writteninthebinds

[writteninthebinds]

Dirty Girl pt. 2

Part One is here 18+

Summary: if you saw my first post of this..no you didn’t..lmao but no really, something hit me and I wanted to change perspectives completely. Anywho, you pop Joel’s cherry! 🫶🏼🍒 note: if there’s typos, I’ll fix them later. Pinky promise.

tw: 18+, rimming, ass play, anal, pegging, dirty talk, tit play, mention of lactations kink and cream pies, minor daddy kink (once)

—

Joel’s never done it before. Been pegged.

He can’t get it out of his head though.

The very second you manhandled him on his couch that day, his hole clenching around your tongue as an orgasm ripped through him, Joel knew he was already fucked.

All those pretty sundresses and prefect braids. Pretty mouth that only offers up respectful yes ma’am’s and no sirs. Nibble fingers that help the old ladies sew stitches on Saturdays, and the kitchen pack away baked goods after closing.

But you aren’t the innocent angel of Jackson everyone sees. If only they knew.

So Joel plots, gathers supplies, and day dreams about the way he’s gonna break you. He can picture it perfectly. The second he tells you what he wants, your mind’s gonna go blank.

It does. Your mind spins and swirls with a promise too sweet, like vanilla ice cream and cherry syrup.

Joel’s smug. He tries not to laugh, but fails. You just look too damn cute. Big bug eyes glued to the item Joel just tossed between you both.

The silicon dildo surrounded by an intricate tangle of thick black straps.

It’s how you got here.

With a view of Joel Miller on his knees, cock and balls hanging heavy and full from behind.

You lap at his hole like you love it. You feel the way it twitches and pulses beneath your tongue when you try to push in, to lick inside him. It unlocks something feral in you, has your pussy throbbing.

You’re eager and messy. Spit runs down to his balls, coats your chin. You sound fucked, whispering some of the nastiest shit Joel’s ever heard.

“Your hole tastes so good.”

“Thank you..fuck..thank you.”

“You’re so tight, Daddy.”

Joel’s fingers grip the bedsheets for dear life. Sweet broken sounds slip out of his mouth. Every word out of yours is a kick to the gut, his dick hard and jerking, leaking onto the sheets.

“Shut..shut up,” he whines.

And then you’re three fingers deep.

Stroking, rubbing, curling. You feel out every ridge and bump inside him. You explore for a long time and Joel lets you.

It’s fucked. How hard it gets him to just lay here and let you play with his body like this. Pretty eyes trained on his already puffy rim.

It’s when you find that sweet spot, the tips of yours fingers dipping in, that Joel physically thrust down out of instinct. He meant to stop you right away, but his mouth stops working as you zero in on his prostate. Joel humps the mattress, balls tightening when he gasp, “Oh god, stop. Stop. I’ll cum and I don’t..”

You stop. He outright moans, voice shaky, “Grab..grab the thing.”

And you do, and Joel hears you swear softly. It’s quick breaths and soft scrambling, the fucked up feeling of you leaving him empty when you pull your fingers out.

With a glance over his shoulder, Joel sees your trembling fingers. Slippery and shivering a little as you try to tighten the straps. The sight of you completely naked, tits heavy and skin blushed the softest prettiest pink.

Joel breathes, “Here..like this.”

He rolls over, tugs you close between his legs.

Everything feels so soft. Intimate. Intense. All you hear is the tiny movements of you both, your shared labored breathing as Joel fixes the harness just right.

When it slips into the perfect position, you jolt and let out the cutest yelp when the cool silicone comes to rest right against your clit. You realize it’s made that way, for you to grind against. Joel chuckles as your eyes roll back a little.

His voice is sinful, rich and dark when he ask, “Yeah? Feel good, sweetie?”

“Yes,” you whisper.

And Joel didn’t think he could get any harder. From your sweet voice and sloppy eagerness, to your nervousness. He does though, watching you dump a palm full of oil into your hand, reaching down to sink two then three fingers back inside him, and then coat the cock you’re wearing.

You hesitate though.

With Joel on his back, thick thighs spread. You’re right up against him. Joel feels the silicone slipping between his cheeks. He watches your pretty eyes dart all over his body, and then they drop.

Joel reaches up to cup your face, voice quiet when he checks in. “What is it, baby?”

“I don’t..I don’t wanna hurt you.”

Joel’s belly and heart clench at the same time. Your words are whispered like the sweetest confession he’s ever heard. His sweet, dirty girl.

He sits up and slots his warm wet mouth over yours. He brings you back. And when he pulls away, he promises, “Oh sweetie..you won’t. I want this. I want you.”

And you believe him.

The first full slide in is everything. Joel feels like he might be high, has to remind himself to breathe. You stay like that for a bit. Just kissing and touching, but buried to the hilt. You touch Joel like he’s precious. Gentle hands sweeping across his worn body. It melts him into something gooey and warm.

Joel eventually tells you to move.

You’re still timid though. Eyelashes fluttering, lips parted and chin down as you give him short little shy thrust.

You gasp when he cups your tits. It feels dirty and wrong. The way you’re switched all around. The way he pulls at your nipples with you inside him.

Joel laughs, rolls his hips up and against yours faster and harder. He growls, “C’mon, dirty girl..I know you’ve wanted this. Now fuck me good.”

And it’s like a switch flips.

You brace your body over his, pull back, and slam home. It punches the air from Joel’s lungs but you don’t let up. You focus on going deep. Your thrusts are heavy and hard, feeding Joel’s raw hole every inch.

Your tits are swaying in his face, and before Joel can himself, you’re pulling his mouth to one of your nipples. You groan deeply, voice dipping into something sweetly condescending, hips never stopping. “Oooh..there you go, baby. Just like that.”

Joel’s cock jumps and drools from where it’s lying on his belly. He fucking whimpers.

Mouth latched tightly, he sucks slowly and deeply, and lets his fucked up mind wander to what it would be like to actually drink from you.

Mouth and belly and ass full of you.

It’s only when you find the right angle, the entire length grinding against his prostate with every full thrust, that Joel pulls off.

It’s building fast. His orgasm. The pressure in his belly and hips, his ass and balls. It’s overwhelming. It’s when you wrap your hand around Joel’s cock and start stroking him in time that his mind goes blank.

“Ooh..fu..fuck..fuck..”

You feel it. In every part of his body. You watch as his eyes roll back completely, and his cock grows even harder in your hand. Joel shatters when he cums.

You don’t stop. He cums hard and you fuck him through every second of it. It’s only when he starts shaking that your hips slow down.

A true whine slips from his throat, broken and raw. “Don’t..Don’t stop.”

“But..”

Joel’s eyes aren’t even open anymore, but he slips his legs around you, caging you in. “Want you to cum while you fuck me.”

So you do.

And it’s good, and you’re afraid it might unlock something else for the both of you. Watching Joel squirm from the overstimulation, spent cock spitting up anything it can offer and twitching like he wants more but can’t.

You focus on you. The grind of your clit against the base and the dirty thoughts of Joel’s wrecked rim. How puffy and red does it look right now? Will it stay open a little, gape, after you pull out?

You’re gonna beg him to see it. You know it.

The thought sends you over the edge.

It’s not until much later, after clean up and when you’re finally laying together that you mutter sleepily, “I get it now.”

“Get what, sweet girl?”

You yawn, eyes closed. A little giggle slips out though. “Cream pies. Can’t help imagining this, but being able to come inside you, watch it leak out.”

Joel’s eyes pop open at that. His cheeks burn hot and he blushes cherry red.

—

I hope you guys like it. I know pt. 1 portrayed kinda mean!joel but I really felt soft Joel call to me in this fic so 🫶🏼 we love a diverse boy

[writteninthebinds]

after reading Dirty Girl…i kinda need more…🧍🏻‍♀️(PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE)

i’m blaming you for this moment of realization.

Ahhhhh I got you!! 🥹🤭🙂‍↕️ Dirty Girl pt.2 coming soon. Let’s find out just how flexible Joel Miller really is lmao

[writteninthebinds]

Dirty Girl pt. 1

Part Two is here 18+

Notes: I’m sorry for not updating anything recently. This past week has been hell, but I did wanna say I’m gradually working on things. I do have a treat for you though. A thought.

tw: 18+, rimjobs, ass play

—

Rim jobs with Joel.

Yeah, okay I can see a version where Joel’s never tried that or maybe isn’t into it. Not my Joel. My Joel Miller is a filthy kinky mf.

It would take him by surprise though, the first time you go for it. Joel never would’ve expected it from you. A pretty little thing. A sweet girl.

A sweet girl who gives sweet blowjobs.

That’s all it is. A blowjob. Your delicate fingers stroking him, wet mouth sliding over him. Joel doesn’t think anything of it when you sink lower, cant your neck at a deeper angle.

You lift his balls out of the way, tongue dragging over his taint. Joel’s breath catches. He’s hairier there but you don’t care. You lick again, across his taint and up the underside of his sack, tongue following the seam. Your spit coats everything.

Joel groans. “Fuck. What are yu’ doin’?”

Your hands push his thick thighs farther apart so you can get closer, deeper. You yank at Joel’s hips, pulling him further down and then tilting them up. When you lick again, your eager tongue laps over his hole.

Joel’s entire body jolts, and then the filthiest, most sinful, condescending laugh fills the air.

“Oh ooohhh, you dirty fuckin’ girl.”

And that’s how you end up with kinda mean!Joel lazily jacking his own cock while he tells you how dirty you are for wanting this while you lick him until he’s soft and open, and he cums all over your face and mouth after you get a finger inside him.

—

Pls tell me I’m alone in the magical land of Joel Miller rimjobs lmaooo 🫶🏼

[writteninthebinds]

your fics are so good i'm creaming will you ever make a masterlist? :)

Just posted! Ty so much for asking because honestly it got me out my head enough to get it finished tonight lol 🫶🏼

[writteninthebinds]

Writteninthebinds’ Masterlist 💜

Finally, finally, a Masterlist of everything l've written so far. I relish in every interaction with you guys. Every like, comment, repost. I cry laughing at some of your reactions. Thank you so so much for everything. I'll keep updating this as I go. 🫶🏼

Joel Miller

A Great Man

"What do you mean I can't kiss the wrinkles by his eyes and the scar on his nose? I can't trace the bumpy curve of it in the moonlight, where it's been broken so many times before?"

Touched Starved 18+

"What if touched starved Joel turns into a massive, pussy drunk and driven WHORE because of you?"

Fast in Dirty 18+

Joel's gotta crush on the girl that works nights at the CVS. He swears it's nothin, that he's just a guy lookin' out for a nice girl in the rougher part of town. He's lying.

Dirty Girl pt. 1 18+

Rimjobs with Joel

Dirty Girl pt. 2 18+

You pop Joel’s cherry 🍒

Tommy Miller

Young Tommy Miller

"I think we can all agree that young Tommy Miller was a whore. Beautiful, cocky, too smug for his own good."

What We Can't Have Pt. 1

"Tommy has never wanted more, and you know you can't do just one night with Tommy Miller."

Joel & Tommy Miller

Bulky Miller Boys

"The Miller brothers are better bulky and big, and I will die on this hill."

Cowboy Pillows 18+

"The Miller brothers are both tits kinda guys."

Make Me Choose? Pt. 1

"What I can't figure out is which one it is. Joel or Tommy?"

There's a heavy beat of silence that follows. A slow filthy grin splits across your face, eyes sparking with something dirty. Your next words land heavy.

"You think they'd make me choose?"

Make Me Choose? Pt. 2 18+

"Bare legs stretched wide and draped over the outside of Joel's thick thighs. Your back sits flushed with his chest.You've never felt anything like this. The way he holds you. It's not rough. Hands built from years of hard work, a lifetime of violence, they caress you, sweep along your ribs and belly with a soft reverence."

[writteninthebinds]

FUCK YES.

STRUTTER!

summary: against joel’s best intentions, he decides that yeah; he’ll have to be the one to teach you a thing or two.

(smut—the whole shabang, corruption kink?, daddy is always a guarantee, morally righteous joel until he isn’t, a bit freudian at times consume at your own risk!) a/n: i actually hate writing smut lol i love every bit before it but this idea was gnawing at me so i had to get it out. she’s a long one. hope you enjoy! my titles are always songs and i highly recommend listening along:)

Joel didn’t want to take you home.

He had a rule; one strictly enforced and well maintained far into his fifties. Of course, that didn’t mean he couldn’t talk to girls your age. Not that there were many seeking him out — or any he was even interested in, thinking them too young and naive — but he was allowed to talk, if need be. And you talked a lot. Joel noticed when you entered the dive bar that night. You were college-aged, he assumed — too young for him — but beautiful, sure. With a friend dressed in a similar too-short-skirt-get-up with a boyfriend groping at her behind. College kids. He payed you no further thought as he drank his beer clean to the bottom of the glass, instead watching the band play tunes he was happily familiar with until he was interested by a screech. The empty stool beside him scraping across the floor; you sitting beside him. You smiled at him in polite acknowledgment and he hummed. A polite college kid. He forgets you’re even there — too enthralled in his drink and the band and the peace before he hears a small cough. You. You’re smiling at him again before asking, “hi, what’s your name?” He replies in a curt ‘Joel.’ Short. Polite. Uninterested. You tell him your name and he seems unbothered. But then you continue. “So. What are you doing sat all by yourself, Joel?” And then, with a sigh and shake of his head, Joel was forced to reconsider your respectful stature and study the long expanse of your legs and lousy attempt of cleavage — not demure or classy at all, and he had no a idea why a girl your age you would be trying to chat up the oldest man at the bar. You could’ve been able to play it off as making friendly conversation if not for the grin splayed on your tilted face, held by your hand rested below your chin. You’re peering up at Joel with a look he can only describe as trouble. Of course a girl your age couldn’t hide her emotions well. But he could. “Lookin’ for some peace and quiet.” You snort. “At Smokey’s dive bar? On live-music-special-Saturday?” Joel nods and turns away from you, instead facing back toward the bustle. “C’mon. You aren’t bored?” You speak to him again and he only spares you a quick glance before staring back out toward the performance. “Go back to your friends, kid.” He can see your smile widen in his peripheral and he hates to give in to your cheek, but you were right; he was bored. “Can’t. It’s kind of hard to ‘hang out’ with people only interested in grinding on eachother all night, y’know.” “Ain’t that so. Well. That’s when you’re supposed to take your cue to find someone else to…dance with, or whatever you call it. Easy out.” Look at him, handing free advice to a young girl, and he almost feels accomplished with just that; slightly hoping you’ll take it and go and dance with a frat boy that is surely hiding within the sea of bouncing heads. But then, of course, knee high boots and flirty smile you — he should’ve known better when the toe of your shoe began to graze his — says “and you don’t think I’m doing that already?”

Trouble. He was right, you are trouble. Hah, he laughs at your gall. “I’m old enough to be your father, sweetheart. I ain’t gonna be dancin’ with you.” Ridiculous. You’re ridiculous. He scoffs into his drink. “You’re trying to tell me you’re only here for a bad cover band and cheap beer?” And now you’re the one laughing, inching closer than before and he can smell lingers of your perfume. Sweet, sugary, syrupy, like sticky caramel and if he had smelt it on you anywhere else, he would’ve thought you to be the same; sweet. “I’m sure as hell not here for the same reason you are, that’s for sure.” “And what do you think that is?” He meets you in the middle. Leaning on the wooden bar and being the one to move even closer to your face. He watches your sultry expression falter for a second so quick he almost missed it; your eyes widening when he plays you at your own game. If he knew any better, he might think you intimidated. “Well, you ain’t old enough to know half of these songs. And you ain’t exactly dressed like you’re here just to network, so a man can put two and two together, kid.” “Ouch.” But you bite on the straw of your drink with a sly smirk still in tow and Joel finds you so irritatingly cheeky. Talking to him like this, flirting with him like this. Where is your father? “So not only are you calling me a slut, but you’re saying I have bad music taste? Thanks a lot.” “Hey, I didn’t say anythin’. That’s all you.” You have the nerve to bridge the already little gap between you and Joel, positioning yourself to whisper in his ear and he should have half the mind to pull away, but he doesn’t. He can feel the graze of your lips when you whisper,

“Well, neither are true.” You murmur it out in a punch like it’s a venomous secret. Like your admission is something dirty, something so volatile that even the hedonistic crowd behind you would frown. “So you regularly listen to,” he hears the rumble of the band playing a song he had on his walkman when he was around your age “Kiss?Okay. Cool.”

Your previous unbothered complexion now starts to flush in embarrassment and you move back to an appropriate distance between you and the grown adult across from you. “No. I mean yes, but no. No, i’m trying to say—“ “That you ain’t no slut?” You nod and he smirks. He wants to say prove it, he knows what the youth do in college (he was worse in his day) but you’ve turned so suddenly meek and quiet that it just spurs him further. “Well that’s nice sweetheart. Real nice.” You aren’t stupid. He’s being plainly sarcastic and you want to wipe that arrogant smirk off his face. “No, I mean it Joel.” “Oh, so you mean it?” His smirk twists deeper. But then you say something he didn’t expect from you. “Yeah, I mean it. I’m a virgin.” He’s not sure if you’re playing at some weird college-girl fantasy he thinks you think he has, or if the new constant of your jolting leg is a tell that you’re revealing a coaxed truth that came from you actually taking offense at his jeer. His brow lifts all the same. “That’s…well, okay. Good for you.” “I’ve only ever, um— I’ve only ever kissed before, too.”

Now he finds that hard to believe. You appeared so promiscuous. But now that he’s really looking at you; scrutinizing your wide-eyed gaze, your neatly manicured nails and pretty pout, he supposes maybe he was wrong about you. Examining you, he’s not really sure you’re even old enough to be in this bar. He doesn’t know how to reply anymore because this isn’t the same harmless flirting like before, it’s something…else. “You don’t gotta…you don’t gotta tell me more, kid, I believe you.” “Joel you’re not— you’re not understanding, okay?” “Enlighten me. What’s there to understand?” You look frozen. So opposite to the fox who approached him like a predator on the prowl, a girl so confident and proud in your presence. Now, he thinks you resemble something closer to a baby fawn; frozen in headlights and staring at him so clearly unsure of yourself or what your move is here. He’s finally seeing through you, past that big girl facade you greeted him with and he’s thrilled. “I want you to…” You start but nervously pause, biting at the flesh inside your cheek. “I wanna…you know.”

Oh he knows what you want. He suspected it when you first sat beside him, but now he knows what exactly you’re seeking from him. “You wanna what? You look flustered. You’re fidgeting with your hair and just blinking at him, silently. And he likes it. He likes that you’re nervous— good, you should be. Shit, he needs to be teaching you a lesson. What if you had come up to any other degenerate geriatric man? What if you had encountered Joel’s own delinquent brother? There’s no telling what they’d do to you and now Joel’s getting furious. So irritatingly agitated at you for your stupid naivety like all girls your age, and this is why he doesn’t like to go younger. The father in him is worrying that it’s your father’s fault — maybe it’s the reason you’re seeking male validation from a man like him, and he hopes he did a good enough job with his own daughters that they’ll never carry that same burden he pities you for. It’s sad, really. Now he’s just feeling sad for you. And angry for you. And at you.

Well what would you know, damn, maybe even a little paternal for you. And if you’re really lucky, maybe Joel will give that satisfaction to you.

Maybe. He hasn’t decided yet. You’re still staring at him wordlessly with your mouth parted like you’re trying to think of what to say, starting to form a word but instead choosing just to gape at him. “I think it’s time you go home, kid. I ain’t giving you what you want. It ain’t right, you hear me?” He can’t help but put on the same stern voice he uses when he lectures his own children or the men working for him (children in their own right) and you go still. “You got a ride home?” You nod. “Now don’t go tellin’ me it’s those idiots over there.” You don’t reply and he sighs. “C’mon. Be smarter than that. They’re halfway from blacked out. What’dya supposed to do now, smart girl?” He’s shaking his head and standing up off of the bar stool with a low groan, mumbling swears as he fishes his wallet out of his jean pocket. He takes out a size-able guess of both your totals. “I’ll give you a fuckin’ ride. C’mon. Let’s go.” He knows you’re scared at his annoyance, his gruff tone and constant shaking of his head, but he’s glad. Again, you should be. He’s selfishly hoping you’ll say yes to his offer so he can lecture you even more. Stranger danger and all that. If your old man won’t, he will. He’s not scared to be a surrogate.

You’re still just looking at him with this shocked expression on his face and he could laugh at how much your demeanor has changed. You were way out of your league here and now you know it, this is what you get for trying to act grown when you’re just the naive little girl he saw enter the bar. “Um…” “I ain’t waitin’ all day.”

You don’t hesitate. You get up and follow him out the bar. He’s hoping the cold air from outside the disgusting heat of the room will shaken you up. Make you reckon with the fact that you’re about to get into a strangers car all by your own stupid mission. He unlocks the passenger seat of his truck for you to get in. “Nice truck,” you say, and it’s the first normal thing you’ve said to him all night. You sound so young, with your voice shaking a bit, and maybe you truly are as sweet as the sugary scent of you that mixes with the ash-littered smell of his car.

“Thanks. Buckle your seatbelt.” The ignition starts and now he’s driving. You haven’t even told him where you live yet. Are you that naive? “You get in the car of every old man who offers you a ride?” “No.” “Well you’re in my car. What’s that about? You better not be accepting any more rides from strangers, you hear me?” He glances over at you and meets your gaze in the middle; you’re already watching him with an expression he can’t quite discern. “What were you thinkin’ tonight, huh? No — actually, you weren’t thinkin’ at all, were you? Tryna sleep with a man old enough to be your father…fuckin’ hell.” He hears you gulp. “I just…I just wanna do it already. Get it over with. Everyone else in college has.” So childish. Of course you’re falling victim to inadvertent peer pressure. He should be taking you over his knee. He sighs low and disappointed. “Get it over with? If you’re tryna ‘get it over with’ you go find a nice little frat boy your age. Not a grown man, damn it.” “But I don’t want some frat boy! I wanted, someone…you know.” He peers over at you again with his eyebrow raised. “Someone…experienced. Like you.” You’re looking at him with a brazened look of lust. That is what he couldn’t read on your face. It’s not outward like your previous persona, it’s a timid, reserved doe-eyed ogle that in any other circumstance he wouldn’t have picked up. “You’ve gotta be shittin’ me. You’re still tryin’ this bullshit? I—“ You’ve rendered him speechless. He doesn’t have a clue on what to do with you. On how to get it through to you that this is wrong. He swears lowly to himself again. “You are way out of line here kid. Where’dya live. I’m takin’ you straight home.” He’s so close to raising his voice at you. You’re testing his patience now. “No, Joel, listen, can we just maybe…please?” Please?

You say it so quietly and reserved that it nearly causes him to fucking crash. Please?

He’s infuriatingly sober and yet he can feel himself start to think illogically. He’s thinking about taking you home. He’s beginning to realize that maybe he’s going to have to scare you a bit. Really show you how out of your depths you are. Give you the chance to chicken-out. Please? Or if it comes to it, if it really has to come to it, maybe he has to be the one to take initiative. Teach you what you’re at this point begging him for, to ensure that you will never, ever, have to ask some other stranger again. For your safety. He turns the car around. He doesn’t say a word, and he swears he can hear your heart beating. Make out the dull thump of it in the silence. “Where are we going?” He lets you figure it out yourself, pulling into the drive of his suburban home five minutes later and turning off the ignition of his truck. “Let’s go.” You follow him right inside without even hesitating and he can’t tell if he wants to laugh or shout at you. Inside, Joel’s home is exactly what you expected from him. Homely. Typical suburbia interior. There’s a fire place and picture frames of two girls, only a few years younger than you, plastered on every wall of the house — his daughters, you presume — and you’re slightly jealous. Jealous of the respect he must have for them. The care he must have for them. Enviously wishing it was you in those photos, making Joel proud, standing in the family gallery. You don’t even know him. When Joel tells you to ‘take a seat’ you can feel your heart leap into your throat. You’re nervous, of course. You don’t know what he’s deciding to do with you and truly, aside from the nerves, you’re excited. You’re beginning to think he’ll just lecture you. Give you a practiced speech you’re sure his own daughters have received and you don’t know what to do with the rush it sends down your spine. You sit on his leather couch, sinking into it as you watch him light a cigarette. He drags a kitchen chair from the dining table, lifting it until it’s positioned in front of you. He sits down, right across from you, leaning back and spreading his legs with a stoic expression. He doesn’t say anything. He just stares at you. Resting his arm on the back off the chair. Waiting. You aren’t sure what you’re supposed to do here. You wait a little longer for him to do…anything, but he just takes a slow drag of his cigarette, making direct eye contact with you as he blows the smoke right into your face. “Well?” He’s got you cornered now. You’re in his house, the balls in your court, but he knows you haven’t figured that out quite yet. Still waiting on him to make a move that he never plans on making. You shrink into the seat, picking at the fabric of your skirt nervously. “Are we gonna…?” He shrugs. Taking another drag of his cigarette. “You’re a big girl. You tell me.” If you want to play grown ups with Joel, you’re going to have to do it yourself.

He thinks he watches the moment it clicks for you. You blink once, twice, three times, and he watches your throat bop again in a gulp. And then, he can’t fucking believe it, but you slowly begin to move off the couch, sinking both your knees onto the carpet below you, kneeling in front of him. He chokes on the smoke he’s inhaling. “Well, shit.” You’ve got gall, he’ll give you that. He can visibly see your hands shaking on your lap as you peer up at him, tucking your bottom lip behind your teeth. If Tommy could see him now. Having a girl probably thirty years his junior— fuck — on her knees in front of him. Unsure of what to do because she’s never even done this before. So innocent. Pure. What better is he than Tommy? He’s got a company. He’s a father. Yet he’s here defiling you. Taking this from you and no, he isn’t any better than Tommy at all. In this moment? Maybe even worse. ‘I’ve only ever kissed.’ “What are you doin’?” “I don’t…I don’t know. I just—“ His pinches the bridge of his nose with a sharp exhale, closing his eyes briefly before cupping his mouth and jaw with a shake of his head. He shouldn’t be doing this. You shouldn’t be here. You’re a fucking baby. So young, so disgustingly trusting, chaste yet so dirty. He can’t believe that he’s about to tell you to,

“Lay down on the couch.” “What?” “Lay down.” He sighs. “C’mon.” His eyes are still closed like he can’t even watch what’s about to happen. When he opens them, you’re still on your knees. “What did I say?”

“No, Joel, I wanna—“

“That ain’t happening.” “I wanna learn. Please. I don’t need you to—“ You sound petulant. Almost whining at him and he pinches the bridge of his nose again, this time harder, with his eyes shut tightly like it’ll snap him out of allowing this to continue. “If we do this, you gotta promise me you ain’t gonna be askin’ no more fuckin’ strangers for shit like this. Okay? I’ll…fuck, I’ll teach ‘ya a thing or two, but you’ve gotta behave now. Okay?” You nod slowly, and he can tell it’s hit you that this is happening. “Okay, okay I swear Joel—” “Good. Unbuckle my belt, then.” It’s only now that you realize he’s hard. Really hard. Like so visible through his jeans you’re sure you can make out exactly where…everything is. You’re staring so blatantly at it and you don’t even know it but Joel’s been hard since your little ‘please?’ He laughs at you. “What? You ain’t ever even see a hard on before?” You shake your head ‘no’ and he smirks. “Forgot you’ve only ever kissed before, shit. No wonder you’re so fuckin’ desperate. C’mon. You know how to unbuckle a belt, big girl?”

“Yes, Joel, I know how to unbuckle a fucking belt.” You scoff at him and move your trembling fingers toward his leather belt. He’s about to tell you off for your potty mouth, teach you a lesson in respect, but instead watches as you fumble with the notch of his belt with a huff. Your hands are so clammy and shaking so aggressively that you can’t even do it. He laughs again.

“Y’sure about that?” “Yes! I’m— fuck, just wait, let me—” he shoves your hands away, holding both your wrists in one hand as he unbuckles his belt with the other in one clean move. “I gotta do everythin’ around here?” He tuts and his hand moves toward the zipper of his ratted jeans and your breath hitches. “Thought I was supposed to be teachin’ you, how am I meant to do that when you can’t even unbuckle a belt, sweetheart?” He sighs and shakes his head like he always does, and his condescending attitude would get to you if he wasn’t so intoxicatingly handsome. Greying hair, broad shoulders, so much bigger than you and stronger than you and older than you; you feel it in the tight grip he has on your wrists, you know if he wanted to he could snap both your wrists in his one palm, and you’re reminded all over again that he’s old. He’s got children. Close to your age. He’s wrinkled with arms more muscular than any other boy you’ve ever seen on your college campus, built from years of labor. He pulls both his jeans and boxers down in one movement. You gasp. “So. This is male genetalia, meant for repr—” He’s smirking at the pure look of disbelief on your face and he chuckles when your brows furrow in an annoyed pout. “Shut up Joel!” “Well? What’dya think? You gulp. “You’re…you’re really um…” “Big?” He says it through that same cocky smirk he’s developed. You nod. He’s not just big, he’s long — thick, graying even down there, and you feel clueless on what to do next. “He ain’t gonna bite. You can touch him.” You hate that he’s called his… parts him, but you’re too focused to say anything about it. He thinks maybe you’ll freak out. Smarten up. Wondering if the brazen size of him will send you spiraling to your senses. Instead, your quivering hand reaches out toward his solid heft. You give him one nervous tug and he groans. You stop. “Keep goin’.” You do it again, this time a bit more slowly, and he cups his large hand over yours, gripping your hold over him and squeezing, tugging down harder than you would’ve yourself and you gape at him. You don’t know anything. “I ain’t fragile. You can use a bit of your muscle, baby.” His gruff laugh morphs into a short groan when your thumb nervously grazes the tip of him as he moves your hand back down. “It look how you expect it to look?” “Yeah you’re just really…” you can’t even think straight because you’re so focused on watching your hands move together. Watching as the tip of him leaks a pearly white and notice how your hand has to stretch around him, your fingers not even close to closing around the thick of him. “Big.” You squeak and he breaths out half a laugh and half a hiss. “Wait, Joel, I wanna…” You shake your hand out his tight grip and hold him yourself now. Scooting closer and gently kissing the pink tip of him.

“Fuckin’ hell.” He groans above you and you look up, batting your eyes and his hips twitch towards you. “Yeah, yeah, okay, you can, shit, you can try that, honey.” Look at you, playing adult so fast. You do it again and he hisses. This time, you use your tongue. Running it from the base of him all the way to the tip just to gauge how he tastes and he groans deeper than you’ve heard before. “Am I doing okay?” He peers down at you through hooded eyes and grabs a tight fist of your hair. “Yeah, yes, you are sweetheart. You’re a—” you try take him deeper into your mouth. Opening your jaw wider to try and make it fit. “Fuck, yeah, you’re bein’ a good girl for me.”

Joel is trying to keep his cool composure, but he’s not sure how that’s possible when you’re mouthing at him like that. So innocent and curious. You sometimes knick him with your canines but he doesn’t even mind it, he’s just staring at how you force yourself deeper and grabs your hair even harder when you start to gag. “Y’can…take it slow, don’t—” he’s almost all the way down your throat. He can feel it convulse around him. “Don’t hurt yourself, kid.” And then he’s all the way. You’ve taken him all the way into your tiny throat. He’s the first to ever be in there, and he almost cums on the spot. You gag and sputter over him, trying to get away when he selfishly holds you there for a second longer than you would’ve allowed yourself. Tightly gripping your hair with an unintentional thrust of his hips before letting you pull off him with a muffled choke. You open your mouth in a gasp for air and if he was any more gone he would’ve used it as a way to shove himself back deep. “Well, shit. You’re a natural, honey.”

“Was that okay?” There’s a bead of sweat on your forehead from how hard you worked and he wants to lick it clean.

“You did great, kid.” You smile up at him with a toothy grin, reaching out to take him again and he tuts. Acting so brave when you were just choking on him. “C’mon. On the couch now.” You hold him by the base and try again, but he grips you by your forearm and tugs you up — shoving you onto the couch and groaning when he gets a quick peek of your panties. “Joel…” You’re shaking now and he smirks. “I can’t leave you high and dry, can I? That would be a very bad lesson, wouldn’t it?” You nod meekly and his hand comes to squeeze your thigh. “Take off your skirt.” You freeze and he cups your jaw in his hand. “C’mon, little girl. I don’t like repeatin’ myself. Take it off.” Begrudgingly, you bring your trembling fingers toward the waistband of your skirt and pull it off. Revealing your best pair of panties — a lacy white thong — and you hear him grind his teeth. Your laid out like a lamb for the slaughter. In white lace nobody but he knows you wear. Pure. Virgin. Thirty-so-years his junior. He wants to make some sort of comment but he’s so hard he can’t even think. He grips your jaw firmly and wastes no time pulling off your panties. You gasp and shut your knees tightly but Joel pry’s them open anyways, fighting you when you try again. “Y’wanna make it hard for me, huh? What happened to your cute please? C’mon. Open.” You kick, and he tuts, manhandling you with a strong latch as he sits against the armrest of the chair. He pulls you by your nape and uses it as leverage to position you with your back against his chest, using his legs to force yours open by bracketing your knees. “Fuckin’ hell.” You’ve stopped thrashing now, and instead, he feels your legs shivering. He holds your jaw once again, hoping he’ll be able to soften you out by bringing your mouth to his and closing the gap; kissing you and using your cute gasp to meet your tongue with his. You whine and he holds you tight enough you think you’ll bruise. He looks at where you’re spread for him and hisses. You’re wet already. So inexperienced that just a little touching does it for you. “Shit. You ain’t ever been touched here?” You shake your head and try to close your legs again but his legs hold yours in place. “Poor baby. Waitin’ for so long. So desperate, ain’t ya. Wantin’ someone with experience. Y’just wanna feel good.”

The hand on your jaw comes to rest on your throat, with the other begin to venture down your torso. He squeezes at your chest rudely and your hips twitch up. Responsive. Cute. He doesn’t wait for your approval before pulling your top off and doing it again. Laughing when you whine at him. You can feel him behind you still hard, the weight of him pressed against your back. And then, he touches you. His hand brushing where you’re most sensitive and you gasp, jolting in surprise but his solid legs keep yours in place. “Gonna make you feel good, honey.” You feel his stubble graze roughly against your jaw and try to kiss him again, but get interrupted by the feel of his fingers beginning to move. You whimper, hiding your head in the crook of his neck, taking in the musk of a man so much older than you, remembering he’s old enough to be your father, he’s touching you with the experience to prove it. He inserts one finger and you cry. “Joel!” Even his one finger feels thick. And then he moves it. In, and out, and you cry out again. You don’t even recognize yourself yelping and he just laughs at you.

“That feels good, huh? I bet.” You feel his mouth moving against your cheek and the burn of his stubble and the feel of his finger moving inside of you is too much. You just feel him. His strong body behind you, still in his jeans and white t-shirt. His deft hand that’s brought countless others to completion just like this. “Poor little girl, waitin’ for so long. Bet you’re just aching, honey.” “Y-yes!” you moan and he adds a second finger. All you feel is pressure and Joel. He’s thrusting them now and you wail, your entire body convulsing and twitching and you can’t even stop the high-pitched whimpers coming from you. You’re so wet you can feel it dripping onto your thighs. Hear it making a mess. “Shit. You’re soaking me, little girl. Fuck, tell me how it feels. Use your words.” He groans when you move your hips against his hand, fucking back against his curling fingers and you yowl.

“Feels…oh!” his hand moves even faster now and you can hear him against your ear groaning in short breaths at the exertion. “Feels so…feels really—ah! Full. Joel. Joel!” He fits a third finger inside you and you cum on the spot. Your entire body seizes up into a ball of pleasure and you scream. But he doesn’t let up.

He keeps thrusting his fingers up into you, curling where you’re most sensitive and you can feel yourself physically crying. He almost wants to punish you a bit. Force you to come until you can’t. Or maybe edge you onto the cusp of another and tell you he’s driving you home. But then you mewl, “Joel! I want you inside, please. Please. Please.” He’s abstenmindenly thrusting his hips against the small of your back and you keen, trying to reach for him from behind you. “Fuck. Are you sure?” “Yes! Please, please, p-please, just put it in!” He groans with you when he pulls his fingers out, using the hold on your nape to pull you off him and onto your back. He grabs his base with the hand you’ve soaked and greets your seam with his thick tip. Dragging it through your folds and you push your hips against him. “Please.” “You want it that bad, huh?” “Yes! P-please,” he teasingly breaches the first inch into you before stopping, sneering when you cry out and try to move him further into you. “Hm. Don’t think it’s gonna fit, honey. You’re too small. Fuck baby, ain’t nobody’s been in here. Should be with someone your own age—“ he groans when you hold him by the base, trying to make him go in all by yourself and he catches your wrists in his large hand.

“—you’ll make it fit, please!” “Don’t fuckin’ interrupt me. Bad girl.” He slaps your clit with the head of him and you cry. “Cryin’ cause you want it so bad. Look at you. What a pretty sight. Pretty little virgin, ain’t you? You want it? You want it bad?” “Yes! Please. Please.” “You want it bad enough you’ll let me in raw?” You nod so fast that he can’t help but laugh at you. At your pure eagerness. “You even know what that means, virgin? Tell me how much you want it. C’mon.” “I want it so bad. Even raw, Joel. Even raw— please, please. Please. Please,” you have a nickname burning at the tip of your tongue. You want to squeal it when his mean grip on your wrists gets tighter. You can’t think of anything but saying it when you see his stern look and hear his strict, gravelly tone. Daddy. Daddy. “Please, daddy.” He can’t nearly fucking believe it.

Daddy. So fucking immoral. He’s a real daddy, and you want him to be your daddy. He just stares at you like he can’t believe his ears. You’re dirty. He grumbles a fuck, ramming the full fat weight of him into you so fast you keen. “Oh!” He thrusts the entire length of him into you in one, swift punch. He feels bad, he’s sure it hurts, he wanted to make a big fuss of your deflowering, but his ears are ringing and he can’t think of anything but fucking you. Not when he hears you crying for him to be your “daddy.” “Yeah, fucking ‘oh.’ Shit. You feel—“

“Too full, daddy! You’re too. Big—“

He pulls out all the way before plunging right back in, thrusting in a deep succession and your high-pitched whimpering is doing his head in. He’s not sure how he hasn’t come yet, not with your hips twitching beneath him or at the sight of you being so much smaller than him. You’re so tiny beneath him. He thrusts again and you moan, “daddy!” “Yeah. That’s what you need, huh? Y’need,” he groans and you bite the junction of his neck with a sharp cry. “Y’need me to be your daddy don’t you? Fuck. You’re fuckin’ squeezing me. Such a,” he feels you pulse around him and he collapses onto you, the full weight of him now crushing you as his pubic bone grinds against your clit. “Such a naughty girl for daddy, who knew.”

“Oh my,” You can’t even think. Breathe. Move. Pinned under the weight of him and your legs kick out at the pure pleasure. “Too much daddy, It’s too much—“ He doesn’t even hear you. He just keeps thrusting so deep into you that you feel him in your stomach. “Poor little girl. Lookin’ for a daddy. I knew it. Should’ve just told me. I’ll be your daddy, honey—“ He hisses when your hips try pull away from his, hauling you back onto his length. “Where’ya runnin’ to baby? Huh?” He drives even harder into you, planting his knee beside your hip so that you can’t move and you scream. “Y’got what you wanted. Take it, c’mon.” “Can’t! I’m gonna…too much!” ”Fuck. Can’t believe I’m the first one to— shit, first man to fuck you. Fuck baby. Fuck. Feels so good for daddy. You’re mine, ain’t you? My little girl.” Your entire body convulses, you feel him so deep and you swear he’s impaling you. “Say it.” ”Y-yes.” He slams into you so hard you shriek, trying to shove at his hips with your hands to let up but you can barely move; paralyzed by him kissing your cervix deep inside with your arms pressed awkwardly under the manly weight of him. “I said say it, dumb little girl, fuck—“ “Yes, I’m yours! Joel. I’m gonna…” Your entire body tenses. You feel it in your legs, your toes, and Joel feels you clench around him so intensely it catalyses his own release. You’re so incandescently tight around him, his vision is blurring and he can’t even get the words out to ask you if he can come in you; he just does. You’re stuffed full now, feeling a wet, hot heat infiltrate you and you whine with him, barely handling the aggressive pummel of his hips before he finally gives finishes. He’s still inside of you when he lays beside you with a groan so loud it startles you. “Shit. So much for gettin’ it out the way, hm?”

[writteninthebinds]

Dear Santa…

Backshots and a finger hooked in my mouth making my head turn to look at him as he fucks me mindlessly…

[writteninthebinds]

Put his ass in prison at this point. The tongue, the nose!?! The way I zoomed in.. 😮‍💨

I only have dirty thoughts right now…

I would really like to feel that tongue 🤭👅

[writteninthebinds]

Fast n’ Dirty

Summary: Joel’s gotta crush on the girl that works nights at the CVS. He swears it’s nothin, that he’s just a guy lookin’ out for a nice girl in the rougher part of town. He’s lying.

tw: kinda pervy Joel. slight stalker-ish behavior? not really, Joel just frequents that CVS a lot..but on purpose? sex products, rough sex, meanie!Joel, degrading dirty talk, oral (m receiving), serious objectification, tit play, lactation kink, guys Joel’s a freak here but so is reader so yay. I did edit this but it’s also 4am here and I haven’t slept. if there’s any edits to make, I’ll fix them later 🫶🏼

wc: 3,952

—

Joel knows you work nights at the CVS just outside Arvin county, at the crossing of Milton and Pell Circle. He drives past it almost everyday on the way to different sites.

None of it was intentional. Joel never meant to be creepy. It was accidental, instinctual, the way he remembered your schedule. It wasn’t weird. You were just younger, and pretty, and they never seemed to schedule you during the day. It put Joel on edge. If he noticed your schedule it meant someone else could too.

Joel was just looking out for you. That’s what he tells himself. It’s not the whole truth though. Not with the way he finds reasons, excuses, to stop by. Water, beer, batteries he doesn’t need. Like it’s not your face that slips up behind his eyelids when he finally lays down in his bed and his dick gets hard. Messy hair, paint chipped fingernails, and red lipstick that somehow looks out of place, too much for a girl who works at CVS, but perfect on you.

Yeah, Joel felt like a perv. Every time. He felt guilty, until the night he found out you were just as depraved as him.

—

Joel could feel that familiar itch as he drove home tonight. It snuggled up close and warm behind his belly button. Desire seemed to drag its nails along Joel’s bones, sharp and simmering.

You weren’t supposed to be working tonight.

It was his chance to buy what he needed.

Neon letters shine bright as hell across the parking lot, reflecting off the leftover puddles of rain. Joel strolls in with heavy boots.

Walking through those automatic doors always felt strange. There was a certain air about a CVS. Just like gas stations in the middle of the night or washed out grocery stores with squeaky floors.

Eerily clean and tidy. CVSs feel like stepping into the back rooms, always looking frozen in time. Carpet thin and stiff and always freshly vacuumed. Even without the lines, anyone could smell the burning plastic of that dinosaur they made you push around.

It’s empty in here. Only the sound of his steps and the low hum of electricity follow Joel throughout the store. He sinks his fingers into the cut out on a case of beer, hauls it around end caps stacked with candy and graduation teddy bears. Joel doesn’t stop till he gets to a certain isle.

He isn’t weird about it. Joel’s a grown ass man. Hell, teetering the line of old. This isn’t the first time he’s bought adult products before. His eyes trail over the different packages of lube, flicker over to the condoms.

He could call someone. There’s a few old numbers buried down a list in his phone. Joel doesn’t want that though. Doesn’t want the cheap corny banter, the glasses of wine he’d have to force down or the small talk.

Joel wants fast and dirty.

But that wasn’t happening…

“You can’t go wrong with KY.”

Joel jumps out of his skin, whips around at the sound of your voice. Your voice.

He stares. The red company polo shirt is one size too big, baggy on you. A messy fraying braid sweeps over your shoulder, beat to hell chucks on your feet. Red lipstick.

You weren’t supposed to be working tonight.

Joel’s voice comes out a little flat, like he’s confused. He is. He ask, “What?”

You laugh a little, nodding towards the shelves and explaining, “KY Jelly’s brand. It’s a classic for a reason.”

You keep talking when Joel doesn’t, even when he turns back around to look at the too many boxes. His brain is rebooting.

“We have other stuff too. Toys. They’re mostly for women though. Vibrators and bunnies. They’d be a great surprise for any girl.”

“There’s no girl.”

Joel’s eyes are on you again. His reply comes too fast, a little harsh. He clears his throat and tries again.

“There’s no girl. I was just here for uh..”

He trails off after nodding towards the lube, looks to the carpeted floor. Too many images and words flash through his brain. He damn well just admitted he’s planning on going home to jerk off.

When you giggle, Joel looks up again. It’s the sweetest sound he’s ever heard in his life. Like peaches and graham cracker pie crust. Sweet tea in red plastic cups. There’s a soft pink hue painting your cheeks and a smile on your face.

“Still got a lot of options. Lots of couples like the warming gels but they can be just as much fun..alone. Just depends on what you like, and if you’re using a toy that calls for a certain base. Water. Silicone.”

Your eyes come back to Joel. There’s a teasing tone to your words, and it makes Joel wanna laugh. Just the fact that you’re standing here teaching him about lube like he’s not fifteen years your senior. He shouldn’t do it. Shouldn’t poke or extend this conversation any further.

“What do you recommend?”

Too late. He watches as the pretty pink color deepens on the high points of your cheeks, how your eyelashes flutter at the question, at the way his voice dips low. You lift a hand and flick at the tab of an empty row.

“Personally, Astroglide,” you say with a shrug, trying to act casual.

Joel hums, liking the way you squirm. Silence stretches between you for a long moment. When you speak again, it’s not what Joel expects.

“I’m sure we have more in the back. It’s just - I won’t be able to reach the box it’s in. If you wanna follow me, we can get it for you.”

Joel knows he shouldn’t. Knows it’s a bad fucking idea. Even with that glint in your eye, that tone in your voice, Joel doesn’t let his mind go there.

He does follow you though. Sets the case of beer by the hall that leads to the bathroom, employee break room. Your ratty sneakers come to a stop in front of another plain, boring colored door. The tension is palpable as you slide a key into the lock.

The room is dark when the door swings open, until you flip a switch that bathes the small space in a dimmer fluorescent lighting. You step in and Joel follows, eyes running along the shelves of big boxes with peeling labels. He still believes you, still thinks he’s just here to reach what you can’t and he’ll just buy the lube you recommended, go home and become a bigger pervert than ever.

That’s the last thought he has before the air is knocked from him. Before you’re on him. Your hands shove him backwards, tripping him up by surprise, his boots stumbling. Joel’s back slams into the smooth surface of the door, closing it. Your mouth is on his, greedy and fast.

It takes Joel a second to process what’s happening. Your warm lips on his, tiny kitten nails scratching at his neck and beard. You pull at him, straining on your tippy toes to even reach his mouth. Joel groans low and filthy when you sink your sharp teeth into his bottom lip.

That’s when he grabs your face, pushing you away. He doesn’t let go though. His fingers dig into the bones of your jaw, what Joel would normally claim just shy of too hard, but you lean into it.

“What are you doing?”

It’s a deep whisper. His eyes find yours. Wild and wide, eager but scared. Joel growls when you don’t respond, gets in your face and actually jerks you a little.

He ask again, meaner this time, “What the fuck are you doing?”

You gasp, “I - I don’t know. I just wanted..I thought..”

“Thought what? Huh?”

Joel’s chest heaves, and you sink those cute nails into his forearm and whimper. Red lipstick smeared across your mouth, cheeks pushed together and fattened by Joel’s grip. You whimper and Joel’s mind breaks.

“I just thought..there’s a gas station across the street, Joel..’n probably fourteen more between here and your house..but you stop here…I - I wanted..”

That’s all it takes. The way you call him out so softly and confess in the same breath. Joel doesn’t let himself think twice. You want him. You’ve known he wants you. It’s the last thread pulled, the first domino pushed. Joel’s mouth captures yours.

The kiss isn’t gentle or sweet. It’s all teeth and the rough scrape of Joel’s beard. Joel keeps up the pace you set when you first jumped him, just guides that eager little fire of yours with more finesse. He squeezes your jaw, pops that pretty mouth open and licks into it.

You taste like sour candy. The kind that’s coated in that granular jaw stingy sugary powder. Joel licks it from your teeth, sucks the taste of it from your tongue. He won’t pull away. Just pushes deeper into the feeling of his lungs tightening and burning.

That rushing relief, the first gasp of cool air filling his chest comes when you just drop. Ungraciously and hard. Joel hears the way your knees knock against the floor. It takes Joel by surprise, wants to assume you’ve just slipped, but that’s impossible with the way your fingers start ripping at the worn leather belt around his waist.

Joel doesn’t get a chance to speak. Not before you’re untucking his shirt, shoving it up his belly. Your wet mouth slides over his skin, fingers still pulling and parting denim. You look up at him then. Eyes blown, you huff, “Need to suck your cock, Joel.”

Something deep in his guts kick, dick jerking hard in his pants. He’s leaking already. Joel groans loudly, head falling back against the door with a thud. An angry growl slips from his throat when you yank his jeans and briefs the rest of the way down. You’re fucking desperate, not even giving him a minute to undress.

Joel reaches down, winding your braid around his fist and tugging your neck back. Dark eyes and meaner words fall from his mouth, “Fuck..look at you..”

But you’re not looking at Joel anymore, not in the eyes anyway. Yours, glassy and glazed over, are locked on the cock bobbing in front of your face. Joel’s. Thicker than he is long. Six and a half, but heavy. Dark at the base, a pretty mauve shaded tip. Wet. Pretty balls too, covered in the corse hair of Joel’s pubes. He’s bushy but trimmed. There’s a few grays peeking through and you downright fucking salivate at the sight. You don’t look scared. You look hungry and it makes Joel’s blood pump faster, something angry and dark shuffling beneath the rug in his mind.

Joel grabs himself, watches your face as you watch the way he strokes his length. Root to tip. That look in your eyes, like you need his dick to breathe, breeds a need to ruin you within Joel. He doesn’t ask but he doesn’t need to tell you either. Your jaw is already falling open, mouth wide. With a tight grip on your hair, he tilts his hips forward, resting the leaking tip against your bottom lip.

“Whore,” Joel whispers, spits.

You whine. It only makes you wetter, more desperate, Joel’s meanness. You pull against the tight grasp on your braid as you try to fall onto his cock. Joel gives. He lets go and it’s instant, the wet heat of your mouth, He can’t stop himself from pushing deep, giving a single hard thrust sooner than you’re ready for. The sounds of your choking are filthy. Cheeks bulging, muscles constricting when Joel’s tip punches the back of your throat.

“Fuuuck,” Joel growls. He lets up, lets you use the added spit to set your own pace. Trails of mulberry red mark the skin of his cock as your lips slide. You knock his hand away, fingers slipping around the width, stroking in time with the bobs of your head. It’s rhythmic and messy, drool leaking from the corners of your mouth, soaking every inch of Joel and his balls, your chin.

You push down hard. Nose buried in the hair at the base, choking yourself, letting Joel feel and hear the way you gag around him. For the first time, the sound he makes is broken and strangled. “Shit..shit shit shit,” Joel gasp.

He pulls on the root of your braid, having to use actual force to pull you off. He’s too close too soon and you’re not letting up. It’s messy when he does pull out completely. Spit links the two of you together, and Joel grabs himself again, smacking your right cheek, and then your left.

It’s dirty and mean, the way he starts thrusting against your face, like you’re just there for him to grind his dick against something. You can’t hold back the whine that slips free, your pussy pulsing in time with your heartbeat. The sound of his voice draws you back.

Joel grunts, tip gliding over your mouth. His voice comes out heavy, “Fuck..you like this, don’t you?”

Your answer is the way your eyes find his, your tongue slipping out flat. Joel’s cock jerks in his hand. He groans, slapping his length against your tongue, leaving it coated and sticky.

You slowly close your lips around the head again, taking it no further. The view Joel has is pure sin. Your eyes never leave his, filled with a fake sweetness and complete obedience as you suckle on the tip like it’s candy.

“Fuck..don’t..don’t look at me like that,” Joel rasp.

You simply hum around him, keeping your wide glassy eyes on his, tongue flickering over the nerve beneath the head. Joel gasp. He snaps.

Joel leans down instantly, large hands engulfing your cheeks, mouth sealing over yours as he drags you to your unsteady feet.

“Let me fuck you. Please let me fuck you,” Joel begs against your lips. He doesn’t mind the taste of himself, the pre or spit.

He spins you, placing your back to his chest. Joel’s teeth bite down on your neck, stinging. He purrs in your ear, “Let me fuck you, pretty girl.”

You whine from your already sore throat, “Joel..I want to but I didn’t..I haven’t shaved.”

Joel could laugh. He really could. He takes that want of yours as a yes and slips his hand down your pants. His fingertips meet soft hair, brushing over the lips of your pussy until he’s cupping it in his big palm. Joel noses at your ear, voice rough, “You think I care about this?”

“I don’t give a fuck about this,” Joel whispers, fingers teasingly running over your pubes, the seam of your slit without ever dipping in. You whine, skin burning hot. Joel bites down again before he ask, “You gonna give me what’s mine, baby? Can I fuck this sweet little cunt?”

“Yes, yes yes,” you gasp. Your head falls back, mouth open when he finally finally dips those calloused fingers into you. Soaked. Drenched. Joel groans, dragging it from your opening to your clit. That sticky cream coats the hair on your lips, making a mess between your legs.

Before you can blink, Joel’s dragging everything down. When he stands back up behind you, he’s pushing the material of your company shirt up, yanking the thin scrape of lace that is your bralette down. The tiny mounds of your breast are exposed, nipples hard. Barely a handful but Joel squeezes them all the same, wets his fingers and tweaks your nipples until you’re squeaking.

“I could feed off these, couldn’t I, baby? Suck on these pretty tits until they’re leaking? Milk you every morning?”

Joel chuckles behind you. His dirty words are a distraction as he lines himself up. In the next breath, he’s shoving in, punching the air from your lungs and every thought from your mind. A ragged scream. Kitten nails digging deep enough to leave marks. Joel’s thick cock stretches your pussy to the max, bulging your belly.

He has to pause, balls sitting snug against your ass. It’s too good. Too warm, too soft. The gummy walls of your cunt suck Joel’s cock straight to the hilt, like she finally got what she needs, and she’s not letting go. Nasty thoughts flash through Joel’s mind.

BreedherBreedherBreedher.

He shakes his head, gives those cute tits a squeeze and runs his palm down your sternum, watching the blissed out struggle on your face. He hums sweetly, “Breathe baby, breathe.”

You do. A guttural shaky one, but you do. When Joel feels you relax, he leans in, licking and kissing along your jaw. Eyes half closed, you eventually melt into Joel’s embrace.

His next words are a contradiction. Soft and tender, but words that promise the opposite. Joel whispers, “Listen to me..’m..’m not gonna be gentle. Alrigh? I need you fast and hard..rough. I need to wreck this cunt. Need you screamin’. Gimme me a word. One word. If you say it, we stop.”

Your mind whirls. You hiccup softly, “Cinnamon.”

Joel hums, kissing your jaw again. “Alrigh’. You say cinnamon, we what..?”

“We stop,” you answer instantly.

A laugh vibrates from Joel’s chest, bleeds in through your back. His smile is sharp.

“Good girl.”

It’s the last soft moment between you. That last kiss to your skin was a switch flipping. Joel quickly spins you around, shoving you over a large stack of boxes. They’re steady, filled with heavy computer paper and placing your pretty cunt at the perfect level.

The snap of his hips is instant. Earth shattering. You’d scream if you could. Fingers scrambling, clutching. You can’t find a good grip with the way Joel has you thrown over the boxes. You feel like a rag doll, limp and shaky, just something warm and wet for him to use.

A sharp slap to your ass triggers that desperate inhale of air. You finally scream, choked and broken, mixing with the steady sound of Joel’s moans. He doesn’t slow down, only growls above the sound of his hips slamming into yours, “This what you wanted? My fat cock splitting this pretty cunt open?”

“Yesyes yes Joel, fuck..wanted it,” you cry.

Another slap to your ass, a harsh tug to one your nipples. A groan comes deep from Joel’s belly. “Fuckin’ dirty girl..dreamin’ about your pussy gettin’ used?”

Joel feels the way you squeeze his dick. He laughs. His thrusts only speed up, pushing more broken sounds from your mouth. Joel watches the way he bullies his cock into your pussy, and how she just takes it. Already puffy and swollen.

He smirks, voice teasing, “She likes this..being used. Stuffed full..Tell me what you are.”

“A whore..’m a whore.”

Joel rewards you with the touch of his fingertips to your clit. He taunts you, “Who’s whore, baby? Hm? Bet you do this every shift, let just anybody see and use this little cunt?”

“No nono..jus’ you Joel..’s yours.”

Joel moans, leaning over your back. His free fingers find your nipples. He chuckles again, voice sweetly mocking, words mean. “These cute little mosquito bites mine too, baby?”

Shame rolls through your belly. You nod, face burning, eyes watering. Joel’s fingers haven’t stopped tracing sweet circles on your clit. Your release comes suddenly, skipping like a pebble over the lake of fire in your belly and crashing into you.

“Fuckfuckkfuck,” you sob. The first tears fall.

Joel gasp brokenly, forehead falling to your shoulder. The aftershocks of your orgasm, each flutter of your walls, it kicks Joel closer to the edge. He barely gets out, “Fuck fuck ‘m gonna cum..where?”

“Inside,” you whisper.

That almost breaks Joel. His hips stutter mid thrust, balls pulling tight. “Baby..I can’t. Can’t..”

“Cum inside me, Joel. Pleasepleaseplease please cum in-inside me,” you cry, more tears spilling hot and fast. The sight ruins him. Your tears, the tight grip of your sore pussy. Joels body decides for him, decides that dumping a load in your young cunt can be a problem, a ghost to haunt his conscience, for another day. He thrust deep and cums hard, balls pumping, painting your tender walls white and thick.

You both stay still for a long time, exhausted bodies draped over the boxes. Joel eventually lifts himself off your back. His voice comes quick though.

“Don’t move,” he says on a heavy breath. It’s only a few seconds. You hear shuffling, his belt, silence…a click. When you look back over your shoulder, Joel’s crouched down, phone level with your exposed pussy. He took a picture of your puffy cunt, his cum drooling out and soaking the cardboard you’re laying across.

The act sends your tummy flipping. You should say something, object. You don’t. The fact that Joel has a picture of your ruined pussy in his phone turns you on more than it should. The fact that he didn’t ask, the objectification, like your pussy is just free to take photos of, like your pussy belongs to him…

“Come here, sweetheart.”

His voice pulls you back to the present, those hands pulling you upright. Thighs shaking, slick running down to your ankles, Joel chuckles at the sight.

The flannel he never even took off, he takes it off now. The fabric is rough on your skin but it’s Joel’s tender wipes that keep you from protesting. He cleans you throughly, getting only a little side tracked, fingertips exploring, running through your folds again just because.

After a few tired giggles and batting Joel’s hands away, a dirty whisper that he was very serious about milking your tits, you’re both dressed again. Joel kisses you one last time before opening the supply closet door. Sweet and deep. He really looks at you, like he’s memorizing your face.

The goodbye is..other worldly. He picks up his abandoned case of beer, and with a bottle of astroglide, Joel checks out with the dirtiest, cockiest grin on his face. You watch as Joel walks out of the automatic doors before locking them. He’s all you can think about as you close for the night, him and the last little bit of his cum leaking out of you.

-

(I’m sorry this took so long!! I’m finishing up my summer classes so I’ve been drowning in test and essays. Hope you guys like this. Should have a shorter Tommy fic soon, and other chapter fics will be updated. 🫶🏼)

[writteninthebinds]

FUCK yes please 💜

I bet Joel gets the biggest hard-on as you're sitting on his lap, rambling about your day or anything at all and his smile is cocky as you stop mid sentence, eyes a little wide because of how hard he is

[writteninthebinds]

What We Can’t Have

You guys loved younger whore Tommy Miller so here ya go!!

Summary: Tommy Miller is your best friend and it’s just another Friday night out with him, until it’s not.

tw: None really. No smut this time, but lots of tension and sweet angst. Smut in later chapters.

wc: 1,451

—

It’s another Friday night. Too hot, too sticky.

The parking lot of the local dive bar is already packed, loose gravel and shards of broken glass from beer bottles everywhere. The outside string lights glow the dingiest shade of yellow, some blown, some chipped and reflecting in the fogged up glass. The low hum of electricity was a constant, a gentle clicking sound as the open neon sign flashed.

The smell of cold foamy beer and warm fried food was immediate, familiar. It smacks you in the face. The comically large pint sized mugs are filled with golden liquid, wet with condensation and sloshing suds over the brims. The kick of heat to those wings still takes you by surprise, sends Tommy chuckling when you cough.

Tommy Miller. He bends over the pool table again to line up another shot. The pool cues are splintering with age, chalk drying out, and the smell of the velvet table tops linger. He sinks two more stripes. Even underneath the shadowy pool table lighting you see it. The thin layer of sweat. It gathers in his collarbones, clings to the smooth tan skin of his throat.

You should’ve known. You noticed the shift in him, always did. You just didn’t think what would happen, would ever.

It had been one of those weeks, that without fail, turned into one of those Friday nights. Tommy would get this wild look about him. It was subtle and silent but it commanded. The energy serged from his limbs. Black curls unruly and pushed back with sweat, a feline smirk on his face.

Tommy’s canines flash boyishly and you figured it was only a matter of time before he zeros in on someone. Some college girl with a bright pink birthday sash, and leathal amounts of body glitter. Or maybe the mom of three in the booth with a glass of red and her going out heels that haven’t seen the outside of her closet since the last girls night out.

Yeah, Tommy Miller was exactly what she’d left the house hunting for that night. A young buck. A fun night in his bed or hell, rubbing her knees raw on the scratchy interior of his pick up.

What you didn’t expect was..the knock of his knees against yours, the way he climbs on to the bar stool next to you.

Tommy doesn’t wander. He doesn’t bail when he normally does, the time of night where you mosey over to the bar to catch up with Rosie before finding your own way home. No.

Tommy is looking at you..like that.

With that sharp hunger and that young and dumb I’m not thinking about anything past tonight kinda look. He smiles at you. Pool cue and game abandoned, Tommy Miller invades your space. He doesn’t have to lean in close. He takes up space in the way he talks, the way he stares at you like the rest of this shit hole, below code bar is empty.

You feel the cross hairs slip onto you.

You try to relax, to not overthink. Maybe this weekend is just different. Maybe he isn’t looking to take anyone home.

And for a bit longer, everything feels normal. Tommy laughs at your jokes and bitches about co-workers. He dips his fingers into that checker-lined basket and helps you polish off those wings. With that sticky sweet bbq sauce still making your fingers feel tacky though, Tommy ask you to dance.

It’s a bad idea, letting him take your hand in his, palms slick and pulling you towards the middle of the floor. This wasn’t the first time you danced with Tommy. It was usually something fast though. Something imbedded with twirls and failed fancy dips, the scuffing soles of cowboy boots.

You weren’t use to this.

The way Tommy pulled you physically close. His fingers spread across your back, thumb grazing the line of your spine. You’re close enough that the smell of him invades your sinuses, overpowers anything else. You feel the spots of his shirt that are damp with sweat, and for some reason you like it. You like the faint smell of dirt and saw dust from his job site, the way it mixes with the cologne he’s wearing.

You let yourself lean in, let yourself settle in his arms as the band plays something light and smooth. Everything seems to narrow down to the wooden floor beneath your feet, the drag of denim on denim as your thighs brush.

You’ve never felt anything like this. The air around you is thick, warm. Tommy’s breath is gentle when it fans across your forehead…

and then he presses his lips to your temple.

It’s an offer, an invitation. A sigh slips past your lips before you know it, and Tommy’s hold on you tightens.

Neither of you say a word. Seconds pass by like minutes. Tommy doesn’t move fast. You both continue to sway in place, boots shuffling.

Another brush of his mouth, this time on the high apple of your cheek. Your eyelids flutter shut in response. You don’t pull away, but you don’t look up at Tommy either. Not yet anyway.

It’s not until his nose trails along the skin of your cheek, until his lips graze the corner of your mouth that you say his name on a shaky exhale.

“..Tommy.”

“Do yu’ want..we could..”

His words are quiet and they trail off, his breathing just as softly labored as yours. You pull back just enough to look up at him, and it’s devastating. The look on his face. He gives you the sweetest grin in the world, and Tommy Miller looks almost shy.

His eyes are dark and crinkled by the corners. They make your heart clench inside your chest. You know then, that whatever this is, can’t go any further.

It would hurt too much. Afterwards. If you let yourself say yes, lean in and taste him for real, touch the body beneath those clothes.

What then?

He’s one of your best friends, his brother being the other. Tommy isn’t a man looking to settle down. You know this. He’s your best friend, an actual gentlemen too, but nonetheless - a whore.

Hell, who says you want anything serious yourself? What the fuck would that mean when sunlight breaks? When tomorrow comes, what would it mean for your friendship?

Tommy has never wanted more, and you know you can’t do just one night with Tommy Miller.

You sigh, but differently this time. You barely start, words gentle, “Tommy, I - I don’t think…”

Tommy feels the way your fingers curl into the materiel of his shirt, squeezing, the way your voice shakes a little, and he knows. His voice comes out rushed but soft, comforting as he whispers down to you, “Hey..hey..’s alright.”

And it does feel alright, and not at all, in the same moment. It makes you feel like crying. You don’t want your friendship to change, and funny enough, it’s still going to. Just not in the way you expect.

Tommy just smiles down at you again, pulls you close once more. Your sweaty forehead brushes his chin before he tucks you beneath it. He holds you for a little longer, for the rest of the song, though it’s different. No less close but less intense, something that feels painful but sweet. Familiar and not.

You rest your cheek on his shoulder and when the drums stop rolling and the guitar cords stop vibrating the stage, Tommy pulls away. He gives you a little crooked grin, a soft squeeze to your elbow.

“Think ‘m gonna take off for the night,” he says, hands slipping from you.

There’s no offer for a ride home, and you try not to let the emotion catch in your throat. You try not to think about the implications of that, the idea that things might not be alright, or worse. The imagine of Tommy already thumbing through his contacts, one that already knows the route to his house and the color of his sheets. All of it makes your stomach swirl.

So you do end up with Rosie after all, the bartender who cuts you off after too many lemon drop shots and whiskey neats, and ultimately calls Joel. He’s the one to pull you out of the sticky booth. He lifts you into the cab of his truck and takes you home, to his home, without question. You know those’ll come later.

Until then, he tucks you in, gives you a tiny bathroom trash can lined with a plastic CVS shoppers bag and a glass of water, and you fall asleep trying not to think about what the sun’s gonna unbury tomorrow.

—

(So excited to finally get this out!! 🫶🏼 There will be at least two more parts? Whore Tommy really shines in pt. 2 lmaoo)

@xodilfluvr @filthyjoelslvr @axshadows @joelmillerswife9 @angelbabyy111 @marispunk @mabelmiller @finahns

[writteninthebinds]

Nsfw Joel Miller

I know we say there’s no way Joel Miller lived in Jackson for years and no one was bouncing on it, but hear me out.

What if he hadn’t been with anyone?

What if Joel was touch starved?

What if he visibly shakes from just your hands on his shoulders, his back, anywhere? The touches start off innocent. Just the casual brush due to a too small work space. You get greedy though. You like Joel, and every time you touch him, just barely and accidental as it is, at first, you start to crave it more and more.

What if the first time you kiss him, Joel thinks he’s actually died? You were close, leaning in as he goes over the instructions and layouts to the next build. Your eyes were never on the blueprints though. No. They were on Joel’s mouth, and he was none the wiser, and you apparently ate fuck it for breakfast that morning because you just lean in and kiss him. It’s nothing serious, just the press of your lips to his. Joel freezes nonetheless, blushing down to his toes in his boots. You try not to freak out, and when he finally stutters out the words, saying it’s okay, you giddily ask if you can do it again.

What if the first time you make out with him, curled up all pretty and breathless in his lap, he’s just as much of a mess? His dick gets painfully hard and thickens faster than it has in decades and it’s enough to make him dizzy. You don’t even get to really touch him because all it takes is your tongue in his mouth and the first little swivel of your hips, and he’s cumming in his pants.

What if touch starved Joel never ask for anything? He gets a little better about tiny gestures, like holding your hand or placing a hand on your hip. Those are things he does to you though.

What if he’s still too confused, too shocked that a beautiful young thing like you is looking at him, let alone touching him? That’s why it breaks his brain every time. Every time you do even the same stuff over and over. It never feels old. It really breaks him the first time you slip your hand down his pants, feeling the heated skin of his cock and balls. He cums embarrassingly fast and hard, and there’s so so much of it.

What if Joel whines for you? During everything you do together, yes, but afterwards too. He would mummer soft apologies about not lasting long. He always takes care of you too, gives you everything you need and more, but it bothers him. No matter how much he makes himself cum on his own to build his tolerance, it does next to nothing when it comes to you and when you touch him. You’d shush him, peppering kisses over his skin and scars and telling him just how wet it makes you to see him loose control because of you.

What if that’s only when Joel starts to get confident? After a while and after all the reassurance, which he still needs from time to time and you give it easily. It still rocks him to his core, still sends his tummy flipping when you tell him you wanna try something new, something dirty. Like the first time you ask to blow him, and then to ride him. The first time you ask him to eat your pussy, Joel’s belly down on the bed before you finish asking, and he finishes that night with his tongue inside you and his dick humping the covers.

What if touched starved Joel turns into a massive, pussy drunk and driven WHORE because of you? We all imagine that someone touch starved would stay touch starved, but…no. Maybe it takes a while, years even, but eventually you have this total horn-dog of a sexy older man pawing at you day and night, addicted to your taste and your orgasms because you trained him.

Fuuucck me.

[writteninthebinds]

Make Me Choose?

Part Two

Part One is here

Summary: back in Jackson, you get confronted, or better yet - cornered by Tommy and Joel.

tw: oral (f receiving), fingering, tit play

wc: 2,560

—

The ride back to Jackson is uneventful, although quiet. Dina throws you a few silent looks. You both shrug your shoulders as if to say what’s their deal?

Luckily, forever the extrovert and queen of I’ll talk myself out of this, Dina does. She talks and talks and ask questions the whole ride back. The weed is a sweet kindling for her attitude, her energy.

She ask Joel about the latest things he’s been building for himself, his woodworking. She gets Tommy talking about his rifle too and the last time he got to go practice long range.

Dina doesn’t miss a beat. She never acknowledges the difference in tension, the thickness in the air. You can feel their eyes on you, peering back ever so often, lingering.

You tell yourself it’s just because you’re being a little more quiet than normal. You know them, how they worry and pick up on any little thing.

Deep down you know you’re wrong.

It’s not until later, until you get back to Jackson, with the horses put away and fed, sun setting fast behind the mountains. It’s not until you’re finally back in your house, standing in front of your fridge, that there’s a soft knock at the back door.

A peek through the curtain shows Joel. He gives the smallest hint of a smile, nods.

You pull the door open with a sigh, the words already tumbling out of your mouth as you start to explain, “Listen, Joel..I know, I know how you feel about the weed..”

Your sentence trails off into the frigid air of the night when you notice it’s not just Joel, but Tommy too.

He stands a little farther back, leaning against one of the pillars of your porch, shoulders dusted lightly with fresh snow. Tommy’s got this look on his face that you can’t read.

Your body language drops, face pulling back. A scoff shoves past your lips as you say, “Oh come on, I’m not in that much trouble, am I? Over a little weed?”

“Ain’t here about the weed.”

His response is immediate, kicks your words in the heels with how fast and sure it comes.

Joel’s voice is unnervingly warm despite the cold. There’s no clattering of teeth or stutter to his breath. It’s just smooth, like velvet, like syrup. Something about it heats your belly from the inside out.

You stand there frozen for a moment. The looks on their faces, the lack of words, it scares you a little.

They notice. They always notice.

Joel hums, drawing your attention back to him from where your eyes had drifted to Tommy.

He gives you a blinding smile. It’s brief, but one that could melt the panties off of a nun.

“We just wanna talk, ‘s all.”

You blink. Swallow.

But before you can say anything else, Joel’s coming in. The steps he takes are dominating. He walks you backwards into your own house without a hand on you.

“Joel.”

You breathe his name more than speak it.

He doesn’t stop.

The fuzzy socks on your feet slide easily against the hardwood floors of your kitchen. Joel’s boots echo loudly, thumping against the wood.

The Miller brothers are not small men. Joel towers over you, shoulders broad enough to cast shadows over your entire frame.

The sound of more steps follow you both inside. Tommy’s.

A soft thud, a click. The door shuts.

Locks.

There’s a thundering in your ears, bending sound and muffling everything. It takes you a minute to realize it’s your heartbeat.

Joel crowds you until your lower back collides with the kitchen island. He cages you in, smelling like winter and smoke and the bay hale from the barn. Cold fingers clasp your jaw, puckering your lips. He gets close. He gets in your face.

“Tell me you meant it,” Joel rasp.

The words sound like they’re being scrapped from his throat. Raw and ragged. He breathes heavily through his nose.

There’s something raging in his eyes. It’s not arrogance or cockiness lacing Joel’s words. He’s not angry. No.

He’s desperate.

He looks like he’s barely holding back.

You try to shake your head, jaw still held tight. Your lips open and close in confusion. Eyebrows drawn, your gaze flickers to Tommy.

He steps closer, slower than Joel had. Who doesn’t budge by the way. No. He stays crowded in, all while Tommy joins.

Your heartbeat jump starts, back fires like a shit box car behind your breastbone.

With gentle fingers, Tommy pushes a few stray hairs from your eyes. His southern accent digs deep, rich and decadent when he finally, finally, speaks.

“All you had to do was ask, sweet girl…If you wanted us both. All you had to do was ask.”

It clicks then.

Panic floods your veins like ice water, but then Tommy’s mouth is on yours.

It’s a whirlwind, a heady combination for one hell of a high. The feeling of Joel’s grip stays on your face, his body heat bleeding into you, but it’s the warmth of Tommy’s mouth that meets yours.

You open up for him immediately, lips parting. Kissing Tommy feels as easy as breathing. Like crisp mountain air, a gentle creek, lazy Sundays. He smells like cinnamon, tastes like whiskey, like they had a drink before they came here.

The kiss is languid. You know it’s barely a fraction of what Tommy’s feeling, but you don’t have time to ask for more, or time to even open your eyes before Joel’s twisting your head, and slotting his own mouth over yours next.

This kiss is different. Joel’s different. He’s more..intense.

It’s still slow but it’s deeper, like he’s trying to swallow you whole, breathe you in. He tastes like whiskey too, and something else, something spiced.

And that’s how you ended up here.

Your head spins, heart slamming against your ribcage with the same rhythm that your pussy throbs.

Bare legs stretched wide and draped over the outside of Joel’s thick thighs. Your back sits flushed with his chest. You’ve never felt anything like this. The way he holds you. It’s not rough. Hands built from years of hard work, a lifetime of violence, they caress you, sweep along your ribs and belly with a soft reverence.

And Tommy..

Tommy’s facial hair scrapes against your bare pussy. He drags the flat of his tongue from your hole to your clit, again and again, like he’s trying to lick right through you.

A moan slips from your throat, head falling back against Joel’s shoulder. He lets out a little teasing laugh, nose brushing the delicate line of your jaw.

Joel purrs, “You like his mouth, pretty girl?”

Tommy Miller is on his knees, eating your pussy like he’s starving for it, like you’re something to worship, all while you sit in his brother’s lap.

Wild black curls fall loose from his ponytail. His own eyes are blown wide, something dark swirled within. He hums straight into your sopping wet cunt.

Your nails dig into Joel’s arm where he holds you steady. You whimper, “Oh fuck. Joel..”

He coos at you, Joel, a little mockingly as he whispers, “I know, baby. I know. Who do you think taught him how to eat pussy like that?”

Joel pinches one of your nipples before he ask softly, “You want more?”

Like a cue, Tommy’s tongue isn’t the only thing touching your pussy anymore. He pulls back, bringing his fingers up and splitting them into a V, spreading you open.

You squirm, and whine a little when Tommy just holds you there and stares.

There’s a heavy beat of silence, a pause.

And then Tommy spits audibly.

Right onto your pussy.

It’s nasty, dirty. It makes your cheeks flush and burn. It even drags a moan from Joel, and it’s like he can’t stop himself anymore.

“Fuck..let me feel her,” Joel grunts.

His hand is sliding down before the words finish leaving his mouth. He was never asking.

Calloused fingertips slip over your clit just as two thick ones push inside. They both curse beneath their breath and yours is stolen from you.

A beautiful stretch that rearranges your mind, your priorities. One that leaves you wondering why you don’t spend all your time like this. Hell, quit your damn job just to stay stuffed full of these beautiful, beautiful men.

There’s a chuckle that rises from beneath you, warm breath that ghost over the wet skin of your inner thigh. Tommy presses a kiss there, eyes playful and sparkling up at you when you manage to unroll your own.

Tommy’s voice is teasing, “If that’s the way you react to just two of my fingers, sweetheart..”

A bone deep shiver runs through you. A blissful little smirk blooms on your face.

You already sound wrecked, voice shaky when you ask, “What? You don’t think I can take cock?”

Simultaneous moans bounce off the cabinets of your kitchen, making you giggle. Joel gives your pussy a light slap, mouth right by your ear when he promises, “You’ll take them either way..won’t ya, baby? You’ll give us whatever we want?”

Tommy curses, feeling you clench around his fingers. You turn your head as much as the position allows, nose bumping somewhere near Joel’s beard before he leans forward. Slick mouths brushing, tongues swirling. You whimper for him.

Your eyes are glazed when you pull back, when you answer boldly, and honestly.

“…Give you whatever, let you both take whatever you want. Just use me,” you breathe.

That shifts something. All the oxygen gets sucked from the room. You feel it crackle and split the air. Tommy and Joel go tense, and then they melt, groaning like you’ve promised them both heaven and hell.

Joel’s hands are already gliding back up your body, wide and firm, finding the heated skin of your exposed chest, your hard nipples. He sounds different now.

“Make her cum,” he demands.

And you feel bold, a little head-rushed and giddy. So with your fingers still buried in Tommy’s hair, you tug hard.

“Yeah, make me cum,” you tease.

Tommy’s eyes snap like a whip with how fast they fly to yours. A shocked bark of a laugh burst from his mouth. You watch in real time as Tommy’s demeanor changes. Like a door opening or a thin curtain being drawn back, the warm light of your kitchen reveals something dark there. Your blood chills.

Joel chuckles behind you, spilling words of warning into your ear.

“Oh, you shouldn’t na done tha’ sweet girl.”

Still locked in the strangest, horniest, staring contest with Tommy, you ask quickly, “Why?”

Joel’s chest rumbles with more amusement.

“Cause he’s gonna wreck that pretty cunt now. Just remember you asked for it.”

And that’s the last thing that’s said before Tommy curls his fingers, with just a little cruelty. He digs into that spongey spot inside you, pulls at it, like he’s gonna pull his fingers out but he doesn’t. The motion tries to jerk you down Joel’s body with the force of it, but he holds tight.

Your pussy screams, squelches and drips, and talks to Tommy in the filthiest manner. He pivots. Pulls away from the spot that’s bound to bring you release, and he buries his fingers as far as they’ll go. He adds another, making your guts jump.

Three deep and dragging deliciously against your inner walls, the heat of his mouth returns as well.

“T-Tommy,” you gasp. Your nails scratch his scalp. He growls into your pussy.

It’s contradictory. Fingers ruthless, rough and speeding up, versus the steady suction on your clit.

It bows your back, heats your belly but cools your skin. Tommy suckles on your clit in sweet steady pulses, like it’s candy coated and like he’s got no where else to be.

You feel it, hear it too. It’s shameful. The noises he’s pulling from your mouth and your cunt. The soft but persistent torture to your nipples from Joel only douses everything in gasoline, building onto that fire in your belly.

It’s hot and sharp. This isn’t an orgasm you’re giving anymore, but one that Tommy’s hell bent on taking. His knees ache from the floor but it’s distant, numb, like he can’t really feel it. All he knows is the taste of you, and your orgasm that’s just out of reach. It’s close enough to nip with his teeth.

He pulls back suddenly and quick, delivering a single loud, hard and echoing slap to your clit. It sings, and he soothes it almost immediately with his tongue.

The sparks light up behind your eyelids and hipbones. Tommy’s fingers catch one last time, shoving hard and grinding against that ridge.

Like glass, you shatter. Thighs shaking, lungs tightening with the pleasure. You cum hard and messy on Tommy Miller’s tongue. He drinks all of it.

You come back to reality with the soothing motion of Joel’s palms running up and down your ribs. His beard tickling your shoulder.

There’s a smile on his face even though you can’t see it. He’s slowing everything down. He hums, “Breathe, baby. Just breathe.”

Your eyes crack open, limbs heavy and fuzzy.

Tommy’s finally slipped from his knees to sitting on the floor completely, leaning back against the kitchen island. He hadn’t stopped, shoving you further and further into your orgasm when it hit, and he played with your pussy, cleaned you up until you were shaking and jerking in Joel’s lap.

He looks wrecked, almost high. For the first time, you see the hard line of his cock still trapped behind the zipper of his jeans. You can feel Joel’s pressing into the small of your back.

You heave a breath, a cracked hum slipping from your chest as you turn your head to Joel. You bury your face into the space beneath his jaw, nuzzling him like a needy kitten. The words finally come.

“More..can we..?”

He answers with a tightening squeeze of his arms, “Yeah? You sure, baby?”

You nod quickly but soft, almost shy. Joel chuckles at your sweet sated behavior. He delivers two firm pats to your hip before ordering you, “You can have more, sweetheart. Thank Tommy first.”

And just like that, you’re slipping from Joel’s lap. Tommy practically has to catch you as you drop to meet him on the floor. Your legs are still trembling.

Tommy’s got this starry look on his face now, like he loves seeing you like this, post orgasm, all cuddly, a little silly. The crinkles by his eyes are prominent as he smiles.

“Hi,” you whisper.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he whispers back.

You kiss him this time. Quick, before he can take charge. His beard is still soaked with your juices, slicking your own face when you crash your mouths together. You moan at the taste of yourself. Tommy groans at your desperateness, at the way you chase the taste of your pussy on his tongue, like it turns you on.

He has to grip your jaw, rip you away when his lungs burn too deeply. You fight him, trying to pull him back.

“Easy..easy, sweet girl. You can have all you want. I’m not going anywhere,” he promises against your lips.

And then you’re being lifted. Joel’s arms slip beneath your knees and your back, carrying your naked body towards the hall that leads to your bedroom.

—

This ended up being way longer than I thought it’d be. I tagged a few people who wanted part 2. Might eventually make an actual tag list. Let me know if you’d like to be on it! Thank you guys. 🫶🏼

Pt. 3 of what goes down in the bedroom??? 😏

[writteninthebinds]

Game Joel will always hold a special place in my heart and it’s funny because it makes it harder to write for him. It’s just so emotionally heavy.

Like please, give me soft lazy mornings and warm mugs of bitter black coffee with this sweet man. I’ll learn to drink it without any sugar or milk.

Give me his longer hair and beard, so I can twirl the ends between my fingertips where it starts to curl. I’ll scratch my nails through his beard too, and he’ll purr and blush when he catches himself.

What do you mean I can’t kiss the wrinkles by his eyes and the scar on his nose? I can’t trace the bumpy curve of it in the moonlight, where it’s been broken so many times before?

I just need to fall into him, to fucking melt in his big strong arms. He’d let you. Smelling like warmth and safety, like maple syrup and wood chips and coffee beans. He’d scoop you up, hold you in his lap.

He’d wipe your tears away with his calloused thumbs, brush through your hair with gentle fingers. His lips would trail the sweetest kisses across your cheeks, your forehead, all until you laughed for him.

Joel’s voice would dip low and rumble deeply in his chest. He would whisper to you.

“It’s alright, pretty girl. I’m right here.”

Joel Miller is depicted as such a hardened man, and he is. That’s part of him.

He’s so fucking sweet too though. He’s so tender.

He just never got to be.

Joel Miller is soul altering, bone deep devotion.

He’s a cold spring rain shower and rocking chairs on the front porch. Dirty bare feet and toe prints on the sun bleached wood, lunch sandwiches shared at the rickety kitchen table for two.

I don’t care what anyone else says.

Joel Miller is a good man, with the biggest heart. He deserves so so much.

[writteninthebinds]

Make Me Choose?

Part One

Part Two is here

Summary: you and Dina smoke post patrol. Tommy and Joel overhear some of your stoned gossip.

tw: none here really. future smut

wc: not sure, but it’s short 🫶🏼

—

You’re kicked back, relaxing and just waiting for Tommy and Joel to finish their sweep.

The weed is settling over you, pulling sweetly at your tired muscles. Dina’s got this look on her face, a certain slant to the corner of her mouth. You know whatever she’s about to say is gonna be ridiculous.

You roll your eyes, voice already playfully defensive when you ask, “What?”

She just keeps looking at you, makes a funny face that screams I didn’t say anything, and then she scoffs, pauses, giggles to herself.

She’s high as hell.

She asks, “Do you remember that party last month? A few of us snuck off and we started playing truth or dare?”

You shake your head with a lazy smile, shrugging. Your voice rumbles when you reply.

“I remember..mostly. What about it?”

Dina gets this far away look in her eyes, like she’s remembering. Her brows do a little furrowing kinda thing before a shit eating grin breaks out across her face.

“You chickened out on a question that night. Just one question. It’s bugged me ever since.”

You groan loudly, letting your head fall back against the couch. You immediately know the question she’s referring to, and if it wasn’t for the weed in your system right now, you probably wouldn’t be giggling.

It only riles Dina up more. She scoots closer, fingers darting out to poke at your ribs. You squirm with a yelp.

“Come on, spit it out..who would you hook up with if there were zero questions, zero consequences?”

You snort, belly muscles clenching with more laughter. Eventually, it fizzles out. It goes quiet between you two, and you cast a half contained look at Dina. The answers trapped just behind your teeth, stuck there. Her eyes sparkle, and she lets out a sigh when you don’t answer.

What both of you have failed to notice are the sounds of Tommy and Joel returning. They’ve just barely stepped through the door, still tucked down the hall, taking a moment to shake the snow from their boots and warm their hands.

Tommy’s the one that hears the question, your combined giggles. His eyebrows shoot upwards, a shocked grin on his lips. He taps Joel’s arm softly to get his attention, miming for him to listen.

Joel scoffs, not really caring to hear the gossip of two younger women. He can already smell the weed too. He’s ready to take a step forward, but Dina’s voice, more so her next words, stop him.

“Here’s what I think. I think you wouldn’t answer that night because - because Ellie was there.”

Your eyes snap to Dina’s. Her face is smug.

Of course she already knew your answer. You inhale deeply, thinking at least she won’t have much of a reaction considering she already assumes.

Wrong.

Your silent confirmation sends Dina squealing, fingers flying out to clutch at your arm. She throws her head back in laughter.

Meanwhile, Joel and Tommy still stand by the door silently, confusion etched onto their faces.

“Dina,” you groan.

Dina gasps, her next words broken apart. She asks, “Wait - okay, wait. You gotta give me this at least. Which one is it?”

You huff, but you’re unable to keep the smirk off your face. You repeat her words, asking, “Which one?”

Dina’s eyes cut to you, rolling dramatically. Her voice dips all low and sultry.

“I know why you wouldn’t answer that night. You didn’t want Ellie hearing about all those indecent thoughts you have starring a certain Miller. What I can’t figure out is which one it is. Joel or Tommy?”

There’s a heavy beat of silence that follows. A slow filthy grin splits across your face, eyes sparking with something dirty. Your next words land heavy.

“You think they’d make me choose?”

Dina’s mouth falls open at that, jaw slack and lips parted in shock. She barks out another deep laugh, flopping back against the sofa. You fall into another fit of chuckles as she throws teasing names at you. Whore. Slut.

Meanwhile, Joel and Tommy’s brains are leaking out of their ears as they still stand, frozen now, by the door. Joel’s cheeks burn red and Tommy swallows roughly, their eyes catching. A silent conversation passes between them, something shifting, clicking into place.

There’s a brief pause before Joel takes a deep breath, and then drops his bag loudly to the floor, making their presence known.

You and Dina are none the wiser, that they heard anything at all, let alone everything. You do try not to overthink on the ride back home, why it feels like both Tommy and Joel’s eyes stay on you a little longer, a little heavier than normal.

—

Pt.2 where Tommy and Joel corner you back in Jackson??? 🤭

[writteninthebinds]

pretty please

[writteninthebinds]