#Prayer Timetable

[alwahabfoundation]

Stay On Time with Salah: Accurate UK Prayer Timetable by Al-Wahab Foundation

For Muslims, Salah, or daily prayer, is a central part of practicing their faith. It is a ritual that brings peace, discipline, and a strong connection to Allah. Observing Salah at the right time enhances this spiritual experience, and following a precise Prayer Timetable is essential. For Muslims living in the UK, Al-Wahab Foundation offers a trusted and convenient resource for accessing accurate prayer times, ensuring that each act of worship aligns with the prescribed hours for Fajr, Dhuhr, Asr, Maghrib, and Isha. Here, we explore the significance of having a prayer timetable, how Al-Wahab Foundation simplifies the process, and why staying updated on prayer times is vital for a devout Muslim life in the UK.

Why Follow a Prayer Timetable?

Prayer is one of the Five Pillars of Islam, and performing it on time is crucial. Each prayer time is uniquely tied to certain phases of the day, often marked by the sun's position, symbolizing the natural rhythm of life. Adhering to a prayer timetable ensures that each Salah is performed at the optimal time, reflecting dedication and respect for the discipline Allah prescribes.

However, calculating these prayer times can be a challenge, especially in a country like the UK where daylight hours vary significantly across seasons. The differences in daylight length make having an accurate, updated prayer timetable crucial for every Muslim living in the UK. It ensures that no prayer is delayed or performed incorrectly due to time miscalculations.

Prayer Timetable in the UK: Challenges and Adaptations

Muslims in the UK experience a wide range of daylight changes throughout the year, creating specific challenges when it comes to setting a prayer timetable. The latitude of the country results in shorter days in winter and longer days in summer. As a result, prayer times shift significantly from season to season. This requires prayer timetables that are highly accurate and adaptive to the varying sunrise and sunset times.

Al-Wahab Foundation recognizes these challenges and provides reliable solutions by offering a regularly updated prayer timetable that accounts for the UK's unique geographical conditions. The prayer timetable from Al-Wahab Foundation incorporates calculations based on Islamic scholarly recommendations, making it easier for Muslims to observe each Salah at the right time, even as the seasons change.

How Al-Wahab Foundation Supports Muslims in the UK with Accurate Prayer Times

Al-Wahab Foundation is dedicated to serving the Muslim community by providing valuable resources that enhance their faith practices. Among these resources is a comprehensive prayer timetable available on their website, which helps Muslims across the UK stay in sync with the exact prayer times for their region. By simply visiting Al-Wahab Foundation’s prayer timetable, users can access an accurate, daily-updated timetable for all five prayers.

This service is invaluable in enabling Muslims to uphold their daily prayers with consistency and ease. The prayer timetable provided by Al-Wahab Foundation is designed to be accessible and easy to understand, with clear information for each prayer time, allowing Muslims to integrate Salah seamlessly into their daily lives.

The Importance of Staying Updated with Prayer Times

In addition to having a reliable prayer timetable, staying updated with changes in prayer times is essential. The variations in daylight across the year mean that prayer times can shift by minutes each day. Fajr, which is observed at dawn, and Maghrib, observed at sunset, are particularly sensitive to these shifts. An outdated timetable could lead to prayers being performed outside their prescribed times, which diminishes the essence and benefit of the ritual.

With the Al-Wahab Foundation’s prayer timetable, UK Muslims can rest assured that they have the most accurate information at their fingertips. The timetable is updated regularly, allowing Muslims to adjust their routines effortlessly as the times for each Salah change. This level of convenience removes any uncertainty and provides peace of mind, helping Muslims focus fully on their worship.

Key Features of Al-Wahab Foundation's Prayer Timetable

Daily-Updated Times: The Al-Wahab Foundation’s prayer timetable is updated frequently to reflect the changing daylight hours, ensuring that users have access to accurate timings every day.

User-Friendly Design: The timetable is structured in a simple, easy-to-navigate format. It clearly displays each prayer time, making it easy for users to check and prepare for Salah without confusion.

Nationwide Accessibility: Whether you're in London, Birmingham, Manchester, or any other city in the UK, Al-Wahab Foundation provides prayer times that cater to various locations across the country. This ensures that the entire Muslim community in the UK can rely on a single, unified prayer timetable.

Mobile Access: Since the timetable is available online, users can access it from any device. This means that even when on the go, Muslims can quickly check prayer times and make the necessary adjustments to observe Salah on time.

Special Consideration for Ramadan: During Ramadan, prayer times become even more significant as Muslims observe fasting from dawn to sunset. The prayer timetable provided by Al-Wahab Foundation includes Fajr and Maghrib timings, aiding Muslims in starting and breaking their fasts accurately.

Practical Benefits of Using a Prayer Timetable

How to Access the Al-Wahab Foundation Prayer Timetable

Accessing the Al-Wahab Foundation’s prayer timetable is straightforward. By visiting this page, users can find the most recent prayer times, updated to reflect seasonal changes in daylight. The online timetable is available to everyone free of charge, underscoring Al-Wahab Foundation's commitment to supporting the spiritual well-being of Muslims in the UK.

Al-Wahab Foundation also offers reminders and resources for special occasions, such as Ramadan or the month of Dhul Hijjah, when many Muslims are more observant of additional prayers and fasting. Having these updates and reminders readily available is a convenient way to stay prepared for every facet of worship.

Benefits of Staying Connected with Al-Wahab Foundation

Using Al-Wahab Foundation’s prayer timetable not only ensures timely prayers but also keeps Muslims in touch with an organization that deeply understands their needs and challenges. Al-Wahab Foundation is not just about delivering information; it is a platform for fostering a connected, resilient, and spiritually enriched community. By choosing to rely on their prayer timetable, UK Muslims become part of a supportive network that aids them in their religious journey.

Furthermore, Al-Wahab Foundation provides various programs and resources that contribute to the broader Muslim community’s welfare. From charitable initiatives to religious events, Al-Wahab Foundation is dedicated to uplifting lives through acts of compassion and service, in addition to offering practical resources like a prayer timetable.

Building a Habit with the Prayer Timetable

Consistency in Salah brings numerous blessings, yet it requires commitment and a structured approach. The Al-Wahab Foundation’s prayer timetable simplifies this by providing a daily reference that makes it easy to establish and maintain a routine. By referring to the timetable daily, Muslims can form a habit that aligns their day with prayer, instilling peace and consistency in their lives.

As a habit, Salah reinforces mindfulness and discipline. Through regular prayers at designated times, Muslims reinforce their devotion and mindfulness in a world that is often fast-paced. Having a prayer timetable helps cultivate this sense of spirituality and discipline, making daily prayers a natural part of one’s life.

Conclusion: Stay Updated with Al-Wahab Foundation’s Prayer Timetable

For Muslims in the UK, observing Salah at the correct time is not just a practice but an expression of devotion and respect for Allah’s command. The Al-Wahab Foundation’s prayer timetable is an invaluable resource in fulfilling this duty, as it provides accurate, updated timings that align with the UK’s unique daylight patterns. Through their user-friendly, regularly updated prayer timetable, Al-Wahab Foundation supports the Muslim community in nurturing a disciplined, spiritually connected life.

By relying on this prayer timetable, UK Muslims can experience the peace and satisfaction that come from observing Salah on time, even amidst the changing seasons. The accessibility, accuracy, and convenience of Al-Wahab Foundation’s timetable make it a must-have resource for anyone committed to maintaining their prayer routine in the UK.

Discover the ease and assurance of timely prayer with the Al-Wahab Foundation’s prayer timetable. Visit Al-Wahab Foundation’s prayer timetable today and take the first step towards a more organized, spiritually fulfilling day. Also Read: Al-Wahab Foundation’s Water Appeal: Bringing Clean Water to Communities in Need

[brenda-walsh-ministries]

Today's Audio Daily Devotional: God's Timetable Bible Texts: - Ecclesiastes 3:1 - Psalms 27:14 - Psalms 37:7 - Isaiah 60:22

[spottywing]

can they invent a maths that doesn’t make me cry in despair pls i can’t do this anymore

[thirst2]

Timete Dominum, omnes sancti ejus: quoniam nihil deest timentibus eum.

Inquirentes autem Dominum non deficient omni bono.

Fear the Lord, all ye his saints: for there is no want to them that fear him.

They that seek the Lord shall not be deprived of any good.

—Psalm 33

[thewordfortheday]

“The Lord is good to those who wait for Him and seek Him.” Lamentations 3:25

For me, waiting quietly for God is difficult. How I wish I could hurry God! My patience keeps running out. I often wonder, “How do I pray better to make Him act?” Maybe, you too feel the same.

When your patience is tested to the limit, remember that the world unfolds according to God’s timetable, not ours.

Prayer: Lord, let me live according to Your plan and according to Your timetable. When I am hurried, Lord, slow me down. When I become impatient with others, give me empathy. Today, Lord, let me be patient, and let me trust in You and Your master plan. In Jesus’ Name. Amen

[tamamita]

hello tumblr user tamamita i have a question

if there was a muslim living in the arctic circle how would they fast? similarly, how would namaz times work? would they default to the nearest non-arctic circle sunrise & sunset times? or do a clean 12-12 split? you seem knowledgeable

They would default to the nearest city within a timezone and follow the timetable accordingly with respect to the prayer and fasting times.

So if you feel like Reykjavik is the closest city with a sunset and sunrise, you may follow their timetable

[faithpartnersassembly]

“The Lord is good to those who wait for Him and seek Him.” Lamentations 3:25

For me, waiting quietly for God is difficult. How I wish I could hurry God! My patience keeps running out. I often wonder, “How do I pray better to make Him act?” Maybe, you too feel the same.

When your patience is tested to the limit, remember that the world unfolds according to God’s timetable, not ours.

Prayer: Lord, let me live according to Your plan and according to Your timetable. When I am hurried, Lord, slow me down. When I become impatient with others, give me empathy. Today, Lord, let me be patient, and let me trust in You and Your master plan. In Jesus’ Name. Amen

[jamneuromain]

Mean Daddy Pt.2

Logan Syverson x Reader (You)

Word Count: 1k

Warning: Mean!Sy, established relationship, pussy spanking, aftercare turns into foreplay(?), oral (implied), a whole lot of teasing, fluff.

Summary: Your mean daddy comes home ... and you're in for the night :]

A/N: For the record, I'm not sorry at all for the cliffhanger (and stretching this short fic into three parts...) @gummydummy19 :3

Find Part 1 here

This isn’t exactly what you had planned for tonight.

Well, technically you did plan for some spicy evening events, but you did not expect Sy to make changes to the timetable plan, and spend all afternoon and evening on your bed.

… eh, spending all day on you.

And the worst part is, you have passed out twice now, and except for bathroom breaks and snack breaks, Sy hasn’t stopped playing the game he invented, which has the name “How many times can you cum”.

Spoiler alert, you’ve both lost count, but that doesn’t stop him from playing.

The clock strikes nine, and you feel there’s not one good bone in your body.

Thankfully, it’s another snack break.

While munching on apple slices that Sy cut for you, you’ve turned on your laptop for a show called Family Feud. Basically, the show interviewed random 100 people on the street with some questions, and came back with the top six answers. Whichever team answers more, wins.

It’s less exciting, compared to the detective/murder ones you often enjoy, but this is what Sy needs, something light and funny, instead of the sound of gunshots that would make his body tense up.

“Young man,” the show host Steve Harvey asks, “Name something your girlfriend would do to your face.”

The shy boy on the screen covers his twitching lips with his fist, “Uh… I’m gonna say sit on it.”

The audience on the screen roars out laughter, while you can’t help but giggle simultaneously.

A light squeeze of your tummy dials your giggling down, having you remember the large beefcake wrapping around you with his thick arms and legs.

“C’mon, Sy, you can’t tell me that’s not funny.” You burst out a new fit of giggles, tugging on his bearded chin, without turning around, “Besides,” You try your best to cross your legs discreetly, not getting his attention that your pussy is dripping again, because, for Christ’s sake, your lady parts have been through literal Hell tonight, “it’s not like we haven’t tried it before.”

“Hmm.” Is his grumbling reply.

You let out an exhale of relief. It’s not your fault that your mind is filled with pure filth of how he used to bury his head between your thighs…

The show Family Feud goes on, but you allow the jests and laughs to slip by your ear, since your brain is occupied with porn, and wet your lips when you can almost feel his beard leaving a burn that would remain for days…

The calloused hand moves from your belly to your tits, weighing them in his palm.

Sy’s low timbre ghosts your ears, “Penny for your thoughts, sugar.”

Your pebbled peak rolls under his fingers involuntarily. No word comes out of your mouth except for a small whimper. God, you want him to eat you out, pin you down with one hand over your stomach and one hand groping your tits, swinging your legs over his broad shoulders, bringing you to the edge of ecstasy as you chant his name like a prayer.

“Want to grind on my face?” He proposes with his sinful lips, circling one hand painfully close to your weeping core, while flicking your nipple with the other. “Be a good little slut and ride Daddy like you were told to?”

“Uh-Uh-huh.” You nod eagerly. Your pussy feels raw and used, as if someone (Sy) has set fire to it, yet you could not resist the temptation of reaching your limit once again – what can you say, you never learn from the pain.

Sy admires your ruined body for a brief second, cupping your mound with his palm. You buck your hip to meet his fingers, but to your frustration, he holds his position without wavering, neither meeting your silent plea nor denying it. “Shit,” a sly smile hangs on the corner of his lips, “that desperate, huh? Fucking my hand like that? Poor baby.”

“Sy,” you whimper, struggling in his tightened grip, begging him with your teary eyes, “want you to kiss it and make it better, please Daddy.”

“Aww,” he coos softly, kissing the top of your head, “I like the sound of that.”

Smug bastard.

“Use your big-girl words, darlin’.” Sy traces a bead of sweat that disappears between your tits. His hand glides down your body, sneaking it under your thigh before pulling them wide open, earning a surprised squeal from your lips.

“Want t-to ride your face, Daddy.” You stutter as he lowers his head to kiss the carotid artery on the side of your neck, your fingers dig into his veiny arms that hold your thigh, “Want-ah!”

“What’s the matter, darlin’?” He feigns his curiosity, pretending he has no idea that he has just smacked your sensitive bundle of nerves, “Cat got your tongue? Can’t hear you though,” Sy smacks your pussy again, making you nearly jump from his embrace, “Don’ really know what you’re talking about, sugar.”

The harshness of the slaps adds to the numbness and the sting of your ruined hole, coating his hand with a shin of juices, which he wipes on the side of your thigh, glistening with the evidence of the betrayal of your body, even when it still hurts from the overstimulation during previous hours.

“Daddy,” you whine in embarrassment and a tinge of desperation, “Daddy, pleaaase.”

Sy chuckles behind you, manoeuvring himself to your front, pressing a bit harder on your stomach to have you lie down. Kissing both of your thighs, he spreads them wider than before – wide enough to fit a grown man and his shoulders in between – and trails a line of soft pecks on your lower abdomen, and finally, on your quivering pussy.

“Better make those pretty noises for me, darlin’,” Sy whispers while nibbling on your skin, lifting your thighs onto his shoulders - his favorite position. His tone drips a hint of darkness, both a threat and a promise, shooting a shiver down your spine, “If you ain’t screaming, you ain’t creaming.”

[walkswithmyfather]

Psalm ‭70:1, 4-5‬ ‭(NKJV‬‬). “Make haste, O God, to deliver me! Make haste to help me, O LORD! Let all those who seek You rejoice and be glad in You; and let those who love Your salvation say continually, “Let God be magnified!” But I am poor and needy; make haste to me, O God! You are my help and my deliverer; O LORD, do not delay.”

“HURRY UP, GOD!” By Warren W. Wiersbe:

“Has God ever been slow in your life? He was in David's. This undoubtedly was one of the psalms written when David was being harassed by king Saul. So he cries out, "LORD, why don't You do something? You're being awfully slow."

Have you ever pondered the delays of God? He is never in a hurry, but once He starts to work, watch out! He patiently accomplishes His work. David pleads, "Make haste, make haste" (v.1) He repeats his plea in verse 5; "I am poor and needy; make haste to me, O God! You are my help and my deliverer; O LORD, do not delay." If right now it seems as though God is tarrying instead of working, if it seems as though He is delaying instead of acting, what should you do? Seek Him and wait on Him and love Him. Verse 4 says it beautifully: "Let all those who seek You rejoice and be glad in You; and let those who love Your salvation say continually, 'Let God be magnified!'" We have seen that phrase before. David, when he was sinking, said, "I ... will magnify Him with thanksgiving." (Ps 69: 30).

Here's a good lesson for us. When God is not moving as rapidly as we think He should, when our timetables do not coincide, what should we do? Rejoice in Him, love Him and magnify Him. Let Him worry about the timetable. God is always working, and we know that all things are working together for good (Romans 8: 28). But He waits for the right time to reveal His victories. Let Him watch the clock.

God's delays are a part of your character-building process. The next time God gives you a delay, encourage yourself by remembering that He never stops working for you, and He knows when and how to help you. Submit to His timetable and His care. (© Prayer, Praise & Promises)

From: “The Spiritual Encourager” (FB)

[momentsbeforemass]

Silent Times

“The child grew and became strong, filled with wisdom; and the favor of God was upon him.”

That’s how the Gospel wraps up the Christmas story. You’ve got all the amazing events surrounding the birth of Jesus. And then?

Not much of anything. Apart from finding Jesus in the Temple, there’s nothing until Jesus is 30.

Biblical scholars refer to this as the Silent Years. The Bible falls silent. Because there’s nothing to see here.

But just because there’s nothing to see, that doesn’t mean that nothing is happening. So what is happening?

The Gospel tells us, “the child grew and became strong, filled with wisdom; and the favor of God was upon him.” Which means?

When it comes to the life of Jesus, this is God leading by example. How? Think of the surrender to God’s will we see in the Gethsemane Prayer (“…yet not as I will, but as You will.”). That’s probably the most recognizable example of God setting a pattern for us with the life of Jesus. But it’s far from the only one.  

The Silent Years are the same thing. God is setting a pattern for us. So what’s the pattern?

That in those times in our lives when it seems like nothing is happening. Like what we’re doing doesn’t make any difference. Like our prayers don’t matter. Like we’re stuck.

That’s when we have a choice. We can let ourselves get frustrated by that stuck feeling. Or we can turn to God, and let Him use this Silent Time.

We can let go of our timetables, our schedules for what has to happen and when. Drop up our wisdom about how things have to work. And let ourselves be filled with God’s wisdom.

Because in those Silent Times, that’s when God is doing the unseen work on us that needs to be done. There’s nothing to see, because it’s all happening on the inside.

If we give the Silent Times to God, God will use them to change us, to develop us, to grow us.

If we let God use them, the Silent Times will be our schools of patience, of faithfulness, of wisdom, of endurance, of courage, of strength.

Because the Silent Times are when God teaches us what to trust. And what not to trust.

To not trust in our own understanding. To not jump off after our own ideas, or whatever grabs our attention. To let go of thinking that we have to do it all by ourselves.

And, instead, to trust Him. To trust that God will lead. And that God will provide. 

Doing that? Using the Silent Times well? It’s hard. One of the big reasons that it’s hard?

Notice that this time in Jesus’ life is known as the “Silent Years.”

While I would be totally fine with the Silent Afternoon. Or, better yet, the Silent Minute-and-a-Half. This stuff takes time. Why?

I can tell you one of the reasons. If it’s just a Silent Minute-and-a-Half, or even a Silent Afternoon? You and I can do that on our own. We can fake our way through that.

That’s why it can take years. Because God’s got to help us get over ourselves. And that can take some time.

But that’s got to happen first. Before we can ever grow and change. Before God can ever trust you and me with all that He has planned for us.

So as we wrap up a year that we will be happy to see behind us. Set yourself up to grow and change in the New Year.

Starting today, make the time every day. To spend with God.

Make the time during the day. To spend with God.

When you do, ask God to help you get over yourself. Ask God to help you rely on Him.

Ask God to make you into someone that He can trust with all that He has planned for you.

Make this New Year your Silent Time.

Today’s Readings

[alwahabfoundation]

Stay on Track with Salah: Accurate Prayer Timetable for Muslims in the UK

For Muslims, prayer (Salah) is a vital pillar of faith and an essential part of daily life. Observing the five daily prayers punctuates the day with moments of spirituality, reflection, and connection with Allah. A reliable and accessible prayer timetable is crucial for Muslims living in the UK to ensure they are performing these prayers at their prescribed times. A proper prayer timetable helps maintain accuracy in worship and serves as a daily reminder of the beautiful rhythm of Islamic practices.

Understanding the Five Daily Prayers and Their Significance

Each of the five daily prayers holds unique significance, and performing them at the right time is a fundamental part of fulfilling this Islamic obligation:

Fajr – The pre-dawn prayer, performed before sunrise, signifies the start of the day with spiritual strength and guidance.

Dhuhr – The midday prayer, marking a break in the day, symbolizes gratitude and mindfulness.

Asr – The afternoon prayer, which calls for reflection as the day starts to conclude.

Maghrib – The sunset prayer, performed just after sunset, serves as a reminder to reflect on the day’s actions.

Isha – The night prayer, offering a peaceful close to the day, reinforces one’s faith before resting.

Keeping track of these prayer times without a reliable prayer timetable can be challenging, especially with the changing seasons in the UK.

Why a Reliable Prayer Timetable Matters

A trusted prayer timetable is invaluable for Muslims, especially when residing in non-Muslim-majority countries where the public clock doesn’t necessarily align with Islamic prayer times. With days lengthening or shortening as seasons shift, prayer times can vary by several hours over the year. A prayer timetable ensures one is always prepared, allowing adherence to the daily prayer routine despite these changes.

A well-structured prayer timetable is designed to:

Reflect accurate prayer timings based on local latitude and longitude.

Adjust automatically to changes in daylight hours and seasons.

Provide city-specific times, which can vary significantly even within the UK.

Using Al-Wahab Foundation’s Prayer Timetable for Accurate Salah Timings

For Muslims in the UK, Al-Wahab Foundation offers an exceptional prayer timetable that is both accurate and easy to access. The foundation’s prayer timetable takes into account the unique geographical position of the UK, ensuring that timings align precisely with the Islamic guidelines for prayer.

Benefits of Adhering to the Daily Salah Schedule

Spiritual Rejuvenation – Each prayer time offers an opportunity to detach from worldly distractions and focus on one’s relationship with Allah.

Structure and Discipline – Following a prayer timetable instills discipline and brings a structured rhythm to daily life.

A Sense of Community – Observing prayer times connects Muslims worldwide, fostering a sense of unity in shared worship, regardless of location.

Stress Relief – Setting aside time for prayer can have a calming effect, reducing stress and improving mental well-being.

Fulfilling a Core Religious Obligation – Adherence to a prayer timetable allows Muslims to fulfill one of the pillars of Islam, which is an essential part of their faith.

How Seasonal Changes Affect Prayer Times in the UK

In the UK, seasonal changes can significantly affect prayer times. During summer, days are longer, and the Fajr prayer can be as early as 2:00 AM, with Isha not occurring until 11:00 PM. Conversely, in winter, Fajr is often closer to 7:00 AM, and Isha around 5:30 PM. This variability underscores the importance of a reliable prayer timetable to accommodate these shifts.

Accessing the Al-Wahab Foundation’s Prayer Timetable

Al-Wahab Foundation’s website offers a user-friendly prayer timetable that is accessible online, allowing Muslims across the UK to check prayer times for their specific city. This convenience means that, regardless of where you are in the UK, you can have the exact prayer timings at your fingertips.

Conclusion

For Muslims in the UK, a reliable prayer timetable is an essential tool for ensuring accurate and timely observance of Salah. The spiritual benefits of maintaining regular prayer times are immense, fostering a deeper connection to faith and a disciplined lifestyle. Organizations like Al-Wahab Foundation provide Muslims with an accurate prayer timetable that accommodates the specific needs of UK residents, accounting for seasonal and geographical variations.

[viagginterstellari]

Prayer timetable - Tashkent, 2022

[honeyynymphh]

Wip Wednesday

tagged by @sucharide years ago

this is from a new story (one of many) that is very nearly finished. having so much trouble finishing things lately so I’m hoping by posting this into the void I shall be motivated to complete it!

it’s just the beginning so there are no real warnings but it is a little nsfw

Cardinal Copia x FemReader

summary: you’re an abbey maid that has the unfortunate pleasure of having to clean the most infuriating cardinal’s office and personal chambers.

You stare at the books in front of you and sigh, the wooden ladder you stand on groaning a little with the movement. Fuck, how you hated having to clean this damn shelf—well, shelf didn’t really cover it, it was an entire wall full of books and a few odd curiosities. Honestly, cleaning this entire office was exhausting. It took up most of your day, and then you had to move on to the inhabitants’ personal chambers. No wonder nobody else wanted to do it.

All those months ago when Sister Imperator had given out the timetables you’d been ecstatic to see you had fewer rooms to clean than the previous roster. The other maids had given you pitying looks but nobody had offered to swap with you, which you had dismissed as odd. How bad could one person be? You understood why now. It was because this room had to be cleaned thoroughly or you ended up back here, dusting and wiping while the owner of the room sneered out unhelpful and downright rude commentary on your methods.

But you were not going to be cowed by that uptight ass. You didn’t care if Cardinal Copia was nearly as high up as Sister Imperator or the Papas. If the man wanted his study and chambers to be cleaned, he would, at the very least, give you some respect. You were the only one who didn’t find him weirdly offputting—though he very much was that—but cleaning his office and chambers was much more pleasant than having to clean up the Great Hall after one of their decadent feasts or having to clean the rooms of the Papas. You never knew what would be in store for you whenever you entered a space that Papa Terzo had just vacated. And once you were done, it meant you had more free time. It was worth it, especially now that you’d grown used to the Cardinal and his acerbic tongue.

Cardinal Copia was exacting and his manners were non-existent but at least he was predictable. And he rarely made any mess—he certainly didn’t leave cream splattered on the ceiling. At least, you think it had been cream…Papa Terzo had mentioned something about cream pies.

Your eyes focus back on the books in front of you, most are all leather bound and organised neatly. Some have titles in golden lettering along the spines but so few of them are in English. You are nearly finished tidying them back up after having dusted and your eyes scan over them. The Cardinal had such a strange collection of books, and while many you could never read, some had intriguing diagrams and little illustrations in them. As someone not part of the church, just a maid, it was fascinating perusing through the strange old texts. You were sure the one you had leafed through last week had been about summoning actual demons.

One book catches your eye, it’s bound in deep red leather and the spine is decorated in gold embellishments. Your fingers run along the bumps and dips of the spine before you slip it out from the shelf and flip it open at random, your hip pressing against the top of the ladder as you balance yourself. Your eyes widen as you take in the illustration before you. It is…obscene! A woman on her knees in prayer, yet she is naked and bound. And her open mouth is not waiting for the communion wafer but for the cock of the priest standing before her, the rest of the congregation looking on without a care.

You flip to another page. This time, a woman stands upon a small plinth—a rope hangs from the ceiling and suspends her tied hands high above her head. A man stands next to her, ready to strike her bare ass with a wicked-looking birch rod. But there is also another man, on his knees before the other, his mouth clearly wrapped around the other’s cock—his own hard and leaking.

“Intrigued, Signorina?”

[thewordfortheday]

When I started my journey as a parent, I assumed that if I brought my children up in the Lord, they would follow Jesus as I did. Every parent wants their child to truly love the Lord Jesus and want them to walk with Him as early in life as possible. It's not always the case. I have seen many prayerful parents facing trials because of rebellious children. If you are one of them, I want to encourage you, God's ears are inclined to your cry, He will answer your prayers. In my case, God eventually did answer my prayers and transformed my children to love and follow Jesus and serve Him alone.

Parenting has humbled me significantly. It has made me less judgmental and more sympathetic with those struggling with rebellious children. It has given me a burden to pray for such children. One thing I can assure you, if you ask, you will receive. But we will never know God's timetable, but that, He will surely do it. So, let us not give up praying for our children.

[twdcomeback]

Put To Work | TWD Governor X OC Smut

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63202870

When Nora reacts too harshly to an innocent expression of The Governor's affections, she makes it up to him by wearing the dress he gifted her. Although the gesture was meant to be a sign of her apology - maybe even her interest in him - Woodbury’s leader interprets it as an answer to his prayers. They meet during Nora’s daily work assignment, the two of them skipping over more traditional steps of acquaintanceship at his insistence. She concurs.

Any and all efforts she had made over the last week were going to be undone if she spent any more time in front of the mirror. Nora turned, one last time she told herself, making a final approval of the way the dress flared around her thighs. The thing had sat on top of her dresser for days, a puddle of orange fabric she had not even wanted to look at, let alone touch. A mess she didn’t know how to clean.

She adjusted the band of her bra, checking to see if it was bunching in the back, a concern she had not had since the dead had gotten up. She’d soon be one of them, if the tension in her chest was anything to go by, the very same feeling that had gripped her when he’d given her the dress.

The next time she had seen him was after noon the following day, their paths forced to intersect just by the daily timetable of Woodbury. He made his rounds, she followed her work schedule. Both of them had made eye contact, a smile and a nod, without stopping. It wasn’t so bad, but still it was a type of torture. Nora had spent hours after the dinner going over what she had said, what she should have said, what she didn’t know until later that she wanted to say. The whiskey didn’t help, turning that night into a mess of anxiety and tears, a breakdown she was lucky to get to have in the privacy of her apartment.

Two days after that he had actually spoken to her, inquiring as a matter of courtesy how she was doing as she turned in a set of reports. In the moments she waited to be dismissed, Mr. Mamet had looked at her with greater intensity than usual, putting a knot in her chest that was hard to swallow. Milton was sweet and harmless, but he was terrible at concealing things. His tense curiosity left no doubts that The Governor had said something to him.

She had left a little faster than would have been normal.

The undeniable shift of the mood between them made it difficult to comprehend the facts of the matter; on the one hand, nothing had happened between them, their relationship had not changed. She was a loyal Woodbury citizen and nothing more. On the other hand, he felt different now, his gaze a little more distant, his voice just slightly smoothed down. Apprehensive. If she didn’t know any better, she might have thought he was being cautious.

But she did know better. Shame had blossomed under the heavy cover of pragmatism she’d been draped in for so long. He had done something kind for her - at the very least, he hadn’t done anything wrong. Invited her in, in more ways than one, and in her panic she had made a mess of it. A stray dog that didn’t know how to act in a house.

Time and emotion had bent her perception of that evening, no longer even sure if his intention was to… court her. The thought itself felt warped and flimsy now, like a memory of a dream. At the time it was overbearing and all too real, the obsession with what he wanted ballooning out of control. What he wanted was to do something nice, possibly entailing many things after it. She had thought those things over in the quiet stillness of her room, hands clutched over her face in embarrassment despite being entirely alone.

If he wanted to court her, that was fine. If he didn’t want to, that was also fine. But today she was going to wear the damn dress, signal to him that she meant what she’d said. Now she had to show she was sorry. Maybe even that she was wrong.

It just looked and felt incorrect. Nora backed from the mirror, her exposed legs shaking with a visceral anxiety, something in her brain shrieking and carrying on about biters. Her skin, which she had gone to the trouble of shaving on top of everything else, was unprotected for the first time in over a year. She couldn’t run in this, couldn’t escape.

There wasn’t a need to escape. This was home. Safe at home.

If she didn’t go now, she would have to make entirely new plans for making it up to him, on top of answering for being late for her shift. Arranging and counting ammunition wasn’t typically her type of work, but she was still one of the few people who had been granted access to doing it. The others who had access didn’t find it particularly engaging, it was usually one of the jobs that got assigned last, or saved for someone who needed to take it easy.

There was no reason she couldn’t sort munitions in a dress. She’d planned it this way, going to the trouble of choosing this job on this day for this dress. A shaky laugh escaped her as she reached for her door. Needed to devise an entire strategy around wearing a dress - astoundingly more frightening than anything else that had happened in a long while.

Fresh air against her bare skin sent panic clawing at her chest. Unfamiliar and wrong, like a brief brushing of hands up her legs. The sun felt good, though, and she tried to focus on that as she reminded herself to keep her chin up. To pretend nothing was different. That was part of the point, wasn’t it, to demonstrate a kind of ease.

Or, if not ease, a willingness. A wanting. An earnest try that didn’t have to look like trying. ‘Pretend’ that didn’t smell like ‘pretense’.

The truck was already waiting outside of the armory, the delivery of items to be sorted and cataloged today. Staring directly at Merle’s face as she walked wasn’t exactly pleasant, but every time she looked away she worried she looked too nervous. Then she’d look back at him and see his leering reaction to her clothes and wonder to God why it had to be him handing her the keys.

The building that The Governor stayed in was just off to the right, and up until the last moment she had managed to fight the urge to look. She wanted him to see her, of course, but she didn’t want him to know that she wanted him to see, which meant not looking for him.

She bit down on her cheeks, fed up already.

But she couldn’t resist, and she did look. And he wasn’t there. Anxiety that he could be anywhere swallowed up her annoyance.

Merle leaned with an interesting posture against the back of the truck. At the last second he whipped the keys away, out of reach.

“What on Earth are you wearing, girlie?”

Nora looked away, the warmth of the sun outpacing the blooming heat flushing her neck. He was going to draw attention to it, and of course she felt his eyes taking their time moving down her frame.

“Give me the keys, Merle.” Her fingers reached and snapped, and once his arm was fully outstretched she snatched them out of his grasp.

“How come you never wear nothing like that for any other job? Could be giving us something to look at.”

She unlocked the cage on the back of the truck, focusing on getting her hands set to something. Once she started working, this would all be easier.

He lingered, uncomfortably close but ultimately opting to not move closer or speak any longer. She almost praised him for the uncharacteristic self-restraint, but she let him walk away instead of keeping his attention.

Finding the key to the armory to start moving crates, the breeze roaring gently along the side of her face, she heard it. The distant timbre of The Governor’s voice. Not close. Not very loud. But there. Nora locked her eyes on the keys, steeling herself.

I could just pick up one of these guns and kill myself right now, actually.

At least she could laugh at herself, a gentle wave of pity rippling over her as she moved to lift the first crate. It had been a long time since she’d even remembered feeling anything close to anxiety over what a man might feel for her. Worse still, it was only now coming into focus for her how much she did care.

He was terribly attractive, and she’d always thought so. But just as she had said to him the other night, what she wanted hadn’t factored in. It wasn’t as though he had flirted with her, at least, if he had, it was not in a way she understood.

It didn’t seem feasible that a man would do so much before telling you his name.

His voice, unintelligible but distinct, continued to drift through. Yes, in certain quiet moments she would imagine his voice giving her praise, assuring her, maybe even admiring her. Replaying the compliments he paid her, drawing out the sound of her name in his mouth. But that didn’t mean anything.

It was possible that she could be attracted to a man and not long for him.

But it wasn’t very likely. And as Nora stepped back out to the curb to grab the next crate, when her gaze wandered just a little too far to the right, it felt clear she did long for him. She found him a few moments before he found her - Hands on his hips, squinting in the midmorning sunshine, checking in with another member of Woodbury.

She’d dressed for him, her body overly aware of itself as the breeze surged. The faded honey-orange of her dress skirt whipped around her thighs, just a little higher than the knee. The flash of color drew his attention, glancing just past the shoulder of the man he was talking to.

The double-take of his eyes, watching him realize it was her, absolutely thrilling. Of its own, her smile split, and she hoisted the next crate against her hips. Still processing, his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as she turned away. Heat in her cheeks lingered even after she stepped out of the sun.

And the dress wasn’t so bad. It breathed.

Returning for the third crate, she managed to stop herself from looking over at him until she was heading back inside. He hadn’t moved, still locked in conversation several yards away, but she saw the preparation in his posture.

He would walk over, she would thank him for the dress, she would reiterate that she was sorry, and they would try again. Fluttering in her chest made her gulp for a missed breath.

After her chest, it was her stomach. The upset of the last few days, now the absolute car crash of the last few minutes.

God, what if she was misreading this again. Getting caught up in a fantasy for even a second…

The next time she left the armory, The Governor was gone, a pang of surprise with an aftershock of disappointment creating one of the most emotionally turbulent hours of her life. A tremor of anxiety shivered along her shoulders.

She took a little longer to bring in the last of the crates, carefully scanning from left to right and left again, both ways down the street. But he wasn’t there. Grabbing for the clipboard inside the doorway, she managed to remind herself that he had absolutely seen her. And he had absolutely started to stare. Smiling stupidly down at the clipboard in front of her, she sucked in a steadying breath.

Jesus.

It was something in the weather, maybe, something blowing in from the open door. At least this was all in her head. She wanted him to see her in the dress. He saw her in the dress. Nothing else needed to be said or done.

No need to be any more foolish.

The sun moved further overhead, the light beginning to cut through the high, dusty windows of the armory. Steep shadows now marked the floor after she accounted for the salvaged and returned weapons, then sorted the ammunition. Before she could finish quantifying it all, the sound of footsteps interrupted, a body pausing in the doorway.

It was him, of course, she knew it before she could look. His presence always commanded attention without needing to force it. He didn’t even see her - obscured by a shelving unit directly on his left. She could only see part of his long legs at the edge of the doorframe.

She imagined he was looking for her.

“Governor?” The voice that called out to him managed to be more steady than she thought.

He took a step inside.

Those eyes, both of them a sharp, unwavering blue, fell on her with a gaze that was anything but distant now. His lips were slack, his mouth hanging open just barely. Just enough to give him away.

Pulling the clipboard against her ribs, where her heart did a flip, she stepped fully into his view. Something settled in her as she waited for him to speak, possibly strengthened by his presence, by watching his expression pull together. The strategy she had planned when her head was clear still held - regardless of where her fanciful thoughts were trying to take her.

All in her head.

“Nora,” he started, his voice drawling with a saccharine ease. He put his hands to his hips, a familiar posture for him. “I need something from you, sweetheart.”

Before she could even think about it, she unclipped the keys from the metal loop of the clipboard. Automatic, professional. The way things had been a week ago. The routine, easy to fall into.

Equally without pause, he took the keys and turned to the door - but he didn’t leave. The rush of noise from outside silenced in a hollow roar, punctuated by the solid thud of the door swinging shut. Then the click of the deadbolt, dropping like a gunshot. Sharp and final. Nora’s heart stuttered.

Where was his mind at? His eyes glinted brighter against the grey at his temples, despite the shade of the room. The shine of his eyes, predatory, the way a mountain lion looked in the dark. Something serious bloomed in his face, not the usual calm authority she was accustomed to. It felt too different. Warily, she sized up the lean muscle beneath his shirt.

He dropped the keys into one of his pockets, closing the distance between them fast enough that she staggered backwards. It didn’t matter, his hand shot out with a firm, assured possessiveness. A jolt of heat surged in her veins, the hand around her waist stealing the breath from her lungs. She dropped the clipboard, the sound deafening in the small metal room.

He pulled her flush against his body, one of his legs driving between her thighs. No hesitation about him. Before she could process his force, his other hand was on her, bold and knowing. Kneading up the thin cotton covering her ribs, settling once her breast was firmly ensconced. A flicker of satisfaction drew in the back of his eyes as her nipple hardened, his touch trembling over unexpectedly sensitive nerves. A soft gasp stuttered from her lips, but she didn’t pull away.

Something held her there, something besides his pressing against the small of her back. Her hands drifted in, thumbing at the rolled-up fabric of his sleeves while he began to thumb at her nipple through her clothes. The hand at her back slid upwards, tangling in her hair. A soft moan escaped her before she could stop it. She hadn’t anticipated… this.

He needed something. The words had her heart pounding at the back of her mouth. She exposed her throat to him, arching her head back. While she was tempting fate, antagonizing a predator, she looked him in the eye as well.

“Governor…?” She managed, his title a breathy question, a plea for clarity, maybe even an inquiry about his certainty.

His breath glanced across her collarbone, a pleased sound rumbling against her body. He knew exactly what he was doing, instinctive in the way he touched her. The way he watched her.

Once her breasts had both been teased, his fingers danced lower, trailing down her ribs and asserting themselves on her hip. She felt the tremor in her own body, the unexpected bloom of wetness between her thighs. He leaned her harder against his body, not just aroused but primed. His touch was too much, too fast. The unfamiliarity, the sheer audacity. Like he had every right.

Her hands ghosted up his chest, towards his face. The ridge of his erection pressed against her stomach, and a whimper, the sound of her surrender, popped the silence.

Just then, he turned her roughly, pushing her by the neck towards a workbench against the wall. The movement was so sudden, so forceful, that the breath she’d gasped was knocked loose by the hard edge digging under her ribs. For one heart-stopping moment, she thought he was going to slam her head into the table. He kept pushing, his grip unyielding. Fear, sharp and cold, yanked her from the dizzying haze.

“Sorry, darlin.” Not a hint of genuine remorse revealed itself, despite the sweet hum of his southern cadence. The throb of his arousal ground deep against her core, the pressure of his body settling her apprehension into anticipation.

“Just eager to get to know you better,” he mused. The wall of his body, all heat and muscle and potent hunger, made his intentions plain. “And you seem plenty sturdy.”

His hands met at the base of her spine, molding against her. He pushed down on her back, forcing her to arch, and as she did so the friction between them sent sparks through them both. Nora’s hands braced against the sides of the workbench, trying to find purchase.

“Good God,” he groaned, voice heavy. His hands slipped lower, splaying wide over the curve of her backside. “Look at these hips. Made for a man to grab, wouldn’t you say?”

His fingers dug in, pulling her tighter against the solid straining of his cock. She whimpered, jaw clenching at the end of it, then he was leaning in, his chest brushing up against her back.

“Made for me to hold onto while I fuck you.”

His words turned crude, ringing in the air like a struck tuning fork. They were unfamiliar, almost wrong, but they stoked at the spreading fire in her. Sensation overwhelmed her and she froze, mouth dropping open.

The clothes separating them, now far too confining.

A few more seconds of this slipped by - maybe he was waiting for her to say something, or maybe he was just savoring the swell of her backside against his groin. Then he shifted, dipping one hand beneath the front hem of her dress. He skirted his palm across her bare thigh, loosing a shiver up her body. A sharp inhale shuddered through as he spread her wider, nudging her legs apart with his knee.

He didn’t hesitate, sliding one finger against her folds, then sinking it into her center.

The explosive moan that escaped her felt violent in the small room. Surely, someone heard that.

They shouldn’t be doing this.

She felt the practiced rotation of his wrist as he began to work her, sturdy and sure. He withdrew, circling her clit, and then two fingers continued their surprisingly gentle incursion. They prompted another flood of slick, hot arousal between her thighs.

He felt the response of her body, a low and triumphant sound breaking up the rising thrum of his breathing.

“Already, honey?”

He was all too satisfied with this, but she couldn’t find it within herself to blame him. It wasn’t as if she was handling it calmly, urgent whimpers rising through her throat. The exquisite pressure of his fingers inside her, stroking, circling, pressing, probing faster. A wave of heat rolled through her, her body in turn writhing against his touch. Her boots briefly left the floor, weight completely held between him and the workbench.

Her hips instinctively sought more of his touch, pressing into his hand. In turn, he forced her harder against his body, pinning her.

“Let me work, honey,” he admonished, stern and impatient. His breath began coming in shallow puffs. “Just let me work.”

She tried to focus on steadying her breath, stretching her ribs off the table. His fingers withdrew and circled and curled deeper, over and over. Winding her tighter and tighter.

Before she could snap, his hands were pulling her upright by the waist with surprising, effortless strength. The sudden shift in position disoriented her, but her hands found him once she was set on the workbench. Searching for understanding in his face, struggling to regain her bearings.

His eyes raked over her, drinking in the frantic rise and fall of her chest, the glazed look in her eyes, the flush of her skin as they both began to burn out of control. His fingers found the hem of her dress and hitched it higher, bunching it around her waist and revealing her thighs. She didn’t try to stop him but her hands flew to meet his, gasping as he exposed her skin. If anything, she pushed his touch firmer.

Caught by a hungry animal and urging him to not let go. Her skin, unprotected, now itching to be torn at.

He was already tugging down her underwear, untangling them from around her boots and tossing them carelessly to the side. All the while, his demeanor remained focused and efficient. His placid expression versus her bewildered descent. The cool air and his hot breath against her dampened skin sent another shiver through her.

When his hands briefly left her, his body rolled closer, tucking his lips against her neck to work in their stead. A moan escaped her as he kissed there. She heard the snapping of leather, then he deposited his holster on the workbench next to her without even looking. Enough wherewithal to guide both of them, meanwhile Nora couldn’t stop her mind, her body, from spinning.

Before she could sink her hands against his head, he was stepping back again, his hands dropping to his belt. The buckle released with a sharp, solid click.

With a swift and urgent motion he unfastened his trousers, palming his erection. Her eyes moved away instinctively, back up to his face, something possessive and sharp in the way he stared. The slight rolling of his shoulder as he stroked himself, slow but firm. He was lucid. The stupor that she was lost in, he seemed immune to.

“Can you lift your knees for me, sweetheart?” The edge in his tone dropped dramatically, tenderness blindsiding her. Another sharp turn, another shock. How could his voice be so steady and so low at the same time?

Still reeling from the onslaught of his advances, her delay before obeying him didn’t come from an unwilling place, merely a brutal weakness in her body. The raw physicality of it all made her muscles feel distant, disconnected.

His left hand reached up, cupping the side of her face, his fingers lying down under the cove of her ear. He stepped between her dangling legs, presence suddenly overwhelming. He followed his request with a quiet, impatient sound and he reached out, hands firmly insisting upon her thighs.

“C’mon, darlin’, I need room.”

Struggling to steady herself, already unable to find her breath, he forced her thighs towards her chest. Her hands grasped at his shoulders, locking against the muscle there as the blunt head of his cock pressed against her entrance. The pulsing, twitching pressure straining against her dealt a potent, sobering warning of his intent.

“Just like that,” he purred. Despite his voice dripping with satisfaction, his words came out unsteady. Eager. She couldn’t see his face, but the loving brace of his hands around her waist, her ribs — He was grounding them both. An earnest need as the foundation of his feverishness.

She tried to do the math, finding the number of years it had been since…

God, her mind couldn’t even focus. On anything. Nora tilted her head back, tension rising in her chest as a trembling knot of nerves and desire cinched beneath her stomach. Anticipation boiled over, a short moan escaping both of them.

Then he pushed into her, the pain of the stretch sending sparks behind her eyelids as she drew her face against his body, burying her cry in him. His groan vibrated against her, and he gasped desperately for air. None of this was gentle, except perhaps how his hands massaged around her waist as his body curled over her. He held himself still, but the sting of his entry, his size, could be soothed quickly by moving against him. Flexing her hips, grinding carefully, she sucked a wincing breath through her teeth.

She slid her arms down around his heaving chest, the rise and fall of his breathing, though intense, gave her something to focus on besides the searing ache — Until one of his hands scooped lower, tilting her hips deeper, pressing further as he began to thrust.

A sharp sound of surprise ripped from her mouth as he filled her - she didn’t even register it as her own.

“I know, honey,.” The strain in The Governor’s voice, despite giving no hint of hesitating, sounded beautiful. With each slow stroke he managed to push further. “You can take it.”

She whimpered in response to his encouragement, but what a potent toxin it was. The same riptide that she was drowning in seemed to fuel him. Possess him. Still, he was managing to keep control enough to speak, to stay anchored for now. Her hands barely had the strength to keep her from floating off.

The pain soon gave way to a heavy fullness now that they were past the initial resistance. Her body was already yielding, opening to him, but her legs started to shake. Even though this position was unsustainable, God, she craved it. As long as they kept moving, she could feel nothing but the exquisite massage of his thickness.

He moaned, taking in a deeper breath. It sounded like he had thrown his head back, but she was still tucked against his chest. Only able to feel him against her, in her, around her. His hands slipped lower, coming to ground themselves at her thighs, keeping them in position. A breathy expletive spilled from his lips. His rhythm began to pick up, and she gulped down a breath to prepare for the next torrent of sensation.

As he hit the speed he was aiming for, he leaned further into her. For a few thrilling moments, she heard his breath hitching in his chest, just inches from her ear.

“Sit back, darlin’,” he instructed, his restless hands repositioning. “Get comfortable.”

With a gentle but insisting press on her abdomen, he urged her back against the wall, his other hand pressing her down deeper onto his shaft. Her face went slack, her hands forced to slip down to grip his forearms. Her shoulders found the wall, and finally she could see his face, his eyes glazed, but something possessive burned in them.

The Governor’s jaw flexed, clearly the drive, the starvation, had a grip on him tighter than he had let on. She could feel the conscious loosening of his fingers, only for his body to contract tighter, forcing her closer. Trying to be gentle but losing his concentration.

Her fingers squeezed into the taut, corded muscle of his arms, moving with him, maybe even encouraging him. He had called her sturdy, after all. Told her she could take it. He couldn’t press deeper if he tried, but that might not stop him.

Nora swallowed, clearing the heaviness from her throat as her breaths deepened, acclimating to the pace he was working.

“Governor,” she finally gasped, trying to get his attention, to see if he would - if he could - be present with her. His gaze met her, then he gave a tight, restricted shake of his head.

“Not ‘Governor’,” he panted. “Philip.”

Although his lucidity began to fade, the revelation sobered her. The meaning of his words sank in after a few hard blinks, her mind reeling. A charming name, given in a surprising moment of vulnerability amidst his feverish onslaught.

It didn’t seem feasible that a man would do so much before telling you his name.

Suddenly the pace of his thrusting kicked faster, harder, his hands locking down on her hips. He briefly lifted her from the workbench by an inch or two, then slammed her back. Her hands tightened, a startled gasp ripped from her.

“Say my name when I fuck you,” he commanded, renewed demand in his voice cutting through the soft soundtrack of their movements. Both of them, briefly broken from the spell.

“Ph-Philip-!” His name caught on her breath, unfamiliar. Spoken at first as an exclamation of surprise. The way she might have invoked the name of the Lord.

“Let me hear you, sweetheart.” Urgent, stern, and thick with lust. A sound she’d never heard before but needed more of immediately. One of her hands flew to cup his jaw, his face, and he leaned against the touch.

His quickening pace far outran what her breath, her heart could keep up with. She could feel their breaths between them, ragged and out of control, just for the moment. The fingers cradled against the back of his head tightened their grip, locking into his hair. Louder this time, she moaned for him more intentionally. Testing.

“Philip…”

The sway of his head as his eyes rolled closed made compelling evidence for just how drunk it made him. How overwhelmed he was. The pain of it all faded completely, replaced by a searing heat, a stretching fullness that deepened as he briefly slowed. For a few blissful moments, their eyes closed against the sensation of his length nearly pulling completely free, only to bury himself back in.

“Philip,” she sighed, his name already tasting correct.

“That’s it, honey.” His voice shook now, sounding distant on his broken breathing. He had settled into her, into this, into their exchange, just the way he wanted, and now he was getting lost in it. His face tucked downwards, head rolling loose, forgotten. Nora, leaning just a little too far back at a tilted angle, couldn’t have pulled him closer - not without trying to get them both fully onto the table. All she could do was run her hands over him, groping at his arms, his shoulders, his waist.

For several long breaths, Philip seemed to almost forget she was even there, and there was something thrilling in that feeling. Watching as he fucked her, his handling so controlled and demanding that it couldn’t be said she was even fucking him back. She tried lifting her hips, pressing closer to him, but had no leverage of her own. All she could do was hook her legs around his waist, relieving weight from her own body. He had no complaints about moving his hands back to her waist.

Nora held her breath, gathering strength as she locked her ankles together. In one violent motion she forced him closer with the only means she had. His legs buckled, one of his hands flying out to brace against the workbench. A sound spilled from him, a delicious gasp and groan all at once. She had recovered her faculties while his were slipping.

A tight moan chased by a gulping breath sounded out as he pressed and pulled her against him, the very base of her spine now fully off the table. Sliding her down, driving himself at a new angle, his hands gathering as much of her as they could hold. If he had positioned them longways across the bench she could have fully laid back. Instead, she had to clamp down on the edge of the table like a vice.

The new, more direct view of his face revealed an expression she could only see as distraught, drunk and frenzied. A predator’s instinct activated by urging of her body. He looked at her like he needed the air from her lungs.

She gasped, surrendering it to him as she writhed against his hips.

One of his hands hooked around the elastic neckline of the dress, scooping it down along with her bra and spilling her breasts overtop. Her expression of surprise bounced quickly back to desperation, the hunger he felt cycling back on itself, getting her addicted to his need. Her exposed flesh tempted his eyes away from hers, and his thrusting seemed to slow.

More of his weight leaned against her - still standing but not nearly so tall and composed as before. Certainly not as steady. The rhythm of his body faltered and kicked, slowing only to ramp faster, then wavering again. He was close, she could feel it in the tightening of his body. Hear it in the shuddering of his gasps, the clipped moans at the end of his breaths.

Her hands massaged into the muscle above his wrists, pulling him along. Urging him to keep going.

His head fell back briefly, the sharp line of his jaw tensing.

“God…”

His hissing did something to her body, to her pulse, knowing that she was the cause.

Nora’s thighs tightened, squeezing him. In response, his thrusts became shorter, sharper. Harder.

“Philip,” she gasped, reaching up for him with one hand, her fingers knotting in his shirt. He allowed her to pull him down, seeming that the only part of him he cared about controlling anymore was occupied between her legs.

He swallowed hard, struggling to push down the sounds ghosting in his breath. She caught the look on his face, expecting to find a tight and strained concentration and instead getting lost in the slack of his mouth, the stupefied twist in his brow. He had checked out completely.

“I’m gonna come,” he groaned, a thick warning. His shoulders sagged, her hands scooping, behind his neck, threading into his hair. A gentle tug to pull him over the edge.

A sharp, strangled groan cut his breath off and his hips bucked of their own accord. Nora unhooked her legs from his waist, a numbing fear washing over her that he wasn’t going to pull out, even as she moaned under the kneading of his hands.

Philip sucked in a sharp gasp, uncoupling from her in a single frantic motion, keeping her pinned by the hips.

The ache of emptiness ripped a cry from her, while a deep and visceral moan climbed out of Philip’s throat that he failed to release as a breathy exhale. The blistering heat of his cock pumped against her thigh, painting her flushed skin with pulses of his cum and smears of her own juices, tinted pink. His orgasm shuddered through him the way a hurricane sheared across a rooftop.

As their breaths spiraled down, the overwhelming silence pressed back in, quieter and quieter. Her blood rushed in her ears, the echo of their sounds clinging on like tinnitus.

The pressure of his hands eased as the aftershocks rolled through him. She saw the brief tremor in his arm as he braced it against the workbench, and her fingers loosened, slowly, as if she would need to help hold him up. In a moment that slipped by before she even saw it, he leaned forward and landed a kiss just above her temple. His scent washed over her, and she realized that she must smell like him all over, even if she wouldn’t notice it for a few hours.

With a deep inhale, Philip was already pulling back, deftly tucking his trousers back into place as he turned away. A sharper moan, drawn forth by the shaking in her weak muscles as her hips relaxed, marked the end of her own participation. Her palms pressed down against the table to try to sit up.

With brisk, efficient movements and the light snapping of his belt, the transformation was immediate. Philip had dispensed a short kiss to her, and now The Governor turned his shoulder to look at her. She hadn’t been anywhere near her own release, yet she was worn out. Ran through. And now jolted back to the pretense. The aftermath left her trembling, the high very much worth the crash.

She reached up, dropping her exposed breasts back down into the cups of her bra, feeling the heat flushing on her skin despite their… activities being concluded. Self-consciousness, cold and sobering, climbed over her, and her core clenched, strangely empty and achingly full all at once.

He swept one hand through his hair, settling it back properly.

Her hand, shaky, followed the same motion, feeling the tangling of her hair where her head had ground against the wall.

With his usual practiced grace he bent down, scooping up a clean rag from the maintenance supplies. Notably slower, more gentle, he still did not meet her eye as he moved back over to her and began swiping the skin of her thigh.

She searched his face; if she didn’t know he was cleaning his own emission off of her, he might have just as easily been washing dishes. His expression placid, almost serene. Each move he made was a blind corner for her - but there were no doubts that he’d planned every step. Much better at this kind of strategy than she.

“Alright, Nora?”

She could only nod in response.

A satisfied smirk twisted onto his lips. “Good. Didn’t break you.” His eyes flitted to hers, just for a moment. “Just wore you out a little.”

She watched him, dazed, as he retrieved her underwear from beside her with his free hand, dropping them onto her lap. Her clumsy fingers untangled them when he turned to toss the rag away. After the raw openness of what had just transpired, pulling them up felt strange. Confining.

Her legs shook so badly that she was sure she would collapse if she tried to stand, nevertheless she had to get down. Her boots hit the floor, knees buckling. Amusement with a suggestion of concern glinted in his eyes. Something in her was embarrassed to watch him as he paced slowly back towards her, unsure of what he was expecting. Perhaps it was that he pulled himself together so quickly, while she was still indecent. The intimate engagement, the conquest of her body, followed swiftly by this. Nora leaned back against the table to stabilize herself, tugging at her dress to settle it around her thighs.

He reached out, steadying her by the hips. The gentleness of his grip shocked her, but perhaps it really shouldn’t have. He squeezed, just once, fingers digging in barely enough to draw a wince across her face.

“That’s gonna hurt tomorrow.” The calm seriousness, the way he could have been commenting on some other more mundane injury… Her eyes raised to catch the teasing look he had about him. His fingers kneaded a soothing circle into the tender flesh of her hips, and the combination of signals only sent her further and faster into a hopeless spiral.

Then, he was finished. He stepped back, gaze dropping from her and turning to assess the armory. The Governor adjusted the set of his belt one final time and reached for the door, disengaging the lock. A deafening screech of metal cut across the silence, the sound of distant voices and wind in the trees filling in after. The world opening back up to them.

“Go on home, Nora,” he instructed, casting an assessment out onto the street. “You’ve done enough work for the day.”

He placed his usual authoritative touch back onto his tongue, and, in response, she drew her shoulders back up as she tested the strength of her legs beneath her. Slowly crossing to where she had dropped the clipboard, she watched his turned head, trying to read him. Bending over to retrieve it was an interesting challenge, but she managed.

She moved up next to him to hand him the clipboard, the swivel of his head feeling cold and distant. But then he reached to take it from her, and the brief touch of his eyes was more than enough.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he said, a short nod and an upward twinge of his brow carrying the burden of conveying his tenderness.

A sigh swelled in her chest, taking in the fresh spring air.

“You’re welcome, sir.”

The moment before she stepped away, she saw the pop of his jaw, a tic she was familiar with reading on him. But she didn’t linger, stepping up and out into the breeze and sunshine. Her eyes dropped down over her own body briefly, paranoid that she looked just as disorderly as she felt. The feeling of his gaze burning into her turned back only dissipated when she turned the corner at the end of the street.

[curiositykilledthejinn]

20 pieces of advice for my newly married brother

____

1. Call her using beautiful names

2. Treat her kindly

3. Set high standards from the start:

- display good manners

- good hygiene

- don't be on your phone 24/7

- continue to offer congregational prayers in the masjid (especially Fajr - as you may stay awake throughout the night)

- set a suitable timetable for mealtimes

- occasional reminders/duroos

4. Buy her gifts occasionally (it doesn't have to be expensive - it's the thought that counts, even if it's something as trivial as a lollipop). Good Islamic books should be a priority in terms of gifts.

5. Don't rush into intercourse. Take it nice and easy. Let things happen naturally. Remember that you will be rewarded if you have the right intention. Don't forget your du'as! Make sure to satisfy her needs.

6. Help her around the house.

7. Honor her parents.

8. Let her know how much she means to you, how much you love her and how lucky you are to have her.

9. Praise her and show your appreciation when she does things for you...جزاكِ الله خيرا goes a long way.

10. Don't rush to criticise her if she makes a mistake, and never shame her in front of others.

11. Make yourself look attractive for her as you'd like her to make herself look attractive for you

12. Chat with her when you are together.

13. Phone her when you are outside to tell her how much you miss her.

14. Make the most of your time together during these early stages before kids come in the way.

15. Study the Deen together, even if it's exchanging just 1 benefit a day.

16. Avoid aggression.

17. Encourage her to avoid bad habits and bad friends.

18. Avoid talking to her about a second wife.

19. Remember her in your du'as

20. Thank Allah for blessing you with a wife. How many would wish to be in your shoes.

بارك اللــه لـك وبارك علـيك وجمـع بـينـكـما في خير