#dadds

[venustapolis]

Titania Sleeping (Richard Dadd, 1841)

[chastitysposts]

🔱 🔒

[lunarlivs]

hbd jamie <3

[diioonysus]

women in art: titania

[desislimboy]

[pyotrkochetkov]

BRADY SKJEI Intermission | January 4, 2025

[justamomblog29]

Here's my full body again 🙈

[thefugitivesaint]

Richard Dadd (1817-1886), 'Puck and the Fairies', ''The Art Journal'', Vol. 3, 1864

[eternalsams]

Danny: "I've seen the edits, guys"

me: *pulling up that notification I got last year* "he doesn't only 'see' them..."

[theboyisbckly]

“why’d you react like that?” god i am down BAD for him 😭

[chastitysposts]

Let me take charge of your fantasies now!

Message me on telegram @ chastitymomx

[lunarlivs]

ron, my love <333

[diioonysus]

creatures in art: fairies

[thunderstruck9]

Richard Dadd (British, 1817-1886), Sir Alexander Morison (1779-1866), Alienist, 1852. Oil on canvas, 51.1 x 61.3 cm. National Galleries of Scotland: Portrait, Edinburgh

[bktempted]

Plot Twist. Your fingers are flying across the keys, lost in a messy tangle of your own thoughts. You've been spilling out a chaotic little confession you’d never dare say aloud. Daddy’s presence behind you doesn’t even register, his shadow falls over your shoulder, but you’re too deep in your own head to notice. Lately, your feelings for him have been clawing their way up, hot and restless, and this is your outlet. Writing smut. It’s not like you’d ever do it — you know, fuck him, cross that line, feel his cock for real. That’d be a disaster, an unthinkable mess. But typing it out? That’s safe.

Your latest sentence stares back at you, “...and daddy slid a finger up my pussy, and I came hard, and he growled ‘what a naughty kitten you are’ in my ear.” Okay fine, it’s not exactly Shakespeare. It's not exactly good, either. The words trip over each other, clumsy and raw, but they’re yours, and that's what matters. You chew your lip, debating if “pussy” is the vagina word you're going with this time, when a familiar voice cuts through your thoughts.

“What’s this, huh?” Daddy’s tone is teasing, warm, close enough that his breath brushes your neck. Nooooooooooooooo. Heat floods your face, adrenaline pumping like you’ve been caught with your hand in the biggest cookie jar imaginable. He’s reading it. Oh god, he’s reading it. Your smut. Your stupid, horny, Daddy obsessed fantasy. You slam the laptop shut, but it’s too late. He chuckles, soft and deep, and leans even closer. “Is that how you feel about me, kitten?”

You can’t look at him. Your heart’s hammering, a wild thing trapped in your ribs, and your mouth goes dry. “I - it’s just a story,” you mumble, barely audible, staring at the closed laptop like it might save you. “It doesn't mean anything.”

“Are you sure?” His voice dips, playful but edged with something heavier, something that makes your stomach flip. He slides a hand onto your shoulder and turns you to face him. His eyes are locked on yours, searching, a little amused, a little hungry. “If you really want me like that… maybe we could try. Just once. See if it’s as good as you’re imagining.”

Your brain short circuits. This can't be happening. He’s tugging you up from the chair, guiding you to the couch with that easy confidence he’s always had. You’re trembling, not from fear but from the sheer want that’s been festering in you for too long. He sits you down, knees nudging yours apart, and grins. “C’mon, naughty kitten. Let’s play.”

He starts slow, peeling your shirt up and tossing it aside like it’s nothing. His hands roam your skin — calloused fingertips dragging down your neck, dipping lower, tracing the edge of your bra before he unhooks it with a flick. You’re breathing too fast, dizzy with it, and he notices. “Nervous?” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “Don’t be. Daddy’s got you.”

That word — Daddy — hits you with a thud, and you whimper, helpless. He chuckles again, sliding your shorts down, leaving you bare and squirming under his gaze. “Look at you,” he says, “Already so needy. Been thinking about this a while, huh?” His fingers tease along your inner thigh, feather light, maddening, until they brush that special place. “Oh, kitten. You’re soaked.”

He doesn’t rush it. He takes his time, stroking you open, one finger slipping inside just like you wrote — except this is real, and it’s so much sharper, so much more. Your hips jerk, chasing the pressure, and he hums approvingly. “That’s it. Take it all in.” A second finger joins the first, curling just right, and you’re gone. Your pussy clenches around him, a broken little moan spilling out as you finish way too fast. He doesn’t stop, though, just keeps moving, drawing it out until you’re shaking.

“Naughty little thing,” he teases, pulling his hand free and licking his fingers clean while you watch, dazed. “Taste as sweet as you look.” He’s undoing his belt now, and your eyes widen — he’s hard, thick, and you’re not sure you can take him, but god, you want to try. He catches your stare and grins. “Don’t worry, kitten. We’ll go slow.”

He eases into you, inch by inch, stretching you until you’re clutching his shoulders, nails digging in. It’s overwhelming, the heat of him, the weight, the way he fills you up. “Fuck,” he mutters, voice strained, “You’re tight. Fuck you feel so good.” He starts moving, steady but deep, and you’re moaning in time with every thrust, legs wrapping around him like you can’t get close enough. He leans down, lips grazing your jaw. “My naughty kitten. Taking Daddy so well.”

It’s not some grand, poetic climax — no, it's messy, desperate, real. You cum again, harder this time, and he follows right after, groaning low as he buries himself deep. You’re both panting as he brushes a sweaty strand of hair from your face, “better than your story?”

[fyodors-fancy-teacup]

ironic how he’s a cryo when he’s hot