “Uh - Miss? Is - is there anything else?”
“Only two more things.” You told him. Of course, you didn’t want to overload him, but you wanted him to know your most important rules up front. He looked at you expectantly, waiting for you to explain. “You can’t touch me without asking first. And of course, you can’t touch me unless I give you permission.”
This news cast the saddest puppy look across his features. Clearly, he was deeply disappointed by the thought that he wouldn’t be able to grope and grab at your body freely. He was upset by the thought that you would deny him access to touching you. You could definitely use that if he ever misbehaved.
“And the last thing is: you can’t cum without my permission.” You told him, almost as if it were an afterthought. With any of your other partners, it would have been. Because it would have been a basic ground rule.
“Come where?” Spencer asked, his brows knit together in the most adorably confused manner you had seen yet.
Of course, he was confused. He had never before heard someone use the term ‘cum’ to refer to an orgasm. He was used to hearing that word - ‘come’ - paired with something else like ‘come here’. So he wondered what the hell you possibly meant by it.
You found yourself grinning like the cat who ate the canary as you realized that you would also have to explain this piece of slang to him.
“No, Spence, not C-O-M-E, like the verb. It’s C-U-M. It’s slang used interchangeably with the word ‘orgasm’.” You explained to him. “Sometimes it can be a verb. Like the act of cumming, it means orgasming. Or sometimes it’s a noun. Sometimes people use the word ‘cum’ instead of saying semen. ‘Cum’ is the fluid. As in: ‘I want your cum inside of me’.”
You intentionally teased him with this example, saying it as casually as a straight forward grammar lesson, looking him in the eyes the entire time. His eyes lit up at your words - obviously, he had no clue that such a simple sentence could turn him on so much. But the words immediately painted a picture in his mind of that white, sticky fluid dripping down your inner thighs, put there by him. It was so perfect that it almost made him dizzy.
When Spencer didn’t say anything, you continued with your ‘lesson’.
“When I said that you can’t cum without my permission, I meant that you can’t have an orgasm unless I say so.” You told him with finality.
He looked struck with worry at this. Partially at the idea that he wouldn’t get to have an orgasm if you didn’t give him permission, and partially at the thought that if he accidentally orgasmed without your permission, you would be angry with him and cut off all further sexual contact.
“What’s wrong, Spence?” You had to ask.
“How - how does that work?” He asked, all too curious at how he could stop himself from orgasming or how he could get your permission first.
“Well, you know what it feels like when you’re about to have an orgasm, right?” You asked, really hoping that he at least masturbated regularly. You didn’t think you could have the burden of giving him his first ever orgasm. He nodded and this and you felt a small breath of relief leave you. “So, when you feel like that, you simply ask me if you’re allowed to cum. Ask me if you can cum.”
“Will you let me?” Spencer asked nervously, sheepishly. You distinctly noticed how he avoided the word. He didn’t say the sentence as you had. You yearned to hear him say ‘will you let me cum?’ - but you knew you had to give him time to shake off his shyness.
“If you’ve been a good boy, then yes.” You told him. “Good boys follow the rules. But I don’t think you’ll have any problems, Spence.”
You saw him relax at this - any tension leaving his muscles.
You conveniently left out the part where you might edge him, might not let him cum just for your own amusement.
“I think that’s all for now.” You told him. “Now that we have the rules set - do you wanna play with your new toy?”
Spencer’s face absolutely lit up at this.
“Yes, please.” He said, his voice somehow still shy and quiet. “Yes, please, Miss.”
Your stomach jolted with intense pleasure at his declaration.
Spencer thought that you would simply grab the toy from him and unzip his pants. He was surprised when you stood up, and began looking around the room as though you were looking for something. But in alignment with the rules, he didn’t question you. He didn’t ask what you were looking for or why. Instead, he just sat there quietly and waited for your instructions.
When you seemed satisfied with your idea, you then began moving around. You leaned down and pushed away the coffee table, pushing it as far back as it would go. This made a fair amount of space in front of the couch. And before Spencer could become truly curious about it, you turned to the side of the room - toward a space where he had a small table.
It was meant to be a sort of ‘dining’ table, suitable for one or two people in an apartment like his. It had two chairs, but one of the chairs was piled up with books and the surface of the table had some files on it that he had taken home from work. He did sit on the other chair to eat occasionally - during the rare times he actually sat down and had a meal at home.
You grabbed the empty chair - which was a wooden chair with a round back and decorative wooden bars coming off the seat, holding the back of it up. (Something Spencer had picked up at a yard sale.) And then you put the chair in the middle of the room, right in the space you had cleared from moving the coffee table. The chair was facing the couch - and it became apparent to Spencer then that this was a stage.
You were either going to sit in that chair and watch him, or he was going to be the thing on display in the middle of the room. The idea of that happening - the idea of you watching him like a show, like he was something to admire - that put a twist in his stomach. It was something almost too daunting for him to conquer. He found himself swelling with shyness again, wanting to back down from this.
He feared that he wouldn’t be able to impress you. He feared that he was gangly, thin, undesirable. He feared that his experience would steer him wrong somewhere and he would mess up terribly and turn you off.
He thought that he wouldn’t be able to impress you.
But he wanted to impress you so badly. He wanted you. He wanted your touch. He wanted to be a good boy for you, like you had said.
“Give me your belt.” You said, turning to him expectantly and holding out your hand.
“My - my belt?” He asked.
Then, he immediately scolded himself inside as he realized that was questioning you, and against the rules.
You let that one slide. He was still getting used to this, and it must have been an odd, confusing instruction to hear right off the bat.
“Yes, your belt. I need it.” You said, still holding out your hand. “Come on.”
Spencer stood up then, his hands and legs shaking slightly from nerves and the overwhelming lust. Although he was taller than you, he felt so entirely small as you stared at him, waiting patiently while his shaking hands struggled to undo the buckle and then slip the leather out of the belt loops.
When he finally handed it over to you, you took the belt in hand and inspected it for a moment before you quietly said ‘perfect’ under your breath. You then looked between Spencer and the chair - he was still wearing his work attire. A cardigan, a button up shirt and tie, his usual slacks, and his adorable dorky glasses. He had taken off his shoes at the door, revealing his oddly sweet mismatched socks.
“Spencer,”
You called his name, capturing his attention from where he was swaying on the spot, nervously fidgeting with the buttons on his cardigan to avoid looking at you. As soon as he looked up at you with those big, wet eyes, you felt confident in giving him your next instruction.
“I want you to take off all your clothes. Except for your glasses and your socks.” You told him, giving him his first proper orders.
He held his voice in his throat when he felt the need to question you about it, to ask you why.
You wanted him to keep the glasses on because they brought an entirely dorky charm to him - you wanted to see if they would fog up when he became heated with lust. The socks? You thought they were cute, but it was mostly a test to see how closely he would follow the instructions. To test how well he would listen.
He did as he was told. He stripped off his sweater, and then his tie, and then his watch, leaving his wrists nice and bare for you. His fingers began to shake slightly as he descended on the buttons of his shirt - clearly, he was feeling nervous once again, so you decided to give him some encouragement.
“You’re being such a good boy, Spence.” You told him. “So good for me.”
He let out a quiet breath at the praise - a precursor to a moan. It was something that compelled him to strip faster, and gave him a small boost of courage when reaching for the zipper of his pants. After he unzipped them - his erection clearly fighting to be freed of the fabric - your mouth began watering at the sight as he reached for the waistband of his pants and his underwear all at once and slid them down.
A snake of surprising length popped out of his pants. His dick began bobbing around carelessly, smearing shiny precum all over his skin as he unhooked himself from the legs of his pants and put them aside.
You had to marvel at it.
You had never really thought about what Spencer might look like naked before. You had never allowed your mind to venture there. But now that you were seeing his cock: nine inches long, skinny and lean like he was, pale with a bright pink tip, sprouting from a thick thatch of dark pubic hair - it just made sense. He was tall and gangly, and so was his cock. It would be an impressive sword to impale yourself upon - but that would be for another day.
Spencer caught you staring, of course.
He had the urge to cover himself with his hands, and found himself clenching his fists by his sides because he figured that you wouldn’t like him trying to hide from you.
He wondered if it looked weird. He wondered if you didn’t like it. He wondered-
“You’re beautiful, Spencer.” You said, your voice so drenched in utter sincerity that you almost broke into a gasp trying to get the words out. “So fucking beautiful.”
Again, he wanted to question you - but didn’t. He wanted to be a good boy. He would follow the rules.
“Th-thank you, Miss.” He muttered out quietly, almost unable to accept the compliment.
“Come here, sit down.” You told him, motioning toward the chair.
He nodded, his legs feeling rather numb as he moved to follow your instructions. When his ass made contact with the wooden surface of the chair, he let out a gasp at how cool it was compared to his heated skin. You quietly giggled at this, and then grabbed the belt from where you had put it down. He grew tense and curious once again when you walked behind him.
You grabbed one of his wrists and began to guide it behind him, but he was so tense that you knew it would be uncomfortable for him. You eased your touch with a flat palm up his forearm and bicep, across his shoulder until you could press the weight of your thumb into the base of his neck. He moaned lightly at this, melting into the touch.
“Relax, baby.” You urged. Spencer relaxed even further at the nickname, absolutely blooming with affection inside because of it. “I’m not gonna do anything to hurt you. I just want to make you feel good.”
To drive home this point, you leaned in and planted a simple kiss on the back of his head, and then one on the side of his neck. Spencer let out a fluttering moan at this. He wanted more of those kisses, but he couldn’t work up the nerve to ask for it.
He could find no faults with what you had said, so he did his best to do as you instructed. He relaxed, leaning back fully against the chair - which was slightly uncomfortable while he was completely naked and throbbing hard, waiting for you to touch him more. But he trusted you.
You grabbed one of his wrists, and then the other, and guided them behind his back.
It was much easier now that his muscles were softer, more pliant to you.
You knelt down and used the belt to tie them simply. You looped the belt through the wooden slats so his hands would be held to the chair, and then placed both of his wrists into the loop. You didn’t want it to be so tight that the material would cut into his wrists painfully or cut off circulation, you just wanted to restrict his movement.
Which would absolutely be the case when his arms were bound behind him, awkwardly tied to the back of the chair. You hooked the buckle into the smallest notch, giving him a bit of room to move, a bit of a gap to put your finger between the belt and his skin. However, it put his shoulders at an awkward angle so he would need your help getting out of it.
“Is that okay?” You asked. “Not too tight? Be honest.”
Spencer thought that he should feel slightly afraid or too vulnerable - being completely naked and tied to a chair like this. But with you, he felt safe.
“It’s good.” He told you honestly. “Not too tight.” He assured you, moving to show off that wiggle room, demonstrating that the material wasn’t cutting into his wrists.
“Good,” You sighed quietly, standing up once again.
You walked around him like a predator circling their prey, making graceful, careful moments as you took in the sight of him.
He was absolutely, beautifully sinful in this state.
Stripped entirely naked, except for those glasses and those adorable, mismatched socks, sitting in the chair with his hands bound behind his back. All while he stared at you with his wide, expectant eyes, waiting for whatever your next move would be. While his heavy, hard cock leaked freely against his stomach, smearing a trail of sticky precum across his skin.
You reached forward and grabbed his chin, tilting his head up slightly to look at you. Having someone as tall as Spencer look up at you for a change was entirely powerful. You held him there while you asked him a very important question.
“You gonna be good for me?” You asked him.
Instinctively for him, there was only one answer.
“Yes.” He whimpered out. “Yes, Miss. I want to be good for you.”
The pure sincerity of his declaration caused another wave of wetness from your aching pussy. For now, you would ignore your own needs. You would take care of him, make sure that this was a pleasurable experience for him.
“Good boy,” You praised him, giving him a light kiss on the forehead - to which he sighed quietly in delight.
Then, you let go of his face completely and turned to grab the item that had started this whole thing.
You were excited to finally use it on Spencer.
Spencer watched with awe and intrigue as you grabbed the toy and then the lube - you peeled off the plastic shrink wrap on the lube bottle with your teeth, and then popped the cap. And you turned so Spencer could see as you poured a generous amount of lube into the opening of the toy.
“Don’t be afraid to use too much lube,” You told him, being a proper teacher. “In my opinion, there’s no such thing as ‘too wet’. But ‘too dry’ can cause skin irritation from friction. Or tearing if you’re trying to insert something like fingers or a penetrative toy. Like a dildo. Adequate lubrication always reduces the risk of both those things,”
Spencer wanted to ask if there were other kinds of penetrative toys aside from dildos, but he figured that would be a question for another time.
“Yes, Miss.” He nodded in understanding, absorbing what you had told him.
You looked between the toy and his cock, and realized you might as well slick him up beforehand.
You took a step closer to him and put the thickness of the fleshlight between his thighs, propping it there while you quietly mumbled ‘hold this’ - which caused him to tense his thighs in order to keep it from falling. He became enraptured by the sight of the silicone pussy, lubed and wet as a real one would be. He was so distracted by the sight that he almost didn’t take in you pouring lube into your hand before you capped the bottle and put it aside.
“This is probably gonna be cold,” You warned him quietly before you used your lubed hand to take a hold of his cock.
It was. And he let out a harsh gasp - from the shock of the cold wetness, a sound that quickly turned into a strangled moan as you formed a loose grip around his cock and began spreading the wetness over him with purpose. The lube soon warmed between your palm and the throbbing skin of his cock, and he unconsciously bucked into your touch, almost knocking the fleshlight out from resting between his thighs.
“Stay still.” You ordered sharply, shoving his hips back down with your free hand.
The harshness behind your voice, and your thumb pressing into his hip bone sent him reeling. He was so pliant under your touch. Between your commanding authority and the slickness of your lubed hand moving in a slow rhythm in lazy pumps up and down his cock - he was already way too fucking close.
You knew it. You could see the way his stomach muscles quaked, the tensing of his thighs. Those little lilting gasps like music to your ears.
You wondered if he would spurt cum all over your hand before he warned you. (If he did, you would likely pump him through it just to see if he would get hard again.)
“Miss-!” He hollered, choking on the word.
You abruptly stopped then. You stiffened your grip around the base of his cock - which was now nicely lubed up, and throbbing even harder as you effectively used your fingers around his pelvis like a cockring, causing his orgasm to fade dully back into his muscles. He let out a wounded sound, a confused moan from deep in his chest, his stomach shaking even harder as if he was trying to force the orgasm out past your gatekeeping touch. It was almost cute.
“Yes, Spencer?” You asked, looking at him dumbly as though you had no clue what he had been trying to say.
“I - I was getting close.” He completed the thought breathlessly. “C-close to orgasm.”
Damn. If he was this fucked out now, you couldn’t wait to see what he would be like when you were done with him.
“Well, good boys only cum with permission, right?” You said, grinning at him fiendishly.
“Yes, Miss.” He said quickly, his voice dull with disappointment, but agreeable.
“Good boy.” You praised once again. You felt his cock twitch in your hand at the words. “Besides, you haven’t even gotten a chance to try out your new toy yet.”
You then grabbed up the toy and turned it over, using your hand on the base of his cock to feed his length into the fake pussy. More cool lube came rushing down to meet him, and his lungs shook once again and his heated skin was shocked by the feeling. It was strange, but pleasurable as his cock was enveloped by the soft, wet walls of the toy. It was so, so very tight around his cock - and oddly cool, far wetter than he had expected thanks to the amount of lube you had used.
Spencer reasoned that it might be like sticking his cock in a watermelon, if that watermelon were also made of rubber bands.
You knelt down in front of Spencer, looking in awe between the spot where his cock disappeared into the fake leaking pussy to his face. Seeing his reaction to this was utterly beautiful - the way his jaw naturally fell open, his eyes half closed as the pleasure overtook him.
“Oh!” Spencer let out a sudden, high startled sound as you shoved the toy down onto his cock fully.
Your eyes once again flickered between his dick and his face, and you came to an utterly stunning realization.
He didn’t fully fit inside of the toy.
There was about an inch of his cock that was still sticking out of it at the base, and with the resistance your hand had brought up into, you knew that he was fully seated inside of it. Well - as fully seated as he could get, apparently.
It was one of the hottest things you had ever seen, and it sent a dizzying wave of endorphins through you. The sight of his cock not fully fitting into the silicone pussy was a stunning visual that made you realize just how deep he would go inside of you. It made your throat dry for a moment, forced you to swallow hard before you could speak.
“You’re right here, baby?” You asked, tapping a finger on the top of the toy, knowing that he would feel it as a vibration through the plastic.
He let out a gasp and bucked his hips up slightly, something that made you smile. He was too hazy to answer you already, something that you forgave for now. He was just too beautiful to scold in these moments.
“Fuck, you don’t even fit into this thing all the way, do you?” You gasped quietly, still absolutely marveling at the sight.
“I don’t?” Spencer gaped, finally looking down to where the toy was swallowing his cock, seeing as your words had captured his attention. “Is - is that bad?”
He was struck with worry. He thought that perhaps his cock wasn’t right - that he shouldn’t be doing this, that you wouldn’t like him.
It was in that moment that you realized what a treasure you had come across. A beautiful, intelligent man with a huge cock who had no idea how to use it. Someone who needed to be taught from scratch. Someone who could be molded into anything you wanted him to be. (At least in the sexual sense.) That, and he seemed to be naturally submissive and derive pleasure from following your orders.
You most definitely weren’t going to let him go anytime soon.
“No, baby, that’s a good thing.” You assured him. “That’s a great thing.”
Spencer smiled at this - an expression that slacked off into a moan when you made your next move.
You gave the toy a slow half-pump before you seated it on his cock again, seemingly knocking the wind out of them. Then, you let go of the toy completely, letting him sit there with the fleshlight on his cock, bobbing in mid-air. It began to rise up slightly as the tightness of it hugged his cock, and unconsciously, he bucked up his hips, seeking more friction. But of course - the object was simply hanging there, seated on his cock, unmoving. It was an entirely fruitless venture.
With his hands tied behind his back, he needed you. It was an adorable struggle to watch for a moment, especially when his face knit with frustration and his thighs began to quiver from the effort.
“Please,” He begged. He was so pretty when he begged. “Help me.”
“You want me to help you fuck your toy?” You teased, reaching for it again.
“Please, Miss.”
When he whined like that, you couldn’t bring yourself to deny him.
You took a good grip on the plastic then, and began a quick, smooth rhythm. You were eager to see his reaction to being fucked well, being fucked without hesitation.
Spencer immediately shuddered and began letting out harsh whimpers. He bit his lip, but it didn’t keep the sounds from wailing out of his throat as you pumped the toy up and down on his cock.
His chin was tilted down onto his chest, keeping his eyes locked on the place where the toy was devouring his hard cock. This caused his glasses to slip down his nose bridge slightly, something so entirely adorable to you in the moment. With his thighs tense and his stomach quaking, with that pool of artificial wetness leaking onto his pubes and slowly creeping down over his balls - he was so beautifully fucked out, the most perfect picture you had ever seen in your life.
“Oh - oh, oh, oh god!” His mouth fell open once again and an array of sounds fell out, a beautiful little choir that you could have only dreamed of coming from him. “Oh, please!”
You had to wonder if he was the type of person to swear when he came. Spencer was never the type of person to swear during other extreme situations. You had never seen him let out a single curse, not even with a gun to his head.
You had to wonder if you could be the one to make him swear.
“Please, Miss!” He squeaked out, sounding entirely wrecked and desperate. “Please, I’m close-!”
You couldn’t resist the temptation of stilling the toy completely, abruptly cutting off his orgasm once again. Spencer let out a broken sound as his muscles jolted and the feeling ebbed through him - so close, but not quite there. It was like a terrible ache in his muscles. Like a deep, terrible thirst with nothing to drink.
“Please,” He begged, his eyes shooting to lock onto you. “Please! Please, Miss.”
“Please, what, baby?” You teased him, reaching up and gently carding your fingers through his hair, brushing some of it off his forehead. He had a light sheen of sweat going, his body clearly strained. It was delightful to witness.
“Please,” He rasped out brokenly, so entirely desperate. “I - I need it.”
You bit your lip, holding back laughter at how perfect this was.
“Need what, baby?” You continued to tease him. “Come on, use your words.”
He swallowed hard, and stared at you with glassy desperation in his eyes. Either he was shy, or had no clue what exactly it was you wanted him to say - so you decided to guide him along.
“Say: I need to cum.” You told him, hoping that he was desperate enough now that he would simply repeat the filthy words.
“I - I need to cum.” He repeated, only mild hesitation on his lips.
“Say: I need you to make me cum.” You told him, pushing it a bit father.
“I need you,” He said, pausing slightly to catch his breath. “Need you to make me cum.”
“Good boy.” You praised him, running his hand through your hair once again.
You stood up this time, and put one hand on the back of the chair behind his shoulder for leverage, leaning over him as you took the toy in hand and started moving it once again. This gave him a perfect view down your top, and his lustful gaze locked onto your swaying cleavage as you worked on jacking the fake pussy on his cock. It was a maddening suction that had him grunting lowly with every thrust, letting out whines, flexing his hips to fuck his cock up into the toy.
“Does it feel good, pretty boy?” You asked, so heavily enjoying the sight of him so messy, so wrecked.
“Yes!” He easily replied.
“What are you thinking about? Hmm?” You couldn’t help but to ask.
“I - hnng - I - I don’t know!” He gaped.
Either he was lying, and simply didn’t want to tell you what was on his mind, or you had truly fucked his head empty. If it was the second, then you would heavily enjoy that fact.
“You don’t know?” You asked, your voice absolutely teasing once again. “Well, that’s a first.” You chuckled.
Spencer panted harshly, filling the space for a moment - along with the wet squelching of the toy moving up and down on his cock as your wrist continued to work. And then you became bold enough to ask the question that you truly wanted to.
“You thinkin’ about my pussy?” You prodded. “You imagining that this toy is me? Wondering what’s gonna be like when I finally sit on your cock?”
“Yes!” He was suddenly very eager to admit to this. Clearly it helped that he didn’t have to say the words for himself. “Yes! Yes, Miss! I want you. I want your-”
He cut himself off suddenly, moaning sharply as the tip of his cock brought up in the end of the fake pussy once again. It sent a jolt of pleasure-pain through him that had his skin boiling even hotter. You wondered if he would be bold enough to say the word ‘pussy’ or if you would have to heavily prompt him.
But that thought left your head completely with his next words.
“Oh! Oh, please! I’m so close!”
Again, feeling the devil rise up inside of you, you stopped off his orgasm.
This time, by pulling the toy away completely. You lifted the fleshlight off his cock, and watched with lustful joy as his cock slipped out of the opening with a wet pop. His thighs quaked with bitter agony and his long cock bobbed in the air, dripping thick waves of precum and lube as it separated from the toy.
Everything was so wet.
It was honestly a gorgeous sight, like a mini tidal wave dripping down onto the chair as the toy continued to leak the generous amount of lube you had put into it and his cock let out pathetic little spurts of precum. His pubes were glossy and matted together, his inner thighs were absolutely slick. He was glistening and whining harshly as the ruined orgasm crashed through his body, making his mind somehow even hazier and more desperate.
“God!” He choked out. “Please!”
He blinked harshly and a few tears escaped the corners of his eyes, making him look even more gorgeous somehow.
“Please - please! I need - I need - oh god!” He began sobbing nonsensically, begging you for release as he was practically on the verge of madness.
Your cunt throbbed at seeing him so wrecked - so utterly dependent on you.
“Hey, hey, shh.” You reached your free hand out and thumbed under the edge of his glasses - the thick lenses only magnifying his glassy eyes and lustful, broken tears all the more. You soothed your touch across his burning cheek, reassuring him. “You’ve been such a good boy. I’m gonna let you cum now. Okay?”
“Please!” He sobbed.
Hearing his voice so broken and needy probably shouldn’t have turned you on so much, but you absolutely loved it.
“Hey, shh,” You continued to rub his cheek, and he leaned into the touch. “I just need one thing from you first.”
“Anything!” He easily declared.
“I need you to say: ‘may I cum, please?’” You told him.
It was a start on the scale of filthy things that you wanted to hear from his mouth, but it would definitely be oh so satisfying.
And then - as if he knew exactly what he was doing to you, he blinked his big eyes and looked up at you through tear wet lashes, giving you the most pouty, fuckable look as he leaned into your hand before he said the words.
“May I cum, please?” He asked. And then, like the wet dream that he was, he seamlessly added on. “Please, Miss. I-I’ve been a good boy.”
“Yes, you have been.” You told him. “I’ll make you cum now baby.”
You used both hands to get his cock back inside of the toy - the sound of his cock fucking back into the fake pussy was so much wetter, the whine he let out made your knees weak.
You doubled your efforts now, even going so far as to squeeze your grip on the outside of the plastic - which made the silicone grip his cock just that little bit tighter as you slammed it up and down on him. Your movements were hard and fast in the effort to make him cum for certain this time.
“Oh, oh, oh, you - oh!” Spencer began babbling nonsense, his words barely broken up by harsh breaths being sucked into his lungs and whimpers emanating from his throat at the intense pleasure. “Oh, Miss - you - you’re so - ah!”
“Where’s that big IQ now, boy genius?” You taunted him, keeping up the brutal pace. “Did I make you all stupid? Did I melt your big brain? Huh?”
Spencer all but confirmed this as truth when he gurgled out nothingness as a response.
You felt slightly bolder, and you became slightly harsher in your degrading words. You almost couldn’t help yourself. You loved tearing him apart so much, having him melt under your touch. You couldn’t help but to brag about the amazing job you had done.
“Just a dumb little baby now, aren’t you?” You cooed, your voice entirely condescending. “Just a stupid little boy for me. So cumdrunk you can’t even think now, huh? There’s no boy genius here now. Just a dumb baby who needs to cum.”
He only inflated your ego with his next words.
“Yes!” He shouted out, entirely confirming what you had said - if he had even properly heard it through the blood pumping in his ears. To him, it might have just been the raw hum of your voice in the background, like an undertone with no true words to it. “Yes! Need - need t’ cum!”
It was the most incoherent you had ever known Doctor Spencer Reid to be.
You stared on eagerly as you watched his stomach tighten up, his lungs struggling for breath.
“Y/N-!” He gasped out your name right before it hit him.
And when it hit him, when he finally tumbled over the edge into the abyss - boy, it was a big one.
It was an intense, full body orgasm. His legs shook, his body arched off the chair as though he were having a seizure, actually putting a strain on his bonded arms for the first time. He wildly bucked up into the toy as you continued to work it over his cock, his mouth dropping open wildly as a strain of high pitched, needy whimpers poured out from between his pretty pink lips.
You were feeling selfish, and you wanted to see him cum at least a bit.
So knowing that he was riding the wave, you ripped the toy off him, causing a wounded noise to come out of him as his spurting cock fell from it. But you didn’t leave him hanging. You immediately replaced the toy with your hand, and put a tight grip around him, pumping viciously over his throbbing cock, wanting to milk the rest of the orgasm out of him by hand.
The sudden, shocking overstimulation sent his body into overdrive.
His thighs shook so hard it could have been mistaken for electrocution, he gasped like a drowning man - he would have begged for mercy, but he couldn’t catch his breath.
It was the best feeling he had ever experienced. It was pure euphoria, it was heaven on earth. It was an icy hot fire running through his veins that he didn’t even know was possible.
He had never experienced an orgasm like this before. He knew the feeling of an orgasm to be more like a dull tickle in his groin. But now that he had done this - he didn’t think he could go back to anything else.
Large spurts of cum blasted from his cock, so overpowering then that painted his stomach, his chest, and much to your delight - a few thick white spurts even dirtied his glasses when you angled his cock that way and kept viciously pumping him.
His cock was so hot that it felt like it could have burned your hand, so needy and bloated with blood from how long you had edged him. Eventually, when the tip of his cock began to weep out a pathetic clear liquid, and he was on the verge of sobbing once more, you let him go from your grip, finally giving him a moment to breathe.
You knew for certain that you would never be able to look at Spencer Reid again without seeing this imagery: him, completely fucked out, his face flushed red, mouth agape as he struggled for breath. His naked body, limp cock laying against his pelvis, painted in his own cum - including dirtying up his own glasses.
You loved those glasses even more now.
You couldn’t get him to swear - but fuck, that was really something.
“Thank you.” He said meekly, still struggling for breath. “Th-thank you, Miss.”
“Good boy.” You leaned in and kissed his forehead. “Such a good boy for me.”
Now, it was time to take care of him and make sure that he had a good come down.
You put the toy on the coffee table, placing it with the opening up so it wouldn’t leak everywhere - you wouldn’t clean it later. You also took off his glasses and placed them aside. Again - you would clean them later.
You rushed to untie his hands, and eased his arms back around his body by gently rubbing his shoulders, hoping that the muscles wouldn’t be too sore or stiff from being in the same position for so long.
“Such a good boy.” You assured him. “You did so well for me honey.”
He hummed in acknowledgement. Clearly, he was absolutely exhausted from the ordeal. You hoped you could get his tall, gangly self to his bed on your own if he was so fucked out and weak. You walked back around to his front and laid your lips on his forehead again, murmuring more praises against his skin as you continued to rub his shoulders and run your fingers through his hair. You told him how good he was, how perfect he had been for you, how beautiful he was.
After a few minutes, you felt his hands on your hips as he came out of the haze. He ran a thumb along the waistband of your pants, and his first words after that haze surprised you.
“What - what about you?” He asked.
Clearly, he meant that you should have an orgasm. Your cunt was aching dully between your thighs, and you were sure that you had soaked through your underwear. But that had been a lot for him, and you didn’t want to overwhelm him during the first time.
“That’ll be a lesson for next time.” You told him quietly. He hummed quietly at this. He felt assured by you simply saying ‘next time’. “I have to clean up your toy now, so you can use it again later. Then I’ll clean you up and tuck you into bed, okay, baby?”
He nodded. “Yes, please. Thank you.”
You hesitantly broke away from him and grabbed the toy, and as you moved to leave the room, you paused at him mumbling out more words.
“Can - can I have a glass of water, please?” He asked quietly.
“Of course you can, baby.”
You went into the kitchen and ran the toy under hot water - which you left going as you got a glass and filled it with cold water and ice from the dispenser. You were lucky to find a straw in the takeout bag from earlier - you put it in the glass and, while the hot water was still running in the sink, you rushed out to give Spencer a drink.
You held the glass while he chugged gratefully from it, and after a few moments, you ensured that he could hold it with his sex tired hands by himself and then you left to finish cleaning up the toy. You set it on his empty dish rack to drip dry (which was quite a sight). And then you went to the bathroom, coming back with a warm cloth to wipe him down. He was only slightly unsteady on his legs as you guided him to bed - his muscles shaking and tired after the whole amazing ordeal.
You found it endearing that his bed was unmade, surrounded by stacks of books that were lined up on the floor, rather than on any shelf.
You pulled back the covers completely and helped him get in, and you were tucking him in nicely when he asked the sweet question.
“Will you cuddle with me?” He asked quietly, looking up at you with those adorable, expectant eyes once again. “You know, for - for the aftercare?”
You likely would have done it simply because he asked, even if you didn’t deem it ‘necessary’ for aftercare. But because he asked, it was part of good care.
“Of course.” You answered. “I don’t have any pjs, so do you mind if I sleep in my underwear?”
You had just tucked him into bed naked, and he was asking you to lay down beside him like that. But still, you wanted to ask how comfortable he would be if you were in a state of undress.
His eyes shined with interest at the idea of seeing you at least partially undressed.
“I don’t mind.” He told you.
You nodded, and stepped back slightly to begin undressing.
“So - did you have fun?” You asked. You suspected that he had entirely enjoyed himself, but you did want to hear him say it.
Spencer grinned at this. “I think what we just did has changed my definition of ‘fun’ entirely.” He told you. “In a good way. So you know.”
You preened at the idea that you had shifted Spencer’s worldview. Someone who most likely spent his free time reading research papers and playing through chess games entirely on his own and called it ‘fun’ would now be thinking about spending his free time playing with you instead.
You stripped out of your pants, socks, and work blouse, which left you in your simple cotton underwear, a thin cotton camisole and your bra underneath. You decided to take off your bra underneath your shirt and just sleep in the cami and panties for comfort. You knew your underwear was stuck to your cunt from your previous burning arousal, and Spencer’s eyes did focus hard on that, and then focused even harder on the outline of your bare breasts as you ditched your bra off to the side.
If he had the ability to get hard again after that spectacular orgasm, he probably would have been throbbing at the sight of you.
You lifted up the covers and crawled into bed with him, cuddling into his side as he tentatively wrapped an arm around your waist. Your stomach fluttered when he kissed the top of your head before you felt his body relax into the mattress.
“Thank you.” He said quietly, clearly exhausted. “I love it when you teach me things.”
...
Keep Reading Here - Lesson Two: Magic Metacarpals
Note: This is a Capsule Series, so each fic can be read as an individual oneshot. There is no overarching story, and no specific ending.
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VI. Love
pairing: joel miller x f!reader
rating: explicit, 18+, minors dni
warnings/tags: jackson era!joel, sharpshooter!reader, enemies to lovers [ish], age difference [joel is mid 50s, reader is early to mid 30s], joel lives forever fight me, canon compliant violence, SMUT, basically pwp, oral [m & f receiving], fingering, brief handjob, unprotected p in v sex, choking, blink and you’ll miss it anal play, and then real anal play, just a couple pussy pronouns (come at me, jk don’t), terms of endearment [babygirl, pretty girl, little girl, you get the gist], periods, female reader, reader has hair long enough to pull, no physical description, protective!joel, no use of y/n.
word count: 8.3k
series masterlist
a/n: the culmination! I’ve had so much fun with this fic and i hope y’all have thoroughly enjoyed
⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾
Joel exhaled deeply through his nose. The sound was followed up by the feeling of his hand cradling the back of your head; fingers twisting in your hair and giving a tug close to the roots. Between your own deep inhale through your nose and the relished moans that vibrated around his shaft in your mouth, you also heard all the little things Joel whispered to you in a stream of consciousness.
Yeah babygirl, that’s it. And… that mouth feels so good wrapped around my cock. And… look at you. Doin’ so good for me, pretty girl. And… wanna feel you choke on me. That one came with a particularly hard thrust up of his hips that had the head of his cock bumping up to the back of your throat which made his ask a reality.
You sputtered around his length, saliva dripping down your chin and you pressed down against his hip, pulling yourself back from him just enough to not be triggering your gag reflex. You flicked him a glance – something a little playfully scolding. He responded by letting his chest bounce with a soft laugh and his fingers relinquished their grasp on your hair, trading it for a soft pat on the back of the head.
“Sorry,” he grinned and sucked in a deep breath when you lowered your lips on him again. Concave cheeks that tightened around his shaft was nearly the end of him and he lowered his head back on his pillow, eyes pinched shut. “Where’d you learn to give head like this?”
To the best of your current ability, you smiled. Lips tightening even further around him. And with firm pressure, you pulled your mouth off of his length with careful attention paid to the head. A couple slow swipes of your tongue over his slit before you removed him from your mouth completely. You shot him a coy smirk, and curled your fist around him to administer long, slow strokes. “I’ve got a lot of skills,”
“That you do,” he agreed, adding just the slightest bit of pressure to the back of your neck to guide you back down to him. “Though this might be my favorite of them,”
The way his body reacted to your touch was more than enough evidence of that. His member throbbed in your hand, and when you succumbed to the press of his fingers on your head and secured your lips around him again, precum dribbled out of him and re-coated your tongue. There was a finite amount of time to finish him off – it was why you preferred not to partake in this type of activity in the mornings. At least not on patrol days.
But Joel had looked so damn beautiful this morning. Early morning light coming in through the window and hitting his lashes. The slight downward curve of his lips – displeased even in sleep. The gentle rise and fall of his chest; steady. All of that paired with how he’d looked after you in the past couple months. How he bathed you when the soreness and bruises intensified at their height. How he changed the bandages on your wounds with the preciseness and routine of a no-nonsense nurse. And how when all the physical signs of the attack faded, he remained steadfastly dedicated to ensuring that the psychological repercussions didn’t rear their ugly head and send your progress backward. So that’s why you pushed the sheets down this morning and positioned yourself between his legs. Why you untucked him from his underwear and started upon this oh so delicious task despite the time constraint.
His member twitched in your mouth and you flicked your eyes back up to his face. His eyes were glued to you, jaw had fallen slack. You knew that look on his face all too well. He didn’t have very long left. And with a quick glance at the clock on the bedside table, that was for the best. Joel came with a strangled moan, his come flowing out of him and directly into your mouth. Your prize for a job well done. Proud that you’d since moved on from him pulling out and needing an extensive amount of time cleaning up the aftermath.
It all happened quickly. His orgasm and you swallowing it down. Before he’d even had time to fully catch his breath again, you were backing up and pushing yourself up from the bed. Even managed to catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror propped up against the wall to make sure there wasn’t anything too egregious looking about you before you ventured out into the rest of the house in case Ellie was around, too.
“Hey,” Joel called from the bed. He’d paused long enough for you to look at him before he continued, “let me return the favor.”
“Can’t,” you said back, pulling open the bedroom door. “Work,”
Joel tilted his head back and glanced at the time, quickly coming to the conclusion that you were right – there was work to be done. The first time the both of you would be moving on from the creek trails and heading back to the lodge where you’d gone on your first patrol together all those months ago. After the… incident… Tommy had thought it important to send you back out on patrol as soon as you were strong enough to do so. More specifically, thought it was important to send you back to Elk Creek as a sort of exposure therapy. Joel, of course, had something to say about it, though it was to little avail. Your first patrol back out had indeed been to the trails, and every patrol since had been there. Now apparently, you were free from purgatory.
⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾
Your horses walked side by side, the lodge now just a couple hundred yards away, looming in the distance. Comfortable silence had settled between you and Joel not long after you’d left Jackson. That’s how it normally went now. No reason to fill the silence with words; just happy to be riding along together. The way it could have been in another lifetime. It also wasn’t lost on you how different this trip to the lodge was from the previous one. How last time, Joel rode behind you, nervous as all hell you were going to turn around and shoot him. How you’d gotten inside and embarrassed the hell out of yourself asking him how they went about violating their women on patrol. How you killed those two runners while Joel stood beside and watched.
Things were certainly different now. For starters, your little dilapidated cottage went mostly unused now. All the belongings you’d collected had since moved into Joel’s house. It was just easier that way considering you spent most of your days and nights there anyway. Though your cottage occasionally saw a visitor. Ellie. Joel balked at the idea of her living all on her own at the cottage. He simply wouldn’t allow it. But when tensions started to run hot between them, she’d spend some evenings there for a little extra space. Joel learned to be alright with that as long as she came back at an appropriate curfew of eleven o’clock. And not a night went by where Joel wasn’t up listening for the sound of the garage door, indicating her safe return home.
Your relationship with Joel had also changed vastly. You figured that was the only reason he told you about Sarah. It wasn’t something he would’ve disclosed if he didn’t think you were close. Serious. He told you how he got the scar on his temple, too. How life just didn’t matter for a while. Not until he met Tess. And then Ellie. Though he didn’t say it out loud, you knew what would’ve culminated that thought: and then until he met you. But Joel kept his emotions close to the vest. Never gave away too much through words or expressions. It was like learning a foreign language, analyzing all the things between the lines.
“Hey,” Joel called from his horse, just a few feet away from yours. “I gotta tell you somethin’,”
Far be it from Joel to preface anything he had to say instead of just saying it. Though with your gaze fixed ahead on the ski lodge, the intrigue you felt by what he’d say was tempered by the image of the main entrance door on the lodge open. Instead of seeing the thick natural oak door, you could only see darkness – cluing you in that the door had either been blown, left, or forced ajar. It seemed that Joel followed your gaze and found the same thing you had.
“You stay out here,” he mumbled, pulling his rifle out of the scabbard and propped the butt against his thigh.
You flicked your eyes at him, nearly rolling them to the back of your head, “fuck that.” Digging your heels into the belly of your horse, you got it to take a quick trot forward, but all at once, Joel’s horse was perpendicularly in front of your horse, intruding on its path.
“I mean it,”
“You know what’s really gonna piss me off today,” you cocked your head to the side. “If you die. Take the front, I’ll go around back.”
Your horse got moving again with spectacular speed. The type of speed that ensured Joel would have to abide by your rules. Your terms. And he did. Begrudgingly. You swore you heard him mumble his displeasure under his breath, but it was all mixed in with the wind zipping past your ears as you worked your way around to the back of the lodge.
From what you could tell, the back of the lodge seemed to be secure, and though you dismounted your horse and hitched it to an old, rotted post away from the view of the large windows on the first floor, everything seemed to be in order back here. No doors or windows were ajar. Had you come up on this building from this vantage point originally, you’d never even think twice about going in. Yet, still with the utmost caution, you stayed out of view from the windows, ducked around and crouched with your rifle poised in your hands and duck-waddled to the staircase that led up to the second floor balcony where you and Joel had first posted up on that first patrol together.
Thankfully there was no one out there like you two had been. If there had, there wouldn’t have been anywhere for you to run for cover. Just standing out there like a sitting duck, ready to be shot at. But even on the second floor, none of the doors or windows had been propped open. Nothing to make you think that anyone had holed up inside. Even while on patrol, you’d tended to open the windows of any building you happened to be in. The ventilation was needed. After a couple decades of stale air and death, a through-breeze was appreciated.
You slung the rifle strap over your shoulder and pressed your hands flat to the dusty glass of one of the windows at the library. Hopefully, whomever had left the front door unlocked and ajar, had also forgotten to lock one of the windows. That first try was no luck. Locked and gathering cobwebs like it’d been shut for a good, long while. Second and third tries had the same outcome as the first, and with the fourth try, you were about to give up and go back downstairs when that window suddenly slid upward beneath the force of your hands. With an extra pause to make sure there were no out of the ordinary noises coming from within the room, you crawled through and tiptoed forward while simultaneously swinging your rifle back into your hands.
There still weren’t any unusual noises; nothing you could pinpoint as being a threat. So unless there was someone very clever inside that had spent so much time in here as to know where all the creaky floorboards were, you knew everything was clear. Knew that whoever had last been on patrol here just hadn’t secured the door as well as they should have. You made a mental note to check the log book for the culprit. Still, you did your due diligence of doing a walk-through of the upper floor. Though you had to admit you held your gun a little looser than you would’ve on a normal patrol.
You wandered through room to room, allowing yourself the patience to move at a leisurely pace. An abundance of time passed and feeling certain no one else was in the lodge, you shouldered your rifle, though still spooked when Joel came up behind you and set his hand on your arm. Only when you saw his rough, calloused hand there did you soften and turn toward him.
“You’re no good at listenin’,” he mumbled and looked down at his other hand. Your gaze followed his whereupon, he raised it a little higher. And held between his fingers, the stem of a delicate white, woolly flower. Edelweiss. Joel thrust the singular flower in your direction and waited for you to pluck it out of his hand.
“Where’d you get this?”
“It’s growin’ out front now,”
You twirled the stem between your thumb and index finger, watching the flower go round and round. It brought a smile to your face. Something this simple during the apocalypse. Who would’ve thought. With your mind and attention elsewhere, Joel’s hands migrating to your hips and tugging you closer to his chest brought you back to this very moment. A glow seemed to wash over his face; your eyes meeting his was all that was needed.
“Joel Miller picks flowers?” You mocked, allowing him to pull your rifle off your shoulder and set it on the old, wooden table beside you. To your utmost surprise, the table didn’t buckle beneath the weight of it. Surely, you thought, it would.
Joel smirked and crowded your space until your backside hit the edge of the table, just barely rested on it. It didn’t buckle then, either. “Don’t tell anyone,”
The softness in his expression, you could tell this wasn’t going to be one of your more serious patrols. This happened occasionally. When things were quiet. Especially since the coming of early summer. When it first started happening, Joel would get this look on his face – similar to the one he was giving you now – and you knew what he was after. He’d be all clumsy hands and lingering touches. Giddy like the schoolboy he must’ve been in the 70s. And when you began to request it on patrols, your method was a little more forceful. Direct words and hands. Joel never was good at picking up on hints. So when the face gave you the inkling, the slow hand he raised to the center of your chest to feel your heartbeat was the confirmation. It was odd seeing him like this; even if you had grown increasingly familiar with it. Though now many moons since you’d first stepped foot through the gates of Jackson, Joel’s capacity for tenderness never ceased to amaze you.
Because he hadn’t always been this gentle. No. You now knew of his wild youth. And the years he spent before the Boston QZ, when survival had nearly taken every last shred of humanity from him. He’d opened up because you’d asked him to. Asked him to let you in and make a home there. He’d been all too willing. Never bristled at any of the countless questions on the topics. Never shied away from telling you the truth even if it wasn't pretty. Because of all that, you now got to see him like this. With gentle hands, he helped you back further on the table until your feet dangled below. You brushed your fingers back through his hair in silent adoration while he stared at you with equal adoration.
When heat rose in your cheeks, you reached forward and looped your arms around his neck, clasping your hands behind his head. “What’d you want to tell me earlier? Before we saw the door?”
Joel pursed his lips and leaned in for a kiss. Maybe if he wooed you with something mind-blowing enough, you’d forget you even asked. So he slipped his tongue into your mouth and lapped against yours, nibbled on your bottom lip, and gave you the most passionate kiss he knew how. But you still pulled away from him, albeit with glazed over eyes, and took an extra breath to steady yourself despite the dampness you felt between your legs, before cocking your head to the side to await his answer.
He smiled softly and took your chin between his thumb and index finger, “‘m happy I didn’t shoot you that day.”
You barked out a hoarse laugh and rolled your eyes while simultaneously dropped your hands to his ass and pulled him closer to you until his crotch and chest were pressed up against yours. Then with playful bites, you nipped at his whiskered jaw, “M'sure you would’a found someone else to fuck.”
“Probably,” he laughed when you squeezed his ass, jaw dropping in shock at his answer. He bowed his head and nimbly undid the button and zipper on your pants. “But I don’t think anyone would be as good as you,”
“You’re pussy whipped,”
Joel took a beat before he looked up at you. A playfully confused look on his face, “now how do you know that? Ain’t nobody been usin’ pussy whipped since outbreak,”
“I heard Tommy say it,”
“Yeah?” Joel looked back down and wrapped one strong arm around your waist, lifting you off the table just enough that he could work your pants down over your ass. “Do you think I am?”
You smiled and shook your head, watching as he took a half-step back to allow for some room for him to unbutton his own pants. “I think you would do anything for me but I don’t think it’s ‘cause you’re pussy whipped.”
“No?” He grinned and rested one of his hands on the table beside you while he leaned in with the other and dragged his middle finger through your slit and up to your clit. He nodded when you whimpered and pulled your bottom lip between your teeth. “Why do you think it is?”
Eyebrows furrowed together and with your head tilting backward, face up to the ceiling, a breathless smile passed over your face. Your lungs just barely managed to get enough air to speak. “‘Cause you like me,”
“Actually I don’t like you,” Joel studied your face (or what of it he could see with it tilted back) as he traced two fingertips down the length of your slit and eased them inside you. “I love you,”
“Joel,” you whimpered, bowing your head forward again with your eyes cinched shut, “you’re not supposed to say that for the first time when your fingers are inside me,”
He chuckled and thrust his fingers slowly, “sorry.” When his digits plunged back in to the last knuckle, he curled them upward inside you, against your front wall. Pride emanated from him when the immediate result was your thighs trembling and clenching together. “Tried to tell you when we rode in,”
You hummed and leaned in closer to him, enough to be able to rest your head on his shoulder, lips angled to his neck as to be able to deliver loving kisses to his skin. Your arms took the opportunity to wrap around his torso, hands splaying over the broad expanse of his back.
And he, while never losing sight of the fact that he was currently trying to pleasure you, kissed your temple and let his mouth linger there. “I love you, babygirl,” he whispered near enough to your ear that his words were clear as day – as if they hadn’t been the first time he said it. Feeling you nod against him, his lips stretched into a wider smile. It had been years since he’d felt this sort of thing for someone. The willingness to be soft with someone, but you pulled it out of him. “More ‘an life,” he whispered again, feeling your hands migrate to his pants. No doubt going to match the speed of his fingers which hadn’t ceased soft thrusts inside you. “You got me. I’m yours,”
Managing to just barely gain the wherewithal to shove your hand down into his underwear, you curled your fingers around his semi-hard shaft and began to stroke him with decisive, firm tugs that kept pace with his fingers in you. Eyes widened to take in as much visual information as possible. The way his jaw hung slack. Or the way tendons in his forearm pulled taut every time his fingers changed their angle inside you. But mostly, the way his eyes were fixed on you. Gaze gentle and longing. Almost like you could tell he’d spend the rest of his life loving you.
“Gonna fuck me or what, Miller?”
His lips curled into a smile and he crowded your space a little more, making it almost impossible for you to continue stroking him. “Was hopin’ you’d say it back. Only thing worse than sayin’ it when my fingers are inside ya’ is sayin’ it when my cock’s inside ya’.”
Heat rose up in your neck and cheeks. “Make me come and we’ll see what we can do,”
Joel leaned in the couple inches more needed to press his lips to yours. At one point in life you would’ve balked at such an activity happening when you were supposed to be focused on a patrol – keeping an eye on anything that could cause a threat to Jackson. Maybe on another day you still would. You’d smirk and push on Joel’s chest and say a cheeky, little comment that wouldn’t bruise his ego too heavily so he’d give up the fight and pick back up on it when you returned to your quiet home. But this – getting in a quickie while out – was beginning to be part of the routine. You thought it funny; less than a year ago, you’d cringed at the thought of going on patrol, knowing a couple men were going to impose themselves on you. Now, you almost hoped it would happen with this particular man. That he’d push you up against anything sturdy enough to withstand your weight, spread your legs apart, and press himself inside you. You knew he’d always find you wet, arousal dripping from you and coating your inner thighs. Now you knew that when he’d do these things, he’d also be telling you he loved you.
Joel eased his fingers out of you and nodded, sympathetic to the whine you muttered at the new emptiness. He pushed his pants down past his hips and untucked himself from his underwear; his length laying heavy and thick in his hand. His fingers, shiny with your slick, ran over his shaft in languid strokes. Very little would have to be done to keep himself hard as his eyes flickered between your face and the place he longed to be between your legs. “You want your pants completely off?”
You flashed a quick grin and shook your head, knowing what that meant. He wasn’t about to Houdini himself over or under your pants to get in between your legs. Using him as support, you hopped off the table and turned around, facing away from him. You smiled again when you felt his lips press to the back of your head and linger there. His hands made quick work of pushing your pants down a little bit further, to your knees. Then he stepped forward, one hand gripping into the supple flesh of your ass, and the other guiding his member to your awaiting entrance. Reaching back, you set your hand on his hip. A little intimacy given your history with this position – not only with Joel, but with the men of yesteryear. He let out a hum that went up in pitch at the end; wordlessly asking if you were ready. To which you nodded and used your free hand to brace yourself against the table to keep from your hip jamming into the edge.
But Joel entered you slowly. No quick or harsh movements. Just a steady drag of himself into you as if he was relishing in feeling every inch sink inside your tight heat. And when he bottomed out, there was a simultaneous adjusting of hands between the two of you. He re-positioned his around your body. One forearm crossing over your stomach to keep your lower half secure, and the other arm over your chest, his hand splayed out over your breast. In perfect position to keep you near enough that he could whisper all the filthy things he surely would in your ear. Your hands came up to his forearm over your chest, holding firm for the deep thrusts you knew would surely overtake you.
“I fuckin’ love this pussy,” he growled in your ear as he pulled his hips backward. The last word was emphasized by the powerful forward motion of his hips again. The force of it and the way the head of his cock nudged up against your cervix was enough to send you stumbling one step forward. And had his arms not been holding you, would’ve resulted in you toppling over the table. “Tell me whose it is,”
Your fingernails dug into his forearm, “it’s yours. Only yours,”
Based on the way you felt his lips stretch along the skin just below your ear, you knew he was smiling. All too happy to have you give in to him in the best of ways. He let out a long breath with his next thrust. The throbbing in his shaft only matched by the throbbing of your core around him. If he were a lesser man, he could lose it right then and there. Fill you with his spend and fuck it up into you. Getting a chance to see if what you’d told him was true. Not like he could knock you up. He was in no position to be bringing about life. Hell, the world was in no position to be bringing about life. But shit if he didn’t want to try.
You moaned and tilted your head to the side, away from his, knowing he’d give you what you were asking for. Fingers, mostly limp, curled around your neck. And with a kiss to your temple, he added pressure, keen to the way your expression shifted into a breathless smile. As he mumbled a string of dirty thoughts and questions into your ear, you nodded to him in response. Yes to anything he had to say or offer. Always yes. Eyebrows knitting together each time he slammed back into you to the hilt.
Soon the pressure on your lower back came to be a bit too much. Years on horseback will do that to you. You eased yourself out of the octopus hold he had on you and laid down over the table, chest and cheek flush to it. Joel gave your ass an appreciative squeeze. Sweat beaded at his hairline and he wiped it away with the heel of his hand before he brought that hand down to the back of your head. He took a fistful of your hair and pulled on it until your head followed suit. Neck stretched out, hands splayed out in front of you, it was impossible to ignore the delicious push and pull of his cock. He pistoned forward, very nearly splitting you in half before dragging backwards so you felt every last inch of him moving in and out of your hole.
“You’re a dirty old man,” you grinned, letting out a particularly hearty moan when he moved his hand from your ass cheek and centered over your puckered hole.
Another proud smile washed over his face, “yeah but you’re the dirty little girl moanin’ like a dog in heat for him.”
Even you couldn’t keep yourself from smiling at that. Were you not the person who begged for him almost every night? Albeit in the comfort of your own home. And now, taking him deep inside you, hitting that place that made your legs tremble. He trailed his hand down to your spasming thigh and gave it a gentle squeeze. Relax anymore and you were liable to topple right over. The most amazing part of it all was that he didn’t have to do anything in particular to make it good. You’d always imagined there was some mind-blowing thing that would have to be done in order for you to like this. If there was, he did it so routinely – so easily – that it was imperceptible.
In the beginning, you never knew when your climax was coming. It wasn’t something you could pinpoint the feeling to and give notice ahead of time. As you grew more attuned to it, learning yourself and what it felt like, you found there was no reason to give notice. Joel had learned at the same time you had. The way it felt when you were close. The way your back arched. The way your core pulsed around him as if trying to get him to slow or stop. The way your eyebrows knitted together to create an almost-frown on the rest of your face. The way your breathing shallowed out…
There were any number of signs he could look to and know. It’s how he knew you were close now. Your chest heaved searching for fresh air despite quick, shallow breaths that almost seemed like you were hyperventilating. He pulled you back up to him then until your back was flush to his chest and his arms wrapped around you to keep you still. He drove himself up into you in perfect rhythm, and though that felt amazing, it was never the thing that got you over the edge. It was the way his voice rang in your ears.
“Lemme see how pretty you look comin’ all over my cock,” he nibbled your earlobe with the next deep thrust. Then after a high-pitched squeak from you when he dropped one hand to your clit, “attagirl. That’s my fuckin’ girl. C’mon. You don’t have to hold out, give it to me,” he rambled lowly. “I’m gonna fill your cunt all the way up, just wanna feel you first,”
That’s ultimately what does it. Gets you to give in the pleasure until you’re a whimpering, trembling mess in Joel’s arms. Feeling wetness from your release trickle down your inner thighs and in the hair on his lower belly; each snap of his hips smacked that wetness back against your ass. And you’re weren't even done shaking when Joel stilled, tense. The muscles in his arms flexed, holding you as close to him as possible. Then the feeling of his spend painting your walls. Quick, jabbing thrusts pushed his release deeper as if he was trying to ensure every last drop stayed inside you.
Joel let out a throaty groan when his orgasm culminated. There was just a hint of a beat where he allowed himself to catch his breath before he leaned in and kissed your neck tenderly. You stirred in his arms, hips shifting back against him and he looked down at where you were connected. With care, he eased his hips backward until his softening length slipped out of you. The lack of stretch within was replaced by his fingertips pressing against your entrance – not yet pushing past the muscle to be inside, but just enough pressure at the rim that you knew what he was doing. Trying to keep his come from dripping out of you.
With a breathless grin, you tilted your head back until it bumped along his collarbone, “I love you too.”
A smile made a home on his face and he leaned in for another kiss. This one to your lips with gentleness you never thought you’d find in a man. Let alone this man.
⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾
It was evening by the time you and Joel got settled back at his house, and even later by the time you let your body hit the bed. An old desk fan with metal blades whooshed away in the corner, spitting out as much cool air as it could though it wasn’t enough to keep up with the heat the house had retained during the afternoon. Though there was more than enough electricity provided by the plant, everyone tried to stay away from air conditioners in the privacy of their own homes to allow for the community spaces to have that luxury. So now you lay, tits up and out to the world, on the bed like a starfish, waiting for the fan to cycle back around and hit you with a burst of cool air.
Joel came in and shut the bedroom door behind him, quickly ditching the towel he’d slung around his hips in the event Ellie happened about the house. He moseyed over to the dresser in his fully nude form, very keen to the way your eyes tracked him – or more specifically – the way your eyes tracked his manhood swinging between his legs with each step.
He pulled a clean pair of boxer briefs out of the top drawer and then turned toward you full frontal. “You’re droolin’,”
It took a second longer of staring at his member before you registered his words and looked up into his eyes. “Then get over here and give me something to drool on,”
A quick laugh ripped through him and he walked over to the bed, underwear still in hand, and crawled up just far enough that his torso was above your legs with his hands pressed to the mattress on either side of your thighs. “You already did that today,”
“A girl can only do it once a day?”
“You’re not gettin’ a second one in until I get to pay you back for this morning,”
“Oh yeah. I’ve been really good to you today,”
Joel nodded in agreement and laid down on his belly. His arms hooked beneath your thighs and hauled you in closer to his face. With your legs slung comfortably over his shoulders and your feet returned to the mattress, he nodded a second time and turned toward your left thigh. Then, shaking his head back and forth slowly, he rubbed his coarse whiskers over your inner thigh. “You’re good to me everyday,”
You giggled and shifted your hips down closer to him even more. “You’re right. You owe me so much,” you joked, but as you looked down to watch him, you noted how he nodded yet again and this time pressed his lips to soothe the skin his scruff had rubbed sensitive. With a soft hum, you lowered one hand to your waist and laced your fingers with his.
He squeezed your fingers and pressed your joined hands down against your lower belly. His lips made their way a little further north, nearing the apex of your thighs. “We’ll start with a couple orgasms tonight, then see how else I can repay the rest of the debt,”
You nodded eagerly, eyes glued to his mouth until it disappeared from your line of vision. The sight ended and was simultaneously replaced by the feeling of his tongue paying careful attention to your swollen lips. He lapped his tongue over them, opening and closing his lips around you, seemingly delighted with the entire thing. Your legs shifted wider over his shoulders, inviting him even closer if that was possible. And with the hand not intertwined with yours, he raised it to your hip to hold you still when his mouth centered just where you’d wanted it to be.
A coo floated out past your lips, your other hand reaching down and tangling in his salt and pepper curls. His mouth doing absolute wonders as his tongue encouraged your anatomy to open for him. Licking along your velvety slit until his tongue inadvertently notched at your entrance. Your hips jerked further onto his mouth and your moans turned into a whimper when he flattened his tongue and trailed it up to your clit.
You cried out his name and he responded by closing his lips around the sensitive bud, and took it into his mouth gently. Your legs flinched together then. Involuntary and quick. And though it impeded Joel’s ability to continue, he took it in stride and pressed his palms to each of your thighs, easing them apart until he had space to continue – which he did with immediate fervor. But instead of replacing his hand with yours on your lower belly, he turned his hand upright beneath his chin and carefully pushed his middle and ring fingers into your throbbing core.
“Joel,” you moaned, extending his name and curling your fingers a little bit tighter in his hair.
He hummed back to you; a vibration moving through your clit and up your spine. And then with his fingers spearing into you at a slow pace, you cried out again for him and tugged on his hair. But he was not inclined to stop. Not when your body was giving him exactly what he wanted. Arousal came from your outstretched hole and pooled down into his palm. Your walls clenched in on his digits, trying and failing, to hold them still. But what absolute pleasure there was in the failure. You bucked your hips upward, a slave to the feeling he was giving you, and his fingers slipped out. With haste, he lowered his tongue to your gaping entrance, and rimmed the muscle. But instead of replacing his fingers where they had been, he set them at your other, puckered hole. The arousal that still coated them now rubbed over the taut skin.
Your eyes flicked open and looked down at him to already find him staring at you. Waiting. With his thumb pressed against your hole but not in. His mouth never stopped its ministrations, now back on your clit. And unsure of the exact reason why, but you nodded at Joel. Clear and definite. A growl rumbled through his chest and he sunk his thumb into your ass. Though it wasn’t anything exceptionally large, it had you chewing at your bottom lip. And as soon as the forward pressure began, it stopped. Now just a stretching fullness as Joel got his thumb into you to the first knuckle.
“Joel,” you whimpered, eyebrows furrowing, “please.”
For the first time, he pulled his mouth away from you and looked down at his thumb. An open mouthed, breathless smile crossed over his face and he looked back up at you with pure lust in his eyes. “You wanna come with my finger in your ass?”
“Yes– yes please. M’close,”
So he put his mouth back on your clit and got to work. He knew it wasn’t going to take much more. Your legs were already shaking. Your calf muscles spasmed tight and released. He could count to ten and call out your orgasm with an insane amount of accuracy. Joel bent his thumb inside you, adding downward pressure to stretch out your ass a little more. Make it feel a little fuller, though he doubted he needed to do much to make it feel like that. In fact, he didn’t even make it to the ten count in his head before a scream tore through your throat and your thighs squeezed around his head. He lapped away at you until your body settled, little aftershocks coursing through you though he kept drinking down the arousal that came out.
Only when you physically pushed his head back, did he pull away. Though he didn’t get very far. Stayed between your legs and looked back down at his thumb as he eased it out of you. You shifted uncomfortably beneath him, but as soon as his finger was free, he crawled up over your body and rested his lower half on yours. The weight of him, easing you back to calmness.
“You’re all messy,” you scrunched your nose and smiled, noting the way his beard shone with your slick in it.
He grinned back at you and lifted one hand up to his face, wiping it over his mouth. Then with both hands firmly planted on the bed on either side of you, he leaned in for a kiss. Relishing in the way he could force his tongue into your mouth, getting you to taste the remnants of your release. “You made the mess. I was cleaning up,”
Your jaw dropped but he just kissed you again, and lifted his waist high enough that he could reach in between your bodies and grab his length. It was a quick moment thereafter that you felt his erection pressing against you – although not to the place you expected to feel it.
You shot him a glance, not worried or scared… just noticing. “Wrong hole,”
“Sure?” He smiled, not pressing his luck any. As soon as you nodded, he shifted up to the correct entrance.
“Maybe another night it can be the right hole,” you whispered, almost feeling like you needed to band-aid his ego.
Joel pursed his lips together and eased his hips forward. He watched the way your jaw dropped open when his shaft stretched you open and when he bottomed out, he pulled his hand away and cupped both of his over your head. “It doesn’t need to be. Only if you want it. Don’t do it for me,” he pulled his hips back and then drove them forward again, “I got this. And I love this,”
“Yeah?” you chirped, lifting your hips off the bed to meet his, “she feels good?” Off his brazen nod, you lifted your head off the pillow and nipped at his scruffy jaw. Then a touch lower to his neck. “You like the way she creams for you?”
“Fuck,” he muttered and bowed his head. His cheek now rested beside yours. Hips stuttering forward. “You can’t keep talking, ‘cause I’m already close,”
“The old man can’t keep it together?” You mocked playfully, reaching up to tangle your fingers in the ends of hair at the nape of his neck. Your body was rocking up and down along the mattress, at the mercy of his powerful thrusts on top of you.
Joel lifted his head enough to look down at you and brought a hand to your neck, applying pressure to the sides. “The old man just got done eating the best tastin’ pussy he’s ever had, and then watched his girl come with his thumb in her ass. The old man is doin’ pretty damn good, all considering.”
The laugh you wanted to give was stifled because of his hand on your throat, but he muffled the rest of it with his lips. Wet, open-mouthed kisses that had his tongue wrestling yours. You moved your hands to his chest, rubbing along his pecs. But even that was short lived. Joel wrangled your hands in his and pinned them down on either side of your head. He laced your fingers with his and lowered his full weight to you. At this angle, only able to thrust into you with short jabs; ones that kept you filled to the brim and feeling him at every spot within you.
You stared up into his eyes, your jaw hung slack and your lips swollen and throbbing. Every part of both of your bodies seemed to be throbbing. Pulse points making the pleasure known to every cell.
He shook his head absently. Now his own eyebrows furrowed, trying to stave off his orgasm. “So fuckin’ beautiful like this,”
You smiled and let your eyes drift shut. But Joel’s hand cupping over your cheek stirred you enough to get you to open your eyes again. “Like what? Sexed out?” The rest of that breath was expelled from your lungs with a thrust from Joel that nearly had you thinking he’d gone beyond pressing against your cervix and being fully in it. A pain that quickly subsided into a weighty, stretching pleasure. “Keep going, don’t stop. Please… please,”
Joel lifted himself off of you just enough to keep pace. Long, languid thrusts rolled into you like waves breaking on the beach. You had made fun of him but the truth was you weren’t far off either. Way too close to another orgasm to even be nearly respectable. You came first, and even though Joel had a passing thought about having a smart ass remark about it, he didn’t say anything. You whimpered and curled forward into his chest, choking his cock inside you. Before you’d finished completely, he groaned with you, abs flexing as quick thrusts shot rope after rope of his come inside you.
He collapsed on top of you, his lips at your neck while yours were at his shoulder. You breathed together for a few moments. Just long enough to catch enough air in your lungs, before Joel pulled out of you and rolled over onto his back. In the same instant, you turned onto your side, curling into him with one leg slung over his waist. The air, warm and muggy between you. A sheen of sweat had you both glowing in the moonlight.
His arm beneath you, curled upward and his fingertips brushed over the skin on your shoulder. Both absently stared at the ceiling fan above until you let out a content sigh and rocked up onto your forearm, gaining the advantage in being above him. He’d said you looked beautiful but you couldn’t help but notice he looked beautiful, too. And with a long, soft kiss that felt like I love you, you peeled yourself out of bed, the sheet sticking to your skin as you went, and quickly pulled one of Joel’s t-shirts out of the dresser. Slipping it over your torso, you pulled the hem down over your ass and tugged the bedroom door open. Finding the hallway clear of roaming teenagers, you tiptoed directly across the hall into the bathroom, closing the door behind you. You stole a glance of yourself in the mirror, feeling foolish with the level of “modesty” you tried to retain in Joel’s t-shirt. Had anyone seen you in the hallway, it would’ve been wholly obvious what you’d just been up to. Your skin had a tacky, sweaty glow. Your hair was an absolute wreck. There was even a slight mark on your neck where his hand had been.
Yet you still grinned to yourself when you sat down on the toilet. Proud (if that was the right emotion) to look this way for Joel. You tore off some toilet paper and reached between your legs to wipe. Already sensitive and sore, you did so with even more attention and care than you would’ve on a normal day. But when you finished and looked down in the bowl, your heart jumped to a stop.
“Joel!” You stared down at the water, now a color you hadn’t seen in some time. “Joel, can you come here?!”
It took a few seconds, likely just long enough for him to find where his underwear had gone, before he rapped a knuckle against the bathroom door. You called him inside, long past the days of being shy to pee around him. Though you insisted everything else was still off limits.
“Did you give the Diva Cup back to Maria like I asked?”
Joel racked his brain for the memory of this conversation. Right. Your first day here – slid the Diva Cup over to him and told him you wouldn’t be needing it. When his memory caught up with the present moment, he shook his head. “I held onto it in case Ellie needed it. Why?”
A smile flashed over your face. “I got my period,”
“Yeah?” He stared at you. A nervous nod swept over you. “That’s great,”
“Is it?”
“Yeah,” he repeated and took a couple steps forward to close the gap between you. After he kissed the top of your head, he pulled open the top drawer of the vanity, going drawer by drawer until he found the box. He looked down at it momentarily before handing it over to you, “means your body knows you're safe again. Get back to its nature,”
“We’ll have to be more cautious with the way we’ve been…” you glanced at the bulge in his underwear before catching his gaze again, “you know…”
He nodded. You both seemed to be doing a lot of that here. “Yeah,” he set his hands on his hips, absently staring at the box in your hands.
“See? Told you it was better I didn’t have it. No pressure,”
His eyes flashed back up to yours. “I’m happy you got it. Your body’s doin’ its thing. You’re healthy. You’re alive. That’s all I want,” he brushed his hand through your hair. “We’ll figure out how to work with it.” Then a pause that seemed to last a little too long for comfort. Joel took a deep breath, “havin’ a little you runnin’ around would probably give me a heart attack. Might be kinda fun too, though,”
You figured there was an emotional glint in your eye. This rock of a man opening up to you like this. “I wish we weren’t having this conversation while I’m on the toilet,”
A laugh rocked through his chest. Joel motioned down to the box again, “y’need help with that?”
“I think I can manage,”
He smiled again and bent over. He cupped his hand over your cheek and planted the most tender kiss you’d ever had on your lips. Joel pressed his forehead to yours with a wink. “Alright. Come back to bed when you’re done. I’ll be waitin’ for ya’,”
“‘Kay,” you nodded. Then as he backed up and headed for the door, you called out to him. “I love you, Joel.”
He looked back over his shoulder as he pulled the door open, “I love you, too.”
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