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animasola86 · 30 days ago

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F o r g e t f u l 🎀 1 / 4

Your roommate has a dirty secret - you. The only problem is: you can't remember anything about that. And there might be even more problems when you realize just what kind of relationship you have with her.

a dominant woman X a submissive girl with a memory problem

WARNINGS: F!Reader-insert! NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Mistress/pet. Domme/sub. Memory loss. Manipulation. Gaslighting. Praise kink. Dubcon elements. Fingering. Sex toys. Object insertion. Bondage. (More tags on AO3.) WORDS: 5.5k

A/N: Remember: if these tags are not for you, you better turn back now! If you know my other stories, you may be used to my very explicit writing style, but this is still some of the darker stuff, somewhat. It's rough, but there is an actual wlw story buried beneath the depravity, I swear! And: THIS IS FICTION! Nobody got hurt in the making of this series. (By the way, the header is just for aesthetics, it's up to you to decide how Mistress looks like and obviously Reader looks however you want to insert her. I tried my best to keep her neutral.) Another note on the fandom tags: I write characters who could be anyone, so I thought about some kick-ass ladies who may fit the role here. I'm sorry this is not about your favorite character, but maybe it can still somewhat fit? Give it a try :)

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You're staring at the pictures with your lips parted and trembling, your cheeks warm, a strange tingle in your nape. Your hands are shaking as you file through the prints. They look weirdly professional, good lighting, even better angles, the background is blurry while the focus lies directly on...

You.

It's you in those photographs, you in various positions, you in different outfits... or with nothing at all hiding your curves. Some pictures are just showing certain body parts, some angles you've never seen of yourself, some more flattering than others.

But whatever you see, you can't hide the fact that it arouses you. It's not the subject, you're usually quite self-conscious about taking nudes of yourself (even though you gotta admit that these look quite well made, so surreal that you feel almost proud of yourself), it's actually two things that make your core throb:

One: you are in clearly compromising positions, bent over with your legs spread wide, on your back, bound to the bed with cuffs around your wrists and ankles, or tied up with soft-looking rope in intricate patterns, your body composed in ways you haven't thought possible (or comfortable).

And two: you are always stuffed. There are various objects sticking out of both your cunt and your ass, sometimes there's even something in your mouth that's held open by a spider gag. It varies too, not all holes are occupied all the time, all at once, in some pictures it's just one and it's particularly stuffed and stretched (is that an eggplant?).

Your body reacts more and more as you flip through the thick printed paper. The worst thing about it all:

You can't remember a goddamn thing!

Shame and arousal course through you as you stare at yourself. But you can't put them down, can't stop. In this photo, you're wearing a black leather harness that accentuates your breasts. You're standing, with wide legs, a spreader bar attached to your ankles. You're blindfolded, your arms tied behind your back. It's a series of pictures, you realize.

First from the front, then from the back (your ass cheeks look great with how they're pushed up by the leather straps). You notice something shiny between them: a butt plug with a sparkly diamond base. It's glowing, or blinking as you see in the next picture where the light is gone.

Your insides convulse a little, your muscles clenching around nothing. It's like looking at porn, but you can't ignore the familiarity about the body portrayed. It is undoubtedly yours.

But then again: you've never had anything up your ass, not in your conscious state at least. But here (and in those other pics) you have, and the next print even shows a close-up of the plug in your ass. It's a strangely aesthetic photo considering the unflattering motif and angle, but it certainly does things to you. Though you can't be sure if the tension in your stomach comes from embarrassment, excitement or sheer terror at the revelation that somebody took these pictures of you – and you can't even remember it.

Swallowing hard, you pry your eyes from the prints, your hands still shaking, as you look around the room. Somebody can only be one person. Your gaze scrapes over the shelves around you, full of camera equipment, old-fashioned film containers next to a plastic box full of SD-cards, various lenses and other extras, and then the cameras themselves, three at least, behind glass doors, kept away, like the pictures you found in a large brown envelope hiding in a drawer.

You've been looking for some hair ties, an innocent search, knowing your roommate wouldn't mind, but now you feel as if you've stepped into a different world, uncovering secrets you should have never known about. Even if they are about you.

Taking a shuddering breath, you look back at the pictures in your hands, your cheeks positively aflame now as you trace the blurry lines of your body before the focus shifts to a close-up of your cunt, shiny and reddened, your clit swollen, with black clamps attached to your pussy lips, thin metal chains disappearing off to the sides, holding your folds open while something black and girthy vanishes into your body.

The next pictures show a white-gloved hand gripping the base of the dildo, and you flip quicker through the sheets to create the motion, seeing the toy going in and out of your cunt, guided by the anonymous hand, spreading your core, diving in to retreat with an extra layer of shine before disappearing again, and as you stare at the prints, you can almost feel it moving inside you, a faint memory as your muscles clench and unclench, your arousal building up before it drips into your underwear.

You are torn between being very horny upon seeing these pictures and utterly disturbed. If you could only remember these scenes, then it wouldn't be as bad. But you can't. There's nothing, only fog that slips through your mind's imaginary fingers as you try to catch it, as you try to make sense of this. You feel your heart beating faster while your eyes tear up from staring unblinkingly at the prints in your hands.

This can't be real. Confusion merges with betrayal, your belly feels tense, your heart clenches in rhythm with your walls, your throat closes up as the first tear spills from your lashes.

You let go of the pictures, watching them scatter over the desk and down to the floor, every angle of your body on display, every inch captured in embarrassing detail, your holes filled or gaping, your mouth gagged or stuffed or open, there's drool, there are tears, there's wetness glistening on your skin in almost every shot. Your eyes may be the scariest part staring up at you. They're either glazed over, unfocused, or rolled back and hooded, some bloodshot, some watery, and some look almost defiant, a moment captured in time where you seemingly fought back?

The ones where you're blindfolded are the least terrifying, those are the ones where you can dissociate, where you can imagine somebody else being tied to whatever surfaces there are, tables, benches, beds, chairs, artfully presented, where it's just a body, clad in sexy lingerie and high heels, or adorned with ropes, or in the moments after where the skin is dented by the intricate patterns left behind by the ties.

The close-ups are also getting to you. You've never seen your own cunt or ass up close like this, so again, it could be anyone's holes filled and spread and used by various objects. The sheer amount and variety of them is quite concerning. But it's the unconventional ones that make you shiver, that create that tension in your stomach. The cucumber pushed deep into your ass so only its thinner stalk or whatever its called pokes out. The wide eggplant parting your labia in an obscene fashion, its entire body stuffed into your cunt, creating a slight bulge in your lower stomach.

There's another stack of photos atop a large envelope (the whole drawer seems to be dedicated to just you), and your curiosity gets the better of you after all. It's a series of pictures showing different round objects pushed into your holes. From marbles to ping pong balls to actual tennis balls, they're all shown vanishing into either your ass or your cunt, pushed by a delicate finger clad in a white glove, one after the other, and you can only assume how many would actually fit. It's not a video, you can't be sure, but you can imagine whoever did this to you didn't stop at just one.

Indeed they didn't, as the next photo shows. Another set of hands, also wearing white gloves, is grabbing your ass cheeks and pulling them apart, making your sphincter wink at the camera, before, in the next shot, your hole is gaping, allowing a strange view inside, rosy flesh stuffed with white little balls (you can see at least three, but more are hinted at behind them). You feel a little sick looking at the rest of the series of pictures, where they come back out as your hole puckers, pushing and pushing.

Your body reacts in earnest, your muscles clenching around nothing, deep shivers crashing down your spine. You flip past more of these kinds of photos, until you stop when you see white-gloved fingers poking at your cunt, spreading your lips, gathering your slick that glistens on the surface of the latex gloves, and you let out an audible gasp when the next picture doesn't show them push in, but shows only a wrist (attached to a slender arm) poking out of your stretched hole, gripped by tight skin, suggesting the entire hand is stuck inside you.

Your stomach gives a nervous growl at the sight, your breath hitching in your throat. You swallow thickly, your nostrils flaring as you force yourself to breathe through your nose to calm yourself. The stack of pictures shakes in your hands as you flip through more extreme insertions, more vegetables, some fruits, an entire apple made it up your cunt apparently, while they went from using one cucumber in your ass to at least three, stretching your rim impossibly wide. The sight alone makes your asshole clench violently, and you wonder why you never felt sore after being stuffed so full and spread so wide.

But your body seemingly adjusted, returned to its former state, unharmed, giving no hints at what actually happened to you. Strange. It's almost as if this happened to somebody else after all. But it didn't. It is your body. You may not know your cunt or ass up close, but you recognize the rest, your boobs, your arms, your belly, your legs, your feet, the birthmarks that make you you. It is you in these pictures, in every single one.

Only you.

A strangled sob escapes you as you look over the desk, seeing more and more envelopes, hiding in plain sight, more prints, some smaller, some bigger, all filled with motifs of your body being used in various fashions, one more degrading than the next. Shame settles low in your stomach, like a heavy weight that makes it hard to breathe. Your head is spinning, blood rushing in your ears so loudly you are startled back into reality as you suddenly hear the creaking of the door.

Footsteps follow, before someone clears their throat.

You whip around, dropping the last pictures you were holding, more shots of your stuffed cunt, wet and glistening as it's assaulted by more household items. Your eyes widen when you see your roommate in the door frame, a smug smile on her beautiful face as she crosses her arms over her chest.

“Oh hi,” she says in a nonchalant tone, tilting her head. “What are you doing here, pet?” she adds, and you frown at the nickname, a strange sensation crashing through your nerves.

“I... uh... I was looking for...” you stammer, taking a step away from the desk and the mess you made by dropping all those prints. “A hair tie,” you whisper breathlessly, curling your shaking hands into fists as you stare at her. “What... what are these? Did you take them?” you then ask, your voice trembling as much as your shoulders while you look from her back to the discriminating evidence you found by accident.

Your roommate sighs, unfolding her arms as she walks towards you. She's taller than you, slender and still curvy in the right places, her long hair falling over her slim shoulders. You force yourself to look into her eyes and not get distracted by the cleavage her tight dress creates or how close she is. She stops right in front of you, looking down, a softer looking smile curling her full lips.

“You know I did,” she says quietly, reaching up a hand to caress your cheek with the back of her finger. You shiver under the touch, but don't flinch away. “You agreed to this, remember?”

“No,” you breathe out, blinking quickly as you feel tears welling up in your eyes.

She clicks her tongue, shaking her head. “Shh, it's okay, pet, don't worry. You did. I would never do anything to harm you,” she whispers, leaning closer until you feel her hot breath on your lips. “You wanted to be my muse, you begged me for it,” she adds, biting her lip sensually before leaning in to press her warm mouth to the corner of yours.

You stiffen, eyes widening, your heart nearly exploding in your chest. You can't remember any of this. Why is she saying that? She is just your roommate!

You moved in only a few months ago, replying to an ad you saw on the bulletin board of your college dorm. A cheap room in a good neighborhood, your own room, away from the distractions of having to live with people you don't like or know that well, it sounded too good to be true. But it was true, and the woman looking for roommates was so nice, so enticing. You met her at a neutral place, to get to know her (fall for her charm), before she showed you the apartment, and you moved in later that week.

It was perfect. Until it wasn't. Not that you noticed it right away. You just never saw her. Now that you thought about it, you can only (barely) remember going to your classes (you are still going to your classes, right?), while the rest of the day is somewhat of a blur. You can't, however, remember going to your job at the coffee shop (do you still have a job? How are you paying for this place?), and the more you try to remember, the more holes come up, black and all-consuming.

You frown as you stare at her. She leans back slowly, watching you. Her hand is on your face, the pointy nail of her thump scraping over your bottom lip as her long fingers caress the shell of your ear.

“No need to worry, pet,” she says quietly, her voice a low soft thrum, rich like honey, that tickles something inside you that you've fought all your life. Why does she keep calling you 'pet'? And why does it affect you so much? “Everything is just fine. And I'm not even mad that you just went into my room like this. I told you you shouldn't, didn't I?”

You swallow as she lowers her hand and closes it around your throat, giving it a gentle squeeze. You feel your pulse throbbing against her palm. “I'm sorry,” you gasp out.

She smiles at you, moving her hand even lower, teasing her fingertips along the neckline of your shirt. “It's okay. You know the consequences. It'll be fine.” You furrow your eyebrows, breathing harder, not understanding anything. “Not the first time, hm?” she adds, giving you a wink. Her words make no sense, your head is hurting with how tight you pull your eyebrows together, and with all the thoughts and questions whirling about in a wild dance of confusion.

“I... I don't –”

“Shh,” she shushes you, her hand gripping your chin. You freeze. “Be a good pet and go back to your room. I'll clean this up. Put on the clothes I chose for you. Wait for me when you're done. Do you understand?”

You stare at her, your body tensing up, your cunt clenching hard around nothing. Her words, the cadence of her voice, the dominant tone, it all brings you to do one thing, your mind emptying as words spill from your trembling lips. “Yes, Mistress.”

You don't even know where these came from. Mistress? Pet? What is going on? But your body moves on auto-pilot, your mind swirling, still fighting the confusion, but also easing into a strange void, triggered by words you've heard before, or so it feels, commands you've answered many times in the past.

She lets go of your chin, giving you a warm smile, even though her eyes are dark and somewhat cold, and you nod, bow your head and shuffle out of the room, your legs trembling as you make your way back into your bedroom across the hall.

For a moment you're wondering how you got here, why you're here, but then your gaze falls onto a pile of clothes on your bed. You walk closer, picking up item after item. A short black skirt, pleated, barely long enough to not be considered a belt. A tight tank top, white and almost see-through. A set of fancy black underwear, a lace bra with an intricate flower pattern, a thong of similar design. There's also a pair of sheer black stockings, a garter belt and straps to attach each piece together.

Your stomach tenses at the sight. You've seen these pieces before, in the photos you shouldn't have seen. It's a blur how you put them on, your head spinning, your hands shaking, but you still somehow manage to dress in time before you hear footsteps on the floorboards outside your room. Your heart beats faster, your chest heaving, tight in the bra and top, straining, something cold crashing down your spine before it gathers hot and pulsing right between your legs.

Before the creaking of the door announces your roommate, you suddenly fall to your knees, your feet tucked under your rear, your hands automatically finding purchase in your lap, folded neatly as you stretch your back and square your shoulders, breathing deep as you train your eyes straight ahead, waiting for the door to open. You have no idea what made you assume this position, why it feels so familiar, so safe in a way.

Your roommate (your Mistress) enters your bedroom, her high heels thudding over the carpet as she walks up to you, tilting her head as she watches you closely. “Stand,” she says, and you do, your legs moving seemingly on their own. Once you stand, stiff with your arms pressed to your sides, chest pushed out, your neck straight, eyes wandering over the tall frame in front of you, she nods. “See? You haven't forgotten. Good girl,” she says, and the praise shoots through you like a pistol shot, straight into your clit, making it throb and ache, your heart beating in the same hurried rhythm.

She walks around you then, her long fingers brushing over your bare arms, around your shoulders, down your spine, until she gives your ass a soft slap, making you gasp quietly. She repeats the motion, but this time, she leaves her hand on your cheek for a moment, squeezing it, her fingernails digging into your soft skin. You stiffen, breathing a little harder.

“You're so beautiful,” she whispers as she leans into you, looming behind you, her breath ghosting your jaw. “My perfect little muse.”

You feel her lips brushing against the soft spot behind your ear, a hot kiss that makes you shiver, while her hand gropes your ass, fingertips teasing at the thin fabric of your thong tucked between your cheeks.

Suddenly she leans back, lets go of you, and you hear her walking a few steps before she stops, a deep sigh echoing through the room. You turn around slowly, unsure if you should, but when you do, you freeze as you watch her pick up the glass of water on your bedside table.

“Baby, I told you to drink more,” she says with a tilt of her head. “You always forget, hm? So busy, head always in the clouds...” She walks back to you, holding the glass in front of you, her eyes boring into yours as she waits for you to grab it. You do, your hands shaking. “Drink up, pretty girl. You know you need it.”

She's so caring, you think as you bring the water to your lips, holding her gaze, but as soon as you feel the cold liquid running down your tight throat, an image flickers before your eyes. Your roommate (Mistress) sitting on your bed, moving a clear glass straw in a stirring motion, swirling the water, making a faint sheen of powder disappear. You feel as if you've watched her do that many times. What is that? What did she put in here? Vitamins? Or something else?

But you can't even question it further, can't find the courage to ask, when you realize you've drank the whole thing, every drop of water (and whatever else was in there) now in your stomach. “Good girl,” she praises and smiles at you, before she takes the glass from your clammy fingers and puts it back on your bedside table. “Now let's get you ready for our big night out, yeah?”

You frown, another faint memory peeking through the fog in your head. It seems to be getting thicker now. Strange. But this image, you still see somewhat clearly before you. You had plans tonight, you remember now, you wanted to go out. Where? No idea. But you needed a hair tie. Yeah. That's why you went into your roommate's room in the first place. Some details are blurry (were you supposed to go out with her? Have you done that before? Why would you? You barely know the woman...), but somehow they don't matter anymore.

She steps back in front of you, her fingers vanishing in the cleavage of her dress before she pulls something from between her breasts. You blink in confusion as you recognize the shape. It's a metal butt plug. And she stored it between her boobs? Interesting.

“Open wide, pet,” she tells you, and without even questioning it, you part your lips and let your tongue roll out. She looks pleased as she puts the rounded object into your mouth. It's warm, and the taste triggers something else in you. Another familiar sensation. It's her, you know without knowing, her taste, sweet and a bit salty, exploding on your tongue, sinking deep, causing soft shivers to crash down your spine, something hot gathering low in your gut.

You've had your face on her chest before, huh? Must be. Your cheeks burn up badly, your breaths loud through your nose as you suckle on the butt plug between your lips, your eyes scanning the pretty face looking down at you. She keeps her fingers on the base, pushing the object in and out, and you find yourself licking around it, coating it in your saliva. Like you've done before. You think.

She watches you before she lets go of the plug and puts her palm over your mouth. “Keep it nice and warm for me, okay?” she says, leaning closer until her nose brushes against yours. You give a jerking nod, tightening your lips around the narrowest part of the plug while its body rests hard and heavy on your tongue. “Good.”

You feel saliva pooling in your mouth, and the urge to swallow becomes stronger. But you focus on the woman in front of you as she straightens up again, her hands on her hips. Her whole presence, her aura, has you in its grip, you feel, it's impossible to fight it, to protest, to do anything except the things she demands of you. All it takes is a look, a word, her voice driving through you like an electric current that controls your every limb.

And so you move when she tells you to turn around and bend over, and as you rest on your forearms on the edge of your bed, she nudges your legs apart and steps between them, her hands sliding under your skirt and pushing it up. You stiffen slightly, breathing harder, your heart thundering inside your chest, but you can't object, you don't want to. You just endure.

And a tiny part of you, through the fog in your head, lights up, a growing heat that creeps down your spine, tenses in your stomach, seeps lower until it gathers in your core, scorching, wet, and it's all you feel when she pushes your thong aside and moves her fingers along your slit, dipping gently between your puffy lips and into your slick, the loud squelching noise making your ears burn.

She prods at your entrance, teases your clit, but then she moves up again, and without warning or command or reassuring words pokes right against your puckered hole, and as you gasp around the plug in your mouth, flinching slightly, she stretches your rim and pushes into your ass, a slim finger, a pointy fingernail, digging against your tense muscles. In and out it goes until there are two fingers, then three, and it burns, the friction too much, like little daggers poking at your nerves.

“Come on, pet, relax,” she says from behind you, moving her fingers deeper, curling them, pushing and prodding against protesting muscles. “You've done this before. You're a pro at this, remember?”

Her words bring up the hazy memories of the pictures you saw, of the various items wedged into your tight ass, and some just don't make sense. Three cucumbers? Really? While it already feels like too much when she 'only' has three slim fingers inside you? How did you manage that? Your stomach gives a distant growl as drool slips past your tight lips and onto your bed.

“Fine, I'll lube you up this time,” she sighs and removes her fingers with a strangely wet pop. This time? She doesn't usually? It's almost as if you can remember the pain of the dry friction, but then why can you never remember any soreness afterwards? Confusion lingers on your mind as you hear her footsteps leaving the room.

You remain in your bent-over position, your hands clawing at the sheets as you suckle mindlessly on the metal plug in your mouth, trying to make sense of it all. You come to no conclusion whatsoever when she eventually returns, and you hear the squirt of some liquid before you can feel it. Large dollops of something cold pressing against your tight hole. You groan against the object between your lips as she pushes deeper, her fingers, slick and cold, sliding in and out again.

This time she stretches your hole by scissoring her fingers, knuckles digging into your tense muscles, and you hear another squirt and something cold lands on your hot skin, slipping right into you. You shiver, goosebumps breaking out on your exposed skin. She keeps doing that, filling you up with more and more lube, you assume, her fingers pushing it deep, coating your insides. It's a strange sensation, but again, this feels somewhat familiar, and triggers more memories you seem to have suppressed before, or forgotten.

You see yourself strapped to a reclining chair, your legs raised up in some sort of stirrups, ankles tied and wrists bound to the armrests. You're naked, and she is kneeling between your wide open legs in front of a large plastic bucket or something like it, and there's a tube inside your ass, something cold (water?) pressing through it and into you, and you see and feel it filling you up, your stomach bulging, and you feel sick, your insides cramping, but you can't say anything, there's a gag in your mouth, so all you can do is squirm in your restraints, until you feel a different sort of pain as she slaps your mound with a force that makes you cry out, makes you flinch remembering it, and she keeps at it, hitting your clit with precise blows until it's all puffy and throbbing badly, and you throw your head back and whine helplessly, your belly still bulging, filling up, while her voice coos into your ear:

“You want to be clean, pet, don't you? So we gotta clean you up properly. You don't want to be dirty for our guests, now do you?”

You frown deeply as those words echo in your cloudy head. Guests? But the question vanishes slowly, replaced by the sensation of her fingers digging deep into your ass, spreading more lube, and in the back of your mind you're just glad she isn't giving you another enema. A strange thought to have, but it makes sense in the dizziness that holds you hostage. Breathing harder, you press your forehead into the bed, swallowing hard around the plug in your mouth.

As she works on (in) your ass, you start to feel a tingle in your neglected pussy, a spasm deep within, a little clench, a needy little urge, and instead of holding still, you find yourself grinding your rear into her hand. She stops immediately, a deep sigh escaping her as she pulls her fingers out of your ass and grips your nape with her wet hand. You shiver and stiffen, holding your breath as she pulls you into a standing position.

Her free hand grabs the base of the plug and pulls it out of your mouth where it clangs against your teeth, causing you to flinch. You swallow the excess spit and take a shuddering breath as you feel the warm metal pressing between your ass cheeks. With how she worked you open, it slips in easily enough, and your muscles clench slightly around its narrow neck, but it's only after she smacks your soft cheek a few times in rapid succession, making you whine and shudder as your skin tightens, that you're tensing up enough to hold it in place.

She lets go of you and spins you around, then holds out her hand to you, her fingers glistening in lube and your own wetness. “Clean,” she says, and even though your stomach makes a loud grumble of protest, you find yourself leaning in and closing your lips around her slim fingers. A strange taste of artificial strawberry and something else, something tangy and your own, floods your senses, but you close your eyes and flick your tongue around her digits, focusing on the task and not on the taste and the origin of it.

Eventually she pulls her hand away and pats your cheek, leaving a trail of saliva on your warm skin. Your eyes flutter open as she leans around you and adjusts your thong, pulling it back in place, then pushes your skirt down again. Her eyes meet yours, the gaze intense, creating another soothing wave of heat that rolls over you gently, that makes you clench around the plug in your butt. A smile grazes her full lips, and you find yourself smiling back.

“Alright, now put your hair up, get your shoes and your coat, and wait by the front door,” she tells you as she steps away, holding your gaze until you nod obediently. Your mind is reeling at this point, confusion and arousal warring inside of you. What is happening?

You don't know, and you don't seem to care too much either as you start moving, following her orders. You end up on your knees again, right by the door, waiting like a dog, and the image couldn't have been more fitting when you see her approaching with a strange leather band in her hands. You blink when she crouches down before you and fixes what you can only assume is a collar around your neck. It sits tight enough to notice it, but you can still breathe freely and swallow against it without it restricting you in any way.

You're still confused why you need this (and why you accept it so easily). Your roommate (Mistress) cups your face and looks at you with a warm gaze that makes you bite your lip, her hands rubbing over your cheeks before she tugs her thumbs under your chin and lifts it so she can lean in and press her lips to yours. Your eyes flutter shut as you part your lips and meet her tongue, the kiss deep and soft, gentle gliding of tongues and lips, a warm gesture, sending sparks through your nerves that make you throb with a need that feels both familiar and eerily unknown, frightening.

A single thought ricochets through your empty head: You would do anything for this woman.

“My beautiful pet,” she whispers against your tingling lips, the tip of her tongue tracing the corner of your mouth. “Are you ready?”

Without thinking, without wondering what for, you nod eagerly, a breathless “Yes, Mistress.” leaving your swollen lips. She gives you another peck and stands up then, snapping her fingers in a way that leaves no room for interpretation. You stand immediately, swaying slightly on the high heels you were told to wear. You're still smaller than her, but having to look up only amplifies the sensation coursing through you. Your devotion for her.

She grabs a large bag and shoves it into your hands, and you know by the weight and feel of it, that it holds camera equipment. A distant memory shimmers behind your glassy eyes, of stumbling into her room, finding those envelopes in the drawer of her desk, of flipping through countless pictures of your naked body, of your holes being stuffed and stretched, of being tied down, of letting her do with you whatever she wants. What has disturbed you earlier is barely worth a flinch now.

It's what you do. It's what you are. Her muse. Her pet. She chose you and you obey. It's what you do, it's what she does. She's your Mistress, after all.

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End notes: Yes, our dominant lady here is indeed inspired by a character from my other (m/f) Dom/sub story: Infatuated: Mistress.

By the way, a little disclaimer at the end here as we go to the next (heavier) chapters: I am not a BDSM professional or expert, I am a writer with a dirty mind and access to the Internet. This is fiction, gaslighting people is bad, consent is very important, but when a hot lady tells you to do something, you gotta do it, that's the law (jk). Please see this as what it is: a fantasy and nothing more.

Thank you for reading! Next chapter on Saturday!

MASTERLIST // AO3 // ORIGINAL WORKS

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incorrectquotesmcu · 5 months ago

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Clint: Hey, Nat. Who’s more desirable? Me or Tony?

Natasha: It’s a tie.

Clint: Really?

Natasha: Yeah. You both lose.

#source: fresh prince of bel air #clint barton #clint barton incorrect quotes #hawkeye #tony stark #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff incorrect quotes #black widow #marvel incorrect quotes #marvel #avengers #avengers incorrect quotes

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heeahheeya · 3 months ago

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I found Lizzie hiding behind the whole people in the Tommy x Grace wedding photo. People of Tommy's side smile, or seem to be happy. Only Lizzie has dark face without smile.

#peaky blinders #grace shelby #grace burgess #tommy shelby #tommy x grace #thomas shelby #annabelle wallis #cillian murphy #tommy grace #lizzie stark #lizzie shelby #the little mermaid who celebrates her beloved prince married another woman #poor lizzie stark #natasha o'keeffe

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dysfunctionalmaki · 1 year ago

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Say My Name

Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: You work all around at the local country club, to your advantage you flirted and used your beauty to get what you want, though with this certain woman your own way can't seem to work.

Warning: This work contains smut and foul language, minors DNI!!

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“Oh god—” You could just feel this woman's grip on your hair the more you burrowed your face in between her legs, she was begging, aching, and pleading to cum. Looking up to this beautiful older woman, you can't help but smirk at the fact that she's practically wrapped around your fingers. Who knew that the powerful business owner Diana Prince was such an obedient woman towards you, years younger than her and let alone the waitress at the local country club.

You made yourself busy as you focused on working your tongue against her clit, flicking the wet muscle against it, holding both her legs as they involuntarily jerked with your motions, hearing her loud moans, heavy breathing you knew she was close. “Please, baby… please make me cum…” she begged once more and you decided to be kind, letting go of her legs you went on to reach both your hands up to her breasts. Fondling them as you devoured her pussy, mouth pressed against it, giving short licks on her nub before sucking on it every now and then. Finally, Diana hit her zenith, cumming against your mouth, just how she always liked you made sure to lap up every single drop of her juice.

Helping her ride off her high, once she actually finished you slowly backed up, then she looked at you with her hazy eyes. “Great job as always, Y/N.” she complimented, you can't help but shrug with an evident smile on your face. “I make sure to do my best, Ms. Prince.” you teasingly say before sitting up, so you could prepare to clean her up. “Is this how you're going to live out your early 20s? Eating pussies and serving martinis for a living?” Diana asked as she watched you make your way into the bathroom. “That… That doesn't sound so bad.” you say loud enough from the bathroom.

Cleaning up your face before heading back into the bedroom with a small washcloth, you went to sit on her side of the bed, then you headed to clean her up after eating her out to both your heart's delight. Once you cleaned her up to her satisfaction, Diana sat up for a moment and reached for something from her handbag, taking out a cheque then she went on to write down the amount she's giving you and her signature on where it's needed. “Here, buy yourself something nice. You deserve it, no man can bring me that orgasm you just gave me.” Diana says with a sigh, you take the paper as you read what it's worth, your eyes widen then you look at the older woman. “What? No one's ever given you that much?” you shook your head. “I usually get 500…” it came out as a whisper from you. “Well, 5 grand's a lot compared to that.” she added.

“Now… come here and let me kiss the mouth that made me cum so good.” she purrs and you weren't going to deny that when you're just handed five thousand dollars, you could feel how needy her kisses were and you made sure to give what she needs. Her tongue swirling against yours, soft groans and moaning against your lips when you brought your hands back to her breasts to gently fondle and lightly pinch her sensitive nipple. With that happening, it was safe to say that you stayed the whole night in her condominium at the city, as the morning came she was gone and left a note on the side table.

“I’ll be gone for a whole week, I'd be a fool if I assume you aren't going to be in between someone's legs in a day or two, just make sure you'll be here at the same time next week.

Diana”

You went to take the note and place it in your bag, taking a shower in her bathroom then you went on to leave the building. You immediately check your cell to text your friend Yelena, telling her all the details of the sex and how much you earned after it. Getting into a taxi you asked to be dropped off at the Stark Country Club, you'd be a fool to quit your job even if you earned five grand in one night. As you got there, you quickly changed into your uniform, a polo shirt that hugged your figure perfectly and some short shorts that showed off your perfectly maintained legs.

It was no doubt that you're a head turner for men and women in the club, the older gentlemen would even ask you out for a drink every now and then but the women? They aren't as obvious as the men but they sure have imaginations and thoughts probably even dirtier than most.

“So, Prince is that rich?” You hear your friend's voice from behind while you are taking the orders and placing them on a tray. “I mean probably? Nobody just casually hands out that kind of cash.” you say to Yelena while waiting for the other meal since your dear customer asked for all the food to be served at the same time. “As good as it sounds, I don't think the whole sexcapade is my thing.” Yelena says before helping you with another tray, you both put on your pretty smiles when you served the meal to the customers and when it's just the two of you again the conversation started once more.

“I mean it's okay, we earn a fair day's pay after a fair day's work, the whole sexcapade thing is just a sideline… or–” “For your pleasure” Yelena finished your sentence. “Yes, for my pleasure.” you say with a sigh. Yelena left the conversation since she had more tables to serve and you're stuck at the lobby to accommodate more people to have drinks and some finger food. Until a certain group of older women walked in, there are two redheads and a blonde, you stared at them for a moment until you didn't realize you were holding eye contact with one of them.

“Oh- Hi! Welcome to Stark Country Club, how can I assist you today?” You put on your pretty smile that usually works on older men but these women seemed unfazed… Well, you just didn't notice the redhead at the back. “Hi, dear, call me Natasha or whatever, we would just like a couple of drinks before we get to the golf course, is that alright? Your choice, give us what's best.” The redhead at the front said before walking with her friends on one of the tables, you hear them gossiping as they left but you couldn't decipher what they were saying at all.

You walked towards the bar and Bucky the bartender looked at you with his brow raised. “That's your potential foursome?” He teasingly asked and you can't help but roll your eyes. “Hey, don't blame me, rumors get around here.” Bucky defended himself. “Whatever I do I make sure to do it outside my work.” you say before looking at the menu to choose what drink they should have. “They're asking for three scarlet cocktails.” it was house special and you've had a couple of regulars who would order this drink from time to time.

When Bucky finished making the drink you set it on the tray before making your way towards the three women, you did notice the blonde one was eyeing you but you paid no mind to it, you were struck with the quiet redhead who was just scrolling through her phone while waiting for the drinks. As you arrived at their table, Natasha smiled at you and you made sure to smile back, placing their drinks on the table. You were about to leave until Natasha spoke up. “Wait, I was wondering if you know someone named Yelena working here?” she asked then you bit the inside of your cheek unsure of what to answer since she's technically a stranger.

“Oh, I'm no creep I promise, she's my younger sister.” She took her phone and showed a photo of her and your best friend, after that it was shown that you nodded your head. “She does work here, would you like me to call her for you?” and the redhead shook her head. “No, no, she's working and I don't really want to bother her, just trying to see how she's doing.” Natasha says which made her friends look at her. “I'm sorry to interrupt the conversation but you look really pretty.” The blonde commented and you can't help but blush a little before saying thank you.

When you tried to steal a glance from the quiet redhead, your eyes locked with her for a moment since she's off her phone, all she did was smile at you and sure as hell your breath was taken away. You said your usual line “If you need me just give me a holler.” And they simply smiled with a nod to acknowledge you. Making a beeline back to your station, Yelena passed by and she stopped in front of you. “Don't tell me that's who I think it is.” your friend commented before looking behind you once more. “If you meant your sister, she's hot… so are her friends.” Yelena practically glared at your comment then she looked once more to confirm who the people are with her sister.

“She’s with her college friends, Carol the blonde one and Wanda the other redhead.” Yelena said then you nodded your head. “So… what are the possibilities if I hit on your sister?” you asked and she lightly smacked your arm. “No.” she simply says before getting back on track on doing her job. You were just standing on your station and occasionally serving other customers every now and then, until you felt the need to use the comfort room. Making your way towards it, you check if the stalls had people then you went to fix yourself, checking if your hair still looked good, your makeup still on, and as you were applying your lipgloss someone walked in.

You paid no mind to it until you noticed the reflection on the mirror, it is Wanda. She stood next to you and did the same, she was touching up her light make-up, and there's just this awkward wall between you two. “Sorry if my friend Carol made that comment.” she simply says then you looked at her. “Oh, it's okay, it's just a simple compliment it wouldn't hurt anyone.” you responded happily then she smiled at you. “Well, for what is worth she isn't lying at all.” Wanda commented. The sudden compliment somehow made you blush, you were used to receiving compliments so why are you blushing when this woman just gave you one?

“I can say the same, Miss…?” You look towards the redhead, she finishes applying her lipstick and she looks right back at you. “No need for formalities, it's Wanda, Wanda Maximoff.” She introduces herself before holding her hand out, you took it with yours and you shook her hand. “Now, I think I've got a reason to come here every now and then… Y/N.” she says with a smirk when she looked at your nameplate, she went to leave first and gave you a wink before closing the door. Looking once more in the mirror you were more than surprised with the encounter, sure it was awkward but that woman was something else.

#wanda maximoff x reader #marvel cinematic universe #mcu #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff #black widow #yelena belova #smut #diana prince #wonder woman #elizabeth olsen #marvel #bucky x reader #alternate universe #au #dysfunctionalmaki

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presidentkittycherk · 21 days ago

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I HAVE NO FRIENDS, NO NEVER GO ANYWHERE, NEVER INVITED, FOR WHO WOULD TAKE CARE OF YOU?

#natasha pierre and the great comet of 1812 #princess mary bolkonski #old prince bolkonski #the great comet #the great comet fanart #war and peace #mary bolkonskya

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fluffysucker · 1 year ago

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Miss Americana & The heartbreak Prince

Bucky Barnes x Reader (AU)

In no world were you meant to be together, but in every universe, you were meant for each other.

A/N: I present you grumpy sunshine wrapped in enemies(ish) to lovers with Beefy Boxer/Biker Bucky.

Written in Third POV. No use of Y/N. However, the reader is referred to as a female. Likes, comments, reblogs are VERY VERY highly appreciated.

Also, I tried to be as inclusive as possible. But my delusion couldn't be controlled I'm sorry.

Ngl this is for me more than anything.

Also, I'm thinking about making this its own universe and maybe write more of it. Tell me what you think

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

You hated Bucky Barnes, and he hated you.

The two of you should have never crossed paths. Your worlds should have never met. But the wall separating you could only hold for so long.

The infamous boxer was a phenomenon in his field. Unbeatable and astute, Bucky Barnes held his reputation with pride. He was stronger than all and the smartest the game had. His jab was as numbing as the winter. His techniques were as calculated as a soldier's. Bucky Barnes was as hard as nails. A legend.

To keep up with the notoriety, it was rumoured that Barnes and his team were also a biker gang. It was never confirmed, but the black leather jacket he always had on, the long hair touching his shoulder or tidied in a low bun, the motorbike barked in front of the gym, and the intimidating sense lingering around him. It was never denied, either.

In the mornings, Bucky Barnes ran a successful gym with his two bestfriends, Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson. Both played occasionally, but only Bucky was the professional, so they were more his trainers. They also trained other players and armatures. They tried to gain other normal customers, but it didn't always work. With a reputation like theirs, attracting customers wasn't easy.

It was usually the same for nights, unless they had matches. Most of their fights were held on Stark's property. He ran an empire, and boxing was the dominant centre, led by the biggest champion. And Stark lets Bucky have it his way, just like he likes. As long as Bucky keeps on bringing these huge numbers into their pockets, both are happy and content.

So it was out of the nature for Bucky to have zero interest in the new restaurant that opened up right next door to the gym. They had their regularly frequented places. The bar run by Romanoff and Belova, a couple of blocks away from Stark's property, was more than enough. He didn't even bother to throw a glance at it. Even after he knew that the owner had come by and given out menus and promised them discounts if they stopped by, there was still nothing.

Until one night. Bucky got carried away in training. He had an important match coming up. He knew his opponent barely stood a chance, but Bucky enjoyed the thriller of the game. The sweat and blood that go into it He didn't remember a time when he didn't want to do this. It was like it was programmed so deeply in his brain. He was made for this.

Everyone left, one by one. Until then, it was only him. After so many hours, he finally got tired. He threw his gloves aside and went to take a shower to remove the evidence of his hard work before going back home. As he was locking the gym's door, he heard his stomach growl, reminding him that he needed food. He was starving. Before deciding to wait and order food once he got home, the big sign caught his eye. They did indeed have a restaurant right next door. He admitted he was too tired to cook or wait for delivery. He needed food, then crashed into his bed. So maybe the closest restaurant would be useful.

Once he stepped in, he felt out of place immediately. His dark clothes and huge frame made him look like a stranger compared to the light-coloured painted walls. Some had flowers, and others had stars drawn on them. There were fairy lights in some corners. The aromatic scent was everywhere. Bucky almost winced at how bright and colourful everything felt. This was an alternative universe that he didn't belong in.

"Hi, how can I help you?" An even sweeter voice rang and caught Bucky's attention, breaking him from his trance of observing the place.

He turned around to find the prettiest girl he had ever seen standing behind the counter. Your beauty caught him off guard. He never believed someone could be so beautiful before. But here you were, standing. Taking his breath away.

He recovered very quickly and moved to stand in front of the counter. With the most loving smile, you handed him the menu. He took a look at the menu and wanted to laugh out loud. Dish names were just as cheerful as the atmosphere.

Out of habit, you started explaining and recommending stuff for him. He interrupted you, putting in his order. You didn't give it much thought but took his order happily.

You apologised for the lack of waiters, as it was almost closing time and it was only you. No answer. With his blank stare, you told him he could sit wherever he wanted. Only then did he notice the empty restaurant. It was just you and him. It was that late. So he took a seat at the nearest table.

Not taking much, you returned with his order. You placed it in front of him with a big smile on your face. You knew right away who that was the minute he walked in. James Barnes. The famous boxer who trains next door You have been praying after your small visit to them that they would be regular customers. The business was doing great. But the more, the merer. Always. Lots of people warned you about the men next door. But you didn't feel like they were as bad as people made them out to be. You were always so trusting, unless shown otherwise. So you were happy that, finally, one of them stopped by.

You moved away, letting him enjoy his food. Unable to fight your nature, you started talking to him as you continued cleaning the remaining parts of the place. No answer again. He didn't even bother to look at you. Okay. Maybe he had a rough day. Not all people are used to chatting.

Bucky was one of these people. His eyes widened as you started talking to him. People were never that friendly to him. People avoided him. Nobody tried to open up a conversation with him. He didn't know how to react. And he was too tired to try. So he practiced his other specialty. Silence. But even if he wouldn't admit it, Bucky found your voice calming. So he let you talk instead of just shutting you up.

You reduced your talking to a minimum. Only little remarks there and then to avoid complete silence. The second time, you heard his voice since he walked in and asked for the check. You brought the paper to the table he occupied, keeping your smile up and telling him that he got the 'neighbour discount' as you called it. You almost heard his scoff as you left him.

You had your back to the door, so you only turned around when you heard the door close. You didn't hear his footsteps, and most definitely, you didn't hear his goodbye, goodnight, or even thank you. Now that's rude.

You returned to the table to collect the check. But you found the review note you attached to every check empty. Not a single penmark. And that was more rude. You made sure that filling out the note only took seconds. You genuinely cared to hear people's opinions so you could be better and have the restaurant grow more.

So he didn't speak to you for more than two sentences. Didn't say thank you or goodbye. Didn't fill in the note. Okay, maybe you didn't want them as customers if they were all that rude.

It turns out they weren't that rude. However, Bucky was more rude than you thought.

A couple of days after Bucky's visit, you were surprised to see Bucky with another two men. You guessed they were Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson. The trio was all well-known. You doubted if Bucky was the one to recommend the restaurant. You weren't sure if he even liked the food. And you were right. He would be caught dead if he brought up the fairy world you called a restaurant. Even when it served the tastiest food he had ever had,

It was a slow day. No intense training or excessive fight preparation The three men didn't have much to do that day. So when Steve suggested trying out the restaurant, Bucky neither objected nor showed excitement.

So when they walked in, you couldn't help the feeling of surprise along with the tiny bit of happiness, hoping it would be a nicer visit this time. After preparing their orders and sending them out, you waited for a bit before you left the kitchen to greet them. Not before making sure you looked presentable.

With the small space and their loud voices, it wasn't hard to locate them. You approached them with a big smile and positive attitude.

"I wanted to make sure you were having a good time." You followed up after introducing yourself.

"The food is amazing. This burger is to die for." Steve was the first to compliment you, with Sam nodding and agreeing.

"You have one good chef." Sam added as he took another french fry into his mouth. "Send my regards to them."

"Actually, I'm also the chef." The statement caused a shocked expression to fill in their faces. They asked for details, and you briefly told them how you were the core of the small business as the owner and main chef.

The two men were polite, and they didn't seem annoyed by your chatty personality. In fact, they interacted with you and asked questions to learn more. And all they had to say were nice compliments. Except one.

"So tell me, sweetheart, what was the inspiration for the place? Was it a fairy garden or Disney's latest cartoon?" None of you were ready for the sarcastic comment Bucky threw at you.

You didn't let your smile break in the face of his sarcasm. Nor did you give much thought to the pet name. You put on a bigger smile now, looking at him.

"A bit of both." That's one thing about you: you refused to let the world change about you. You never reciprocate rudeness with rudeness.

"I can tell." Bucky was taken back by your response. He expected you to get offended, but you didn't.

"Thank you. It was my vision all along." You replied, your smile never leaving your face.

And that started your hate relationship with Bucky Barnes.

After that day, the men became regular customers. And it wasn't just the three men. Little by little, it was most of the team. First, it was just to try the good food. Then it was because they wanted to. They wouldn't admit it, but your place was like a breath of fresh air. Something so different from what they are used to. From what they are known for. From what people expected from them. And you never judged them, treated them differently, or asked about the rumours that followed them. So it was a calm change, but much needed.

But their favourite thing was yours and Bucky's constant bickering. Or more Bucky's. Nobody understood why Bucky was doing this. You never partook in his constant attempts to make fun of you. You always had a sweet response to fire back. You truly were the living embodiment of killing them with kindness.

However, he never stopped. Every time he stepped foot in the place, you claimed it was your biggest achievement. He had something rude to say. Something to annoy you with. Something to bother you. Sarcasm and jokes spilling out of him with no end whatsoever.

The number of times you wanted to punch him or snap at him right back was increasing. But you refused to give in. To let him win. He wouldn't be the one to change you. So you kept engaging with him only with gracious things to say.

Besides, you chose to think that everyone had their own battles and demons. And for sure, Bucky looked like he had lots of them. He looked rougher than most. His job made him appear invincible, but he wasn't. Nobody was. So he may drive you mad, but he deserves the gentle treatment you offered all.

Bucky had no idea why he was doing it. Why every time he saw you, he felt the urge to tease you. It wasn't like him. But he didn't fight it back.

"How are you, Tinkerbell?"

"You should buy green carpets. It will finish off the garden aesthetic."

"Here is the princess who got lost."

"The pasta was great, Barbie."

Stuff like this flew from him all the time. And not once did you get back at him. You stayed nice and polite. Your sweet self never crumbling.

There was something in you that drove him insane. Your warm eyes. Your bright smile. Your cheerful voice. Your positive mindset. Your kind heart. Your friendly nature. Your hard work. Your delicious food. Your colourful wardrobe of dresses, skirts, tops, and cardigans. He couldn't pinpoint what it was. Maybe it was all of it.

The deepest part of him knew why he was doing this. He liked you. He liked you so much. From the moment he entered your restaurant alone, the first time And the more he knew you, the more he liked you. You were special. And you were everything he wasn't. He thought if he got closer, he would be tinting you. He would bring darkness to your shine. A moral thing preventing him from speaking his truth. even thinking about it.

So he acted like a teenager. He made fun of you. In hopes of making you hate him. He convinced himself and the others that he didn't like your sunshine personality.

Until one day

It started off like any normal day. Bucky had a match coming up. So they all had something to do. The day was going fine. Up before Peter Parker, who was usually on reception duties, ran in and said there was fire in your place,

For a second, blood ran cold in Bucky's body. He heard ringing in his ears. Were you okay? He collected himself quickly, wanting to check for himself.

He threw the gloves away, almost pushing everybody out of the way to get out. And he was the first to see the chaos in the street. A firetruck was parked, and firemen were going in and out of your restaurant along with some policemen. His eyes were searching for you frantically until he spotted you.

You had some dust on your face and your white clothes. You were checking that everyone was okay and out safely. But you couldn't hide the quivering of your lips or your shaking body.

He couldn't help himself as he ran towards you. You turned as you felt someone approaching you. Without your control, your face softened, and tears blurred your sight once you noticed who it was.

"Bucky." You whispered as a way to ground yourself from all the mess that happened and is still happening.

Following his first instincts, Bucky pulled you into his chest, wrapping your trembling form in his arms and holding you so close to him. And the dam broke.

Sobs fled from you. Tears mixed with his sweat. Your fists gripped his white tank top. Your face hidden away in his chest.

You didn't know how it happened. You had been holding up well enough during it all. You had been managing the situation the best you could. However, when Bucky got here, your mind stopped working. Your mind gave up on you, letting your emotions hit you with full force, breaking down your bastion with no guarantee you would be caught.

But you were. You were braced by strong amrs, rubbing your back, laying small kisses on your hair, and whispering words of comfort in your ears. "I'm here. I'm right here." "You're okay. You're fine."

Your sobs ceased, but your body still shook against Bucky's. Tears remained to fall freely on your face. Bucky's hold was still firm but secure around you.

You only moved away from him when a policeman approached you, informing you that you were needed at the police station.

"I'm coming with you." Bucky's stern voice left no room for negotiation. It wasn't up to debate. He wasn't leaving you.

"I'll grab my stuff in a second." He turned to the policeman standing in front of you, making sure it was okay that he joined. And he got a nod of approval in return.

He left your side, walking towards the gym. He paid no attention to his friends standing by, who were puzzled by the encounter. And true to his words, he came back in seconds, his black leather jacket on, phone in hand, and wallet in hand.

He got to you, letting his hand wrap around your shoulder. The gesture was welcomed by you as you rested your head on his chest. Something about having Bucky spread calmness in you

At the police station, Bucky found out what really happened. It wasn't just fire. It was a robbery. A bunch of armed men attacked your restaurant, demanding money from you and all the people inside. As you are trying to handle the situation without panicking more, it was discovered that one of the customers was a cop, which sent the robbers into an unexpected turn. So they took all they could from the cash register and your own things before setting the kitchen on fire to run away without being caught.

Between talking with the insurance company, the bank, and watching security footage from your restaurants and the street, you spent the rest of the day in the station.

And Bucky didn't leave your side for a second of it.

He didn't leave you until you both got out of the cap in front of your apartment. And he didn't leave until he made sure you got inside safely.

Something about you being hurt sent Bucky into a spiral. Who was heartless enough to hurt such a sweet soul as you? To look at you and not want to give you everything? Bucky would never know. All he knew was that he never wanted to see you so afraid and shaken like today. To not see your smile lighting up your face. So he would do whatever it took to make sure you were always fine.

Which was why you found him by your building the first thing in the morning.

"You have lots of places to go today. Said I would join you."

And up until you were handed the keys to your restaurant brand new after the insurance company had finished the repairs, Bucky didn't leave you. He was always there. Helping you finish papers, going to the police station to identify the robbers, and buying new stuff for the restaurants. Everything. He was there for everything.

And you had to admit. It was lovely to have him. A helping hand you needed. Physically and emotionally. Someone to share this unfortunate journey with. And Bucky didn't bother it for a bit. And you appreciated having him.

So, it only felt right for him to be your first order after the reopening.

The truth was, you never hated Bucky, no matter how much you tried. His huge form, his steel blue eyes, his signature stare, his playful smirk. They all made you feel something. He made you feel something you couldn't quite understand. But it was a pleasant something. He annoyed you so much, but you never took it too seriously. Maybe he hated you, but you didn't.

Now, you didn't need him. You were ready to carry on with your life. He didn't know how to get back to normal. He couldn't. He couldn't pretend you didn't make his heart beat faster. You made his days better. But he was so unworthy of you. And he knew you could never look at him. Maybe you hated him, but he didn't.

He tried to get back to his life. Only training and matches. Only visiting your place with the others who quickly figured out what was happening. He needed to get you out of his mind. That lasted for two days.

When Bucky was closing the gym, he heard something coming from your restaurant. With a frown, he moved to see you still inside. He looked at his watch to check the time again. It was indeed late.

"What are you doing?" He didn't bother with greetings as he entered.

"Hi, Bucky." Your cheerful voice rang through the empty place.

"What are you doing?" He repeated his question, looking at the paper in front of you.

"I'm sending out advertisements and deal offerings to different places." You answered him with a smile.

"Sweetheart, do you know what time it's?" Bucky signed as he looked at you, looking clueless.

"C'mon, let's get you home." He moved towards you, taking the papers out of your hand and putting them down without messing them.

"But I have a lot to do." You tried to protest as he gathered your stuff and helped you out.

"It will still be here in the morning." And he was having none of it.

"I need to get the business going." You added.

"You can do that in the morning, too." Bucky led you out of the restaurant in spite of your complaining.

He took the key from your hand and handed it back to you after he closed up. You expected him to move away, but he didn't.

"How are you going to get home?" He hoped you wouldn't give him the answer he had in mind.

"It's not very far. I was going to walk." And it was it.

Do you not care about your safety, or do you think you are James Bond?

Bucky had to bite his tongue and not scold you right on the spot. He knew you were stressed about the business, so he didn't want to add more.

"Great. I was going somewhere there, too. Let me walk."

"You were?" You questioned him, not believing him, but he nodded quickly.

As a matter of fact, Bucky didn't have anywhere to go other than collapsing on his bed. But over his dead body were you going to walk back home alone in this hour

"Lead the way, princess." The return of the name, but a smile on your face. He may mean it as an insult. You didn't care. It sounded good coming from him.

And the two of you walked.

And somehow, without planning, it became a routine.

Bucky would finish at the gym and come straight to the restaurant. It didn't matter whether it was late or not. He would get in and wait till you were done with the day. Then he would walk you home. Sometimes, he would help with stuff, but most times, you would make him sit down and bring him tonnes of food you prepared just for him.

"You train so hard. Don't want to burn these muscles. Eat and rest."

You weren't stupid. You knew he had nothing to do with where you were living. Yet he still chose to go out of his way, walk you home, and wait until you got in. He was taking care of you. So you wanted to take care of him too.

It felt strange to Bucky. Nobody made sure if he was eating well enough, drinking enough water, and resting enough. Nobody ever did. Everybody treated him like he was a machine. Like he He needed nothing.

Then there you were. Feeding him with delicious food. Letting him relax. Laughing at his jokes. Your hands grazing softly. It was all foreign to him, but very welcome. And he was getting attached. He knew it. How could he not?

He had the sweetest and most loving person on the planet, showing him attention and care.

Bucky counted the minutes until he could be with you. Until he could walk you home, it would be just the two of you. You did most of the talking, telling him about your day or an interesting story you heard. He would tell you briefly about his day.

He loved listening to you. Every detail you shared with him. You were the first in his life to be carefree around him other than his family. You didn't let his stiff demeanour affect your friendly one.

The extra time he spent back to his place from yours didn't bother him in the slightest. He found it reassuring that he knew for sure you were safe at home. It was all worth it.

Every single one of Bucky's friends knew what was happening from the moment he asked to postpone a match to go somewhere with you when you're repairing the restaurant. And it became so clear when he stopped hanging out at Natasha's bar after matches, claiming he was tired. But, in truth, he only wanted to be with you. And the days he knew he couldn't turn it down, especially after a grand victory, he would be glued to his phone until you texted him that you were home. Then he may start celebrating.

Bucky almost punched Steve in the face when he brought up inviting you to one of the matches, or at least to hang out with the whole team at Natasha's bar. Bucky wanted you nowhere near this world. He couldn't imagine you watching him while he was fighting. You would never look at him again. Yes, you were kind, but in the ring, he was a beast. You didn't deserve to see how bad he could be.

That's why he never acted on his feelings for you. He knew he was falling for you. He knew from the start. But you deserved better. So much better.

Your radiant nature had no place near him.

He even tried to stop seeing you, feeling guilty for ever getting close to you. But he failed miserably. You gave him something nobody did. A light in the darkness.

So he bottled it and felt grateful that you even let him be your friend. Or whatever you were.

Before a fact came crushing. You were single.

The days following matches were usually very slow. So he left earlier than usual just to come and wait for you. As long as you wanted. He had a bandage on his forehead and a compression bandage around his hand.

Sometimes you forget what his job was. Until he shows up bruised and bandaged like this. You knew he was strong enough to handle himself. He was the best in the game. But you couldn't help the twinge of your heart at the thought of him hurt.

So you prepared extra food and drinks for him. Once it was evening, you kept your best table for him. You even brought the air freshener with the scent; he commented once that he liked it. Everything to help him relax.

You kept telling yourself you were only doing this because he liked to help everyone. But you knew it was very different. He was very different.

So when he stepped in, your big smile got bigger.

You tried to come and talk with him whenever you could, but it was a busy day. He had no problem. He enjoyed watching you work. You were so dedicated and smart. He wanted you to be the most successful chef and owner in the world.

But maybe he shouldn't have been watching. He should have paid attention to anything else. So he wouldn't have seen the man who had been flirting with you since he walked in.

It was taking everything in Bucky to not get up and throw the guy away. But he heard it. Your answer to his question "Yes, I'm single." And he was reminded of the cruelty of the world. You weren't his. He shouldn't be jealous. He shouldn't have been biting the inside of his mouth when the guy tried to touch your hand as you handed him his bill.

And he most definitely shouldn't be feeling like crying and burning down the world when the guy asked you out and left his number.

Wasn't that what he wanted? For you to have better than him. To have someone who wasn't surrounded by blood and pain. Someone who wouldn't defile your glimmer That guy looked decent enough. Maybe that was your chance to find love.

However, he wanted to tear that paper to pieces. He wanted to punch the guy for asking his girl. But you weren't his girl.

Bucky was conflicted by his emotions. He didn't know what to feel or how to think. So he did the thing he was the best at. He stayed silent.

You noticed right away the change in his mood. He wasn't the most talkative person, but this silence was different. He looked like he was somewhere else. Somewhere, that wasn't so nice.

"Are you sure that you are fine?" You asked as you came to a stop in front of your building.

You only got a nod as an answer.

"You know you can tell me anything. I'm always going to be here."

Your words finally made him look at you after you left the restaurant.

"You are?" His hesitant tone made you frown.

"Of course." You answered very quickly.

"Are you going to go out with this guy?" It was quiet; you almost missed it, but you didn't.

Bucky didn't know what happened. He promised himself he wouldn't bring it up. It had nothing to do with him. But he couldn't. It fell from him.

"Do you want me to?" Your reply was something he didn't expect at all.

You couldn't say you weren't disappointed when Bucky did nothing when the guy started flirting with you. You didn't know what you wanted him to do. But you wanted him to do something.

Instinctively, Bucky moved closer to you, standing right in front of you.

"No, I don't want to."

"Tell me why I shouldn't go out with him."

The space between the two of you was almost nonexistent. You were so close to each other. His blue eyes piercing into yours. His eyes were filled with something so warm that you couldn't quite figure it out.

Bucky didn't know how to answer your question. Why didn't he want you to go out with the guy? Well, he didn't want you to go out with any guy. So he threw caution to the wind and followed his heart.

You almost tripped, but his hands on your waist steadied you. The feeling of his lips on yours was something out of the world. His lips were a bit bruised, but they were soft. It was all so good that your mind stopped working.

Bucky was about to pull away and apologise profoundly when you didn't kiss him back. As he was about to move, your hands wrapped themselves around his neck, pulling him closer to you and kissing him.

The kiss was gentle, and it was filled with emotions. Loving ones. It sent electricity through your bodies. It spread warmth all over you.

Your need for oxygen made you break the kiss, hands still around each other, eyes only looking at each other.

"I thought you hated me."

"Never did. Not for a second, princess."

Bucky's lips smashed against yours once again. And it was like every piece was falling into its place. The puzzle was completed. The rainbow after the rain

You were the shining star in Bucky's dark sky. He may not deserve you, but he was going to do everything in his power to get you to shine more.

Because you were made for each other.

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makethatelevenrings · 1 year ago

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(why does tumblr have to make pngs so blurry) ANYWAY

Welcome to Kinktober 2023! Under the read more list, you'll find the list of days/prompts and, as October progresses, I'll add the links to its respective day. Happy smutty readings! All of these fics are 18+ only so please respect that!

Day 1: Orgasm Denial w/ Jason Todd

Day 2: Chastity w/ Jason Todd

Day 3: Anal w/ Roy Kent

Day 4: Breeding Kink w/ Dick Grayson

Day 5: Choking w/ Roy Kent

Day 6: Boot Worship w/ Simon Riley

Day 7: Oral Training w/ Natasha Trace

Day 8: Dry Humping w/ Simon Riley

Day 9: Cock Rings w/ Clark Kent

Day 10: Toys w/ Jason Todd

Day 11: Lingerie w/ Bruce Wayne

Day 12: Phone Sex w/ Roy Kent

Day 13: Size Kink w/ Jason Todd

Day 14: Bondage/Ropes w/ Diana Prince

Day 15: Sex Club w/ Dick Grayson

Day 16: Hair Pulling w/ John Price

Day 17: Blindfolded w/ Dick Grayson

Day 18: Food w/ Jamie Tartt

Day 19: Exhibitionism w/ Jason Todd

Day 20: Leash w/ Bruce Wayne

Day 21: Praise w/ Jamie Tartt

Day 22: Omegaverse w/ Roy Kent

Day 23: Sex Pollen w/ Jason Todd

Day 24: Lap Dance w/ Jake Seresin

Day 25: Spanking w/ Bruce Wayne

Day 26: Roleplay w/ Jason Todd

Day 27: Masturbation w/ Jason Todd

Day 28: Uniform w/ Jake Seresin

Day 29: Wall w/ Jason Todd

Day 30: Oral w/ Jason Todd

Day 31: Sex Pollen w/ Jake Seresin (Free Space)

Thank you!!

#kinktober #kinktober 2023 #jason todd x reader #bruce wayne x reader #dick grayson x reader #jake seresin x reader #roy kent x reader #jamie tartt x reader #natasha trace x reader #diana prince x reader #simon riley x reader

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natashaprincefanz · 5 months ago

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Natasha Prince, Pringle campaign

#natasha prince #natasha prince model #model #natashaprincemodel #natasha+prince #gagosian #art dealer

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alixandra-multifandom-version · 3 days ago

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Writing fanfiction isn't enough anymore I need that character to kiss me breathless

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brush-tailed · 4 months ago

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Great comet ceased to exist 7 years ago on bway! lmao! 😂drew this one last year but let’s share it today just because! 💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔rip comet man

#musical theater #art #great comet #natasha pierre and the great comet of 1812 #great comet fanart #natasha rostova #sonya rostova #marya dmitrievna #anatole kuragin #helene bezukhova #fedya dolokhov #marya bolkonskaya #old prince bolkonsky #balaga #pierre bezukhov #do you get the joke I didn’t draw andrey bc andrey isn’t here they call me the comedy titan #click for better quality coughs

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henreyettah · 1 year ago

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Im doing AUgust again this year! Here’s the first part of last weeks AU, which was a continuation of the Prince x knight AU from 2021! ⚔️

#Simon snow #Simon snow series #snowbaz #Baz pitch #Natasha Grimm pitch #malcolm grimm #David cadwallader #Agatha wellbelove #Fiona pitch #niamh brody #comic #art #doodle #henreyettart #AUgust #AUgust ‘23 #AUgust ‘23 week 1 #prince x knight

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animasola86 · 16 days ago

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F o r g e t f u l 🎀 3 / 4

After you fainted, you find yourself in a different position, even more vulnerable than before, subject to a punishment you don't deserve. Or do you? And why does it excite you so much?

a dominant woman X a submissive girl with a memory problem

WARNINGS: F!Reader-insert! NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Mistress/pet. Domme/sub. Manipulation. Gaslighting. Praise kink. Dubcon elements. Humiliation. Exhibition(ism). Bondage. Impact play (canes, floggers, paddles, riding crops). Fingering. Forced orgasm. Squirting. Object insertion. Vaginal fisting. (More tags on AO3.) WORDS: 5k

A/N: As this is still a scene with a mixed audience, it's implied that Reader gets fingered by a man. If you don't like that, you can imagine somebody else of course. It's barely mentioned, just a bit of a size difference to what she knew before, so technically not that big of a deal. I wanted to warn you nevertheless! (I don't even know why I mention this tiny detail when the whole chapter is full of things that are much, much worse... so beware: this is the roughest part of the series.)

1 🎀 2 🎀 3 🎀 4

And then there's pain. A sudden slap, then another, left cheek, right cheek, your head whipping around under the force. You gasp, mouth wide open, eyelids fluttering, and as your eyes open fully, you stare ahead in shock, realizing it's not over yet, but the relief is tainted by a deep hurt, a coughing fit that makes you keel over, which you can, surprisingly. No more leather strap on your stomach, no more ties around your wrists and ankles.

You can lean in and cough your heart out, raspy breaths trying to find their way into your lungs. The pain is all around you for a moment, until you slowly calm down again, pushed back into soft cushions, a hand wiping at your sweat-slick skin. You blink your eyes into focus and see your roommate. Mistress. The beautiful woman who decided to make you her pet. Somehow there's clarity in this moment, as air floods your system, reviving your numb body with agonizing tingles.

No more dildo gag stuffed in your throat, no more restraints. What happened? You probably fainted. Did you ruin the scene? Fear crashes through you as you find Mistress' eyes. They are hard and dark, but there's something else on her pretty face: concern. For you? Or for the event she planned for such a long time? You reach up a shaking hand, trying to connect to her, your lips parting, but no words coming out.

The muscle in her jaw twitches before she looks away, nodding to someone you can't see. Hands grab you, no longer groping or exploring, but grabbing and gripping, forcing you into a sitting position before they turn you around onto your stomach. You let it happen, you're too weak to protest, still caught in your mind, fighting the guilt creeping up on you. Your arms and legs are strapped to the extensions of the table again, leaving you in a spread-eagle position, it's just your head that hangs off the edge.

There's no strap around your back, holding you down, allowing whoever is handling you to pull your hips up so your ass is sticking out more. A pillow is propped under your stomach to help with the elevation. You breathe deeply, forcing yourself to calm down somehow. The position feels familiar, but you can't remember any pictures depicting it. No. But there are other memories that suddenly flush your clouded mind. And they don't make it any better.

A helpless sniffle escapes you, reminding the people around you that you can issue noises, and apparently that's not something they want to hear. Someone grabs your chin, pulls your head up, you blink, trying to see anything, but before you can, something is stuffed into your mouth, holding your teeth open. At least it's not another dildo gag obstructing your throat. But the motion triggers more memories, hazy ones, red ones, of pain...

Instinctively you bite down on the object, it's soft but sturdy, allowing your teeth to sink in some while not allowing for anything else. You feel your saliva trickling past your lips and down your chin, the drip of it swallowed by the shuffling noises around you.

“My dear guests, there has been a slight change of plans,” you hear Mistress' voice, velvety, raw, vibrating through your core like a gentle caress. Though her words don't calm you in the slightest. “Seems like my pet decided to faint on us a little too early, the poor thing. I apologize, I know we haven't really started yet. You will still get your turn with her, do not worry. But to get her back on track and focused, I need your help. For those willing, my assistants will provide a variety of impact play items to you, please choose one each and gather around the table.”

Your nape tingles, deep shivers crashing down your spine as you whine into your gag, struggling against your restraints. A hand presses on your back, holding you still. Your breaths are erratic, your lips trembling as you part them, more spit running down your chin.

“If you may, you will take turns. Please remember that only the flogger and the whip may hit her back, focus any other item on her rear and thighs. Canes can impact her palms and soles.”

Mistress' instructions send even more shudders down your body, and to your growing horror, you feel how someone twists your arms to turn your hands palm up. Someone else starts pulling off your shoes, before your stockings follow. Your garter belt is gone too.

Now completely naked and vulnerable, strapped to a table, with the prospect of being spanked in various ways, you feel your heart thundering in your chest, your breaths frantic, and maybe if you force yourself into hyperventilating, you can faint again and won't have to witness any of this. But someone seems to notice when you feel two hands on your head, pulling it up slightly before a face appears in your blurred vision.

Mistress. “Pet, I need you to calm down,” she says sternly. “Do not fight this, it will only make it worse. You know that, right?”

You want to shake your head, staring at her pleadingly. How should you know this? You've never been spanked before, or have you? Well. There are faint memories, but then again, there were no pictures. No lasting marks on your body that would suggest anything like this. Or maybe you just can't remember? A pathetic sniffle makes it past the silicone bar between your teeth.

“Bite down on your gag, relax, breathe deeply. You will have enough time to react and process each blow. I am not cruel, you know that, but you fainted on me, and you came without permission, remember?”

You frown at her, wanting to protest (how were you supposed to ask for your orgasm with a dildo rammed down your throat?), but she clicks her tongue and shakes her head, her hand rubbing along your cheek.

“Be a good girl for me, okay? Don't embarrass me now,” she says, giving you a pointed look. “I know you can endure this. You've done so before. Your body can handle it. Just let go, pretty girl,” she adds softly, leaning in to press her full lips to your sweaty forehead. “Do it for me.”

Your stomach fills with a strange heat, and you find yourself nodding into her hand. She smiles at you, further pushing you down a road you don't want to be on, but you know you have to, you want to, for her. Anything for her.

She lets go of you and steps away, her fingers brushing along your tense shoulders. You focus on your breathing, ignoring the tingling of your limbs, and worst of all: the arousal settling deep in your core. How can this possibly arouse you? What is wrong with you? But soon the doubts and questions grow quieter as anticipation makes you anxious, and giddy.

An eerie silence settles all around you, until you hear Mistress' voice again. “Allow me to deliver the first blow,” she narrates what can only be your downfall.

You brace to her words, wondering what object she chose. Strangely enough you feel her fingers between your spread legs, pointy fingernails scraping over sensitive flesh. She seems to stand right between your thighs, one hand resting on your hip, the other exploring your folds.

“Look at this,” she says to the audience you cannot see. “She wants this. She gets off on it.” Her fingers dip into your slick, a lewd squelching sound echoing through the quiet room. You feel your cheeks burning up in embarrassment. “So do not hesitate when you play with her. She can handle this. Give her your best shot.”

And with that she lets go of your hip before her flat hand finds your right ass cheek with a reverberating slap, the impact so severe your whole body jerks against your restraints, a muffled scream trying to make it past your gag. A deep pain settles right beneath your skin, scorching and throbbing, but with her fingers suddenly slipping into your cunt, you feel conflicted.

She's curling them, pressing her fingertips into your soft flesh, before she hits the same ass cheek again, the same spot, and you clench hard around her digits, crying out, back arching, hips bucking, the pain so intense it bleeds into a strange kind of pleasure. And it was just her hand, you realize through the red fog in your head. You can't even imagine what other objects may feel like on your skin.

Of course you don't have to wait long. Mistress keeps her fingers in your pulsing pussy (you realize she is the only one not wearing gloves) as she starts directing her planned out event. “If you may, we will start with a cane to the palm. Proceed.”

You hate how she announces it, it only makes it worse, knowing where to expect the pain, it makes you flinch even before the thin item hits you. Though when it does, hard and sharp and sudden after all, you scream into your gag, convulsing hard on the table, trying to pull your hand away or turn it, but the ties around your wrists sit too tight. As you still process the stinging pain radiating from your palm, a weird throbbing thing sitting right under your skin, your other hand is hit with the same sensation, a rapid whoosh in the air, a hard and precise hit, causing you to writhe and shriek again.

As you struggle you feel someone holding down your fingers to keep your hand in position. It feels warm, your blood pumping erratically into the welts you're sure are blooming on your palms. All the while, Mistress' fingers sit still in your cunt, a gentle pressure, and you try to focus on that, on her making sure you're still okay during this endeavor.

“Feet next,” she says, and you sniffle, curling your toes in anticipation, but when the cane hits the bare sole of your left foot, it's like nothing you've ever felt. Even more painful than on your hands, the wooden stick thrashes against your soft skin, digging deep, or so it feels, a sting like a stab right into your nerves. You wail helplessly, body jerking, hips grinding against Mistress' hand.

To your biggest shame, your walls clench tightly around her fingers, muscles contracting as the pain crashes through your body, turning into a burning wave of pleasure – only to be disrupted by another sharp sting to your other foot, leaving you lightheaded and breathless as you bite down hard on the gag in your mouth.

“Thank you,” you hear the velvety voice from seemingly far away, even though she is still standing between your legs. “How do you think she's done? Will we allow her one orgasm? What do you say? Aye or no?”

Hushed voices echo through the room, barely able to penetrate the thick fog in your head. The pain still throbs warm and unrelenting under your bruised skin, your heart thundering in the same rhythm. A chorus of “Aye!” breaks through your dizziness, and you sigh against your gag when you feel the fingers in your cunt moving, in and out, slowly, the pad of her fingertips rubbing over your sensitive spots, poking and prodding.

“Come on, pet, you heard the people. Come for us, show us what you can do,” Mistress chants behind you, pushing and pulling her digits in and out faster, her thumb pressing hard onto the plug you've almost forgotten about.

Your whimpers are muffled, your stomach tensing up under her ministrations. Her hand moves in a quick sawing motion, her pinky brushing against your clit while her other fingers are pressed deeper into your fluttering cunt, thumb teasing your ass. In and out it goes, faster, harder, and the heat builds, wet and scorching deep inside you. You thrash in your restraints, hips stuttering, thighs twitching, the squelching noises growing louder and more obscene.

You couldn't care less, panting into your gag, eyes squeezed shut, focused on riding this high for as long as you're allowed. Mistress gets even faster, really ramming her hand against you, into you, parting your tense muscles until you suddenly freeze, almost choking on your own breath as your orgasm comes crashing down on you hard, the sensation so intense your body convulses uncontrollably, twitching against the fingers poking deep, and when they suddenly retreat, leaving you gaping and spasming around nothing, something warm and wet shoots from your core in twitchy jets, and a strange wave of awing noises washes over you.

Your core keeps trembling, pussy pulsing, the relief so intense you can barely breathe, before you collapse onto the table, completely exhausted. A wet hand wipes over your throbbing ass cheek, giving it a gentle slap you barely register.

“Well done, pet, what a show,” Mistress says through the cotton in your head. “Let's see if we can make her squirt again. Commence the play, ladies and gentlemen. Floggers next.”

Her words reach your brain, but they don't make much sense. You're still somewhat floating, pleasure bigger than the pain that comes when you feel the various tails of the whip hit your upper back. It's almost a caress, a gentle stroking, but unlike the cane hits, they are not reduced to just one. Someone keeps hitting the soft leather bands against your back, and each blow gets stronger, harder, until the pain finally settles under your skin, making you squirm and cry out into your gag.

The warm throbbing is spread out more, some spots more sensitive than others, but you're not allowed to focus on them, or turn them into pleasure even, when Mistress announces the next object. You can't really hear what it is, you only notice that her voice sounds from above your head now, and shortly after, you hear the clicking of her camera. Your core is hopelessly empty now, still spasming a little, with your muscles clenching around the butt plug instead.

Bracing for whatever comes next, you are still not ready when it hits you, the sudden impact a loud echoing thud, before the pain crashes through your nerves. Something wide and flat has hit your left ass cheek, and through the shivers, you feel someone standing behind you between your legs, a gloved hand gripping the base of your plug. You whimper against your gag, grinding your hips to get away from the sensation, but whoever is in charge is unrelenting, poking and pulling at the plug before you feel your muscles giving way to release it.

With it gone, you feel something warm and wet dripping from your clenching hole. The lube, you remember faintly, and you focus back on the memory of Mistress preparing your ass. You'd go back to that ten times over, anything but the continued pain from being spanked. A different set of fingers pokes at your sphincter, larger and thicker than a woman's hand, and you squirm, feeling the burning sting of your hole being stretched, muscles protesting, cold air hitting your heated flesh.

It's a strange sensation when the digits drill into you in a turning motion, pushing deep and with force, and you clench around them instinctively. At the same time as you feel knuckles pressing against your rim, another dull thud, a reverberating slap, makes your body jerk, your ass cheek burning under the flat surface of what you can only assume to be a paddle. It hits you again, and the fingers move inside your ass, in and out, forcing against your tense muscles, as you wail helplessly, hot tears streaming down your already warm cheeks.

A rhythm begins, fingers push in, the paddle comes down, stretch, slap, pain, fingers pull out, relief, fingers go back in, stab, push, drill deeper, another paddle blow, always on the same spot, pain blooms deep within you, it's all around, spreading, hot and heavy, tingling, throbbing, igniting the bruises on your palms and soles, and on your back, and still there's a strangely soothing heat building in your core.

Your muscles contract around the invading digits, your hole puckering around them, the motion getting faster, the paddle blows quicker, until they bleed together, and you scream a muffled scream as your body convulses uncontrollably, the mixture of pain and pleasure sinking right into your clit, and it throbs and pulses, your cunt clenching around nothing, and still you come, hard, thighs twitching, toes curling, straining your bruised skin, all of it combines into an orgasm that leaves you dizzy and seeing stars dancing at the edge of your vision.

The fingers in your ass disappear, replaced with the plug again, but instead of tensing around the narrow neck, your muscles pull it in, too loose to assume their original state, and you feel it slipping in all the way, deeper than before, though nobody seems to care, and before you know it, you feel something solid press against your pussy, a hard edge forcing its way into your entrance, but it doesn't quite seem to fit.

“Try the handle first,” you hear a faint voice. “You have to fuck her open, the tight little thing.”

The words make you even more dizzy, and you tense up badly when you feel something being pushed into you, slow but relentlessly, prodding until it slips in, swallowed by your clenching walls. You groan into your gag at the pressure and stretch, a strange fullness adding to the overall tenseness of your body. You try to breathe against it, adjust to it, but it only makes your heart beat faster when you realize it doesn't change anything.

The item in your cunt is moved then, pulled out and pushed in, its edges dragging along your soft flesh, poking at the plug stuck in your ass. At first the rhythm is almost relaxing, a continuous thrusting, but then whoever controls it, gets bored and impatient, and it goes from a slow in and out to a rapid pumping, and you gasp and moan, your muffled noises mixing with the hushed chatter around you.

It's dizzying how fast you're being penetrated, pummeled, hammered, drilled, your muscles giving way, allowing more to slip in, more to push deeper, and a strange pain like a stab crashes through your nerves as it is being pushed as deep as possible, poking right at your cervix. You freeze then, hoping to alleviate the pressure, your breaths erratic, limbs twitching, but it's even worse when it's pulled back with a sudden motion that feels as if you're being split right open.

You're left gaping, empty, your walls fluttering, a deep burning thrumming through your body. It doesn't take long for a new pain to take your breath away. It's bigger, wider at one side, flat, and you know as if seeing it behind your tight eyelids, that the entire paddle is forced into your widened cunt. A low groan escapes you as it fills you up, more and more, pushing deep, aiming straight for your cervix. Stars and black spots dance at the edge of your vision, your body struggling to cope with all the sensations.

For a moment it just sits there, impaling you deeply, the stretch aching low in your stomach. But it gives you time to adjust, at least a little, breathe around it, relax your tense eyebrows, and you even open your eyes (not that you would see anything but feet and legs in your current position). Drool keeps dripping from your open mouth, your teeth and jaw aching with how hard you're biting down on the silicone rod, but it's a good distraction from whatever is happening behind you.

Subdued voices, chatter and laughter alike, ring in your ears, the click and shutter noises of a camera taking countless pictures of your predicament, and the memory of finding these pictures in the first place, of seeing your cunt stretched around various objects, gives you a strange sort of comfort, knowing you've done this before, knowing your body can handle it, can return to normal afterward, meaning it may be over soon. Hopefully.

Though looking back, and it's hazy at best, but you try, you realize that, from a spectator's standpoint, nothing much has happened. There was this girl strapped to a table, a dildo gag in her throat, wrists and ankles tied, and strangers were allowed to touch her with gloved hands, cut off her clothes, grope her breasts and poke her cunt. She came once by the fingers of a random person, then bullied herself into unconsciousness for no apparent reason.

Coming back, she had been turned onto her stomach, tied up again, gagged once more, and had to endure cane hits to her palms and soles, a flogger to the back, and a rather tame spanking of her soft ass, then was allowed to come and squirted, before somebody decided to ram a paddle up her pussy. Looking at it this way, you suddenly know it is far from being over.

Something is shifting behind you, the object in your cunt poked and prodded at, pushed further, harder against your cervix, before it is being turned, its flat shape causing your walls to drag along it, the pressure changes, muscles stretched into a different direction, and all you can do is groan and whine at the fullness. It must sit (with its widest part) horizontally now, counter-intuitive to the natural form of your slit, and it burns, the stretch feels forced, making it almost impossible to breathe.

It does, however, allow your ass to relax, and in doing so, you give a little clench, a little push, and the plug that has been swallowed by your tense muscles pops out slightly, seemingly catches on the handle of the paddle poking out of you, before you hear a faint clattering noise when it leaves you that is followed by a strange murmur going through the room. A tsking sound comes to your ear. A hand grabs your chin, pulls up your head. You can still only see someone's legs, the top of their thighs, a black dress sitting tightly around them.

“Oh, pet, you shouldn't have done that,” Mistress coos. You blink tears away, trying to look up but being unable to. “Bring me the riding crop,” she adds, causing you to shiver and breathe harder in an instant.

She lets go of you, and you see her walking away, the clicking of her heels like an ominous echo, a vibration you can feel in your very core. In your attempt to ground yourself, brace for whatever comes next, you clench your hands into fists, using the sudden sting of pain in your palms to distract yourself further. It doesn't help much when the first blow lands on your body, right between your ass cheeks, directly against your puckered hole.

You scream into your gag, body convulsing under the impact, the pain sharp and stinging, and so concentrated it makes you clench around the unyielding object stuck in your cunt, which hurts even more as your muscles can't really get it to move. Your head is spinning, hanging loosely off the table, all the blood that's not pulsing under your bruised skin rushing into it, your limbs twitch with the aftershocks. Another blow hits the same spot, and the pain burns through you like wildfire, igniting every single nerve. You howl hopelessly, your sphincter positively aflame by now.

A third blow lands on it, sending another shock wave through your body, this one accompanied by a sudden motion in your cunt as the paddle is being pulled out slightly, only to be shoved back in with force, hard, unrelenting, parting your soft flesh, sinking deep, poking your furthest point with agonizing precision. Your noises bleed into muffled whines and grunts and cries, your body overwhelmed by all the different sensations. You feel even more lightheaded and breathless as the motion repeats, quicker and quicker, rapid sawing motions of an object that wasn't designed to fit into a human like this.

Add to that the throbbing pain in your asshole, and you find yourself on the verge of fainting all over again. But amidst the searing pain, a bubble of something hot grows bigger, expanding inside you, easing your nerves, your muscles, and for a moment it feels good, good enough for your whines to morph into moans, your body shuddering under the assault of sensations, and as it reaches its peak, when your back arches and your eyes roll back, when your hips stutter and your cunt flutters around the object plunging in and out, you find yourself floating, frozen in time and space for a few seconds as pure bliss explodes around you like fireworks.

With your mind filled with burning cotton that takes over everything, the aches of your body barely register, they're just a faint thrumming, throbbing, stinging, a numbing pain that doesn't matter as you ride your high – and when the paddle is pulled from your depths, a last impossible stretch, you think it's finally over, you can finally sink into the void, but luck is not on your side.

Something else replaced the rigid object, something warmer, a bit softer, and it slips into your cunt with ease, making you groan, your muscles clenching around it. And just as you slowly come down from your high, the thing inside you starts moving, and you feel it, its shape, its strength, what its attached to.

At first it's a gentle pushing and pulling, a barely there back and forth motion, before it begins to pummel your insides with not so gentle bumps, internal little nudges that stretch your walls, and you realize it's a hand, its knuckles dragging over your soft flesh, your depths molding into its shape as it pushes and pushes, a literal fist giving your cervix tiny little punches.

And the more it moves, the stranger it all feels, the rougher its movements, bigger swings, deeper pushes, and all you can do is squirm on the table, struggle against your restraints, howl into your gag, your body convulsing erratically as the fist keeps pummeling into your depths with force and vigor, eager to push you over the edge all over again.

Pain and pleasure melt together into a whirlwind of sensations, leaving you breathless and lightheaded, crying and groaning, moaning and wailing, until you lose all control over your limbs and muscles as they twitch and spasm, and your core weeps, your wetness squelching out with every plunge of the hand. It changes form then, gets thinner, pointier, still hacking away inside of you, unrelenting, bullying all those sensitive spots that give yet another layer to the strange mixture of pain and pleasure.

You can barely breathe, barely function, and it all ends when the fist is being pulled from your tightening walls with a sudden tug, leaving you gaping, your muscles clenching in confusion, but the heat just shoots out of you in erratic spasms, as you groan and grunt and moan into your gag, head spinning, body just twitching, no longer yours.

Before you can fall into nothingness, however, you hear a set of footsteps, then two hands grab your face, one is wet and warm, the other almost cool in contrast. A soothing shushing sound comes to your ears, and you blink your eyes into focus, or you try, everything's blurry, there's a thrumming ache all around you, mixed with an overwhelming feeling of weightlessness. The leather strap around your head is loosened, relieving the strain on your jaw as the gag falls away, allowing a little river of drool to leave your mouth. The hands are back to wipe at it, clean your chin and your trembling lips.

“My good girl,” you hear Mistress' velvety voice close to you as she leans her forehead against yours, crouched before you as she is, and you blink again, trying to see her pretty face, her deep eyes, and the first thing you do see is the smile on her full lips. “You've been so good. Look at you, you took this so well. Such a good girl,” she keeps praising you, rubbing your sweat-slick cheeks, her wet thumb brushing against your bottom lip and into your mouth, making you taste something sweet and tangy, and you realize it's your own taste. But you can barely react to it, it doesn't matter anyway. You did good, she said so, you made her proud, right?

She leans in and presses her lips to yours, a short but sweet kiss that tingles in the back of your cloudy mind. You wish you would have the strength to reply to her ministrations, but you can't really move, still stuck in a place outside of your own body, though she keeps peppering your face with gentle pecks, brushing your hair out of your forehead, caressing your jaw, cradling your head. She's so gentle, and the contrast to how she treated the rest of your body makes you shudder deeply.

Slowly you come back to yourself, your limbs itching, your butt hurting, your cunt throbbing. You let out a little groan against her lips, and she leans away, watching you. “Do you need a break, pet?” she asks quietly, and you want to tell her to stop it altogether, no breaks, breaks mean it will continue eventually, and you can't keep going like this. Everything hurts, you feel so empty and boneless. But seeing her so close to you, still feeling the tingles of her kisses, how can you say no to this woman?

“Yes, please, Mistress,” you croak out, your voice nothing more than a rasping breath spilling from your swollen lips, raw and rough from all the voiceless screaming, but she understands you all the same. She nods, caressing your cheek, before she stands up and addresses the people you completely forgot about by now.

“Ladies and gentlemen, dear guests, I thank you for your attention and participation thus far. We are taking a little break, so if you like, I invite you to grab another drink and some snacks from the buffet in the entrance hall. We will be back shortly.”

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End notes: Well. Was the ending worth all the horrors before that? I hope so. More aftercare in the next chapter, we're through the worst, I promise! Stay tuned!

Thank you for reading! Next chapter on Saturday!

MASTERLIST // AO3 // ORIGINAL WORKS

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