Work Text:
Leon has never really considered how twisted human brains twisted are.
Well, he did, on the field in front of capitalism-born grotesque monsters trying to impale him like vampires. Normal people can't really empathize with his experience, especially when his life sounds like a Hollywood action B-movie. Born to fail, born to fail to be normal.
Twisted when it comes to sex. Not very knowledgeable about kinks or fetishes, unlike an average man, viruses and combat is Leon's expertise. And alcohol. And dry sex with some klutz he picked up at the bar, darker than a forgotten motel with an even more suspicious owner; Porsche and Hamilton get his dick syrupy wet, money washes away his acidic smell of the whiskey.
Still basics haven't skipped him; bondage, latex, spanking — many raunchy posters were plastered on the walls by his roommate, eyeing pretty blonde bimbos. Both aren't really his types, brunettes are better in his humble opinion. Before Raccoon City, Leon was a man too.
With his evident lack of time, porn sites aren't really useful, on the front page pristine bimbos with plastic tits and even faker moans. Lesbians scissoring each other, looking identical he can swear to god they are related. The putative best product on display. Rather dull, plain, only worsens his dick — not its self esteem. Leon would fail an audition for big white cock video, but his is not that bad, he believes; thick and cut and average and size doesn't matter (the experience is key!), and women never complained, and Leon is 48 for god's sake!
The issue is different. Simpler. Familiar too. It haunts him after an empty bottle of bourbon, accompanying him to adult sites; average men suck, their taste narrows to identically looking silicone dolls.
He can't get it up. Doesn't matter.
Among the plaintive whiskey seeped walls, impossible to weather out like bedbugs, the ectoplasmic table, next to shabby leather couch that squeaks after every unnecessary exhale, is full with open coloring book. Puppies and kitties are plastered on unfinished pages. And MLP ones, you take big pride in them. Leon is not sure how he ended up in this predicament, a blank emptiness in the back of his mind, unlike before, there is your weight on his lap and your calming suckling noises coming from your pacifier. Every inch of you is taken care of him, from the hair (or even tooth) to your pedicured toenails.
You are sickeningly younger than him. Twenty six years gap. He could be your dad. Kinda is, you call him dad, while he disciplines you. You caught him in the bar alone, as shabby as his couch, Leon wondered if you were stalking before coming up, clearly infatuated by his decadent expression. Long fake acrylics drummed on the old wooden bar counter. Your arm hooked around his with your tits pressed against his bicep. The perky tits urging to bust out of the variegated tube top with a miniskirt that lacks tacky Louis Vuitton printed on top of it. Restless clicking of your heels he can imitate with his tongue. Click, click. Then eyelashes bat prettily glued to his face, like a Venus fly trap trapping him in your irises. In the yellowish illuminated, piss stained stall toilet of the bar you fucked the sadness out of him, panting like a dog into his mouth, and afterwards, stalking him to his car, whirring in his ears worse than a mosquito just for the number.
"What would your dad think?" Leon asked drolly. Apathy replaced by curiosity while squinting at the bright screen poking needles into his blue eyes. Blue like apatite.
"He is not here, is he?"
Similarly to Leon's, clearly he was never here. As trashy as him, that's how he caved. That's how he ended up here with you.
Leon was not sure if he was happy. Even now the emptiness that sits on his skin didn't completely disappear. Like a tick with a fat belly weighing down after 20 years of delicious blood dinner. But you make him happy, you are his SSRI, just with high sex drive effect; not only his pants swells with blood but also his heart with adoration and love as well, love which he thought was shot by his job.
You trust him, you give him control. Control in a pin-pointed list, a little bible stuck on the fridge with a heart magnet. Something like thou should have no other gods (daddies) than me, honour thou father and mothe—
Well, your mama would not be happy with a man like him, so he is going to settle just on father. And simpler language, because his baby needs to comprehend her rules.
And today you are restless.
"What?" Leon inquires, a wet pop accompanies the tug on the pacifier.
If there is no dick in it, then there is a pacifier, he likes you silent — a little chattering box is worse than an idiot cube in the living room, a TV can be turned off, while your pacifier is a perfect remote for your volume — it knocks down his headaches. A string of drool on your plump lips connects to the cherry shaped nipple, you meet his eyes; flashes of blue light hit you in a gentle breeze as the cartoon keeps rolling in the background. Naturally ignoring, naturally drifting off. Best sedative.
"Dad…" do you love me, dada, I want a new stuffie, daddy, dad usually comes, instead there is atypical silence.
A long pause in which the whiskey cup is emptied by him — hanging like a fog, never reaching its end. Leon nods with a curled up eyebrow, inviting you to speak eagerly, he doesn't bite after all, unless his dick is deep inside you — but that's different, that's play time.
"You can talk, what's the issue?" Leon repeats, pinching your cheek with a sympathetic look. Only silence comes. "Be a good girl for me, I know you can use your big-big-big words." You squirm on his lap, your thighs rubs together in search of relief for growing tension. Leon's leg jerks up just to evoke your high pitched squeak. "Or do I need to teach you?"
You shake your head — no way, you are a smart baby, learned your alphabet to a T long, long ago. "I need to go…"
"And leave your dada?" Leon says, glancing at the screen. Ridiculously rounded animals can't stay still like you, with their ears bouncing just like your tits. Stop, focus, Leon. "And miss your favorite cartoon too?"
"No—No! I won't leave you, I just—" You squirm. "Daddy, please." Leon hums. This time your voice is lower than before, bloated with shame. "Potty…" you swallow. "Can I?"
"Mmm? I didn't hear you," Leon says. You mouth it again."What? You need to go to bathroom?" And you nod, full of hope he stopped playing. "But you were there just recently. I am sure it will be alright if you stay here. And finish your cartoon too." Leon's hand turns your head gently to the screen. "See? On the most interesting part too, wouldn't want you to miss."
It is going to be alright, twenty minutes of the episode(you believe) are quick, instead they stretch endlessly. Glancing at the watch on Leon's wrist, impatiently hoping those minutes have passed — you end up with a disappointment, a minute is comparable to ten. Leon would say that's not how maths works. Naturally you aren't really focused on the bouncy animations of characters. Tap-tap in your bladder, like a broken sink in the middle of the night. You need to go, you need to piss urgently. With the growing pressure, the squirming grows. Your hips can't stay in the same spot, rolling onto his lap for relief, one would think you are in heat, fabric of your pink frilled shorts etches tighter on the curves of your plump rounded cheeks.
It doesn't go unnoticed, Leon is not that blind yet; his dick twitches as your soft hills hump against him, hardening as the humiliation emerges with every passing second, spurted all over your face while fingers curl into the fabric of your shorts unconsciously expecting the pressure to ease.
"Dad, please, I need to go to pee pee," you whine, spoiled to the bone. "Please, please, please, it won't take long and I have seen this episode already." No you haven't. Does it matter? "and—"
"And you just can't behave," Leon cuts your down, his fingers creep to tug on the rim of the fabric. "Let me check you." You shake your head erratically, deserving a loud slap on your butt. "Does a baby want little plane to hit your pretty cheek?" You shake your head again, his hand is heavy you know it oh so well. "You have to listen to your dad." With disobedience comes punishment, your wrist aches at memory of written 200 lines. Your frilled shorts roll down as you slip out of them, silently falling on the floor.
The pink lacy panties cover your pussy like a spider web. Despite your dad having you in his balls for decades, the bio-daddy doesn't know you at all, he hasn't seen how easily a wet patch grows onto thin fabric, before Leon even decides to run his two fingers across the slit. A tug to the side, you shudder from the chill caress of the air of the room on your exposed pussy. Already ready for your new dad.
Frisson is evoked by Leon's fingers spreading your lips like a flower, with no protest fingers dip in to inspect you. Rolling a swollen mound across his fingertips, every slide is accompanied by squelching noises, dripping onto his digits. A brief inspection, if one ever can call this one, it leaves you with an aching emptiness.
"Ah-ah, missy, where are you going?" Leon says, not letting you pull away. Click-clack, the metallic sound of his belt being reaches your ears. "Dad needs to check you with all he has." You stare at him with curled up eyebrows, in irises written pleas for permission. "It won't take long if you are good."
A zip and you can't move away. His dick appears, your earlier restlessness left him hard of course — your mouth pools more saliva as if it's a candy.
Leon guides himself, as impatient as your real dad but with even worser pull out game, positioning your hips over his blood rushed tip to let you sink onto. The obvious assumption was made when your eyelashes batted sensually on that night, old man was a creampie lover, every man is at some extent, the same couldn't have been said for being present. You clearly inherited that particular half from your dad, whiny little baby refusing for a rubber to even touch his dick, albeit your mama's traits are deeper. A protest coming from Leon would be just shooting himself in the foot, not when your pussy sucks him in so greedily it erases any need for being responsible.
Inch by inch plush folds are split open by thick dick before you swallow him fully. Your clit kisses dark and silver peppered pubes, now tainted by your oozing slick, painting in glittery marks. The tip grinds sickeningly against your cervix, coaxing velvety walls to flutter around him. No matter how many times he pounded into your hole, every time is a first time, his thick dick suffocatingly overfills you, dripping slick doesn't soothe the burning stretch. Your chest undulates heavily as if your lungs are connected to your cunt — any movement hitches your breath, maybe it is, or maybe it is pressure on your bladder which comes from his hold — and Leon knows very well what he is doing.
A meek squeal falls from your plush lips, hips lift up until only the tip remains inside you, you plummet down taking him fully.
"I want to go…dad, please," you moan, jutted out lips with dolly eyes. A real life doll, for him to place you on the shelf and admire.
"We just started," He tuts. "And I know you can do it, your princess parts take me so well, you love your dad's dick?" A silence, before his rough jerk upwards making you squeak, eyes wide open pupils like two full black moons. "Do you?" Leon repeats and you nod.
Natural at this, inborn talent pumping in your veins your tits bounce softly as you rock back and forth. Meanwhile his hold presses on your bladder, like a button for you to squirm, forcing a hump downwards for his tip to kiss your cervix. And the pout, and tears on your lash line, and the squeeze of your cunt — you crumble so easily.
"Daa—ad, I caan't take it—" you moan, your head tosses forward to meet his focused eyes.
"Shhh, dad's here," Leon shushes. "I know you can keep it, right?" A pressure on your bladder just to make it worse. "Make your dad proud," Leon says, as his hand instinctively comes to press onto your clit, watching your lips part in a pretty o-shape, with a prettier moan. "Dad is going to take care of your princess parts."
Pinky promise.
As promised, his hips join yours eventually, instead of following your shy rhythm, Leon reestablish his own. Faster, harder. Rougher and deeper, enough for every snap his tip knocks air out of you, encouraging the arch of your spine, skin meets together in an echo. Your pussy clenches as the pressure grows on your bladder, not sure anymore if it is his hand or his dick kissing you so deeply that will make you piss on him. Or in a preferable word — squirt; classy, sexier.
Your velvety walls squeeze tighter around him as rough flicking on your clit keeps up with the hard rhythm of his thrusts. His balls tighten, almost spilling inside you at the suction. Shlick, shlick, his digits are dripping with your slick and you look dumber than before; clearly lacking any thought in your head, other than his dick.
And Leon is close, words would be redundant as his pace becomes messier, sloppier chasing his orgasm. The pressure tightens with every deep thrust, seeping deeper into your muscles, tensing and clenching. Good girls do what daddy asks and daddy asked to be patient, you try your best; tears roll down as it becomes harder. Impossibly, a bubble twisting your insides that needs to be broken. With an invisible needle, your pleasure erupts in a hard wave, dumbing everything not realizing there is more than just electrifying zaps in your body. Trails between your legs spread, splashing across his lap and dick. This doesn't slow down Leon at all, wetness all over his lap, magnified loud skin slapping incites him to rut into your hole more, not leaving a gap to breathe.
Harder, tighter, quick flicking on your clit drives you crazier. Your continuous moans don't end; an incitement for him. Just for his turn to approach quicker than expected, one last, deep thrust for Leon, his dick twitches inside you before spilling his warm load inside.
It could be squirting, but the lightness in your bladder kills every excuse in your head. And a good baby doesn't lie, your cheeks burn realizing what happened. That's embarrassing, twenty two years old and can't be normal. It is overwhelmingly wet, seeping into his clothes, your clothes, your skin and you swear to god it is in your hair.
You try to push yourself away from him, to hide in your shared bedroom until the shame dries itself away. Leon doesn't let you, his arm coiled around your waist while you keep kicking, thrashing and slapping him — good fucking lord, your stupid acrylics will peck his eyes out.
"Jesus, stop it!" Leon says, a shake like you are a kitten after a misdeed. "Calm down, what's your issue? You are making this messier." A whimper escapes as Leon tries to catch your head, to force your eyes to look into his. "Look at me, nothing bad happened."
"Pee pee," you say.
"I can't hear you if you are not looking at me." He is old, he turns down music while he drives. You look at him, finally, through your long messy eyelashes. Cheeks are adorned by black mascara marks, similar to grounded coffee trails.
"Good girl, was it that hard?" You shake your head. Leon pinches your cheek.
"Sorry, I…made a mess."
"A mess. Is this because of your d—"
There are many words starting with d, but dad and dick are too close right now. You don't want to risk another wave of shame. A quick 'no!' stops him, before you fix yourself with a silent, ashamed, "yes…" Blink. "You are not angry at me?" Leon shakes his head.
Why would he? His personal epiphany hit the moment your mouth was shut by a pacifier. No-no, that's too late. It happened earlier, much earlier — the moment you spread your legs in that shabby bar, in the stall stained by urine.
"A little bit of pee pee won't kill anyone." Leon shrugs. That's actually a lot, his point still stands.
You wish Leon was your dad. Real dad. Blood related. Blood to blood. That's written on your face in a neat cursive. Leon can only hope you throw away those wishes. There is no father material in his blood, babies are a big no-no, probably infertile after years of active alcoholism. It doesn't stop him from playing as your dad when the reward is making love to the Sunday cartoons.