Burn Marks | Kinktober Day 19 – Cigarettes, Public , Daddy Kink | Watchmen

Intro:

The cold night air hit your bare skin like a physical slap the second Blake kicked open the heavy metal exit door, hauling you out onto the narrow, rusting fire escape balcony suspended high above the noisy, filth-ridden city streets. The metal grate groaned ominously beneath your boots, vibrating with every heavy step he took as he dragged you by the wrist into the dark shadow of the building's exterior.

"Keep your mouth shut unless you want the whole damn block watching," Blake grunted, his voice a gravelly, smoke-roughened growl that held zero room for protest.

He didn't care that anyone looking up from the alley below could see you. In fact, the sick, volatile risk of it only made his grin wider, his dark eyes gleaming with unhinged amusement under the flickering yellow glare of a distant streetlamp. He slammed you hard against the freezing brick wall, his massive, imposing frame completely pinning you in place, shutting off any possible avenue of escape. His leather jacket reeking of gunpowder, stale bourbon, and cheap tobacco pressed hot against your bare chest.

With one hand casually holding you pinned against the rough masonry, he reached into his pocket, flicking open a worn metal Zippo with a sharp clink. He lit a cigarette with a snap of flame, the golden light illuminating the jagged, silver scar running down the side of his face. He took a long, deep, deliberate drag, the tip glowing bright orange in the gloom, before leaning down until his scarred face was from yours.

Blake blew the thick, hot stream of grey smoke directly across your lips and nose, clouding your vision and forcing you to breathe him in as his heavy, free hand slid down to viciously yank your pants and underwear down around your thighs in one brutal motion.

"Look at you, shaking out here in the cold," Blake chuckled darkly, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. He flicked the lit cigarette onto the metal grate near your feet, where ember sparks scattered into the night, before clamping his thick, calloused fingers around your jaw in a vice-like grip. "All goosebumps and trembling. You always were a bad fucking influence, weren't you?"

He unbuckled his own heavy leather belt with a sharp metallic clatter, freeing his thick, aching , already slick and burning hot against the freezing night draft. He didn't bother with prep or patience. He lined himself up at your entrance, hooked one of your knees over his hip, and shoved himself inside with one brutal, unyielding thrust that pinned your hips flat against the unforgiving brickwork.

A low, primal groan tore from his chest as he buried himself to the root. He paused for just a second, letting you absorb the full, thick stretch of him, before he began a heavy, punishing rhythm, driving into you with a relentless force that made the entire iron balcony rattle against its mounts. His calloused thumb dug harshly into the meat of your cheek, forcing your head straight so your tear-filled eyes stayed locked onto his wild, dark gaze.

"You like being out here like a shameless little for me, don't you?" Blake rasped into your ear, his rough stubble scraping against your sensitive skin. His teeth grazed your pulse point before biting down hard enough to draw a sharp gasp from your throat and leave a deep, bruising mark. He reached back with his free hand, tangling his fingers in your hair and pulling your head back, forcing your neck fully exposed to the freezing wind. "Say it. Tell me who you belong to out here in the dark. Call me Daddy... say it nice and loud so the whole fucking world knows."

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