#i want it to be a welcoming place and i want to see more people posting there besides me hehe 🦇

[hexb0nes]

Exposed!

features: jayce talis & viktor from arcane

summary: welcome to the nsfw alphabet game featuring the men of progress! discussion of kink will be featured.

a/n: the people have demanded this and so be it, i have returned with this lovely treat for you all! happy 100 now 151 followers celebration!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Jayce - He pulls out all the stops! Depending on your mood, he will either give you a good massage with praise or the two of you share a bath together

Viktor - He enjoys cuddling as aftercare. He’ll trace shapes and lines on your skin while gentle music (piano, lofi, etc.) plays from one of your phones

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Jayce - He loves his arms! They show off his strength and his resilience from years spent in the forge, as well as how easily he can pick people up. On his partner, he loves their chest; not completely in a sexual way, he likes laying on his partner’s chest and listening to their heartbeat

Viktor - He struggles with pinpointing a favorite body part of his, but if he had to place, he would say his eyes. He likes the color of them and they let him see the beauty of the world. As for his partner. he loves their hands; he sees hands as a reflection of the person’s experiences, as well as his most comfortable/go-to form of intimacy is hand holding

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Jayce - He loves eating cum, regardless if it’s from a pussy or cock; he will eat it up like a Thanksgiving dinner

Viktor - He can cum buckets if he has been pent up for a few days; he has once popped a condom from all his orgasms after a day’s long fap session

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Jayce - He’s a fan of roleplay during sex; his favorite roles are as a firefighter and a stripper

Viktor - He has fucked at least 3 times while Jayce was in the lab with him, usually get a blowjob; Jayce still doesn’t know to this day

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Jayce - Acts like he’s experienced, is actually an amateur, only has been with 2-3 people; it takes a couple of “research” sessions with his partner before he gets the hang of it

Viktor - WHORE!!! He’s very experienced, had a slut era during his Academy days because he wanted to explore his sexuality (and had too strong of a sex drive) 

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Jayce - Doggy, he loves gripping his partner’s hips and vice versa 

Viktor - Cowgirl, it’s the most accessible for him 

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Jayce - Surprisingly serious in the moment when he first starts having sex with a new partner; he lightens up over time

Viktor - More cheeky with the occasional quip of dry humor, will get serious if it’s an intense session

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Jayce - He takes much pride in his manly grooming! He’s well manscaped down there

Viktor - He doesn’t have much hair down there in the first place, so it’s a non-issue for him 

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Jayce - He’s a romantic at heart and it translates into his loving, service top behavior during sex 

Viktor - It takes a few sessions before he engages more so romantically; how he acts romantically is more subtle, such as caressing his partner’s body

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Jayce - Chronic masturbator during his 20s, has lightened up since then

Viktor - Cums pretty easily with a short refractory period when masturbating 

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Jayce - Breeding

Viktor - Bondage 

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Jayce - His apartment (privacy is importantly for him)

Viktor - The lab (he’s an exhibitionist)

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Jayce - Little touches from his partner in his sensitive spots like the small of his back; he’s motivated by his partner’s moans during sex 

Viktor - Cheeky banter with mild brat behavior from his partner; he’s motivated by how unraveled his partner becomes during sex 

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Jayce - Beside basics no-nos, watersports 

Viktor - Besides basics no-nos, medical play 

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Jayce - GIVER!!! Pretty good at eating out & giving head

Viktor - No preference, but he’s hella skilled at eating pussy & giving head

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Jayce - fast but sensual

Viktor - slow but rough

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Jayce - Not a big fan, he likes taking his time to properly fuck his partner

Viktor - Doesn’t mind it, only will do so if it’s an emergency (i.e. accidental boner before a presentation)

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Jayce - He’s cool with risk if his partner prompts it 

Viktor - He’s a scientist, of course he’s game to risk

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Jayce - Can go up to 5 rounds in 20-30 minute intervals without break if he’s super horny, but usually does it for 3 rounds in 15-20 minute intervals 

Viktor - 2 to 3 rounds in 10 to 15 minute intervals with long breaks in between; can go longer on low pain days, but that’s not often

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Jayce - Only owns a fleshlight; more than happy to use toys on his partner and is not opposed to have a butt plug in him 

Viktor - Yes! His toys are a staple of his sex life, they make masturbation and sex more accessible; he loves using toys on his partner than himself because it allows him to be more active during sex 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Jayce - Not really a teaser 

Viktor - VERY MUCH A TEASER

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Jayce - Very loud, a mixture of grunts and whimpers 

Viktor - Kinda quiet, a mixture of groans and huffs 

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Jayce - He’s a fan of classic porno maganizes, such as Playboy 

Viktor - He was the one who proposed the idea of making the Hexstrap (in a genuine sense, he wants to make sex accessible for everyone)

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Jayce - Muscles galore, miscellaneous marks from time spent in the forge, and sizable melons; 8” with above average girth

Viktor - Snatched waist, scars from past surgeries, and lots of moles/freckles; 6.5” with average girth 

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Jayce - Fluctuates a lot, but still above average 

Viktor - Very high when he was younger, has decreased since the progression of his illness 

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Jayce - Wide awake, will not fall asleep until his partner does

Viktor - Depending on his spoons, he can collapse immediately afterwards or gave enough time to engage in aftercare and fall asleep with his partner  

[bat-gwuck]

Okay so this is my entry for @drizzledrawings competition!! Get ready for a whole ass fucking wall of text…whoopsie!!

anyway drizzle i love u and ur cowbians they me goofy-grin-on-my-face-kicking-my-feet happy — u and ur art are such an inspiration mwah!!

—

I present to you my entry: Adelaide Forsythe – a travelling scholar and astronomer who’s shifter form is a magpie!

So, starting off with the animal choice. I chose a magpie for two reasons: one, I’m a bird nerd and two, I felt like the symbolism attached to magpies really fit her character??

As a member of the Corvidae family, Magpies are known for being quite intelligent, as well as having a love for shiny objects (get it, get it, she’s a scholar and she loves stars which are SHINY…I’m so smart guys)

BUT BUT BUT there’s a lot of folklore attached to them which I thought was also fitting – my Mum is like *really* superstitious and growing up she always had me salute magpies and you had to ask how its “wife” was doing if it was on its own bc (apparently) if you didn’t you’d be inviting bad luck – there’s a little song/poem that goes “one for sorrow, two for joy, three for a girl, four for a boy, five for silver, six for gold, seven for a secret never to be told” so the idea is that if you see a lone magpie its an ill omen so you salute it n stuff to ward all that away bc you don’t have to salute a pair of magpies

Or maybe its just smth my Mum does idk BUT ANYWAY

I thought I could play with this a little bc in some cultures magpies are acc seen as signs of good luck and fortune, which brings me to Adelaide: she is an academic in an untamed land, an outsider among both frontier folk and the scholars who dismissed her, she longs for scientific recognition, yet finds freedom outside of its rigid institutions, she is a woman in a world that has no clear place for her—too independent for England’s high society and yet too refined for the lawless frontier. Like the magpie, she adapts, moving in a space that both welcomes and rejects her.

THEN, you have the “seven for a secret never to be told” which I felt was fitting for a shifter who doesn’t want to be found out AND THEN the “three for a girl, four for a boy” fit a bit as well, as she often poses as a man to further her academic pursuits (bit a stretch, maybe?? but idc im rolling with it)

In addition, magpies were almost hunted to extinction because people were so afraid of them, which I felt also fit with her place as not just a woman, but a woman in academia AND a shifter who’s trying her best not to get found out and skinned or smth. They’re ALSO associated with witchcraft, which fits too!!

Anyway enough about magpies, onto the actual character lmao.

—

Adelaide’s defining trait is her insatiable curiosity. She is a woman who cannot look at the night sky without wondering what lies beyond it, who cannot hear a folk tale without questioning its origins, who cannot witness an injustice without demanding to know why the world is the way it is. She does not simply observe the world—she dissects it. Whether it’s the trajectory of a comet or the migration of birds, she sees patterns and logic in everything. Even when confronted with superstition, she doesn’t scoff outright—she analyzes, compares, and tries to understand why people believe what they do.

She does not downplay her knowledge for the comfort of others. When a man tries to explain something she already knows, she listens politely for about ten seconds before cutting him off with a far more detailed explanation. Her sharp tongue has made her enemies in both academic circles and the rugged frontier. She is rather exacting in her speech, rarely mincing her words. She dislikes vague statements, preferring specificity in all things. When others say "a bright star," she responds with, "Do you mean Sirius, Betelgeuse, or Vega?" This can make her seem arrogant, though in truth, she simply values accuracy. Besides, if anyone has earnt the right to be a bit arrogant, Adelaide would say it’s her.

Yet, for all her logic, there is an undercurrent of childlike wonder beneath her nose-stuck-in-a-book personality. The moment she gazes through her telescope, or rides the wind bathed in starlight, all pretense falls away, and she becomes a child staring at the heavens for the first time again.

Adelaide has always been an outsider, whether in Oxford’s elite intellectual circles or the rugged towns of the West. She does not belong to any one world, and she has long since given up trying to fit in. While she values solitude, there is a quiet ache of loneliness beneath her independence. She spends many nights staring at the sky, comforted by its constancy, yet knowing that the stars cannot speak back to her. In Oxford, she was too bold, too opinionated, too unwilling to be a wife first and a scholar second. In the West, she is too refined, too intellectual, too ignorant of the ways of outlaws and bounty hunters. She is always “too much” or “not enough” for the world around her.

Adelaide does not easily trust others, not just because of her “little secret”. She has met too many people who have either underestimated her or tried to use her intelligence for their own gain. When she does form connections, she values them deeply, though she often struggles to express this in words. Instead, she shows her care through small, practical gestures. Yet, despite her walls, there are moments—rare but profound—when someone earns her trust, and the walls crack just enough for light to slip through.

She keeps meticulous journals filled with astronomical calculations, weather patterns, and folk stories she gathers from the people she meets. Her saddlebags are filled with star charts, old books, and curious trinkets.

Once she sets her mind to something, she will not be dissuaded. If someone tells her a mountain is impossible to climb, she will reach the peak just to prove them wrong. It is both her greatest strength and her biggest flaw.

She has little patience for those who exploit others, whether it be a professor stealing credit for a woman’s discovery or a wealthy rancher cheating his workers. She does not take kindly to men who assume they can buy her loyalty or silence.

Though she claims she prefers to stay out of trouble, she has a habit of stepping in when someone is being mistreated. She does not pick fights often, but when she does, her words cut deeper than bullets. Adelaide does not resort to violence unless absolutely necessary, but she will ruin a man’s reputation, expose a fraud, or leave damning evidence where the right people can find it. She believes in the long game – vengeance is best served cold, calculated, and with irrefutable proof. She did learn some things from her upper class upbringing, after all.

Beneath her sharp intellect and hardened exterior, Adelaide has a deeply buried, fragile softness – one she rarely allows herself to indulge. She denies being sentimental, yet she cannot help but stop to admire a field of wildflowers or the way the Milky Way stretches across the sky. She has a poetic way of describing the cosmos, though she would never call herself a poet. Though she claims she does not care for fame, a small part of her fears that when she is gone, her work will be erased, her name lost. She has spent her life chasing knowledge, but in the quietest moments, she often wonders if anyone will remember her.

—

Born in 1871 in Oxford, England, Adelaide Forsythe was the only child of Dr. Reginald Forsythe, a respected academic who specialised in mathematics and astronomy, and Margaret Forsythe, a woman of high social standing whose primary concern was ensuring her daughter’s successful integration into elite society. While Margaret sought to mold Adelaide into a proper young lady—one who would marry well and host extravagant dinner parties—Reginald saw his daughter’s keen mind and indulged her curiosity, albeit discreetly.

The Forsythe line carried old magic, ancient and restless, passed down in blood and bone. It was not the magic of spells or incantations, but of transformation—of slipping between forms, of becoming something other, something free.

Adelaide had been standing on the balcony of their estate, staring up at the night sky, when a sudden pull overtook her. Her skin burned, her bones ached, and before she could cry out, the world tilted. The next thing she knew, she was plummeting through the air — not falling, but flying. Tiny wings beat frantically as instinct overrode panic, and she soared above the rooftops, free in a way she had never known before.

And then she crashed, hard, into a chimney stack and tumbled ungracefully to the ground.

Her mother found her shivering in the garden at dawn. There were no screams, no hysteria — only a cold stare, a tight grip on Adelaide’s wrist, and a warning whispered with more force than any slap:

"You will never do that again. Do you understand me?"

Frightened by her parent’s stories of torture, death and other such things, Adelaide was keen to agree with her mother.

But nature does not forget so easily.

—

As a young girl, Adelaide would sneak into her father’s study late at night, pouring over his scientific texts by candlelight. The first time she glimpsed Saturn’s rings through a telescope at the age of ten, she was transfixed. The chaos and expectations of human society seemed so small compared to the great, unending vastness that was the universe. She devoured every book she could find, often pestering her father’s academic colleagues with endless questions during social gatherings.

Her precocious nature made her an outlier among other girls her age. She had no interest in embroidery, courtship, or fashionable gossip. When she was fifteen, her mother caught her sneaking into her father’s lectures disguised in her brother’s old coat and hat. Furious and humiliated, Margaret demanded her father put an end to her academic pursuits, fearing that no reputable man would ever marry a woman who thought herself equal to scholars. But Reginald, torn between duty to his wife and pride in his daughter’s intellect, found a compromise — he arranged private lessons with an old friend, Professor William Crenshaw, one of the foremost astronomers of the era.

By the age of twenty, Adelaide was unofficially assisting at a local observatory, analyzing star catalogs, observing planetary movements, and even drafting papers under her brother’s name (Adam, who had wholeheartedly agreed to the plan) to bypass gender restrictions in scientific publishing. She developed a reputation for being fiercely intelligent but also unyielding, unwilling to temper her opinions for the comfort of her male peers.

Her greatest challenge, however, was not the task of unravelling the mysteries of the universe but the narrow minds of her peers. While some admired her brilliance, others saw her presence as a scandalous threat. When a comet she helped chart was credited to a male assistant instead of her, Adelaide protested openly. “If a woman’s eyes can see as far as a man’s, then her name should reach just as far,” she argued. Her defiance earned her both admiration and ire.

In 1891, her growing reputation secured her an invitation to travel westward to Lemoyne to observe a rare solar eclipse. This would be her first real taste of life beyond the confines of academia and upper class English society.

Lemoyne was unlike anything Adelaide had ever known—rugged, lawless, and ungoverned by the rigid structures she was so used to back home. The journey was treacherous; the expedition was plagued by broken equipment, aggressive wildlife, and even an attempted robbery by outlaws. Adelaide, having never fired a gun in her life, was nearly helpless, relying on the protection of local guides and her quick wit to survive.

Despite the hardships, she made her way to the observation site and witnessed the total eclipse—a perfect black void swallowing the sun, a fleeting moment of cosmic wonder. As she gazed at the event through her telescope, surrounded by untamed wilderness instead of university halls, something within her shifted. The American West was a world of mystery and discovery in its own right, she thought.

When she returned to England, she found herself restless. The constraints of her life now felt suffocating.

It was misfortune that eventually spurred her onwards. During a risky midnight flight, Adelaide had injured her wing, and as such, was stuck in her form for a while. A colleague of hers had found her near the University and had taken it upon himself to care for her — much to her horror, and her gratitude. Adelaide had hoped to escape before he found out but it was not to be. Upon finding not a freshly healed magpie, but a grown woman in his kitchen, the man understandably freaked out. He threatened to expose her secret — stating that she was to step down from her post if she wanted to (quite literally) save her skin.

Stuck between a rock and a hard place, Adelaide set out for the Americas once again — this time alone. With nothing but a collapsible brass telescope, a collection of notebooks, and a revolver she barely knew how to use, she sailed westward, determined to document the night sky from places few had ever studied before.

She traveled from town to town, funding her journey by selling star charts, lecturing at any schools that would take her (which were few and far between), as well as a sizeable fund from her father, who had helped her flee. She often sought out high ground, camping alone in the mountains or vast plains, sketching the heavens by firelight.

But the frontier was dangerous, and a woman traveling alone is easy prey, especially one of “her kind”. She learned to navigate both the celestial sphere and the lawless lands beneath it. She bribed hunters to look the other way, outwitted charlatans who sought to take advantage of her, and, after a close brush with a gang of highwaymen in New Austin, reluctantly learned how to use her revolver. Though not a natural fighter, she became adept at using her intellect to survive, talking her way out of most trouble before bullets were needed.

By 1899, the world was changing. The frontier was vanishing, swallowed by railroads and industry. Scientific institutions back east were growing in prestige, but still refused to fully recognize women.

Eleanor found herself caught between multiple worlds — too independent for the constraints of academia, too refined for the lawless plains of the West and too wild, too different for all of them.

She had spent years mapping the stars, but her greatest challenge remained: carving out a place where she, and her work, could live and be remembered.

She would never be a wife waiting at home, nor a delicate lady confined to parlors and polite conversation. Nor would she be held down and restrained because of the blood that ran through her veins.

She was a scholar, an explorer, a collector of knowledge and forgotten stories. A woman with a revolver in one hand and a telescope in the other, chasing the stars and riding the wind before the West faded into memory.

Because the world will change, the frontier will disappear, and one day, even the names of its greatest outlaws will be forgotten.

But the stars will remain. And so will she.

Either way, Adelaide would continue to look skyward, seeking answers in the infinite dark.

—

Okay so that’s the end (so far)!! Hope you enjoyed!! I might expand on her and give her some friends (maybe even a girlfriend…heh) later but idk??

P.S. Adelaide would def be besties with that palaeontologist you meet who gives you that dino bone quest

[wicked-disposition]

tw: blackmail. humiliation. power play.

The Secretary ; Jeong Yunho

there's always a lot of work to do, too many orders to obey, a lot of complaints to hear. and you love it.

you love to be the one ordering Yunho around, to see him doing his best so he can keep the job, swallowing his words to not disrespect you when you're actually being a bitch.

but he understands it now and at this point, it's just fun. you try so hard to affect him, so focused on getting on his nerves. you could have anyone you wanted, but you wanted him and that's flattering.

so when he comes in your office during the day, the annoying smirk is already on your lips and he knows you're ready to say something to put him in his place, as usual. but there's no time for it since he grabs you by the neck and pushes you against the wall.

you don't fight back, he can't even hear you complain like you love to do. His eyes examine you carefully in contrast at what his fingers do with your blouse, ripping it off, buttons spread all over the floor.

"i didn't think you would behave so well, but i guess all you wanted was to be a good bitch for me, right?" before you could answer, he turns you around, slamming your face and body on the harsh surface.

He pulls up your skirt and you push your hips against his, urging to feel something, needing more contact. your voice is desperate and whiny when you ask him to touch you and this only makes him smile wide. the fiery boss is nothing but a precious whore for him and you can't even deny it.

he wastes no time and slams himself inside your wet hole, being welcomed with your moans and warmth.

"the door is unlocked and you have cameras here. would you like to see someone stepping in and catching you taking cock like that?" he asks cunningly.

hips going harder, the sounds of your bodies hitting on each other just increasing, your moans getting louder, and you way too lost in pleasure to form any sentence.

"maybe i can get the recording and show my coworkers how good you are for me, i bet they would love to meet the real you." and this idea is not that bad for you, right? to have yourself embarrassed to this point, to have everyone to know you're just a filthy slut who craves cock?

you're clenching around him, swallowing him whole and begging for his cum, he just can't deny you that. so he gives it to you, thrusting nonstop so he can be sure you're filled with all of his load, your juices mixing up and staining your inner thighs.

he’s ready to leave the office when he sees everything is perfect, your shirt is ruined, you are dripping cum as there are many people outside just waiting for you to come out.

"i think our professional relationship will be better from now on."

“you just need to be a good girl and no one will know this is just a facade for the needy bitch you are."

he gives you one last look, a victorious smile on his face.

"good luck, with your meeting you’ll need it."

[thebramblewood]

Friends!

The amazing @simsdaughters has offered to create moodboards for the vampires who have been submitted to my casting call! This would be a fun way for us to get to know more about them, since it might be a while before they make an appearance in the story. If you're interested, you can join the HZID community to see the post and make a request!

I'm going to be obnoxious and tag everyone who's submitted so they see this!

@plasmafruittree @mosquito-cove @simvanie @bloomingkyras @silenciodiablo

@madeofcc @asimplevampire @itcrescentcrow @moonwoodhollow @venriliz

@squea @evilgoof @eljeebee @castawavy @someone-elsa

@ruthplaysthesims @moonfromearth @living-undead @fallstaticexit @vicciouxs

@skyalenesims @spookyorcas @queenmabsim @ryttu3k-sims @blueshistorysims

@invisiblequeen @raven-trait @antiquatedsimmer

[fiveminuterice]

controversial take i think but i don’t like when artists say “don’t like without reblogging” on their posts or say they’ll block people who like their art without reblogging. i say this as an artist, if you feel upset often enough by people who like without reblogging then that’s not on them that’s on you. and i say this is gently as possible. you are not owed engagement.

[valiant-portabella-pirkko]

alright. know what? with Secrets of the Obscure right around the corner and plenty of new Mists-related sky island settings coming with it, I'll just bite the bullet and interest-check a little something I've been turning in my head for a long, long while.

would YOU be interested in a Mists-based GW2 roleplay guild that uses a lore compliant multiverse system to allow canon, canon-adjacent, lore-breaking, and otherwise 'contradictory' muses to coexist in the same setting?

simply put: every writer's cast would be set in their own self-contained universe. as such, everyone could bring whatever muses they want with their own personal headcanons, and no one could dictate what is or isn't canon for anyone else. so long as your muses are GW2-based, you're good to go! bring your Commanders, bring your canon-divergent OCs, bring your canon muses-- and yes, even the ones that are 'supposed' to be dead. who can say what might have happened in a strange world far across the Mists, after all?

neutral hubs and in-character safety guardrails would be in place to keep all muses on a relatively even playing field regardless of their power, history, and prestige, too. play hardball if you like, but it might not end quite the way you'd hope. the main rule would be to maintain good OOC etiquette at all times: no godmodding, no metagaming, no theft, don't blend IC and OOC, and so-on.

if that sounds like something you might have interest in, please interact with this post! and if you've got questions or concerns, I'd love to hear them; feel free to send an ask or a DM, or just reply to this post!

[firael]

20 years of waiting of twinship vs 20 years of waiting of romance 😅🥰.

“You are such a weak, sniveling fool, Caramon!” he snarled. Irritably he tried to shake off his twin’s grip. He might as well have tried to shake off death. “Surely you must know by now what I have done! The kender must have told you about the gnome. You know I betrayed you. I would have left you for dead in this wretched place. And still you cling to me!”

“I’m clinging to you because the waters are closing over your head, Raistlin,” Caramon said.

His gaze went down to his own, strong, sun-burned hand holding his brother’s thin wrist, its bones as fragile as the bones of a bird, its skin white, almost transparent. Caramon fancied he could see the blood pulse in the blue veins.

“My hand upon your arm. That’s all we have.” Caramon paused and drew a deep breath. Then, his voice deep with sorrow, he continued, “Nothing can erase what you have done, Raist. It can never be the same between us. My eyes have been opened. I now see you for what you are.”

“And yet you beg me to come with you!” Raistlin sneered.

“I could learn to live with the knowledge of what you are and what you have done.” Looking intently into his brother’s eyes, Caramon said softly, “But you have to live with yourself, Raistlin. And there are times in the night when that must be damn near unbearable.”

Raistlin did not respond. His face was a mask, impenetrable, unreadable.

Caramon swallowed a huskiness in his throat. His grip on his twin’s arm tightened. “Think of this, though. You have done good in your life, Raistlin—maybe better than most of us. Oh, I’ve helped people. It’s easy to help someone when that help is appreciated: But you helped those who only threw it back in your face. You helped those who didn’t deserve it. You helped even when you knew it was hopeless, thankless.” Caramon’s hand trembled. “There’s still good you could do… to make up for the evil. Leave this. Come home.”

Come home...come home...

Raistlin closed his eyes, the ache in his heart almost unendurable.

— Dragonlance.

Left a trail of red on every island

As I traded friends like objects I could use

Hurt more lives than I can count on my hands

But all of that was to bring me back to you

So tell me

Would you fall in love with me again

If you knew all l've done?

The things I can't undo

I am not the man you knew...

If that's true, could you do me a favor?

Just a moment of labor that would bring me some peace.

See that wedding bed? Could you carry it over?

Lift it high on your shoulders and take it far away from here.

How could you say this?I had built that wedding bed with my blood and sweat

Carved it into the olive tree where we first met.

A symbol of our love everlasting Do you realize what you have asked me?

The only way to move it is to cut it from its roots!

Only my husband knew that

So I guess that makes him you!

— EPIC the musical.

I would also add...

Palin stepped back to face his parents. “Mother, Father. Someone else is with me, someone you haven’t seen in a long, long time. He wanted me to tell you first. He ... wasn’t certain he’d be welcome. ...”

With a wild, pain-filled cry, Caramon rushed for the door, flung it wide.

A figure clad in black robes, dark against the darkness, stood on the stoop. At the sight of Caramon, the figure drew back the cowl covering his head. Light streaming out of the inn glistened on golden skin, shone in hourglass eyes.

“Raist!” Caramon cried, and swayed on his feet.

Raistlin looked long at his brother, did not move from his place outside the door.

“Caramon,” he said at last, softly, and the name seemed wet with his heart’s blood. “Caramon, can you . . . can you . . .” He began to cough, but he struggled to continue to talk. “Forgive . . .”

Caramon reached out, drew his brother inside. “Your room is ready for you, Raist. It always has been.”

— Dragonlance.

I will fall in love with you over and over again,

I don't care how, where, or when

No matter how long it's been, you're mine

Don't tell me you're not the same person

You're always my husband and l've been waiting, waiting...

— EPIC the musical.

Family meeting ❤️ For the 2024 Dragonlance Reverse Bang at DL Writers Discord server. Family Meeting by The Wyrm Ouroboros and Family matter by Tellie were based on this illustration, feel free to check them here

[selfinflictedgunshotwound]

my various mental issues make liking people so hard because i already put people on a pedestal to begin with if i genuinely like them so i am automatically laying myself at their feet like a dog but then i wrestle with the ego death of seeing that they're just a human being who is capable of being wrong and stupid and annoying me and it kind of makes me sick to my stomach not because i expect people to be perfect but because i know if i had like 5 minutes to sit down and talk to this person i would feel more secure in knowing where they stand on any given thing. but you aren't granted that when you just like some random guy who will never know you because you can't take the feeling of someone who could actually know you. or whatever.

[oidheadh-con-culainn]

having complex feelings about gender stuff recently but i don't really know how to put it into words. some of it is about the self-erasure that becomes necessary when you try and talk about medical misogyny you've experienced as someone who isn't a woman but who is perceived by the world as one. some of it is about no longer feeling connected to female-centred stories of a kind you used to enjoy as a teenager because they always feel alienating but also not liking your own emotions about that because you should be able to enjoy stories that weren't written for you, it's just that they don't feel like stories that even allow space for you to exist in. but shouldn't men be able to enjoy women's stories too? but you're not a man. but you're not a woman. but the stories are about and for people who look like you but you're not one of them. but you would have been them if you lived in those worlds because nobody would have seen a difference, and that's viscerally uncomfortable, and impossible to enjoy--

and some of it is about looking for stories you could exist in and only finding stories that are profoundly unrelatable because they're only ever about characters who knew they were trans since puberty and had access to transition care in their teens and you didn't figure it out until adulthood and also that's not legally available in your country so that would never have been on the cards in the first place. or people who figured it out in adulthood but they're so certain and they're so ready to take risks and they'll change the world for a chance to become themselves because they know what they're aiming for. some of it is not being sure what you want but knowing you'll always have to be certain about it enough to fight for it because you're not going to get it any other way. some of it is not wanting to be an activist, not wanting to agitate, not wanting to have to resist every goddamn second bc you're just trying to exist in the world, but the only way anyone will ever give you a modicum of what you need is if you put all your energy into the struggle for it--

some of it is about feeling an ongoing tether to the experience of being a woman in a bad way but no tether to the experience in a good way and there's a weird kind of mourning in that, and a self denial, and an inability to reconcile your own contradictions in a way that feels comfortable. some of it is about feeling pressure to experience gender differently and to opt in to something else if you're going to opt out of what you were given but you don't want to do that either. and a lot of it is constantly self-policing your own emotions and thoughts and being convinced you're doing it all wrong somehow because you see other people being so free with their genderfuck, so unencumbered by expectations, so easily able to get it right for themselves and other people, and you're still misgendering yourself half the time in your mind because you don't even know what the right words would be at this point when you still have scars shaped like being a girl even though you're not a girl and you can't talk about them without doing yourself another piece of damage

like. i am who i am because i was thought a girl and maybe because i thought i was a girl and maybe i still don't understand why i'm not a girl but in my not-girlness i no longer feel i have any access to any kind of womanhood that doesn't hurt but i don't want to police myself out of femininity just because it isn't all that i am anymore

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

Slowly things went back to normal and a week went by and everyone almost forgot all about the photos.

Angel was so excited when his guy brought them in all perfectly framed with black and white frames that made the all red photos pop out more.

Angel: Thanks Frankie! Stunning work as always babes.~

They hugged, it was nice to do something for other people that don't require him to fuck someone else to get a good or service. Angel was really proud of himself.

Looking at them all he was blown away with how they came out, they were perfect!

The other photos that weren't framed were placed into personal photo albums for everyone. But the best photos were framed.

Angel wrapped everything up and when he got to Adam and Lucifer's he smirked, it's time to play a little matchmaker. He wrapped them up as normal, but switched the name tags.

-

Angel: Okay! Come and get them.~

Everyone grabbed theirs and Adam was nervous, what if he didn't look good?

Turns out him and Lucifer were the only ones who didn't open them right away.

Charlie and Vaggie cooed and awwed over theirs, they loved it. Husk even admitted that he looked good which had Angel swooning.

Alastor: Well aren't you going to open yours?

Adam: I will.... Alone.

Alastor: I suppose no one would want to see it anyway.~

Lucifer glared: You're just saying that because you know no one wants to see yours. I feel bad that Angel and that guy had to subject themselves to ugly ass.

He smirked when Alastor glared and went away, when is he going to learn that he won't win against him?

Adam gave a small grateful smile: Thanks.

Lucifer smiled: You're welcome, I'm actually going to open mine in my room too Soooo you're not the only one.

Adam had the urge to hug him but stopped himself. They went on their way to their rooms and that's when he opened the album first, he looked fucking hot! Damn Angel knows what he's doing.

He then ripped into the paper to see which one was framed and Adam choked on his spit.

This wasn't him. This was Lucifer.

Leaning on his cane, a sultry smile on his face, his eyes hooded and sensual with the colors inverted and his horns framing his hat perfectly.

He was wearing tight black leather and fishnets with heeled high boots, his mid section showing and the pants which were also leather were low-rise stopping just before it showed anything.

Lucifer looked fucking hot. Adam absently wondered if he had enough time to jerk off before the King noticed he didn't have his photo.

Adam: Angel you fucking little shit....... Wait.

If he has Lucifer's photo ........ Does that mean-?

Lucifer has his photo.

Pin Me (To Your Bed)

@beef-brisket

Happy Valentine's Day Everyone! 💖

-

Charlie was so excited to help Angel set up his idea, it was a great way to help people with their body image and self confidence.

Adam was leaning against the wall as he watched the photo shoot area be set up. Angel wanted everyone to do a pin up photo shoot for Valentine's Day to help their self-esteem and feel sexy.

Angel: Hey mister pouty pants, come help me with the outfits.

Adam sighed and made his way over, the clothing rack held many linguire outfits, short shorts, and leather pieces of clothing.

Adam: Angel, I've seen tissues bigger than this thing.

He held up what looked like a G string and Angel laughed.

Angel: Oh relax! And it's all in fun big guy, besides if you wore something sexy who's to say short, pale, and hunky won't be all over you.~

Adam flushed, he knew it was a bad idea to tell Angel about his feelings for Lucifer. But as long as the short King doesn't hear he guessed it was fine.

Adam: Shut up.

Speaking of Lucifer, he was just done hanging the lights when he floated down smiling at the pair.

Lucifer: Those are umm.... Interesting outfits Angel.

Angel: Aren't they?~ You're dressing up too aren't ya short King?

Lucifer coughed into his fist: W-Well, maybe. I have an image to maintain I can't wear anything too scandalous. You understand.

Adam tried and failed to not picture Lucifer only wearing that G string that would barely cover his dick.

Angel smirked: Oh yeah of course.~ I'll make it all very tasteful for everyone, all within a comfort zone they like. But how about you show a little skin? Like right here.~

He pointed to his stomach area and Lucifer felt warm, he looked at Adam who was looking at him maybe zoned out. Would he like that?

Lucifer: Y-yeah I guess that's fine.

[rainingincale]

...

[darlinimamess]

this is gonna sound so strange but i wish manhood was beautiful in the way that womanhood is

[side-by-side-sideblog]

Also the tma/tme debate demands that queer people out themselves to everyone online by saying which they are... outing culture isn't a safe place. Plus it's binary, binaries are our enemies. Sex is a spectrum, Gender is a spectrum, they're a set of traits that come at random. To create a "you are this, you are that" puts people who are in the middle as targets to force them to pick one. Like it isn't welcoming to intersex people, it's outing them to a binary of "are you us or them" again. It also puts nonbinary people in a tough spot in a similar way!!

Also I don't get why this whole fight against transmascs acts as if transmascs are cis men. I'm butch, I am a woman, but I am getting top surgery, I consider it a masculine transition and consider myself transmasculine. I think trans men are like buddies of mine, just dudes who support masc women. A lot of the oppression I face is similar to theirs, so they're like comrades in arms. With this debate I guess makes me an enemy, someone who doesn't face misogyny or transphobia at the same time... I'm a woman, one with a complicated gender but like, that changes nothing.

I see people reblog/post things like "praying for a bomb that kills all transmascs" and then turning around and reblogging horry posts about butch women. I guess I am a sex object that is also only worth being sexy or bombed?These tma/tme groups use transmisogyny to be misogynistic to any queer person who disagrees. They also habe no singular gender identity because there are a bunch of trans men harassing other trans men over this. The tma/tme groups go after trans women, they go after trans men, they go after intersex advocates for not agreeing. Almost every intersex resource is now marked red on shinigami eyes because people are not being honest with wanting to make a good community that accepts people. All it takes is one person saying something "wrong" and they get death threats, rape threats. That's trans misogyny, and it's happening to any trans person masc, fem, neutral, all the of the above. I've seen some people go around calling transmascs zipper tits. Woah, noooo!! That makes this place fucking unsafe, there's nothing good about that, that's not safe for trans men, for butch women, or any anyone who gets top surgery, ever, like, wtf!!! You can't say stuff like that and be like "All butch women are cool" I am a zipper tit butch women??? You're not protecting anyone by doing that.

I am in both camps, a lot of butches are, so what fucking game is this? And not to mention, I feel more connected and safe with trans men than cis men, but I am still comfortable with cis men at times too. Men have helped me feel comfortable being masculine, and being myself. Being strong and loud, and that getting treated as acceptable in spaces with men comes from men who have respect for women.

My butch partner has a lot of the same opinions, we talk about this stuff together. Feminine spaces feel unsafe by how they demonizes masculinity, but then act like femininity is safe. So now the community has to decide when to like me and when not to like me, as some sort of tokenized minority. The way that works is oddly familiar to trans men, because sex and gender is a spectrum and I am a masculine woman so I have a lot of boxes ticked that trans men also do, just less than they have.

I had a reblog on a post about this discourse a bit ago saying "when a white woman cries a black person dies." Women have a unique way that they can harm and hurt and oppress others by their connection to the concept of purity, divine creation, and whiteness. Purity can be a weapon used by women intentionally, and people die from it's blade and the user walks away as victim. Femininity is its own balancing act of pros and cons that isn't something divinely perfect or a hidden evil behind a pretty face (like some misogynists think)

Just like masculinity isn't evil, men aren’t evil, and can harm if they choose to. But trans men/transmascs do not have any sort of power over women systemically like cis men. There are chances that trans people can hurt one another through minor power, like having a social media account and sending your followers after people, but that is nothing like how cis men can harm trans people systemically by denying them healthcare through voting it into illegality.

There's also the fact that some queer spaces are not safe for everyone. "no men" spaces makes almost every trans person of any identity look at in the same way... do they mean me? And I do think that too because I am a weird man woman thing, which is fine with me, but am I included in that "no man" part?

The idea that we must turn a word to help describe oppression into a box is childish at best, and malicious at worst. It becomes the same old "men are invading women's spaces" and I guess I'm a man in this situation but also a women that will be loved and hated depending on what the situation requires.

We have trans men online talking about escaping trafficking, and how there are people interested in trans men because they're trans men. That's misogyny mixed with ownership, the people interested don't respect trans men as men, they see a unique women to buy. Why is this somehow a problem to talk about, why did the responses to that conversation get "this would be worse for trans fems"

Oppression isn't a game to win!!!

And the fact that each country has its own issues. How trans men are treated in india by the queer community there is oppression, they're seen as brood mares, and must be submissive. The way trans people are treated is wide, vast, and complicated beyond belief.

My trans sister also isn't on Tumblr much but I read her out loud the discourse so we can talk about it together and she has so many opinions on how dangerous this all is. She says that it's genuinely a very black and white minefield, and that transmisogyny has been turned into a way to inflict transmisogyny on others. That misogyny is the main tool used to enforce gender norms, so of course that's the tool that bigots are familiar with to use against trans people. We shouldn't be doing the same. Transmascs are being called hysterical bitches, that's misogyny, that's misogyny against them for being trans and masculine specifically... So transmisogyny. I don't want the people who find me or my partner to be sexy butches (in a fetishized way - because no one wants to talk about that either, that the community doesn't respect butch women), also calling me a hysterical bitch actually because I'm *checks notes* transmasc and am not a women because I am transmasc so it's okay, I am a man and an oppressor. ��😑😐😑😐 what?

As long as anyone thinks trans people can easily be accepted by a society that has yet to really accept anyone who is 'weird', like even furries, then we have a long way to go. Trans men haven't escaped misogyny, their minds and bodies surely haven't and probably never will, and that's how trauma works, how oppressive trauma works, you never forget it.

A society that has a narrow acceptance for men, that made being a man into a competition to win doesn't have open seats. Trans men are not on that playing board, and I'm definitely not either, and I don't think many queer people are unless to be an isolated token piece.

I don’t understand TME v TMA. This is the same as the idea that patriarchy exclusively affects women and can never cause harm to men. Trans misogyny is real and of course it disproportionately targets trans women, but its still the reason that trans men, non binary and intersex people face their unique issues. Trans misogyny is not fixed by calling trans women terfs or trans men soft UwU babies. If you want to combat transmisogyny stop reinforcing it you numbskulls!!

[jrueships]

did you fuck my wife, karl . did you fuck my paul.

[zanmor]

We are well beyond canary in the coalmine warning levels with the way trans people and particularly trans women are treated on this site.

Maybe you've heard the metaphor of allowing wolves and sheep to share the same space, welcoming everyone. You end up with just wolves because allowing them in that space makes it unsafe for any sheep. Or the story about how a nazi goes into a dive bar and is refused service. The bartender then explains to someone else at the bar that if you serve them once they tell their friends and before you know it you're the nazi bar they all go to and normal customers don't feel safe.

Terfs and other bigots are seeing these targeted harassment campaigns succeed against trans women and rejoicing. They see Tumblr ban them and officially stand by those decisions as endorsement for their harassment. It's a sign to bigots across the internet that Tumblr is a good place for them.

And what's more is that a lot of us probably don't realize just how much trans women contribute to Tumblr. The women banned recently were sources of site-wide memes and posts I wasn't even aware originated from them.any years old memes and references can be traced back to trans women on this site.

How many of these folks have to be removed before this is no longer a site you want to be a part of it? Sure you cultivate your own experience, but you can't follow or interact with people who aren't here. And if I wanted to interact with the nazis and terfs I'd go to reddit.

I encourage everyone to reblog this. Trans women shouldn't have to be the only ones speaking out against the bigotry they're experiencing. They shouldn't be the only ones risking their blogs being nuked by staff. We have to stand with them.

[your-internet-bf]

It's been a while since you've seen a doctor, and you're nervous as you follow the nurse back to my office. What's there to be nervous about, this is just a little checkup, right? You notice the nurse's manicured burgundy nails as she knocks sharply on the door. She turns to you, smiling prettily, and says, "the doctor will see you now."

You push open the door and enter quite a large room. The nurse follows, closing the door behind you. In the center is the examination table, off to the right is a small crowd of young adults, appearing to be made up of men and women, and on the left is me, seated at my desk. "Welcome," I say, standing and extending one hand. My voice is deep, warm, and smooth, and you fumble for a moment, blushing a little, before you remember to shake my hand. Your hand is dwarfed in mine, my strong fingers encircling you, and a thought flashes unbidden through your mind - what would those fingers feel like inside you? - but, come on now, that's really not appropriate...

"I have a few students with me, as you can see. Is that alright?"

"Well, yes, of course!" Why shouldn't it be?

"Excellent. Now, I'm pioneering this new full-body examination method - it's really quite extraordinary, the maladies I can detect this way - but be warned, it is, shall we say, unorthodox. Is that alright?"

Just for a moment, you see something in my eyes, something behind the genial smile and gentle, reassuring tone. Just for a moment, you feel like some specimen, some piece of meat, pinned down under the lights with nowhere to go... but just for a moment. Surely, nothing bad can happen, and I'm a doctor, aren't I? You can trust me. So you swallow your fear, and you acquiesce.

"Excellent! Let's have a seat on the table, if you don't mind, and we'll make a start. Nurse V, if you would..."

As you sit on the table, the clinical, sterile seating a little cold against your skin, the pretty nurse steps behind the table, facing you, waiting for something. From your right, I approach, and you feel again just how much larger than you I am as my broad shoulders block out one of the ceiling lights. With all these people watching you, it takes all you have not to squeeze your legs together, just a little bit.

We begin with a quick examination of your face - "you have beautiful eyes, you know," I purr into one ear. I place one hand on the side of your neck and tilt your head; god, you've been reading too much, haven't you, the way you want these strong, expert fingers to close around your throat.

"Now, open your mouth for me, please." You oblige, and I cup your chin and slide my thumb into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue. Your eyebrows jump in surprise, and you look at me questioningly.

I smile again, still inside you. "Unorthodox, remember? Now, close your mouth and try to swallow." From behind, the nurse strokes your cheek with the back of one hand, and you feel a sudden ache between your legs. You close your lips around my thumb and swallow. It tastes... clean, mostly, as one might expect from a doctor, but you can taste the sweat underneath.

"Very good, one more time for me."

You swallow again, and you feel me slide my thumb over the surface of your tongue, pressing down, swirling in circles.

"And, one more time... yes, that's it, good job, very good job."

The praise for this degrading task is more than you can bear, and you squeeze your thighs together. Fuck, it's humiliating, everyone just saw you do that... All these eyes on you, the beautiful nurse behind you, this big, strong doctor with these big, strong hands and that big fucking bulge... but no, this is just a checkup, nothing is going to happen, right?

While you were thinking, I dried my hand off and had begun speaking.

"I'm - I'm sorry?"

"No worries. I was saying, can you remove your top, please? We need to examine your heart and your breathing."

You stare at me. "Remove my - "

"Yes, remove your top. The fewer barriers between me and you, the less interference with my examination." My face is quite serious, almost bored - this really must be routine. You look back at the nurse, and she smiles slightly and nods. So you undress, your nipples betraying you, standing at attention. You blush as the crowd of students looks at you intently. The nurse lays one warm hand on your shoulder, slender fingers gripping you reassuringly, and your eyes are drawn once more to those burgundy nails.

I step in close, and you feel my breath warm on your chest. "Now, observe the stiffness in the patient's nipples - this is to be expected, given the cool air, and it's certainly nothing to be ashamed of," I say, smiling. I press my stethoscope up over your heart, the metal cold on your skin, and your mind is betrayed by the pounding of your heart. My eyes flick up to meet yours, and I grin, predatorily, and once again you feel like a piece of meat beneath the lights.

I examine your breasts, starting with your left. Enclosed in my big, strong hands, I squeeze and push, prod and pull, ostensibly feeling for any abnormalities, but the way my fingers brush over your nipples, the intensity with which I sink them into your soft breasts, heaving now as your breath comes faster... My practiced tongue rasps over one nipple and a tiny moan escapes your lips as you try desperately to hide how much you're enjoying this; try desperately, and fail.

Abruptly, I pull back. "Excellent! All seems well here." I rest one hand on your other shoulder and turn to the students. "Note the pleasure response during this section of the examination, and I hope you were paying attention to the oral technique."

I turn back to you, my eyes dancing as they meet yours. "Fully undress, if you would. The inspection must continue."

Your hands tremble as you slide your clothes down off your waist, and the nurse aids you, her lovely hands stroking along your thighs and calves as she does.

"And spread for us, please."

Obediently, your thighs open, exposing your cunt, your needy, aching wetness, to all.

"Note the beauty of the patient's sex, here. The shape of the folds," I murmur, tracing one finger along your sensitive lips, "the balanced ratio of the clitoris to the vulva overall," sliding two fingers on either side of your clit, squeezing gently between them, "the appropriate pleasure response in - "

You lose what I say as I plunge two fingers inside you, powerful and dextrous, knuckles slipping past your tightness easily. It feels so fucking good to finally have something inside you, after all this aching and teasing, and god, so many people are watching, they're all watching your pussy spread and toyed with by this big, strong, handsome older man, and now the nurse's slender fingers are across your throat and her lips are on your forehead, and she tells you that you're doing so well for me, you've been so good...

My fingers press up inside you, finding your g spot, and with my thumb rubbing on your clit, I start melting you. Waves of pleasure course through your body, you gasp, moan, whimper, and with your eyes closed you can't tell whose lips are so soft on yours, but it feels so fucking good, and all those people are watching and it makes you want it more, your back arching, chest heaving, melting under the attention, and finally, mercifully, you cum, contracting around my fingers, squeezing your thighs together, trembling, shaking, gasping for air. You hear me say something, but you're so overwhelmed with pleasure that all you can make out from my speech is "very, very good".

The hand withdraws from your throat, and I gently, gently, extricate my fingers, and settle my hand atop one thigh, fingers slick with your desire.

The nurse whispers affirmation in your ear as I address the class. "Stimulation in this manner, of the two most sensitive sex stimuli, brings the most consistent and powerful orgasms to those possessing these organs." I stroke the inside of your thigh reassuringly, before turning to you.

"The final part of this examination is seeing how well you handle penetration. I'm going to need your unequivocal verbal consent before proceeding."

The nurse leans in and whispers into your ear, "might I suggest 'please, sir, will you fuck me?'" You'd blush harder if you could.

You swallow, nervously, and there's a twisting in your gut as you say it. "Please," you begin, voice cracking. "Please, sir, will you fuck me?"

"Yes, that is sufficient. I must say, though," I warn, unzipping my jeans, "that I am quite large." I slap my cock down on your tummy, and the sheer weight of it shocks you. You've seen size like this in porn, sure, but fuck, you've never touched something like this. When you tear your gaze away from my cock, I'm grinning down at you, predatory again. "You can back out at any time, you know." My voice is low, teasing, challenging. "Should we continue?"

You nod shakily, and spread your legs a little wider.

One hand on your raised knee, one hand guiding my cock, I push against you. For a moment you realize the exam had to be done in this order; if you weren't so fucking wet, there's no chance you'd be able to take me. But all thoughts are blasted out of your mind as I push harder and slide in.

It's so fucking thick that you can't help but groan. You've never felt so full, so strained inside, being pushed in every direction; you're not built for this, maybe there's just too much, your body is rejecting me - and then I push again, another few inches, and you slam your head back against the padded table, a long, drawn-out "fuuuuuck" wrenched from your lips. You feel my strong hands brace at your hips, and with a final thrust, slamming your cervix up into your guts, moving your entire body, the ridges of my cock sliding deeper and deeper, sliding painfully, pleasurably past your walls, I'm inside you.

The nurse rests her hands on you again, and purrs in your ear, "you're doing so well for him, I know it's hard, it's so hard, but you're doing such a good job, pretty girl..."

Glacially, I pull out, allowing you a moment to rest, before thrusting in again, hands still at your waist. You sob once, loudly, and then you sink into it as I pick up a rhythm, deep, deep strokes inside you. You hear me grunting, whispering something, and I grow more frantic, impaling you a little harder, and through the wall of pleasure you hear me rumble, "nurse V, begin the overstimulation procedure."

"Certainly, doctor." She leans over you, lips fiercely meeting yours, and one of those slender hands reaches down to abuse your clit. An image of those burgundy nails on your cunt flashes through your mind as I continue pounding you, forcing you to spread for me, adjust to me, even as the nurse plays your clit like an instrument, and fuck, she's a virtuoso.

You sing a song of moans and voiceless curses under our combined mastery, knowing your audience is entranced, filled with a blazing, lusty pride. The deep bass of my voice, resonant in your skull, is saying something, but you cannot hear me; you're moaning, groaning, pleading, "yes, yes, oh my god yes" over and over...

The song swells to a crescendo and with two sudden strikes, two powerful thrusts into you, it ends with a thick, hot, sticky white wave of my approval inside you. You feel it pulse deep, deep inside, filling you, load after load delivered straight past your bruised, abused cervix.

You come back to reality with my cum spilling from between your legs, trailing thickly down onto the exam table. I zip up my jeans while the nurse helps dry you off, from all the sweat and saliva. She dabs caringly at your mouth, and you notice that the cloth is dyed the same shade as her lipstick.

"Now," I address the class, "I hope you were paying attention." I rest one hand on your aching, trembling thigh. How many times did you cum with me inside you? How long were all these people watching you writhe beneath me, begging, losing yourself in the pleasure? You have no fucking clue. "This patient has bravely volunteered for each of you to examine her, here and now, while she's available to us."

Your jaw drops. When did you agree to that? You would never - but you were begging, "yes, yes, yes" earlier, weren't you, while I was talking. You agreed. Everyone heard you say it.

"One at a time, please. And," I say to you, grinning wolfishly, "don't worry. I'll be watching the entire time."