#god-eye galatea

[buriedknight]

God-Eye Galatea

slight revision of an old work of mine

[storekn1fe]

god-eye galatea [id in alt]

[wisteriamemory]

They're live on my shop now! One of my favourite series of all times. I'm still not over them, I love Claymore so much. Strong powerful women will always have my heart. Shop here: wisteriamemory.square.site

upcoming claymore charms

[stil-lindigo]

a non-comprehensive guide to my favourite characters in claymore, the best manga you've never read (more under the cut)

don't know what I'm talking about? here's a crashcourse.

[niromeva]

pocky game

[claremikas]

Claymore + tumblr text posts pt 3

pt 1, pt 2

[haxo-wolfie]

some more silly doodles! needa reread the manga so i can draw more references

[thaisibir]

Claymore backstory headcanons

(Yagi has set up a compelling world and cast of characters in Claymore, but so many of them have unknown histories, so that leaves a lot of room for interpretation. I thought I try fleshing out some of my favorite characters with my own takes.)

Miria: She was the daughter of the most talented tracker and scout in their village. Her father would coordinate search parties and patrols, working well within groups. She learned about leadership from him and greatly admired him. In her warrior days, she strives to follow her father's example. One day her father returned as the only survivor of his search party from a yoma attack. A smart girl who knows him well, Miria caught on to his suspicious behavior and realized he must be a yoma in disguise himself. She'd refuse his orders to come home or stay home. As a child she enjoyed racing other children for fun, often coming out as the winner. From those races she knew the village like the back of her hand. She'd run around ducking into nooks and crannies beyond the yoma's sight and reach, sending him on a wild goose chase until the village had time to call in a warrior to kill him. The warrior's handler was so impressed by Miria's spirit and intelligence that he recruited her on the spot.

Galatea: Though born with a humble background of no distinguished class, she was famed for being the most beautiful girl in her village. She married a man and had a son in her late teens. Their happy life as a family was cut short when a yoma killed and took over her husband's body, and Galatea had to witness him devouring their son. Rafaela was the warrior who intervened and saved Galatea's life. Ermita, the man who found Galatea in exile from her village and would become her handler, is the only one in the organization who knows of her past life. She never speaks of her deceased spouse and son to anyone, preferring to keep memories of them locked deep in the back of her mind. Galatea joined the organization as the oldest among the trainees, though her maturity served her well as she quickly rose through the ranks to number 3. Despite herself, her strong maternal instinct and soft spot for children never went away. She sees Clare as a wild child who often needs a firm hold on the leash, and dotes on the orphans in Rabona.

Sophia: Born into a noble family as the only child of a powerful and wealthy lord. She was a sickly girl whom her father doted on. When she wasn't bedridden and sick, she enjoyed singing. She survived many bouts of life-threatening fever and a yoma attack that killed her father and decimated her estate. Fearing she was a yoma too, the surviving servants sold her to the organization and fetched a hefty sum for her noble status. Since warriors don't succumb to illness as humans do, and stinging from the servants' betrayal and the loss of her father and home, Sophia's inner strength manifested as extremely powerful physical strength that led to her high rank and moniker within Teresa's generation. Noble roots are behind her elegant demeanor and polite speech. Unlike her peers, she's great at exchanging pleasantries to put regular folks at ease while on the job. She can sweet talk her way to staying in nice inns at a discount, mostly because she loves a nice clean bed and hates sleeping outside in the dirt and cold like a vagrant. The one thing she enjoys while being on the road is singing and humming to herself. Underneath her lady-like aloofness is a persistent melancholy and the ultimate wish for a quick death in battle that would end her warrior life, so she can be reunited with her father. In the end, she got just that.

Noel: Born into a family of traveling performers, Noel can't sing to save her life, but her acrobatic talent and prowess was put to good use as she'd astound the audience with daring somersaults and jumps. She was the only girl amid four brothers, so verbal spars and rowdiness among them was commonplace. Her family was attacked by yoma on a path through the woods, on the way to their next performance at a nearby village. Noel ran as fast as she could to that village, leaving her the only survivor. As a warrior, she loves to put on a good show while slaying yoma, giving it a performer's spin. Sophia poking fun at her acrobatics is always a sore spot. Noel is secretly jealous of Sophia's talent for singing, though she smugly enjoys her rival's discomfort with the nomadic life she had known since birth. So used to having brothers and her family allowing free reign of her tomboyishness, Noel feels out of place surrounded by girls and women as a warrior. The power system of attaining ranks and numbers stirs her competitive streak. It's the only thing that gives her some sliver of purpose in what she believes is an otherwise bleak and pathetic existence. Deep down she misses her brothers and wants more than anything, even more than being a top warrior, to see them again. She ended up getting what she wanted.

Irene: Born as an orphan with no memory of any family. She scraped by stealing from vendors in the streets for food and clothes. A shrewd observer and gifted with tactical intelligence, she'd gauge her targets from afar and work together with other orphans on joint thieving operations. But outside this, she has zero people skills and has no idea how to go about socializing and making small talk. When Teresa's hit squad stormed the inn, Irene let Sophia handle the payment and apologies to the innkeeper. After Priscilla's awakening, Irene was perfectly content and good at living as a hermit with no civilization in sight.

Flora: Born to merchant parents who made a living of selling and arranging flowers. She got initiated into the family business at an early age, and found her talent in swiftly yet elegantly nicking off thorns and other undesirable parts of a flower with a small knife. She was always soft-spoken, though sharing her extensive knowledge of flowers would break the barrier of her shyness. When yoma invaded her village, they destroyed her family's establishment while slaughtering them. The sight of crushed flowers smothered in blood was seared into her mind like a hot brand, fueling her desire to later grow strong as a warrior so she can cut down the ugly stain of yoma in this world. Born and raised in the warmth of the southern region, she despises the cold because hardly anything colorful and beautiful grows there (which she hid very well during the mission in Pieta).

[rifulofthewest]

Galatea vs Albert drinking contest would slay

(She would have won; + we would have seen how much Albert could actually drink)

[bloodygnqv]

Oh Say Can You See

John Price x fem reader

cw: smut!! minors dni!, size difference (reader is described as small but dw there’s no infantilization), uuuh i think that’s it??

A/N: fuck the national anthem it’s a lana song. it’s been a while since i’ve written smut hope you enjoy anyway bless you all xx 🙏🏻

“Are you okay, love?” John asks you from where you’re laying on your side.

He’s all warmth and comfort, musk and tobacco and leather, a stark contrast between the feminine fruits and spring flowers and candy you enjoy wearing.

His voice is a quiet rumble, the crackle of a fireplace, the roar of an engine, the step on snow.

“Mhm, yeah,” you reply, sleepy and pliant, “Just really missed you.”

John lays on his side as well, cuddling you from behind. He’s always been the bigger spoon, arms and hands so large, so strong he can fully wrap them around your waist, cup your breasts in his palms, keep you to himself. His greed for you and your affection lodges in his throat.

You can feel him hardening against your back, and you stifle a small smile. “Go ahead, John, I’ve been waiting all day,” you whisper, your own desire sparkling in your belly, black milk and rose red and the veil of longing.

“God, you’re soaking. That needy pussy just needs some attention, huh?” His fingers slide against your slit gently as you whimper an affirmative and lift your leg a bit to give him access.

“I can take you, John, really, you can just slide in,” you mumble, stroking at his thigh greedily.

“Are you sure, sweetheart? You’re so small and I haven’t prepped you, you know it might hurt…”

Concern laces his voice like poison ivy. It almost makes you melt — he’s always been like this from the moment you two got together, soft care and love so strong it almost suffocates you.

“Yeah, I’m sure. I played with myself earlier..”

“Okay then,” he permits. He taps the head of his dick over your pussy, still not going in, syrupy whines escaping your throat.

And then his cock notches at your leaky entrance, slowly going in, and every little nag and annoying pesky thought hide somewhere in the back of your head.

“Oh,” you gasp and look down to where you two are connected.

John isn’t very long, but he’s thick, thick enough that you feel the stretch every single time you have sex. He carves out a place for himself in you, Galatea and Pygmalion, gentle marble across your legs (his large hands completely envelop the expanse of your thighs, leaving galaxy marks in his wake).

“Yeah,” John breathes, heavy, grunting out a response, “That’s it. Almost there, love, you can take it. Shit, you’re tight…”

You mewl, hands scraping for purchase against the duvet as he runs his fingers through your hair, his beard tickling your neck, whispering cotton candy filth in your ear. You know he’s already pushed in as you feel his heavy balls snug against your ass.

“There you go. Feels good, eh?”

“It does,” you whimper. There’s the slightest touch of too much, tiniest specks of pain, but they’re quickly chased away by the time John starts thrusting lazily. You’re not gonna last long, and if John’s satisfied grunts are anything to go by, he isn’t, either.

You grab his thick arm from where it’s perched over the gentle curve of your waist, delicate wrist teasing the underside of his palm and intertwining your fingers.

You’ve never felt more at home. You’re exactly where you need and want to be, ballad-like moans and late comfortable nights, devoted eyes and lust as a virtue. John’s filling you up just right, quenching the thirst that has simmered in you all day, pushing you off the edge.

John’s other hand reaches around and starts playing with your clit, just enough pressure in circles to bring you over the edge. He always goes the extra mile when it comes to expressing his love through pleasure, making your legs shake, newborn fawn, you are, seeing constellations and new planets beneath your eyelids.

“I’m gonna cum,” you murmur.

“Go ahead, baby. I missed you so, so much, my beautiful girl,” John rasps, peppering small kisses on the canvas of your neck.

There it is — the explosion of feeling and love and pleasure in your tummy, crawling down your legs and up your arms, making you moan and fist the sheet under your body.

Your orgasm pushes John to the edge, and you can feel his spend spilling in the crevice of your cunt, loud groans echoing in the corners of your ears, arms tightening around your small frame. That’s his favorite place to cum in, warm velvet around him, all that love that burns like a motor in his skin.

John pulls out slowly and lovingly cleans you up as your consciousness slips away from you. It’s been a long, long day, and the great sex is but your favorite way to release tension and put you in that space between wake and sleep.

The afterglow sneaks its way in your vein as you lay across John’s thick, hairy chest and close your eyes. This is your favorite time of day, all warm and snug and happy.

“Go to sleep, sweetheart.”

His caress always feels like a blanket, a balm to soothe your wounds, a hazy morning dream you don’t want to wake up. It makes you all the more grateful, lying with the man you love in a space you two made.

[brabblesblog]

As if the gods made you to ruin me.

A little love letter for everyone who makes art for this vampire man.

Inspired by the Greek myth of Pygmalion and Galatea. First person POV. A sculptor confronts a piece of marble, and Astarion is their masterpiece. One-shot.

The idea of statues "breaking free" from the marble is taken from Michelangelo. This can be better seen in his Prisoners.

@spacebarbarianweird mentioned Pygmalion today, and this idea came to me.

Read on AO3.

P.S. If my writing is something you're interested in, please consider my masterlist. I highly recommend beginning with the 'Whither' series. Thank you<3

The finest, purest white marble. I stare at it, unsure, trying to parse out the figure trapped in the block for me to release. An elf, I think, my hands reaching out in front of me, imagining where the curves would be. Curls, long and growing over his ears. A sharp jaw, strong and yet delicate.

I pick up my tools, and begin my work.

It’s almost as if I’m not in control of my creation. My hands work of their own accord, carving in features that genuinely surprise me and were probably not what I would have preferred, but the longer I look, the more it seems right.

It has deep, piercing eyes, with crow’s feet. I find myself staring at it at times during breaks. It looks like it’s trying to escape its stony prison, emerging from the formless block. Its expression is poignant, as if it was lost in thought.

Smile lines? I draw backwards and away from the sculpture, frowning myself. It gave the man a look of maturity even though it was youthful. Together with the smile lines and the subtle wrinkles on its face, it seemed as if the man had lived a harrowing life before being trapped in the rock for me to uncover.

And yet, it was beautiful. There was something ethereal in the way it gazed out into space and pondered nothing.

I keep up the work. I feel myself slowly getting absorbed by it. The compulsion to keep going is overwhelming, and unlike any other. I don’t eat other than the bare minimum. I don’t leave my room unless necessary. I don’t think of much else other than what part of him to carve next.

It - no - he consumes my thoughts. In the day I carve and release him from his marble prison. At night I dream of him. Of his face, of his delicate hands, of his lithe body. I dream, I wish, and I long.

He is my finest work, the star amongst my oeuvre. My patrons are forgotten, their commissions delayed. Their ire is nothing to me. There is only him.

Astarion.

The name, his name, comes to me in a fever dream. He reaches out to me, and I ask him what he would want to be called.

A frown crosses those features, and I want more than anything to press my lips to his forehead and smooth the furrows on his brow. I watch him open his mouth, and it surprises me to see fangs.

“Astarion,” he says, and his voice catches me by surprise. There is a slight nasal timbre to it, and a drawl, almost a purr, at the end.

I snap awake, staring at the marble statue. He is looking at a spot about a meter away from where I am right now, the moonlight streaming through the window illuminating his ivory skin.

Ivory. Color. I remember now. His eyes were crimson, his hair white as snow. Features I had never imagined, the medium of my work limiting me from even considering anything regarding complexion. However, the stone was a close match to his skin in my dreams - a white so smooth it was almost pearlescent.

A vampire, I realize, as I remember one more thing: the scars on his neck. I pick up my chisel and walk over to the marble, my hands searching for the spot I remember from my dreams.

I carve, and it is perfect.

I wonder who he is, and what he’s done in his life. I am almost done freeing him, the stone block now only at his knees. I work on his genitals, shaping them as best as I can. I carve out a vein, which I would imagine to be of a bluish tint.

His body is beautiful, and I step back to admire it. Muscular, but not too large. Delicate, long limbs, the marble’s natural veins adding to the illusion of an actual circulatory system. Fingers that would make a pianist weep. Strong legs, with subtle thigh musculature.

He is full of contradictions. Masculine, and yet feminine, his hands on the delicate tilt of his hips. Youthful, and yet his face belies a strange maturity and melancholy. So real to me, and yet here he is, just the work of my hands and my overactive imagination.

I am enthralled.

I do not put him on display once he is done. I don’t sell him. He stays in my room, taking up valuable working space. I do not care.

He is my muse. I talk to him, argue with him, ask him for his thoughts. There is no response, no more dreams.

I weep. I mourn for something that never was. I seek company in lonely taverns, for warm bodies to lose myself in. It is never enough. It is not even close.

I cover him in a sheet. I don’t want to see him, to be reminded of what I so desperately need and can never have.

I try, so damn hard, to forget.

“You ruined my life!” I scream to no one in particular, to him. I am unable to work, my patrons having moved on to more productive artists. I want to throw my chisels at him, to topple him over and ruin him, as he had ruined me. But I cannot.

I rip off the sheets, staring at that face that had burrowed so deeply into my psyche, and I give in and move to press my lips against it. I close my eyes.

The lips that meet mine are cold - but not stone-cold - and soft. I feel hands move to wrap around my waist, tugging me close. I instinctively move my hands up over his head, and feel hair against my fingers - curly, fine strands that flow against my fingers like silk.

A very good illusion from my mind, I gather. As I pull away I force my eyes to open. Crimson ones meet me, and those smile lines crinkle as he grins.

“Hello, darling,” he breathes.

Taglist: @elora-the-slutty-songstress @tragedybunny @spacebarbarianweird @ayselluna @enterthedreams @coltaire@qiific3 @misscrissfemmefatale @vixstarria @eatyourheartoutmylove @linllewellyn @battisonsgf @micropoe10 @thegoodwitchs-blog @akirahime @velcyrptrr @i-cant-get-into-my-other-account @babblebrain-blog @asterordinary @last-but-not-the-least @artist4theworld

[incorrectgreekgods]

Hi, I’m writing a book about children of Greek gods. What’s a story from Greek mythology that you love but not many people talk about that you think would be interesting to see in a book?

ooh, that's a really good question!!

first and foremost, good luck writing your book! that's a really impressive venture and i wish you nothing but the best.

as for less commonly shared stories, i have a few. i'm trying to specifically think of greek myths and not just the ovid' tellings's versions, but in this day and age the two have become intertwined in the general public's eye that the ones i remember loving the most do come from ovid's stories, so i'll put them in anyways.

-pygmalion and the statue (later known as galatea) is a mainly ovid story and is well know enough, but isn't one of the majorly popular ones

-tiresias, a blind prophet who hera transformed into a woman for seven years and also did a good amount of other stuff and lived for several lifetimes

-king erysichthon who cut down demeter's sacred trees and was cursed with terrible hunger and thirst for the rest of his life

-the creation myth of the centaurs, specifically ixion having relations with a cloud made by zeus that looked like hera

these are a just a few i can think of quickly, but there's so many more that have way less popularity than the common ones nowadays (orpheus and eurydice, eros and psyche, etc) so let me know if you're looking for more! i'd also encourage others to share any that they can think of

[stil-lindigo]

a captain and a nun walk into a bar.

[niromeva]

more claymore doodles

[claremikas]

thinking about the fact that yagi gave us muscular galatea just that one time and never again

[rippersz]

𝑨 𝑳𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝑾𝒆𝒍𝒍-𝑻𝒂𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕:

̟ ˙ ̟ ˙ ˖ ̟ ˙ ˖ ˙̟ ˙ ̟ ˙ ˖ ̟ ˙ ˖ ˙̟ ˙ ̟ ˙ ˖ ̟ ˙ ˖ ˙̟ ˙ ̟ ˙ ˖ ̟ ˙ ˖ ˙

(A Dom!Larissa Weems x Sub!Reader one-shot; NSFW) (BDSM; powerplay; blindfolds; mirror sex; explicit language; body image; petplay; bondage; etc.) - 16 pages of pure smut. Around 7K words.

̟ ˙ ̟ ˙ ˖ ̟ ˙ ˖ ˙̟ ˙ ̟ ˙ ˖ ̟ ˙ ˖ ˙̟ ˙ ̟ ˙ ˖ ̟ ˙ ˖ ˙̟ ˙ ̟ ˙ ˖ ̟ ˙ ˖ ˙

“I’m starved, darling.”

Her voice was a mere whisper in your ear, like the snake that tempted Eve. Soft and succulent and utterly delicious. You could feel the sweet of it run down the side of your lip and dribble down your chin; a result of your obedience. As if she was holding the unholy apple above your mouth, coring it and watching with delight as its juice raced over the plane of your lolling tongue. That delighted her as well, watching the way it twitched - utterly uncontrollable. Done by the body’s functions alone. You could envision her smile behind the dark cloth covering your eyes; that smirk, all red lipped and evil while soaking in her control. Knowing she had it was something intoxicating to her - like a drug you slipped into her palm by merely existing. She said sit and you sat. She said put your hands behind your back and you did. She said jump and you asked how high. She said stick out your tongue and out your tongue went. Like a gift.

“Do you know what I’m craving, sweetheart?” The warmth of her breath was something handmade by the gods. It left you shuddering and shaking your head - sparked purely by the innate need to please.

“No? No idea? Not even an inkling?” Her tone was condescending. Wicked. Lilting and full of fake kindness. It had your heart running wild, jumping off of the edge of your ribcage like a swimmer with a diving board. Her eyes, for you could feel their burn, were tracing over every inch of your body; admiring what was hers. What was all hers. The only thing you could do (if you didn’t wish to break her rules) was shake your head again, insisting silently that you didn’t know what she craved but that you wanted to- you really wanted to- please- please she just needed to say-

“Dumb little thing… I’m hungry for you, pet.”

And strong cold hands wrapped around your shoulders, laying long fingers down- one… two… three… four… five… allowing them to clench with strength that hinted at something stronger. Bigger. From an outsider’s perspective, you probably looked like dragon’s prey. With the beast standing over you, weighing judgment for your sins, trapping you within its hold so you couldn’t get away. You made a brief mental note to share that metaphor with Larissa once the scene was done. She would surely enjoy the thought of adding you to her shiny horde. ‘My most precious bit of treasure,’ she’d murmur with warm delight…

Oh it would be such a far cry from the chill that ran through your bones then, biting into your knees as you sat there on the floor. Poised for her. Larissa’s very own Galatea… carved perfectly from soft skin instead of hard stone. Glowing with a light not from Aphrodite but from pleasure; absolutely ravished in the attention of a salacious woman. Of your salacious woman. With her sapphire eyes and carmine lips and sweetened breath and porcelain skin and platinum hair and strong legs and hands and arms… like someone plucked the forbidden fruit from Eve’s garden and morphed the apple into a woman. A woman so unreachable… so untouchable that not even you could move to brush the slightest bit of your fingertips across the smooth surface of her kitten heels. The same kitten heels that framed your kneeling body… ever so close to the quivering hands that were bound and resting against the small of your back.

You were sweating, you realized. Only lightly - but you felt as though a flame were burning you from the inside out. Making your body hot to the touch and creating a cool contrast as soon as Larissa’s palms settled. You reveled in the feeling. You reveled in your helplessness.

You reveled in your submission.

“Are you willing to give yourself up to me, little one?” Your lover’s voice was soft and cloying. Deceptively innocent and light. As if she didn’t know your answer - but she did. She always did.

And after a moment of silence, one where you felt suspended in time, hesitant to talk due to earlier commands, Larissa’s deep chuckle met your ears.

“Good girl… you may speak now, darling. Answer me.”

And so you did. Your tongue felt strange when you finally pulled it back into your mouth, but after a quick swallow and clearing of your throat, you croaked out a small “Yes.” She was quick to rectify your mistake.

“Yes, who?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Both of you seemed to let out dual quiet sighs of relief as soon as the title passed over your lips. It was your safe haven. Your middle ground. The thing that tethered both of you to reality and kept you rooted within the moment; reminding you both of your trust. She was your Mistress. You were her puppy. Her darling. Her sweet girl. Her disgusting little whore. Her everything. She told you to jump and you did. She told you to speak and you did. She told you to hold out your hands for them to be bound behind your back and you did. ‘Stick out your tongue, pup. No speaking until I say so, understood?’ ‘Back straight, thighs together… there we go. Good girl~’ ‘So pretty for me… are you ready to begin?’ And sometimes the domination was far from sexual. Sometimes it was just her making sure you ate. Sometimes it was just her falling asleep with her arms around your body. Sometimes it was just her holding your hand in public and giving it two squeezes to discreetly ask if you were alright.

The push and pull, to put it simply, was marvelous.

And there were occasions, too, when Larissa wasn’t feeling it. When the world tipped one of her scales a bit too far and when the personalities of others became trying and finicky. During those times, during those sacred moments, you took over. And the beauty that stemmed from that was far more abstract - less concrete and more flowing. You were not Larissa’s Mistress, but she was your baby. Your Larissa. Your beautiful girl. And you cherished the moments in which she’d allow you to wind your arms around her thighs, tug her closer, and love on the heaven between her legs until she was shaking and gasping and pleading and pulling your hair and getting so close- so cl-close- so close close close closeclosecl- close!- only to let out a loud long whine when you reared back at the last second, taking her pleasure with you. Yes yes yes, such submission from your strong intelligent lover was an ego boost to the highest degree.

But with each indulgence came a price. And every time you felt yourself trip over your power, nearly righting yourself and grasping control, a cool strong hand pressed against the tender spot between your shoulder blades and pushed you over the metaphorical edge. Knocking you to your knees. Wrapping a fistful of your hair over her knuckles, letting it pool into her palm, just so she could pull your head back and remind you of your real place.

Beneath her. Always beneath her….

The most adorable little pet she’d ever had the pleasure of encountering.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Larissa’s voice interrupted your train of thought, emanating a strong sense of smug satisfaction.

You felt the need to squirm in place; to check your posture and reset your pose; to straighten your shoulders and flex your fingers; but your Mistress’s hands distracted you. They traced the bare skin of your arms, right down to each elbow, warming you even further with their soft touch. And as soon as you leaned back into the feeling, wishing to experience the softness of her legs pressed to your shoulder blades and spine, she was gone. Her warm touch disappeared - her heels click-clacked their way out of range - her fingertips skated along the side of your neck, down its slope, before falling away. Of course then it didn’t take long for you to frown, wishing she was still there, disliking the fact that she had walked off. But when Larissa next spoke, her voice came from directly in front of you.

“Now,” she whispered, low and calm, “tell me why you’re here, pup.”

You swallowed a whimper, feeling your core lurch with hot desire at the sound of that delicious little pet name slipping off of her velvet tongue. It was one of your favorites - one of the only ones that made you melt oh so quickly. And Larissa wielded it with an immense amount of wicked power. The call of it came like a siren’s tune, and you were slave to the warmth that washed into your abdomen when she used it to torture you. Just as she did then; knowing you’d have trouble focusing.

Yet still, you pushed on. After all, you were not there for fun and games. Oh no no no, it was a lesson - as your Mistress had said. And she rarely changed her mind.

“I did something bad,” you responded, meek and small.

“Mm,” your woman hummed shortly, most likely nodding as she contemplated her next words. Early on into your relationship you found that she typically enjoyed doing that - taking a moment to rifle through her vocabulary just so she could conjure the most heart-stoppingly sinful sentences known to man. And once you fell deeper into your play and into your role as her darling girl… well then you were never safe from her eloquence. And her next words proved it. “And tell me, my sweet pup, what did you do to upset me?” The evil innocent tone returned.

You hesitated. The words built up on your tongue. There was so much more behind your reason. Behind your action. You hadn’t meant to, really. Your mind just… tended to wander. And though your relationship was built on trust, finding it to be the most important pillar you stood on, you found yourself slipping into a rather negative mindset some hours ago. It started in the middle of the night while Larissa was sleeping. She’d turned over in bed, getting more comfortable to face the other way and relieve the ache in her shoulder. Sometimes sleeping was hard, so you’d admire her and think about your lover until Morpheus drew you away. Though on that night, last night, your eyes traced the outline of her body- from the curve of her calf to the gentle contoured muscles of her back to the tousled platinum hair that spilled across the pillow- and you found yourself growing sad. Weary. Hurt. Nothing had happened and yet you still laid there, wondering if maybe you would never be good enough for Larissa. She had been through so much in her life - overcome nearly every bit of diversity and every bit of bullying and every bit of stress - and came out on top in the end. A kindhearted, brilliant, intelligent, beautiful woman that ran her Academy with the grace and care of a true golden soul. You admired her so much that it was difficult to put into words. And you’d tried in the past, you had, but it was futile. No one compared to Larissa Weems. But you were sure- certain- many people compared to you. You, who didn’t graduate nearly top of her class. You, who didn’t have such a high-earning, well-known career. You, who didn’t have particularly enchanting features and whose voice sometimes squeaked at the most inopportune times. You, with curves a bit bigger than most. You, with a mind so busy and cluttered that you could barely wade through it without feeling as though you were drowning. Yes, there were many women who could compare to you. Who were better than you. Who would give up their livelihoods to share even a bit of romantic air with Larissa Weems. And those women were beautiful… and they didn’t need so much comfort… and they could go a day without feeling slight panic whenever spending more than 3 hours having not heard from their lover. And those women, some of them at least, had money. The funds to buy Larissa whatever she wanted; the coin needed to tend to their own cosmetic needs - to get their nails done and their hair styled and to purchase the best products available so that their skin was soft and smelled of roses whenever Larissa was around to worship it. You couldn’t do that. You didn’t have that type of money - not yet at least. And maybe you never would. But either way… either way…

“I- I was mean to myself,” you felt the need to explain, “but I didn’t mean to upset you, I just-”

“Hush… darling.” Larissa spoke quickly, cutting you off with kind intentions as her palms came up to frame your face. Her fingertips caressed the spaces beneath your ears, drawing slow circles that had you keening and shivering. “I understand, my love,” her words, chosen carefully again, worked to put your mind at ease, “and I know. I know you didn’t ‘mean to’ sweetheart - but I’m not upset. I’m not upset with you.” Her loving tone had you blinking back tears. “Here,” her fingers moved to the loose knot behind your head, “do you want me to remove this, love? So we can talk eye to eye?”

You knew she had the best intentions behind her offer, but you still found yourself worrying.

“I don’t want to stop the play Mistress please-”

“We won’t stop if you don’t want to, my sweetling. We’ll just pause. Does that sound okay?”

And it did. It sounded more than okay. So you nodded and just like that, the blindfold was taken off. Slowly and gently, peeled away from your face, revealing the breathtaking smile that glued itself to your lover’s painted lips. You blinked a few times, getting yourself familiar with the dim grey light that filtered into the room from the windows. The rain had been off and on for the past few days, painting the world in gloomy colors, but it was lovely that you and Larissa agreed that stormy weather was the best weather. And as soon as your vision became comfortable, you gave your lover a small reassuring smile - silently telling her that you were okay. The sight of it seemed to put her at ease nearly instantly as she slid the blindfold away and put her hands on your face again. Her expression was open, vulnerable in its compassion as she stared at you. There was no desire to hold herself back; she could admire if she wished to. And she did. Those sapphire eyes of hers were wicked in their warmth, reflecting her slight worry as her brows scrunched together and the lines in her face deepened with sincerity.

“Better?” She questioned, drawing your eyes to her lips.

“Mhm,” you hummed with a small nod.

“Mhm?” Came her high-toned teasing response, making you blush and shrink into yourself. She took that reaction as a ‘yes’ and let out a little chuckle at the sight of your bashfulness. “Okay darling… would you like to pick up where we left off? We can talk about it or continue.”

Her tone had changed, becoming more serious as the topic shifted. You appreciated it of course, but the lust that tugged at the back of your psyche hated the delay in your… activities and wanted something more. Something close. Wanted Larissa - which was not unusual. So you answered with a sweet middle ground.

“May I explain myself first?” Your eyes were shining with love when you next looked at her.

“You never have to ask me that, love. Yes, of course. I am listening,” and she really was. Her fingers continued their soothing circles beneath your ears as she knelt in front of you and paid close attention.

“Right, thank you,” you nodded and took a deep breath before staring into those blue eyes and pouring a bit more of your heart out onto the floor for her. “I just- um- overthinking, you know? It can become a bit overwhelming and… I’m just really sorry. For isolating and- and doubting your love for me.” Your lips turned down into a frown.

The self-isolation truly had been an accident; you didn’t even realize you were doing it until Larissa returned to your quarters and coaxed you out of bed. You were quiet and dim while she stopped in for a visit, keeping your eyes on the floor and your responses short. That alone was enough for the headmistress to cancel the rest of her plans for the day and stay with you. And after some much-needed cuddling and quiet time, a kiss led to two- then three- then things progressed… and you soon found yourself on the bedroom floor, kneeling in front of your full-body mirror, waiting for instruction. Larissa knew what your thought process was, she understood your struggle, and that’s why she triple-checked if you still wanted to go through with a scene before you started. It was a more taboo way of establishing comfort and reassurance, but you felt safe. Protected. And the lust kept the bad feelings at bay. Larissa knew to take all of that into account when she thought of her lesson - and she hoped above all else that it would stick. Just like her next words did as soon as her dulcet tones caressed your ears.

“Please Y/n, don’t apologize. I understand my darling. I know it’s hard. I know…” she cooed, gently bringing you closer until your foreheads were pressed together. Oh she smelled so good; of Gardenias and fresh laundry. If you could wrap yourself up in her forever, you would. “But it’s going to be okay. Tell me,” Larissa inhaled, moving back a little bit to look you in the eye. Her expression was serious but her eyes were lit from the inside - swirling with mirth and love and a million other beautiful things that made you feel like you were floating. “Do you trust me?”

You didn’t even think to hesitate.

“Of course.” You trusted her with everything. You trusted her with your life, with your heart, with every thought in your mind. You trusted her with your breath.

“Then trust me when I say that I have never loved anyone in the way I love you,” Larissa breathed, licking her dry lips, darting her gaze between your eyes. “And I don’t think- no, no I know- I’ll never want anyone else. Ever.” And the radiant smile that pulled at her beautiful mouth then - the fascinating way it sharpened at the edges and how endearing it was to see those perfectly imperfect pearly whites shining in the dim light of the afternoon… how it revealed every delightful thing she felt for you… well you simply couldn’t help yourself.

It probably would have been easier if your hands weren’t tied behind your back, but the beat of your heart enjoyed the thrill your body felt when falling forward, eager to catch Larissa in a kiss. And being the ever-observant, impossibly understanding woman she was, she met you halfway. Moving her hands from your face to your biceps, stabilizing you in your spot, letting out a long indulgent moan as soon as your lips connected - it all felt like divinity personified. And while you sat there languishing, moving your mouths in a slow aching tandem that had your lips tingling afterward, embracing the nearly sadistic way Larissa’s tongue caressed your own, the fire in your abdomen rose again. It clawed at you and begged for her. Sang for her.

“Thank you,” came your whiny breath, spoken against the soft skin of Larissa’s lips. “Thank you, thank you, I love you. So much.” And before she could respond, you kissed her again. And again. And again. And your lover’s hands were wicked as they danced along the expanse of your chest, down the delicate rolls of your tummy, right down to the velvet of your thighs. Those strong fingers of hers squeezed and pinched and tickled, driving you mad, making you shudder. And as soon as Larissa pulled away, quickly moving to press a warm palm against the center of your chest, a loud keening mewl escaped your throat. Once you opened your eyes, daring to fix her with a pout, admiring the way a string of spit kept your wanting lips tethered, you felt yourself falling back into the beautiful malleable headspace of being Larissa’s darling.

“Oh,” she breathed, looking at you with eyes that rivaled the blue-dark of dusk, “you’re feeling it again, aren’t you sweetheart?”

“Yes, Mistress,” you swallowed harshly, trying to relieve the sudden dryness of your throat.

Ever the most observant in the room, your lover caught your slight discomfort and tempered her smile - making it soft and small as she patted your thighs and stood up. You didn’t need to be a genius to figure what she was doing; the sound of her heels being kicked off and placed neatly by the bedroom door said enough. And a moment later, Larissa came padding back into the room with a glass of cool water in one hand and a damp cloth in the other. A quick mildly confused glance at the blue towel had her smirking.

“This won’t take long, pup,” were her words while she placed it on the floor and took a seat behind you, letting her legs frame your thighs. Leaning around, she placed the glass to your lips and watched intently as you took small sips. There was no prompting needed and there were no words said. Just the gentle tip and take, tip and take. You were thirsty and your Mistress provided. And the eye-contact you made, sharing your thanks and your appreciation and your knowledge of her love had her lighting up with the warmest little grin. “Is that enough?” She asked softly as she pulled the glass away one last time and ran the pad of her thumb along the corners of your lips.

“Yes, thank you,” your volume matched her whisper, quiet and reassuring.

A blonde eyebrow rose. You smiled shyly, amused by your own slip up.

“Yes, thank you Mistress.” And that seemed to be enough for her as she inclined her head and leaned back to sit up straight, correcting her posture and setting her shoulders and… oh…

When your eyes glanced up, locking onto the glass in front of you, you felt a river of desire burn hot within your body. Oh she was practically looming. So… so tall behind you… long legs spread… and you watched, utterly entranced, as she placed the glass down on the hardwood floor and then turned that pale graceful neck in one slow swoop, immediately fixing her gaze on yours through the reflection of the mirror. Oh your Mistress looked just as hungry as she said she was. Her expression practically screamed ‘Let me devour you’, but her actions were the thing that spoke to utter devastation.

“Adjust for me, pup,” her breath was sweet against your ear, making your hair move ever so slightly as she glided her hands down your sides and to your thighs, helping you maneuver yourself into a better position.

You winced at the ache behind your knees. There would most likely be bruises there tomorrow, but you never really minded that. It was just a trophy of sorts - a testament to your excellent skill of following directions. And once you were finally in the desired pose, stretching your legs out in front of you to quell the dull ache and relieve any pressure, Larissa took it upon herself to adjust you further. She let out a small huff of delight when you squeaked in surprise, taken aback by her speed once her legs moved and wound themselves around yours; using the strength of her calves and thighs to pull your legs apart, bend them so your feet were flat to the floor, and keep you spread open for her viewing pleasures. Instantly, you looked away; averting your eyes to the ceiling as embarrassment tugged at you. Air fled to the newly exposed skin and chilled the insides of your arousal-painted thighs, leaving you flushed and shivering in your Mistress’s grasp. The very same Mistress who had a mean streak for seeing you flustered and at a loss for words - making sure to maintain eye contact as long fingers wrapped around the front of your chin and jaw and tugged your head down.

“Look,” Larissa growled, her soft lips looking perfect despite the smudged lipstick. Her eyes were smoldering. Her body was poised to strike. “Look at yourself,” she repeated, softer, gentler, allowing you the time to obey.

And obey you did.

Sometimes it was hard to look in the mirror. You knew you were self-conscious and you were okay with telling people that, mainly because they usually felt the same. But ever since being with Larissa, that changed. The days in which you cringed at yourself became more and more rare - and only occasionally did you find yourself scrutinizing your body. You’d done it earlier that morning; staring into the same mirror; nearly falling apart at what you saw. But as you sat there then, in a completely different mood and light, you felt at least a little bit more empowered. And your eyes roamed helplessly, thinking only of pleasing Larissa.

From the slight line of your collarbone to the curve of your biceps, leading to the sides of your body as your forearms disappeared behind your back. From the chub of your tummy and the way it folded oh so naturally to the hills of your thighs, pressed outward and trembling with desire. From the crests of your knees to the blush of your chest to the dilated pupils in your eyes, going right down… down… down to the swollen wet heaven between your legs. Without even realizing it, your eyes darted away, spooked like an anxious bunny. But the wolf behind you noticed - and the wolf behind you was having none of it. The hand around your chin shook slightly. Your breath got caught in your throat.

“Don’t make me repeat myself, pup.”

And because her authority did unspeakable things to you, your gaze went sliding back to the main attraction. To the ambrosia Larissa desired. To the peak of your femininity. To the throbbing source of lust that sent warm lines of need through your veins.

“There we go…” Your Mistress’s hush had you shaking as her breath caressed the soft skin of your neck. “So pretty, aren’t you?” At your moment of silence, she pressed a kiss to the curve of your shoulder and kept her eyes burning into yours. “Aren’t you?” Her voice deepened.

Instantaneously, you nodded. It was hard to believe - it was - but if Larissa believed it… if Larissa believed it… then yes. Yes, absolutely. Yes yes yes. And your Mistress, thank heavens, let the lack of words slip for once and continued talking. Her fingers went lax around your chin and moved to caress your jaw, sending shivers down your spine.

“Yes, so pretty,” her cheek pressed lightly against yours, “so… so… beautiful… so brilliant, darling.”

You swallowed, taking in the sight of you all over again. Larissa’s legs keeping yours in place - Larissa’s hand on the side of your face - Larissa’s other hand inching along the softness of your inner thigh - Larissa’s gaze never wavering from where it’s poised over your shoulder - Larissa’s control wired through every tendon in her body - and Larissa’s lips pulled into the most sinful smirk as her fingers move faster than lightning and go to part the lips of your cunt. Leaving it bare and spread and cold. Leaving it wet and aching and open to her and only her. Your hips jumped, sparked by the touch, desperate for more. More more more.

“M-mistress-,” you whined, lips quivering.

“What?” Was her harsh reply as she used her middle and pointer finger to pull more - to stretch more - to leave the softness of your cunt on display. “What is it, puppy?”

You felt your brain fizzle into nothing. You felt your hands tighten into fists behind your back. Not a word was scrawled onto your tongue. Your lips parted helplessly. ‘Please,’ you wanted to say, ‘please please please. I need it. You. Anything. Everything you’re willing to give me. Please please please.’ But the only thing that came out was a small stuttering keen, flitting in and out of sound, making a raging storm of embarrassment boil within you. You didn’t often mean to make the sounds you made! Not always! It just… happened. Like your body had no control while your Mistress was present. Like it knew that she wanted a show and that it was the proper time to shine. To deliver. And with that, you bowed your head and averted your eyes.

That was strike one.

A quick wet ‘smack!’ rang out into the silence, breaking the erotic heaviness of your breath. At first, you were confused as to where the sound came from… but then the sting settled. And the impact snapped you back into yourself. And your hips jerked without control, startled by the suddenness of your Mistress’s cruelty. The columns of her fingers reprimanded you swiftly, landing firmly onto the lips of your cunt and the needy bud of your clit. Striking them only once but leaving your toes curling in a wicked mix of surprise, pleasure, and pain. You looked up into the mirror, eyes wide, taking in the way your skin began to turn red.

“Oh did I hurt you, pup? I’m sorry…” Larissa cooed, figuring that the only thing to make it better was to massage the pain away.

And in the very next moment, your body tensed. You watched, suspended in horror and anticipation, as one slim fingertip, dexterous and hellbent, dipped between the folds of your haven and began drawing slow… slow… slow circles around your clit.

“M- Miss- hah-” you tried mumbling her name, tried getting the title out to tell her yes yes yes feels so good, but all you could do was allow your lips to fall open and your head to fall back, resting against her shoulder as you gasped.

The pleasure she granted you was often indescribable - and it didn’t help that she could destroy you so easily. One long dark glance, one hand upon your arm, one word spoken against your ear - she wielded her seduction like a very carefully sharpened sword. And then she stabbed you with it until you were a mess on the bed. Or the couch. Or the floor. Or the countertop. And you reciprocated when you could- really, you often wanted to- but your Mistress quite enjoyed running through you so thoroughly. And her lesson in front of the mirror was no different.

“What’s wrong puppy?” Her tone spoke of fake sympathy. “Am I hurting you, darling?”

You picked your head up to plead with her- to tell her to go faster because your thighs were shaking and your cunt was aching and you felt so empty inside- but her touch was retreating as soon as you opened your mouth.

“No,” you whispered, gazing at her in the glass. “No no no,” your head was shaking back and forth; a testament to your desperation.

But your Mistress was not often shaken by things like that. Only the devil herself could withstand seeing her sinful little angel beg for pleasure; only the devil could step back and watch the poor thing drown in lust - and since that was the case, you figured Larissa was Satan in the flesh. She tore you apart and put you back together. She unraveled you and reclaimed your pieces. She pressed hot open kisses to your neck and let out little hums against your ear before running the flats of her palms over the skin of your thighs.

“I want you to tell me something,” she whispered, mindlessly splaying her fingers. Your eyes met in the mirror. Hers were dark and hooded. Yours were blown wide with suspenseful need. You nodded, lost for words. “I want you to tell me that I live lavishly.”

You frowned, momentarily confused. What did she mean? Yes- she did. She lived lavishly, sort of. No mansion and no riches, but definitely expensive clothing and trinkets and things of the sort. And she often treated you to pricey gifts and dinners and such. But why did she need-

“Just say it, pup.”

You licked your lips. “You- um- you live lav-lavishly Mistress.”

The pleased grin you got, shadowed by the column of your neck, had you smiling back nervously.

“Good.. good…,” Larissa hummed, pressing a small rewarding kiss to your shoulder. “And what does that mean, pup? What do I… surround myself with?”

And her hands went running along your thighs again, dipping closer and closer to your heaven each time before skittering away. She knew she was messing with your thoughts, but she didn’t particularly care. The cogs in your head were turning slowly, rusted with distracting lust. What did she surround herself with? You took a second to glance around the bedroom - at the mahogany furniture and four poster bed and sky-blue silk sheets and duvet and fluffy white pillows and the pretty patterned egg-shell carpet in the middle of the floor. You took in the high cathedral-style windows, the velvet curtains, Larissa’s ornate vanity, her perfume and makeups and hair-care products, her heels and walk-in closet. You thought about the salary she spent on garments and gloves and coats and how each of her outfits matched the seasons and the way her jewelry tended to sparkle in the light. Such luxuries were not things you could afford on your own. Such luxuries were glorious. Expensive. One could even say…

“Beautiful.”

It came out as an awed whisper. Larissa smiled sharply.

“What was that?”

Her fingers pitter-pattered along your skin. Closer… closer… closer…

“B-beautiful things,” you breathed.

“Mmm,” came her deep purr, spoken into your ear, caressing the inferno within you. “And what does that make you, puppy?”

You swallowed. That- well that made you… goodness, you couldn’t even think it. Your gaze returned to your body. Were you what she said? Were you truly? Were the discolored strikes of lightning across your stretched skin something to be admired? Were the veins of your feet enchanting? Was the hair that graced your upper-lip and sometimes your chin and the spots around your eyebrows all a thing of glory? Were your unkempt nail beds and regularly bowed posture and easily bruised skin all aspects of yourself to be adored?

Well… Larissa certainly thought so.

When you brought your attention away from the cellulite of your thighs and looked up, staring into those cool blue depths, you saw nothing but love. Nothing but desire. She knew you weren’t perfect and she loved you either way. She had you in her hands, leaning against her body, restrained and vulnerable and left open for her amusement. She had you keening and whining and wet beneath her touch. She wanted you. She needed you. She noticed you. And your Mistress lived up to that observation when she tutted lightly - ‘tut tut tut’ - three times with her tongue tapping against the roof of her mouth, spotting your hesitation.

“Say it for me,” her voice spoke devilishly, “say it. Just for me.”

“A-” you swallowed back a noise of anguished desire, “-a… b-beautiful thing…?”

“Is that a question?” She admonished immediately. You shook your head.

“No, Mistress. A beautiful-” you inhaled deeply and let the words out with your breath, “- a beautiful thing.”

Larissa smirked.

“Again.”

You let out a frustrated huff. You just wanted her to touch you. Her hands were so close - her fingertips were caressing the very edges of your heaven - she knew exactly what you wanted. But she wasn’t giving it to you. And your frustration was only another strike.

‘Smack!’ swift rectification was delivered to your cunt, forcing a husky gasp out of your open mouth while your upper body jerked forward- sparked by utter surprise. The sting settled again, red and tingly and sensitive, as you tried to regulate your breathing.

“Again,” your Mistress growled, teeth flashing behind red lips.

“A beautiful th-thing,” you sniffed, abdomen clenching when the pleasure from before slowly resumed - spurred on by Larissa’s gentle ministrations as one fingertip caressed circles around your clit.

“Mmmm there we go,” she drawled, “not so difficult, hm?” You shook your head instantly, not really knowing if it was a genuine question or not. It probably didn’t matter either way as your Mistress’s words continued - flowing like thick wine down the parched skin of your throat. “No, no… so precious…”

And the slow teasing circles became fast - switching to little back and forth swats right over the desperate nub of your clit, pressing light pressure and spreading the stickiness of your desperation over the needy bundle of nerves. You felt heat rise to the surface of your skin, making you sweat as your hips bucked into your Mistress’s hold. Little whines and moans, high-pitched and keening, slipped off of your tongue as wave after wave of lust flowed through your body. You felt your eyelids fall, draping you in darkness while your head went craning back to lean against your lover’s shoulder. Your hands, meanwhile, twitched like mad and clenched together - desperate to grasp at anything so you could ground yourself, but it was to no use. They were firmly tied, just set as a reminder for your obedience. For your submission.

“M-Mi-M-” her title teetered on the edge of your lips but never fell. You looked helpless - useless - pathetic. Whining beneath the dexterous touch of your Mistress; falling apart under the slightest bit of pressure. Drool pooled onto your tongue.

“What do I do with my beautiful things, pet?” She spoke quickly, cutting off your thoughts. You could barely understand what she was asking - but that wasn’t enough. It was a response or nothing. “What do I do with them?”

Your mind scrambled for something- anything- as you reveled in your pleasure. And finally, after what seemed like an eternity of searching for the correct response, you threw your head down and knocked your chin against your chest, eyes still scrunched and face twisted in pleasure.

“T-take care of- of them! Mistress!” You mewled brokenly, moving your hips to match the pace of her touch.

“Oh good girl!” She gasped, delighted by your good thinking, impressed by your cloudy intelligence. Yes yes- you were a good girl- such a good girl- so good for her so good so good so good- “Stick out your tongue.”

Your tongue, wet and quivering, lolled out of your mouth instantly and rested gently between your top row of teeth and your bottom lip, already slowly starting to drip with drool. You could feel her gaze burning into you through the mirror’s reflection. She was enjoying her little lesson oh so much.

“Good good.” You whimpered beneath her praise, feeling the muscles in your hips and legs start to burn with desperation. The very beginnings of your crescendo- your release- your wonderful little death- crested over the temple of your lust, hinting at oncoming pleasure. Larissa could feel the way your clit twitched from her touch, straining hopelessly with each pass of her finger. She loved it. She loved seeing you come undone. She loved seeing you admit to the truth.

“Repeat after me, slut. And don’t miss a beat,” she commanded. “I am beautiful.”

You began shaking your head, silently telling her no- it was too embarrassing- please don’t make me- but your Mistress didn’t care. It was just another strike in her book. Another wet aching ‘slap!’ that kissed against your cunt, making it raw and far more sensitive than it was before - forcing your defenses to crumble. Forcing you to submit wholeheartedly.

“I- I’m beautiful!” you cried, letting your tongue greet the heavy air once more.

“I am strong.”

“I’m- I’m- I am strong! Mis- Mistress, please!”

“I am capable.”

“‘M cap-capable- capable hnngg-”

“I am loved.”

“Y-yes! Loved- loved so much- yesyesyesyesplease-”

“Open your eyes.”

“Op- open-” you blinked as your mind caught up, letting the words fizzle into nothing within your mouth as you peered up at yourself through the mirror.

“There’s my needy girl,” your Mistress cooed, “look at you. Look at your pretty self. Look at your pretty cunt, puppy.”

And you did. You looked- no, admired- yourself. You admired your messy hair and the way little strands plastered themselves to the light sheen of sweat on your forehead. You admired your trembling body and the way the endearing cellulite and chub shook with each rock of your hips. You admired the flush across your skin and the heavy-lidded look of your eyes - and the way your eyebrows furrowed and your tongue trembled. You admired the closeness with your Mistress and how snug you were pressed against her body. Framed between her legs, held down and in place, controlled and loved. One hand working wonders between your legs, caressing your heaven, and one hand trailing along your body- from thigh to breast, feeling and wandering and loving all the same.

“This is just one thing I love about you, Y/n,” Larissa spoke, looking like an angel of desire sitting there behind you; hair askew and blue eyes darkened and red lips parted, silently affected by your longing.

You were shuddering in her hold, letting out a string of mindless sounds as the pleasure increased and increased and increased. The thread of rope in your abdomen was quickly unraveling, close to snapping, close to throwing you over the edge of a mind-blowing climax. And Larissa was relentless in her mission to push you into the depths.

“How good you are for me, how much control you give me,” she hissed, “how pretty you look panting like an eager little whore,” her accent embraced the words in a mind-dizzyingly beautiful hug. She sounded like the angels’ harps. “My needy darling- my pretty little pet- my baby- my Y/n. Mine mine mine. Say it.”

“Y-yours! Yoursyours yours-” you mumbled, eyes rolling back into your head as the wet sounds of your pleasure harmonized with your Mistress’s voice.

“Mineminemine, that’s it. That’s it, little puppy. Good- good.”

And that’s when you felt your mind go blank.

“M-M- ple-please- pleasepleaseplease gonna- gonna cu-cum- cum please- M-Miss-”

The heat was startling. You were shaking. You were crying. You were panting and whining and it felt so- so- sososososo-

“You want to cum, puppy? Is that what you’re trying to tell me? Hm? Beg, darling. Beg for me,” your Mistress demanded, voice as sharp as a knife’s edge.

“Yes, yes,” you gasped, nodding as you spoke and pleaded and begged begged begged- “Please please please I’m- I’m a good girl- good girl- yours- please lemme cum please Mistress- Mommy- Rissa- please- please Larissa PLEASE-!”

The rope snapped. The rocks beneath your feet slipped. The sun fell. The clouds disintegrated. The world clung onto the universe. The heat in your abdomen had you clenching- clenching- clenching-

And Larissa’s touch went away. Faded. Disappeared.

Your ears buzzed.

Your feet dangled off the edge.

The rope held itself together by the thinnest string.

“No.”

And your Mistress sealed your fate with one word alone.

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Did I do this instead of write more of my book, respond to some requests, and just generally pay attention to life outside of this? Yes. Yes, I did. I did also get a haircut though and I feel quite beautiful. So- anyway. Hope you enjoyed. - Ripley x

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