#Toe Touch Controlled Foot Bath

[hoshigray]

this shit came in my mind but imagine reader ties toji wrist behind his back and teases him like touching herself n shit and he’s desperate and hard asf but reader not giving him any frictions just small touches to get him riled up and somehow toji unties the rope and rest in peace her and her pussy 🪦💕

we all love hardcore dom toji with degrading and oversim kink 💕💕

yes we do, yes we do~

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: hardcore dom! Toji x fem/afab! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - restricted movement (m! + f! receiving); use of rope - teasing - Daddy kink - masturbation (f! receiving) - oral (f! receiving) - impact play (pussy + ass slaps) - backshots position - multiple orgasms - degradation (broad, slut, whore) - dumbification - clitoral play (licking/sucking) - overstimulation - use of a BDSM collar - pet names (baby, good girl, mama). 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.4k

He has a salacious grin plastered on his face. “You know it’s gonna take more than just one lil’ rope, right?”

You giggled, “Well, guess we’re testing your limits tonight.”

Toji sits on his knees on the hardwood bedroom floor, wearing nothing but his grey sweatpants, his bulky arms constricted behind his back as his wrists are restrained by a red rope, additionally tying his thumbs together. Other than this lies a black collar that slings around his neck, a leash that you twirl around your pretty fingers is connected to the ring part. 

You sit at the edge of the bed, wearing your undies and an oversized sweatshirt — his sweatshirt that you snatched the moment he took it off. Your eyes look down at him, a thing that rarely happens. And now that it’s happening, you take your time savoring it. “Just sit there and watch. No touchy, and no breaking that rope.”

He quirks a brow up. “Who made ya the one givin’ orders around here?”

“Me, of course; I’m the one who tied you up,” you lightly tug the rein, prompting Toji to bend a little closer. His jade eyes darken, and you can’t fight the smile that creeps on your face. “Be a good boy and enjoy the show, all right?”

He doesn’t answer, just watching you begin. You start by spreading your legs, exposing the region of your inner thighs and the cute design of your stripped panties. Your fingers crawl down to underwear, swiping up and down on the material to push between your vaginal folds. The wetness warming up causes a spot to form.

You can see Toji’s eyes follow every movement, tilting his head when your forefinger rubs a circle on your clothed clit. Your fingers then decide to sneak inside your undies, your wet cunt meeting your intruding digits. He glances back to your face when you release a soft moan and chuckles. “Enjoyin’ yourself, mama?”

“Mhmm, and you?” Your toes go to his chin, lifting his head. 

The action had his smirk broaden. “Ya sure gettin’ a kick outta this, huh.”

You don’t give him a response – you don’t need to. You’re in control now; he’s the one who should behave and do his part. Your foot then twiddles down to Toji’s sweatpants, pressing and sliding on his groin. It makes his breath hitch. “And what if I am?”

“Mmmph…Don’t start somethin’ you can’t finish, baby.” Fuck, the way he looked at you was making you turned on. Even if he’s limited to moving, his dominant side doesn’t falter. It makes you want to tease and push his buttons more.

You lie on your back on the bed, stuffing your fingers in your mouth to bathe them in saliva before returning inside your panties. The self-lubrication makes it easier to slide in your forefinger, a gasp leaving your lips at the insertion. Your toes curl on the tent of his sweatpants, which only get firmer with every second. 

You bring the collar of his shirt to your nose; the cologne remains and attacks your nostrils. “Mmmm…Ahhhh, fuuck…” your voice muffled from the sweatshirt, concealing your puffy lips after pressing on your clit with your thumb.

Toji watches you masturbate before him; he has no choice but to. His bulge becomes more and more annoying to push off, wanting to touch himself and revel at the view of you relieving yourself thinking of him. Hell, the image of your damp panties ticks him off, wanting to rip that skimpy material off himself to feast on your cunt all he wants. Fuck this rope, man…

And he stands by that thought when you warp the leash around your palm and tug it roughly, pulling Toji’s face closer between your legs. The squelching commotion made by your fingers ringing his ears. Fuck, it was so dirty, and he loved it. You peer down at him, “How’s the view down there?”

He scoffs with a bitten lip. “Oh, y’re such a fuckin’ tease, sweetie. You have no idea what y’re gettin’ y’reself into.” 

The sentence humors you. “What makes you say that?”

With a twinge of his lips, Toji straightens his posture and reveals his hands are untied, the red rope clutched in the grasp of his right hand. And the look on your face when he shows you? Priceless.

“Huh!?” You exclaimed with widened eyes! “B–But I made sure to tighten it—“

“I told you,” he gets up on his two feet while his hands undo the collar around his neck. Now, he’s looking down at you; the shiver slithering down your spine at the darkened emerald look he gave you was stomach-dropping. “Gonna need more than one rope. Now, let’s see who’s really gettin' a kick outta this…” 

Damn, you could only chuckle nervously. I’m so fucked.

Yeah, you are. 

Now you’re screaming your heart out from Toji using your body to how he sits fit, his mouth now ravaging your soapy folds and his tongue flicking up and down roughly on your clit. Your hands are tied to your back, your legs propped up by one hand and the other curled around with the leash connected to the collar around your neck. 

“—Ahaahhn!! Ohhhh!! Fuckin—Gahhhh…!” You could barely utter a word, Toji sucking the soul out of you through your essence. You almost choke on your tongue, back arching at the aggressive laps at your cunt.

“Stay still,”  he slaps on your chasm, and you cry at the impact. 

“Hoohhh!! T–Tojiii, please—Ohhhh!!” Another harsh smack; God, you choked on your spit. 

“That ain’t my name,” stern emerald eyes convey a commanding aura. “Actin’ all dumb on my tongue like a slut, can’t even follow an easy rule.” 

“…Ahhhh, I’m sorry, Daddy, I’m ‘orryyy…!”

“Hmph, good girl.” He praises – the only kind thing he’s done outside of the onslaught of teases and sucks he’s done to your body, forcing you to come for the third time in a row. 

“AHHCK!! D-Daddyyy, stooop!! It’s ‘oo muchhh!! Too muuuch—“ your words slur out in helpless cries, not being taken seriously by the man between your legs. 

Although, it’s necessary because your slit is going to need to provide as much slick it can to accommodate the girth of Toji’s raw cock penetrating inside you. Fuck, you could never mentally prepare yourself for him, being full of him every single time. Clenching around his length like crazy, wailing out for him like a porn actress.

Toji’s fucking you from behind — your head smushed to the pillow because his hand pushes you by the neck. On all fours, your arch propping your ass up, the quick strokes of his pelvis have his dick scrape your walls euphorically, all the while gripping your asscheeks like a toy. He’s had you climaxed four times already, and he’s going to get that fifth one unquestioned.

“Fuuuuck—Hic…!” Tears stream down from watery eyes, and pornographic whines squeak out from you.

“—Hnngh! Fuck, clenchin’ on my dick like a real whore, mama,” he gives your ass a swift smack, forcing you to cry and the gushy walls of your vagina to clamp onto him again. “Shiiiit, fuck, I’m gonna cum…”

You can feel it, too; the climb of your own crescendo is soon. “Me toooo, I wanna cummm, Daddy, please, I wanna—Ahhaaaah!!” He slaps your butt again – the sting on your skin causes more tears to fall. 

Toji doesn’t give what you want – no, sir. He removes his cock quick, and a choked mewl clogs your throat when he pulls the leash, yanking you towards him.  “Heh, fuckin’ broad; who said you can cum with me?” 

God, he’s so mean. I fucking love this so much! “—Khhh…Please, Daddy, I wanna cum so baaad, pleaseee…!”

“Oh, really?” His patronizing tone with his gruff voice was such a hot combination. Still holding onto the strap, he brings you up from his grip. You’re practically choking on your saliva, thanks to this damn collar.  “Did ya learn y’r lesson, hmm?”

“Mhmm! Yesshh, I’m sho sorryyy,” holy fuck, you gotta be looking so dumb right now; eyes rolling up with drool coming down your chin.

Not for Toji; it was the sight he wanted to see. And now that he does, he’s thoroughly satisfied. Finally, he releases the leash, having you fall to the pillow with no grace, drawing in of breath. He inserts his cock back into you with a hum, and another slap to your ass makes you jerk. 

“So good fr’ me always, mama…”

hehehe~ it's been a while since I've done impact play *grins*.

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – dividers from @/hitobaby.

[burningcheese-merchant]

I'm honestly just wondering if the ancients know that the beasts are yandere and what they think of that 😀

Ohhhh, they know. There's no way not to lol, the Beasts won't allow it. Ignorance is bliss and neither group deserves such mercy

Shadow Milk not only attacks his Ancient frequently, he's quite open and honest about what drives him to do so. Pure Vanilla has to endure Shadow Milk's endless jabs (he toes the line between flirting and insulting constantly, tripping over it in both directions and even melding the two together oftentimes. In those quieter moments, Vanilla can't help but wonder if Shadow Milk is behaving this way on purpose or if there might be even the smallest touch of legitimate social ineptitude guiding Shadow's words. Because... Well. Even someone as willing to forgo tact as Shadow Milk knows that switching back and forth between overly sweet and sappy adoration and bitter, frustrated derision at the drop of a hat doesn't exactly do much to endear people to you, now does it), hands and a mouth trying to super glue themselves to his person, feverish rants about dinners and weddings and dancing up the spire's steps while bathed in pale moonlight. And above all else, the constant reminders that Pure Vanilla is his. Sometimes, with the added insistance that Vanilla repeat it back to him. (Oftentimes, with the threat of retaliation against an innocent looming over Vanilla's head if he refuses.)

Burning Spice is just as bad. Worse in some ways, arguably. He's the most relentless of the five; he really, truly just will. Not. Stop. There's hardly even any downtime between his... appearances. He is a predator driven to the brink of madness by starvation, and Golden Cheese is that exquisite, one-of-a-kind prey that he so covets in every way possible. He tells her to her face that he loves her, that he wants her, that he needs her, that he HUNGERS for her. And he tells her exactly how much he wishes to devour her, whether she wants to hear it or not. Every single time, with zero hesitation and even less remorse. He will have his little bird in every way he wishes - beaten and broken at his feet, rosy-cheeked and content in his arms, needy and greedy in his bed - and he NEVER let her forget it, nor will he ever let anyone or anything stand in their way

Eternal Sugar, as lacking in initiative as she usually is, is... less overbearing than the previous two (not that that's a high bar to clear). But that certainly does not mean she keeps her mouth shut. She's more at home in the dream world than the waking one, and it's there that she showers Hollyberry with her affection. Visions spun from the sweetest cotton candy, where she's free from all of her burdens and they can be happy together. No shield, no crown, no kingdom, no family. Nothing. No one. Just Eternal Sugar. Just them. Just their love. Because Hollyberry doesn't need anything else. She shouldn't. And if she, or anyone else who deems themselves more important than their destined union, dares to claim otherwise, then Sugar is not above correcting such insolence. Holly is strong. She can handle a nightmare, can't she? Or two? A mess of them every night, every week, every time she dares to blink? She's strong... and she's smart. She'll understand her place if Sugar explains well enough...

It's almost funny, in a grim way. Outside of... constant, on-foot stalking, Silent Salt demonstrates a level of self-control outstanding enough that you almost wouldn't believe he's as possessive and demented as he is, if you didn't know him like White Lily does. Everywhere she goes, he follows behind. He has all but crowned himself her second shadow. Whether he's 50 feet away or 5 centimeters, he is always there regardless. And he atones for his... er, failure with words with acts of service. Flowers, freshly picked and carefully arranged. A hand on her shoulder, her waist, weaving through her hair; cold and sharp, no thanks to the metal gauntlet casing it, but still making an earnest attempt at comfort and affection. A steel kiss, from his helm to the back of her hand. A sword to the hearts and throats of any and all who are foolish enough to approach her... That's where he betrays his true nature. And he always does eventually. No matter how hard he tries to keep himself together, for White Lily's sake...

Dark Cacao probably has it the easiest, in this one and only sense. Mystic Flour is a special kind of yandere; she actively tries to AVOID the object of her sick affection, rather than seek him out like the others seek theirs. So he's hardly aware of what it is that afflicts her to such a horrible degree. He doesn't even discover it through her, he discovers it through the other Ancients and Beasts - and when he does, he struggles to even believe it. It's foolish to the point of nigh-incomprehensible absurdity. And yet... There's something there. Some strange feeling he can never quite shake. He's being watched by... familiar eyes. Though no move is made towards him, over time, he comes to realize that this lack of action is, ironically, the most profound action Mystic Flour could have taken. Because he can sense that her apathy is forced. Straining and struggling beneath the growing weight of... whatever it is that's bearing down on her head and heart and soul. Poised to break into a million pieces, sooner rather than later. He can sense that she blames him; maybe that's fair, maybe it isn't. It doesn't matter much. So long as this delicate balance is never meddled with, then they can both keep pretending all is the same as it ever was...

I rambled again lol. Crazy people go brr. To answer how the Ancients feel about it

Vanilla is horrified and confused, but a touch guilty. Desperate to understand, both to put an end to Shadow's madness more definitively and out of that misplaced sense of compassion and self-righteousness that governs every action he takes

Golden is utterly repulsed, and would prefer to never see Spice's devil face again

Hollyberry is uncomfortable, but tries to strike some sort of balance between placating Sugar (to keep her from lashing out) and trying to talk her down from her delusions. She's able to understand "you cannot reason someone out of an idea they weren't reasoned into", she just refuses to

White Lily feels extremely conflicted. She does not love Silent Salt, but can't bring herself to reject him properly. In some part, she understands and even sympathizes with his... instability, because she's not particularly stable herself. In another, she feels as though she DESERVES to have to endure all of this. Bad people deserve each other, don't they? But she feels tremendous guilt whenever he lashes out at innocent people in a jealousy-fueled rage, and does try to stop him when he does... and then she goes back to meekly allowing him to do as he pleases. She is unable to deliver and enforce lasting consequences for Salt's behavior, thus accidentally making him worse

Dark Cacao would prefer to forget Mystic Flour exists at all, and normally succeeds in doing so... for the most part. It helps that they don't go after each other. Hopefully neither decides to change their mind...

[henry7931]

Beach Trip As My Friend’s Uncle

Miguel:

This is by far the best idea Zach and I have ever had! A few weeks ago, my best bud Zach begged his parents to let me come on their family beach trip but unfortunately they wanted to keep it a family trip.

That’s when Zach and I got a little creative. We decided to ask his cool Uncle Derek if I could swap bodies with him for a week. Now Derek isn’t your ordinary uncle, he’s pretty adventurous, single, likes to party, and is always down for some shenanigans. So when we asked if he’s willing to swap with me, he immediately said yes! He seemed to be just as excited to be me since he’s getting out of the family trip all together.

So we all met up that morning at Derek’s place. Zach already told his parents that he’s riding down with Derek. And when I arrived Derek already had a bag packed for me.

We quickly swapped bodies and it felt so cool being so much bigger.

I grinned at Derek in my body who also looked super happy. He pulled me in for a hug which felt so weird, I could have easily picked my body up like it was nothing.

As I hop into Derek’s nice truck, he says to us, “You boys have fun! And doing anything too crazy in my body!”

“Thanks Uncle Derek!” said Zach.

“Yes thanks again Derek, I’ll take good care of your body I promise!”

“Good and hey I packed condoms just in case things get too crazy. Don’t need my body coming back with anything.”

Zach rolls his eyes while I felt a warm sensation in my stomach. It just hit me that not only do I have Derek’s body for a week but I also have control of his massive package.

We get on the road and I pull off Derek’s shirt just to show off his tattooed pecs.

Zach’s sitting next to me so excited and says, “God this is so crazy! I mean look at you dude you’re inside my uncle right now.”

“I know man, this is about to be the best trip ever!”

When we arrive to the resort, Zach and I head to check in. We run into his family. We say our hellos to everyone and I’m surprised by how good of a job I’m doing at pretending to be Derek.

We get our room keys and head up. The room is huge! We even have our own bathrooms along with a balcony.

I put Derek’s bags on the bed and open them up to see what clothes Derek packed for me. But when I get to the bathing suits only two of them are normal ones— the rest are all speedos.

Zach pops in already in his bathing suit and says, “you about ready?”

“Uh no not yet give me a few,” I say to him.

“No rush bro! I’m gonna head down, I’ll see you in a few.”

As soon as Zach walked out of the room, I immediately got naked.

I look at Derek’s nude body, that’s when my eyes focus on the thick long dick that I now control.

I try my best to control my eager to touch it, laying back on the hotel bed. I didn’t want to risk Zach walking but I feel like I only have so much alone time with it.

I look down at Derek’s sexy size 11 feet, they’re beautiful and manly. I trace his fingers along his chest down to his cock and balls.

His dick is already hard, I start to stroke it and it feels amazing. It’s my first I’ve ever jerked off in someone else’s body. And it’s so different from mine.

I sit up and bring Derek’s big foot to my face smelling his toes as I wiggle them. I start licking his foot, still jerking his dick with my other hand.

I feel so close, I knew I was going to bust any minute. I let out a loud powerful grunt, inhaling his sole before cum bursts out all over.

I look over the mess I just made, damn that felt great. I whip some off of his chest and taste it. It taste’s so good.

I clean off his chest with a shower towel and grab one of his speedos.

I take a pic of myself to send to Derek and say, “you only packed speedos?”

I get a response a few minutes later, “well you look sexy in them. Send me more pics 😜”

I feel Derek’s cock start to get hard again from his text. Is he flirting with me?

[rylandfalkov]

Ryland's Succulent Tart After Dark Performance April 12th, 2025

The stage is bathed in soft shades of blue light, revealing that the area is now completely covered in about six inches of rolling white and grey fog, reminiscent of the sky right before a storm blows in. Small pinpoints of white light twinkle in mid-air, giving the scene an otherworldly feel, as if the onlookers are now witness to something that goes normally unseen.

From within the fog appears a pair of glimmery, translucent feathered wings, catching and refracting light like stained glass, and the man they belong to, genuflecting with his back to the audience. Bare skin and dark hair appears to be kissed in a layer of silver glitter, and with every small shift of his form, the tiny flecks catch the light and sparkle like diamonds.

Ryland rises to his feet with a few beats of his wings, fog swirling about his legs before being forced away with a gust of air produced by the brief flutter. Once settled, the fog begins to creep inwards and he turns to regard something beyond the audience with a white glowing gaze, now revealing the entire sculpted form of this ethereal being.

A body of a dancer carved by discipline and desire, donning only a transparent thong meant to hold things in place rather than mask from sight. Nothing here is hidden. The silver glitter shimmers like stardust, clinging to every inch of his bare flesh. Light traces the elegant curve of his neck down to his chiseled and smooth chest, soft to the eye but firm to the touch. The veins in those muscular arms peek from beneath the shine, like currents beneath ice.

Downward, his abdomen is a map of light and shadow. Muscles etched in control, coated in soft glints that shift like moonlight across water. You can see the strength, but the glitter turns it into something mythic, as if he weren’t flesh at all, but craving, incarnate. Hips gleam like temptation; narrow, sensual, wrapped in luster that catches every subtle shift, every tease of motion. The deep V of his pelvis shines like a hidden path - dangerous, beautiful, begging to be followed. Thighs, powerful and poised, thick with brawn yet moving like water, and dancer-perfect calves tapering into arches so pointed and so delicate.

A body that moves like music and feels like a sin. Living artwork, to not just be admired but to be worshipped. A shimmering storm of grace and lust made of sweat and starlight.

A genial smile is offered to no one in particular as he seems unaware of those peering into his world, and with a subtle strum of his fingers, a silver pole running floor to ceiling, appears beside him. The atmosphere is almost sacred, yet pulsing with anticipation.

He rests one hand against the device, leaning back into a deep cambré, spine arching backwards as his free hand elegantly lifts above his head. Upon righting himself, he rises onto the balls of his feet, right leg lifting into a développé, thigh raising to the side with knee bent, until he straightens out the leg, pointing his toe towards the heavens in a full split. Every movement is carefully measured, flowing from one position to the next without restriction.

Ryland lowers his leg, toe touching the ground behind him as both hands reach up to grip the pole above his head, using the strength in his arms and core to lift himself off the ground. With legs in a wide V and arms nearly straight, he holds his body parallel to the pole as it slowly rotates him around.

Pressing one foot against the device, the other gracefully raises and he curls the back of his knee around the pole. Torso lifting, he braces his weight against the lower foot and curls an arm around the device while straightening the top leg into an arabesque. Free hand delicately reaches towards the sky, wings responding to each motion, flexing and shimmering with his breath. Lighting and shadow play off their translucency, casting fragmented halos across the stage floor and audience alike.

Ryland bends his knee around the bar and braces both hands above his head, torso lifting and legs flaring upwards into an inverted center split. His choreography on the pole defies conventional categorization. Each spin, climb, and inversion is woven with seduction, seamlessly fusing classical ballet technique with the raw athleticism of pole dancing.

Legs twist around the pole above him, an ankle hooking as the other extends downwards into another split. The continuous motion doesn’t cease as both legs lower to reposition himself, grabbing the heel of one foot to extend towards the cloud-covered stage while the other points upwards, all held in place by the crook of his elbow. The pole becomes less a prop and more a second partner: Unyielding, demanding, and reverent. His choreography seems unnatural and unattainable by a mortal form, creating moments of impossible stillness mid-spin, as if time itself has paused to witness.

An elegant flare of his legs allows his feet once more to meet the ground, sending a ripple through the fog. With precise, fluid movements, Ryland begins a floor-based ballet sequence: Developpés, arabesques, and controlled pirouettes, all demonstrating the grace and discipline of classical training. He moves through the space with a deliberate weightlessness while powerful limbs trace invisible sigils in the air through nimble transitions. Moments of stillness break into sudden bursts of motion: A deep arching cambré sweeps weightless wings outwards as the back of his head nearly skims his calf, immediately followed by a prep and leap into a soaring grand jeté that lands silent as snowfall.

Then, that luminous gaze shifts forwards. He sees them, the audience, and a flicker of realization crosses his face: They have been watching and witnessing. For the first time, Ryland cautiously moves toward them and extends a hand to a woman, trembling with curiosity and yearning. His cupped hand hovers against their cheek, but nothing happens. His hand doesn’t meet warmth nor resistance. Instead, his fingers pass through them as if through vapor.

He looks down at his own body in aching understanding: He has no mortal form. Desire made visible, but not tangible. The wings on his back are not just symbolic, but the only thing tethering him to the world at all. He attempts again with more greed, this time to a man, but the result is the same. The separation is not space, but of essence. He is of another realm.

Yet he doesn’t retreat in anger or in fear, instead he becomes a part of the crowd itself. With a quiet shift in intention, Ryland begins to move within the audience, gliding -through- them, leaving only a shiver of gooseflesh on their bodies in his wake. Those glimmery wings create stirrings in the air as the lighting shifts to chase his silhouette. He dances not within their world, but parallel to it. A triple pirouette into a double tour l’en air, a triple piqué turn, arms reaching for that which he knows he cannot touch. He weaves among them like an intimate memory, never quite there, but unmistakably felt.

Rather than perform for spectacle, Ryland reveals himself, and not just his technique, but his ache to be known. To be touched. To be felt.

Reluctantly he returns to the stage and to the pole, a metaphorical pillar between earth and sky. He blends brute power and erotic elegance with twisted grip climbs, eagle splits, and one-armed body spirals. Each hold is a breath drawn in, and each release is a moan held back. His skin gleams beneath the mellow lights, his contoured muscles enticing both worship and invitation. He does not seduce outright, he offers and then dares the audience to want. Every movement drips with tension, like the moment before lips meet, but his expression carries the rawness of longing

Still, he remains untouchable.

He lands in stillness, gaze longingly searching the audience not as a spirit glimpsing into the mortal world, but as a man making a choice. His wings are constant, never still. They respond to every pulse, every breath, casting glimmers across his skin and the stage. They are not a costume nor a symbol of devotion, right now they are his curse.

He moves to the front of the stage and falls to his knees as his hands reach back. With an agonizing growl, he violently tears them from himself, clumps of feathers carelessly tossed asunder. The wings unravel into dust, negligently blowing away within the clearing fog. He offers no cry, only breathless silence and then stands, newly human. Mortal. …Alone. The glow in his gaze dims and flesh flushes with life.

A moment meant to bloom, but instead it wilts.

Ryland has done the one thing that would grant him connection, but in doing so he has lost something irretrievable. Eyes fill with realization and he collapses to the floor, body heaving from regret. The absence of his wings is deafening. He is grounded now, of flesh and weight, but the light does not hold him nor revere him the way it once did.

The final image is of Ryland curled where he landed, arms wrapped around the hollow space where his wings once lived. There is no bow, only silence and the feeling that something holy has been undone.

@succulent-tart

[paradisiacvl]

✩ ABC’S

NSFW alphabet with JEFFREY MASON.

NOTE: this is my first hc list so i apologize if it's messy!

—‘A’ IS FOR AFTERCARE (What they’re like after sex)

Will make sure you're okay, clean you up, barrage you with kisses all over, and run you a bath/shower if you want one.

—‘B’ IS FOR BODY PART (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He likes his hands and arms

He likes how strong they are and what he can do with them

He likes your entire body; waist, boobs, hips, ass, hands, mf feet even

He just thinks you're perfect

Head to toe...literally

—‘C’ IS FOR CUM (Anything to do with cum basically…)

Cums absolute buckets like??

Literally so much

Loves to cum in and on you

Loves smearing and rubbing in all of the cum he leaves on your body

He's so messy

Dirty, dirty boy

—‘D’ IS FOR DIRTY SECRET (Pretty self-explanatory; a dirty secret of theirs)

He really wants you to give him a foot or heel job, he doesn't know how to bring it up tho

—‘E’ IS FOR EXPERIENCE (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Very inexperienced

You're his first but he has a good understanding of what to do

Learned from research, watching p0rn, etc.

He watched those instructional, "how to" p0rn vids lmao

He's an eager learner, just wants to make you feel good

—‘F’ IS FOR FAV POSITION (This goes without saying, can probably include visuals)

Mating press

Cowgirl– whether he's in control or not

Legs in the air

—‘G’ IS FOR GOOFY (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

He's more serious but he's more relaxed with it yk? just to make it more comfortable for the both of you

Serious if he's jealousy fucking you though or smth

"God, look at this mess you're making on me, doll. Spencer couldn't do that, could he?"

—‘H’ IS FOR HAIR (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Keeps himself trimmed up, has a nice lil happy trail

Not like you can really see it tho

Carpet does not match the drapes

White pubes ofc

—‘I’ IS FOR INTIMACY (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

He can be very intimate, even when he's being rough.

—‘J’ IS FOR JACK OFF (Masturbation headcanon)

Masturbates a lot

To you ofc, whether he's thinking of you or using pictures of you

The amount of times he's jizzed on his phone screen is concerning

—‘K’ IS FOR KINK (One or more of their kinks)

Voyeurism; more specifically, watching you– touch yourself, bathe, or undress. It drives him crazy.

Knife play

Wants to carve his name on your lower back, give you a cute lil tramp stamp

Also wants you to suck on the handle of his knife

Scent kink

Panty fetish

Light bondage

Slight daddy kink

Spit kink

A lowkey foot fetish

Has a finger sucking fetish, he loves it when you lick and suck on his fingers. He'll do it to you too sometimes

Somnophilia (sex while you're sleeping)

Hair pulling. Loves it when you do it to him especially

Choking (giving and receiving, gives way more tho)

Impact play (spanking you)

Overstim (giving and receiving)

Orgasm control (giving and receiving)

Ear licking/sucking (giving and receiving)

Dacryphilia (likes seeing you cry from pleasure)

Wanted to learn Shibari but doesn't have the patience for the more intricate ones, but he knows one..

He uses it to "punish" you

—‘L’ IS FOR LOCATION (Favourite places to do the do)

Anywhere tbh

bed, floor, couch, counter, table, against a wall, in a doorway...

He does not care

—‘M’ IS FOR MOTIVATION (What turns them on, gets them going)

Sometimes he can just look at you and he gets a hard on

You being bratty, whiny, or teasing

Wearing anything revealing, but that's a given

You in dresses or skirts. I can imagine him just sticking his head underneath and eating you out like a starved man

—‘N’ IS FOR NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Age play

Coprophilia (feces)

Basically just really disgusting stuff

—‘O’ IS FOR ORAL (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Loves giving and receiving head but likes giving more

He loves to pleasure you, he likes to see how good he can make you feel with just his mouth alone

He likes leaving you fully satisfied

He leaves sloppy kisses all over and tongue fucks you when he goes down on you

Tells you how pretty your pussy is and how good you taste

But...he also loves the way you look with his cock stuffed in your mouth

How you kiss it or slide your mouth along the base, and how you look up at him all while doing it.

—‘P’ IS FOR PACE (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Usually fast and rough but switches it up to slow and rough

Will switch up paces during to tease you

If you ask to go faster, harder, etc. he obliges but not after a little teasing

He can be slow and sensual when he wants to, it's not often though

—‘Q’ IS FOR QUICKY (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Doesn't do them often as he likes to take his time and do it right

On the occasion he just cant wait, he'll pull you away somewhere private and fuck you stupid

And like I said in my last bullet in motivation; he most definitely will stick his head up your skirt or dress and eat you out

—‘R’ IS FOR RISK (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

100%

—‘S’ IS FOR STAMINA (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

He can last pretty long, 3-4 rounds.

Expect him to get even more vocal the more rounds you do, you just feel so good to him

—‘T’ IS FOR TOY (Do they own toys? Do they use them; on a partner or themselves?)

Both! Loves to use them on you and for you to use them on him

—‘U’ IS FOR UNFAIR (how much they like to tease)

So unfair, loves to tease

Just likes to see you whine for him, then he'll give you what you both want

—‘V’ IS FOR VOLUME (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Very vocal, moans, groans, whimpers, and whines and doesn't care who hears

He'll want you to be vocal too, don't hold back

It spurs him on, encourages him

Boost his confidence hearing how good he's fucking you

Wants everybody to hear how good you're making him feel and how good he's making you feel

Will absolutely be calling you pretty while he's fucking into you

Talking you through your orgasms too

Tells you how good you feel, how good you are, how pretty you are, etc.

He gets so cocky after smh

—‘W’ IS FOR WILD CARD (Random headcannon(s) for the character of your choice)

He's a switch but v top leaning

He will bottom on occasion but he tops more

He really likes when you do take control, he loves the veiw

Absolutely hypnotized by his gorgeous girl topping him

Despite other ppl hc him to like degrading you, I think it would be the opposite ☝️

He doesn't like saying mean things to his love, he knows what that feels like

He likes praise, giving and receiving

Maybe I'm biased bc I'm a praise girl

He'll only degrade you if it's something you really like or if it's twisted with some kind of praise

"So pretty...such a pretty lil' slut f'me."

Loves kissing during it, likes feeling your moans and whines in his mouth

Pleasure dom?? yes!

He's a stalker and when he's watching you, he's rubbing his cock to his pretty little thing changing, showering, masturbating, sleeping, etc.

You just look so pretty doing absolutely anything, he can't get enough of you

And you have a very conveniently placed tree in front of one of your bedroom windows

He's hid in your closet while you were home jerking it too

He's such a fuckin creep <3

—‘X’ IS FOR X-RAY (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

He's packing idc

7.5-8 inches, has some girth

Slightly curves up and to the left, flushed pink tip

Nice, round, heavy balls

—‘Y’ IS FOR YEARN (How high is their sex drive?)

Very high, his mind is always in the gutter

Constantly wants to fuck you

You gotta pry him off you sometimes, he's so feral

—‘Z’ IS FOR ZZZ (How quickly they fall asleep afterward)

After the aftercare, he's knocked tf out.

But sometimes he'll just watch you as you're sleeping, caress your face and hair, and admire your beauty. He wonders how you could like someone like him :(

[sakuraspages]

sasusaku snippet #7

[Mermaid!Sakura AU – #2]

She looks awfully weak and her breathing sounds rough and painful. She gapes at him like a fish out of water. She moves her hand slowly. Her fingers are long and white and her nails short but shiny like pearls.

She shakily gestures toward her throat.

“Are you thirsty?” he asks.

She nods slowly. He rushes to give her a glass of water. She fumbles with it and immediately spills it all on her chest.

“No!” he gasps. “Wait– It's ok…” He tries to pat her dry with his cloak and she feebly pushes him away with her hand.

“I'll bring you another glass.”

Less than a minute later, she drops a second full glass on herself. When he brings a third glass, she tries to plunge her full hand into it. His thoughts make no sense.

“You… You want to be in the water?” he tries. She may want to rinse off the sand and the dried salt on her skin. She nods again. He could swear she tried to smile.

He starts a hot bath and comes back to her while the water is running.

“Can you walk?”

Her eyes tell him she probably can't even sit up. He picks her up with the cloak once again. He lowers her into the water but when her toes touch the surface, she squirms and clings on to him.

“Too hot?”

She nods quickly. He gently puts her down on the bath mat and sits her against the bathtub while he adjusts the temperature. He cannot help but notice the strange angle of her legs and feet on the floor. She doesn't seem to control them or use them to sit straight. He briefly considers that she might be paralyzed from the waist down.

“Is this ok?” he asks, and she dips her fingers in the water before quickly removing them. She shakes her head.

The water is almost completely cold when she finally accepts to touch it. With all the care in the world, he lowers her into the bathtub. She sheds the cloak and soon her long hair floats around her in the water.

She gives a loud sigh of relief as she leans back and closes her eyes. For long seconds she doesn't move and he cannot take his eyes off her. There is something uncanny in the way she floats, the subtle movement of her hair, and the light sheen of her skin. Maybe it’s just been a while since he last was with a woman. He realizes he might be intruding on her relaxing moment.

“I'll get you a clean towel,” he says to give her a few minutes.

His brain is so flustered that he needs a long time to remember where he keeps his bath towels.

Of course there's the surprise of finding someone almost dead on the beach, but then there's the fact that this person is an objectively perfect and naked young woman, and also that she looks like she should be treated like a Greek goddess and not at all be soaking in the tiny rusty bathtub of a mentality fragile fisherman in the middle of nowhere. Once she's done with her bath, he will find clothes for her and give her the number of the doctor and she will be on her way. But she looks so weak and tired, and what if she is actually paralyzed? Was she paralyzed before fainting on the beach? Did she have an accident? What could he even help her with anyway, though? No, she should leave, it'd be best for both of them. Maybe he is imagining all of this, after all. It wouldn't be the worst of his dreams for sure. And yet… The feeling of her body when he held her in his arms was so real… He is clearly losing it for good this time. When he comes back he gently knocks at the door of the bathroom. No answer.

“Erm?... Hey?” he calls through the door. ”Can I come in? I have a towel.”

No answer. He worries she might have passed out again and drowned. He pushes the door open and walks in. His bare foot steps in a large puddle of water that has overflowed out of the tub. He lets the towel fall on the wet floor. His eyes are glued to the thing in front of him. A massive fish tail, wider and longer than any fish he has ever caught, is coming out of the bathtub and curling heavily over the edge. It's covered in tiny scales in every possible shade of pink, iridescent with purple and green sparkles in the fluorescent light of his bathroom. At the end of the tail, a fin spreads wider than the tub, still pink but so pale that it looks white. It's thin and translucent, light and flowy, delicate like silk. He feels faint when he notices the blood. A large, crimson gash is open all the way through several rays of the fin, almost down the whole length of it, and drips red-tainted water on his bath mat.

Finally, he manages to take his eyes away from her tail and her wound. When he looks back at her face, her green eyes are open and pleading. For the first time, he hears her speak.

"𝘏𝘦𝘭𝘱?..."

[quinloki]

Random HC for Sanji x Reader (I want to preface this with foot kinks and fetishes are uncomfortable for me personally, but I can't shake this thought).

Sanji who takes such care of his hands, and he does his best to take care of his feet - wearing sturdy shoes, bathing the most of any of the other men on the crew. I feel like he has a routine to keep his body is as good of condition as he can manage.

But those poor feet.

Just the idea of finally getting him to relent and letting you massage his feet. His face is flushed red, and his words are stuttered. You're good at it, and he's enjoying it, but there's something new he's experiencing.

He's Enjoying it.

The jolts of pleasure that zing up his legs are terribly distracting and part of him feels guilty reacting "incorrectly" to your well intentioned gift.

"Ah, no... that's... that's e-enough... merde, épargne moi." he whimpers, your thumbs pushing into the middle of his foot as your fingers help push tension from the surrounding muscles.

"I'm barely getting started, Sanji, does it feel bad?"

"Absolutely not." He asserts, nearly frowning at the implication that your touch would ever feel bad. A soft whimper breaks his expression and he puts a hand over his face, muttering swear in French so fast you're not sure what he's saying.

He misses the devilish grin that splits your lips, horns practically forming as you realize just what he's struggling against.

"Maybe it would feel better if I kissed your feet?" You prompt, feeling his entire body flinch. "Warm, wet tongue against the sole of your foot, lips against your toes." You hum, dancing your fingers against his foot to follow the suggestion of your words.

"I'm sure that would feel good. You could even look down and watch how soft and sweet I can be, just like when I'm -."

Sanji's hands go over his crotch and he twists to one side, pulling his foot away from your hands. There's a strangled groan as he moves, and a surprisingly audible whimper as you lean over him, fingers over his own hands.

"I bet it would feel even better than you could imagine, Sanji-san." You say, drawing out his name and feeling him shiver beneath you, strangled cry of pleasure shattering in the back of his throat as he fails to keep himself under control.

[sterling-starlight]

Spiced Wine

Taliesin’s comments about Rulindil before and after the Thalmor Embassy infiltration scratched at my brain and forced me to write this at *squints at clock* 2 in the morning. This is also my fist time writing Tally, so I hope I got him right >n< 

The urge to title this ‘Teacup’ was tempting, but ultimately unfitting.

Getting out of the Thalmor Embassy alive was like stepping into a perfectly hot bath after hiking through Winterhold; every inch of Furiae’s body tingled (although that could have also been the residual magicka of her glamour fading away), and muscles she didn’t even know could be knotted at all were slowly loosening.  If she decided that she wanted to spend the next few days in Solitude, she doubted her companions would deny her.

To be perfectly candid Furiae wasn’t exactly gnawing at the bit to see Delphine  any sooner than she needed to. There were other ways to get the information Furiae had found into the surly Breton’s hands- and if it came down to it, she could blame the time away from Riverwood on the rapidly approaching winter.  The roads of Hjaalmarch were freezing over, and extra care had to be taken for carriage drivers especially; no one could be blamed for that.

Alas, despite being wrapped in the comforting embrace of Kaidan’s arms and buried under a blissfully warm quilt, Furiae’s mind wouldn’t still. And the perpetrator was a certain Altmeri sorcerer whom she knew for a fact was still downstairs, needling the hours away with a bottle of wine. (During their time in Solitude, he had developed a taste for the spiced wine. Admitting, with great reluctance, that a common Nord family had concocted a brew that knocked alto wine off its lofty pedestal.) With a sigh that was equal parts reluctance and frustration, Furiae extracted herself from Kaidan’s arms, a difficult task since A) he was a light sleeper and B) he had wrapped his arms and legs around her like an ivy plant. “Whu’ssa’matta?” Kaidan slurred once Furiae had freed herself, pawing for her hand. She smoothed back his hair and kissed the corner of his mouth.

“Nothing. I’ll be back soon.” With a non-verbal response rumbling deep from within his chest, Kaidan settled back to slumber. She smiled fondly before padding out of their room, tip toeing past Teldryn’s (he snorted loudly, but didn’t stir beyond that) and scurrying downstairs.  A chill ran all the way up from her toes to the roots of her hair as soon as her feet touched the uncovered stone of the bottom main floor of The Winking Skeever.  The wind howled outside the tightly secured windows, thick globs of sleet slamming angrily against the panes as if to remind everyone still awake that winter was coming and would spare no one its fury.  It was almost enough to make her abandon her quest and dive back under the covers with Kaidan, but Furiae Revayn was nothing if not stubborn. Leaping from the foot of the stairs to the nearest edge of carpet to seek some reprieve, she wandered into the main tavern area. The fire in the hearth was still burning brightly despite the late hour, sending comforting waves of warmth throughout the space. Furiae’s target was huddled at a table by the fire, curled around a goblet as she had predicted.

“Ah. A fellow insomniac,” Taliesin said by way of greeting. “You may as well join me, rather than stand there like mannequin.” He waved a hand to the empty chair across from him.

“Is there any wine left for me?” She questioned.

“You ask that as though I am a drunkard with no self-control,” Taliesin sniffed belligerently. “I’ll have you know; I opened this bottle of wine not even an hour ago.”

“So, is that a yes?”

“That is a maybe.” As if they didn’t both already know the answer. Furiae rolled her eyes playfully and retrieved a goblet from behind the bar. Taliesin snatched it from her hand as soon as she was in range and looked over it with a scrutinizing eye, nose scrunching in distaste. “For Godssake, at least wipe it clean first.” With a flick of his wrist, he produced a handkerchief from absolutely nowhere (made more confounding by the fact that he had since changed into his sleeping clothes, which had no hidden pouches or pockets sewed into the lining like his Thalmor uniform did. At least not to her knowledge) and wiped down the goblet until it all but shined. Satisfied, he poured Furiae her wine and slid it over to her.  “So do what do I owe the pleasure?” “I have a lot on my mind,” Furiae said. She noted that her goblet was somewhat warm to the touch- Taliesin must have heated up his bottle of spiced wine to help with the chill.

“Understandable. One minute you’re dragging Kaidan, Teldryn and I over hill and over dale -taking us into every single cave, ruin, and fortress you can see- and drinking with Daedric Princes, the next the only survivor of a dead order is expecting you to save an entire country.”  Taliesin swirled the wine in his goblet contemplatively.  “Simple as a springtime stroll through Alinor’s botanical gardens.”

Furiae hiked her shoulders up and said, “that is part of the reason…” she paused, both to collect her thoughts and take a sip of wine. The variety of spices both familiar and unfamiliar swirled around warmly on her tongue and burned pleasantly as it slid down her throat.  “…I’ve also been thinking about you.”

Taliesin had the courtesy to look shocked -scandalized even- and placed a hand over his heart. “Oh, oh my!  I had no idea I occupied your nightly thoughts so!” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “Whatever will you say to Kaidan if he finds out?”

“Nothing, because it isn’t like that at all.” Furiae bit back, cheeks burning. She glared at him over the lip of her goblet as she took another pull. “It’s about you and Rulindil.”

Taliesin crossed his legs elegantly and took a sip from his goblet. “You are doing nothing to help your case but consider me intrigued. Was there anything in particular you were curious about, hmm?”

If Furiae didn’t know Taliesin half as well as she wanted to think she did, she would have given up on the conversation right there and then. Most likely said something very unladylike and then gone into his room to steal his face moisturizers. But they had been traveling together for months by this point, and she had since grown accustomed to his…Taliesin-ness.

“You are incorrigible. You seemed upset when I told you he was dead, and I was worried. That’s it.”

The entire atmosphere seemed to shift. Taliesin’s cat-who-got-the-cream smugness dropped briefly, an expression Furiae had never seen before furrowing his brow for the briefest of moments, before it was swiftly replaced with an almost clinical veneer of indifference.  Despite the howling wind outside, she swore she could have heard a pin drop.

After a pregnant silence, Taliesin spoke up. “Rulindil was in the way, so you killed him.” He waved a hand flippantly. “No different than the multitude you tore through during your quote-en-quote stealth mission.” “You didn’t know those other Thalmor by name or mention any past relationship.”

Taliesin scoffed a laugh. “Relationship?” He un-crossed his legs and set his goblet down. “Oh, no, no, no. My sweet, innocent, hopelessly romantic, ignorant Furiae,” -he poured himself more wine- “The Thalmor don’t have ‘relationships.�� We have… arrangements.  Serving under the doctrine of a genocidal tyrant all your life tends to make things rather -dare I say it- strenuous. Believe it or not, hunting down and slaughtering heretics isn’t all sunshine and jaunts through pine forests. Every now and again, even we crave…” he swirled his wine, “carnal pleasures.”

“That’s it?” She asked. Taliesin quirked a perfectly sculpted brow at the Dunmer. She pressed on. “It was just a sexual thing?” “That’s it. Rulindil scratched an itch I had; I scratched an itch he had. Was it enjoyable? By the gods, yes.”  He looked down into his goblet, that picture-perfect mask of Altmeri indifference fraying at the edges. His lips quirked too far down. His eyes looked too distant.   “But that is all it was. Sorry to disappoint you, but there was no hidden passionate love affair.”

“That’s…” Furiae’s fingers flexed around her goblet. “Really sad.” She held up a hand to stop any further comment from the Altmer. “Not in a pitying way.  Just… I couldn’t imagine only forming relationships through just sex.”

“I could say that I loved him,” Taliesin said with a shrug. “But I respect you too much to lie to your face like that.”  He shook his head and reclined his chair, slipping back into his usual countenance of self-assured relaxation as easily as he donned his robes every day.  “Well, this conversation has been a delight, but I believe it’s over.” His tone was akin to the thunderous strike of a judge’s gavel.

Furiae ran her thumbs along the lip of her goblet, contemplating, before reaching for the half-empty bottle and pouring herself another drink.  A part of her wanted to press more, but the other part knew it wouldn’t lead anywhere. But maybe that was all there was to it.  Her father hadn’t been with the Thalmor, but from what little he had told her about his life in The Summerset Isles, it seemed to match Taliesin’s worldview. Love didn’t matter as much as lineage did, and sometimes the only way to feel anything at all was through sex.

Maybe that was all Taliesin was comfortable with. Maybe that was all he cared to know.

[kaiannae]

Starling Bath Scene part 10

So, as some of you might know, I am currently working on my graduation project in a Game Dev course and have little time for myself. Due to that fact, I'm not sure the next chapter of Starling will be ready in time, so I thought I'd give you another of those little random snippets to gnaw on in the meantime. I've made an attempt to re-sort the former snippets so its better understandable which are connected and in what order. So you can now read back easily!

Warning! This may contain spoilers for Starling. May, as in, I am not sure if it will be canon. as of now, it is a oneshot divergent future XD

CW for panic, self loathing and self worth issues, grooming difficulties and fear of water. Also, I"ve marked this as mature just to be safe.

"It's alright, Sternchen. It’s alright. I've got you," Caleb soothed, his hand and the cloth gliding up Essek’s thigh, over his knee, down his calf, rubbing gently to agitate any debris off his skin. He even dragged the cloth against the sole of Essek's foot, between his toes, with meticulous care for every inch of flesh. Essek couldn't help but gasp at the sudden tickle as the human's fingers smoothed against the arc of his foot, and it was all he could do to avoid kicking out on reflex.

"Oh- es tut mir leid, Starling," Caleb said gently, rubbing more firmly to chase away the sensitivity of his sole. The pressure of the pads of his fingers was just right, pleasant and soothing, but Essek could hear the smile in his voice, the mild excitement of discovery. It reminded him of early days, of Caleb's excitement every time he found out a new thing about Essek, even before he knew Essek was anything more than a simple creature. It was endearing, even if he was finding it hard to appreciate in these circumstances. "You're ticklish. Duly noted," Caleb mused, as if making a mental note and the fondness in his tone made Essek's heart clench painfully. He wanted that fondness. He wanted to bask in it. He wanted to court it, but he didn't dare to. "Other leg, bitte," Caleb prompted, and Essek was quick to comply, even through the embarrassment that made his body flush warm. His skin prickled with anticipation as Caleb repeated his motions with his other foot, cleaning carefully, taking care not to tickle this time. There was– so much Caleb could do to him at this moment. There was so much power he could have over Essek. Caleb was physically stronger than him, just in terms of crude brute strength. Essek was sitting naked in his lap, surrounded by water, which terrified him, his components out of reach, his arcana all but exhausted for the day. And Caleb had power in casting, power in location, as they were in a place of the human's creation, that he controlled, and power in knowledge as well. He knew so much. He knew Essek's secrets, his weaknesses, the things that would make him bend, and break and obey without question.

Essek should have been terrified. He should have been mortified of baring himself like this, putting himself in the human's hands, letting him wield all that power. Had Caleb been of a cruel mind, he could have Essek helpless in his grasp. He could torment him for hours, days, however long he wanted, in so many ways. The human had a unique, creative mind. Had he been anything like Egan– But no. Comparing the two was a sin, the worst act of blasphemy. And Essek- Essek wasn't terrified, and hasn't been so in a long time, not since the first days of their travels. Because it was Caleb, and if there was one thing he knew for a fact, one thing he was sure of, it was that Caleb was safe, Caleb would never use the power he had to hurt Essek. So it was safe to yield, safe to give in, and let Caleb do as he pleased. It was safe to let Caleb take care of him, to keep him from the terrors of water and the shadows his mind conjured as liquid touched his skin. Their work done, Caleb's hands retreated from their meticulous cleaning of Essek's leg and rose to lather the cloth again. Essek was appalled to see the cloud of gray dissipating into the water as it was wrung. It seemed prestidigitation really did have its limits, especially when raw, tender skin made any further use painful. A fresh wave of shame made him curl further against Caleb's chest, as if seeking to hide from the human's scrutiny. That Caleb saw this, that Caleb knew just how depraved he had become, how weak and pathetic he allowed himself to be- how could he hope to be worthy of someone like Caleb, someone who braved his fears every day, who walked back into the den of horrors he had escaped from for the noble cause of saving others, of ending suffering? How could he ever hope to catch Caleb's eye, when he was merely Essek, a coward, a traitor, a broken, useless filthy thing. Caleb, oblivious to his inner thrashing, paused his work to wrap his free hand tighter around Essek's shoulders, mistaking his burrowing into the human's space as fresh fear. His other hand held up the well lathered cloth in kind offering. "Do you wish to do this part on your own, liebling? Or would you rather I do it?" he asked gently, no inflection in his voice to hint at pity, or aversion, or desire. There was nothing but soft kindness, as mild and comforting as a cup of tea and nothing more. Essek swallowed convulsively.  "I-I can do it. I can do it," he answered, though whether he was trying to convince Caleb or himself was unclear. He knew he failed miserably at both, but still Caleb took his words at face value, holding out the cloth for him to take. He grasped it with fingers that almost managed not to shake, but only almost, heat rising to his cheeks in a foolish display of embarrassment, of shame. The thought of cleaning himself, of touching himself so intimately in plain sight of anyone, of Caleb, made him want to crawl under the floorboards. Which was weak, and foolish and infantile, he told himself firmly. He was a grown man, and it was hardly the first time they had to share awkward, intimate moments. They had nursed each other back from the brink of death, from the brink of madness and despair. They had traveled together, cared for each other when sick. This was hardly the most embarrassing thing they've done.

So why was his hand shaking, why did the thought of cleaning himself while Caleb watched make him hot and cold at the same time, why couldn't he bring himself to move? He sat there, frozen, holding the cloth above the water in indecisive agony for what seemed like eternity, a matter which was only made worse when a slight movement of his knee made the water ripple and move, making him aware once more of the fact he was sitting submerged in water, making the panic rear up its ugly head once more. He gasped, pressing back against Caleb's chest, losing his grasp on the lathered cloth as he flinched. It plunged into the water in a cloud of foam, and Essek couldn't bring himself to reach into the water after it. He simply stared at the rippling surface, growing more and more distraught by the situation, by his own reaction, but the need to act and the inability to do so. Warm hand enveloped him, pulling his hand away from where it hovered in painful indecision over the water. They soothed against his forearms, pulling him close against Caleb's chest, into a calming hug which made the constriction in his chest unclench somewhat. "Hush, Sternchen. No need to fret," Caleb's voice rumbled against his ear and Essek realized he must have made some sound, some pitiful whimper or another embarrassing vocalization. But his shame mingled with some guilty satisfaction at the embrace it earned him, and that only fed into that shame in a dangerous back-feed of self-consciousness and embarrassment.

"Let me do it, bitte. You don't have to do anything tonight, but lie back." His larger, human hand plunged into the water and fished out the washing-rag, and he went about lathering it anew as Essek hid his face against his wet shirt. For a moment, he wished for the shirt to be gone, wished for the sensation of warm skin against his own, of the mat of curly hair he remembered from days and nights on the road against his cheek. He had long been curious about what it would feel like.  But he was being foolish, as wanton as a cat in heat. Caleb was merely indulging him in caring for him. Essek should not soil his kindness with his own desires. He did not deserve to have his heart's desire anyway.

[tarzantips]

Home Remedies for Athlete's Foot: Treating and Preventing Fungal Infections on the Feet

A common yet uncomfortable fungal illness that affects the feet is recognized as athlete's foot, or tinea pedis in medical terminology.

This condition, which appears by skin that is itchy, red, and even cracks, tends to develop in moist, public areas like showers, locker rooms, and swimming pools.

Athlete's foot can be a chronic discomfort that many people find difficult to get rid of.

Indeed, you may treat it at home with natural, efficient solutions and take preventative steps to keep your foot clear of fungus.

Home Remedies for Athlete's Foot

Athlete's Foot and Its Causes

The fungal infection identified as athlete's foot is usually brought on by dermatophytes, a type of fungus that prefers warm, humid conditions.

It frequently affects the space between the toes and can result in painful skin peeling, burning, and itching.

Even while anyone can get athlete's foot, the fungus is most commonly distributed in public places like gyms, locker rooms, and showers.

The condition is contagious and can be spread through direct touch or contaminated surfaces, even if it is usually not a serious one.

To prevent the illness from spreading to other areas of the body or to other persons, early treatment is necessary.

Common Symptoms and Risk Factors

Early detection of athlete's foot symptoms may be helpful in treatment and help stop the condition from spreading.

Athlete's foot symptoms often include,

Itching and burning: Particularly on the soles and in between the toes

Peeling, cracking, or scaly skin: Usually red and itchy.

Blisters or sores: These can occasionally burst open and cause discomfort.

Dryness or peeling around the affected area: Especially in the space between the toes

Wearing tight, non-breathable shoes, unable to properly dry your feet, and going barefoot in public places are some risk factors that make you more open to athlete's foot.

You can also be at greater risk if you have a compromised immune system or a tendency to sweat out.

Popular Home Remedies for Treating Athlete's Foot

Natural treatments can be useful in controlling symptoms and getting rid of the infection in mild cases of athlete's foot.

Consider the following tried-and-true home remedies,

1. Tea Tree Oil

Strong antifungal and antibacterial qualities are provided by tea tree oil.

How to prepare:

It can be applied directly to the affected area twice a day by combining a few drops of tea tree oil with carrier oil, such as coconut oil. In addition to relieving itching, this oil may stop the fungus from growing.

2. Apple Cider Vinegar

The acidic qualities of apple cider vinegar make the environment unfavorable for fungi.

How to prepare:

For 15 minutes, involve your feet in a solution made of one part water and one part apple cider vinegar. After that, give your feet a good rinse and let them air dry.

3. Garlic

Ajoene, a substance found in garlic, has inherent antifungal qualities.

How to prepare:

Apply a paste made from crushed garlic cloves to the affected regions and let it sit for 10-15 minutes. Another option is to put garlic into a heated foot bath.

4. Baking Soda Paste

Because of its calming qualities, baking soda can help relieve dryness and itching.

How to prepare:

Apply a paste made from a tablespoon of baking soda and a small amount of water to the afflicted areas, and then rinse it off after t10 minutes.

5. Coconut Oil

Medium-chain fatty acids, which are plentiful in coconut oil, may help prevent the growth of fungi.

How to prepare:

To help calm and heal the skin, massage a small coating of coconut oil onto the area that is affected once or twice a day.

more >>>

[valkxrie]

{combination headcanons ?/?} 🚶‍♂️ for a habit-themed headcanon + 👍 for a headcanon about things they like

@kylo-wrecked from the memes folder.

Its been said multiple times; Brunnhilde loves to be clean.

Valkyrie Brunnhilde

The most important feature in any home is the bathroom. She needs to be able to fit in the shower and the tub. Not fit in the logical every-day sense; she's five-foot-nine - tall, but not a giant by any means. However, the wingspan needed to carry a five-foot-nine woman around is substantial. Each wing is seven feet across. That's fourteen feet fully extended, with more feathers on each than she cares to count. And she is immensely vain about her wings. They are her power, her joy. They give her freedom and strength. They are beautiful and they are a bitch to clean. Do you know how many brushes this woman has for her wings? Long handled hardwood brushes with boar bristle heads, short ones with sable in them, flat ones, puffy ones, ones for getting wet, ones to use when dry, ones for before, during, and after a bath or shower... Brunnhilde can clean her wings alone, but it is far easier to do with someone she trusts. And, she would have to trust you wholly to let you so much as touch them, let alone help clean them. Normally, the Valkyrie will sit in a circle and clean each other's wings for hours - singing and laughing all the while. Its a ritual they have together. Like clockwork twice a week; into a communal bath, wielding soap and songs and brushes like they're going to battle. And then there's the rest of her body. Hair, teeth, skin, nails... Her cleaning rituals are almost religious to her. She'll spend weeks on a front-line getting covered in grime and guts from head to toe, but its fine. It all comes out in the wash - and what a wash it is.

Human Brunnhilde

No wings here, but the girl loves a bath. But there are rules to an actual soak in the tub. You can't go into a bath and sit in your own filth, so you must shower before. You cant take the salt and oil with you on your day from the bath, so you must rinse after. This is a once-a-week affair for her; and should not be confused with the everything shower, which is also a once-a-week affair and very thorough. Human Brunnhilde is exfoliated, moisturised, and maintained. Its something she has control over. In the military, she had very little that was hers. She covets her alone time. Her cleaning time. That being said - she's not always preening. She's in the military, so you better believe she has this down to an art. Five-minute shower-timer in a barracks? Not a problem (but would prefer at least ten). It would be a crime not to mention that Brunnhilde can afford laser hair removal and regular facials at an Upper East Side spa. That does make daily maintenance a lot easier. She can live without it - the preening part, at least. A really lovely, hot shower will do, and she will use your soap and your toothbrush if she cant use her own. One thing she wont do is sleep well without a shower. She also cant sleep well with jewellery on; it all goes in a little bowl beside the sink. Regardless of where she is - jewellery off, shower, brush teeth, sleep. That's the routine. That's what makes her happy. It puts the day away. It gives her control back. Strip it back, make it clean. Then she can rest.

[developer-masud]

Name Of Product:

Foot Spa, Toe Touch Controlled Foot Bath

Click Here To Get Your Product>>

Product's Short Details:

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REMOVABLE PUMICE STONE: Pamper your feet and shape them to perfection with the included callus removing stone

SPLASH PROOF: The foot spa was designed with an integrated splash guard that helps prevent splashing and spills. This makes it easy to carry your foot spa without worrying about spilling the water, for a mess-free experience

TOE-TOUCH CONTROL: The foot spa was designed with a convenient toe-touch control that allows you to turn it on and off without getting your hands wet.

HOMEDICS: HoMedics is about creating a healthy home environment that helps you relax your body, de-stress, and simplify your life

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Imagine:

Warnings: Smut, Switch!Erik, Professor Erik, Librarian Kink, Foot Fetish, Foot Mistress, Role Play, Foot Job

Why the feet?

It’s believed foot fetish guys enjoy the total submission of a nice cute or sexy pair of feet because, first, the feet represent the "lowest" part of a female yet have a very distinctive feminine quality. That feminine quality separates their feet from guys' feet. They are the ones who have the smaller more dainty features, they wear toe nail polish, or nylons, heels, and so forth.

As stated, guys who are aroused by feet, are sexually excited by the submission they feel in themselves for being aroused in the first place. It’s also believed the proverbial "worship at someone's feet" or "kneeling at someone's feet" show that total submission as in the traditional "dominant vs. submissive" relationship. Subconsciously, guys that have a foot fetish, want to be dominated by a girl's feet. They want to be close to them and will do anything they can to please them. This is why most foot guys love to "worship" a pair of cute feet. Using all their senses, whether its sight, smell, touch, taste, or even hearing heels clicking across a hard floor, they can't help but relate that to their sexual impulses. This is why, It’s said that guys get really kinky when it comes to feet and some even go over the top…

We girls need to remove the stigma that a guy who likes feet is weird or a pervert. Nothing could be further from the truth. If he loves feet, is that any different than if he loved your breasts, or vagina, or ass? Sure it's not a traditional "sexual" body part but that just means it's not traditional to us. We girls might not think like that, so therefore we might think it's strange. Is it any stranger than if we liked big dicks, or nice smiles, or big thighs, or tight asses, or muscular bodies? Absolutely not. If a guy likes your feet, then flaunt them. A guy's number one sexual sense is sight. He likes what he sees. We wear tight pants, low cut tops, wear makeup, show skin along with many other visual apparel, so let's show off our sexy feet as well and don't discriminate against a guy who might find them sexually appealing…

Camille believed that feet can intensify a man’s sexual gratification and his orgasm, he will be a much happier mate and at what price to women? He will in turn intensify their sexual gratification. Camille remembers watching television in her bed and had a boyfriend, fuck her feet and have a powerful orgasm. She really didn't have to do anything but let it happen. She even made him get his own lotion and a towel. Her point is, he wants to do that stuff so why not let him? He wants to be totally submissive to her feet. She could tell a man to go clean the kitchen before he is allowed to fuck her feet and it’ll be done in a matter of minutes. She’s not suggesting, if he is totally selfish and wants no connection with you or isn't interested in pleasing you sexually, then we should give into his fetish. She’s saying, using your feet can be a win/win situation with pleasing your man and help satisfy that sexual craving along with keeping some control.

Canille starts by keeping her feet looking good.

The first step in using her feet as part of her sex life is cleanliness. You need to keep your feet clean and bathed. Now, she knows some guys like "dirty" feet but there are two types of dirty feet and the type that foot fetish guys enjoy are the ones that have some wear or dirt on the bottoms not the kind that are unclean. "Unclean" is if you haven't showered in two days and "dirty" is if you have some dark wear from your flip flops or they are sweaty from wearing your boots at work. Cleanliness also keeps your feet sanitary and that is important because if he is a licker or sucker, he will stay healthy.

The second step in preparing to use her feet as part of her sex life is grooming. You must have well-groomed and presentable feet. The toenails need to be prepared and they need to be sexy with polish, French tips, or just naturally shown. Your toenails should be trimmed neatly and without fungus or discoloration. Your feet need to be smooth and without blemishes such as callouses or bumps. Make your feet just as desirable as any other part of your body and to do this you need to put time in your feet with pedicures and products just as you would with anything else. A guy really appreciates and is aroused by the effort made in keeping your feet in good shape.

The third step in using your feet as part of your sex life is flexibility. No, she’s not referring to the ability to stretch but about adapting your feet to your guy's taste. For your lover to truly enjoy your feet, you need to simply, adapt your feet to "what he likes." Camille knows that guys with a foot fetish are very specific in their "likes." Those specifics can range from particular colors of nail polish, to certain shoes, heels, socks, nylons, etc.

No one knew Camille was a foot model for her kinky smut blog where she posted her feet for tips. It was like a part-time job creating content and with the type of shoes she wore on a daily bases, she needed to. So-Kate pumps and sandals with a heel most days. On Friday’s she wore flats or flip-flops. Camille is a full-time Librarian and Archivist for the George Peabody Library in Baltimore, Maryland. It’s a free public library, with lecture series, music conservatory and art collection dedicated to the citizens of Baltimore.

Knee length pencil skirts and a tucked button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up or a pencil dress is what Camille mainly wore. She kept her curly hair styled in either a sleek, tight bun or half of it pinned up with a claw clip. Camille had five different pairs of glasses to choose from for the week and on Friday’s she always wore her favorite—Tortoise shell cat eyed frames. It felt so relaxing in that Library. Surrounded by the scent of old books, silence, and lighting made her feel at piece.

It’s 3:30pm and Camille just finished her lunch break. She had a Mediterranean chicken pita sandwich and an apple juice. She made it back into the Library just in time before the predicted afternoon downpour finally began. The rain blanketed the streets in heavy pellets and each time someone would enter the library, the scent of the showers would flow in along with a calming breeze that eased her mind as she sat behind her help desk reading her own book. Camille was three chapters into Fingerprints of the Gods: The Evidence of Earth’s Lost Civilization when the doors to the library opened again, a familiar face grabbing her attention. He used his suit jacket as a shield from the rain as best as he could but his crisp light blue button down had wet droplets along the back. He rubbed his luxury black loafers against the large oriental rub before finally entering the quiet, dry library.

Resting his suit jacket over his left arm, a computer bag on his right shoulder, he sauntered over to Camille’s help desk with a warm, porcelain smile and charming dimples. His big, dark brown eyes shielded behind grey Gucci eyeglasses reminded her of whiskey the way the over-head lights shines within his orbs. His locs are neatly braided back with a fresh twist and line-up. He always smelled like cedar, tree moss, and vanilla—striking the right balance between musky and sweet. He accessorized with a black sapphire ring on his right ring finger and a flashy silver Rolex on his left wrist. Camille placed her bookmark between the pages and stood up from her seat, adjusting her black, squared Calvin Klein eyed glasses. His cognac eyes swept over her from head to toe—admiring the half up, half down style of her naturally curly hair and the black claw clip that matched her eyeglasses, the white dress shirt with the top two buttons undone, down to her waist where he could make out a black, runched pencil skirt. What he couldn’t make out were the black nylons she wore and the black suede pumps on her feet.

“Hey, Camille,” He greeted her with that same smile, “How’s my favorite librarian doing?”

Camille stared at him over the top of her glasses with a grin that made the apples of her cheeks pop, “I’m doing great, Erik. Have a good day at work?”

Erik is a professor at Johns Hopkins University with a doctorate in Engineering.

“It was…eventful. You know the first week back to college is always an adjustment. I gotta get a head start on grading these end of the week assignments. Figured I could chill here and get most of it down before I head home.”

“Why not do it in your office?” Camille questioned.

Erik cocked his head to the side and squinted his eyes at Camille playfully.

“What?” Camille tucked her chin bashfully.

“You know this is my favorite place to be. And I get to see my favorite person.”

Camille dropped her gaze to her feet. Erik folded his arms on the desk and leaned in closer so he could peek over the desk. His eyes took in the site of her long, shapely legs covered in pantyhose and the black heels on her feet. Someone was approaching the help desk so Erik lifted away and turned to leave. Camille exhaled a rattled breath before gaining her composure and putting on a professional smile to assist.

Twenty minutes went by and Camille decided to start putting away books. She came from behind her desk and walked across to the other side of the library where the study area is. Her heels click-clacked along the marble floors until they reached carpet that silenced her footsteps. Grabbing a cart, she moved around to empty tables, clearing books. She pushed the cart between tables and when she neared the front she could see Erik sitting at his usual table, typing on his MacBook. From where he’s seated, he could look straight across at Camille behind her desk from the side. That thought alone made her stomach do somersaults. Camille watched him in his element discreetly while attempting to look as if she were working and not being a creep.

It was obvious that Camille liked Erik a lot. What shocked her was that he hadn’t asked her out yet. It’s always the same interaction—run-ins at the library. They would talk about anything, even things Camille knew very little about as far as Erik was concerned but she just loved to hear his voice and watch him talk. It was mesmerizing. She imagined kissing him between the stacks or lying across his favorite desk while he—

“Camille?”

Erik somehow found his way to her while she was daydreaming, a book suspended in her hand when she was supposed to place it on a shelf. Her light brown doe eyes blinked at him and she adjust her eyeglasses with one finger since it had slipped down the bridge of her nose.

“Y-yes?” Camille finally spoke with a shaky breath.

“You okay?” Erik asked with an elevated brow.

“Just—just a little tired.”

Camille slid the book onto the shelf carefully before pushing along to finish the job.

“I bet your feet are killing you.” Erik said.

Somehow his words made her realize just how sore her feet really are.

“Yes…I’ve been up on my feet a lot today. Guess I didn’t think that through.”

“Hm,” Erik’s eyes dipped down to stare at her feet, “Why don’t I help you do this and you go relax for a little bit, yeah?”

“Erik, I’ll be okay, really,” Camille touched his forearm gently, “Just a few more books and I’ll be right back behind my desk.”

Erik frowned slightly, “You just—you do so much around here already. It’s like you work this place all by yourself.”

“Only the main floor and the basement archives,” Camille giggled, “Seriously, I’ll be fine. Go finish grading your assignments, Professor.”

Camille poked Erik in his left pectoral and the rigidity there stunned and aroused her. She hoped he hadn’t noticed how flustered that small action made her feel.

“Aight, girl. I’ll be right there if you need me.”

Camille gave Erik a shy nod and then a flirtatious smile. She ran the front of her heeled left foot up her right calve and just like that Erik’s eyes dropped to her feet. Camille noticed straight away and she slowly placed her foot down on the carpet, his eyes lifting to meet hers again. He blinked twice and rapidly, as if he were caught in some sort of a trance.

“I—I have to finish—finish putting away these books.”

Camille slipped past Erik with her cart in tow and she could still feel his eyes trained to the lower half of her body.

Freshly showered, body rubbed down with massage oil, Camille sat in the middle of her queen bed within her apartment in Federal Hill, snapping pictures of her pretty, pedicured toes. All white, gold anklets, floral ankle tattoo, and the perfect arch sent her followers into a frenzy.

You have such beautiful feet

That arch is perfect

I wonder how they taste

Step on me

I want to suck on your toes

I bet they smell like vanilla

The soles of your feet are the sexiest I’ve ever seen

Massage my dick with those

Camille is a foot fetish mistress. She charges $250 per hour for one-on-one video chat and VIP pictures but never agreed on in-person meet-ups. Camille never shows her face, only the neck down. It was safer for her to do everything online versus face-to-face.

What started it all was an innocent occurrence with her ex one evening. He was at the end of her bed fondling her socked feet. Her socks were recently slipped on my size 9 feet after a bath.

Camille used to hide her feet. She had no idea how many guys liked feet until she met her ex . He said her feet are perfect, for him at least. She has a nice arch, and toes that go across from big to small at a very straight angle but not too sharp of an angle either. If you are a foot lover you likely understand. Her nail beds are deep, nails painted white, clipped quite tidy and short or with acrylic. The plumpness of her toes seem to be exactly right as there are no gaps between her toes, creating cute toe cleavage when she has the right shoes on.

She missed the feel of lips and skillful hands on her feet. Camille is only partially fulfilled with her desires but what she really wanted was a man to worship her feet often and she was very selective of that. She didn’t want just any man kneeling before her, nibbling, kissing, and sucking on her toes. Tomorrow was Friday and she decided to wear some heeled sandals instead of her usual flats. Something about the way Erik looked at her feet made her crave for him to do it again and the only way he could really get a good look was for her to wear open-toed heels that  accentuate the arch of her foot. There heels can’t have a strap around the ankle, they have to be mules, so she can slip her foot in and out of them to tease him. If her suspicions are correct, Erik has a foot fetish. No other man would openly and longingly stare ate her feet the way he did without a foot fetish.

Camille settled down for the evening and sleep overtook her body in less than five minutes. She slept in until 8:30am and took a cold shower to wake her up. After brushing her teeth and doing her morning facial routine, Camille got dressed and decided to grab breakfast on her way into work at 3 Bean Coffee. Traffic was light and she made it seven minutes before 10:00am. There was a small rush for an hour but things calmed down enough for her to get some things done. Most students don’t occupy the library on a Friday since it’s the start of the weekend. Partying and forgetting about their studies was the main thing on their minds. She spent most of the morning organizing the Library archives. Camille kept checking her phone, hoping for 3:30pm to get here so she could see Erik. Her pencil skirt was a lot shorter today but still conservative enough for dress code, and she wore a sleeveless, olive green satin blouse with a cinched waist to make her curves stand out more.

“You want to grab lunch? That food truck you like so much is parked out front today.”

A coworker and close friend, Sade, approached Camille’s desk around 1:30pm. Sade works the second level of the library where the art history books are.

“Sure, I’ve been craving their salmon wraps for a week now,” Camille closes out her computer, “Just let me grab my purse and I’ll meet you out front.”

Camille disappeared into an office to retrieve her purse. She returned and standing at her desk is Professor Erik wearing casual clothing. She knew he had a class on Friday’s so seeing him at the Library so early startled her. A black polo stretched across his chest down to his tapered waist, medium wash jeans hugged his butt and legs like they were tailored to fit him, and a simple pair of all white sneakers completed the outfit. He accessorized with a simple gold Cuban link chain and a gold Piaget watch. Bespectacled and handsome as always.

“Erik? You’re here early,” Camille couldn’t hide her blush, “Classes ended early today?”

“Unexplainable power outage in my building so classes are canceled for the afternoon. Not complaining though, I could use this time to have lunch and finish some work. You free?”

Camille’s eyes dragged down to his lips then back up to his piercing gaze, “I was just about to grab something from the food truck out front.”

“How about I treat you to lunch and you can eat with me?”

Erik had an expression on his face that told Camille he didn’t want her to say no. The unwavering look and the way he nibbled on his pouty bottom lip was enough to show how badly he wanted her to join him for lunch. A nervous energy crept over Camille’s body.

“…I’d like that, Erik…a lot.” Camille spoke with a soft voice. Almost airy, as if his presence bewitched her.

Erik gave her a dimpled smile, “Cool.”

Camille and Erik exited the Library and joined the small line of working people to grab lunch. Thankfully, Sade saved a spot for her so she wouldn’t have to wait in the back of the line. Each time Erik’s arm would bump into hers, Camille would shiver. Each time he would drop his eyes down to look at her, Camille would feel her chest grow tight. He didn’t have to do much to effect her. Camille wondered if it was the same for him.

“…would you rather have less work or more work you enjoy doing?” Erik questions after finishing his crab platter.

They were seated outside in a picnic area. It was cloudy with a nice breeze. During their lunch date, the would ask each other questions to get to know one another more. Erik asked most of the questions, wanting Camille to open up to him more. She didn’t mind, as long as it was him talking to her.

“More. I love being surrounding by books and reading books. It’s so calming. I would do this for the rest of my life if I could. Just…learning new things and being a part of new worlds when I’m deeply invested into a book excites me.” Camille replied with a sincere smile.

“I can tell you love what you do, Camille. I think it’s really beautiful how passionate you are about your job. I bet you have a big selection of books at your place…a nice little reading nook that you can snuggle into and everything.”

“How did you know? Are you spying on me, sir?,” Camille narrowed her eyes at Erik jokingly.

Erik slightly chuckled, “Hope this doesn’t sound creepy…but I wouldn’t mind spying on someone as beautiful as you, Miss Camille.”

Camille bit her lip.

“You’re gorgeous…from head…to toe,” Erik’s eyes slowly raked over her body.

“Thank you,” Camille replied with a smile. She crossed one of her smooth legs over the other, her foot accidentally knocking into Erik’s shin, “My bad—”

“No worries.”

Erik’s eyes lowered to Camille’s legs and his smile turned into a slight frown and his eyes grew wider. Confused by his change of expression, Camille followed his gaze and discovered that he was staring at her feet…hard. So hard to the point that he was paralyzed. The look on his face made Camille shift in her seat and tuck her feet beneath the chair. She didn’t know if that look on his face meant he was turned off with her feet or if he was aroused by seeing them up close for the first time….

“Erik? You okay?” Camille chuckled nervously.

Erik’s head shot up and he stared Camille dead in her eyes. His brows are furrowed and he was staring at her as if he were seeing her for the first time.

“I—I’m good—what time is it?” He spoke with a shaky voice.

He smoothed the palm of his hands down his thighs, looking down at Camille’s feet again. She noticed how he swallowed spit, lips parted a fraction, his tongue peeking through. Erik shook his head and he raised his Piaget watch to his eyes.

“2:45—”

“Shit, really? I didn’t realize how late it is,” Camille jumped up from her seat, “I have to get back to work.”

“I didn’t mean to hold you up like that, baby girl,” Erik stood to clear the table, “I’ll take care of this, go ahead.”

“Thank you. Still sticking around?” Camille asked while shouldering her purse.

“Yeah, I’ll be in.” Erik said.

Camille gave Erik a slight nod and turned to leave, the staccato beat of her high heels echoing off of the pavement as she walked away. Camille could feel him watching her. Inside, she pondered what could have transpired between them unannounced. Back inside the Library, she stared down at her feet behind her desk. They looked fine. Five minutes later, Erik strolled into the library with a bottle of alkaline water in his hand. He didn’t even turn to wave at Camille, his eyes focused straight ahead at his usual desk. What has him so uptight?

In the middle of typing on her desktop computer, Camille uncrossed her legs to rearrange her skirt which was underneath her uncomfortably. As she moved in her seat, her dangling heel dropped off of her bare foot and clattered onto the marble floor behind her desk.

The library is deathly silent and her heel dropping felt like the loudest sound in the world. She had to scoot back in her chair so she couldn’t reach it. Camille sat forwards, outstretching her foot, wiggling her small toes trying to pinch the strap of the heel and get it back. But it was just out of reach.

Camille looked around and saw Erik staring at her over the top of his MacBook but then it seemed like it wasn’t her directly. He was staring directly at her foot and he did it so openly that he didn’t care if Camille caught him in the act. Erik licked his lips slowly and when Camille moved her foot away to hide beneath her desk, he tore his eyes away and went back to work on his laptop like nothing happened.

This was becoming too much. Camille wanted to push boundaries and see what he would do. The library is damn near vacant, why not toy with him to see how far he’d go? She could end her work day on a good note. Camille made an extra effort to have pretty toes and wear sexy shoes to get his attention and she was not going to let that go to waste. Apparently, Erik would openly watch and he wasn’t subtle about it. It was as if he wanted her to catch him in the act. Camille focuses her attention back on her computer and swiveled in her chair. She kicked her shoes off and when she turned towards him, she would stretch her feet straight out so that the soles of her feet were more or less facing him.

If Professor Erik had been able to keep his stare on the "down-low" before, he certainly couldn't do it now. Camille could hear him groan all the way from her desk and his glare was unmistakable when she peeked at him over the top of her desk. He was so obvious about it and when someone walked past his desk he tried to play it off but it was obvious that he couldn’t contain himself. Camille rested her bare feet back in her heels. She couldn't help but smile to herself.

Camille placed the end of her ball point pen in her mouth, nibbling on it while twirling a piece of her curly hair around her finger. She stared straight ahead at her desktop, but her chair is far enough back so Erik could see her entire body. Camille crossed one leg over the other and with the finger that played in her hair, she teased Erik by lifting her skirt a little, raising the heel of her bare foot to stand on her tip-toes while sitting side ways in her chair. She didn’t have to look at him to know that she was ruining him. One of her knees angled in front of the other added curves to her body. Slowly, she would drag her foot along the other, using her toes to massage the top of her other foot sensually.

She didn’t know how long she’d been doing this, but the sudden and alarming sound of her front desk bell chiming made her aware of Erik’s presence. He stood on the other side of her desk, looking down at her with blazing eyes and his lips set in a hard line. Camille removed the pen from between her glossy, full lips and took it up a notch by pushing her chair away from her desk to slip her feet into her heeled mules before approaching her desk. Erik dragged his bottom lip between his teeth and a slight crease appeared between his brows.

“Can I help you, professor?” Camille asked with a tilt of her head.

“What are you trying to do?” Erik whispered.

“I’m sorry?” Camille questioned.

“…are you trying to tease me, Miss Camille?”

Erik folded his arms over his chest and gave her a hard stare.

“I’m not sure what you mean, Professor. I’m working at my desk. Sometimes, I do things to keep me occupied…to keep me focused.”

Erik looked over his shoulder to check if anyone was near. Camille waited patiently for him to speak, openly eye-fucking him. Erik’s attention was drawn back to her, and he caught her staring him down. He cleared his throat and her beautiful doe eyes raised to meet his again.

“What things?” Erik inquired.

Camille adjusted her eyeglasses, “Just…things that are a habit…like chewing on the end of this pen like this…”

Camille brought the pen to her lips and demonstrated just how much of a habit it is for her. Gently, she took her teeth to bite the end of the pen, her eyes never leaving Erik’s. He watched her nibble on that pen closely; seductively.

“…and I tend to play with my hair a lot too, like this,” Camille took one of the curly strands framing her face and wrapped it around her pointer finger. She did it all the way to the end of her medium-length acrylic nail before releasing it, “I like playing in my hair.” She said with a sing-song voice.

“…is that all you like to do, baby girl?”

Camille’s eyes lifted to the high ceiling in wonder, “Well…I sometimes take me shoes on and off…rubbing my feet up the back of my legs…I do it without even thinking,” Tilting her head, his favorite Librarian coolly appraised him behind those fucking hot glasses of hers, “is there a reason why you’re so interested, Professor?”

Swallowing thickly, cupping his steel hard erection without her knowledge, he nodded, “That tattoo on your foot is really pretty, Miss Camille. And so is the little mole on your left big toe. So unique…”

Erik pressed his body further into the help desk so he could speak closer to Camille, so close she could see his gold caps gleam, “…Foot Mistress.”

Camille’s eyes went round and she gripped the edge of her desk to keep her balance. So, that’s why he stared so hard at her feet during lunch. He recognized her feet! She couldn’t believe her ears. Professor Erik is a regular foot slave on her smut blog. She wondered if he’d tipped her at all. If he’d sent her anonymous messages about how much he loved and adored her feet and the nasty things he wanted to do to them.

Suck on her toes

Lick her soles

Nibble on her heels

Kiss the pads of her toes

Cum on her feet

Receive an oily foot job

Erik exhaled, “I didn’t know what to say…but now that I know it’s you…fuck…I have to have you…I want you bad.”

Camille smiled, “How long have you been my foot slave, Professor?” Camille smoothed one nail along the side of his left arm to entice him.

“A year…a year of dreaming for a chance to have you all to my self…” Erik said.

He quickly checked to see if anyone was watching before leaning over her desk, “Hurry up and show me those pretty feet you were teasing me with earlier. You owe me.”

Camille carefully looked around before taking a few steps back. The back of her legs hit her chair and she took a seat, both of her feet pointed straight out at him. Camille rubbed them together and stretched her soles so he could have a good look at the smoothness of the bottom of her feet. He grunted deeply, bottom lip poked out and eyes low with lust.

“You are driving me crazy,” Erik mouthed.

Camille hummed and gave him a sinful smile that made his dick twitch once again.

“What time do you get off work?” Erik whispered.

“In an hour. Why?” She asked in a hushed tone.

Camille continued teasing Erik with her beautiful feet and it turned her on so much. She used her hands to add to the seduction, dragging her nails along the tops of her feet and between her toes.

“You know why, ma. Let’s stop acting like we both don’t want the same thing. I’ve been trying to get at you for a while now.”

“You have?” Camille raised a brow, “Not once did you offer to take me to dinner.”

“Okay, true, I’m asking you now, can I take you out tonight?”

The smirk on her face widened perceptively, “Yes, you can take me out to dinner, and maybe after dinner, you can get the chance to come back to my place.”

Erik licked his lips and dropped his gaze back to her feet, “Your skin looks so soft… buttery soft," he sighed in pleasure, biting his lower lip, “I’ll pick you up from your place at eight, Miss Camille?”

“Eight is perfect,” She said.

Papi Cuisine on a Friday night was popular amongst locals. Luckily, Erik put in a reservation and he was good friends with the owner as well. Right on time, Erik picked her up at 8:00pm, dressed in a crisp white tee, light wash, slightly distressed denim jeans, all white Nike Airmax on his feet, and two diamond chains. His usual braided back locs took on a new style—side swept. Camille wore an all-black, off the shoulder mini dress with cut outs that stretched perfectly over her body and left nothing to the imagination—breasts, hips, ass, and thighs.

The drive to Papi Cuisine took longer than Erik would have liked and Camille giggled at his moments of road rage when an idiot who shouldn’t be behind the wheel did something stupid. They found free public parking on the busy street and bypassed everyone else who had to wait for a table. A nice booth seat beneath soft, low lighting with jazz music playing set the mood perfectly for a first official date.

Camille heard so many good things about their crab cake egg rolls and Erik’s five star review about them had her mind made up quickly. He said she could order whatever she liked and Camille too that as an invitation to try two appetizers instead of one. The colossal fried shrimp was a win for her. Their waiter—young, Afro Latina girl standing at 5’4 with a short, kinky fro took their order, and brought lemon water and bread to the table. Camille ordered Papi’s Cocktail: caribbean style rum punch with appleton estate, blue curacao, pineapple, lime, served in a whole pineapple. Erik got his favorite; Hennessy Splash: hennessy black, strawberry, accented w lemon & grand mariner.

Owner and Award Winning Chef, Alex Perez, has fused together two cultural styles of cooking, learning from his Dominican father and African American Grandmother. He was then able to fuse both cuisines together and create the Afro-Latin Fusion we all love today. The robust blends of seasoning and sauces with strategic plating, elevates every dish to a flavorful and wonderful delight. Camille couldn’t begin to fathom why she hadn’t tried this place sooner. Erik teased her about eating out at Cheesecake Factory and Texas Roadhouse, missing out on so many different options—black owned at that. He promised to take her to every spot, the next being Water For Chocolate on 1841 E Lombard Street.

They were both eye- fucking each other hard core while they talked and savored their food. Erik couldn’t get over how breathtaking Camille looked. She’d always did something to him dressed up like her everyday Librarian self, but to see her unwind and wear a freakum’ dress and sexy heels turned him on something vicious. She wore her gorgeous curly mane down and zebra-printed eyeglasses. Her rouge lipstick complimented the fullness of her lips and he wanted to lean over the table and taste them for himself.

“When did you realize you had a fetish for feet, Erik?” Camille asked while moving her straw around her drink.

“Damn, mamas,” Erik chuckled, “Straight to it, huh?”

Camille giggled bashfully, “I mean…yeah.”

“I’m just messing wit’ you,” Erik moistened his lips, “Uh…I can’t really put my finger on it, you know? I’ve always been a leg man, love legs. I guess, to see that with those beautiful legs, comes a pretty ass pair of feet, it just does something to me. Especially when they’re all dainty and the toes are done up. It just—it does something to me.”

“I see,” Camille smirked, “most women think it’s weird but I find it highly arousing.”

Erik nodded, “Definitely. When I found your blog, I’ve always wanted to know who you were, but I figured you weren’t interested in meeting up. Who would have guessed you got down like that? So kinky? Well…I always knew you had to be.”

“Oh, really?!” Camille sat up straighter, “Do tell!”

Erik laughed heartily, “The trope of the sexy librarian as an aspect of the American sexual psyche? Doesn’t ring a bell to you?” Erik asked playfully.

“Fantasy wise, yes, I do know about the whole sexy librarian thing,” Camille said with a role of her eyes.

Erik squinted his eyes at Camille before reaching across to grab her hand. She relaxed and allowed him to trace his fingers over the palm of her hand, as if he were learning her. Her thighs pressed together tightly.

“Librarians are sexy…all that knowledge and power over their domain. When you enter a library, you enter as a supplicant. It’s the librarian that strips you bare of your layers of obfuscation and find you what you really came for. Reading is a silent pursuit. When you sit down next to a computer with your nose buried in a book, you don't know if that person is reading some dry text about mergers or something freaky. That passionate interior, hidden by a cool layer of reserve. Aren't books like that? On the shelf, their calm covers belie the intense experience of reading one…reading inflames the soul. Now, what sort of person would be the keeper of such books? Only one way to find out…right?”

His smoldering gaze locked onto hers and Camille lost her cool. He surely had a way with words. Erik realized how he effected Camille and smiled smugly at that. He wouldn’t be surprised if she’d sneakily read erotica at her desk. Fantasizing at work about risky library sex. Sex with him.

“You—you sure know how to knock me off my feet, Erik,” Camille placed her stiletto between his legs.

Erik looked down at her white toes and his jaw went tight. Camille sipped her drink and watched him struggle. His fingers swiped lightly over her toes. He did each toe, memorizing the shape and feel. He closed his eyes briefly and when he opened them he grinned at her.

“I bet you can’t wait to get back to my place,” Camille spoke with a low register.

Erik’s eyes brightened. When he was finished with her left foot, Camille lowered her leg just in time for the waiter to bring them their food. They settled back into normal conversation, enjoying the remainder of their date before it was time to go. That didn’t stop. Camille however. She kept the fire burning between them by stroking his leg with her foot, pressing her heel between his legs so he could admire her feet, all while having a regular conversation from where he grew up to what his favorite TV show is. Camille learned so much about Erik within an hour and a half.

After dinner, Camille excused herself to the bathroom and Erik waited patiently for her. They ordered dessert and took it to go so they could complete the evening at her place. They listened to the new Kendrick Lamar album while driving with the windows rolled down, vibing and laughing. Finally at her mid-rise apartment, Camille gave him a tour of her inviting, contemporary-style living space inspired by the authentic Federal Hill neighborhood. A three-bedroom apartment with 9-foot ceilings, a stunning kitchen, full-size washer and dryer, handsome wood-style flooring throughout home, spacious en suite master baths with tiled shower surrounds, walk-in closets, and a walk-out patio. One of the bedrooms is Camille’s office and there is her reading nook and bookshelf.

Back out in the living room, they sat down on one of her sofas and enjoyed some wine. Camille stretched to take off her strappy stilettos but Erik offered to do it for her. He brought her feet to his lap and carefully, Erik started to unfastened the straps to her heels. Camille relaxed back into a throw pillow on her sofa and watched Erik take his time removing her shoes. The sight of those petite ankles, the slim width of her feet and their pretty arches, along with those adorably painted toenails made him uncomfortably aware of his growing erection. He'd only ever seen her feet and legs bared up close today. All other times it was from a distance.

With her bare feet now resting in his lap, Erik held the heel of her right foot with one hand, bending all the toes on her right foot back and forth at the same time with the other hand. He repeated this movement, gently increasing pressure and flexing her toes to their full range of motion. Camille’s breath hitched and she closed her eyes to relax. She moaned and Erik grabbed her left foot to do the same. His dick was painfully stretching and pressing against the crotch of his jeans. Throbbing like a stubbed toe and begging to be freed.

“That feels so good,” Camille stared at Erik longingly, “Stretching my toes like that.”

“Yeah?” Erik held each side of her left foot, pulling each side of her foot outward, repeating the motion, allowing her foot to spread, “How about this?” Erik asked with a raspy voice.

“So good,” Camille smiled contently, “You’re really good at that.”

“I can do way better…got any massage oil?”

Camille sat up on the couch and tried to retrieve her foot from Erik so she could grab some oil but he refused to release her.

“Erik, I have to get the oil,” Camille smiled slightly, “Ill only be gone for thirty seconds, okay?”

“Don’t take too long, gorgeous.”

Camille finally sat up and when she swung her legs off of the couch, Erik could see up her dress and he noticed that she was wearing something hot pink and lacey. Mmm.

Camille sped walked to the back of her apartment and opened her toiletry closet and grabbed her favorite scented oil—a warm blend of black cherries, crème anglaise and sandalwood. She returned quickly with a fluffy, white hand towel and the bottle of massage oil, handing both items to Erik before taking her place on the couch again.

Erik swept it up, opened it, inhaled to assure himself of the selection, and then set about pouring it into his hands. “I’m gonna kneel on the floor, turn towards me…yeah, like that,” he instructed. “I don't want to stain your nice sofa with the oil.”

Camille complied, and when her bared calves and ankles came into view, he forced himself to concentrate on putting the bottle on the coffee table and not spilling the oil warming up in the cup of his palm.

“Mind playing some music to set the mood, ma?” Erik asked.

Camille reached for her cell phone and with her phone connected to her Bluetooth speaker, she set her playlist to shuffle and the first song to pop up was Megan Thee Stallion–Red Wine.

I want the dick that make me act stupid (stupid)

I want the dick that make me hate Cupid (yeah)

I want the dick that make me walk bow-legged (baow, yeah)

Freaky, slap the dick on my forehead (ah)

I wanna gag, or get the fuck outta here (outta here)

It ain't that big if I don't shed a tear

I wanna need GEICO, hit that shit from the back (mwah)

Freaky, let him crash in my rear (ah)

This pussy go fah, fah, fah, fah, fah (doo-doo, doo)

End of discussion

Treat this pussy like an opp, shoot it up, keep bustin' (ah, bum-bum)

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah (yeah)

Give me some time (uh)

Come fuck me, let's get fucked up on this red wine

Taking up her left side first, he began by smoothing the slippery liquid over the golden skin on the top. Once the foot was good and coated, he pressed his thumbs into the bottom of her arch and gently, but with firm pressure, worked his way upwards. His kinky Librarian moaned. Erik tried to ignore how that made his dick jump to attention, focusing on the task –the goal of relaxing her–instead. He repeated the motion with his thumbs three times, working out the immediate kinks before concentrating on kneading her heel next.

“You've done this often,” she stated with certainty.

Erik shrugged. “I 've done it on occasion.”

“Semantics,” she challenged.

“What do you really want to know?” he tested her, reading the implied statement behind her initial one. “Are you asking if I give women foot massages as part of my normal sexual repertoire?”

She was quiet a moment as his thumbs ran circles up the edge of her foot. "Well, do you?"

Erik smirked. “I’m a foot man, but no. Only the special ones get this kind of treatment.”

“…So I’m that special one? Am I the only special one that gets this romantic treatment?”

“You are. But that doesn’t mean I won’t be rough with you either. Do you like it rough, baby?”

“…define rough,” Camille questioned with a seductive tone.

His grin widened as he looked up at her, catching her eye as his fingers teased the sensitive skin between her toes, knowing the reaction that would cause. “Hard, fast fucking in whatever position is most convenient for the time allotted or the space permitted.”

She licked her lips and bravely held his stare. "To answer your question, Professor, yes, I do like it rough.”

Erik massaged her sexy, toned calf with slow, rhythmic kneading, making sure to manipulate each stroke so it felt not just relaxing, but was also blatantly sexual.

“Have you ever fantasized about having sex with me at the library?”

She was quiet for a few moments, and Erik waited patiently for her to answer him.

“Yes. Multiple times.” She finally confessed, “Behind the stacks, and on your favorite desk.”

“Well, we could definitely bring that fantasy to life, if you’re up for the adventure,” Erik gave her a sly smirk with charming dimples.

As he finished up the massage, he put her foot down, wiped his hands off with the towel in his lap, then rose back up on his feet and loomed over her again. Once more, she tipped back an equidistant amount until the leather cushion of the couch would allow her to move no further.

“You have the prettiest feet and legs, Camille, and I could rub them for hours listening to that amazing mouth of yours spew out facts that most of us would find impossible to recall…”

Camille tilted her head up and her hands smoothed up his chest, over his shoulders, and her fingers tangled in his hair instead. Gripping tightly, causing his blood to rush through him from head to toe, she regained her confident command. The kiss was the most perfect Camille had ever received. It was hot, demanding, wet and wanton. It held nothing back, gave and took all, and impossibly promised even more with every pull of lips. She gasped into Erik’s mouth, his mouth smacking against hers with fierce, wild desire. Her tongue thrust crazily in between the gap and tangled up with his, possessing him, boldly declaring that he was hers, that she would rock his world inside out, and at the same time, stated unequivocally that he was her whole world back.

Pulling back, he touched her cheeks softly and gave her his most melting smile.

“Tasty,” Erik said, “I wonder what else on you tastes good.”

Erik sat down and Camille unexpectedly pressed her foot against his right shoulder blade. His body reacted instantly, hardening, flushing with blood. Her foot slid over his shoulder, and now she was pressed against him, her naked calf hanging over his shoulder. Erik’s hands rubbed along her leg and he pressed his lips into the inside of her thigh, trailing down to the side of her left foot.

“Are you my foot slave, Professor?” Camille questioned softly.

“Fuck, yes.” Erik replied.

“Hmm, Let’s see how much of a good little slave you are for my feet…”

Camille lowered her leg and reached for Erik’s hand, guiding him off of the couch and towards her bedroom. On the way, Erik grabbed the massage oil so they could make use of it again. Finally within her master bedroom, the sound of Lucky Daye’s voice fading into the next song, Erik watched as Camille took off her dress like it was an afterthought. She stood before him in nothing but that sexy pink lace, breast full and round with wide, dark brown areolas and big brown nipples. She dragged Erik’s shirt up and over his head, pressing her nose into his chest and then her lips. Her fingers gently trailed down the hard plans of muscle. Erik hummed with pleasure, reaching down to tilt her chin up so he could kiss her lips again. They kissed deeply and passionately, their lips dragging sloppily over the others. Camille ended the kiss with a tug on Erik’s bottom lip with her teeth.

She climbed onto her bed and Erik stepped out of his jeans. With no room for that tool between his legs, he allowed the head of his dick to hang from the bottom of his briefs as he joined Camille on the bed. His lips sought out her neck and as he kissed and licked her there, he breathed in the scented body oil she wore. Fingers tugged his hair somewhat painfully, while at the same time Camille rubbed her toes into his crotch.

Erik reached for her soft, smooth foot. He lifted her right foot up alone by cupping a hand under her heel until it was at his eye level. His free hand came around and rested on the top of that foot up by her toes.

The hand on her toes pushed them down as the hand on her heel raised her foot higher. It seemed as if he was trying to compress her foot by forcing her to point her toes. As he did this, he turned his head to inspect the bottom of that foot. He did the same to the other foot and then both of them together. It was quickly leaving the realm of a "normal" foot massage.

She felt an index finger rake up the bottom of one of her feet. Camille shrieked and jerked that foot away from his hand. She gave him a playful look to let him know it was okay that he tickled her.

“I’m a little ticklish,” Camille pouted her lips, “Plus, they haven’t been touched by a man in a while so…that may have something to do with it,” Camille giggled.

Erik’s brows pressed together, “Well, that's a fuckin’ shame nobody gets to touch your feet because you have such incredibly beautiful feet."

“And what does my foot slave want to do to my feet?” Camille asked.

Without a word being spoken both of her feet were raised to his lips and he planted long, wet kisses up and down the bottoms of her feet. Camille sat back on her elbows and watched him cater to her feet like the good little foot slave he is. She really enjoyed watching the intense look of concentration on Professor Erik’s face while he worshiped her feet. She giggled softly when she felt a warm tongue tickle the bottom of her heel. She let out a little squeal, as the same tongue was now being drug from her heel, up along the arch to the tips of her toes.

Giving her room to catch her breath, Erik took her right foot first, placing it on his left shoulder, he bent his head and began kissing her ankles, moving in slow, wet, deliberate action towards her toes. He licked her arch in a slow rasp, which earned him a small cry of distress from his Camille. Against his thumb, he could feel her pulse speed up in the artery that ran down into her foot. The lust was stirring in her veins, the thought making him smile.

Circling up the pad of her big toe, he wrapped his lips around it and brought it into his moist mouth, playfully running his tongue over it. As he pulled back with a suction, he looked up into Camille’s face, caught her eye, and didn't look away.

His Librarian and Foot Mistress was thoroughly aroused—dilated pupils, rapid breathing, crimson cheeks, lips parted with growing hunger. He licked her second toe, never pulling his gaze from hers, rolling her flesh around with his tongue, and pretending for the moment that he was doing this between her legs, to her tiny, little bead instead. With each toe, he worked her over physically as well as psychologically.

“That’s right, my slave, worship my pretty get for me…mmm…yes…just like that…they taste good?”

Erik hummed his response because his mouth was preoccupied with sucking on her left big toe.

“You’re making my pussy so wet right now, Erik…don’t stop.” Camille moaned.

Upon her orders, her slave applied his tongue to the tops of her feet. He licked her insteps with slow, broad tongue strokes that traverse from the base of her toes to her ankles. The warmth and wetness of his tongue felt wonderful, especially on those areas where the snug straps of her shoes left impressions on her skin. He twisted and groveled to reach other parts of her foot. His tongue laps both her inner and outer ankles, and his lips caress them. Her Achilles tendon is next to receive his attention. He tongues the ligament, presses his open mouth over it, and sucks as he moves his lips up and down its length.

The fun wasn't over yet, though. He repeated the process with her left foot, paying extra attention to suckling and licking over spots that made her body shiver or her muscles jolt. She shivered when he tickled between her toes with his tongue, and when he nibbled just above her ankle joint.

“Did you like that, baby?” he asked, nuzzling her foot with his nose and cheek, “I know I did. You taste wonderful, baby.”

Camille was at a loss for words. She could only nod her head in response, her body from head to toe tingling. Her nipples were granite hard, her pussy is soaking wet, and her clit ached for attention. This is probably the most drenched she’s ever been from foot play.

“Are you thinking about where else I could be tonging you, baby girl?”

He sucked in her middle finger next, releasing it with slow, purposeful reluctance.

“How about on the skin of that golden neck of yours? Right over your pulse?”

He then bathed her ring finger in his saliva.

“Flickin' your lobe and nipping it with my teeth…”

Lapping at her pinky, he drew the seduction out, bringing his body–and her hand–right near her face, continuing to enjoy her flavour as he tried to entice her further.

“Would you like my tongue licking all over those beautiful titties? Hmm? From bottom to top?”

He tickled her inside wrist with his tongue, mimicking the motions he hoped to make around her areola at some point during the night.

“I’d love to take my time licking your nipples… have them aching for more attention.”

As he spoke, he reached for her left hand and brought it to his mouth, allowing the right to fall back onto the bed. He repeated his lips' trailing, dampening quest all over again.

“Should I tell you that I've thought about tonging that little hole in your belly…”

Suckle.

“Or inside your thighs…”

Suckle.

“Or behind your knees…”

Suckle.

“And especially that pussy.”

Nibble, lick, suckle.

“I've wanted to taste all of you, baby. Bury my face between these legs until you were calling my name. Suck your clit until your spine arched wit' the pleasure.”

He leaned mere inches from her mouth, drawing her index finger back into his mouth, running his expert tongue over it.

She opened her mouth, but he pressed a finger to her lips to silence her.

“It’s okay, baby, you ain’t gotta talk. Just lay right there and let me take care of you.”

Erik positioned himself over Camille and started out by kissing her neck. He brought those kisses down to the tops of her breasts, then around the sides and under. He grabbed one full breast in his hand while his finger on his other hand fondled her nipple. His index finger swiped over her rigid nipple, watching in amazement the actual process of them swelling in response. He was amazed to see them flushing with blood as they became engorged.

Camille hummed in approval, enjoying his attention, and his eyes shot to her face to watch her reaction. Lust crawled languidly through her cinnamon depths, her pupils expanding as her body felt the stirrings of need. Her smirk had transformed into a small, pleased smile that decorated her prettily painted lips with an expression he'd only seen at the library—the times she'd sat across from him at her desk, relaxed and enjoying herself when no one needed help. That look was what he'd been waiting for until this very moment… and this time it was directed at him, at something he was doing to her, and not some book.

With very light caresses, he traced the edges of her breasts one at a time, learning the soft span of flesh with intimate detail. She had a light birthmark on the top of her left mound, and another underneath her right. He found those marks to be fascinating, not ruining the perfection, but adding to its uniqueness. Her left side was slightly larger than her right, and a tad heavier. Snaking a fingertip over her areola, he circled it many times, just tracing, softly learning Camille’s shape. It was such a sensual thing to do to study the contours of a woman.

"Beautiful," he whispered, enraptured by the motion of flesh under his fingers. "I want to run my tongue all over these."

“Please, Professor…it’s been so long since I felt it,” Camille begged.

Erik leaned in and suckled her breasts. He used his teeth, tongue, lips, and fingers to pleasure her and Camille could only moan and thrust her chest out for more. He could do this for hours and not give a damn how sore his jaw felt. Watching this woman squirm beneath him and beg for more would make him do anything. After a thorough taste of her breasts, his lips were on her belly and then his tongue dipped into her navel. She jerked from the sudden sensation but a content sigh escapes her lips.

“Fuck, that feels so good, Erik,” Her legs dropped open, “You have the best mouth in the world.”

Erik chuckled against her belly, his eyes peeking up at her and his dimples deep, “thank you, baby girl.”

He slipped her panties to the side and the moment his lips were on the top of her pussy, Camille arched her back. Her scent crowded his senses and he shoved his face between her legs until his nose was buried deep between her folds. Pussy fat, lips coated with a slippery wetness, he sucked as much of her as he could into his mouth to clean her up. Camille felt firm, strong, unyielding hands push her thighs back so far that her knees almost touched her ears. Not caring the slightest with how uncomfortable and not so limber her legs are. He licked and sucked all of her juices and kissed her inner lips with reverence. His face was soaked with her wetness and she squirmed on the bed, running her fingers through his locs.

The same suction that he had on her toes, was the same on her aching clit. It hurt so good and no matter how many times she tried pushing him away, Erik was right there, right on that spot. Camille’s inner thigh muscles spasmed and her toes pointed to the ceiling when he introduced two thick fingers inside of her. He worked them with a curl that had her seeing the galaxy. She cried out on repeat and all Erik did was talk nasty to her.

“Cum in my mouth.”

“Open your legs.”

“This my pussy.”

“Give me that pussy.”

She lost it when he told her he’ll make that phat pussy squirt. He was already making it cream. He blew on her clit between licks and just like he promised, Camille released a stream of colorless liquid all over his front. Her thighs circled his head as she climaxed and Erik had to pry them open to stop her from trapping his head. His tongue flicked expertly over her folds—up and down.

“Yes! Right there! Aah! Fuck!”

She grabbed his locs into a fist and her entire body tightened as she gave him a second wave of juices. Erik remained between her legs through it all. When he finally reappeared, his beard was dripping. Camille handed him the towel and Erik pat-dried his beard. After he was finished, Camille reached her arms out for him and Erik fell into her embrace. They kissed and shared her pussy juices and cum. This was just the beginning. The entire time he was enjoying himself between her legs, his wide, fat head dragged along the sheets creating a large, tacky puddle. He’d never leaked that much before. His dick stayed rock hard. No time to get all soft when a fine woman like Camille was his for the taking.

Camille wanted to reward Erik for being such a good foot slave to her. He worshiped her feet and covered every part of her with his mouth. She was still lying there in a puddle of her own juices, trying to recover from that amazing head Erik gave her. Camille teased his dick with her left foot as they kissed. Erik broke the kiss and stared down between his legs to watch her.

“Damn, you’re feet is so fuckin’ soft,” Erik exhaled.

Camille did the same for his balls and he trembled above her.

“I wanna give you a nice foot job, daddy,” Camille whispered, “Let me take care of you now.”

Erik flipped Camille over so that she was straddling him and he used both of his hands to palm her ass. His hands rubbed from her booty all the way up to her shoulder and back down. When his hands reached her ass again, his fingers weaved into her lace panties and he ripped them from her body. Camille winced and whimpered and Erik brought his hand down with a heavy slap to her right cheek. He was having a good time juggling her cheeks like two big, bouncy balls.

Camille reached behind her to grab Erik’s wrists, “You’ll get all the time in the world to play with this ass, daddy. It’s time for me to play with you now.”

“I can’t wait to feel those pretty ass feet rubbing up and down my dick.”

Camille reached for the bottle of massage oil and climbed off of Erik’s lap to sit between his legs. Erik bent his knees and spread his thighs for her so she could have enough space to bring her feet between his legs. Camille drenched her feet in massage oil and carefully placed it on the bed beside her.

His dick is thick, pretty, veined, and slightly curved. His glans is fat and an almost purplish hue from how erect he is. He kept himself trimmed up nicely there and his balls sat heavy and full. Just the sight of it pointing straight out at her like a microphone to lips petrified her a little. She didn’t even try to guess how big he is. Erik just laid there with his hands behind his head, waiting patiently for her to start. Completely unfazed by how baffled his dick made her. He shivered, a moan escaping his lips and his abdominal muscles flexing.

She wrapped her toes around the head of his dick and squeezed, eliciting more noise.

Camille raised her leg and ran her toes along the underside of his shaft. Toes leaving an oily trail behind, she softly dragged her toes down his shaft again and pressed them into his huge sack, not too rough but enough to elicit a groan.

“Gon’ make me bust early, Camille,” Erik warned her.

It was time to take it up a notch. Camille cupped her feet around his dick and massaged his girth up and down. The wrinkles soles of her feet mixed with the pads of her toes stroking all over his oily rock hard dick made his sack twitch. A stream of curse words and gravely grunts escaped his mouth. Right beneath his swollen tip, Camille uses the crease of her toes to jerk him there. Each time she went up, she would squeeze. Erik sat up and watched with sweet agony how her beautiful feet made him feel.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good for this, Camille…I’m gonna fuck you so good…so good…aah, fuck…you nasty bitch—”

Camille used one hand to spread her pussy lips open so he could watch as her opening wink at him. Erik couldn’t decided if he should focus on her creamy pussy or her soft feet. Like it was sorcery, his dick swelled between her feet and when Camille’s toes wiggled over the tip of his dick—all ten at once, Erik erupted between her toes like he sprung a leak. His groans were loud and the sight of his dick ejaculating so much cum was beautiful to witness. He fell back against the pillow, beat from that first nut alone. Sweat coated his body like he’d just put in work at the gym.

Camille continued her ministrations even as her toes were caked with his sticky cum, ensuring that his balls were completely empty. He moaned like a wounded animal and the last bit of hot cum drizzled down the back of Camille’s feet.

“You ain’t have to make a nigga nut so good, Camille, goddamn!” Erik’s body had it’s final twitch before he rolled out of bed.

After the big load, he was still hard and ready to fuck Camille.

“Show me all that cum on your toes…shit…shit that looks good,” Erik stroked his dick, mixing his cum with the oil, “Spread your toes…hmmmm, that’s so fuckin’ sexy. All my fuckin’ cum on your pretty feet,” He continued fisting himself, “You don’t know how bad I wanna beat that puss up, Camille. Oh, it’s like that? Yeah? Turn around. Turn the fuck around.”

On her back, Camille spread her thighs for him. He smacked his dick on her clit with a scowl on his face that made Camille nervous. She didn’t know what he had in store for her. He grabbed both of her ankles and spread her legs wide apart. His long, tick dick pointed straight towards her widespread lips. Camille didn’t have time to gather herself when Erik’s tip sank deeply inside of her. She squealed loudly, her hand reaching out to stop him from going any further. Erik didn’t listen, all he wanted to do was fuck the shit out of Camille.

He lifted her hips up like she was a feather, tapped his shoulders for her to place her ankles there, and started pumping his dick in long and hard. The neighbors would definitely know his name forever with the way she screamed it so much. He was deep in her shit with one big hand pressed against her stomach and the other in a fist sinking into the mattress. His hips dropped forward at an angle, his dick disappearing completely with how much he stuffed her. Each time he pulled his dick out, it just glistened with her juices.

Glasses fogged up, Camille couldn’t see Erik’s face clearly but she could feel him inside of her. She’d never been fucked like this. He popped his hips and fed her dick with a stroke that he could easily brag about. But that’s the thing about Erik, he didn’t need to brag. Sure, you could look at him and say he probably fucks good, but you wouldn’t really know until you tried it. Camille was not disappointed at all.

“Where’s daddy’s dick, hmm?” Erik asked with a harsh tone.

“Unh! Fuck! It’s in me!” Camille yelled.

“Fuckin’ sexy, baby.” Erik said.

Her glasses were hanging off her nose at this point. The muscles in her thighs burned. Her pussy was sore and feeling amazing at the same time.

“The more I keep fuckin, the more you cream on this dick, Camille. If only you could see how messy you got daddy’s dick looking.”

She squirt on him again and Erik felt her walls convulse and squeeze his dick. He hooked his arms around her thighs and drilled her pussy.

Splash! splash! splash!

Plop! Plop! Plop!

Sticky balls clapped against her backside. Camille’s body seized up and she cried out. He knocked her glasses off her face.

“FUCK!” Erik shouted.

He withdrew his hips in one clean motion and Camille felt the pressure in her belly vanish. All those inches buried deep inside her.

Camille felt around for her glasses and when she found them, she slipped them on her face to see what mess Erik was referring to. Her eyes stared longingly at his hard, creamy dick swaying between his thighs.

“I want it in me again,” Camille moaned.

“Yeah? All this dick?” Erik smiled at her.

“Daddy, please,” Camille murmured.

“If I put it in you again, I want you to sit on it.”

Erik strolled over to Camille with stormy eyes and his dick in hand he thrust his dick in her face and Camille opened up to clean him off. She sucked as much as she could while both of her hands stroked his dick in a twisting motion. Her mouth slurped on five inches of him and the rest of his big dick enjoyed her hands.

“That’s it, clean this dick off just like that, Miss Camille,” Erik commanded.

She would lick all over his huge shaft , flicking her tongue wildly over the protruding veins, then she would stop and their tongues would meet in a desperate tongue kiss for a few minutes. She would then bend over at the waist and continue to worship his big dick.

He would moan approvingly and I would look up at him and deliberately tease him saying, "Ummm you like this type of head don't you, baby?”

Camille nodded her head while sucking.

“Yeah, baby, you like sucking this big dick…you know what I’ve always fantasized about you doing?”

Camille shook her head No while sucking.

“You on your knees under my table, wear those cute glasses, sucking my dick and swallowing my nut…”

As Erik moaned uncontrollably, Camille played into his fantasy, "You like the way I'm blowing your big black dick under the table don’t you, baby? You have to be quiet while I suck it like this…”

Camille went wild, lathering his huge dick, bathing it until her hot saliva was dripping through her hands onto her fat titties , dripping onto her thighs. At this point, she was simply possessed.

“Oh, bitch, oh, you love this big dick, don’t you? How the fuck am I supposed to keep quiet when you keep suckin’ on my dick like this, huh?”

Slurp! slurp!

“If you make me nut I’m gonna—SHIT—”

Hands in her hair, Erik fucked her face. Camille gagged around him and the fact that she couldn’t deep throat turned Erik on even more.

“You wanna suck my dick like this? Get on this dick, Camille, let’s go, sit on this dick now,” Erik dictated with a harsh tone.

He didn’t even wait for her to do it herself. As soon as he stretched back on the bed, he picked Camille up and placed her over him. He began inserting his huge black dick into her very slowly. Just his immense head at the entrance felt so huge that she shuddered and squirted a little. Once his big dick head was inside her, he began running his hands teasingly along the sides of her legs and over her ass. The soft caressing turned into rough handling quickly when Erik locked his wrists behind Camille’s back and fucked up into her at a rapid pace.

Her feet with dry cum tucked beneath his legs as she bounced. Camille looked back and groaned, "Soooo fucking big! Oh, baby, your dick is sooo fucking big! a big fucking dick, baby!”

Erik took her pussy and began slow fucking her with that beautiful dick, thrilling her with every long stroke. As he fucked his dick into her tight wet pussy, he kissed her neck, commenting on how fucking sexy and kinky she is and that his big dick never fucked such a sexy bitch. Camille felt herself meeting his thrusts.

Erik’s hands went to his sides, “Fuck this dick like it’s your dick, up and down just like that, show daddy you ain’t afraid of this dick.”

Camille felt herself squirting again on his dick! She couldn’t believe it!

“I make that pussy squirt?” He asked while smoothing his hand over her cheek lovingly.

“Yessss!” She shouted.

“As long as you stay on this dick, I’ll make you squirt anytime you want it.”

“Yes!”

“Do that shit on this dick, girl, Fuuck,” Erik closed his eyes, “You feel my dick all up in that pussy? That’s where I’ma be for now on. This my pussy. All wet and gushy…”

After a few minutes, Camille felt his dick twitch. She looked over her shoulder, “You got another big load in that big dick for me, Professor?”

As he moaned he said crazily, “Oh, fuck, yeah, bitch, come and get it, bitch.”

“Ooooh, yes!”

Camille began to feel his huge dick begin to twitch inside her and she immediately pulled it out and stroked his fat dick madly, thick shaft barely fitting in her hand. She pumped that dick off and sent his cum sputtering out his slit and all over her titties.

Erik tried to catch his breath while Camille fell to the bed beside him, her heart beat thumping rapidly against Erik’s side. He brought one arm around to cradle her while she snuggled into him.

“I was serious about that head under my table, Miss Camille,” Erik professed between breaths.

Camille giggled, “we’ll see. You have to follow the rules of the library first to get your reward.”

Erik’s dick throbbed against his thigh. Camille raised her head up to look at Erik. She turned on her confidence and control. His chest went tight, his breathing quickened, and his muscles bunched like a predator’s as he tensed with a hungry anticipation.

Camille adjusted her glasses and threw one leg over Erik’s waist, arching her back and pressing her breasts into his face. He stared up at her between her hanging breasts with rapid attention.

“You are expected to fulfill your obligation to me, Professor,” She explained in a no-nonsense tone, “and provide another satisfying foot massage, per your Mistress’ requirements,” She wrapped her hand around his dick jerking slowly, “furthermore, I expect you to attend to my pussy with a wet, warm cloth and my feet in my tub,” She felt him pulsate in her grip, “I’m a bit sore after your vigorous love-making, and require you to carefully administer some tender love and care to my body.”

Erik almost blew a load right then and there, “As you command, my Mistress.”

Camille smiled. Another hard days work for the Foot Mistress and Librarian.

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[soleilnomoon]

Hello~~ It's me~~ Again, don't block me, you coward. Can I request calla lily and evening for Nami with deep kisses and goodbye kisses themes #5 and #6 please? I beg of you. I will take even crumbs, thank you.

thank u for being so patient, this was definitely a labor of love, made it extra special for you ପ(๑•ᴗ•๑)ଓ ♡

1.4k words, gn reader (no pronouns, babeyyy), nsfw 18+ mdni, it's angsty and you'll love it idc <3 (i made myself sad when i wrote this ok)

💖☁️ la vie est drôle ☁️💖 starring: “cat burglar” nami x reader. calla lily (smut) at evening, deep & goodbye kisses, #5 & 6 (massage and bath).

a lively festival takes up the majority of the main street — brightly colored balloons, drinks made from the fresh fruits from the cluster of trees that huddle closely together on the east, steamed buns, fried fish, rice and beans, sauteed vegetables, tiny sponge cakes decorated with bits of fruit and powdered sugar — the party goers dine on decadence, the divinity from the festivities filling them with pretty promises of a never ending night, their bodies moving in tandem with each other to the beat of the music; drums pounding louder and louder and louder. 

barefooted in the sand, you chase after her — shrieks of laughter spill from the deepest parts of her, the loveliest melody you’ll come to know in your entire lifetime. her voice is honey, words heavy with intent and intrigue, long lashes beckoning you forward. hypnotic, impetuous, dizzying. you follow without prompting, heart beating hard enough to give you pause. uncertainty brings about a fog that has you stumbling as you walk — one foot operating on its own, while the other remains put.

when she catches you, the moon sits prettily behind her — pink and full, an impressive fixture in the expansive night sky. a crown worthy of a queen. with lips parted, her sigh contemplative, doleful, a harrowed experience that pierces you thrice - heart, mind, soul.

the body is a husk of flesh and pitiful emotions that hold no place, but for her — for tonight, you keep it together.

if this isn’t love, you’re not sure what is.

hand in hand, skin to skin; one step after another, until you’re both sprinting away from the sandy beach and back to town. breathless. sweaty. a fit of giggles at the sight of your disheveled hair. 

chagrin gives you the incentive to make yourself a little more presentable, tufts of dark curls that refuse to be tamed. a single touch from her stops your movements altogether. the tips of her fingers ghosting along the back of your hand; your heart sputters out of control—this, you think, this. this is love.

i like it, her words carve themselves into you, one painful letter at a time, you’re beautiful regardless.

your heart is so full it could burst — it most certainly feels that way when she stands on her toes, head tilted just so, the same mouth that uttered those life-ruining words now pressed gently against yours, minuscule butterflies flapping inside your chest, a collective warmth that calms you so suddenly you almost forget to breathe. so you revise your previous statement because this—this is love.

it’s hard to deny when you follow after her again, or when she stops to grab another pastry to eat with you, or when her whispers remind you of a forgotten lullaby from long ago.

the festival continues even after you take her to your room, drunk off of the night, feet aching from all the dancing and walking, fatigue nearly claiming your body. her laughter revitalizes you, her energy infectious, her smile devastating, cheeks lightly flushed and inviting, her fingers nervously twirling around her long ponytail.

you’re not a fan of marmalade, but you love the color of her hair. if she’s the sun, then you are the moon—always chasing after one another, unlucky enough for fate to keep you apart. 

it sits in your stomach, heavy like iron, your only solace that you have the night to yourselves. her last night on the island, you remind yourself.

heartache shouldn’t crush you, but it does. it does, it does, it does. swallowing back the bitterness, refusing to cry, you smile at her — you must, for her sake alone.

the door to your balcony remains ajar, the music sailing through the air and finding you both. breathless, again; she has a funny habit of stealing your breath away without any hint of remorse. the mattress dips as you pull her onto the bed with you. hands tangled in her hair, the taste of powdered sugar on her tongue. her lips mold themselves against yours—pliable, soft, feather-light. 

a dream within a dream within a dream.

it’s not nearly enough, and yet you feel completely full from it all. it’s not greed that motivates you, it’s love—that’s what you tell yourself when you kiss her again, that’s what you keep telling yourself when you roll her onto her back, tongue finding hers; star-crossed, ill-fated. you have no intention of stopping now. her nails dig into your forearms, sinking into the skin, the pain a reminder that you’re running out of time. 

your inhales mix with her exhales and vice versa; her mouth is a treasure trove of wonder and miracles. you kiss her slowly, to taste and memorize; fate is a cruel thing that loves to take and take, but here at least, you’re in control.

she follows your lead, peeling off layer after layer of clothing until you’re both naked, until you’re both too caught up to notice the tears that stain your cheeks. are they hers or yours? you’re not sure. at a certain point, she kisses the tears away, and when your fingers graze her nipples, her soft whimpers echo all around, a pleasant parting gift before she leaves you forever.

with skilled hands, you knead her breasts, coax more sounds from her, her hips lifting to meet yours, mouth pressing open-mouthed kisses down her abdomen, tongue darting out to sample her skin one last time. a breeze coasts by, a shiver traipsing down your spine, but you keep going.

what’s the word that the flirtatious and professionally-trained cook in her crew likes to use?

oh. nutritional.

that’s what comes to mind the moment your tongue swipes at her cunt; her arousal greeting you without shame. with her legs spread like that, an invitation to a private feast; she’s several meals and dessert all at once.

you devour her with fervor, devout in your worship, tongue lapping at her wetness, brazen and practiced. she gasps loudly, her lithe fingers working their way into your hair, tugging as her hips roll forward, her pussy the most tender piece of fruit you’ll ever have the pleasure of sampling. sweat accumulates along her brow, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip in an attempt to keep her moans quiet.

but she can’t; you’ve deliberately rendered her weak, and she gives in, allowing for the lewd noises that you bring out of her to come center-stage. it makes her helpless, desire staking its claim, her chest heaving as you continue crafting your love letter to her. you’ve never been fond of your name, but when she moans, your name a breathy whisper that follows suit—it reminds you, painfully, that this is love.

slipping your fingers inside of her, you bring her to a different plane; wrist angled, fingers curling, her plush, warm walls closing around your fingers snugly. you look up at her and are met with a mesmerizing sight—flushed cheeks, swollen lips, reddish-purplish bite marks along her tanned skin. when you suck her on her clit, she shatters underneath you, writhing uncontrollably as your fingers scissor delightfully. her orgasm is a tsunami that knocks both of you over; you drown in the waves of her pleasure as she drowns in you.

if this is love, she doesn’t want it; she’d rather not breathe or remember that she was allowed to have a sliver of this feeling.

you lick your lips and fingers, the flush on her skin is enough to keep you happy for the rest of your life. she sits up shakily, pulls you towards her, and kisses you deeply, the taste on your tongue intoxicating her further. you’re both panting, both sweaty, both too tired to continue. 

light on your feet, you bring her to your bathroom and draw a bath. the water warms quickly; you climb in first, she sits in between your legs, easing back against your chest, your hands finding hers again, fingers laced. she turns, melancholy taking hold of her face; you brush your lips against hers, leaving behind a warm kiss — one that will haunt you both.

are goodbyes actually final? can’t you simply say i’ll see you again? you’re unsure, and even as tears spill down her cheeks again, you don’t stop kissing her, wanting to savor this moment, despite the messy feelings that attach themselves, despite the impulse that courses through you to tell her to stay behind. with you.

it’s love that keeps you in the bathtub with her for longer than necessary; and it’s love that has you holding her close to you, afraid that if you give her any room to breathe, she’ll disappear and take those precious moments and memories of the weeks you’ve spent together with her.

🌙 credit to @leafsea​ for the cute crescent moon divider 🌙

[astaroth1357]

Demon Brothers React to MC Getting Kidnapped by Lesser Demons.

Watch out for minor first half spoilers!!

Lucifer

Kicking himself because he has to find out through Mammon that the MC is missing and he didn’t notice their absence himself.

The second the alarm gets raised he gets into a state somewhere between coldly rational and extraordinarily furious. 

Definitely still level-headed enough to rally and organize his brothers for a search party but there's nothing but seething rage just rolling off of him the entire time. Probably-could-have-made-another-Satan type rage.

How well he keeps his composure will be based entirely on how long the MC is MIA. The first hour or so will be mostly put together but past that he'll start to slowly unravel as the panic takes hold.

At one point he even gets snippy with Diavolo over the phone and that's when you KNOW that he's reaching meltdown mode.

If he's the first to find the MC, his #1 priority is to get them away from whatever scum grabbed them and take them to the closest safe place he can find. He'd scoop them up so fast they won't even know where he came from, just whoosh! How'd I get on this roof??

Only once they're out of harm’s way will he circle back and deal with their kidnappers personally. You better be sure any damage done to his human will be reflected a thousandfold back onto their attackers. Probably coming back to the MC with some blood on him and is not going to care.

Relieved to have the MC back but restricts them from going out alone after a certain time now for their own good. If they need something that badly, they can come to him.

Also strings Mammon up by his toes that night for losing them in the first place.

"By the time Cerberus gets to you, I'll be sure you're only my table scraps…"

Mammon

The first to notice that the MC was being oddly quiet (thank their father for his text spamming habit) then found their stuff scattered and abandoned at RAD.

Told Lucifer right away and, oh boy, he is a mess: talking a mile a minute, punctuating his sentences with expletives, on the verge of tears, whole nine yards.

He left his human alone for what?? Like five minutes, if even, to go to the library and get themselves kidnapped?! What kind of guardian is he?!?

Already searching the place top-to-bottom without being told where to go or what to do.

He actually ends up a strange inverse of Lucifer. While Lucifer will start panicking more over time, Mammon will start panicking less as his fear escalates to all out anger. Give it a few hours and he’s not even going to be able to keep his demon form under control anymore.

You know this boy is legging it across the entire Devildom himself waving around some kind of hand-drawn "Have You Seen This Human?" flyer looking for any leads at all.

If he were to find the MC first, his first action would probably be to plant his foot right in the face of whoever took them. Hard. Then repeat until their skull’s a caved-in mess on floor. No mercy this time, just pure protective rage.

Following the fight, you'd think he was just reunited with his lost puppy. Lots of crying, hugging, and blubbering out apologies even when the rest of his brothers show up.

Would pretty much be glued to the MC's hip for at least a week afterward and makes more of a point to hang off of them in public now. They're his human after all, can't have anyone else getting the idea of pulling a stunt like that again.

"MC!! What'd ya go runnin' off for?? We're goin' home after I take out this trash, got it!!"

Leviathan 

Wouldn't really want to believe it at first because it just feels too unreal, like, the same thing happened to Henry in Episode 86 of TSL when he was kidnapped by enemies of the Lord of Fools and it was up to his true friend to track him down…

Suddenly remembers that Henry was also tortured while he was taken and that really sets in the panic.

Unsure of how to help at first because he knows he's just a useless shut-in but Belphie of all people is the one to remind him that he does have one big advantage over his brothers: a fucking navy.

In an act of surprising backbone, he more or less demands a full fleet of ships from Diavolo and (honestly to his shock) he gets exactly that to comb the Devil’s Sea while looking for MC. Lotan even helps out!

If he were to be the first to find the MC (presuming they are indeed on a boat or something cause 🤷‍♀️) those kidnappers really shouldn't have challenged the third strongest brother in his natural element, eh? Those who aren't automatically lashed in the face or flung overboard by his tail get hung by the leg over the edge of the ship for Lotan to pick off one by one.

Sails back to shore with MC booming with pride that he of all people finally got to be their hero! Will literally be so happy if MC ever brings it up again, doesn't matter how much time has passed.

Things would settle back to normal pretty quickly after that, but he now checks up on the MC a lot more often and will even leave his room for them if they need to go somewhere and don't want to go alone. Can't have this turning into a rerun, you know?

"You hurt my only friend… So drown."

Satan

One guess how the Avatar of Wrath took the news. It's not swimmingly.

Unless your definition of "swimmingly" is a murderous rampage of toppling furniture, breaking windows, and swearing to curse right about anything that moves, in which case aptly put. 

He gets stuck in an anger-induced tantrum for a bit before finally getting snapped back into coherent thought by Belphie and putting those mystery novels of his to good use. Smart boi takes second to Lucifer himself in the search, suggesting good locations for his brothers scout based on what clues they have to go on.

Of course, he's not content to just to call orders from the sidelines and is out searching himself like he's on the goddamn warpath. Doors? Who needs doors? If anything the hole I made in your wall is more efficient.

Should he be the first to find the MC he would coolly and methodically subdue any kidnapper he can get his hands on, release his human, and bring them home as soon as possible. They've been through quite enough today and don't need to see anything he's got planned for the bastards later.

But the second that Diavolo puts them in the castle dungeon, you best bet that Henry 1.0 is going to the LEAST of their worries. Who's ever wanted to play a life or death game of hide and seek with a giant snake and the incarnation of Wrath itself? First one caught gets the "quick" death! Any volunteers?

Might give the MC a mild scolding for going out when they shouldn't have but otherwise is just happy to see them back and safe. May act extra soft towards them for a couple days, just until the nerves of the situation finally wear off.

"Don't mistake this for mercy. I assure you, I don't know the meaning of the word."

Asmodeus

Highkey freaking out, like, almost as hysterical as Mammon when he hears the news. 

Being the Avatar of Lust, he of course knows there's a whole lot of creeps out there in the world and he is utterly terrified that his poor MC has fallen victim to one at that moment.

For once, all thoughts of himself and his looks are out the window. What? It's past 2am and MC is still gone? I can stay up another hour! Dry shampoo and a washcloth counts as a shower, right? Who the fuck cares, where's MC?? Somebody find them already!!

Pools his contact list with Satan's and starts reaching out across the whole Devildom asking for people to be on the lookout and offer tips. Also begs Solomon to use his magic to help in the search (which he's more than happy to do anyway because he cares about the MC too)

If he were to find MC first it'd be one of those rare cases where he'd be seen really truly enraged. No cute banter, no playful flirting, just telling those worthless scum-vats exactly where they belong and exactly how he's going to put them there. Is it any surprise that he's also madsick with a whip?

Crazy relieved that MC is free, but now it's on them to help him clean up and get back to his prettiest self. I mean, he worried himself half to death while they were gone! All this dirt and sweat going to take three, no four, bathes to fully clean off!! Best hop to it~♡

"Touch them one more time and I'm going to set fire to whatever landfill trash like you crawls out of!!"

Beelzebub

It can't be happening. It honestly can't be happening. First he loses Lilith and now MC?? He can't lose two. He. Can't. Lose. Two.

Pretty much the mantra going through his head as he tears the Devildom apart with his bare hands. 

It's 1000x worse than how he gets when he's hungry because at least then he might stop when he finally gets fed. Now it's either find MC or wait until he collapses from exhaustion and hope he doesn’t leave the whole realm a smoldering crater before he gets that far.

There's no reasoning with him either, the best the brothers can do is steer him in a direction and let him loose.

If he found MC first he probably wouldn't even realize it for a bit, he'd just keep attacking whatever or whoever is in front of him on his path of blind destruction. It'd take the MC literally flinging themselves at him or throwing their arms around him to snap him out of it but then it's back to sweetheart Beel.

Hugs ensue. Really tight hugs. Probably a few tears and apologies too (even if it’s not really his fault at all). 

Woe to anyone who tries going for the MC once he’s sure he has them because they WILL be broken then eaten. He’ll encourage his human not to look, but some things just have to be done.

Would absolutely carry MC back home and refuse to put them down until the others force him to. The floor may as well be lava planning on taking them away from him too.

Wouldn't care as much about personal vengeance as his brothers as long as MC is safe. He'll trust that his family will more than punish the kidnappers (though chances are he already took a chunk or two out of a few of them during his rampage anyway).

Protective instincts up by 100 after this, though Belphie usually steps in and eases him back a bit when he's about to get suffocating. MC never travels without a buddy now, ever. He just can't risk it.

"MC, I-I'm sorry… I just couldn’t lose you too…"

Belphegor

Keeps the coolest head of all the brothers on the outside, but there's a cold fury building up in those eyes.

Pretty much takes charge of whipping everyone back into gear with a combination stinging remarks and heavy duty guilt tripping. May not be the nicest method, but it's effective. 

"Asmo, grow a freaking spine and do something useful for a change! Mammon, this your fault to start with so you ought to be breaking your ass to find them! Satan, watching you is getting embarrassing, pull yourself together and think like you're good at it!"

His harshest criticisms get saved for Lucifer (big shock) but he only dishes them out when he sees his older brother really losing his grip or teetering on losing hope. If the “mighty firstborn” can’t keep it together then why should they even listen to him in the first place?

When he's not administering "motivation," he's keeping tabs on Beel's progression through the Devildom and trying to minimize the damage there. He's the only one that can get through to him long enough to change his course if necessary.

If he were to find the MC first, well, unlike Satan he doesn't have the forethought to save the torture for later. It's happening right here, right now, and you better bet that being the last born doesn't stop him from being a force to be reckoned with.

Waits with the MC for his brothers to catch up to them and deal with any stragglers. May cuddle with them and look like he's trying to take a nap in the meantime, but in truth he's still very alert, on edge, and ready to absolutely wreck shit if anything gets too close to them.

Though it doesn't look like his lazy ass goes through the same protective streak as his brothers, he's a lot quicker to try and convince the MC to stay home now. No out and about=less chance of getting nabbed. Plus he keeps his favorite pillow, win-win. 😏

"What about your worthless lives makes you think you deserve my mercy??"

[dicenne]

Dicenne After Dark 2022

Performed at Tarts After Dark November 19th, 2022 *NSFW!* **When reading, %t was my current target!**

A soft, blue light bathes the stage, illuminating an impeccably dressed man seated upon the edge of a bed covered in red silk sheets. He dons a slim-fitted pair of black slacks, black dress boots, and a muscle-hugging, button-up white dress shirt with the top couple buttons undone, allowing a glimpse of the red runic tattoo on his chest that travels up the right side of his neck. With knees spread and hands resting on his thighs, his posture and alluring gaze immediately demands attention.

As the sultry voice resonates through the speakers, Dicenne peers around the audience while calloused fingertips rake along his thighs. Reaching for the back of his calf, he pulls free a black leather riding crop, tapping the rose-shaped flat head atop his thigh, flashing the audience a devilish smirk.

Dicenne tucks his chin down and rolls backwards along the bed, pushing himself up into a handstand halfway through. Offering the crowd a nice view of his shapely backside, feet point vertically up towards the ceiling before parting forward and back with bent knees until they fall into a stag split. After holding the split for a few seconds, his torso begins to undulate in slow, sensual waves all while maintaining balance on both hands. From there, he lowers his core to the bed, followed by hips and then spread knees in one continuous and controlled body roll, as if a lover is lying beneath him and waiting.

Maneuvering himself up to a kneeling position, he parts his legs wide so hands are now free to roam over the sides of his throat, down his chest and abdomen, then stopping at his crotch and giving it a lewd grab while thrusting outwards. With riding crop still in hand, he presses against the edge of the bed and kicks his legs up into a front handspring, feet gracefully landing on the hard ground one after the other along the steps. He allows the momentum to take him down the remainder of the stairs before dropping to his knees in front of %t. Placing the riding crop beneath their chin, he coaxes them to raise their head so eyes can meet. 

With a wink and gentle caress of the crop head against their cheek, he lifts back to his feet and resumes his saunter around the audience. The riding crop gently grazes along arms and shoulders of those he passes, halting next to %t to deliver a firm but disciplined *smack* of the crop against their rear.

He stops in front of Jason Helsong, eyeing them over like a predator would its prey; his lascivious gaze enticing and coercive. He snaps his fingers at them and points at the ground in front of himself in a silent order to kneel. Once obeyed, he combs his fingers through their hair, gripping the back of their head in an assertive manner to draw their eyes upwards. He rewards them with a pleased smile and gentle brush of their lips with his thumb before moving along.

He jumps up onto a table and promptly pivots into a single foot toe spin, bending both knees while gradually lowering himself, all while still rotating. Then just as slowly, he raises back up to showcase the complete control he has over that tall, athletic frame. Once more he kicks up into a handstand, pausing for a moment to adjust his hands before he takes a ‘step’ downwards in mid-air, then another step, and another, steadily moving his body from perpendicular to parallel in a planche position with only his hands touching the table.

His muscles twitch and tighten with the sheer power and precision this move requires. Holding this pose for a brief time, he lowers his form in that planche, and before he can touch the table, he lifts back up and repeats the ‘push-up’ motion a few times in quick succession. Propelling himself back into a regular handstand, he executes a front walkover off the end of the table.

Dicenne strides back towards the stage, slapping the riding crop against his open palm until he takes his place centerstage once more. A thick cloud of fog begins to waft upwards from the ground beneath, ever so casually beginning to obscure his person. He tosses the riding crop onto the bed before fingers deftly pop the buttons of his shirt one by one, exposing more and more of that herculean physique beneath. Just as he rolls the shirt off of his shoulders, the fog thoroughly shrouds his entire form as the first song drifts away. But we’re not done yet, this was the tame portion!

As a familiar, pounding beat starts to play over the speakers, the blue lighting abruptly changes to a deep red, shifting the entire tone of the performance. The fog begins to clear away with Dicenne standing in the exact same place as before, but dressed in a way that would bring the phrase ‘leather daddy’ to mind: Black leather biker cap, aviator sunglasses, black leather chest harness, combat boots, and black leather low-sitting pants that are somehow even tighter than the previous pair - solidly outlining muscles, that rounded rear, and a very generous bulge. Despite the layer of clothing, not much remains hidden. To top it all off, a leather choker with the word ‘DADDY’ in silver letters on the front and a bullwhip coiled up and hanging from his belt. Leather Daddy indeed!

He jumps up onto the bed and grabs a hold of the edge of a pillow before heaving it up into the air, well over the heads of the audience. Just as it reaches its peak, that bullwhip is uncoiled from his belt and with a snap of his wrist, the popper *CRACKS* against the center of the pillow, causing feathers to explode from within and then drift down harmlessly into the crowd. Oh yes, this whip is VERY real and VERY dangerous, but the man clearly knows exactly what he’s doing (in more ways than one).

Dice suggestively strokes a hand up and down along the braided whip as the tip of his tongue runs temptingly along the edges of his teeth. The red lights above now highlight the thin sheen of sweat coating those bare, sculpted arms and chiseled torso - also showcasing more of that red runic tattoo covering his right side. He takes a running leap off the end of the bed, performing a front flip and fanning his legs out into a V-shape midway through before landing on both feet with a *SLAM* - just a mere foot away from the front row. His demeanor is now a little less mischievous, and definitely more domineering. Two sides of the same coin.

He sets his salacious gaze on Sheizara, making a straight trek through the audience for her. There’s a brief, teasing moment between the two as he trails the back of his fingers along her jaw, then takes a firm hold of her hips and spins her around to face the table. Placing a hand against the top of her spine, he pushes her down until she is fully bent over. Leaning over and pressing both hands on either side of her, he growls a soft ‘stay’ into her ear. He gradually crouches down behind her, a hand ghosting over her side, down her hip, and onto her thigh. Just as it seems as if some type of lewd act is about to be committed, he springs up and over her head, essentially leap-frogging her and landing with a loud *THUD* atop the center of the table - easily clearing his target with room to spare.

He chucks his sunglasses aside and pulls his hat free, tossing it like a frisbee up into the air at the stage. Demonstrating the precision he possesses with his tool, he quickly twirls the whip above his head once before giving it a *SNAP* towards the airborne cap, completely changing its trajectory from the stage and instead flutters down directly atop of %t’s head.

Dice gives them a wink before scanning the audience once more; seeking someone, perhaps his next target, as he jumps off the table to return to the stage. Eyes lock on Ryland, pointing the hand clutching his whip out at him. With a delicate flick, the whip wraps itself a couple times around Ryland’s waist before he is reeled in. Dicenne nonchalantly ducks down to pitch the other man over his shoulder and then heaves him unceremoniously across the sheets.

As Ryland slides over to the far end of the bed, Dicenne tactfully snaps that whip one final time to snag the man’s ankle, yanking him closer. Once near the edge of the bed, Dice casts the whip aside and leans down to capture the other man’s waist, effortlessly hoisting him straight up and high enough so Dice’s arms can catch him beneath his thighs. Ryland’s legs part into a center split mid-air as he’s thrown, landing in muscular arms with his crotch dangerously close to the performer’s face.

Ryland dexterously flings his upper body backwards into a bridged shape, arching his spine and placing hands on the edge of the bed to flaunt his wide range of flexibility. Dicenne releases his trapped legs with a little shove so Ry can complete his back walkover, settling on his knees as eager eyes peer up at the larger man. With Dice’s back to the audience, the other man’s hands slip about his hips, fingers hooking over the top of those low-resting leather pants. Ry peeks around him to the audience with a little bobble in his brow, then with a firm jerk downwards, the hidden buttons lining the sides of those leather pants POP-POP-POP open one by one until the garment hits the ground in two pieces.

Beneath? Not a whole lot! A pair of black mesh booty shorts that allow more than enough light through to reveal those thick glutes and the red tribal tattoo that does indeed travel along the ENTIRE right side of his physique.

He offers a cocky smirk over his shoulder, returning his attention to Ryland who is coaxed to his feet with a hand loosely gripping his throat. The two men lock hands, and with a crouch and prep, Ryland kicks his legs up into a handstand, using only Dicenne as his support. After finding their balance, Ry parts his legs into a center split and remains perfectly still as Dicenne slowly turns to face the audience, keeping his eyes locked on his partner above while muscles strain beneath the effort of holding Ryland aloft.

Turns out, those shorts are mesh ~ALL~ the way around, exposing all of those plentiful assets with a very limited amount of coverage. Not much left to the imagination tonight, folks!

With a slight shift in balance and weight, the two men release one hand each so Dicenne is taking the full burden with only one arm. He makes it look effortless, easy almost, especially when he lowers his arm, with Ryland, and then raises him back up a couple times. Both free hands meet once more and Ryland falls backwards onto the bed, bouncing and sprawling out onto his back. Dice is quick to follow, crouching down and pressing one hand to the floor before kicking both legs up and over into a monkey flip - spreading his legs so his knees land straddling Ryland’s torso. With his back arced and hands clenching the sheets in front of him, he dips his body, chest to groin, in one sinuously erotic roll down towards Ryland, repeating the pattern a couple times before rocking up to his feet in one swift movement.

Dicenne wets his lips as his libidinous gaze trails over the other man’s form, then glances out at the audience with a smirk: They’ve had enough of a show tonight. He leans over to gather up his prize, tossing Ryland once more over his shoulder and delivering a solid *SPANK* to his ass that reverberates around the stage. Just before the two disappear out of sight behind the curtain, Ryland gives the audience a naughty look and pops the buttons along the sides of Dice’s mesh shorts. Yanking them free, he flings them out into the crowd.

@succulent-tart