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Can't Afford to Buy Her Pearls

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Till now, Daryl’s never let Beth use her mouth on him. He’s gone down on her plenty of times—from the front; from behind; on his back getting happily smothered half to death by the weight of her sturdy, cornfed hips—but he always balked whenever she offered to reciprocate. It was a knee-jerk reaction, he supposes, conditioned into him by one too many instances of walking in on Merle and their pop and the strange women who would crouch in front of their filthy boots. But Daryl can’t let that shit infect the good thing he’s got going with Beth, and, well. A man can only take so much of his pretty blonde girlfriend batting her baby blue eyes at him and literally begging to suck his cock before he gives the fuck in. Ain’t like he’s bucking for sainthood over here.

She’s not kneeling at his feet—he was adamant about that. He’s on his back in bed, boots off, flannel shucked, Beth lying on her belly between his spread legs and frowning at his dick like it’s a jigsaw puzzle she intends to put together.

That’s slightly discomfiting.

He’s only halfway to hard, the tight-rubber-band pressure in his balls fighting a losing battle against the anxious, discordant jangle in his head. But then Beth skates the edge of a baby-pink fingernail up the underside of his shaft, and his dick twitches valiantly, filling slowly out with blood. So, okay. Not exactly losing. Daryl would even venture to call it a draw.

When Daryl’s dick twitches, Beth’s mouth twitches, and he swears to God, if she starts laughing, he is so out of here, he doesn’t even care about blue balls—

Only he makes a liar out of himself when Beth circles a dry, cool hand around the base of his dick, pinky finger threading through his tangled pubic hair to brush his aching nuts. He’s not leaving here for nothing. He’s got Beth Greene spread out on his mattress, in his closet-sized bedroom, in his shitty apartment, golden hair scraped back in a tight ponytail so he’s treated to an unobstructed view of her pretty face while she works up the nerve to suck him off, and he knows damn well he’s not going anywhere she doesn’t tell him to go.

He is so owned.

Beth drags her hand up his dick, fingers loose, grip gentle so her dry palm doesn’t scrape sensitive skin in all the wrong ways. This much, they’ve done before, and Daryl finds himself relaxing into it—as much as anyone with a growing hard-on can relax—eyes fluttering shut, hips fucking shallowly into Beth’s funneled hand. He wishes she’d tighten things up just a little bit, knowing from experience that the slight discomfort would be damn worth it.

But then Beth opens her mouth, and not to put it on his dick.

“Ain’t this the part where you tell me it’s not gonna suck itself?”

Daryl opens his eyes and stares accusingly at the ceiling as if it’s somehow responsible for getting him into this situation. He should’ve expected this. Beth seems real quiet at first, all sweet southern manners, but the fact is the girl’s got a smartass mouth that makes Daryl worry about her even more than he would have anyway. She’s gonna get herself into serious trouble one of these days, and all Daryl can do is hope that he’s there to drag her out of it.

Beth’s mouth pisses lots of people off—it pisses him off, but in a way that makes him want to shut her up by ramming his tongue so far down her throat he can taste her stomach acids, and she’s safe with him anyways. Took a long time for him to believe that himself, but she is.

All he’ll ever really do when she sasses him is grumble halfheartedly at her, besides, and she knows it. It’s what he does now, eyes flicking away from the ceiling down to Beth’s smiling face. “Nah. Might ask you what the hell you’re doin’ starin’ at it for so damn long. Ain’t like you never seen it before.”

Seen it, held it, moaned on it while he fucked it in and out of her slippery pussy. Those memories have him coming up even harder, and he gets harder still when she pushes up on one elbow, tits swaying like peaches dangling from a branch. His dick throbs like an open wound and spits out a trickle of pre-come that oozes down his shaft to pool across Beth’s fine-boned wrist. Shit. Fucking shit.

“That’s true,” Beth allows. She lets go of his dick and uncurls her pink tongue from between her pinker lips, swiping it from wrist to palm to fingers, eating his pre-come like cake frosting and getting her hand wet in one fell swoop. Fuck. “I’m just…thinking.”

Thinking, she’s thinking. That’s nice for her, because Daryl damn well isn’t—’least, not with his upstairs brain. But he’s usually not where Beth is concerned. If he was, he never would’ve started this thing up with the sweet-cheeked farmer’s daughter; wouldn’t’ve let her sidle on up to him with a guileless smile on her face and a shy sort of lust shining in her eyes. But, shit. Beth’s well accustomed to getting what she wants, and if what she wants is him, then who the fuck is he to deny himself to her?

And what she wants right now, apparently, is to wrap that pretty pink mouth around his angry red dick, but only after she’s finished gearing him up like a windup toy. She sucks on her fingers, getting them slick like a pussy and giggling breathlessly when he groans. His fingers are practically punching holes in his sagging mattress, but only because he’s afraid of accidentally hurting her by gripping her hair too hard. He’s made her cry often enough already, usually accidentally but sometimes on purpose, but if he made her cry during sex, his balls would probably retreat into his body and never come back out.

She must be done thinking, though, because her hand’s back on his dick, wet but not wet enough, not soaking wet like her panties, which he can smell even from here—can picture the sticky stain that’s gotta be spreading on the pale blue crotch, cotton clinging to the swollen outline of her cunt, and he near about calls this whole thing off. Almost begs her to shelve this little experiment for a later date so he can get her riding him the way he likes best: straddling his bucking hips, long white neck flushed splotchy pink, pussy lips split open around the dark root of his cock.  

He's just about ready to propose a change of plans when Beth points his dick at her mouth, thumbs back his foreskin, and tongues a dirty kiss directly onto his slit.

It’s just as well that Beth rears back in the next instant, because otherwise the convulsive jerk of Daryl’s hips would’ve slammed his dick into her unsuspecting mouth and halfway down her throat. She was probably recoiling from the taste, if he’s honest: she’s licked up his pre-come before—just a minute ago, for instance—but only a little bit at a time, and never straight from the source. Daryl can’t really blame her; he’s lapped it up himself out of morbid curiosity, and shit don’t exactly taste like chicken.

Daryl levers himself up on one elbow, walking his eyes down his own body—shivering stomach, jutting dick, blue denim pooled low on his hips—until they land on Beth. “Y’alright?” he asks, but Beth’s already talking over him.

“Sorry, I’m sorry—”

She’s fucking what, exactly? Daryl winds up cupping her head in his hand, after all, not to restrain or direct but to soothe. He scratches her scalp, and her eyelids flutter delicately, like she’s dreaming.

“What the hell for?” he gruffs, still petting her.

“It’s just.” Beth cuts her teeth into her lower lip—her lower lip that’s damp and shiny like she’s coated it in gloss, but it’s not gloss; it’s his fucking pre-come, Jesus. “You’ve done this for me plenty’a times, and you never complained about the taste, so—”

“I like the way you taste,” Daryl tells her, because he does. Saliva pools in his mouth just thinking about the beads of slick that must be clinging to her pussy lips at this very moment. “Beth, y’know you don’t gotta—”

“Yeah, I know I don’t gotta.” Beth toys with the ridged head of his dick, and Daryl sets his teeth against a whimper. “But I want to, so just lie back and enjoy yourself, alright?”

“Damn bossy, ain’t ya?” Daryl grumbles, but he’s already reclining, planting his head on one of the fluffy pillows he bought so Beth could have something comfortable to rest on, and because new pillows were more affordable than a new mattress.

He’s braced for it this time, feels Beth’s warm breath precede her hot mouth, but he still grits his teeth when she pins his dick against his stomach and licks a long stripe up the shaft—oh, Jesus fuck—before running her tongue over the hard veins that cut through his cumgutters. The friction of his own body hair against his sensitive cockhead makes him squirm, and he’s just about to ask her to stop what she’s doing when she lifts his dick back to her mouth and seals her lips around the tip, goes back to tonguing the slit like she’s working over a fucking lollipop. Daryl sees white, and the hand he’s got cupped around her skull convulses like he’s just been fucking electrocuted. Fuck, think about baseball, think about—Merle, think about Merle. Daryl nearly blew his damn load the first time he ever sank into Beth’s steamy little cunt, and he only just managed to hold his orgasm off by thinking about Merle’s saggy white ass. So he latches onto that image now, since it’s never failed him before.

Even with his brother’s pasty backside fixed firmly in his mind’s eye, and his actual eyes screwed firmly shut, Beth still makes it damn difficult for Daryl to keep from embarrassing them both, working her slow way around the head of his dick like she’s learning him all over again, wrapping more and more of her mouth farther and farther down his shaft until he can feel himself knocking at her soft palate. For a fraught second, her throat quivers like she’s gonna fucking gag, but she doesn’t. Daryl pets her hair some more, trying to get her to settle, but then her mouth constricts and gives a long, obscene suck, and his soothing hand turns into a tight grip around the base of her silky ponytail, Jesus goddamn Christ.

She pulls her mouth off of him for a second, then, trailing spit that he can feel dribbling down his dick, thinner and not as viscous as his pre-come, and he’s gotta look, he’s gotta see what he’s feeling no matter how dicey shit’s getting, so he opens his eyes and lifts his head and just about dies on the goddamn spot. Beth’s lips are red and loose and swollen like a fucked-out cunt, red and swollen and dripping wet, drool dangling in ropes from the point of her shiny chin. She catches his eye and smiles shyly, tongue darting out to sever the ropes of spit, and Daryl’s dick jerks, overcome by a kick of feeling so intense it’s like a dry orgasm.

Beth swallows, and her eyes droop shut, pale lashes fanning out across her seashell cheekbones. She finds Daryl’s cock again by feel, lipping gently at the head before closing her mouth around it, pushing even farther down than she had the last time, cheek bulging, tongue fluttering. She doesn’t try to deep throat him, thank God, but she does suck at him, sucks him hard like she’s trying to make up for her inexperience with sheer enthusiasm. One of Daryl’s hands cups her bulging cheek, and the other scrapes through her ponytail, loosening the rubber band and tangling in her hair, and he doesn’t mean to, but he can’t hold his rutting hips still any longer. Beth holds them still for him, or tries to, pinning them down with both hands while she rises onto her knees so her ass is higher than her head, treating Daryl to the sight of her panties cutting into her firm glutes. Daryl’s eyes flicker from that round little ass to the pink circle of her sucking mouth and back again, unable to settle, and he’s gotta. He just. There’s a bushfire in his gut and a ringing in his skull and pressure at the base of his spine like a restraining bootheel, and he’s gotta—

Fuck.

Daryl gets one shaking thumb poised beneath the bolt of Beth’s jaw and coaxes her up, shuddering all over at her parting suck, at the stream of drool that waterfalls out of her open mouth. He yanks her up his body, making her grunt in surprise, and gets her turned over with a bounce of mattress springs. He follows her, straddling her hips, jeans twisting around his thighs, of a mind to pull her panties to one side and fuck her till her teeth rattle, except. Except his eyes fix on her perky little titties, on the way they jiggled when he flipped her over, and suddenly all he can think about is how badly he wants to come all over her, like he might die if he doesn’t.

It’s nasty, and if he weren’t so worked up he wouldn’t dare vocalize it, but when he says, “Wanna come on you,” in a voice like his throat’s been burned from the inside out, Beth grabs a handful of his ass and shoves her other hand down the front of her panties.

“Then do it,” she says, pupils eclipsing her irises, voice just as wrecked as his, and Daryl fucking whimpers.

He grips his wet dick with one hand and cups the other around her jaw, tucking his thumb into her mouth and pressing it down hard on her tongue. She sucks at him, sucks at his thumb like she’s still sucking his dick, and Daryl’s wrist twists, fingers slipping frantically up and down his shaft. He knows what kind of picture they must make: dirty old redneck looming over a pretty young girl, except the girl’s enthusiastically willing, and holds all the power besides.

Daryl’s eyes are so wide they’re burning, watering, but he can’t blink for anything. Beth’s edges start to blur as his orgasm mounts at the base of his spine, but he can’t look away. He can’t. She’s his girl, his pretty girl; she’s the one who doesn’t take his shit but waits patiently for him to get over himself and welcomes him with open arms when he finally does. She’s the farmer’s daughter, the girl who shouldn’t’ve looked at him twice but did anyway, and a quite a few more times than twice. She’s the one who’s got him by the throat and the balls and the goddamn heart.

“C’mon,” Beth tells him, flexing wrist brushing his balls as she works herself over. “C’mon, Daryl, come on me, I want you to, c’mon—”

Oh, fuck. Daryl comes so hard he thinks he’s dying, dick punching in his grip; thick, white come decorating Beth’s tits like icing, like a string of pearls. Daryl hunches over, wheezing like he’s been punched in the fucking gut, spunk still drooling out of him in spurts even after the initial rush of endorphins starts to fizzle.

He’s not done, though. Can’t be done. He’s gotta get her off, too, so that’s what he sets to doing as soon as he catches his breath. He eases off her hips and crouches between her sprawled legs, dick twitching spastically at the sight of her engorged pussy lips pushing against the crotch of her panties. He pushes her wrist aside and slaps her upturned cunt, making her squeal, then shoves his hand past her waistband and punches two thick fingers into the tight clutch of her body. She melts into his palm like warm wax, grunting like she’s been knifed, and he crooks his fingers, grinds his callused thumb against her twitching clit, watches her face and her tits and the oozing trails of his own spunk as she shakes through an orgasm.

He bends his head as her shivers subside, licking his jizz off her tit and feeling her squirm and blush. When she rakes her fingers through his sweaty hair and mumbles, exhausted, “Ain’t you glad I convinced you to try somethin' new,” he smiles around her hard nipple before kissing the taste of his pre-come out of her mouth the way he likes to tongue her favorite vanilla Chapstick off her lips.

Yes, ma’am. He sure is.