Wandering Hands

Damerey AU “Secret”

Forbidden love and two hot hearts. Nothing will stop them, but how long can they keep this secret?

Reminder that whatever you’re writing, you shouldn’t give up because no one else can put the puzzle together the same way you can. It’s unique to you, so stop comparing yourselves to others. That completely eliminates the whole purpose. 

Reblog to give Marc Spector a much needed hug😢😢

Something really shitty has just been passed by the UK goverment.

A new bill that is stripping out human rights has been passed and we need to fight it before it costs lives. The new Human Rights Bill has made nazi Germans esc changes that will effect you or somone you love.

The most notiable parts being:

-If you are admitted to hospital with a disability or chronic condition a doctor can put a DNR do not ressusatate on you and you can’t appeal it.

-They are stopping woman from being able to move fowards with assault charges

- They are making it impossible for victims of terrorism to get justice. They won’t let people like the victims of  the hillsborough disaster hold the people responsible

Please do your own research if you must but we can’t let this happen!

There a petition to sign that’s already half way there so please share it around and tell ppl in the UK what is happening.

 https://petition.parliament.uk/petitions/607712

Pixel art by @euthanasian - Dance Central 3 end credits

Peppermint Kisses

word count: 10.5k

summary: being in charge of a christmas party at the museum has you worked up all week, yet was also the only thing you looked forward to to finally unwind. what you don’t realize is that the dress you’re wearing is winding others up, specifically, your shy, soft-spoken boss, steven grant.

authors note and warnings: steven/f!reader. smut, build up, porn WITH plot, nsfw as fuck, drunk sex (both parties drunk and consent enthusiastically), steven eats you out, reader with female reproductive parts, one tiny fleabag reference if you squint. reader has mild self-image issues but they are only mentioned for like a second, mild age gap - reader in grad school, obvs i dont condone relationships with power dynamics this is just a fanfic. don’t fuck your boss please. enjoy

_________________________________________

the clock on the cream-colored wall hits six pm as you pin up last of the holiday decorations. faint christmas music dwindles in the room with you quietly humming along. the cold museum air hits the back of your bare thighs as you walk briskly across the room to your next task as the assistant to the head of the egyptology department.

:readmore:

you remember every detail about your job interview for the museum. you never wanted to work in egyptology yet you got in with just one interview. the job application you sent to the museum was a last resort. most jobs on your campus were taken, and you were starting to run low on funds.

until you saw a crumpled up "help wanted" ad in one of your history elective classes. even as a business major you had to take electives as part of your program; you never understood why, and you hated it. but that day, it paid off.

you remember exactly what you wore: a white satin button-up with a black pencil skirt and black flats. hair tied back and a practiced smile plastered on your face. you wore your lucky gold rings and a thin silver necklace with a crescent moon charm.

the air in the interview room deliciously smelled of old books and coffee as does your current office. you remember being characteristically nervous and bumping your leg against the cedar wooden table repeatedly before taking a few deep breaths as you heard voices outside the room. you practiced your greeting a few times before the door opened softly, revealing a man.

you were positive it was a woman on the phone who answered your call for the help wanted ad. you stupidly assumed it was going to be her who was taking your interview, and you mentally kicked yourself for it. you didn't like talking to men. they would usually say something extremely offensive, and you would have to act like they didn't just ruin your day. you never had boyfriends for the same reason either; they were never worth it.

especially when girls were an option.

you eyed the man at the door up and down before rising from your chair as he approached you with an extended hand.

“oh i quite like your necklace charm,” was his first observation. he pointed hesitantly at your neck, which then felt more than exposed, to solve the puzzled look on your face. the confusion in your eyes vanished, realizing he was referring to the dainty piece of jewelry resting prettily against your collarbones.

you resolved the compliment with a short thanks as your fingers mindlessly traced your pendant. you took a moment away from your anxiety to process the seemingly timid man in front of you.

dark, curly locks fell gently on one side of his face. his slightly unshaven salt and peppery jaw gave his seemingly soft look some edge. he was well in his thirties, eyebags almost adorning his tender eyes, complimenting the black turtleneck and a khaki-colored jacket and pants. his physique shone through the tight material of his turtleneck yet you tried not to stare. his doe-like eyes were almost frighteningly deep, and you made a mental note not to look at them too much as they seemed to slowly wipe every worry from your brain.

even the fact that you were about to interview for your first-ever job, apparently.

“the name’s steven grant. how do you do?” he broke your train of thought, making you realize that his extended hand from earlier was still up, waiting for you to reciprocate.

you introduced yourself, stuttering over your words but slowly garnering confidence as the conversation went from standing awkwardly by the door of the office to the cedar wood table your knee bumped against, earlier.

“i’m the head of the egyptology department here at the museum. believe it or not, i used to work at the gift shop here!” he exclaimed with a sweet smile. you could not, for the sake of your life, stop analyzing his features. you wondered if you looked weird simply staring at him, but he didn’t seem to mind as he blabbered on about his duties as the head of one of the most famous exhibits at the museum. you listened intently with frequent nods of acknowledgment and bursts of smiles at his dad-jokes, seeming to give steven the confidence to continue with his information.

steven grant came off as a soft-spoken man. one that could go on for days about his vast knowledge of egyptian mythology; each story more fascinating to him than the other. you could tell he loved his job by the way his eyes sparked up mentioning the numerous epics and deities he knew about. either accentuating stories or whispering them like they were secrets shared only between him and the other person in the room, he had you wishing you could listen to his deep, honey-like voice in the mornings on your way to your boring accounting lectures, or while you cook dinner alone in your apartment with your roommate always out.

steven, unfortunately, paused his info dump, however much you enjoyed it. his gaze flipped through the pages in your resume, his - pretty- pink lips pouting downward in appreciation of the content on the pages you hurriedly printed out the night before.

you bit your bottom lip in anticipation of his opinion. you didn’t catch steven’s glance shift to your lips momentarily as your eyes were glued on his - pretty - fingers holding the papers.

fingers that looked calloused, rough, experienced-

“so you are a grad student, is that correct?” the man questioned, giving your thoughts a well-needed break as he finally shut your resume. you took a deep breath in, picking up the scent of coffee and cologne, as you prepped an answer in your head.

“that is correct. i have a bachelor’s in business administration, and i am currently working towards an accounting specialization. i applied here because i really do admire art, and i thought i could help with some of the clerical work. i am good with numbers… and i could use the money,” you trailed off, realizing how desperate you sounded toward the end. it was the truth, even if that wasn’t what you should have said at the moment.

you noticed steven’s soft eyes widen momentarily before his face cracked into a small grin, “i admire your honesty. i’m going to be completely honest with you… i think you are overqualified even if you don't care a bit about the art,” he stated, with a chuckle.

you felt your heart jump at the honest compliment from him. flashing an uncontrollable grin at the man having heard words of praise, you sat up straighter, feeling your heartbeat slow down a bit. you noticed steven pause to analyze you before moving forward with your interview.

“wait, stev-, uh, mr. grant-”

“steven,” he insisted. okay, then.

“steven,” you stated, his name feeling like a grave secret as it rolled off your tongue, “can i ask you; how many applicants are there?”

“only two others. although you shouldn’t worry about them. they are freshmen undergrads. that’s what i get for forgetting to include an age range in the help wanted ad, buggers, i really am bloody forgetful,” he provided you with well-needed assurance, trailing off into rhetorical comments about himself.

the tension in the air was thick. neither of you knew why, but clearing throats or shifting weights suddenly did not seem enough to cope with it anymore even when steven was still talking. the man in front of you went on another rant of his about how he should invest some sticky notes, or learn how to work the reminder app on his phone so he could get organized. usually, you would find it annoying when men talked about themselves too much, but coupled with his british accent that you found adorable, you let him speak with a smile on your face.

it was not ingenuine either. you wished you could sit there for hours listening to him. the way he used his hands to converse, the way he would nod frantically to really drive his point home: it was a delight watching him.

unfortunately for you, your eyes ended up on the clock on his desk, realizing that you had a class in half an hour on the other side of town. hating that you had to interrupt the seemingly sweet man, you found a gap in his monologue and butted in.

“so… does that mean i… get the job?” you asked, finally, hope dripping at the end of your sentence.

you saw realization wash over steven’s face as he processed just how long he went on talking about miscellaneous things in a job interview.

“oh i went off didn’t i, if i do it again, just tell me to shut up, i won’t take offense to it,” he informed, genuinely sorry that he took up your time. he bunched up your resume and handed it back to you to answered your question,“well, i can’t guarantee you will start work as soon as tomorrow… but yes, you do have a job,” he grinned, “and you already have a task.”

furrowing your brows, you tilted your head, asking him to elaborate. he followed your cue, “since we are nearing christmas and the museum visits are expected to increase significantly, all pre-existing employees have their hands full… and we need someone to arrange the office christmas party.”

your eyes widened as you felt numerous gears in your head turn at the same time, clashing and burning. “uh… i expected something more related to finances, like handling cash receipts and whatnot.”

“yeah, unfortunately, most of those jobs are already spoken for. you will actually be assisting me on my daily duties around the office and whatnot.” he spoke through his soft, often apologetic, smile, mirroring you, which would have come off as rude if anybody else said it, but something about steven sugarcoated every single breath he took.

as you processed the information with an involuntary gulp and repetitive nods, you stared at the task list that steven had already printed out for you.

millions of worries flooded your head as your grip on the task sheet grew tighter. although, looking up from the paper to thank steven as you were about to take your leave, you found yourself hooked onto his eyes again. the kind, deep, understanding eyes that traced your figure the moment they saw you. you felt your nerves ease up as you let the paper in your hand free from your death grip.

the job description was less than ideal and completely different than the one you had assumed and prepared yourself for; but it is what you had to work with.

and you had steven to thank for saving your sorry ass.

“thank you, steven,” you sighed in relief, “really, i owe you one.”

you weren’t sure whether you saw steven’s eyes glint momentarily, but you did flash your most genuine grin and take your leave. you could feel steven’s gaze trailing your figure as you walked out of his cozy office and closed the door behind you.

recounting the interview always left an odd feeling brewing in your gut. nervousness. embarrassment. tension.

heat.

you convinced yourself that you were being dramatic. still, you would find yourself up late at night replaying your interaction with the man who had caught your eye. what the hell was so special about him anyway?

at the end of the day, you were thankful that you even received a job at that museum albeit the people there rarely talked to you, usually having their noses buried in books and not knowing what the hell went on outside their own bubble.

the day of the christmas party marked the end of your first month working the job. you celebrated that morning with a chocolate croissant from your local cafe, crumbs of which stuck to the new lipstick you also bought yourself to admittedly catch steven’s attention. the same crumbs that steven pointed out hesitantly this morning, his gaze flickering to your lips before jerking his head away in urgency and offering you a kleenex.

needless to say, you were mildly infatuated with your boss.

you reminisce how his face lit up when you walked into his office on your first day, five minutes before your shift started. it seemed like he did not have many visitors; his job seemed lonely. managing a whole department alone up until now seemed like an impossible task. one that would break steven grant’s already unconfident posture.

when there weren't museum visitors to make fun of, you would find yourself gaping at your boss through the glass window separating his office from your open workspace. you would notice how his eyes would stay glued onto the bright computer screen on his desk, going through tens of pages of material about new discoveries within minutes as he typed up the information loudly on his old keyboard.

you noticed how his eyes would often squint hard at the screen trying to make out the fine print text, making him look like a grandpa trying to navigate technology. a smile would tug at your lips observing him throughout the day as you patched through calls for him and brainstormed what to work on for the upcoming christmas party.

he would often call you in his office, yet always apologize for doing so, even though it was literally part of your job description. you were a diligent note-taker, always understanding the task steven assigned you. as much as you hated having to come to work, you loved to work for him: a kind, gentle giant that never bothered you, praised your work whenever he could, complimented your necklace (the same one with the crescent moon) when you would be visibly frustrated with colleagues in other departments giving you hard time.

it was almost like he knew exactly what to say at any given moment. or maybe it was the fact that he was the only reason you were excited to go to work every morning.

it was definitely that.

the week leading up to the party was stressful. you had e-vites, decorations, catering, secret santa, and booze to figure out. it certainly did not help when steven reminded you about the christmas tree in the storage closet that you had the responsibility of assembling all by yourself because everyone else was suddenly so busy that they couldn’t give you five minutes of their time.

the day of the party has finally arrived. by four-thirty pm, you are done with your task list. having no clerical work left for the museum either, your eyes flicker to your bag with your party dress and makeup stuffed in.

it is officially after-hours at the museum, and you are exhausted. now that you are done with all your work, you could relax and enjoy the christmas party. you switch off the bright fluorescent light that hurts your corneas, to let the soft glow of fairy lights illuminate the room. the christmas lights wrapped around the giant tree look almost nostalgic.

you guess you never put that much thought into christmas before since your parents always did the work for you, up until your family decided to give up on holidays altogether.

it is like gaining an appreciation for food that you never really cared for only after you make it yourself. warmth spreads all over your body as you admire your work.

yeah, it is silly to gush over a christmas party, but you don’t care. between college and your work, you are finally about to catch a well-needed breath. maybe even some alcohol if you are lucky.

as you see employees rushing to the bathroom to get dressed, you hurriedly grab your bag and start toward the powder room, feeling that same odd feeling pool at the bottom of your gut.

the realization that this is your last chance for a while to get steven’s attention makes you chew on your bottom lip as you slip into one of the bathroom stalls to change.

as you unbutton your shirt, you hear the other employees chatter and laugh about office romances or who recently had plastic surgery done. you eventually tune it out until one specific ‘rumor’ filters through to you at the sound of your name.

“did you see how she looks at steven? i’m telling you that’s a fucking lawsuit right there,” you hear.

wait, what?

“yes steven, right away. whatever you say, steven!” you hear another voice mock, what you guess, is how you respond to steven. you feel your ears turn red-hot with embarrassment and that feeling from earlier grows a thousand times as intense as you finally get your blouse off your shoulders.

“i bet you ten dollars they’re gonna be fooling around tonight,” you hear the first voice.

“i bet twenty i’ll find them fucking in the storage closet.”

your knees turn to jelly. the number of emotions flipping through your head make you want to sit down somewhere, but all you can do is lean lightly on the toilet paper dispenser.

off the top of your head, you feel shame. you are embarrassed because they know exactly what was going on in your head. you wanted your boss, your superior, at a job you have been at for barely a month.

feeling tears prick at the corners of your eyes, you breathe in, digging your fingernails into your palms. you know it was wrong to think that way, and now that you were caught admiring your boss in the office, it felt worse.

on one hand, you are absolutely not at fault. it is normal to crush on people. having feelings for someone isn’t a crime.

on the other, it is your boss you fancied.

you shake your head as if that will permanently shake off these feelings that do nothing but spoil your mood.

you unbutton your pants quietly, not wanting to give away your presence. you hate that you heard gossip about yourself; you, who hasn't even been at the office for that long.

however, another part of you gains a strange relief.

these people find you hot enough to be with steven.

your eyes widen at the revelation as you unhook your bra. these people know absolutely nothing about you. they have only seen how you look around the office or maybe stalked your social media. just from surface-level interactions, they deemed that you were hot enough for steven to fool around with.

you fight your urge to smile before letting your arrogance take over. you would rather look at things this way than feel shame at a party you worked extremely hard for. there is no way you are going to let a piece of gossip ruin this for you.

as you slip your red, velvet dress on, you understand how risque it actually is. the straps on your shoulders are wide, yes, but they don’t help mitigate the depth of your cleavage, or how the dress hugs your body in all the right places before ending right below your ass.

will you be dress-coded? the party is taking place in the museum after all.

it is after-hours, though. you aren’t technically violating the dress-code.

stuffing your work clothes in the bag, you walk out of the stall, not caring whether you make your presence known. as expected, you see your coworkers’ eyes widen in shock as you make your way to one of the bathroom mirrors to get ready, realizing you probably heard their gossip. you feel their eyes rake your body, almost as if they were interested, but see them look away right when you turn your head toward them.

“excuse me, could you pass me a paper towel?” you feign innocence. one of the women nods frantically as she tears one off from the dispenser and hands it to you.

it is smooth sailing from then on. you don’t hear one more word from the women as you finish with your makeup and hair. a few sprays of your lavender perfume, and you are good to go.

taking one more look into the mirror, you admire the dress and the wonders it does for your body. growing up, you didn’t like yourself, to say the least. always finding flaws in your appearance, you convinced yourself you were never 'all that.'

but with time, healing, and moments like this when you feel truly gorgeous, you would cherish the love and appreciation for yourself that spread all over your body.

the sheer black stockings add a professional touch that your attire desperately needs since the mini velvet dress you wore makes you look like a christmas gift waiting to be unwrapped.

you are turned on looking at yourself; more than you would like to admit. your hips, your ass, your collarbones, your cleavage. everything about you feels perfect at the moment.

the office bet about you and steven banging in the storage room is a cherry on top of the sundae.

you take a deep breath and walk out of the bathroom, feeling a sudden ambush of cold air envelop your body. you notice people’s heads turning toward you as you make your way to the party.

there is one more decoration left, after all. the christmas star.

as you enter the room, now slowly filling up with overworked employees and lighthearted chatter, you feel exposed as you realize that you are clearly overdressed compared to others. this is the first time anybody in the office is seeing you in an outfit that slutty.

and yeah, while this is deliberate on your part, you really do not feel like entertaining the feeling of being on display.

you smile at the people who gaped at you shamelessly and quickly turn to the christmas star lying on top of the leftover decorations.

your velvety dress clings uncomfortably to your body as you try to climb one of the chairs. you climb behind the tree consciously so as to not accidentally flash your whole office as you decorate.

you regret procrastinating this task until you were dressed and feel yourself lose hope as you try to reach the top of the tree.

“fuck, fuck, fuck..” you mutter to yourself as you now tiptoe in your heels to reach it. you feel your legs shake as you extend your limbs, trying not to fall.

then you feel your chair tip over.

you immediately grab hold of the wall and shut your eyes, hoping that it might actually save you from falling, but no.

what saves you was not a half-assed delusion.

two strong hands gripping your thighs steady you before you can fall to your face and embarrass yourself. the grip against the flesh of your thighs is warm, yet firm, followed by a familiar, timid voice asking, “are you okay?”

your eyes open with frightening speed as the pressure on your thighs travels straight to your core.

there he is, steven grant, your boss who you have a really inappropriate crush on, holding your thighs, while you are decked in the sluttiest dress possible for a museum office party.

your gaze shifts to the man behind and beneath you, looking up through his long lashes and curly hair, surrounding you with the same scent that has you feeling weak in the knees every morning.

“pa- pardon me, what?” you inquire, still processing the position you’re in. steven lets go of your thighs, and you let out a silent noise in protest at the loss of the warmth and span of his fingers on your body.

“i asked you if you’re okay? here let me-” he offers you his hand to step down from the chair. once again, you feel small in his grip. his palms hold yours firmly as you lean on him to jump down. the landing is rushed on your part as you try to get away from him as fast as possible, but that only brings you closer to him. your faulty landing sends you bumping straight into his wide chest.

“oops, um. i’m sorry, yeah im fine, i was just trying to put this dang ornament up there,” you try laughing the situation off as you avoid making eye contact with him. his cologne, now a little stronger with the proximity you two were in, makes you feel lightheaded.

your small hand is still resting on his as he spoke, the soft depth of his voice dripping in concern and the tiniest bit of worry disguised as anger making your heart flutter. “you should’ve asked someone else to do this. what if i wasn’t there? what if you had gotten hurt?”

“i’m really sorry, i didn’t want to delegate my work as an assistant, and i guess i spread myself too thin, i really do apologize,” you look up, your brows knitting in genuine worry that you have somehow disappointed steven grant.

“you wanna sue the museum or something?” he chuckles as soon as he notices that you were more worried about what he thinks than what would have happened if you had fallen and injured yourself.

you laugh along with him, your nerves easing up at his joke. “come on, i’ll have adam from h.r get to this, he’s a tall bloke,” steven signals you to leave your task as his hand makes its way onto the small of your back, gently guiding you out from behind the tree, “you need to ease up, i’ve seen how hard you work.”

your heart and brain somersault hearing that he’s been observing you in some way or another. his comparatively giant hand on your back, mere centimeters away from your ass, sends a chill up your spine. you realize how close he is to you, once again, while you two begin squeezing through the gap between the tree and the wall.

instinctually, you both face the tree to fit through the gap, not realizing the awkward position it puts you in.

your ass grazes steven’s crotch as you two inch toward the opening that would finally end this god-awful sexual tension that you felt. “um, this is.. uh,” is all you utter before his hands rest lightly on your hips followed by a soft “let me just-” from steven as he slips out of the gap first, not foreseeing the —delicious— friction it causes and excuses himself to his office immediately.

part of you is grateful that he left you. the other, hornier part of you wanted him to keep you there with his rough grip and grind on your ass. you sigh in defeat as you watch him exchange pleasantries with other employees and promptly walk into his office.

you had to be real with yourself. he is your boss, he is older and obviously was not interested. why would he not take the opportunity to feel you up even in the position that you were in just a few minutes ago. he is obviously not into you. nope. not a bit. just a man being nice. which was rare, you told yourself.

ignoring the mild ache in your core, you make your way to the makeshift bar at the party. you can only think of steven’s hands on your body; the care yet firmness he handled it with, and you needed to stop.

“hey, brenda. can you get me a drink? anything, i don’t care. i could use some alcohol right now,” you mutter, looking up at the woman you met in accounting on your first day on job, who was the only person who agreed to help out by bartending the event.

“sure thing, you look amazing by the way, where did you get that dress?” she asks, pouring from a bottle of peppermint schnapps. you smile wide at the compliment and tell her that your mother got it for you last year before you moved out and rented an apartment here at the city.

draining the red solo cup in one go, you ask brenda for another shot as you eye the buffet. you should probably get some food in you before you pass out.

steven has yet to come out of his office, and you down another shot as you watch him through the glass window focused on his computer. the drink burns deliciously as the heat from it spreads through your veins. you bite your lower lip and knit your brows, still wondering why steven was working even after the museum had closed. it is ten pm now, and you realize that time going by exceedingly fast with the alcohol in your veins.

you pout as you munch on a brownie. he could stay in his office all night, what will you do now? technically he already made his “polite appearance” for the night and did not need to leave his office.

racking your brain, you scan the room for some kind of distraction that would get him out of his room: maybe an impromptu dance party? karaoke?

there isn’t much to work with until your eyes land on the pile of gifts underneath the christmas tree.

you almost forgot you got him for secret santa (and that you definitely did not bribe isiah in security in exchange for steven’s name). you just had to wait until midnight to be close to him. you could do that for sure.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

believe it or not, steven does end up coming out of his office, his hair, disheveled, and his slightly bloodshot eyes scanning the room as he walks up to the bar for a drink. you are five drinks in, even after promising you would pace yourself, courtesy of brenda and a few other people you started socializing with randomly in the office. liquid courage can be a beautiful thing sometimes.

you are the first person in the room to notice steven walk in with that tight black sweater accentuating his shockingly defined chest, and a gold necklace adorning his beautiful neck. your gaze follows his figure through heavy-lidded eyes as your legs, having a mind of their own, carry you to him, dragging him to the bar with the weakest grip on his arm.

“come on, steven, how long are you going to be inside your office! let’s party, you work too hard!” you exclaim through the party music in the background. your new friend group laughs along with you as you try making steven comfortable with the situation. you could tell the poor guy doesn’t go to a lot of parties and prefers being a homebody.

“what are you gonna drink steven?” you ask, your hand mindlessly touching his bicep as your face barely hid the utter surprise his muscle definition had you in.

“i’ll have whatever she’s having,” steven chuckles, pointing at you, and your new friends laugh at his joke, too inebriated to analyze whether it is even funny in the first place. as you grab the drink from brenda and hand it to him, little shocks of electricity spark at your fingers when they make contact with his.

you watch him dart his tongue out to wet his bottom lip and down the drink, wincing as he gulps it down. your eyes flicker to his adam’s apple bobbing as he tilts his head back to finish what is in his cup.

his neck is gorgeous. you realize that your attraction to his neck, specifically, was a bit weird, even vampirical, but could not, for the love of god, stop thinking about kissing it, maybe biting down on it as you gently pull on his soft, curly hair. you shift weights uncomfortably as you peel your eyes away from his neck and tell brenda to give him another shot of whatever she poured him.

you realize she gave him peppermint schnapps just like she gave you and smiled at the thought of tasting the drink if you were to kiss him right then. you nudge the drink toward steven who is obviously pushing back on having another one.

“i have work tomorrow, i have a thing-”

“come on! it’s a party, have some fun!” the small crowd around him cheers as you join in with the peer pressure. you are drunk, to say the least, swaying and bobbing your head to the music, smiling uncontrollably as your eyes memorize each and every single one of steven’s features.

the way his beautiful nose scrunches up as he feels the schnapps burn in his stomach shows exactly how much partying he does outside of work. you need him to have a good time, just out of pure concern for him. it is clear he did not have many friends, and you wanted to try to be his first. maybe even more than one.

“ohhhh this was a mistake,” he comments, gently rubbing his chest to relieve the burning.

“pizza?” you offer with a smile. you notice him being more carefree than usual as he thanks you without being overly gracious or apologetic for your effort. while you did love him for the bumbling british hunk he was, you never wanted him to feel uncomfortable around you. whenever steven was around other people, you would notice a spark in his eyes, one that was begging everyone to like him. you understood that more than anything.

the crowd around you disperses, leaving you and steven swaying to the music at your own rhythms.

“when was the last time you danced, steven?” you ask, leaning closer to his ear as the music gets louder.

“i dunno… maybe a while ago… ten years….” he speaks, mirroring your gesture and leaning toward your ear. you feel his breath on the nape of your neck, making you take a sharp breath.

“you didn’t dance at last year’s christmas party?”

“i joined the museum january of this year, i dunno how i was promoted this fast, though.” he chuckles near your ear, and this time, you feel him grab your arm to lean in. oh fuck.

“aren’t you glad you made me your assistant, how great is this party hm?” you feign cockiness, yet genuinely hoping that he is enjoying himself.

he just looks so stressed: from his eyebags to his disheveled hair, to the number of coffees he downs in the morning. part of you wants to hug him and cook him a meal that wasn’t ready after two minutes in the microwave. the other wants to relieve his tension under that same cedar wooden desk where nobody but he could see you working hard on your knees.

“thank you for this party, seriously.” steven squeezes your arm momentarily, his eyes roaming your face as they did with anybody he talked to, “i wouldn’t have anyone else as my assistant that’s for sure.”

he makes you feel like the most important person in the room with his soft yet piercing gaze that so desperately wishes to know your deepest secrets.

“of course, i wouldn’t dare disappoint you.” you smile, your heart fluttering at the way he interacts with you. you love hearing praise, especially from someone you look up to. you wonder if that’s what he would sound like under you, breathing heavy and praising the way you would bounce on his cock.

woah. maybe you needed to slow down on the alcohol.

the dim lights illuminate one side of his face as he talks to you about his latest findings in the world of egyptology. you drown the music out as the alcohol in your veins make your vision blurry. steven looks almost angelic from your view and you sigh dreamily as you maintain eye-contact, nodding frequently.

you realize how you were the only one steven talks to the most in the office. you could listen to him for hours and hours, his voice soothing every nerve in your body; your eyes analyze every little detail about him, from the way one of his eyebrows cock up when he’s deep in thought to his toothy grin.

you were crazy about him. you just wish you could scream it at the top of your lungs. you wish.

right as your heart feels like it is about to burst out of your chest, the clock hits twelve am followed by the alarm on your phone interrupting the moment between you and steven.

“EVERYONE! it is time for secret santa!” you announce, feeling steven’s grip on your arm loosen. this is your chance.

you wait for others to sort through their gifts until the area is clear and then go for the gift you got steven. you notice two gifts under the tree that have not been picked out yet. confused, you read the card attached to gift near yours and do a double-take when you find your name written in what you knew was steven’s gorgeous penmanship.

that means…

“merry christmas!” you hear steven’s voice from behind you, joyful as ever. your heart beats fast, wondering what he got you, how much thought he put into the gift, or whether he just grabbed the first thing from the gift shop.

you pick the gift you bought for him and hand it to him, “merry christmas to you too, steven.” you try saying, although your voice is suppressed by christmas music blaring on the speakers.

fuck, not right now.

you have had enough. the music is getting under your skin and overstimulating your senses. you have to get away from it. more importantly, you have to see steven open his gift.

“can we go somewhere quieter?” you half-yell over the music, gesturing toward his office. you see him trying to make out what you said by reading your lips and finally nod.

that feeling from earlier begins pooling at the bottom of your gut once again as you follow him to his office. absolutely nobody notices the two of you as you sneak out of the irritating atmosphere and slip into one that was quieter and cozier.

a sigh, that sounds too much like a moan, escapes your lips as you sit down on the couch in his office. you have never used it before so it feels weird when you feel the soft cushions dip underneath you.

you see steven place his gift on the cedar wooden table before rummaging through his bottom drawer and fishing out a bottle of peppermint schnapps. is that the only alcohol they had here?

“oh my gosh you hide alcohol here?” you fake a gasp as you eye the half-full bottle resting in steven’s hands. he brings his index fingers to his lips, shushing you with a clumsy grin painted on his face. your first instinct is to shut the blinds in case someone sees you drinking alone in the room with your boss at twelve in the morning.

steven produces two shot glasses from his drawer, holding them in one hand and the bottle of schnapps in another. you notice how elegant his hands look wrapped around the bottle, each bone and vein resembling a greek sculpture. you make yourself more comfortable on the couch by crossing one leg over the other, ignoring the well-needed friction at your inner thighs. your torso dips down as your hips sink into the back of the couch, enhancing your cleavage in the dim yellowish light in his office.

at any other moment, you would have adjusted your dress. but you let your dress stay the way it is, ignoring that you might regret the embarrassment later. you watch steven place the bottle and the glasses on the coffee table in front of you before bringing the gift you got him to the couch.

the smell of coffee in his room feels stronger for some reason, and you start to melt into the couch. you cannot believe how comforting his room is: from the old books placed on the wooden shelves to the replicas of artifacts he has on his wall. you feel safe.

“ok shot first, and then gifts?”

you nod as you watch him pour the schnapps. after clinking the glasses, you two down them, both wincing at the same time as a laugh bubbles in your throat watching steven cough.

“steven, open your gift first,” you state, fidgeting your fingers in nervousness. you watch him carefully unwrap your gift, making sure he doesn't tear the wrapping paper. his fingers work deftly to open the package, careful as to not fold or crease the paper. you wonder if this is how he would undress you. would he handle your body with the utmost care, gently peeling your dress off of you? would he unzip your dress softly as he leaves marks on your neck?

you observe steven’s whole face light up at the sight of the present. “you …. you got me a book on khonshu? how did you-” he begins in disbelief, his eyes raking every inch of the item in his hands.

“you have mentioned khonshu a lot, in the past month… your dead giveaway though? you accidentally forwarded me the link to buy the book instead of that contract you wanted me to look over that one time... i figured you forwarded me the web page you were on, i don’t know if you remember…” you trailed off, biting your lip to stop yourself from giggling at the memory, “but yeah.. i wanted to make sure i got you something you actually wanted instead of something you didn’t care for all that much.”

steven looks at you, astonished. he cannot fathom anyone actually listening to him and giving him something he has wanted for a long time.

“i don’t even know what to say… thank you, so so much.” he speaks, extending a hand and placing it on your own resting in your lap.

you, once again, ignore the fire it sends to your thighs and remember something, “oh, open the book, there is another surprise.”

steven’s eyes widen at you as he frantically flips through the pages to find a locket slip out of the book.

you got him the same locket you wore. the one with the crescent moon charm he adores. you realized he was obsessed with the moon, and you found it adorable, especially as you started drawing similarities between the two. the moon shines the brightest at night, just like steven who gets no sleep and apparently reads scholarly articles in his free time to work on his dissertation.

steven grant has different phases of him throughout the day, just like the moon, as he goes from the brightest when he works at the museum to a dull new moon when he is on his way home, exhausted.

you watch him hook the locket around his neck before looking up through his jet-black eyes, “what do you think?”

“it’s perfect.” you’re perfect, you want to say, but you know you can’t.

“okay, now let's do a shot before opening my gift!” you exclaim, peeling your eyes off his collarbones for the millionth time and pouring shots for the both of you.

it seems like you regret that last shot because you immediately rub your temple in distress. clearing your throat, you rip open the packaging, not caring anymore as you feel your vision blur before revealing his gift to you.

it’s a letter, and a paperweight. your eyebrows furrow, “what is this?”

“well i got you the paperweight for your office, but, you should read the letter and see what it says,”

maybe it is the alcohol that is making you more confused than you want to be, but you decide it is best you follow his lead. carefully tearing open the envelope, you unfold the paper, revealing the title in bold letters stating, ‘recommendation letter.’

your mouth falls agape, almost cartoonishly, as your eyes scan the paper; a bit drunk to properly read the letter, but sober enough to make out the words “diligent,” “hardworking,” “good listener,” and “sharpest employee.” although one phrase catches your eye immediately.

“extremely lucky to have.”

you look up at him through knitted brows, your lips forming into a grateful pout as you folded the letter back into the envelope.

“you really believe what you wrote, steven?” you manage to squeak out without bursting into tears right there. you couldn’t believe you were getting emotional on your boss’s couch just because he wrote a few words he probably copied from a template online.

“yeah... why? did i say something wrong? did i make a typo and accidentally call you a bad worker or something, blood hell, i need to proofread my paper a hundred times, im sorry i should probably-”

it was now or never.

“so you think youre extremely lucky … to have me?” you question, feeling liquid courage hoist you up to an unbelievable level of confidence. you feel your ears burn as you watch steven’s face twist into an apologetic expression, one that was ready to offer any and every explanation in the world to make you understand that he didn’t mean to offend you.

“i’m so sorry if i offended you in any way, all i meant was that you are a great employee to work with and an amazing assistant to have…” he trails off, searching your expression for resolve as you further pout at his explanation.

a soft “oh,” escapes your lips as you stare solemnly at your hands resting on your thighs.

reality hits you like a ton of bricks as you realize that that is all he saw you as. nothing more, nothing less. his assistant.

“did i say something wrong again? if you want to hit me go ahead, but i really am sorry-”

“steven, stop. you’re fine!” you raise your voice, frustrated with how nice he is. “i might really regret this in the morning but i could not care at this point… steven you are perfect the way you are. i might have only known you for a month but you are quite literally the sweetest person alive, and i’m tired of you not seeing that. even during meetings, you let yourself be spoken over, and it breaks my heart to see a great mind and an even better person like you go through that.”

steven stays silent, still processing your words.

“that might have been a bit random, but my point is, you’re too nice. you’re too nice to believe that you are good enough to be where you are. you are too nice to stand up for yourself. you are too nice to see that your month old assistant is attracted to you-”

“what?” you hear steven blurt.

your fingers graze softly over your parted lips in astonishment, realizing what you just said.

“you’re … um. pardon? i just, want to makes sure i heard you correctly-”

you cannot backtrack now. you know that. taking deep breath in, you turned your body to him, wetting your lips.

“i want you, steven. but i know you don’t because you only see me as your assistant, and that’s fine, but i can’t stop thinking about you. i feel myself losing my sanity over you, and i just want to be free of it. please just, reject me so i can move on with my life....” you speak, defeat ringing in your voice as you slouch and stare at your hands.

the air between the two of you feels heavy. the scent of the peppermint schnapps settling in the air makes you realize just how drunk you are. you just told your hot boss that you fancied him.

tired of waiting for a response, you get up and off the couch and straighten your dress, “message received, if you don’t mind, ill just leave now. i think brenda told me she would give me a ride ho-”

“you’re leaving?” he states, almost offended.

“yeah, it’s clear you’re just trying to save me from the embarrassment. lets just act like adults and move on-”

“you can’t just leave after telling me you want me. that’s not fair!” he exclaims, standing up. you are thankful that the blinds in the office are closed shut because you did not want others to see this.

you tilt your head in confusion. what was happening?

“you don’t think i think about you?” he speaks, the air in the room clearing up as he addresses your wildly inappropriate crush on him.

you feel the blood in your body come to a stop. you become more confused, if that were even possible. what does that mean…

“the way you strut into the office every morning wearing a flimsy blouse and that tight skirt? do you know what it does to me?” he accuses, almost in disbelief.

“wai-”

“why do you think i left you after helping you with the christmas star? i had to fix my fucking pants, for gods sake. you cannot just walk around in a dress like that, almost grind on me and expect me to stay sane now, can you?” he blurts, a dry laugh escaping his throat.

you feel the ground move beneath you. the bottom of your gut feels like liquid as you stare at the man in front of you pouring his heart out.

“why do you think i always stay in the office until you do? i don’t want to miss a moment in the day when that you’re not in my sight.”

this had to be a dream, you tell yourself.

“and today, you show up with this dress on, i feel like im being tortured.”

you feel an arrow go through your chest and your knees give in as you find your way on the couch once again.

“so… we both find each other attractive…” you comment, your eyes following steven’s figure slowly as he walks in front of you and halts. you look up at him, a point of view you only imagined at night when you needed to relieve that ache between your legs for the nth time in a row.

you stand up, your legs wobbly as you don’t dare to break eye contact. steven inches toward you, his eyes piercing yours as alarm bells in your head go off. his hands find their way onto your waist as they pull you in with one swift motion, your hips flush against his. if steven wasn’t holding you right then, you may have fallen.

you cannot take more of the wait. you realize that steven has done his part to be proactive. you have to take the lead next.

your own hands remove his from your hips and place them on your ass. finally, as you look up, you tip-toe to press a kiss to those soft plush lips of his that he would pout with when you would roll your eyes at him playfully after hearing his dad jokes in the office. the same lips that would quirk up when you made a joke in the office to brighten his tiring day.

the same lips you imagined devouring you as you touched yourself in your bedroom late at night.

you feel his hands roaming at your back as you try your best to stay in the moment. you swipe your tongue across his bottom lip, tasting peppermint as he groans against the warmth of your now swollen lips.

you almost feel like melting at the contact of your nose against his before the two of you separate.

you notice a slight blush across steven’s face that your heart adores. you pull him in, grabbing the soft curls at the back of his head and kissing him once more, this time deepening it as you turn him to the couch and gently push him down on it.

the taste of peppermint schnapps lingers on your tongue as you settle your knees around his burly thighs. with another glance to appreciate his beauty, you go in once again, not satisfied with how perfectly his lips fit yours: the softness of them making you want more as you bite his bottom lip, eliciting an embarrassing noise from him.

as your lips curve upward at the noise, you inquire, “you want this right?”

steven nods enthusiastically, his gaze not leaving yours as your eyes shift to the exposed skin on his neck. his face looks so apologetic and tired, and normally, that would make you upset.

but having him between your legs, at your mercy, awakens something inside you. his desperate, almost pathetic countenance makes you lick your lips before pulling his sweater down to kiss his neck. your hands slip under his shirt, feeling his body as you moan against the nape of his neck.

steven grant is jacked. the firmness of his torso makes arousal pool at your core as your hips involuntarily jerk against nothing, desperate for some kind of friction.

“fuck, oh god…” you mutter as you feel his hands travel from your waist to your ass, massaging them when you find some needed friction against his well-defined thighs.

“how many girls have you done this with,” you question, continuing to admire the man trapped under you.

“just two… you?” he responds, cocking an eyebrow before tilting his head back as he feels your knee press delectably against his hardening crotch, earning the deepest moan you have heard yet.

“girls? just one, men, none.” you state matter-of-factly as you cup his face and immediately tug at the hem of his sweater for him to take off. his eyes widen momentarily at your response before following your lead.

“so i’m the first man you’ve ever-”

you nod hurriedly in response as you slip the straps of your dress off your shoulders before asking him to unzip you as you lie against his firm chest, feeling his hard-on against your knee.

as steven rids you of everything but your stockings, you both take a moment to admire each other. steven’s eyes linger on your breasts and the way your hips curve into your ass, “you have no idea how long i’ve wanted this for,” the man before you sighs, running his hands up and down the sides of your torso delicately, afraid he might break you.

lightning travels to your core as you fumble with his belt.

you cannot believe your ears. you pray that this isn’t another wet dream you were having after which you would wake up feeling empty.

steven’s hips buck up into yours as he gets his pants off and focuses his attention on you, once again. your arousal has soaked through your stockings and his trousers like a call for help, although you don’t say a word.

“fuck… oh hell, you’re soaking wet…” he whimpers, staring at your core. you feel exposed at the observation but you continue grinding on his thigh before hearing, “do you want to please me that bad?”

“yes, steven,” you mutter, burying your face in the crook of his neck to avoid eye-contact, feeling his cock twitch. it was almost embarrassing: you have basically no experience with men, and you find yourself at a creative cock-block.

the heat radiating from his body, coupled with his hot breath on your sensitive skin drives you to bite his neck as you hump his thigh, not caring about how pathetic you look. you are already close to an orgasm, faster than your hands or that pink toy in your room have ever gotten you.

“i love it when you say my name,” he whispers against your ear before biting down on the shell of it and lifting you up effortlessly. it is like you weigh nothing to him as he picks you up and lays you down, your naked back against the soft couch cushions. steven’s figure hovers over yours, his hands almost trapping you as his chain dangles in your face. you bet this is what heaven is like as he trails kisses down your collarbone, all the way to your breasts.

you feel sensations you have never felt before in your life as you identify his calloused, yet gentle hands fondle your breasts, leaving kisses around the nipples.

“you’ll let me know if you want to stop, is that right?” he confirms, taking in one of your nipples between his teeth and licking it before continuing down your body. you nod frantically as your eyebrows twist up and your jaw falls open in pleasure.

maybe it is the schnapps, but your body is on fire. you absolutely cannot believe the position you are in: under your boss as he worships your body.

“you are so perfect, you know that?” you hear steven moan as you rub your thighs together. immediately noticing so, he settles between your legs, kissing down your stomach.

you are about to be eaten out by your boss. what the fuck.

your fingers find their way into his hair again, grabbing and twisting the strands with every kiss and bite of his until he slips your stockings off your legs.

you see steven gulp before attacking your thighs with his mouth, knowing just how turned on you are. you want to pull his head onto your pussy but you know that he knows what he is doing. there is a reason he is waiting.

“fuck steven, please just… please, please please”

“all in good time, love,” he states, the vibration of his voice making you buck your hips in desperation. his beautiful fingers inch closer to your core with each kiss as he slowly hooks your legs on his shoulders.

you want to turn your head away from him; away from his eyes that made you feel so exposed. yet you don’t want him to stop.

“you smell so sweet, so… mph… fucking good,” he growls before licking a stripe up your folds, sending butterflies all over your body.

you almost moan embarrassingly loudly right there before you realize that your colleagues are still out there. steven’s eyes zero-in on you as he brings his fingers to your clit and prods gently, rubbing tiny circles. his tongue, on the other hand, teases you as it licks around your core right before delving straight into it.

your legs turn impossibly weak as you look down at the man between your legs, working hard to make you feel better.

“i touch myself thinking about you… steven..” you manage to squeak out in-between moans.

you feel steven stop momentarily before gripping your thighs and adjusting his mouth deeper against you before attempting larger, more intense licks; the friction of his beard making you bite your fingers to stop yourself from screaming.

“do you…. fuck, t- touch yourself thinking about me?” you ask, barely able to string a coherent sentence together with how good he is making you feel.

“i can’t stop… fuck… you’re irrestitable, how are you real,” you hear steven groan as he looks up from his task and at you, his stubble now slick with your arousal. “i haven’t been able to focus because of how you strut around the office in your tight clothes… every time i see you in them, i just want to rip them off you, you know that?”

“why didn’t you?”

“because … i’m- mph… i’m a foolish, foolish man. but at least im right where i need to be right now, huh?” he winks at you from between your thighs.

“make me feel good, please steven?” you request, sitting your elbows up and bucking your hips at his face.

there is no way he can say no to you, you precious thing on his couch waiting to be pleased in more than one way. steven extends one of his hands to your lips as the other stays, rubbing your clit.

the pad of his thumb rests heavily on your bottom lip before you understand exactly what he wants. you hollow your mouth out and hold his wrist before pushing his index and middle fingers into your mouth. bobbing your head slowly, you suck on them like your life depends on it.

as your gaze shifts to him, you see him lapping hungrily at your core, prodding one of his fingers at you entrance. you figured he had very little experience apart from penetration and did not assume that he knew how to make someone cum this fast with his tongue.

your mouth hangs open as he spits on your folds, mixing it with your slick and enters you with his fingers. this is so different than what you would do to yourself. his hands are experienced; he knows exactly what to do to push your buttons.

“you think you can take more?” he whispers, receiving desperate nods from you.

you are extremely close to your breaking point the moment you feel a second finger push inside you. you have never felt this full in your life, and you doubt you could ever make yourself feel so good after having been finger-fucked by your boss during an office christmas party.

“steven…” you moan lazily around his fingers before letting go of them and throwing your head back in pleasure, fingers curling inside you.

your own fingers grab his hair once again, bucking your hips at him like a bitch in heat, but he does not give in. as he pumps you full of his fingers, the thumb pressing on your clit pushes deeper right when you feel his tongue lap at your pussy.

you barely see your orgasm coming before he spits on your pussy one last time and rubs your folds together in a consistent rhythm as his teeth nibble softly on your clit.

you don’t care if you are about to crush his head between your thighs as you see blinding white pleasure, and delicious pain spread through your body like wildfire. nothing else matters to you but the man between your legs with the mouth of a god himself. your thighs cage his face in, feeling his beard deliciously rub against your clit one last time before you come down from your high.

both of you stay still for a while, taking everything in. your legs still shook from the best orgasm you have had in your entire life, and steven rests between your thighs, lazily lapping up the last of your arousal.

“fuck , steve-.. i don’t know what to-”

“i’ll clean you up, you stay right here,” he interrupts, climbing out of your legs, making you notice the strained fabric against his cock.

“wait, do you want me to-” you question, pointing at his erection as you sit up from your position, still feeling the weakness in your limbs.

“nah, your first is on me,” he winks, his face painting with the familiar grin you see every morning. it was as if he reads your mind the very next moment and bends down to kiss you.

you taste yourself on his lips as you smile into the kiss, “round two at my place?” you speak, tracing his eyes with your gaze.

“wherever you want,” he utters, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.

that was better than any christmas bonus you have gotten.

you could get used to this.

Oscar Isaac looking good getting out of cars during 78th Venice Film Festival.

Taglist: @fisforfulcrum @mypedrom @the-little-ewok

Top girl

Blue has taken a liking to you. Little did you know it would turn into an obsession.

Blue Jones x shy! reader smut.

Word count: 13k

Viewers beware you’re in for a scare with: heavy angst, heavy smut, rough smut, coercion, sexual assault, dark themes, mentions of prostitution, cockwarming, degrading, a bit of exhibition, spanking, language & explicit themes, abuse of power, thigh riding, doggy, hitting, talk of abuse, kinda fluffy, innocence kink, threats, unprotected sex, cuninglingus, praising, alcohol, stuff being broken, yelling, smoking, masochism, collars, clothed grinding, groping, masturbation, use of dildo, orgasm control, mutual masturbation.

A/n: I am 1000% not sorry for this filthy thing. My baby, easily my favorite fic of mine. You’re called mouse a lot in this fyi. Also Ezra from Prospect is in this. Can be an au?

   You watch them twirl and stretch in various ways. Girls in corsets, faux silk dance around you. Your beige skirt and worn shirt puts you to shame. You didn’t arrive with much of anything, just the clothes on your back. It’s only been half a day, but from what you’ve seen was enough. You were instantly walked into this orchestrated business and given orders to just watch. You didn’t speak and nodded when spoken to. Eyes glossed over with a hazy hue. You’ve grown familiar with the nicknames to keep their identity hidden. The Doctor and the doll were the only people who had shown you kindness. You’re new here, your head tilted to the wood floor.

Reluctant, even excited deep down. It’s new and the first day of the rest of your life. A melody booms from the make shift speaker. A routine you don’t know, but the girls do it with perfection. Observe and execute is the order you remember for verbatim. The Doctor’s words run through your head. The brief interview and briefing of rules, given with a flick of a hand. A sharp hit of her cane. Your position was to be a fly on the wall and nothing more. You’ve grown nauseous from knowing there was someone higher. The Doctor referred to him as Mr. Pleasant. The mention of a meeting with him ran your blood cold. Goosebumps rising on your flesh. God, you were in for it. Just the whisper of his name has you shivering. 

   Even through her rough demeanor, you can see that the Doctor truly cared about her performers. Sharp barks turn into a gradual push. Praises spew from her painted lips after the group finally gets the difficult quotidian. As you watch these masters perform, you almost hide. You’re cowering under the intimidating demonstration. You try to swallow but you get choked up. The small room almost shifts as you grow ‌disoriented. A gentle palm touching your back makes your head jerk.

The older girl that you now are fond of smiles at you. She knows how you feel, how tamed you are. She was in your place at one point. That time felt like decades ago. She grieved over finding someone like her, someone so innocent. She’s determined to console you, to preserve you. You know little, since you’ve only spent a few hours here. But you can get a decent idea of how this place works. Her hair is messy and damp with sweat. White strands carelessly thrown into the ties on the sides of her head. She looks rough, yet like an angel. She’s been working to her breaking point, but she’s still going. A couple of other girls, she has mentioned, have been worked to the bone. She points them out, and it’s only a shell of the person who they once were. A sickly feeling grows in your stomach. You admire her ambition. Most of the other girls have given up on the act. It’s sad, but the truth. She runs her long fingernails along the length of your arm. 

   “Are you okay?”

    Her heavenly voice calmly coos. You nod, never looking into her eyes. She frowns before casting a knowing look. The nervousness twists in your stomach and you want to cry. You’re scared of what’s to come. The men- beasts, who you’re going to serve, horrifies you. You’ve watched the way they eat the girls here. It’s only time before it’s your turn. How the hosts' dark eyes linger on you. The burn, all of it stabs at your gut, then blossoms into a desperate warmth. Your cheeks grow rosy. Baby pins it on the anxiety and she takes your hand in hers. 

     “Let’s get out of here.”

     She knows there are few places to go, but anywhere then here will suffice. She tugs on your hand and before you know it, you’re leaving out those enormous doors. With dirty glares thrown your way. She’s tugging you too hard for you to care. You feel heavy, your knees wobbly on thick heels and filled with adrenaline, curious about the beginning. 

~~~

Your hasty getaway has cut off. A staff member whisking you away and the pale girl giving you a sorrowful look. She’s spilled everything she knows to you. The deaths, the corruption and greed. It was the failure of the past. The renewal of the updated version. You feel like a criminal who just committed a scandal. The guilt plugs up your throat. A single look in your direction makes you feel immense ‌shame. Your mouth will open and you’ll speak on command. You don’t know how you’re going to last with this crucial idea. You don’t think you’ll last very long at all. You don’t need to list all the reasons you think you’ll fail. The biggest one was that you had a poker face in a window. It’s seen through ‌blatantly. Your heels make you cringe when you near a metal door. 

“Get the food then serve it to Boss. Wait until further demand.”

The man in white says lazily behind you before leaving. You lick your lips before picking up the courage to push the cold door open. You’re met with a barely sanitized kitchen. Leaks and hisses of gas are spewed throughout the room. A large man with a clever in hand, takes quick notice of the new meat entering his space. He likes the way your chin is jutted deep into your chest, how small you try to make yourself. He raises his hand and sticks the metal into the side of a cutting board. He pivots and grabs a dirty rag, wiping the grime off his fat fingers. Your eyes flick across, taking everything to memory. You have a funny feeling you’ll be in here more than you wish. You feel his beady eyes stare holes into your skin. It makes you shrink if that was possible. He leans on the back of the sink. 

“What’s your name, sweetheart?”

Like he cares, his voice is groggy filled with mucus. You ghost an expression. He carelessly takes it. You don’t respond and irritation runs up his red face. 

“I don’t think you’ll last long here.”

He rounds the corner to walk to you. The potent smell of meat and his body odor make you gag. Your cheeks puff and he reaches his hand out to touch you. The pudgy fingers come to your cheek. You feel tears brim your eyes, his breath fanning over your face. The putrid smell will haunt you. 

“Boss likes his girls feisty.”

His large hand cups your cheek. He jerks your head up to look at him. He tilts your face, examining you. Picking your features apart, making a note of the things he likes and doesn’t. The large man's face is only a few inches from yours. 

“But what do I know? He might like the change.”

His lips curl into a smile. He’s taunting you, seeing how he can shape you into being complacent. The cook isn’t a nice man, but he wasn’t as bad as the boss. If you’re getting scared of this, then you have another thing coming. Water boils in the distance with a high scream. He breaks from you; he goes back behind the make table. The standard food is being brought out by him. He slides it over to where you stand. Your head bowed. You hadn’t moved an inch during this entire encounter. 

“Better get going, little girl. Boss doesn’t have much patience.”

~~~

The plate weighs heavily on your small hands. The clicking sound of your heels hits your ears with every step. A ticking bomb setting off your destination. The establishment was large, yeah, but it was easily memorable. Everything was labeled with ‘staff’ or ‘restricted’ so you made your way past those. It’s eerily quiet. Not a sound is made other than your shoes. Not a single ounce of chitter chatter, just you. You supposed it was evening because of his dinner, so why was it so quiet? It made your skin crawl and your head dizzy.

The blood pours out of the slab of meat on the porcelain. If you stared at it long enough, you could feel the biles in your stomach form. You look side to side looking for any hint of where you should deliver this to. You nearly trip when you find the gold plaque reading ‘mr. pleasant.’ Your heart rate picks up and you suddenly can’t breathe. You swallow thickly, maneuvering the chilling plate between your ribs and wrist as you pull your hand to rap three consecutive knocks.

You nearly jump out of your body when the door swings open. The doctor revealed to you. She looks at you, rather through you than anything. Her eyes are laying heavy on your face. You can’t read her at all. She’s a mystery and you estimate she made it that way. Her grip on the top of her cane releases ever so slightly. A manicured hand pushes the door fully open. The dim yellow glow of the lamp sat in the room colors everything in that shade. Even the man lounging in an expensive chair.

His eyes take you in, trailing from your hairline, to your breasts and hips, to your heavy heels. He leans back, making himself known. Everything freezes in time. His dark eyes drink you like sweet wine. The doctor walks away with a dignified strut down the corridor. Leaving you with the beast. His white blouse is unbuttoned at the top, giving you a glimpse of dark skin. His sternum in view.

The sleeves rolled to his elbows, his forearms long and filled with expansive veins. The jacket to match his formal attire is thrown behind him. On a table behind his desk. The map of the industry sitting high behind his head. His desk has things strewn across it messily. Your eyes trail down the bridge of his hooked nose to his full lips. Sunken cheeks with a sharp jaw. His neck, sitting on broad shoulders. Tied around it a flimsy chain with a key that fit perfectly down his chest.

Thick brows, a deep side part. Combined to a lustful bite straight on your clit. Ants sting at your lower back. He was older than you, but you weren’t expecting someone like him to run a business like this. Someone so exotic. Remind yourself exactly why you were in his presence. Your feet take you to stand before him before your brain does. You push the food onto his desk, the cutlery clang against the dish. He rests his hand on his jaw, a big ring on his pinky. He props his head up. You turn to leave not wanting to over last you stay out of fear of doing something stupid. But he stops you. 

“I didn’t tell you that you were dismissed.”

Of course, his voice is deep and laced with ecstasy. The melodic sound sends tingles down your spine. You stand, your back facing him. He leans forward and shrinks in size because of him. He reaches out lithe fingers grasping the plate. He drags it in front of him. He pushes a fork into the fat of the steak served to him. The meat specifically catered to his taste. He digs a healthy amount and brings it to his lips. The spices he requested makes a deep sound, similar to a moan rising in his chest. His eyes shut and his head rolls back. His strong jaw chews. He swallows with a gulp, savoring his meal. The filthy sounds of his smacking lips and groans. It tears you entirely into pieces. You wonder if he eats a wetter meal similarly. He dabs the back of his hand to his mouth, swiping the fallen grease. 

“I understand that I run this empire. What I don’t understand is why all you girls are afraid of me.”

He runs his hands over his thighs. Shaking his head. He disapproves of insecurity and fear. It’s a weak thing to have, and he’s going to weed it out of the root. It’s best to start fresh, better to not let it spread. Your shoulders are humped downwards. He simply won’t tolerate it. He sits fully backwards, his large back against the cotton of the chair. He has power and control over everything; it encompasses anything that a man wants. For some strange reason, you don’t feel afraid of the powerful man. It’s playing with fire and you're going to get toasted in the end, but it’s going to be a hell of a lot of fun. He begins to dig another hole into the slice of meat. His eyes fall to the plate. He talks to it as well. 

“Hell, you won’t even look at me.”

It’s not fear but rather intimidation. The reason out in the open is why you won’t look at him. He wants to embarrass you, make you admit your tribulations. Suddenly, you turn back around. Your head is still downwards. He tilts his head to the side. Maybe he was wrong about you, you’re testing the waters to see his reaction. He knows better than to give you one. 

“You’re not scared of me, are you?”

He pushes another forkful into his mouth. He quirks an expressive brow your way. Your hair falls over your face, a natural veil to cover you. This is going to be a lot of work getting you to come out of your shell. He’s had his fair share of tiresome girls. The shy ones were always a task. The rowdy ones you just slap a collar on and tell them to obey and they thrive. The quiet ones won’t admit to their desires.

He’ll get you to break. He just needs time. Your hair sways as you shake your head no as a reply. He huffed a soft laugh. He’s read you through and through. His hand comes to scratch at his jaw, the stubble scratches against his nails. He was going to have to shave soon. He can’t be bothered to maintain such unruly hair. The stache he barely thinks is adequate. The makeup around his eyes darken the pigment in his brown ones. It adds to the image of him being the big wicked man he claims to be. He didn’t have a record on you yet, it was the off chance you were admitted into his playpen. He’s just going to work you into becoming his perfect girl. The way Vera had introduced him to you, you’re not that far off from it. You have a talent, he just needs to exploit it. 

“The doctor says that you’re not horrible.”

He runs his fingers over his gelled hair. 

“With all due respect is shocking.”

You don’t know if it’s a compliment or an insult, but you take it with pride. 

“T-thank you, sir.”

Your voice is meek, squeaky even. Your stutter does something awful to his stomach. The way your lips form the three letter word of sir has his cock filling with an absurd amount of blood. He’s never this easy. Some girls have called him the dirtiest things, and he hasn’t gotten this hard from it. What the fuck are you doing to him? He feels sweat pools on his tawny skin and rolls in heaps.

In the dim light you can see the man's facade drop. He regains it in an instant, however, a smirk pulling the side of his perfect lips upward. Pointed pearls of teeth poking behind. He smiles. It’s uncommon for girls to have manners here. He usually has to instill them into their thick skulls. His brain corrects to business, he reminds himself. He doesn’t know your name; he accumulates all the attributes you’ve given. His smile widens and his gums shine. Your skin prickles when you realize the wolffish grin doesn’t meet his dark eyes. 

“Your name is Mouse. Only respond to it.”

He pauses, his eyes fall to your stomach. The way your waist slightly juts out. His cock twitches. He’s selfish, and the question isn’t in your favor at all, only for his morbid curiosity. His smile drops. He chews on his bottom lip. 

“Have you ever given a man a lap dance?”

Your chest doesn’t move, and his teeth dig into his lip. He wonders what his cum would look like between your breasts. Would you dip a finger and lick it up? He doesn’t know he can only guess. He’ll know soon enough. A blush creeps onto your soft skin. He wishes that you’ll say yes, give him a few ideas to play with later. You shake your head no and he sighs. His fingers wrap around the fork, instantly becoming disinterested in you. Such a shame that a gorgeous girl like you has to be taught so much. He chews on the thick portion he stuck in his mouth. He runs his eyes over your form once more. All he can think is how much work he’s going to have to put into you. 

~~~

It's been three days. Each day, twelve hours of practice. Twelve hours of inputting a system that you have to go through step by step. It was rough the first few hours of learning, but soon you’ve picked it up. After you weren’t the absolute worst, he would come. The man you now know as Blue, the name only given to the doctor and his colleagues, you’ve had it. Like a dirty little secret only you and a few other people shared. The name danced inside your head, the way it sat heavy on your tongue when your fingers made their way into you.

He doesn’t talk when he comes into the practice room. Only watches and comes alone. You’ve visited him each night to give him his meal. He doesn’t speak to you, doesn’t bat an eye in your direction. You set the tray down and he flicks a hand, telling you to leave. You miss the talk you had with him. The way it makes you feel. It’s clockwork. He knows what hours you dance, and he shoves everything to the side to come and enjoy you. He likes to believe you put on a show for him.

He’s greedy, and he wants you all to himself. It is his right to indulge in you, even though he knows that will be the downfall. He’s provided you with this perfect life, so why can’t he be obsessed? He can’t think straight anymore, do business as proficiently. He’s losing his goddamn mind. All because of you. He doesn’t talk to you; he wants to say he doesn’t give a fuck to you but it’s not true. He wants to lock you up and only give you him. Make you want him, need him.

His blood pressure has risen significantly since your stay. The promise of Ezra visiting contributes to the paranoia. His best colleague is coming to pursue his business. Ezra was picky to say the least, and the drought of girls has him sweating. Your performance is coming together, but he needs it perfect and it’s far from it. It’s bittersweet, the sway of your hips to the dampness on the side of his leg.

He knows you’re not the shy little girl you once were when you first arrived. The shyness reserved with a primal seduction. He’s curious to know what sparked the change, but it suits you, so he doesn’t question it. He can sell sex with his eyes closed. It’s the innocence that he can’t come across and, from the looks of it, you’ve given it away. Blue is not a religious man, but he prays to God that you snap out of this before Ezra comes. Your eyes catch his and he’s almost sprinting out of the room. His shoes are loud on the tile as he turns down long halls.

With every step he takes his cock grows. He opens his door quickly, almost tearing the damned thing off its hinges. He shrugs his jacket off, tossing it onto one of the wooden chairs. Long legs take him to his chair, he plops into it with a heavy groan. He guesses he should act like he’s doing something productive. He reaches into a drawer, opening it to find the stack of records on every girl in the industry.

It’s alphabetical a-z from the legal names their mother’s gave them. He considers his nicknames gifts for his girls, an initiation. His fingers run over the material of the beige folder. The ring on his pinky glimmers, the rhinestones shining up at him. He sets the file on his desk, reaching in his breast pocket for his glasses. He absolutely seethed while wearing them. Some of the girls told him that they liked the look but he can only think that he looks like a dork. He flips the folder open, ah yes this fine work of art he used to know. His brown eyes flick across the paper documenting her entire identity to date. He traces over her face, a black and white photograph postered in the top corner.

Her face is flat and she looks like a ghost. He always hates when his girls turn into phantoms of who they once were. It’s just what happens when they can’t take the heat of this corporation. He tries to distance himself, not to get too attached but it’s..hard. Playing with the thin rope between business and pleasure, they’re so intertwined that there’s no line at all. Suddenly your face replaces hers. Your lips, your structure. His glasses slide down the bridge of his nose, he doesn’t bother to push them up. They stand on the bulbous dip of the curve. The legs hook around his ears, the only thing to keep them in place. His thumb sweeps over your colorless cheek. He can think of a few poetic things to comment on your appearance, most of it was vulgar. He traces over the bow of your lip.

His cock twitches as he continues his mapping. His hand unbuttons the clasp of his pants. The faint whisper of his zipper coming to the middle is brief. He forbids the article of underwear. He doesn’t understand the purpose of wearing something if he’s going to take off almost hourly. If he could walk around bare, presented to the world in all his glory he would. He thinks simply that if you have it then you should flaunt it, there’s no reason to hide. The base of his cock is hidden in the pant leg. He taunts himself. Taking his index and running it over the prominent vein in his shaft. Sac to the tip of his ruddy head. It pulses with fresh blood. He hisses, his hips almost coming off his seat. He’s so sensitive, the absence of a good pussy made him drunk off the thought. He shuffles the fabric down his hairy thighs. Just enough to reach the aching part of him.

His balls sit heavy between his spread legs filled to the brim with his release. He knows he’s close, only should take five minutes if less. If he concentrates he can see your face move in the rectangle. Your eyes glancing straight up at him. He’s cut in half, bent over at the waist as he fists his cock. It’s rough, the tugging he allows himself. Harsh pulling to get him spilling. The smearing of cum on the wide head of his has him moaning. His grip is tight, staving off whatever he can. His lips parted, his eyes wide. Breathy growls and torn whimpers rip through him. He’s loud, too loud. His brows knit on his sculpted face. He’s panting, his chest falling hard. His toes curl in his expensive shoes.

Those filthy things he’s muttering is going to get him caught. You’re going to get him caught. His calloused hand moves the skin brutally. Up and down irregularly. He can’t think, so he reacts. He pushes the bitter tasting thing between his teeth. The chain hanging loosely from his lips. He bites down hard. It's a miracle that his teeth don’t shatter. Your hips, the way you sway, your vacant belly has him sweating. Everything turns white and he has to blink away the darkness. His hand is sticky and white, there’s a damp spot on his blouse now. He thinks that this might be the hardest he's come. It might be his foggy brain clouded over. But he swears he sees you wink before the picture returns to the girl that’s not you. He leans back in his seat, content and sated. How long is this going to last for? Him having to scurry away before he embarrasses himself.

He won’t have it, the cat and mouse game shared between the two of you. He smiles thinking to himself that he’ll have you soon enough. His little mouse he’s going to sink his teeth into. He’s daydreaming, forgetting all about the business he runs. A man's gruff voice along with heavy pounds on the other side of the door makes him jump. He pulls on his pants, throwing his glasses on the folder. His nimble fingers working himself out of his tainted blouse. He pulls on his jacket. He hopes the Orderly won’t comment on his chest being presented. He buttons what he can, but the jacket only has a few around his midsection. What a mess you’ve made him. With his brain on fire he opens the door. 

~~~

The three days have turned into a week. A week of nonstop training. To say you were polished to perfection was an understatement. The lights are low, and the doctor's hands work quickly around you. Your costume weighs heavily but is elegant. It’s sculpted to your form, not a stitch out of place. It’s a deep brown, glistening with blinding sequins. A corset with a tennis skirt sewn into it. Your legs are covered with a nude pantyhose. Even with the little clothes you have on, you feel naked. It’s degrading to be put on a shelf just to be picked and poked. The only thing you can hear is her shuffling around your body. Pulling details to the front. You can’t cry, or the makeup will run. The collar around your neck chokes you.

A snug fit, you can breathe, but you can feel it press against your throat. As a careful reminder of ‘know your place.’ The leather sticks to your skin and the circular pendant engraved with your name dangle above your warm skin. You feel an anxious bubble form inside your stomach, waiting to burst. You wonder if Blue is going to be there to watch you. You shiver. What if he wears the emerald suit? The one that resembles old money and smells like cigars. You can feel wetness form in the folds of your cunt. The panties you wore covered nothing, so you just hoped your thighs would stay dry. What if this Ezra you’ve heard him speak of is unattractive? God, what a show you were going to have to put on if he was. The doctor tugs at your skirt, making the small thing stretch to hide more of you. She stands in front of you. This time she looks at you. She’s admiring your progress. You’ve worked harder than she’s expected. Worry buries itself in her heart. Her hand, which is strangely smooth, cups your cheek. The abnormal side of affection makes you almost break into tears. Her thumb sweeps across the bone. 

“I’m so proud of you.”

Her accent dilutes the words, but you hear them. Loud and clear, your heart grows too big for your chest and a warm tingle runs across your cheeks. You smile, head-turning downwards. It’s weird having someone actually appreciate the work you’ve given. You feel surreal from the acknowledgment. Her hand falls, and she grabs your wrist. Leading you out of the dressing room and to where the feral beasts lay. 

Blue is sweating big, heavy bullets. His green jacket soaks them in. He shakes Ezra’s enormous hand with vigor. You thought Blue was big and bad. Ezra sat on top of the pyramid of evil. He only came into this puny place because it was cheap and had no liabilities. It’s not the worst whore house he’s been in, but it is just a favor he dishes out. His eyes sink into the small man, who clutches his hand too tight. Pleasantries are spat and Ezra doesn’t care.

He doesn’t want the appetizers; he wants the feast he came for. It’s private. The show is only for him and Blue, who accompany him. His henchmen waited outside the doors, listening intently for any incriminating noise. Blue chatters off facts and other things that made him have some intellect. It mostly made Ezra pity him. They walk to the booth situated closest to the stage. Ezra sighs, spreading his legs out. He scratches the scruff on his face. His big hand wrapped around the beer bottle he nurses. Small talk consumes the air, and he realizes Blue is one of those people who fills the air out of nervousness. Like a gnat, you can’t kill but buzzes freely around. He sits there listening to Blue’s babble. 

“Where’s the newest addition?”

Ezra speaks sternly. Blue freezes, not expecting Ezra to have spoken. He runs his hands to flatten his coat. Ezra smiles behind the lip of the bottle. Pointed teeth poking out behind his lips. He’s toying with Blue, enjoying the way he squirms. Blue knew this question would arise. 

“She’s not ready.”

Blue lies. He’s not a good one. He lies through his teeth to his girls, but it’s keeping them safe. However, those who weren’t his girls saw straight through him. Ezra’s brown eyes narrow. An inconspicuous look spread across his face. Blue assures the bear that you’re simply too raw to perform, that you will not be good. He’s flustered, and his jaw is gaining strength from how long he’s stammering. The man before him takes up even more space. His head dips back and his Adam's apple bobs as he drinks from the bottle. 

“Think I can break her in.”

Blue nearly chokes as Ezra continues to push the subject. He brushes the side of his index finger to his lips. He chews on the skin. He doesn’t know what to do. You answer for him. The double doors open and you are ushered inside. The doctor follows shortly behind, only to stand in the corner. Both of the men’s bulky heads whip at you. Hungry eyes take you in. Ezra suddenly is disinterested in alcohol. He sits it down on the table in front of him. His hands roam his thighs.

Blue is utterly floored. The costume made blood intensely pump to his cock. He feels himself grow on the side of his leg insanely fast. His throat closes up. He can’t breathe. He can’t look away from you, your hair, the collar. Oh, fuck. That was enough to put his wet dreams to shame. It was a new thing he was testing out. A regulation for girls to remember who they were. It just so happened that you were patient zero, and the idea seemed to him like the greatest innovation. The man you presume is, Ezra smirks. Wrinkles form on his tan skin. A tuft of white in his chocolate hair. You’ve never seen something quite like it. Blue’s key glimmers in the soft light of the theater. 

“She looks ready to me.”

Ezra gruffs out, casting a sour look at Blue. Your heels click against the floor as you walk to them. Walking to your demise. You walk with your head bowed. Your hands tied behind your back, your chest, however, was jutted out. When you arrive, the smell of you enters their nose. Blue’s mouth parts as he heaves. He almost doesn’t want to look at you. The image is too good for him. Blue is a greedy man, so he gawked at you. The saliva on his index cools, the dark makeup around his eyes makes him look delirious. The dark shadow is painted with the utmost care. No doubt he made the doctor do it. You stare at the table, silent as ever. 

“A shy one? That’s rare.”

Ezra speaks like you’re not even there. His large fingers wrap around your forearm, pulling you into his lap. He’s bold, scarily so. If he’s this bold with you, then what other things has he done. The taboo makes your pussy throb with eagerness. You shouldn’t like this villain, but he’s charming. Blue’s eyes stare daggers. Your hands fall on the lapels of his wool jacket. His eyes never leave Blues. He’s desecrating his possession. He ignites a flare of rage into the small man. Blue grits his teeth and hands into tight fists. Ezra’s beard scratches against your cheek. Your breath falls on his jaw. He wants to know what your pretty whimpers sound like. Ezra’s extensive nose pokes at your jaw. His hands grope your waist.

He can feel you exhale and inhale sharply. The feel of him on you boggles your mind. He closes his eyes, inhaling far longer than needed. He breathes the sweet smell of you in. It goes straight to his cock nestled under you. As his big eyes flutter open, he leans back to look at you fully. He pushes you down in his lap, your hips becoming flush with his. His eyes dilated from the liquor or lust you didn’t know but they gaze at you. The smell of the beer fans across your face. 

“What’s your name, sweetheart?”

His voice is groggy and rumbles against your chest. His eyes flick across your face, then fall to your neck. He smiles, lopsidedly. His hand leaves your waist to cup the pendant. His thumb sweeps over the letters. 

“Hm.”

It’s another grumble. He tilts his head, looking behind you over at the other man. Who’s quickly losing his composure. 

“This a new decree?”

Through Blue’s indignation, he nods briefly. Ezra frowns, but then shrugs. Each to their own, he supposed. His hand falls to mirror the other, then they roam. His broad hands run up and down your back, simply feeling you. Grabbing your plush skin here and there. You can feel his hardened length under your clothed clit. You try to maintain yourself but, fuck; it was hard. His nose juts against the side of your cheek, his full lips ghosting over the surface. 

“You ever been touched by a real man?”

You don’t answer, and his hands fall to your hips. He bucks his up to roll into yours. You whimper at the stimulation. He grins, moving your hips on his lap. 

“Mousey?”

His plush lips curl the title in a degrading way. Ridiculing you to the highest degree. His lips latch onto your collarbone, right above your cleavage. The tops of your breasts hitting his chin and his tongue mitigate over the bone. To say that Blue was pissed was a joke. He’s never been this jealous, watching his prized possession be played with before he can. Murder runs through his mind. Torturing his guest until he pleads for forgiveness. He’ll punish you for doing such a good job in other ways. He knows it’s against the rules he set in place for him to not want you. But it’s human nature, and he’s never been denied something he wants. He owns you. You're his, by right. Ezra grinds his hips into yours. A slow roll after another. Blue’s jaw ticks, his nose snarled up. Ezra groans into your chest, the line that disconnects your breasts becomes his new fascination. You whine as he stills his cock right on your clit. He decides right then that he has to have you. His face leaves your chest, and he rests his boney chin on your shoulder. 

“How much?”

His hands grope your ass. Kneading the flesh in his big palms. His short nails dig slightly in, leaving crescent moons. Blue doesn’t answer him, just stares. His eyes pits of fire. You could see the steam come out of his ears. His cheeks a light rose from the intense emotion. 

“She’s not for sale.”

He grits out low in his chest. His lip is quivering, he speaks through his teeth. You knew just from the sound you were in trouble, so why did it make you wet? Ezra rolls his eyes, spreading your ass. The skirt is halfway up the fatty skin. 

“Fifty.”

Blue’s eyes bulge out of his head. You’re not even one of his top girls and he’s offering that much? He thinks he’s going to have a heart attack. He can’t even fathom what he’d do with that much money. He considers the deal momentarily. Would his infatuation get in front of his money? Would he allow that? 

“I said she’s not for sale.”

One of his eyebrows raises, his nails tearing into his palms. Ezra’s hands dip under the skirt and you gasp. His warm hands cradle you onto him. He presses a kiss to the side of your neck. He knows Blue is minutes away from tearing his heart out, but he can’t help it. It was so easy to get him riled up. 

“A hundred. I can’t go any higher without writing a check, but I’m willing to.”

Ezra’s grinding becomes heavier. He feels his cum smear on his thigh. He’s going to burst. Blue was just going to have to get over it. Ezra would not take no for an answer. Not with the way you’re begging for him to dick you down. Blue leans on his forearms on the table, near to Ezra’s face. 

“I said. No.”

Ezra shoves his face into your neck, sighing. What a fucking tease. His hands leave from your ass and you almost plead for him to just fuck you then and there. To disobey Blue. One of his hands comes to cup your cheek, the other to pet your hair. His brown eyes almost look sad. He purses his lips together, trying to put your face to memory. Such a pretty broad. He drops his hands, looking away from you. 

“Goodbye, sweet girl.”

He pulls you off him reluctantly. When you turn to walk off, he gives you a swift spank to your ass, making you jolt. He’s mesmerized by the ripple your skin gives him. He goes back to sipping on the half empty bottle. Trying to start at a steady pace to forget you. You glimpse at Blue and fuck. It sends you shaking. Your thighs are damp from his glare alone. One of his fingers hooked under his chain, he extorts at the key tugging it. A nervous habit. His eyes turn to stone, giving you a look that says you’re in deep shit. Resentment stirs in your stomach. Did you not do good? Performed how he wanted. You thought you did, but the evil eye he’s giving you tell you something different. You shrug it off and walk over to the doctor, who gives you an unsure smile. She walks you out. Ezra takes a long swig before putting the bottle down with a clink. He smiles at Blue, scratching his beard. 

“Baby doll, still around?”

~~~

You’re not entirely sure why the doctor sat you in Blue’s office. Your fingers tug at the hem of the skirt, becoming cold. Your mind is constantly thinking of the man. He was infuriated. Beyond furious. At you or Ezra, you didn’t know, but you felt like it was your fault. All you wanted was to do a good job and make him proud. From the looks of it, you didn’t do either. The glitter on your cheek blinks off from your teary eyes. You didn’t want to cry in the vacant room, but all the different mixtures of a variety of feelings had you whipped. You blink rapidly, taking a deep breath in. The collar is still wrapped around your little neck, squeezing.

You feel your chest push in from the corset and nothing feels right or wrong. The ringing in your ears hurts your head, and the room is blurry from alligator tears. Your clogged ears hear shouting. Fighting even. Their voices are loud and booming.

It makes you jolt in the wooden chair. Your body goes rigid. The door flies open, and Blue doesn’t even look at you as he walks in. Instead, he slams the door closed and goes behind his desk. Unbuttoning the emerald jacket and shrugging it off. He rolls up his sleeves. Then he sits. If you weren’t so nervous, you would think this was a normal night for him. Undressing and relaxing. But his chest and shoulders. Fuck, they’re so broad and they’re heaving. The makeup that was once pristine is now smeared around the edges.

Thick black lines run down the sides of his cheekbone, some into those dark brows. He disappears under his desk, pulling drawers out. He doesn’t bother closing them. He pulls out a whiskey bottle and a cigar. The cigar is between his lips. There’s a band wrapped around the middle that you can vaguely read as El Jefe. The boss, it suits him like nothing else. He shifts it to one side of his mouth before grabbing a lighter. It’s gold, and a design on the side holds what you guess is a dragon. The flame emits and the scent wafts into the air. It’s thick and putrid but strangely nostalgic. He cups his hand around the flame to elicit a better smoke. He tosses the lighter on his desk. It falls with a click. He leans back in his lavish chair, his head rolled back. Face to the ceiling.

He holds the long cigar in between his middle and index fingers. For a moment, he holds the smoke in his lungs. He lets it live in his chest, then it billows out of his parted lips. All throughout, you watch him in astonishment. How can he make the simplest things so attractive? The key was dangling under the cuff of his dress shirt. He recalls the night as a bad dream. One he wishes to forget. He places the butt of the cigar in his mouth, holding it with his teeth. His fingers pluck the cap off the bourbon. Twisting before flicking. He leans back in his chair, his lips puffing around the stick. You burn at the sight.

Him sprawled out carelessly, smoking that stogy. His eyes glossed over, his jaw grinding. He looks so undone? Ruffles in his shirt, his pinstriped pants creasing around his thighs and hips. The soft skin of his stomach pressing behind the material. It’s all wrapped into a perfect big bow. He blinks slowly, before removing the roll of tobacco. It rests between his big fingers. He blows and a gust of white rises from his throat. This is the only time in the span of ten minutes he’s looked at you. Those dark brown eyes that are so dangerous are looking straight at you. His elbow pushed up on the rest. 

“I just lost a hundred thousand dollars.”

He smiles, shaking his head at how insane this all was. Losing such substantial money over a girl. Over you. Your breath is caught in your chest. You knew it was a lot of money, but not that much. Guilt pricks at your skin. He leans forward, long fingers wrap around the base of the bottle. His head tilts back and the brown swirls down his mouth. Settling into his belly. Fuck, it hurts, but he’s chugging. The ball in his neck moving quickly. He sets it down with force. The liquid swooshing. He lets out a sigh, closing his eyes. His breaths heavy, the buzz slowly eating away at him. When they open, they look at you again. He points the cigar at you. His eyebrows knit together. His cheeks flushed on his dark skin. 

“Because of you.”

His voice drops an octave lower and your spine erupts into shivers. He grits the words out with a snarl. There you have your definite answer. He was, in fact, pissed at you. Your stomach drops along with your eyes. Your gaze falls onto your heels. Feeling all too insecure about yourself, you can’t look at him. You’ll break into tears if you do. You just wanted to make him happy and you’ve failed miserably. His breaths are calculated and even. Ashes fall off the cigar onto the floor.

Lines of white gust into the ceiling. His eyes narrow at you, cutting into your face. He takes another deep swig of whiskey. His face snapped into a wince right after. He stands on unsure legs. He takes a few brisk strides, standing a couple feet in front of you. The lip of the bottle hanging from his two fingers. The cigar is still in his mouth. He teeters to a side. You’re almost shaking from the fear he’s giving you.

Cat and mouse, he thinks. This is all your fault. The reason he’s losing what’s left of his sanity. Maybe he dreads losing you, not being able to have you makes him feel empty. He replaces the weak feeling with something stronger. With exasperation. Before he can think, he throws. The bottle flies near your face, thousands of intricate glass breaking into twins. The liquor stains the floor instantly. Tearing of tension and the break of silence makes a fat tear slip. It slides down your cheek, a merge of glitter joint with it. Blue takes the cigar from his lips, dropping it to the ground. His polished shoe comes to rub it into the floor.

Ashes stick to the bottom of the shoe. You’re so out of it that the feel of his large hand wrapped around your neck doesn’t compute. He pushes the cold circle into the base of your throat. His fingers press to the sides. He squeezes ever so slightly. Enough for you to know he can do a lot more damage than he’s letting on. He lifts your face up to his. Only a few inches. Only a few inches you can press your lips onto his.

Taste the bitter taste of liquor and tobacco with something else so uniquely mixed with him. You feel the metal of his pinky press into the leather. He just stares with empty eyes. They flick over your face. He remembers every divot and crease in the stretch of skin, scared to forget. The key dangles over your chest, if you wanted you could touch it. Rip it from his meaty neck. But you don’t. Your hands lay in the middle of your lap, unmoving. You can smell him. Breathe him in, the smell of his expensive cologne along with something saccharine. It’s intoxicating and makes your head dizzy. His eyes find yours and even if they’re contaminated, they’re prepossessing. You can get lost in the darkness and never find the light again. It scares you that you’re okay with it. His tongue snakes out to wet his bottom lip. His mouth is dry, almost dehydrating. 

“Are you scared of me?”

His eyes shift. He sounds so distraught. Almost cracking as he asks the question. Was he already drunk? His hand moves to the side of your neck, his thumb brushing along the dampness of the tear. You close your eyes, shaking your head no. He tears himself from you. He laughs darkly. 

“Tell me why I don’t believe you.”

In all truthfulness, he wanted to. A part of him so desperately wanted to. Blue just thought he didn’t deserve you. To have someone want him who wasn’t scared of him. He was a monster and always will be. But with the way your gigantic eyes blink dumbly up at him has him thinking maybe he was wrong. His fingers trail over his desk as he rounds to sit. He falls with a huff, his hand rubs over his face. Smoothing out his stache. He was just defeated. Torn, wanting, and needing completely different things. He gives up. He’s tired of fighting, so he lays his cards out of the table. No matter how shitty they are. 

“You put me through hell. All the girls do. You, though, are something else.”

He runs his fingers along the ridge of his thighs. Smoothing out the texture of his pants. He knows you feel like shit. He’s trying to make it better. His eyes take you in. However, Blue isn’t a lover. He’s your boss, and you embarrassed him out there tonight. Punishment needs to be put in place. Needs to remind you who you belong to because the collar doesn’t seem to work. Humiliation is the trick up his sleeve. He leans back in his chair. Legs spread, shoulders broad. He looks bored. Uninterested in you and your issues. Then he speaks. 

“Take your clothes off.”

You freeze, and your mind goes from zero to a hundred in a minute flat. Strip for him? Your heart bursts out of your chest and you’re sweating. Blue is going to see you naked. He’s seen thousands of girls like that, and now he’s going to see you. Your lips part as you can’t breathe through your nose. 

“W-what?”

Blue almost forgot that you weren’t a mute. Your voice resembles your name, which he pats his back on how perfect it is. You’re beyond confused, but fuck, the burn between your thighs makes you crazy. He props his head up with his hand, his elbow on his desk. His face is flat with no emotion. 

“I said. Take your clothes off.”

He says it sternly, barking out a smile order that you’re not getting. He pauses to lick his lips. 

“I don’t like repeating myself, so I suggest that you start before you piss me off.”

He talks down to you like he would a puppy. In his defense, you are his pet, so it would only make sense. You stand, trying to correlate your mind to movement. The blood rushes to sensitive places as you try to ease your pumping heart. You bend your cleavage presented to him. His cock stirs awake. You unclasp the tie around your ankles and step out of the heels. Your bare feet pressed on the flat surface make the ache apparent. You’re almost relieved by the loss of pain before your hands are still at your sides. Closing your eyes, you untie the corset.

The top falls and so does the skirt in a swift motion. The fabric pools at your feet. Your nipples peak at the sudden cold. You stand in your panties and the hose around your legs. His eyes stare intently at your stomach. Would you be able to feel him there? Fuck up into your gut to where you can’t breathe and beg him to stop. His hand falls from his face and digs into his thigh. Your arms wrap around your breasts in an attempt to preserve your decency. It backfires from the touch of your sensitive nubs coming in contact and makes goosebumps rise. He clicks his tongue against the back of his teeth. He shakes his head, disagreeing with your actions. 

“All of it.”

You nod, biting the inside of your cheek. His trick has worked and you feel paralyzed. You bend, your tits hang, and god it sends him into a frenzy. 

“Don’t get why you’re shy. With a body like that, you can easily be a top girl.”

He speaks as if he’s talking about business. Not about you. Your fingers hook into the material, trailing them down your thighs and around your ankles. The warm air of the room hits against your damp cunt. You suck in a breath and he hears it. He watches you like a hawk. If you weren’t so fixated on him, you would miss the mutter under his breath. 

“Such a pretty whore.”

You smile into your chest. The feeling of uneasiness leaving you. He thinks you're pretty, and it twists your stomach. Butterflies swarm inside your gut and you feel excited even. You stand fully and head to the ceiling. He runs his eyes over every crevice and dip. Every scar and mole it kills him. He likes this side of you. The side that embraces what you are. His thighs tingle with a gentle caress of excitement. He moved his hand to the waist of his pants to play with the fabric. His thumb pushes behind. His nail digs slightly into his stomach. 

“Come to me.”

His voice is groggy. You step a foot out to take a step before he snaps. He leans on his desk with his finger out of his pants. His eyes narrow. His head tilts downwards along with his index pointing to the ground. 

“Crawl.”

He drawls out the syllables with a slur. Your breath stutters, and you tremble with a harsh shiver. You nod, slowly dropping to your knees. The pendant hits your throat. Your knees ache from the hard floor, but it only sends waves of arousal to your core. When you crawl, you can feel the dampness between your thighs grow.

The rubbing only makes it worse. When you round the corner of his desk, he pivots in his chair. Looking down at you. His long lashes spread across the smeared makeup on his cheeks. His eyes are half-closed. He’s in a daze, one of his wet dreams. He’s so huge from this angle, with wide thighs and an enormous chest. You crawl between his knees. He’s completely in charge. Caging you in, giving you no wiggle room. You stay there, ass jutting out. Head lifted to look at him. He peers at you with nothing but drunken lust. 

“Sit.”

You obey quicker than you can react. Your ankles are on top of one another, your hands are flat on your thighs. Back straight and shoulders back. Two things pop into Blue’s head, one that you’re a superb fucking toy or two, you’re not as innocent as you let on. Something nasty turns in his stomach, and the crown of his cock turns painfully with the rush of blood. Big dumb eyes staring up at him, the swell of your breasts on a pedestal. If he wanted to crane his head, he could see how much you desired him. He doesn’t have to; he already knows. His hand curls around your chin, making your neck sore from the position. 

“You did a good job out there, mouse. A little too good.”

He voices the suspicion of his previous thoughts. His black eyes squint down at you. He tilts his head. 

“Makes me think about the other things you’ve lied to me about.” 

He doesn’t make it sound like an assumption, but a fact. And he’s right, you have. You are scared of him, about the plan your baby told you about. Your eyes widen, and he’s got you. Hook, line, and sinker. Blue knew about a quarter of what you hadn’t told him, but liars always have plenty of them. He knows because he is one. The phrase ‘takes one to know one’ is very poignant here. His large thumb comes to your bottom lip. He brushes it along the smooth surface.

He leans forward, his other hand ghosting the curve of your breast. His fingers almost danced around your nipple. He’s teasing you, getting you to crumble under his touch. But two can play in this game. You open your mouth, taking the pad of his digit into the warmth of your tongue. He pants. The feel of the swirl around his dry thumb has him going. His hand finally gropes your breast fully into his hand. The fit is almost like a glove, his hand a little bigger. His actions fall almost as quickly as you moan when he plucks your nipple. He rips himself away from you like he was burned. You pout. There’s a thin line of drool still connecting you both. He wipes the saliva on his pant leg. 

“You know, I don’t really appreciate being lied to.”

His voice is slow, but he talks down to you like a child. He knows if he stayed touching you, he wouldn’t be able to refrain from it. He grips the edge of the chair, steadying himself. Back to business, but how can he go back from this? You were sitting bare between his legs. This was far from business. What scared him was how comfortable he was toying with you. It’s a seesaw that he’s bound to bounce fully on one side. Bribery for information runs through his mind. The logic was leaking apace from his ears. 

“If you tell me what’s going on, I won’t hurt you as badly.”

It is his last chance to get on the inside, and he resorts to threats. He's already failed once; he’s just now recovering from the disaster. He won’t let it happen again. His composure is falling by the second, as he is desperate. He just hopes you don’t see through it. You don’t say a word; you don’t so much as blink and it irritates him. One particular fat veins in his neck bulges. He smirks. You want to play, so will he. 

He’ll get you crying for him to stop. He tried to give you an easy way out, but all you girls always want it hard. 

“I like you, sweetheart, I do. It kills me to do this.”

His hands wrap around your arm, and he pulls. He lifts your body from the cold ground and over his knees. Your stomach pressed to his thighs, breasts stroking the other. Your legs dangle off the side. You can’t even fathom what’s happening. Utterly brain dead, willing to do whatever he wants as long as you get the littlest fraction of it. He doesn’t touch you for the most deafening minute. He just watches you squirm on his thighs. You can almost touch his cock with your wiggles. His throat pinches close as he finally grabs fistfuls of your ass. His ring is so cold on your heated body. The angle is peculiar, but he’s pulling and stretching.

Everything seems hot and thick. The air, him, your weeping cunt on his leg. He molds you into his touch. His finger tantalizingly close to your other hole. He wouldn’t. Surely not. Your cheeks grow red. It wasn’t unlike him. Your ass tingles with his calloused hands. Each group is harder than the last. Where his nails shine on your skin. 

“I thought my girls were smart. Maybe I shouldn’t be as lenient.”

His hand raises and comes barreling down on one of your cheeks. His pinky ring digging into you. From the strike, you jump upwards. You hate to admit that the sharp sting travels up to your cunt. You’re dripping. You can feel the pool on his pants. Pussy clenching around nothing. You close your eyes shut, your hands grasp onto nothing. A pathetic moan leaves your mouth. He scoffs. 

“You like this?”

His tone is condescending, harsh but velvet. A furry eyebrow raises. The pitiful sound of you has a shock wave sent to his plump cock. His sac drawing up. God, what a fucking slut. The reddening print of his hand soothes the abraded skin. His hand stretches the globe, your puckered hole flutters. A sharp intake of air he sucks in. His fingers trail over the tight ring. He avoids where you want him. To your inner thighs. The pads swirl around the dampness of them. He laughs, a bitter one. 

“Dirty whore, look at you fuckin’ soaking my thigh.”

He bounces his leg and there you go. Bouncing with it. Your hands scramble to latch on his calf. Eyes wide with anticipation. What was he going to do next? How was he going to torture you more? A pit of despair mixed with unruly desire fills your heart. He teases the lips of your wet pussy, never touching your delicious folds. Finally, you’ve had it. A deep rage in your stomach speaks. 

“I need it, please!”

It’s filled with eagerness and desperation. A cry for him to fill you, fuck you dumb. A needy thing you are. He’s going to have to replace your nickname. He rolls his eyes. Of course you had to speak back to him. Both of his hands flee from your body. You bite your cheek to not whine. Your lips quiver. 

“My fingers are a reward, and you haven’t been good enough.”

He mutters under his breath. His hands go between your thighs, spreading your legs out on his lap. They go as far as he allows. You can feel the wetness pour out of yourself. You can’t take it, his teasing. His fingers dance across your upper thigh, a knuckle brushes along your folds and you lose it. You fall apart. 

“Please, daddy!”

His actions freeze. His brain can’t process it. Lines of cum dribble down the head of his cock. Another damp spot in his pants begins. He almost came from that filthy little name you’ve given him. The dirtiest fucking smirk comes to his lips. He pulls you up onto his lap. Face to face. Graced with the slack of his face. Your legs fall to either side of his thigh. His knee presses against your ass. The fabric touching your sensitive clit makes you grind down onto his leg. His eyes burn into yours. He moved his hands to the sides of your face. His demeanor ultimately dissolves. 

“I never thought I would hear you’d say that. Fuck baby.”

It’s true, never in a million years would he have guessed you’d call him that. A few other girls jokingly have and he’s brushed it off as nothing. But you. You, it was a whole other story. He leans forward, pulling you closer to him. His head tilts, his lips brushes against yours. The tip of his nose slightly presses into your cheek. His eyes are closed. Lifting your hands, you lay them on his chest. You can feel how warm he is, how fast his heart is beating. The electricity shocking the both of you. You squirm slightly, the softness of his lips capturing yours. He pulls a breadth of a centimeter away. 

“I’ll take care of you. Get yourself off on me.”

He whispers the promise. He presses his lips to yours. They’re so pillowy. One of his hands leaves to guide yours to his shoulders. His arms wrap around your waist. He slots himself to where you’re touching chests. Breathing in his air, the oxygen thief. His tongue delves into your mouth, tasting you. The strong bitterness of whiskey and cigar floods into you. You don’t fight the invasion of his tongue probing into your mouth. His stache itches your face. His hands creep your hips along the length of his thigh. Hip to knee. Your heat embezzles the thickness. A trail from your cunt follows you. Your clit catches the bone in his knee and you’re seeing stars. He releases your lips. Pulling his dazed face back. His eyes are still closed as he speaks. His brows pinch together. 

“Show me what you gave, Ezra.”

You put the pieces together. So this is what his torment is about. His jealousy, the possession. His hand dips to hitch your thigh over his other one. Your hips push on his. Your mound pressed against his bulge. His hands duck to grab under your thighs, sitting on top of his length. His face goes to your neck, breathing you in. His warm mouth fans over your neck. He sighs, his shoulders lifting down. 

“You made me awfully jealous out there, pretty girl.”

You smile at the name. An intense feeling rushed forward. You made him jealous. You made Blue jealous. Was it pride, that curious feeling? Very likely. He turns his head, his lips kisses your jaw. Long and slow. 

“Made me wonder how much of it was for him and actually for me.”

He bucks his hips, enjoys watching you bounce. The jiggle of your breasts coming down has him riled up. Your clit comes down on the clasp of his zipper and you moan. His teeth nip at your neck below your collar. Your nails dig into his shoulders, trying to steady yourself. His head leaves you and rolls back and his eyes flutter closed. You move your hips on the base of him. You’re in control now. Have him wrapped around your finger. He swallows thickly as his cock throbs. 

“I’m still-ngh-mad at you.”

You smile. Pushing your face into the side of his neck. Pressing soft kisses to his hot skin. Your hips are still dragging and pulling. His grip tightens on your ass, helping you grind just right. Hitting that sweet spot of his. 

“I know, daddy.”

You murmur quietly. He moans, high and loud. It startled you with the change in control. It’s shortly forgotten when his hands grab the backs of your thighs. You wrap your legs around his torso, your grip on his shoulders deadly. One hand shoots out, swiping everything on his desk off. He slams your back into the wood; the wind gets knocked out of you. He stands, his hips still connected to yours. Your hands fall to your sides. He just stares at you. Admiring you from afar. His hands hover over your breasts, almost shaking. Now or never, he thinks. He’s already gone this far, might as well have at it. His hands cup your chest. His mouth shortly followed. Nipping, biting, lapping. Your fingers pull on the short strands of his hair. The gel is sticky. His facial hair scratches and bruises.

From your sternum over a peak, to a nipple. His tongue twists and turns. His mouth is taking your areola. He strokes what he can’t fit. The warm heat of his mouth has you shivering under his grasp. He pulls between index and thumb on the other. You have to physically pull his hair to lift him from your abused nipple. He groped your chest as he pulled away. His drools pools down the valley of your chest. He leaves your chest and in your clogged mind you don’t register the sound of him pulling open a drawer. You close your eyes, living in complete bliss of feeling him seated over your core. Then he leaves. You open your eyes, the feeling of something heavy. Makes you pant. One hand by your waist, the other tied around an object. It slowly pushes through your tight walls. You feel full; the toy filling you up to your heart's extent. Halfway in, he pushes the suction cup on his desk. His hands leave the toy to go underneath your back. He drags you, careful to not push you over the edge. When you sit on your knees, the toy’s tip kisses your cervix. His nose brushes yours. His breath fanning out on your face. He’s so close, but so far away. 

“Show me how sorry you are.”

He purrs before plopping down in his chair. He’s sprawled out, so comfortably. Ready for his private show. On unsteady knees, your hands pressed on your thighs to give you some leverage. Like earlier when you say before, but with something inside you. You lift your hips and it easily slicked the dildo with your arousal. Your entrance is caught on the bulbous tip. Blue’s tongue comes to lick over his lips. He can taste you. Smell you. His hands run up and down his thighs. His obsidian eyes never leave your cunt. The way you’re squeezing the fake dick, your chest out. Kneeled on his desk, he’s shit faced. 

“What are you waiting for?”

And with that, you sink. You work your hips on the length, coating it. Your hole expands as you work yourself open. You can feel the distinct veins and divots. A long prominent vein lays in the middle from sac to crown. The thickness is the most difficult thing to adjust to. You’ve never fucked yourself with a dildo, so lifelike. Your fingers can’t compare to how this fills you. You dig your nails into your thighs, a pained expression paints your face. High whimpers leaving you. You vaguely feel the balls hit your ass. He fakes being concerned. 

“It’s not too big, is it?”

You shake your head quickly. Too focused on the feeling of the cock spreading you open. He smirks a shit-eating grin. 

“It’s good to know, because it’s molded off the real thing.”

The smug bastard. You still your pace, processing the words he spoke to you. Blush creeps from your breasts to your ears. Slowly rocking back and forth in the fake- his dick. Your clit brushing the tip of the cock has you moaning. Your pace speeds up. His hands roam up the expanse of his chest. One of his hands unclasping his zipper. It ducks to scoop his balls out with his cock. He’s already spewing down on himself like an inexperienced teenager. He pulls his palm up to his mouth, flattening his tongue over the surface. Lubricating it as best he can. It drops to grab the underside of his cock. The dampness doing nothing to hide the roughness of his palm. It’s nothing what he thinks your sweet cunt would feel like. He can feel himself rapidly approaching his climax. The fast thump of his heart. He’s never been worked up over a girl. You just bring it out of him. He groans pathetically. His hand tugging thick ropes out of him. He can see that you’re as close as him. Choosing to rid yourself of the high. His eyebrows pinch as he grinds his hips up into his hand. Making a note, to not touch the weeping crown so he can last. 

“Touch yourself for your daddy.”

He growls out. A deep rumble. You shut your eyes. Breathing heavy through your mouth. Your hands run up the inside of your thighs. Then to your clit. Your fingers rubbing relentless circles on the nub. You bounce on the cock. A strip of lightning cracking down on you. Seeing black as your body releases your pent up orgasm. The skin of touching wet skin on skin is heard. He matches your abrupt pace. Thick veins in his throat and the one on his forehead protrude. He grunts words of praise and other meaningless things. A dark thought emerges. Someone could walk past his office and listen in. The walls weren’t thick at all here. Blue suddenly doesn’t care, if they want to listen, let them. Let them know how he can make you cum without even touching you. A sick, twisted side of him spurs in his stomach. He holds his cock tightly at the base. Staving off his descent. His eyes were brooding. 

“I want another.”

You pant. 

“What?”

Your answer is straightforward. You’re too far gone to comprehend anything. You can’t even think straight and he wants you to do it again? Let alone bounce on the fat cock again, you can't even move. 

“I said. I want another.”

His voice is condescending like the way he told Ezra no at the theater. Chills run up your spine. You like seeing him angry. It’s fun to taunt. You know you will never recover, but you say it, anyway. 

“No.”

Blue’s eyes bulge out his head. He fists his cock slowly. Playing with himself. Who were you to disobey him? You’re the one who’s sprawled out on his desk, taking his cock. He huffs. Rage seething into his veins. 

“What do you mean, no?”

You blink up at him through a clouded gaze. 

“I said no. I won’t do it again.”

You can’t even blink before he’s out of his chair. Big hands grab your waist, pulling you off the wet dildo. He lifts you off the desk, throwing the dildo into an open drawer. He flips you over so you’re laying on your stomach. Your cheek pressed against the wood.

“You girls don’t listen for shit.”

Your feet dangle a few inches from the floor. He grabs your ass. Stretching the skin apart. 

“I don't know what to do anymore to reinforce your behaviors.”

He shakes his head. He’s astonished at the fact that measly girls can treat him like this. Maybe he reveled in being scary and mean, as long as it meant his toys stayed complacent. One of his hands runs up your spine, pushing your back farther down. Your hips slanted. You can feel him rub against the crevice between your cheeks. He wasn’t lying about the dildo being molded after him, but failed to mention he was girthier. Even if you just came, you want him. Need to feel him in you. 

“F-fuck it out of me.”

He chuckles, and everything is so ridiculous. Little mouse is finally growing into her skin. His hand replaces the one that leaves your ass. Wrapping around his length. He runs the head of his cock through your folds. He slaps it on your clit. The heaviness makes you grit your teeth tightly. He groans, getting lost in your pussy. Forgetting entirely why he was mad. 

“Mm, good idea.”

He knows he shouldn’t, but he lowers his hips. Angling his cock up and into your hole in one thrust. He enters you at a vicious pace, not leaving you to adjust to him. You claw at the burgundy. Tearing moans from you. His thighs hit yours. His stomach ghosting your ass. He’s pounding. His hands wrapped around your hips, pulling you to him. His balls smack your cunt with a wet smack. Your hips pinned between his relentless thrusts and the desk. You can’t escape, he won’t let you. You’re positive you won’t be walking straight anytime soon. His hand smacks your ass. 

“Don’t think you’re not in trouble, pretty girl.”

You whine high and loud. The rough wood digs into your breasts. The abrasion and his restless jab at your g-spot are pooling into your stomach. 

“I-I know.”

You feel your second orgasm round quickly. 

“I don’t think you do.”

He grits through his teeth. His hand leaves your ass to your front. His fingers touch your clit and you’re a whimpering mess. Tears prick at your eyes. 

“Fucking beg for it.”

You can’t even rack your mind about what’s happening. The train wreck of his hips pistoning in and out of you with a clap has you so close. Whatever gibberish your mind thinks of spew out of your mouth. 

“Please daddy, I need you, wan’ you.”

You can’t think straight. He rolls his eyes. He knows if he keeps you talking this way to him, he’ll be pushed over that hill he’s barreling over. 

“I know you can do better than that.”

His hips stop and you cry out. You push your ass back to relive the friction, but he’s not having it. He doesn’t budge at all. You give up, pushing your feverish forehead into the wood. Your brain short circuits and the most vile shit is sounded. 

“Put your hands around my neck, your fingers down my throat. Please, just do anything!”

You nearly scream it at the top of your lungs. And he’s shocked. Taken aback even. He can feel your walls flutter around him. You hug his length, trying to urge him to move. 

“Atta girl.”

He angles his hips, hitting into that spongy spot deep inside you. You feel drool leave your mouth as you take him. His fingers pinch your clit. An ugly sob spills out of you. His cock pulses in you, swelling full of cum. His fingers leave your clit, cupping your jaw and chin. They wrap around your cheeks, puffing them. You push your tongue out and three fingers are shoved inside your mouth. They’re salty and taste like you. They plunge down your throat and automatically you gag. He cums. The feel of your throat flexing around his bitter fingers spills him over. He puts his hips flush to your ass. His fingers drop from your mouth as drool pools around them. His cum drizzles down your thighs.

Your cunt milking him. He wraps his arms around your stomach, pulling you back to his chest. He shuffles back, his softening cock still inside you. He sits back in his seat with you in his lap. Your body is limp and tired. His fingers trace, drawing over your stomach. He can feel the head of his cock ever so slightly. He nuzzles his face into your shoulder. When you come to sanity, you’ve realized you just fucked Blue. Your boss, your owner. That you’ve betrayed your friends, but opened a much bigger and expansive door to something extraordinary. He kisses your shoulder. Hugging you tighter. His nose nudges against your collar. You feel his cock harden inside you. The cause of it all. 

“Should get you a leash to match that pretty necklace.”

He says it more as a reminder to himself than anything. Blue decides then, he doesn’t know how long or short his time with you is. But he perceives one thing: you belong to him and him alone. You’re his top girl. 

Familiar Voice (smut)

A/N: Professor Grant typa stories own me so I am giving this a go. Not proofread, sorryyy.

Summary: Reader is a university student who makes erotic audios online, Steven discovers why his favorite flirty voice actress sounds familiar.

Pairings: Professor!Steven Grant x F!Reader

Warnings: very explicit content, sexual language, age-gap (legal), professor-student relationship, mentions of erotic audio, implied exhibitionism, cunniglingus, multiple O’s, getting dominated, riding, praise kink, lots of “sir”

Word count: honestly don’t know, this has a lot

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈, 𝟏𝟖+

You should not be looking at him like this. Absolutely not. Snap the fuck out of it before he catches you.

Class with Professor Steven Grant was only during Thursdays and Fridays at 3:00 PM, your last class of the day. Sadly, today was a Friday and this would be the last time you’d witness his godlike physique till next class on Thursday.

You really shouldn’t stare. It was impossible not to look though, he was wearing a dark blue dress shirt that was incredibly tight on his upper arms and chest. Like, it wasn’t fair for him to be waltzing to class like this. When you took this Egyptology class, you took it purely for educational purposes. But now, its been two semesters and you have no intention of switching.

Professor Grant was too damn hypnotizing.

“Ms. Y/l/n, are you still with us?” You get snapped out of your thoughts with his voice. You think you were staring at the ground at this point but it was embarassing nonetheless.

“Y-yes, sorry.” You shook your head and blinked a few times. Everyone in class was probably looking at your dumbass but you just buried your head back into the book.

Professor Grant stared at you for a few seconds, wondering what was going on in that mind of yours. You were no means a failing student, you were actually one of his brightest pupils. Unfortunately, your grades have been dropping lately. Despite this, he presses on, “Alright, so as I was saying…”

The class went on for at least an hour more, you were desperate to leave. You had a creative outlet for all these pent up emotions, sexual emotions, that Professor Steven Grant constantly made you feel.

That was through your hobby, recording erotic audios. You would create and record scenarios and act them out with your voice—as if you were doing it in real time with the listener. It was like being a x-rated actress, without having the actual exposure. It was pretty fun. Sure, you had a sizeable audience but all you cared about was letting out your pent up thoughts.

So as the class ended and you stood up from your seat, you couldn’t wait to just get to the hallway and exit the Professor Grant’s presence. “Ms. y/l/n, please stay behind.” You were already about 5 feet away from the door when he said that. Internally, you cursed. Why? Why oh why must this day be a pain in the ass?

You turned around and walked to his desk. He waited for everyone in the class to leave, only leaving the two of you alone in the room. Oh, the unholy thoughts that were going through your mind was enough to fuel your imagination for one of your audio recordings. But, you push it aside.

“What’s wrong, professor?” You lean slightly to his desk as he sits back down. He clasps his hands together and removes his glasses. Insinuating that he was about to tell you something serious, but you couldn’t help but gulp hard at the sight of his arms tensing.

“Is there something wrong, dear? Your performance these past few months hasn’t been the same.” He seemed concerned. Truly he was, he didn’t want someone with the amount of potential that you had to throw it down the drain.

And you didn’t even have a proper excuse as to why your grades were flunking. You swore it wasn’t on purpose. You have just been distracted during his classes.

“I- I have no excuse, Sir.” He felt a bit of a twang form by his crotch when you said sir. Something about it was so innocent yet so needy. I mean, if you knew that he felt attracted to you, you would probably tell the guidance counselor and run for the hills. But yes, he found you incredibly fascinating.

The way you wore those high waisted pants, joggers or leggings. God your thighs drove him nuts. The way your breasts would sometimes end up plopped ontop of your desk whenever you were writing— he could imagine it in his palm, kneeding the neediness out of them. But hey, this was just fantasies he wouldn’t act upon. All he could do is make sure you weren’t gonna continue self destructing.

“Well, this is very disappointing. You need to heighten your grades before the finals.” He grabs a pile of paper and taps it on the desk to straighten them out.

Disappointing? God, that word almost made you cry. You never wanted to make the man who you literally look up to, in more ways than one, feel disappointed in you. “I… I will. I promise, I don’t want to disappoint you further, Sir Grant.” The words were almost testing him. I mean to you it was probably nothing, just a formality. But goddamnit he felt his cock twitch more than it should have. Thank goodness you were on the opposite side of his desk.

He dismisses you, and you were on your happy merry way while he tried to make it home faster. Both of you guys couldn’t wait to be alone— for reasons that seemed to be unrelated but were actually far from it.

~

Steven arrives home and manages to re-heat some leftovers. By the time he was finished eating and drinking a bit of tea, it was time to go through his student’s papers and lesson plans for next week.

As he opens his laptop and opens the needed programs to plan out the week ahead. He grabs the papers in his work bag to grade. It was gonna be a slow night. He thought. There was nothing truly interesting about what he was doing since most of the time he’d just fall asleep during these seasions.

Then, he remembers. Fridays are usually when his favorite naughty audio maker uploads new content to listen to. He favored this content creator because her voice and aura was so similar to you, he couldn’t help but picture it was you speaking those sweet nothings into his ear. Dirty talking, begging, moaning. But who was he kidding? You weren’t like that.

Immediately, he whips out his phone and stands up to grab his earphones. Grading and planning these lessons out can wait.

He finds a comfortable place on the couch, sitting by the middle. Finally, he plugs in the earphones into the phone jack, opening up his browser to go to the audio page.

BabyVixen135

He types the username and heads to the page. Just as expected, a new audio that was uploaded a few minutes ago appears on the feed. Steven felt like a little kid on Christmas day as he selects the new audio, waiting for it to load. One quick glance to the title had his pulse quickening.

[F4M] Extra Credit, pretty please, Sir?

The audio began. It had atmospheric sounds to it that made him feel even more indulged to the scenarios being described and given. Suddenly, her voice enters his ears.

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Oh, my grades? I… I didn’t know they were that bad…”

“No, I swear there’s nothing wrong, my life is pretty good.”

“Well there is one thing…”

“No, you wouldn’t like it…”

He found himself imagining the situation, imagining responding to the woman’s voice who was beginning to eerily remind him of you. But he just continued immersing himself into this dirty fantasy.

“I get distracted during your lectures…”

“See? It’s silly- I… It’s cause I find you… I find you very attractive, Sir.”

There that fucking sir was again. Why did it sound so much like you, he felt his length to be rock hard by now and couldn’t help but take it out into his hand.

“You aren’t mad?”

“But… this is so embarrasing. Sir? What if someone sees us?”

“Oh god, that does feel good.”

“Fuck, sir, your fingers feel so good on my pussy.”

Damn, he didn’t even last. He was stuck thinking that this voice was actually you and he lost it when the audio said pussy. This was pathetic, but truth be told, he has been horny all day and this could be the result. But enough of that, why did it sound like you so bad?

He fast forwards the audio to the end where there was usually sweet exchanges of words because he wanted to see if the twang in your voice was present all throughout.

“Mm, you felt so good baby… I hope you don’t mind me calling you sir again and again *giggles* It just turns me on so bad.”

He replays the ‘Sir’ part yet again. Shit. Holy fucking shit. It had to be you. There was no way in hell it wasn’t. He thought it through and concluded. This audio maker only uploaded on Fridays and usually after dinnertime, so the timezones make sense. Also, the sweet and soft airy nature of your voice was present in all of the audios. He had thought it was just cause you had similar voices but no. This was definitely you.

He couldn’t help but go through all the audios again. Inevitably getting hard again. And eventually cumming, again… and again. The thought that you were going home and recording these very graphic audios were making him feel all sorts of things. Thinking all sorts of things.

Did you like being dominated? Did you like riding? Did you like getting eaten out? Did you like being choked? Did you like all the things you constantly made audios about? God, Steven swore he emptied his balls out to your voice.

Did you base all those professor audios on him? Cause there was a lot. And if you did… God he was definutely going to have you, one way or another and make both your dreams comes true.

Unfortunately, No grading or lesson planning took place that Friday night.

~

You were studious throughout the entirety of the weekend and the first few days of the week. Mostly trying your hardest to catch up on Professor Grant’s previous lessons in order to better your grades. You managed to prepare a long ass essay that covered your understanding of the different topics you flunked in, hoping this would change his mind.

His words ‘disappointing’ were a constant reminder for you to never settle anymore. In your head, the only way you could satisfy him was through giving him good grades. Of course, you’d prefer something else but hey, you got that all out of your system on Friday night.

Today was finally Thursday and you were in the second to the last class of the day. You were just itching to give Professor Grant the essay you made so he could give you a bright smile and forgive you for your inconsistencies. You’d give anything for him to pat you by the shoulder while eyeing you, telling you that he believed in you and all of those sweet nothings.

And so, there you were. Walking into his class directly to his desk. He sat there on his chair with his glasses framing his face. He looked unenthused but you kept a positive attitude. “Hi Sir! I made a report for the topics I didn’t perform well in, I hope this makes you reconsider-“

“I need you to stay after class, again.” He speaks plainly, without even looking up from his laptop. “Leave that there.” You follow as he says and place your paper by the edge of his desk. Taken aback by his response, you turn away and took a shameful walk to your seat.

Why did he sound angry? A bit pissed, maybe? What did you do and how bad was it?

He taught the class as usual. Announcing the objectives of today’s topic, then to the contents, a couple of descriptions and a few examples here and there. Letting you all know the ins and outs of the egyptian mythology, as he usually does.

For what felt like eternity, the class ends. He gives out a few last minute announcements as the rest of the class stood up and made their way to the door. You, on the other hand, stood up and made your way to his desk. Waiting for him to finish saying his goodbyes to the class. “See you lot tomorrow!” His smile fades away when he turns to you. You, who was literally terrified of what he was about to tell you.

Were you grades just not it and he was kicking you out of class? Oh shit, you prayed it wasn’t that.

“Please, Sir Grant, if you could just look at my paper-“

“No no, me first.” He lifts his hands up to remove his glasses, exposing his gorgeous dark eyes. “Do you make online content, Ms. Y/n?” He leans against the desk, opposite of you.

What was he talking about? The pit in your stomach got deeper and you felt like you were about to faint. Was he talking about what you think he was talking about? “I mean everyone makes online content.”

“Yes, I know, what I meant was…” He makes his way closer to you and gently slides his hand across the desk as he approaches. “…adult content…” Steven’s voice was lower than usual. He has not stopped thinking about you eversince Friday. He’d catch himself listening to the damn voice any time he could. And it drove him wild.

He needed to prove to himself it was you.

You gulped at the sight of him, he was about a few inches away from you. You’re pretty sure he’s about to tell the university and you’d be screwed. “I uh… what do you-“

“Let me be extra specific, Ms. y/l/n, do you make adult audio content by the name of BabyVixen135?” At this point he was whispering in your ear and the heat coming from his lips was making a different type of heat radiate between your thighs.

He looked at your hesitant face, smiling as you were trying to form an answer. “I do…” You were scared. Yes this was very hot, but what if he tells on you. You’d be ruined and it would defeat the whole ‘no face’ concept you liked so much.

Steven was thrilled. Inside he already knew it was you, but the fact that you were confirming it felt so surreal. He wanted you. Fuck, it was so wrong to feel this way towards one of his students, but he has wanted you for a while. This whole situation was serving as a catalyst for his lustful thoughts.

He couldn’t have you here, it was too risky. Too many possible eyes and mouths that could speak out. Carefully, he tries to plan out how to take you home. How he’ll convince you.

You were terrified at his silence so you break it, “Please don’t tell-“

His hand cups your cheek, tilting your head to look at him. “I wouldn’t dare.” You looked at his eyes as he looked into yours and you couldn’t help but feel yourself getting wet.

“Tell me one thing, would you, Ms. y/l/n?” His other hand slowly caresses your waist, squeezing it ever-so slightly.

“Y-yes..?” You were shivering under his touch.

“Did you ever think about me when you made those naughty, dirty, nasty, filthy audios?” The squeeze on your waist got tighter, making you audibly gasp. “Tell me.”

“Yes, yes I did.” You admit. The next thing you knew was his lips crashing onto yours as you dropped your bag onto the floor, feeling the warmth of his touch. Melting onto one another’s skin.

His tongue licks your lips, asking for entry and you willingly let him in. It felt like you were in a dream. You weren’t sure if this was real or not, kissing the man you’ve been fantasizing over eversince you saw him.

Steven wasn’t any different. The moment he saw you, he instantly recognized your beauty. He eventually realized your brains. All your little antics and soft cues filled his days— the way you drank your water in the middle of class, the way you complained when he was lecturing too fast, the way you entered class like it was a runway. Goddamn, you stole any room and you definitely made him feel very sexual things.

But as fast as the kiss started, it ended abruptly, too. He heard you whine and felt his ego boost a bit since you were already missing his kiss. “Sorry, darling. We can’t do more here…”

“Can we go somewhere else, please?” You pleaded like a little puppy. This was an opportunity you’ve been waiting for awhile and you were gonna muster all the confidence you have in you to get this man in your damn pants.

Steven grabs his coat and his work bag, slinging it over his shoulder. He reaches his hand out to you, gesturing you to follow him. “Thought you’d never ask.”

~

You weren’t sure how it happened. It was a wild ass sensation. Getting into his car, trying not to get caught, him, carefully driving to his flat with the occassional touches and flirty gazes.

“How did you- how did you know it was me?” You adjusted the seatbelt along your chest, crossing your legs to try and contain the wet heat coming from your pussy.

Steven kept his eyes on the road, seriously considering grabbing you in between your thighs and playing with your mound during the drive. But he refrains and just answers you, “It already sounded like you. I tried picturing it as you, everytime I listened to the audios.” You blushed at his answer.

“But your latest audio confirmed it. The plot? The use of sir? God it was driving me over the edge.” He felt his pants tighten as his cock hardened. It was so difficult to resist you.

He tried to arrive to the flat faster and quicker, he wanted to just ravage your body. So. Fucking. Badly.

So fast forward. Now, you’re here. Being pushed into his flat as he slams the door behind both of you.

He pulls you in by the hand and plants peppered kissed along your cheeks, down to your lips. “I’m going to be honest, love. You’ve been quite a source of my lust…” He runs his fingers through your hair.

“You already know how I feel about you. My audios informed you.” You desperately tried to kiss him. Any part of him. Finally settling onto his neck. Soft kisses, soft licking and soft sucking.

“Why not let me experience it in real life? Hmm? Baby Vixen…?” He uses your username unironically and it kind of fits, rolling off his tongue like honey.

His words build more confidence in you, making you step back and slowly strip. You pulled your leggings down first, exposing your soft skin. Nearly making Steven groan at just the sight of you. He helps you step out of them, gently guiding you towards the bed.

Steven sits on the edge of the bed and continues eye-fucking you as you proceeded to remove your shirt. The light fabric easily slides off of your body and Steven couldn’t help but stare at the way your boobs were being presented to him.

His hand reaches out and subtly massages your tits, his cock was 100% aching and leaking pre-cum by now. “I want this off.” He peeks up through his eye lashes, pulling at your bra. “Now.” The voice that came out of him was more demanding. Yes you fantasized about him and yes that involved getting dominated, but this was just incredible.

Slowly, you unclasp your bra and let it fall to the ground. Exposing your breasts to the cold air of his apartment.

Steven was incredibly hungry to get his lips around those beautiful boobs. So he immediately heads in, kissing and leaving slobery licks all over your tits. His hands massage them as his lips licked around and over your nipples.

“Fuck, this is so good.” He moves you to the bed, pushing you down as he glides back up to your lips.

“You’re such a sexy fucking slut, aren’t you? Thinking about me, making audios while thinking about me.” He kisses down to your collarbones, through the middle of your tits until he was just by your panties.

Shivering under his touch, you helped guide Steven nearer to your heat by lifting your hips up. “Please, Sir, I need you to touch her. She’s fucking needy.”

“Aw, is that right baby?” His fingers trace your lips through your panties. Feeling the wetness seep through even further. “All this juice for your good old professor?” He slides your panties to the side and pushes a digit inside.

“Oh shiiiit-“ Your pussy slides around his fingers. The sensitivity was so high that you became a moaning and panting mess in a matter of seconds. It didn’t help that Steven’s tongue and lips connected with your clit.

Circling his tongue while his finger curled up inside of you. His lips lightly sucked on your clit as he adds another finger into you. Out of habit, your hands tangle into his hair to push him in. “Oh my Godddd… sir… that feels so goood.”

“Mmm.” You felt his low hum vibrate through you. Making your legs squeeze around his head. “That’s my good little vixen. Good little baby.”

His tongue lowers down to your lips while his fingers go up to your clit. His thumb pad circling it around, hitting just the right places. You then felt his long tongue dip into, while he moves it around like a damn snake. You were shaking like crazy and felt the knot in your stomach build. Ready to implode.

“Sir Grant I-I feel like I’m about to-“

“Yes baby, do it. Cum all over my face. Cum all over your dear Sir’s face.” He wildly shook his tongue inside of you while his fingers continued to press on and rub your clit.

You felt your hips thrust forward and your eyes close shut. It was the best feeling ever, his hair was tickling your thighs, his fingers were praising your clit and his mouth was curling so good.

“Fuuuuckkk.” The tight feeling in your stomach finally comes to an end and you felt your wet juices flow out of you. You lifted your head up to see Steven who was not wasting a single drop coming out of you.

“What a tasty mess, baby.” He swipes his fingers along your slit and brings it to his mouth, “So damn sweet.”

He then plops next to you removing his dress shirt and slacks. His chiseled body made you thirst, especially once your eyes saw the tall tent that formed underneath his boxers.

You adjust yourself to view his beautiful physique better, he catches your lustfilled gaze and invites you on top of him. “Straddle me, darling. I need to feel that tight pussy around me. I can’t wait anymore.” His voice was almost begging.

Immediately, you removed your panties and swung your legs over him. Your fingers pulled the hem of his boxers and made his length spring up. He saw your mouth part in amazement and grabs you by the chin for a kiss. “Were you expecting that? Hm?”

You kissed him further as you felt his length push against your pussy. “Were you expecting this cock? Do you want this thick fucking thing inside you, darling?” As a response, you nodded into the kiss as he lifted your ass cheeks up with his hands.

Your lips were being swiped by his tip, your juices and his pretty pre-cum were making the areas slick. “Put it in me please-“

“Please, what? What was it you kept calling me..?” His hands gently pushed himself into you. Not too far in but you were definitely feeling stretched.

The pressure you were feeling was enough for you to beg. “Please sir, I want it. It’ll feel so good.”

With that, he slams up into you. He grounded you in place by holding you on the hips. He was stretching you so good, your tightness wasn’t hurting you because you were too wet from cumming before.

You wrapped your hands around his neck, feeling him in you so deep that it felt like he was in your stomach. “Shit, darling you feel so good.” He kisses your breasts, leaving countless red love marks all over.

“So do you, sir. You fee-eel soo, fucking- good.” You were panting through his thrusts and felt another pit form in your stomach. Instinctively, you reached down and rubbed your clit. This catches Steven’s eyes and causes him to smirk, burying you onto him as he helps your fingers on your clit.

He was really filling you up now. You were basically just warming his length now. Soon enough he asks you to sway and grind while his entirety is buried into you. “Grind onto me baby, let me cum deep inside you while you ride your high, again. Give it to me.” He whispers onto yout flesh causing you to shiver.

You do as your told and sway your hips, left, right, front and back. It felt like you were being filled up till your chest, this type of movement was so new and made your pussy clench down onto him. He was feeling you tighten around his shaft and that sensation was so heavenly, he could stay there forever.

Your swaying began to pick up the pace as you slowly tried to ride him a bit. Feeling his length slide in you as you squeezed him again and again. “Fuccckk meee, darling. That is fantastic.” His hands grope your ass as he hissed at the feeling.

You were a sweaty, slutty and moany mess. “Sir Grant, I’m gonna- cum again…” Shakily you continued moving in the same pattern. Steven was so close too but he wanted you both to cum together.

“Me too, let’s- let’s cum together, my little slut.” He begins caressing every part of your body as you pleasured both you and him. “At the count of three.”

“One…” You began lifting your hips more while still swaying, he was groaning at your actions cause they were making it hard to control himself.

“Two, fuuuck…” His head throws back as he sees your beautiful eyes squeeze shut.

“That’s it baby, with me- thrr…three!” He pushes you down onto him as you push your head into the crook of his neck.

The sensation of his warm seed feeling you up made you smile. Laughing at the absolute miracle this situation has become. Last Friday you were just daydreaming about him and now he’s burying his load in you.

“Fuck…” You tried to move but he kept you there, your walls losened up as you felt him soften up too.

“Don’t move. Stay.” He grabs your face and pushes your hair away. The dim lighting of the apartment, paired with the moonlight made his heart flutter. Your eyes were so delicate. Your lips looked so plump. You had the prettiest face he’d ever seen and you just made him cum deep inside you.

“Sir I-“ You tried talking but he pulls you down for a kiss. His hands guide your hips to push you carefully off his length, still making you sit on his lap.

“Call me Steven, darling.”