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ineffable kinktober by @quefish77 day 7: roleplay (austin powers & fembot)

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Ineffable Kinktober, Day 3: Authority ⚓️✨

Very loosely inspired by The Terror 💫

CW: Captain/steward relationship, D/s, boot worship, oral sex, come swallowing, mention of/referenced consensual flogging, wax play and human furniture

*

The polished glide of leather under his tongue is a more generous provision than Crowley ever might have allowed himself to hope for, and his captain’s tender, murmuring praise is another impossible gift entirely.

“Such a meticulous and fastidious mouth you have, Crowley,” Captain Aziraphale Fell whispers so affectionately that Crowley has to close his eyes, needing to scrawl that exact adoring tone into the walls of his heart along with the rest of the entries inspired by the man he serves with all of its beating strength.

There had been nothing particularly moving in regards to being a steward until Crowley came into the service of Captain Fell, who had greeted him with a smile and a handshake, the haughty countenance commonly adhered to great men nowhere to be found on his person. He’s since come to know that Captain Fell is indeed a great man, one that makes Crowley feel like he’s a precious thing, more treasured than any rare cargo or that insidious temptress known as glory, the one that seduces droves of men into her false promise.

Crowley has always had a talent for serving, and it had never been acknowledged as much more than a job he’s meant to do, but that changed as the steward of Captain Fell, who expressed such unfettered delight in him that Crowley could scarcely withhold himself from begging to drop to his knees in his presence.

Luckily for him, he didn’t have to resort to pleading, and now he’s exactly where he longs to be; on his knees, the planks of the ship cutting into them sweetly as he cleans his captain’s boots, which he keeps spotless anyway, but that he aches to burnish with his tongue nonetheless.

It’s a merciful largesse, as are the many excess acts of service Captain Fell grants Crowley along with his typical duties— to function as his footstool at the end of a tiring day, to splay across his lap, his naked back a writing desk or a stand for whatever book Fell buries himself in, offering a bare wrist to test the viscosity of the scalding wax used to seal letters, the pinkened skin they leave behind kissed and soothed by a comforting tongue that journeys upward to leave behind its own signature on territory easily concealed by a high collar.

Crowley shivers as a draft catches him, wearing naught but a long linen shirt, exposed feet and legs bearing most of the chill as he gazes up into eyes more fair than a clear autumn morning, the cold not registering beyond the haze of warmth surrounding him as he dutifully favors the obsidian leather encasing the feet he worships.

“You’re cold, dear boy,” Captain Fell extends a hand down to thread his fingers through Crowley’s hair, massaging his scalp and delicately scratching, causing Crowley to swallow his possibly impertinent protest of ‘no sir, not at all; I’m on fire, as I always am at your feet’, “and I cannot in good conscience abide such a thing.”

The hand in his hair retreats only to offer itself to him, palm up, a gentlemanly invitation Crowley takes with a trembling hand, getting to his feet and standing before Fell, who leans forward, pressing his cheek to Crowley’s stomach and slipping his fingers beneath the thin garment ending at his thighs, palming at his hips and lower back with gently insistent desire.

“S-sir,” Crowley breathes when Captain Fell nuzzles against his erection; he’s been hard since he’d begun his endeavor, his body responding to the position of being on its knees and his tongue servicing as it’s meant to do, “let me— please, allow me to—”

He’s trying to beg for the privilege to take Fell in his mouth, to implore him not to bother with Crowley’s pleasure, it’s not important and it’s beneath his dignity to even consider such a thing despite how divine it would feel, but he’s cut off by a warm palm taking him in hand, by a practiced thumb spreading the welling evidence of his desire over the length of his cock before fully stroking him from root to head, and Crowley shoves a fist in his mouth to stifle his nearly pained moan.

“I know you’d not deny your captain, hm?” Fell whispers as his hand easily slips and slides over Crowley’s cock, working him exactly as he likes, with just the right amount of pressure and a twist towards the head that has him whimpering helplessly into his hand, “you’ll permit me to savor my steward just as I like, I daresay.”

Crowley nods, hesitantly rocking his hips in pursuit of the friction of the hand pumping him that Fell briefly withdraws in order to lavish with his tongue, wetting it in a gesture that has Crowley fearing he may faint before it returns to its previous, gloriously expert rhythm.

“It ought to be a sin, assigning someone so beguiling and beautifully obedient to a selfish man such as me,” Fell looks up at Crowley before licking the head of his cock languidly, luxuriously lapping at the slit and making it impossible to breathe; Crowley reaches out to brace himself against a wool clad shoulder, gripping the fabric and trying to mumble out an automatic apology for doing so until his captain nods, murmuring, “yes, my darling, that’s it; lean on me,” he returns to sucking Crowley with a passion that’s dizzying, as if he’s relishing in a delicacy he’s not had in years, and it still feels wrong, being the one to receive such ardent attentions instead of giving them, but Fell is right— who is Crowley to deny his captain?

“Sir, I-I’m—” Crowley does as he’s told and sinks his weight into Fell, whose legs are spread and bracketing Crowley’s bare ones, protectively framing his shaking form; the hand not playing with his cock kneads all over Crowley’s lower body, and when its fingers trace over the healing, sensitive welts adorning his upper thighs that he’d pleaded his captain to bestow on him— the ones that when given made him come all over the cabin floor untouched— that’s when he loses the weakening control over himself.

“Please,” Crowley scrambles to grab Fell’s other shoulder, his fingernails digging into the navy wool so harshly it hurts, his jaw smarting with the effort to keep quiet, his voice quivering, “m-may I, sir, p-please, may I come—”

Fell nods before pulling back just enough to murmur, “come, my sweet siren,” his one hand not diverting from its course over his cock, wet and slick and lovely, his other still teasing along the tender wheals of what was a skillfully administered, devastatingly loving flogging, “grant me the pleasure of having you, just like this,” he takes Crowley back inside his mouth, the suction and glide of his tongue shattering the last of Crowley’s resolve, who returns a fist to his mouth, hoping it muffles his cry enough as he comes. He spills into his captain’s mouth and throat, collapsing against him in a boneless heap, pulled into his arms like a tide pulling the sea back into its heart once it wanders too far, just as his captain always draws Crowley into his strong, steady embrace.

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ineffable kinktober by @quefish77 day 6: spanking :)

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Ineffable kinktober by @quefish77

5. Piercings/tattoos

Ah I didn't have enough juice to finish it on time but here is a WIP of Aziraphale with a lovely collection of piercings preening to his lover 💕

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Ineffable Kinktober, Day 2: Virginity 🌹✨

“Aziraphale…”

A tender, delicate newborn lamb, struggling to get to its ungainly feet with a determination that will only get stronger as it grows; that’s what Crowley puts Aziraphale in mind of, spread under him as silky and soft and as open as an unfurling, dewy centered lily, brow knitted in stubborn concentration as he tries to take Aziraphale’s cock, his body unused to this new intrusion of its kind but rocking towards it in spite of the overwhelming pressure and stretch.

“Breathe, Crowley; don’t push yourself, sweet thing, just relax. You are doing so well, so very well, my dear,” Aziraphale coos as he himself opposes his own corporation’s desires, fighting not to ruthlessly plunge into the impossibly tight warmth he’s splitting open for the first time, battling to keep hold of himself and to apply restraint, but it’s immensely difficult. Crowley wanting him so desperately is an inebriant unlike any Aziraphale has imbibed, which for a hedonist like himself is saying quite a lot indeed, and the slick, welcoming heat of his virginal cunt sucking Aziraphale inside despite what he knows must be at least a little pain is indescribable. He might even dare to compare it to what Heaven ought to be, in theory— warm, dizzyingly comforting and somewhere you want to return over and over and over— not the icy halls devoid of joy and pleasure.

“But I,” Crowley sucks in a breath almost petulantly through gritted teeth as he rolls his hips further, whimpering as Aziraphale sinks into him deeper— he’s nearly fully inside, now, almost engulfed in the demon, and Aziraphale can’t help but shake with the sublimity of the pleasure and the urge to fuck, to breed, “I want it— want you, angel, f-fuck, waited too long, waited so long for this.”

“I know,” Aziraphale groans as the fluttering contractions around him ebb and flow, as he finally bottoms out and catches the cry the action inspires with his mouth, soothingly kissing Crowley through it as he settles into him, as their bodies at last become flush with one another, “you waited for so long, and you kept this lovely, pretty cunt so tight for me, didn’t you,” he withdraws minutely before sheathing himself again, repeating the gentle range of lotion agonizingly slowly until Crowley’s brow finally twists into something more pleased than uncomfortable, “you spent so long, aching for me and for this, saving it for me and me alone.”

Crowley nods as his undulating, serpentine grinding grows more lissome, more fluid, and Aziraphale looks down to see his cock shining with the demon’s wetness disappearing into his swollen, glistening cunt, catching the low light they’re bathed and making his tongue jealous, but he can hardly dwell on that as Crowley’s previously hesitant, grappling attempts to open for Aziraphale grow more confident and hungry, and within minutes he’s fucking himself onto Aziraphale’s cock beautifully, his clever hips and waist already having memorized the series of movements needed to smoothly take cock and to take it well.

“Slow down, greedy thing,” Aziraphale’s hands drift down from cradling Crowley’s shoulders to latch onto the slender waist that’s haunted his dreams and shameful late night endeavors for millennia, “going to make me come far too soon, my darling— look how swiftly you’ve opened up for me, how perfectly you’re taking me— have you practiced, dove,” he can’t help it; against good sense, Aziraphale starts thrusting with more force and speed, but the burst of Crowley’s breathless moan and the squeeze of his cunt encourages his increasingly vigorous pace, “I wonder how many helpless nights you spent filling yourself with whatever you could find, when your lovely long fingers weren’t enough—“

“O-oh, f-fuck,” Crowley whimpers as he does as he’s told and slows his frantically rocking hips, but only slightly, seemingly unable to completely stop himself, “fuck, m’fingers are b-bloody useless compared to this,” his fully ophidian eyes lock onto Aziraphale’s, wide and vulnerable and breathtaking in their glittering splendor, “was made for your cock, angel, all of m-me was made f-for you,” Aziraphale’s head falls forward as what feels like very deliberate clenching hugs his cock, his hips faltering in the face of the euphoric constriction, “so you’d b-better t-take what’s yoursss, and make up for the c-cccenturies my cunt has been waiting for you to claim it.”

Aziraphale could not describe the rest of that first night to anyone in any terms resembling coherency, not after those flammable words ensnared his entire being and caught fire within, igniting what’s always been there and what he’s always known to be true, smoldering as embers in the pit of his stomach and tingling tinder in his veins. All he knows for certain is that he did as Crowley bid him to do— he claimed him over and over and in as many ways as they could manage, until they both could no longer find the strength to keep going despite their tireless joined need of more—but they have the rest of time for that.

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Ineffable Kinktober, Day 1: Wings 🪽 ✨

“A-ah…angel, p-please, I need—”

“You don’t need anything, my darling demon,” Aziraphale purrs softly between hushed breaths as a few trembling, glossy primary feathers the color of onyx twirl around his aching cock, their previously rhythmic, steady stroking crumbling into clumsier motions as Crowley unravels, “but what do you want? Ask me, my dear, go on.”

His own pearly feathers slip and smoothly curl around Crowley’s cock, which is slick and has flushed into the prettiest cerise, reminding Aziraphale of the flesh of the sweetest cherries he always indulges in during late summer; his mouth is watering.

“Need to come— please, c-can I come, angel, please,” he’s desperate, poor thing, Aziraphale can see and hear in his pleading amber eyes and cracking, strung out voice, and he rarely finds the will to deny Crowley. It’s far too lovely a thing, witnessing him in the throes of carnal pleasure and bliss, and Aziraphale is sinfully covetous of lovely things.

“Yes, my sweet,” he murmurs, increasing the tempo of his wing, stroking Crowley that much faster and with that much more intent, “let me see you come, Crowley, come for me.” Before he even finishes speaking, Crowley tenses, his wings freeze; he’s completely still before he arches his back and comes with a devastating cry that Aziraphale will replay in his head for at least the next thousand years or so. He himself hisses at the euphoric sensation of his sensitive feathers being doused in blooming warmth, as his lover’s spend coats them in another layer of shining ivory.

“Open, dove,” Aziraphale whispers as he raises his quivering wing, pushing the tip of a dripping feather past Crowley’s kiss bitten mouth, which parts beautifully for him, taking Aziraphale inside and dutifully licking and sucking his come clean from the vane, his needy mewling reverberating so pleasantly up through the shaft and quill that the combination of sensations along with the friction of stilted feathers still fluttering around his cock pushes Aziraphale over the edge. He spills onto Crowley’s feathers with a strained groan, and they fall to rest on Aziraphale’s inner thigh, wet and heavy, twitching lightly in time with what Aziraphale knows by now is their shared heartbeat.

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Ineffable Kinktober by @quefish77

Day 1: Wings

Told you I'd come back to wing bondage sooner or later😌

Inspired by the sculpture Bound Angel by Sherry Tipton.

Disclaimer: this was drawn in advance, I'm only doing a handful of the prompts!! Please don't compare yourself or your productivity to this.

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A Demon

It's not that bad when you get used to it.

@goodomensafterdark see? Sometimes I do remember to tag you!

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This was today at @UNLV… Thanks to everyone who turned out with me! Are you in NV or AZ? Wanna come say hi? Take some selfies? Shoot the Breeze? I’ll be at UNLV in Vegas talking politics and stumping for Harris/Walz again tomorrow, Sept 19 at 10 AM and then in Phoenix, AZ tomorrow afternoon:

➡️ 10:00 AM: UNLV Free Speech Space

4505 S Maryland Pkwy Las Vegas, NV 89154

➡️ 1:00 PM: Arizona State University, (by the Memorial Union)

1290 S Normal Ave, Tempe, AZ 85281

➡️ 2:30 PM: Paradise Valley Community College

18401 N 32nd St, Phoenix, AZ 85032

Hope to see you there!

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We’ve got work to do: go make sure you’re good to vote & you could win a trip to a Supernatural convention (and tea with me)! https://links.impactive.io/t/bolmmyju

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Please sign the petition!!!