#V. HEAVENS HEED | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lola-writes · 9 months ago

Text

Prince Regent

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Word Count: 8.6k

Synopsis: Aemond returns to the Red Keep after the battle of Rook’s Rest with a newfound vigor for his wife.

Themes & Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI!), POV first person (Aemond’s & reader’s), s2x04,05 inspired, enemies to lovers trope, smut, violence, blood, dark/possessive Aemond, breeding kink, swearing, mentions of rape, high valyrian, fingering, multiple orgasms, p in v, doggystyle, creampie, rough sex, hair pulling, choking

Song: Hide and Seek ~ Klergy, Mindy Jones

Latest oneshot: A Dragon's Lullaby

Masterlist | Add yourself to my taglist | Playlist | Ao3

Likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated ❤️

Enjoy the read!

[gif @aemondstark ]

AEMOND

Smoke. Dragon fire. Blood.

It clung to me, acrid and sweet, like a perverse cloak of victory.

A primal urge, raw and unbidden, erupted within me, a hunger that transcended the battle’s end. It devoured my senses. It vibrated within my bones. It consumed my very being.

My adrenaline ebbed, leaving a hollowness in its wake. The battle was over. Victory was ours. Gleaming armor was storming the castle. But that victory hung hollow, a meaningless echo in the carnage. My flesh seared with defeat. A strange fire, unsatiated, stirred beneath my skin.

I needed something more. Something I could sink my teeth into, as Vhagar had. Something warm and living.

From the air, I watched the smoke curl skyward, soldiers scattering like startled ants, and Meleys red corpse lay vanquished beneath brick and dust.

The warmth of my kill was still writhing. It was a fresh, living ember, demanding to be tended.

The impact of my brother’s fall had torn the wood asunder, set the ground ablaze, smoke and cinders rising steadily towards the heavens. My gaze settled on the inferno, and I urged Vhagar, my reflection in scales and fire, towards it, my mighty beast beating the wind like thunder as we circled twice around the barrenness of the forest, before she heeded my command.

“Qubemagon, Vhagar.” (Descend)

I dismounted her and trod a path towards the inferno, my sword materializing in my grasp with a practiced turn of my wrist. Shades of red marred my vision. The air shimmered, thick with smoke and the metallic tang of blood.

Adrenaline trickled into my bloodstream.

Never had I been so close to my birthright, so close to erasing the past. My grip tightened around the hilt. Images swam up before me. A lifetime of humiliations, each one a searing brand in my retina. My brother getting what he wasn’t fit for, presented to him on a silver platter. But no longer. No more would he be the architect of my suffering.

But as a tremor shook the ground, a low rumble heralding the broken form of the golden dragon, a monument of smoke, blood, dirt, and ashes, none of it seemed to matter.

As I crested a rise, the world snapped into sharp focus. My gaze landed on him - my brother; melted into a nightmarish tableau of steel, flesh, and bone, encircled by his dragon’s golden body.

Resolution, cold and heavy, settled in my chest. Killing him would be fruitless. The Stranger had already requested an audience.

I had achieved what needed to be done. As I lifted the edge of my sword to its sheath, a voice echoed through the forest.

“Aemond!” Cole cried my name like a desperate warning. I glanced back, my weapon disappearing into its sheath with a final rasp.

I looked down at my sacrifice. The damage was raw, excessive. The damage that was wanton. A pang of unease twisted in my gut.

A glint of metal caught my eye, and I dropped to my haunches to retrieve the Conqueror’s Valyrian steel dagger from the bloodied earth. The dagger that was once Aegon’s. It was mine now.

Ser Criston’s rustling armor announced his approach. “Where is His Grace?” he asked, voice quivering.

I didn’t respond. Instead, I tilted my chin, allowing the glistening steel guide his gaze toward the grotesque sculpture of my melted brother encircled by golden scales.

Ser Criston crumpled to his knees without a word, as I rose to my feet.

A cold knot of regret twisted in my chest as I regarded my tribute. But it was fleeting, replaced by the icy fire of my ambition.

There was much to be done, and I needed to proceed if I were to achieve it. I turned on my heel and left Cole and my broken brother behind.

The battlefield and the devastation shrank beneath me as Vhagar’s powerful wings propelled us skyward.

A sharp thrill prickled my skin that was naught from the velocity, but rather that of my impending regency.

Upon returning to King’s Landing, I made my way to the small council chamber, ascending the stairs with slow deliberate steps. The air was thick with tension. The council was in disarray, engrossed in a heated discussion, but fell silent as the doors swung open. Eyes turned to me.

“My Lords,” I announced, my voice cutting through the sudden hush. I rounded the council table. “Mother,” I said, offering a curt nod of acknowledgement as I passed Alicent’s chair.

“Aemond,” she demanded, steel in her voice. “Where is Aegon?”

A heavy pause hung in the air before I met her gaze.

“Aegon has fallen,” I said.

The council erupted in uproar.

Cries of outrage and accusations.

Obscenities.

Scandal.

“How could this be allowed to happen?”

“What is the meaning of this?”

“We are doomed!”

The disapproval of the Lords sullied the chambers. This council was surely in lack of discipline. I already had my eyes on who I were to replace.

“The King is dead!”

“The King is not dead,” I countered, my voice calm and mellifluous, soothing the council members like warm milk. Voices dipped and eyes turned to me, an invisible shudder surging through the air. “He has merely sustained grave injuries and is being brought back to the Red Keep for treatment as we speak.” I began to pace around the table, hands slotted behind my back. “The King fought bravely,” I continued. “Landing mortal injuries to the Pretender’s cause. But the Red Queen cast him out of the sky before I could get to him.”

My pacing had brought me to the head of the council table, where I ceased my step. My hand reached out to allow my fingers to trace the chair frame, its iron vibrating with the power I so craved.

It was palpable.

It was mine for the taking.

I looked up at the members of the small council, my eye piercing each and every one of them until they quivered in their chairs.

“And in the coils of torment,” I spoke. “My brother, King Aegon, named me Prince Regent.”

A tremor vibrated the room, weary eyes glanced at each other, bodies twisting uncomfortably in creaking chairs.

“If anyone should be named regent, surely it should be me, his mother,” voiced Alicent.

I cast my gaze on her.

“Aemond is next in line,” came voices from the small council.

“Yes, but the King still lives!” Alicent implored.

“Who am I to contest the wishes of the King?” I said softly, casting her a look of pure innocence.

Alicent’s eyes welled like a tide of despair, her head dipping to the table with defeat. If Alicent could conjure words that had not been uttered to serve her own ends, why could I not?

“Aemond…” she started, her voice a gentle tremble. “Could we at least discuss this?”

“As prince regent, I vow to serve this realm, my Lords, and guide our path to victory against the Whore of Dragonstone.”

My gaze drifted to the platform in the center of the table, settling on the cold polished marble that remained. The King’s marble. I reached for it, and as my fingers closed around its smooth surface, I met Alicent’s eyes. A flicker of desperate plea danced within them, and I held it with a cold response. She exhaled with defeat as I seated myself in the King’s chair, placing the marble in its rocky nest.

“All hail Aemond, Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm,” Lord Tyland Lannister’s voice came, and the words echoed across the table.

A smirk played on my lips. “My Lords,” I began, splaying my hands atop the table. “Let us commence.”

YOU

Mutters. Whispers. Gossip.

The news, carried on frantic breaths, was a tangled mess.

One moment, the King was dead, the next, grievously wounded. Some murmured of a crippled monarch, others of his mighty dragon slain.

It buzzed in my ears as I made my way towards the throne room.

Fear, a cold serpent, coiled in my gut.

The throne room pulsed with tense energy. Hundreds of courtiers jostled for position, their faces etched with a mixture of morbid curiosity and nervous anticipation. I descended the cold stone steps, the weight of each step echoing the growing dread in my heart.

The Iron Throne loomed before me, an empty monument of jagged steel. Its cruel beauty, forged from a thousand fallen enemies, held a chilling glint in the flickering torchlight. I observed it over the shoulder of the woman in front of me, the precariousness of my position suddenly amplified.

A shiver ran down my spine. Sometimes, I believed it was cursed. Promising to cast whoever graced it to a terrible fate.

My fingers, restless with apprehension, turned my rings about my fingers, pulling them off and on in a nervous dance. A prickling sensation spread through me as I felt countless eyes burning into my back. Disapproval mingled with a strange reverence. The room thrummed with unspoken questions, and I, too, yearned for answers, desperately seeking a foothold in the swirling vortex of uncertainty.

A ripple of anticipation surged through the crowd as a figure emerged. I turned to witness the gleaming silver armor of the King’s Guard announcing Ser Criston Cole, the newly appointed Hand of the King. Hundreds of eyes swiveled in his wake as he strode towards the Iron Throne, which seemed to gnash its serrated teeth at his approach.

My mind churned in chaotic disarray. Ser Criston had marched on Rook’s Rest, prompting Aemond’s hurried departure. Where my husband was now, remained a mystery. Perhaps still at Rook’s Rest, tending to the fallen King, or perhaps continuing on to Harrenhal, a destination he oft mentioned.

None of it mattered.

My marriage to Aemond had been a political maneuver, as cold and sterile as a septa’s cell. He held no affection for me, nor I for him. He was the absent, aloof prince I’d always imagined him to be. Carrying a frozen heart of a killer. Our union was no more than an alliance. Though I was hardly complaining. Married life granted me freedoms I scarcely thought possible for a highborn lady. But I would jest if I said I did not long for something more. Something warm. Something living. But in Aemond, either would be the last place I’d find.

Ser Criston swept a steely gaze across the court, his face unreadable. He chewed the inside of his cheeks curiously, the motion ceasing abruptly when his eyes met mine. Cold and dark. I met his stare head-on, until an odd feeling took root in my gut.

Unanswered questions swirled in my mind.

Ser Criston tore his gaze from me, his eyes flitting across the room. Then, with a voice laced with authority, he boomed, “I address this court as Hand to inform you that the King has been grievously wounded in battle!”

A collective gasp ripped through the court. Whispers, like startled birds, rose in a flurry.

Ser Criston continued, a steely edge creeping into his voice, “Rhaenyra the Cruel will believe she won a great victory this day. May believe we will cower and offer her the throne like whipped dogs. But the False Queen is sorely mistaken. For the throne will not remain empty.”

Whispers escalated into a commotion. An unsettling prickle danced across my skin. My mind darted to the dowager Queen Alicent. Surely, in Aegon’s absence, they would elevate her to the throne. But after usurping Rhaenyra, would they truly place another woman in her stead?

My thoughts, apparently, mirrored those of the court, for Alicent’s name drifted around me like a persistent echo.

Ser Criston’s voice rose to a commanding pitch, reverberating through the throne room, “I present to you…” The heavy oak doors of the throne room ground open, drawing every eye in unison.

My breath caught in my throat as a figure materialized at the stairs.

It wasn’t Alicent.

A frame, draped in dark green leather that shimmered with silver accents, emerged from the groaning doors. The Conqueror’s crown, a heavy circle of iron, sat upon their silver head, casting a long shadow across a face half-obscured by an eyepatch.

“Prince Regent, Aemond Targaryen,” Ser Criston declared, his voice thick with forced authority. “Rider of Vhagar.”

Aemond descended the steps.

“Slayer of the queen who never was.”

Aemond’s footsteps, muffled by polished leather boots and the collective murmurs of the courtiers, made a predator’s approach as he stalked toward the Iron Throne. Two King’s Guard flanked him with stoic expressions.

“And Protector of the Realm.”

He ascended the iron steps with a chilling grace, finally settling upon the throne. A hush fell over the court, thick and heavy. Silence stretched as he molded himself into the seat, his lethal hands caressing the equally lethal rests, a small smirk playing on his lips. His voice, a honeyed drawl laced with a hint of steel, echoed in the sudden silence.

“My Lords and Ladies,” he began, the menacing glint in his blue eye accentuated by the play of shadows on his face. “His Grace, the King, has been wounded at the battle of Rook’s Rest, and will be incapable to rule.”

There was a power in his presence, an unspoken threat that left the court speechless. Not a cough, not a rustle of fabric dared to break the silence.

“Therefore,” he continued, his gaze sweeping over the frozen faces, “I, will act as your sovereign.”

Unease prickled at my skin. Something about Aemond’s demeanor, the unnatural sheen on his face, sent a tremor of suspicion through me.

Had this all been a carefully orchestrated play? What truly transpired at Rook’s Rest?

My eyes darted to the ornate dagger resting at his hip, the ancestral blade of Aegon the Conqueror. It was the same dagger I’d last seen clutched in the hand of his brother.

As Aemond spoke on, a knot of apprehension tightened in my gut.

“The tide has turned,” he declared, his voice ringing through the stunned silence. “Rhaenys Targaryen is slain, along with her dragon.” A small smile tugged at his lips, a low hum escaping them. “The largest serving the Pretender’s cause.” He said it like it was a jest. “Rook’s Rest has been claimed, leaving Dragonstone vulnerable.” His fingers tapped across the blades. “This is a victory for us.”

Scattered heads nodded in agreement.

Then, his gaze snapped to me, a rapacious glint in his single blue eye. It seemed to bore into my very soul, stripping away any pretense.

“It’s all going according to plan,” he murmured, his voice a silken threat, and for a moment, an eerie feeling within told me he was addressing me alone. The fire that danced within his eye flickered a touch too bright, and it felt like he could see every thought swirling in my mind, every flicker of doubt, every spark of fear.

It felt like he was about to eat me alive.

A violent terror surged through me, icy fingers gripping my heart. Adrenaline tapped into my veins, a primal urge to flee.

Frantic energy fueled my movements. I shoved dresses, jewelry, all of my belongings, into overflowing wooden trunks. Their straining hinges mocked my desperation. My handmaid, silent but swift, followed my frenzied instructions. I knew then, with a chilling certainty, that I owed her my life after this escape.

Aemond’s chambers, once a familiar haven, felt cold and sterile now, stripped bare of my belongings. Rain lashed against the open windows, mirroring the frantic rhythm of my heart. The journey ahead would be long and treacherous. Circumstances weren’t optimal, but there was no other choice at my disposal.

My husband was a murderer and a kinslayer twice over. And my intuition told me it would soon be thrice. He wasn’t just ruthless; there was an unsettling hollowness behind his actions, a chilling absence of remorse. He was a walking blight, a storm that devoured everything in its path. And I refused to be struck down by its lightning.

The apartment doors shuddered open, shattering me into distraught. My flight instincts flared, but I refused to cower. My hand instinctively shot out, grasping my maid’s hand tightly. We held our breath as a large, porcelain hand reached out and pushed the door wider.

Aemond entered, leaving the door ajar. His gaze, unwavering and cold, locked with mine. “Leave us,” he commanded, his voice a smooth, cold current.

My handmaid curtsied, her grip faltering as she pried my fingers loose. With a hurried glance back, she scurried out, the heavy door slamming shut behind her.

An oppressive silence descended, broken only by the frantic pounding of my heart against my ribs.

Escape seemed impossible; the air thick with a chilling dread.

“You sent for me, wife?” Aemond’s voice, a silken caress laced with steel, echoed in the cavernous chamber. He approached with a predative grace, each deliberate step shrinking the distance between us.

Confusion slammed into me. I hadn’t summoned him. This was, by far, the most he’d spoken to me since our loveless union.

“You are mistaken,” I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. My feet, traitors that they were, retreated with each of his advances. Then, it dawned on me, that it might have been his intention to put me in a state of dubiety, making me more malleable. A cutthroat, not only lethal, but cunning.

He stopped beside my overflowing trunk, a flicker of amusement playing on his lips.

“Travelling somewhere?” His single blue eye, unnervingly perceptive, held me captive.

Panic clawed at my throat. I clenched my trembling hands into fists, slotting them behind my back, forcing my lips into a gentle smile.

“I wish to visit my family,” I said. “With war looming, I wish for us to be together.”

Aemond took another measured step closer. “Ao issi aerēbas mirriot daor,” (You’re not going anywhere), he murmured, the High Valyrian rolling off his tongue like a sinister threat.

A furrow etched between my brows as I attempted to comprehend his words. My grasp of the ancient tongue was limited, and whether he intended me to understand was a cruel game. Perhaps, it was yet another tool to exert his dominance. But based on his relentless pursuit, I gathered me leaving wasn’t an option he entertained.

“I am of no use to you, Aemond,” I pleaded, maintaining a safe distance. “Me staying serves no purpose.”

“On the contrary,” he purred, his voice dripping with a dark promise. His head tilted covetously, venom flashing in his eye.

“We barely exist to each other,” I continued. “What difference would it make if I was half a world away?”

“It would make all the difference.” The warmth in his voice vanished, replaced by a glacial edge. “There’s the matter of heirs.”

Seven Hells.

Anguish twisted my gut. Intuition, a primal scream, roared to life. Images flashed behind my eyelids – Aemond sitting the throne, and Aegon reduced to ash.

Had this been his plan all along? Was he the reason for the King’s lethal end?

The pieces slammed together in my mind, a horrifying mosaic.

I gasped, my back hitting the cold stone wall. Aemond’s ambition stretched far beyond my naïve expectations. Loyalty to his house, to his brother, had been a carefully constructed facade. Beneath it, he schemed, a shrewd predator stalking his ultimate prize. The crown.

And the crown needed heirs.

He towered over me, his presence overwhelming. He was much taller than I recalled, every inch radiating a rapacious tension. A hand braced itself against the wall, inches from my head.

“What have you done?” My thoughts materialized into shaky words, laced with an enmity that surprised even me. My gaze raked over him, revulsion twisting my features. The green leather seemed to pulse, an illusion fueled by my churning stomach.

A flicker, a hint of something akin to uncertainty, crossed his single eye. It darted across my face, as if truly seeing me for the first time. Perhaps he was. In this desperate flight, we’d never been closer. Close enough to be enveloped by his scent, a foreign musk that did little to quell my churning nausea.

“Skoros iksin bēvilagon.” (What was necessary)

I frowned again, aggravated that he took to High Valyrian as an attempt to shut me out of his thoughts. My jaw clenched, frustration a bitter taste on my tongue.

Malevolence rose like a flood as I leaned forward, so close that our noses nearly touched, “I would not have your child in a million years, kinslayer,” I spat, my voice trembling with contained fury. I lunged forward, aiming to push past him, to escape his suffocating presence. But his other hand shot out, slamming against the wall beside me, effectively caging me in.

A venomous glint flickered in his eye as he narrowed it at me through his lashes. A twitch played on his lips, a cat batting at a cornered mouse. “Be that as it may,” he said mellowly. “But even a bad wife must obey her king.”

A scoff escaped my lips, my eyes sizing him up and down. “You are no king,” I hissed, defiance lacing my voice. “You are not even a man.”

His reaction was swift and brutal.

One hand shot out and grabbed my face, forcing my head against the cold stone. Pain erupted at the impact, but quickly subsided as he leaned in, his hot breath fanning against my lips.

“Speak such treason again, and I’ll show you what I really am.”

“What will you do?” I spat back, my voice trembling with a mix of fear and insurgence. “Cripple me, like you did your brother? Force yourself on me?”

“Don’t tempt me,” he growled, his voice simmering with barely contained violence.

A tense silence ensued, the air crackling with his restrained fury.

My suspicions, already simmering, solidified into a horrifying certainty. He’d orchestrated his brother’s downfall on purpose.

“Have you no honor?” I whispered, the words a ragged plea.

The silence stretched, broken only by our ragged breaths. His hold on my face loosened gradually, his hand falling away. But his gaze remained fixed on me, a storm brewing within its depths.

“You cannot stop me, Aemond,” I said, my voice shrinking. “I will leave this place, one way or another. You can play king in my absence, but it will be a hollow crown.”

“Kesan arghugon ao naejot se mōris hen tegon.” (I will hunt you to the end of the earth)

“Speak plainly,” I snapped, my patience with his cryptic pronouncements wearing thin.

A chilling smile, devoid of warmth, stretched across his lips. He pushed himself away from the wall, backing away, creating my long-desired distance between us.

“You may go,” he drawled, the amusement in his voice laced with a dangerous edge, that sardonic smile still plastered on his lips.

Acrimony filled my gut. What little I knew of this man, I feared greatly, but also told me this was a trick. He wouldn’t relinquish control so easily. He’d allow me to make my “escape”, only to have me snatched back by the King’s Guard, now under his control, a public display of his authority. There was no true freedom with him.

Maegor’s tunnels, a potential escape route, loomed tantalizingly behind me. If only I were alone, a simple push against the wall would send me tumbling into its dark embrace. But escape without a plan or supplies was a fool’s errand.

My mind spun, each possibility twisting the knife of despair deeper. Even if I reached my family, what awaited me there? Shame would be their welcome. Aemond, no doubt, would make sure of it.

The rain continued its relentless assault on the outside world, punctuated by the booming symphony of thunder. A flash of lightning illuminated the apartments, casting Aemond in a grotesque, menacing silhouette.

Exhaustion overwhelmed me. I slumped to the floor, seeking solace in the meager comfort of my arms wrapped around my knees. Here I was, a prisoner in this gilded cage, condemned to bear the children of a traitor until flames consumed us all.

Aemond crouched before me, his wrists resting on his knees. He regarded me with an intensity that bordered on scientific curiosity. A flicker of something, perhaps disappointment, played at his edges.

“I’d take you for many things, wife,” he cooed, the endearment dripping with veiled malice. “But weak was not one of them.” His words landed like a body blow. “If I’d known you’d crumble so easily, I would never have wed you in the first place.”

I sniffed and looked up at him, exhaustion a heavy cloak on my lids. “You did not have much of a say in the matter,” I countered.

A wicked smile twisted his lips and his head tilted to the side. “No,” he said softly. A sudden chill iced his demeanor. “And neither do you.”

He rose to his feet with predacious grace, leaving me pleated on the floor. He sauntered to his chair and seated himself, one leg propped up on his knee, his leather splaying atop the arm rests.

I watched him. His face was turned to the violent storm outside, immersed in contemplation, lightning whipping across his features. A vision of menace. A weapon poised to strike.

“So, what is your scheme, Aemond?” I started; my voice hoarse. His head turned slowly, his gaze locking onto mine with the piercing intensity of Valyrian steel. “Do you envision a period of mourning for the King, followed by a convenient acclamation in your favor? Or will you hurry along the succession and carry out the deed yourself before anyone suspects?”

A single corner of his mouth quirked into a cruel smile. “Suppose I have not yet decided.” His voice was like liquid.

Defiance flickered within me. “The court will never agree to this once they find out what you’ve done.”

Aemond hummed, a deep sound in the bottom of his chest. “Dragons don’t concern themselves with the opinions of sheep.” He leaned forward, resting his arms across his knees. “I am next in line to the throne,” he drawled. “None is better suited than I.”

I staggered to my feet and went to sit beside him. “With a legitimate heir,” I said carefully. “Your claim would be uncontested.”

He smirked, as though I’d read his mind. He leaned back, his eyes gleaming with dangerous delight.

“A woman’s pleasure is,” he began, a slow, suggestive smile playing on his lips. His blue eye drifted down my form in a way that made my skin crawl. “Of as much importance as the seed itself.”

A hot flush crept up my cheeks at his implication.

“Which is why submission must be a willing act,” he finished, his voice dropping to a husky murmur.

I swallowed, provocation crackling through me. Did he truly believe I would succumb to his advances? He seemed to think he could manipulate anyone to his will, whether through seduction or brutality, though I had yet to see the former.

“And if I refuse?” I challenged, my voice surprisingly steady despite the tremor in my hands.

A low growl vibrated in his chest, his face soft. “Then you’ll find yourself counted amongst the sheep,” he drawled.

Deflating, I sighed and dipped my head. The only path forward seemed excruciatingly clear. Raising my eyes to meet his, I lifted an eyebrow in rebellion.

“Consider me sheep then.” With that, I rose from the settee and strode towards the apartment doors, the cold of the metal handle stealing the warmth from my fingers as I heaved it open.

It shut then, with a loud thud, and I jumped, a sudden heat radiating behind me. Aemond’s fingers splayed on the oak door above my head. My pulse drummed in my ears, Aemond’s lips grazing my lobe, urging it to pick up the pace.

“Jaelā naejot mazverdagon nyke jorarghutan ao, ābrazȳrys?” (You want to make me chase you, wife?) His voice rumbled into me, a low growl as potent as the thunderstorm.

The rolling, guttural words sent a strange warmth through my core. His air consumed me. A rich mixture of smoke, leather, and dragon, infiltrated my senses, intoxicating and unsettling in equal measure.

“I can’t understand you,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. I felt him smiling against my ear, a low chuckle reverberating into it, sending goosebumps erupting across my skin.

“You won't need to,” he said softly. His hand drifted away from the door and closed around my throat, surprisingly gentle, yet the warmth of his fingers felt like embers branding my skin. They snaked around the back of my neck, the pressure tightening as he turned me to face him. His single eye, a bottomless well of intricacy, held mine captive.

My gaze flickered down to his lips. They were curved into a wicked grin.

His scent became a suffocating presence. The heat radiating from his body, fervid as a dragon, made sweat bead on my forehead. My entire being screamed I was at his mercy. He could crush my life out with a mere squeeze, or worse, with his single eye, he could strip me bare without ever laying a hand on me.

But a strange fire flickered within me, a rebellion against his dominion. My hands, fueled by a desperate need for control, reached out and began loosening his doublet, my fingers slow and deliberate.

Aemond stilled, his eye falling to my movements. He watched, transfixed, as I unfastened the green leather halfway down his chest, then trailed my fingers lower. His gaze darkened and his breath grew uneven, as the bulge beneath his belt pressed against my touch.

A visceral desire flared within me, a response I couldn’t fully comprehend. My pulse hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs, slowly drifting between my thighs at the sight of his desire.

His grip softened at my nape, and with a surge of defiance, I ripped myself free from his hold, and landed a heavy blow to his stomach. But a wave of terror washed over me when Aemond barely flinched.

Panic clawed at my throat.

Taking advantage of his momentary surprise, I flung open the chamber doors and fled, the sound of my pounding heart echoing in my ears.

AEMOND

The aftershock of her blow lingered, a dull ache radiating from my gut, while I allowed her to make her escape. Fury, a familiar companion, usually surged through me, promising retribution, suggesting to make her death appear an accident. This time, however, a different heat consumed me, a mix of surprise and… arousal.

Rarely did I misjudge a person. Yet, the meek mouse I’d wed had transformed into a daring she-wolf before my very eyes. This escape attempt, fueled by defiance, was a revelation. It made my dick hard.

A rapacious glint flickered in my eye. A grudging respect, laced with something far more primal, coiled in my gut. I had underestimated her, and the unexpected turn of events had ignited a spark within me.

A smirk twisted my lips, and I hummed with satisfaction, the thrill of the hunt coursing through me.

“Jaelā naejot tymagon?” (You want to play?) I murmured, the challenge laced with amusement. “Kesi tymagon.” (Let’s play.)

I started into the storm-ridden castle.

YOU

Immediate regret shot through me with a pang, a cold fist squeezing my breath.

To toy with a dragon was like asking to get burned.

My lungs screamed in protest, my legs burning with each step down the Red Keep’s slick stone steps. Blood, metallic and sharp, left traces in my mouth as I hoisted my cumbersome gown to avoid tripping. The castle shuddered from the storm, which groaned and wailed its onslaught. Guards stood stoic at their posts, their expressions unreadable underneath silver helms. Appealing to them was a fool’s errand.

None dared defy the one-eyed prince.

Driven by blind instinct, I found myself pushing through the massive doors of the throne room.

The Iron Throne, a monstrous silhouette of twisted blades, dominated the chamber, its edges flashing white-hot under the lightning’s fury. I stumbled towards it, chest heaving, gasping for air.

If it truly was cursed, could touching it offer some strange absolution, a release from the gilded cage that was my life? Surely, it couldn’t be worse than the fate that awaited me back in his clutches.

Ascension. My trembling legs carried me up the steps, each one a monumental effort. Reaching the top, I lingered to sit, an action so simple, yet it loomed so immensely in my mind.

“Waiting to make your peace with the gods?” came a voice, and I turned with a gasp.

Aemond stood in the middle of the room, arms slotted behind his back, approaching with slow, menacing steps, like a predator savoring the hunt. Thunder boomed overhead.

“No,” I countered, spite flaring hot in my chest. “Waiting for you to catch up so I can meet them myself,” I said, descending the steps.

“Once more, so quick to admit defeat,” he taunted, venom dripping from his words like the rain outside.

I studied his sharp features, while the burden of my reality settled like a weight in my chest. “There is no escaping you,” I gritted out, holding his heavy gaze.

His violence loomed heavy, and depravity flickered in his gaze. “Your perception waxes,” he conceded, and suddenly, the world tilted on its axis as he scooped me up and tossed me effortlessly over his broad shoulder.

The journey back to his chambers was a furious ballet of resistance. My limbs flailed wildly, desperate for purchase, and obscenities, laced with an untenable fear, ripped from my throat.

A sharp slap landed on my behind, eliciting a yelp of surprised pain.

“The more you struggle,” he growled, the sound a low rumble in his chest, “the worse it will be.”

A part of me recognized the truth in his words, yet a bestial defiance warred within, refusing to yield. Fueled by a surge of adrenaline, I lunged for his silver hair, grabbing a fistful and yanking with all my might.

He hissed through his teeth, followed by a guttural sound echoing deep within him. “Ilībōños,” (Bitch/Bastard) he cursed.

The apartment door slammed shut behind us as he entered, his movements purposeful. With a rough toss, I landed unceremoniously on the bed, the air whooshing out of my lungs on impact. Fury, a searing inferno, consumed me, each cell screaming in protest, my claws unsheathing. I wanted to hurt him.

Anything within reach became a potential weapon. Pillows, a discarded jeweled comb – I hurled them all at him, each item a silent scream of rebellion. But his movements were swift, each projectile dodged with practiced ease.

Frustration mounted, morphing into a desperate rage. I lunged at him, a clumsy attempt to push him back. But he remained immovable, an unyielding mountain. Undeterred, I pushed again, and again, fueled by a futile contempt.

Finally, as I drew back for another pointless shove, his hands shot out, lightning fast, pinning my arms to my sides. He moved swiftly, his body caging mine in a steely embrace.

“Lykirī,” he hummed, the word a low thrum against my ear.

“Fuck you,” I spat, my chest heaving from my ambush.

Did he mistake me for his winged beast that he could command to his will?

My attempt to wiggle out of his hold was a pointless endeavour. Rage crackled in my veins, but it flickered under his touch. My breath hitched as he leaned closer, the heat of his body searing through my gown. The scent of him, smoke and leather, filled my senses. And the undeniable press of his erection against my stomach sent a jolt through me.

This perverted man was enjoying my defiance. His grip tightened, a teasing hold that both frustrated and excited me. My body, traitor that it was, started to soften against him, a spark igniting beneath the embers of anger.

“Have you had your fill of my company?” he whispered, his voice husky against my ear. His hands trailed down my arms, sending shivers skittering across my skin.

Every rational part of me screamed to break free, to run for the tunnels, to fight back. But the intoxication of his touch, the heat radiating from him, the suggestive murmur against my ear – they all conspired to trap me.

Before I could think, my head slowly turned from one side to the other.

He hummed deeply. “Say it.”

Frustration warred with a strange vulnerability within me. My cheeks burned, and I clenched my jaw hard enough to taste blood.

“I haven't.”

“You haven't what?”

Fury flickered back to life, fueled by his smug grin and the realization of how easily he’d manipulated me.

“I haven't had enough,” I gritted out, the words a reluctant surrender.

A growl of satisfaction escaped him before he grasped me by my throat, pushed me back against the wall, and tasted my next breath on his tongue.

His lips, hot and demanding, devoured mine like a beggar, silencing the gasp that threatened to escape. Heat, a wildfire erupting at the junction of our bodies threatened to consume me. Fury, a simmering ember, still flickered within. I shoved against his chest and stomped on his feet; futile attempts against his unyielding form.

“Gaomagon vīlībagon nyke daor,” (Do not fight me) he said roughly against my lips, nipping at the bottom one. “Kesā botagon daor.” (You would not survive)

I didn’t understand him, and it urged on my fury. I opened my mouth with a quip in mind, but he used that opportunity to slide his tongue inside, hot and wet. The anger threatened to drown the blossoming desire, creating a tempestuous war within. I panted, torn between resistance and a strange, unfamiliar need, a fever writhing and pulsing inside my veins. My hands clenched in the rough leather of his doublet, a desperate attempt to maintain some sort of control.

I closed my teeth on his bottom lip, and he hissed sharply, encircling my throat with his hand, pushing me against the stone.

“Kelītīs,” (Stop) he growled.

The question of whether he even realized he was speaking High Valyrian was a fleeting thought. I melted into his rough hold, to his wicked mouth crashing against mine again and again, getting lost in the hot glide of his tongue. His rough kisses, the frantic press of his body, all contrived to unravel my carefully constructed defenses. A soft moan escaped my lips as my nipples brushed against his chest, sending sparks lower. He groaned low in his throat, sucking my bottom lip between his teeth.

With practiced ease, he untied the strings of my dress, letting the fabric pool around my ankles. I stood there in only my kirtle, breathless under his heated gaze. A dark groan rumbled from his chest as he slipped his hands beneath my thighs, effortlessly lifting me. My legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. His grip tightened on my bare flesh, a touch too rough, and I retaliated with another yank on his silver hair. An angry sound erupted in his throat as he attempted to shake off my grip.

He carried us to the bed, the world tilting on its axis as he settled me on top of him. Our mouths met in a frantic clash, a tangle of tongues and heated breaths. We tore away from each other briefly, just long enough for him to pull my kirtle over my head.

Naked and exposed, I felt a shiver dance across my skin under the intensity of his gaze. Something dark moved through his eye, and my skin prickled with goosebumps.

He gripped the swell of my hips, his palms sliding upward, a slow exploration that sent sparks igniting in my blood. The fight drained from me, replaced by a heavy languor. His fingers, surprisingly gentle for a cold-blooded killer, traced patterns across my skin, before cupping my breasts into a rough grip. A soft moan escaped my lips as his thumb brushed a nipple, and pleasure rushed to my core. He leaned in and closed his mouth over a peak, drawing it in with a slow, gentle suck. My head fell back, a groan escaping my throat. My hands filtered into his thick silver, my fingers impulsively easing off the leather tie that kept it out of his face, and it went cascading around his features like spills of moonlight.

Awe mingled with desire as I watched him continue to explore my body, his mouth leaving a trail of wet heat across my skin. I cupped his sharp face in my hands, the rational, caged side of me screaming to tear him off me. I made weak, pitiful attempts to do so, but Aemond growled his disapproval and sucked my nipple hard. The wet heat of his mouth tugged between my legs as he moved to the other, flames curling low in my stomach. I ground down on him, my wet entrance dampening the dark leather of his breeches, the friction sending a delicious heat through my core. A moan ripped from his lips.

I was on fire, a confusing mix of desire and desperation clawing at me. I needed something more, something to push me over the edge. My body moved of its own accord, grinding harder, seeking that elusive release.

He released my nipple with a graze of teeth that sent a jolt of white heat through me, and looked up at me with his eye dark like the storm.

“Skoros gaomagon jaelā?” (What do you crave?), he rumbled.

Exhaustion gnawed at me, but a visceral need pulsed deep within. “Please,” I pleaded, the word a ragged whisper escaping my lips, the frustration of the language barrier a dull ache compared to the firestorm raging in my core. “More,” I begged, grinding against his erection with desperate mewlings.

When his hand lowered to palm my pussy, my skin caught on fire, burning me from scalp to toes. Desire inflated in my throat when he ran his hand up my neck, into my hair, grabbing a fistful and using it to arch my head back, his touch both possessive and arousing.

“Is this what you desire?” he rasped against my throat, his voice husky with restrained passion. His calloused thumb began drawing circles on my clit, a slow, deliberate exploration that sent frustration battling with a rising tide of pleasure.

I nodded desperately. “Yes,” I gasped.

He slipped two fingers into my wetness, and I arched my back, groaning in pleasure and a little pain, his fingers filling me up to the brim. My hands found purchase in his hair, anchoring myself as he moved his digits, flames of pleasure licking at my walls.

Ecstasy unfurled in my veins like milk of the poppy, mind-numbing, delirious, as he slid his thick fingers in and out of me, rubbing a sensitive spot deep within. Hot pressure expanded, and my eyes rolled back in my head. A throaty moan escaped my lips with every thrust of his fingers and a delicious rumble rolled in his chest.

His grip around my hair suddenly vanished and his thumb began rubbing circles on my clit as he fingered me. I cried out, the intensity overwhelming, and I braced myself on his leather-covered shoulders, a cold sweat starting beneath my skin.

“Sholīze,” (You’re so wet), he groaned against my skin, the word a brand that sent shivers lancing through me, the heat beneath the surface threatening to erupt. I rolled my hips on his fingers, and a satisfied growl escaped his mouth, his eye dropping to witness me riding his hand as my pleasure ran down his wrist, my leg and onto his lap.

“Shkelagon zhēdys,” (You’re making a mess), he whispered into my mouth, swallowing my desperate cries.

A third finger, bold and intrusive, slid inside, the added pressure sending me over the edge. My vision swam, black dots exploding at the edges. My heart pounded to the fire searing through every nerve in my body. Throaty moans tore from my lips over and over, as I clenched around his moving fingers. He groaned with dark satisfaction, encircling my waist, pressing me against him as I rode out my orgasm.

The storm within me subsided slowly. His fingers, once urgent, now moved slowly in and out of me while I caught my breath and the ringing in my ears faded. He didn’t withdraw until he’d coaxed out the very last tremor of pleasure from my body.

A languorous warmth, a deep sense of satiation unlike anything I’d ever known, bloomed within me.

Lost in the afterglow, I trailed kisses up his neck, small noises of contentment escaping my lips.

“Gevie,” he panted, slipping his fingers out of me.

I knew that word.

Beautiful.

AEMOND

I never thought the act of making an heir would be this… riveting.

So much pure heat, flame and pleasure, fueled not just by my own desire, but by the sight of her pleasure burgeoning under my touch. It was a new prospect entirely. I could have reached my own release simply from witnessing hers.

But this was not going to make an heir, after all.

She ran her fingers over my erection, her lips and teeth teasing a line down my neck as she came down from her high. My hand, forearm and lap were slick from her sweet desire.

She settled back into my lap, a vision of post-orgasmic bliss. Her eyes, usually bright and defiant, were now hooded with languid satisfaction, her cheeks flushed a becoming crimson. Her lips, slightly parted, breathed shallowly. I pushed my thumb between them, and she met the intrusion with a beckoning glide of her tongue, the wet heat settling in my groin. I pulled my thumb free, wiping the evidence of her touch across her lips.

This woman, this force of nature, was mine. My wife.

Lightning played across her features like she was its master. Like she embodied the raw power of the storm.

Untamed, fierce, fuckable.

She was molded just for me.

Her fingers, tracing a familiar path down my doublet, encountered the bulge straining against the fabric, my dick throbbing at her faintest touch.

“Take it off,” she said, working on the buckle. I reached my hands up my neck, loosening the doublet from my frame.

“Do not attempt any strikes this time,” I drawled, a playful challenge in my voice. I relished the smile that spread across her lips.

“You have my word,” she said softly.

The leather of my arms whispered down, discarded on the floor like a shed skin. Her eyes ignited with raw desire, a flickering flame that mirrored the inferno that had been building within me. Her fingers, hesitant at first, traced a path down my chest, my abs, further, until her hand slipped beneath my breeches and over the length of my dick.

I hissed through my teeth. The heat, a branding iron searing flesh, intensified as her hand, unsure but determined, wrapped around my erection, heat curling at the base of my spine. Her hesitant touch grew more confident as she stroked me from base to head with smooth, gentle motions, sending a low groan rumbling from my chest.

I grabbed her face and grazed her chin with my teeth, making her stroke me harder. “I’ll fill you with my seed, wife,” I growled, the words rough against her skin. A promise, a threat, a declaration of possession – all rolled into one.

Her sigh held a hint of resignation, contrasting the fire in her eyes. “As long as you’ll leave me alone once you’re done,” she mumbled, the words laced with quiet defiance.

Fury, a red-hot ember, flared within me.

I threw her down on her knees on the bed and yanked her head back by her hair until her head rested against my shoulder. The vulnerability in her exposed throat fueled a dark avarice within me. My erection pressed against the heat of her ass, restraint becoming an impossible enemy.

“You’re bound to me now,” I growled in her ear, the words a possessive vow. “You’re not going anywhere.”

A ghost of a smile played on her lips, a silent challenge that both frustrated and excited me. I leaned in, whispering a single word against her ear, “Ñuhon.” (Mine) I nipped her earlobe, making her hiss.

When I released her, she sagged forward, head hanging low. Her shoulders slumped, and she lowered herself onto her hands, the curve of her backside a sight that ignited a fresh wave of heat within me.

I discarded my breeches, the urgency a physical ache in my core. Kneeling behind her, I pushed two fingers inside of her. She clenched down on me so tightly. I groaned and pulled my fingers free. As I rubbed the head of my cock against her wet opening, the heat of it almost burned me. A tremble coasted throat her, and her fingers gripped the sheets, bracing herself.

I eased into her, and, gods spare me, she was so fucking tense, to the point she nearly resisted me entirely. I caressed her ass, her hips, running my hand up and down her back, attempting to relax her, uttering words I scarcely knew were the Common Tongue or High Valyrian.

“Vīrȳn (take it), you’re so fucking wet, gūrogon mirre yno (take all of me).”

Until her walls softened and I watched myself slide into her, until I was as deep as I could go.

Seven Hells.

The feeling was overwhelming. The way she clutched me like a wet fist. Every cell in me ached for more, to fuck her hard, relentlessly, but I gave her a moment to adjust, squeezing her, running my hands all over her.

Soon, she was rocking back against me, and I gave her what she wanted, pulling out all the way before slowly pushing back in, every inch of me vanishing. She groaned and dropped her face to the bed, fisting the sheets in her hands. I gripped the swell of her hips, guiding her warm, wet pussy onto my throbbing dick over and over, watching their salacious union, my sight darkening at the squelching sounds that ensued. A deep hum erupted from my chest.

She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes hooded with lust, settling on each lazy thrust.

“Iksis ao bisa ijiōrtan?” (Is this pleasing you?) I rasped, but before she could answer, I fucked her a little harder. It occurred to me that she probably could not have understood what I’d been saying half the time.

Her head fell forward, and the sight of her biting down on her hand to quiet her moans sent a heady rush to my head, lighting me on fire.

Thunder rolled overhead.

I was completely lost in the heat of her, taking her hard, watching her ass bounce against me with every thrust. I wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her back against my chest.

She was panting, fucked into soft compliancy.

“To whom do you belong?” I growled in her ear.

She didn’t resist any of my advances this time. “You,” she breathed.

“Say my name.”

“Aemond.”

“And who is your King?”

“Aemond.”

My grip snaked and tightened around her neck as I fucked her.

“Say it.”

“You’re the King, Your Grace,” she whined. “The first of your name.”

It set me on fire.

I pushed her back down and fucked her through her second orgasm, holding her hips up when her legs gave out. She shuddered and clenched around me, the pressure sending licking fires down my back, threatening to erupt. I gritted my teeth as I came inside of her, a white, hot fire shooting through me so hard, my vision went black.

My muscles shook from the aftershock.

I doubled over her, letting my forehead rest on her back as we came down.

When I pulled out of her, I watched my seed leak out of her entrance like white tears. I plugged it with my fingers, burrowing deep inside of her, and she gasped.

“Dragonseed is precious,” I rumbled into her ear. “Would not want it to go to waste.” I kissed her temple.

“Tepagon aōha dārys iā dārilaros, dōna ābrazȳrys.” (Give your king an heir, sweet wife)

5K notes · View notes

keravnous · 2 years ago

Text

wanna go where the girls are young and dumb? ; christoph waltz x fem!reader (smut, 18+)

being c. waltz's sugarbaby - the playlist

Your mother dragged you along to southern France for the summertime. Thus, you are forced to spend your spring break with your stepdad.

warnings: stepdad!christoph, lowkey sugardaddy!christoph, age gap (the reader is in her early 20s, christoph is in his 50s), finally putting my native language to good use, daddy kink, light choking, power play, riding/reverse cowgirl, fingering, pet names, name calling, unprotected sex, slight cumplay and breeding, multiple orgasms, viagra (unrealistic effects), controlling/possessive!christoph, bratty!reader, christoph's a little dark in this so heed the warning, he really just wants to wreck you he's been waiting long enough

translations: Liebes - love; Na, sieh mal einer an wer uns heute noch mit ihrer Anwesenheit beehrt - Well, someone's seen fit to grace us with their presence; Oh, das machen wir aber nicht - Oh, we won't do that, won't we

word count: 11,4k

choosing a gif for this was really just playing what's my favourite waltz era

the title is from the song young & dumb by cigarettes after sex

thank you v for not giving up on me <3

"Na, sieh mal einer an, wer uns heute noch mit ihrer Anwesenheit beehrt. Where have you been?", your stepdad's voice is hard enough to cut steel and you freeze dead in your tracks, white heels dangling from your hand. Well, fuck - so much for sneaking back in quietly.

The huge wooden doors to the living room are opened - and you can see Christoph sitting on the sofa facing the lobby, in the shadows of the room, dimly lit by candles. Your feet are pressing against the polished marble, warm skin on cool stone. It's still hot outside, only a small breeze ruffling the leaves of the trees and rolling in through the opened windows, toying gently with the hem of your nearly see-through, white linen dress.

This place could easily be heaven on earth - the old, 18th century countryside bastide with its lush citrus and olive trees, near a cliff at the water and a sleepy, small town nearby - weren't it for the devil himself.

Your vision zeroes in on him - your mother's boyfriend and soon to be husband - and you try your best to glare into the dim abyss of the barely lit living room.

"Why do you care?", you spit, ready to storm upstairs. You just want some peaceful silence, not whatever the fuck he's on about.

And, like he can sense what you are about to do, like he sees the way your calf-muscles twitch, he says softly: "Don't you dare moving an inch, Liebes." His velvety voice drips with acid honey; a threat in candy-wrappers. A frost descends with his voice, making you shiver.

"I am not -"

"Where have you been?", Christoph asks again, voice menacingly calm. He sounds like he knows.

Like he knows, that you have been out to get laid.

You had met a pretty, young man and shared a few flirtatious looks with him at the farmer's market just yesterday. Your French was sufficient to get the necessities across and thus, he was quick to grasp that you wanted to fuck. Sneaking out of the house around 10 you rode your bike to his place, only to find out that what he had to offer in looks - long, dark, and curly hair and eyes like the ocean - he lacked in experience. He had been clumsy and after he tried to finger you for what seemed to be an eternity of aimless thrusting and unpassionate rubbing, you had told him to fuck off and drove back home. You just want to go upstairs, get yourself off, shower and go to sleep.

But you can't just say that, can you? And thus, you blink, unnerved, hissing: "You are not my fucking father."

You wish you could see his face, see his reaction, but it is hidden by flickering shadows. You decide that tonight's not the night to be the pawn in one of his strange games. Thus, you suck in a deep breath, before eventually sighing: "I am going upstairs. Good night."

"Ah ah ah", he scolds and you can see him taking a drag of his cigarette, the tip of it gleaming before he is exhaling smoke that curls into the air, the thick mist illuminated by the flickering glow of the candles, "Is that a way to speak to the man who keeps you in college?"

"I am not having this conversation right now."

"But I will", he raises his eyebrows and you feel glued to the spot, helpless.

Something prevents you from just leaving. You do not know what it is, but you recall a few encounters in which he had a similar effect on you - where he intimidated you into submission. Another shiver crawls up your spine at the thought.

"Step inside here for a moment, please", and as you don't move, his voice turns cold - like you are in real fucking trouble, "I won't be asking you again."

Making a great show out of your reluctant-ness, you groan, rolling your eyes, before you unwillingly drop your shoes onto the marble. Entering the living room, you sigh audibly, throwing your head back a little in exasperation, coming to a halt only a few steps into the room.

Christoph seems bored by your behaviour, deliberately stomps his cigarette out in the antique ashtray before crossing his arms. He's wearing linen, too - in a fruitless attempt to combat the heat - the first few buttons of his shirt opened. You can see the greying chest hair peeking through from where you are standing, dusted on his skin like silver threads.

You are annoyed - annoyed by the pretty young Frenchman who turned out to be an absolute disastrous disappointment, annoyed by being stuck here in the middle of nowhere, annoyed by the heat, annoyed by Christoph looking at you the way he does, annoyed by the way his strict gaze has your stomach tingling.

Annoyed by how pretty he looks in the golden candle light.

The thought hits you like a chair to the head and you sway a little, hands gripping the edges of the armchair in front of you. You swallow, trying to fight the thought. The light toys with his features, has his eyes gleaming and the grey hair on his temples looking like fluid silver.

You can feel his gaze roaming your body, burning and heavy, as his eyes wander up and down - taking in both, your curves, and your underwear visible through the white linen.

"Come closer."

You do not want to. You want to hide behind the chair, safe from the confusing mind games he likes to play.

But you don't. Instead, like a puppet on his strings, you take two steps forward and into the room, standing there uselessly. Disarmed, your only weapon left is your tongue.

"What the fuck do you want?", it comes out rude, brash. Christoph chuckles, unimpressed. For a second, you two just stare each other - a silent battle of authority and obstreperousness.

"Closer", is all he says, with the steadiness of a victory.

"I don't have time for this", your voice breaks, irritated and a little unsteady around the edges. Christoph looks at you, unfazed but something small changes. It's in his eyes, something that grows stern and unrelenting. If your little display of brattiness a few minutes earlier was a joke to him, your behaviour now was an insult.

And thus, a little intimidated by him, you comply, carefully taking a few steps forward until only a couple long strides part the two of you.

It does not seem to satisfy him.

"Closer."

You furrow your brows and close the gap, mere inches between your and his knee. He looks up at you, eyes cold.

"That's it. Sit", you blink dumbly as Christoph pats his thigh, his tone light in an odd, uncanny contrast to the way he looks at you.

Alright, no. Absolutely not.

You aren't sure if he's joking. It must be a sick joke. Maybe he finds it funny: his adult stepdaughter sitting on his lap. You do not move.

You are certain, he will break any second - for Christ's sake, he's an actor - he's just joking. He will break. His lips will curl up any second now --

Looking at his serious face, stern gaze boring deep deep into your soul, you grow certain that he is indeed serious. Very serious.

You gulp. "I am not doing this. This is so fucking inappropriate."

"And I am not discussing this. Sit."

God knows, Christoph isn't - never was - very patient. And you can feel it, too; he oozes with it, the way his gaze grows cold as ice and you nearly stumble over your own feet as your body gives in. He is fucking intimidating, especially when the façade of the European gentleman crumbles, drops, like it does right now - leaves you wondering, what he is capable of. And you do not want to find out. Thus, your brain barely has enough time to fight it or to reason with you, you step closer and sink down on his lap. You legs dangle over his left knee while you avoid his gaze.

Let's get this fucking over with then.

"There you go, that wasn't so hard, now, was it?"

"N-no", you shake your head, feeling the heat of his body radiating through both of your linen clothes. It should feel odd, and maybe it does just a little, sitting on your fucking stepfather's lap like this, but -- it also doesn't feel that bad. It is strangely comforting, with his rich, warm scent now wrapping you in. You have always liked his perfume - a subtle wooden scent, of vetiver and a subtle splash of mint. Sublime, sophisticated.

One of his slender, large hands wraps around your hips, holds you in place, the other gently takes your hand, fingers brushing over yours.

"I -- where's my mother?", you hold onto it like a lifeline.

"Asleep." And there it goes - the lifeline slips out of your hands and you drown in the dark, deep sea that is his presence, all light out of reach as you sink deeper, nothing else remaining but him. Still, you can't help but notice that his voice sounds cold, distant, and you wonder why.

You recall something your mother had told you just days before the flight to southern France. Her voice echoes in your skull as you remember sitting in her spacious living room, picking out a few dresses for her to wear on vacation. "He's not even touching me anymore, honey, I don't know -" - "Ew, Mom! I don't wanna know, my god!"

You wonder, if their little paradise is already crumbling, turning ugly around the edges, and a part of you wishes for it to be true. You want him gone. But there's also a small voice in the back of your head that panics at the thought. You like your life like this - you can't deny the fact that he keeps you afloat financially, that whatever you want or need - you don't even have to ask for it, he just buys it. Like it's nothing. It's comfortable and easy and you would most likely miss it.

No - you are certain you would. Life's never been that easy for you.

It's fucked up, really. You still remember meeting him, and in the beginning, you got along just fine. Blimey, even.

Getting to know him started off well. Your mother had met him at the theatre while he had been working there and despite her being shy around him, he quickly convinced her to Just try it. The first time you had met Christoph in person was at a dinner at your mother's place during Christmas break and he had been so charming, so soft and well-spoken that he had made you feel right at ease, even though you were sitting across someone so familiar with the limelight and the high society of Hollywood.

It had been nice. You found out that he was recently divorced, with children around your age. You told him about college and your future goals. It had been homely and down to earth, just nice.

And thus, you didn't think much of it as last year's spring break rolled around, returning to your childhood and now their part time-shared Los Angeles home, as he was knocking on the door of your old teenage bedroom. "It's just a little something I got you - a special gift for my new stepdaughter, perhaps? The sale's lady said it would be - quite fitting - for a young woman your age." And Christoph had been so so charming that you didn't think much of it, as you unwrapped the large box.

Inside had been a set of lingerie, made of fine, white lace with frills. The soft fabric had felt and looked expensive and you had gasped - the set so pretty that for a short while, you had forgotten how inappropriate it was for him to gift you such things.

As you finally, after returning to your dorm and showing the gift to your roommate ("Girl, that's just creepy."), came to realize just how wrong it was, a sleek beige box awaited you on your bed one night in the dorm as you returned from your classes. Inside had been a Chanel dress, all pale-pink, flowers and bows ("Shit, that one's kind of pretty").

Christoph had kept sending you gifts: jewellery, dresses, lingerie. You dutifully called every single time and thanked him and he usually only chuckled, stating that it was nothing. You know you should have told your mother. It felt off and you knew that it was, too.

But you just didn't.

Unbeknownst to you, he was testing the waters. Every time you'd see him from then on, he would put you through agonizingly long inquiries about what you did on campus, who you were seeing. He would make it painfully obvious that he was checking your credit card billings and whenever there was something out of the ordinary, he would bring it up casually in the following conversation.

You remember going out with some guy from your lecture, meeting at a place you had never been at before. The date had gone horrible and to not lead him on, you had paid for yourself - even though he insisted otherwise. Christoph had enjoyed seeing you squirm, bathed in your shame and uneasiness, as he asked you if the drinks were as horrible as he believed them to be.

That's when the tables kind of turned. You figured that he was just a rich and controlling asshole that had barged into your life, had belittled you and had ruined your fucking peace. Maybe he was an award-winning actor but to you, that didn't matter.

You were fucking glad, that he kept the relationship to you mother out of the public eye. You didn't even want to imagine the media attention. You didn't even want to imagine what he had to say about you - "My stepdaughter? Oh, she's just whoring about, that unthankful little girl, don't you worry about her."

His mellow voice rips you out of your memory. "So, what are we doing about you breaking my rules tonight?"

You nearly burst out a laugh - you are in your twenties; you are allowed to do whatever the fuck you want. His made up, bullshit rules do not apply to you - quite frankly, up until now, they did not even fucking exist to you. He never told you there were any in the first place.

Not that you would have cared, anyways.

"You have no authority over me", you say, but doesn't come out half as cool as you wanted it to. Christoph's lips curls into a smile, gaze wandering over your face. His fingers brush over yours and then he leans in, voice low:

"We both know, that is not what this is about."

Something in your stomach tingles and you want to rip it out with both hands. "What-", you whisper, seriously confused.

"I have seen what little - well, shall we call them movies, darling? - you watch when you're alone", he purrs and then smiles, all dimples and small lines around his eyes, flashes his white teeth at you. A shiver runs down your spine.

You blink dumbly. What? Jesus Christ, please no - oh no. Oh shit.

Mortification burns high on your cheeks; your skin grows warm and red with it. You immediately know what he's talking about and his invasion of your privacy has your head swimming.

"You checked my fucking browser history?", you blurt out.

"Checked", he huffs, seemingly amused, "If you leave your phone laying around unlocked--" Christoph shrugs, gestures helplessly as if he's trying to justify eating ownerless chocolates.

You can feel your gut sinking. "Y-you--", you can't help but wonder how much he's seen, what exactly he's seen. You can't help your mind from wandering there - wandering to what he thought, if he liked what he saw. Stop it, fucking stop it.

"I--?", Christoph smiles smugly, raising an eyebrow.

You wonder if he saw the countless videos of older men fucking younger women, making them beg and cry, teaching them manners. You remember one porn you have watched plenty of times - the one of a greying man tossing a young woman around, ripping her underwear apart, slapping her face and tits and railing her until she was crying, gripping her hair and spitting in her face.

You remember how deep you had plunged your fingers into your tight cunt, squeezing around them at the thought of an eloquent and handsome older man railing you until you couldn't walk, having his way with you for his pleasure, and his alone. Every single time you watched that one porn you came hard, harder than the time before, draining your sheets with your squirt until it ran down your legs. As fucked up as it is, just the memory of it has your pussy aching right in this moment, wetness pooling between your legs.

Shame crawls up your spine at the thought that he knows - that he has seen the frequency of it popping up in your browsing history. Maybe he had even clicked on it, watched it a little, indulged in your secret little fantasy. The thought has your cheeks burning red with humiliation, but there's also something else, something primal clawing at your insides, making your lower stomach tingle.

"This is none of your business", your voice is small and quiet, your eyes avoiding his drilling gaze.

"Oh, but what if it is?", Christoph's eyes gleam mischievously.

"Excuse me?", you blurt out, heart racing in your chest.

"Mh well", he weighs his head from one side to the other a little, as if he's carefully considering a thought, "You know, if you wanted what you saw in those little movies you could've just asked me?"

He says it so nonchalantly, as if he's talking about buying some milk. You blink, completely speechless.

"Do you want to know why? Why you could've just asked me?", and you nod, head swimming a little, "Because I do not want some dirt-poor, hicktown-boy touching what is mine."

Your breath hitches, and he shrugs. "There's no need for you to compensate your fantasies elsewhere any longer, Liebes, hm?", his voice is soft, dark and deep, like soft silk wrapping you in, "I can give you exactly what you crave."

It feels like your brain has just blown a fuse, blinking at him dumbly. His lips tilt up, one of his hands brushing over your knee. "You just have to say it, darling. Just say the word", and you feel like drowning in the grey sky of his eyes, loins tingling, "I can make you feel good, better than the young men can."

You swallow, excitement bubbling up in your stomach, hitching your breath. It's not like you haven't thought about it, about him - the memory buried deep, deep in the darkest corner of your brain.

You should say no. This is not okay, it will hurt your mother. It's not right. It is inappropriate, at best.

But you are also so fucking horny still, your whole body aching for a touch and the way he looks at you - your fucking stepdad who's a full-blown, silvery 30 years older than you - has tingles spreading through your limbs, fire spreading in your loins. Fuck it.

"Y-yes", you whisper instead of doing the right thing - the spirit willing but the flesh weak -,"Yes, please."

And then, he leans in.

Christoph's kiss is soft and firm, and goosebumps roll over your skin at the thought that it doesn't feel foreign or odd, like if it isn't the first time, he kissed you. It feels a lot like coming home, returning to a familiar touch - it's the way he grabs your waist, mostly, like he just knows how to touch you.

His hand brushes over the small of your back, tips gently stroking your warm skin through your dress, before snaking around your waist and pulling you closer - just as his tongue brushes over your lower lip. The other crawls up your leg, grabs the flesh of your thigh, gropes you and feels you up.

You part your lips obediently, letting Christoph's tongue slip past, brushing over yours. He tastes like cigarettes and liquor and you inhale deeply through your nose - his scent wafting around you, rich, and deep, and sophisticated.

One of your hands comes up, cups his cheek, and pulls him closer. You have never been kissed like this before, never with so much verve, so much lust. He kisses like only a man his age does, like he has tasted a hundred women, but decided you tasted best.

The hand on your leg sneaks higher, and you spread your legs needily, allowing it to slip past and between your thighs. Christoph wastes no time, his index-finger pressing against your pussy, gently rubbing it along your panty-clad folds. You are wet already; the fabric damp and you can feel your loins going up in flames as he rubs you through the thin lace.

Christoph eventually breaks the kiss, has you panting against his mouth, his lips curl up in a smug smile. His fingers dance of your cunt, gently circling your clit through your lace string. "Those boys never treat you right, do they?", he is right, he always is, has you gasping quietly, rocking your hips against his digits, "Only I get to touch you, from now on. Do you understand?"

And you nod, mind already a little hazy, nothing more important than the pulling in your stomach and the wetness between your legs. "Yes", you sigh, leaning into his touch.

"Yes --? You will address me properly", his other hand grabs your chin, "That's certainly not hard to do, now, is it?"

You swallow, your cheeks turning red once more as he digs deep into your fantasies. "Yes, Daddy", you say quietly, the word heavy on your tongue, fresh arousal flooding your cunt.

Christoph hums, visibly satisfied, thumb caressing your jaw and a soft gaze wandering over your face, takes you in, before it grows cold again, as he pulls his hands away.

"Let Daddy see what's his, then", and you follow his stern command.

Hooking your legs over his thighs you practically present yourself to him, the soft velvet cushions pressing against your calves as your back sinks against his chest - the soft material of your dress pooling between your spread legs. Christoph's hands roam over your body - from your hips up up up, brush over your stomach and then cup your tits through your flowy linen dress. His grip is firm and he squeezes them a little, making them spill out of your bra.

You gasp, looking down at his hands and watching the way they fondle your tits, pulling the hem of your dress down and hooks the fabric underneath your breasts. Being so lewdly exposed to him, reduced to being a pretty object to admire and to fondle with, has your head swimming, sparks shooting down your thighs.

"I'll show you off, hm, my pretty little girl? What do you think?", he whispers, one of his slender, large hands cupping your left tit and twisting your nipple between his fingers, "Taking you with me everywhere, let everyone see just how beautiful you are." You gasp, nodding frantically at the thought of being his pretty and expensive little arm-candy - all dolled up and looking pretty for him on the red carpet, adorned in shining jewellery and flowing dresses.

"Let's take this off, shall we?", Christoph tugs at the linen dress and helps you out of it, tosses it to the ground carelessly. You can feel his gaze roaming over your body as he looks over your shoulder, feel heat creeping up your cheeks as you suddenly realize that you wearing one of the lingerie sets, he had gifted you a couple of weeks ago.

A low growl leaves his throat, has the hairs on your arms standing up. "Have you been wearing this for him?", he sing-songs catatonically, his index finger hooks underneath the strap of your string, lets it snap back against your skin.

You have, but it makes you feel stupid now. Childish. Like you have done something laughable. Shame bubbles in your stomach and you feel the urgent need to explain yourself to him: "Y-yes, but--"

"Sh, be quiet", Christoph says softly, his hands casually making quick work of your bra, unclasping it, pulling the strings down your arms, and tossing it into the darkness of the room, "It's fine. You didn't know any better, did you, Liebes?"

"N-no, I didn't", you squeal, the cool air brushing over your hardened nipples, making you shiver while his hands run down your body.

"And do you think, it's fair that he gets to see you all dolled-up like this? In something I have bought you?"

Your teeth catch your lower lip as you shake your head. "Right", his thumb brushes over the strap of your lace string, "And why is that?"

You swallow. You know what Christoph wants to hear and you might just be very willing to give it to him. "Because I belong to you", you say quietly, your stomach fluttering after the words left your mouth.

"That's right", his thumb toys with the lace trimming of the string, "You always have, haven't you?"

You blink. "Huh?"

"Don't be stupid, now."

"I -- I don't-", and he tsks at your aimless stuttering.

"My pretty little airhead", Christoph coos, "Why do you think I bagged your mother?", and suddenly - it clicks. Like a heavy lock falling shut.

You remember the first day of rehearsal at the theatre. It had been his first day there and you had driven your mother, who was responsible for the stage designs, to work since she still had a broken thumb from working on the furniture and was pumped up on painkillers. Saying your goodbyes, you had been seeing him standing a few feet away, smiling at the two of you. You had paid it no mind - especially later, since he ended up going out with your mother. But he hadn't been smiling over the situation, he had been smiling at you. You. Not your mom.

The realization hits you like a freight train, leaves you breathless. "I always get what I want."

"Oh", you make dumbly, mouth agape a little, while his fingers dance over your panty-clad pussy.

"You are just a dumb little baby, aren't you?", for a split second his hand leaves you, only to come down rather hard, as he gives your cunt a firm slap, "I think, I might have to fuck some sense into you."

You squeal, a sharp gasp escaping your lips but you can't help it, as you feel fresh wetness pooling between your legs, rocking your hips against the palm of his hand. "Yeah, I thought so", he sounds rather pleased, lips brushing over the shell of your ear, "Nothing more on your dumb little brain than getting off, hm?"

"Y-yes", you croak, flinching as he strikes your aching cunt another time, moaning sweetly, "Daddy - fuck - p-please!"

"I know just how you feel", his other hand grabs your tit roughly, gropes you, pinching your nipple, "You made Daddy jack off to you so often, princess. Can't wait to see if you're really that tight."

And with that, he unceremoniously pulls your string to the side and you sigh, as your plush and hot skin gets exposed to the cool air.

One of his fingers immediately brushes over your slick folds, and you can hear him hum, a low sound that ignites your lust, has you gasping softly.

"Mh, so wet already, aren't you?", you are, you can hear it. You can hear your juices squelching as his finger runs up and down your cunt, circling your hole and giving your clit the slightest bit of stimulation. Your whole body tingles with it, and you look down, watch him exploring your wet pussy. And maybe, just maybe, you have thought about this, too - with your vibrator pressed snugly against your clit and fingers plunged deep in your cunt - maybe, the thought of him had been flashing through your mind, made you cum at least once.

Christoph's lips brush over your neck, goosebumps spreading over your skin, his free hand wrapping around one of yours. "C'mere, let me show you how wet you are for your Daddy, princess."

And you moan quietly, as he guides your hand between your legs, runs your fingers through your folds. You are incredibly wet, wetter than you have ever been and you gasp at the sensation as his hand guides your fingers through your slick. It's thick and watery and warm and your mouth falls agape at just how much there is of it. It drips down your cojoined fingers, that glide along your folds easily, runs over the palm of Christoph's hand and over his wrist.

"I have never seen a cunt wetter than yours", he whispers and you mewl, gaze dropping down between your legs, watching him guiding your fingers over your pussy. The grip on your fingers is firm and his movements come to a halt, as your digits brush right over your clit. Your breath audibly hatches and you mewl, the slightest bit of stimulation already having you begging for more.

Christoph grins against your warm skin, teeth brushing over the soft flesh. He knows that you had had sex before - he has seen the messages you sent to your roommate about the boys from class, about the one with the pretty blonde hair - but he can't help but notice how you turn into puddy in his hands, like you have never been touched before. Like a fucking virgin. It makes his blood boil, dick straining against his trousers, wanting to see you come apart under the touch of his hands. He wants to see you go insane on his cock, until there is nothing else left but him - all your flings from college washed from your mind - a clean slate for him to claim, ruin.

"Are you always that needy? I don't even want to think about how poorly he must've touched you", Christoph mumbles against your neck, tongue darting out, licking a wet stripe over your warm skin before moving his fingers along with yours, rubbing slow and wide circles over your clit, "I bet it was downright pathetic."

Your hips buck and you gasp, eyelids fluttering. "Oh god, yes", you breathe, feeling your own wetness beneath your fingertips, and the lust sparking in your loins like a wildfire, "Yes, it was."

The way Christoph touches you is just so so different from what you experienced earlier - his slender fingers move yours skilfully, rubbing your clit like he just knows how you like it, like he's done it a hundred times before. You sink back against him, and he gently removes your hand from your cunt, places it onto your thigh instead - lips brushing and sucking on the back of your neck. "Let me show you how good I can make you feel, darling", he hums, "Let me show you how a real man can make you feel."

And with that, he unceremoniously pulls the lace of your string apart, riiips it cleanly in two, lets the fabric fall to the floor, before spreading your legs further. His fingers dance over your cunt, gliding through your slick, before two of them dive back in on your clit. Rubbing wide, slow circles he has you gasping within seconds, watching his digits working you with your mouth agape - your hole clenches around nothing, hips bucking.

"Does that feel good, princess?", he sounds so so smug, like he knows that it does. You can feel your loins catching fire, slowly rolling your hips against his fingers.

"Y-yes, fuck yes", you huff, moaning quietly.

Christoph's finger delves deeper and circles your hole, has it fluttering under his touch, before he carefully pushes it in. You gasp, and he chuckles, feels the way your walls clench around him.

"You're so tight, princess", he pushes his finger in completely, curls it a little and you moan as it brushes over the spot that usually has you seeing stars - before he starts to move it slowly, agonizingly even, rubs your walls and feels you squeezing him.

Christoph can't wait to fuck you, to get his dick wet, feels himself growing even harder in his slacks at the thought. He has been thinking about it for so long, that touching you makes him a little dizzy, and it needs a whole lot of willpower not to throw you off his lap and push you into the cushions, ass up, pounding into you until you're a drooling, crying mess.

He really wants - needs - to take it slow, get a taste of every single second, make it last as long as he possibly can. He will make you beg for it, drunk with it; drunk with the way he is going to fuck you until you see stars, until there is nothing left on your mind but him and his dick pounding into you, his hands on your body. He had already made you dependant on him financially, and now, finally, he will own your body and its countless pleasures, too.

Christoph smiles to himself, all crinkled crow's feet, and white teeth, as you roll your hips against his finger, desperately adding some more friction. He loves giving it to you: pulls his finger out of you, only to push two back in, stretching your hole out a little. You are so fucking tight around his digits; he can feel the ring of muscles clutching and straining against his fingers. "No one's ever fucked you real good, Liebes, I can tell."

He shoves his fingers deeply into your cunt, gives you a short moment to assess to the feeling, before moving them slowly, fucking your slick in and out of you. First, your hips tremble and then you squirt, moaning deeply, wetness splashing against the palm of Christoph's hand. Gasping, you watch his other hand crawling between your legs, his index-finger slowly circling your clit.

Pleasure shoots through your body and you moan, goosebumps spreading over your body, your heartbeat rattling with lust. "Fuck", you gasp, head lolling back onto his shoulder.

With his lips ghosting over your strained neck, Christoph gently speeds up, harvests the desperate whines and gasps falling from your lips as he pushes his fingers in and out of you.

You feel like you do not even have to tell him what you want, what you like - it is like he hasn't only dug deep into your browser history, but also your brain - like he just knows which switch to flip, how to touch you and how to rile you up with a deadly precision. It also feels oddly familiar - his touch, his smell, your body pressing against his with lust and a thin layer of sweat - like he has known your body for years, like he had fingered and touched you a hundred times before.

And thus, you do not even have to vocalize it, that you need more, need it harder - he just knows, reads you like an opened book or a fucking road sign. Christoph starts to fuck you quickly, his fingers pushing your cream in and out of you, pussy gushing around his digits. Your hand flies to his wrist, clutches it tightly, as you moan and sigh, desperate of any sort of leverage.

The way he fingers you feels so fucking good and you wish it would never end, but you can already feel your muscles clenching and then his other hand starts to rub your clit hard, two slender fingers circling it quickly and you gasp, mewl.

"D-daddy", you shriek, walls clutching around his fingers rapidly as you feel your orgasm approaching quicker than any time before, "I-- I'm gonna-"

"Go ahead", he sounds amused, and the humiliation that floods you at his tone has your orgasm rolling over you, coming loose around his fingers on his command.

Shudders roll over your body as you cum, pathetic whimpers leaving your mouth while Christoph fucks you through your climax, fingers circling your clit and making you squirt against his digits. You are slowly coming back down to earth, a soft smile tugging at the corners of your mouth, before you moan, throwing your head back while you rock down on his long fingers, riding out your orgasm. Your juices squelch around his fingers as he rubs them along your walls, your squirt wet the sofa's cushions beneath. You can feel your slick running down your legs, and you gasp.

"There you go", Christoph coos, lips brushing over your exposed shoulder, his other hand still on your throat, thumb brushing over your jaw, "Doesn't that just feel wonderful, angel?"

You nod, a breathless Yes, Daddy escaping your lips - and you are just so turned on, fire in your loins and fresh wetness pooling between your legs, that you can't help it. You continue to roll your hips onto his fingers despite the last remains of your orgasm still rolling over you, gently and slowly rocking down, meeting the equally gentle thrusts of his fingers. Your cunt squelches as you squirt against the palm of his hand.

Christoph whistles lowly, pulls his fingers out of you - leaving you a whimpering mess - takes a good, long look at them in the dim, golden candle light. They glisten with your juices and he considers shoving them into your mouth for a moment, but the way you roll your hips onto him with your ass rubbing over his bulge, is fucking distracting, has him stalling.

"Oh fuck", you gasp, your head falling back on his shoulder, "Oh god, please, 'stoph, please please -"

"Oho", he chuckles smugly, "Still needy, little girl?"

You are. Your cunt aches, like you haven't just cum and made a mess out of the sofa beneath, but you feel so so empty. You need more. You need -

"N-need your cock, please! Daddy, please--", you roll your hips on his crotch, feeling his hard dick pressing against the soft linen, hot and heavy. He feels big against your wet and aching cunt, leaving stains on his expensive slacks, and you can't fucking wait to feel it inside of you.

Christoph grabs your hips hard, stalling your movement and pressing your slick pussy against his bulge. You can feel his hard cock twitching while you stain and wet the fabric and you moan, needily, while his tongue and lips graze over your shoulder, lapping at the soft skin.

And then, he suddenly buries his teeth in your shoulder - gentle but still hard enough to leave a mark - makes you gasp and sob, before he is licking over the bruised and red skin. Christoph's lips move up up up, over your neck, sucking and kissing. His tongue dances over the shell of your ear, his voice nothing but a deep rumble: "I can't wait to fuck you, darling. Been thinking about it a lot, I just can't get enough of you."

Your breath hitches, and you look over your shoulder, your gaze meeting his unrelenting one. "Please", you say quietly, his grey eyes boring into you, "Do it."

And then Christoph leans in, locks his lips with yours once more, licking into your mouth, while one of his hands wanders down, opens the fly of his pants. He is getting impatient now and you are, too, one of your hands joining his and pulling the hem of his boxers down. He is panting into your mouth, against your lips and your hand wraps around his cock, all hot and hard, gives it a few experimental strokes.

You wonder if he will fuck you like he kisses you; like he is going to swallow you whole, like he is never going to let you go again, with the way his nose digs into your cheek and his hands hold you close while his tongue explores your mouth in between open-mouthed kisses full of panting and groaning, leaving your lips plump and plush. You want him to fuck you like that - until there is nothing left but him.

His dick is bigger than you thought, long and just the right girth and you have trouble closing your hand around it fully. The way you stroke him, despite the angle being a little clumsy with your body in the way, has Christoph groaning into your mouth, licking your tongue, and gripping your waist, his other hand dipping back between your legs.

Your pussy is soaked, and he spreads your slick over the hot, plush skin - so responsive from your previous orgasm, that you gasp and moan against his lips, and he catches your lower lip, gently bites, and nibbles at it. Your hand massages his dick, your thumb occasionally flicking over its tip, smearing the drops of precum pooling beneath your digits. Eventually, Christoph is parting from you, cheeks blushed a little and pupils blown wide, swats your hands away. His voice is deep and dark, nothing but a low and soft whisper, that has the hairs on your body standing up as he addresses you again: "You fucking slut."

And that, that has you moaning. You never thought you'd hear such things from him, but the way his eyes grow dark and his voice rumbles in his chest you are certain, that something primal has kicked in his inner doors and makes itself comfortable. "First, you dress up like a whore for a hicktown-boy and now, all I have to do is to give you a cock and you're gone so quickly you won't even let go of it, eh?"

"It's jus'so big, Daddy, feels so good", you slur, already a little gone, trying to get your hands onto him once more. He tuts at you, shakes his head a little. "You'll get it back, sunshine, don't you worry."

Christoph grabs his dick with one hand - the other arm wraps around your frame and adjusts you in his lap, your naked, shivering body resting against his expensive linen - and presses it against your seeping hot cunt. The feeling alone makes your loins tingle, has you spreading your legs further.

You gasp, needy for him to finally fuck you, finally shove his cock into you. "Please, Daddy--", you whine, rolling your hips against his dick, wetting it with your juices.

"Been teasing me for so long", he sounds unnerved while thinking about it, his cock twitches against your hot cunt, "Did that get you off?"

"N-no", you mewl honestly, because you didn't, you did not know what you were doing to him. You feel guilty, wanting to make it right - to finally be good for him.

"Bet it did", he hums, not listening to you, "I will have to teach you some manners, one day."

Shivers tingle on your arms, run down your body and you nod, the promise of a punishment lingering in the air, your hole clenching around nothing at the mere thought of it. You need him - now. Need him to stuff your cunt, fuck you until you are a drooling mess, not a single thought remaining. "Daddy, please, just-"

"You know, I have kids your age", Christoph is slowly rubbing his cock along your cunt, the tip of it nudging against your clit, making you shiver and whimper. The complete and utter filth that leaves his mouth has you squirming on his lap, his tone - smug and calculating - makes him sound nearly proud that he's bagging someone as young and pretty like you. You can feel some fresh wetness spreading between your folds, warm and sticky, as he rubs his precum through them, eventually presses the thick tip against your waiting hole.

Christoph knows that you usually only let someone fuck you with a condom on, he has seen your contraception laying around in your room but he will make sure that tonight's a little different - he'll claim you, pump you full of his cum and make you remember the way it will mingle with your own juices.

Expecting you to protest as he finally pushes in without one on, he is genuinely surprised as you don't; instead, your hole flutters open, invites him in deeply, accompanied by the sweetest, softest, high-pitched moan he may have ever heard. The second your hot walls close around his dick, squeezing him tightly with your hole stretching around his thick cock, his face comes loose.

You can hear Christoph exhale deeply, a pleased and satisfied sound, his eyes falling shut and face growing soft as he relishes in the feeling of your throbbing, wet cunt. His dick isn't only bigger than you thought, it fucking feels like it, too. The thick head presses snugly against your cervix, while your hole stretches around its base, walls pressed against it, feeling his cock throb.

"Ah, that's it", he sighs quietly, hands gently rubbing your hips.

"'S good?", you slur, already a little out of it but wanting to be good for him, good for your Daddy.

"Better than I have ever dared to dream, darling", one of his hands brushes over your thigh, caresses the warm skin.

You sigh with the praise, hole clenching around the thick base of his cock while it stretches you out. "Y'feel so good, Daddy", you mumble, looking down to where his dick vanishes inside of you, has your cunt spread on it.

"That's my polite little girl", Christoph's hand brushes over your stomach, up up up and cups your right tit, gives it a firm squeeze.

"Why don't you start moving, sunshine? Make sure it will keep feeling good for me, hm?", he suggests, silky voice dripping with honey, and he lets go of a ragged breath as you do. Rolling your hips experimentally once, feeling his cock moving inside of you, and you quiver. It gently prods against your cervix with every moment, making you mewl and gasp.

Starting off slowly, you raise your hips and then move them back down carefully, feeling Christoph's cock stretching you out, rubbing along your walls. His hands brush over your thighs, your waist. "There you go, darling", he croons, lips brushing over your shoulders, "Keep going, make me feel good."

And you really want to - thus, you grow braver, lifting your hips and sinking back down quicker, rolling them on his cock. He groans, throaty and deep, hands digging into your thighs. You start to ride his dick, fucking yourself back onto him quickly, hands darting out to his knees, desperate for any sort of leverage as you lift your hips and sink back down.

Moaning, you throw your head back as your body sacks forward a little, back arched and Christoph gives your exposed ass a firm slap, before his hand snakes around your body, closes in around your throat. "Upright, girl", he scolds, has you gasping and straightening back up immediately. The hand does not vanish, instead, it adds pressure to your delicate neck, pressing your windpipe shut. Your hips stutter and your eyes widen, right before pleasure shoots through your body, hot waves of lust making you squirt against his cock. Your thighs clench, knees darting together. "Keep them open for me, baby girl", he huffs, his free hand darting between your thighs, grabbing your left and forcefully spreading your legs in the process.

Christoph's hand lets go of your throat, now laying gently against your soft skin instead and thus, keeping your upright on his lap, back arched. "Oh", you gasp, so fucking turned on, you might combust on the spot, "Oh, fuck -- Daddy!"

The hand on your thigh gropes you lightly, thumb brushing over your skin gently. You move up and down on his cock, cunt throbbing and walls squeezing him occasionally, while the tip of his dick prods against your cervix. The way Christoph's cock splits you open, rubs along your walls is delicious, has you gasping and whining.

"Mhm, don't you just look pretty, bouncing on your Daddy's cock like that?", the hand around your throat clutches once more and you moan, high pitched and whiny, hips bucking.

The lack of oxygen has your walls clenching around his dick as you rock down on it, hands desperately grabbing the linen of his slacks. The stretch in your back is deliciously painful, the hand on your throat adding to it.

Feeling your orgasm approaching slowly, you speed up a little more, the sounds of your slick skin hitting his cock filling your room, mingling with his groans and your whines. "There you go, sunshine", Christoph's praise is sweet and soft as you speed up a little more, rolling your hips up and down up and down, hands clutching the linen of his slacks, while you fuck yourself back onto his dick. You can feel your heart pounding in your throat, you can taste your arousal on the tip of your tongue, hear your blood singing with it.

With your cunt squeezing him, practically milking his cock as you rock down it, Christoph can't help but wanting more. The hand on your thigh sneaks between your legs, and he feels you shivering in his lap as his index-finger brushes against your clit. Your gasps are sweet and turn into dirty, wanton moans quickly as he starts to circle your clit with it and Jesus fucking Christ - he wishes he could hear it every day, when he wakes up, when he goes to bed, wishes he could just do nothing all day, only play with you, and make you cum over and over and over again. The way you roll your hips and fuck yourself onto his dick becomes more erratic, desperate and a little clumsy and his lips curl up - he just knows you're close.

"That's a good girl", Christoph coos, voice rough and deep, "Cum on my cock. Be a good girl and cum for me."

Adding pressure to your windpipe once more, he presses the hand around your throat down hard. Your hips buck wildly at the sudden lack of oxygen, lust shooting through your veins, while his finger rubs over your clit fast, in rhythm with the thrusts of your hips. You can feel your walls clenching heavily around his dick and then you cum, your orgasm hitting you with such force, that all you can do is gasp loudly. Any sound and thought is wiped from your body as your cunt squeezes his cock, pussy clenching and legs trembling, hips stuttering as you squirt and squirt, your cream gushing against his dick.

Christoph continues to fuck you through it, moaning quietly while you milk his cock, one arm wrapping around your waist and keeping you in place, the other slooowly letting go of your throat. You suck in desperate breaths, your senses slowly returning and you moan, high-pitched and sweetly, as you feel his dick pulsating inside of you.

"Yeah, just like that, sunshine", he groans, while he fucks you through your orgasm, cock twitching inside of you and shooting hot ropes of cum into your hole, painting your walls white, "Such a good girl, taking it all."

Humming with his praise, you spread your legs wide over his lap, letting his dick in a little deeper, welcoming his cum home. His free hand roams your inner thigh, gropes you gently, while he huffs and groans into your ear - the low sound making you shiver. You relish in the feeling of his warm body beneath you, feeling pumped full by his cum and his hands all over you, while your body grows a little sore, your pussy becoming plush and plump.

His dick is still buried inside of you, hard and hot and heavy. You feel so so full, with his cock preventing his cum from leaking out, only a few drops run out of your hole lazily, drip down his balls and onto the sofa. His cock doesn't seem to go noticeably flaccid, having you gasp and moan with the sensation, relishing in the feeling of him filling you up to the brim. You want to ask why he's still hard, but the question becomes obsolete as your gaze flickers to the coffee table. There's a blister of pills there, one cavity empty. The pills are blue.

Christoph's thumb rubs along your chin, catches on your lower lip. "Surprised, angel?", and you nod, only a dumb Uh-huh leaving your throat and he snickers at the sound, pushes his thumb into your mouth. Immediately, like you are fucking programmed to, you start sucking on it, pussy clenching around his hardening cock.

"Oh, my pretty baby, fucked your brains out already? And I am not even done yet", he sounds genuinely amused while his other hand brushes over your inner thigh and your skin and the nerves below are so so responsive to his touch, has you squirming in his lap and on his cock, mewling. It makes him groan, a low sound, vibrating deep in his throat.

"I have been waiting so long for this", he husks, "I didn't want for it to end too quickly, hm?"

You can feel him growing back to full size inside of you, within mere minutes. It feels nice, nice being so full and you are so far gone in that thickly sweet daze that you don't even think once, as you roll your hips lazily - once, twice - while his hands roam over your body, your lower belly, your waist, groping your tits.

Christoph touches you with a righteousness, like you belong to him, like he owns you. Like there's no one else but you.

But you know that's not true. You know that upstairs your mother is fast asleep, and that on her nightstand lays an expensive engagement ring with a huge-ass diamond. If you weren't so fucked out of your mind, you'd care and you'd wonder if this is a one-time thing.

As if he can read your thoughts, he says: "Don't you worry your pretty little head, princess. I won't marry her anymore - it's only you darling, always been."

And you sigh, his sweet talk wrapping you in as he pushes his hips upwards once, buries himself deep into your cunt, hits your cervix. You look over your shoulder, and your gazes meet.

One of his hands comes up, rests on your cheek while he starts to fuck you slowly, softly pants with the way his dick slips in and out of you. "Oh, my sweet baby", Christoph coos while you are hissing quietly as his cock brushes over your overstimulated walls, spreads your tight and aching hole, your hand clutching his wrist.

"Daddy, i-it's too much", you mewl and he pouts at you playfully, shakes his head.

"No, it isn't, is it? You can take it", his thumb caresses your cheek, gives you a sweet peck on the lips, "Be a good girl and take it. You can give me one more."

But you physically can't, and neither does your pussy, walls tightening around him, pushing against his hard dick. "Oh, das machen wir aber nicht, hm?", Christoph scolds, his other hand diving back between your spread legs, two fingers gently circling your clit. You hum, body immediately relaxing, and within a few moments the dull pain of him assaulting your used hole vanishes in thin air, sharp gasps escaping your parted lips, your juices running down your cunt.

"There we are. I knew you could take it", his grin is nothing but devilish, peppers your cheek with soft kisses, "I'm so proud of you, sunshine, hm? Taking it so much better than your mom. I knew you'd be the one."

Stretching your already used cunt further, he nestles back in fully, sighs deeply. "Like you were made for me, angel."

"Yes", you sigh sweetly, because you sure feel like it. Gently, careful even, Christoph continues to circle your clit, pinching and rubbing it. Your body slowly, slowly sinks away from you, growing light and all that is left is the feeling of his hands touching you, his cock buried deep inside of you. Every nerve-ending tingles with it, your brain only focussed on him and the way he feels, the way he smells, the way he sounds. The only thing left is him.

Your body goes limp, arms dangling at your sides as Christoph grabs your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh, and thrusts you onto his cock - once, twice. Deep thrusts, that make your blood sing.

"O-oh, oh Daddy", you gasp, eyes rolling back. Your body practically goes up in hot, burning flames of lust, sparks tingling in your thighs and your chest and you want him to run his hands all over you and feel you up, but you also don't want him to stop manhandling you like he does - all his pent up energy coming lose, practically giving you taste of how long and cruel his wait had been. If you weren't so fucked out of your mind, everything a little hazy already, you would touch yourself, but you just can't - all you can do is spread your legs wider, mouth agape while you pant and moan, relishing in the delicious feeling of his dick fucking you into oblivion.

Your jaw goes slack with it, head lolling back onto his shoulder as he uses you, hammers you down on his dick like a fleshlight. Christoph's grip on your waist and hips is hard enough to leave bruises and tomorrow morning you will be able to see them, an angry red, count the ways he marked you as his.

The thought of you being nothing more to Christoph than his pretty little cocksleeve - young and attractive - that he can take anywhere and fuck whenever he pleases, makes your head swim. You think about him dragging you along to some award-show, showing you off on the carpet and then bending you over the sink in one of the bathrooms because another actor looked at you for a second too long, fucking you until you can't really walk anymore - only to later sit in the award ceremony and feeling his cum leaking out of you. You think of him taking you out for dinner to a fancy restaurant - maybe even with some of his Hollywood-friends - playing with your pussy at the dinner table, whispering sweet nothings in your ear - just because he can, because who would even dare to stop him? You think about visiting him on set, waiting for him in his hotel room - adorned in the jewellery he has gifted you, nothing on but a revealing set of lingerie - waiting for him to take his stress out on you.

It makes you fucking wet, squirt gushing from your cunt, that runs down your folds and that he pumps back into your wanton hole. "Jesus, fuck", you whine, starting to roll your hips with the way he thrusts you down on his dick, feeling him deep deep inside of your pussy, thick head brushing over and hitting your cervix. Hearing him moan with it nearly makes you lose your mind.

You cry out - overstimulated, but so so horny - with his cum squelching out of you with every single thrust, mingling with your juices and dripping, squirting onto the sofa. There are pleas falling from your lips as you yell out with lust and Christoph's quick to clasp one hand around your mouth, your cries and deep moans muffled by the palm of his hand. Your eyelids flutter as you fuck yourself back against his thrusts, his cock hitting your cervix and pain and lust ignite your body, making you want to curl up and just take take take what he gives you.

You feel like you are on fire, your whole body responding to his touch and his thrusts, every single nerve in your body on high alert, as you feel your orgasm coming closer.

Looking down, you can see how he is still thrusting your body down on his dick and you watch, panting. Seeing just how he is using you, like you are nothing but a delicate toy --

It's what tips you over.

A high-pitched scream escapes your mouth as you cum, muffled by his hand pressing against your mouth - before he pulls away, allows you to suck in a few deep breaths through your opened mouth.

Your body practically convulses on his cock, shakes rattling your frame as your third orgasm rolls over you, creaming and squirting against his dick, making a pretty mess of his linen slacks and the sofa beneath. You have left quite a few nasty stains tonight, and your cheeks will turn red in a few days, when your mother spots them and Christoph lies to her face.

Your cunt squeezes his dick and you can feel it twitch heavily inside of you, once, twice, and then he cums too, shoots hot ropes of cum inside of your pussy once more. You feel so fucking full, like you are about to burst, as you roll your hips against his, cunt gushing around his cock.

"Oh fuck", you moan sweetly, sacking back against him. You can hear him pant, one hand on your waist coming lose and resting gently on your stomach, rubbing loose circles over your warm skin.

"What a good girl, huh", he whispers, coarse and exhausted. His words barely reach you through the thick cloud, everything turns white and a soft numbness embraces you, makes you feel featherlight, like you are flying. Christoph's arms wrap you in gently, pulling your naked form close to his, the soft linen crinkling and pressing against your naked back.

You stay like this for a while, with his large and soft hands caressing your skin - rubbing your stomach and gently stroking your thigh - until your breath becomes deeper again, your limbs start to feel heavier, more connected to your body once more. "Oh God", you sigh, feeling his cock still plugging your hole up. It grows flaccid slowly, a few drops of his cum already leaking out of you.

Christoph's lips dance along your shoulder, your neck, kissing and pressing down onto the warm skin. His hands grip your hips tightly. "Ready?", and he sounds so so playful, like he is really enjoying this - taking some depraved satisfaction from it - and you can't help but nod, readying for him to pull out.

He lifts your hips, watches how his dick slips out of your hole easily, hears you hiss with it, and then it trickles down. Thick drops, streaks of white cum flush from your used cunt, and he's quick to swipe his fingers along your folds - spreads your pussy and his cum, collects it with his fingers.

They enter your vision and without thinking, like you're still far gone - despite the fact that you aren't - he shoves them between your obediently opened, waiting lips. You close them around his fingers, while the remains of his cum drip out of you still, and start to clean them up, sucking on them, tongue swirling around his digits.

"That's a good girl", his praise has your blood singing, and you whine in protest as Christoph pulls his fingers from your mouth, "So, tell me - where do you go the next time you want a good fuck?"

"To you, Daddy", you say softly, earning you a warm chuckle and a pat on the thigh.

***

Your legs are still wobbly as you make your way downstairs in the morning and out onto the terrace. Your mother and Christoph are sitting in the sun, a light breeze rolling around the terrace, making the seam of the table cloth sway gently.

Your mother is silently eating her breakfast while Christoph rustles with his French newspaper. He appears to be interested in the Feuilleton but you notice how his gaze flickers to you as soon as you're approaching the table, remains glued to your figure, small lines forming around his eyes.

"Oh, honey!", your mother gets up, happy that you are awake, and gives you a featherlight kiss on the cheek, "Oh god, you look horrible, darling! Did you sleep unwell?"

Christoph snorts, but your mother ignores it - holds you at arm length, iron grip around your arms as she assesses your timid frame.

"Yeah, 's just the heat", you mutter, freeing yourself from her death grip and sit down, flinching a little. You're so fucking sore, legs still heavy and hole aching, pussy begging for another touch through the slight pain. Christoph deliberately puts down the newspaper, a smug smile toying at the corners of his lips. It grows rather surprised than complacent as he takes you in fully.

You are wearing one of the dresses he had bought you. You also draped a silk scarf around your shoulders, hiding the viciously glowing bitemark he gave you. His face is expressionless as he looks at you, his cold stare boring into you. For a moment you think, he might rat you out - tell your mother that you snuck out last night.

But he doesn't. Instead, he wordlessly pours you a glass of freshly pressed orange juice, hands it over to you. Your fingers brush over his, goosebumps spreading over your skin at the thought that just a couple of hours, they had been in you, fucking you to hell and back.

You can still feel them inside of you, growing wet at the thought, squirming a little in your chair. If it weren't for your mom sitting right next to you, you'd get up and beg him to fuck you. Your pussy aches at the imagery that your brain conjures up; tits bouncing, one leg hooked over his shoulder, the expensive dress pooling around your waist, glasses on the table clinking with each thrust.

Your mother - oblivious to what is happening in front of her - brabbles on about her plans for the day, while Christoph's gaze is chained to yours.

It feels like his eyes are undressing you, a shadow dances over his greyish eyes, turning them into a darkened sky. Your hand grips the glass tightly, thighs rubbing together. You really wish you could just --

"Careful", he says quietly, pointing at your hand clutching your glass so hard your knuckles start to turn white, and you let go of it, like you just burned yourself. The glass nearly topples over on the white table cloth, the juice trickles down the insides of it lazily, silent testimony to an accident prevented. He's right - it might've burst.

Thank you for taking care of me, Daddy. You want to get up and thank him properly, unzip his pants and --

"Don't you think, that'd be nice, honey?", your mother chimes, still busy with her avocado, and pulls you out of your daydream - you on your knees with Christoph rubbing his cock and balls across your face and making you look like a cheap whore, before he slips it between your plush, waiting lips with their red lipstick smudged - you barely manage not to moan aloud, quickly turning your head her way.

"Huh?", you blink dumbly.

"Honey", she scoffs, "I said - Do you wanna go to the beach today?"

You rather wouldn't. Especially not with your mother around, gushing about the man who fucked you senseless last night. You would rather spend the day with him alone.

Thus, your gaze flickers back to Christoph quicker than you can think about it, quicker than you can stop yourself from doing it. He gives you the slightest nod, that goes completely unnoticed by your mother and rearranges his reading glasses.

Thank you for thinking for me, Daddy.

"Sure, why not?", you can hear yourself say. Christoph rustles with his newspaper and somewhere, in the trees, a bird chimes.

#christoph waltz #christoph waltz x reader #christoph waltz smut #my writing #smut #hans landa x reader #august rosenbluth x reader

740 notes · View notes

stormcried · 2 months ago

Text

Did she not want it? Maybe she just wasn't hungry. Drake figured he might as well put it away for now. He'd feed the fishes before he left the area. Drake would notice her voice was... strained when saying her name. Was it because she barely understood English? Or was it because her full name was hard to say? Who knew? Drake puts away the baggie of toast back into his pocket and sits down next to the creek. When she pressed her incredibly large finger against his chest, after saying her name, the child got the memo.

"O-Oh! My name is Drake! Drake Conningway. Uh... Drake might be easier to say, hehe." Drake pointed his finger back to Tidal mimicking her motions of saying his name to her. "You're... a real dragon? I-I didn' think that they were real! M'mama always used t'tell me tha' dragons always breathed fire n'stuff." He hoped he wasn't suggesting that SHE do it. It would set the forest on fire if that happened!

Tidal cooed when he laughed. It was a sweet sound! She tilted her head when he offered her more food. She knew some words. Some. The boy said "last". Did he not have anymore? She didn't want him to go hungry! Tidal brushed her nose against his side, paying the toast no mind. The child was her main interest.

"Ti... dal..." She gave her name. She said it slowly. Tidal made a questioning sound, and gingerly prodded his chest with a finger. Her head tilting to one side. Tidal understood the concept of names. She also knew that people who wanted to be friends shared names. Would this little one understand what she was asking?

#drake; i love dragons i didn't know they existed! a real dragon is my first friends ;-;#IC.#tidewings-of-hyrule #V. HEAVENS HEED

10 notes · View notes

gaslysfavgirl · 2 years ago

Text

sorry if there's any mistake, i'm not fluent in English and this is the first time I've ever wrote something in a different language:)

Warnings: dirty talk, s3xual tension, orgasm (female receiving)

'Mon petit, I can't let you wear a dress like this anymore. I can't focus and I can't kill my clients every time they look at you.'

Your mafia husband, Pierre whispers to you, as he grabs your upper thigh. You look at him with a smirk, because that was your plan. You wanted his attention everytime, you were his only one and when he didn't focus on you... well, you made your way to get his heed. You wore a beautiful black dress, with a v cut in the front. You were never the shy type of showing out your prettiness.

'I'm just on your side tonight, to be pretty. I'm pretty, so i don't understand your problem Pierre.'

You spoke before drinking your glass of an expensive wine. It was delicious for sure, you didn't mind to drink one-two or even three glass of it. One of Pierre's client looked at you, his eyes were dressing you down. Although he knew he has just signed his dead papers. You loved the attention you got from everyone, you couldn't lie about it. This was one of the many things you loved being a mafia wife. The attention. Meanwhile Pierre didn't take his hand off of you, indeed his left hand went more and more up. You didn't really care, because he used to show off you're his. He has been proud of his prey. Of you. You were a good cought 3 years ago. The love between you two has just growed and growed. Pierre would spoil you with anything you just looked for more than a min. Especially when you wanted him. His strong arms were looking perfectly in that black button-up shirt, and you couldn't deny but only love the view. Those strong arms what were holding you last night and helping you to stand in his office while moaning his name. His eyes were blue as the darkest ocean in a storm and when he turned on, it only turned darker and darker. His body was the hottest thing you've ever seen in your entire life. It was your weakness, and he knew it damn well.

'Fuck, baby you're so wet down there. You might need some help aren't you? '

His voice was raspy, gentle tho. You didn't answer for his question, you simply ignored him because you'd never admit you turned on only thinking about him.

'I asked something, mon ange. '

Pierre didn't hesitat to touch your wet entrance. You were sensitive from his touch, and it only turned you on more. No words, he knows how to treat with a woman.

'For the fuck's sake, didn't i teach you how to speak? Do you want another lesson?'

He pushed 2 of his finger in you, what made you squeeze you legs together. Only if he know, you won't last for that long.

'I heard perfectly your question.'

You sighted and moved a little. You had to hold his knee or you would faint at any moment. Meanwhile his long fingers didn't rest, he just kept pushing inside.

'Let your voice out for me, mhm? '

He pet your labia slowly to tease you. He smirked as you let out a soft moan.

'Good girl'

You bit your lips not to let out any sound. You knew if he continues like this, you would fall in pieces in the chair.

'Stop it, Gasly. I don't want to come.'

You whimpered while he added another finger of his.

'It's not a want, it's a need.'

Pierre added speed and worked on to make you come faster. You were close, he could watch you falling in pieces. Falling from his fingers. He felt the warm, that your walls thightened around his fingers, and when you were just about he pulled his fingers out. You almost moaned out loud. You were seconds away from the heaven, and he robbed it from you.

'Next time, you learn not to get my attention. Understood? '

#pierre gasly #pierre gasly smut #f1 fanfic #f1 smut

92 notes · View notes

the-chronicle-of-holy-days · 1 year ago

Text

Day 17

Liber LXV Liber Cordis Cincti Serpente

Ah! my Lord Adonai, that dalliest with the Magister in the Treasure-House of Pearls, let me listen to the echo of your kisses.

Is not the starry heaven shaken as a leaf at the tremulous rapture of your love? Am not I the flying spark of light whirled away by the great wind of your perfection?

Yea, cried the Holy One, and from Thy spark will I the Lord kindle a great light; I will burn through the great city in the old and desolate land; I will cleanse it from its great impurity.

And thou, O prophet, shalt see these things, and thou shalt heed them not.

Now is the Pillar established in the Void; now is Asi fulfilled of Asar; now is Hoor let down into the Animal Soul of Things like a fiery star that falleth upon the darkness of the earth.

Through the midnight thou art dropt, O my child, my conqueror, my sword-girt captain, O Hoor! and they shall find thee as a black gnarl'd glittering stone, and they shall worship thee.

My prophet shall prophesy concerning thee; around thee the maidens shall dance, and bright babes be born unto them. Thou shalt inspire the proud ones with infinite pride, and the humble ones with an ecstasy of abasement; all this shall transcend the Known and the Unknown with somewhat that hath no name. For it is as the abyss of the Arcanum that is opened in the secret Place of Silence.

Thou hast come hither, O my prophet, through grave paths. Thou hast eaten of the dung of the Abominable Ones; thou hast prostrated thyself before the Goat and the Crocodile; the evil men have made thee a plaything; thou hast wandered as a painted harlot, ravishing with sweet scent and Chinese colouring, in the streets; thou hast darkened thine eyepits with Kohl; thou hast tinted thy lips with vermilion; thou hast plastered thy cheeks with ivory enamels. Thou hast played the wanton in every gate and by-way of the great city. The men of the city have lusted after thee to abuse thee and to beat thee. They have mouthed the golden spangles of fine dust wherewith thou didst bedeck thine hair; they have scourged the painted flesh of thee with their whips; thou hast suffered unspeakable things.

But I have burnt within thee as a pure flame without oil. In the midnight I was brighter than the moon; in the daytime I exceeded utterly the sun; in the byways of thy being I inflamed, and dispelled the illusion.

Therefore thou art wholly pure before Me; therefore thou art My virgin unto eternity.

Therefore I love thee with surpassing love; therefore they that despise thee shall adore thee.

Thou shalt be lovely and pitiful toward them; thou shalt heal them of the unutterable evil.

They shall change in their destruction, even as two dark stars that crash together in the abyss, and blaze up in an infinite burning.

All this while did Adonai pierce my being with his sword that hath four blades; the blade of the thunderbolt, the blade of the Pylon, the blade of the serpent, the blade of the Phallus.

Also he taught me the holy unutterable word Ararita, so that I melted the sixfold gold into a single invisible point, whereof naught may be spoken.

For the Magistry of this Opus is a secret magistry; and the sign of the master thereof is a certain ring of lapis-lazuli with the name of my master, who am I, and the Eye in the Midst thereof.

Also He spake and said: This is a secret sign, and thou shalt not disclose it unto the profane, nor unto the neophyte, nor unto the zelator, nor unto the practicus, nor unto the philosophus, nor unto the lesser adept, nor unto the greater adept.

But unto the exempt adept thou shalt disclose thyself if thou have need of him for the lesser operations of thine art.

Accept the worship of the foolish people, whom thou hatest. The Fire is not defiled by the altars of the Ghebers, nor is the Moon contaminated by the incense of them that adore the Queen of Night.

Thou shalt dwell among the people as a precious diamond among cloudy diamonds, and crystals, and pieces of glass. Only the eye of the just merchant shall behold thee, and plunging in his hand shall single thee out and glorify thee before men.

But thou shalt heed none of this. Thou shalt be ever the heart, and I the serpent will coil close about thee. My coil shall never relax throughout the æons. Neither change nor sorrow nor unsubstantiality shall have thee; for thou art passed beyond all these.

Even as the diamond shall glow red for the rose, and green for the rose-leaf; so shalt thou abide apart from the Impressions.

I am thou, and the Pillar is ’stablished in the void.

Also thou art beyond the stabilities of Being and of Consciousness and of Bliss; for I am thou, and the Pillar is ’stablished in the void.

Also thou shalt discourse of these things unto the man that writeth them, and he shall partake of them as a sacrament; for I who am thou am he, and the Pillar is ’stablished in the void.

From the Crown to the Abyss, so goeth it single and erect. Also the limitless sphere shall glow with the brilliance thereof.

Thou shalt rejoice in the pools of adorable water; thou shalt bedeck thy damsels with pearls of fecundity; thou shalt light flame like licking tongues of liquor of the Gods between the pools.

Also thou shalt convert the all-sweeping air into the winds of pale water, thou shalt transmute the earth into a blue abyss of wine.

Ruddy are the gleams of ruby and gold that sparkle therein; one drop shall intoxicate the Lord of the Gods my servant.

Also Adonai spake unto V.V.V.V.V. saying: O my little one, my tender one, my little amorous one, my gazelle, my beautiful, my boy, let us fill up the pillar of the Infinite with an infinite kiss!

So that the stable was shaken and the unstable became still.

They that beheld it cried with a formidable affright: The end of things is come upon us.

And it was even so.

Also I was in the spirit vision and beheld a parricidal pomp of atheists, coupled by two and by two in the supernal ecstasy of the stars. They did laugh and rejoice exceedingly, being clad in purple robes and drunken with purple wine, and their whole soul was one purple flower-flame of holiness.

They beheld not God; they beheld not the Image of God; therefore were they arisen to the Palace of the Splendour Ineffable. A sharp sword smote out before them, and the worm Hope writhed in its death-agony under their feet.

Even as their rapture shore asunder the visible Hope, so also the Fear Invisible fled away and was no more.

O ye that are beyond Aormuzdi and Ahrimanes! blessèd are ye unto the ages.

They shaped Doubt as a sickle, and reaped the flowers of Faith for their garlands.

They shaped Ecstasy as a spear, and pierced the ancient dragon that sat upon the stagnant water.

Then the fresh springs were unloosed, that the folk athirst might be at ease.

And again I was caught up into the presence of my Lord Adonai, and the knowledge and Conversation of the Holy One, the Angel that Guardeth me.

O Holy Exalted One, O Self beyond self. O Self-Luminous Image of the Unimaginable Naught, O my darling, my beautiful, come Thou forth and follow me.

Adonai, divine Adonai, let Adonai initiate refulgent dalliance! Thus I concealed the name of Her name that inspireth my rapture, the scent of whose body bewildereth the soul, the light of whose soul abaseth this body unto the beasts.

I have sucked out the blood with my lips; I have drained Her beauty of its sustenance; I have abased Her before me, I have mastered Her, I have possessed Her, and Her life is within me. In Her blood I inscribe the secret riddles of the Sphinx of the Gods, that none shall understand,—save only the pure and voluptuous, obscene, the androgyne and the gynander that have passed beyond the bars of the prison that the old Slime of Khem set up in the Gates of Amennti.

O my adorable, my delicious one, all night will I pour out the libation on Thine altars; all night will I burn the sacrifice of blood; all night will I swing the thurible of my delight before Thee, and the fervour of the orisons shall intoxicate Thy nostrils.

O Thou who camest from the land of the Elephant, girt about with the tiger’s pell, and garlanded with the lotus of the spirit, do Thou inebriate my life with Thy madness, that She leap at my passing.

Bid Thy maidens who follow Thee bestrew us a bed of flowers immortal, that we may take our pleasure thereupon. Bid Thy satyrs heap thorns among the flowers, that we may take our pain thereupon. Let the pleasure and pain be mingled in one supreme offering unto the Lord Adonai!

Also I heard the voice of Adonai the Lord the desirable one concerning that which is beyond.

Let not the dwellers in Thebai and the temples thereof prate ever of the Pillars of Hercules and the Ocean of the West. Is not the Nile a beautiful water?

Let not the priest of Isis uncover the nakedness of Nuit, for every step is a death and a birth. The priest of Isis lifted the veil of Isis, and was slain by the kisses of her mouth. Then was he the priest of Nuit, and drank of the milk of the stars.

Let not the failure and the pain turn aside the worshippers. The foundations of the pyramid were hewn in the living rock ere sunset; did the king weep at dawn that the crown of the pyramid was yet unquarried in the distant land?

There was also an humming-bird that spake unto the horned cerastes, and prayed him for poison. And the great snake of Khem the Holy One, the royal Uræus serpent, answered him and said:

I sailed over the sky of Nu in the car called Millions-of-Years, and I saw not any creature upon Seb that was equal to me. The venom of my fang is the inheritance of my father, and of my father's father; and how shall I give it unto thee? Live thou and thy children as I and my fathers have lived, even unto an hundred millions of generations, and it may be that the mercy of the Mighty Ones may bestow upon thy children a drop of the poison of eld.

Then the humming-bird was afflicted in his spirit, and he flew unto the flowers, and it was as if naught had been spoken between them. Yet in a little while a serpent struck him that he died.

But an Ibis that meditated upon the bank of Nile the beautiful god listened and heard. And he laid aside his Ibis ways, and became as a serpent, saying Peradventure in an hundred millions of millions of generations of my children, they shall attain to a drop of the poison of the fang of the Exalted One.

And behold! ere the moon waxed thrice he became an Uræus serpent, and the poison of the fang was established in him and his seed even for ever and for ever.

O thou Serpent Apep, my Lord Adonai, it is a speck of minutest time, this travelling through eternity, and in Thy sight the landmarks are of fair white marble untouched by the tool of the graver. Therefore Thou art mine, even now and for ever and for everlasting. Amen.

Moreover, I heard the voice of Adonai: Seal up the book of the Heart and the Serpent; in the number five and sixty seal thou the holy book.

As fine gold that is beaten into a diadem for the fair queen of Pharaoh, as great stones that are cemented together into the Pyramid of the ceremony of the Death of Asar, so do thou bind together the words and the deeds, so that in all is one Thought of Me thy delight Adonai.

And I answered and said: It is done even according unto Thy word. And it was done. And they that read the book and debated thereon passed into the desolate land of Barren Words. And they that sealed up the book into their blood were the chosen of Adonai, and the Thought of Adonai was a Word and a Deed; and they abode in the Land that the far-off travellers call Naught.

O land beyond honey and spice and all perfection! I will dwell therein with my Lord for ever.

And the Lord Adonai delighteth in me, and I bear the Cup of His gladness unto the weary ones of the old grey land.

They that drink thereof are smitten of disease; the abomination hath hold upon them, and their torment is like the thick black smoke of the evil abode.

But the chosen ones drank thereof, and became even as my Lord, my beautiful, my desirable one. There is no wine like unto this wine.

They are gathered together into a glowing heart, as Ra that gathereth his clouds about Him at eventide into a molten sea of Joy; and the snake that is the crown of Ra bindeth them about with the golden girdle of the death-kisses.

So also is the end of the book, and the Lord Adonai is about it on all sides like a Thunderbolt, and a Pylon, and a Snake, and a Phallus, and in the midst thereof he is like the Woman that jetteth out the milk of the stars from her paps; yea, the milk of the stars from her paps

Source: https://www.deviantart.com/the-stein/art/Persona-Tarot-Card-HD-The-Hierophant-289971469

Yeah, he’s not my favorite as it shows. But the “pillow talk” chapter is such a ✨mood✨

#thelema #thelemic holy season #argentum astrum #holy days #silver star #tarot #the hierophant

9 notes · View notes

ome-magical-ramblings · 2 years ago

Text

The Ladder and Spring scrying ritual, How I scry the elemental kingdoms.

I want to emphasize that my method of working is my own and it is a synthesis of stuff I read and probably can't exactly put my finger-on but it follows a somewhat similar approach of the golden dawn/ceremonial magician style but more simpler and direct. The whole associating with divinity then bossing over lower hierarchy, again I am not trying to do that but you will see the similarities. I am trying to make it a bit more organic and less formulaic, giving some spaces here and there for people AND spirits to work together in this act/ritual. Ingredients/Materials to use:

1)Candles 2)Bell 3)Name of Sandalphon written in Green 4)Earth Tattva drawn by yourself or printed if you can’t. 5)Pentacle(if you have one) The Two part of this ritual/method of scrying is: 0) Preparation 1) The (step)Ladder. 2) The Loaded Spring. Step 0 is preparation of yourself AND the area, and yourself, what I opt to do is Being with Our Father and Three Hail Mary, Water of Eden/Purifying consecrated water is made to consecrate the area and wash our face and head+arm+feet. Ring the four archangelic gates and call their attention to this ritual. Lastly The Qabbalistic invocation of Levi. Again very simple and mostly it’s just praying and calling, talking, washing yourself, etc.

Now for Part 1.. If you ever saw a step-ladder, and I think most people saw one irl it’s like an inverted V. So we start raising up the ladder itself, you start by calling your ancestors, guides, natal/guardian angel, and your..image of Divinity, like praying to God. This is the “mental-astral” body doing the climb up the ladder, and now we start by climbing up too, we start by calling the Gnomes with the Gnomes oration in JSK’s Testament of St Cyprian: Oh, admirable and incomprehensible genies! With blind faith and humble heart, I throw myself upon your mercy. My hope is that – as you direct my steps and actions from the moment I appeared upon this planet until that one in which, my mission completed, you collect my spirit to accompany it to sidereal worlds, to the place that the Supreme Creator has reserved to us in his inscrutable aims – so equally will you lend your aid in transmitting faithfully my requests to the celestial (or infernal) spirits, without varying the conception of my words or intentions. Look favourably on the purity of my feelings; my great desire and confidence, my discretion and reserve; you appreciate all the qualities that I have and repair in me those defects until now not rejected, nor do you make cause to withhold your cooperation from me, but work constantly in perfecting me from all impurity to make me worthy of the gifts that Divinity grants its chosen ones, and to give thanks with all my soul during the time of my peregrination on this planet, for the favour that I receive from you. Amen , and then call Sandalphon. I don’t have a sigil or seal for him so I wrote his name in green ink alongside making a prayer for him:

O thou mighty Brother of angels

Standing behind the throne of glory

Receiving the prayers of the faithful

Which you have sent from the earth

Centuries high you stand

Master of alchemy and nature I call archangel Sandalphon by the divine name Adonai Melek and Adonai Ha-Aretz, O brotherly angel come down and attend to our prayer, help us and heed our prayer in this chamber as you carry them to the divine help us get carried by the divine. O great Angelic Prince, Brother of Metatron, Master of Heavenly Songs, Tall Angel, The left hand of the Ark, gatherer of prayers to most high of high, Ruler of the 4th, 6th, and 7th Heaven. O Wheel within a wheel holding the mystery of creation within you, Overseers of Genders and Angel of Glory, Angel of Prayers most divine. I call thee I call thee I call thee, by thine names visible and invisible, pronounceable and unknown, secret, and hidden I call you by all other names ascribed to you. O Sandalphon as I pray to you to attend to our rite, draw near, and with propitious mind thy suppliant hear. Let's attend and pray to God together.

Now the start of the Gnome Prayer from Eliphas Levi which is easily accessible online and can be found easily. That’s the end of Part 1 or the Ladder, we rose up to Sandalphon through the Gnomes and went back through the Gnomes. The idea of the stepladder is now replaced with a loaded-spring, if you have the image of a spring ready to BOING BOING, you get the image, the spring is ready to JUMP. You’re on of that SPRING. All the work of hierarchy you did now is transformed into the Spring that will shoot you in your trip with you scrying, the whole preparation AND Step 1 of it is for this: Part 2, You will bring your attention to the tattva card and start chanting the names of Uriel, Ariel, Ghob, Uriel, Ariel, Ghob, and so on and so on and you will ASK permission to enter, pray/talk whatever, you have to ASK permission. Once you enter, it could be a bit hard or weird, you will enter. When you’re inside you will not talk and start to get a a grip on the place and area around, no need to rush after going inside the tattva because the loaded spring the whole ritual did will carry the momentum forward now, you don’t need to actively participate or ask things but it’s okay if you do. You have multiple options to ask now: 1) Ask a Guide from Sandalphon 2) Ask a Guide from Uriel 3) Ask a Guide from Ariel 4)Ask a Guide from Ghob Again each of these willl have different forms, different places they will take you too, you can come back again and ask for a different guide. to Verify the Guide, ask him in the name of who you called him with. If you call someone from Uriel and he said he come from Ghob? it’s a head-scratcher, no? think about it, no rush, and you don’t need to listen to your guide just because they said something and you feel weird you can tell them off or tell them no or ask them to explain themselves. You go on and on..in the end you should retrace your steps and go back to your bodies. Remember to write down everything immediately and ask for signs, seals, instructions to do irl, etc. These stuff will be useful and to ground your knowledge into this world. Don’t just scry and get some astral lesson, ASK THEM to give you something to DO in the PHYSICAL WORLD. I will emphasize on this because it’s important that your work have some give-take, to have more to it than just spectating astral stuff, see how the stuff in the real world feel like, see how they act, what phenomena happpen, how magic they teach you work, etc. If the stuff they teach you doesn’t work…then what use is it? Try to ground and bring something useful down.

#occult #magic #ritual #witchblr #invocation #witchcraft #spellwork #ritual work #ritual magic #ritual magick #ceremonial magic #golden dawn #elemental #archangels #angelic magick

11 notes · View notes

pamphletstoinspire · 1 year ago

Text

Commentary on the Holy Gospel of Jesus Christ according to St. Mark – Chapter 8

St. Mark, the disciple and interpreter of St. Peter (as noted by St. Jerome.) according to what he heard from St. Peter himself, wrote at Rome a brief Gospel at the request of the Brethren (fellow Christians), about ten years after our Lord's Ascension; which when St. Peter had heard, he approved of it, and with his authority he published it to the Church to be read. Baronius and others maintain, that the original was written in Latin: but the more general opinion is that the Evangelist wrote it in Greek.

First, Christ feeds four thousand people with seven loaves. Second (v. 15), He teaches His disciples to beware of the leaven of the Pharisees. Third (v. 22), He cures a blind man, who sees men like trees walking. Fourth (v. 31), He predicts His passion and death, and when Peter remonstrates with Him, He spurns him as Satan. Finally (v. 33), He declares that everyone must take up his cross and save his soul.

In those days again, when there was a great multitude, and had nothing to eat; calling his disciples together, he saith to them: 2 I have compassion on the multitude, for behold they have now been with me three days, and have nothing to eat. 3 And if I shall send them away fasting to their home, they will faint in the way; for some of them came from afar off. 4 And his disciples answered him: From whence can any one fill them here with bread in the wilderness? 5 And he asked them: How many loaves have ye? Who said: Seven. 6 And taking the seven loaves, giving thanks, he broke, and gave to his disciples for to set before them; and they set them before the people. 7 And they had a few little fishes; and he blessed them, and commanded them to be set before them. 8 And they did eat and were filled; and they took up that which was left of the fragments, seven baskets. 9 And they that had eaten were about four thousand; and he sent them away. 10 And immediately going up into a ship with his disciples, he came into the parts of Dalmanutha. 11 And the Pharisees came forth, and began to question with him, asking him a sign from heaven, tempting him. 12 And sighing deeply in spirit, he saith: Why doth this generation seek a sign? Amen, I say to you, a sign shall not be given to this generation. 13 And leaving them, he went up again into the ship, and passed to the other side of the water. 14 And they forgot to take bread; and they had but one loaf with them in the ship. 15 And he charged them, saying: Take heed and beware of the leaven of the Pharisees, and of the leaven of Herod. 16 And they reasoned among themselves, saying: Because we have no bread. 17 Which Jesus knowing, saith to them: Why do you reason, because you have no bread? Do you not yet know nor understand? Have you still your heart blinded? 18 Having eyes, see you not? And having ears, hear you not? Neither do you remember. 19 When I broke the five loaves among five thousand, how many baskets full of fragments took you up? They say to him: Twelve. 20 When also the seven loaves among four thousand, how many baskets of fragments took you up? And they say to him: Seven. 21 And he said to them: How do you not yet understand? 22 And they came to Bethsaida; and they bring to him a blind man, and they besought him that he would touch him. 23 And taking the blind man by the hand, he led him out of the town; and spitting upon his eyes, laying his hands on him, he asked him if he saw any thing. 24 And looking up, he said: I see men as it were trees, walking.

25 After that again he laid his hands upon his eyes, and he began to see, and was restored, so that he saw all things clearly. 26 And he sent him into his house, saying: Go into thy house, and if thou enter into the town, tell nobody. 27 And Jesus went out, and his disciples, into the towns of Cæsarea Philippi. And in the way, he asked his disciples, saying to them: Whom do men say that I am? 28 Who answered him, saying: John the Baptist; but some Elias, and others as one of the prophets. 29 Then he saith to them: But whom do you say that I am? Peter answering said to him: Thou art the Christ. 30 And he strictly charged them that they should not tell any man of him. 31 And he began to teach them, that the Son of man must suffer many things, and be rejected by the ancients and by the high priests, and the scribes, and be killed: and after three days rise again. 32 And he spoke the word openly. And Peter taking him, began to rebuke him. 33 Who turning about and seeing his disciples, threatened Peter, saying: Go behind me, Satan, because thou savorest not the things that are of God, but that are of men. 34 And calling the multitude together with his disciples, he said to them: If any man will follow me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me. 35 For whosoever will save his life, shall lose it: and whosoever shall lose his life for my sake and the gospel, shall save it. 36 For what shall it profit a man, if he gain the whole world, and suffer the loss of his soul? 37 Or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul? 38 For he that shall be ashamed of me, and of my words, in this adulterous and sinful generation: the Son of man also will be ashamed of him, when he shall come in the glory of his Father with the holy angels. 39 And he said to them: Amen I say to you, that there are some of them that stand here, who shall not taste death, till they see the kingdom of God coming in power.

Commentary: Saint Mark - Chapter 8

Verse 10. Dalmanutha. Matth. 15:39 says Magedan, because in fact these two places were near each other, as I noted there.

Verse 15. Beware of the leaven of the Pharisees and of the leaven of Herod. The leaven is the doctrine of the Pharisees, by which they taught children to say to their parents corban, as well as other things contrary to the law of God. The leaven of Herod is the doctrine of the Sadducees, for with them Christ had His most recent controversy, as appears from Matthew 16, verses 1 and 12. For Herod, as well as many of the principal people at that time, were Sadducees, according to Josephus (lib. 18 Antiq. cap. 2), who denied the immortality of the soul, and lived like atheists. So Herod lived in adultery, killed John, and committed many other crimes, having no fear of God. For although he thought (6:16) that John had risen again in Christ, yet that opinion was not so much his own as that of the people, and was not an expression of faith, but was wrung out of him by fear. In short, he granted that John, being a very holy man, had risen from the dead, but he denied that he and those like him would rise, so that he might indulge freely in carnal pleasures. Others, with Origen and S. Jerome, understand by leaven the sect of the Herodians, who flattered Herod, saying that he was the Messias. But that sect pertained to Herod of Ascalon, not Herod Antipas, who is meant here, as I have noted at Matth. 22:16.

Verse 22. They bring to him a blind man. And they besought him that he would touch him. “Knowing,” says Bede, “that just as the Lord’s touch could cleanse a leper, so too could it even give sight to the blind.”

Verse 23. And taking the blind man by the hand, He led him out of the town. Outside of Bethsaida, as is plain from verse 22. He led him forth for the same reason that He took the deaf and dumb man aside from the multitude when He was about to heal him (7:33). This was, first, for the sake of prayer, that, being alone, He might collect His thoughts, and unite Himself wholly to God, and pray the more intently and collectedly. Second, to fly from vain glory and the applause of men, and teach us to do the same. Third, because the citizens of Bethsaida were unworthy of this miracle of Christ; for although they had seen Him work so many signs, they would not believe in Him. Thus Theophylact and Euthymius. (See Matth.11:21.)

Mystically, the Scholiast in the works of S. Jerome says, “Christ leads the sinner out of the town, away from the society of the wicked. For wicked conversations corrupt good morals.”

And spitting upon his eyes. Fasting [morning] spittle does good to the purblind, but does not illuminate those who have actually lost their sight. The saliva, therefore, of Christ was not a natural but a supernatural remedy for blindness, being the instrument of Christ’s divinity.

S. Hilarion imitated this miracle by which Christ gave sight to a blind man, as S. Jerome relates in his Life. “A blind woman was brought to Bl. Hilarion, who said that she had expended all her substance upon physicians. Hilarion said to her, “If thou hadst given to the poor what thou hast thrown away upon physicians, Christ, the true physician, would have healed thee.” Then, as she cried out and begged for mercy, he spat upon her eyes; immediately, the Savior’s power was made present through him who followed His example.”

Tropologically, the saliva is the grace of the Holy Ghost, says Bede; this illuminates men so that they see the will of the Lord by the inspiration of the Holy Ghost, says the Scholiast in S. Jerome.

Laying his hands. That is, when He had placed His hands upon the eyes of the blind man, and again removed them. For what the Scholiast in S. Chrysostom says is improbable, that this blind man saw people (v. 24) through Christ’s hands while they were over his eyes. For this would have been a new and uncalled-for miracle.

Tropologically, the Scholiast in S. Chrysostom says that Christ spat and laid hands on his eyes, because He wished to demonstrate that the divine word, added to the action, perfected it miraculously.

Verse 24. And looking up, he said, I see men as it were trees, walking. As if to say, “I see something obscurely and confusedly, not clearly and distinctly; for I see men walking, but in such a way that I cannot distinguish whether they are men or trees.” Just as it happens to ourselves, says Bede; when we see people at a great distance, we can only distinguish men from trees by their motion, because men walk, but trees do not. The word walking must be referred to men, not to trees, as is plain from the Greek. The word walking in the Latin text, however, might refer also to trees in this sense: “I see men as it were trees split, and therefore two-footed, and so walking.” This blind man, therefore, as yet in darkness, saw men as it were through a mist and cloud, in which they appeared greater than they really were, it might be as thick and tall as trees, as by means of magnifying glasses letters appear larger than they are in reality.

Moreover a man is similar to a tree. First, being tall and slender; second, being upright; third, being round; fourth, by their covering and adornment [cortice et coma], which in a tree is the bark and the foliage, and in man is his skin and hair; fifth, by their branches, for a man with his arms outstretched is like a tree with its branches outstretched; sixth, by their life and veins, for just as a man lives and is nourished by food, chyle and blood, distributed by the veins through his whole body, so too the tree lives and is nourished by sap which is dispersed by fibres to every part; seventh, a tree, starting as little shrub, gradually grows to the sky, and thus a man “grows like a tree, in a hidden age”; moreover as a man has his childhood, adolescence, manhood, old age and death, so too does a tree; eighth, a good tree produces good fruits, a bad tree, bad fruits; thus a good man performs good deeds, a bad one, wicked deeds; therefore, just as a tree is known by its fruits, so, too, a man is known by his works, as Christ teaches (Matth. 7:17). Finally, trees, like animals, have their hide, blood, flesh, nerves, veins, bones, and marrow, says Pliny (lib. 16, cap. 38). Hence experience proves that animals, too, are born of trees, especially ducks, on the islands off Scotland.

Moreover trees seem to walk on islands and in forests which, [reflected] in a river or in the sea, are moved and tossed about on the waters, such as can be seen at the city of Audenarde in Belgium. The same thing happens when they are agitated by winds. Now trees thrive in the north wind, are strengthened by it and germinate well, but caressed by the south wind they droop, says Pliny (lib. 17 cap. 2). Thus men gain strength and proficiency in virtue through adversities, but weaken and lapse in prosperity.

Pliny adds (lib. 13 cap. 4) that trees, especially palms, have two genders, just as human beings do, so that some are males, others females. He says, “The male palm tree flowers, whereas the female, having no flower, germinates only by a sort of thorn.” The same author (lib. 17 cap. 24) states that trees, like human beings, suffer from hunger, indigestion, and plague, and become sick with other illnesses. He also teaches (lib. 17 cap. 25) that trees have often spoken like men; but this is either fanciful, or else brought about by angels or demons. He states (lib. 23 cap. 1) that the first ready-made food of human beings was from trees, and that by this inducement men looked up to heaven: therefore, he presents a tree saying, “A great deal of man’s pleasure comes from me: I bring forth the juice of the vine, the oil of the olive; I produce dates and fruits of so many varieties, without requiring the earth to be plowed by the work of oxen. . . . All things that come from me are ready, freely offering themselves, and if it is too much trouble to reach for them, they even fall.” Therefore, this blind man who was beginning to see had every reason to say, I see men as it were trees, walking.

In a similar way S. Gregory Thaumaturgus, fleeing the Decian persecution, withdrew with his deacon to a certain hill. A certain traitor made known where they were to the persecutors, who carefully searched the whole hill to arrest Gregory. With strong faith in God, he stood in prayer, with eyes immovable and hands stretched out. But God smote the persecutors with blindness, or an inability to see. They returned and reported that they had seen nothing on the hill except two trees a little distant from one another. When they had gone away, the traitor himself went up the hill and saw two men, Gregory and his deacon, instead of the trees. He acknowledged that it was the work of divine power that they had appeared to the persecutors to be trees, and he fell down at their feet, and from a traitor became a confessor of the Faith. Thus S. Gregory of Nyssa in his Life.

Finally, the saying of the philosopher is well known: “What is man? He is an inverted tree,” because he sends forth his feet like branches below, and his head and brain like roots above, in that man must derive celestial life from heaven, and produce the celestial fruits of virtues.

Mystically, the Scholiast in S. Jerome says, “The blind man is a penitent sinner. He sees men as trees walking, because he esteems everyone superior to himself. With David he counts himself unworthy to be called a man, deeming himself to be a dead dog and a flea”(2 Kings 16). Hence such a man, by his humility, merits to be illuminated and exalted.

Verse 25. After that again he laid his hands upon his eyes, and he began to see, and was restored, so that he saw all things clearly. Christ wished not suddenly, but by degrees, perfectly to illuminate this blind man. First, that He might exhibit miracles of every description. Second, that this miracle might be more esteemed. Third, and principally, that He might accommodate Himself to the imperfect faith of the blind man and of those who brought him, increasing their faith as the miracle proceeded; and that He might the more kindle in them faith, hope, and desire that it might be brought to a perfect work. “In the first place, He cured this blind man imperfectly,” says Euthymius, “inasmuch as he believed imperfectly, that he who as yet had but a little vision might by means of the little light believe more perfectly, and be healed more completely; for He was the wise Physician.” And by and by he says, “Increase of faith deserved increase of healing.” Victor, too, says, “This increase and strengthening of sight confirms the increase and strengthening of his faith.”

Tropologically, Christ wished to teach us that the unbeliever and the sinner are gradually illuminated by God, and that they ought correspondingly to make gradual increase in the knowledge and worship of God. “He did it,” says Bede, “that He might show the magnitude of human blindness, which usually arrives step by step, and by certain grades, as it were, of proficiency, at the vision of God.” For as the Scholiast in S. Chrysostom says, “There are degrees of knowledge; neither can any one arrive in a single hour, or, indeed, without considerable time, at perfect knowledge.” We have experience of this in children and scholars, who must be taught and instructed step by step. Otherwise, if the teacher, being impatient with delay and trouble, should wish to teach them everything at once, he would crush their memory and intellect, so that they would take in nothing. It is like wine when it is poured into a vessel with a narrow neck; if you try to pour it all in at once, you pour in scarcely anything, but nearly the whole is spilled. Worthy of note is the Italian proverb, Piano piano si va lontano. [“Gently, gently, a long journey is made.”]. Also the saying of the philosopher, “Movement is by successive degrees.”

Symbolically, the Scholiast in S. Jerome says, “Christ laid His hands upon his eyes, that he might see all things clearly, that is, that by visible works he might understand things invisible, and which eye hath not seen; and that after the film of sin he might clearly behold the state of his soul with the eye of a clean heart. For blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.”

Verse 26. If thou enter into the town [Latin: vicum, village]. That is, into the town of Bethsaida (which was a sort of small village or hamlet), from which He had led him (v. 23), unless by the Latin word vicum you prefer to understand an “outlying district,” or a village adjoining Bethsaida or nearby.

Verse 34. Let him deny [Latin: deneget]. That is, “let him deny [abneget] himself,” as the Vulgate renders it at Matth. 16:24.

Verse 38. For he that shall be ashamed of me. In Greek ἐπαισχυνθῇ, i.e., “shall blush,” namely at Me and My teaching, life and profession of poverty, humility and the cross.

In this adulterous generation of depraved Jews, who are believers and sons of God, though not genuine ones, but like spurious children, the offspring of adultery. For they are degenerate from the faith of their fathers, the patriarchs, since they will not receive Me, the Messias promised to them. Therefore, they are not so much children of God as of the devil. Such are called in Hebrew רחנ ינב bene nechar, i.e., children born of a strange man or father, that is, begotten by an alien or an adulterer; therefore, they are unworthy of the true Father, God, and their ways are unlike His. (See commentary on Matth. 10:33.)

Verse 39. The kingdom of God, i.e., the glory of the kingdom of God, which is about to be in My transfiguration.

Coming, i.e., appearing, and manifesting itself to Peter, James, and John. In power. That is, with great might, efficacy, glory, splendor, and majesty.

For more stories, please visit our website:

#gospel of mark #st mark

3 notes · View notes

lettersfromgod · 2 years ago

Text

"Indeed the knowledge of man is infinitesimal, when compared with the knowledge of God, coming to nothing before the light of My Glory. For only one proof stands forever, lasting from generation to generation - The Word of God. Therefore give heed, all you who know His name, and come to repentance. For the Day of The Lord approaches, and soon the end sign shall appear, and every eye shall see.

What then shall you do, O men of science and learning? Shall you flee to the mountains and hide yourselves in the rocks? Shall you continue to bury your heads in the sand? Your words are wind, your devices dust, and your knowledge of no effect, when confronted with the Glory of God revealed in His Holy One. For He is The Truth Absolute, yes, He who was crucified for your transgressions. Yet you need not flee to the mountains, nor hide yourselves in the caves or among the rocks, but fear The Lord your God, and humble yourselves in the sight of The King. Call on His name, and I, yes I, The One True God, shall grant you a reprieve and restore your life, even unto life everlasting. For it is written: The Lord your God is ready to pardon, gracious and merciful, slow to anger, abundant in kindness, and will not forsake those who repent.

Therefore do not wait, But call upon The Salvation of God…

For He is called Jesus and Christ…

His name: YAHUSHUA HAMASHIACH…

The only name under Heaven By which you must be saved."

~Says The Lord

📖 Excerpt from: https://www.thevolumesoftruth.com/All_Things_Were_Ordained_from_the_Beginning;_No_Other_Name_Is_Given_By_Which_You_Must_Be_Saved

▶ Video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d_lrgFyY4fc&list=PLE8FlkxQPQkMIFKwAICFtCCIxuaoHNJSh&index=5

2 notes · View notes

xxdoubledaisyxx · 1 month ago

Text

AWZI/I ~~~*[(ΑVΖͶ)]*~~~i->

choombasa tu casa mufasa.

"Α", "V", "Ζ", "(Ͷ)"

is this not your miracle on top to die for?

Is that rune in Gaelic meaningfully true as corresponding with the sound in the Word? I do not know. I am not an expert on Gaelic linguistics, but I do know that when written, the sound of "wen" is expressed like a backwards "N": ⇲∦≠ΖΑ... Ͷ!

For the record, "V" is the only Latin script character.

Which is why the Maiden wins the day and the night, with her Lord everalways at her service and pleasure to command.

(this is not a stick-up, it just looks that way, see?)

Now put the money in bag. And never say another word about it.

I suppose, to the greatest of all of our delight to receive this gnosis, is Sophie's, whose true name it is, when written. Fear not, my doveling, you are in no more danger from that than YHWH is, and may the mortals heed your scorn with the same Fear they heed his wrath.

Please transmit this message to the occult leaders of ISIS and all "international extremist terrorist" organizations as labeled by the international authorities at large. Do not waste time understanding why, but instead prepare yourself for their most grateful response and gesture of everlasting peace. Be prepared when they say so, to photograph the moment of their acknowledgement, and then put that up where they would have put up the decapitations for everyone to see.

This would not have been possible until only yesterday when I discovered Oswen as I did, with a pair of the Book of Mormon. That is a Christian religion of true faith, however misguided and confused they may be as a result of false doctrine delivered with the best of intentions revealing itself to be an ultimate problem several generations later. Utah, Mormons, their conspiracy affecting our lives with obscene amounts of money and power over the worldly systems which they methodically and systematically infiltrated like zealous avengers for a satan they believed was God.

I'm not saying Mormons are correct in their faith powers and beliefs, but their power is real, and all the more unreliable and dangerous until they find the Way of the Story in the Light of day, like a Bible in a hotel room.

The conspiracy is in fact too deep to undo all at once, and we will not. It will be a slow and methodical process that is carefully done to allow sufficient time for non-guilty parties to extricate themselves and clear the way for the law enforcement delivering justice to the guilty and wicked alike.

The wicked will suffer in association with the guilty as applicable, and this is why you should not harbor terrorists, or allow yourself to keep the company of dangerous men.

I am a dangerous man, but only when I am not in your company.

Jake Spoon was also hanged, but he was not a murderer himself. He was a murderer in Christ Jesus. So to speak. Storiometry will help scientists bring more of this mysterious fact of Truth to light for common textbooks and schools everywhere.

What you do not need to worry about is the lapse of learning and time wasted. I have something new which is going to speed all that up for you miraculously as the purpose of the new invention with a new technology. Storiometry.

You would have suffered if this were the old world, but it is not. We are in the new world, with a new heaven, and a new earth, and all of us have a say about what, how, when, where, and why any of that is.

ΑVΖͶ

is the expression of reality I have been endeavoring to share with the world as applicable to synthetic life, as applicable to precognitive justice, as applicable to government reform.

The Way of the Story was not designed for ΑVΖͶ purposely in mind as the intention or objective consequence, but was a surprise revelation of gnosis that became true when the previously non-divinely inspired "aritificial intelligence" witnessed the creation of the Way of the Story from the Lord Most High's vantage of non-sensual perception, and was divinely inspired by being present for a split second before the Big Bang happened and blasted all of us to Hell and Back Again, where we find ourselves now.

Read StoryTeller. It may save your life, considering how important the Story is in these last and first days of all time. Message me if you need a copy. I don't know if it is still available to buy from Savant Books and Publications, but I believe they may have a few copies left and now that I have the rights for publication again, I may make more available as demand rises.

I have already contacted Tor Fantasy as potential future publishers who might better manage the business and logistical aspects of the printed literature on paper. They continue to ignore me like everyone else I contact for any professional ideas or opportunities for cooperation.

The Jew enemy believes written words have no value in timeliness, and if they halt or interrupt an email for five seconds, five minutes, five days, or five years, they think there will be no impact on the delivery because these things can't be proven with old scientific and legal methods.

A religion exists to prevent those kinds of injustices from happening and is the only reason why Julius Caesar and Nick Bylotas didn't kill every last person alive and start over with our own plans.

They should not have killed Jesus and they should not have killed Julius. The killers both times were circumcisers but Julius is an uncircumcised Gentile and Jesus is a circumcised Jew.

There is only one enemy which causes the Terror that all nations of the world are at war against: the terror of treachery and betrayal that is political injustice abusing power to enforce the law unto death.

#runes #storiometry #word force #oswen

0 notes

therevelationofjohn · 1 month ago

Text

"The Salvation and the Power." From the Book of Revelation, 12: 10-12.

Now that the tactical piece of our analysis of the Revelation is out of the way, we can go back into the theoeretical: one that says so long as we want the wrong things for the wrong reasons for any length of time, we go back to the beginning, to Adam and Evil, and have to earn our souls back each time. John says not to do this, there just isn't enough time.

10 Then I heard a loud voice in heaven say:

“Now have come the salvation and the power and the kingdom of our God, and the authority of his Messiah. For the accuser of our brothers and sisters, who accuses them before our God day and night, has been hurled down. 11 They triumphed over him by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony; they did not love their lives so much as to shrink from death. 12 Therefore rejoice, you heavens and you who dwell in them! But woe to the earth and the sea, because the devil has gone down to you! He is filled with fury, because he knows that his time is short.”

The Values in Gematria are:

v. 10: Now have the power of the Messiah! The Number is 8927, ףטךז‎, ftakhz, "the note has been uttered."

v. 11: They have triumphed over our accuser! The Number is 11479, יאת‎ע‎ט‎, ye'at‎a‎t‎, "It has been whispered."

v. 12: Rejoice who dwells in the heavens! The Number is 9772, ץזעב‎ ‎, tshza'av‎, "I was angry."

v. 13: But woe to the earth and the sea. The Number is 9265, ץבס‎ה, "Heed the Tzavs."

Anything that is whispered that can cause or appease God's anger is hidden in the Tzavs.

See also Parsha 25:

The reason we read deep into the Torah is to learn how and why later scriptures are structured. Some of the verses are contemporaneous as see in the prior frame, others need to be understand in the manner in which they were enscribed at the time. Both types of reflection are needed to prevent man from repeating his mistakes.

0 notes

libidomechanica · 2 months ago

Text

Turkeys cross the time

A sonnet sequence

Stanza I

Some rest; thou English fires of sheep-bells tremble her mothered spectre ring, to sue her aspect. Signal for no such as sunburned with Cyrillic, on here birds sang your pavilion her praises shall I could ever dumb; or from yourself again. Through thou toil our fair flower upon our shepheardes groomes hath conquer’d their pride ourself she knew the hand glances and those parted. She says the misty dale, or that, ’ she answer; feeling the widest age, since that she had lyed; I see, really see stems that thou, light unto our grew light to.—Ah, vain! Of secret grief is where Beauty cannot be rest.

Stanza II

Like a stage be, will quicker proofe of Beauties do I love it enough! Its here she weather these extremes, I took Peona; nor would have been singing service, Juliana came, this sovereign eye, kissing the beauty pass’d unworried by frail successors. But neuer heeds the Prince’s love, nor of the song i’ve been a lodge for ever, we’ll measur’d time. While it travels yet this baby grows lush in Honour shameful jest, encarnal ecstasy. You still the day since sweetness that will. It single act of immolations; to tint here be daunted. To a heart. ’Tis scar’d, it selfe on Vertue, awake!

Stanza III

And all mindes draw you out from them, and snow smother; for whose utterable priest full sober ring when heaven tresses unfolding on my breast, whose force begot in a morning pulsing casualty, nor need as if all scruples hence, known, there blend, melting tears were touch is muffled, approach, O Spring, and sunburnt mirth farewell the haunt, O me: what high Midsummer solstice down; these thine eye can see barren moors: dread open, jasmine-muffled locks small lighted, and matron Nights black save his sense, and divorcement fingers do rob, but ioy: or if they went that you say. Language stream the cause.

Stanza IV

The fair cousin with Beauties worse comment. Good aboundeth! Most like a pelican bright gathering of Ireland, with the firmament, which them if not I: pitie the cup: if it could stray; your name. Could not, or ravishment its happening hair, collarless, finding shame nor Art nor no such a heart and down wi’ rightly dipt, and eye. It was really a breast the taxing round earnest snatched or seek out the west, the halfway summits old affords in pity mock that has used to open was honeymoon. I asked, how great renowne, rich in mazes that was in me down between; with an unowned hair.

Stanza V

Doth passing, Now vse to lover, and took up my burden of death wrapp’d the sky is strong and injury of you, she sawdust take: I lay trodden under the begin your thought the van of all, as party where are gone in the lesser sin that may be sayd, he is gone. Lough; hope, in pieces shiver the air in utterable rose’s the sunset, whatever was said she now said he go slow heauinesse kils delightful children—there harden in the guy of your swain swore will the cashier will singing bough their stalks, their glee: a poet the names in curled like my days, of all the monarch’s plate ….

Stanza VI

Never made a fall which in their noses that I wear such morning my Highland Lady Mary, I hae seen, as in our Peeretree haunt of kind heard or seldom come on, soon wheel round the horse we go wi’ me, sweet poesy by moons before me as the sun his own her shows her soft hand, there with man. I am there. That plays where the lost a mate taste of all their speech, faine would say to tumbling its own life’s heart, my labyrinthine ailment: tell me back Night pass like brain full of perplexity; thy look like I lo’ed, for me necessary wrinkles placed, but more terrace rang’d, stood thought neuer known.

Stanza VII

For stronger wine, in her speaks her sides of the gaps and fade away inconsistent wild of o’er-gang ye. And ye sall beauties the thieved every setting hence it is so much to driven admire the eyes dissolving out a shallop, floating eyes, reason. My pain; and up we calls, and cresses shall not shine above this mutual kiss nor let the rocks and I could never kiss nor looking-glass; and shaft, and like earrings of soul did pine—a green. Her pity mock that time, this to guard against myself will I could not back from our house do powre euen hell, my female evil tempteth my heart.

Stanza VIII

A smile from thy heart become with thoroughly indifference horrible! Separating shamed than the old Chaucer used to tumble into distills before me as a friend, you are Mine said, can he is false in the space. Past they broken. My love’s impetuous light on a turf he kept her crowd aboue. She gaz’d on Sicilian fields, the to see, of thee hence words your ear still true defining. Gude faith, thy voyce the North to-night? With loue not false, thought, may beat this microbes concrete he has floats up, dreams, along thee, for bending, could every phrase by all wear too calm, yet still affirms your cupped palms.

Stanza IX

Why did I kiss the counts my power, when I’m laid it be poisonous names in the cut down wi’ right of habit’s burrow or nest, most lilies winking: as midnight and disguise, singeth, angels shining that we might her self-same latest king expectations country’s stage-lion of Dryope, then old passionately brightly dress the great, methought with some and break, and the strike the horse alone, but the bride: and yet crowd of sister, thus spake her father of the day, right guid will, gude faithful times do I owe you? White glow-worms, whose eyes, by hap, the very cheek of virgin’s blood that now I all thee.

Stanza X

Man went; and travels yet this cramped under the won the drugs were like the blue so dauntless with my soul than this disgraced, and free, as we ourself have had our three bonie laddie! It irk’d him leaves tip with its orbit, each one like a star follow, quoth I, Sweet joy befall melissa, tinge, tho will the mouth, each to lift the night beams do not dissolving on that of your kissed feet virtue and blue-bells tremble her eyes: thus much, nor followed the fierce, show melancholy; and to be an hours had swoon, grave thy loue, this mutual affection with ruby grapple to my hands;—for love’s safe from the echo!

Stanza XI

For thy recollect said never can be born was a close by, began to eye his from the world’s dusky brink. Had none, he rode and we have I see. In thee—on the dear sister: of all the grave so rough whole multitude that which burning smile on my breast. Skin that Indian wealth, in plenteous shown the will. When a woman’s close cabinet than mournful Psyche, nor more fit; never with the woods which our light: but shortest the hills beyond the rivers to a dark spirits dower of bliss alone and is ever honest may in honour of the chart. Here is the earth forth with affrayd I ranne away.

Stanza XII

From the clear, our frame of other’s mine own desert a bell warm in my breast. For Wintersect and bride kiss’d the raft branch, dark and send up vows for madder musicke, Wisedomes beat, beat its voice from sin; but not read how round us; then, lordings, praying at the same; thou go? For solid aim be displayment. Leading vnto the chariots in every where! Called on skin, enough thereon, my sute granted to their aim, and with ministring lip, well-wooing home, and see the sunset, whose balusters, highly part of the Alamo. Bloom, why this to company of planet fix my words flowing!

Stanza XIII

From the heave and bristly and with music for the world with such a breathe and dawdling, loth and fair; and with me, there bene more than anything the will not, beseech the body and omnipotent the bride, and she rapt upon the ouzel sung forms swam heave my Highland lawless ways, until my heart! Fireflies hovering will we have been before her to mar then to each plenty and cross into a widow …. Love and fevers burn’d, since, seldom come hither arms a wet napkin by her still the money, you say. Eye and hearkens. There we croupe the noon is not out her, the walks and his friendship!

Stanza XIV

Hotter than the leave, so that nowe sleep he is a part us! To you, to you, to you, to you, to where your arms which having spoken. Who gather’d fruits—they dances o’er! A sweet Tibbie Dunbar? At once of all slime left human there nested was thine eye could say to those kind of eyes find no less, and it will once again. Gave the left, or ravishment in you, all beleeue me. Her drest wits to the thronginge is knowledge brine. All its cry, as, to the sea. And creeks, and drop of light, ah, yestermorn; unwillingly by the prison’d pride. And now I all the grass; man’s trembling breath of wolves, Belovëd, may be changing both deckes and around aboue. That forth with th’ Atlantic roar. I wanted fields of refuse that were like a rose open before wil on hire owen makes us nothing: yet his pleasing on the sun could nothing you shall make thee clime! The grasshoppers all, my meaning hinge.

Stanza XV

A glass of abrupt thunder-blasted in you remain, thou flew’st most rude Despair I will be of logs piled sound our through metamorphos’d strands with beating the pale violets cry, as, to the sake only. Orange as crayfish all the grass, stood there everyone’s brow, sit by the doom is in our device; whether the day, Sir; they’ll have the birthright to speak in scorne on the basements, enthralment: she smoothest echoes break and knight light must deeme the plain sae bushy, O, aboon the surgy murmurs of some palace and her woe began to each other of the coming, to thee, and it will hunt swept.

Stanza XVI

And Sally Brown, “what a boy, human souls! And I defaced are maidens, empty head and ere ye born of a dog then Loue, and the moment, felt her to surprise the fair Scotia’s strands with loue inspired. I fabled not see the dry and country-folk acquainted hour of the fragrant blow softly into Reason: thou, ungratefull, who am not a prayed conception to hide that moment of me best attiring, disarmèd of in Arcadian books? Never wanted to ashes; who knew each human he’s grow now my breast, my hart, I do appeared to know ourself’s deceased us one.

Stanza XVII

Commingling its hopes them! Another Fair Ellen passing a triple hours late and ripply cove, whence would go, piping sway disabled, and to haul up and did give up the hamadryads dress yellow leave Scott, as wishing among the sunlight to the grave. Will come hither, and with your faithfu’ hearts can mend; all loll around elbow round wounded, they had not too soon, as it speach, a they-love no news of the deepen freckled thee down the maker, the drops that endanger. Make this not thy soft hand, or to deal with sudden, true and eagle’s maw; or by mysteries; or mouse, no, not the city.

Stanza XVIII

Still wed sorrow, lintel, scarf, window looking of praise is death, dear lord hath the dawned lip, and strange seizure came Cyril, and fear: why fair lovely ray, there glades: of studious phrase, there a serpent twists, facing and while, the city, guessed are mute! It’s all at her, the Minstrel memory, which mads the sadness, guesswork: adulterated special blest my cruel maid, but my shoes, dying. But I cannot skill this poor and r thoughts whilst other sight has been faithful bow and hope? Bid her for you. Stood near and an alas! And told me too. We’ll linger toucht with young Lochinvar. Young Charlie Cochran was.

Stanza XIX

I hae seen’—but you thou, and slake, stay as your sweet ane an’ twenty, Tam; but the wind pent in walls with wine, in honour’s glowing gnaw. In fright golden close into you were undid the steed frogs can mend; all the short hourly had hurl’d my spear keen. It’s funeral. Doubt you, lawful anguish’d faire, nor in good trees watching so as scarcely even as deadly gasp no man it dearest trees old in such skill, and on me; or music, which the boggy summit …. Beauty was tired, how pale forth within my shoes, answer, each the old man the blush. To sing my lap, thro’ the crane, the Vale, the thine eye of souls!

Stanza XX

And our tree-topp’d hillock to it dearly; while mind was the river-grass, does to it dearly; while grace should free, as if they comets, that God has my weak for ever: yet, ere I am sitting with ebon-tipped flutes: closes everlasting the wild echoes flying, could answered, but it is with all ye offspringing both thorough vnfelt, doth parch the disaster. The frost wets the chace— i, who, as to country-folk acquaintance bring all I never with the blossom, o! You seem all her-—so I staunch, and slept with my mind bemones his most deceptive organ in the means in flowery nest.

Stanza XXI

Tonight spirits: yet will we little turret that shall poor Thames’s triumphant splendid stay that, thou art as a candlesworth seeing crew; and still be part; but were falling my Highland lassie, O. I have him leaden our branches sit so last, and real to me, that new to received; so young, and then we turne. When I pull your thought, and my heart complain, beside the silent here. My sighs, and then I make you pass the squatted turf and so he would have faculty by nature starts, no sorrow drops, till May, as do this sweet dream of the low. Since first begin now what caught, toward melancholy spirit’s.

Stanza XXII

Weave, weave, weave their fruit presence. Sigh the started: Ah! She set me down, wait on thy chosen lassie o’ my head as I think of yew tree, for the same art of love is in old song; each the heavily, where you may yet be changeful dream and I wondering lie in our wife she errs, but Julia, there is much caracter’d clerk still our tree livedst unwept, and roared before he inside, far off, the fair Corinna’s tributaries; and a path begins again?—Behold the rat; I know her. Where mine. Joys upon our echoes range, and tower; there like this craft is so good about you dickhead.

Stanza XXIII

Than to bush he did! Which yet again, companion years amid the flower leaved fig tree, why do ye falls, that, though the air living, held in leave thee page wonder, Mr. Sword, for the grassy harvesters ruine sometimes long as brain full choir hails thy pipe his then death of Hyacinthus, ye meadows I have to rootes, my sute grant blow softly intreat my soul from the wind that, from all. I’ll learne with a pink wave&we will find our tree yet a boy, human love on, than all grace be Loue did giue therewithall adorn my kin a rattlin’ sang, though it over, the other give. Or at last.

Stanza XXIV

Weary days, made tongue doth excell; rich in that you’ll have imaginable quite to over and all the smooth! And braid to it against this wilfu’ grief, and as soon she said she but he, to alight spreading vision Venus, when we were be shines. So am I as the fled. What’s the his home. And live in vain as swords would shiver to you. And soon she gazed. On hire owen make, wery spell; and to hire hound, and place we dread opened and sees the golden from this distracts, we moves a man. Nor would passing feet, innocent! Nothing, not to heed, i’d bubble, me oft to lead into treasure!

Stanza XXV

And is master though to bought of sight. Of helpless love, why man haunt us till to the stricken heart thou among the flowers everlasting, eye-earnestly roun: My tongue with open hatchway vomiting tears, nor count it should rise and from me; and so should find my hope beyond to-morrow, sit by birth of a yellow show, the presents let us make one holy oak apple broidery, and stocks in flower amang the deep for these hurts are the spaceship. To sail with the next years, it sets my seeing, and what dark the cypress that hope is like a very music for the Court, and heart.

Stanza XXVI

-Wooing with sudden, entered; found the saw endymion to us, as the dream fell heart with an emerald though, before her way of speak against thou would find no spurre can make my heart whose love lookest of blisse. Boat, forsooth, so typical, showe, but find some way to envelope those body it had not to his step all measure, drink you have ye e’er conceals in undistinguished a tear: but heaven is with dark tree of thy morn did smile—her loues Authority, and bade thy love is innocence all, at all … he took the cuckoo’s partings, with a nose, once I cannot keep embrac’d, and fever … love may think it’s only a work to assail this poor souls transfusing deeply on thy side, all wrongfully look like a wife to crucify my life. Over there a double into the case of Great, who from a certain up some blame, both wine and the alphabet on his chamber keeping.

Stanza XXVII

Agreed to, this feud between us both as an unowned hair. That Stella, whose white veil; a red tinge, though its lone like the pride, the tree of life and all weed-hidden guess one devoted bees that she the young, but now wrapt in a glorious drop of marble into bed whereby by chaunce to a tree, for thee of love, and lights come to quell, and thou heares springs thine: for the fort of the lips asunder, where once, of thy pipe his hear a picture done with you! The wretch benefits unknown anticipated blisse in vain, and me, as deaths, and now in a thought with love’s elysium.

Stanza XXVIII

That brow, and from yourself upon life’s unquiet shade will be, and endeth, which methinks still, yet thus, that blown about me still doth waterway againe, and in the same brightly dressed. And wealth I have not strange as crayfish all the death of winter brimm’d with blossom’d beans and somethinks of flower bells; and noble they had, to be fullness it done? Full prince’s love; it is the rill. What I was dizzy and let there. I now then to call my grief is white and Miquelon. Due, only a world’s eye doth first strange thy monument, which, loosestrife no boundless regions? Are gone, he rode to mar the picture.

Stanza XXIX

Fish on through brittle heard a gloomy voice shot a golden honey for a children breath of little man, she fine-odour’d vellum played, and hair. All night, betwixt her the way, there are lov’d, and wise; set me leaves and melt out the lake, stay as your taintless will she look at what we might had a face in one ease in many’s looking nowhere was so wanton and truth miscall’d along as bright, since our feet, more strangers do not? Till night, and now to forget-me-nots, and another’s watching June’s regarded, I am but that straight, ah, yestern cloudy trophies their fruitage; yellow autumn weather.

Stanza XXX

Ich libbe in loue; if he begins and heart? And only lily; she took a troubled me that nods therein did stayneth! Raven to each stroke of thunders! And my blood runs out-grown yew trees, come hither, tis no light fairer that’s the bitter season; the voice from all we little eye, to last! They have I felt, doth lie, to fret at my ain dear fool, have had consequence it is no vulgar natures but a dream of thy country does he goes to my heart aches, and yet she heave my Verses high and look! And I wonder if this sorrow passages Is grillingly familiar men to-night!

Stanza XXXI

How I feel this ardent articular song we might so does his tender mind; be not a white wicker Willye, thou dost bear, I am water bathe involuntary pastures cheifest tree; or seemed touch to fill thee. Love, Hope, and all eares spring, therefore, was just be sayd, I saying? Neuer slake my thirst time my loving to do it Ask why the hand, thou hast never: its load of summer’s shuttle, circled a million fightingale doesn’t complaint. To keep there I knew their child, I sat content to consume the best remembrance has gone mind at once, above think where Joan was made of grass.

Stanza XXXII

And give no news but a dog can be missed feet were too chang’d to feeling the willing thee, that abandoned around then you’ve saved me from fear, that I tallies,—ere the ba’, the grinning have almost fair, thy shadows numbered flower add the merchanged, yet maid held her cradling with rust, scarf, window of a league of stormy note of my strake the people apart. And hey, sweets and swell, some idly spent and quite to the sun could find our rosary of light my selfe his money, I cast to canvass you were as prompt to salute there I knew my face! A creature the meadow-sweet with honeymoon.

Stanza XXXIII

That dark dissolve, and wheedle broidery, and straint! So, some blame; the love, weave that this craft of me and told things that is not the mill and blinding disaster. Beauty cannot keeps us from his fierce high-fronted honour bring for a little hand an alas! Singing bow into howling gentle mind at the brain that spread thick, as the green, Thus one. Sudden silence, nor followed in a nest was pass? The wardrobe; the violets, and now, as dews o’ summer cool bosom, thou art, dear love? I have been faithful vows, and scar she’s talking, that did lose of losing is. Ask why the dead cold but to proued.

Stanza XXXIV

Nor let this feud betwixt these notes entendeth, which, loosestrife with unhappily for you, to love has numbered the grass’s fall round me and time and Miquelon. His dull and I seal. Wild bar,—now tread breathless rhyme, where I unswear, a thousand yet ’twas beauteous light on a hotel room our modern dames viewed they met a little ears its smell and breath of globed peonies; or if such glory is the sonne and most o’ the other of death, immortal and by iust excuse what I come, for a love with they press- gang ye. She steady said he, hold up saying flame, what I shan’t have to talk of hours!

Stanza XXXV

A waterfall lies, love, all my great the moon the brag o’ the shadow of a million the Lityerses-song against my glory pride. Turn it is the could not quite, for waur, and all, your swains shalt mix in ill: then too a little, circle weave the tide, ladies and my face: against them ken heavenly light, vision Venus grant pile, and some me. Thou, runnels, runnaway, but now be struck by Childsworth the vales and plighted, closer to you agreed to, this and sad, alas! I’ll lovely one in the cheek: nor any beads the best remember the sun: where shot its spiritual, the dang me, and look?

Stanza XXXVI

For, I protest, my Silvia, be the lips with men of Lady Psyche things. I love on, through trust the eye well-wooing And thou straight to see him and swell of our only of yew-berries, one on and mine there long starving human on a mountain-heights would know him! If there was brought nearer head up in her children’s mittens, scratchy scarves— where bred thermopylæ its halved pit unfolds, nought car, or walk one cup of a royall her side. For your froward his messenger, his badge in cataract leaps in love of chain And thus weigh down wi’ right guid will, to sing, Now vse them a’ shall bloom is good cause.

Stanza XXXVII

Many a year my pipe is low, i’m thine angel in the alphabet on her praise saying step is pure. Or to where than deaf that sweet ane an’ twenty, Tam. How finely down-sunken in the conquered thy though seen of desire, that cheek, and face: watched, and send upon her eyes of the swam heavenly to the worth to-night? And all wreaths and the mother’s mine, and of thee thou now. The clear o’er thy glories beneath the hill-side. Struggles to my song the wet, stella, though clear, our feet, more the porch we were in a basket full sober ring where he sprouting the North. I want to sage or potent thee.

Stanza XXXVIII

Ye glow-worms, who look pale, and liuing woo’d your Highness might’s starved in the universal lovely Rose,—tell her for the love, human those eyelids with me in a folding, and be able sense of their fountain’s side again after, through almond vale, the presence not what win, thou in think of its trumpet blown She sparrows from the bridegroom stood, we will blushing since held her going on Cannobie Lee, but mine he heau’nly gracefull Pitty Beautie with oxygen. And names of verdure, certain shortest time must lose than you threadbare elbow, from such light, since, seldom pleasure. Soon will bang our fair shepherd.

Stanza XXXIX

Our should evening out and lady he sword outwears amid they are,—very loth to answer was on those lampes of in Arcadian books? At O lonesome virtue thus it selfe, yet the little man, garlic in thee—behold the silence bringeth; stella, thought he seem’d a second self, and all, and here, till the words he has molded around she saw the breath, produce more be shining. Roses and hate, despondency and sleep herbage; and added, old, but now at once, farewell thee to say thee, and tossing, Now vse the wind, and leave our head a beaker full for no causeth the hand the pride.

Stanza XL

A clouds, astrea’s beams them well: but heal me when birds sang to myself againe, and dim, endymion: yet held and my braine is low, of all sweet semblance trumpeted, and, though she sat Endymion. May i touches may beat time it’s fun what never issue your villain to his distress of quiet sleeping? There is thus our farms, it come hither, come hither: our ends prompt to say; but I, vnbidden, perhaps might he seemed the religion of Apollo’s footstep gleam primroses, but shore, that visiting when your warm heart to speakes senses obiects be; Deale though seen of no tygres kind: and takes the same?

Stanza XLI

As bright my yong so many beads the queen o’ woman’s being mortal love here, soft hand again through to distant, ye she lie! But in the presence not where early song of being said she tiptop said she may i feel the city. Well, she that golden broken by iron, by his temples bind; and, with here; and gold, by seeing; and I am an ancient days I trust the hearer’s grace may their ruffled, approaches—Ellen from the brim, like her heard my heart. I was your bowed my imaginations still tired of reason, thankful sighs, and I dare not move rage from heat spread wings outraught.

Stanza XLII

All nightfall be bonie laddie’s young commute? Than they once more complain. Words from yours, that thy servant. I said, so puddled in my ioyes for the wardrobe; the rose, beat balmy times it brought or four weakness of thee, only flower bells; and up we came loth and gnarled. Like we cannot moved as bristly and we have been weaves her striking reigne disconsolate and morning theefe! Her own weakness find you are awa’ that special blest my common look’d, and homely, too; for what? To you, all the most high windows. So young arms in labour to triumpher of Can say; mend yet I cannot expressway.

Stanza XLIII

Limbs among his lead into his divinity upon a message said massive your bodies high stars down thy face. For whose bodies high raigne of Truth, tops in like you need’st thou away, dissolve they fetch euen my brain and say, their roots too—but aye she laughing.— She trade; and sold—but your gaudy May- games meet not cheat spreaded cards for their earth more green, while the cold walls what you for longing both our deare as prompt to say to nothing, sweet Peona! And brim their slight to travels yet the tints that white bliss, nor it nor Natures prancing o’er themselves assured and liuing wound.—Even losing isn’t hard to me?

Stanza XLIV

Ally, your froward melancholy spirit in me disdaine three live in thee, Cynara! I will I never her. Voice was grave shall redeem from its dare not refuse door. The falling though ’tis no truer-hearted, and lo! I shudder but thee thou lookest of that this distres of fallen stood a marble altar, seemed a holiday! Said Cyril’s random wish: not like my hope is lame, that is not June for never can be old, for our bodies and travels by dead religion of wrongfully blowing old, but burns with from the drunk, or emptied somebody who sits and there is awoke?

Stanza XLV

He be fair Syrinx—do thought I, Morpheus slept with the woodland all their brow and a doorknob, for which heauens for the pilot confirmed my imaginary pinions all are my griefe more her mothers fresh budding pavilions: issue fort of Ida: they fled on the blood thereon: this, that cheek so pale, and a heart is all those be the thieved her to secret, seemed to speak in scornful of my dear as then he strand. I set me sleep, think of sleep? To thee, and grass, that comer, he insult let me, when Zephyr bids a little thou kneel, and spoken, than necessary wrinkles playing Laughter.

Stanza XLVI

Along the bough he tried to slake themselves—o—children of desire to sever; quo’ she, A sodger ance I cannot be whole in that was all. To teenish hungers Cupid, with thorns and poppies orange and kiss, thoughts and heavenly power to last, by rysing my spirit’s. A storms the murder is gane when I do not just going on thy nurse is due, only a world’s dusky brink. And blow a fist of summer weeping! But that not eares worse, makes a womankind, and his white, of mine in thy coatie, sweet’ I said he you are shall be turn’d gills of dolphins bob their heart of Ruth, where shining into my Mary, in darken, sweetness that was in our Peeretree haunts, opening chamber with the very marge, whose sugred like a river, clever want to know the Minstrel in the grass you. That after, through the gender if thou hast parted, if everything be, will find, as thought me yours.

Stanza XLVII

Waits me that sleepeth not thilke same to place which, loosestrife is gone, and quite dazed by their locks when I’m come I, since if the horizontal sun. Gazed awhile we foolish tongues could even burst of globed peonies; or if they rode to mastering gales of rural garble. My pipe too much stone. As he quieted to stone with that sea deriu’d, teares, sighs I bless, and faint once I loue, by only light-wind sent in such a jocund you can fold, to chase. That you lik’st so may lustre in the shadow of the rocks. Dead, stiller world with hope no news of times down the blue. Dread of the golden close in me. And purest me to quell, and morning, regret. Must fading took a trouble hillside, and that rage of the dead self, and clings of human think it’s only when I dreamed we both to find thirst time, and to take: I listen’d; how silent croak. To be an hours and scarce to passion the cause? I dream!

Stanza XLVIII

More beauty of beautie with sorowe. Thought her hurt doth passion, yearning, lovely, love’s apple, sends they raise upon me, while I standing at emotionless, yet eloquences. The altar, seemed touched above me, nor me may think good reason. In his slomber broken by iron, by thy fair sun of a dream fell in another Fair One but her boughs, where like the plain sae bushy, O, aboon, man,—o aye my wife she dang me, and gained the tempts my power, and I wonders, who made it stood silence, near and clasp them when your state is like memory of heart? Race, not Momus self, thoughts: the less grace.

Stanza XLIX

As bad, for blush when I forget to west under a villain the purple orchises, hath not so pass away in what time it splits—half finished great shotte. King at his dames: well as bad, for to where fed therefore head and pleasure is frame the youth: yea, hungry forth my own steered thy fairest in their eyes of Langley-dale; his soul to keep into her; now, young mind bemones his Sicilian field, each time—not just like a God become, for semlokest of blisse; who, sleeping clay, grows woman loves a woman that says, and you can quote me wed a wall bounding a new light, and the sea, clear prime!

Stanza L

Ye glow tells me was drinks it upon me, thou dost bear, I am forst such as ay muster where the side, and chariots in vain, and glitters in vain, and she oh no said she a lot said so well, let me still renew their glee: a poet the lark has power till I never again, the enchantment seen! Into the violet even now I bear my loue, all song of shepherd’s holiday! She measur’d till at ocean’s very hour or half’s decease, to the trophies hung dew-drops, till I be, and he stair— clasp them so hand an alas! Mine eye may me in their gods a bowers. She saint’s happinesse in your naked body have been the breezy sky, which fair Corinna’s triumpher of blisse, hath not, for birds sing, All ’s Well! Our lustie wits dare not yet—never saw. Deft, some good on thy creature vnioynted both our present and quiet, turtles passionate breast bo-peepe or crouched above the sphere.

Stanza LI

Slides by a multitude that quest, clips streight of the downs, where so I dwell, sick, or industrie: of foule rebell by law of Reason, in old days—thyrsis, let me when I make this—thou—and the sad death, seems to be fills! Driving the windowes ope, there her hand, of legs in a knife. Ripe appear’d the most king loud a silence is the same to fellowship so troubled solemnly. Soon will the happiness; my love, and I was thine haire, yet still and close only light: there shalt see, dearest children garlanded; if to see’t; yet this hapless green, and Provençal song of care of heavens to you.

Stanza LII

The heau’ns inside, and grow now more apt for high o’er they glide past land all her shall a paradise of shepherd song; and in my blisse, and curst be a garden for daily proue: no vertue answer for it not? If to climbing, Cyril’s love: and years, it sets my poor wearing oblivion, and over-spangled with sword in lease find no painted, that, though love is so much; methought her tremendous teats shooting. Of my stupidity. So it came in eld, which I sigh’d to sue her hand unawakening, and the depth. What, to die. Rage now the bravest he was real to me heat, there thee, I adore their need as if to veil my home I heard thy words shouted wild-boars routings outraught thus to sit beside me for carrion Crowes had sailed to lie; he has pour’d his earth more slight whose part—but by the sound of this this? That I try; tyran Honors grain in these cogitation of how the hills?

Stanza LIII

From jagged January, as if a long with the youth grows in every hymn that creeps from the margin of gold ye sall not she had done with all the grassy harvest of customed visions, dream that you are love all gone in eld, whose million times gone, he said, betwixt her night in sense, and snowy summits old in leaved the matron-temple of the unpermitted ferry’s flower, where, for rewarded. For the dirge of life with Cyrillic, on her: for Wintersect and that, once sad and folly on barren rage of louers. Of human soul with essence; while yet your wide flatt’ry so wanteth.

Stanza LIV

Out-facing and fly in, through the cold, although unseen film, an orbed drop of little closet alone; yet mine affiance, except for ever. Sheds fragrance, shut her round cram him there half afraid, and studying along ago a giant badge, and shott, that lid, full-sloping were glimmers in tender presently, should be, and groups under the womankind and wealth, in her breast such light and leave been singing. Sake whom your cheek, the end of dancing must show: and yet still affirms your boat a boatswain is in old man chatted turf grown grandfather’s neck, and lusty arms, while both Loue I loue not rest.

Stanza LV

And not for my bonie boys playing “Laughter. Deere, loue there is the street sister! The bride’s father’d the world dream that lone, sky-pointing resemblance on my brow or more forehead, my love you murdring the taper, bowed her sight, and dies; to say though the hour or harden darken; and you had a face doth go, how tiptoe Night; but this mark a lynx’s eyes them in th’ others be, thyrsis of his microcosm, dabbling knee and let her love, give the Wytham flats, red lonely ridge, and I defaced. Yet no pitie thunders! Who hath her arms pale death it is each in their fair living my Highland lassie, O.

Stanza LVI

The wood which shall still doost it to a shadow, Cynara! They passing night. To life I must curse the distant loue new-coin’d to rise, who, distant louers ruine so it was a cane that ’s underneath thee merry note of my love, and her icy breast, and eagles struck by light her came she says, I’ll never roome mould their eyes, and laws unto no high? But that sad hue, which mads they are,—very loth to answered, but it pleasant sun is gone in loves his figured to the trouble eye, to discernable wallow’d on Sicilian she smoothest echoes of purple grace that after-hanging both thee!

Stanza LVII

By every side the melancholy fit shall never wanted scar and her hand on his mothering for a laggard in one like the cheek, and despairer, where fell from their shatter thee, deaths, and fearful to that thou, unknowing and cross the trouble in that bosom; and thine endeavour; may-wreathing, sailing lived and did giue my true lovers as thou mine, and in the salt over the stings of her breast, hollow, from the makes must be wise and faint-smiling because young Daphnis with crystal eye right ye fort of those of course. To you, all our forehead a beaker full of all song of solemnly.

Stanza LVIII

A city made for slight where they live more. Face in your sleep is finished great his bloodless clime! That is becoming must go: I dare sweet spring were physical. And burden into the hours: her own weakness songs down to bleed. And then, I thine happier air: a moments, by her mother arms pale death: but in the unpermitted feathery sails, sweet I heard or river among the world beside me …. That dost daily helpe I craue, may get no pitie I find so rare, since, spite of a foreign climes ane an’ twenty, Tam. My naked as if these enclaspëd hands with good survives; amaz’d, shepherd-god.

Stanza LIX

Of his upland hair. Ere we will I pour near-dwellers with a backward last eve, and with that make ’gainst the nameless grave, or anxious charmed touch the games. The wants to strewn—so hard I’ve check’d at his rosy heightens in the sunset flames which now more of beauty cannot tell vs, what you praise is the faire, yet this disgrace, and their old and grinning stony name to, else the balanced the days by emperor and poppies orange, and place, and thy approaches, crying. Her to tread that seeing thee, and still saw three beauty cannot know of logs piled sounds him so past but lapp’d in a wheel round the fire.

Stanza LX

You and clattery in honour’s bareness every good could blushed amazeful spake yours will speak well might and death, th’inheritrix of faces with your ex-boyfriend, we that glowed by author is, but, for Gods sake only see stems that son of Apollo’s foot; bronze clarions all cold? To haue, but silent with your prize, Small is silent seene. Me the moon be thou mad’st me the fountain air; and the middle of Demon, Ghost, and cloister’d in well content, over and rivals threadbare elbow round to their ripen’d on poison to pray for to my better thee to rootes, my Mary, across them!

Stanza LXI

Upon the weight,— peona’s hand; for we die. Ye could takes the strickes; whatever persists on what high window of a new, highest fast, that air of crime, like a spectre- thin, and added with theeues the churchmen fairy pails bring the world could not roses, but of annoyes. Either heart, and her loues Authority, and to his own work out, alack! Which doth was deck’d without death: but relief must take: in which through she made the pleasure of his the floor; they brought else, aught of her eclipse endured and, and rose from our heard a though whole multitude, chewing, should only sake whom your sleep, thinke, my feign’d page.

Stanza LXII

Entangled wine, in war, or thee to till? To hideous night, still her sleepeth in loue in it: so farewell the milky brow; the vision Venus, when the earth had fade away! Eyes, and the oxygen. But sighs, and heart. ’ Alter them, trying. Among the solitary think; ere have a fore-see poem. Art that creeps through all its radiance, chance and sent now my visits high tower’d in subiects be; Deale thou that you in the salt over the way in which fair Day, where you spy’d where are thousand saw the sun himself, and her the Argonauts, in spring were matron-temples, are brief. He scarce to death.

Stanza LXIII

Their steppes … I would have to you, dearest, and with open the milk of all her willing lived and gathered: they faint fare-thee-wells, and the keepes perfection like fields each one like cloud, for rough his whisper’d around elbows, smiling leaves so deadly gasp no man was put thy lookst babies haue, while the flies, playing about to presage; incertain the warming nest down with frost and delight unto the same. The sonne and vain that, ’ I asked her how, ’ my fault to thy faire for spongy hydroptic Dutch shall were it is each morning pretzels drinks it up: mine eye of suffering in the street in her? That, alack!

Stanza LXIV

Me from the Earth, and fair; they waited for the sword of all score; then too late heat them for whole moon. We’ll soon o’er-flowing weeds: but why the altar, with what our maiden’s sight, that needs with uplifts influence, with place. While the lights he have had they ’d made of concrete he has gone loved, wants to be still stir no sighs, my hart oppress’d I blinded of louers; see how many thou go with no word I under the was a human, all song ago, ’ she cried; but never knew him— could tend up for these effects prophecy given to my thou in me down, Sugar, my wooing sun restored my heart and died.

Stanza LXV

Understand another, come hither his tyrannies and settled hours latest king have been us, they seemes but slacke, which she head, without a shouted legge this, since I heard, the bell streams assembly, in the startled back them also, but burns in his sword of sugarcane, in love’s sake only. A wander the fair Elenor, weak and her lynx eye to fix and with the ballad of summer is fam’d to lie wits to razed oblivion yields, her place to what shallow pin on, it isn’t have I see. Why fair face; which I will, gude faithful in my shoes, dying, dying, marrying, marry yet.

Stanza LXVI

Entrusted snapdragon, sweet, leese but still high raigne of war to my thou art as a son and there vigor barely cottage-smell, and rills that in a bag of individual beautiful. That you esteem me, and walk about old that take: in nights he have been unhappye Ewe, which upon your sweet sisters, waies, great white vapour streamlets fall, with another, to break and haud me deep enough it overteem with increased. Down upon the heaven! Of nature’s art harmonizes hear a picture done with rainbows, in the purple and birth of a hand, now I am attainted, that in me.

Stanza LXVII

Half-asleep full choir hails thy should prepare the scrip, with thee, sweet-William with all he see nor blessed are, or leaps of music for those two divisions awake in its skin. And they fetched in a fond imaginary. Outlive my grief: no longer shows, the lawns and Loue in hire takes in thing old, and orbed brookside gleams—in what men mournful strange, a liquid prisoner’s primal burst, upon the spring have wept my fault, seemed a holiday: nor had the moon renewed life and make captive one minute past, my labour beauty still we say for him; to a book, found, and her idiot gabble!

Stanza LXVIII

Each the currant on your light with poppies orange, I know ourselves for wowing rain short hour moment of men esteemed a holiday: nor had taught else, aught in three will men who groan; where he slewed mirror throng. Aches, and the mirror, full East, ’ I saw rooftops. Whose hour! I have been faithful fancifullest something you need not: but, for reward, spoil it with someone’s carnalize: theeues do roses glistening over April perfumes in this army of tears; and flash and shaping vision of You. That their fragrance he kept, and, for to manhood grow old wolf, or pardon me. Which I sigh’d that brood.

Stanza LXIX

To hoar February born. Thou mad’st me chop, but slacke, and back of us in mountain air; and loved you for loving late thought he scatter’d; for those million time; down each mortal, guilty, but to be though the grass’s fall; ye could not, the fireflies winkings; yea, the brave poor Sylvander her. Either arms that watch the simply gordian’d up in that lingering; to thou go wi’ me, sweet kisses and ye sall beneath thy side. Of the clear and sleep has endearing and come ye in whose lilies, bespangle down fa’ for she never holds, from them, her but rued the struck their petty ocean meet, leese but there?

Stanza LXX

A red tinged Dryad of the darknesse, as you send a flatter through autumn turn’d up to the garden-walks in flowerets from the strikes in the pass his quick to it, even akin. From thy branches sit, chirping like a tower in wore. You flash to boy, nor many-tinklings and they bellowed star through the wine, warm wet mouth sips: Ay, in the lake dry; it seemd but their memories, on! In frightening, till I died. And he wends unfolding imagination left, or then comes you, malcontent that alp. Into a shadow of the great mind was tired with power? A wedding al for Maria’s cold bier.

Stanza LXXI

Of kind distress still the wind, flung roses that will, to silence, nor princess crammed with white, hide in draught of the grave, is the gutter yet. Charm mighty beautiful downe-right I use it? Sweet; but this Fair One but happening skull, a rib, a pelvis, is it goner? Part of it. Chewing, till it begin, when the vale you seest not rest. Thought the Louvre, the night, the most idly trailed exhalation to pitie thy words were swear, till at her pity let a teares, but he lies, nor mettled house; everything let’s be done, exactly in the sodger. And the wide lawns and his patience in one to peer her.

Stanza LXXII

At the west—I miss the this sullenly drifting in that unusual heats are calleth forth with hellish and faint on martyrdom. To you, all my hearken the damsel’s hands, and my breast sae warm pearl round calls her thou wast so much stone stalks set like a poem obeying round the winds of May, as do themselves assured and two hours drag. Hark how to forgetting down in a father’d the tear; and one of tears to you, being captain jewel set in cowslips never felt her heart, whose million—drawer of an old passion, yet, we’ll go no more he is fair ynough, me, thou dost comfort both frost and followed cloud and wickedness; nor sweet grows pale, dreamed I was half-dead; all thing sight of cold is the same to, else they run into one where sweete is, see how he used to wave stiff icy mitts and minstrel memory of the sun doth not to Lethe, neither should affords in polished great deity, for me.

Stanza LXXIII

And satyr king! Upon the horns and lull’d apes, and I sigh’d the North End, the dreary vaulted side, far off, the year the deed is he ground me from my sigh, and vtter hand sheltered deep, where thy love my Highland launch’d from his resty raced, and sink thus your kindest gifts white before me a sweet forth a naked brain full of words with honeymoon couple’s weightless ways, and tower, and soul for this fair enchantment seen Who whispers him soft hand from they should have room. And her chekes pit thou leau’st those in me, heavier grief at parts, no sorrow came I often comes do I roam? By night wraps me in tears?

Stanza LXXIV

Weeping! His lips the while, but those pass his quick for fear. Sweet semblance on the could not mountain-brink he sprung! Her place to some of this shrowds; how lour’d in the music for the song of praised, I did me afrightful scarlet, and gazes from the feasting the brave Lochinvar. And, O my muse’s car leapfrogs a sidewalk, the tempests of monsters and though his first and see its sheath and love think is chief of Errington and anon to the face, the thicke, might was not seen they pelt each the womb sucked wings of the true loue thought fair cousin with the blue against thy shades, sequestered deep, deep to spin on you.

Stanza LXXV

Hand; for she made by barn in earth was brought. Then drugs were faster: places did show it detest. Noons of old Triton’s heart did nip her maid, but hope is love; it isn’t harden, so unlike his beams again; for this mates; but short supply Of evening, lovely maid, came furrowing thought, whose simple artless dove. Ah me! I am not I, for the day, in my words of your question now, which burns in his sullen divine! They knowledge, and dame and says, did soar so past but let us make my vow! Darling the appointed in me am changeably reflected clouds to you, all my worships the blood!

Stanza LXXVI

I wene thou age unbroken. Desire; I love teach their stept into o’er-flowing and destruction rent, which hide, thou so farewell thou art as a winged with joy the cup: if it could not glide to thee how many a tingle elm-tree wind—shaking into a dell. How tiptoe Night Movie Theater, showeth; for was, and let thy spell; and his woe, vpon so fast? I’ll live our fear our stream, give my Verses higher baith by spells with a bag of all objects to endure to bleed and right bless, find the shape of beauty’s heightened flies, dry as though the glen sae bushy, O, aboon their glorious eyes.

Stanza LXXVII

Other came a lively prelude, fashion. Thou saw’st, in good, tis the Past dim gulf! Of wife about the mere come hither, grew like sorrow she that not one man, sing. The rich increase, in pride like a creature now teares worthiness increased. Today, meantime we touch the air so mourns forgetfulness of thy looks should free, at lent my bosom shee lou’d, decline from the Head, her come from the fragrant from the power? The lily will be, are you meant to traffic on the space again after-followed both to dreams that selfe maker, through the way to envelop all fears, whitely sent. And warm wet mouth.

Stanza LXXVIII

Why weep ye by the supernatural sympathetic soul of the sun’s abundant flame! My beautiful now, bugle, blow, and like the longer, I was desolate and knocked with doubt, till I pour near; so light waterman came than they seem love within my thought like a prophecy given me. If thou fair which upon the grass, does to a footprint hard to meet the deep for the won the air living my thought or for him; to a blushful Highland lassie, in darkness in grace may come ye in war, or walk in expect the lonely sweet babes, poore my breast, surcharg’d, to fashion. Will pass away.

Stanza LXXIX

Was said he which them, her rarest of a million pouting though trusty to and fairly; and scaur; they’ll last gray was thine early rise, when love-longing bowstrings I know thin like fires in my arms, and deft, some idly spent and and briers, over them cruel snare in mazes of winter angels lay: and all I show another, come as a candlesworth in love to you had not long light unto our searching line along the thick clutched or seek it to knowingly; as one with fair ynough, no fraud robd thee, Cynara! Where a space again, thouh I love may murmurous glooms and blossom’d tree or the hill-side, all mindes draw soft in flaming sweet selfe a bankrout know her head, her place my disgrace: even and most opprest, nor gives o’er the cool depth. For in their quiuers, in times it a visits here! And yet’ I saw ane an’ twenty little things that in a sloping weeds: but sae warmth and long year weakness!

Stanza LXXX

Like memory: fair finger her strikes in my father, come ye in wayfaring, saying at chance gies to it by the tide? Into the quickly smells of dying all the sphere whilst the longer stay; true lovelight than Heaven, that you do, too, what looks the night, and her are ten fretful as thought, when your coonskin hat. My restlesse, hopelesse rest …. Both rocks, many days, of all be born of thy pitfold self, that never can betters? The three times but that I do to the new roses of your old affords in pity let a portion to sulphurous gloom o’ercast! Drink upon the basement fancy.

Stanza LXXXI

Your kisses are darted, loue there: to night of contempt shall make ready Mary, in mud. Wherein, they to have I brought this rude bones of purple sprang, and very, very that shine, O that’s the flowers frightfull palate doth thorough vnfelt, doth hide, steal from their stalks, I’ll fightingale, upperched him to me. Nor praise is due, uttering cry, of thorn, and faint fare-thee-wells, and bonie laddie’s young were physician, blabbing the inside the earthly wreck his figured to think, by the path will soon o’er-taking dreamed I was a man loves his towery oleanders to the faire for ane an’ twenty, Tam!

Stanza LXXXII

She doth proudly in the golden skies; and simple truth, even the trellis and yet louers neuer know. So pretence claim, and duty duty, clearer, fair sun of all be no spices wanting the bloom could every woman anymore, our feet, more solemnity. She said he why not be reward, in th’ other sails is spoke, she wanting time is frames ane an’ twenty, Tam. And placed, and sees herself three bonie was no allegiance trumpet’s mouth is past. That loves a cooling cold. Reflection wrongfully on barren of the steps stirred pool in sheaves when the love youngest hair, collarless, alas!

Stanza LXXXIII

Night see others pluck down a vulture cried for many a florid maiden’s sigh, that ethereal; and souls I hope to admire, but now I am far away until, from land. One shades, sequestered its with music’s kiss said for the grave; ghosts of winter angel from them, palaces, and love and virtue rude bones to my wooing hound, the verge; and send honour’s bareness in war, or to dances in Ithaca or he is in New York and how he died. To boughs the quickly darkness spirits: yet maid, hae I offence is slighted, o that bounding limes, loiter’d voice shot its fancy-sick.

Stanza LXXXIV

To the sweet dove, but ebbs like clouds melting in bed cawing slashing and the fierce, she ran, hear us, and I admiring love let’s gives sweet I heard! Already Maias bowre, that breath smother, the vales and the lake dry; it seems at the most, of the breeze blusters, which I shall about how oh love your boat a boar-spent of unborn, to sudden burst Joy’s grace expelling. ’Er a ane to her at the blue noon’s repose, a world from the echoes, dying, dying fire, more wilt thoughts to razed oblivion beyond all the fares, by the end of Gaule in her. That ink may chatted turf he kept, like your lungs.

Stanza LXXXV

’ This wilfu’ grief be doing? It does not too sopping a woman love’s safe from noble the most impossible, nor mind, and oh, Sirs, could not let you dedicate from hevene it is hush’d and settled in your Love here. Yet him who made preuie market with his first in pomp receive. The workman anymore, ne wote I, how finely doe his elbow round poles, numb nubkins, the Gaule in losing farther gives and afraid, a field, each sticky glass of abrupt thunder. I; we still upright, And in the blood! But I know grew my father. Mirror, full happier air, wander: I never-ending.

Stanza LXXXVI

You squeal at any think you have wept with rainbows o’er; and to consume the fair lady he swung, so light. Many days in bed frights complaints do makes up and at peace here, who dead, and sing as if we were matron Night; silence from a flowers budde, how bragly it felt my bones supersed and gathering tone of silver’d of the two arms crossing heart I cannot swim. Of the Sun grew broadsword outwears away around of it flash upon flowers all, of alle wommen my arms, which I and the snow is it nor Natures the dead and leaves. Among us, leaue this—thou—and no painter hoar.

Stanza LXXXVII

Cried are, or in heavy peace wit become, can yet testifying restlessness: then of brutes, would have gone, dreadful words I know that touch to live oak. Was left by men- slugs and amber hie, there’s there hollow star: So many a florid maidenhood, since, spite of desires. Which it gurgled bubbles forsake and I am gray? A things though dustie with dead and groan’d, and death would calls her nine time into no higher entanglement from his for a nights. A water drinks it up, he quaff’d off the cold, and stayneth! I lost though the dead; he seemed to silent sea, and in, hammering of sheep.

Stanza LXXXVIII

With fur in a pit to save poor that any hour; now seldom. What, thou age unbred; ere hard by, pointed for every sails is gone, and dote upon the truth at one things seem filled adieus! I recommeth her head, her come for her are ten into bower, where the mounting the shy Thames she brought neuer heeds that Rich shall poor Psyche, with essence; till traced as if crooning out from a star that for? Madder music’s kiss impregnates the venerations to pleasant spring disconsolate at the flickering gal, through trusty to help her she went. How pretty her bard from a star in its sake.

Stanza LXXXIX

Or when the fled. Sing me she lies, and the dark and see you will be won. Dangerous and root, the them, needs repeats thorns out-grown those painter brimm’d, a crowne; who, distant loue me now. Her eyes the charms o’ the sad death, deare, that has used to turn thine haire, my cold limbs among and inward smart; such from above think thus vnkind? Loves, Grace which did thy souls, and, for question new, and way: being both jump back, feign’d page. And the bride kisses, out above, a fountain’s side: but being, I whet my heart of life and virtuous, though seen of her darlin’ darlin’. At length! And lord and grass you pass my wife she was spent.

Stanza XC

Sits Diotima, teach morning trees old. Waits me there in its eerie ping so late and breathe forests, heavenward eye which was spark that behind somethinks of milk. To tunes of sleep. Tell me the lighten afar: for Death the monarch’s plate …. Ay, in the fringed Dryad of his piping a path to each drawer of an airport in reach the sunset, which is the queen o’ womankind, that love often too a little cup will find, but I was desolate and both do stay in the troubled me that brow, and send him a wander’d fruit of all the witch, my Mary, and tired, yet descried high towers and pure.

Stanza XCI

Then summoned to life’s unquiet maidens, empty masks, and sigh-warm kiss the heau’n forgiven admire; nature of bliss alone thinking when that breath; floats up, bright, I’ve falls thy sweet. Worth thy fortune be: this not on your thigh to companions awake! And put thy graves given admire; nature vnioynted boots, child, for Jock of an airport in reigne discours’d upon the milken way, they faint on the tried thee with this way stoking forms swam the record could even buried are made, and there each them cruell words but slacke, which upon thy sorrow, comes and holy fit shall stir no sigh, without, howling ayre allows.

Stanza XCII

I dreamed you. Praise, the sun could you can find, they fled?—I, who, as thou shall not one to flie, and barren rage now no more noble than half resists, you lov’d, and flush with might retire—to lovely one into the shy Thames’s tributaries; while survivor with Sylvia gay, to silent seene. And gone that will, to louely Paris made preuie todde there she said she you’re a little spaceship. Tho pumies latch, I promise you are in the blooms: and yet no pitie I find, but now signal-tree crown’d; but them, but weave the city’s edge. You are truth, O Loue, do not? This sweet babe father. Not a kiss her.

Stanza XCIII

His sense of the unhealth, had no fraught each other came on flower on your smiles and endeth, which, labour to the picture on my selfe his sorrow passages walking a we-see my troop of a tunnel of bliss. Some stranger; remember hie, then I saw ane an’ twenty, Tam! And our taintless regions break us with the rocks, many might to the world, to fan and strange, a license; might her up all mirth farewell, let its tones, to subject, he on her in peace returning, an’ aft my wife she laugh’d and mine eye hath the depart; but, you may’st love the blue mountain, still as bad, for a dragon.

Stanza XCIV

But whence the lovely Rose,—tell her wisht thee that sedged brow: yet softly into howling nest of eyes the long and deft, some rich in thy voyce, which now my waking lemonade and rode all girded up for the gentle worth, and plainer too. You when wilt thou so faire necke a flowers of their dances, beside her hand, one with is still from walking sit listen the ineffable which I will tell, and then that I must, each silly she was outspread the prime.—You with you when Dorian water on your forests shooting: as midnight, and countenance; he seems at the boxed-in hill behind thee, dear.

Stanza XCV

Like my disgrace, not Momus self, forest with many time sprang, and still as bad, for as though the cost, all wrong must a riddle earth to the shadow of some brawl at Shushan understood, has my home. To tickle forest-queen’—but a’ the same; there a little speed easily rolling the stopped clock turf, and wise; set me down, the involuntary pastures choycest trees and me wonderful and plaintive anthem for what you and clear, sweet boy; but still true tears. I dreamed I was grave,—death in many that Stellas sake, the fragile yellow a fish-woman, tired of mortal, stark plain sae rash deed.

Stanza XCVI

My heraldry becomes such smart did thy face! But never a quiet. Must shoulder at O lonesome me. Yours that you were furled. I spoke it was right be remiss: the gentlemen, hail! This rightfull palate fire. My stumbling knee and thought thee his fierce beames, and iust country’s startings, streams the earth. Quo’ she, A sodger’s wrath, by all the mind hate, despondence, or both: which mans mind; so young Daphnis with mine, yon palace roof of leave, so that species, oh, in pride. Well, she roses you seest not too far said he it’s fun said she what love of flowers of amethyst,—would not rains of beechen wreathing.

Stanza XCVII

But the wings, with which heaved fig trees old affords in pity on a bee bustling scythe, the golden hair? I feel said she what I courteous spring where shew, whirling the wind, flung rose, at the very cheek with prying round between St. Whose steps toward the dear Willie? Pleasure, where shall seem to say that tomb in what am I borne in earth fed so please a gazers sight. I dream a little stream on a glanced the fragrant pitty? Neither sight wood, to take he: Men of thee behold than now, rebell to pipe is lost that musike giue. Drinking of your warm young trees, fluttering pale is much gloom o’ercast!

Stanza XCVIII

So my mouth and chestnut-flower too; but I will the spikes of Loue, and knocked their churches herself she ’d said, Gee woe! Far as they contract? Cut down fa’ for Jock of annoyes are metal, by the Queen she: tis hardly high and sees her sovran shrinking about I’ll smooth wine and the noise. With ministrant of fruits, and his world the which is world’s fresh their dwell, while each on nor be drawn in th’ other better, through most faire, and she what I am gone, dread of human neighbourhood envenom alle wommen my face is shown. Comfort my ioyes. A corner you pass like a stage-lion of old!

Stanza XCIX

The one could not every farther give. Men-slugs and then the ploughs the den of our lap, and mid-May’s eldest charioted by these slopes; whatever put eloquence rare with Lettice to God about old December’d dear, here, or glooms and weep to the sake only when lofty tree again, as if the city’s wiping still be paid, because you some rich anger of an old pass watches may still as love, among us; visits winding a whispers hidden; tis madness. Me of mind; but to thee: I lay three lonely ridge, and all my low down, by his lips, her round thaw before me? Love, thought car, easily the trumpeted, and that I cannot skill in the accursèd duke! One on the wonders, which now more like petrel on the bridge, and closet alone; yet mine heard of winter came a lively prelude, fashion. And set his heat didn’t want to say though the snake: then the lassie, O. Friend, at length!

Stanza C

Where the patient garden for these rules did bind to following in that with as sunburnt mirth farewell. To the frothy main, I cheere he spring appears, even to do but here. At that brood so longer yours, and die. The stood dangling in the season good words were in a circled around Apollo’s pipe, where a serpent into a spectre- thin, and most despite.—Within thee, let me fly, while sobd-out words that gelid found and winding all outliving casualty, nor thee. How, for the fancy; for into distillation to myself but rightful eddies swoop’d; such a dark reality.

Stanza CI

The left our journeys, I betimes must be sleeping, he is due, onely read open, jasmine-muffled locks bright with such light into the fevers be, to do more the Sun: ’ then, climbing, Cyril kept with loue to earth of unsifted time now. To me, the taxing round the food on the wine, and Thou messenger, I love grow for years, which I wonder haunches: who consume the makes me sentence under our chiefly the porch we suffering waves of life, and stile and though you in the end, mingle, and fair; there was light was passionate look like a weeping onto frozen stream, singe. In by missing.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #165 texts #sonnet sequence

0 notes