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flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash · 5 years ago

Text

Pursue - Jim Hopper x Reader

Summary: How far can you push Hopper before he loses control?

Characters: Jim Hopper x female reader

Words: 5,310

Warnings: smut, language/dirty talk, light bondage, throat fucking, praise kink, implied age gap, I think that’s it? This is dirty smut so if that’s not your thing, don’t read.

Author’s Note: This was written for sherrybaby14′s Fall Into You writing challenge. My prompt was to use the line “You want to be my good girl, don’t you?”

Pursue

Grinning with amusement, you twirled the phone cord around your finger and tried to sound innocent, though you both knew it was all an act. The mission was to drive Chief Jim Hopper mad with lust, and so far, your plan was working brilliantly.

You had been teasing him all day, starting in the morning when he had received a call right as he got to the office. You could practically feel his surprise at your bold words, detailing to him how you were still laying naked in bed and wrapped up in sheets that smelled like him, wishing he was there to satisfy the lust you were currently feeling. He had growled out that you were going to regret teasing him when he got off work, and when you baited him further by saying that maybe you should just pull out your vibrator and pretend it was him, he gave a strangled groan and hung up. You had called about an hour later, and when Flo answered and said Hopper was busy, you asked her to relay the vague message of, “I took care of the situation myself.”

It was now his lunch break, and you had, of course, taken advantage of the opportunity to call again, knowing that he couldn’t resist his curiosity about what else you’d have to say. You mentioned buying some new lingerie, a black lace teddy that clung to your curves like a second skin.

“The neckline goes down a bit too low, so that I’m almost popping out. And I had no idea that the back would be a thong, but oh well, too late to return it now,” you said with an exaggerated sigh, listening intently for his response.

Satisfaction darted through you at the unmistakable sound of increased breathing on the other end; you could clearly envision him in his office chair, leaning forward over his desk with a death grip on the receiver. The thought of him sitting there with a hard-on and trying to imagine what you looked like only served to ramp up your own desire, thighs squeezing together where you lounged on the couch in the aforementioned lingerie.

“Don’t you want to know why it’s too late to return it?” you pouted, biting your lip to stifle a giggle.

“Why?” His voice was raspy with desire, making it sound so low and commanding that you shivered.

Giving a slow grin, you whispered, “Because I’ve been wearing it all morning, so it’s soaked from me thinking about you.”

Dead silence. He must be holding his breath, body taut and unmoving. You knew because you were doing the same thing. Then, the smallest click...and the following silence lasted only a few seconds before the beep of a disconnected line sounded.

He hung up?!

Annoyed at the thought of him ending the conversation right as it was getting good, you redialed the station. Poor Flo was probably getting sick of transferring your calls to Hopper’s office, but she did so anyways. After the dozenth ring, it was obvious he had either left or was purposely ignoring you. Hanging up the phone, you puffed out an irritated breath that the game was over...for now.

Getting up from the couch, you decided to make a sandwich for lunch. You grabbed your purple house robe and put it on over the black teddy before going to the kitchen to hunt down some lunch meat and bread. You really should go to the store later, seeing as how Hopper’s frequent visits had dwindled the fridge down to practically nothing. You and the Chief had officially started dating about six months ago, but it was only the past month or so that he seemed to spend more nights here than at his cabin.

Getting the tall, brooding man’s attention hadn’t been an easy feat. It had taken weeks of you finding various excuses to stop by the station for him to finally get the hint. He later admitted that his cop buddies had all but begged him to ask you out, and that he genuinely hadn’t thought you’d be interested, the silly man. Usually you preferred playing a little harder to get, but from the moment you moved into Hawkins and met Chief Jim Hopper, you wanted him. And if you had to act a little too obviously interested to get his attention, then so be it. Otherwise he’d have never gotten a clue, since he’d had some warped idea that you were too young and pretty for him.

But once you had gone on that first date, the rest was history. It had been hot and heavy from the start, especially after he’d asked what you were doing at Enzo’s with him and not someone younger and more carefree, someone who had their life together. You had smiled, grabbed his hand where it laid on the table, and told him that none of the youthful boys around town made you wet with just one glance, and none of them made you feel both recklessly turned on and completely safe at the same time. But he did.

He had practically eye-fucked you for the rest of dinner, and you barely made it back to your place in one piece, Hopper unable to keep both hands on the wheel during the drive there. He had fucked you up against the wall right inside the front door, and it would be a miracle if the neighbors hadn’t heard your screams of ecstasy.

The chemistry between the two of you was off the charts, and it was by far the best sex you’d ever had. Just the thought of the things Hopper could do, of the reactions he was able to elicit from your body, had a shiver going down your spine as you cut the sandwich in half and took a bite.

You had just finished chewing and swallowing when there came the unmistakable sound of tires screeching recklessly into the driveway, followed shortly by the loud slam of a car door. Putting down the sandwich, you walked from the kitchen into the living room. Right as you were starting to feel a bit alarmed, someone came up the front steps and crossed the porch, and your worry instantly turned into excitement. Those heavy, booted steps could only belong to one man...

Standing there with bated breath, you heard the key you had recently given him turn in the lock, anticipation making your thighs clench. The door swung open and there he was, filling the entrance with his broad shoulders, gaze immediately zeroing in on where you stood in the middle of the living room. He walked inside, the door slamming slightly as he forcibly closed it with his boot. Dressed in his snug Chief’s uniform, your mouth watered at the sight of all that sexually frustrated man focused in your direction. His eyes trailed down over your form, nostrils flaring as he realized that all that stood between him and the lingerie you had teased him about was a thin layer of purple terry cloth.

He took a step forward, but then halted when you danced backwards two steps. Brows furrowing, he took another step to test the waters, and sure enough, you backed up again. A teasing smile and cocked eyebrow signaled your enjoyment of the game, though Hopper looked far from amused. He suddenly came at you with a growl, but before he could get within arm’s reach, you turned with a squeal and fled.

Adrenaline, fueled by a mixture of fear and excitement, pumped through your veins as bare feet darted from the living room and across cool kitchen tiles. The roles were suddenly switched from earlier, and the pursuer was now the prey.

Skidding around the counter island in the kitchen, you grabbed the edge of the surface to help halt your forward movement, breath accelerated as you saw Hopper storm into the room only a second later. He eyed the counter with disdain then looked up and locked eyes with you, the intensity in his stare causing hair to stand up on the back of your neck.

“You’re only digging yourself a deeper grave, sweetheart,” came the gruff warning.

“That so?” you taunted back. “Guess you’ll just have to punish me then...if you think you’re quick enough, old man.”

You saw the flash of anger in his eyes at your jab a split second before he charged around the counter on your right. Almost falling for it, you started to run to the left before realizing at the last second that he had only feinted going one way before abruptly turning around and charging the opposite. His intent was to cut you off before you could make it out of the kitchen, but you ruined the plan by skidding to a stop on the tiles. He was almost within arm’s reach when you flew back the other way, careening around the same side of the counter you had entered from and making a break across the kitchen back towards the living room.

Heart in your throat, you sprinted through the lower level of the house, the bottom of the robe flapping out behind you like a beacon. There was a dart of euphoric satisfaction that you had thwarted him, as you beelined straight for the staircase with the goal of making it to the bedroom and closing the door. If you could get it locked in time, then it would be beyond entertaining to see what his next move would be. Images of him begging you to open the door and let him in flashed through your mind, making you smirk with sadistic glee. However, you should’ve known he wouldn’t let you get that far. Despite his size, Hopper was swifter and lighter on his feet than most people would suspect. In fact, you’d later look back and wonder if he had purposely let you think you were winning, and had actually been toying with you the entire time before waiting for the perfect moment to swoop in and capture his prey.

You hadn’t even heard him gaining on you, so it came as a surprise when you only made it halfway up the staircase before strong fingers wrapped around your ankle, causing you to fall to your knees on the carpeted steps with a cry. Refusing to admit defeat, you continued to try and move forward, leg kicking against his grip, but he was unrelenting. You felt him come up the steps behind you, the presence of his large body hovering expectantly, waiting for you to turn over and accept your fate.

“You should know better than to run from the police, baby,” he drawled in a raspy, lust-ridden voice.

A shudder of arousal went through you at the words, and you slowly turned over onto your back, his hand still holding your ankle captive. He was looming over you, his broad frame blocking out the rest of the world. Looking up at his face, you saw that his pupils were blown wide with lust. The sight caused a smirk to twitch at the edges of your lips, satisfied to know that you weren’t the only one physically affected by all of this.

“You think this is funny?” he growled menacingly, leaning down until his face was inches from your own. “Did you enjoy making me chase after you? Perhaps I should show you what happens to bad little girls who play games with the chief.”

With that, his grip left your ankle as he all but tore into the tie of your robe, flinging it open and off your body. A groan of masculine arousal accompanied his hand diving between your legs, and you gave a soft cry at the feel of his fingers pressing into the soaked crotch of the teddy.

“You weren’t lying about not being able to return this, baby. Even if the wetness wasn’t enough evidence, they’d be able to smell your cunt on it from a mile away.”

Gasping at his filthy words, you were so focused on arching up into his fingers for more friction that you barely registered the sound of clinking metal. The realization of what he was doing hit a second too late, as Hopper lifted his hand from your crotch, grabbed both your wrists, and had the handcuffs clicked into place in the span of mere seconds. Even though it was futile, you still pulled at the cuffs, which only served to press the unrelenting metal into your flesh. You gave a huff of frustration that instantly turned into a squeal of surprise when he picked you up off the steps and threw you over his shoulder. Desire swirled in you at how his strength made you feel light as a feather, while the world also swirled as your head was suddenly upside down and staring at an absolutely delectable ass in tight, beige pants.

Your own ass must’ve also been a distraction, as a warm hand came down with a smack on your left buttock that was bared by the thong of the teddy. He gave a second smack to the other cheek, causing you to groan and clench your fingers into the back of his shirt as he started up the rest of the steps and down the hall towards the bedroom.

Once inside the room, he tossed you down onto the bed, back bouncing on the mattress from the force. Immediately trying to roll over and away, unwilling to admit defeat, your escape plan was cut short before it even began. His unyielding body came down over your own, thick thighs straddling your waist as he gathered your cuffed wrists in one hand and pinned them to the mattress above your head.

Leaning down, he took your earlobe between his teeth before whispering, “Ah ah, baby. None of that. I caught you fair and square, and now you’re mine.”

Shivering at both the feel of his mouth and the words coming out of it, your body squirmed underneath him with anticipation, declaring its surrender without your brain’s permission. Moving down to your neck, he sucked the flesh roughly, bringing blood to the surface so that you’d carry the mark of his possession around for days to come.

The hand not holding your wrists captive ran down over your side, mapping the curves of your waist and thigh, his calloused fingers causing goosebumps to erupt on your flesh. He continued to skim past the places that wanted his touch the most, tracing fingertips lightly along the sides of your breasts in the black lace and along your lower stomach, before changing direction up and away from the part of you that wept for him. He caressed you slowly until every nerve ending was straining for him to do more, to give your body what it was craving. In response to your panting whimpers, he brought his mouth up to hover mere centimeters from your own, teasing you with his warm breaths.

“What wrong, baby? I thought you enjoyed playing games?”

Damn him to hell. You had no clue how he still had any control left, but apparently he was keeping a tight rein on his desire until he paid you back in full for your earlier teasing. You had meant to drive him mad with lust and be in control of the situation, but had apparently underestimated Hopper’s revenge tactics, which left you as the one panting and begging for more.

Giving a groan of frustration when both large hands lifted from your body, you felt cold and bereft. Frustration turned to excitement at the sight of his fingers undoing the front of his pants, and you subconsciously licked your lips at the sight. Giving a deep chuckle at the motion, Hopper rasped, “Yea, you got the right idea, baby.”

When the pants were unbuttoned and unzipped, he reached inside and pulled out his thick cock, the tip already weeping with desire. Unable to help the impulse, you lowered your hands towards it like a moth to flame, but they were grabbed roughly before you could even make contact. Shoving them back into the mattress above your head as he once more covered your body with his own, he leaned down and growled, “You want to be my good girl, don’t you?”

A raspy moan and frantic nod was your response, the teddy becoming even more soaked at his words. A slow, arrogant smirk curled his lips; Hopper knew how much you got off on being praised, and he wasn’t afraid to use that knowledge to his advantage.

“Then do as I say and keep your hands just like that, sweetheart. If you don’t move them while I fuck your pretty little mouth, then maybe I’ll let you come.”

Another panting nod was all you could manage at the moment, your gaze fixated on the cock bobbing closer to you as he moved up the bed until he was straddling your shoulders. Grabbing his dick with one large hand, he gave a few slow, rolling strokes before placing the tip against your lips.

“Open up, baby. Time to show the chief what a good little cock sucker you are.”

You obeyed instantly, lips parting on a moan as Hopper fed you his cock. He started off slow and easy, barely moving his hips, which automatically motivated you to take control. Moving your head back and forth, you took him in with no added assistance. Grunts of pleasure fell from above as your tongue swirled around his tip and mouth worked his length. Looking upwards, you felt another gush of wetness between your legs at the sight of Hopper staring back down at you, heavy-lidded gaze focused on the sight of his cock disappearing between your lips.

Suddenly, he went from passive recipient to once more being in charge. His hand grabbed the back of your head and pulled forward while thrusting his hips. The movement forced his cock down your throat until his balls hit your chin and dark pubic hair tickled your nose, a strangled, fuck coming from the man above you. Eyes instantly watering as you gave a slight gag, you looked up at Hopper pleadingly, even though you knew the sadistic part of him loved watching you struggle to take him.

It was all you could do to keep your wrists in place and not try to buck him off, but then his other hand came down and gently cupped your face as he rumbled, “What a good girl. You look so fucking sexy while choking on my dick, baby. I can’t decide if I want to come down your throat or wait until I get in that beautiful pussy.”

His words caused your throat to instantly relax and loosen in submission, while your pussy clenched tightly with jealousy that it wasn’t the one being currently filled. As if he knew your body’s new dilemma, he reached back and down between your legs, which instantly spread to make room for his hand. Shoving the soaked fabric to the side, he ran a thick finger down your slit, causing your hips to buck and throat to moan around his cock, the vibrations wringing a strangled snarl from his lips. Two fingers easily slid inside your dripping cunt, his thrusts accompanied by the sloppy wet sounds of your arousal gushing around his digits. You felt dizzy, both with desire and the lack of oxygen, as you laid there with his dick down your throat, clenching on his fingers. Both your mouth and pussy provided him with a warm, wet welcome and begged for more, the two of you groaning simultaneously at the sensations.

Disappointment and oxygen hit your lungs when he suddenly pulled out of your mouth, a long string of saliva hanging precariously between the tip of his cock and your lower lip before it broke and fell. Giving a cough and taking a deep gasp of air, you felt his fingers also leave your body as he reached into the front pocket of his undone pants and pulled out a set of keys. It was obvious by his pulsing, reddened cock that he had been close to coming but decided to wait until he got between your thighs, a decision which made your cunt pulse in eager anticipation.

Jingling the keys teasingly between his fingers, he said, “You still going to be a good girl if I take these off?”

Nodding frantically, you arched your body underneath him, panting, “Yes! Please, Jim!”

Satisfied with your submissive response, he leaned up over your head, and you felt the cuffs fall away as he unlocked them. He set both cuffs and keys on the bedside table before taking a moment to bring your wrists down in front of his face, rubbing them gently while inspecting to make sure there hadn’t been any damage done. The gesture sent a flutter through your chest; even during intense moments such as this, Hopper’s protectiveness still reared its head, reinforcing that you were always safe with him.

Once satisfied with his inspection, he moved off the bed before turning to fix desire-blazed eyes on you, thighs spread and chest panting as you awaited his next move. Without hesitation, he reached down and shoved the teddy’s straps off your shoulders, roughly peeling it down your body as if he were a kid tearing into a long-awaited present on Christmas morning. The fabric scraped down over your rock-hard nipples, causing a faint shiver, then was pulled off your hips and legs so that the cool air of the room hit your desire-glazed cunt.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful.”

Smiling at his praise, you arched your back a little and cupped both hands under your breasts, offering yourself up to him.

The animalistic sound that came from his throat sent chills down your spine, and he wasted no time in tearing off his uniform. You watched greedily as more and more skin was revealed, biting your bottom lip to muffle the moan of arousal when he stood naked and proud. You got a fine view of his muscled ass when he walked across the room to his chest of drawers, yanking the top one open and pulling out a condom. He came back but stopped at the foot of the bed, his sharp gaze searing a path down the length of your curves before lifting and locking onto your own.

“Be a good girl and get on your hands and knees for the chief, baby,” he commanded in his best cop voice while tearing open the condom and rolling it down his throbbing cock.

Body begging to be filled, you immediately obeyed, flipping onto all fours on the mattress, ass up and legs widely parted in presentation. Unable to resist a little teasing, you slowly rocked your hips back and forth while looking over your shoulder at him with a knowing grin. A jolt of excitement went through you at the expletive hissed from a clenched jaw, his predatory gaze raking downward, greedily taking in the way you were spread out on the bed and waiting for him. He had frozen for a moment with your movement, but quickly recovered and moved forward onto the bed at record speed, his body radiating heat and hunger as it came up behind your own.

His rough hands trailed down over your sides while his cock bumped against your inner thighs, causing a shudder to ripple along your flesh. Arching back into him, you let out a whine of impatience, tired of the games and just wanting him to fuck you.

Knowing you were getting desperate, he leaned down so his front fit to your back with mouth at your nape, as he whispered, “You ready for my cock, sweetheart?”

His words stole your breath, so that you could only nod frantically before pulling enough oxygen to breath out a shaky, “Yes.”

Unable to deny both of you any longer, he reached down with one hand to line his dick up at your entrance, and slowly pushed inside. Mewling with pleasure, you tried to widen your thighs even more on the mattress and gripped the bedspread as your walls stretched around his thick length. Fuck, but he was big, and your body never failed to remind you of that. No matter how many times the two of you had sex, that slight burn of possession always made itself known during that first thrust.

Once he was balls deep, he went still for a few long moments, both of you savoring the feel of him deep inside. Then he planted his left hand down on top of your own on the mattress, the gesture dominant and possessive, yet also reassuring, while his other hand snaked around the front of your waist and dove between your open thighs. The tips of his fingers unerringly found your swollen clit, zeroing in with tight, fast circles in the rhythm needed to make you moan and instinctively push back into him. If there was one thing Hopper had learned over the past months of dating, it was exactly how to touch you in a way guaranteed to make come.

And if there was one thing you had learned about Hopper, it was that dirty talk affected him just as much as it did you.

“You can go again later, right?” you tried to sound seductive and saucy, but it came out as more of a breathless whimper.

“Was that an insult, little girl? You think I can’t keep up with you?” he growled in your ear, fingers speeding up into even faster and tighter circles on your bundle of nerves.

Shaking your head, you gasped, “I just really...w-want…I want to...”

“Want to what?”

Almost convulsing at the carnal, deep command in his voice, you panted loudly for a few moments before answering. “I want to finish what I started...suck you off. I want to feel you come in my mouth.” The words were puffed out in a rush at the end, head dropping forward from the overwhelming pleasure of his body over and in yours.

“Fuck,” was the only verbal response, followed by the hand on top of yours lifting to grip tightly onto your hip. His thrusts increased until you had to clench the bedspread for dear life to keep from being forced face-first into the headboard.

Even though it was usually him using filthy words to take control, to make you beg and come, the idea of turning the tables caused more wetness to run down your thighs. He might be dominating your body right now, but you had the key to dominating his mind.

“Do you want that? Me taking your cock in my mouth, deep down my throat.”

“Sweetheart…” he groaned warningly, his hips stuttering out of rhythm for a moment as he fought off his orgasm. The fingers at your hip dug in painfully as he jackhammered into you, while his other hand kept its punishing rhythm on your clit. Toes curling, you could feel him start to lose his iron-tight control, and fuck if that didn’t amp your own arousal up to new heights.

“I want it...I want to suck your dick and...swallow every drop of your cum,” you gasped between heaving breaths.

“Jesus fuck!” he cried, and a dart of triumph went through you as he upped his movements in a way that was pure carnal instinct, his control flying out the window and body taking over. Cock pounding so hard that his balls slapped your clit with each thrust, the wet sounds coming from your bodies was so obscenely erotic that you could only moan in response and hold on. The coil drew tighter until you were unable to speak even if you wanted to, knuckles turning white and every muscle in your body tensed as you hurtled towards the peak.

With an animalistic groan, Hopper went over the edge, his large body shaking behind yours as the throes of ecstasy hit him. Not wanting to leave you behind, he kept thrusting, trying to drag you down with him. When his hand lifted away for a split second, only to then come down hard in a slap directed perfectly on your throbbing clit, you exploded. Sparks of pleasure radiated through your entire body, making your back arch and cunt pulse as you wordlessly cried out Hopper’s name like a litany.

It took a while to come down from the high, both your bodies shuddering against one another with aftershocks. Giving a whimper when his now-limp cock left your body, you collapsed onto your side at the same time he also rolled onto the bed. Snuggling up behind you, his body spooned along your own so you could still feel his chest rapidly rising and falling, his breaths loudly puffed out against the back of your neck and causing goosebumps on your sweat-dampened flesh.

You laid there in silence for a couple minutes, just soaking in the moment and allowing your heart rates to slow down to a more normal rhythm. Rolling over to face Hopper, you ran soothing fingers over his chest and looked up at him, happy to see his usual brooding expression had relaxed and the usual lines of tension he carried in his face and shoulders had eased.

“So?” you asked expectantly, trying not to grin when his eyebrows raised in question.

“So, what?” he grumbled, voice already taking on a sleepy quality that let you know he wouldn’t be conscious for much longer.

“So...was I a good girl? Or do I need to try again?”

His eyes, which had been drifting shut, shot back open and locked onto yours. He studied you intently, cop face firmly in place. “Ma’am, are you purposely trying to kill me? Because murdering a police officer is a serious offense.”

Giggling with delight, which made his own lips curl upwards at the edges, you leaned in and whispered against his lips, “Even more serious than running from said police officer?”

Closing the distance so that his mouth covered your own, he kissed you breathless before pulling back and murmuring, “They’re both serious, and you’ll be punished accordingly once I get feeling back in my legs.”

Smiling, you traced fingers down along the side of his stubbled cheek and across his strong jaw. “I think it was only fair, considering.”

“Hmm?” was the rumbled response, his eyes once again closed.

“I just figured that after all the pursuing I did in the beginning to get your attention, it was about time you were the one who had to chase me.”

Groaning in exasperation, he wrapped large arms around your waist and pulled you in close, body pressed full-length against his own. “You and the boys at the station are never going to move on and let me live that down, are you?” This was murmured in a low tone that let you know he wouldn’t be conscious for much longer, and you internally preened that he was so worn out.

Since it was obvious he didn’t plan on returning to work anytime soon, you laid your head on the pillow next to his with a contented sigh. A quick nap couldn’t hurt before you roused him for round two and made good on your dirty words from earlier. You could hardly wait to try and make him lose control again, and maybe you could even sneak those handcuffs back in somehow.

A soft snore broke the silence, Hopper unable to stay conscious long enough to finish the teasing conversation. However, knowing he was asleep made you bold enough to answer his question in a more honest way, the words a whispered confession of commitment.

“If it means more afternoons like this, then no, I won’t move on...ever.”

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psychosistr · 5 years ago

Photo

FOWL Agent “Bokor Baron”

Art by @thefriendlyfour , full bio below the cut:

Physical Description: An extremely tall and buff eastern redtail hawk (otherwise known as a chicken hawk) with a physique that leaves him an inch or two larger than even the likes of Steelbeak. Mostly white feathers on the front of his body with a spotted-band of dark feathers across his broad chest, brown feathers along his back, hands, and the upper half of his head (from his beak up) with the typical speckled markings along his back and arms, and his breed’s namesake red tail feathers.His eyes are a bit odd for his species, though, with black rings around them and an intense red color that’s so vibrant it’s practically glowing (given his powers, though, it might actually be glowing for real…). Has dark brown hair/head feathers woven together in a way similar to cornrows that end at the middle of his neck.

Outfit: Wears a loose-fitting blood red top with a lighter red interior (though the actual colors can change depending on what spirits and/or deities he’s invoking) and a large black collar- typically keeps the chest part opened fairly wide to show off his strong torso and the sleeves rolled up around the elbows to do the same for his arms; has a large pocket on the right side that he reserves for small charms. Keeps his shirt tied closed with a dark purple and black striped sash which is also used for holding various larger dolls and charms as well as a well-worn brown leather pouch with a black bird-skull motif on his back-right side that holds his most powerful and dangerous charms and amulets. Pants are black leather with a purple band around the hips, but the purple part is rarely seen with how far down his top normally hangs. Accessories include a black leather-cord necklace with a circular black metallic pendant emblazoned with a white veve for one of his primary deities, several beaded bracelets on his left wrist (in black, red, white, purple, and alternating combinations of the colors), and a hat that at first looks like a rather flat black cap but is actually a collapsible top hat with a dark purple band holding a few red flowers and small bird skulls along the brim. Typically forgoes shoes and just walks around with his talons exposed.

Gender: Male.

Sexual Orientation: Pansexual and very upfront about what catches his eye.

Age: 32

Nicknames: The Baron, The Bokor, Big Red, Redtail, and Henry.

The last one is Steelbeak’s name for him and a purposeful mispronunciation of his real name rather than a nickname.

Real Name:Henri Vivant

First name is pronounced “on-ree”.

Background:

Little Henri grew up in New Orleans as part of a long-line of Louisiana Voodoo practitioners, spending most of his childhood in a small house with his grandmother and five older siblings.

From the first time he mentioned being able to see the ghosts and spirits around him, he was taught the names of the spirits and deities to call on to help himself and others as well as the proper rituals to summon them when necessary. Kids outside of his family would tease and bully him for talking to “imaginary friends”, as they would put it, but he enjoyed the looks of terror on their faces once he learned how to invoke spirits and allow them to possess his body- revenge was something he GREATLY enjoyed.

Over time, Henri’s viewpoints began to differ from those of his family: Instead of wanting to use his abilities to help people, he wanted to use them to gain power and recognition. Instead of the more benevolent spirits and deities his family formed connections with, he sought out the more powerful and destructive ones. Instead of a simple life as a houngan, he wanted the dark powers of a bokor.

Needless to say, his family was very disappointed with his choices in life and all but disowned him by the time he was old enough to move out on his own. It didn’t take long after that for him to start using his powers to commit crimes and earn the attention of FOWL- he accepted their invitation and became a full agent at age 28.

Was partnered with Steelbeak about two years ago and to this day is still considered by the chief officer to be one of the WORST partners he’s ever had. It wasn’t hard for Steelbeak to figure out Henri, by then dubbed “The Bokor Baron”, was a two-faced snake in the grass who wanted the chief officer title and the power that came with it, even if it meant killing the current chief officer to do so. Their partnership lasted two and a half weeks before High Command finally agreed to Steelbeak’s numerous requests for a different partner.

Current Position: Active field agent for FOWL, he’s often called in to deal with more supernatural related missions (ancient magical artifacts, getting information from deceased individuals, clearing spirits out of FOWL facilities, etc.).

Personality:

Henri will act suave, gentlemanly, and cordial to anyone upon first meeting them, winning over most people almost instantly as if they are mysteriously compelled to like him…

The truth is, though, that this side of him is just an act to win people over. One of the charms he carries with him at all times increases his natural charisma and desirability to those who fall for his gentlemanly demeanor- once it takes effect, individuals under its sway will almost always be inclined to side with him during disputes, take his advice to heart, and, for those attracted to men, more often than not they end up adoring him to the point of a sort of pseudo-infatuation.

Those with a naturally higher tolerance against magic or attunement to the spiritual realms have shown resistance or even immunity to this effect. Other than the natural immunity, the only ones who aren’t affected by his charm are those who have a chance to know what he’s really like before his gentlemanly act can fool them.

To-date there are less than 10 people in all of FOWL who’ve proven immune to his charms, with High Command and Steelbeak being four of them.

Deep down, his real personality is manipulative, greedy, and power-hungry. He wants to be considered the best in whatever field he is a part of, and FOWL is no exception.

Should be noted that he does have a bit of a temper problem when things don’t go his way, often leading to him losing his composure and slipping into his much thicker New Orleans accent while cursing and throwing a fit.

Steelbeak is extremely good at provoking this reaction out of his ex-partner and does so with glee, despite it causing anyone under the other man’s charms to see Steelbeak as a horrible person for angering Henri in the first place- he doesn’t care, though, it’s totally worth it to see him blow up and lose his cool.

Interesting Bonus Facts:

Can speak both English and French fluently, and will often pretend to be French when first meeting someone to help with his gentlemanly illusion.

While he predominantly uses Louisiana style voodoo, Henri is also well-versed in hoodoo, mainly practicing it for the materials and charms that can be made from the practice.

Has cigars and rum on him at all times. The cigars are strictly for his invocations, as is the rum, but he’ll occasionally take a swig of the rum when he’s so inclined.

Can sing and dance really well, both for the sake of his rituals and invocations, and just for fun.

He’ll never admit it out loud, but his favorite song is “La Vie En Rose” because his grandmother used to sing it to him when he was little. He knows it in both English and French and will sometimes sing it when he’s stressed or having trouble sleeping

IF he ever lets someone get close enough to let his guard down around them, he might sing it for them occasionally.

Although he’ll swear up and down that he adores the way those charmed by his spells fawn over him, in reality he finds them boring and weak and could never fall for someone so simple-minded.

His ideal romantic interest would be someone with a strong enough mind and spirit to resist his charming magic, who’s assertive enough to put him in his place when he acts up without trying to “steal his spotlight”, and could see ghosts and spirits like he can so they would never think he was crazy for talking to himself.

#darkwing duck #dwd #dwd oc #my oc #FOWL #fowl agent Bokor Baron #thefriendlyfour

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yourmomswallet · 5 years ago

Text

Hold Onto Your Hat, Cowboy

Around 10 000 words. Make a cup of something, get a nice blanket or fan, and sit your butt down for some Himbo Goodness.

~~~~~~~~

With the midday sun beaming down on you, you can’t help but wear something on your head and eyes. You look like a shady dealer of some sort, walking in the shadows and shade of the streets. You can’t find the bar where the boys decided to meet, even though they said it was right across from the motel. As you search, you stop at the stalls and small stores of the town, just visiting around.

Checking your watch, you see that it’s past the time you’ve agreed to meet the gang, almost a quarter after 7. You curse yourself for getting carried away browsing the town’s shops. Hopefully, a new bracelet or ring will suffice for an apology to each of them. You walk around a bit more to try to find the bar. The bright sun has dimmed down a significant amount, to where you don’t need your sunglasses to make out signs and faces.

Finally, you find the bar. Illuminated by string lights and covered with interesting decorations, you walk into the building. You don’t immediately sit at the table they’re at, but go to the barkeep for a drink. They won’t miss you for just a few more minutes.

The tall stool feels like heaven to your tired feet. Setting your small satchel down on the bar top, you peel off your hood to reveal your face. The fans blast air into your face, your scalp and skin reveling in the way the breeze makes you feel cooler. You feel eyes staring at you, burning into your head. Looking over, you can see a buff looking man in a cowboy-like hat. His tunic is strange, too, unlike any shirt you’ve seen worn in the area. He must be a foreigner.

“Can I help you, sir?”

“Why, yes you can, baby. Yer all alone, and I’d hate to leave someone as pretty as you by yerself.” He has a somewhat charming smile on his face, trying to make you pay more attention to him. To impress you, he leans his arm on the bar and flexes, making sure to seem as natural as possible. You show no signs of being impressed, just a polite smile.

“Well, I’m not alone. Some of my friends are here with me.” You point behind you to your friends. He doesn’t exactly get the message as he assumes you’re accompanied by two women who are dressed like you. He sees the group he’s supposed to be following behind them. What could happen in a few moments without stalking them? Especially with a lovely thing like you as a distraction.

“Would ya mind me buying you a drink then? Anything for a beautiful woman,” he compliments.

“Hmmm… I’ll take you up on your offer, cowboy,” you say. You’re still suspicious of him, making a note to make sure he doesn’t tamper with your beverage. “Make it a whiskey on the rocks.”

“So ya like ‘em strong, huh?” he asks while getting the barkeep’s attention to order your drink.

“I’m a big girl,” you inform him.

As he orders, you look behind you to see if your friends are still there. You notice Joseph trying to wave you over. Interestingly enough, he seems impatient about it. His motions are obvious to any onlooker, as his exaggerated movements make him appear to be swatting insects quite feverishly.

“Excuse me, sir. My friend needs me at the moment. I’ll be right back!”

“No problem, baby. I’ll watch yer seat for ya.” He winks at you and you hesitantly smile back.

Walking to the table, you make sure the peculiar yet oddly charming man isn’t tampering with your drink. You didn’t need ‘being drugged’ added to your list of awful experiences during the adventure. The older man finally stops his swatting and waving to talk to you.

“Who’s that fellow over there?” he whispers. Taking a hint from his voice level, you follow along.

“I have no idea. He offered to get me a drink, so I’m just being nice for the free alcohol. Why? Is he one of Dio’s henchmen or something?” you ask, still watching over your just poured drink.

The broad man takes out a cigarette and lights it, taking a drag before drinking out of his glass. He downs it in one gulp.

It’s Avdol’s turn to warn you about the odd cowboy.

“We have suspicions that he’s been sent by Dio to track us. While you were gone, he seemed to be near every place that we were, constantly.”

Your eyebrows furrow as you pick up on what exactly happened when you were gone. Your mind churns to come with an idea to get information out of the man. As soon as a feasible plan comes into grasp, you make it known to the group and hightail it to the bar as to not seem like you plan on ditching him. Before you can leave, you’re stopped after a few steps.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay? This seems dangerous, and we don’t even know if this man is actually one of Dio’s henchmen. One of us can follow after you,” Kakyoin suggests.

“She’s a grown woman. Just let her go,” Jotaro insists. The man doesn’t look to be much of a threat.

You thank him for concern, but you know none of them would be able to help you out. Besides, your Stand was certainly able to handle whatever the man could throw at you. There’s no other choice other than to take this man head-on.

As you settle back in your seat, you can make out the ice that has slightly melted since you were gone. Unfortunately, your drink is watered down but still bearable. The sting in your throat and chest were enough to distract you from the slight water taste. You feel a bit more comfortable talking to the flirty man after having alcohol in your system.

“So, you never told me your name. Should I call you “stranger” for the rest of the night?” you ask, purposely fluffing your hair back to seem like you care about how you appear to him.

“I suppose I could let you know, but ya better make good on your sayin’ you’ll be with me the entire night,” he states, tapping off his cigarette’s ashes into a tray. Looking your way, meeting your eyes, he takes a drag of his cigarette and blows the smoke into a heart shape. How he did it, you didn’t know. The Crusaders look at each other in disgust at what’s taking place. Silently, they commend you for taking one for the team. For Holy.

You giggle. “Well, if you’ll let me. A big, strong man like you probably has a line up of pretty women just waiting for their turn.” You look away, pretending to be upset. Your hand meets your cheek and your lips pout.

Calloused fingers push your chin up to make you face him. Looking through your eyelashes, you see his cigarette is in the corner of his mouth as he grins at you.

“Sweetheart, Hol Horse always has time for a gal like you,” he winks.

“Oh, stop it. You’re making me blush. There’s no way you could ever find me attractive. I’m just a simple, plain girl.”

“Nah, none’a that now. A fine lady like yerself should know how beautiful you are,” he says as he points at you. You can’t believe how polite he is. For someone under Dio’s command, he doesn’t seem too bad of a guy. Unless he’s just trying to get into your pants.

“You know, I don’t do this too often, but would you… I dunno, maybe wanna…” you trail off to try to sound coy, wringing your hands. You knew he would be easy to persuade but just in case. Your clothes won’t allow you to do anything suggestive, so you have to rely on something else. A finger tracing your lips, a subtle nudge of the foot against his leg, a come hither gleam in your eyes. He’d be a fool not to pick up on the signs.

“Wh-What is it, baby?” You have his full attention.

“Oh, I’m just making a fool of myself. It was silly of me to think you’d wanna go somewhere more private.”

Hol grabs your hands with his calloused ones. His face seems quite serious.

“Darlin’, don’t tease a man like this. I don’t think ya know just how much I’ve been holdin’ back from askin’ ya the same thing,” he confesses. “Didn’t wanna seem desperate to get to know ya more.”

“Mr. Horse, it’d be my pleasure if you’d join me at my room tonight,” you whisper close to him.

The whole time you flirted with him, you had been inching closer and closer. So had he. At this point, you two are just a few inches from each other’s presence. You can smell the smoke on him, even after he’s put out his cig. His musky scent is accompanied by an earthy smell. He smells like man. Not that you really mind. Blue eyes and blonde hair with a side of stupid. Exactly how you like them.

“Lead the way, baby. I’ll follow you wherever ya like.”

As you get up out of the seat and smooth out your clothes, Hol pays for the drinks by setting a few bills on the bar. You make eye contact with the Crusaders and nod. Everything was under control so far.

“My motel room isn’t too far away. We don’t need a cab.”

Hol follows your lead. Trekking up the stairs and down the halls, you finally find your small room. Thank goodness you got a separate room this time. You didn’t want to have to explain why you had men’s underwear on your floor or men’s cologne in the air.

Unlocking the door is quick, and so is slipping inside. Right as he steps in, you shove him onto your newly made bed. His audible response makes you laugh. You rid your outer garment that guarded your body against the sun. You can feel his eyes on you as you strip. Smiling, you inform him that he can make himself comfortable as you visit the bathroom.

The bathroom pauses your act. Or could you even call it an act now? You’re enjoying yourself now. It has been a while since you’ve gotten a little love from another touch. Maybe you can enjoy Hol’s presence and also get some information out of him. Grinning, you look at yourself in the small mirror provided on the wall. You make sure your appearance is okay. Breath, hair, smell? You have everything covered. Looking underneath your clothes, you make sure you’re ready to have a little fun.

Hol also makes sure he’s ready to romp around with you while you’re in the other room. He knows he should be watching those five, but Dio would just have to wait. There’s no way he’s missing out on this. Looking around the room, he sees your suitcase and toiletry bag. Does he dare sneak? Hol takes another look towards the bathroom door and decides he has enough time.

Carefully, he opens up the unzipped flap and examines what you’ve brought. In neat rows, he sees shirts and pants folded up into small squares. Nothing juicy. Searching a bit more seems dangerous, but it’s a risk he’s willing to take. He unzips a small compartment on the side of the case with no results. Just some socks. Huffing, he tries another. Again, just some underwear. Boring and plain.

He’s interrupted by the bathroom door opening. You appear, face morphing into confusion. He looks like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing, naughty boy?”

He laughs nervously while trying to explain himself coherently. After many stutters and random filler noises, you stop him.

“If you wanted to see my underwear, all you have to do is ask,” you state like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Still nervous and shaken up from getting caught, his confident self seems to be a bit embarrassed. Were you serious?

“Umm- heh. C-Could I perhaps see your, uh, underwear, baby?” He sounds unsure of what you’ll say. His hand reaches behind his neck while he stands there, hand still holding onto some white panties. He throws them to the side when he realizes this, and you chuckle at his antics.

“I don’t think you really deserve it now. Do you?” Your eyebrows lift, challenging him to say otherwise.

Slowly walking towards him, you grab the underwear out of his hands. Hands run up his solid chest to his shirt collar. He’s pulled down to your height in one tug.

“Baby, I’ll take whatever you’ll give me,” he says breathlessly. You’ve got him hooked and haven’t even given him a taste. Your smile is a bit more sinister than before. Hol doesn’t know what he’s gotten himself into.

Fingernails scratching his neck lightly, you purr in his ears which in turn makes him shiver. The quiet room makes your words amplify. His face runs hot as you hold his cheeks. Holding his breath, he waits for your response. You bring his mouth close to yours and warn him.

“I hope you’re ready to work for it.”

Speechless, Hol is tossed back onto the bed. You waste no time pushing him against the headboard and straddling him. His hands find your hips and grip hard, most likely leaving bruises for tomorrow. You don’t mind. He’s surprised as you grab his neck and pull him up, breathing heavily from being tossed around. Noses meet and you smile again, this time in a more playful manner. Gentle kisses are placed on his neck and jaw, licks peppered in between sucking. Hol’s groans make you hum in satisfaction, happy that you’re making him feel like this. You’re too absorbed into marking him up as yours to notice that he’s reached up your shirt until you feel rough fingers tickling your sides. Immediately, your hands push him away.

“Did I say you could do that?” you ask as you trace your fingertips across his chest and arms.

Feathery touches of your lips on his ears make him gasp and grip the sheets of the bed. The blood in his body has left to one central point, but his body is still sensitive to your touch. Extremely sensitive. He’s never felt like this before, even with his level of experience. Every touch has lit a fire underneath his skin, flames spreading slowly as your fingers and lips mark every inch of exposed skin. Was this just the effect of being with you? Perhaps it was just the heat of the moment.

Little does Hol know, your Stand is the culprit behind the intense feelings. If your body fluids touch his body, his nerves’ and cells' reactions to any stimulant would increase. If you were to hit him now, the pain would feel a 100th more painful than it actually is. As long as you make sure to leave some type of fluid on him at all times, his body will be high off your Stand.

He’s starting to feel the scratch of the cloth of his shirt and pants. His brain tells him to take it off immediately, the burning starting to get hotter. You smirk at his sudden need to strip.

“Be a gentleman and give me a show, won’t you?” you ask him, aware that he’s desperate to get the fabric off his body, but not to the point where he’ll do absolutely anything to disrobe.

“O-Of course. Anythin’ fer- AAH!” He’s cut off by your nails scraping up his abs and obliques. “Anything fer you, sweetheart.” Practically panting by now, he struggles to keep his cool and strips slowly, one article at a time.

“That’s a good boy,” you praise him, helping him by taking his hat and placing it on your head. The moan that leaves him is a mixture from the sting from the friction of skin and cloth and the approval from you.

You sit back on his shins and watch him scoot up the headboard. First his shirt. His face contorts into a pained grimace, hands grabbing for his shirt hem to pull up and over his head. He can’t handle the sensitivity of his skin making contact with the shirt and keeps losing grasp of the thick fabric. You grin at his little misfortune but stay put, wanting to see how long he can keep going before caving in to ask for assistance. A noticeable bulge displays itself in his pants. You control yourself before you try to paw at it, but your mouth still salivates a bit just looking at it.

His hands take their time in lifting the shirt up. As they rise up, you get a better view to gawk at his bulky muscles and body hair. Dirty blonde hair dusted his chest and stomach, as well as freckles. Not too much, not too little. You lean forward and tug on a small patch, which makes him gasp for air. Assuming it’s real pain, you smooth out the hair and massage the area. His pained expression changes into one of relief. You take the shirt out of his hands and toss it behind you with the hat.

By now, he’s realized you won’t give him a chance to show his dominance. But he’s fine with being thrown about for a night. All the ladies he’s been with before assumed he was in charge when it came to the dirty act, or they were too shy to try to take control. You’re different. He trusts you enough to let you push and pull him around wherever you want. He’d never see you after this, so what’s wrong with taking a chance for just one night? A gentleman does what he can to please his lady. If that be taking every single slap or bite, so be it.

“P-Please, help me. These clothes is just- ah, burnin’ me up.”

Fingers play with his body hair a little longer before you respond with a smile. His incoherent speech is a sign he’s close to the full experience, but that just might be his way of speaking.

“I suppose I can help you out, just this once. But you’ll have to do something for me in return. Is that something you can handle?” Your head tilts in curiosity. Hopefully, he’s close to the point of no return, where his body can’t handle anything other than a light puff of air on his skin.

“Ahhh… promise. Wh-Whatever ya want, I’ll do it. Just get me outta these things,” Hol begs.

Sliding his pants down, you can see he’s wearing a pair of boxer-briefs. You can also see what is underneath them.

‘Just wait a little longer,’ you remind yourself.

Hol moans as your nails press into his thick thighs when you push down his pants to his knees. You move to the left side of him and pull down the garment farther, finally off his body. Both you and he are happy to have nothing on his body, except for the pair of underwear. Tossing his pants to the side, you take a glance at his face. Eyes are glazed over with tears and lust, face blushed. You can’t wait to see his face after his fifth orgasm, hoping for drool and nothing behind his eyes but lust. You’re going to milk him for all he’s worth.

Hol doesn’t understand the sudden giggle from you as you stare at him. ‘Did I do something funny? What- Oooohhh fuuuuuck that feels gooood.’

Gentle touches on the tip of his cock through his underwear make him grip the sheets around him. A single stroke of your finger makes him shake profusely. That’s what he’s been yearning for from the beginning of your teasing. Oh, it feels like heaven with the current use of your Stand. He doesn’t understand why he’s shaking, but he knows he doesn’t want it to stop.

“P-p-please… d-don’t stoooooop,” he slurs.

He has to stop himself from not lolling his tongue out as he begs. But it’s your personal goal to make him feel like he has no self-control over his body. You’re going to pleasure him to the point of no return, to where he physically can‘t see or feel anything but pure pleasure. He’s never felt like this before. He feels close to coming already.

“Remember, you still owe me a favour,” you remind him. His sluggish nods speed up as he realizes what you’re saying. “I need you to tell me when you’re going to come, all right? Be a good boy. Can you do that for me?” you ask him. You know he won’t be able to handle much, but you really want to push him to his limit. Would it really be that terrible of you to make him explode, just once?

“Y-yeah, can do,” he responds.

He’s unsure if he can hold his release back until you tell him otherwise. The feeling of your gentle caresses on his dick makes his body go crazy. Hol doesn’t know how many more strokes it will take before actually blowing up. His balls feel full, stuffed, his dick red and almost sore. You take your hand and cup it, stroking along the the cock’s underside and pushing it against his abs. The wet fabric on top also moves.

“I’m gonna-”

Hol is cut off by you kissing him. You straddle his lap again, making sure to press down with your hips into his.

“Don’t you dare.”

Gasps and moans make their way into your grinning mouth. He’s still being good for you, as his hands haven’t left the sheets still. He wants- no needs to touch you, but he’s scared you’ll move or tie him up. He feels an oncoming orgasm, and you pushing yourself closer to his clothed member and harder into the kiss isn’t helping his case. Your combined sounds fill the room. The moonlight and lamplight illuminate your features, making you look like an angel when you pull away. He can’t believe you’re real. You peck his open mouth once more before stroking his chest.

His nipples are sensitive, you already know that. What you don’t know is how much you can press and pull and suck on them before he’s coming through his thin underwear. Licking and sucking them, one after another, his nipples are swollen and puffy. Hol watches the top of your head in disbelief. He’s never been this taken care of during foreplay. Your tongue keeps flicking around his nipples and alternates between licking fat stripes on and swirling around the nubs. You build up and add your saliva to his skin to make stimulation stronger. As you pull away from his chest, the saliva moves with your mouth. You lick around your lips and the strings break off. Hol finds this scene too much for his overstimulated mind to handle and moans in response.

You can’t seem to take your eyes off his precum slicked cock. His cheeks are a little flushed as you rub your pointer finger against the tip. As you pull away from it, a little string of pre follows. The loud sounds come from him to let you know that he’s sensitive and ready. A smile appears on your face.

“You don’t mind if I have a taste, do you?” you ask innocently like you don’t know what kind of effect you have on him already. Of course, you know how he’s feeling. Desperate and needy for just about anything you’re willing to give him. His face flushes a deeper red, his freckles standing out.

“Everything I got, you can have.” If you put that precum covered finger in your mouth, he swears he’ll blow his load right then and there. “Just let me see ya do it, baby. Please.”

“Of course, Hol.” You smile at how he moans from just hearing his name come out of your mouth..

Your finger swipes the precum on your tongue and you lean in to show him. He looks like he’s about to cry out of pleasure from just seeing the erotic scene of his essence in your mouth. You’ll never know what exactly makes men want to cream themselves from seeing that. His eyes widen as you lean in even further, your tongue stroking his slightly chapped lips. His body takes this as a sign to open his mouth, unconsciously doing so. He’s never tasted himself like this, but it’s a pleasant experience. Sharing his own pre is kind of hot, in his opinion. The taste isn’t so hot.

As you share precum and an open mouth kiss, Hol starts to stick his own tongue out. Saliva swapping has never been so erotic in his life. Your body is like an aphrodisiac, an oasis in the middle of the hot desert. He needs more. He feels your fingers stroking and petting his chest, and in turn, his nipples. They’re solid and stiff, sensitive to the touch. He can’t hold in his moans that are caused by your touch. Your sucking on his tongue makes him feel even more sensitive. The more saliva you’re feeding him, the more he can feel everything you’re doing to him on a molecular level. He can’t complain, as you have his tongue in your mouth. Even if you didn’t, he wouldn’t trade this feeling for anything in the world.

Hol knows he should feel embarrassed by what’s taking place, but his body won’t let him resist one bit. His pride hasn’t been destroyed, it’s his self-control. There’s no way in hell he could ever let you leave now.

The strokes on his chest turn into pinches, with each touch excruciatingly painful and the aftermath tingly. Your mouth pulls away from his, unfortunately. You gently blow on his chest, his nipples somehow getting perkier and stiffer than you could have imagined. The burly man that sits beneath you whines loudly while his tongue struggles to be put back into his mouth. His hands drunkenly reach out to grab yours as you move to his chest.

“Be a good boy and keep your hands on the rail for me,” you instruct. Slowly and reluctantly, he grips the metal pole behind him with a whine.

Never before has Hol Horse followed directions so eagerly.

Lips take their time sucking hard on his neck, behind his ears, and collarbone. Your tongue flickers out occasionally to trace the purple marks forming as you make your way down. His whole neck and shoulders are covered in purple, shiny bruises. You smile and stroke his chest with your fingers, adding the slightest scratch just to hear his loud noises again. The press of his dick against his boxer-briefs makes him cry out in frustration. His eyes haven’t left your body since you parted ways with his tongue and lips. He misses your constant touch, and more importantly, your saliva oddly enough. Hol can’t place his finger on why he craves your bodily fluids incessantly, but his brain is hazed over with lust that he doesn’t dwell on it.

Your lips end up with his stiff right nipple in between them. The little moans that come from your wet tongue stroking and circling it make you smile with sadistic glee. He can’t see your face because of his closed eyes. Because of the pleasure, he’s retired all of his senses besides touch. His body can’t be bothered to comprehend any other stimuli that aren’t your fluttering fingers and the suckle of your lips on his teets. Sudden bites on his pecs and hard nubs make his pain rise, but his pleasure outweighs the pain via your immediate kisses and licks on the areas. He doesn’t know how much he can take at this point. Hol is worried he might just blow his load by chest stimulation alone. If you were to touch his throbbing dick with the lightest poke, he’d explode. His mouth is unable to warn you of his inevitable outcome, but you glean from his shaking legs and ongoing moans that he’s close.

Your legs move to the left side of him on the bed. His eyes open and watch you move, everything in slow motion. The bed dips as you slip off the covers. Looking back at him from the front of the bed, you warn him.

“If I see those hands move, I’ll have to add 3 more orgasms to your punishment.”

Hol would love that. The lack of release is showing on his blue underwear, precum making the fabric wet and slick and shiny. What he wouldn’t do for many, many releases. That’s what he thinks at least. His hands still grip the metal pole to satisfy you. You smile at his obedience. If he keeps this up, you might have to keep him around for the rest of the trip.

Pushing your pants down, your smooth skin and lace panties are put on display for him. He groans at the sight, and the sound makes you look at him from over your shoulder. Your bedroom eyes draw his attention from your bottom. There’s no possible way you could be this seductive. How were you single?

Hair in your face, lips plump from making out and sucking, cheeks flush from the many erotic touches you’ve given him; he can’t take it. Whines fall out of his mouth, as he’s unable to warn you of what’s about to happen.

“Ah- I’m about to-” he’s cut off by you.

“5 orgasms if you come. I’d suggest not doing it.”

Your stripping continues without looking at him as he struggles to keep it all in. His cock looks like a fountain by now. The semi-white, thick fluid runs out of his tip uncontrollably. A pained expression tells you he’s trying his hardest. You pull your shirt off and throw it in the corner where his clothes are. What you’re left in is a lacy black bra and panty set. Simple yet seductive. It seems to please Hol well enough, as he groans in what sounds like pain at the sight of you. You can’t possibly expect him not to come now.

You crawl up his legs and stop at his crotch. Your head is level with his cock now. The look you give him is pure sin as you seize him and feel his throbbing through the thin fabric. He takes a deep breath in. Your hand’s wet from the pre that’s leaked out, but that doesn’t faze you. One hand strokes his member through the underwear and the other latches onto his plump testes. You can just feel the cum that’s begging to be released.

Fondling his balls makes Hol moan in anguish. Your touch is firey and scorches his skin. His resolve is slipping as your hands tighten around both his balls and cock. This time he will definitely come, he thinks. He doesn’t care what type of punishment he’ll face, his brain and body are forcing him to release now.

A thick, white liquid squirts out through the fabric, pouring out onto your hand. You smirk at how he yells and moans while his dick throbs and twitches harder than ever before. His legs are shaking and his hands are about to snap the metal in half. You can’t force your eyes to look away from the disappointing scene in your hands. His cum has made its way up to your arms and his torso. Chest and stomach hair mix with semen to create a sticky sheen. He slowly and tiredly peers up at you through his lashes, sweat covering his forehead and temples. Your saliva is still there from the start of the decent. His eyes meet your disappointed ones.

‘It was worth it,’ he tries to convince himself.

You take your hand that’s covered in cum and lick off the fluids. He breathes in quickly. Hie wishes you were doing that to his cock. He needs your constant touch on his skin.

‘Oh yes, this was worth it.’

“You bad, bad boy. What should I do with a misbehaved boy like you? Any suggestions?”

You pretend to let him give you ideas. You’ve had this punishment in mind since the beginning.

He nervously chuckles. “How a-about you let me off with a warnin’? Swear I was tryin’ to hold it in.”

“Wish it were that easy. But now your punishment is worse than before,” you inform him as you play with the wet chest hair and happy trail, licking off your fingers as you go. “You’re going to wish you had waited.”

You direct him to lay down all the way. His head rests on the pillow as you crawl on your knees to straddle his head. His body is vibrating from the excitement of tasting you. He’s been craving this for so long. His tongue sticks out as you stick your fingers in his mouth, swirling to get them wet.

“Tell me what you want and I might just allow it before your penalty.”

“Please. Just a little taste- wait. I don’t know your- mmmmpppphhh!” Hol is cut short by your setting your covered wet core on his face.

The huge whiff he takes is fresh air to his senses. He feels at peace. His hands are still on the headboard’s bar. He hasn’t disobeyed completely, but he wants to feel your delicate skin. To have his hands imprint red and purple on your ass and thighs, to manually force your hips and pussy to gyrate on his face, that’s all he could ask for.

Hol’s tongue sticks out to press into the thin gusset of your panties and tastes the musky essence that has spread through the lace. He can’t get enough of the smell. His head presses closer and closer to your soaked panties, but you pull away each time he moves. You laugh as his head falls back to the pillow in frustration.

“I don’t think a name is needed if you just call me Mistress. Can my bad boy do that correctly?” you ask. Your nails scrape his scalp and he moans. Hol obviously needs to taste you again for the effect to be stronger, and you’re more than willing to let him. Your hand grips his hair as you await an answer, making him whine in pain. “Answer me, slut.”

“Y-yes! Yes, M-Mistress. I can do that. Anythin’ fer you.” He loves the name you give him.

Hands pet his hair. Exactly what you want to hear.

“Tell me what you need, Hol.”

“I-I need your p-pussy on my face. I wanna taste ya, smell yer cunt and lick it like it’s ma last meal. Use me, Mistress. I just want to please you. I need yer touch, can’t live without it,” he confesses, breathless and sweaty.

You smile at his word throw up. You’re enjoying this far too much, but this is the most fun you’ve had in a while. The desert isn’t exactly the prime location for finding lovers. Your little slut is exactly what you need to release your frustration and quench your thirst.

“Good boy.”

Your panties are wet but become wetter as Hol’s mouth, lips, and tongue work them to get to your core. His tongue traces your clit, feeling the pulse of it as he swirls around the nub. With your hands still locked into his hair, you hold his head in place as you grind. His nose is pressed into your clothed clit as his tongue presses against the covered opening and lips of your cunt. He can’t get enough of the taste, wanting, needing the underwear out of the way to be fully connected with you. His moans and attempts to tell you what he needs are muffled. The vibrations feel like heaven on your pussy.

“What could it possibly be now? I’ve let you come, and now it’s my turn. A gentleman would have let me come first, but it seems you’re just an inexperienced slut with how you blew your load so quickly.” Your words sting. He wants to protest, but his body won’t let him. He’s a good boy. An obedient slut. With your pussy on his mouth, he finds it difficult to speak. You move away from him as he groans at the loss.

“Need yer panties gone, Mistress. I can’t taste you good enough,” he pleads.

“My little boy wants more? Hmm?”

“Ah, y-yes please, Mistress. I need yer cunt. I promise I’m a good boy. I’ll lick ya real good. I’ll make you come as many times as you like.” He begs loudly with no thought of lowering his voice. He can’t even think about his own pleasure anymore. “I wanna be yer good boy, yer good slut.”

You hook your thumbs on the sides, shimmying the lacy thing down to your thighs and coming out of them. You don’t dispose of them right then; instead, putting them to his nose and mouth. He sniffs them and closes his eyes in pleasure. No words can describe how delectable you smell.

“You’re such a dirty boy, you know that? Sniffing and panting into my slicked up panties. It just gets you so worked up, huh slut?” You smirk at his nodding head, underwear still sitting on his face.

“Yes, Mistress. I’m a dirty boy. Yer dirty boy. Ain’t this horny fer nobody else. I love yer cunt.”

“Oh you do? You haven’t even tasted it yet,” you reply haughtily.

You push the panties closer to his nose as he takes a deep breath before speaking. His eyes are rolling into the back of his head.

“Don’t need ta. L-Love everythin’ about ya.”

“You really do want a taste. All right. Get ready, needy slut.”

His mouth eagerly meets your wet slit. His tongue pokes out to stroke your folds in heated passion. Your moans and grip on his hair fuel his movements further. He revels in the way you gasp when he sucks and nibbles on your clit, or when you roll your hips into his face as he tongue fucks you every so often. Your pussy seems to draw his tongue in deeper, making him moan. With the underwear on his face, he can’t see what you look like in this position exactly, making him more than a little frustrated. His groans express his dissatisfaction with the view, but he moans at the taste and scent of you without the panties in the way. Looking behind you, you’re satisfied with the effect you have on him and his cock. His hips thrust into nothing, cock and balls bouncing in tandem.

As he works on your cunt and clit, you get closer and closer to coming undone. The vibrations on your clit make you moan and shake. You pet his hair as you feel your orgasm coming to you in a wave of intense pleasure. Your instinct is to press closer to the thing making you come, Hol being forced to swallow everything you give him, not that he’s complaining. He sucks and licks even more than before. His hands want to move to make you grind down harder into his face. He needs you as close as possible.

“O-Oh fuck! Y-Yes, that’s a good slut. Mmmm you’re so needy for my sopping wet pussy. Don’t miss a drop.”

Your orgasm tastes even better than your saliva if that’s even possible. Even though it was you who came, his body feels white hot from the experience. He can’t feel his mouth anymore, or his tongue. Your cunt’s fluid tastes amazing, especially after your complete release. He wants more, coaxing another orgasm by flicking your clit incessantly right after you had just come. He needs more.

“I-If you keep- oh yeeeeesssss…” you trail off from the pure pleasure he’s giving you. “Keep that up. I might be more lenient on you.”

“Yeth, Mithwess,” Hol mumbles against you.

You grind your pussy against his face even harder, pressing his head in between your thighs more than he thought possible. He wants- no needs to get closer to you. Your body shakes stronger than before, making Hol happy to his surprise. He needs to please you until you’re satisfied. He needs to be called “good boy.” His tongue strokes are faster and more forceful. He tries to stimulate your clitoris as much as possible while licking your slit. He’s desperate for your cum. He needs you to come on his face. Now.

You scream out in pleasure as your cunt pulsates and squirts. Your juices cover his face and the panties. White is all you can see. Your hands grab one of his hands in an attempt to not lose balance. Pulling his fingers off the bar, you stuff them in your mouth and suck on them, swirling your tongue around the calloused tips and salivating. He feels every little movement of your mouth, from the suck of your lips to the light nibble of your teeth. Drool runs down his arm and he can’t stop the sounds that vibrate on your pussy. You keep squirting as his tongue rolls over your clit over and over again, pulling you down from the orgasm. When your sight comes back, you release his hand and turn around to move down. He moans out and bucks his hips up again and again and again. He’s stiff and red, ready to go again. Perfect.

Out of breath, you tell him, “You were such a good little slut. If you’re still good after edging, I’ll let your punishment go. But if you come without permission again, I’ll make it hurt.”

He seems to like what you’ve said, shivering in anticipation of what’s to come.

“Am I understood?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

You take your time moving back towards his throbbing dick, wobbling and unstable from two intense orgasms. You feel energized from being worshipped like that. Newfound confidence exudes from you as you shuffle to the end of the bed. Looking at Hol, you see the underwear is still blocking his view. You have some mercy on him.

“You can take those panties off, just put them in your mouth. And if you do anything with those hands other than grip the sheets or headboard, I’ll have no choice but to restrain you. You don’t want that, do you?”

He’s eager to answer you, already moving his numb arms to remove the panties.

“Of course. Anything you want, Mistress. Just let me please ya. I’m beggin’.”

Humming contently, you take his cock in your mouth and keep humming. Hol bucks into you, unable to control what he’s doing. He moans loudly, which makes you look up. You notice he’s forgotten to put the lacy drawers in his mouth and release his dick from the confines of your hot, wet mouth. Smirking at him, you snatch the panties away from his strong grip and forcefully stuff them in his mouth. He’s surprised as you do so, gasping from the sudden movements.

“You just can’t follow directions, dumb whore. You’re not going to get to come now.”

He spits out the wet fabric at the statement.

“N-NO! I-I-I mean, please, Mistress. I didn’t- I just forgot! Yer touch is just too good.”

“If my touch is too good for you, you don’t need it then,” you state, knowing good and well that’s not what he meant. You take the panties from him.

“Mistress, that ain’t what I meant. I need you. You know that. Please, I need you,” he pleads. “I need yer touch, yer pussy, anything you got fer me. I’ll do anything!”

“Prove it. Since you need me so much, stroke yourself with my panties and don’t come.”

Your challenge makes him look hopeless. Of course, he’s going to come if he masturbates in front of you. You smirk at how sad he looks at the black lace.

“Any complaints? I think I’m being fair.”

“No! No complaints here, baby- OW!”

You swat his cock quickly. It wobbles while still standing up. Your slap wasn’t that hard, just a warning tap.

“That’s not my name.”

“Of course, Mistress. I m-meant to say, ‘No complaints, Mistress.’”

“That’s what I thought. Sit up. Get to stroking, whore. I’m going to get comfortable.”

He gets situated on the bed with his back on the headboard. With the amount of precum he’s leaked, he has plenty to keep him going without any issues. His left-hand goes to fondle his balls as his right one starts pumping slowly. He takes his time as he grabs the panties to rub himself with. Your cum has made his body’s senses heighten even more than before. Every little stroke makes him moan out, the scratch from the lace on his sensitive head and shaft affecting his whole body. You watch him shake and moan, indulging in how torturous this is for him. Precum spills out of his tip and onto the panties.

You can’t stop from touching yourself, the scene igniting something new inside of you. Your fingers reach inside your pussy and your thumb circles around your sensitive clit. Hol can hear your gasps and moans and wet slapping sounds. He’s treated to the sight of you plunging your fingers in yourself. You work in tandem, Hol stroking his hard cock as you push into your wet cunt. You smile at him and bite your lip as you press against a certain spot. Your head falls back and he groans at the sight.

“Don’t come, pretty boy. I need you ready to burst when I fuck you.”

His hand speeds up and grips his balls harder. He’s about to come. He needs to come. But you won’t let him. With your attention on your orgasm, he could get away with coming quickly in the panties, but the consequences of being caught exceed the benefits of secretly coming. He slows down to keep from making you mad. Your eyes find his again, lust shining through your gaze. You bite down hard on your lip as you come for the third time. Your pussy pulsates from how much pleasure you’ve introduced it to. The cum runs out of your slit slowly. You shake as you come down from your high.

“Keep stroking. Don’t stop,” you command him. He nods, speeding up his motions.

You take your fingers that are covered with your essence and stick them in his mouth. He needs no instruction to start suckling on the digits. He loves the taste. He craves your pussy.

Taking your fingers out of his mouth, you settle behind him, making him scoot farther from the headboard. He doesn’t know what you’re doing, too distracted from trying not to come. You sit with your legs spread behind him. Your arms hug his torso and stroke his still cum-ridden chest in circles. The extra stimulation makes it harder for him to focus. Your hands run up and down, stopping to play with his still hard nipples. His back is sensitive when you press up against it with your lacy bra and plush breasts. Your arms come up to hold his head and push it towards yours. His mouth meets yours again for an open mouth kiss. Your tongue is the first to initiate contact with his, making him moan more. You love how vocal he is. His hand never stops moving as you watch him out of the corner of your eye. The way his arms’ muscles move is hypnotizing. Your tongues never stop dancing around each other while you’re distracted by his movements. He hasn’t come yet, making you quite happy. You might just get to come again with his cum in you.

You decide to up the ante.

“Give me the panties.” Panties are handed to you.

“Now wrap your arms over my thighs.” Thick, warm arms are draped over your thighs and wrap underneath them.

“Now what are you not allowed to do?”

“Come.”

“Good boy.”

Your hand wraps the panties around his reddish head, twisting them around to torture him more. His head flies back to your left shoulder, as your head is perched on his right. You can see all of him. The slight pooch of his freckled stomach makes you smile a little more, especially with his little whines in your ears now. He couldn’t get more adorable than this.

You show your appreciation and affection with kisses and licks to his neck. His head leans back farther, exposing his throat, where you add more hickies. The strokes on his throbbing member increase in speed and pressure. You squeeze Hol hard to draw out any sounds that might escape.

“Don't hold back your voice. I want to hear every single little sound you make, baby.”

This eggs him on to be louder. At this time of night, it’s hard to tell if any neighbors are awake. Surely, you’ll have complaints tomorrow morning.

The black lace is starting to get absolutely soaked from just Hol’s precum. You should have just stroked him with your hand and spit, but this added a new sensation. His dick twitches without stopping. His balls seem to tighten even more. He’s going to come.

You pull away from his mouth and dick and ask him quietly, “Do you want to come again?” He nods. You look at him pointedly like he knows better.

“Y-Yes, please. I need it so bad. My cock’s just achin’ fer yer touch, Mistress.”

Pretending to be in thought, you ask him, “But do you need to come again?”

“Whatever you think is best for your s-slut, Mistress.”

You’re happy with his response.

“Sit up, then. And throw that wet thing over there.”

Hol sits up upon command and flings the wet panties in the corner with an expectant grin on his face. You move around to his front and sit on his thighs. His muscles are thick enough for you get off from them, but you want something completely different.

You take your bra off, revealing your breasts to him. He groans, letting you know he likes what he sees. You smirk at his sounds and love how he isn’t shy about being vocal. You grab your tits and rub them together, flicking your nipples and moaning at the feeling. His hands come to rest on your hips, but you glare at him. His hands get the message and go back to the sheets.

His cock is pressed up against his stomach. The ruddy head and shaft look to be in pain, with pleasure needing to be released. Hol’s dick is thick and uncut, a blonde patch of hair framing his privates. You pet the pubic patch and grab onto his balls. His gasp is swallowed by your mouth. He loves how you taste. He needs you wrapped around him right now, though. He battles your mouth for dominance as you stroke and fondle him slowly. His sounds are muffled as you make out with him sloppily.

You start to take his cock and push the head near your entrance to tease him. The head brushes against your clit and down your slit. He can’t take it. The feeling of your hot, dripping cunt this close to his equally hot and dripping member almost makes him subject to punishment. Your hand tightens around his thick shaft, which makes him whine. Rubbing your pussy up and down with the engorged head, you move your hand up to squeeze right below his head to keep him from releasing. He groans at the contact with your wet lips and clit. He loves the velvety feeling of your cunt, soaked with his precum and your previous orgasms. Your sounds that follow make him whine. He’s the one that’s making you feel good. He’s the one who’s making you come.

Your hand lets his dick go and his body complains from the lack of contact. You stick your fingers that we’re just wrapped around his slick cock into his mouth. Hol doesn’t refuse your hand, instead, welcoming it with his tongue. In return, you press your cunt to his upright dick to tease him.

“Mmmm, that’s my good slut.”

He mumbles a thank you as best he can. Laughing, you pull your fingers out and stick them into your mouth. You lick every single finger individually to make a show for him. A smile grows on your face when you hear him moan out from a particularly strong grind of your hips. Your wet, saliva drenched fingers move between your body and his, right to his cock head. Your hand is somehow cold and makes the liquids that are now touching his hot member cold, too. He shivers at the difference in temperature. His pleasure filled haze is interrupted by your voice.

“Whose cock is this?”

Hol is confused, taken aback by the sudden loaded question. It is still his penis. It’s attached to him! But are you asking who’s in control of it? What do- sssshit!

A hand is pressed to his throat, not tight enough to hurt him, but enough to warn him to hurry up and answer.

“Y-Yers, Mistress. My co- uh I-I mean yer cock belongs to ya. I love what you do to it, makes me feel so-OOO FUCK!”

Hol screams out from you pushing his dick into your hot core. He can’t possibly take anything else that you could put him through. His throat is still constricted by your hand, cutting off his airways enough for him to panic. The fear that runs through his blood elevates his senses, with every stroke from your hot core making him convulse with pleasure. Feet and hands almost tear the sheets into pieces with the intensity that he grabs at them. Hol can’t comprehend what’s happening to his body. His breath catches in his throat, sputtering to get a word, a sentence, anything out. As you moan and praise him, you realize he’s frozen in fear and pleasure.

“Don’t worry, you’re not the first whore I’ve choked.”

Hol thinks that, somehow, your words were meant to be reassuring.

Constant pressure is applied as your body alternates between grinding, thrusting, and straight pounding into him. A solid man like him can take it. Your brain is interrupted by the original intention of this interaction. Get information on Dio.

You slow your roll and scratch his sensitive neck, hard enough to snap him out of his lust ridden trance. He looks desperate for you to start moving, thrusting into you slightly to tell you to start again. Hol sees a smile on your face, too sweet to be up to anything good. If he’s learned anything from being teased by you, it’s that you’re not to be taken lightly. You can change your mind in an instant with no regard to his wants. But he loves how exciting it is to test your waters, to watch you, to taste you.

“Who is Dio to you?” you ask him, breath tickling his ear.

His response isn’t immediate. Hol looks surprised to be asked about his boss in this setting. Were you sent by Dio to check on him? Or were you with that ragtag team out to destroy Dio? He tries to get information on you before telling you his true relations to the vampire.

“Wh-What’s he ta you?” he replies without thinking.

Your hips snap and your hands reach out to choke him again, this time harder than before.

“You’re in no position to question my loyalty to Lord Dio.” You feel the bile crawling up your throat from siding with Dio, even in the context you’re saying it in. The Crusaders own you. You’re talking your own room each motel visit, free dessert, first dibs on shotgun.

“O-Of course! Why would I say somethin’ s-stupid like that? I was just, uh, jokin’ with ya. I’m loyal to Dio, too,” he stutters out. His tone isn’t too convincing.

“Then why are you here? You should be watching those fucking Joestars. Or did you forget your place?” Your tone is sharp, warning him not to play around. His throat is turning redder by the second, your hands’ grip not loosening up at any moment.

“Y-Ya can’t expect me to not f-f- FUCK!” A squeeze. “T-To follow you! You’re gorgeous, Mistress!” A finger traces his jugular. Finally, no choking. Not that he hates it, he loves anything that you’ll do to him, he’s just never been choked in this context.

“You’re weak, slut. I shouldn’t even let you come, nevermind come in me.” You have him by the balls with that.

“No! Please. I promise I’ll be on their trail in a hot minute. Just let me come in ya,” he begs, his hands ready to be in a praying position. Hol knows he hasn’t a chance to convince you. His eyes close in defeat.

“Tell me what you know about him. I’ve yet to personally speak to him.”

He starts to speak but is cut off by you thrusting again. His mouth opens with no words coming out. What was he supposed to be doing?

“Speak now. Or will I have to force you?”

At that, Hol starts to jabber about everything he knows about Dio. He can’t exactly stop his mouth from moving because he’s concerned about you stopping. His body is completely hooked on your touch. He needs you.

Nodding along with his words, you keep bouncing. The slap of skin on skin is music to his ears as he rambles to you. As long as he keeps talking, you’ll keep moving. At some point, he mentions how shredded Dio is. That Dio has an 8 pack now.

You can’t listen to another word about Dio this and Dio that mixed in with occasional moans. You bring Hol’s mouth towards yours to shut him up. The taste of your mouth is addictive, his body shivering at the touch. He can’t get enough of you. The thought of coming inside of you, your cum mixing with his, has him shaking and convulsing even more. His toes curl, his fingers are restless. You can sense it when his thighs flex up into yours.

“You’ve been a good slut. I suppose you can come. But you’re cleaning whatever you spill.”

His body gives out on him as his cock spurts out rope after rope into you. Hol can’t lift a finger, much less open his eyes to see your breasts bouncing up and down with you. At some point in the haze, your hand moved in between your bodies to play with your clit. You’ll make sure he repays you for his little mess.

As his body relaxes and comes down from the high, he can finally see again. His sight doesn’t last a minute before it’s overcome by the creampie he’s given you. His eyes widen at the thought of having to eat his own cum. Hol is entranced by your sopping core, oozing with his semen, as your fingers scoop some up and into his mouth. He can’t believe he’s doing this. A few more scoops are forced in before you completely smother his mouth. His tongue is instantly on your cunt, licking and sucking up the liquid inside.

“You got to stuff me full. Wasn’t that kind of me? I think you need to pay me back. What do you think, slut?” you ask.

He nods his head against your pussy, mouth moving up and down. His tongue goes to your clit to suck, trying to make you come as fast as possible. Hol slides his hands up your thighs, clinging to your flesh, leaving handprints as he latches onto you. You let it go, for his hands make you press closer into his mouth. Your hands comb through his dirty blonde hair, your fingers press into his scalp to get Hol’s tongue to go deeper inside you, to lick every drop of his essence out. The motions of his lips and tongue leave you a shaking mess. You have to hold onto the metal bar above him to not fall from the pleasure.

Your orgasm hits you like a lightning bolt, sudden and electric. Hol’s face is covered in his and your liquids, as squirt after squirt comes out of your throbbing cunt. His eyes are closed in bliss, happy to have made you come again.

You pet his head in approval, him leaning into your touch. Leaning down and squatting above him, his dick finds your core again. You kiss his mouth while tasting him and yourself on his lips. Your sloppy makeout leaves him gasping for air. He needs you again. More. The grind of your hips leaves him in shock. You want more?

“Best believe I’m getting as much out of you as I can. You don’t mind do you, slut?”

All he can do is nod in response. It’s going to be a long night.

Hol startles awake. He doesn’t know where he is exactly. Taking a look around, he sees that it’s bright out and he’s in a motel room. Ah. The lady. Everything comes flooding back, including his boner. He smiles at the thought of being fucked, hoping for another few rounds before going back to work.

A knock on the door interrupts his thoughts.

“Is there anyone there? The owner has checked out!” a muffled voice calls out from outside the door.

“Shit,” Hol curses.

#Hol Horse x Reader #reader insert #Female reader #jojos bizarre adventure #Jojo no Kimyou na Bouken #jojo part 3 #Stardust Crusaders #jjba stardust crusaders #JJBA #Hol Horse #NOT SFW #long fic #AO3 fanfic

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scripttorture · 6 years ago

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How much do you know about torture apologia at a government level? Like people who are actually paid to torture terrorist? I feel like that is a government-approved thing unless I’m mistaken. How can they not see they’re getting no information or just plain wrong information? And these ‘professionals’ are hiding their mental health problems? Or is the FBI torturing terrorists for information not as real as we are lead to believe? I’ve got a story idea about a victim mistakenly accused.

Thisis a pretty broad question. And it also sounds like it’s trying tostart a debate over getting writing advice. I’m going to give itthe benefit of the doubt and take it at face value as a writingquestion.

Ithink the short answer is essentially: read Rejali. He covers this inconsiderable depth, it’s the last third of his book. I’ll do mybest to summarise his points but I can’t produce 300+ pages ofevidence plus sources on a blog like this.

O’Maraalso talks about it a fair bit and Cobain’s entire book is aboutthe links between torture and the British government. Granted Cobaindoesn’t know a thing about torture but the pattern of legalwrangling and political apathy he records is incredibly valuable.

Thereare a couple of points I think are important going forward.

Thefirst is that although information is often the justification givenfor torture it’s rarely the point.

Somethingcan be justified, ignored or tolerated in someparts of a government and stringently punished in other areas.

Inlarge enough organisations leaders can be genuinely unaware what somemembers are doing.

Sogiven those points let’s start with the second question becauseit’s easiest.

Inmodern democracies people are notpaid to torture. That is not their official role. They are hired asguards, soldiers, teachers, care takers, nurses, doctors, police anda handful of other professions.

Thatis they are being paid for.And it’s not what they’re doing.

Whetherwhat they’re actually doing (torture) is condoned by anyone furtherup the chain of command then their immediate superiors is reallydependant on the circumstances. And very difficult to prove.

Governmentapproval of torture in modern states rarelylooks like top officials saying ‘We torture people!’

Here’sthe kind of phrasing it looks like instead:

‘These particular set of abuses are not torture because-’

‘This isn��t really painful’

False equivalence such as ‘Well I diet voluntarily so starving someone can’t be harmful’

Outright denial ‘Our troops could never do that!’

Ouright denial Part 2 ‘Well no one told us that was happening!’

Shifting the blame ‘Those people are lying to get into the country/get money/get attention etc-’

Shifting the blame Part 2 ‘Those people deserve it because they’re mentally ill/an ethnic minority/poor/violent/look like trouble etc-’

‘Obviously we don’t torture people but we should because it would work!’

‘We need strong measures in these desperate times!’

The sort of political/cultural outlook that links efficiency to ‘toughness’ and sees kindness and compromise as weak

Tortureapologia on the government level thrives on plausible deniability andredefining terms until they’re unrecognisable.

Forthe purposes of your story I think you’d probably be better offstepping back from the FBI.

WhatI mean by that is- if you’ve been looking for sources specificto the FBI that’s why you’re so confused. Those sources arepoorly collated, poorly studied and (personal opinion) deliberatelyconfusing.

Awellstudiedwell recorded example of torture as unofficial-government-policywould be the Franco-Algerian war. And this is alsobeset by confusion because a lotof the sources from the French side were written by torturers tojustify their actions after the event.

Onceagain I’d recommend reading Rejali and for greater context on whathe says Alleg’s TheQuestionand Fanon’s appendices to TheWretched of the Earth.

Yestorture continues because of governmental positions. But that doesn’tnecessarily mean outright orders to torture.

Itcan mean a lack of political will to eradicate torture, ie no one islooking for it. It can mean officials being aware of torture andchoosing to ignore it.

Myimpression is that apathyrather than malice at the top levels is the key. In the worst cases,yes there was outright malice from some individuals within a largergovernment. But it’s the apathy of the majority that allowed forabuse.

Governmentapproval doesn’tlook like a high level official ordering troops to torture.

Itlooks like the state Governor seeing that most of the police in theirstate probably use torture and sitting down to do this calculation:‘Am I more electable next year if I try to tackle this or if Iignore it?’

Italso looks like a Commissioner seeing that a person arrested for anemotive crime like terrorism has been complaining of ill-treatmentand doing this calculation: ‘Do I look better in the public eye ifI seem like I’m standing up for a person from a hated minority whois accused of doing something awful?’

WhatI’m driving at here is that- the reality is a lot more nebulousthen what you seem to be thinking of. Tacit acceptance, differentpriorities, cowardice- are all much more likely then the kind ofscenario where the elites explicitly order abuse.

Ithink I should move on to the third question which is just as tricky,before I get bogged down in labouring the point.

Howdo organisations not realise the information they get from torture iswrong?

Theshort answer is that by using torture they destroy the systems thatallow them to double check information. Because they can’t doublecheck anything they don’t realise that they’re working withincorrect information.

Iwilltell you how that happens but let’s have an analogy first to giveyou an idea of how skewed this makes the base information.

Imagineyou’re looking for information on the internet about something youhaven’t seen but you can’t use wikipedia, any popular searchengines or any official sites. You are going entirelyby searching tumblr. And you can only access the first piece ofinformation that comes up with any tag you search.

Picka popular fandom and imagine the kind of screwed up view you’d getof a character if you tried to find information about them like this.I am picturing the Flash fandom and Captain Cold and imagining justhow easy it would be to walk away with the impression that thecharacter was a main character not a bit part.

Nowlet me show you how including torture in an investigation is theequivalent of blocking yourself from everything but a hellsite with abroken search algorithm.

Sothe first thing to appreciate is that torture breakstrustwith the public. If torture is common place then no matter how‘secret’ an organisation tries to keep it the groups who areeffected find out.

Wenotice when people around us go missing. We pay attention when thereare stories of people ‘like us’ being hurt.

Andwe lose trust in authority. We stop reporting crimes. We stopvolunteering information.

Whichcuts an organisation off from the mainsource of accurate information they can get: voluntary reporting bymembers of the public.

Wedon’t report strange things our family or friends have done if wethink it might get them tortured. We don’t mention that we saw atall ginger man leave a back pack on that street near where the bombwent off.

Frompersonal experience- sometimes you stop reporting things even whenyou’re completely outside the context that taught you organisationscan’t be trusted. I’ve been assaulted in the UK and genuinely didnot consider calling the police. Because I learnt young that policeexist to ‘make people disappear’ and the habit is hard to break.

Thesecond point is that torture produces a lotof lies and human beings generally are terrible at telling whensomeone is lying.

Sotorturers don’t have access to the biggest source of accurateinformation but they dohear a lot of lies.

Thethird point is that when torture becomes part of an organisation thenpeople spend lesstimeconducting genuine investigations and fact checking.

Torturerstend to be pretty arrogant and they usually report looking down onpeople in their organisation who don’ttorture. Basically they seeing doing the hard work of a genuineinvestigation as boring and beneath them.

Thisworks togetherwith the first two factors to make it almost impossible to fact checkthings.

Imaginea group of 50 people tasked with investigating a particular incident.Five of them are torturers, so they’re not actually investigatinganything. This takes our number down to 45.

Thenwe remember that the torturers are generating information, even ifit’s false. Which the other members are investigating.

Let’sgo with low estimates. Let’s suggest each torturer has one victim aday (this is unlikely, real numbers are probably much higher) and outof those they get an average of two ‘possible leads’ each day(this would vary a lot, some victims would say nothing, some mightthrow out as many as twenty names in a day). Let’s also pretendthat a potential lead can be investigated by one person (this isinaccurate, I’d generally expect at least 2-3 people for each new‘lead’.).

We’vejust got rid of ten more people on the first day.

Let’spretend that it takes three days to investigate a lead. This is alsoa very low estimate, properly following up a lead can take weeks.

Withour low-estimate fictional organisation we’ve reduced the amount ofpeople doing useful work to 15 in the first three days.

Fifteenpeople trying to do the work of 50, while the torturers keepgenerating lies that are wasting the time of everyone else.

Thiscripples the organisation’s ability to work as all the time andenergy is going into investigating lies.

Andwhilethis is going on the torturers are still torturing. And they’reassumingthat their information is correct.

Sothey’re generating morelies that supportthe previous lies.

Letme give an example of what I mean.

Saya torturer takes in a random person. This first victim knows nothingabout the terrorist group but if they don’t give a name thenthey’re going to keep being tortured.

Sothey tell the torturer Wednesday Adams is definitely the leader ofthe terrorists in this area.

Nowa genuine investigator is wasting time looking for Wednesday Adams.May be they come back in a week and say that no such person exists.

Bythat point the torturer has been asking a lot of people aboutWednesday Adams. And some of them will have sworn they saw WednesdayAdams, that Wednesday Adams was behind that attack and that she haslinks to this other organisation and also that thing I saw on thenews once and- So on.

Itspirals.

Maybe it gets to the point where the torturer finally accepts there’sno ‘Wednesday Adams’ on the census. But by that point they’vestacked a lot of their personal reputation on the existence of thisshadowy leader.

Sorather than admit they’re just wrong, they assume ‘WednesdayAdams’ is a pseudonym and now they’re asking everyone what herreal name is. Now they have six different possible ‘realidentities’ for Wednesday Adams.

Andthis is how organisations can fail to notice that torture doesn’twork.

Becausethe scale of misinformation is just so huge. Because the amount oftime it takes to provethe information is wrong gives the torturers more time to embellishthe lie.

Becausesuperiors who are genuinely unaware torture is going on in theirorganisations might well look at this torturer, who keeps coming upwith new information, and these ten genuine investigators who comeback with nothing but dead ends, and decide that the tortureris the only one ‘getting things done’.

Itdoesn’t matter that they’re wrong. Because it takes months,years, to prove that they areand everyone in these organisations is under huge pressure to haveanswers now.

OKlet’s move on to question four; mental health problems intorturers.

Firstoff, I have yet to meet a mentally ill person who hasn’ttried to hide their mental health problems at some point. The worldis not very accepting of mental health problems whatever the context.The pressure to hide them is immense. In some places people are atreal risk of violence and abuse if their mental health problems arenoticed as mental health problems.

Inthat context- it isn’t surprising that torturers do try to hidetheir symptoms.

Thetoxic sub-culture torturers tend to produce is- It’s incrediblymacho. It tends to rely on ideas about how the torturers are ‘toughand strong’. It equates violence and lack of mercy with strength.

Itviews mental illness as weak.

Andbecause the people within these groups are violent, because they havea tendency to turn on each other, there’s a huge pressure to hidemental health problems. That’s way before you bring the widerorganisation into the picture.

Manyof the organisations torturers are typically part of actively try toscreen out mentally ill people. Being obviously mentally ill can meanlosing the job.

SoI don’tthink it’s particularly unusual that torturers try to hide mentalhealth problems.

Howsuccessfulthey are at hiding them is a different question and it’s difficultto answer.

Becausea lot of people are moved or dismissed on mental health grounds andthis does notmean they were involved in anything abusive.

Tortureis difficult to prove. Most torturers are not charged. Their crimesare not recorded as part of their record. They are not hired astorturers.

Accordingto the WHO around 10% of the global population has a mental health problem.

Howdo you tell the difference between the people who are just mentallyill, the people who developed mental illnesses because of ‘ordinary’job stress and the people who developed mental illnesses because theyabused others?

Withoutaccurate, fair recording of torture accusations itis impossible to tell.

Personally?I think it’s highly likely that a lot of torturers can’t hidetheir mental health problems well. That they reach a point and have abreakdown on the job. Then they lose their job.

Butall of that can happen with no record of abuse.

Weneed more research on torturers. Desperately.

Andanswering these questions about the circumstances around how peoplestop is incredibly important. It can help us spot them, it can helpus spot people who might be targeted for recruitment by torturers. Itcan help us stop torture.

Andright now there are frustratingly few answers.

Whichleaves the final question- Are the FBI torturers?

Honestly-I have no idea. I am not particularly interested in America orAmerican history. I am not American. I do not go out of my way toread things about the FBI and could tell you very little about whatthey do.

WhatI can tell you is that organisations likethe FBI have usually tortured at some point in their history. Thatglobally the United States has developed a reputation for doublestandards.

ButI can not make a definitive statement on a group I know next tonothing about.

Inorganisations likethe FBI iftorture is going on it’s often not in the entire organisation. Itis often particular branches, particular units, particular areasrather than the whole country-wide organisation.

It’seasy to make broad statements like ‘the Chicago police torturedpeople in 70s’. And that’s not untrue.

Butif we’re being specificit would be more accurate to say ‘there was a cell of torturersoperating within the Chicago police force in the 70s and the widergroup failed to stop them.’

Wasthe entire Chicago police force responsible for the abuses? I wouldsay yesbecause it was literally their job to stop these abuses and they didnot. However they were notall torturers. They were not all actively engaged in torture and Ithink it’s extremely likely that many people at the time simplydidn’t realise what was going on.

Incompetence,not necessarily active abuse.

I’vewritten an awful lot. It should be a start at answering some of yourquestions. But all of these questions are complex and difficult.

Idon’t think, in this case, you can take my answer as a substitutefor wider reading.

Onceagain, Rejali.O’Maraas well.

Allegfor the survivor’s perspective on what both describe.

Cobain,to be taken with a pinch of salt and read afterRejali because Cobain is not a scientist and falls for apologia quitea lot.

You’vechosen to tackle a story that’s going to be a lot of work. Try notto be discouraged by that.

Theseare important stories. And they deserve to be told properly.

Ihope that helps. :)

Edited for typos

Edit 2: @dude1818 That is really not funny and I don’t appreciate you trying to turn discussion of a serious crime into a joke.

I’m aware of the formatting problem and I’ve been trying to fix it for some time. I’m going to try another fix this week but I can’t actually test whether any of my attempts work because I don’t have a mobile phone.

Availableon Wordpress.

Disclaimer

#tw torture #behaviour of torturers #writing torturers #torture does not work #torture as interrogation #torture apologia #torture apologists #effect of torture on organisations #tw police brutality #Anonymous

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kelpiesedge · 7 years ago

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Our winning entry is...

Congratulations to Chloe Higgins, the winner of our Trespassers fan fiction competition!

We asked Ferryman fans to write a piece of fan fiction telling the story of another soul ferried by Tristan. You can read author Claire McFall’s favourite entry below. Chloe will receive copies of Ferryman and Trespassers, signed by the author.

Thank you to everyone who entered!

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Tristan Orlando Fraser, Attorney at Law.

Nice ring to it, not that Tristan cared, but his attention to detail came as naturally as breathing. Work that one out, he thought wryly. He was dressed in a smart but not overly-expensive looking charcoal suit, crisp shirt, background tie. His shoes were the same nut-brown as the attaché case he carried, both formal and professional, yet neither flashy or new. You would place him at around forty, tall, broad. Physical looking enough to command respect, yet not so bulky as to pick a fight. His sandy hair, flecked with the odd strand of grey, fell closer to his eyes than was fashionable around southern U.S courtroom corridors, but it relaxed his look, and besides, he liked it.

He was ready.

---

Buzzing. Low, persistent. Maybe more like humming, droning. The noise gradually asserting itself further into Dante’s subconscious until he was awake. His rather random first thought was that some screw must have ruined their lunch- there was a strong smell of burnt toast. Or could it be bacon… Keeping his eyes closed against the bright overhead lights, he ditched thoughts of food and tried to make sense of the last few hours. Flexing his wrists and ankles revealed no restraint or pain. Surely…? He forced his eyes open and blinking looked around. Empty, just like the room he could see through the window opposite the chair in which he sat. This is weird, man. Slowly getting to his feet, he was suddenly aware of a figure standing in the periphery over his shoulder. Turning to face him, the suited man was already taking a step and extending his arm in offer of a handshake.

“Dante Prince? I’m Tristan Fraser. I’m a lawyer. Your lawyer, as it happens…”

Dante returned the shake tentatively. “What happened to Edwards?”

“He’s been replaced.” Pity it wasn’t sooner Tristan thought, the man’s reputation went before him even to the afterlife. “I’ve got good news. The final appeal was successful. If you’d like to come with me there’s some business that needs taken care of with the governor…”

Dante’s black skin seemed to blanch at the mention of the man and he nervously raked a big hand over his freshly shaved head.

“Don’t know how much you know, Mr Fraser. But that man had it in for me from the beginning. Can’t see how any business we have with him can be good”.

“He doesn’t have ultimate jurisdiction. I can imagine you’re keen to be out of here. If you’d like to follow me, we can chat on the way. I’m sure you have questions”. Tristan kept his tone relaxed, confident, willing the young man to trust him.

It was a fine line for those who had been executed.

Denial was strong, and if the sentence had been administered humanely enough the victims often had no memory of it. That wasn’t always the case, and Tristan was all too aware of times where the trauma had been so severe it was impossible for the soul’s subconscious to create any kind of calm in the wasteland. Those journeys were practically over before they had begun, so it was vital to keep this one sweet and get him on his way as soon as possible, before reality dawned. Tristan smiled gently and raised his eyebrows, nodding slightly towards the door. “Shall we?”

Dante looked numbly into the lawyer’s face. His mind was reeling. There was so much in him that wanted to believe he had finally gotten that reprieve, that truth had prevailed and he had been found innocent after all. Back at his arrest he had been confident of that outcome, but slowly as appeal followed trial it had become more and more apparent that not only did people WANT him to be guilty, they NEEDED him to be guilty. What once was certainty slipped into the dream that had driven out nightmares on death row, but was now a far-fetched impossibility. Or was it? What if this lawyer guy had somehow managed to pull off a miracle? Granted enough amnesty types had tried (and failed) over the last few years… Maybe this dude had just gone and cracked it. He looked like he might have a clue. Dante blinked and shook his head slightly, as if banishing doubt. Hell why not? It’s not as if walking out of here could land him in any more trouble…

“Ok Mr Fraser, let’s get out of here.”

The short journey out of the high security prison, fresh in Dante’s mind, went without hitch. Tristan had unearthed some “documents” and had instructed Dante to stay silent behind him whilst he presented them. Gates and doors had opened and before long the pair were standing on a dirt road on the far side of the 3.5m high wire-topped prison fence. The only time Dante had said anything was when they were passing the prison health centre. Through a bar-lined window both men had noticed a grey-haired woman working at a file-covered desk, tears silently splashing the papers below.

“That’s Dr. Brooks” Dante told Tristan. “She’s the best, she’s kind to all of us you know? She always believed me. I hope she’s ok. I’ve got to go see her, tell her I’m getting out…”

“There’s no time” Tristan interrupted “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll see her again. Wouldn’t you rather it was in a nicer place?” he encouraged, finding himself hoping that this would be the case. Odd, he didn’t think much about life beyond the line, didn’t usually care about the emotions of the souls he was ferrying. He almost felt a connection with this one, and was resolute about seeing him through.

“Fair enough” Dante had mumbled. “Just hope she’s ok.” And without another word, dropped his eyes and continued to the exit.

The dirt track lead away from the prison into a flat expanse of desert. In the distance Tristan could pick out the first safe house, slightly hazy in the heat. The hardest part of the day was over, he surmised, and he was confident they would be in for the night long before the wraiths started roaming the sandy plains. Truth could wait until then. Exploiting the last bit of denial gripping Dante’s subconscious, the Ferryman turned to face him. “All right, Mr Prince” he said, gesturing into the distance “You see that cabin? I have a satellite office there. I suggest we start walking, it won’t take us long and by the time my driver gets here, well we could already be sitting enjoying a cool refreshment, toasting your freedom.” Tristan turned and began striding purposely towards the cabin, hopeful that Dante would follow him. A few beats later, after starting to question whether he might have gone too far and laid it too thick, he relaxed as he heard heavy footsteps falling into line behind. The sky was still and bright. So far so good…

The closer Dante drew to the “office” in the desert, the more he was conflicted. Dazzled by the brightness of the sunlight, dazed by the day’s astonishing events, he was acutely aware that he wasn’t thinking clearly. He was also GLAD that he wasn’t thinking clearly. This hazy, simple task of following the lawyer was comfortable, easy. Facing into the fact that nothing the man had told him in the last thirty minutes added up was much more difficult. And difficult was something he could do without. Difficult pretty much summed up his last decade and more of life. But difficult was difficult for a reason, and difficult was starting to line up the facts on the cusp of his consciousness. And he wasn’t going to be able to ignore them for much longer.

FACT. He had been found guilty of the rape and murder of Ann McKenzie.

Tristan looked up, alarmed by how suddenly clouds had drawn in and darkened the horizon.

FACT. Every. Single. Appeal. Had failed.

The sky instantly became black, heavy, ominous.

FACT. He lived in the state of Alabama.

The temperature dropped, and there was an uncomfortable buzzing in the air.

FACT. Earlier that afternoon, he, Dante Prince, had been strapped to a chair, and by the power of the state of Alabama, electricity had been passed through his body until he was dead.

Lightening ripped through the sky with such ferocity Tristan could never remember seeing such a storm.

“RUN!”

He immediately circled behind his charge, attempting to push and drive him forward. But the man remained rooted to the spot.

“DANTE! MOVE! NOW!”

The wailing and moaning of the gathering wraiths could be heard even above the raging of the storm. The safehouse was only a couple of hundred meters away, but might as well be lightyears going by the rapid turn of events and the soul’s unwillingness to move forward. Tristan was at a loss. Rarely had the climate changed so quickly. But he was damned if he was going to lose this soul to it.

“Come on Dante,” he begged, getting close to his soul’s ear. “You’ve got to get moving. A few more metres and we’re done and I can explain everything.” Dante raised his head and looked him in the eye, wordlessly questioning why he should accept any explanation that might be offered. Tristan nodded curtly in reply. “I know. But if we don’t move now it’s all over. Do it Dante. Do it for Annie…” The sky exploded at the sound of her name, lightning bolt crashing against lightning bolt. The last sentence was the cliché to end all clichés, but it worked, and the man was off and running, running towards the safe house at a pace with which Tristan struggled to keep up. In a matter of seconds both were arriving at the cabin door, Dante reaching there first, but it was Tristan who opened the door and ushered his charge inside. Throwing off the wraith that had caught up and was clawing at his ankle, Tristan struggled into the pool of light offered by the cabin door and slammed it shut. On the other side, Dante was standing tall, looking more together than Tristan had ever seen him.

“So I’m dead, yeah,” Dante stated, matter-of-fact, “What’s with all this then?”

Outside the lightening stopped, the storm receding. Calmness overtook and even the lurking wraiths seemed to quieten. Tristan relaxed, perhaps this might be ok after all. Gesturing for Dante to sit on the corner of a narrow bed, he propped himself on the arm of the thread-bare chair opposite.

“You are correct. You did die today. All this- “he gestured around, letting his hand return pointing back at himself, “It’s part of your journey. I’m your Ferryman. I’m here to escort you, escort your soul, across the wasteland to the world beyond.”

Dante’s eyes widened and a smile grew on his face. “I’m REALLY dead. But I’m still here. Wherever here is. I’m somewhere. I still exist- I DO exist, don’t I Mr Fraser?”

Existence. That was a topic Tristan himself had had plenty of time to mull over, and he hadn’t really reached a conclusion. “You exist.”

“This is so cool! What’s the deal with you taking me to the pearly gates or wherever? I can’t go myself I take it?”

“No. You don’t know the way, and the noise you hear outside? Those are wraiths, waiting to devour you.” Way to lay on the drama Tristan, he thought to himself.

But Dante was unperturbed. “My momma says you can’t get to heaven on your own. Looks like she’s right. She was the last face I saw,” he remembered, a tenderness coming over his as he swung his long legs round and lay back on the bed, gazing up at the ceiling. “She wasn’t all that worried. Last thing she said to me was that she was happy for me, my time of being framed and wrongly accused on death row was over, and I was going to spend eternity in the arms of baby Jesus.” With that thought he quickly turned his head towards Tristan “Is that where I’m heading?”

Tristan almost shrugged. “It’s not for me to know, or tell. You all have your own journeys, we just help you along a section of them.”

Dante wanted to ask more about this Ferryman of his, but he was suddenly feeling weary. Pleasantly weary. It seemed like this was the first time he had been able to relax in over a decade. He was a free man. Free from death row, free from the constraints of life. And free to find his Annie again. He wanted to ask Tristan if she would be there, wherever he was going. If HE existed after death, surely SHE still existed too. But he was under, slipping deeper into his subconscious, into a place where he could see Annie standing beside him. As sweet and beautiful and as alive as ever. Tristan watched him smile as he slept. Souls didn’t need to sleep, of course, but the habit was deeply ingrained, an echo of life that the subconscious held on to. For a time, anyway. But on this first night, Tristan was sure he’d have a good eight hours to sit alone with his thoughts. Outside the night remained still, the wraiths subdued. Never had he known a soul to be so content, no, so happy to be dead. Clearly life before death had been grim for Dante, but more so he was desperate to be reunited with his Annie.

Annie. Tristan didn’t know anything about her, other than her boyfriend, his most recent soul, had been wrongly executed for her murder. But something was starting to grate with him. He didn’t know their story, shouldn’t know their story. Over the next few days as Dante travelled towards the line, Tristan knew from experience he would no doubt be privy to an account of the dead man’s life in gory detail. But what was grating, even chilling, was that Tristan felt in part that he knew their story already. Annie… Dante… DANTE! How could he have forgotten that name? One of Dante’s mother’s biggest regrets was the fact that she had named her first-born and only son Dante. This was before she met the Lord, of course, Tristan had been told with amused affection. She wished she had had the foresight to call him Joshua; that was a name to be proud of. A name like Dante, well you were pretty much destined for the silver screen, or pro football. Or prison… The conversation, over a decade old, back played clearly in Tristan’s mind. He knew their story because he had already been told half of it. By Annie herself. And he knew how devastatingly it ended.

Dante sighed a contented sigh, smiling again in his sleep. Across the room his Ferryman was stricken. How were they going to make it through the next few days?

#Ferryman #Trespassers #Claire McFall #Fan fiction #writing #competition #winner

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