Obsessed with all things Jemma Redgrave, Catherine Russell and Berena âŠ. and also like a number of other British actresses from various series that are favourites of mine.
Jemma Redgrave will lead a special fundraising concert of Honk! at Scarboroughâs Stephen Joseph Theatre next month
Jemma Redgrave to Host Fundraising Concert Performance of Honk! at Stephen Joseph Theatre
Jemma Redgrave will lead a special fundraising concert of Honk! at Scarboroughâs Stephen Joseph Theatre next month.
The oneâoff performance of Stiles and Dreweâs celebrated adaptation of The Ugly Duckling will take place at 2.30pm on Sunday 12 April and will raise vital funds for the venue.
Joining Jemma Redgrave on stage will be Annie Kirkman, Alyce Liburd, Carl Patrick, Sarah Pearman, Georgie Samuels and Simon Slater.
The production will be directed and musically directed by Alex Weatherhill, who will also accompany the cast on piano. Chantell Walker serves as Associate Director.
The Stephen Joseph Theatre moved into its current Art Deco home in 1996, marking a transformative chapter in its history.
Serena lies back with a groan after another look at her phone. Four oâclock. Sheâs exhausted, but her restless mind wonât let her sleep.
Ironically, Serena knows she wonât hear from her wife until Bernieâs sure she wonât wake Serena, although Serena asked her to text as soon as sheâs landed, no matter the time.
Sheâs just about to give up on getting any sleep when her phone lights up, and she grabs it, surprised and eager.
Landed safely. Miss you already! x
Serena replies before lying back, smiling. Sheâs asleep before Bernieâs next text arrives.
You spent most of your time at work beneath your boss's desk.
warnings/tags: explicit sex, age gap, praise kink, work/employee, oral sex, wish world!kate in her cunty outfit, wish world typical heteronormativity
word count: 2,3k
+ masterlist + rules +đż reposts and comments are much appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3
Your parents had always imagined a very particular future for you: a life wholly defined by quiet, well-behaved devotion to a husband, by picture-perfect children, by a household kept so impeccably it would draw the envy of every neighbour. Those honourable ideals had been polished and were never questioned, had shaped the boundaries of your upbringing, leaving little room for anything else.
Your first rebellion was a small one that changed the course of everything: insisting on enrolling in a writing course at the university. The second followed more boldlyâyou found work of your own, even if you had to fight for every step toward it.Â
The third, you kept carefully hidden. You understood too well how perilously close it would place you to what your family would have called ruin and considered damnation. And yet, it became your secret reality: that most of your time at work was spent beneath your bossâs deskâyour boss, who was a woman, unmarried, and decades your senior.
Kate Katherine Lethbridge-Stewart stood in stark defiance of everything that had ever been defined for you; you thus revered her with something that could only be described as worship.
Every sharp glance from those brown eyes, framed by the dark rims of her glasses, kindled a sizzling, consuming fire within youâone you had long since stopped trying to extinguish, had only let spark and grow, feeding it with thoughts and lips wandering over freckled, ivory skin. Every step, every subtle shift of upright, poised posture beneath layers of tweed didnât just draw your attention; it anchored it, it sank the teeth of longing into your concentration and ripped it apart like a wild, starving beast that wished to get its claws into the fabric and everything hidden beneath it. Your hands would still, then falterâwhether folded in your lap or hovering above the keys of your typewriterâcaught between the tightrope of discipline, respect and pure unadulterated desperation to touch.
Desire had never been a guiding force in your life before, had never stood against morals, and the carefully ordered dos and donâts that had claimed you until your first day at the Unified National Insurance Team.Â
You had tucked and fiddled with your clothes all the way to the Tower, wanting, no needing to make a first impression that wouldnât give them any other chance than taking you on for their team. You had been prepared, had studied well for the interview and repeated the numbers rattling on in your head from the many nights you had poured over reports and annual statistics, and were sure that nothing could go wrong if youâd only focus.
Then you had all but stumbled into the warmth of another body, caught short by firm fingers closing around your upper arm, and heard the words that would linger long after, carried in a low, authoritative voice that settled over your skin like slow, clinging honey: âSomeone ought to teach you some manners!â
It should have meant nothing more than a reprimand.Â
And yet, in that instant, the future you had always been told was inevitable, singular, narrow, and uncompromising seemed to fracture and splinter into a million shards that only reflected wide-blown pupils and a quickened pulse. What you had believed to be a fixed path dissolved, reshaping itself into something altogether different: a straight, inevitable line that led not forward, but directly between her legs.Â
Your lips feverishly moved over Kateâs calves, never lingering long enough to leave any marks that you longed to suck into the flexing, milky-smooth flesh. Her stockings hadnât been on when youâd been called into Kateâs private office for a performance review, not the desk she shared with you all in the main room, where her stern, controlling gaze had driven you slowly but surely towards insanity all day, and so you could taste the hints of moisturiser on her skin.Â
Even though you had never actively witnessed the act, you had more than once imagined the blonde stepping out of a hot shower, skin scrubbed clean and pinkish, and treating her body to the cream that softened her up; the idea of kneeling in front of her in her bathroom and letting your hands roam over every centimeter of her, from the soft curve of her stomach, to her breasts and spine, had spiralled into you moaning her name nearly every night into your pillow, imagining the fingers knuckle-deep inside you would be hers.
A tug on your hair pulled your head forward, fingers wrapped into the strands so it skirted the line of pain enough that you moaned against her right leg, panted with your mouth wide open and tasting lavender and honey.Â
âI didnât drag you away from your duties for you to squander my time!â
It was the first thing Kate said since the âI want you on your knees and using that clever mouth of yours for something other than gaping at me,â that had commanded you towards the by now familiar floor beneath her heavy oak desk, your knees already spreading for her to pull her chair back in, closing you into the space that you wanted your name engraved in. Sometimes you considered itâscratching your fingernails into the underside of the desk until your initials marked the wood like you wanted to mark her.Â
âYes, maâam,â you responded quickly, blinking up the long stretch of her legs to see her disapproving face look down at you. Only when you returned to pepper kisses upwards rather than focusing for longer, for you enjoyable eternities in one spot, did Kateâs arched eyebrow let down in its intensity.
âItâs Smithâs fault,â Kate muttered, her hand scratching the back of your neck absent-mindedly to the point of nearly making you purr. âShowing up at the last possible moment every single dayâit has to be deliberate. As if time were something to be handed out for free!â
You only hummed in agreementâthough you couldnât care less about the man, as long as he got under Kateâs skin, you got into her knickers more frequentlyâand ran your tongue along the side of her knee and broadened it to follow the muscle of her thigh. Shuffling closer, your hands pushed more of the thick fabric of her skirt up her hips. Your eyes were glued to the white cotton underwear that already stuck to Kateâs core, the outline of her cunt clinging visibly to the see-through fabric, glistening with her arousal.
âItâs incredible how his doubts put our entire system at risk,â Kate groused on and lifted herself up enough for your fingers to hook into the seam of her panties and drag them down her legs. Her hand continued to trace circles into your neck, then, with a gentle but insistent pressure, she cupped the back of your head, guiding you forward with an almost imperceptible tilt. Get to it, she impatiently communicated.Â
Kate would never let anyone see how much she hungered for you. It wasnât the sort of thing a woman raised and frowned upon like herâscrutinized by society, shaped by its sharp judgmentsâwould ever reveal openly. Desire, when it came to her was always hidden beneath her perfected mask of composure and authority, making it seem like she allowed you to indulge into your sinful wanting rather than admitting she wasnât trembling for your touch, searching your eyes across the office.Â
Your nose etched a path that your mouth followed forth across her inner thighs, traveling closer and closer to that scent of musk and long-accumulated slickness that you were salivating for. Shortly before her cunt and your head swimming further aware from the shores of reason and rationality, you opened your mouth, sucking on the flesh of her upper thigh.Â
Above you, Kate groaned, her legs spreading wider and twitching at the same time. âFoolish girl,â she cursed out, one hand twisting in your hair, which only served to scrape your teeth over the mark that this kiss would no doubt leave, while her other slammed onto the table and ground against the top.Â
âIâm sorry,â you mumbled, hiding away a smug grin for that would have surely denied you any more. âApologies, I couldnât withstand,â you carried on, pressing your lips into the wet and warm skin again and again.Â
The hand in your hair loosened and landed on your chin, forcing your head back with a force that nearly knocked you against the desk. Two fingers pinched your cheeks and yanked you forward and directly into her line of sight again.
Brown eyes bore into you from behind tortoise-shell glasses, a strictness in them that had you soak through your own underwear. Kate looked far from amused, her matte coloured lips curled into a thin line, the corners curved downwards, while her eyebrows were raised challengingly. If it wasnât for the flush of pink sitting high on her sharp and elegant cheekbones and the hardened nipples poking against the white high collar shirt, you wouldâve feared sheâd pull you over her knee for this.Â
âAre you having fun?â she asked and yet clearly expected no answer; the grip of her hand still kept your jaw from opening. The soft blonde strands of her fringe fell to the side as she tilted her head, scrutinising you. âI would have thought you would be capable of following orders by now,â she chided patronisingly and pressed her thumb further into the skin, fingernail catching your bottom lip. âDonât tell me the way you dropped to the floor like a slut was misleading?â
Despite the pressure of her hand, you shook your head, trying to communicate the apology through the look in your eyes and the way you melted into her to let her guide, move, control you however she wanted.
Kate watched you for a moment longer before she finally let go and patted your cheek. âVery well,â she said and stroked an almost fond line from your cheek to the curve of your ear; the touch lingering and sparkling like stardust of a wishing star.Â
God, how you burned for her.
The corners of her eyes crinkled, fine crowâs-feet and dimples showing the years she had spent hiding the little joys she got in life, lightening her entire expression for a sliver of time.
âWhat a good girl you are,â she murmured, and you eagerly dove forward until your nose brushed the wiry curls of her trimmed bush and your tongue could gather the first taste of her. A deep, throaty sound vibrated through Kate at the first contact, her shoulders immediately sacking against the back of her chair and the tweed blazer hanging from it, pushing her chest higher. âYes,â she half-moaned, half-rasped, âsuch a good pet.â
The praise only motivated you to nose at her more, to bring two fingers up to stroke them through Kateâs folds as you lap and stroke your tongue, first in quick, short kitten-licks, then switching to longer, broader swirls. When you teased her clit with a finger and Kate practically gushed over your tongue, you looked at her once last timeâat the blonde hair escaping her clawclip, the freckles on her in pleasure slackened face, and the lips that formed your name but spilled out petnames insteadâand then you shut your eyes, focusing on drawing out Kateâs pleasure as long as she tolerated it.
It didnât take long, especially not after you pushed one finger, then the other inside her, curling them and pressing your fingertips against her tight, clenching walls and hitting all the nerve endings that had her gasping for breath and holding onto the desk and your hair once more.Â
You could read her better than any report currently waiting at your typewriter, knew more about the way Kateâs body curled into itself and stretched, long legs entrapping you and her back arching, the closer she hurled towards her orgasm, than any statistic or logistic over the business you worked in. It all didnât matter when you tasted her fall apart on your tongue, felt her quiver around your fingers, the faster you drove them into Kate.Â
âThatâs it,â Kate moaned and furrowed her brows, hips chasing in rolling motions after the pleasure you gave her, your nose pressing hard against her clit at the movement.Â
âDonât stopâ keep it right there, yes, good girlâ just like that, darling.â
You kept your effort up, spread your fingers and sucked her clit into your mouth, and Kateâs thighs tensed around you.
She came almost silently, her mouth parting in a breath that caught in her chest, every muscle taut and frozen before the blonde finally slumped, exhaling in small, shaky pants. You rested your head against her leg, blinking up at her with adoration as her lashes fluttered, the even darker blush highlighting her freckles. Slowly, almost lazily, her hand returned to your hair, scratching through it in gentle, subdued circlesâa quiet rhythm that anchored her as much as it did you.
âGood girl,â she repeated, words deliciously gravelly, and her finger grazed over the sensitive skin behind your ear.Â
âI did well?â you asked and kissed the mark on her thigh tentatively.
She hummed deeply, a smile audibly in the sound. âSo good,â she cooed, âExcept for that little stunt, but Iâm sure we can correct that the next time, donât we, honey?â
Your smile blossomed against her skin and into the kisses that you couldnât stop, your hands wandering over her skin to revel in being so close to her for now.Â
And when a mug suddenly shattered on the floor beneath the desk beside you, and broke the post-orgasm haze that loosened the woman in front of you, Kateâs widened eyes locked onto yours, and for a heartbeat, you couldnât tell which of you had allowed that flicker of doubt to slip into the world.
Or rather, how your hidden love had become prominent enough that it challenged the laws of it.
For the WIP ask game, I'd love to know more about Goodbye Jess đ„ș
Post S6 CS. I started writing this in my 'how do we get rid of Dorothy' phase and... this was one (sad) way.
Opening paragraphs:
The house was quiet and dark, as it always was when Audrey rose in the morning, at this time of year. She made her way through the house to the living room first, to light the fire, and then to the kitchen.
She turned on the light and headed to the pantry. âJess, Dass,â she called softly, âbreakfast!â
There was a woof and Dash joined her, looking up at her eagerly. âHere you go, lad,â she said, pouring his food into his bowl. âWhat have you done with Jess?â
Jess was lying in her basket, very still. Audreyâs heart stopped. âJess!â She dropped to her knees by the basket. Now she could see the faintest rise and fall of her body, showing that she was breathing. She put a hand to the dogâs head and Jess opened one eye slightly and shut it again, as though it was too much effort. âOh, no. Jess!â she whispered. In her head, she knew that Jess was elderly. In her heart, sheâd expected her to live forever.
"...this is the first series there has been where nobody in the house is actually related. Itâs quite a modern family vibe - we are this weird, disparate group of people that get on.â Samuel West
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