#my grandma rates
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My Slavic grandma rates diff alt styles
Part 1: the Basics
(2000s) Scene: 3/10
Grandma: There's too much going on, i cant really process it
Me: Thats valid, i personally love it
Grandma: you said this originated from America
Me: 2000s America yea!
Grandma: i can see that.
(2000s) Emo: 6/10
Grandma: Ive seen this one before
Me: Oh really?!
Grandma: Yea, im just not sure where, but i kinda like it!
Gyaru: 10/10
Grandma: This is cute i like this! They look like barbies and dolls!
Me: Yea its Japanesse,
Grandma: i could tell from the models but its pretty i love it
#grandmacore#i love her#she's so cool#gyaru#scene#emo#2000s#2000s scene#2000s emo#alt#alt fashion#despite me dressing somewhat basic i like to call myself âalt at heartâ if thats ok#next part will be the goths#my grandma rates
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love talking to my 84 year old great aunt about movies we've seen recently and shes like "oh yeah I saw Deadpool and Wolverine! didnt know half the characters and overarching story but I liked it a lot :)" â„
#i adore her haha#she and my grandma will go to movies together. two absolutely minuscule old ladies in the theater seeing matinees of R rated films#theyre adorable haha#jennilargh
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Hey y'all! Weird question time again, this time for like a frame of reference. I know the recommended daily intake of sodium for adults (at least, what I was told growing up) is 2,000mg I know I was told* I personally should be having around 10,000mg, maybe more if I am doing anything that loses extra salt How much are people supposed to aim for when they are supposed to restrict sodium? Also, how much sodium do most people actually get on a daily basis, and do you notice if you have extra, like does it cause noticeable side effects? I have absolutely no idea how sodium goes for people without salt wasting syndrome. Normally I could use my family as a benchmark, but it seems likely there's a genetic component to this and one whole side of the family tends towards salt-cravings and/or Addison's disease (a different issue that also causes low sodium) and the other side of the family tends toward other health issues that require restricting sodium intake (I, clearly, do not take after that side of the family lol) *this number was decided upon and approve by my nephrologist, cardiologist, and internist. Probably don't be aiming for that number unless you've talked to at least one ologist about it to run some tests
#the person behind the yarn#tj asks weird questions#inspired to ask this question because I've had about 3 grams of sodium in the last four hours and my blood pressure is still low#my heart rate has come down! so it is working!#but my blood pressure has not gone up#and like...I know salt isn't as directly linked to blood pressure for most humans as it used to be thought#but I know my grandma says whenever she eat salty food she gets water weight????#and I do not understand it but also she and I have like Exact Opposite heart issues#well okay no if we were exact opposites one of us would have bradycardia instead of tachycardia#Almost Exact Opposite heart issues lol#so I can't tell if this is a thing most humans experience and I don't for salt reasons#a thing most humans don't experience and my grandma does for her health reasons#or if it's a thing my grandma is just using the wrong words for. could be! very hard to tell!
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somehow this week is 3 hours long and these little pockets of time i have to scroll and be silly are being consumed with chess. i'm afraid i am developing a new (old) hobby.
#i think it was a few days ago that a poll about chess was circlilating#(yes that was intentional)#and that kinda stuck with me. i downloaded the chess app like 2 days ago and have been playing a fair bit#winning rate is about 80% so!! not so bad!!#(yes i'm still on easy mode but đ„ș haven't played in years so)#before anyone asks - no i have not seen queen's gambit. no i have no interest. i'm sure it's great. still a no.#i feel like a grandma cus my only phone games are sudoku / chess / solitaire#and that colour puzzle game with the little hue squares#everything else i play gets deleted in less than a week#anyways. today i was thinking of Daniel from the House of the Rising Sun post. my cute 70s heartthrob with the cool jacket#i think i'm gonna watch an episode of that tonight. not sure i wanna pick it up during the car ride or a few days later#(this is your sign to treat your mind scenarious like different tv shows đ it may not be the healthiest coping mechanism#but i'd rather think about cool vintage bars and hot guys than listening to all the negative stuff swirling around đ)#anyways x 2. today was my mom's birthday and i made a really cute chocolate cake. i don't usually go for just choccy but it's her fav so.#i need to decorate my acnh island for halloween. and read so much stuff. augh#darya talks to herself
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Thinking about (my version of) Alastor's mother, one of the more than a dozen children of a freed slave and a Choctaw woman, growing up in the miserable conditions of the Indian Territory where her people were forced to, eventually growing up and escaping south in a way that felt like returning home despite the dangers. Trying to pass on the traditions that her own parents taught her to her son while also being intimately aware that the only way he could survive was by hiding everything that made their family what it was.
#native families had a lot of kids because of high infant mortality rates on reservations and federal land#my great grandma was one of at least 13 (possibly more) kids#hazbin hotel#hazbin alastor#alastor hazbin hotel
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how ive been feeling lately
#my post#my grandmas fridge is probably as old as i am so it basically cant make ice#like. it can but it makes the most pathetic tiny slivers and they come out at a rate of like 1 an hour LOL#so we just use ice cube trays to make ice#and its literally a task that takes all of like 5 minutes tops and ive been doing it pretty much since we moved in over a year ago now#but man doing the same thing over and over again makes me feel so irritated after a while#what do you MEAN the ice cube tray is empty again i just filled it đ#like a week or 2 ago my grandma popped into my room to say 'the ice cubes are empty can you pls refill them'#and i just straight up groaned. not at her but at the ice cube thing#adulthood is stupid why am i annoyed that i have to do a 5 minute task every few days that does nothing but benefit the household đ#it does not hurt me it does not have a time limit its very easy and i can listen to a song or 2 while i do it. and yet#ignore me
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Terminator (spoilers for a 40 year old movie)
That movie, the first one, I watched it, only that one. Great movie 8/10; loved the practical effects! The music was hilarious (80s horror music do be like that I hear). Didn't know there was a sex scene; felt like no one ever told Sarah they loved her before or maybe she was horny and wanted a lay before her probable death at the servos of mechanical doom personified. My friend 100% predicted the ending/ who John's father was. Love my wacky time loops.
Anyway, imagine letting a child watch an R rated movie and censoring only the sex scene. Death, gore, and gun violence? Yeah that's alright for my grade-schooler, but SEX?! Nah sorry, my conservative ideologies make sexual topics taboo -- we can't expose children to that.
#minor ranting#my brother-in-law said his grandma showed him the movie in this exact way#and i know her#and ERRGG#if you show someone an R rated movie (a child no less) you show them the whole movie#ie if you're going to censor one part of the movie -- you censor the whole movie#terminator#the terminator#80s horror#horror movie#not omori
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My Slavic grandma rates diff alt styles
Part 2: The Goths
Trad Goth: 7/10
Grandma: I mean, i dont really like the makeup and the hair, its kinda too much
Me: i love trad goths :(
Grandma: I really like the dress tho
Romantic Goth: 10/10
Grandma: I love this, its really romantic
Me: Its called "Romantic Goth"
Grandma: its really really pretty, it reminds me of old movies
Victorian Goth: 10/10
Grandma: What is this style called again?
Me: oh its another (sub)type of Goths, its called Victorian Goth
Grandma: well those "Goths" might be one of my favourite so called "alts", i love this one especially, it really does reminds me of old movies i used to watch
Me: Thats amazing!
(She even called my great grandma to look at Goths and she loved them)
Medieval Goth: 9/10
Grandma: I like how simple this one is
Me: yea Goth is a really black aesthetic
Grandma: i can see that
Cybergoth: 7/10
Me: Yea this is kind of futuristic, kinda rave-ish i guess
Grandma: its... Something
Me: *laughs* yea?
Grandma: Its nice just not for me, im gonna give it a 7/10 because the "Goths" are my favourite style you showed me so far
Me: im happy to know that!
Tribal Goth: 4/10
Grandma: Oh! Uh
Me: yea?
Grandma: this might be my least favourite goth so far
Me: thats okay!
Pastel Goth: 6/10
Me: This is more of a "Family friendly" one
Grandma: Are you sure this is Goth?
Me: well i guess, not many people call it "Goth" cuz of the pastels and how modernized it is
Grandma: i like it tho! There couldve been less accsesories but its nice just not as Goth as the rest
Gothabilly: 9/10
Grandma: i like this! Its pretty cool!
#grandmacore#she loves goths#goth#trad goth#romantic goth#Victorian goth#medieval Goth#cybergoth#tribal goth#pastel goth#gothabilly#alt#alt style#my grandma rates
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dignity is priceless
#my mil confidently telling us sheâs âmaking it all on her ownâ#like her mom didnât pay for her entire house and car and god knows what else#meanwhile wes didnt even rate a graduation/wedding/housewarming/baby gift from his grandma#k!
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desperately trying to remember if there are any books i read this year that i cannot find on my library borrowing history or simply cannot remember. i am so bad about remembering books. LITERALLY REMEMBERED ONE AS I'M WRITING THIS POST. anyway i am attempting to compile a list of books that i've read this year so that i can reference it without having to forget everything. wish me luck. i have fifteen titles on there right now but i can't shake the feeling there's something i'm forgetting
#checking my shelf of books i got for school??? idk#none of this is helped by the way that i have seven thousand books waiting to be read right now and all of them are on my mind#and several of them i am partway through. but i cannot put bell hooks all about love on my list yet i just can't#opened this is how you lose the time war today. not liking it super much but it's not even 200 pages so we'll pound through it#and then my three books from merc (princess bride and two books from the fight club guy)#and all about love. and interview with the vampire#WITCHER NOVELS!!! I READ WITCHER NOVELS AGAIN!!!! adding two more books to my list#god i'm not even through blood of elves yet. awful. this is why i can't keep anything up i forget my ebooks exist as options#then i should read that book about eleanor roosevelt that my grandma got me. as a token to her dskfjghs#wanna reread the hours! have a physical copy just for that so i can annotate#gotta finish the once and future king.#all that to say that there are many books that will be on this list once i actually sit down and read some of them#have to remind myself that i Am actually doing good i'm at over a book a month rate. this is fine#two books a month rate! actually!#shout out to library due dates for being a fantastic motivator#seventeen books on the 'read' list this year. this is fine bracken. you're doing good#realistically this is SO much better than previous years đ good stuff. just gotta keep reading#valentine notes#list that would have been so useful to have when we were doing that book recommendation thing
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I made 2 crochet snowflakes today as Christmas tree ornaments for my mom. Kinda sad I didn't work on the amigurumi stuff but I mean bro I'm getting fucked in the ass by school rn so ill just be a bit sad I'm not gonna be hard on myself
#I keep having my moments of like âI'm never going to get anything done at this rateâ and then I'm like#wake up you stupid bitch its the middle of October you have until end of December!!!!!!!#literally I'm so hard on myself about it :(#I'm doing good and I'm actually motivated to be crocheting for once#I do need to find a newer pattern to make for my dad tho#I might make three things. but prob two for my dad#bc I'm making two for my sis#and one for my mom + blanket for my mom#and two for my grandma#And then I'm trying to finish a couple projects I have in the works for myself so I can like#make myself Christmas presents lol#and have them all done so I can open the presents and show them to everyone#Which by that I mean my knit blanket and POSSIBLY MAYBE A CARDIGAN#bc I got some new yarn and I rlly rlly wanna make a cardi with it :)) a knit cardigan specifically#Anyways gn I'm just ranting in the tags now lol
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If you are hungry and need to shower, and you have CFS and/or inappropriate sinus tachycardia, always prioritize food over clean. In addition, do not sit down on the shower floor for a little break, that is the devil speaking, you will momentarily lose vision when you stand up causing you to feel even more faint than before. I will not be following my own advice and I will be almost passing out in the shower again in the near future
#fuck fact an episode like this led me to actually pass out for a split second and go to the hospital#who referred me to a cardiologist who did a holter monitor#and was like ''um why is your heart rate 160bpm when you're sitting down doing nothing I think you have IST''#turns out my mom and grandma also have it and just never went to a doctor about it#also it would be especially bad to pass out in the shower at my college#there is no direction I could fall that I wouldn't hit my head#and it would be my suitemates or an RA finding me naked on the bathroom floor in a pool of my own blood#not ideal#I had some soup and arizona tea now and am mostly back to normal
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Sometimes, I kick myself for not playing Curse of Darkness when it came out, maybe together with ShTH. I think that 10 yo me would have loved it to death, between the ID system and the goofy humor, even if I sucked major ass at videogames back then, and nowadays it feels like itâs so hard to find good fan content of the game, between the purges that logically would have happened in 17 years and the popularity of the show. It could have been the perfect childhood comfort game for me, you know?
Then my mind gets flooded with the horrifying mental image of young, innocent Bee, in her grandmaâs house at Christmasâ Eve, setting up the PS2 to check it, surrounded by her parents and relatives, and getting greeted by this wonderful character in the very first cutscene:
maybe. maybe itâs best that I waited so long. i donât think 10 yo me would have appreciated the finer details of this game :V
#lol#no way this game was rated pegi 12+#absolutely no way it has the same rating as shth#okay cod doesn't really deserve the 16+ rating but they are not on the same level at all#at least i could try shth in my grandma's house without wanting to sink into the floor
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want to scream
#im at my grandmas house and my uncle is racist and i cant sleep#and the windows dont have blinds and theres light everywhere and i feel anxious as fuck#i am trying to think abt my dnd character but every plot line feels like pulling teeth#even remembering that phrase was hard sjjssjhs#my hesrt rate is high and my family doesn't understand me and i think i miss home#which is so dumb i never miss home#i just want to get away#why does my grandma keep telling everyone i want ro see all the family (i dont)#why do people keep speaking to me in english in front of her its so fucking rude she cant understand a single word!#why cant i find any words to explain how i feel to my family#why am i here i want to rent an airbnv#just so i dont have to see them all the time#i feel so trapped#and i want to cry#maybe ill just do that#aya talks
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People in the notes: Hardison should be in technology!!
Me having just read about the Indian independence movement: Through a combination of grift, con, and forgery, Mr. Hardison is embezzling so much from the British East India Company. As of the pilot, it has not yet occurred to him that there is a moral aspect to this.
Thinking about a Leverage Regency AU and how easy it would beâŠ
The place is London. The year is 18â
Rev. Nathaniel Ford: a disgraced Irish vicar. (Sorry Nate, I couldnât make the Catholicism work; youâre a Protestant now đâ) Fell out with God after losing his son, Samuel. Then he subsequently fell out with his patron, an Earl, who would not fund an expensive surgeon for Samâs care, and finally with his wife, Margaret. Displaced from his station, his credibility, and power as an agent to nobility, Nate moves quietly to London, hoping to realize his revenge or to drink himself to death - whichever comes first. His parish is now being preached to by a Rev. James Sterling.
Mrs. Sophie Devereaux: a spy through and through. She might actually be a duchess, but didnât you see her in that terrible play on Drury Lane? No oneâs really sure. In society, sheâs viewed as an eccentric and slightly mysterious salon hostess, but that cover allowed her to play the British and the French governments throughout the end of the 18th century. A metropolitan girl at heart, sheâll never be found in the country unless planning to procure a particular piĂšce dâart from one of the gaudy estate manors there.
Mr. Elliot Spencer: began his career at 9, as a cabin boy for a naval vessel. He saw the world twice over, but also witnessed the cruel hierarchy between officers and sailors first hand. He roved through the navy and the army doing little more than grunt work, but studied the martial and combat techniques of every place he went. Now heâs just trying to live the quiet life in London as a bruiser for hire.
Mr. Alec Hardison: a man who has lived many lives âaided, of course, by his job as a private banker, moving around the wealth of London at his leisure. In his line of work, he has picked up the ins and outs of all the governing bodies and businesses in the empire. Add that to his virtuosic ability to pick up any form of study and Mr. Hardison could bleed London dry, given the right reasons. For now, he enjoys the high life thanks to the fortunes of his âbettersâ.
Parker: an urchin, a waif, the stickiest of fingers in the nicest of neighborhoods. Once the apprentice of the notorious criminal, Lord Archibald Leech, the Gentlemanâs Thief, sheâs since left his tutelage and is now operating unseen in the big houses of Grosvenor Square as a scullery maid, putting enough bits and bobs aside to graduate from service and to never look back again.
#let's go steal the British East India Company#or we could give him Harry's background and make him a lawyer for said company#I just really need the BEIC to be an entire season arc#man this period is so rich for Leverage plots!#you can have child labor and industrialization#Luddites and exploited ballerinas#I want to work in like. birth rates and medical care also#and then you've got the whole 'at the time this was the best things had ever been' aspect#so what parts of society make them go 'surely they can't actually be doing that'#the way we do about the cheerleading episode#...time to hush now this isn't even my period in history#my point in addition to the BEIC was: I think it's less important that Hardison is in technology#than that he is (a) in whatever is cutting-edge for the time (colonial investments?)#and (b) if the law is fake then why not for me and my grandma who I love?
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Whoâs Your Daddy?
Pairing: Stepdad!Joel x Reader
Summary: You get stuck in the washing machine. Thankfully, your stepdad is around to help you out.
Warnings: 18+. Unprotected piv. Deadbeat-Perv-Peepaw LOVES corny porn tropes and women over half his age. Stepcest & dubcon technically bc Readerâs locked inside an appliance, but sheâs into it (getting fucked, not stuck). One (1) kick in the dick. Spanking. Brat-taming. Choking. Daddy issues. Size kink. Praise kink. Infidelity. Creampie.
Note: Saw this post by @ovaryacted and started BARKING. For my Old Man lovers/daddy issues crew, this oneâs for you.
Word count: 8.3k
It was the closest thing to porn youâd ever done before.
Still, you werenât quite ready to call it that.
And why should you? Financial straits were no anomaly to a girl your age, especially in this economy, and almost everyone you knew had a side gig of some kind. It just so happened that your job required slightly skimpier attire. And a webcam. And some very specialâŠaccessories that would likely send your grandmother into cardiac arrest if she ever took a peek inside your bottom dresser drawer.
Okay, it was definitely porn.
But you never showed your face, so it didnât really count as the same kind of stuff that your family condemned.
You scampered out of your room the second you heard the front door to the house slam closed all the same. Arms laden with G-strings, stockings, satin bralettes, lace and tulle bodysuits of almost every style imaginable, you ran a quick, perilous path to the living room window and made sure to keep your head ducked low as you did. You peered out through the gap in the curtains and had to squint hard to see anything in the midafternoon sun.
Then you saw it and felt instant reliefâthey were leaving.
Your grandma for one, your mother for second, and wherever the latter was headed, you knew her shadow would be soon to follow. You saw a thick plume of smoke outside and surmised that Joel was somewhere around the other side of the SUV, smoking and droning on about how he was perfectly fi-i-i-ne to drive, donât be like that.
By âlike thatâ he meant sensible. And by âperfectly fineâ he meant two Miller Lites shy of completely shitfaced. You could already imagine the wry smile on your motherâs lips as she tried prying the keys from his hands. Your stepdad would probably plant a wet, sloppy kiss on her cheek to win a âyesâ in returnâand when she shyly reminded him that he couldnât afford to get another DUI, heâd get pissed and yank them out of her fist anyway.
Fucking loser.
Fucking triple-the-legal-limit dumbass motherfucker.
It didnât bother you as much today because you knew they were only driving a couple blocks away to get to the farmerâs market, but youâd be lying if you said you didnât hope heâd get caught. Again. Maybe blow a 0.25 this time and land his old, ungrateful, law-breaking ass in Travis County Jail, where his little brother Tommy was likely keeping a cell bench warm for him, per usual.
At any rate, you didnât have time to be fantasizing now. It was your turn to embody some guyâs grossest wet dreams for the next two to three hours. Stripping away layer after layer of your latest, tightest âcostumeâ while catering to whatever requests happened to float in your inbox, you knew youâd be up to your eyeballs in work. Though almost routine by now, you had to hurry up.
If you could just get the rest of this ridiculous gunk out of your clothing, youâd be all good to go for the job.
TRMAN22: Pour honey on your tits in the next vid???
TRMAN22: Milk too. All over you.
Looking back, you probably shouldnât have obliged that request. Now you were facing the consequencesâforced to throw all your clothes in the washing machine because the milk and honey youâd dumped on yourself for that video had gotten everywhere, and then swiftly congealed while wasting away in a pile of laundry for over a week.
The whole heap smelled rancid. Still felt sticky, too. Presently, you chucked each one inside the washing machine while holding your breath, and as soon as the last was discarded, you sniffed the shirt you had on.
Tolerable. With the rest of your stuff in the wash, you hoped to get at least one request off the checklist:
TRMAN22: Bet youâd look sexy in a schoolgirl outfit!!
TRMAN22: Why donât you try one on for me?
It was gag-worthy and gross. Slightly alarming for a man who was more than likely twice your age and old enough to remember Watergate, but you agreed to play along. Your old school uniform was, after all, the only clean clothes you had left, and âTRMAN22â was, unfortunately, your top subscriber. Heâd paid $300 for this video alone.
TRMAN22: Wear some NEON pink panties for me too ;)
You squatted in front of the washing machine and stuck a hand inside. You sifted around, furrowing your brows.
The brightest undies you owned were in there, soiled, but you figured you could get away with one gross article of clothing, all things considered. You reached a little further and continued to dig. When you couldnât find it by feel alone, you peered inside the circular, metallic cavern of the washing machine and craned your neck.
Not hereâŠnot hereâŠnotâ
You tilted forward, venturing a closer look with your head, then shoulders, pushing into the machine.
âhere, not here, notâ
âEW!â you shrieked.
In your search, youâd inadvertently brushed up against a mildewed piece of clothing that had gotten wedged between the grooves of the washing machineâs interior.
A pair of boxers, it seemed.
You recoiled as soon as your fingers grazed the wet and smelly thing. Your skull went crack against the low-sloped ceiling of the appliance, and a jolt of pain was quick to course through you at the contact. You groaned.
Of course Joel had forgotten some old, cum-stained scrap of fabric out of his last load. Always leaving his shit around for you or your mom to pick up like he owned the place. And here you went, again, angrily plugging your nose and pulling as hard as you could on the shorts to get them free from the washing machine. You hardly thought twice, just made a face and then yanked on it.
The boxers wouldnât budge.
You tugged even harder. The fabric stayed put.
Something akin to a grunt and a whimper, only far more pathetic, slipped out of your mouth, and you slapped the half-hollow steel wall in frustration. Surrounded as you wereâfully encased in metalâthe sound just echoed.
âFuckingâŠCUNT.â
You werenât sure if you were talking to the shorts, the machine, or Joel Miller in the abstract. Or maybe all three. You just hated the thought of washing your lingerie with your stepdadâs skivvies, and no amount of rational thought or practical reasoning could hold you back now.
The tip of your index finger sank deep beneath the same ridge of the wall where the boxers had gotten stuck. You curled it inward, trying to loosen the material up a little. You wriggled your knuckle even further. And just when you managed to get a hold of the cusp of the tangled fabricâjust when it seemed the green plaid cluster was about to give wayâyou heard a low pop. You felt it, too.
Shortly, your finger was pinched inside the deep, blunt valley of steel that had similarly snagged Joelâs boxers. It seemed youâd pushed the tip of your finger so far that you were caught straight down to the second knuckleâtrapped between two grooves of unforgiving alloy inside the washing machine tub with no clear means of escape.
You jerked your arm back, panicked. When the metal sank its teeth even deeper, you didnât stop. Completely heedless of the pain, you operated on impulse and by the feeling of needing to get the fuck out of that little space, quickly, and instead yanked your hand back even harder.
To your horror, your finger was stuck.
âFUCK!â
You stared down at the poor digit, only half-visible inside the wall at this point, then glanced down at the heap of sweaty, sticky, slutty pieces of clothing that were presently strewn about you, and felt an even deeper stab of dread. Stuck inside your familyâs washing machine with every bit of damning evidence one could hope to haveâand wearing your old school uniform to bootâyou realized at once you were fucked if you didnât get out.
You slammed your palm against the nearest wall once more, shaking your other wrist like an unruly child.
âFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK!â
You werenât good at solving problems. In point of fact, you sucked at all things prudent resolution-related and regularly made it a habit to capitulate whenever you sensed loss inevitable. You were a little like your mother in that way, quick to give in to lifeâs uglier challenges. The only way you could conceivably claim to be stronger, the only place you always had the strength to say ânoâ wasâ
âAw, shit.â
âJoel.
Your throat tightened as soon as you heard the voice. Your eyes went wide, and the rest of you went numb.
Bent at the waist and kneeling with half your body inside the washing machine, you remained there, motionless. Back arched and ass out. Thanks to the way youâd rolled your old plaid skirt, the fabric covered almost zero cheek.
Someone behind you cleared their throat. Then coughed.
And coughed again, again, and again. Evidently trying to clear the smoke out of his lungs and the surprise from his eyes as he drank in your sight from the doorway.
âWhat in theâwhâthââ You could hear Joel wheeze, beating his chest with his fist, âWhatâ inâ the hell?!â
âHelp me,â you hissed.
You werenât sure why you chose that as your go-to. It just sounded like the right thing to say, and frankly, you werenât sure how else to distract from the fact Joel was probably gawking at your ass as he coughed up a lung.
âThe fuck do you mean âhelpâ?! What are you doing?â
The coughing subsided, if only momentarily. You tried pulling back on your finger again to get out, but couldnât.
âI-IâmâŠI was justâŠâ you stammered, heart racing.
You heard the tread of heavy footfalls. You felt them.
âJustâtryingâŠâ you ventured again, suddenly at a loss for words and breath alike as you felt a presence draw in.
You could smell him.
That realization alone made you want to stop taking in air altogether. It happened out of instinct, reallyâfeeling the shift of two huge boots settle behind your feet and then flinching inward, further inside the metal tub forâŠsafety? A pang of abject humiliation? You were far past the point of civility with the man, caring what he thought, or fearing for your modesty in a position like this, but something about the proximity now just made you itch.
You wished your finger wasnât jammed inside this appliance so you could give that feeling relief, somehow.
At length, Joelâs voice dragged you back:
âWhatâs stuck?â
Too calm. A second passed. Then he added, more stern,
âThis some fuckinâ jokeâa yours or somethinâ?â
âNo!â
âThen whatââ
âMy finger. My fingerâs stuck.â
You tried to crane your neck to see behind you, but all your eyes had to feast upon was denim. Bluish-grey stonewashed denim, faded with years of use. Joel stood back for a second, as if considering what to do, and then you saw two hands descend to brace themselves against his knees. He bent at the waist to get a better look below.
When his eyes locked with yours, you got the same twist in your gut as youâd felt before, only sharper. Shameful.
The look on Joelâs face was abnormally bright.
âAnd how on earth did that happen, dumbass?â
Your shame morphed into chagrin in a blink, seeing the ghost of a smile bleed into your stepdadâs features.
ââCause of you, leaving your shit in here!â you snapped. Your chin jerked toward the green fabric, âI was just trying to get your boxers unstuckâand my fingerâŠâ
Your finger was kind of fucked.
Joel cast a look inside at the source of your frustration. He extended his left arm and reached over your torso, and as he did, you felt the slightest, albeit solid, sort of warmth press in. The man let out a low groan of exertionâlikely at the strain the movements placed on his joints.
The warmth got worse. You werenât sure where it started.
Vaguely, you were aware of Joelâs thumb pressing into your hand. Gliding down your finger, stroking across the spot where your knuckle had gotten caught, he circled over it, slowly, and made another sound in his throat.
âWell that ainâtâŠgood.â Not one to mince words.
By now, your whole body was on fire. You barely had the strength to keep kneeling, much less speak to the man thumbing your hand and pressing his heat so closeâ
âJust get me out!â you shrieked.
You heard your motherâs voice in that. A shrill, impatient lilt in her speech that came out, invariably, around Joel. Normally, he would have done something to deserve it. But today, with his hand splayed over yours and his breaths as calm and even-keeled as he could hope to have them while he tried to help, he was blameless.
Evidently, he heard a trace of your mother too, because you heard him laugh. You felt the reverberations of his amusement travel up from his belly all the way to his lips.
âCool your pits, kid.â
For that, you wouldâve loved nothing more than to reach back with your free hand and hit him in the balls. But, as it was, this man was your only hope for escape, and he was being tolerably polite, anyway. He pinched your finger between the tips of two of his and gave it a tug.
âOkay, lemme justââ Joel started.
âWhy are you home, anyway?â
The question came out more clipped than you meant it.
âWhy are you dressed like that?â Joel countered evenly.
âI asked you first.â
âI asked you second.â
You reckoned he could probably feel you roll your eyes, even if he wasnât able to see you do it right now. He waited another moment, then leaned back on his haunches and withdrew his arm from the tub.
âMama donât like me drinkinâ and drivinâ, you know that.â
With that, the warmth was gone. Joel retreated.
âLike thatâs ever stopped you before.â
You heard him exhale a little harder through his nose. When heâd steadied himself against the washing machine, gave his knees another second to prepare for getting up again, you could feel his eyes back on you. Maybe he lingered longer than his legs really needed.
Maybe if he hadnât stayed crouched like that, he wouldnât have gotten the chance to give your surroundings a second look. He wouldnât have stopped to watch the rate of your breaths pick up or the way your skin startle to bristle with some strange, unknown sensation. He certainly wouldnât have felt for himself the fever leaking out from the base of your spine right then.
Today just wasnât the day for keeping secrets, it seemed.
âAnd whatâs this?â You could feel Joel lean back in.
He was looking again. Peering inside. Steadying his weight with the edge of the washing machine gripped in one hand, while the other snaked its way back inside.
Youâd already squeezed your eyes shut by the time Joel got a hold of something. You didnât know what it was.
But it became painfully clear that it wasnât just one âthingâ that had grabbed his attention at all, but rather a series of items that his hands were just now getting to explore. You didnât have to see his broad and tan, callus-streaked fingers to feel them roaming over your clothes.
Gross.
Gross.
âGross,â Joel agreed, as if heâd read your mind. Grinning.
If you thought the embarrassment was bad before, you really only knew a fraction of what humiliation could be. Your finger throbbed along with the pulse in your skull.
Your motherâs husband whistled and lifted something.
âDarlinâ, this is justâŠdisgusting.â
You winced. You tried not to pry an eye open, to steal a covert look through the frame of your lashes in that dim and crowded spot, but the inducement was too greatâJoel was dangling one of your lime green G-strings like it was a fish heâd just caught out on the lake. Boasting it.
Doting, almost.
âWell Iâll beââ
âWill you quit?!â you snapped.
You grabbed the thing out of his hand and threw it aside.
âCan you be serious? For one fucking seconââ
âOh, Iâm beinâ serious, sweetie,â Joel cut in. Cool as ever, âSerious as the business end of a .45, I swear.â
He paused. Then he reached for a white nylon bustier, drenched in a layer of honey that was as hard as a rock.
âDo you always keep your littleâŠskank tanks so filthy?â
That was it. You kicked your heel backâand upâand made a pass to hit your stepdad square in the balls.
Your aim wasnât the best itâs ever been, seeing that half your body was trapped inside a home appliance at the moment, but what your jab lacked in accuracy, it made up for in force: your foot plunged into the seam of Joelâs jeans full throttle. From the way the back of your heel plowed into his crotch, and the sound that clawed out of his throat the same instant, you reckoned you did okay.
What you werenât expecting was a smack in return.
An answer in kindâdelivered by the palm of Joelâs hand.
A taut, thoughtless THWACK on the swell of your ass.
Your mouth fell open. Your body barely had the chance to recoil when, shortly, another blow landed on your cheek.
Joel spanked you.
Spanked you.
âFuckinâ brat,â he spat. His palm had slid up with the weight of his last slap, and now his fingers were clenched in a fist in the back of your skirt. You couldnât see it, but you could feel him gripping fabric. It was firm.
He was firmâunrelenting in his hold.
Kneeling behind you, yanking back a handful of tartan skirt like it was nothing, then sidling up behind you.
And just when your attention was drawn to some other firm thing, it was shortly diverted by another sensation.
âJOEL!â you shrieked as he gave you another spanking.
The bare skin of your cheeks was on fire. Joel hit hard. Just when you feared you might legitimately whimper with the sting of that last blow, and while the imprint of his palm was still fresh, you felt it move again. Lower.
âJoel.â
That came out more like a whine than a cry of protest. And how could you, now, when he was soothing the raw bite of his hand with a touch that was kneading the skin?
Working the soft, supple flesh of your ass in his hand like heâd never dream of being anything else but gentle to it.
âGood?â Joel said.
Your head flinched to nod, but your brain thought better.
It did feel good. So good, in fact, that your eyelids were starting to droop just a bit and your back was subtly arching into the touch, but those were only instincts. Stupid, useless, brain-rotted reflexes born of years of paternal neglect and replete indifference, the likes of which could bring a grown man to his knees, beggingâ
âPlease.â
But the entreaty was your own, and the voice that spoke it was hoarse. Your belly sank into the circular aperture of the washing machine, and you could feel your ribs scraping close to metal. Nevertheless, you didnât mind. That ditzy lizard brain of yours was starved for physical touch, and who were you to deny her at a time like this?
No, not when Joel was squeezing like that.
Groping was the more appropriate word for it, really. Notwithstanding the decades of sexual experience that no doubt preceded the man that was standing before youâbehind youâtoday, Joel was unduly coarse. His broad, weathered hand made as if to cool its former sting, but the motions themselves were jerky. Desperate.
He needed this worse than you, the fucking pervert.
Just when the realization had begun to settle over your mind and your legs were getting to feel a little less like jelly, knowing you werenât the only weak one here, Joelâs palm slowed down. He pressed the heel of it into your flesh as if to force himself to stop, then he took a breath.
âNow use your words.â
âButââ you sputtered.
âI said,â Joel resumed, and you could sense it was through gritted teeth. His movements came to a halt.
âWe use our words when we want somethinâ, hear?â
It was the first youâd heard Joel attempt to enforce anything close to discipline with you in your life.
That had to warrant a little defiance, no doubt.
Under your breath, quiet: âSo âweâ includes âyou,â too?â
Beneath that one, seemingly innocuous question was lurking another, and both of you knew it: Remember that time you put a fist through the kitchen wall? Was that a good example of what it means to âuse words,â Joel? Whether it was adequate provocation or not, you could sense what was coming next before youâd even finished. When the spank landed on your right cheek so loud that it echoed, you didnât flinch. You did snag your lip between your teeth to keep a sound from spilling out.
âA dad makes rules. Ainât his to follow,â Joel growled.
You blinked and bit down harder. Watched the broad, amorphous shape of the manâs reflection shift along the back metallic wall in hues of grey and blue and wished you had the strength to turn around and face him then.
âYou arenât my dad.â
âSaid âaâ dad, didnât I?â
âYouâre not that either.â
Heat was rising to your cheeks again, this time for different reasons. For a cause you were far better acquainted with to dateâannoyance at Joel.
âSo that means Iâmââ
âNothing. Youâre nothing to me,â you finished, tone wry.
Nothing to anyone, you wanted to add. Not with a shiny gold band latched onto your left hand to tell the world that youâre married to my mother, a pack of smokes tucked away in the jeans she washes every week, or a couple years spent under the same roof as me. Nothing.
Your teeth clamped back downâand almost sank clean through your lower lip this timeâwhen next you felt a touch at the plush, covered mound that was normally shielded between your legs. The spot that was hardly ever tilted up in a position like this, exposed to the air and a manâs hungry gaze, now invaded by the press of a single thing: a warm and soft middle finger at your core.
Joel brushed the tip of it against your entrance, through your panties, and sucked a breath through his teeth when both of you felt a tiny squelch at the pressure.
He pressed harder, and the wetness only spread.
You didnât have to be in Joelâs position to know what he was seeing, but the feeling from his finger overpowered any better sense to speakâor tell him to stop. He traced his slow, cruel circles against your warmth and moved it up to where he knew heâd find your bud, and when you whimpered, he simply added his index to the mix. There wasnât a doubt in your mind you were leaking heat at that point. You could feel it seeping beneath his touch.
âNothinâ, huh?â Joel breathed, voice low. Your arousal made a sickening hiss beneath his fingers as he rubbed you even harder, âThis feel like nothinâ to you, honey?â
You couldnât speak. He knew you werenât capable of it.
ââCause this sure donât feel like nothinâ to me.â
Wet and tacky beneath his touch, your warmth supplied the answer that your mouth couldnât form. It came out in more of a tap, tap, tap, punctuated by breaths that were toiling in earnest not to turn into moans too soon. But, as hulking and clumsy as his hands had once shown themselves to be, the old man knew where to put them, at least. He made circles on your clit with practiced ease.
âYou can try lyinâ to me, but she canât.â
He was right. âSheâ was a traitor.
You could deny it all you wanted, but the proof was there.
Indeed, she was crying. Aching. Bleeding with desire. Throbbing beneath the pads of Joelâs fingertips and growing only more desperate as he increased the speed of his touch. When he notched the drenched cotton to the side, you had to grit your teeth to keep in a whimper.
Joel whistled.
âSee? Seems like she likes me just fine right here.â
Your jaw stayed wired shut with the weight of your own humiliation. Instead of answering aloud, you hummed. Made a sound low and soft in your throat like, âUh-hmmâ and tilted your hips, as if you didnât know how else to ask. Joel couldnât see inside the washing machine, but he mustâve felt the gesture, because he greeted it with a motion of his own: he chuckled, and he puckered his lips.
And when you felt the warmth of his spit hit you between your folds, your shame shouldâve tripled. Shouldâve made you flinch away from his touch and tell him that was so fucking gross, Joel, stop, but then he smeared it up your slit. He pressed in and mixed it with the rest of your arousal; any reproach died on your tongue in an instant.
A part of him was on you now. Trickling in, sticking to the most sensitive part of you, and settling into your skin like a glaze. With his other hand, he found your skirt again.
âWhoâre ya wearinâ this for, sweet pea?â Joel murmured.
âNo one.â
Another glob of spit landed between your cheeks. Now, the man used the lubrication to sink two fingers inside youâpushing them in until the rim of your cunt met his knuckles. You whined at the stretch, felt him coax your walls open with a consciousness and a carefulness that felt almost mean, but then he stroked down the base of your spine with the hand that still held onto your skirt. He soothed your startled cry with a curl of his fingers.
And he found the soft, spongy patch of flesh inside that made your eyes roll straight to the back of your skull, quickly. Working his fingers in and out, flattening the base of his free hand over the skin exposed by your flipped-up skirt, and watching your body give way to the force of his fingers, he was uncharacteristically patient. Exacting in the way he worked your body open to him.
âWhat do you care?â you groaned. You winced when you felt a squelch signal that heâd stretched you even wider.
ââCause,â Joel started, slow. Pumping his fingers through your folds and likely wondering when heâd add a third, âYou got your hand stuck in a fuckinâ washing machine, a treasure trove of this slut stuff piled in a heapâŠI meanâŠâ
âTheyâre just clothes!â
âJust clothes?â
In the wake of those terse, incredulous words, you tried your best to match his toneâcall his bluffâbut the only sound that came out of your mouth was punctured by a pitiful whine. He tried another finger but couldnât fit it in. As wet as you were, and as strong as he was, your cunt wasnât quite ready to accept all three of Joelâs thick, probing digits inside. Youâd fit more than a thing or two with a girth even greater than that in the past, but you figured your nerves might have something to do with the way you were tightening around the manâs fingers now.
Why you couldnât take more of him in, as much as you wanted him there, felt, at present, like something of a shortcoming, and a pathetic one at that. You let out a breath, and a second later, Joel slowed his motions.
You didnât expect him to stop. Didnât hold out a hope he might curtail his pace and talk you through a quiet, gentle arrangement for fitting a third finger inside youâthat just wasnât him. You didnât have to share a paper-thin bedroom wall with your mother and her husband for the last however many years to know that Joel Miller was not a tender lover. It simply wasnât in his nature to care.
So when you heard the clink of a belt coming undone a moment later, your senses strangely flooded with relief. He wouldnât care, wouldnât inquire, wouldnât coddle with false, romantic ideals of how a woman should be treated.
In that way, Joel shared something in common with your father after all: he set standards as low as they could go.
âJust clothes?â he repeated, snapping your underwear against your ass and jerking the fabric further aside.
Then somehow send those expectations even lower.
There was a hand splayed out across the small of your back. Another fiddling with the front of his pants, wrestling the button and zip of his jeans in little more than one, two, three careless seconds, before he drew in closer to your rear. Your slit was messy, wet, and exposed to his eyes once again. For a second, you almost took comfort in the fact that your hand was still wedged inside a groove of steel and you couldnât meet his gaze.
That was, until Joel slid his bare length along the seam of your cunt. When the inability to see him made it so you had no other choice but to be surprised when he finally touched you was unnerving, to say the least.
And when the head of his cock blended seamlessly between your folds, was drenched in less than a blink and nearly notched straight into the place you needed him mostâwell, that had an effect on him, too. Joel moved his flat and sweaty palm up your back, found purchase in the hem of your blouse, and gripped it. Tugged it down a little more and let a low groan billow out of his throat while he rocked his hips back and forth.
Desperate, clumsy, pussydrunk Joel was back before youâd even realized heâd left. Only now he was keen to put the disquiet and hesitations to rest; he needed to fuck you before either one of you wisened up just then.
Your parts and his commingled again. First, with the lethally warm trail of precum leaking out from his tip. Then the intrusion that followed, inevitably, glossed with self-indulgence and desperationâsoiling any semblance of platonic affection or parental attentionâas he fed you the first inch of him. Barely half the head got fitted inside and your grip on that was like a vice. Joelâs was bruising.
Suddenly firm on your hips, carving crescents in the skin:
âWhenâs the last time you got fucked, baby?â
You reckoned Joel had a guessâand it wasnât correct.
âLastâŠweek,â you whimpered, words punctuated with a sigh as his cock tried to make room for more of him.
Joel sucked in a breath that almost sounded like a laugh. Heâd barely gotten an inch past his tip, facing more resistance than heâd felt in a long, long time, and you were wet, but so tight. He was big but not so massive as that. He couldnât fathom what you were saying was true.
âThatâŠfratboy fuckstick you went out on a date with?â
âDidnât think you even saw me leave.â
Joel withdrew, gripped your hips even tighter, then drove his cock to nestle three solid inches inside your cunt. It was extra snug, but he made sure to try to loosen you up with a couple short, shallow thrusts and a hand gradually drifting down between your legs. Of course he saw you.
The circles on your clit and slow-growing movements may as well have been kerosene in your veins. With what limited range of motion you had in that grey, compact space, you let out a sigh and dug the fingers of your free hand into the closest scrap of fabric beside you. Joelâs own touch gradually moved from your hip to drag your hand behind your back, clasping his. He fucked in deeper
âSo thatâs who this is for?â Thumbing your skirt.
âY-Yeah,â you lied.
âWanted to send naughty pics in the schoolgirl getup?â
âYes,â you lied again. You closed your eyes when Joel sank his cock even deeper and made you stretch inside.
ââAtta girl,â he praised.
It mightâve been the first heâd validated you in your life.
âGrippinâ this cock extra tight, ainât ya, sweet girl?â
Never in a million years would you have imagined itâd come this lateâor leave Joelâs mouth in a way like that.
âElasticâ wasnât a word youâd ever used to describe your body, either. Frankly, there was no need for it to be; every one of your partners before had been average-sized, and every other object that went inside you, too, had almost always been a comfortable squeeze between your walls. Outside of maybe your first time and a once-off awkward hookup now and again, you were never forced to feel a stretch to this degree. Joel felt huge moving inside you.
He was nearing your cervix and still nowhere close to the base of his cock. Meanwhile, you were stuffed to the brim, saturated with arousal and his spit, and practically keening at every stab of his hips. You couldnât reach back because Joelâs fingers were still enmeshed with yours, gripping them hard behind your back. As wore down, fucked out, and desperate as you already were, you were less than only a second away from asking him to ease up.
And then he stopped.
Joel pulled out, let go, and pressed onto the old washing machine, where you heard his touch echo through metal.
He was leaning against it. You were about to turn around. Before you could, though, you felt his form mold into yoursâthis time not in it, but on it, as he drew closer and once more reached into the space where you were stuck.
âCan you be brave for me, baby?â Joel murmured.
âWhââ you started, soft, only to feel the words plucked straight from your lungs as Joel leaned his body inside. Carefully, and with concerted effort, it seemed, he was trying to squeeze his way into the O-shaped hole of the washing machine, snaking his arm around your torso.
Pinching your finger again. Breathing just gently enough for his exhales to tickle at your shoulders and your neck.
âCan you be brave?â he repeated, and you werenât sure youâd ever heard him so soft-spoken, or felt him so close.
You nodded, not knowing why.
Without another word, your stepdad pinched the digit even tighter and yanked it out from where it was stuck.
It all happened so fast. Joel freeing your finger, squeezing it tight, helping you out of that hot and crowded space while your legs gave way like mush beneath your weightâand your hand throbbing in pain. Youâd never thought a single finger could cause a feeling as strong as that, but it stung like hell. You almost raked your nails through the manâs arm when he tried to hold you back, holding you up just as well as you stood.
âJoel!â you screeched, like the whole thing was his fault.
You flexed your hand and wanted to sob. You could feel the streaks of pain start to claw up your wrist, were just about to shove Joel aside and wallow in agony, when at length, he did something strange and unexpected again.
This time, he lifted your index to his mouth and kissed it.
It wasnât a sensual kiss. Coming from Joel, it hardly even seemed affectionate. His lips were so warm and firm and decidedly unacquainted with anything approaching a threat of tenderness that his act read almost aggressive. He let your finger rest loosely against his mouth, and he kissed it again, while his eyes burned holes into yours.
âYouâre okayâ came out muffled against your hand.
âYouâre okayâheyâbaby, youâre good. Donât cry.â
You hadnât even noticed the tears had started to form. You blinked and felt one trickle down your cheek. With the hand that wasnât holding your wrist, Joel brushed his thumb against that lone trail of moisture. He didnât cup your face, hold you close, or stroke your cheek in the seconds that followed, though he did keep kissing you.
Or, rather, itâyour finger.
Joel didnât have to care for you at all. He just feared he mightâve pulled on your hand too hard in getting you out.
âYouâre okayâ was being mumbled away like a fractured refrain, touch descending gently to your hip, and his eyes grew softer by the second, surely he had to be thinking it.
Sinking inside you, again. He was standing; your hips were tilted to his, and your ass was pressing flat against the front of the washing machine. All it took was an inch or two off the ground and your limbs hanging limply around his hips for Joel to fuck back into you. He sucked on your finger so hard you feared the skin might actually bruiseâa hand hickey, of all fucking thingsâand when his grip tightened on your side, you knew he felt it too.
His teeth succeeded his lips in an instant, and he was biting, gnawing pathetically as a groan shuddered through his chest. If you didnât know better, you mightâve said the sound was veering perilously close to a whimper.
Fully sheathed inside you, Joel Miller didnât seem to care. His lids fell like lead across the upper half of his brown, glossy eyes, and the expression behind them was blank.
Safe.
ââSâalright, baby,â he grunted. Maybe heâd just seen you wince, as he cradled your hand and withdrew another inch, âKeep squeezinâ me, it feels real good. Right here.â
Out of instinct, your gaze drifted down to the spot where his body joined with yours. The sight was hardly a shock, but the feelings it evoked were notâhe had you split along two-thirds of his dick, a pretty shelf of belly protruding beneath and gleaming with the arousal heâd drawn out from your body. Tufts of silver and grey littered his skin in every direction, aged muscles tensed with the weight of each thrust, and the warm weathered hand that hadnât dared touch you once before today was now cupping your chin. Tilting your head closer to him.
âRight here, baby. Look at daddy.â
Wild, unbridled heat flooded your brain in a second. The thing seared the insides of your skull with all the force of a fire and stole the air from your lungs just the sameâstill, you couldnât refrain from making a face in disgust.
âWhat the fuck, Joel?â You shouldnât have liked it.
His hand ascended your throat in a blink.
âAinât that what you want, sweet pea?â
âIââ
Just as you started to answer, though, his cock took a dizzying plunge, hitting exactly the right spot inside you. Like clockwork, your mouth fell open, a whine tumbled out, and Joel took that as his chance to grip your neck even tighter and push your hips against the washing machine, where his height afforded him an easy hold.
âWhat you wantââ
He squeezed harder.
ââwhat you needââ
You gasped, starved for air. It wasnât every day a man took your breath away. Not like Joel could, anyway.
ââis me, ainât it?â
The gaze fixed on your face was alight with desire.
âBet you miss him somethinâ awful, huh? Been needinâ a man to fill that spot ever since he left, havenât ya, baby?â
âHeâ required no further clarification. The words stung. You communicated as much by wriggling your hips back and pressing your hand against Joelâs chest, just quit it.
Keep fucking me, but shut the fuck up about my father.
âI donât miss shit,â you sniffed. Felt the head of Joelâs cock carve a shape somewhere deep inside your body and couldnât pretend it wasnât filling a metaphorical void someplace else. You hadnât got this much attention from a man as many years your senior sinceâŠwell, ever, really.
You preened beneath his touch. Wanting to feel. Wanting to please. Wanting, more than anything, to be needed.
Joel sated each craving with a simple hand smoothed over your face. His palm moved from your throat to your chin to the hinge of your jaw before coming to rest at the nape of your neck. This time squeezing lightly, bringing your face in close while he fucked you. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, and your stomach tightened inside you.
âThatâs alright,â he said, words hardly above a whisper, âNo need to miss that man at all, âcause Iâm right here.â
For once the assurance came as somewhat of a comfort. You suspected it had something to do with the fact he was balls deep inside you and pushing you closer and closer to the brink of release with each painstaking stab of his cock. You fisted his flannel, holding him there. Spreading your legs, accepting his thrusts, taking each movement with ragged, shallow breaths and moans that blended with his own, you felt your body grow warmer.
Almost febrile beneath him as he tilted your head again.
âWhoâs your daddy now?â
You winced, shaking your head. You hated that word.
âWhoâs your daddy?â
Joel lowered his hand and began to thumb at your clit. Hot pleasure coursed through you, made you whine at the contact and dig your heels even deeper in his back.
âWhoâs your daddy, baby? It ainât that hard to say.â
But it was. Joel stroking your clit, stuffing you full, ghosting his lips against yours without ever furnishing a kiss, just goading you on with: âI know you wanna say it.â Tough grey stubble teased your mouth with each word.
âI know she needs to cum, sweet girl. Know that poor little pussyâs taken a beatingâand sheâs done so good for meâbut she needs to let it out now. All over me.â
His gaze held yours. You couldnât turn away.
An unmistakable tenderness pervaded that look, and it didnât seem keen to depart. No matter how tightly you pursed your lips, made fists in his shirt, or choked his cock between your walls in fluttering, desperate pleas, the man remained calm. Attentive. The eyes didnât stray.
âItâs okay to say it.â
âC-Canâtââ
âSure can. Be the easiest thing you ever doâD-A-D-Dââ
âPlease. Please.â
You hardly even knew what you were asking for at this point, only beholden to that big, swollen something in your tummy starting to give way beneath the push of Joelâs cock. Tightening up, leaking out, practically drooling down the length of this man who seemed relentless in his current pursuit. Two more circles on your clit and you were keening, whimpering pathetic as ever:
âPleasepleasepleaseplease.â
âSay it now. Whoâs it for?â
Above you, Joelâs teeth gleamed in a smileâor a snarl, you couldnât tell. All you knew was the pleasure, the concomitant pain of having to contain this desperation while his thrusts sped up. You were bouncing on him, getting fucked against the washing machine in the raw and terrible central Texas heat wearing a sheen of sweat and a set of clothes that no longer fit your body, but that was just fine. You were okay. Joel was here, and he was holding your head, lips hovering less than an inch away.
âWhoâs. Your. Daddy?â His words were slow. Coarse. Spilling into your mouth with every short puff of breath.
You couldnât take it. You felt a band of pressure come to a head in your belly and the brush of Joelâs cock making its rounds in and out of your swollen cunt, pushing hard, and you knew that youâd had enough. He knew it, too.
âY-You.â
âWho?â
âJoel.â
âWho?â
Your wet, pearly slick rang a deafening pitch. Enough.
âYou, daddy! Daddyâplease, fuckâI-I-Iâm gonna cum.â
âGonna cum for me? Make a mess of your old man?â
âMake a m-messâ yes, daddy, yesââ you slurred.
Joel drove his cock, fully coated in you, down to the hilt. He captured your lips in a kiss and didnât even mind your mouth was whining, hissing, whimpering its filthy pleas for him to fuck a nice, big orgasm out from your body.
ââwant yours inside,â you added, without realizing it.
âSweet girlâŠâ Joel groaned.
You didnât know what you were asking him for. How badly he wanted it, too. His cock dragged in and out of your precious cunt and was barely more safe from the threat of its grip when you spasmed, at the last. Joel shouldâve expected no less, after all the time heâd spent teasing and edging, then begging you gently, in grunts, âCum for daddy, baby. Let me have it, thatâs it, good girl.â Still, somehow, he wasnât prepared in the slightest.
When you squeezed your eyes shut and kissed him backâthat was all it took. When you clenched on his cock, gave the front of his shirt a tug, locked your ankles about his hips so you could more properly increase that friction by fucking him back, grinding in place, he feared he might fairly make an irreparable, unforgivable mistake.
And when the whites of your eyes appeared againâeyelids fluttering open while your lips were glossed with his spit and a lazy smileâand said what you said next, he sensed that his fate was sealed. The old man was fucked.
âCum inside me, daddy. Please.â
Joel couldnât have stopped himself if he tried. He shuddered, then flooded your insides with rope after rope after rope of his spend, burying his face in your neck and taking your hips in his hands like a looser grip might lose you to him forever. He fucked his cum deep, deeper, darlinâ donât move, canât lose a drop, baby, please, he let out a whimper that made your walls pulse again. You felt him fill you to the brim and keep rutting his hips. Your body and his were shaking by the last of it.
And when he was finished, Joel dropped a kiss along your limp, glistening lips. He slid you back on the metal. By the expression on his face, it was plain to see he was loath to withdraw, but he had to. That tender little hiss and the sounds of your shared fluids trickling out were all the impetus he needed to act quick. As soon as heâd pulled out, Joel was back leaning against the washing machineâtilting your hips back a little, then lowering his sweaty, handsome head to the spot between your legs.
The wrinkles to the sides of his eyes grew more pronounced when he smiled. A happy grin, plastered across his lips, would have struck you as almost smug, were it not for the look of sheer adulation that followed it.
Joel was enthralled, watching his cum leak out of you. He kissed your thighs, flickered his gaze to your own, briefly, then damn near sank his nose inside the place he was watching before your fingers stopped him cold.
It was your body, after all. He had already had his fill.
Hardly knowing what came over you in that moment, you sank two fingers inside your wet, drooling hole and watched the eyes of the man beneath you go wide. He soaked in that sight completely: you pushing his cum back in, drawing it out, using the viscous white liquid as a lubricant of sorts before releasing a pleased little sigh.
Joel closed his mouth reluctantly. It took him more than a second to tear his eyes from that place, but when he did, the motions were quick to grow assured, by turns.
As if remembering something.
In a second, the innocent smile youâd seen before was being infiltrated, slowly, by a look you couldnât place. Joelâs grin morphed from gentle to contented to plainly enthused and beaming ear-to-ear with a conceited glint. With his finger, he tugged your panties back into place.
âBabyââ he started, only to be cut off lightning-quick.
âWhat? What is it?â
His smile stretched even wider. By that act alone, you were half-tempted to forget the events of the last hour and set your jaw in a scowl. You looked down, unamused.
âWhat?â
âItâs justâŠâ The man trailed off, and as he did, his gaze descended with itâstraight down to your bare pantyline.
You cast a look there tooââWhat the fuck is it, Joel?!â
At that, two brown eyes flitted back up to you.
âI thought I asked for neon pink underwear, baby.â
Your breaths slowed. His gaze didnât waver. Your heart came to a standstill in your chest, and you were amazed you had even half your present willpower then to speak.
âWait, Joel, whââ
âShame you couldnât get around to filminâ today. Had me hard as a fuckinâ rock with all that milk and honey stuff.â
You nearly choked on your spit. Joel kept grinning.
âYouâreââ
The guy. That fucking subscriber. The one whoâd paid almost $500 in commissions in the last month alone.
You stared at Joel with eyes as wide as saucers, and were about to press on, when you heard the front door to the house shriek back on its hinges. Two sets of footsteps followed it, and their entry inside was loud.
Immediately, Joel rose to his feet. It seemed that grin wasnât meant to stay long on his lips, because the next thing you knew, he was dropping a kiss somewhere soft and sweaty on your face and flipping your skirt back into place, holding his index up to his lips and stepping away. Your mouth twisted into a frown but stayed zipped out of sheer necessity. Seeing this, and likely unable to help himself, your gross, depraved, grinning old man leaned back in and planted his hands on either side of your hips on the washing machine. His nose nudged into your own.
âBetween usââ he began, slowly.
âGet fucked,â you finished for him.
Joel nodded his assent, smirk faint. He cast a look over his shoulder, and, hearing what sounded like your motherâs footsteps drawing closer, lowered his voice.
Rubbing his thumb under your chin, making you tip your head back to meet his for one final lookâthen a kiss:
âYou keep my secret, I keep yours, alright?â
â
Note: Iâve never done a real writing challenge before, but hopefully this fic will work for #hotdilfsummerchallenge !!! @hellishjoel this is such a fun ass idea & i hope you enjoyâŁïž
#âWHAT ARE YOU DOING STEP BRO????â#BUT ITâS JOEL#AND HEâS VERY CONFUSED BUT ALSO VISIBLY ER*CT#donât ask me to elaborate because i have no idea what i just wrote#joel miller smut#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller imagine#joel miller one shot#joel miller#joel miller tlou#joel miller fic#joel miller fanfiction#joel tlou#the last of us fic#the last of us#tlou#stepdad joel#hotdilfsummerchallenge
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