#posting this at 4:30 pm before i go to work FUCKJDKJS

[wreckedandpolemic]

heyyyy what about 79, 124, 130 and 133 👀👀

behave - george daniel

(mdni) this is fucking vile hkdjfslh read at your own risk

warnings: 18+, dom/sub, bratting, rough, unprotected sex, degradation, spanking, edging, use of 'sir' once or twice lol

George is furious when he catches up to you, cold rage glimmering in his eyes. You smile mischievously up at him, then turn to trail a finger down the chest of the stranger across from you. His name’s Michael, or Mark, or Mitch, something to that effect — you don’t care, really. He’s just a pawn, a toy you’re using to act out for George’s attention.

“You ready to go, baby?” George asks. It’s phrased as a question, but the hardness of his tone tells you it’s not.

You don’t care, though; you’re goading him, pushing him to breaking point, begging for him to snap, to let that dark side take over, to claim you, to ruin you. “Nope.” You pop the ‘p’ obnoxiously. “My friend here was just about to get me another drink, right?”

MichaelMarkMitch shifts uncomfortably under George’s hard, unflinching stare. “Look, man.” He holds his hands up placatingly, and you watch George grit his teeth against his grating American accent — another reason you settled on him, perfectly poised just to irritate the fuck out of your boyfriend. “I’m not… I’m not trying to steal anyone else’s girl here. She didn’t tell me she had a fucking boyfriend. ‘S not my fault your bitch wants me,” he adds, smug, puffing his chest out obnoxiously.

George glares hard at MarkMichaelMitch, clenching his jaw. You can practically see a vein jump in his forehead as his fury only grows. “Mate. She doesn’t give a fuck about you. Do one before I knock you out,” he growls, seizing your arm in a punishing grip. MitchMarkMichael scrambles out of his seat and flees to the bar. Smart. “You,” George hisses low in your ear, delicious darkness in his tone sending a thrill skittering up your spine, “Are being a fucking brat, and we’re leaving.”

A faux-innocent expression springs to your face and you pout. “But I’m having such a nice time…” You turn to face him, placing both your hands on his chest and shoving gently. He holds firm, obviously; you’re only trying to rile him up.

He tips his head back in frustration, blood visibly boiling. “Can you behave, for once in your life?” he snaps, tone frothing with anger.

You poke your tongue out childishly. “Never.”

George seethes at you, grabbing you by the waist and marching you towards the door. You’re powerless to resist, thighs clenching in deadly anticipation. He shoves you out of the door with a stinging slap to your ass, bundling you into a waiting taxi. A hand stays controlling on your thigh the whole ride as George stares ahead, stony-faced. You slide a hand between his legs, palming his hardness with a grin, your best demure eyes waiting for him when he inevitably turns — he’s weak for you, really. But he doesn’t even fucking look at you, gripping your wrist with his free hand and returning it to your lap, something authoritative in his movements warning you not to try it again.

After what feels like hours of agonising waiting, the taxi pulls up outside your place. George pays the fare with a cursory nod to the driver and you get out, the cool night air kissing your exposed skin. You hang off his arm, pulling teasing faces, pressing kisses against his cool skin, trying everything to get him to crack a smile.

He doesn’t budge. Fuck. You’re really in for it.

George marches you inside, his silence disconcerting. He drags you into the bedroom, jaw still clenched tight. “Strip,” he orders, the first words he’s spoken since the bar, and you grin. You’re getting punished anyway; might as well do everything you can to deserve it. Dropping onto the bed, you kick off your shoes and smile blithely at him. He surges forward to grip your jaw punishingly. “You don’t strip for me, you don’t get fucked,” he murmurs lovingly against your lips. “I think that’s more than fair after the way you’ve behaved,” he adds, stepping back without kissing you, your lips cold and waiting.

“Yes, sir,” you breathe, thrill and arousal coiling in your gut as your hands fly to your shirt, tossing it away carelessly. Standing, you wriggle out of your jeans, revelling in his heated, dark gaze on your bare skin.

“So you can be good,” George says, nodding appreciatively. Crossing the room, he kisses you, cupping your jaw and sweeping his tongue into your mouth, taking you over. You feel yourself bending to his will, his skilled hands moulding you into something good and pliant. 

Breaking the kiss, you shake your head to clear it, smiling wickedly. “I can,” you shrug. “But it’s so much more fun not to be.”

“Get on the bed,” George orders, striding towards you. He shoves you down when you don’t move and your stomach swoops as you thud against the mattress. His skin is hot where he touches you, you’re certain his handprint is seared into your skin, a beautiful brand that’s proof he owns you.

“Turn around. Face down, ass up. You need punishing, love.” You swallow thickly, arousal and nerves boiling in your blood, and turn over, kneeling on the bed with your face pressed into the pillow. “Fuck, you’re so wet. Such a slut,” he murmurs disapprovingly, resting a gentle hand on the curve of your ass, the last gentle hand you’ll feel for a while, you think. “You ready?” You nod desperately against the sheets. “Words, baby,” he adds, clicking his tongue.

“Yes, sir, God, yes! ‘M a slut, ‘m your slut, please!” You squirm against the mattress, heartbeat throbbing in your cunt. You can’t fucking stand the waiting, and he knows it, his stillness a stark contrast to the way you tremble and writhe.

George’s silence is oppressive and torturous, thick in your lungs as you struggle for breath. After a few more agonising seconds, his hand comes down hard against your ass. You cry out, pain radiating from your ass and spreading deliciously through your cunt. “Love that, don’t you? My dirty girl,” he murmurs, the grin in his voice so evident that you can see it swimming in your mind. Another slap and tears are pooling in your eyes, your cunt dripping wet and aching with need. Two more quick strikes have you drooling into the pillow, limbs already weak, ass stinging red. “That enough? You gonna be good for me, now?” George asks, running a soothing hand over your flushed skin, the gentleness a stark contrast that has you on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Mhmm,” you moan, brain melted and leaking from your ears, feeling loose on your bones and close to the edge already. The sound of his clothes falling to the floor sends excitement fluttering through you, his hands clutching possessively at your waist.

George bends low to kiss the sore flesh of your ass, comforting warmth spreading from where his lips touch your skin. “Spread your legs for me,” he orders, voice still commanding in that deliciously cruel way. In what feels like a Herculean effort, you obey, widening the gap between your legs, your cunt spreading open for him. A sharp slap to your inner thigh makes you scream, livewire nerves racing into overdrive at the unexpected pain. “Spread them wider. You want to act like a slut, you’ll get fucked like one.”

He physically pulls your thighs apart, trailing two fingers through your soaked, messy cunt, the slight pressure over your clit jolting through you, sparks bursting behind your eyes. “Fuck, stop teasing, please,” you whimper, tears spilling from your eyes.

Laughing cruelly, George wipes his wet fingers on the sheets. “Stop teasing?” he repeats incredulously. “After the shit you pulled earlier? You’ll be lucky if I let you come at all,” he warns, lining up his cock and filling you in one, fluid motion.

The pressure between your legs spikes intensely and you moan, your body a vessel of molten pleasure. George sets a brutal pace, fucking you into the mattress, body shaking with the effort of holding yourself up. One of his thumbs rubs delicious circles into your clit, dragging you higher and higher as his hips snap against yours. “Oh, fuck,” you whimper, clawing at the sheets. “Fuck, George, I’m gonna–” He stops, stilling inside you and pulling his hand away from your clit, your orgasm ruined.

Your body screams in protest, rocking your hips back against him desperately, clenching around George’s cock in an effort to coax him back into moving. The crest of pleasure subsides, slipping through your fingers, foregone ecstasy sinking like a stone in your belly. George starts to move again, stoking those embers until an inferno blazes under your skin and you roll against him, matching the pace of his thrusts so he strikes that perfect spot inside of you every time.

Slick, obscene sounds of skin meeting fill the room, mingling with your pants and moans, spit and tears sliding down your face. George fucks you impossibly harder, using you for his own pleasure, pace turning erratic as he gets closer. He groans, coming, pulsing inside you.

You whimper as he pulls out of you, his cum leaking out of you. Strength gone from your limbs, you collapse on the mattress, boneless. He keeps circling your clit, euphoria rushing through your blood, you’re almost there again, then… Nothing. He steps completely away from you, footsteps receding into the bathroom. The tap runs, the trickling sound torturous as you lay helplessly waiting for him. You don’t move, don’t dare touch yourself, just laying still and trying to gather your wild heartbeat back under control. “Oh, baby,” George murmurs as he reappears, watching you cry and drool into the pillows.

“Please touch me,” you whine, voice thick with watery need. He takes you by the waist, rolling you onto your back and you look up at him with fluttering eyelids. You’re wrecked, desperate, absolutely consumed by him as he works his fingers over your sensitive clit. It hurts so beautifully, pain sparking between your legs and twisting into bliss as it climbs up your spine.

“Can you be good from now on?” You nod wildly, brain wrapped around him as your cunt throbs.

“Yes! Please, George, fuck, I wanna come so bad, please!” you beg, whines and incoherent pleas tumbling from your tearstained face.

“Then come for me,” he whispers, low in your ear, the words finally tipping you over the edge, full-body shakes overtaking you as you scream out for him. Nothing feels real, your body floating inches above the bed, sweet, glorious bliss rolling over you in waves, wiping you clean.

You come back to Earth with a grin, pulling George in for a long, languid kiss. He smiles down at you, gaze raking over your ruined appearance. “You feeling okay?” he asks, all traces of that cruel dominance vanished and replaced with warm concern. You nod, words dying in your scratchy throat. “Gonna be alright if I get you a glass of water, something to clean you up?” he adds, hands hovering over your body as if you might shatter under his touch.

“I’m okay, darling,” you promise, a satisfied smile stretching across your lips as your eyes flutter shut, resting your body while you watch him slip out of the room. You wait for that familiar dread that always succeeds nights like this, but it doesn’t come. You know he’ll be back to take care of you — he always is.