Work Text:
Joel is different from every other relationship you’ve ever had. First and foremost, he is your boss: You’re working as a secretary — administrative assistant, he always says, as if that is any more imposing. — at the small contracting company he owns with his younger brother and because your relationship is an HR nightmare — or it would be, if the Miller Brothers Contracting was big enough of a company to have an HR —, Joel has decided to “take things slow”. He says it’s because he wants you to be comfortable with him and not feel pressured into the physical side of things but you think it might be because he’s an overworked thirty-something year old single father with way too many responsibilities that hasn’t gotten laid in more years than you’ve been legal enough to drink.
So, after way too many months of hand holding and falling asleep together on your couch with all of your clothes on, you decide to take matters into your own hands.
Joel is a gentleman, yes, but at the end of the day he is, in fact, just a man.
You first get the idea from TikTok. You run into the trendy video about two months into the tentative relationship you have with Joel while doomscrolling one late night when he is stuck at work and you find that you can’t sleep until you know he’s home safe. The video is of a young bride that, on her wedding day, has her maid of honor hand deliver several naughty polaroids to the groom and record his reaction to them. You’re not even close to being married, but you giggle at the flustered look on the groom’s face while he tries to pretend he’s not affected by the surprise and the idea stays in your brain, simmering and festering and gaining ground.
You log onto your Amazon account and you buy the stupidly expensive Polaroid camera just as Joel checks in, texting to let you know he’s home safe and sound.
The first photo is not that risqué. You’re in the tub, entire body covered by foam and bubbles and the only part of you that is visible is your legs, propped up on the corner of your clawfoot tub, the warm gold lighting from the candles reflecting on the wet glimmer of your skin. It takes you five tries to get the picture the way you want it to, the right bending of your knees and the right prop of your red-coated toes.
You leave it on the dashboard of his truck the next day while he’s distracted filling up the tank, hoping he’ll notice it before Tommy does. Your phone rings ten minutes after he leaves to oversee some field work on the other side of town but you don’t answer— Instead you just send him a kissy face emoji when he takes a picture of the Polaroid and sends it to you with about seven interrogation marks.
You escalate a little with the next one, a mirror selfie from your bedroom, the clunky camera covering your face, your nightgown being the focus: It’s deep burgundy, silky and flimsy and the hem ends at the halfway point of your thighs; you draw a little heart on the white strip at the bottom and then slips it on his coat pocket two days later. He catches you red-handed, and stares at it for a long moment before he leans in, his big hand squeezing your hip.
“You look beautiful in red.” Joel whispers before he leaves for the night, and although that is the only comment he makes, the way his eyes rake through your body before the door closes leaves you tingling.
You don’t take any pictures for the rest of the week, feeling stressed and bloated and frazzled from the overwhelming surge of deck renovations that comes in with the beginning of summer and every single client demanding a magic overnight build or to be bumped up on the waiting list or just being generally rude because they think they’re allowed to. Joel listens in silence as you complain about it, his lips pressed to your knuckles, warm eyes on your face, letting you vent until your throat is raw before he decides to drive for a late night dinner at your favorite food chain.
You see the nightgown Polaroid inside his wallet as he pulls out his card to pay for the meal and that alone fixes all of your worries— The curly fries help, too.
The next photo is not exactly of you, but you like it anyway— You take it in your bathroom, a pair of see-through panties hanging over the round make-up mirror on the counter. The reflection is fogged from the too-hot shower you just came out of and it helps blur your body in the mirror: Just the foggy curve of your naked waist, with you angling your body just enough to keep most of it out of the frame. Joel doesn’t mention the picture but, the next time he leaves your house, you see the soft mint green of fabric poking from his backpocket.
‘Did you steal my underwear?’ You text him later in the evening as your body thrums with desire and you can’t properly fall asleep.
Joel takes a long time to reply and, when he does, it’s with a picture of his own: Your underwear on his nightstand, the flimsy fabric stained with thick ropes of cum.
‘You’re not the only one that can use a camera’ he texts you right after the photo but you’re too busy with your hand between your legs to reply.
When Joel brings up a trip to a lakeside cabin over a three day weekend that Tommy is free to babysit, you say yes before you can even think it through— You make a joke about checking in with your boss for a PTO request and, cheekily, he tells you that there’s a lot of ways for you to earn as many days off as you’d like. Joel has never made a dirty joke regarding work before, has always been very explicit and firm when it comes to letting you know that your relationship would never affect your workplace and it makes you wonder just how much of his selfcontrol you’ve managed to chip away with your little photos.
You take the most explicit one just two days before the trip, your hand stuffed inside your underwear as you lay in bed, legs spread open; you’re in nothing but red satin panties and a pair of latex thigh high boots that a friend gave you for your birthday and you never found the courage to wear out in public. The picture doesn’t show anything above your navel, but you take the time to spread body glitter all over every bit of skin that is on display; there’s no way anyone can even tell it’s you, but you know Joel will recognize the gold bracelet he gave you when you had first started going out.
‘Thinking of you’, you write on the bottom, slipping it inside his wallet during a lunch break and making a quick exit before he can even consider looking inside, too embarrassed to see his reaction in public.
Joel calls you later that evening, and this time, you pick it up.
“You’re killin’ me.” He groans as a greeting and you giggle, phone pressed to your ear, your face burning so much you think it might explode. “Just killin’ me, sweetheart.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Joel.”
“Sure you don’t, you lil’ minx.”
You giggle again, your fingers toying with the hem of your sleep shirt. “Did you like it?”
“Yes.” He answers immediately. “Fuck, yes.”
You lick your lips, thinking back to the only photo he sent you. “Do you… Do you touch yourself to them?”
Joel hesitates just for a moment, enough that you know he’s considering lying.
“Joel,” You whine, both a warning and a plea.
“I did. I do. The one with the nightgown— That’s my favorite.” His breathing is shallow, his voice low and rough enough to make your body tingle. “Is that what you’re wearin’ to bed at the cabin?”
“Not really.” You answer, and it’s hard to hold back the grin. “I was thinking more like that lipstick you like and nothing else.”
Joel groans into the phone, the rumbling noise making your insides shake.
“You have no idea what you’re doin’ to me.” He says, the Texan accent you love so much growing thicker.
“Tell me.” You say before you can think it over, the tip of your fingers brushing against the hem of your sleep shirt. “Tell me what I do to you, Joel.”
“I’m rock hard right now, babygirl.” Joel says, and the picture it paints makes heat pool between your legs. “Had to jerk off twice at work today ‘cause I opened my wallet at lunch and saw ‘em pretty legs. Keep thinkin’ about what they’d look like spread open f’me.”
“They’re spread open for you right now.” You follow through with it, your knees falling to the sides. Your hand teases the edge of your underwear but your voice quivers with a hint of shyness— You’ve never done this before with anyone, but the pictures and the thoughts of your upcoming trip have you so worked up that you don’t even feel guilty for it.
“Can you touch that lil’ clit f’me?” He asks and you can hear that there is more to it than just a request. It’s Joel’s way of getting you to consent, the way he can make sure you’re comfortable with finally crossing the line.
“Yes.” You breathe out, your hand sneaking inside your underwear. You moan a little louder than you would’ve if you were by yourself, wanting to give Joel a little bit of a show.
“Put me on speaker.” Joel orders. “Wanna hear how messy she gets for me.”
Joel has always been bossy; with you, with his brother, with the men that work for him. He’s not overbearing or rude, just stern enough to make you comply without thinking, trusting that he knows what he is doing and that he’ll take the reins of the consequences if needed. So you do as he tells you, fumbling with your phone for a second and letting it fall on the bed near your hip. Your fingers dip lower, collecting your wetness before bringing it back to your clit; the modest cotton underwear you’re wearing dampens the sound a little so you hastily pull it off, the piece of clothing remaining stuck to one of your ankles as you run tight circles over your clit.
“Feels so good, Joel.” You say, so wet that the sound reverberates through the room. “Wish you were here. Wish you were the one touching me.”
“I will.” He says, his breathing labored. You can hear Joel spit before a rhythmic slicked sound takes over the speakers. “Two days, babygirl. Just two more days and then I’ll fuck you so good you won’t want me to ever stop.”
You moan, a high pitched little sound that escapes your lips when your fingers touch a particularly sensitive spot at the very edge of your clit and the wet sound coming from your phone fastens. You picture Joel, sitting in his bed, his hand furiously rubbing at his hard cock.
“I can hear you.” You say, your lips wobbling into a smile. You slide your hand a little lower, pushing your middle finger inside; the stretch it’s not enough, it’s not him, but it’s better than nothing. “You’re touching yourself too, aren’t you?”
“Yeah.” Joel groans, and you try to focus on the way he switches rhythms, going from fast to slow and then picking up speed again. “He can’t wait to meet you. Been cravin’ that sweet little pussy since the day we met.”
You whine, slipping a second finger inside of yourself, working your pussy open with one hand as you clumsily thumber at your clit with the other. “Fuck, Joel, you can’t say shit like that—”
“No, baby?” He coos, his voice taunting and breathless at the same time. “You don’t want to hear about how my cock’s been droolin’ whenever I think about you? When you show up to work in those jeans, perkin’ your tight lil’ ass at me? Bendin’ over my desk like a minx?”
Your fingers speed up at his words, a loud keen of Joel’s name escaping your lips as you come, your breathing fast and helpless as you work yourself through your orgasm. Joel groans on the other side of the phone, a sound low and guttural and long enough to know he’s also coming. You pull your hand away from your opening but you don’t stop the slow circles on your clit, Joel’s heavy breathing almost covering up the wet sounds of your fingers. Almost.
“Fuck, you’re still goin’, babygirl?”
“Yeah,” you whine, eyes closed as you focus on the feeling— Slower this time, more intentional, taking your time. “I just need you so bad.”
Joel cusses under his breath, so low you almost miss it. “Talk to me, baby.” He pleads, his voice rougher than it’d been before. “Tell me what you want me to do to you.”
“I—” You hesitate, licking your lips, unsure of just how much you can say before you scare him off. But you’re still so turned on, so wet and hot, so you just close your eyes and picture him there with you, the words leaving your mouth before you can think them over: “I want you to fuck me from behind, pushing me down on the mattress, your big— fuck, your big bicep wrapped around my neck.”
You’re just a little ashamed at your own words but, to his credit, Joel doesn’t skip a beat.
“Yeah? My sweet lil’ baby wants me to rough her up a lil’?”
“Yes.” You breathe out, your fingers slowly picking up the pace; you can see it clearly behind your closed eyelids: you, laying on your stomach, one hand grabbing the sheets, the other clutching Joel’s hair. The weight of his big body pressing down against you, his stomach slotted into the small of your back, that thick arm of his wrapped around your throat, pulling you backwards and holding you hostage all the same.
You come just like that, legs sprawled on your bed while Joel eggs you on over the phone, tiny little black spots clouding your vision.
At first, the pictures had been just to tease him; they made you feel good about yourself, sure, and his reactions too, but it was meant to be just something to get Joel to break. And now that he has, you don’t stop.
Because teasing him becomes fun.
Friday morning, the day of the trip, Joel holds a meeting— It’s just a check in he does weekly with his crew, setting new goals for the coming week and handling any setbacks or complaining from the guys; it’s the most formal Joel gets as a boss, which means that he’s leaning against the table next to the coffee machine when he speaks, hands shoved in his pockets, talking gruff and fast before he lets the workers begin their day.
Your heels clack when you walk into the container that is being used as headquarters on this particular job, the yellow hardhat hanging from the crook of your elbow— Joel stops halfway through a sentence, clearly not expecting you here, but you simply cross the room with a smile and your iPad in hands.
“I’m so sorry to interrupt, Mr. Miller, but I need your help for a moment.” You turn the iPad, that had been clutched tight to your chest, so only he can see the screen— There, nestled in the corner and tucked against your thumb, is a polaroid.
It’s a picture of the wheel of Joel’s truck, a flimsy piece of powder blue hanging from the rearview mirror— On the mirror itself there is only the partial reflection of your face, your lips plump and glossy shining next to the reflection of the Polaroid camera itself. It’s a tame one despite the panties hanging from the mirror but you can see the way Joel’s body shifts, how he’s suddenly far too aware that he’s staring at your underwear in a room full of men.
“When’s— When’s this from?”
“Few minutes ago.” You answer, keeping your voice light and professional. “It’s still wet.”
“What’s still wet?” The question comes from Tommy, who is leaning too far away to see the iPad but you figure he knows his brother’s face well enough to make a good guess.
“The cement.” You say, your grin matching Tommy’s. “Someone poured a load of concrete in the wrong place.”
Tommy’s eyes bounce between you and Joel, his shit-eating grin widening when Joel carefully plucks the polaroid from the iPad and shoves it into his back pocket as casually as he can.
“I’ll deal with that later.” Joel says, clearing his throat. His face is impassive, professional, but his eyes burn when they turn to you. “Now, as I was sayin’ —”
“That’s okay, take your time.” You interrupt him, an innocent smile on your lips. “Maybe I can get Tommy or someone else to help me before it dries.”
“No.” Joel barks before Tommy can even take a breath to answer, so hard and fast even some of the workers snap to attention. “Go sit in my car, I’ll deal with that as soon as I can.”
You hold his gaze.
“Yes, sir.”
The passenger side door yanks open and you yelp, hands clutching your chest when Joel’s head pops in.
“Jesus fuck, Joel, are you trying to kill me?”
“No. Are you?” He asks, frowning when he pulls the polaroid from his pocket. “In front of my crew? Really?”
You giggle. He sounds angry, yes, but not too angry— Not to the point where you’d consider apologizing. “It was urgent, Joel.”
Joel wraps a hand around your ankle, pulling so you slide across the seat, your legs dangling off of the truck.
“Urgent.” He mutters, disdain dripping from a single word. Joel raises his head ever-so-slightly, making sure there is no one around before he ducks in for a kiss. Your hands wrap around his shoulders, fingers digging into the hair on the nape of his neck; Joel’s been letting his hair grow out since you’ve started dating, his curls becoming more prominent when you started forcing him to properly care for them.
“Had me rock hard in the middle of a meeting. All my men in the fuckin’ room.”
You giggle again, smiling against his lips and Joel pulls back at that, pinching your thigh— Not hard enough to hurt, just enough to have you swallowing down your laughter.
“Do you think any of them noticed?” You ask, biting down on your bottom lip to hide the smile threatening to come through.
“Tommy sure as shit did.” Joel shakes his head. “Goddamn it, woman, I ain’t gon’ hear the last of this.”
“You should’ve seen your face.” You say, shoulders shaking with laughter. “I thought you were going to pop that vein on your forehead.”
“I was poppin’ somethin’, alright.” As much as he tries to be stern, you can see his lips fighting a smile. “Why are you laughin’? This is a very serious situation. Do you have any idea what it was like finishin’ that meeting when all I could think about was bendin’ you over the hood of my truck?”
“There’s still time for you to bend me over the hood.” You tease, legs spreading just a little more. “My underwear’s still off. Won’t be for long, though. I have to go back to work and my boss—”
Joel’s hands drift higher, underneath your skirt, and you lose momentum with your words, stuttering an end to a sentence that wasn’t finished yet. He notices, of course, a lazy smirk stretching underneath his mustache. “What’chu were sayin’ about your boss?”
“He’s a real stickler for the rules.” You say, goosebumps erupting on your skin when Joel’s hands climb higher and higher. “Never lets me have any fun.”
“Oh, I think you’ve had enough fun.” He hums when his fingers find your bare core. Joel is struggling to keep his composure, you can tell by the way his shoulders stiffen when he slides his middle finger over your slit, his other hand gripping your thigh just a little harsher. “So fuckin’ wet. Did you touch yourself?”
“Nope.” You say with a demure shake of your head; he raises an eyebrow, unbelieving, but you simply offer him a toothy grin. “Got like this just from thinking about you.”
Joel’s mouth crashes onto yours. The finger ghosting over your entrance pushes in with a little more intent, collecting your slick and bringing it up to your clit; it makes you gasp against Joel’s lips, your hands digging into his shoulders to ground yourself. He touches you slowly but firmly, reverently almost as the pads of his fingers circle your clit.
“Such a naughty lil’ thing.” Joel mumbles against your lips. “Teasin’ me like that. Could barely speak, thinkin’ about this wet pussy gettin’ off on my truck.”
Your hands slide from his shoulders to his chest, fingers digging into the hard panes of his torso before settling on Joel’s belt buckle. He mouths at your jawline, tilting your head back with his nose as he trails down your neck. You’re more than a little confused when Joel pulls his hand from your clit, pushing your hands away from his jeans.
“Hands behind your back.” He tells you, pupils blown wide as he waits for you to obey. “You don’t get to touch me.”
“All the fun and none of the work?” You ask, giggling to yourself as you adjust your body in the position he’s asking for, leaning your weight back on both of your hands. “I don’t think you’re very good at the punishing thing.”
The smirk Joel gives you makes your thighs tremble. He doesn’t answer, just pushing your thighs further apart and your skirt high up your waist, exposing you to him. Joel runs his fingers down your cunt, collecting the wetness seeping out of you before smearing it all over your clit in wide, lazy circles. You try to push your hips up, trying to get more friction out of it but Joel just pushes you down with his free hand, his weight hefty on top of your hip.
“Hold still.” He barks, raising his head just once to make sure the parking lot is still empty before he resumes his movements.
It’s torture. Joel moves his fingers for himself, learning the right pressure and speed that has you keening before he switches directions, plunging a finger then two inside of you before pulling both of them out entirely, flicking and pinching your clit until you have tears behind your eyes.
“Joel, please.” You say, out of breath, holding back a sound that is both a sob and a growl. “Please, just let me come.”
He hums, slipping two fingers inside of you, the heel of his palm grinding against your clit. Joel stops moving then, pressing down onto your clit, two thick fingers buried inside.
“Not sure you deserve it, baby. You’ve been so bad to me.”
“I’m sorry.” The words come out of your mouth almost instantly, even though you don’t really mean it. “I’m so sorry, Joel. I thought we were just having fun! I didn’t— Fuck, please. It wasn’t that serious—” He hesitates for a moment longer, and you barrel through, still talking, still trying to figure out what exactly he wants to hear from you. “Please, honey, I really am sorry. I didn’t mean to tease you like that— I’ll be good. I promise I’ll be good.”
That little sentence seems to be the golden one. Joel pulls his middle and ring finger almost entirely out before plunging them back in, crooking them upwards as his thumb flicks over your clit; you’re so overstimulated, so past the point of fully conscious that you barely notice the way your body locks when you come, one hand digging into the leather seat while the other flies to Joel’s hair, pulling him close when your spine arches, your mouth finding his in the middle of your high strung whines.
His fingers pump in and out of you until your legs are shaking, your wetness sliding down your ass all the way to the seat. Your tongue laps against his, the kiss lazy but no less heated; you only pull back when you’re completely out of breath, a smile tugging at your kiss-bruised lips.
“You really are terrible at doling out punishment.” You giggle, squirming away when Joel tries to pinch your ribs. But he can’t even pretend to be annoyed anymore, face flushed and smiley when he looks at you.
“Don’t worry, baby.” Joel presses a kiss to your lips, tugging your skirt down. “I’ll spank you raw as soon as we’re alone.”
“Promises promises, Joel Miller.”