NASA
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hello vonnie
Jules of Nature
Cosimo Galluzzi
Misplaced Lens Cap
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Stranger Things
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wallacepolsom
izzy's playlists!
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trying on a metaphor
oozey mess
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we're not kids anymore.
Today's Document
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@maturedbones
My main fanwork blog is @iridescent-skeleton, if things look familiar.
I highly admire the people with the confidence to hornypost on main, but I just don't have that.
Feeder/feedee chodark. Dark likes to watch Chosen eat, likes to see how much she can pack away. It's hard to get to Chosen's limit in terms of how much she can physically consume, and her metabolism is so fast (being constantly on fire burns a lot of calories, especially when that fire is fuelled by stress) that shes always hungry and it never sticks to her. Dark wants her to gain weight. Chosen wants to gain weight, but in more of a "damn I look like I'm starving to death all the time" way. Chosen likes when Dark feeds her because it makes her feel wanted and loved. Dark wants to do something with her that she already likes to do. Dark wants her to be well fed. Dark is a good cook. Dark wants to give her so much of a good thing that she curls up and moans because her stomach hurts, and then Dark wants to press against it hard to make it hurt worse. And Chosen wants that too.
a knight is cool when they're mysterious, a creature of few words whose confidence in their strength borders on a silent arrogance.
a knight is breathtakingly sexy when they lose all that self control they're oh so proud of. when they're gasping and whining and looking for friction however they can get it, when they're reactive and vocal, when it finally clicks for them that they're now at the mercy of their own desire for you and can't even think of anything but the haze of pleasure they're lost in.
the asexual domme would love to objectify you, ignore your desires, and call you demeaning titles, but has actually really complicated feelings about calling you a "fuck"doll in particular that it's not really fully capable of explaining at this point in time.
Medicinal slime girls
Slime girl who can cure rashes and scrapes and dry skin by cuddling naked with you
Slime girl making you healing potions with her ooze as the alchemical base, in a pinch she can ingest the ingredients herself and let you drink the concoction from her breasts
Doctor slime girl who can figure out what's wrong with you from the inside, now open up and say ahh... Don't worry, she's cherry flavored!
best part of sex is when youre fucking someone who normally has your best interest in mind and you can see their concern for your wellbeing exit their body as they decide how theyre going to use you
YES, knight not fucking you because they swore an oath to you and that would be breaking it
and also YES, knight fucking you in spite of said oath and all that comes with it
but HAVE WE CONSIDERED knight who swears the oath(s) to you WHILE fucking you???
They’re in such a haze and so blissed out and you just look so good and you feel so good so there is nothing and no one else they can even imagine binding themselves to at that moment. So over all your gasps and moans and pleads they’re stammering and babbling their tenets and promises and prayers, all dedicated to you.
A good and loyal knight dedicating themselves to their new code, the old one they followed for so long left completely behind
Errants or oathbreakers binding themselves to this new law, a new focus for all that lost or unused loyalty.
It’s a ceremony, you see, and it needs to be seen all the way through, and so it will, no matter how many times the both of you come undone.
hey bud, would you mind pinning me to something and letting me struggle against your weight for a while? it’s good for my mental health
I need The Chosen One bound and blindfolded immediately. Not gagged - she does that well enough herself. No point, unless it's something like a ring gag to keep her mouth open. OR.
A BIT.
I want her to be unable to move, to break her bindings, even if she tries. She is weaker than them, which means she doesn't have to be strong. She can't be! The ability has been taken from her. Maybe this is after shes been renamed and even the weakest knots are able to hold her.
I want her strapped to a bench of some sort - something comfortable and ergonomic, not necessarily exposing, but it could be. I want her blindfolded so that she can't expect when she's about to be touched, caressed, pinched, or slapped. She can't predict whether it's going to be warm skin, cold leather, something soft or something sharp, or maybe even something ticklish like feathers.
I want her mouth forced open so she can't swallow her gasps, yelps, heavy breathing, or any other noise she makes. I want the session to stretch on and wear her out until she doesn't have the energy to hold herself still and quiet and stoic. I want her not to know who is touching her, seeing her, deciding whether to be nice or cruel, or just to stare at her.
It doesn't matter to me who's doing this to her, be it vic or Dark or even Yellow or someone else! It's better to me if multiple people float through, rubbing her back, pinching her thighs, pulling her hair or on her tongue, running a feather over her feet, slapping her face, and so on and so forth.
After the battle, she lays trapped beneath you. Back bare towards you, skin painted by sweat, and head tilted to the side panting. Arms reach towards pillows, splayed out in a way that inspires some glee. You sit upon her, your throne. Knees planted in bedsheets. Arched over her with hungry fingers.
“If you think about it,” she says, between desperate breaths. “This is what I wanted. To feel you touch me. To win or lose. Is this your victory, or is it mine?”
Whispering poison, she argues pre-destiny. Ions accumulate in cells across your scalp. Water is drawn in osmotically from blood. Glands secrete it to the surface. It clings to hairs and accumulates. A single drop glides down your forehead then your cheek. Passes your lip where it reaches your tongue. You taste it and recycle the salt and water. It's a circular argument.
“Hm,” you ponder. “So says the frog to the scorpion?”
Lean closer. Her back is the most sensitive part of her body. Not unique among your sparring partners, but not very common either. The scapular region sings loudest. Behind her arms and under her shoulders. You start by tracing a line up her spine. As always, bones are your first fixation. Press deep enough to feel them. Count where each vertebrae should rest.
“The frog isn't getting fucked,” she says. “Or, whatever you insist we call this. Used. Played with. Treated like a doll. What's the verb for s/m? Hurt? Whatever. The frog isn't a toy.”
Reach the right place and a fading pant twists into a moan. Pull back. Return to the bottom and trace another pattern. In the back of your mind there's a recipe book for this. Tender meat. Listen to the sounds she makes, how she shifts against you. The occasional light spasm. Squirms underneath you. The opportunity of defeating the enemy is provided by the enemy herself.
“Is food supposed to talk back so much?” you say. “Contradictory. How could a toy be in charge?”
Muscles slide underneath your touch. Hunger begs you to reach around under to the front every few cycles. Compare the softer flesh to the muscles to the bone. And let fingernails draw marks in the skin. Like signing your name. Squeeze and count how flesh indents around your fingers. Imagine the red notes she feels where you press or pull too hard. Accumulate them. Her breathing is labored even when not broken up by gasps and moans.
“Rr. I am. Because I am. You do this. Because I want you to. So. I'm in charge.”
Hunger whispers of more than just breathing. You return to shoulders. Approach slowly. Imagine where wings might have sprouted and draw circles around them. Press fingertips into skin and feel it press back against you. Other hand's fingernails deepen. Scratch properly. Moans become swears. Ears perk to listen. Eyes watch the reddened patch grow. Tongue finds sweat on lips again.
“This is all your choice? All of it,” you say. “Suppose there's nothing I can do to disprove this theory.”
Scratch one shoulder while caressing the other. Patterns of four parallel red lines criss cross. You wonder how she'll speak to respond when she's busy swearing at the pain. Neither hand is close to tapping out, though occasionally a fist hits the soft of the bed. Beating against it. Releasing energy like a split atom. Cathartic destruction. Your presently-a-toy sounds so beautifully pathetic for you.
“Fuckfuckfuck. No,” she says. “Ah. Buuut. Fuck. I'm right. Fuckfuck. You're mine. Miiiiiine.”
Her voice has an almost sniveling quality to it at times. Each word somewhere between arrogance and humor. Like she knows a joke and is performing the act of it. Like it's all at someone else's expense, or maybe because she's waiting for it to be at her expense. It's absent in the swears. They contain only desperation. If your grip was less solid, the squirming might be a problem.
“Maybe,” you say. “So what? I do what I wish to do. I eat the food placed in front of me. All else is sophistry.”
Briefly, she has some respite. Fingers leave her body and reach up towards her arms. Stretch out your legs behind you. A bit like flexing wings after they were so cramped beneath you. And, bite down. Teeth meet skin. Respite returns to moaning, then swearing. Swearing runs into itself and collapses into exhales. It's a song of sorts. All for you. A delicious meal.
And, with your teeth in place, you won't let her talk any longer.
.
I think the worst part of like 'creating things online' is advertising yourself. I really wish I could just let my work speak for itself, and I try to, but I'm told that's bad practice.
On days that aren't Saturday, I write short things for my patreon. Somewhere between 'exploratory kink writing' and 'working on getting better at writing'. Then on Saturday I select one of the pieces from the week to share on tumblr. This is that. Hope you liked it!
what about a knight that’s more loyal to the crown than they are to you for once? one who fucks you into submission when you waver from your responsibilities to preserve your family’s dignity?
rebellious royal who decides they want to be free and tries to run away only for their oh so loyal knight to track them down and drag them back because they will not allow the royal to put such a stain on the crown. if the royal isn’t motivated to stay put by traditional means, well, the knight has others ways of punishing them and reminding them of their place :)
I think Red would be a big fan of Orange's mouth.
Don't put your dick into an outlet!
It takes one zap and you will die!
But if a dick can even fit here
Than maybe death's the way to go...
But on a more serious note, Lagy Gaga - Teeth
Content warning: mild blood & suggestive
truly the pinnacle of sexuality is leaving someone desperately wanting more and then doing nothing with it except to further stoke that desire for as long as possible.
Her arms box in your sides. Elbows form indentations in mattress that hair tries and fails not to collect in. It's warm underneath her. Look up and see her face looking down on you. Silhouette under lamplight. Breath smells like last second mint candies. She's smiling at you. You feel so small beneath her.
"Can you say 'please' again?" She asks. "I really like when you say it like that."
"Please?" You say.
Her legs are on top of yours just as well but not holding her up. Instead below your chests both of you are bound together by gravity. Her mass distorts the sensation of your body. Skin meets skin and bone narrowly avoids bone. Like a weighted blanket, but still so much larger than you.
"No, not like that, not exactly. Like you're desperate for more. Like you're hungry for it."
You think about earlier. Picture her lips upon yours. Soft against soft. Brushing against each other and lingering to let teeth nibble. Gasping at the contact and leaving room. Tongue intruding and entering you. Foreign bodies exploring you. Scanning over your teeth and pressing back your own tongue. Reaching into you and seeing more of you. Before pulling back and her eyes teasing upon you as you struggle to breathe.
"Please," you say.
"Mhm. Like that," she says. "Then, can you say it like that again, for me?"
Now her eyes are teasing again. Running along your face and lips, looking into your own and smiling at what they see. See her judge your voice and see her take in the noises you make. Feel yourself breathe almost like you did turn and watch her see you struggle.
"Pllease?"
"Repeat it again, and again, and again."
Conjure the memories again. Watch her mouth move as she speaks. Watch her tongue shift between positions. Watch her close her mouth and smile at you. Feel her shift above you. Feel her breath upon you.
"Please, please, please."
"Say it like it's the only word you've ever known, like the only thing you can possibly say, like it's all you ever want or believe."
Your voices both still echo with some kind of afterglow. The rhythm of earlier activities contained within them. Yours is almost breathy, like you're struggling to work your voice box. Hers rings with distant giggles. Mischief and excitement.
"Please."
"Say it like I'm your long lost lover and you're touching yourself imagining my fingers upon you again."
She's really teasing you now, but you don't care. Focus on the memories and sensations. Focus on the sound of her voice and her eyes upon you.
"Please."
"Say it like saying it is your only purpose. Like it's a magic word that will break the spell upon you. Say it like you've forgotten how to live except to say it."
"Please."
"Repeat it until you I tell you to stop."
"Please. Please. Pleaseplease. Please. Please. Pleaseplease. Please. Pleaseplease," you say. "Please. Please. Pleeease."
"Stop. Breathe in, then say it like you can't say anything else."
You look into her eyes as you say it. Imagining all your words leaving you until only one word remains.
"Please."
"Then, say it like all of those things were true at once. Like it's the most important word in the world."
"Please."
"Say anything else."
"Please."
And you say it before you can fully process her words, and then she continues before you catch yourself.
"Good girl."
"Please."
"Orgasm that'll make you see god" except it's you realizing that the person making you feel this way is a god in your eyes and you want nothing more than to keep worshipping them.
Sleep shifted down on the list of priorities.
