taste-ze-rainbow - Tumblr blog

taste-ze-rainbow · 3 months ago

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— trouble will find me

bodyguard!logan x mobster’s daughter!reader

rated e - 3k

tags: 70s era, dofp/bonedaddy!logan, bodyguard!logan, reader is the daughter of a mobster, reader is shorter than Logan, club setting, use of alcohol, cigar smoking, mutual pining, flirting, light brat taming!logan, references to violence, competence kink, semi-public vaginal fingering, kissing, forbidden relationship

a/n: I can’t stop thinking about dofp!logan sleeping with the girl he’s guarding, this is inspired by that scene! huge thank you to @pr0ximamidnight who let me chit chat about this little idea. you are amazing! 💖💕

His eyes darken. Fingers pinching against your skin, as he adjusts his grip, “‘s a bad idea, sweetheart. Supposed to keep you out of trouble.”

Your hands skate lower, fingers tracing the edge of his belt buckle. His nostrils flare - a warning, though he does not move.

“Supposed to keep me out of trouble,” You hum, “But what if I want a little in me?”

You can feel his eyes follow you.

Which shouldn’t really be surprising. It's his job, of course. Keep an eye on you, keep you safe.

But there’s something in the way he watches.

A curl of smoke from a lit cigar. Fingers tracing the rim of a half-downed whisky, a worn leather jacket thrown over a broad shoulder. The tilt of his chin when your eyes meet his - dark and narrowed, missing nothing. Slipping over you like the soft silk of your dress.

Indulging, almost. Unashamed.

You might have a crush.

You're trying not to think about it too much.

Tonight, you're just trying to enjoy the after-party.

It's all bright lights.

The room is bathed in pinks and yellows and flashing red. Disco club music pumped through the speakers, the panels of the floor flickering to the beat. You've been here for two hours already. Nursing tequila sunrises and pink squirrels. Sweat sticking to the nape of your neck, as the minutes tick by, bleeding past midnight.

He's not going to stop you, just yet. You can have your fun tonight - sway to the beat of the music - as long as you play by the rules.

Logan is so different from the ones before him.

Tripping over their feet to check on you. Breathing down your neck, with their padded-shoulder suits smelling like cigarettes and cheap cologne. Too afraid for themselves, of your father, to actually do a good job of protecting you.

Stifling and all too willing to tell you yes to anything.

It was exhausting.

Logan had come recommended - an acquaintance of a friend. He'd 'get the job done' from what you heard. Motivated. Needed the cash and would listen, no questions asked.

Just the type your father thought he could sway - a half-wild guard dog, his salary a leash. Heeling at the click of a tongue, the snap of fingers.

It's not how you saw him, though.

His silence was not obedience. There was nothing bought about this man - watching you from the line of leather booths along the wall.

You've wondered if maybe - you're just desperate to find some form of kindred spirit in someone. Too used to feeling like an accessory instead of a person. Your appearance at your father's events drove home his image. The good, family man who was oh so generous with his time and money.

Articles were written weekly about how philanthropic he was.

You had no idea if anything ever came from the numerous events you hosted - an attempt at doing something with your education. How much was skimmed off your blood, sweat, and tears, funneled back into what he did best.

Maybe you both saw through the bullshit.

He'll last longer than the others, at least.

More than once you've been halfway out the door, headed off to East Village or SoHo, only for him to catch you by the scruff of your sweater - whisking you back inside or into the Lincoln Town Car before you realized what happened.

An angry fist connecting with the nose of a man who had gotten too close at a gala last week. Cornering you in the coat room. Logan, charging in like a snarling beast when you had whimpered his name - red dripping down to stain the pressed white collar as the man was hauled away.

You’ve been thinking about that for days.

There was no sucking up. No flashing of a holster under his arm, some grandiose promise that you don't need to worry. You've never even seen Logan near a weapon but somehow, you feel more safe with him than you ever have with anyone else.

But this bit of internal tenderness that has sprouted, paired with his competency, has been seriously cramping your style.

It’s been enough that he's been hard to get out of your mind. Two weeks of teasing and poking at the limits set. Never giving you much, with that glare - thick arms crossed over his chest. A little thrill rippling up your spine, when his voice goes low and gruff.

The lights go dim, as the music begins to slow.

With the way your eyes wander, you know he sees you when you pick up a partner.

A man that moves with you, peeling off to crowd your space after your hips swivel with the hustle. His hand dipping low from where it rests on the small of your back.

Bold, when he bends to ask you 'if you'd like to get out of there'.

You meet Logan's eyes when you tell him yes.

Telling yourself that it's just to forget him. Definitely not because you're desperate to see the look on his face. To hear that tone he takes when he's pissed off.

A way to ascertain if you've taken root in his mind, even for just a moment.

There's zero chance Logan heard you from across the room. But it doesn't stop him from moving. Pushing to his feet, cutting straight through the crowd to wrap a hand around your bicep the second you start peeling off with the stranger - heading towards the side door.

"No fucking chance." It's gritted out, as he yanks you to him. Your shoulder collides against his chest as he steps between you and the man.

A sloppy hand pushes against his arm. The man's eyes are hazy under the neon lights as he makes a grab for you.

"Come on, man. I saw her first."

Logan pivots you away with a snarl, "She ain't leaving with you, bub."

Another sloppy shove, glancing off the brown leather jacket.

"You're really starting to piss me off." Logan's tone drips with warning, with knowing, "Gonna regret starting something in a room full of people like this."

And it's now that he takes in how big Logan is. The flex of splayed-wide fingers, knuckles curling into a clenched fist. A look in his eye that says that punches won't be pulled - not tonight.

The stranger takes a step back. It's enough.

You're already getting hauled away before they can answer. Guided into one of the many VIP rooms. A snarled "get the fuck out of here" to the attendant, before Logan's crowding you against the bar - hands bracing on his hips.

Fuming, you push yourself up to sit on the top - an attempt to get closer to his height.

"What was that about?" Your chin lifts, as your arms cross.

His eyes flash - a curl of his lip, "Can't you make my job easy, kid?"

Kid. It always makes you bristle. So far from that, and it's the way he says it. That dripping edge, like he knows something you don't.

"Maybe he was a friend." You deadpan.

"Yeah. Real friendly," He scoffs, fingers rubbing the bridge of his nose, "You think your daddy is gonna like you going home with a piece of shit like that?"

That makes your teeth clench - a glare sent his way, "I don't think it's any of your business."

"It's literally my business, sweetheart." Logan huffs. His hands curl around the edge of the bar, braced on either side of your knees.

Your breathing hitches, for just a second. The soft name is ground out between his teeth, but it still shoots straight to your pussy.

You haven't been this close to him before. Enough to see the bleed of brown to green in his hazel eyes. The sharp mark between his brows that you want to press your thumb against.

The shorn-down hair at his chin, before it grows thick across his cheeks. Handsome in a way that makes you ache, your fingers curling into fists to keep from touching him.

There's been moments alone - car rides, lounging in the armchair in the corner of your room when he barks at you to hurry up.

But it hasn't been like this.

Maybe it's the opportunity. Maybe it's the amber glitter of tequila in your veins, but you let your palms press against the shining wood. Your knees inch a little further apart, the hem of your dress riding up your thighs.

"That the only reason you whisked me away?” Your eyebrow lifts, "Kidnapping, if I recall, is one of the things you're supposed to be keeping me safe from."

"You are safe." He deflects, "'s not kidnapping when it's me.”

Those eyes are still on yours. Not dropping to where his hips nearly press against the edge of the bar top.

You break the eye contact first.

“Well, it’s fine.” You sniff - as if his actions had been your idea, “I didn’t want him anyways.”

Logan grunts. There’s the slightest brush - the flex of his thumb at your thigh, where your dress rides up. A long look before he’s pushing back to step away, but your fingers reach out, catching on his white shirt.

“Are you going to ask me what I do want?”

There’s the slightest twitch of his nose. Lips parting to show the peek of a tongue, caught between teeth. The briefest dip of his eyes. Down to the shadow between your breasts, pressed together as you lean forward to catch him.

“I know what you want, sweetheart.” He rasps, “Not gonna happen.”

The rejection stings, and you pout, “What isn’t?”

A sigh, and he’s stepping back into your space. Your hand flattens against his stomach, hard muscles beneath as his head tilts.

“You want a man to take you home. Treat you nice.” Logan’s eyes burn into you. Wide hands curving around your knees, thumbs pressing into flesh, “I’m not that guy.”

You wonder if he can hear your heartbeat. How it thunders to the beat of the music muted outside this room. Dropping down to pulse between your thighs.

Wondering if he’s thought about you, the way you have him. How he could both see and miss so much at once.

“You’re wrong,” Your head shakes, “I don’t want that.”

A breath, before you’re confessing, ”I want you.”

Logan's eyes darken. Fingers pinching against your skin, as he adjusts his grip.

“‘s a bad idea, sweetheart. Supposed to keep you out of trouble.”

Your hands skate lower, fingers tracing the edge of his belt buckle. His nostrils flare - a warning, though he does not move.

“Supposed to keep me out of trouble,” You echo, “But what if I want a little trouble in me?”

The smile you give him is sweet, a tilt of your head as he catches your hand. Thick fingers curl at your wrist, holding your hand in place. A thumb pressed up against your pulse.

“You wouldn’t know what to do with me.” He rasps, voice low.

You’re undeterred.

“Could get on my knees.” You coo, “You could show me. Would you like that?”

Logan’s jaw grits. His grip loosens just long enough to feel your wrist flex - before he guides your hands, pressing your palms flat against the polished wood.

“It’s not going like that,” He husks. The tone is the same as when he’s ordering you around, one that makes your back go straight, “Those are staying right there. Got that, honey?”

All you can do is nod, as his hands skate up your thighs. Fingers massaging into flesh, soft and smooth as he eases them wider apart. Fitting himself closer between them.

The way he looks at you now is the way he did before.

Focused, as your dress inches higher. The fabric pooling at your hips as they tilt toward him, the pretty lace between your thighs now on display.

“Look at you,” His tongue clucks. A finger tracing the elastic edge, as you clench in anticipation, “Need this, don’t you?”

Drifting across, a thumb pressing against the fabric. It sends a jolt through you, your fingers almost reaching for him before you remember.

“Good girl.” He muses, as your hands flatten again.

The slightest pressure as the pad of his thumb slips up. Nudging against your clothed clit, as you inhale a sharp breath.

Pressing, and circling. It’s agonizingly slow, his eyes flicking up to watch the way you bite back a whimper. Your hips flexing into his touch, aching for more.

It lifts, so he can see how the fabric has dampened. Clinging to your skin, his knuckle tracing your seam.

“Making a mess.”

You can only whine in reply. Afraid that he’ll stop if you make too much noise. If you move - he’s made it clear he’s in charge here, and for once you’re willing to follow.

The pad of his thumb pulling back, a faint shine in the neon-bathed room.

“That for me?”

Your head nods, “Logan, please-”

There’s a sharp flash of teeth. Fingers pressing low, fitting against you, “You want me here?”

“Yes.”

You need him. Need anything he’ll give you, the sharp pinch in your palms where your nails bite into flesh.

“Ask me.” He coos.

“Please put use your fingers,” It comes in a rush, “Want you in me-”

Logan smirks, as his fingers slip beneath the waistband. Air sucked through clenched teeth when he meets slick, soaked skin. A teasing swirl against your clit before he’s parting you.

The tip of his middle finger tracing your hole, before it dips inside. His hips flex against the wooden edge, when you clench around him immediately. Trying to draw him deeper, as he works himself further in.

His fingers are much thicker than yours. A second already tracing where he opens you up. Teasing the tip in as his hand flexes, the heel of his palm grinding against your clit.

Your head tips forward. Each breath growing shorter, as you’re stretched around him. That slight ache unfurling into pleasure. Panting, as the pump of his fingers grow louder - the muffled cadence of skin against skin each time his palm collides with your cunt.

The fabric strains against his hand, his knuckles pressed against the soaked fabric.

Something bright burns in your belly, as your knees press into his hips. It makes you break the rules - a hand grasping at his arm. Anchoring yourself with your grip.

“I wanna watch. Let me see you.”

He lets you. A tap against your hip so you can lift. Carefully pulling your underwear down, easing them over the heels of your boots.

The lace disappears into his jacket pocket. His palms against your inner thighs, spreading you open.

You both watch, when his fingers fit inside you this time. Two sinking down to the knuckle, slick and shining.

Unable to bite back the moan this time, though he does not shush you. His eyes fixed on your face instead, watching how your brow pinches when his fingers crook deep inside you. Searching.

The way you go jolt and then go tense when he finds it, a soft cry loosening.

“You been fucked like this before?” Logan growls, his fingers dragging against that soft spot inside you with his emphasis.

Your head shakes, when he does it again. Eyes dropping to watch his how hand looks, how you wrap around his fingers. The slick shine as they pump a little faster.

His other hand taps against your thigh.

“Words, sweetheart.”

“No,” It comes out hushed. Needy. “Never.”

His lips part with his groan, baring his teeth. With the way he touches you - his thumb moving to rub circles against your clit - it’s not long before he has you close.

A swiftly building pressure in your belly. That space between you eases as your knees close around his hips. His head tilting until his nose ghosts against your cheek.

Breath hot against your neck, as he inhales you. The slightest scrape of teeth that makes you bear down on his fingers - so careful not to leave a mark behind.

“Logan,” You pant. “That feels, ah, I think I’m gonna come-”

He groans against your skin, keeping the same pace. Feeling how you forget yourself - grasping at him, arching into his touch. Your muscles going tight as your breath grows short - panting.

“Give it to me,” Logan growls, “Come on my fucking fingers, baby.”

It’s impossible not to listen. You come, with his thumb pressing against your clit. His fingers notched deep inside you, as he feels your pulse racing beneath his lips.

The moan that rips from you pitches up, and then goes silent.

It leaves you breathless. Deep waves throbbing inside you, as you dampen his palm. Washing over and pulling you under, as your vision darkens.

“That’s fucking it. Come on, honey.” He coos, “Just look at you, so fucking pretty.”

The pump of his fingers goes still, the tips still crooking, as the tight pulses wane. The air comes rushing back into your lungs as you come back to yourself, your hands fisted in his jacket.

His chest heaves. Eyes hungry, when he slips from you. Slick clinging to them, webbing between his fingers as he pulls them up to the light.

Before he’s focusing on you again, his other hand thumbing at your lip.

“Open.”

They part automatically. Closing around the fingers he feeds you. The salt of his skin pairing with the sweet tang of your release, too blissed out to do anything but suck them clean.

“Good girl.”

It’s soft, as his fingers press down. Spreading, until you’ve cleaned yourself from them. Only when they slip from you, does his head dip.

A soft sound as his mouth presses against yours. There’s the sweep of his tongue against your lip, needy and insistent. You part for him, swallowing the moan as he tastes you. Teeth and tongue - deepening the kiss as his hands grip at your waist.

Letting your hands grasp at his shoulders. Tug at his hair until you’re pulled flush against him, your tits crushed against his chest.

Hungry, threatening to devour you, until you mumble his name.

Bringing him back to himself. Sharing a breath, Logan’s forehead pressed to yours when he pulls back. Those spit-slick fingers dropping down.

Palming himself roughly, where his cock strains - thick and hard against his jeans. A bitten-back groan, the word “fuck” rumbling deep in his chest as his hips flex into his hand.

“You going to listen now? Get that out of your system?” It comes out ragged, and you’re nodding.

All your sharp edges smoothed down. Blissfully complacent, as his fingers get a better grip on your waist. Bringing you down to the floor with wobbly legs, his hand coming to grasp at your upper arm.

“Good.” He growls, “Come on.”

A sharp tug, and you almost trip over yourself to follow.

“I’m taking you home.”

ahh I had the idea for this and had to jot it down! and I do know he goes by james/jimmy in the 70s because it’s pre-weapon-x, but I'll be keeping it as logan for this. (And I am thinking this will be a two-shot - give her a chance to get what she wants 😏💖)

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taste-ze-rainbow · 3 months ago

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can't get started ♡

older bf!logan howlett x fem!reader

logan can't get it up one night and is humiliated. but that just means he'll have to prove he can still satisfy you.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, daddy kink, age gap (reader in 20s)

a/n: the part in dpw where he said he's got whiskey dick with the claws turned me on too much tbh

This had never happened to Logan before.

That wasn't a lie he was telling you to make himself look less pathetic. It wasn't an affirmation he repeated in his own head to feel like he was still hot shit. It was the truth. One he would swear to on anything.

He'd never had a problem getting it up before.

Not with you, not with anyone. He thought the healing factor made him immune to whiskey dick or any kind of down-there dysfunction. But apparently not. Because the two of you finally had some time alone after being amidst the chaos of the mansion all day and his body was stalling.

The second he had the bedroom door shut, you were dragging him over to the bed and climbing into his lap. You were doing everything like usual. Your lips pressed against his, and then moved to his jawline and down his neck. Your hands glided across the firm muscles of his chest. Your hips rolled down against his lap, beckoning the appendage between his legs to reciprocate your desire.

But it just wouldn't. He tried to make it because it wasn't a matter of not wanting you. He wanted you bad.

He grabs your chin and brings your lips back up to his mouth so he can communicate his passion wordlessly. He digs his fingers into your hips, feeling the beginnings of where your flesh swells into your ass. He envisions how you'd been prancing around the whole day, cute tits pushing against the fabric of your t-shirt and calling out for him to grab.

You're so soft and warm. The little mewls that leave your lips sound like calls of angels up above. It doesn't matter though. His cock had clocked out for the night.

"God damnit," he grumbles before brushing you off his lap and bringing his fist down against the mattress. He sighs and his head hangs.

He can already sense the look on your face. Worry, hesitation, and affection swirling into one humiliating look. He feels your hand find his shoulder, the touch tender and accepting.

"It's ok, Logan. We don't have to," you say. Your tone is so soft and gentle, and it just drives him fucking nuts.

"But you want to," he says and looks over at you. The look in your eyes kills him. He knows you don't mean it, but it looks so patronizing. As if he's an old dog about to be taken out back and old yeller'd.

"Yeah but I don't want you to force yourself. We can just cuddle," you offer, sweet as can be.

"It's not forcing, I want to do this. I want you so bad," he says and cups your cheek. He pulls you back onto his lap and nuzzles your neck. "Been thinking about this all day."

You let out a little sigh as he lays some kisses on the column of your throat, and that gives him a spark of hope. Maybe he can do this. Maybe he doesn't have to be put out to pasture just yet. The two of you make out and grind and feel each other up some more. But eventually your tits are all but in his face and his dick still doesn't have a pulse.

He huffs and pulls back. 'Fuck, I'm sorry, sweetheart," he says.

You watch him, the gleam in your eyes as adoring as ever. It was the same look you gave him when you'd have to explain a basic function of a cell phone to him.

"It's ok. You don't have to be embarrassed," you reassure and lean in to peck his cheek.

He groans and gently brushes you off. "Don't. I don't need you coddling me."

"I'm just saying. I understand," you say with conviction, hands splaying on your chest to physically convey your empathy, "It happens to lots of guys when they get older. You don't have to be ashamed of it with me."

And in that moment, he wishes he didn't have his mutation so he could just die on the spot from being utterly mortified. He'd actually have preferred if you laughed in his face and called him an old man. A sad, old, perverted fuck who decided to date some half his age even though he couldn't keep up with her appetite. If you'd told him you were gonna find someone who could satisfy you, it probably would've stung less than being talked to like a patient who doesn't know their cancer is terminal.

There was no chance in hell, you'd ever do any of that though. As much as he hated that fact right now, it was part of why he loved you.

All he does is mumble a thank you and kiss the corner of your mouth. He doesn't just cuddle you after though. He gets you off on his thigh. You were still going to cum even if he couldn't. When you're done, he holds you close and rubs your back till you're sleeping curled up to his side.

His night isn't very restful though. It's haunted with the prospect of future incidents like this, of your perception of him changing. The look in your eyes changing from admiration to pity.

He can't live with that. The next day for the two of you is super busy, but he makes sure there's a spot at the end of it for him to secure his redemption.

This time around it's him carting you away from the others once the sun is down, mouth on the curve of your neck before you even reach the bedroom. His hands grope your waist and paw at your tits. You stumble into the door, bumping it loud enough that you'd be worried about someone hearing you if they weren't all downstairs.

"Logan..." you giggle. You push your ass back against him and glance at him out of your peripheral.

"Not what you're gonna be calling me before the night is done, sweet thing," he grunts and boosts you up.

Your legs press into his sides to support yourself as he opens the door. He takes the two of you inside and kicks it shut behind him before heading to the bed and tossing you on the mattress.

You look up at him with a coy smile, arms propping you up and one of your legs extended to entice him.

"You know... you don't have to prove anything to me, right?" you say.

"Oh, I don't?" he asks and grabs your ankle, pulling you to the edge of the bed so your hips meet, "You're too easy to please, babydoll."

Another laugh bubbles through your lips. Your legs drop to lock around his waist. "I'm just saying. It's like totally normal, and I don't want you to get all grumpy about it."

"Oh, I get grumpy, do I?" he asks as he leans over you. His large body envelopes yours on the mattress. He ducks down further to swallow your words up with kisses.

You hum into the exchange but pull back a little to finish your thought.

"Mhm, you do. And I just don't want you to feel that way cause I knew when we got together what I was getting into," you say.

Your confidence is so cute. You talk with absolute certainty, like you understand all there is to be understood about him. Like you'd known him forever and he hadn't been doing things like this for decades longer than you walked this earth.

His mouth crashes against yours again, his body weighing down on you and crushing you into the mattress.

"You did, hm? You knew what you were getting into? You got with me thinking I wouldn't be able to give it to you how you need all the time?" he mutters against your skin.

"I didn't mean it like-"

"Didn't mean it like that? How'd you mean it then, sweetheart?"

"I dunno..."

"Doesn't sound like you knew what you were getting into to me," he breathes.

That little sentence that you'd said in an attempt to comfort him unlocked something between the two of you. He felt his cock waking up and pressing against his zipper, eager to get out and slide home. It's hard to register your clothes being pulled off when he's got his tongue in your mouth and his fingers playing with your clit. In no time at all, he's got the both of you bare and his cock nestled between your thighs.

Like he already knew, the issue last night had never been about lack of desire. And he intended to prove that to you, fuck you so good it wiped your memory of any placating word that fell from your lips.

He ruts into you hard. The mattress rocks on the bed frame and threatens to slide off. His dick is big and even though it's not a new sensation for you, each time you take it is a stretch. It's even more so when he pushes you up by the back of your knees. You whine as you're folded in half. His thrusts hit your sweet spot every time at this angle.

"Thought you knew what you were getting into?" he teases as he pistons himself in and out.

You mewl and bob your head, though you aren't sure if you're shaking your head or nodding.

"Fuckkkk, Logan. 'm sorry," you pant. Your walls squeeze tight around his shaft as your eyes close up. He made every part of your body contract and feel like it was moments from exploding.

He simply laughs at your apology. "Don't gotta be sorry. You didn't do anything wrong. I'm just showing you what happens when I get older."

His balls hang heavy and swing with each motion, clapping against your ass. The heat between your legs is enough to make you squirm. Constant whimpers pour from your lips as he fucks into you without mercy.

"I know," you moan, "You fuck me better than anyone else."

"That's right," he grunts, "Nobody else could fuck you like this. Just me."

"Mhm, just daddy," you slur and cling onto him tighter. Your arms hook around his neck and keep his sweaty skin flush against yours.

"Just daddy," he repeats, his tone smooth like silk despite his raspy voice, "You don't need anyone else. Not when I can take care of you like this."

His tip prods at your cervix, making you yelp and buck. He doesn't stop though, just keeps battering into you, hammering into your warm, wet hole.

"You don't need any little boys thinking they know how to handle you," he breathes and nuzzles your neck, "Your old man can handle you just fine, make you cum whenever you need."

A strangled cry leaves your lips. Your nails dig into his back so hard that it seems like you wanted to draw blood. His words just make you melt for him. Reduce you down to a compliant jumble of flesh for him to mold and play with how he wants.

"Needa cum right now, daddy," you whine.

"I know you do, spoiled girl. You act so understanding, but I know that little pussy is aching to cum around my cock. To get filled up with my cum," he murmurs.

You nod wildly.

He chuckles at your eagerness and snaps against you even harder.

"Hold on tight, baby," he whispers.

His hips ricochet off your ass, clapping against you with intensity that borders on violent. You squeal and hang on as directed. Your whole body rocks with his momentum. Your head bobbles around like it's empty, which it is. Empty of everything but him.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck," you whimper.

"Let it out for me. Let me feel you burst, pretty girl," he grunts as he continues plowing into you.

Your body rolls. Your hips vibrate with the ecstasy release brings you. It crashes over you in one intense wave, like a gallon of liquid euphoria being poured over you. Your eyes flutter, and you bury your face in his neck like he has his in yours.

He fucks you through it. Coos in your ear too. "That's my baby. My sweet girl. Always sound so pretty when you're cumming."

One of your hands flies up to clutch at his thick, dark hair. Keeping him close keeps the words flowing.

"Getting so tight for me, fuck. No one can make me cum like you, honey. Drains me dry every fucking time."

Moments later he spurts into you, unloading thick ropes of his spend inside you. You let out another moan from that sensation alone. He growls and pants against your skin, his hands locking you in place as his hips pummel into your cunt and make sure every last drop has been released.

He lingers on you for a few moments before pulling out. His body feels loose in the afterglow. He stands at the edge of the bed and looks down at himself and then you. He knows he's gonna have to clean you up. Your inner thighs are shimmery with a mix of fluids, and the bush of dark hair at the base of his cock is in the same condition.

"Time to shower, baby?" he asks and pats your leg. You don't respond at first and he smirks. "Or did I tire you out too much?"

You whine something incoherent and shift to turn your face against the blankets. His smug look grows. He crawls over you again and nips at your jaw, rubbing his nose against your cheekbone.

"You know, it's ok, sweetheart. It's nothing to be embarrassed about. It's totally normal for pretty little things like you. I knew that going in."

His tone mimics your soft and understanding one from earlier. You make a little growl and swat at his bicep.

“Shut up, old man.”

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taste-ze-rainbow · 5 months ago

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angry armand from iwtv 🤭

Honestly, I think being folded in half by a vampire lord/lady while they fuck me slow and deep, their claw-like fingernails sinking easily into the soft undersides of my thighs while their tongue lathes against the side of my neck, muttering soft praises against my skin as they're preparing me for when the inevitable bite comes, would fix a lot of my emotional health problems.

#queer nsft #ftm nsft #monster fucking #monsterfucking #monster lover #monster x human #monster x reader #vampire x reader #vampire imagine #vampire x human #vampire smut #vampire nsft #nsft concept

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taste-ze-rainbow · 5 months ago

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nsfw interview with the vampire thought 🤔 (x reader)

armand is the kind of fuck who kisses your neck with hunger and softness while absolutely rage fucking your pretty hole

i said what i said

#smut #nsft #amc iwtv #iwtv armand #the vampire armand #iwtv x reader #armand x reader #the vampire armand x reader #iwtv

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taste-ze-rainbow · 6 months ago

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come take my pulse the pace is on a runaway train

PIMP!JOEL part 1, masterlist paring: Joel Miller x fem!afab!Reader rating: explicit word count: 6k (I told ya) summary: there's a secret you didn't know you had, and you're forced to tell it to Joel // Joel Miller is still a pimp and you still need money, that's it. .a/n: can't believe it actually fucking happened. i'm drained, see y'all sometime. an honest thanks to my lil beta/guardian angel @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog it's hard to imagine this fic happening without her, and my forever support, my ride or fucking ride @bearsbeetsbeskar . I love y'all! warnings (for the series): dub-con(ish); explicit sexual content; Reader is described as bony and malnurished (hungry, duh); sex work; fingering; both protected and unprotected PinV; 69; FMF; oral sex (for everybody); ass play; unprotected anal sex; sex toys; dirty talking; might be something else who knows; NO USE OF Y/N warnings (for the chapter): female masturbation, inexperienced reader, fingering, voyerism (kind of); praise kink; mild dirty talk ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴀ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴏꜰ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ. ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ, ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ꜰᴏʀɢᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ɪꜱ ᴀ ᴡᴀʏ ᴏꜰ ʜᴇᴀʟɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʀᴏᴄᴇꜱꜱɪɴɢ ᴛʀᴀᴜᴍᴀ ꜰᴏʀ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴɴᴏᴛ ᴅɪᴄᴛᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴘᴏʟɪᴄᴇ ʜᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴅᴏ ɪᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛʏᴘᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴄʜᴏᴏꜱᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏɴꜱᴜᴍᴇ. ꜱᴛᴀʏ ꜱᴀꜰᴇ, ᴘʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴄᴇ ᴄᴏɴꜱᴇɴꜱᴜᴀʟ ꜱᴇx ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴘʀᴇᴀᴅ ʟᴏᴠᴇ.

It was strange waking up in a warm, nice-smelling room. You’ve spent half the night struggling to fall asleep on the couch that didn't bruise your shoulder blades with its hardness. It was laughable, honestly, any other person in your place would be out like a light, and yet you tossed and turned, your body sinking in the softness of Joel’s couch made you almost uncomfortable. That was until he peeked his head from his room, face wrinkled and sleepy, hair sticking in all the different directions.

"I swear to God, rabbit, if you don't stop spinning like a goddamn rotisserie chicken, I’ll drag this couch outside with you on it."

You pushed the blanket he gave you up to your chin and quickly nodded. Who would've thought the man was such a light sleeper.

It was another half an hour or so until sleep finally took you. Time after time, you replayed the events of the past evening in your head, starting with how Joel approached you on the street and ending with the moment when he literally shoved a set of washed bed linen and a small pillow into your hands. He nodded at the sofa, indicating where you could spend your night, and then towards the closed door - you assumed that his room was hidden behind it - and muttered something resembling "if you need me, knock, but better not, I've had a long day."

You wanted to thank him, but for some reason the words wrapped around your tongue like a spider web, not allowing it to move, so you just nodded and began to make up the sofa. Joel stood there for a couple more moments, and then he himself disappeared behind a wooden door that almost lost its once white color with time.

That was the door you'd been staring at for the last half hour, constantly reminding yourself to blink when your eyes started to water. You had no idea what was ahead of you. It was scary, truly, very fucking scary; but you could also imagine what would happen to you if you hadn't agreed to this fucking adventure.

You were trying to guess what tomorrow would bring you. Would Joel take you to his birdies? Or bring your first client here? Although it was unlikely that he brought unfamiliar men to fuck prostitutes in his apartment ... Nerves gradually overtook all your limbs, icy needles bit the tips of your fingers, cold sweat covered your feet with unpleasant moisture. You turned on your side and curled up in the fetal position, pulling the T-shirt over your knees and hiding your face under the blanket. Tomorrow everything will change. No matter what happens, tomorrow everything would be different. The silence of the apartment was broken by the steady sound of Joel's snoring, which eventually lulled you to sleep.

You were pulled out by a sharp noise and a streaming whisper of Joel's curses from the longest and deepest sleep in the last eternity.

"Fuckin' shit goddamn piece of motherfuckin' crap. Bitch."

You didn't know what elicited such a passionate reaction from the man who seemed more than calm and composed yesterday, but for some reason it made you snicker and you slapped your hand over your mouth to stop the joyful sound.

"Mornin', rabbit. Thought you went into a coma."

He turned to look at you, the open space of the kitchen and living room meant that you were in full view of each other. While you were trying to find a way out of your blanket cocoon, you allowed yourself to look at your host and future boss. Morning Joel was not much different from the one you saw yesterday, except that his hair stuck out in different directions so that the gray strands were more visible, and his shirt was exchanged for a T-shirt. He still wore the same jeans. Barefoot, he moved almost silently around the kitchen opening and closing drawers, taking something from the shelves. You couldn't help but notice how the muscles were obviously moving under his T-shirt, how the dark washed material of his jeans intimately hugged his powerful thighs and buttocks. Whatever he was, he was devilishly handsome. Which ironically suited his reputation.

"Ya gonna keep starin' at my ass or lift yours off the couch and have some breakfast with me?"

You didn't notice that the man looked over his shoulder and noticed your shameless examination of his body a couple of minutes ago. The blood rushed to your cheeks and you felt the familiar heat of shame.

"S-sorry, I wasn't staring."

"'s okay, rabbit. Even nice, considering what we're…" If he said something, you didn't hear, because he mumbled it to himself. You sat up straight, blanket falling off your chest, but still covered your lower half where you currently wore only old cotton panties.

"What we're what?"

"Ehh," he scratched his beard, considering if he should tell you or not and deciding against it. "We'll talk about it after breakfast. And after you take a shower."

"You have a shower here?" You knew that usually, if people or small families were lucky enough to have a separate apartment for themselves, they'd still have to share the shower with other apartments on that floor. It was terrible, but some would rather choose that than have a shower in their home but have to share the place with three assigned roommates like you did.

"Well, I'm definitely not showering in the rain." His attempt at a joke didn't cheer you up, the gears of your brain were still spinning in an attempt to guess what was in store for you. Apart from the obvious. As if hearing your thoughts, Joel once again glanced in your direction, brown eyes ran over your face and body for a couple of seconds, until he shook his head at something he thought about, leaving you in the dark. "C'mon, rabbit, coffee's gettin' cold."

"Coffee?"

When the first jets of scalding hot water flowed over your body, you laughed, letting the water get into your mouth and nose. This feeling was so unfamiliar, but for some reason you missed it like hell. Almost boiling hot, the water like a passionate embrace enveloped your body, every drop was a kiss to your tired skin. For a couple of minutes you just enjoyed the new, yet so familiar feeling, marveling at what comfort such a simple act could bring.

Joel's bathroom was small, bright, and terribly clean. There were no dirty things scattered on the white tile floor, no black mold in the corners, damnit, there were barely any stains on the goddamn mirror. Fucking psychopath. The shower itself wasn’t surrounded by walls, just a small threshold below that did not allow water to spill over the entire bathroom floor, and a simple plastic curtain that protected everything from splashes. A bar of soap and a washcloth found its place on a makeshift shelf on the sidewall. By that time, you wouldn't be surprised if he had twenty-five jars of various products ranging from balm for his slightly curly hair to a cream for his ballsack. You grinned to yourself as you lathered your hands. Your sense of smell was pierced by the odor of pine and something masculine, although you could not name it. This was exactly how Joel should smell. The man was a mystery to you, but every little detail from his slightly manic cleanliness to the smell he chose made total sense to you. You started to wash the soap off your skin, lightly massaging your own shoulders, arms, legs, until your fingers thoughtlessly reached your pussy.

You never actually paid attention to yourself down there, never wondered if you looked wrong or right, didn't find it in yourself to care. Your philosophy was that as long as it didn't hurt, it was just fine.

Your lack of sexual experience never bothered you either. There was nothing you could do about it, not when surviving alone took that much of your strength.

What did Joel say yesterday? Sex is good. Well, you'd be the last to know. The one meaningless encounter you had was so long ago that your partner was already faceless in your mind. How could you find pleasure with someone if you couldn't even do that alone? You had no idea what excited you, what made you feel good. You didn't even know what made you feel bad. With every passing minute you grew more and more desperate. What the fuck were you thinking about when you said yes? One encounter would earn you the name of the worst whore in the neighborhood. If you could just...

Your hands traveled across your body, squeezing your soft tits, caressing your waist, and going lower, where you knew your pleasure had to lie. You closed your eyes in an attempt to find something sexy to think of. Without trying hard, an image of Joel leaning over the sink popped in your mind. As your deft fingers awkwardly tried to play with your soft flesh this and that way, you just continued replaying the way his hips moved, the broadness of his shoulders, the obvious strength in his thick thighs. You bit your lips, trying to shut down the little whimpers and moans your body tried to push out ignoring the calls of morality, or your own reason. You kept circling your buzzing clit, fingers growing tired, arousal seeping from you but release nowhere close. It felt like you were on the verge of sneezing, almost-almost-almost, and then nothing, just the devastating feeling that left your eyes watery and nose running.

You let out a frustrated groan, and then screamed, as you heard a loud banging on the door and then Joel's voice no less loud. "Rabbit, are you boiling alive there or what? Sorry to say, but hot water ain't forever, get outta there."

"Sorry! I'll be out in a sec."

You rushed to turn off the water, surprised that you didn't notice it getting gradually colder. Getting out, you dried yourself off with a big towel Joel gave you after showing you to the bathroom. You reached your hand to the only pair of panties you had on you, frowning at the material still being mostly wet since you only washed them before popping in the shower. Sighing but with no other choice, you put them on, wincing when cold wet material touched your still tensed core. Then there was the matter of clothes. You only had what you wore when you came here, and putting that on now would make the shower you took futile. You should have asked Joel for a t-shirt or something. The thought caught you off guard. You just met the man, and here you were thinking about taking his clothes? But then again, you agreed for this man to practically sell your body, so what's a pair of shared clothing items?

With no other choice, you put a towel around yourself, glad that it was big enough to cover you up to mid-thigh. You were just going to ask Joel for some clothes, and then you'd wash your own.

He was waiting for you in the living room, still dressed the same, but his hair looked as if he combed it. For a few moments you just stood there looking at each other, droplets of water fell from your hair and traced your skin. You wished you could read his mind as you watched him slowly taking in your form - from your bare feet to your wet head - with an emotionless look on his face. You spoke first.

"Can I ask for some clothes? Mine's dirty. Really dirty."

He swallowed, as if thinking over your request. "You won't need it now."

"I'm sorry?" That sounded more like ‘what the fuck’, but you weren't known for the ability to keep a poker face.

"I need you to show me how you get yourself off. I need to know what we're working with." He shrugged his shoulders like it was the most mundane thing you were discussing. His familiarity with sex, the easy relationship he had with something so unknown to you, made you feel like a child. Someone inexperienced, and not important enough to engage with. Someone small. You hated the kinds of people that made you feel that way as much as you hated bulky FEDRA soldiers covered in their armor from head to toe. Their power over you was undeniable and made you feel lesser, transformed you into a bug under a giant's thumb, so easy to pick up and crush.

"What do you mean?" That was obviously the wrong question, but it was the only one you could think of, completely taken aback by his words. You kind of knew what would happen to you in theory, you just didn't know what exactly to expect, whether he'd take you to some shady place full of tired women, or if you'd have a room of your own in a dark basement. The only thing you knew for certain was that soon there'd be a stranger between your legs helping you to earn your living. Not once a thought that you'd have to perform whatever act in front of Joel crossed your mind. It just didn't. "Don't I just... Y’know?"

"What? Get your first client for your pretty face and then leave him unsatisfied, and me with a bad reputation?" Joel raised his eyebrows and shook his head, something he'd been doing a lot recently. "No, rabbit, that’s not how it works here."

A bucket of ice-cold water thrown over a sun-licked body would have felt warmer than a single tear of sweat that dripped down your clean back at that moment. "So you, what, fuckin' test every girl you’ve got?" The slight anger that started boiling in you, but it wasn't pointed at Joel per se, you were irritated with yourself for making the man in front of you into something he wasn't. Into something more human, someone who might have some respect for you, when he clearly was just another man that looked at you as if you were a cunt that occasionally talked.

"I don't test, I make sure they're ready for what's to come and they know what they do. Most of my girls, they have more experience than apparently you do," you internally scolded yourself for the embarrassment that ran through you when his words settled in, there was nothing wrong with not sleeping around, you thought. There was nothing wrong with you. Joel, seemingly oblivious to your turmoil, continued, "so they just show me some stuff, and then I'm content that they can do the job."

You cracked your knuckles, freshly cut fingernails unable to leave the bloody crescents on your palms, something that would help distract yourself from an upcoming panic attack. Your stomach made a summersault as you tried to even out your breathing.

"What?" Joel came closer to you, his broad frame in a simple t-shirt and jeans was towering above you, and that feeling of being too small, too unimportant and weak flooded your lungs again. "You're ready to fuck a stranger, but can't show me how you fuck your pussy? Not sure you can stay, then."

Your head snapped and you met his eyes. They were too curious for a person who was ready to let you go, but you were too deep in your nervous breakdown to notice.

"No, I can, it's just… " He's gonna know and he's gonna throw you out, you thought. No way he wouldn't. He's gonna laugh at you and you're gonna die of hunger in the streets. And then the rats will eat your face. A constant fear that settled in your brain the moment you saw a guy in the streets who met that same fate.

"It's just what?" His voice brought you back from the image of different pests feasting on your lifeless body.

"I know how sex works, okay?" You could still try, maybe he'd be forgiving for your honesty. "But I didn't spend that much time doing this." You threw your hands pointing around in a vague gesture that clarified nothing.

His face was all colors of surprise and he didn't even try to hide it. Brown pools filled with merriment rather than disappointment. "This? Masturbating? You spent over twenty years not getting off?"

"Well, I'm sorry that wasn't my fucking top priority when I was barely conscious to get my body to the bed after working for 17 hours, okay? To an apartment that I shared with three other people!" You felt anger surpassing your shame on the surface and boiling over. You knew snapping at him wasn't the best way to get in the man's good graces, most likely he'd just think you too difficult, and being inexperienced on top of that? Well, that's a one way ticket to the streets. But you couldn't help yourself. Did he actually think that you, what, lived in lavish? Coming home to the silk sheets, having a glass of wine before spending hours on end learning of the pleasure of your body? Was that the kind of girls he had up there? If that was the case, you couldn't hold a candle up to them.

Your days were long, painful and dirty. You'd been lucky enough if you had enough energy to wipe yourself with a semi-clean rag that was once your t-shirt, as you tried to leave the pitiful excuse for the bathroom and hide in your room. Sometimes you were so hungry and exhausted that you didn't even take your dirty boots off, climbing on your bed, stuffing your hands under your head and praying for the sleep to come sooner and relieve you from the pain of your empty stomach and bloodied blisters.

"Okay, okay, don't get so fuckin' aggressive." He raised his hands in defense, "It's okay. At least I know what we have here."

"So, what... I don't qualify? Should I let myself out?"

"No, you should drop the attitude and sit your ass on the couch." He surprised you again, maybe you should have stopped thinking about the man being the Devil's son and right hand. "Lose the towel and underwear and I'm gonna guide you through it, okay?"

Or maybe not.

"You gonna…?"

"No," Joel didn't let you mind stray too far, "I'm gonna watch and tell you what to do, okay? I've got more than enough experience to be able not to touch you and still help you cum."

You huffed, the arrogance this man had must've been bigger than his dick. "Cocky much?"

"That, too." He smiled knowingly and passed your question as a joke, but his face quickly turned serious - professional? - as he gave you another way out. "So, you're in or out?"

You didn't bother to reply, turning to walk towards the couch. Your barely cooperative fingers trembled and you forced yourself to relax as you lifted the towel and sat your ass on the couch, hissing when the cold leather met your asscheeks. Did he make your bed? Joel's eyes were on your covered mound and he smirked.

"That's adorable." His index finger - you thought it was at least as thick as both of yours - pointed at your pussy that was now covered in simple cotton panties with a print that said "Thursday" and a sleepy cartoon cat above it. "Today's Monday, though."

Your face heated, all blood from your body traveling to your cheeks and you mumbled, cursing another sign of your poor sexual experience, "I didn't have rations to s - -"

"It doesn't matter," Joel sounded like he meant it, and moved a chair for himself to sit opposite of you. "Some will find it endearing, and others don't care what you wear as long as they know you'll take it off."

You nodded. It wasn't exactly the encouragement you've been hoping for, but then again, it wasn't Joel's job to encourage you. He got comfortable in the chair, spreading his legs wide in what looked like a power move but he seemed to do it unconsciously, and looked at you expectantly, "Take 'em off."

You nodded, mostly to yourself, and hooked your fingers on the still wet material, tugging it down and hearing a wet slap sound as they ungracefully landed at your feet. Unconsciously, your legs pried together, thighs trying to hide what's laying between them.

Joel was sitting across from a big window, gloomy day's light dancing on his face. He kept looking at you, not hurrying, but visibly losing his patience as his nostrils flared when you just continued pressing your thighs together.

He closed his eyes, rubbing his eyelids, and then focusing back at you.

"Do you want a drink?"

"What?"

"I'm going to pour you a drink, but only this once. I don't allow my girls to be under any kind of substance, understand?"

He got up from the chair and went back to the kitchen, leaving you dumbfounded and half naked alone on the couch. Soon he came back with a glass half filled with amber liquid and handed it to you.

"It's not the best, so better drink it fast, okay?"

You nodded, holding your breath and downing the burning liquid. It wasn't the first time you drank, but you were never a fan of alcohol, usually it only led to an hour of good time followed by at least eight hours of suffering. Joel took the glass from your hand as you coughed, and returned to his seat.

"To make your sexual experience more pleasurable, you need to be excited. You have to be anticipating the pleasure." His voice became more honeyed, or did alcohol already kick in? Whatever it was, you found yourself leaning back on the couch, and relaxing your thighs, though still not spreading them apart. "You need to love your body, you need to be wet and needy. If you don't need anything, you won't get anything. It works like that with everything, including pleasure."

You couldn't take your eyes off his face, furrowed eyebrows cast a shadow over darkening eyes, plump lips that were periodically caressed by his tongue, curved under his words that vibrated under your skin.

"Love your body, rabbit. Caress it, kiss it, excite it. Make yourself needy for your touch, and only then, when you feel like you will cry if you don't do it, can you touch that sweet part of you."

Thoughtlessly, with his words as your accompaniment, with his eyes as your witnesses, you let your hands start caressing your body. Face, neck, hands, with every light touch you grew hotter, with every light touch you wanted more.

"That's it, rabbit, good girl." His voice was barely louder than a whisper, it intertwined with your breathing and you no longer cared how many people were looking at you - a hundred, or him alone. Your hands pulled at the knot holding the towel on your chest, completely exposing you in front of a virtual stranger. As if possessed, you continued stroking yourself, concentrating on the tense nipples, pinching and immediately caressing them with the soft pads of your fingers. Your moan drowned out the quiet "fuck" that Joel gritted through his clenched teeth, and your tightly closed eyes didn't allow you to see him leaning closer, as if he was trying to sniff your arousal in the air.

Your movements grew bolder, greedier. You continued to caress your body, squeezing, pinching and immediately soothing the sensitive skin with gentle touches. Your neck was covered with beads of sweat, and your tongue was constantly moistening your dried lips. Your body was buzzing, you felt like every nerve under your skin was raising to attention, every pore seeking the pleasure your touches promised. Your pussy throbbed, and you clenched your thighs together but now for a completely different reason.

"Touch your clit, rabbit, go on."

His voice was low, like a growl, it also sounded like a beast that was trying to break out of you. Forcing yourself to move slower with all your might, through the hollow between your breasts, diving into the pool of your navel, you soon brought the fingers of your right hand to your almost vibrating clit. Trying not to lose touch with your pleasure, you continued to pull at your swollen nipples followed by Joel's pleased hums. As if forgetting to report to your brain, your thighs parted, exposing your thirsty, wet core where your fingers were reaching. Not wanting to torture yourself anymore, you traced your middle and ring finger through your slit to your sopping entrance to gather some slick and brought them back to your twitching clit.

Your body shattered, as you let out a broken cry when your fingers started playing with your pussy. It was still tense, remembering the pleasure you failed to get mere moments - or was it hours - ago. Up, down, circle. Up, down, circle. Faster, faster, faster still. Your fingers felt cramped, your release nowhere close. Tears sprung to your face and you let out helpless cries and moans, knowing full well that you're failing. Again.

Was there something so wrong with you? Were your settings so fucked up, that even though you wanted the pleasure, you felt your orgasm mocking you so so close, you still couldn't grab it.

Your movements became more frustrated, frantic, almost painful at this point, as your left hand proceeded to practically torture your raw nipples.

"Stop, rabbit." You ignored the voice of the only witness of your most intimate failure and continued flaying your sensitive pussy with rough strokes, almost like you were trying to get revenge at her for failing you. "I said stop, dammit." A large, slightly damp palm wrapped around the wrist of your possessed hand and only then did you abruptly open your eyes, realizing how close Joel was. Your face was hurting from the strain with which you wrinkled it, your teeth almost began to crumble right in your mouth.

"I told you to love your body, not to take revenge on it for all the sins of humanity. What the hell, rabbit?"

"I was almost there," you sobbed pathetically. Your once again lost pleasure made your whole body ache, like you were twisted in the wrong way, bones broken, skin bruised.

"Yes, you were, and what happened then? Why the fuck did you go serial killer on your poor pussy?"

"I couldn't."

"You couldn't?" His eyebrows shot up as he waited for you to continue.

"I get to this point where I feel like it's right there, like I might cum any second, and then I don't." You dropped your head, eyes raking over your naked body, filling your head with embarrassment as Joel, on his knees in front of you and way too close to your still aching pussy, acted as if it was the most normal situation ever. Maybe it was, you couldn't understand anything anymore. "I think I'm broken," your whisper was defeated, just as your spirit.

Joel was still holding your wrist, his thumb thoughtlessly drawing circles on your skin when he shook his head and tried to look into your salt-soaked eyes.

"You're not broken, rabbit. You just think too much with that pretty head'a yours. Y'see," his hand let go of yours, and he brought his index finger to your thigh, tracing abstract lines on your damp skin. You didn't shy away or tell him to stop, so he continued, "pleasure ain't in your head. You need to learn to turn it off."

Easier said than done, you huffed. You were overthinking your whole life, every decision, every movement, every fucking breath. If having an orgasm meant to stop doing that, you were fucked.

"And what if I can't?"

"Then you'll have to learn, and while you do that, you can try giving off your control." You met his eyes, curiosity pooling in yours, determination in his. "Will you let me help you out a little?"

You were either too tired, or too scared to ask him to elaborate what he meant by that. Your body was tired and needy, wanting something you couldn’t give it. Maybe he could. He brought you to this point without even touching. You nodded once, not wanting to appear too eager. Joel nodded in return, sealing the deal.

His hot palms wrapped around your thighs, spreading them wider and allowing him to fit between. He didn't look up at you anymore, all his attention was turned to the center of your womanhood, to the place where you were burning with hellfire. He must have felt at home.

“Look at her, so pretty, so needy. She just needs the right kind of attention.”

It was on the verge of ridiculous to hear him speak about your pussy like that, but you were far from laughing when his thick fingers pried your drenched lips open, exposing your clit to his eyes. His face was too close, and for a moment you could swear you saw him lick his lips, an action that made you both excited and uneasy. There was no way he would…No, as his thumb connected to the burning skin to the right of your clit, somewhere where you rubbed yourself raw, you gave yourself a smack for your passing thought. He’s a man, he wouldn’t. He started circling your clitoris with the rougher tip of his thumb, without directly touching it. Joel’s movements were slow, patient. He listened to your breath hiking up, little puffs of air roughly leaving your lungs when he circled too close to the pinnacle of your pleasure. Your eyes went glassy, looking at him staring directly at your cunt and whispering little praises did something to your body. It elicited a reaction you weren’t ready for.

“Pussy so obedient, she takes everything and asks for more. Hear how wet she is?” Proving his words he dipped lower, gathering a gush of slick that never stopped streaming from your entrance. The sounds were vulgar, you never heard them. You were never this wet before, and you’d start worrying if the physical joy he brought to you wasn’t so overwhelming.

You felt yourself climbing on that familiar ladder of pleasure, for the third time today your body started thrumming, begging you for release. Sending to hell all the thoughts holding you back, you let the music of sex pour out of your very gut. Quiet moans, desperate cries - all of it only raised the level of your pleasure. “Good girl, don’t hold it. Let me hear you sing.”

Joel continued building sensation stroking diagonally across your clit. His surprisingly soft, light touch gradually became more intense as he exchanged stroking to playing with pressure. He let his thumb and pointer finger squeeze your sensitive bud, gently gripping your swollen skin.

You felt like you were about to be torn apart, you just lacked something… You couldn't understand what and almost sobbed in despair. Joel noticed that your melody was becoming minor. “What do you need, rabbit? What does your beautiful pussy want? Listen to her.”

“I don’t know,” your body thrashed like you were possessed, but Joel pressed his left hand into your navel steadying you.

“Yes, you do. Listen to your body, baby, come on.”

“Fingers, please, put your fingers in me!”

“Good girl,” he whispered victoriously. His thumb returned to stroking your puffy, tortured clit just in time as two of his thick fingers entered your begging body.

No matter how much you studied yourself, no matter how many fingers you shoved into your inexperienced hole, nothing could compare to how Joel's fingers stretched you. Just two, they brought a burning sensation, which with its sole existence pushed you beyond the limits of pleasure known to man. His pace, which started out slow and gentle, steadily increased, bringing a new level of intensity. You felt your body gravitating towards the much needed release as the blood rushed to your core. Joel never stopped paying attention to your clit, drawing tight circles around the tense bud as he kept exploring your insides with his fingers. Your mind was blank as the arousal overtook all of your senses, goosebumps danced on your skin and the salty taste of your sweat gave your lips a new flavor. As if he was possessing your body, without mistake Joel kept zoning in on the areas your body responded to the most, his touch more rhythmic and consistent as he went. Every moan and tiny gasp that left you he used as the roadmap to your inevitable pleasure. You let yourself get lost in his movements, the pleasure he elicited from your body, and the heavy breathing that you both shared. Your cunt enveloped his digits perfectly, tight entrance drooling around thick fingers that shallowly thrusted in and out of you in a steady motion, curling at the very end and touching a spot you didn’t know you owned. You were exhausted with all of the sensation as you finally cried out, your own hands squeezed your tits enough to leave bruises.

The feeling that enslaved your body was all-consuming, and you were too consumed by euphoria to notice the hungry, almost possessed look Joel sported on his face as your juices gushed all over his hand.

"Whatcha thinkin' about, rabbit?"

Joel got off the floor and threw himself on the couch beside you. With a quick and efficient motion he tugged the slightly wet towel from under you and cowered your naked front as much as he could. Your lips curved in a tight-lipped smile as you wordlessly thanked him.

"It was hard, doing this." As soon as your brain cleared from the post-orgasming fog, you started thinking again. Bees of rationality stinging your still soft and barely functioning body, making you doubt everything. "And I could only cum when you helped me. Don't think the clients will be up for that."

"Do you think you could masturbate and make yourself cum on your own now?" He leaned his head against the back of the sofa, but turned slightly to you, watching how the familiar sense of doubt twisted your face.

"I think so, yeah. You... you showed me and... Why?" You copied his pose, and now your heads were turned to each other ten centimeters apart. You didn't find it awkward.

"I can show you everything else, too. If you're afraid or not sure. I mean it's not hard to find a man who'll get off on your innocence," you wrinkled your nose imagining a pervert that would ask you to put on bows and white stockings. "Or I can guide you through, teach you anything you'll need before you start workin'."

"Why would you do that?"

"Why not?" He shrugged his shoulders, trying to find a more convincing response. "It's in my best interest, isn't it?"

You shrugged your shoulders back, your nakedness becoming mundane to you, even though you started feeling chills creeping up your body as the towel failed to keep you warm.

"So?"

"Yeah, I think it'd be best," the pleasure Joel gave to you still thrummed through your veins, making your decision easier than it should've been. "For the both of us."

thank you for reading, leave a comment if you liked it!

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