#beauty vernis

[chicinsilk]

Chen Yu 1954

Lipstick, nail polish/Rouge à lèvres, vernis à ongles.

[medullam]

Vernie Bennett of Eternal [1996]

[sonia-italia]

#tutoriel Tuto du soir, bonsoir avec @justnailspj 😘 Produits dont tu auras besoin pour reproduire cette pose : ◾️ Vernis gris Elegant Elephant https://nails-company.fr/vernis-sans-hema-tpo-wild-essence/2590-vernis-gris-elegant-elephant-hema-free-5902444229625.html ◾️ Vernis noir Black Devil https://nails-company.fr/vernis-noir-blanc/1376-vernis-noir-black-devil-5902444214034.html ◾️ Top Coat mat Soft Touch https://nails-company.fr/top-coats-gel-uv-finition/816-top-coat-mat-soft-touch-11ml-5902444213747.html ◾️ Repair Base Clear https://nails-company.fr/gels-uv-de-base/371-base-repair-rubber-gummy-base-5902444202796.html ◾️ Top Coat brillant Flash Shine https://nails-company.fr/top-coats-gel-uv-finition/25-top-flash-shine-11ml-5902444207791.html ◾️ Foil Silver https://nails-company.fr/nail-art/1583-foil-silver-5902444220011.html

[ommorphiabeautybar]

CHANEL · Codes Couleur

  CHANEL recently launched the Codes Couleur Collection, a fun group of products that happen to be both useful AND great additions to one’s makeup bag. Created to match 9 of the new & revamped Le Vernis shades (reviewed here), this is a perfect example of how form & function come beautifully together. Plus, everything is just so darn cute!   Continue reading Untitled

[nkirukaj]

Deerly Beloved (2)

Pairing: Alastor x Fem! OC

Warnings: Swearing;

Genre: ANGST/Fluff (& Humor!)

Word Count: 1.1K

2. Never

Alastor storms up through the dead angel's bodies and grabs Lucifer by the collar “Bring her back, now!” he shakes the king of Hell. Charlie, Vaggie, and Angel rush toward the two while Lucifer heats his body, burning Alastor’s palms to make the demon drop him. Alastor cries out in pain.

When he stands, the angel grabs his cane and dusts himself off “Not that it’s any of your business, but I can’t,”

“What do you mean you can’t? You’re an angel!”

“An angel of Hell. Heaven took her; I don’t exactly have sway up there anymore. She can only come down if she wants to,”

Alastor stops his attack and stares at the King “So there’s no issue then? She will be back as soon as she figures out how to open a portal,”

Lucifer fixes his coat “Yeah, if she wants to,”

Alastor’s eyes flash black. “What do you mean, if she wants to? Of course, she wants to!”

“Well, Alastor, Heaven is….” Charlie looks for a word: “Beautiful. She might not want to come home,”

“Charlotte, don’t be ridiculous, she has me..and the children! Waiting for her down here. She has a responsibility to us as a wife and a mother she isn’t going to just throw it all away!”

“Heaven is pretty enticing,” Lucifer admits “I miss it every day…” he says under his breath.

Alastor puffs out his chest “My Vera is much stronger than that. She’s happy with what she has here, so she will be back in no time,”

Lucifer huffs “Whatever you say,” he looks to the group “So…who wants pasta?” Niffty raises her hand. 

Another two months. 

It was very quiet, in quite an unusual way. It was as though everyone in the building was aware and part of the continued silence. As if they knew what the unspoken consequences would be if they spoke. They lived on eggshells for these two months, finally properly frightened of the Radio Demon, spurred on by the killing spree he went on following his loss. Yes, he had promised his wife to stop killing, but she wasn’t here now, was she? He wasn’t going to cry, crying was useless, and once you’re done, nothing about the situation would be changed. No, he would make his rage seen, seen, and felt throughout this corner of Hell.

Unfortunately, the only ones who did not understand this unspoken rule of silence were the Radion Demon’s offspring. Alyson and Vernon were the very antithesis of quiet. They were constant and annoying, sad to say, even his dear Alyson was grating his nerves. They were just now learning to laugh, so everything was funny.

Despite how many times Alastor pushed him back down, Vernon had this obsession with crawling up Alastor’s leg.

“Daydadyoyoyo,” Vernie reaches out his little hand, opening and closing his fingers. He places his palm on Alastor’s knee, and Alastor removes it just as quickly, the child slipping down faster than he climbed up. He clutched his father’s ankle, hanging on as Alastor lightly shook his leg to get the child to release him.

“Oof!” the boy hit the ground with a soft thud

Alastor raises his eyebrow “Leave,” 

“Nyanyanyanyanya,”

“Hmmm,” he stands to exit the room, Vernie crawling behind him when dark hands scoop him up. 

“You can’t just leave babies on the floor!” Lucifer holds Vernie on his hip “What if he got hurt or swallowed something small?”

Alastor tosses over his shoulder “He will be fine, he’s my...son, is he not?”

“You don’t treat him like it,” Lucifer seems offended

He rolls his eyes “If you’re so invested, why don’t you take him?”

“Because he’s your son, as you just stated!”

“Then I can do as I please with him, no?”

“NO!”

Instead of arguing with the king, Alastor huffs out, “Fine!” and grabs the boy from his arms. Vernie is having the time of his little life, being shown some type of affection from his father. Alastor descends the stairs and snatches Alyson as well from off of the couch and gives her a little kiss on the forehead, ignoring Vernie reaching out for one as well, and takes a nice little stroll over to Cannibal Town, where he finds Bean in her house making a video. He bypasses the lock by shadowing inside and places the children in her arms from off-camera. Bean looks down at the children and then back up at Alastor.

“What the fuck?”

“You need to watch them for me,”

She gives him an epic side eye “I don’t need to do anything for you. And I’m kind of in the middle of something!” she gestures toward the camera

“Well, that can stop. Ridiculous pastime anyway. Tata!” he shadows away before she can protest

Alastor was at a bit of a loss; he didn’t know what to do with himself. He had made so many changes for her, and now she was gone. Had she not figured out how to come back? Was she learning how in secret? Yes, that must be it. Or perhaps she had chosen to stay? No, that was impossible, her choosing to stay after making vows with him and starting this family? That would be… the most selfish thing she could do, and selfish people don’t belong in Heaven, it would be the worst betrayal of all time, even worse than the first, that he had chosen to forgive her for. She would never do this to him, never. 

Then again, he had thought that she would never betray him the first time, and she had. Foolish of him to think, really. He should have insisted on owning her before they entered any kind of relationship, then she could never leave him. She’d be by his side for eternity. Though she was clear that was the opposite of what she wanted, though it would have been for the best. Then this would not be happening to him right now. He would never have to feel this way. 

Or perhaps they may not have had a relationship at all?

[chic-a-gigot]

Le Petit écho de la mode, no. 27, vol. 23, 7 juillet 1901, Paris. 1. Vêtements de voyage. Ville de Paris / Bibliothèque Forney

Pour les voyages

Plaids, chapeaux et parapluies primes

I. Canotier SULLY à 5 fr. 75. La forme est en belle manille fantaisie crème et bis, jarretière en satin bleu, rouge, noir, mauve, crème, or et rubis; sur le côté, une jolie boucle fantaisie arrête la jarretière. Pour draperie en tulle brodé ajouter 1 fr. 50 en plus.

I. SULLY boater at 5.75 francs. The form is in beautiful fancy cream and bis shackle, garter in blue, red, black, mauve, cream, gold and ruby ​​satin; on the side, a pretty fancy buckle stops the garter. For embroidered tulle drapery add 1.50 francs more.

—

II. Plaid ANDRE, à 11 fr. 45. Vêtement en tartan écossais à double face avec col Médicis, capuchon bordé de franges assorties.

II. ANDRE cape, 11.45 francs. Double-sided Scottish tartan garment with Medici collar, hood edged with matching fringes.

—

III. Chapeau JEANNETTE, à 5 fr 95, en paille branche ornée sur le côté d’un joli nœud en mousseline toutes couleurs d’où s’échappent deux couteaux beiges ou noirs; jarretière en velours noir.

III. JEANNETTE hat, at 5.95 francs, in branch straw decorated on the side with a pretty muslin bow in all colors from which two beige or black knives escape; black velvet garter.

—

IV. Vêtement SAXON, â 18 fr. 45. Elégant plaid en tartan écossais à double face avec franges, agrémenté de deux cols et volant assorti.

IV. SAXON cape, 18.45 francs. Elegant double-sided Scottish tartan throw with fringes, decorated with two collars and matching ruffle.

—

V. Parapluie pour homme et dame, à 6 fr. 95. Parapluie homme, crosse recourbée en bois verni; parapluie dame, tète de chien blanche sculptée ou béquille corne.

V. Umbrella for men and women, at 6.95 francs. Men's umbrella, curved handle in varnished wood; lady's umbrella, carved white dog's head or horn crutch.

[milfhawks]

dracule mihawk: modern teenager

yves saint laurent black opium extreme edp

kvd beauty tattoo pencil liner (trooper black)

chanel le vernis (le diable en chanel)

free people deep v neck long sleeve top (black)

philipp plein denim slim fit jeans (tempest grey)

dr martens blake leather buckle boots

chrome hearts sapphire gold cross necklace

(i wanted the cross necklace to resemble yoru; i also didn’t want it to be too big/heavy because i picture modern teenage mihawk wearing more delicate jewelry pieces.)

(i picture him wearing a wine red jacket over his outfits when it’s colder, as a nod to canon young mihawk’s outfit.)

[pompadourpink]

Sophie's Misfortunes - #1

Les malheurs de Sophie - la Comtesse de Ségur, 1858

Chapitre 1 - la Poupée de cire

« Ma bonne, ma bonne, dit un jour Sophie en accourant dans sa chambre, venez vite ouvrir une caisse que papa m’a envoyée de Paris ; je crois que c’est une poupée de cire, car il m’en a promis une.

La bonne: Où est la caisse ?

Sophie: Dans l’antichambre : venez vite, ma bonne, je vous en supplie. »

La bonne posa son ouvrage et suivit Sophie à l’antichambre. Une caisse de bois blanc était posée sur une chaise ; la bonne l’ouvrit. Sophie aperçut la tête blonde et frisée d’une jolie poupée de cire ; elle poussa un cri de joie et voulut saisir la poupée, qui était encore couverte d’un papier d’emballage.

La bonne: Prenez garde ! ne tirez pas encore ; vous allez tout casser. La poupée tient par des cordons.

Sophie: Cassez-les, arrachez-les ; vite, ma bonne, que j’aie ma poupée.

"My maid, my maid!" Sophie said one day running into her maid's room. "Hurry up! Open this crate that daddy sent me from Paris. I think it's a wax doll, because he promised me one!" The maid: "Where is the crate?" Sophie: "In the antechamber. Come quick, please!" The maid set her work down and followed Sophie to the antechamber. A white wood crate was on a chair. The maid opened it. Sophie spotted the blonde and curly head of a beautiful wax doll. She let out a cry of joy and tried to grab the doll, which was still covered in wrapping paper. The maid: "Careful! Don't pull it yet. You'll break everything. The doll is kept in place by some cords," the maid said.

Sophie: "Break them, rip them. Hurry, my maid, so that I have my doll!"

La bonne, au lieu de tirer et d’arracher, prit ses ciseaux, coupa les cordons, enleva les papiers, et Sophie put prendre la plus jolie poupée qu’elle eût jamais vue. Les joues étaient roses avec de petites fossettes ; les yeux bleus et brillants ; le cou, la poitrine, les bras en cire, charmants et potelés. La toilette était très simple : une robe de percale festonnée, une ceinture bleue, des bas de coton et des brodequins noirs en peau vernie.

Sophie l’embrassa plus de vingt fois, et, la tenant dans ses bras, elle se mit à sauter et à danser. Son cousin Paul, qui avait cinq ans, et qui était en visite chez Sophie, accourut aux cris de joie qu’elle poussait.

« Paul, regarde quelle jolie poupée m’a envoyée papa ! s’écria Sophie.

Paul: Donne-la-moi, que je la voie mieux.

Sophie: Non, tu la casserais.

Paul: Je t’assure que j’y prendrai bien garde ; je te la rendrai tout de suite. »

Sophie donna la poupée à son cousin, en lui recommandant encore de prendre bien garde de la faire tomber. Paul la retourna, la regarda de tous les côtés, puis la remit à Sophie en secouant la tête.

The maid, instead of pulling and ripping, took some scissors, cut the cords, removed the papers, and Sophie was able to grab the most beautiful doll she had ever seen. The cheeks were pink with little dimples. The eyes were blue and bright. The neck, the chest, the wax arms, charming and chubby. The outfit was simple: a scalloped, percale dress, a blue belt, cotton stockings and black, patent leather boots. Sophie kissed her more than twenty times and, holding her by the arms, she started to jump and dance. Her cousin Paul, who was five years old, and who was visiting Sophie, ran to her cries of joy. "Paul, look at the lovely doll daddy sent me!" Sophie cried out. "Give her to me, I want a better look at her." "No, you would break her." "I promise you I'll be careful. I'll give her back right away." Sophie gave the doll to her cousin, telling him once again to be very careful not to drop her. Paul turned her around, looked at her from every side and then gave her back to Sophie, shaking his head.

*

Sophie: Pourquoi secoues-tu la tête ?

Paul: Parce que cette poupée n’est pas solide ; je crains que tu ne la casses.

Sophie: Oh ! sois tranquille, je vais la soigner tant, tant que je ne la casserai jamais. Je vais demander à maman d’inviter Camille et Madeleine à déjeuner avec nous, pour leur faire voir ma jolie poupée.

Paul: Elles te la casseront.

Sophie: Non, elles sont trop bonnes pour me faire de la peine en cassant ma pauvre poupée.

Le lendemain, Sophie peigna et habilla sa poupée, parce que ses amies devaient venir. En l’habillant, elle la trouva pâle. « Peut-être, dit-elle, a-t-elle froid, ses pieds sont glacés. Je vais la mettre un peu au soleil pour que mes amies voient que j’en ai bien soin et que je la tiens bien chaudement. » Sophie alla porter la poupée au soleil sur la fenêtre du salon.

« Que fais-tu à la fenêtre, Sophie ? lui demanda sa maman.

Sophie: Je veux réchauffer ma poupée, maman ; elle a très froid.

"Why are you shaking your head?" "Because that doll isn't solid. I'm afraid you're going to break her." "Oh, don't worry. I'll take such good care of her, so much so that I'll never break her. I'm going to ask mother to invite Camille and Madeleine to have lunch with us, so I can show them my beautiful doll." "They'll break her." "No, they're too nice to hurt me by breaking my poor doll." The next day, Sophie combed and dressed her doll, because her friends were supposed to come. While dressing her, she thought she was pale. "Maybe," she said, "she's cold. Her feet are freezing. I'm going to put her in the sun for a little bit so my friends can see that I'm taking care of her and keeping her nice and warm." Sophie went to put the doll in the sun in the sitting room's window. "What are you doing at the window, Sophie?" her mother asked. "I want to warm my doll up, mother. She's very cold."

*

La maman: Prends garde, tu vas la faire fondre.

Sophie: Oh non ! maman, il n’y a pas de danger : elle est dure comme du bois.

La maman: Mais la chaleur la rendra molle ; il lui arrivera quelque malheur, je t’en préviens. »

Sophie ne voulut pas croire sa maman, elle mit la poupée étendue tout de son long au soleil, qui était brûlant.

Au même instant elle entendit le bruit d’une voiture : c’étaient ses amies qui arrivaient. Elle courut au-devant d’elles ; Paul les avait attendues sur le perron ; elles entrèrent au salon en courant et parlant toutes à la fois. Malgré leur impatience de voir la poupée, elles commencèrent par dire bonjour à Mme de Réan, maman de Sophie ; elles allèrent ensuite à Sophie, qui tenait sa poupée et la regardait d’un air consterné.

Madeleine, regardant la poupée: La poupée est aveugle, elle n’a pas d’yeux.

Camille: Quel dommage ! comme elle est jolie !

Madeleine: Mais comment est-elle devenue aveugle ! Elle devait avoir des yeux.

Sophie ne disait rien ; elle regardait la poupée et pleurait.

Mother: "Be careful, she'll melt." Sophie: "No, mother, there's no danger. She's as hard as wood." Mother: "But the heat will make her soft. Something bad will happen to her, I'm warning you." Sophie didn't want to believe her mother. She laid the doll out in the sun, which was scorching hot. At that moment, she heard the sound of a carriage. It was her friends showing up. She ran to go meet them. Paul had been waiting for them on the front steps. They ran into the sitting room, talking all at once. Despite their impatience to see the doll, they first said hello to Mrs. de Réan, Sophie's mother. They then went to Sophie, who was holding the doll and looking at her with dismay. "The doll is blind. She doesn't have any eyes!" Madeleine said. "What a shame! How beautiful she is!" Camille said. "But how did she get blind? She was supposed to have eyes." Sophie didn't say anything. She was looking at the doll and crying.

*

Madame de Réan: Je t’avais dit, Sophie, qu’il arriverait un malheur à ta poupée si tu t’obstinais à la mettre au soleil. Heureusement que la figure et les bras n’ont pas eu le temps de fondre. Voyons, ne pleure pas ; je suis très habile médecin, je pourrai peut-être lui rendre ses yeux.

Sophie, pleurant: C’est impossible, maman, ils n’y sont plus.

Mme de Réan prit la poupée en souriant et la secoua un peu ; on entendit comme quelque chose qui roulait dans la tête. « Ce sont les yeux qui font le bruit que tu entends, dit Mme de Réan ; la cire a fondu autour des yeux, et ils sont tombés. Mais je tâcherai de les ravoir. Déshabillez la poupée, mes enfants, pendant que je préparerai mes instruments. »

Aussitôt Paul et les trois petites filles se précipitèrent sur la poupée pour la déshabiller. Sophie ne pleurait plus ; elle attendait avec impatience ce qui allait arriver.

La maman revint, prit ses ciseaux, détacha le corps cousu à la poitrine ; les yeux, qui étaient dans la tête, tombèrent sur ses genoux ; elle les prit avec des pinces, les replaça où ils devaient être, et, pour les empêcher de tomber encore, elle coula dans la tête, et sur la place où étaient les yeux, de la cire fondue qu’elle avait apportée dans une petite casserole ; elle attendit quelques instants que la cire fût refroidie, et puis elle recousit le corps à la tête.

Les petites n’avaient pas bougé. Sophie regardait avec crainte toutes ces opérations, elle avait peur que ce ne fût pas bien ; mais, quand elle vit sa poupée raccommodée et aussi jolie qu’auparavant, elle sauta au cou de sa maman et l’embrassa dix fois.

Sophie's mother said, "I told you so, Sophie. Something bad would happen to your doll if you insisted on putting her in the sun. Fortunately, the face and the arms didn't have enough time to melt. Come on, don't cry. I'm a very skilled doctor, I might be able to give her back her eyes." "It's impossible, mother. They're gone," Sophie cried. Mrs. de Réan took the doll with a smile and shook her a bit. They could hear something rolling around in the head. "Those are the eyes making the noise you hear," Mrs. de Réan said. "The wax melted around the eyes and they fell. But I'll try to get them back. Undress the doll, children, while I get my tools ready." Right away, Paul and the three little girls came upon the doll to undress her. Sophie wasn't crying anymore. She waited restlessly for what was going to happen. The mother came back. She took her scissors and detached the body sewn at the chest. The eyes, which were inside the head, fell onto her knees. She took them with some pliers and put them back where they were supposed to be. To prevent them from falling again, she poured some melted wax that she brought in a little pan on the place where the eyes were. She waited a little bit to let the wax cool down, then she resewed the body to the head. The little ones didn't move. Sophie watched this whole operation with fear. She was afraid it wouldn't work out. But when she saw her doll fixed up and as beautiful as before, she jumped to her mother's neck and kissed it ten times.

-

« Merci, ma chère maman, disait-elle, merci : une autre fois je vous écouterai, bien sûr. »

On rhabilla bien vite la poupée, on l’assit sur un petit fauteuil et on l’emmena promener en triomphe en chantant :

Vive maman ! De baisers je la mange. Vive maman ! Elle est notre bon ange.

La poupée vécut très longtemps bien soignée, bien aimée ; mais petit à petit elle perdit ses charmes, voici comment. Un jour, Sophie pensa qu’il était bon de laver les poupées, puisqu’on lavait les enfants ; elle prit de l’eau, une éponge, du savon, et se mit à débarbouiller sa poupée ; elle la débarbouilla si bien, qu’elle lui enleva toutes ses couleurs : les joues et les lèvres devinrent pâles comme si elle était malade, et restèrent toujours sans couleur. Sophie pleura, mais la poupée resta pâle.

Un autre jour, Sophie pensa qu’il fallait lui friser les cheveux ; elle lui mit donc des papillotes : elle les passa au fer chaud, pour que les cheveux fussent mieux frisés. Quand elle lui ôta ses papillotes, les cheveux restèrent dedans ; le fer était trop chaud, Sophie avait brûlé les cheveux de sa poupée, qui était chauve. Sophie pleura, mais la poupée resta chauve.

"Thank you, my dear mother," she said. "Thank you. Next time, I'll listen to you, for sure." They quickly redressed the doll, set her on a little chair and went for a triumphant walk while chanting: Hooray for mother! I cover her in kisses! Hooray for mother! She is our angel! The doll lived for a long time, well cared-for, well loved. But, bit by bit, she lost her charms. Here's how. One day, Sophie thought it was a good idea to wash dolls, since people wash children. She took some water, a sponge, some soap and started to clean her doll. She cleaned her so well, that she removed all her color. The cheeks and lips became pale as if she were sick and were forever colorless. Sophie cried, but the doll was still pale. Another day, Sophie thought she had to curl her hair. She put some foil in her hair. She ironed it so that it would curl better. When she removed the foil, the hair stayed within. The iron was too hot. Sophie had burned her doll's hair, she was now bald. Sophie cried, but the doll was still bald.

*

Un autre jour encore, Sophie, qui s’occupait beaucoup de l’éducation de sa poupée, voulut lui apprendre à faire des tours de force. Elle la suspendit par les bras à une ficelle ; la poupée, qui ne tenait pas bien, tomba et se cassa un bras. La maman essaya de la raccommoder ; mais, comme il manquait des morceaux, il fallut chauffer beaucoup la cire, et le bras resta plus court que l’autre. Sophie pleura, mais le bras resta plus court.

Une autre fois, Sophie songea qu’un bain de pieds serait très utile à sa poupée, puisque les grandes personnes en prenaient. Elle versa de l’eau bouillante dans un petit seau, y plongea les pieds de la poupée, et, quand elle la retira, les pieds s’étaient fondus, et étaient dans le seau. Sophie pleura, mais la poupée resta sans jambes.

Depuis tous ces malheurs, Sophie n’aimait plus sa poupée, qui était devenue affreuse, et dont ses amies se moquaient ; enfin, un dernier jour, Sophie voulut lui apprendre à grimper aux arbres ; elle la fit monter sur une branche, la fit asseoir ; mais la poupée, qui ne tenait pas bien, tomba : sa tête frappa contre des pierres et se cassa en cent morceaux. Sophie ne pleura pas, mais elle invita ses amies à venir enterrer sa poupée.

Another day, Sophie, who was busy with her doll's upbringing, wanted to teach her to do some amazing feats. She hanged her by the arms from a string. The doll, which wasn't holding on well, fell and broke an arm. The mother tried to fix her up. But, since some pieces were missing, she had to heat up the wax quite a bit. The arm ended up shorter than the other. Sophie cried, but the arm was still shorter. Another time, Sophie thought that a foot bath would be useful to her doll, since all great people had them. She poured some boiling water into a little bucket and plunged the doll's feet into it. When she pulled her out, the feet had melted and were in the bucket. Sophie cried, but the doll still didn't have legs. After all these misfortunes, Sophie didn't love her doll anymore. The doll had become hideous and Sophie's friends were mocking her. At last, one day, Sophie wanted to teach her to climb trees. She put her on a branch and sat her there. But the doll, who wasn't holding on well, fell. Her head struck some rocks and broke into a hundred pieces. Sophie didn't cry. Instead, she invited her friends to come bury her doll.

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[bijouxcarys]

𝘕𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘎𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘏𝘰𝘮𝘦 (𝘒𝘢𝘵𝘺𝘢 𝘡𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘥𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘬𝘰𝘷𝘢 𝘹 𝘧𝘦𝘮!𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳)

Masterlist

Description: You're nearing your final days in the Russian city of St Petersburg and you run into a frazzled and somewhat alluring Russian goddess on your travel back to your hotel. When she invites you back to her place, nothing would be the same again.

Warnings: Slight/mentions of sexism, mentions of church sex/religion disrespect, strong language, light BDSM, drinking, cunnilingus, light breath play, Dom!Katya, Sub!Reader, prostitution, vaginal fingering, biting, humiliation, dirty talk, degradation, reverse cowboy, riding, anal play, leash and collar play, unprotected sex, discussed dubious consent.

Notes: This is an old fic from 2020 I wrote when I was obsessed with RuPaul's Drag Race, and particularly Katya. I still like her, and I enjoy watching her and Trixie together, but I don't write for them anymore. This is also an AU where Katya is a prostitute in Russia. So. Yeah.

Ti pozvolil mne narushit' tebya

My days in the Russian city of St Petersburg were lonelier than the rest of my time in the large country. I'd just come from Moscow, where it seemed that every day was a party. I was travelling alone, and my need for company was satisfied as I spent every night in the local bars, dancing and drinking with anyone who wanted to take me up on the activity. Everyone was a little more open minded in Moscow, and more than willing to let loose for a night. But when I travelled to my next location, St Petersburg, it seemed as though everything had died down. Granted, I wasn't there to have fun and waste my time; I was there to learn about the culture and the people, and the language. I knew some of the Russian language, but not nearly enough to get around smoothly. At least back in Moscow, the people knew some basic English.

I was taking a slow walk back to the hotel I was staying at, the icy air encumbering my denim-clad legs, and my nose freezing to a red point. It had been at the edge of snow all day, and it was finally about to break loose, a few flakes already floating down from the sky. I was in a snow-globe, and would be for another day. I had quite a long way to get back to the hotel, and after ten minutes of the cold glazing the concrete pathways, it was fully snowing, view in front of me blurring with white mist. It was hard to tell which direction I was headed, but I trusted my gut instinct and continued to journey forwards. It wasn't long before the bit of light that was in the sky had faded and the streets cleared up, night-time in Russia finally falling upon me. The lights from the church down the street were prominent, and they set a deep glow in the air, snow falling passed the orange illuminations.

Ty pozvolil mne oskvernit' tebya

It was when I came to the intersection between the church and the street of my hotel that I was disturbed. Interrupted. My day had been paused for a second.

"Vot pochemu tak mnogo lyudey nenavidyat muzhchin!" I heard a rough voice shout in the distance, followed by a deeper growl from what sounded like a man.

"Vernis' I prikonchi menya, suka!"

I stopped in my tracks and turned my head in the direction of the shouting, not understanding a word of what they were saying. I thought I was in an episode of the Twilight Zone for a minute, until I saw a figure of a woman emerge from behind the church. Yes, the church. She was shouting back at the man, her voice laced with spite.

"Gnilaya svin'ya!" She sighed, clearly agitated and angered by whatever confrontation she had just had. She didn't see me as she was crunching her way through the small layer of ice chips that had gathered on the stone pavement. "Chertovski zhivotnoye..." Her eyes finally travelled up from the ground, landing on my hovering form. I was almost taken aback by the colour of them – a beautiful ocean blue, wide and darting into my soul.

I pulled my big, black coat tighter around me, suddenly feeling very intimidated. I definitely lingered too long, and I was clearly witness to something that wasn't supposed to be. But this woman did not react angrily, like I thought she would. She just lifted her head up, shaking her blonde hair from her face and looked down at me. "Skol'ko ty slyshal?" She asked with a hushed voice, the man she was arguing with disappearing back behind the church.

I furrowed my eyebrows, looking up at her – she was only a little bit taller than me. I wracked my brain for a second, trying to remember how to tell someone I didn't speak the language. Once I got over the initial shock of her simply looking at me, or the fact that I had been caught out, I managed to mutter out the words I needed, with a shaky accent. "I-I'm sorry... Uh, y-ya ne govoryu po russki."

The woman looked me up and down, her eyes bouncing from my body to the side, as if she was checking behind her. "You did not hear much?" She spoke in perfect English, the accent thick and deep, the 'r' rolling off her tongue so deliciously. I was relieved that I had found someone who seemed to be decent enough at the English language for me to have a conversation with.

I immediately shook my head, clasping my hands together in front of me and playing with my fingers. "No! No, I—"

"Of course, you did not hear much, you do not speak the language." She interrupted me, grabbing my wrist and pulling me away from the church. We stopped down the side of the street I was heading towards, the woman stopped when we were well out of the way of where she had her altercation. I wouldn't usually let a stranger just grab me and pull me about, but there was something in the way she spoke and the way she conducted herself that caused me to somehow... Trust that she was not going to hurt me. It sounds so silly now that I'm repeating it.

"I'm really sorry." I spoke up, less nervous. "I know I shouldn't have stood there and listened." I pulled my wrist away from her grip and wrapped my coat around me once more. "I'm going back to my hotel, now. I'm sorry again." I couldn't help but sense the disappointment in the way her eyebrows furrowed, only just visible through the chunky bangs that hung over them, though I could not see the rest of her hair, a black fabric draped over her head like a scarf.

Ty pozvolil mne proniknut' v tebya...

"I am uh, sorry, if I came off too strong, kukla." Her hand gripped on her scarf, her own demeanour becoming overcome with coldness. Her voice was silk, gliding against my eardrums with every vowel and syllable. It was hard to leave her in the cold without talking more to her. It was nice to have someone to talk to that could understand me. "I did not hurt you at all?" She gestured to my wrist.

"Oh, not at all. Don't worry." I reassured her, shaking my head. She gave me a smile. And that smile. That fucking smile. I could have stared at it for years. Her red lips were slightly smudged, but still perfect enough to form a rounded shape as she shone those pearly whites at me. It was contagious, as I found myself mirroring her. The only thing that was able to break us out of this daze we were in was the whistling and howling of the icy wind, to which she sucked in breath through her teeth, shivering.

"I really must go. It is... How you say, too chilly?" She gestured with her free hand and I found it adorable to watch her fight her way through the English language. This mysterious Russian lady had gripped my attention. And I didn't want her to go. "You are staying at hotel, da?"

I smirked, looking down the street. "Da." I giggled to myself, my small use of Russian amusing me. "I am."

"Well." She started, taking a step towards me. I could smell the smoke on her clothes and on her breath as she spoke lowly. "You are more than welcome to spend the night with me, kukla. I would not want somebody as gorgeous as you staying alone in rat ridden hotel."

I swear if anybody else had said those words to me, I would have kicked them in the goods and ran as fast as I could. But, no. Of course, I didn't do that. How could I? The idea of spending a night in somewhere that wasn't freezing, infested with rude staff and bugs crawling up the wall was appealing to me. I just didn't realise how hot I would be that night.

Ty pozvolil mne uslozhnit' tebe...

As fate had it, I found myself following this beautiful stranger into the blizzard, trusting her with all of my being. I'm not superficial, nor am I materialistic, but I was more than impressed when we stopped at a large apartment complex – one which I had heard many great things about. The complex was protected by a voice box, a call-in system to be used by residents. Private residents.

The woman bent down and lowered her red lips to the speaker, pressing down on a button before uttering in that brilliant voice. "Eto Miss Zamo, dorogiye." She flicked her eyes up at me as she stood back up, a small smirk playing on her face. She could insult anyone and get away with murder with a voice like that.

Miss Zamo.

My first impression of her outside the church caused me to believe she was less fortunate than what she so obviously was. A humble person, wearing scarfs as headpieces and plain, long coats for warmth. She clearly was hiding a lot. And she clearly was making money. I was in awe of the complex once we got inside, and I probably would have reacted more extravagantly, had the cold not numbed up my nose and my lips.

Miss Zamo lead me inside, the warmth encapsulating me almost immediately. Tingles ran through my body, my blood heating back up, and my face no longer in a state of frozen flesh. We entered the sizable elevator, backs against the wall.

"You are not from here, net?" She asked, her gaze still fixated ahead of her as we slowly ascended. "You are in St Petersburg and do not speak any Russian. From where do you come, kukla?"

Even though she was not looking at me, I couldn't help but look at her. And if she was sensitive to human contact, I'm sure she'd be able to feel my eyes burning into her profile. Her nose was so defined, eyebrows shadowing those beautiful orbs. "Here and there. I'm travelling." I simply answered.

"You are a woman of mystery." She stated, a low chuckle rumbling from the back of her throat. We had reached the top floor, where her apartment was. "What do they call you?"

"Y/N." I spoke, short of a whisper. I just hoped my name wasn't too underwhelming for her standards.

She didn't answer, however, she just nodded her head, walking forwards. The lift opened up to a beautiful living space, red accents all over the décor, somewhat sensual to be in the centre of. She lived a life of luxury, elegance and overall privilege. Her home matched her person, and I watched in awe as she removed her scarf from her head slowly, revealing the short, shoulder length updo she had been hiding for the past half hour. Beach blonde hair, wavy and choppy at the bottom. It was somehow butch, and framed her perfectly defined face. The scarf had come to hang off the rack near the elevator door.

She looked at my still form, gesturing her hand over to the large couch in the centre of the room. "Sit, dorogoy." I did as I was told, padding over to the couch, lowering myself. It was so comfortable. My body sank into the plushness, watching Miss Zamo from my position. I didn't even know what I was doing there, and I didn't even know her name. But I didn't care. She moved with great poise and elegance, the black of her long coat reflected off the dim lighting.

I looked down at her legs as she walked across the room, stopping at a large cart full of vodka and mixers, whiskey and gin. Her legs were shapely, toned, and topped off with fishnet tights, the pattern small enough to create a light shade over her pale skin. Trailing my eyes lower, I noticed the expensive black, open-toed heels, red lining the platform. I was not prepared for when she shrugged off her coat, letting it drop into one hand.

It was like she knew what she was doing – rolling her shoulders back so I could see her toned muscles under her tattooed skin. I found myself practically drooling at the sight before me. She wore a short red slip dress, bedazzled in matching rhinestones, resting just below her ass, the sleeves only reduced to a strap. I could only see what she let me see: the back of her. I wasn't complaining. She had a wonderful ass.

I had to squeeze my thighs together when she bent forward over the cart, fixing two drinks. But I wasn't focussed on the drinks. I was focused on her curves, her panties only just peeping out from underneath. Her own thighs were wonderfully proportioned, feet spaced apart enough for the view to look like some type of private show.

Ty razvalil moi vnutrennosti...

"By the way." She started, mixing drinks with impeccable talent. "My name is Yekaterina Petrovna Zamolodchikova." Her name rolled off her tongue in that accent. She finally turned around, showing herself in all her glory – her beautiful glory. Two drinks sat in each of her hands and her eyes glared into mine. "But you can call me Katya." She finalised her formal introduction, gliding over to me, weightless on her feet.

She had settled down next to me, our bodies turned on a slight angle to face each other. Passing me my drink, she let her fingers graze against mine, the feathery touch lingering as she pulled away. I immediately took a sip of the vodka mix she made me, needing to calm my nerves. I took a quick glance at Katya, who draped her arm along the back of the couch, bringing her drink up to her lips with the other. There was direct eye contact as she swallowed the brown liquid in her glass. "You like vodka, da?"

"Mhm." I nodded quickly. "It's the only drink that doesn't make me horribly sick." I let out an airy laugh, earning a grin from Katya. She brought her leg up to cross it over her other leg, her dress rising up to show more of her thighs, threatening to slip even further. I ripped my eyes away from the sight, not wanting to be caught in being nosey yet again. I had to clear my head, realism slowly falling away from my mind. I turned my head and studied the décor of her apartment, utterly in awe at her style and taste. So, I asked the question.

"What do you do for a living? You have a lovely home." I looked back at her, only to notice her eyes had not once moved from my direction. Her eyes had transformed from welcoming and soft, to something much darker. Though I couldn't figure out exactly what it was.

"I was just about to ask you the same thing." She tilted her head, lifting her hand up to push some hair way from my face with her fingers. She kept her hand there, caressing the side of my head as she watched on. "What do you do, Y/N?" It was obvious that Katya was a fan of the quid-pro-quo system.

"I'm a student. I don't really do anything..." I shrugged, setting my glass on Katya's table, having finished most of what was in it.

Katya hummed in response, and her hand began to pet along my hair, as though she knew my heart was pounding through my chest. "I am a... How do you say it in English? A working girl? Escort?"

"A prostitute?"

"Bozhe ty moy. Russia needs to learn how to be more respectful towards people like me." She rolled her eyes. "The working men call us whores, kukla. Dirty, rotten whores. I must admit, I am somewhat of a whore." She laughed, leaning forward as she cackled. It put a smile on my face, watching her elegance break for a second. She had a beautiful laugh – it rang through my ears and sent a warm thrill up my spine. She came back up, now somehow closer to me. "Seriously, dorogoy." Her voice had lowered, her hand lowering to my shoulder, pushing my hair behind it. "I am your average, run-of-the-mill bisexual whore."

Something inside me wanted to burst with excitement at her revelation of being able to swing both ways. "So, that man, back at the church... Was he a customer?" I spoke through my heart banging against my ribcage, Katya's hand warm on my neck as her fingers traced around my skin.

"Unfortunately, yes." She rolled her eyes. "He's a regular, but never pays the full amount. Always tells me as he's about to cum that he doesn't have the money. Typical man." She spat out the last insult, reaching her free hand to the table, setting her drink down and picking up a box of cigarettes. I watched in amazement as she managed to get one in her mouth and light it with one hand, tossing the box back on the table. She looked even more enigmatic and beautiful when she blew out the smoke. "I, personally, think pussy is a lot more enjoyable."

U menya net dushi, chtoby prodat'...

The statement was simple, yet weighed so heavily on my mind. It was the combination of the accent, the way her fingers rested on me, the way she looked as she inhaled the grey toxins, her jaw protruding as she blew it out, and the words themselves. This was no longer a casual visit to Miss Zamo's home.

"You are a very beautiful woman, Y/N." Her fingers travelled to the front of my neck, trailing her nails up my chin, tickling my aching lips with the tips of them. She lowered her hand once again, stopping at the zip on my coat, slowly and swiftly pulling it down. Her red lips parted as she got to the bottom, separating the zip completely. With no noticeable emotion, she slipped her hand into my coat, making me jolt forward ever so slightly. Her hand slid up my back and pushed on my coat, making it yank of my shoulders, my arms being pulled back a bit as it fell off onto the floor.

I swallowed thickly, the dull ache between my legs causing me to shuffle in my spot. Katya's eyes scanned over my form, finally breaking into a smirk. "I like your style." I was wearing a long, red button up shirt that rested above my knees, cinched in the waist with a thick, black belt with minimal gold detail on it. The only thing covering my legs were my mostly transparent black tights, topped off with black heeled ankle boots. My shirt was only buttoned halfway, so my cleavage was showing.

Katya was cautious as she shuffled towards me, limiting the space between us. She held two of her fingers under my chin, lifting my head up, and studying my face. "Prekrasnyy..." She murmured before gently pressing her lips to my chin, her hand lowering to grab onto my leg. She was still holding her cigarette between her two other fingers, and I hazily reached out and took it from her, taking a drag out of it myself.

This made her pull back only slightly, for her to watch me. I blew out the thick smoke onto her face, nostrils flaring as she inhaled deeply. That seemed to be the last straw for her, as she lunged forward and latched her lips on mine, the kiss immediately aggressive. And whilst it took me a minute to realise what was happening, I reciprocated the passion within the kiss. She lifted her leg to hook it over mine, ending up seated on my lap, deepening the kiss.

I grunted into her mouth as she slipped her tongue through my lips. I leaned forwards, discarding the cigarette onto the ashtray blindly, my hands flying to her hips.

She pushed me back harshly and ground her hips downwards, a desperate mewl spilling from me. I kept my grip firm on her hips, digging my nails in every time she pushed herself onto me. Her hands were clinging onto the back of the couch, in a wanton attempt to create friction for herself. I let her have it for a bit, but as soon as I lifted my hips up and pulled her down, she knew I needed some contact just as much as she did.

She pulled away, but hovered over my lips, which were now smeared in her red lipstick. Her hand gripped onto my hair tightly, pulling my head to the side so she could mutter in my ear. "Bedroom. Seychas." She roughly let go of me and gestured up to the room above us: the only other room in the apartment.

I stumbled my way up the black marble stairs, closely followed by Katya. Her room was just as you expected: undeniably glamour and seductively sleek. I heard Katya shut the door behind her, before feeling the warm sensation of her chest on my back. "Sit on the bed, kukla." I did as I was told, taking a deep breath and crossing my leg over the other, pressing my thighs together. I watched as she strode over to her closet, disappearing inside of it for a few minutes before returning in nothing a long, flowy, red robe. The thought of her being completely naked underneath it intensified the pool of arousal between my legs.

"Don't be so nervous, detka. I'm going to take good care of you." She stalked over to me, now towering above me. She once again ran her manicured nails under my chin, angling my head upwards so she could get a good look at me. "You are just so helpless. So utterly helpless. So needy." She smirked to herself, lowering her hand and wrapping her fingers around my throat. She leaned down, her face floating above me – I was completely under her control. "Your eyes tell me many things. But I need you to tell me what you want, dorogoy."

I whimpered a bit in her grip, lifting my hand up to wrap around her wrist, not to stop her, but to keep her there. "I-I..." I gasped at the intensified pressure Katya put on my neck, exhaling into a moan, to which she just grinned at. "I want you, Katya..."

"Net." She scolded. "Miss Zamo..." She corrected me.

"I want you Miss Zamo..." I choked out, rubbing my thighs together. But that was short-lived, as Katya's hand pushed me backwards, my back hitting the soft sheets firmly. Before I knew it, my legs were uncrossed and I was being yanked to the edge of the bed. I pulled myself up, leaning back on my hands as I watched Katya get on her knees. My face flushed red, and all the heat spread across my body, more specifically my aching core.

"Mne nuzhno podgotovit' etu malen'kuyu kisku, detka." I heard her mumble under her breath, and whilst I did not know a word of what she was saying, it was still erotic enough through her thick accent for me to writhe in my spot as she lifted my leg up. Her skilled and long fingers pulled down the zip on my boot, removing it from my foot, before doing the same with the other one. She kept her actions simple and slow, teasing me with every movement.

I dropped my head back into the silk of her sheets, whining when she raked her nails up my tights, her hands disappearing under my shirt and pressing firmly on the tops of my thighs. I needed her to touch me so bad; she'd been wickedly seductive this entire time. She hooked her fingers into the band of my tights, pulling them down. The fabric peeled off my legs, Katya standing up to pull them all the way off. She leaned over me, placing one of her hands beside my head and the other one on my waist, holding me down.

"She's already whining..." She murmured, lowering her head and attaching her lips to my neck, not holding back one bit. She was an expert at knowing where my weak spots were and I couldn't help but to tilt my head back more, encouraging her actions even further.

She lowered down my body, taking one of the buttons on my shirt into her mouth. Her eyes pierced through mine as she, somehow, released the button from its loop, doing the same thing as she travelled lower and past the others. I watched, impressed.

"I'm good with my tongue, detka."

I pulled myself up to rest on my arms, her own bracketing my hips. The cool air of her room hit my skin when my shirt fell open, my black bra now on show. Katya left kisses down my stomach, stopping to nip at the skin every now and then before she finally got down to where I needed her the most. I bit down, hard, on my lip as she pulled my underwear down in one swift motion. Her eyes feasted on the sight in front of her, my core already dripping wet for her attention. I could feel her gaze, and it was teasing me relentlessly.

"Please..." I moaned under my breath, not particularly aiming it at Katya.

"Please what?" She asked bluntly, grabbing one of my thighs, her nails digging in, and pushing it to the side so my legs were spread wide for her.

I looked directly into her eyes, furrowing my eyebrows and softening my gaze, playing with this power dynamic. "Please Miss Zamo." I pouted slightly, lowering my head, feigning innocence. Just how she wanted it.

Her face hovered over my wetness, my body jerking slightly when I felt the coolness of her saliva running down my folds. She continued to tease my folds with the tip of her tongue, only just making contact with my body. I could feel my clit throbbing, wanting to be exposed to that beautiful mouth and that beautiful woman. I shuffled my hips as a polite way of letting Katya know I needed her.

It seemed to have worked, as she took her hand and parted my folds with her thumb and index finger, resting her palm on my mound. Just the fresh feeling of the air hitting all my wetness at once was an overdrive of ecstasy. Her eyes flicked up at me, her tongue slowly darting out to circle my clit gently. I let out a heavy breath, leaving my mouth hung open. She was clearly experienced, as she took her time to get to know my body well. Her tongue explored places I'd never let anyone explore before.

Prior to my night with Katya, the most I let anyone do to me down there orally was stimulate my clit with their tongue. But Katya knew the female body and anatomy inside out. Men weren't the only people who could experience anal pleasure, as I found out as she dragged her tongue all the way down from my clit, over my entrance, and even further to lap around my 'alternative' hole. The sensation was unlike anything I'd felt before. Her thumb rubbed paced circles around my clit, her tongue working the other end of the anatomy.

I moaned tediously, admittedly enjoying my new sexual revelations. But I didn't have much time to process the feeling as she moved back up to my clit, now ravenous, hungry for my orgasm.

Her mouth was like a suction cup over me, her cheeks hallowing as she rapidly flicked and swirled her tongue around my swollen and throbbing bud, eyes lazy and looking up at me. Her head tilted to the side, still conducting her animalistic actions. My breathing was no longer steady, my chest heaved up and down, my throat catching all the moans and converting them into high pitched whines and sounds of desperation.

I looked down at her perfectly chiselled features, my arms becoming tired and I soon fell back down onto her bed, looking up at the ceiling as Katya dug her nails into my hips, the pain almost unbearable but cancelled out by the pleasure. She growled against my pussy, sending shockwaves up my spine and blurring my vision. She pulled me closer to her, her grip now clamped down tightly. She was not letting me go until I came.

She didn't have to wait very long.

"F-Fuck... Oh my God..." I moaned, my back leaving the bed, arching uncomfortable. "Katya, yes! Yes!" I exhaled heavily as my orgasm washed over me, the gorgeous woman between my legs continuing her rapid movements to the point of discomfort. I cried out for her to stop, but her tongue did not stop until she had lapped up every bit of my release. When she finally pulled away, she came back up to my face, her red lipstick smudged across her chin and her cheek.

"You taste like heaven, lyublyu. So fucking sweet." She dipped her head down, capturing my lips in yet another heated and passionate kiss. I moaned against her mouth when she moved her hips against mine.

That was when I noticed it.

I pulled away from her, looking up at her face. She smirked at me, looking down between us, eyes travelling back up almost immediately. She grabbed my throat, bringing my head up to hers before she growled, verging on the edge of scarily. "We all have our secrets, dorogoy."

I, too, looked down. And I couldn't believe my eyes.

She must have been about 9 inches.

Thick, girthy.

Veiny and rock hard.

Pre-cum oozing at the tip.

I looked back up at her, in shock at this new development. God, I felt so naughty. Fucking a Russian prostitute with a dick was not on my to-do list. But I was sure glad I was doing it. The kink, the fetish of it all. I needed her. And I needed her bad.

"Will you let me fuck this tight pussy, Y/N? I need to feel it wrap around me." She asked, moving some of my hair away from my face.

"Please." I answered, nodding my head. "Please, Miss Zamo. I need your cock inside me." I whined, grabbing onto the back of her neck and pulling her down. Something grew in her eyes: maybe it was lust, or perhaps it was the utter shock that she didn't have to get me completely drunk to warm me up to the idea of her having a cock. But the truth was: the idea turned me on to the max.

"You asked so nicely. You are a good girl. As we say in Mother Russia..." She leaned down further so her nose brushed over mine, one of her hands disappearing between our bodies. "YA budu trakhat' tebya, poka ty ne pochuvstvuyesh' bol'she svoi nogi..." Her voice dropped half an octave and with a swift push of her hips, she slid right inside me, all the way, and without warning.

I let out an audible gasp, my hands going straight to her arms, my nails digging into the flimsy fabric of her gown. My pussy immediately clenched around her, her jaw falling open and eyes fluttering shut. They didn't stay shut for long, however, as she almost immediately set her gaze on mine, a determined look in her blue orbs.

"Katya..." I groaned, biting my two lips together. She tilted her head to the side, lifting one of my legs up and pushing it further outwards.

"Da, detka? I am hurting you?" She asked with an almost smug smirk on her face. She withdrew her hips, but sank right back inside, causing me to emulate another mewl.

The truth was, she was hurting me a lot. I couldn't reject the uncomfortable burning sensation she caused whenever she moved the slightest bit. My body was throbbing with pain, yet so much pleasure came with it. My own messed up mind took joy and pride over the fact I wasn't strong enough to take her cock, so I didn't answer her.

I did, however, bite my lip and moan diligently, letting Katya know I was actually enjoying what she was doing to me. Consent is important, kids. Especially when you're fucking a sexy Russian prostitute. She caught on to my approval of her actions, yet it was still obvious that pain was essential during sexual activities for me.

Katya soon began at a steady pace, bottoming out each time she slid back inside, making me whine and whimper underneath her, my hips moving with hers. Her grip on my leg tightened when I was moving too much for her liking, as well as her thrusts becoming more violent.

"Shit!" I moaned out loud when my body started to move along with the pressure of her movements. Her cock sliding in and out of me, massaging my walls, was almost too much to handle. And she got off on overstimulating me, her muscles flexing and her breathing becoming ragged and animalistic.

"Blin..." She grunted with her teeth clamped together. "Ty tak khorosho sebya chuvstvuyesh'." She pushed her forehead into mine. "How does it feel, korosho?"

She was making it impossible for me to answer; the motions and movements were very difficult to talk through. I opened my mouth to speak, but it just resulted in a pathetic cry, my head hanging back onto the bed and my back arching up, to which her free arm slipped underneath, lifting my bottom half off the bed and using me as her own little toy.

"Come on, detka. Speak. You are not that stupid, nyet?" Her words were cutting, but they went through my veins like a spark on the fourth of July.

"It feels s-so... Shit... So good, Miss Zamo. Your cock feels so good. Oh my god..." I cried, my moans getting louder and less stable.

Katya growled lowly and took me up into her arms completely, flipping us over on the bed so she was now the one laying on her back. We had shuffled onto the centre off the bed during this time, and she was still buried deep inside me.

She stared up at me, pushing my body up so I was sat upright on her cock. She ran her hands down my shoulders and moved them to my clothed breasts, kneading the material before yanking my bra cups down, exposing all of me to her. Her hands were cold on my breasts, causing shockwaves to spark in my nipples as she squeezed and played as she wished. She sat up momentarily to give my chest a sprinkling of bite marks and love bites, blood being drawn when she made one on the column of my throat. She hummed as she sucked on it until the blood stopped. She leaned her head up towards me, capturing my mouth in a heated kiss. I could taste the metallic hit of my own blood before she pulled away, flopping back down on the bed.

I squealed when her hand came down and smacked my backside roughly, the sound echoing through her bedroom. "Turn around, kukla..."

I did as I was told, making a 180 so my back was to her – reverse cowboy style.

I heard some shuffling and the sound of a drawer shutting before I felt a smooth material wrap around my neck. I brought my hand up, quickly noticing the leather – this woman had put a fucking collar on me. Her hands came up to my hair and pulled it up into a ponytail, securing it with a hair tie. Not only that, but she connected a leash to the collar and my hair, joining the two together. I really was hers.

"Now, detka. Ride me." She demanded with a sharp jolt of her hips, bringing me back down to Earth. I rested one of my hands on her thigh, lifting my hips and falling again.

It wasn't long before I had built up a harsh rhythm like before, both of us a moaning mess on her bedsheets. I let out a squeal when she pulled on the leash, my head being pulled back. I guess she got tired of letting her control go for a while, as she jabbed her nails into my hip and took it back. She lifted her hips up into me rapidly, slamming her big cock in and out me.

"God, Katya, yes, right there..." I moaned into the air, her grip on the leash still pulled back.

"I want you to cum for me, Y/N. I know you are close, lyublyu."

"I'm so close, baby... Fuck!" My breathing became heavier than ever, and my scalp burned at the tugging sensation. But it made my pussy squeeze Katya's cock, my orgasm taking over me. I came hard, my eyes rolling into the back of my head as I felt Katya's hand reach round and add fuel to the fire, rubbing fast circles on my clit. I was leaned back, completely in her control as her cock rammed itself against me relentlessly.

"Detka! Ya konchayu!" She held me down forcefully on her length, nails drawing blood from my hips as she shot her hot load deep within me.

Her grip became loose and she let me go, and I fell, limp, next to her. I felt her cum seeping out of me from between my legs. Her breathing was hard and loud, bringing her leg up to run her hands along it absentmindedly, returning to her normal feminine persona. She turned her head to me, her blonde hair sticking to her perfect face. Her hand came up to push some of my own hair out of my face as she smiled that perfect smile. Her arm came up to rest on the side of her tilted head.

"You are never going home, kukla."

And I didn't. 

[marinelp]

🇫🇷 Celui qui m'accompagne en ce moment : le superbe Sugar Plum signé @ilnp 💕Comment vous le trouvez ? Vous avez déjà testé les vernis magnétiques ?  Belle soirée 😘 • 🇬🇧 The one I'm wearing right now: the beautiful Sugar Plum by @ilnp 💕 What do you think? Have you already tried magnetic polishes? Have a nice evening 😘 • #ilnp #ilnpsugarplum #ilnponme #magneticnails #magneticpolish #holosexual #notd #nailart #uñas #marinelovespolish #instanails #nailitdaily #nailsart #nailsofinstagram #naildesign #nails2inspire #ignails #nailstagram #nailpromote #nailswag #nailartwow #naturalnaillover #manicura #esmalte #nailpolish #nailartheaven https://www.instagram.com/p/Cqs7hKStNbS/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[chicinsilk]

US Vogue April 15, 1957

Juliette Marglen's nail polishes. From left to right, Rembrandt Ruby, Mondrian Corail, Degas Mauve, Lautrec Orange, and Cézanne Cerise. Gold backed diamond ring by Cartier.

Les vernis à ongles de Juliette Marglen. De gauche à droite, Rembrandt Ruby, Mondrian Corail, Degas Mauve, Lautrec Orange, et Cézanne Cerise. Bague de diamants adossés à l'or par Cartier.

Photo Irving Pen vogue archive

[kiddo-sulk]

Who am I ?

je suis Vanille, beauty addict et avec ce blog je vais donner mon avis sur tous les produits que j'ai pu tester 🙃 c'est à dire un paquet pour un individu lamba même si je n'ai qu'un faciès et qu'un seul corps 😅

C'est aussi un compte qui pourra servir à mes amies et famille à retrouver mon avis sur des produits facilement en toutes circonstances et partout où ils iront ❤ (je pense surtout à toi Titi !)

ça fera un peu office de journal dans le fond 🤗

Pour info :

- je suis une 2000 mais j'ai frolé 1999 tellement fort que je me sens plus millenial que genZ 😂

- je suis métisse franco-malgache

- j'ai la peau grasse comme une friteuse si on ne fait rien 😐

- je ne porte pas de vernis (donc pas de review VSP etc. sorry)

- j'ai eu de l'acné microkystiques pendant longtemps !

- je souffre de collectionnite passagère (un fléau quand on est beauty addict 🤭)

J'ai commencé à me maquiller vers mes 14 ans comme beaucoup je pense, avec le maquillage que je piquais en cachette à ma mère. Je me souviens me pointer au collège avec la face orange parce qu'un bouton avait pop au milieu du front pour la photo de classe, essayer de copier le makeup grunge d'Avril Lavigne pour me sentir "trop rock" ou encore essayer des RAL aux couleurs qui me donnaient l'air malade juste pour faire comme les grands... 🤭

Ma maman est une ancienne esthéticienne qui m'a assez tôt initiée au concept de routine skincare. Toutes les deux on cherchait la crème hydratante pour lutter contre la face de fritteuse, l'eau micellaire qui démaquille sans piquer les yeux, le gel nettoyant qui ne tiraille pas la peau, etc. On flannait de parapharmacies en parfumeries pour dénicher les bons plans sur des produits qu'on nous recommandait, etc. "Mams" m'a fait découvrir des marques avant leur apogée sur les réseaux sociaux, des produits qui aujourd'hui n'existent plus (et quel dommage pour certains...), mais aussi donné des conseils qui m’ont aidé à affronter l’acné. ❤️

Je suis très vite tombé amoureuse des eyeliners très vite et j'ai été incapables de sortir sans pendant des années... 🥲

Aujourd'hui, partons du principe que plus je suis maquillée, plus je me sens bien ! 🥰 non pas que je ressente un mal-être mais j'aime me maquiller et l'être ❤

Voila le topo !

[bluefurrsmemes]

MY SPOTIFY PLAYLIST :: TOP SONGS OF 2022 PROMPTS. PART 2. A list of song lyric prompts based off of my most listened to songs on spotify last year. Feel free to edit pronouns as needed. There will be multiple parts to this.

I STAY AWAY. BY ALICE IN CHAINS.

"Yeah, I want to travel south this year."

"Why you act crazy?"

"Why you act frightened?"

"I am enlightened."

"So someday you'll see."

"I stay away."

MIDLIFE CRISIS. BY FAITH NO MORE.

"I cannot stop giving."

"I'm thirty something."

"You're perfect, yes it's true."

"It's a midlife crisis."

"I'm a perfectionist."

"But without me, you're only you."

VERNIE. BY BLIND MELON.

"Is it the way you're speaking?"

"Is it because I'm peaking?"

"Oh name, what a garden you have."

"No I cannot deny your beauty."

"If I had a heart I would want it to be like name's."

"Oh what a heart that she has."

TOWNSHIP REBELLION. BY RAGE AGAINST THE MACHINE.

"How long can we wait?"

"If your mind's in a somewhat complacent state get a check up."

"Lord, I wish I could be peaceful."

"Yeah, what about that, sucker?"

"'Cause what does it offer me?"

"Why stand on a silent platform?"

TAKE A LOOK AROUND. BY LIMP BIZKIT.

"But I'm a live my life like I should."

"Do we always gotta live inside a lie."

"I know why you wanna hate me."

"But everything happens for a reason."

"I don't even know what I should say."

"Now you wanna hate me."

UNHOLY. BY SAM SMITH & KIM PETRAS.

"She got married to a boy like you."

"She'd kick you out if she ever, ever knew."

"I hear them whispering 'bout the places that you've been."

"Yeah, she put it down slowly."

"Doing something unholy."

"He always call me 'cause I never cause no drama."

[atotaltaitaitale]

.

Friday False Advertising… When the store doesn’t sell what the storefront advertises.

What used to be Couleurs-Vernis-Brosserie (equivalent to an hardware store) is now home to handmade ceramics, scented candles & perfume creation workshop store Astier de Villatte. The boutique is gorgeous inside too. (It seems that it’s been restaure to its all glory from 1788)

*** During my "flânerie", I often notice the beautiful old storefronts, some are even listed as historical monuments but the ones I prefer are the ones where the storefront and the actual store don’t have anything in common.***

[vnailsbeauty]

💜 Vous allez bien les filles ? J'espère que oui vraiment 😁 Produits @velvetextension.fr Top coat Liner "océan"💙 Liner "purple"💜 Super pratique à utiliser. Profitez-en avec le code promo Vnails15 vous 15% de réduction pour vous faciliter la vie pour faire vos dessins. ✨ N'hésitez pas à me suivre @vnailsbeauty14 ✨Partager et aimer la photo 💲CODE Promo Vnails15 @velvetextension.fr _______________________________________ #caen #ongles #nails #nailart #onglesgel #manucure #onglerie #nailsofinstagram #prothesisteongulaire #nailsaddict #nail #gelnails #nailstagram #onglesengel #nailsart #instanails #ongle #gel #beauty #vernissemipermanent #semipermanent #nailsonfleek #nailstyle #vernis #nailsoftheday #beaut #nailartist #nailaddict (à Caen - Haute Normandie) https://www.instagram.com/p/CoO-K0Do19p/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=