#legal brothels

[swagyna]

so i posted that clip of hasan saying that it's good rich boys/men are raping rich girls/women instead of other women

and my friend goes "i need the whole context, this is probably a joke"

like. are you fucking serious

[coochiequeens]

The politicians who made this possible have the suffering of womrn and minors on their hands

Germany considers ban on buying sex as the country is dubbed 'the brothel of Europe'

Germany is considering partially re-criminalising the sex work industry 

Buying sex is currently legal and legislation aims to give sex workers more rights 

But opponents say that the current laws benefit pimps and human traffickers 

By PERKIN AMALARAJ

PUBLISHED: 11:34 EST, 21 November 2023 | UPDATED: 23:23 EST, 21 November 2023

German politicians are pushing to ban prostitution, more than two decades after it was legalised, amid harsh warnings that the nation is quickly becoming the 'brothel of Europe.'

The centre-right CDU party is among those calling for the practice to be partially re-criminalised, claiming that the 2002 legalisaion failed in its aims of giving sex workers more rights and recognition under German law. 

Selling sex was legalised in 2002 by a previous centre-left government, with the aim of giving the now-250,000 sex workers working in Germany employment rights, access to welfare benefits and the right to sue clients who refuse to pay for services. 

But leading politicians have claimed that in practice, the vast majority of sex workers in Germany are not afforded these increased rights and protections. 

Dorothee Bär, the deputy leader of the parliamentary group for Germany's two main Christian Democratic parties, the CDU and the CSU, said that almost all of the country's sex workers are from abroad and do not have documents, and are therefore at the mercy of exploitative human traffickers and pimps. 

Selling sex was legalised in 2002, with the aim of giving the now-250,000 sex workers working in Germany employment rights, access to welfare benefits and the right to sue clients who refuse to pay for services (File image)

'There can be no real equality as long as we accept that hundreds of thousands of women are treated like slaves. It is an offence against human dignity that we urgently need to end,' Bär told Bild. 

She said that pimps and human traffickers have been the biggest beneficiaries of the legalised sex industry. 

'Germany has become the brothel of Europe. The women are mistreated in the worst possible way by their clients and pimps' she warned. 

The CDU, Germany's opposition party, wants to adopt what is known as the Nordic model, whereby customers can be prosecuted for buying sex, but sex workers are not penalised. 

It was first enacted by Sweden in 1999. Following a government appointed special committee into the effects of the partial decriminalisation of sex work which found that between 1999 and 2008, street prostitution was reduced by half. 

Shortly after this, a string of countries, including Norway, Iceland, Canada and Northern Ireland, adopted some form of Nordic-modelled legislation to partially decriminalise sex work. 

The CDU's proposed legislation would see brothels being shut down, and the renting of apartments to sex workers being outlawed.

These measures, Bär claims, would reduce but not eradicate sex work in Germany. 

The proposal has been gaining traction with Germany's ruling party, the Social Democrats. Leni Breymaier, an SD MP, called the opposition's proposal 'a step in the right direction.'

Leading politicians claim the legalisation of sex work in Germany has largely benefitted pimps and human traffickers

It appears to have made a significant impact on Germany's top political echelons, with the country's chancellor, Olaf Scholz, claiming last week that he has always been 'morally outraged' by men purchasing sex.

The government later backpedalled, with Germany's families minister Lisa Paus saying that there were no plans to change the current laws. 

Organisations representing sex workers aren't happy with the proposals, claiming that there is no evidence that Nordic-modelled legislation helps women or lowers sex work.  

The Professional Association for Erotic and Sexual Services, which represents brothels and independent prostitutes, said punishing clients would only make the work more dangerous.

It said: 'Since Sweden was the first country in the world to introduce a sex purchase ban 25 years ago, there have been no studies to suggest that the Nordic model has been a success.

'It is always remarkable to see the means by which the opponents of procuring sex try to realise their moral ideas — at the expense of the rights of sex workers, customers and brothel operators and ultimately at the expense of a tolerant, free and rights-based society.' 

OK let's compare human trafficking into Sweden v Germany

"in 2020, police investigated 191 trafficking cases (109 sex trafficking, 41 labor trafficking, 41 uncategorized) and 80 human exploitation cases, compared with 272 and 47, respectively, in 2019. Authorities prosecuted 21 traffickers (seven sex trafficking, 14 labor trafficking) and convicted 12 traffickers (seven sex trafficking, five labor trafficking), a significant increase from four prosecutions and convictions in 2019. Of the 12 convicted traffickers, seven received sentences ranging from two to six years’ imprisonment; three received fines; and two received suspended sentences.

State law enforcement completed 335 pre-trial trafficking investigations of 470 suspects in 2021, the most recent year for which the government had comprehensive statistics; this was similar to 325 investigations into 421 suspects in 2020 and 313 investigations into 472 suspects in 2019, but less than 386 investigations into 602 suspects in 2018.  Of the investigations in 2021, 44 were for labor trafficking (compared with 34 in 2020), including six for forced begging and 10 for forced criminality, and 291 were for sex trafficking, including 55 investigations for child sex trafficking, compared with the same number of overall sex trafficking investigations, 291, in 2020.  Authorities attributed the recent increase in labor trafficking investigations to the 2019 extended mandate of the Federal Customs Financial Control of Illegal Work Directorate (FKS), which was expanded to include human trafficking.  In 2021, law enforcement initiated investigations into 16 organized crime groups (10 for sex trafficking and six for labor trafficking).  In 2021, German law enforcement and international partners (including EUROPOL and Slovakia) conducted at least six targeted operations against Vietnamese criminal organizations involved in human trafficking and smuggling, resulting in the arrest of at least six suspects and identification of at least 13 victims.  Police in North Rhine-Westphalia (NRW) continued to investigate and prosecute individuals involved in the Wermelskirchen child sex trafficking case and investigated 73 suspects in 14 states, identifying 33 victims.

[cacaitos]

wait a second is D/Datenshou ever so slightly inspired after. count D. like im not looking that up but well could be a coincidence. maybe guys in chinese attire with D initials abound lol.

[squidmaid]

sometimes I really MISS being young and feeling passionate about things like. I used to be so into writing and drawing and all these sorts of things and i could make myself work so much harder at them and nowadays I’m like. I would be content to be content at this point? like idk what I feel PASSIONATE about anymore I just aim to be comfortable but also sometimes that doesn’t feel like it’s enough. I miss that spark.

[corvidaedream]

obsessed w the fact that im desperately trying to research (for funsies, not work) this one civil case from 1771 where John Adams was the defense for this guy, and the only primary source on it ive ever found is from Adams's notes from the trial

and ive been stuck thinking about this for over two years now bc i want to know more about the guy who was suing for damages but he continues to elude me, but I keep talking about the case w people bc everything about it is so chaotic

and i just realized the other day "oh, Adams's diaries are digitized and searchable, maybe he has more details in there, surely this was Notable"

and the only day of the trial he even mentions it, hes just like. the court sat today. and lists what he had for dinner and details a discussion of chickens he had w his in-laws.

[butchfaith]

what if a massage is actually a Sex thing and no ones ever bothered to tell me

[djuvlipen]

i went to a leftist festival last month and there was a panel dedicated to prostitution, why abolition is the only road to go for leftists and how to help and support prostituted women exiting the trade, and i keep thinking about that union organizer who said, "we hear more and more that 'sex work is work', but if that were true, then there'd be professional trainings leading to a qualification for prostitution, then there'd be prostitution diplomas, then high schoolers could send applications to follow those trainings and become prostitutes. but we all know that all these things don't exist, and if they did exist we would all recognize them for what they are: a grooming business encouraging pedophilia and violence against women and girls." and what she said later; "trade unions that argue that 'sex work is work' never engage in legal battles against pimps or brothel owners. they don't even recognize that pimps are the bosses of the prostitution market. "sex workers' trade unions" don't fight pimps because sex workers' unions don't represent the alleged "workers" (prostituted women), they represent the bosses: pimps."

and that made me think of what Kajsa Ekis Ekman said about the trade unions that consider prostitution to be work and prostituted women to be workers: they offer trainings about condom use and spend millions of dollars funding "worker peer education" about "safe sex".

So one again, it's prostituted women who are held responsible for the spreading and the prevention of STDs - not the johns, not the pimps. the prostituted women, many of them victims of sex trafficking. "As human trafficking expert Malka Marcovich has pointed out, this means a return to nineteenth-century ideals of hygiene, where the onus was “primarily on the women to take responsibility for the health of ‘the customer’, so diseases would not be spread to their families” (2007, p. 347)."

It's quite obvious to any trade union organizer that prostitution is not work and the sex trade can't be organized as a trade union. a few months ago, the biggest unions in my country (which included the traditional left-wing trade unions as well as students' unions) issued a paper condemning the 'sex work is work' narrative and the pimp lobbies got so mad about that because they know their strategy isn't working because leftists know what left-wing politics look like and they know women's liberation doesn't come from prostitution. Now it's interesting that the biggest voices of the "sex work is work" movement come from the USA, where the anticapitalist left doesn't exist. American liberals love to pass reactionary politics as revolutionary but not because they are stupid in their own country does it mean they should influence the actually left-wing labour movement in other countries, right?

[pedgito]

𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐁𝐎𝐘 | Emperor Geta x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | Emperor Geta takes a liking to you but ends up with far more than he bargained for.

author's note | full blame on @hauntedhowlett. also don't look at me and tell me that man doesn't have a mommy kink, he does.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, sub!geta, dom!reader, mentions of spousal/child loss, brief mentions of pregnancy, subtle mommy kink, lactation kink (titty suckin' hell yeah), oral (f receiving), use of sweet boy/good boy, unprotected piv

word count — 4.2k

A widow, a mourning would-be mother—naive amongst your youthful glaze, the softness in your features as you stare down the two brothers from across the long, crowded table. It has only been a fortnight now, but your face proves entirely unsuspecting.

This meeting was about you—not of your late husband, not of legality or current issues to address, but your qualification to have a spot amongst men. Most were unaware of your puppetry with your late husband and his place in the senate—an older man triple your age that had brought you for a price.

Easily to manipulate, easy to convince.

“There is no place here for a mockery like this,” An older gentleman with stringy, greying hair chirped up from his seat, fist tucked under his wrinkled chin, eyes carefully examining your figure, licking his split, dry lips, “she is young—negotiate a price with her father and—”

“He is dead,” You state flatly, a piercing glare shot down the line toward the spoken male, seemingly ticked by the sound of your voice, expecting submissiveness, “And I will assure the price is one you will never afford.”

Caracalla, as aloof as he was, seemed to snicker at that. A high-pitched cackle that slips from his lips as Geta raises a brow, his mouth hidden behind his curled fingers, opposite hand spread out wide on the arm of his throne.

“I am well versed,” You address both of the emperors directly, “Educated—my husband would be displeased to hear me say this, but he was not the smartest man. I have lost more than just him, but I am not here to beg.”

There was no love lost, fortunately. He wasn’t a good or bad man, only a man. He frequented brothels often, voiced his displeasure when you weren’t serving him correctly, and only forced a child upon you because of societal standards. It was distressing, still deep in your own grief as you avoided the deadlocked stares from the surrounding men, praying that one of the two young emperors would have a soft spot, or even a weakness. 

You would find it, if needed. But, Geta’s amusement was a comforting sign. 

The same man, displeased with your presence, grips hard enough at his wooden cane that it starts to crack, “Better yet, force her to work in the brothel. Plenty of use for you there,” His gaze switches from the head of the table to you, nodding his head with a triumphant smirk.

“As I am sure your wife would love to hear about your visits,” There’s a collective tenseness, both of hands gripping the table and men shifting in their seats, eyes flickering back and forth between the volleying conversation, the dueling man’s face going slack, “do not act surprised, you keep company of men with loose lips, be thankful one of them has died with the rest of your pitiful secrets.” 

Geta clears his throat then, sharing a brief moment with his brother as they nod in unison.

“I will consider this,” He begins, tongue swiping along the inside of his bottom lip, “given the suddenness of—”

“Your highness, do not fall victim to her deception, she is—”

“If you value that head of yours,” Geta’s words are biting, quick, “you will not interrupt me when I am speaking.”

He’s highly temperamental, the dagger he’s spent twirling in his hand for the past several minutes tossing lazily against the wood as he flicks a hand up dismissively, “Get out of my sight,” He excuses them all, aside from his finger pulling like it was held on a string to aim in your direction, “you—stay.”

You’ve just resigned yourself to death, surely.

–

The wine is dark, staining his upper lip as he drinks, clunky rings tapping against the glass of his cup as he passes you off a cup of your own. He had his own private quarters, opposite of his brother and hidden down a long, trailing hallway, an office-like room attached to his quarters.

You weren’t going to defy his command as unsettling as it felt, his glittering and colorful robe dragging against the tile floor as you stood silent, a comfortable distance away. 

Your dress was unbearably tight, back straight as an arrow while your shoulders ached, but you didn’t waver, didn’t slouch. Your breasts spilled over the fabric, barely covered by the shawl draped over your shoulders, signs of motherhood that had yet to dissipate. You cleared your throat, shuffling quietly on your feet. 

“I do not like nervousness,” Geta announces, turning his head over his shoulder as he swivels his body to lean against the edge of the desk—the room was clearly unused, aside from now. 

“I am not nervous,” It wasn’t that at all, rather an uncertainty. 

“Drink,” He suggested, nodding his head toward your full glass, “it will help.”

He doesn’t seem to believe you and you defy his order further, traveling toward him to rest the glass against the desk, hands settled at your stomach as you look at him, his eyes carefully tracking your movement as he sloshes the wine around in his mouth, a fingertip trailing the rim before he mirrors your actions.

“G—your highness,” You begin indecisively, “forgive me for sounding…selfish, but is there something you require? Do I serve a purpose being here?”

“What are your current living arrangements?” He asks suddenly, fingers curled around the edge of the desk, tilting his head in question. 

“I am living under the selflessness of a senator’s wife—though, if he knew, it would not be welcomed with open arms,” Geta is aware of your steadfast gaze, rare that you ever looked anywhere but his face, not the usual roaming nervousness he had become acquainted with.

“Ah,” He chuckles, “If I may pry—well, I am…is it—”

The man who had challenged you earlier with a wife too gracious for her own good.

“Yes, unfortunately.” 

Geta contemplates—he wasn’t against you having a voice within his council, aware that it wouldn’t be well-met, but there was a way to ensure safety and submission; he's learned to mold and shape to achieve what he wants at the lift of a finger. It was a mix of power and practiced manipulation. 

“You will relocate here, to the palace,” He informs, “as an extra measure and because I am fond of your…bite,” His mouth upturns in a lazy smirk, “you will be well cared for here, I assure you.”

A man who was far too fond of his toys, you notice the glint in his eyes as soon as his expression morphs. Greed; he could have everything and even that wouldn’t be enough. 

It was only minimally amusing, his confidence. 

And within a few hours and a few snaps of his fingers, you were set up comfortably in your own room, a pleasant conversation with his less than stable brother and the obedient monkey perched on his shoulder—he was endearing, but visibly paranoid. 

You refuse the help of the servants as you attempt to retire for the night, brow furrowed in frustration as you reach unsuccessfully for the tied string of your dress, resilient and stubborn in your unwillingness for help as you curse to yourself, half a second from ripping the fabric in half before the door to your room is opening quietly, creaking on it’s hinges. 

“I assure you, they are here for a reason,” Geta remarks fondly, the faint fire of the candles lit around your room painting him in a warm glow, softening an unusually rigid man, he approaches without a word as you relent, hands curling around the edge of a nearby chair, his hand working methodically along the knotted fabric at your back, a few minutes passing before he’s tugging it loose, a breath of relief slipping beyond your lips.

Geta takes a few steps back, ringed fingers interlocked behind his back as he watches you expectantly, watching quietly as you turn with your arm clutching the fabric to your chest, hair loosened, your face relaxing into a natural scowl.

“Do you require anything of me?” You ask, curious of his lingering presence but not feeling threatened or undermined—shockingly, he seemed unsteady. Unsure. His confidence failed him for the first time in his young life, “If there is…something you would like to address, I will listen.”

“When did you marry?” An odd start, but you answer with ease.

“Fifteen—he promised my family wealth, it was a simple trade. They died not long after. Tuberculosis, or so I was told,” You shift from one bare foot to another as Geta’s lips pull together in a narrow line, “You know, we are not much different.”

That grabs his attention, his eyebrow raising in a silent question as you approach slowly, arms crossed over your chest now, holding the fabric in place, “Coyness is unbecoming, Emperor.”

“Enlighten me,” Geta replies, his restless hands finding their way over the collars of his robe as he tightens it around himself, joining him near the end of your bed—a strange thing to claim; this entire room, yours. 

“If my math proves me right, we are of the same birth year,” You begin, “—those men, your advisors, they severely underestimate you and Caracalla. They are scared of you, yes. But, if given the chance, they would strike you down without a thought,” He turns his head, blinking away a sour expression, feeling particularly bare despite his state of dress.

Your gaze was powerful, intense, even Geta could not handle it.

“I am trying to say that I understand,” You clarify, tilting your head to catch his eyeline, reaching out slowly to provide a comforting touch, hands curling around his wrist, “not that I understand your role and the burden it carries, but being young and overlooked. I have felt that, I still feel it.”

He’s never been approached so openly—though he prefers the proclivity of men who bow down without question, his psyching was always searching for something more. A poor boy without love, or meaningful relations. You offer a soft smile as he turns his head to you.

“You came here for a reason,” You remind him, “—make it clear.”

His eyes follow the steady rise and fall of your chest, your fingers curling over the rough, coarse lining of the dress as it pushes your breasts up, his tongue trailing along his bottom lip in a wordless hunger.

“Did you plan to force yourself upon me?” You ask curiously, his face flushing with embarrassment, “Or, perhaps, hope that I would be charmed by you?”

“It is rare that I am denied,” He explains, like a petulant kid preparing to be denied their favorite toy, “—but, you are not mine.”

“I belong to no one,” You clarify, “I am not a whore, or a servant. We are…equals, yes?”

“Not entirely,” Geta counters, still donning the crown on his head—more subtle than the formal one he wears around, a delicate band of gold leaves adorned with gems, “but, it seems—”

You smirk slightly to yourself as you reach forward with one hand, plucking the band gently from his hair and tossing it aside to the bed, fingertips trailing down to his chin as you tug his face to look at you.

“You need not put on a performance for me,” You comfort him, his features softening as his eyes flicker toward the crown, “it is as simple as just asking, Geta.”

At level ground, it feels more appropriate. If he wanted your head, he would have it.

Eagerness invades his mind, clawing forward as his palms form to your neck, jaw, lips pressing against yours with impatience, a hum of hunger laying in wait in his throat. For a second, you allow it. Indulge in the simplicity of desire that has been long forgotten, sighing fervently against his mouth before you’re taking grip of his robe and forcing him back, his eyes blackened with lust and his mouth open, blinking with confusion.

“Ask me,” You demand him, “I have allowed so many in my life to take, not this. Not you.”

Geta clears his throat hastily, closing his mouth, gathering the immense willpower it took to listen, comply, “May I—may I kiss you?”

You nod, a grin spreading across your face as he lunges forward eagerly once more, held back by your surprisingly powerful grip, unaware of how your dress had shifted down, held up solely by the body contact against Geta, chest to chest.

It was teasing, taunting him with the ability and control you had over him, lips grazing against his testingly as he laughs too, a quiet and joyous noise as you finally let him have it, arms wrapping over his shoulders as his own hands roam down your sides, around your back and down your side, squeezing a hand at your thigh and bringing it up, high enough that it can rest at his hips, his fingers kneading into the exposed skin near the slit of your gown, toying with the delicate skin that he could reach.

You revel in the neediness, an intense feeling of want washing over you, his nose following the lines of your face as they nudge at your chin, forcing your head up as his kisses trail down, spit slicked lips pressing into your skin, bodies separating as you dress falls, as bare as he under his own robe, plump breasts pulling his eyes down, a slow blink and an instant flick up towards your face.

“Seems the effects of motherhood are taking their time to dissipate,” You admit, his fingers twitching at the sight of them, “If that is an issue we can end this he—”

“No,” He growls, “it—sorry, it is not.”

You reach for his hands quietly, his gaze following your direction as you cup them over your breasts, the heavy weight of them in his hands, the gentle squeeze that would otherwise make you wince but instead has your thighs clenching together. Geta was practically salivating at the sight, mesmerized by the fullness and warmth, his thumbs rubbing carefully over your hardened nipples, a small opaque drop of liquid painting his finger.

You grab his thumb suddenly, shoving his hand away at the sight.

“Despite a loss my body continues to provide,” You explain, “ It is not a lot, but it lingers.I have tried…everything to will it away.”

“Why?” Geta asks, looking up at you with newfound curiosity.

“It is not ideal, you see—”

“Who has told you this?” Geta pesters, watching the liquid drip down his finger before he brings it to his mouth, “I see no issue.”

Your nose twitches in uncertainty, his fingers trailing an abstract pattern into the underside of your breasts, around the side, admiring, “I have always been curious,” Geta admits, his voice trailing as you slowly guide yourself to sit on the bed, the emperor following in suit as he kneels against the edge of the mattress between your open thigh, “did he appreciate your body for everything that it was?”

“He was barren,” You admit, “He liked my mouth on his cock and that was all. He did not care for much else or my pleasure at that, he was much too inadequate anyways.”

He doesn’t address the glaringly obvious admittance—a much longer story for another time that neither of you cared for at the moment, “May I?” He asks politely, his hot breath ghosting over your chest as you nod, his mouth latching onto your skin in an instant.

It starts at the center of your chest, face buried between your breasts as he pulls his robe open, aided down by the push of your hands, his alabaster skin contrasting the plum sheets, his knee rising briefly to push into the sheets as you catch a glimpse of his cock, hanging heavily and intimidating in its size, anticipating of the stretch if you allowed him so far. 

His tongue follows a planned path, along the underside of your breasts and around your nipple, grazing over the pebbled skin with the subtle taste of sweetness seeping into his taste buds as his lips wrap around and such, the faintest push of teeth in your skin as his eyes peer up at you, your brow furrowing in delight at the sudden shock to your cunt, nothing like you’ve felt before.

You did not know pleasure like this, a fair trade. It was a shock to the system. 

He’s looking for acknowledgement, trading off to share the same care to the other breasts, his free hand trailing to the side of your face and under your neck, cradling you with a gentle touch as the hand on your breasts curls around and squeezes, sucking gently at your breasts as his head tilts into your comforting touch, your opposite hand turning as you run your knuckles alongside his jaw.

“Sweet boy,” You praise, “is that what you wanted?”

As if he hadn’t been eyeing you the entire meeting, breasts squeezed together as you leaned daringly over the table to argue with your aggressor, quenching the hunger all day with a steady diet of wine and the assorted fruit placed around the palace, always within reach, watching you quietly. 

He nods slightly, distantly, as he’s focused on his current task.

“Geta,” Formalities forgotten by now, his eyes widened as you stare at him, rising on your elbows with a waiting expression, “have you lost your tongue?”

“It would—it would seem I have not,” He chuckles with a knowing smirk, swiping his tongue around your nipple in a circular motion, “I am pleased, yes.”

He shifts his arms around you, curled fists landing in the sheets beside your head, his cock sliding against the inside of your thigh as he settles to his knees, a fresh flush to his chest as he admires your state of nakedness, trailing two wondering fingers from your chest to your pelvic bone, a slow dance in the low light of the room.

You nudge his hand away, “You are eager,” You note with a fond tone, watching as began to lean into you, eager to capture your lips once more, but your fingers are pressing over his lips before they reach their destination, shaking your head in disapproval, “I have ideas for better use of that mouth, Emperor.”

He pulls back with grin, his teeth dragging over his bottom lip as you filter your fingers through his ginger hair, curling your hand over the back of his head as he bows, settling on his belly with his cock trapped between the sheets, slowly his nose buries into the coarse curls, his tongue dragging down the seam of your pussy.

Geta can only liken it to a taste of the divine, or the closest he would ever reach, settled between your open legs with a mission to please, to satisfy. And for the first time in his life—serve someone other than himself. Normally he would bark at the informality of things, only allow his given title, a strict instruction of a bowed head and obedience, but he finds himself bending to your rule and dropping to his knees, if you demand.

“You have your wits and sharp tongue,” He hums against your cunt, a delightful noise slipping out as you tug at his hair, “I suggest you put them to good use.”

As he does, you find yourself drifting.

He is precise, thorough—which is not at all expected from a man of his status, or any man, really. They were never concerned with the pleasure of anyone but themselves, but Geta has proven you wrong in many ways as undesirable as his ruling may be. 

You only cared for your life anymore, witnessing how delicate it could be when it came to everyone around you.

He likes to watch, too. It isn’t at all surprising, eager for praise he brings you to a quick and intense, but fleeting orgasm. It swells in your stomach, the heat pooling before it explodes, hearing the satisfied groan as he licks you clean, murmuring a shaky, “Good–good b-boy,” as you force yourself to catch your breath, allowing him to climb his way back up your body with the head of his cock nudging at your entrance, both of you sighing into the shared space as your foreheads meet and Geta was completely at your control, awaiting your next command.

“Are things often like this?” You ask curiously, “Is this what you seek?”

Domination; someone to submit to.

In a daze, he shakes his head, lips parted slightly.

“Do you enjoy that I make you feel this way?”

He smiles, sated, nodding in response.

“I want to feel you,” It was a whispered request, his eyes searching your face—again, even just the nudge of his cock between your folds was enough to make you tense and you find your own fingers drifting between your legs, dipping inside of you as he looks down, mesmerized as you guide his hand to his cock, wrapping your fingers around his as you work together in tandem.

When his brow draws together, you guide him inside of you, staving off his impending orgasm.

“Slow,” You instruct, hands traveling to grip his face, nodding his head between your hold, “You are…quite large, I am not used to that,” Geta seems to find a surge of confidence at that, leaning forward greedily to capture your lips, his teeth dragging along the fleshy skin as he angles his and pulls back slowly, entering you at the same pace despite the impatient shake to his body, eager for more, “slow—slow, look at me,”

“You’re obedient,” You praise, “far more than I expected.” 

“My brother likens you to a goddess,” Geta notes, the odd timing sending you into a gentle snort of laughter, “I must say I agree, you are mesmerizing.”

“I prefer Caracalla not be a topic as your cock is buried inside of me,” You retort with a kind smile, his own morphing into a frown of concentration as your knees hike around his hips, encourage him to lean his weight against you as he rocks his hips, a gentle rhythm that is drowned out by the sounds of the city at night.

His itching impatience grows tiresome, gripping desperately at whatever skin he could reach, pitiful moans of pleasure inked into your skin with the silent plea of more—please, more?

“Make me come once more,” You urge him, “and take what you need.”

It was all he needed to hear, taking the opportunity to slip out of you as he guiding you toward your stomach, guiding one knee up toward your chest as he hovered over you, turning your head to face him as he pushed his cock back inside of you, your walls fluttering around him in satisfaction of being filled again. 

There was a perfect view of the sky this way, a small alcove open to the night breeze, stars twinkling against the contrasting colors of midnight, “It is beautiful,” He begins, not admiring the same sight as you, a shakiness to his voice as he pumped his hips at a nearly unbearable pace, eyes fluttering shut as the pleasure overtook you.

He’s panting into your skin, a feeling you’ve experienced in plenty of other circumstances, with a well-versed ability to separate yourself from your body as men chase their pleasure, but with the emperor, it was a different experience.

A cacophony of small whimpers followed by an utterances of words you’re not sure he or his brother have spoke often, “Please—-please, may I—“

The gravity of the situation flips as you realize your mistake, giving a man with far too much reach and power any type of influence over you, your brain searching for a way to counter his plea as you turn your body, arm wrapping around the back of his neck as he shakes with his impending orgasm.

Words are lost, unable to speak before he’s pulling out of you, the drip of his warm seed coating your skin, the tight grip at your chest loosening in an instant.

Thank the gods, you pray silently. 

“I apologize,” He breathes heavily, bottom lip swollen and red from the mutilation of his teeth, chest flushed bright and burning, “if—if I scared you.”

He uses his discarded robe to clean you up, unthinking of the consequences as he leaned back to stand, fully nude as he extends his hand in wait, beckoning you closer.

“Scared me?” You challenge, curling your hand into his own as he pulls you up, legs bracketing his thighs as your hands come to rest against his abdomen, staring up at the emperor. 

“Your bark is quite frightful,” He admits, “I can only imagine how you would rip me apart had I gone too far,” His words trail, a softening to his voice as he curls his hand around the side of your face, a gentle gesture.

“Would you like that, Geta?” You ask with a creeping suspicion, a smirk spreading across your face, “For me to rip you apart?”

A man of such power, unrestrained and chaotic—shrinks.

Almost too shy to admit it.

“Careful, my lady,” He warns, “I am still a ruler of Rome, such disrespect is—”

“Punishable by death,” You confirm, “but, you promised me safety, yes?”

Geta nods silently, watching the slow crawl of your fingers up his chest before they grab his chin, your thumb smoothing over the dimpled skin, his lips pulling apart in a shaky exhale.

“And I am sure a good boy like you will keep that promise?”

[yuri-for-businesswomen]

i had a friend who was raped as a teenager and had a really strict mum who did not let her go out so she was really lonely. when she turned 18 she started going clubbing and since we live in a city with a big fetish scene, she started going to the kinky venue. since she was young, naive and very pretty, she was immediately roped in by older men who did bondage shootings with her and everything. she started working in the club. to me, she was clearly groomed, but she works in a fetish shop now and is fully immersed in the scene

i have a friend who answered a job ad for a secretary when she was abroad and she and her friend ran out of money but when they arrived there it was a brothel. they both prostituted themselves for several months. they were only 18. she still talks highly of that brothel, how clean and safe it was, and wants prostitution to be legal

i read the gut wrenching biography of a thai woman who ran away from home, whose parents refused her education and treated her brother very preferably while openly hating her, and entered prostitution in sex tourist destination pattaya at only 13. she was paid by men in their 50s first for her virginity, then to piss on her. she exited at 19 and developed psychosis. she defends sex buyers, hates feminists and wants prostitution to be legal

do you see where im going with this? brainwashing is real. despite the obvious facts, the grooming, the system that pushed and pulled them, the men taking advantage of them; they defend it. so yeah, we shouldnt dismiss firsthand testimony and personal experience, but always take it with a grain of salt, always contextualise, always see it as one part of a bigger picture. liberals dont do that and have duped too many people into not doing it either. „if thats her choice its none of our business“ fuck you!

[fayes-fics]

Ingénu

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: On his eighteenth birthday, Benedict loses his virginity with you on a warm summer's night...

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI. Loss of male and female virginity. Sex education (sort of, mostly innocent leading innocent), vaginal sex, alfresco sex, withdrawal method, orgasms (them lucky kids). Childhood friends to lovers.

Word Count: 4.0k

Author’s Note: A fic I started more than two years ago, from THIS anon suggestion. Please note, the age of sexual consent in the UK is currently 16, so everyone is legal, although, in Regency, it was 10 (yikes). Thanks to @colettebronte for beta reading. Err, enjoy! <3

Benedict Bridgerton.

If you were to give yourself to anyone before marriage, you know it would only ever be him. 

You grew up as neighbours, your family estate bordering his family’s in Kent. Born five months apart, it’s like destiny that you would be close. You shared your first chaste kiss when you were both twelve and then a French kiss at sixteen. And now, well, perhaps a lot more.

It’s his eighteenth birthday party when, while Colin draws attention to himself, Benedict grabs your hand and whisks you away without anyone noticing. Perhaps the brotherly distraction was by design. 

Wordlessly, he leads you far from the house into a small clearing in the woods around Aubrey Hall. There is a blanket, some pillows, and even some candle lanterns that he now lights. It appears he has something planned, and it causes a flutter in your stomach.

“Benedict, what is this?” you enquire sotto voce, his hand so large wrapped around yours. So safe.

“A quiet spot just for us,” he smiles back.

“To do what?”.

“To celebrate my birthday privately. In a manner that I know we are both so keen to,” he proclaims at first enigmatic, before clarifying: “You said you wanted to know a man before you are married, and I wish to know a woman.”

“But….” 

Beyond that, words fail.

You had indeed said as such just the other day. It was an idle, throwaway comment as you lay together in the long grass by the lake, squinting at the sun and enjoying the summer heat on your face. A languidness in your being had made you carefree with your words.

“It may be fine for you, Benedict, but I must be a maiden when I marry,” you point out.

“Well, what if you were to marry me someday?” he contends matter of fact.

“Is that a proposal?” you splutter. “Because I find it to be severely lacking.”

He chuckles at your affront. “No, you shall receive a ring when I propose,” he affirms.

“So, it is a when now, is it? “ you volley back, a smile tweaking your lips, unable to be anything but playful with him, as you have been for many a year now.

“Of that, you can be certain.”

There is a seductive edge to his voice, which seems so much older than his eighteen years; it’s quite captivating.

“But how can you be certain my answer will be yes?”

“I cannot,” he admits, seeming bemused by your quirked brow. “But I hope it will be after tonight.”

“And how can you be sure of my answer about tonight?” So much fun to toy with him.

“Again, I cannot,” he replies with a slight shrug but a soft, crooked smile. “I can only hope you deem me worthy,” he adds, gesturing around you.

“It is rather romantic,” you allow, watching in the lantern glow as he breaks into a much bigger grin that reaches his eyes. Candle reflections dance in his enlarged pupils. 

“I am so pleased you think so,” he beams. “I rather suspect Anthony plans to take me to a brothel this weekend. He did as such for his eighteenth and is of the firm opinion that I should follow suit. But in truth, I, well… “ he hesitates and takes a step forward, grabbing both of your hands in his. “...I want my first experience to be with you.”

The heartfelt, almost bashful admission has you squeezing his hands reassuringly, hoping it silently telegraphs how much you want the same, despite your reservations about preserving your honour.

“May I kiss you?” His tone is so sweet you don't want to say no.

Instead of answering with words, you push up onto tiptoes and land your lips on his. It’s familiar and exciting all at once. You’ve kissed secretly a few times now, and on each occasion, it has been incredible—like a live wire sparking between you. You push into his tall frame as your mouths open and your tongues gently touch. He tastes of peaty scotch and the smoky tinge of cigars, both likely birthday indulgences. 

His hold around your waist tightens as your kisses get more insistent and probing, tongues parrying. This time feels different—portending something more profound. Only breaking apart to take a breath, then, after a fleeting exchange of shy smiles, your lips smashing back together urgently, exploring anew.

As you cling to his waistcoat, his hands slide down your dress to grab your bottom, making you squeak into his mouth. You've never been grasped there before, and his fingers seem to span the whole of your cheeks. You stutter his name as your lips part, his aromatic breath gusting over your face as he flexes his fingers. He observes your face closely, the material of your dress bunching between his knuckles. 

“I like the feel of your bottom,” he declares with tender honesty.

You beam up at him and trace your hand down his back, running over the crisscross pattern of laces on his waistcoat before landing on his behind. His eyebrows raise as you splay your fingers over rounded, taut muscle.

“I like yours too,” you respond in kind, emboldened by how his pupils dilate and his mouth falls open at your pluckiness.

One of his hands moves to cup your jaw, diving in for another kiss, more demanding than before, your boldness catalysing a new urgency in him. His fingers trail down your neck, skating over your pulse point that you know is hammering hard, then sweeping lower over your shoulder.

“Is… is this alright for you?” His voice is full of awe as those fingers slip inside your dress, the heel of his palm resting lightly on your collarbone.

“Y… yes, it’s… wonderful, actually.”

It seems like he is mapping your skin, the contours of bone and muscle across your chest, sinking lower until his hand is resting on the swell of your breast. He worms inside your neckline, and two fingertips catch against your nipple. It pebbles hard at the slightest brush, your breath catching. You meet his blistering stare as he slowly swipes a finger over the puckered skin again. Heat prickles through you, a heavy tingle between your legs.

“Does that feel good?” 

His timbre is a beguiling mix of tease and hope as his fingertips gently swirl a circle around your areola. You nod, your lower lip snagging under your top tooth as a new tide of sensation washes through you.

“Where did you learn such things?” You marvel, your hands still on his bottom, flexing slightly, a mirror of his movements.

“My brother has told me some things,” he elucidates with a slight smirk, “including that if I touch your breasts, you will be excited for more.”

“I am,” you confess as intrigue steals your tongue: “What did he tell you to do next?” 

“That I should remove your dress and kiss your naked body, especially here.” he counsels, sliding over your nipple again.

“What else?” you pant, the thought of it making you lightheaded.

“I should feel between your legs for wetness that shows you are ready for me,” he intones as if recalling a verbatim conversation, even as his fingers spider across to your other nipple. You gasp again, a shiver running down your spine.

“Ready for you?” You echo, mildly embarrassed that you do not know any detail of what happens between a man and a woman. You have only a vague notion from the overheard gossip of people in your family’s employ. 

He grabs your right hand from his bottom and guides it to the front of his trousers. There is a hardness straining the material that you swear wasn't there before.

“What is that?” Your breath catches as its warmth seeps through the material into your palm.

“That is my cock, and if you wish to know a man, it is an essential part of the process,” he smiles winningly.

You squeeze gently on instinct, the resulting low growl in the back of his throat enthralling you.

“I think we should take off our clothes now,” he proposes, and you nod your acceptance.

His hand slips from inside your neckline and lands on the buttons between your shoulder blades as yours slide up from his trousers to his waistcoat, popping its buttons as those on your dress also relent.

“Is it alright to undress each other, or should we undress ourselves?”

“Either is acceptable, but I am rather enjoying this,” he divulges as you push his waistcoat off his shoulders.

“So am I…” 

He pulls off your dress, the silk pooling around your feet, a yen to crowd into him as the cool night air seeps through your gauzy chemise.

“You do not wear stays?” he seems taken aback, his gaze now intent upon your nipples, jutting out against the thin cotton.

“No, not yet. Mama says I am but young, and my bosom is still perky,” you explain, aroused by how his breath becomes a little laboured as you voice it.

“I like it when you say such words,” he rags, pulling you into him with a firm grip, his hands so hot through the thin cotton of your chemise. You have a sudden tart need to be naked with him, a tingle between your legs that can only be excitement.

“Take off my chemise, Benedict,” you encourage, guiding him to the ties at your neckline. You pull the bow loose, the material bunching in his hands as you both tug either side down, exposing your breasts. 

He groans as your nipples instantly pebble in the cool air. He tilts you backwards in his arms, his face descending. You rasp his name, your hand flying into his hair, twisting his chestnut waves between your fingers as the contrasting heat, suction and wetness of his lips enclose your nub. It's exquisite, and you never want this loop of pleasure coursing through you to end, pushing your breast further into his mouth.

While he lathes with his tongue, you slacken the neckline further and shimmy out of the chemise, keen for more, already addicted to this wondrous feeling coursing in your bloodstream. 

He takes a step back to look at you as the last scrap of fabric flutters to the ground.

You see the quiver in his hands and the tented outline in his trousers as his eyes drink in your naked form, lingering on your nipples, wet with his saliva, and the patch of hair between your legs that is also damp now, a slickness between your thighs that has you wanting to squirm. 

His pupils are blown wide, his lips glisten, his cheeks are rosy, and his hair is wild from your tussling as he suddenly whips off his shirt. It sails through the air in a puffed arc. The captivating sight of his pale skin glowing like sculpted marble in the moonlight ties your tongue.

But your admiration is short-lived as he is on you again, propelling you into his arms. Your mind buffers as his broad, smooth chest collides with your dampened breasts, his kiss plundering your mouth. 

It feels like you are both drunk on a fascinating cocktail of urgency and nerves, navigating new territory with a bumbling, innocent, but innate excitement. 

“Lay down,” he whispers delicately into your mouth as you emerge for air.

You do as bidden, holding his hand as he assists you onto the blanket and laying back to stare up at him, towering over you now. His hands fall to the buttons on his britches, and you can't help but bite your lip, a shiver of anticipation to see how he looks naked.

He seems almost nervous as he pops the buttons and then shuffles the woollen material downwards over his thighs. But you only have eyes for what lies between his legs. Like yourself, there is a patch of hair there, but also something entirely other that makes your thighs clench together reflexively. This must be his cock. It is a rigid mass, reddened at the flared tip, jutting out from his body at least half a foot and beneath are adjoined sacs that droop a little.

“Do not be afraid,” he murmurs, perhaps misinterpreting your curiosity for fear.

“I know you will not hurt me, Benedict,” you placate, your eyes flitting up to his face and reaching for his hands to bring him to lay down with you on the blanket.

He sighs as he kneels beside you, his hand cradling your cheek. “That is the thing, my sweet; my brother says it might hurt for a lady on her first time.”

Your breath catches at the term of endearment he employs, placing your hand over his. “I know you will do everything to mitigate such.”

His eyes go soft, and he rolls on top of you; so much warm skin. An all-consuming sensation as you lay together naked, that cock branding your inner thigh as he settles atop you.

“Indeed ‘tis true…” he confirms, then hesitates before continuing in an ardent intonation: “I meant what I said. I wish for you to be my wife one day. I do believe I love you, y/n.”

Your heart soars at his tender confession. “And I believe I love you too, Benedict.”

His responding smile lights up his whole face. 

You may only be seventeen, but you know the contents of your heart. There is no man you have met whom you trust as much as this wondrous boy, now man, you have grown up alongside. You sincerely hope to have the privilege to grow up and, indeed, old with him.

“Are you certain?” he checks sweetly, and you can only nod as his touch trails down over the ticklish skin of your belly, leaving little lines of fire that sear in his wake.

There is a jolt to your entire being as his fingers slide into your most intimate area, somewhere only you have touched before. You keen and press up into him, quite certain nothing has ever felt like this before. 

“Oh, you are very wet,” he stutters, almost stunned. “But that is good,” he quickly appends before you can become self-conscious. “It means you desire me as much as I desire you.”

“I do desire you, Benedict,” you are at pains to express, a restlessness fizzling under your skin and a clawing need for him in your bones, knowing this can only be of his doing and wanting to burn so much more. “What happens now?”

He guides your hand gently between his legs. He moans as your hand instinctively curls around it, the skin so silky even over a mass so rigid. “I put my cock inside you,” he stumbles. “Into the place you are leaking from…”

“Will it fit?” You frown, unsure you have a place within yourself to accommodate it.

“Yes.. well, at least, that is what I have been told.” 

His slightly vulnerable admission makes you release his cock and grab his face, tilting his gaze to meet yours.

“We shall find out together,” you assure, smiling when he nods gently.

This is just another adventure you will embark on together, much as you have since you were children. 

He kisses your knuckles and guides you to hold onto his shoulders as he shifts above you. Butterflies behind your ribs as he looks down at what he is doing, a slightly anxious expression as he grabs his cock and manoeuvres it between your legs. 

You spread your feet wider to the edges of the blanket, its threads scrunching between your toes as you feel blunt pressure between your damp folds. You can't help the noise you make from the intensity of it. 

Benedict’s head shoots up to scrutinise your face, concern flooding his handsome features.

“Are you alright?” 

“Yes, I think so, just nothing I have experienced before…”

Then his eyes go as wide as yours as just his tip slips into your leaking channel.

“You are so hot and tight,” he stumbles, floored by what he is experiencing as much as you are.

“You are so hot and large,” you answer in kind, gripping his bicep as he presses deeper and an odd pinch of pain flares; it makes you hiss and bite your lip. 

He mumbles an apology, pausing. “I assume that is what they were referring to. Sh-should I continue?”

“Yes, I am alright now,” you reassure him, briefly touching his cheek, curiosity outweighing the fading, dull ache. 

You are slack-jawed in astonishment as your channel stretches wider to accommodate his push forward. He is panting, and his eyes are almost like saucers as he stares down upon you, neither of you blinking.

“Oh my goodness,” he mutters enraptured. “Please tell me this feels as good for you…”

“It’s wonderful, Benedict,” you promise breathily, a warmth unfurling behind your ribs that he would care as such. “Intense, yet wonderful.”

“Same,” he exhales shakily, a vein throbbing rhythmically on his neck as he sinks deeper.

Each fractional inch has you surprised anew, a captivating gradual invasion. Just as you think you could not be any fuller, he stops.

“I am entirely within you now.”

You try to catalogue all the feelings at once, to savour them, but it's impossible. The sense of him inside and surrounding you, flesh entwined, is all-consuming; defies words or descriptions.

“I shall move when you are ready,” he whispers into your cheek before kissing you softly. 

With your nodded consent, he withdraws and then surges back in, your channel clinging to him—a sensation unlike anything you have ever experienced before, so intimate and powerful. Your fingernails claw into him, hugging him down onto you, wanting his skin upon yours.

“Oh Benedict….”

It’s all you can voice. 

A tremble all over as you share this moment, tentatively moving with him in a complementary rhythm, almost a dance like that in a ballroom. Give and take, push and pull. And there is no one you would rather be dancing with. Your bodies meld together perfectly as if designed to be joined as such. You certainly don’t understand why some women dislike relations with a man—you would happily do this anytime.

Benedict's motions speed up, your folds swelling around his plunging cock, your heart hammering against your ribs, watching the ripples of ecstasy wash over his expression, a dew gathering in his hairline.

“It’s.. it’s overwhelming,” Benedict shudders. 

Indeed, there is a quake in his being, like he is a simmering pot about to boil over, even as his face appears anxious, like he does not yet want that to happen but is powerless to stop it. You quell his movement, clutching the belt of muscle above his hips.

“Rest within me a while,” you suggest, and he stills, a staccato exhale into your hair as his cock twitches inside you.

It is wonderful to be pinned under his weight. You run a soothing touch over his skin, the soft cotton of the blanket rubbing your shoulder blades as you shift under him, wrapping your ankles around the back of his knees. Your toes tease his fuzzy calves in soothing strokes as his breathing returns closer to normal. You know, somehow you should not kiss him, an incitement he does not need.

“I do not wish this to be over too soon,” he laments quietly into your hair—a swell of emotion within you at his honest admission.

“Neither do I, but it is our first time. We cannot expect to know or be good at everything, Benedict,” you rationalise, pausing for him to meet your gaze. A sheepish mien that makes him look so adorable. “We can learn to get better together.” 

The knit on his brow loosens a fraction as he hums in agreement.

“I have heard that should I finish before I want to, there are other ways I may ensure your satisfaction,” he offers humbly.

“What does that entail?” Enchanted by the idea he would be concerned for your pleasure as much as his.

“I may touch a nub between your legs that is like a freshwater pearl nestled within folds of dewy flesh,” he states, a poetic description you are sure must be from some book.

When he pulls up to glance at where you are joined, it makes his cock prod a new spot inside you. An incredible bloom of novel sensation that has you gasping and grabbing his arms. Your channel ripples around him, and he groans heavily, collapsing back upon you inelegantly.

“Holy fuck,” he curses, sounding winded.

And you know the time for talking is over. You are impatient for him to move again, for his cock to graze that spot once more.

“Bring your legs up higher,” he tutors, intuiting your needs. 

Just as your heels curl around the shapely curve of his bottom, he moves again, making you cry out in pleasure as he hits that exact target, your nails digging into his back.

“Don’t stop Benedict,” you appeal over a ragged gasp as he grazes it again, your eyes rolling, clinging to him.

His motions are jerkier now but rougher in just the way you need. He holds nothing back, both of you fumbling towards the ecstasy growing inside. Hands grabbing, moaning into dewy cheeks, wetness matting into the downy hair below, the most debauched of sounds from where your bodies meet as he pushes into you over and over.

All your muscles start to tense, a delirium washing over you that makes you impulsive. One of your hands worming between you to strum an engorged nub just above where he fucks you, knowing on some instinctual level it is key to your pleasure. You cry out, and your pussy clamps hard onto him. Benedict groans his approval as he takes a final harsh snap, you falling over an edge, fluttering hard around his now rippling cock.

He growls and wrenches himself out of your channel rapidly. But you are barely cognizant of a milky liquid spurting over your belly as you writhe under him, body febrile mind a thousand miles above amongst the summer stars

When you return to yourself, you feel him collapse onto the blanket next to you, pulling you into his arms as if there is a compulsion to always have your naked skin on his.

“No one warned me your body would do that,” he pants, astounded. “It took all of my strength to withdraw…”

“Why did you?” You crane your neck to pout at him, believing it would feel so much better to reach that peak wrapped around his cock.

“I thought it unwise to leave you with child…” he frowns as if his reasoning were obvious.

You buffer for a few seconds, then sit up and twist to look down at him, shock flooding your already overloaded senses.

“This?!” You splutter, “This is how babies are made?”

He chuckles at first, then tempers his face when he realises you are serious. 

“I… I thought you knew…”

”No! I have not been told a thing!” you bemoan, only now realising how much of adulthood you have yet to navigate.

He delicately pulls you down to rest on top of him, nuzzling your cheek. 

“I am sorry that is the case. One day, we shall have children, I am certain. But perhaps tis not a good idea just yet. We are still young, not even yet engaged.” 

You vehemently nod in agreement, flooded with gratitude that, even as he was in the throes of his first sex, too, he had the respect and forethought to care for the consequences for you both. 

“Thank you, Benedict,” you sigh, burrowing into his embrace as a gentle waft of breeze cools your flushed skin.

“‘Tis me who should be thanking you.” he insists, caressing your shoulder. “That was amazing. I am so glad we did this together.”

“As am I,” you return, as you lay entwined together, knowing already this will be the first of many.

masterlist • wips • taglist (must follow this blog to be tagged)

Benedict taglist pt 1: @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @ferns-fics @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @hanji-emo-blog @sya-skies @urfavnoirette

[feminist-furby-freak]

So there’s this tik toker who works at a legal brothel in Nevada and she just made a video about how in her district the law has regulations about vaginal exams for prostitutes which de facto means that only women can be purchased for sex. And then she ends the video by saying how they should change the law to have more “inclusive language” but historically nobody really tries to purchase men for sex in regulated brothers anyway. She talks about a trans identifying woman who worked in a brothel and was able to because of the law (because pigs who purchase women obviously don’t care about their pronouns) but the language of the prostitution laws is not inclusive for men who identify themselves as women. Genuinely the most dystopian video I’ve seen in a while. It again proves the point everyone knows what a woman is when they want to purchase her body or abuse her.

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Do You Wanna Touch Me?

Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI) Pairing: Marcus Pike x Sex Worker Female Reader Words Count: 4,200 Summary: After getting his heart broken, Marcus Pike takes an assignment in Amsterdam. What started as an exploration of the red light district turns into choosing you, the most beautiful art he's ever seen. Warnings: sex work, erotic dancing, hand job, masturbation, fingering, oral (m receiving), reader wears makeup and a dress, marcus tries to escape his heartbreak, van gogh mentions, reader is college aged, dieter bravo exists in this universe

A/N: This was written for @baronessvonglitter's Fuck-tober birthday celebration. I was assigned Marcus Pike and "Do You Wanna Touch Me" by Joan Jett. Happy birthday Adriana!!! 💕

Here are the songs I refer to in the fic: “Do You Wanna Touch Me” by Joan Jett “Bed Chem” by Sabrina Carpenter “Streets” by Doja Cat “God Is A Woman” by Ariana Grande “Cinema” by Harry Styles “The Night Me and Your Mama Met” by Childish Gambino Masterlist

---

Marcus doesn’t do things like this. He’s a good man, a good son, a good brother, a good friend, and most of all, a good agent. And yet, he still walks down the cobblestone street that’s bathed in red lights.

LIVE SEX SHOW  SEX TOYS SEX PALACE HIGH TIMES

What in the world is he doing here? Curiosity, loneliness, being so fucking horny he can’t focus on the case ahead. You’re a good man he tells himself as he ventures deeper into the crimson alleys, the shadow of shame following closely behind him.  

“Hey handsome. Today’s your lucky day.” A blonde man winks, handing him a gilded envelope. “You’re invited to Galerij.” 

Marcus blinks down at the golden envelope, looking up to find the blonde stranger already gone from his sight. He opens the envelope, revealing a simple invitation with gold embossed text. 

Galerij, Amsterdam’s hottest art pieces. €400

He’s a damn FBI agent, and yet he’s too intrigued and desperate for a distraction to say no. He should know better, his badge weighs heavily in his pocket. He plugs the address into his phone with a sigh and makes the quick walk to the address listed, silently atoning for his sins as he passes the Oude Kerk church. He doesn’t dare make eye contact with any of the police officers situated, they might sense his shame. 

“You’ve arrived at your destination,” the robotic voice intones. He looks up at the plain brick row home that stands out amongst the surrounding buildings covered in neon lights with windows full of girls in different levels of undress. 

A small gold sign hangs above the unassuming black door. GALERIJ

He inhales deeply and pushes the door open. A bell jingles. Inside, an older looking woman with slicked-back blonde hair and a sharp black suit sits behind a desk. 

“Nederlands or English?” she asks, her tone clipped.

“English,” he answers, his throat tight. “Please.”

“Invitation?”

“Oh, uh, here,” he hands her the invitation. 

Without any more acknowledgment, she gestures to a black leather chair near an intricately carved golden door. “Please take a seat.”

A bit of trepidation blooms within him as he sits down, but when he looks around, he realizes that this isn’t some seedy back-alley brothel. It can’t be that bad if the walls are covered in mahogany and the floor is marble. 

The woman makes a quick phone call, speaking in a hushed voice. His palms grow sweaty. What the hell is he doing? This was supposed to be a quick exploration of something that’s always fascinated him… legal vices. Yet now, he's gripping the armrests as the same stern woman brings over a clipboard and card machine. 

“Cash or charge?” 

“Oh, cash?” he replies quickly, fumbling for his wallet. There’s no way he’s going to use a credit card around here, too many chances of his secret adventure getting revealed on a statement. 

“400 euros.” 

He opens his wallet and unfolds his money. 100, what are you doing? 200, what are you doing? 300, Marcus, seriously, what are you doing? 350, no seriously what are you doing? 400, damn, you’re really doing it. 

Stern woman takes the money and hands him a gold pin with a simple G etched onto it. She hits a small gold bell on her desk, a singular ring sharply echoes across the small room. 

He pins the pin to his chest, reminding him of all the times he used to pin the old Met Museum badge to his lapel when he was a young college student in New York. This is so much more different than that, he reminds himself. 

The golden door opens after a moment. 

A beautiful older woman in a dark burgundy skirt and matching jacket walks out with a smile lifting her dark red lips. 

“Welcome to Galerij. I am Maud, the curator.” she greets, offering her hand. “What would you like us to call you here?”

He rises and shakes her hand. 

Can’t do Marcus, can’t do Pike, can’t do Agent. He thinks of that one actor everyone tells him he looks like. “Uh–Bravo.” 

“Very well, Bravo,” she opens the door, moving aside allowing him to walk through. “Welcome to Galerij.”

He steps into a stark white room. The floor is shiny concrete, a singular white table with two white wishbone chairs sit in the middle of the room, a stark contrast to the entrance room on the other side of the wall. Not exactly what he was expecting. The agent in him can’t help but think this would be a perfect place to kill somebody. 

Maud motions for him to sit across from her. “Here you will make your decision on what piece you’d like. Gay or straight?”

He sits down, her question is a reminder as to why he’s really here. “Straight,” he answers, his nerves beginning to creep around him. 

She nods. “All of our pieces are tested, clean, and practice safe sex. Your piece will tell you what they will and won’t do once you make your choice. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” 

“You will have twenty minutes, your time will start once you enter your gallery. A bell will ring every five minutes, your final bell will ring twice symbolizing your last five minutes. Do not be late. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Of course no photos or recordings. We ask you to not even have your phone out. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” 

“Are you ready?” she asks with a smile on her face.

“I am,” he answers. His heart is pounding. 

She nods and presses a button, a shrill buzz echoes through the room. A hidden door opens and a large muscle and tattoo clad man with buzzed black hair and a nose ring walks out carrying a red velvet-covered book. He hands it to Maud, before standing behind her like a silent guardian.

His heart races faster than he ever thought it could when she  opens the book and pushes it towards him. 

GALERIJ with the day's date is stamped on the thick page. 

His fingers tremble as he flips to the first page revealing a photo of an olive skinned and brown haired woman clad in dark blue lingerie with delicate yellow stars embroidered all over it lying on top of swirled silky blue sheets. She’s absolutely stunning.

“This is The Starry Night.”

He nods, turning the page. 

A pale skinned, petite woman with shockingly white blonde hair wears a light blue bra and lace panties while laying atop white flower petals. She’s just as beautiful as the first woman. 

“This is Almond Blossom.” 

He turns the page. 

A dark skinned, dark haired woman sits against a yellow wall wearing two sunflower blooms over her ample chest. Her smile is wide, just like her eyes lined with bright gold glitter. She’s gorgeous 

“This is Sunflowers.”

They all look like they just walked off the runway, all beautiful and alluring. He wonders what–or who–the next piece will be. He smiles to himself when he realizes they’re all named after Van Gogh. Of course he’d find himself in an art themed brothel… he just can’t escape work. 

“Before you see my fourth piece, please know she’s a little different. You cannot touch her, only watch. Don’t let that sway your decision, she is our most popular piece.” 

He braces himself as he turns the page. 

He loses his breath when he sees you. There you are, sitting cross-legged against the same color wall as Sunflowers. He can just see a glimpse of your nipples under your sheer indigo bra. Your green lined eyes leer at the camera. He thanks all the stars in Starry Night for his chance to even get a look at you. He’s lost in time at how your skin glows against the golden wall. 

“Wow,” he breathes out. 

“I believe you made your decision,” Maud says with a knowing smile. “This is Irises.” 

“Yes,” Marcus swallows, his throat suddenly dry. “Irises please.”

She nods and closes the book. “Pieter, let Irises know.”

“Okay Bravo,” Maud says with a smile and stands. “Pieter will come and get you when Irises is ready. Please do enjoy my gallery.” 

“Thank you Maud,” he says, wiping his sweaty hands against the fabric of his jeans. 

The fading sound of Maud and Pieter’s steps and a door closing leaves him all alone in the sparse room.

He hopes he looks good enough for you. His dark blue jeans are presentable enough, his plain gray v neck is clean, he thanks himself for spritzing himself with a dash of cologne before leaving his hotel. He knows he paid the equivalent of close to $450 for you to like him, but he still wants to impress you. 

He checks his watch, five minutes have passed. He’s too afraid to bring his phone out, so he just stares forward, nervously tapping his foot.

This wasn’t his plan at all, he was just going to explore and sightsee, nothing more. No drugs, no sex, just curiosity. 

The door opens. Pieter appears. 

“Irises is ready,” he announces, his accent thick. “Follow me.”

He tentatively trails Pieter through the door walking down a hallway lined with doors. Ornate golden frames hang with Van Gogh pieces in each one. They reach the door with Irises hung next to it.

“Twenty minutes,” Pieter says flatly, opening the door. “Sit in the chair. Do not touch. You watch.”

Marcus nods, his heart slamming against his chest. His knees almost buckle as he steps inside the room. 

It’s dark, save for a single spotlight shining down on a small stage, a lone purple velvet high back chair sits waiting for him in the middle of it. His shaky legs take him up the three steps before he lowers into it, hands clenching the wide armrests, trying to control his breathing. 

He shouldn't be here–-he knows that. It’s too late for regrets now.

The click-clack of your heels echoes through the room when you step onto the stage. He’s too nervous to turn his head to see you. His body tenses, anticipation coiling all of his muscles tight. When you finally step in front of him, he has to remind himself to breathe.

You’re beautiful, the light catches on the sheer fabric of your dress. He can just make out the curves of your body, naked under light lavender chiffon. Your eyes are lined with deep purple eyeliner, ending into a cat eye at the corners. Your ruby red lips curl up into a knowing smile, almost as if you can see his desire for you. 

Four thousand miles away from home and he’s just found the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on. His cock begins to thicken, the shame of his paid for voyeurism adventure dissolving from his mind. You’re finer than any masterpiece he’s ever had to investigate. 

“Hi Bravo,” you purr, your voice smooth and teasing, “Do you wanna touch me?” 

He nods and coughs nervously. “Y-yes. But, I can’t.”

A slow, knowing smile spreads across your lips. “Good boy.” 

His back tightens, a wave of heat flows down his spine and settles in his lap. For too long he’s disallowed himself from feeling this type of pleasure. Too busy, too sad, too heartbroken. What led him here feels like a blur. An exchange of glances, a subtle wink, an invitation. The black door, €400 out of his wallet, a white room, an open red velvet book, the long hallway, Irises. He allows himself to enjoy the experience just as you send him a wink.

You’re like his own little gallery show standing in front of him. A piece of art he doesn’t just want to see–but memorize.

—

You’ve only been doing this for a few months now. It really is the perfect side hustle to support yourself while finishing your art degree. You’ve been enamored with Van Gogh’s art since you were a child, a lifelong dream realized when you were accepted into the student exchange program at the University of Amsterdam. You made it possible, and now, working two nights a week in between coursework, you're making more than most of your friends earn in an entire week. Of course, only a select few know what you really mean when you say you work at a very exclusive gallery.

It’s a good job. Maud takes good care of you, vetting those who enter her establishment with her keen client recruiters on the streets. Pieter is always a buzz away, though you’ve never felt danger. Everyone needs an escape, some just agree to pay a premium for it. They call it the oldest profession for a reason. 

Bravo. He’s your last customer tonight, and they sure did save the best for last. You watched him approach on the security camera, a smile formed when you noticed how much he resembled your favorite actor, you had plans for him. His wide shoulders, broad body, thin beard, and perfect head of hair almost made you think it was him, if it wasn’t for his eyes flickering around the room nervously. There’s no way Dieter Bravo would be anxious in this type of situation. 

You press play on the stereo. A quick drumbeat starts, your steps keep tempo with it as you come back to stand in front of your client.

Turning around and bending over, your hips dance to the beat of the song as your hands roam along your curves, lifting your dress to give him a peek of your thighs and ass. A low groan rumbles behind you.

“Do you like what you see?” you ask, slowly turning to face him, moving your hands up and down your body.

“Y-yes,” he stammers, his nervous eyes wide and plush lips parted. 

Those same nervous eyes watch as you bunch the fabric of your dress up and take it off, tossing it aside. He eyes you, brows furrowed in concentration, eyes exploring all of you like you’re a painting hanging in a gallery. 

You cup your breasts, feeling the velvety warmth of your skin beneath your fingers as the purple of your nail polish brushes against your hardened nipples. Slowly you tilt your head down and let a trail of spit fall to one nipple. 

“Do you wanna touch me?” you ask, pinching and pulling the sensitive peaks of your nipples. “Mmph–mmhmm,” he groans, nervously shuffling in his seat. 

Bending forward and placing your hands on his knees gives him the perfect view of your breasts. A long sigh comes from him, his eyes planted on your tits. You like what you’re doing to him, you never start your dances off this close to a client, but you can’t resist him.

When your hands trail up to his thick thighs, the bulge of his pants makes your mouth water, tempting you to move towards it. Not yet.

Leaning closer, you nuzzle against the warmth of his neck. He smells delicious… like eucalyptus and maple syrup. His quickening breaths puff out against your hair. You taste his skin with your tongue, licking your way up to his ear.

“Do you wanna touch me?” you ask along with the song.

“Y-yeah,” he stutters. 

Pulling away, you wink before turning your back to him and delicately sit atop his lap. Sinking down against his broad chest, the heat radiating off him burns hot against your back. The song changes just as you feel the poke of his erection against your ass.

A poppy beat soundtracks your movements as you grind yourself against the heft of him, falling back, placing your head against his wide chest. Reaching back, your hands tangle in his soft hair, humming sweetly along to the sound, letting a few lyrics slip out of your mouth.

“I bet you we’d really have good bed chem”

Your client follows directions very well, staying perfectly still, gripping the armrests so hard the golden skin around his knuckles turn white. You rub yourself against the rough fabric of his jeans, getting off on the quiet whimpers he leaves in your ear. 

RING. The fifteen minute bell rings.

“And I bet it’s even better than in my head”

You rise off his lap and bend over clasping your hands around your ankles, giving him the perfect view of your ass and dripping core. The song fades out, a deeper, sultrier drumbeat begins. 

“Like you, like you, ooh, I found it hard to find someone like you” 

Your body gently sways along to the slow, sultry beat, and when you flip your head back to glance at him, he lets a low groan out. Placing your hands on the floor, you walk them out ahead of you before you’re on all fours, spreading your legs wide to show him even more of your glistening pussy. 

“Do you wanna touch me?” you ask, settling on your stomach, snaking a hand between your wide spread legs. 

“Y-yes,” he huffs. 

“I know you do Bravo,” you tilt your hips up hovering them above the ground, “let me show you how I like it.”

Your middle finger enters your soaked entrance as your thumb gently dusts light circles against your clit. Your hips move in beat to the heavy rhythm of the song. 

“Oh god,” he pants, when you stick another finger in, the chair creaking underneath his tensity. 

RING. The ten minute bell rings.

Choreography, that’s the business term for what you’re doing. It’s all timed out, you hear these songs at least ten times every work day. Though you never sit on your clients as close as you did with Bravo, you never taste their skin like you did with Bravo. He deserves more than the same memorized steps, something better than the repetition you offer all of the others. 

The song changes, signaling you to start your new routine, you ignore the cue, rolling onto your back, arching slightly, your eyes meet his. His hands remain clamped on to the armrests, fingers digging into the velvet. He’s trembling with restraint, beads of sweat glistening on his skin. His erection swells, the tight fabric of his pants tenting. 

“Do you wanna touch me Bravo?”

“I do,” he whines, the lines of his neck straining as his head thuds against the back of the chair. 

“Okay, okay baby,” you sit up, turning to crawl towards him. Your eyes don’t leave his. 

“And I can be all the things you told me not to be

When you try to come for me, I keep on flourishing”

Kneeling on your knees in front of him, you unlock one of his clutched hands, moving it to the soft skin of your breast. 

“N-no touching I thought,” he stammers, his hand laying flat against your skin.

“I make my own rules, it’s okay Bravo,” you allow, grabbing his other hand and placing it on you.

He groans when he cups your breasts in his hands. You watch the tendons of his strong hand tense and release as he cups your breasts and massages them in his hold. He’s mesmerized by his movements, like he can’t believe you’re allowing him to touch you. 

Your hand teases its way up his leg to the warmth of the apex of his thighs before gripping him, thick and hard underneath the constraints of his jeans. 

“Oh fuck,” he growls. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. You’re so beautiful.”

His words of adoration fall out of his mouth, eyes still locked on your tits covered by his hands. 

You unbuckle his belt, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans as the choir sings God is a woman. 

The song changes.

“You got, you got the cinema”

Your eyes light at the sight of his cock, standing tall and thick, precum leaking from the engorged tip. It’s just as beautiful and wide as the rest of your client. 

Bravo lets out a garbled groan when you wrap your hand around his length, slowly pumping him along to the song. Up, down, up, down, the sexy beat soundtracking your movements. 

RING. RING. The five minute bell rings. Your client doesn’t seem to heed the warning, only focusing on his thumbs swiping back and forth against the peaks of your nipples and your hand stroking the smooth silk of his cock.

“Touch me Bravo,” you rise, lifting a foot up on the armrest, keeping hold of his pulsing dick in your hand. “Give me two of your fingers.” 

His eyes gaze down to your dripping cunt, watching himself as his hand sweeps down your body before parting your folds. 

You got, you got the cinema

You got, you got the cinema

Your hips undulate to the tempo of the song as he sticks two of his long, thick fingers into your heat. 

“God damn,” he mutters incredulously, “you’re so wet.”

The song changes. 

A steady and slow funky guitar plays along with a soulful choir. It’s soft and romantic, exactly what you like to close down your shows with. You’ve never ended a show like this, your hand wrapped around your client’s wide cock, and your pussy clenching around two of his thick fingers. His thumb begins sweeping back and forth against your clit, he may have found himself at a brothel in Amsterdam, but your client has done this before. Perfect movements, perfect angle, you stare down in reverie at the focus he holds, watching himself touch you. His adoration of your body heats your core, lighting an orgasm just as beautiful as the song that plays. 

“Fuck baby,” you pant, “I’m gonna cum.”

He blinks up to you, brown eyes staring intensely into yours when you bite your lip and send a gush of wet against his fingers. Your legs turn shaky, as your clit pulses against his thumb that blesses your sensitive bub with just the right amount of pressure. Moving his hand from between your thighs, he holds it up, marveling at the sight of your juices shining against his skin. You send him a smile as your leg drops to the floor, the rest of your body following, kneeling in front of him. He still stares at his hand, watching the strings of your orgasm stretch across his widely spread fingers. 

“Smear it on your cock for me,” you say, planting both hands on his thighs. 

He groans and nods before rubbing the remnants of your orgasm on his shaft. He shouts an indistinguishable sound when you lick a line up to his tip, tasting yourself and the salty tang of his precum. Your lips envelop the fat tip of him, sucking and slobbering your way down the thick length of him. 

The song ends, the playlist repeats. The same quick drumbeat of the first song plays loudly. 

You suck him to the beat, flicking your tongue against his tip with each “YEAH!” of the song.

RING. RING. RING. The final bells ring, signaling that your client should have left by now.

Bravo locks up. Your mouth unclasps from his cock.

“It’s okay,” you assure, “we have a word for–”

A heavy knock lands against the door. 

“Driehoek (triangle) Pieter! I’m good in here, thanks!”

Three rapid knocks–softer now–signal Pieter’s departure.

“You guys really have it all fig–oh god,” he moans, when you take his cock back into your mouth.  

His strong legs shake against your body as your cheeks hollow, taking him into your mouth faster and harder, his hips thrusting up to meet your mouth. Drool leaks out of the sides of your mouth, your eyes stare up at him blinking back tears as he reaches the back of your throat. You don’t know if he’s ever allowed himself this much freedom, it feels like you’ve unlocked something deep within him with the way he’s snarling and grunting “Irises” over and over.

“G-gonna–yeah–yeah–cum,” he gasps, hips stuttering and chair creaking as he spills into your accepting mouth. 

Bravo, client. Bravo.

—

He can’t believe he just did that. He just–he–he just– came in the mouth of a complete stranger–nay–a prostitute. You told him you’ve never done something like that with a client as you tossed him a towel… and the funny thing is he actually believes you. 

You shuffle back into the see through lilac dress as he zips his jeans back up. You really are the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen, even if your purple eyeliner is now streaked from the tears that sprung in your eyes from gagging on his cock. Wow, that did just happen. 

You leave a kiss against his cheek and open the door for him. Pieter escorts him out the back entrance with a knowing smile. 

He walks back to his hotel, a new man with a clearer mind. Marcus really doesn’t feel the shame he expected he would. He knows a fine piece of art, and you just might be the finest he’s ever seen. 

[komsomolka]

south korea sex trafficked it's own women to usamerican soldiers during and after korean war. south korea also sent 300k soldiers to help yankees to terrorize vietnam back into colonial submission where those koreans systematically raped vietnamese women and visited brothels set in imperialist puppet south vietnam. but rok refuses to acknowledge those victims to this day. it also failed to protect it's own comfort women by agreeing to sham settlement with japan (rok tried to backtrack it later but legally speaking success rate is low). south korea/rok is nothing but the tool of imperialists to terrorize into submission true independent and free from neocolonialism korean state what is dprk. it's illegal to even praise dprk in south korea not even talking about holding it's flag or casually posting about it. that's why you hear so much nonsense about north korea everywhere too. it's psyop designed to make us hate the progressive (in marxist meaning) anti imperialist government which defeated usa and dares to stand strong against it.

[aaksuitac]

[03:10 am.] “sleep, pitfighter.”

comfort. wc. 1.1k

(tagging @dilemmars again lol bc i did this on a frenzy and realized later q usé cosas de tu historia qjhdiqndk el efecto de tus audios tía akdbqk)

she nuzzles her head on your chest, a half groan accompaniying the motion as her hands, still stained with grease and dirt, pull and knead the fabric of your jacket.

vi can feel it against her cheek. she can’t recognize the fabric, of course, she has no clue what the damn thing is anyways, but she can’t have it in her to care. it’s soft. it smells like you, sweet, alluring, warm.

“when do I have to pay you?”

her voice is a mumble. an eco that reverberates inside the four sad walls that somehow still stand and separate what she calls an apartment —or something remotely similar, i guess—, even if the resemblance is quite uncanny. gross, to be fair.

you look at the wall, wondering what could be the best way to tell her to stop thinking about that, and you can swear that even the spider that creeps up and travels to her cobweb on the ceiling sighs and shakes her little fuzzy head at the sight of the pitfighter.

if you answer her question or not, vi doesn’t remember. she remembers the sound of your heartbeat, constant, deep, far away from her grasp yet still the closest she could ever be to it. she sighs. somehow, when she reaches for things that she thought constant in her life, they start disappearing. changing.

“are you asleep?” you ask, laying next to her. when there’s no answer, you sigh softly, stroking her hair away from her face, not minding the stain that lingers on your fingers.

vi had a complicated relationship with change —the least you could say was complicated. saying complicated was being nice—, and still, through change, she met you. because if it weren’t for change, she wouldn’t have ended up in the brothel, a drunk in distress. vi doesn’t have a clue how she uttered anything with any kind of sense, until a soft voice came from a pretty stranger with some kind of mask over her eyes.

“darling,” you had said, an enticing smile that dissarmed her, despite the knowledge that it was part of your job. “are you on the floor by chance or by choice?”

by resignation, she wanted to say, but it was as if the word had gotten stuck in her mouth. vi didn’t quite remember how she had ended up on the floor on the first place, barely even acknowledged when the line of the horizon lowered as her legs eventually gave up and tripped.

she had no grudges against the people that worked in the brothel. how could she judge, she chuckled humourlessly in her head, considering her fucked up excuse of a family. taking that in, working in a brothel was, at least, legal. people from the brothel were better off than her on a good day… and on a bad one too.

as she stood —or well, laid— there, you looked at babette, your boss, and she shrugged, staring at vi on an angle much closer to yours. you both ultimately decided that vi wasn’t much of a threat. or anything else, judging by her state.

“should we… kick her out?” you mumbled. you didn’t really want to. the poor thing looked like the embodiment of misery.

at the question, babette sighed, tapping with her fingers on her cigarette as she smoked, with a grace rooted by experience.

“kid,” she spoke lowly. “do you have money in you?”

vi blinked at her, and softly shook her head sideways. babette sighed, her eyes dull with something you couldn’t really piece. she looked like she knew the pitfighter. as if she was… sad when she looked at her.

but you weren’t paid to psychoanalize stares. and as fast as you noticed, babette blinked the emotion away from her eyes.

“no trouble, no problem.” she smoked, heading back to her office. “let her in if she can pay later. someone in her family owns me money anyways.” she smirked humourlessly to herself.

taking her inside your assigned room was hard enough on itself, but you didn’t really mind it. by staying on the communal rooms with the rest of the clients of the day, you ended with a fair paycheck while she slept peacefully.

but when she blinked awake, the story was much more different.

she didn’t knew where she was. there was a weird sound coming from a record player. some kind of scratchy music, as if whoever had recorded the vinyl didn’t really know how to do it.

“cupcake?”

and vi shivered, from the inside out. her eyes widened, and she was fully awake for a minute. you just blinked, puzzled, looking at the pitfighter now aggresively standing before you, huffing from the effort and sudden adrenaline running through her veins.

“what did you say to me, skank?”

you smiled alluringly, swaying your hips. only a fool would be offended by a drunkard.

“i’m offering you food, pitfighter. are we naming honourable professions?”

her eyes softened. she stumbled as her posture relaxed, and she suddenly let out a groan, taking her hands to her head.

“ha. karma.” you snickered, handing her the pastry before turning to your vanity and wiping away your make up.

day after day, she kept coming back. not as drunk. even drunker. sometimes accompanied by a big man. always paid in coins, never struck any deals. didn’t have the energy to hustle.

she’d get to the brothel to sleep. a wild concept. sometimes, she’d even take you by your wrist and make you lie down with her. as a paying customer, she wasn’t doing anything inherintly wrong. she was paying, too. nothing wrong you could say on her behalf.

after a while, when she’d get to the brothel and knock on your door, it started to have a pattern. some kind of sign. a way to say, “it’s me”.

five knocks. five knocks and a scratch, so, technically six. vi, her face read. a v and an i. numbers? possibly. you didn’t learn her name until after the first month. which is funny, at least, considering not only was it written on her face, but because you knew her address by the third day.

the big man that she sometimes came with to the brothel also came to visit you, a week and a bit after. not for your services either. but with an offer.

“the pitfigher.” he had stated calmly. “she…” he sighed. “you’re the only one she’ll speak to right now. i’m not much for deals or favours. just… please, take care of her.” he mumbled.

she’s asleep on her bed now. and you take care of her. weirdly, it seems like the right thing to do. so skipping a low night of work doesn’t seem wrong when you take her home and stay with her, make her eat, redo the bandages on her arms and torso, put oinment on her scars and clean the make up from her face, careful not to let the tattoo on her face show, as she had said.

“i don’t know if i’m vi anymore. or if i should be.”

the stains on her hair fade quickly because of ther sweat. you did that to her by request, but honestly, it’s not your best work.

“you can always be neither.” you replied softly, to a question that hadn’t truly been asked. “not vi. not pitfigher.” you stay silent, your words slurring in your mouth when you concentrate on dying black the strands of hair that cover her face. “i am not who i was before the brothel. nor am i the name i use when i work.” you smile gently. “i am neither.”

“if i don’t know who am i, i’ll try not to be who i don’t want. whoever that is. i keep it close to keep it in watch, and so i never, ever be that kind of me.”

you stroke her hair now, and you sigh, about to stand up and leave, maybe tidy up the shitty apartment beforehand out of generosity, but then her arm passes over your waist and pulls you closer.

“i never… i don’t like being weak.” she mumbles, half asleep. “but… i don’t like sleeping. not since…” she sighs, nuzzling her face into the crook of your neck.

“but… it’s… it’s not so bad with you.” she utters against your skin.

there were many things you didn’t know about her. why was she a pitfigher. why was she so afraid of sleep. why did she sometimes wake up crying. who where those people she called for in her sleep. and maybe, that should’ve been a reason to leave.

so when you hug her, and then, tighter, you weren’t too surprised to notice her breath hitch.

“sleep, pitfigher.” you smile softly. a smile out of work. a smile of trust.

you cover her with the thin bedsheet she owns, and she smiles too. softly. efervescent. a blink and you’ll miss it kind of smile.

business was going to be bad for a couple of weeks. obviously, you weren’t going to let her pay you anymore.

~k.k. (☆) have fun!

a/n I AM NOT PREPARED FOR TODAY’S CHAPTERS, THIS IS MY WAY OF COPING. SEND HELP.

aaksuitac, november 2024 ©

[loafgeto]

A BROTHEL…! BUT WITH MEN?

fushiguro toji x fem!reader

synopsis: you and your friends enter a brothel that has men, instead of women. thus, allows you to encounter toji. and of course, he’s just working and you’re just a client— so there’s nothing else involved, right?

contents: 18+ mdni, explicit language, fem!reader, she/her pronouns. NSFW, cunninglus, teasing, dirty talk, semi-overstimulation, begging, markings/hickeys, protected sex → unprotected sex, creampie, squirting, orgasms, size kink/difference, mentions of pregnancy, breeding kink, cockwarming, pet names. not proofread!

word count: 5k

notes: been thinking abt this lately with toji... might make a gojo one like this idk tho (before you progress in the story just know that i enjoy including the second round of fucking lol...)

your friends heard something interesting a few days ago. they were discussing it while meeting up for a hang out. you were the last to arrive, but your friends were chatting away about some topic you wouldn’t necessarily be interested in— at least not at the moment.

when you inquired and slip into the conversation about what they were discussing about, your friends appeared to hesitate and didn’t respond at first. but your curiosity lingered and you begged them to tell you. therefore— apparently, there was a unique and secret business somewhere in the city.

it was a legal brothel home, posing as a regular club building to the public. if you wanted to go to the brothel, you’d have to see the clerk by the golden elevator. but instead of the brothel having women employees— it was men instead. and your friends were considering on going, but they weren’t certain to invite you since you had just broken up with your boyfriend.

“what? that was like a month ago, c’mon guys. i can go,” you reassured your friends with a smile. sure, the break up still recalls to your mind and pains your healing heart, but you wanted to get over it and the relationship. so of course you’d need to do something thrilling and adventurous that would occupy your mind.

“okay, if [name] wants to then we should let her join us! who knows, she might meet a better hunk there,” one of your friends reply, giggling which makes the others agree.

“what? you know those dudes there are just working and not looking for any relationship,” you furrow your brows slightly, and sigh.

“oh, don’t give us that look, [name]! we were just joking,” one of your other friends intervened with a grin. you proceed not to say anything else as your friends further conversed about their excitement and expectations when they’re at the brothel.

“i hope the guys are hot.”

“i hope i fuck someone hot.”

they all giggled and fawned over the thought of having sex with someone handsome, or whatever. you just disassociated at that moment, not necessarily listening to the rest of the conversation.

later, your friends settled a saturday night to go to this brothel, which was in two days. you found yourself anticipating the consequences of your decisions for the remaining two days, and contemplated whether or not to actually go. well, you didn’t want to disappoint your friends after already claiming you’d go, so you decided to look forward to it.

when saturday night arrives, your friends picked you up and you all headed towards the brothel. it was a decent walk and a lot of people were attending the club. from what you could tell, most of the guests didn’t know that a brothel existed underneath the club. when you and your friends entered the loud room, you all headed towards the golden door tucked in the far back corner. it didn’t necessarily receive much attention, as there was a sign that wrote vip only.

your friends gave the clerk by the elevator an access code, in order for all of you to get in and moments later, another employee assists the group. “come this way, please,” the man gently gestures you all, and after exchanging glances he speaks again. “the golden elevator isn’t the main door that leads you where you want to be, so please come.”

you all trail after the man as he leads you down a quieter hall. large ancient paintings of animals and folklore creatures were hanged up with pure golden frames, easily giving your friends the creeps and caused them to huddle close together.

“i’m assuming this is the first time you’ve all been here?” the man inquires, still keeping his smile as he presses a button to another elevator. you all nod, and he chuckles. “i see, i hope you all have wonderful experiences. you all will be going to another floor where you can meet the men. and if you can’t select someone, then the host will attend you.”

the information seemed to enlighten your friends as they began smiling, giggling, and whispering bullshit that you didn’t necessarily hear when entering the elevator. the elevator brought you girls down two floors, and when the door opens— you all step into the premises of another floor where the tension is more intense and intimate.

there was music, neon party lights, and a limited amount of people. most men were occupied with their clients, while some were sitting and waiting for whoever to approach them. this brothel wasn’t typically like any other— it even appeared like a normal club. as you observed the area, it surprised you to see how many men were actually working in this place.

all of your friends ended up splitting from you and each other, leaving you alone to do whatever you desired. you sat by the bar, occasionally glancing at the men with their lady clients and wondered who to approach. however, you quickly became timid and ordered a drink. for all you know, it was going to be one hell of a night.

when searching for your friends, you could already see them all with someone— laughing and talking. you decided to get and walk around again- and maybe, you’ll meet someone approachable.

the area was decently large, filled with many secluded tables surrounding the large dance floor. you detected the unique decorations and designs of the interior, reminding you of those wicked businesses in those television shows. you were about to lap around the entire area again, when you felt a hand on your shoulder.

catching you off guard, you immediately whip your head around to see a man around your height. he was chubby and reeked a strong smell of alcohol and cheap cologne. you tried not express rudely, since you’re a client who didn’t want to get kicked out, and gently moved away from the man’s touch.

“sorry, can i help you?” you question with an awkward grin.

“no, no, sweetheart. i’ve just been looking at ya for a while now..” the man responds, a burp following after. “ya lonely? need someone? c’mon, we can go for a couple more drinks, yeah? get to know each other better and then we can go into one of the rooms..”

“s-sorry, sir. i’m not interested,” you hoped the decline was polite enough, and you slightly stepped away from the man. “in fact, i’m with someone..”

“aww, are you shy, my dear? i know you aren’t with anyone,” the man chuckles as he traces your steps, approaching closer to you. he grabs your forearm, tugging you towards him. “come on, it’ll be super, super fun.”

you were about to slap the man across the face when another hand presses against the man’s shoulder, earning both of your attentions. behind of the man was another— taller, muscular, and handsomer man with a scar on his mouth. his countenance was so powerful, yet intriguing and it destroyed the shorter man’s confidence.

“are you drunk again?” the taller man questions, his low and raspy tone making your knees weak as he pulls the other man away from you. he gives you a quick glance before returning to the other man. “ya know, you shouldn’t be approaching clients like that if you don’t want the business to fail. boss wouldn’t like that, would he now?”

“t-toji?! y-you shithead.. i’m not doing anything bad- and don’t meddle into other’s situations!” the short man spouts, face burning with embarrassment as he pushes toji’s hand off his shoulder.

“well it is my business since she’s my client,” toji tilts his head and crosses his arms, maintaining his cool and calm demeanor. “so, you gonna leave or what?”

“y-you..” the man is unable to say anything else, and without looking at you, he quickly walks past toji and pushes through other people walking behind, disappearing into the crowd.

you sigh out of relief, feeling your heart race faster than usual. you raise your head, meeting gazes with toji who was clearly unbothered. “thank you.. for that,” you nod your head, but toji just shrugs.

“it was nothing, princess,” toji raises an arm and gently rubs the side of his head with his palm. “you’re a client and you have the right to tell him to back off. don’t just be standing there helpless, cause no one else is gonna help ya.”

“but you did,” you reply, furrowing your brows.

“right, of course, i did. what i mean is— no one else is gonna help you but me,” a little smirk appears on toji’s lips as he steps closer to you, his build towering over yours. “you still need help, pretty girl?”

“n-no.. i’m.. fine,” you stammer, shaking your head and dart your eyes in different directions as you feel your face burn.

toji lowers his eyes to examine your flustered expression, and he chuckles, admiring how cute your face looks. he opened his mouth and was about to reply, when another girl’s voice grabbed his attention.

“tojiii!” a woman running behind of toji calls out to him and she instantly wraps her arms around his waist. you blink several times, watching the interaction and remaining silent. “i’ve been looking alll over for youu~”

toji turns his head and down at the woman, smiling and gently putting his hands over hers. “sorry, just got caught up in something. you having fun?”

“noooo. without you it’s just so, so boring. c’mon toji~ let’s go back to the table~” the girl whines and pouts, tugging toji closer to her breasts that were pushed against his back. and she finally notices you from the corner of her eyes. “oh, who’s this?”

toji gives you a look, before turning back to the woman again. “just another client. go back to the table, i’ll meet you there,” toji says, fully turning his body to face her.

her pout grows larger as she gives toji her pleading eyes. “no, toji, you gotta come with meee~ and i’ll always be your favorite right, toji? hmmmm?”

“of course, of course. now go back first, i gotta help this client, y’know it’s my job to do that,” toji pats the girl’s shoulder, trying to gently push her away from him. “then after that, i’m all yours, ‘kay?”

“it’s fine! i don’t need any help,” you blurt out, earning the attention of the two. the tension became sensitive, and you could feel the flustered emotions returning to you. toji tilts his head, gazing at you as if you just said something you shouldn’t have. “thank you for helping me though, i’ll be going now.”

without giving toji or the woman another glance, you turn around and walk straight back towards the bar. you could feel a knot form in your stomach as you push yourself up on an empty chair, waving a hand at the bartender to make you another cocktail. you press your arm against the cold feeling of the bar’s countertop, now regretting your choice of coming here.

you couldn’t approach any man at all, and even if you wanted to, they were already with a client. you were pretty much going to spend the rest of the night at the bar, drinking constantly until you couldn’t and eventually go home without informing your friends who probably didn’t even care at that moment. two of them were already heading towards one of the rooms, while the others— well, you didn’t know.

your mind endlessly thought about the imagination of toji sitting next to you and talking to you before inviting you into one of the rooms. that man had caught your attention. however, he seemed quite popular and probably had many clients tracing after him like a golden prize.

maybe i should just leave, you thought when finishing your fifth cup of alcohol. thankfully, you were a strong drinker, so you could smoothly leave without any complications. you took out your phone, turning on the device and opening the messages app to text in the group chat that you’d be leaving. to you, there was necessarily no point in staying here.

as you were about to get off the chair, you heard someone pull the seat next to you. turning your head, your eyes fall upon toji’s large figure. his dark eyes were already on you and a faint smirk appears on his lips as you bring your thighs closer together.

“leaving so soon?” toji questions.

“l-leaving? i’m not.. leaving,” the lie slips off your tongue, and you had no clue why you had done so. toji’s demeanor was so alluring and his approach made your heart flutter a bit. the man was gorgeous, even with his scar— he’s definitely someone you would have approached if you saw him sooner.

“didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but i saw you text your friends that you were leaving,” toji smiles, leaning his head to the side. “i’m guessing you haven’t approached anyone yet, huh?”

“no..” you shake your head, swallowing the nervousness you had aching in your throat. you turn your head slightly, detecting the girl toji was with earlier— it seems like she was searching for him again. “um.. what about the girl earlier?”

“oh, her?” toji hums, eyes wandering to the same direction before returning back to you. “you don’t gotta worry about her, princess. she should be the least of yours worries.”

“but she’s—“

“hey,” toji gently grabs your chin, turning your attention back onto him. “i said don’t worry about her, or anyone at all. just worry about me only, i’m keeping you company.”

your body seemed to make the decisions for you and you nodded your head, eyes never leaving toji’s as he returns his hand to his side. toji orders a drink for himself, noticing how much cups you’ve already gotten yourself.

“so, what brought you here?” toji questions, drumming his fingers against the bar’s countertop. he couldn’t help but observe your attire— the way your dress hugged your body and shifted near your hips, almost revealing your panties underneath. “i’m sure a pretty girl like you would have a boyfriend, no?”

“oh.. no. i broke up with my boyfriend a while ago,” you reply, shifting your eyes slightly away as you notice him constantly checking you out. not that you were uncomfortable, rather becoming timid. sure, you’d imagine talking to him like this— but now that it was actually happening, you didn’t necessarily know how to act. “what makes you want to work here?”

“huh, dunno. for fun, i guess,” toji shrugs as the bartender passed toji’s drink to him. he lifts the cup in his hands, gaze still on you. “you here for fun too, eh?”

“well, i’m here with my friends—“ you pause and shake your head as toji takes a long sip of his drink beverage. “well, i was with them. i’m pretty sure they’re all invited to the rooms by now.”

“that so?” toji smiles, finishing his drink before leaning closer to you. his face was nearly inches away from yours, and you couldn’t help but stare down at his lips and back up into his eyes. “what’s your name, by the way, princess?”

“[name]…”

“cute name for a cute girl. i’m toji, but i’m pretty sure you already know that,” he chuckles, still leaning close to your face. “hm.. how about i take you to one of the rooms?”

it took you a while, but now you’re in a private room with toji. as your lips moved against each other’s, his large hands groped your ass and he grinds his hips against yours. you can feel his hard aching dick underneath his pants, pressing against your lower belly and you moan against his lips because of the sensation.

“lay down, princess,” toji instructs as your leg hits the frame of the bed. you follow his directions, pushing your lips away from his and laid down on the mattress. toji initially observes your expression, seeing how needy you’ve already become for him. just imagining how wet you were was making his dick even harder. “wanna spread your legs for me, pretty?”

you didn’t hesitate to follow his request, spreading your wobbling legs apart which pushes your dress upwards to reveal your soaked panties. toji smiles and kneels in front of you, eyes staring at the drenched area. he presses a finger against your clothed pussy, getting a small whine out of your mouth.

“t-toji..”

“you know, ever since you came in here, i’ve been wanting to approach ya,” toji starts, hoisting both of your legs over his shoulder and he grips the fat of your thighs, pushing your hips closer to his face. he presses a soft kiss on your inner thigh, eyes looking into yours. “i wondered why such a pretty girl like you was here.”

toji continues to press kisses on your inner thigh, swirling his tongue around certain areas before gently biting on the skin. quiet moans fall from your lips as your hands grip the sheets of the mattress and your pussy quivered each moment his lips neared your wet area. toji leaves several marks on your thighs before pressing the tip of his tongue against your clothed clit.

“mm- fuck…” your head falls back as his tongue rubs against your sensitive clit, and toji chuckles before kissing your thighs again. “that already made you moan like that? shit, can’t wait to hear how you sound like when i use my tongue.”

toji lifts his head, opening his mouth to bite against the fabric of your panties and you watch as he lowers them down and off of you. he tosses the garment somewhere on the floor, eyes locked on your glistening cunt. “such a pretty pussy i have here, eh?” he compliments, thumbing your clit.

“fuck… i-i need your tongue in me now, toji..” you squirm as toji makes slow, sensual circles against your clit with his thumb.

“i hear you, princess," toji grins as he lowers his face to your pelvic area. he glides his wet tongue up and down your folds, before slightly pushing it into your needy hole. you gasp, feeling his tongue beginning to passionately fuck your pussy.

"t-that feels s'good, toji-" you moan, a hand going to grasp his hair. toji's smile became wider as he moves to pleasure your clit, swirling his tongue around and gently sucking on your sensitive sweet spot.

you had never felt such satisfaction before, even when you were with your previous boyfriend. hearing your soft moans made toji eager to fuck you at that moment, he was so desperate to know how your cunt would feel around him. but he's patient, wanting to create a more erotic atmosphere. toji's never met someone who could make him feel like this, after all, he's just working.

toji rolls his tongue against your wet folds, licking and savoring your arousal dripping out. then he returns to gently suck and kitten lick on your clit, grunting lowly at the feeling of your hand roaming and softly gripping his hair.

you start grinding your hips a little to match the sync of his tongue eating you out, making toji smirk. "so needy, aren't ya, princess?" toji chuckles, spitting his saliva on your pussy before returning his tongue back to spread the liquid over the area.

"mhm- needy- just for you, toji-" you moan as your body trembles, head nearly falling back against the mattress. toji flicks his tongue faster against your pussy, noticing that you were gradually reaching your orgasm and he circles his thumb on your clit to assist you closer to your climax.

your heart and breathing rate increases as your hips jerk slightly forward, your pussy ejaculating more of your arousal fluids that toji just couldn't get enough of. your body receives a great sensation of satisfaction and toji pulls his face away, his smug grin returning to his lips.

“you ready for my cock, princess?” toji questions as he stands up, unzipping his pants and lowering his boxers to free his throbbing hard cock leaking with pre-cum. your cute, soft eyes seemed to shine upon seeing his dick, causing toji to snicker. you nod your head indicating your approval and toji grabs out a condom packet from his pocket.

toji opens the condom pack with his teeth, slipping the thin protection on his cock after pumping it several times with his other hand. he wets the condom with your arousal before positioning himself properly between your thighs. you watch the entire thing, lips slightly trembling at the sight of his thick cock pressing against the entrance of your swollen pussy.

he starts by teasing your pussy with his tip and pushing your legs farther apart. you squirm, eyes begging for him to push his cock in. “p-please, toji~” you whine, making the man’s smile curve wider. toji quickly slips off his shirt, exposing his scarred but well-built body. “this pussy really wants it, huh?” he replies, figuring he’d take off your other clothes later and instantly shoves his cock past your folds and into your aching hole.

“n-ngh! fuck!” you cry out, eyes nearly rolling back as toji starts thrusting his hips. you swore you just came, but you couldn’t even tell as you were lust struck by toji’s cock. “shittt, princess— you’re clenching me so fucking tight,” toji groans, his cock twitching at the feeling of your sensitive walls sucking him in.

toji pushes your legs towards you with his hands, lowering his body over yours to quicken his thrusts. he grunts, fingers nudging into the skin of your thighs. your pussy felt so damn good around him, he was loving it and making him imagine how it’d feel like to fuck you without the condom. toji’s slept with other women before, several of the same ones a couple times, but they never gave him the same feeling you did. for some reason, it’s different with you and toji was certain that if you kept coming here, he’d fuck you and only you.

“you’re adjusting so well to me already.. agh, shit,” toji moans, pumping his cock deep into your pussy— like he was craving so much more of it. “mm- toji! p-please kiss me~” you moan out, squeezing your walls tightly around him as toji guides your legs to wrap around his waist.

toji lowers his face, pressing his lips against yours and forcefully pushes his tongue into your mouth. you both share a sloppy kiss, your tongues moving in a lustful desire as your hands travel to claw the skin of toji’s back as he pounds into you from the position.

“toji- ngh- yes, fuck me harder!” you beg when pulling away from the kiss, tugging his body close to yours. toji groans, feeling his balls become more sensitive from your indecent demand and thrusts quicker, rougher like you wanted. “s-shit. your pussy treats me so well, baby— like it’s just f’me,” toji grunts, realizing he was reaching his climax next.

“i’m about to cum- shit-“ toji huffs, smiling from the feeling of your pussy pulsating around him when he claimed he was about to cum. he pushes his body away, throwing your legs over his shoulders and gripping his arms around your thighs before roughly plunging his cock into your pussy. “fuckfuckfuck, i’m gonna cum too- toji-“ you cry out, eyes shutting as small tears stream down the side of your face.

“rub your clit, princess. show me how you touch your clit when i'm fucking you like this," toji demands as you push your hips up. you whine and without hesitating to his request, you lower a hand down to rub circles against like your clit, allowing you to reach your second orgasm. "that's good. such a good girl," he praises next with a groan following.

as you came over his cock, you could feel toji's warm cum through the condom when he stops thrusting. his large body hovers over yours and you both gasp heavily for air. your eyes seemed to stare at the ceiling for a very long time, but your attention is drawn away when toji slips his cock out your pussy and takes off the condom. he tosses the used condom to the trash can nearby and cleans himself up, and you notice that he was still quite hard.

"toji.." you call out, earning his gaze. you had pushed your dress off of you, leaving you in your laced bra. his eyes widen slightly, but he doesn't make a move as you unclipped your bra and threw it somewhere, revealing your breasts. "let's go for another round.. please.." you implore, getting on all fours in front of him.

toji's dick pulsates at the sight of your actions, and he couldn't reject you at all, not when you're looking and pleading for him like this. he nods, about to grab another condom when you stop him. initially, he's confused by your gesture and watches as you turn your entire body around, your ass facing his hard cock. "n-no condom.." you utter, exposing your still wet cunt to him.

"are you on the pill?" toji questions first, but you shake your head. he sighs, "you know that-"

"i-i know.. and it's okay.. so pleasee, toji," you beg again with a small whimper. toji reminds himself that you're still his client and apart of his job was to follow client's request no matter the circumstances. however, even if you weren’t his client… toji grabs the side of your hips with his hands, pushing your ass against his hips before aligning his cock at your entrance.

without warning, toji shoves his bare cock entirely into your pussy and you both moan at this different sensation. “o-oh fuck..” you mewl, your sticky walls already clenching tight around him. “s-shit.. [name], your pussy feels so damn good,” toji grunts, hips moving at a quicker pace.

toji didn’t mention to you, but you’re the first person here that he’s fucking without a condom and damn it felt way better than ever. with the position, it allowed him to penetrate deeper into your pussy and rub perfectly against your g-spot. your moans became louder and constant as his thrusts became stronger, and you began pushing your hips back to match the sync of his thrusts.

“fuckkk, yeah. fuck my cock, princess,” toji groans at your hip’s movements, head falling back as he starts heavily pounding you from the back. “feels s’damn good, yeah,” he’d add next, eyes lowering to the area in which you two connected.

toji’s dick quivers at the sight of your pussy spreading so well to his cock, since he was a much bigger man that you. he’d never imagine a small and cute girl sucking in his cock like this, begging for him until she couldn’t anymore. “tojiii, i love your cock sososo much!” you cry, your pussy squeezing him as if you’re trying to milk his cum out.

his cock is thrusted deep into you, kissing your womb and stroking against your sensitive g-spot. in that moment, you were so glad that you came to the brothel with your friends— and that you didn’t leave before toji approached you. your friends would probably be confused on your actions once they see you again, but who’d care what they would think? if they saw toji, you bet they would be wanting to pursue him too.

"ngh- fuckkk- i want keep coming here! i want to feel your raw cock fill up my pussy just like this!" you scream, eyes rolling back as your tears stream down your messy face.

"haaahh, princess. if you keep coming here wanting that then..." toji begins through his grunts and pants, hips slamming harshly against your ass that it'd leave marks. "you might.. actually end up getting.. pregnant. fuck-" he moans, feeling you squeeze his cock at his words.

"'ts okay, toji- i'll deal with- the consequences! pleaseee, i want your cum!" you reply through your heavy moans, head turning around to face him. your expression was so erotic and filthy, you practically had heart eyes just for him. it made toji wonder if he should just cum in you like you wanted. oh how it made his dick twitch from imagining knocking you up with his babies. "we're both going to deal with the consequence, princess. shitt fine, i'm gonna give you my cum since you've been so good to me," toji replies as his grip on your hips tighten.

"yesyesyes! oh god- pleaseplease give me your cum!" you plead over and over, and how can toji reject such a proposal like that? especially when it's coming from you? "fuck, fuck," toji chants, fingertips dipping into your skin as he feels his climax forming quick. "take all of my cum like the good girl you are, 'kay? don't you dare fucking waste it or else i'll fuck more into you."

maybe toji shouldn't have said that, but either way, you both were certain that there was no stopping even after this. at this point, he was going to work past his shift, but he didn’t care one bit. if you both were kicked out, he’d invite you to his place and you’d both continue fucking from there. constant sex with you was one of his desires, but first, he wanted to know more about you.

when toji pumps his warm cum into you, your thoughts seemed to have fade from your head. you’ve never experienced such erotic, explicit, and dirty sex like this before, and it’s something you’ll be craving for once you and toji go separate ways. well, that is if you do.

toji remains his cock in your pussy, wanting to keep warm. as you’re catching for air, you can feel him press kisses against your shoulder and down your back. his lips travel back to your neck and towards your ear, and you could feel his hot breath gently brushing against your skin.

“wanna ride me next, princess?”

LOAFGETO. thank you for reading! please do not copy my work or publish in another media without my permission.

a/n: GOODNESS THIS WAS AGONIZING TO WRITE.. i didnt know when i’d finish this but thankfully it didn’t take more than two days.. LOL. have a good day/night guys. likes + reblogs is appreciated!!!! &lt;3

[coochiequeens]

Ladies don't travel to another country with a man if your legal status is uncertain. If you do hold onto your passport and make sure your ticket isn't a one way.

Exit trafficking: Western Sydney man abandons his wife overseas after she fell out with his mum

Western Sydney man convicted over 'exit trafficking'

He took his wife abroad, but only he had a return ticket 

READ MORE: Human trafficking gang that operated a string of brothels jailed

By PADRAIG COLLINS FOR DAILY MAIL AUSTRALIA

PUBLISHED: 06:40 EDT, 27 June 2024 

A western Sydney man who abandoned his wife overseas after she fell out with his mother has been convicted over what is known as 'exit trafficking'. 

It is a type of modern slavery where women are tricked or coerced into leaving a country, in this case Australia, and prevented from returning.

The 44-year-old man, who lives in Merrylands in Sydney's south-west, took his wife on 'a charity mission' to their home country of Afghanistan in January 2018, police said.

But the man, known as AR to protect his family, only had a return ticket for himself. His wife did not realise that her ticket was one-way to Afghanistan. 

The day after he returned to Australia, AR wrote to the Department of Home Affairs, cancelling the sponsorship of his wife's visa, the Sydney Morning Herald reported.

He did so because his mum didn't like his wife, and it resulted in the woman he had been married to for four years being stranded overseas.

The woman's relatives helped get her back to Australia, where she reported her husband to the police.  

AR's conviction last Friday was the third such exit trafficking conviction in Australia.

He was sentenced to two years jail with 12 months of it to be served in the community on a good behaviour bond.

Human rights activist Helena Hassani said there has been an increase in such oppression of women, often in migrant communities, in Australia.

While there are many cases involving men from Afghan and other migrant communities taking their wives abroad and leaving them there, she said there are also many cases where 'Aussie men marry women from Asia, bring them here, but marry them into servitude, or treat them like sex workers'.

Many women, such as AR's wife, are only in Australia on partner visas, leaving them reliant on their husband's sponsorship to stay in the country.

Some women in these communities are discouraged from using money, getting an education or working outside the home because the men want a 'servant'.

'It's a cultural practice where the less educated women are, the happier men are, because then no one is challenging them, no one is confronting them, and they just live the way they want to live,' Ms Hassani told the publication.

Acting Detective Sergeant Sarah Manning of the Australian Federal Police (AFP) said exit trafficking often goes unreported.

No one has the right to 'cancel' another person's visa, including the visa sponsor,' she said. 

'This type of behaviour is a Commonwealth offence and carries a potential 12-year jail term.'

The first exit-trafficking conviction was in 2021, when a man from Lidcombe in western Sydney threatened to murder a woman unless she boarded a flight to India with her infant child.

The horrific interaction was captured on Sydney Airport's CCTV after the anti-human trafficking group Anti Slavery Australia told the AFP what happened.

Anyone with information about potential modern slavery or trafficking is urged to report it to Australian Federal Police on 131 237.