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#ask and ye shall receive
softest-punk · 3 days
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With Spring here I was thinking about gardening, and spinning the idea of a Dreamling with Hob and Hob growing heirloom/heritage vegetables and the like.
Possibly human AU with Hob realizing that he has seeds or actual plants growing on an old bit of property that are incredibly rare/people think don't exist anymore/don't even know about.
So he builds a garden and quietly reintroduces them through a gardening club or something, and Dream hears about Hob of course he has to investigate.
Because rare plants, of course. Not this Hob person or that smile of his.
Hello anon I could not imagine any version of Dream caring for even one second about any vegetable HOWEVER I could imagine burned out landscape architect Dream so I have noodled around with that for 2.7k and thrown the rest on the WIP pile 😅
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Before securing an appointment to meet him, Dream knows two facts about Hob Gadling. The first is that he is a professor of history. The second, and more relevant to him, is that he has been cultivating a species of dog rose which had been believed entirely mythical until he stumbled across a patch of it two years prior.
The knowledge of these two facts—and only these two facts—makes the man who opens the door quite a surprise. A man no older than Dream, and very possibly younger, wearing worn jeans and a soft, equally worn jumper, and a smile which, coupled with his deep brown eyes, no doubt gets him anything he wants from anyone.
“Professor Gadling?” Dream asks, almost certain he must have the wrong house.
The man’s smile brightens. “Got it in one,” he says, offering a hand. “You must be Dream.”
Dream takes the offered hand, still a touch stunned. “I am, yes.”
“Call me Hob,” Hob says. “Come in, come in.”
He steps back to allow Dream to enter the narrow hallway of his unassuming terrace. Ex-council housing, but well and truly so. Hob will be the second generation to have inherited it.
“I’m sure you’re dying to see it, so I’ll take you through to the garden first. Then we can have a cuppa and chat about what exactly you want from me.”
Dream wets his lips. What, exactly, he wants from Hob has changed quite dramatically in the past thirty seconds.
“I… yes. That would be amenable.”
Hob laughs, though Dream feels it is more delighted than mocking, and leads the way straight down the hallway, through a cheerfully bright kitchen that smells of spices and butter and sugar and out into the garden.
The rose he has come here for is immediately in evidence. There is a small patio out here, set with table and chairs, and it is utterly overgrown with the specimen in question. A dog rose, pure white in the centre and blood red at the ends of the petals. Hob calls it a Tudor rose, and has posited the theory that what was once thought to be a late-invented symbol had once had inspiration in reality. It is, Dream understands, a boon to his career.
It might easily be one to Dream’s, as well.
“Oh,” Dream says, his attractive host entirely forgotten for the moment as the rose steals his attention entirely. He approaches it without conscious thought, and before he knows it is brushing his fingers against the petals. What a rare and beautiful thing. This close he can detect the mild, sweet scent of it, distinct from that of the varieties common in floristry, but no less appealing.
“She must like you,” Hob says, interrupting his reverie. “She’s just dropped a flower in your hair.”
“Oh,” Dream repeats, reaching into his hair but not finding the flower in question.
“Hold on,” Hob says, stepping towards him. Dream pauses, and watches as Hob reaches out and plucks the flower from his hair without pulling on a single strand. He holds it out in offering, and a spark of something bright and sweet fizzes over Dream’s skin as their hands brush when he accepts it.
He holds the rose in the palm of his hand, marvelling at the wonder of it. An ancient variety, unknown until so recently. It is a privilege to see it, let alone touch it.
“She’s beautiful,” Dream says. “And I would very much like to come to an arrangement with you.”
Hob breaks into another broad, easy smile. “Make yourself comfortable,” Hob says, gesturing to the table setting. “And I’ll make us both a cuppa. Milk, sugar?”
“Milk,” Dream says. “No sugar. Thank you.”
“My pleasure. Nice to have someone else get excited about it. All my mates think I’m mad. They’re right, obviously, but that’s hardly the point. Back in a tick.”
If Dream watches Hob go inside, it is only on reflex. If his eyes happen to fall below the other man’s belt line, that is purely accidental.
Or potentially related to an extended dry spell. Owing first to having been trapped night and day in a miserable contract with a client who insisted on asking the impossible and raging when Dream was not able to defy the laws of physics adequately, and secondly to the deep-seated burnout it had resulted in.
He had pinned his hopes of renewed interest in his art on this rose. As he looks at it in his hand, be begins to see a glimmer of light. A beautiful, rare, wild thing. Just what he needs to revitalise his career.
The rest of Hob’s garden has the artless beauty of a new foal or a wild heath. Even its current untidiness adds a sort of unconscious glamour, the beauty of a rockstar passed out after a performance, makeup running and costume askew. Dream spends a moment enjoying the riot of it, plants growing wherever they will be happiest, each seemingly chosen for individual appeal rather than to fit into a larger plan. It is the garden of a person who loves not landscaping, but gardening. Who takes pleasure from the act of caring for a space, rather than any high-concept aesthetic qualities.
Some part of him wants to dig his hands into the rich earth and breathe it in, potter about tending to any small ills the plants may be suffering. To enjoy each one of them for what they are again, rather than interacting with them only to buy them in bulk or track down single specimens of the rarest only to be ultimately instructed to plant them in an environment where they will suffer.
Hob returns with tea and a plate of small cakes. The scent of spices—ginger, nutmeg, and cardamom—wafts from them, each one decorated with a single sugared rose petal.
“They’re ginger and rose honey cakes,” Hob explains as he sets a mug of milky tea in front of Dream. “Since roses are your thing.”
Dream raises an eyebrow. “You’re familiar with my work?”
He’s well enough known in his own circles, but does not kid himself that he is any kind of celebrity.
Hob laughs. “Well, I am now. Had to know who this strange man emailing me about my silly little hobby was, didn’t I? You might’ve been a serial killer.”
“I would likely not put that in my portfolio, if I were.”
“Fair point,” Hob says, sipping his tea. “You seem okay, though.”
“I imagined you would be older,” Dream admits. He had expected a man nearing or perhaps exceeding pension age, tweedy and serious. Professors had been, when he had been at university.
Hob beams at him, taking a cake. “That’ll be because I seemed so wise beyond my years when you emailed me.”
Dream means to respond, but is distracted by the noise Hob makes as he takes his first bite of cake. It starts off as a hum of pleased surprise, continues into a happy rumble, and finishes on a frankly obscene moan of satisfaction. He would not admit this aloud with a gun to his head, but Dream is uncertain he has ever caused anyone to make such a sound in bed. Not with that particular depth of feeling.
Hob evidently catches him looking, raises his eyebrows, and pushes the plate an inch closer to Dream.
“They’re good,” he says, licking crumbs from his lips. “I’ll only eat them all if you don’t help me.”
Curiosity being one of Dream’s chief vices, he takes a cake. Secretly, he adores sweets, but tries to avoid them, feeling this a kind of weakness. In this case, though, it would be impolite to refuse, and he does want Hob’s cooperation.
The moment his tongue touches the edge of the little cake, he finds himself making a similar sound to the one Hob had. A soft, pleased grunt of satisfaction as sugar and spice lights up his palate, a surprise touch of rosewater in the thin glaze on top causing his eyes to fall closed as he basks in the perfection of it all.
Hob laughs, but it is not a mocking sound. It is warm, and pleasant, and deeply appealing.
“Good?” he asks.
“Very,” Dream agrees.
Hob grins at him. He looks like nothing quite so much as a pleased little boy.
“Well, they’re for you, so eat as many as you like,” Hob says.
Dream takes another bite. To please his host, obviously.
“So I might as well admit I’ve got no idea what you want with me,” Hob says. “I mean, the rose I guess, but I’m not sure what you want me to do.”
Dream pauses before taking another bite of his cake. “Permission to collect the seeds,” he says. “And cultivate my own. I would also ideally like to run some soil tests and take some other readings, since this specimen seems very happy. I wish to use them in an upcoming display. I realise I am pushing my luck, but if you were amenable, it I would also like to take the precaution of cultivating from cuttings. You would of course be paid for all this. I believe your own plant is a clone?”
“Err. If you mean mine came from a cutting, yeah. No idea how to collect the seeds. Just remember my wife taking cuttings. Explaining all the important bits to me.”
“Your wife?” Dream asks, trying very hard not to feel a twinge of disappointment.
Hob clears his throat. “Late wife,” he says. “Eleanor. This was all hers. I brought the rose home for her. She was already… I mean, I found it on my first proper outing, a hike with a couple of mates, after… y’know. It sort’ve felt like a gift from her. That’s silly, isn’t it?”
Dream swallows down a spike of guilt over his envy. “Not at all,” he says. “It is a beautiful thought. But it does lead me to ask if you’re certain you wish to share it?”
It would be disappointing to walk away from this meeting with nothing, but he cannot take advantage of Hob’s grief. He would never forgive himself for rebuilding his own career on the suffering of another.
“Oh, absolutely,” Hob says. “I was so pleased when you asked. This is all hers, you know?” He gestures to the garden. “I’m no good at it, but I did build this,” he adds, gesturing to the patio this time. “For her. So she could share it with other people. I’ve been struggling to keep the garden up, but I have been trying. It doesn’t get shared so much anymore. There’s actually a whole dining setting in the shed down there. Huge. Eight seats plus a few extras we’d have to bring out so all our friends and family could crowd around the table. I used to love feeding them all. I miss that.”
Dream—purely for Hob’s benefit—finishes his cake, and takes another.
“Sorry,” Hob continues. “You didn’t need to know any of that.”
“I do not mind knowing it,” Dream says. He hesitates, and then, “it is not at all the same, but my wife left me. I have felt… some part of your loss.”
“Did you love her?”
“Yes,” Dream tells his tea. “Very much. Simply… not quite enough for the both of us, as it turned out.”
Hob hums. “Well, you’re right, it’s not quite the same. Just as hard though, I think. Your garden must be beautiful.”
Dream sips his tea. The segue was inelegant, but he means to let it stand.
“I no longer have one. Aside from an ornamental ginger on my kitchen windowsill. I live in a third floor flat.”
“Oh,” Hob says. “But you are a gardener, aren’t you?”
Dream smiles wryly. “I am a landscape architect,” he says. “Gardening is an altogether different profession. Look at my hands.” He offers one to Hob.
Hob, quite by surprise, takes it gently in his own broad, dry, pen-callused hand. Dream watches as he inspects it, running the tips of his fingers along the length of Dream’s own, brushing the pad of his thumb over Dream’s palm. He smiles so that the corners of his eyes crinkle, turning Dream’s hand over, inspecting it thoroughly. “You’ll have to tell me what I’m looking for.”
“Any sign of a single day’s manual labour,” Dream says.
Hob laughs, and squeezes his hand before giving it back. “You’re full of shit.”
Dream blinks at him. “You are not the first person to make this observation.”
Hob laughs again, a low chuckle this time.
“I miss it,” Dream admits. “Digging my hands into the soil. Watching flowers sown with my own hands sprout and bud and bloom. Something to care for.”
He looks down at his own hands then. Clean and soft and with perfectly-manicured nails. Not the hands of a man who has connected with the earth—with much of anything—in a long time.
“You’re making me wish I wasn’t so terrible at it.”
“It can be learned like any other craft. I can neither cook nor bake, but I imagine it is possible to gain these skills if one has the time, opportunity, and inclination.”
“Cooking? Absolutely. But the plants hear me coming, I think.”
Dream thinks otherwise. Dream thinks Hob has been afraid to do the work that needs doing—the cutting back, the culling, the uprooting. The destructive work that must come before the productive result. Afraid to destroy it irreparably in the process.
Dream thinks that he would be similarly afraid, in Hob’s position.
“I don’t want any money,” Hob speaks up, breaking the not uncomfortable silence that had fallen between them. “For the rose, I mean. I just want to share it.”
“I had planned to offer you a five-figure sum,” Dream says. “Which I think you ought to take. I do not imagine history professors to be well paid.”
“We’re not,” Hob says. “That much?” he adds, eyebrow raised.
“For the rights to cultivate it, yes. It is your discovery. It is worth more than you might understand.”
Hob shakes his head. “Don’t want it. You can sell it, if you like. As long as I’m still allowed to give it away.”
Dream had planned to ask for exclusivity, but cannot imagine doing so any longer. Not now that he understands what the rose means to Hob.
“Eleanor would want you to get some value out of it,” Dream says, and then immediately regrets it. He never knew the woman. She might not have wanted anything of the sort.
Hob goes quiet, chewing on his lower lip. Dream braces himself to be asked politely but firmly to leave.
“Probably not,” Hob says. “Other than, y’know, the intrinsic pleasure of flowers, which I do actually get even if they tend to shrivel up and die if I so much as look at them wrong.”
Dream takes a cautious sip of his tea.
“She was always better than me, though. Kinder. Effortlessly generous. I do want something,” Hob says. “She had plans for this garden. Not terribly ambitious ones, but unfinished. I’ve still got them. They look detailed to me, I don’t know how they’d look to you. Anyway. You know what you’re doing, and I don’t. I want you to help me finish the garden like she wanted it finished.”
Dream looks out at the garden. The scruffy edges, the plants which haven’t known the touch of a practiced hand in some time, the weeding getting the better of a lonely widower who lacks the confidence to pull what must be pulled.
He thinks of the feeling of earth under his fingernails, and the sun on his back, and the ache of muscles well-used. The satisfaction of doing something with his own two hands. Shaping the very landscape with his will.
And he thinks of Hob’s smile, and his laughter, and his little spiced cakes topped with rose petals because the only thing he had known about his guest had been that he presumably enjoyed roses.
“Done,” Dream says.
“Seriously?”
“Entirely,” Dream confirms, pleasure curling in his belly at Hob’s obvious surprise. He too can be generous.
Aside from which, it will be good for him. A manageable project for a client who, he can already tell, will be prodigiously undemanding. Exceptionally polite, as well.
“Right,” Hob says, visibly gathering his wits. “Right, great. Deal.”
Hob offers his own hand this time, and Dream shakes it.
“Deal.”
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primal-con · 1 month
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I love ur art sm its so good… if u don’t mind I’d like to request starscream x Bumblebee!!
Hell yeah!! StarBee hours >:D
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ardentlylesbian · 2 months
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Butch sex ed Pt.2 (Femme x Butch, Butch, Butch etc…)
Contains: Group sex, voyerism, exhibitionism, dom/sub power dynamics, explicit consent, impact play, spanking, face slapping, vibrator, fingering, sub training, dumbification, overstimulation, aftercare
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Volunteer work” had become a regular part of my schedule. At least once a week I would join Teacher, Sam, and the students for demonstrations and gratuitous experimentation. Sometimes repeating lessons for new groups of butches, sometimes trying something new. I was getting embarrassingly familiar with the feeling of being stretched by thick butch cocks, and would get wet just from driving past the high school that hosted the lessons.
One week Sam texted me and asked if I would be comfortable with a new lesson, something a bit more intense than what we had tried before. The text alone send a shot of arousal through my body, I immediately started running through every possible option of what she could mean. I personally considered the seemingly endless fucking by various straps “intense”, but to Sam and Teacher I supposed that was just their Tuesday evening and had been for who knows how long. I texted her back quickly, asking for further details.
Have you ever tried impact play?
My heart skipped a beat as I stared at the text. I’d had my ass slapped here and there during sex, sure, but I had never tried anything more than that. Not that I didn’t sometimes wonder if a well timed slap or spanking might just turn me to mush. I’m such a sub that masochism hardly feels like a far cry from what I’ve already got going on. I respond with that in mind, telling her that I hadn’t tried it before but I wouldn’t be opposed to experimenting for a class.
Perfect!
Was all she said in response, followed only by a time and date.
Getting though the downtime between the classes was getting harder and harder. How is a femme supposed to focus when she knows that she’s only ever a handful of days or hours away from having her brains fucked out? When her legs ache and pussy throbs from the treatment from the last class right up until the next. I’d like to see you try to get anything done at your day job under those circumstances.
Before the class I did my usual prep, but I was unsure what I should do in particular anticipation of impact play. Even googling only reminded me to eat beforehand and maybe stretch. Anticipating that I would definitely be spanked in some way, I decided to wear a garter set that would frame my ass in a pretty way, especially with my panties removed. Dark green lace laid flush against my skin and the garters held up classic stockings. I layered on top my usual slutty-yet-professional uniform of a tight skirt and blousy shirt. God, just getting dressed in those clothes I could feel myself getting wet in anticipation.
When I get to the high school our routine is so smoothly polished that I don’t even have to slow down as I walk up to the door. Sam already has it open and is waiting for me with a smile. I run my nails through her hair for a second as I greet her, smiling when she melts a bit under my touch. Right behind her ears is particularly sensitive, something I discovered during the cunnilingus lesson a couple weeks ago. She knows I know it drives her wild but she never pushes me away when I tease her.
Instead she presses her hand to my back as always, and guides me down the hallway towards our usual room.
“How are you feeling about today’s lesson? Do you have any questions before we get inside?” She says, looking up at me kindly.
“How big is the class today?” I ask, knowing that the bigger the classes the less likely we are to get into anything too intense. Teacher likes to stay vague if there’s too many butches who need to take turns trying out techniques, knowing I’d get overwhelmed otherwise. Asking about the class size usually gives me some idea of what I’m in for.
“It’s fairly small today, only ten butches. A few are pretty experienced too.” Sam responds, searching my face for my reaction.
I can’t help but blush under her scrutiny. It’s definitely more nerve wracking knowing that the class is smaller. The reality of me not actually having any experience with impact starts to sink in and my sense of confidence that I had gained from the other classes melts away.
“Are you okay with that? You know our cancellation policy, you can opt out at any time for any reason.” Sam rubs gentle circles on my lower back as she speaks and my chest clenches with need. Remembering what those fingers can do when they’re inside me. In that moment I decide that no matter how nervous I feel, I’m going inside that classroom.
I nod at her, “I know. I’m okay, I want to give it a try. I’m just nervous.”
She smiles at me and opens the door, “Don’t worry sweetheart, we’ll take care of you. We always do.”
Inside the room sit the ten butches, all seated in the first row or so of desks. The crowd is diverse as usual, some studs, some fat, some visibly transmasculine. I think I recognize a couple of them from previous classes but can’t read name tags from the doorway well enough to be sure.
Standing behind the fucking desk (as I affectionately call it in my mind) is Teacher. As always they’re the definition of tall, dark, and handsome. Today they wear a white dress shirt, the sleeves already rolled up to flaunt their large forearms, as if to say yes I will be slapping you, and look how much strength I have to do it with. I feel myself blushing and focus instead on not wobbling in my heels.
The class immediately quiet down as I walk in, and Sam guides me to stand next to the table where Teacher smoothly steps up beside me.
“Class, let’s give a warm welcome to our femme volunteer for the night, shall we?” They croon. The class responds quickly and obediently with a chorus of hello’s and nice to see you again’s.
“Now as you know, today’s class is an introduction to impact play.” Teacher continues, “We will be exploring basic spanks and slaps, the reactions they invoke and how to care for a femme afterwards. With of course some general conversation about healthy domination thrown in for good measure. As you all also know, this is a intermediate course and absolutely no bullshit will be tolerated. In order for this to work the femme must trust us completely. To encourage this I will have you each make a promise to our femme that you will respect her consent and be extremely careful with the force used on her in accordance to what she consents to.”
One by one the butches go around the circle and promise to me that they’ll be good, I nod respectfully, my blush deepening with each one. Lastly Teacher catches my eye, giving me their little smirk, and promises the same. I would never doubt that Teacher would respect my boundaries, but still them saying it aloud is comforting.
“Excellent!” Teacher grinned and their hand came to rest on the base of my neck. “We’ll begin with some basic handling.”
With ease they slip their hand up into my hair and firmly tug my head back. A small moan slips from my lips and Teacher’s other hand grabs one of my wrists. “See how pliable she is? This femme, as some of you know, has been fairly well trained at this point, which is very helpful when getting into BDSM dynamics like this. She’ll let me put her in any position without bratting.”
Teacher tugs on my wrist to spin me around then uses that same hand to instead press on my back and bend me over the fucking table. The cold wood is familiar at this point, smooth against my cheek. After barely a moment they then pull me up by my hair, making me whimper, and spin me around once again before pushing me to my knees in front of them. My eyes meet the bulge in their slacks, a bulge I had never gotten to touch let alone be fucked by. The temptation to lean forward and drag my tongue over the front of those slacks was unbelievable. With some effort I dragged my gaze away to meet their eyes, cool and professional they give nothing away. I can hear the squeaking of chairs being pushed back as the butches in the second row stand up for a better view of me on my knees. Teacher’s fingers press against my lips and I open my mouth to welcome their fingers, immediately sucking hungrily.
“What a good girl, isn’t she class?” The butches readily agree, somewhat breathlessly. “What we don’t see is the bad girl underneath that aches to be punished, isn’t that right, dear?”
I blush and nod, swirling my tongue around their fingers, my panties completely soaked just from this show of dominance. Their fingers slip out of my mouth and they reach out to the side to offer them to the closest Butch, who eagerly sucks them clean. Teacher made a small sound of approval and quickly helps me back to my feet, their other hand still tangled in my hair and causing a delicious ghost of pain through my scalp.
“Who would like to try the bending over maneuver on her?” They ask.
Every hand in the room shot up, to no surprise. Teacher picked out a handsome Indian Butch who’s name tag read Jagdeep. She quickly took Teacher’s place next to me, her hand grabbing my hair instead. Her grip was tighter and I whimpered at the increased intensity of the sensation as she turned me around and pushed me slowly down against the table. She took her time, putting on a show for the class until my cheek was once again pressed to the cool surface.
“Very good, I enjoyed the element of style you added by playing with the speed.” Teacher praised, and Jagdeep’s hands slipped away from my body. I stayed bent over the table, my hands palm down on either side of my face.
“Now,” Teacher continued, “We will progress into the spanking portion of the lesson. While spanking over clothes can be helpful to reduce sting, we will be using her bare ass so as to easily reference the redness and bruising for her comfort and your education.”
I felt their hand on my shoulder and they pulled me once again up to standing, guiding me a few steps away from the table. I glanced back to see Sam pulling out the table-cover mat. Of course. Because I was about to be spanked over the edge of that table, probably by every butch in this room. Possibly multiple times. A gush of wetness dripped between my legs as that reality started to sink in.
“Finn, please come strip her.” Teacher said, and a butch with short hair and stubble quickly came over to me. They were shorter than me in my heels but were at least twice my size in every other way. Just standing next to them I felt surrounded by their presence and cologne, making me blush even more (if that was even possible). They asked if they could strip me and I nodded my ascent, their hands quickly going to work pulling my blouse over my head. I had decided against wearing a bra, so cold air hit my chest in a smooth waft that had my nipples instantly hardening. The class let out their usual communal groan, and a small smile danced across my lips. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing that reaction.
Finn’s hands dragged down my hips until they found the back of my skirt, unzipping it slowly and pulling the tight material off my body. I shivered slightly as I watched the class’s reaction to my garter and stockings, most of them looking just as flushed as me. Turning my head, I glanced at Teacher as Finn helped me step out of the skirt, and was certain I could recognize a faint look of approval that lived beneath their smirk.
“Thank you Finn, you may return to your seat.” Teacher said, once again taking the place beside me and gripping my hair with a strong hand. In response I let out a sound so subby it was almost embarrassing. They pushed me back down over the table, now with the mat securely in place thanks to Sam. I gripped the edges of the desk, my breath already coming in short bursts as I felt Teacher’s hands drag down my back and over my ass. I watch the class’s expressions as Teacher carefully removes my underwear, leaving the garter and stockings and heels in place. They don’t even graze my wet pussy as it’s exposed to them and I ache for more touch, from Teacher, from anyone.
“I will now demonstrate proper form for a bare handed spank, are you ready, lovely?” Teacher asked, squeezing my ass with one hand.
“Yes Teacher I’m ready, please spank me.” I beg, too turned on and desperate to bother feeling embarrassed.
“Good girl.”
Teacher described their hand position, the proper way to wind up, where to hit, and how much force to use. I barely listened as I lay on the table, goosebumps raising all over my body and nearly trembling in anticipation.
“Observe.” Teacher crooned, and their hand came down on my ass with a satisfying smack.
I jolted from the impact and moaned like a whore, the sting radiating out through my body. Teacher caressed the spot where they hit, and invited the class to come join them around me. I whine and watch the class gather in closer, all craning their necks to catch a good view of what was surely a perfect handprint on my asscheek.
“Now each of you will attempt to mimic my exact form and intensity, with the goal of creating a even layer of colour across her entire bottom. Line up.” Teacher instructed.
Without thinking I wiggle my ass a bit as I adjust, and I quickly feel a solid warm hand on the small of my back, pinning me down. My head is turned the wrong way but I somehow know it’s Sam without needing to see her. “No squirming now, a still target is easier to find.” She purrs in my ear, no doubt enjoying the way I tremble in response.
The first butch comes up behind me and I feel their hand stroke my thigh, Teacher gives her some small instructions on stance and aim. Within a moment I feel her hand come down on my other ass cheek, making me gasp. I lay there and count in my head as the butches take their turns, knowing there’s ten in total. By the eighth spank my ass is tingling a bit, and by the tenth I can feel my wetness slowly leaking down the inside of my thigh. The warmth from the impacts and my arousal having banished the goosebumps from my skin.
“Well done, look at how her ass is a beautiful uniform shade of pink, not bruising yet but just a bit tenderized. This is the extent that most casual hookups and such would want, but more masochistic femmes will want you to keep going. Isn’t that right?” Teacher directed their question to me and I whimper.
“Yes Teacher, please keep going.” I breathe, surprised by how whiny and pathetic my own voice sounds.
“Next you will each take a turn with your fingers inside her. You will not finger her, just rest them deep inside and feel how she clenches and flutters around you with the impact.” Teacher’s long fingers finally press against my pussy, gathering the wetness there as I moan and try to wiggle my hips back against them. They slip two inside in a smooth motion that makes my eyes roll back from the fullness, and seconds later their other hand strikes my ass again. I groan and clench around their fingers just like they said I would. Chuckling to themself, they pull out of me and I whimper at the loss of what I’d been craving to badly.
Luckily I don’t have to wait long before a new pair of fingers prod and slip into me, not quite so long as Teacher’s but certainly thicker. A familiar cologne hits my nose at the same time that Finn’s hand hits my ass. They groan and comment on how good I feel squeezing them, how wet and warm I am inside. Then the next butch takes their place with whispered “oh fuck” as they sink inside me.
By the end of this round of spanks I’m drooling a bit onto the table, twitching as the last pair of fingers pulls out of me with a lewd wet sound.
I feel Sam’s hand lift off my back and instead smooth up my spine and into my hair, not pulling but instead stroking over my scalp and comforting me. My clit throbs from neglect but I know if I ask for somebody, anybody to touch me that I won’t be a good girl anymore. Good little sluts wait patiently for their turn to cum, and I’m a good slut.
“Very good class, see how she’s drooling? I think she deserves a reward, don’t you?” Teacher says, and I hear a chair being dragged to the front of the class. The students all murmur in agreement that I deserve a reward and I smile dizzily, relieved and desperate.
“Hayley, would you come sit here please?” Teacher asks, and I hear somebody come to sit where the chair had been placed. Teacher’s hands grasp my upper arms and they gently pull me up to standing, turning me around so I face the class and can see the Butch sitting in the centre of the group. Hayley has rich tanned skin and dark hair that reaches her waist, pulled back in a braid. They smile at me knowingly and pat on his lap, beckoning me. For a moment I’m not sure if they mean for me to sit on his lap or bend over it. Sam darts in and places a knee pillow at the side of the chair, answering my unspoken question, and with Teacher’s help I slowly kneel and drape myself over Hayley’s lap. I tremble a bit as I brace myself against Hayley’s leg, not sure exactly where this is going.
“Now just because she’s been a good girl doesn’t mean that she gets to cum without it being a learning experience. Hayley is a very skilled impact player and will demonstrate a more intense spanking style while we make our femme cum. Do you consent, dear?” Teacher asks.
I nod enthusiastically, both scared for the spanking since my ass already throbs slightly, but so deliriously turned on that I would accept anything to be allowed to cum.
“Out loud, or it doesn’t count, darling.”
“Yes yes please!” I cry, wiggling my ass just to accentuate my point. “I need to cum please Hayley please Teacher!”
Before I’ve even finished whining Hayley’s first strike comes down on my ass. I had felt on the table like I had nowhere to go when I was hit, but over Hayley’s lap the feeling is even stronger. Each impact jostles me against her legs and I clutch to her ankle and the leg of the chair to steady myself. She works into a steady rhythm that has me crying out and gasping, each strike sending waves of arousal and pain into my pussy and through my body.
But nobody else touches me.
They pant and touch themselves.
And watch.
Tears start to slide down my cheeks from the overstimulation and I moan desperately, maybe begging out loud, maybe only in my head. Finally my prayers are answered as I feel two fingers slide deep inside me with ease, instantly curling in a way I’ve only felt one person do before. I moan wantonly as Sam’s fingers work their magic inside, fucking me with both speed and precision as Hayley continues to spank me. The sounds in the room are a cacophony of wet squelches and smacks and my loud cries of pain and pleasure, I’m sure if I were able to lift my head I would see most of the class jacking off to the sight. Sam slides her other hand between my legs and strokes it over my clit, and I come undone instantly.
The orgasm takes over every muscle in my body as I convulse and nearly scream from the pleasure, clutching Hayley’s leg with my nails hard enough that I’m sure I leave imprints even through his pants. Once it subsides I go limp over Hayley’s knee, whimpering and gasping and clenching around Sam’s fingers. Hayley drags her hands over my sensitive ass, soothing some of the ache that now feels like it reaches my bones.
All too soon Sam’s fingers slip out of me, and seconds later I hear Hayley let out a muffled moan. Surely tasting me on Sam. I wish I could bring myself to raise my head and watch, but I have nowhere near enough strength in my body. I feel strong hands again grasp me by the shoulders and lift me with ease, bringing me to stand in front of the class.
Teacher presses their lips against my ear as they hold me upright. One hand pressed flat against my navel to keep my back flush against their chest. “Can you handle a finale, brave little femme?”
A small tremor goes through my exhausted body at the thought of more spanking, not sure if I can handle any more abuse to my ass in one night. Especially considering this was already a very intense introduction to the art.
“What kind of finale?” I whimper, aware of how needy I sound even through my uncertainty. I could really go for another orgasm.
“I’m going to slap you in the face, and while I do I’ll make sure you cum again.” Teacher’s voice and warm breath on my neck has my eyes fluttering already, and I find myself agreeing.
I had barely been spanked before this class, and now I’m allowing myself to get slapped in the face. I can hardly believe the situation but at the same time I can’t deny the way my whole body throbs with desire at the thought of being dominated in that way. Any logical hesitations being washed away by needs of the complete slut I’ve become.
Hayley has cleared out of the chair and it has now been placed at an angle to the audience of students, Sam having placed on it a small ridged toy that I had never seen before. Not a dildo, but something more flat and textured. I wasn’t at all surprised when Teacher guided me to sit on the chair, straddling the toy. The pressure it placed against my clit had me groaning and trying to subtly rock my hips for just a bit more friction. I felt Sam’s warm hands grasp my wrists from behind the chair and pull me back so I sat with good posture and arms completely immobile. Panting, I gazed up at Teacher and waited for their next move.
“Now class, as our final demonstration I will show some face slapping techniques. Watch carefully where I place the strikes and how hard I hit, this is far more advanced than I would expect most of you to attempt at home.” Teacher purred, grasping my chin in one hand and aligning my face how they wanted it.
I looked up at them with wide eyes as they dragged fingers down my cheek, so softly and tenderly that the slap which followed took me a moment to register. The stinging in my face and eyes sent a confused mixture of feelings through me. Shame and arousal and fear and excitement all swirling into one ball of emotion and making my head feel fuzzy.
“Turn it on now.” Teacher instructed, and my gaze flicked to the students where one stud held a remote in her hand. She pressed a button and the toy beneath me buzzed to life, sending vibrations directly through my clit and making me moan loudly. Pleasure rippled through me and my involuntarily my eyes fluttered shut.
I heard the crack of the slap before I felt it, forcing my eyes open in surprise to see Teacher smiling sadistically down at me. “Eyes on me, pretty femme.” They growled.
The sting on my cheek was stronger this time, and tears leaked down my face. I’m certain I looked a complete mess, restrained with my hair a disaster and mascara running down my red cheeks, ass bruised and throbbing. A fucked out slut for yet another room full of butches.
The thought only turned me on more. I whimpered as the vibrations of the toy started to coax out a familiar feeling between my legs. Instinctively I ground myself down on the toy, not letting myself look away from Teacher as they watched me and squeezed my face with their strong hand.
“Are you going to cum?” They asked.
I half-moaned half-sobbed in response, nodding my head desperately as the orgasm quickly approached, the vibrations shooting through my entire body.
Teacher slapped me again, hard, and I came at the exact same time. The pain and pleasure mingling and mixing until I had no idea where one ended and the next began. So closely linked and both incredibly intense. I must have been loud but I couldn’t hear myself past the rushing in my ears.
The toy didn’t turn off as I came down, just continued to buzz away against my overstimulated clit as I panted and stared up at Teacher with a watery and dazed expression. A chorus of moans and grunts from the butches in the class filled my ears as they each came down from their own orgasms.
“Can you handle another slap?” Teacher asked, the corner of their lip twitching into a smile as I nodded pathetically. So far beyond any kind of cognitive thought or ability to recognize when I was too far gone to handle more. My fuck-addled brain just craved.
“Turn it off.” The buzzing beneath me stopped abruptly and I whined, but also let out a small sigh of relief at the same time, drooping a bit against the back of the chair.
“As you can see, she’s so fucked out now that she’ll agree to almost anything. There’s no way she can handle any more impact, it would overwhelm her and she’s too far gone to consent regardless. It is also the responsibility of a dom to end a scene for the safety of your sub, if they are too far gone into sub space to know they’ve reached their limit.” Teacher explained, their thumb absentmindedly stroking over my cheekbone as they spoke. “Thank you for attending today’s session, please speak with Sam on your way out if you have any questions regarding further courses or the material we covered today. We’ll cover aftercare another time, this one needs some private rest now.”
I heard chairs being pushed back as the butches packed up, talking softly amongst themselves. Sam’s hands let go of my wrists and I wavered a bit until Teacher’s strong arms wrapped around me and helped me lay down on the fuck table on my stomach. The cold mat against my burning cheeks was a welcome sensation and I let out short shuddering breaths as Teacher smoothly and methodically cleaned me up. They massaged cooling lotion over my ass, pressing delicate kisses to my lower back and thighs as they went.
Once the class had cleared out, Sam joined in the aftercare, running a brush through my hair and whispering sweet praise. As I came back down to reality the ache in my body became real, and it was abundantly clear that any kind of movement or sitting was going to be a world of discomfort. Probably for multiple days. I caught myself softly crying, not from regret or feeling used, just as a let-down of the intense sensations the session had put me through. Teacher and Sam gently eased me into their arms and held me as I cried, keeping me sandwiched between their warm bodies to ground me.
“Is there anything specific that you need for aftercare, love?” Teacher whispered in my ear, their strong hand brushing tears off of my sore cheeks.
I gazed up at them, their rich skin and impossibly deep eyes. “Can you kiss me?”
They lowered their mouth over mine without answering and I moaned low and soft against their lips. Their kiss always grounded me at the end of a class, and they always indulged me whatever I asked for aftercare. Always.
Sam’s lips placed fluttering kisses along my shoulders as I lose myself for a moment in Teacher’s taste, the feeling of their tongue and body against mine.
When I eventually stop crying they gently detangle themselves from me, and Teacher instructs instruct Sam to take me home and watch over me for a couple days. The familiar comfort of a soft blanket settles around my body as Teacher scoops me up and carries me back to my car, our ritual now, after however many classes where I end up in a similar state by the end.
As the car rumbles me nearly to sleep on the ride home, I play over and over in my mind the sight of Teacher towering over me in their white button-up. The feeling of their palm cracking against my cheek and sending waves of pleasure-pain through my body. Hayley’s hand coming down on me over and over.
The ache in my body is good. The ache is my reward. And I know when the ache fades I’ll be hopeless, desperate for more.
That night unlocked something inside me, and I couldn’t wait to see what we could unlock next.
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thimbell · 1 year
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Doodle requests ay?? How about MM Raph meeting Rise Raph? They are besties your honor
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your brain is huge and you are correct. verdict passed
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alasarys · 3 months
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definitelynotshouting · 5 months
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Trick
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okay
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yallemagne · 6 months
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put more layers on Seward, he's freezing outside :(((
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How it's going at the asylum.
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sherlockianpancakes · 2 years
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Sunrise Sunset song FULL compilation:
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mystery-star · 6 months
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What would it be like to be spock,s mate/ other half ?
This goes for a Non-Vulcan, gender-neutral reader 
Words: 841 
Warnings: none 
First off, Spock would cherish and love you very much – in his own way. 
So at fist it would take you some time to being able to read him and find out what his love language and way of showing his caring for you is. 
Maybe that first phase can be frustrating because it feels like he’s still rather distant. Tho he’d actually need some time to get used to the whole situation and know how to deal with it. 
But once you figured him out, so much he did earlier in the relationship would make sense. And of course anything else he does in the future. 
It would take him some time too to get to know and fully trust you before he will tell you about what he thinks (and feels if he does have a feeling for once) 
He will almost never say ‘I love you’ but use other words like ‘I cherish you’ or ‘You mean very much to me’ or ‘I must admit that I am feeling a sense of happiness I cannot and do not wish to suppress if I think about you having decided to be my mate’. 
Which, if you consider him being Vulcan, is something very sweet to say. 
He will always remember anything you told him and not forget any birthdays, anniversaries etc. and will also be able to gift you something that you maybe just mentioned in passing. 
He’s not the most touchy person – especially in the beginning – and will not often initiate physical contact with you. Or at least ask first like if you’d like a hug when you’re not feeling well. 
Which doesn’t mean he doesn’t like physical contact – it's just something he’s not used to and after a while he will even enjoy it when you just hug him. (But of course you respect his boundaries if he sets any and will also try to hold back some touches so you’re not constantly touching him) 
If you don’t work on the same ship as he does, your relationship often becomes long-distance, consisting mainly of regular calls. 
Which also means that moments he’s back with you are something to be cherished and enjoyed, making you try to spend as much time together as you can. 
He’d make it clear that he also has a responsibility to the crew and the ship. Meaning his work usually comes first. 
Then again, if he feels like your life is in danger he might even make a rash and not so logical decision sometimes.  
Your little quirks would amuse him to no end and he’d find them super cute but he’d never admit it. 
But if you mention them being silly, he will correct you, saying they’re a part of you and that he loves you as a person and you wouldn’t be you without your quirks, meaning he doesn’t want you without them. 
You totally could have long talks with him and sometimes the biggest challenge is that they don’t turn into a monologue of him where he’s talking and talking about a topic. (eg something scientific or one of their adventures they’ve been on) 
Of course you would introduce your families to each other and Amanda loves you from second one, treating you like a second child 
Sarek is of course more reserved about it all and he might seem scary at the beginning but with time you learn to read him too and that he means very well and is fond of you as well. 
Spock would teach you a lot about Vulcan and it’s culture while you try to show him things from your world and make him more open to them. And it’s much fun to see him try and struggle with some things (take Inline skating as a basic example) 
Jealousy would totally not be a thing. Because you know that if someone flirts with him it would be illogical if he paid attention to it (and might not even notice what they’re doing). And he trusts you too and knows that there is nothing he has to worry about if people try to flirt with you.  
However, there sometimes is the thought within him that he fears you could leave him for ‘someone better’, who is from your own race and would be able to show their love for you more openly. 
Meaning that then it’s up to you to comfort and reassure him that he’s the only person in the whole galaxy you want. 
It gets better once you get married because of the mating bond that would be done then.  
The wedding would be mixed, part Vulcan, part from your world. And it most likely would come to be when he’s experiencing Pon-Farr. 
But he has informed you about it and even proposed so he’d know that if it happens to him you will be willing to take him as your husband (or wouldn’t feel forced to just do it to save his life) and that it isn’t all totally surprising to you. 
Thank you so much for your ask and sorry this took a while.  (also I really hope I got it right and this was about what you wanted xD)
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underhanded-lamb · 18 days
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Could we have Sun and Moon wearing Cupid themed outfits since we're still in Valentine's Month?
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TFW you spend weeks planning a Valentine's Day surprise but your dork-ass boyfriend activates his trap card (a garbage meme spray painted t-shirt)
I am so sorry for how late this response is 😔 the passage of time is a cruel mistress 🥲
(dramatization of me receiving this ask below the cut /j) :
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pianokantzart · 11 months
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Could you possibly do an essay on the Mario and Luigi reunion from the movie? It’s such a beautiful moment 🥺
There is very little I can say that has not been said already, but doggone it I'm gonna SAY IT ANYWAY.
All images are taken from this post: X
They're so happy. Luigi's smile is not only the first time he's genuinely smiled since his capture, but the biggest smile of the film. He looks like he's about to explode from joy.
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He has gone through hell. Everything for the past few days has been mayhem, misery, and confusion, and throughout it all Mario has been on the forefront of his mind. Luigi's heard word of his big brother traveling with a princess, but that's all. But now, seconds from a horrible demise, Mario swoops down out of nowhere and plucks him from the jaws of death.
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Mario lands, putting his little brother down on safe terrain. Luigi still wears that giant, "oh my God I can't believe this is actually happening" grin. Mario clutches his heart like it's about to burst, and immediately goes in to hug Luigi like they've never hugged before.
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Mario is audibly on the verge of tears. Everything he's done throughout the film has been an effort to get here. He has broken into a royal palace, threatened a princess, angrily confronted a king, fought a gorilla, burst out of the gullet of a giant eel and battled his way through hoards of Koopa Troopers, all so he can see his brother again. And now his brother is here, and he's okay.
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Is Luigi okay? Mario has heard terrible things about Bowser. He had barely arrived in time to rescue Luigi from falling to his death. He cups Luigi's face in his hands, presses their foreheads together, looks deep into his eyes. He has to know this is real, that they are here... that Luigi is okay despite all odds.
The euphoria overwhelms him. Mario goes in for a second hug, shaking his brother and picking his him off the ground, confirming that Luigi is, in fact, standing in front of him.
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At last, he is satisfied enough to set his brother down. He's still looking at him with some sense of disbelief as Luigi lets out a heavy sigh; days of dread and anxiety, released. Big brother is here. Everything's going to be alright.
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Immediately, Luigi falls into his old role of verbal reassurance. Out of both genuine confusion and a desire to comfort his sibling he starts teasing.
"Mario, why are you dressed like a bear? What is this!?"
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Mario smiles wide. He doesn't know how to explain it, he hasn't really questioned anything so long as it brought him one step closer to reuniting with Luigi.
But yeah... now that he brings it up, it is all kind of weird isn't it.
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softest-punk · 8 months
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Hiya, could you pretty pretty please do a 12. and 33. prompt for the ineffable husbands? I keep thinking of Bentley just locking them in and not letting them out until they talk cupboard trope style 😔
Yessssss :D
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"Now you listen to me Crowley, you are going to tell your car—"
"Our car."
Aziraphale stops. Blinks. Gives up on fighting with the door handle.
"What did you say?" he asks.
"It's our car," Crowley repeats, more of a mumble this time, looking away from Aziraphale. A raindrop runs down the window, and he follows it with his eyes until it pools at the bottom, joining the great conference of former raindrops gathering there. They're in for a night of it, by the looks of the sky. "You said that. You made that true. So you're as much at fault as I am for it locking us in."
"I don't see how this is my fault. You kidnapped—"
"Kidnapped? I rescued you. That's. That's what I do. That's what the almighty made me for, I think," he huffs, still not looking at Aziraphale.
One rescue does not a rift mend. He's owed an apology. And even though everything's gone to heaven, like he predicted, he still hasn't gotten one.
He'd take a lot less. He doesn't need to hear that he was right. He needs to hear that Aziraphale's sticking with him this time.
The Bentley is, at least temporarily, seeing to that. Crowley gives the steering wheel a gentle pat. He genuinely has nothing to do with the doors being locked and apparently immune to miracles or temptation, but he thinks it's trying to help.
If nothing else, the constant itch of not being able to reach out and touch Aziraphale, if he wanted, has vanished for a bit. The ache of missing him has eased back just a fraction. It's a good car. A good, loyal car.
"You're cold," he says, shrugging out of his jacket without even having to look at Aziraphale. It's cold out tonight, in the middle of bloody nowhere, and he gets cold easily. Crowley doesn't want him to be cold.
"You'll be cold," Aziraphale says as Crowley shoves his body-warmed jacket at him.
"Demon," he says. "Don't get cold."
Theoretically, an angel ought not to get cold either. Thing is. Aziraphale's never actually been a very good angel. Not that Crowley would ever tell him that to his face.
Besides, he's his angel. He's allowed to be not very good.
"Thank you," Aziraphale says, taking the jacket and spreading it over himself like a blanket.
Silence, except for the pit-pat of rain against the car, falls. And Aziraphale's breathing. Crowley's missed the way he breathes.
He literally twiddles his thumbs in his lap, trying to think of something to say or do.
"Things are a bit of a mess," Aziraphale says after what might have been several eternities. Crowley's lost count.
He opens his mouth to say something—something comforting, like that it's not all that bad, or that they'll figure it out, they're a team, they always figure it out.
And then Aziraphale continues, "and you tried to warn me."
His voice sounds so small that Crowley, naturally, like he always does, deflates like a sat-on whoopee cushion. Because the thing about Aziraphale is that he always really is trying to do the right thing. Because he still believes there's one true Right Thing to do. Because he's precious and wonderful and optimistic and good. Not a good angel. But a good person.
"Did you ever wonder why I might try to do that?" Crowley asks.
He's not sure he wants an answer. Either one's going to hurt.
Aziraphale falls silent again, which is probably for the best. The way the moonlight's hitting the window now, Crowley can see him reflected in it. Still the same Aziraphale. Heaven hasn't really changed him.
"Do you really think God created you to look out for me?"
Crowley sighs. "I don't know. Plan's, y'know, ineffable."
"Well it would explain why you keep doing it," Aziraphale says. "If it's all in the plan."
"Right," Crowley draws in on himself. Not getting through right now, then. "No other possible explanation for it, really."
"Well. There is one other possible explanation," Aziraphale offers hesitantly.
"Oh?" Crowley asks.
"Well... you might. I suppose. Be fond of me?"
Crowley glances over at him. Sighs. Okay, well. He's come to that conclusion, then. It's only taken a little over six thousand years. Practically no time at all.
He takes his sunglasses off. Stares out of the windscreen. Wonders if he can actually be discorporated by way of stomach knots. Gnaws on his lip.
And then gets very, very brave. "I might be," Crowley says, forcing himself to look Aziraphale in the eye. "I might even be in love with you."
Aziraphale swallows. He looks like he might either be sick or pass out from what Crowley realises at the last second isn't disgust.
It's nerves.
"You might," he says, looking away as he fiddles with Crowley's jacket. "And. And if you were. That would be very convenient for me. Because I... I think I've been in love with you for a very long time."
Crowley means to say something to that, but the nice satisfying thunk of the Bentley unlocking beats him to it.
"Well," Crowley says, running his tongue over his teeth. "That's probably enough to save the world, then. Shall we?"
Aziraphale lights up, bright and beautiful and good as always. "I think we really must."
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ardentlylesbian · 5 months
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Butch orgasm denial for 🐺
Contains: orgasm denial, vibes, straps, overstim
I’d been teasing you for weeks. Well, maybe teasing is too kind of a word for what I’d been doing to you. You’re forbidden from masturbating (that was a given), so I made sure to only wear my sexiest lingerie around the house, or nothing at all. You also can’t touch me without my express permission, so you’d have no choice but to stare and drool and wish you could satisfy that itch but you can’t.
We’d have sex of course, but I’d be sure to tie your hands to the headboard, my sweet strong Butch rendered completely helpless beneath me as I’d ride your strap. We can’t risk you slipping a hand down to touch yourself, can we? Whenever the strap would start to give you too much friction, you’d start making the most pathetic gasps and moans which would cue me in to how close you were. You’d try to hide them sometimes but the longer I denied you, the harder it would be for you to pretend you weren’t close to cumming from fucking me. When I heard those moans I’d pull off you quickly and switch to a thigh harness, so you don’t get any more sensation as you watch me cum all over your leg. Some days I wouldn’t let you touch me at all, just watch as I pleasure myself and cry out your name. A few times I’d even slide a vibrator inside myself, then have you grind yourself against me. Watching the reactions you’d have to both the sight of me pinned beneath you and the sensation of the mild vibrations against your dick. Of course, whenever you’d get close I’d push you off of me and cum hard around the vibrator, holding your hand as you pant with desire and frustration at yet another orgasm denied just moments before satisfaction.
When one day you nearly cum just from me kissing your neck and letting you hold my breasts in your hands, I’d know you were ready for the real fun to begin.
That evening I’d tell you to be ready on the bed with my favourite strap on, be a good boy for me, sweetheart.
You’d obey and watch obediently as I strip in front of you, your breath catching with each article of clothing I remove. Still standing at the end of the bed, I’d start to touch myself. Dragging my hands over my tits, down my body, between my legs. Playing with myself and gasping your name, never once looking away. You’d be shaking and humping the air within moments, poor thing, so easily aroused after all this teasing I’ve been putting you through.
Once I was wet enough I’d crawl into your lap, placing a soft kiss against your lips. Lining myself up with your strap, I’d slowly sink down onto your length until you were buried to the hilt inside me. You’d grab the pillows and whine at the sight, I’d almost think that you could feel my warm wet pussy enveloping your cock, from the way you reacted.
Be a good boy for me, if you can hold off long enough while I use you, I might let you cum tonight. Can you be a good?
In response you’d nod and whine and buck your hips up into me, making me cry out and brace myself on your chest.
Good, I need you to start slow and fuck me the way I like to be fucked, okay?
You’d grab my hips in response and start to help me move them over your strap, pushing so deep inside me with each thrust. Soon I’d be crying out your name and squeezing a hand around your neck, while you thrust and shudder and gasp beneath me.
I’m going to cum fuck baby fuck I’d gasp Don’t you dare cum from watching me baby, it’s not your turn yet
You’d be groaning and shuddering underneath me, so eager to please but so close to the edge that each thrust into me would be torture. I’d lean down to kiss you passionately as I cum hard on your cock, swallowing your cries as you try so hard for me not to tip over the edge from me clenching around you.
Once I come down from my high I’d kiss you again, gently, and brush away the tears that had slipped down your cheeks.
You’re my good boy aren’t you baby? You’ve done such a good job for me, waiting this long to cum. Flip me over and fuck me again.
You’d oblige, flipping me onto my back even though your arms and legs trembled as you did it. Sinking back inside me with a groan and letting your forehead rest against mine.
Fuck me hard.
You’d whine at the order, knowing that getting to be rough with me was one of the surefire ways to get you to cum inside. Not knowing how you can possible hold back any longer as you start to thrust into me, deep and hard. I’d be gasping and writhing beneath you, my tits bouncing with each thrust and my nails digging into your shoulders.
Soon enough you’d start to make your pathetic noises, your hips stuttering and face flushing deeply. I’d pull your head down so my lips brush your earlobe, my warm breath caressing your check
Cum inside me.
You’d cum instantly. Burrowing yourself as deep as possible inside me you’d collapse and shake from head to toe, grabbing my hair and face and arms to try to keep a grasp on reality as a month worth of orgasms hit you at once. The pleasure so intense that sobs wrack your body and my name spills from your lips like a prayer. I’d run my hands through your hair and press kisses to every inch of skin I could reach, helping to ease you through the sensations. When you finally still above me, your whole weight pressing me down into the mattress and deep shuddering breaths gasping out of you, I’d whisper in your ear,
That was number one.
And smile at the broken noise you make in response.
You’ve been so good seeing how many times you can hold yourself back, now I get to see how many times I can make you cum. That’s what you wanted, right baby?
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thimbell · 1 year
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Art requests?? Ya taking art requests?? Uhhh MM PB+J cuz I love them!!
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I love that they’re called PB+J. Can’t wait to see what kind of trouble these two will get up to >:)
Really showing my age with this one though, huh?
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primal-con · 2 months
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I’m blaming you for my inevitable Jazzwave brainrot just fyi
Yes!!! My evil plan is working >:DDD
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Jazzwave be upon ye!
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tealmaskmybeloved · 20 days
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Perhaps Kieran becomes more serpent-like? Because:
He has a Hydrapple
The Bible states Satan as a snake.
The Mesoamerican god, Quetzalcóatl. Resembles a serpent.
It’s perfect if you think about it
I see, makes sense, Kieran being serpent-like
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