#or cleopatra's nose

[attichoney4u]

Anyone else wondering how Pericles' head might look under his iconic helmet?

[thecatcrew]

Golden eyes of the beautiful Cleopatra ✨☀️🩶

[atomic-chronoscaph]

Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer - Shatner Claus by William Shatner (2018)

[lilyseverina]

The people with hooked noses really made them got famous lovers eh?

[menalez]

Do you think it’s valid of Egyptians to say their culture/history is being erased/rewritten by the black casting of cleopatra…cause she wasn’t even Egyptian either. If anyone, Greeks would be correct in claiming their culture/history is being erased/rewritten

hm i dont know if it would be correct for greeks to say that. yes, in terms of heritage, cleopatra was not ethnically egyptian. but she was born & raised in egypt. she did get greek education tho… idk i think its just a misrepresentation rather than a total rewriting. it also wasnt an accurate representation how they kept showing cleopatra as women that look like this:

[iancumminsauthor]

Cleopatra's nose and the planes of time...

[hier--soir]

a lover's pinch | five

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: you and your professor enjoy a day in new york. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, oral [m receiving], a smidge of cock worship, spoilers for antony and cleopatra by shakespeare lol, flirting, these fuckos kinda go on a date, prof joel is man of the arts idgaf, a tlou2 easter egg, oral [f receiving] and then oral [f receiving] again, sex acts in public, jealousy, sexting/nudes, unprotected piv sex, exhibitionism, dirty talk, light choking, overstimulation [f], pain kink, kinda dom!joel, describing men as pretty and beautiful because I LIKE IT, soft!joel. word count: 8.3k series masterlist | main masterlist a lover's pinch playlist a/n: so this whole thing is almost entirely sucking fucking and flirting, and i hope you enjoy it before we encounter angst. all credit to willy shakes for the passage from A&C that joel reads in the opening scene. thanks king for inspiring the title of this series lol xo this is part five of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two, three, four.

Sunday.

The sound of paper rustling wakes you. Muted scrapes of page shifting against page.

Through your lashes you can see a thin reed of sun streaming in the window, flaring across the end of the bed to warm your skin.  And there’s a dull ache between your legs; a rhythmic throb that dances and twists through your core, through the muscles in the inside of your thighs. The type of pain that is warm – soft in its caress, like the trail of a lover’s fingertips down your spine. A sort of remembrance, or celebration. And you welcome it eagerly; delight in the sharp reminder of how it felt to welcome his body inside yours again. The hot sting of every third second, the meticulous pulse and ache of flesh that you hope stays with you for days.

Another page turns.

 You tilt your head to the side, eyes open a mere crack, and smile at the secrecy of it. At the private sincerity of this man who lies awake, sporting nothing but the thin veil of a sheet, gaze fierce and focused on an endless stream of text that raps his attention. It’s a type of heaven for him, you realise. This resting place, as calm and tranquil it is. The only weight that bears down is in the place where his wrist bends, hand coiled around the spine of a book, fingers poised, flicking impatiently against the corner of a page, begging to turn it, to see more.

You take in every ripple of muscle, every dip and curve and freckle and scar. The jut of his elbow. The hard line of his jaw. Watch pink lips part and purr as he whispers the words on the page to himself, and think about how perfect that mouth felt between your thighs.

His fingers pinch the corner of a page, pressing it down into a dog ear before he moves onto the next. You wonder what piqued his interest, what collection of words made him want to mark it, to leave a trail for himself to come back one day and remember.

You break the silence finally. “What are you reading?”

Joel flinches, glasses jolting to the tip of his nose.

“You’re awake.”

“I am,” you hum. When he stares at you for a moment you just smile, snaking a hand out from the sheet to tap the page of his book. “Tell me.” 

“Shakespeare,” he murmurs, a faint blotch of red rising at the base of his neck. You want to kiss that blush—taste it. Want to know if his skin smells like you. “Antony and Cleopatra.”

“I love that one,” you yawn. “Where are you up to?”

 “Act five,” he says. “Cleopatra’s big scene.”

“Will you read it to me?” you smirk.

There’s an upward shift of an eyebrow. The spark of a curious glint in his eye. 

“Really?” he drawls, unimpressed.

“Please?” your smile softens into something kind, something honest.

With a sharp sigh, and a quick adjustment of his glasses, Joel begins to read.

“Give me my robe, put on my crown,” he begins slowly, as if unsure. “I have immortal longings in me: now no more. The juice of Egypt’s grape shall moist his lip: yare, yare, good Iras; quick.”

His voice is a low vibration, a honeyed sound that drifts through the air and has goosebumps raising across your skin. You watch his mouth shape the words, enamoured. Savouring every glimpse of his teeth, every slip of his tongue between them.

“Methinks I hear Antony call; I see him rouse himself to praise my noble act. I hear some mock the luck of Caesar, which the gods give men to excuse their after wrath. Husband, I come. Now to that name my courage prove my title.”

His hair is a mess. A shock of greying curls that have flattened against his scalp after a night of being pressed into his pillow, threatening to spring up again. That dull pain flares in your core again and you rub your thighs together in an attempt to quell the ache. But something stirs there—low, prowling just behind the pain. Something wet and wild that whispers his name. 

“I am fire and air,” Joel continues obliviously, licking his thumb to turn the page with ease. “My other elements I give to baser life. So; have you done?”

Slowly, listening—hanging—you shift against the mattress. Allow the sheet to fall down to your stomach, exposing your breasts to the morning air. Your nipples stiffen, chest tightening as he glances at them from the corner of his eye. He pauses, mouth ajar. Swallows. Brown eyes return to the page, and he continues to read.

“Come then, and take the last warmth from my lips.”

Your hand drifts across the mattress, hidden from sight as it traverses the soft plains of the sheets, the blankets, and then the skin of his thigh. Bare, but smattered with soft hairs that tickle your palm and fingertips. Goosebumps tear across his skin and his breathing hitches; the faintest cracks in his calm façade. You surpass where you can see him hardening, fingers floating up his side to rest against his stomach. Gently, you feel across the soft slopes and curves of his tummy. Glide your finger over the dip of his belly button and smile when he clears his throat, legs shifting in a restless dance. And then your hand shifts down. Past his happy trail, past the dark curls at his base, to wrap your fingers softly around his length.  

“Farewell, kind Charmian,” Joel’s voice deepens. “Iras, long farewell.”

You lower yourself on the bed, dragging the sheets with you until they rest wayward and wrinkled around his knees. Your cheek nuzzles against his thigh as you stroke him, humming in delight as his cock stiffens in your palm.

Joel sighs. “You don’t have to—”

“Keep going,” you hush, glancing up. He watches you over the top of his glasses, gaze darkening. There’s still sleep in the corners of his eyes, and it’s so soft, so domestic, it almost hurts. You look down, simpering as you admire the sight of his cock, now fully hard and leaking in your grasp.

The head is swollen, a flushed shade so reminiscent to that of his lips that you want to kiss him. But his skin is warm and smooth, like silk as you nuzzle his length against your face. Feel his wetness streak across your skin, over the closed line of your lips, the apple of your cheek. “Joel,” you urge him quietly when he still doesn’t speak.

“Have I the aspic in my lips?” His voice is hoarse when he continues; wanton, rough with sleep and desire. “Dost fall?”

You lathe soft kisses against the tip, along the vein that pulses along the side of his shaft, against the tight swell of his balls, taking your time with him. You giggle when he sucks in a sharp inhale, the muscles in his thighs tightening beneath your cheek.

“Such a pretty cock,” you whisper, swiping your fingers over his weeping head.

“Yeah?” he exhales and drops the book against his stomach, fingers reaching to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Gonna show me how much you like it?”

“Mhm,” you bat your eyelashes up at him.

Joel raises the book again, slowly, eyes unfocused and glassy but still watching—still devouring—the way your lips purse around his tip. His stomach tightens when your tongue leaves soft kitten licks against the slit, lapping at the salty precome that rests there.

“If thou and nature,” he murmurs. “Can so gently part.”

And it’s almost painful, the way he sounds. Exhalations of tragic Shakespeare mixed with soft gasps, with curses loosed beneath his breath. The occasional revered whisper of your name, spurring you on.

His free hand settles at the back of your head, thick fingers curling in your hair as your lips part to take him deeper inside your mouth. “Fuck,” he groans, hips shifting against the mattress. “That’s it, baby, god you’re good at that.”

You hum around the weight of him, stomach warming at the praise. Swirl your tongue generously around his girth, lathing saliva over his skin until it’s dripping down to his balls. You cup them gently in your palm, massage him as your lips drag to rest around his tip again, paying close attention to the way he gasps and sighs when the point of your tongue dances along the ridge at the underside of his head.

“Sensitive there?” you ask quietly, eyes flitting up to look at his face. His cheeks are flushed, eyebrows furrowed as he nods.

“S’good,” he confirms, fingers tightening in your hair as you rub that spot again. A fresh bead of precome oozes from his slit and you smile, fingers curling around his length to tap his tip against the flat of your tongue. “Jesus,” he mutters, eyelids fluttering. “Yeah, good girl.”

You shift down on him eagerly, letting the heavy weight of him slip against your tongue, inside the warmth of your mouth, until he’s pressing against the back of your throat and you can hear him moaning.

“Got the prettiest fuckin’ mouth, baby,” Joel whispers. “S’like a fuckin’ dream, seeing those lips on my cock again.”

You whimper and swallow around him. A tear squeezes out of the corner of your eye, trailing a shiny path down to your chin. In steady, measured movements, your head bobs up and down on his length, guided by the gentle press of his hand.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Take it all, baby, yea—yes.”

You relax your throat and take him deep enough to feel your nose brush against the rough hairs at his base.

“The stroke of death is as a lover’s pinch,” he reads, the cadence of his words stilted and breathy. “Which hurts, and is desired.”

Suddenly, his hips jut upward and you gag, throat constricting around him until your eyes are wet and blurry. He tugs gently on your hair, pulling you backward until you part from him with a splutter, messy strings of saliva dangling between your swollen mouth and his cock.

“God damn,” he swipes a finger across your lower lip. “Doin’ so good, sweetheart. So so good."

You think your eyes water more at that. Sweetheart.

“I want it,” you slur, lids heavy as you make eye contact with him.

“What do you want?” he pushes, cupping your jaw in his large palm. “Tell me.”

“Want you to come in my mouth,” your face warms and you lick your lips, fingers stroking him slowly. “Want all of it.” Everything.

“Okay,” Joel soothes, and then his hand drops from your hair so he can grip himself. Gently, he glides the tip along your bottom lip, trailing his salt across the skin of your chin, your cheeks, your nose, before finally pressing the head back against your tongue. “Take it, come on. It’s yours.” 

He presses between your lips, jaw tensing, and his eyes drift back to the book as you begin to move.

“Dost thou lie still?” he reads. “If thus thou vanishes, thou—Christ—thou tell’st the world.”

Your lips are tight around him, mouth sucking and moving in tandem with the strokes of your fingers, wrapped loosely around his base. Carefully, you shift to straddle his shins, forearms resting heavily against his thighs as you bring him to the brink of his orgasm. Yours.

“Fuck,” you hear him spit, and then he’s arching forward, the splay of his palm moving down the length of your spine until his fingers slip into the crevice between your ass cheeks. Gripping and squeezing the flesh there until you’re moaning too, the vibrations of your voice muddling with the wet sounds of your mouth against his cock. 

It doesn’t take much longer for coherent thought to evade him, Antony and Cleopatra flung to the wayside of the bed as his broad hands cradle your head, the tip of his cock nudging the back of your throat with every thrust. Your entire body is hot, slick with sweat, the musky scent of Joel filling your nostrils with every rushed inhale. The sounds he’s making turn rougher, deeper; raspy grunts and exhales that are almost animalistic in their intensity, and then—

“Fuckin—look at me,” he bites out, and watery eyes flutter open to meet his gaze. “Need to see those pretty eyes when I fill you up.”

And fuck you’re wet. So wet that it’s seeping onto the skin of your thighs, drooling out of you as you clench around sweet sweet nothing, cunt desperate and begging to be filled again. Tightening your fingers around his cock, you drag your mouth back to suck gently around the pulsating head, and when he comes it’s with a drawn-out, laboured groan that fades into harsh mutterings of your name and fuck and so fuckin’ good at that god damnit and that’s it, swallow it all baby, it’s yours, it’s yours, it’s yours.

You pull off him with a gasp, sucking in deep desperate breaths as you fall onto your back beside him.

Soft sheets stick to the sweat on your skin, and you close your eyes, vaguely aware of how the two of you breathe in sync; a high-strung cacophony of sharp inhales and heavy exhales.

After a few quiet moments you ask, “What time is it?”

“Eighty thirty,” he answers. The mattress jostles and tilts as his large frame shifts on it.

“Probably time to start the day,” you grumble, throat raw and tired.

But you can feel hands on your waist, nudging you backward until your head is slumped amongst the soft pillows again. And when your eyes peak open Joel is getting comfortable between your legs, glasses forgotten somewhere out of sight, hands pressing your thighs into the mattress to reveal your glistening sex to him.

And he says, “No,” shaking his head slowly, near-black eyes piercing as his lips lower to meet your cunt. “Not yet.”

You were unsure, initially, whose idea it was.

Unsure of who spoke first; if you or him brought up the idea of the museum. Unsure if he mentioned the bookstore or you mentioned The Iliad. Unsure, unsure, unsure.  

But as you stand on the outskirts of Central Park—showered, dressed, sure—eyes scanning the front window of the shop, the glass overflowing with newspaper cuttings and novel covers and author profiles and ads for signings – you are certain that it was him. Certain that he asked what your plans were for the day, head resting on your thigh, lips and beard still glistening with your come. Certain that you mentioned going to the museum, and that those brown eyes lit up, mouth splitting into a smile as he revealed that he had plans close by. Certain that he introduced the idea of going together.

A bell tinkles and your gaze sharpens, watching as his broad frame slips out the door with a brown paper bag tucked under his armpit. Joel ticks his head wordlessly to the side and you fall into step next to him, two sets of shoes scuffing against the pavement in a perfect rhythm. 

“Can I see it?” you ask, eyes roaming curiously around the street.

“Sure,” Joel holds the bag out and you take it carefully, fingers peeling back paper so you can take a peak inside.

“The cover is beautiful,” you breathe, fingers tracing vibrant swaths of gold and red, the white lettering that spells The Iliad. You balance the spine in your palm, curious to flick through to the first page. To see the acknowledgements, her author photo, anything. And as your eyes skirt over the very first page your feet stutter to a stop, pulse increasing as you spot the black marker on the page. A messily scrawled signature.

“Joel.”

Joel says your name, pausing a few steps ahead before turning back to face you. “What’s wrong?” he frowns.

You hold up the page, brows lifted in awe. “She… how did you get a signed copy?”

“We’ve met a few times in passing,” he admits sheepishly, eyes glancing between the book and your face. “I’ve always admired her work, and she offered to set a copy aside for me here. She’s very impressive, the first woman to—”

“The first woman to publish an English translation of The Odyssey,” you interrupt. “Yeah, Joel, I know exactly who Emily Wilson is.”

“And now she’s published The Iliad,” he hums. You begin walking again, the museum in sight now. “I’m lookin’ forward to readin’ it. Especially now that I’ve heard all your thoughts about how women and men translate differently. I’m sure it’ll be on my mind as I go.”

The skin on your face prickles and tightens under his attention. You’re still smiling, a wide and satisfised flash of your teeth, when the two of you reach The Met. Still smiling when he pays for your tickets and leads you toward the Cloisters.

You wander together through the exhibit. Medieval, Bohemian, Byzantine. Jean Pucelle, Robert Campin, Tilman. You catch Joel staring at the Bust of the Virgin, one hand on his hip, knee jutted out as he admires her elegance, the tenderness with which her face was carved.

“You like her?” you tease.

His shoulders stiffen and then relax into a sort of indignant laugh.

“I like terracotta,” he smarts, reaching out to pinch your forearm. When he pulls his hand away you see his eyes dart over your shoulder – a quick glance around the room to see if anyone noticed.

“Oh of course,” you nod, a mock serious expression on your face. “Me too. Terracotta virgins.”

“You know,” he huffs, turning to face you head on. “You oughta start showin’ me a bit of respect. Where’s your reverence for an authority figure, huh?”

“Authority?” your eyes widen, smirking broadly as you take a step forward, the material of your jacket brushing against his. “And what authority might that be?”

“I could fail you,” he murmurs, glancing down at your lips. “Tell everyone you’re the worst student I ever had. Never does as she’s told, always talkin’ back.”

“Oh, Professor,” you whisper back, fingers curling around the hem of his shirt, your snark emboldened by his. “I hate to say it, but you’re not very convincing in your distaste.”

You don’t wait around to see his reaction, turning on your heel and heading into the next room. Your cheeks are sore from smiling at the end of it, eyes tired from reading, and then you reach the courtyard gardens. See the cloisters. See the Romanesque columns with their fluting grooves that lead into arches, see the vast green garden with its flowers of yellow and pink and purple. Herbs and flora border the walking paths, filling the air with the scent of thyme and rosemary, and you can’t help but grin.

“Not bad right?” Joel’s voice comes from behind you.

“Not bad at all,” you turn to smile at him. “Would’ve been cooler if they had some dinosaur bones around here though. A museum should always have a dinosaur.”

“A dinosaur,” he repeats, quietly amused. “Of course, you like dinosaurs.”

“I thought, uh,” Joel clears his throat then. Glances away for a second. “Thought you might like it here; that it might remind you of your time in Greece.”

The words make your chest go all warm and tight. He looks so handsome, so easy in the middle of it all. Dark features and broad shoulders softened by the smell of flowers.

“It does,” you nod. “A little bit.”

“What was it like?” he asks.

“Greece was…” you trail off as you remember it. White sand beaches, turquoise waters, boreks and Doric columns, seemingly endless nights spent translating sheets and sheets and sheets of ancient texts. “It was wonderful, really. I feel so lucky to have had the opportunity, and Professor Samaras was a phenomenal instructor.”

Joel nods, fingers looped and resting across his stomach as he digests your answer.

“Good,” is the response he settles on, finally. “I’m glad. You… you deserve that. You work hard, and your presentation was solid.”

And it’s been less than twenty-four hours, but those words bring you calm now, not frustration like they did last night. So you smile, and thank him, and don’t stop yourself from asking him something in return.

“Have you really never been?” you ask, eyes squinting inquisitively as you watch his face, searching the emotions that flitter across it – near impossible to decipher, as always. “You said you weren’t interested, that first night when we spoke about it… but I would’ve thought… I don’t know, maybe a semester abroad or… or a fellowship?”

“Never,” he looks away. “Always too little time, too little money, too many responsibilities.”

You nod slowly, watch him curiously. You wish you could peel back his skin and see inside of that gorgeous brain, that heart. Understand every trouble, every missed opportunity that weighs on his shoulders.

“There’s still time,” you offer. “You’ve got so much time, Joel.”

Joel looks at you and you can see in his eyes that he’s grateful for the words. See that the earnestness with which you speak brings him some kind of solace, some kind of hope.

His fingers graze the skin of your wrist, curling around it to hold you in place beside him. Your body stills, eyes training carefully on the garden; the green of the grass, the pink of the flowers that bloom amongst it all. One of his fingers searches the skin at the inside of your wrist, swiping and rubbing over the tendons and veins there until he finds where your lifeline pulses. And then he strokes that spot, a calm, meticulous glide of his fingertip, over where blood thrums and rushes inside your body.

The tickling sensation has a painful knot of want curling in your chest, but you don’t stop him. Don’t pull your hand away, don’t take a step back. And with every stroke against skin, you feel it as if it where between your thighs—the soft curling of a finger between your folds, against your clit. It feels feverish, like a steady flame that spreads across your skin, up your chest to lick at the inside of your ribcage.  

“Soft,” he says, his voice low and thoughtful. “You’re so soft.” And it sounds painfully like, you’ve got so much time.

And you look at him and he knows. Your face says it all.

Says, let your hands wander wherever they like. Says, if you touched me here—now—I wouldn’t say a word, wouldn’t tell a soul. Says, everything I have to offer is yours if you could only bring yourself to take it. Says, and if your hand won’t wander, won’t stray, I’ll take it in my own and show you where to touch.

So you lead him back inside. Quiet, discreet, slipping past patrons and staff and guards until you find a bathroom. Tuck him inside and smile at the snap of the lock shifting into place behind you.

Joel’s knees meet tile with a soft thud, and dark eyes hold yours as he peels your trousers down, as he drags the slick fabric of your underwear to the side, as he presses the soft cut of his mouth between your legs. He watches you, steadfast, cheeks ablaze and pupils blown as his tongue works you open, calloused fingers holding your left thigh over his shoulder. 

And after you’ve come, face pinched and hidden behind your palm, he pulls away. Skirts wet kisses down the inside of your thigh, against the shell of your kneecap, to the bruise that colours your shin.

And he whispers, “Does it hurt?” with his fingers tracing tender splotches of purple and blue.

And you whisper, “No.” with your fingers brushing the curls off his forehead.

Afterwards you walk through the park, pressing through streams of tourists and locals alike; a lively crowd that parts and flurries around the two of you as you push forward. He fields your questions about Emily Wilson, about the years he spent doing his PhD, parrying seamlessly with queries about the West coast, about your undergrad, your roommates.

The bubble doesn’t break until Joel gets the text. Cursing softly, he turns away from you, eyes focused on his screen.

“Everything okay?” you ask.

“Yeah, yes,” Joel says, fingers flying across the touch screen, typing out a response before he tucks his phone away. “I, uh, look I actually forgot that I have somethin’ I need to do tonight.”

“Sounds mysterious,” you smile, eyebrows raised expectantly. But your smile wavers when he doesn’t match your teasing, face relaxing as you wait.

“Rachel and I planned this dinner a few weeks ago,” he explains. “When we both agreed to attend the conference.”

“Oh,” you blink. “That’s nice.”

“It’s this thing we do,” Joel offers, shifting on his feet. “A tradition, I suppose. To celebrate another conference done.” And you remember, I’ve been to twenty of the damn things. His twenty to your one.

“That’s nice,” you repeat, and hold your smile when he checks his phone again.   

Hold it when he tells you he should go, that he needs to get ready to meet her. Hold it when he hesitates, staring at you for a moment. Hold it when he presses a chaste kiss to the side of your head, lips meeting your temple, the weakest point of your skull, before turning to walk away from you.

Only when you’re alone do you let the smile fall.

After a lonely dinner, you find yourself back in your hotel room, thinking about Rachel.

Folding your blue dress into a neat square, and then a smaller square. Tucking it into your duffel bag, thinking about the rough sound of her laugh. The soft curve of her jaw, the sparkling greys that curl through her dark hair. You fold your underwear, pack that too, and think of her fluorescent toenails and her dangling earrings. Think of how sure she is; how intelligent, how charismatic. And then you think of yesterday – of her hand on Joel’s arm, soft fingers curling around the sleeve of his blazer, carting him around the conference. Leading him. Standing by his side, making him laugh.

And it burns, this hot feeling in your chest. Something dark green and scalding, fiery enough that you feel the need to sit on the edge of the bed and press your palm against the skin above your breast to tamp it down. Feel your heartbeat there, the rise and fall of your chest with each breath, and tell yourself that this feeling is cruel and unforgiving but that it is wrong. You lay out your clothes for the airport, wrap yourself up in the coarse hotel robe and push away the images your mind creates of them at dinner together. Push away the thought of her foot nudging his beneath the table, the thought of them sitting beside each other, thighs brushing like yours had on the bench last night. Because it’s wrong. Joel isn’t like that. Joel wouldn’t do that.

When Nora calls, you pick up on the second ring.

“How did it go?” she squeals, and you feel your shoulders relax at the sound of her voice.

“It was good,” you respond. “I feel good about it. Glad it’s over though.”

“You never answered my text—" the line crackles a little, muffling the last word of her sentence. “I was worried something bad might’ve happened.”

“Fuck,” you apologise. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that, I—I got caught up with something, I… I wasn’t looking at my phone.”

There’s a beat of silence over the phone. Another fried, crackle over the line.

“Oh you cheeky bitch,” she gasps then. “You could’ve just said you were getting some!”

“Nora—” you try, stomach dropping.

“Who the fuck was it?” she continues eagerly. You can almost picture the way her eyes would widen if she were here with you, hands clenched excitedly at her sides as she pushes for all the gory details. “Was it someone from the conference? Oh my god, was it someone from UNE?”

“No, no,” you rush, feeling an anxious heat rise in your chest. “It was just a random guy, we… I met him at a bar afterwards, it’s no one from Maine. No one from the conference.”

Another pause.

“And?” she asks finally. “How was it?”

You consider her question for a moment. Remember the way he undressed you in the dim light of his hotel room – slow, cautious. Remember the way he looked at you. Those dark brown eyes feasting over every inch of flesh, every mark, every freckle, every scar. The feeling of his hands on your breasts, his bare chest against yours as he pressed inside of you.

Quietly, earnestly, you say, “It was amazing,” and smile when she hollers down the line.

And this feeling is so much kinder, you think. The relief and the warmth that comes with being able to tell someone. To talk about him, even if you’re not really talking about him. Even if she can’t really know the truth.

You put her on speaker, still listening and laughing as she rattles off question after question. Did he go down on you? How big was he? Wait he was older?! You bitch! How old?! That’s hot. Fuck, I need to get laid.

“You really do,” you chuckle, laying down against the pillows and typing out a text to Joel.

Are you enjoying your dinner?

He replies within minutes.

Yeah, the restaurant is nice.

What are you doing?

“Hey Nora?” you interrupt. “I actually need to go.”

“Oh,” she huffs. “Alright, alright, I get it. You’re gonna go get fucked again. Good for you bitch.”

“I love you,” you laugh, already typing out a response to him. “See you tomorrow when I get home.”

Well my bags are packed, and I just tucked myself into bed

You watch the text bubble appear, disappear, and reappear over three times before it vanishes completely. Minutes go by; maybe ten, maybe fifteen, and then—

Show me.

Grinning, you loosen the tie around your robe to reveal a flash of the skin across your chest; the curve of your left breast, the peak of your nipple. Take a picture and make sure he can see your finger snagged between your lips, resting against the softness of your tongue.

For a moment you worry. Feel a spike of fear in your chest that if you send it someone else might catch a glimpse of his screen – that Rachel might see it. But then another text comes through, and you feel that fear melt into a warm pool of liquid.

I know you want to show me, sweetheart.

So you do. You click send and wait, teeth catching against the nail on your thumb.

The response is almost instant.

Jesus.

Are you wet?

You know I am

Are you touching yourself?

No

Good.

Dinner finished early. Where are you?

You send him the address of your hotel. Call the lobby and tell them to let him up. And when he arrives, you’re waiting for him on the balcony. You hear the heavy pad of his footsteps crossing the room, and then the slide of the glass door. Feel the broad span of his chest press against your back; outstretched fingers that glide around the curve of your waist to settle over your stomach.

Joel doesn’t say a word, nosing at the frizzled kinks of hair at the base of your neck. One of his hands drifts upward, fingers curling beneath the neckline of your robe, just grazing the curve of your breast. You let your eyes fall closed and think this feels like coming home.  Think, if this moment could last for hours, for days, for ever, that would be enough, and I’d never ask for another thing. Think, where have I been all of my life, and why was it not here with him?

You say, “Let’s go inside,” as he touches your nipple, and feel him shake his head.

“No,” he says. Presses his hips against your ass, rough denim brushing the backs of your knees. “Want you here.” 

You start to say Someone might see, but Joel pushes you forward again and your stomach presses against railing. Your eyes dart down toward the street, the road. To cars and pedestrians and tourists. 

“You don’t want that?” his lips brush the side of your neck as he speaks, the softest pressure. He tugs at your robe, guiding it down past your shoulders, elbows, until it pools around your feet. “Don’t want them to see us together?”

“That’s not—” you gasp as his teeth sink into the skin of your shoulder, hot tongue gliding over already bruising flesh. “Fuck, Joel.”

He groans against your skin, lathing wet kisses past your neck to the top of your spine. His hands are on your waist and your stomach and your tits and his jeans chafe against your bare ass, zipper catching every now and then. But your mind is hazy, a blur of thoughts that can only focus on the feeling of teeth and lips, on something long and firm pressing through the material of his pants, rutting slowly against you. 

“You’re hard already,” you breathe, surprised—delighted.

Joel grunts, distracted. “Been hard since you sent me that picture.”

A shaky breathes leave your lips as his hand skirts down your stomach, your hipbones, until his fingers slip past the glistening seam of your cunt – tender and swollen and aching. 

“But that’s what you wanted, hmm?” he rasps. You whimper as his fingers circle over your entrance, collecting your slick and dragging it upward. A flinch rips through you when he touches your clit, the nerves fraught after being given so much attention throughout the day. “You like knowin’ how much I want you? How badly? You like that I’d leave dinner early just to come here and fuck you?”

Face on fire, you nod; caught out. And then he takes another step forward, bending you further over the railing and pressing himself against you, hard enough that you can feel his cock between your ass cheeks, denim scraping the sensitive skin there.

“That is how much I want you. All the fuckin’ time,” he says. “Get it?” 

“Joel,” you stutter urgently, voice almost a squeak. Your thighs shake, knees close to buckling as his finger rubs slow circles against your clit. “S’too—fuck, Joel, it’s too sensitive.” It burns, too much – but his touch only serves to stoke the fire in your belly until it’s a roaring, raging thing, begging for more of too much. 

“I know, honey,” he groans, and you think you can hear the sound of his zipper coming undone. “You sore?”

When you don’t answer immediately Joel’s fingers still, body straightening as if he’s about to stop, about to pull away.

“Don’t,” you say quickly. “Just—”

“M’not goin’ anywhere,” Joel hushes. “Does it hurt?”

You hesitate, stomach tightening when his fingers start to move again. “It’s… yeah a little, but it’s…”

“But you like it? Like it when it hurts a little?” he fills the silence, and you can hear the change in his voice. Hear how it deepens, a gravelly effect that has your cunt tightening. You cringe, turn your head to the side in the hopes that he won’t see your reaction. But he doesn’t let it slide. Of course not. “Talk to me.”  

“Yeah, yes, I like it,” you admit, exhaling a relieved sigh when you hear his belt hit the ground.

“Good,” he says, and then you can feel him, hot silken skin on your own, the wet glide of his cock against your ass check.

His knuckles brush against you as he adjusts himself, and the weight of his tip at your opening is not unlike the brush of his fingers along your bruised shin. Tender, careful – the touch of someone that would never hurt you. Not unless you asked him to.

When Joel rocks his hips forward, cock splitting you open around his weight, the stretch is long and deep. A sweet, searing burn that has you balancing on the tips of your toes, mouth hanging open as you grip the railing and take it. The night air is cool against your skin, but warm hands land firm on your hips, thumbs circling and rubbing away the goosebumps there

“God,” he grunts into the hinge of your jaw, teeth nipping at the muscle there. “You’re so wet, so needy. Want this cock all the time, don’t you?”   

You can only moan in response – a choked, whimper of a noise that scratches its way out of your throat as he bottoms out. His thighs are warm and thick against yours, body practically moulding itself to you as you squirm, cunt pulsing around the thick length of him.

He gives you a moment to adjust, waits to feel you relax against him, and then he’s moving. Slow, powerful thrusts that have you feeling him in your stomach, and wishing you could see his face. Wishing you could watch his nose scrunch up, his lips curl into a snarl as he fucks you. Wishing that everything you’re feeling could be reflected back to you in his face, the way it was last night.

“Thought about you all night,” he says in your ear, a dirty little confession, whispered only for you to hear. “You know how sick that is? At dinner with my colleague, my friend, and I couldn’t get this perfect cunt out of my head. S’drivin’—me—fuckin’—crazy.”

And it’s sick, it’s awful, but you feel your lips peel back, face breaking into a toothy grin at the words. That envy, that jealousy, that dark green sticky feeling - all of it for naught because you were right. Joel Miller is yours.

“Yeah?” you pant, pushing your ass back into him and smiling even wider when he grunts, blunt fingernails digging into your waist. “What were you thinking about?” 

“’Bout how tight you always are,” he kisses the side of your neck, tongue flicking incessantly against the skin there. “How perfect you felt around me last night. How you take it so well.” He bites down, sucking until the skin throbs, another mark left in his wake. “How, if I can help it, I’ll never wear a condom when I fuck you again.”  

You curse, head lolling back against his shoulder. The confession makes you ache. “Please,” you mutter desperately. “Joel, please.”

“Thought about fillin’ you up,” he continues eagerly. “Fuckin’ you so hard, so deep with my come that you’d feel it for days. And you’d be mine.” His hips snap forward in a particularly harsh thrust and you grunt, cringing as the railing bites into your ribs. Mine mine mine.

“I’m yours,” you moan as he fucks you, a steady smack-smack-smack sound filling the air as his hips collide with the meat of your ass, over, and over, and over again. “You know I am.”

And you want to know what he thinks of that, want to know what comes next, but the sound of laughter echoes up from the street suddenly, and you tense, eyes snapping wide open. Joel doesn’t slow down.

“Look at them,” he hushes, voice quietening some.

His hand raises to point somewhere over the balcony, but you don’t see where; eyes trained on his fingers, his skin, the blue veins that swell and pulse beneath it. Your eyes try to follow it, but you’re looking the wrong way, following the hard line of his wrist, the corded veins in his forearm, his bicep, trying desperately, shamelessly, to catch a glimpse of his face.

“I said look at them,” his voice deepens, an authoritative tone taking over as his long fingers grip your jaw, angling it down until you do as he says.

You can see three of them. Squinting, you try to make out their faces from four storeys up. Stumbling down the street, laughing loudly, bumping shoulders as they walk.

Joel’s hips press forward and you gasp, eyes rolling back as his swollen tip nudges the deepest, softest place inside of you.

“Wait,” you whisper hoarsely, body jerking forward with every practised thrust of his cock. Say again, “Someone might see.”

“I hope they do,” he growls, hand falling to drape over your neck.

His fingers press gently against either side, cradling your pulse point in the palm of his hand. Your brain goes foggy with the pressure, mind buzzing and blurring. The sensation of his broad grip against your throat mixes with the drag of his cock between your thighs and it’s intoxicating; a high that you’ve never experienced before, and never want to end. You don’t realise how loud you’re gasping, moaning, keening his name, until you hear him laugh. A rough, elated sound.

“I knew it,” he chuckles, and you tighten around him, fingers fumbling backward, seeking purchase at the soft flesh of his hips as he continues rocking into you. His hand drops from your neck to your tits, and he squeezes.

“Admit it. Admit you fuckin’ love it,” Joel pants, every word punctuated by a white-hot press of his cock and a heavy exhalation against your neck. “Dirty little thing—you want them to see. Say it.” 

“Fuck,” you cry, spine arching as you push backward, meeting the movements of his hips.

“Fuckin’ say it,” he snaps, all hints of laughter gone now, his rough drawl only offset by the fond way his hands play with your tits. Careful, kind; every pinch, every squeeze, every caress a generous and tender display.

“I want it,” you blubber, sight blurring into a mess of streetlights and skyscrapers and strangers on the street. “W-want them to see how you fuck me, how you take care of me.”

“That’s it,” he groans, and you can feel the way he twitches inside of you, cock jerking against your walls in hot fast movements.

“Want them to know,” you continue, and there’s tears streaking messily down your cheeks, your lips moving faster than you can control. “Want them to see us, see how good it is, how perfect.”

And it’s too much now, you think. Finally, too much of too much. The railing is bruising against your stomach. Every stroke of his cock, every graze of your nipples – Joel’s touch akin to the end of a frayed wire, sparking and spitting embers wherever the two of you come into contact. Your cunt is on fire, every inch of sticky wet flesh throbbing and smarting.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Can feel you squeezin’ me, baby, you gonna show them how you come for me? Gonna let them hear it?”

“I can’t,” you choke out, shaking your head numbly. Yours lungs are on fire, mouth dry as you try fruitlessly to suck in breath after breath. “Fuck, I don’t think I can—”

“Hey,” his voice calls. A rough finger wipes across your cheek, smearing the salty tears further across your skin. “You can, you can, I can’t—I fuckin’ need this, need it.”  

“It’s too much,” you gasp frantically. But your words aren’t matched by the desperate grind of your hips. Aren’t matched by the way you twitch and shake between him and the glass, abdomen tensing tighter tighter tighter with every thrust. “Fuck, I’m—I’m close but it’s too much, Joel, it’s too much, I can’t, I can’t—”

He pulls out quickly. You gasp wetly at the loss, at how your walls clench and suck around that empty warm space in his absence. Deft hands grip your waist, tilting and turning you until your back is against the railing now, and his mouth is between your legs, wet lips and tongue so soft in comparison, so soothing against that burn.

There’s no shying away now, no stuttering or whining – you simply melt, thigh softening around the curve of his shoulder, allowing him to hold you up as his tongue teases and coaxes you to the edge of your third mind-numbing, toe-curling orgasm that day.

And you don’t notice at first how his bicep shifts and flexes beneath your thigh. Don’t notice how he groans and sighs against your messy cunt, panting and muttering your name as he strokes his cock in tight, wet jerks. And when you come, gushing into his mouth, his eyes snap open, endless spheres of deep brown gazing up at you, desperate to see. Your legs tremble with the force of it, hands grappling for purchase on his shoulders, in his hair. And with your lips parted, tears drying on your cheeks, you watch the way his face crumples—wrecked. How eyebrows furrow and eyelids flutter shut. Joel’s mouth slips away from you, teeth sinking into the flesh of your thigh, something to ground him as he grunts, a low, ragged sound, before you feel him come in warm, thick spurts against your calf.

“Fuck,” you mumble deliriously. Can hardly hear yourself over the roar of your pulse in your ears. “So good, you’re so beautiful.”

Joel’s face is flushed, skin tinged with a deep red that settles across the highest peaks of his cheekbones and disappears into his beard. And when his eyes open again, drowsiness swimming beneath those heavy lids, you can see the way they shine. Glistening with something wet, something earnest. You thumb gently at his waterline, swiping away the tears like he’s done for you. 

His lips press a chaste kiss to the pad of your thumb, tongue snaking out to lick his tear from your skin, and you think you must repeat it, So beautiful, because he smiles. Breathing heavily, eyes wet, he grins for you. A flash of white that he quickly smothers against the skin of your leg.

After catching his breath, Joel leads you inside and helps you shower. Stands outside the glass door, hand gripping your elbow to brace your shaking frame as you glide soap over your arms, down your legs. His fingers dig in firmer when you slip a hand between your thighs, whimpering as warm water streams over the sensitive skin there. He doesn’t flinch or shy away when specks of water flick out and dampen his shirt.

“You okay?” he asks as he helps you out, wrapping a towel around your shoulders.

You nod, mind still foggy, and let him rub the coarse fabric over the skin of your arms, your legs, drying you off before he tucks you back into your robe. And when he leads you back into the room, helping you carefully onto the bed, a flash of concern splits across his face. He takes a step back, a step away, until his back is brushing against the wall.

You lay down on the bed, heavy limbs splayed haphazardly across the soft blankets and pillows. Your robe is open, the tie still forgotten somewhere on the balcony, revealing the skin of your stomach, your thighs, still dotted with warm droplets of water.

And Joel's not far, not really; tucked away in the corner of the room, unsure, arms hanging listlessly by his sides as he stares. Takes in every inch of you as if it’s the first time all over again. Perhaps, as if he’s worried it will be the last.

“I should go,” he says, painfully unconvincing.

“Yeah,” you agree quietly, eyelids heavy as you stare back at him.

Your lips part in a soft yawn as you scratch languidly at the skin over your ribs, and dark eyes follow the movement of your fingers. Watch how your skin smarts and pulls beneath your fingernails until you sigh in contentment, the itch disappearing.

“You gotta be up early,” he says.

“I do.”

“And it’s late,” his eyebrows raise.

“Is it?” you smile. Raise your eyebrows in return and laugh when he sighs, hands twitching at his sides.

“Are we really doing this again?” you ask, smile slipping when you notice his frown. The twisted furrow of his brows, the curl of his upper lip. As if all of the features on his face have pinched together in the middle. Something churns in your stomach; a sick feeling that rises to lodge at the base of your throat. Waiting. “Talk to me.”

“M’tryin’,” he admits quietly. “Tryin’… tryin’ to be good. I want to be good.”

Your heart drops. And then, driven by some emotion that you can’t name, don’t want to name, it climbs its way back up, lurching forward in your chest. It claws and scrapes and tears itself out through a crack between two of your ribs, flinging itself across the room at him.

“You are good,” you whisper. Feel your bottom lip wobble, unsteady but sure. Certain of nothing but this as the words slip out. “You’re good, Joel. We are good.”

And when he smiles you think you can see it in his teeth. Little fragments of your heart; the beating core of you, dark red and macerated in the cracks of his canines, the lining of his gums.  

Joel closes his eyes and repeats the word. A softly murmured, Good, as if the word itself confounds him, and you think you must be imagining the red smeared across his chin. Your blood seeping out past his lips, dribbling down to stain the skin of his neck.

“I hope you’re right.” He takes a deep, steadying breath. One that shakes the planes of his broad chest, makes it rise to its fullest potential before he sucks another in, shoulders relaxing, and walks across the room towards the bed.

Towards you.

thank you for reading! x

[the-monkeies-girl]

Caesar Masterlist. ( Planet of the Apes. )

Imagines and Headcanons.

➤NSFW Set. Warning: 18+, talks of sex, breeding. ➤Courting Imagines. ( Caesar x Human!Reader. ) ➤ Kissing The Tip of the Nose/Sitting in Their Lap. ( Intimacy Prompt.) ➤Slow Dancing. ( Intimacy Prompt.) ➤ Fur Headcanons. ( Includes other characters. )

Oneshots.

➤So Far From Home. ( Caesar x Human!Reader. ) Set during Dawn. ➤Phoenix. ( Caesar x Human!Reader. ) Set during Dawn, AU Cornelia passed away after the birth of Blue Eyes. ➤Side By Side. ( Caesar x Human! Reader. ) Sequel to Phoenix. ➤Cleopatra. ( Caesar x Pregnant! Human Reader. ) Drabble Series, 6 total.

 ➝ Also included in the following Scenarios:

➤Star Gazing. ➤Berry Foraging. ➤Snowball Fights. ➤Favored Forms of Affection. ➤Jealousy. ➤Early Mornings. ➤Snoring. ➤First Time Admitting You're Beautiful.

Blurbs / Ideas.

➤Blue Eyes / Human! Reader / Caesar Part One. ➝ Part Two. ➤Human! Reader / Caesar / Malcolm. Talking to your fellow human about your mate ( Caesar. )

[anniebass]

baby don't be mad

1.3k word actverse ficlet under the jump rating: M tags: dialogue-heavy, beginning of the relationship, the boys are arguinggg, old man eddie's being a clueless slut, and also a dweeb, and steve's being... a person that rly needs therapy lol

Rapid catchups, they name it, though it doesn’t really need a name, it’s basically just talking. Early on Eddie realizes he doesn’t know all that much about his sexy old-but-new long distance serious boyfriend, that he possesses a fuckton of outdated information, that, duh, people change, especially in the long-ass time they spent apart. That the habits and opinions of a twenty-year-old shithead don’t necessarily last until someone’s forties.

That evening, they do the rapid catchups, starting off easy, prompted by the takeout dinner they have at Steve’s: best Asian food, go, at which without a second thought Steve says Chinese, while Eddie goes with Japanese, love me some sushi, yum. Later, when they’re full of kung pao and mapo tofu, lazily digesting on the couch, half-watching an old movie where Sharon Stone saunters across the screen and smolders at bad men, Steve says: you have to sleep with a woman, any woman in the world, dead or alive, go.

Eddie groans and slides down the couch, throws his hands up: dude, I don’t know! Uh, like maybe— Cleopatra? Or maybe one of those amazonian greek warriors with one boobie?

So, no one you actually know the face of? he says, with a little smirk.

Man, I don’t— I mean, there are some beautiful women walking this earth, like stunning stunning women I can’t get enough of, but that don’t mean I want to fuck them! My willy shrinks at the thought, he explains meekly, and shrugs, clicking his tongue: I dunno, maybe Eartha Kitt? She seems very fun.

Good choice, mutters Steve, and to Eddie’s your turn he tilts his head, scratches his nose: I don’t know if that question really applies to me. But if I had to have a sex list, it would be… Linda Evangelista? Or Sharon, she’s hot. Or— yeah, Monica Belucci, Jesus. Her, definitely. If not her then Cleopatra, that’s actually a great answer, she must have been good for all that shit to go down around her, he says with a smile, and Eddie sighs dreamily, oh, I’d love to watch. From the closet, imagine myself in her place. In a little egyptian wig, he adds, to which Steve snorts, rolling his eyes.

Alright, my turn. Best casual sex you’ve ever had, go, says Eddie, and Steve hums at that, leans back on the couch, rubbing his chin, mumbling under his breath, until he sighs and says: I actually didn’t have that much of it beyond my teens, and what I had back then was very… teenaged, y’know. And in that short gap between my first and second wife I slept with just three people, two dudes and one woman, and neither of those was mind-blowing. The guys were kinda disappointing, I thought after so many years of straight sex I’d be blown away, but it was just… okay. Actually—, he adds, shaking his head: it sucked. I was drunk, they were drunk, I don’t remember much of it. Or don’t want to. I remember stinky balls. So, I dunno—, he says, and sighs, and glances at him: am I a big loser if I say the best one was when we reconnected? Could say it was still casual back then, right? When we fucked in the church, or by the pool, or—, yeah, there was a lot of it, on that trip.

It really was magical, agrees Eddie, smiling at him.

So, uh, your turn, says Steve. Best you've ever had, go.

Oh, man, mutters Eddie. I know my answer to that. Japan, in the mid-nineties. We were on tour and stayed for a few nights in Tokyo, and I got to explore the city, research shit with the help of a very discreet translator, and finally, on our last night there, I ended up in a gay bar. Very hush-hush, a basement place hidden away in some grimy back alley, he says, lowering his voice into sultry tones of gossip. Met a guy there, this… slightly chubby middle-aged businessman type, suit and tie and briefcase, wedding ring on his finger, very regular looking guy, and we drank sake through the night, sang some karaoke, and ended up in some seedy by-the-hour love hotel. He didn’t know who I was, didn’t speak a lick of English, I was obviously drunk, but I still remember that night like it was yesterday. God, just— the way that guy fucked me, the way he seemed to know every inch of my body without having seen it before, the way he just knew what I wanted without any language, it was insane. We did it a few times that one night, practically without stopping, and never saw each other again. I actually jerk off to that memory to this day.

To this, Steve lets out a small hm, purses his lips and leans back, crossing his arms, and Eddie clicks his tongue, leaning closer, touching his shoulder: aw, don’t be jealous. That was casual, but out of all people, of course you are my number one, no contest. I just— remember that one time in Japan, because it worked so well without language, and that’s always kinda hot. Language of love, all that cheesy stuff. Up to that point and following it, it'd mostly happen with some hot Brazilians.

Okay, he says.

Eddie sighs, watching his face: Steve, you know that’s what my life was like back then, this neverending barrage of hookups. And most of those weren’t even that good, like, you talk of stinky balls? I met dozens, slobbered over them anyway like they were fucking Ferrero Rocher!, he says to a small groan in return, then sighs, speaks softer: being with you is a completely different quality from that, even from my previous relationships. It’s way different. With Marcell, we both slept around, there wasn’t much that we had in common beyond, like, incredible attraction at the beginning, and the fact that we work in the same industry, could endlessly talk about that. And with Zu, we— we really loved each other, but we weren’t a good fit. It was this weird thing where she needed someone more masc, but also I needed someone more masc, he says with an amused scoff. We were two bottoms in love, and it’s hard to make it work in the long term, without fucking other people. We’re way better off as friends. And the other dudes I dated, it was just— me being a drunken asshole, most of the time. I was a very shitty boyfriend for a looong-ass time.

There’s a stretch of silence, and Steve slides down the couch, still frowning: man… I just wonder why you asked that question in the first place. Because it seems to me like you wanted to brag a little about this incredible hookup you had in fucking… Japan. Do you miss fucking other people, Eddie?

He sighs, rakes a hand through his hair: Steve, I literally just told you I don’t. I might romanticize it, the— the way I might romanticize being on drugs, but I don’t want to go back to that. I asked because I want to know everything about you! I dunno, I— I guess I like Japan. It’s such a weird place, I really want to go back there, he says and inches closer, placing a calm hand on his thigh: come with me. Like, for two weeks or something. We’d take the girls with us, go in the summer or for the spring break. Would be cool to just wander around, shop, sing karaoke, eat tons of good food. Go to Kyoto, see the geishas, tea ceremony. Go to hot springs. Japan’s truly like no place you’ve ever been to.

I didn't know you liked it that much. A trip does sound nice, says Steve, with a small smile. Emily would go crazy, she loves those cartoons. Chels would like it too, I think.

Eddie smiles and squeezes his leg: sounds like a plan. Also, just to— get it out of the way: from the moment you first kissed me, I stopped thinking of us as casual. I was, like, fully fully back in love with you in point two seconds. Even before that, to be honest. If I ever for a single moment considered that a hookup, it’d totally blow that businessman out of the water. If you want, I could show you, uh, how I blew him out of the— fucking—, he falters, then snorts: sorry, failed metaphor. But you catch my drift.

Yes, please, says Steve.

[rosegoldplumbob]

Cleo Nagi- Sim Download

Recently, I have been playing a lepacy save in my free time, and this is my heir for gen 3. I am in love with her, so I figured I would share. Her mom met her dad in Egypt, so she's my little Egyptian queen. Her mom is the model I have been using for conversions in cause you're curious. All her other outfits are base game clothes. Yes, she is named after Cleopatra DO NOT JUDGE ME

Download and CC under the cut!

CC Used

genetics- skin, eyebrows, contacts (from vmsims23, but unavailable at the moment

hair- hair, hairline

makeup- nose and cheek shadow, face highlight, blush, nose mask (blueberry), eyeshadow , eyelashes, eyeliner, lipstick

outfit and nails- outfit, shoes, nails

Tag me if you use her because I love her :)

Download- 💜💜

[what-in-the-gloobie-glob]

R.e. hairy forest man soap with hairy ass, i would love any thoughts you have on how absolutely crazy soap's body hair drives ghost. thinking like that one post about how really hairy dudes can't even hide it, even if they tried, because the hair just crawls up their necks, onto their hands, down their knuckles, but soap doesn't even TRY. just constantly has the carpet on display, and by god ghost is about to become cleopatra the way he's wrapping himself in it.

-definitely not projeting as a fellow large blonde wife with fat titties

Oh GOD

Also.... don't peep me posting in the height of daylight 🫣🫣

Soap who goes on morning runs around the base early in the morning when dew still sicks to the grass and fog hands low on the ground. Soap who works up a sweat and shucks his shirt easily enough.

Ghost who goes with him just to see dark hair matted with sweat. Ghost who watches beads of sweat slide down the hair on his chest until it catches on a dry patch on his tummy

Soap who likes to work up a nice sweat in the gym wearing leggings and a loose muscle tee

Ghost who salivates at the sight of a hairy tit that pokes out from the arm gap. Who wants to bite and lick and nip the flesh. Who wants to nose into the hair and lave his tongue all over.

Ghost who almost gets distracted petting over his ass when they're fucking just because he likes the feel. Ghost who likes to run his fingers through the hair between soap's thighs, surrounding his balls when they fuck just because he can.

[thecatcrew]

It looks like Cleopatra is smiling 🥹🩶 & Egypt is giving face 🖤

[hippolotamus]

another installment of what I'm calling the cleopatra series. this time from Eddie's POV because I got in my Buddie feels. part 1 here 💙

late for the love of my life | 7x06 Coda | 912 words | G

“Hey, how was it?” Marisol wraps her arms around his waist, giving him a peck on the lips. 

Eddie barely suppresses the urge to flinch and turn away. Which is maybe a tad dramatic, except for the way it isn’t. Because the past 24 hours have held more than a few revelations. None of which Eddie is ready to share. 

Despite the layers of clothing between them, his skin tingles and crawls where she touches him. If he didn’t have years of experience being exposed to fluids, substances and people he didn’t want anywhere near him, he thinks he would have wrenched away from her by now. No, he definitely would have. But he’s a professional at hiding his personal reactions, both on and off the job. 

Yes, he’s made progress in therapy, but the instincts to hide himself, to put up walls and masks, are still easily activated. Handy for moments like now, when he can’t escape his girlfriend. Or when he has to smile big for the crowd and pretend the perpetual feelings for his best friend don’t exist when said best friend barrels back into the room all lovestruck and covered in soot from his boyfriend. 

“It was good. Really nice, actually.” That much is true. Because it was. Honestly, the whole hospital room chic was perfectly Maddie and Chim. 

“Nice?” She asks in a teasing tone, squeezing tighter and clinging to his torso like a koala. 

His breathing is acceptably even but the urge to peel her off, to tell her that she should probably go home because his heart rate is skyrocketing, his fingers and toes are tingling, and he’s beginning to feel claustrophobic is anything but. His built in panic mode suspects there isn’t enough Jell-o in the universe to undo this. Again, dramatic, but he thinks he’s within his rights to think so right now. 

“Yeah, I-” He pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezes his eyes shut and inhales as deeply as he can manage. “Y’know, I’m, uh, still feeling a little worse for wear from last night. I should-” He doesn’t even finish the sentence, just points vaguely in the direction of his bedroom. 

Marisol’s relaxed ‘welcome home’ look turns concerned as she furrows her brow and holds the back of her hand to his forehead. “Are you okay? Do you want me to stay? I should probably stay over in case you need–” 

“Really,” he interjects, backing out of her hold, “I’ll be fine. Just need to sleep it off, I think. You should go. Home. To your place.” Smooth, Diaz. “I mean, because I’ll probably be restless, y’know?”

“I can sleep on the cou-”

“No,” he says more forcefully than intended. He should be grateful she wants to stay and take care of him. He should. He is. But not the couch. Not… Buck’s bed. His place. Their place.

“Oh.” She takes a step back and he should probably feel worse about the way she looks so dejected. “I, um, I understand. Talk tomorrow?”

“Yeah, talk tomorrow.” 

Tomorrow when I’ve had a chance to reset. When the twin alcohol and love hangovers have hopefully, finally died off. When I’m not seeing an endless mental projection reel of reminders like Or, y’know, you could have mine. Then why are you in hospital jail? Stay with me, Buck. Him choking on blood. You saved him. Abby. His fiancee is Abby. Showoff. My blood on him. Hey, Buck. You think you’re expendable. They’re all dead. I, uh, misunderstood the assignment. Three minutes and seventeen seconds. She sees me. It was a date. 

The front door clicks in the latch and he immediately turns the deadbolt, noting how his pulse drops to a debatably more normal range. He wants to settle on the couch, under the covers in his bed, both and neither all at the same time. In the end he migrates to the kitchen, which really shouldn’t surprise him. 

He runs his fingers over the backs of the chairs, circling around until he’s standing between the table and main counter. Am I one of the things that makes you sad? So now am I allowed to ask how you are? But you do eventually - you process it? 

Eddie turns toward the fridge, drawn to Shannon’s photo. He plucks it from under the magnet, running his thumb over the glossy print. 

“Can never quite get my timing down, can I?” He huffs out a wet chuckle. “God, I wish you were here right now. I could really use someone to talk to.” 

If it wasn’t after midnight he would probably drive himself to the cemetery to sit on the stone bench. To talk to someone that can’t talk back but would nonetheless tell him what an idiot he is. To unfairly water her grave with tears shed because he always thinks he has more time. You might have noticed I almost died. Again. And then I thought, this is it. This is the last day of my life. We’re all going to die alone. That’s what she said to me and Hen. 

Truthfully he’s not sure who he’s thinking of more — Shannon or Buck — as he slides to the floor, still clutching her picture, beginning to sob and shake as the words I love you so much flash like a neon reminder of his poor timing. Does it really matter? Because either way he’s missed his chance. 

But I guess it’s your mess now. 

Part 3 (Buck's POV)

[skyeventide]

the amazon tolkien show was already pretty bad for a number of writing, characterisation, and thematic reasons, and profoundly mid the rest of the time.

then, in the last few weeks they proceeded to publish a magazine cover with barrow wights that are an orientalist caricature that looks like it came out of pre "don't dress up as sexy cleopatra for halloween" discourse. it's cursed wraiths bedecked in coin jewellery, sporting a belly-dancer outfit that is not sexy just because they're undead. that of course birthed the most insanely stupid discourse you can imagine. on one hand having the racists bemoan that the anglo-saxon-inspired burial sites magically transformed into middle-eastern-looking monsters because of woke. on the other hand, the "akshually the lore" people, trying to prove that, in the second age, these humans might well have been remnants of those who came from the east and not the shire-adjacent barrow wights we're all acquainted with, so, gotcha racists! par for the course for insanely stupid tolkien discourse. the point, as usual, being that it doesn't matter whether it's possible by lore. rather, what if we look at the reason why, in this day and age, a magazine SO ironically called "empire" puts on the front page the first glimpse of aesthetics/concept art that are markedly not western, and that art showcases a known orientalist look that doesn't even get the dubious dignity of being put on people and is instead sported by undead monsters? diversity win!

then yesterday they dropped a narvi look and a dwarf poster. we already knew they barely moved past the scottish dwarf stereotype set by peter jackson, a director with whom this series is continually in conversation. we already knew the prosthetic noses of the dwarves in the hobbit movies were silly at best. yet again, narvi is given a fake nose of such proportions that you might think he was about to play cyrano de bergerac. and then there's the poster, where a ring with a giant gem glinting gold in the foreground, in the company of the other rings, stands against a darkened background where a shadowy dwarf grasps forward with clawing, avid hands. of course, after doing some orientalism, it's time to throw some antisemitism in and make sure to hit every box in the bingo. if that poster hadn't appeared on the official account, I'd have thought it a parody.

I've never posted about the show because as a rule I don't feel like wasting too much time on things I think are bad. I sure hope I never will again. I'm also not looking forward to the next bit of corporate diversity we'll certainly be graced with soon enough.

[sgstories123]

Mystery Man At Mel’s Party In Marina

“Grab’s waiting.” Max called out to his sister impatiently.

“Yeah, okay. Don’t need to nag like mum. We are in time for the party.” Mel responded, pissed. She looked at her twin brother who was dressed in a burgundy casual jacket over a tight white t-shirt and black jeans. He had even put on CK One as the familiar scent reached her nose. Her brother had been working out in the gym. She had not realised before but the time and effort seemed to have paid off. Max was sporting larger biceps, a broader chest and chiseled abs. What a sexy body, she thought to herself, her irritation at her brother already subsiding by the sight of the muscular body.

Max and Mel had been invited to Leonard’s party last week and since then, he had been looking forward to it. Leonard was one of the richest guy in their class. He drives a silver Porsche 911 to school and wears branded stuff from head to toe. At the end of every semester, he would throw a party at some posh hotel. Everyone wants to be invited to his parties as it was rumoured to be wild and extravagant. But Leonard is very selective and only about 10 to 20 people are invited each year. The pretty girls in the class are often on top of his list. But Leonard changes his girlfriends so often that many are already struck off the list.

Mel was lucky this year to be in Leonard’s group for his Marketing class. As usual, she worked hard on the project and despite the rest of the group doing the bare minimum, they managed to get a Distinction for the module. Leonard was so pleased to get his first Distinction in his university life that he had reserved a place for Mel.

When Leonard heard that Mel had a twin brother in their class, he was surprised that two very different persons can be so closely related. “How can you be twins? You don’t look alike? Fuck! You are not even of the same gender.” Leonard had asked Max.“So, does that mean Mel has a dick?” Max was happy to go along with the joke and this endeared him to Leonard. Before the end of the semester, he found he to had an invitation to the party.

Max looked at Mel who was dressed in a long, shimmering blue dress, her front drawn low to expose the deep cleavage and ample breasts. A thin black belt accentuated her hourglass figure, spotlighting her assets. His cock stirred. Fuck! He told himself. That’s your sister. But a devilish voice responded immediately. That’s natural. You are only a man. Remember. The greatest queen of Egypt, Cleopatra, married her own brother.

Max shook off the thoughts. After spending one semester reading Egyptian history as an elective and that was what he remembered? What a waste of time. Back to the present, Max, he told himself resolutely.

An hour later, they stepped into the presidential suite at a hotel in the Marina Bay Area. Most of the guests were already there.

“Mel!” Nicole, Mel’s best friend shouted across the room. Nicole hurried over with champagne glasses in her hands. “Here! Take one! This is very nice!” Nicole seemed a little intoxicated as she swayed lightly on her feet. She must have arrived much earlier and helped herself to too many drinks. Nicole’s boyfriend, Abdul, walked behind her and held her by the waist, bending down to give her a quick peck on her cheeks. “You okay?” Abdul asked. “Yes, Sir!” Nicole responded. Abdul was an Army regular and took a scholarship to further his studies in the university. He was in his early forties and Mel was surprised when Nicole told her that they were together. “Why? You have a thing for father-figure?” Mel had asked Nicole. “Nope. I have a thing for military uniforms. He looked so cool in that uniform. And, of course being older, he knows a few more things when it comes to sex.” Nicole confessed. “You slut!” Mel laughed at Nicole. “You should try an older man some day, Mel. Preferably a Malay. They are circumcised and feel different from Chinese cocks.” Nicole was a self-professed sex expert.

“Hey Max! Come over here! I got something to show you.” Leonard, the host of the party had emerged from the bedroom. A group of guys had gathered around him and they seemed to be passing something small around, laughing nervously. Mel was curious and walked over to the group. When the group saw them approaching, they popped something into their mouth, washed it down with drinks and dispersed quickly. “What’s that?” Mel pulled Max over, whispering harshly. “Are you taking drugs?” Max pushed Mel’s hand away. “It is not what you think it is. Just something fun and harmless. Legit, okay?”

Mel was not convinced She walked over to Leonard who was now sitting in the sofa, looking out towards a floor-to-ceiling glassed window overlooking the Marian Bay Area, lighted by the street and building lights. It was a beautiful sight that only those with the money can buy. She sat down next to Leonard, her sisterly instinct kicking in. “Leonard, what did you give Max? Is it drugs?” Leonard turned and smiled at her. “You want some?” Mel was aware that several people around them including Leonard’s latest girlfriend Cheries was looking at her in amusement. “No. I mean I am not prudish or anything. I have taken them before. I just want to know.” Leonard laughed in his usual cocky manner. “Then it doesn’t matter.” He ignored her and took a sip from his drink.

Cherie seemed to be jealous that Mel had sat next to her boyfriend. She moved closer to Leonard, pressing her body against his, her arms wrapped protectively around him, signalling to Mel that she should move away as Leonard belongs to her.

“Look, Mel! Don’t worry, okay. It is a party! Just have fun.” Leonard leaned further back on the sofa. Cherie decided to take things up a notch further. She unzipped Leonard’s pants, took out his cock and started sucking on it. She was adamant to let Mel know that Leonard belongs to him.

Mel took the hint and turned to get up from the sofa. But Leonard pulled her down back on the sofa. He looked at her with half-closed eyes, obviously enjoying Cherie’s blowjob. He put a hand around her neck and pulled her closer to him, whispering “It was Viagra. I gave all the boys Viagra. You don’t need Viagra, do you?” He laughed, cockily, seeing everything as a big joke. He took out a small pill box from his jacket and popped out two red pills. “But you may want one of this. It is good.” He shoved one into Mel’s hands and lifting Cherie’s head from his cock, popped one into her mouth. Cherie seemed to know what the pill was. She washed the pill down with her drink before resuming with her blowjob.

Mel realised that her other classmates were looking at her. Feeling pressured, she popped the pill into her mouth as nonchalantly as she could and washed it down with champagne. She did not know what it was, but it cannot be too bad. No one has died or got into trouble at Leonard’s parties before. Anyway, Cheries has taken it too, she reasoned. But she was curious. What was it she has taken.

“How are you feeling?” Leonard asks her. “Fine. I don’t feel anything. Was it a placebo? You up to your silly tricks again?” Mel came to a sudden realisation that it may be another one of Leonard’s silly pranks. “It is an aphrodisiac for women. I thought you may be envious that Max has Viagra so I gave you something that it more appropriate for you.” Leonard laughed. “Not working, Leonard. I have no inclination to have sex.” Mel tried to sound cool.

But the pill seemed to be affecting Cherie. Her face was flushed and she had started taking off her clothes. When she took off her bra and panties, the guests hooted with joy. She proceeded to remove Leonard’s clothes before straddling him reverse cowboy style while Leonard was still seated on the sofa. She was bouncing herself on his stiff cock, as she moaned in pleasure. Some of the other guests took the opportunity to hug and kiss each other, catching up with the main act.

Mel had a first row seat to the show put up by Leonard and Cherie. Leonard was still holding on to her hand and it felt warm and comfortable. With his clothes off, Mel realised that Leonard had quite a muscular and sexy body. She touched his chest, enjoying the smooth touch of his skin, before resting on his hard nipple. Without realising it, she was already sucking on his nipple, her arms caressing his body.

Leonard grunted, shoving his hips upwards against Cherie, as he flooded her with his man juice. He held on to her, enjoying the last bit of pleasure as his cock pulsed with pleasure. When his cock had been drained, he pushed Cherie off to the floor and pulled Mel down to suck on his cock. As Mel started sucking on his cock, he deftly moved his arms under her long dress and removed her panties. His fingers found her love hole. Expertly, he pried them open with his fingers before inserting them in slowly. Mel gasped in pleasure as his fingers drew love juice from with her.

This time, Leonard wanted a cowgirl position. He helped Mel removed her dress before getting her to straddle facing him. Mel was surprised that Leonard could get hard again so quickly after having just fucked Cherie. His cock found her hole easily and slid into her. Leonard’s cock was providing so much pleasure that she blacked out for an instance. When she came to, Leonard was guzzling on her breasts like a baby while she was riding on his cock. Cherie was still lying on the floor after her session with Leonard. But one guy was eating her pussy and the other was trying to get her to give him a blowjob. Before she could see if the guy was successful in getting his cock into Cherie’s unconscious mouth, she was pushed by Leonard. She was now leaning upside down, her hands on the floor for support. Leonard had decided to stand up and do a pile driver. Her hands were too weak to support her but Leonard was holding on to her legs, pulling her upwards while he drove his cock deep down into her. She screamed as the cock went in so deep that her juices splashed out. It was the largest surge of orgasmic pleasure that she ever felt. She blacked out again.

When she woke up, she was on the floor, Cherie was not around any more. She vaguely remember Leonard laughing in her ear. “The pill is working very well, it seems. Have fun. The night is still young.” She tried to sit up but found herself too weak. As she crawled towards the sofa, someone held on to her ass. Before she could turn around to see who it was, she felt a hard cock being shoved into her love hole. She winced with pleasure. Her vagina had become so sensitive that there was too much pleasure for her to handle. She collapsed, her hands no longer able to support her. But this only lifted her ass, allowing the person behind her to shove his cock deeper into her. She moaned, letting herself succumb to the pleasure.

There was nothing else to do as she was too weak to move away. As she was being fucked from behind, she tried to look around her. It seems a full fuck fest was going on. Everywhere, her friends were making out. On the sofa. On the floor. On the bar. Against the wall. And she saw Cherie sandwiched fucked by two guys. She tried to see if the guy behind was fucking Cherie’s ass or was Cherie taking in two cocks in her cunt. But the guy fucking her had increased his pace. She closed her eyes as she released another round of her juice, wetting the carpet. The guy slapped her ass, as he also followed her, releasing his love juice next to hers on the carpet. Mel laid down exhausted. She turned around and saw that the person who had just fucked her was Teck Meng.

Fuck. She cursed herself. Teck Meng was nerdy, fat and pimply. But he was also brilliant in his studies. Leonard probably invited him to the party so that he can borrow his notes or get him to help him with his assignments. She needed to get away. It will be bad for her reputation if anyone saw her being fucked by Teck Meng. There will be no end to the snide remarks and callous jokes.

She managed to get to the sofa and lifted herself up. She walked unsteadily towards the bar and tried to sit down on one of the high stools. She lost her balance and almost fell but were grabbed by a pair of muscular hands. “You okay?” It was Abdul. “Yes, Sir!” Mel replied. Why was she mimicking Nicole, Mel thought to herself. It was weird. Like everyone else in the room, Abdul was naked. Nicole was right. Abdul’s circumcised cock looked different. “Fuck me, Sir!” Mel was surprised at what came out of her mouth. Was she crazy? Did she say that because she wanted Abdul’s cock? How can she betray Nicole like that?

But it was too late. Abdul had accepted the invitation and swept down, hugging her tightly and kissing her, his tongue invading every single crevice he could find. His hands attacked her breasts, squeezing them and pinching her nipples, sending her into waves of pleasure. He moved down quickly, squatting in front of her, licking and sucking her vagina as she tried to balance herself on the high stool while lost in her pleasure. Nicole was right. Abdul knows one or two things about giving pleasure. She has never felt this way before. Before long, she came again, squirting her love juice all over Abdul’s head, as she held tightly on to his short hair, her legs clamping hard against him, as her pleasure rode out in waves.

“My turn.” Abdul whispered softly as he carried Mel up in his strong muscular arms. He took Mel’s seat and sat her down on his cock, reverse cowgirl style. As Abdul leaned forwards, he turned Mel’s head up and kissed her. His hand supported her body, squeezing her breasts as he did so. As he pushed his cock into her, he pushed her forwards, allowing his cock to enter deeper into Mel. Mel gasped, as his cock brushed hard against her upper vagina walls, pressing against her pleasure points repeatedly. She was facing the window with the view of Marina Bay. There were fewer vehicles on the road now. It must be getting late. It was then that she caught sight of Nicole. She was lying side by side with Leonard near the window, doing a 69. She turned around to look at Abdul, hoping that he did not see Nicole cheating on him.

“Don’t think too much.” Abdul seemed to sense what was on Mel’s mind. “Everyone is just having fun at the party.” He pushed her down and stood up. Mel had her hands on the floor and her thighs held high by Abdul. In a wheelbarrow position, Abdul pushed deep into Mel, thrusting deeper with each stroke, eliciting screams of pleasure, each louder than the last. Mel was writhing in pleasure as her juices squirted uncontrollably out of her, each wave larger than the last. She tried to stay conscious but again she blacked out as her body could not take it any more. By the time she regained consciousness, she was lying on the floor near the bar. Abdul was nowhere to be found.

She laid down for a while, looking at her friends who seemed to be still engaged in sex all around the room. She sat up and saw a pair of legs jutting up from behind the bar. She crew over, curious to know who was behind the bar. It was Qing Long, the exchange student from China. He played basketball for his university and was very tall at 1.9 metres. Mel had avoided talking to him because his height always made her feel intimated. But now that he is lying down, he actually looked quite cute with his boyish charm and pale skin. The thing that most interested Mel was his cock. It looked so thick and long, and it was not even hard yet. Maybe tall guys have longer and larger dicks?

Mel could not stop herself and started sucking on it. She was getting to be quite a slut. As she sucked on it, she could feel it growing harder and longer. She was going to give up when she felt a hand stroking her hair. She turned and saw that Qing Long had woken up and was now sitting up. He smiled at her and helped her on her feet. Pressing her against the wall, he pushed his hard cock into her, fucking her in a standing position. Mel gasped as the long thick cock penetrated her. This was too good. But he was too tall and had to bend his knees awkwardly. He lifted both of her legs, carrying her. Her whole body was now resting on his cock, forcing her to accept his whole length. Mel blacked out again as the cock reached deeper than any other cock before Qing Long’s. She felt her vagina gagging, just like she would gag when taking in too large a cock in her mouth. She held onto Qing Long tightly, begging him to finish quickly, as she could not take it any more. He responded by banging her hard against the wall, finishing violently, in several hard, deep strokes. He released her, setting her down onto the floor. Mel was exhausted as she watched Qing Long’s man juice flow out of her sore vagina.

“You done?” It was Bryan, another exchange student from Finland. He had been popular with the girls, with his blonde hair and blue eyes. Qing Long nodded and walked away. Without even asking Mel, he pulled her up and led her into the bedroom. The bedroom was dark and was lit up by the lights of the main room when the door was opened. Mel could see several bodies on the large bed and on the floor, engaged in sex. Familiar, soft, moaning noises were heard throughout the room. It was an orgy over here.

But Bryan did not intend to share her. He pushed her into the bathroom where it was empty and brightly lit. He turned her to face the mirror over the sink, parted her legs and started fucking her from behind. Mel could see herself in the mirror. There were patches of dried sperm all over her body, including on her hair and face. Bryan was squeezing her breasts but he did not look as if he was interested in her. From the mirror, Mel realised Bryan was a selfish lover, only interested in his own pleasure. He was just staring at his own cock plunging her hole, not even looking at her. Thrusting without much emotion, he came quickly, took his cock out, and left the bathroom without another word.

Mel was disappointed. She did not feel any pleasure from this fuck. This must be the worst one of the night. She looked at herself in the mirror again. It must be late. She should get some sleep.

She walked out of the bathroom and saw a space on the bed. She laid down to get some rest but she was not going to get any. An arm wrapped around her and hugged her from behind. The guy started kissing her nape, slowing caressing her and touching her all over her body. It was very slow and sensual foreplay. Slowly, she could feel her body responding, enjoying the excruciatingly slow and erotic movements that they made together. After what seemed like an eternity, the man moved his hands towards her vagina, slowly teasing her until she was drenched in her own juices. He fingered her expertly, and she orgasmed several times, her body writhing in pleasure, jerking herself against the man’s muscular body. She could smell a familiar scent that the man was wearing but could not quite make out what it was. Her hands reached behind her to touch the man’s cock. It was huge and hard. She guide it slowly into her, as the man entered her from behind. He turned her downwards towards the bed so that he was fucking her sideways. With her legs lifted up, it was scissors-style. Mel had a sudden thought. Tonight, she must have completed all the Kama Sutra positions. Was there anything that she had not done yet? The man went slow, pushing and pulling each stroke deliberately. Mel could feel the pleasure transversing throughout her love canal and coursing through her whole body. It lasted very long but finally, the man approached his own orgasm, increasing his pace only slightly, before hugging her tightly, pushing his cock one last time deep into her and delivering his love seed into her waiting womb. The man gave Mel a soft, warm kiss on her shoulder before turning away.

Mel felt a strong connection to this man. There was a warm, familiar feeling. And the scent. It made her feel that she should know this man. She wanted to know him better and maybe fuck him again. She sat up. The room was still dark and she could not see who was on the bed. There was also several people on the bed and a few more on the floor. The man could be any one of them. She was quite sure the man had not left the room as she did not see the light from the main room entering the bedroom. She saw a thin silver of light from the drawn curtains. It was already morning. She got up trying not to step on the people sleeping on the floors and drew open the curtains. The early morning light was just enough for her to make out the people in the room. She recognised most of the people in the room. There were about 5 men and 3 women in the room. One of the men was her brother. The familiar scent was CK One.