#wants to read about an eager to please submissive!soap

[hiding-in-my-blanket-fort]

Following Orders

(Soap x domme civvy F!Reader)

When the conversation between you and your best friend, Johnny, takes a turn into heated territory, he can't hide his physical reaction. You decide to help him out and offer a little relief, as long as he follows orders.

Minors DNI. 18+ only.

Word count: 3.4k

Content warnings: JOI, friends to lovers, dry humping, discussions of sex, protected PiV

Or read on Ao3

"Don't even think about it," you said, slashing at the air with your chopsticks. 

With your back against your couch, seated on the floor, you were closer to the array of food spread across the coffee table of your apartment. But your position came at a cost.

Johnny huffed a laugh at your empty threat. Since he was on the couch behind you, he easily reached over your shoulder, snatching a piece of food from your takeout container.

"Asshole," you muttered.

"Admit it, hen. You love me."

You narrowed your eyes and pointed your chopsticks at him.

"Pushing your luck, buddy."

He chuckled and swapped his takeout container for a different one. After shoving a bite of food into his mouth that was too big, he spoke around it.

“Speaking of which, when are you finally gonna bring ‘round that boyfriend of yours? Need to give him a talk, you know. Man to man.”

You rolled your eyes. “I told you, Johnny. There is no boyfriend. And even if there was one, I’m not introducing him just so you can scare him off.”

Johnny spread his hands. “I wouldn’t scare him off!”

You shot him a fond look of annoyance.

“That’s what you did with the last one.”

He lifted one shoulder in a half shrug.

“It’s not my fault the little shite pissed his pants over a friendly discussion involving C4.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing because you knew that would only egg him on even more. The corner of Johnny’s mouth quirked up because he saw right through you anyway.

“I could set you up,” he offered.

“Not in a million years.”

Johnny raised an eyebrow in amusement.

“Chicken.”

You stuck your tongue out at him.

“Sticks and stones, Johnny.”

He snorted and offered his takeout toward you, giving it a shake.

“Trade.”

You swapped containers. When you started digging into it, you sighed.

“I think I’m just too damn difficult to please.”

“Obviously,” Johnny replied dryly. “I figured that out a long time ago.”

You grabbed a pillow and chucked it at his head. He laughed and caught it smoothly without spilling his food. Then he set it on the couch beside him.

“Easy with the friendly fire. No need to get violent.”

“Says Mr. Sexy Soldier who has no problem taking someone home. You get along with everyone.”

“Come on now, that’s not true,” Johnny protested, his tone turning serious. “I’ve had my moments. What’s the hang up, anyway? Are these guys you’re dating not…reciprocatin’?”

You chewed the inside of your cheek, deliberating on just how much to divulge. While you and Johnny weren’t shy about conversations regarding sex, you didn’t want him to tease you about your most intimate desires either.

“No, it’s just…” You trailed off and dropped your gaze. “I have certain preferences. They don’t always align with what most guys consider to be standard sex.”

There was a pause. Johnny nodded.

Then…

“You’re into feet, aren’t you?”

You lobbed another pillow at him.

“No! God, you’re such a fucking child.”

He batted it aside, laughing.

“You were bein’ vague! What was I supposed to think?”

“Not that!”

Johnny raised his eyebrows and rolled his wrist in a go on gesture.

“Details, bonnie. I need details.”

“No, you really don’t.”

“When did you get to be so god awful bashful?”

You made a noise of distress, wishing you hadn’t brought up this topic of conversation. Using your elbow on the couch cushion, you leveraged yourself up and moved to the armchair - as far away from Johnny as you could get. You pulled your feet up to your chest and poked at your food.

“It’s just - I like to be in charge, okay?"

A beat of silence settled over the room. Johnny tilted his head as he considered this piece of information.

“That tracks,” he said at last. “You’ve always been mean to me. That’s how I knew you liked me.”

“I have not,” you countered, indignant.

He held up his forefinger and thumb with a squint to indicate a little bit.

“It isn’t about being mean,” I insisted. “I’m not interested in being submissive, that’s all. It makes me feel…”

You trailed off, suddenly realizing just how much you’d said. Johnny didn’t appear to be judging you though. And he wasn’t cracking any jokes at your expense either. In fact, he was suspiciously quiet and attentive.

“Makes you feel…what?” he prompted.

You sighed. “Powerless. But when I have a man handcuffed to the bed, hanging on every word out of my mouth, it’s…it’s intoxicating. It’s the greatest feeling in the world. I love watching how eager he is, quick to follow orders, hungry to obey. I love seeing how hard and desperate he gets, especially when he can’t do a damn thing about it until I decide to have mercy on him and give him the release he craves. That’s what I’m looking for. But the guys I’ve dated…they’re not into it at all.”

When you finished, Johnny had this glazed expression in his eyes. He cleared his throat, blinking a few times. Then he tugged the pillow beside him over his lap.

“That’s–uh–that’s good. Sounds like you know what you want, hen.”

His voice seemed…off. Too rough and scratchy.

“Did I say something wrong?” you asked.

Johnny shook his head vigorously. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“Nope. Not at all.”

As a brief silence settled over the room, Johnny shifted on the couch. You could have sworn the muscles in his biceps flexed a little more than necessary, straining at his T-shirt sleeve when he pressed his elbow into the pillow on his lap.

That’s when it clicked in your brain. And a giddy little thrill zipped up your spine.

“Johnny.”

He raised his eyebrows, overly focused at prodding into his takeout container, even though he hadn’t eaten a bite in several seconds.

“Yeah?”

“What’s with the pillow?” you asked.

He glanced up. “What about it?”

“Why is it on your lap?”

He shrugged. “No–no reason. It’s just…there.”

Oh, you were like a missile locked onto your target now.

“Did I…fluster you?” you asked, lowering your voice.

Johnny growled. “Damn it, woman. Can’t you see when a man is fighting for his life out here?”

You laughed and eagerly pushed your food aside, fixing all your attention on him.

“I can’t believe this. Did you really just pop a boner because of what I was talking about?”

He tipped his head back with a groan.

“Fine! Fine, god, yes. Is that what you wanted to hear? Are you happy now? You devilish little minx. Fuckin’ hell.”

You were smiling so big that your cheeks hurt. You adjusted in your seat until you were kneeling on your chair, elbows propped on the armrest, studying the delicious strain in Johnny’s posture as he grappled for control.

“Johnny MacTavish,” you said. “I had no idea you would be into that.”

“Yeah, well…I guess I am. It’s hot, okay?”

You smirked.

“Stop smiling,” he said with a strangled laugh.

You snickered and pushed out of your seat, taking a position on the opposite end of the couch from Johnny.

“So, you like to be bossed around, huh?”

“Jesus,” he muttered, pressing himself deeper into the couch. 

When he pushed his knees wider, the pillow bucked upward. You tried–and failed miserably–to not think about the thrust of his hips. Why did that make the back of your neck prickle and your stomach get all tangled up in knots?

You bit your lower lip, debating whether you should continue or pull back. Even though you and Johnny were never shy about your conversations, this was clearly flirting with a sexual line that could muddy the waters between you.

Johnny’s gaze flicked to you, uncertain.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked.

You shrugged. “Like what?”

“Like I’m fresh meat and you’re a hungry wolf.”

You grinned. “Do you want me to change the subject?”

Johnny hedged. That was all the answer you needed. 

“I could help with your…little problem,” you added.

He blew out a shaky breath and turned his head away, his voice pitched so low that you almost missed it.

“You know damn well it’s not little, hen.”

Bracing an arm across the back of the couch, you leaned closer. Then you reached out and pinched a corner of the pillow between two fingers with a playful tug.

“Let me see,” you said softly.

Johnny clutched the pillow with a white-knuckled grip.

“No way.”

“Pretty please?” you teased.

Johnny didn’t budge, didn’t breathe a word. For once, he was uncharacteristically silent. You sidled closer and brushed a butterfly kiss to his cheek.

Slowly, Johnny turned to look at you. As soon as you met his gaze, your breath hitched in your chest. His ice-blue eyes were nearly completely black with arousal. In the back of your mind, you thought, we can’t do this. What if it ruins our friendship?

Then Johnny moved his hand away from the pillow without breaking eye contact.

You pulled it aside.

For a split second, you held Johnny’s gaze. Then you glanced down at his lap.

His jeans were stretched tight, the prominent ridge of his bulge showing just how much your words had affected him. Propping your elbow on the back of the couch, you rested your hand on your fist.

“Is this…too weird?”

Johnny adjusted in his seat, tugging at the front of his jeans.

“To be honest, bonnie, I don’t really give a shit right now. Do you…do you want to stop?”

You shook your head. A small smile flickered at the corner of his mouth.

“Good.”

A shiver of anticipation rose in your chest and you traced a fingertip down Johnny’s bicep.

“Unzip for me.”

Holding your gaze, Johnny’s shoulders and forearms flexed as he unbuckled his belt and unzipped his fly. The tip of his cock was barely visible, protruding from the waistband of his jeans. But when he started to pull it out, you clucked your tongue.

“Hold up. Did I tell you to touch yourself?”

Johnny bit back a groan. A muscle twitched in his jaw and he splayed his palms across his thighs. The tendons in his neck strained from fighting to sit still. Judging by the throb between your thighs and the jittery feeling in your stomach, you were just as eager as Johnny to plow ahead and get things moving. But you liked making him work for it, too.

“I should have known,” you said. “That you’d be so good at following orders, soldier boy.”

Johnny let out a breathless laugh.

“See? Like I said. You’re mean to me.”

“Oh, I haven’t even started yet.” You tilted your chin in the direction of his lap. “Push your pants down a little more. Show off the goods.”

Johnny arched his hips up, shoving his pants and boxers down to mid-thigh. His cock curved up toward his stomach, thick, straining, and beautiful. The blunt head glistened with pre-cum. All you wanted to do was reach out and claim it for yourself. He clutched the couch cushions on either side of him, fists tight, biceps straining.

You couldn’t help yourself and hovered your hand over his lap, your fingers so close to touching his cock that you could feel the heat radiating off him. Then you brought your mouth to his ear.

“Let’s see how strong your stroke game is, yeah?”

Johnny’s breath shuddered and you didn’t miss the way his abs flexed beneath his shirt. When he thrust up toward your hand, you pulled away at the last second. He sagged against the mattress with a noise of frustration that broke off into a laugh.

“Oh, you little shite,” he said.

“Come on. Try again. I know for a fact you’re too stubborn to give up that easily, Johnny. Keep going.”

His palm strayed over your thigh as he thrust up again, straining for that painfully slight friction your fingers would offer. You didn’t reprimand him for the touch to your leg. The way his palm settled there seemed like a comforting gesture, for both of you, so you let him get away with it just this once.

You watched Johnny struggle, falling short of coming in contact with your fingers every time no matter how much he arched upward. Head tilted back, lower lip clamped between his teeth. The way he pushed his hips back into the couch then up toward your hand was mesmerizing to witness, putting every gorgeous muscle in his body on powerful display.

“Fuck, bonnie, you’re killing me,” he said through his teeth.

You gave a pleased hum.

“You’re doing very well.”

He blew out a breath of frustration. A thin sheen of sweat was already beginning to form on his collarbones, pooling in the hollow of his throat. Your mouth watered at the thought of dragging your tongue over it, tasting the saltiness of him.

“Go on then,” you said. “Since you were so good for me, you can touch yourself.”

You sat back as Johnny frantically wrapped a hand around his cock with a breathless oh thank god.

You granted him two long, desperate strokes before you swatted his wrist. His skin was scorching beneath your touch.

“I didn’t say you could finish yourself off, big boy.”

“Fuck,” Johnny rasped, stilling his motion.

“That’s better. Bring your hand up over the head of your crown. You’re sensitive there, aren’t you?”

Johnny practically whimpered, his lips pressed into a thin, tight line as he obeyed. 

“Keep circling with your thumb for a bit,” you said. “And do it slowly. I want to watch.”

He passed the pad of his thumb over the head of his cock in steady circles. You loved the way his cock jumped in his hand. When you lifted your gaze, you found Johnny looking at you with hooded eyes, his lips slightly parted. With his head tipped back against the couch, it fully exposed his neck, and it struck you how open and loose and vulnerable his position was.

He was putty in your hands even though the only touch you’d initiated was the slightest brush of your fingertip against his bicep a few minutes ago. You smiled sweetly and swept your knuckles along his cheek.

“If I had known you were so willing to please me,” you said. “We could have done this sooner.”

Johnny huffed. “You were too distracted with those damn sods who were no good for you.”

“Are you saying you like it when I’m mean to you?”

“I’ve got my fucking cock in my hand, hard as a rock. Do you really need me to spell it out for you more than that, love?”

You laughed softly with a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Fuck your fist for me, Johnny,” you whispered against his skin. “But don’t come. I want to see how long you can hold out.”

He gave a deep groan. The slick sound of his fist around his cock echoed in the room, sloppy and hurried. His palm left your leg for a moment, and before you could register the loss, he cupped his hand beneath your chin, pulling you in for a proper kiss.

You gasped at the electric shock of his mouth against yours, the wet heat of his tongue sliding past your lips. It was hard to breathe, hard to think, when your senses were full of Johnny.

For a brief moment, you pulled back just long enough to watch him pumping along his length. His arm flexed with the movement, but his hand was still beneath your chin. After a second or two, Johnny slid his hand into your hair, cradling the back of your neck. 

You needed him, ached for him, and you had no idea how that happened. When had you changed from thinking of him as a friend to…this?

Before you realized what you were doing, you pushed Johnny’s fist away from his cock. Then you hitched your leg over his lap, your hands braced on the couch behind his head. Johnny’s palms came to rest on your hips, partly to guide you, but mostly to anchor himself. The weight of his cock bumped against your clothed pussy as you started grinding down on him.

“Fuck, you’re desperate, aren’t you, love?” he murmured. “You just needed a free cock to use and no one would give you what you needed.”

“But you’ll do that for me, won’t you, Johnny?” you said between one kiss and the next, breathing hard. “You’ll let me use your cock any time I want to, right?”

He nodded as he cupped his hands on either side of your face, pressing your mouth open for another soul-scorching kiss. Even through your clothes, you felt his cock throb and pulse, pressed up against your core.

You were both lost to the heat of the moment now, moving together, grasping, kissing, grinding. With his hands full of your ass, he rocked you back and forth on the ridge of his cock. When he mouthed at your clothed breasts, you yanked your shirt off with impatience, tossing it aside. A moment later, your bra followed.

You were surprised at how good and natural it felt. This was your best friend in the entire world and it could have been awkward but it wasn’t. As Johnny dragged the flat of his tongue over your nipple, pinching it between his teeth with a slight jolt of sweet pain, you closed your eyes and let your head fall back.

As you tugged at his hair, you realized just how wet and sticky your pants were getting. Gripping a fistful of fabric, you pulled his T-shirt over his head.

“Inside me,” you said, practically a croak because your voice was so raw with need. “Johnny, now.”

Johnny spread you out on the couch, cradling the back of your head in his hand to protect you in case you came in contact with the armrest. As he pulled away, he trailed his hands down your body, mapping every curve and swell as he went. When he reached your jeans, he flicked his gaze to yours in a silent request for permission.

Your lips quirked up. “Use your words, sweetie.”

He breathed a faint laugh and his cock twitched, thick and heavy between his legs.

“May I take your pants off, hen?”

You’d barely nodded when Johnny gave a playful growl and sucked a bruising kiss into your hip. He unbuttoned your jeans and stripped them off eagerly, leaving you in just your panties. He paused as he took in the sight of you there, waiting for him. He trailed his hands up your calves and thighs, teasing his thumbs at the edge of your panties.

“May I?” he asked again, his voice significantly gruffer this time.

Again, you nodded. Slowly, he hooked his thumbs into your panties and dragged them down, fully exposing you. Never in a million years would you have thought that inviting Johnny MacTavish over for your usual takeout to chat and catch up would lead to this - fucking on the couch.

“Condom,” you said even though it felt like your voice was going to give out at any moment.

Johnny blinked, shaking himself out of his reverie. Stripping his pants off the rest of the way, he fished a condom from his pocket and tore it open. When he rolled it on, you didn’t waste a second and locked your fingers into his hair with an insistent tug. You pulled him up until his body was flush against yours.

“Show me,” you said. “Show me how those damn sods were no good for me. Show me that you can do better.”

A hungry gleam came into Johnny’s arms as he braced his elbows on the couch, hemming you in. You cupped his face as he slotted his cock inside you and slowly, perfectly sank all the way in. Your mouth fell open at the first inch. You were moaning by the time his balls were pressed against your ass, filling you until you felt all of him, thick and throbbing and completely buried inside you.

“Oh, fuck, Johnny,” you said, your voice shaking with sensation. “All for me?”

“All for you, love,” he confirmed. 

As he enveloped your body beneath him, your eyes rolled back in your head and you sank your teeth into his shoulder. The salty taste of his skin was even better than you imagined.

Masterlist

[bluegiragi]

Oh bestie you can’t just say “they’re all switches (with personal preferences)” and then not drop the details 👀👀 also does this mean you’d ever draw bottom!Ghost and top!Soap??

(nsfw warning: explicit talk about sex)

I think that Ghost, Soap and Konig are pretty flexible in the roles they play within their polycule, but certain traits remain consistent throughout. Also please note that this is all headcanon, and just how I see these three.

Ghost is in a lot of ways just a dominant person. By nature of his past, he enjoys having control, and exerting that control. Which isn't to say he doesn't also enjoy surprises (he's learnt to roll with the punches) but it does mean that I see him as a very focused top and a very domineering bottom. He's definitely more comfortable being the top in almost all situations, but he loves Johnny too much to deny him anything, and I think he'd dangle the prize of getting ridden over Konig like bait. He definitely gets off to the idea of using people for his own pleasure (especially when it comes to Konig, who is so needy and eager to please, without the coy brattiness of Soap). As a top, he really gets off to seeing how much Soap or Konig want him, and takes a lot of pleasure in pushing them to their limits (with consent of course).

Soap is a brat through and through when it comes to Ghost, but Konig brings out the bully in him a little. He likes to tease and flirt and push and pull - the game of it is fun to him and seeing Konig be so plaintively desperate for him in ways that Ghost just isn't does it for him. But Ghost is truly his kryptonite. I love reading fics by whisperwarm and prettyunhinged because they write their dynamic pretty much exactly how I imagine it - just constantly starving for each other, knowing they push each other's buttons that nobody else can. In the same line, captaindominoes is stellar at portraying how they're the only one for each other. Soap is loud as a bottom and a top (he sort of never knows how to shut up) and i think he's open and affectionate as both. And he's got a MASSIVE manhandling kink. He also definitely gets a lot of pleasure from seeing how much he's wanted (he probably tests this out most on Konig though, Ghost can only take so much before his self control runs thin.)

Konig is such a submissive and I can't wait to get to the actual nsfw part of this comic miniseries so I can start showing that, but I also think his feral' mode is interesting. I think it only comes out in flashes of confidence so things like crazed quick fucks post-mission while he's coming down from an adrenaline rush would be on the table. Fighting Ghost also gets him going (to his own partial mortification). Something about him just gets under his skin, in a way that irritates, intimidates and turns him on in no specific order. Part of it is probably the fact that he views Ghost as a superior in almost all senses - he definitely has a massive praise/degradation kink (i think he gets off to both honestly). And on average, Soap is sweeter on him while Ghost never really lets him forget who's top dog (which is fine with him). Konig and Ghost definitely butt heads sometimes and I won't lie, a sly hatefuck after a botched assignment isn't exactly out of the question, but I think at the end of the day Konig craves his approval, in one way or another. As for Soap, in contrast to Ghost, Soap is Konig's VERY assertive boy next door, but what if the boy next door also had a box of handcuffs (and other things) hiding under the bed. They're honestly just very sweet together - they're both very attentive and vocal and honestly I think Ghost would get off to just watching them.

I don't know if this answered your question but I just wrote like way too much on these three (and yes I'd definitely consider drawing top!soap and bottom!ghost at some point)

[babes4pdd]

Please Don't Destroy: The Treasure of Foggy Mountain Headcanons

A/N: Hi guys! This is my first time like ever writing fanfic + posting it so my apologies if there's any formatting errors. Anyways I just rewatched this and I wanted to write something about it because I Love it LOL. I hope you Enjoy!

P.S. There is both SFW and NSFW content in here so only read if you're 18+!!!!!

Ben Marshall 

Very ambitious and work driven, eager to impress his father 

Similarly he is very eager to please YOU always, sometimes he gets caught up with work but after that his first priority is always you <3 

He always trys to act like he isn’t silly, but you always manage to wear him down 

Outside of Jawn and Martin mostly people see him as v work obsessed and serious 

So when you finally get to know this side of him you’re like shook because you never would have guessed 

That Ben Marshall is so fun and goofy 

His chest and shoulders are covered in freckles 

He is such a terrible cook he burns everything 

Loooves folding laundry with his big headphones on... like that boy loves a repetitive task 

Refuses to smoke weed with you and Jawn and Martin but once a month after like...four Trulys he will hit your cart wayyy too hard and cough so hard you guys have to bring him outside and rub his back 

He always smells so good, like clean grass and Irish spring soap 

Leaves guy time constantly to hang out w you 

Campfire guy 

NSFW 

Little to no experience LOL 

Came in his pants the first time you two made out 

His fave is missionary because he needs to be able to see your face 

Praise kink to the maxxxxx 

Loooooves overstim lol 

Def into spit, loves when when your saliva is in/on him 

Also has a thing for hickies, loves when you two stumble somewhere together, arms around each other’s waists, cheeks burning red and necks covered in bruises 

Loves to eat pussy, but def neeeds more practice, like obv he was a total virgin when you too met  

But still loves to at least attempt to please you, super overeager 

Begs for it  

Rly wants to cum inside of you 

Likes being called Daddy on occasion  

Martin Herlihy 

Pretentious boyfriend to the max 

Vinyl guy 

Loves getting white girl wasted 

Loves to dance when he’s drunk 

Very clingy in the mornings  

Like mansplains everything to you 

Super overprotective and jealous 

Hand on your lower back as you guys walk around together 

When/if you get flirted with in public he gets so angry and possessive and he gets weird 

Likes when you wear his clothes 

Nsfw 

Brings up you being flirted with by strangers during sex 

Gets his jealousy out by sex 

Loooooves getting oral, but will also give 

Loves lingerie  

Wants to shotgun vape smoke into your mouth 

Likes hair pulling 

Likes you being on top of him 

Likes manhandling you  

Will spit in your mouth 

Likes to roleplay 

Sometimes Lawrence comes out during sex 

Always wants to be called daddy 

Cums on your face! 

If you wear glasses he's Begging to cum on them  

Total ass guy 

Sex playlist 

Likes to degrade (not good at it) 

1 and done for sex, if he cums first he’ll eat you out till you cum and then be like “Im sleepy 😊 ) 

Gets drunk and horny 

John Higgins 

Loves date nights in 

Takeout and movie 

Loves to cuddle 

Little spoon 

Is a good cook 

Loves wine and gossip 

Is a sassy man 

Is constantly texting you/sending you tiktoks 

Takes tons of candid pictures of you 

500+ day snap streak 

Is really whiny and clingy, especially in the morning  

Likes his head being scratched 

Likes showering with you and you washing his hair 

Is a human furnace, always so hot 

Passenger princess 

Loves getting you little trinkets and treats 

Loves to kiss your head 

NSFW 

Submissive most of the time 

Occasionally dominant 

Boob/thigh guy 

Likes to be degraded 

Gives tons of praise 

Loud, whiny  

Begging 

Likes to be bossed around 

Gets pegged occasionally 

Loves it 

Gets sooo needy when he’s high 

Hairy 

Always smells a bit too good 

Cannot have sex while watching something, he gets too focused and has to pause it  

Incorporate sex toys 

Also into overstimulation 

Likes the way of masturbating to a person, like sending you videos of him jerking off 

Obsessed with boobs the way a 13 year old boy is 

The best collected afterwards, the king of aftercare 

Calls you mommy 

Likes to be degraded but simultaneously needs to be affirmed 

[laequiem]

Queen of Nobody [ONESHOT]

/ Cardan has been teasing Jude for a week, and she decided to get her revenge. Sub!Cardan, Dom!Jude, PWP. 

Fandom: The Folk of the Air

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 1,769

His gaze was wild with restraint as I sat facing him and grabbed the soap. While he did not move, I could see his tail whipping from left to right, a cat waiting to pounce. I made a show of washing myself, scrubbing dirt and sweat from my body. I was very aware of his intense stare, the way he grasped the sides of the tub until his knuckles were white.

“Jude…” he whined.

“You’ve been so eager to tease me this week. Isn’t this fair, husband?”

Read it on ao3

For the last week, we barely had time to ourselves. I attended Oak’s birthday party last weekend, which Cardan had to skip on to deal with a visit from Queen Nicasia. The rest of the week was filled with the usual: revels, diplomatic dinners, boring meetings... As always, we sat on opposite sides of the table at dinner. During our meetings with the Living Council, we kept our façades: the irreverent king and his fierce queen, never looking like they enjoyed each other’s presence. Our sleeping schedule was staggered. I crashed first, tired from my training and stressful days, and Cardan would join me a few hours later, wasted after entertaining our people at the night’s revel.

Day by day, it was getting harder to slip out of his arms when I woke up to train. Not only did I miss the warmth of his body as I changed out of my night clothes, but I missed the… intimacy. He had done his best to tease me all week. His tail trailing up the side of my leg as we pretended to ignore each other at revels. A hand brushing my hair when he walked past me. On days when he had more to drink, he would risk more public displays of affection; coming up behind me and tugging me to him as he kissed the nape of my neck.

I met with the Ghost and trained harder than usual, trying to get rid of this tension building in me.

It did not help.

When I got back to the room to bathe, I was surprised to find Cardan lounging in the bath, eating from a bunch of grapes. As I drank the sight of him in, I realized he meant for me to find him here. Everything about the picture before me seemed deliberate. The bathwater, sprinkled with golden petals, was milky white, hiding the lower half of his body. He had kept most of his jewelry on, I noted, as my gaze went up his body. Even his crown, tilted over his damp curls. His makeup was perfect, which makes me think that it wasn’t leftover from yesterday - he actually did his makeup before getting in the bath.

His grin widened as I stood there just gawking at him. I had to say something. Not let him see how much I want him.

“How surprising to see you here, Your Infernal Majesty. Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“I’m exactly where I want to be. I cancelled the meeting.”

I lifted an eyebrow. “What reason did you give, this time? Hangover?”

“Something like that.”

I sat on a low stone bench and started undoing the lace of my boots. When I tugged off the second one, I looked up to find Cardan staring at me. I smirked, then turned my back to him. Bending way more than necessary, I removed my leggings. I heard him inhale sharply as I got back up. I unbuckled the strap holding my knife to my thigh and let it fall on the floor, though I doubt he would mind if I kept it.

“How convenient that you’re here exactly when I come back to bathe myself,” I say as I turn around to face him.

I kept eye contact as I started slowly undoing the laces of my tunic, then tossed it over my head. I saw him straighten and inch forward a little as he drank in the sight of me in my mortal underwear: a dusty pink lace bra that left little to the imagination, and a white lacy thong. Not the worst combination, but definitely not matching.

“A lucky coincidence,” he whispered. I wondered how he could justify this not being a complete lie. If he said it, he must believe it to be true in some way.

I slipped one arm behind my back and easily unclasped my bra. I saw his throat bob as I slowly, so slowly, removed my bra, then my panties, until I was bare before him. He kept staring as I walked towards him and joined him in the bath. The royal bath was more close to the jacuzzis we have in the mortal world. It’s a large tub with benches, enough space for a king and a few consorts.

His gaze was wild with restraint as I sat facing him and grabbed the soap. While he did not move, I could see his tail whipping from left to right, a cat waiting to pounce. I made a show of washing myself, scrubbing dirt and sweat from my body. I was very aware of his intense stare, the way he grasped the sides of the tub until his knuckles were white.

“Jude…” he whined.

“You’ve been so eager to tease me this week. Isn’t this fair, husband?” I chuckled. He snarled.

I put down the soap and crossed the distance between us. I sat on his lap, facing him, his erection pressing hard against my aching core. His hands were instantly in my hair, pulling it while still pushing my head towards his as he claimed my lips with his own. His tongue explored my mouth and I could feel my heart thundering in my chest. It always felt so right with him.

“I missed this, my cruel queen,” Cardan whispers as he broke the kiss to nip at my neck. “I miss you.”

I could not find words, so I just hummed in response. It was enough, he understood. He always had. Suddenly, he turns us around and lifts me to the cold lip of the tub and parts my legs.

Just as I thought he had snapped and would take me right there, he ran one of his fingers through my folds. Once. Twice. He teased the entrance, but quickly removed his finger. He cussed when he saw the slickness already on his finger, then brought it to his mouth and sucked on it. “I missed your taste.”

Then, he lowered himself and flicked my clit with his tongue, and I couldn’t help moaning his name. I felt him grin against me as his tongue explored my folds. I grabbed his hair and pushed him into me, grinding against his face as he sucked on my bundle of nerves. That wicked mouth of his worked me, prodding and licking and sucking in a steady pace, until I was close to the edge. And as I pressed his face harder into me, he brought two fingers to my entrance and pushed into me, curling exactly in that spot where I wanted him. I went over the edge, twitching and screaming his name through my orgasm, clinging to his hair as if it was a lifeline.

As I came down from my high, I let go of his hair and let my head fall down against the cool wall behind me. As I caught my breath, he got up to kiss me slowly, gently.

It might be the orgasm making me vulnerable, but I couldn’t stop myself. “I missed you too, Cardan.”

He kissed me again, then got out of the bath, offering me a hand to stand as well. I saw him reaching for his robe, but I caught his arm.

“Who said we were done?”

Surprise shone on his beautiful face, then that amused grin. “My mistake, my Queen.”

I traced a finger down his torso, to his length and gently poked it. “Get on the bed.”

“Are you commanding me?” I couldn’t command him anymore, not with magic at least.

“Yes.”

He backed up to the bed and laid on his back, one arm behind his head, waiting. Smug. I approached slowly, hoping I looked like a predator approaching a prey.

“While you were busy… teasing me last week, I thought of ways to pay you back in kind.”

He was biting his bottom lip, staring at me intently. I got on the bed on top of him.

“I hope you will find me merciful,” I said as I tried to give him the most wicked grin I could muster.

From above him, I could see how his makeup had smudged, his hair going in all directions. He looked like a mess. A glorious, pinned down, submissive mess. I felt heat pool in my core at the thought. I lowered my face to his and kissed him fiercely, quickly. I pulled his bottom lip with my teeth. I kissed my way down his neck, his chest, leaving a trail of bruised marks I know he loves. I pulled on the jewelry on one of his nipples with my teeth, pinching the other with my fingers. I felt him twitch against my belly.

I continued making my way down his torso, leaving a particularly nasty love bite on his ribs, until I reached his cock. I looked up to see him staring at me in anticipation, still trying to look cocky through his long lashes. I traced a finger up the length of him, while my other hand cupped his testicles.

“Jude, please…”

Such a whiny child. I took him in my hand and he moaned as I licked the tip slowly. I started moving my hand around him, watching as the precum built up at his tip.

Cardan might have the expertise, but he had been my only lover, and I knew how to please him. I ran my index finger through the precum, coating the pad of my finger.

I looked up at him and grinned. “I wonder if I ever did this to you when you fantasized about me.”

He screamed my name as my finger entered him. Slowly, I moved my finger in and out of him as I took his cock in my mouth. My finger worked gently into him, my other hand moving up and down his length in time with my mouth. When he lowered his hand to tangle in my hair, I crooked my finger up to probe at his sweet spot. His grasp tightened on my hair, and I increased my pace.

As I felt him get close, I continued my ministrations with my finger but removed my mouth from him and sat back. I watched as he spent on himself, his head thrown back, moaning my name.

Once he was done, I laid next to him and kissed him tenderly.

Cardan put a hand on my cheek. “You wicked thing.”

I smiled at him. “I love you, Cardan.”

He put an arm around me, bringing me closer to him, and pressed a kiss to my temple. “I love you, too.”

[shespeaksinsongs]

May I have a ship 🍄 for HP of golden trio era? Preferably male, thank you 💞

𝗕𝗔𝗦𝗜𝗖𝗦 + 𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗡𝗖𝗘

I'm 19, Southeast Asian with Spanish descent, Libra, ENFJ-A/ENFJ-T, Neutral Good, Ravenclaw, and a Bi Pan Genderfluid girl using the pronouns She/Her or He/Him. A friend of mine told me that I (kinda) look like Marinette from 𝗠𝗶𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘂𝗹𝗼𝘂𝘀 𝗟𝗮𝗱𝘆𝗯𝘂𝗴, Musa from 𝗪𝗶𝗻𝘅 𝗖𝗹𝘂𝗯, and Alexandra Trese from 𝗧𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲 (a Netflix animated series), but the exception is I'm short (5'1.2") plus sized Southeast Asian woman with Spanish descent that has messy/wavy brunette medium hair, chocolate brown eyes, oriental skin and a small beauty mark on the forehead. My sense of fashion is in between emo and boyish plus korean glam.

𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬

Distant, quiet, and shy at first cause' I dunno how to initiate a conversation, but a total opposite if I open up---friendly, ambivert, witty, laughing loudly on a daily basis, talkative, eats a lot, awkward, daydreamer (I got embarrassed from knocking at the door even I'm inside the classroom 😂), EXTREMELY CLUMSY (mostly tends to get bruises from bumping and being careless to my belongings), secretly likes affection, easily overwhelmed, prone to melt over wholesomeness, flusters on compliments, lightly blushes on cheesy banters, eager to share what I know (especially about Catholic Church---my past teacher joked that I'll become a saint because of it 🤣), oftenly speaks full of sarcasm with a lowkey crackhead energy citing meme references, and talented girl who can be your no.1 supporter and unashamed to be true to myself. In terms of leadership, I only educate and guide than being a prefect (I might take the role seriously), will lift my group when there's lacking/incompleteness. About doing projects in school, I become too extra and prepared for efforts, but I'll forget the process in the end.

People thought I'm a demure self-effacing woman that looks "immaculate" or "one of a kind," (due to my protective parents, a reason why I've never been in a relationship) but the truth is, I'm eloquent, warm-hearted, willig to help, kind, intelligent, supportive, nice, creative, enthusiastic, laid-back, determined, tough, competitive, and feisty outside, but a real softie that can be childish and dramatic that cries so easily (but will enlightened real quick by smallest things that makes me smile) filled with doubts, frustrations, and insecurities with fear of failure that pushes off the limits to to please everyone because they might get dissappointed from expectations, yet I still managed to be stronger than ever, even it's a slow burn process. I can be intimidating, sassy, and a douchebag if I receive ends. Immature, headstrong, perfectionist, demanding, hesitant, jumpy, very indecisive, overthinker, quick-tempered, sensitive, and anxious (no joke, my nervousness makes me think worse scenario will arrive). Though can be procrastinator and arrogant, I raised as a religious 𝖺𝗇𝖽 diplomatic person, willing to fight what I believe (including my dreams and what's important to me) and what is right. In addition, I have a habit of staying up late and doing sign of the cross to ease nervousness.

Blunt but the loudest idiotic feeling-brokenhearted and bitter friend in the group who fangirl a lot, swears like sailor, will call out on people that we loathe, will crack up over your stupid antics before helping, vent out everything I despise (having a bad day, toxicity, poorly written soap operas, how am unlucky when it comes to love life) and bring gossips, but a hopeless romantic who tends to banter with sarcasms or pick up lines as an endearment (but gets grumpy if I received sappy or offensive one), Still generous and concerned person in a subtle way.

𝗘𝗫𝗧𝗥𝗔 𝗜𝗡𝗙𝗢

My hobbies are singing, drawing, roleplaying, listening to music, chatting/browsing on social media, conceptualizing, writing, and reading some stuffs. I'll include making corniest jokes/puns, sleeping, and dancing when nobody's around or walking like a model if I feel so bold (even I'm terrible at both xD). I also used to learn Italian language a bit. Lastly, my best assets are smile, eyes, personality, singing voice, artistic skills, writings, intelligence, and oratorical skills...so I can consider myself as a singer, artist, orator, and a top student who's a former campus ministry member (choir member, psalm singer, and reader) and in coming college freshman. Currently learning how to cook and have so many interests, to the point I don't know what I'm into because of my dreams to become a popular Filipino YouTuber, a novelist, and being part of a successful chorale...I also consider joining pageants too once the pandemic ends, but maybe.

okay. this was a tough one, but i finally settled on fred and george. i think you'd be best with fred weasley by a CLOSE SECOND to george.

you mentioned that you're into banter and pick-up lines as endearment - and i think that is so fred weasley. george strikes me as the softer, sweeter, twin, who is more likely to be dominated, but i think you and fred having an equally dominant personality would make for an interesting relationship! additionally, the secretly likes affection thing would go smoothly with fred. i think fred is a more "quality time" and "acts of service" kind of guy, but affection is never rejected for him, and he quite enjoys it! the hobbies you mentioned seem like things he might love to do, or encourage you to do! it even gave me a good idea for a fic, which i think i will be releasing tomorrow if i can. will tag you, of course. head-strong, sassy, and being quick-tempered would keep fred on his toes, and i think that's one of his favorite things about you. he'd love that he's always on the edge with you. he doesn't know where he's going, but he doesn't mind. i think fred really likes someone who's not afraid to let themselves get out there, and you pursuing your dreams so fearlessly, along with your passions, makes for a pretty good match to me. besides that, i think fred would definitely try to dig beneath the surface, or the "demure" demeanor you give off. based on your description of yourself, i think he would find somebody worth being with.

he would definitely see you in the hallways and pretend not to know you sometimes, hitting on you as if you weren't already together. i think he most definitely thinks it's both cute and scary when you're angry, seeing as your height and personality clash (in a good way, dw). teases you for being clumsy, but he thinks it's cute. aside from the normal nicknames, he probably calls you "my pretty witch", or "my smart baby ravenclaw". he likes head pats, and uses you as an elbow rest to annoy you sometimes. i think he would also think you're stunning. like he would almost worship you and your entire body. gives you kisses on the beauty mark on your forehead a lot, especially if you're cuddling. he almost can't resist. loves your style and tries to copy it, but decides that it's reserved for you in his mind, so he goes back to his normal style, admiring all your different outfits. stays up late with you on nights you can't sleep or don't want to. starts cursing a lot after he met you. he gets into the habit, and every conversation with you is a swearing mess. gives you kisses on the cheeks randomly to see how off-guard he can catch you and see how flustered you get. LOVES when you blush. it's his favorite thing about you.

<3 thank you so much for your submission.

[darkwritingsnshit]

Living the Dream

Chapter 11

Warnings: This is a dark fic, please don’t read if you’re under 18, or uncomfortable with noncon, kidnapping, torture, smut or dark characters.

Your wrist hurt, your hips hurt, your legs hurt but Steve was relentless. Anyone should be completely physically worn out, you knew you were, but he never seemed to tire. After what seemed like hours, Steve finally rose from his bed with a sigh and another stretch. He walked behind the bar and handed you a cold water bottle, while he walked through to the bathroom. You heard the shower as you sipped from the screw cap, hardy able to sit up enough to drink. Your left wrist was red and blue beneath the cuff he had secured you to the bed with. Steve had seemed to forget about it, or simply not care while he was fucking you, always tugging you farther than you could reach. You took inventory of the finger shaped bruises along your thighs and arms, looked closely at the old ones that were healing up. Before too long, the shower stopped, and Steve walked back into view looking every bit the handsome, strapping Avengers poster child. Golden Boy Rogers, that’s what Tony had called him.

           “I hate to leave you, but I’ve gotta help out for a few hours,” Steve said as he crossed the room and unlocked you from his headboard. You cradled your wrist to your chest and looked at him with confusion written across your brow.

           “You’re leaving?” You didn’t want to be around him, but you didn’t want to be alone. Your time in the basement was fresh against your mind, he was a monster but staying hidden in a monster’s lair was better than screaming in his dungeon. Steve smiled at your reaction, he seemed pleased at your fear, happy that the thought of him leaving you alone made you sick to your stomach.

           “I’ll be back very soon, don’t you worry, doll.” His hands closed around your other wrist, pulling you naked from his bed; you tried to grasp the sheet but it fell away from your hand as Steve pulled you closer to the door.

           “What’s happening, Steve where are we going?” You knew the answer as you descended the stairs. “Steve please, I can be good, please don’t make me go back downstairs.” You were begging again, and it disgusted you. “Please let me stay in your room, please I promise to be good, don’t make me go back there, please!!” Your voice was rising as the two of you descended, hysteria edging your pleas, you would go anywhere, anywhere except that cell. He didn’t speak until you were both in the concrete room, though you had dug your heels into the floor so hard they began to bleed against the abrasive floor.

           Steve drug you into the room and sat you down hard on the bed, ignoring your pleas and tears. He kneeled down in front of you, hands drying your tears as you sniffled and tried to regain composure.

           “I don’t like doing this either, but I promise I’ll be back in a few hours, okay?” He was rubbing your legs in a soothing manner though it didn’t help. “I turned the water on and put new clothes in your bathroom. When I get home, I’m sure you’ll be cleaned up and waiting, won’t you?” His eyes bore into yours, looking for signs of defiance or rebellion, but found none as you nodded your head and tried to calm yourself. As he rose, he pressed a kiss to your lips, and you reached behind his head to keep him attached to you longer, to keep him from leaving. He laughed gently before setting you back down on the bed.

           “I’ll miss you too doll, I’ll be back before you know it.” Steve turned and gave you a wink, before slamming that fucking door yet again, leaving you trapped, caged and humiliated, once again.

             You were determined not to go crazy this time. Steve promised it would only be a few hours, but time seemed to warp when you were down here alone. He hadn’t lied about the water or the clothes, and you were happy to shower away the last night and morning you had endured. There was dried on cum down your legs, even across your stomach, you could smell your sweat and Steve’s as you scrubbed your skin; there was not enough soap and you couldn’t scrub hard enough to erase what had happened, though your skin was raw and red by the time you stepped out and turned off the water.

           Another large shirt and lacy underwear, at least you were slightly more covered, and you smelled fresh as you sat down on your bed and waited. Waiting. Waiting, waiting, waiting, you weren’t sure how long. It didn’t take long for you to hyperventilate though you tried to even your breath, fight down a panic attack. He promised. He promised he would be back, he promised not to leave you here again for days on end. You still weren’t sure just how much you trusted him, what if he was lying, what if he wasn’t going to come back at all? You sat on your bed and faced the camera.

           “Please come back Steve, please don’t leave me here.” You didn’t cry this time, you decided you were done with tears, you would sit through this and tough it out. You had to believe he was coming back.

             The door scraped and you snapped your head up from where you had been dozing against the wall, moving forward to the side of the bed, your feet touched the floor and you tapped them, waiting for Steve to enter the room.

           “Hi doll, I hope you missed me.” Steve smiled as he walked over to your bed giving you a kiss. You kissed back hard, you had missed him, you had been so scared he wasn’t coming back. “I heard you ask me to come home, I would have been here sooner if I could.” He pet your hair and sat next to you.

           “Steve, can we go back upstairs?” were the first words from your mouth, you were clinging to his arm, bouncing slightly, eager to get out of here. Steve frowned at you.

           “What, no hello? Didn’t you miss me?” He asked.

           “Yes, yes, yes, I missed you, I missed you so much.” The words came spilling out and you hated that they were half true. You had missed his presence, you knew that when he was there, you were allowed out. Steve smiled, you were glad you had appeased him, turned his mood, or so you thought.

           “Why don’t you show me how much you missed me?” He had a finger under your chin, was gazing at your lips. You kissed him again, climbing onto his lap and pulling him close, his skin was making yours buzz, he was your only human contact, your only link to the possibility of an outside world.

           “Thank you for coming back Steve, I missed you so much. Can we please go upstairs?” You whispered to him, looking in his eyes as you pleaded.

           “You’re welcome, I missed you too,” he replied, “but I was hoping you could ask me very, very nicely, those lips of yours are just so perfect, I know where I’d really like to see them.” Your brow furrowed, confused, until you realized what he was saying, and you paled, eyes going wide. “If you really want out of here, you’d show me, princess.” Steve’s eyes didn’t leave yours, even as you looked away. Still on his lap, he pulled your hips against his, you could feel how hard he was beneath you.

           You were torn. More than anything, you wanted to get out of this torture dungeon, just being in the room was making your mind unravel. All morning you had been trying to come to terms with your predicament. If it meant getting out of the basement, you were ready to let Steve fuck you, but you weren’t by any means inclined to do what he was asking now. Though he phrased it like a question, you knew it wasn’t. It was a contingency.

           Steve waited for you, smirk across his face that you wanted to smack off. Resignation washed over you. You moved off his lap to the bed next to him and reached for his pants with shaky hands.

           “Ah, ah, on your knees,” he was pushing your shoulders down, you fell to your knees on the hard concrete floor and moved between his spread legs. This was worse, this was submission and you hated it. Again, you reached for his pants, but he pulled your hands away. “You need to ask first,” Steve told you; he was enjoying this. He was humiliating you and he loved every second of it. Anger, shame, fear and hatred all coursed through you at the same time, you saw red around the edges of your vision and ground your teeth. Steve was waiting, still, his hand stroking your cheek, he had pulled you closer by your hair, so your cheek was resting on his thigh. You asked yourself how far you would go to escape this room.

           You were still afraid of what this room had done to you, what Steve had done to you, you were worried he would do it again. You were sure you couldn’t take another few weeks alone in here, the thought made your blood run cold, but what were your options? This man was a psychopath you were sure, you didn’t know what he would do to you, or how far he could push you. You knew somehow if you tested him again, said no or disobeyed, he was sure to leave you here to go insane.

           “Please,” you hated yourself through and through, you hated the man in front of you, “please can I suck your dick?” The words left your mouth and you wanted to vomit, but it was exactly what Steve was looking for, what he wanted to hear. With one hand he unbuttoned his pants and zipper, the other he held your hair in a firm grip.

           “Of course you can baby, I’m so glad you want to.” He had pulled himself from his boxers, was guiding your head towards him.

           You were forced to open your lips as he pushed you into him, your mouth opening as far as it could to fit him into your mouth. Both hands in your hair now, Steve was guiding your head up and down, slowly at first, then faster, making an absurd amount of spit drip down your chin, unable to pull your head back. He was groaning, swearing quietly until he started yanking on your head, you were gagging and having trouble breathing but he didn’t seem to care.

           “Fuck baby, all the way down, god your lips feel so good against my cock.” Tears and spit were all over your face as he pulled you down and held you there, as you panicked, sure he was going to let you pass out around his cock. He let go and you pulled back entirely, gasping for breath before he yanked your head back down. It felt like an eternity, your knees hurt against the hard floor, your jaw hurt from being forced open for so long before Steve began to come undone, faster and faster until you felt him cum down your throat, leaving you no choice but to contract and swallow. He left himself in your mouth until he was sure you got everything, he wiped your mouth with his thumb as he pulled back and redid his pants.

           “You’re really happy to see me, aren’t you?” He smiled down at you. Pulling you up and back into his lap, he held you close before whispering the words you had been waiting to hear.

           “Let’s get you out of this room babydoll, I want to take you back upstairs.”

[besaster]

Some thoughts about sex

I’m a woman in my thirties and with a lot lived, played and done over my life. After talking with a lot of people about the topic, and reading plenty of stuff written by people younger or with less life experience on their backs than me through the years, I feel sad sometimes. I see this twisted, unhealthy way they look at something as natural, fun and healthy as sex and I find it worrisome.

So I decided to write a few points that are half a rant, and half a life & writing tips post that I hope is helpful or makes people try and see things a bit differently.

-Sex is not something dirty (of course it can be sometimes!) in the sense that people should be ashamed/guilty/dirty about enjoying it or humiliated because they do. If someone is not comfortable with a person trying to make them feel like that, it’s called emotional abuse. It’s not a joke and can mess up a person’s head.

-Dirty talk can be the hottest experience ever when it’s done in a playful context, enjoyed by all the people participating in it and doesn’t go past the limits any of the parts impose. FFS, if someone doesn't enjoy your dirty talk, tone it down, or better, shut up. 

-Sex is not meant for people to hurt each other unless it's consensual for it to be. This would be keeping in mind they're adults in full awareness and care about what they’re doing agree it is. Kinks and getting rough can be hot as hell with boundaries and being actually CAREFUL with what you're doing. If one of them doesn’t agree or things are going too far, it’s called rape/aggression.

-Probably most of the people who have sex aren’t doing it with somebody they love, and that’s perfectly fine. If somebody fucks many different partners and is attracted to them, who the hell has the right to call them a slut? Remember, it’s consensual, and they’re not hurting anyone (if they have a partner, the name is not a slut but an asshole). The same goes for people who just have one partner or who decide not to have any sex at all. It’s their choice, and it’s ok.

-Both women and men need time to recover after an orgasm, but it’s true that sometimes women can have them quite close if stimulated correctly (and if our bodies respond; sometimes you’ll be tired or whatever, and you’ll say please fucking give me a rest!).

-Holes don’t open magically out of nowhere, especially not the ass. Anal sex, the first few times you try it, hurts. So much you just can’t go through with it if not appropriately prepared AND fucked carefully after. I’m talking from experience here. There’s NEVER enough lube and not enough preparation, especially if you’re new to it. It’s not nice to end up extremely sore, unable to walk well for days, hurting a lot or even at the hospital with a tear or infections because someone couldn’t wait 5 more minutes or wait a bit to thrust like the world is ending. 

-Condoms are a must. Never trust anyone you don’t know for real they’re clean. For anal sex especially, it’s not always clean even if you wash. And yeah it's gross when it's not, but it's also natural. Water, soap, and wipes are always your friends, it's not a big deal, and it's a fear everybody has had at some point ;)

-Sex can be amazing when love is involved, but can also be boring if not innovative/playful enough. Sometimes you’ll get the fuck of your life out of somebody you don’t know at all, and it won’t mean you fell in love with them (of course it could happen, but it's not the norm), it’s called chemistry. And yes, sometimes the best fucks will be the ones that come of a moment of rage or hate, but you won’t really enjoy it if you hate a person’s guts. It’s called a body reaction. So maybe you have to reconsider if you really hate that person so much if it was THAT good?

-Sex is one of the funniest experiences in life, a game, an exploration, a way to learn more about yourself and about others. You will only know what you like if you’re not afraid to ask and try as far as you feel okay with.

-It's not always a submissive one and a dominating one. Sometimes all the people involved will be meeker or more aggressive/passionate. The person who is more dominant one day may need the other to take control the next time. Both can be self-conscious or confident and open.

-To enjoy your sex life more, be curious. Read, openly ask your partners what they like, what they don’t, how X thing feels for them, their fantasies, their tabues. This also applies if you’re sexually active and want to write about sex. You’ll learn to put it into words, and your writing will benefit from it. On top of that, you will have lots of fun ‘researching’ and have a different point of view and also get more comfortable talking or writing about it. Some of the funniest and more surprising fucks of my life have come (pun intended) after openly talking with my partners about these things. In exchange, besides having lots of fun I have a better perspective of what men feel when they’re at it.

-If you want to write about it but you never had sex before, try to read real experiences from real people, ask close friends or family if you have that kind of trust, explore yourself and try to apply that to somebody of your gender or the other. Don’t be in a rush to try yourself if you’re not ready, you’ll know when you are, and your whole life is ahead of you. You’re probably confused or too eager by what’s ‘forbidden,’ ‘dirty,’ or ‘frowned upon.’ I tell you, it’s something natural and amazing, meant to be enjoyed.

-By the way, don’t be scared to write about it if you haven’t tried, don’t feel like you shouldn’t do it. Believe me, in a few years, you’ll find your old writings on a notebook or posted somewhere or in a hidden folder in your computer and you’ll laugh at it and think about how far you’ve come after. NEVER be shy to express yourself! And yes, I keep talking from experience here.

-Summarizing: sex is fun, sex is natural (with the exception of some horrible, sad exceptions, that's the reason both you and me are alive in this world that is as terrible as it's beautiful), healthy. Sex is something you should never be ashamed of, and that should never leave you feeling bad. Most of the people who engage in it want to ENJOY and will enjoy it WAY MORE if the other people involved in it have a good time. Not only in a physical way but an emotional way. No sex will feel better than the one that ends in laughter, and you’ll probably remember it for way longer than the passionate fuck that had your legs shaking for half an hour afterward.

There goes my rant. Hope it was helpful for other writers or, at least, entertaining!

PS: how many times did I write the word sex? LMFAO

[lady-divine-writes]

Klaine fic - “The Prince and His Stable Hand: Chapter 2 - Not a Prince, Just a Man” (Rated NC17)

Blaine is a prince, betrothed to wed the Princess Rachel Berry, but he has secret desires that his new wife will never be able to fulfill.

But the handsome young man who tends his father’s stables definitely can. (4407 words this chapter)

Chapter 1

Read on AO3.

Kurt woke when his mind registered the emptiness around him. No one in his room. No one in his arms. That was usually the reason why Kurt woke when the prince left him - because the emptiness was too much to bear. Kurt felt the chill in the air climb beneath his skin, even though his blanket had been pulled up to his shoulders and tucked around him.

Kurt sucked in a cold and shuddering breath.

He hated waking up alone.

The emptiness, the silence, and the cold twisted together made it difficult for Kurt to breathe.

He heard the horses in their stalls, snuffling in their sleep or stamping down the hay on the dirt floor with their hooves as they turned in their stalls. Beyond the sounds of the horses and the normal ambient noises of the night – crickets, owls, mice, and the like - Kurt caught a strange murmuring coming from outside. It sounded like hushed voices, which wasn’t unusual, even for this Godforsaken hour of the sunless morning, but the voices sounded familiar.

They captured his attention, and he lay completely still, straining to hear them.

“What in the holy heavens above are you wearing, Sire?” an amused but tired voice chuckled.

“Shut up, Sebastian,” a different voice bit in response. Kurt’s ears pricked up immediately upon hearing it. It was a voice Kurt would recognize anywhere, and knowing its owner had tarried longer made Kurt smile. “You have seen me like this many times.”

“Yes,” the guard’s voice chortled around a lengthy yawn, “yes, I have, Your Highness, and yet it baffles me every time.”

A weary sigh accompanied by a pause in the conversation made Kurt lift his head to better hear, bracing himself for whatever might come next.

It wasn’t exactly what Kurt expected.

“Look,” Sebastian began, “you are my prince, and I have pledged my loyalty to you … but you are also my friend. My dearest, oldest friend. I know all of your secrets, and believe me …” He chuckled loudly “… there are quite a few.” The prince scoffed but Sebastian continued. “I may not understand this one, but I will defend it, from whomever I must.”

It warmed Kurt’s heart to hear such a sincere sentiment from this man – a man that Kurt knew Blaine held in the highest esteem, with the fondness of a brother. Kurt had had such a friendship once, with his stepbrother. Kurt hadn’t seen Finn since he had entered the service of the king, and he missed him every day.

“I appreciate that, my friend,” Blaine said. The sound of rustling followed, of cloth against cloth, as if the two men were hugging.

“Are we to away back to the palace, Your Highness?” Sebastian asked. “It’s a might bit early yet.” He sounded hopeful, though he would never say so to the prince’s face.

“Not just yet,” Blaine replied. Kurt noted that at least the prince sounded apologetic on the matter. “There is something I must do, and I am afraid that I will need your help to do it. But after, you have my leave to go. You must be exhausted.”

“With all due respect, Your Highness,” Sebastian said, “my place is where you are. I will help you with your task, then I will stay until you decide to leave, and not a moment before.”

Kurt bit his lower lip hard. The poor man. Kurt and Blaine had gotten a few hours’ sleep, but Sebastian had been on his feet all night, guarding his prince, protecting their secret, making sure that they could have this time together without being disturbed. Kurt wished there was something he could do for Sebastian, but he was far from being in a position to do so.

There was no more talk that Kurt could hear from the men outside, but moments later, a loud banging against the walls of the stable jarred the horses into neighing anxiously and nearly stopped Kurt’s heart.

“A little more … urgh … to the left … mmph … Your Highness,” Sebastian grunted. There came a terrible crash and Sebastian groaned. “Your other left, Sire.”

“Please be … nrgh … more plain … grrr … with your directions next time,” Blaine snapped. Kurt wanted to laugh, especially when he heard a dull thud and Blaine hiss with pain. Kurt bit down hard on his blanket to keep from snickering and pretended to sleep as the two men struggled to carry his large tub in.

“Okay … nngh … set it in the middle … grrrn … right there,” Blaine commanded. Both men grumbled in distress. There was a sudden cry of no! and then the tub dropped, the small room echoing with the sound. Kurt finally broke and a chuckle slipped past his lips.

“I’ll go fetch the water, Your Highness,” Sebastian volunteered quickly, bowing slightly to Blaine and nodding to Kurt before he turned on his heel and left the stable.

Kurt watched Blaine grab a cloth from the wall and start wiping out the tub using water from Kurt’s basin by his bed. It confounded Kurt on many an occasion how a man like Blaine could be such a natural submissive. Even when he knew his captain of the guard would soon return with water for Kurt’s bath, knowing the man might catch him acting like a slave, cleaning out Kurt’s tub, he did it anyway, and he did it to please Kurt.

Kurt, the stable hand.

Kurt, the rustic.

Kurt, with no title or noble blood.

But Kurt was Blaine’s Dom, and the man that he loved. In light of that, cleaning out his tub seemed like such an insignificant task.

When Sebastian returned with the buckets of water, heated at the smithy’s fire close by, he did not see Blaine cleaning Kurt’s tub, but setting his table, getting Kurt’s breakfast ready for him. Sebastian poured the water into the tub with a careful eye on the two, watching how his prince waited on the stable hand like a common servant. When the tub was filled, he went to Blaine and handed him something hidden in his jacket, something wrapped in a rough cloth. He whispered low in the prince’s ear so that not a word did Kurt hear. Blaine took the offering with a frown and set it on the table, keeping it wrapped and pushing it aside with disdain. Blaine eyed Kurt rising from the bed with an eyebrow cocked, but he mentioned nothing about it.

“If it pleases Your Highness, I will return to my post until you have need of me,” Sebastian announced, watching the silent exchange between Dom and sub. It broke his heart seeing them together, knowing what he did of their combined fates. But their love also brought to mind all the things he had given up in his own life in pursuit of his career, to get to this position of authority.

He became uncomfortable in their presence, in this intimate atmosphere they created within the four walls of this meager room. He was eager to return outside and be away from it.

“It does,” Blaine said, suspecting his friend’s discomfort. “Thank you for your assistance.”

Sebastian bowed to his prince, then turned his attention to Kurt.

“Master Hummel,” he said with not a bow, but a slight incline of his head in Kurt’s direction. Kurt returned the gesture, then watched with interest as the guard left his presence. When Sebastian was clear of the stable, Blaine took a place at Kurt’s feet.

“Do you tell him to address me that way?” Kurt asked.

“I do not,” Blaine admitted.

“Then why does he?” Kurt put his feet on the cold floor, throwing the blanket off his naked body.

“I think it is because he knows how important you are to me. I treat you like Master here, so he does the same.”

“I appreciate it,” Kurt said, standing completely on his feet, “though I will not expect such treatment outside these walls.”

“It is best that you do not, but you will always have his protection” - Blaine took Kurt’s hand when Kurt offered it and stood to help Kurt into his tub of water - “as long as I …”

Kurt settled into the tub, sighing with eyes closed as he slipped down further into the water. Hot water was such a luxury, such a gift Kurt rarely had the time or the connections to acquire, so he vowed to take his time savoring it.

“As long as you what, Your Highness?” Kurt reached out a hand for Blaine to put a bar of soap and a cloth into. Instead, Blaine moved Kurt’s hand aside, dunking the cloth into the water and lathering it up with the soap.

“As long as I love you,” Blaine said quietly, rubbing the cloth in circles over Kurt’s chest, focusing on the content hum coming from his Master.

“And how long do you think that will be, Your Highness?”

“Quite a while.” Blaine’s hand stopped its work as the weight of the question – and its answer – hit him. “The rest of my life. Even if you leave me. Even if we are never to be together again …”

“Shhh, my poor darling …” Kurt took Blaine’s hand in his and held it. “This is very unlike you, Your Highness.” Kurt opened his eyes to see Blaine staring past him, at their hands linked together under the water.

“I apologize,” Blaine said, moving his hand out of Kurt’s grasp and continuing down his body, bringing the wash cloth to scrub over his abs, stopping just shy of his cock. “Is this better?”

“You are getting closer,” Kurt teased as his cock bobbed beneath the water with the promise of Blaine’s hand so near.

“You know, I never did get the chance to pay you back for last night.” Blaine bent down close to Kurt’s ear, his voice an alluring slide, as tangible on Kurt’s skin as his hand beneath the water.

“Mmm, tis true. And seeing as you seem to be able to stand, I guess that means you can kneel.”

“I would wager you are correct on that account.” Blaine moved the cloth further down Kurt’s body, purposefully avoiding his cock and heading toward his legs.

“So why don’t you finish me up and you can show me how well you kneel, hmm?” Kurt watched as the prince scrubbed his thighs, his calves, his ankles, down to the soles of his feet.

“As you wish.” Blaine’s hazel eyes glittered in the dim lantern light, not daring to match Kurt’s gaze. He traveled back up Kurt’s body with the soap and cloth, washing every inch of his Dom’s skin that he could reach, and Kurt sat up and leaned forward to aid him. Blaine rolled up the sleeves of Kurt’s shirt that he wore so as not to soak them and meticulously washed Kurt’s back and shoulders. When he was done, he rounded the tub and stood in his Dom’s view.

“May I wash your …?” Blaine’s eyes drifted away along with his words, gazing towards the water that obscured Kurt’s body and hid the prize Blaine longed to touch.

“So uncharacteristically shy today, Your Highness,” Kurt said, eyes smiling. “Well, seeing as you are going to have your mouth on it, I imagine that you would want to clean my cock.” Kurt’s words were bold, trying to lure his conceited sub out from hiding. Kurt itched to feel Blaine’s lips on his skin. He had endured an evening of feverish dreams about them together, praying for that moment to come, praying that they woke in time to have it.

Kurt’s eyes stayed on his prince as Blaine lathered up the washing cloth again and then reached underneath the water, taking hold of Kurt’s cock and stroking gently. Kurt bent his knees and opened his legs wide, sliding further down until his chin broke the surface of the water.

“Dear God,” Kurt moaned, hips bucking to meet Blaine’s fist on every downward stroke, “I could just let you do this. You’re so good at it.” The water lapped at the rim of the tub, threatening to spill over, with Kurt continuing to fuck up into Blaine’s fist. “You have perfect hands for this. Wonderful, strong hands.” Kurt watched Blaine’s eyes, glowing beneath his praise, but with his focus entirely on the task of giving his Dom pleasure. He would do this all day if Kurt asked him – if Blaine was able to escape his duties for one day. Blaine had always wanted to try, but he feared they’d be discovered. Visiting Kurt during the late night hours was one thing. Disappearing for a whole day was quite another.

Blaine stayed close to his Dom while he performed this act, hovering above Kurt’s chest so Kurt only needed to whisper his commands, but he was still too far for Kurt’s liking.

“Kiss me.” Kurt licked his lips when he saw Blaine’s eyes flick to his mouth without a second’s hesitation. Blaine leaned over Kurt and kissed him, sliding their mouths together without slowing the stroking of his hand. Kurt moaned deep in his throat until Blaine felt it in his mouth, tickling his tongue.

“Mmm, I need that mouth on me,” Kurt mumbled over Blaine’s lips. “This instant.”

Blaine didn’t want to stop touching his Master, especially when Kurt’s wet body shivered beneath his fist. But having his mouth on Kurt’s cock was one of his greatest joys - kneeling at Kurt’s feet, Kurt fucking his face, being used for his Master’s pleasure. It was the thing Blaine craved.

Kurt pushed Blaine aside and rose from the tub, putting a hand on the prince’s shoulder to keep himself steady. He stepped out and stood on the ground, skin dripping wet, glistening in the scarce light. Blaine openly stared. He couldn’t hide his regard. Even if someone had threatened to put out his eyes, he would still stare because Kurt’s naked body was positively hypnotizing - an incredible specimen of man. Kurt wasn’t just a singularly gorgeous human, but a strong, enticing creature, far beyond what the human mind could conceive.

And as far as Blaine knew, he was the only one who got the privilege of seeing Kurt like this.

If Blaine discovered that someone else had, it would destroy him.

Kurt caught Blaine staring and smirked at his open-mouthed awe, honored by how his prince devoured every inch of his body with eyes that didn’t attempt to hide their admiration of him. But this wasn’t the time for looking. The sun would rise before long and they would be parted, but this time not only for a day or a week.

Possibly for the rest of their lives.

Kurt grabbed Blaine by the hair and dragged him over to his bed. He didn’t bother with drying, simply dropping down to the edge of his mattress, bringing the prince to his knees. Blaine didn’t need to be told what to do. In this, he required no instruction. He knelt between Kurt’s legs and took his Dom’s cock into his mouth, swallowing him quickly and sucking back up hard. Kurt tasted clean like soap and salty with the flavor of his own cum leaking from the head in anticipation of Blaine’s heat and his tongue. Kurt didn’t let go of Blaine’s hair, tightening his hold when the prince didn’t move fast enough or holding hard to slow him down.

“Yes,” Kurt moaned, eventually bracing back on one elbow and moving along with Blaine as he had before, meeting Blaine’s mouth with every suck, shallowly at some points, at others pounding nearly all the way down the prince’s throat. Blaine took it – gagging around Kurt’s length, his eyes burning, watering, his lips stretched till he thought Kurt might unhinge his jaw. But being filled like this was Blaine’s paradise. This was where the submissive in him came to task. There was only one other way Blaine enjoyed being filled, and he hoped for that in the near future.

He would hope beyond hope, for as long as it took.

“Jesus …” Kurt groaned, lying back on the bed for Blaine to finish him off properly. “That’s it … faster … God, please …” Kurt urged his sub on, though by this time Blaine was doing little more than kneeling obediently while Kurt, hand locked in Blaine’s hair, fucked the prince for himself. “God, yes,” he chanted, plunging deep into the wet cavern of Blaine’s mouth. “Yes, yes, yes …” There was a long moment of silence when Kurt lost his voice completely and his body began to shudder. Blaine knew Kurt was close. He responded as he had been taught, grabbing hold of Kurt’s hips and gripping tight, taking Kurt as far down his throat as he was able and swallowing all he had to give. “Fuck …” Kurt whined, releasing his fist in Blaine’s hair as he fell back on the bed and let Blaine do his job, sucking Kurt through his orgasm.

Blaine swayed as he fought for breath, pulling off Kurt’s softening cock and kneeling low on the floor to recover. His cheeks were flushed, hot to the touch, his entire body shaking as if the orgasm that had racked Kurt’s body had been his own. He licked his lips to capture what was left of his Dom, and the taste of him almost made Blaine cry. This couldn’t be the end of it. He needed Kurt – he needed his dominance, needed his love, more than he needed to breathe.

It was in moments like this, lingering in the bliss of pleasing his Dom that Blaine could see himself being immensely happy here - not a prince, just a man, serving the man he adored.

“Was that … enough?” Blaine asked.

“More than enough, pet,” Kurt managed between heaving breaths. “The best yet, I think.”

Blaine nodded to himself. It would have to be, he thought. It would need to last.

“Shall I help you to dress?” Blaine asked. “Then I can get your breakfast?”

“No,” Kurt said. “We have not the time, and I would like to break bread with you. I will dress myself.” Kurt sat up and looked upon Blaine, still clothed in his own loose work shirt. “And you may want to do the same, Your Highness.” Kurt smiled, chuckling kindly, but it only seemed to sour Blaine, who felt the time they had together ticking away as if it were being chipped from his own bones.

But Blaine stood and did as he was told, dressing in all but his coat, relinquishing the shirt to Kurt who put it on – not because it was his cleanest, but because now it smelled like his prince, and he would need that to fortify him throughout the day.

Kurt approached the table, smiling in approval as a compliment to his sub’s work, and Blaine greeted him with the reviled cloth-wrapped bundle.

“Sebastian told me a young man brought this by this morning.” The prince opened the edges of the cloth to reveal a loaf of salt bread, scowling at it with a disgust that went far beyond loathing, but which also touched on something close to jealousy. “Apparently, he was put out that he couldn’t gift it to you directly.”

“Yes, well, that would be Sam,” Kurt said, sounding just interested enough to keep the heat burning in Blaine’s eyes. “He’s the smithy’s son. We have breakfast together every midweek.”

“Only on the midweek?” Blaine asked, fiddling unnecessarily with the plates and the cutlery.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Kurt replied, with a warm, albeit condescending, smile. “Only on the midweek, before he heads off into town. He’s polite and he’s young. Neither traits are especially to my taste.”

Blaine nodded. He waited by his appointed chair, and sat only after Kurt sat. He watched Kurt take the bread and divide it, waving away the portion Kurt offered him. Kurt set the bread down on Blaine’s plate and took the prince’s hand.

“You know, you can dine with him whenever you’d like,” Blaine granted stiffly, slipping his hand from beneath Kurt’s as he reached for the butter and knife to dress Kurt’s slice of bread.

Kurt grabbed Blaine’s hand back. He drew it to his face and kissed his knuckles.

“I would rather dine with you,” Kurt said against Blaine’s skin. “I would rather eat with you and talk with you and lay with you over anyone. If I had my choice, that’s exactly what I would do for the remainder of my days, and if I cannot, I will stay here alone and imagine it so … Blaine …”

Kurt said the prince’s name in a tender whisper across Blaine’s flesh as he pressed gentle kisses upon his hand. The delicate touch reminded Blaine of the many times they had made love in this room. Kurt would light the small fireplace beforehand and the heat bathed their bodies, the firelight casting a golden glow over Kurt’s skin. They’d make love on the hard floor, laying several blankets down to cushion it. It wasn’t the most comfortable (they dared not use the bed as it was louder than anything, and they had already broken it once) but all that mattered was that they were together, wrapped in one another’s embrace, the slow push and pull of their bodies worshipping one another as if they had all the time in the world.

Blaine wondered if he should have chosen that over dominance last night, but he needed Kurt’s punishing to keep him sane.

Their morning meal together was quiet with hands held, a piece of dried meat shared, and the bread reluctantly eaten by both, but accursedly short, when a rustling in the doorway caught their attention.

“Your Highness?” Sebastian’s voice called from the entrance. “I apologize for the intrusion, but we need to get you back to the palace.”

“So soon?” Blaine muttered.

“I waited as long as I could, Sire. We shouldn’t risk a moment longer.”

Blaine squeezed Kurt’s hand and sighed.

“You are right,” Blaine conceded, “as usual.”

That admission would normally earn Blaine a witty remark from his best friend and captain … but not this time. Not with the prince as somber as the grave.

Not when Sebastian could see Blaine’s heart dying.

Kurt stood from his place at the table and, with hands clasped, pulled Blaine to his feet. He retrieved Blaine’s coat from the hook and helped the prince on with it, forgoing the awful corset in consideration of the painful stripes that littered Blaine’s back. He tugged at the hem to straighten the wrinkles, then moved to the front to do up the fasteners.

“Here.” Blaine removed one of the medals from his lapel and pressed it into Kurt’s palm. “Keep this, will you? It’s my family crest. Wear it where you can feel it against your skin … and think of me?”

Kurt looked at the medal in his hand, glittering gold, such a stranger in his grasp. It was smaller than many of Blaine’s other medals, but it carried all that Kurt held dear – including a surname he would never bear.

“Always, Your Highness.” Kurt bent to lay a kiss to it, then folded his fingers over it. “Though, I do not need this to think of you.” Kurt chuckled hollowly. “I dare say I think of you every minute of every day.”

“But this means that you belong with me.” Blaine sounded young, sounded lost, sounded tired of his life. “And I belong to you, no matter what.”

Kurt nodded. “No matter what,” he repeated. “I will treasure it always, Your High---“

Blaine’s lips met his and stole the word before it could be completed. He needed to take it. The consequence of their lives was a burden Blaine could no longer bear. He didn’t come down to Kurt’s stables to be reminded that he was a prince. He came to remember that he was a man, a man in love, with too much duty and responsibility to properly acknowledge its existence.

“Your Highness?” Sebastian called again from the doorway. “We need to …”

“I’m coming,” Blaine interrupted, trying to regain his strength of command but finding his voice thin and cracked, like glass that had cooled without being fired long enough – brittle, with all the heat of something stronger, but failing, lacking substance.

“I don’t want to leave you,” Blaine whispered.

“I don’t want you to leave,” Kurt replied.

Blaine looked to where their hands had joined together, and then back up with purpose to his Dom’s eyes.

“Come to the wedding?” Blaine asked. It was a request Kurt had never expected. He almost took a step back to get away from it.

“I … I cannot,” Kurt said, shaking his head. “Don’t ask me to do that. I beg you. Please.”

“Please, Kurt?” Blaine pressed as Kurt continued to shake the request away. “You are my strength. You are the only strength I have left.”

“That is not true.”

“It is truer than I would like it to be. Please,” Blaine pleaded. “I need you there. I … I cannot do this alone.”

Kurt didn’t look away from the prince’s eyes even though all he wanted to do was run and hide from them. He saw in Blaine’s face the boy he once was – the one who first came to Kurt, asking for his help. Blaine had been Kurt’s submissive before they had ever fallen in love. Kurt could not abandon his submissive any more than he could abandon his own heart, which Blaine held complete and utter ownership of.

“If you need me,” Kurt said with trembling lips and the start of tears in his eyes, “then I shall be there.”

Blaine nodded gratefully, wrapping his fingers over the hand that held the medal. He kissed the fingers of that hand, then the inside of Kurt’s wrist, then his cheek, then his lips, leaving behind a brand that burned Kurt like fire. Filled with an agony like daggers piercing his chest, one that overshadowed the wounds on his back by leaps and bounds, he backed away, departing Kurt’s stables the way he came, dressed like a prince, leaving his love behind and preparing to marry his princess.

[iqandboobstoo-blog]

Piss ‘n Moan (Part One)

Every rare once in a while, Mistress meets a man who restores Her faith in the existence of worthy males and gives Her hope regarding the Youth of America.

Such was the case, yesterday, when Mistress made arrangements to  rendezvous with a young man at Her Pleasure Palace for some afternoon delight .

Though Mistress had been corresponding with this novice only a short time, She was satisfied that this 26M subby would amuse and please her, if gifted the opportunity, Accordingly, She issued the following orders:

If the applicant wishes to please The Mistress and gain admittance to Her continued regard by completing a rigorous interview process, he will do as follows:

he will arrive exactly at 11:00 a.m. this morning (address to be provided via text, once applicant has committed to the interview).

he will enter the residence .

he will remove all of his clothing, except his panties, and hang everything up on the hooks on the inside of the door.

he will move to the center of the room.

he will kneel upon The Mat of Submission, facing The Tiger.

he will submit to The Mistress a text reading "Oh, Divine Mistress! i am here to serve at Your Pleasure."

he will close his eyes.

he will await The Mistress's arrival.

he will follow The Mistress's orders until She dismisses him.

The Reader will now pause a moment to imagine the thrill in the blood, the heart-stopping excitement, the contraction of the epidermis (creating a cold sweat and raised hairs) experienced by the applicant upon receiving The Mistress’s invitation. Oh, yes!

you are welcome. The Mistress is pleased to extend such joy to any and all of Her fans, as they vicariously follow the adventures of this most fortunate young subby! Mmmmm... you should be so lucky! Perhaps, one day, you will be... Meantime, The Science shows that your brain can’t tell the difference between your imaginings and the lived experience of this boy who won the Mistress’s Lottery of Joy, so do spend a few moments in that lovely head space--imagining yourself arriving at the door of the Mistress’s Pleasure Palace, awaiting Her presence... and your fate!

Mistress immediately repaired to Her Palace to make ready, then took a brisk stroll along the river, working up a sweet sweat as the moment of the applicant’s first act of obedience to Her drew near. Mistress does SO enjoy the interview process! 

This morning, She revels in working up a lovely froth of sweat and pheromones with which to intrigue and torment Her interviewee. As She feels the first sheen of moisture coating her upper lip, as her slippery underarms and frothing crotch ease the various frictions of locomotion, She toys with the thought of whether or not to make the applicant lick it all clean, or, instead, to order him into the shower (after having smothered his face in Her underarms and perhaps gripping his face in her crotch with the vise-like grip of her thighs) to lather Her up all over and gently remove every trace of sweat and soap.

Promptly, at 11:05 a.m., a text arrives. She has timed her walk perfectly to arrive covered with sweat, yet without a trace of labored breathing. The applicant should be so lucky as to hear her labored breathing by the end of his interview!

She opens the gate to the patio, knowing he can hear it inside. She imagines his heart racing, the contraction of his balls, the shriveling of his penis as Fear grips him. She smiles. She waits. He’ll be wondering... was that her, or someone else entering the patio? Fed-ex, perhaps? She stealthy mounts the stairs, making no sound. Hee hee hee...She loves mindfucking the applicants! She turns the door knob...

the applicant has locked the deadbolt! Ah! This subby is practical as well as bold. She appreciates his pragmatism, ensuring that only She (or someone following Her orders) will come through this door. He has heard the door knob turn, ratcheting up his already unbearable anticipation. Now she will make him wait. She thinks about walking back down the stairs loudly enough to leave him wondering if She has changed Her mind, if She is, perhaps, outraged at being locked out of Her own Palace!

Oh, but She is eager to see this boy, to move on to more interesting mindfucks and, perhaps, other fucks. She punches in the key code; turns the deadbolt, slowly and opens the door.

There he is: her eager applicant, awaiting his interview. On his knees, with his back to the door. In his panties. His arms at his sides. She can see by the barest fluttering of the hems of his panties that he is trembling in an agony of anticipation--and, no doubt, with just a touch of fear. She crosses to a cupboard, pulls out a bottle of water, returns to a position behind him, just off his right shoulder. She uncaps the bottle, and drinks long and deeply, letting him hear the gurgle of bubbles inside the bottle, and the lusty opening and closing of her throat as she swallows. She throws in a few soft expressions of satisfaction with the quenching of her thirst. “Mmmm!”  “Aaaah!” Oh, what fun! Such an innocuous activity, such a small detail, yet She knows the suspense of listening to Her drink, and his intense curiosity and desire to hear her voice for the first time, are like frantic birds inside his brain. 

Ann. Tiss. Uh. 

PATION!

How The Mistress ADORES first encounters and the unique opportunities they provide for titillation--experiences that can never again be quite recaptured. Each interview is an adventure, completely new and unexpected, even to Herself, as she crafts and improvs Her approach to titillate, thrill and agonize each interviewee according to Her insights into their fears, hopes and personalities!

THIS is precious time!

She circles him now, inspecting him. His eyes are obediently closed. He does not move or speak, as is meet. She brushes by, so close as She passes that She feels a few of his shoulder hairs brush against her bare thigh. He twitches, slightly. First Contact. As light as the landing of a diaphanous insect. She smiles, again. She has evoked exactly the response She wishes.

“Stand up!” She whispers huskily in his ear. He lurches obediently to his feet. He is a bit taller than She. A matter of no import. Mistress enjoys men of all sizes. She simply notices. 

He is a bit overweight, but what Mistress would call “well-upholstered,” rather than “fat.” She savors the contrast of this soft, babyish attribute against his impeccably groomed facial hair. In fact, a not-insignificant amount of body hair lightly covers his chest, his belly, even his back. Mistress adores a Natural Man! Whether naturally sleek, smooth and brown; pale and covered with downy fluff, or swarthily sporting a mat of dense hair, a Natural Man is a delight to The Mistress. While a manscaped creature can also be sexy, She does not approve the modern obsession with appearances which undermines so much sexual and personal happiness.

She has been pleased with the correspondence from this articulate, would-be acolyte, in which he has underplayed his physical features without sinking into self-loathing. “Not good-looking. Overweight (but not exceedingly so). And my dick is nothing to write home about.” Average. He has an average dick. Mistress has already assured him that an average-sized cocklet is a treasure, fully capable of pleasing the vast majority of women. She is a true believer in the old maxim: “It’s not what you’ve got, but how you use it.” She remembers her old morning-wood lover, who had a beautiful, thick, hard cock. He lifted her skirt without preamble and fucked her hard, over the back of an office sofa, the first time they met, but subsequently used it with such an utter lack of imagination, and failed so miserably at performing in any other way, that She eventually expelled him from Her Grace. A one-trick pony will never last long in The Mistress’s stable!

Meantime, She wonders of THIS interviewee has understated the size of his cock, as he understated the merits of his face and physique...

That remains to be seen. Thus far, She finds his physicality and facial features more appealing than expected. She appreciates his subtle understanding of the value of modesty, and leaving it to Her to be satisfied or pleasingly surprised.

She is pleasingly surprised.

The shape of his eyes, fringed with sweet, child-like lashes, is lovely, and she expects them to be quite beautiful when She finally allows him to open them. 

His face is somewhat boyish. Perfect for Mommy play! His mouth is pretty. She imagines those bow-shaped lips wrapped around a nipple, sucking hungrily while the soft-looking, perfectly manicured hands knead at Her breast. Her cunt spasms at the thought.

For now, though, she wants to heighten his anticipation. She leans in, from behind, and sniffs at his armpit. “Mmmm...” She allows her exhaling breath to waft across his skin. She sniffs again, deeply. “Mmm hmmm!” He smells clean. No odious cologne or cloying scents. Simply clean. Like a school boy in his new suit of clothing, fresh from the shower, when Mommy waves him goodbye as the school bus pulls away from the curb.

Oh, my! Mistress adores school boys--especially school boys with grown-up cocks! (She also, under the right circumstances, enjoys a sweaty man on the verge of turning rank; however, an interview is not the appropriate place to share one’s body odors with The Mistress!)

The applicant has passed Mistress’s inspection. Now She will determine whether or not he is capable of pleasing Her.

(to be continued)

[itsclydebitches]

50 Shades of Disaster: A Recap and Review for Those Unwilling to See the Actual Film*

*and who have a bit of a masochistic streak.

(Pun intended.)

Written by yours truly and guest staring the young college girl sitting next to me who went on an epic, emotional journey throughout the course of this film. She will from here on out be referred to affectionately as Boots because of her gorgeous, grey suede shoes that I was seriously tempted to steal right off her feet.

Let’s get started.

I saw this shit-show yesterday (Valentine’s Day) which was all kinds of a terrible decision, but there you have it. The theater organizers must have thought we were all super eager to get this party underway because there were only three previews: one for the new Samurai Jack (you deserve better than this), a glimpse at Hump! (which was more disturbing than the entirety of 50 Shades put together), and a plug for the Women in Film organization.

There’s some irony in this, I’m sure of it.

We open with the sounds of domestic abuse - that’s fitting! - and quickly realize that we’re inside Christian’s nightmare, a memory of his Terrible, Awful, No Good, Very Bad Childhood. We segue straight into the opening credits, superimposed over a gorgeous white rose. You know, it’s good contrast because this is 50 Shades Darker and we need a reminder that Ana is pure.

I’m not even joking about that last bit. Ana’s ‘innocence’/virginity is held up as both a prize and a shocking sin in the novels, and the film loves to remind us of this by surrounding her with whiteness.

(The film is also white-white, racially, but I’ll get to that.)

The actual ‘plot’ begins with a montage of Ana’s sad life without Christian, presented to us over Corinne Bailey Rae’s (admittedly lovely) cover of “The Scientist.” The soundtrack remains a consistent plus on the film’s half and I sort of hate it even more for it.

But of course Christian can’t take no for an answer. He sends Ana more white roses to congratulate her on her new job at the SIP publishing agency and Ana briefly thinks about dropping them soap-opera-style into the trash... still in their glass vase... which would be a super bad idea, friend...

But she doesn’t.

Instead Ana heads into work where we meet Jack, her boss and quite obviously another guy that is 100% into her. He brings Ana tea that is “weak and black,” just how she likes it, and is very complimentary when she pulls out a manuscript that is “sharp and relevant.” Wow, Ana. What a stunning analysis!

She gets a compliment on her dress too because Ana is heading to José’s gallery opening. Remember José? The other guy totally into Ana who forced himself on her?

Yeah. There are a lot of them.

What’s even sketchier is that Ana walks into the gallery and finds her face plastered all over the walls. She’s highly uncomfortable with the fact that José is selling pictures of her, but his excuse is that if he’d asked permission she would have said no because she’s too shy. Oddly enough, the reason for saying no is not the important bit here. The point is Ana didn’t want this.

Sketchier than that is Christian showing up and buying them all because “I don’t like strangers gawking at you.”

This is where Boots chimes in. The second Christian came on screen she let out a loud “FUCK ME UP” that I honestly can’t even blame her for. Jamie Dornan cuts a fine figure.

José wants to take Ana out to celebrate his sale, but Ana ends up agreeing to dinner with Christian instead, and she just... doesn’t tell José that. So presumably he was waiting around awkwardly somewhere for a good chunk of the night. The dinner, of course, is to “re-negotiate terms” wherein Christian tries to control Ana by ordering their food, admits that he only revealed personal information to her while she was asleep, and assures her again and again that no, he doesn’t need all that “kinky fuckery” in a relationship. He’ll settle for vanilla. So voilà! They’re back together.

They share a kiss.

Boots: “Well, I’m really single.”

With things back on track Christian gifts Ana with a new laptop and iPhone (Boots: “Casual”), but things get a little dicy again with Jack. He tricks Ana into having drinks with him by insinuating that the rest of the department would be there (spoilers: they weren’t) and Christian is Not Pleased by that little power play. He reminds Jack that he’s the “Boyfriend” whereas Jack proclaims smugly that he’s the “Boss.”

Neither of these assholes actually gives a damn about Ana.

Christian is all, “He wants what’s mine!” and throws a temper tantrum by buying Ana’s company. Things get even crazier when this random girl shows up outside Ana’s office, bedraggled and wearing bandages on her wrists. She glowers like the ring-wraith for a moment before Ana leaves.

Yep. I’m sure there’s no way she’ll come back.

Back in Ana’s apartment they’re having their first sex scene which is boring as unbuttered toast. The (presumed) issue with their relationship is the BDSM, yet Ana refuses to give anything more specific than wanting “him” and “all of you” and generic romantic shit like that, that in no way tells Christian or the audience whether she wants to be spanked or not.

They fuck. They sleep. Creepy Girl shows up briefly to watch them Fatal Attraction style.

We get more ‘How in the WORLD did you wait so long to have sex??’ talk that makes me cringe something awful, especially when Ana starts waxing poetic about how reading Austen and Bronte encouraged her to wait for someone “extraordinary.” It’s amazing how this text manages to slut shame and criticize virgins simultaneously. Oh wait. Western culture manages to do that on a daily basis. Never mind.

They get into an argument about the 24k Christian gave Ana in the last film and when she rips up the cheque he just transfers the same amount directly into her account. That raises some VERY important questions regarding how he has her banking info and Ana gets to flip through the CSI-like folders on both her and Leila (Ms. Creepy Girl). Ana is furious. “This isn’t a relationship,” she says. “It’s ownership,” and she’s completely right. The problem is that instead of changing his behavior Christian takes Ana to the bedroom and... has her trace his “boundaries” with lipstick? As in, the places where she can’t touch him. It’s weird and stupid and solves absolutely nothing. This is the problem at the heart of 50 Shades and one of the main reasons why people think it’s worth supporting: Ana seems like a strong character - she certainly calls Christian out on his shit - but that never leads to any actual change. It’s a goddamn smoke screen for his abuse.

No time for emotional growth though, there’s going to be a masquerade ball! This is where Ana meets “Mrs. Robinson,” or Elena as she’s known to the rest of the world, and for the next 20mins or so we’re treated to Ana doing her hair, picking out her dress, looking at herself in lingerie, and inserting Ben Wa balls that she’ll wear while with Christian’s parents and sister. Yeeeeeeah. At the ball Ana has an admittedly decent moment where she spends the 24k on the auction that Christian himself had donated to the fundraiser. Two seconds later - about ten minutes since arriving - they’re having sex in Christian’s childhood bedroom. It’s about as stimulating as you’d imagine.

Ana and Christian angst over a picture of his birth mother. On her way back to the party Ana sees a creepy guy in full mask taking a picture of the family portrait. I’m super sure he won’t be important either.

Finally she runs into Elena in the bathroom and gets the ‘he’ll never love you because you’re not submissive’ speech. Ana drags them home, finds her car all vandalized (cough-Leila-cough), and they go to Christian’s yacht instead. She washes off the lipstick all comforting like. 

Back at work the next day. Jack is Not Pleased that Ana rejected him at the bar and springs a trip to New York on her. Ana is stuck in the awkward position of not wanting to be with this creep, but recognizing that it is a legit work trip. Things get worse when she tells Christian about it and gets the text back: “The answer is NO.”

Boots: “What? Are you my dad? Did I clean my room? That pisses me off!”

(I was so proud of Boots in this moment. You tell him, girl.)

They ‘work out’ the issue by deciding that Ana should stay home and see NY with Christian sometime instead, which... doesn’t solve the problem that this is for work?? But oh wait I forgot, they don’t have any real communication between them.

Ana meets Christian’s housekeeper. She meets her again when Christian is hauling her out of the Red Room of Pain over his shoulder.

Boots: “That’s not okay.”

Uh huh.

Ana waits until the end of the next work day to tell Jack that she won’t be going on the trip. In what’s probably one of the best shots of the film we get a long, uninterrupted view of the deserted office, making things extra creepy and foreshadow-y. Every woman knows exactly what’s coming. Jack rants about how he’s so much better than Christian, crowds Ana against the door, touches and presses up against her as she whimpers. “What do you think I’m gonna do?” he asks her. “Make you fuck me?”

For all the common assault tropes presented here, it’s a compellingly chilly scene. Ana manages to ram her knee up into his groin and runs downstairs into Christian’s arms.

That’s the really frustrating thing though. By presenting Jack as the clear cut rapist, it makes Christian look saintly in comparison. Don’t be fooled. He’s equally bad, he’s just more subtle about it.

Oh yeah, and there’s Boots on Ana’s self-defense: “FUCK YEAH FUCK YEAH.”

#me

Jack is quickly fired and Christian decides that a few hours after she’s been assaulted is the perfect time to ask Ana to move in with him. She tells him she’ll think on it.

Back at work and Ana has to sub for Jack until they find a replacement. She goes to the senior editor’s meeting and shocks them all by suggesting that they publish “new voices” alongside their old clients, which... is just the stupidest fucking thing? No duh? Unless you’re SUPER set of course you want to expand?? It drives me nuts when authors don’t bother to even do the tiniest bit of research. If you need your character to suggest something innovative and vaguely shocking, then find something innovative and vaguely shocking for them to say.

But of course Ana is just given Jack’s job. She’s perfect, remember?

It’s time to celebrate her success! Except that when Ana goes back to her apartment she finds Leila there with a gun. She let’s off a shot that actually had me and the rest of the theater jumping out of our seats. Nicely done with that. Leila admits that she saw “Master” sleeping with Ana and demands to know what she has that she doesn’t. Ana says nothing.

Christian and Taylor come to the rescue by asserting his dominance. (Christian’s dominance, not Taylor’s, though honestly that would probably be 5000x more interesting). He gives Leila some hand motion commands and then tells her to kneel. She does, leaving Ana - and us - with the uncomfortable image of him stroking this broken’s girl’s messy hair.

Ana angsts about it in the rain. Christian yells at her for daring to take time for herself. I sent people after you, Ana, that’s such an imposition!

Really though, Ana asks for time to think and somehow Christian translates that into “you’re going to leave me.” He ends up kneeling before her instead, admitting that he’s a sadist, not a true dom.

Boots: “Oh, now I’m sad. I’m crying over 50 Shades, what the fuck.”

There’s reconciliation. They go to bed. Christian has another nightmare and, upon waking, asks Ana to marry him. She assumes he’s just still sleep addled.

Morning and we’ve got a shirtless Jamie Dornan doing pull-ups.

Boots: “GOD BLESS. Imagine waking up to that every morning god bless.”

There was also the random dude in the front who made a whole bunch obscene, happy noises. Glad you enjoyed the show, friend.

Ana learns from Mia (Christian’s sister) that it’s his birthday soon and there will be a party. Ana picks up a cheap keychain at a tourist stand for him. Before gifts can be given though Christian needs to go to Portland and - jarringly - we’re suddenly in the helicopter with him on the way back aND IT’S CRASHING.

He has a black woman with him as his assistant and all she does throughout the scene is scream “WHAT’S HAPPENING? WHAT’S HAPPENING?” (You’re crashing. That’s what’s happening.) It’s not the most flattering characterization, made worse by the fact that she’s one of three POCs in the whole film. We’ve got her, José - who acts only as the Rejected Crush - and another worker in Ana’s office. She gets the highly uncomfortable scene in which, after Ana secures Jack’s position, she has to hesitantly ask Ana if she needs to bring her coffee now and call her Ms. Steele. Ana graciously says no.

Super. Uncomfortable.

But that’s just one of the film’s many, many problems. We begin to (finally) conclude the story with another one: namely that when Christian returns from the crash safe and sound, Ana gives him the key-chain with a big YES written on the back. The issue? Neither Christian nor the audience knows if she’s saying yes to moving in or his joking marriage proposals. We only find out when, at his party, Christian announces that they’re engaged and Ana doesn’t react with horrified surprise. Crisis averted, I suppose?

We cut to another scene. Boots: “Omg there’s more?”

Elena confronts Ana about the engagement, reiterating that they’ll never be happy together. Christian arrives and tells her to back off, also claiming that she only taught him “how to fuck.” Christian’s mom overhears and slaps Elena TO THE COMPLETE JOY OF THE ENTIRE THEATER.

The emotional repercussions of learning that your abused, adopted son was seduced (aka raped) by a grown woman are totally glossed over though, as you’d expect from this series. Instead Christian takes Ana out to the boathouse, now covered in flowers, and proposes with a big-ass ring. Despite the fact that he’d already asked her to marry him. And that she said yes. And that he’d just told Mia that they’d pick the ring out together. But whatever. When has Ana ever gotten a say in anything? Ha. Ha ha.

There are fireworks and everything is pretty and perfect. Except...

...our final shot. Off in the distance, watching the happy couple’s celebrations is Jack Hyde (seriously, his last name is Hyde). He glowers from the shadows, standing atop a cliff like a goddamn cartoon villain. He menacingly draws on his cigarette and looks down at the photo he snapped of the family--burning out Christian’s face.

It’s all very dramatic.

Boots: “THAT’S IT? THAT’S WHERE IT ENDS? Oh fuck that, I need alcohol.”

Honestly? Couldn’t have ended this any better, Boots. I wish you well.

Thanks for reading, friends~