u/TightGrip89

The first thing I noticed when I walked into the living room was that you were wearing my shirt. And apparently not much else.

You'd left the top buttons undone enough that I was sure you weren't wearing a bra. And with your legs tucked up underneath you as you sat on the couch, the shirt covered just enough that I couldn't quite tell if you were wearing panties.

I know you, and I know you're not likely to be just hanging around without panties, but my shirt rode up your thighs enough to make me want to double-check.

My eyes lingered on your long legs before slowly traveling up your body. It's kind of irritating how much better you look in my clothes than I do — if I didn't like seeing you in them so much, it would probably really piss me off.

You'd obviously clocked my leer — I don't really see the point in hiding how much I like looking at you — and when my gaze finally reached your face, you had a single eyebrow cocked at me in your "do you like what you see?" expression. You held it for just a second before you broke out into a smile.

I don't know if it says more about your ability to emote so much nuance, or testifies to how much time I've spent watching you, but I knew instantly that smile was your "guilty excitement" smile.

"What did you do?" I grumbled, crossing the living room and plopping down on the couch beside you.

"What?!" You nearly yelled. "I haven't done anything. I'm the best babygirl, and you should be nice to me."

You shifted your body, resting your thigh on top of mine. When I lifted my arm, you fell right into place, so I could wrap it around your shoulder.

"Mhm," I grunted. "The best babygirl. But you definitely did something. Just tell me what it is."

In a flash of movement, you'd flung a leg over me and were sitting in my lap, facing me. You put your hands on my chest and said, "Ok, promise you won't get mad…"

Which meant whatever you were about to say was definitely going to make me mad. But you were in my lap, my shirt sliding down your shoulder, and I couldn't really focus on much else at the moment.

My hands went to your thighs, and I began to massage them, digging my fingers into your muscles just before the point that it becomes more pain than pleasure for you. I worked my way up your legs to your hips.

Yep. Panties.

You cleared your throat. When I looked back at your face, I could see you were clearly waiting for me to say something.

"I'm not going to promise to not get mad. Just tell me what the hell you did."

You huffed out in exasperation. "Fiiinnnee. Ok, so Jess called me today. Her and her ex got back together."

"Uh-huh," I said dryly.

"And she was saying how the four of us should get together sometime…"

"Okay…"

"So I said maybe we could all go out for dinner…"

"And?"

There was a long pause. I could feel my eyes narrowing into a glare.

"Annnd…" you said, looking all cute and annoying, "and we are meeting them at the restaurant in an hour."

"Goddammit."

I swear you do this on purpose. You like seeing me get all irritated. Don't get me wrong, Jess is fine. I don't have a problem with any of your friends, but her ex is a fucking tool.

"That dude is a fucking tool," I grumbled.

You threw your arms around my neck and pressed your face into my neck. "Pleeease, Siiirrr."

It was a dirty move. We both know when your body is pressed against mine like that, there is very little I wouldn't do for you.

"For fuck's sakes," I growled.

You sat bolt upright, your face breaking into a huge smile. You knew you'd won. You'd known from the start I wouldn't say no to you.

"But I'm going to pick out what you wear tonight," I added.

Your face dropped. You kinda hate when I pick out clothes for you. You were building up to argue the point — I could see it in your face.

So I grabbed your face in both hands and forced you to look me in the eye. "Listen here, babygirl. I'm doing this for you. I'm not going to complain or try to sabotage your fun. But we both know I am going to be bored as fuck listening to that fuckhead prattle on about god knows what.

"But I'll go. I'll do it for you. But you're going to dress for me, because babygirl, tonight you are going to be my entertainment."

Some days I want to murder any man that dares to look at you, and some days I want them to see you and know that you are mine. Tonight, I decided, I was going to enjoy the aura of envy. I picked out a dress I'd been wanting to see you in again — tight enough to show every curve and short enough for me to make my night much more interesting.

You'd given me a look when you saw it laid out on the bed. That look that says you know exactly what you're doing.

Which, yes. Obviously.

Jess was already there when we arrived, standing next to … I'll just call him Derek. I can't remember his real name. Derek has the softest hands I have ever felt on a human being, and when we shook hands, I couldn't help but wonder if the dude had ever picked up anything in his entire life.

He immediately jumped into a story about his decision-making process on which watch to wear that night. With my hand on your back, I could feel when you had to stifle a giggle. There are very few things I have less interest in talking about than decorative watches. I shot you a sideways, accusatory glance. You are enjoying my annoyance, aren't you?

Which, yes. Obviously.

The wait for a table was long, and Derek's watch opinions were many. I survived both by keeping my hand on the small of your back and enjoying the feel of your skin through the open back of your dress. 

You and Jess were lost in conversation, and Derek was… still talking, when the hostess motioned that our table was ready. Eager to get on with the rest of the night, I tucked my fingertips down into the back of your dress and guided you after the hostess as we made our way to our seats.

By the time the waitress had brought our drinks, Derek was mid-story on how he'd started brewing his own craft beer, and I was realizing there were things I cared about even less than what was on his wrist. But I had my hand on your knee and had pulled your leg against mine, and that contact tends to make most things more bearable.

I let you have the first twenty minutes. Uninterrupted. You and Jess catching up, laughing, talking about whatever it is you two talk about. I even made a few contributions to the conversation. I was being goddamn pleasant.

Then I got bored.

Slowly, I slid my hand up your leg, just a few inches of adjustment, and gently stroked the inside of your thigh. It's a pretty common place for my hand to rest, and you didn't react. You didn't recognize that I'd decided to start having my fun.

Derek was explaining — at length — his position on intermittent fasting, and my fingers began a slow walk up your thigh until I reached the hem of your dress. I watched your jaw tighten slightly. There you go. You'd clocked it.

Ever so slowly, I pushed my hand a couple of inches further, your dress riding up along the way.

You reached down and grabbed my hand with yours. You shot me a sideways glance and the two of us had a very short conversation purely through facial expressions.

I know what you're trying and you are not going to do this.

Yes. I am.

You held my gaze for a moment, then moved your hand from mine with the world's smallest eye roll. FIIIINNNNEEEE

At some point, Derek had started talking about cold plunges. I found that I didn't mind at all as I pushed my hand between your legs and let my fingers trace gentle lines across your soft skin.

You asked Jess a question, and as she answered, you took a napkin off the table and spread it across your lap. As you moved, I slid my hand further up between your legs. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw your lips press into a tight line, and your fingers start fidgeting with your silverware.

I was really starting to enjoy the night.

I gave it another few minutes before I slid my hand the last couple of inches and felt my fingers brush against your panties. I could feel the warmth radiating off of you. I'm sure you'll deny it, but I felt you shift your hips just slightly to press yourself firmer against my hand.

I let my fingers work, grazing both cloth and skin, then turned my hand just enough to focus the pressure on the warmth beneath your panties — right as Jess asked you a question.

The sound that escaped your lips was most definitely a moan. You tried to cover it with a cough, and I don't know if Jess or Derek noticed, but I absolutely did.

You shot me a deadly glare out of the corner of your eye. I didn't even look at you. I just took a sip of my beer and didn't try to hide the smirk playing at the corner of my lips.

Fortunately for you — or maybe unfortunately — the waitress brought our food a few minutes later.

It's hard to eat a steak with one hand, so with genuine regret, I removed my hand from your leg.

I honestly couldn't tell you if the food was any good or what the fuck Derek talked about. My mind was completely and wholly focused on getting my hand back between your legs. What had started as a game to entertain myself had become a compulsion. I wasn't entirely sure which of us I was teasing more.

I devoured my dinner in record time and had my hand back on you before you were halfway done. You crossed your legs, and I wasn't sure if you were trying to pin my hand still or increase the pressure. I just assumed it was the latter.

I smiled every time you had to ask someone to repeat themselves, or lost the thread midway through a story.

You hadn't finished your meal — which is a rarity — when you pushed your plate away. You leaned your shoulder against me and wrapped your hands around my arm. But you didn't pull my hand away. Instead, you hugged my arm against your chest and laid your head on my shoulder.

I continued to gently rub you through your panties. But what I really wanted to do was bend you over that table, lift your dress over your head, and show the whole goddamn restaurant who you belong to.

By the time I'd paid the check, I'm pretty sure you would have let me.

Jess and Derek walked with us out of the restaurant and halfway to my truck. We said our goodbyes there, and I didn't even mind when Derek offered me a limp fish for a handshake.

We made it as far as my truck before you sneered at me. "You are so annoying." Your little fist pounded my shoulder with each word. I just smiled. Apparently, it wasn't the response you were looking for. You stepped in front of me to continue your rant.

"Right in front of my friends!"

You accentuated your argument by beating your fists against my chest. But when you reached "friends" I caught your wrist mid-punch. I jerked your arm toward me so fast you lost your balance and stumbled into me.

I dropped my hold on your wrist and wrapped my arm around your back. I grabbed your face in my other hand and tilted your head back to look you in the eye.

"You are so fucking sexy," I said, my voice coming out low and rough.

I pulled your face to mine, and our lips met. It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was hard and frantic and full of need. I pushed you forward with my body until I had you pinned against the truck. Your hands slid from my chest, around the back of my neck, and up into my hair. You pulled me down to you as hard as I pulled you up to me.

After a minute, you broke off the kiss. You leaned back and groaned, "The house is too damn far away."

But my hands were already unbuckling my belt.

"I'm not fucking waiting," I growled.

It took you just a heartbeat to recognize what was about to happen. Then you said, "Oh, thank god."

You lifted your dress just enough and did that sexy thing you do with your hips as you shimmied out of your panties and let them drop to the pavement.

I'd barely gotten my pants down when you grabbed the back of my head and pulled me into a kiss. My hands found the bare skin of your back, then slid down to your ass, lifting your dress up over your hips. I hooked the back of your thigh and pulled your leg up to my hip.

I pressed against you for just a moment. Grabbed your face and made you look at me.

"You are mine," I growled.

And I buried myself inside you in one thrust.

"Yesss." Half hiss, half moan. This time, you didn't even try to cover it with a cough.

You wrapped your leg around my waist and pulled me flush against you, and I held you against that truck door and fucked you like exactly how I’d been imagining for the past two hours. Your fingers twisted into my hair. Every time I drove into you, you made these small, desperate sounds against my neck that I felt more than heard.

"Daddy," you moaned, nearly pleading, as you came with your arms locked around my neck and your whole body shaking.

I didn't let up. I fucked you through it. Then I grabbed your face and made you look at me again, because I wanted to watch you. That was the whole point — the dress, the teasing, pushing the line further and further. I wanted to watch you fall apart.

I wanted to see, on your face, that I could affect you the way you always affect me.

I held your eyes until I felt myself near the edge. I pressed my forehead against yours.

"Fuuck," I growled as I buried myself deep and exploded inside you.

For a moment, we just stayed there — you catching your breath against my shoulder, me not particularly interested in moving.

Wordlessly, we separated. I grabbed your panties off the pavement and handed them to you, but you didn't bother putting them on. I zipped up my pants and led you around to the passenger side. I opened your door and closed it once you'd climbed in.

When I made it back around and dropped into the driver's seat, you were looking at me wide-eyed and giggling. I smiled and shook my head.

"Do you think anyone saw us?" you asked.

I leaned over and gave you a soft kiss, then turned the key in the ignition.

"I really don't give a damn," I said.

A look of genuine alarm crossed your face. "I do! I don't want to get banned. They have the best chips!"

A Drive With A Brat [MDom] [FBrat] [Rough] [Outdoors]

You were bored.

I could tell by the tension in your face and the bouncing of your knee. We’d been on the road for almost four hours. You’d eaten your snacks within the first hour,  grown tired of your phone by the second, and lost interest in your playlist by the third. 

We’d made it to the mountains about a half hour ago, but our cabin was another hour away. And you’d gone quiet. 

That quiet is a problem.

I don’t typically mind quiet. In fact, I generally prefer it. But when you go quiet, you’re thinking. And when you’re thinking, usually trouble isn’t far away. 
Out of the corner of my eye, I practically see the little devil land on your shoulder and whisper into your ear. I watch the decision wash over you. 

*Here we go,* I think. *Whatever it is, here we go.*

You reach for your water bottle. A small movement that shifts your body just a little toward me and down. My eyes flick down to the soft curves of smooth skin beneath your tight tank top. Of course, I look. I always look. No matter how many times I’ve seen your body, I always want to see more. 

And from the half sip you take of your water before putting the bottle back, I’m fairly sure my looking was the whole point. 

My hand is on your thigh. It's been there since we left the city. I like to keep at least one point of contact whenever we are together. You're wearing your gray sweats that sit low on your hips. They are your “lazing around the house” sweats, but I’ve always loved the way they look on you, and they are soft beneath my hand. 

Your hand finds mine on your thigh. For a moment, you just rest it there, fingers interlaced with mine. Then, slowly — deliberately — you start pulling my hand higher. Between your legs.

The sweats are thin. I can feel the heat of you through the fabric.

You're still looking out the window. Still completely casual. You press my hand against you and move it in slow circles, pressing down slightly, and my jaw tightens. After a few seconds, you pull your hand away and leave mine where it is.

A few minutes pass. The road stretches ahead, and I'm already hard.

Then your left hand lands on my thigh. Again, just resting. Light. Your bright nails against my jeans. You start rubbing slowly, methodically, and the casual familiarity of it is somehow intense.
I glance at you, and you are staring out the window. Casual. Just taking in the sights. But I see the corner of your lips twitch into the barest hint of a smile. 

You’re very good at the games you play. And your hand is slowly sliding up my leg. 

"You seem tense," you say.

I can hear the smile in your voice without looking at you.

"I'm fine. I’m driving.”

"Mmm." Your hand moves higher. "You know what I was thinking about, Siirrr?”

"What’s that?"

"How long we've been driving."

"Three hours."

"Three hours." Your hand slides between my legs now. I feel the side of your hand press against me. Not hard. Just a graze as you continue to rub soft circles on my leg. “And you haven’t even tried to entertain me. Just left me sitting here all alone and bored.”

“What are you talking about? We’ve talked nearly the entire drive,” I say, fighting to keep my attention on the road. 

“Hm,” you huff. “I’ve talked the entire drive. You’ve barely said a word.”

“I listened …” 

“Listening isn’t very entertaining,” you accuse. Your hand is moving more slowly now, making long, exaggerated motions, barely grazing against my cock. I feel my hand squeezing your thigh. 

“Babygirl,” I say, and it comes out rough, "You're distracting me." 

"I know." Your hand keeps moving. Easy. Like you have all the time in the world.

I'm gripping the wheel hard enough that my knuckles ache. Eyes on the road. There's nothing out here — just trees, empty road, the stark shadows cast by my headlights. I haven’t seen another car for miles. It’s just me and you and your hand and ten minutes of whatever this is building into.

Then you unbuckle your seatbelt.

The click sounds loud in the cab. You lean across the console and you're close — your hair against my shoulder, your breath warm on my neck. You pull your hand from between my legs, but you quickly replace it with your other hand. And this time, there is nothing subtle about it. You grip my dick through my jeans and run your thumb up and down my shaft. 

"I guess I’m just going to have to entertain myself.”
That's it. That's all it takes.

I see the dirt road cutting off to the right, maybe fifty yards ahead. I don't think. My foot hits the brake hard — you lurch forward, catch yourself — and I yank the wheel right. Tires kick up gravel. We bounce twenty, thirty feet down the dirt road before I slam it into park.

Engine still running. I don't care.

I unbuckle and jump out of the truck. I reach back inside and grab you by your arms. I drag you across the driver's seat. You squeak out a laugh of surprise and barely get your feet beneath you before I set you down on the ground. 

I keep moving. No time for reflection. I grab your arm and pull you to the front of the truck. I spin you around, put a hand between your shoulders, and bend you over my hood. 

You prop yourself up on your forearms and turn your head to look at me. I see the smug satisfaction on your face. 

I don't care. I want you now.

Your sweats come off with one sharp pull, down your thighs, and you're already bracing yourself against the hood. You look back at me over your shoulder with that expression —  challenge, and nerves, and excitement. 

“You knew exactly how this would end,” I growl as I unbuckle my pants and push them down to my thighs. 

“Yes, S–”

I push into you without warning, and the sound you make — that sharp, broken gasp — goes straight through me. You're ready. You've been ready. I can feel it in how easily I fill you, in the way your body opens for me, in the tight, perfect heat of you clenching down immediately.

I don't take time to be gentle.

One hand grips your hip, the other is wrapped around the back of your neck. I thrust— hard, fast, no buildup, no easing into it. You wanted this. You engineered this. You can take what you get. Your back arches, pushing into me, meeting every thrust, and the sounds you're making are not quiet. They're not meant to be. Out here, there's no one to hear, nothing but trees and the low rumble of the engine and the obscene wet rhythm of me fucking you exactly the way you asked for.

"Harder," you breathe.

*Damn fucking right.*

I grab a fistful of your hair and pull your head back, changing the angle, driving deeper. You cry out, it's pleasure and pain and release and abject abandon. Your whole body shuddering with it.

I push you down flat against the hood of the truck and pin you there. My fingers dig into your hip as I pull your body back to meet my every thrust. Each time I slam into you, I’m lifting you onto your tiptoes. Each time I bury myself to the hilt, you gasp loud enough I can hear you over the engine. 

 I can feel you building. I know what it feels like when you're close. I can feel the way you start to lose your rhythm, the way you clench tighter around me with every thrust.

I’m not ready for you to cum. 

I pull myself from you. You make a small sound of protest, but I’m already moving.I spin you to face me. I hunch down, wrap an arm under your ass, and throw you over my shoulder. I have to hold my pants up with one hand as I carry you around to the back of the truck, but I let them fall as I lower the tailgate. 

I set you down with a small plop and rip your sweatpants off, tossing them behind me. I take just a moment to look you in the eye. That wry smile of self-satisfaction drives me fucking insane. I grab your face with both hands and crush my lips against yours. 

I let the kiss linger for just a moment before pulling back. I look you in the eye again and growl. “Lay back.”

For once, you do what you are told. You lie back in the bed of the truck. I grab your hips and drag your ass to the edge of the tailgate. I lift your legs and set your ankles on my shoulders. I wrap my arms around your thighs and hold you in place as I shove myself back inside you. 

The whole transition from hood to tail gate took maybe 15 seconds, and it felt like a goddamn eternity. 

 I slide a hand up your body to shove your shirt up over your tits. I love the way your body moves when I fuck you, and I want to watch. I hold you still with one hand gripping your thigh, and I grab one tit with the other hand. 

The new angle pulls a different sound out of you entirely. It’s deeper, almost animal.

Your heels dig into my shoulders, your hands grasp frantically for mine, searching for anything to hold onto. I release my hold of your tit and grab your hands with mine. I give you that support, even while I try to fucking wreck your body with my cock. 
You take it. You take every bit of it. 

Again, I feel your body clench around me. I feel you losing yourself in abandon. 

"Come," I command.

Your whole body locks. You come hard — hips bucking up into me, a sharp cry tearing out of you, and I can feel it, the fierce rhythmic clench of you around me, and that's it, that's all I need. I bury myself in you and follow you over the edge. I throw my head back and roar a curse at the sky. Every muscle in my body releases at once, coming so hard my vision goes white at the edges.

As I come down off the edge, I realize I’m still fucking you. More gently now, both savoring the feel of you and using your body to milk the last drops of cum from my cock. Your body twitches in response to the last few waves still crashing over you. 

When you finally settle, I stop my movements. I lean into your legs, letting you help prop me up. I stroke your thigh with one hand, my other is still holding both of yours. 

For a long moment, neither of us moves. Your eyes are closed. I’m not entirely sure you’re still awake. But I just stand there, quietly watching your face. 
Your eyes open. You meet my gaze, and we share a quiet moment of connection. 

When I step back, I pull you upright by your hands. I brush some hair back from your face. My thumb traces your cheekbone slowly. You lean your head forward and rest your forehead against mine.

“Babygirl,” I say quietly into your ear. “We are forty minutes behind schedule.” I lift your face so I can look you in the eye.  “I have been waiting weeks to have you all to myself in my cabin. Alone. Far away, where no one can hear us. And nothing around to distract us. 

“I am going to take you apart. In every way I know how. For as long as I want. I mean to make sure this weekend is one you never forget.”

Your breath catches.

I hold your gaze for another moment, then straighten up. I step back and reach for your sweats, hold them out to you.

"Get dressed," I say. "I have some time to make up for."

You were bored.

I could tell by the tension in your face and the bouncing of your knee. We’d been on the road for almost four hours. You’d eaten your snacks within the first hour,  grown tired of your phone by the second, and lost interest in your playlist by the third. 

We’d made it to the mountains about a half hour ago, but our cabin was another hour away. And you’d gone quiet. 

That quiet is a problem.

I don’t typically mind quiet. In fact, I generally prefer it. But when you go quiet, you’re thinking. And when you’re thinking, usually trouble isn’t far away. 
Out of the corner of my eye, I practically see the little devil land on your shoulder and whisper into your ear. I watch the decision wash over you. 

Here we go, I think. Whatever it is, here we go.

You reach for your water bottle. A small movement that shifts your body just a little toward me and down. My eyes flick down to the soft curves of smooth skin beneath your tight tank top. Of course, I look. I always look. No matter how many times I’ve seen your body, I always want to see more. 

And from the half sip you take of your water before putting the bottle back, I’m fairly sure my looking was the whole point. 

My hand is on your thigh. It's been there since we left the city. I like to keep at least one point of contact whenever we are together. You're wearing your gray sweats that sit low on your hips. They are your “lazing around the house” sweats, but I’ve always loved the way they look on you, and they are soft beneath my hand. 

Your hand finds mine on your thigh. For a moment, you just rest it there, fingers interlaced with mine. Then, slowly — deliberately — you start pulling my hand higher. Between your legs.

The sweats are thin. I can feel the heat of you through the fabric.

You're still looking out the window. Still completely casual. You press my hand against you and move it in slow circles, pressing down slightly, and my jaw tightens. After a few seconds, you pull your hand away and leave mine where it is.

A few minutes pass. The road stretches ahead, and I'm already hard.

Then your left hand lands on my thigh. Again, just resting. Light. Your bright nails against my jeans. You start rubbing slowly, methodically, and the casual familiarity of it is somehow intense.
I glance at you, and you are staring out the window. Casual. Just taking in the sights. But I see the corner of your lips twitch into the barest hint of a smile. 

You’re very good at the games you play. And your hand is slowly sliding up my leg. 

"You seem tense," you say.

I can hear the smile in your voice without looking at you.

"I'm fine. I’m driving.”

"Mmm." Your hand moves higher. "You know what I was thinking about, Siirrr?”

"What’s that?"

"How long we've been driving."

"Three hours."

"Three hours." Your hand slides between my legs now. I feel the side of your hand press against me. Not hard. Just a graze as you continue to rub soft circles on my leg. “And you haven’t even tried to entertain me. Just left me sitting here all alone and bored.”

“What are you talking about? We’ve talked nearly the entire drive,” I say, fighting to keep my attention on the road. 

“Hm,” you huff. “I’ve talked the entire drive. You’ve barely said a word.”

“I listened …” 

“Listening isn’t very entertaining,” you accuse. Your hand is moving more slowly now, making long, exaggerated motions, barely grazing against my cock. I feel my hand squeezing your thigh. 

“Babygirl,” I say, and it comes out rough, "You're distracting me." 

"I know." Your hand keeps moving. Easy. Like you have all the time in the world.

I'm gripping the wheel hard enough that my knuckles ache. Eyes on the road. There's nothing out here — just trees, empty road, the stark shadows cast by my headlights. I haven’t seen another car for miles. It’s just me and you and your hand and ten minutes of whatever this is building into.

Then you unbuckle your seatbelt.

The click sounds loud in the cab. You lean across the console and you're close — your hair against my shoulder, your breath warm on my neck. You pull your hand from between my legs, but you quickly replace it with your other hand. And this time, there is nothing subtle about it. You grip my dick through my jeans and run your thumb up and down my shaft. 

"I guess I’m just going to have to entertain myself.”
That's it. That's all it takes.

I see the dirt road cutting off to the right, maybe fifty yards ahead. I don't think. My foot hits the brake hard — you lurch forward, catch yourself — and I yank the wheel right. Tires kick up gravel. We bounce twenty, thirty feet down the dirt road before I slam it into park.

Engine still running. I don't care.

I unbuckle and jump out of the truck. I reach back inside and grab you by your arms. I drag you across the driver's seat. You squeak out a laugh of surprise and barely get your feet beneath you before I set you down on the ground. 

I keep moving. No time for reflection. I grab your arm and pull you to the front of the truck. I spin you around, put a hand between your shoulders, and bend you over my hood. 

You prop yourself up on your forearms and turn your head to look at me. I see the smug satisfaction on your face. 

I don't care. I want you now.

Your sweats come off with one sharp pull, down your thighs, and you're already bracing yourself against the hood. You look back at me over your shoulder with that expression —  challenge, and nerves, and excitement. 

“You knew exactly how this would end,” I growl as I unbuckle my pants and push them down to my thighs. 

“Yes, S–”

I push into you without warning, and the sound you make — that sharp, broken gasp — goes straight through me. You're ready. You've been ready. I can feel it in how easily I fill you, in the way your body opens for me, in the tight, perfect heat of you clenching down immediately.

I don't take time to be gentle.

One hand grips your hip, the other is wrapped around the back of your neck. I thrust— hard, fast, no buildup, no easing into it. You wanted this. You engineered this. You can take what you get. Your back arches, pushing into me, meeting every thrust, and the sounds you're making are not quiet. They're not meant to be. Out here, there's no one to hear, nothing but trees and the low rumble of the engine and the obscene wet rhythm of me fucking you exactly the way you asked for.

"Harder," you breathe.

Damn fucking right.

I grab a fistful of your hair and pull your head back, changing the angle, driving deeper. You cry out, it's pleasure and pain and release and abject abandon. Your whole body shuddering with it.

I push you down flat against the hood of the truck and pin you there. My fingers dig into your hip as I pull your body back to meet my every thrust. Each time I slam into you, I’m lifting you onto your tiptoes. Each time I bury myself to the hilt, you gasp loud enough I can hear you over the engine. 

 I can feel you building. I know what it feels like when you're close. I can feel the way you start to lose your rhythm, the way you clench tighter around me with every thrust.

I’m not ready for you to cum. 

I pull myself from you. You make a small sound of protest, but I’m already moving.I spin you to face me. I hunch down, wrap an arm under your ass, and throw you over my shoulder. I have to hold my pants up with one hand as I carry you around to the back of the truck, but I let them fall as I lower the tailgate. 

I set you down with a small plop and rip your sweatpants off, tossing them behind me. I take just a moment to look you in the eye. That wry smile of self-satisfaction drives me fucking insane. I grab your face with both hands and crush my lips against yours. 

I let the kiss linger for just a moment before pulling back. I look you in the eye again and growl. “Lay back.”

For once, you do what you are told. You lie back in the bed of the truck. I grab your hips and drag your ass to the edge of the tailgate. I lift your legs and set your ankles on my shoulders. I wrap my arms around your thighs and hold you in place as I shove myself back inside you. 

The whole transition from hood to tail gate took maybe 15 seconds, and it felt like a goddamn eternity. 

 I slide a hand up your body to shove your shirt up over your tits. I love the way your body moves when I fuck you, and I want to watch. I hold you still with one hand gripping your thigh, and I grab one tit with the other hand. 

The new angle pulls a different sound out of you entirely. It’s deeper, almost animal.

Your heels dig into my shoulders, your hands grasp frantically for mine, searching for anything to hold onto. I release my hold of your tit and grab your hands with mine. I give you that support, even while I try to fucking wreck your body with my cock. 
You take it. You take every bit of it. 

Again, I feel your body clench around me. I feel you losing yourself in abandon. 

"Come," I command.

Your whole body locks. You come hard — hips bucking up into me, a sharp cry tearing out of you, and I can feel it, the fierce rhythmic clench of you around me, and that's it, that's all I need. I bury myself in you and follow you over the edge. I throw my head back and roar a curse at the sky. Every muscle in my body releases at once, coming so hard my vision goes white at the edges.

As I come down off the edge, I realize I’m still fucking you. More gently now, both savoring the feel of you and using your body to milk the last drops of cum from my cock. Your body twitches in response to the last few waves still crashing over you. 

When you finally settle, I stop my movements. I lean into your legs, letting you help prop me up. I stroke your thigh with one hand, my other is still holding both of yours. 

For a long moment, neither of us moves. Your eyes are closed. I’m not entirely sure you’re still awake. But I just stand there, quietly watching your face. 
Your eyes open. You meet my gaze, and we share a quiet moment of connection. 

When I step back, I pull you upright by your hands. I brush some hair back from your face. My thumb traces your cheekbone slowly. You lean your head forward and rest your forehead against mine.

“Babygirl,” I say quietly into your ear. “We are forty minutes behind schedule.” I lift your face so I can look you in the eye.  “I have been waiting weeks to have you all to myself in my cabin. Alone. Far away, where no one can hear us. And nothing around to distract us. 

“I am going to take you apart. In every way I know how. For as long as I want. I mean to make sure this weekend is one you never forget.”

Your breath catches.

I hold your gaze for another moment, then straighten up. I step back and reach for your sweats, hold them out to you.

"Get dressed," I say. "I have some time to make up for."

I answered the fourth or fifth time you called in a row.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I’m bored and hungry,” you said, with enough attitude to sink a boat.

“We’ve talked about this. I told you work was going to be crazy today. If I can possibly answer the phone I will in the first call or call you back as soon as I can. If you call more than twice it had better be an emergency.”

“But I ...”

“Didn’t we talk about it?”

“Yes,” you said petulantly.

“Yes what?” I asked, my voice stern and demanding.

“Yes sirrrr,” you drawled.

I softened my tone. “Babe, I want to talk to you. I do. But I’ve got to get this stuff done today. People are waiting on me.”

“But can’t you just talk to me for a little while, while you work?”

“No babe. You know you’re distracting as hell. And the longer it takes me to get this done the longer I have to stay here which means the longer till I get to come home to you.”

“Fine,” you said and I heard the click of the phone disconnect.

I felt my blood pressure rising. I called you back immediately but you didn’t answer. I text you, my fingers punching the phone harshly, “Did you just hang up on me?!?” I waited a couple minutes but when you didn’t respond I sent a second text, “ANSWER ME.”

A minute later you text me back, “I’m going to the store” followed by a second text. This one was a picture of you. You were wearing a tight, white tank top shirt enough to see just a little skin beneath them hem and thin enough to show a hint of the black bra beneath. You had on a short, plaid skirt that barely covered your ass and fishnet stockings that came to mid thigh. You had pulled your hair into two braided ponytails and wore the necklace I’d given you around your neck, the pendant resting between the curves of your breasts.

Immediately I text you back, “The fuck you are”

“Yes I am.” You replied.

“Not like that you aren’t! You are not leaving the house like that! I’m the only one that gets to see you like that.”

“I’m so boooreeed” you text back, and I could almost hear the whine in your voice.

“Stay there. I’ll be home in 15 minutes.” I replied furiously.

I didn’t even bother shutting down my computer or closing up the office. I just left everything how it was and stormed toward the parking lot. Thirteen minutes later I opened our front door and saw you standing in the hallway. You had this smug, self-satisfied smile on your face

I stalked toward you, slamming the door behind me. I grasped you by the neck roughly, not choking the air out of you but cutting off the blood flowing through the arteries there. You made this little gasping sigh of excitement and I saw the tension leave your body.

“You know better than to let people see you like this, don’t you? You are mine and mine alone.”

The corners of your mouth twitched into a little smile and nodded slowly. I pushed you up against the wall and leaned in to kiss you. You returned my kiss, your mouth hot, your kiss drawing me in.

You wrapped your arms around my head, pulling me in to you. I eased my grip from your throat and slid my hand around the back of your head. My other hand ran up the back of your leg, up yo ur skirt, and grasped the smooth skin of your ass. I growled into your mouth, realizing you weren’t wearing panties. You knew how that drove me crazy. You knew what you were doing.

I pulled your leg up and you wrapped it around me. I felt myself growing almost painfully hard against my pants as I ground myself into you. I jerked your head back by your hair and clamped my mouth on your neck, biting hard enough to make you gasp. I ran my hands up your sides, lifting your shirt up and over your breasts.

I pulled back far enough to lift your shirt over your head. I can’t even explain the excitement I feel every time you raise your arms to make it easier for me to take your shirt off.

I kissed you furiously while I tried to unclasp your bra. I was so excited, in such a rush to have less clothing between us, that my fingers kept fumbling at the clasp. Impatient, I spun you around, your chest against the wall, and finally undid the clasp. The bra slipped to the floor as my arms wrapped around you. I grabbed your tits, massaging them roughly - needing to feel you and wanting to make you feel the frustration you caused me.

“Who does this body belong to?” I growled into your ear.

You rocked your hips back, grinding your ass against me and said “You sir.”

“God damn right it does”

I slid a hand down your waist, lifting your skirt, sliding down between your legs. You were already so wet. I could fee you dripping down your legs. My fingers played with your clit and you let out a little purr.

“You’re a needy little bitch, aren’t you?”

You just grunted a response. I slid a couple fingers inside you, my other hand again rising to grab your throat. “Say it!” I demanded.

“Yes sir,” you gasped.

I slammed my fingers in you roughly, finger fucking your soppy little cunt for all it was worth. “Say it!” I demanded again.

“I’m a needy little bitch, sir”

I spun you around again and dropped my head to your tits. I took first one then the other into my mouth. Sucking. Licking. Biting.

You started unbuttoning my shirt, but just have felt the same frustration I felt with your bra. Buttons went flying when you ripped my shirt open and pulled it off my shoulders.

I leaned my head against yours and looked you square in the eyes. “Tell me what you need.”

“I need you sir. I need to feel you inside me.” You purred. You started fumbling at my belt as I kicked my socks and shoes off. You knelt, pulling my pants and boxers off in the same motion. I stepped out of my clothes as you took my cock in your mouth.

You swirled your tongue around the head of my dick then started bobbing your head up and down on me.

“Fuck. That’s a good girl,” I moaned.

I felt my dick hit the back of your throat. I grabbed the back of your head and pulled you down further until you’d taken all of me. I held you here for several moments and when I pulled out you gasped for air.

“Up,” I commanded.

You stood, wrapped your arms around my neck and one leg around my waist. You rolled your hips forward, rubbing yourself against my cock.

“Ask me,” I instructed.

“Please”

“Again” I said as I pulled my lower body away from you.

“Please sir” you whined

“Please what?”

A mischievous little smile rugged at your lips. “Fuck me. Please fuck me sir. Fuck me now. Please sir, I need it.”

I lowered my hips and pushed myself inside of you. You gasped as I entered you. You pulled me tight against you with your leg wrapped around you. Our skin met and we stayed like that for a moment, enjoying the feel of each other.

Simultaneously we started grinding our hips together, our bodies sliding over each other. Your hands slid to my back, your nails digging into my skin.

I planted my hands on the wall on either side of you and increased my pace, thrusting myself inside you.

“Fuck me sir,” you whispered into my ear. “I need this. I need you to fuck me hard.”

“God damn you feel so good,” I growled.

I reached down and lifted your other leg so both were wrapped around me. I pinned you against the wall and held you up by your thighs. I thrust myself inside you. Harder and harder. Faster and faster.

“Oh god,” you cried. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.” Your body tensed and you pulled me tight against you, our bodies almost becoming one as you let out a loud, exalted moan. An instant later I exploded inside you , releasing all my desire and frustration and need into you.

A few minutes later we were curled up on the couch, your back to me. Our breaths still deep and heavy, our skin glistening with sweat.

“Thank you sir,” you purred softly.

I pulled a strand of hair from your face and stroked your cheek softy.

“But don’t you have to get back to work?” You asked, irony dripping from every syllable. “You have all those people waiting on you, after all.”

Your ass gave a little shake, rubbing up against me pleasantly. I felt myself getting hard again.

“They can wait,” I said.