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aseriesofunfortunatetexts · 8 years

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All right, so I was trying to write a short little Esmé/Georgina/Olaf snippet for @countolafnph, and somehow it ended up being 2700 words long. I hate it, and my life, I’m basically just waiting for the sweet embrace of death over here, but until that happens, how about I let all of you watch my descend into poorly structured fic hell too? Oh, there are smutty parts btw. Surrounded by way too much blabbering, but they’re there.

She honestly doesn’t even notice that Olaf has stopped trying to be part of their conversation before it is pointed out to her so rudely by Olaf himself.

In Georgina’s defense, Esmé is one of the most fascinating people she has met in her entire life. She has always had a very hard time explaining this to other Volunteers back when they used to meet up to discuss work and consumed a bit too much alcohol, back before the Schism finally broke them apart for good, because those boring, narrow-minded idiots would look at Esmé’s most distinctive personality traits – namely her obsession with beauty, fashion, glamour, and what’s “in”, as well as her perfect disregard of any person who isn’t herself – and see them as proof of what a rotten human being she is. Meanwhile in Georgina’s world, these things are what she admires most about her on-off-maybe-sometimes-lover. She can listen to Esmé drawl on for hours about recent developments in fashion, changes in the restaurant scene, which clubs are hot and which ones you should never go to unless you want to be ostracized from polite society, simply because she enjoys how passionately Esmé feels about it all. Georgina has always been drawn to passionate people, and while it has gotten her into trouble in the past, she hasn’t been able to bring herself to quit this particular habit just yet.

In turn, it’s obvious that Esmé appreciates finally having a proper audience for once. Her pathetic excuse of a husband isn’t interested in these things at all, and while his cowardice and fear of conflict leads him to make constant attempts to pretend like he cares to gain Esmé favor, it’s obvious to everyone involved that he doesn’t actually care. Olaf can fake interest quite convincingly for a short amount of time, especially if the conversation revolves around what a delightfully cruel person Esmé is, but he will start getting too bored to keep up the act within an hour. Or he will realize that he won’t be awarded for his obvious sacrifice with sex, and you can see it very clearly on his face when he does.

Georgina on the other hand doesn’t have to fake anything, she loves every second they spend together, no matter what intrinsically pointless things Esmé wants them to do. Once in a while, when she plays her cards right, Esmé will take her out shopping during her visit, and that is the experience of a lifetime. Esmé clearly admires Georgina’s personal style, because rather than simply trying to force her into things that are in at the time, like she does with literally everyone else, she will try to find ways to combine the two. Like when Orientalism was suddenly in for two weeks and all the women in polite society had to wear saris, the brighter the better. Esmé bought her a dress in dark blue silk instead, in the professional cut Georgina prefers, covered in the most beautiful embroidery, elaborate flowers made of silver thread and tiny sapphires, all of them glinting like stars when she moved. They went to a party uptown later in the evening, probably hosted by someone important, but all Georgina remembers from it is that Esmé never took her eyes off her all through dinner, and as soon as the plates were cleared she dragged Georgina into the bathroom without a word, accidentally tearing open a seam in the dress when she tried to rip it off her too quickly. Neither of them cared.

They brought Olaf along for one of these shopping trips once, and it was well worth the energy it took to convince him to come. They managed to buy two nice suits for him before they accidentally got too close to the women’s section, and after that it was all dresses and lingerie for the next six hours. What should have been a brief weekend visit ended up with them staying in the penthouse for a week, just so they could fully appreciate every purchase – a phrase that here means treat Olaf like a dress up doll all day long, fuck in all of the seventy-one bedrooms at their disposal, as well as most of the living rooms, dining rooms, sitting rooms, standing rooms, etc. only pausing on occasion to eat and discuss who is the most pathetic loser, Jerome or Lemony Snicket, and then moving on to whatever dress and/or room came next.

Olaf had looked particularly gorgeous splayed out on the polar bear skin rug in front of the fireplace in the southwest corner library, wearing ridiculously expensive lingerie in deep, blood-red colored lace, with a matching garter belt to keep up a pair of sheer stockings, the crisp white fur beneath him a stark contrast to the black wig he favored that week, his make-up perfectly applied, And even though Georgina and Esmé did nothing but look at him for a very long time, he didn’t mind at all, he just basked in their undivided attention. When Esmé told him that they wouldn’t be touching him, that he would touch himself based on their instructions instead, he didn’t voice a single complaint, in fact he practically purred at the idea. He was so well-behaved that night, doing anything they asked, never reaching down to touch his cock before they told him to, even as the front of his pretty panties became more and more soaked with pre-come the longer the torture continued. By the time they finally decided to take pity on him, all it took to break him was a simply question: “Would you like to come, Olaf?”

The noise he made was so beautiful, a whimper so high-strung that even Esmé couldn’t deny him when he finally managed to whisper, “Yes.”

Esmé had gotten to her feet and slowly walked over to his tense, sweat-soaked form, bending down low enough to see that his mascara had started running, and he had ruined his carefully applied lipstick by biting his lips. She reached for his face, dragging her sharp fingernails down his cheek, then along his jawline, smirking when he sighed at the touch. “You know the magic word.”

Olaf’s eyes, previously unfocused and clouded with lust, had cleared immediately, and for a moment all he did was stare at Esmé in silence. They never really know how he will react to such a bold demand, whether it will be met with defiance or not. That time it was met with surrender, unconditional surrender. “Please,” would no doubt have sufficed, but he went on to actually beg afterwards. Esmé rewarded his decision by kneeling down next to him on the rug, tracing her fingers in nonsensical patterns down his heaving chest while Olaf pushed his hand down the front of his panties and finally grabbed his cock, moaning so loud that if Jerome was somewhere in the penthouse at the time, and he probably was, he would definitely have heard.

As high strung as he was, Olaf hadn’t lasted long after that. When Esmé caught one his nipples between her fingertips, pinched it hard, and called him “our pretty little slut”, it was all over, and Olaf came with a roar, arching his back off the rug. Some of his come landed on Esmé hand, and for a second he looked terrified when he noticed. But Esmé simply held the hand out towards him, and as he licked it clean, Georgina could see the color of his cheeks deepening, even though they were still flushed from his orgasm, and she mentally added another entry on her long list of Kinky Shit Olaf Likes.

… But she digresses.

Esmé is making them another round of drinks at the bar (this week’s hottest cocktail: The Mamarita. It has wine in it, so Olaf approves), happily listing all the places she would have taken them this evening, if it weren’t for the fact that all of them were 'out' by lunch. Georgina stands by the windows, enjoying the gorgeous view as she listens, only to be startled by Olaf suddenly sliding up to her. He steps right into her personal space, forcing her to crane her neck back to look him in the eye. The decidedly irritated – and therefor very unattractive - look on Olaf’s face does very little to convince Georgina that she ought to shift her attention from a woman as beautiful and alluring as Esmé to a petty man-child like him. But it does make her realize that it’s been a while since Olaf spoke, or maybe it’s just been a while since she cared to listen. In any case, the lack of attention they’ve paid him has obviously become too much to bear. Still, he doesn’t say anything, he just glares at her, so Georgina decides to forego words as well, tilting her head a bit and smirking instead of actually asking ‘what do you want now?’

For a while nothing happens. Then, with a gracefulness that you wouldn’t expect a man Olaf’s age to be capable of, he carefully drops to his knees in front of her. Oh, the look on his face is still angry, bitchy even, endless defiant despite the position he just put himself in. Georgina almost laughs at him. Olaf really brings a whole new meaning to the term ‘attention whore’, although she supposes she shouldn’t feel too above it all in this situation, because his ruse is going to work; she can’t say no to him when he gets on his knees, no matter how obvious it is that he’s only doing it because he can’t think of another way to get her attention. Does it count as being manipulated when you realize that it’s happening and allow yourself to be pulled along anyway?

Esmé is still talking, oblivious to what is going on behind her back. Georgina tries to keep listening, but then Olaf puts his hands on her ankles, slowly gliding his long fingers upwards along her calves with enough pressure that she can feel the touch clearly through the boots she’s wearing, never breaking eye contact with her at any point. When he reaches the upper edges of the boots he lightens the pressure, running his fingertips teasingly along the bare skin just above them while Georgina tries her best to keep her breathing steady, before finally curling his fingers around the back of both her knees and resting them there, his thumbs pressed against the sides of her kneecaps. If he had been holding on tighter one might have been tempted to accuse him of clinging to her knees, but like this it’s somewhere between playful and reverent. The effect his touch is having on her – damn him for knowing her this well – must be clear, because his scowl is fading, quickly replaced with growing smugness. Obviously he decides to push his luck then, releasing her knees with a leer and trying to slide his fingers up the back of her thighs and under her skirt.

Georgina punishes that startling display of insolence in the same way she always does, by delivering sharp blow with the end of her cane to the part of Olaf’s body that happens to be within closest striking distance. In this case it’s his thigh. He lets out a sharp gasp, his fingers stopping their journey upwards immediately, although he doesn’t let go of her. His eyes are shining brighter than usual, his pupils already growing large with arousal, and when Georgina reaches down to card the fingers of her free hand through his hair, he leans into the touch like a cat seeking attention from its owner. She indulges him for a little while before grabbing a fistful of hair without warning, pulling it sharply to force him to tilt his head back and expose his throat to her. He has a very nice throat, actually, and the noise he makes when you pull his hair is very nice as well, an appealing mixture or pain and delight.

Said noise must have gotten Esmé attention, because she suddenly stops talking, and when Georgina manages to tear her eyes away from Olaf to look at her, she finds that Esmé has turned to face them, finished cocktails held loosely in her hands. The wicked smile she directs at Olaf’s kneeling form makes Georgina’s pulse skip a beat. “Have we been neglecting you, darling?”

Olaf looks ready to deliver a snarky response, so Georgina gives his hair another hard yank, and the only sound he ends up making is a long hiss. “Don’t ruin it already,” Georgina says. “You were doing so well, keeping your mouth shut.”

For a few seconds Olaf seems to be silently debating how best to proceed from here. He has their undivided attention now, so all that’s left is for him to decide what he wants to do with it. It can’t have been a difficult decision, because moments later he allows all his muscles to relax, dropping his head back and willingly bearing his throat further without Georgina having to pull his hair to make him do it. He lets his hands falls from where they were still resting on Georgina’s things, and instead, very slowly, puts them behind his back. And even in this position, with every aspect of his body language screaming submission, his eyes are still glinting with barely concealed insolence. They will need to work to keep him like this.

Well, Georgina Orwell never shied away from doing some work. She lets go of Olaf’s hair and starts petting it instead, knowing how much he secretly likes that. “Say, Esmé?”

“Yes, darling?”

“Is submission ‘in’ these days?”

Esmé laughs brilliantly. “Submission is always in.”

“Lucky you, huh?” Georgina ask Olaf, dragging her fingernails along his scalp and smiling when he shudders.

Esmé leaves Olaf’s drink at the bar, but she brings one over for Georgina, who immediately accepts it without acknowledging Olaf’s pointed sigh at her decision to stop petting him in favor of alcohol. Like he’s got anything to say in regards to alcohol and priorities. “I’ve been meaning to ask,” Esmé says, reaching down for Georgina’s cane. “Have you ever used this on him?”

Olaf tenses momentarily, but when Esmé starts stroking her beautiful fingers up and down the cane just under the handle - which Georgina has to admit she is clutching a bit hard right now - the sight of her caressing the sleek black wood is obviously arousing enough to him that he soon manages to get a hold of himself and relax once more.

“No,” Georgina answers, unnecessarily.

Esmé giggles this time. “A good old fashioned caning is a beautiful thing.” As if sensing Georgina’s hesitation, she continues. “I’ll go first, show you how it’s done?”

The only immediate reaction that springs into Georgina’s mind is that she wants to kiss this amazing woman, so she does. Esmé’s lips taste like the cocktails they’ve been drinking and her expensive lipstick, and it’s the sweetest thing Georgina has ever tasted. They kiss until Olaf starts shifting his weight from one knee to the other in a clear sign of impatience, at which point Esmé pulls away back from Georgina to glare at him. “The fifth bedroom on the right. There are already ropes attached to the headboard. When we get there you’ll be naked and kneeling on the bed, ready to be tied up. You got that?”

Olaf is just as remarkable graceful when getting up from his knees as he is getting onto them, Georgina notes.

“Do you want to bet on how many strokes he can take before breaking?” Esmé asks once he is out of the room.

Georgina gives her a wry smile. “When was the last time we managed to break him?”

“There’s always a first,” Esmé says. “I’m betting ten.”

Georgina’s lack of experience with this particular kind of physical punishment makes is very hard for her to come up with a good estimate, but she decides to give Olaf more credit than Esmé apparently does; “Fifteen.”

Esmé smirks, taking a sip of her cocktail. “You’re on.”

#my fic #which i can't post on my main blog #because my real life friends follow that one #so here you go #A Series of Unfortunate Events #asoue #Count Olaf #Georgina Orwell #Esmé Squalor #sorry about this #look at me trying to write

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