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bonkhrnyjail · 3 months ago

Text

desert eagle

pairing: young joel miller x f!plus-size!reader (age unspecified, no specific physical descriptions other than plus-size and able-bodied) summary: joel gets reluctantly dragged to the strip club after a long day of work. god knows he wasn't expecting to meet someone like you... rating: explicit 18+ mdni word count: 8.8k (sorry) tags: thigh riding, oral sex, so much oral sex, ass play, 69, reader is a stripper, joel is down horrendous, JOEL MILLER LOVES BIG GIRLS, gentleman!joel, until he's not, sub!joel if you squint, joel and reader are both aggressively texan, i'm midwestern so i do not take responsibility for inaccuracies i did my best a/n: soooo this is based off of the beyoncé song desert eagle, the first time i heard it i immediately thought of this idea and i couldn't get it out of my head and i was having literal sex dreams about it so i decided to write it. this is my first time writing joel too so i'm scared :P anyways i love writing about confident beautiful fat women but i think anyone can enjoy this fic so yeahhh anyways you should listen to the beyoncé song and then read the fic or vice versa ok love you bye

Joel didn’t want to go to the strip club.

In fact, Joel wants nothing more than to be alone tonight, and yet he finds himself uncomfortably perched on the edge of a half-crescent booth, dragged along by Tommy and some of the idiot twenty-somethings he’d met on their most recent project.

“Loosen up, old man!” one of the cocky landscapers barked at him when he tried to decline. “A pretty pair a’ tits in your face’ll turn that frown right upside down!”

He almost did say no, almost played the foolproof dad card; unfortunately for him, Sarah had already planned to stay at her best friend’s house the next few nights, taking advantage of the last week of winter break. But he saw the premature wince forming in Tommy’s eye, waiting for the inevitable sting of Joel ruining his chances at making some semi-decent friends in this town—friends that wouldn’t land him behind bars on the weekend, anyways. So Joel surrendered with a begrudging grunt, under the terms that he could stop by home to shower and change clothes. Miraculously, he convinced the other guys to do the same.

Inside, violet and teal spotlights cast a thick fog across the large stage. It illuminates the performers whilst somehow clouding them too, their bodies winding and whirling in a periwinkle haze. Joel’s skin feels humid and suffocated beneath the clinging fabric of his flannel shirt; the glass of Jack Daniels he’d spent the last ten minutes nursing only abets the formation of dew trickling down his neck and spine. The only thing keeping him cool is the wet curls he slicked back sitting at the base of his skull, providing a momentary chill with any slight breeze. He feels claustrophobic, displaced; like his presence was altogether a clumsy wedge into somewhere he didn’t quite belong.

Nothing another glass of whiskey couldn’t fix.

Joel excuses himself from the group without much notice. The boys are hovering over a meaty stack of ones, attempting to divvy up the bills in even increments without having to count them out individually. He strides across the room with a languid ease, scanning the room and the scattered clusters of men, appeasing his unconscious instinct to confirm safety wherever he is—and to keep tabs on the people he should keep Tommy away from. He stops short for a moment, palming his pocket to confirm his wallet and keys haven’t left his side.

“Pardon me, honey.”

A soft, seductive drawl takes him by surprise as a hand on his lower back guides him inches to the left. It takes a moment for his vision to focus, the crisp snap of his neck to follow the voice leaving a slight dizziness in its recoil, the trailing scent of cinnamon and honey wafting beneath his nose.

When he finally sees you, actually sees you, Joel finds himself powerless to avert his gaze. Your body is awash with exquisite peaks and valleys, velvet curves clad only by precarious strings and swatches of fabric covering mere inches of glistening skin. The clack of your heels leaves him hypnotized as you leave him in your wake. His jaw slackens and his lungs become paralyzed as he witnesses the way your body moves like water with every step; like the current that flows across the edges of your figure, rippling as you step onto the stage and coil yourself around the silver pole.

Good god.

The bones in Joel’s knees suddenly turn gelatinous, a huff of air escaping his mouth as he stumbles backward into the bar, bracing himself with flat palms against the polished marble. He steadies himself, blinking out the sting beneath his lids, trying to moisten the dryness in his eyes—a consequence of his bulging stare.

A soft giggle lilts from behind him, piercing through his trance and hammering his conscience back into the earth. Joel turns to the source to find the bartender, shaking her head with laughter as she drags the rim of a glass through a bowl of salt.

“Don’t worry, ain’t the first time I’ve seen a man nearly lose his footin’ around Paloma,” she jeers, a smirk threatening the corners of her mouth. “She’s really somethin’, that girl.”

Joel nods, clears his throat, and swallows the saliva that pools at the back of his tongue. Somethin’ was an understatement, an insult to the ethereal vision twirling before him. The fog and dusky lighting prevents him from capturing a defined image of your face, only catching glimpses of soft cheeks and plush lips as you spin and float with ease, but he’s certain you’re breathtaking.

“You want another Jack?” the bartender offers, pouring out a picture-perfect margarita, the lime hue nearly fluorescent in the lowlight.

Joel grunts in affirmation, his eyes not once straying from your direction.

“Not much of a talker, are ya?” she ribs, chuckling as she reaches for the whiskey.

“Sorry, long day,” Joel winces, suddenly painfully aware of how rude he’s been. “Is she, uh, new ‘round here?”

“Who, Paloma? Been ‘round for about… six months or so? She’s done real well for herself, honestly blew all us away with how much she was able t’make from the jump.”

He bites down on the tip of his tongue, a sharp, electrifying pain searing through his nerves. It does nothing to fracture the beguiling spell you’ve somehow cast upon him, and Joel finds himself staring again, studying your every move, knowing nothing but need.

“Do you know if she… when she’s done here? Her shift, I mean.”

The bartender laughs exuberantly, a wide smile revealing a far-too-pristine row of pearly veneers that nearly glow under the lilac beams.

“Well, I don’t think I can tell you that, sugar,” she coos, sliding Joel’s drink across the space between them. “But you can ask her yourself! I promise, she don’t bite. Sweet as honey, that one.”

Honey.

It still lingers in the air, thick and cloying in a way that grips like a hand wrapped around his throat, like a demanding croon singing over and over: Eyes on me. He can taste it too, a whisper of it stagnant on the back of his tongue, a lurking craving impatiently waiting to be satiated.

Joel thanks her in a low gravel, and strides back towards his table with newfound urgency nipping at his heels. He arrives at the booth with no reaction from the boys, the party too enveloped in counting their stack to be stirred by his presence. It’s only when Joel clears his throat, the force of it deep and thunderous, that the men take any notice.

“I’m gonna need me some of those.”

. . . . .

You didn’t expect the club to be busy tonight.

In fact, you practically relied on Wednesdays being the slowest day of the week. You often used the opportunity to practice new routines, test out new outfits, try something different with your makeup; pretty much anything you didn’t particularly prefer for a crowded audience to behold.

Tonight you find yourself testing the limits of a string-bikini-esque number, the laces doubled around your torso and triple-knotted in the hope of extra security, and the triangular fabric cutouts stuck down to the curve of your breasts with double-sided tape. You climb the pole with ease, perfectly-formed calluses on your palms and heels aiding you with improved grip.

It took just a month of pole classes for you to develop an addiction to the burn of sleek metal sliding across your skin. Something about the sting of it, alongside the quiver of your core, the aching clench of your thighs; it was a remarkable blend of pain that spilled through you like pleasure. It soon became an unholy replacement for Sunday worship—melding yourself around the pole; bathing in the sweltering beams from the spotlights; inhaling the musky scent of crumpled bills lying at your feet. It was entirely meditative, and you’d found a sort of spiritual enlightenment amongst it all.

You let your head fall back as the rod swings you around in tight circles. Normally you let your eyes close when you spin, but tonight you feel called to the fuzzy warmth that pools behind your brows when you get good and dizzy. Your surroundings bleed and curve like an Expressionist painting, and an unmoving figure lurks amongst the brush strokes, appearing and disappearing and blending until it’s a constant image: a broad, stoic, masculine body, melting into everything you can see.

The invasion peeves you. Sure, you know you should be pleased that a customer is watching, clearly interested and coming closer, but for Christ’s sake, you’ve been out for less than five minutes. At 6pm. On a Wednesday.

You carefully bring your body to a halt, slowly inching down the pole until your shoes meet the hardwood. Your vision lags far behind you, skipping like a scratched disc, and it’s enough to nearly knock you from your feet. A lightness billows through your blood and tries to whisk you away, but you sink against it, sitting on your heels and fastening your grip on the cold steel.

Lines begin to gain their sharpness again, and the figure in your peripheral starts to look less and less like a Van Gogh portrait. The man’s face is still muddled, dimly-lit and shrouded by the bill of a baseball cap. You smile at him on instinct, and you notice his chest jerk, like he was entirely unaware that he too was being observed; like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

You also can’t help but notice how broad he is, even from this distance. The plaid lines of his button-up sprawl across his chest, his arms, his waist, and though the shirt clearly isn’t skin-tight, you can tell the expanse of him fills it out with ease. With a slight tilt of your head you motion for him to come closer, and your balance finally stills enough for you to trust your feet again.

The man strides across the room with a glimmer of urgency—not fast per se, but with a spirited buoyancy hot beneath his heels. He parks himself at the table nearest to you, pulling the chair from its nestled nook under the table, and makes himself comfortable, splaying his knees and crossing his arms tightly atop his chest.

God, he’s big.

“Haven’t seen you ‘round here before,” you lilt, descending the stairs from the platform and taking a seat on the table in front of him.

One of his hands peeks from beneath the sleeve of his flannel. It looks gruff, firm, and tightly grasps a palmful of ones, and the sheer width of his fingers make the bills look like Monopoly money.

“Ain’t really been ‘round here before,” he shrugs, his voice exactly as deep as you expected, and steeped in what you immediately recognize as a born and raised Texan.

His eyes are noticeably shifty, ping-ponging between the floor, the stage, your shoes, his watch; anywhere that isn’t your gaze. The majority of his face is still shaded by his cap, and even this close his features remain more vague than you’d like them to be. You realize he must be new to this, and you’ve heard that drawl before; the drawl of a man who was raised to mind his manners.

You don’t make him ask.

“You want a dance, baby?”

You graze your fingers over his, and have to bite down on a grin when his chest hitches sharply against the row of buttons resting over his sternum.

“I… um… no, thank you sweetheart—”

“What’s your name?”

He clears his throat with a stifled, nervous cough.

“Joel,” he blurts, a sober assuredness possessing his voice. “Joel Miller.”

He finally meets your gaze, just as a whirling spotlight dances over his face. A split second of illumination reveals a whiskey-brown stare, dripping with warmth, glinting with a sedated hunger. You bite down on the flesh of your cheek and extend your hand to shake his.

“Paloma,” you croak, imitating his baritone husk, pausing to repeat his cadence. “Paloma Blue.”

A dimple appears amongst a veil of brown scruff, the faint edges of a charming smile peeking through the shadow from his hat. His shoulders remain rigid, hiked with an invisible thread tugging them toward the ceiling.

You really can’t read him.

“Can I do somethin’ for you, honey? You seem tense,” you question.

“I was… I was wonderin’ if you might be interested in lettin’ me buy you a drink. When you’re done workin’, f’course. Wouldn’t wanna get you in any kinda trouble.”

You find it impossible not to let out a chuckle. It’s not the first time you’ve sent a man into a flustered mess of shifting-eyes and stuttering words, though that would usually come after he got too bold and you needed to put him in his place. Joel Miller doesn’t look like those men; college-aged hooligans or machismo cowboys that are all bark and no bite. He doesn’t look like a man who gets nervous; yet here he is, fidgeting profusely with his watch, and you’re quite relieved he’s sitting down.

“Well, ain’t you a sweet one…” you drawl, half-teasing despite the truth to the statement. “I’m s’posed to work ‘til close tonight, but if you can convince my boss to let me leave early, I’m all yours.”

You don’t miss the swell of Joel’s pupils at your affirmation, a look of determination you had yet to witness on the man. The chances of getting out of your shift tonight are next to none, considering there’s merely three of you working the floor and a new hoard of howling youngsters just came tumbling through the entrance.

You point out your boss behind the bar and Joel follows with his gaze, nodding and starting towards her without a word.

You’re a bit shocked at his immediate action; not to mention the lack of the typical prying you’ve accepted as routine. He’s been extraordinarily polite; a man of few words but refreshingly direct despite the subtle shake in his voice, and the honesty alone makes your cheeks flush.

You’re far more used to taking control and providing entertainment for the countless men that frequent the club, always catering to their needs first and foremost, smothering them with flattery—or degradation, if you notice a well-timed “good boy” summons a bigger bill from their pockets. It’s work, but it’s undoubtedly started to bleed into your personal life. The lines between you and your Paloma persona have blurred these days, making you unsure of what you’re supposed to want and what you actually want. You find yourself lost in thought, gazing at the black and white tile as your legs swing underneath you, until the interruption of two dirty boots break your trance.

“Boss said you’re good to go. F’you still want to.”

How the hell did he manage that?

Your jaw hangs slightly in shock, racking your brain to make sense of what he may have done to convince her. You can’t help but be impressed by his vigor, by all of it, and a smile lifts your cheeks to the heavens as you recognize the feeling stirring in your tummy, a feeling that has laid dormant for far too long. You want him.

“I’ll go get my stuff, just hang tight.”

. . . . .

Joel stands by the exit of the club, waiting for you to grab your things. He hadn’t thought a damn thing through before he asked you out, and his voice of reason was nowhere to be found when he forked over 200 bucks to the club owner to get you out of working for the rest of the night. Any semblance of forethought vanished when he saw you, all sashayed hips and strut and so undeniably, deliciously Texan. And your face—oh—once he saw that sweet face of yours… he didn’t stand a fucking chance.

It occurs to him that he doesn’t know where exactly he should take you to get a drink. Should he have asked you to dinner instead? The last thing he wants is you to think is that he’s trying to buy you for the night, or that anything is required of you just because he got you out of work. He just wants to know you, be near you, bask in your presence. He wants to treat you like a gentleman, like he was raised to, because he’s damn sure the kind of men who wind up at that club don’t give a damn about chivalry.

You emerge from the narrow hallway leading towards the exit, clad in gray sweatpants and a flowy white tee that somehow still clings to the most feminine parts of your figure. You shoot him a beaming smile, a playful glint in your eyes as you haul a small duffel bag over your shoulder.

“You’re not takin’ me anywhere too fancy I hope,” you snicker.

Joel offers one hand to hold your bag and swings the door ajar with the other, holding it for you as you pass through. The trail of your perfume—that soft, sugary scent—leaves his eyes rolling into the back of his head as he tightens his grip on the doorframe.

“You need somethin’ to eat? We could get some supper,” he suggests, offering his arm to you.

“Yeah, actually, I usually wait ‘til after my shift, considerin’ work ain’t too far off from a non-stop Tilt-A-Whirl ride. Y’get used to it after a while, but—”

“Better safe than sorry, I bet.”

You look up at him and nod with a half-grin, your eyes sparkling with amusement.

With just a single look, Joel’s stomach flutters and dick twitches at the sight of you. The glow of your face beneath the warmth of the streetlight; your soft features and the intensity of your persistent gaze is beyond mesmerizing. You’re pretty, the epitome of it, all batting lashes and pillowy lips; the very definition of divine feminine. You’re the spitting image of the hazy being that appears behind his eyelids when he touches himself and lets his mind wander; the body he craves to wake up tangled with every morning.

He follows you to the passenger’s side of the car and opens the door for you without a thought, leaning in to his tendencies and muscle memory. You hum a sweet thank you as he extends his arm to help you into his elevated truck, but you barely need the support, your strong legs lifting you into the height of the car with ease.

As Joel turns the key in the ignition, the scream of the roaring engine sends a full body cringe snaking down his spine.

“Sorry, uh, she’s a lil’ noisy,” he winces with an apologetic brow. “She’s fine, runs great, just—”

“A bit of a talker?” you blurt.

He smiles diffidently and nods. You’re better with words than he is, and he finds himself thankful for that—lord knows he needs all the help he can get in your presence.

Joel flicks on the radio, an old Willie Nelson tune lilting from the rear speakers. You let out a hearty grunt of approval.

“Haven’t heard this one in forever,” you slurred. “Practically grew up on this music. ‘M sure you did too, I can hear it in that drawl f’yours.”

He chuckles, shaking his head as he reaches his arm around your seat, crooking his head back as he shifts the truck into reverse.

“That bad, huh?”

“Not bad! Just strong. Just how I like it, really,” you admit, pulling your lip between your teeth, doe-eyed and eager as you catch his gaze.

God, he’s absolutely fucked.

He dials up the volume as he clears his throat and starts down the jagged road. You relax into your seat, curling one of your feet up to tuck beneath your thigh as you hum along to the radio.

He knows exactly where to take you.

. . . . .

A twenty minute car ride with Joel revealed that he wanted to know as much as he could about you. He asked question after question, about your life, your hobbies, your family, and not one thing about your job, which was honestly quite refreshing. Not that you had any shame about your occupation, but most men were more fascinated about what it was like to be Paloma, and most importantly what it could mean for them at the end of the evening. Not Joel, though. It seemed as though he was almost afraid to breach the subject; out of politeness or avoidance, you weren’t sure. You crossed your fingers that it was the former.

You arrive at a little shack of a restaurant, some sort of fusion between a diner and a sports bar. It looks as though it should be empty, the exterior of it run down in a way that makes it appear frozen in time, but it isn’t. Clusters of customers sit in long-stretched booths that fill the width of the windows and the entrance is shrouded with people; some smoking, some chatting, and some seemingly waiting to get in. You scan the crowd and find that everyone visible to you appears quite innately blue collar, down to the sea of Levi’s Jeans and scuffed up boots, extra-illuminated by the cheap plastic solar lights haphazardly stuck into narrow beds of mulch.

Joel hops down from the truck before you can even say a word, and with a quick shuffle he’s arrived at the passenger door. You have to laugh at the absurdity of it, how it seems he has—cover to cover— studied a textbook of how to be a perfect gentleman. Alongside the frequency of nerves you can sense radiating from beneath his skin, you know you need to get a drink in him.

He offers his arm as you hop down onto the pavement and swiftly rests his palm on your lower back, guiding you through the crowd of patrons with ease. A cheap, crackling doorbell sound chimes as you pass through the doorway. The hostess offers a wide and toothy smile, hollering to announce Joel's arrival, by name, towards the kitchen. She appears surprised but delighted to see him, making a point to let him know how much she has missed him with a cringeworthy attempt at a bit too much physical contact. She asks about a Sarah, and your stomach tightens with concern—you hope to god she's anything but a wife. He requests a booth, a cozy, curved table in the shaded, sheltered corner of the restaurant, and the staff oblige him immediately, one waitress clearing the tabletop of dishes and the other wiping the surface down in one clean swipe.

“Hope this is ok,” Joel says. “You’re definitely not the only one wearing sweatpants in here, if it makes you feel at ease.”

“It’s good, seems perfect,” you slip the innermost part of your bottom beneath your teeth and let your eyes do the smiling. “They sure are treatin’ you like royalty in here.”

Joel seems to relax a bit, his spine softening into the back of the cushion and legs splaying wide. He isn’t looking at you as you observe him; his eyes dart around and he musters a casual wave to anyone visibly moved by his presence. The constant, worried scrunch of his brow smooths out for a moment, just as the beams of passing headlights rake over his features, and you finally realize:

He’s fucking gorgeous.

You could see him before, sure, but you didn’t actually see him, not with the lingering luminescence of the warm white that shines through the outspread window behind you. He was steeped in shadow, but now he’s colored in, every detail and curvature entirely yours to behold.

The bend of his nose draws your attention first, strong and angular, demanding your eyes pay it mind. Your gaze follows a natural map, a sporadic trail of sun spots that dance across his cheek, conspicuous evidence of long days working outside in the relentless Austin heat. A few silver hairs are sprinkled amongst his umber scruff; a well-kempt beard and mustache sits just above the soft curve of his lips, flushed with ruddy hue.

He’s gorgeous, plain and simple.

The waitress brings Joel a whiskey before even saying hello. Joel asks what you would like, calls you sweetheart in a low, thick growl. You order a vodka cran and try to ignore the hostess currently staring a hole into the side of your head.

“You gonna tell me why they treat you like royalty ‘round here?” you tease.

“Not royalty—” he cuts himself off with a chuckle and a shake of his head. “They just ain’t seen me in a while. Used to bring my little girl here for breakfast every Sunday.”

“Ah,” you release with a sigh, the ball of tension sitting in your chest following behind. “Sarah?”

“Mhm,” he hums.

“Was worried she might be a wife for a second there.”

“Oh, no, I- I’m not… I wouldn’t…”

“S’alright. I’ll admit though, I’m real glad she ain’t.”

Joel’s face turns a soft shade of pink and a whisper of a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. His eyes flicker, lingering on your lips, a flame dancing behind his pupils, before meeting your gaze again. You can’t control the smile that possesses your face, nor the simmering heat that blankets your chest, and you can’t recall that last time a man made you feel like this.

Every facet of Joel’s appearance exudes an air of dominance. He dresses much like the hordes of men who approach you with their usual excessive bravado and unwarranted sense of ownership over your body, but he seems to act entirely the opposite. He seems apprehensive, wary, like he’s trying desperately to be the right kind of man around you, to treat you the way you deserve to be treated.

You decide to try what Joel orders, some sort of off-menu special order the waitress jokingly calls “The Miller Deluxe”. It isn’t long before you finish your drink, and another appears before you can even ask. You inquire more about Joel’s daughter, his life, his work; returning the line of questioning he surveyed you with in the passenger’s seat of the truck, and you find yourself mirroring his smile as he tells you all about Sarah. He rambles off a brief explanation of his business and Tommy; you immediately know who he is, a somewhat troublesome regular visitor at the club. Joel apologizes for Tommy before you even say a word about him, and your food arrives at the table before you can explain that he’s more of an occasional nuisance than anything else.

The whiskey seems to unwind the tension in Joel’s stature, and words begin to flow with much more ease than they did before you arrived. A natural, charismatic charm seeps through, sticky sweet, until it’s all but enveloped his demeanor, blanketing his palpable apprehension with an earnest geniality that radiates warmth like a fireplace. It washes over you, clinging to every inch of your skin, seeping through to your veins and igniting a flame low in your belly, a flickering heat that demands to be noticed.

You’re fairly certain he won’t be the one to cut through the guarded distance between you. Despite the unmistakable hunger in his eyes, he remains heedful, taking extra care to keep his hand from grazing yours as he reaches for the chip basket and keeping his body at least a foot away from yours. You want—desperately want—to shatter the glass partition he seems to have placed between you, to destroy the self-imposed barrier keeping his temptation at bay.

You start by sliding closer, closing the gap between your knees until they touch. That gets his attention, but he doesn’t retreat, he only meets your eyes with a look of inquiry, curiosity, and a hint of apprehension. You flash him your most doe-eyed, encouraging smile, sanctioning the proximity of your bodies, silently divulging that you want this, that you like him, that he can finally release the imprisoned breath he’s been holding beneath his sternum since he uttered his very first words to you.

Joel swings an arm around your shoulder, resting against the wooden panel atop the booth seat, leaving a few inches between your skin and the sleeve of his flannel. He doesn’t have to tell you a thing; you oblige him immediately, leaning your shoulders back and relaxing into his forearm. You fit seamlessly into the crook of his elbow, and the warmth emanating from his body makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand at attention.

The second vodka cran—the one that you nearly shotgunned—possesses your will for a split-second and you find yourself reaching for his face, whisping the pad of your thumb across his wiry scruff. Despite the rough tickle it leaves behind, you immediately crave the sensation elsewhere, certain that the drag of it across a more delicate area might just feel like heaven.

“Can I be honest?” you whisper in a low lilt, tracing the brim of his cap with lazy fingers.

Joel nods with a thick swallow, his Adam's apple jumping almost comically in his throat.

“Yeah, f’course,” he responds with a strained attempt at nonchalance.

“I don’t like this hat.”

You grip the bill of the hat, wiggling it back and forth playfully. Your actions are outrunning your thoughts by a mile now, and you’re unable to keep your hands from wandering towards Joel’s magnetism. His face transforms into a bewildered, amused grin, one brow furrowed and the other cocked toward the ceiling.

“Mm,” he hums, a low, resonant sonance from the pit of his chest. “Why’s that?”

“I can’t see you,” you whine. “Can’t see that pretty face of yours, s’all hidden by a shadow.”

“I, um—” he whisks the hat off, running his fingers through a slicked mountain of curls. “My hair’s still wet.”

Christ. The light bathes his face, every detail revealing itself to you in absolute glory. He’s fucking beautiful, his features demanding of your undivided attention, an impossible balance between striking and soft. The flicker of need at the base of your core spreads at the speed of a wildfire, setting you ablaze with a hunger you can no longer ignore.

“Joel?”

His name spills from your throat, sliding off your tongue like a siren’s nectar. Your fingers find their way to his mane, weaving through the strands with a gentle tug. His inhale catches in his lungs, the air held prisoner as your nails trace along his temple and jaw. His eyes finally meet yours as the pad of your thumb drags across his lower lip, and it’s only then that you will his breath to freedom, a stuttering exhale pulsing with anticipation.

“I think we should get the check.”

A momentary shock quickly turns to realization, and with widened eyes and a stifled smirk he nods, wasting no time to flag down the waiter and ask for the bill. Neither of you speak; you find it almost impossible to do so, your gaze spellbound to the curve of muscle and veins that lay beneath his collar, and you swear you can see his pulse jumping beneath his skin.

You want nothing more than to feel the rush of it beneath your tongue.

Joel offers his arm to help you out of the booth, his flannel rolled to his elbows, exposing his thick and freckled forearms and a modest watch strapped to his wrist. He wastes no time whisking you towards the door, his palm flat against your lower back, waving a few rushed goodbyes to the folks he chatted with on the way in. You can feel his heat, his fervor, singeing your skin through your shirt, his fingers curled into the soft skin just above your ass. He holds the door for you as you lock eyes; you’re met with primitive opacity in his gaze, the desperation of it surging straight to your cunt.

You grasp his hand, and book it towards his truck, counting down the seconds before you lose control.

. . . . .

Joel hums with surprise as you twist the neck of his flannel into your fist, tugging him into you and colliding your lips savagely with his.

Fuck, you taste better than he could’ve possibly imagined.

He didn’t intend for the evening to end like this. In fact, he almost wanted to avoid it, wanted to take you out with the crystal-clear message of no expectation whatsoever. But he’s just a man after all, and the second your eyes started talking and hands started wandering, he knew there was no way he could resist giving you what you wanted.

His hands find their way to your hips with magnetic force, slipping under the hem of your shirt with ease and grasping at the softness that lies beneath the fabric. The strength of his hands is enough to push you flat against the passenger door as he tilts your pelvis towards him, easing your knees apart with an effortless nudge of his leg.

You gasp into his mouth as he pulls you onto his thigh, grinding you into the thick denim. The sound of you, breathless and needy, stirs a ravenousness in his chest that Joel had thought was long laid to rest, an avidity that only you have managed to awaken. You, in all your glory, drenched in honey and cream, calling out to him to come and taste.

As he bucks your hips a second time, you whine, your hands shooting up and tangling in his hair. You tug his head back, distancing his lips from yours, and he can’t help but groan at the loss of contact. Your gaze bears into his eyes with a newfound ferocity, a determination that leaves him straining against the confines of his jeans.

“You gonna give me what I need, Joel Miller?” you speak against his mouth in a hush.

Goosebumps litter the better part of his neck and chest as his eyes struggle to keep you in focus. The sting of pain at the back of his scalp only swells his desire, a sensation so staggering that he finds his breath caught, full and tight in his lungs, escaping only through labored, silent sighs.

“M’gonna give you whatever you need baby, whatever you want,” Joel pants, slurring his words against your gluttonous smirk.

Suddenly you’re diving beneath his jaw, dragging the heat of your mouth across the pattern he knows follows a prominent vein in his neck. Fuck, it feels euphoric, his pulse jumping against your tongue, every rush of blood to and fro delivering another wave of want straight to his cock. He gives in, letting his eyes roll back into his skull, no longer able to maintain any semblance of insouciance as he’s damn near collapsing under your spell. He can’t recall the last time he’d been touched like this. On the rare occasion he’d bring a woman home he found himself falling into routine, taking control because that’s what he sensed she would expect, fulfilling some sense of duty as a man that he never quite understood. He’d always felt a sort of magnetism toward assured women, but somehow they were never the ones who ended up in his bed, only wavering ladies who looked to him wide-eyed, waiting for instruction.

He’s quite sure he’ll never go back.

Joel drags your hips against him once again, this time increasing the friction, bearing you down on his thigh enough to feel the damp spot that’s pooled between your legs. You yelp, biting into his neck, the sting of your canines against his skin bordering on vampiric. Joel hisses, the pain once again blossoming into some sort of pleasure, twitching and crying from the head of him.

“Babydoll—shit—” he curses, stunned as you drag your lower teeth towards his ear, undoubtedly leaving behind a sketch of crimson. “You wanna get in the truck baby? Plenty’a room in the backseat.”

You hum in agreement, your lips wrapping around his earlobe, flicking it against your tongue before giving it a feeble nip. Joel fumbles in his pocket until he manages to unlock the door with his key, wasting no time as he pulls you tight to his chest, swinging the door ajar before offering a hand to help you inside. Despite his lust-stricken haze, his gentlemanly charm seems to be beaten into the very fiber of his being. You step into the car, gracing him with a personal view of the perfect splay of your hips and ass, only revving his hunger as he follows suit.

. . . . .

You don’t allow Joel but a second before you’re caging him in between your legs, straddling his thighs against the backseat of his truck. The rough grip of his hands on your hips, grinding you down on his knee, kneading into your curves; it was enough to set you entirely ablaze. No more matchstick flickering at the pit of your stomach, every cell in your body is pulsing with need, pleading for release by the hands of Joel Miller.

You can’t help but glide with a sharp rock of your hips across his lap, desperate to return some friction to the pounding ache within your walls. Your eyes lock with his as your clothed cunt skims the sizable tent of his jeans, observing him feverishly as he groans at the sensation.

“Fuck—” he grunts, his chest heaving as you slowly drag away again. “Easy, easy baby…”

His hands find the valley of your waist with ease, slowing your pace to an achingly languid speed. With each brush of your throbbing clit against the seam of your panties, another gush of slick floods from your core. It’s filthy, obscene, soaking all the way through the thick material of your sweatpants and onto Joel’s denim. You can’t even remember the last time you were this wet. It makes you burn that much more, the way his mere presence alone was enough to turn you into a sopping mess.

“Joel—” your palms cradle the curve of his jaw, holding him still to allow you to study him in the lowlight.

He’s so fucking beautiful, positively mesmerizing, his pupils blown wide with a raptured stare, the sharp curve of his nose like something carved from ancient marble. The pad of your thumb snakes across the pout of his lower lip, pressing down until his jaw goes slack, parting his mouth with an exhale.

Joel seems to lose himself in your gaze, his eyes not once leaving yours as you slip your thumb between his teeth and force him even wider, applying pressure to the tip of his tongue and feeling the muscle flex against your fingertips. You need his mouth, need it anywhere and everywhere and right fucking there, you need him to clean up this mess he’s made of you.

“You know how gorgeous you are, sugar?” you hum, spreading the slick from his tongue across his lower lip and down his chin. “You know I don’t do this for just anybody, right?”

“You’re the gorgeous one, baby, so goddamn gorgeous,” Joel pants, snaking his hands higher, up the bend of your waist until his palms reach the yielding skin that cloaks your ribcage. His thumbs trace the band of your bra; smooth, fluid motions that send chills crawling up your spine. “So beautiful I reckon’ it might jus’ kill me.”

You can’t help but smile at his sweetness, his accent reduced to a slurry of words, appearing to be drunk on your aura. It seems you’ve managed to reduce him down to his very core, the heat from your body melting through the hardened layers of gruff masculinity to reveal an almost desperate eagerness to please, a yearning to relinquish control.

“I can’t have you dyin’ on me, honeypie,” you allow your hands to wander, your fingertips finding their way to the uppermost button of his shirt. “I got far too many plans for that pretty little mouth of yours.”

You lean down to kiss him once again, your thumbs making quick work of the trail of remaining buttons. Your lips move sloppily against each other, the both of you unable to stifle your muffled moans, swallowing each other’s pleasure as your tongues waltz in the in-between.

“Tell me what to do, baby,” Joel croons against your cheek. “Fuck, want you s’bad, jus’ wanna make you feel good.”

Your fingers nestle into the damp mess of curls at the back of his skull. With an innocuous little tug, you guide his lips to the expanse of bare skin on your chest, his mouth settling at the heart of your sternum. You don’t even have to ask, his tongue darting past his lips, savoring the taste of you with a deliberate torpor. The graze of his scruff against your thumping heart feels better than you could have possibly imagined, sharp yet soft, ticklish enough to make your breath catch in your throat. You blanket the backs of his hands, your fingers settling in the spaces between his, maneuvering the wide expanse of his palms to splay across your breasts. You can’t believe the sheer size of his hands, enveloping your tits entirely, calluses harsh against the sensitive peaks veiled beneath the mesh of your bra.

“Touch me here,” you sigh, unable to keep yourself rocking slowly against his thigh. “Taste me. Show me how bad you want me, pretty boy.”

Something akin to a growl claws from his throat, and you gasp as his nails hook around the seam of your bra, exposing the peaks of your breasts with a relentless tug. He wastes no time, pulling your nipple into his mouth, his tongue flicking at the sensitive bud mercilessly.

“Fuck, oh fuck, that’s good baby,” you bear down into his thigh as his thumb finds your other nipple, rolling it between his forefinger. Your core surges with another wave of need, crying for attention, spilling her tears from your center and dampening the denim-clad thigh beneath her. “I need— shit— I need you lower, Joel.”

In your hungered haze, you push Joel flat against the seat of the truck, his eyes wide and wild as you climb atop him, his chest hiking and falling against your bare tits. He looks downright enraptured, licking his lips like a kid in a goddamn candy shop, fiending for a sugar high.

“You wanna taste me, sugar plum? You gon’ let me feed you?”

“Christ—” Joel curses, his hands wandering along your torso, lifting your shirt above your head and flinging it across the dash. He unclasps your bra with his free hand, sending it flying the opposite direction. “Please darlin’, need’ta taste you.”

You manage to kick off your sweats while Joel holds you steady by the hips, his eager words somehow igniting even more fervor in your movements. His thumbs knead into the give of your lower tummy, meandering beneath the waistband of your panties and twisting the elastic around his knuckles, slack-jawed and nearly possessed by the sight of your bare curves alone.

Joel gives you a nod, cupping your ass to ease you forward as your knees find a home adjacent to his ears. He pets along the length of your thighs, damn near drooling at the sight between them.

“Don’t hold back on me now,” Joel slips a finger beneath the seam of black lace, teasing against the soft damp skin closest to where you need him the most. “M’a big boy, can handle myself.”

You gasp as he shoves the soaked cloth covering your cunt to the side, brushing your desperate clit with his knuckle as he does so. You’re bare to him now, surely glistening and ripe and ready to be devoured.

“Don’t doubt it, cowboy,” you croon, raking a hand through his curls before lowering yourself onto his eager mouth.

A rocket of white-hot pleasure shoots straight through you as Joel latches on to your clit, nestling the bud between his lips. The searing sensation is enough to make your hips twitch forward, sending your hands to scramble for purchase to keep you upright. You can’t even make a sound; the release of euphoria coursing through you stealing the breath from your lungs, leaving you to choke on empty inhales until Joel finally gives your bud a moment of reprieve.

His tongue dips into the pool of your center, sending another swell of nectar from your core, coating his scruff in sweet slick. You hear him groan, muffled between your thighs, as his arms lock around your hips and push you down even further.

“Fuck, Joel—” you hiss, trying to keep yourself from grinding against the sharp curve of his nose, pulling yourself away slightly.

You swear you hear a hum of disapproval from between your legs as Joel chases you with his mouth, his grip tightening and his fingers digging mercilessly into the give of your thighs. His tongue is deep, drinking straight from the source of your arousal as his arms begin to rock you against his face, his nose grazing against your clit with an impossible precision; sending wave after wave of pleasure coiling up your spine. It seems dangerous, the way he’s devouring you without a single breath, but he holds you steady, bearing the weight of you onto his mouth with no hesitation.

“Baby, shit sweetheart— you gotta breathe,” you manage a fistful of his hair, pulling him off you with considerable force.

He looks thoroughly dazed; glassy irises and pink parted lips glistening with your dew, like a man who’s been given a taste but is nowhere near satiated. His chest swells and shallows rapidly beneath your ass, each breath bringing more color to his cheeks and a myriad of pearls forming across his hairline.

“Need more,” Joel pants, his fingers weaving around the lace stretched across your hips. “Need these gone, angel.”

You oblige him with a swiftness, pulling the garment to your knees, dismounting him to allow you to slip it past your ankles. His palms cup your ass and squeeze, his thumbs spreading you open to reveal even more of yourself to him. The stretch feels good, the sensitive muscles fluttering with the shock of the exposure, sticky and soaked from the steady drip seeping from your sex.

“So pretty…” he kneads into your pliable cheeks. “Can I taste it? Please sugar, need’ta taste all of you.”

God, his desperation is like a siren song, your desire burning hot and full in your throat. You hum with approval, mounting him once more but reverse this time, a wave of goosebumps skittering across your skin in anticipation.

He starts gentler this time, licking a languid stripe from your taint to your tailbone. His tongue splays across your skin, wide and flat, making sure not to miss a single inch. A guttural moan escapes your lungs; an uninhibited response to the forgotten feeling of heat in that region, an entirely distinctive kind of pleasure that sends your eyes spinning to the back of your skull. Your nails dig crescents into the cushions your hands are so violently clinging to, your back arching, matching in a manner to match the little moons left behind by your fingers.

Joel groans in response to your noises, biting at the supple flesh gathered in his hands, his hunger surely spurred by the sweet sounds of your euphoria. Like a switch, his mouth turns greedy again, lapping against your puckered skin with a ferocity that makes you cry out his name. He gives you no moment of respite, jerking your hips toward him and seizing your clit with his curved tongue and pulling you into him, his nose practically fucking your cunt.

“Ohhh, that’s…” you trail off, your eyes beginning to water from the sheer intensity of it. “Christ, you’re heaven.”

At that, Joel seems to lose control, seemingly possessed by a determination to make you meet God. His palms jerk your hips back and forth, your clit never once escaping the grasp of his lips, his nose delving into your pussy with reckless abandon. Pleasure ravages the whole of you in a frenzy, wave after wave surging in your belly until you’re all but crying, quivering as you white-knuckle the headrest holding you steady. Your orgasm topples through you, your vision blasting with light as your walls clamp again and again, squeezing the length of Joel’s nose buried in your cunt.

Joel doesn’t release your clit from his mouth until you’re yelping, twitching and gasping from overstimulation. His grip softens as you fly forward to your hands and knees, your chest heaving with exhaustion, your muscles bearing through the aftershocks of your release. His lips find the backs of your thighs, trailing sweet, slow kisses across the expanse of skin. They feel like praise, almost like he’s thanking you without words; a mellifluous tempo of graciousness that you had yet to experience from him.

Part of you wants to linger in the divinity of this moment, but from your position you find yourself face to face with the bulging mass beneath his jeans. It looks painful, the outline of his shaft straining against thick denim and a sturdy zipper. You manage to unbutton the pants with your one free hand, slipping your palm beneath the waistband effortlessly.

“Jesus, Joel,” you chuckle, astonished by the way his cock fills your palm, heavy and thicker than you would have ever anticipated. You begin to stroke him above his boxers, softly and slowly, swirling your fingertips across the head of him as you feel him groan beneath you, dampening your fingers with his weeping tip. “Lemme help you, sugar.”

Joel grunts out his approval, his palm splayed across your ass, seemingly as a means to ground himself to this mortal plane. The callused pads on his fingertips clutch you relentlessly as you free his dick from the confines of his clothes, holding the base of him steady as you glide the tip of your tongue across his glistening slit.

His hips jerk forward at the sudden contact, sending the length of him thrusting into your open mouth. You welcome him wholly, savoring the salty musk that coats your cheeks and the sting in your jaw as you stretch to accommodate him.

“Fucking—shit—” he growls, his breaths coming in short, shallow bursts. “C’mere, god damn—”

He tugs you back onto his open mouth, burying himself into you once more with a reignited ferocity, drinking the remnants of your orgasm. You yelp, your throat flexing around his tip as he flicks your overstimulated clit, the blend of pleasure and torment accosting your nervous system.

It’s downright mean, the mercilessness of his tongue sending you straight into overdrive. Two can play at that game.

You take him as deep as you can manage, hollowing your cheeks as you swirl your tongue around his girth. He groans into your pussy, licking you faster, pulling your lips apart with his tongue and spreading them like angel wings. You can’t help but grin, the unspoken competition between you revving with intensity with each passing second, sending the both of you toppeling into bliss, warmth spilling down your throat as you cry out against his cock. Your thighs begin to shake as you reach your peak, tears beading in your eyes as you grasp tightly onto the flexing muscles in Joel’s legs. You choke on his name as his dick falls from your lips, bearing through surge after surge of euphoria. The pleasure is so consuming that it coils itself around your windpipe and renders you mute, holding you hostage until it’s had its way with you and leaving you dizzy when it finally relents.

Your arms give out on you and you collapse, exhaustion possessing you for a moment until your consciousness returns. You feel Joel pressing soft, sweet kisses to the back of your thigh, and suddenly become aware of the fact that you’re likely crushing his dick beneath your weight. You ease off of him slowly, your legs quivering with the effort, turning to face him as he shifts himself to a seated position and fastens his jeans.

The moonlight catches the sweat beading at his hairline; the glassy whites of his eyes and the dew on his lips beaming under the cool-toned hue. He looks like art, soft lines and harsh edges painted exactly where you’d want them; masculine shadows dancing across his skin as he shifts his weight, daring you to watch them move. You’ve never been so completely mesmerized by a man. Not once in your life has a man rendered you speechless, but here you are; irreversibly hypnotized and a stranger to the English language. You’re aware of yourself—painfully aware of your staggering silence and your gawkish gaze—and you shake your head, laughing at the unbelievable effect washing over you.

Joel’s cheeks turn ruddy, his irises shifting between you and his lap as he drapes his arm across his chest, giving his own shoulder a hearty squeeze.

“What’s funny?” he breathes, insecurity creeping in his throat.

You come to suddenly; the stark realization that you’re probably making the man nervous is enough to break you from your trance. You crawl towards him, your fingertips grazing the underside of his jaw, tilting him towards you until your lips are merely an inch apart.

“Nothin’ sugar,” you hum, pressing your lips to his in a gentle kiss. “You’re just one hell of a cowboy.”

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #plus size reader #plus size!reader #joel x reader #young joel miller #tlou #the last of us

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spookykoolkat · 1 year ago

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kinktober | the man in apartment 6a - j.m.

kinktober day three - dumbification

pairing: older!joel miller x younger!plus size!reader

wc: 9.0k

summary: your older, grumpier yet handy neighbor can hear everything that goes on in the comfort of your pink four walled bedroom, simply because shitty apartment buildings made the walls so thin.

warnings: 18+ ONLY! minors are NEVER welcomed. pervy!joel, creepy!joel, older!joel, JOEL IS WARNING IN HIMSELF LOL, mentions of self loathing, uncomfortable sex (not with joel), marijuana use, alcohol use, fingering, oral (f receiving), manhandling, degradation (slight), creampie/breeding, pet names (sweet girl, sweetheart, pretty girl, baby, dumb, stupid, daddy), a little bit of ass eating (whoops), raw penetration (p in v) *wrap it up pls*, aftercare

reblogs, likes and comments are very very appreciated!

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IT WAS A FRIDAY NIGHT, work was tired, and you needed to take the edge off with a fat blunt and a full glass of wine. it was so quiet in the apartment complex you lived in that you might be the loudest one there, since three of your neighbors are older than 50.

so after you poured your bottle of wine into a glass, you turned your led lights under your coffee table on and the bulbs that are in your two lamps beside your couch. it was such a colorful scenery, you loved smoking and drinking like this with music or a movie on in the background. making sure to not turn the volume up too loud, or else joel would come knocking on your door asking you to turn it down.

joel was your neighbor in 6a and to you he always seemed like he had a thorn stuck in his ass cheek. he was a bitter old man who seemed like he hated fun, or maybe he just hated you.

but you didn’t care much. nothing was going to stop you from being you, being bubbly and optimistic. it makes no sense to you to sit solemnly and think about every wrong turn you’ve ever made, and yet it seems that’s all joel does.

he was always on edge, noticing the way he would flinch meeting you as the two of you locked your doors and headed off to work. you watched him from your window when he walked into the complex up the stairs, and noticed how he always had his jaw and fists clenched, head whipping in every direction before seemingly slipping inside his apartment and locking up.

it made you curious as to what made him so tense, so frustrated and even paranoid. you wished you were someone he could go to, to release all of his ugly emotions and thoughts onto you. maybe you were being young and naive, having irrational sex daydreams as you gathered your paraphernalia to roll a blunt. It was delusional, yes you knew that, but you couldn’t help but fantasize about your neighbor.

but you wanted him in every way. you didn’t care he was twice your age, and you didn’t care that he was about as introverted and mean as they come. he’s a real asshole. to you, you felt you were allowed these fantasies given he’d never be the type of man that would want you. i mean, you were young enough to be his daughter, and you weren’t so sure that he even liked bigger women.

shaking your thoughts of him, you hummed along to whatever song that was on your halloween playlist playing loudly. soon after it’s rolled, you spark it up and take hits of it as you throw your body back on the couch.

you feel at ease as you listen to your playlist and smoke your blunt, enjoying peace for a day. your hair was still wet from the shower you took, and your blunt was barely starting to form a good cherry when three bangs hit your door over the music that startled you.

you take a few more hits trying to get the most out of your blunt and ash it out quickly, yelling a choked out, i’m coming!!, over the music. you get up with your wine glass, walking barefoot to the door and opening it as your eyes meet a broad chest in a button up black and gray flannel, buttoned over a plain white t-shirt.

joel.

“uh, hey. what’s up?” you say, setting your glass down on your door side table.

“you told me your toilet wasn’t workin’? didya need me to take a look?” he asked as he unsubtly soaked in your attire. shit. you completely forgot your piece of shit toilet stopped flushing.

you noticeably had no bra on, and your tank top was resting at the curve of your waist with one strap off of your shoulder, showing off your plush body and midriff. he could almost see the hardening of your nipples when you opened the door.

“oh, right. i thought you meant you could do it like, monday.” you said, wishing to just relax tonight. he shook his head and looked back over your body, before meeting your eyes.

“i’m busy monday. it’s now or never,” he bargained with a hard tone and you rolled your eyes.

“of course, right, sorry. come in.” you said and moved out of the way to step inside your girly apartment. you went to your coffee table to grab the remote and turn the volume down a little on your tv.

“the restroom is-,” you start to say and go towards it until he cuts you off.

“i know where it is. i’ll be done in a bit,” he said coldly and you pressed your lips into a thin line. he renovated these apartments dumbass.

“alright.” you said and let him go to the back hall to find the restroom, and you released a breath.

you felt like you looked messy, you just got out of the shower and had no bra on, and didn’t have panties on either. you were embarrassed.

it was a free night for you and he had to barge in. of course. you decided to grab your wine and sit down on the couch, eyeing the blunt wishing you could be smoking it right now. instead you sip on your wine and scroll on your phone for maybe thirty minutes until he calls out for you.

“coming!” you replied a little too cheery, and walked to the back rooms to see him on his hands and knees trying to reach under the toilet with his tools sprawled out on your pink bath rug.

joel tried to hide the smile that grew when he heard your eager voice.

“yeah?” you asked and blushed at his image. he looked so sexy with his eyebrows furrowed, even sexier looking so manly in such a pink room. His dark colored clothes made an exciting difference in your bathroom.

joel quickly scaled you over, from your bare feet with black toenails up to your week old shaven legs, up your wide thighs, to the fat of your tummy and the curves of your breasts.

“you think i can have me a water bottle?” he asked, and you smiled, completely unaware he was thinking of bending you over the sink and making you watch yourself take all of him.

joel had a teensy crush on you the second he saw you at his doorstep.

you mustered up the strength to knock on two doors to be greeted by two elderly ladies, and introduce yourself as their neighbors while giving them cookies you baked for them.

you figured it was the best way to gain their trust and familiarity as you were going to be living here for a while. and while it worked on them, you weren’t so sure about your last neighbor. you were nervous. you hated socializing and to introduce yourself as the new person in the area, but the last door you knocked on was one that truly ruined your day.

the door swung open ferociously to present a tall broad figure with tan skin, eyes tired and hair all ruffled. you could tell he just woke up, and you instantly regretted it. the force of the door opening made you feel a gust of wind, and chills.

you were taught it was common courtesy to introduce yourself when you’re new somewhere, though it didn’t seem he was happy to see you at his doorstep all cheery and energized.

“uh, hi, i’m your neighbor in 6C, i just moved in and i just wanted to introduce myself,” you said and told him your name, with a small smile. he kind of just looked at you blankly, adjusting his eyes to your figure and face.

“i, uh i made cookies for everyone so, i thought i’d bring them by cus i just like to bake and i thought maybe it’d be a peace offering... it’s okay if not i just wanted to be nice,” you rambled looking into his brown eyes as you held the plate covered in foil out with your hands. he looked between the plate, you and next to him to look at the clock on his doorway table.

you were nervous, tapping your fingers on the plate and biting the inside of your cheek. he was so handsome. so manly.

“you’re knockin at my door at eight thirty in the morning ona saturday to give me some cookies?” he asked, making sure what was happening was real. it was a little comical to him, only seeing shit like this in the movies. but to him, you were cute. he knew he didn’t carry southern hospitality and kindness like most, like you.

“you don’t have to take them. just tryna be nice,” you mumbled and pulled your arms back, your texan accent almost as thick as his.

“Mmhmm, well i don’t need no cookies this mornin’,” he said surely. it kind of pissed you off honestly.

“forget about it,” you said and turned your head down, moving to the door next to his and opening it right before mumbling, “asshole,” and slamming your door shut.

you were just so cute, so lively that he was drawn to you. it was odd because joel’s taste in women usually ranged, but he’d never been so drawn to a woman who seemed so eager to take on the world everyday. joel wasn’t used to seeing people so happy to leave the comfort of their homes to go into the city and interact with people, he wasn’t used to people making small talk as you fetch the mail at the same time. but that was you.

he would just shake you off, mumble words to get you to stop being so cheerful and kind. he didn’t want you to waste your time on him, he didn’t deserve your kindness. you heard the small comments.

“so damn pink,”

“ya have to hum all the way down four flights of stairs?”

“you ever not dressed in glitter and ponies?”

which he over exaggerated, you just liked pink. you would ignore the mean comments, and you would force yourself to remember that he is a man of cutting down trees and building houses with his bare hands. whatever you think is manly, he is. he wore nothing but dark colors, denim, work boots, and still had the iphone eight which seemed like it was forced on him.

but this is the first time he spoke to you remotely nice, and asked you for anything.

“yeah, uh do you want like, ice or just room temp?” you asked a bit embarrassed, wondering if that was a dumb question to ask. and a small, very small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth but it was so slight you almost gaslit yourself into seeing it.

“don’t matter sweetheart, whatever ya wanna get me,” he said and went back to doing whatever it was he was doing.

your tummy just fluttered at the small pet name as you pushed yourself off the door frame and moved to the kitchen.

never did you ever think you would hear a word like that come out of his mouth when referring to you.

you grabbed a water bottle and grabbed some ice chips with a scoop to pour it into a tall thermos. you took it straight to joel, and he faced you as you leaned down a bit to hand him the cup. from your stance, he could practically see down your shirt but only stole a small glance.

you couldn’t notice, you were just excited to do something nice for him.

“you need anything else?” you asked with your hands behind your back, your chest poking out a bit more and the light made it easy to see your nipples against the cloth.

“nah, i got all i need, you can go relax.” he said and went back to work as you walked off.

you wondered if there was a softness to his voice as you sat back down on the couch, turning your music up a little bit but not loud enough to get bitched at by joel. you figured he’d might be here for a bit given his outbursts of cursing because something wasn’t working with him, so you grabbed your blunt and lit it again. this was your apartment.

joel was frustrated enough from the stupid toilet. a bolt kept untightening every time he tried to flush, and it pissed him off enough but kept him busy as he smelled the scent of strong weed filling his nose. he knew he smelled it when he walked in, but now he can smell the smoke and hear your muffled coughs every once and a while.

he was actually a bit surprised, for some reason you didn’t seem like the type to partake. he knows in his days he did, so he wasn’t judging you at all, it just didn’t seem like something a girl like you would do. you seemed so… behaved.

he ended up managing to find the bolt he was looking for because it fell somewhere and skidded across the restroom floor.

joel didn’t mind working on things for the neighbors in his complex, he was really the only one that was able to fix almost everything in sight. he was never bothered by it either, in the back of his mind he wanted to feel like he was needed. like he could do some type of good for people even if he was closed off and cold. his hands were godsend, and in many ways.

but he’d always see things maybe the resident wouldn’t want him to see, like a box of condoms or a sex toy. it didn’t bother him, he’d just ignore it.

but here he was, still and frozen as he finally found the bolt laying on a pair of red panties that were laid on your floor like you just had these on. and you did.

you managed to get all of your clothes in the hamper except the pair of panties you had on, you actually thought maybe it was in the tangles of your clothes. but no. there they were, and he was on his way to losing his mind. he couldn’t move, he just stared at the red high cut panties that even had a black bow on the trim.

he couldn’t stop himself. before he knew it, he grabbed your underwear and almost inspected them quickly before taking them, pushing the fabric into his nose and breathing in your musk, and folding them to put in his back pocket. he felt drunk on you already. he knew it was wrong, he knew he was probably a sick man. but he needed something from you, anything.

the opportunity showed itself, he just took it.

now, he still smelled you lingering on his nose, and imagined what your pussy looked like puffy and red for him. he wanted to fill you up completely and fuck you until you were sore and throbbing, he wanted to see those cute little glossy lips of yours kissing the tip of his cock and taking it in your throat like a fleshlight.

you were just perfect. so much for him to grab, kiss, and mark. he wanted your eyes to watch him devour you whole, and he craved to watch you break for him.

he knew he was a creep. he didn’t care. joel never acted on his desires and his pervy ways, until now, when really he wanted to do it all. whenever you came out to the mailboxes the same time as he did, he wanted to get his phone and sneak pictures of you, under your skirts more specifically.

he was thinking of if you’ve ever fucked yourself here in this very restroom he’s crouched in, thinking of the way your leg would lift to rest on some vantage point, fingering your hole until you fought to stand upright again. he imagined you walking in a little white towel back to your room, drying off and getting dressed in front of him. his cock was throbbing at the image, pairing it with the image of the red panties he stole.

he couldn’t work like this, not thinking of all of the ways he wanted to make you whine, make you squirm, make you cum.

he finally managed to fix the problem after 30 minutes and flushing once to test, smiling at his success. it was always satisfying seeing something broken be fixed, he was a problem solver, he loved the challenge. he cleaned up his area and picked up his tools, putting them in the bag and fixing himself before he washed his hands and wiped them down with a towel, leaving the restroom to see you puffing a small roach of your blunt.

“y’know you shouldn’t be smokin in here,” he said and you jumped a bit, exhaling the last bit of smoke and ashing it out in your ashtray. you just looked at him with a small smile, but realizing this is your apartment. he can’t tell you what to do.

“oh, well i mean, i thought… i mean it’s my apartment, so,” you said as you blushed, feeling like you’re in trouble now.

“don’t worry yourself, darlin’. i ain’t gonna tell on you,” he suggested and you blushed, somehow even more.

“would you want like, a drink? the least i can do,” you said as you grabbed a dos equis from your fridge and walked up to him, handing it to him. he was hesitant at first, really in deep thought about whether he should accept this or not. was it opening a door? he hoped so.

“thanks,” he said and took it from you, not looking at the green bottle at all. he put his tools down on the small table you had in your kitchen and followed you to sit on the loveseat on the right side of the living room.

“it’s joel by the way, no one calls me mr. miller,” he said as he took a swig. you nodded and responded ohh, moving to drink more of your wine. you ended up changing your music to a horror movie and kept your eyes trained on that instead of his eyes. you felt him watching you, every breath you took, every blink, every lip bite.

“so who lived here before me?” you asked to break the silence, looking to him from the movie. his eyes were already on you, you just met them. you figured you’d make some sort of conversation if he was going to sit there and drink a beer. who drinks together silently?

“nother’ older lady, she was a good neighbor,” he trailed and drank from his beer. you quirked your eyebrows, drinking from the wine glass and keeping it by your side.

“am i not a good neighbor?” you asked sweetly, genuinely curious. he refrained himself from getting up from his seat and showing how good of a neighbor you really were to him.

“you are, just a little loud from time to time.” he admitted, more so talking about your unsatisfying experiences with the men you bring him.

“am i? i’m sorry, i’ll try to keep it down,” you said softly, almost embarrassed and you looked at your fingers tapping on the rim of the wine glass.

“s’alright, it ain’t too distracting.” he lied. of course it was distracting. he was begging to know what you sounded like when you were really enjoying yourself, how you looked under him and on top of him. how he imagined you in his room instead.

“still, i don’t wanna be that neighbor that’s annoying,” you said and looked back up at him to where he’s sitting. “i feel like you hate me.” you finished.

he doesn't blame you. he doesn't make it easy for people to know him, or make a nice impression firsthand. he kind of feels bad for making you feel like that. but he was just not that friendly honestly, not that nice and not that comforting. at least he felt he was. he didn’t know how to be.

“it’s nothin’ personal,” he said and drank from his bottle again, letting his eyes trail over your body. you felt it, hell you saw it, and you still squirmed.

“i prefer to be by myself.” he said and you nodded, but he was still watching you.

“i see. i understand now, sorry for imposing most of the time.” you say with an apologetic smile, and he kind of smiled. it shocked you really to see any emotion other than anger and discomfort displayed on his face.

“you don’t bother me, not one bit.” he said to reassure you, but he wanted you to know you did far more than “bothering” him. you just smiled, blushing a bit at his confession.

“so is it just you living here?” you asked and saw his face look a little pained, and again you regret opening your mouth.

“uh, no actually. i have a sixteen year old i sort of adopted. just me and my daughter.” he said and you were a little shocked. how did you never manage to see her? or hear her?

“she goes on her own a lot, friends places, parties. i know she can handle herself so, she has my number if anything happens.” he answered your internal questions.

“that’s really sweet. i wished my parents did that. i kind of had to move away from them’ after i graduated. m’ not really on speaking’ terms with any of my family.” you admitted a little sadly, even though he didn’t ask. you seemed as though you could talk for hours if no one shut you up.

“i’m sorry to hear that,darlin’,” he said and continued to drink his beer until he finished it.

“it’s fine, i’m a lot happier now than i was before.” you said with a small smile, and drank from your wine glass. joel was glad you took the attention off of him and his daughter, not asking any questions about his situation. he appreciated it.

he just nodded, finishing his beer as you finished your wine and suddenly you were nervous. again. it was just you and him, in this colorfully lit room. you looked at him as he got up, and walked to the kitchen to grab his tools. no no wait wait you can’t leave, not yet.

“thank ya for the hospitality, i should go,” he said coldly and you almost scrambled to your feet to step in front of him.

“um, wait uh,” you tried to think of an excuse. anything. something to keep him here a little longer. he looked down at you, how flustered you were, how you looked like you were trying to come up with an excuse. you really even didn’t think it through, you were just acting on the pulsing in your shorts.

but suddenly, you got a bit insecure. you didn’t know joel’s type, and you wondered what the outcome would be of throwing yourself at him.

“yeah?” he asked and tilted his head, curious as to what you had to say. truth is, he didn’t wanna leave either. how could he wanna leave when you looked so desirable right now? he couldn’t even feel bad that he was practically 20 years older than you, he wanted to ruin you.

“um, nothing, m’ sorry.” you said. you admitted defeat. there was nothing you could’ve said or done to make him stay, at least that's what you thought.

“have a good night,” you said and he repeated it to you. you walked him out, shutting the door behind him.

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joel was still awake after his shower. not by choice. he was laying in his bed, checking the time on his clock that flashes at 2:30am, and back at the wall that connects the two of you. were you seriously this unaware at how loud you were?

he was thanking god that ellie wasn’t home, so she wouldn’t be hearing any of this either. but he was also wondering if you were even enjoying yourself in the first place.

after joel left, you felt this aching feeling that you couldn’t satisfy yourself so you just called a friend over. one that you really don’t know, and you don’t care about, but one that wanted to have sex with you just as bad as you wanted to have sex with joel.

one thing led to another and there you are once again, laying in bed as this guy poorly ate you out and uncomfortably fingered you. it just didn’t feel right, and at this point you were hoping he was done. your fake moans rang through the apartment again, wondering if you were over or under selling it. to the lanky guy between your legs, you were selling it just fine.

you even tried thinking of joel being the one sliding into you as this guy did, but you doubted he'd be this painfully terrible at sex. it didn’t feel enjoyable, it just felt like blindly jabbing at your cervix. not even 10 minutes later, that man is out your door and you're back in bed, feeling miserable with yourself.

you wanted for once to have a good sexual encounter, constantly feeling ugly and used. these men didn’t even care about you and didn’t care if you were satisfied, and you hated yourself for it. the physical intimacy you wanted seemed like it was something you wouldn’t be able to find.

you craved a man’s touch even if you hated it or not, maybe blaming it on your daddy issues or just blaming the fact that you looked for the wrong things in the wrong thing. you wanted comfort and protection and looked for it in sex.

you wanted joel. you wanted him since you moved in despite him being a dick. you wanted to know how it felt to be protected by him, to be held by him, to be wanted by him. and you wanted it so bad, you started crying. loudly, at that.

in the moment, joel felt like he was imposing on your privacy. he felt bad listening to your muffled cries like this, and he wanted to do everything he could to help you. he knew so little about your family situation, but to him you had no family. he never saw you with friends, he only saw you with a new man every week. he wanted to comfort you, to show you that he and you were more alike than you thought.

he heard it stop for about twenty minutes all of the sudden, and then something bump into the wall he was staring at. then, it started again.

you just laid there after your shower, now softly crying and sniffling as you heard a soft knocking on your front door. you got a little scared, so you wiped your tears fast and slipped on the shorts you had on to go open your door. it was dark in the main room, only a small orange lighting shining in front of your windows. you even noticed finally that it was actually pouring rain outside.

“who is it?” you said a little loudly, too nervous to peek through the hole. you fiddled with your polished black nails before the person answered.

“it’s joel,” he said and you paused.

“joel?” you asked.

you quickly unlocked your door to open it enough to peek your head out.

“what are you doing here?” you asked, looking up at him. you scanned over his attire, now barefoot and in a simple black shirt and pajama pants. his head was whipping right and left, seeing if anyone else was in the hall to see him.

now, he was the one that was nervous. what was he doing here? what did he think was going to happen? if he played it right, everything he ever wanted.

“can i come in?” he asks, rubbing the back of his neck and you gulp, opening the door wider to allow his broad figure in your home. your eyes were trained down, refusing to let him look at you.

“can i get you something? water?” you asked, still not facing him and turning a lamp on next to your couch and moving past him until he grabs your wrist firmly. you still, and you have no choice but to look at him with your bloodshot eyes.

“i can hear, y’know,” he said, paying attention to your tear stained face as you slowly looked up to him.

“hear? hear what?” you said unknowingly.

“everything. i can hear the guys you bring home, i can hear you moanin’, i can hear you cryin’,” he said, pulling you closer to him. by now you were almost to his chest as he grabbed your other wrist and held you tight.

“i-,” you began but you felt humiliated. you didn’t realize he could really hear everything, that he heard everything that transpired in your room tonight.

“did he make you cry?” he asked grimly, his eyes dark and his stare serious.

he wasn’t squeezing hard enough to hurt you, your breath just caught in your throat because you were nervous. nervous to admit to anything.

“no, he didn’t, he didn’t do anything to me,” you said and looked down at his hands gripping your flesh.

“it doesn’t matter. i’m just really sorry, i didn’t know that’s what you meant earlier. i’m sorry it won’t happen again.” you apologized with tears in your eyes. the guy who you fucked wasn’t even worth all of this embarrassment that flooded you.

“then why’re you cryin, sweet girl?” he asked, moving his hand to your chin so you can look up at him.

“i, it’s nothing, i’m sorry for waking you up,” you said and blinked your tears away, your hands falling to your side when he released you. you just stood there though, his hand on your cheek while his thumb rubbed circles into your face.

“it ain’t nothin. he wasn’t makin’ you feel good? made you feel bad?” his southern accent was thick in this tone, but for some reason you felt at ease. better now that he was here.

“he made me feel bad,” you were too nervous to lie, he already heard you through the wall.

“i know, baby, i know,” he said. you really couldn’t move, the words coming from his mouth were insane to you. you couldn’t fathom the fact that he was talking like this, to you. his hands slid to grip your hips, to feel the way they curve into your waist, resting at the small of your back so that now you’re pressed against his body.

“i never hated ya,” he said, his face getting closer to yours to where you could feel his breath on your lips. while your breathing was faltered and shaky, his was calm and collected. he wasn’t nervous anymore, he was determined.

“actually, i think i like you more than i’d like t’ admit,” he whispered, moving his lips to your ear and your neck.

“what are you talkin’ about?” you breathed. your arms just went slack, you didn’t know what to do with them, if you should finally touch him and feel his hard chest, feel his body the way he feels yours, or if you just want to accept that this is a dream.

you finally move your hands to his waist and grip tightly onto his shirt, almost like if you let go you’ll fall.

“i know you feel the same, darlin’. i can hear you, remember? i can hear you callin’ for me, moanin’ for me when you touch yourself.” your breath shook slightly and he smiled against your neck, moving his hands up your back.

and the only thing you can say, that your brain can think of, is to apologize.

“none of that, don’t do that. tell me sweetheart, do ya want me to make you feel good?” he asked, and you pulled his body closer to yours.

“do, um, do you want to do that?” you were so unsure of all this. did he truly like you? did he truly find you attractive? you never failed to question men’s sincerity, was this just for pleasure or was this emotional?

“my sweet baby, if i ever say no to you like that, i’ve gone fuckin’ senile,” he groaned against your neck.

“y’know how many times i've thought about being between these legs of yours?” there was nothing else that could’ve made you as wet as you were right now, you heard the roughness of his texas accent, the lust mixing with desire. he wanted nothing but you.

“been wantin’ t’ ruin those little skirts you wear. jus’ wanna watch you fall apart on my cock,” your eyes widened and you felt a pool of arousal coat your cunt. you’d never been talked to like this, the crudeness of his words sliced whatever tension there was, and you gave in.

his lips moved down your neck and to your chest as you pant against him, your body pressed into a wall near the hallway that leads to your bedroom and restroom. he pressed against you enough so you could feel the hardening bulge on your thigh and he could feel the softness of your breasts pushed into him. while kissing your neck and shoulder, he moved your hand to feel his hardness while grunting a bit into your skin.

“you feel what ya do to me? you see how i get for ya?” he asked, and you whimpered a bit feeling how large he really was through his pajama pants. he pulled away from you a bit and looked down at his hand on top of yours, your own hand voluntarily softly massaging his cock.

“fuck, sweetheart, you know,” he cooed, smoothing your hair down and grabbing the nape of your neck to crane it back, “you know exactly what that pretty face does to me,”

he tilted your head to look at him, to be close enough to his face to feel his breath on your face.

“tell me you want me, honey,” he said sweetly, looking between your eyes and your lips. you just kept your eyes on his while he examined you.

“i, i want you,” you said in a whisper and blushed. joel smiled to himself, another smile you’d never seen, and slid down against your body and grabbed the back of your thighs, urging you to jump and instinctively you did.

only he made you forget you were three times the size of a skinny woman.

“joel, wait i’m too heavy for this wait,” you said but he stayed put, didn’t move, didn’t talk. he just stared at you.

“ain’t no such thing as too heavy, princess, i’ll still pick you up and fuck you stupid,” he assured, playfully tapping your ass as he carried you all the way to your room, laying you on your back. you swore he could feel the pulsing of your cunt against his abdomen.

he brought you to your room, dark and quiet with the help of your small lamp illuminating your face as he laid you down on your back, falling with you.

“gonna let me see you, baby? let me see all of this,” he said lowly, crawling to straddle you and put his hands on your tummy, groping and massaging.

“i-,” you said, out of breath already and joel smirked. he was loving you like this. so dumb and innocent for him.

“you’re jus’ the sweetest little thing, baby,” he said as his eyes roamed your body. “gotta use your words, baby, let me hear that pretty voice, tell me what you want,” he said again.

“touch me, anywhere, p-please,” you whimpered out enough and he hummed in satisfaction.

his fingers creeped up your stomach, leaving a burn with their trail and acted like he was going to help you out of it, but instead he bends down and grips the center of your tank top with two hands and careful to not hurt you, but fast and swift, he rips the weak cloth in half.

“what, joel oh-” you said and joel’s fingers wrapped around your throat with no pressure, and held you in place as his eyes trailed over your body again, his other hand roughly moved the two halves of your tank to either side.

“what did he do that you didn’t like, baby?” he asked you as he stayed on top, playing with your breasts by squeezing and pushing them together, only thinking impurely about you.

you couldn’t think of anything as he felt you up as he pleased, his calloused hands rubbing your smooth skin, tugging and pinching your nipples to watch them harden and extend just for him.

“just,”

“he, ugh,”

he laughs. “can’t even talk while i play with these pretty titties? goin’ dumb already baby?”

“mmmph,” you couldn’t muster any words. it was a new feeling, feeling lightheaded and only drunk off of joel.

“please, fuck me,” you whimpered, moving your hands to play with his waistband and try to tug at it. but he stopped you quickly, never letting you even grab a hold of the fabric when he grabs your wrists.

“need you to tell me exactly what you want, can you do that?” he asked you and you whined, squirming with his hands still locking you in place.

you looked up at him, his eyes only on yours and his cock straining against his pajama pants. “fingers,”

it’s all you mustered and he accepted it, moving down a little to move his fingers down into your panties and spreading your legs with his. his fingers immediately felt heat when he spread your cunt and moved down to your hole, teasing and prodding in your arousal.

“baby’s so wet for me, yeah? you ever thought about me, honey?” he asked you as he looked between you and where his fingers hid in your shorts, waiting for an answer. you were a whimpering mess, soft breaths and pants falling from your lips with every touch.

“mhm,” you mustered, clenching your eyes shut when his middle finger circled your hole and pushed his palm against your clit, “always wanted you,”

if you weren’t so dizzy, you probably would’ve scorned yourself for saying that. but he was amused, moving his scruffy cheek to glide against yours and leave kissing on your neck.

“thought about you too, pretty girl. just so damn cute all the fuckin’ time, couldn’t stop thinkin’ about how you’d look taking my cock,” you whined at his words, trying to shut your legs to stop the pressure but he just shook his head and pried them apart. your hands were tight on his wrist, begging him to let up as he fucks you with two fingers and uses your slick to rub circles over your clit.

“r-really?” you asked through choked moans, your body lifting up to watch him finger you. he chuckled softly, “yeah, sweetheart. can’t stop thinkin’ about ya,”

he pauses before taking your shorts and panties off quickly, spreading your legs further and throwing them over his own spread thighs you went back to gripping at your sheets, your body responding to every touch as he spread your cunt even more and spit on it.

“you want me to fuck this pretty hole, baby?” he asked, watching your slick cover his hand as he curled his fingers inside of you. you were a mess, incoherent, making sounds and guttural noises as he brought you closer to your edge. all you could do was nod erratically and try to close your legs.

“i’m gonna need you to cum for me then, sweetheart. needa’ see this little cunt cum for me,” he growled, his other hand pulling his pajama pants down, easily taking them off.

“i, i-,” you choked, your chest tight as you watched him abuse your pussy and watched as his eyes flashed quickly. he managed to lift your lower half up in the air by your ass cheeks, bringing your core to his mouth and pulling you closer to him so he could taste you.

“daddy,” you moaned as he pulled away with a harsh breath.

“‘s that right? that’s what you like, baby? want daddy to make you feel real good? go fuckin’ stupid on my cock?” he taunted, his words making your stomach flutter and your clit throb.

you whimpered a small yes, but you couldn’t think. you’d say yes to anything he offered. you’d take anything he gave you. he didn’t even have to ask, you wanted him to give you anything he wanted. he went back to lapping at your cunt, slurping up any of your juices that ran down your crack, licking at your unused hole that puckered for him.

it was a new feeling, something no one had done but the way he lapped at both holes made your orgasm build ten times faster, and soon you felt it creeping down your shoulders and sending a cold chill down to your toes. it was blinding, the noises you made were yelps and gasps as if the air had been knocked out of you.

your entire body shook within his grasp and his mouth never let go of your overstimulated bud, sending more of your juices to leak out of you nonstop. joel wasted no time to lick you all up and manage to strip naked, watching your body go through aftershocks of your orgasm and smiling.

“pretty girl, such a fuckin’ pretty girl,” he cooed, crawling between your legs again and grabbing you by your waist, flipping you onto tour tummy and chest as he helps you move to steady yourself on your knees.

“you’d let me do whatever i want to ya, ain’t that right princess?” his voice was like velvet, making you feel warm all over as you pushed your ass into his groin. you whimpered as you felt his hardness against your cunt and you wiggled your hips, making joel laugh a little and slap your ass.

“so eager too, huh?” all you could do was nod into the pillow, using your forearms to fold under it and hold your head up. the arch in your back was exaggerated, but you wanted him to be able to get the best leverage on you.

he gripped your hips tight like you were going to leave him, and spread your asscheeks to see both holes shining for him.

“tell me you want me, can you do that for me?” he asked condescendingly and you hummed, drunk off him grabbing your ass to pull your cheeks apart and watch as they jiggle.

“i want you,” you muffled, your voice not sounding recognizable. it was hoarse, from moaning and crying and was about to get even more raspy.

“good girl, you tell me if you want me to stop yeah?”

“no! please,” you clung onto whatever he was giving you, “i want it, all of it, please,” you cried for him.

he spits down on your asshole and watches it slip down to your cunt, and he positioned himself at your hole as he keeps your ass spread apart for him.

“so fuckin’ messy, such a sweet cunt for me,” he moaned as he pushed the head of his cock inside, making you whimper at the small stretch. you didn’t think he could stretch you anymore, until he sunk deeper into your hole and made you start gasping for air.

“what baby? is it too much? can’t take daddy’s cock?” he taunted behind you as your weak arms went from under the pillow to trying to push his thighs back. unfortunately with your strength, it was no use and only gave him incentive to pin both your arms behind your back, right where your back arched.

you could feel your drool leaking onto the pillow as he slid slowly into you, not stopping until you felt his balls hit against your cunt. your legs were already trembling from his sheer size, making joel put one hand on the fat of your hip to steady you and one hand on your wrists.

he started to pull out again, just to slide back in and repeat the movement as he slowly started to speed up the pace. you could hear faint groaning and the sound of your slick gathering on his cock, the wetness being the only noise that was distinct.

it was pain and pleasure balled into one as he kept gliding in and out of you, feeling your walls tighten and release around him the faster he went. you felt each thrust make your body lurch forward, pushing your face into the pillow as he kept his relentlessness up.

“oh, baby you feel so fuckin’ good, so good for me,” he groaned. he grabbed both your wrists with his hands and yanked your body up off the mattress so that your breasts are exposed for him. he takes advantage of the space between you and bed, and pulls you even further up to press you against his chest.

“keep makin’ those pretty sounds for me, makes me wanna ruin this little pussy even more,” he grinned against your shoulder as he wrapped his arms around your waist, and you threw your arms back to grab onto his hair and head. you needed something to balance yourself now that you were standing on your knees, and being fucked into like you weighed absolutely nothing.

“d-, fuck, i can’t,” you choked through a loud moan, one that made joel grunt as he fucked into you harder. he wasn’t doing small strokes, he was pulling out almost all the way and slamming back into you in a way that sent pain to your cervix, but pressure on your clit begging to be released.

“can’t what princess? can’t think? i know baby, gettin’ fucked so good you can’t even talk,” he chuckled, moving his hand to grab at your breast and knead your flesh. his hands molded onto your body like they were made to fit you, but all your mind could focus on was the sound of his skin slapping against yours.

joel knew you were going dumb already, not expecting answers from you as that would just be cruel. he wanted to make you feel good, and the way your spit covered your chin and your mouth fell open but hardly any noise was making its way out, he knew he was doing a damn good job.

“hear that, baby? such a fuckin’ pretty mess, you like soakin’ my cock like that? so damn wet, so fuckin’ tight,” you couldn’t get enough of his words when he plucked at your nipple, teasing and pinching to get you closer and closer.

“s-so big, m’ so full,” you cried and he smiled again, holding you closer than ever as he wallowed in your voice.

“my baby’s full of me, full of my cock,” he repeated, never slowing down as he pulled out just to push all of him back into you at once. he was in love with how you felt, he even felt like he was losing his train of thought at you let out deep moans that made his cock jerk inside of you.

“‘s okay baby, you look so cute all fucked out like this, can’t even fuckin’ breathe can ya?” he asked and you shook your head no, reminding yourself to unclench your chest so you could let in a good breath. he heard it, and rubbed up your chest to grip your throat, which elicited a harsh whimper.

his other hand traveled down your body, past your larger stomach and reached down to your cunt. he used the slick between your lips after stuffing them in your mouth and started to rub circles over your nub, making you squirm and wiggle against his body.

“uhn-uh, thought you liked takin’ my cock like a slut? take it, baby.” you couldn’t even move if you wanted to, wanting to fuck back on his cock and meet his thrusts. you were almost empty headed, words sounding like words but not being able to form them yourself.

“there you go, take it all baby it’s yours,” he repeated as he watched you grab onto his arm that held you by the neck and let him ravage you like no other. he was the animal, and you were his prey.

the feeling of his thick cock ramming you, splitting you open while he fingers worked your clit makes you throw your head back on his shoulder and shut your eyes strongly. it was blinding, the pleasure you felt that he inflicted, and you felt yourself clenching your entire body as your orgasm reached its peak. it’s all you focused on. his hands grabbing you everywhere, soaking you in as he pushed your thick body into his chest and managed to lay on his back. he let our body fall onto his and held you up like that, his hands spreading your legs as you tried to sit up on your hands.

you couldn’t, of course, couldn’t even think about how he changed positions so quickly, or if you were too heavy for him. your body was limp as he held you open, his thrusts becoming harsher and faster as he fucked into you.

“m gonna, j-joel, gonna cum, gonna cum, m’ gonna cum,” you chanted in a strained whine, one that sounded needy for him. one of his hands lets go of your leg and rests his palm on your forehead, pulling you back to his shoulder so he can kiss along your jaw and neck.

“cum for me baby, such a dumb fuckin' slut, taking my cock like you were made f’ it,” he was so insulting, so degrading, but the feeling of losing your autonomy so he can fuck you like you deserved made it even sexier for you. you didn’t know your neighbor felt this way for you, that he’d been wanting to feel you and have you like this. it was exhilarating and when you finally let go, when the ringing in your ears started and every muscle in your body tightened just to go slack again, you realized how much you’d been missing.

you’d never been fucked to the point of silence, nothing but quiet moans and strained breathing falling out of your lips because you couldn’t think, and as joel holds you by wrapping an arm around the thickness of your tummy and letting you close your legs to alleviate the intensity, he whispers nothing but dirty things in your ear. the shaking never stopped, even as joel started to reach his peak.

“such a pretty girl,”

“love watchin’ you go dumb on my cock,”

“gonna fill this cunt with my cum, ya want that sweetheart?”

“can’t even talk, such a dirty fuckin’ whore,”

you were mumbling, blabbering, making noises that couldn’t even be registered as noises as his hips slammed against your ass lazily. you feel it the minute he empties inside of you because he holds you even closer than before, stilling your moving hips and you feel the heat of the white ropes that cover your walls. it was so dirty, so messy, so filthy that you wouldn’t be surprised if you were embarrassed after this. you were still mindlessly groaning, humming as your orgasm buzzed through your body and the feeling of his cum trying to push its way out.

you both lay there, breathless, sticky and with joel still buried inside of you.

“i have… i have to get off,” you breathed out, coming back to the sense of reality. the air in your room felt cold, pricking at your skin like needles. the sweat didn’t help either.

“no ya don’t,” he said, only to hold you tighter.

“joel, i’m like crushing you,” you tried to wiggle out of his grasp and he just gave a quick slap to your cunt, making you jolt and still.

“don’t be ridiculous, ya need me to show you exactly how strong i am or are ya gonna take my word for it?” he warned and you swallowed, blinking at the ceiling before you turn your head to look at the side of his face before he turns his head to look at you. still, the back of your head rested on his shoulder and your legs were between his.

“i can’t even move, joel,” you said in a smile and he laughed, leaning in to kiss your forehead and over your face.

“i’ll help ya with that.”

joel proved once again that he was strong enough to pick you up, because he carried you bridal style to the restroom and got a bath ready for you, joining in to help clean you up and massage your muscles. you were dazed, so entirely fucked out that you let him do whatever he needed to do with you to get you into bed. and he didn’t seem to mind, because after taking care of you he got to snuggle in the same bed he made you drool in.

he let you cuddle into him all you wanted, wrapping your arms and legs around him to bury your face in the shirt he put on. even though it was your bedsheets and your body wash he used, he still smelled like joel. and it was all you needed, ironically the man you longed for to make you feel good was the man who stayed in 6a.

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megamindsecretlair · 11 months ago

Text

What You Deserve, Part 1

Pairing: Big Stunna x Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Toxic filth. Infidelity. PWP, cursing, PIV, oral (female receiving) teasing/mocking, cum play, dirty talk, praise kink, Daddy kink, all consensual.

Summary: While out running errands for your family, sweet and handsome Stunna helps put the groceries in your car. A naughty, run-away thought leads you to invite him back to your house to thank him properly.

Word Count: 6,984k

Part 2 | Part 3

A/N: The brainrot is REAL. This is a hot ask from @planetblaque Everybody say thank you for this toxic hot fic! Please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! And please put ages in bios! Or get blockt!

Taglist: @blackerthings @browngirldominion @we-outsiiiide @thecookiebratz @iv0rysoap @notapradagurl7 @sevikasblackgf @miyuhpapayuh @xo-goldengirl @kindofaintrovert @flydotty @judymfmoody @slippinninque @soufcakmistress @henneseyhoe @westside-rot @melaninpov @twocentuar @blackpinup22 @babybratzmaraj @theyscreamsannii @kiabialia

You walked down the grocery store aisle and the squeaky wheel on the cart was driving you nuts. You managed to get a lot on the list but you were still looking around for rice. You sighed. You hated when the store rearranged shit for no reason. How hard was it to keep things in the same place?

You turned down the rice aisle and noticed a tall man wearing a black and white flannel shirt, dark jeans, and boots. Damn, he looked really good standing there picking out taco packets. You looked down at your wedding ring and curled your lip in disgust.

Your husband would never be caught dead in the grocery store. And if he did, he’d only call you every two seconds because he didn’t pay attention to shit. He was a big picture man, staring ahead years into the future and what he needed to do to provide for the family.

Provide. That’s all he knew how to do. Your husband wasn’t a bad man…he was oblivious in a way that should have been a warning bell before you got married. As such, you were five years into the marriage with perfect five year old twins. When they weren’t being little demons.

You looked back towards the man and he was looking between two items, looking at the ingredients. You got a nice look at the length of his neck, his beard, and a cute little mumble he did while he debated.

You shouldn’t be checking out another man but well, you weren’t dead. You saw something pretty, you were going to look at it. And in this case, the man was too pretty for words. Or maybe it was your libido talking. After the kids, your husband paid less attention to that aspect of the marriage, forcing you into a life of celibacy.

Every blue moon, he’d look at you with something that could be called interest and then he’d get you just wet enough to get inside you. He’d get off, ask if you did, and then pass out in front of the TV. You started lying that you did just to get him out of the room. Who the hell wanted to be with someone that made sex feel like a chore?

You picked up a small packet of rice and then thought about it. The bigger packet was more expensive but it’d last longer. And with the way your son, Noah, ate he’d eat you out of house and home by the time he’s a teenager. You picked up the bigger packet and scooted off down the aisle.

You passed by the man. He looked up and gave you a double take, smiling as you passed showing off grills. You may have swayed your hips a little too hard as you turned the corner. Though, who were you fooling?

While the kids were at school and your husband was at work, you barely put any effort into how you looked. You were a married stay at home mom and that meant lounge pants and a T-shirt were your best friend. Sometimes you even matched. You had joined the invisible legion of women whose world stopped as you took care of your family. You were happy to do so, but it was times like these that made you feel like you lost that spark. That sense of identity outside of your family.

As you went down other aisles, somehow you managed to end up in the same ones with Mr. Sexy. It got to the point where’d notice first and smile at you. You smiled shyly back but avoided getting too close. He didn’t need any encouragement from you. If you were single though…

You sighed and made your way to the checkout lane. It was still early and there weren't a lot of people in the store. You checked out and pushed the cart to your truck, popping the trunk and starting to lift the bags inside.

“Excuse me! Miss!” A deep voice made you turn to the sound and there was Mr. Sexy waving over to you.

“Yes?” You asked.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to help with your bags,” he said when he got closer to your truck.

“Oh, that’s sweet but not necessary,” you said.

“Please. My mama would turn in her grave if she knew I didn’t help a beautiful woman like you,” he said.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help a small smile. “Thank you, that’s very kind of you.”

The small act of help touched you in ways that you weren’t expecting. As he lifted bags out of the cart, your eyes grew a little teary. When was the last time your own husband helped with groceries?

“You look like you feeding an army here,” the man said.

You giggled. Well, he was bound to find out. “Ah, yeah. My husband and kids can eat a lot,” you said.

You watched his face to see what the news would do to him. Whether he was sad or disappointed that you were off the market. He only nodded. “Must be some slammin’ food if they eatin’ it like that,” he said.

“I can throw down in the kitchen,” you bragged, preening a bit that you could do so.

“Oh yeah? What you be makin’? And just know I’m already judging,” he said. He heaved bag after bag into your trunk and it made you a little sad thinking of bringing all that shit in the house by yourself.

“Meatloaf, roast beef stew, enchiladas. In fact, I’m making that tonight,” you said.

“Oh word? I be cookin’ sometimes too,” he said and then grinned like he was remembering a funny joke. “Enchiladas sound good as hell right now, too.”

A naughty thought entered your mind. It was too brief and quick and you instantly kicked it to the back, hiding it in a tiny box and stepping on it. “You making anything special for your girl?” You asked.

He finished with the bags and then closed the trunk for you. “Naw, ain’t got a girl,” he said. He grinned at you. That smile could melt ice. You felt your pussy throb and your eyes widened. You about thought the damn thing was broken.

“It’s just you?” You asked.

“Just me, unfortunately. But that’s alright. For now, I get to make whatever the hell I want and enjoy it,” he said.

“Must be nice. My family loves my shit, but it’s not like they have an alternative,” you said and giggled.

“Shame. I bet it’s delicious,” he said. Was he…flirting with you? Even knowing you had a family?

“Thanks. I should probably get this home and start cooking. Thank you for helping me,” you said.

He reached out his hand and you looked at it. Somehow, even shaking his hand felt naughty. Like he was going to see all the nasty things running through your mind. Thoughts of riding his thigh until you got off. Soaking his dick while he slammed inside of you. The thoughts were so vivid to you, you were worried that he’d read it all over your face.

Another advantage to getting the house to yourself in the daytime was that you had plenty of toys to get the job done in peace. One thought about his face and you were sure you’d beat your personal record.

You shook his hand so you weren’t rude and he held on. “I’m Stunna,” he said. He brought your hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss there. The back of your hand tingled and it moved all throughout your body until you were throbbing once more. Twice in a short amount of time? Calm down, girl. It wasn’t like you could do something with this man.

You told him your name. “Would you mind if I gave you my number? If you’re out shopping, I can help you again,” he said.

You giggled. “You would come all the way to the store just to help me load groceries into my car?”

“I’d unload them too if you let me,” he said. He was serious, not an ounce of humor on his face.

“You know I’m married, right? Like I didn’t bury that anywhere,” you said.

He laughed. “I heard that part, but I also don’t see the mu’fucka. Anyone letting you out of his sight must be ten kinds of stupid,” he said. He looked you over, making a show of turning his head one way and then another.

You laughed but didn’t let go of his hand. Found that you didn’t want to. Found that you were touch starved as hell and it was damn nice touching someone that looked as good as he did. “What, my husband supposed to have me on a leash?” You asked.

“Sheit, I would,” he said. “Yo sexy ass wouldn’t be able to breathe without me.”

“You better stop!” You said. Oh god, your cheeks were burning like hell and the whole thing was cute and weird and embarrassing. You did not get giggly because one man paid you a compliment.

He wasn’t the first one to do so. Even though your husband was buried with work, he still called you beautiful. Raggedy men still tried to holler at you while you pumped gas and ran errands. None were so bold as Stunna though. There was something about that level of confidence that had you squeezing your thighs together.

“Do you really want me to stop?” Stunna asked.

No. Not even a little bit. But you couldn’t say that. “You probably should. Gonna get us both in trouble,” you said.

“I don’t mind a little trouble. You never answered me about giving you my number. I was serious,” he said. “I don’t want anything in return, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’d just like to see you again. Your husband don’t let you have friends?” He asked.

You rolled your eyes playfully and finally dropped his hand. You were holding onto it entirely too long. “I can have friends,” you said. But you knew that he’d be anything but friendly. And why did that turn you on?

“See, that’s that nigga’s first mistake. I wouldn’t let you have no friends neither,” he said.

You laughed loudly and shook your head. “Life with you sounds restrictive as hell! What if I want alone time?” You asked.

“You could have all the alone time you want. At home,” he said.

You couldn’t help laughing again, leaning against your truck as you pictured life with him. Life where he was clingy and wrapped entirely with you and never chose you over his work. The type of life you always dreamed about when you were younger and thought love meant candy hearts, roses, and bubbly champagne.

“You have issues, sir,” you said.

“That’s aight. You just look too damn good to go to the store by yourself or run errands. These belong on a honey-do list,” he said.

You smiled. Your husband would break out in hives if you gave him a honey-do list that involved the grocery store or runs to the clothing store for your twins. Your kids were active in every sense of the word. You made it a point that they stay off screens as much as possible and get out into the big backyard your husband paid for.

They found every mud patch, mudslide, and dusty hill to play on. When they came back in, they looked like swamp monsters. Your husband in the store trying to find good, cute outfits? Yeah right.

“You are crazy. But I want to thank you. How does enchiladas sound?” You asked.

“Word? I get to try some?” He asked.

“If you’re serious about helping me unpack these groceries, then yeah. I think that’s worth a meal being cooked for you for once,” you said. Intrusive thoughts won for the day. You liked talking to him and you were worried that if you gave him your number, you’d chicken out. You’d reason and logic this away until you were even more depressed about the state of your marriage.

It’d be nice to cook for someone who’d genuinely appreciate it. Rather than eating to live. Stunna seemed like the type that lived to eat and it was nice to find a kindred spirit.

He grinned wider, showing up a neat row of white teeth and those grills. “I’d love to try your food,” he said.

“Alright, follow me,” you said.

He walked you to the driver side of your car and held the door open for you while you climbed in. “See you soon,” he said and closed the door when you were safely inside. You put on your seatbelt and watched him return the cart to the proper place.

Your heart thundered in your chest as he made it to his own car. You started yours up and pulled out of the parking spot. A moment later, he was pulling up behind you. You drove home, heart in your throat. What the hell were you doing?

Stunna was a stranger and you were just letting this man follow you home. You watched his car in your rear view mirror and wondered what he was like. So far, he had been nothing but cordial but a tad forward. You knew he valued his mom and was a gentleman, even though he had silly ideas about how he’d treat his woman.

You remembered your single days. Grabbing enough food for yourself and eating lonely meal after lonely meal. Stunna didn’t seem like he was hurting for female company. It seemed like he was interested in yours and well, what the hell? You were grown, you could protect yourself.

Besides, you just really, really wanted to keep talking to him.

You pulled into your driveway and Stunna parked on the street. You were in the quiet suburbs where Black folks were just trying to get by. They had nice houses and decent jobs, but people were more interested in faking the funk than admitting that they were struggling.

Your husband was smart with money so you weren’t hurting. But buying two of everything was expensive. It seemed like Noah was always playing right out of the shoes you bought him and Naomi just had to have the latest baby doll.

Stunna joined you at your car and you unlocked it for him. He grabbed a handful in each hand and you were sorry he was wearing long-sleeves. You wanted to see his muscles work. You wanted to see his shirt off.

For now, you would settle with just watching him be considerate. You let him into your home and he whistled. “Nice ass house,” he said.

“Thank you,” you said. You had it decorated to your specifications so it wasn’t stuffy and stiff. As if you lifted it from a magazine. Naw. Your house was lived in and full of love.

You walked to the kitchen and showed him where to drop off the bags. “Naw, I wanna earn my meal. Point to where they go and I’ll do it,” he said.

“You don’t have to do that,” you said.

“I know. Let me help. Sit yo pretty ass down and get some water,” he said.

“Fine,” you said with a grin. He grabbed the rest of the groceries from the car and closed your front door. You asked him to lock it. You may live in a nice neighborhood but that didn’t mean shit. Thieves would use any advantage to steal. Stunna could be a thief but he didn’t have to wait till he got here. Sure, he could steal the shit in your house but it was all insured. He’d have been better off stealing your wallet at the store.

You told him which ingredients to leave out for the enchiladas while you grabbed two water bottles from the fridge. You downed at least half of it. Stunna made you feel like you were standing on top of a hot vent.

He accepted his bottle and sat down at the bar stool, looking at you while you dug out pots and pans, cooking utensils, and your cutting board.

You talked about light subjects like your family, friends, and what he does for a living. He was a bit cagey about that part, so you assumed it was something bad. You weren’t trying to be judgemental but you could not see his sexy ass saying, “Yes, Sir. No, Sir”, at an office job like your husband.

You put the chicken on to boil and started prepping the veggies for the salad on the cutting board. Yes, he judged the hell out of how you sliced them.

“I’m trying to make you a nice lunch,” you said.

“I know! I’m just saying, you could slice them faster and more evenly,” he said.

“You’re not supposed to help me with the meal too!”

He chuckled. “I don’t mind. Can I show you?” He asked.

You gave him a playful look to know that you were mad at him but with no real heat. “Fine, since you know everything,” you said.

He got up from the stool and came around the kitchen island. He washed his hands in the sink and then took the knife from you. “Aight, so if you hold it like this and the tomato like this, boom,” he said. He focused on the task, blowing through the tomato like butter.

“Wait, how’d you do that?” You asked. He chuckled and grabbed another one, going slower and showing you how to do what he did. He grabbed the last one and let you do it. You made one slice and he made a noise like a game buzzer.

“May I?” He asked.

You really shouldn’t. But your head was nodding anyway. He stood behind you and you closed your eyes briefly. He was so strong and solid behind you. He leaned down so he could bring his hands on top of yours. He showed you how to hold the knife and tomato and how to make the same cuts he did.

He helped you with the first few slices and then left you to make the next ones by yourself. He didn’t move from behind you as you moved through cutting it, chopping it up like a professional chef.

“I did it!” You said. You giggled and danced, shaking your ass on his crotch until you realized what you did and stopped.

“I am so sorry!” You said. You flipped around in his arms and he titled his head at you.

“I’m not,” he said with a slow grin.

“Stunna, now you know…”

“I know that you seem a little lonely. Forgive my bluntness, but shit, this whole house to yourself every day and all you do is cook and clean?”

“I take care of my family,” you said defensively.

“I know. But who take care of you? Shit on the outside, it look like yo husband forgot what a baddie he got for a wife,” he said. “I wouldn’t ever forget.”

He used his fingers to lift your chin up and forced you to look at him. “Stunna, I’m married,” you said. You said it like it was a piece of armor you drew around yourself. Those two words would stop even the most persistent of men.

“Mhm, yet you here with me,” he said.

“I got kids,” you said.

“They little asses still in school, ain’t they? I’m great with kids,” he said.

You giggled. “You are so bad.”

He grinned, flashing you the grills. He was dangerous. Likely some type of criminal. A veritable hood rat that chased skirts and smoked all day. The complete opposite of your straight-laced husband who got pissy if his tie didn't match his shirt.

“I can be worse,” he said. He put his hands on the countertop on either side of you. He placed a kiss against your neck, breathing in your scent. You wore your favorite lotion and were glad you did.

“Let me be bad and take care of you for once,” he whispered against your skin. “Don’t you deserve it? Don’t you deserve to feel good?” He moved his lips to the other side of your neck. You leaned your head back, letting out a soft moan.

If he kissed you, you’d cum on the spot. That’s how needy you were. How desperate and starved for affection.

“Stunna, are you serious?” You asked.

“Hell yeah. See, the why I see it? This ain’t you, mama. You need some relief. I can be that,” he said.

“Even though…”

“Hear me when I say that I don’t give a flying fuck about your husband. I don’t give a shit that you’re a mom. I see a fine ass woman with a banging body that I wanna put on this table and taste her. Eat her for lunch,” he whispered in your ear. The force of his words were like tiny arrows shooting you with desire.

You leaned back so that you could look him in the eyes. “Do it. I want that,” you said.

Stunna turned and lowered the heat on the chicken. Then, he grabbed your hand and led you to the dining table. He intuitively moved to the head of the table. You went to loosen the tie at your waist, but he slapped your hand away.

He brought his lips to yours and you let him. You let him kiss you and opened your mouth to run your tongue against his. He moaned and kissed you deeper, rougher. He knew without you having to say what you needed.

He pulled the tie at your waist, letting your lounge pants slip off of your hips and down to the floor. Shit!

You pulled away from him and tried to hide your hideous granny panties. He pulled your hands away. “Think this scare me away?” He asked.

You nodded but you couldn’t look him in the eye. How the hell were you supposed to be sexy while wearing these atrocities? To be fair, you weren’t expecting sex today. Your husband was on a project that sucked up all of his time and attention.

“Naw. Just makes you sexier to me. Move them hands,” he said.

You bit your lip and shook your head. There was no way you could continue after looking so gross.

Stunna leaned down and kissed your ear. “If I gotta move ‘em, you ain’t gon’ like it,” he said.

Shit, that only turned you on. You lowered your hands and finally looked at him. “That’s right. Be a damn good girl for me and take them sexy panties off,” he said.

Your fingers shook as you lowered your panties. Cool air brushed along your skin but did little to cool you off. There was a roaring fire of desire burning through your veins and you hadn’t even done anything. Hadn’t done more than kiss and take off your clothes.

“Shirt too,” he said. He grabbed you by the waist and picked you up, sitting you down on the table. You yelped from the cold surface, making him grin.

You plucked off the T-shirt. Your bra was just as plain and ratty. All the cute bra and panty sets in your drawer and this was what you wore when you finally got some. The situation would be funny if it weren’t so embarrassing. Stunna truly didn’t seem to mind as you took off your bra.

His eyes lit up as he looked at your titties. He sat down in your husband’s seat and palmed your breasts, running his fingers over your sensitive nipples. You moaned, arching your back so that he could get a better angle.

He leaned forward and brought his lips to your left nipple, flicking his tongue over it. He latched on, suckling it into his mouth and you cried out from the pressure and bite of pain. Endorphins rushed through your system, making you squirm on the table. You were so wet.

He massaged your titties as he suckled. He moved on to your right nipple, suckling on it and moaning as if he were getting pleasure from this too. It wasn’t a chore. He wanted to touch you, taste you.

“Shit,” you moaned.

As he switched sides once more, he brought his hand down to cup your pussy. You jerked off of the table and he cooed. “Hmm, nice and creamy already. Love me a creamy girl. You got some more for me?”

He slowly worked his fingers past your pussy lips. He gathered up your essence at your entrance and used it to circle and tease your clit. You brought one of your hands up to his shoulder to push at him.

“What I tell you about them hands, gorgeous?” He asked.

“But…”

He bit your nipple and you cried out from the sting. “Uh-uh, do what Daddy tell you to.”

Fuck. You came on his fingers already, thighs twitching and brain tingling. You moaned throughout it, that sweet relief everything you needed. Relief that didn’t come from your own two fingers or a sex toy was somehow more intense. More visceral.

You bit your lip and looked at him. He watched you with a predatory gleam in his eyes. “Needed that shit, didn’t you?” He asked.

You didn’t trust your voice. You nodded shyly. Ugh! You hated this! You did not land your husband being this timid woman who was too afraid to even moan during sex. You enjoyed the hell out of it. You enjoyed the hell out of it with your husband. But once you got pregnant, he knew he needed to step up. Grinding for you became more important than grinding in you.

A pang of shame hit you. You allowed another man to touch you. You swiftly kicked that bit of shame to the back of your mind. This wasn’t about emotions or starting anything. This was something nasty to get out of your system. The last hurrah you never got because you were pregnant when your husband proposed. You never got a wild bachelorette party with strippers and dick straws.

“Spread them legs,” he commanded.

You grinned slowly. You opened your legs and gave him a sultry look. The look of surprise on his face was priceless. You were just a little rusty. You knew how to throw down.

“You so fuckin’ sexy. Spread open for me,” he said. He licked his fingers, licking away your arousal. He moaned and closed his eyes, savoring your taste. “Sweet, just like you.”

He grabbed your thighs and opened them wider. He rubbed his big nose in between your folds. His tongue lapped at your entrance. His moans got higher as he tasted you in earnest.

“Oh shit! Oh fuck! Shit!” You moaned. His tongue felt like exactly how you pictured heaven. Eternal spring, warm sun, soft grass to sink your toes into. Your thighs pushed in ready to trap his face but his warm hands pushed them out. Pushed them away. Kept your legs open for him to lick and suck and tease your clit.

He made out with your pussy. Licking you and then following behind by his lips to lap up whatever you leaked out. Your thighs quivered at the attention and care. At the total devotion to getting you off. You cried and whined until you were plunging head first into another orgasm. One that rocked you down to your core.

“Oue, shit,” you moaned. You looked down and he was still lapping at your juices. You glitched every time his tongue swiped your sensitive clit. He stopped and retreated from your pussy, a long spit chain still connecting you both. His beard was glistening with your arousal and you moaned, loving the picture before you.

He licked his lips, breaking the chain. “Damn girl. Creamy as fuckin’ hell,” he said.

You licked your own lips. Needing a double dose of him. You leaned forward and reached for his pants. He stopped you. “Use your words,” he said.

“I need you. I wanna taste you, too,” you said.

He gripped your chin and brought you closer. And he wanted to kiss you after eating you out?!

His lips were puckered and wet. His beard tickled your chin as he kissed you. This wasn’t just a kiss. It was like he wanted to share your essence with you. Like he wanted you to taste yourself on his tongue and get a glimpse of what he did when he was between your thighs.

You did taste yourself and it was so damn hot. You smelled yourself all over him. His tongue explored your mouth. Your kisses were loud and sloppy. Lazy and slow, so at odds with how intense this man had been so far.

Your hands pulled at his shirt, trying to unbutton his shirt or slip it over his head. You needed him naked too. You needed to see all of him. “There’s that little nasty freak. I knew she was in there,” he said against your lips.

“Pants. Off. Now,” you said.

He chuckled. “Yes, ma’am,” he said. He made quick work of his pants dropping them down just enough to expose his long, thick dick. Veins stood out against the shaft and drool threatened to spill out of your mouth.

You wanted to see more. You pulled at his shirt and he laughed again. “Do I need to tie those hands up? ‘Cause you don’t know how to listen,” he said.

“I wanna see all of you,” you said.

“Naw, today’s about you,” he said. He tilted his head and grabbed his dick, stroking a few times as he looked at your dripping pussy.

“‘Bout you getting what you so obviously deserve.” He slapped his dick against your pussy. Your eyes rolled back. You lost track of how many orgasms he handed out. You should be tired. You should be too wrung out to do anything more.

But you were hungry for him. Desperate for that long dick to deliver the strokes you sorely miss. Need.

“Today’s about getting you back to normal. To remind you that you’re fuckin’ gorgeous. That you shouldn’t go a day without getting filled up and fucked,” he said.

“Oh god. Fuck,” you moaned.

He slowly worked his way into your pussy. You moaned, crying out at just how big he was. How deep he was already and he hadn’t bottomed out yet.

“Ouue, shit. Hear this pussy talkin’?” He asked.

“Unf, yesss,” you moaned.

“You hear it? You should be hearing that every night,” he said. He wet his dick with your arousal and your toes curled as he finally settled himself in your wet heat.

“Fuck. Flip over ‘cause you don’t know how to behave,” he said.

“I can behave,” you said and poked your bottom lip out.

He grinned, those golds transforming him from hot to smoldering. He kissed you with a loud smack. “You can’t even listen when Daddy tell you do something. Flip that ass over,” he said.

You whined playfully as he slipped out. You let your wobbly legs down onto the floor and then turned around. He moved your hips until he lined you up where he wanted you. He lifted your left leg to hug the table and pressed down on your back until you were flush against the surface.

He smacked your ass. The loud sound and pain made you cry out. “Show me how you got them kids,” he said.

“Fuuuck,” you moaned.

He rammed his dick back inside you and you gasped. He stayed there, buried inside you while you adjusted to his girth and length. “Oue, shit. Fuuuck, you’re so big Daddy,” you moaned. You shook your ass on his dick.

He placed his hands on your hips but made no further movements. You began to move, rocking back on his dick, showing him exactly how you got your kids. You slammed down on him how you liked. Rough. Hard. It wasn’t difficult to do since his dick was so big. You had so much to work with.

“Ohhh, you like this dick,” he said.

“Yes, Daddy, I like it,” you said. Hell, you had no room to lie. Even working yourself desperately on his dick like this, you were having the time of your fucking life.

He chuckled and then started stroking. “Oh shit,” you said, a hint of panic creeping into your voice. You thought you were doing a little something. Arching your back and bouncing your ass on his dick.

But Stunna? Stunna was a different breed. He gave it to you exactly how you needed. He rutted inside of you, slamming you back on his dick with enough force to rob you of air. Rob you of thought. You were able to turn your brain off and enjoy getting filled up.

“You still like that shit?” He asked.

“Ahm,” you moaned. You couldn’t answer him. Couldn’t do anything but accept this deep, rough fucking. He moved his hands to your lower back and switched up his strokes. He moved deeper, his strokes longer. His thighs slapped against your ass loud enough to be mistaken for fireworks or a gunshot.

You laid your cheek against the table and let your body take over for you. Your body knew exactly what to do. Your pussy gripped him and he moaned low in his throat.

“I need that last one, mama. Gimme that last one,” he said.

“I…can’t…” You said.

“Sure you can. Gripping me so pretty. You almost there. You almost there, I can feel it. I can feel how much you need it. Let it go, mama. Let it go,” he said. His voice grew quieter as he talked.

The pressure in your lower belly was unbearable. You whined, knowing you were on the edge. You didn’t know what you needed but you were too far gone to name it. Claim it. To let him know.

Stunna’s hands roamed up your back until one of his hands was gripping the back of your neck. He squeezed and you gasped at the new angle. He got deeper, the tip of him kissing the very heart of you.

You exploded with a loud shriek, squeezing him and cumming with the power of a thousand suns. You shook and twitched on the table, flopping around. You were too lost to consider how crazy you looked.

“Gahh damn,” he moaned. He moved his hips rougher and faster until he slammed into you and shouted, unloaded a huge load into you.

“Sheeeeit,” you moaned. His cum painted your insides. Some of him slipped out around his dick and dropped down to your clit and likely landed on the table.

“Fuck, mama. That was fuckin’ sexy,” he said. He slowly pulled out and you felt the rush of his cum leak out. Good fucking thing you were still on birth control. The last thing, the absolute last thing you needed was to turn up pregnant with another man’s baby. Good luck explaining that to your husband.

You were still glitching on the table. So thoroughly fucked out that you couldn’t move yet. Didn’t want to move.

Stunna rubbed your back and then your booty. He gave you a booty massage while he watched his cum spill out of you.

The smell of chicken finally invaded your senses. “Food,” you said.

“Don’t worry, mama. You focus on getting your strength back,” he said. He zipped himself back up and then washed his hands. He turned off the stove and then heated up the pan. You listened and saw his back as he moved around your kitchen, cooking food for your family.

He fried up the shells, dipped it in the sauce and then rolled it on the pan with chicken and cheese. Done, he put some seasoning on top followed by more cheese. He put it in the oven and set a timer.

This. This was what you thought married life would be like. Getting your guts rearranged and cooking food together. Laughing together. Playing together.

Stunna came back around to check on you. He grinned and leaned on the table to kiss you. You were still in the same position he left you in. Fucked out and blissed out.

“Why don’t you go shower and I’ll watch the food. Should be done by the time you get out,” he said.

“How are you…”

“I see somethin’ I want, I want it. Let a real nigga show you how to appreciate the mother to his kids,” he said. He kissed you again and rubbed on your booty. “Now get your sexy ass upstairs before you’re late picking up your kids,” he said.

He helped you to your feet, proud of himself. Bastard. You picked up your clothes but Stunna stopped you from putting them on.

“I wanna see that ass jiggle up the stairs,” he said.

“I can’t stand you!” You said and giggled, wiggling your ass for him. You swayed your hips. A new energy suffusing you as you did so. You walked up to your room and showered, feeling nasty and like a woman again. Like you were more than a glorified maid and cook.

Done with your shower, you came downstairs. Stunna was on his phone, sitting at the table like he didn’t fuck you senseless thirty minutes ago. When you came back in with cuter panties this time, black leggings, and a red T-shirt, Stunna whistled like you were walking around in lingerie.

“Sexy ass. Getting fucked look good on you,” he said.

“Shut up!” You giggled. The enchiladas were cooling on the counter top. It smelled divine. You grabbed a plate and handed it to him, sitting down next to him. “Not really mines since you ended up finishing it,” you said.

“You not gon’ have none?” He asked.

You shook your head. “I’ll have some later. My schedule kinda lines up with the twins. I eat when they do,” you said.

Stunna pushed the plate towards you, holding out the fork. “Eat,” he said.

“I’m fine,” you said.

“Do I need to feed you?” He asked.

You rolled your eyes and took the fork from him. Nasty ass. If he fed you, you’d be late to pick up your kids. You ate a bite and moaned at the taste. His style was similar to yours but food made by other people tasted so much better.

You ate half and pushed the other half to him. He chuckled. “Aight, but next time you’re eating all of it. Gotta take care of yourself too,” he said.

“Oh, next time? That’s bold,” you said.

He ate and shrugged his shoulders. “You ain’t telling me no,” he said.

You rolled your eyes again. You laughed and giggled your way during his meal. He finished and you washed the plate. Dishes were your least favorite chore so you made sure to do it as soon as possible. To avoid it getting gross. And yes, a little bit of you wanted no reminder of him here.

Stunna came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. He dropped his head to your shoulder. “Give me your number. I won’t cause a scene. I just wanna be in your life,” he said.

“Stunna, we can’t. This was fun,” you said.

“More than fun.” He lifted your chin with his fingers and looked in your eyes. “You feel something here. We work well together. However you’ll have me,” he said.

You bit your lip. You wrestled with the decision. He already knew where you lived. What was your number on top of that?

Your alarm went off. Your first reminder that you needed to get going to arrive at pick up early. You jerked away from Stunna, grabbing your phone off of the counter and silencing it. Stunna watched you as you thought through your options.

“Giving you my number is like…agreeing to keep doing this,” you said.

“I ain’t gon’ pressure you for nothin’ you don’t wanna give. This can be whatever you want. But I saw your face when I was in that pussy. And it’s obvious your husband been neglecting you. Use me,” he said.

He slowly walked over to you. He took the phone from your hands and started tapping away. “Use me whenever your hands don’t do nearly as good a job as me,” he said.

You sighed and grinned. “Nasty ass,” you said.

“I’ma dip. But use that number.” He gave you a last, scorching kiss and then let himself out of your house.

You stared at the door, long after he was gone until your second alarm went off. You silenced it and made sure the stove was off. You left the house to pick up Noah and Naomi, listened to their excited chatter about school and what they learned.

You descended into “mom mode” as you fell into your normal routine. Get them home, homework done, washed up, and ready for dinner. Your husband made a rare appearance for once kissing you on the cheek and the kids on the head.

“Did you try something different?”

“Huh?” You asked, looking up from your dinner.

“Did you try something different with the enchiladas? It tastes different, but delicious like always, babe,” he said.

You stared at the table, picturing all the nasty shit you did there. How Stunna not only handled you, he also handled dinner. You sipped your water since your mouth went dry. The flashbacks were vicious.

“Saw something online that I wanted to try. You like it?” You asked.

“Mhm,” your husband said.

You hid your smile by eating more of the food and wondered when you could get Stunna back over.

The Secret Big Stunna Files...in case you needed a little more in your life.

Part 2 | Part 3

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hillbillyoracle · 1 year ago

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Androgynous/Masc Leaning Capsule Wardrobe Ideas

In honor of International Nonbinary People’s Day, I offer you the clothing advice I wish I had like 15 years ago. I prefer a small well curated wardrobe but it is so tough to pull that off as a nonbinary genderfluid person. I spent years struggling to make my capsule wardrobe work for me. Every example I saw was either with feminine clothes or with the world blandest men’s clothing.

For reference, I’m AFAB and live in Kentucky - very hot and muggy in summers, can get quite cold (-20 F) in winter but it’s usually mild with highs are in the 30F-40F range most days. This is the advice I’d give my younger self if I could.

Focus on 10-15 Core Items

While I am fluid, I consistently spend most of my time “inbetween” these days. Having a neutral to masc learning main wardrobe with some feminine items to mix in wound up working best for me. So here’s the masc leaning base wardrobe I recommend.

~3 x Button Ups - I went with short sleeve Hawaiian shirts for myself because I love bold patterns. You can find a lot of Hawaiian shirt these days that don’t have stereotypical “island” patterns on them while still being pretty light and breathable in summer. If your style leans more classic, consider oxford cloth button ups. You might need more button ups if you work in a business casual setting.

~3 x Tees - I like graphic tees, specifically hand screen printed ones so that’s what I go with. But if your style is more classic then consider investing in some good quality solid color tees.

~3 x Casual Tops - for me this is a tank top, turtleneck, and a Henley. But you might consider a collarless button ups, plain long sleeve shirts, and ringer style long sleeve shirts.

~3 Pants - for me, I have black and stone washed denim since those are my favorites. I look for tapered fits over skinny or boot leg where I can. I have one pair that’s a jogger style I quite like. You might look for chinos or khakis if you have a more formal dress code at work but they’ll still work with graphic tees and other tops if you style them right.

~3 x Layers - for me this is a cardigan, a flannel, and a hoodie. You might consider v neck or crew neck sweaters, cable knit sweaters, and fair isle sweaters as well.

Feminine Clothing Module

What’s nice about this approach is that you can then create a feminine clothing module that plays nicely with your main wardrobe.

For me this looks like

1-2 Dresses - I have a maxi tee dress and a long sleeved linen dress since that works more for everyday wear for me.

1-2 Skirts - I don’t have any presently but the next big feminine swing I have I’ll be ordering a nice linen skirt in my favorite color.

1-2 Casual Tops - I don’t have any presently after my last big wardrobe edit but business casual shell tops, camisoles, and cowl neck tops work well here.

1-2 Layers - I have a linen blazer in a women’s cut and a long striped duster. You might consider a kimono style shrug/wraps, sweaters in a more feminine cut, and women’s cardigans

You don’t need a lot here because so much of the main wardrobe can be mixed with a feminine element or two and it becomes much more feminine - especially if you’re AFAB but even if you’re AMAB. It doesn’t take a lot a feminine clothing to make an over all outfit look more feminine and subtle touches work just as well as more overt styles ime.

Sizing

Sizing is tricky as hell. I’m plus size (size 18-20 in women’s pants) and especially trying to find masculine stuff with the right fit is a pain. I really recommend going in to try things on if you’re able but if not get comfortable with the idea you will likely need to send things back. Yes you can take measurements but those measurements are still listed with different proportions in mind.

For men’s clothes I lean toward a slightly oversized fit - as most men I’m around do. For women’s clothes, I lean toward a slightly tight fit - as most women I’m around do. Look at the people around you and see which fits they lean toward and opt for that where you’re able to for yourself.

Shoes, Outwear, Special Occasions

Shoes - I tend to opt to go neutral in my shoes and outerwear. Not in color or pattern mind you but gender. For shoes, I currently have 3 pairs - a pair of crocs (with spikes), running shoes/sneakers (old Champion brand slip ons), and a pair of Doc Martens. These are good options if you’re AMAB too because the sizing is unisex or available in similar styles for men and women. Other good options are Vans, Chucks, any hippie sandal brand you can think of. “Nicer” shoes are great but often pretty gendered. I lean toward getting “nicer shoes” that are opposite my assigned gender when I do grab them.

Outerwear - I also tend to opt for gender neutral options for outerwear too. Since it doesn’t get terribly cold here, I stick to a micropuff jacket from North Face and layer a black denim jacket over it when it gets cold. When I wear it with masc stuff, blends in. When I wear it with feminine stuff, it adds a slight edge I like. Pea coats are decent options as well. If you live some place real cold, a lot of the long winter coats are basically the same between genders, just different fits.

Special Occasions - I would recommend not worrying about special occasions until or unless they come up. I have the same two “special occasion” dresses that I’ve been using for years because they come up so rarely and I can’t bare to spend too much money on something I’ll wear maybe once or twice a year. Formal wear is highly gendered and if you learn androgynous it’s a tough needle to thread. For those events with hosts you know, it’s worth reaching out to them to see what they think makes an outfit “formal” - could be nicer cuts or materials, could be rigid gender norms - can’t know until you ask.

For most special occasions, I do not know the host, so I default very structured looks in accordance with my assigned gender. Still feels a bit edgy but no ones gonna have the guts to say it’s wrong. For AMAB folks you might do the inverse, more flowy looks and colors while still adhering to your assigned gender. All depends on the level of familiarity you have with the hosts and the flack you’re willing to catch.

Outfits

Some masc leaning outfit ideas:

button up, hoodie, pants, boots

graphic tee, flannel or cardigan, pants, sneakers

turtleneck, pants, boat shoes

button up, tie, cardigan, pants, chelsea boots

Some fem leaning outfit ideas:

button up, cardigan, skirt, sneakers

shell top, wrap, pants, sandals

graphic tee, skirt, sneakers

dress, sandals

Conclusion

Hope this was helpful to someone out there!

#nonbinary #androgynous #nonbinary fashion #international nonbinary people's day #genderfluid #genderfluid fashion

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therealitychecksneakpeek · 2 months ago

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The Reality Check: Chapter 1

I started writing a new book with the plan to release chapters on Kindle Vella, only to learn it's shutting down in December!

That said, I've made the decision to post the first ten chapters for free here on a weekly basis leading up to the book being available on Amazon in 2025. I'll post updates on my author instagram and I hope you'll follow, comment, and share if you enjoy the story!

Here's what The Reality Check is about:

After coming in second on United States of Talent, plus size fan favorite and singer Mandy Thompson signed on to her very own reality show. Now, ten years later and nowhere closer to being a pop star, her show is on the brink of being cancelled.

In a last ditch effort to save everything she’s worked for, the network casts Casey to play the role of a supportive boyfriend.

But things get complicated when Mandy’s dreams don’t seem to work without Casey.

Chapter 1

“Viewership is declining.”

Those are not the three little words I was hoping to hear this morning. Not that Ben of all people would be the one to confess his undying love on a random Tuesday at the studio’s midtown office. I realize it’s been some time since I’ve heard an “I love you” from a man and while Ben’s a total catch, he’s not for me. Beyond being my boss of sorts as the executive producer of my reality show, he’s also a close friend.

I can tell he’s been working too hard as his hair has grown out and his usually clean-shaven face looks like it hasn’t seen a razor in some time. He’s wearing his typical uniform despite the fact we’re not on set – a black t-shirt and jeans with an unbuttoned flannel over it, sleeves rolled up.

Looking at him now, it’s surprising to me that no woman has managed to take him off the market in all the time I’ve known him. Sure, he’s a little rough around the edges, but he’s got that kind of Clark Kent/Superman potential in his looks and he’s a great guy.

I would know.

My reality show Mandy’s Big Dreams is in its eleventh season and Ben has been with me since the start. I remember that he was once an inexperienced and hungry-to-learn producer that was totally out of his depth with trying to figure out how to make a body positive, girl powered series following my stint on United States of Talent where I lost to Alexia’s pint size pop star act.

At the time, I didn’t care.

I was just over the moon that so many women saw me representing big girls in the way we deserve to be represented. I’m not shy about being fat, curvy, and beautiful. Nor am I shy when I sing. And I was thrilled to have the opportunity to let America get to know me – even the haters.

When all this started I was 22 and taking the leap to move to New York from the small city where I grew up. Like half the cast on United States of Talent, I started singing in church and high school theater productions and the show was really my first glimpse at what it meant to be a professional singer. Between the reality show and USoT I had a leg up with my music, but somehow in the past five years things have changed.

The network seems to care more about me exploring weight loss (I’ve lost none) and fitness (I do yoga and hit my daily steps goal) storylines than making music. And since season six, the reality aspect of my show has been null and void. Ben and a team of producers loosely script every scene and get it approved based on metrics and stats and focus groups until a version of their plan is enacted by me and the cast, which has gone from my real family and friends to a group of pseudo-friends and entertainment professionals like my assistant Katrein (an aspiring actress herself).

“I’m sure we won’t be cancelled,” I say, trying to brighten Ben’s mood. “What genius storylines have you cooked up for me this season?”

Ben shakes his head.

“Not me. The network.”

“Whatever – hit me with it.”

“They’ve decided that the viewers want a fairy tale romance. Apparently, they love that you’re not on the ozempic bandwagon but they want to believe love is possible…”

“…for a fat girl. I get it.”

Ben always looks uncomfortable when I call myself fat. At this point it’s sort of funny because it’s been years of me opting for fat instead of plus size or curvy when the network and advertisers push what they call “softer adjectives”. It makes me snort laugh a little when I see his familiar grimace.

“So, what’s the plan? I wish I could deliver but as much as I’ve tried to manifest a good man the universe just seems to be fresh outta stock.”

Ben opens a folder that’s been sitting on the table in front of us and pulls out three headshots. I notice that they’re not the usual actor headshots I see when we cast a new role on the show, but more like a good photo that some intern blew up to headshot size and threw in a folder.

“Here’s their selects – the network’s favorite is Casey. But if you object for some reason they’ve given their blessing for Marcus and Tommy as well. They’re all here for you to meet if you want to interview them too. You know, to see if there’s potential for chemistry on screen.”

He slides Casey’s photo to me and I’m struck by how this man looks like Jason Mamoa and one of the Hemsworth brothers had a baby. On the back of his picture, I see he’s tall – 6’2” and 210 lbs with most of his weight coming from muscle. While I read his bio, Ben mutters about how the network believes on-screen his size will work well with my 5’3” and 300 lbs frame and that he’s “the perfect ‘aspirational’ boyfriend for a woman my size”.

I know that’s the network talking and not my friend but I really hate hearing that shit.

According to his bio, Casey is not an actor and works at a bar/restaurant that’s been in his family for 2 generations. He works there with an older brother, younger sister, and his parents who have taken a step back now that the siblings have mostly taken it over. His interest in appearing on television is to help their business in Providence, RI which is struggling, and create more stability savings-wise for him and his long-term girlfriend Kelly.

My eyebrow instinctively raises when I get to that part.

“Girlfriend?”

Ben nods, “It’s an acting job Mandy.”

“He’s not an actor.”

“I know. But the network wanted real and untrained. They think viewers will be able to spot a plant a mile away. But Casey? He’s just a guy who you met at a bar on a weekend trip and hit it off with.”

“And we really think that a regular couple is going to be cool about everything television involves? Come on Ben, that’s why we transitioned from my real social network to a curated one…”

“I know, but they’ve all signed NDAs and Casey assures me that Kelly is on board.”

I glance at the other two headshots of Marcus and Tommy, but it’s all too obvious why the network prefers Casey. I’m already on thin ice with the numbers being bad going into this season and it’s not smart to rock the boat. Not like Casey is bad to look at either.

“So, that’s our back story? I went out to eat and what? He waited on me?”

Ben grins and his whole face lights up in a way that tells me he’s written this part of the season. I love that he’s so transparent when he’s proud of his work and it strikes me that he’s come a long way from the young guy who would complain over drinks that he felt like he was walking on eggshells managing a team of older writers to this sure-in-his-skin version.

“You went on a girls’ trip to Providence for Katrein’s 30th and night of, did a bar crawl. A few drinks later you end up in a karaoke bar and of course you grabbed the mic and rocked a version of your own hit song from the USoT days. Casey and his friends were there and he remembered you from the show, approached, and invited you out for a drink – just the two of you…”

“You’re making me pretend I ditched my girls on a girl’s trip for a guy?” I ask, immediately imagining the nasty comments flooding my socials.

“Well that’s just it – you would never do that right?”

“Never!”

I can feel myself smiling. This is the part of my job that I really love. The part of working with Ben that’s made these years fly by even when things were tough. We get into this kind of flow where I can see the season start to play out in my mind well before I even step foot on set.

“But Katrein sees you guys together and insists. She plays matchmaker even – sending a text when you’re out with Casey that you’ll have to get a ride back to NYC because the gang decided to head back early for her brother’s show.”

I gasp, jokingly clutching my imaginary pearls, “You’re not going to imply, that with a hotel room free, I invite a man back that I barely know, are you!?”

“Yes but! With the room free you talk all night because you make it clear you’re not a one-night stand kind of woman and Casey respects that. And when day breaks you’re both already in love. It’s obvious that this is a once in a lifetime connection that you just can’t say goodbye to…”

“Why Benedict Robinson, if I didn’t know better I’d say you’re a romantic.”

Ben blushes at the use of his full, given name but pushes through the discomfort to walk me through the rest of my love story with Casey.

“Anyway, we start the season with a confessional with you and Casey talking about how you’ve been doing long distance for the past four months but things are going really well. We make it so it feels like he’s a bit more into you than you are into him.”

“And what about my music?” I ask, not being able to hide the hope in my voice.

“Going on dates and talking about the relationship with Katrein and having the friends and family meet him will likely trump any music making. Our season finale is going to be in Hawaii where he’ll propose. Then, when we get renewed because this plot is so good and everyone loves a love story, we plant seeds of discontent in season 14 ultimately leading to you making the decision as much as you love him the relationship isn’t right. It’ll re-enforce your brand of being a woman who stands on her own two feet despite all the judgement from the rest of the world and still show plus size women they can date whomever. A win-win.”

“What if we break up because I want to start performing again? Maybe the relationship ignites a desire to write love songs…and then break up songs?”

Ben knows I’ve been a good sport since my last album flopped seven years ago and the network distanced me from the thing that put me on the map in the first place. They even forced me to say that these days music isn’t as interesting to me anymore which couldn’t be further from the truth. The influencer marketing is a nice income boost and the small roles in made-for-tv movies only help the network I already work for, but music is still the thing that has me waking up in the morning.

My only problem is I have had a bit of block when it comes to writing. Perhaps some apathy too, considering I don’t need to make money the way I used to and that has me less interested in chasing platinum and more interested in making something that speaks to me.

On paper it sounds like the dream, but the truth is I’ve felt a bit lost these days. I’m a 34-year-old reality star with one hit album, one flop, and what feels like one more chance with mainstream music success. While I can afford another flop, I know that will sign my fate as a washed up, one-hit wonder which is where the block probably comes from. I wish I could not care what people thought and just create for me, and financially I can, but that might not be smart. Every time I put pen to paper the stakes feel so high – this could be my last chance.

Do I go out with songs I doubt will resonate with the masses but make my soul happy or do I write what works?

I’ve yet to be able to answer that question, so I’ve written very little the past couple of years, but Ben doesn’t know that. And I need him to believe I have a trove of songs ready to go to pitch to the network so they might finally green light storylines that take place in the studio. After all, I could use the free studio time and it would help plant the seeds with our television fan base.

“I’ll pitch it to them, but no promises.” Ben says. “Are you on board? Ready to make season eleven the best one yet?”

“Let’s do it,” I saying, extending my hand in jest to Ben who shakes it without a hint of irony.

“Great! I’m excited,” he says beaming. “And I can’t wait for you to meet Casey. I’ll go get him…”

Ben leaves the room and it dawns on me that I’m feeling nervous. I’ve never faked a relationship on air before, mostly because I didn’t need to. I was with Tobey for the first couple of seasons, and then Katrein introduced me to Bart, and then there was just a focus on fashion, fitness, and weight loss where I guess I didn’t realize how long I’d been single.

I’m suddenly incredibly aware of the fact that I’m wearing no makeup, my glasses, hair in a messy ponytail, and a maroon athletic set I was gifted two seasons ago that I’ve never worn to the gym. To make matters worse, I’m just now noticing that I spilled a little coffee on the zip up hoodie and can’t decide if I should remove it or if meeting someone in a tank top that doesn’t have nearly enough build-in support for the girls is a worse first impression.

I opt for the tits-out version, considering I am meeting a man and I’ve never met a man who wasn’t at least a little enticed by a full chest – big girl or not. But when the door opens and I lay eyes on Casey in the flesh, I realize that I’m in deep, deep trouble as it’s me who has never been more enticed in my life.

Read Chapter 2!

#book blog #authors #bookish #booklr #books & libraries #books #romance #love story #falling in love #fake dating

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