#Best Synthetic Oil

[engineoilcompany]

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[anantahuja]

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[oil-advisory]

Discover the Ultimate Performance Upgrade: Best Synthetic Engine Oil"

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[rofeibi]

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Unveiling ROFEIBI's Racing Moto Brake Fluid:

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[rajgroup]

Rajell White petroleum jellies are made from highly refined paraffinic mineral oils and gelling agents. These products are chemically and biologically inert and serve as excellent building blocks for a variety of formulated products that need high levels of compatibility and purity in delicate applications.

[the-californicationist]

Solomon's Seal

John Price works hard to maintain his self-discipline, but sometimes he loses his grip on that fiery temper of his. When he needs help to feel in control again, he turns to you and your impeccable rope skills. You try to keep things professional, but that proves challenging for both of you. After all, John is just a friend, one of your best clients… so why do you keep imagining him as more?

TW: rope bondage, femdom, crying, emotional hurt/comfort, female genitals. Please check AO3 link below for full tag list.

Big huge thank you and kudos to the amazing and beautiful @gemmahale for her ideas and support on this one! Love you, bestie.

You had cleared your schedule the moment you hung up the phone with him. His voice had sounded so strained, like he was struggling to say the words. You knew that, sometimes, John Price’s work asked too much of him, but this time, he seemed so far beyond his usual level of need that you decided it was better to play it safe and cancel all of your other clients for the week. 

As you cleaned your studio, you made additional preparations. Something in your gut was telling you to prepare for the worst. You did your best to remember what he liked. No music, low lights, a soft fan for a bit of a breeze, and jute ropes — none of the synthetics in sight. You eyed your collection; eight hanks should have been enough, but you grabbed four more from the back room just to be sure. 

You never really pried into his life during his visits, knowing there was probably much he couldn’t or wouldn’t tell you. He had given you just enough information for you to understand the basics, and you had scoured the internet with those small clues to uncover the rest. At best, he was a soldier, handling the expected dangers and stressors of the job. At worst, he was a literal weapon, aimed and fired at His Majesty’s darkest enemies; a demon hunter meant only for darkness and secrets and pain. 

When he had come to you last November, bruised and battered, craving your particular set of skills, you had surmised that it was the latter. Sometimes, when you caught a glimpse of the news, you looked at the bombed buildings of Urzikstan for a sign of him, hoping you wouldn’t see one. When there was a battle lost or won, plastered across the front page of the news, you wondered if he had been there in the thick of it, protecting the world from the monsters that ravaged that land, keeping them from your privileged doorstep. 

You checked your clock. He’d be in from Heathrow within the hour. You got to work in the wet room, digging around for the soaps he liked best. His favorite bathing oil was a complex, spicy mix of coriander, basil, and bergamot scents. You’d never admit it to him, but you used it when you found yourself thinking about him, unable to get your equally complex, spicy warrior out of your mind.

John was so different from most of your clients. Many people who came to you were usually seeking something other than what you were prepared to give them. Half of your customers came for sex, for which you added them to your blacklist. The other half was a mixed bag seeking humiliation or reassurance, trying to use you and your art as an alternative to counseling or as a way to explore their kinks. They usually didn’t return after they experienced the level of your craft. You did have a handful of repeat clients who appreciated the practice itself, but they usually had their own partners to play with. You were just a novelty to them. An escape. 

Working as a traditional Bakushi was no fleeting hobby, not for you anyway. For you, it was a spiritual calling. John was one of the only clients who understood that and actively wanted to learn more. He had asked for stretching routines, breathing exercises, and advice on meditation. Your soldier was the real deal, even if he couldn’t remember any of the terminology to save his life. You were just happy he had managed to adopt the word shibari into his vocabulary. You could forgive the rest. He didn’t need to know the names of the knots or the positions of the body in order to benefit from his practice. 

Your doorbell rang. You took a breath to calm yourself. You needed to be centered for John. Yes, you were excited to see him, but he needed you to be his rock right now, and you needed to push your own desires out of your mind.

The door cracked open, and there he stood. He was just as you remembered him, but he looked like he’d been through hell. Those bright blue eyes were sporting a dark, purple shiner on his left orbital bone. He had cut his lip across the top and bottom, a red line still marring the sensitive flesh. John had cut down his beard to a more manageable level, but his hair was long and unkempt. What worried you most were the dark red welts he wore around his neck. It looked like ropeburn. 

“John,” you smiled softly, “So good to see you again. Please come in.”

The formalities of such a polite greeting seemed silly to you after what you had been through together. Sessions with John were always… intense. 

He stepped into your foyer, looking at you like he had missed you, but you didn’t allow yourself to give in to the fantasy. He needed you to be professional, and you had a job to do.

You took his hand and led him into your sitting room, offered him a glass of water, and sat beside him. He held your hand in his, refusing to let go, playing with the small bones in your middle finger absentmindedly. You smiled at him, enjoying the quiet of his presence, letting yourself take in these silent moments, unwilling to break the spell of peace until absolutely necessary. 

He seemed content to bask in the tranquility as well, happy to rub your delicate knuckle back and forth with his thumb, letting his eyes explore you, lingering on your long, silk robe, his gaze burning into your sternum at the join of your breasts. 

“How can I help you, John?”

He took a long breath through his nose, his eyes diverting back down to your connected hands; shame, regret. 

“I lost control, again.”

You had heard those words from him before. When he first found you, he told you about his temper. He hadn’t given you any details, but apparently he had hurt an enemy beyond what was necessary. Something he had done had changed him. He wanted to be different, to be more even-keeled, so he’d come to you for help. 

“The same as last time?” You asked, hoping it would be better than you suspected.

“Worse,” he looked up at you and flashed a tight-lipped, bitter smile. 

You squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back. 

“Tell me what you need,” you ran your other hand across his wounded cheek, watching as the shine of his eyes gleamed in the low light. 

His emotions were at war all over his face. His wet lashes, the twitch of his lip, his darting, avoidant eyes; you could almost hear him fighting in his mind. You put a stop to it, scooting closer to him on the deep sofa, holding his stubbled chin in your hand, 

“Hey, you know you can tell me. If it’s within my power to give it to you, you know that I will.”

“I know, love,” he nodded his head, “I think you might try to talk me out of it, is all.”

You stayed silent, waiting for him to work it out. Rebuilding your trust together after some time apart wasn’t something to be rushed. Finally, after a few moments of thought, he studied your face and admitted his desires,

“I want it all. Just like last spring, but more. I need more.”

Your eyes widened before you could stop yourself. You remembered last spring. Vividly. In fact, you had thought about that appointment more times than you would ever admit. He had pushed himself so far, he’d trusted you so deeply, and you’d watched him heal from his wounds. He’d found a new kind of peace. You remember holding him, still bound, both of you sprawled across the floor, sweaty and grinning, your foreheads pressed together, sharing in his joy. 

But, you also knew that him wanting more meant that you would be restraining him from head to toe. He’d done arm and chest bindings with you, and in the spring, you’d put him in a single-leg frog tie. But, you’d never done full body work with him. For all of his progress, John still had issues letting his power be taken from him. He wanted to be in control, almost to the point of obsession, and it was only when he was in your ropes that he was able to practice internal control over himself without threat of judgment or danger. He could examine his temper in your safe setting, testing it like a scientist, finding new strengths within himself, mental hurdles to overcome.

However, you worried about what his mental state would be like when he was fully at your mercy. Had he ever been at anyone’s mercy? You doubted it. 

He could see you rolling over the problem in your mind, watching as you thought it through, imagining the possibilities. 

“What d’ya say, love? Think we can try?” His eyes met yours, and you nodded. 

“Yes, let’s try.”

“I might… uh,” he hesitated, clearly unsure of how his next request might be received, “I’m not sure how to say this, but I might need you… after. I know that’s not what you do, but after last spring, I thought you might make an exception.”

You were fully aware of what he meant. Last spring, laying there sweaty and swimming in euphoria together, you had broken your own rule. You’d let your body slide over John’s naked, tied form, and you’d rubbed his cock across your belly and on top of your pussy, sharing an orgasm together. It was reckless of you, and fully outside of the scope of your role, but it was what was right for you both at the time. He hadn’t asked for a repeat performance, always the perfect gentleman, until now.

You nodded, 

“Thank you for asking. We’ll see how it goes, and I’ll check in again at the end. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You moved to leave the comfort of the sofa, but he caught your hand,

“Can we start now? Just a bit. If that’s alright.”

“Alright,” you agreed, “Any new injuries I should know about?”

His face stretched into a boyish smile,

“Too many to count.”

You shook your head, ducking into your studio to grab one hank of rope,

“You’re the only one who gets a pass on that, you know.”

You watched his eyes dart to your hands as you untied the bundle, looping the rope end over end, making your first bight. His energy was electric, but you could see something dark slithering underneath. 

“I’ll start now, but you need to talk to me. What makes it worse now, John?”

You stood in the middle of the room, watching as he moved into position in front of you. You waited patiently, not needing to give him instructions. John knew what you wanted from him. 

He avoided your question, going through the motions of preparing his body for your work. He tugged off his coat and tee shirt, raking it over his broad back, and you tried to ignore the aching red marks that littered his scarred skin. Then, he unbuckled his belt, letting the metal tip clatter and clang in the quiet room, dropping his jeans and peeling off his shoes and socks. Naked, he folded his clothes and lay them to the side. Then, he found his neutral position, kneeling at your feet, palms flat on his thighs, head bowed as if in prayer. 

“Hands behind your head, palm to palm,” you spoke your first command, listening to the timbre of your voice and knowing it was different. You were changing into the person that he needed; someone strong, unyielding. 

He complied, but he looked a little surprised. You’d never asked him for this position before, but you knew it would get his attention. He would feel the vulnerability of it immediately, his sensitive ribs and armpits exposed. 

You started your work, tying his wrists carefully, making sure to leave the proper amount of room, running the rope, rubbing between the soft jute and his hairy skin to check and double check it for safety. As soon as you had one wrist bound, you moved to the other and heard him begin to talk. 

“I nearly lost one of my men last week. Good bloke. Took a bullet for me, so I broke the rules.”

“Which rules?”

“All of them,” he looked up at you, rueful and yet unrepentant.

“Would you do it differently,” you admired the smoothness of his wrist, watching as his pulse beat just under the thin skin, rushing through blue veins, “If you could go back in time?”

“No,” Price’s voice was like that of a beast. A dragon. It was a short, simple word, but within it, you understood exactly the feeling of vengeance he was carrying within it. No, he would not go back and change his actions. He would repeat them. That much was clear. 

“It doesn’t sound to me like you were out of control, then,” you looped the knots of his wrists around a temporary harness, simple and quick. This was just for now. You had bigger plans for him after you bathed. 

John’s mouth turned up into a wry smile, thinking about your assessment, then he said,

“You might be right, love. But, I’m here. I needed this. Needed you. There must be a reason I feel so bloody lost.”

“Let’s find your way back, then. Stand up.”

You led him by the end of the rope to the wet room. The off-white tiles glowed yellow in the candlelight you had prepared, and as you turned on the tap, the room filled with steam. You watched John’s face become indecipherable as you untied the ribbon of your robe, letting the silk pool at your feet, stepping into the shower before him. 

You pointed to the small stool in the middle of the wide shower, 

“Sit.”

It was a huge installation. During the build process in your renovated space, you’d asked for two large rainshower heads and a massage wand with a flat drain in the center. John knelt in between the two heads, but well within reach of the wand. You switched it on, watching the water jerk and flow through the metal hose, holding it towards your chest and out of his eyes. 

You started with his feet, washing them with only warm water first before moving the wand up his legs, wetting his body in stages. You didn’t use your hands yet, but you were eager to. John was quite the specimen, and you felt yourself flush as your eyes explored his body, lingering on places they really shouldn’t. 

You were adamant that you were a sex worker who didn’t have sex. You tried to make it abundantly clear that your clients were paying for shibari practices only, and that you did not do… happy endings. Other than your encounter with John, your clients orgasmed alone, and you went to great lengths to ensure it remained that way. But, here was your weakness, asking you to wash him while he was in your knots, warning you that he might crave a sensual aftercare scene, that he’d been thinking about you. It made your skin flush, and even though you were comfortable in your own skin, his obvious desire for you in such a carnal way made you hyper-aware of your bare flesh. 

The wand sat back in its hook, water paused, and the only sounds were the quiet drippings against the tile, a slight sucking from the drain, your breathing. You scraped the soap into your palm, making sure to lather it into a rich, thick foam. You stood, walking around him to his back, and began with his bound hands and arms, rubbing his warm, swollen muscles with your palms, spreading the suds over him liberally. 

A long, animalistic groan shuddered through John’s lungs, echoing in the bath. It set your nerves on fire to know that you were giving him such pleasure. You wanted more. 

You moved to his back, massaging the scented soap into his body, working his skin firmly to promote his bloodflow. As you made pass after pass, his moans became steady and breathy, his mouth hanging open, unable to fight the relaxation he was experiencing. 

You washed his legs and feet, needing to bend over him in order to reach the length of his huge thighs. In doing so, your bare breasts came in contact with his back, only light tapping at first, swaying forward as you washed him. You could tell that he could feel you, and he froze, his noises of pleasure turning into hitched breaths, shocked and inaudible. 

Your clients usually washed themselves, but John had asked for special treatment, and this was a new experience for you, too. You tamped down on your excitement, but you couldn’t hide your nature. As you leaned forward to wash his knees and shins, ankles and feet, you had to press your soft tits and contrastingly taut nipples against him, over and over, like two inkless stamps, leaving impressions on his wet skin. 

Standing again, you waited to give yourself a minute to compose your emotions. The tips of your hair were damp, and your chest was shining from his soapy torso. You tried to wipe the shine away, not wanting to draw attention to yourself. He needed to be looking inwardly, finding his deeper meaning. Staring at your gleaming, sensitive tits was not what he was paying for, no matter what your biology might have wanted. 

You stepped around to his front, and you marveled at how big his frame truly was. While sitting, even though the stool was low, his eyes were directly in line with your furry mons. If he only tilted his chin up a little, he could lick…

Your mind clamped down on that thought like a vice. You breathed steady, kneeling before him and reapplying the soap to your hands, trying to refocus yourself on your work. 

That was proving more difficult by the moment. Washing his broad chest was like something out of a dream. His nipples were so responsive, and now you could see the way his face twisted with pleasure as your hands massaged your serums into his skin. Every swipe over his pink nubs make him gasp in a new pitch, his brow furrowed with desperation, but his eyes stayed pinned to the tile, just like he was meant to. You expected all of your subs to avert their gaze, to concentrate on their mind, and you made it clear that the practice would stop if they lacked the discipline to do so. 

You had never been more grateful for that standard, because if John’s sharp, pale blue eyes found yours right now, you might not be able to keep yourself from losing your own control. 

You stepped out of the shower for a moment, grabbing the tie from your robe, slipping it out of its loops. Then, as a way to anchor yourself, you wrapped it tightly around your wrist, twisting the knots you made so that they would face inwardly, the discomfort reminding you of your duties as his dominant. It would work for now, you hoped. 

Already, you could feel yourself coming back online, as if someone had splashed cold water in your face. That was, until you turned back to John and saw the last part of your process.

You peered down into his lap, hands full of creamy suds, ready to wash his belly and his nethers, only to discover that he was as hard as steel. His cock flagged tall and curved, tapping on his abdomen, far beyond his bellybutton, giving you a reminder of what was plaguing your dreams. It was beautiful. The uncut skin of his shaft folded around the rim of his ruddy head, eager to be slicked down so that you could tease the tip of him. His balls were round and full, hanging as he sat on the edge of the bench, and all you could think about was what delight was stored within them, ready to burst.

You focused on your knots, letting your one ribbon keep you grounded, and you finished the job. Your hands rubbed soap along his belly, fingers dancing through the thick happy trail of his lower abs. He was built like a workhorse, and although he was fit, his body was well-fed and wide, his core wide and protruding with his strength, thicker as he sat on the stool. There was no bodybuilder’s trim waist. He was all power, heavy and built for unimaginable destruction. You’d never seen his equal, nor a man even close to his immense form. If someone had told you John was one of Zeus’ many bastards, roaming the earth immortal and inhumanly large, you might have believed them.

“I’m going to wash the rest of your body. Remind me of your safeword so that I know you can use it,” you commanded softly, hearing your own voice bounce around the hollow room. 

John did not meet your eyes, fully committed to his submission, but you could see his cock pulse with anticipation. He spoke quietly but clearly, 

“Red.”

“Louder,” you instructed. 

“Red,” he obeyed. 

“Again.”

“Red.”

“Again.”

“Red.”

“Good. Stand up.”

You needed to make sure he was ready to proceed. John, experienced as he was, could get stuck in his sub-space just like anyone. So, you made him practice, let his mouth feel the word again and again, primed and ready to be used. 

Finally, you reached for his genitals, washing his cock and being mindful of where you spread the soap, scrubbing ever so gently down his ballsack, and then swiping across his cleft, washing through his legs to clean every last bit of him. 

Then, trying to be almost clinical about it, you washed him off, cleansing his lower extremities to ensure his comfort before hosing down the rest of him. 

Finally, you shut off the water and began to towel him dry, wiping at his dripping skin, trying to ignore how his body’s heat seemed to radiate onto your bare body, inviting you to lean just a little closer, to press into that lovely burn. 

But, you didn’t. You discarded the towel and untied your wrist cuff, leaving it with your robe. You reached behind John’s head and unbound the center knot of his ties, allowing him to bring his wrists to the front of his body like handcuffs. You used the end to lead him like a prisoner through your space, parading him to the studio quickly and quietly, eager to begin the main event. 

Once inside the studio space, you finished untying his wrists, setting him free once again. He looked down at them, running his fingertip across the raised ridges left by the ropes before dropping his arms to his sides, waiting for your instruction and guidance. 

You knelt next to your basket of rope, retrieving a hank from the stack and unwinding it. His eyes darted to your hands, watching you prepare it just for him, like a dog expecting a bone. 

“Lay in the center, arms at your sides,” you told him and watched as he followed your instruction. He was less hard now, more relaxed than before, but before long, as he lay there letting his excitement build, he strengthened again, his prick bowing up onto his stomach, flushed and full. 

You got to work. Your first goal was to put each of his legs in an advanced frog tie, turning his body on its side so that you could bind his ankle to his thigh, first one leg and then the other. Once his initial ropes were in place, you checked their tension, moving two fingers around and around, trying not to notice his mounting enthusiasm every time you brushed along his inner thigh. Then, once you were satisfied, you helped him into a kneeling position, pushing a thin buckwheat pillow under his knees for comfort. 

He shook his head, 

“Don’t need it, love. I wanna feel the floor. The pain… helps.”

You eyed him, turning your lips into a soft grin, 

“If this were a normal session, I would give that to you,” your tone got his attention, and he did look at your face now, needing to see your intent, “But, what I’m about to put you through is something different. Trust me, John.”

“I trust you.”

He settled into the pillow, returning to his meditative position. You took his hands in yours and held them between your two palms, squeezing them tight, binding them without rope for a moment. Then, you began to breathe in deep, cyclical patterns, over and over. He breathed with you, and you saw the tension leave his face. Whatever had happened to John on this last tour was plaguing him, and you slowed things down to give him a chance to control himself again. 

He breathed in with you, and his air rushed out with yours, washing over your skin like a summer wind, keeping your body responsive to him. Every now and then, as you meditated together, you caught his eyes fixed on something other than the floor. He was staring into the darkness between your legs, shadowed by your body and covered with curly hair, hidden from him in plain sight. It was hard for you to focus, knowing he had his mind on your body, but eventually, he averted his gaze, focusing inwardly again. 

Finally, when you felt his heart rate slow, you used another hank of rope to create a short waist belt, applying more tension than usual as you fed it along his hips, knowing his thick ass and thighs could take the pressure. Still, you were adamant about safety, watching him every moment for discoloration or discomfort. 

He was fidgeting now that the tighter straps were on him, and you saw him closing off his stance, bringing his knees closer together. You caught him, and used one of the loops on his thigh to pull his legs apart again,

“Spread them. Let the pressure flow through your belly and out of your center.”

“Aye,” he sighed, settling into the pain and doing his best to spread his knees wider, concentrating on the feeling. His cock was leaking now, leaving little dark marks on the canvas of his knee bolster, bobbing between his legs as he spread them wider, shining and wet. 

You grabbed another rope, trying to hone in on your work,

“I’m going to bind you in almost the same style we practiced last spring, but it will be modified to provide more of that challenge you’ve been looking for. Place your hands behind your back, palms on your elbows, if you can.”

Not every sub had the flexibility to obey, but John did. He’d been doing his stretches. As he assumed his position, his arms’ placement made his chest broad and high, stretching his pecs open while his back was pinned, the skin folding in on itself as his shoulder blades folded back like featherless wings. You threaded your rope over his shoulders, centering the bight at the back of his neck for an anchor point. It was essential that no pressure was applied to the front of his throat, and you were ever-mindful of the fresh injuries that marred his neck. 

“What happened here?” You asked, letting your finger pass under a rope that lay on his injured skin, making sure it was loose and gentle. You would give him tightness elsewhere. 

He was hesitant to answer you, but he shrugged,

“Bastard came up behind me. Before I could react, he had the wire around my throat.”

“Did you escape on your own?” You pried, trying to keep him talking as you started the long process of his arm binding. 

“Aye. He was so busy trying to choke me, he forgot I still had free hands and plenty of bloody knives in my belt.”

You praised him for his openness,

“Good.”

“Is it?” Now, you heard the doubt in his tone. It made you pause, but you simply continued with your ties, not allowing him to know that you were challenged by his cynicism or regret or whatever darkness was making him lean on his fear and anger instead of his peace.

You left his question unanswered, allowing it to hang in the air between you, forcing his mind to dwell on it. You needed him to answer it within himself before you went opening more portals to other emotions and struggles. 

You added more and more rope to his binding, and when you finished, you pulled the cord forward across his chest, resting it below his nipples, making sure to graze them as you checked your tension, enjoying the trembling shudder that came from him as your reward. It was the most advanced harness you had performed in a long time. This one was unforgiving. He couldn’t twist left or right. His shoulders were forced down and back, shrugged tight against his body, and his arms were completely powerless. He could pull and heave to try and move his hands away from his back, but there was no escape.

You sat across from John once more, holding his chin up so that he would know you expected him to look at you, and you asked him,

“Do you have any pain or tingling?”

“No.”

“Say your safeword to me one time.”

“Red.” 

“The next step will be the final rope, and then we can sit together for as long as you need. Do you want to continue?”

His eyes stared into yours with a bright clarity, and he answered softly, 

“Yes.”

You could tell that he was slipping deeper into his sub-space. His eyes softened, but his body shivered. If you brushed your fingers along his ribs, his muscles would kick and jerk. Anything harder, like a deep tissue massage against those huge thighs and he whined for you, smokey and gravelly, full of feral need. 

You moved behind him, taking a rope and placing it across his forehead, using your hand to tilt his head back until his eyes were staring at the ceiling. Then, you carefully crafted a face harness, making sure there was not too much pressure on his more delicate bones while still limiting his range of motion so that he was forced to keep his chin pointed up. 

You connected the rig to an anchor point on his wrists, and then you took your position in front of him again, staring at his bearded jaw and injured neck, watching his body struggle to relax into a very uncomfortable pose. 

“Breathe for me, John,” you knew it was a lot. 

Controlling someone’s body was one thing. Even Price had experienced tight knots before, but when you took control over the head, that animal instinct all humans keep deep within themselves tended to come alive. It was a primal fear. You watched John’s chest rise and fall, his stress tumbling around in his breaths as he tried to stay calm. 

You reached out both of your hands and rested them on his chest, feeling the way he jerked at your touch, overstimulated and sensitive. You pet his fur, the thick brown hair that dusted his body, soft from the oils you had used. As he breathed, you felt it moving in his lungs, and you let your fingertips ghost over his nipples, rubbing them with the backs of your knuckles, admiring the way they perked up at your attention, puffy and swollen from the unforgiving rope that made them bulge outwardly.

“Mmf–fuck,” he coughed, his eyes knitted into a worried sort of agony.

You smiled, bringing your own nipples towards his chest, letting your soft peaks brush against his hard ones, moving your breasts up and down, drawing little circles and crosses over his chest. 

You knew he couldn’t see what you were doing, but he could feel it. He knew, instinctively, and it was sending him into a drunken daze. The pleasure of your touch combined with the pain of your ropes pushed him beyond where he had been before, and perhaps it was past where you had dared to go as well. 

“Control your breaths, John. There is nothing else you are responsible for. I’ve taken it all from you. You need to breathe and to spread your peace through your mind. Focus.”

He didn’t respond, but his breathing stilled, and his eyes closed. You removed your touch from him and let him bask in the sensations he was experiencing. 

Minutes passed, then more. It had been almost an hour, and you were admiring the way he stayed strong, at first. You reached out to him to anchor him when he seemed like he needed help, caressing his arms and back, massaging the muscles that must be burning white hot by now. He was much more determined than any other sub you controlled. If anyone could handle this difficult position, it was him. But, he was not invincible. You saw the way his breathing became labored, and his cock, which was losing and regaining its hardness as time went on, throbbed from its struggle. 

“Do you want to continue?” You asked again, touching him as you had before, moving your hands from his chest to his belly, petting him rhythmically, avoiding his phallus but touching everything else around it. You knew it must have been teasing him, forcing him to imagine how your hands might feel if they reached just a little further. 

“Yes,” he admitted, his voice strained due to the position of his jaw, and you watched the bulge in his neck bob up and down.

More time slipped by. Your hands had wandered down his legs and across the soft pads of his feet. His body was buzzing with the energy he was spending in order to stay the course. He must have been far beyond simple pain at this point. You remembered a similar scene you’d experienced, and this was much longer than you ever expected to be in it. If John was anything, he was stubborn. 

But eventually, you heard him speak, 

“We knew it was a trap before we went in. I was reckless, and angry, and I wanted my fuckin’ revenge.”

He paused but you just kept up with your massage, rubbing him down, letting him know you were still there. He continued,

“That bastard was gonna shoot me,” John’s voice cracked from his despair, and you saw shining tears stream down his temples and into his hair, “It was me that he wanted. Then, my… one of my men, he jumped right in front of the gun and took the bullet for me. I thought he was dead. I thought I was, too. But, after… I left my team. Charged in alone. I did things to those men that I'll have to think about for the rest of my bloody days. I became… something else. Something… “

You wiped the tears from his face, petting his cheeks, letting your thumbs brush over his lips gently. He sighed, and you could feel his breath on your fingers,

“It wasn’t right. I knew better, I just wanted them to bloody pay. Wasn’t sure if I was going home with a fuckin’ medal or my papers. Didn’t care.”

There was a long pause, and then, his voice became small. His eyes were still fixed on the ceiling, but they were wide, full of fear and uncertainty,

“Am I a monster? Is that… Is that the real me? Who am I? What am I?”

You leaned forward and planted delicate kisses across John’s stretched neck, licking and sucking at his skin in very light, careful touches, tasting his wounds and trying to heal them.

You sat back, removing yourself from his body, letting him sit alone for a moment before you said,

“You are a human being. You are capable of love and hate, pleasure and pain. You might feel like you need to answer for some of your violence, but your own humanity is not defined by your actions. You believed that was the path you needed to take. You destroyed dangerous men before they destroyed you. That is not a monster. A monster destroys the innocent. Were those men innocent?”

“No,” he snarled, full of spit and ire.

“They made their own choices. They controlled their own lives. Your perception of your own control is too broad, John. You couldn’t save them. They didn’t need saving. You did. It was you who needed to be saved.”

“I should’ve been able to stop… to stop… stop killing. I couldn’t. I needed them to burn for what they did to my fuckin’ soldier. To my friends! Fuck!” 

John was gasping now, too full of emotion to control his breath, releasing his stress in deep, bellowing grunts. You unfastened his head harness immediately, freeing him. The instant he could move, he let his head fall forward and placed his cheek on your breast, stretching himself as far as he could, hoping you would be there to catch him. 

And you were. You held him in your arms, wrapping your own across his many knots, feeling the fibers of his ties and the smooth warmth of his body, separate but unified. You could feel his wet cheek upon your skin, his anger rolling off of him in waves. He was letting out each breath as an exhaled hiss, the fire in his eyes at full peak, a blazing rage that seemed like it would suffocate him. 

You picked up his head in your hands, resting your forehead on his and told him, 

“Let it go. Just like that. Scream. Let it out of you, John. Forgive yourself.”

He let himself go for a moment, howling like a wild boar, full of unnatural rage and pain. You heard his shouts and tucked them away from your heart, keeping them for later, choosing to just let him express it and have his crashing waves of feeling wash over you, but you refused to drown in it. He still needed you. 

“Do you forgive me?” His plea was that of a boy, innocent and achingly pure. 

“I forgive you,” you replied without hesitation, “Forgive yourself, now.”

He shook his head back and forth, rubbing his face on yours, bitter and despondent, 

“I can’t…”

“I’m not asking you to. I’m telling you to,” you barked, grabbing him at the base of his skull by his hair, forcing his head back into that same bent position, holding him by force, “Trust me, John. Say it out loud. I forgive myself. Say it. C’mon.”

“I… forgive...” 

“C’mon. I know you can do this,” you used both hands to hold his head under your control, your chests pressed together, your breathing equal and ragged, both of you pulled to the end of your abilities.

“I forgive myself.”

“Again!” You gasped. You tugged at his nape, forcing him to arch his back with what little movement he still had access to.

He grunted in response, breathing heavy, each exhale a guttural shout,

“I forgive myself.”

“Good. So good. Let it out. Use the pain; let it wash you clean.”

You let his head come forward, and you saw a new man staring back at you. Before you knew what was happening, you felt your lips crash together with John’s, sliding along his mouth, tasting him and being tasted by him. His tongue slipped into the hollow of your palate, folding and twisting for more and more control, taking you into him as much as he could manage. Then, he pulled away abruptly, resting his forehead against yours again,

“I’m sorry. I just… I feel…” You watched him search for the words, “I feel like I’m back. It’s been so long, but I can feel myself again.”

“What do you need?”

“I need you,” he tilted his head, exhausted, sitting back on his heels, his face a serene picture of peace, “I need you to touch me, like this. Please.”

You looked at him for a moment and then moved your hands between his legs, finding his warm rod waiting to be held. As soon as your fingers touched him, his whole body convulsed, and he cried out at the sensation. 

You began to rub his shaft with long, slow strokes, avoiding his head for now, finding a nice, easy rhythm, encouraging John to match your breathing. He did, stealing kisses when your faces were near one another, and eventually, you were nose to nose, sharing your breaths again, listening to the rush of air and the wet slick sound of his tacky precome being spread all over his length. 

You reached behind him and grabbed another bolster, putting the soft pad behind his back. Slowly, you helped him lay down onto it, knowing his arms would be crushed by his weight, but making sure the stress was something he could stand. His legs were spread wide, fully pliant and open to you, and you sat between them, bringing your hands back to his center, working his curved shaft up and down, watching as his belly filled with air, expanding from his breaths, only to collapse again, the muscles within him clenching and releasing in an undulating pattern of lust and need.

“Oh, fuck,” he bit his lip, wrenching his eyes shut, “Please… I need… Bloody hell, I need you, love. Please.”

“Are you sure, John?” You tried to check in with him, ignoring your own desire to immediately fulfill his wish, your pussy swollen and dripping in anticipation. 

“Yes. I want you to take me. Please.”

His eyes looked up at you, his body bent and bowed, sweet and desperate for you, looking to you for his pleasure.

Carefully, you straddled him, feeding his head between your legs, sighing with joy as his tip slotted into the soft divot of your hole. He couldn’t thrust up into you. In fact, he couldn’t participate at all. You were the only one who could bring him pleasure or bring him pain, and that thought made your head rush, making you dizzy with desire, knowing that this man, a ruthless killer, mysterious and brutal, steady and kind, all of what he was — he was helpless beneath you. 

As you sank down onto his girthy tip, your body ached from the stretch. It was an effort to fit him inside of you, and you breathed through it, wanting to push yourself flush to his hips. When you met his warm root, you shared a loud moan together, the relief overwhelming you both. 

Then, you used your hips to make grinding, wide circles, churning his cock within your core, making yourself even more soaked, feeling your movements sending repeated signals to your cunt to make more and more slick come. It seemed endless, and it pooled out of you, matting his hair and drowning his dick in hot, sticky fluid. 

He was grunting softly at the apex of each circle of your hips, his voice hoarse and full of want. You heard him wanting more, wanting you to hump him up and down, to slide yourself along his cock from root to tip. But, you were in charge, and you set the pace. So, you continued, around and around and around in an impossible spiral, using your hands to play with his nipples, pinching them cruelly, positioning them under the tight rope to make them ache to be free. 

“Ungh, fuck! You’re fuckin’ soaked, love. Feels so bloody good.”

You smiled down at him, refusing to take his bait, knowing he was beyond ready for more. 

Sure enough, he began to beg you, his skin flushed and his heart beating hard from being edged by your grinding,

“Will you fuck me… please? Just… I need… fuck, I need more. Fuck me, please! Oh, fuck…”

“Shh. Be good for me, John. Trust me.” 

You stayed the course, rocking your hips around his base, never letting him thrust in and out, just winding yourself around him like a tight spool, pushing him to his breaking point. He felt so good inside of you, and his cock was so deep, you could feel the turgid body of his shaft if you pressed down on your lower belly, your fingers finding his outline through your skin and muscles and fat, your hands making indentions in your flesh, teasing him from the outside. 

“Cut me out,” he snarled, straining against his bindings hard enough to hurt himself.

You peered down at him, slowing your hips to a glacial pace,

“You know your safeword, John.”

“Cut. Me. Out.”

His eyes were vicious when he looked up at you now. He was like a hungry wolf; his gaze held within it a dark promise that — if you cut his leash — he would destroy you. 

On one hand, your body celebrated that realization. It was eager to be devoured by this monster of a man, but you had worked hard to control your primal urges, and you decided to put your hound back in his cage. You let your hand snake around his throat, squeezing where it was safest, digging in your nails for him to feel your threat more vividly, knowing it would hurt him against his healing wounds,

“If you want to stop, say the word.”

You waited, watching his tortured face, panting and wet from tears and sweat, but he remained silent. You licked your lips, 

“You came here for a lesson in self-control, and I am your teacher.”

For the next half hour, you made sure John Price understood who was in control of his pleasure. You sat on his cock, rocking back and forth until you felt his body tense up, and then you pulled yourself off of him, leaving his throbbing prick out in the cold, tapping at your ass cheeks, begging to be let back in. 

You ignored him, touching yourself with your fingers, using the chubby flesh of his lower belly to rub against your cunt, smearing your wetness all over him as you played in your hole. 

Then, you would put him back inside and start the process all over again, grinding and stopping, grinding and stopping, until your mighty sub was whimpering for release, his balls tight against his core, ready to flood you with his come at any moment. 

Finally, when you saw how fuck-drunk he was, coming in and out of consciousness like he’d been drugged, you decided to relieve him of his burden. You caught his eye and made sure he knew what was coming. Immediately, you had his full attention. He began to chant, hoarse and rasping under his breath,

“Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck…”

You let the anticipation build, slipping your pussy over his head in feather-light swipes, letting your folds tickle his cockhead mercilessly. Then, you began to bounce your hips on his cock. 

“Ungh– love, I’m —” he growled, his words breathless and broken, unbridled. 

“I want your come,” you confessed, getting lost in your own pleasure, “I want it in me… Deep. In. Me,” you changed your tone, tightening your grip on the nape of his neck as much as you dared, “And I’m going to take it from you.”

“Holy fuck,” he whispered, his eyes locked onto yours, shining with fresh tears, overstimulated and raw. 

Then, you saw the relief smooth across his brow, and you waited for a breath before you felt it, spearing yourself on him to his hilt, plugging your cunt so that his come would be plugged up inside of you, filling your emptiest parts, making them warm and swollen with his spend. 

You felt him bursting inside of you, his girth stretching you every time he throbbed, spraying inside of you over and over, dumping his load into your soft hole. When you felt him finish, you began your grinding circles again, causing him to roll and twist, aching from the pleasure and pain. 

“Nngh… love, please… can’t… I can’t…” 

You yanked the slip tie out from under his shoulder, and suddenly, he had control of his arms again. You did the same to his legs, freeing him from your ties, ending his captivity. 

Like a flash, he erupted upwards toward you. His hands went to your hips, sitting up to hug himself around your body, crushing you to his chest and forcing you down into his lap, spearing you on his sensitive rod as if you had planned to pull him out. His mouth savaged your breasts, biting them cruelly, his fingers holding you tight enough to leave you bruised. 

You grabbed his face, holding his bristled cheeks in your hands again, bringing him up to kiss you. You pressed your lips to his as delicately as you could manage, trembling from your bliss. He kissed you back, and that’s all you did for what felt like an eon. Your mind swam through a blank, glittering cosmos, and the only thing that was real was the feeling of John’s mouth on your mouth and his sex on your sex, his hands on your body and your hands on his body, his pain and your pain, his love and your love. You and he were muddled together like pigments on a palette, jonquil and fuschia, no longer existing as one or the other and yet both smearing together, mixed and inseparable, ready to paint a bright, endless sun. 

You had melted, it seemed, under John’s sweating, heaving body. His ribs bullied into your belly every time he took a breath, and his cock had softened so that it slipped away from you. Your body ached for its comfort again, every nature-made part of you punishing you for losing it, coaxing you to do anything to get it back, to fill the space left vacant. You were tucked into his chest, folded and hiding beneath his chin, rubbing at the flat of his sternum with the back of your hand. 

His finger brushed a stray curl from your brow, touching your hair with respect, staring down at you in awe,

“My hero,” he purred. 

You smiled, kissing the stubble on his chin,

“Am I, now?”

“My head…” He stared up at the ceiling again, going to it for comfort like a long lost friend, “It’s so quiet. So clear. You’ve done that for me, and I’ll be thanking you for the rest of my days.”

“I’ll always be here for you, John. You are my muse in more ways than I’ll ever admit,” you laughed breathlessly, a little sad. It was bittersweet, falling in love with a man you couldn’t have. But, you found yourself in him and now you would need to work out how to live without that mirrored reflection. You felt linked to him, two unbroken cords looped together like Solomon’s seal, inseparable and yet laid on two disparate paths. 

“Don’t…” He said, his tone sounding even more sorrowful than yours.

You sat up on your elbow, bringing your face up to his to look at him, to see his emotions, 

“What?”

“Don’t make me hope.”

“What do you hope for?” Your voice fell into a whisper, your heart not having the strength to ask your question aloud.

He matched your tone, purring out his confession with a tired but cheeky grin,

“For a woman who can bring me to my knees,” then, his expression turned serious, and his eyes traced his finger as he played with the stray curl he had found, studying its winding path, “For a healer. Someone who can remind me of who I am. Everytime I stop to catch my breath, I’ve been hoping for you.”

Your heart stuttered, knowing that he was not a man to settle down in one place. You looked down at his chest rising and falling with his breath, matching your rhythm, unable to meet his eyes,

“How long can you stay?”

He put a thick finger under your chin, just as you had for him during his session, making you meet his gaze, 

“Let’s start with tonight…”

He planted a soft kiss on your left cheek.

“...then tomorrow…”

His lips kissed your right cheek, dragging hungrily across your skin, 

“...and all the tomorrows that you’ll give me. I’ll take them all, if you let me.”

John placed his final kiss on your open mouth, lips parted, concentrating on what he was saying. You smiled, kissing him back in earnest, 

“Tonight, then. And tomorrow.”

“And tomorrow,” he nodded, smiling brightly, rolling himself over you to shield you from the chill of the room, folding you into his darkness, safe, bound to him without a cord, knotted together without a bight, tangled for however long the strands would hold.

AO3 Link --- Thank you for the kudos!

[mastersofoil]

Most people are confused about choosing between a full synthetic oil change or a synthetic blend oil change. If you’re not sure about which one best suits your vehicle, here at Masters of Oil, we provide some insight about these topics. Read this blog to know about the differences between full synthetic and synthetic blend oils and which one is right for your vehicle.

[mysumeow]

gn pronouns, afab reader. usage of aphrodisiacs. NOT PROOFREAD.

"help me test out this new thing i created/found" trope but now its x2. albedo brews a new, potent formula which increases libido + sensitivity, but tighnari is convinced that this particular aphrodisiac plant he found has a stronger effect than any synthetic liquid albedo can brew.

and right after you're done testing one, the other one is waiting for you, eager to record your reactions. you're sensitive enough and the previous experiment already left your legs shaking, but, looking at tighnari's sad eyes and lowererd ears (or albedos longing expression, depending on with whom you decided to go first), you end up agreeing to partake in it.

let's go with the assumption you went with albedo first (although the outcome would be similar if it was the other way around):

what you didn't expect, was albedo joining on the experiment as well. not that you didn't want him to. it was a pleasant surprise.

"What's causing that inquisitive look, my dear?" Albedo holds your hips, guiding you to sit on his lap. "I must ensure the experiment undergoes the least amount of false positives,"

"Just say you want to make sure I don't lie about the results," Tighnari rolled his eyes, slathering his hands with the floral oil, which you soon felt tickling your sides...slowly moving to your tits to cup and massage them.

Needless to say, if it weren't for Albedo holding your hips up, your legs would've given out. Albedo's curious, fixed gaze on your reactions, small gasps leaving him whenever one particular sound from you made his dick harder; all while Tighnari absolutely ravished you from behind, sloppy, wet sounds leaving his mouth from how frenzied he sucked at your neck. He needed to cover the marks Albedo left on you, after all.

Luckily, they both will give you proper aftercare. Problem was, they'll start another competition on who provides you the best relief for your sore body.

[crystalrabbit246912]

More Winged NRC Students

Imagine if having wings also gave them bird instincts, like chirping and making a nest. No one bats an eye because they all have wings, though Grim gets confused at first and Vil doesn't like Epel chirping so frequently.

So all of the kids like to perch up in high places and the aquatic birds have a fondness for water. Some of them, like Ace because he'd find it funny, also perch on people because he finds it funny to see their reactions to having him suddenly land on them.

Additionally, they all have hollow bones to make them lighter so that flying is easier for them. So Ruggie and Leona have to be extra careful during their sabotage plot to make sure that they don't injure anyone too badly because having hollow bones makes them more fragile.

Moving away from that, I can see people wanting to claim others as flock and stealing some of their clothes for their nests, which is kind of frustrating because you have to negotiate for the clothes back but don't want to make the other think that you don't want to be part of their flock.

The first-years wear each other's feathers (Ortho had to make synthetic feathers to complete the collection because he doesn't have actual physical wings) on a necklace with a little hole in the feathers' stalk (what's that long stick through the center of a feather called?) as a symbol of being a flock and play with the feathers as a nervous tick.

Another thing that they have to do is preen their wings whenever they get dirty or have to remove some of the dead feathers. They only let people that they trust preen their wings and keep the best feathers for when they add people to their flock. The first-years sometimes form a 'preening line' with Ortho at the beginning since he doesn't have actual wings, where they preen each others' wings and get their wings preened at the same time.

Most birds have a gland at the base of their tails to form oil to coat their wings for waterproofing and protection, and since they don't have tails, they have to make to with handmade oil. There are factories and people who specifically make wing oil to market and Epel's family also makes sunflower oil or something like that for wings. The excess gets sent to him via mail much like the apple juice does and he shares it among the fellow first-years and occasionally his dormmates because better than the wing oil for commercial sale.

Sometimes a group of people stack on top of each other by flying up and landing on each others' shoulders. This happens most often with the first-year group though the Pop Music Club + Rook do the same sometimes. Floyd tries to form a stack, but Azul doesn't let him unless there's someone around who can join him and Jade.

Speaking of Floyd, he likes to kidnap people (most of the time, said person is Riddle) to go flying with them. By flying, he means holding them in bridal carry and just taking off because he's strong enough to do that with people who are shorter than him, which is most people. He always gets scolded for it, but keeps doing it to the point where getting kidnapped by Floyd happens to someone every other day.

[eldritch-spouse]

I would imagine Rudy cumming oil since he’s a synthetic but that probably wouldn’t be safe for his darling so

Maybe spare lube around the crewmates’ ship?

[If Rudy came oil, the US would milk him to robot-death.]

Absolutely not. It would never cross his mind to create ejaculate that isn't safe for contact, ingestion or penetrative endeavors.

Rudy's initial concern is to create something "realistic". He thinks about how to emulate the look and feel of it, so that you wouldn't find the experience of having sex with him even more alien (pun intended) than it already is. This means Rudy has done... An embarrassing amount of research on the composition of human ejaculate.

He determines that consistently trying to emulate this will not only be costly, but also ultimately unviable in the long-term. Instead, Rudy opts for the next best thing, something you'd hopefully like.

He thinks of many mixtures you might enjoy. Sweet things! But that involves ingredients that he can't really justify spending in sexual endeavors, ingredients that go bad... Cellulose gum, glycerin? Could those be used?

Ultimately, he's stumped. Rudy shamefully steals a bottle of edible lube from one of the crewmates and figures it's better than nothing. Your future input will be necessary.

[engineoilcompany]

Selecting fully synthetic engine oil over organic or semi-synthetic options is a wise choice for engine longevity, improved performance, and enhanced protection. While organic and semi-synthetic oils offer some benefits, fully synthetic oil stands out due to its superior qualities, such as reduced friction, increased efficiency, and better resistance to extreme conditions. It's a top choice for those who want to ensure their engine operates at its best. To know more about high temperature grease, click here: https://bit.ly/fully-synthetic-engine-oil-vs-semi-synthetic-engine-oil

[mysticmellowlove]

Subby with Fem!Reader wife who is like the shit. I mean she is very well known around the world for her humanitarian philanthropic projects that she has made absolute bank from. With being the boss she is, she has to travel a lot for work and events.

But what about her poor little (he’s actually tall as hell) husband? She brings him along everywhere. Where ever she goes everyone will always see him there. Holding her hand in paparazzi pics, or standing on the corner of a stage when she is giving speeches.

He said he would be a househusband for her but because she has so much money(and let’s assume he has money from something) that she has house attendants and such so she doesn’t need him too. Instead, she puts him in charge of projects and basically makes him her lap dog that she carry’s in her Birkin everywhere she goes. He just loves being with her and traveling the world for work with her. What a dream.

note; just a lil something something

warnings; fem reader

You two are the world's power couple

With your organisation you usually were on the move all the time, getting to see the world in its most natural forms

Beautiful jungles, stunning deserts, the far reaches of the oceans, some of the most secluded islands... they were all in the palms of your hands.

You had been to Tuvalu most recently to assess the situation there, tornado victims in America, bushfires over in Australia... you had even raised awareness about oil drilling off the coasts of some of the most beautiful places on earth

And right next to you was your husband, a dedicated techie and an intense simp

He runs a tech start-up, one that tries to find alternatives to building and powering their products to lessen the strain on earth

This includes synthetic materials compared to earth's resources, implementing a solar-powered screen and trying to work towards an alternative to wind turbines in coastal areas.

That's why you two did collabs, it's why you two met.

You were drawn to his innovation and he was drawn to your passionate causes

Together you were almost unstoppable, two rich people who actually wanted to help others

Most of your shared money went to charities, building homes, helping the disadvantaged and putting in place plans for the future

Of course, you had a couple of vacation homes in some of your favourite places but those were also used as home bases for your travels.

UN meetings and WHO research, you two were the main funders of these branches and you attended nearly all of the meetings.

Sometimes things got busy though, so you'd send your devoted husband on a little trip

While you took care of things over in America he'd be over in Asia, networking with some of the best technology companies while also offering aid to humanitarian projects

There was hardly a moment when the two of you could actually be alone, either there was work to be done or your house's attendants would be buzzing away

When it was quiet though you two loved to spend some time together, just in each other's presence

He loved to massage you, not because it was an opportunity to touch you but because... it was an opportunity to touch you

His most favourite thing to do though was to rest his head on your tummy and let you play with his hair, he found it relaxing!

He'd let you do anything to him basically but you were always so gentle with him

He's a very spoilt man who gets almost everything he wants

All he has to do is give you puppy dog eyes and he's under the table eating you out while your heeled foot is stroking his cock

He loves being inside you as well, just cockwarming you

If you want him to do something all you have to do is ask but if you want to make things a little more interesting wear a short skirt and then ask, maybe bend over so he can see the swell of your ass

Such a needy man, he'd be on his knees begging for a taste

[oil-advisory]

Best Synthetic Engine Oil: Keep Your Car Running Smoothly

Are you seeking methods to maintain your automobile operating smoothly and the best synthetic engine oil? Look nowhere else! In addition to improving performance and fuel efficiency, synthetic engine oil is developed to offer improved engine protection. It is designed to reduce oil consumption and provide better wear protection. You can maintain your engine running smoothly and extend its life using synthetic engine oil.

[lilly-onthevalley]

Tips for my girlies in university and early work

I decided to make this post based on what has made my life easier these past few years. Every woman wants to cultivate beauty; make themselves put together, be taken seriously, and find a partner who is equally yoked if you're into that. As an old tumblr girl shifting in and out of the scene, I wanted to make another tip post like the old times that's accurate to what helped me.

A lot of the older/retired girlie's where amazing advisors, however one thing that created a barrier was that they were were endowed with large wealth and their society paved a path for them, and there's absolutely nothing wrong with that, I love to see it actually. I wanted to make a post looking back to what has helped me make my own steps to now be able to utilise the old girl's advice as it was supposed to.

Hair

Learning a basic blow out is necessary. If you're starting out, you don't need all of the fancy brands, and you'll notice that technique is what differentiates the quality of a blowout. Get a good round brush that conducts heat well, mid range but reliable (Babyliss) blow driers, flat irons, and curling rod. Invest in a heat protectant too. Sweet talk the hair dressers and ask where they get their stock from. Get yours hands on some pro hair sheers to get your own trims and layers going.

Silk scrunchies and pillow cases are an underrated and feminine must-have. I'm a lazy girl who always has a silk press if my hair is out and I can get away with collapsing onto a silk pillowcase with no head wrap and still manage to have a lovely style in the morning. I would say order these from a small business. Many girls have businesses dealing with small textile projects like scrunchie packs and average size pillow cases, support them! :)

Learn to do your own cornrows and invest in a half wig especially if you're busy with classes and don't have time for the whole round brush ordeal.

Don't be scared of wigs, and don't be ashamed of not having enough time to pull off a dazzling natural masterpiece. There's a reason why wigs are in high demand from women of all races. People are all over busy. You can start with a natural synthetic and move on to better hair.

I learnt the art of hair when I was 15, so I've been doing it for a while. However, because of this, I can tell you the importance of having a lovely crown on your head. I have received hundreds (not joking) of compliments from years, whether my hair was real or fake, and that shows how important it is for a first impression.

Nails/Feet

Don't forget to take care of them. Walking all the miles, wearing the mandated courts, sitting in one place. You will indeed develop calluses, perhaps even athletes' foot and hyperpigmentation from a lack of circulation.

Get yourself a basic pumice stone or a scrubber and use them when need. Massage yourself as well to maintain mobility and flexibility.

If you can, get yourself an affordable gel set. It might seem a bit expensive, but it'll save you the time and money of the upwardly costly nail appointments. You'll find out when you get up and socialise more that what tops the cake of classy is a glossy basic nail. Natural nudes and whites are always a go to.

Scent

Scent connoisseurs are going to absolutely hate me for this, but girlie's, if you can't get that Jean Paul Gaultier or Baccarat Rouge, get the damn arabic fragrance. Back in high-school when me and my girls were starting up, setting ourselves apart and getting invited to important places, Lattafa was our favourite. Social media is currently finally going crazy for them. (The African/Arab girls got them first 🤭.) I loved my floral Haayati with a mix of Zakra (other brand, heavy masculine oud tones for my peace of mind), and my best girl loved her gourmand Yara and her vanilla oils.

I love to talk about fragrance because it talks first for you. Nothing is better than a delicious light smell accompanying your presence. It shows you hold yourself to some esteem.

Skin

Face Essentials - gua sha stone, gentle cleanser, exfoliating cleanser or serum, sunscreen, thick moisturising butter, anti fungal or bacterial essential oil, lip moisturiser, clean cloth.

These will help you start out on a basic level to having healthy looking skin. Exfoliating is very important towards a glow. When you're stuck working with a bright light in your face, soaking up the harsh morning air full of car exhaust, sweating as the hours go by - what will make the difference is making sure that you get rid of that excess dead skin every 3-7 days.

Gua sha is amazing for getting rid of the stress if you clench your jaw during moments of stress. Say you have to present an assignment or address and debate a crowd, that takes a tole on the jaw and the facial muscles. Using a gua sha is great for ironing those knots and that tension out.

On the topic of massage, spas can be unaffordable at times, time is could also be a problem. Get into a habit of using every minute you have. That 5 minutes that you sit and doom scroll on tik tok, take out a wood tool, grab a moisturiser, and press those muscles to release built-up tension. Taking care of the vehicle you have is so important. Your body and mind are separate but complimentary. Take care of her, and she will take care of you. Don't forget that every second, she's pumping the blood that facilitates your social meetings and work hours.

When it comes to body, get yourself exfoliating mits or an abrasive rag. Once again, exfoliation, exfoliation, exfoliating. It's great for blood flow and circulation as well as moving your muscles and tissues that may be constantly seditary from a desk.

Dry brushing is something I also swear by. Once again, absolutely wonderful for circulation and waking the skin up.

Get yourself a foam roller... I press such an emphasis on these tools that stimulate the muscles because we often forget how much our bodies are taking multiple hits from working. Joint issues are something that's prevalent when you're a working girl, coming straight out of high-school and going into the world outside the home of your care taker. Roll those legs out, release that back into the grooves. It makes a world of difference!

Clothing

I loved to dress like a blank canvas back in my early days when I decided I want to make something of myself. Nothing beats good denim pants and a white t-shirt. Especially when you're starting out and want to begin establishing outfits for everyday, you'll notice the blank canvas approach will prevent you from looking crazy on crazy days. Stock up on 3 white tees, white and blue jeans, yoga pants, well fitting good quality skin tone lingerie, a belt, a watch, some fake pearls, black or white dress, a ring and a necklace and my all time favourite, a pair of shades.

Ugh, I can't get enough of combinations like this. I grew up and was educated by women who followed this but fancied it up with a bold Goyard St Louis, a 3 stone engagement ring with a gold band, a local pure and heavy polished silver bracelet and some Loro Pianas. Absolutely gorgeous women, who knew how to constantly present themselves as nothing less than reliable, stylish and beautiful.

You might say that, 'Omg Lilly, that's so boring', that's not the point here 😂. As a green girl with a good head on your shoulders, you're going to get a lot of new opportunities. Whether it's internships, parties, socials with the girls or the guys, dates, fund raisers, club representative workshops, you're going to be expected to show up well and put together. Say you have a social evening at a club house, in the morning you have an internship and the next day you have to manage and represent your society. Those 3 white shirts paired with a rotation of basic bottoms and versatile shoes will make things a lot easier for you especially if you're starting out in a foreign country where you don't know what is to be worn exactly.

Makeup

Those who have known me are well aware that I'm a retired goth girl and was killing it with the cut crease and James Charles tutorials back in the day. Makeup is something that has seamlessly became part of my life. Unfortunately or fortunately, I grew out of that creative phase and started wondering what actually makes my natural features and face pop. What presents me as healthy, bright, and hyper-feminine (in contrast to the basic clothing)

I came up with the recipe of 'Biology' makeup. Blush because it signifies healthy blood flow and interest in the person you're interacting with. Healthy full eyebrows, non-matte evenly toned skin with naturally bronzed dimensions. A healthy hydrated pink lip. Some extras are a little liner to enhance the eye, flirty lashes from carefully applied mascara and/or lashes and some depth and glitter to draw attention at the eyes.

Very basic, very safe, very attractive, very reliable. This is a routine that can be executed within 8 minutes.

Moisturiser -> sunscreen base -> full coverage foundation or concealer watered down with sunscreen to make it more glowy and allow the natural dimensions of the face to peer through->bronzer/darker powder-> semi heavy blush combined with some loose banana powder to calm down the concelar-> light wing-> lashes-> wipe the lips and eyebrows-> fill both in and end with a natural colour applied to both.

Inspo below

E.T.C

Other important notes:

Yoga, cardio and pilates to maintain mobility, lubricate those joints, crack those bones back into place. Sweat is amazing to get those toxins, lose a bit of unnecessary weight, blow off steam, improve skin health, get your blood pumping and much more.

Save your money, all these things are meant to make life simpler for you so you are in a place where you are investing into things that are truly important like rent, food, tuition, remittances, dental work, medical aid, insurance, etc till you have someone who could assist with that :)

Remember to keep a balanced diet. Oh lord, when I went out to a new country, thank god I was young, but I became close friends with the local McDonald's and knew all of the door dash delivery men by name. Please, for the love of God, buy your fresh food and meal prep. The temptation is so real after a long night, to drop a bunch of pounds or euros on a quarter pounder and some zinger wings but it will not nourish you to survive another active day with decent cognition and drive. Especially if you were living alone and stressing out about making your own path, don't feed the delivery demon. You'll lose useful money, and mess your hormones up.

Instead to reward yourself, buy your place some flowers. If you want to eat go to a restaurant which serves whole food. Buy some new fancy stationery, party, get a spa or cosmetic treatment that you've been wanting, travel or take a train to somewhere scenic! Perhaps I'm too harsh but addiction to quick fixes is real when you first drop into a state of independence whether it's financially or physically. Don't abuse it by splurging. Understand moderation through strict monitoring then after a while, go get that Wingstop or whatever after knowing how to access real food and that it's an affordable and doable option first! (me and my guy friends literally never ate any real food for a month straight while gallivanting in Europe because we were so codependent on Taco Bell and used our lack of knowledge of the city as an excuse to take the easy way out 🤣.)

If you can do something really well, make a mini business out of it.

Network, network, network. Ask questions, ask for opportunities, get numbers and business cards.

Self defense starter kit (Google it according to the laws of your nation)

Lastly, make friends, call family, volunteer at an animal shelter every now and then to remind you of what love is 😂 because in the fast paced assimilation into new environments, you do forget and only notice when suddenly you're sadder than usual, and have anxiety during basic interactions.

⭐️

[reasonsforhope]

"In Washington D.C., a sophisticated sewage treatment plant is turning the capital’s waste into a form of capital: living capital that is fertilizing the gardens of farms of the Mid-Atlantic region and saving vast quantities of resources.

Described by the workers’ there as a “resource recovery plant,” D.C. Water run a biogas plant and high-quality fertilizer production in the course of their dirty duty to ensure the city’s waste finds a safe endpoint.

The nation’s capital is exceptional at producing waste from the toilet bowls of the 2.2 million people who live, work, and commute through the city and its suburbs.

Reporting by Lina Zeldovich reveals that rather than trucking it all to a landfill, D.C. Water extract an awful lot of value from the capital crap, by looking at it as a resource to send through the world’s largest advanced wastewater treatment plant, which uses a “thermal hydrolysis process” in which it is sterilized, broken down, and shipped off for processing into “Bloom,” a nitrogen-rich, slow-release fertilizer product. 

The other “Black Gold”

At their facility in southwest Washington, huge aeration tanks percolate the poo of everyone from tourists to the President. After it’s all fed into enormous pressure cookers where, under the gravity of six earth atmospheres and 300°F, the vast black sludge is rendered harmless.

Next this “Black Gold,” as Zeldovich described it, is pumped into massive bacterial-rich tanks where microbes breakdown large molecules like fats, proteins, and carbs into smaller components, shrinking the overall tonnage of sewage to 450 tons per day down from 1,100 at the start of the process.

This mass-micro-munching also produces methane, which when fed into an onsite turbine, generates a whopping 10 megawatts of green energy which can power 8,000 nearby homes. [Note: Natural gas (which is mostly methane) is definitely greener than coal and oil, but it still causes a significant amount of emissions and greenhouse gases.] The 450 tons of remaining waste from the D.C. feces are sent into another room where conveyor belts ring out excess fluid before feeding it through large rollers which squash it into small congregate chunks.

D.C. Water sends this to another company called Homestead Gardens for drying, aging, and packaging before it’s sold as Bloom.

“I grow everything with it, squashes, tomatoes, eggplants,” Bill Brower, one of the plant’s engineers, tells Zeldovich. “Everything grows great and tastes great,” he adds.

“And I’m not the only one who thinks so. We’ve heard from a lot of people that they’ve got the best response they’ve ever seen from the plants. Particularly with leafy greens because that nitrogen boost does well with leafy plants. And the plants seem to have fewer diseases and fewer pests around—probably because Bloom helps build healthy soils.”

While farms around the country are facing nutrient depletion in soils from over-farming, turning to synthetic fertilizers to make up the difference, introducing more such thermal hydrolysis plants could truly revolutionize the way humans look at their feces—as a way of restoring the country’s soils rather than polluting them. As Mike Rowe would say, it only takes a person who’s willing to get their hands dirty."

-via Good News Network, November 23, 2021

Note: You can buy this fertilizer yourself here!

[tackfield]

Unleashing Style and Safety: The Ultimate Guide to Motorcycle Leather Boots

Regarding riding gear, motorcycle leather boots are more than just a fashion statement—they're a crucial element of safety and comfort on the road. Whether you're a seasoned rider or just starting, investing in the right boots can make all the difference in your riding experience. From protection against the elements to enhancing your overall riding performance, here’s everything you need to know about motorcycle leather boots:

Why Choose Leather Boots?

Durability: Leather is renowned for its durability, making it an ideal material for motorcycle boots that need to withstand constant wear and tear.

Protection: Motorcycle boots are designed with reinforced materials and ergonomic features to protect your feet, ankles, and lower legs from impact, abrasion, and the elements.

Comfort: Quality leather boots are comfortable for long rides, offering support and flexibility where needed while maintaining breathability.

Key Features to Look For:

Material: Opt for full-grain leather or high-quality synthetic leather. These materials offer the best combination of durability and comfort.

Armor: Look for boots with built-in ankle protection, toe caps, and shin guards to shield against impact and abrasion.

Waterproofing: Consider boots with waterproof membranes to keep your feet dry in rainy conditions.

Closure System: Choose between traditional laces, Velcro, or zippers based on your preference for ease of use and security.

Sole: A grippy, oil-resistant sole provides stability and traction, crucial for maintaining control of your bike.

Style and Functionality:

Classic vs. Sport: Classic leather boots offer timeless style and versatility, while sportier options may include additional features like ventilation for warmer climates.

Color Choices: From classic black to bold colors, choose a style that complements your riding gear and personal taste.

Fit: Proper fit is essential for comfort and safety. Ensure your boots provide enough room for movement without being too loose.

Maintenance Tips:

Cleaning: Regularly clean your boots with a damp cloth to remove dirt and grime. Use leather conditioner to keep the material supple and prevent cracking.

Storage: Store your boots in a cool, dry place away from direct sunlight to maintain their shape and prevent leather from drying out.

Repair: Address any minor scuffs or tears promptly with leather repair kits to prolong the lifespan of your boots.

Conclusion:

Investing in a high-quality pair of motorcycle leather boots is an investment in both style and safety. Whether you're cruising down the highway or navigating challenging terrain, the right boots will enhance your riding experience while providing essential protection. Explore different styles, features, and brands to find the perfect pair that suits your riding style and personal preferences. Remember, safety should always come first on the road—starting from the ground up with your choice of boots!

Gear up, stay safe, and enjoy the ride with confidence in your motorcycle leather boots!