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sakusa kiyoomi likes slow sensual sex more than you’d think.
he likes to take his time with you. he’s patient, particular, precise even. each long stroke of his thick cock is intentional. he knows his way around your body, he knows that this position, with one leg thrown over his shoulder nearly drove you insane. his pace was near torturous but he never paid you much mind when you begged for something faster— you’d take what he gave you greedily regardless. instead he paid attention to the expressions you made; the way your chest shook with each jagged breath, the way your parted lips quivered, your eyebrows twitched. he took note of the little words you whispered mindlessly, how you’d call for him whenever the tip of his cock brushed against your cervix, how you’d seize up around him when he stayed hilted in you a few seconds longer than he usually did. he loved breaking you down into nakedness. he loved how raw and unashamed he could make you just by taking things slower than most.
sakusa kiyoomi really likes slow sensual sex more than you’d think.
feelings on fire (joel miller x f!reader) 18+ PART TWO
You can read part one here. i'm so grateful for the positive response for this on the first chapter, thank you so much for sharing your thoughts!! Things are already getting smutty, enjoy 💕 and here's my kofi if you'd like to leave a tip. summary: you're back from college for the summer, staying with your devout catholic parents in your childhood home while they order you around and try to keep authority over you. as an act of rebellion you ask your new neighbor mr. miller to teach you how to play guitar, but it turns out there's a lot more he wants to teach you. (no outbreak, no use of y/n) rating: 18+ explicit (minors, do not interact) warnings: age difference (reader is in her 20s, joel in his 50s), innocent/inexperienced reader, dirty old man joel, corruption (but it's consensual), praise kink (joel calls reader babygirl, sweetheart, etc), dirty talk, mentions of religion (reader's family are very catholic), fingering, masturbation word count: 8.1k ao3
You're relieved the next morning when you look out your bedroom window and see your father's police car and your mother's SUV missing from the driveway. They've both already left for work, which means no twenty questions to answer when you go downstairs, no grilling you about what exactly you're going to be doing today. But it's not like you'd tell them the truth anyway.
You pick your outfit very carefully, shoving modest sweaters and long dresses aside as you search for something specific for Mr. Miller. You want him to look at you again like he did yesterday; the thought makes your thighs clench together again as you dig through the depths of your closet. You settle on an old Sunday School dress that you probably haven't worn since you had your final growth spurt, baby blue and simple. You undress and tug it over yourself, trying to ignore the way it tightens uncomfortably around your chest; it's much too small but you're running out of options.
"That's sexy, right?" you ask your silent bedroom, peering in the mirror at yourself. You were much shorter when you wore the dress last; now the hem settles on your upper thighs, leaving your legs completely exposed. It hugs your curves and accentuates your breasts, cleavage pushed up against the neckline so much that it feels like they could pop out at any moment.
You pick up a discarded pink hoodie and zip it on over the dress, hiding where you're practically bulging out of the material. Maybe you'll take it off later, but for now you don't need any of your neighbors reporting to your parents that they saw you walking down the street half naked.
You spend way too long getting ready, changing things about your hair and makeup over and over until you know you can't put off leaving anymore. You grab a quick bowl of cereal and then, with a resigned look of determination, you swap your flip flops with sneakers and head out into the hot summer day.
Not too many people are outside yet; parents have already left for work, kids are still sleeping, dogs have already been walked. You make it to Mr. Miller's without having to say an awkward hello to anybody, for which you're grateful.
He's not sitting on the step when you get there and for some reason it stops you in your tracks, leaving you standing at the end of his walkway like you had yesterday.
What if he's at work, you dumbass?
You hadn't factored in the possibility that he wouldn't be home. You'd had this ridiculous notion that maybe he'd be waiting for you, watching both sides of the street until you appeared and batted your eyelashes and asked him if you could still take him up on his offer. You'd visualized the whole thing. Like a teenager.
Just knock. Just knock and if he's not there, go home and try again later.
You still haven't moved from the end of his walk when the front door suddenly opens. Your eyes widen in surprise as he appears on his front step in all his disheveled glory, putting his hand across his face to block the sun; he's barefoot, wearing jeans and a t-shirt with a band you don't recognize on the front, and his hair is sticking up in different directions like he's just woken up. He brings a blue coffee mug up to his lips and takes a sip, eyes on you when he brings it back down, giving you a wry smile.
"Good mornin', babygirl," he says with that deep and slightly rough voice, leaning against the door frame, "Was hopin' you'd come back."
You blink a few times, brain whirring and stuttering helplessly as you stare at him. He's so handsome, so much older and rugged and sexy. You feel your panties get wet again and you can't even be mad at yourself; you're too distracted by the gorgeous man in front of you, looking directly at you, calling you babygirl. He's probably older than your father and yet you can't find a single bone in your body that cares in the slightest.
"Hi." you say softly, almost a squeak.
He smiles a bit wider, "Changed your mind, huh?"
You nod quickly, not knowing what else to say. He glances down at your dress and without thinking you shakily grab the zipper on your hoodie, tugging it down and showing him the full thing. You watch with bated breath as his eyes trail to your chest, looking openly and unapologetically at your breasts. He chuckles to himself and looks at your face again, taking another sip of coffee.
"I was hoping... um..." you bite your lip, trying to find the words, "I, uh-"
"Just come on in, darlin'," he interjects, laughing lightly again, "Don't hurt yourself." He moves back from the door a bit, gesturing for you to come inside.
You don't need telling twice. You put your head down, trying not to show him how red you are as you walk up his patio steps and slide past him into his house. You can practically hear your parents' voices in your head: "Don't talk to strangers. Don't go into a stranger's house." You're rebelling in more ways than one today.
"That's a pretty dress," he says behind you once you're inside, and you hear him shut the door. No going back now.
"Thank you." you turn to look at him, feeling out of place standing in the house of a man you don't know. You're just in time to see him looking at your body again and your skin flushes once more.
"What's your name, sweetheart?" he asks with a crooked smile, charming and natural. You tell him and he just smiles wider, tilts his head to the side, "That's pretty."
"Thank you," you say again, "Um, what's yours?"
"I'm Joel," he puts his hand out for you to take, "Joel Miller. Surprised you didn't ask your momma about me."
You take it and feel your knees go slightly weak at his firm grip, big hand dwarfing yours in size, "I - uh, I did. But she just called you Mr. Miller."
He smirks at that, squeezing your hand in his, "You wanna call me Mr. Miller too? You can."
"Um," you're not sure what to say, biting down on your lip again and feeling flustered when he doesn't release your hand, "Uh..."
"You're a shy one, aren't you?" he asks, voice going a bit soft, soothing, "It's alright, darlin'. I don't mean to make you nervous."
"I'm not." you say it too quickly and you both know it's bullshit. He drops your hand and you turn your attention to the room in front of you, an open concept living space with a kitchen on the opposite side; it's nice, although you're surprised someone is living alone in such a big house.
"So do you, uh...do you have a wife?" you figure you should probably get that out of the way first; you're already planning on sinning in one way today, you don't need to add adultery to the list.
"No, just me." he walks past you and gestures for you to follow him. You do, walking to the kitchen and watching him take a glass down from the cupboard and start filling it with water. You stand there awkwardly, smoothing your dress down a bit and looking around the room.
You're so fucking nervous. You don't even know what he's got on his mind, let alone whether or not you're ready to do it. You imagine he'll lead you up to his bedroom, maybe turn the lights off and close the curtains...light a candle? Put on some music? You hope he'll be gentle and slow, that he'll listen to you. You know from your college friends that most men your age aren't really good at setting the mood, knowing how to do things the right way. Maybe because Mr. Miller - Joel - is older... it'll be better?
"Here, sweetheart, breathe," he hands you the glass of water and you take it with trembling fingers, "You don't need to be scared of me."
"I'm not scared of you," you reiterate, shaking your head and taking a sip.
"Right. Just like you weren't scared yesterday?"
You frown and put the water back down on the counter, "I- I wasn't scared."
He chuckles, leaning against the kitchen island and tilting his head again as he looks at you, "Well darlin', I might've gone back in my house but I saw you from the window. You practically sprinted down the street," he smirks at the memory, "Seemed scared to me."
"I wasn't scared. I'm not scared." You're not sure you're telling him or telling yourself.
"You sure? You're all flushed," he murmurs, and suddenly he's reaching up to hold your chin between his fingers, turning your head toward him. Your lips part in surprise, trembling beneath his touch as his thumb strokes gently against your jaw. You feel your cheeks go an even brighter red.
He smirks at your response, eyes casting up and down your face quickly before he releases your chin and grabs the glass of water from where you'd laid it back down, turning to pour the rest of it down the sink. While his back is turned you fight to regain your composure, willing all the blood to disperse from your face.
"Well, no time like the present," he says, turning back around and walking past you out of the kitchen, "Guitar's in the living room."
You stare after him, brow furrowing in confusion, "What?"
"You still wanna learn that song, don't you?" he calls behind him, picking up his guitar from where it's leaning against the wall. He sits down on the couch and gestures with his neck for you to come over, smug smile still plain as day on his face.
You slowly make your way over to him, heart pounding in your chest. You seat yourself beside him on the couch, close enough that he can show you his guitar but not close enough that you're touching him. You may want him to touch you desperately but that doesn't change the fact that you're still freaking out right now. Because what does he want? You'd genuinely thought he'd meant something different yesterday with that comment about your fingers. He'd been flirting, hadn't he? Or is that just his nature?
"It's a simple chord progression," Mr. Miller - Joel - immediately begins to demonstrate. He strums on the strings, aligning his fingers carefully at the neck of the guitar and angling it in such a way that you can see what he's doing, "We start with an A and then go into G major pretty quickly."
You watch his fingers, long and almost delicate now as he presses his fingertips to the strings, holds them down as he starts to thumb out a tune. Your lips part unconsciously, eyes trained fully on the tender way he caresses the strings, coaxes beautiful sounds out of the guitar with minimal effort.
"Then D," he murmurs, and you notice that his eyes are also directed at his fingers, making sure he's showing you correctly, like he actually cares that he does it right, "And E into F sharp."
It's not like he's speaking another language - you know basic music theory from simply going to school all your life - but you don't fully understand how the notes and chords he's talking about translate into his fingers, into the shapes they make, where they push down. You know nothing about playing guitar and he's only a few moments away from realizing that; you can't help but already feel humiliated. Why the fuck had you lied to him yesterday? What are you even doing here?
"It pretty much repeats like that the whole way through," he says, starting the song over and strumming a bit slower, showing you his chord changes more purposefully, "But as I said yesterday there's lot's of room for some adlibbin' here and there, doesn't have to be by the book."
You feel yourself nod, although you still have no idea what he's talking about. He suddenly stops his movements on the guitar, directing his eyes back to you. You swallow down the nervous lump in your throat once again, willing yourself to look back without turning bright red.
"Wanna give it a try?" he asks, and without waiting for your answer he hands you the guitar. You take it from him with wide eyes, your own hands fitting into place where his had been only seconds ago, still warm; it makes you shiver.
"Um," you look down at the guitar, trying to shape your fingers in a similar way to what he'd done. Your nose scrunches up in concentration and confusion.
"Starts with A," Joel says, and you look up from the guitar to see him smiling softly at you, urging you to play him something.
Your fingers stay frozen on the guitar, tongue darting out to wet your lips. Your skin is turning bright red, you can feel it, anxiety burning in the pit of your stomach.
"Okay, now I'm scared," you admit, voice shaky and small.
He doesn't say anything; you look up again and see him peering at you thoughtfully, brow furrowed. You hope he's figuring it out internally so you don't have to say it out loud, admit what a fraud you are.
"...You don't know how to play, do you?" he asks finally.
You bite your lip and hang your head in shame, grip loosening on the guitar, "No. I'm sorry."
To your surprise he laughs, deep and genuine. You lift your head back up to see him settle back in the couch a bit, shaking his head as he grins at you. You can't help but feel yourself smile back at him, cheeks going pink.
"You're adorable," he says with a sincerity that puts your tummy in knots, your gaze averting his once again, "I mean it, I can't even be mad 'cause you're so sweet, darlin'."
"M'not," you mumble, slightly embarrassed as you hand the guitar back to him and shake your head, "I'm a liar."
He takes it from you, "Why'd you lie? Coulda said you didn't play, I wouldn't have judged you for it."
You shrug, still not looking at him, "I don't know, I..." you sigh, biting your lip, "I wanted... I wanted you to think..." You don't finish but you're pretty sure he understands, aware of him nodding slowly in your peripheral vision.
"You're sweet," he repeats, voice softer this time, "So sweet, babygirl."
You shiver again at the pet name, finally bringing yourself to look at him again. He's still looking at you, dark eyes boring into your bright red skin, lips turned up into that wry smile again.
"C'mere," he says, even softer, and you watch as he open his legs, moves back a bit on the couch and pats the empty spot in front of him. You stare, breath hitching at the realization that he wants you to sit there, "I wanna show you somethin'," he urges, "I won't bite, promise."
With shaky legs you reposition yourself on the couch, getting up and sitting back down between his wide legs. As soon as you're seated he brings the guitar down into your lap and sits up a bit, pushes his chest against your back as his arms wrap around your nervous form, holding the guitar in front of you.
"Watch my fingers," he says quietly, and you find that his voice is speaking directly into your left ear, breath warm and welcome against your skin. You have no choice but to obey, not that you'd even want to make any other choice.
He curves his fingers along the neck of the guitar again, pushing down the strings in a few different places and holding it there. He strums firmly, the back of the guitar pushing lightly into your belly with the tension.
"That's a C chord," he murmurs, strumming again, "See where my fingers are?"
"Yeah," you reply, barely a whisper; your mouth has gone dry.
"You hold your fingers as hard as you can against the strings," he continues, "It hurts at first, when you're learning, but the longer you play the more you build up calluses. You know what calluses are?"
You shake your head, unable to speak, too lost in the warmth of his breath against the nape of your neck, the masculine smell of him tingling your nose. He pulls his hand back from the strings and brings it up near your face, showing you his fingers.
"These are calluses," he explains, referring to the deep grooves embedded in the tips of his fingers, "They help you hold the strings down easier so it doesn't hurt."
You stare at his fingers, getting lost in their length and size, their girth. You feel yourself becoming wet in your underwear, clenching around nothing at the thought of one of those calluses touching you down there where you need it most. Your breath hitches again, thighs rubbing together involuntarily.
"Lemme show you," he murmurs, and to your surprise he suddenly takes your left hand in his and brings it to the neck of the guitar. You watch with bated breath as he carefully positions your fingers over the correct strings, holds them there with his own, "Play that."
With your shaky right hand you thumb the strings at the base of the guitar, a clear chord ringing out into the open room. Your eyebrows raise in surprise and he laughs again, charming and soft.
"There you go," he says softly, "First chord. Good girl."
The words send another pulsating wave of wetness into your underwear and you tremble beneath his touch, feeling your brows furrow in pleasure at the feeling of him being so close to you while you feel like this. Your hips buck up a bit but you feel too good to be embarrassed.
"Somethin' wrong?" he asks you gently, voice still close to your ear, "You're all flushed again, babygirl."
You hum, closing your eyes tight for a moment and trying to breathe, but all you can smell his him. All you can feel his him. You swallow tightly when you feel his touch ghost against your thigh, eyes opening to see him press his palm wide against your bare skin. You watch with parted lips as his thumb strokes the skin just below the hem of your dress, eyes hazy when he pushes himself against you from behind a bit tighter.
"Why'd you really come here, sweetheart?" he breathes, almost a whisper, "Tell me the truth."
You take a deep and shaky breath and feel yourself leaning back into him, eyes closing again as he slowly strokes your thigh, "You know why," you whisper.
He hums in response, nosing your ear gently and breathing you in, left hand still holding yours tightly against the neck of the guitar, "I do," he murmurs. You feel as he presses a wet kiss against your earlobe, beard rough against your skin. Your eyes roll back when he takes it into his mouth, sucks gently on it while he squeezes your thigh.
You're in heaven, completely at his mercy as you fall back further against him between his legs, your own going lax and loose the more he touches you. No one has ever done this to you, put their mouth on any part of you that wasn't your lips, put their hands anywhere near where you're currently aching to be touched. You watch as Joel's fingers inch upwards along your thigh, slipping past the hem of your dress. You already know where he wants to put his fingers next.
"I'm a virgin," you squeak without warning, panic suddenly brewing in your stomach. His hand freezes on your thigh and he pulls back from your ear. Why the fuck did you say that?
Now he'll be a gentleman, he'll take you off his lap and tell you to leave, tell you he can't be the one to take your virginity. You've seen this in movies, read it in books, heard it firsthand from your friends in college. Men don't like the responsibility of being your first, don't like the idea of a girl getting attached to them. And Joel... he's a grown man and you're just a twenty one year old Catholic mess with way too much baggage. There's absolutely no way he'll want to touch you now.
"Let's put this down," he whispers, and carefully helps you move the guitar off your lap and place it to the side. Here it comes, he's gonna tell you to get up and go home. You wait for him to inevitably push you from the couch, awkwardly stand up and lead you to the front door.
But that doesn't happen. Instead, you watch with wide and confused eyes as he suddenly puts both hands on your bare thighs, squeezing them gently beneath his wide palms, "You ever been touched like this, darlin'?" he asks you quietly.
You shake your head, "N-no."
His thumbs stroke your skin softly, tenderly. You feel as he sits up a bit more and tightens his legs around you, holding you in place, "You like the way that feels?"
"Yes," you whisper, soft and secret, "Feels good."
"That's good, it's s'posed to," Joel murmurs, nosing your ear again, "Now let's pull up this pretty dress a little bit," the words send a shock to your system, eyes widening in surprise. He doesn't wait for you to help, just immediately goes for the hem of your dress and hikes it up your legs, exposing more of your bare thighs and a hint of your panties, blue and lacy to match your dress, "Oh, you're just a pretty little thing aren't you?" he breathes, voice hot against your ear, "You really never been touched?"
"Never," you repeat, and he just hums and presses a soft kiss to the nape of your neck, making your breath hitch, "Th-that doesn't bother you?"
"Not at all, sweetheart," he breathes, tightening his grip on your thighs; the feeling of his large palms on your flesh makes you whimper slightly, looking down at where he's holding you and shivering, "Makes me want you more than I already do."
Your pussy is throbbing in your panties and you're sure there must be a stain through your dress, through the couch. You rub your thighs together and whimper again, head falling back against Joel's shoulder. You feel him kiss your hair, watch as his hands slide up your thighs so his fingertips are just slightly touching the edges of your underwear.
"You're all wet, aren't you?" he asks softly, soothingly, "Been sittin' here soaking my couch this whole time, huh? Want me to touch you so bad, don't you, babygirl?"
You hear yourself make a strange noise through your teeth, a hnnng sound that makes him chuckle, "You like that, don't you? You like bein' my babygirl?"
"I do," you whisper.
"That's good," he murmurs, "That's real good, babygirl." His thumbs hook into your panties then, tugging gently, "Now let's take these off," he says, beginning to slide them down, "so I can take a look at this pretty little pussy you've been savin' just for me."
You both watch as your panties slip down your bare legs with ease, dress still hiding your pussy from him entirely. It's impossible not to notice the enormous dark spot in the fabric, glistening in the sunlight. You can't help but feel embarrassed.
"Oh, baby," he groans, fisting them in his hand and thumbing the dark spot tightly, "So wet."
"Why does that happen?" you ask, swallowing around the anxious lump in your throat, knowing you're just advertising your inexperience even more by asking.
"Means you're turned on, sweet girl" he explains, thumb still pressed firmly against the wet spot as he presses another wet kiss to your ear, sloppier this time, "I'm turnin' you on."
"You are," you agree shakily, "It happened last night too, after..."
"After?"
"After I dreamed about you."
He smiles against your skin, dropping the panties to the floor and bringing his hand back down to your thigh; his thumb is wet and sticky against your skin, "You're a naughty little thing, aren't you? Did you touch yourself? Make yourself come thinkin' about me?"
"No," you shake your head, "I haven't... I've never..."
He groans in understanding, but not in an irritated or angry way. It's arousal, you can tell by the way his legs tighten around your trembling form, pulling you in closer. He pulls up the hem of your dress and exposes your wet and aching pussy to the both of you, lips bare and soft against his couch. You hear his breath hitch behind you when it comes into view.
"Fuck," he says, voice low and rough with arousal, "Look at you."
He barely hesitates, reaching down and thumbing your outer lips with both hands, his other fingers splaying against your inner thighs. You squirm at the feeling, brows scrunching together when he gently pinches your soft lips and sucks your earlobe back into his mouth.
"So soft, babygirl," he whispers, releasing it with a wet pop, "Look at that." You don't think he's actually telling you to look, more-so talking to himself as he caresses the outer part of your pussy gently, "So pretty."
"I-um... I shaved it," you whisper, skin blooming red, "Just in case."
"Babygirl, you didn't need to do that," he noses your ear and you feel his breath, hot and sticky against your skin, "Woulda been pretty either way."
You feel yourself blush, "My roommates said most guys don't like-"
"Am I most guys?" he whispers, and continues to stroke your pussy lips up and down with his thumbs, "You know how old I am, babygirl?"
"N-no." His touch is becoming too much, too distracting. It feels good to have him touching you like this but it's still not where you need him to touch you, the slick part inside that's absolutely aching for his fingers feeling desperately wetter.
"Why don't you take a guess, see how accurate you are."
"Um," you barely understand what he's even talking about, eyes trained on where he's stroking you, "F-fourty?"
He laughs immediately, "Now we both know that's not your real guess, sweetheart."
You bite your lip, watching his thumbs, "Well... I don't wanna... I don't wanna hurt your feelings."
He smiles, "You're sweet. But I don't care, darlin', gimme your real guess."
You sigh shakily, "Fifty."
"Close," he breathes, and you watch with a whimper as he begins to drag his thumbs up and down your wet slit, lips too puffy to show him what's beyond, "That's real close, bit higher."
Higher? Fuck.
"Fifty...three?"
He dips the tip of his thumbs ever so slightly inside your slit, then brings them out again and pushes your own wetness across your outer lips, making your skin glisten, "Higher."
"F-fifty five?"
"Fifty six," he finally says, still thumbing your juices all along your pussy. You're not sure how to respond, surprised by the number but also desperately turned on, waiting for him to finally slip inside where you're begging him to touch, "That make you uncomfortable?" he asks after a moment of silence, and you swear you hear a bit of hesitance in his question as his hands freeze, waiting for you to reply before he goes any further.
"No," you reply, shaking your head slowly, thoughtfully, "It doesn't."
"You're sure?" he asks quietly, and you can hear the sincerity in his voice, "Because I can stop, sweetheart. Just say the word, I'll let you go home."
You shake your head again, more frantically this time at the thought of him releasing you from his embrace, "I promise, Mr. Miller," you whisper, then quickly correct yourself, "Joel."
"You can call me Mr. Miller, babygirl," he whispers, and you watch with hooded eyes as he slowly pulls your swollen lips apart, exposing the innermost parts of yourself to his living room. Your mouth pops open in surprise, eyes widening at how wet and sticky you are, a big drop of your own wetness pushing past your aching hole and dribbling out onto his hand.
"Gonna take care of this perfect untouched pussy, I swear," he groans, rough and low in your ear, pinching your outer lips again as his gaze bores into your sopping cunt, "Gonna make her feel so good."
--
With wobbly legs Joel had helped you up from the couch, chuckling when you'd tripped up almost immediately. With sure and steady hands he'd straightened you up, carefully removed your hoodie and discarded it on the couch, "Won't need this," he'd said softly, "Let's go get in my bed, sweetheart."
Now he holds you on the edge of his bed, inside a bedroom that feels cozy and masculine, that smells like him. His bed wasn't made when he'd lead you inside but other than that he has a clean bedroom, small and comfortable. He now has you sitting in his lap with your legs wide, hooked over his own while you both face the full length mirror on the wall.
"W-what are we doing?" you ask breathlessly, feeling slightly embarrassed at your reflection in the mirror. Your cheeks are still flushed a dark red, hair messy and dress falling off, positively debauched and certainly no longer the good little Catholic girl your parents raised. You watch as Joel fingers the hem of your dress again and slowly pulls it up, exposing your dripping pussy to the mirror and to the both of you.
"Wanna show you what I'm doing," Joel murmurs, coaxing your legs even wider and pulling apart your swollen lips once again, showing you the untouched part of yourself you've never seen before, "How else are you gonna learn if you can't see, babygirl?"
You nod slowly, watching as he spreads you wide. You bring your eyes up to his face in the mirror to see the way he's watching you. His eyes are dark and lustful, hair still tousled from the early morning, scruff thick and scratchy against your neck and shoulder. He follows your gaze and peers into your eyes in the mirror, pulls you wider; you squirm a bit and close your eyes, feeling slightly embarrassed at the sight.
"You're shy, arent you?" he whispers, a smile in his voice.
"I've just... I've never..." you shake your head, opening your eyes again to turn and look at him, forgetting about the mirror for a moment, "No one's ever looked at me like this before."
He smiles softly at you, somehow tender and fond despite the part of him that clearly wants to devour you, corrupt you. He takes one hand and brings it to your chin, tilts your face up to his and presses a sweet kiss to your lips, gentle and soft. You kiss him back, eyes closing as you slowly breathe him in, feel his beard rub tantalizingly against your cheek.
"You've done that before, haven't you?" he asks you once he pulls away, finger still on your chin as he looks deep into your eyes, "You've been kissed?"
You nod but bite your lip, "Yes, but...not like that."
He tilts his head, "Like what?"
"Like they really want me," you whisper, eyes falling to his lips and silently wishing he'll do it again, "Like they're not holding back."
Almost like he can read your mind, he leans forward and presses his lips to yours once again, this time gently easing his tongue inside your mouth. You take it openly, loving the way he pushes it against yours, smooth and wet. He tastes like coffee; it's pleasant and warm and you're so distracted by the kiss that you don't realize he's taken his hand from your chin and moved it back to your pussy, carefully sliding his index finger beyond your lips and stroking upward.
Your hips buck immediately, still kissing him hard and loving the way he doesn't pull back, doesn't slow things down or even speed things up, just keeps it to your comfort level, lets you decide what the kiss is. You moan against his mouth when you feel the callus on the tip of his index rub lightly against a particularly sensitive spot. It's only then that you feel you need to pull away for breath, leaving your forehead pressed against his and letting out a long exhale.
"You really needed that, didn't you?" he murmurs softly, calm and gentle, "My babygirl needs to be touched so bad, doesn't she?"
You nod frantically, opening your eyes again, "Please, Mr. Miller," you breathe shakily, "Please make me feel good."
He groans again, closes his eyes and pushes himself up into you; you can suddenly feel something very hard beneath your dress and you're not entirely uneducated; you know exactly what it is. Out of curiosity you grind down a bit on him and he presses his lips to your neck again, humming against the skin.
"That's my cock, you know that right?" he breathes, "You ever felt a cock, sweetheart? Even through someone's clothes?"
You shake your head, feeling that familiar nervousness in the pit of your stomach at the thought. He must sense your uneasiness because he immediately pulls himself up a bit, pushes you forward so you're not seated directly on top of the hard shape of him anymore.
"Don't worry about that, today's lesson is about you," he says soothingly, stroking your pussy again and making you tremble, "I'm gonna teach you how to come, okay?"
You inhale shakily, feeling slightly relieved; it's not that you don't want to see his cock - God knows you really do - but you're so inexperienced, you really have no idea what you're doing. You feel excited - and kind of touched, in a way - that Joel is going out of his way to teach you exactly what you've been missing, things you've only heard about. Today's lesson....it repeats in your mind as you watch him touch you in the mirror, thumbing your lips wide; does that mean there'll be more?
"Okay, babygirl, here's what we're gonna do," he murmurs, breaking you away from your thoughts. "See this lil' nub right here?" You nod, peering in the mirror at the tiny hooded bump Joel is lightly prodding, sending a buzzing electricity throughout your body, "That's your clit, she's the most sensitive part of your pussy."
"I knew that," you breathe "I think."
He smiles at your reply, "You're gonna touch your clit, that's all you're gonna do. Just touch it and rub it until you feel yourself gettin' close," he moves his hand up to palm your stomach, "You'll feel it right here, in your belly. You'll know it's comin'."
"Okay," you whisper, nodding again.
"When you feel it buildin' in there, you tell me, and I'll make you come."
"And coming...that means..." you wince at your stupidity, "That's an orgasm, right?"
"Yes, darlin'," he murmurs; his face is suddenly blocked by your face as he kisses the back of your neck but you swear you can hear him smile, "That's an orgasm. I'm gonna give you your first orgasm, that sound good?"
"Yes," it's almost a squeak, desperate and shaky. You watch in the mirror as Joel takes your right hand and carefully brings it to your pussy, extends your index finger alongside his own and gently presses down, "Oh," you whimper, hips bucking again, "Oh."
"You're okay," he reminds you softly, prodding your finger harder against yourself, "It's just like the guitar, you gotta be firm."
It feels incredible, both yours and Joel's fingers tapping the tiny bundle of nerves with a steadiness you know is only possible because of him. Without his guidance you probably would have already dropped your hand, overwhelmed by the sensation.
"And now you rub," he explains softly, thumb and pinky curling around your other fingers as he holds your index steady, rubs it back and forth against your clit. Your mouth pops open, eyes going hazy again as you watch his movements in the mirror, "There you go," he whispers, and you catch him watching your expression, the pure bliss in your eyes as he makes you feel something you've never felt before, "Good girl, sweetheart, that's it."
"Oh my God," you breathe, aware that you probably shouldn't be taking the Lord's name in vain at a moment like this, but somehow the act feels almost godly in itself, a sensation of pure pleasure that you've never felt before travelling all throughout your body, "It feels- oh my God."
"Tell me," Joel breathes behind you, still holding your hand and letting you slowly start to rub yourself on your own, taking the lead, "Tell me how it feels, baby."
"It's- it's so good," you whine, tossing your head back against his shoulder, "Mr. Miller," you shake your head frantically, "I feel it already, Mr. Miller, in my stomach."
He seems genuinely surprised at that, eyebrows raising in the mirror, "Okay, babygirl," he whispers, "Lemme make you come."
He removes your hand, places it on your thigh. Without any hesitation you bring it up to grip his arm, holding it tightly as he brings his own hand back down to your pussy and starts to rub your clit again, this time at his own pace. Your jaw drops, eyes rolling back as he stimulates you perfectly, finger stroking back and forth at a pace that sends a wet squelching sound throughout the quiet room. You can't even feel embarrassed, too overwhelmed by the feeling of finally being touched.
You can't see the mirror anymore, head tilted back so far against Joel's body that you're just staring at his ceiling, mouth open wide as numerous loud and completely uncharacteristic sounds blare from your mouth, long and high and indiscernible.
"That's it," he groans in your ear, a deep rumble that urges you on as he continues to rub you furiously, "There you go, there you go. Fuck, babygirl, give it to me. Fuckin' give it to me."
His words send you over the edge and you feel yourself stiffen in his lap, legs shaking uncontrollably as you writhe within his grasp. He slows his movements, coaxes you through it, continues to whisper praises in your ear as you have your very first orgasm in his arms. Your chest is heaving with exertion as you cry out, tears stinging your eyes.
"Mr. Miller," you whimper, closing your eyes and letting him hold you tight, your grip loosening on his arm, "Mr. Miller." It's like a prayer, the way his name rolls off your tongue. Not even an hour has passed since you first stepped foot in his house and you're already prepared to make Joel Miller your new God, kneel before him and give thanks for everything he's just done for you.
"Shhh," he coos, removing his fingers and letting you relax into his embrace, "You're alright, I've got you."
You continue to whimper and shake, vaguely aware of him slowly beginning to lay flat against the edge of the bed, taking you with him. You lay on top of him, breathing heavily.
"So good," you whisper, voice positively wrecked from what he's just done, "Felt so good."
"I know," he murmurs back, kissing your hair again and wrapping his arms around your middle, "I know, baby."
"M'gonna fall asleep," it's barely a whisper now, quiet and relaxed, "Sorry." You don't last long enough to hear what he says in response.
--
You wake a bit later, confused for a moment when you open your eyes and are greeted by an unfamiliar ceiling. It's only when you look down at yourself and see Joel's duvet wrapped around you that it comes flooding back. You smile unconsciously, inhaling his scent and turning to bury your nose in his pillow. Everything smells like him now, including you.
You glance over at the clock on his bedside table: 12:04PM. You slept for a solid two hours. It doesn't surprise you, not after the shitty sleep you had last night and the absolutely ridiculous orgasm he gave you right before you drifted off, but still....two hours? And he didn't wake you?
You sit up slowly, squinting at the afternoon sun flooding through the blinds on his window. You swear you can hear some faint music coming from somewhere, a stereo nearby? A car passing? Then, your eyebrows shoot up as you fling yourself out of bed and run to the window, opening it up and peering down at the patio below.
Joel is sitting on his front step again, wearing different clothes now; he must have showered after you'd fallen asleep...probably took care of himself as well. The thought makes you shiver but you push it away, instead focusing on the lovely sounds emanating from his guitar, a slow and gentle tune that instantly relaxes you.
You pull back from the window and face the mirror nearby, assessing yourself. You're still the same person you were a few hours ago but something is different; your hair is a mess, makeup smudged, dress disheveled. With a bit of hesitance you slowly pull up the hem and expose yourself, eyeing yourself down there where Joel had touched you. You find that it doesn't make you as nervous to look at it now, unable to help the small smile that appears on your face when you remember the way Joel had worshipped it mere hours ago.
The memory of Joel has you leaving his bedroom quickly, descending the stairs in his house and walking into the open living space once again. You spot your hoodie on the couch and grab it, zipping it back on as you search for your panties; they're nowhere to be found. Your brow furrows as you pull up a few of the couch cushions but come up emptyhanded.
You smooth your dress down; it's long enough that it doesn't show you're not wearing underwear, but you'll probably have to hold it down when you walk home. The last thing you want is to expose yourself to one of your elderly neighbors.
You take a few deep breaths and walk to the front door, readying yourself to face the man who just gave you the best experience of your life. As soon as you open it he turns on the step, still playing his relaxing tune and looking you up and down.
"Hi," you breathe, a little shy, playing with your hands a bit as you walk toward him.
"Hi, babygirl," he says with a kind smile, nodding to you, "Sleep good?"
"Yeah," you reply, shuffling over and settling down beside him on the step, "Sorry, I didn't mean to sleep for so long."
He smiles again, tilts his head, "You can sleep in my bed as long as you want, darlin'. Any time."
You feel yourself blush, looking down at your bare knees and biting your lip. He keeps playing the song, humming to himself as he does it; it's not a tune you recognize but that doesn't matter, just listening to him play is enough to make you feel warm and fuzzy.
There it is, you think to yourself, the attachment. It's already starting.
You look up at him again, smiling fondly at his look of concentration as he strums steadily. Your gaze falls to his fingers on the neck of the guitar and you swallow, remembering all too well where exactly they've been. The song finishes on a long and sweet note, positive and lovely. You can't help but playfully clap for him, grinning when he rolls his eyes and lays the guitar behind him.
"What song was that?" you ask, eyes bright as he peers over at you.
"Aha, Take on Me," he replies with a smirk, "Never heard that one?"
You shake your head.
"Wow, you really are just a kid, aren't you?" he murmurs, giving you another once-over before he turns back to look at the street, still pretty empty. Your brow furrows at his words, suddenly unsure.
"Is that...does that bother you?" you ask hesitantly.
He turns back to you and immediately shakes his head, "Not at all, sweetheart. Just means I have a lot more to teach you."
Your skin tingles at that and you feel yourself throb uncomfortably against his wooden step. You look down at yourself, making a face.
"What is it?"
"I'm already..." you shake your head, feeling embarrassed, "It's... I'm wet again."
"Jesus," he groans, almost laughing as he tilts his head back and looks over at you with a wide grin, "Don't say that to me, babygirl. Not when you gotta head home."
You look at him, confused, "I do?"
He nods, frowning slightly, "Your momma drove down the street about ten minutes ago, figure she'll probably be wonderin' where you are."
You sigh exasperatedly, rolling your eyes, "I'm so sick of living with my parents. I can't wait to go back to college."
"Poor baby," he says softly, "C'mere." He pats his knee and you go to sit on it but freeze, assessing the street.
"What if someone sees?" you ask quietly, unsure.
He seems to think for a second, then nods and takes your hand. He helps you stand up and leads you quickly into the foyer of his house again, shutting the door and wrapping his arms tightly around you.
"Mmmm," he hums into your hair, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, "You smell so sweet, darlin'."
"I smell like you," you whisper back, unable to hold back your grin, "I smell like...sex."
He holds you tighter and pulls back to look at you, tilting your chin up and leaning down to kiss your lips. It's soft and unhurried; he still tastes like coffee, bittersweet and delicious,
"You come back here any time you want, okay?" he murmurs against your lips, "I mean it, any time. But especially when that pussy's wet and achin' for me. I'll give her what she needs, babygirl."
You shiver and lean up to capture his mouth again, nodding through the kiss and whispering, "I will, Mr. Miller."
--
You walk home quickly, holding your dress down and feeling more rebellious than you've ever felt in your life whenever the warm summer breeze ruffles past the fabric and onto your bare pussy, reminding you that you're not wearing any panties. They're lost somewhere in Joel's house; the thought gives you butterflies.
Your mother is bustling around in the kitchen when you get home, putting away groceries. She's distracted enough that she doesn't notice when you slip past the kitchen and head upstairs to change your clothes.
After showering - something you desperately didn't want to do but had to - you change into a more modest outfit and retreat back down the stairs, walking into the kitchen so your mom knows you're back.
"Oh, where were you?" she asks, chopping up a carrot on a cutting board in front of her, barely looking up, "Did you meet up with Bethany? Alice?"
Oh shit, you hadn't thought of a cover story, "Uh, yeah, met up with both of them."
"Lovely," she replies with a smile, finishing chopping and turning to look at you, "And they're well?"
"Yep," you nod, hopefully not too much, "I, uh, might be helping out at the soup kitchen soon."
Your mother claps her hands together and walks toward you, "Oh, I'm so happy to hear that," she suddenly furrows her brow, looking at your face with slight confusion, "Are you alright, dear? You're flushed."
"O-oh, just... just warm from my shower."
She smiles and nods, turning away from you again, "Could you help me chop some veggies? I'm making soup tonight, might be good practice for when you're volunteering."
"Yeah, sure. No problem."
You reach up and touch your face one last time, feeling the heat still etched beneath your skin that you know for a fact is certainly not from your shower. You take one last steadying breath, then walk forward to help your mother.
You come back here any time you want, Joel's voice echoes in the back of your mind. You start to wonder how long you'll be able to last, but you already know the answer.