#and so I designed him shoes with the soles? bottom/sides of the shoes with teeth :D

[glttrvlntn]

I think you’ve caught his eye..

Pose ref.

[mintmatcha]

cw: implied spoilers, time skip bakugo

The crisp romanticism of winter has long faded, leaving behind only grimy, half-melted snow marked by bits of gravel and garbage pulled up by the plow trucks weeks ago. The wet, thick chill that hangs in the air is only worsened by the fact the sun is already setting this early in the afternoon, basking the city in an underwhelming, watery pink.

It’s the perfect day to forget, you decide. If summer has dog days, this is a cat day of winter: designed for sleeping, isolating, and letting the world pass by. You wouldn't even be out of bed if Mina hadn't invited you to this stupid dinner.

Running into Bakugo on the way was just a coincidence. You found each other on the train, each of you coming from your respective works, and decided to would be rude to not walk to rest of the way together. Luckily, you knew Bakugo well enough that it wasn't immediately awkward; he was a bit abrasive, sure, but in a sort of charming way that you couldn't quite ignore. The small talk was polite enough, filled with  niceties and questions about life.

Denki has warned you not to bring up work around Bakugo in fear of you being the victim of his wrath, but today he seems okay discussing it.

“Never thought I’d be teaching,” he fiddles with his scarf, pulling it up higher to hide the darker scarring that runs down his neck and across his entire right side, “But my old teacher was retiring and I couldn’t swing the prohero thing anymore, so I figured- fuck, why not?”

You think there’s more to the story, but you don’t push. “Do you enjoy it?”

“Oh, fuck no. Every day is making sure these dumb ass kids don’t kill themselves by accident,” Bakugo barks out a laugh at himself, “I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

His affection is hard to read. It’s course, unrefined, hidden in thinly veiled insults.

"Oi, your shoe’s untied."

Bakugo jerks his chin towards you, his eyes lowered accusationally towards your feet. You pause mid-stride and look down. Sure enough, he's right: the laces to your boots have come undone, dragging in the snow behind you, more grey than white now.

"Dammit,” you sigh, kicking that foot forward. Water droplets flick off the end and splatter down the sidewalk ahead of you, disappearing into the heavily trampled snow. “These boots are cute, but they suck.” You scoop down to your knee, but are caught just as your pants hit the cool, wet ground.

“Oi!” A hand, thick before the mittens but almost comically massive now, is clamped around your shoulder, “It’s wet, dummy. Get up.”

Bakugo practically drags you back up before dipping down himself, ripping his mitten off of his free hand with his teeth. It hangs there, dangling comically as he rather aggressively wipes off the soiled knee of your jeans.

“ ‘onna ruin your fuckin’ pants.” The fabric damps his annoyed grumbles.

When he’s seemingly deemed the spot clean, Bakugo pulls away to inspect it, then falls to one knee rather ungracefully, sliding in the slush beneath his rubber soles. Wind kisses cheeks and the frigid tip of his nose both glow red as he looks at you from down there, eyebrows pinched together just like always.

"Here." Bakugo pats his thigh expectantly, waiting for a moment before doing it again. When he huffs, a little cloud of breath rises in front of him. "Come on."

You take a moment to realize what he wants. "What? I don’t wanna get you dirty.”

"I don't care, come on." He tugs you by the laces, guiding your foot into his leg. There's immediately a dark, wet mark across the denim, but Bakugo doesn't seem to notice; he's too busy tugging off his other mitten, tossing both of them to the side.

Bakugo clicks his tongue against his teeth as he hooks a finger under the bottom most rung of your laces and tugs, tightening the toe box of your shoe with one shift movement. A couple walks by, whispering to each other as the step over and around the blonde, and their gaze makes your cheeks burn.

"These boots don’t suck- you don’t tie them right." The digits are stiff and pink from the cold, moving clumsily as he tightens section by section, working his way to the top. There's a peace on his face as he works, a relaxation you don't usually get to see. On the top of his head there's a couple whispers of grey hiding in the blonde. "You gotta-"

With the extra length he's created, Bakugo loops the length around your ankle and ties a quick knot. "Like that."

He pats your calf. "Other foot."

"You don't have to-"

His eyes flicker up, watching you through light brown lashes. The scar over his right eye has long clouded the color and the sight, changing the dark red of his iris into a muddled pink. Mina's shown you pictures of him in high school, back when his features were symmetrical and he was considered classically attractive, but you think you might prefer him now. He's uniquely pretty, with features you have to explore for a moment to fully learn.

Clearly unamused by the denial, Bakugo pats your calf again. With a heavy sigh, you step off of him and bring your other foot up.

Undoing your own knot and redoing his process isn't short work. Bakugo takes his time, breathing on his fingers to warm them up in between rows. It's surprisingly intimate, the way he lingers over you, each touch almost too personal to be solely platonic. He’s stalling, you realize, trying to hold on to this nothing moment on an awful winter day for just a moment longer.

You've never seen him in this light before.

When he's finally done, he sits back on his own heel and lets his arms fall away from you. The world feels like it's shifted one degree to the left.

"You didn't have to do that," you say softly as he gathers his mittens. The yarn has acted as a sponge, soaking up their weight with water. Bakugo curls his lip at this. "I can tie my own shoes."

"Yeah, well," he stands, jamming his hands in his pockets and looking away in a surprisingly coquette move. He speaks softly for once, probably with as much kindness as he can muster. "Someone had to show you the right way to do it."

You both stand there, Bakugo in his ruined pants, you with boots tied almost too tightly, in silence, almost as if you're both waiting for the other to do something.

You almost continue on your way and ignore the flutter in your chest, the strange simplicity that brought you just a bit closer to a friend of a friend-

but then you catch how his gaze flickers to your lips for a fraction of a second-- fleeting, longing.

"Let's go," Bakugo says, stepping forward, "I'm freezing my tits off and Denki's gonna eat all the appetizers before we even-"

You catch him by the sleeve. "Hey."

"What?"

You catch him by surprise as he turns, pressing on to your toes to push your lips into the corner of his mouth. His lips are slick with lip balm-- cherry flavored and sweet beyond belief-- and incredibly warm.

The contact is gone before you can even process whether you enjoyed it or not, his shocked exhale tickling your cheeks.

"What the fuck was that?" he whispers, bewildered. His bangs fall in front of his  eyes as he touches were you just were.

"Just a thank you,” you whisper back, suddenly realizing how crazy you must seem. Maybe you had misread the situation. “I shouldn’t have-”

The world moves around you.

You aren’t sure who leans in first, but his lips are pressed against you now, the icy tip of his nose buried on your cheek. The sharp nip of winter is forgotten, replaced by his canines catching your lower lip as his hands find the curve of your jaw. He pulls you in and you swear you can feel the spark between you-

and then you realize you literally do. Bakugo’s quirk sputters slightly on his lips, nothing more than a tingle and a zap, but it lingers even as he pulls away.

"Well, if you really wanna thank me..." The icy touch of his hand finding yours makes you jump.  "Keep my hands warm 'til we get there."

He squeezes tight. "Maybe on the way back too, since my gloves are ruined ‘cause of you."

You roll your eyes as you squeeze back.

“Yeah, okay.”

[tesseractrave]

The Happy Mask Salesman's design makes me wonderfully crazy, and I have to talk about the way my brain processes it because it's a big part of why I love him so much.

[Analysis is under the cut]

——————————————————————–——

The first detail I'd like to point out would be the color theory.

He has the bluer purple on both his tunic and trousers, or the whole piece if you consider it a jumpsuit (I personally don't draw it as a jumpsuit, but I do admit that it might be the most game-accurate interpretation), and it gives him a very direct foundation and center for the outfit's base.

The vest and shoes are a darker magenta, however, which adds hue variation while staying analogous with his tradmeark purple shades, and the light grey is a value used to balance the more saturated purples as an accent.

The golden accessories are a complimentary (opposite) color to purple, which Nintendo seems to be very adept at in general (cough, Splatoon, cough).

Of course, we can't forget his hair. Whichever specific shade you see it, it's always agreed that the color is at least somewhere along the ginger spectrum. The red, orange, auburn, etc. hues are analogous between the contrasting gold and purple, adding a transitional color to link them.

His skin serves the same purpose with the varied addition of having a lowered saturation and a lighter tone to aid the grey in balancing the depth of the color of his clothes and hair.

Though we unfortunately have no canon answer to what his eye color is, Ember Lab's creative decision to make them green may have been the best choice from a design standpoint because it balances out the purple in his clothing and makes his face stand out more.

The distribution of color in this design as a whole is pretty genius to me, as well.

His hair, being the only part of him that's that ginger color, directs the eyes upward to his face, while the main, deep purple is focused on the direct center.

The gold is arranged widthwise across the center, most heavily on the neck once again to direct the eyes upward while also distributing down to both of his wrists for balance on either side, almost like a scale.

The magenta and grey both run lengthwise down (and wrap around) the center and sit in mostly horizontal detailing at the bottom of his legs like the base of a pillar.

It's not something I added to the example image or spoke about before, but his white teeth in his smile are another aspect that is, of course, very eye-catching for his face and important for his design.

There's also the topic of the geometry.

I'm using my own art as an example because this is the way I interpret it, but the first image is just a breakup of how the edges of each section line up with one another in a way that fans out from the center, and the second image is the addition of marks measuring the estimated centers of each section.

Looking closely, you quickly realize how his gorget makes everything line up geometrically, and as a whole, the design is entirely symmetrical apart from the way his hair is parted, which adds all the asymmetry needed to make him feel natural, albeit incredibly well-groomed and organized.

The color of the inner edge of his vest and the the soles of his shoes is the same as the two rows of stitches running down the front of his torso, which gives the otherwise separately-coloured pieces of the outfit a common detail to link them as a set.

(At one point, I think I had an exact estimation for the number of stitches in each row, but I think I started ignoring it in my art to save my sanity. I know it's on my cosplay, though.)

His gorget and bracers also have a matching scallop pattern (though it seems to be debated on whether the scallops of the bracers face up or down), which adds an additional sense of uniformity.

The majority of details follow the lengthwise median, and everything suggests an overall polished feel and a balanced center of gravity. All in all, it's a fantastic design. I've seen so many wonderful takes and artistic adjustments on it, and I've even made my own, but the character designers at Nintendo really popped off with this one.

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

That’s the golf cart boy that helps your family when you go to the country club and play golf and you ask him to teach you how to swing properly so he can put his arms around you

“I missed.” Y/N huffs as she watches her golf ball sail through the air and disappear into the lake behind her target, her shoulders slouching and mouth dipping into a subdued frown. This is her third failed attempt yet. “You’re utter shit at teaching for someone who’s been working here so long.”

Harry simply gives the amateur a crooked grin from where he’s standing off on the sidelines, his lean arms crossed over his stomach nonchalantly as he waits for her to finish walking towards to him. He takes the bait for their usual banter, snorting in amusement at her fiery reaction. “I’m an amazing golf coach; it’s not my fault you have no talent. I can only build on people’s skills, not pull them out of my ass and hand them over on a silver platter. Maybe if you actually practiced like I told you—”

“Maybe if this sport wasn’t so fucking boring,” she bites back, using the end of her golf club to nudge him pointedly in his sturdy chest, “I would be stimulated enough to try.”

Harry purses his lips to hide a filthy smirk, taking the tool from her and tossing it into the bag across the backseat of his cart. He turns back to face his conditional student, one of his brows inching upwards snidely. “Are you saying you’re not stimulated enough?”

Y/N’s features crack into a scowl at his inappropriate joke. “Hilarious. I bet you’re a hit among pre-teens, aren’t you?”

“I am, yeah!” He quips brightly, exaggerating an innocent smile as he rounds the side of the vehicle and mounts into the driver’s spot. He parts his legs widely as he gets comfortable, and she has to restrain the urge to rake her gaze down the unbelievably short trousers riding up his thick thighs. He pats at the seat beside him symbolically, silently requesting that she join him. “But I’m also great with the ladies. Get a hole in one every time. Literally.”

The girl releases a sound of aggravated disgust at his stupid self-absorbed comment, trudging through the wet grass and rolling her eyes in exasperation as he giggles boyishly. She hauls herself up into the front seat, plopping onto the leather surface with a deadpan expression written all over her face. “You’re despicable.”

“Ooh, that’s a neat new word! Are you working on expanding your vocabulary? Proud of you, love.”

“Just shut up and drive, Tiger Woods.”

“To our usual spot?”

She maneuvers to position herself accordingly, propping her feet onto his lap as he finagles the buggy into the designated setting. She fixes her frilly pastel blue skirt over her thighs as she does so, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a sly eyeful. Knowing him, he’d definitely take the chance.

Y/N taps the tip of her shoe against his lean tummy for significance, shrugging her brows impassively as she leans her head back against the nearest railing. “Where else would we go?”

“I dunno, maybe back to the club so your family isn’t left wondering where you are? S’kinda rude to make them wait,” he pauses for a moment to glance down at the watch decorating his wrist, humming to himself in realization, “especially because lunch is already being served. Food’s gonna get cold.”

“They can wait five minutes. It takes longer than that to starve to death.”

“Pretty brutal.”

“What is?”

Harry glimpses over at her with his tongue pressed along the inside of his cheek, condescension scribbled all over his demeanor. It’d been infuriating if he wasn’t so hot. Well, it’s infuriating regardless, but at least his attractiveness allows her to benefit from his antics.

The young man’s accent holds the same type of smugness slathered across his plush lips and defined cheekbones, and his words send a flush of heat down the knobs of her spine. “That you’d rather get fucked in an equipment shed than spend quality time with your relatives.”

Y/N narrows her eyes at him pettily, muscling down the warmth rising up her neck. “What’s it to you?”

“Nothing much.” He bobs his shoulders easily, tone dismissive and indifferent as he secures one bejeweled hand onto the steering wheel, the other finding perch above her knee. He gives it a playful squeeze, his dimples winking at her flirtatiously when she jolts at the iciness behind his chunky rings. “Just an observation, s’all.”

“I’m not sleeping with you so you can make observations.” She grumbles, but despite her attitude towards him, she doesn’t make any conscious effort to shed his touch. His skin is always so soft, and the sensation of his large palm resting anywhere on her body feels so fucking right.

“Aren’t you?” Harry inquires with snarky pretension, dropping the sole of his sneaker onto the acceleration pedal and causing the car’s ignition to roar to life. The tiny vehicle takes off across the slopes of the golfing meadow, jumping and creaking as it rides over all the dips and hills of the valley, trees and flags whizzing by as it speeds towards an all too familiar trail. “Because last time I checked, you seem to love it when I observe you on your knees. Beg for it, even.”

Y/N’s jaw clenches tightly at his taunting. “Piss off.”

“How’s that go again? Something along the lines of,” he sweetens his voice down into a dramatic pleading lilt, mimicking her moans from the past, “‘You taste so fucking good, Harry.’ and ‘I love it when you cum on my face, baby.’ and ‘I want you to fuck my mouth, daddy. Want it so bad.’”

The young woman’s teeth squeak from how hard she’s biting back her anger. “Asshole.”

“Is that not right? Is that not what happens?” Harry implores with a ridiculing pout and fluttering lashes, going out of his way to ride on her last nerve. His fingers begin to crawl higher up her leg, sneaking beneath the billowing edge of her skirt and tracing random shapes along the suppleness of her inner thighs, pinching and twisting at the flesh until he gets a physical response. He adores seeing her squirm against the waxy seat as she suddenly grasps onto his arm needily, especially because she does absolutely nothing to deter him from continuing. “Sorry, my memories get jumbled sometimes. There’s just so many of them, y’know? You whimper and whine for my cock so often, I can hardly keep track of every single time. Maybe I should start a transcript or summat, hm?”

Y/N’s voice pipes up low and venomous, but there’s a trembling undercurrent to it that she can’t deny. “If you keep being a dickhead, this’ll be the last one.”

Harry tuts conceitedly, cooing at her as his digits dive deeper into her bottoms, hooking into her panties and toying with her clit beneath the damp material. He doesn’t break his gaze away from the expanse of grass before them, but his arrogant simper is wide enough that she gets the perfect view of it from his ridiculously handsome side profile. “We both know that’s not true.”

“Get fucked.”

“I’m about to.”

[selinakidreams]

here’s a lil something for baku (and you) to enjoy on his birthday <3 all apart of the bakugo birthday bash hosted by the lovely @jodrawssmut @phasmwrites @katsukikitten @bakugotrashpanda @lady-bakuhoe @ramen-rambles ! !! thank you guys so much for letting me be apart of this <3

pairing: (established relationship) QUIRKLESS AU kiribaku x fem! reader

word count: 3k+

warnings: alcohol consumption but sober sex, oral (f receiving), mentions of throat fucking, mentions of spit roasting, lots of mentions of spit <3 (and exactly one spit into a mouth), very light degradation, praise

a/n: this is my first time writing with three characters kdjdkdk it’s way out of my comfort zone and I only had 6 days to write it,, but I did it!! trust me I wanted to write more but I actually wanted to make it to baku’s birthday so !! don’t be mad at the endiiiiiiinnnngggg <3

The jazz wafted throughout the empty bar; your silk dress falling from the edge of your seat. It has been a slow night for the bar. You leaned your head into your hand, elbow keeping you sturdy as you swirled the drink around it’s glass cup. 

Your friend's party became a bit too feral for your taste, but you kept your word and stayed as long as you could for the sole purpose of seeing her smile, but then they showed up and you saw yourself out. 

The dim lighting made your eyes droopy with no action to keep your brain going, so you take another swig of your drink before swiveling in your chair to face the other side of the bar. 

Floor to ceiling windows greeted you, giving you the perfect overlook to the twinkling city lights below. It was incredible how your friend could afford a room in this hotel for her party. 

You noticed a movement in the corner of your eye; someone had entered the bar. 

You turn back to face all the expensive drinks displayed on the shelf, the perfect excuse to catch a quick glimpse at him. The contrast of his hair against everything else in the room almost made your eyes pop out of their sockets. 

Platinum blonde hair tufted out like an explosion, a satin red shirt that danced with the warm light of the room, black slacks and from what you could tell, some expensive ass shoes. Too dressy just to be here for some drinks.

Wanting to see more but not willing to fully stare at the man, you signed and waited until it seemed like he got settled on the bar stool before saying, “Is it your party that’s on this floor? It seems like quite the... experience.” 

Your voice came out smooth and velvety to bakugo’s ears, not that he would ever admit it. He scoffed before taking a second to look at the stranger who was daring to talk to him. His first thought settled in his mind and accepted it, almost prompting for silence- waiting to see if you would push to talk to him again.

From what you could tell, he was scanning you up and down. He opened his mouth to say something; his pink plush lips looking extremely inviting as they began to mouth something.

No sound came out for the next few seconds, showing he decided to keep his thoughts to himself. He closed his mouth and took out a phone from his pocket, the screen illuminated his face as he began typing something out. 

With this newfound light, his features became even more alluring- which couldn't be said for most people. Perfect porcelain skin, his profile pointed and devilishly handsome.

He’s well aware that he still held your attention, so when he slid his phone back in his pocket, he responded to your previous question, “yea, that’s the one. I’d rather stick it out instead of hearing them complain about me not going to my own party  for the rest of the week.”

By the end of his sentence, he had a glass of something amber in his hand that seemed to look a lot like whiskey. He didn’t spare you another glance but you could tell he expected to hear a response.

You hummed, slightly nodding your head, “The party I had to go to is upstairs and it’s… a lot. They're all just talking about expensive this and designer that and I couldn't listen to another word so I had to get out of there…” you trailed off at his silence. Noting that the conversation wasn’t going anywhere, you introduced yourself in hopes to continue interacting with him. You knew his type, and you knew in some way, he was going to surprise you. 

“Bakugo Katsuki.” He said in turn.

You slowly nodded before posing another question.

“So Bakugo, not really a party goer?” You attempt to ask, only to get a huff in return.

“not one for small talk either, i see?” You add at the end.

Another few quiet moments go by before he responds

“If I was a party goer, I’d be at my own party wouldn’t I?” He quipped back and your eyebrows shot up as you raised your hands in defense. 

“Well hey, I dunno ! For all I know you could have had a really rough night and this specific bar could be your saving grace. Could possibly use this night to drown your sorrows away behind a whole bottle of what… whiskey?” You say, ushering to his drink before turning to face your own, knowing he probably didn’t like being pegged as such.

“but you wouldn’t do that. You’re a strong man who knows what to do when things get bad, huh?” you continue, sprinkling praise to his dignity. He seemed like the type to prioritize that.

He didn’t do or say much in terms of a response but a small smile grew on your lips seeing how his body suddenly released a bit of the physical tension that was winding up.

You moved a few seats closer to him. If he didn’t like it, he hadn’t said anything. 

“So-'' Interrupted before you could continue the line of questions, Bakugo surprised you by asking, “you think you’re better than your friends? Leaving them and comin’ here to drink alone?” his voice coming out gruff and low.

“No, not one bit. I was the one who planned the whole thing for my friend, it’s just unfortunate that she had to invite all those people who aren’t all that nice to her. I can’t stand them. I’ve told them off more than I can count, but they just brush me off. A group of bullies is one thing, but a group of people who pretends to be friends with you then talks behind your back is another.`` 

Bakugo was quiet, not by astonishment or anger; he seemed to be expressionless as he piped up, “fake people are some of the uglies nobodies out there.”

You turn to look at him before sipping your drink and moving a seat closer. This time Bakugo glanced your way but continued to stay silent. 

“You ever beat someone up?” you ask, resting your chin on your palm, tilting your head towards him.

Your second surprise that night, he chuckled. It was soft, the complete opposite to the demeanor he'd been holding.

“Why? You want me to go in there and beat a few of those assholes up?” his eyes were relaxed by this point, no longer sharp and heavily guarded.

“Only because they don't believe I'm intimidating enough.”

“Maybe because you're not.”

You fake gasped, bringing your other hand up to your heart. “Excuse me sir but I'll have you know that I can be quite the fighter.”

“We’ll see about that.”

You hadn’t realized you got so close to Bakugo until you heard the footsteps nearing you both.  When a handsome voice called out bakugo’s name, you slightly jumped. Putting as much space between the two of you as possible, you looked to the source of the voice. 

Handsome would be an understatement. 

With red bangs that framed his sharp toothy smile perfectly and the rest of his hair tied back in a messy ponytail, this man looked a bit taller than Bakugo with a much warmer aura... but radiated the same type of... manliness. 

“Bakugo, I just got your text- Mina has been dragging me everywhere to make sure your party’s going well. Is this her?” the handsome man asked, a slight indistinguishable gleam flashes in his eye when he looks over to you.

“Yeah, ‘nd i wanna leave now.” he almost pouted before looking over to you. 

“You comin’?” 

Your gaze snapped between the two men, only slightly putting two and two together. 

Red hair spoke up, “He probably didn't explain it well but I'm his boyfriend, Kirishima Eijiro!” he held out his hand cheerfully, listening to your introduction. 

“Not to sound too forward or to make you uncomfortable... but do you wanna come home with us? He texted me earlier saying that there was this hottie in a silk dress and… well…” he trailed off licking his bottom lip as his wandering gaze slowly shifted hungrier, “he wasn't kidding.”

There was a lot happening at once but all that you were thinking was that these two hot men wanted you, and the happy buzz that was coursing through your system couldnt object the offer, so with a quick nod of your head, you were handed a water bottle, guided off of the stool, and into the back of the next taxi they could hail. 

The ride was filled with wandering hands and mischievous looks. Kirishima was whispering naughty promises in Bakugo’s ear that you couldn't quite hear, while your attention focused on the big palm that was making its way to the most heated part of your body. The quick inhales that the blonde took went straight to your core, making you incredibly excited for what the night had to offer. 

As soon as the door swung open, lips were on lips and clothes were coming off. The rush to get to the bedroom was heated and messy but once you all entered the room, there was an intense shift that even you couldn't predict. 

Kirishima spoke first, “So what does my birthday boy want? Does he want to fuck or be fucked?”

With a suck at his teeth, Bakugo knew if he didn’t give an answer soon he’d be met with-

“Better hurry up handsome, or I might just choose for you…” Kirishima hummed, bright crimson eyes hopping on over to meet your gaze, “better yet…”

He was by your side in mere seconds. His huge figure towering over yours, you almost flinched when his bulky fingers grazed up your arm. 

“What if you chose for him?” He purred in your ear loud enough so Bakugo’s ruby eyes found yours. Your name rolled off the red-haired man’s tongue like sweet honey, “go ahead, what do you think he would want more?”

Your gaze flickered between them, you couldn’t tell one or the other’s preferences but if they wanted to use you, they could. 

“How about… Eijiro… you could fuck my throat and Katsuki… could fuck whatever hole he wants?” You ask, the question raising an octave out of uncertainty. 

Kirishima raises an eyebrow towards the man of the hour, slightly amused and completely aroused. 

Bakugo is already smirking,“Atta girl, knows exactly what to say.” 

Kirishima starts to kiss your neck as Bakugo stands in front of you, occupying your lips for the first time that night. 

With one arm wrapped around your waist, he seemed to have rubbed on his boyfriend's bulge before reaching for the zipper of your dress. In turn, the feeling of the Eijiro’s bulge humped your back. 

Whether it was your dress hitting the floor or Katsuki’s tongue slipping in your mouth didn't matter, a sharp gasp escaped your lips, causing Kirishima to chuckle and whisper, “get on the bed, princess.” while Bakugo pulls away from you, a string of spit keeps you connected.

With your gaze lustly hazy, you dreamily make your way to the bed, but not without a little show. Before splaying yourself out on the mattress, you stretch out- almost in the child's pose of yoga except you add a deep arch in your back for the sole purpose of showing off your pretty seamless thong. 

As you reposition yourself, you glance over to the side to find that both men are now only in restricting briefs, eyes glued to your figure, both palming themselves over their boxers. 

Eyes half massed and back flat on the bed, you begin to pout, feeling almost bare without anyone’s hands on you. 

As if on cue, they began to make their way over to you, looking oh so hungry. 

You immediately sat up and swiped your tongue over your bottom lip, pulsating at the prospect of having two seemingly thick dicks at once… but they were still in their boxers. Why?

“Ya have to ask nicely in order to get a treat, you ungrateful slut.” Bakugo growled before taking your jaw in his hand, squishing your cheeks with his fingers. 

“Better yet, beg.” he said with a coldness that heated your core and had your eyes going wide.

Whimpering when he let go, you kept your innocent doe eyes as two sets of starved eyes stared down at you.

“W-wanna get fucked, please. Wanna feel both of you everywhere…” you say as you reach both hands out to palm the silhouette of their bulges. “Please…?” 

There was a “christ” that was muttered out before you were pushed back on the bed by Bakugo, then kirishima manhandled you so that your neck was supported by the edge of the bed, your head mostly hanging off.

Even in the midst of the binding tension, Kirishima didn't hesitate to instruct Bakugo to put a pillow under your hips, the blonde eagerly following through with the demand. 

“How’dyou want Katsuki to prep you, baby? He’s skillful in every sense but he really enjoys using his mouth.” 

The bed shifted and before you could string a thought together, you looked down and lost all ability to think. The sight in front of you was downright sinful. A smirk was pulling at the left corner of his lips as he sunk closer to your clothed pussy, his red gaze now a deep wicked crimson as he watched for your reaction.

You didn't have much time to analyze before a thick hand laced through your hair and ushered your view back to the red head’s now exposed cock. You gulped. 

Not incredibly long, a moderate size but with a juicy girth, Kirishima’s cock had a thick vein trailing up his underside. 

If you could make heart eyes, you're sure that you'd be doing them by now. 

Focused on paying attention to his pretty pink weeping tip, you felt your panties being pushed to the side. As tempting as it was to look down, you kept your sights set on the task at hand. Licking and kissing his cock, mixing your saliva with his precum, you earned a guttural groan from the big man above you, encouraging you to do more, please him more- until a warm muscle was met with your sopping core, causing a high gasp of a vibration to hit Kirishima’s head. 

Your mind stopped reeling for a second- it stopped doing anything to be frank. Your hips mindlessly thrust up in attempts to get more of Bakugo’s mouth. He chuckled against you in response.  

Moans bounced off the walls the deeper you guys got with each arousing movement; slurps coming from your’s and Bakugo’s mouth were the loudest noises in the room- that was until you moved down to pay the much needed attention to Kirishima’s balls. He couldn't seem to take it when you began sucking and fondling, moaning about how full he looked. He let out an obscene whine that you couldn’t believe came from him but when Bakugo pulled his lips from around your clit, you followed the noise with a similar one.

Unlike Kirishima who had stayed still, you tried to push Bakugo’s face back down out of lack of patience. Somewhere along the lines, the dominating rolls have switched, but you couldn't really find it in yourself to trace back to when that happened.

 “You really are a fighter, huh?” he chuckled out before adding, “quit whining shitty hair, you’ll get to fuck her throat once I’m done eating.” 

And with that, he dove right back in, causing you to clench around nothing yet and arch your back to get impossibly closer. In turn, your gaze caught the big desperate pleading eyes looking down at you, nearly begging you to do something... 

You were so dizzy with pleasure that you murmured  a mindless, “I didn't forget about you Eijiro.”,  before using your hands to guide his cockhead back into your mouth to coat it in your saliva then pulling off and spreading it down the rest of his length. He bit his lip and let out a cute “mmph!”, which went straight to your abused core. Wanting to hear more, you began to pump his shaft with your messy fist. 

With everything going on, you didn’t realize how built up you were. At an astounding rate, your climax crashed over you, making you shriek against Kirishima's dick as you attempted to cage Bakugo’s head in with your thighs. What pushed you even further was the death grip Katsuki had on your thighs and the sinful sounds he was making while lapping away at your juices. 

Your hands shot from Kirishima’s cock down to grip Bakugo’s hair, freeing your mouth to pant out breathy praises and a whiney “Katsuki!”.

“Fuck,” Bakugo groaned as he came up from your pelvis once you’ve relaxed, whipping your juices from off of his chin with the back of his hand. 

“Kiri, c’mere, you gotta try this,” he said before pulling his boyfriend in for a kiss over your slumped body. Watching their lips meet and seeing Kirishima’s tongue slip into his lover’s mouth sent a dull throb to your core, even moreso when Kirishima sighed into the kiss while his cock twitched upwards, close to your face. 

When they pulled away, Bakugo gave one more little peck to Kirishima before looking down at you with a mischievous grin. You mentally gather yourself and sit up, already ready to be told what to do next.

“Open up, sweet cheeks.”

You did as you were told with your tongue out on display, unintentionally closing your eyes as a sweet little “aaah” came out on instinct. 

The spit hit your tongue dead on and you had to refrain from automatically swallowing. 

A low whisper about how good you were to Katsuki pulled him out of his daze, his eyes darting away from the new wetness on your tongue. 

“Swallow, slut.” and so you did.

“You're right Kiri, she is such a good girl…  Are you ready to get fucked stupid as your prize?” was the last thing you remember before both of them did exactly that.

[lesbobiwan]

Congrats on 100! 🥳 I was wondering if I could request #100 and Wolffe 💕

thank u so much for the request!!!

#100: "Call me selfish, but I don't ever want anyone else to touch you." + Wolffe

warnings: kinda public sex. you dont fuck in front of anyone but its kinda close, jealous sex, clothed sex, creampies

You could think of a million different things you'd rather be doing right now.

You'd rather clean the barrack bathrooms after the boys don't have the heart to turn down Plo's well-meaning attempt at cooking. You'd rather be dropped off on an abandoned planet and be told to find a way off. You'd rather be getting shot at by fucking Seppies.

But, no. You're here in this ridiculous dress for some party thrown in the name of the GAR's brave and selfless troopers.

What a load of shit.

As if any of those senators give a shit about any of these men aside from how a picture of them shaking hands will boost their approval ratings.

You know you were invited as a deliberate political move. As the only volunteer nat-born medic for the 104th, you make the war easier to look at.

Look, Senators will say while they point to you, we don't rely solely on the creation of clones who are made to fight and die for a war they have no choice in! We have regular people involved in the war too!

Again. What a load of shit.

It's sickening the way that these politicians will pretend to care about the well-being of the soldiers who fight and die for them when it will make them look good. These people, if you can even call them that, don't know what it's like on the front lines.

You can barely understand what it's like on the frontlines, but you see the aftermath. You see the shell-shocked shinies and the trembling hands of even the most veteran trooper after a battle gone wrong.

Politicians are a disease, you think to yourself, and the sooner you can get out of this ridiculous dress the better.

The only benefit to this is the free champagne and the way Wolffe acts as a deterrent to any smart Senator or politician that comes your way.

Dressed to impress in a sharp gray suit, Wolffe cuts an imposing figure next to you. The tight suit jacket makes his already broad shoulders look impossibly broader and the buttons of his dress shirt strain against the muscles of his chest.

Your dress seems to compliment Wolffe in every way. Your dress is mainly white, but the gray accents serve as a subtle call to Wolffe's suit. Claiming you as his, you like to think. The same designs etched into the cuffs and collar of Wolffe's suit jacket are present at the bottom of your dress, circling the hem before fading as you look higher up the dress.

You think you'd enjoy the night if it wasn't for the Senate's... everything. You may be in a war, but you enjoy looking and feeling pretty. You think you'd feel very pretty if the meaning of the night didn't make you feel sick to your stomach.

With the commander acting as your shadow for the night, you've had little trouble keeping pesky Senators looking for a quick fuck away from you.

At least... the smart ones.

"As I was saying, my father is one of the main beneficiaries of the GAR," the boy — and truly he isn't enough to call a man — prattles on in front of you, totally oblivious to your uninterested expression and the clone commander hovering over your shoulder. You think he might be a senatorial aide and his father might be the Senator?

You wonder if you should adjust the plunging neckline of the dress so that the hickey Wolffe left behind last night peeks into eyesight.

"And I tell him that he shouldn't waste our family money on this war. Honestly, there's no need for clones," he continues, eyes flickering to Wolffe before he turns back to you, "I mean, what could clones possibly provide that a real man can't?"

He leans towards you, and with his last few words he drags his knuckles lightly up your arm. A smile that he must think is charming slithers onto his face as he continues to caress your crawling skin.

"Better company, for one," you mumble into your champagne glass before you can cause a scene. You drain the rest of the drink before you say something stupid.

You don't think you muffle it well enough because Wolffe's shoulders shake in muffled laughter behind you.

"Would you like to dance?" The aide blurts out, and once caressing fingers turn into a greedy grabbing hand closing around your wrist.

Wolffe stiffens behind you, jolting against your back before stopping himself.

Your face morphs into one of distain before you can stop it, "Actually," you begin, yanking your wrist from a sweaty palm, "I promised Commander Wolffe my first dance," your smile is so obviously fake it's painful, but the aide doesn't seem to notice.

"Well, maybe after you're done with the trooper, we can —"

"It's Commander," Wolffe finally speaks up, and his gravely voice has goosebumps spreading across your skin.

"Excuse me?"

Wolffe's hand splays across the small of your back as he steps beside you, "I said, it's commander," he repeats, voice cold like stone. Fuck, it makes your thighs rub together beneath your dress.

The aide's nose scrunches up, "Yes, well, when you're done with the commander, maybe you'll come my way?"

What is it with men not taking a hint?

"No, I don't think so," Wolffe answers for you before the hand on your back shifts from just a grounding touch to a guiding one, and he's leading you away.

Your skin is alight with excitement. You look up at the commander, whose jaw in clenched in obvious irritation. It makes you feel guilty, but Wolffe looks extremely attractive when he's pissed.

"Wolffe, we just passed the dance floor," you whisper as he rushes you past the chunk of the room marked out for couples to hold each other close and sway to the music.

"I know," Wolffe says shortly, leading you to the nearest exit so fast that you nearly fall out of your impractical shoes.

He practically drags you out the door and into one of the hallways you know you aren't allowed to be in.

"Wolffe, where are we — Oh!"

The commander cages you against the wall, hands on either side of your head as his hips press flush to yours through your dress. You can feel the bulge of his cock even through the layers of your clothes.

He breathes in deep through his nose before he speaks, "You're mine, you know that, right?" he rocks his hips against you as he speaks, and you don't get the best friction through the poofiness of your dress, but it's his words that make your thighs clench.

"Yes," you whisper into the space between you, "only yours, Wolffe,"

And it's true. You are Wolffe's no matter the setting — battlefield or ballroom — and no matter the outfits — hard plastoid armor or dashing suits and dresses.

Wolffe stares down at you, breathing hard through his mouth, searching for something in your face before he leans down to crush your lips together.

He kisses you like he's fighting. It's vicious and he tugs your bottom lip between his teeth until you whine, and it's only then that he lets it go. "Call me selfish," he whispers in your ear before he flips you around so that your face is pressed flush with the wall, "but I don't ever want anyone else to touch you."

Wolffe's hands are desperate as he begins to wrench the layers of your dress up and up until it's all bunched up above your hips, leaving your lower half exposed to him.

He inhales sharply at the sight of the lingerie the women who helped you into the dress had given you.

You never know whose going to unwrap you by the end of the night, one of the women had whispered like a secret to you.

But that wasn't true. You knew exactly who was going to unwrap you.

"Fuck," Wolffe hisses, dragging one of his hands across the delicate lace that covers your ass. "You wear this just for me?"

You pant against the wall, hands scrambling for purchase as Wolffe leans down to bite the meat of your ass. "Shit!" you gasp, just a bit too loud for comfort.

Wolffe drags his teeth down the curve of your ass, nosing at the wet patch of your panties. "How long have you been this wet, pretty girl?" he demands, pressing the tips of his fingers against the wet lace over your clit.

Your hips jerk against him. It's exhilarating to thing that only one door and a left turn separates a room full of Senators and Very Important People from the two of you.

It's filthy what you're doing. You're sure if anyone were to see you — pressed face first into a wall with little regard for the makeup that was applied to you with more caution than one treats a bomb and your expensive dress hiked up around your waist to expose your soaking cunt, you'd single-handedly ruin all efforts to draw support for the GAR.

"Answer me," Wolffe spits out as he drags your panties down your ass to let them fall around your ankles. One broad hand swats at your ass, right over the pulsing bite mark he left behind.

"All night!" you sob into the wall, biting your hand to muffle the groans you want to let out. "As soon as I saw you in that suit!"

A part of you wishes Wolffe would turn you back around. You want to see him in that suit — want to watch his muscles bunch and flex beneath the delicate fabric.

Wolffe's huff of laughter blows a puff of hot air against your cunt, making you clench around nothing. "You like me in this suit, sweet thing?" He raises to his feet and you can hear his hands fumbling with his belt and zipper. "Well, I'm about to fuck you in it,"

You whimper into the back of your hand. Your own slick starts to drip down your leg. "Please."

The blunt head of Wolffe's cock presses against your entrance. Usually he would make you cum at least once before he fucks you just to get you ready for his girth, but in this moment you couldn't care less.

You want Wolffe to fuck you, and you want to feel the stretch. You want him to fuck the feeling of that grimy aide touching you out of your head.

"S'that what you want?" Wolffe breathes as he starts to slide in, "you want to forget that boy? Huh? You want to be fucked by a man?"

A keen catches in your throat as he sinks in halfway. Fuck, you feel like you're being split in half. His cock just keeps going and going in this position, and all you can do is take it.

You bite down hard into the back of your hand as Wolffe finally bottoms out, but Wolffe grabs your hair, fancy curls and accessories be damned, and pulls your mouth away from your hand.

"Don't you dare," he hisses as his hips set a deafening pace. "Don't you dare hide your noises from me. I want to hear you — I want them to hear you."

Your moan echoes through the hallway.

There's something feral in the way that Wolffe fucks you. With his suit still on, totally presentable besides the cock that's been pulled out of the fly, he's beautiful.

You, on the other hand, look filthy. Your eye makeup is smudged with the tears that Wolffe forces out of you, and you know your hair will be a lost cause by the end of this. Your dress is already wrinkling and your delicate stockings are ruined with the slick that drips down your legs from your cunt.

"Wolffe!" you cry out as pressure in your core tightens.

"'m gonna cum," Wolffe grunts, hips pistoning even faster.

He's ruining you, you think through the haze of pleasure. He's ruining you and you love it.

"Please," you sob, one of your hands leaving the wall to grab at his hips. You almost can't hold on due to the force and speed of his thrusts, but your fingers claw into the fabric of his jacket and you hold on for dear life as he brings you closer and closer to release.

"I think I'll come in this tight little cunt, what do you think?" Wolffe drags the blunt edge of his teeth along your neck and up your jawline, ending just under your ear, "Stuff you full of me, and send you back into that ballroom,"

You clench at the thought. Fuck, you want that so bad.

You're nearly incoherent with pleasure. You're just babbling in agreement to the filth that drips from Wolffe's mouth like the slick that drips from your cunt.

"You like that?" Wolffe asks even though he knows the answer, "You want me to send you in there smelling like sex and dripping my cum?"

One of his hands snake around to circle mercilessly around your clit. The pressure nearly has your knees give out.

"I think I'll keep your panties with me," Wolffe whispers in your ear, "so I'll drip out of that pretty cunt and down your thighs for the rest of the night."

The pressure in your core snaps and you cum around him with a wail.

Wolffe clamps a hand over your mouth as his thrusts turn more into grinds. His teeth sink into your neck as he finally spills inside you.

The feeling of his cum flooding your cunt has you clenching around him even more.

"Fuck," Wolffe hisses, fucking his cum into your spent cunt with an obscene squelch. "Fuck, you're so tight, pretty girl,"

You moan faintly, thighs trembling as he finally pulls out. A gush of his cum starts to drip out. You clench weakly, trying your best to keep it in.

Wolffe presses a kiss to the back of your neck, "Step out of your panties, sweet thing," he whispers into your skin, hands on your hips to steady you as you do what he asked.

You stand on coltish legs, wobbling in your heels with the aftermath of your orgasm, as Wolffe bends down to grab your ruined panties and stuff them in his pockets.

They ruin the line of his suit, and anyone who looks at him for more than half a second will know he's got something in his pocket that shouldn't be there, but you think no one will be looking at him when you're there.

Not with your hair a mess and mascara smeared just so around your eyes. Not when you reek of sex and sweat and there are bite marks littered across your skin. Not when your dress is so obviously wrinkled due to less-than-appropriate events.

Still, you walk back into the ballroom with your arm linked with Wolffe's and his cum sliding down your thigh and soaking into your stockings.

The senatorial aide doesn't bother you for the rest of the night, but that might have something to do with the clone commander flashing him a bit of lace from his jacket pocket.

When you get back to the barracks, Wolffe fucks you with those same ruined panties in your mouth to make sure none of the boys hear you two.

[tetsustation]

[reel around the fountain]

:: kuroo tetsurou x gn!reader

:: hurt/comfort + 0.8k

:: i just wanted to write something for this song, it definitely was not supposed to be this sad 

there’s a pebble he’s hiding under the sole of his shoe, the sediment is loose and if he were to press down hard enough, it’d shatter into pieces. the crunch would be enough to act as a an alert, and give away his whereabouts.

he doesn’t step on it yet. 

kuroo holds himself to a relatively high moral standard. he makes a point of holding the door for late-comers, shares his class notes with those who are struggling, and takes leadership positions where he can (among other things). still, he can’t help but cut himself on the figurative shards of his shortcomings, when he sees you leaned over on the pavement. 

there’s an array of colored pens, some glittery and other matte, as well as a multitude of sturdy mechanical pencils designated for test taking. he vaguely recalls borrowing one from you once, maybe a couple months ago. internally, he can’t help but scoff at himself—you only shown him kindness, and this is how he repays you?  

he didn’t mean to laugh—when some of the other boys took your bag and held it above you head, before tossing it to the ground. 

turning to take a sip of his water, he chuckled from the sidelines as one of his distant friends nudged him, as if to say, look at what we did, isn’t that funny? in a weak attempt to justify himself, he could argue that it would’ve been out of place for him not to laugh along. still, the grit of you teeth, and the exhausted etched in your face, makes him think twice.

and then they left, someone had shouted that they’d see him later—but honestly, he hopes it’s an empty sentiment. now, all he could do is watch you search for your scattered belongings, and cringe when a gust of wind would blow your papers a little farther from reach. 

he crunches the pebble.

and momentarily, your shoulders jump. class is over, campus should be close to empty—and yet, theres an unwieldy pole staring down at you. kuroo tucks his hands into his pockets sheepishly, the slack material creasing as he pushes down on it. you give him a once over, before reaching for a stray eraser. 

frankly, kuroo has no clue what to say to you. high school boys were just like that—but that’s not much of a consolation, is it? wordlessly, he crouches down and grabs a stack of papers, straightening them out by tapping the bottom on the ground below. there’s a folder underneath him that he tucks them back into. 

“i’m sorry,” it’s sour on his tongue, “i could’ve easily told them to stop—i didn’t.” 

providing him with nothing more but a side glance, you chuckle bitterly, “yeah, you didn’t.” kuroo feels his face warm up in embarrassment as you continue, “but who wants to be a buzzkill?” 

the laugh he lets out is juvenile, there’s a crack trailing on the end as it pipes through his throat. he goes back to helping you in silence, the sound of paper and supply casing against the wind is the only shared noise from the two of you, as the gusts pick up with the incoming evening. 

kuroo stares at your hands as you pry your bag open for him, the miscellaneous collection of daily necessities slipping out of his hands and into the abyss. his knuckles grace your fingertips, and he can feel the cold against them—it’s spring, but the remnants of winter make itself known in the most peculiar ways. 

then you stand up, and he follows suit, wiping down the front of his pants. you’re throwing your bag over your shoulder, and the dust on the strap leaves the faintest of marks on your white uniform. he watches the way your hands dance along the curve of your arm, before landing at your side.

it’s awkward, but you’re nice to look at, so kuroo stays put. 

the other day, he heard someone call you a pushover, more or less. it was across the room, and it only danced along the shell of his ear momentarily while he worked. he didn’t think he’d retain it—but looking at you now, the memory plays behind his eyes like a faded video tape. 

the emotion that he feels is not synonymous to pity, but rather—comprehension. it would be a lie to say he knows whats going on behind your distant eyes, but perhaps it’s a lesson he can stand to learn from.

not everything has to be a battle of wits, or pride—there are some issues that deserved to be pressed, and others that don’t. he’d like to think that high school falls in the latter category, and wonders if you share the same sentiment. 

you do.

“can i walk you home?” you stare at him, a little dumbfounded. “it’s the least i could do.” 

he puts his hand forward, and you’re not sure if it’s a signal or an invitation, you look at it and then back up to him, “are you sure? it’s fifteen minutes the other way.” 

there’s a smile that tugs his lips, and it’s eerily charming, “of course.” 

because how could he pass up fifteen minutes with you?

✿ TETSUSTATION — 2021 ; do not repost, translate, share without permission, or recycle my writing & layouts. this blog does not hesitate to hardblock in that instance!

[jetaime-jespere]

Prompt #15

#15: Don’t Tempt Me

Smut.

A special thank you to @sweetsecretskeptinside for the inspo pic (and the 3:30 AM conversation that led to this little thing)

In 7.21, Emily says, No, I don't have a fear of owning stuff. Turn me loose in a shoe store, I'll prove that. So, we know she loves a good pair of shoes. Well, what would happen if Emily were in fact turned loose in a shoe store, only to come home to a curious Aaron?

Aaron is about three quarters of the way through a basketball game on TV when he hears the door open, announcing her arrival. “I’m back,” Emily calls through the narrow hallway, keys jingling from her wrist as she closes the door behind her. “Aaron? Where are you?”

He hears the thump of her shoes coming off, the soft swish of her jacket being hung up. He smiles, because even though it’s only been a few hours, he’s much happier now that she’s back. “In here,” he calls over the hum of the game as he finishes the last of the beer on the end table. “Watching the game.” Not that he actually cares too much - but there isn’t much else on at the moment, and it’s been just a little too quiet.

“Someone had a busy day,” Emily says in jest when she takes in the sight of him sprawled across the couch, while taking note of the spotless living room with appreciation. All the toys normally strewn about are cleaned up and tucked away, blankets neatly folded on the back of the couch. There’s a bag dangling from each of her slender wrists - two long white handles, brown and nondescript, with elegant white lettering across the side. Emily sets both down next to the couch, coming up next to him and looping her arms around his neck. “Hi,” she murmurs, kissing the sharp ridge of his jaw. “I’m sorry I’m so late getting back. Traffic outside McLean was awful.”

“That’s Northern Virginia at rush hour for you,” He quips, looking slightly amused, because she was supposed to be home almost an hour ago. “Did you have fun shopping at least?”

“Yeah,” she says casually, settling on the couch beside him, draping her legs over his lap. “It was crowded though. You’d think it was a holiday.”

“Get anything good?” Aaron massages her ankles, trying to appear interested in whatever she’d purchased. She’d gone out with JJ and Penelope a few hours before, giving him a few hours to run some desperately needed errands. There’s hardly any food in his fridge - they’ve been slammed with cases one right after the other for the last two weeks - and his place was in dire need of a cleaning. With Jack at a friend’s house for the afternoon it was perfect timing, but he’s expected back home at any time. There are dinner plans to figure out; Aaron promised his son the three of them would watch a movie, one that Jack gets to pick.

“You could say so,” Emily says coyly, reaching for the magazine in his hands. She flips through a few pages, even if her attention isn’t on it at all. Instead, Aaron feels her stare from across the couch, the subtle shift of the weight of her legs in his lap. The smile on her face and the lift of her eyebrows tells him she wants him to ask just what she got.

He relents, because her insistence has his interest piqued, and he wonders just what could be so fascinating about a standard day of shopping with JJ and Penelope. It’s something they do fairly often, sometimes coupled with drinks and dinner, or sometimes with brunch. Those trips usually end with her slightly tipsy, something he finds endearingly adorable. And while he still isn’t completely comfortable with the fact this his name most definitely comes up more than once, he looks past it now. “What did you get?”

“Some shoes.” Emily says casually, with a slight shrug. “I didn’t see much else.” But she’s reaching for the bags on the floor, the brown paper crinkling under her fingers. “Want to see? You think you can tear yourself away from the TV for a few minutes?”

There are two boxes in Emily’s lap. Both are brown, matching the bag, with the same logo embossed in the middle. Each box is wrapped with a red ribbon on the ends, and he frowns, thinking the whole presentation is a little … ostentatious.

But she’s already undoing the ribbons, popping the lids off the boxes. The first box contains a pair of high heels, black, with high sharp heels and an unnatural looking arch. They look ridiculously uncomfortable, yet something tells him she’d pull them off without question. The other pair are even less than practical - a pair of slingbacks with bows on the back, with even higher heels. They look like the kind of shoes that could break an ankle. And yet she’s watching him intently, gauging his reaction with an expression that he might label as pleased.

Where the hell would she ever wear those? His mind starts to wander with possibilities, and it dawns on him they’re not supposed to be practical. They’re fuck me shoes.  “Are they supposed to …” Aaron blinks with confusion as he studies the ridiculously impractical pairs of shoes, nestled in wrapping paper, both with red painted soles. “Are the bottoms supposed to be red?”

Emily laughs lightly, and Aaron can’t help but wonder if this is one of those things he’s just somehow supposed to magically know - not that he knows remotely anything about womens’ fashion. Haley’s taste in clothes had always been relatively practical, and given their line of work, he can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen Emily actually dressed up, much to his chagrin. “It’s the designer’s trademark, Aaron.”

He narrows his eyes with confusion. “Red soles?”

“Mmhm.”

“But no one sees the soles of your shoes,” he points out logically. “Besides, don’t you have a few other ones that look just like this?” He isn’t quite sure he sees the need for multiple pairs of black high heels that basically all look the same, even though the more he stares at the shoes, the more he can’t help but think about what she’d look like wearing these particular pairs.

“So? Emily looks very pleased with herself. “They’re an investment piece, Aaron. Christian Louboutin is timeless and classic.”

“Christian Lou - what?” He completely butchers the word Louboutin, struggling with the French pronunciation that seems to roll off her tongue so easily. Emily laughs softly, patiently pronouncing the word again, and then again. Something about hearing her speak French makes his mouth go dry, and he swallows thickly as she neatly wraps the shoes back up in the boxes.

Something else catches his eye - the pricetag - and he makes a conscious effort to keep his jaw firmly closed. “Emily,” he says evenly, even though he’s certain he’s seeing an extra zero he shouldn’t. “Tell me those shoes were not seven hundred dollars.” He pinches the bridge of his nose with disbelief, a slight shake of his head. “You bought two pairs.”

“Actually,” she says with an air of indifference. “The ones with the bows were seven hundred. The others were on sale for six.”

“Six hundred dollars for a pair of shoes?” He sounds incredulous, probably because he is. He’s no stranger to the fact that Emily was raised with an abundance of wealth and with that, probably comes some appreciation for the finer things. And not that he cares one bit about how she spends her money, but the thought just seems completely absurd to him.

“You know,” she begins slowly, batting her eyelashes with a mere shake of her head. “I’m sure you’d appreciate them more if you saw them on me.” And then her fingers drop to her shirt, beginning to undo the top button, then the next. “What do you think?”

It’s his turn to smirk, the slightest lick of his lips with his tongue as he meets her gaze with a look in his eyes that matches her own. “What are you  -”

“Daddy?” The excited voice coming from the foyer tears them out of the moment completely, and Emily practically bolts off the couch in surprise, as if they’ve been caught doing something they shouldn’t. Shit. She hurriedly buttons her shirt, taking a few precautionary steps away from Aaron out of habit. Jack is still hanging up his coat, chattering animatedly about his afternoon, running through a rather long list of potential movie options. Aaron gets up from the couch, pecking Emily on the cheek with a slightly apologetic look. “Next time?”

“Next time,” she agrees, practically purrs in his ear, pressing her body up against his. She stands on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, letting her teeth scrape against his earlobe as she disappears with the boxes in her hands, putting an extra sway in her hips along the way.

…

“Not here,” Aaron tells her for the third time, this time more firmly. They’re milking drinks at a roundtop table in the middle of an ALS Benefit a few days later. They’re there for Dave, like every year, and for some reason, he’s just not feeling it tonight. It’s warm in the room, he doesn’t feel like dancing, and not to mention, Emily has been goading him since they arrived.

“Come on,” Emily coaxes him with a wink from across the table, a glass of red wine in her hand. “You’re no fun, you know.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, our colleagues happen to be in or around the vicinity of this room.” Aaron takes a sip of his drink, this time downing most of the glass. The drinks are a little too strong, the music is a little too loud, and he’s already having trouble concentrating on anything, thanks to the fact that Emily has stayed within his line of sight almost all evening. It’s intentional, that much he knows. The rest of the team has dissipated, spread out amongst the crowd, mingling with the other guests. He knows they should probably do the same. After this drink, he tells himself.

“But I’m wearing the shoes.” It’s the way she says it, locking her eyes with his. But he already knows - he’d noticed as they walked into the hotel two hours before.

“Don’t tempt me,” he hisses just a little more forcefully, wishing he had a fresh drink to occupy his hands. “We’ve got another two hours at this thing.” He’s doing his damn best to keep his eyes forward instead of staring at her, but that’s getting harder. She’d decided on the black dress after a careful deliberation, showing him the various options she’d pulled from the depths of her closet. They’d barely made it out the door on time.

“There’s plenty of open rooms,” she tries again. “Nobody will notice we’re gone.” As if to prove her point, Emily tips her head in the direction of the band, where Strauss and Dave are all but tearing up the dance floor. “Look at them.”

Aaron nods, stifling a laugh in his fist. “Sometimes I still can’t believe they’re together.”

“It’s been going on for years,” Emily snickers. “Dave used to think he was subtle about it. He wasn’t. But good for him.” She tips her head back, exposing the side of her neck. Something inside of him snaps, his mind made up, because before he can stop himself, he’s wrapping his hand around her elbow, giving her a gentle shove through the crowd of people.

“Aaron, what are you -”

“Let’s go,” he growls in her ear, pressing a hand into the small of her back to lead her closer to the door. It’s risky at best and a bad idea at the worst, but what the hell? He thinks, leaning forward to get a trace of her perfume on the back of her neck.

Emily grins to herself, her eyes locked on the door just ahead of them, and she’s grateful for the dimmed lights in the ballroom - no one will even notice they’re gone. The hallway is hushed quiet compared to the booming of the music on the other side of the door, and they stare at each other for a brief moment. “Here,” he says, taking her hand. There are multiple closed doors that lead to empty conference rooms; Aaron leads her to the one at the far end of the hall.

“I thought I wasn’t supposed to tempt you.” Emily flutters her eyelashes, her fingers lingering on his face as she slips past him through the doors. This is a bad idea, they both think, not for the first time, and yet, neither of them are about to put an end to it.

“Too late.” Aaron closes the door and adds the lock for good measure, spinning on his heel to face her. Emily licks her lips, backs up until her back is against the wall, all but cornering herself as he nearly rips his own suit jacket off, throwing it against the table. He’s eying her almost ferally, staring at her legs and the damn shoes. His jaw is set in determination as he moves toward her. “I’m going to take you apart.”

Damn, Emily thinks, her eyes widening as Aaron gets a hand around her waist, pulling her into him. He bypasses her mouth entirely, going right for her neck. She gasps as his teeth drag over her skin, his hands impatient as he goes for the zipper at the back of her dress.

“Don’t rip it,” she breathes, arching her back as his fingers dance down her spine, pulling the little metal tab down to the small of her back. “It was expen-”

“Shhh.” He covers her lips with his own, smiling a little when she moans into his mouth,  her body bowing into his. Aaron gets his hands around her hips, walks them back and around until he can lean her against the large credenza in the corner, pulling the dress down over her shoulders. Her breath hitches as the cool air hits her skin; it pebbles as his hands slide around to work the clasp; it snaps free in one go.

“I’m impressed,” Emily drawls with a grin as it falls away.

“This isn’t my first rodeo, you know.” He leans her back even further, going with her as her back hits the top of the table. He takes one breast in his mouth, alternating the pressure of his mouth until she keens into the air, her hands pulling at the fabric of his expensive dress shirt. Emily gets a hand in his hair, urging him to keep going. He switches to the other breast, repeating the same pattern with his mouth. “You’re perfect,” he breathes, cupping his hands around her jaw when he stands straight to kiss her again. “So perfect.”

Emily smiles, already starting to work the buttons of his dress shirt. “There’s lipstick on this,” she murmurs, finding the imprints of her lips on the collar. “I guess we weren’t very subtle earlier.”

“I don’t care.” He gets the shirt off his shoulders, then lifts her up just enough to get the dress past her hips and over her head. She’s left in nothing but those damn shoes that make her legs look endless, and some impractical, lacy underwear that matches the bra that’s now discarded on the floor. He stands back to look at her, an equal mix of adoration and lust. It takes little effort to lift her up, setting her on the top of the credenza, coming to stand between her legs. He runs his hands over her thighs, down her calves, closing around her ankles, admiring her, smirking when he sees the shoes again. Emily rests on her elbows, watching as he kisses the insides of her knees, her stomach quivering with effort to remain semi-upright.

“The shoes,” he says as he props her legs on his shoulders, watching her for a few moments. “Stay on.”

All she can do is nod, her heart fluttering in her chest as he tugs on either side of the lace at her hips, dragging it down over her legs. On the pile it goes, and when she’s finally completely bare before him save for a ridiculously expensive pair of high heels, her legs bent around his shoulders, does she seemingly realize where they are, her eyes sparkling. “If anyone hears us,” Emily breathes, “I’m blaming you.”

“Then keep quiet,” he says with a wink, spreading her thighs even further open with his shoulders. He kisses each thigh, taking his time to build her up until Emily presses the spikes of her heels into his shoulders. He only smiles against her, one long, slow lick of his tongue follows a moment later. Emily whines as he drags her closer to his mouth.

“Hurry up,” she pants with anticipation, and as if on cue, he touches his lips to her clit just enough to make her back arch and her eyes fall shut. “Fuck,” she groans, tugging at his hair with both hands, and when his tongue becomes an insistent pulsing rhythm, Emily lets out a loud whimper, one that reverberates through the conference room. Aaron pushes her over once; she comes against his mouth hard, her legs shaking on his shoulders as the heels nearly pierce his skin. He rears back, encircling her ankles with gentle fingers, staring down at her.

“So much for keeping quiet, Sweetheart.” He’s taunting her, loosening his hold on one ankle as he pulls at his belt. Emily’ head rolls back against the table, biting her lip when his pants are added to the pile. He palms himself in his hand, lining himself up with her as Emily wraps her legs around his waist. Aaron smiles when he feels the spikes of her heels dig into his lower back; he kisses her in tandem with the initial thrust inside of her. Emily whimpers into his mouth, bringing a hand to grip his shoulder for leverage as he pushes all the way in one smooth press of his hips.

“Oh fuck,” she whines, and he runs a finger over her lips to remind her of volume. She’s making these little noises, clenching around him, tilting her hips forward to meet his shallow thrusts. “Harder.” She tightens her legs around his back, bringing him impossibly close, and he’s more than happy to appease her. And he does, driving into her deliberately and forcefully as she hums in pleasure around him. Her nails scrape down his back, he winds an arm around her waist to keep her steady as those damn shoes remind him of how tightly her legs are locked around his hips.

Jesus Christ. “Emily.” Each drive of his hips sends the table into the wall. “Come for me.” He gets a hand between them, swipes his thumb over her clit a few times and it’s all it takes to send her over again, the near scream in his ear. She clenches around him like a vice, her moans muffled by the seal of his mouth around hers. He kisses her through her second climax, his own coming quickly, and one final push of his hips and the rasp of her name on his lips. It takes more strength than he anticipated to keep himself upright, and his arms shake with effort as he cleans her up with a tissue from his pocket. Aaron helps her down, making sure her legs don’t give out beneath her in the unforgiving shoes, beginning the now arduous task of searching for their clothes. Even with the closed door they hear the boom of music, indicating the party is still going strong.

“We should make this a yearly thing,” Emily says with a wicked grin, tossing his jacket in his direction. “No one even missed us.”

He pretends to consider it, wondering if there’s any truth to her words. They’ve been gone awhile; certainly by now someone might be wondering. His jaw flexes as he watches her rearrange her bra, getting the dress over her head and past her hips. And as his eyes wander down her legs to the expensive shoes, the ones with the name he still can’t pronounce, he knows he’ll never be able to deny her. “Fine. But only if you wear those again.”

[yodawgiherd]

Worship Your Goddess

Rating: E

>>>Read on AO3<<<¨

I worked on this monstrosity for about a week, but here it is. A long-ass chapter full of dom Mikasa and sub Eren, if that floats your boat, I think that you will be satisfied. I know I was. If you don't, feel free to skip it, there's no plot. Just porn. Honest.

Enjoy!

Imagine a scene in your head.

There’s a room, dimly lit, the darkness pushed back by low lights. A black leather sofa dominates the center, a massive luxurious piece of furniture chosen by someone of means and a good taste. There are also other objects, but they don’t matter. Forgotten, for now.

Saying that the sofa itself is the center of the said picture might have been a bit premature, now that the image sharpens. With more clarity added, it's obvious who is the true master, or rather mistress, of this scene. An Asian woman in heavily goth clothes and dark makeup on her face. Any attention in this room is trained right at her, she’s pulling it in like a black hole, her influence cannot be denied. The dominatrix is sitting on the sofa, relaxing into its soft hug. Pale skinned, she’s dressed exclusively in black, a color that matches her short raven hair and dark lips. She’s wearing a black dress of an unusual design with translucent parts around her neck and arms. It’s tight on the top but flowing into a short skirt, ending in the upper part of the woman’s thighs. The edge of the skirt rests just at the right point, giving way to her pale legs partly hidden by fishnet stockings. Not much of her skin can be seen, however, as it dips beneath the black leather of the massive leather boots that reach all the way up to the woman’s knees.  

Her choice of jewelry matches her clothes. There are multiple necklaces around her elegant throat, adorned in the middle by a thick leather choker with small silver studs. The light catches on her ears, pierced both at the top and the bottom, shiny silver circles placed there, except for a singular pair of crosses, hanging from the customary place of earrings. Her midnight lips are curled up into a small smile, pale cheeks flushed a little bit, almond-shaped grey eyes sitting in the middle of dark shadows watching something. Her gaze is intense, loving, but harsh at the same time, mixing those emotions well. Following her eyes, it’s easy to locate the thing of her interest.

A man is kneeling next to her, her pet, her slave for the night. Posture perfectly straight, hands clasped behind his back, he’s still as a statue, awaiting orders from his mistress. He’s physically very strong, tall and broad-shouldered, yet completely powerless in the hands of his mistress. Shirtless as he is, the well-defined muscles of his upper half are fully on display, glistening with sweat. The lack of a shirt also shows some damage. There are scratches on his tanned skin, red angry lines left behind by merciless nails. The area around the man’s nipples received the most attention, littered by bitemarks. The imprints of teeth are almost everywhere as if the kneeling man was attacked by a ferocious beast, one that wanted to cover as much of him as it could. There’s also something on his neck, partly covered by his long brown hair, hanging freely, but it’s still visible. A collar, tight around his throat, black leather with letters in front, proof of ownership. Whoever this man was, he belonged to the dark goddess sitting next to him, watching her slave with great interest.

That’s the image, and nothing else matters. He’s here, kneeling at her feet, completely under her spell. She’s here, in control, the center of the universe. And the world is standing still until she decides for it to move.

Reaching out, the goth mistress runs her fingers tenderly over the man’s cheek, reddened by repeated slaps. Her black fingernails are gentle for a change, not scratching, simply touching, the light shining on the many rings which are decorating her hand. A touch, nothing more, but it’s enough to make his whole body shake in anticipation, his breathing quickening for a second. The gentle caress is unexpected, after such harsh punishment, his cheek still stings from how hard she slapped him. It was deserved, for sure, one shouldn’t talk back to his mistress. Although her weight was hard to bear, when she was standing on him, it was entirely her right to do it.

The caressing hand moved, and now she was petting him, like a dog, a good boy that took his punishment well. The mistress loves her pet, after all, it makes her happy when he’s obedient. And it is high time that he proves himself useful, he can do more than kneel at her feet and look pretty. The touch disappearing as it appeared, the woman sits back, extending her leg in a silent invitation. Immediately, the kneeling one reaches out, takes a hold of her elegant limb, waits for an order. He’s cradling her beautiful leg as if she was made of glass, gentle and perhaps even loving, eyes moving over the black leather and stocking covered pale skin. Satisfied with his obedience, seeing that he knows exactly what she wants him to do, a single word leaves her lips.

And the world begins to move again.

 Eren followed Mikasa’s wish to the letter. Trailing kisses all the way from the toe of the boot and up, he made sure not to cross any boundary and didn’t move past the upper edge at her knee. He would have to earn the privilege of putting his filthy mouth on her porcelain skin. His mistress was pleased with his obedience, nodding.

“Good boy.”, she said in a low voice, making him shiver.

To continue pleasing her, as that was Eren’s sole purpose for being right now, he licked a broad stripe on the black leather, leaving behind a shiny trail. Gently as humanly possible, he turned Mikasa’s leg, getting access to the other side of the boot. He couldn’t leave out anything, could he. His breath was coming out in short huffs now, excitement taking over. Eren wanted to be good for his mistress, wanted to serve, the little encouraging words leaving Mikasa’s midnight lips gave him physical pleasure. Mouthing the toe of the boot, then moving back up to trail each one of the numerous buckles with the tip of his tongue. Once again finding himself at the top, he used the zipper to guide him back down, down where he belonged. The only small complaint he had was that Mikasa’s choice of footwear for the day didn’t have those killer high heels, as most of her dominatrix boots did. It was always fun to have them in his mouth, suck on them, let Mikasa ravage his mouth as much as she wanted. Well, there’s always next time.

This small setback did little to ruin his mood, however, as having Mikasa’s black leather-clad leg in his hands felt amazing anyway. The nigh endless row of black underneath his tongue, cool leather that felt great even when he rubbed his cheek against it, lightly nuzzling the boot. Following the shape of her leg, Eren traced his mouth down, once again turning it, this time on the other side, to get better access. Dragging his tongue over the back of her long limb, moving his head so he can kiss the bottom of the boot, not leaving even the thick sole out of his worshipping duties, his every movement observed by his generous owner, granting him all the fun he could ask for. On his own, Eren could easily spend hours here. In his subspace mindset, he would worship Mikasa’s boots as long as she would want him to, everything he did was tied to the words of the raven dominatrix.

Tugging her leg from his grasp, Mikasa chuckled at the face Eren made. Despite his swollen lips and reddened cheeks, he looked as if she took his favorite toy from him. Not for long though, as she raised her other leg, prompting her pet to shuffle forward on his knees and once again slide his hands over it. Bending her knee, straightening her leg, Eren put his mouth to work. Kissing, licking, worshipping her boot same as the one before, Eren repeated the patterns diligently. Leaving long, broad trails of spit over her shoe, shining the black leather with his tongue, the feeling of excitement building in his chest. It was getting too much to bear, honestly, he was being granted way too much. The cage on his cock prevented any sort of serious erection, but his hips were left unchecked. Without any conscious control, they began to move, snapping up and down, the familiar dance that they both knew intimately. But it was too soon for that, he didn’t get permission from his mistress, and Mikasa wasn’t pleased by seeing this sign of disobedience. Her pet could only move when she allowed him to. To shut down his movements, Mikasa placed the foot that Eren wasn’t diligently kissing against his crotch, pressing hard. Eren hissed, eyes fluttering shut as the muscles of his neck bulged.

“Getting this worked up from kissing my boots?”, Mikasa clicked her tongue, shaking her head, “You’re such a dirty slut.”

“Yes…”, Eren’s words were almost pained,  “For you, mistress, only for you.”

Good response, but that didn’t excuse his lack of obedience.

“Still, puppy.”, grinding her leg harder against him, it forced a loud groan from Eren’s mouth, “No moving.”

“Apologies, mistress.”, he gritted through clenched teeth, face bathed in sweat, “Won’t happen again.”

Satisfied, Mikasa lessened the pressure but kept the foot pressed against his caged cock, a heavy reminder. Resuming the worship of his mistress’ knee-high boots, Eren kissed his way down, dragged his tongue over the bottom, turning her leg to make every part of the black leather shine. Devoted, submissive, fully in her control, Eren couldn’t be more of a dutiful pet. He was Mikasa’s good boy, a pretty slave that would fulfill any and all of her wishes. And she had plenty of those.

Freeing her leg from his hands, Mikasa set both of her feet back on the floor, casting an inspecting eye over her shoes. Perfectly shined, properly worshipped boots, there was nothing she could criticize about the work Eren’s mouth and tongue did. Which qualified those to be used in a more intimate matter, one that Mikasa was craving already. To say that watching Eren kiss her shoes made her wet between the legs would be an understatement.

“Good work, puppy.”, a little praise, well deserved, “Now take them off.”

Hands flying to obey her, Eren undid the buckles one by one, using his mouth as much as his fingers. He knew that Mikasa liked it when he turned even such an activity as taking off her boots into another worship. Buckles open, he caught the zipper between his teeth, slowly dragging it down. It took some time, to move from Mikasa’s knee to her foot, her legs were long, after all, and he didn’t rush anywhere. After taking care of her other shoe the same way, Mikasa was finally barefoot, her legs now only clad in those sexy fishnet stockings. The contrast between the black lines and the pale skin was great to look at, and Eren was anxious to put his mouth back to work. Kneeling in front of his mistress, staring at her, his hands automatically moved back behind his back, back straightening. It was a pose Mikasa liked her pet to be in, and he would obey her.

Raising her legs, both at the same time, Mikasa smirked when she saw how hungrily he eyed her feet. Well, it was time to grant him some reward. Putting her feet right on Eren’s face, Mikasa dragged them across, left and right, loving how agitated his breathing became. Over his swollen lips, over red cheeks, over the smooth, recently shaved skin. Inhaling through the nose, letting the air leave his mouth in short puffs, he was still as a statue, even when her feet smothered his face, roaming anywhere she wanted them to. Pressing her toes against his lips, Mikasa didn’t have to say a word for Eren’s mouth to obediently drop open, letting her in.

“Suck.”, an order.

Prompted by her, he closed his mouth, sucking at her toes with undeniable vigor. It took all of Eren’s self-control to prevent his hips from moving again. Mikasa had sexy feet and having one pressed against his face and one in his mouth was certainly arousing, no denying that.

“I want you to kiss every inch of my legs,”, she said, smirking, the image of a smug domme, “Can you do that for me, pretty boy?”

With her foot still in his mouth, Eren nodded rapidly. Pulling the cute black painted toes from between his lips, Mikasa angled her foot differently, what she wanted rather clear. Sticking out his tongue, Eren licked the bottom of it, earning a sweet giggle from his mistress. It tickled a bit. Permitted to use his hands by a single nod, he took a hold of the leg dangling in front of his face, lowering his face to press a kiss to the instep. Pressing his thumbs into the bottom of her foot, lips kissing the front, Eren reminded himself that Mikasa wanted a foot massage, so moving his fingers in a soothing circular rhythm, he began. That’s why she allowed him the use of his hands, he realized. Massaging was always an intimate activity, and Eren loved doing it for multiple reasons. First, squeezing some massage oil onto her skin and kneading it, hearing her moan as he eased the stiffness out of her muscles felt great. Second, Mikasa often rewarded him for helping her like this, and as she was usually naked for those massages, the rewards were of an intimate character too.

Combining his mouth and hands, Eren did his best to deliver quality foot worship to his mistress, massaging her, using the spit left behind by his tongue instead of oil. He did a quality job, judging from how she melted into the sofa, soft sounds leaving her black-painted lips. Mikasa was in small heaven, shifting her position to be as comfortable as she could. She didn’t even have to hold her leg up, Eren did that for her, spreading kisses all over the stocking covered foot. The other one found its resting place between his spread legs, returning the controlling weight back against his cock. Maybe he was servicing her, but that didn’t mean he got to disobey the rules. No moving meant no moving.

The activity was certainly similar to the boot worship, although the surface underneath his tongue was pale white, not black. The stocking also created little bumps in his path, unlike the completely smooth leather surface of the shoe. Not counting the buckles, of course. Other than that, however, Eren was exactly as dutiful as before. No part of Mikasa’s leg could be left out. The arch of her foot, sides, the instep, the back. The gentle bump of her ankle and up, Eren mouthed her calf, feeling the muscles there shift beneath his lips. She sighed beautifully when he kissed his way up to her knee, pressing his tongue against the bone, the foot on his crotch shifting a bit. Mikasa was certainly enjoying this. Reaching her thigh, the powerful yet elegant part that was strong enough to choke the life out of him yet so smooth beneath his tongue, Eren could smell Mikasa’s arousal from how close he was. He could also see the upper part where the little fat that was on her otherwise firm leg was pushed up by the stocking, the place where dreams were born. Using the upper lace of her stocking as a border, Eren didn’t cross it, moving his mouth around the inner side but not breaching into that bountiful land of that area between her legs. Yet. From the glimpse he caught, however, the black lace of her panties was positively drenched at this point.

“Good boy, so good…”, Mikasa practically moaned out those words, eyes half-lidded, “Now do the other…”

Not letting go of her leg, Eren placed it between his spread ones before taking a hold of the till now resting foot. Holding her calf, Eren placed her toes into his mouth, an action that Mikasa appreciated with a hum. Nothing wrong with indulging your little kink, especially when she enjoys it so much. The worship of her leg was accompanied by Mikasa’s other foot impatiently tapping against his crotch, little moans and shudders as she was slowly growing restless, the journey of Eren’s mouth all over her elegant limb arousing as hell. Dragging her foot against his face, she bit her bottom lip, already imagining how that clever tongue will feel buried deep inside her. Eren’s talented mouth felt great against her legs, sure, but having him service her pussy always felt that much better. And it was high time to get him there. Putting her feet back on the floor, Mikasa braced herself as she reached out next to her, retrieving something.

Pulling a leash out of nowhere, Mikasa clipped it into Eren’s collar, yanking at it after to get his attention. Spit slick red skin, unfocused eyes with blown-out pupils, swollen lips, all that together made her slave’s ruined face. And she was far from being finished with her puppy, his mouth would serve his insatiable Asian dominatrix. But she was far too turned on right now, needed a little break, let out a bit of steam, so gracefully bowing down to his kneeling height, Mikasa brutally claimed Eren’s mouth in a deep kiss. His hands were once again clasped at his back, no longer having a purpose, so all he could do was brace himself against her assault. Her tongue sliding against his, hot and heavy, teeth sinking into his reddened lips, she abused him, abused how pliant her puppy was. Again and again, she sucked out those little moans from him, like a vampire feeding on his essence. The kiss was completely one-sided, Eren was only moving with her but never on his own, his mouth was Mikasa’s playground. When she pulled back, their lips were connected by saliva, but that was ignored by them both. The moment was way too hot to be interrupted.

“You know how long I’ve been waiting for this?”, Mikasa’s eyes were almost feverish as she stared at him, “You think you are the only one who couldn’t wait?”

Eren wasn’t sure how to respond, especially when she pulled so hard on the leash that it made him choke. The hand that wasn’t holding the leather strap gripped a fistful of Eren’s hair, yanking it back, forcing him to look right into her eyes.

“Tonight, you are mine to use, all of you.”, letting go of his scalp, Mikasa’s fingers trailed down his cheeks, his lips, dipping into his mouth. She traced his gums, his teeth, slid the tips across his tongue, fingerfucked his mouth, the fire between her legs growing hotter.

“Your mouth is mine, your tongue is mine, your pretty face is mine…”

She took a shuddering breath.

“And I’ll use you, oh yes… I’ll make you eat me out and ride your face until I’m totally satisfied. Oh, and puppy,”, she leaned closer, whispering into his ear.

“I’m not easily satisfied.”

Tugging at the leash, she forced his face right between her spread legs, burying his nose into her panties. Oh, she was wet, Eren could smell her arousal and the lace was damp against his skin. Having her legs worshipped always got Mikasa going, she loved Eren kissing her feet.

“Take them off,”, she ordered, “Slowly….”

As Eren wasn’t allowed to use his hands, he smartly decided to use his teeth instead. Dragging the wet cloth down her legs, passing all those places he worshipped with his mouth before and past until they were gone, Mikasa’s glistening slit was now fully on display underneath the skirt of her dress. Closer and closer still, Eren placed a string of kisses on Mikasa’s inner thighs, finally reaching the skin not covered by the stockings. Gentle kisses, rough kisses, he spread them everywhere, slowly but surely moving towards that one place. Oh, but a pet shouldn’t make his mistress wait.

“You’ll eat me out.”, she ordered, “Lick my pussy while that cage is still on your cock.”

The cruel smile was back in full force.

“I want your tongue buried deep inside me, I want your mouth fully servicing my cunt while your own pleasure is negated by those steel bars.”, pulling the key from the collection around her neck, Mikasa made sure that it’s visible, resting at the top, “I want you to look at the key while you are serving me, want you to know that any pleasure you can ever get is fully in my power. Mine, same as you are, pet.”

With that, the goth pulled him by the leash again, spreading her legs wide, forcing Eren’s mouth to grind against her heat, nose bumping against her pubic bone. Moaning, hips moving into his face, Mikasa’s eyes fluttered open and close, all the buildup finally getting some satisfaction. Guiding her slave’s mouth by the leash, she was in charge, there was no denying that. If the collar wasn’t enough, there was the cage on his cock and that key that was shining at her neck, unquestionable proof of ownership. But Eren was more than willing to play his part, to be a good boy for his mistress, a faithful pet.

Directed by her, Eren used his tongue to lick at her first, getting Mikasa’s unique taste into his mouth. Collecting the wetness with the tip of his tongue, he traced the shape of her lower lips, spreading it everywhere. Her arousal combined with his spit, allowing Eren’s mouth to effortlessly glide around, finding its tempo and place. When she yanked on the leash harder, he knew that this was the sign that she wanted more. So he gave it to her. Mouthing her slit, Eren pushed his tongue past her slick entrance, eating his mistress out. It was one thing to suck her toes, it was one other to suck on her clit. Both quite pleasing activities, but having her nub teased out from behind its hood by his skilled tongue, having his lips seal around it and suck, that made her moan out loud, her cunt quivering as her pet just successfully pushed the goth girl over into her first orgasm for the night. It came fast, but Mikasa was not surprised to climax this early. She was so turned on by Eren’s mouth on her boots and legs, having her toes in his mouth gave her incredible pleasure. Eren built her up by worshipping her legs, and now it was easy to make her fall by putting his tongue to work at her sex.

Hips moving, she rode it out on his face, those moans rising in pitch. She was getting everything she wanted while he was completely cut off, eyes flying over to watch that key bounce on Mikasa’s chest in sync with the movements of her hips. Her hand, the one that wasn’t holding his leash, was playing with the key too, Mikasa knew exactly what she was doing. Watch me, said her movements, watch me cum while I hold the key to your pleasure in my hand. Watch as I ride your face, as I use you for my pleasure while you get nothing, fucktoy. He was locked, in her power, under her command. And fuck, it felt amazing to be hers.

Patient, deep in subspace yet present. She was holding the key and the leash at the same time. She owned him. If Mikasa wanted to have Eren eat her out for the whole night, if she wanted to keep his cock caged for the whole play, only abusing his mouth, he would obey. There was that clarity in submission, in giving yourself over to the dom. The pet would serve his goddess, would do anything she wanted him to do without complaining, and that feeling of her grinding against his face, hearing her pleasure moans, that was enough of a reward. Eren achieved all this without using his hands, made her cum with those still clasped behind his back, and Mikasa was insatiable. She wanted all of him to serve her.

“Fin-Fingers... B-Baby I…”, she choked on her words for a second, her climax still going strong, “Ne-Need your ha-hands…”

She wanted to cum again, wanted Eren to bridge her orgasm right into the next one, wanted to stay on her high. Moving to serve, he quickly wet his fingers before pressing two into her opening, adding a third one when he felt how wet she was, how eagerly her cunt stretched around him. Lapping at her clit at the same time, lashing that sensitive bud with his tongue, Eren curved his fingers up, knowing from experience where that one place was, the one that made his mistress go crazy. Finding it and pressing, massaging her insides expertly, he achieved exactly what she wanted from him. Her thighs, already wrapped around his head, her stockinged feet slid across his back, control of her body slipping away from her. The second climax wrecked through her body before it got the chance to calm down, making her cry out, body arching on the sofa. With his cock straining against the tight confines of its prison, with Mikasa screaming out her pleasure out loud, the key mocking him from the chain around her neck, this was certainly a test of Eren’s devotion to his dark goddess.

A wave of wetness hit Eren’s face, informing him of a job well done. He was a very good orgasm slave for his owner, it would seem. He also knew that Mikasa liked being caressed and gently licked through her finish, didn’t want him to pull back immediately, so he eased her through the peak. When Mikasa’s slim grey eyes opened, tears leaking from the corners as proof of how intensive her experience was. Eren was once again kneeling at her feet, waiting. Reaching out, she ruffled his hair playfully, a smirk on her mouth.

“You’re a wonderful pet, Eren.”, she sighed, feeling happy and satisfied for the moment, “I love you like this.”

“Thank you.”, turning his head slightly, he pressed a kiss against her wrist, against the tattoo there, “You’re too kind, mistress.”

So kind that she kept him locked, not even bothering to hide the key, leaving it out on display. But letting Eren’s cock free or not was her decision, it belonged to her anyway, the proof written on the ring he wore around the base of his bound pride. All he could do was wait.

“I know, I know… I even have a surprise for you.”, her voice turned from soft to hard again, snapping, “Watch me.”

And he did. His eyes were glued to her as she stood up on shaky legs, reaching behind herself to unzip her dress. With a twist, a sexy shake of her hips, Mikasa made the black cloth slide down her body, revealing more and more of that smooth pale skin Eren adored. But there was something else too, something that he had no idea how it got there. A black leather harness. When did Mikasa put it on? Eren watched her dress, all the way from her stockings to the moment when she zipped up her boots, but he didn’t remember her putting this on. Oh, she must have done it in that short moment when Mikasa told him to wait outside, that she needs to use the bathroom real quick. This meant that all this time, their whole day out, it was there, hidden beneath the dress, hugging her firm curves. Black leather belts crossing her pale skin pulled tight enough that they would squeeze her anytime she moved. Mikasa didn’t like the harness much when Eren first showed it to her, wasn’t much sold on the idea, but apparently she learned to like it, putting it on even when the day was hers. It looked very good on her, Eren could say, leather harness combined well with her lacy lingerie, overall creating a rather strange yet somehow amazing set. It was clipped into her choker at the top, the strap hidden beneath her necklaces, framed her perky breasts, for now covered by the lace of her bra, went by her fit stomach with those defined abs to hug her sharp hips and continued even lower, following the V shape of her inner thighs. It made the curves of her body stand out amazingly, making the whole image even more alluring than it normally was.

Maybe the harness was originally meant for a submissive, but Mikasa effortlessly pulled it off as a domme, using the leather belts as a stylish fashion choice. It surely made their day out that much more interesting for her too, being squeezed and held by the tight bondage wear out in public must have been arousing as hell. Now Eren was gifted by this sight, for how nicely he ate his mistress out, and it was a reward worth having his face used as a pleasure toy.

“Like what you see?”, she asked, giving him a turnaround view. Eren couldn’t nod fast enough, making her smirk. It was high time to move this somewhere else, she still had grand plans for her puppy.

“Let’s take this to the bedroom.”, with that, Mikasa turned away, tugging at the leash to get her pet to follow her, “We still have a lot of training to do.”

The hard pull made him fall on all fours, forcing him to crawl. Luckily, Mikasa didn’t rush, enjoying her walk with the leashed pet on all fours at her side. Parading him like this, they reached the bedroom together, a mistress and a puppy on their daily walk.

“Now…”, looking down, the dominatrix smiled down at her submissive, at his devoted face, down at her feet, “What am I going to do with you?”

“A-Anything you want.”

“That’s right.”, a sharp intake of breath, “Anything I damn desire.”

Reaching down, she unclipped the leash from Eren’s collar, pointing at the bed.

“Up you go, puppy.”

As he crawled towards the bed, Mikasa sat down to undo the garter belt and finally pull the wet stockings from her feet, discarding them after. Reaching behind her back, she unclasped her bra too, ridding her body of all that unnecessary clothing. The harness was more than enough. Removing her necklaces too, she only kept the key to Eren’s cock cage around her neck alongside the thick choker hugging her throat. She didn’t want to remove that, as it was connected to the harness on her body. That remained too, of course, tight on her body, squeezing her just perfectly anytime she moved. Ready to continue, Mikasa turned back and walked over to where Eren was waiting for her, obediently lying on his back as she told him to.

Mikasa did what he expected and tied him to the bed, using the cuffs in the corners. Ankles and wrists pulled tight, his body was forced into a spread-eagle, but that was not all. Pulling another strap out of somewhere, Mikasa buckled it across his chest, securing him to the bed even tighter. Another one went across his stomach and the last over his upper thighs. They were all pulled very, very tight, forcing his body to dip into the mattress at the sheer strength of his bindings. When she was done, it was obvious what her goal was. Mikasa wanted Eren completely still, unable to move a muscle, and she achieved just that. When their usual cuffs combined with these new belts, he was completely helpless. Even breathing was made a bit more difficult by how strongly the leather bit into his chest, sure to leave a mark behind. Mikasa cast an eye over the bondage, making sure that it was secured, completely immobilizing her victim. Satisfied, she walked over to their adult toybox and grabbed a few things before coming back and climbing on top of Eren, his unfocused eyes following her every move. Seating herself on his stomach, those nicely defined abs, Mikasa focused her attention on the thing between his legs, locked away by no one else but her.

She was not surprised to see that the cage was wet, Eren must have dribbled a lot of precum during their foreplay, but there was no satisfaction to be found for him. Mikasa made sure that he didn’t see what she was doing, facing his crotch rather than his face, made sure that he didn’t even catch a glimpse of the toys she brought. All he could see were her back, snow-white skin and black leather of the harness, the elegant ropes of muscle beneath moving anytime her delicate hands did. Dragging a single black nail across the cockring, secured around the base of Eren’s pride, restricting both the rod and the balls, she could hear him shakily exhale behind her. He probably thought that her touching his crotch was a good thing, that he will finally get something. Oh, if he only knew how wrong he was. Mikasa wanted to do this sooner, to have him eat her out while he would be caged, but Eren’s little deal at the start of the week prevented her from doing so. She meant it when she said that he was not the only one who was desperate. Many times she found herself staring at the key around her neck, knowing what it meant, the fire between her legs making her rub her thighs together. And now that she finally could do it, now that she could ride his face while his pleasure was locked away, she found herself loving it. And Mikasa was always a cruel dominatrix. She wanted more, more of that desperation, and she would get just that. The torture was only beginning.

Picking up the Hitachi wand from her pile of fun, Mikasa turned it on with a dark smile, loving how Eren tensed beneath her. He wasn’t stupid, he knew what was going down. But before he could do anything, before he could beg his mistress to perhaps reconsider, Mikasa put it down, pressing the vibrating head against the cage. Throwing his head back, as that was the only part of his body Eren could move, he let out a loud groan. This was terrible. He was already way past being turned on, his cock was incredibly sensitive, spending such a long time worshipping Mikasa’s perfect legs and velvety pussy does that to a man. And now that fucking cage he spent most of the night cursing shook, the wand vibrations affecting it, making it even more unbearable. The dominatrix was having fun. Letting some spit dribble from her mouth down between his legs for better lubrication, she was surely enjoying herself. Wrapping her fingers around the steel bars, she angled it to the side, pressing the wand against the previously unabused part after. It made Eren curse out loud, whine like an animal. She loved it. Just when he thought that he’s going to go insane. She stopped, looking at his red face over her shoulder.

“Something wrong, puppy?”, the goth temptress asked with that fake sweetness that made her voice threatening.

No, complaining was not the right path here. His cock belonged to her anyway, it was right there, written on the ring. Pets do not talk back unless they want to be punished. Instead of saying words he would soon regret, Eren took a deep breath.

“N-No, mistress.”

She eyes his face for a second before nodding and turning back towards her fun. And the torture began anew. Mikasa was glad that she tied Eren down like that because from how much she was abusing him, he would surely buck beneath her, his body would try to get rid of its tormentor subconsciously. Secured as he was, none of that was allowed to happen. Instead, her fun was accompanied by the tortured sounds falling from his mouth behind her, muttered curses, groans, some weak begging when he couldn’t hold it in anymore. Not like she cared, of course.

“I do wonder just how much cum you built up.”, she speculated out oud, teasing Eren’s swollen balls with the tip of her little finger, “A week in chastity should make a lot, don’t you think?”

“M-Mistress… I….”, a pained sound, “Please…”

She asked him a question, and he had the audacity to ignore it. With a frown, she slapped his balls instead, hard enough to force a loud curse out of him.

“Words, puppy, use them.”

Eren had trouble concentrating, had trouble answering any sort of question with all the blood rushed between his legs, but to prevent further punishment, he did his best.

“I… It will be a lot… You teased me so much.”

“I did, didn’t I.”, she giggled, once again pressing the wand against the cage, “It’s so much fun to watch you squirm.”

And it went on, and on, and it didn’t get better, it got worse. Dripping more spit on his poor cock, she leaned down to lick at his caged pride, the tip of her tongue reaching between the bars to tease him even further. It wasn’t a blowjob, it was more of a teasejob because when Mikasa closed her mouth around the cage and sucked at it, Eren felt like he could die. She had to be careful though. When she used her tongue and pressed the wand against his tip at the same time, from how much the glands swelled it was possible that Eren would just cum from all that stimulation, cage or no cage. Pulling back, giving him a little breather, she looked back at her slave, smirking when she saw how ruined his face was. Oh, but that could be made even better.

“M-Mistress….”, Eren noticed her watching him, his voice coarse and full of pleading, “P-Please… I ca-can’t….”

Well, maybe she could give him an out. He was a good boy, after all.

“I can either continue this,”, she held up the wand, giggling when she saw how Eren fearfully eyed it as if it was not a sex toy but a deadly weapon.

“Or I could sit on your face.”, she proposed the other possibility, “I wouldn’t say no if you offered to eat my ass, puppy.”

Eren’s answer was quick and rather expected.

“You would do me an honor if you placed your perfect butt on my face, mistress, so I could pleasure you with my undeserving mouth.”

Mikasa never heard a more flowery invitation to sit on someone’s face, so putting her magic wand down, for now, she climbed over to where Eren’s head was, carefully positioning her ass right over his waiting mouth. Moving down, she smothered his face, making sure that her butt was at the right place. With how it covered all of his face, Eren’s breathing was reduced to a trickle, both mouth and nose full of Mikasa’s ass, left with nothing but hope that she won’t suffocate him. Then again, there are worse ways to go than being smothered by a beautiful butt. Just as he was losing hope, unable to help himself, tied up as he was, Mikasa lifted herself a bit, allowing sweet air back in. Eren gulped it down, chest heaving, but he wasn’t allowed to breathe for long before she sat down again. Pleasing his mistress was difficult, considering the position and all, her puppy needed some motivation. Changing her seating form, Mikasa straightened her legs, letting them rest on the cock cage, playing with it with her toes. It was nowhere near as bad as the Hitachi wand torture, but it was a warning. Eren should better start using his tongue, or she can very well just go back to her previous fun.

The shift in her position also meant that all her heavy weight was now resting on top of his body, her athletic form difficult to bear. Leaning on Eren’s shoulders to steady herself, Mikasa poked at his cock with her foot, prompting him to finally dart out with his tongue, licking alongside her anus. Despite these hard conditions, he did his best to please her, moving alongside the rim before dipping inside the puckered hole, eating her ass as dutifully as he could. There was also that little problem of being suffocated by Mikasa’s firm butt. Merciful as his mistress was, she lifted her ass from time to time, pausing the smothering in order to let her pet breathe for a few moments before sitting back down. Breathing would be a distraction from serving her anyway, with no air available the only thing Eren could do was pleasure her and hope that she will decide that he deserves oxygen for his efforts.

“That’s a good boy,”, she moaned on top of him, head falling back, her foot pressing harder against the cage, making him groan into her, “Do-don’t you d-dare stop.”

She was close, very close, and to help her pet along Mikasa lowered one hand between her legs, playing with her swollen clit, rubbing herself in sync with the movements of Eren’s tongue dancing around her anus. Dipping two fingers inside herself, Mikasa spread her legs to touch herself better, moaning loudly and making no effort to muffle herself. With a deep shove of his tongue Eren finally pushed her over, Mikasa’s body writhing as an orgasm overtook her, still fingering herself to drag it out. Feeling her tighten and release was great, although the momentary lapse in vigilance meant that Eren was dangerously close to suffocating when Mikasa finally got off his face, allowing her pet to live. She needed a moment to calm after having her butt so nicely pleasured, Catching her breath, calming herself, she moved to stare right down at her pet.

“You deserve a reward for this,”, she said, caressing his hair and watching Eren’s face, red from both the teasing and the lack of oxygen, “That was some fine ass-eating you did.”

“Th…”, he coughed, throat hoarse, “Thank you, mistress.”

With a wink, Mikasa repositioned herself between Eren’s legs, once again gently running her fingers over the bars.

“I think it’s high time we let you out”, she cooed, tracing the ring with the tip of her finger, “wouldn’t you say?”

“I… Uhm..”, praying to high heaven that this is not another one of Mikasa’s traps, Eren met her gaze with a bit of fear in his own eyes, “I-If you believe I deserve it, mistress..”

Slowly, as if she was still deciding, Mikasa slipped the key from around her neck, sliding it into the lock. With a click, the cage loosened, falling away from his cock which almost immediately sprung to its full length. The cage was gone, but the ring remained, pulled tight around the base, meaning that Eren was not yet completely free.

“You know how it goes,”, she said, putting away the cage and retrieving another thing from her collection, placed in a way that Eren couldn’t see what it was, “Something goes out, something else….”

Pop and the pleasant smell of scented lube invaded his nose.

“Goes in…”

The finger penetrating his ass was not much of a surprise anymore. Mikasa was in no rush, slowly preparing her pet’s hole, rotating her hand to loosen his muscles. Adding another finger, she dripped a bit more lube over him, and Eren finally recognized what the smell was. Cherry. Mikasa was using the lube Hange gave them as a gift, making him wonder if the scientist would be surprised by how they were enjoying it. Probably not. Scissoring her fingers, the tips brushed against Eren’s prostate, making him hiss at the white-hot pleasure that coursed through his veins.

“Easy… Easy…”, Mikasa was still smiling, her voice light, “Don’t get too worked up yet.”

How was he supposed to not get worked up when she fingered his ass so well, knowing just where to touch and how to move her hand to make him melt. The muscles gave way, surrendering to her, and that was exactly what she wanted. Pulling her fingers out, Mikasa laughed when Eren whined in protest.

“Aw, you’re so cute.”

With that, a new pressure appeared against his anus, sliding past the weakened ring and into him. Silicone, a shape he knew, curved in a way that pressed right against his sweet spot. Eyes shooting open, Eren saw that it wasn’t a strap-on, as he first thought, it wasn’t fastened to Mikasa’s waist. It was a vibrator, a prostate massager, a toy that had the power to reduce him into a complete mess. As if he wasn’t ruined enough. Satisfied that it was placed into him correctly, sheathed all the way in, Mikasa retrieved the remote and climbed back up over his body to face him.

“Let’s turn it up a notch.”, she said, “You’ll eat me out, make me cum all over your face with your tongue while this thing, “she held up the remote, “will play with your ass.”

A broken whine from him. Good enough.

“If I decide that you earned it,” Mikasa continued, “I’ll let you cum. If not, well….”

Her eyes moved back where the cage and wand were resting.

“We can always go back.”

“I’ll give you the best orgasm of your life, mistress, you can count on me.”, Eren pleaded, almost feverish, willing to do anything not to go back into the cage.

Desperate, just as she liked him.

“We’ll see about that.”

Resuming her rightful position on the throne that was Eren’s face, Mikasa sighed happily when she felt her slave immediately go to work, mouth, and tongue eager to stay true to his word. Relaxing, letting him do his magic, Mikasa clicked the remote, the toy in Eren’s ass coming to life. It worked amazingly, massaging his prostate just as the name suggested, making his cock strain wildly against the ring. It was hard to stay focused on eating his mistress out, with this toy inside him, but Eren was determined. Moving his mouth, licking at her, locating the sweet spots with the tip of his tongue, he did everything he could to make her cum.

He mouthed her eagerly, tongue dipping deeper into her sex, prodding, and lapping at all she had to offer. Unable to use his hands to pull her closer, Eren had to make do with her ass pressing down against his chin as Mikasa eased more of her weight on top of him. Skin warm against her bare thighs, hot breath coming in exhale right into her, everything wet with his saliva and her juices. Her cunt quaked, throbbing and squeezing as his tongue worked within her.

Mikasa was worked up again, not letting her body rest, thighs squeezing hard around his face, freezing Eren in place. She panted on top of him, her hand clenching around the remote, the other pressed against his belly, stabilizing herself. Eren didn’t leave any part of her body alone. Tongue tracing from her pussy to her anus, he glided around that spit slick hole, dipping in again, making her moans rise in intensity. She didn’t even feel like touching herself at this point, Eren was just too good at this, trained by her in the arts of pussy and ass eating to perfection. Even with the prostate massager inside him as a distraction, he was making her see white, muscles of her core pulling tighter and tighter in the preparation of the rapidly approaching peak.

His tongue continued to pry into her heat, slick and tight and accompanied by moans and curses, muffled by the legs squeezing his head. Eren couldn’t hear her, but he could feel her, feel how she bucked on top of him, riding his face, chasing her orgasm that was closer and closer by the second. Her skin was feverish, beads of sweat gliding down and collecting to where her body was hugged by the harness. Her small tits, framed by the belts, were squeezed anytime she moved, only heightening the beautiful experience. The velvety walls squeezing around his tongue, thighs shaking, breathing ragged. She was drenched now between the legs, by both her arousal and the spit, smearing it all over his face, but Eren was far from minding that.

And then she was gone. Muscles tight, her cunt gripped his tongue hard, pulsing around the wet intruder in an attempt to milk it. Mikasa’s body shook, her head fell back, a scream of pure ecstasy ripping from her throat.

“Eren, I…”, she moaned, the fire spreading into her, “Oh god!”

Her hips were moving on their own now, riding his face, using his tongue to keep herself engaged, to prolong her pleasure high as long as possible. Eren was completely on board with that. Not pulling back in the slightest, he kept on tongue fucking her, delving deep into her throbbing sex, drinking her in. She was high and feverish, head lost somewhere in the clouds of sex, feeling thoroughly satisfied. Mikasa couldn’t hold herself up anymore, and with Eren’s hands tied, there was no one to catch her as she collapsed, panting hard into his skin.

There was silence now when she wasn’t screaming anymore, a silence broken by their heavy breathing and the gentle buzz of the prostate massager. The way she fell, down at his stomach, placed her just a few inches away from his straining cock, dripping precum everywhere. There wasn’t a word to describe how much Eren needed a release anymore. Teased, being forced to eat his mistress out and feeling her cumming on top of him multiple times was hot as fuck, and with his vibed prostate added to the mix it was getting too much. Too fucking much to handle. Still, Mikasa took her time, getting her body back to work, stretching like a cat. Pushing herself up on all fours, knees digging almost painfully into his stomach, she turned to look at Eren, dragging a finger down his drenched face.

“Well that was something, puppy.”, pushing her fingers into his mouth, she let him suck on them, “You are so well trained, I adore your magical mouth…”

Eren wanted to reply to that, thank her, or maybe say that perhaps the reward in order, but whatever he wanted to say never left his mouth because Mikasa finally touched his cock, for the first time since letting him out of the cage. It wasn’t with her hands, she was facing him after all, but her feet slid down, taking his length between them, holding him between the instep of one and the bottom of the other foot. With this improvised hold, Mikasa began jerking him off, moving her legs up and down in a rhythmic motion. It wasn’t fair. No one was supposed to have this much of agility in their feet. Mikasa wasn’t even looking at what she was doing, content with watching his face, moaning around her fingers in his mouth, grinning like a cat.

“Poor baby, did you want to say something?”, her feet pumped him harder, the tips of her fingers scissoring as she forced his mouth open.

Eren was panting like a dog at this point, his tongue out, eyes blown and unfocused while she kept torturing him. An idea popping out in her head, Mikasa pursed her lips, letting a rope of spit fall. The process was slow, telegraphed, and if Eren didn’t want to participate he had plenty of time to turn his face away. But he didn’t. Instead, he let her spit into his mouth, opened and pliant and completely at her mercy. Fuck, that was hot. Dipping down, Mikasa kissed him, pushing her tongue into his mouth, the tempo of her footjob hard and fast. Combined with the massager, it was a lot of pleasure, more than Eren was able to handle, swelling against the cockring. It was supposed to stop him from cumming, but he was simply too overwhelmed, his body burned with the need. It couldn’t stop him from cumming but cruel as the toy was, it ruined the orgasm his dominatrix forced out of him. Leaking some pitiful dribble on Mikasa’s feet, Eren let out a pathetic whine, not finding any pleasure in this. He felt her grin against his mouth. It did nothing to lessen the pressure, it did not make him feel better, in fact, he was feeling worse now.  And Mikasa was not about to ignore that.

“Aw would you look at that.”, once again sliding down between his spread legs, she poked his leaking thing, still smiling. She was so cruel, it was unreal.

“This is some next level desperation, puppy, managing to cum even with the ring on. And just from my feet too.”

Just from her feet and the prostate massager, of course, but she gracefully omitted that vibrator deep in Eren’s ass. Face thoughtful, her fingers circled the engraved steel of the cockring.

“Maybe I should have pulled it tighter.”

To add insult to injury, she lowered her head, dragging her tongue over the side of his cock, licking it clean of its half-release, teasing him again. Life sucks when your cock is owned by such a cruel dominatrix.

“But such disobedience still warrants punishment.”, she added, back to being a strict dominatrix, “Babe, it’s time for your dick flattening.”

With that, she pushed down hard, pressing his cock against his stomach and forcing another whine from his throat. This wasn’t fair. Letting go, she stroked him, getting his erection going again before re-applying the pressure, flattening his dick back down. It was harsh, borderline painful, but she was having fun. And that’s what mattered.

“You like it?”, she asked, getting a weak shake of his head in reply, “Too bad, because I do.”

Turning up the heat, Mikasa stood up on the bed, lifting one leg and using her foot instead of her hand, stepping on Eren’s jewels. It was worse like this, with her weight pressing down, made even more unbearably when she grinded her heel against his cock, making him cry out. Ok, maybe cumming without permission was out of line, but it was a stupid ruined orgasm which he couldn’t control anyway. Having his dick flattened was not an appropriate response. Ignoring his wordless protest, Mikasa grinded down harder, pushing her foot right against the head, sadistic. She always lessened the pressure before increasing it again, giving Eren those little hopes that his punishment was complete. It wasn’t.

It would be a shame to flatten his dick completely. Eren had a nice cock, 10/10, long, thick, with well-shaped balls and all, but obedience was a base of a happy relationship, and Mikasa just had to punish him. It was her duty as Eren’s mistress to discipline her pet when he misbehaved.

“Anything you want to say in your defense?”, she queried, poking his swollen sack with her toes, “Or do you want me to completely crush your balls.”

“I’d… Uhm…. Pre-Prefer if you did-didn’t, mistress. Why would you destroy your property?”

Ooh, using her own reasoning against her. Cheeky, but Mikasa liked it.

“Good point.”, she surrendered, finally lifting her foot from Eren’s abused cock.

The punishment had to be more severe, but Mikasa wanted to be smarter about it. He came without permission, and while it was still an unfulfilling finish, it went against her wishes. Maybe she should show him just how unpleasant having your orgasm ruined can be. A smile appeared on her face. Yes, that was the perfect way to show Eren the error of his ways.

“Now then..”, back between his legs, she stroked the reddened length with a thoughtful expression on her face, “What am I going to do with you….”

Eren wasn’t in the position to decide his fate. Tied up, he shot a quick prayer towards heaven, hoping that Mikasa won’t pull out any more of her devilish scheme. He was wrong, of course, but he didn’t know that. Yet. Pausing for a moment, Mikasa retrieved the lube bottle and dribbled some of the cherry-scented liquid down on Eren’s length, massaging it all over him. It was always fun to have her hand turbo glide over his cock, with almost no resistance at all. Taking a firmer grip, she began pumping him, up and down at a steady tempo. Mikasa didn’t rush, but wasn’t too slow either, using her thumb to play with the head and increase the already dangerously spiking pleasure. Hearing his sounds, watching him squirm against the belts holding it down reminded Mikasa that she didn’t have to tire her hands, did she. Retrieving the Hitachi wand, she turned it on, pressing the vibrating head right against the tip of Eren’s cock. It felt powerful when she was vibing his cage, it felt insane when it was right on his oversensitive flesh. With a scream of a dying animal, Eren pulled on the bindings hard, the leather groaning in protest. But he couldn’t free himself, he couldn’t do anything, he was left in Mikasa’s hands, who undistracted by his actions continued, tracing all of his length with the wand. Moving down, she pushed it down against his balls, jerking him off with her free hand. It was too much again. With the vibrator in his ass, the wand at his balls, Mikasa’s skillful hand on his cock, Eren could feel it coming again, that wave that would grant him release but no pleasure, a pitiful excuse for an orgasm that he did not want to happen again.

“P-Please!”, he screamed, willing to do anything to be let free, “Mistress, I beg you, not again…”

“Oh?” As if she just noticed his struggle, Mikasa looked up with an arched eyebrow, “What do you want, puppy?”

“Please, let me out, please please…”, his words fell apart, becoming a pleading gibberish as he held her gaze, beyond desperate.

“You want me to take off the ring?”, she asked, tapping it with her nail.

He nodded immediately, more begging on his lips.

“You think I should let you cum?”, Mikasa wasn’t convinced, “Do you deserve it?”

Maybe it was a bad idea, but Eren couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Y-Yes... Please…”

She studied his face, black nails tapping against the steel ring.

“Very well, since you’re begging so nicely.”

The cockring clicked open, falling away, and Mikasa placed it next to the cage. Gone, but easily in her reach. Eren felt like he could fly, the infernal pressure was gone from around his base, he was free, so free. Well, if you didn’t count that he was tied to the bed, but that was insignificant. He was so lucky that his mistress was such a nice person, it was proof that she loved him so much. Shooting him a smile, Mikasa began stroking his cock again, her hand feeling so much better now that the ring was gone. The wand also clicked on, the buzz combining with the prostate massager that never stopped, finding its place under the head of his cock, pleasuring the most sensitive place. Eren was in heaven, the buildup rising and rising, the climax he deserved building in his beaten and bruised body, sure to be an amazing one. Yes, just a tiny bit more, last push and…

“You know, it’s amazing,”, her voice, coming into his barely coherent ears, Eren’s whole clenched in preparation for that amazing release she was building up for him, “All this training and still…”

Suspicion, creeping up his spine in reaction to the tone of her words, a thinly veiled threat in them.

“Still you think that you can tell me what to do.”, a tired sigh from her lips, but at the same time her hand sped up and he was close, so fucking close….

“The audacity.”

Eren broke. And she stopped, right at the same time, her hand rapidly sliding down to clamp hard at the base, replacing the cock ring with her fingers. The wand was also gone, and the vibrator went dead in his ass, the pleasure stopping. Yet he couldn’t stop it anymore. Eyes shooting open, Eren whined out loud in protest, his hips trying and failing to move, held down by the belts. He needed friction, something, anything to rub his cock on, to find that stimulation. Nothing, there was nothing, only the iron hold Mikasa had on his balls, denying him any sort of pleasure. Again. The wave crashed. Shaking, dribbling, Eren was mercilessly thrown into another ruined orgasm, a punishment from his cruel mistress, weakly leaking on his stomach. The dominatrix granted him no pleasure, she finished her pet off in the worst possible way, his cock going into that half-soft half-hard mode, only adding to his frustration. Body shaking, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, Eren couldn’t be more destroyed. Correction, he thought that he couldn’t be more destroyed. Mikasa disagreed.

When her tongue touched his ruined cock, when she sucked on him, Eren literally sobbed, unable to bear her anymore. How could she do this to him?

“N-No, please… Mistress…”, he looked down at her, down between his legs where she was bringing his cock back to life, ignoring his pleadings, “Not again, anything but this... Please!”

Her dark eyes met his, grey flashing into emerald, and Mikasa waited for a second, pausing in her torment. And Eren knew what she was waiting for. Is he going to use his safeword? Is he going to take that way out?

No. He couldn’t. Despite the suffering, despite being this used and abused, despite feeling like his consciousness could snap at any moment, Eren was loving this. Deep down, hidden, but it was there. The fact that Mikasa owned him, did what she wanted to him, this incredibly cruel and merciless, it rubbed the twisted parts of him so well. There could never be anyone else but her, Eren would never let anyone else ruin him like this. Just her, his dark goddess, his small tiddy goth gf, his cruel domme, his beloved mistress. Just Mikasa.

Seeing that he is silent, that he won’t give in, Mikasa went back to work. If Eren won’t back down, she certainly didn’t feel like stopping. Exploring his uttermost limits, balancing him on the edge, that was always worth it. He could fall, if he wanted to, but she would catch him.

Eren did his best to stay soft in her mouth, but that task was impossible. It didn’t matter how hard he tried to force his cock not to harden, how hard he pushed the erection back, it still happened. His body was still unsatisfied, it yearned for a proper release. Teased for this long, his balls felt like bursting, the two consecutive ruined orgasms brought him no satisfaction. But from the look on Mikasa’s face, that wasn’t happening. Resurrected, his length was once again standing at attention, making her smirk. Raising the Hitachi wand, again, she circled the head of his cock, loving the shuddering breath he took. Eren knew what was coming this time, knew that begging and pleading won’t save him.  He should have kept his fucking mouth shut, trying to tell Mikasa what she should do with her own cock. So what that it was attached to his body, it still belonged to her.

He closed his eyes, turned his head away. He tried to think about unsexy stuff. That wouldn’t work if he would look at her, Mikasa was fucking beautiful, naked porcelain skin glistening with sweat, black leather belts of the harness crossing her body, all the way from her choker down to her thighs. He loved how it made her tits stand out, the white framed by the black, how beautifully her abs looked, bathed in sweat. Yea, he couldn’t look at her, if he wanted to make his cock soft.

Still, it didn’t work.

The wand felt too good. Her mouth felt too good. It didn’t matter that the massager wasn’t turned back on, remaining a dead weight in his ass. Her hand, oh god her fucking hand. Mikasa just knew how to touch him, knew how to spread her fingers around him, knew where to push. He couldn’t win. Never. And to make it even worse, when the dominatrix saw how her slave tried to deny her, she did the worst thing possible.

She giggled.

Tears slid down his face. Why did she have to do this to him, and worse, why did he love it so much? Muscles clenching, Eren tried to push the rising tide back, to no avail, tried delaying his peak as much as he could, knowing that she’s just going to ruin it for him. Mikasa was keeping a close eye on his cock, her fingers always checking the glands, she knew exactly how his body reacted when he was close. He couldn’t trick her, he couldn’t stop her, he couldn’t do anything. It came, unstoppable as a hurricane, made him climb higher and higher until he tripped over the place of no return. And again, she denied him. For the third time that evening, Eren cried out while his cock finished with no stimulation, trembling with each spurt, for the third time he dribbled a pitiful amount of cum, for the third time he was kicked down from his height with no satisfaction. She tormented him until he was done, and then some more, adding post orgasm torture to the long list of things that she’s put her pet through tonight. Even as his length was going back into its half-soft state, she kept the wand going, her tongue drawing playful circles at the head. It made Eren afraid that perhaps Mikasa still wasn’t done, that she intends to ruin him again, but just as he was completely losing hope, she stopped. Putting the wand down, she looked over her handiwork, proud of what she’s done. Eren was humiliated, done, ruined. His cock was red and abused, balls still full to bursting, no release granted. He was openly crying, tears sliding down his face, body shaking as much as it could in the tight confines of the bondage.

If there was hell, Eren was tied down in the deepest circle, and the devil herself, hidden in the form of a beautiful woman, was tormenting him.

Job well done, Mikasa quietly congratulated herself, Eren was about as ravaged as a man could be. A bit tired from all those activities, her legs still feeling weak from how powerful her satisfying climax was, Mikasa decided to take a breather. A pause in all this madness to collect her bearings and decide how to play with her pet further. The night was still young. Digging into her box of wonders, Mikasa pulled out another piece, crawling to where Eren’s head was. Her puppy was unresponsive, looking away, his face so sad that it tugged at her heart. Just a little bit. To get some reaction out of him, to wake him up from that lethargy, Mikasa put her head close to his chest, teasing one of his nipples with the tip of her tongue. Eren’s nostrils flared, but he still refused to look at her, didn’t want to fall for her charms again just to be let down.

“Puppy, don’t sulk.”, she tried, a certain artificial sweetness in her voice.

If anything, it made him sulk harder. Oh well, she tried to be nice. When the cold metal clamp bit down into his nipple, Eren finally did something, hissed in pain to be exact. His teary eyes found her face, a silent pleading written in his features. But no, Mikasa wouldn’t relent. Eren could always safeword out, and if he wouldn’t do it, she had reason to spare him from her sadistic machinations. She put the metal jaws on his other nipple too, the chain connecting the clamps rattling. With that out of the way, Mikasa took the leather hood she had brought, grabbing a fistful of Eren’s hair and roughly angling his head so she can slip it over him. It cut off his vision and hearing, covering his eyes and ears by a thick amount of the material. Then it was time to take care of his mouth, so pushing two fingers into it, Mikasa pried it open, gagging Eren with a rubber ball. He didn’t fight her when she secured the strap around the back of his head but didn’t help her either, choosing apathy as his defense mechanism against her sadism. Too bad that Mikasa didn’t mind, she was sure that the next batch of toys would cut through that like a hot knife through butter.

The toy looks unassuming, just like a small open cuff or a sheath, but from what she heard on the internet, it was supposed to be powerful. No better time to try than now. First, she retrieved the ring from where she put it, clicking it closed around his cock again. It would help maintain his erection and prevent him from cumming to a degree, and Mikasa wanted to continue having fun. He was still half-soft, his body recovering from the shock of the ruined finish, but that didn’t matter, the toy should work even on a fully flaccid penis. The placement was important, and Mikasa made sure to slide the thing so the vibrating plate would be in the right place, the underside of the head, the most sensitive place. The wings of the toy hugged his shape, holding the whole thing. Mikasa’s work was uninterrupted by any sounds from Eren, who was lost in complete darkness, blind, deaf and mute. He could feel her fingers on his cock, locking it into some infernal contraption again, but he couldn’t do anything about it. Just wait. And fear what was about to come.

Right, so did she forget anything? Cockring? Check. The vibrating toy secured on his penis? Check. Prostate massager still in place? Check. Gag? Check. Hood? Check. The bindings? Check. Yup, it’s game time. Sliding down from the bed, Mikasa took a seat, watching Eren’s motionless form on the bed. This position, him tied up and helpless, his senses taken away, her, with the remotes in hands and fully in power, this was exactly what he did to her not that long ago. That time, she was the one on the bed, tied to the frame and in Eren’s hands, but their positions were now reversed. And it was time to show him just how amazing it is, to be subjected to a complete sensory deprivation and have your weak spots attacked at the same time. Clicking the remotes in her hands on, Mikasa brought the toys to life.

When the massager woke up, Eren groaned into the gag. He almost forgot that he had it stuck in his ass all this time, most of his attention focused on the torment his crotch received. Then, the clamps Mikasa put on his nipples followed, also vibrating, because why the hell not. And then, just as he thought that this was it, the sheath that she slid his cock in joined in. Whoever came up with the toy had a rather good idea about male anatomy, because the vibrating plate was pressed right against his frenulum, making the toy very effective. His cock was back in full-on hard mode before he realized what was happening. So this is what it felt like. Eren had no control over the situation, he was tied to the bed and sex toys were vibrating against the most vulnerable parts of his body. There was nothing he could do to affect his position in any way, his fate was in Mikasa’s hands. Unable to bear it silent anymore, he threw his head back, the leather of the hood sliding across the bedding and screamed into the gag, the sound effectively muffled. Nope, nothing. He couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t speak. Couldn’t make her stop. Just lay right there and take it.

Mikasa was loving this. Watching Eren writhe on the bed, his head snapping from side to side in futile attempts to do something, hands, and legs pulling at the cuffs as he tried to free himself. It didn’t help, not even when he pulled with all his strength, making his muscles stand out so nicely beneath the skin. With the belts securing him to the mattress, Eren couldn’t even shift his hips to lessen the pressure. Fuck, but this was hot. Before Mikasa even realized what she was doing, her hand found its way between her legs, fingers touching her engorged clit. When the tips of her fingers slid across her wet nub, she stopped herself, staring down with wide eyes. Was she seriously going to finger herself while watching Eren tied to the bed, fighting against the vibro-torture she put him in? Slowly, her lips spread into a grin.

Fuck yes.

Grabbing the neglected Hitachi wand, not needed by her puppy as Eren had other toys entertaining him, Mikasa turned it on and pressed it against her pulsing clit, sighing happily. Eyes glued to her lover’s bound body, she stared as he shook, drinking in those delicious sounds muffled by the gag. Sweat was gliding down over his muscles, making them glisten so perfectly. It was like watching a scene from a movie, the torment of a fallen angel, Eren’s silent battle against the machines was beautiful to behold. His body, all hard muscle and planes of smooth skin, restricted by her devilish hand, tormented because she wanted him to. Observing the fruits of her labor, Mikasa felt powerful and in control and it did make wonders for her arousal. Putting one leg on the chair, spreading herself open, she pushed two fingers into her wet opening, a moan falling from her lips. While Eren could find no release, the ring working as intended, he was left to stay on the edge endlessly, Mikasa worked herself to a solid peak. Fingers deep inside her clenching cunt, wand working against her swollen clit, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from her helpless puppy. Her pet was doing his best to stay sane, the toys breaking and entering into places that should remain locked. Eren couldn’t even hear her moans, couldn’t see how she worked herself between the obscenely spread legs. Melting into the sofa, Mikasa came on a deep shove of her digits, chest heaving, using the wand to prolong the orgasm for herself. Oh yeah, this was the stuff. The wand falling from her fingers, Mikasa leaned back, calming herself, eyes not leaving Eren even for a second. Watching him squirm, watching him fight and lose against the bondage he was in, watching the toys buzz against his body, she came to a decision. His ass was surely more than prepared by now, the prostate massager working him for some time, and Mikasa did want to fuck him before the play was done. No time like the present. But when she tried standing up, her exhausted legs couldn’t hold her, and Mikasa fell back into the chair. Okay, maybe in a moment. For now, she would just relax and watch that nice spectacle happening in front of her on the bed. After calming down, she would walk over to the place where their toys were, pick out her favorite strap-on and fasten it around her hips. She would climb into the bed and fuck the lights out of Eren. But for now, she would just watch and enjoy the show. Her puppy wasn’t going anywhere, the tight bondage made sure of that.

Eren didn’t know how much time has passed, he had no way of measuring it. It felt like ages since Mikasa took his senses away from him, since she turned the toys on and left him cooking in his own sweat. Robbed of any way to influence his well-being, Eren was reduced to a moaning mess, pulling at the cuffs in desperate attempts to break free, but deep down he knew that they won’t give. They didn’t. He could only be let out by Mikasa’s grace, and she was especially cruel tonight. The dominatrix could keep him tied to the bed as long as she wanted to. Eren couldn’t even think, the toys robbed him of any ability to form coherent thoughts, placed expertly and abusing him without a pause. Just as he was slowly coming to terms with being turned into another piece of furniture, the toys switched off and fingers appeared. Not on his face as he expected, instead they were between his legs pulling at the vibrator. It left his ass with a wet sound caused by the copious amounts of lube Mikasa used to push it in, making his muscles automatically clench around the sudden emptiness. After that, she removed that sheath from his cock, and even the clamps were opened, making Eren’s body free of the infernal machines. With the hood still on his head, he couldn’t see what Mikasa was doing, but Eren had the creeping feeling that his butt won’t remain free for a long time. For once, he was correct.

To get the desired angle, Mikasa had to untie his legs, placing them around her hips instead. With that out of the way, she grabbed the strap-on at the base, carefully guiding it into his stretched opening. The rubber head of the dildo slipped between parted ass cheeks, tracing over his perineum until Eren was trembling and clenching in anticipation. He knew what was coming. Finally, she pushed her hips forward, invading his private area with the toy. The stretch was delightful, the cold hard plastic pushing deeper and deeper into his ass with every movement of her hips. She pulled back before pushing forward, worked her way in, didn’t rush anywhere. Mikasa rolled her hips, the toy rubbing over his inner walls, and Eren cried out into the gag.

It was time to fully reward her pet, he deserved it for taking the dildo so well. Mikasa grabbed Eren’s shins, pushing and guiding, lifting his legs. She moved her hands to his knees, pressing them into his chest, practically bending him in half as his whole body curved and his ass stuck out, the strap-on still buried deep inside it. With this better angle at her disposal, Mikasa began fucking her pet in the earnest.

Her thrusts picked up the tempo. Deeper. Faster. Nudging against sensitive walls as his legs tensed up against her. Her hips slapped against his ass driving her rubber cock home. His knees were pressing into his chest almost painfully, but he didn’t even feel it, his entire brain fogged with Mikasa fucking his ass. Knowing how to move, how to rotate her hips, the tip of the dildo pressed against Eren’s prostate, the sounds he was making behind the gag rising getting a new tone of intensity.

His cock throbbed between his legs, begging for attention, tears flowing from his eyes. She couldn’t see that thought, his face was hidden from her by the leather hood, but from how his body reacted to her, Mikasa knew that she was doing good. Faster still, in the perfect angle, hitting that sweet spot deep inside him again and again. Her thrusts were near brutal now. She was determined to make him cum just from her fake cock, there was no need to touch that weeping thing between his legs. Eren could cum like that, Mikasa has done that in the past and was about to repeat that achievement. Letting go of his legs for a second, she removed that restrictive device from his cock, her pet deserved to finally be granted a full release. Hooking her hands underneath his knees after, she pressed them higher, perfecting the angle she was fucking him at.

“Cum for me.”, she growled through gritted teeth, “Just like this, cum for me.”

Keeping up the cruel pace, uncaring that he was sobbing beneath her again, Mikasa kept rubbing his prostate with the tip of the toy. His skin was feverish, molten fire in his veins, the sensation too much and not enough at the same time. Time passed, her thrusts changed experimentally but were always aimed for that sweet spot inside him. Mikasa circled her hips, snapped them up, rotated them, tireless abdominals allowing her to play with no limitations. There was darkness, there was silence, there was the soft but firm hug of his bindings, and then there was the rubber cock inside his ass, hammering away. Eren felt like Mikasa had fucked any sense of intelligence out of him. He couldn’t think, his vision had black spots even in the darkness of the hood, his ears were full of rushing blood. His ass hurt from how strongly she fucked him, the burn in the muscles of his legs becoming more prominent the longer he had them pressed against his chest.

And then it hit him.

Like a fire, one deep hit was enough to send him over the edge. The gag, completely drenched in drool by now, was put to test as Eren screamed, body convulsing beneath her, cock throbbing as ropes of cum shot from it. His first real orgasm in a week, and it was an insanely powerful one, fucked from him by Mikasa’s strap-on without her laying a finger on his cock. It caked his stomach, reaching even as high as his chest, his ass clenching around the dildo buried inside it. Seeing that she had done it, Mikasa slowed down her movements but didn’t stop, knowing that if she kept fucking him it would make the whole experience even better. It did. The prolonged finish was like something from Eren’s wildest dreams. The sensory deprivation helped, with eyes and ears covered his brain wasn’t receiving any other information but that overwhelming pleasure, spreading from his prostate into his whole body. Mikasa milked him for all that he was worth, milked his prostate with the practiced movements of her hips, forcing Eren to surrender everything that he had. His cum, his essence was an offering to the goddess, and she was a greedy one.

He was gone, too far gone to even feel when Mikasa stopped moving, sure that she fucked everything out of him, milked her pet to the last drop. His legs were beginning to cramp when she allowed him to lower them back to the bed, moving on to the last part of the play. The aftercare. Unclasping the harness from her waist, she put the strap-on down to be cleaned later. It served them very well, but now it was time for the dom to take care of her submissive. Removing the nipple clamps first, putting them away, Mikasa began to free her beloved puppy. The hood slipped away from his face, drenched by tears. The gag was quick to follow, connected to his swollen lips by ropes of spit as Mikasa pulled it away.

“Eren? Baby?”, caressing his cheek, she got his attention, although his eyes were still very unfocused, mind flying somewhere very high, “Does anything hurt? Are you okay?”

He stared at her for a few seconds, digesting the words before his brain translated them.

“M’fine…”, he finally managed to let out, making a large weight fall from her shoulders.

Mikasa was genuinely worried to see him like this, usually fast reaction slowed to the speed of a slug. Playing rough was nice and all, but even mistress Ackerman had to make sure that Eren was truly okay, that she didn’t hurt him in her wild abandon. Buckle after buckle, she undid the bindings that held him to the bed, rubbing his wrists. They had red circles around, a proof of how hard Eren pulled on the bindings, but other than that there was no serious damage. His chest was scratched, his nipples were abused, but the worst was done in the places between his legs. Eren’s ass was reddened from how powerfully she fucked him, the place where her hips slapped into it almost welted. His cock was also mercilessly abused, now softened and shrunk, when his need was finally satisfied. She would take care of that damage, rub some cream into it, make sure that he recovered properly. But now, there was something else that Eren craved, and Mikasa knew exactly what to do. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she gently pulled his body towards her, putting Eren’s head into her lap. Stroking his overlong hair, she hummed a soothing melody, waiting for him to come back to reality.

It happened slowly. Minutes passed, more and more life coming back into his eyes, his mind returning from the subspace back to normal. Reaching out, Eren wrapped his hands around her waist, pulling himself closer until he could press his face into her stomach, just taking in her scent, breathing against her skin. She still had that leather harness around her body, and Eren was still collared, but there was time for that later. Keeping a rhythm going, she kept caressing him, giving Eren the privilege of choosing when he wants to move on. He would do that, but in time, now he was perfectly content with just resting on her thighs, having his head stroked and listening to her beautiful voice.

“Mikasa?”, he finally said after a long while, interrupting her melodic humming.

“Yes?”

“You’re a monster.”, a shaky inhale, “Those things you’ve done to me…”

That made her cringe a little bit, hand faltering where she was touching him. Did she let herself go too wild? Did she overdo it?

“I’m sorry, baby, was it too much?”

He rolled on his back, staring up into her worried face. Mikasa was biting her dark bottom lip in anticipation, unsure what to do, but her fears started melting away when a huge grin spread across Eren’s lips.

“You’re a monster,”, he repeated, “And I love you for it. This was….”

Honestly, he didn’t even know the words to describe what happened correctly.

“This was amazing, all that teasing, all those ruined climaxes…. When you finally allowed me to cum, it was an otherworldly experience, I blacked out for a short while. No joke.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that you enjoyed it.”

“Enjoyed it is a weak word. I adored it.”, his eyes sparkled, “Just as I adore you, my queen.”

“You’re lucky that you are so cute.”, she said, booping his nose, “Otherwise I might have been forced to slap you for such cheesiness.”

“Really? And since I am that cute, what is going to happen?”

She pretended to think for a moment before snapping her fingers.

“Got it! I’m going to kiss you.”

Bending down, she pressed her lips against his, swallowing that laugh that bubbled from his chest. Soon, she was laughing too, and the kiss was messy and full of promise. When they stop kissing, Mikasa will finally strip from that harness, remove the choker from her throat and the earrings from her ears. Eren will let her unbuckle the collar from his neck and she will put it right next to hers, a nice set for the kinky couple that they were. They will take a long bath, massaging each other’s sore muscles and joking about what happened. After that, Mikasa will rub some cream into Eren’s ass and chest, easing the sting of the wounds he collected. With all that done, they will cuddle on the cleaned bed together, falling asleep in each other’s arms after whispering sweet nothingness just for the two of them to hear. Knowing that, it is better to just leave them alone for now, as it would be rude to trespass on such an intimate moment.

Wouldn’t it?

[infptarius]

Play With the Clown

This is the first thing I have written to post to Tumblr. I hope my fellow clownfuckers enjoy, this is NSFW. (18+ ONLY) PART 1

The sound of the door slamming shut behind you made your rattled nerves jump, and you turned to see the way into the decrepit house on Neibolt St. closed tightly behind you. ‘Just a peek,’ you had thought when you entered. A peek indeed. You were aware of the things people said about this house. You’d heard the place was haunted, that homeless people stayed here, that people had died here. Curiosity was a hell of an incentive to do the stupidest things, you supposed. Turning back to the interior of the house, cobwebs dripped from the cracked ceiling, and dead leaves crunched beneath the soles of your shoes as you pressed onward, into the dim light filtering through grimy windows. You felt anxious, sweat beaded on your skin as goosebumps raised along your arms and neck. You could feel eyes watching you, but you saw no one else. You heard no one else, either.  “Hello?” Your voice sounded meek as it rang through the abandoned structure, crumbling walls sending decaying echos of your own call back to your straining ears. 

As you listened intently, you found that there WAS another sound. Soft tinkling bells sounded in a room down the hall you were currently exploring. The fear that was building in your veins like a buildup of ice around your frantically pounding heart faded slightly at the sound.

It seemed so... welcoming? Wrong? Both of these things, in fact, were true. Your feet carried you forward into a room that seemed impossibly dark. The moment you crossed the threshold, it was like being blindfolded. 

You turned on your heel to exit the room, but saw no doorway from whence you had come. A solid wall met you as you attempted to walk, hoping to pass through to the hallway once more.“Oh FUCK!” you scream, fists balled and pounding on this unexpected surface, your fear of confinement rearing its ugly head to make your heart ache in your chest.

A malevolent giggle catches your attention in the darkness. The sound made you cringe and twist away, sounding as though it had come from mere inches from your ear. “W-who are you?” Your voice quakes as you pose your question, betraying your trembling body even in complete darkness. “Who? Why, I’m Pennywise the Dancing Clown~!” The response comes quickly, in a false jovial tone. “Pennywise has found a friend, yes?” His uneven tone, rising and falling in strange ways make your stomach twist into knots with anxiety.

“Okay... Pennywise...” The name feels strange on your tongue as you struggle to calm yourself. “How... how do I get out of this room?”  “Get Out?” he asks with a mirthful giggle, “You don’t Get Out of this room, silly. You stay, and you play with the clown~!” A soft glow emanates through the room, providing just enough illumination for you to make out the silhouette of the tall clown in his strangely designed suit standing before you. He is easily three heads taller than you, towering above with a face obscured in shadows.

The eyes, though... small points of light set deep into the darkness of the face you can almost see glimmer at you as you try to step back, pressing into the hard wall behind you. 

“Ohhhh... You don’t want to play with the clown?” he asks in mock sadness, placing his hands against the wall to either side of you. He leans forward, and the rooms strange luminescence increases to bring you his visage.  His chalk-white face with ruby lips and lines adorning his cheeks, rising up over his eyes of molten gold comes into focus, and you feel heat rise in your cheeks as an unnaturally long and pointed tongue snakes out from between his lips.  The wet muscle drags a trail of chilly saliva from the bottom of your neck, right at the top of your collar bone up over your pounding pulse. It glides over the curve of your jaw, letting the tip flick upward as it comes away from your skin after tasting your cheek.

Sharp teeth glisten behind those plump, blood red lips, and you gasp softly when you feel the sudden pooling of tingling desire in your abdomen.

Pennywise pauses as this feeling unfurls inside you, his eyes drift slightly, his vision no longer sharply focused on your face. He huffs a few times, like a bear scenting its surroundings.

His face presses into the nape of your neck harshly and the air rushing over your skin as he breathes in makes your body shiver, nipples stiffening under your shirt. 

“So you DO want to play with the clown...” he comments, a wide grin spreading over his mouth. “Play with Pennywise, yes... we can have so much fun together.”  “Play with you?” You ask this with a still trembling voice, though the heat of desire slowly overtakes the terror that had originally settled into your bones. “If I do that... if I play with you, whatever you want to play, are you going to help me get out of here?”

Pennywise cackles at this inquiry, chilling your blood for a moment, before he leans himself down, nose to nose with you in the dimly lit room. “Sure, little thing. Play with me and I’ll let you go home... if you don’t break the rules~.”

“Rules?” you ask nervously. “W-what are the rules?”

Large, gloved hands grip your arms just beneath the shoulders and you feel yourself hoisted effortlessly into the air. You cry out softly in surprise, legs shaking as you feel yourself lowered to the floor again. “Rule Number One~,” the clown’s singsong voice filled with threat announces, “No screaming.” He chuckles to himself as though he finds the idea itself hilarious. You shiver and bite your lips together between your teeth.

“Rule Number Two~.” He raises a hand to touch your chin. The soft tearing of fabric meets your ears as blackened, sharp-tipped claws erupt from the glove. “No fighting.” A momentary blur of motion sends the sharp tips of his claw down through the fabric covering your body, shredding the front of your shirt, your pants and undergarments so that the clothing tumbles off of you uselessly. The cool air of the room makes you whimper softly.

The growing pressure in your belly ignites your nerves, and you feel tears gathering in your eyes at the aching need you feel to be touched, to be stimulated by this creature.

A low inhuman growl issues from Pennywise as his suit dissipates like vapor, exposing his lean, pale body to your eyes. His legs and arms appear blackened from the knees and elbows to his clawed digits. The image was strangely beautiful, before those clawed hands grabbed your arms and pulled you against that chilly, firm body.

His lips gleam with his saliva, a few cold drips landing on your collar bone and breast. You lean your head forward and press your own lips against his, eyes closing as you trust these instincts that burn and flare within your body to lead you to safety.

After a moment of shock, the vibration of his low growl of contentment makes your lips and tongue feel almost electrified, and you grind your thighs together at the heat that radiates from the swell of your slick sex.

He returns your kiss with surprising intensity, his tongue gliding around your own as his teeth prick your lips lightly, causing little droplets of blood to form and darken your lips to the same color as his own.

As he sucks and licks at your lips, a new sensation makes your core tighten and clench, a slick, smooth appendage glides against your hot slit. The aching entrance of your sex spasms as the slick tip glides over it, making its way to the throbbing bundle of your clit. 

Thrusting your hips, you grind that aching bundle against him, knees shaking as jolts of pleasure crash through your terrified body. You moan into his mouth, even as he collects the tiny droplets of blood at your lips.

Struggling, you tilt your hips to place his tip at your entrance and wriggle against him. Complying with your silent plea, he bucks his hips forward. Slick flesh fills you, stretching your aching walls in sweet satisfying agony. 

As he releases your mouth, your head tips back and a low moan issues from you as he stretches you around his appendage. His arms grip you tight against his chest, and his hips begin a rapid, merciless rhythm.

Your body flushes with pleasure even as your walls ache around him, the friction of his pulsing shaft against the sensitive flesh of your core sending showers of sparks and galaxies of stars through to the backs of your eyelids. Breathless whimpers are all you can manage as he holds you tight against his chest, fucking into your slippery heat in greedy, full thrusts.

He picks up his pace when your muscles spasm around him, an external hint at the mind-blanking intensity of pleasure that wracks your body as you come hard against him, eyes open and unseeing.

You feel the continued pace pick up as your senses return to you slowly. His breathing grows ragged in your ear, breath rushing over the side of your neck and ear as he pants, fucking into you like an animal in heat. His pelvis slaps loudly against your own with every thrust until you feel yourself crushed down against him, his shaft buried inside your body throbbing and hot, thick fluid seeping into you.

For a long moment, you’re held pinned against him, viscous release seeping out around him from your overfilled cunt. “Rule Number Three...” The sinister voice speaks in your ear as a sudden harsh shift in gravity sends you reeling. For a moment, you feel as though you’ve lost consciousness, until you find yourself being held above your bed, in your own bedroom. “When the clown wants to play, you play~.”

Dropping you unceremoniously on the bed, Pennywise gives you a malicious, sharp-toothed grin and vanishes with a pop!

You lay panting on your bed for a moment, wide-eyed with your heart hammering away in your chest. When you realize that you’re beginning to leak whatever strange seed you were filled with on your favorite blanket, you stand and walk toward your bathroom with quivering legs.

A mixture of dread and excitement boils within you as you wonder when the clown will be coming back to play again.

[canumoveurseatup-no]

wish i could tell you

part 2 of aches of the heart

summary: you and wanda try to move on from each other

word count: 3k

pairing: wanda maximoff x black!fem!reader

warnings: angst, wlw, smut, insecurity

———————

“Listen, I know we have to work with her but you gotta keep your head on straight,” Natasha warned.

“Maybe I should tell Bucky the same then, right?,” Wanda didn’t mean to snap, it’s just that she was on edge and she got sick of people telling her to move past it as if the wound wasn’t still fresh.

Natasha swallowed quickly, knowing she was putting him through the same thing Wanda was going through. But she figured being there for Wanda would make her own situation better.

You walked right in, in your signature pinstripe suit and tie, pumps matching. She couldn’t look at you, she’d break if she did. Her chest tingled with anxiety around the situation, little did she know it hurt you to not see the twinkle in her eyes, but this was better for her.

“Good morning, team,” you didn’t sound phased that she was sitting a mere five feet away from you.

“I am here to accompany Fury on your new equipmemt and weapons,”

You were in charge of designing their new suits and compact yet effective weapons for their missions. You relieved Stark from that weight since he had a family to focus on, even if he still wanted to fight with the team. You did the job justice.

You had a PowerPoint ready to discuss everything. Everyone was excited about their new uniforms and everything you created for them. You could feel the tension rise in the room when you began to discuss Wanda’s new items.

“A headband was created for you to wear, cute and simple. Looks like a regular headband, except,” you clicked your button and popped up a 3D video of what it does, “It sends electromagnetic waves to counteract anyone or thing trying to get in your head. Leaving your thoughts, fears, the teams plans and information that you’ve accumulated to yourself,”

She kept her eyes on the screen, pulse bounding in her chest.

“Everyone knowing you as the team’s telepath, they would assume you to know the most, knowing what you could do and how you are, they’d want you to crumble. So we I found a way to avoid that,”

Wanda felt that statement had an underlying meaning, but she was picking a part every little thing enough as it is.

“I made your jacket a bit shorter and more breathable,” you clicked the next slide and had a side by side comparison of her current jacket and her new one, “Your older one was longer in the back, making it easier for your opponent to grab hold of you, to avoid any risks, we cut down the size and made it a bit thinner while still having durability,”

She enjoyed that you put thought into her safety but she was reminded that it’s your job. If anything fails with the equipment, it’s your ass on the line.

She didn’t know that you purposely put more thought into it though.

She loved the sound of your voice, it was her safety blanket until it became what hurt her. She wanted to be mad at you but she couldn’t possibly be mad at you for not loving her back, she just wishes you could.

Once the meeting was over with, she was the first to leave. She made it her decision to go out and do her best to get over you.

——————

It didn’t work.

She was having a good time, had a hot woman’s head between her legs and then she moaned your name. It caused in the woman to storm out of her place and that left Wanda in tears.

Wanda cursed at herself left and right. She couldn’t believe she allowed that to happen. She had just been so caught up in the moment and the woman’s lips felt like yours, she was feeling great until she ruined it.

Wanda ran her finger through her hair and sat with her phone in her hand, thumb hovering over your name. She needed to call you, hear your voice outside of fucking upgraded equipment briefs.

She had to. She did.

But on your end, you were getting your soul eaten out of you by a woman you met at a lesbian bar. She was amazing, she focused on you and took her time and even though it felt good, it didn’t feel... right.

You definitely didn’t hear the way your phone buzzed with Wanda’s call. But you instead of seeing stars when you came, you saw her face- it took everything you had in you not to moan Wanda’s name. But you cried while you were cumming, because it felt so good and it wasn’t even with the person you wanted.

But Faye, the woman between your sheets, thought it was solely because of her... you were repulsed by your actions. You wanted her gone.

So when you gave her your all and sent her over the edge, you were glad she was quick to leave. You immediately washed yourself cleaned and switched your seats. You thought this would be easy. All the other girls that caught feelings for you were easy to leave and forget... why wasn’t Wanda?

——————

It was a cycle. Wanda would try and fuck other women and somehow ruin it and she’d end up calling you but you’d be in the middle of ruining the lives of other women with your game. You’d see her name after, but would ignore it.

It was another one of those night. Out at the lesbian bars, trying to take someone home until she bumped into you. You wore a tight shimmery spaghetti strap dress, it was good to see you in something outside of your normal attire. She loved to see your legs, childhood scars and eczema hyperpigmentation and all. You were perfect to her.

“Fancy seeing you here, Maxie,”

Wanda looked like a fish out of water trying to find the words say, “Didn’t expect to see you here,”

You laugh at her, her embarrassment was cute. You took a swig of your beer and pointed in the corner, “Pinkie pie over there has been eyeing you this whole time. It’s quite adorable,”

“I-,” Wanda made eye contact with the girl but shook her head felt her bottom lip quivering, “I don’t want her. She’s not my type,”

You leaned back on the counter, cocking an eyebrow and taking in her appearance. She would be the type to wear jeans and a plaid button up here. Minimal make up and basic tennis shoes. She was cute, and nervous like a new girl in school.

“What’s your type?,”

You.

It was an easy answer. But she couldn’t just say that, not with his things were how they were. It would be inappropriate.

“Not her,”

She watched your lips pout in a thought before you turned around and ordered another beer and a drink for her.

“N-no, I don’t need to drink tonight,”

“All right. Cancel that,” you smiled at the pretty bartender. Wanda hated to watch it happen.

“So why are you here?,” you patted the bar stool beside you and she took it quicker than she’d like to admit.

“Wanted to take a page out of your book and just have some fun,”

Wanda wasn’t too fond of the way you laughed at her words but she blamed it on the beers you’d been drinking.

“And how’s that working for ya?,”

She knew that you knew what the fucking answer was. She knew you have been seeing her calls. She knows you know that she loves you.

“Do you like seeing me hurt?,” Wanda gritted through clenched teeth. She just had to know.

“Of course I don’t, baby,”

The pet name shocked you both. It felt so normal to call her that and Wanda wanted nothing more than to be yours.

“So why are you doing this? Why are we like this?,” she hated the way her throat clenched. She shouldn’t be letting this bother her, but it’s consuming her entire mind. You’re her first thought in the morning and last vision at night before she goes to sleep. Her dreams are plagued with you, a perfect world where you admit you love her too... but it’s all dreams.

“Don’t you dare cry,” is all you said

“I’m trying not to!,”

“Let’s take this outside,” you stood and took one last gulp from your beer, setting th empty bottle on the counter.

“I don’t wanna go anywhere with you,” Wanda could barely see you behind her tears. Everything was completely skewed because of them, she shouldn’t be in a fucking bar crying.

You smile at her apprehension and shrugged, “All right, so when I walk out those doors,” you point behind you and step close enough to whisper in her ear, “Don’t fucking call me when your one night stands walk out on you because you were imagining me on top of you the entire time and let my name slip out of your fucking mouth,”

You snatched your phone off the counter and paid your tab before walking through swarms of hot bodies having a good time.

Wanda couldn’t let you go, she didn’t mean to be so hostile, but she also didn’t expect you to be aloof about it all.

She rushed across the dance floor after you, crying harder when you walked through the doors. She gasped when she finally made it out and saw you walking to your car.

“I just want you to love me!,” she screamed across the parking lot. You stopped dead in your tracks, turning around to see her trying to find the right words to say.

“God, Y/N!,” she wiped her tears only for more to come, “Fuck your ‘no strings’ and your ‘hey, I’ll ring’ but I’m imagining things,” she hiccuped.

“Max-,”

“Let me finish!,” she was coming in fast, not stopping until she was barely a foot away from you, “You can’t win, at all! Because the problem with no strings is that you can only fall and I fell face first,”

Her face was splotchy and lips chapped. She stepped away when you stepped forward. She was afraid of what you’d say, she knew she was taking a risk.

“I wish I could tell you but... I just run and hide,” you shook your head, just wanting to talk away and not deal with this but you had to, right? That was your problem, running away.

“Tell me what? Stop keeping me in the dark. If you don’t like me, say it!,”

“I’ve known I loved you for a while now. Just hate admitting it because I’m tired of getting hurt,”

Wanda could barely hide the gasp flying past her lips. There’s no way those words came out of your mouth.

“So I put up a wall and pushed people away, hurting others instead and I am not proud of it,”

You didn’t want to admit you hate the idea of love. The idea of doing anything for someone because they meant so much to you, you hated the cliches, Valentine’s day, all of it.

But damn Wanda made those things seem worth it.

“I would have been patient and understanding... all you had to do was read my note that day,” Wanda so badly wanted to hold you, to have you hold her. But she didn’t want to jump into things, “All you had to do was communicate with me. I’m so easy going a-and understanding. You saw how bad I was hurting and you enjoyed it,”

“I did not,” You scoff and roll your eyes, there’s no way you enjoyed doing this to here, “I just convinced myself it was better than risking hurting you by letting you with me,”

You two stood there, staring at each other. Neither of you were sure what move to make next. There was still so much more to say but neither of you knew what to say at the same time. Having no idea how to even phrase the things.

“I’ve spent months... just hoping I was good enough for you,”

“You don’t need to be good enough for me. You need to be good enough for you before anything. You don’t need me like you think you do, Maxie. Be there for yourself, need yourself first because if you put all your eggs in someone else’s basket it ends in a mess and you’re left with nothing trying to find yourself all over again,”

She knew you just weren’t talking about her and this moment. It was something that you’ve been carrying with you. It was a situation that made you shut everything and everyone out.

“But I love you,” Wanda sounded so defeated.

“You can love me. Just make sure you’re secure in yourself, can you say that for yourself now? Here in this moment?,”

She wanted to say yes but she knew it would be a lie.

“I love you,” you declared, “But I’m not going to sit here and let you put all your eggs in my basket. It would be unfair to you and selfish of me to let you do that. We need time and space to get ourselves together,”

Wanda understood where you were coming from but she always thought being working on yourselves at the same time was a part of being in a relationship. To learn and evolve, every step of the way.

“But I feel like it’d be better for us to construct and build together,”

You shook your head and placed your hands on your hips in a thoughtful manner, “But I don’t want us to grow apart because we’re growing together but end up having to let it go because we’re not on the same page,” 

You stood there in silence. The only noise was the thumping of the music from the club

“I want nothing more than to be with you and see you grow but I want you to grow for you. For your benefit. Not just because I said to and not just so you could be with me,”

She solemnly nods her head and finally understands where you were coming from. You want her to be secure within herself that way if things go south, she’ll have enough value invested in herself to continue to be strong and move on.

“We’ll find ourselves back to each other,”

-----------

This was good. Wanda was able to sit and thing for herself and not let her heart do the leading. She reminded herself of your words everyday to be able to build herself up.

You struggled at first because you really wanted her, but seeing her thrive on her own like she needed to definitely motivated you to just take a break from work to focus on yourself and your needs. Develop healthier coping mechanisms. It was good not seeing each other for a good while, but damn did you miss each other. It was a yearning that pulled at your heart strings. You dreamt of her and she saw glimpses of you while she was out and about. 

You two would contact each other though. A face time call here and there did you two some good and it was a good start to the talking phase.

When you came back from your leave, she was the first person you when to see. Seeing her was like getting that glass of cold water when you wake up in the middle of the night. 

Her eyes twinkled when she saw her. Her smile matched her eyes and it was radiant. Her hair was voluminous, her cheeks were rosy, she looks great. 

And you- you didn’t have that hard edge to you like you always did. You were still a boss lady that could be intimidating, but you smiled more, laughed more, let go and let life.

“I missed you,” it felt so good to have her in your arms like this, and not in the way of a steamy hookup. 

“I missed you more,” She kissed your cheek and led you into her house. She was expecting you, so she had your favorite take out warm and ready along with a glass of wine, “Figured this would be a good first step,”

“It’s perfect,”

-----

There was no TV playing, just your conversation that came so much easier now. Your heads were thrown back in laughter as you two told stories of your experiences when you two were apart. 

“It’s so good to be here with you,” she took your hand and held it tight. You squeezed right back and brought her closer to you, you just wanted to hold her, but the way she kissed you had you ready to engage in so much more and that’s where it got to.

Fingers deep in each other’s soaking heat, moaning in each other’s mouth, crying out the right names this time around. It felt so fucking right to be like this. Bot toys were needed, no strap, nothing. Skin to skin was all that was needed. You held her face close to yours as you two scissored, needy and loving sound your juices made mixing together.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” she pouted, ready to let go and see stars. She wanted to experience the first orgasm while being yours and you were gonna get her there. 

“I love you so much. Cum for me, baby,” 

Your teeth tugged on her bottom lip, grinding again her harder, taking you both over the edge, shivering and moaning at the intense wave that drowned you both. She wanted to fall back but you had her by the back of her neck, keeping her there and your eyes locked with hers, “What a good girl,” 

It went for rounds, you two never got tired of each other. Marking each other any place you could. Peppering ‘i love yous’ here and there any chance you two could. You wanted to make sure the other knew, not wanted to leave any room for doubt. 

“My sweet girl,” 

She cried at your words, thinking she’d never see this moment, letting yourself fall and admit that you wanted her. 

You wouldn’t let her go, she was the one and you were sure of it. There was still work to do, there always would be, but that’s what made it worth it.

---------------------

i wanted to end this angsty, but i am a sucker for love.

commets and reblogs are highly appreciated!

tags- @retroxvailles @blackreaders-assemble @yournonlocalpoc @hisxblackxqueen @dumbchick @veryhellshdia @mbaku-babygirl @here-for-your-bullshit @valkyriesnymph @vozit @spideys-wife @disaster-rose @xye-weirdo @persephones24 @alyssaj23 @warmchick @chonisberonica @valentinevirgo @crawlingnightmares @mokacoconut 

[kathyprior4200]

Entertainment in Inferno! (Alastor Enters Hell)

Part 1: “Alastor enters Hell” 1933

  Hell: 1933

 Black empty space.

Complete silence.

He felt like he was floating in some kind of void. Where he was, he didn’t know.

 He had no form, no physical sensations of any kind.

For a moment he just…was.

 A small white light emerged from the dark above, and steadily grew. Though it was blinding, the light didn’t bother him.

“Alastor…Alastor…”

A choir of vocals were speaking the repeated word in the distance. The voices grew louder as he felt himself rising upward. The word felt comforting to him, and sounded strangely familiar.

“Alastor…”

 He suddenly stopped and saw a golden gate up ahead within white clouds. A winged figure puffed up his white wings and stared at him.

“I am Puriel,” the angel said. He had a white face with red blotches on his cheeks, yellow eyes and short bronze gold hair. He was dressed in white dress pants, a white shirt, a golden bowtie, and matching shoes.

“I am an examiner of souls and one of many who determine where one goes in the afterlife.”

He spoke an incantation.

“Alastor Roscoe Duvalier,” Puriel stated. “Here is your previous form.”

Alastor gasped as he suddenly remembered his name. A flood of memories of his past life rushed back to him.

Alastor stared down at himself and saw his human reflection in front of him. A thin man with a pointed chin stared back at him with chocolate brown eyes and small round glasses. His skin was a very light brown, looking almost white. His hair color was in-between brown and red, short with a bit of a wave pointing to one side. The longest parts of his hair were slightly past his ears, reaching toward his chin.

A large black bowtie was positioned below his neck. His undershirt was white with buttons and crisscrossing lines forming a few diamonds. The design resembled the structure of a radio tower. Along with tan pants and brown boots, he wore a candy red pinstriped coat with dark red stripes going vertically down toward his waist.

What was disturbing about his reflection was a small red x on his forehead between his eyes that seemed to be glowing. His clothes were stained with blood as was the side of his face.

Alastor sprouted a large grin and instantly felt better. He said his name out loud, surprised to hear his voice.

 The angel in front of him continued. “Alastor Roscoe Duvalier, born in New Orleans to French American Joseph Duvalier and Creole American Loretta Duvalier. Entered Earth January 24th, 1896 at 3:00AM. Died in 1933 in the woods via a gunshot to the head and mauling by dogs.”

A brief flashback of him running from the police, trying to hide in the woods. Hearing the growling of canines and being surrounded by sharp teeth. A loud gunshot and an exploding pain through his head. Briefly seeing a buck in the distance before things went black.

Puriel looked through an endless holographic list of souls. He turned to Alastor with a glare.

“Due to the endless number of people you killed, you are not fit to enter Heaven. You are to either enter Hell, purgatory, Tartarus…” he listed off dark places from other cultures…

“…or go back to the endless void, as those who die a second death are fated to go.”

Alastor could feel a strange sensation, like someone, or something was tugging at his chest. It seemed to come from far below. He suddenly felt the need to follow it.

Having read his mind, Puriel nodded, a look of disgust on his face. “Your fate has been decided. Suffering and death will be there to meet you, unless you can somehow redeem yourself. Farewell.”

 The angel and the golden gate vanished, the darkness filling in again. Like the sudden drop of a roller coaster, Alastor felt himself plummeting rapidly down through the dark.

He literally screamed into the void.

“AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

He thought he briefly saw a familiar blue and green planet out in space, but everything rushed by too quickly for him to comprehend.

Breaking through dark ground, falling further into hot magma, uncomfortable heat that was even hotter than the sun…

Falling ever so endlessly, until he rushed through an opening portal in a crimson sky, the rim surrounded by flames.

 Down below, a group of little red skinned imps were forcing enchanted voodoo dolls made of straw to dance on hot coals. Red glowing chains held the dolls in place around their necks, the magic coming from the lead imp’s claws. The lead imp cackled, wearing ringmaster’s clothing and a round hat while the other imps jeered. A few demons watched the show from a distance. Several circus tents were lined nearby. The lead imp looked up in horror as the yelling figure fell down…and crushed him, creating a giant crater in the ground. The chains disappeared and the dolls cheered. They jumped over the coals and chased away their tormentors with sizzling silver pins.

The imp and Alastor fell through another portal, this time into a dark void.  Alastor landed hard on his back despite no visible structure being there. He coughed and slowly stood up, brushing off dirt and ash from his hair and clothes. The imp rubbed his long horns in pain and stood up too. The imp glared at Alastor, baring his fangs, but was quickly held into place via black tentacles pinning down his arms and legs. The imp yelled before being consumed by rows of sharp white teeth that appeared in the dark.

Alastor remained perfectly still, not even daring to breathe. (Not that he really could, anymore.) The black space was nothing like the silent void of death. In fact, it was more like an ocean of dark matter, humid heat and…

…things that were alive.

 Shadow spirits ebbed and flowed through the endless space, some with glowing white eyes, others with horns, all of them blending in within the dark. Shrieks, moans, and the occasional cackle filled the air.

“Hello darkness, my old friend,” Alastor spoke to himself.

“Hello to you as well,” said a voice from behind him.

Alastor spun around and only saw darkness.

“Who’s there?”

“Over here,” said the voice, in a distorted eerie tone.

He looked to the side and nearly gasped. Surrounded by an aura of red was a shadow of what looked like a skeletal humanoid deer. The figure stood upright with large white holes for eyes and sharp teeth inside its mouth. A pair of large antlers sat around shadow deer ears and a mess of hair. A claw with four fingers gripped Alastor’s shoulders.

“Who are you?” Alastor asked.

The being morphed until it was a black copy of him.

“I am you,” the shadow replied. “You may call me… Rotsala. I was born from your deepest nightmares, nestled in your subconscious. All of your evil thoughts, your fear, your rage…and your desire for vengeance. Those thoughts nourished me. Every kill you made on Earth brought you one step closer to not only death, but also to the underground Loas, and myself. Once you died, I was born with this shadow vessel, and separated from your mind. I traveled down here, to my home, knowing you would come. Now we are reunited at last.”

“But you’re not a part of me anymore,” Alastor said.

“Yes and no,” the shadow said. “Though I have my own body, I am still a reflection of your true feelings, your true motivations. So, naturally, once we get to Hell I’ll be your…guide, as it were.”

“But we can’t go back to Hell. Aren’t we stuck down here?”

“Not for long,” said the shadow. He pointed down to Alastor’s arm. Alastor looked and saw three glowing red voodoo symbols etched onto it in blood.

Alastor could sense other ancient beings moving closer to him, speaking in ghostly whispers.

The shadow continued, “Your debt to the Loas and specifically to Lord Kalfu has been paid. A sacrifice of loved ones in addition to your own gruesome death…bestows upon you, neigh unlimited power.”

 It all happened before Alastor had the chance to blink. Shadow creatures rapidly circled around him and black tentacles enveloped his entire body like a macabre cocoon. Alastor yelled as his human skin cracked, and peeled off his body in fleshy chunks, which soon faded into dust. Muscle and bone also disintegrated rapidly. Surprisingly, it wasn’t agonizing. It was more like the natural process of a snake shedding its old skin to make way for something new.

He felt formless, naked and cold, but soon warmed up as new flesh formed where his old exterior shell once was.

 His new skin and face were grayish in color. Empty dark sockets took up much of his face, the home of his new demonic red eyes. Soon, other body features formed: thin gray arms, legs, four fingered hands and four-toed feet…an anatomy of a male human, though definitely not human at all.

Alastor opened his mouth and sharp yellow fangs slowly emerged from the top and bottom. They closed together to form a wide sinister smile.

Thick red hair grew on Alastor’s head, pointing out in a slight wave toward the right like his previous human form. Tuffs of hair ending slightly past his chin on either side completed the look, ending with black colored tips. Instead of round earlobes, thick fluffy deer-shaped ears grew from the sides of his head, ending in black furry tips. In addition, small black antlers stuck out in the middle of his head, along with a fluffy black and red deer tail that appeared near his tailbone.

Alastor waved his hand in front of his right eye, and an old fashioned monocle appeared under it, connected by a thin chain. A burgundy pinstriped dress coat and a red undershirt materialized and covered his body. The ends of the coat were filled with several holes, giving it a tattered feel. An upside down black cross lay under a large black bowtie in place under his chin and neck. He wore the same color pants, plus black shoes with red deer hoof prints on the soles. Black gloves with red tips covered his four-clawed hands.

With his new form complete, the tentacles released Alastor and parted away.

 Tingling hot red electricity spread into his head, then moved down his body, much of it resting in his hands and fingers. He snapped on instinct and a burst of red magic sparked to life like a firework.

Then knowledge of magic and voodoo spells entered into his brain. The new information faded into the back of his head, staying there like he had it within him all his life.

“HEHEHEHEHAHAHAHA!”

Alastor let out a maniacal laugh that rose higher into hysterical giggles. All this supernatural power was coursing through his veins, and he loved every second of it.

Finally the magic quietly faded with a humming sound.

Two shadow demon figures approached with silent steps, eyes glowing red. Alastor could barely make out their forms in the blackness.

“One more thing,” said the shadow. “Demons make deals down here in Hell, and they are not to be taken lightly. These two are friends of mine. They are a few of the representatives of this world below Hell.”

The shadow creatures morphed into two alternate versions of Alastor. The one to the left had a red deer head with large antlers, radio dials for eyes and a dark blue suit. The other one had an old fashioned radio for a head, and wore a red suit with a black tie with crisscross lines on it like those of a radio tower.

“These two have taken forms suitable to your liking. They were the main ones who helped transform you…you may call them by their pseudonyms Cerf and Muse.”

The two shadows turned men awkwardly waved, feeling out of place in their temporary demon costumes.

“Since they used all their effort to craft you a suitable body to enter Hell…it only seems fitting that you could help them out as well.”

Alastor narrowed his eyes. There was more to this. “A proposal?”

The shadow nodded. “Give some of your newfound power to them and a connection will be forged between you and my brethren. You will be able to summon imps, shadow spirits and even the darkest creatures of the underworld with just a snap of your fingers. Cerf and Muse can serve as your bodyguards.”

Cerf walked forward. “I will give you animal instincts like sharp hearing and fast reflexes.”

Muse elbowed Cerf’s side and pushed forward. “I can give you something even better…your own personal weapon!”

Alastor was intrigued. “What is it?”

Muse smirked and wagged his claw, “You’ll have to agree to the deal if you want to find out!”

Alastor kept his smile on his face, standing proud in the face of uncertainty and risk. “And what’s in it for you?”

Alastor’s shadow grinned. “Why, your power, of course! Your sins on Earth coupled with your granted powers have made you, perhaps the most powerful demon yet to be. It would be quite useful for us in the long run.”

“Yes, yes,” said Cerf, “You know, ‘cause we want to eventually be free to roam Hell…and feast on delicious souls…havoc on the house!”

Muse elbowed him hard and flashed a warning.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“Idiot,” he muttered.

“Aw come on,” said Cerf. “We worked for that Dr. Facilier not too long ago, remember? His soul’s still in Hell and he still has his Eldritch powers. This guy can’t be that bad.”

Alastor grinned, getting an idea. “Hmm…how much power do you want from me?”

“50%,” said the shadow.

Alastor scoffed. “Ha! No. Way too much. After all that effort in giving it to me? No. I won’t relent that easily.”

“Well…if you don’t take the deal, we could always take some away…”

Alastor leaned in close and sneered, “Then I guess I’d be left with fighting myself for eternity then. I think we both know that it would get boring fast.”

The shadow nodded after a pause. “Touche. How about 30%?”

“Still too much. I could give you a wealthy 1%.”

“It’s gotta be above a single digit, or the exchange is off,” said the shadow. “25%.”

“Nonono. How about 10%. You tell me where I can find this Facilier guy…make him my slave…it’ll be all yours.”

Alastor’s shadow held out his hand, the other creatures looking on eagerly. “So, do we have a deal?”

Alastor grinned and put his hand into the shadowy digit. Green electricity sparked as they shook.

Cerf and Muse spiraled around him in circles. Cerf vanished into Alastor’s ears, awakening his senses. Muse turned into shadow once more…and began to change shape. The shadow transformed and Alastor felt something appear in his right hand.

 It was an old red vintage microphone staff. A glowing red eye appeared on the top, just below where the speaker was.

“About time you sealed that surreal deal,” came a voice from the device. It was a male voice with a radio filter over it. It sounded like an announcer on a broadcast.

“So this is my new weapon and accessory you were talking about.” Alastor said.

“Yes indeed,” the microphone replied. “Just turn me on and you can broadcast what’s going on around you, anytime, anywhere. I should say…your desire and love for telling dad jokes…I’ll help you go overboard with it.”

Alastor grinned again. He was already enjoying this opportunity.

“Enjoy yourself while you can, Radio Star,” said his shadow before disappearing behind him.

The microphone muttered something about already feeling trapped but Alastor didn’t listen.

He was already planning his next move.

“What am I waiting for?!” he asked out loud. He concentrated on the space in front of him and a portal opened back to Hell. He stepped through it and it closed behind him.

 This would be the beginning of Alastor’s many conquests of Hell…and his new title of The Radio Demon.

 The very first attack occurred in a dark forest in the moonlight (if there were even moons in Hell). Alastor discovered that when he concentrated and waved his hands over the ground, he could summon tentacles, shadow spirits and even voodoo imps from below.

If he was going to take over this peculiar place called Hell and be entertained, at least he would have help.

The demonic deer could hear the patter of footsteps and hid in the shadows, behind an old tree. Moving his head sideways, he peered to get a better look. Walking on the trail were two skeletal deer walking on two hooves. One of them was smoking a cigarette and the other was talking about “borrowing” coins from his ex-girlfriend. Behind them was a black minotaur in jeans and overalls. The first deer carelessly threw his used cigarette on the ground.

Alastor stared at it and the path ahead, getting an idea.

He picked up a rock and threw it in the distance. It crashed hard into the ground, causing the area to shake.

The two deer froze at the explosive noise and turned their heads around.

“What was that?” one asked.

“I didn’t hear nothin’,” said the second.

“You boneheads be hearin’ things,” growled the minotaur. He unzipped his backpack and took out an axe. He swiped several times in front of him, causing the deer to duck. “I pay you to protect me. Your job’s to cut down these trees for wood. Our saloon’s not gonna warm itself up in the winter ya, know.”

He kicked one of the deer with his hoof, sending the creature forward in a pile of bones. “Hurry up, now!”

The deer got up and continued forward. Alastor stretched out his hand and a black tendril snaked in front of the path. Invisible and silent, the deer didn’t notice it until they tripped over it.

“Aurgh!” they yelled, face planting in the dirt.

“You’re good for nothin’ but shit!” chided the angry minotaur. “Get your fat bony asses up before…”

FWOOOSH!

The lone cigarette erupted into flames from behind them.

“Before…that happens?” asked one of the deer, pointing behind the minotaur.

The flames moved rapidly through the dried wood. The deer rattled as they ran but were blocked as sparks ignited in front of them, with a snap of Alastor’s fingers. The barrier of fire blocked their path. Soon, the trio of sinners were surrounded by the flames.

“Now what?” asked one of the deer.

“Run through it, imbecile!” yelled the minotaur. “Or you’ll be even deader than you already are!”

Chuckling, Alastor turned on his microphone and strode forward, the flames having no effect on him. A spotlight shone from the eye that appeared in the center of the microphone.

“I believe I can help with that.”

“Who the fuck are you?!” spat the minotaur.

“The end of your pathetic existence,” Alastor said. “I’d say your attitude is sheer bullcrap, but who am I to know for sure.” He laughed at his pun as sounds of a laughing audience emitted from the staff.

The minotaur bellowed in rage and charged forward. A hard slap on the face from Alastor sent the bull man to the ground. Alastor stomped his foot and the bone deer were sent down into the depths in pieces.

“I’ve never hunted a bull before,” Alastor said, walking up to the minotaur on the ground. Four black spirits with big white eyes appeared to restrain him. A hunting knife appeared in his gloved hand. “…But I look forward to the new experience.”

He wedged the blade under the bull’s horns and began to saw through the material. The minotaur couldn’t fight off the spirits holding him down. Taking his sweet time, Alastor cut off the bull’s other horn.

“I must say, your horns are exquisite,” Alastor mentioned. He examined one in his hands like it was an artifact.

“Stealing my horns for the black market, are ya?” asked the minotaur.

“Nope!” he said. “I’m just curious to see how useful these things can be. We’re about to find out, ladies and gents…”

He rushed forward and stabbed the minotaur with his own horn. The bull roared loudly and briefly gurgled before falling backward with a limp. The horn was removed and coated with dark red blood.

Sticking out his long purple tongue, Alastor licked off some of the blood from the horn’s surface. He bent down and began to skin the dead minotaur before enjoying his midnight meal. “In case you were wondering, folks, bull meat can be hearty and tasty. Venison is my favorite, though.”

He stood up and wiped off his mouth. With a wave of his hands, the flames disappeared as did the spirits. Clearing his throat, he said in his announcer voice, “Welcome to the first ever radio broadcast, hosted by me, Alastor. 66.6 FM. It has to be deeply embarrassing to get stabbed to death by your own horn. But I don’t have any horns except the severed ones in my hand. Honestly, seeing the life leave that sinner’s eyes got me…should I say…horny. Ha ha ha! Stay tuned for more broadcasts in the future. Ta-la for now!”

He turned off his microphone with a tap and hummed a happy tune as he walked through the woods.

 The second massacre was much more exciting for Alastor. It took place at an annual fair, which was jam packed with demons. Alastor casually walked toward the line of demons waiting to get in. He whacked one demon in the back with his cane. The demon toppled forward, ramming into another demon, who tumbled into the next one. In a comedic domino effect, all the demons crashed to the ground in yelps and grunts.

“What’s the meaning of this?” asked a grumpy old demon with the face of a mosquito. The insect demon wore a white shirt with vertical black stripes.

“Why hello there, good sir!” said Alastor, walking up to the booth. “I felt that the line was going much too slow, so I decided to speed things up.”

“Get back in line, punk,” the mosquito spit. “Or I’ll suck up your blood and energy.”

“Oh no, how scary,” Alastor exclaimed in a mocking tone. Still, he kept a protective spirit in his pocket for powerful demons like the one in front of him.

“Just tell me how much it costs to get in,” said Alastor. “I have lots of dosh.”

“One thousand and ten souls,” the mosquito grunted.

“I believe the sign only says fifty souls,” Alastor mentioned.

“No, it says one thous…”

He glanced at the sign which read: “County Fair, best in Hell, fifty souls.”

“It said one thousand and ten a moment ago.”

“I don’t think so,” said Alastor, laughing inwardly.

“Enough of your games!” bellowed the mosquito. “Get back in line. You should have enough to pay for this.”

“I do have fifty souls,” Alastor replied.

“One hundred and ten, idiot,” said the mosquito.

“Fifty!” Alastor answered.

“Hundred ten!”

“Fifty!”

“Hundred ten!”

“Hundred ten!”

“Fifty!” yelled the mosquito.

“How about zero!”

“Zero?!” yelled the mosquito.

“Zero it is! Thank you, fine sir!” called Alastor, swatting the mosquito’s face with his staff. He vanished ahead into shadow, leaving the mosquito in disbelief.

 Alastor hummed happily as he walked among aisles of stands and booths. Children monsters threw bombs at a target, sending a sitting bat demon into a tub of acid below.

“Rotten candy!” called a pink dragon at a booth. “Freshly spun for everyone!” Blue and pink candy floss was being spun, and scooped up into a white cone. The dragon burped and the candy turned a sickly green.

A hydra at another stand was throwing darts at live suspended teddy bears covered with sores, some with eyes missing. Another demon with a TV for a head was riding a unicycle while twirling live wires in his hands.

Off in the distance, a family of brown Gollums were riding on a Ferris wheel. One of the parents got mad and threw a baby Gollum off into the air.

A roller coaster with zombies in the cars sent them upside down, then dropping them several feet to the ground on a mattress of metal spikes.

 Inside a red and black circus tent, a crowd of demons sat in the stands, watching some individuals perform tricks in the center. A sign nearby read: “The Amazing Imp Siblings! Blitzo, Tilla, and Barbie Wire!”

Another sign read “The Incredible Blitzo! Big top, tickets now! One night only!”

“Come one, come all!” came the announcer’s voice from a speaker. “Presenting your favorite trio of tricksters…”

Drums played rapidly in the background…

“The Imp Siblings!”

Blitzo and his sisters emerged from an opening in the wooden floor and posed on a podium. The crowd clapped.

“Hello, I’m Blitzo, the “o” is silent!” called the imp in the middle. He wore a navy blue sequined outfit with yellow eye decorations on the sleeves. His face was red and white and his horns long and curved.

“I’m Tilla,” said the older imp sister.

Tilla’s face was red and her hair was long and black. Her dress was pink with black dots along the front.

“And I’m Barbie Wire!” said the youngest sibling. Barbie Wire wore a black and white stripped dress, and her horns were curved in spirals around her head like a ram.

After a jingle about their new Immediate Murder Professional Company, Blitzo mentioned to his siblings, who both grinned. The imps took their places as their performance started. Circus music played nearby, one scrawny demon playing a rusted organ on wheels off to the side.

True to her name, Barbie Wire balanced on a tightrope made of razor thin wire. When flying bats surrounded her, she took out a spear and sliced them down when they flew close. She almost fell, but held out the spear in front of her, steading herself.

Tilla was busy doing flips as a giant manticore was released from a nearby cage. The beast had a lion’s head, black bat wings, and the tail of a scorpion. Tilla dodged the deadly tail and began to jump over it like she was doing jump-rope. With a mighty back-flip, she landed on the manticore’s back and rode the beast around the arena. The manticore roared and reared up, but Tilla brought the beast back down, taming it.

Meanwhile, Blitzo was singing a song about murder into a microphone while twirling a double-sided torch in his hand. The three siblings killed off more creatures before landing gracefully back in the center before taking a bow. The crowd stood up and applauded with hands, claws, fins, and other appendages.

  “Wow, what a performance!” exclaimed Alastor, his voice blending into the cheers. “Now this is what I call one hell of a show!”

 The Radio Demon filed out with the rest of the crowd. Feeling giddy, he played several of the games at the stands (and didn’t hesitate to cheat in order to win.) He ordered hot dogs (made from actual dog), blood punch, bird brains on a stick…and passed on the literal shit kababs.

A pleasant feeling of nostalgia came over him as he remembered the fun times going to the circus with his family as a kid. He loved playing the games and feeding the animals at the petting zoo. He was especially fascinated by the fortune tellers, who had used Tarot cards to predict people’s futures. The Fool card, representing curiosity and beginnings, was drawn as his card for his childhood. For his future teenager card, the Hermit was chosen, representing isolation. Justice was the chosen card for adulthood, adding to karma. Last of all, if he made it past 30, the Devil card was placed in front of him.

At the time, he didn’t know what they meant, but it was fascinating all the same.

Back in the present, a troll with three eyes was dragging a struggling buck toward a sitting group of spider demons waiting to ride it.

“Man, I’m still hungry,” he thought. “Haven’t had venison in forever.”

He summoned a rifle in his hands and proceeded to blast the deer’s head clean off.

“The fuck?!” bellowed the gray-skinned troll, stomping toward him. “That was my prized animal!”

“And that is my meal,” he replied.

The troll raised his fist and brought it down to where Alastor once stood. He materialized behind him.

“Stop trolling around and show me what you’ve got,” said Alastor.

The troll landed more punches, Alastor dodging every one.

“You’re no fun,” Alastor replied. He held out his hand and blasted a fireball straight into the troll’s face. The troll fell backwards to the ground, only a smoking hole of charred flesh where his face once was. Alastor picked up the deer head and smiled at the spider kids.

“You arachnids still want a ride?”

The spider kids scurried away, without saying a word.

 Later on, Alastor saw something that disturbed him inside for the first time. A group of four black reptile-like demons were huddled near a yellow and red striped circus tent. One held a whip in his hand and repeatedly slashed at a living voodoo horse made of straw. The creature was hauling a cart with a cage and was whining in pain.

“Get moving you bastard beast of burden!” sneered the snake demon.

The driver of the cart let out a hiss and a laugh. “Boy, we’re gonna be filthy rich by today’s end. Got lots of good victims to torture, it’ll make the boss happy.”

Alastor walked over toward the cage and saw several small voodoo dolls who were very much alive. A father and a mother doll were comforting little doll children who huddled into their cloth chests. The mother’s eyes were purple buttons and though her mouth was stitched shut, a voice still emerged.

“It’ll be okay, my son,” she said, soothingly.

“Mom, I don’t wanna go to the spectacle,” cried the kid.

The father doll sighed. “I can see why. My mother was used by a demon to harm his rival in the Second Circle of Hell. The pins and needles stuck into her every day, hurt her as much as that poor demon. But we’re stuck as slaves. We have no choice. To the demons and imps, we’re nothing but tools to be used.”

“That is very true,” thought Alastor. “But what if they could be used in a good way?”

The father looked at a grisly array of straw voodoo heads sticking from long spikes in the ground. The dead heads were trophies for the snake monsters. One wrinkled head with white curly hair remained motionless on a bloodstained spike.

“That’s your grandmother over there,” said the father. The boy doll turned away.

“The voodoo dolls who don’t serve their purpose right…” added the mother doll. She mentioned outside to more reptile demons eating living dolls, burning others, tearing other dolls to shreds and sewing them back together, only to repeat the process.

Alastor snapped his fingers and the cage door opened. The dolls stared confused but soon ran out when they saw the demon’s face.

“Hey, get back here!” called a bipedal snake as his captives fled on their short stubby legs.

Radio noises rushed from his staff as Alastor spoke a Creole spell.

Other voodoo imps and creatures slowly turned their heads to look toward him. Round faced dolls who were originally tied by chains broke free. Many gathered nearby knives, pitchforks, and even torches.

“You inssssulent strawberry clown!” hissed the boss snake, slithering over, wearing a business suit of black. “You think you can get away with ssssetting my prizes free like that. I’ll bite you and make you wish you never died!”

A tentacle rose from the ground and constricted the snake’s neck. His yellow eyes bulged and he gasped for air through his fanged mouth. He was then tossed aside into a pit of flames. A nearby doll rebel mob stabbed the snake with sharp pins.

Casting another spell, Alastor grew taller until he towered above the circus tent. His dress coat merged with the tent and flaps. Black spikes jutted from out of the tent and other tents nearby, some with voodoo heads on them.

Telepathically using pins to hold open the flaps, Alastor pulled the rest of the snake-men in with several tentacles. A roaring fire blazed to life right where the demons were standing. The reptiles roared in agony as the flames consumed their bodies. One snake opened his mouth, wide, reaching out from the tent, trying to escape. Voodoo imps off to the side, held their little weapons in the air, attacking any other demons who wondered by. The voodoo minions now had mouths of sharp teeth, with blood around their mouths, eyes white. Alastor, meanwhile was enjoying the carnage below, now in full demon form. His hands were spread out wide, his eyes red radio dials, and his antlers jutting out from his head. All the while, his victory was broadcast yet again over the radio.

“Goood afternoon, you filthy sinners! It’s your favorite radio demon, Alastor coming in live! I am here at the annual county fair. Just listen to that cheerful circus music, and the joyful sounds of sinners on their days off. And best of all, the screams of those unfortunate enough to be trapped in my inferno! Chaos is still running rampant here as voodoo dolls strike down their former masters with every kind of weapon imaginable. You know what they say: “be careful what you wish for…you may soon be on fire, for better or worse!” Tickets are still on sale for those who’d like to experience the show. Well that’s all for now, folks. Stay tuned for more, next time on 66.6 FM.”

 Now in Alastor’s control, the doll citizens caused havoc around hell in the name of their new lord of chaos. They had aided him in his many other conquests, doing his bidding like the shadow spirits.

 During one particular conquest, the voodoo imps stood in a line beside Alastor as they overlooked a city in one of the Nine Circles. The sky on that day was red and cloudless, the color of fresh blood.

The demons who lived there had supported Sir Pentious, the evil snake overlord from the 1800s. The boastful villain himself was there, controlling a hulking machine with metal arms and legs…and lots of blasters, from the inside. His egg minion army stood at the ready, some of them running around the inside, others watching their leader in awe.

“Oh I really wish I could be shot with one of those amazingly crafted blasters,” said egg #66.

“Shut up!” hissed the overlord, his one-eyed top hat on his head. “I need to focus here! There’s a rogue army of…toys straight ahead trying to take over this turf. But several perfect shots from my blasters will do the trick.”

The snake pulled several levers and the blasters fired torpedoes that exploded off in the distance. Alastor had formed a red energy shield which protected him and the dolls.

“Hey, red reindeer man!” Sir Pentious called through a loudspeaker. “What are you doing on my turf?”

Alastor turned on his microphone. His voice echoed through the air, accompanied by radio noises.

“It’s Alastor to you, old serpent. And I believe this territory now belongs to me.”

“Well my cult of demons would disagree with you,” Sir Pentious retorted. The demons stood holding spears and barring their teeth.

“You still have a chance to surrender and run,” said Alastor. “If I were you, I’d take it.”

“Fool!” Sir Pentious hissed. “You’re not getting in my way of my domination goal! Now, prepare to be blasted to bits! Hahahaha! Attack!”

More blasts shot from the robot’s arms. The demons yelled as the eggs charged forward, wearing pinstriped suits and black top hats. Alastor pointed his claws forward and the voodoo imps rushed in. One imp with horns, a black hat, and sharp teeth held a butcher knife. Another imp with horns bit into an egg minion with a large bite. The egg yelled and cracked open in a yok mess.

The eye on Alastor’s microphone created a spotlight that temporarily blinded the approaching demon soldiers. Happy, jazz music poured from the staff, a contrast to the grisly battle occurring.

A wealthy demon wearing a white shirt and rings on two of his three fingers, fled when flames sparked in front of him. Another demon wearing a blue general’s uniform had large black eyes and horns with black and pink stripes. He tried to fight off the imps, but the creatures held onto his legs with their fangs.

Black tentacles emerged from an opening portal, grabbing onto demons and tossing them inside like rag dolls. A final blast fired from Sir Pentious’ machine. “You’re done for!” the snake declared.

The torpedo froze in mid-air after Alastor held out his hand. The missile then flew backwards, right into the heart of the machine. The hunk of metal exploded and Sir Pentious fell out with a scream. He quickly fled while his remaining egg army followed after him. “I’ll have my revenge, Alastor! It’s far from over!”

“I’d say it’s closed curtains for your show,” the radio demon replied. He cut into his hand with a fingernail and droplets of red blood glowed.

The demon general stood up on shaky legs…then was instantly crushed by a large metal pillar. The pillar along with two others held up a tall radio tower that had materialized out of nowhere. A red light blinked ominously at the top, an Illuminati eye, watching everything.

“Now there’s some technology I can truly appreciate!” Alastor exclaimed with a clap of his hands.

Whenever Alastor paid a visit to a city or town, the people would run for cover, shouting, “It’s the Radio Demon! Run for your afterlives!”

Their screams and terrified faces filled Alastor with glee and a sense of dominance. He hovered in the air, his eyes demonic red, antlers long and extending from his head. He was a figure of chaos and power, under the glowing pink Pentagram in the indigo sky. Voodoo imps carried animal skulls on spikes as they roamed the streets. They left several spikes in the ground with severed demon heads attached (and sometimes voodoo doll heads.) The spikes would often stand near piles of dead demons. Some dolls broke into stores and smashed TV screens with their spears and weapons. “VOX EATS SOCKS!” was spray painted in red by two dolls on the glass window of the trashed TV store. After they left, a lone voodoo minion replaced the red “S” with a black “C” and cackled out loud. Alastor’s deer shadow hovered nearby in the air, with red eyes, large antlers and a grinning mouth.

Radios of all shapes and sizes were soon for sale in many stores in Hell. One of Alastor’s favorite ones was an old fashioned one with three panels at the top, a dial, and a row of grinning teeth that was part of the design on the front. A friendly reminder for listeners to keep on smiling.

The voodoo imps evolved further, some growing horns of purple and bright pink. Others rode in battle on skeletal deer with glowing red horns in place of antlers. Those more inclined to water hitched rides from moving skeletons of sharks and underwater monsters.

Even poor Husk, the alcohol drinking gambler cat demon, was dragged into Alastor’s schemes several times. At one point, he was forced to do a tap dance on stage to distract a crowd of demons while Alastor razed the nearby town. It was embarrassing for the winged cat demon, but Alastor obviously got a kick out of it. Reluctantly, Husk continued to serve Alastor in exchange for booze and cigarettes. Meanwhile, Niffty gladly helped out the Radio Demon by making him meals and helping to keep his interdimensional home tidy. She was just glad to be out of the flames and to keep busy. Both Niffty and Husk’s auras briefly glowed red like Alastor’s, indicating they were associates of his. However, they had free will of their own…when they were not summoned by him on occasion.

At one point, Alastor posed with the rest of the villain overlords: Vox the TV demon, Velvet, Valentino the porn studio owner, Rosie, a skeletal deer surrounded by a halo of blue fire, a two-headed bird in a tuxedo, a bird overlord with yellow shades, a black spider demon, a thick haired lady who looked like Helsa, and another woman who may have been Lilith. Husk and Niffty stood as shadow silhouettes. Thirteen individuals in all.

 By the time Alastor heard of the Hazbin Hotel, he had performed eleven successful massacres, all throughout the Nine Circles of Hell. There were even fliers taped around, showing Alastor at the circus with his victims burning underneath him. “THE RADIO DEMON! BEWARE HIM! DO NOT FUCK WITH HIM!” the fliers read.

Alastor hummed a jolly tune as he observed the fruitful results of his carnage. He was one step closer to dominating all of Hell.

 Part 2: “Exterminations”

During one random day, the clock tower ringed twelve ominous tones. Alastor was strutting down the street when he heard the noise. He glanced up at the tower where a counter read “number of days till next purge: 0.”

“Purge?” he thought. “Sounds intriguing. Some kind of killing contest between overlords?”

Alastor soon got his answer when the center of the overhead neon pentagram in the sky tore open. Through a dark hole, dark flying creatures swarmed out and headed off in different directions. There were at least twenty of them, perhaps more.

Upon closer inspection, they were dark angels with black feathery wings, curved horns and bird-like feet clad in dark armor. They wore LED masks complete with creepy glowing grins, large x’s over their right eyes and curved horns off to the back, reaching past behind their heads. Each one also carried a harpoon spear in their hands.

One angel threw a spear that struck a flying demon square in the eye. The demon fell to the ground, lifeless. Another harpoon struck an orange horned demon in the neck, resulting in a gory death. A lone spear flew and lodged itself in the wall right above Alastor’s head.

All around the city, demons were screaming and scurrying frantically for cover. Several Exterminators circled over the cowering citizens of Hell with mechanical laughs.

“Cleanse Hell of the sinner scum!” rang out on of the angel’s voices.

With a spin and swipe of a harpoon from another angel, other demons dropped dead like bowling pins.

One of the angels glanced over to Alastor. Two other angels glanced over too, all turning their heads, grins glowing.

Alastor hid his shock with a sinister smile of his own. The shock quickly morphed into a new excitement.

“Prepare to meet your second death,” said the angel in the middle.

“Am I supposed to be sacred of you crows?” he asked.

Alastor was surrounded by the three angels hovering above him, spears raised.

His eyes turned into red radio dials and his black antlers grew slightly longer from his head.

“This is going to be quite entertaining!”

The three spears were thrown forward and black tentacles reached and slapped the weapons away.

Just as the harpoons appeared back in the Exterminator’s hands, shadow spirits with red auras circles around the angels, screeching, clawing and attacking them. One angel flapped and flailed, shaking off several spirits by striking them with a swipe of his spear. A tentacle impaled the angel through his gut from behind them. The second angel got his wings torn off by two other black tentacles emerging from portals in midair. A shadow spirit grabbed the angel’s spear and sliced off its owner’s head, falling into one of the portals.

The third angel began to flee, but Alastor grabbed hold of one of the angel’s dark arms. The Exterminator elbowed Alastor and scratched his chest with long nails. Alastor glanced down at the tears and new flowing blood soaking into his red pinstriped dress coat.

He growled darkly in a demonic voice. “That was my favorite suit.”

The Radio Demon soon had the angel in a chokehold with one of his four-fingered gloved hands.

“L-let go, filth!” the angel sputtered with a gasp.

Using his strength, Alastor bashed the angel down hard against the pavement several times.  He soon heard a satisfying crack as his victim’s head split open and the dark horns fell off. He tossed the angel’s body aside for the nearby voodoo imps to consume.

 Tom Trench, a white-haired guy with a facemask and a business suit appeared on screen. 666 News logo appeared in neon behind him.

“Breaking news! Exterminators have invaded Hell once again, with an even greater number than last year. Pandemonium is in the air as Heaven’s army slaughters citizens right and left at random, to reduce the population, as is tradition. Please, for your own safety, stay indoors and on lockdown. If you’re looking to take over new territory, please refrain from doing so during the rampage. It’ll be up for grabs after the purge…if you’re still alive, of course.”

There was a sound of glass breaking from the news room as a spear flew over Tom Trenches head.

“That’s all for today! This is Tom Trench, 666 News at 5. Until next time, have a great evening.”

Tom Trench fled the scene as an LED wearing angel eclipsed the careen and smashed it, causing static.

Alastor stood still for a moment…

“Who ho ho! What a great picture show. Wasn’t expecting that nice surprise during this time. Perhaps I should broadcast my acts of destruction on those Exterminators…”

More spears flew in the air, crackling with electricity. Alastor saw more angels fly through the overhead hole. Alastor glanced at his stinging chest.

“One more act it is then.”

 His vintage microphone staff appeared in his right hand and lit up to life. The eye in the center of the microphone moved from side to side.

“You want to take things even further, do you not?” asked a radio voice from the microphone.

“You know me too well,” he replied. “But then again, you are a part of me, so of course you would.”

Alastor lifted himself into the air with a large tentacle, red voodoo symbols surrounding him. He tapped the staff and it blinked on.

 “Well good evening, little sinners! It’s your one any only host, Alastor, the Radio Demon. Right now, I’m in the midst of a bloody battle between you citizens and the infamous Exterminators. It looks like several denizens of Hell have already fallen prey to the invaders. One angel’s beating up an imp pretty bad over there. Another demon with a spear through her mouth by the store window, doesn’t look too good for her…”

Four angels flew headfirst toward Alastor, only to be knocked back by red energy flowing from Alastor’s body. One unlucky angel got set on fire with a simple snap of the demon’s fingers. The angel let out a rather unholy yell before disintegrating.

Alastor’s hands and microphone were splattered with fresh blood. He fooled with the angels for several more minutes and spoke into his microphone. “Time for some jokes, my friends. What do you call a rejected do-gooder from Heaven?”

Alastor punched a charging angel in the face, sending him flying.

“A fallen angel! Ahhahahaha.”

Several exterminators down below were disintegrating Alastor’s shadow spirits with beams of light from their hands. One angel shot beams of light at the Radio Demon, who dodged each one. Her hair was long and blonde in the back. The angel roared in anger and shot light spears in every direction. Tentacles around Alastor blocked her attacks.

“Wow, that angel over there looks pretty mad…”

She looped and spun herself rapidly toward him, her hand in a fist. Her fist stopped right in front of Alastor’s face. He grabbed hold of her chest tight with one hand and karate-chopped her head off with his other hand.

“…I guess you could say she lost her head! Hahahaha!”

He dropped her headless body and continued swatting angels away like flies.

 After a few more moments, Alastor was getting bored. It was time for the grand finale. He stood on a platform of surrounding tentacles.

He curled his right hand into a fist, sharp pointed nails digging into his now-glowing palm. Several large drops of red blood rained down from his hand, falling to the ground.

Several flaming holes appeared in the air around the flying exterminators. Tentacles wrapped around each of their waists, binding their hands and pulling back their wings. Their harpoons were tossed into the portals by separate tentacles. At least a dozen angels were brought close together, each of them bond by tentacles.

Voodoo symbols surrounded Alastor and his eyes briefly turned dark, displaying radio waves sizzling across them. His black antlers now extended far beyond his head.

Long thick shadows rose from the ground until forming into two swirling shadows on either side of the tied up angels. The shadows slowed, and solidified into two large gray four-clawed hands. The pointed fingernails were yellow, the same color as a spot down the middle of each finger.

Indeed, the large hands were uncovered copies of Alastor’s real hands.

The staff vanished. From a distance, Alastor lined up his own hands with the giant ones, which copied his hand movements.

 Then, inch by inch, the hands closed in.

 The angels stared in fear behind their gruesome masks, struggling to free themselves from their bonds. The remaining angels outside looked on in worry. A few bowed their heads and mouthed silent prayers.

The large curved fingers overlapped seconds after Alastor slowly interlocked his own. An invisible force tried to push the palms of his hands apart. But his hands closed in more, like he was molding invisible clay to his liking.

 “For my final act of tonight, you shall witness…”

The last of the angel’s heads and struggling forms disappeared behind gray fingers and flesh.

With an evil grin and a glow of his eyes, Alastor pushed his own hands together.

The large hands closed with a shuddering shake. Muffled crunching and squelching came from inside. Alastor opened up his hand and the giant ones followed. A shower of blood, bits of body parts, and black feathers rained down to the street.

He finished in a low demonic voice, “…the Exterminators’ crushing defeat.”

Applause erupted from his microphone as the large hands deformed and sent out shadowy creatures which vanished through the last several portals before they closed. The remaining angels shivered and fled through the black hole overhead. Alastor’s antlers receded back to normal size.

 “Well, folks, that’s all for tonight. I hope you enjoyed this remarkable demonstration of my amazing power. This is Alastor, 66.6 FM. Until next time, have a splendid evening…and as always, stay tuned!”

No one said a word as the Radio Demon lowered himself to the ground. The tentacles and portals vanished behind him. He stared at his bleeding hand and wrist. Lightheadedness overtook him. He waved his hand one more time and stepped down into a portal, which soon closed above him.

He breathed a sigh of relief. He was back in his lair, a bizarre home-like hideout floating in a void dimension just underneath Hell. It was a place where the Loa and dark spirits roamed.

Using so much power and blood magic had taken a bit of a stretch on his body. Gray circles were under his eyes, barely noticeable. With a yawn, he went into a bathroom to clean his wounds. The two handled faucets were made of gold and shaped like miniature deer heads. A black clawed bathtub decorated with large eyes stood in the center of the room.

After washing up and changing into a red velvet night gown, Alastor wandered past the living room, a room with a blood red rug, a couch, comfy leather chairs, and a fireplace of black flames. Above the mantle on the wall were stuffed deer heads mounted on display of various colors and states of decay. Rifles and several collected angel weapons were displayed in a darker corner of the room. Walking into the kitchen, Alastor pulled out vension deer meat from the icebox and heated it up on the stove. He hummed “You’re Never Fully Dressed” as he cooked.

After he ate his meal, he made his way into his room down the hall. Inside his room was a large bed with a leather comforter and satin red pillows. An old fashioned TV with two antennae sticking out stood nearby. Several different radios were lined up on a polished wooden dresser with a vanity mirror framed with round lights around it. Inside his closet were his suits neatly hung and shoes in a holder. Voodoo dolls resembling himself, Husk, Charlie, Angel and others were lined up in a black cabinet.

Alastor yawned again and climbed up into his bed. He soon had a small relaxed grin on his face. The lights went off after he waved his hand. His eyes dimmed and turned into small red radio dials. The droning sound of a radio powering off briefly filled the room as Alastor slept with his eyes wide open.

    Part 3: “Killing Spree for Three”

 Several years had passed since the Radio Demon had terrorized tons of provinces in Hell. It had started in 1933 shortly after his mortal death, when he fell down into Hell and was granted his powers by the Loas, Voodoo shadow spirits. Alastor, of course, had taken advantage of his new demonic deer-like form and Eldritch abilities, using his vintage microphone staff to broadcast his victories and carnage wherever he went. His sentient shadow had hovered by his side with an ever-present smile on his face like his counterpart.

During his time in Hell, Alastor had conjured looming metal radio towers and stations in the areas he had claimed. Despite being new to Hell in 1933, he quickly figured out the functions of Hell’s hierarchy.

Lucifer and Lilith were the powerful King and Queen, not to be tested with nor disobeyed. It was safe to assume that they knew everything that went on throughout the fiery realm. This was why Alastor never revealed his plans out loud…or if he did, he morphed the meaning into something more superficial.

Sinners, or those that had previously been human, were considered the lowest of the low in terms of class. They were the majority in Hell but also faced various forms of discrimination. Without his powers and charisma, Alastor would’ve fit the lowest sinner category.

Alastor was already familiar with being a societal outcast. Back in New Orleans as a human, he had been mocked and jeered at for being part white and part Creole. It was a time when racism ran rampant and white elites got to enjoy the most luxuries. If it weren’t for is mother and radio career, he would’ve rotted away in jail or in poverty.

 But unlike his previous life, Alastor was much more prepared, and powerful. The Hellborns included imps, hellhounds and other creatures born in Hell, considered “superior” to sinners. However, even the Hellborn were nothing compared to the Overlords, powerful demon rulers with abilities beyond average. Alastor had become an overlord the moment he broadcast his first massacre in a dark gnarled wood.

 It was not uncommon for overlords to not get along and to fight over turf, slaves, drugs and other commodities. Vox, the TV demon, Valentino the Porn Studio owner, and Velvet the doll demon were sometimes called the Three V villains. Vox and Alastor did not get along, for Alastor despised post 30’s technology. Alastor had also defeated Sir Pentious, an inventor snake demon who was previously born during the Industrial Revolution. Though that was so long ago, that he had forgotten who he was fighting with.

 Currently, Alastor had control over a voodoo doll and imp army, could summon shadow spirits at will and create portals to the “other side.” He even created his own interdimensional lair underneath Hell.

 Alas, just those benefits weren’t good enough. Alastor was a man constantly on the lookout for other sources of influence and entertainment. Why would he settle for anything less in his second “life?” Being one of the most powerful demons in Hell was no small feat. He required other allies and servants… those who were citizens themselves. Humming happily with his usual smile on his face, Alastor made his way into the city.

 Under the red sky, monsters and demons of all shapes and sizes wondered the pot-hole covered streets of Pentagram City. A neon Pentagram hovered over in the sky, a symbolic reminder to those below where they were. However, the demons went about their ways like ordinary humans would on Earth. Teen Hellhound females smoked cigarettes while leaning against a wall. A black furry spider demon got into an argument with a zombie over a meth purchase. The zombie punched the spider in the gut and in turn, the spider knocked the zombie’s head clean off. The head yelled swear words as it plopped to the ground.

 From inside a strip club, Angel Dust, a white spider demon was spinning upside down on a pole onstage. He was dressed in nothing but red lacy underwear, his legs spread wide for the viewers to see. Techno music was muffled by the window. Two snakes chased each other loudly and bust into the club, briefly catching Alastor’s attention. One demon spotted the Radio Demon from outside and fainted from terror. Angel Dust puckered his mouth in a kiss and waved at Alastor. Alastor rolled his red eyes in disgust and walked on.

 A vertical neon sign on a street corner displayed a yellow saxophone with white musical notes coming out of it. The words along the side read “Mimzy’s Club and Bar.”

“Mimzy…” Alastor said out loud. “That name sounds very familiar.”

He went up to open the door and walked inside.

 He was greeted by the upbeat sounds of trumpets, drums, a saxophone and even a piano not too far away. Demons wearing cowboy hats and mustaches were playing pool far in the back. Against one wall was a pink neon sign which read “Drinking” over a display of bottles. A humanoid couple dressed in Day of the Dead outfits were smooching in a booth filled with cigarette smoke. A red horned ogre dressed in gray Viking armor was serving up mugs of beer and alcohol to customers sitting on stools at the tall obsidian counter.

 Just then, a short demon dressed like a jester with a stripped hat complete with bells stood up from his chair. He looked up and saw Alastor’s pale grayish face leering down at him. The jester gasped in fright and scurried backward. “It-it’s the Radio Demon!”

The music abruptly stopped and the chatter ceased. Everyone turned to stare at him, fear, anger, and for a few, excitement in their eyes. Alastor snapped his fingers and a spotlight appeared over him.

“Hello, there fellow sinners! How are you all doing this fine evening?”

Nobody said a word.

He chuckled and held out his hands. “Don’t worry, I’m not here to harm anyone. I’ve just come by to relax and have a drink. Nothing wrong with that, right?”

Several demons quickly shook their heads and muttered affirmations. Alastor glanced at the jazz band on stage and tilted his head. “Aren’t you going to play some tunes for us?”

The band members started their next song, making sure it was loud and catchy.

Several other demons moved out of the way to let him pass.

Alastor tilted his hand toward his chest. “Ah, such pleasant company here!”

The spotlight faded as Alastor took a seat at the bar.

The Viking ogre turned to look at him.

“Haven’t seen you here before.”

“Surely you know who I am?”

The ogre shook his head, unfazed. The others turned to the bartender, with concerned looks.

“Well,” said Alastor, “It’s nice to meet you, good chap.”

The ogre just grunted in response.

“I’ll have a small black coffee and a glass of Sazerac liquor, please.” Sazerac was one of the first cocktails in New Orleans.

The ogre nodded. “7 souls each.”

Alastor placed 13 dark coins with a small eye on each one on the counter. The ogre scooped them up in his meaty hand and turned to get the drinks ready.

“Heh, heh, he forgot to count them,” Alastor thought.

 His black coffee was soon brought out in a small white mug on a white plate. Carefully picking up the mug by the round handle with several claws, Alastor softly blew over the cup before taking a sip. A satisfying bitter heat filled his mouth. It filled his core with warmth and made him feel more alert, just like it did every morning during his past life. He took more sips and closed his eyes in content. For a millisecond, unnoticed by anyone, his face briefly morphed into his human one: light brown skin, thin pointed chin, brown eyes and short brown hair with a wave off to one side. Small round glasses were placed over his nose. Then, just as quickly, his face returned to his current one: grayish pale, yellow teeth, red eyes, red and black hair, monocle under his right eye.

 After several musical numbers had played, Alastor’s next drink had arrived. Alastor noticed something was not right.

“Uh excuse me?” he asked.

“What?” asked the ogre.

“I asked for a glass of Sazerac. Why did you get me noodle juice?”

He stared at the cup of brown tea on the counter in disgust.

The ogre shrugged. “We ran out of that kind of liquor. That fellow over there ordered the last one.”

He pointed to a shark demon finishing up the rest of his liquor bottle before smashing it on the floor and pushing open the doors.

“Heheheheh…excuse me for a second,” Alastor said.

He stood up and followed the bipedal shark outside. The visitors sitting in booths and chairs could hear muffled pounding, grunts, and stomps coming from outside. At one point, a dark tentacle appeared out of nowhere and then vanished. The gray shark’s head was slammed against the window, slowly sliding down covered in red blood. The demons shrugged, turned back around and continued chatting.

The Radio Demon stomped back into the room, smile on his face but anger in his eyes. The ogre seemed to be whispering something to someone hidden in the back. Alastor spoke to the bartender, composed, hiding his frustration. “I believe we were at the part where I asked you…why did you serve me noodle juice?”

“I already told you, we were out of liquor.”

“How does a bar run out of liquor so suddenly?”

“How should I know?”

“Do you have anything else?”

The ogre occupied himself with cleaning a mug.

“Besides noodle juice?”

A muffled giggle came from behind a set of curtains. He waved his hand and the curtains pulled back. A demon with black wings, horns, and a hat with a domino on it was laying on the floor with several empty bottles of Sazerac around him. He whispered to the ogre who turned around, “You lost the bet, you fucking lard. I told you he’d say “noodle juice” when you gave him tea.”

“I ain’t giving you any money,” the ogre whispered. “I’m the one who pranked the prankster.”

The horned demon stopped laughing and narrowed his eyes. “6.6 souls, hand them over.”

Radio static suddenly filled the air. “You think I’m a joke to you?”

The horned demon turned around and his eyes met Alastor’s before he was plunged down into a portal that appeared from underneath him. The black tentacle monster swallowed the prankster demon in one gulp. The portal closed and Alastor stared at the ogre. He sat down in his seat.

“Kindly fetch me a bottle of Sazerac before I hang you from the ceiling with your intestines.”

The ogre gulped and ran out of the room. He was stopped by a sharp tentacle slicing through his chest. His mutilated body crashed down a flight of stars in the back, starling a waitress who looked like an ostrich.

Alastor tossed the tea aside and summoned a bottle of Sazerac in front of them.

“Sometimes you gotta do things yourself,” he muttered before taking a big gulp from the bottle. Despite his powers, he enjoyed it when people did things for him, like bringing him drinks. The soul coins he had given to the ogre, flew back into his hand and vanished.

  From backstage, a woman was putting the finishing touches of makeup on her face while staring at herself in a large square mirror framed in round lights. She took a deep breath and stood up from her seat. The music stopped and shortly after, a green suit-wearing alien stepped up to the stage and announced, “Our next performer, the marvelous Mimzy!” A woman walked onto the stage. Alastor looked over and his red eyes widened. His smile grew an inch more. The woman was short and chubby, wearing a pink flapper dress and a headband with pink feathers on it. Her black heels tapped against the floor in a rhythmic pace. Her face was white and her large eyes were black with hot pink pupils. She strutted up to the microphone, proud and confident.

Mimzy fluffed her short blonde hair and waved at the audience. Then she sang a lovely catchy jazz song from the early 1900s. Then she finished off with “Down in New Orleans,” much to Alastor’s delight. What a lovely melodic voice she had!

 Alastor remembered Mimzy as a blonde-haired human, she had been a worker at a jazz club in New Orleans and she and Alastor had danced together on stage. He admired her then and still admired her now. They had shared a kiss as humans but Alastor thought of her as an affectionate friend.

That was all before he went insane and killed her in a frenzy.

Mimzy had been sent to Hell since she killed her husband in self-defense and was briefly a prostitute to make ends meet.

 After Mimzy sang and stepped off to the side, another demon came up to the stage. She was tall and slender with sharp teeth in a smile, black eyes, and a large round pink hat with skulls on it covering her head. Several other demons bowed as she walked up to the microphone. She took out her pink umbrella, spun it around in a twirl and did a song and dance number: “Practically Perfect in Every Way.”

 “By the time the fire has burned the restless souls down,

I’ll tell you, yes I can,

No matter the circumstance for one thing you shall know,

My character is spite, shine, spic and span,

I’m practically perfect in every way”

 “For demons say

Each sin and misdeed knows no bounds

To hate is great and patently sound

I’m practically perfect head to tail

If you found a fault, it would be to no avail

I’m so practically perfect in every way”

 “Both prim and proper, graceful and stern

So passive, at peace yet willing to TURN (briefly goes to demon form)

I’m clean and honest, my manner refined

And I wear hats of the sensible kind

I suffer no nonsense and whilst I remain

There’s nothing much else I need to explain”

 “I’m practically perfect in every way

Factually flawless, that’s my forte

Uncanny ladies are hard to find

Unique, not meek, great matters of mind

I’m practically perfect, and never soiled

Killing like a villain with victims freshly boiled

I’m so practically perfect in every way

Well those are my credentials

Perhaps you have a few questions?”

 “Yeah I have one!” called a boar demon. “Did you copy Mary Poppin’s song and just add your words to it?”

The crowd laughed and clapped.

Rosie took a bow. “Yes, so what if I did? I did it for my audience!”

 On Earth, Rosie had been the CEO of a clothing company. She had also danced and met with Alastor as a human. She went to Hell due to forcing her employees to work long hours with hardly any breaks. Stern, elegant and vain, she was a perfectionist and it showed at her job. She did well when it came to organization, dressing fancy…and killing those who stood in her way. In Hell, she was an overlord and owner of an emporium.

Like with Mimzy, she and Alastor enjoyed singing and dancing…and terrorizing others. However, they had only gotten a glimpse of each other during their individual conquests and work.  

But now was the chance for Alastor to warm up to his lovely lady friends.

 Rosie finished her song and took a bow. Alastor clapped enthusiastically. “Bravo, bravo, what an outstanding performance!”

Alastor waved at the two performers who briefly glanced at him.

“Who’s that?” Mimzy asked, curiously.

“One of my fellow overlords. Haven’t interacted with him, though,” Rosie replied.

Alastor morphed into shadow and teleported onto the stage between them.

Both women gasped as Alastor appeared with either hand on their shoulders.

“Why hello, lovely ladies! Care if I join you?” He kissed Rosie’s hand, then Mimzy’s.

Rosie raised her eyebrows. “Aren’t you that super-powered radio guy that terrorized half of Hell?”

“Yes indeedy. How do you do?”

“Be thankful that you’re a fellow overlord,” Rosie replied. She stared into his red eyes, “…and I’ll admit, devilishly charming. You name?”

“Alastor.”

“I’m Rosie.”

“Mimzy,” said the other lady, already blushing at the handsome stranger.

“Boo!” shouted a white demon shaped like a fox. “You’re interrupting the show!”

Alastor merely shrugged and laughed, the spotlight now on him. He conjured up his microphone staff in his right hand, which glowed red. “How about one joke before the next dance?”

“No dad jokes, get off the stage!” the fox yelled.

Alastor turned to the booing demon. “What time does my radio show start in Hell?”

“No one fucking cares!” the fox yelled.

“6:06…A-M. But thankfully, you won’t have to listen to it.”

He snapped his fingers and the fox demon exploded in a shower of guts and blood. The other demons stepped away from the mess.

Having the time of his afterlife, Alastor smiled even more and held Mimzy and Rosie’s hands. With a wave of his hand, his usual outfit turned into a red suit, and a white undershirt with a black bowtie. He now had black tap dancing shoes plus a top hat complete with stitches and two small pins sticking out.

“Embarrassing fact, I can’t tap dance,” Alastor said under his breath.

“I can teach you how,” Rosie said.

Alastor’s red eyes curved slightly into arches, his smile genuine. “I’d like that very much.”

The jazz band began to play a catchy tune. Alastor stood between the two women.

“I think you may have heard this song on the radio. Ready?”

Mimzy and Rosie nodded, already knowing the lyrics and familiar music.

 Together the trio danced and sang Alastor’s favorite song: “You’re Never Fully Dressed Without A Smile.”

 “Hey, hobo man, Hey Dapper Dan

You’ve both got your style

But Brother, you’ve never fully dressed without a smile!”

 “Your clothes may be Beau Brummelly

They stand out a mile

But Brother you’re never fully dressed without a smile!”

 “Who cares what they’re wearing

On Main Street or Saville Row

It’s what you wear from ear to ear

And not from head to toe that matters”

 “So, Senator, So Janitor

So long for a while

Remember you’re never fully dressed without a smile!”

  After a standing ovation from the audience, Rosie, Mimzy and Alastor sat together in a both. The table in front of them had a white tablecloth over it, though it was smeared with bloodstains. A small vase of black roses was placed in the center of the table.

The brown-haired bipedal ostrich waitress came over and asked them what they’d like to order.

“Rare venison, a side of Jambalaya, and a glass of New Orleans whiskey, 1901,” said Alastor.

“Shrimp Creole with champagne,” Mimzy added.

“Bouillabaisse and a glass of red wine,” Rosie said.

 “Deer meat?” Mimzy asked curiously as the waitress walked away on her long yellow bird legs.  

“Yep. Still got the old hunter in me.”

Alastor mimicked gunshots with his hands and Mimzy giggled.

“I must say, you’re a really good singer, Alastor,” Rosie said, smiling.

“Why thank you kindly, dear.”

“Despite what many may say, even genocidal overlords need some time to unwind and relax.”

“I agree with you there. Say, how did you meet Miss. Mimzy?”

“Strangely enough, at Lilith’s Resist concert,” Mimzy replied. “Rosie wanted to sing a song for Lilith and needed a backup vocalist. Naturally enough, I volunteered.”

“Were you nervous?” Alastor asked.

“Nervous, terrified…and super excited! Me, singing with an overlord and beside the queen! It was too good of an opportunity to waste. Heh, I’m glad I did well on the stage, otherwise Rosie would’ve incinerated me on the spot. People soon heard about my performance and more sinners came over to my jazz club!”

“Oh how wonderful!” Rosie replied. She then sighed. “Nothing out of the ordinary; still beating up my workers with my cattails made from hardened cat tails. (They feel like barbed steel, despite the appearance.) They still moan and complain but it seems to work. Business is business you know. There are those boring overlord meetings, occasionally discussing politics with the Magnes, the whole 66 yards. I bet that someday, my associate Franklin’s gonna get murdered and I’ll be the head of my emporium.”

Alastor laughed. “Oh my, how intriguing. You plan to kill him?”

“No, I’ll let mother nature do the rest.”

“Don’t you mean…stepmother inferno?”

Rosie rolled her eyes. “Puns are not funny.”

“They’re punny to me,” Alastor added. “Such great classics.”

Rosie cleared her throat, “No dad jokes. Please.”

“Aw come on,” Alastor teased in a mocking tone, “I was about to do my “Radio not, here I come” knock knock joke.”

Mimzy crossed her arms. “Spoilers, much?”

 The trio’s dinners had arrived: a large rotten shrimp and clams for Rosie, Creole shrimp with demon bones for Mimzy and a fresh deer head over shrimp, rice, sausage and vegetables for Alastor.

“This is such a splendid meal,” Rosie said, satisfied.

Alastor whipped his face with his napkin. “I agree. Just as tasty as my human victims I ate on Earth. Though I will say, in regards to my…ignorant father, nothing beats the sweet taste of vengeance!”

Mimicking a choking sound, he leaned his entire head backwards with a loud crack and the others laughed.

He repositioned his head back to the front.

  Alastor raised his bottle of whisky as Mimzy and Rosie lifted their drinks.

“To eternal chaos and happiness for us,” said Alastor, “and eternal damnation to our enemies.”

“Here, here!” they all said as their glasses clinked.

 Soon, they had all finished their meals.

Mimzy then took a closer look at Alastor. “You…act familiar. It’s like I’ve known you before.”

Alastor tilted his head slightly. “You don’t say? Because I can say the same about you. I remember this beautiful singer I encountered at a bar in New Orleans. She was confident in her singing and loved doughnuts and desserts?”

“Yes…yes that was me!” she exclaimed. “Heh, being busy in Hell doesn’t give you much time to think about your past life.”

Then her eyes grew wide, suddenly fearful. “You…did you…”

“What?” Alastor asked.

“You were the one will killed me!”

Alastor’s eyes moved off to the side. “No, that was a different Alastor.”

“Phonus balonus!” Mimzy exclaimed in anger. “How many people in New Orleans have such a unique name?”

Alastor shrugged. “A lot, I imagine.”

Mimzy shoved Alastor off to the side and grabbed hold of his fancy red outfit. “Why? Why did you do it?”

“You know… I don’t like…to be touched,” Alastor seethed.

“Answer me!”

Alastor took a breath and removed her hands from his shirt. Memories came flashing back to him. “You were about to call the coppers on me. I knew I’d be caught and my life would be over. I wasn’t in my right state of mind and...”

Alastor stared down at his hands. He hadn’t felt this kind of regret and numbness since he watched his mother die and eat her remains. “Ending people’s lives…it was my only purpose…the one thing I could control besides broadcasting on the radio. I could lash out my frustrations and see results…I felt powerful when I did it, and I still do.”

He paused, unsure of what to say next. He held in his oncoming tears. “I…was holding your body, feeling regret at what I had done…”

Mimzy slowly backed away.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” His voice cracked slightly, despite his smile.

“You just ended my life because you could! I tried to stop you.”

“Sometimes, I wish you would have,” Alastor said softly. Then his regular voice came back, though it didn’t display the usual showiness in it.

“But look at you know. You have a new life here. It’s in Hell, but you’ve made the most of it. You’re a star and everyone knows it. Aren’t you happy with your life here?”

Mimzy shrugged. “It’s still better than death.”

“I didn’t really know if there was going to be an afterlife or not. I…I wasn’t thinking.”

“No, you weren’t.” Mimzy replied. “I lost the Alastor I knew, that day, and…and now he’s gone.”

Tears fell freely from her black eyes. Alastor wiped away her tears with his finger. “I might not be human anymore, but I’m still here. Deep down, I’m still the same entertainer, but more than that, your close friend. I swear by Lucifer that I’ll never harm you again.” He held her hands and she sniffed.

“A-apology accepted.”

Alastor lifted up the corners of her mouth. “Don’t forget to smile, my dear. You’re never dressed without one.”

Mimzy leaned her head into Alastor’s chest, then abruptly sat up, hands on her hips.

“But you owe me…big time. 666 souls, daily groin kicks, plus swimming in the lake of fire.”

Alastor grinned.

“…without extra powers.”

Alastor’s grin shortened.

“So… it’s a deal then?” Alastor asked with a smirk.

She slapped his hand away. “No deals, jackass!”

Rosie’s eyes darted between the two of them. “Okay, this is awkward. Should I leave you two alone?”

“No no no, sweetheart, it’s fine,” Alastor reassured her.

“Don’t forget the midnight overlord meeting tomorrow. Lord Lucifer’s orders,” Rosie mentioned.

“Ugh how boring,” Alastor scoffed. “One of the bad things about my status.”

Alastor and his lady friends talked and enjoyed themselves throughout the night. It was a “dinner date” but it was also a “hanging hang out.” Afterwards. Rosie came up with the name after dinner when the three of them hung other demons from trees.

Soon the three friends embraced (Alastor hugged them, then stood back) and they said their farewells. Although Alastor was tempted to turn them into his slaves, he decided against it. Using his powers on another overlord could prove tricky. And he already made a promise not to hurt Mimzy.

Alastor glanced over at a casino and noticed a black and white cat winning a gambling tournament for the third time in a row. The way the cat moved and gulped down bottle after bottle of booze seemed familiar. A cyclops demon was sitting within the flames of a fireplace inside the building, sewing a quilt.

“Hmm,” Alastor thought. “A Niffty darling…and a Husk of a gambling guy…this should be quite entertaining…”

He finished with a low laugh.

 Next time… “Shady Deals” 1973

 Next time... “Daddy Dearest”

[ansgar-martinsson]

The Best Intentions - Part 21

“I know aptitude when I see it. Selfish of me, really. Get them whilst they’re young and all that. Get my pickings of the talent pool early on.” Ansgar replied. He leaned on the edge of her desk, his leg dangling, his shined brown loafer just scraping the floor. A curl of his fingers and he inspected his nails, trying to appear nonchalant as his mind worked. He debated revealing what he was about to say, what he was about to tell her. He knew he’d pressed her buttons enough intentionally that afternoon, and he wondered if exposing her to more of his… his humanity… would send her reeling.

Which is exactly what he wanted to do, to show her the reality that was himself, to draw her out of her shell, to draw her deeper into him; but he also knew when too much was too much. He’d read her. Read her like Shakespeare for Dummies just how much his very presence in front of her brother, in front of her nephews, in front of her entire family rattled her. He couldn’t help but wonder how she would react, how beautifully insane she would be when he met mother for the first time.

For that was something else he knew – a simple corporate background check can reveal a plethora of information – that she lived with her mother. That her mother was ill. That she cared for her mother. And that endeared her to him, but he wouldn’t admit that to her… not yet. He wouldn’t admit that it made him a little jealous, actually - as Ansgar’s father had died young, and his mother had all but ignored him in the past few years. Shelved him and his mad life in favour of the stability of Magnus and his family. Which was fine. Ansgar understood the doting grandmother role, Ansgar knew he could never gift Joanna with grandchildren himself, but, even as tough and as sharp and as jaded as he was - sometimes a man just needed to talk to his mother.

And his own was distant. Unavailable. Uninterested.

Something, after Faye left him, he swore he would never be to those he cared for.

“Her nephew,” he began, still picking one nail with his thumbnail. “Faye’s nephew, Rufus. He was like that. Like Adrian and Hugo. Brilliant, curious, mechanically inclined. Genius level, nearly.” He brought the fingernail to his teeth, scraping a tiny fleck of dirt out from beneath the corona. “I had him in my tutoring program a few years back. He excelled. Designed a working lift crane of all things - something that I ran by my own engineers. Had it built, and now I use it on smaller-scale projects.”

“Do you… do you still see him at all?” She turned around then, crossed her arms over her chest and rest back against her bookcase.

Ansgar sighed. “No,” he said. “I had a row with his father shortly after Faye left me. Threatened to kill the man, actually, so… no. I haven’t seen Rufus in two years. He’ll be fifteen this April. Nearly grown.”

“I’m… I’m sorry,” she said.

“Eh,” he shrugged, pushing himself off the desk. “It’s no matter now, is it?” He strode over to her, took her by the shoulders and planted a gentle yet firm kiss upon her lips, opening up to her quiet whimper, and the caress of her hands on his back. “I will see you at eight, darling,” he said. “Be ready by ten minutes before.”

“Why?”

“We’re having a quiet night in tonight, my place. At eight. Dinner - casual, of course - and a film in my home theatre, and whatever follows.” He smiled broadly, teeth pulling sensually at his lower lip. “Mickhail will pick you up at ten minutes until eight.” His finger traced the line of her cheek to caress over her bottom lip. “Don’t leave him waiting. He gets very cranky if he’s made to wait.”

“I won’t.”

Wink. “I know.”

****

And true to his command, Ansgar’s door chime sounded at eight o’clock on the dot. He grinned broadly as he opened the door to the elevator lobby, but that grin morphed quickly into a breathy look of astonishment, of pure desire, at the very sight of her. “Jesus, Joline,” he blurted, “you look…amazing.”

And she did, dressed as she was in a leather trimmed black blouse and a tight pair of studded and decorated jeans, the cuffs resting just at her ankles above a pair of high heeled shoes. Not the Louboutins, that time, but Ansgar found her own shoes to be somehow sexier. Her hair was done up in a high, fluffed-out ponytail, wisps of hair caressed her simply made up cheeks. A bit of eyeliner, some blush and a bright red lipstick.

“I’m casual. You said casual,” she dipped her head shyly, batting her eyelashes at him.

“I did, didn’t I?” his voice broke slightly. “Yes. You… you’re perfect.”

“As are you,” she smirked, fingering the collar of his blue linen shirt, tucked neatly into a pair of black jeans, held up by a leather belt and a decorative, yet tasteful belt buckle.

“Come in, please,” he said, gesturing. “I….” he hesitated. “I’ve a bit of a surprise for you.”

She smiled as she stepped past him into the foyer. “Oh, really?”

“Yes.” He chewed his lips together, like a small child upon entering a toy store for the first time. “Come with me.” He took her hand and crossed the expansive entry way. He turned her, took her by the shoulders and sat her down on a white leather chaise near the piano. He bent to her and indulged in a long, ardent kiss, licking his lips at the end of it.

“So what’s my surprise?” She whispered against his lips.

“I never did get to play for you,” he said. “Last night. We… never used the piano for its intended purpose.” He shuddered, remembering how he had taken her over the closed lid of the polished ebony Steinway, how she rode him as he sat on the leather piano bench, her legs wrapped around his waist and how she…. oh!

“No, we never did,” she smiled. “Are you… are you going to play for me now? Is that my surprise?”

He nodded, his smile almost shy, his eyes blinking, averting hers. “Only if you want me to.”

He felt her hands, warm and soft and gentle, on either side of his face. She pushed, gentle pressure to turn his gaze to hers. She pulled, drawing him closer to her, drawing him to where she could grace the tip of his nose with a soft, pillowy press of her lips. “It’s perfect. Yes. I want you to. I want to hear you play…. you fucking virtuoso.”

He barked a laugh. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you did,” she shrugged. “Mind you it was in the throes of passion, but you know what they say about truth in it.”

“I thought it was truth in jest.”

“Jesting, fucking, it’s all the same.”

He laughed outright then. “Yeah, I guess it is.” He nodded, readying himself. “Okay.” He sat down on the piano bench, playfully tossing an imaginary set of tuxedo tails out from behind him, making her laugh again before he pulled the bench forward, laid his hands on the piano, and breathed.

In.

Out.

And with a roll of his hands, a closing of his eyes, a hunch of his shoulders and a melt of his muscles, he played.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wpRzZojcP40

As became Ansgar’s modus operandi with her, what Joline expected him to play on the piano and what he actually played were polar opposites. Worlds apart, in fact. The man continued to knock her expectations off kilter and kept her guessing, continuously breaking the barrier down of the compartment she tried to keep him in.

After the afternoon she had, trying to keep him away from her family, his showing interest and even favor in them, Ansgar was more than a one night stand. He called her on her deflection for what it was and allowed her into his life, even if superficially. Who would do the same for a one night stand? As she sat, feet tucked up beside her on his lounge (judging by the amount of leather it took to make, cost more than her mother’s mini Cooper), she’d already exceeded the typical one encounter by double.

She had to try to remain distant and aloof to keep her heart. For one thing she knew for sure, Ansgar Martinsson could break her heart, devastate her without taking the pleasure in her utter destruction. As the proverbial saying went, the opposite of love wasn’t hate, it was indifference. As soon as he got his fill of their faux rebound, he’d forget about her.

All she needed to do was keep her head, stick to her word of no expectations, and enjoy the sex for however long he wanted her around. It would be so much easier to do that if he wasn’t so considerate of her, of her nephews, of her family. It was already complicated it with offering to tutor or find a tutor for her nephews. She couldn’t allow him to hurt them.

The dulcet, tremulous somber music poured from his fingers and his piano instead of some great showoff symphony of some well-known composer. Instead he chose a soothing, reflective piece with a smattering of a hopeful melody of playful high notes. This wasn’t a flashy complicated piece of an expert, this was beauty in simplicity, a classic case of less was more.

As for his skill in music, Ansgar’s boasts were on the mark, earning him every right to brag. He played as a virtuoso, focused, dedicated, respectful of the music. A lovely example of an instrument making its player shine, the piano a mere extension of him. Because this wasn’t about showing off or impressing his date (which he did effortlessly), his eyes remained on his hands or closed, his focus solely on the music and the product of the sound he made. He didn’t steal any glances her way to see how she responded or wink at her, and somehow that fact pointed to his authenticity as a musician.

When he was done, Joline applauded his efforts, grinning, appreciative that he didn’t show off like a rock star. “That was a beautiful piece, Sgar. Truly. Thank you for playing it for me.”

He bowed his head in humility, a rare moment for him. “I’m glad that you liked it.” He pushed to his feet after swinging sidesaddle on the piano bench. “Are you surprised?”

She nodded, biting her lower lip.

“It was written by my favorite composer.”

“I can tell.” Joline patted the lounge beside her, asking him to sit with her. “Your respect for it comes through. It makes sense.”

Ansgar sat beside her, his arm slung over the back, his hand hovering by her shoulder, cheating his body in her direction. “What makes sense?”

“What you do. There’s structure and mathematics and building materials in music as there are in construction,” she stated easily. “Music is made of notes, of course… but rhythms and melodies, chords and progressions, counterpoints and dynamics. Construction is about textures and structures, angles and perspectives.”

“I suppose that’s true. How do you know so much about it?” His fingers reached up and touched some of the strands of her ponytail.

She looked down at her folded hands in her lap. “My roommate in uni studied music, a concert pianist actually. I might have sat in a few music theory classes.”

He chuckled. “Did you make it a habit to sit in on classes outside your concentration?”

She laughed, her head angling coquettishly. “Not a habit, no. But there’s some overlap in my major, so I dipped my toe in the musical waters.”

“AH! You’re surrounded by musicians in your studies and in your job.”

She rolled her eyes, “Don’t worry, I won’t ask for hazard pay or overtime. I like the way you play.” She gestured for him to give her his hands when she waved her hands in her direction.

Ansgar willingly gave her both, pulling his arm down form the elevated position.

Joline tilted her head up and on a slant after tracing his elegant fingers with her own. “I always found musicians hands to be the sexiest.”

“Is that so?”

“Truly.”

“Is that why you fell into theatre management? To be around the musicians?”

Joline unraveled from her position, sliding her high heeled feet out from under to straight before her, slinging them over Ansgar’s lap. She felt more comfortable in his physical space and felt that familiar pull for his bedroom. “I wish I could claim that, but I’ve never been involved with a musician. Except for friends, of course… my roommate, my friends, my classmates. All musicians. With the most fascinatingly sexy hands. All of them.”

Ansgar layed his hands on her thigh, positioning them as if he played her like he did his Steinway, but he only brought her that little bit closer. “What was your uni like?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Typical, I guess. All night cram sessions, midnight runs to McDonalds for brain food, congregating in one room to play a board game or watch a film, mini refrigerators, ramen noodle dinners, empty pockets, endless laundry and schedules to clean the bathroom.”

“How did you learn that you wanted to be in theatre?”

She reclined back, pondering it for a moment, “Gosh, I don’t know. When the two show days didn’t kill me?” She laughed to herself, her mind reminiscing to try to answer his question. “My uni ran shows for four weeks, one performance on Thursday and Friday and two performances on Saturday and Sunday. I remember, we did a production of Oklahoma my sophomore year. I was stage manager, my first as stage manager. I had three assistant stage managers, fifty cast members, and a set designed by the devil himself. I remember lying on the floor of the green room between shows feeling so drained, the mental capacity to manage that many people and cues drained me. That’s when I discovered M&Ms.”

“The chocolates?”

“They’re mystical and magic. That’s what the M’s stand for, I think. I survived on M&Ms,” she said matter of fact, in all seriousness.

“You survived on a sugar high.”

“You call it sugar high, I call it the power of M&Ms. They still get me through rough seasons or runs. Don’t you have any rituals or things you swear by?”

Ansgar slid his hands up towards her hip, enjoying the feel of her soft denim and her firm flesh underneath. “Oh, I don’t know. I suppose I do.”

She gave him a comfortable lead, but he didn’t elaborate on that. She found her opportunity to inspect the jagged and raised flesh on his arm. The scar had caught her attention more than once, but she never got the chance to ask in their fever to get physical. “What happened here?” she asked quietly, caressing her hand up and down the uneven scar tissue.

[ill-skillsgard]

Smoke & Money, Chapter 2 - Bill Skarsgård

Title: Smoke & Money

Warning: 100% NSFW, some drug use, swearing, sex/fetish/kink type situations

Description: A young sex worker gets tangled in the dangerous web of a wealthy entrepreneur whose tastes push her past all of her known limits.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Weeks went by and the weather warmed up to the point when I could finally turn the heat off and save a little on bills. Work was steady and I had procured a couple of new clients. One wanted a contract with me for once a week on the same day. At first, I refused him but then he upped his paying amount from 300 a night to 500 a night to secure the same night that would fit into his busy work schedule. A thousand a month. That was my rent for only 4 sessions. After mulling it over I decided I would take his offer if he did away with the contract. My request didn’t sit well with him at first and he threatened to go elsewhere until we reached a compromise. 400 for once a week, every week until renegotiation. No contracts, only my promise.

A promise that would be broken. It was Wednesday night and I was getting ready to leave to meet my newest weekly client when I received an e-mail from an address I had never seen before. The subject line was familiar though.

1,000 tonight.

The email address matched the initials from the first time. Only now instead of a random email address, it seemed to be his personal address. B Skarsgard. I wondered what the B stood for. “My rich shoe dude is a rich Scandinavian dude by the sounds of it.” I opened it eagerly.

Come here again tonight?

B.S.

My top teeth sank into my bottom lip. I already had my client and it wasn’t polite to cancel without any notice. Fuck.

I can’t tonight. I’m busy with another client. Pleased to come tomorrow if you like?

J.

I frowned as I sent off my most unfortunate declination. I did make a verbal agreement already and as much as I’d rather shine shoes than put an old cock down my throat, I was a woman of my word. That was until I received the next e-mail.

No. Come now. I’ll double it.B.S.

Oh fuck. I was not passing up two grand. I couldn’t. My inner broke hoe was practically in tears over this. Fuck it. I had to go where the money was. It took me a long time to come up with an excuse to duck out on my client, long enough to receive another email from Mr. Skarsgard.

Shall I send a car?

B.S.

Yes. What should I wear?

Same thing as last time. No panties though

B.S.

Oh, finally it gets interesting. I laughed to myself. As if getting paid two thousand dollars wasn’t interesting enough already.

It was like an instant replay. Same car, same driver, same niceties. I was driven to the huge estate, let out of the car and walked inside. “You remember the way, miss?” The driver asked. “I do. Thank you.” I took the stairs one by one, letting my hand glide up the polished wooden banister as I ascended. This time there was no smoke floating from the open doorway. Down the hall, I walked until I reached the second door on the left. Once more I was met with the figure under the canopy. This time though there was a new pair of shoes, a rag and shoe polish. The shoes had a pointed toe and gold buckles. The rag was brand new.

His weight shifted on the bed and out of the shadow of the canopy I saw his feet and legs emerge to plant on the floor. I saw his elbows come to rest on his knees. He was wearing the shoes from the first night. There wasn’t a scuff mark to be seen on them. Strangely, I was pleased. He wore black slacks, black socks, and a white tank top style undershirt. His limbs were long as befit a man that wore that size shoe. I could make out the contours of his biceps, the length of his arms down to the elegant hands. His face was somewhat visible enough for me to see he had thick brown hair all pushed back stylishly. His nose was long and upturned, almost elf-like with high cheekbones and sunken eyes. There was an unlit cigarette between his lips. The shadows cascading over him made it nearly impossible to make out any other distinctive features.

He was handsome, from what I could see.

“Please begin.” He gestured towards the shoes on the floor. This time they were closer to the bed.

For some reason, this atmosphere robbed me of the words I wanted to say. Moreover, the questions I wanted to ask. But a more successful girl had once told me, don’t ask too many questions because you don’t need too many answers.

I did what I was told and got on my knees before him and the shoes but before I could begin he paused me. He took the cigarette from between his lips and held it between to two fingers. “Did you forget your panties?” He asked, pointing at me with the cigarette in hand. “Yes, sir.” He leaned back, producing a lighter from his pocket to light the tip of his cigarette. “Good girl. In front of me, please.” As he exhaled a cloud of smoke I repositioned myself with my back towards him and made a deliberate show of bending over to retrieve the rag and shoes. With my jacket on you couldn’t see that I wasn’t wearing panties no matter how far down I bent.

A chill like ice water being poured down my back set my hands to shake. With my back to him, I felt vulnerable. He was silent save for the sound of burning paper and the soft exhalation of smoke.

“Take off your jacket.” His voice was hoarse with cigarette smoke.

I obeyed him immediately. Without hesitation, I removed the jacket, set it aside and resumed the task at hand. This time I worked with an extra arch in my spine, just for him. I heard him breathing and smoking his cigarette as I worked. I could not stop picturing what he looked like watching me.

Inside of the dark room, I began to feel light-headed. All the subtle sounds began to meld together. The head rush of polish and the stench of cigarettes overcame me. I caressed the stiff leather of the designer shoe over and over with my ass up. It became surreal when I heard his weight shift off the bed. By the shuffling of his shoes, I knew that he was now standing. Whether or not he was presiding over me or getting ready to strike me, my heart quickened. The nauseous feeling of anxiety numbed my arms and locked my elbows in place. His footsteps carried further away though. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him walking towards a serving cart laden with bottles and glass tumblers. Each footfall echoed off the walls of the room. The satisfying sound of his every step resonated. I listened carefully to what he was doing. I heard glass clinking and surely an expensive alcohol being poured. As he turned towards me, drink in hand, the soles of his shoes scraped against the floor.

He walked towards where I kneeled on all fours. With a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other, he approached. When a familiar pair of leather shoes entered my line of sight, that’s when I paused and looked up at him. His long legs were like stilts for the rest of him. I could not see his face as it was obscured by the glass and he was entirely too tall to take in.

“Don’t stop.” He said after swallowing a sip of his drink.

Quickly I took up polishing, averting my eyes from him.

I worked and worked away as he watched, sipped his drink and smoked his cigarette down to the filter. He left my side, presumably to put his smoke out in the ashtray beside his bed. I heard the mattress groan as he sat on it.

“Bring them here.”

His request caught me off guard but I obeyed. In one hand I picked up both shoes and started hobbling towards him on my knees and one free hand. When I got closer to the side of the canopy bed he kicked off his shoes and they fell by the side of his socked feet.

Somehow with no words exchanged I knew to bring him the new pair. I sat up on the meat of my calves, toes curled to the carpet and presented him with the left shoe for him to slip his foot into. I held the buckled shoe steady as he pushed his foot inside. With a gentle stamp of his sole on the floor, it went on and he lifted his right leg for the other. I did the same thing to him and then sat back again to look up at his shadowy face.

Finally, my eyes became adjusted to the darkness but there was scarcely any more detail of his face I could make out that I hadn’t already. By his silhouette, I could see he had a long neck that broadened out into square shoulders. When he leaned forward to rest his forearms on top of his thighs, his face came into view. Sitting there on the largest canopy bed I had ever seen was a man with lustrous brown hair, deep eyes hooded by a menacing brow bone and lips so full and so blushed that they looked like a cherub’s.

My my, what a pretty boy.

I did not expect him to stoop down towards me but he did and I couldn’t help but flinch. He lifted my chin with one of his long fingers. I could smell nicotine on his skin.

“Thank you Miss. That will be all for tonight.”

“Yes, sir.”

He touched the pad of his thumb to my bottom lip, examining me for a moment before leaning away.

“Your money is on the table.”

With a nod I stood up, the rush of blood to my legs was strong and I struggled not to waiver in front of him. After gathering my coat I left but not before taking the cash from the brass dish. I wasn’t sure if it was just me or what but the bills felt warm in my hand. Warm and somehow wrong. I was as confused as I was intrigued. I had heard of a lot of kinks before but this was something new. I had all the time in the world to draw my conclusions about him. Why was he paying me to do these things? It was no common foot-fetish. He had to be getting some sort of kick out of having a woman put his shoes on for him and the money… The money was another perplexing piece of this puzzle. Two thousand dollars just seemed like so much for so little. I had clients that would laugh in my face if I ever demanded that amount of money even for the most extreme requests.

I wondered what he got out of all this. The thought haunted me. Who was this man and why had I never heard of him before? In the sex work world, you were forced to make friends. I had girlfriends who did the same work as I did and we all had our network of communication. It was for gossip about clients or to warn each other of Johns who tried to dodge you or just the outrageous requests from some of the creme-de-la-creme of weird dudes who paid lots of money for hookers. If he was a very rich man who paid out stacks for stuff like that, I would have heard about it from one of the other girls.

The fact that I had never heard of this B. Skarsgard was unsettling so I took to my list of contacts to start digging around. The first person I tried was a girl who boasted having over thirty clients that she had regular sessions with. She had been in the game for a few years starting at the ripe age of nineteen. If I wasn’t mistaken she had to have been twenty-five by now and still gorgeous. Still pulling hard tricks on her own. The stories I had heard from her were unfathomable.

I didn’t want to be too forthcoming so I danced around the subject a little with her at first.

Have you ever had a client ask you to put his shoes on for him? I asked her via instant message.

No, not really. Well… kinda. But it wasn’t his shoes. I had a client ask to watch me give myself a home pedicure and then put on stockings and then my own shoes. Lol, why do you ask?

Haha, no real reason. I was talking with a friend and she said she had this new client who had a weird shoe fetish.

Shoe fetishes aren’t THAT weird. At least not to me. I wish I knew more guys who had them though… Free shoes.

What was the most you have ever made off one client that wasn’t a bluntly sexual request?

What do you mean? Give me an example.

Like… remember how that one girl Larissa said an old guy paid her 700 bucks to sit at his kitchen table and eat pieces of fruit while he watched? Like that type of thing lol.

Ooooh. Hm. I guess probably this one guy asked me to step on his balls in stilettos for 600 an hour.

Haha. Shit. People are weird.

Totally.

No, there was no evident trail leading to him. I asked around about any wealthy newcomers with some other friends but as far as anyone told me, they had been seeing all the same clients and any new ones were men over the age of forty. There was no talk of a young Scandinavian man. I must have been his first. My assumption gave the situation a whole new feeling. A warm feeling. I had always wanted to be someone’s first.

I found myself thinking about B. Skarsgard a lot during the day and even more at night. When would he call on me again? What would he have me do differently? Was he satisfied with what he had already gotten from me? It got to the point where I kept reading the e-mails we had exchanged and once I had read them, I read them over again. I even considered reaching out to him but my pride stopped me. I just left his e-mail address open with a blank template. No. That would appear too desperate, too needy.

Fuck, this is stupid.

I had heard of girls getting hung up on a client. Whether it was lust or the insult of a dismissal, there were plenty of grey areas to tread in when it came to my line of work. Not everything was as simple as giving and taking. There was always jealousy, hurt and danger. I myself had made it a very long way without any of the three complicating things for me. I wasn’t about to let it now. I deduced that if he wanted me again he would make it known. And make it known he did when one night, nearly a month after our last encounter, he reached out again. This time he did not use his go-to tagline. In fact, there was no subject line at all. Just his e-mail address floating at the top of my inbox.

Up for a visit? 1,000 if you can come tonight.

B.

I wasted no time in replying, Yes. I can come tonight.

Wear whatever you like this time.

B.

I immediately started getting ready. I whipped off the clothes I was wearing, threw my hair up in a bun and hopped into the shower. Never had I washed so quickly before. I chose a matching bra and panty set- black and lacy. Fool-proof. Nothing was as easy and sophisticated as black. It was a safe choice.

Although he didn’t request the jacket, I decided to take it upon myself to wear a new knee-length coat that I had bought myself with his money. I figured if he was going to pay me so handsomely, I’d treat myself to something I thought he might appreciate. Or perhaps he wouldn’t but either way, I thought it appropriate since it was dealer’s choice anyway.

The sleek BMW pulled up and off I went on another house-call. This time I had nerves about it all. My curiosity set my imagination fluttering off. What could be next, I wondered. Did his driver know what was going on between us? Would the client speak more to me this time and would I be able to see him close up? The third time I stepped into the foyer of his home I felt an odd sense of familiarity. I stared up at the arching ceilings and the framed paintings and wondered how the place would look in the daytime with the sun shining through the windows.

With purpose, I ascended the stairs. With each step, I felt my heart beat harder against my chest. By the time I reached the open doorway I could feel my pulse battering in my neck. Why all the mystery and why did I feel so vulnerable?

“Won’t you come in?” He asked when my pause at the door became too apparent.

“Yes, sir…” I started. “May I ask you a question?”

“Yes?”

“Why so much for what you ask? I would gladly accept less.”

Mr. Skarsgard stood up from his sitting position at the side of his bed. “Would you? Why is that?”

I bit my bottom lip and shrugged. “It just seems like a lot-”

“Do you not think your services are worth what I’m paying you?”

“No… That’s not what I meant. I just mean… I know people who would do a lot more for a lot less. Seems a little excessive to me, if you don’t mind me saying.”

He took a pack of cigarettes off the bedside table and produced a lighter from the pocket of his fitted pants. His eyes were on me as he retrieved a cigarette from the pack and stuck it between his lips.

“So what you’re saying is that you would do a lot more for me if I wished?”

“Yes.”

He approached me and at the same time, I noticed there were no empty shoes awaiting me in the center of the room. So as to not appear afraid, I took a step further into the room. He walked into the light cast by the window and my lips fell slightly apart. Well over six foot and devastatingly handsome, I felt the wash of arousal stir inside of me. That hadn’t happened in a long time. He was wearing a white tank-style undershirt, dark slacks, a leather belt and designer shoes again. I don’t think I had seen the shoes before but I also could not train my eyes away from his face to look hard enough.

I couldn’t say I found any of my regular clients that attractive but I didn’t find them that repulsive either. This man, however, was as gorgeous as he was intimidating. I watched, entranced as he lifted his hand to take the cigarette from his mouth, smoke pouring out of his nostrils. His tongue darted out to slide across his bottom lip. He was all long limbs and pale skin.

“What would you do for me?” He asked.

“Anything.”

“Anything?” He repeated, eyebrows raising. “Because on your profile you do have a rather long list of things you refuse to participate in. You would make certain exceptions for me?”

I was at a loss for words so much so that my mouth hung open for a moment. “For that amount of money? I could be coerced into bending my personal rules a little.”

Between puffs, he pointed his long fingers at me. “Yet you just told me you would accept less money.”

“I, um-”

He turned away and headed back towards his bed to the ashtray. “I’m not trying to trap you.”

“Alright.”

“You’ll accept what I give you and in turn, you will do as I say, does that sound like a fair arrangement to you?”

I swallowed the saliva flooding my mouth. “Yes, sir.”

“So far I’ve enjoyed your submission to me. I want to take it further.”

“Okay.”

“Yes… sir.”

“Yes, sir.” I corrected myself.

He stubbed out his cigarette, ran his hand through his hair and turned back towards me. “On your knees.”

I listened to him and he approached me with a certain lilt in his step that commanded my attention. His expression was firm and stuck on me kneeling before him. He bent at the hips and slid his spindly fingers around my neck, caressing and not squeezing, threading through the hair on the back of my head and pulling it taut. With his grip he pulled my head back, forcing me to look up at him.

“Show me your tongue.”

I let my tongue loll out of my mouth for him and never broke eye contact. He sucked on his bottom lip and let out a throaty purr. I watched as he sucked up all the saliva from inside his mouth, no doubt gathering it in a pool on his tongue. He lowered himself even closer to my face and let a long string of spit spill from his puckered lips onto my outstretched tongue. It was so warm and watery that it immediately dripped onto my chin and chest. When he swooped down and forced his open mouth over mine, sucking up what he had administered, he let out a moan that echoed down my throat and filled my lungs.

“Spit on the floor.” He whispered.

I did. I spit on the carpet in front of me and looked back up at him. His hand let go of my hair and he rose up tall. He began to unbuckle his belt. I could only watch to see what would happen next. My mouth was buzzing from the wet contact and by the shade of red his lips had turned, I could tell he felt the same sensation.

The leather of his belt slid smoothly against the material of his slacks when he pulled it free from the loops. Paralyzed, I watched him remove the belt and bend down to place it around my neck. He fed one end through the buckle and didn’t stop until the leather pulled snugly against my skin like a makeshift leash. He gripped the end of the belt, stood up again and tugged on it to get me moving. The restraint against my throat tightened as he pulled me forward to crawl through the puddle of spit that had just fallen from my mouth and hadn’t absorbed into the carpet.

“Crawl.” He commanded me.

So I did. I crawled like an animal with his belt around my neck and he led me. It was a struggle not to trip on the hem of my dress as I put one knee in front of the other. Each step he took was deliberate and slow, his legs extended out long and I was forced to keep up the pace or else choke as the leather noose tightened around my neck. He walked me towards the serving cart and then further. There was a door that I had not noticed during my first two encounters with Mr. Skardsgard. I wondered where it led to. An en suite bathroom? A sex dungeon? Before my mind could wander any further he stopped, turned and looked down at me.

One foot extended towards me. His shoes were Italian leather with three rows of lacing. I looked up at his face, awaiting his next command.

“Kiss them.”

He must have noticed my hesitation as he lifted the belt strap and it cut into my skin. “Kiss. Them.”

The leather had a distinct smell and felt cold against my skin as I puckered up and kissed the toe of his left shoe. To be thorough and avoid having the belt tighten again I kept going, placing small kisses all over the toe of his expensive shoe.

“Spit.”

Before I could amass enough of my own saliva he pulled my head up by the strap. “Wait wait, open your mouth.”

I locked eyes with him and let my jaw hang open. Once more he produced a dollop of spit and dropped it into my mouth only this time, it slid down into the back of my throat and I coughed to keep from swallowing it. “Now spit on them.” I let our collective drool fall from my tongue onto his shoe. It ran down the sides, over the seams, and onto the carpet beneath his sole. He stared down at me, slack-jawed, admiring the mess I was helping him make.

“Good.” He whispered, dropping the end of the belt he had been leading me with to the floor beside my hands.

“Now listen to me…” He said, bending at the knees to bring himself down to my level. “Never fucking question me. As far we go, you are bought and paid for, okay? You are mine when I want you, anytime, any day. When I call you, you answer. I’ll decide what I pay you and you will fucking like it. This isn’t some Fifty Shades bullshit, you hear me? I’m counting on your professionalism to make this work for the both of us.”

I nodded, “yes, sir.”

His eyes bore deep into mine, searching for any hint of defiance but there was none to be found. I had heard him loud and clear. It appeared as though I had a new top priority customer.

After a long stare, he nodded, stood back up and made his way over to retrieve his cigarettes. I watched him, still on the carpet on all-fours, his belt dangling from my neck loosely. He lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply.

“Good. Now you may go… And give the driver your contact information on your way out.”

“Yes, sir.” My voice had turned hoarse.  

Mr. Skarsgård left the room and as soon as the echoes of his steps faded away I sat up on my knees, slipped the belt off from over my head and stood up. It still felt like his spit was in my mouth and every time I swallowed I was swallowing more of him.

I let out the air that I was hoarding in my lungs for what seemed like the first time all night. Standing up made me feel light-headed and it took me a moment to find my equilibrium. With the belt in hand, I approached the canopy bed and laid it down gently on the duvet before turning to leave.

Questions in my mind were buzzing around like flies the entire ride home. Little questions with no answers. I kept watching the driver, wondering what kind of information he had and if I should chance a conversation about his employer. Before I got too carried away with the notion, I decided it best to mind my own business. That was an aspect of my job that I had many struggles with and even more so now that I was dealing with a particularly interesting client.

It was hard not to wonder what Mr. Skarsgård’s end game was and I knew it was going to be itching in the back of my head for a while. My sudden captivation sent me in search of ways to shake the strange feeling I got when I thought about him and what he wanted from me. All I had was the cash to remind me what I was doing this for.

It was never a good idea to get involved in a client’s business or to even ask questions about their personal lives. In fact, it was one of the golden rules of sex work. The less you knew, the better. Even if the roles were reversed, I had always snubbed men when they asked me about my personal life, if I had a boyfriend, what my other aspirations were or what my own end game was. Truth be told, I had no idea what my goal was but I’d never tell that to a John. My fake confidence was practically unshakeable when it came to their prying and that was good because it painted me into a picture of a hardcore mistress, a dangerous lady with a murky past. I was earning respect from those around me, no, I commanded it.

With all of the extra cash coming in I got this air about me whenever I met up with other customers. Suddenly I felt like my time was worth a lot more than what I had been initially charging. I was spoiled now and it felt good. Finally after all the blowjobs, old men, body hair and anxiety, I was getting what I needed to live the way I had envisioned.

Before I could go apeshit and spend all of my cash on shit I didn’t need I decided it best to pay off my late bills and start off on a clean slate, with the rest of the money stowed away in a box at the back of my coat closet. If I hadn’t acquired the cash using questionable methods, I would have opened a savings account but this felt way better.  

I was changing. I was becoming a night-walking bad-ass bitch with the money and all the right shoes for all occasions. So quickly had I shed the skin of the poor chick and emerged as a Queen of pain and love like the girls I had learned from. This was nice. This was really, really nice.

[ghostofviperwrites]

Frustrations

Featuring:  Evil/FC

Category:  Smut

Warnings:  No limits pain play. No safewords.  No mercy.  Flogging. Blood play.   Slapping.  Anal.  This is not safe BDSM play.   Consensual yes, safe no.   If you’re interested in this type of play, don’t use this as a guide.  DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE NOT INTO PAIN PLAY OR BDSM. Don’t come into my box complaining about this fic if you choose to read it after these warnings. It’s not nice, its not pretty and I think I used plenty of warnings.  Read at your own risk. 

It had been a very long time since Evil had felt out of control.  Furious didn’t begin to describe the anger coursing through him. Not only had he lost, again, but he had to be rescued, again, like a helpless little girl.  Evil didn’t say a word to anybody, simply vanishing from the arena the glare on his facing daring anyone to cross his path.  

His hands clenching the steering wheel Evil breathed heavily images of the night flashing through his mind. What good was he as the powerhouse of LIJ when he couldn’t even beat an over the hill part-timer?  His teeth ground together and he growled.  This wasn’t getting any better.  There was only one way to dispel this energy.  Pulling out his phone Evil made the call.

“I need someone who can take everything I can give.  Can you handle it?  No limits?” Evil asked when she answered.  

On the other end of the line, excitement rose in Emi Okita.  The thought of being at Evil’s mercy already had her panties dampening. It had been much too long since she had gotten to properly play with him.   There was fear as well, as she had never played no limits with him.  Given how sadistic he was when holding himself in check, she couldn’t help but be a bit nervous about what may occur.  On the other hand, she felt irrationally proud that he had called her out of all his women to meet his demands.  

“I’ll be there.”  She answered quickly.  

“The door will be open.” Evil told her before disconnecting.  

Knowing better than to keep him waiting long Emi rushed to the shower, quickly shaving herself bare, making sure every inch of her skin was smooth before drying off and putting on a thick full face of makeup knowing Evil’s preference for mussing it up.

Sliding on a simple sundress Emi hurried out the door to her car.   She had already taken longer than she wanted, worried she was playing with fire by keeping Evil waiting.   Parking in his drive she took a moment to collect herself before walking up the steps to his front door.  With a deep cleansing breath, she pushed open his front door and headed straight through to the kitchen where the dungeon door awaited.  

As promised the door was open and Emi began her slow descent to the stairs.  She paused at the bottom and stripped, laying her clothes in a neat pile before peering uncertainly into the dungeon.  It was darker than normal, illuminated only by candles interspersed throughout the room, lending a dangerous air to the already intimidating room. A chill went through her when she looked at Evil’s throne and she quickly dropped to her knees as she realized this could be a very bad night for her.  

Evil was there, sitting in his throne as usual, but that wasn’t what scared her.  No, she was caught off guard by the robe he was wearing, the hood hanging low over his face that was shrouded in shadows from the candles flickering around the throne.   She could only see the lower half of his face, his lips set in a tight line his mannerisms screaming caged beast.  

Without command Emi crawled to him knowing what he liked in the dungeon.  Evil had a flair for the dramatic, though the robe was a new addition. An addition that told her he hadn’t left what happened in the ring behind, that she was in for a world of pain at his hands.  

At his feet Emi kept her eyes lowered awaiting his directive, receiving it in a voiceless command when he shifted and brought his booted feet down on her hands.  Emi winced as the heavy rubber of the wrestling boots he still wore dug into her fragile bones, the pain already sending adrenaline pumping through her that would turn to arousal in moments.  

Lowering her face, Emi pressed her lips to his boots, kissing first one than the other before raising her eyes to look up at Evil.

“You’re not done yet. Bathe them with your tongue.” Evil spoke for the first time, his soft voice belying the anger holding his body taut.  “Lick the stench of Jericho off them.”  He punctuated his words by pressing down on her hands making the tiniest of whimpers leave her mouth before she obeyed his command and stuck her tongue out, licking along the leather the bitter taste strong in her mouth.

Only when he was satisfied that every inch of the leather was gleaming with her saliva did Evil free her hands, instructing Emi to lay on her back with her head at his feet.  When in position he lifted his foot and pressed the boot to Emi’s face with a growled command to lick the sole of his shoe clean.  

With a sneer Evil dug the heel of his boot into her mouth, watching as she gagged trying to continue to obey his command and swiping her tongue over the rubber making no effort to hide her distaste.  

“Get up.”  Evil snarled after several long moments.  “Back on your knees.”  

Emi scurried to obey, flipping onto her knees and scrambling to kneel before him.  Evil pushed the head of his hood back, revealing his full face for the first time a perfect picture of irritation as he leered down at her.  

“Tonight is about me.” Evil told her.  “If I even sense you asking for an orgasm you will regret it. I’m going to hurt you, I’m going to make you bleed, and I’m going to make you regret ever meeting me.”  

“Never.”  Emi said fervently making Evil laugh darkly.

“We’ll see.”  He told her turning without a word and walking over to the cupboard filled with gags, carefully selecting a ring gag designed for maximum discomfort and making his way back to Emi.  Yanking her head back he shoved the ring into her mouth, stretching her mouth obscenely and tightening the straps painfully around her head.  

Discarding his robe and kicking off his boots Evil stood before her fully nude, his cock hard and bobbing in front of her face.  Emi watched it with hungry eyes, spit already pooling in her mouth as she anticipated his taste.   Instead Evil stroked his cock, and reached into her mouth, grabbing her tongue and giving it a tug and squeezing making tears sheen across her eyes.  

Releasing her tongue Evil grabbed her lower lip and pulled her forward until her nose was resting on the tip of his cock.  

“You’re so anxious for it maybe I shouldn’t give you my cock.  That’s what you want after all.”  Evil said.  “what did I tell you tonight was about?”  

“You” Emi mumbled almost unintelligibly between the ring and his hold on her lip.  Evil pinched her lip hard.

“that’s right.  Me.” Evil said.  “Not a goddamn thing that happens tonight is going to be what you want. Aside from the pain.  Cause we both know what a pain slut you are.”  

Releasing her lip Evil backhanded her with a slap that rocked her head to the side.  Emi’s eyes closed, her breathing picking up speed as arousal made itself known between her thighs.  

Dragging her chin back so she was looking up at him, Evil pushed his cock into her mouth, immediately breeching her throat.  

“This is happening because its what I want. Not you.”  Evil snarled grabbing a handful of hair in each fist and fucking her face with quick snaps of his hips.   With her mouth stretched wide Emi could do little more than take what Evil was giving to her keeping her tongue stiff along his underside as he rammed repeatedly into her throat.  

A final thrust had Evil’s seed spurting down Emi’s throat, making her choke as she tried to swallow around him as he held himself firm in the back of her throat.  Watching her struggle Evil held himself still, deep down her throat.  

“don’t you dare!” he snarled when her hands raised to push at his thighs as she became desperate for air. “Behind your back, now!”  

Emi forced herself to follow his command, clasping her hands behind her back as she stared up at Evil with watery eyes.  Finally, he pushed her away from him, making Emi fall on her back, coughing and sending Evil’s sperm splattering over the floor.  His foot appeared pushing on the side of her face rubbing it into the pool she had spit out.  

“I give you the gift of my cum and you’re going to spit it out?”  Evil asked.  “Is that how you repay me?”  

Kicking her face away Evil headed across the dungeon to the door that lead to the new playground.  

“Extinguish the candles and then join me.”  Evil ordered heading down the short stairway.  

Emi hurried around the dungeon, snuffing out every candle and then stumbling her way through the dark room to the stairs.  Hesitantly she headed down the half flight of stairs filled with a mixture of fear and excitement as she wondered what this new room held.  

She found Evil standing by a wooden saw horse, eyes widening as she saw the stud lined pads she was obviously intended to kneel on.  If it wasn’t obvious before she certainly understood Evil wasn’t playing around tonight.

Evil impatiently waved her over, grabbing Emi by the back of her neck when she was in reach and pulling her over the beam.  She had been distracted by the torturous implements on the knee and arm pads that she hadn’t noticed the barbs sticking up until they were pressed against her pussy making her groan as they pressed into her clit.  As soon as she was in position Evil strapped her to the device, strapping her arms and legs tightly so they were pressed into the metal studs sending shocks of pain radiating up her body.  

Evil moved to the front of her body, pulling off the ring gag with careless movements, pulling several strands of hair from Emi’s head as he yanked it free.   Moving to the equipment lining the wall Evil grabbed a black leather hood and returned to Emi’s side.  The only opening was for her mouth, a metal implement laced into the hole to hold her mouth open wide once again.   The thick material made hearing nearly impossible, robbing Emi of most of her senses.  She was left to tense in anticipation of Evil’s next move.  

Moving back to the counter Evil picked up his black leather gloves and slid them on his hands, tugging them down firmly and bending his fingers to stretch them.  He then grabbed the little glass bottle of cinnamon oil and his rubber barbed wire flogger.  Coming up on Emi’s side Evil laid the flogger across the small of her back.  

“Ever played with cinnamon oil Emi?”  Evil asked conversationally as he opened the bottle and generously coated his leather covered fingers.   The smell of cinnamon filled the air, the strength burning Evil’s nostrils bringing a grin to his face as he imagined the torture it was going to put Emi through.  

“No sir.”  She said mumbled the best she could.  

“You’re in for a treat then.” Evil said bringing his fingers to her right breast and generously coating the nipple with oil.   The immediate burn had her squirming against her bonds, whimpers sounding as Evil moved to her other side of the bench and repeated his actions.  

“Tongue out,” Evil commanded coming to her front.  Emi obeyed immediately dreading what she new was coming as Evil tipped the bottle directly on her tongue and drenched it in the oil that had her screaming, immediately pulling her tongue back in and trying desperately to clear the oil with her saliva as tears started falling down her cheek.  Evil grunted in displeasure cuffing her upside the head and going to the cabinets to grab a clamp.  

“Out now.”  He snapped reaching into Emi’s mouth when she hesitated and pulling her tongue out.  Again, it was coated generously with oil and this time Evil slapped the clamp on her tongue preventing its retreat.  “I’m very disappointed.  If you think this is pain, you haven’t begun to experience it yet.  Obey my commands or things are going to get very ugly.”  

Evil stalked to the other end of Emi, applying a fresh coat of cinnamon to his fingers before running his fingers through her slit, pinching her clit and twisting it before shoving his fingers inside her.   Garbled as it was, her scream still went straight to Evil’s cock, her pathetic attempts at struggling against her binds.   Pulling his fingers free of her cunt Evil moved them up to her tightest entrance, teasing his thumb over the entrance as Emi begged and pleaded for mercy.  Her words were almost unintelligible, but Evil understood her intent.

“I told you there was no mercy tonight.”  Evil told her pressing his finger into her tight hole.  “You will take everything I do to you and there isn’t a thing you can do about it.”

Pulling his finger free and leaving Emi squirming under the burn in all her orifices Evil discarded the gloves and returned to her side, picking up the rubber flogger and bringing it down hard on her back admiring the immediate red streaks that appeared in its wake.  Time and again Evil brought the flogger down on Emi’s skin covering her back and buttocks with lashes.  Pricks of blood appeared on her skin where it broke open from repeated strikes before Evil was through.  Tossing aside the rubber flogger he unstrapped Emi and dragged her towards his next destination.  

Sandpaper lined cuffs were attached to each of her wrists, designed to rub her skin raw with ever pull on the restraints, then attached to the chains hanging from the ceiling leaving her arms extended high above her head.  Similar cuffs with chains anchored to the ground spread her legs wide. Pulling off the tongue clamp Evil threw it over his shoulder letting it clang across the ground.  In normal circumstances he never treated his equipment so roughly, but tonight he was focused only on getting this toxic energy out of himself.  Next followed the hood revealing Emi’s tearstained and sweaty face, pain etched in her features as the burn from the cinnamon oil still permeated her skin.  

He wanted to her to see what was coming, to read the fear in her eyes as she saw the toys, he had stopped to pick up on his way home, especially for her.   With a chilling grin Evil grabbed the bag of goodies and came to stand in Emi’s line of sight slowly pulling the items out for dramatic effect and laying them out on the little rolling table at his side.  Sliding on a new pair of gloves Evil held up the first item.  

“Do you know what this is Emi?”  Evil asked showing her the green leafy stalks.  

“Nnnettle.”  Emi stuttered eyeing it nervously while her body began to react in anticipation of the endorphin rush she was about to experience. Her pussy was aching, starting to drip as she thought of the pain coming her way.  

“That’s right.  Nettle.” Evil said approaching her with several stalks in his hands.   “We’re going to play with some nettle for a bit, and then when you’re begging me to stop, I’ve got something else to take things to another level.”  

“Hold these.” Evil ordered pressing a few stalks between Emi’s lips.  Immediately the stinging set in, her lips feeling like they were on fire as the sticky barbs made themselves known.  

Evil ran the bushel in his hands over her body, slapping them over her tits and leaving stinging red barbs in their wake.   He rubbed the leaves over her breasts and down her stomach, hovering over her cunt as Emi watched him with trepidation.   Spreading her pussy lips with one hand Evil brought the nettle to her soaking pussy, chuckling at her swollen clit.  As much as she was crying and carrying on, she certainly seemed to be enjoying it.   Made Evil think he that maybe he was playing a bit too nicely.  

Emi shrieked when Evil slapped her clit with the nettled and ground it into her with his gloved hand, the heel of his palm driving the stingers into her sensitive flesh. Unable to stop it, climax crashed over Emi as the pain brought her completion and immediately halted Evil’s actions.   She shuddered as he slowly rose glaring at her with a fury she hadn’t seen from him before.  

“What did I tell you about orgasms,” Evil sneered getting in her face.  

“I didn’t ask.”  Emi plead her case all the while knowing it was useless.  “You said not to ask.  I didn’t.”

Her efforts were met with a backhand that split her lip, blood trickling from the wound and dripping down onto her breasts.  

“Don’t try that semantics bullshit with me.”  Evil growled. “Tonight is not about you getting pleasure.”  

“I’m sorry.”  Emi cried.  “I won’t do it again. I’m sorry.”  

Evil snarled and moved back to the table grabbing the ginger root he had bought and fashioned into a dildo shaped.  Coating it with lube Evil moved to Emi’s backside, spreading her cheeks and pressing the tip of the root into her ass.  Lube was the only care he took, shoving the implement into her unprepared hole until it was firmly lodged.   The fiery heat quickly spread inside her, having Emi squirming in a useless attempt to escape the pain while Evil walked over and grabbed his chain flogger.  

Returning to her side he immediately set about whipping every inch of her flesh, dragging screams out of her until her throat was raw and ravaged, the beaded metal chains of the flogger leaving bruises over her body as Evil circled her.   Sobs racked her chest as Emi begged him to stop, knowing it wouldn’t be happening.  She had agreed to no limits and Evil was going to hold her to it.   By the time he was done her breasts were swollen and bruised, aching with need as her nipples stood at attention.   Despite the pain screaming through her Emi was in ecstasy at the same time, her body aching for completion.  

Evil flayed her skin, sweat dripping down his brow from exertion as he used all his strength to paint her skin in bruises.   It was only with great effort that he forced himself to stop, sensing he was about to go over lines he shouldn’t cross, throwing the flogger down and breathing heavily as the beast within him banged against its restraints.   Swallowing down his rage Evil turned his back on Emi, taking a second to get a handle on himself before he went too far.  

Only when he felt a bit more centered did Evil approach Emi and unsnapping her restraints letting her fall in a heap at his feet.   Her wrists and ankles were bloody messes, rubbed raw from the lining and her struggles.   His dick hardened almost painfully as he stared down at the broken girl below him.   Grabbing her by the hair he dragged her to the corner of the room and threw her into the shower stall turning ice cold water onto her and washing away the sticky residue the nettles had left behind.  

Once she was cleaned Evil dragged her over to the counter, bending her over and slamming his cock inside her cunt.  Emi moaned beneath him as he took his pleasure, hips snapping into her ass and pushing the ginger root deep inside her with every thrust.   Evil raked his nails down her back, over the welts left from his various whippings and breaking open the wounds, trickles of blood left in the trails.   Leaning down Evil dragged his tongue over the wounds, the taste of her blood tart on his tongue making his cock jerk inside Emi as he buried his teeth in her flesh, creating a new wound that bled into his mouth.  Ripping away Evil sucked in heavy breaths, Emi’s blood staining his teeth and lips as he filled her with his cum.  

“Take the ginger out and meet me at the wheel.”  Evil panted as he pulled out of her.   “We’ve got a long way to go still.”  

[penmansparadise]

Billy Hargrove Imagine Smut Request- Just For Fun

So I went a little bit crazy with this one lol.  This was requested by @selenedarkbloom and I seriously enjoyed writing it.  I’m sorry it took forever for me to write it and post it for you, but I hope it was worth the wait and that you enjoy it!! xx.

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Reader

Warnings: Smut and language 

*Just wanted to let you all know, again, that unprotected sex is a definite no no!!  I didn’t mention any form of birth control (i.e. condoms or the pill), but please know that it is not because I advocate unprotected sex.  The lack of mentions is solely to keep the flow of writing.  Please always use some form of protection!*

You laid in your bed listening to the shouting match your parents were having in the living room.  Turning to face your alarm clock you saw that the time read 6:00am. “Right on cue.” You thought to yourself before getting up to get dressed for school.  Like every other school day, you were out the door and into your car by 6:30am.  You sat in the driveway and watched your parents argue through the living room window.  It was always the same.  Dad would come home drunk the night before resulting in an explosive argument the following morning.  You clenched the steering wheel in anger before giving it a smack.  Shaking your head, you threw your car in reverse and backed out heading to school.  

At school, you always parked your black BMW in your usual spot.  Although there wasn’t a sign designating that as your spot, there might as well have been.  You pretty much ran the school and no one would dare mess with you.  Those who were ballsy enough to go toe to toe with you usually ended up in a hospital and a new school.  You were the queen of Hawkins even if no one wanted to admit it. But, like everyone, you kept your home life a secret.  With Hawkins being such a small town, everyone knew your dad was a drunk. However, no one knew about the arguments and how every waking moment could end up being a potential domestic violence case.  No one knew the reason why you preferred to not go home at night or that, when you did, why you cried yourself to sleep.  No one would ever know, not if you could help it. When you pulled into the school, a blue Camaro was parked in your spot and a rather handsome boy was leaning against it.  “What the shit?” You said to yourself as you drove past the new car.  After pulling into a spot a couple of cars down, you got out, grabbed your bag, and made your way to the Camaro.  “Turn Up The Radio” by Autograph was playing from the car and the boy was puffing on a cigarette when you walked up.  The sun was shining down on him making him look even more godlike than when you had driven by.  You let your eyes travel from his shoes all the way up to his dirty blonde hair.  His black denim jeans hugged his hips tightly and the top three buttons of his blue shirt were left undone exposing part of his chiseled chest.  A small breath escaped you as you finally made eye contact with him.  He threw his cigarette on the ground and stepped on it giving you an irritated look.  “Got a problem babe?” He asked fixing the collar of his shirt.  You shut your eyes tight, regaining focus, before placing your normal snarl on your face.  “Actually,” you began stepping closer to him, “there is a problem.”  The light breeze sent a waft of his strong cologne into you causing your eyes to shut again.  You couldn’t deny, the boy was extremely attractive.  However, even though you wanted to drown in the smell of him, you had a rep to protect.  He took a step even closer and gave you a smirk, “And what’s that princess?”  His scent was intoxicating.  You lifted your head to make yourself look taller, “You’re parked in my spot and don’t’ call me those cheap pet names.  I have a name and it’s not ‘babe’ or ‘princess’.”  The boy let out a deep chuckle and looked around before turning back to you with mock surprise.  “Well would you look at that?” He began, “I don’t see your name anywhere around here.  So, technically, I actually didn’t park in your spot.”  You gritted your teeth and clenched your fists in aggravation.  You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could say anything the bell rang.  The boy smirked down at you, “I’ll see you around…babe.” He gave you a wink before stalking off towards the school leaving you dumbfounded.  

In your first period, you sat trapped in your thoughts.  No one had ever done what that boy had done to you.  Anger raged inside of you making you want to rip his head off, but, at the same time, lust pooled within your body making you want to rip off every fabric of clothing he was wearing.  You let out a frustrated grunt and shook your head.  You didn’t even know his name, yet he was the only thing on your mind for the first half of your day.  When the bell releasing you for lunch rang, you made your way to your normal table.  Your two friends, Karen and Melissa, sat waiting for you.  Although both girls greeted you, your mind was elsewhere. You searched through the crowds of people until you finally found who you were looking for.  Your eyes narrowed as you got up making a beeline for him. He was sitting confidently on top of the table surrounded by Tommy and his friends.  When he saw you approaching, that seductive smirk fell onto his lips again.  You stopped in front of him and placed your hands on your hips, “I wasn’t done talking to you when you walked away this morning.”  He got up from the table and stood in front of you, “Yeah, but I was done talking to you.”  Everyone took in a collective gasp before an uncomfortable silence blanketed the room. Your heart began to race and you could feel heat rising to your cheeks.  He took a step closer to you, “Got anything else to say princess?”  You stepped even closer letting your usual snarl set in, “I thought I told you to not call me those cheap pet names?”  He closed the distance between the two of you.  Now, almost chest to chest, he tilted his head to the side.  “Well what else am I supposed to call you?” He asked sarcastically, “Raging Bitch?”  Your jaw, as well as everyone else’s, fell open in shock.  His smirk resurfaced at your lack of immediate response.  “You better watch yourself.”  You said in a low growl. “Or what? He said leaning in closer, “You gonna hit me?”  You narrowed your eyes again, “Maybe I will.  There are a lot of things I want to do to you right now.”  He let out a chuckle, “Believe me princess, me too, but let’s keep this PG.  I mean, at least while we’re at school.  Meet me after and I can’t promise anything.”  You lifted yourself onto your tip toes putting you and him chest to chest. “Call me princess one more time and I can’t promise I won’t actually do some of those things to you.” You said with a snarl.  He leaned his head down until his lips were grazing your ear, “Promise?”  Your heart was racing as anger and lust played tug-of-war with your mind.  The room remained quiet as the two of you stood there in a stalemate each waiting on the other to flinch.  When the bell rang loudly sending everyone back to class, he finally spoke.  “Meet me at my car after school.”  He said in a whisper only you could hear.  With your eyes still narrowed you simply responded with, “Fine.”  Before each of you separated and made your way to class.

The rest of your day went by slow as you anxiously awaited your parking lot meeting. When the final bell rang releasing you for the day, you quickly made your way to his car.  Although you tried not to, you beat him to his Camaro and had to wait.  You were picking at a fray on your jean jacket when you heard his familiar chuckle and looked up.  He already had a cigarette between his lips by the time he reached you.  “Got a little excited, did we?” He asked with a smirk. You rolled your eyes and scoffed, “As if.  Anyway, why am I here and not on my way home?”  He leaned up against his car next to you, “Because I saw the look in your eye at lunch.”  You moved to stand directly in front of him and crossed your arms, “Oh yeah?  And what look was that?”  He blew smoke out of his mouth before licking his lips, “You were turned on.  I could tell.”  Your eyes grew big, “Oh please!  I was not turned on.”  You could feel your heart rate begin to quicken again.  Everyone had always told you that you were pretty much an open book, but you didn’t think you were that open.  The boy stepped out his cigarette, “Listen, it’s okay, I was turned on too. You’re pretty sexy trying to play that whole ‘Queen Bee’ role.  I like it.” A blush crept onto your cheeks at how charming he was.  You waved him off, “Look, I’m not looking for a relationship.”  He took a step closer to you sending his delicious scent into you again.  “Neither am I baby.” He said huskily.  You rolled your eyes at the nickname, “That’s a new one.  So, what are you proposing?”  He put one hand on your waist, “That you and me have a little fun. Nothing serious.  I know you want to.”  The warmth from his hand on your hip gave you shivers and his crystal blue eyes staring down at you froze you in place.  You really couldn’t deny that you had been thinking about him all day.  Or that he was right about turning you on at lunch.  You let out an irritated sigh before finally making eye contact again.  “Alright.” You began, “Although my better judgment is begging me to tell you to go fuck yourself, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.  But this is only fun, like you said, nothing serious.  And absolutely NO feelings, got it?”  He bit his bottom lip, “Got it.  Now, what’s your address?  I’ll pick you up tonight at seven.”  You handed him a folded-up piece of paper, “You’re gonna wine and dine me before you fuck me?”  The boy let out a chuckle, “I guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”  You rolled your eyes and let out a laugh, “My name is Y/N by the way.”  He nodded, “Good to know.  I’m Billy.” You gave him a smile before turning and heading to your car. “I’ll see you at seven Billy.  And don’t be late!” You shouted back to him as you got into your BMW and drove off.               

As the night rolled closer and closer to seven, you began to grow nervous. You looked your outfit over at least ten times before you finally decided it was fine.  A pair of high waist jeans that clung to all the right places, a black off the shoulder crop top, and your signature jean jacket.  You sat on your bed staring at the clock waiting for Billy to arrive and hoping it was soon.  As you sat waiting you could hear the beginning of your parents’ nightly arguments.  Even with your door shut, it sounded as if they were standing right in front of you. Their voices began to raise and soon the sound of shattering glass came.  Tears pooled in your eyes, but you swallowed them back.  You sat there listening to their two-man war before finally deciding to leave.  Opening your window, you gracefully slid out into the yard and made your way to the driveway.  Through the front window you could see your drunk father and tired mother having their shouting match.  You didn’t realize Billy had pulled up until you heard his voice.  “Hey,” he said softly, “is everything alright?”  You snapped your head in his direction and quickly put your tough façade on.  “What? Yeah, everything’s fine.  Let’s go.”  You said opening the passenger side door and getting in.  Billy didn’t hesitate and soon you were speeding down the road.  

You watched Hawkins pass by as Billy drove through the little town.  Even as he exited the main strip and the buildings turned to trees, you knew exactly where he was taking you.  You turned to face him, “The lake?  Really?”  Billy gave you a smirk, but didn’t say anything in return.  He pulled his Camaro to a stop under a couple of trees allowing you to look out over the water.  You stared at the moon’s reflection in the water as Billy killed the engine.  From your peripherals, you could see him looking at you. The two of you sat in the silence for a minute more before Billy finally broke the silence.  “Are you alright?” He asked calmly.  The tears that were pooling in your eyes earlier were coming back.  You blinked your eyes hard to push them away before letting out a frustrated grunt.  “I’m fine.” You said to the floor board. Billy let out a breath, but before he could say anything in return you moved your gaze to meet his.  “I want you to make me forget.”  You said abruptly.  Billy raised his eyebrows in confusion, “Forget what?”  You rolled your eyes, “About how shitty life can be.” Billy licked his lips, “I can do that.” He leaned over the center console and quickly connected your lips with his.  His hand moved to the back of your head and tangled in your hair deepening the kiss.  It was vicious and hungry.  You let out a soft moan as you let your mind succumb to his charm.  You leaned into the kiss, lifting yourself off the seat enough for Billy’s other hand to find your ass.  He gave a light smack before grabbing your rear and pulling you even closer. You moved your hands to cup Billy’s face and soon they were pulling on his curly hair.  He let out a low groan, a sound you didn’t know you would find so sexy, as you yanked.  The hand that was in your hair, shoved your jean jacket off your body before it found its way to the bottom of your crop top.  Billy gave it a tug, “I know you probably spent a lot of time picking this outfit out, but this has to go.” He said pulling the shirt over your head and tossing it into his backseat.  Because you didn’t wear a bra, your breasts were now fully exposed.  Billy reconnected your lips and let both of his hands discover your upper body.  He let them trail over your skin from your belly button until they each grabbed your breasts.  You let out a soft moan at his touch.  His hands groped you before letting his fingers play with your nipples.  Your head fell back at the intense sensations you were feeling.  As your head fell back, Billy took the opportunity to kiss down your neck, nipping here and there, until his mouth reached one of your breasts.  His skillful tongue drew circles around your nipple while his hand massaged your other breast.  “Holy shit Billy,” you said in a soft whisper as he switched sides.  The heat between your legs was growing quickly and he hadn’t even taken your pants off yet.  While his face was buried in your chest, you quickly peeled your jeans off.  Billy pulled back earning a whine from you.  He smirked, “A little antsy?”  You lightly shoved his shoulder, “Shut your damn mouth and let me get on top.”  Billy’s eyes grew a little at your demand, but didn’t refuse.  He helped you over the center console and onto his lap. Just sitting on his lap, you could feel his large erection poking you where you wanted him.  You bit your lip at the feeling and slowly began to grind into him.  His head fell back against his head rest as he let out a long moan.  “Fuck yes Y/N.” He said moving both of his hands to grab your ass.  Without stopping, your fingers quickly unbuttoned his shirt and threw it in the backseat.  Billy’s hands pulled at your devilish red panties begging you to take them off. You let out a moan at how badly he wanted you and let him pull them off.  Before you could sit back down, Billy slid his finger over your clit causing you to arch your back.  “Oh Billy.” You moaned as he rubbed on your sweet spot.  He took one of your breasts into your mouth again and began sucking on it earning a loud moan from you.  Your fingernails dug into his shoulders as you held yourself up.  Billy released your breast and brought his hand back to your waist pushing you back onto his erection.  “God baby you’re fucking soaked.” He growled.  Your whole body was tingling as he moved your hips with his hands. “Billy,” you said breathlessly, “I know you probably spent a lot of time picking this outfit out, but these jeans have got to go.”  Billy chuckled a little before lifting you up enough to pull them down.  His large dick stood up wanting you just as badly as you wanted him.  He put his hands back on your waist and slowly sat you down onto his member. Both of you let out a collective moan at the feeling.  You quickly adjusted to him before you began to ride him.  Starting slow, your hands raked through his hair as you grinded into him letting him fill you up.  “Fuck Billy you’re so big!”  You groaned loudly.  Billy tightened his grip on your hips in response pulling you farther down onto him. You could feel yourself getting closer and closer with each stroke.  As you got closer, you picked your pace up. Instead of grinding on him, you began to bounce.  Billy’s breathing was quickening as expletives and moans escaped his open mouth. Your breasts bounced up and down with every movement.  His hands held onto your waist tightly helping you bounce deeper and faster. “Oh, Billy I’m getting so close!” You shouted out.  All the windows were fogging from both of your heavy breathing.  You nails dug deep into his shoulders again as you bounced up and down on his dick.  “Fuck baby I’m almost there too.” He groaned out in response.  The car was filled with the sounds of your moans and skin hitting each other.  You could feel yourself getting close to your climax making your movements sloppy. “Billy,” you began in a whine, “Billy I’m gonna cum!”  Billy moved his lips to your neck and began to suck on your soft spot sending you to your climax.  As you tightened around him, he bounced you a couple more times before he spilled over the edge.  You moaned in unison before he peeled you off of him and helped you back to the passenger side.  He reached into the backseat and handed you your shirt.  Once you both were fully dressed he drove you back to your house. Sitting in your driveway he turned to you.  “I could get used to that.”  He said with a cocky smile.  You chuckled, “I think I made the right decision in giving you the benefit of the doubt.”  He sent you a wink before you exited his car.  

After that night, your agreement was set in stone.  When either of you needed to blow off some steam you would go to the lake.  Some days you were on top and others the two of you would venture into his backseat and he would have his way with you.  Months passed and soon you were learning more and more about each other.  Although you had never been to his house, you knew all about his home life.  You knew all about the emotional and physical abuse Billy endured at the hands of his own father.  He didn’t want to admit to it, but when you asked him about his black eye he couldn’t lie to you.  Although you didn’t want to tell him at first, you eventually told him about your home life as well.  Soon he was fully aware of your father and about the fights your parents had.  After a couple of months, your nights at the lake didn’t always end in wild car sex.  In fact, most nights the two of you would just sit in his car and talk.  You would let him vent and he would do the same for you.  It was during those nights that you could feel your feelings for Billy changing, growing. He would always drop you off at the end of the night and you would stay up laying in your bed begging your heart to stop feeling.  

You stood by Billy’s Camaro waiting for him to walk out of the building. When he saw you standing by his car, a smile crept onto his lips.  “Hey there.” You said when he finally made his way to you.  “Well hello.” He said as he pulled a cigarette out of his pocket.  You felt like a giddy school girl talking to her crush for the very first time.  Your heart raced in your chest and your cheeks hurt from holding a smile on your lips.  “So,” you began twirling a piece of hair around your index finger, “my parents are going to be out of town tonight and I was thinking maybe you could come over.”  Billy took a puff of his cigarette and raised his eyebrows, “You want me to go over to your house?”  Your stomach fell at the sound of his skepticism, “Well, yeah.  I mean it’ll just be the two of us.”  Putting his cigarette out he shrugged his shoulders, “Alright.  Usual time?” Your smile returned as you bit your lip and nodded in response.  He sent you a wave before peeling out of the parking lot.

When you got home, you immediately began to make sure everything was perfect. From the pillows on your bed to the color lingerie you were wearing.  Even if tonight didn’t end with you screaming out Billy’s name in pleasure you wanted to be prepared.  At exactly seven o’clock your doorbell rang sending butterflies to erupt in your stomach. You took a quick look in the mirror before going to open the door.  You pulled the door open with a smile that immediately fell when you saw Billy’s face.  His eyes were a little red and one had an ugly bruise around it.  “Billy.”  You said before he pushed past you entering your living room.  You walked over to him and placed your hand on his cheek. “Billy, what happened?  Did your dad do this to you?”  You asked already knowing the answer.  He pushed your hand away, “I don’t want to talk about it Y/N.” You looked at him in awe, “Billy we need to talk about it.  This is getting out of control and you need to go tell someone.”  Billy had his back to you and you could see his muscles tense at the start of the conversation.  He clenched his fists and turned to face you, “I don’t need to tell anyone!  And I don’t want to talk about it.”  You reached for his hands, but he moved away.  “Okay, you don’t want to tell anyone, but I’m just trying to make sure that you’re okay.”  He ran his fingers through his hair pulling a little, “I’m fine!  I don’t need you to make sure that I’m okay.  And plus, it’s not your job to make sure that I’m alright. Your job is to make me forget about my asshole dad and the shit life that I have.”  Your heart jerked in your chest, “I’m making sure you’re okay because I care for you Billy.”  Billy stared at you with a blank expression that quickly turned to anger.  “What do you mean you care?  You said in the beginning of this whole arrangement ‘no feelings’.  You’re not supposed to care about me!”  Fury filled up your heart at his words, “Billy, how do you expect me to not care for you?  I’ve fallen for you! Can’t you see that?  And are you honestly going to tell me that you don’t feel the same way?  I see the way you look at me.  It’s different from before when we started this thing.  I know you care about me too Billy.” Sadness and confusion played on Billy’s face as he held your gaze.  “You’re not supposed to care for me Y/N.  I’m not supposed to care for you.  That was the deal.”  You walked up to him and placed your hands on each side of his face and this time he didn’t move away.  “Billy, deals can be broken.  I don’t want this to be ‘just for fun’ anymore.  I can’t keep lying to myself.  I love you Billy Hargrove.”  You said looking deeply into his bright blue eyes.  Billy closed his eyes and let out a sigh before opening them to look into your Y/E/C orbs again.  “I love you too Y/N.”  He said before pulling you into a passionate kiss.  Your lips moved in perfect sync as you folded into his arms.  His hands moved to the back of thighs and lifted you up allowing you to wrap your legs around his torso.  Without separating your lips, he carried you to your bedroom and gently placed you on your bed where the two of you made love.  Although wild car sex was fun, you could definitely get used to Billy’s soft and sensual side.