Liz - Tumblr Posts
LIZ DELIVERING WITH THE ATE SO HARD ERMMMM WHAT SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT QUICK AND SWEET just like you baby girl (RIZZ!?!?!?!?)
Chris is almost 50, but he pouts like a baby. It's almost cute. Almost. It would be if he hadn't made a fuss earlier.
AHHHHH I LOVE CHRIS HES LITERALLY SO ASFEOIWRUIUEWR HES SO BABY GIRL BUT ALSO DADDY AT THE SAME TIME???
"Fuck, okay, but I'm not waiting for you to get comfy. I am not getting frostbite on my dick."
HELP ERM WTF THATS SO FUNNY HES SUCH A SILLY OLD MAN
"Well, your dick is almost as big as your ego."
ong ik from personal experience (WHAT)
Except for the radio, which you realize you forgot to silence. "I guess we have some explaining to do," you say to Chris. "No need," says the voice on the other side, "we heard you loud and clear."
FUCKKKK THATS SO EMBARASSING I WOULD BE SOBBING CRYING AND BEGGING FOR FORGIVENESS I WOULD LITERALLY JUMP INTO HYPERSPACE AND GO BACK IN TIME AND FIX THAT
LITERALLY I DONT NEED THE GANG TO KNOW I FW HIM LIKE LITERALLY... HELP IF THIS IS ALPHA FROM RE8 BROOO WHATTTT TEWIRASIURIAUREWIU
off point but my friend wore like literally a chris fit to school yesterday and now im tweaking so hard... ughghghghghghghh
leather's in season
pairing: re8! chris x reader
tags/cws: semi-clothed sex, semi-public sex, implied to have had sex in the past, coworkers, p in v, cockwarming, the gloves stay on! (until they don't)
summary: chris and reader are bored on a stupid stakeout on a mission, waiting for hours in chris' car, and they're cold, pent up with frustration, and...
a/n: the gloves have me in a chokehold (jk but i wish they did)
div creds to @animatedglittergraphics-n-more
wc: 1.6k
tags: @vaaaaaiolet @faysslut @leonfucker3000 @rigorwhoring @withonly-sweetheart
Contrary to popular belief, the worst part of fighting BOWs for a living is not the constant threat of death. It's the boredom in between the thrill of fighting — protecting the world from alphabetical viruses that can turn cities into zombies overnight gives you a sense of purpose. Sitting in the passenger seat of Chris' jeep makes you feel… absolutely nothing.
Okay, fine. It makes you feel something. It wouldn't be that big of a deal if you weren't trapped in the car with this man, with nothing to talk about, nothing to even think about besides the one drunken night you've avoided discussing for almost two months. You could go the rest of your life without mentioning it, and so could Chris. Except, when he takes his coat off, it's impossible not to notice his muscular frame, and when he groans in exasperation, it sounds so similar to that one time when —
"What?" Chris says, sounding ticked off, though you haven't done anything. You've only thought about doing things. Things you know he likes, for that matter.
"What do you mean 'what'?"
"You're staring at me."
"There's not much else to look at, since you're taking up like half my field of vision."
An exaggeration, of course, but he is a large man. In many ways.
"It's fucking cold in here. Can I turn on the heat?"
"No. You'll burn through the battery. And it's not even that cold."
Men. They'll wear basketball shorts in the snow. Of course he'd say it's not that cold.
Chris pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.
"Could you at least roll down a window if you're going to do that in here?"
"No," he says, "it's cold out there."
"I thought it wasn't that cold," you mock him.
He lights it despite your protests. He's the boss here — a fact he reminds you of at every opportunity. "It isn't. But it would be—"
You snatch the cigarette from between his lips, take a drag and blow the smoke into his face.
"What the fuck was that for?"
You not-so-subtly go into a coughing fit, having never smoked before. You hand it back to Chris, looking off to the side, knowing he'll make fun of you if you look at him. He takes it from you gingerly like it's a prized possession.
Minutes go by, the cigarette discarded in the ashtray in the center console, you pop a stick of gum in your mouth.
"Can I have one?" Chris asks.
"It's the last piece. Sorry." You're not really that sorry.
Chris is almost 50, but he pouts like a baby. It's almost cute. Almost. It would be if he hadn't made a fuss earlier.
"You can have it," you say, "I don't really want it anymore."
"Okay…" he says, suspicious — no, curious — about how you plan to exchange the gum you're offering him.
"Come here," you beckon him with a finger.
It's a trick as old as he is, but if nothing else, sitting in this car has made the both of you desperate, so he takes the bait and lets your lips touch.
It's quick, you play it off as a simple transaction, but Chris is nothing if not predictable. He grabs you by the cheek and kisses you again, harder this time, just as you expected him to — he takes control because he can.
"Get in the backseat," he says with a commanding, yet matter-of-fact tone that sounds similar to the one he uses with you in the field.
"Is that an order?" You ask, teasing him as he gets out of the driver's side, closes one door, opens another, and slides into the backseat.
Your eyes meet through the mirror on the windshield.
"You wanna stay warm, I'll help you, but I expect you to drop the attitude."
You want to be warm, and more importantly, you want to be closer to Chris, so you shut your mouth and get in the backseat.
Age, for Chris, just means extra gray hairs on his head and a greater proclivity for aches and pains after long days in the field. He's yet to lose that animalistic urge to tear your clothes off your body.
Your gear is long forgotten, lying idle in the front seat, but your turtleneck – skin-tight like Chris' – is very much still covering your top-half, a hindrance to Chris. His fingers fiddle with the fabric but you're quick to push his hands away.
"I told you, it's fucking cold."
"But I wanna see you," he says, with the voice of a middle-aged man, but the conviction of a whiny child, "I bet you look so pretty."
"You already know what I look like," you say, "unless you've forgotten."
"I could never forget that," he says between hungry kisses, "I've been thinking about the way you looked that night everyday since, which is why I want to see you like that again."
His lips find your neck, then his teeth tug your earlobe. "I'll make it worth your while," he says into the shell of your ear.
You agree to let him take your shirt off because when he's not demanding, he's convincing.
But he can't will his hands to heat up and he can't convince you that they're not cold. You shiver against his touch.
His solution is simple: keep the gloves on.
The feeling of leather against your skin is new, but Chris' deft touch is familiar. You know what his fingers feel like inside you, rubbing against your g-spot, making you cum with his hand over your mouth in the fucking supply closet. Only the location has changed, instead of a door, there are tinted windows. No one else is around (you hope), you can only hear the occasional voices of members of your squad coming from the radio.
You agree to strip when Chris offers you his coat (in addition to a place on his lap) to keep you warm. With you head tipped back, resting on his shoulder and his hands between your thighs, you say, without a thought in your mind, "I want you to fuck me."
You hear his breath hitch and feel his cock strain against his pants and you know he feels the same.
"Fuck, okay, but I'm not waiting for you to get comfy. I am not getting frostbite on my dick."
"Don't worry, I can handle it."
He hums, knowing you're likely overestimating your abilities but dying to be inside you nonetheless.
He lifts you up momentarily and you hear the clink of his belt and the zipper of his pants. He takes them down just enough to get his cock out. Without warning, he takes your hips and shoves it inside you, one deep thrust burying himself to the hilt.
It makes you gasp, it makes you whimper. Arousal makes you overconfident and the stretch is payback for your hubris.
"You're fine," he says. "You can take it."
"It's too much, I-I can't."
"Not my fault you're so fucking tight. Shoulda known based on your attitude."
"Well, your dick is almost as big as your ego."
It's hard to insult him when you're naked – aside from his coat – perched on his cock.
He laughs, rare and sweet – and proud. "Not my fault, either."
Chris' fingers, still covered by his leather gloves, play with your clit, making your walls flutter around him, every spasm elicits a grunt from him, and it only spurs you on – you try to lift yourself up, prepared to ride him like it's your life's purpose, like it's the mission you're in the middle of fucking nowhere to complete. He stops you, grabs your hips and holds them steady against his.
"What the fuck?" you say, pissed off (about how much his insistence on controlling the situation turns you on). "I thought you were gonna fuck me. This isn't fucking, I'm just sitting on your dick."
"Oh, it's not fucking?" he says. "Guess you're easy to please then, 'cause all I've done is stick my dick in you and you're about to fucking cum."
"I am not," you say, in a whine, as your cunt betrays you, clamping down around him, making it nearly impossible for him to fuck you if he wanted to.
Instead of taunting you, he takes his gloves off, shoves two fingers in your mouth and rubs your clit with more precision, more dedication to this mission.
"Cum for me," he whispers in your ear when he knows you're close.
You try to talk back. "Is that an or– oh my fucking god," your orgasm cuts you off. His hand covers your mouth before you can scream his name, and it's probably better that way. You're embarrassed enough as it is when you notice that you've soaked the front of his pants.
"You didn't–" you start, realizing he didn't cum. You're not sure if you should be grateful or offended.
"No, I have self-control," he says.
It's fucking reverse psychology whether he intends it to be or not – insulting you just makes you even more determined to make him cum, to pay him back.
"Oh yeah?" you challenge him as you sink to your knees.
He doesn't respond, doesn't protest. He lets you suck him dry.
You watch him go through the stages of pure bliss while you bask in the knowledge that you did this to him.
It's quiet finally, no arguing, no skin-on-skin, no moaning.
Except for the radio, which you realize you forgot to silence.
"I guess we have some explaining to do," you say to Chris.
"No need," says the voice on the other side, "we heard you loud and clear."
this is liz new fic !!
Drawing more of my beautiful boy 🥰🥰🥰
HOLY SHITTTTT HIM MAKING U WATCH THE SHOW BROOO I WOULD NOT GAF ABT THE FUCKING MY LITTLE PONY APPLEJACK MIGHT BE A HORSE
BUT IM RIDING THAT THANGGGGG LIKE DAMNNNNN OK I SEE U
can we please talk abt the fact he starts our worried abt what his friends will think and then like doesnt care anymore
also need him to spit in my mouth i dont FUCKING CARE HOW GROSS IT IS I WANT IT BADDDDD
cupid's chokehold
pairing: damnation! leon x reader
tags/cws: ddlg, free use, spit kink
summary: leon is reluctant to try ddlg... until he's not
a/n: can you tell I wrote this one for me?
div creds to @animatedglittergraphics-n-more
wc: 1.8k
tags: @vaaaaaiolet @faysslut @leonfucker3000 @rigorwhoring @withonly-sweetheart
Leon wasn't so keen on the idea at first.
"I can't decide if I'm too old or too young for this."
He's too old to play games but too young for fatherhood. He's a grouch with an aching back but a stubbornness that makes him insist on doing everything himself. That's pretty fatherly, isn't it?
Plus, he's already fairly dominant in bed, and can get kind of kinky if he gets drunk enough, but most of that comes down to one of you putting something in the other person's ass.
It's not like he can control how you act. You can watch cartoons in your cute PJs holding your favorite stuffed animal. It's up to him to play along.
Maybe it's an innate male desire, maybe it's some fucked up part of his brain, maybe it's just you. You and your cute little outfits and your pretty smile on your adorable face that lights up whenever he enters the room.
He sits down on the couch next to you. "What are you up to, baby?" he asks softly with his face nuzzled into your neck.
"Watching a show," you say, pointing to the TV.
"Yeah? Is it good?"
"It's okay, but I've already seen this one."
"So, you wouldn't mind taking a little break?"
You understand the implication. He's already riled up, so you figure it can't hurt to say it, he'd probably be more susceptible to your charm in this state. And, if he doesn't like it, you can just play it off as a joke.
"Okay, daddy." You give him the sweetest, doe-eyed look.
He sighs — not at you but at his hardening dick for forcing him to admit that he enjoys this.
"Taking you to bed then, baby girl," he says, as he lifts you up and carries you to the bedroom, depositing you on the bed.
You have hearts in your eyes when you look at him, seeing Daddy, rather than Leon. And in that moment, Leon knows he's fucked. His head, dizzy from the surge of blood downward, leads him astray, leads him straight into the role of daddy.
Leon does the best he can, he takes it in stride. In the coming days, he finds that the playing the part of 'daddy' leaves a lot of room for ad libbing as daddy is the one who makes all the rules. Daddies just have to take care of their babies, you tell him when he asks what the fuck he's supposed to be doing. That's a pretty broad instruction, it gives Leon a lot of leeway to do as he wishes.
Leon plays gently but he does not play nice. He teases you relentlessly and makes you beg until you can't anymore, until your brain goes blank. Finally, he gives into your wishes, which are identical to his.
He holds onto your thighs while he fucks you deep and slow, balls slapping against your ass with every thrust. You look up at him with nothing behind your eyes, no thoughts, just arousal dripping from your cunt.
Even the word 'daddy' eventually disappears from your vocabulary and all that you have left is breathy moans.
Leon states the obvious, "I think I fucked you stupid, baby."
Of course, you nod— not that you consciously agree with his statement, you'd agree to anything, and Leon knows that.
"I bet you'd do anything for daddy, huh? I bet you'd let me spit in your mouth if I asked."
It isn't as off-handed a remark as he'd like for you to believe it is. He'd been wanting to do this for quite some time but thought you might see it as degrading (and, not in a good way).
You don't answer verbally — instead, you open your mouth and stick your tongue out. An enthusiastic yes. So, Leon leans in close, gathers up all the saliva in his mouth and lets it drip into your mouth.
You swallow. Hot. You smile. Adorable. You open your mouth again and stick your tongue out asking for him to do it again. Irresistible.
"What's the magic word?" he asks, pouding into you harder. The facade of his control is slipping, he's desperate, panting from the exertion it takes to fuck you this hard while making sure he doesn't cum prematurely.
"Please, daddy," you whine as he continues railing you hard enough to make the headboard hit the wall.
He only slows down to oblige with your request.
After swallowing, you thank him. His breath hitches in response. He never thought the words "thank you" could affect him so much. It's more than that, though. Your arousal is doubled by seeing Leon being overcome with his, and your pussy tightening around him pulls an unmistakable groan from deep in his chest.
"Baby," he says, tone filled with urgency, "Where do you want daddy to cum?"
"Inside," you say, looking at him with pure desire in your eyes.
It's like an override button. He should not cum inside you. Leon usually insists on using a condom or pulling out. You're on birth control, but he doesn't take his chances. Until now. Now, he rattles off pure filth while you babble nonsense until he fills you to the brim.
From that night forward, it becomes a thing between the two of you - not all the time, but sometimes. Often enough that Leon feels gross about it.
This cannot go any further than it has. Do you expect him to buy you baby toys and spoon-feed you using plastic utensils? How would he explain that to his friends if they ever came over?
"But you like it, daddy," you say, kicking your legs, which are spread just enough that he can see you're not wearing anything underneath your oversized t-shirt.
"It stays in the bedroom. It's not up for debate."
"But what if I want to have sex on the couch or in the shower?"
"Good girls take what they're given, and don't complain."
"Daddy," you whine, egging him on, sure, but also genuinely frustrated at his insistence on keeping this in the literal bedroom.
His gaze hardens, his mouth draws a flat line and he says, "You're not getting anything tonight."
"No, no, no, please, daddy, I promise-"
"No. You're lucky I'm not punishing you."
"This is punishment! I need you so bad."
"That's too bad."
You're upset already but it's nothing compared to the feeling you get when you watch Leon pull his dick out and begin to jerk himself off. You're jealous of his own hand somehow.
"Please, please, can I help? I just wanna touch it."
He doesn't say anything, just takes your hand in his and jerks himself off, managing to use you like a toy without even giving you any pleasure. He doesn't even look at you while he does it — or at least, he doesn't look at you when he thinks you'll catch him, but how can he not look? Especially when you're the one he's getting off to. Yeah, he's thinking about you alright. Thinking about you calling him 'daddy', about how much you love it and how much he pretends to hate it.
"Leon," you whine, dropping the 'daddy' thing in the hopes that it'll convince him.
Finally, he looks at you, and if dropping the whole 'daddy' thing will get you his attention, then you'll do it. But that's not what he wants, he's in too deep, he left 'Leon' behind with the first stroke of his cock.
"Leon? Is that what you call me when we do this?"
"No." You shake your head and pout like you're disappointed in yourself. "I'm sorry, daddy."
"I know you're sorry. That's why you're gonna make it up to daddy."
He lets go of your hand, but he's finished ignoring you. Playtime is in session.
"You're gonna let daddy use that pretty pussy instead of your hand, baby."
"No bad words, daddy," you mumble.
"You're right. Wouldn't wanna set a bad example for my baby girl, would I? You're gonna let daddy use your princess parts."
You try to suppress a smile. Sex is a win-win game. But, you have to pretend it's punishment for the sake of the backwards logic that's gotten you this far, right? Maybe, maybe not. Leon winks at you, unable to hide under the 'disappointed daddy' mask when he's the type of guy who gets giddy about sex.
"How 'bout you keep watching your show?"
Oh, yeah. That thing you'd completely forgotten about the moment Leon entered the room.
"Okay," you agree, knowing that you getting your way is Leon getting his way, and vice versa.
You grab the remote and press play, resuming the stupid cartoon you'd seen a million times before. Leon sits you down on his lap and wastes no time burying himself inside you.
You whimper at the sensation, and try to shift your body so that you're facing him. You want to press your face to his chest. You want to sob into his t-shirt as he drags his cock in and out.
"Mm-mm," he says. "You don't wanna miss your show. I'm not gonna pause it, baby."
You don't give a flying fuck about the show. It's not even a good episode. But the idea of Leon taking what he wants from you like this is too hot to pass up so you have to play along. Really, you can't pay attention to anything because your mind goes blank, the TV is still on but your brain turns to static.
Leon takes your hips and moves you up and down slowly, agonizingly so, at first. It feels like forever, but you know if you whine about it, it'll take even longer for him to give in and go faster.
When he finally does increase the pace, he refuses to touch your clit. You can't cum like this despite the fact that it feels so good it makes you cry. You snake your own hand down between your legs and try to touch yourself, hoping he won't notice, but of course he does — all he's thinking about is you right now. He pulls your hand away, and he doesn't even need to scold you to get his point across. Tears roll down your cheeks, both at the overwhelming sensation and at the fact that he's denying your pleasure. (Though, secretly, you love it just as much when daddy is a little mean.)
He can't see your face but he can hear your sniffles, so he reassures you, "you're doin' so good for daddy, baby, just a few more minutes and then you'll get what you want."
After he cums — inside you, of course — he flips you onto your back and his head finds its way between your thighs. He kisses your inner thighs and says, "you did so good, baby. Now it's your turn."
He turns the TV off and drops the remote on the floor next to the couch. "I want you to focus on feeling good now."
His grip on your hips is soothing yet firm as he dives in to taste you - and, inadvertently, himself. You can barely make out his mumbled praises.
"You're so perfect", "You taste so good", "I'm so proud of you".
And then he stops talking completely because you push his head into your core to shut him up. You can feel him laugh, but you can't hear it. All you can hear is your own moans as your orgasm hits you.
“Daddy?”
“Yes?”
"I thought I couldn't call you that outside of the bedroom. Did you change the rules, daddy?"
He scoffs. The rules have always been this way, baby girl.
kisses you mwah mwah mwah "go big or go home" <- my standards exactly (and im not talking height... well technically i am just another one-)
The worst part of it all is: you really like him. He makes you feel like you're in high school again despite the fact that he's decades past that point in his life - it's the way your heart flutters in his presence, the way he makes your cheeks heat up when he compliments you. However, this is anything but an innocent crush. You want more than the kiss on the cheek he gives you when he greets you at your doorstep, more than his hand holding yours as he helps you step in and out of the car, more than his arm around your waist as he leads you to the table.
THIS. WHOLE. PARAGRAH. GRAHHHH this perfectly sums up what its like to go on dates when you're not a minor anymore like you know what you want and it still feels like you're a kid? so wanting that is wrong but you want it and you know it should feel right but you're too scared to act on it. which leads me into:
But, at the restaurant, you decide to order a double shot of liquid courage, which is a one-way ticket to going home with Joel.
OK GIRLLLLL I SEE U... baddiessss pose for me (ass fat slim thick no tummy) love the number implications because if u think abt it, its a double shot right which is supposed to be strong and she says one way which means she's not coming back... guys a ONE WAY TICKET MEANS YOU'RE NEVER GOING BACK MEANING SHE WANTS IT TO LAST DID I JUST COOK???
He gets so far as slipping his hand up your dress, but the moment his fingers brush the gusset of your panties, you grab his wrist. "Joel—" "Yeah?" He's quick to sit up and back off completely — not exactly what you intended but you're grateful that he respects boundaries.
oh my god the respect is so amazing... like personally that would be such a green flag because being able to push away ur own desires to hear out what the s/o wants is just!! peak relationship behavior me wants...
Handjobs, blowjobs, the whole nine yards - well, really, the first three bases in the sports/sex analogy.
STOPPPP I NEVER GOT THAT ANALOGY ESP W SO MANY OF MY GUY FRIENDS PLAYING FOOTBALL AND BASEBALL LIKE I NEVER WAS INTO THAT... bc i love them <3 and also they're dumbshits so if i ever try and explain they start yapping abt innings and shit i dont really care abt <3 love ya ishanth ik ur stalking my rbs
It doesn't fit down your throat, not even close, but Joel's 50, not 20, so he knows that unlike in pornography, most women cannot deepthroat. He doesn't expect you to even attempt such a feat. Just looking into your eyes while you're on your knees for him is enough to get him there.
FUCKKKK I DONT CARE IF IT RIPS MY THROAT I WANT IT- sorry who was that?? anyways love the realisticness bc i feel like 10 inches and smol girl will not equal something very good so love how realistic this feels! always the relatable one, eh liz?
Gradually, it starts to feel better, a lot better. You start to understand why people like this so much.
... but i don't. thats why i read about it, cause the more ya know...
He doesn't know your sobs of pleasure well enough to be sure they're not ones of pain.
chat what... but that line was so smooth like ngl i would fold immediately if someone was that concerned that even during sex they were watching out for me... ermm.... ahriasdlkasdklas tweaks out
And it's not calculated dirty talk, it's just the goddamn truth.
it sure is *tips cowboy hat and gallops away on a brown horse*
"I swear you're gonna kill me with that thing," you say, gesturing to his cock, which looks not nearly as threatening when it's soft. When he lies down beside you and wraps his arm around you, pulling you closer, you think to yourself, "maybe I am dead, and this is heaven." You don’t realize you’ve said it aloud until Joel says, "I'm pretty sure we're still in Texas, baby.” "Same thing.”
the title ref?? gosh ur so smart thats so funny to me tho like imagine having ur thoughts just blurted out loud cause you cant keep them in... but ig you've already revealed yourself to that person if you've had sex with them? also "death by joel's cock; perfect way to go" an essay by jj - would you read it ik i would (im the goat)
liz liz liz... you maniacal pixie dream... you are the tofu to my vegan lovers burger (where tf did that come from tf) ilysm <3. loved this one.. will be thinking abt... for next few days... weeks... erm... hah.
everything's bigger in texas
pairing: joel x reader
tags/cws: size kink, praise kink, p in v, oral f and m receiving, virginity loss
summary: go big or go home on your first time
a/n: reader is a virgin, but is not specified to be a certain age and in my mind is only a bit younger than joel
div creds to @animatedglittergraphics-n-more
wc: 2k
tags: @vaaaaaiolet @faysslut @leonfucker3000 @withonly-sweetheart
It's embarrassing. It's the reason why you'd hesitated to even talk to Joel in the first place, fearing he might like you back, in which case, he might ask you out, and according to Cosmopolitan and the metaphorical grapevine, you would only get three dates at most before you'd have to end it. And you better not order the fucking lobster. Ever.
You get dolled up on the night you plan to bid him adieu. You'd feel horrible for wasting his time regardless, but the fact that he decides to treat you to dinner at a fancy restaurant for your third date, makes you feel even worse.
The worst part of it all is: you really like him. He makes you feel like you're in high school again despite the fact that he's decades past that point in his life - it's the way your heart flutters in his presence, the way he makes your cheeks heat up when he compliments you. However, this is anything but an innocent crush. You want more than the kiss on the cheek he gives you when he greets you at your doorstep, more than his hand holding yours as he helps you step in and out of the car, more than his arm around your waist as he leads you to the table.
You want him to fuck you.
You try to give yourself a pep talk in the mirror before he arrives, and for an extra confidence boost, you wear the singular pair of underwear in your drawer that matches the one bra that actually fits right, hoping it'll make you feel sexy. But what good is sexy if you’re not going to have sex?
But, at the restaurant, you decide to order a double shot of liquid courage, which is a one-way ticket to going home with Joel.
He drives with one hand on the steering wheel and the other on your thigh. He’s so hot that even the smallest things can get you worked up. It’s the first time in a long time that your arousal has been able to override your nerves.
You barely get your coat off before you’re pressed up against the door, and he’s kissing you with a type of hunger you’ve never felt before. You know he'll leave you with a case of stache-rash but you can't bring yourself to care.
You stumble across the room to the couch – you would’ve walked backwards into the coffee table if Joel hadn’t picked you up and carried you. You’re not even that drunk - at least, not on alcohol – just insistent on not breaking the kiss until you’re out of breath and you absolutely have to.
When his body looms over you, all you're thinking about is the feeling of his lips on yours, his hands playing with your tits, making you gasp when his thumbs brush over your nipples.
He gets so far as slipping his hand up your dress, but the moment his fingers brush the gusset of your panties, you grab his wrist.
"Joel—"
"Yeah?" He's quick to sit up and back off completely — not exactly what you intended but you're grateful that he respects boundaries.
"I should just be honest with you. I’ve never done this before, so I’m a little nervous…"
You're more than a little bit nervous, especially when you're so used to guys making up excuses to leave when they notice your hesitance after you reveal the truth, after they find out that they're not guaranteed to have you in bed that night.
Joel doesn't kick you out, not even close, he looks unfazed, and you're at a loss. The script you've planned says: end scene, but the camera is still rolling. You have to ad lib.
“That’s okay. We don’t have to do that. I’m more than satisfied just getting to kiss you. Hell, I’d be happy just to have you sit on the couch with me, not touching or anything.”
You should feel more comfortable - and in a way, it does - but the novelty of the situation still leaves you dumbfounded.
You can see the worry in his eyes gain prominence as you remain silent.
"Hey," he says quietly. "Are you okay? I promise we don't have to do anything like that. We can just hang out, watch a movie or somethin', no touching at all."
"But I want you, Joel. That's the problem. I really want you."
"I want you too, but only when you're ready."
“I am ready, just nervous since this is new to me.”
“Is this your first time doing anything… of that nature?”
"No, I’ve done some things, I just haven’t gone all the way yet."
Handjobs, blowjobs, the whole nine yards - well, really, the first three bases in the sports/sex analogy.
“Would you like to tell me about those things?”
The look in his eyes – sweet and suggestive all at once gives you a spark of confidence.
"I could tell you, but I’d rather show you," you say with a flirtatious smile.
"Only if you let me return the favor."
It takes a lot of willpower to keep yourself composed when you're face-to-dick with Joel. You feel a rush of something — lust, nerves, both? All you can think is: there's no way that is ever going to fit inside me.
It doesn't fit down your throat, not even close, but Joel's 50, not 20, so he knows that unlike in pornography, most women cannot deepthroat. He doesn't expect you to even attempt such a feat. Just looking into your eyes while you're on your knees for him is enough to get him there.
Post-orgasm, he's internally beating himself up for not using his good southern manners and pleasing his woman first. The best he can do is double his typical dedication when he goes down on you.
He doesn't need to try that hard. In what feels like mere seconds, Joel's fingers work you open, pulling an orgasm from you when he dips his head between your legs and flicks his tongue over your clit.
When he can tell you're close, he says, "I'm right here, baby. Let go for me." His lips return to your clit and with his reassurance you let yourself fall over the edge.
It's not until your fourth date that you actually make your first attempt to lose your virginity.
He makes you cum twice - once on his fingers, once on his tongue - before he even takes his cock out of his underwear.
You're tired by that time, ready to apologize and see yourself out, but then you look at him, naked and hard in front of you, and despite your exhausted body, your pussy drools (maybe your mouth too). It gives you a jolt of energy, a rush of blood down south.
Joel’s body is positioned perfectly above you, ready to give himself to you, but he waits, looks at you with admiration in his eyes but doesn’t touch you. When he does, it's his right hand on your cheek.
"Are you gonna… put it in?" you say, laughing a little – anything to break the tension.
"Just wanted to make sure you were okay first," he says with a warm smile.
"I'm more than okay," you assure him.
At your confirmation, his kisses move from your cheek to your jaw, they get rougher at your neck, your collarbone. He sucks on your tits until you whine in impatience.
You feel his breath as he huffs out a laugh into your neck between kisses. But you're more focused on the head of his cock prodding at your entrance. When Joel presses himself inside you — one inch first — you both take in a sharp breath. You're audibly wet, but there's still a stretch, a sting.
Joel sees your eyes squeezed shut and feels you tense up.
"You wanna stop?" he asks.
"No," you tell him. "Just… go slow."
He takes your hand, interlocks your fingers, before giving you another inch. For whatever reason, you hadn't expected him to be this sweet during sex, but you have no complaints.
Gradually, it starts to feel better, a lot better. You start to understand why people like this so much.
But then, you accidentally sabotage yourself when your gaze fixates on his cock going in and out of your pussy. A sense of shame falls over you when you realize he's only halfway inside you.
"What's wrong?" he asks.
"It's not all the way in," you sigh.
"And that's okay, baby."
"I wanted to be able to take it all… I wanted to be good for you."
"Trust me, baby, it feels fuckin' amazing. You're squeezin' me so damn tight you're gonna make me embarrass myself."
"I can't help it."
"I know," he says, leaning down to whisper beside your ear, "and that's what makes it feel even better."
You whimper quietly - it's a flustered, needy, good noise, but still, Joel cups your cheek and holds infinite comfort within his touch as he shushes you, saying, "you're doing so good for me."
With slight shift of his hips, a change in angle, he hits that special spot inside you and you can feel the pleasure begin to build.
You moan — louder than you intended to — and it almost startles Joel, briefly takes him out of his trace. He doesn't know your sobs of pleasure well enough to be sure they're not ones of pain.
"You okay? You want me to pull out?"
"No, don't pull out. Do that again," you say, frantically grasping at him, horrified at the thought of him no longer being inside you.
"Do what again?" he says with a subtle smirk that lets you know that he knows exactly what.
"This?” he asks as he hits the same spot again and you can't tell him 'yes' when your mouth is busy with far more obscene noises, so you nod.
"Right there?" he confirms again, as he steadily thrusts in and out of you, not pushing any deeper, only meeting that special spot over and over.
It's rhetorical, and your 'uh-huh' is more than sufficient as an answer.
Pride mixes with lust and he rattles off praises, knowing he'll get your tight, wet heat to clench around him with every single word.
"You're takin' me so well, baby. You look so pretty like this," he says.
You cry out his name like it's the only word you know, over and over again.
"You're gonna make me cum if you keep sayin' my name like that, baby."
And it's not calculated dirty talk, it's just the goddamn truth.
With begging eyes and a mouthful of moans, you nod and hope your wordless gesture will convey the meaning, which is: please.
Your legs wrap around his hips and there is nothing Joel can do to hold himself back from burying himself to the hilt. There's nothing he can do to stop himself from spilling his load inside you immediately.
You swear you can feel him in your stomach, and you can see a bulge in your abdomen, and it would be fascinating if you weren't focused on clutching the sheets for dear life in an effort to save Joel from the wrath of your acrylics as you shudder through your orgasm.
You nearly lose yourself in the bliss of your high, all you know is Joel and the way he feels inside you.
When you come to, you turn to Joel and he says, "I'm proud of you," a phrase that never fails to make you melt.
You want to say "thanks" or "I love you" or any normal response one might give to that statement, but your words are already halfway out of your mouth.
"I swear you're gonna kill me with that thing," you say, gesturing to his cock, which looks not nearly as threatening when it's soft.
When he lies down beside you and wraps his arm around you, pulling you closer, you think to yourself, "maybe I am dead, and this is heaven."
You don’t realize you’ve said it aloud until Joel says, "I'm pretty sure we're still in Texas, baby.”
"Same thing.”
