#nude woman in a red armchair

[craetor]

Genderbend Death Note AU expansion

(Lawlight headcanon to an AU I created of an existing story... Yeah.)

In this AU, I decided to keep Misa a (as far as audience knows) cisgender woman for added sapphics, except she's ramped up the campiness. Her style is still gothic, but branching towards French-accented vampire goth. Still a bit cheeky and clingy but more theatre dramatic. Red satin weaved with her black leather & stilettos-heeled knee-highs, emanating any given Lady Gaga song where she drops The Voice (initially I thought of her while listening to the "Monster Ball version" of Alejandro)

She's a model as well as a fashion designer. Needless to say, part of her love language is making Light her muse (which might be the most lesbian thing in the whole series, but would still be used by homophobes/armchair art historians to be like "SHES JUST HER MUSE ITS NOT GAY ITS NOT GAY" & we'd be like "bitch about every famous painter in history who had a muse romanced them jfc..." Anyways.) . She even draws her in her Death Note. It just has that kind of risky, exciting feel to it, and as much as Light silently enjoys to be drawn, she's a little paranoid that 1. The death note might one day respond to pictures as well, who knows, & 2. Anybody who'd find the note would see little doodles of her all over it, which is slightly incriminating to say the least, even with a 'stalker' argument in the back pocket. It ties her to it, period.

Headcanon (idea I'm too cowardly to incorporate):

After figuring out L is also somewhat seasoned when it comes to paining (idk why but apparently people of the fandom eat that idea up), in a moment of boredom & homoerotism she asks L to draw her. Draw her the way she truly sees her. It is followed by her completely nude on their bed, as a homage to the most legendary piece of sapphic angst - Portrait of a Lady on Fire, holding a mirror to obscure her pubic area.

It isn't like L hadn't seen her undressed before, as the magazine scene is exchanged for Light trying on lingerie (L had seen it coming & sent Soichiro off with 10.000¥ to get her a cake from a bakery downtown. The one that id also mentioned in Change the world. That'd be a subtle reference in addition to the canon LABB case connection to Another Note) and it also being Yotsuba Arc, wherefore they frequently shower together, so it's simply some rather sensually loaded naked bonding.

[arinewman7]

Nude Woman in a Red Armchair by Pablo Picasso 1932 Oil paint on canvas 130 cm x 97 cm TATE X-radiograph of Nude Woman in a Red Armchair 1932 Photo © Tate Nude Woman in a Red Armchair 1932 in transmitted light Photo © Tate Detail of the woman’s face in transmitted light viewed from reverse Photo © Tate (Two pix as one unit:) Nude Woman in a Red Armchair 1932 under raking light from left and from top Photo © Tate Nude Woman in a Red Armchair 1932 under ultraviolet (UV) light Photo © Tate Detail of signature and date Photo © Tate

[sartle-blog]

Anti-Valentine’s Day

There are a lot of reasons to be upset recently. The changing political climate, immigrants being denied entry to our country, learning that Lady Gaga didn’t actually jump off the roof at the Super Bowl half time, and now to top it all off that one day a year designed to remind people how lonely they really are is upon us. Yes, the day of love letters, roses, and cheap heart shaped box chocolates is right around the corner. You may be thinking, I snagged me a Valentine this year so maybe things aren’t so bad. Well, I am here to remind you that even the most doting of relationships can turn sour.

Some say that artists feel emotions stronger than the average bloke, hence why they feel so compelled to tell their story by any means necessary. If that is the case, we can only assume they love hard, and hate even harder. We at Sartle love a juicy breakup story and if time had taught us anything it is this: the worse the relationship, the better the art. So here’s to some great art and terrible relationships!

Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera

When thinking about bad artist relationships, the Frida and Diego fiasco always seems to find its way into the convo; probably because their relationship was all kinds of messed up. To give you a taste for what their relationship was like, listen to this gem of a quote from Kahlo, “I suffered two grave accidents in my life. One in which a streetcar knocked me down…The other accident is Diego.” If you openly admit that your husband is one of the great mistakes of your life, you might want to reevaluate your life decisions.  

Where do I even start with these two? They met in 1928 and a year later were hitched. Besides the fact that Diego was almost twice her age, this was his third marriage, which probably should have been a red flag for young Frida, but when the heart wants what it wants, common sense goes out the window. It only took two years for the affairs to begin and honestly, they never really stopped. They both had endless lovers, sometimes out of desire, and sometimes they just did it to piss the other one off. Why Diego decided to cheat on Frida with her little sister though will continue to remain a mystery.

Not surprisingly the two divorced, but ultimately ended up marrying again just one year later. Needless to say, nothing really changed and they returned to their tumultuous ways until Kahlo’s death fourteen years later.

Frida and Diego Rivera by Frida Kahlo, San Francisco Museum of Modern Art

Camille Claudel and Auguste Rodin

Sometimes it can feel as though our relationships are driving us crazy. In the case of Camille Claudel though, that is literally what happened after spending a bit too much time obsessing over the famed sculptor Auguste Rodin. Shortly after beginning her sculpting career, Rodin needed an assistant to help expedite his artistic practice, and Claudel was just the woman to do it. It didn’t take long for the two to start lusting after each other and with time, stone was no longer the only thing getting pounded down in that studio. The two shared an intense relationship that fueled their creative outlets as well. It was pretty much perfect, except for one little thing: Rodin was already married.

Claudel pleaded and begged, but Rodin refused to leave his wife…and this is when things started to get ugly. Claudel grew furious, she ain’t nobody’s mistress! As this vengeful side of Claudel began to become apparent to Rodin, he decided that she had become too much baggage for a fun fling and decided to boot her from his life. Claudel soon grew neurotic and experienced a complete breakdown, which landed her in a mental hospital where she lived until her death. That’s amore?    

The Mature Age by Camille Claudel, Orsay Museum

Pablo Picasso and Marie-Thérèse Walter

Since it appears that we have now entered the territory of lovers on the down low, we cannot forget about art history’s biggest playboy/womanizer: Pablo Picasso. Picasso had two marriages, six mistresses, and hundreds of other conquests (and who knows how many venereal diseases). Let’s have a gander at Marie-Thérèse Walter, for her tale is a brutally sad one, and as you know, we’re sticking with the theme that romance is probably dead. This dreamy saga started when Marie-Thérèse was only 17 years old, just a tad younger than Picasso’s 45. At the time their little affaire de coeur started, Picasso was already hitched to Olga Khokhlova, but as we know, the whole sanctity of marriage thing was a bit drab for the salacious artists.

The affair went on for eight years before Olga uncovered his philandering ways and ultimately took their children and skipped town. “Yes!” Marie-Thérèse must have thought “now I have him all to myself”. Wrong, so wrong. She should have known that old habits die hard. His eyes soon wandered to his next lover and muse Dora Maar. Rumor has it that when Marie-Thérèse found out about Dora, the two ladies entered into a physical catfight over the man’s affection. Marie-Thérèse ultimately lost and Picasso threw her out like day old chowder. Nonetheless, Marie-Thérèse never stopped loving him, and after his death, she hung herself out of sorrow.

Nude Woman in a Red Armchair by Pablo Picasso , Tate Britain 

Gustave Courbet, James Whistler, and Joanna Hiffernan

The tale of Gustave Courbet, James Whistler, and Joanna Hiffernan serves as a solid reminder that bros before hoes is actually some pretty good advice. Back in the day, painter James Whistler fell for the vivacious ginger Joanna Hiffernan. Sadly, when introduced to his family, they felt she was too loose and could not approve of his dating her. Turns out they may have been right about the whole hussy thing, but we’ll get to that later. Hiffernan decided to ignore his parents advice and develop what became a six year long relationship in which she both loved and modeled for him.

Whistler had a whole slew of cool artsy friends, one of which included painter Gustave Courbet. Naturally, Whistler introduced him to Jo and it didn’t take long for things to start blowing up. After learning that Courbet probably had an affair with Jo, and that he definitely painted a picture of her vagina, their friendship soon fell into peril. Shocker. Turns out painting an awkwardly up-close painting of your friend’s girlfriend’s hooha is totally against bro code protocol. Their friendship soon ended and ultimately neither of them ended up with Joanna. Turns out Whistler’s parents may have known what they were talking about after all.

Portrait of Jo, the Beautiful Irish Girl by Gustave Courbet, Metropolitan Museum of Art

Love is messy business. Perhaps that is why we invented Valentine’s Day to convince us that the tumultuous desires of the heart are actually a good thing. Or maybe it is just to sell us stuff we don’t need; Hallmark, I got my eye on you. Either way, to all you Valentine’s Day haters out there, I hope this blog has taught you one thing: maybe single life ain’t so bad after all.

By: Jennifer

[chanelsebbie]

𝗩𝗶𝗰𝗲 | 𝘀.𝗿.

✝ Warnings: SMUT, manipulation, dub-con, innocent!reader, age-gap, dark!bishop!steve rogers, branding. 

✝ Masterlist

✝ Summary: After being caught committing lustful acts, y/n is brought to the bishop for reconcile. 

✝ A/n:  Reader just turned 18, this is sinful, if you are offended, please don’t read. With that being said, after reading this, you best chug a gallon of holy water. 

𝖄𝖔𝖚 𝖓𝖊𝖊𝖉 𝖆 𝖇𝖎𝖌 𝖌𝖔𝖉

𝕭𝖎𝖌 𝖊𝖓𝖔𝖚𝖌𝖍 𝖙𝖔 𝖋𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖚𝖕

Florence + the Machine, Big God

“No! Let me go!” the girl with a small voice ordered futily, the sound echoing off the large corridors as the nuns pulling her along payed no mind. 

She fought against them, but it was useless, for it would only make their conviction worse. She had sinned, and like everything, sinning came with a grave price. Especially at the young woman’s academy. 

She knew the bishop would be cross. Not only for her sin but for the timing. It was in the late hours of the night, but there she was, caught red-handed and in nothing but a snow-white bra and panty set, being dragged through the empty halls of the institution, everyone else sleeping. 

Soon enough, she was faced with the large wooden double-doors of the bishop’s office, the lion knocker on the door seeming to snarl smugly at the girl as if it knew her fate. 

One of the nun’s calloused old fingers wrapped around the handle clutched in the metal feline’s mouth, before knocking three times, the young girl counting absentmindedly. 

A harsh and inharmonious voice called out an ill-toned ‘Come in’. The girl could have sworn she was on the verge of a panic attack. What she had done was wrong, but why did it feel so good?

The door was opened by one of her captors, walking her in before throwing her to the ground, her knees scraping up against the stone floors as she let out a pained yelp. She refused to look up, knowing that his eyes would be trained on her. 

“Archbishop Rogers,” one of the nun’s began, “We caught this young lady committing an act of lust, and demand her to repent and save her faith plagued with desire.”

The man stood up from his working desk, setting his pen down, stepping in front of the trembling girl, almost anticipating her to look up at him. 

“Leave us, sisters,” 

His voice sent a tight shock through her spine, making her scramble to her knees, her ass resting on her heels, folding her hands in front of her, waiting as if she were about to be struck. 

As soon as the great wooden doors closed, the bishop took a deep breath and began to speak. 

“Tell me,” he starts, “what is your vice?”

She quivered at the question, embarrassed to admit what she had truly did wrong. But in knowing that the longer it took to get it out of her, the more torturous the punishment would be.

“I-” she cleared her throat, “I h-have committed a lustful act,” she swallowed hard as she heard the man above her sigh, beckoning her to continue, “I feel as if I’ve been consumed by demons. The devil has put thoughts into my head... scandalous thoughts... and it creates such a tension between my legs,” she took in a shaky breath, “I can’t help but touch myself to relieve the pain.”

His jaw clenched at her confession, crossing his arms. 

“Do you understand the gravity of your actions?” he catechized her, making her nod her head ‘yes’.

“Yes, Archbishop Rogers, I do.” she now had the courage to look up at the man above her, “I am willing to do whatever it takes to be right by the Lord’s name,”

His crossed arms unraveled, one of his hands going down to cradle the girl’s cheek as she leaned into his touch like an obedient dog, desperate for the relief and to bear no malice to her God. 

When she looked up at him with her doe-like eyes, full of hope, there was a glint of guilt. 

“First, recite ‘Hail Mary’,” he commanded, her head now hanging low again, not noticing that his hands were now reaching his pants, the leather of his belt coming undone. 

“Hail Mary, full of grace,” she began, “The lord is with thee-”

Her face was suddenly jerked up, his hand wrapping around her head before pushing her forward, her open mouth suddenly filled with the mass of his cock, only half of her mouth consuming it. 

Her tongue squirmed as she tried to pull away, but the archbishop’s strength was unparalleled to hers, her struggles futile. Her hands went to his thighs to anchor herself. 

“A demon had infiltrated your mind, my child,” he grunted, “I know how to rid you of this evil, but you must do as I say.”

She did the best she could to nod her head, before getting pulled back by her hair. 

“Did I tell you to stop reciting?” he growled, “Don’t make me start you over,”

“Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit-” she was pulled forward violently back on his cock, deeper his time, his tip touching the back of her throat as she gagged, tears welling up in her eyes, doing her best not to bite down. 

She was pulled back once again, “of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary-”

Tears were now spilling down her face like a river, her face flushed as his cock seemingly went down her throat, the groans of her superior above her making her whimper. 

“Mother of God, pray for us sinners now,”

He didn’t pull her in this time like she was expecting, “and at the hour of our death.” she finished, panting as she winced at the archbishop’s killer grip on her hair, “Amen.”

“Remarkable job,” he praised, before standing her up, taking her hand and leading her to his desk, before harshly pushing her down against it, smirking at her gasping reaction. 

“P-Please? Haven’t we done enough?” she questioned, pleaded, earning her a slap on her ass, getting pulled up chest to back with him as his lips reached her ear. 

“I am a vessel of God,” he hissed, “And he lives through me as I do him. I’m cleansing you...,”

His fingers made their way under the hem of her underwear, pulling them down, her dripping cunt coming into view, the archbishop squatting down after pushing her back on the desk. She whimpered at the feeling of his breath against her sex, Rogers letting out a dark chuckle before leaning forward, licking a torturous strip across her slit. 

“God, you taste so good,” he groaned against her pussy, “why the fuck do you taste so good?” his rhetorical question made her clench. 

She let out a soft moan at the sexual touch that was for once, not her own. He did this several more times before he stood straight back up again. 

She whined when she felt his wide tip tease her entrance, circling his cock, the anticipation almost painful, his breathing echoing off the expanse of his large office. The moonlight shown through the stained glass windows, reflecting on the expanse of her back, making the archbishop all the more attracted to her seemingly supernatural glow. 

“Plea-” she was cut off by a loud moan ripping its way through her throat, the feeling of being stretched out so far painful.

“Fuck! Fuck, you’re so tight-” he cursed into the open air, his hands latching onto her hips when he bottomed out. 

He didn’t grace her with the opportunity to adjust, before he started to move, slowly, making her feel every ridge and vein. 

“You better start praying,” he coaxed, her head nodding.

“O-Our father, who art in h-heaven, gl-glory be thy name,” she whined out, making the man behind her rut his hips harder and harder with each verse, “hallowed be th-thy name. Thy kingdom c-come,” she paused to catch her breath, earning her a harsh tug on her scalp.

“Didn’t tell you to stop,” he growled, bushing harder and faster inside her. 

“thy will be done, on earth, as it is in h-heaven, g-give us this day our da-ily bread and... and...,” her brain was fogged with pleasure as he was getting pounded into, Rogers annoyed at her reluctance. 

“Don’t tell me you forgot,” he degraded, “don’t make me start you over,” his pace slowing down. 

She whined before starting again, “forgive us our tr-trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against u-us-”

She clenched around him, making him let out a genuine moan, and it was the most angelic sound she had ever heard, a coil tightening inside her as she cursed silently. 

“Come on, princess, we can finish it together,” he offered. 

“P-Please,” she gasped, gagging on air as she did her best to keep a level head and know what she was supposed to say next. 

“And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.” they said in perfect sync. 

“Come on, so close, just-” before he could finish, he released inside of her with a yell, his head thrown back in ecstasy.

The warm feeling in her gut made the coil inside her snap as well as she fell off the deep end, long and passionate moans leaving her lips as she trembled and tensed from such an earth-shattering orgasm. 

The archbishop walked in front of the lit fireplace, poking at it with a fire poker before setting it down, the pointy end positioned over the fire. 

The girl thought nothing of it as she sat in an armchair, covered in nothing but a blanket as she gave a dopey smile to the nude man approaching her. He picked her up, before sitting himself down, placing her in his lap. 

Her head rested against his chest as he gently played with her hair. 

“Am I cleansed?” she questioned, nudging herself closer into him. 

After a small amount of time, he gave a quick, lack-luster response. 

“Yes.”

“What happens if the demons come back? If my thoughts turn sinful again?” she whimpered at the thought. 

“Well, I have a way I can make sure they don’t.” he smirked to himself, “Stand up, will you?”

She did as she was told; his perfect little obedient pet. Before she could question anything, she was grabbed by the wrists and slammed up above her head, her back against the wall next to the fire place, Steve reaching over and grabbing the bow heated fire poker.

It clicked for her as her eyes widened.

“W-Wait!” she squeaked, looking at the red-hot end of the fire poker, his fingers wrapped around it tightly. 

When the scalding metal touched the skin of her breast, she let out a pained cry, a sickening sizzle ringing through her ears as she sobbed. The burning touch seemed to last for ages, before it was finally brought away, but the pain never ceased. 

The shape made her stomach turn, the man pulling the girl in an embrace as she sobbed, shushing her.

There, over her right breast, was the mark of the lord. A blistering cross, that would be an eternal reminder of their shared moment together.

“In the name of the father, the son, and the holy spirit,” Steve spoke, right before her world went black from shock.

[amerrierworld]

Kiss Her For Me (pt 3)

for anon: Kiss Her For Me pt 3?

Summary: Charlie appears at one of Therese’s gallery showings and Carol insists she pose for the photographer’s portfolio. 

Characters: Carol x Therese x OC

Word Count: 2,801

Warnings: SMUT F/F/F threesome :)

The giant crown of red hair was unmistakable across the gallery, and Therese gasped audibly as she recognized the woman in the distance. Carol had been distracted by looking at one of her framed prints and the glass of champagne in her hands, so she was startled when Therese’s grip in her hand tightened until her fingers hurt. 

“What is it, angel?” Carol asked, worried that Richard or some stupid oaf from Therese’s past had shown up.

“Look, Carol, over there,” Therese whispered, nodding to where she was looking.

Carol’s ruby lips pulled into a sly smile as she also recognized Charlotte standing by one of Therese’s larger photos; a colourful landscape from one of their trips together.

“How is she here?” Therese spluttered. They hadn’t seen Charlie since their last intimate night, and hadn’t had time to even think about going to Jackie’s strip club. 

“I have a feeling our dear Abigail has something to do with it,” Carol replied before tugging Therese along as she walked in Charlie’s direction. “Come on, it’s unfitting for the host not to welcome all guests.”

Charlie recognized them from afar before either woman said anything, and she rushed over, heels tapping the floor, before wrapping each of them in a warm hug.

“Therese! You never told me you were so talented! My goodness, Carol, where do you find them?”

Carol barked out a laugh and gave Charlie a warm kiss on the cheek, “I’m so happy to see you here, Charlotte. How did you know about Therese’s showing?”

“Oh, Abby, of course. Well, technically Jackie, but it’s basically like talking to the same person.”

All three of them agreed on that, before Therese asked her what she had been enjoying so far, nerves slowly dissipating as their conversation carried on.

“I must say- the portraits you’ve done? Marvellous!” Charlie gestured a little further away from them where Therese had a small cluster of intimate portraits of various models.

“If I had the money I’d ask you for a million photos, really! I desperately need new headshots, and what you manage to capture is just perfect.”

Therese frowned and said, “Oh, you wouldn’t have to pay me. I just like taking photos of people.”

“No- no, absolutely not. Work like this should be paid for, I don’t want to get away with it for free just because we’re... acquainted.”

Carol rolled her eyes lovingly and rubbed her thumb over Therese’s knuckles.

“Let Therese take some photos of you, Charlie. You’re beautiful and photogenic. I’m sure something could be... arranged between us, right angel?”

Therese flushed a bright red, and Charlie smiled from ear-to-ear,

“Only if you’d be a part of that arrangement, Carol.”

“Of course,” Carol grinned, bringing Therese’s hand up to her lips, “we come as a package deal.”

-

Charlotte appeared in a set of mom jeans and a giant knitted sweater that nearly slipped off of her slim shoulders. Therese coughed and felt herself nearly choke at the sight of her, and Carol chuckled, rubbing her back.

“Hey Carol,” Charlotte said warmly, waving at the blonde. In response, Carol tugged her close by the arm and kissed her firmly on the mouth. If Therese hadn’t been frozen in awe she would have raised her camera to take a picture.

“Is that what you’re planning to wear?” Therese asked, voice timid. She hadn’t counted on Charlie to look so cozy; lots of her looks had been fitted, seductive and feline thus far. 

“Oh, no,” Charlie replied cheekily. “Actually, I wasn’t planning on wearing anything at all.”

Carol barked a laugh at Therese, whose mouth dropped open.

“You’ve done nude portraits before, haven’t you, angel?” Carol asked, sensing Therese’s nerves.

“Well, yes, but- I’ve never-” I’ve never been so aroused by a model I’m shooting... except for Carol.

“Never photographed a redhead?” Charlotte winked, and adored the way Therese spluttered defensively. 

“I’ll show you where to drop your stuff. Let her get her cameras and doohickies set up,” Carol said, wrapping an arm around Charlie’s waist. She winked at the brunette before heading down the narrow hall and Therese did take a photo this time of the two women as they walked away. The lighting wasn’t right, and they were moving so there was bound to be blurriness, but this wasn’t for her portfolio. This was for her. 

Once in the changing room, Carol helped Charlie undress, folding her clothes neatly.

“This is a nice sweater,” she commented, rubbing her thumb over the soft grey material.

“Thanks,” Charlie chortled, applying a bit of gloss in the mirror. “It’s thrifted, actually. Do you work in the studio with Therese?”

“Oh, no,” Carol smiled, “I work at a furniture store a bit further in the city. But I figured our Therese might want some extra hands on deck considering she can get so.. tense.”

The redhead and blonde laughed gleefully at the memory of their bold yet shy Therese, the atmosphere amicable between them.

Carol held out a robe for Charlie to wear between shots, but the younger woman took her time in sauntering over to her, nude as the day she was born.

She reached past the bathrobe and fiddled with the collar on Carol’s blouse, making the blonde flush with heat as she bit her lip,

“You should pose with me,” she grinned. “As a treat for our Therese.”

Carol chuckled, “you young women are so bold sometimes. I’m far too ancient to pose for a camera nude.”

“I disagree,” Charlie hummed, before slipping on the robe and heading out again to the main studio space.

A large white backdrop was lit with a variety of coloured lights. Therese was playing with the settings, wondering if she should make it a dramatic, colourful portrait set-up, or something more clean and sharp.

She looked up at the sound of the two women approaching, and she had undone the top two buttons on her dress shirt.

“Where do you want me?” Charlie said, swaying her hips as she approached the photographer. Therese smiled, dimples highlighted in the lighting, and took Charlie’s hand with confidence.

Carol took a seat behind the tripod holding the camera, watching as Therese arranged the redhead on the ground by the backdrop. She guided her arm; draped her fingers over her knee, positioned her feet and knees with a professional touch, and Carol felt somehow heated at the sight of her becoming so in control.

“Let’s start with the robe on, first,” Therese suggested, heading towards where Carol was and fiddling one more time with the lights. 

“Not prepared for the full show yet?” Charlotte teased, relaxing into the pose Therese had put her in. 

“I just wanna give you a good introduction before we get there,” the brunette replied without hesitation and Carol smiled.

Therese snapped a few shots, enjoying her photography skills and the natural flair she had for directing Charlie’s poses. With every new pose, the robe slipped off a little more, and a bit more skin was revealed. The freckles were highlighted in the colours Therese chose, and her bright blue eyes really picked up on the photos.

Then, Therese told Carol to get some props, specifically the pale sheets and the small, white armchair with golden edges. When she returned, Charlie was fully nude, barely holding the robe against her chest, nipples peaking teasingly just by the edge of the fabric. Her legs, nimble and flexible, were stretched and folded in front of her, almost swan-like. 

She let Carol and Therese position the chair and draped her in the sheet, letting it slip off her shoulders, letting her leg peek through below, letting the valley of her breasts be shadowed dramatically as she leaned back and arched her whole body atop of the chair.

“Fuck,” Therese breathed as she stepped back. Carol could practically hear her heartbeat hammering, and the only sound for a while was the camera clicking and the shutter going off.

“It feels like you two have just been pampering me,” Charlie laughed, her head tossed back as Carol raked her hands through the curls to tame it a little. She wasn’t a professional assistant at all, didn’t know how to do hair or makeup, but she listened to Therese, and that seemed to satisfy everyone involved. 

“Don’t you think Carol’s been working really hard, Therese?” Charlie asked, her blue eyes flickering over to the blonde, who’s hand stilled in her hair. “Maybe she should pose with me. It’s only fair. Look how beautiful she is.”

Therese stopped shooting for a moment, and across the studio, grey eyes met green, and something fierce sparked between the two of them.

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Therese said, her voice uncharacteristically husky, “Carol?”

“As long as this doesn’t land on the front page of the New York Times,” Carol teased, fiddling with the hem of her skirt.

“Just the front page of our bedroom portfolio,” Therese grinned. Charlie gaped,

“You said you never would pose nude,” she said to Carol, accusingly.

“Never in such a professional space,” Carol replied, “and definitely not alongside someone else.”

“But I’m the exception?” Charlie pushed out her bottom lip lovingly and Carol smiled, but Therese was the one who replied,

“Always.”

Then Charlie began helping Carol undress, just like the blonde had done before, and also because Carol was nearly frozen with her mind racing. This beautiful woman, undressing her, as her lover stood by with a camera and a keen eye, ready to capture every moment, every touch, every kiss-

“Kiss her for me,” Therese ordered with a quiet mumble, raising the camera, “it’ll help relax her.”

“Now who’s tense, hm?” Charlotte said, before kissing Carol on the cheek. Her blouse was entirely unbuttoned, revealing a creamy lace bra.

“What would you like, dear Therese?” Charlie asked, turning towards the photographer, the sheet forgotten by her feet.

“Act as if the camera isn’t here,” Therese suggested, “show her a good time. But not too good.”

Carol groaned, rendered speechless as the redhead raised her up and slipped the blouse off for her. Then she sat Carol down in the chair, shimmied her skirt off for her so she was only in her undergarments, and Charlie entirely nude. She left Carol’s blood-red heels on.

Therese was shuffling around, snapping photos as Charlie began rocking and swaying in rhythm atop of Carol’s lap. Carol’s hands gripped her hips, gently at first, but then the dominant fire came back to her. Once she got used to the glaring lights, the new environment of the studio, and the softness of Charlie’s skin so close to hers now, her grip tightened and her mind regained its laser-focus during sex.

Charlie moved off of her lap, pushed between her legs, and without hesitation pressed her tongue against Carol’s panties. And Therese was there, instantly, to catch the awed, aroused look on Carol’s face as the tongue began rolling against her clothed cunt. Her hair tumbled back as she let out a shaken groan, and Therese smirked while blushing as her camera clicked once, twice, thrice.

She got a closeup of Carol’s hand, twisting in Charlie’s hand. Carol’s leg swinging over Charlie’s shoulder with her heel still on, the sheen of sweat collecting in the valley of her still-covered breasts, the arch of Charlie’s back as she licked and teased the older woman. 

This is what she loved, Therese realized, more than anything. The pure unbridled adoration and lust, the beauty of two women lost in pleasure. Whether she was witnessing or experiencing it, there was something so incredibly timeless about it that she stopped for a moment in photographing, and just watched. 

Carol’s breath was hitching, and her eyes were rolling back, and her voice was raising in colourful curses, but Charlie pulled away just as her legs began to tremble. 

“I remember what you said, last time,” Charlie purred, kissing her knee. That only Therese would make her cum. 

“Oh, you delightful vixen,” Carol groaned, pulling her up. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

Therese knew that teasing Carol would only come to bite you in the ass. Because if Carol couldn’t have her orgasm, she’d go above and beyond to have you begging for her instead.

And that’s how Charlie ended up on Carol’s lap again, her front against her back, legs spread over the armrests and Carol’s hand working vigorously against her swollen cunt. The redhead cried out, breathing heavily, and Carol’s other hand fisted in her mass of curls, pulling her head back so she could bite the fair, freckled skin of her neck.

Though her hands were sweating, Therese would not miss out on this image. The camera came back up and she captured the very moment that Charlie tumbled over the edge, lipgloss faint and smudged, her eyes open and desperate. She stared right into the camera, and Therese visibly shivered.

Charlie fell limp in Carol’s arms, the older woman holding her gently. 

And then, “Therese.. I think it’s your turn. You’ve been waiting like such a good girl for a while now.”

“Is that card not full yet, with how many photos you’ve been taking?” Charlie added.

The two women quickly stripped the brunette of her clothes, her slim, lithe body practically glowing in the studio lights. Carol took her time to caress her skin like she always did, which Charlie took advantage of and struck a few million-dollar-prize photos of the two lovers. Therese didn’t know how experienced she would be with her camera, but she supposed everyone could click a button and take a photo. With Carol’s mouth swirling around her nipple, she was far too distracted to care. 

Then a smaller hand came to rest between her legs, and Charlie was next to her. They traded places from before, so now Therese was in the chair and Charlie hovering over her again. 

The redhead pulled one of Therese’s legs over her shoulder, stretching her delightfully as she sat back in the chair, and worked her fingers against her clit until she was wet enough to push inside. Then, as Carol looked on in wonder, she used the momentum of her hips to drive her fingers deep, kissing the brunette with abandon as she fucked her until the chair starting moving backwards from the motions. 

Carol took a few photos, knowing they wouldn’t be as good as Therese’s but wanting to remember this nonetheless. Charlie’s hair tumbled down and was lit like fire in the lights. 

There wasn’t a single ounce of regret in Carol’s body as she watched Therese cum and tremble in the redhead’s arms, her hand gripping the armrests until her knuckles turned white. 

Charlie continued rutting against Therese, enjoying the slow motions and Therese’s soft groans. Every move still carried a shiver of pleasure for the two of them as Therese basked in the afterglow of her orgasm.

“C-Carol,” she breathed. Carol looked up, intensely, but Therese’s eyes were shut tightly. She then leaned over and whispered something in Charlie’s ear who lit up and immediately moved off of Therese’s body.

Carol cautiously walked over to the chair and Therese pulled her down for a kiss before pulling her to straddle one of her thighs.

Charlie was there immediately, facing their profiles and angled view with the camera. Carol looked a little shy- a little nervous, but Therese kissed her again and again, and then guided the blonde’s own hand down to her cunt that was moving over Therese’s slim thigh in desperation.

“Oh-,” she said in realization. Charlie grinned behind the camera, and clicked the button. 

Carol shook, moving like an animal, her head tossing back, and then pressing into Therese’s neck, her body writhing until she spilled all over her young lover. 

The last photo was that of the blonde and brunette embraced in the warm light, nude and sweaty, and perfect. Charlotte looked at it with gleeful smugness, thinking it must be the best photo out of the bunch.

After a few moments, Carol and Therese untangled and the three women helped one another get dressed. 

“How about a meal? I’m starving after all that.. exercise,” Charlotte suggested, “plus it’s the least I can do. If you won’t let me pay for this session, let me buy us takeout, at least.”

“Oh, alright,” Therese waved her hand, blushing but smiling. Carol had wound her arm around her middle and kissed her cheek as they headed out of the studio. 

“Best put that camera away, angel,” Carol suggested as they got outside. Therese was flicking through the photos that had just been taken, and she blushed once she realized she probably shouldn’t look at those in public. She’d savour them later, in bed with Carol, and add them to their collection.

taglist: @fand0m-obsess3d-g33k @the-obscurity​ 

[mimssides]

Never Met You

Chapter 10: Revelation

Things will reveal themselves in the least expected moments. They will be there when they are most needed. 

“We still have no clue for where as to start with our investigation,” Virgil sighed and put the letter opener back on Janus’s desk.

Janus sat on the chair behind it, while Roman paced around the room and Logan sat on the armchair in the corner of the room. Roman was muttering silent curses under his breath and Janus watched him closely. They had been sitting together for a few hours. He and Logan had retold over and over again how they had met Green but nothing out of the ordinary had happened that day, except for Green’s arrival, of course. The day before was also quite unremarkable to the point of both Logan and Janus not having anything important to say about it.

“I am aware Virgil,” Logan said and scratched his eyebrow as he looked over to the window. It had the view to the inner courtyard, where the makeshift medic tents had been put up. “But there is nothing else I can tell you. We didn’t learn anything about his background from himself, so we have to reconstruct who he might be from the things we have seen ourselves.”

“Well, we know that he had a partner. Possibly, a husband.”

Janus, Logan and Roman stared at Virgil, who took the letter opener in his hands once more and fiddled with the blade.

“A husband?” Logan asked with a shivering voice.

Virgil glanced over to him and nodded.

“Yes. He mentioned him. No details but that one existed. I assumed he… He never mentioned this to you?”

Logan shook his head and stared down at his left hand. Did he imagine it or was there a band of lighter skin around his middle finger? He blinked and the image was gone, the skin just as brown as the rest of his hand.

A loud stomp almost shook Logan out of his chair and he looked over to Roman who stood with his back turned to them. His hands were balled into fists. For the first time Logan noticed how broad Roman’s shoulders were now that they were held with tension.

Dramatically, Roman turned around and glared at the others as he announced: “We know him! We know him and he obviously knows us! He knew how to calm me down, he knows exactly how to get on J’s nerves, he knows what all of Vee’s nods mean and he knows everything what you think Lo! And so do you! You just throw each other a look and it’s clear! You just know and it’s like it’s all we should need to know in order to figure out who he is but there is something preventing us to make the last connection and it’s driving me mad!”

“I can see that Roman,” Janus said and vaguely motioned against Roman’s hands, “but what are we supposed to do? We have nothing to go off and-”

“He knew where about the panic room. He brought me there. He knew it was safe. He knows the castle; he knew the courtyard but he was no servant. And we can’t remember it because of a curse.”

With that Janus stood up. His brows were furrowed deeply and his lips were pulled into a harsh snarl. Roman growled at the expression and pressed his hands against the side of his head while shaking it vehemently.

“You can’t deny this anymore! It has to be a cruse!”

“Don’t lightly talk about magic, which has been used to eradicate my ancestors. The only ones who would dare to use such powers would be the unnamed and she hasn’t been here since months before Green’s appearance!” Janus hissed.

Roman wasn’t affected by Janus’s anger. In the contrary, he seemed to get even more worked up and turned away towards the door.

“Come on Janus,” Roman said as he gripped the door handle, “this thing is affecting me. Which means it had to be her. No other magic is strong enough to do so.”

Roman pressed the handle down and left the room. Immediately Janus went after him and both Logan and Virgil followed rather confused about what the two had just talked about. They watched Janus getting next to Roman and how he opened his mouth to chide the prince but stopped. His expression changed and he silently kept walking next to Roman who steered towards the backroom in the servants’ wing.

Nobody said anything when Roman opened the door and entered. Nobody made a noise when Roman paced around the room for a few minutes. They just came inside and Virgil closed the door as he was the last one to enter and waited with the others for Roman to get a grip on himself again. He watched his partner walk in circles and eventually stop in front of the wall opposite of the door. He was staring at it and Virgil exchanged a worried look with Janus.

“Ro?” Virgil began cautiously and walked up to him. “I know you wanna solve this but there is nothing in this room. He has been inside here only once; we won’t find any clue here.”

Roman stepped closer towards the wall and put his hand on one of the stones.

“This wall opens.”

“What?”

Perplexed Virgil stepped back. Frantically Roman moved a chest to the side and again put his hand on the same stone as before and pushed down on it. A low creaking sound. The wall slid aside and opened a passage into a dark tunnel.

For a moment four men just stared inside. Then the prince went inwards unbothered by the dark, his eyes adjusting effortlessly and taking on a red colour. His ears were taking in every sound, he knew immediately that the light steps just behind him belonged to Janus, that the heftier but muted ones were Virgil’s and that the hasted loud ones were Logan’s at the end of the group.

“Roman, where are we going! We can’t see!”

Janus had grabbed his arm and Roman halted. He turned and looked down to his friend. In his head something was revolting. Revolting and trying to get his memories back but it wasn’t working right. Instead, he turned to the side and gripped a torch which had been placed in a torch holder. He didn’t question why he knew exactly where the holder was or why it was hanging rather low but just took it and rubbed the top of it against his palm, flame enlighten immediately. He held the torch up over his head for a moment and looked back to the others before he resumed in walking down the tunnel.

There were crossings and other walls which slid aside when Roman pressed them. Nothing of it seemed unfamiliar to him and he knew that that alone should have freaked him out. Yet it didn’t and he followed the way he somehow knew he had to go. In his focus and the others’ worry none of them noticed that on several stones sat little coal drawings. They didn’t notice that there were little signatures beneath them, one from Roman and another they would not have been able to read, not because the language or scripture was different, but because their brain would refuse to put the letters together to a word.

They walked down into a dead end with a wooden door in the middle. Roman opened it, stepped inside with no hesitation and set the torch into a torch holder to his left as if he had done so a million times before.

As if he had done so before? Roman shook his head. The others entered behind him but he just looked at the room. It was a square room, maybe ten feet long and wide, a worn-down couch was standing against the wall in front of him, a little shelf left to it, with books and pencils and coal sitting inside them. On the wall of the door, close to the torch, was an easel, a blank canvas sitting on it.

“I have been here,” Roman mumbled.

He hadn’t noticed how Janus had stepped to his side and flinched when he said: “I would hope so! Leading us through a tunnel system you didn’t know anything about wouldn’t be something I approve of. Also, when have you even found these tunnels? Why am I not aware of them?”

Roman didn’t respond. His eyes had deviated to the wall to the right and his breath was stuck in his throat. Silently, he walked towards it. Walked to the wall with a portrait hanging on it. With a family portrait. Oil pastels. Vibrant colours and strong gradients, which made the four people in it look like they would come alive any second now.

Janus inhaled sharply as he saw it. Virgil’s eyes went wide. Logan gasped and leaned against the wall.

In the portrait they saw a man with light brown skin, short brown locks, eerily green eyes, and a well-kept beard standing next to a woman with slightly darker skin, dark brown hair in a beautiful bun, brown eyes and in front of them two boys, looking identical with brown skin, dark curls and eerily green eyes. They all were wearing regal clothing, man and woman wearing each a crown which hadn’t been worn in over two decades at this point.

It was a portrait of King Aneas, Queen Rhea, the young Prince Roman and…

“It’s him,” Roman choked out.

Janus shook his head and pressed his hand against his forehead: “No - how – we – how did we never see the resemblance? It- it can’t be! It can’t. It can’t?”

Roman’s head was pulsating and he let himself fall back on the couch. Virgil was beside him immediately, holding his hand and trying to not think too much about what he was seeing right now. Janus kept staring at the picture, at the boy in front of Aneas, with the green tunic and the wide grin with so much more confidence than Roman’s.

And Logan pushed himself off the wall and slowly stepped towards the picture. He looked at the colours at the way they blended into each other and he recognized the technique. He saw the hand putting the colours down on the canvas in front of his inner eye. He saw the same hand holding coal and sketching him. He heard a voice telling him to sit naturally. Heard the voice asking him fondly teasing if he could draw a nude. And he heard himself say in a just as fond teasing way that he could if he could behave himself.

“He drew this. He used to draw me…” Logan whispered and he felt his memory slowly breaking free. “He draws things he sees in his nightmares and burns them. He moves so much in his sleep. He has almost threw me off the bed when we started sharing. He doesn’t like it when he has to sleep alone and he usually comes to check on me when I take a nap. He – he didn’t-”

Logan panted. The day before. The day before Green.

That day-

“He didn’t come check on me when I took a nap.”

***

 “And there you are.”

 ██mus froze. It had been a normal day. He had spent the morning with Logan and had a meeting over the alliance talks with Janus after that. Lunch had been calm and nice, Logan had excused himself soon after dinner to take a nap because he felt a little tired. ██mus had taken the time to get back in his room and relax for a while. He had just wanted to go and check on his husband but got caught up in the view over the gardens, the rose maze, his home.

 ██mus gulped and turned around. His grin was maniacal as he stared into the glowing green eyes of the Dragon Witch.

 “There I am!” ██mus cackled and looked her over with a wicked grin. “What has you come here to my humble chambers, Dragon Bitch?”

 The creature scowled at the name. She stood far taller than ██mus, her greyish skin, the black flames miming hair and the deep red coat underlining how foreign and out of place she was amongst humans. She was a creature of nightmares and the underworld, her name a testament to the creatures she has eradicated.

 “Don’t test me, child. You will pay for your arrogance!” she growled.

 ██mus grinned as sweat began to form on the back of his neck. It made no sense that she was here now. She was only allowed in the castle at certain times. Janus knew the schedule by heart and he would have been with ██mus at all time had one of her visits been close to come.

 “Oh, will I?” ██mus hummed and wracked his brain for the reason why she would be here.

 And the reason took his breath and smile. The creature saw his change and began to grin. She walked towards him, held her hand under his jaw and forced him to look up. He had to control himself to not snap for air.

 “Who was stupid enough to make a deal with you?”

 Her chuckle was wicked and her eyes glimmered with satisfaction.

 “Oh, look at that,” she hummed and let her thumb stroke over his cheek. “Your father’s desperation and your mother’s rage. I didn’t think I would ever see such a delicious last expression ever again.”

 ██mus’s heart stopped. He grappled her wrist and pressed it down from his face.

 “What did you just say?”

 “Last expression, my dear,” she answered unimpressed and pulled her hand out of his grip and began to pace through the room. “I was ordered to kill the last demon blood in this kingdom. I am here to get rid of your treacherous family once and for all.”

 “You killed our parents. You killed my father for making your powers ineffective everywhere but within our kingdom’s boarders.”

 ██mus was glaring at the Dragon Witch who simply raised an eyebrow.

 “Oh child, you should know we can’t do anything against our own kind without a deal. Someone sent me. And someone sent me again to kill you. The last demon blood-”

 Loud and hysteric cackling stopped her words. ██mus was overcome with grief. With disbelieve. His father who had decided to stop all the bloodshed his family had brought over these lands, his father who had never shed a single droplet of blood despite having hungered for it, his father who had been nothing but kind to his people and the other kingdoms had been assassinated for the blood he had been born with.

 But there was also relief. Relief in the fact that contracts with demons had to be followed closely and ██mus knew that she had made a grave error.

 “Already breaking down? I expected more of you, Thea,” she snapped at him.

 He regained his composure and tilted his head to the side. With a smirk he began to match her pacing, both of them walking in circles around each other.

 “Oh,” ██mus hummed, “I am not breaking down, dearest demon. I just think you might have made a deal you can’t fulfil here.”

 “Why would that be?”

 “Tell me what the contract is. Not the contractor, I know the rules.”

 She hissed but complied: “’I, the Dragon Witch, shall end the life of the King of Theana, the last demon blood in the lands. I shall do so as brutally and cruelly as I please.’ They were almost kind this time; They didn’t even tell me to go for your lousy husband.”

 ██mus almost snapped at the comment over Logan but kept his anger to himself and simply huffed with a grin.

 “Your deal is faulty. Because I may be King of Theana, but I am not the last demon blood.”

 “What?”

 ██mus eyes glowed at her rage and he said ever so pleased: “It’s my brother.”

     "̶̨̮̖̹̤̋̌͆̏̕̕W̶̘͓͋̿̽͜ĥ̸̠̤̬̮͇͖̻͓̓̅͛̇̄͒̂͘͜a̸͕͔̦̦̔̿̔́͑̃͌̚t̴̹̃͂̾̏̐̓̂͌!̴̳͖̬͙̝͕̈́̑͊͛͊̌͆̽̚?̴̨͍͕̥̦̪̣̔̐̈́̓́̐̚̚͜͠!̸̨̼͉̫̣̯̯͐"̴̗̬͈͚̞̼̙͓̑͜  

  The Dragon Witch screamed. ██mus jolted back, hands shooting up in front of him and eyes opened widely to see what she was going to do next. Angrily she threw her arms in the air, screeching and revolting under the revelation she just had and went straight forward for ██mus’s neck. He couldn’t do anything but choked as her fingers grappled him against the wall and she brought their faces close to each other.

 "̷̳̩̼͚̲̥͙̩̪͐̈́̃̒̌̆Y̵͍̟̣͙̹̠̝̱̰̆̌̅̍̽̄͒̔̕ͅo̷̧̠̺̔͐͒̆̈̓͝u̴̢̧͖͒̒̎̇̔̾ ̷̖̟̤̲̯͕́͆̒ͅs̸̡͈̦̲̞͕̖̙̤̎͊ͅp̴̬͛̐̎͒̌̕ǎ̴̪̘̼̘̲̗͍́n̵̡̺̪̲̬͂̈̀͒͌̽̕ ̶̫͙̗͍̯͉̍̄̉̓̊̋o̷̖͗̉̏̇ḟ̷̢͇͚͍̹̗̮͚̳̬͒̍͊̒͆̂ ̶̣̣̂͊̇̑̓͒̂t̵̫̩͓̪̥̞̠̥̩͊̋̀̉̿͌̉h̴̫̲̱͋̊̚a̵̙͍͔̥̼̮̹͖̞͑͝t̸͖̉̊̂̔̉̅̔̎̅̕ ̸̻̗̯̜͚̪̤̟͎̲͗́͂̄̕͝͝͠s̶̞͇̾̎t̶͕̥͌͋u̶̧̡͔̠̝̎͝͝p̸͖͋i̴̢̺̝̪͖̫͕̥͐̅ḑ̷̧̪̯̭̏̋̑̑̊̊̓̉̒ ̶̡̛̱̝͍̪̹͕̾̑̓̚͝w̸̧̜̮̰͔͕͕̄̏̑̄͝ò̷̪̩̳̈́̑̎̎̉͒̿̚m̶̧̳̳̫̺̈̈́̈̒a̸̫͓͈̗̦̱̥̽̽̎͛͝͝n̶͖͍͇̓͌̑̇͗̆̊̈́͂͠!̷̝͍͖͎̂ ̴̤̅Y̵̥̱̚ǫ̵̦̦̺͇̫̗̠͛̄̽́̏̉̄͐̍̌͜u̸͈̭̼̥͑̏̚ ̵̧̻̤̓͝ĉ̷͔̖͍̈́̎͆͜��̘r̷̂̏̂̂̄ͅe̷̢͍̰͇̱̪̻̎̃ͅa̴̡̨͙̟̤̲͆̎͊͘͜͝ͅṫ̴̢̡̼̠̦̞̝̘ḯ̴̢͙͕͑̐̓o̶͎̗̱̘̞̾̎̂̈́͒͝͠͝͠n̴̡̢̮̟͚̩̩̦̽͌̓͗͊͝ ̵̨̨̭͘o̷̠͙̮̮͍̹̯̪̿̋̇̔͌͛̆͆̚f̵̢̪̱͖̥̬͕͈̎̈́͌̆̍̚͝ ̶͕̼̇̀̾̿̔̓̔f̷̮̝̮̟̮̦̔̀̄̇̎͗͘͝͝ơ̵̤̈́͂͐̈́̇̂̔́̓o̴̧͙̥̩̮̓̎͂͊̋͒͘͜l̷͕̳̞͌̄̍̃ị̶̯̈́̆̽͠s̸͚̥̗̝͎̲̖̖̦̟͆̄̓̓̔͝h̴̫̼͑̀̈́͋ ̷̢̪͆͆̌́͋̕l̸̨̧̙͇̱̖͚̠͒͑͂̒̽̽̐o̷̞̽͌͆̊̿̔̽͝��͕̜̰͜v̵̞̳̜̝͎̅̇̌̾̓͘͜e̵͓̼̥̭̻̭̫͍͕̟̾̽͛͑̊̽̐͠!̸͔͈̘̪̟͓̮͒͂͛̃͆̽̔̏̈́̚ ̷̨̛̰͙̗̈́̄͝Y̶̫̝̩̰̼̬͚̣͌̏̇͐o̸̥͈̲̱͔͆̓̐̃͌̋̾̈͒̉ŭ̷̧̝̈́͐̊̐͘͠ ̸̩̦͚̰̼̖͝k̵̢͙͕̹̺̺͑̓̓͆ͅe̷̯̼͇̖̪̎̑͊͆͛͌̚͝ẻ̵̡̜̰̞͙͎͉͎͓͛̓̈̈́͆̚͠p̷̨̧͉͍͇̙͉̼̯̘̈́͗͋̔̈̂͒̆͠͝ ̴̼̘̏̏͆́̇͘̕͠m̸̨̲̱̻͖̮͇̝̃̉̈́̓͆̉͗̎̓͘e̴̮̗͚͎̬̻̳̋̓̾̀̒̀̍̿ ̴͍̲̙̬̪̮̺̮̈̍̿͜f̶̨͎̈́r̵̺̪͎̼̀̽̏̔o̶̭̼̟̼̻̥̓͐m̵̧̺̯̼̣̙̙̹̱͕̀̅ ̸̧̧͖͉̤͎͙͈̪̌́͌͂́̽̀̽ͅm̶̹̜̘͌̅y̴̡̰̘̣͇̳̯̦͊̌͐̓̿͂́̕͝͠ ̷̧̨̰̘̘͍̪̣̽̈̑̈́́ř̷̫͗̊̆ȅ̶̢̡͚̗͍͈̩̜͙́̽̒̒̽͌w̶̰͚̫̱̼͖̔͋̽̈́́̌͑ȧ̵̞̙̖̻̫͙̤͙̱̮͌ṙ̷̢͓̘̟͚̠̗̼͈̣̊̔̑͆d̸̥̫͙̂͑̈ ̴̧̛̼͓̹̠͔̳̇͂̉̅͌͘͜͜͜͝͠y̷̡̨̢̬̘̹̮̳̱͇͑̾à̶̡̙̝͂̎͊̔͒̀̃͝n̵̪͍̹̫̦͇̟̦̪̖̓̏̃̆͊̿͝d̷̺̘̯͔̱̬̫́̑͜ ̵̨̧͕̮̩̩̞̜̼͚̀̈́̇̂̿̈́͆͝͝y̴͕̜͈̙̆͜ơ̸̧͕̜̻̗͔̖̮̣̣̎͐̒͝u̸̡̼̖̰̇͌ ̴̢͎̘̳̗̈k̷̻̟̦͇͕͎̆̈́̈́̈́͆̕é̶͈͙̏̐̅e̴̢̪͖͇̻͔̥̻̼̓͘p̷̢̺͙̙̐͝ͅ ̸̡̲͎͕̜̳̘̩̙̄̅m̸̧̞̞͚̲͙̓̌̄͐e̷̲̪̜̤̗͕̍͂̉̈́̍̐͝͝ ̸̢̲͖̖̥͕̻̦͕̫̆f̷̧̙͉̭̲̮̗͙͒̇r̸̼͘ͅo̶͇̭̙̟̦͔͔̩͊̈͂̈́̀̓̓͝m̶͈̦͍̟̽͒̀͒͗͌̃͊̎ ̷̟̊̿̃͆͂͊͊m̷̻͕̠̺͓̟͒̎y̸̪͇͇̺̺̪͗̔ ̶̛͎̈́̓̋͂̊̓̕f̸̬̟̩̫͙̠̩̱͍̙͝r̸̳͇̩̱̘̝͓̲̘͂̓̾͊̌͛͑͜͝e̵̡̺̫̲̜͍̠̱̘̺͛̀͊͝͝e̴̪̦̠͙̱͕̗̋̍̄͑̇͝͠d̷̮͖̝̟̩̞̿͂̈̐̇̚ǒ̶̰̻̻̓̈͑̈́̒m̵̧̨͍̖̫̗͔̏ͅ!̵̨̖̲̎̓͗̅͒̚͠"̶̢͔̰̣͊̌͑̈́̆̐̈́͝ͅ

 ██mus yapped for air and she lessened her grip. He took a deep breath and grinned dangerously at her.

 “Shitty being an incompetent demon bitch, huh? Couldn’t be me-”

 She screamed right in his face, the breath smelling rotten and toxic as it hit his nostrils. A clicking sound got lost in the noise.

 “Oh, I will make you pay, wrenched thing, you,” she whispered sweetly and ██mus felt his stomach turn. “I will kill the king with demon blood. He’s not next in line now, but he will be if you don’t exist, won’t he?”

 “If you kill me-”

 “No.”

 Her voice was wicked and smooth. Sugar in a deadly dose.

 “I won’t kill you. I will erase your existence from their minds. I will make your precious advisor, your best friend, forget you. I will make your people, your most treasured people, forget you. I will make your brother, your last living blood, forget you. I will make your husband, the only one who you ever dared to ask for his love, forget you. And you will suffer seeing them, knowing them and not being able to say a single word about it. You will see your brother die as a king he never wanted to be. And it will be all your fault.”

 ██mus’s eyes were wide with horror. From the words he just heard, from the realization he just, but mostly from the look Logan shot him over the creature’s shoulder. And his terror grew as Logan shouted in white rage: “Let go of him!”

 She was faster as Logan charged forward. She lifted ██mus from the ground holding her fingers up to snap. Logan’s look changed. ██mus tried to reach his arm out for him but he was already too high up the ground.

 It dawned them that it was too late.

 “Logan!” ██mus cried.

 “RE-”

 Snap.

***

“REMUS!”

___

Link for AO3, Taglist, Masterlist, and next Chapters are in my first reblog!  

[artist-picasso]

Nude Woman in a Red Armchair, Pablo Picasso, 1932, Tate

date inscribed Purchased 1953 Size: support: 1299 x 972 mm frame: 1414 x 1081 x 83 mm Medium: Oil paint on canvas

http://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/picasso-nude-woman-in-a-red-armchair-n06205

[ifelllikeastar]

Nude Woman in a Red Armchair ~ 1934

Sava Šumanović (1896–1942)

[the-ackerman-clan]

It All Started With A Book... (RM Weekend Submission Part 2)

Author's Note:

Hiya everyone! Sorry for this really late continuation, but I was really busy these days I could only gather some time to write this morning. This isn't the end though! There will be a Part 3, and maybe another Part 4! Thank you for all your support along the way! Enjoy ^^

_____________________

(Second part)

It was two days after Mikasa successfully borrowed the book she had waited on for so long. She was curled on her favourite armchair in the living room of her, Eren and Armin’s shared apartment, enjoying a mug of rose tea while reading her long awaited book. Armin’s blue wool blanket was wrapped snugly around her, the usual red scarf she wears everywhere covering her neck and mouth. 

Suddenly, Eren appeared from his room, in a disheveled white button up shirt, trying to fix his tie. He scratched the back of his head, further messing with his brown hair. "Hey, Mikasa. Do you mind helping me with… this?"

Mikasa sighed, throwing the blanket and the book on the armchair and walked over to Eren with her arms crossed. Then, she put her hands around his neck to adjust his collar, pulling on the shirt to straighten it out. 

"You're a big baby, Eren." She joked, stepping back to admire her handiwork and was pleased with how hot he looked. "Where's Armin?"

"Oh, he's taking a shower. What about you? Aren't you going to change?"

Mikasa chuckled, leaning against the wall with a smirk. "I'm going to, and I'm sure I'll leave you all speechless."

Eren managed to fold up the sleeve of his shirt neatly with Mikasa's help, and looked at her as she said that. "You'd better. You're the only single one among us three, go find someone to date at Hange and Erwin's wedding."

She winked at him, walking into her own room and locked the door. Her own outfit was laid out on the bed, a knee length scarlet dress which showed the shoulders, with tiny crystals embedded in the dress. It was simple, but beautiful. Mikasa was planning to pair it with a pair of matching heels and a stylish red sling bag. 

First, she went to her vanity, pulling out the stool and sat down. She applied a thin layer of makeup, in natural, nude colours yet it completed her look. Then, she styled her shoulder hair into a low chignon, finishing it off with a red ribbon weaved in her hair. 

After wearing the dress and her heels, she looked in the mirror, smiling at her reflection. She had never dolled up for an occasion in a long time, and was happy to see herself in such a state. Maybe Eren and Armin would be shocked to see her as well. 

Not realising how long she stood there admiring her reflection, a knock on the door startled her. "Mikasa! Are you ready? Both of us are and we need to go pick Annie and Historia up!"

"Coming, Armin!" Mikasa yelled back, quickly grabbing her phone and a few of her necessities, stuffing them in her bag and rushed out with the other two. 

(At the wedding) 

"My dears, it's so good to see you here!" Hange squealed, hugging Mikasa tight. They took turns congratulating her, and the brown haired woman giggled happily. 

"Help yourselves to the food, I've found the best catering services in the area, so I'm sure the food will be good!" With that, she left to greet the other guests. 

At the sound of food, Armin and Eren perked up, immediately making their way over to the buffet with Annie and Historia in tow. Mikasa stood alone, staring off into the distance, a glass of champagne in her hand. She sipped it, shrugging at the taste and continued walking aimlessly in the hall filled with people. 

Social events weren't her thing, and as the only single one among her friends, Mikasa had no one to talk to. She sulkily, yet somehow managed to maintain her graceful composure, weaved through the crowd of guests in fine evening wear, holding the stem of her half empty glass in her right hand. She was prepared to be alone tonight anyways, not that it mattered much to her. 

Of course, her being alone had attracted a few stares from some men present in the ballroom, leaving Mikasa uneasy. She brushed it off, heading for the exit before sensing people following her from behind. 

Her pace quickened, sending her almost tripping in her heels. The people were getting closer, and who knows what they'd do to her, a defenseless woman. Even with her commendable self defense skills, it wasn't guaranteed to be enough. 'I should've stayed with Eren and Armin,' she thought, feeling chills down her spine. 

In her flurry to escape, Mikasa bumped into a figure on her way out, her champagne splashing onto the carpet to her left. Trembling, she shut her eyes tightly, preparing to defend herself before she felt a gentle hand on her wrist. "What's wrong?" A familiar male voice asked, and she opened her eyes. 

The man she met two days ago in the library stood before her in a striking dark blue suit, a cravat tied to his collar. He had a silver wrist watch strapped to the hand which held hers. She had to admit he looked incredibly handsome today, and that made her heart skip a beat. Stuttering, she told him. "I f-felt some people following me."

Levi's eyes widened in understanding, moving his hand and held hers firmly. "Don't worry, come with me."

He led her from the entrance to a set of tables arranged at the side of the room with lounges and invited her to sit. After Mikasa made herself comfortable, he sat beside her, glaring pointedly at a few men who tried to approach her. An attendant passed by, and Levi stopped him. He then turned to his side, looking at Mikasa. "What would you like?"

"Just orange juice would be enough for me. I had some champagne earlier."

Nodding, he asked for two glasses of orange juice and the attendant sped off. 

"Are you alright? You must've been scared. What were you doing alone anyways?"

Suddenly remembering this was the idiot that kept her waiting for her book for two whole months, Mikasa crossed her arms angrily, ignoring the questions he fired at her. "Why should I tell you? You let me wait on the book you borrowed, and it's overdue for two months."

"Look, you're still angry at that? If I tell you why I returned it late, would you stop being angry?" Levi sat straighter in his seat as he saw the attendant approaching, and accepted the two glasses filled with juice, pushing one towards her on the glass table. 

"Fine, if it's acceptable I'll reconsider."

"I had the book for a week, and I was considering to return it by the end of the week. One day ago, I had to travel to Chlorba for an emergency business trip, and I had to stay there for a whole two months until things were settled. When I came back, I immediately came to the library to return it. I didn't know you were waiting so long. I'm sorry." He cast his eyes down, fingers wrapped around the bottom of it. 

Mikasa's gaze softened after hearing the man's explanation, lowering her hands and turned to face him. "I was too forward as well, I didn't know you had an emergency come up. I'm sorry too."

With a small smile, Levi looked at the raven haired woman, eyes sweeping past her perfect features. To be honest, he hasn't seen someone as beautiful as she was. "My name is Levi, and I take it that you're Mikasa?" He asked gently, bringing the glass to his lips and sipped his juice. 

She nodded, a smile gracing her face. "Nice to meet you, Mr Levi. My name is Mikasa Ackerman."

When she said her last name, Levi choked, coughing while Mikasa grabbed the glass from his hand and patted his back. "Is everything alright sir?"

Once he was done coughing, Levi grabbed a serviette from a basket on the table, covering his mouth with it. "Just call me Levi. Also, you're an Ackerman?" 

[inhanf-archived]

4. photography/nudes

Squares/Prompts used:

@cmbingo​​ platonic soulmates

@cm-kinkbingo​​ dirty talk

#kinktober2020 photography/nudes

Warnings: Awkward discussions, discussions of nude photography, three-way relationship, alcohol consumption

Word count: 1470

AO3

The ping from Spencer’s cellphone dragged him away from the after-hours discussion the team had been having around a conference table in Bellingham’s PD headquarters. It was day four of a multiple missing person case and the team was making progress but they all knew it was likely to be another few days before they’d get back to the east coast. They’d taken the evening to order in and shake off the case a little, before hitting it anew in the morning.

Spencer glanced at the screen, frowned slightly and put it back in his satchel looking distinctly uncomfortable. He briefly caught JJs eyes across the room and shook his head almost imperceptibly. They knew each other well enough at this point that they could communicate vast amounts to each other almost silently and the blond profiler knew not to push him in front of other people. Pushing the last of the containers into the bin she straightened up and stretched. ‘Well, I for one am exhausted. Spence, you wanna head back to the hotel and watch something mindless on tv with me?’ Spencer nodded and packed away his own belongings, following his best friend out with a string of good nights to the remaining team and officers.

JJ climbed into the driver's seat of an SUV and pulled out into the light evening traffic. Their hotel was a 10-minute ride away. They had both done this dance so many times that when they were halfway there they both went to speak at the same time. This was perhaps even better than timing the conversation, Spencer laughed a little and seemed to relax into the passenger seat. Stopping at a red light JJ paused a moment and made her move. ‘How’s Y/N?’ He looked at her quizzically and she gave him her best ‘I know you, Spencer, now talk.’ look as she drove on with the light change.

‘She wants to talk. No not bad talk, we’re ok, really good in fact.’ He added hastily as surprise registered on his friends face. ‘You’re gonna need to give me a little more than that Spence.’ She prompted and he sighed and looked out the window. It was the slight flush of his neck that connected the dots for Jennifer. ‘Oh, she wants to *talk*.’ The crimson flush rose to his cheeks and JJ raised her eyebrows and grinned. She was no stranger to keeping the romance alive long distance and she admired you for pushing Spencer’s limits a little.

Pulling into the hotel parking lot she locked the doors to the SUV before he could bolt. ‘Look, Spence, I know this is awkward but I can help.’ Spencer made a strangled sound of anguish and was fiddling with the strap of his satchel and looking anywhere but at her. ‘JJ we don’t talk about this stuff, you’re my best friend!’. JJ took advantage of his refusal to meet her gaze and rolled her eyes. ‘You think women don’t discuss this stuff? C’mon Spence, I don’t need specifics. This shouldn’t be stressful, it should be fun.’ He acquiesced by slumping back against the door and facing her even if he couldn’t bring himself to look at her yet.

JJ took a breath. She felt the way Spencer looked, this was new territory for them both and it’s not like she had grown up in the most open family. Pennsylvanians weren’t known for their open-mindedness about anything sexual. She fixed her eyes on the light above the centre console and steeled herself to start. ‘So does she want texts, pictures, a phone call?’ Spencer seemed to be wrestling with his own awkwardness and it was a few moments before he quietly muttered ‘She’s sent me a few pictures. And we, wetalkinbedsometimes.’ He finished his confession in a rush and busied himself with examining a loose thread on his cardigan. ‘Ok, good. It’s not something totally new then.’ Spencer shook his head and finally managed to look JJ in the eyes. ‘Y/N is really good at this JJ and I’m just... this.’ He gestured to nowhere in particular but JJ knew what he meant. He had a hard time believing any woman would be attracted to him and considering how he’d been bullied and teased about it all his life she could understand why.

‘Spencer you’re an attractive man.’ He scoffed but JJ continued speaking anyway. ‘You are. And obviously Y/N thinks so.’ He seemed to accept this so she moved on to the next tactic.’ ‘So she wants you to send back something.’ It wasn’t a question, JJ really wasn’t ok with teaching him how to take a decent nude. Spencer nodded, obviously on the same wavelength. ‘So use your words, Spence. Or someone else’s words. Wasn’t James Joyce famous for writing explicit letters to his wife? If you’re not comfortable sending pictures then go that route.’ For someone as intelligent as Spencer Reid it always amazed Jennifer how naive he could be when it came to women. How he had gotten himself into a relationship with not one but two women she would never know.

JJ unlocked the doors and gave him her final bit of advice, the one she could only give if she could walk away and not have to look at him. ‘And if you really want to go the photography route just get Emily to help. She’s really good at that kind of thing.’ Leaving the car key on the seat JJ exited the black SUV without looking at her best friend and hightailed it to the elevators, squeezing into one that was technically full just to be sure she wasn’t still in the lobby when Spence came in. Exhaling as much as she could in the framed space and wondered why she hadn’t told him to go to Emily in the first place. Hindsight was a marvellous thing. All there was to it now was to raid the minibar for a strong drink and pray this didn’t come back to bite her somehow.

There obviously wasn’t anyone listening to her prayers that night and JJ arrived into her room to find Emily lounging on the spare bed grinning at her. JJ groaned, dropped her bag and disappeared into the bathroom to splash water on her face. She could hear the laughter in Emily’s voice before she even spoke. ‘I just got the strangest text from Spencer.’ JJ groaned again, pulling the hair tie off her ponytail and shaking her hair free. Emily had at least been kind enough to pour her a glass of white wine as she had been laughing and JJ took a large gulp before curling into the small armchair by the window.

‘What did he tell you?’ She enquired after another generous swig. ‘He mentioned he’d been speaking to you and you recommended my services.’ Both women dissolved into laughter now. ‘Does he think we’ JJ gestured between them. ‘No, I don’t think so. I think he’s filing this under inexplicable things women do together and not analysing it too closely.’ ‘Miracles do happen then.’ They both laughed softly and drank a little more. ‘Did you know Y/N was sending him nudes?’ Emily blushed a little and JJ raised her eyebrows. She could communicate with Spencer almost wordlessly but it was nothing compared to how she could read Emily. The two of them had this instant connection, and JJ knew almost all her tells. ‘You put her up to it!’ ‘Not exactly!’ Em had a hand up in front of her, she was involved for sure even if she wasn’t the mastermind.

JJ sat back in her chair, throwing her legs over the side and eyeballed her closest friend. ’We, Y/N and I, may have gone a little overboard with the camera a few weeks back. There was wine involved.’ ‘There always is.’ Emily snorted and took another drink before continuing. ‘She was still wearing lingerie when Spence came home. He was curious but she told him to be patient, he’d see what we’d done soon enough.’ Emily was blushing to her dark brown roots now and had to pour herself a second glass. JJ held her own out and they drank a little more in companionable silence.

‘Please please tell me you’re going to help him Em. I love Spence but I cannot have another conversation like that with him again.’ Emily chuckled and downed the last of her wine, gathering up her room key and phone. ‘Just wait till you have to talk to Henry and Michael about this stuff.’ JJ's horror-filled expression started her laughing again and she placed the half-empty wine bottle beside her friend, squeezed her shoulder supportively and went in search of her poor clueless boyfriend still chuckling at the whole situation.

[blog-artlover]

Pablo Picasso

Nude Woman in a Red Armchair

1932

A portrait of Marie Therese Walter.

[fortheloveoffanfic]

The Arrangement

John Wick x Reader (A/n- AU where John isn’t an assassin. Did i mention that there’s Angst in dom!John? I didn’t? Well, there is.)

Warning- SMUT/NSFW, Angst, dom/sub, oral sex, bondage, bodily fluids.

She didn’t know when it happened, or how, but at some point, he had become everything to her; the forefront of her thoughts, some sort of pseudo-king in her mind and the man that literally dominated her body. He was everything, Y/n didn’t think she’d ever feel that way about another, even if she knew it was wrong. John wasn’t interested in anything other than what they had, he had made it clear than his interests laid far from romantic affections.

Sex, that was what he wanted.

And Y/n? She was just a vessel.

They’d met just under a year ago, when John had represented her boss after he was put on trial for his ex-wife’s murder. To that day, Y/n still worked for that C.F.O at a bank in New York, and she didn’t have a clue on whether or not he actually killed his ex or not, but John, John was an excellent attorney and could probably make a serial killer look like an angel. Their exchange had started over the phone in the beginning; after being greeted by Y/n at the bank. After about a month, he’d started letting his assistant put her calls through when information needed to be relayed. Things only escalated from there on, and when the case was won, upon John’s last visit to the bank, he’d asked, or rather informed Y/n, that he’d be taking her to dinner. And in a private lounge at a hotel, he’d made his offer. She’d pondered on it, but after a few days of mulling over everything, Y/n’s attraction to him had surpassed reason and she’d called him, his cell that time, with the answer he’d been waiting for.

That evening, Y/n’s mouth was circled around the generous girth of John’s cock; plump lips staining his shaft red with the lipstick she’d applied just before her arrival. Kneeling between his spread legs, Y/n’s head bobbed eagerly, while one delicate hand worked what she couldn’t take in her mouth. “That’s it baby,” he managed through gritted teeth. Slouching further into the armchair, John’s hold on a fistful of her loose tresses tightening so much that it might have hurt in any other situation. Her other hand massaged his balls, just the way she knew he liked it; frequently switching between rolling her flattened palm and kneading gently, while her tongue occasionally swirled around his shaft. Y/n moaned quietly at the feeling of his bulging veins against her lips and arousal throbbed in her lace panties. Each time she came down, his swollen tip hit the back of her throat, threatening to go further on the occasion where John would eagerly buck his hips. The first time she’d taken John in her mouth, his length had made her gag before she could even take him fully and though months later, Y/n still hadn’t managed take him fully, she now reveled in the feeling, always eager to train herself for more.

“You’re so fucking sexy when you take my cock in that pretty little mouth,” he praised harshly, guiding her pace, his free hand roaming the back of her neck, brushing the collar that he’d put there upon her arrival. It’s purpose aside from the aesthetic was a simple one, so she’d remember her place, and who she belonged to. 

When John drew closer to his high, Y/n could feel it and just then, John yanked her head back harshly. On instinct, she sat back on her calves, the tips of her black stilettos barely scratching her back, “Not tonight,” John breathed, a few dark strands escaped from his usual neatness, falling over his face, his pupils still blown with lust, “Tonight, I want to cum right here,” John brushed a few messy locks away from Y/n’s features, his rough touch subsequently falling to her bare breasts. “Stand up,” he urged, following that up with instructions for her to go lay on the bed, face up. John then pushed out of the armchair where he formerly sat, providing Y/n with a tantalizing view of his nude glory; his was a body that she adored, loved, dare she say.

She didn’t

He was a little over twenty years her senior, but John was in peak shape, his firm biceps and barely defined torso was hardly a testament to how deep his endurance ran. It had surprised her at first, but now, it thrilled her beyond compare. Y/n watched as he went over to one of the drawers in his dark oak dresser, his broad tattooed back on display, the bold ink work standing out against his skin. She’d always wanted to ask what they meant, but Y/n didn’t think that John was the type that wanted to spend an hour explaining why he’d gotten them. Her eyes stayed on him, mesmerized as John shifted some things around in the drawer, eventually producing a familiar set of restraints along with a ball gag. “Sit up,” his instructions were usually like that, brief and gruff, John wasn’t a man of many words and praises like the one she had received earlier were most times infrequent. But still he meant them, he always did. Besides, Y/n didn’t need words to know that John appreciated her, it was in the respect he had for boundaries and how well he cared for her after their sessions were over, it was enough.

At least, it used to be.

Lately, Y/n had started to wish there could be more. She wanted to be more. More than a woman that was bound to him by a contract, more than his dirty little secret and his designated play thing. But she wouldn’t say it, being with him like that was better than losing him entirely. 

When Y/n sat up, John positioned himself behind her, gently pulling her wrists together- he was never rough unless it was during the act itself, restraining them behind her back with a pair of leather cuffs. Next, he fastened the strap of the gag to her face, and just before he moved the hard-plastic ball to her mouth, he asked, “Is this still okay?”

“Yes sir,” she nodded diligently.

“You won’t be able to use your safe word,” he explained firmly, “But you’ll have this instead,” from his nightstand, John got out a little blue ball. It was the kind people bought for small children or dogs, that made a squeaking noise when squeezed tight enough. Y/n was familiar with the contraption, they’d used it whenever John wanted her mouth…..otherwise occupied. “Do you understand?”

“Yes sir,” Y/n nodded again.

“Good,” he fit the little ball in one of her palms, “Try it out; squeeze it twice, that’s the signal I want you to use if you need me to stop,” much to John’s satisfaction, Y/n gave the ball a couple squeezes and it made it’s little childish noise. “Good girl,” he praised and Y/n thought it was a little out of turn when he kissed the crown of her head before fitting the gag between her lips and urging her to lay back. Without a moment to waste, he was re-positioned between her spread legs, peeling off her delicate, lace panties just before leaning over on either edge to secure them to hidden handles with another set of cuffs, those with longer chains. 

When Y/n was sprawled out before him, gagged with lust blown eyes, completely wanton and ready for his taking, John barely took a minute to admire his handy work before his hands were on her. His calloused fingers started at her restrained ankles, skimming up her legs. His fingers sent shocks of her spine when they brushed her inner thigh, not staying too long there as he splayed one large palm on her stomach while the other traveled further upwards to cup her left breast. Harshly, John groped and squeezed, smiling slyly when Y/n arched her back as he twirled her hardened nipple between his stocky fingers. 

Y/n’s sounds were muffled, but John enjoyed them nonetheless. He took her right breast in his other hand, playing with them as he shifted his gaze to between her thighs. Easily, he could see the sheen of slick arousal, her legs spread wide enough so he could have a salacious view of her clit too. 

Despite his longing for release, John wanted to savor the moment and test Y/n’s limits. Leaning forward on his knees, he gently blew on her drenched cunt. One hand still toyed with her breast while he momentarily gripped her thigh, opening her up even further, with the other. His lips descended on her cilt and he sucked on the bundle of nerves while moving slip two digits inside her folds. 

Y/n bucked her hips a bit and suddenly annoyed by her enthusiasm, John’s hand left her breast, pressing her down at the stomach, “None of that little one,” he warned, crawling up her body, until he was a hot breath away from her ear, John remained, “You’re my slut and you take what I give you, understand?” Y/n just whined for the loss of contact and John growled, “Do you understand?”

Meeting his dark gaze, Y/n didn’t let him ask a third time, nodded astutely, her ‘yes’ garbled by the ball gag. Wordlessly, John returned to his former task, that time running his flattened tongue running the length of her pussy lapping up her juices. His tongue invaded her core and it had Y/n aching for more, longing to grind on his face but knowing that some consequences weren’t worth it. Despite her gag, she tried to moan his name, desperate and already growing frustrated.

John’s lips found her bud again, alternating between sucking and flicking his tongue over the sensitive bundle of nerves as he re-introduced his fingers. Slowly, he pumped, slightly curling his digits in an expert, successful attempt to hit her G-spot. Y/n moaned around the plastic ball hampering her speech, saliva leaking out the side of her lips. She was so close, and they both knew it, Y/n could tell that the boil in her stomach was near the point of bubbling over and John could feel her walls starting to tighten around his fingers, but he wasn’t done with her yet. 

Again, much to Y/n’s dismay, John stopped his ministrations and when she whined, he chuckled, “You don’t get to cum that easily,” his voice was gravely and his beard was coated with the glisten of her silky, moist arousal. His feather light kisses started at Y/n’s public bone, trailing upwards and temporarily lingering on her stomach before he finally took one of her breasts in her mouth, teasing her sensitive nipple with his teeth. With one elbow sunken into the memory foam, supporting his weight, John palmed her pussy with his other hand, feeling Y/n’s wetness on his palm, occasionally rubbing her mound with his thumb. Y/n’s moans became more frequent and that time, when she arched her back, tossing her head to the side and shutting her eyes, John didn’t reprimand her.

The edging continued for longer than Y/n had registered, though, by the time John kissed his way up the valley of her breasts, only stopping to lick her neck erotically, Y/n was a frustrated mess, unchecked tears escaping her shut lids. She longed to say his name, but her last sensible cell told her it wasn’t welcome there, Y/n knew her place. 

“Open your eyes,” John urged, lining himself up with her longing entrance, “You know I like to see you,” his low, gravelly voice had Y/n’s eyes snapping opening, widening noticeably when John pushed into her, his cock stretching her familiarly. Drinking in the sight below, John let his hardness remain unmoving, nestled in Y/n’s wet haven for a minute. 

Rapt with desire, his gaze locked with hers as he conjured up a rough, almost selfish pace. One calloused grip held her steady at the hip, the other held up his weight, holding him high enough so he could enjoy the way her boobs bounced with each violent movement. She attempted to crook her legs at the knees, but her ankle cuffs vastly limited their movement. Y/n’s heels were buried in the sheets, but John couldn’t have cared less, his housekeeper could deal with that, hell, he could buy new ones.  

The sound of skin slapping skin; his balls assaulting her core joined the filthy symphony that was his throaty grunts intertwined with Y/n’s stifled yelps. John’s jaw was clenched and beads of exertion had started to build up on their skin despite the air conditioning. 

It hurt, but in the best ways possible. His member stretched Y/n wider than anyone else’s ever had and it was difficult for her to keep up with the aggressive rolling of his hips. Time spent with John was usually like that, it was how he got off; the control, his ability to bring pain and pleasure at once, and of course, being able to use her to his liking. 

As he drew closer to his climax, John growled, sliding his hand from Y/n’s side to firmly palm a swollen breast, his mouth descending on her neck, biting and sucking on her pulse point, reveling in her scent. “Cum for me,” he eventually ordered, “I want to feel your cunt squeeze my cock baby.”

Y/n’s head pressed into the black sea of silk, her hair fanned out around her as her eyes rolled back. Her toes curled as her body trembled in ecstasy, her walls clenching around John, stiffening his pace and she came around him, her warmth spilling out; coating her thighs and dripping onto his sheets. John rode out Y/n’s orgasm, half smiling triumphantly as her smaller body quaked; pleasure that he’d brought coursing through her veins, “That’s it,” he praised through gritted teeth. 

Before her body could settle, John pulled out, aiming his cock to the valley of her breasts as Y/n tried to prop herself on her joined elbows. He pumped his length vigorously to keep up momentum, using her juices as lubrication. Within seconds, he was coating her chest with generous spurts of hot, creamy cum. Y/n watched intently, enjoying the moment just as much as he was, loving the feeling of his product dribbling down from her nipples onto her stomach, trying to smile when stray drips caught her neck and face.

When they were finished, John undid the cuffs and gag, pulling on a pair of lounge pants before scooping Y/n’s tired body up his strong arms, holding her against his bare chest as he took her to his large, adjoining bathroom. He drew her a bath, helping Y/n wash herself with a gentle rubs from a loofah and the lather of a fragrant body wash, all from outside the of tub- he rarely got in with her, unless of course, he was in the mood. The after care process was a lengthy one, though John was a patient man, and Y/n liked being taken care of. After her bath, he helped her dry her hair and get dressed in an outfit he’d bought her a while back; a grey-blue, soft, cotton button up dress with capped sleeves and a ‘v’ shaped neckline. Her shoes and coat came next and it was late when John was finally walking Y/n down the stairs, to the front door of his Upper East Side townhouse, his hand stationed low on her back. He went through the motions of unlocking the wrought iron and glass double doors, “I’ll be meeting with a client for dinner on Friday night, you need to make yourself available.”

“Yes John,” outside of scenes, rules were slightly laxed; Y/n was still expected to respect and obey, but there was still room for her to look at him directly and use his first name, “When would you like me to be ready for?”

“Seven thirty,” John’s hand closed around the barn handle, “I want you to buy a new dress,” he explained sternly, signaling that it wasn’t up for debate, though, his orders typically weren’t, “Get something in mauve, I like how that looks on you. Just above your knees. Go to that place on Madison Avenue, the one I usually take you to.”

“Okay,” she nodded quaintly, waiting until he bid her goodnight before walking to her car, parked on the curb. Without as much as a smile, John watched as she got into her cool grey, hatchback Lexus Hybrid, the one he’d bought her, making sure she closed the door and got the engine started before shutting the front door.

 When John was out of sight, Y/n, threw her head back on the leather rest, tossed her bag to the passenger seat and gripped the wheel tightly, with all intentions of pulling off. Though, after a minute of just letting herself sink into her thoughts, her breath caught and Y/n began sobbing quietly. Lately, leaving was a part of their arrangement that she had started to hate; leaving meant that they weren’t really a couple, and though it was a fact she always knew, it had recently started to hurt. 

When did it happen? 

How did it happen?

Y/n didn’t have an answer, but she did know that somewhere along the line, John had stopped being just her ‘dom’, even if he didn't know it, and she had fallen in love with him. And the worst part was, he would never love her back.

*******

Tagging- @harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana 

[420themanbehindtheslaughter69]

18 (Part 1)

I love 18 by 5 Seconds of Summer soooo... (listen to that song if you want)

AND I AM NOT IN ANYWAY ROMANTICISING CHILD GROOMING.

Pairing: Jungkook x reader

au: pre-debut, Namjoon's sister, fem reader, pervy teenage boy Jungkook

genre: angst, lemon (?)

Warning: Reader is 20 (Korean age) in this and since it's pre-debut that means Koo is 15 (Korean age), DON'T READ IF YOUR SENSITIVE TO CHILD GROOMING AND UNDERAGE ALCOHOL CONSUMPTION.

This isn't really child grooming but it's okay

Namjoon and his younger sister, Y/n, live alone in a small apartment. They have been for a long time, and it's only because once Namjoon has to move into the new dorms, the place will be just Y/n's.

Namjoon decides to let the other members of his band sleepover, Y/n isn't opposed to this idea. The group of eight currently sits in the small living room, watching a movie.

Sitting on the floor is Taehyung, Namjoon, and Jimin, the two small armchairs holds Seokjin and Hoseok, on the small couch is Yoongi, Jungkook, and Y/n.

"Joon, get the bottle from the fridge, I'm thirsty." The girl demands and her brother stands up and walks to the mini-fridge. He pulls out a bottle of cheap Soju, making Y/n quietly clap her hands. Taehyung is quick to pause the movie as Namjoon asks if anyone wants any.

"Jimin, Taehyung, and I can't have any." The boy pouts and kindly declines his hyung's offer, which makes Taehyung pout as well.

"That's not fair, I want some." Taehyung and Jimin throw a mini joke fit as Namjoon pours them a glass.

"You sure you don't want any, Koo?" Y/n is now turned towards Jungkook. Her left hand is holding her wine glass and her right one is tracing the young boy's ear. His breath hitches as the older, more mature woman messes with his ear.

"I-I'll have a little bit." Jungkook takes a shaky breath as Namjoon hands him a glass. He holds onto the slender glass with his sweater paws and takes a small sip and nods, avoiding eye contact with the older girl staring at him with lustful eyes.

~~~

It's been about an hour and the group of eight finished at least two bottles. Everyone passed out, except for Y/n and Jungkook. Y/n is old enough to be able to handle a few glasses of cheap Soju, Jungkook on the other hand is so lightweight, he's laying on Y/n's bed wasted. Y/n lays down next to him and he looks over at her. His big doe eyes glistening as he looks at the woman he's absolutely in love with.

Ever since Namjoon introduced the other members to Y/n, Jungkook formed a puppy crush. He's just an innocent teenage boy and she's an older, mature, and kind woman. How could he not fall in love? He's young and easy to manipulate.

Jungkook turns on his side to be face to face with Y/n. "You're so cute, Koo."

"Th-Thank you, Y/n." The boy's face turns pink and he smiles as Y/n moves his fringe from his eyes.

"Hey, that's not how you talk to your elders." The girl scolds, stroking his cheek.

"I-I'm sorry, Noona." Jungkook looks down but quickly looks away after looking down Y/n's shirt.

"Let's play a game, my precious baby boy." Y/n sits up and the drunken boy does as well.

Jungkook is young and is easy to manipulate, and knowing this, Y/n uses this to her advantage. She knows that Jungkook loves her, it's way too obvious. Y/n is sex-deprived, and Jungkook is a loverboy. "Let's play 5 rounds of rock paper scissors, and every time one loses, they have to remove a piece of clothing. The person who has the most amount of clothing wins." Jungkook is quick to agree to the game and they immediately begin playing.

"Rock. Paper. Scissors!"

"Oh.. would you look at that. You chose scissors. That beats paper. Choose what item you want me to remove." Jungkook takes a second to think about it.

"Your shirt." He says quietly, looking away due to him blushing.

"Speak up, honey." The girl coos, sweeping his fringe from his eyes again.

"Y-You're shirt, Noona." He stutters, way too embarrassed to look Y/n in the eyes. She giggles and removes the oversized shirt, leaving her in a bra and pajama shorts. Y/n lifts Jungkook's face and his eyes travel down to her practically bare chest. "Noona... A-are you sure this is okay for us to do? I mean, you're an adult, and I'm still a kid-"

"Shh, baby boy. If you want to stop, I am more than happy to make you feel comfortable and happy. But it's okay because we love each other, right? You do love me, right, Koo?" Her eyes glisten in an almost manipulating way.

Truth be told, Y/n really did like Jungkook, but she was way more interested in satisfying her sexual cravings.

"Y-Yeah, I do love you Noona." Jungkook gives the older girl an innocent smile with his big soft doe eyes staring at her.

The two of them lean in, closing the space between them. Y/n slowly pushed the boy back onto the bed. Once he's flat on his back, she drapes her legs over his waist, making the boy blush and bite his lip anxiously.

Right before Jungkook reaches to hold onto Y/n's face, she grabs his wrist. "Oh shoot, we're still playing our game." She fake pouts and gets off of Jungkook, who's face is beat red. He sits himself up.

"Rock. Paper. Scissors!"

"Noona, w-what would you like me to remove?" The young boy chose rock, and Y/n chose paper, again.

"Take off your hoodie, Koo." And so he does. Luckily for him, he was wearing a shirt underneath his hoodie.

~~~

It's gotten to the point where Y/n is only wearing her lingerie and Jungkook is only shirtless. She stands up to stretch and as she does so, she turns around. Jungkook's eyes widen seeing what he is seeing.

Sitting on Y/n's left asscheek is a tattoo. The tattoo seems to be a naked woman's body, but with the alcohol and the dim lights, the poor boy can barely make out the shape. "You should probably get to bed, Koo. It's late, and as you said earlier, you are just a kid." The boy looks over at the time and sees that it is three in the morning.

"Y-Yeah you're right. By the way, wh-what is your tattoo?" Jungkook asks shyly, putting his shirt and hoodie back on.

"Ah, that is my favourite picture of myself. I personally think nude photos are a form of art, especially when they're drawn. It's beautiful I think. It shows self-confidence. It shows that I love my body just the way it is." Y/n sits down, after putting her clothes back on.

"That's beautiful." Jungkook stares at the girl in awe, feeling nothing but love towards her. Y/n nods, sitting up closer to the boy. She lays her head on his shoulder and holds his hand.

"Koo, I just wanted to let you know that this night is a one-time thing." It finally hit her. She finally realized what she did. This is gonna affect him forever she thinks painfully.

"W-what?" He looks away and looks at her with hurt eyes.

"Koo, I really do love you! Don't take it the wrong way, it's just you're a teenager. Maybe when you're eighteen we can actually advance our relationship."

Jungkook is waiting until he's 18...

~

[hedonisthierophant]

Unveiled eyes and bloodless lips -A skarsgard multiverse thing.

A universe of many Bills, a couple AHAs, and a few others.

@grandpa-sweaters You asked for fic with The Kid and instead I somehow came up with this monstrosity. I’m not sure if you’ve ever read my writing before but I’m sorry.

Dedicated to my literary soulmate @ill-skillsgard I hope you don’t hate it.

Warnings: Smut, mentions of pregnancy and childbirth, gore, spit kink, cuckoldry, degradation, injury, death.

   Unveiled eyes and bloodless lips

The witch had lost this game long before she even started playing, the final result such a foregone conclusion that it might be more accurate in fact to say she had lost before she had even been born. Forces much larger than her, to call them even titanic in scope would be an understatement, had been attending to the moves of the board since time immemorial. To say her fate such as it was had been decided back then is to grievously misstate the situation. Her exact destiny was fiercely contested on the board of play, it could’ve turned out completely differently, unfolding along anyone of the infinite myriad of paths of kismet. But her doom? That became inevitable she drew the attention of the game’s players. Naturally she remained unaware of the inescapable quality of her demise, she fought against it until the very last moment, her ferocious zeal, her skill and talent, all of it amounted to naught, For what hope does in an insect have against flood? Through no fault of her own, her perspective on this eons-long contest she had the misfortune of being prescribed to enter was…limited. In actuality the word “limited” doesn’t begin to convey the magnitude of her ignorance, imagine if you will placing your eye at a keyhole and attempting to catch a glimpse of a room darkened to pitch black. Some less astute souls might say that her involvement in the affair was rather like bringing a deaf person to the symphony but you dear reader know better, I should hope. Someone who cannot hear will have a different experience with music to be sure, but an experience they will have, the concepts on display remain within the realm of understanding. In our case a young woman became the toy of forces so far beyond her ken that she was to them as an amoeba might be to one of us beneath the prying lens of a microscope. As you may have surmised the tragedy that brings my voyeuristic audience to me unfolded slowly, spanning two lifetimes. Of course, this is only slow from the mortal point of view, to the beings that brought this about such a timeframe was less than the blink of an eye might be to us, for their machinations make glaciers seem to move with haste. Oh yes, they lack celerity but in exchange their actions carry the gravity of unquestionable certainty. However, I have indulged myself long enough. It is time that I recount, to the best of my ability the story which is brought you here today…whilst I remain able to do so.

           Her mother was possessed of a nearly singular lack of the talent that had been at the disposal to members of her family as far back as records would go. She did retain the gift of foresight. In the hands of anyone else this boon guaranteed an interesting life, if not necessarily a good one. The ability to see the future meant that so much of the world could be bent to your whim, fortunes raised, mistakes avoided, enemies destroyed before they even had the opportunity to transgress. For her mother though the only thing her visions brought was infinite sadness. She was many months pregnant you see. The result of an impetuous liaison with an excitable and impassioned thief several years who junior who quite literally stumbled into her lap, betrayed by his gangly limbs at a luxurious hotel bar he happened to be casing. He must have absconded with a waiter’s uniform for nothing about his outfit fit his exquisitely lanky form properly. Remembering the bowtie that hung limply and sideways from his collar still brings a smile to her face. The knave proclaimed she was the love of his life, his goddess and that he would devote his life to securing her happiness. It was quite a scene the tableau made certainly more…unconventional due to the fact that she was celebrating her first wedding anniversary at and sitting directly across from her husband at the time. Their marriage had been mostly a business arrangement, not entirely loveless but more cordial than intimate, but she thinks she could have grown to love him for the smirk that wound its way across his face after the blubbering young would be waiter realized his presence. She recalls watching the scene like a member of the audience at the theater, her face impassive, one brow raised. Her husband had a reputation for an incredibly violent temper, if you ever witnessed it though but she could never convince herself to entirely discredit the rumors. Both she and the scoundrel were frozen, he in fear, she in surprise. Her husband stood up, declare that their food had been awful and they were taking the waiter as recompense. Her husband, she couldn’t stand the pain that thinking his name brought even all these years later. He had made his fortune as proprietor of the “last heir to the great circuses of old, the man was a showman to his core and could have sold sin to the most pious of people. Sitting in the stands watching that man bewitch everyone around her, she certain she could’ve learned to love him had she been given more time with him. Her brother-in-law put a stop to any happy fantasies she might’ve entertained though, fratricide had a way of casting a pall over such things. Death took him from her, but that night he had been so very alive. He threw the reprobate onto their sumptuous marriage bed and ordered her in a voice that was equal parts chilling and gleeful to fuck him within an inch of his life. She did, hips canting madly as she struggled to match the thief’s exuberance for all he was worth, she was the only thing that grounded him as he shuddered through orgasm after improbable orgasm. His soulful eyes stared up at her as though she had hung the stars. After one particularly fierce climax she turned to look at her husband across the darkened room for all the while he had been orchestrating the performance as though being its sole audience member also burdened him with the role of conductor, she may have been having extraordinary sex but for all that the two of them were just  toys for her husband. He controlled them with such precision a note here,  a whisper there, advice for the two of them ghosting across the room. He was a master puppeteer, they may have lacked physical strings but that did not stop him. He ruled over them with the same exactness he employed with his beloved elephants, compelling them through routines to astound and amaze basking in the dazzled worship of the onlookers. That night though, he was taking full advantage of being the only onlooker. She still remembers the manic smile on his face and how his hair looked like flame in the moonlight spilling through the window as hysterical (euphoric) laughter echoed off the walls of their manor, as though her husband were the only one in on some wonderfully hilarious joke of cosmic proportions. Looking back on it, he may well have been. Following their final crescendo as her husband’s euphoria slowly waned into giggling, the criminal professed his love for her for the umpteenth time and begged her to come away with him to Florida, promising to dedicate the rest of his days to making her happy. His stirring gaze brimmed with imploring tears he unabashedly let fall from his eyes, his voice quavering beneath the immense wait of his need to keep her in his life. The scales she used to weigh her options were suddenly dashed as her husband took a great gasping breath, sprang up from his seated position in the sumptuous armchair he’d been occupying and began to flit around the room gathering things to him, mania rolling off him in waves. He’d hoisted the nude crook off her with little apparent effort despite being smaller than the rangy younger man. He spun him around and  slapped the sex drunk visitor’s bare ass as the man squawked in surprise and indignation, pale globes of flesh flushing an angry shade of red and leaving a print in the form of her husband’s hand at the sting. Her husband crouched for on his haunches for a moment to admire his impromptu work of art. She couldn’t see him but she could clearly picture his eyes growing wide with fascination as the mark took shape, his hands twitched with restrained desire, she could practically feel him warring with the impulse to throw him onto their marriage bed yet again, but this time for the purpose of sowing sharper and deeper blossoms of suffering across the entirety of the canvas that was the other man’s body. Disturbed smile still in place as he ground his teeth he muttered to himself in hushed tones. “No Jer, be a good boy. Almost done now, you can do it. Just gotta ape him. He straightened the conflict within him tucked away beneath the impeccable veneer of the consummate showman’s mask. “Would that I could have joined you crazy kids. I’d have loved to use all my fun little tricks on a tall glass of water like you. I’d have driven you crazy, stark raving mad really, shown you just how wild gingers can get, I’m talking showing you where the animals go.” He said with a grin that was only matched in lascivious by it’s lunacy and air of danger. She was certain the young man with the innocence and coordination of a newborn fawn would not have survived such an encounter He clapped the sex drunk young man on the back, sensually garbed him in a ludicrously expensive silken kimono, handed him a duffel bag of cash as though he had one standing by for just this occasion. That torn expression came over his face yet again, this time he surrendered to his urges. Quite suddenly he brought their lips together with the force of a devouring hunger, grinding his crotch against the other man’s leg. Judging by the surprised sound that issued from their visitor, her husband’s tongue had embarked on an enthusiastic exploration of the other man’s mouth. Then as suddenly as the whirlwind of passion had come, it stilled. He stepped back, a deranged smile lighting up his face. A single thin and determined cord of saliva still bound them together in remembrance of their embrace, her husband broke it with his middle finger, and then brought the digit to the other man’s lips. He sucked on it with a dazed expression for a moment before her husband withdrew with out warning. He clapped him on his back, said in perhaps the most jovial tone a cuckold has ever used with his competitor “I’ve always loved a good fireworks show.” and sent the befuddled young paramour on his way with a wink. The next day her husband left on “family business” to some crime on the east coast submerged seven layers deep in corruption and crime, this business ended in his demise. She remembers looking at him in the casket, smirk fixed in place as though even in death he had gotten the last laugh after all.

That had all been eight months ago exactly. Now here she was at a comfortable cruising altitude of 30,000 feet returning from a sojourn to the place where so many of her sisters had famously died along with innocents and hapless victims of circumstance. She buried her husband in the cesspool city and then communed with nature and the spirits of the sisters who came before her in Salem, now all that was left for her to do was return to her family’s modest estate in Canada and continue puzzling over the odd provision in her husband’s will for any child of hers regardless of whether that child was part of their union or not. The trouble began in earnest on that flight which should’ve been an entirely unremarkable trip from Salem to Halifax.  The first unusual occurrence was that her water broke and quite suddenly she was in the process of bringing a life into the world some 2000 stories off the ground suspended in what she’d always considered to be fragile contraptions held aloft by little more than a prayer. Her situation was odd and certainly less than ideal but not unheard of. The flight attendants rushed her to the back of the plane and by what many would like to think was a happy accident there were several members of an obstetrics team present aboard that very flight. The delivery was much more difficult than expected for the culmination of what had been by every reckoning a model pregnancy, with nary an over-enthusiastic kick. Whatever creature was inside of her head suddenly gained the claws of the most wicked of fairytale crones, and the weight of a giant every movement brought only piercing agony and precious little relief. Her screams echoed through the craft that was a dedication to mankind’s hubris as her pain intensified so too did an incredibly unforeseen bout of bad weather, the radar which just hours ago prior to takeoff had promised skies wonderful for flying was now proving itself to be a liar. It was as though passing above some insignificant little town in Maine that caused the storm spring up around them. Their vehicle was buffeted from every direction by winds and frost that were unseasonable even for harsh winter in upper North America. Around her people cursed and prayed, screamed and shouted as the pilots fought to deliver their charges to the ground in the same amount of pieces as they left it, rather than in so many more as was becoming increasingly likely. The town against all sense did have its own infinitesimally small airstrip, it wasn’t until many years later that she would begin to understand just how long ago the pieces had been set in play. As they began their harried descent people were struck by falling luggage and other debris that comes when you compress the lives of hundred people into the space of an aircraft and then turn it into a topsy-turvy. Some were killed, she even took a piece of glass to the jaw but any object that got within striking distance of the newborn child swaddled in a washcloth suddenly lost all momentum and dropped to the floor, this sort of power was most definitely beyond her she had no gift for telekinetics but she was simply too alarmed at the gravity of their situation as Earth’s own gravity began to make its power and its displeasure at having been flaunted known to the passengers. Someone with much more than was at her disposal was looking out for her daughter. And so, their airplane limped down from the sky thoroughly chastened by Zeus and his ilk for its trespass into their domain and Moira and her mother crashed into Castle Rock.

Moira and her mother had always been considered oddities by the town. Two outsiders literally cast out of the heavens and dropped into the midst of unwelcoming townsfolk. Her mother had made the best of the situation, for she had tried, made a very valiant attempt to leave this town but the moment that she crossed the boundaries she was wrapped in agony which would not abate until she took a step back into the town, this phenomenon persisted whether she tried by car or on foot and she refused to give air travel another attempt. She was no fool, she knew well that some incredible force was bent on keeping her and her daughter entrapped in this little nothing of a hamlet. She may not have had the gifts that her family had taken for granted but anyone could make rituals work with enough determination, she used her dead husband’s well to secure a small cottage on the outskirts of town for her daughter and set about turning it into a mystic fortress brimming with occult defenses. Oh the villagers looked at her askance when she went asking strange herbs or when rumors, true in this case, swirled about that she desecrated graves looking for bones or danced in the moonlight bared skin flashing as she circled her home and chanted in forgotten tongues. Castle Rock had a history with which is in their neighbor town of Salem’s Lot you see, they knew the signs even if many had forgotten precisely what they meant. When her mother realized she was potentially in the territory of other practitioners her theory became that a powerful coven existed here and they wanted her for as of yet unknown reasons, but the more she doubt the more it seemed that any true coven had long since died out or moved on to more fitting pastures. The occult in community the town consisted of one or two charlatans, and a few like herself with barely an iota of true power between them, capable of little more than the simplest cantrips, certainly not the massive feats of magic required to both down and trap her here. The first night she performed a ritual of crying beseeching a cracked bowl she’d stolen from the motel to connect her with her mother. Her family had always been a nest of vipers they were immune to their own poison but that did not stop the backstabbing that took place as soon as one was no longer able to defend oneself. Her mother made it clear imperious tones bringing out into the forest and stirring the leaves although in truth she was many miles away, that by allowing herself to be brought low and trapped in a backwater with even a lesser one of her families grimoires by unknown parties she had shamed the family and would be forgotten. They would not come to her aid. Cast out of the one coven she had known since birth she went about forming a tighter knit one as its replacement. She had asked the two charlatans out of town and gathered those with inklings of true power to her, she lacked her family’s innate command of the mystic arts, but her deficit had made her a master ritualist. And so she doled out their precious secrets to a few peasants in this town and made herself a new family. With helpers at her disposal she was able to enact more complex magic and had soon carved out a niche for herself and her followers as the area’s sole authority on matters of the arcane. People flocked to see her from all corners of the continent and a few from even further. She didn’t doubt that her mother, the rest of her family and their retainers were trying their best to end her life but as the years went by it occurred to her that whatever was keeping her here was also keeping her alive, the town seemed to repel anything more than passing outside influences and her family feared to enter its boundaries and become trapped themselves, better to let whatever invisible enemy had brought her there finish her off eventually. Their judgment proved correct.

Moira was an unusual soul, daughter of the town witch and perpetually mistrusted. Despite all that she had a sunny demeanor and those that matter couldn’t help but be charmed by her. For as long as she could remember her mother had forced her, even as a barely aware child to partake in odd rituals, from filling purple gossamer bags of strange herbs sends unknown objects and placing them in various spots throughout the house to keeping a bowl of water by the door and flicking a drop against the wood once it was shut to bathing in oils and strange concoctions by the light of the moon. She did all this because as she told Moira “Something was out to get them.” Moira always found it odd that her mother chose to say something as opposed to someone. Moira had always dreamed of being a doctor but her mother forbid her to leave town for any reason and although she could not explain why to herself even after all these years she’d never even thought of disobeying that particular rule. Her few friends in town and her mother concurred that she would’ve made a brilliant doctor but in a town like Castle Rock the closest she could manage was to be a nursing assistant at the local prison. Some days she bemoaned her life stuck in this little town, so small that it did not even merit a dot on most maps of the area. But she would gather up her natural cheer, take her sketchpad and pencil, sit in the park and draw on those days. Since Moira began drawing she’d been a prodigy, but even from earliest childhood when one has no attention span to speak of after she would dally with the subject and that she would return always to her first. A pair of haunting blue-green eyes, a slightly upturned nose, and your whispering pair of lips, cracked and dry, parched even to the drawings one got the impression that no words passed between them for a long time. The drawings of course worried her mother but try as she might she could puzzle out no theories as to their significance, the last time she’d tried describing ritual on the mysterious subject her bowl had been gripped by a powerful kinetic force shattered from the inside out embedding pieces of cheap ceramic into the wall around her and a few into her body as water that had been cool and tranquil moments earlier became scalding and improbably rose up to splash her in the face. It was then she decided that the drawings were out of her power.

Whenever she was outside of her house Moira always felt the faintest buzzing against her skull, the local doctor had considered it a prodromal symptom of a migraine, but the element never progressed beyond an irritating sound. Until the day she disobeyed one of her mother’s rules. She always looked forward to Fridays, it meant that she have the weekend to draw, but more importantly she would get to see Adrian. Adrian she suspected, that been an enigma from the moment he was born. A Scandinavian street rat with far too much charm and intelligence for his own good and somehow grifted his way across the Atlantic and ended up in her life riding a steed of criminal charges for allegedly attempting to traffic young women across the border. Adrian claimed he had been trying to rescue them and the promised jury of his “peers” such as it was appeared to have bought that story, but Adrian could sell water to a drowning man. Even Moira was unsure what the truth of the matter was. Still Adrian was a charmer, and incorrigible flirt and she had fun bantering with him, although when she asked about his plans his thoughts always turned to getting out and making enough money to support his little boy. About a month ago, Adrian had complained of awful whispering noises splitting his skull during the day while Moira was not on shift. She walked into his cell the later at the start of the graveyard shift and found him sitting as though he were a wounded lion whose legs had been caught in a trap, through his quick pained breaths he greeted her in a melodious accent that was related to but unlike Adrian’s own. She saw that his legs were twisted, broken and fractured at various intervals as though someone had taken a chisel up and down the length of bone within his limbs. No one at the prison could explain the origin of his injuries and beyond a cursory visit from the institution’s uncaring physician no one tried to. As long as word did not escape these walls no one cared, Moira had thought about telling but who was there to tell? How did one even begin to do that? She’d never even left this town once in her twenty-something years. He been an able-bodied, athletic young man at lights out, and had awoken as…

“A cripple! I am but a poor humble cripple and I throw myself on your mercy, my dear sweet Moria. How must I abase myself before you to obtain another of these wonderful puddings? I am willing to do quite a lot, to serve…no that’s not quite the right word, oh your language is so silly…Service! I am willing to service you in oh so many ways!” He said in his singsong voice, appearing quite proud of himself for hunting down his lexical quarry. He he had used the provided spoon merely  an implement to tear the thin film of plastic keeping him from his prize, flung it away and for lack of a better descriptor… began preforming cunnilingus on the pudding pouch in his hand, his performance was complete with moans and groans and little contented sighs. All the while never breaking eye contact with her, blue orbs burning into her own filled with indecent proposals. Unwilling to tolerate his antics anymore she snatched the offending pudding cup from his grasp, for the shadow of an instant she could have sworn a terrible look of feral rage had flashed across his countenance but it was gone before Moira could register whether or not it ever truly been there. “I am so terribly sorry dear Moira for my offense, it is just that in my day, we did not have such…culinary delights. He’d slowed to get the word “culinary” out properly but hadn’t stumbled and looked satisfied. In his day, that was the other thing, in the month since Adrian awoken the entire prison wailing about whispering in his cell, according to the doctors he developed a dis-associative identity. The young man that now occupied the cell which officially belonged to Adrian, called himself Ivar Lothbrok. He had been doing his best to convince Moira that he was the spirit of a long dead Viking who had for reasons unknown even to himself woken up in a body that was so similar to his own that it had frightened even him. The prison psychiatrist couldn’t have cared less about the situation in that cell, but to Moira it was quite the engaging mystery.

Today Moira decided to challenge him. “If you really aren’t Adrian, prove it if you’re not him then your innocent of the crimes that got him put in here and you should be angry, you should want out.” The smile that split the face in front of her should have been a warning. “I may be innocent of his petty crime dealing in flesh and weird…potions,” Moira decided to let the odd word choice go to spare his pride. “But I have killed and maimed, and lied,  and stolen, and coveted many times over. You’re correct though, I do want out of the cell but for the moment I’m right where I want to be.” Moira, ever quizzical couldn’t stop herself from asking “Why do you want to be here?” “Because here is where you are.” he said as if he were speaking to the dullest child in all the world. “I will indulge you however, I am not Adrian, Adrian had pure wholesome thoughts about you, he was going to be free, tell you that he wanted you to be his little boy’s mother, beg you to start a family and run away with him to whatever little speck of a town he found someone foolish enough to care for the child while he was here. He’d have trafficked poison and flesh slaves or slaughtered swine for the rest of his days for you. He used to touch himself here in the dark fantasize about reaching through the bars of the cage and touching your skin, used to dream of having pure loving sex with you on a blanket by fjords illuminated only by the stars and the moon, lest he seemed to greedy to want to see you in all your glory. He wanted to fill your cunt with his seed over any over until the two of you made a brother or sister for precious little Patrick. One big happy family.” He spat out the infant’s name like a curse most vile, and treated the world family as though it was unconscionable poison on his tongue. She took a breath intending to halt whatever sick game he was playing, but the moment she drew breath and opened her mouth his eyes blazed with danger. “Keep your tongue behind your teeth if you wish to keep it all wench!” He roared. “You asked for this, now you will listen. I am not Adrian because never in his wildest dreams would he have contemplated the fantasy of using your uniform to tie you down and spitting on your face over and over forcing you to swallow what you could, and what you couldn’t would slide down between those perfect breasts of yours and they would glisten as I played with them, sucked and bit until they were raw, then I would have kept spitting until your cunt was drenched from the inside out, I would have laid siege to it like it was my traitor brother’s last stronghold. Oh, the sounds and squeals I would have pulled from you. I would have lavished you with my tongue and fingers, bit and sucked and twisted and slapped and pulled and made you come over and over again until you understood what it is to be ravished by a god!” He broke off into a fit of chuckling then capped with a wistful sigh. “But alas all that is denied to me, and indeed you, for you belong to someone else, and as sweet as you would be, you are not worth the effort of challenging his claim.” He stated this with such nonchalance that it broke the terrible spell that she had been under and she fled the prison with eyes burning and tears streaming.

Ivar smiled as she fled, finally, finally. he was one step closer to being free of this accursed in-between place, he was getting home to his beloved Eira and their little girl. Or perhaps another sojourn through life with his healer who had the body of a tower. Or maybe he’d meet that lippy little puppy of an entitled young man in Pennsylvania again who secretly craved discipline. Whatever happened he would be home again, nothing would stop him.

In her haste, she entered her home, ran to her bedroom and threw herself down on the bed without observing her mother’s rules. Had she been paying more attention she would’ve noticed that the water in the bowl she was supposed to flick at the door suddenly evaporated and the gossamer bags filled with protective elements suddenly caught flame and turned to ash in moments. It was then that she heard his voice. “Please don’t cry. I’m here now, it’ll be alright.” His tone was nearly plaintive. She didn’t bother setting up she knew that the voice came from no place within her home. “I’ve been waiting…eternities for you Moria,” He whispered inside her skull. “Let me make you feel better.” There was a hand stroking her face. Her eyes shot open and she beheld a figure that was both present and absent, there was wait to him but light seemed to pass through him through him as though he was merely a projection. Even trapped in the in between as he was, he was gorgeous. Her angel. A completely bare towering figure with the chest and leg and back and ass seemingly having been sculpted from the highest quality marble by da Vinci himself, with cheekbones that could reduce adamantine diamonds to dust, with lustrous hair and sinfully plump and pillowy lips. His eyes, so soulful that she believed he had lived a thousand lifetimes, she realized she’d been drawing this face for as long as she could remember. To feel his touch was to experience euphoria. He kissed her and all her senses were expanded beyond human potential, she saw a kaleidoscope of colors behind her eyes, he smelled and tasted of every single enticing thing at once but instead of a riotous discord of scents and flavors, they were balanced in perfect harmony. His voice alone could reduce her bones to jelly in a way that would make Ivar fear she intended to stake a claim to his epithet. He worshiped her with his entire being, fingers and hands and tongue and colossal endowment yes, but in the midst of their lovemaking she was certain that their spirits were melding even more intensely than their bodies. He spat upon her face one and she felt as though she were being anointed in holy oil by a deity. He scored her flesh with his sharp straight teeth the color of shining bone, drew blood, and she was happy to give it. His enormous hand encircled her throat closed her airway and if she hadn’t already been experiencing what she thought might be Nirvana, the oxygen deprivation would’ve taken her there. After fucking her through more than 20 orgasms and claiming all her orifices for his own each first with the gentle fervor of a virginal lover at the end of an idyllic courtship and then with a harsh brutality as though fucking her two within an inch of her life was the only way he could properly express the hatred for her that filled his entire alien being. He finally unburdened himself of his seed deep inside her and sighed contentedly .

When she awoke after their tryst, he was seated in a chair opposite her bed dressed in a suit and other finery looking for all the world like a high-powered professional instead of some cosmic entity to take an interest in her. He then told her of the tragedy of Henry Deaver, how a Titanic battle with his wife over his infidelity with a young woman he had met at a business engagement led to him driving fueled by rage and sadness while rain pounded the car and obscured his vision, he’d crashed into the lake and been thrown into a myriad of alternate realities, “other heres and nows where the dominos fell in different patterns. His stories of lives spent with Charlotte, Oliver, Westly, as a professor, a soldier from West Virginia, a bounty hunter who fought for his life in a dystopia, the life he’d almost lived of a Viking, a philanderer with a beer-based pick-up strategy, a gangster, the searching for true love based on a scientific assessment ,they all brought tears to her eyes. He entreated her with every fiber of his being to free him from his cage and put an end to his cycle of loneliness, to save him and others trapped in this limbo. She swore to do it.

That was the day the matriarch without a clan descended on the prison, her chariot of choice, a limousine flanked by a motorcade of four SUVs each bearing the insignia of an elite private security firm denigrated the world over for unsavory activities, their detractors though couldn’t question their effectiveness. She and the battalion she paid for advanced through the prison like a storm, the guards normally employed were deferential and out of their depth. The only sounds echoing through the prison with a click of her heels and the thuds of the jackboots that accompanied her for she had brought silence to the prison with her mere presence. Moira had heard of her, the interim controller of a ludicrously wealthy and secretive biotech firm following the scandalous disappearance of her son and heir. Allegedly, the young man whom the newspapers referred to as the Brat Prince had somehow veered off the course of normally accepted philandering ways among the ultrarich and powerful and become involved with someone his mother deemed unacceptable. The matriarch had come because the vast network of informants that she plied with riches and sharp promises had imparted to her knowledge of a prisoner found here who almost matched her son’s description. The only thing he had left behind was a wheelchair covered in the blood of its owner, a crippled faggot whom he had dared to take for a lover. He would pay for his insolence, for the damage down to her reputation and company, she would break this mysterious prisoner and learn all that he knew, she swore it. When she reached his unusual cell a young woman in scrubs was fumbling with the keys, her son’s face taken on a different path through destiny than the one she knew stared back at her. He spoke to her in an antiquated dialect of that language from the Balkans she had left behind so many mortal lifetimes ago, she was not that frightened, trusting girl from Wallachia anymore, she nearly charged the cage to make him pay for daring to address her this way, but the meaning of his words stilled her. “Madame Olivia, I believe we can be of help to one another once this insect has served its purpose.” Moria broke the lock.

He nuzzled into her touch aching a contented sound as she ran her hands through his hair, it had been eons since he felt the touch of another, his eyelashes fluttered and tears swam in his eyes, he would allow himself this one indulgence. “Loyal Moria, you have played your part well and in appreciation I give you the greatest of gifts, the fulfillment of your destiny.” When he spoke it was with the voice of 100 different people at once both cacophonous and whisper quiet. She screamed as his lips brushed her forehead, for this feather-light touch broke everything inside of her all at once. She fell as her skin froze and burned all at once, her muscles liquefied and her bones turned to jelly, her ears, nose, and eyes ran with blood, then her eyes began to boil in their sockets fluids running down into her still shrieking mouth as her body contorted it this way and that trying desperately to contend with suffering that was beyond human comprehension.

The last thing she saw before death mercifully claimed her were a pair of unveiled eyes atop bloodless lips, her final sight was one she had been drawing her entire life.

As the wretch finally had the good sense to expire Olivia Godfrey watched as the death seemed to fill out the prisoner’s gaunt and wan features until she could almost confuse him for an older version of her son. He drew in a deep breath, stooped to kiss her hand and issued a request, eyes glittering with dark promise: “Take me to Derry.”

[thecleverdame]

Control and Release - 15

Series Masterlist

TEDTalk!Sam x Reader

Summary: With the rest of the staff caught in a snowstorm, you find yourself acting as a personal assistant to the notorious Sam Winchester.

Warnings: Dom/Sub, humiliation, embarrassment, sexual objectification,  mutual masturbation, spanking, cum play, fingering, anal play, orgasm control, nipple clamps, dub-con, breath play.

This chapter contains descriptions of bondage, public sex, genital piercing, ownership, whipping, the question of consent, a detailed non-consensual fantasy and anal sex.

Beta: @ilikaicalie

Words: 4.2k

Parts 16, 17, 18 & 19 are currently available on Patreon for a monthly pledge of $2.50. This includes early access to all my stories and Patreon exclusive content.  >> CLICK HERE <<

-

Most Friday nights you’re chauffeured directly to Sam’s house, but tonight you went home after work in preparation for the “dinner party”.

You can hardly believe you’re going to meet Nick Luster, forget going to his house. Sam is rich beyond your imagination but Nick’s fortune dwarfs Sam’s tenfold.

Sam sent an outfit. You were nervous when you opened the box but it turned out to be nothing more than a strapless black dress that hugs your hips and showcases your breasts. There were no undergarments in his little care package and the dress has its own boning for support, so you take that as a clear instruction. He wants this dress to be the only thing you’ve got on.

-

“You’re quiet,” Sam observes as the car winds up a steep, tree-lined two-lane road.

“I’m nervous,” you admit, looking at where his hand is gripping your thigh. “This is out of my comfort zone.”

“It’s not exactly my cup of tea either,” he shrugs, glancing at his watch. “But who knows, you might see some things that interest you. There’s a lot of activities we haven’t tried.”

You shift in the seat, staring out the window as the car rounds a corner, revealing a massive house set up in the hills. There are thousands of twinkling lights flanking the driveway as you pull up to the main entrance. Sam gets out, offering you a hand and then tucks it over his arm as you walk toward the house.

Just inside the door is a metal detector. Sam steps to the side and a security guard ushers him around, as you are instructed to walk through it. It appears he’s above all this, but you certainly are not. Sam watches you stoically as you walk through the detector and then a man steps forward to pat you down. Once you’ve proven you’re not carrying anything on you, Sam directs you to an ornate table manned by a beautiful blonde who smiles wide as you approach.

“Mr. Winchester, it’s so good to see you again. You’re all set but your guest will have to sign a non-disclosure.”

“Really?” You turn to Sam, nerves stirring in your stomach.

“It’s nothing.” He leans in, one hand at the small of your back. “It’s just to ensure you won’t speak about anything you see or hear inside.”

The blonde leans forward, sliding an iPad and a stylus across the table. “Please sign here. Mr. Winchester is correct. I’m sure he’s explained everything. It simply states that you will not disclose any details of the night, such as any high profile guests you might encounter.”

“This is nothing new,” you mumble, bending over the table.

“Would you like a ribbon for your guest, or will she entertain this evening? Perhaps something more exotic?” The woman asks Sam, showing him a display case with ribbons of every color of the rainbow.

“Red,” Sam responds without pause.

“Here you go. I hope the two of you have a wonderful evening.” She hands him a silky red ribbon and moves her attention to the next guest.

“What is that?” you inquire as he ushers you further down the hall.

“Turn around.” He spins his finger as you turn your back to him. Reaching in front of you he places the ribbon around your neck and you lift your hair out of the way for him to tie it in place. “The color of the ribbons signify what you’re here for. White means available for use by anyone, no need to ask first. Many women here have multiple colors. White and yellow ribbons are a person who’s available for anal sex. You’ll see the whole spectrum tonight.”

“And red?” You touch the ribbon that’s fixed like a collar around your throat.

He turns you around, adjusting your hair as his eyes dart up from your neck. “Red means owned and unavailable.”

“Thank God,” you breathe and he chuckles, slipping a hand behind your back. “You won’t leave me alone here, will you?”

“No,” he snorts, his hand sliding over your hip. “Not tonight.”

At the end of the hall are two doors, twice normal height. They swing open as you approach and you enter what appears to an enormous solarium. There are the same twinkling lights from outside hung from the beams. The walkways and walls are lined with exotic plants.

The architecture is breathtaking but you immediately focus on two things. The first is a statuesque woman with the body of a goddess. She’s stark naked with tiny sliver clamps on her nipples, holding a tray of champagne.

There are several dozen people milling around. Some of the women are dressed like you, but others are in lingerie. One woman is wearing an array of ribbons around her neck and is completely nude save for a thin collar and a chain that's held by an older, portly man.

“Holy shit,” you whisper, unconsciously moving closer to Sam. “This is like...something out of a book.”

“This is just the appetizer,” he sighs, walking the two of you to the other side of the room. “You’re going to see a lot of new things tonight.”

You stay close, following him into the next room. There’s a long dinner table set up, big enough for fifty guests and in the middle are nude women laid out as the guests sit drinking and talking as if there’s nothing going on.

“I’d like a drink.” You speak up, trying to cover your nerves. All he has to do is raise a hand and a woman appears to take your order. In record time you're holding a double shot of vodka.

The lighting is dim and the crowd is milling around but you glimpse a scene in the corner of the room. There’s a man seated in an armchair, he’s smoking a cigar, head tipped back while a naked woman on her knees is enthusiastically sucking his cock.

“What do you think?” Sam asks, sipping a glass of what you assume is club soda.

“I think I’m definitely not an exhibitionist. I mean, I guess I am to some degree, but not like that.” You drink your vodka, unable to look away from the blow job in progress. “Is that something you would want?”

“I have no interest in an audience,” he quips, looking around.

“Sam Winchester!” A jovial voice announces from behind you. Turning you find none other than the gregarious Nick Luster standing in a bright orange velvet suit. He opens his arms as if he expects Sam to embrace him and shakes his head, closing his eyes in dramatic flare.

“Nick,” Sam smiles, offering a hand and Nick takes it with a vigorous shake.

“It’s so good to see you, my old friend!” Nick pats Sam on the shoulder, his eyes falling to you. “And who do you have here? A plus one? What a novelty...”

“This is Y/N,” Sam’s arm curls around your waist, pulling you forward and into his side at the same time. “Y/N, meet Nick.”

“It’s very nice to meet you.” You bow your head awkwardly, somewhat star stuck.

“It’s my pleasure,” his eyes fall over your body, cocking his head to the side. “Red? How boring.” He rolls his eyes. “You bring us this luscious little creature but you’re not willing to share? Disappointing.”

“No,” Sam’s eyes narrow, his fingers digging into your hip bone. “She’s mine.”

This environment is all about dominance, a room full of powerful men and submissive women. Sam’s making it clear where he falls on the food chain.

“Well, at least we get to admire her from afar.” He examines you one more time before calling over a server and receiving a fresh cocktail. “Follow me. This is just the fluff, the good stuff is downstairs.”

Nick leads the way, stopping to greet his guests as he moves through the crowd. The man has mastered showmanship, you’ll give him that.

“Sam,” you whisper, watching Nick with interest. “Is he...gay?”

“No, just flamboyant.” Sam gulps down his drink, setting the empty glass on a table and grabs your wrist to pull you along behind him.

The two of you follow Nick through the growing crowd and down two flights of stairs into what you assume used to be a vast, underground wine cellar.

To your right, there’s a woman strapped to a table. Her arms and legs are each in restraints and she’s blindfolded with a ball gag in her mouth.  There’s a table beside her with all manner of toys laid out, dildos of varying sizes, clamps and whips. Multiple men surround her, groping her breasts and fingering her pussy.

“Did someone bring her here or is she part of Nick’s show?” you whisper unable to look away.

“It’s hard to say.” Sam watches for a moment, tilting his head before moving on.

The next sight you come upon is arguably the tamest thing you’ve seen all night. It’s a woman in lingerie sitting spread eagle in a chair. She has one hand inside her panties, touching herself as she moans and wiggles in pleasure.

A couple walks up beside you, the man is nothing special but the woman is gorgeous, tall and lithe, like something off a runway. You look at her neck, but she’s not wearing any ribbons.

“What about her?” Your interest is piqued. “She doesn’t have any colors.”

Sam leans down so that his lips brush at the shell of your ear and he speaks quietly. “That means anyone here is welcome to do anything they like to her. No limits.”

You shiver at the feel of his breath on your neck.

“What do no limits mean in a place like this?”

“I’m not sure you want to know,” Sam contends. “Things that would give you nightmares, I’m sure. Come on, let's keep moving.”

You walk on further coming to the next set up and gasp the moment you realize what you’re watching. There’s a woman bent over a sawhorse. Her arms around bound in front of her, her entire head is encased in some kind of mask. But what takes your breath away is the man whipping her without mercy. Her buttocks are striped with blood as he brings the leather down over her ass again and again. What’s most disturbing about the scene are her muffled screams from inside the hood.

“Can we move on please?” You turn your head away.

“Sure,” Sam doesn’t seem phased at all, that familiar arm around you, guiding you away.

You pass a woman who’s laid out on an examination table. Her feet are in stirrups and her hands in cuffs at her side. There’s a man with rubber gloves, pinching her nipple with what appears to be metal forceps as he holds up a long needle.

“Oh my God,” you breathe, watching in a combination of horror and fascination as the woman has her nipple pierced right before your eyes. She moans loudly, arms tugging at the restraints, hips squirming in place. It’s not a cry of pain, or rather not exclusively pain. There’s pleasure in this for her, you can tell by the way her body is writhing.

“She’s exquisite isn’t she?” Nick Luster is suddenly beside you, staring at the woman on the table, shaking his head in appreciation. “Watch this part.”

The man prepares her opposite nipple, clamping and then getting the needle ready. You watch, slinking into Sam’s side as her second nipple is pierced and she has what appears to be an orgasm at the same time. You’ve got an unobstructed view of her pussy as it tightens and contracts, her legs trying to close but the stirrups hold them in place.

You’re simultaneously uncomfortable, a little queasy, and slightly turned on all at the same time.

The man at the table moves between her legs bringing the forceps with him and you turn to look at Nick. “He’s going to…”

“Pierce her clit? Of course. It’s the cherry on top.” He grins, chuckling at your shocked expression. “Would you like to have a turn on the table? Pierre does great work, there are a half dozen women on the list for this evening but we can fit you in.”

“No,” you mutter, looking to Sam who’s watching the interaction between you and Nick with his trademark non-expression. “I don’t want to see this.”

“What a wholesome little thing she is.” Nick eyes you up and down as you feel Sam’s fingers close around your arm just above the elbow.

“Yes, she is. Please excuse us, Nick. We’ll be back in a while.”

“No worries,” he calls out with a shit eating grin. “Feel free to use anything you like!”

Sam pulls you down the far hallway that winds off, leaving the bustle of the party behind.  

“Was all that…” you pause, searching for what you truly want to ask. “Consensual?”

“Of course,” Sam quips. “You like to be spanked, others have more extreme limits.”

You think about this, and how unphased he seems by everything you just witnessed. Things you’re going to think about for weeks to come, images that are seared into your brain.

“Are those things you want to do to me?” you ask, concerned that perhaps Sam’s expectations are far beyond anything you imagined.

“No.” He stops at a shut door at the end of the hallway, opening and ushering you inside before closing and locking it. You're in a huge, ornate bathroom, big enough that there’s a sitting area with two chairs and coffee table. He turns to you, reaching down to pull your dress up over your hips, exposing your bare pussy. “Sit here.” He backs you up until your naked ass meets the cold marble of the counter. “Spread your legs.”

“But there are other things you want?” You dig deeper, watching as he wanders to the chair and takes a seat, his eyes locked on you. You follow up the question by hopping on the edge of the sink, lifting your knees to open your legs for him.

“I have no interest in inflicting pain on you if you’re not getting pleasure from it.” Sam clarifies, palming his cock through his pants. He’s hard, thick and bulging through his slacks.

“But it turned you on?” you ask, watching him watch you.

“Some of it,” he clarifies, unbuckling his belt, sliding down his zipper and taking his cock into his hand. “You liked it too.”

His eyes drop to your pussy and you touch yourself lightly in confirmation. It’s true, you’re wet. Blushing you bite your lower lip, watching him stroke himself.

“I think it’s the idea of those things that I like. I’d never want you to actually fuck me in front of someone else, or hurt me like that...but I enjoy the fantasy of it.”

“Touch yourself, rub your clit,” he instructs, lazily stroking his cock as if you aren’t in a bathroom at Nick Lusters house.

You do as he says, using your middle finger to gently stroke your own clit, wiggling from side to side and moaning softly. He was right, you are turned on, more than you care to admit.

“I could make you suck my cock in from of them,” Sam offers, his voice low with self-restraint. You look up, blinking as you stare him down. “I could march you back out there, tell you to get on your knees and choke on my dick. And you’d do it, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” you nod, mouth opening in a soft gasp at the thought of that kind of humiliation.

“Did you see anything out there you do want to try?” he asks, his gaze never leaving where your fingers are working between your shaking thighs.

“The restraints,” you admit, dipping a finger into your own slick. “The cuffs, I’d be okay with you tying me up like that. And the ball gag, you have one but we haven’t used it.”

“I’ll make both those things happen.” His eyes flick up for a moment, watching as your face twists in pleasure. “I want you to tell me one of your fantasies. Something you’re embarrassed by. A fantasy that you’ve never admitted to anyone.”

Despite the fact that you’re masturbating in front of him, the concept of admitting your deepest desire makes your whole body flush with shame. But the moment the command leaves his mouth you’re already sure of what you’ll share.

“There’s one thing I think about…” you shift, starting to become uncomfortable with the position.

“Come here,” Sam gives his cock a final tug, patting his knee.

You shudder, pulling your hand away from yourself and nearly stumbling across the room. When you try to crawl into his lap, he stops you. Two wide hands curl around your hips, turn you around and ease you backwards onto his lap.

“Up,” he grabs his cock as you lift yourself up, notching the head in your pussy. “Take it all.”

“Fuck,” you whimper, sinking down until he’s inside you to the root. Your legs are bent and he slides a hand under each knee, forcing your legs to fall lax on either side of his. There’s no leverage like this, all your weight is keeping you impaled on his cock. One of his hands curls around your chest, urging you to lean back until your head is resting on his left shoulder, his jaw against your temple.

“Just like this,” he murmurs, one hand sliding inside your dress to grab your breast, the other sliding over your belly as he starts to make soft, slow circles around your clit.

“Shit, Sam,” you wriggle, feeling the head of his cock right on the edge of too deep.

“Now, tell me about your fantasy.”

Fuck. You take a breath, trying to think while you’re stuffed full of dick and he’s methodically rubbing your bud.

“I imagine that I’ve done something that makes you mad,” you start, your entire face burning hot, thankful he can’t see it. “You’re so angry and you grab me hard enough that it hurts. We’re in the living room, or the kitchen when it starts, and you grab my hair and walk me down the hall to the bedroom with my arms pinned behind my back.”

“How hard am I pulling your hair?” he asks, his jaw moving against the side of your face as he speaks.  

“Hard, it excruciating.” You nod. Sam begins to slide two fingers along either side of your clit, pressing slowly together and you whimper, tightening around his cock.

“Continue.”

“When we get to the bedroom you force me onto the ground and tear my clothes off.”

“Are you scared?”

“Yes, I’m scared because you’re so rough but I’m turned on by it too. It’s making me wet and I’m ashamed that you’re going to find out..”

“Keep going,” he urges, dipping his fingers into the slick of your cunt and going back to stroking your clit with the long, even press of his fingers.

“You force me onto my belly. At one point I try to fight you, but I can’t because you’re too strong. Then you spank me. It’s brutal, harder than you ever have before and I’m crying it hurts so bad. But then you check my pussy and find out I’m really wet. That makes you even more upset.”

“Why?” he inquires gently, his unassuming tone the polar opposite of the fantasy you’re describing to him.

“Because you tell me that I deserve to punished and I’m not supposed to enjoy my punishment. You call me names, a whore, a slut. And then…” You stop, moaning loudly as he grazes directly over your clit. “Then you make me ask you to fuck me up the ass.”

“Do I?”

“Yes. It’s painful. You make me take your cock so deep. I beg you to stop, but you won’t, because I need to learn my lesson.”

“When you’re begging me to stop, do you really want me to?” he whispers, gently pinching your clit.

“No,” you pant, feeling the stretch of his cock in your pussy. “I like it when it hurts. I enjoy it even though I don’t want to. When you cum in ass, I cum too. I try to stop it but I can’t.”

“What happens then?” he inquires, squeezing your breast with his free hand.

“Nothing, that’s when I cum in the fantasy and it’s over.”

He chuckles, shifting under and inside you, making you rock forward.

“Sam,” you start, breathing picking up as his finger moves faster over your clit. “You know that I don’t-”

“Do I understand that you don’t really want me to hurt you or fuck you without your consent? Of course. That’s why it’s a fantasy,” he explains, turning his head to nip at your jaw. “You have to enjoy it, for me to enjoy it. It’s why you’re perfect for our arrangement. We have the same preferences and the same limits.”

“God,” you squirm, feeling the heat of his body behind you. His cock feels unfathomably thick tonight and he’s working your slit faster now, his touch growing insistent. “You’re gonna make me cum like this.”

“No, you���re not,” he corrects you, his fingers still moving causing you delicious torture. “What’s the rule for this weekend?”

You whimper, your fingers curling into the arms of the chair. “I can’t have an orgasm unless I have your cum in my mouth.”

“And do you have my cum in your mouth?”

“No,” you confirm, clit throbbing with each heartbeat.

“That’s right,” he scolds, pulling his hand away right before giving your pussy a nasty slap that makes you yelp. “And right now I want to cum in this warm, tight little pussy. Doesn’t look like you’re cumming any time soon. Get up. I’m going to fuck you.”

He practically lifts you off his dick. You stand up on shaky legs, feeling him behind you. He bends you forward until your palms meet the coffee table. He slaps your thighs apart, widening your stance, then slides his cock back into your pussy and fucks you fast and hard.

“Oh my god,” you moan, biting your lip to keep from screaming. At least you can’t cum like this. While it feels amazing there’s nothing touching your clit and the angle isn’t right for your own pleasure, so you enjoy the sensation of him taking you for what it is.

It's only a few minutes before he speeds up to a fever pitch. There’s the wet sound of your pussy taking his cock and the smack of his hips meeting your ass. His breath goes choppy, he thrusts harder and faster and then he cums with a long, low grunt. Your hips hurt where his fingers dig into flesh, holding on for dear life as he spills inside you, spurting thick until he’s finally satisfied.

“Fuck,” he heaves, both hands grabbing your butt cheeks. “Shit, that was good.” He slowly pulls out, standing back to get a good look at you before removing his hands. You start to stand up, but he places a hand on your lower back to keep you in place. “Don’t move. You’re a mess.”

Bent over the coffee table with his load running your thighs, you watch as he moves to the sink to get a towel and wipe his cock off. Then he rinses it out, and coming back to you, moves behind you to clean your thighs and aching sex. Once you’re clean he reaches back between your legs, thumb pressing lightly over your clit several times before he’s done.

“Stand up.” His hand curls around your bicep, helping you into a standing position. Then he crouches down to pull your dress back into place. When he stands up he gets one look at your face and chuckles, walking you to the mirror.

You look like you’ve been fucked six ways from Sunday. Your hair is a mess, eyes watering and lips swollen from biting into them. You’re sweating, cheeks flushed and still breathing fast.

There’s no mistaking what’s just happened to you. Everyone will know.

“I guess this is the one place we don’t have to worry about someone knowing I fucked you in the bathroom.” He grins, standing tall behind you, admiring his handiwork. “How do you feel?”

“Horny,” you admit, pressing your lips together as you turn to face him. “Are you sure you don’t want a blow job? Because I’d really like an orgasm.”

He laughs out loud, a genuine smile overtaking his face.

“You’re going to have to wait.” Reaching out he places a hand on your shoulder, pulling you closer. “There’s still more of the party and I haven’t decided when I’m going to end your misery.”

“Well, that’s comforting,” you snort, grinning despite the fact your entire body is vibrating.

He tucks a lock of hair behind your ear, finding your eyes with his. “Come on, let’s get you another drink and find Nick before he comes looking for us.”

-

Parts 16, 17, 18 & 19 are currently available on Patreon for a monthly pledge of $2.50. This includes early access to all my stories and Patreon exclusive content.  >> CLICK HERE <<

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Original Oddities. #original-oddities #1932 #Nude Woman in a Red Armchair #Pablo Picasso #classic