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The nature of women's rape fantasies: an analysis of prevalence, frequency, and contents
Prompt: June 10th - Pink Pony Club - Chappell Roan / “Every night's another reason why I left it all”
Character: Walter Marshall
I know it’s short but please let me know your thoughts and reblog. Also, would love to discuss any ideas these little snippets inspire!
Love you! 💞
“I thought you looked familiar.” The growl comes from the other side of the book cover.
You look above the pages as Walter glares at you, arms crossed, brows low over his blue eyes. They might be nice if he wasn’t always scowling. You go to lift the book higher and he catches it. You let him push it down.
“Can I help you?”
“Sure can, Kitty.” He sneers.
You sigh. “I’m not that anymore.”
“Doesn’t matter. When were you going to tell me?”
“I pay my rent. That’s all that matters–”
“It’s my liability to decide what matters.” He retorts.
You tilt your head and rip the book away from his grasp. He smacks the back of it, nearly knocking it out of your hands. You put it on your lap.
“Well, you know now.”
“Kitty–”
“Don’t call me that.” You snap. “You’re my landlord, not my goddamn parole officer.” You hurl the book at him and stand. “By the way, it ended six months ago. I’m a free woman to do what I want. Detective.”
“I know how it goes.” He scoffs.
You roll your eyes and spin away. You dodge away from his reach without looking. You do too. Doesn’t matter if a man wears a badge or a ball cap, they’re all the same.
Every night's another reason why I left it all,” you mutter. “Knowing I don’t have to deal with pricks I don’t want.”
Warnings: this fic contains suggestions of dubcon and noncon, as well as adultery. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
18+ only, explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
You voted, I wrote it. This is June 10th’s fic!
Steve Rogers + “I feel so complete when I’m inside you.” (Medieval AU)
I welcome and appreciate all feedback. This means replies, reblogs, and asks. I do prefer if you can reblog and share my work along with your thoughts. <3
Please check my pinned post for more information on my blog, stories, and asks!
Do one kind thing for yourself today and take care.💖
You brush the crumbs off your fingertips and bend your neck. Your veil shifts and you resist the urge to scratch through it. Sister Madeline recites the evening prayer as the others pick at their bread and sip the bitter ale. There’s a tension beneath the silence of the grazing order.
You heard it as you sat and sorted beans from the garden. They all did. The familiar horns and canter of horses. The visitors dismounting at the monastery that shares the same plot with the convent. You hear the monks have lamb and red wine.
The other sisters share looks across the table. You squirm and stare at your plate. You aren’t hungry. Not since you heard his voice carrying from the yard.
Supper finishes and you clear the table with the other sisters. No longer bound to silence, they whisper. You hear the name that keeps you on edge.
You scrape off the crumbs and put the leftover crusts in a basket for the paupers. You wipe clean the wooden plates and stack them as Sister Eleanor giggles at Sister Dawn. Sister Brenna hushes them and chides them to take extra prayers at Compline.
You drift through the remaining prayers and evening chores. You know the walls and floors of the convent well enough to walk them with your eyes closed. Your hands are forged to each task without effort.
You retire to the hard bed of an oak plank. The night keeps you awake outside as the usual creak of branches and snaps of twigs by nocturnal creatures has you imagining more treacherous trespassers. Then the low jingle comes and you are entirely alert.
When the Duke arrives to visit in one of his pilgrimages with the monks, he never fails to send the signal. And you never fail to heed it. The one time you did…
You listen to the sisters around you. Life in the convent doesn’t allow for much rest so when it is had, it’s done deeply. You rise and pull on your robes and veil. You keep your head down as you raise your skirts above the slumbering bodies and cross the room.
The corridors are so dark you can take only small steps. You reach the kitchen door and let yourself out into the moonlight. You don’t look back, only ahead. You go to the mule’s house behind the monastery and whistle in imitation of a sparrow. You wait for the return.
Nothing. Perhaps you imagined it. Or perhaps you are too quick. You shudder and push through the door. Your body readies for what is demanded of it.
The scent of straw and donkey fur meets your nose. You lean into the door to close it. You listen to the sleepy huff of the beast in his pen at the other end of the stall. You turn and search the slivers of moonlight for movement.
Your nerves tangle and your heart clutches. Something off. Something is out of place. You turn and suddenly you’re shoved back. You stumble into a stool as hands clasp onto your sides and keep you from tumbling over.
Lord Rogers chuckles and nuzzles your veil.
“Sacred sister, you’ve missed me,” He growls as he squeezes through your habit. “You’ve no idea how I’ve longed for our reunion.”
Your flick your lashes and gulp. If only he knew the same dread as you do. If only he feared so much for the mark upon his soul and yet, he has no such vow to keep. He is a noble, he is a man who can buy forgiveness. You will repent forever in this world and the next.
“My lord.” You whisper.
“Lamb, please, I long to hear my name upon thy sweet lips.” His mouth grazes yours and his breath clouds hotly.
“Steven…” you murmur as his hands run down to your skirts.
He presses his lips to yours and growls. He yanks at your habit as you cling to him to keep from falling. He turns you and traps you against the planked wall. His beard tickles your skin as he sighs into you.
“I need you, lamb.” He snarls. “I’ve needed you so badly. It is all I think of.” His hands crawl under your skirts and he kneads your thighs. “I feel so complete when I’m inside you.”
A nun, Steven????????? This poor reader not only has to deal with not just the regular nightmare of having a powerful Steve after you, but the looming threat of eternal damnation too??? 😬
Warnings: this fic contains suggestions of dubcon and noncon, as well as adultery. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
18+ only, explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
You voted, I wrote it. This is June 10th’s fic!
Steve Rogers + “I feel so complete when I’m inside you.” (Medieval AU)
I welcome and appreciate all feedback. This means replies, reblogs, and asks. I do prefer if you can reblog and share my work along with your thoughts. <3
Please check my pinned post for more information on my blog, stories, and asks!
Do one kind thing for yourself today and take care.💖
You brush the crumbs off your fingertips and bend your neck. Your veil shifts and you resist the urge to scratch through it. Sister Madeline recites the evening prayer as the others pick at their bread and sip the bitter ale. There’s a tension beneath the silence of the grazing order.
You heard it as you sat and sorted beans from the garden. They all did. The familiar horns and canter of horses. The visitors dismounting at the monastery that shares the same plot with the convent. You hear the monks have lamb and red wine.
The other sisters share looks across the table. You squirm and stare at your plate. You aren’t hungry. Not since you heard his voice carrying from the yard.
Supper finishes and you clear the table with the other sisters. No longer bound to silence, they whisper. You hear the name that keeps you on edge.
You scrape off the crumbs and put the leftover crusts in a basket for the paupers. You wipe clean the wooden plates and stack them as Sister Eleanor giggles at Sister Dawn. Sister Brenna hushes them and chides them to take extra prayers at Compline.
You drift through the remaining prayers and evening chores. You know the walls and floors of the convent well enough to walk them with your eyes closed. Your hands are forged to each task without effort.
You retire to the hard bed of an oak plank. The night keeps you awake outside as the usual creak of branches and snaps of twigs by nocturnal creatures has you imagining more treacherous trespassers. Then the low jingle comes and you are entirely alert.
When the Duke arrives to visit in one of his pilgrimages with the monks, he never fails to send the signal. And you never fail to heed it. The one time you did…
You listen to the sisters around you. Life in the convent doesn’t allow for much rest so when it is had, it’s done deeply. You rise and pull on your robes and veil. You keep your head down as you raise your skirts above the slumbering bodies and cross the room.
The corridors are so dark you can take only small steps. You reach the kitchen door and let yourself out into the moonlight. You don’t look back, only ahead. You go to the mule’s house behind the monastery and whistle in imitation of a sparrow. You wait for the return.
Nothing. Perhaps you imagined it. Or perhaps you are too quick. You shudder and push through the door. Your body readies for what is demanded of it.
The scent of straw and donkey fur meets your nose. You lean into the door to close it. You listen to the sleepy huff of the beast in his pen at the other end of the stall. You turn and search the slivers of moonlight for movement.
Your nerves tangle and your heart clutches. Something off. Something is out of place. You turn and suddenly you’re shoved back. You stumble into a stool as hands clasp onto your sides and keep you from tumbling over.
Lord Rogers chuckles and nuzzles your veil.
“Sacred sister, you’ve missed me,” He growls as he squeezes through your habit. “You’ve no idea how I’ve longed for our reunion.”
Your flick your lashes and gulp. If only he knew the same dread as you do. If only he feared so much for the mark upon his soul and yet, he has no such vow to keep. He is a noble, he is a man who can buy forgiveness. You will repent forever in this world and the next.
“My lord.” You whisper.
“Lamb, please, I long to hear my name upon thy sweet lips.” His mouth grazes yours and his breath clouds hotly.
“Steven…” you murmur as his hands run down to your skirts.
He presses his lips to yours and growls. He yanks at your habit as you cling to him to keep from falling. He turns you and traps you against the planked wall. His beard tickles your skin as he sighs into you.
“I need you, lamb.” He snarls. “I’ve needed you so badly. It is all I think of.” His hands crawl under your skirts and he kneads your thighs. “I feel so complete when I’m inside you.”
Nun!Reader is so fun!!! I wonder how this dynamic even started. I imagine the sister had to care for his Nastisness and he fell so hard. Lord Steve was never so devout before his visit and now he returns constantly. This is definitely one I would love to read more of!!
Warnings: this fic contains suggestions of dubcon and noncon, as well as adultery. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
18+ only, explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
You voted, I wrote it. This is June 10th’s fic!
Steve Rogers + “I feel so complete when I’m inside you.” (Medieval AU)
I welcome and appreciate all feedback. This means replies, reblogs, and asks. I do prefer if you can reblog and share my work along with your thoughts. <3
Please check my pinned post for more information on my blog, stories, and asks!
Do one kind thing for yourself today and take care.💖
You brush the crumbs off your fingertips and bend your neck. Your veil shifts and you resist the urge to scratch through it. Sister Madeline recites the evening prayer as the others pick at their bread and sip the bitter ale. There’s a tension beneath the silence of the grazing order.
You heard it as you sat and sorted beans from the garden. They all did. The familiar horns and canter of horses. The visitors dismounting at the monastery that shares the same plot with the convent. You hear the monks have lamb and red wine.
The other sisters share looks across the table. You squirm and stare at your plate. You aren’t hungry. Not since you heard his voice carrying from the yard.
Supper finishes and you clear the table with the other sisters. No longer bound to silence, they whisper. You hear the name that keeps you on edge.
You scrape off the crumbs and put the leftover crusts in a basket for the paupers. You wipe clean the wooden plates and stack them as Sister Eleanor giggles at Sister Dawn. Sister Brenna hushes them and chides them to take extra prayers at Compline.
You drift through the remaining prayers and evening chores. You know the walls and floors of the convent well enough to walk them with your eyes closed. Your hands are forged to each task without effort.
You retire to the hard bed of an oak plank. The night keeps you awake outside as the usual creak of branches and snaps of twigs by nocturnal creatures has you imagining more treacherous trespassers. Then the low jingle comes and you are entirely alert.
When the Duke arrives to visit in one of his pilgrimages with the monks, he never fails to send the signal. And you never fail to heed it. The one time you did…
You listen to the sisters around you. Life in the convent doesn’t allow for much rest so when it is had, it’s done deeply. You rise and pull on your robes and veil. You keep your head down as you raise your skirts above the slumbering bodies and cross the room.
The corridors are so dark you can take only small steps. You reach the kitchen door and let yourself out into the moonlight. You don’t look back, only ahead. You go to the mule’s house behind the monastery and whistle in imitation of a sparrow. You wait for the return.
Nothing. Perhaps you imagined it. Or perhaps you are too quick. You shudder and push through the door. Your body readies for what is demanded of it.
The scent of straw and donkey fur meets your nose. You lean into the door to close it. You listen to the sleepy huff of the beast in his pen at the other end of the stall. You turn and search the slivers of moonlight for movement.
Your nerves tangle and your heart clutches. Something off. Something is out of place. You turn and suddenly you’re shoved back. You stumble into a stool as hands clasp onto your sides and keep you from tumbling over.
Lord Rogers chuckles and nuzzles your veil.
“Sacred sister, you’ve missed me,” He growls as he squeezes through your habit. “You’ve no idea how I’ve longed for our reunion.”
Your flick your lashes and gulp. If only he knew the same dread as you do. If only he feared so much for the mark upon his soul and yet, he has no such vow to keep. He is a noble, he is a man who can buy forgiveness. You will repent forever in this world and the next.
“My lord.” You whisper.
“Lamb, please, I long to hear my name upon thy sweet lips.” His mouth grazes yours and his breath clouds hotly.
“Steven…” you murmur as his hands run down to your skirts.
He presses his lips to yours and growls. He yanks at your habit as you cling to him to keep from falling. He turns you and traps you against the planked wall. His beard tickles your skin as he sighs into you.
“I need you, lamb.” He snarls. “I’ve needed you so badly. It is all I think of.” His hands crawl under your skirts and he kneads your thighs. “I feel so complete when I’m inside you.”
I’m going to hell and happily with that man between my thighs. Yummm. He was so desperate. We have to come to him immediately or there are consequences. Quick question, what happened the one time she didn’t heed his request?
Hehehe I forgot my vows just at the sight of the beard.
He was so rough it's a good thing she's fully covered and no one could see the bruises. He definitely chokes her and spanked her too and threatened to send her out naked so people could see her sin.
Warnings: this fic contains suggestions of dubcon and noncon, as well as adultery. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
18+ only, explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
You voted, I wrote it. This is June 10th’s fic!
Steve Rogers + “I feel so complete when I’m inside you.” (Medieval AU)
I welcome and appreciate all feedback. This means replies, reblogs, and asks. I do prefer if you can reblog and share my work along with your thoughts. <3
Please check my pinned post for more information on my blog, stories, and asks!
Do one kind thing for yourself today and take care.💖
You brush the crumbs off your fingertips and bend your neck. Your veil shifts and you resist the urge to scratch through it. Sister Madeline recites the evening prayer as the others pick at their bread and sip the bitter ale. There’s a tension beneath the silence of the grazing order.
You heard it as you sat and sorted beans from the garden. They all did. The familiar horns and canter of horses. The visitors dismounting at the monastery that shares the same plot with the convent. You hear the monks have lamb and red wine.
The other sisters share looks across the table. You squirm and stare at your plate. You aren’t hungry. Not since you heard his voice carrying from the yard.
Supper finishes and you clear the table with the other sisters. No longer bound to silence, they whisper. You hear the name that keeps you on edge.
You scrape off the crumbs and put the leftover crusts in a basket for the paupers. You wipe clean the wooden plates and stack them as Sister Eleanor giggles at Sister Dawn. Sister Brenna hushes them and chides them to take extra prayers at Compline.
You drift through the remaining prayers and evening chores. You know the walls and floors of the convent well enough to walk them with your eyes closed. Your hands are forged to each task without effort.
You retire to the hard bed of an oak plank. The night keeps you awake outside as the usual creak of branches and snaps of twigs by nocturnal creatures has you imagining more treacherous trespassers. Then the low jingle comes and you are entirely alert.
When the Duke arrives to visit in one of his pilgrimages with the monks, he never fails to send the signal. And you never fail to heed it. The one time you did…
You listen to the sisters around you. Life in the convent doesn’t allow for much rest so when it is had, it’s done deeply. You rise and pull on your robes and veil. You keep your head down as you raise your skirts above the slumbering bodies and cross the room.
The corridors are so dark you can take only small steps. You reach the kitchen door and let yourself out into the moonlight. You don’t look back, only ahead. You go to the mule’s house behind the monastery and whistle in imitation of a sparrow. You wait for the return.
Nothing. Perhaps you imagined it. Or perhaps you are too quick. You shudder and push through the door. Your body readies for what is demanded of it.
The scent of straw and donkey fur meets your nose. You lean into the door to close it. You listen to the sleepy huff of the beast in his pen at the other end of the stall. You turn and search the slivers of moonlight for movement.
Your nerves tangle and your heart clutches. Something off. Something is out of place. You turn and suddenly you’re shoved back. You stumble into a stool as hands clasp onto your sides and keep you from tumbling over.
Lord Rogers chuckles and nuzzles your veil.
“Sacred sister, you’ve missed me,” He growls as he squeezes through your habit. “You’ve no idea how I’ve longed for our reunion.”
Your flick your lashes and gulp. If only he knew the same dread as you do. If only he feared so much for the mark upon his soul and yet, he has no such vow to keep. He is a noble, he is a man who can buy forgiveness. You will repent forever in this world and the next.
“My lord.” You whisper.
“Lamb, please, I long to hear my name upon thy sweet lips.” His mouth grazes yours and his breath clouds hotly.
“Steven…” you murmur as his hands run down to your skirts.
He presses his lips to yours and growls. He yanks at your habit as you cling to him to keep from falling. He turns you and traps you against the planked wall. His beard tickles your skin as he sighs into you.
“I need you, lamb.” He snarls. “I’ve needed you so badly. It is all I think of.” His hands crawl under your skirts and he kneads your thighs. “I feel so complete when I’m inside you.”
Warnings: this fic is set in a dystopian world with suggestions of dubcon and noncon, as well as adultery. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
18+ only, explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
You voted, I wrote it. This is June 7th’s fic! (Sorry it's lates)
Steve Kemp + “My name tastes so good on your tongue, doesn’t it?”
I welcome and appreciate all feedback. This means replies, reblogs, and asks. I do prefer if you can reblog and share my work along with your thoughts. <3
Please check my pinned post for more information on my blog, stories, and asks!
Do one kind thing for yourself today and take care.💖
"Don't embarrass me." Your husband warns as he fixes his dark red jacket in the mirror.
You peek over your shoulder as his derision radiates from the reflection of his light blue eyes. You dip your chin and resume fussing with belt of the velvet dress. You can't quite make the bow look anything but droopy and depressed.
You focus on that small struggle, one battle you might prevail in. You can never win with your husband. Without reason to fear it, he's paranoid about your every breath and word. You've only ever done what you're supposed to... Including marrying him.
"Turn around," Hugh demands.
You obey without hesitation. He clucks as he approaches you. He snarls under his breath as he loses the pathetic bow you've looped at the side of your waste and reties it effortlessly. It's perfectly straight and set.
"This is important. The magistrates' dinner could determine everything for me." He pauses, fingers lingering along your belt and slowly creeping up the front of the dress. "Don't forget your charms.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Magistrate,” he chides. “Remember who you married.”
“I’m sorry–”
He presses a thick finger to your lips. “Don’t be sorry, be silent.”
He taps your chin then turns away. You put your shoes on and grab your stole. You do as he bid and don’t say a word.
When he’s ready, you depart. You sit in the back of the car, the driver blocked out by the tinted divider, as your husband taps his leg and his lips move in rehearsal of the night to come. You sit stiff and still, staring ahead, just as you’ve trained yourself.
You arrive to the usual reception. The deference of others does little to nurse the powerlessness of your own position. You hand over your stole as the staff take Hugh’s jacket. Not Hugh, Magistrate Drysdale.
You let him lead, as always. You’re just another emblem of his status. Just like the medal on his ceremony jacket and that signet on his pinky ring.
“Our seats should be better than last year,” he mutters as he keeps his arm through yours. “Don’t expect we’ll be sitting at the end with Brenner and his gaudy side piece.”
Sure enough, you’re led to the head of the table, right there at the corner. Your husband takes the first seat and as always, you take the secondary. You sit and thank the staff as they push in your chair. Hugh sends you a sharp glance for that courtesy.
The other guests straggle in to join those already arrived. There aren’t many empty chairs left at your arrival as your husband is rarely in a hurry. You wait patiently, staring ahead at nothing in particular. You’ve disciplined yourself to exist in that void. The less you know, the less you feel, the safer you are.
Finally, the table is full. There is but one seat left. That at the very head, to the left of Magistrate Drysdale and Magistrate Fowler across from him.
The host enters. All go silent as they watch the Magistrate Primus approach. You turn your head without seeing, only mimicking those around you. You see only a hazy shadow step up to the chair.
“Welcome all,” Magistrate Kemp preens. “Firstly, I must thank you all for attending. It’s not often we get all of us in one place. Better for it, likely.” He pauses for effect and a hearty chuckle rolls over the table. “Secondly, I need to apologise on the behalf of my other half. She remains ill and continues her treatments.”
There’s a low drone of manufactured empathy. You let your face form the expected mask but make no noise.
“Let’s not dwell on the latter. We should enjoy this rare occasion. Enjoy the calm amid the storm. Our work never ends, does it?” There’s a rabble of agreement and Magistrate Kemp claps his hands. “Alright, without further delay, I’m starving.”
He sits, the scrape of his chair breaking your trance. As Kemp sits, your eyes meet. His cheeks dimple in his perfectly practiced grin. His blue eyes swirl like a stormy ocean. You bend your neck humbly and focus on the table setting before you.
“Drysdale, already into the scotch?” Kemp leans into your husband.
“I have to make up for being sober for so long,” your husband retorts.
“Ah, are there not better ways to unwind? You’ve a lovely wife.”
“Mm, she goes well with scotch,” Hugh scoffs.
You don’t react. You keep your hands folded in your lap and stare at the table. The voices around you rise to a steady buzz.
“Goodwife Drysdale, you look wonderful in that colour. Much better than your husband.” Kemp snags your attention.
You must appease him. You simper in his direction. “Thank you, Magistrate.”
Your husband is obtuse to the compliment as he leans back and orders a servant to fill his plate with mini quiche and crab cakes. Kemp runs his fingers up and down the stem of his glass and watches you. You nod again and look down.
“I must admire her manners, Drysdale.”
“Hm?” Hugh grunts.
“Your wife. She’s well trained.”
“She does what she’s told.” Your husband shrugs.
“Oh, I’m sure your demands are endless,” Kemp chuckles.
“Speak for yourself,” Hugh counters playfully.
“You,” Kemp points to a servant, “this lady needs a drink. Champagne with frozen strawberries.” He flicks his finger. “Now.”
The servant rushes away. You chafe in your dress and make yourself look at the magistrate. Hugh reaches to pinch you under the table. You’re drawing too much attention. He is trying to get in with the most powerful man in the republic.
“Thank you, Magistrate Kemp. That sounds delicious.”
“Oh,” Kemp arches a brow. “I do have a taste for the delectable.”
👄
“Let us speak somewhere less… well, less.” Kemp insists as he sneers at the drunken guffawing of Magistrate Bodecker.
“Let’s,” Hugh agrees triumphantly. “I have some thoughts on the Western Territory.”
“I’m sure you do. I however have my own proposal in mind.” Kemp intones.
“Goodwife,” Hugh squeezes your forearm. “I won’t be long–”
“Bring the Goodwife. Don’t leave her to these wolves.” Kemp insists.
You sense your husband bristle. He doesn’t need you getting in the way. This is his chance to get himself above all the others.
“Sure. I suppose it wouldn’t be a good look for a Goodwife to be wandering alone.”
“Not one as lovely as her,” Kemp steps closer and offers his hand. “You’ve never seen my reading room, Goodwife.”
You resist the urge to look at your husband. You can feel his discontent. The Primus Magistrate leads you across the room as your husband strides at your other side. Your heartbeat picks up. That well-honed numbness slowly dissembles.
Kemp takes you from the large front room and up the east ascent of the curling staircase set against the wall of the foyer. You take your steps cautiously, intent on the movement of your body over the fragility of your predicament.
Down the corridor and to the right, three doors down, and he leads you through double doors. He sweeps you inside as he gestures widely with his other arm. “I come here and read by the windows.” He brings you across to the large arched window that opens to the immaculately curated gardens. “Or I simply watch the world outside.”
“I’ve always admired your taste,” Hugh praises. “Is this a first edition?”
Kemp doesn’t look back. “They are all original prints.” He shifts closer as he lets go of your hand and runs his fingertips up your sleeve. “Do you see how the fountain reflects the moonlight? It’s like the sky looking up at itself.”
“Very pretty, Magistrate.” You murmur.
“About the West Bridge…” Hugh begins.
“Ran,” Kemp addresses your husband by his informal pseudonym. “No work tonight. I didn’t put this whole thing on to sit through another council.” Kemp huffs and plays with the bow at your waist. He turns to face you, standing close. You feel his gaze on you. “You require a break as well. All that fretting over the West…”
Hugh exhales. “I… guess you’re right.”
“Drysdale,” Kemp drawls. “How can you be so uptight when you have this creature attached to you?”
“What?” Your husband scoffs. “Primus?”
“You have a beautiful wife. So soft, so pliant. She would do anything for you and you can hardly look at her.” Kemp brings his hand up to pet your cheek. “Do you even fuck her?”
Hugh snorts. “Kemp.”
“It’s a simple question.”
“She’s my wife–”
“Fine. She is honest. Let her tell me.” He strokes your hair. “Goodwife, when’s the last time your husband made you cum?”
You shift and shiver. You stare out the window. You’re choked in horror. You can’t not answer the Primus Magistrate, but you also can’t shame your own husband.
“I am happy with my goodhusband–”
“That is not what I asked.” Kemp trails his fingers down your spine. You quiver. “I can feel it in the way you shake that it’s been a while. If he’s ever made you cum.”
Hugh growls and you hear his knuckles crack. Silence roils around you as Kemp continues to feel you up, brushing his hand across your ass as he presses himself to your side. You bite down as your vision blurs.
“Primus,” Hugh utters quietly. He struggles to continue. “You can have her for the night… if you give me the West.”
Kemp snickers and runs his hand up your side. He takes your arm and turns you to him. He grabs your hand and toys with it admiringly. He places it on his shoulder.
“I don’t need your permission to fuck her. But I’ll let you choose; stay and watch or go cower with the rest of those dogs.”
Silence, stillness. Kemp’s hand comes up under your chin and he forces your head up. “Look at me, goodwife.”
Hugh harrumphs and shadows shift in the edge of your sight. Something clatters and he stomps off, the doors slamming after him. You tremble as your hand slips down to the magistrate’s chest.
“Don’t be scared,” he coaxes.
“Magistrate, my husband–”
“Tut, tut,” he swipes his finger across your lips. “Firstly, don’t speak of him. Second, you will call me by my name.”
You bat your eyes. “Yes, Magist– Um… Steven?”
“Steve…” he traces the shape of your lips.
You stare up into his eyes, layers of azure and cyan dancing around his growing pupils. You gulp. “Steve,” you whisper.
He licks his lips and pushes his finger inside your mouth. “My name tastes so good on your tongue, doesn’t it?”
Your eyes widen. He pushes down on your tongue. You seal your lips around his fingers and instinctively suck. He purrs as his other hand tugs free the bow on your dress.
“I want you to scream it every time I make you cum.”
Ohhhh fuck! This man is terrifying. But but…. I am hoping this experience will make up for the hell she’ll endure from this point on once she is returned to Hugh. Gulp
Warnings: this fic contains arranged marriage and suggestions of dubcon and noncon, as well as adultery. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
18+ only, explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
You voted, I wrote it. This is June 9th’s fic!
Curtis Everett + “You really thought you could leave me?”
I welcome and appreciate all feedback. This means replies, reblogs, and asks. I do prefer if you can reblog and share my work along with your thoughts. <3
Please check my pinned post for more information on my blog, stories, and asks!
Do one kind thing for yourself today and take care.💖
Callouses graze along your throat as teeth sink into the muscle along your shoulder. You whimper as another hand tickles along your hip and grips tightly. Curtis growls into your hair and snaps his teeth.
You shiver and clasp his wrist as he squeezes your neck. He inhales your scent and nuzzles your ear, teething the tender brim. You close your eyes as your muscles knot.
Fear courses coldly beneath the tide of heat flowing from your core. His hand slips down your pelvis and toys with the curly hair there. You tense even tighter as he inches closer and closer to his need.
His roughened fingers dip between your folds and you gasp past the vice of his other hand. He rubs you, lightly at first, then presses firmly and drags across your clit. You whine and bite down.
“Shhh,” he hushes you as his naked torso grazes your back.
He plays with you, deliberate and determined. He swirls and twirls his fingers, changing his motion each time you make a noise or twitch. Your insides clench over and over as you fight the rising pressure deep inside.
You squeeze his forearm and bite your tongue as you drone. Your body shakes and spasms as your voice flows out of you with the tension, the release trembling in your thighs. You gulp and gasp as your orgasm storms through you.
He doesn’t stop. Not even as you beg. His fingers are so certain, so adept, that it isn’t long before you're cumming again, thighs pressing against his large hand.
His fingers glide back and he delves inside you. One finger, into its limit, then out. A second, down to the knuckles, several thrusts of his hand as you whimper. Then a third, forced past the tight resistance until you wail.
He hushes you again, sniffing the back of your neck, his nose tickling you. He extends his tongue and licks the drop of sweat as it trickles down your nape. You roll your head over his locked hand and let it hang forward.
He slides his fingers out of you and smears the wetness up your cunt and pelvis. He snarls and shifts behind you. He pushes his fingers between your folds again and spreads them. You twitch as he angles you up.
His tip flicks down your cunt and he catches himself in the crooked of two fingers. He guides his dick to your entrance and wiggles, teasing you as he growls. He pushes his tip into you with his fingers as you groan.
He holds himself there, just inside you, as you squirm. He pushes his nose into your hair as he slowly enters you. You tighten around him and writhe. He stills you with a squeeze on your throat and rubs your clit.
You heave and dangle from his embrace as he bottoms out. You squeal as your insides tremble. Your arms fall straight and you clutch at the barren mattress. He rears back, slipping out inch by inch, then thrusts back in with a single sharp thrust.
You wail and slap the sides of his thighs. “Please, ow–”
He shushes you a third time. He picks up his pace with each delve inside of you until he’s in full rut. The friction and impact of your flesh echoes through and around you. You hang weakly as he fucks you without relent.
He falls on you with his full weight as his voice rumbles in his chest. His head hangs down next to yours and a roar breaks free like thunder. His hips pump relentlessly as he shakes the creaky metal frame.
He cums as he smothers his voice in the crook of your neck. You can feel it inside, spilling out around him as he keeps thrusting through his climax. When he finally stops, the world seems to as well. He pants heavily beside your ear as his weight crushes you.
You don’t move. Not even as he slides out of you. He kneels over you and plays with the cum leaking out of you. He pushes it back in with a hum, spreading his fingers wide as he stretches you, then pulls out gruffly.
He shoves off and the bed lurches. His footsteps slap away. You bury your face in the bed as your heartbeat steadies. You wait.
He doesn’t return. Slowly, you roll over. It takes some time to find the strength to sit up. You look down at the gush that spills out between your legs. You quiver.
A hand claps down on your shoulder and pushes you to your back. Curtis is behind you, snarling down as his dick bobs above your head. He bares his teeth.
“You really thought you could leave me?” He grits.
“No, I was–”
“You don’t move unless I move you.” He smacks your cheek lightly. “That’s a warning.”
Warnings: this fic contains arranged marriage and suggestions of dubcon and noncon, as well as adultery. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
18+ only, explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
You voted, I wrote it. This is June 9th’s fic!
Curtis Everett + “You really thought you could leave me?”
I welcome and appreciate all feedback. This means replies, reblogs, and asks. I do prefer if you can reblog and share my work along with your thoughts. <3
Please check my pinned post for more information on my blog, stories, and asks!
Do one kind thing for yourself today and take care.💖
Callouses graze along your throat as teeth sink into the muscle along your shoulder. You whimper as another hand tickles along your hip and grips tightly. Curtis growls into your hair and snaps his teeth.
You shiver and clasp his wrist as he squeezes your neck. He inhales your scent and nuzzles your ear, teething the tender brim. You close your eyes as your muscles knot.
Fear courses coldly beneath the tide of heat flowing from your core. His hand slips down your pelvis and toys with the curly hair there. You tense even tighter as he inches closer and closer to his need.
His roughened fingers dip between your folds and you gasp past the vice of his other hand. He rubs you, lightly at first, then presses firmly and drags across your clit. You whine and bite down.
“Shhh,” he hushes you as his naked torso grazes your back.
He plays with you, deliberate and determined. He swirls and twirls his fingers, changing his motion each time you make a noise or twitch. Your insides clench over and over as you fight the rising pressure deep inside.
You squeeze his forearm and bite your tongue as you drone. Your body shakes and spasms as your voice flows out of you with the tension, the release trembling in your thighs. You gulp and gasp as your orgasm storms through you.
He doesn’t stop. Not even as you beg. His fingers are so certain, so adept, that it isn’t long before you're cumming again, thighs pressing against his large hand.
His fingers glide back and he delves inside you. One finger, into its limit, then out. A second, down to the knuckles, several thrusts of his hand as you whimper. Then a third, forced past the tight resistance until you wail.
He hushes you again, sniffing the back of your neck, his nose tickling you. He extends his tongue and licks the drop of sweat as it trickles down your nape. You roll your head over his locked hand and let it hang forward.
He slides his fingers out of you and smears the wetness up your cunt and pelvis. He snarls and shifts behind you. He pushes his fingers between your folds again and spreads them. You twitch as he angles you up.
His tip flicks down your cunt and he catches himself in the crooked of two fingers. He guides his dick to your entrance and wiggles, teasing you as he growls. He pushes his tip into you with his fingers as you groan.
He holds himself there, just inside you, as you squirm. He pushes his nose into your hair as he slowly enters you. You tighten around him and writhe. He stills you with a squeeze on your throat and rubs your clit.
You heave and dangle from his embrace as he bottoms out. You squeal as your insides tremble. Your arms fall straight and you clutch at the barren mattress. He rears back, slipping out inch by inch, then thrusts back in with a single sharp thrust.
You wail and slap the sides of his thighs. “Please, ow–”
He shushes you a third time. He picks up his pace with each delve inside of you until he’s in full rut. The friction and impact of your flesh echoes through and around you. You hang weakly as he fucks you without relent.
He falls on you with his full weight as his voice rumbles in his chest. His head hangs down next to yours and a roar breaks free like thunder. His hips pump relentlessly as he shakes the creaky metal frame.
He cums as he smothers his voice in the crook of your neck. You can feel it inside, spilling out around him as he keeps thrusting through his climax. When he finally stops, the world seems to as well. He pants heavily beside your ear as his weight crushes you.
You don’t move. Not even as he slides out of you. He kneels over you and plays with the cum leaking out of you. He pushes it back in with a hum, spreading his fingers wide as he stretches you, then pulls out gruffly.
He shoves off and the bed lurches. His footsteps slap away. You bury your face in the bed as your heartbeat steadies. You wait.
He doesn’t return. Slowly, you roll over. It takes some time to find the strength to sit up. You look down at the gush that spills out between your legs. You quiver.
A hand claps down on your shoulder and pushes you to your back. Curtis is behind you, snarling down as his dick bobs above your head. He bares his teeth.
“You really thought you could leave me?” He grits.
“No, I was–”
“You don’t move unless I move you.” He smacks your cheek lightly. “That’s a warning.”
