#breathplay for ts

[wri0thesley]

nat i don’t know if this makes sense but i’m having thoughts of dottore creating like a mechanical corset that he can control how snug it is on your body throughout the day to watch you practically spill out or struggle to breath properly or using it while he “experiments” on you to record how your heartbeat rises when it tightens agsnfjbeh

anon . . . ohohohoh . . . it's nothing, really; a mere trifle. he's played the guise of a fontaine inventor, he's certainly a sumeru scholar - and so the little thought required to actually create the brief vision he has is barely worth breaking a sweat over. the corset is perfectly lovely to look at - never let it be said he doesn't appreciate the finer things in life, too - but it's also very much functional for what he wants. a little press, a brush here, and suddenly the mechanisms are tightening. that's actually how he sells you on it being safe to wear; 'aren't you tired of having to wait for someone else to lace you up, dearest? you can do it all alone with this--!'

of course, dottore's promises very rarely turn out to be a hundred percent of the story, and you realise that after putting it on in a morning and dottore coming to find you late on, an indulgent smile on his face as he pats you very firmly upon the side and kisses your cheek - and abruptly, you feel the laces pull themselves tighter. the breath squeezed out of you. dottore lets out a soft, shuddering gasp at the sight of your surprise - at the little noise you let out. how darling. how adorable.

another few firm touches on certain parts of his contraption have you light-headed, tight-laced and unprepared for it. when dottore leads you into his bed chambers that night and murmurs; "perhaps we should leave it on--", you are left in no doubt that this is exactly what your lover intended.

[winchestersinthedrift]

//

[ceijoh]

CEIJOH’S MASTERLIST

–sorted by school, then by genre–

[for headcanons/short scenarios that contain multiple characters will be listed at the bottom]

*other manga/anime characters can be found at the bottom*

key:

angst (a)

fluff (f)

smut (s)

time-skip (ts)

AOBA JOHSAI

full fics

seijoh 4

but i love you, so please, let me go

[You knew that it was going to happen, you’ve prepared yourself this whole year for it, so why does it still break your heart watching your best friends take their final step from high school?]

themes: angst, fluff, comfort fic

headcanons

seijoh 4

busy thinking about the seijoh 4 boys (18+ ed)

[Various headcanons about the seijoh 4 boys and you. 18+ only]

themes: gangbangs, mention of drugs, double penetration, orgy, public sex, cockwarming, spit kink, ass play, cumplay, somnophilia

how the seijoh 4 boys eat you out (18+)

themes: cumplay, eating out, spit kink, choking, public sex, exhibitionism, voyeurism,  gangbangs 

m. issei

you get jealous of their manager (a) (f) (s)

themes: jealousy, angst, fluff, suggestive themes

FUKURODANI

b.kotaro

you get jealous of their manager (a) (f)

themes: jealous, angst, fluff

INARIZAKI

full fics

multiple boys 

osamu x f!reader x suna x atsumu (ts) (s) 18+ 

[You fuck Osamu and Suna, and then Atsumu joins in.]

themes: cumplay, choking, foursome/orgy, mxm action, implied cheating by both osamu and reader, public sex, exhibitionism, voyeurism, rough sex, implied double penetration (at the end), breathplay, spit kink, past threesome mentioned

s. rintaro

lollipop (f) (s) (ts) mdni 18+

[Suna wants to share his lollipop with you.]

themes: smut, inappropriate use of a lollipop, dry humping, humping, cum play, kinda spit-kink

m. atsumu

but i love you, so please let me go (a) (ts)

[In hindsight, it really wasn’t supposed to end like this. If this had to end in Atsumu’s book, it would have ended in a different way.]

themes: angst, allusions to infidelity

18th of June [18:56] (a) (ts) part two to ‘but i love you, so please let me go’

[It’s funny how someone in your life can go from what you call ‘home’ -that brings you warmth, safety and comfort, to someone when you think of their name your heart suddenly feels heavy, a tight uncomfortable grip on your throat appears.]

themes: angst, allusions to past infidelity

24th of September [20:38] (f) (ts)

[You trusted each other, that’s why your relationship worked, that’s why at night when Atsumu’s away in a different country for a match you can sleep peacefully. You can disregard any rumours or ‘news’ that comes up on your feed, or from your friends with a wave of your hand.]

themes: a little bit of angst, fluff

you get jealous of their manager (a) (f) (s)

themes: jealousy, angst, fluff, suggestive themes

just him [a] [f]

[Atsumu just wants to plan his proposal to you. Will it go the way he wants to?]

themes: angst (if you squint), fluff, humour

cockwarming the setters (s)

[You cockwarm Atsumu.]

themes: smut, cockwarming, spit kink, degradation, choking

they snap at you pt 1 [atsumu and aone] (a) (ts)

themes: angst 

holy ground (a) (f) (ts)

[In which Miya Atsumu is completely in love with you and you find that very hard to believe.]

themes: angst, humour, fluff

my wish is you (a) (f) (ts)

[Where his best friend is in love with him.]

themes: angst, jealousy, insecurities, doubts, fluff

m. osamu 

osamu gets a new set of knives and you want to play (s) (ts)

themes: DARK CONTENT, kn*fe play, bl**d play, impact play, choking, degradation, rough sex, hickeys (both osamu & reader), creampie, biting (reader bites osamu hard enough to draw blood)

you get jealous of a manager  (a) (f)

[themes: jealousy, angst, self-doubt, osamu is kinda toxic here ngl but he makes up for it, fluff]

ITACHIYAMA

s.kiyoomi

contrition (a) (f) 

[Sakusa was never good at voicing out his feelings for you and he fears that because of this he doesn’t deserve you.]

themes: angst -on sakusa’s part, fluff

KARASUNO 

s.daichi

you get jealous of their manager (a) (f) (s)

themes: jealousy, angst, smut, fluff

NEKOMA

k.tetsuro 

you get jealous of a manager during training camp (a) (f) (s)

themes: jealousy, angst, fluff, smut 

10:53 am (a) 

[You’re tired of Kuroo flirting with other women.]

themes: angst

DATE TECH

a. takanobu 

they snap at you pt 1 [atsumu and aone] (a) (ts)

themes: angst

shiratorizawa

MULTIPLE CHARACTERS [HAIKYUU]

someone else tries to kiss them (a) (f)

the ones that realised too late (a) 

why you’ve never doubted their love for you (f)

MULTIPLE CHARACTERS [HAIKYUU FT. OTHER ANIME/MANGA]

it’s not cheating, right? 

[It’s not cheating if he doesn’t enter you, right?]

themes:infidelity (reader and character cheat with each other). smut, humping, grinding, over excessive use of the word ‘cunt’, implied creampie

who spits in your mouth vs who gets you to spit in their mouth 

[Who spits in your mouth vs who gets you to spit in their mouth.]

 themes: contents/warnings:18+, spit kink (duh), degradation, impact play, choking, boys being mean :( (but it’s okay because they do it out of love and you’re horny)

[aragima]

writing this made me realize there’s no rope emoji and i’m kinda pissed about it...

anyway this is just post-fall porn. there’s plot if you squint, and a little bit of domestic adorableness, but really this is just about hannibal getting tied up. as if you’d need a fic to be about anything else!

rated E— obviously. warnings for BDSM, bondage, and a little bit of breathplay. this is all @masterswrd’s fault!!!!!

[minxyone93]

Chapters 12 & 13 of my fic "How Long?" are out now!

Really it was just one really long unwieldy chapter I chopped in half to be closer to normal chapter length... but they are still long. 🤣

Oh well, a tiger can't change its stripes!

Ch 12:

Love Always Trusts, and It's Easy to Trust You (Pt 1)

Summary:

Cas brings home a new friend - but what will Dean think?

Dean has an idea to take Cas out on a date, but starts to worry when he realizes he doesn't know where to take him.

Sam shares a secret with his brother.

Ch. 13:

Love Always Trusts, and It's Easy to Trust You (Pt 2)

Summary:

Part two of the same chapter (I know, probably cringey. It just seemed right).

Dean and Cas go on their date. There's a hiccup, but then they have a great time and Dean realizes more than ever that he can really be himself and have it all.

After they get home, Dean gives Cas a surprise by the fire and they have an afterglow-y talk about... kinks.

CW//brief homophobia (which is immediately squashed)

CW//consensual choking/breathplay

[wri0thesley]

Tight - Prosciutto x Fem! Reader (Kinktober Day #5: Corset)

NSFW. 18+ ONLY. AFAB reader, fem pronouns. Breathplay via a corset and tight-lacing. 4.5k. 

Prosciutto likes the classics. You surprise him one evening by going classic-style. 

Your boyfriend is the kind of man who likes the classic things in life. The furniture in his apartment is antique (some of it, you gather, is heirloom furniture from a family that considers buying declasse - Prosciutto tells you, with a curl in his lip, that his parents think that it’s a horrible shame if a person doesn’t have furniture they stand to inherit). His drinks cupboard is well-stocked with old scotch and cognac and whiskeys, all of which he can tell you the full pedigree of - he drinks those, too, from cut glass in all shapes and sizes that he also inherited. His clothes are impeccably cut, carefully pressed - he has a tailor who calls out to him by name and greets him with a smile. 

His cigarettes are expensive. He has a gramophone that sits in the corner of the living room, that he asks you often to put an old record in and simply closes his eyes, beckoning you to come sit on his lap. You teasingly call him ‘old man’, and tug at the ascot about his neck and he smiles a lazy, crooked smile at you that sends butterflies careening into each other in the pit of your stomach. 

“Perhaps,” he says, that smile on his face. “But with all of this around me, and you by my side . . . can you blame me for wanting to enjoy it, amore?”

You can’t. You also can’t fault him for wanting to unwind at home - though you are not privy to what goes on whilst he’s at work (“For your own good, innamorata,” he sighs, kissing your forehead, as you pointedly do not stare at a bloodstain on his lapel), you know that Prosciutto is tangled in shady business, as were the family he inherited so many expensive antiques from. It runs in his blood, you think - and you see that in him, sometimes, when someone cuts in front of him in a line or drives recklessly or hits on you when he’s beside you. You see how his icy blue eyes harden and his jaw sets, his face frighteningly severe - and every time, you press yourself closer against him, grounding him, and he softens. He tries to leave his ice at work - for you, he’s all fire. 

You live a domestic life, together - as domestic as a life can be with someone like him. You take turns cooking dinner and doing the housework - you good-naturedly argue about where the best restaurant in town is (Prosciutto’s presence is always enough to get you a good table). You budget together, continuously surprised by how good he is at finding deals and bargains for a man with such excessive and expensive taste. You sit beside him on your slightly threadbare sofa - it needs to be taken to an upholsterer, but the last one hadn’t wanted to touch something made so long ago - and watch Prosciutto’s favourite old films together. 

It’s the films that give you the idea, really. 

Prosciutto’s eyes watch the women on screen with their perfectly coiffed hair and their neat dark lipstick, their waists impossibly small. He likes old-fashioned musicals in technicolour with swinging skirts and petticoats and neat blouses and cardigans - but he also likes gritty film noirs, femme fatales in lingerie and feather-trimmed robes, seamed stockings visible beneath skirts that cling tight to a perfect hourglass. You poke at him, teasing him for it - and he shrugs, unconcerned. 

“People knew how to dress then,” he tells you. He doesn’t say that he doesn’t like how you already dress - he knows what practicality is, after all. But it’s his eyes as he watches those silver screen sirens that really make you think that, just once, you’d like to surprise him. And it’s that thought which leads you to do a little covert shopping without him. 

-

You’re meticulous in your planning. You always are - it’s one of the things that Prosciutto loves about you. You plan. His life is so chaotic, that it’s pleasant for him to have one constant he can count on - and you are only too happy to be his. You make sure it’s on a day that he should be home from work fairly early (he does not tell you exactly what he does, of course, but you pick up from his questions and queries and vague remarks about what you’re having for dinner the nights that he won’t come home until dawn). You lay out everything you have on your shared bed, watch videos about things you don’t know how to put on, painstakingly check sizing and shade matching. You want everything to be absolutely perfect for Prosciutto. 

Your boyfriend has an eye for detail, and though you know he won’t actually complain if the hue of your underwear doesn’t match, you want him to see you as a perfectly finished full experience. 

You’re enjoying seeing it all laid out like this, too. 

It’s supposed to be Prosciutto’s turn to cook dinner - that’s one of the reasons that you’d known he’d definitely be coming home tonight. When Prosciutto cooks, you generally have your meals later in the evening - thankfully, his favourite dish takes time to prepare, and as you gently step out of your clothes and look at the outfit laid out on the bed, the oven is doing its merry work. 

You allow yourself to be slow putting it on, knowing that you have ample time - you’d needed ample time, as you battled into the garter belt and stockings. How did people do this every day, you wonder, as yet another one of the little buckles unclipped itself from the back of the thin nylon and you twisted your body into an unnatural position to fix it. 

Once it is properly on, you have another little fuss as you ensure that the back-seams of the stockings line up neatly. Prosciutto might not care, you think, but he’ll appreciate it even more if not a single hair is out of place. There. You do up the bra, the shape of it a little rounder than you’re used to - overwire seems to have been more popular, and the overall effect changes your figure dramatically. 

But not as dramatically as the last part of your underpinnings. You pick up the corset with trembling hands. The helpful young woman in the shop who had fitted it for you had shown you how to put it on, showing you which of the laces to pull to ensure that it tightened in the right place, how to pull them around to your front so that you could do your own lacing up. She’d told you how to always do up the busk in order, from bottom to top or top to bottom (never start with a middle catch) - she’d told you to make sure that the gap at the back ran perfectly parallel. 

You don’t feel like you manage to get it quite as tight as she did when she did up the garment for you, but as you tie the laces up and look at the full effect in the mirror, you still feel amazed by just how different you look. It’s not merely the newer, smaller waist you’re sporting - but also how it makes your hips seem more dramatic, the other curves of your body - how it straightens your spine, improving your posture, making you look prouder and more present. 

You can’t help but run your fingers over it, amazed at how different you both look and feel. You’d worried it would feel tight like a vice, like all of the uncomfortable corset stories you hear people mention when they talk about the Victorians (about displaced organs and fainting) - but, although it is tight against your skin, it’s not uncomfortable. It’s more like the feeling of being tightly held by a lover than it is your ribcage and organs being squeezed beyond repair. 

The dress you bought is black, because it seemed simpler and classier than choosing a hue that Prosciutto might not like as much - a simple v-neck with three quarter sleeves and a full skirt made of a light stretch fabric, that fitted you well when you’d tried it on without the underpinnings but looks even better with everything else. 

The makeup, carefully - red lipstick, winged eyeliner. The hair, brushed out, gently pinned into place. The small amount of jewellery - a rope of pearls that Prosciutto had given you. 

There. That’s everything. 

You almost don’t recognise yourself in the mirror this time - you feel . . . transformed. Like you’ve stepped right out of the scenes in one of the movies you and Prosciutto spend lazy evenings watching. You hope that he appreciates it - as you leave the bedroom, a little anxiety begins to make itself present low in your stomach that perhaps you have misread him entirely and he’ll hate it. But you have spent too long getting this surprise ready, now. There’s no time to grow nervous - you have to be like Prosciutto himself. Stern, exacting, determined in what you decide to do. 

Besides, if you take the corset off now, dinner will burn. 

-

Prosciutto swallows as he looks at you, the bob in his throat evident even below the ascot. His blue eyes take you in, crawling down the length of you as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing. 

“Welcome home,” you say to him, a little breathless. “Dinner’s on the table.”

“Dinner’s right in front of me,” he says, his tone dark. You repress a shiver at the possessiveness in his tone - you needn’t have worried. It’s very obvious from the way he’s staring at you that he likes his surprise very much, and the hunger that he shows in just his expression and his voice already has you squirming to press your thighs together. “But if you really want me to eat the food first . . .”

You pout a little, for show. 

“I’ve spent all evening preparing for you,” you say, biting your lip. One of your hands comes up to play with the rope of pearls about your throat, Prosciutto watching you with all of the intensity of a hungry wolf watching a rabbit. “You’re not going to enjoy it and make me feel like a perfect little housewife?”

“You’re perfect for more than that, amore,” he says, but he still steps inside, peeling off his jacket and hanging it on one of the coat hooks. 

His eyes do not leave you for a moment as you dish up - as your hips wiggle, just a little, when you bend to pick things up and move them around. As you pour his drink for him. Prosciutto is never shy about how much he watches you, how much he wants you - but this is even more than that, and it makes you feel heady and breathless with need. And the fact is, too, that you feel incredibly desirable dressed like this for him, and you wonder if he sees your proud head and your squared shoulders and the confidence makes him want you more. 

The dinner is torture. The two of you are both clearly distracted - and although the food is cooked well enough (perhaps a little overdone, you think, admitting to yourself you spent quite a lot of time in front of the mirror just admiring the change in yourself), it is obvious that the both of you are hungry for other things. When you take the dishes away and leave them in the kitchen sink to soak, Prosciutto is behind you in moments, arms wrapping about your waist. 

“That can wait,” he breathes against the shell of your ear, and you feel your body clench and throb in desire for him. “I think right now, the bedroom is a more suitable place for you to be.”

You are hardly going to complain. You don’t complain, either, about how when his hands slide off you, he palms at your body, feeling the shape of you beneath the dress’ fabric. You are breathless ascending the stairs to the bedroom, and you do not think it is entirely because of the corset. 

He kisses you, hungrily, as the door to the bedroom closes behind you both - teeth digging into your bottom lip, uncaring of how it will mess your lipstick. His other hand comes to tangle in your hair, pulling out the carefully arranged pins - you’d been expecting that. Prosciutto loves making a mess of you. In return, you untie his ascot and toss it to one side, fingers running down his shirt to pull at the buttons. 

He growls against you, pressing you bodily against the door so that the handle bites into your spine. You gasp at the feel of him grasping the zip of your dress and tugging, and his full lips curl into a smile. 

“Step out of it, cara,” he says. “Let me look at you, after you got dressed up all pretty for me.”

You do. Shrugging out of the sleeves, you let the fabric pool around your feet, stepping out of it still in your neat heels. Prosciutto’s gaze lingers over the shape of you, drinking you in - throat bobbing once more at the corset and stockings and garter belt. 

“D-do you like it?” You ask him, a little shyly. He raises his eyebrows in surprise - he grabs hold of one of your hands and guides it to his crotch, pressing it against the expensive fabric - his cock presses hot and heavy there, practically pulsing beneath even the lightest graze of your skin. 

“I love it, tesoro,” he says. “You couldn’t guess?”

“I guess it’s nice to get some affirmation in words,” you say. Prosciutto smiles at you again, a smile that makes your knees feel like they are about to go from beneath you. 

“I could talk about you all day,” he tells you. “But first . . .” He crooks a finger, moving across the room until he’s stood by the mirror. “Come here.”

You follow him, standing in front as he directs. His hands come to rest on the curve of your hips, tracing the lines of your body, hot. They send trails of fire wherever he touches, even through the fabric of what you’re wearing. Your heart almost skips a beat at how they look on your waist - and he growls low at that, too. 

“You look very nice,” he breathes into the shell of your ear, sending gooseflesh all down your neck and shoulders. “But I think this could be laced a little tighter if you had some help, hmm?” Deft hands undo the knot, taking hold of the laces in either fist. “I’m sure it can’t be all that easy alone . . . but I might be able to assist.” 

He tugs slightly, and the corset constricts a little more. You breathe in, surprised - and Prosciutto chuckles. 

“I think,” he murmurs, “I’d like it on you if it were a little too tight.”

Prosciutto dominates in the bedroom, and you’re only too happy to let him - there’s a subtle shift in his tone as he speaks that remind you that he’s in charge, and you swallow the sudden lump of need in your throat. Prosciutto’s cock, clothed but prominent, pokes you in the small of your back as he says; 

“Tell me when it’s too much.”

“Okay.” Your voice shakes only a little, and you see Prosciutto smirk in the mirror as he steps back and tugs again, this time for longer. The corset squeezes you about the waist, the hug getting tighter and tighter. 

Prosciutto gets another few inches of compression, easy, winning little gasps from you until you say, breathlessly--

“I don’t think I can take any more.”

The voice comes from higher than it usually does, your body not quite able to echo in the same places that you’ve grown familiar with. You’re still perfectly able to breathe, but you find yourself unable to take a deep, shuddering breath of the kind that you’d like to when Prosciutto’s hands dip between your thighs, caressing the skin that’s touchable between the garters. 

“You put this on last, didn’t you?” He purrs into your ear, his clever fingers sliding over your closed slit. “You’re so good to me.”

You had, after having read that if you put underwear on last, it was simpler for your lover to fuck you with the stockings and garter belt and all the other accoutrements still taut against your body. You hadn’t wanted to get dressed up for Prosciutto only for him to immediately rip it all off of you - your boyfriend, you knew, would appreciate the show of you coming apart underneath him still in your neatly turned out costume. 

You hadn’t bargained on just how the corset would enhance your other senses. You hadn’t realised that, with that pressure at your waist, his fingers on your thighs would feel so all-consuming. That when your body clenched around nothing, you’d feel even needier for touches than usual - that every brush of his lips over your collarbone would feel like his mouth were on fire. 

“Come on,” Prosciutto says, tugging on your arm. You allow yourself to be manipulated by him, your head swimming with need the more he touches you, your breath coming in short little pants. You let him push you softly onto the bed on your front, as he helps you get into position on your hands and knees. 

You feel dizzy like this, worrying all of the blood will be rushing to your head and that you’ll pass out - but then Prosciutto is moving pillows, putting them beneath your head, getting you as comfortable as you can be.

“Not that I don’t like you on your front, amore,” he says, as you feel his hands grip your hip, sliding up to your waist and then down again so that they brush over your ass - almost bare, aside from the garters that stretch down to keep your stockings taut. “But taking hold of your waist in this position . . . Mm, you’re shaped like a heart like this, you know.”

Fingers slide up your inner thighs, making you jump and whimper, your body bucking backwards in search of more of his fingers. He makes a chastising noise, clicking his tongue. 

“All in good time,” he says to you. 

The silk pillow feels cool against your hot cheek, and you try and concentrate on that as Prosciutto takes his sweet time. Every brush of his slacks against the back of your thighs or touch of his fingers and hands makes you feel like you’re about to pass out - and he can tell, you know he can. You know he must see the tremble in your body and hear the soft sighs and pants falling from your mouth, as fingers glide over your slick folds but don’t go further than that. He’s enjoying seeing you lose yourself. 

You’re not enjoying being denied. 

“I’m enjoying my surprise,” he tells you, and you can sense the smirk in his voice as his thumbs spread open your sex and you feel cool air on your heated skin. “You’re enjoying my enjoyment too, aren’t you?”

“I want you to touch me,” you mumble, half-dazed from the position you’re in and the lack of air that you’re getting. “Prosciutto . . .”

You know you’re whining, and so does he. 

“I am touching you,” he says, his tone calm. A thumb slides up the slit, between the plumpness of your lips - and you whimper again as he brushes your clit, uselessly rocking your hips backwards. “Is it not good enough?” 

“Please,” you say, a little desperately, as he shifts on the bed and you hear his zipper. Hope flares in your heart - and then, the heat of his cock, slick with his precome, is against your thigh, smearing wetness there. 

“You’re cute when you beg,” he tells you. You moan uselessly, as he moves again - this time, he presses the head of his cock between the lips of your sex, and you feel yourself tense in preparation for the feeling of him pushing it inside you. Oh, you can’t wait to feel filled up by him - you know how deep he’ll go when you’re in this position from past nights spent in bed together, and you know that the tightness of the corset will just enhance how good he feels inside you--

He doesn’t fuck into you. His hips move, but they don’t sink into the hot confines of your heat - instead, he rocks his hips forward with a silky glide, and the head bumps at your swollen clit, making you moan aloud again, the sound breaking in the air. You feel pathetic with how much you want him. 

“I could fuck you like this,” he muses, pulling his hips back and rutting against your folds again, using the slickness of your thighs and labia lips like a cocksleeve. “It feels good - and you look so pretty, amore.” You moan out his name, frustrated, and you win a chuckle that’s like dark velvet. “And if I’m perfectly honest, principessa - knowing how badly you want me inside you makes me want to deny you even longer.”

A hand trails up your thighs, round the curve of your ass and hip, to cling to your waist. You fit in his grip well, fingers pressing against the spiral steel boning. He squeezes, and it makes the corset feel like it squeezes you a little tighter too, a choked moan falling past your lips as his cockhead brushes your clit again. 

“D-don’t you want to hold onto my waist and fuck me into next week more, though?” You manage. Every word feels like a challenge, past the way the corset clings to the lines of your body and the way that Prosciutto’s cock makes you struggle to think of anything but the pleasure that’s being dangled in front of you. 

Prosciutto laughs. Another hand comes up to hold the other side of your waist. You feel small in his grip - you haven’t always felt like that, but it’s amazing what a tightly laced corset and a cloudy mind and the haze of lusty need can do to one. 

“Alright,” he breathes into your ear, the head of his cock catching against your entrance. “You’ve got me there.”

Your brain entirely whites out as Prosciutto’s cock begins to stretch you out, filling you up inexorably, pinning you to the bed beneath him. You realise the groan of enjoyment you let out is not at all befitting to the pretty, demure fifties housewife you’re pretending to be - but then again, you’ve never watched a movie where one of their handsome husbands fucks them into the mattress in their corset so deeply that their toes curl, so perhaps they do make those noises and you’ve just never heard them. 

He goes impossible deep like this, making you feel like he’s never going to bottom out - but bottom out he does, your entire lower body singing out in need, your breath coming in pants and gasps. 

“Good,” he coos, “you’re taking me so well, principessa - how do I feel?”

You can’t do words right now. Instead, you moan brokenly, dragging your hips forward, begging him to begin vigorously fucking you instead of just leaving his cock sheathed inside of you. This gets a hiss from him, the tightening of his hands on your hips - but it also drives him into action, and as he pulls out and drives his cock straight back into the silky clutches of your sex, you see stars. 

He groans at how easily you take him, how your hips snap back into his, how you feel in his grip - and there’s nothing in the room for minutes but the slap of his thighs and hips against yours, the plunging wetness of his cock inside you, your broken moans and gasps. The shortness of breath that the corset is causing makes every stroke seem that much more frenetic, every press of his body against yours like electrical impulses firing in your brain. You’re helpless to do anything but rock, moaning and whimpering--

And your facilities are not much improved by one of Prosciutto’s hands sliding about your waist, fingers between you and the bedsheets, finding your clit to gently rub at it in firm little circles. 

It’s too much. 

Not being able to breathe properly, the sensitivity of your skin, the way that Prosciutto seems to be looming over you in every sense of the word - the pressure about your middle, and now the calloused finger coaxing your walls to pulse and flutter around Prosciutto’s cock. Your vision blurs, fingers tightening in the fabric beneath them, thighs trembling as you try and push your orgasm away lest you pass out completely - but it is impossible. 

All at once, the orgasm hits, your walls pulsing wildly about Prosciutto’s cock, sucking him in deeper and tighter than you think he’s ever been. Prosciutto himself lets out a strangled groan, surprised by how sudden and intensely your peak has hit you - the feel of your walls hugging him so tightly must push him over the edge, too, because his cock twitches wildly inside you and you feel the surprising rush of hot come paint your inner walls with his seed. 

He does not still his hips as he pumps out his last few drops, and it helps ease you over your orgasm - your vision flashes, your chest tight, breath seeming to become all stuck in your throat instead of in the air as the force of your body’s response hits you, white noise licking at your consciousness. Before, orgasms have felt like tides against a sandy shore, coming up and covering your body - this one is lightning flashes, overwhelming, leaving you gasping brokenly as aftershocks still leave you reeling. 

The fingers on your waist move, and you feel a pressure ease, Prosciutto pulling out of your dripping sex at the same time as he loosens the corset and you’re able to take a great gulping breath of air, collapsing entirely in a mess on the bed, uncaring of how Prosciutto’s come and your own slick are sliding down your thighs. 

Feather lights kisses down your spine, as the fabric is lifted away from you and your back is bare for Prosciutto’s kisses. You know that there must be marks from the corset marring your skin, and Prosciutto kisses every place you think they must be, his body hot and hard and comforting. 

Heat settles beside you, arms drawing you into an embrace that you tiredly accept. The brutal pace of the fucking and the days of preparation leading up to today catch up to you, your eyelids sagging.  

“Did you like it?” You mumble, sleepily, into the crook of your boyfriend’s arm. Prosciutto makes a little noise, dispelling a puff of air that might be a laugh. 

“I’d like you in anything,” he says to you, dropping a kiss on the top of your head. “But yes . . . yes, I liked it.” His eyes look at where the corset lays discarded, unlaced on the bed after he’d loosened it for you. “It was expensive, hmm? I’ve seen the prices of that kind of thing.”

You stifle a yawn.

“Yeah,” you say, snuggling into him. “Kinda. I know you hate to waste money. I think I should wear it again.”

Prosciutto chuckles. 

“You took the words out of my mouth. Yes,” he murmurs. “I think so too.”

[l1av]

Breathplay

k i n k s a m e 

Bucky choking Steve with his metal arm is everything I want in life, okay? 

Send me a Kink for Kinksame or kinkshame

[taesthetique]

what if like after being choked and stuff so many times, sam's body starts to change it into something pleasurable to cope, so one time sam asks dean to choke him while he fucks him and sam comes harder than ever before in his life

[wordsinhaled]

i’ve never even looked up breathplay porn because i’m so scared of this happening but i love breathplay like a lot. unsettling porn accidentally happening is the worst though, i am sorry

man, for real, i didn't even know this was gonna be "breathplay" porn because i wasn't specifically searching for it or anything (i don't look it up for the same reason you mentioned). and like, it's one of my most ~secret irl kinks (lol, what's a secret on my blog, though), and it just really bums me out when i happen upon a video like this

[titleleaf]

asphyxiation. separately rate: with rope, with hands, with someone's own tie

#kink talk #breathplay for ts

2/10, 8/10, tom riddle/10

(where is my cheryl-from-Archer gif when I need it)

[wri0thesley]

I’m so sorry, random question, but is choking breath play or impact play?

it's breathplay i think! impact play would imply that the person is struck again and again (either with a hand, or with a flogger, or with any other implement) - choking in sex is usually designed to restrict air flow and make sensations more intense, which i would think would be breathplay! <3