I Didn't Know I Needed Josh On A Leash So Bad - Blog Posts

Choker

Josh Kiszka x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: graphic sexual contact, language, dom/sub, collaring, exhibitionism (if you squint), dirty talk, masturbation, oral sex, references to Almost Famous (go watch that masterpiece), probably some other things I forgot.

Special thanks to @jake-kiszkas-smirk for supplying me with this delicious pic of our lord and savior

A tiny Grecian God, that’s how you might describe him were you asked to right now.

“Tiny” might ruffle another’s feathers; might make him feel less than, and emasculated…but Josh? That beautiful man is a horse of a different color.

He embraces who he is without thought. It has never occurred to him that his stature might have any bearing on who he is, or how he’s perceived…and he’s absolutely right. It doesn’t.

Except, that’s a bit of a white lie, isn’t it? Something about that miniature frame of his, still backed by such solidity and confidence…

It really does it for you.

The man is a powerhouse. A fiery stick of dynamite - small and unassuming…yet, packing a wild, lasting punch.

At this moment, he is glittering in gold, messily fixing himself a cocktail, rhinestones only half-complete across his flawless face.

He looks wild, curls twisting this way and that insanely atop his perfect head. Eyes shining and flashing with nerves and anticipation. Soft cock displayed like rock and roll art beneath his second skin of a jumpsuit.

“Hello, Penny.” He teases when he catches sight of you in the mirror, staring at his reflection.

It’s an inside joke that you can’t remember the start of any longer, it’s been so long running. In moments backstage like this, you’re his Penny Lane. A nod to an iconic, fictional, groupie in a movie too mainstream for him to readily admit to loving.

“Hello, tiny dancer.” You smile at him through the mirror and move forward as he turns to properly greet you. “Your face is lopsided.”

Your thumb traces over the shimmering studs adorning only one of his cheeks.

“Yeah?” His arms wrap around your waist. “Well, your face is heart-stopping, star fucker.”

A laugh, much too loud for the intimate moment, bubbles out of you as he watches on, loving you just a little more than he did ten seconds ago. Though, he would have thought that impossible.

“Star fucker?”

“That’s what you came for, isn’t it?” He pulls you in, palm firmly splayed across your lower back until your hips are pressed together. “Sneaky girl charmed her way backstage to procure a moment alone with the front man? Wanna run home and tell all your friends about Josh Kiszka’s big dick?”

“Are you drunk already?” You giggle, rolling your eyes at his nonsense.

“Maybe so, Penny…” he grins, grinding a little harder against you. “Maybe so. A dash of inebriation makes for a hell of a show. And here I stand, the world but a stage.”

There’s that hint of his transatlantic accent that holds such a dear place in your heart. On occasion, he sounds born of Hollywood’s golden era. As if he might suddenly grab his fedora and leave you in a cloud of Lucky Strike smoke as you weep prettily in a gauzy dressing gown.

Or perhaps, it’s the other way around, and it’s he that is the gentle damsel in love, leaning back seductively in your embrace. His parted lips and throat exposed, waiting for your kiss in a black and white room flickering across the silver screen.

Katharine Hepburn with a tambourine.

“Well, you just remember who you belong to when you’re out there counting the stars in their eyes.” you push him away fondly and grab territorially at his chest. “Your tits look phenomenal in this suit, by the way.”

His eyelashes bat so subtly you doubt he’s even aware of the butterflies he’s stirred to life in your stomach. “I love it when you objectify me.”

Slipping your hand beneath the silken fabric, you tease over his nipples, two light pinches curling into the tiny pebbles of flesh. “Your throat, too.” a warm kiss lingers, in order to bask in the gentle thump of his pulse for a moment. “If I had a cock, all pretty and hard, you know what I’d do with it?”

A huffing breath rolls out of him, famished and needful, already.

He is weak for these rare occasions with you. These moments when you fall into the waters of your constant, unbridled desire and sink fully to the filthy depths. “Tell me.”

“I’d slide it right here.” You graze your hand up between his perfectly defined pectoral muscles. “I’d make you press them together for me. I’d fuck them…and then I’d cum right here. “ You tap at his throat and a soft, hollow sound emanates from his Adam’s apple. “I’d paint your blushing skin just like you do mine.”

“Fuck…” the whimper that tumbles out of him is deliciously, sinfully, hauntingly, submissive. “C’mon, pen…” he’s trying to twist you around now, longing to bend you over the table. “We don’t have long.”

“Did you even notice it?” You question, lending a coy and mysterious tone to your pondering.

“Notice what, love?” He hums, charting maps with his lips and tongue wherever his mouth happens to land. Pulling at your cut up Greta shirt until it’s bunched up carelessly, showcasing the rounded tops of your breasts, and the simple black satin that cradles them.

“That.” Your explanation is colored with nonchalance as you point over his shoulder.

He turns, takes note of the discrete package, and then reaches out for it with one hand still firmly wrapped around the small of your waist.

“Penny lane came bearing gifts?” He teases with a wink. “Trying to buy your way into a comfy seat on my cock, are we?”

“Don’t be stupid,” you smirk, playing up the smug flare that is coursing through you, head to toe. “That seat already has my name written all over it. Now, open your gift.”

At last, he releases you in order to play into your little power trip. “What could it be?” He’s taking his time, carefully easing open the flimsy, plastic tablecloth from catering that serves as wrapping paper. You, having made do in a pinch.

Refusing to entertain his questioning, you simply lean back and quietly soak in his movements, impatient for the confusion you'll surely find when he sees the gift for what it is.

True to fantasy, his eyes light up like someone has screwed bulbs into his temples, gears turning as he attempts to work it out in his head. Fingers traveling reverently over the dainty, golden chain and the tiny key that dangles delicately from it.

It is undeniably lovely. Elegant. Unique. Timeless. And he is all of these things - still, this particular piece is decidedly not Josh. Though, he is far too kind to let on.

“It’s beautiful.” He smiles, shaking off the fact that it seems an odd present. You’ve never given him jewelry before, he thinks, but he’ll treasure it all the same. “Why do I get the feeling you’ll steal this and wear it more often than I do?”

You nod, rolling the secret around on your tongue like a lemon drop.

Slipping your index finger through the chain, you lift it out of the box. He watches it wink and catch the light..oblivious that there are more surprises to be had.

“You’re right. I will wear it more.” You agree. “Because it’s mine.”

His shoulders slump almost imperceptibly. He’s such a sucker for a little gift; almost childlike with his affinity for anything wrapped up pretty and presented with a bit of pomp and circumstance.

“Oh, don’t look so somber, tiny dancer.” You smile gently, Running the tip of your finger down the perfect slope of his nose. “I’d never leave you out. Go have a little look in my bag.”

He follows your line of sight, anticipation alive in his eyes once again - then sidles over to the couch, excitement evident in his bare-footed step.

Practically sizzling with suspense, you’re laser-focused on his reaction as he pulls your bag open and stares down into the abyss that is your catch all.

A breath hitches in his throat deliciously when the cards fan into place.

“Is this a collar?” He asks quietly, the rumble of his lowest register causing a chill, like icy fingers, at the nape of your neck.

A slow, sly grin graces your lips and serves as his answer.

He displays it, as if you’ve never seen it before, as if you weren’t the one to carefully select it. It isn’t blatant. In fact, it could pass for an intricate necklace…a choker. Which is exactly why you were drawn to it.

“Yeah?” His eyes, heavy and swimming with palpable want, rise to meet your gaze. “You want to be all mine, pen? You want me to slip this around your neck and make you my pretty little pet?”

“No, no…” you pluck the collar out of his grasp and sweep your touch over the cool, shining gold. It exactly matches the gold that will shimmer flamboyantly against his jumpsuit and dazzle the crowd tonight as he works the stage, and their hearts. “This is for you, sweetheart. You’re going to be my pet tonight.”

“And if I say no?” He counters, just to stir the pot a smidge. He can’t help himself.

“Well,” you offer a tiny shrug. “If you really don’t want to, you can always use your safe word and this goes no further. However, if you want to say no just to earn a reaction, I’ll save you the trouble…”

You wait a beat, and he nods, biting the inside of his lip in an attempt to mask his enthusiasm.

Your thumb dips into the warm, wet heaven of his mouth. “If you say no just to misbehave, I’ll have no misgivings about putting you over my knee.”

He sucks, tongue swirling over the ridges of your fingerprint as the smallest whimper makes itself known in the back of his throat.

“Oh, did you like that?” You tease with a questioning tilt of your head. “You want mama to make it hurt a little until you’re my very good boy again?”

He pulls back with a muted pop, reaching to pull you into his arms. “Fuck, baby…c’mon, just a quick one before the show. I’m so fucking hard.”

You snap your fingers, a swift crack of a pop in his face to catch his attention and remind him of who is in the driver’s seat. “Settle down.” You soothe, while hanging on to an edge in your tone. “I think you need to find your center and take a deep breath.”

His fingers wander up your thigh with a suggestive tilt of his head, “I think I need to find your center and…”

You push him away with unwavering, yet loving force. “I said settle down…and you need to do something about this,” your fingers tap a light rhythm over his achingly hard cock through his jumpsuit and a soft, breathless moan calls back to you, relishing the attention of your touch where he wants it most.

“You do something about that, Penny.” He’s being a world class brat, but carrying out his insubordination via a delectably gravely tone, so you decide to allow it. “C’mon, you know just what I need, baby…just how I like it. Make me feel good. Don’t make me go out there hard and hurting.”

“You know,” you sigh, shaking your head in mild annoyance. “You’re being very bossy, but sort of whiny at the same time. I’m not sure what to do with you.”

He pulls you close, clinging to you with warm, electric, lust “You know exactly what to do with me.”

“You’re right.” You nod, giving his cock a gentle squeeze. Releasing him, you aim a finger at the vanity chair. “You just be a good boy and sit. I’ll finish your face before we put it on.”

He slinks down into the seat begrudgingly, casting a rueful stare up at you. “Don’t leave me like this.”

You grab the tiny cup of rhinestones, “Hush.”

“Wait,” it’s as though it has suddenly dawned on him. “Before we put what on?”

“Your collar.” You offer offhandedly, inspecting the placement of his glittering jewels in order to line them up correctly.

“On stage?” He pulls back, tugging his chin out of your tender grasp. “You can’t be serious.”

Your touch goes right back to holding him in place, tilting him upward until you can stare down into his chocolate eyes. “I’m very serious. I won’t attach the lead. And you know your safe word, so I suspect this little song and dance is just that - a song and dance. You want this just as much as I do. Likely more. You’re fighting me just to fight me. Stop.”

A slow nod and lazy lull of his eyelids only stand to confirm what you already knew. “There’s mama’s angel. Now you just breathe and be still, the quiet before the storm is good for you.”

“Are you referring to the show or yourself?” He smiles softly, easing back into the chair to allow your work.

“Me, tiny dancer.” You whisper, face close enough to nudge the tip of his nose with your own. “I am always the storm.”

~

For the first half of the show, you watch from the wings. Positively intoxicated by him, as always.

He becomes someone else entirely when he marches his way out into the lights. Feeds off the adrenaline powering through his veins like the sweetest drug. Steals the energy the fans readily give, and uses it to further sink his teeth into their hearts. He takes a little piece of them and leaves them with a chip of himself in return. They, forever his…and he, forever theirs.

Tonight, you’re there, too. Claiming him with that beautiful bit of gold latched and locked around his throat. Removable only by a turn of the key that rests against your breastbone.

Mine! You long to taunt out into the crowd like a bratty little girl gifted with a coveted doll.

Reluctantly, you leave him to it, with his three brothers to back him, while you ready for his return backstage. If only they would scrap the encore. You should feel guilty wishing to rob the fans of but a few more stolen moments. And usually, you would. Normally, such a thought would never even cross your mind to begin with, but tonight….

You hear Danny and Sam first, loping down the hall outside the dressing room door, loudly joking and laughing, stroking one another’s egos over a job well done.

Jake, quiet and reflective after a show, has probably already padded by unnoticed, likely berating himself silently over a mistake or two no one else even came close to noticing. He is hard on himself to a punishing degree, and it breaks your heart, but you’ll worry about platonically tending to his wounds later.

You watch the handle turn from your regal perch on the couch. Straight-backed, yet casual and self assured, you remind him of royalty…but it’s good that you aren’t privy to that fact yet, lest your head swell any further.

He has hardly had a chance to close the door when you order him to his knees.

He looks sinful. Flushed with color, eyes flashing, chest still heaving with exertion, curls askew and chaotic. He resembles a madman, and if you had a straight jacket at the ready, you’d wrangle him into it and fuck him like an insatiable nurse in an asylum.

You curl a finger at him, beckoning him closer “Come here.”

“Let me grab a towel first, pen.” He implores with no real conviction. “My face is all sweaty.”

“My thighs will work just fine, rockstar.” You click a heel harshly on the floor, summoning him. The spike of your pump drives a tiny wedge in the hardwood. You might feel badly for the damage if you could think about anything other than him, on his knees like a fallen god.

“Yeah?” He throws you a flirty smirk. “You want my mouth? You want me to baby that little wet cunt until you cum real sweet all over my tongue?”

“Save it.” You sigh, “I’m the front man now. So you just do as you’re told and look pretty. Then we’ll see if you’ve earned a rose.”

Pulling open the thin, waffle weave robe that should have been reserved for his after performance shower, you let him in on the secret: your heels are the only thing adorning your body, aside from that golden key reflecting the light with a wink…and you’ve been stretched out on the couch facing a very unlocked door with but a lightweight robe to guard your nonexistent innocence.

He turns to lock the door, but you stop him with a mere shake of your head. “You’ve just worn a collar in front of thousands and now you’ve found your modesty? No. If someone wants to come in and watch what a good boy you’re about to be for mama, let them.”

“Baby…”

“I said, let them.” You snap breathily, with another crack of your heel.

He winces at the noise, but it’s a lovely little moan of a sound that causes a tiny smile to tug at the corners of your lips.

“Yeah, c’mere, sweet boy…” you coax. “You want to so badly. I can feel it, how much you need me. I’m right here, baby.”

He starts to make his way closer, shuffling on his knees awkwardly, but then wisely thinks better of it and falls forward onto his palms, crawling on all fours. Wardrobe will have a field day with the white velvet knees of his jumpsuit.

“There’s mama’s good boy.” You praise softly, like a lullaby. “What would they all say if they could see you crawling for me? Those powerful hands that held their hearts just moments ago, on the dirty floor just to get a taste.”

“They don’t really want me that way.” He’s fishing for compliments as he bridges the gap between you slowly, but you know it stems from a well hidden, but very real nonetheless, sapling of self doubt that unfortunately flourishes inside his head. He didn’t seek this life out, and he still feels out of place in it now and then.

You arch a brow and roll your ankle, seductively bringing attention to the black leather you’ll have pressed into his back soon enough, with his angelic face between your legs. “Oh, no? Is that why you parade yourself around for them the way you do? The way you tease them with that pretty, soft cock that isn’t always quite so soft? The way you move like you’re fucking? Because they don’t want you that way?”

“Say more things like that.” He sighs, now close enough to rest his forehead against your silken shin.

“You’re a whore for praise,” you run your fingers through his dampened curls, raking your nails against his scalp. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

“No.” He lies boldly.

You know he wants to hear you say it again. He is surrounded with constant accolades from nearly every angle. The wunderkind in a genre dominated by seasoned, legendary heroes. He likes a bit of degradation now and then, as well. ‘Knock me down a peg or two’ his eyes whisper.

But, again, you’re steering this ship tonight.

“Well then, I wouldn’t want to spoil the record.” You pull him in close by the hair, and then closer still with your fingers tucked into his collar “My cunt is wet and lonely, tiny dancer. Why don’t you make me feel a little better?”

“Fuck…” the obscenity groans out of him low and long, and you throb at the sound of it. Nearly a growl. Animalistic and needful. Hungry. Primal.

You effectively shut him up with another harsh pull on his collar, burying his face between your legs. He shakes his head back and forth greedily - you are the elusive mirage he has been hunting down in the desert, and now you are his at last…quenching an ancient thirst.

“That’s it…” you breathe, rocking your hips up into his kiss. “Doing such a good job already. Were you thinking about this the whole time on stage? Famished for my cunt in that gorgeous mouth of yours?”

He nods eagerly, but refuses to stop long enough to answer you properly, which just so happens to be exactly the way you want it.

“Take it out.” You command softy, sucking in a hiss when the tip of his tongue laps over your swollen clit just right.

He’s fighting his way out of the confines of his suit instantly. Tugging his arms free of the sleeves and shoving it down his hips, mouth indulging you all the while.

You can’t get an unobstructed look, but a guttural moan vibrates into your pussy as it drips over his tongue, proving he has wrapped his fist around his neglected cock.

“Does that feel good, rockstar?” You tease, grip latched onto the collar unforgivingly. “Stroking your cock with a mouthful of pussy? Are you my sweet boy, doing so good for me?”

“I am…” he murmurs, muffled, yet eager, against your soaked folds. “Wanna make you cum.”

“Don’t worry about me.” You snatch at the golden choker, tugging him around between your legs. “You just take care of that pretty cock of yours. Fuck your fist like it’s my cunt sucking you in. Or my mouth. Or my ass.”

A long, loud, groan that borders on sounding painful, escapes him as he tugs your clit into his warm, wet mouth.

“Someone liked that.” You’re taunting him, hiding how close he has you already behind your mockery. “Wouldn’t that be lovely for your sweet cock right now? To be buried in that tight little forbidden spot? All warm, and snug, and wrong…”

“Fuck, baby…” he moans, releasing you from his kiss for but a moment. “Gonna cum…fuck, fuck fuck…”

“Up here,” you bite out harshly, yanking him up by the collar so roughly he chokes out a cough, “Right here, baby. Paint me pretty.”

His eyes lock in on where you’ve patted at your cunt to show him where you want it, and a mere second later, with a whining cry of your name, his release, hot and perfect, spills across you.

You watch with rapt attention, eagerly anticipating what you have up your sleeve next.

He catches his breath slowly, panting with his forehead buried against the softness of your stomach.

“Clean it up.” You order, lovingly petting at his hair.

“Hmm?” He sounds far away and blissfully blurry.

“Your mess.” You reiterate, with a snap of a tug on his curls. “Clean it up.”

You could laugh when he tries to rise to his feet for a towel, but instead, you hold fast to that collar that has rapidly become your very best friend. “With your mouth.”

Ever eager to please and prove his devotion to everything devious, he makes short work of the evidence. Savoring it like a fine wine. “You taste even better when I’m there too.”

You can’t hide the fond smile that plays over your lips. He loves himself almost as much as he loves you, and you like it just fine that way. He should be in love with himself as well…he is perfection, an angel floating along in this realm disguised as one of us.

How you managed to capture his affections you’ll never fully grasp.

Watching him lick the last of his release off the back of his thumb, you shake your admiration off and issue a brand new order.

“Fix your suit while I gather our things.”

“But you haven’t cum yet.” He protests with a petulant pitch in his tone.

You wave him off like it doesn’t matter as you fight to ignore the pounding, throbbing, ache between your legs. “Later.”

When, at last, you’re ready to leave, you slip the golden lead from your bag, swinging it down at your side as you make your way forward.

“Baby, there are still people out there.” He protests, but he can’t hide the intrigue in his complaint. And, as always, he knows his safe word for anything he isn’t truly comfortable with. His silence on that front speaks volumes.

“Hardly.” You click the leash in place at the back of his collar and ease him onto his feet. “Just be glad I’m not making you crawl.”

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