After many repeated requests since I posted Incubus, Iβve finally recorded another Tom-related erotic recording. This time, I went for a more historical, period-drama feel.Β
Here is an erotic script I wrote and performed set in Victorian England. A gentleman caller and business associate of your father arrives unexpectedly to declare his feelings for you before attempting to convince you to choose passion over wealth. This recording contains erotic and sexual content, and should not be consumed by anyone under 18.
As a thank you to my generous Patreon supporters, Iβve made this available to download for them. If youβd like to support me on Patreon, pledging as much or as little as you like, you can do so here.
Tags: Caleb/FMC, AU - Royalty, Two Shot, Femdom, Power Imbalances, Swordplay (kinda)
Current Rating: M
Chapter: 1/2
Words: 1580
AO3 Link
Full work under the cut
Before she could even congratulate him, he was on his knees.
He hadn't always been a Knight of her personal guard. Before him, there was anotherβthough their relationship was vastly different. Her former Knight was much more like a father, despite the fact that she already had one. He was like a father from the storybooks her nurses read to her when she was youngβalways kind, doting on her incessantly, and letting her tag along even when she knew she was just getting in his way.
For Caleb he was much the same. He was his apprentice and squire, their connection to the man always putting them in one anotherβs proximity.Β
Caleb was not yet a man when they met, but she'd known from their first meeting that he was going to be something special.
He had arrived at the gates of the barracks on a cold winter night, almost as if he'd appeared from thin air. She had been up past her bedtime, sneaking off to find her Knight for one last bedtime story.
She was still just a girl then, womanhood still far out of her grasp.Β
She had been in awe when she saw him, overhearing his conversation with her Knight, learning he was just a few years older than her, but already had wisdom of this world that she knew her status would never allow her to gain.
Still, she managed to learn a few things she shouldnβt have. Like when she was just eighteen and he just twenty-two, when only moments after his knightingβafter the crowds had dissipated and sheβd fled to the garden to get some fresh airβhe found her.
Before she could even congratulate him, he was on his knees. He raised his sword, presenting it to her on his upturned palms, much like in the ceremony. His eyes were pools of quavering midnightβthey drew her in, made her feel as if there were nothing else in the world but the two of them in that very moment.Β
βFor you, Princessβ¦β he began, a slight tremble in his voiceβan entirely odd thing, seeing as nothing had ever made him display such fear before. βFor you I would lay down my lifeβprotect you at all costs, for I have no other purpose in life but to offer this to you.β
She was taken aback to say the least, but with him there, on his knees before her, wanting nothing more than to please her, to make use of himself, to submitβ
She picked up the sword, mimicking the motions from the ceremony. She raised it slowly, not used to the weight of such a thing in her hand, and brought it gently down onto his shoulder.
βYou would protect me with your life?β She finally said, voice barely above a whisper.
βYes,β he breathed, lips quivering just slightly as he spoke.
Again, she raised the sword, moving it to his other shoulder.
His chest swelled with anticipation, and perhaps prideβshe was accepting him, in a way, pushing through a boundary and morphing their relationship into something entirely new, something dangerous. At that time, she couldn't have imagined naming what they were doingβthat realization would come later; but she too felt the anticipation of the moment swell in her chest.
She could feel the flush in her cheeks, her tongue darting out to wet her suddenly dry lips. She wondered if he felt the same, wishing the moonlight would reveal more of him, but she stayed focused on his eyes, relishing in the way they never so much as flinched or darted away from hers.
An acute feeling of power rushed though her as the blade of the sword rested on his shoulder.Β
To many, she was still a girlβand there was no denying that before her kneeled what was wholly a manβyet she couldnβt help but be aware that she now held his life in her hands. She had the power to raise him up, make him great, break himβ¦
She shifted her grip on the sword, letting it slide across his shoulder, inching closer and closer to the exposed skin of his neck.
He did not move, not until the cool edge of the sword made contact with his flushed skin.
He flinched, but only slightly.
His lips parted, breath catching in his throat. The smallest noise left him, a ghost of a whimper.
She thought she should have anticipated the way it made her feel, she thought she knew herself well, but before her was opening up a world she could have never even conceptualized.
She sucked in a breath, lungs stinging and chest suddenly tightβand despite this, she did not hesitate in her next move. She pressed the blade deeper, letting the cold edge of steel bite into the warm, tanned skin at the apex of neck and shoulder.
βWould you throw your life away for me?β She asked, tilting her head ever so slightly, her eyes fixated on where blade met skin.
She was surprised at the confidence in her voice, which was juxtaposed to the tremble of anxiety she felt in her gut. More so, she was elated at the way his reply left his lips.Β
His voice was rawβneedy. βYes,β he breathed, leaning ever so slightly forward, letting the blade slide across his skin.
He did not flinch as he did, despite the way the steel slid over his delicate skin. Or the way a drop of red beaded against the sword edge, suspended between cold steel and warm skin.
βYes,β he said again. His brow creased, eyes begging for her to look not just at the blade or the blood that he was eager to spill for her, but at him.
She met his eyes again, and for the first time since heβd come to her, she felt something akin to fear.
She was not afraid of himβhe would never hurt her, never make her unhappy, or even the slightest perturbed.Β
No, she was afraid of the feelings that arose inside her.Β
Afraid of the need to press the sword in harder, draw more blood, feel it under her fingertips. The need to make him whimper, make him beg. To hurt him, soothe him, and do it all over again.
They were not ladylike thoughts.
She stilled, holding her breath, clearing her head.
She pressed her free hand into her stomach, hoping to calm the cacophony of butterflies that roiled there.
His brows creased further, worry etching into his features.
βPrincess?β He whispered out, trembling hand raising from his knees, extending to herβbegging for her attention.
The butterflies did not cease, but she had a moment of clarity nonetheless.
Slowly, she pulled the sword from his skin, her face painfully neutral as she focused on the task at hand.
Something in his expression changed as she did so, an air of disappointment and fear washing over him.
But she pulled the sword away, letting it hang limp by her side.
βYouβ¦β she began sternly, regally. βYou are my Knight,β she finally said, βand to you, I entrust my life.β
Her words washed away the fear from his expression, he dared to inch forward, hands still outstretched, reaching for somethingβthough neither knew what.
The sword slipped from her grip, falling forgotten with a small thump beside her.Β
She leaned forward, fingers reaching out, curling, trembling as they finally reached his skin.
She was close, too close, far closer than she had ever been to anyone outside of a maid and her mother. She could feel his breath fan across her skin, hot puffs of air brushing the inside of her wrist.
Her fingers brushed across the mark where the blade had pressed into his skin, gathering on her fingertips the delicate beads of blood that still lingered.
Another whimper left his lips, a tight coil forming in her stomach as he did.
His fingers bushed her hips, not quite touching, or grabbing, but balanced in the air just above the fabric of her gown.
She pulled her hand away, just slightly, turning it to admire the dark smear of crimson on her skin. She rubbed it between her finger and thumb gently, relishing its silky glide between them.
Part of her wanted to bring them to her lips, let her tongue dance out and taste the very essence of his being.Β
But another part of herβ
Instead she turned her hand back to him, enjoying the look of surprise on his face as she pressed her fingertips to his lips.
She shivered at the contact, the knot in her stomach growing unbearable at the sight of him.
He let his eyes flutter closed, pressing a chaste kiss to her bloodstained fingers, relishing in the way it stained his lips as well.
She slid her fingers across his bottom lip, biting at her own to suppress a hum of satisfaction.
But this wasnβt enough.
βOpen,β she commanded, surprising even herself.
His eye flew open, wide with surprise and something deeperβdarker.
His lips parted without hesitation, her fingers sliding past them. His tongue lifted to meet them, hot and needy. She pressed her digits down against it, breath leaving her when he curled his tongue around her finger, laving them in his hot spit.
His eyes met hers again, his thick lashes fluttered, his heavy lidded gaze letting her know he would allow her to do this, and so much more.
None of this was very ladylike.
But she wasnβt a lady.
She was a princess.
And he was her knight.
Thank you so much for reading!!
And the biggest shout out to @technicolor-rhapsody for being my wonderful beta reader and helping the words to flow ππ
Part 2 coming soon.
Other works:
AO3
Reinventing Your Exit (Multi-chapter CalebxMC Slow burn)
i don't think you guys get it, the thing about anakin and ahsoka. imagine you're ahsoka and you're thirteen and you're in a warzone and you've been not-so-randomly assigned a new jedi master. he gives you a stupid nickname and jokes around with you and loves you; he's the only person who believes in your innocence when it's questioned, he's that one person that believes in you more than anything. he finds it agonizing to let people go but he lets you go because he trusts you more than anyone. you were special to him and you knew it and there's a pride in that, because not many people were. imagine you're thirteen and it's war and there's explosions and fire and blood and death, and then someone takes your shoulder in his hand and is like, hey, relax. let's play a game. whoever slaughters the most droids wins. and it's easier to breathe because it's less pressure if you squeeze your eyes shut and think you're playing a game with your jedi master, and it will all be okay. you have such vibrant memories of being loved by this man and then, away from you, without you knowing, he turns around and murders a few thousand people all at once in one hideous bloodsoaked night. the hands that cradled your face and tilted it upwards to kiss your forehead are soaked in unfathomable quantities of blood. the person who made you feel that safe is the same guy who is so violent, so removed from any human compassion, that people whisper that he's a droid instead. the only person who believed in your innocence is a living nightmare. like actually what the fuck
Xavier leans in and places a gentle kiss on your cheek, which you dramatically wipe off with the back of your hand. βEww, Xavier! Cooties!β
Xavier stares at you blankly, though a slight tightening around his eyes betrays his feelings. After a moment of silence that lasts just long enough to become awkward, he tilts his head.
βCooties... are not real,β he states matter-of-factly, then adds, βbut if they were, you would already have them. We have kissed exactly forty-seven times in the past 3 days.β
His head tilts slightly as he studies your face with quiet intensity. βDid I... misinterpret something?β he asks slowly. Before you can respond, Xavier slowly leans in again, his eyes locked with yours in quiet challenge.
Just before his lips touch yours, he pauses. βWould you like number forty-eight?β
πππππ
After a quick goodbye kiss, you dramatically wipe your lips and make a show of feigned disgust. Zayne freezes midway through the door.
βGross, Zaynie! Do you know where those lips have been?β You start to regret pulling this prank on him when you see the hurt in his eyes masked by his still expression.
Zayne turns to face you fully. Without a word, he slowly walks back to you, his intense gaze never leaving yours. βIs that so?β he asks. βLet me remind you exactly where these lips belong, then.β
In one fluid motion, he cups your face with both hands and kisses you deeply, thoroughly, leaving no room for teasing. When he finally pulls away, there's a hint of smugness in his otherwise composed expression.
βDonβt wipe that one off. Please.β He straightens his tie with practiced ease before adding, βDoctorβs orders.β
πππ ππππ
Rafayel plants a playful kiss on your cheek before flopping dramatically onto the couch. The moment he closes his eyes, you loudly smack your hand against your cheek.
βEw, fish breath!β you exclaim with exaggerated disgust.
His eyes widen comically as you wipe his kiss away, his mouth forming a dramatic βOβ shape. βFish breath?! Me?!β He sits up. βWhat kind of joke is this? Why would you say something so untrue?β
You collapse into giggles. βIβm just joking! It was a prank!β
He narrows his eyes suspiciously before a mischievous grin spreads across his face. βOh? A prank, is it? Well, two can play that game.β
Suddenly, heβs launching himself from the couch, tackling you into a heap of pillows. βYou want fish breath? Iβll give you fish breath,β he threatens, making exaggerated kissing sounds while you shriek and try to escape.
βStop! I surrender!β you gasp between fits of laughter. He hovers above you with twinkling eyes. βTake it back. My breath smells like... whatβs something amazing?β
βLike ocean breeze and sunshine?β you offer.
βHmm,β he considers, still pinning you down. βI like that more.β
πππππ
βHmmβ¦ what an odd aftertasteβ¦β you mumble loud enough for him to hear. βDid you really think I wanted that?β You wipe your lips with your sleeves.
Sylus doesnβt move for a moment, his piercing eyes studying you. Then, slowly, a dangerous smile spreads across his faceβthe kind that would make others shrink back, but you know better.
βSweetie,β he purrs, voice silky with amusement, βif youβre attempting to wound my pride, youβll need to try harder.β
You huff, not getting the reaction you wanted, but itβs expected. βYouβre no fun.β
Sylus kisses you again with his usual confidence, gripping your chin with his fingers. βIf you want to play games, you should know better than to challenge someone who always plays to win.β
βWhat are you planning to do about it?β you taunt, still smiling.
His face stops just inches away, whispering, βIβll ensure my taste lingers,β just before he proves his point.
πππππ
Caleb gives you a quick, sweet kiss before turning to grab his jacket. You immediately swipe dramatically at your mouth. βBlech! What was that? Military-grade morning breath?β
He whips around with an offended βare you serious?β look, then his shoulders relax as he catches the mischief in your eyes.
βOh, itβs like that, huh?β he says, breaking into a grin. βYou know what happens to civilians who mock Fleet officers?β
You back up a step, still giggling. βWhat are the penalties, Colonel?β
βSevere.β You squeal as he suddenly lunges forward, catching you around the waist and spinning you in a circle. βTake it back!β
βNever!β you declare, struggling half-heartedly against his strong grip.
βThen, Iβll have to deploy countermeasures,β he threatens, eyes bright with laughter as he dips you dramatically and hovers his face above yours. βWhat kind of countermeasures?β you challenge breathlessly.
His smile softens. βThe kind thatβll make you never want to wipe away my kisses again,β he murmurs before demonstrating exactly what he means.
Damn, I havenβt written any fanfics for, like, half a year or something, lol. Consider my first post as me warming up and trying to figure out what format I should use.
In a last ditch attempt to save your people, you offer your life to an ancient god of war and blood. Unfortunately, your translation of the ancient text was a bit off. You're married now.
