In case you are not from Mexico you should know that María Elena Rios is a survivor of a femicide attempt against her ( after breaking up with bussinessman and former politician Juan Vera Carrizal, he hired a man who threw acid to her face. Most of her face and parts of her body were burned and she had to spent 6 months recovering in the hospital)
After surviving this attack, she became an outspoken activist for violence against women. She even managed to modify the law so that an attack with acid against a woman would be considered not just attempted murder but also femicide ( which carries a larger sentence in the criminal system)
So the fact that she is making this accusation is very serious and something we should not dismiss just because Tenoch happens to be you favourite actor. In fact this is much larger than Tenoch.
Please, I urge you to read and educate yourself on the violence that women in Mexico have to face everyday. In average, eleven of us go missing everyday and there does not seem to be and end to it. It is because of women like Maria Elena and many other activists, who have bravely spoken out (even when their life and the lives of their families were threatened) that we have been able to see some changes in the judicial system here in Mexico, but there is still a long long way to go.
Elena already survived one attempt to silence her, and with this new accusation surely a lot of people will now try to silence her again
Let's not enable the abuse any further by participating in this and instead let's listen to what she and other victims have to say
Hands at ten and two, the wheel swerves madly. Pushing against the thin fabric of his dress shirt, his arms bulge. His knuckles almost turn white from the pressure of his grasp.
Hunched over the wheel, his back does not even touch the seat.
His masseuse will definitely reprimand him about this.
Whatever.
As his vehicle weaves in and out of several cars, he ignores the honks and curses from other drivers. The roar of his expensive car drowns them out. Even then, he races down the freeway, foot heavy on the gas.
The last two months have been nothing short of a fucking nightmare. Hell, actually.
But today topped every one of those days.
He barely rolls his head, trying to relieve the burning ache in his traps.
“Fuck,” he hisses, reaching up to massage it with one of his hands.
No matter how hard he tries, he can reach deep into the tissue like he wants to. Huffing out, he loosens his tie, making sure to keep one hand on the wheel.
With a significant lack of care for the expensive fabric, he throws it down onto the floor of the passenger side.
“Bullshit excuse of lawyer,” he mutters, clutching the steering wheel impossibly tighter. His skin burns against the premium leather.
He takes an exit off the route of his house.
Fuck you, W’Kabi.
If the law permitted it, he’d choke the man to death.
His law firm unfortunately paired him up with W’Kabi for a case and while they’re supposed to be working together, for the benefit of their client, this is turning out to be something more of a dirty competition.
Leaving him out on important calls, giving him incorrect times and room numbers for meetings—and all for what?
This bullshit with W’Kabi is the cherry on top of the last two months of nothing but nonstop work. All thanks to his recent promotion—which he should be happy about.
Regardless, all that stress and no immediate place to release it has gotten him pent up.
He scoffs at the thought as he keeps his eyes peeled for that building.
Daylight savings is a bitch.
Thankfully, it’s fairly easy to spot, as it stands out in the darkness of the evening. The mixture of red, orange, and pink lights do the job.
Pulling into the vast and almost packed parking lot, he pulls up to the valet booth.
He doesn’t wait for the scrawny man to make his way over to him before he’s getting out of the car and slamming the door behind himself.
“Good evening, Mr. Chamahez.”
He grunts at the younger man, throwing his keys at him.
Moving on autopilot, his feet carry him out of the parking lot and to the building’s front entrance.
His usual visits were marked with his ogling of the building before making his entrance.
The swooping lights and grand architecture were a treat every time. And he can’t forget the giant sign illuminating the building’s front in stark white–Midnight Angels.
But this time, he spares no glance at it.
Trudging past the entrance, he neglects the doorman of a greeting and a tip.
He knows he must come off as an asshole, but that's the least of his worries. And for anyone watching, it’s about to get worse.
The line of people at the front desk means less than nothing to him, and neither do their shouts and curses.
His large tattooed forearms, exposed by his rolled up sleeves, crash onto the edge of the desk, which he has to bend over to even lean on.
Ramonda, the madame looks up at him with elated surprise.
“Attuma–”
“Okoye, where is she?”
The jovial look in her eyes melts away and her brows settle as her lips press into a thin line.
“I know you saw my list of customers standing here before you.”
His knuckles turn a shade lighter as his hands curl into fists.
“Where is she?”
His voice is sharper.
Ramonda’s head rears back, faux shock on her face. “Have you hit your head?”
One his hands drop to grip at the buckle of his belt. He tugs at it uncomfortably, a poor attempt at discreetly adjusting himself.
“I’ll pay double to get her right now,” he tries to hold back a groan.
“She’s busy,” she says sternly before moving her gaze over to the monitor next to her. “Quite busy–booked up for the whole night–”
“Triple,” he nearly growls.
Ramonda stares at him for a moment. She gestures offhandedly toward the seating area.
“Sit down.”
There’s no courtesy in her voice.
He plops down into the seat, gripping at the arms of the chair.
Keeping still proves to be a task. Trying to keep still is like torture. His finger taps a random rhythm, his legs bounce, and he chews at his thumbnail on his other hand.
Just feet away, Ramonda stares at him like he’s grown three heads in two seconds. Snatching up the phone at her desk, she dials a room number.
“I’m in the middle of a session right now.”
Okoye speaks quickly, hushed, into the phone's receiver.
“Your favorite client is here.” She raises a brow, stealing another caustic glance at the fidgeting man. “I’m not even sure this is really him. It looks like he’s strung out.”
Okoye scoffs, “I don’t have favorites. And he didn’t book a meeting with me, so he’ll have to come back–”
“He’s offering triple for you to take him right now.”
The line goes silent.
“I’ll have Aneka cover for you.”
Okoye makes a sound. “This is going to have an effect on my ratings.”
“You can always decline the offer.”
Okoye goes silent again, as if she’s truly contemplating this.
Ramonda knows she’s made up her mind since she first mentioned the man.
“I’ll be down in ten minutes.”
“Quickly, he’s scaring off some of my clients.”
——————————————————————————
Blowing out a strong breath through his nose, Attuma tries his best to keep calm, but his breathing exercises don't seem to be working.
Giving them another go seems like a good idea, until he sees her coming his way.
His dark eyes run up her beautiful figure, stopping at her beautifully stoic face. Her high cheekbones practically glisten, even under the main lobby’s dim lighting.
He rushes to stand. “Okoye–”
“You say nothing. Come.”
She turns away and begins the walk to their shared destination.
His eyes immediately fall to her ass, watching it move underneath that sorry excuse of a skirt. It barely covers anything.
“And no touching.”
He swallows.
The walk to the suite isn’t at all long. But something about their prolonged distance was driving him further up the wall.
He’s itching to get his hands on the beautiful woman once that door closes behind them.
And when it does, he’s already stepping forward.
“Okoye–”
A hand swipes across his face, turning his head to one side. The sting of the slap doesn’t even fully register.
“Mistress,” she corrects him.
He shivers under her cold stare.
“Sit down.”
He won’t be told twice.
He takes his seat in the chair sitting in the center of the cardinal colored room. All around them are objects made to extract pleasure from the body in numerous ways.
But Attuma isn’t worried about a single one of them. Tonight isn’t a night for him to indulge in fantasy.
He just needs a pretty face and a pretty hole to get his frustrations out on.
“Who do you think you are?”
He blinks, realizing that her back is turned to him, a large expanse of distance separating them.
“Answer the question, Attuma.”
His dick practically jumps at the sound of his name on her tongue.
“I–”
“You come into my place of work, with a complete disregard for the many customers who were here before you, and demand that I stop whatever I’m doing to come tend to you. Like I wait on you hand and foot.”
“It’s not like tha–”
“I did not give you permission to speak.”
Her voice is sharp as it cuts through his words. Swallowing down the pocket of air in his throat, he tries to deny how her scolding tone drives him crazy, for the sake of taking her anger seriously.
“You think you own me, Attuma?”
His eyes widen and he shakes his head.
Her head turns as she finally rewards him with eye contact.
“No.”
“No?”
“No, Mistress.”
Her lack of praise for getting it right creates a feeling of disappointment within his chest. Though, he can understand her lack of grace with him at the moment.
She makes her way over to him, something in her hands.
“Don’t look at me,” she snaps, before he can tell what it is.
His gaze falls to the floor and he chews on his bottom lip.
Her fingers graze against the skin on his left wrist, he almost jumps at the feeling.
“With the way you were acting earlier, I don’t think I can trust you to keep your hands to yourself,” she seethes in her ear.
His head leans towards the sound, as if her hand is in his hair, roughly tugging his head in her direction.
Chaac, he wishes that were the case.
“Do you disagree?”
“No, Mistress,” he swallows.
He keeps quiet as his wrists are fastened to the chair, his legs as well.
They’ve never done legs before.
All the while, the ache in his dick grows stronger with each passing minute. It echoes in his lower stomach.
His head hangs. A cover slips over his eyes, used to tug his head back as he’s submerged in full darkness.
It’s tied tight around the back of his head.
He’s sure Okoye was rough on purpose, tying the blindfold in a way that its knot tugs at a few strands, causing a pulling sensation on his scalp.
He squirms at the feeling.
“Color.”
“Green,” he says, almost breathless.
Okoye eyes the way his fingers grip the edges of the chair arms. The beds of his fingernails grow pale from the pressure. She looks between his legs, finding the source for his fidgeting.
She looks up at him, finding his head almost lulling backwards.
“You come here after two months of disappearing, demanding me so that I may be used as some sort of a quick fuck for you. Hm?”
His lips part as his head turns in the direction of her voice.
“Answer me.”
“No, Mistress.”
His voice trembles.
She scoffs before making her way over to him, careful not to make any noise.
The sharp sting of her slap reaches him this time.
He makes a sound, it's high pitched, impossible to mistake it for a groan.
“Do not waste my time further by lying. I will leave you here, hooked up to one of the many machines I have and leave you to be taken care of while I tend to clients who are more deserving of my time.”
He sucks in a breath, almost twisting in his chair. The slap leaves his toes curling in his shoes.
“Y-yes, Mistress,” he answers truthfully.
Once it comes out, his head hangs in shame, but she’s quick to pull it up.
“And why do you think you’re deserving of such access to me?”
“I don’t–”
“But you did. So, don’t make me ask again.”
He cuts back a groan, head falling back as he tries to shift to alleviate the pressure between his legs. “H-had a–uumph–long day–”
“Full sentences, you’re a big boy.”
He wets his bottom lip, feeling his mouth go dry. “I had a long day. I-I was stressed–”
“Ooh, I see.” She nods to herself, stepping away from him to circle the chair. “So you thought you had access to me because you had a long day. I see….”
“Fuck!”
He hadn’t expected a punch to the face. But as his head hangs back, chest rising and falling quickly, hands almost ready to crush the chair arms beneath them, his dick strains against the fabric of his pants. He’s sure there’s a small stain in his boxers already.
Reeling from the hit, the slight dizziness it’s caused only adds to the feeling.
“Aw, shit,” he slurs, feeling his dick throb unbearably in his pants.
“Stop your crying, you’re not bleeding.”
A rush of warm air hits his face and his nose is flooded with a fruity smell. Its undertone is that of marmalade.
Her familiar scent makes his stomach curl.
“Yet.”
He groans, the muscles in his thighs flexing. His head barely gets the chance to drop before a heavy hand grasps his jaw.
Warm air blows against the shell of his ear, causing him to shiver.
Beneath her fingertips, goosebumps rise on his skin.
“What took you so long to come and see me?”
He can’t think straight, it’s damn near impossible to do so with her hands on him.
“Hm?”
Her nails dig deeper into the skin of his jaw, rigging his head harder—a large contrast to her pillow-soft hum.
His adam's-apple bobs in his throat and his lips part shakily. He licks at them, the sound nearly audible.
The corners of her lips rise.
“W-work.”
“Work,” she repeats, with an indifference. Yet it seems to mock him. And he loves it.
The warmth of her touch leaves him, and he finds himself chasing after it. But he knows she doesn’t stray far. He can feel her near.
Although her steps are quiet, he knows how she circles his chair, slow and calculating, like he’s her prey. Just like she’d done a hundred times before.
And then, there’s a light touch on his shoulder. It sinks under her hand. Her other hand repeats the action. Together, they slide down his chest.
It makes him suck in a sharp breath.
She knows how sensitive of a spot his chest is.
Cheekily, he lets his head slightly fall back into her chest, feeling the softness of her boobs cushion the back of his head.
No touching.
The words ring loud in his head, and he almost fears being reprimanded for breaking the rule.
But when she doesn’t say anything, he allows himself to fully relax. He can feel the shallow, but slow breaths she takes.
He’s almost able to focus on the beating of her heart when he feels his belt fall away.
A soft groan leaves him.
Sweet relief.
In an effort to kick his feet out in relaxation, his ankles struggle against the restraints.
Ah fuck.
“So pent up….” She muses, unbuttoning his pants. “So much … stress.”
His breath hitches at the way her hand slides underneath his slacks and over his dick to cup it.
The constricting warmth of his briefs almost burns at his skin. Off, he wants them off. They’re fucking suffocating him.
“I can take some of that stress away from you,” she whispers softly in his ear, and his eyes almost roll back. “But only if you give up control—“
His sharp moan slices through her equally sharp tone. He lurches forward at the painfully sweet grip she takes.
His wrists tug at the chair’s bindings
She hushes him, her tight grip lessening into a soothing rub.
“Give it to me,” she says placatingly.
And like a genie that grants his wish, she frees him from his confines, pulling him out his briefs.
He hums, as if to say yes.
“Give it to me, Attuma,” she whispers, rubbing him harder.
Her hand falls into a steady rhythm before it’s joined by its twin.
His hums melt into moans.
“Give it all.”
His head falls back as one of her hands begins to move up and down his length, the other tugging perfectly at his balls.
“Come on,” she whispers, tugging harder.
His fists are tight, his nails surely pressing into his palms.
“Give it.” Her hand moves faster.
His leg tenses then bounces as he feels himself reaching that peak.
“Awe fuck,” he whimpers, eyes squeezing shut.
“I know, I know,” she whispers.
His body burns with a white hot fire, all throughout.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whines, thighs jumping.
“Give it to me—”
“Aargh!”
It shoots through him like an arrow through a balloon. But the balloon doesn’t pop.
His hips buck into the air, a pathetic effort from his body to release what it’s been holding back for the last two months—a good orgasm.
He’s breathless and feeling more alert than ever.
Blinking his eyes open, he looks down at himself, seeing the perfectly manicured hand, squeezing at the base of his dick.
It stands hard, still. Rigid.
Her skin looks perfect against his. He’s always believed that, ever since they first met three years ago.
His dick twitches at the thought.
A small, feeble bead of cum rolling down the underside of his dick.
“Now get yourself together, leave this room, pay me what you promised, and make a proper appointment.” Carefully, she tucks him back into his boxers before patting him. “Saturday at ten works for me.”
She wipes her hands on his clothed chest.
Unable to speak, he only watches her as she unbuckles him from the chair.
Once done, she stands upright, staring at him with a look that hides something beneath its surface. He can’t tell what.
She doesn’t spare him a goodbye, instead opting to quietly leave the room.
summary: attuma treats okoye like the queen that she is
pairing: okoye x attuma
warnings: 18+, fluff and smut
"You, Okoye, are my entire heart," he spoke as he burned kisses into the skin of her shoulder.
She rolled her eyes at him in the reflection of the mirror as he lifted her arm, pressing kisses down and bending it so he could kiss her wrist as well.
She'd been visiting Talokan with the princess and Attuma had seized every opportunity he found to pull her away. At first, he'd played it off as showing her around, but she'd seen through his facade at the beginning. Although K'uk'ulkan had made sure that Shuri and Okoye were to stay close enough to the surface for their own safety, Attuma found plenty of places to sneak his love off to without putting her in harm's way.
"Attuma, my love, you are a terrible liar. You do know that you do not need to impress me for sex?" she teased when he took her around to an area with very little people, pressing her hand against her crotch and making him inhale deeply.
"You vixen," he whispered to her, a sly smile growing on his face, which dazzled Okoye because there was no mask covering his face underwater.
Now, he was practically worshipping her. She forgot how he'd managed to pull her away this time, but she didn't really care because the feeling of his lips on her skin was turning her into a live wire as he planted kisses.
"I will never be able to get enough of you," Attuma breathed, eyes rolling back at the smell of her. "And that scent, it lingers in my every thought when you are away."
Okoye let a soft smile form on her face, which pleased him. He'd found that her smile was his favorite sight in the world.
"You awaken my very being," he told her, wrapping his arms tight around her to keep her as close as he could get her.
A small laugh came from Okoye at the declaration. If she didn't know any better, she'd accuse him of exaggeration, but she knew that he wasn't in the game of sugarcoating.
"Oh, shut up," she told him playfully, heart growing incredibly warm from his compliments.
She momentarily wondered if his eagerness to praise her came from an undiscovered kink of his. She stored the thought in the back of her mind, deciding she'd toy around with the idea another time.
Attuma chuckled softly and shook his head, planting a kiss behind her ear and making eye contact with her reflection, using his strength to sway them back and forth.
"My heart, I am afraid that the only way you could possibly shut me up is to pin me down and take your place on your throne," Attuma breathed, a smirk playing at his face as he looked at her.
Okoye's eyebrow raised at the suggestive comment.
"Throne?" she asked him and he nodded.
"Fit for a queen," he told her.
"Mm, I see it more as a bar stool," she teased, a smirk of her own appearing at the corner of her lips.
"Do you insult my appearance?" he played back. "I like to think that my face is quite handsome."
She smiled at how lighthearted he was and brought her hand to hold the side of his face.
"I like to think you are quite handsome, too," she told him.
Attuma hummed in response before pulling away from her and making his way to the bench in front of them and splaying himself out on it. She eyed him as he did so, slightly shocked at his proposal.
"What in Bast's name are you doing?" she questioned as he made himself comfortable.
"You wish for my silence, this is the way. I cannot speak with my mouth full of your pleasure," he concluded, leaving her momentarily dumbfounded.
She figured that she shouldn't be shocked by his blatantness since he never said things that he didn't mean, but by Bast did he manage to light a fire inside of her every time he told her what he wanted.
Attuma looked at her patiently, hands resting behind his head as he waited for her to take a seat on top of him.
"Or I can keep talking," he suggested teasingly. "I do not mind it."
Okoye shook her head with a smile and finally walked over to him, filling him with utter excitement.
There were very few things Attuma liked more in the world than pleasing Okoye. When he gave her the chance to do it, he doesn't hesitate to take her up on the offer.
She threw her leg over him, hovering over his chest until he shook his head and brought his hands up to grab her.
"Closer," he mumbled so low that she could barely hear it.
Before she could process it, he was pulling her up and directly aligning her with his mouth and then pulling her down to press his lips to her clit. She almost jolted at the sensation. Her hips raised slightly in an attempt to give him some space, but he pulled her right back.
He wanted her as close as possible at all times, but especially when he was tasting her. Attuma wanted it all, to feel her on him as her taste and smell overtook his being. He drowned in it shamelessly as he used his hands to keep her steady against him, eyes shifting up to catch a glimpse of the look on her face.
Okoye's mind was spinning as he pleased her, thoughts reeling in her mind of how she even ended up there in the first place. Not too long ago, he would've attempted to kill her on sight, and she would've done the same. Her presence in Talokan would have been absolute grounds for them to attack each other, but that part of their history had faded. She decided she should probably hold even the slightest bit of embarrassment about the way those thoughts only drove her more insane for him and the way that he was eating her out, but there was no embarrassment present, only total lust as her hips began to move almost involuntarily above him.
Her hands came down, fingers twisting themselves in his dark hair and only spurring him on. Attuma relaxed his grip on her legs, moving his hands to her hips and holding them as she moved against his face. He was sure that her pulling his hair and making his scalp burn would be enough to make him cum because pleasing her pleased him. He let her use him, ride his face until her legs started shaking because it pleased him, because there was nowhere else he'd rather be, because she could do absolutely anything she wanted and he'd always be right there behind her to make sure nothing got in the way of what she wanted.
Attuma watched as her breathing grew heavier, bringing one hand down to massage his thumb over her clit. She shuddered on top of him, head thrown back and Attuma wished he could place kisses along her exposed neck. A whimper escaped her and Attuma could tell she was nearly there. He pushed his tongue into her, obsessed with the way she tasted.
She came hard against him, pulling his hair and earning moans out of him at the sensation. Attuma drank in every ounce that she had to offer, making her shiver when his tongue brushed over her sensitive clit once more before letting her get up off of him.
As soon as she stood, he grabbed her arm, pulling her back down to him and wrapping her in his arms.
"If I may say so myself, I am quite the tour guide, yes?" he asked with a smile, placing a soft kiss to her temple.
She laughed, lightly patting her hand against his shoulder.
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