Please, Sir (Bluebell Bruisers #1)

by Daisy Jane

He brings my palm to his mouth, pressing his lips into my hand. His teeth are gentle against my skin, and his cheeks hollow a moment before he pulls back, spitting off into the lawn. With a tug, he brings his hat back down, then says, “there.” I look at my palm, at the tiny pinpoint of red where the splinter existed moments ago. He sucked it out? And then spit it out?

“No one likes condoms, but as my grandmother always said, you’re a fucking moron if you don’t use them.”

“Her dad is quite possibly the hottest cowboy in Bluebell.” She closes her eyes and shakes her head like she’s in a deep prayer. “Such a piece of ass.”

I haven’t fucked a woman since my wife, and that was ten years ago. The woman I see in my mind when I make these floggers isn’t really a specific woman but just… the next one I love. If I get to experience that again. If not, these pieces are accomplishments of their own—an admission of what I want. What I seek. What I need the next time I’m intimate. My marriage was beautiful, but the loss of Janie changed me. I need different things now, I have new needs.

My brain must’ve been put in a temporary headlock, because my eyes, I swear, have a mind of their own when they slide down his muscled bare chest and lock onto that beast between his solid thighs. And lord are they solid thighs. But that thing. Swinging like a pendulum side to side, thick and ruddy, hypnotizing me. Arousing me. Making me his. “I–” Why did I just start a sentence? Why am I looking at his massive cock? I slap my hand to my forehead, my pinky and ring finger sliding down over my eyes, but my eyes will not close. They will not close. So with my hand over my eyes, I continue to stare at that heavy, meaty, dick that gives a tall can a run for its money.

“Th-thank you, sir. I’m so, so sorry for…” I wave my hand around the closet space, my cheeks likely the color of cherries based on how sweaty my back and underarms are. “I’m sorry,” I say, and then my stupid fucking eyes DO IT AGAIN. I LOOK AT HIS DICK AGAIN. “Oh Jesus Christ,” I

“When I opened the first wrong door, I should have left. I’m sorry. And I’m also sorry for, you know, looking at… you, sir.” She huffs out a breath like she’s glad she’s done with that speech, and though I know I ought to leave it alone, I cannot help myself. I really can’t. “Jo Jo’s right, you know. You don’t have to call me ‘sir.’” Her tongue darts out, sweeping along the swell of her bottom lip, her eyes gravitating to my mouth for a split second. “I don’t even mean to. It just… comes out.”

“How’d you get up there to Ink Time anyway? You walk there after school?” The tattoo and piercing shop is located right across from the diner downtown, and pretty damn far from Bluebell High. Walking there would’ve taken her… over an hour. “I drove your car, right after I took your gun and robbed a bank, then kidnapped a baby,”

“Not so good, Trace. Not so good, because you pierced my fourteen year old daughter’s belly button without her father’s consent.” The man strewn over the vinyl chair, his chest exposed for a huge Cookie Monster portrait, tips his head back to eye me. I don’t like making a scene, especially not in front of a man whose chest is covered in Sesame Street characters because what the fuck is that about? But what Trace did is absolutely unacceptable.

chase the desperation. “Please, sir,” I breathe, praying my words get lost in the patter of soft rain. Equally praying he heard. “Make me.”

“When I’m around you, I just, I feel like I belong to you in some strange way and… all I want to do is honor that ownership.”

“You can dump yogurt on my head and be a cuntbag all you want, but the truth is, you’re a bully who never grew out of being a bully and honestly, I’m embarrassed for you. I feel bad for the freshman squad every year, that they sign up to cheer and get you, a petty, small-minded, bully. Have you ever stopped to think that you didn’t get promoted because you’re an actual turd?”

“Well,” I sigh, pulling into my driveway. “Want in one hand and shit in the other, see which one fills up first.”

“Hate is the lovechild of bitterness and jealousy. Let them hate you. You’re thriving.”

It wasn’t easy looking her in the eyes and giving her advice about her crush last week after I’d been on my knees on the side of the road, begging for her dad to use my face like a pussy.

I like myself, too. And after all the heartache with my parents and Michael, I deserve happiness. You know what else I deserve? The good dick.

“I want to be bound, on my knees, for you. I want you to show me pain and introduce me to your pleasure. I want the memory of you and your toys on my flesh.” He brings our mouths together, and this time, his groin sinks against mine, his cock coaxing me. “I want to be yours to use.”

“I’ll fit, alright. And when you’re so full of my cock that you can hardly breathe and you can feel me in your stomach, that’s when I’ll sink the rest of the way inside. You’ll find out that not only do I fit, but I’m a perfect fit for you.”

“Mm,” he groans, smoothing his fingers through the traces, rubbing himself into my skin. “You were made to submit,” he hums softly, his voice offering no threat. Just a simple statement. His palm slides over my eyes, rendering me blind for a moment. Hot flesh skims my lips, making my cunt weep down my thighs. Teasing his cock against my lips, eyes still covered, he adds, “You were made to use.” His voice plummets into something deep, dark and desperate. “You’re mine to use.”

“When you’re used to me, Riley, I’ll make you ride me, and you’ll come so hard and so loud, I’ll have no choice but to gag you.” He gains momentum, stroking faster, rubbing more, fucking harder. “My black leather gag strapped to your face, my cock swelling your belly, promises to please me radiating from those gorgeous eyes– I can’t fucking wait, Riley.”

“God your dick is big.”

“Do you know it’s big? Like, I don’t know how guys are growing up or how men are in general, because why would I, but like, you do know it’s really big, right?” she says, sliding onto a barstool in my kitchen as I flip on another set of lights.

“You’re fine talking about sex toys and submission but your big dick is off limits?”

“I mean, haven’t other dudes seen you changing and been like, whoa, Jake has a third leg.” She shrugs. “I don’t know, but you get it.” I level a serious glance her way. “I’m only ever saying this to you, and only this once.” Her smile grows. “And only because you—damn, I wanna give you whatever you ask for, you know that?” She blushes. “Tell me.” “I am aware that I am well-endowed. Janie was never with anyone but me, but in high school when I played football, well, the locker room made me aware.” Heat creeps up my spine.

“Well, it’s Friday night. The kids are at my sister’s house for the weekend, and when the kids are away, Dolly likes to slip me a Viagra and see if we can ride till dawn.” He levels his gaze on me. “Her words, not mine.”

“Please, whip me, gag me, and fuck me. I need it, sir.”

“How about I fuck your pretty cunt and my toy fucks your virgin hole? Would you like that? What am I saying,” he says rhetorically, a sardonic chuckle in his tone. “Of course you’ll like that. You’d like anything I gave to you, isn’t that right, my willing little submissive?”

“You… see Dr. Tanner, too?” “Yeah,” I reply, bobbing my head. “I’m a serial killer and I’m really hoping to stop.” Cadence smiles. “Oh yeah? I’m here to try and stop smoking.” I blink. “You don’t smoke.” Cadence smirks. “And something tells me you’re not a serial killer.” I let out a sigh. “I’m meeting my parents. We’re doing some family therapy in an attempt to communicate better. And, if that goes well, maybe we will tackle some of our