#PADDED SWEETIE BRALETTE

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

what wasnt being said in the poly poolverine storyline??? youve got me so hooked on this one

Enjoy a smut

"So, Angel baby," Wade demanded when you settled on the couch, "make with the details. What'd they say?"

You take a drink and a deep breath and Logan trades looks with Wade behind your head as they take seats on either side of you. "Well. My brain is still there, so that's good news."

"But," Logan prompted, feeling his stomach sink unpleasantly.

"But," you sigh, "they're going to try some new meds and if that doesn't work surgery IF I'm even a candidate for it. But IF they do that the recovery time is a beast and so is the therapy and-"

"We'll figure it out," Wade said.

You shake your head, "I don't expect you to-"

"Shut up," Logan said without any real heat, dropping an arm around your shoulders.

"And," you sigh, "there's still the risk that it could leave me worse off than I am now."

"We'll figure it all out," Wade said, kissing the side of your head.

"I still understand if-"

"Shut up," they tell you in unison.

Wade grabbed your chin and licked into your mouth, cutting off anything else you could say as he kissed you. His usual gentleness replaced with something like desperation. Days of pent up anxieties that had been gnawing at him bubbling up. And on your other side, Logan isn't about to be left out. Taking advantage of the exposed, tender skin on your neck to make his own feelings about it known. Scraping the flesh with his teeth. Making you whimper

"Aw hell no," Althea muttered, "Not this shit again."

You try to pull away from Wade to stammer an apology but Wade keeps hold of your hair and nips at your lip possessively, grinning when you close your eyes and shiver. "Poor neglected angel baby," he cooed, "Look at her, Peanut-"

The Apartment door slammed with Althea's exit and Logan's only response was to carefully shred your shirt. Leaving you in a bralette and your jeans on the couch. Exposing left over bits of adhesive and the bruises on your arms from blood draws and IVs. And he growls possessively. Burrying his face in your breasts and nuzzling briefly before he knelt in front of you and pushed your knees apart. Kissing the bruises on your arms.

"Good girl," Wade said, pulling off his shirt, "Just relax. Think you can take us today, huh?"

"Want to," you whine, letting your head loll back. "Missed my boys."

"You can do it, Princess," Logan growled, unbuttoning your jeans and trailing soft kisses down your stomach.

"He's so soft for you, baby," Wade purred. "Got us both so owned we're stupid. Not goin' anywhere, 'kay?"

"I just don't want you to have to take care of me," you protest, going tense.

Logan grumbled and pulled your jeans and panties down, leaving you exposed you him, and sank his teeth into your thigh. Sharply enough that you cried out, and he licked tenderly at the bite to soothe it. "Ours," he grunted.

"God that's fuckin' hot-"

"Wade," you whine. It's hard to focus. It's hard to think. It's hard to do anything except WANT when they're touching you like this. And when Logan smirks up at you, teasing your folds with just the pad of his index finger, almost lazily- you can only whimper.

"Angel baby," Wade crooned, "what's the matter, huh? You wanna play too?" He shimmied out of his pants and let his cock spring free, "Come to papa. Let's give you something to do, huh?"

And you do, licking at his tip to tease him. Satisfied when you feel his hands in your hair to stroke it. "That's it, Sweetie. Feels better, hu- Fuuuck. Yes. You know what I- Shit."

"Good girl," Logan growled. Giving you a little more now that you're starting to relax some. Losing yourself like you need to- to not think so much. To not worry so much. And your answering muffled mewl is like music to his ears. "That's it, kid. Gonna put two inside you, kay?" Better Music to his ears s that Wade is helpless in your capable hands. All he can do is sing your praises and try not to fuck your face.

Logan could sympathize- You had some super fucking human blowjob skills and he was willing to bet if Wade so much as twitched he was gonna lose it. But- there were rules. And when you were with them, they'd both agreed "Ladies First" was the first rule. It wasn't going to be fair if you hurt yourself and had to tap out before you got to come. They learned that the hard way.

He kept working you and kept at it, slow and steady. Enjoying the steady cresendo of your release. And when you did come, moaning incoherently around Wade's cock, his breathless little scream made Logan grin as he watched his other lover spatter come down your chest- careful not to get it on your face or in your hair.

"Christ," he panted, "What is this Prom night?"

Logan smirked and kissed you before he kissed Wade, "What's the matter, bub, she get the best of ya?"

"It's the fucking tongue thing. Every time- succubus." He pouted and leaned down to kiss you, wiping come off you with his discarded shirt, "Did you have a gay boyfriend or something? Fuck."

You snort, "If you learn to suck dick, suddenly boys don't care as much if you don't really want to fuck."

"Only because they don't know how to fuck," Logan growled, rubbing your hips.

"Such a DILF thing to say," Wade said, leaning over to kiss Logan, "as soon as I can feel my legs again-"

"As soon as you can feel your fucking legs, you pussy," he said, smirking, "you're sucking my dick while she sits on my face."

"So bossy," Wade pouted, "Guess I gotta get my kisses in now huh? Since Logi-bear decided he wants to be Daddy today."

[mysilkville]

NEVER SAY NEVER PADDED SWEETIE BRALETTE

https://www.mysilkville.com/product-details.php?page=57560604&title=NEVER-SAY-NEVER-PADDED-SWEETIE-BRALETTE

Light support, perfect for lounging or sleeping. Completely wireless. #Semisheer lace. #Pulloverstylebra. Adjustable shoulder straps.

[thegardenofbae]

i’m FINALLY ready to be serious and take care of myself so I can be the best version of myself. I also want to be more feminine with my looks and how i carry myself. Any tips? thank you!

Hi there! First, I want to say how proud I am of you for deciding for yourself to become more in tune with your femininity. Here are some tips I can offer personally that might help you on this journey.

Become a more eloquent speaker.

Some people will say that to be feminine you must have very soft-spoken, but that's not the case. If you look at some feminine icons such as Dorothy Dandridge, Jane Russell, and Rita Hayworth, they had deep, sultry voices that were alluring and very feminine.

Make sure when you speak, you’re saying your words as clearly and evenly as possible to be understood.

Be confident in all you do.

Your body, your mind, everything about you has been wonderfully made, don’t forget that. when you walk, keep your head high. Maintain eye contact with people. No one is above you, and you should never let anyone try to intimidate you. Smile baby, you’re blessed!

On the topic of walking, make sure your posture is good!

Stand up straight, slouching and bad posture isn’t a mark of a feminine woman. Walk with one foot in front of the other with your shoulders pushed back. walk slowly, you are in no rush. Let people look at you, I’ll say it once and I’ll say it again: You’re beautiful ♡

Invest in your lingerie.

I’d highly suggest getting rid of any old, tattered undergarments. As beautiful as you are, you should only have adornments that are half as beautiful and of good quality. Now remember, you don’t have to break the bank for this. I prefer victoria’s secret undergarments to pinks. there are also brands like aerie, wear lively, and ThirdLove that have wonderful underwear! below, I have linked some of my favorite pieces.

Aerie

real power balconette bra (I have one in every color)

eyelash lace racerback bralette

new bloom lace padded triangle bralette

lace strappy triangle bralette

Victoria's Secret

lacie bralette

cosabella sweetie bralette

esme triangle bralette

wicked unlined balconette bra (I have this bra in the black + nude, soft plum floral, sage dust, and lace black. It's one of my favorites if you couldn't tell.)

Have superb hygiene.

Feminine women are known to be soft, supple, fragrant creators. Make sure you bathe daily. For your body, use a fragrant body wash. For your under area, use a white soap with no fragrances and no dye. Make sure you wear a deodorant as well as a beautiful perfume. If you aren’t able to use perfume, scented oils are always an excellent choice. Always make sure your breath is brushed and clean and smelling fresh. Make sure to always wear clean, freshly pressed clothes. It goes without saying, but top-tier hygiene is everything. I've included a list of some of my favorite perfumes for the spring and summer seasons.

Bright Crystal by Versace

Dylan Turquoise Pour Femme by Versace

Light Blue by Dolce & Gabbana

Lazy Sunday by Maison Margiela

Under The Lemon Tree by Maison Margiela

Si by Armani

La Vie Est Belle by Lancome

Be mindful of what you wear.

Wear clothing that flatters the body. They should accentuate your best features. Wear more skirts and dresses. It took me a while to get to the point of wearing dresses because I grew up a tomboy wearing oversized t-shirts, sweats, and sneakers every day. But now, once spring rolls around, my body is itching to pull out my light dresses. If I do wear pants, they're usually satin wide-legged trousers or linen shorts. I rarely wear denim shorts, but when the outfit calls for them, I wear them. I love sandals, wedges, and espadrilles as feminine footwear. I still wear sneakers from time to time. I have created so many mood boards that showcase my style if you're looking for inspiration.

Never stop educating yourself.

The mark of a truly feminine woman is an educated woman. Never stop learning, even once you get your diploma. Make time to read books, watch films, and learn about the world. A good conversationalist makes the most interesting of a woman. I love cinematography, so I watch a lot of classic films. I also am immersed in a creative space, so it's important to know things about art, history, and things like that. Find something you're interested in, and never ever stop learning.

Good luck again on your journey ♡

[stronghours]

THREE QUEENS OF DOMESTICITY

Ava’s husband Reuben, as Ava informed Domme Lux in the unfinished basement beforehand, had only contributed to the collaring ceremony through draping the gaping drywall with swags of lavender gauze and twinkle lights from Christmas, which blistered the fabric in a damp whimsy Lux hadn’t thought the man capable. But then, Ava said, she had never brought a boy into the household before, and she thought it was only fair to respect Reuben’s distance in the matter. Where he was, she didn’t say. Evey, one of the four usual girls, was already naked but for papery hospitality slippers and trying to tame the blank concrete with a shredded mop. She squeezed the handle to a thin, practical breast each time she lost hope. Her clavicle was tense with little red marks.

Ava sat on her own padded stool applying lotion to her arms as she held court with Lux, Celeste and other colleagues regarding the guest list and particulars. She possessed downy Marilyn Monroe skin and her expression was luminous, while Lux, simultaneously underdressed, clammy, and overheated (it was summer, high noon outside, but Halloweentown below) started to feel the depression sink in. She’d chosen to wear a sleeveless mock turtleneck cinched in via a skintight pencil skirt and knee-high chunk pumps, and it all looked charming enough to her when she texted a picture to Jules. Sexual language arts teacher or Lorelai Gilmore season 1-2? She’d typed. But Jules had been AWOL since Thursday and now Lux had no chaperone and no wisdom. Ava didn’t let it go unremarked.

“It’s June,” she informed, like Lux didn’t know. “So, he’s sucking up to his leather daddies and his drag queens, while the rest of us behave like grown-ups. Correct?”

Guests arrived. Lux decided on strategic retreat and glued her spine to a far swampy corner and gradually became happier to have interpreted the dress code on the conservative side. Ava sent out the invite via her personal newsletter, with the esoteric instruction to dress within the modes of business or pleasure and it became clear of the basement filling nobody had made a collective interpretation. Celeste, shivering underneath her partner’s bomber jacket had prevailed on a frail sundress and the man in front of Lux wore a boxy Uniqlo blazer on top and a polyester jockstrap that read PIG BOY in an eternal ring around the waist. His white ass loomed beneath her line of vision, a sobering reality check to Evey and the other girls kneeling like wraiths up front, their smudged outlines harkening more toward Salo than Ava would ever intend.

Candles were lit. Lux could not get rid of the haunted house excess bringing her mood down, even as Ava, up front on her dais and methodically strapping her bagged up new boy onto his striker frame, vamped in a costumy corset of sectional purple brocade (Jules) opera-length latex mittens (Jules) and slick black shoulder plate and hood of indeterminate material (no doubt made by an enemy of Jules), and if Jules himself would ever show up, as promised, Lux could decide what was worse: Ava mixing materials or mixing designers.

But what was worst above all, she already knew, was that three poems had already been read and Ava was reading one still. She read one stanza per one buckle. Her new boy, before being lowered into his body bag, had read one himself to clarify his submission. His face had been beaky and palling. He had flat blue eyes. She liked him much better totally hidden from view and wondered how a hardline heterosexual like Ava could entertain delicate styles in women but such insipid taste in dudes.

A ray of light split the room like a knife and vanished. A couple people moaned, blinded in one eye. The crowd to Lux’s left grunted and spat, ruffled, then parted. She didn’t notice Jules until he had a cold hand behind her neck. Even with walls on both her sides, he found a blind spot.

He stuck his tongue in her ear, knowing full well she couldn’t shout him down in this scenario. “What’s up sugar,” he said, barely acceptably hushed. “How many poems has it been?”

“And the moonrise over the hill,” Ava recited, yanking a new strap, “Rises in tune – to your mind upon my person – to your body upon my person – to your devotion to my person –”

“It’s been this one for a while,” Lux said. She grabbed him and squashed him to her side. You had to meet Jules nuisance per nuisance when he felt energetic, or he’d trample you to death. When he was overbearing, she preferred him coldhearted, and when he was frosty, she preferred him needy. It was wedding season, and he hadn’t had enough brides to wear him out. “What took you so long?”

“Stopped for food. I’ve been up for uh…thirty-six hours.”

PIG BOY’s head turned back fractionally, then he thought better of looking and faced front.

“Wedding?”

“Shereen Allure made the Miss Continental Elite lineup. She got her hooks in me. She needs an evening gown, an interview moment, talent outfit that’ll stay together through the twenty fucking backflips I know she’ll want to do – baby, sweetie, honey, let me just stone you a fucking leotard, but no, she wants everything to sweep the toes. Insanity.” Jules craned his head around PIG BOY’s shoulder, and, seeing the wild look on his face, she wormed her hand underneath his shirt and pinched his ribs before he could think of speaking above sotto voice.

“Work function,” she warned. “Work function!”

“I wouldn’t go to my boss’s wedding,” Jules said, but he shriveled back into her shoulder obediently. “Gross. What’s she wearing?”

“A couple things of yours.”

“Against medical advice.”

Ava’s boy was buckled in midway up his ribs. They had to last to the neck. Somebody close to the front of the house darted forward to re-light the tea candles extinguished in their little glasses, scattered among Ava’s stilts. Lux thought: Suck-up.

“Cocksucker,” Jules hissed into her neck.

Profound is your sacred neck –

Ava claimed.

And affectionate, my lips, on its nape –

The boy in the bag didn’t judder or wince or squirm or move an inch. If Lux hadn’t been around to watch him step inside it, she would have considered him a mannequin. More guests arrived, fashionably late, and she and Jules alternately jostled the roach hotel between her ankles as they bandied to stay upright. PIG BOY had enough of them and forced his way further into crowd.

“What’s his name, anyway?” Jules asked, of bag-boy.

“Shawn. Mark. Uh…Jake.”

“Fucking John Donne up there has a boner for a goddamn Cody.” Jules wiped his nose on her shoulder. “I can’t breathe down here. Come on, ta-ta.”

The basement door opened into a little cairn staircase and led them blinking into the lawn (a lawn!) a black walnut tree dripping with green baubles (a tree!). Jules assisted her over the porch railing (a porch!) and spanked the dust from the seat of her skirt. They entered the gleaming kitchen, already occupied by Ava and Rueben’s straightest friends who, thin-lipped, met their sangrias with unenthusiasm.

“One thing I will say for Ava,” said a woman wearing a mock turtleneck similar to Lux’s own, “She certainly has…flair.”

A man turned to Jules and asked, helplessly, how long these things lasted. The preliminaries, Jules asked, or the mingling, or the primary ceremony, or the potluck or the afterparty? And while he laid out the etiquette Lux stared at the dustless countertops and the seafoam green cabinets, smooth to the touch, and their silver handles and the tile floor and the padded breakfast nook with its stained glass overhead light and the jazzy track lights situated over the looming kitchen island. Lysol lingered underneath the tawny fumes of a candle labeled CARMEL TRUFFLE SUNDAE and the photo pasted to the candle, she was ashamed to say, made her hungry. A kitchen-aide, which Lux had seen featured in some of Ava’s private photoshoots, gleamed, an untouchable ruby atop a mounted wall cabinet.

Jules’s conversation partner said he had tried to muscle through the ceremony but one of Ava’s slaves (the man himself hedged, politely, and referred to her as Ava’s housemaid) had accidentally brushed him with her nude bosom and he thought, well, better safe than sorry and beat it to safer pastures. “I don’t want to get her in trouble,” he claimed. The sangria was doing nothing to free him from this downward spiral of nakedness.

The mock turtleneck woman held the pitcher out to Lux for a sniff. “It’s virgin,” she pronounced, disgusted.

Jules shifted his backpack into the nook. He removed a pair of purple Easy Spirit pumps, a wad of pantyhose cut off at the thigh, two rolls of duct tape, a greasy paper bag from a Vienna Sausage, a Ziplock of loose bronze eyelets, a lacy bridal bralette and ouvert panty set Lux thought she had permanently lost and finally a half-empty bottle of white rum, which he handed around.

“She and Reuben,” the mock turtleneck woman confided, tit for tat, “Had two cash bars at their wedding.”

“I get it’s a private residence,” the man continued, wide eyed, as he tilted the bottle drop by tiny drop into his cup. “But is the nudity like – mandatory?”

“Don’t be shy,” Jules suggested, happy in his eternal revolving door from Bitch to Hostess. “Really tip that bad boy in there.”

The man turned on Lux, aghast. “Mandatory nudity?”

“Jules,” she said. “Bathroom escort, please.”

The floors were fake grey wood and if they’d been in socks, they would have slipped and slid like newborn colts through a framed gauntlet of Ava and Reuben’s documented civilian life. On the right, a picture of Reuben T-posing against the horizon of the Grand Canyon. On the left, Ava’s Reiki Master III certificate from Sat Nam. A family reunion and matching T-shirts (Ava’s side of the family). A newlywed embrace at the foot of an anonymous waterfall in the Upper Peninsula. She’d seen all this before, well acquainted with the ground floor of Ava’s house, but now she wondered if Zach-Cody-Jake-Shawn, petrified below her feet, was feeling the weight of the roof on his chest like she felt.

Jules, on his own agenda, bypassed the bathroom door which was modestly shut and tugged her toward the staircase.

“Oh shush,” she warned preemptively. “We’re not allowed!” They’d never been upstairs before.

“What? They don’t have a bathroom up there?”

“She’ll know,” Lux said as they tiptoed upward. She imagined their footfalls pounding through the ceiling of the basement and Ava, coolly, directing her eyes toward the ceiling and right up Lux’s skirt.

“If you quit being so aware of her, she wouldn’t be aware of you,” Jules counseled.

Every door upstairs was closed, sanded and paper-smooth and plumbed correctly in their jambs. Her apartment had more in common with Ava’s basement. Melancholy prevented her from noticing Jules bypassing the obvious bathroom door where the shadow of a jailed cat paced and opening another. It was Ava’s and Rueben's bedroom.

“Uh-oh,” Jules said. “What an honest mistake.”

 “Stop, stop, stop,” she begged, dancing backward, but the arrested step of somebody entering the downstairs hallway had her shoving him inside. Jules grabbed her wrist before she could slam the door shut in panic and guided it closed himself, soundlessly.

“Somebody’s coming!” She hissed.

           “Nobody’s coming,” he said. “Not upstairs, at least.”

           Next door, the cat mewed piteously.

           The bedroom, to her surprise, held no accoutrements of Ava’s work at the club, not a stocking on the ground or a corset thrown over the back of a chair. The only suggestion of her taste for grandeur Lux recognized was the four-poster bed and the plum carpet. Even the makeup mirror standing up on the desk was just an electric plastic-framed Conair. The same kind Lux, at 14, had hidden underneath her bed.

Jules touched one of the bedposts. “You think she ever spread-eagles ol’ Rueben on these babies?”

Reuben worked in software. He had a crew cut, no distinguishing features, and upper veneers. When grouped together, he referred to all of Ava’s dommes as you kids. Alone, he called Lux Little Lady and Jules Hey, It’s My Man! Before thumping him with lethal force between the shoulder blades. Lux didn’t want to imagine Ava and Reuben fucking in the four-poster bed. But, on contemplation, she realized it was an impossible task.

She peeked into the master bathroom long enough to confirm Ava installed a whirlpool tub. Jules had already thrown open her closet and was sifting through hangers. He stood rumpled in his flip-flops and she was worried his hands would leave marks.      

“She’ll know someone was snooping.”

“Did she ever notice when you and Celeste moved everything in the dungeon three inches to the left on April Fools?”

Lux sat gingerly on the desk chair. The Conair makeup mirror was still lit, and she checked her hairline, her face, her cleavage (she’d been paranoid for two months that she was shrinking) in the mock turtleneck. In a silver stand-frame was a black-and-white of Ava alone, on her wedding day. She posed in black-and-white before a crumbling brick wall, body positioned forward but facing right, absurdly fresh, and nearly sweet-sixteen in a sweetheart neckline and ruffled cap sleeves.

 Jules loomed like a vulture over her shoulder and judged for himself. “Not what I would have picked for her,” He decided.

But Lux couldn’t look away from the picture. Ava, pre-Entrance, pre-homeowner, pre-stable-of-subs, pre-whirlpool tub. In the sterile silence of the bedroom, she had nothing to cloud her thoughts. “Ava always knew,” she announced. “Look at her expression. She knew all along.”

“Knew what?”

“That it was always going to work out. That she was always going to lock this down.”

“Lock what down?”

Lux tried to set the picture frame exactly where she’d left it but couldn’t quite recall. She pushed Jules away from her, annoyed, and tried a different a different route. “Do you think he really loves her?”            

“Reuben?”      

 ���No, Zach – Jake – Shawn – whatshisname. In the basement.”

She felt Jules descend into sulky silence, that his magpie-plan of breaking and entering was not rendering hilarious fruit. She heard the bedsprings creak and two little claps as his sandals hit the floor.

“We make fun of her,” Lux insisted. “But she’s got the husband who loves her, and four full-timers cycling in and out of this beautiful house with a beautiful tree and green grass underneath and now this new kid. He wrote her a poem. She can inspire people to do things like that.”

Jules huffed.

Lux prodded: “Remember her interview in the Reader a few Prides ago? She said she owes it all to her Unapologetic Femininity. A successful woman constantly births this psychic potential in observing bodies.”

 “He wrote a shitty villanelle and climbed into a gimp bag in front of twenty-three perverts, so Ava’ll suffocate him with her titties for three years. That’s psychic potential?”

 “And what about Carmen, and Robin, and Deanna, and Evangeline?”

“What about Analise Petro? She split from the coven pretty fucking publicly.”

“Years ago. And she was immature. You and her were the same age.” At that time, Lux hadn’t made the decision if Jules, then a furious little boy-twink, would be nemesis or pal. She’d half-believed Jules poisoned Analise against Ava on purpose.

Jules, blissfully not thirty, ignored her. “Evey is my age,” he claimed.

“Carmen is thirty-six.” Lux, thirty-two, fretted, twisted her fingers. “Think of the responsibility. It’s all in her hands and she just…molds it.”

“Because of her essential femininity? You’re out of your mind.”

Downstairs, the sliding glass door to the backyard rattled. A few hoots of laughter drifted ghostly through the walls. Then the doors rattled twice, and silence seethed.

           “They change until they stay the same,” Jules said, too self-assured for someone sylphing on a strange bedspread with dirty feet. “And they’ll stay until they go away. Right about when Ava stops making them feel safe.”

“With –?”

“With her social nets and her two-story house and her dual income,” Jules said, sitting upright.  He was all the sudden blank-faced, voice poisonous, and she wondered automatically if his mother had been calling him late in the night. “With her sex gear she commissions from me. With the soothing atmosphere that Carmen interior designs, that Robin cleans, and the fucking homemade meals with the kitchen aide that only Deanna knows how to use. And you want me to think she’s this red-hot all-natural Madonna? You know better.”

Jules was rumpled beyond repair. He wore a tank top she’d gifted for his 27th birthday. It had ITALIAN FILLY printed on the front, and already the letters were starting to peel. He glared. Lux questioned the sincerity of his anger, if he only played it up because he noticed she was too sad to dig up anger herself, anger she felt all the time when she was perfectly alone, but she decided she was too pleased being noticed at all. Maybe in half an hour, she’d be happy enough to preen.

She got up and went to him on the bed and he sat up like a human being so she could clap his face in her hands. But he wasn’t done yet.

“She’s only a woman because she’s surrounded by one hundred sycophants who let her be one,” he sneered, and she felt the little muscles in his jaw. “Sisterhood is powerful!”

She slapped him on the mouth, but only a little bit. “What does that make me?” She asked, houseless, sycophant-less, suspicious her only sisters were biological.

“A woman who doesn’t need her yeast infections to remind her that she’s a woman.” He squirmed in her grip, for her enjoyment only, and his face reddened where it usually got red, close to the ears before it began to band his big nose. It was almost enough to make her forget she was only attracted to him when he was worn down to a nub of exhaustion. Usually, he was belly-up on the floor, with one arm thrown over his eyes, and one of his wrists in his carpal tunnel brace. Something about that brace lit her ass on fire. It made her want to pull down the blinds and eat him alive through his armpit. “Are we going to do something horrible to this bedspread or what?”

“Close your eyes.” He had an insane habit of kissing with his eyes open, and even she, the honorable first girl who’d ever fucked him, hadn’t trained him out of it. “Close your eyes,” he countered, and pulled the zipper on the back of her skirt so he could pull out her turtleneck out of her waist. It jammed. They struggled.

“Suck it in,” he ordered thoughtlessly, and the second she pulled in a deep breath she every inch of him sprang, alert, into a frenzy she couldn’t understand. He caught her around the waist and rolled them both off the bed and into the space between the wall and the gap where the bedclothes hung. She was just about to shriek at him when she heard bare feet pat-pat outside the bedroom door. Jules swept her under the bed (you could stack three bodies on top of each other, under there) and followed her himself just as the door opened.

Lux curled into a little ball. Jules elected to lay flat like a tapeworm.

A woman’s voice cooed. Lux waited. Doom squeezed her heart. But the voice wasn’t Ava’s.

“Sugar-pants, sugar-pants,” the voice caroled sweetly.

Then she saw the bare feet tip-tapping over the carpet, and she clocked the voice as Evangeline’s. She had freed the cat from the bathroom, and presumably held it in her arms, sweet-talking it. Lux dared to roll over to face Jules. He pinched his nose shut against a sneeze.

“I know baby, fluffy-baby,” Evey said. The desk chair scraped when she settled down into it. “You don’t like it in there. I know. I know. No huggle-wuggles for baby in there. You’re claustrophobic. So am I! Ugh!”

Evey gagged. She sobbed wretchedly for five whole minutes (Lux counted). The cat’s purr reached torrential volumes of pleasure. Near the end she reached for Jules’s hand, and they lay, foreheads together, too shy to look each other in the eye as Evey opened a drawer somewhere for tissues and was paralyzed by an attack of hiccups. Lux had to put all her muscle into not echoing her in sympathy.

Evey muttered to herself. “I’m claustrophobic, so I can’t let Her put me in the bag. If I can’t go in the bag, then I don’t get a poem.”

Click. Tap. Click. The drawer shutting. The lights of the makeup mirror turning off.

“I don’t get a poem,” Evey asserted. “I don’t get a poem.” And lower – “I’m not allowed to have a poem. I can’t have a poem. Or a tattoo.”

The cat gurgled.

Evey fled, down the hall, where a door slammed. Then, as if to fix the breach of discipline, the door opened again, and was closed so quietly Lux wasn’t sure it was closed at all.

She and Jules waited, then parted and unearthed themselves on either side of the bed. Jules zipped her skirt and together they patted down the bedspread. He had the faraway look in his eye he usually had when he was thinking about pattern-drafting and Lux replayed in her brain Evey’s Ugh! She wondered if one of her clients had ever gone home, away from her, looked in their bathroom mirror, stuck out their tongue and gone Ugh!

“Come on,” Jules said. The cat, abandoned again, eyed him from the desk chair. “Let’s go down and pay our respects to King Tut.”

And to the cat: “What the fuck are you looking at?”

If he’d acted smug at having his cynicism proven, she might have hit him for real. She’d hit him for real – which in their shared experience, meant purely out of anger – twice. The first time he’d deserved it. The second time he punished her, said she hit like a nelly fag and blocked her phone number for a month. Then he reemerged as swiftly as he’d removed himself, but pointedly, with an uncharacteristically physically proximate boyfriend who lasted exactly three months. She considered that his way of informing her she had been on probation.

“I’m lonely,” she said, because that was the problem.

“I’m literally right here, idiot.”

But when they reached the staircase the noise of the swelling party in the kitchen reached their ears. They decided to go down separately, for the sake of modesty, and Jules went first. He kissed her ear, conciliatory, and she watched the high yoke of his shoulders descend until she was alone again.

Who needed it, she thought, the fifteen-dollar candles and the floors constructed so they do not have to be waxed, the fleet of morose women and the sexless men? Years ago, she’d walked into Jules’s squalid, long-gone basement apartment with a frayed leather harness and been shocked at the sight of the missing Analise Petro sleeping on his futon. Split by her own precarious position in Ava’s club at the time, she’d whipped out her phone, as if to rat them both out then and there. Jules never even looked up from the dress form he was taping.

He asked: What do you give a cunt to convince her a community matter is a private matter?

He clipped off the tape with scissors longer than his hand.

A house!

Lux wanted a house. She wanted to jam her hooks into a hunk with big delts, and huge tits, and chain him up under the bed, somebody the opposite of Jules in every way, and she wanted to bake a successful quiche and she wanted, most of all, her and her sisters’ beloved childhood mutt Chessie, who had leapt off the family pontoon one 4th of July weekend on Indian Lake to his idiot death, to be revived and come trotting up the staircase and into her arms, panting with joy, not because he had been resurrected, but because he loved her best of all.

[hecohansen31]

Sweet Michael's birthday is coming, so his girlfriend decides to give him a nice gift : "I will make one of your fantasy come true. Anything you want, I will do it, just ask." Michael : "Anything I want ?" Gf : "Yup" Michael : "Can we go to the beach, then the amusement park ? We will play, eat ice cream, and then walk, bare foot, in the sand. Saw that in a movie, I always wanted to try but never did." Gf *crying cause he is too cute*: "I... not what I had in mind, but of course baby !"

(A/N): Hello, lovely! 

And happy birthday! I hope you got to spend it with your loved ones, ate a lot of cake and got a lot of awesome gifts (including this shitty fic, from me!). I have read your post and i just wanted to remind you to be kind with yourself; things are tough indeed, but time will sooth everything and with time I am sure that you will feel better and achieve all your dreams, no matter how many times they change!

Love you, lovely!

WARNINGS: Mention of Sex and Nudity.

Sex had been a taboo thing with Michael at first, she knew it all about the story…

He was all too shy for it: he had been at first scared of seeing her naked and he himself was scared of her touches; she still remembered when he had almost had a breakdown when she had walked into him in only his boxers.

Not to talk about that time he had shoved her into the ground, when she had tried to hug him.

But somehow, she had thought something changed after their first night together: Michael hadn’t started being more sexual with her, but intimacy came more natural at him.

After their first time together, shy touches had blossomed into something more.

And this got her into thinking more and more (also Madison, who was constantly noisy with her “suggestions”, had helped) and maybe she should have foreseen that it might have been a bit premature, but the thrill of it had made her more and more curious about this.

So, the night before Michael’s birthday she made sure to make herself be found in his room, a delicate silk robe, hiding her sheer white lingerie, a simple bralette with intricate flowery details on it, giving it some color, replicating itself on her panties, leaving much to the imagination and following her shape perfectly.

She had brought that set a few years prior, for herself, but she had never gotten around to actually wear it, mostly her mind going “no who do you have to impress?” and “lacy is itchy and not comfortable”.

But as soon as she had put it back on, it had made her feel so so amazing that she had promised herself to put it back on again, whether Michael liked it or not (although she hoped he would like it).

It complimented her skin tone and indeed she felt the best she could.

She tried to assume a sensual position, the one that spoke of unbothered interest and casual beauty, but in the end Michael ended up being late from his last lesson and she actually simply started reading a book, and got a bit too much into it… enough that she was almost startled when Michael opened the door.

And she managed to scare him, almost falling from his bed, meanwhile he almost screamed about an intruder, before realizing it was just her… tangled into his sheets.

She mentally cursed for her stupidity, but tried to assume a relaxed expression, smiling brightly at a confused Michael, who swiftly replied with also a smile, just focusing on her surprise visit.

-It’s good to see you, here, sweetheart! – he mumbled, meanwhile he gently padded over, setting next to her on the floor, without taking a notice of her little robe, which hid even less…

The fact that he gave it no mind honestly boomed her a bit: was he not finding her sexy?

-… but what are you doing here? I thought you girls would be hanging out together…-.

-Change of plans…- she immediately stuttered, reaching out for his hand -… tomorrow is your birthday so I thought that we might spend the night before your birthday, together-.

She brushed out her shoulder against his, pushing it against his and gaining an immediate push back, meanwhile she giggled at their silliness.

-That’s very sweet- mumbled Michael, leaning down onto her lips to brush them against hers, a silly kiss, planting a few more all over her face, till she had enough and tried to push him away -Nobody had ever wanted to spend one day with me… two days… I am a freaking, lucky man! -.

She punched him lightly on his arm, meanwhile he softly grabbed her thigh, indeed a show that their first time together had brought them closer, and that he didn’t scream and screech no more when he touched any body place which was even slightly sexual.

He kneaded softly the flash and soon liquid desire coating the inner part of the soft flesh.

But she was a woman on a mission: she couldn’t get distracted.

She took Michael by surprise, jumping onto his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck to bring him closer to her, because of the sudden twist, Michael was too taken aback to do anything and she smiled prettily at the masterpiece of a dumbfounded Michael looking back at her.

-I will make one of your fantasy come true, tonight. Anything you want, I will do it, just ask- she then turned away, her cheeks blooming red, due to her own boldness, to which she wasn’t used, but it felt good to have Michael react with full-blown pupils and his mouth hanging open, catching flies -… Mikey, you just have to ask-.

And immediately her lips were kissed again, this time with much more bruising force and she was sure that soon her white slip would be off, and she would under him

… she was half hoping it would happen soon…

But Michael’s eyes, once he broke off the kiss, were joyful, childishly joyful.

-Well… what about going to the beach… you told me that you missed it! – his eyes shone with a small glint she couldn’t dismiss even slightly, a small smile appearing on her own face -… and we have never really been all alone to New Orleans, that would be a nice idea, and a there is an amusement park just a bit away from there, but you know… we have transfiguration-.

He kept on making plans, meanwhile she started feeling them as if they were far away from her: maybe they could lunch at New Orleans, he would get Madison to suggest him a nice place, and they would sightsee the entire city till then.

Then it was beach time, they would soak in the afternoon glow, and watch the sunset there, maybe hugged together, because that’s what he saw in movies, and then after maybe dinner on a restaurant on the beach and absolutely birthday ice-cream, the amusement park.

“I will win you an amazing teddy-bear” he promised her, before kissing her forehead, which got her to finally break off from her trance, seeing him looking at her worried.

She couldn’t help but breath out and realize that her boyfriend was the dorkiest dork ever.

And that he had never had a happy birthday…

Which made her both happy and sad at the same time.

-Everything alright, sweetie? – he kissed again her forehead trying to regain some reaction from her -… oh shit… did I ask too much? Was I too noisy? Maybe you had already other plans…-.

She immediately tightened her grip onto his neck and brought herself to crash her lips onto his, in a very passionate kiss, which shut him up enough and got her to express any ounce of appreciation she had for him.

-I literally can’t wait for our little date tomorrow- she giggled, and he breathed out a deep breath of relief, meanwhile he gently looked at her, his hands again digging in her thighs, tenderly -… that is the cutest Michael and honestly, I had already planned to spend my time with you, but what I meant before…-.

She lost each boldness she might even slightly have as soon as she thought about what she had wanted to do.

Maybe… she had just gotten mixed signals from Michael…

…maybe… he wasn’t attracted to her like that…

-… wait… what did you want to do? – he seemed curious and she decided that if she couldn’t speak, she might show him what it was all about, opening the robe and revealing her simple lingerie, meanwhile she set her eyes anywhere except him -… was that all for me, sweetheart? -.

She nodded, hiding herself in the crook of his neck and with the shift she understood something: her plan had worked, he was aroused.

-Yeah… for your birthday- a plan started to appear in her mind she moved closer, watching his excited eyes, clearly asking for more and she delivered, with the promise of a kiss, before swerving up, getting up and running away -… but tonight is not your birthday… so you’ll have to wait-

And then she was off, being followed by her pretty warlock with an amazing date for his birthday…

… had they been able to be active, the following day…

[essentiallyessence]

Cosabella Never Say Never Padded Sweetie Bralette ❤ liked on Polyvore (see more lacy bras)

[garretthptr506-blog]

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