Chapter Text
Michael Afton had been distant.
It hadn’t always been this way; before college the pair of you had been inseparable, spending the hot summer nights manhandling joysticks in the arcade, slurping slushies in the convenience store, or running through Hurricane’s infamous pecan orchards. Even whilst you were away studying, the two of you would spend hours on the phone; despite your clunky Motorola’s causing a dull ache in your arms, nattering away about anything and everything. You cherished the moments you spent with him, whether it be physical or not, as Michael would always work during the summers that you came home, spending most of his time at his father William’s former establishment, ‘Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria’.
He never fully explained to you why his father wasn’t part of the company anymore, but you never pressed on, knowing that Michael and William didn’t have the best relationship. That was certainly an understatement. It was like an abscess; a raging lump filled with resentment , jealousy and neglect, accumulated from years of trauma. Their relationship had become less characterised by anger and emotional outbursts, and had instead morphed into silent resentment. The pair generally avoided each other, with William spending time on his company, ‘Circus Baby’s Entertainment & Rentals’, as part of Afton Robotics, and Michael had managed to attend community college, having finished high school with extremely poor grades.
This had never stopped you both from communicating, but as soon as you had begun your final year at UCLA, Michael no longer called as often. Hell, he barely even spoke on the phone, instead murmuring ‘Hmms’ and muttering the occasional unenthusiastic ‘Yes’, ‘No’ and ‘That’s great!’ The first time he did it you thought he was sick. The second time you considered him tired. The third time it was just a bad day. Coincidentally so was the fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, time.
On the eighth time you stopped calling altogether.
As much as it pained you to end communication, it did bring you peace of mind. You supposed he had just outgrown you - perhaps he had made new friends in college, or had grown closer to someone else - either way, you couldn’t force someone to be around you if they didn’t want to, right?
And so you drove home in your cap and gown in silence, pushing yourself deeper into the grey cushioned chairs of your father’s Saab 99, wishing it could swallow you up. Positioning your head on the headrest, the wind blew gently onto your eyes, the dry Utah air irritating your tear ducts. You blocked out the sound of your parents’ egregious singing to Spandau Ballet’s ‘Gold’ and sighed. You loved them, and knew it was their favourite song, but wished they could read the room. They never were good at that. Your mind couldn’t help but race with thoughts of Michael. Was he happy? Was he busy? Had he met someone else? Was he alive?
A sudden wave of bile rushed violently to your throat at the thought. Had you been a bad friend? You knew Michael had struggled with ‘issues’ in the past, after losing his younger brother and sister, but for all you had known, he had gotten better - or at least he said he had. You swallowed, your throat itching and begging for lubrication. God, why hadn’t you pressed on further? Did William know? Had William hurt him? You quickly wiped your eyes as tears threatened to spill. You never knew you could be so selfish.
Deep in thought, the motions of the car making a familiar left turn signalled to you that you were back in Hurricane. Summers ago you couldn't have been more excited to be here, ready to race to the Afton boys’ door to tell him all about the messy hookups, petty fights and horrid lectures you and your friends had endured. But now it filled you with a sinking feeling, a pit of dread getting larger with every house you passed, until you finally reached the cul-de-sac. The Aftons’ house was right in the middle, and was by far the most unique house on the block, positioned further away from the street on the top of a small hill, with no pathway. It was quite beautiful, reminding you of a rustic farmhouse - with white colonial windows, a red roof and a sensible porch.
You cautiously began to slide out of your seat, hauling your bags out of the car, arms buckling under the weight, and you silently wished that you weren’t so sentimental. Your mother had found her way inside, beginning to prepare for the feast of greasy takeout she had promised you.
You didn’t have the heart to tell her you weren’t hungry.
Staring at the top of the hill, you were able to discern a familiar figure emerging from the doorway - William - and you were somewhat disappointed. For reasons unexplained, you felt yourself transfixed on his broad and brisk strides towards the street, unable to leave your seat. He was dressed in a sleek purple work shirt and slacks, and upon noticing you staring he shot you a crooked smile. Your palms became sweaty as he walked over to you and your father, who was inspecting his car’s engine. At the sound of his pointed shoes tapping across the tarmac, your father looked up, and you noticed how his face slightly contorted at the sight of the entrepreneur walking towards you, almost instinctively making his way around the vehicle to stand next to you.
“Ah, William - how’s it going?”
“Splendid, I must say. Working on your own terms is always good for the soul,” he said, flexing his fingers nonchalantly.
You peered down at his hands. His palms and fingertips were large and calloused, but his fingers were that almost of a pianist, with visible veins protruding against his pale skin. You followed the veins up his body, taking in what seemed to be a fairly expensive silver watch, slender, but slightly muscular arms, and up to his neck, where faint red scars were visible just under his collar. His jaw was chiselled and cheekbones were high, and lines of age were marked around his face; particularly deep around the sides of his lips, forehead and under eyes, which were dark from lack of sleep. A small mole resided under his left eye, which were beady with an off shade of bluey-silver. His hair was slicked back, and was peppered with grey hairs. He wasn’t large in stature, but he was tall and his domineering atmosphere made up for his lack of build.
You were slightly ashamed to admit you found him rather attractive.
Your eyes met, and you shrunk under his gaze as his eyes slowly roamed up your figure.
“Looks like your little princess is all grown up,” he said to your father, his eyes never leaving your face.
“Congratulations, love, I’m sure you’re going to go far. Say, have you started applying for work yet?” he said, resting his hands on your father’s car.
Just as you opened your mouth, your father finished for you.
“They’re actually taking a break - yeah, a couple months in New York, a couple in LA - you made some friends who live out there, didn’t you?” your father said hurriedly, placing a protective hand on your shoulder.
You nodded sheepishly, staring at the ground. It couldn’t be further from the truth. “Well, we better not hang outside for much longer, the wife’s got a feast prepared, and we’ve just been driving for hours. Say goodbye to Mr Afton, darling” he said, slamming the hood of the car down and gathering your final bags, staring expectedly at you.
William gave a side glance to the man beside him, humming in response.
He could see right through you.
“Well, if you’re ever free, I sure could use a hand with the day to day of the company. I’ve tried to get Michael to help out, but goodness is that boy absolutely useless,” he chuckled, analysing your reaction to the specific name.
“Mich-Michael?”
“Yes, dear, that boy you used to stay out all night with. Mr Afton’s son. Now-” your father was cut off.
“Ah, you’re probably looking for him aren’t you? I haven’t heard you two speak for a while now…” he muttered, looking off into the distance. “Michael’s a strange kid, he’s just going through one of his ‘phases’. I’ll be sure to let him know you’re back.”
“Thank you, sir,”
“Please, call me William,” he said, flashing you a crooked smile. “Now run along inside, I wouldn’t want your dear father to burst a capillary” he smirked, taking one last look at you and turning back towards his home.
You stood in silence, a combination of fear and arousal burning through your skin. From the corner of your eye, you noticed your father gritting his teeth. He was unusually tense around William and it baffled you.
Shrugging, you closed the car door behind you and made your way into your house.
-
Being home for two days made you remember just how much more exciting California was compared to Hurricane. Or perhaps it was just post-graduation depression settling in. Or maybe it was the lack of Michael, who was indeed alive, but presence felt so far away despite being merely two houses away from you. You sighed, lightly banging your head on your grandfather’s oak desk. It had been a hand-me-down, and the finishing was covered in light carvings of which you traced with your fingertips in a daze. There were crumpled bits of discarded paper skewed all over the floor and surface. You had been trying to write a letter to Michael to slide under his door, but you couldn’t seem to get the words out. Everything had either come across too clingy, too saccharine, too passive-aggressive; what if he figured out you had a crush on him? How would he react? Would he laugh? Would he be appalled at the mere concept? A sinking feeling returned to your stomach and you buried your head into your arms further.
Silly stupid feelings.
-
Michael felt as if he weighed a thousand tonnes as he approached your front door. He hadn’t spoken to you in three months, and the guilt had swallowed him up with every passing day. He hadn’t meant to become so detached; life had just been weighing on him particularly heavily recently. His father had seemed to have gotten worse; spending the late hours of the night and earlier into the morning between his garage and study, the grating clanking of metal and ferocious scribbling of pencils on paper scraping against Michael’s brain. He could barely sleep due to the nightmares as it was, but somehow his father always found a way to make him suffer; intentional or not.
If he wasn’t working, he was stalking around the house, sipping on tea, black coffee; or as of late, a large glass of red wine, muttering to himself like a madman. There was no doubt about that, Michael laughed to himself. If he was unlucky enough to be caught out of his room, it wasn’t unusual for William to berate him.
“Why are you still working for ‘him’. Whatever happened to your dear father, hm? The rental company has been doing quite steady this past year - don’t you want a chance to actually be successful?”
“If you put half the effort you did into those juvenile little drawings into trying to help me you’d be somewhere.”
“Goodness Michael, you look awful - what an assault on the eyes. But you did kill your brother, so I suppose you don’t ever seem to care about how others feel.”
He never missed an opportunity to make Michael feel even smaller than he already was.
But that was where it had begun, that was why he had stopped talking to you. Wasn’t his father technically right? He was a high school failure, barely managing to keep his head above water in a community college class, twenty-one years old and living with his father - all wrapped up in a neat little bow of involuntary manslaughter, a dead sister and a missing mother. He was a mess. He simply wasn’t good enough for anyone, especially you.
He simply couldn’t hold you back anymore.
Why would anyone love him?
Things were currently as bad as it was, so Michael, as usual, had come to make it worse. Perhaps he was a sucker for punishment. His hands shook uncontrollably as he tapped his knuckles against your door. Would you slam it back in his face? Would you yell at him? Have you changed your sense of style? Were you as beautiful as he remembered?
The door hinges groaned as they opened.
Of course you were.
“Michael?”
“H-hey … long time no see huh -”
He was thrust into your arms, sinking into your embrace. You smelt as good as he remembered, and for a second he forgot all of his troubles. It felt as if his mother was still around, braiding Elizabeth’s hair as Evan slept peacefully in his cot, whilst he ran around in the garden as Henry and his father chatted away at the dinner table. He had missed this.
Tears began to form in his eyes as you drug him into your house, eventually falling onto your green couch. Michael’s body sat on top of you, his arms steadying himself above your head on the armchair. You could feel each other's hearts pounding against your ribcage as you stared into each other's eyes, lost in each other's orbs. Despite being fully clothed, you both could feel the warmth pooling in your stomachs, radiating throughout your body like a furnace. You took in Michael’s features; he was a spitting image of his father; albeit slightly tanned with boyish features and deep blue eyes. When you had first met him, his hair had been unruly, styled into a mullet - like George Michael or Rob Lowe - but now he favoured his father even more, sporting shorter brown hair, although still messy. Unlike his father though, his eyes were soft and kind, yet possessed a melancholy sheen to them. Staring intently, you could see Michael’s were glassy and you sighed.
“I missed you,” you whispered, flashing him a small smile.
“I-I’m so sorry, I s-shouldn’t have…” he stuttered, peering around your living room so you didn’t see him cry.
“Hey, Michael… It's okay. You don’t have to explain it to me now… Let’s just watch some TV, okay?” you smiled, your palms getting sweaty as you realised the compromising situation you were in.
“Uh..h-huh? Oh yeah..” he chuckled lightly, sliding his body onto the couch and fixating his gaze onto the black screen of the TV. You scrambled to find the remote, slightly embarrassed at the disorganised state of the living room; with coffee stained mugs sitting on top of the glass coffee table, a couple of VHS tapes scattered on the floor, and your half unpacked suitcases still on the floor. Finally, you found the black object sandwiched between the floor and the sofa, and pressed the buttons on, hyper aware of Michael’s insistent gaze on you.
“It’s uh, a bit early for The Immortal and the Restless…” you muttered, flicking through the channels, eventually ending up on a catchup of ‘Dynasty’.
“S’okay,” Michael smiled.
You hummed in response, sliding back into the cushions. The pair of you didn’t have to speak to feel complete, each other's presence was melodic and calming enough.
It was perfect.
After some minutes, Michael broke the silence.
“I haven’t properly congratulated you on your graduation. I'm so happy for you! Do you want to celebrate at my house tomorrow? We can play games, have some snacks, and maybe even find out if the baby is Vlad’s!” he laughed, his face turning a red colour.
Your heart fluttered.
“I thought you’d never ask,” you said, giving Michael a playful pat on the cheek.
He beamed, nervously brushing some hair from his face. You both fixed your attention back onto the TV, the sound of the drama filling your ears, enjoying eachothers company.
Everything was how it should be.
-
They lied to you. They’ll be here this summer. How dare their father try to keep them from me? Who does he think he is? He thinks I’m a monster. They all do. He hasn’t seen anything yet. Michael hasn’t seen anything yet. I’ll ruin them both. I’ll ruin them.
Michael doesn’t deserve them. Michael’s taken everything from me - my business, my reputation EVERYTHING . He turned Henry against me . I’ll murder that little shit I swear to God if its the last thing i’ll do ill squeeze the life out of him and slit his throat clean open and see his helpless little stupid face -
they need me -
I want them and they want me too . I know they do . such a pretty little dove. Such a silly little bunny doesn’t know what's coming ..-- they will be mine they need me i want them they are MINE
William slammed his notebook shut. He was rambling again. Sighing, he looked down at his slacks to see a tent forming at his pelvis. Licking his lips, he palmed his erection through his clothes, hissing at the friction.
Not yet.
-
Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.
You felt giddy; as if you were a schoolgirl in a cheesy teen drama. ‘Lovergirl’ by Teena Marie blasted through the speakers into your headphones from your walkman, as you danced around to the beat. Something good was going to happen tonight, you could feel it. The moment of silence between you and Michael on the couch had caused something between you to shift; as if another dimension had been unlocked, vast and unknown, but somewhat beautiful and tranquil. You fixed your clothes in the mirror; and sprayed a final layer of marshmallow and vanilla scented perfume to your joints and neck - Michael’s favourite scent. You felt a familiar heat pool between your legs at the thought of Michael’s lips behind your ears, down your neck and onto your collarbone, working his way down to your chest to your nipples and onto your stomach down to your -
Stop getting ahead of yourself.
Exhaling in pleasure, you adjusted your college wristband, your heart fluttering as you left your room.
-
Tonight was the night. Michael was ready. The time you'd spent together yesterday was enough confirmation Michael had needed. He smiled at how you had held him and hadn’t let go, how you caressed him so tenderly at his most vulnerable. You were so selfless, so loving and thoughtful, he almost couldn’t believe you were real. You had never judged him on anything, ever, not even with Evan’s accident. His father was wrong, he was worthy of your love.
Even if you rejected him, life couldn’t possibly get any worse.
He had to confess to you tonight.
And, if he was lucky, he would make love to you for the first time.
-
The Afton’s living room was exactly how you remembered it. Compared to your family's homely aesthetic, the Afton’s house felt more like a hollow shell of a home; lost in a vessel of time. The whole house was noticeably extremely old fashioned; with the living room consisting of a clash between green and white, and light brown and beige striped wallpaper, with a small television sat on top of a yellowish-green table. On either side were three small black and white photos, on the right were landscapes; one of them seemingly the opening day of ‘Freadbear’s Family Diner’ , and on the left were portraits. You beamed at one of the images, a significantly younger Michael, Elizabeth and a baby Evan sat on a picnic cloth under a tree; likely the orchards Michael had taken you to so often.
The room was dark, but was dimly lit by a small yellow lamp that you had recognised from around the house on a stand next to the TV, and behind it hung a clock - bright yellow and shaped like a sun - which felt dangerously out of place for such a family.
“Father shouldn’t be back for a while,” Michael began, offering a bowl of microwave popcorn to you.
“Consider us lucky, then,” you said with a smirk, popping a handful into your mouth.
Michael flashed you a warm smile in return, and you noticed him begin to open his mouth only to snap it shut instantly, whilst nervously wiping his hand on his thigh. You shifted your body towards him slightly so that your thighs rested against each other, and Michael turned his head towards you, trying to hide his smirk as you placed your hands on top of his, stroking small circles on his knuckles. The hairs on your body stood up as Michael moved one of his hands from his thigh, reaching around to wrap around your shoulders and bring you closer to him.
“Michael…” you whispered, lost in his blue globes.
“Shh… You don’t have to say anything. I know you feel the same way I do…I’ve felt this way for a long time - I-I was just so scared, y’know? I don’t -”
You stroked your thumb over his lip to shut him up, and he pushed your body forward lightly so that you were halfway sat in his lap. He caressed the back of your neck and you both leaned in, and your lips touched, causing the bowl to hit the floor with a thud, its contents scattering across the carpet. Lost in the motions, the pair of you barely heard the sound of the front door open.
“Michael!”
Horrified, Michael pulled away from you instantly and scrambled to collect the popcorn from off the floor. You hastily fixed yourself, adjusting your top that had slightly ridden up your stomach, and spun your head to see William striding into the sitting room, casually throwing his keys on a hallway table, shooting a knowing smirk at the sight of the pair of you.
“Fa-father, you’re back?”
“Well I should hope so, this is my home, isn’t it?” he snorted, loosening his tie.
“And who’s this we have here?” he said, feigning disbelief, looking you up and down.
“Hello- uh….Good evening, Mr Afton” you said bashfully, giving a half hearted wave.
“What have I told you, dear? Please call me William, I do hate to feel old” he said, resting his weight onto the armrest on the sofa next to you, peering down at you with a leering eye, to which you noticed and shifted uncomfortably. You were already hot and bothered, and something about the way William had looked at you only intensified the heat within your loins. Subconsciously, you licked your lips, and William noticed, returning the action with a smirk. He switched his attention to Michael, who had focused his attention to the subtly glare of the TV, eerily silent.
“Michael, I need you to go into town to collect an extra part. You remember those little C shaped screws from that hardware store”
“Right now? We’re in the middle hanging out -”
“Hmm, yes, but it seemed to me more than just ‘hanging’, no?” he questioned, causing the two of you to cast your gaze to the floor.
“I need to get my prototypes complete by tomorrow morning. I’ll be working all night to get it done, so I’d appreciate some co-operation - if you’d be so kind,” he said sternly, shooting daggers at his son.
Noticing Michael’s uncertain face, you perked up.
“I could come with you, Michael, a late night car ride is always fun”
Before Michael could reply, William cut him off.
“That won’t be necessary - I have some things I’d like to discuss. Now hurry, Michael, I don’t have all night” he said impatiently, tapping his foot on the carpet. Michael sighed, giving you an apologetic smile as he pushed himself up from the sofa. William smirked in amusement as he watched his son haphazardly adjust his trousers whilst making his way to the coat hooks. Pulling on his dark blue jacket, he called out to you.
“I’ll be back soon, you can wait for me in my room if you’d like,”
The door closes with a click, and suddenly you feel as if you had just fallen into a lion's enclosure.
“So,” William mused, “I’d like to suggest a little proposition,”
“What?”
“I know you’re not really going to New York in the summer. That’s why I’d like to offer you a position at Afton Robotics,” he said, his eyes focused on your confused reaction. He rested his arm on the top of the couch, and uncrossed his legs so his thighs were spread out in front of him, knees dangerously close to yours.
“I don’t know the slightest thing about robots or -”
He raised a hand dismissively.
“Not as a mechanic, darling. I have a better role for you - I’d like for you to be my secretary, an assistant of sorts”
You cocked your head.
“I’d pay you as well as I can; all you’d have to do is manage customers - y’know, take note of the animatronic they’d like to rent, tell them how much it’d cost… the ordinary day to day.”
“I’m flattered, Mr Af- William - but I…”
“You’d be closer to Michael.”
You looked up at him, chewing on your lip to hide your embarrassment.
“Yes, love. I know about your little crush. He likes you too - but I suppose that was fairly evident from the way he tried to shove his tongue down your throat” he smiled, pushing himself off of the armrest, shifting himself in front of you, obscuring your view of the television. You forced yourself to look up at his features, his lips contorted into a wide smile, for if you had stayed at eye level you would’ve been face to face with his slender torso, and also the visible bulge in his slacks. He ran his hand down your cheek, and you shivered as he cupped your chin and then made his way to your neck, wrapping his hands around your throat and gently squeezing. Gasping for air, you let out a small croak.
“William - what’re you…”
He loosened his grip on your throat, moving his hands back to the sides of your face, cupping them into his hands. Bringing you towards him, he leant down and brought his mouth to yours.
Everything became a blur. Your head was spinning and your body tingled - how did you simultaneously feel both heavy and light? William’s lips were surprisingly soft, and tasted faintly of red wine. When did he have a glass of wine? Had he managed to slip into the kitchen? Had he watched you and Michael grope each other? Did he drink and drive? Your mind raced; unable to conceive a cohesive thought.
What are you on about, your crush’s forty-something year old father was kissing you - No, he had to be fifty. Either way, this shouldn’t be happening. What if Michael had forgotten something? What if your parents found out? What if he got you pregnant?
Your heart skipped a beat at the thought. You were too young, you simply weren’t ready.
No, it wasn’t going to get that far. You were going to push him off, tell him to stop -
Then why did it feel so good?
Overstimulation.
William’s large hands roamed your body hungrily, switching between skimming your cheeks, fondling your chest and rubbing your hips, whilst his tongue found its way into your mouth. You whimpered, half due to pleasure, half due to hesitation, and you clawed at his hands, pulling away from him.
This wasn’t right. Your heart belonged to Michael.
“Mr Afton - ngh - William.. Please, I-” you begged, speaking into his mouth. Not once had he drawn away from tasting you.
William pulled away, his hands an iron grip on your shoulders as he forced you to look up at him.
“Behave. Don’t fight this.”
“Will-”
He shushed you, and softened his face as well as his grip on your body, tracing reassuring circles on your arms.
“I know what it’s like to have to fight your deepest desires. They’re dark and deplorable - but I’ve learnt that it’s simply best to give in. You’ll feel so much better, I promise.”
Your loins were now incensed with burning desire, and you squirmed under his vice grip.
“You trust me, darling, don’t you?” he whispered, his voice dropping an octave, sounding almost as if he was hurt, and his hands made his way to your lips.
His thumb brushed them, painting the wetness of your joint saliva over the tender skin of your mouth. His eyes darkened as he forced his thumb in your mouth, and you instinctively sucked on it, causing William to exhale in pleasure.
“See…You trust me, don't you, love? I knew you would… such a good little princess” he moaned, his gaze intent on your face, his free hand playing lazily with the hem of your bottoms. After a short while, he pulled out his thumb from your mouth, his eyes clouded with formidable lust.
“Upstairs. Down the hall. Last door.” he instructed, giving you a stern look.
You nodded, your legs wobbling as you steadied yourself up the stairs. Pushing on the white door at the end of the hall, you took in the room around you. It was decidedly bare; with all but an oak wardrobe and dresser, on which sat a small bedside lamp and a copy of ‘Frankenstein’.
The double bed had been neatly made, and you felt a little awkward at the contrast of your disorderly state on top of the surface. Should you undress? Should you mess up the bed? Maybe give a little pose? You mind raced, you had never been in a position so formal - the only sexual experience you had being humped in missionary on a rickety single bed in a mangy college dorm - to which he had finished in three minutes, and left you to pleasure yourself.
Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door violently slamming against the wall, so much so you thought the hinges were going to come off. Retreating into the cushions, your eyes locked with William’s as he stalked over to you, unbuttoning his shirt and unbuckling his belt. He strode over to the dresser, sliding the middle drawer open.
“Are you going to-”
William didn’t answer as he rummaged through it, until he stopped, and you heard the light clink of metal together, and he dangled a pair of handcuffs from each of his index fingers, flashing you a sadistic smile.
“Undress for me, love,”
You shakily began to remove your clothes.
“What’re you -”
William shushed you, and you could sense that he was getting irritated at the length of time it was taking you to undress, lifting your clothes over your head so that your top half was bare. He let out a sigh at the sight of you, his hands running up and down your torso, stroking your collarbone and pawing at your chest. You were taken aback at how gentle he was, touching you as if you were a porcelain doll. Feeling a little silly at the fact you weren’t cooperating, your hands roamed down his chest, stroking the material of his white vest, and around his lithe body.
“You’re such a gorgeous little princess, no wonder Michael loves you” he croaked, as your hand found its way to his crotch, stroking it through his pants. You shivered at the outline, it felt rather long and girthy. It had begun to rain, and the precipitation hit the windows like a tiny drum, creeping down the pane and accumulating on the windowsill. It felt sickeningly domestic; as if you were a virginal bride on her wedding night, waiting to be unwrapped by her husband.
William took your face in your hand. He seemed to like that , you thought, as your eyes met for what seemed to be the hundredth time.
“Can you make me feel good, sweetheart?”
You knew what he wanted as William shifted to sit himself on the bed.
You sunk to your knees, hands grasping at the zipper. Pulling down his boxers, his cock sprung out; pulsing an angry shade of red. It was long, a sizable sixth inches and a decent bulk, with a throbbing vein streaked on its underside. Precum leaked from its bulbous tip as William hissed at the feeling of your hand traipsing along his shaft. You swallowed, your mouth suddenly feeling dry. Would you be able to handle it?
“C’mon now, sweetheart, don’t keep an old man waiting” he muttered, guiding your head towards the tip and pushing into your mouth. He instantly let out a pornographic moan at the contact, throwing his head back in pleasure. You worked your way tentatively up his cock with your mouth, suckling on the head and a quarter way in. Your hand roamed lazily up and down his thighs, lost in the symphony of his breathy moans and the occasional sound of a car pulling in or out a driveway. He shivered as you pressed your tongue flat against the vein.
“Fuck,” he rasped, “You sure do know how to make a man feel special” he chuckled, shaking his head, “Michael doesn’t deserve you”
You remained in a gentle tandem up and down his cock. It seemed that William wasn’t a patient man, as he grasped the back of your neck, pushing you down on his cock so that it was over halfway into your mouth. You instantly pulled back, gagging at the sudden probing at the back of your throat, a trail of spit dangling from the tip to your lips.
“William - “
He let out a deep chuckle from his chest.
“Don’t fret, you can handle it,” he whispered, leaning down to press a chaste kiss on your forehead.
“Now be a good slut” he said, pushing himself into you again, this time using the back of your neck to guide you up and down, forcing obscene sounds spew from your mouth. Your eyes began to water, and you couldn’t relax your mouth, causing you to accidentally hit your teeth against his flesh. William growled, and you immediately pulled back, gushing apologies from your mouth.
“I'm so sorry I didn’t mean to -”
“Why are you resisting me? You want this. Now behave, otherwise you’ll regret it” he said sternly, now forcibly penetrating your mouth, thrusting in and out in motion. It seemed as if your choking and gagging made him go faster; pushing your neck down further and propelling himself into you with intensity, moaning louder as your saliva coated his cock. He continued the rhythmic motion until his cock rapidly began to twitch, to which he pulled himself from your mouth with a ‘pop’.
“Bed.”
You scrambled up from the floor, unsure of what position he wanted you in, settling on lying face up on your back. Turning to either side of the headrest, you noticed the handcuffs on the post, as William made his way onto the bed by your feet. His orbs lit up in rhapsody as he eyed your underwear, reaching over to feel the material of the underwear, rolling it between his thumb and index. You rubbed your thighs together, bashful at the irony - you had worn your best pair for Michael, only to have it inspected by his father. Flesh and blood.
He reached down to your slit, rubbing the mound through your underwear while lazily tugging at his cock. You squirmed under his touch, your body quivering at the pressure on your sensitive heat, whilst William took his spare hand and toyed with your chest.
He began to peel away at the garment, rolling it down your legs to pool at your ankles, moaning at the sight of your bare privates. You shivered as the cold air hit your warmth, and cried out as he inserted a finger - one, two, three - manoeuvring in and out of you, coating your folds in your wetness, bringing tears to your eyes in sheer pleasure.
“Fuck- ungh - William …”
“Shhh, love - I know, I know… “ he whispered, increasing his pace, eyes darkening as he looked down at your slovely state. The feeling of your walls expanding almost brought you to climax, until William slid his digits from inside you. Hastily, he reached around you and yanked your arms towards either side of the bed, clipping the handcuffs around your wrists. The metal dug into your skin, gnawing at the tender skin around the joints, yet the profuse feeling of your burning desire rendered the grazing sensation redundant. William climbed on top of you, straddling himself around your waist, zealously ingesting your form. You whined at the feeling of his hard cock, coated in glossy precum, smearing on your soft stomach.
“Spread your legs for me, darling.”
You parted them, and William positioned himself between your thighs, his bulging tip prodding your entrance.
“I’ll be gentle, I promise.” he uttered, rubbing your cheek.
He was anything but.
William plunged into you, letting out a deep groan followed by a broken sigh as he started to make deep strokes, gliding in and out of you flawlessly. You instantly slammed your eyes shut, biting down on your lip at the feeling of your walls being stretched yet again, as William steadied himself on the headrest above you. His long thrusts explored every inch of you, slowly hitting your corners and retracting, only to invade your hole yet again with every gyration of his hips. As your sprawled arms trembled like a calf, you longed to reach up and steady yourself on William’s bicep; instead mewling like a kitten to communicate to him, to which he chuckled darkly, using that as ammunition to plough himself into you even harder.
The sound of the bed creaking under the pair of your weight alongside the clinking of the handcuffs and the sloshing of the wetness of your privates was obscene; and you felt a pang in your chest at the thought of your parents viewing you in such a vulnerable, degrading state. You felt like a common whore, but god , it was so bad it was good. William began to fasten his pace, his strokes becoming shallower, but still steady, and he focused his gaze on you yet again, whispering dirty phrases into your mouth as he kissed you.
“You feel so good, princess. God - so delectable … I just want to ravish you over, and over…”
You cried out in response, your arms beginning to feel raw from the pressure and unfavourable position. William dropped his arms to cradle you, placing his full weight onto his chest and burying his face into your neck.
“You smell so lovely - fuck - like a pretty little rose… I’m deflowering you for Michael — you like that?” he growled, planting mawkish kisses behind your ear and to the side of your cheek, his eyes fluttering shut in pure content. He was balls deep in you now, and had kept a consistent momentum since he had mounted you. Part of you was shocked at this, but you shouldn’t have been surprised - he had made three kids, after all.
You moaned, your mind racing with thoughts of Michael. Remember him? The boy you loved? Did he even matter to you anymore?
Of course he did.
Then why were you under his father, moaning and blubbering like a bitch in heat?
William’s pace began to get more frantic, and his thrusts became shallower and sloppy, jackhammering your throbbing hole with avid delight. He sharply removed his hips, impaling you to the point he hit your G-spot, causing you to arch you back.
“Fuck William!” you exclaimed, wrapping your legs around his waist. The pleasure was too good to not give in, and at the end of the day, Michael wouldn’t know, right?
He growled, drilling you deeper - if that was even possible - and let out another groan.
“Yes darling - shit - you feel even better than my wife ever did”
And that was the phrase that sent you over the edge, clenching your toes as a euphoric sensation rushed over your body, your bodily juices creaming over his cock, running down to his balls. This awakened something in William, staring at you with what you could only fathom was deathly lust - and at that moment you realise why your father had been so protective of you that day. There was something about the way his eyes clouded over, like he had unlocked some otherworldly portal - as if he had been waiting, yearning, to consume you at your most pregnable. He finished with a ferocious sigh, thighs twitching as copious amounts of his hot and creamy load shot into you.
William collapsed next to you. Your bodies were in sync, rising and falling in tandem, as you panted, gasping for air. You stared blankly at the ceiling, the gravity of what you had just done sinking in, boring relentlessly into your conscience as William’s seed seeped out of you.
He chuckled, raising himself from the bed to put on his trousers.
“You did so well, love” he whispered, stroking your body up and down, “You’re mine now, all mine. “
You pulled on the chains, wanting to be let free from your physical and mental torture. You had to leave - at least reach the bathroom - it was only two doors away. Yes, one, two, three, four, five steps -
“Father? Where’s -”
Oh.